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sserpente · 1 year

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A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! ♥ Requests from @incurablyromanticsblog and six (!) anons. I had so many super short requests that wouldn’t have made a whole story on their own, so now… here we have a spicy-President!Loki-Bonnie-and-Clyde-like-but-somehow-also-fluffy-Valentine’s-story! Enjoy, everyone!

Words: 4768 Warnings: succubus!Reader, smut, fluff, violence, poison, imprisonment, blood, starvation

Moaning in a satisfied manner, you rolled over, letting the warm morning sunlight warm your naked skin. The sheets shifted a little during your movement, revealing your bare back to the barely awake God of Mischief resting next to you on the enormous king-size bed his magic had conjured up.

You shivered when his long digits ghosted over your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Good morning, pet,” he purred, his mischievous smirk speeding up your heartbeat in an instant.

“Morning…”

“Are you hungry?” His left eyebrow rose a little, daring you to an answer. You smiled, your eyes falling back shut.

“I’m good, actually. Not many men keep me up all night, you see.”

Loki chuckled. “There are no men like me, I can assure you.”

You had been fucking like wild animals for the past few weeks now. The sexual tension had been growing ever since you two met and when the God of Mischief found out you were a succubus… he offered you to feed on him in exchange for pleasure. He was different from the other men—the men back home who didn’t treat you like more than a body to have sex with because you needed it to survive anyway—no. Loki saw you. He saw your desires, saw your will and your persistence to survive after you had confessed your life story to him.

That you had fled your home to not be married off into a harem. To not serve incubi and their mortals men-slaves as warm a warm body to keep their cocks warm. Loki must have been sent to you by fate. When he told you about the Tesseract—an ancient artefact powerful enough to send you to different dimensions—you were intrigued and he had proposed a deal.

Help him, become his ally, and in return, he would ensure the blue cube would send you wherever you wished. You scoffed into the soft pillow. When you’re on the run, it was easier to flee to another dimension altogether. They wouldn’t search for you or find you there.

There wasn’t much you knew about Loki aside from the fact he was an Asgardian God and a Frost Giant by birth. You had learned quickly enough his adoptive father had neglected him and that his brother, Thor, was irritable enough for him to curse his very existence even though part of him loved the God of Thunder.

Having sex with him started out as a means to an end—to help with the constant sexual itch lingering between you two, a distraction as you raided Midgard for the Tesseract like a modern Bonnie and Clyde, leaving nothing but chaos and havoc behind. But then, one innocent morning, when he had still been asleep peacefully and you’d watched his relaxed features, stroking his gorgeous cheekbones… you realised you had fallen for him. Loki was an outsider much like you. He was mischievous, intelligent and oh, he could be so deliciously evil if things didn’t go his way.

Just now, you had lied to him. You were hungry again already. But if you fed on him now, a quick fuck would likely turn into Loki chaining you to the bed and having his way with you until you could all but whimper his name, over and over again. It wouldn’t be the first time.

You had work to do. The Tesseract had last been located in a government facility here in New York—a place Loki was only too keen on keeping away from even though he had no intention of letting you know why.

“I will get dressed and head down to the facility, lurk about and spy a little. I’m sure I’ll find a security hole within an hour.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. We need the cube sooner rather than later.”

Loki frowned, propping himself up on his elbows when you stood. Stark naked, you tiptoed through the room in search of your clothes that were scattered all over the floor thanks to your uncontrolled passion last night.

You resisted the urge to jump back into bed and lick every single inch of his godly body. His naked upper body looked gorgeous in the sunlight shining through the open windows. You hadn’t bothered closing the curtains yesterday.

“You have barely slept, pet. It will take time to retrieve the Tesseract. You don’t know the Avengers like I do. They will do everything in their power to keep the cube out of harm’s way.”

“Why? What do they want with it?”

“Nothing, except for an undying power source for electricity and weapons. They have no interest in travelling through dimensions, even though I would argue SHIELD does indeed.”

“The Avengers… SHIELD… you speak in riddles, Loki.”

The God of Mischief smirked. “That shall be a story for another time.”

“You say that a lot, you know.”

Humming, he stood, revealing a delicious view of his behind before eventually turning around to face you again. You licked your lips, your eyes automatically travelling down to his length which had been inside of you only a few hours before.

“You need rest, pet. You will be of no help to me if you drop unconscious out of exhaustion sooner or later.”

“I’m fine, Loki. I’m not human either, remember?”

The God of Mischief lifted his chin, his hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. Your eyes fluttered shut. You did love his gentle touches. In fact, now that you thought about it, Loki’s hands were on you constantly. It wasn’t just the body parts men usually found sexually attractive, though you had little grounds to complain about his palms exploring your breasts, buttocks and pussy whenever he got the chance. Sometimes, Loki’s knuckles brushed over your forearm, other times, he would rest his face on your bare stomach after a long day of causing just enough mischief for the guards and SHIELD agents to remain distracted and stressed. It was almost like… like he was touch-starved.

You had seen this god murder men who stood in his way, had seen him drive another insane with wit and manipulation but with you… with you he was as soft as the light touch of a feather sailing to the ground.

Standing on your toes, you brought your palms against his well-defined chest and kissed him hungrily. Your senses awakened as soon as you initiated the act of intimacy, your body more than ready to feed on the sexual energy seething inside of him.

No time, not now. You could still fuck him senseless tonight when you were both back in this mediocre hotel room Loki’s seidr had turned into a small palace. Perhaps, however, there was just enough time for you to suck him off in the shower, to sate your hunger just a little?

“I’m going to get washed,” you announced, reluctantly releasing his lips. “Care to join me?”

Loki’s grin was louder than any verbal yes could have possibly been.

If he truly loved you back, Loki was guarding the secret like the SHIELD agents were guarding the Tesseract. You decided to make your move the same night before you’d pass on from impatience. Perhaps it was ridiculous to hope that once the Infinity Stone was in your possession, Loki would take you with him wherever he went. Perhaps it was selfish, too and yet, the closer you stepped to the cube, the more you began to despise the very idea of parting ways with the cheeky God of Mischief.

The horrifying thought, ending up alone yet again and losing the man you had fallen in love with, kept you distracted. You had to rely on Loki once he opened a green, shimmering portal to the inside of the facility.

“Let’s have some fun, shall we?” he whispered into the utter darkness, allowing you to cling to his leather armour as you sneaked through the dark and empty hallways. The guards were positioned around the securely locked room containing a “confidential” object. You could feel it in your very bones. It must have been the Tesseract.

Loki nodded at you once you were close enough. You could barely make out his features but it was enough for a mute understanding. Kill everyone on sight because they will not hesitate to take your life either.

You had murdered many times in your life. It was necessity and raw survival instinct that had made you who you were—what were a few more deaths, now that your freedom was so close you could practically feel it?

Your senses were tingling, your breath shaky. It was then you heard it. Footsteps. Footsteps that did not belong to Loki or you. Bracing yourself for the fight, you clenched your fists, claws replacing your manicured fingernails. There were perks to being a succubus, after all—ripping your foes to shreds was one of them.

“Brother?”

The warm and deep voice, however, let you pause. Tilting your head, you glanced over to Loki whose lips had parted ever so slightly. He took a deep breath, lifting his chin proudly. One heartbeat passed, then another… and then someone turned on the lights.

You squinted in order for your eyes to get used to the sudden change of brightness. You spotted five people blocking your path, one of them you recognised as Loki’s brother himself, if only because he was carrying his beloved hammer. The others, you did not know but you were fairly certain it was the infamous Avengers Loki had warned you about.

“Thor… what an unpleasant surprise,” the God of Mischief mused. You remained silent. They were a bunch of awkward creatures indeed. One of them was dressed in black, wearing sunglasses even though it was night. Strapped to his back was a quiver filled with arrows you doubted only pierced through people’s skin. Another one was wrapped in a red and gold metal suit, with only his face showing through an open hatch. The redhead woman was pointing one of her guns at Loki and the average guy wearing glasses had put his hands in his pockets. The last one was wearing the most ridiculous superhero suit you had ever seen. You raised your eyebrows at them.

“Listen to reason, Loki. You don’t have to do this.”

“Do I not?” He chuckled. “I am not the Loki you fought here in this monstrosity of a city, Thor.”

“Why, because you got a new haircut, dipshit?” The man in the iron suit bellowed.

You, on the other hand, frowned. “Loki, what are you talking about?”

“So it is true then. We were warned about you. I should have listened,” Thor roared all the while the other’s gazes travelled over to you for a moment. “How did you escape the Void?”

“The Void? What’s the Void?” Loki ignored you completely, fomenting your anger.

“How did you know we were here?” he asked instead, possibly stalling. You were unsure what his plan was—but if the Avengers were as smart as he made them out to be, brute force would likely not suffice to beat them, not tonight.

“We had help—a lovely organisation calling itself the TVA. You might have heard of them, Loki. Rumour has it you’ve been causing them quite some trouble,” the man with the ridiculous blue eye mask and stripes and stars on his armour said.

Loki rolled his eyes. “The TVA was no more than a detour on my journey to glorious purpose. I write my own destiny and for that—I will need the Tesseract.”

“Over our dead bodies.”

“With pleasure.”

The redhead kept her gun pointed at Loki. Her expression did not let on a single emotion. “Agent Romanoff,” Loki chided, directing his attention towards her. “You know those bullets will not so much as scratch my skin.”

“I know. That’s why they’re drenched in poison. You might be a god… but she isn’t.” Her threat came too fast for you to react, for in the next moment, Romanoff had already pulled the trigger. The bullet hit you in the shoulder, knocking you back and against one of the metal pillars. You barely registered the pain of your back colliding with it, too great was the stinging and burning sensation of the foreign object in your flesh.

Loki attacked, daggers materialising in his hands. Any moment now, he would slaughter them where they stood—not for you, you weren’t naïve enough to think that—but in order to end this nonsense once and for all, to bring the Tesseract into your possession at last and then get the hell out of here. You’d survive. It wasn’t the first time you had been shot, although… although it was the first time the bullet had been poisoned. You were warm. No, you were hot. You were sweating. Dizzy, you sank to the floor, shaking like dry autumn leaves in the wind. What… what kind of poison was that? How could it have such an effect on you, an immortal being?

“L-Loki… s-something’s wrong,” you choked out. Hoping he’d hear you, you covered your wound with your right hand, your dark-red blood—almost black—staining your palm. Your sight was too blurry to make out the details of the fight, couldn’t make out if Loki had the upper hand. What you did register was him flipping around, concerned… for you. The blow your involuntary distraction earned him sounded painful, lest it was Mjölnir knocking the God of Mischief to the ground. Still—his stunning blue eyes never left yours and they widened when he realised… when he realised… you gasped for air. You might actually die tonight if you didn’t feed soon to heal yourself. Whatever poison this was… the Avengers had been prepared for him, for you both. And they’d had help—possibly from this secret TVA organisation Loki seemed to know only all too well.

“Alright, stop! Stop!” he shouted. Panic was sizzling in his voice, an emotion you had never seen him display in all of your time together. In your delirious state, hope crawled up your guts. Hope that perhaps the God of Mischief did in fact reciprocate your romantic feelings for him. “I yield! I yield! Let me take her away, she needs to feed.”

Loki’s defeat was the last thing your ears were able to process before you succumbed to darkness and fell unconscious.

“Thor, listen to me! If you lock her up on her own and don’t provide her with sustenance, she will die.” Loki hurried to keep up with the God of Thunder. The handcuffs they had used on him had been forged on Asgard, blocking his magic and enough of his strength to keep him in check—for now.

“She is a succubus, Loki. Mother warned us about them when we were young. They lure you into their trap and before you know it, they suck the life out of you. It’s good riddance.”

“Brother, please. Let me into her cell then. Let me be with her.” Thor halted so suddenly that the God of Mischief almost bumped into him. It was obvious he was unfamiliar with such strong emotions from him but so was he. Loki had realised the very moment that bullet had hit you that he loved you, truly.

The sheer thought of losing you to death was unbearable, suffocating. For once in his life, he had an equal. Someone who understood his ways, someone who sided with him, someone who had chosen him over Thor. He dreaded what would happen once you would ask the inevitable question and find out who he truly was. But none of that mattered as long as you stayed alive.

When you came to, your surroundings had changed. Thick metal walls trapped you inside a cold and sterile room with a metal floor. Somebody had laid you down on a hospital-like bed but there was no blanket, no pillow.

Coughing, you attempted to sit up only to be greeted by a singeing pain tearing through your shoulder. The bullet. The poison. Loki. Loki!

Your eyes darted around the room but you were alone. Where was he? Was he alive? You would skin them alive if they had hurt him…

Terror rippled through you when the cell door was unlocked with a start—the amount of relief you felt when the man in question stepped into your view even overpowering the pain you were in for a moment. As soon as he had slipped inside, the door was pulled shut again—with the sound of the locking mechanism echoing through the small room yet again. Loki did not seem to care. He rushed towards you in an instant, worry evident on his handsome face.

“They will not let me stay with you for long.”

“You’re okay… I thought they… you’re okay…” you mumbled. Loki nodded. “What… What is wrong with you?” You failed to sound reproachful or threatening even though part of you knew the answer to your next question. “Why did you surrender?”

“You would have died had I carried on. I have seen death too many times than I can count, pet. I know what it looks like when it reaches for you. You need to feed. Now.” Loki would not allow any contradiction when he lifted you off the mattress as if you weighed nothing and sat you down on his lap. Green shimmering light surrounded his whole body for the fraction of a second, dancing on his naked skin as his armour melted off of his body, leaving nothing but the shoulder piece with his green cape, the arm pieces and his boots behind.

Arousal surged through you like liquid fire at the sight of him despite the growing weakness of your body.

“I will remove the bullet now. Take a deep breath and close your eyes.”

You nodded, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

“One… two…” He did not wait until three before his magic ate through your flesh to pull out the foreign piece of metal in your body. Screaming, you bit down on the remaining bits of his armour, squeezing your eyes shut so tightly you saw stars blinking before your vision.

Whatever spell Loki used on you though eased the pain only the twinkling of an eye later. You sighed when it subsided, making way for the growing hunger in your core. Loki acted on your behalf. His magic took care of your leather trousers and underwear, leaving you naked from the waist down and leaving behind a faint tingling.

He had you ignited within a single heartbeat, heat pooling between your legs, your cunt getting ready to welcome a cock inside for you to feed. With a quiet moan, you ground against him when a tingly sensation spread all over your pussy, an aching reminder that you wanted him, needed him, now.

But you were too weak to even buck your hips up to let him impale you. Was he hard already? Was he… Releasing his shoulder plate at last, you swallowed to chase away the taste of leather and instead, buried your face in his neck. He was. Whether it was the fact you were a succubus and lured men into your bed for your own survival or the effect that you had on Loki, you did not know and now was not the time to ponder over it.

Your breathing hitched when he lifted you once more, this time carefully guiding you onto his awaiting length. Inch by inch, Loki slid inside of you, your wet walls gripping him eagerly. He kept you just high enough to thrust up into you slowly and intimately but changed positions when he realised that you couldn’t take the initiative.

“Am… too weak…” you uttered, your eyes threatening to fall shut yet again. With his cock still sheathed inside of you, he laid you back down on your back, positioning himself between your legs. His blue eyes never left your face when he started fucking you, his strokes more controlled and firmer this time.

It took you longer than usual to feel his energy flow into you like a gushing river, sizzling through your veins and pumping strength back into your body in tune with Loki pumping into your willing cunt. Normally, when you were fucking, your hunt for pleasure and completion had him rutting into you like a beast. Hair was pulled, flesh was bitten, skin was spanked. But this, right now… this was love-making. You did not have enough energy left to prepare your body for an orgasm this time and yet, it felt more intimate and more pleasurable than anything you had ever experienced with the God of Mischief.

“L-Loki…” you whispered, his name leaving your lips like a prayer. “Fill me… please… I need you… t-to cum… in me.”

The way he hovered above you like you were his most prized possession filled you with both pride and satisfaction and as Loki neared his climax, his arousal nearly overwhelmed you. Wave after wave of delicious energy filled you from head to toe, healing your wound and fighting the poison in your blood until you felt your strength returning to you.

You never realised you were moaning when Loki came with a grunt, burying himself as deep inside of you as he physically could. You could feel his member throbbing against you, his hot seed coating your walls.

Loki drew out his orgasm for as long as he could but instead of collapsing on top of you once you had fed, he wrapped his arms around your middle and rolled you both over so you came to rest on top of his naked and sweaty chest.

“Thank you…” You weren’t sure whether you muttered the words out loud. Only there was no time to rest yet, not even after escaping death. “Loki… who are the Avengers, really? Why are they your enemies and why did Thor ask you how you escaped a void? What was he talking about? You are keeping something from me and I don’t like it.”

The God of Mischief sighed—the sound was directly at your ear all the while you drew invisible circles on his exposed skin. He was still inside of you, filling you up, making you feel whole.

“You’re on the run too, aren’t you?” you muttered, inching up a little and leaning your forehead against his in the aftermath. “You’re wanted for murder, you… what did you do? Why did you never tell me?”

“Tell you what exactly? That I attempted to subjugate this very planet? That I manipulated thousands of humans to make me their president, their voice of prudence and wisdom? Or that I failed and was hunted down by brainwashed Variants with prune sticks?”

“I’m not sure what you thought was going to happen if I found out. If you assumed I would be disappointed you were no good and if you thought I’d leave if I knew or if… or if you thought I’d be disappointed you failed. Which one is it?”

Loki took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted. A pause, heavy and suffocating. “The TVA—the Time Variance Authority—controls the multiverse. There used to be only one single timeline. The sacred timeline, they called it. Until there was not. One of my Variants killed the keeper of time to take revenge for her stolen life. Chaos was raging when the TVA found out about the dozens of timelines they could no longer control and annihilate. I’m assuming… they turned against each other, for when they ended up in the Void—it is a place without time, a place where every unwanted reality and their parts go once the TVA prunes them—my people turned against them and stole the one thing that could get us out of there.”

“They pruned you before,” you concluded. Another sigh.

“According to the TVA, a reality where a Loki rules Midgard must not exist. And the Void… the Void is a battle for your life with no way out.”

“I don’t care, Loki. What you did, what you were about to do, even what you’re doing now. I’m not exactly a saint either like the humans would say. I feed on men. I’ve killed to guarantee my own survival and…” you paused, hoping you would not go too far with what you intended to say next, “…and I would not hesitate for a second to be your queen if you did end up ruling Midgard as its king.”

“I must say I am relieved to hear that,” Loki responded with an audible smirk in his voice. “You are mine, pet. I will not allow you to leave my side. Do you trust me?”

You nodded, feeling his seidr tickling over your skin once more to put both your and his clothes back onto your bodies. You whined at the loss of him inside of you, even more so when he turned over yet again to stand.

“Wait here for my sign.”

“What, what sign?”

“You’ll see.” He disappeared with a wink, your lips parting. One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three. You started pacing around the cell, not realising until a blue portal opened up right behind you that… Loki had it. He had the Tesseract. How…? Wait here for my sign.

You took a deep breath—and then jumped into the portal.

Loki caught you with ease. His smirk was so triumphant you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear, wrapping your arms around him in relief. It instantly got colder here.

“How? How did you do it?”

“Thor. He might be strong but he can be quite dull. Removing my handcuffs was his first mistake. Remaining so persistent on not letting me roam free around the facility was his second. I realised soon enough the Tesseract was not where we had presumed it to be—there was something Thor did not want me to find out. And while I took care of my dying bride, one of my duplicates distracted my brother—another stole the Tesseract for me.”

Surely, it must have been more complicated than that and yet… all your mind could replay on repeat was bride.

“Bride?” you stressed. Loki’s smirk grew even wider but he did not elaborate.

“So where… where are we?”

“Jötunheim, for now. We’re near a friend of mine. She will give us shelter until we have planned our next steps.”

“Oh, will she now?” A woman stepped out of the shadows—she was beautiful, a sorceress without a doubt. Dressed in a long black dress complimenting her raven hair, she crossed her arms before her chest.

“Angrboda… it is good to see you.”

“You too, Trickster. Is there a particular reason for why you bring a succubus to my doorstep?”

Well, you could not blame her for her suspicion. If she took you in and away from the Jötun cold, you would be grateful. Loki introduced you to her quickly, your name rolling off his tongue so deliciously you felt to urge to pounce on him again already. Angrboda shook her head when he proceeded to summarise your situation and eventually nodded in defeat.

“Alright, then. Come inside. I have cherry ale that will warm you up.”

Angrboda’s space was nothing but an open cave, presumably warded through spells and other supernatural means of protection and you assumed that she shielded the parts of her home that she didn’t want you to see with equal measures. In the middle of the room, however, there was a cosy fireplace with dozens of furs spread around it to get comfortable.

“Sit by the fire. Drink, you two… lovebirds,” she said when two cups filled with a red liquid appeared next to the small bonfire. “Only you would manage to fall in love with a succubus, Loki Laufeyson.” She chuckled. “You see… Midgardians call this very day of the year Valentine’s Day. Did you get her chocolate, Trickster? And roses?”

“He saved my life today,” you responded for him.

Angrboda nodded. “Ah, I see. Well… I have a feeling this is only the beginning of the story then.” Giving you a knowing look before disappearing off to only the gods knew where, you smiled at Loki, inching closer to kiss him. Fireworks exploded within you as soon as your lips touched his, the gentle affection quickly turning into a heated fight of lips, teeth and tongue. Angrboda was right. This was only the beginning. Your beginning.

A/N: Did that NSFW statue of Loki that I saw the other day inspire the smut scene? No. Maybe. Yes. Absolutely, 100%.

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thehardy-boys · 8 months

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The Platform (Tommy Shelby x Reader)

Hey! Its literally been like forever but I've had some time to myself and actually written something. This was not requested or anything but I just got inspired with all the new content recently. Anyways, pls enjoy. It's a series so there will be more parts to the story.

Warnings: Sadness, negative thoughts, flirting if you squint (In the future -- smut 😏)

Part 1

(y/n) hadn’t planned on ever coming back.

“I’ll put your tea here then mum. Alright?” (y/n) spoke fairly loudly so the elderly woman could hear. She was nearing eighty and she had lost most of her sight and hearing. She was a ghost nearing on a corpse. But there was no one else to look after her. As these kinds of responsibilities usually fall on the women, the daughters, they fell on (y/n) just the same.

“I’m heading to work. Mrs. Iona will check in on you from time to time, alright?” The bedroom door was almost closed when she heard the slight mumble coming from the shriveled woman.

“Not supposed to be here. Don’t want her here. Take her away.”

She paused only for a moment suddenly hit with a wave of the past. The tide so strong it almost pulled her into its murky depths. But with the door closed and the sight of her mother taken away (y/n) turned her back and softly made her way out of her mother’s house.

She waved to Mrs. Iona as she shut the front gate and walked back down the street towards the main road. Her shoes already collecting the terrible coal dust.

She hated it here. The heavy air that the sunlight could never quite penetrate which resulted in the town being in a constant gloom. It made her skin crawl. The unhappiness was crippling. The drunkards already stumbling around the street at eleven o’clock in the morning, the starving children running back and forth, the haggard mothers one step closer to the grave and the dark alleys that were haunted with glistening knives, illegal pistols, and razor-sharp caps.

Get me out of here. Get me out of here. (y/n) screamed internally but she only pushed open the heavy wooden door of the newspaper agency and kindly greeted Mrs. Kelley the receptionist before making her way to the back of the building and sitting down at her desk. Another day. More editing. That was her lot in life: never to be the one writing and creating but only a ghost in the machine, a minion behind the scenes.

By the end of every long day at the newspaper house the words would blur into one huge muddle. She’d pack up her small bag, wish a good night to her boss Mr. Beavers, and head home. Her eyes would be sore and her brain throbbing with a headache. But that was just Small Heath, barely living.

(y/n) felt that she had something missing. She knew she had it when she was younger because of all her memories. The vibrancy of the trees she climbed, the scent of baking in the kitchen, the damp fur of their pet dogs after a rain storm. Everything was so vivid back then and full. Her eyes open and wanting, now she was shuttered, fragile, and tired. Her knees often ached and her neck sore from hunching over papers all day. She was decaying, slowly.

“(y/n)!” Her head popped up from her desk at the sound of her name. Polly Gray was making her way towards her. She was as formidable as (y/n) remembered. She rose up to return Polly’s hug.

“Mrs. Gray, It’s so nice to see you!” Polly squeezed a bit tighter. The warmth of her body rubbing off onto (y/n). She welcomed it. It had been so long since she had received any kind of touch.

“When the hell did you get back?”

“About a year now.”

“A year!? A whole year and you didn’t bother to drop me a line?” Her outrage wore the mask of humor but (y/n) could tell there was genuine worry, genuine hurt lurking behind it.

(y/n) shook her head in apology, “I know. I know. I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to come back here and then a lot happened and I’ve just been so busy Mrs. Gray. I’m really sorry.”

“No, I know (y/n). I heard what happened. Awful stuff. I had no idea you were here dealing with it all. You should have asked for help.”

(y/n) began to shake her head and ward off Polly’s offer when her boss’s door opened up behind her.

“Ah, Mrs. Gray and Mr. Shelby do come in.” He gestured warmly into his office.

Polly rubbed her arm before stepping inside.

A tall man had been standing behind Polly. (y/n) hadn’t noticed him in the frenzy of the greeting but she didn’t need an introduction. Nobody in Small Heath did. He was just as the ladies described him at the grocers she went to weekly: cold, inscrutable, foreboding, and dangerous.

(y/n) had lived in Small Heath only until she had turned thirteen and then her family had moved away. Her father had been close to Polly and consequently (y/n), over the years, had played with the young Shelby brothers. (y/n)’s older brother had gotten along well with Arthur and if she concentrated hard enough, she could remember playing hide and seek with Thomas and John Shelby. But it was all so long ago, and she realized she hadn’t seen any of them in over fifteen years. And yet she knew it was Thomas. She knew.

She wondered mildly if he remembered her, “(y/n) (l/n).” That was all he said with a quick nod he passed her by not glancing back and nor did she.

Polly left first and, on her way, reminded (y/n) to drop by. An hour or so later Thomas came out, as well. (y/n) was neck deep in the upcoming Sunday issue so she barely registered the figure standing next to her desk.

“Oh, Mr. Shelby! Did Mr. Beavers ask me to get you any forms?” She pushed away her paper hurriedly and stood up.

He shook his head slowly and continued to stare at her, hands deep in his pockets.

She tilted her head as a question, and he only shrugged slightly.

“I was trying to remember why you left, all those years ago.”

(y/n) sat back down. A flicker of fear coursed through her at the reminder of their family’s departure. A broken window, her father’s bruised face, and her mother’s hands constantly trembling.

“It wasn’t my decision; it was my parents.” She didn’t look up at him and instead pulled her papers back towards her. She didn’t want to sift through all those years. She could barely make it through the present.

He must have sensed the finality because he bid her good day and left but his stare stayed with her all day and even into the night. The frostiness of the blue. The condemnation they held for humanity.

Mr. Beavers explained the next morning that they were starting a partnership with Shelby Limited. They would be expanding their sports column to include more articles on the races. Mr. Beavers excitedly described the hope for a few informative articles on the intricacies of horse racing, training, and breeding. But it wasn’t just about horses Mr. Beavers went on, being attached to Shelby Limited allowed them an easy avenue for new stories and information. It was a ready-made news source.

“All this in exchange for what?” (y/n) asked.

“We give Mr. Shelby’s races publicity and well…occasionally we would publish or not publish certain articles for the company.”

(y/n) crossed her arms, “So they can censor us? What stops them from completely taking over the paper? What if next week they decide they don’t want the Theatre column? Evan and Nate would be out of the job.”

Mr. Beavers frantically shook his head, “It’s not like that, not like that at all. I know Mrs. Gray and I trust her. The company is not interested in that kind of control. I mean we’re only a small agency, (y/n).”

And thus, the partnership began and now not just (y/n) felt the steely stare of Mr. Shelby, but the entirety of the agency did.

It started slowly but Thomas began to come by once or twice a week. It was usually on Tuesdays and Thursdays. (y/n) learned from Mr. Beavers that they were working on a contract. She would here the tell-tale sound of expensive shoes on the marble floor and know even without looking up who it was. Thomas Shelby walked with such authority in his three piece suits all the young ladies at the agency were already gossiping about him during their lunch breaks. But (y/n) kept her distance.

She had always been an outsider in Small Heath. The community never welcomed her family, something to do with their Jewish ties. And now, after returning, people were even more wary. (y/n) could tell there were whispers behind her back. She ignored the fake apologies about the missing invitation when she caught her colleagues out for a bite to eat all together. It didn’t bother her, not really.

“Mr. Shelby, Mr. Beavers will be right out. His previous meeting’s running a bit late. Please sit down if you’d like.” She gestured to the few arm chairs by the window. He only nodded and sat. He lit his cigarette and did what he always seemed to do around her, stare. And she ignored him in favor of the monumental stack of paperwork in front of her.

“How much do they pay you here?” He asked out of the blue. His deep voice easily cutting through her concentration.

She looked over, “Minimum wage.”

“For all that?” He raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

(y/n) shrugged.

“You edit, organize, design, and manage each issue and only get minimum wage?”

“I’m not in a position to be picky, Mr. Shelby.” She bristled a bit.

He took another drag and let the smoke column upwards. He did look beautiful with the sunlight streaming in behind him. It caught the contours of his angular face and she thought yeah, I think I get it now.

He cleared his throat and sat back satisfied her attention was now on him, “Don’t you remember me?”

“Yes. I mean we were just kids.” She shrugged lightly.

“We met on the platform.” He took another inhale of his smoke, “After the war.”

(y/n) blinked.

“Yes, we did.” Her throat had gone dry.

He opened his mouth to continue but “(y/n)! I need the consumer reports.” It was Evelyn from the market section. Her plump red lips perking up at the sight of Thomas. (y/n) had the feeling Evelyn already knew he would be here; the reports weren’t needed until the end of the day.

“Yes. Here they are.” (y/n) sifted through her desk and handed over the packet.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Evelyn asked. She played with a few loose strands of her hair.

“Oh. Uh-Mr. Shelby this is Ms. Lowe. Ms. Lowe, Mr. Shelby from Shelby Limited.”

“Ever so pleased to meet you, sir.” She placed a sneaky hand on her hip and shifted her weight a tad to conform her body into an elegant pose.

And she was attractive (y/n) had to admit. She was young and full of vigor. Her hair always done to perfection and makeup never smudged. She looked like a movie star. She looked like a woman all men would fall head over heels for. (y/n) inwardly cringed. She could only imagine what she must look like next to this creature of beauty.

But when (y/n) looked over to see Thomas’ reaction, he seemingly hadn’t stopped looking at her. Only when their eyes met did Thomas glance over at Evelyn and give a slight nod.

“Mr. Shelby! Please come in, come in! I do apologize about the delay!” Mr. Beavers rushed out and hurriedly greeted the businessman.

After the door closed Evelyn let out a huff. She handed back the packet to (y/n).

“I don’t even need these. I just wanted him to get a look if you know what I mean.”

(y/n) gave a small smile hoping to be rid of the superficial woman but she had one last request.

“Put in a few good words for me, will you? He always comes by your desk. Just drop in a few hints?”

(y/n) sighed and re-organized a few papers, “I’ll try my best Evelyn, but I can’t promise anything.”

A few hours later, Evelyn really did come and collect the consumer reports but lucky for her the office door opened and the two men appeared.

“And wonderful (y/n) here will get the correct form for you to sign Mr. Shelby. Let’s organize a convenient day for her to drop the upcoming issue down at your office weekly.”

Evelyn who was too quick easily swooped in without any hesitation, “I can help, Mr. Beavers. You know that I have a much more open schedule than (y/n). I’d be happy to deliver the issue.” She smiled blindingly.

(y/n) just sat there watching the whole thing unfold. In fact, she was actually grateful Evelyn was sticking her nose into it because she didn’t want to see more of Thomas than she already had these past few weeks.

“That is true, Mr. Beavers. Evelyn has a bit more time on her hands these days.”

The boss was beginning to make the face of agreement before, “I’d like Ms. (l/n) to be the one making the deliveries.”

And there was no room for argument with Mr. Shelby.

“Of course, whatever works best for Mr. Shelby. Let’s say every Thursday?” Mr. Beavers heartily clasped the man’s hand and then beckoned Evelyn into his office for a round up on the recent reports. (y/n) didn’t miss the venomous look the other woman shot her.

(y/n) opened her desk drawer and took out the mentioned form that needed the signature.

“Just here, Mr. Shelby.” She held out a pen for him without bothering to look up. This turned out to be a bad idea because she jumped in surprise as he partially leaned over her to sign the paper. He smelled of oak and whisky. He carried the scent of the past.

She remembered seeing his eyes in the sea of green uniforms on the platform. And she knew. She just knew. After all those years. She had walked towards him. He stood there waiting for her. His beautiful blue eyes. That beautiful face.

“(y/n) (l/n).” He had said her name then with such certainty like it was law. Like it had some kind of divine meaning and not just a jumble of letters.

“Is that all?” He asked setting the pen down.

She cleared her throat, “Yes.”

She expected him to be on his way, but she looked up when she never heard the retreating footsteps. He still stood next to her one hand on the back of her chair. Looking down at her.

“Did you not expect me to remember you?”

She clenched her jaw, “Why would I expect you to remember me?”

He furrowed his brow and walked away.

Part 2

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chaotic-orphan · 2 months

Text

Febuwhump: Day Twenty-Six

“Help them” — #febuwhump prompt calendar

Almost over!! Eeek!! I need to get all the prompts done! And my assignments are coming due but what is more important honestly?!

*~*~*~*~*

Hero brought Villain to supervillain cradled in their arms, paler than milk. It made everything look worse somehow… the dark circles around their eyes looked more like bruises now, deep purple and sore reds. Henchmen narrowed their eyes when they opened the door to see Hero standing there, covered in blood and an unconscious Villain cradled in their arms like a baby.

“I need to see Supervillain,” said Hero thickly. Henchmen raised their brows, clearly unimpressed. Hero stepped in, desperation driving them. “Please… I wouldn’t be here if there was any other way. You know Villain, henchmen please.”

Henchmen’s eyes flicked from Villain to Hero before setting their mouth in a thin line and stepping back into the house, opening the door wider.

“Thank you,” Hero breathed.

“I’m not doing this for you.”

“I know, thank you anyway. I’m grateful.”

Henchmen guided Hero to the stairs down to Supervillain’s workshop that took up the entire basement, renovated to suit Supervillain’s needs. Hero thanked Henchmen again before descending to the sounds of the door shutting behind them.

“Henchmen, if this is about tea again, I told you I’m fi—” Supervillain grumbled coming to see the intruder on the stairs. He paused, continuing to wipe his fingers in a cloth. Supervillain’s eyes took in Hero, the state of them, then focused on Villain in Hero’s arms.

Supervillain’s gaze when it returned to Hero’s eyes was heavier, weighted by their shared history. Supervillain turned away and said: “I’m closed for the day, little Hero.”

“Please.” The word was blubbered out of Hero’s lips before they could reign it in, the desperation, the despair, the panic. It caused Supervillain to pause again.

“Help them,” Hero whispered, sniffing, tears streaming down their cheeks Hero wished wouldn’t shed in front of the deadliest Villain in the entire city. “Please.”

“I told you,” said Supervillain, looking at Hero over their shoulder. “That if you walked out the door Villain was your problem. I told Villain that too. I didn’t walk, Hero. You did.”

“I’ll beg,” Hero told them taking another step down the stairs. “I’ll stay, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll give up being a Hero, I’ll stay here with you and we can start again.”

Supervillain scoffed, casting their gaze to the ceiling instead of anywhere else. “You’d give up your freedom for that mongrel?”

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation. No hitch in Hero’s voice, no doubt.

Hero watched Supervillain’s back stiffen at the immediacy of Hero’s reply, and the guilt overwhelmed them but it was the truth. The one truth Hero would live and die by, sacrifice their freedom for. If it meant Villain lived.

Supervillain started walking again, their voice quieter as they said: “you can set them down on this table here. Then leave. I don’t need you lurking over me while I work.”

“But—” Hero protested as they set Villain on the table. The rest of their protest died on their tongue when Supervillain cut them with a glare.

“Just upstairs, you don’t have to leave. You can shower, tend to your wounds yourself.”

Hero nodded and sniffed, “oh—okay.”

Hero pressed a kiss to Villain’s forehead before they sniffed and turned to leave. Supervillain spoke and it halted Hero in their stride.

“This will cost you dearly, Hero,” they said, voice grave. Hero nodded and said: “I know.”

That’s all they said, that was all there was to say. Hero walked back up the stairs to the main house. Henchmen was waiting beside the door, arms crossed over their chest, head reclining against the wall. Hero thought Henchmen would be surprised to see Hero without Villain, but Henchmen just scoffed, shaking their head.

“They never could say no to you,” they told Hero. Their eyes were burning with scorn when they fixed on Hero’s face. “What did you do? Sell your soul? You know they won’t do that for nothing.”

“I know,” said Hero softly, too tired to fight anymore. “I’m— I’m going to lie down.”

Henchmen pushed off the wall, haughty. “Do whatever you want, Hero. It’s what you always do anyways.”

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apomaro-mellow · 1 year

Text

Part One of Steve Disappearing

Eddie still remembers the last kiss he gave his husband. It was a soft thing. A promise.

“I’ll be back for more later”, Steve had said, grinning. Cheeky. Eddie had appreciated it at the time. Steve was more experienced with this sort of stuff. If he was being this easy-going, then surely the job had to be an easy one, right? Just a quick in and out.

Eddie wishes he had gone too. Maybe if he did...

Sometimes he wished Steve didn’t go. There were plenty of resourceful and strong folks on their team. Sometimes Eddie would peek into Lucy’s room. He’d imagine what her life would’ve been like if neither father had returned.

What if Eddie alone was the one that disappeared? Steve was like a professional dad. Even now, Eddie felt like he wasn’t doing enough. Like he wasn’t enough. Like Lucy would’ve been better off with someone else.

But those days she beamed at him when he made her favorite chocolate chip pancakes, or came home from school with a test she did well on, or pulled him excitedly to sit down for movie night....It was in those moments that he heard Steve’s voice, telling him he was more than enough.

Eddie had never ever EVER thought he’d have to tell his little girl about the real monsters of the world. But Steve had been gone for three years. And if they were going to hold a funeral, she deserved to know the real reason. She was about the same age as Dustin when he first found out about all of this. And his kid was way more badass than Dustin.

Lucy was about to rush out the door when he caught her.

“Hey, can we talk?”

“Can it be later dad? I really need to go see Noah.”

Eddie let out a sigh but he figured this could wait for a couple more hours. “Go on then. You know the drill.”

“Back before dark, call if I’m gonna be late, don’t talk to suits!”, she called out as she left the house.

Eddie smiled to himself. All the typical things a parent would tell their child. But he knew what lurked in the dark. He knew what a missed call could be and he knew even the nicest looking suits would shoot a kid if it meant covering up a failed telekinesis project. Well, failed in they never fully militarized El. She was very clearly a success in every other way.

Lucy went to Noah’s house, picture in her bookbag, and showed it to him.

“These are your dads?”

“Yeah, I think they were in a gang. Anyway, I think that’s what happened to my dad. Someone from a rival gang killed him.”

“They could just be in costume”, Noah said, pushing up his glasses. They sat in his living room, tv put on to something to make it look like they were watching while his mom did work in the kitchen.

Lucy looked uncertain now. “You think?”

“Why would they have gang photos? Wouldn’t you destroy the evidence?”

It didn’t make entire sense that they would have it. Or that they’d be looking at it where Lucy could find it on their own.

“Well, they were drinking. And you know what alcohol does. Anyway, this is officially a mystery. And we’ve gotta solve it.”

“Your....your dad’s murder?”

She stiffened when he said it like that, even though it had been exactly what she was envisioning. “Let’s call it his disappearance. I haven’t proven anything yet.”

“Did you ask your other dad?”

“He’s not gonna tell me anything.”

“Anyone else in your family?”

Lucy thought about her family. It wasn’t entirely traditional. Most people had a mom, dad, and then all the extras related by blood. Lucy didn’t know either of her grandparents. All of her aunts and uncles were family friends. And seeing as none of them talked about it, she knew she couldn’t get any answers from them.

There was one though. One who was removed enough that he might not tell her everything but he wouldn’t hide away either.

“I gotta call my Uncle Wayne.”

Eddie’s in the middle of deciding if they should get takeout or if he should cook, perusing delivery menus when the phone rings.

“Yup?”

“Eddie, it’s Wayne.”

“And to what do I owe the honor?”, Eddie asked, trying to think of any special events coming up that he might’ve forgotten. They had just talked last week about the possibility of a fishing trip, maybe he was trying to finalize that?

“Just got off the phone with Lucy, wanted to get to you before she got home.”

“What’d she call for?”

“She was askin’ about Steve.”

Eddie felt his stomach drop. Just hearing that name still did things to him but for the wrong reasons now. In the time since Vecna, Eddie had given his uncle an abridged story. His bat bites were all the proof he needed but he also had the alibis of everyone else. So when Steve disappeared, Wayne got the rundown so it didn’t seem like Eddie was deluding himself.

“Sounds like she’s getting curious. I’m telling her today Wayne.”

“You sure she can handle it?”

Eddie thought about the time Lucy took a hard fall of her tricycle, got a gravel-filled gash on her arm and immediately got back onto her trike; the time she got into a fight with not one but two girls for picking on her; the time she decided at 5 that she was too old for stuffed animals and gave one each to her fathers so that they could sleep at night.

“That girl can handle anything.”

#stranger things #steddie #apo writes #fanfiction

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fanficsiwillneverwrite · 10 months

Text

This will probably be the last “sneak peak” until I eventually post the complete work. Don’t know yet if this will be a multi chapter fic or if I’ll try to write it all in one go

Also, I have to think of a new title because I realize it basically gives away the entire plot (and the twist) of the fic. But if you’re familiar with my other work, you’ll sorta know where I’m heading with this. Sorta.

Anyway,

On a brisk autumn day Aziraphale sits quietly in what will eventually become a souvenir shop in an area not yet calling itself Soho, London. It is right now a growing settlement within the freshly named Kingdom of England. He very much enjoys sitting and watching humans get on with their impassioned—nathaless, very short—lives at a safe distance with little interference, and this place in particular brings something quite unique to the whole experience. Perhaps it is the song they carry inside them, despite inevitable human hardships. Or the natural friendliness each person emulates around each other. Or the laughter coming from the bellies of nearby children playing beside the water. Whatever it may be, love and therefore God exists within it.

This all is observed in his first visit to the eventual town called Soho, for he knew he would surely return. Around his third visit, the people seem much more trustful of his appearance. He is still a stranger to them, of course, a wanderer with no intention of settling, but they understand he is no threat.

“What is it you are doing?” asks a small voice one day while he is painting. A new leisure activity taken up to mimic human existence. His hobby of book collecting is still quite brand new and a headache to track in these early years of literacy.

His name is Eustace, the small voice beside him. A young boy of eleven nearly twelve with innocent eyes and a mischievous look about him. He is very much the definition of adversity, somehow always stuck in the between stages of no good with his father no longer existing and his mother, a most notable adulteress. That is, a whore to the non-angels.

“Painting,” Aziraphale says placidly, though art is like literature in that it has not yet become itself. He uses minerals and organic pigments to revive the sight before him: overgrown strips of various greens blowing in the hectic blue wind with splashes of amber and crimson imitating the setting sun. The boy, curious, touches Aziraphale’s knuckle and follows along as the angel paints. He allows the moment to linger before looking up. “Would you like to have a go?”

Eustace nods, sitting. It is the quietest the boy has ever been. It is the quietest the boy will ever be. He splatters two wobbly shapes onto the wooden panel, exclaiming, “Us,” quite contently.

“Us,” agrees the angel, equally content with the extra additions to his painting.

Eustace—who was born about one hundred years too early to have a last name—is good natured at heart, but has a dreadful temper. “The boy needs discipline is all,” were the wise but drunken words of his father before his timely death just two weeks later.

It is a universal fact that all humans need discipline. Without discipline, they are at risk of becoming permanent pests to society, which include but are not limited to becoming flat earthers, loud chewers, murderers, Tiktok influencers and, of course, fallen angels.

Crowley’s shadow suddenly looms over them. And something inside Aziraphale bubbles, clearly a heightened angel instinct to know when demons are lurking. “Right now, off you go,” he tells the boy calmly but quickly as they stand.

Crowley half-heartedly—perhaps even playfully—kicks the boy as he leaves. “You and your little human pets,” the demon says with a mephitic scent on his breath.

Aziraphale shrinks. “Humans… are not pets,” he insists. They are God’s children and he is to watch over them until he receives orders saying otherwise.

“Hope you’re not too attached to this lot,” he continues, looking on at the growing community around them. “I’ve got direct orders from the big boy downstairs. They’re to all perish in three weeks time. No survivors.”

“Oh,” says Aziraphale, furrowing his brow. He looks over at the young boy now skipping along the pathway back to his home, blissfully unaware. There is always the hopeful chance these humans find power within themselves and refuse temptation this time around—after all, they are good people, deep down—but Crowley is rather exceptional at his job. And it only takes one wrong person to start a righteous war.

“I haven’t yet decided how I’ll go about it,” Crowley continues. “Maybe I’ll pick the biggest drunkest bloke of the bunch and punch him silly, then disappear into the night and let nature take its course.”

Demons, surprisingly, scarcely kill. It is listed in their job description, but they rarely find it necessary. Aziraphale is not even sure Crowley has ever physically harmed a human being outside of a punch in the face or a swing of a heavy tree branch to their unmentionables. Human brains, though very much full of bright ideas and creativity, tend to easily fall privy to violence. But they are still fairly brand new in the grand scheme of things; they barely make toddlerhood compared to the rest of the universe.

“It’s all part of God’s plan,” Aziraphale says with a timorous nod. “I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” agrees Crowley absentmindedly. He takes a short pause before continuing, “Do you think it’ll be cheating if I got the lord of the manor involved? Maybe tempt him with even more greed and power?” He turns to Aziraphale, but receives no answer. Only a look of worry. He quite likes the village as it is. Crowley waves it off. “Ah, I’ll figure it out. I’ve got three weeks.” His attention turns to the painting, and he yanks it away from the angel. “What’s this?”

Aziraphale takes it back and looks at it fondly. “Us,” he says after a moment, then starts in the direction of the village.

“Us?” The demon follows suit, though a few steps behind. “What do you mean, us?”

He does not answer and continues along the path. A mother and her daughter draw near. The daughter carefully carries buckets of fresh pails of water in each hand. They smile and nod in the same way Aziraphale does as they move around him. And there is hopefulness in the air that humans can overcome any obstacle the Devil throws at them—that is until the daughter abruptly throws one bucket to the ground and dumps the other over her mother’s unsuspecting head when they near Crowley. The mother, quite reasonably, lets out a horrified shriek as she stands there soaking wet.

“Oh dear,” mumbles the angel at the sight before him. The demon simply smiles, smugly, as the mother begins chastising her ungrateful daughter. Aziraphale looks at him disapprovingly.

The Devil always starts small like this. A misbehaving daughter is promptly written off as teenage rebellion or even bad parenting to the world around her. But a daughter’s suddenly sour mood quickly rubs off on others, and soon it is the entire village misbehaving. No longer is it simply mothers and daughters fighting, it is an entire village: neighbors arguing over property line, drunkard men brawling over women who barely give them second glances, lords terrorizing their workers, and even people plotting coups. Crawley happily reports to the demons down below that he is ahead of schedule ten days in.

Angel and demon stand now together as pandemonium erupts around them. “It’s too easy sometimes,” remarks the demon dryly as they take in their surroundings. One man stands before an angry mob, plotting against their local but tyrannical—all thanks to Crowley—leader. A few others nearby spit at his stupidity and cook up a plan of their own. Both will be dead by the end of the week.

“They will learn from this,” says Aziraphale with certainty.

“Hey there, boy,” calls out Crowley to the boy, Eustace, walking past. He gathers a stick and stone from the ground below and tosses it over to him, then points. “Go try setting that hut on fire.”

Eustace almost complies, but Aziraphale interferes and orders the boy to say his prayers instead.

“Hampering with the ineffable plan, are we?” teases Crowley.

“You can at least spare the children.”

Aziraphale and Crowley have always been on relatively good terms throughout the years, despite their obvious differences. It makes little sense to be at each other’s throats constantly when they work so closely together. “Nope. No survivors, remember?” But they are still—by definition—enemies.

—

The lord of the manor intervenes on day thirteen when he finds his profits have halted. He demands order from his people. They try to hang him.

It takes about sixteen days to destroy the not yet Soho village and everyone in it. A new personal record for Crowley. He thinks about finding the angel—who fled as soon as the killing started—to gloat about his success, but it might be too soon. Later, when Aziraphale’s nerves settle. Instead, he takes in the scene before him: smoky air, torched huts and bodies all around—he barely even lifted a finger. Humans are and will always be the Devil’s playthings.

“What happens now?” questions a small and nervous voice beside him.

Crowley is fuming at the very sight of the little boy. His teeth clench and his snake eyes bulge. It looks almost like he might burst. “NO SURVIVORS!” he yells out to no one, because Aziraphale is long gone.

Aziraphale makes a habit of performing small miracles each day. Simple miracles, really, like vanishing the clouds to create a perfectly sunny day, or planting a coin for someone to find later, or repairing broken down bicycles. He rarely regrets them, even the ones he is reprimanded for by the heavenly authorities upstairs. But in the many years to come after this miracle is granted, he does look back on it with remorse.

“Jump into that fire there,” Crowley demands, snapping his fingers frantically in the boy’s face. The boy’s eyes blink rapidly in discomfort, but he makes no effort to move. The demon then slaps him, half heartedly. He is, after all, only a child—Crowley is a demon, not a monster. “Come on, boy. Into the fire!” He whistles in a way an owner might call his dog. It does not intimidate the boy. “Kill yourself!” He takes away his eyewear and reveals his true colors in a last attempt to scare him into death. The boy merely lifts his eyebrows in shock. But, like everything else, it does not frighten him. “Have it your way,” he mutters, putting his eyewear back on. Finally defeated, he begins walking away. “Some poor bastard will probably end up killing you, anyway…”

The boy follows, much to the demon’s dismay. “What are you?”

“A demon,” he answers boredly. “Go away.”

“You did all this?”

An ordinary reaction to quite an extraordinary event, especially for a boy so young, but the truth is Eustace has no real fondness of this village or the people who previously occupied it. Not like the peculiar angelic-like stranger who visits from time to time. He has no memory of his father and his mother preferred the company of grisly old men over her own son. And because of this upbringing, the villagers did not treat him kindly. In return, the boy wreaked havoc with vengeance. In his eyes, a demon is a blessing compared to his previous state of living.

“Yep.”

“But why?”

“It’s my job.”

“You kill people?”

“I tempt people to kill other people.” There is a difference. He stops and bends to meet the boy and tips his eyewear to reveal his eyes again. “You ask a lot of questions.”

The boy shrugs. “You have a lot of answers.”

Crowley’s lip twitches up slightly. “Look, you’ve been spared, so go out and… live. Find another village. Rebuild this one, if you want. I don’t care. Just stop following me.” He begins walking again.

“Can’t I come with you?”

“No.” Despite his answer, the boy still follows.

It goes on like this for another few days. Crowley wanders; the boy follows. He can easily abandon the child, fly off somewhere the boy can never reach, but something tugs at him to stay. He stops to piss, or that other thing, and Crowley, for an unknown reason, waits. He stops to eat. Crowley waits. He stops to sleep. Crowley keeps watch. And then they continue walking, silently together. Eventually he decides the boy is his thrall, his pet, who will bend to his every will and do all his unnecessary tasks. He has been asking for something of the sort for a while now, but downstairs has yet to get back to him on it.

#fanfiction #fanfic #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #good omens fandom #good omens fic #tw abuse #(not really but I want to be safe than sorry in case someone reads ‘kill yourself’ and gets triggered)#tw: threats

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imabillyami · 2 months

Text

“Billy, where the fuck have you been lately?”

I’ve been mostly trying to get my personal life back on track. I’ll be celebrating 2 years drug/alcohol free on April 1st and to honor that, I wanted to get things a bit more in order again.

The results are mixed, but I’m working on it.

I’ve really been enjoying my time away from Wrestling and Tumblr lately, only really talking to my friends and people I’m developing great friendships with on discord and irl lately.

The break from Wrestling (outside of the occasional nxt episode and PLEs) is much needed for me, cause I do not enjoy main roster WWE writing at all lately.

I don’t wanna ruin it for the people enjoying it though and I especially don’t wanna have discussions with strangers on the internet about it. If I wanna bitch about something, I’ll do so in private, except for when I have *moments* and end up bitching online anyway. But those are very rare and far inbetween.

Everyone can do with their internet presence what they want, it’s not my place to judge or tell anyone what to do. I personally just don’t wanna expose myself to the level of negativity the fandom sometimes exudes.

And I’m not dealing with stupid unnecessary hate messages either or childish indirecting either. Been there, dealt with that, and I’m personally way past the point where I’m willing to give it any time of my day.

I wanna be a positive online presence, with strong opinions still, yes. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be kind about them and respect other opinions.

Anyway, I’m rambling.

Spring is finally coming, the sun finally made a big return, so I’m trying to soak up as much Vitamin D as I possibly can while chatting with the people who are very dear to me.

If you want to add me on discord, just message me here first, I’ll be super happy to talk to you over there and maybe even strike up a friendship if we click with each other.

As for my fic writing: It’s slow. I’m still writing for the Samijey fandom and I still love doing it, but staying on top of my life and chatting to/ taking care of friends has been the priority for me these past few weeks. Writing is still going though, just gotta be patient about it.

I’m not putting pressure on myself to publish anymore, cause that sucks the joy right out of it. I love sharing my writing with all of you and I love your feedback, but it’s not meant to be the reason I write. At least not the main one. I’m writing for my own enjoyment and as a creative release first and foremost and that’s how it’s supposed to be, at least in my case.

So yeah. Sunshine, hard work staying on top of things, friendship and support have been my main focus lately and I’m actually quite happy with that.

I’ll be back more frequently and be more active in the fandom again once I see something I enjoy being shown on tv, until then, feel free to reach out about the discord thing and please never stop tagging me in posts on this silly website, I love coming back and catching up with what y’all have been up to!

For now, hugs and kisses to y’all.

(I’ll be lurking around lmao)

p.s.: I was made aware that there apparently was a whole ass hate campaign against me happening in private messages. If you listened to that and chose to believe it, you missed out on talking to me and that’s honestly your loss. I was not aware of having beef or animosity with anyone around here is all I can say to that 🤷 Spread love like legs ✌️

#life update #m writes #billy writes #sobriety #only good things

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minachan95-written-works-on-ao3 · 2 years

Text

Title: If One Wasn't Enough Already… Chapter 6.

Fandom: King of Fighters

Pairing: Iori Yagami x Kyo Kusanagi

Characters: Kyo Kusanagi, Iori Yagami, Shingo Yabuki, Chizuru Kagura

Status: Completed (10 chapters) Summary: [The remake of 2 Kyos - 1 Yagami] [This story is set in between KOF96 and KOF97]

When everything seem to back to normal, Kyo has no idea about the new opponent lurking just around the corner, who might be a more intimidating and fearsome, than other foes. Who is this youngman? How did he got there? What kind of business he has with Iori? Read and find out.

AO3 Link

It is only the beginning of the new day. However, for someone, it’s already ruined. The redhead would have slept for a little more if it wasn’t for one tiny detail - it is so chill.

While he lies on the left side, he tries to grab the blanket from behind. But no matter where he lands his hand, he cannot find it.

Suddenly, Iori widens his eyes as he feels grabbing something along with the missing blanket.

Without looking back, his hand continues to grope whoever that slightly moving thing is. More so, it lets out sweet groaning noises too! That voice behind Yagami’s back is familiar, and he doesn’t like this at all.

The irritated redhead rolls to his other side to see who is this pesky fellow who ruined his not even started day.

To his surprise, it is someone sleeping wrapped in a blanket cocoon. With no further ado, Iori destroys it by tossing the blanket with a sudden move.

Unfortunately, instead of a pretty butterfly or moth, the Kusanagi, who wears a blue pajama, curled into a ball. That intruder even dares to sleep like a kitten.

Suddenly, the redhead gets alerted and checks himself. Yet, he feels relieved that all his clothes are on him and not missing.

‘‘That fucking brat better not have done anything weird. Otherwise, there will be one Kusanagi less on this Earth.’’ Or so, the redhead wonders as he observes the impostor.

Meanwhile, the brunette slowly opens his eyes and complains in a sleepy voice ‘‘What’s your problem, huh? Is it morning already? Just give me five more minutes, you idiot. Oh, and pass me a blanket. It’s cold, you know~’’.

After such demands, the Kusanagi’s heir delightfully closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

However, Iori has other plans for his not so lovely guest. When Yagami leaves the bed, he heads to the kitchen.

_______________

When the redhead returns with a glass of water, he exhales and addresses Kyo ‘‘So, you’re going to play like this…’’.

After he gets close to the bedside, he splashes the ice-cold water on the insolent Kusanagi.

Suddenly, the brunette rises from his slumber and lets out his wrath ‘‘What the fuck is that all about!? Are you out of your fucking mind? Or are you asking for problems? You better prepare yourself, you fucking asshole! ‘Cos when I get you… I… I… You better ask for mercy now!’’.

While Kyo widens his eyes and roughly breathes, he wipes his face.

Yet, such an intimidating and furious gaze doesn’t affect the redhead, who stares indifferently.

After a brief pause, Yagami replies in a strict tone ‘‘Who said that you are allowed to do what you want? Did you forget your place? If so, I’ll gladly remind you.’’.

‘‘ ‘‘Who?’’ he asks… Don’t tell me what to do! Besides, have you forgotten who was the first one who brought me here and took care of me?’’ The Kusanagi indignantly asks his rival without removing his eyes from him.

Iori only raises his eyebrow ‘‘What are you talking about?’’.

For some reason, Yagami’s question surprises the brunette, and turns his head away from the redhead.

After Kyo returns his gaze, he replies in a nearly disappointed voice ‘‘Anyway, have thought that I gonna sleep together with that stupid clone just because you told me?’’.

Lastly, the brunette defends himself ‘‘Dunno if that would make you feel better. Listen, I did nothing wrong with you! All I did is sleep next to you if that is why you are mad. Besides, the previous times you didn’t seem to mind it even after… Well, you know what I’m talking about, right?’’.

Yagami cannot understand why the brunette makes such innocent eyes.

‘Is that fool mocks me? What a hell he tries to achieve?’ Iori wonders. In the end, he facepalms and sighs ‘‘Why are you doing this?’’.

Kyo continues explaining while keeping his hand on his chest ‘‘It’s not my fault that cheapskate kicked me off the couch. He does not know with whom he messes around, does he? Even for a clone, he acts too arrogant when he is sleeping.’’.

As the brunette grasps his chest, he complains ‘‘That stupid bastard… I’ll show him what happens when someone messes with me!’’. Lastly, he furrows his eyebrows and murmurs something.

However, Yagami’s patience is almost gone. Instead of throwing away the intruder, Iori replies in an exhausted voice ‘‘Sure thing. Do as you please. But for now, we need to prepare for today’s trip.’’.

Kyo gives the questioning stare at the redhead and asks ‘‘What do you mean by that? Did you plan anything?’’.

Iori briefly answers ‘‘You’ll see. But first, wake up your twin. Then, I’ll explain the rest in the living room.’’.

Even if the brunette does not know about what’s inside Yagami’s head, yet, he is ready to do anything to prove that he is the original one. Perhaps that will help Iori realize he made a big mistake by aiding someone whom he hates more than anything.

But for now, Kyo leaves the redhead alone in the bedroom.

____________

Some time passed. The older brunette reaches the couch where his look-alike is deeply asleep. After he gets in front of the younger Kusanagi, Kyo roughly grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him ‘‘Oi, wake up, you lazy-ass! You can sleep all you want when you’re dead.’’.

However, the brunette in brown pajama turns away and hides under the blanket while indignantly replying ‘‘I got it! Just go away, you stupid bastard!’’.

The older Kyo backfires with a mocking tone while cracking his knuckles ‘‘Tsk, do as you please. But don’t blame me if you’ll get hurt. After all, I was kind enough to warn you~’’.

Suddenly, the Kusanagi in blue feels alerted by the menacing aura behind him. Once he turns around, he notices Iori, who is dressed in his casual clothes.

Yet, the brunette addresses him ‘‘Don’t stare at me like that! I tried to wake him up nicely, but that idiot ignores me.’’.

Iori only rolls his eyes and approaches the other Kusanagi while the older Kyo delightfully smiles.

After the redhead removes the blanket, he complains to the younger twin ‘‘Why do you have to act like this? I don’t know why did you team up against me. But once I figure it out, one of you will have an eternal rest while the other one will pay for pissing me off.’’.

As the younger brunette faces him like a kitten who got scolded for no reason, Yagami asks him ‘‘Do you realize that you’re making this more difficult for yourself? So, stop playing around.’’.

Just as Iori turns around and is about to leave, he widens his eyes when the younger Kusanagi holds into his sleeve.

After turning around, he notices Kyo making innocent eyes while asking in an embarrassed tone ‘‘Um, I know it is a weird thing, but could you lend me your clothes?’’.

Meanwhile, the older Kusanagi is not pleased by his clone’s behavior, nor how he poorly attempts to seduce Iori. The Kyo in blue scolds his replica ‘‘Oi! Do not act like that, you cheapskate. Yagami is maybe dumb, but not that he would fall for your tricks, clone. One wrong move and I’ll remind your place.’’.

When he rolls his pajama sleeve, he raises his hand and ignites it. In the end, the bright orange flame dancing on the older Kyo’s palm is enough to provoke a so-called replica.

After the younger brunette pushes Yagami aside, he repeats the same movement as his opponent. Lastly, both cannot remove their eyes from each other while impatiently waiting for when one of them will make the first move.

Meanwhile, Iori cannot decide if he should smack these fools or step back and observe the view in front of him.

Besides, it is a lifetime chance to see how Kyo would fight someone who looks like him. Maybe it will help to figure out which of these Kusanagi is real and which is just a fine actor.

On the other hand, Yagami’s apartment may not survive such a deadly battle, and he would have nowhere to go. Yet, since both Kyos are too busy and ignore Iori’s presence, he can always step in and knock them out.

Meanwhile, the older brunette makes the first move by mocking his enemy ‘‘What’s wrong? Are you scared that you cannot handle the original? Don’t worry, I may be gentle this time, and I’ll go easy on you if you beg me~’’.

However, the younger Kyo backfires in the same way ‘‘Ooh, can you see how am I shaking, you third-rate cosplayer? Where did you learn this cheap trick? Even Shingo can make a better flame than you~’’.

Suddenly, the other Kusanagi widens his eyes and frowns. After crushing the flame on his palm, Kyo in blue cockily approaches his opponent and declares to him ‘‘Then, don’t blame if you get burned, punk.’’.

Lastly, the younger brunette dims his flame and backfires ‘‘Bring it on!’’.

However, before the match begins, Iori interrupts them ‘‘Just a quick reminder before you plan to do anything else. If you destroy anything in this house, you will need to pay for it.’’.

The younger Kyo only dumbfounded stares at Yagami ‘‘What are you talking about? Do I look like I’m made of money?’’.

‘‘That’s none of my problems. If you know how to cause trouble, then you should also like to take responsibility for it.’’ The redhead briefly answers in a serious tone.

When Iori notices how the other Kusanagi smiles like an idiot, he explains ‘‘What’s so funny? This rule also applies to you. Because you must do the house chores until you pay the debt.’’.

Yet, the older brunette is not satisfied with such a decision. Once Kyo is in blue boldly approaches Iori and places his hand on the redhead’s shoulder, he speaks up ‘‘What’s your goddamn problem? If you want to hire a maid, do so. Listen, you can use that cheap clone as your slave. Besides, he is not even a human. So, you don’t need to treat him as one.’’.

After he swooshes his hair, he gives a mocking gaze ‘‘Anyway, what else oh-so-great Yagami-sama will think? No, no. Don’t tell me ‘cos I know. How about you add the maid outfit as the punishment and serve all master Iori’s needs?’’.

However, Iori doesn’t give in to the Kusanagi’s provocation. When the redhead takes a step back, he backfires in an annoyed voice ‘‘If you are into this, go ahead. But you need to buy it on your own and make sure that I won’t see you wearing it.’’.

Unfortunately, Kyo’s smug face is gone, and he gets bewildered by such an answer ‘‘What the fuck?… Oi, like hell, I was serious! You can keep your weird fetishes to yourself, you stupid freak!’’.

Lastly, before leaving, the older brunette turns his face towards Yagami, and ignites his middle finger ‘‘Oh, and screw you.’’.

_______________________

An hour passes. After both Kyos dress up and are ready, Iori joins them on the couch. Yet, before saying anything else, the redhead notices how the older Kusanagi doesn’t hide his jealousy towards his look-alike.

‘For the love of the, why he cares so much that I lend that stupid brat my clothes.’ Yagami wonders as he crosses his legs and avoids looking at the other Kyo too much. Besides, Iori didn’t know that his outfit was too big for the younger brunette.

However, his further thoughts are interrupted by the mentioned Kusanagi asking in an innocent tone ‘‘Hey, Yagami, why did you bring us here? Do you have planned anything?’’.

Iori tries his best to keep his poker face and replies in a serious tone ‘‘We’re going on a long trip to find out which one of you is the real Kyo and who is not. Lucky for you two, there is one annoying woman who might know the answer.’’.

No matter how the Yagami doesn’t want to visit that ebony-haired woman, he has no other choice and relies on her help.

Besides, eventually, Kagura would force them to team up because of one old snake, who might be the oh-so-scary threat.

Perhaps, Orochi is not that bad compared to having two Kusanagi and babysitting them. However, as soon as Iori gets rid of his new residents, he may finally have his desired peace.

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

Chapter 1 Link

Chapter 5 Link

Chapter 7 Link

#kof #king of fighters #kyo kusanagi #iori yagami #kyo x iori #iori x kyo #chizuru kagura #shingo yabuki #fanfiction #serial #ao3 #archive of our own #if-one-wasn't-enough-already

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anchanted-one · 1 year

Text

Legend of Lightning 39: Surprise Audience

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43208574/chapters/111276334

Peragus Station

Vajra liked sitting in the cockpit as it entered or emerged from Hyperspace. There was something beautiful and calming about the spectacle. The blue ocean was magnificent by itself, but the way it faded to starlines before their destination jumped out at them was a real sight to behold.

“Prepare for reentry,” the pilot said. “Five, four, three, two, one.” The scene that jumped out at them made him gasp.

“Is this Peragus?”

“Affirmative, sir.”

“I thought it was an asteroid mining facility! This is… this is…”

It was a planet, one whose crust and mantle had been destroyed in some kind of cataclysm. He could see the orange-hot core inside a massive crater that might fit two of the four continents back on Uphrades. There was a ring of asteroids around it, which was probably where the mining facility was. It was also, Vajra thought, chunks of the planet that had been kicked up by whatever explosion took place down there.

“What happened here?”

“If I may answer that question, Master?” C2 chimed in. “Peragus was once mined for cheap fuel. Unfortunately, it was volatile; it exploded at high temperatures. One mining accident is what led to the planet looking like this. After that, all operations were moved to the asteroids. But there was another incident three hundred years ago, when Darth Scion closed in on a Jedi Exile named—”

“Raya Kol?” Vajra blurted. “I remember the story now! I can’t believe I forgot! This was where she returned from her exile?”

“Indeed, Master. The resulting chase caused another explosion, which destroyed much of the asteroid field, as well as much of the fuel it contained. Enough that Czerka decided against restarting production. However, a recent survey indicated that some systems are still operational there, including life support.”

“I like the history… but it’s such a strange place to set up a rendezvous!” Vajra commented.

“Indeed, Master! In days past, the asteroids were packed together so tight that you needed drift charts in order to navigate the trap. Today, however, they’re quite far apart. The pilots should be more than capable of getting us there safely.”

“Good. Take us in for landing. And keep the engines warm. If we find aught amiss, the ship needs to be ready to run.”

“Affirmative, Sir.”

Vajra went looking for Kira, who was neither in her room, nor the cargo hold. It took him a few minutes to find her.

“Kira?”

“…”

“I can see you, you know.”

“…”

Vajra waited a few more seconds before squeezing into the gun turret beside Kira. The redhead looked at him wryly before scooting over to give him some space. “You’re feeling nervous about this, aren’t you?”

She still didn’t say anything.

“Why the turret, anyway?”

She snorted. “Old habit. Back on Nar Shaddaa, I found this small hatch near our hideout. It was nice and cosy, far away from gangs or responsibilities. I used to like crawling inside. Pretending I was safe. Warm. That none of the cold, cruel killers of the galaxy existed. That everything was sunshine, rainbows, puppies and candy.” Her eyes were fixed on a place far, far away. “It’s strange that my old habit resurfaced today. I guess, I just feel the feeling returning. That feeling that something’s lurking around the next corner.”

Vajra put an arm around her shoulders, but couldn’t say anything. Agent Galen’s shrieks filled his ears again. Kira leaned against his shoulder.

“The Admiral… there’s only one reason why he chose me, of all people, to be his escort. I think I can’t run from my past anymore. I’m gonna have to come clean. And that idea scares me something fierce.”

“Do you want to tell me before--?”

“No. it’s a long story. We’re going to find an ambush in there, and we’re going to kill more of Angral’s cronies. And when we get back, I promise I’ll tell you.” They both fell silent, watching the rectangular entrance loom ever larger as the Garuda came in to land.

They first went looking for an open port. Once found, T7 hooked in to control over all remaining systems. He tooted mournfully. <Surveillance cameras: Offline. Network: Offline. This console access = systems in this room only.>

“I suppose it was too much to hope for. Stay by here. Be ready to seal the door at a moment’s notice, and keep our exit route open too.”

<Affirmative.>

Vajra looked at Kira, who stared back nervously. Several seconds later, she ran towards an old garbage heap and threw up noisily. Vajra tried to approach, but she waved him away. “Fuck—” She threw up one last time before stumbling backwards. She pulled out a napkin and wiped her mouth before tossing it onto the pile. “Damn. I’m so fucking nervous…”

C2 arrived a moment later, having noticed what had happened. “Her you go, Master,” he said, offering her a glass of water and some more napkins. “And a capsule for nausea.”

“Thanks, C2.” Kira swallowed the medicine before emptying the glass. “That’s better,” she said a minute later. “I’m fine now.”

“You need to be sure,” Vajra whispered. “We need to be ready to fight our way out.”

She took another deep breath. “I’ve fought a Rancor calf once with just a rusty vibroblade; it didn’t make me this nervous.” It was several more minutes before Vajra was certain that her legs had stopped wobbling.

“Thanks for the help, C2. It’s best you stay inside, where it’s safe.”

“Begging your pardon, Master, but I would like to watch over T7 just in case.” The protocol droid patted a blaster on its hip, which Vajra hadn’t noticed in the gloom. “I am not designed for combat, but I will do my part to aid you.”

“Thank you so much, C2. It’s a relief, honestly.”

“Yeah,” Kira nodded. “This way, we all have backup.”

“Exactly!”

Several minutes later, Vajra followed Kira into the adjoining hangar. She’d argued for going in first, so that they knew she was there, and Vajra had relented. At least on that point. Her next suggestion—that he hide while she went ahead—he rejected entirely.

“If there’s someone with real power in there, you might get hurt before I could get to you!”

There was a ship waiting there, a variant of the Fury-class Interceptor. “I thought only Sith used this kind of ship?”

“You’re right. I have a terrible feeling about this.”

“Ah, there you are!” They whipped around to find a man leaning against a pillar on the far side. How had they not Sensed him? “Welcome to Peragus! I am Valis. I expected you fifteen minutes ago. Were you doing some last-minute prettying up on my account? How cute!”

“You?” Kira looked shocked. “YOU!” Her expression tightened into a ferocious snarl. “I know him! He’s a SITH!” The green blades of her Lightsaber staff blazed into life, and Vajra instinctively activated his own Lightsaber. But neither attacked just yet; from the way the air between them was shimmering, he was on the other side of a ray shield; protected for the time being.

“What’s this?” the man laughed mockingly. He unmasked his presence in the Force; his power was substantial. “Jedi whose first instinct is to attack? Master Shan would be so disappointed in you. But then, you’re used to disappointing people, aren’t you… Sister?”

“I am not your sister!” Kira roared.

“Denial won’t change anything, Lilim.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Why not? It’s your name.”

“My name is Kira Carsen!”

“A lie. And an obvious one. It’s your prerogative if you want to make use of all the training you’ve had in deception, but you can’t run from your past, Lilim. All that skulking around, and we just stumbled upon you! You have no idea how delighted Father was, to hear that you were alive and well! He liked you, you know!”

“He’s not my father!” Kira hissed. “And not yours either! He’s just a monster!”

“He’s a god!” the Sith’s face had twisted at her insult. “I can understand fools like this alien seeing him as one, but you?” He looked over at Vajra. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Kira will tell me when she’s ready. You brought us here under false pretenses. I don’t have to listen to you at all.” He blinked. “Say… if you’re behind a ray shield, we can just walk out of here. Come on, Kira.”

The man cackled. “You poor, poor fool. It’s true that I’m trapped here until the battery dies, but it’s not my purpose to fight you. You are already in my father’s web! The Emperor himself set a trap for you, and you walked right into it!”

Vajra whipped around. “The Emperor!?”

“So I finally have your attention, do I?” the Sith screamed in delight. “That’s right! Your friend there is a Child of the Emperor, just like me! She’s been lying to you this whole time!”

“No,” Vajra shook his head. “She’s been hiding from you this whole time.” He began looking around nervously. He opened up his third eye, and saw the Force swirling around Kira and himself. Dark tendrils of writhing fog, which smelled of burned tar and polluted rivers. “Kira!”

She had been looking down in despair, but her head leapt up when she heard him shout her name.

“Our Father has come himself to claim her,” the man finished with relish. “I was the vessel that brought him here! And Lilim will be the one that takes him out! You cannot escape! Ah, you’ve started to feel him, haven’t you? Good, good! Not too much longer! Rejoice, Sister! Your friend will be your first victim once you are returned to the fold!”

Vajra felt stabbing pains shooting up through his legs, pains which soon reached every part of his body. He howled so loudly that his own ears started to ring. His limbs started to buck and jump, and he began rolling around on the floor. He hadn’t even noticed the fall. Images started to flicker in his head.

A man in black armor laughing as a girl with four arms was ripped apart by invisible hands, and another reduced to ash by a stream of purple lightning. Other corpses stared at him with three dark eyes which asked why he was the only one that got to live.

A tall mountain of fleshy corpses stared at him with accusatory glances, shouting in a coarse language he still failed to understand. But their meaning was clear: “Monster!”

Morint’s looked right at him and screamed in such horror, like a demon had leapt out of his nightmares to attack him. Being so feared by the man he had come to respect had shaken Vajra almost as much as accidentally killing him had. Just as he thought that, blaster wounds appeared on the Twi’lek’s chest and head, and he fell to the floor, still screaming in fright.

Days since he last went to bed, he started hearing Lord Tarnis’ cackles. “You foolish child,” his mirage whispered. You stupid little, bleating lamb! I am going to starve your capital to death, and there’s nothing you can do about it!” People died, good people, sent to their deaths on his command.

Rakghouls leapt out of the mist to snap at him, their saliva flying in his direction as they hissed and rumbled. Their clawed fingers were stretched out toward him, so close to his face that he could smell the blood on them.

Agent Galen screamed as he was skinned alive, and each of his limbs were cut off with a slow-moving saw. His blood pooled on the floor, but the machine he was hooked to kept him alive and awake. Vajra watched as his body was slowly replaced by a metallic one. Organs were removed and placed in a small case so that they’d fit in the smaller cavity of his new armored body.

The memory, crystal clear and vivid, reopened the mental wounds he had suffered on his first time watching the torture.

He saw other things too; the Coruscant guards derisively calling him the boy Knight, second-guessing his every decision. He saw the turncoat Havoc squad; their faces had held smiles when he met them, but they turned crooked and evil.

He weakly shook his head until he could see the real world behind a curtain of mirage. “Kira…” he moaned, fighting to see his friend… and there she was.

She stood ramrod straight, all expression melting off her face. Her eyes burned yellow. She raised her Lightsaber to her eye level and hit the switch. The dully lit hangar was filled with the green light of its blades. “Finally, I have you again, my Child.” That voice… it contained a multitude—a legion. A many-headed monster which thrived on the deepest Dark reaches of the Force, whose loudest voice was Kira’s.

His eyes swivelled to Vajra, who shrank away on instinct. “I know you… Your death will be long and painful. But first; some appreciation from me, for taking care of my child.”

Despair filled his heart, constricting his lungs. His limbs locked and trembled, and choked sounds emerged from his lips. As the world started to go black, Valis’ maniacal laughter was the last thing he heard.

Black. Unbroken, unmitigated blackness. But not uninhabited; things moved around in the dark; millions of shuffling bugs’ legs. Angry beasts sniffed at the air and screamed in hunger and hatred. Tentacles and antennae probed his body, his face. He whimpered and squealed in fear deeper than any he’d faced before.

An unseen storm raged around him. Massive waves crashed against him, leaving him drenched and cold. He had to swim to safety, but he did not know which way was up. He was left fighting an unrelenting current that did not let him move in any direction.

When his face finally emerged from the ocean, ice cold wind slapped into his face. But he did not care; he took a deep breath, revelling in even the frigid air that stabbed his lungs. Lightning crashed around him. He could feel his hair standing on end when it did, felt his skin crackle and burn. The thunder was deafening, and had a shockwave that knocked him back dozens of meters.

And then his voice spoke from the heart of the Darkness.

"Jedi. You are the one who foiled Angral's son. His every last ounce of energy is devoted to hating you, and yet, what I see is something so... tiny. Weak. Insignificant. You are what the Council has deemed sufficient to stop Angral? Too perfunctory to be called an insult. And yet..." Unseen eyes regarded Vajra out from the darkness. "... Angral himself is satisfied to have you as his nemesis. But he does not see you as a threat. No, it isn't your confrontation that he looks forward to. It's the suffering he has in store that excites him." Silence for a moment. “Hmmm… he has served me well. I will let him have his prize.”

Vajra looked around fruitlessly, trying to find his the devil who spoke. Or an exit. Or even his bearings.

For a moment, the darkness laughed at his attempt to fight back.

Suddenly, monsters jumped out of the pitch-black void. He screamed in shock, adrenaline making him swing his blade without any thought to elegance or technique, but he could not harm a phantom. They could hurt him, however. Those claws and fangs and stingers did not cut his skin, but he felt the pain of a hit that connected.

He felt it when the tentacles wrapped around him and squeezed. His Lightsaber dropped from his immobilized hand, and he struggled to breathe with all the weight constricting his chest. The talons and claws started scratching at his face now, his eyes and mouth.

And he felt more; each hit frayed his nerve, bit by little bit, until he might have been willing to sell his own firstborn for freedom. He screamed hysterically, his terrified brain unable to form the words. Eventually, there was a lull in the torment during which he sensed the void laughing.

"Release me," he whispered. "Please." He didn't even attempt to feign confidence. "Please!" He begged again. The sheer presence of the Dark Side unnerved him, crushed his very soul. Despair overwhelmed him, ferreting out the last redoubts of safety within his mind.

The Voice laughed mercilessly at his terror. "That's it, Jedi! Give in to the despair, for this is your future. Insignificant though you are, I enjoy watching you squirm. I will order Darth Angral not to allow you to die, or to lose your sanity. For once he is done with you, I will have him bring you before me. You will spend an eternity here... with Me... With Us..."

"NOOOOOO!" Vajra shrieked, face contorting in horror. "Anything but that! Please, I'm begging you, let me go! I'll do anything!"

He somehow broke free of his restraints—or perhaps he was released—and begananother desperate attempt to break free.

He struggled fruitlessly, punching at the air, striking wildly with his Lightsaber, lashing out with the Force, until the effort left him exhausted. The Darkness sidestepped his weapon mockingly, but always crept back in. How long did he swing his blade? He could go on for hours… had he been here for days? Was he already on his way to Angral’s ship, his mind locked in this mind maze? He felt defeated, collapsing on the floor panting.

"Please..."

He racked his brain, searching for any way to get free. Any way at all.

“Weak. Foolish. Pathetic. Small. Worthless. Or perhaps… no. Perhaps I can find a use for even one as worthless as you.”

Vajra looked up, feeling hopeful.

“Swear yourself to me, and I will put a piece of myself into your soul. You will return to Tython as my slave, and kill the Grand Master. Do this, and I will torment you no further. Angral will be all you have to worry about you.”

He was about to scream ‘Yes!’ without reserve… but instead a different sentence fought its way through his lips. “My soul…? My soul… My soul…” With a sudden burst of energy, he glared into the pitch. “Your slave?! Slave!?” he felt something rise out of the depths of his heart. A rage different from anything he’d felt before.

“What is this?” the voice asked, suddenly uncertain, but Vajra ignored the question.

“You want me to be your slave? I am Raudra! We are born free! And no king, god, demon, beast or monster can take that away!” He lashed out with the Force. It surged in his chest, waves of power which were magnitudes greater than any he had channeled before. The creatures of the night that had been harassing him cried out in fear and fled. The invisible storm around him flickered and bent to his will. The Lightning became visible to his eyes, and the thunder stopped hurting. The oceans withdrew and the wind ceased.

“You want my soul, you dirty monster? It’s mine! MINE! I refuse to lose it even to my own pain! What makes you think I will lose it to you!?” The Darkness flinched as its storm turned against it. “Ah, what’s this? Is someone afraid? Is the worm who would be a god frightened?” Vajra barked a harsh laugh. “Serves you right!”

The void growled. “You little upstart! You surprised me, I admit it. I commend you for it. Even the ‘mighty’ Revan fell in an instant. But I have yet to exert my full power. And do not forget; you are light-years away from me. Up close, I will crush you.”

“Excuses, excuses!” Vajra tutted, but perhaps that was a mistake. He felt the assault on his mind redouble, and he felt his brief advantage slipping. The despair started to return, and so did the void creatures. It was only a matter of time now.

It was true; he was weak, pathetic. Nothing. He needed something else, something more. “I don’t care if I die! I don’t care if I suffer! I will not hurt my friends!” He yelled defiantly. But then his memory began to stir.

Friends? A Friend! A name slipped out to the front of his consciousness, a name that had already begun to fade away... "Kira…?"

Louder. "KIRA!"

Louder still. "KIIIRAAAAA!!!"

"Kira... please, help me. They say that I'm supposed to be your Master, but... I'm so scared. I'm so weak... And I need you. Please."

The Dark gave way as a small cloud of light filtered through.

"Master? Is that you? The Emperor... he's in my mind! I can Feel him! How?"

"He's here, and so am I." Vajra responded. Taking in a deep breath, he raised his head, and addressed his fellow Jedi. "Kira, you may think that you are the learner here. But that's not true. You don't need me. You never have! But I need you. You are strong and wise, and Master Kiwiiks knew that I would need you. And I need you now, again. I have always thought you were the stronger of us. And not just because you were a bit older than me... And now it's confirmed! You were once in this same cage we find ourselves today, weren’t you? Yet, you fought it. You escaped! Is that not strong? You broke the Emperor's hold on you once. Now you can do it again. Shake him off, Kira! Be free!"

"Master... I'm coming! I'm coming!" Kira's words had a strength that tore through the dark, spider-webbing it in cracks; cracks through which light shone. Cracks that exposed this void as a veneer. A sham.

And suddenly, Vajra felt his reserves surge again. He looked up again, this time not to see the Darkness, but the Shatterpoints. With the void weakening, he was able to follow the Shatterpoints straight to its source. The thing that called itself the Emperor.

A small, nebulous black cloud, with long, thin tendrils frantically reaching out to reassert itself.

"So there You are, Emperor! Nice to see you, finally. That was a wonderful show you put up. You showed me your power—but also your limit. You are not a void, not a legion. You are just one, frightened little being! As afraid as I was, of the dark, of death, of pain. That is why you hide in it, try to pretend mastery over it. But you are not the Darkness.

You are far stronger than I will ever be, I acknowledge that. But I don't see you as invincible anymore. This has been… an enlightening experience. I swear I’ll return the favor someday. I will make you beg for mercy, as so many have begged you!"

The cloud fumed and boiled, and Vajra sensed its uncontrollable rage even as it shrank farther. Kira was forcing him back!

"I see that I was wrong about you!” it hollered. “I now see in you possibilities... Possibilities that I refuse to allow!"

“Eat shit, dirtbag!”

The void around them shattered.

Valis watched in shock as events unfolded. One moment, the Dark was absolute, the next, it splintered. Father turned Lilim’s eyes to him. “VALIS!” he screamed with her voice. “KILL HIM! KILL THEM BOTH! I COMMAND IT! KILL, KILL, KILL!”

With a choking gasp, Kira fell to the floor, her victory over the Emperor having taken its toll. Before she lost consciousness, she laughed. “He’s gone!” she gushed. “Gone! He’s never coming back! I know it! I know he’s—gone!”

Vajra fully expected to die before he could regain the feeling in his limbs, but his execution received a stay.

Thinking the ray shield was still up, he snuck a peek over at Kira’s self-professed brother, but the field had long since winked out. No, what held Valis in place was utter, dumbfounded confusion. And fear. It flowed off of him like greasy sweat.

“How—” he sputtered. “What just happened? You should be—you should be—”

“She’s free…” Vajra’s face split in a triumphant grin. Finally, he regained his feet. Then he began cheering like a fan whose team had won for the first time in fifty years. “SHE’S FREE! TAKE THAT, YOU SMUG, SELF-OBSESSED LITTLE PIECE OF GARBAGE!”

“What is she?” Valis demanded, face pale. “How could she shake free of Father’s influence?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Vajra asked sweetly. “It’s coz she’s Kira Carsen, of the Jedi order. Because she’s the strongest person I know. And your father… well, he’s so not! He plays at omnipotence, and he’s definitely stronger than most beings, at least in the Force. But he’s all brittle on the inside. One good scare, and he started braying like a frightened mule!”

Valis leapt to his feet. “How dare you?” the Emperor’s multitude of voices slipped out of his mouth. “I will kill you for that!”

“No you won’t,” Vajra goaded him. “I can Sense it. You are tired now, having been evicted so soundly. You’re far from your best. If you face me here, I will crush you like the worm you are.”

Valis—the Emperor—drew his Lightsaber and held it in a ready stance. Vajra could Feel him gathering the Force for an attack, but didn’t give him the chance. Closing the distance, he slapped the Lightsaber out of his hands and began a deep beatdown, eager to return some of the pain and humiliation that had been meted out against himself.

He slapped the man’s face, punched his gut, flicked his nose, then evaded a wild kick before throwing a series of weak, fast punches into his face and sternum. Valis coughed up blood, and doubled over.

“I thought the Emperor wasn’t supposed to kneel before anyone,” Vajra said impishly. Valis glared up at him with the Emperor’s eyes.

“Weak. Foolish. Pathetic. Small. Worthless.” He repeated the Emperor’s words right back at him. Valis roared and attempted to rise, but Vajra sidestepped his vain attack and tossed him over his shoulder. He was on him again before he could turn around. Grabbing him by the hair, he slammed the Sith’s face against the floor before tossing him into the air again. “You don’t know how to actually fight, do you?”

The Sith stood up with hate-filled eyes. “This vessel is weak,” he spat. “Unsuitable for My might.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Vajra had somewhat learned from his mistake. This time, he didn’t let the words sink in; he just closed in and cut off the Sith’s arms with his Lightsaber.

Valis howled in pain, the Emperor in rage.

But then something happened. Valis’ eyes narrowed. “Father, what are you doing?” He began looking around like a crazed animal. “Father? Father! No!”

The Emperor’s voice spoke out from his mouth again. “I will have my vengeance on you, boy. Mark my words.”

Then he was gone, and his vessel began writhing in obvious pain. Before Vajra could try to check what was wrong, his chest exploded, and the man coughed one last time before dropping dead.

Vajra shook off his bloodlust, but didn’t feel guilty about having entered it. He turned his back on the fallen Sith—even if he wanted to help him, he was already dead. And there was someone dear to him, who needed his help more.

Kira woke up screaming. “Master? Master?!”

“I’m here,” said a tired voice beside her. She jumped and looked at him. He was sitting on a chair next to her bed, and smiling so happily that he looked like an angel.

“Master! I had a nightmare—Where am I?”

“You’ve never come to the Garuda’s medbay, have you?”

“No,” she admitted sheepishly. “Wait, why am I in the medbay?”

“Try to remember…” he said softly. “The Admiral. Peragus. The trap…”

Kira felt her jaw drop. “So it really happened.”

“That’s right.”

“The Emperor… he set a trap for me. He came to reclaim me himself!”

“And you chased him away!” the boss laughed in awe. “Sent him packing! And right before you fainted, you said something really cool…”

“He’s not coming back!” Kira remembered. “He’s gone!”

“Not quite what you said, but yes!” She felt the boss’ fierce pride, and couldn’t help but feel her spirits buoyed, despite the one small damper she still felt. She began to cry softly, years of tension suddenly coming to the fore. The tears started as a trickle, but became a deluge in seconds. The boss held her as she cried, and she guiltily accepted his comforting embrace. She didn’t deserve this. She should have come clean sooner! She had put him in grave danger by keeping quiet! She didn’t remember the details, but she knew that Vajra was also caught up in the trap.

By the time the tears stopped, a great burden had evaporated from her gut. Sometime later, she pulled back and looked Vajra in the eye. “Master… this next talk is long overdue. And it’s a long story, so please… make yourself comfortable.”

“How about we eat while we talk?” Vajra suggested. “You lost your breakfast thanks to nerves, so you must be even hungrier than me. Come on. I asked C2 to make us some nice quiche.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Can T7 listen too?”

“Of course. In fact, maybe we need to tell the Council too. But you first.”

Kira washed her face, then had a bath for good measure. She stared at her reflection in the mirror for a good minute afterwards, trying to see past the face. Before today, she had thought something lurked in the shadows of her eyes, but today she saw nothing. All she saw was Kira Carsen. The thought made her smile with relief.

She wore comfortable training clothes before stepping out; track pants and a tank top, and simple, slip-on shoes. She was beat! A small piece wanted to sleep for a hundred years! But the larger part of Kira wanted to meet her obligation first, then to celebrate with her friend.

The boss was waiting for her, as was T7. C2 placed the steaming hot dish on the table before Master Vajra before retreating. Vajra took a good portion for himself before sitting back to hear her story.

Kira took a few spoonfuls before speaking—she really was hungry! “Once again… I should have told you this weeks ago. I’m sorry, Master.”

“It’s okay. I understand… this sounds like the sort of thing you need to prepare yourself mentally for.”

Kira snorted. “Well… that’s not wrong! Damn, how does one come out and say, ‘I’m a child of the Emperor?’ Still… I’m not actually that monster’s child. It’s just a title. I was one of hundreds of children he took as children, then raised in a special academy on Korriban, far from the main one. We were taught the same curriculum as the others, but on steroids. And without as much training in straight-up combat. We were taught to lie, steal, cheat, sabotage, and kill. Our earliest victims were each other. There were thousands of us at the start, but we were whittled down to almost a few hundred before I escaped. And that’s not counting the ‘batches’ before me. I think… I think there were at least two other batches before mine.”

“What was the point?” Vajra asked. “Was he training a secret army?”

“Exactly! But more than that, we were infiltrators. Sleeper agents. Secret police, who can snitch on even Dark Councilors and high nobility like House Rooks. There are thousands of us out there, seeded throughout the galaxy.”

The boss recoiled. “Thousands? And they’re all sleeper agents?” He shook his head. “The harm that could cause…”

“And that’s not even the worst thing,” Kira continued. “As if it wasn’t bad enough making us slaves, he wanted to us to become his puppets. You saw how he possessed me, right? He hollowed us out somehow. I wish I could describe it. There was this dark corner in the back of my mind, which felt like something that had a sticky web attached to it. A thread he could follow right to us, and take us over from the inside. Even as mere agents, we could cause untold chaos by stoking war, death, and destruction. As his puppets, we were much, much worse. You saw what he did to us today…”

“Right.”

Kira frowned at him. “What did he do to us today?”

“I’ll talk when you’re done.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Kira ate a few more spoonfuls before going on. “So… he used to have us brought before him. To bask in his magnificence. We sat inside a ritual circle all day as he worked his magic on us. At first, we didn’t know what was going on. But as the days passed… I started losing pieces of myself. We no longer remembered being taken to him. One day, I realized I couldn’t remember anything from the past week. That was when I decided I had to get away. I had a head for memorizing delivery schedules, and I was small and scrawny so I could easily stow away aboard a supply ship leaving the Empire. Lived in some pretty bad places until Master Kiwiiks found me."

They were both quiet for a little while. T7 whistled comfortingly, and Kira stroked his head. “I knew I had to come clean eventually, but… I was hoping I’d have a chance to prove myself as a true Jedi first. But I’m out of time. The Emperor knows where I am now. I guess Angral must have recognized me.” She shuddered. That was actually the better case scenario, now that she thought of it! She considered telling Vajra about that, but… no. It wasn’t important if Angral hadn’t really recognized her.

"Whatever happens, Kira, I want you to know that I'm here for you. Not only because you are, at least in theory, my Padawan. And certainly not because of the massive debt I owe you for saving me from the Emperor. But because you're my friend, and I care deeply about you."

She smiled. “At this point, I expected no less. You’re a really good guy. Loyal, sweet, brave.”

“And I try to keep my promises,” the boss smirked. “My turn to talk.” He quickly summarized their encounter for her, and she was left feeling mightily impressed. Not just with him, but herself.

“Am… am I really that good?”

“Secretly a saint, after all!”

T7 made a chuckling whistle before adding, <T7 =/= understand! Jedi: Vajra + Padawan: Kira fought entity: Sith Emperor in dream world? How to fight = ? How to train =?>

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” Vajra replied. “But fighting it was… difficult. Only reason I succeeded was because Kira helped me.”

“You fought back for a moment,” Kira reminded him.

“Yes. But I was starting to lose again. And like he himself said, he wasn’t there personally. If he was…” Vajra felt ice slip down his spice. “We were lucky today. I hope there is no next time.”

Kira hated to interrupt his contemplative silence, but she had more to say. “Master… I have one more confession. Part of the reason I wanted to become your full-time Padawan was because you can teach me to fight back. Like, really fight back. The lessons I got from the secret academy didn’t cover fighting all that well. Nor did my time on the streets, or with Master Kiwiiks. In addition, you’re a Jedi whom I was certain could and would stand by my side in difficult fights. When you promised me that you’d always be there for me, I knew you meant it. Maybe I’ve still got traces of evil for stretching your meaning this far, but I thought I’d be safe as your partner, without handing you a death sentence. Do you… do you feel betrayed?”

“No,” he answered. “You did say you were going to come clean eventually. I believed in you. Besides, you fully accepted a promise I made, and trusted me to keep it. It actually makes me happier.”

“Thanks, Master.”

His chrono started to chime in the silence that followed, making them both jump. Vajra’s surprise shifted to delight, and he darted off to his room and returned with a package wrapped in hand-decorated paper. “Happy twentieth birthday, Kira!”

“What!?” Kira checked her own chrono… “Well, I’ll be damned!”

<Happy Birthday!> T7 whistled, bouncing from strut to strut. <Time for party = now?>

Kira shook her head firmly. “I’d rather wait until I can celebrate with Jazz and Master Kiwiiks.” She unwrapped her present carefully, doing her best to preserve the neat wrappings and the decorations. When had the boss managed to make all this? She could tell he’d decorated the paper himself; the doodles and pictures looked like the style she’d seen in his scrapbooks. The red, green and gold ribbons had been tied in a pristine bow that could easily be repurposed as a wall-hanging or something. She opened the box and gasped in delight; inside was a lovely trio of connected picture frames; perfect for framing anything from medals, commendations, paintings, or stills.

And it was beautifully made, too! Three frames made of lacquered dark wood, engraved with intricate carvings and gold capping the edges and corners. They were joined together with a silver cord that was as tough as it was pleasing to the eyes.

“This is perfect!” she exclaimed, hugging the gift to her chest. “I want to fill these up at once! I already know what’s going here. A still of you, me and Jazz, the medal I got from our defense of Coruscant, and this—” she held up the giftwrap. She set her gift down carefully and hugged Vajra. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“I have another present for you. This one isn’t a birthday present, but something you deserve after what you did today.”

“Oh?”

She inhaled sharply when she saw him pull out an orange Lightsaber crystal from his pouch.

“You’ve shown more courage and strength than any ten Jedi,” the boss said. “But there’s a chance you might need even more, before all of this is done. I hope this is a source of both, when times grow dark.”

She accepted the orange Keleth stone, struck mute by her overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment. “I really did earn this, didn’t I?” she giggled. “It’s come at just the right time, too! Just when my Lightsaber needed an upgrade, to match the new me!” She inserted the new gem in at once, and activated it. The orange blade blazed brilliantly before her face, and she laughed again in delight; the song from this one was much more powerful than the crystal she’d found on Tython. “Can’t believe this suits me so well!” She looked over at her Master. “Thanks, Master. Now I really feel like a full-fledged warrior.”

He laughed with her. “Ready to kick up a storm?”

“You betcha!”

“Cmon. I need to tell Var Suthra that there’s no Admiral coming.”

“After that, can we go to the Jedi Council? I need to tell them too.”

Vajra looked at her. “Are you sure? There will be at least a few who don’t take it too well.”

“I’m certain. In addition to just telling them about myself… they need the heads-up about the other Children.”

“Alright.”

Unspecified landing pad, Dromund Kaas

Mercedes Tanniels was not accustomed to being escorted by Sith. She had been worried such a thing might happen somewhere down the line after that last mission, but it still worried her. Especially when she saw who greeted her at the other end.

Darth Marr himself had come out into the torrential rain to greet her, unmoved by the heavy wind or the loud booms of thunder. The lightning created halos around his imposing figure whenever it flashed across the sky.

And even the Force-blind could feel his strength of will.

To think that he would come out to greet her in person… Mercei’s heart skipped a beat. No. It couldn’t be.

“Darth Marr,” she said, genuflecting before one of the greatest Sith of the Generation. “I am your humble servant. How may I serve?”

“Cipher Nine,” the man’s reply was a soft hiss, but not hostile. “The spy who defeated Darth Jadus.”

Mercei swallowed. She imagined that at least some of the water pouring down her hair was sweat, not rain. One did not simply defeat a Dark Councilor. At least, not a Force-blind one. She suspected there would be consequences, but found herself unprepared now that she was here.

“At ease,” Marr growled. “I for one appreciate strong soldiers, loyalty to the Empire, and courage. It must have taken quite some nerve to fight Jadus head-on instead of tricking him. But you succeeded. You destroyed a threat that no Sith could have been in a position to stop.”

“I admit, it was reckless. If I had lost—”

“But you didn’t. Don’t worry. I’ve talked the Dark Council down from hurting you.”

“Thank you, Dark Lord.”

“Rise. Hmmm. I can’t take you there in this state,” he said as he led her into the building. “We need you looking your best. It’s a shame this tower does not have its docking pad inside the building.”

“It would have gotten soaked through in this storm, so I’m carrying my dress uniform.”

“Then it’s a good thing the Dark Council are allowed rooms here. You will be rubbing shoulders with the mightiest today, so try to look your best.” He led her into his own room, which she knew was his because of how the only ornaments inside were from campaigns he had personally led, and duels he had won. As well as his impressive mask collection.

“Go,” he said shortly, pointing at the fresher. “And be thorough, but fast. You have thirty minutes.”

Mercei had gotten prepped in less, so she took the extra time to let the shower loosen her muscles and wash away her stresses. She went through her old motions from the academy, back when the student’s had been lined up or paraded to honor important guests. By the time she stepped out of the shower, she was fully poised and under control again. She’d already met three Dark Councilors face-to-face, what were nine more? In the worst-case scenario, she would simply play her trump card. That would be dangerous in its own way, but she could handle it as it played out.

She sighed. Why me? Why did I get saddled with this kind of complication?

Still, she wondered why she’d been brought here. And with such pomp too. Being received by a Councilor? Given the chance to clean up? And ordered to bring her dress uniform? That wasn’t the sort of thing that screamed ‘award ceremony.’

Was she being taken to a ball, perhaps? Or—and her heart skipped a beat when she considered the ludicrous notion—had Marr decided to marry her to keep her safe? To tie her to him? Such a thing wasn’t his style, but in all modesty, she had saved the Empire from much wanton death and destruction. And defeated one of the Empire’s greatest in the process. One such as her might be a liability, but also a potent tool. It wasn’t impossible to think that the Dark Council—or Marr in particular—might want to tie her to them.

Her heart fluttered at the thought of marrying a symbol like Marr. It would turn her life upside down. A lot of her favored tools would be denied her, as would anonymity. She might even be forced to tell him her secret, a prospect that thrilled and terrified her.

No. No, stop thinking with your little girl head, she told herself crossly. That’s not what’s going on. Think things carefully. Or better yet, don’t jump to any conclusions until you have more facts.

She put on the bathrobe that was left in the room before stepping out.

Marr’s voice boomed from where he stood at the window, looking out at the city below him. “Thirty minutes precisely, eh? How quaint. Your own jacket is inadequate. You will wear the one I have provided for you. Consider it a gift. Do not worry. I won’t turn around.”

Mercei fought the impulse to snort. Few in the Empire would even suspect Darth Marr of peeping. The man was as solid as they came. “Yes, Dark Lord. My deepest gratitude.” She inspected the olive dress that had been laid out for her. It was much more grandiose than her own uniform, bearing red-gold embroidery on the sleeves, shoulders, buttons, and collar. There were pins on the lapels, and the buttons were adorned with gemstones. Her rank cylinder had already been attached to her left breast pocket.

She put on quickly, appreciating the feel of the thick wool. She then put on her makeup, remembering Marr’s comment of looking her best. When she was satisfied that she looked presentable enough for any grand ball, she approached Marr. “I am ready, Dark Lord.”

The Sith turned around to look her over. “Hm. Good,” he nodded. “Now I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve brought you here?”

“Yes, Dark Lord.”

“Well, I wish it were a simple thing as proposing marriage. Or presenting you to the uppermost crust of our society. Unfortunately, your evening will be rather more arduous.”

“Sir?”

“The Emperor himself has requested your services today. I needn’t tell you how singular this event is.”

Mercei swallowed again. “No, sir. Good thing I didn’t eat before coming here.”

“Indeed. I have medicine to settle your stomach, should you need it. For what it’s worth, you have my sympathy.”

Mercei’s mind, momentarily stymied, shifted into overdrive. What use could the Emperor possibly have for her? “Dark Lord?” she asked. “Who else knows—”

“No one. Not even my peers, since the most obvious use our Master might have is for you to ferret out more traitors in the Council. I suppose I’m lucky; my being in the loop at least assures me that I’m not under suspicion. Now, no more questions. The time of your appointment draws near, and this is one man who will not appreciate the fashionably late.”

He led her to a private turbolift adjoining his chamber, then pressed the only button. He did not say anything, nor did Mercei have the courage to speak.

I suppose an elevator ride with Darth Marr is more awkward than most.

Once they reached their destination, she saw a shuttle flanked by guards wearing distinctive red robes. The Imperial Guard bowed before Darth Marr and followed him into the shuttle behind them.

“This shuttle, and this landing pad, is only meant for visits to the Emperor’s fortress station. No one else may land here. Not even us.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The shuttle journey passed in silence. Mercei did her best to meditate, to maintain her calm. It wasn’t easy, but by the time the shuttle docked at the Emperor’s space station, she was mostly calm again. She and Marr followed her escort, who took her straight to the throne room.

Once there, Mercei nearly crumpled under the intense Pressure emanating from the throne. The Emperor’s full might was on display; waves of Dark power radiated from his person, evoking feelings of dread and dismay in her heart.

It took effort for her to acknowledge the others in the room; the nearly eight-foot tall Sith Pureblood had to be the infamous Emperor’s Wrath, Lord Scourge. Others around the throne looked like simple attendants, though it might be a fatal mistake to underestimate them.

Once she’d looked at each of the others, she returned her attention to the throne, and the being seated upon it.

Darth Marr got on one knee once they reached the stairs, and Mercei followed his example. “Greetings, my Master. I present to you, the Agent called Cipher Nine.”

“Welcome,” came an echoing chorus of voices. “Come closer, Force-blind.”

She nearly squealed as an iron hand closed in around her, and carried her to the dais the throne was upon.

It deposited her in front of him, and she bent even lower, almost touching her forehead to the ground.

“That’s better. Stand.” She obeyed, aware that the entity before her was keenly observing her. The Emperor himself was cloaked in shadows, even at this range. “Hmm. Not what I expected. You have a strong will. The last time I entertained a Force-blind, they made quite a mess. My presence is formidable, after all.”

“Just so, Supreme one.”

“You were able to outwit Jadus. You survived a foe even most Sith might not endure. I have need of a spy with your skillset.”

“It will be my greatest honor to be of service.”

The Emperor nodded. “Look.” He activated a small holoprojector to his right, and the image of an alien with four arms materialized. “Do you know who this is?”

“Of course, Supreme one. That is Jedi Vajra Devarath, who thwarted Lord Tarnis’ attempt to besiege Coruscant. He has since been marked for death by Darth Angral.”

“He will fail.”

Mercei almost stared. But she didn’t, nor did she interrupt.

“One of my agents encountered him. He should not have triumphed, should not have beaten him so easily. But he did. He is resilient and deadly. Darth Angral may score a few victories, but in the end, he is doomed to failure.”

“Command me, Supreme one.”

“I know that he is deadly, now. But not how deadly. I want you to observe his every move, and assess the threat he poses me.”

Mercei was stunned. The threat he posed… the Emperor himself? Could such a thing be possible? “As you command, Supreme one, though if you’d be willing to permit my candor, I doubt anyone could pose a threat to one as omnipotent as you.”

“That is all I have to say.”

The Lord Wrath spoke next. “Officially, you are on mission with Darth Marr. Come up with whatever cover suits your purpose best. Marr is the one who will bring your reports to us, as well as your requests. Your budget for this mission is unlimited. Any resources you request, will be yours. You may even request support from me or the Guard, if you can justify it. You will leave as soon as you possibly can.”

“I understand, Lord Wrath.”

“This will be the last time you stand before His Imperial Majesty, but rest assured that you will be amply rewarded if you succeed.”

“I am humbled, my Lord.”

“Then we are done here.”

“Come with me then, Cipher,” Marr called. “I will help you get started.”

Mercei barely dared to breath until she was on the elevator down. Compared to before, the proximity to Marr felt… friendly. She felt close enough to him to utter a few choked sobs.

“You did well,” he said grudgingly. “Force-blind are not the only ones who react badly to their first meeting with the Emperor, and yours was closer than most. Darth Ravage is no longer allowed to meet him, given his many, many embarrassing episodes.”

“He’s… he’s…”

“Godlike,” Marr finished firmly, accepting no other adjective. “And it is only right that mortals quaver before of one such as he.”

“Yes, Dark Lord.”

“I had my chef prepare a meal for you. I thought you might need it. And since you are my charge now, I insist you sleep in my attendant’s room, beside my own. You will be smuggled out afterwards, and you will begin preparing for your mission.”

“Yes, Dark Lord.”

“I will also give you my private comm frequency. Do not hesitate to use it. Both our heads are at stake here.”

“I—yes, Dark Lord.”

“Still… I wonder what kind of Jedi could possibly be a threat to our Emperor. It is… as fascinating as it is disturbing.”

“Do you think we should tell Darth Angral?”

“No. The Emperor clearly does not want him told. Why? I suppose he does not want Operation Desolation to be thrown off schedule any more than it needs to be.”

Mercei did not like the sound of that, not after the Eradicator crisis which she had only thwarted by the skin of her teeth.

“I suppose the only question now is: will Angral succeed in his mission? Or will he meet his doom at the end of Jedi Devarath’s blade first?”

#star wars #swtor #the old republic #star wars the old republic #fanfic #fanfiction #jedi knight #hero of tython #cipher nine

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fairestwriting · 2 years

Note

Hi hi♡!! I have been lurking looking around this blog for awhile and I love it, thank you for the beautiful writing!

Now that rq are open and if this interest you, may I request a scenario/headcanons (I don't mind either way!) for Floyd teaching a shorter, waiter!s/o to dance after their shifts on Mostro Lounge??

Is this overly specific aaa

Anyway, I hope you have a good day! Best wishes♡♡

thank YOU for the sweet words :sob: i love writing floyd!!! heres your food i hope you enjoy it :]

word count: 685

pairing: floyd x gn!reader

content warnings: none! just fluff

You’d been working at the Lounge for a while now, so something like this wasn’t new.

It’s a friday night, the music’s still on, mixing up with the bustling of your coworkers putting the place back together for a soon-to-be busy weekend. You take in a deep breath, feeling the exhaustion begin to settle in after all the rushing, and you roll up your sleeves before you wipe down a table.

The song playing has this sort of rhythm that gets in your head easily — You hum along to it, tapping your feet. It returns just a bit of your energy, you wonder if they’d ever played that specific tune before, or if it’s as unfamiliar as it sounds to you.

It makes you think of those nightclubs in noir movies. You suppose that means it just fits your own workplace’s motifs, but something about it feels a little more different, and for a moment you kind of lose yourself to the scenario, you think of the fun you always see people having around there.

You realize the times you’d been there as a patron were few, too, and—

“Shrimpy!” Floyd’s voice cuts through the daydream and you’re staring at the table again, he hops towards you and wraps his arms around your shoulders, leaning down on you. “There you are! Been looking for you all night!”

“Don’t you have work to do, Floyd?” You ask him with a quiet giggle, leaning back against his chest. He envelopes you easily, with how much bigger than you he is, and you feel safe in the way he holds you. “Azul’s gonna get mad.”

“Don’t feel like it. I already put all the glasses back in place.” He says, voice pouty. You finish wiping down the table to the best of your ability, letting him do his thing, and even in the conditioned air of the lounge, you feel warm and cozy.

Before you notice it, you’re humming again. It just kind of happens, with him there.

“Oh? You like that song?”

“I guess.” You reply, swaying slightly to the rhythm, feeling the melody of the piano flutter around in your soul. “Makes me wish I could dance.”

“Oh?” He repeats, his voice full of mirth. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to learn before, Shrimpy? C’mere, lemme help you out!”

...and as every one of his decisions happens, Floyd doesn’t give you much time to think before his arms leave your shoulders and wrap around your middle, lifting you up all of a sudden.

“Floyd!” You nearly squeal, though you can’t help the laughter that leaves you. “You’re gonna get us in trouble, you know.”

“’s gonna be worth it! Don’t worry!” He doesn’t even deny when he places you back down, a couple steps away — Onto the dancefloor, previously occupied with all those patrons who’d been having the time of their lives. You’re still on the clock, yet you feel exactly like one of them, the second he looks down at you with a big amused grin. “Here, you can hold on to me there. I’ll lead!”

He grabs your hand to place onto his shoulder, his on your waist. He has to bend down quite a bit, you wonder how this would even work.

“What are we even dancing?”

“That’s the best part, Shrimpy. We just figure out on the way!”

Floyd pulls you close laughing, and you squeal again, trying to keep your balance. You feel clumsier than you usually are, every step wobbly and uncertain, but a saxophone joins in to the music, and he’s smiling, and you’re smiling.

It’s like there isn’t even anyone around you now. You laugh, carefree, and almost fall down when Floyd twirls you.

“Careful!” You warn him when he pulls you close again. “You can’t just throw me around, you know. I’ll trip.”

He giggles, holding you to his chest for a moment, you hear the faint thudding of his heartbeat, fluttering just as you are.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right there to catch ya!” He chimes. “Now, we gotta try this again...”

if you wanna support my work, you can buy me a ko-fi or commission me!

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #lis writing

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Finders Keepers

the long awaited (sorry!) zombie au. hope y’all enjoy

Seijoh 4 x female reader & Miya twins x female reader

TW Blood, gore, angst, um... toxic relationships?

“Let me see.”

It’s little more than a murmur, but in the quiet stillness of the night your voice carries. It hardly matters; Oikawa has you close, tucked under his arm with his injured leg stretched out between the two of you. He could stop you if he really wanted, but he only watches, those tired, wary eyes fixed on your face as you reach for his pants.

“It’s fine,” he grunts out, yet he can barely get the words out before he’s hissing through his teeth – a knee jerk reaction to the scrape of rough fabric against his wound. His fingers are digging painfully into your arm, and it doesn’t make a difference how gentle you try to be, how many stammered apologies fall from your lips, your fingers are stiff and clumsy and his pants are caked with dried blood and grime, hindering the process.

Pursing your lips, you glance up. “This would go easier if you took these off, you know.”

He cracks a smile at that, strained and tense, but your chest still flutters at the sight of it. “If you wanna get my pants off so badly, cutie, all you had to do was ask.”

“Tooru,” you begin, but he sighs heavily and that brief flicker of mirth glimmering in his eyes fades. Reaching over he picks up his hunting knife, pressing the handle into your palm and letting his fingers slowly curl around yours. The weight of it feels unwieldy and foreign in your hand, and you can’t quite say for sure if the way your breath picks up and hitches is due to your nerves or the way Oikawa’s watching you, his warm hand still wrapped around yours.

“Cut it, then.”

The knife helps, shearing through his pants like butter, but the wound itself is messy – torn threads plastered to congealed blood and dirt – and blunt fingernails sink into your skin and Oikawa grits out a curse when you try to gently ease them free.

It’s worse than you’d thought. A lot worse. Raked over his right knee, five gouges, jagged and gruesome, raw flesh and muscle exposed beneath. Your stomach roils at the sight of it, bile creeping up your throat, and for a moment you’re astounded by how calm he is, sitting there beside you.

If it were you, you’re fairly sure you’d be rolling on the ground howling by now, but the only hint of pain Oikawa’s face betrays is the tightness of his jaw, teeth clenched even as he looses a shuddering breath.

“I-I’ll go see if I can find something to…” to what? Clean the wound? Stitch it? You’re not an idiot, unless this little cottage has an incredibly well stocked first aid kit, you know you’re in trouble. And even if it does, beyond the very basics of clean, disinfect and bandage, you don’t know how the hell you’re supposed to fix this.

Iwaizumi was always the one to stitch up their wounds, muttering obscenities under his breath and glaring at them the whole time. It was their own idiot faults for putting themselves in a position where they could get hurt in the first place, he’d say, they could deal with a little pain while he fixed them up. But as you stare at the grisly mess of Oikawa’s knee, there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that this might be beyond even Iwa’s level of expertise.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because Iwa isn’t here.

Makki and Mattsun aren’t either.

And strangely enough, it’s not the fear of the creatures lurking in the woods that’s gnawing at your gut. It’s Oikawa’s injury, the blood and mangled mess that you can’t even begin to fix, the thought of the trap that’s awaiting the others back at the sanctuary. It’s that feeling of helplessness that’s tightening around your neck like a noose.

“Hey,” Oikawa calls, snagging at your wrist when you try to pull away. “They’ll find us, have a little faith.”

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you nod. “I know.”

You don’t have the guts to tell him that that’s only half the problem.

Making do with vodka and some old bandages you’d scrounged up from a first aid kit under the sink, you do what you can for Tooru’s knee. Working by the light of a few flickering candles, your hands shaking like a leaf, it's a job easier said than done, and you can’t help but wince at every pained hiss and grunt that escapes him.

It’s a hack job, a bandaid over a gaping wound, but he thanks you for it anyway, pressing an affectionate kiss to your temple as he drags you closer once more. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he murmurs, and the words hang heavy over the both of you; a promise and a sobering reminder in one.

Tucked up in his embrace, you shut your eyes and will yourself to fall asleep.

Yet the moment you do, you’re right back there again: the hallway doors bursting open and the undead pouring through. Rotting and snarling, the sound of panicked shrieks tearing through the sanctuary in their wake.

Tooru’s hand in yours, yanking you along as he ran. Your heartbeat, pounding in your ears as you gasped for breath, your chest burning. And the fear, the horror that threatened to choke you as the others fell behind, their frantic pleas turning into agonised screams.

Everybody else first. The words spoken before any one of them left the safety of the sanctuary; you’d always assumed it was a grim kind of joke between the boys, a good luck charm. How many times had you heard Mattsun laugh it, clapping Iwa on the shoulder, or Makki for that matter, or Oikawa?

‘Come home safe’, you’d thought it meant, not ‘rip the guns out of other survivors’ hands and throw them back into the path of the oncoming undead’.

And then you’d stumbled, tripping over your own two feet. You remember Oikawa cursing, the pain that radiated up your knees and the palms of your hands as you hit the floor hard, and the absolute, bone chilling terror that surged through you when you looked up and saw one of the undead creatures lunge for you; jaw hanging loose, more ripped flesh and gristle than an actual mouth–

Oikawa was too far away, too slow, and even if he wasn’t, you’d just witnessed the lengths he’d go to for self preservation. You’d screamed for him anyway, squeezing your eyes shut and praying you’d go quickly when those fingers and yellowing teeth dug into your flesh and ripped you apart.

And in the space of a single petrified heartbeat, three shots had rung through the air, a warm wetness splattering against your cheek. Tooru was there, kicking the rotting corpse away from you and hauling you back to your feet, back safely against his side.

But the next one was quicker, leaping over the husk of its fallen friend, snarling and bloody and savage, and then it was Tooru who was screaming, undead fingers sinking into the flesh of his leg, ripping as it tried to claw him back.

Heart pounding viciously, your eyes shoot open in the darkness.

Even with the reassurance of Oikawa’s frame pressed up behind you, his breath warm against your skin, sleep doesn’t come easy, and the dawn brings little reprieve.

Stupidly, you’d hoped – prayed – that somehow through the night he might’ve gotten better. It was early in the morning when you’d felt him start to shiver against you. You’d tried to roll away, to give him space so you wouldn’t accidentally knock his leg, but Tooru was having none of it, burrowing in closer, his grip tightening.

And when you’d felt him start to sweat, his arms becoming sticky and clammy, his shirt dampening at your back, that slow, cloying sense of dread took root inside of your stomach.

Under the first rays of morning light, the true extent of Oikawa’s condition is unignorable. Without the luxury of being able to properly close the wound, blood’s seeped through the bandages overnight, leaving them a mottled, macabre red. His face is pale, a thin sheen of sweat dotting at his brow and with every shallow, rattling breath he takes, his body trembles.

It’s more than just simple blood loss.

You think for a moment that he’s unconscious, long lashes fanned out over flushed cheekbones, but the moment you reach for the bandages, his eyes snap open. “Don’t,” he rasps.

You frown, “Tooru–”

“No,” he says. “It’s fine. Leave it alone.”

Between him and Iwaizumi, and to a certain extent, Makki and Mattsun, you’ve never had much of a say in how things are run. You’ve never questioned that they’re the ones in charge, Oikawa most of all. They’re the ones who’ve kept you safe, kept you alive all this time, and all they’ve ever asked of you is that you do what they say.

And you have. Always. Because without them, you’d be dead. You don’t have to pick up a gun and fight, because they do it for you. You don’t have to go on supply runs because they take care of it, they take care of you. And it’s never mattered whether it’s just been the five of you out there alone, or if you were banding together with other survivors; that’s never changed – no matter how many dirty looks it earned you from the others.

You are their responsibility, but in return, you do what they tell you without question.

But this–

This isn’t like that. This isn’t you begging Iwaizumi to take you with him on perimeter patrol because you’ve been cooped up for what feels like weeks, or pouting because they’re deliberately keeping things from you again.

And maybe they have kept you in the dark, but you’re not blind and you’re not stupid. The reality of this situation hasn’t escaped you.

The sanctuary’s overrun, and if – when – Iwa, Makki and Mattsun make it back, they’ll be walking into an ambush. Even if by some miracle they do manage to all make it out unscathed and somehow figure out a way to pick up your trail, there’s no telling how long it’ll take for them to find their way back to you.

(You can’t bear to think about the possibility of them not coming home; you won’t.)

Right now, it’s just you and Oikawa, stuck in some abandoned cottage in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a rifle and a baseball bat between you. You have no food, no supplies and he’s getting weaker by the minute.

You’re terrified.

And you don’t have the luxury of sitting back and letting somebody else take care of you anymore. You don’t stand a chance of survival without Oikawa, and right now he doesn’t stand a chance without you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you shake your head. “Okay, I won’t touch it, but I’m not just going to sit here and watch you get worse.” Smoothing your palms over your lap, you take a deep breath in through your nose. “There’s a prison–”

“No.”

“Tooru–”

“I said no,” he snaps.

Biting back a sigh, you try again, “Tooru, there might be supplies there,” you plead. “Painkillers, antibiotics, something that might help–”

“I don’t need antibiotics and you’re not leaving. We need to stay here where it’s safe until the others find us,” he grits out, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Normally, this would be the point that you’d back off, running off to lick your wounds before he decided to get mean, but even as some part of you cowers at the mere thought of upsetting him, this time you don’t back down.

He watches warily as you lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek, gently smoothing damp brown locks back from his sweat slicked forehead. “I don’t know when Iwa’s coming back,” you murmur. “But until he does, the prison’s our best chance, if I can just–”

“No!” he snarls, cutting you off once again.

His eyes are manic now, blown wide and glazed over, he’s shivering, his breath a faint rattle – but his grip is iron, long fingers clutching at you desperately when you jerk back with a gasp.

“You don’t leave me.”

You don’t want to.

It’d be easy not to, to sit and stay with him and pretend that your world isn’t falling apart and he isn’t dying. You’ve never been a fighter, always too soft, too weak, too naive to survive out there on your own. The thought of setting one foot outside of that door without him by your side fills you with absolute terror, but what other options do you have?

He might not like it, but you’re out of time – this decision isn’t his to make anymore.

“Tooru, I-I have to, you know–”

“No!” he snaps, dragging you closer. “You’re not leaving me, I won’t fucking let you!”

Your hand trembles when you reach up to take his, easing it from your shirt and bringing it to your lips. Tears spill from your lashes, falling in heavy droplets against the back of his hand as Oikawa makes a pained sound.

“Please don’t go.”

You both know he can’t stop you.

“Keep the gun,” you tell him, mustering up a tight, watery smile. “Anything but Iwa and our boys comes through that door, shoot it.”

—

It seems a cruel, twisted joke that you find a perfectly good truck sitting a little ways up the driveway, just begging to be used – with no way of getting it started.

Mattsun always made hot wiring look so easy, tossing you a wink when the engine rumbled to life, as if it was a neat little party trick he’d pulled out just to impress you. He did it so quickly, so smoothly, ripping the wires out and sparking them like it was second nature, but he’d never bothered to actually explain what he was doing to you.

And why would he? Between the four of them, there’d always be somebody else to take care of it for you. It’s the same reason they never taught you how to shoot, never taught you how to fight beyond the very basics of self defence.

Now, trudging along the side of the barren road with nothing but your baseball bat and a canteen of water slung over your hip, you find yourself wishing you’d paid a little more attention. Ten miles hadn’t seemed that far on paper – it was less than the trek back into town and you’d figured a safer bet, but walking around in broad daylight without any kind of real protection feels like you’re begging to be preyed upon. Yet by some stroke of luck (and despite that persistent nagging sense that you’re being watched) you manage to make it to the perimeter gates without coming across another soul, dead or alive.

The towering brick walls topped with spirals of barbed wire that line the prison complex are as imposing as they are unbreachable, and for a moment, standing there staring up at them, you feel a crushing sense of disappointment. You’ve walked over two hours, left Tooru in pain and alone for nothing. There’s no way in hell you’re gonna be able to scale those walls, and without any kind of bolt cutters or firepower, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to get past the front gates.

Iwa would’ve known that. Iwa would’ve been better prepared.

But as you draw closer to the guardhouse, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that it’s not a problem. The heavy wrought iron gate’s already unlocked and open, creaking in the breeze. And really, that should have been the first warning sign, but you’re too busy thanking your lucky stars as you slide on through to pay attention to things like that.

The courtyard is just as deserted. The crunch of gravel underfoot echoes too loud, setting your nerves on edge as you make your way towards the imposing structure. It’s quiet, eerily so – even the birds seem to have disappeared. Is this how all raids feel, you wonder as you climb the steps towards the door. This sense of foreboding dread that settles in your stomach, the goosebumps that prickle down your arms?

Your grip tightens around the handle of your bat and you press gingerly against the door – just like the guardhouse gate, it gives under your touch, swinging open wide. It’s dark inside; you hadn’t thought to bring a torch and with the absence of any windows lining the corridor it’s near pitch black. Your heart hammers inside your chest, every cell in your body screaming at you to turn around and run back to Tooru, but you’ve come this far already.

The undead flock to fresh, living meat. It’s been months since the outbreak began; anyone unfortunate enough to have found themselves trapped inside when it happened is probably long dead, and any of the undead likely long gone.

It’s just a little darkness.

Steeling your nerves you creep through the black, clutching tightly at your bat, toeing your way down the corridor waiting for your eyes to adjust to the dim. Every breath you draw in feels too loud, every step too obnoxious. Deserted or not, the sooner you can find the med-bay, get what you need for Oikawa and get out, the better.

The layout’s simple enough – five looming multi-storied wings breaking off like fingers from the central watch-tower, but you don’t have a clue which one holds what you’re seeking. Your only option is to search them one by one and hope for the best.

You’d expected steel bars and heavy locks, but the prison reminds you strangely of a school instead; long hallways lined with doors, each with a tiny window to peek through. They’re all open now of course, whatever locking mechanism keeping them shut having failed when the generators ran out. The first few are empty, barren and stripped of everything but soiled mattresses – it should be a relief.

There’s nothing waiting for you in the darkness but empty halls and emptier rooms. If the others were here, they’d be teasing you for sure. Or Makki and Mattsun would, at least. You always were such a scared little baby – their scared little baby – you’d jump at your own shadow if you didn’t have them around.

And it’s easier to keep going imagining them there by your side, the jokes they’d crack, the warmth of Iwa’s hand in yours, or Makki’s arm slung over your shoulder. You’d feel safe with them. You wouldn’t need to feel afraid.

But no amount of pretend comfort is enough to allay the heavy sense of dread that’s sitting in your stomach, growing harder and harder to ignore with every passing minute. And the problem, you realise, with the prison being so deadly quiet is that every noise, no matter how quiet, echoes.

Climbing the stairs in the dark, you don’t notice the slickness on the walls either side of you, the red handprints smeared messily over white paint. You don’t see the broken, bloody fingernails littering the steps beneath you.

You hear it though, when you reach the landing. It’s soft. A quiet, wet squelching, ripping–

There’s no screams accompanying it like there were back when the sanctuary was overrun, but it’s not a sound you’re gonna be able to forget any time soon. In the dark you freeze, not daring to so much as breathe as you peer down the endless corridor, trying to pinpoint which of the cells it’s coming from.

In the end, you decide that it doesn’t matter.

They’re quicker when they’ve fed, stronger too, and there’s not a chance in hell that you’re going to be able to fumble past in the dark without drawing that thing’s attention. The wooden bat in your hands feels heavy, your palms already slick with sweat. You weren’t quick enough back at the sanctuary; without Tooru, that thing would’ve eaten you. And suddenly it seems laughable that you came out here, that you genuinely thought you could handle this – fight one of them off if it came down to it.

Tooru needs those meds, you know that, and you might be useless and weak and absolutely paralysed with fear, but you’re not stupid. You can’t help him at all if you’re torn apart by one of those creatures.

Your pulse racing, a potent mix of adrenaline and sheer, unrelenting terror coursing through your veins, you draw in a quiet breath, slowly lifting your foot to back away. It hasn’t heard you yet, and so long as it’s distracted–

“Oi, hurry up! I know what I saw, she came in this way.”

“Jesus, just shut up for a sec, wouldja! Ya don’t need to keep yellin’ at me, I’m comin’!”

Through the grate at your feet, you see two beams of light break through the darkness, the sound of loud, heavy footsteps echoing down the wing. Icy claws tighten like a vice around your heart and you still once more, squeezing your eyes shut as you listen, praying…

The squelching’s stopped.

Grip tight around the handle of your bat, your entire body quaking with fear, you watch with wide, stricken eyes as one of the doors halfway down the block slowly creaks outwards.

For a heartbeat, there’s nothing, and you try and convince yourself it’s just the wind, that you’re imagining things and your mind is playing mean tricks on you–

A feral snarl rips through the air, and before you can so much as scream it’s crashing through the open doorway, head swivelling as it searches for the source of the disturbance. In the dark you can’t make out much, only that it’s huge, half its flesh torn and decaying, smeared with blood and filth – but you see it when those white, cloudy eyes fix on you, its rotting mouth bared and salivating.

And this time you do scream. You scream for Oikawa, for Iwa, for Makki and Mattsun and the faceless strangers on the floor below as you cast your bat aside and run. You don’t dare look over your shoulder as you take the stairs two, three at a time, slipping and slamming into the stairwell wall, a sharp burst of pain radiating down your shoulder – you can hear it giving chase, the rabid growls and snarls too close for comfort.

Tears flood your eyes, your chest heaving with every desperate breath as your feet hit solid ground once more and you take off.

“Please!” you sob as you run, blinded by the brightness of the torch beam as it’s shone in your direction. “PLEASE HELP ME!”

You can’t outrun it forever. Even now, you hear it gaining on you, its hot, foul breath puffing against your back – it’s just like back at the sanctuary. It’s gonna catch you, rip into you and feast while you choke to death on your own blood and screams, and this time you won’t have Oikawa here to save you. You’re going to die in agony, torn apart and devoured, and it’s all your own stupid fault.

Your throat tightens, more tears springing free. You can’t see anything beyond those two blinding lights, moving now, dancing across the field of your vision. “PLEASE!” you shriek, desperate and hoarse as the undead creature behind you readies itself to pounce.

Please don’t leave me here to die.

And for one heart wrenching second, you think back to your boys, and the words they’d said before kissing you goodbye. Everybody else first. Maybe this is some kind of divine retribution, you think. Maybe when the world went to hell people became cold and selfish and you deserve this for sitting back and letting others die in your place.

“Get down!” the voice yells, and you don’t even stop to think before you drop, sliding across the floor. There’s another blinding flash, a shot fired into the dark and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hug your knees to your chest as the creature snarls in anger and jerks backwards, a gruesome spurt of blood spraying over you.

“Ya fucking missed! How could ya fucking miss?!”

The gun cocks and reloads, another deafening shot ringing out above you and you flinch, your nails biting into the soft skin of your palm–

But this time the bullet hits its mark. The creature crashes to the floor with a loud thump and doesn’t move again.

You don’t waste a second scrambling to your feet, launching yourself into the arms of your saviour. You don’t care that you’re crying, that you’re covered in blood and filth and god knows what else, you cling to him like he’s a lifeline, sobbing into his shoulder. And instead of pushing you away like he probably should, he lets out a short huff that sounds almost like a laugh, his arm curling around your waist.

“I’m the one who shot the damn thing,” the other mutters sourly.

The man holding you snorts, “Nah, yer the idiot who missed.” Belatedly, you realise that he’s still gripping his gun, the brightness you’d assumed to have come from a torch actually from a light mounted to the barrel. He slings the rifle carelessly over his shoulder, drawing back slightly to appraise you. “Now, wanna tell me what a sweet thing like you’s doin’ all alone in a place like this?”

With your eyes now adjusting to the light, you can see that the two of them can’t be much older than you. They’re both tall, broad shouldered and handsome, the same jawline, the same slope to their nose, nearly identical hooded eyes – brothers you decide, maybe even twins. And they’re both smirking at you, not with the relief of just barely escaping a brush with a particularly gruesome death, but with an odd sort of lackadaisical amusement, as if this – skulking through dark, abandoned places, killing the undead – is nothing out of the ordinary for them.

And from the ease with which they carry their weapons, maybe it isn’t.

Oikawa warned you about men like them. Men in general, really. Even the ones who smiled at you back at the sanctuary, the ones who offered to help you move heavy supplies when they saw you struggling – at least, until Iwa or one of the others stepped in with a poisonous glare. Anyone who wasn’t them was dangerous, a threat, just waiting in the wings to take advantage of a pretty, dumb little thing like you.

And maybe he’s right, but when the one holding you instead drags you closer, wraps an arm around your shoulders and begins to lead you back towards the guard tower as his brother falls into step on your other side, you don’t shrug him off.

Oikawa isn’t here, and they have just saved your life. That has to count for something, right?

“I-I thought it’d be safe,” you confess breathlessly, trying not to focus on the thumb sweeping over the curve of your shoulder. “Well, empty at least. I didn’t have a choice.” And they listen, sharing glances in the dark as you tell them about what’d happened at the sanctuary, about Oikawa and the desperation that’d led you to leave him and walk miles alone to try and find some kind of medicine–

Until a snicker interrupts you. “Sorry,” the blonde mutters, though he doesn’t look all that sincere when your eyes flash to his. “It’s just…”

“Anythin’ worth taking woulda been snatched up months ago,” the darker haired one interjects.

“There ain’t nothin’ here but the occasional idiot tryna set up camp an’… Well, ya saw how well that turned out.”

It hits you like a gut punch, forcing the air from your lungs in a harsh, gasping breath. There was never anything here, everything… all of it was a waste. You came all this way, left him feverish and screaming himself hoarse for you, risked your life, almost died and–

It was all for nothing.

Fresh tears sting at your eyes, they’re still talking but it’s just white noise washing over you. You don’t even realise they’re leading you back outside until you’re walking through the doors, the sudden burst of sunlight making you flinch. But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore.

You’re an idiot.

A naive, dumb little girl who was stupid enough to think this half cocked plan was gonna work. That you would make it back to Tooru in one piece, medicine in hand to save the day and prove you weren’t the helpless damsel they’d pegged you for.

You’ve wasted so much time, for nothing.

There’s no drugs, no food, nothing that’s gonna help either one of you make it through the next few days and suddenly you’re drowning under a wave of hopelessness and bitter disappointment. You fall to your knees in the dirt, taking both your saviours by surprise, and let out a painful, heart wrenching sob. And once you start, you can’t seem to stop. It’s overwhelming, every emotion you’ve bottled up and shoved aside over the last two days suddenly forced into the light. You cry for yourself, for Tooru – for Iwa and Makki and Mattsun. You cry until it feels like you can’t breathe anymore, and then there’s rough calloused fingers brushing your tears away.

You look up through wet lashes to find the dark-haired man crouching before you, his expression sober. “Ya don’t need to cry, sweetheart, we’re not monsters y’know.”

His brother chuckles behind you, “We’re not about to leave some pretty little thing all alone out here to starve to death.” His hand’s resting atop your head now, smoothing down the hair at your crown. It’s soft and soothing, and you’re so attuned to seeking comfort that you can’t help but lean into it, eyes momentarily fluttering shut. “We’ve got some friends nearby, a nice little hideaway stocked full of all kinds of shit. Everything ya could possibly need.”

“Y-you mean it?” you ask, wide eyes flickering to the dark haired one, who smiles at last. “You’ll share them with me?”

“‘Course we do. Meds, food, weapons. Whatever ya want, it’s yours.”

You take the hand he offers to help you stand, your limbs trembling once more – but this time it’s not from fear or exhaustion, but the overwhelming rush of sheer relief. You could kiss him, kiss them both, but you don’t.

Instead you settle for throwing your arms around them once more, breathless thanks falling from your lips faster than they can catch as you hug them tight. They don’t seem to mind though, sharing almost identical smirks as the three of you head out to an old, beat up camaro parked out by the entrance to the prison. While the blonde slides in the driver’s seat and his brother takes the passenger’s side, you climb up into the back seat.

“Is it far?” you ask as he kicks the car into gear and peels out onto the deserted road. Hopefully it’s not, the sooner you can get back to help Tooru the better.

“Nah, not too far. We’ll be home before ya know it.”

Of course, they’re driving you to their friends, but they haven’t promised anything about driving you back to the cottage and Oikawa–

Which is perfectly fine! You’re not going to push your luck, they’re already doing plenty for you. More than they really have to. You don’t even need that much – just some medicine for Tooru and enough food for the two of you to get through the next few days, and you’ll be fine. Whatever you can carry, which, admittedly isn’t much. There’s still a few hours of daylight left, if you’re lucky you’ll be able to make it back to him before nightfall.

Things are gonna be fine. You’ll bring the medicine and once he’s better, the two you can head out to find the others. Everything’s gonna be okay. You’ll be better when you’re all back together, the way things were meant to be.

You need them, if anything this little venture’s proven that much at least.

They’d promised that it wasn’t far, and maybe it’s just the exhaustion of the last few days creeping in, or the gentle hum of the engine as the car drives along the long, narrow stretch of road, but your eyelids start to droop, your breath evening out as sleep beckons.

And you’re just dancing on the edge of consciousness when a hushed voice breaks through the comfortable silence, dark eyes flickering up to watch your slumbering form in the rearview mirror. “Ya think Kita’ll be pissed?”

There’s a snort, “Nah. He’s always had a soft spot for strays, ‘specially the pretty ones.” He’s quiet for a moment, almost contemplative before he opens his mouth to add, “‘Sides, we’re gonna take real good care of her, ain’t we, Samu?”

The only reply he gives is a soft grunt of acknowledgement.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere atsumu x reader #yandere osamu x reader #yandere iwaizumi x reader #yandere matsukawa x reader #yandere hanamaki x reader #tw blood #tw gore #angst #toxic relationships #i honestly do not know how to tag this #at this point it's practically sfw #if you ignore all the blood and injuries and zombie stuff

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skzsauce01 · 3 years

Text

Angel Sent From Up Above

Anniversary Request Special

Synopsis: Hyunjin, a new guardian angel, has fallen in love with a human. His human’s girlfriend, to be precise. Angel AU, background college AU and skater AU.

Warning: violence

Word Count: 8.3k

Pairing: fem!reader x guardian angel!Hyunjin; fem!reader x human!Jeongin

“Is she healed now?” Hyunjin asks the moment Jisung flies in. He knows Jisung is probably exhausted from keeping maladies away from you, but he needs the answer now. “Is her flu gone?”

“Yeah.” Jisung’s wings are tinged gray with ruin, but he keeps them on display for all the other guardian angels to see as he walks past them. They are proof that he has been doing his duty. They’ll return to white soon enough anyway. “Your human’s her boyfriend. Why didn’t you try to check through him? He visited a few times even though she told him not to.” Jisung sighs and shakes his head. “What an idiot. He’s going to get sick himself.”

“He hasn't visited recently, so I haven’t been able to check through him. The Archangel’s forbade me going to Earth unless it was something serious. I think he’s worried I'm spending too much time with humans.”

Jisung shakes his head. “I think he’s worried that he’s going to have to Seungmin you.”

“I'm not going to get expelled.”

Jisung shrugs, and ruin falls from his wings like ash. “You better watch out. You checked up on her too much last time she got sick, so he's probably trying to make sure you won't abandon your human. He's banished people for less. Case in point: Seungmin.”

“She's important to Jeongin, so she's important to me."

Jisung sighs. “Sometimes I think you’re more protective of her than I am.”

He says it as a joke, but Hyunjin knows it’s the truth. He cares deeply about you, maybe even more than his own human, but he will never say that last part aloud.

Hyunjin used to believe that becoming a guardian angel was the best thing that ever happened to him. All of his afterlife, he had wanted to be promoted, to be granted the pure white wings and the crown of sun rays. Regular angels had wings and halos but never white wings and golden halos; silver and silver was the “regular” combination.

Watching over a human was considered the highest honor an angel could receive, and everyone clamored to gain the attention of the Archangel. Hyunjin was not immune. He worked as a messenger for years, delivering even the most inane notes between the higher ups. He endured the attacks, verbal and sometimes physical, and kept his mouth shut. Eventually, the Archangel recognized his efforts, and before dawn broke on Earth, Hyunjin was named the new guardian angel of a baby boy, Yang Jeongin.

“You will protect him. You will guide him,” the Archangel said. “He is your responsibility now and yours alone. Do you understand?”

From Heaven, Hyunjin could only look at the wet, wrinkled face of his human. His human. “I understand.”

Then the Archangel flew off, and Hyunjin flew to Earth for the first time to meet the baby. No one noticed him as he phased through the hospital walls nor as his giant wings folded back. Only Jeongin would be able to see his guardian angel.

“Hello there, little one,” he whispered to the swaddled baby. The boy was fast asleep, and Hyunjin gently stroked his face. “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Hyunjin, your official guardian angel. I’ll always be nearby now, and I’ll always make sure you’re safe. Sometimes you won’t be able to see me, but I’ll always be watching over you. I promise.”

Jeongin stirred awake and stared back at Hyunjin. Two sets of eyes blinked at each other, one full of curiosity and one full of tenderness.

“Go back to sleep,” Hyunjin said. He drew his hand over the baby’s face, and Jeongin’s eyes fluttered shut. “Sweet dreams, little one.”

Guardian angels talked about their humans like parents, bragging about how gifted they were and sharing complaints about what unbelievable thing they did the other day. Hyunjin mostly did the latter. Jeongin was an adventurous child, which was just a nice way of saying that he liked to play with danger. Hyunjin often had to fly in to save him or to redirect the threat somewhere else. The other angels joked that Hyunjin stayed on Earth more than Heaven sometimes. He didn’t mind though. Even with his human’s shortcomings, Hyunjin adored him. He watched from above as Jeongin said his first words, attended his first day of kindergarten, and got into his first fight.

“He’s a troublemaker,” Minho observed.

Minho was a guardian angel as well, but he tended to lurk on the outer edges of the realm as the other angels avoided him for a reason Hyunjin hadn’t figured out yet. Hyunjin liked him well enough and treated him like a mentor, sometimes a friend.

“Hey, you’re not one to talk. Your human started a black market of candy at school.”

Minho shrugged. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Jeongin didn’t end up growing up into a troublemaker, to Hyunjin’s relief. The impulsive streak was still there, but he utilized his judgement more now. There were no car crashes or cases of alcohol poisoning, and when Jeongin asked out girls, it was with daisy bouquets and a suggestion to get lunch. Hyunjin slowly stopped making routine trips to Earth and chose to view Jeongin from the comfort of Heaven. It was there that Hyunjin noticed you.

“I think she’s upset with him,” Jisung abruptly says. “She cried after a video call with him, so if your human starts acting strangely, that’s why.”

The news makes Hyunjin stop mid-step, and he turns to his friend. “She cried? What? What did she cry about?”

“I don’t know. I was too busy trying to lower her temperature. Can you believe that she almost hit—”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I just got back! There is no ‘earlier!’ Besides, we aren't allowed to interfere in anything that isn't dangerous. Heartbreak, if this is even what this is, is temporary."

“Humans do drastic things for love.” The movies has seen while watching Jeongin have told him that much.

“Which we will attend to when it happens. You’re a new guardian; you’ll understand them better over time. Not everything is life-threatening, fragile as they are.”

Hyunjin turns away from Jisung and glances down at Earth. The clouds part, and all of the brick buildings of the university rush towards his eyes as he focuses on Jeongin. He’s asleep at his desk, his lamp still burning bright above him. How long has it been since the video call? Or perhaps he’s just tired from the events of his day. But he looks so small and vulnerable in his chair. Jeongin isn’t fragile — the amount of situations he has gotten out of covered in bruises and blood is astronomical — but he is mortal.

“But she loves him,” Hyunjin softly says, “and he loves her.”

“Exactly. Humans fight over small things all the time, and this is one of those times.” Jisung places a hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder to placate him. “Trust me.”

“... I trust you.”

“Good. I need to rest, but we can catch up and see what stupid things they do after.”

The moment Jisung flies off to the rest area, Hyunjin goes against the Archangel’s orders and flies to your apartment. When he peers inside your bedroom window, he spots you sitting in bed in the dark, your phone screen illuminating your face. He phases inside and sits at your desk chair, resting his forearms at the top rail. You can’t see him, but he wishes that you could.

You mindlessly scroll through messages, sniffling every few seconds. Whether it’s from your crying or your illness, he doesn’t know. He can’t hand you a tissue or tell you comforting things or hug you like Jeongin can. When you wrap your blanket tighter around your shoulders, he wraps his wings around himself as well.

Suddenly you throw your phone beside you and let out a heavy sigh. “It can’t get any worse than this,” you say to yourself.

Hyunjin waits for you to say more, but you only stare at the ceiling with blank eyes. He can’t compel you to talk; only Jisung can, but he’s not here. So instead, Hyunjin knocks over the glass of water on your bed when you shift into a more comfortable position.

“Of course it can,” you sigh again and blot as much water as you can with your tissues. You pull another one out of the box with more force than necessary and furiously dab your sheets. “First I get sick, then I miss a homework deadline that I can’t make up because my professor lost his heart thirty years ago along with his hair, then my boyfriend breaks up with me for like no reason, apparently I have an exam tomorrow, and now I’ve spilled water all over my bed, so I can’t even sleep. Thank you, universe. I really needed this.”

He immediately regrets his decision.

“Worst freaking week of my life,” you mumble as you throw away the wet tissues. Hyunjin almost reaches out for your arm when you pass by, but he retracts it just in time.

When you climb back into bed, you draw your blanket up to your chin and begin murmuring numbers. They come out calm and even at first, but they become more tense as time passes. Hyunjin half-listens as he scans the contents of your desk. A laptop, a shopping bag, an open notebook with doodles on the margins, an uncapped black pen, and a pack of gum. He presses his forefinger to the point of the pen, drawing a tiny heart by touch. Then he stamps the heart among all your misshapen stars and imaginary flowers. You might just think it’s an ink smear, but he hopes you look at it and smile.

You hit three hundred and forty-seven before you begin to sound drowsy. Hyunjin stands at the foot of your bed, watching as you finally drift off in the middle of three hundred and ninety-three. Serenity settles across your features.

“I’m sorry for what I did earlier. Good night and sweet dreams,” he whispers. He pats the corner of your bed before flying off into the night.

He needs to see Jeongin.

It was hard not to notice you when you were on a collision course with Jeongin. You were going too fast, and Hyunjin’s wings couldn’t carry him to Earth in milliseconds. With horror, he watched as you sharply turned the building corner on your skateboard and just barely jumped off in time when you saw Jeongin about to make the same turn.

“You okay?” Jeongin asked as he hurried to stop your runaway board.

“I should be asking you that!” you exclaimed as you followed him. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have veered that close to the wall. You’re not hurt or anything, right?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“Good. I can’t risk getting sued again.” Unsure of how to respond, Jeongin nudged back your board to you. You neatly stopped it mid-roll with your foot. “Thanks, by the way. See you around.”

“Yeah, see you.”

You kicked off, but before you left the area, you turned around and gave him a wave. Jeongin waved back, albeit more shyly than you. After a moment’s hesitation, he yelled out, “Be careful!”

“I’ll try!”

Jeongin laughed and turned the corner, looking at the brick wall with more wistfulness than most people usually did. Before he entered the building, he peeked around the next corner, as if he expected you to come speeding by again. You didn’t.

After that, he noticed you more often, usually swerving around strangers as you cut through campus. Whenever he had the opportunity to say hello, he did so with a smile, and you returned it with a waggle of your fingers before disappearing into the crowd. Once, you nearly crashed into a railing. You laughed it off and gave him another wave along with a funny face. Hyunjin felt something inside him melt. Jeongin must have too since he headed to his next class with the most lovestruck expression Hyunjin had ever seen on him.

It was then that Jeongin began forming a plan.

Two weeks after the first meeting, Jeongin waited in the quad for you to show up. Just as he hoped, you came walking down the steps fifteen minutes later, skateboard tucked underneath your arm. It was supposed to seem like a coincidence, but Hyunjin had followed Jeongin as he scoured nearby skate spots, asking around about you. Yesterday, he had learned where you liked to practice tricks. He got up from his bench, hands hidden behind his back, and approached you with the same moves and confidence he had rehearsed in the bathroom mirror.

“Hey! How have you been?” he called up from the very bottom.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin groaned. Jisung, who Hyunjin had tracked down two days prior to this, also did so.

“You said he was a charmer,” Jisung complained. “Look at him. He can’t even charm dogs with a treat.”

“For your sake, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Just wait though. It’s going to get better.”

Jisung huffed. “It better. She deserves the best.”

Fortunately, you took it all in stride and waved hello at Jeongin. When you were finally beside him, you answered, “I’ve been good, thanks. You’re not here to sue me, right?”

“No! I was actually wondering if you could teach me how to skateboard. If you have time, that is.”

“Really? But I almost killed you that one time. I mean, I’d be happy to, but it’s kind of weird after what happened.”

“I’d rather skateboard than walk, and you seem pretty good at it.”

You shifted your weight to one foot, and Hyunjin chuckled when he saw Jeongin’s eyes wander to your jutted-out hip. Jisung made a noise of disapproval.

“Okay, what is this really about?”

“Skateboarding,” Jeongin said. Then he took a step closer and held out a bundle of daisies towards you. “And lunch, if you want.”

You broke out into a grin. “I am a little hungry right now. L/N Y/N, skateboarding extraordinaire and ramen enthusiast, at your service.”

“Yang Jeongin, also a ramen enthusiast. Nice to officially meet you.”

Jeongin is still sleeping at his desk when Hyunjin arrives. He shifts and exhales when the wind from Hyunjin’s wings create a small breeze but does not wake.

“How could you break up with her?” Hyunjin says. “She’s amazing and wonderful, and you decide that you don't want to be with her? Sometimes I wonder what’s going on in your head.”

Silence.

“If I were human, I would have never done that, but…”

Jeongin shifts again, burying himself deeper into the crumpled hoodie he’s using as a pillow. The table squeaks, and a mechanical pencil rolls off the desk. Hyunjin quietly places the pencil back to its initial place and shuts off the lamp.

“Take care of yourself, and make good choices, okay? I can’t do that for you.”

Instead of flying back to Heaven, he perches on the roof of the building across from Jeongin’s. Jeongin finally wakes up and notices that his light is off. He glances at it confusedly for a few seconds, wondering if he misremembered leaving it on. In the end, he decides it’s not worth the effort and falls into his bed. He didn’t even spare you a thought, a crime in Hyunjin’s eyes.

Then he realizes he may have a bigger problem on his hands.

Jisung.

Jisung is going to be very upset when he finds out about this.

Over the weekend, you brought Jeongin to the quad to learn the basics.

“Put both feet on the board now,” you said as you walked alongside a skateboarding Jeongin. He was borrowing yours to practice, so he treated it with more reverence than a well-used board would need. Even though he was pushing with his back foot, he was going at a snail’s pace.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m going to lose my balance and fall.”

Perhaps it wasn’t reverence after all.

You shook your head. “No, you won’t. You’re not going that fast anyway. You can just step off if you really feel like you are. Give it a shot.”

To his credit, Jeongin lifted his foot a few centimeters off the ground before planting it back. “I’m going to lose control.”

While you did your best to persuade Jeongin to give it another try, Jisung gave Hyunjin a dissatisfied look. “I remember you telling me he was a daredevil. What is happening?”

He didn’t exactly know either. “He’s in front of his crush; give him a break.”

“These two better not end up dating. She deserves so much better than him.”

Hyunjin gave him a dirty look, Jisung gave him a “What? It’s true” type of a shrug.

You step in front of the board. “How about this?” you said. “You stand on the board with both feet, and I’ll pull you along so you can get used to the feeling and be less of a scaredy cat.”

“Okay.”

You took both of his hands and slowly guided him backwards. At the same time, you instructed him to put more weight on one side to change directions. Jeongin was surprisingly stable, and Hyunjin watched proudly as his human suggested that you increase your speed a little.

“See? It’s not bad?” you said. “Keeping balance isn’t that hard, right?”

“Yeah. Also,” he grinned, his meek demeanor completely gone, “we’re holding hands now.”

Your eyes widened as you glanced down at your joined hands, and you let out a delighted gasp. “You sneaky little—” Much to Jeongin’s alarm, you let go and smirked. “If you go past the bench without constantly pushing, I’ll let you hold my hand when you walk me home.”

“Kind of presumptuous of you to assume that I would offer to walk you home,” he teased, resting one foot on the floor. “Or is that what you want me to do?”

“You asked me to lunch with flowers. You were going to.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Then he kicked off, skating past the bench with ease. Still going, he looked over his shoulder and shouted, “Do you want to grab doughnuts before you head home?”

“Watch the lamp!” you yelled as you ran towards him. “Jeongin, stop looking at me and turn around!”

The collision with the lamppost was unavoidable, so Hyunjin simply watched as Jeongin took a flying leap off your board and took a tumble on the concrete. While you fumbled for band aids — Jeongin’s knee was scraped and bloody — Jeongin patted his pockets to check that his phone had not fallen out.

“So doughnuts?” he sheepishly asked.

“Sure. I’ll buy.” You finally found one hidden in the bottom of your backpack along with an alcohol wipe. “Guess you get to hold my hand after all.”

“How are you so prepared?” he asked, nodding to the contents you had unceremoniously dumped out whilst rummaging. “You have tweezers and gauze?”

“My mom made me carry a first-aid kit with me when she found out that I skate to class. It comes in handy.” You ripped open the package. “This might hurt.”

“You can kiss it to feel better.”

You laughed and pressed the alcohol wipe to his knee. “You’re such a flirt, I love it. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, hurts a lot.”

You opted to kiss the band aid instead, causing Jeongin to pout and Jisung to sigh in relief. When you stuck it onto his skin, Jeongin made a big production of being relieved from pain, which made you laugh and shove him.

“No! She’s in love with him,” Jisung groaned. His wings drooped, and Hyunjin swore his halo actually dimmed when you kept your hands in Jeongin’s after you pulled him up. “Well, Hyunjin, looks like you and I are going to be best friends.”

Hyunjin personally saw no issue with that. Like Jeongin, he had been charmed by your antics and your easygoing nature. Protecting his human’s friends, family, or lovers wasn’t part of Hyunjin’s duty, but he felt compelled to watch over you too.

Because if he were human, he would have fallen in love with you too.

In the midst of his lamenting, Jisung flies down and sits beside him on the roof. His wings are still slightly gray, and Hyunjin strangely begins to feel self-conscious of his pure white ones.

“Didn’t the Archangel forbid you from doing frivolous things?” Jisung says in lieu of a greeting. “I saw you at her apartment earlier.”

“I just wanted to check up on her. Not that I thought you lied,” he hastily adds. “I wanted to see for myself. She’s a little… distraught.”

“She got into a fight with her boyfriend. It’s normal.” When Hyunjin doesn’t reply or even make a sound, he grows concerned. “Is it something else? She’s getting sued, isn’t she? I knew it was going to happen someday. When I find that smug richie-rich, I’m going to—”

“Jeongin broke up with her.”

“What.”

Hyunjin repeats his sentence, trying to block the view of Jeongin’s bedroom with his body. Jisung looks like he’s ready to rain judgement onto him, and while Hyunjin is rather good at his job, he’s not sure if he can hold back an enraged guardian angel. Jisung takes several deep breaths before regaining the little composure he can muster.

“I knew I hated him for a reason. I knew he didn’t deserve her,” he spits out, though the venom in his voice wavers. “Why would he even break up with her? She loved him so much.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “That’s what I want to find out.”

“When you find out, let me know. I’m going to see her now.”

Hyunjin stays on the roof until sunrise. Jeongin sleeps without any trouble, and when he wakes up, he looks fresh-faced, no guilt hanging over his head. Hyunjin feels something inside him cracking apart.

You truly don’t deserve this.

“Do you think they’re going to crash and burn?” Jisung asked as he studied you and Jeongin walking through the park, practically glued to each other’s sides. “I think they’re moving too fast. It’s only been a month.”

Hyunjin really didn’t care about that. As long as you and Jeongin were happy, he was happy. “A month is a pretty long time for them. Mortal lives are short.”

“Exactly. They should be more selective about their life choices.”

Hyunjin only rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to you. You were pointing at the tiny carousel in the middle and tugging at Jeongin’s sleeve. You dragged him over and pushed a coin into the slot for the ride. The lights lit up and a carnival theme played while you struggled to wedge yourself between the saddle of an elephant and the roof of the carousel. Jeongin sat on the edge, beside the tiger, and chuckled at your flailing limbs.

Hyunjin suppressed his own laugh. You were something special. Just last week, the two of you had made it official and started dating. You had done it in the sweetest possible way.

You had taken him to a local skateboarding shop to help him pick out his first board. Once he had chosen one — the ‘one’ being a light blue deck patterned with multicolored doughnuts — the staff at the shop sent him to the back to try it out. Meanwhile, you made the age-old excuse of needing to use the restroom when you were actually getting the flowers you had hidden in the back.

Hyunjin had turned into a pile of fluff when you gave Jeongin the daisy bouquet and asked if he wanted to officially be your boyfriend. You were so earnest. Jeongin playfully pretended to think it over, a feat Hyunjin knew he wouldn’t have been able to do if he were in his position. There were no fireworks or confetti when Jeongin finally said yes, but the staff did clap and cheer. Jisung looked on with contempt. Hyunjin looked on with envy.

“You know,” Jisung abruptly said, snapping Hyunjin back to the present, “when her last boyfriend broke up with her, she had ice cream for dinner for a week.”

“Oh.”

“You see why I’m being wary of him now?”

Hyunjin did, but Jeongin was different. His previous relationships always ended well, and on one occasion, he remained friends with his ex. He sighed and decided that a change of topic was necessary so he wouldn’t have to potentially endure a tirade. “Did you hear about Minho’s human? The bank he worked at got robbed, and he got held at gunpoint.”

That caught the overprotective Jisung’s ear. “What? Is he okay?”

During Hyunjin’s recountment of Minho’s recountment, the carousel ride ended. You squeezed out of your spot, hitting your head on the roof, and Jeongin pulled you in for a forehead kiss. The world grew brighter when you smiled, he realized.

Hyunjin shadows Jeongin around all day, hoping to learn the reason for the breakup. Unfortunately, Jeongin doesn’t say anything. He does show some regret though, as he scrolls through past messages and old pictures. When he heads to classes, he opts to walk instead of skateboarding like usual and avoids the quad whenever possible.

In the evening, while Jeongin is chewing on his salad like a cow to cud, Hyunjin pays you a visit. He finds in the freezer section of the grocery store with three pints of ice cream in your basket. From the looks of it, you’re about to add another three to your haul. Peanut butter pretzel sounds equal parts delicious and confusing.

Hyunjin studies your expression, frowning at the same time you do. Your eyes are ringed with red, your jaw tight, and your eyebrows seem permanently furrowed. When he follows you back home, he half expects you to start crying on the way, but you hold fast and manage to open a pint of the salted caramel flavor before the tears finally come. There’s no wailing, just sniffling and the sound of you furiously wiping at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. In the midst of it all, you find the strength to reorganize the freezer to make space for the other pints. Something about that makes Hyunjin’s heart drop.

By the time your roommate discovers you in the kitchen, the entire refrigerator has been reorganized and the ice cream finished. You sit in a dark room, your finger hovering above the ‘SEND’ button of a message to Jeongin. Hyunjin can see it if he flies above you: “Can you please just tell me why? You keep saying you did something wrong, but I don’t even know what it is. Please let me decide if it’s worth breaking up over.”

“Rough day?” she gently asks as she flips on the switch.

“Yeah.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Maybe tomorrow. I just wanna process it right now,” you hollowly say. You grab your skateboard — the same black, paint-splattered one you had last year — and unlock the front door. “I’m going out for a ride, but I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Stay safe.”

After you leave, Jisung phases through the kitchen walls and hisses at Hyunjin, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Jeongin?”

He nearly forgot about him. Eating dinner isn’t a dangerous task anyway though. Besides, if Jeongin does get physically harmed somehow, Hyunjin will feel an echo of the pain. Hyunjin glances at the door, and Jisung shakes his head.

“I’ll take care of her. Go back to Jeongin, and make sure he’s okay. You can’t keep leaving him all the time.”

“Fine, I’ll go.”

“Good.”

Hyunjin reluctantly goes back to Jeongin, who is still eating his salad. His resolve from last night is clearly gone as evidenced by his melancholy expression as he scrolls through even more photos. The one of you in mid-air makes him clutch his phone.

“Let me get one of you when you’re really high up,” Jeongin suggested. He was comfortable gliding around on a skateboard now, but nowhere comfortable enough to try any tricks. Nevertheless, that didn’t stop you from trying to get him to learn. The “pop shove it” was your favorite, solely for the amount of height you could get.

“Okay.”

As you did over and over again for your enthusiastic boyfriend who was unfortunately not that great of a photographer, Hyunjin observed from a rooftop behind Jeongin. Sometimes you looked like you were flying. He could imagine wings protruding from your back, and if the sun hit you just right, there appeared to be a halo as well.

“I got one!” Jeongin exclaimed as he held up his device to you. “Look.”

Hyunjin couldn’t see for himself, but your mouth dropped into an ‘o’ once you took a first glance. A flustered smile made its way onto your face, and everything about you turned soft.

“This looks amazing,” you said. You sidled up to him and rested your cheek against his shoulder, turning your head towards him. “I love you.”

The words hung in the air for a few seconds as both Hyunjin and Jeongin tried to process them. This was the first time you had ever said them, and it came seemingly out of nowhere. Hyunjin recovered first.

“Say ‘I love you’ back, you moron,” Hyunjin whispered, like Jeongin would be able to hear him from this distance. “‘I love you too.’”

“I wanted to say it first,” Jeongin finally said. “Ugh, I had it all planned out too. We were supposed to get doughnuts after this, and I was going to buy you one of those heart-shaped ones.”

You kissed him on the cheek and intertwined your fingers with his. “We can still do that.”

At the doughnut shop, he said the words second, and you kissed him again, leaving a crystal of glaze on the corner of his mouth. Hyunjin licked his lips as if you had left it on him instead.

“Did you find out?” Jisung asks when Hyunjin leaves Jeongin to check up on you. You’re skating around the city, making sharp swerves and weaving in-between lampposts. Jisung is trailing behind you in the sky, but he slows when he sees Hyunjin approaching.

“No, but—”

“Then go back to him. Hyunjin,” Jisung sighs, “I know you care about her, but she’s not your human. Jeongin’s your responsibility.”

“I know but—”

“Go back. And I’m telling you this not as your friend but as your senior. You’re a guardian angel, and you need to take your responsibilities seriously. I’ll get the Archangel involved if I have to. Do you want to get Seungminned?”

The threat of the Archangel strangely doesn’t scare him anymore, however. In fact, the Archangel being involved may solve many of his current issues.

“I’ll find you again when I find out,” Hyunjin slowly says.

Jisung nods in approval before racing after you again. Hyunjin heads to Heaven, not to keep an eye over his human but to become human.

Ten months into Jeongin’s relationship with you, Hyunjin asked Minho, “Is it possible to give up your divinity?”

Minho gave Hyunjin a curious look. “Is being a guardian angel that taxing for you? You haven’t even experienced a full lifespan yet. I know, twenty year-olds are annoying, but it’s not nearly as bad as forty year-olds and their mid-life crisis.”

“I’m just curious. Or, as a last resort,” he added, hoping that Minho would stop being suspicious if he joked about it. “My human’s been making some dumb choices.”

A lie, but Minho fell for it.

“I told you he was going to be a troublemaker!” he cackled. He sympathetically patted Hyunjin’s back. “If I’m being honest, I thought about it a few times. I always get assigned to the troublemakers. Probably because the higher-ups hate me for not tolerating their BS. They’re always playing favorites. Anyway, the easiest way is to get expelled by the Archangel. It’s happened a few times before.”

“Can’t you just ask him?”

Minho smirked. “You don’t think other angels have tried that? He only expels the ones who don’t want to be. It’s supposed to be a punishment.”

“What’s the hard way then?”

“Same thing minus the Archangel getting involved: your wings getting cut off,” he matter-of-factly answered. “The halo will break once your wings are detached. It’s only been done once, by the way.”

Hyunjin absentmindedly rubbed the area where the bones of his wings met with his shoulder blades. All he needed were two clean cuts across his practically impenetrable back.

“How do you do that?”

“With the Archangel’s sword. Another angel has to cut it though; you can’t do it yourself.”

The Archangel would likely banish him to Hell for even asking about his weapon. If Hyunjin ever did manage to steal the sword away, Jisung would never agree to it. He couldn’t just ask any angel to help him.

“How do you know about all this?” Hyunjin asked.

Minho hesitated, something he rarely did. He quickly recovered, hiding his sudden apprehension with his usual devil-may-care nonchalance. “I can’t give away all of my secrets.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends. The word hung in the air like the sun, and Hyunjin knew that Minho would tell him because underneath all of his bluster was loneliness. Because no one liked Minho, or if they did, they still avoided him anyway.

“Yeah, we are,” Minho answered, smiling for a second before a strange expression crossed over his face, pride mixed with a touch of sadness. “Do you really think the Archangel would have expelled one of his favorite guardian angels that easily?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Seungmin. He asked me to cut his wings for him.”

“I need you to cut my wings,” are Hyunjin’s first words to Minho after not speaking to him for days.

To his credit, Minho is only speechless for a few seconds. The dove in his hand pecks at him for more headpats before he recovers. “Well, do you have the sword?”

“No, but I think I can get it. When I do though, would you do it? You’re the only one I trust.”

Minho sighs and tosses the bird out of Heaven, grimacing a bit when he hears it squawk. When he faces Hyunjin, he smiles the same smile he did when he talked about Seungmin. “It’s always me, huh? I’ll do you one better. I’ll steal the sword for you. The Archangel’s been pissing me off anyway.”

For once, Hyunjin’s thoughts are not on you but his friend. He imagined that Minho would be willing, but perhaps he’s too willing. “Are you trying to get expelled as well? We can go together.”

“No, I like being immortal. I hate all of the BS I get put through sometimes, but the Archangel can’t kick me out. He swore an oath to me a long time ago before he got promoted, and it’s pretty much unbreakable. Besides, even Heaven needs a scapegoat.”

That explains why virtually no angels interact with Minho, Hyunjin being the exception. He has never heard of the Archangel being oathsworn, though it seems likely that the Archangel wants to keep that a secret.

“How are you going to get it?” Hyunjin asks. “How did Seungmin even get it? The Archangel always has it with him.”

“Seungmin was one of his favorites,” Minho reminds him. “He had easy access to him, and the Archangel trusted him enough to let him borrow it for ‘a study.’ Don’t worry about me though. Just wait for me on Earth. Somewhere where no one goes. I’ll find you, slice off your wings, and the Archangel won’t even know what happened to you.”

“That’s not possible. He always keeps it on him.”

Minho shrugs, a gleam in his eyes. “I’ve done it before. Why do you think I’m the scapegoat?”

Seungmin. For Minho and now Hyunjin, being Seungminned didn’t mean being expelled for being frivolous anymore; it meant leaving of your own accord.

“What happened to him?” Hyunjin asked. “Why didn’t the Archangel grant his divinity back? Someone should have spotted him on Earth.”

Minho’s wry grin was back. “You think the Archangel wanted everyone to find out the golden boy of Heaven no longer wanted to be an angel? Plenty of angels already saw him roaming Earth. It was easier to let everyone think that Seungmin was banished. So when they saw him on Earth, he was just a fallen angel, nothing important.” He nudged Hyunjin’s arm, and the solemn atmosphere vanished. “A troublemaking human isn’t all that bad. Like I said, the twenties are annoying, but they’re manageable. Is he one of those partying types?”

“He goes out sometimes,” Hyunjin carefully replied. Jeongin liked hanging out with his friends and you — mostly you, now that Hyunjin thought about it — but he wasn’t getting blackout drunk every night. At least, Hyunjin hoped he wasn’t. He usually watched over you if you were ever in the vicinity. “Speaking of which, I should check up on him.”

Minho said his goodbyes, and Hyunjin flew back to Earth once he saw that you weren’t with Jeongin. You were studying at your desk, rolling a pen between your fingers, reading through a document on your laptop. The desk light casted a warm glow on your face. You frowned, and your lower lip swelled outwards.

He wished he were human.

Just as Minho said, Hyunjin waits for him to arrive in a secluded part of the university campus. The building rooftop is devoid of anyone, and the area surrounding it is empty as well. The evening turns into night, then night into the early morning when the sky begins lightening. Still, Minho has not come.

He distantly wonders how Jeongin is faring and his promise to Jisung. When he’s human, he’ll ask Jeongin directly, maybe in disguise of a survey: “Why did you break up with your last partner?” Even to him, it sounds stupid. However, that’s not the real reason why he’s giving up his divinity, so it hardly matters to him. Jisung is resourceful; he’ll find out eventually.

Finally, when the sun peeks over the horizon, Minho descends from Heaven, a familiar silver sword in his hand. He lands beside Hyunjin, a triumphant smile on his face. But his usual humor has been replaced with solemnity.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks as he rests the blade on the top of Hyunjin’s wings.

He has never felt so sure of anything in his life. “Yes.”

“It’s going to hurt.”

“Then make it quick.”

Searing pain shoots through his body as the sword pierces through the thin skin and into the bone. The process is not as nearly as seamless as Hyunjin hoped it would be, and Minho breathes heavily as he pushes the blade down. Bones snap, feathers drift to the floor, and blood trickles down his back. The pain only grows greater near the end, but Hyunjin grits his teeth and keeps quiet. Dawn breaks when his wings finally fall to the floor, no longer white but splattered with red. Soon they fade into dust, and the remnants scatter into the wind. His golden halo shatters into sunlight. The world dulls as the last of his powers disappear, but everything feels much better than when he was an angel.

“Thank you,” he whispers to Minho, who he cannot even look at anymore. His eyes would be burned.

“You’re fallen, not quite mortal and not quite divine. You won’t be affected by all of an angel’s power.”

When Hyunjin cautiously glances at him, Minho waves the bloody sword at him. “See?”

“Yeah.” He wanted humanity, but this is good enough for him. He just needs you to be able to see him, hear him, touch him.

“I need to go back before Heaven becomes Hell, but find Seungmin if you can. He can help you figure things out. Last I heard, he’s living somewhere in the mountains.”

“Thank you,” he repeats. “Minho, I can’t even put it into words about how much this means to me. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Minho pats his shoulder before stripping off his clean shirt. “Clean yourself before you leave. No one wants to witness a walking crime scene this early in the morning.”

When he flies back to Heaven, the last thing Hyunjin sees are his wings, still pure white.

“Hey,” you said as you laced your fingers with Jeongin’s. He had just finished class, and you had waited for him outside the building. Hyunjin had sat on the other end of the bench, savoring the proximity. That was the closest he would ever get to you. “Are you busy tonight? The skate shop just announced — literally an hour ago, those jerks — that they were doing a midnight drop, and I kind of want a new deck.”

“Ugh, I’ve been meaning to buy new trucks, but I have to meet up with my group tonight. Send me pictures though.”

Disappointment only momentarily flooded through Hyunjin. If it was anything like the last two meetups, it would be at the library, and the library was a safe place. Jeongin would be fine there. Hyunjin would be free to shadow you as you went to the skate shop.

“I can get it for you,” you offered.

He shook his head. “It’s fine. Maybe I’ll just wait for a sale.”

“Don’t be surprised if I do get you new trucks,” you warned. You let go of his hand and held his arm. “I still owe you for last month’s dinner.”

Jeongin shook his head again, a smile making its way onto his face. “You don’t owe me anything but a kiss.”

“Flirt,” you laughed as you pressed your lips to his cheek. “Never change, Yang Jeongin.”

That night at the skate shop, Hyunjin hovered above you as you stood in line, chatting with others. There were no unscrupulous characters around, but he stayed with you, only going back to Jeongin when Jisung insisted. However, by then, Hyunjin had already seen you eyeing the shiny teal trucks through the window. Hyunjin knew nothing about skateboards even after all those months, but you seemed pleased by them.

“You’re only getting trucks for sure?” your brand new acquaintance asked. “This is, like, the biggest drop they’ve ever done.”

You shrugged. “I’m kind of on the fence about the decks I saw on the email. I don’t know. Maybe wheels too?”

Meanwhile, Jisung hissed, “Hyunjin, go before something happens. What if a fight breaks out?”

Hyunjin sincerely doubted that one would happen at the library. He lingered around, taking his time unfolding his wings and stretching them.

“Your boyfriend’s lucky,” your acquaintance sighed.

“Nah, I’m the lucky one.”

Daisies, that’s what he needs right now. Choosing the rooftop of a building was not a smart decision, but the access door is thankfully unlocked, and Hyunjin races down all of the emergency stairs. However, with no form of currency on him, Hyunjin heads to the quad, hoping that he can pull up some dandelions for you. You need to be supported, and bright yellow flowers are just the thing.

What he doesn’t expect though, is to find you doing pop shove its at your usual spot. It’s so early in the day; did you even go back to your apartment to sleep?

“Good morning,” he calls as he walks closer. He waves at you, and you can see him! You tentatively wave back and give him a halfhearted smile. “How are you today? You look beautiful.”

“Thanks, and I’m fine,” you politely reply as you take a step back away from him. “What about you?”

Hyunjin curses in his head and takes another step towards you. “I’m good. Really good, actually. I was wondering if you could teach me how to skateboard. I’m new here, and skateboarding seems like an efficient way to get around.”

You flinch at his words, and he desperately wants to take them back. How did Jeongin do it? Why do his statements come out so stiff? “You seem pretty good at it.”

“Are you not cold?” you blurt out. Hyunjin curses again as he realizes that he’s shirtless. His old one was stained, and Minho’s was as well as the result of his cleanup. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. “You know, I have to get going, but it was nice meeting you.”

“Hyunjin. My name’s Hyunjin.”

“Nice meeting you, Hyunjin.”

You grab your board and immediately head off to the direction of your apartment. Hyunjin is tempted to follow, but he stays where he is. A bad first impression isn’t the end of the world. The only thing holding him back is his lack of a shirt.

He wanders through the quad, scanning the grass for some flowers. Most of them are the white, fluffy dandelions, but he needs the bright yellow version. However, he takes the white ones anyway in case he can’t find any. The wind scatters the seeds, and he—

“Hyunjin, I told you not to come back.”

Jisung.

Hyunjin turns around, dropping his bouquet onto the ground. To his horror, not only is Jisung present but also the Archangel. His sword is strapped to his side like usual, not a blood splatter tainting it. Minho did an excellent job of cleaning up the crime scene.

“Jisung, Archangel,” Hyunjin nervously greets. The Archangel frightens him now. “How can I help you?”

“Jisung, why did you bring me here?” the Archangel asks. “I have other things to attend to.”

“He’s abandoned his human too many times, and I don’t think he’s fit to be a guardian angel anymore.”

The Archangel grasps the hilt of his sword and studies Hyunjin, up and down, back and forth. He circles him, and Hyunjin can almost feel his mortality-divinity shining through his body. Jisung hasn’t noticed yet, but there is no doubt the Archangel hasn’t.

“Normally,” the Archangel begins, “the punishment for not fulfilling your duties as a guardian angel is being expelled from Heaven. But you have already fallen.”

“What?” comes Jisung’s shocked voice.

“It was a mistake,” Hyunjin tries. Minho’s words ring in his ear: He only expels the ones who don’t want to be. “I thought I wanted humanity, but I’ve realized that being a guardian angel is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Please. Grant me my divinity back. I will never abandon my human again. I will swear an oath if I have to.”

The Archangel smiles with no teeth, and a chill runs down Hyunjin’s spine. “I’m in a forgiving mood today, so I will do just as you ask. Your divinity will be granted back, but you will no longer be a guardian angel. I’m stripping you of those powers and those duties. You will be replaced immediately. It was my mistake for tasking you with such a large responsibility when you weren’t ready yet.”

With just a snap of the Archangel’s fingers, Hyunjin’s senses sharpen, and the world comes hurtling at him. Nothing is dull anymore, but everything feels so dark and wrong. You will never be able to see him, hear him, or talk to him again. And he will never be able to either. Power surges inside of him, and new wings burst through his shoulder blades, fanning out once they reappear. A silver halo hangs over his head. There is no physical pain into becoming immortal again, yet he wishes there was something. Everything he and Minho did was erased with ease.

Hyunjin swallows the lump in his throat. “Thank you,” he chokes out.

“You’re very welcome. Come along now. Only guardian angels are allowed to be on Earth.”

Hyunjin follows the Archangel back to Heaven while Jisung goes after you. The Archangel loudly deliberates on who he should be replaced with, and Hyunjin knows that his request was not granted with kindness. The Archangel informs that he will be a messenger again. Hyunjin barely hears him as he takes one last look at Earth. Jeongin is there. Jisung is there. You are there.

Hyunjin avoids Minho’s eyes as he flies inside the realm behind the Archangel and hides among the rest of the regular angels until he is called to send a message. The higher-ups recognize him, make snide remarks about his demotion, and make pitiful faces at him. He barely registers them. There is a hollowness in him, and no matter how many memories he recalls, it isn’t enough to fill the void.

A few weeks later, Jisung approaches him, but even he stays a healthy distance away. “Hyunjin.” The disdain is clear.

“Jisung.”

“You knew about the reason all along, didn’t you? You were there when it happened.”

“When what happened?”

Realization dawns upon Jisung, and he shakes his head in disgust. “I should have known. You weren’t with him that night because you left him like you always did! You could have done something. Make him fall off his chair or something. Make the girl lose her balance. Instead, both of our humans suffered because you weren’t there.”

“What happened?”

“A girl from his group project randomly kissed him, and he thought he had been leading her on and cheating on his own girlfriend, so he broke up with her because he thought that would be the right thing to do instead of just telling her what actually happened. They’re back together now because he finally got the nerve to give her closure. It took nearly a month. They were miserable for a month. All because of you.”

It stings. “They’re okay now, right?”

“They’re fine, no thanks to you.” Just when Hyunjin thinks he’s going to leave, he takes a step forward, lips curled into sneer. “You know, angels and humans aren’t allowed to be with each other. It’s been forbidden for millenia.”

“I know,” he whispers. “But I loved her, and I had to try.”

“She would have never chosen you anyway.”

He never had a chance, did he?

~ ad.gray

Yes, you did! I remembered it and wondered if you were going to come back! Hope you enjoyed this! <3

#stray kids #skz #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #stray kids angst #skz angst #hyunjin angst #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #skz scenarios #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin x reader #guardian angel au #anniversary special #20210816

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bloodycassian · 3 years

Text

Centuries - READER X AZRIEL -

Thank you everyone who sent me inspiration ideas for this, I was really struggling for some reason.

Prompt - Hi! I was wondering if I could request an azriel x reader where azriel and reader have been together for centuries but azriel finds his mate and is torn between them? You can end it however you like.

____________-

You eyed the line of red across your throat, willing it to go away before the next practice session. You’d been beaten, badly. And by a new Valkyrie no less. Well, Valkyrie in training. The scrawny female had managed to get you on your back within three moves and the wooden sword to your throat in one more.

You could have died of embarrassment.

Nesta had reassured you though, giving you a pep talk after. How many more cheer up speeches could you handle before it became too much? How many years of the same course running and failed attempts at ribbon cutting could you take? You wanted to scream. But Azriel was sleeping, peacefully for once. His shadows lurked lazily around him while he rested. You smiled at the peace on his face. It was rare to see such a thing.

You gathered your bag, gave Az a soft peck on the head before taking off from the balcony.

Nesta did not pair you with the newcomer - Neath. Gwyn had been shouting at her from across the ring for picking up a sword before stretching. You tried to hide your smile at that, feeling a bit better about your loss the previous day.

“Fighting stances ladies!” Emrie’s dark voice called over the chatter. Everyone got to their respective spots and began the intro stretches.

“I can help train you, if you’d like.” He soothed, rubbing your back gently. “You’re already busy-” Your voice caught around the lump in your throat. You sniffed, trying to pull yourself together. It didnt work. You sobbed into his chest, and let him pull you down into the bed. His wings wrapped around you, encompassing you in a darkness that put you to sleep quickly.

Azriel took it slow the next morning, leaving you a note on the bedside.

“I’m never too busy for you. I’ll meet you at the ring tonight.”

His lazy scrawl warmed your heart. You stretched and slowly got out of bed. You were still sore from yesterday’s session. You didn’t know if you were cut out to be a Valkyrie. You contemplated having Rhys send a message to Nesta that you wouldn’t be there today, but that would mean admitting your failures to more than just Az. You were sure he already knew, but speaking it to him was different than him dutifully ignoring the failure that lived in his house.

The seedy bar was a nightmare for Azriel’s clean boots. Spilled ale and who the hell knows what else. He tried not to cringe. The informant was bulky, with a voice that carried too much for a regular meeting place like an alley or street. And he was drunk. He offered ale to the shadowsinger several times, and each time it made Az more and more irritated.

But he left with success, and feeling like he needed to bathe.

Night was approaching quickly when he returned to Velaris. Rhys was waiting in his usual chair overlooking the city from his office in the house of wind. He spun a ball of dark power in his hand, forming it as if it were clay.

“There has been an uptake in recruitment in Spring. No one knows why, only that Tamlin has ordered it.” He briefed.

Rhys hummed his understanding, and the darkness melted from his hand. “If he’s building his army back, he’d better be damn careful about it.” He sighed. “Keep an eye on it. I want him to know we’re watching, too.”

Azriel turned to leave, assuming he’d been dismissed. Rhys stopped him with a word though. “Dont get caught though. Feyre would skin me alive if I had to kill Tamlin to get you back.”

“Thanks for letting me know you’d still kill for me, brother.” Azriel laughed darkly.

“Always will.”

You finished the warm up stretches right as Azriel landed. “You’re late.” you tisked, letting him wrap you into a hug anyway. The full moon caressed his cheekbones lovingly, painting him in a deep blue. “Let’s get to work.” He groaned, pulling away from you. “We could work out a different way…” You made a kissy face at him. He shoved the practice sword to your chest with a laugh.

He had you begging for a break by the end of the relentless training. “Tomorrow?”

“I dont know if I’ll be able to.” You panted.

“I know you, you’ll be able to.” He helped you up from the dusty floor of the ring and made sure you got to bed safely.

He inspected your split lip at lunch the next day. Neath had boldly chosen you as her sparring partner in demonstration. Nesta was on edge, ready to insist on someone else if you’d given her so much as a hint of discomfort. But you had too much pride, and paid for it. She’d spun her sword around and the blunt end of it caught you in the lip, hitting your teeth.

Nesta, Gwyn and Emrie dismissed the rest of the class for the day. Emrie took Neath aside firmly, giving her what looked to be threats of violence more than scolding. Buit the scrawny Illyrian showed no fear for the Valkyrie before her.

Nesta and Gwyn babied you until you insisted you were alright. And you were, your bruised confidence however….

Bruised was underselling it. Decimated, would be better.

You landed without much grace, and let your wings drag behind you, not caring that they stung in protest. It was a welcome distraction from the pain of crude humiliation. You numbly walked to the bathroom, ran the shower water for a few seconds until it was scolding, and started sobbing.

Azriel found you sitting on the bathroom floor and immediately knew something was wrong. He didn’t ask a single question until he’d helped you into bed and gotten you a snack first though. Then you let it out, trying to hold back the tears as you expressed your failures to him. How you’d been bested by a newcomer, how you felt unworthy of living in such a nice place, how you felty you didn’t deserve him.

He listened, and when you were done he only shook his head. “I love you. No matter what. And Rhys, Feyre...everyone else loves you too. Nesta wouldn’t have insisted on you training if she thought this would happen. I’m sorry honey. I can talk to them-”

“No. I dont want to cause more… issues. I think Nes is dealing with it anyway, Emrie looked to be too.” You half smiled at the painful memory of her scolding the illyrian earlier.

You knew he wanted to protest, but seeing your eyes struggling to stay open, he let you fall asleep in his arms instead. He pressed soft kisses to your hair, until you were in a deep sleep, breathing rhythmically. Then, he headed to Cas and Nesta’s room.

“No training this morning. Emrie and Gwyn have had something come up, and I dont want to handle that many Females alone.” Nesta said around her breakfast. She’d summoned a plate and extra food for you, thanking the house for its gifts. But your stomach didn’t feel like it could take it. You sipped at the tea, not wanting to be rude. You knew your eyes were swollen, and were grateful when she didn’t ask. She already knew, anyway.

“Sorting books today, then?” You asked, hoping your voice didnt sound too hoarse. Judging by her reaction, it was noticeable.

She gave you a small smile though, “No, actually.” She said with a devilish grin. Your heart sank. Nerves gripped your stomach. What the hell else was there to do? You prayed to the mother that she didn’t insist on personal training with her. Not that you didn’t like her, but.. She was different somehow. Harder, more...more of everything really. “We’re having a spa day.” She pulled three small flowers from her jacket pocket and handed you one. “Elain is coming too, I hope that’s alright.”

You stared at the small note, ‘A relaxing day, well deserved.’

Well deserved was damn right. “That’s perfect.” You breathed, the first genuine smile in days coming to your lips.

Az was waiting for you when you got home. His loungewear showed off his sculpted body perfectly in the golden setting sun. He set down the book he’d been thumbing through and wrapped you in a hug, taking a deep breath of your scent.

“And what did you do today?” He smiled broadly.

“Nes insisted.” You blushed, pushing back your styled hair. IT had been nice, not having to worry about training or money or where the hell you were. You’d nearly fallen asleep in the mud bath.

“I was thinking…” He began, taking your empty dinner plate. “If you wanted...I could train with you at night. If you don’t want to with Nesta anymore.” He said, not mentioning the title you’d never live up to. Valkyrie. You cringed at the thought of it.

“Maybe…. I dont see how it could hurt if its just us.” You shrugged, at least he wasn’t pressing it. He beamed though, and you knew even the prospect of you going was enough for him.

It took you a week. A week of confidence building and lip healing to get back in the ring with Az. Well, by yourself at first. You warmed up slowly, nervously. But by the time he arrived, you were centered in the ring. Ready, prepared for whatever may come from this.. Test training.

He instructed you not as your lover, but as a professional who knew what they were doing. He corrected your posture and showed you examples without the normal ways he’d play with you or crack jokes together. You realized you’d never seen him like this. So….diligently focused on what he was doing. And it was inspiring hearing his encouraging words even when you messed up for the third time in a row.

He even followed your stretches, letting you show him examples of what you practiced in class at the beginning and end of every session.

“I like this one for last. It flexes your-” You stopped. Your cheeks heated at the sight of Neath and her sword on the edge of the wooded path leading up to the ring. Az saw the look on your face, and turned in an instant, bracing for anything.

Azriel didn’t move after that though, didnt say a word. Then, Neath dropped her sword.Your heart stopped. Acid churned in your stomach as Azriel clutched at his chest. Everything moved in slow motion. You shook his frozen shoulders, and he fell to his knees with a sickening thud.

You turned to the Illyrian female, nearly snarling. “What did you do?” You spat, gesturing to Az. He was still frozen to that spot. Her eyes didn’t leave him though. You stalked forward, ready to rip her to shreds if Az was even slightly hurt. Her mouth gaped, but no words came.

Azriel’s shuddering gasp made you turn, and he was backing up, wings flaring. You held a hand up, as if to calm a wild animal. How ridiculous it was didn’t phase you. He was yours. And you were trying to calm him down as if he’d seen a ghost. His words made your stomach sink to a new low, burning deep inside you with strain and worry. “I’m sorry-” He choked out, voice hoarse. He took one last glance between you and Neath, then took off with force you’d never seen.

You turned on Neath, and were ready to throttle her. “He’s-” She got out as you placed your hands on her arms. Ready to shake her out of her stupor. “H-he’s” She tried again. But her pale face remained stuck in the shock of whatever she’d done. Whatever Azriel had seen scared him. Perhaps you should be running from her too.

“What?!” You demanded, squeezing her arms. Her eyes finally darted to yours, welling with tears as she hurt you more than she’d ever done in practice. “He’s my mate.”

The vomiting didn’t last long, considering how little you’d ate. You didn’t remember flying back to your room, or how you’d gotten yourself to the bathroom without injuring yourself with the blindness caused by tears.

You sobbed for what felt like days, an eternity. It was a lifetime of tears coming out at once. More pain and sadness than any creature should face. You wondered at one point how much one person could even cry.

Then, the cold numbness of sleep took you. You laid on the cold stone floor and let it smother every aching thought.

You scented him before you heard his light footsteps outside the door. He leaned against it, his body exhausted from the flight, from the fighting he’d done just to burn off the rage he felt towards himself. Rhys wasn’t enough. He knew that he’d hold back with him. So he flew to the spring court, where he knew he could find good fighters willing to die for a chance at bringing Tamlin one of Rhys’ Inner Circle.

They failed.

The sound of his voice cracked something more in you, and somehow more tears welled out. You were sure you wouldn’t look normal for a few days after all the swelling from crying so much. You held back the sobs, letting them burn inside you instead.

All you wanted was his voice, the feeling of him around you. Of those shadows sweeping over your back comfortingly. But he wasn’t yours. Not really. Not in the way that mattered. You cursed every damned god and religion you could think of, even the cauldron itself. As if it would change anything. It did make you feel slightly better though.

He started with muttered curses at himself. Then he began a series of apologies. You could hear the hurt, the weakness in his voice In the way he struggled to find the right words at times. You didnt care if he heard you sobbing anymore.

-“I dont love her, not the way I love you. I dont know why… I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I-” He sucked in a deep breath and tried to hold back the wavering in his voice. “Please… I know I mean-” He growled in frustration at himself. The sound tore into you. “I know you’re hurt...more than I am but if you’d give me a chance… I’m not going to be with her. I love you. I’ve loved you for what you are since we met. I’ve chosen you, over and over again. Some cruel trick of the Cauldron dosent’t change that.”

Your heart surged at the plain honesty in his voice. At the raw fear and truth that he laid bare. Tears streamed down your face even more than before. Somehow this new razing of your heart was worse than seeing that look they shared in the ring.

“I’m sorry. If you want me to go… just- I dont know, knock or something.” He concluded with a deep breath. He rested his forehead against the door, waiting for something. For anything. He knew you were inside, he could feel it in his very being that you were in there, distressed -because of him- and all he wanted to do was make it right. He waited to hear the dreaded knock. The nail in the coffin of the century long relationship.

There was a soft click, he nearly mistook it for the knock. But the knob turned, and you cracked the door. The red splotches on your face nearly made him fall to his knees. He fought for words, but no amount of words were enough, and he knew it. Your lip quivered.

Without a word to each other, you knew.

You knew he’d choose you. And you’d choose him over anything. Over anyone that would ever be. He was built for you, as you him. And you belonged no matter what a bond insisted on. You shared a bond deeper than any instinct could challenge. You’d chosen each other. You weren’t fated to find each other, and that was what made choosing each other even more special.

You gripped his back fiercely, letting the sobs wrack your body. He held back somehow until you landed in bed together, where you sobbed and grieved together. Where you kissed each other, and wiped each other’s faces over and over. And eventually among the mess of blankets and sheets, you passed out together. Hands locked together tightly. Never letting go.

#ACOTAR FIC #ACOTAR #READER X AZRIEL #AZRIEL X READER #AZRIEL

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nagito-kissmaeda · 3 years

Text

Mother May I Sleep with Danger - Servant!Nagito Komaeda x Reader

ミ☆ not a request, I’m just really horny for servant asjdkfkflddj

Summary: future foundation reader is kidnapped by the WOH and figures if they’re going to die anyway……..

Contains: Explicit Sexual Content, Fem reader, no pronouns used

Word Count: 3589

The foundation is not going to be happy with you.

Not only did you balls up your mission into Towa City, but now your uniform is ripped all to hell, basically slashed to ribbons by the Monokuma who managed to overpower you. It was your new set too, all fresh and clean. This mess is going to get you seriously mocked by the men in operations when you get back.

That is if the foundation even lets you back onto the helicopter after this disaster of a mission.

You huff and turn to face the man lurking in the far corner of your cell. He’s been standing there for the past 20 minutes, just shaking and staring at you with wide grey eyes. You had been planning to just ignore him until he left, but he isnt leaving, “What do you want?”

He doesn’t answer, just wraps his arms around himself and starts giggling.

“Are you just going to stand there all day?” You snap, crossing your arms and glaring up at him from your seat on the floor, “If you’re going to kill me just get it over with, the anticipation has all but worn off and I'm just starting to get angry.”

“Ah...kill you?” He giggles again. His voice is a lot gentler than you had been expecting. What with the manic eyes and tangled hair. You were prepared for him to be downright menacing. He sucks in a breath and levels his gaze with you, “I wouldn't kill you. That would be waste.” The chain around his throat jangles as he gestures at you with his mitted hand, knees wobbling like they are barely strong enough to keep him upright, “Honestly, a bug like myself killing you would help no one. It would be utterly disappointing for both sides, and what is the point in that? No despair...no hope...ahhhhaaaa…” he brings the cuff of his jacket up to his mouth and starts gnawing on it, “it would be completely pointless...mm?”

“Why haven't the children killed you?” Your brows draw together, watching his balance shifting from foot to foot, “You must be at least eighteen, right?”

He wheezes, throwing one shoulder up in a haphazard shrug, “Older. I think. I honestly can’t remember.”

For some reason. A terrible little voice in the back of your head whispers - Hey, at least it’s legal! You balk at your own lack of decorum. The man is still currently chewing so furiously on his sleeve that drool has started rolling down his chin, his hair is so matted that if you dug your fingers into it you would probably never get them out again. You are smart enough to take one look at this wheezing, sweating, drooling mess of a man and think: gross.

Unfortunately, your cunt is dumb enough to disagree.

Maybe it’s because you’re going to die anyway. Maybe it’s because his black jeans cling very tightly to his thighs. Maybe you just have terrible taste in men. It doesn’t matter why, but for some godforsaken reason, you are attracted to him.

“So. Are they just keeping you around as a--” you examine him again, eyes locking on the chain dangling down by his knees. (why does looking at that make you want to rub your thighs together?) “--a...pet?”

He laughs again, finally letting the sleeve he was chewing on drop back down to his side, “A fitting position for someone like me, but no. I am their servant.” The man takes a step towards you, the chain jangles in ways that your insides apparently find arousing. You swallow, “I came to this town to seek refuge, but...well...you can see how that turned out.” he laughs again, shoulders quaking with the noise. You can help but notice the stiff way the hand obscured by his mitt is moving. Like he doesn't have any real control over it.

“Ah.” You say, eyes still focussed on the hand you cannot see, but can imagine perfectly well. That hand, along with his age, seem to only lead to one conclusion, “You’re one of the remnants of despair, aren’t you?”

He grins at you, manic, all sharp teeth and wild eyes, taking another step closer to you “Oh! I didn’t expect you to recognise common garbage like me…” he makes a noise that is dangerously close to being a moan, before exclaiming, “you’re right, I am!” His grin turns syrupy in a way that you find yourself enjoying much more than you should. His eyes hooded as he breathes, “does that disgust you? Does my very presence make you want to spit in my face?”

The way he speaks, his soft lilting tone. It almost sounds like he is crooning, purring. You shift on the floor, trying to ignore the wetness pooling between your legs. You have gone from wanting to fuck a regular crazy man, to wanting to fuck a crazy man literally out for capture by the company you work for.

“Listen.” You start, suddenly nervous, “The foundation is looking for you, all of you. But Togami in the other cell and I are working with-”

Your words catch in your throat when he comes barreling towards you and claps his bare hand over your mouth. His eyes are wild when they meet yours, pupils little more than pinpricks in dark swirling circles that dig deep inside of you, his voice drops to a terrifying whisper, “No. Not yet...I have important work I must do and you will not keep me from it.”

“We want to help.” You hiss into the meat of his palm. Horrified at how you feel the jagged grin that tugs at his mouth deep in your stomach. His mouth pulls so wide that his lips tear and bleed, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth and dripping over his lips when he starts laughing again, loud and manic, wheezing and decrepit.

“You truly are an embodiment of hope. You think you can...ah...haha…” He wheezes again, tangled white hair falling over his face and he tries to hold in a laugh, “You truly think you can help me? What a feat that would be! Endlessly impressive I’m sure” He leans in closer to you, eyes calm once again, hooded and piercing, “Thank you for your kindness, but I assure you. It will not be so simple.”

His face is so close to yours now, you can feel his breath on your face, see the bags under his eyes and the way his papery skin has wrinkled around the corners of his mouth. He looks half dead, but under that. You see soft skin, pretty long eyelashes and what are undoubtedly the most stunning eyes you have ever seen. You are going to die soon anyway, so you dont stop yourself from whispering, “You were very pretty once. Weren’t you?”

His lips curl into a smile, but his eyes look almost sad, “Most would disagree.”

“Hm. That’s a shame.” you whisper, trying to ignore the seductive tone you have adopted, “I think you’re still quite pretty now.”

He lets out a wheezing giggle, dropping down into a crouch in front of you and resting his hands on his knees, “Are you trying to win me over with words of kindness? With sharp lies wrapped in goose down?”

They aren't lies, but you can tell he won't believe you even if you try to convince him, “Just tell me what you want with me.”

“What do I want with you?” He breathes, reaching out a shaky hand and running his knuckles down your cheek. One side of his mouth quirks up in a smile at the feeling of your skin, “I don’t want anything...eheh...I just...I just want to watch. I want to see what you will do, I want to see you fight.”

“I’d be able to fight better if you let me out of the cell.”

“Aha. Cute.” He drags his tongue over his lower lip, “But wouldn't it be so much more satisfying to watch you overcome impossible odds? For your hope to overcome the utmost despair?” His head tilts to the side and he smiles, “I have faith in you. I’ll be cheering you on, just dont expect my help.”

The more he talks, the less you understand him. At this point you're barely even listening to his words and are just letting the soft tones of his voice wash over you, his eyes are blinding, it feels like he is staring straight through you. The door of the cell is still locked, Togami is still far enough away that he couldn't hear you if you screamed. Help won't be coming for a long time if it is even coming at all.

And you want to fuck a remnant of despair.

“What’s your name, pretty boy?” you whisper, reaching out a hand to push some of his tangled hair away from his face.

He stills, for a moment. The panic in his eyes is so powerful that even his ceaseless shivering stops. He blinks slowly, unsurely, and his lips pull up in a smile, “My pathetic name isn't even worthy of being heard by someone like you.” he breathes, leaning into your hand as it comes to rest on his cheek, “Servant will suffice.”

You make an upset noise, sitting up on your knees and leaning in closer to his face. His eyes aren’t grey, you realise, they’re green, “Are you sure? I was hoping for something a little more...intimate.”

“Intimate…” he whispers, almost like he is testing how the word tastes on his tongue. His face is so close to yours now, your hand reaches around and curls into the mess of hair on the back of his head. He starts shivering again, a wheezy laugh escaping his mouth almost breathlessly as he (with a surprising amount of tenderness) lowers you down to lay on the hard concrete below, “Is...this what you mean?”

Your heart is racing. He looms above you, knees planted firmly on either side of your hips. His hair tumbles down over his face, obscuring his beautiful green eyes in shadow and you feel your hips twitch upward at even the anticipation of his touch.

“Exactly what I mean.” you purr, slowly sliding your hand down the length of his chain. He quivers above you, a broken moan leaves his mouth when you give it a gentle tug. Your lips curl into a predatory smirk, and then you tug it again, hard.

His mouth collides with yours and a shocked gasp escapes his throat, his arms shake at your sides, desperate and almost panicked. It only takes a moment for him to soften, returning the kiss with a newfound passion, moaning deep and loud into your mouth and leaning into you. His kisses feel a little messy and unpracticed, but he makes up for it with enthusiasm. Choking on a groan when you bury a hand in his hair and pull tight on the strands.

He moves away from your mouth, trailing down the side of your throat and sucking hard on your skin. You can feel his breath hot and heavy in your ear as his tongue lathes over your flesh, teeth sinking in hard into the join between your throat and shoulder.

A moan breaks free from your mouth, and your hips buck upward high enough to meet Servant’s and you can feel his gasp against your skin. He grinds his hips down on yours in response, sucking in a breath at the friction.

“This…this really is my lucky day…” he whines, leaning back on his heels and undoing the few surviving buttons on your shirt. Your bra is conservative, skin toned and unflattering. It’s designed for missions out into the wastes of the world, not for whatever is happening right now.

Servant doesn’t seem to mind, running his tongue across his chapped lower lip, eyes blown wide as he drinks in your form. A shudder runs through him, and he swallows, “may I?”

You nod, “please…touch me…”

He giggles, gripping your breasts in both of his hands (though the hand hidden by the mitt is only really able to press down, but he is trying his best.) before burying his face between them, sighing happily against your skin. You choke on a moan when you feel his tongue run up your cleavage, hands squeezing almost desperately.

“Servant…” you whisper, “my bra, take it off…”

He leans up, a shy smile on his face, “Ah, I would like to! But uh, as I’m sure you know-“ he waves at you with his mitted hand, “-I can’t really use these fingers”

The thought of the dead hand attached at his forearm should deter you, but it doesn’t. You sit up just enough to unclasp your bra, chucking it off into the corner of the cell before grabbing Servant’s bare hand and pressing it to your breast. Servant chokes, brushing his thumb over your nipple.

Your breath hitches, and he is emboldened enough to take the other into his mouth. Your back instinctively arches upward, chasing the warmth of his mouth encasing your nipple, the finger and thumb on his bare hand pinching at twitching the other. His tongue is wet and sloppy, this is no precision to his licks and sucks. The servant is running on animalistic desperation alone.

Luckily, that doesn’t bother you much at all.

The cool metal of the chain presses down hard on your bare stomach, his mitt is scratchy where that hand is pressed firmly to your waist, not able to grab, but it still reads as possessive. You can feel him panting and moaning against your breast, his tangled white hair brushing against your skin in a way that makes you shiver. Your sex is aching, the way he furiously circles his tongue around your nipple feels almost feral and it makes you want more.

You hook your leg around the back of his knees, and use the leverage to flip the both of you over. Servant gasps when his back hits the ground. You grin, physical training at the Future Foundation is finally coming in handy.

Servant looks like a perfect ruin beneath you. His hair spread out on the hard concrete, eyes glassy with desire, cheeks bright red and mouth wet with saliva. You laugh, you can feel him quivering below you. The quivering grows worse when you tug his black jacket down off his shoulders and start working his shirt up and over his head. He is so thin, sickly, shaking, barely even there. All jutting bones and paper thin skin.

“Are they feeding you?” you find yourself asking quite seriously.

Servant giggles, “They’re children. I feed myself when I find the time.”

“You don't often find the time, do you?” he sucks in a breath when the tip of your finger runs up over his exposed ribs. You lean down and press a hot kiss to his collarbone, “Are you sure that you’ll have enough energy for this?”

“Ehehe...Don’t concern yourself with that-“ he leans up enough to lick all the way up the length of your throat, “I can be quite tenacious when required”

You don't doubt it. Leaning back down to kiss him firmly, licking into his open mouth as your hands trail down his torso and to the button on his jeans. He whines loudly when you undo the zipper and wrap your fist around the hardness in his boxers. His hips stutter up into your grip and you smile against his lips. He’s cute. It’s cute how desperate he is. You sit up, grinding your hips down against his, moaning aloud at the feeling of his cock pressing firmly against your clit through your panties.

Servant breaks out into a breathless giggle, panting and moaning as he pushes his hips up to meet yours, shivery and insatiable. The only light in the room is a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, just bright enough to catch on his teeth when his chapped lips curl back in a grin.

“Yes~” He whines when you grind down again, pretty eyes fluttering closed and white hair spreading even further across the concrete, “use me use me use me!”

You like that. You like that a lot, “You want to be used?” you breathe, sitting up just enough that you can wriggle out of your panties, hiking your tight pencil skirt up over your hips.

“Please...please…” he whimpers, hips stuttering up even though there is nothing to meet them. Drool trailing down his chin, “I want you to use me for your pleasure…” he gasps out a moan, like even the thought of it is too much for him, “...cum all over me...please...ruin me…”

“Okay…” you whisper, pulling his boxers and jeans down his thighs to expose his cock, he hisses a breath in through his teeth that turns into a moan when you grab him, “Can you be a good boy and stay still for me?”

He nods furiously. Thighs and stomach tensing as he forces himself not to move. It becomes even harder when you slowly slip yourself down on him, letting your head loll back in a moan at the feeling of him filling you. He cries out, hands jumping up to grab at your waist, trying so hard to keep his hips still when all he wants is to chase your warmth.

A smile crawls its way across your face when you lean forward, placing your arms on either side of his head. He stares up at you, enamoured with you, face flushed red and mouth hung open, “You feel so good, Servant.” you croon, slowly licking up the shell of his ear.

He mewls, thrusting up inside of you just a little. He just can't resist.

“I’m...I’m sorry, I'm so pathetic ehehe” he pants, “Can’t even follow such a simple order.”

“Well, hopefully you will do better with this next one.” You start, adjusting yourself so your bare breasts are now right in front of his face, “suck.”

He doesn't waste one second, licking up under one of your nipples and then pulling it into his mouth. Peering up at you through his pretty eyelashes as he sucks languidly on your tit, swirling his tongue around and moaning so deeply that you can feel the vibrations.

“Ahh…ah! You’re such a pretty boy, aren’t you?”

He nods

“Such a good boy.”

He nods again, moving his hands from your waists to your breasts, pressing them close enough together that he is able to suck on both nipples at once.

“Oh! Ohhhhhhhhh fuck- I…hng…” you rock your hips forward, keening loudly when the head of his cock meets your g-spot. Servant is still trying to stay still. Panting loudly as he furiously licks and sucks on both of your nipples. Wet and sloppy with little to no precision, so desperate to taste you, to devour you. The pleasure in your stomach is curling and twisting, the feeling of him so deep inside you, quivering as he resists the urge to move. It’s so much and not enough all at once.

“Servant…” you groan, hips twitching forward enough to grind your clit down on his pelvis, “you…you can move…”

His hips snap up immediately. He doesn’t waste even a second to drill himself deep inside of you, almost sobbing against the flesh of your breasts when the desperation he has been holding in finally gets to escape. He is animalistic, he is hungry. His hands move from your breasts to grip tightly to your hips, encouraging you to bounce up and down on his cock.

Luckily you don’t need much encouragement. Sitting up enough that your breasts leave his mouth with a lurid pop, throwing your head back and riding him like your life depends on it. Underneath you, you can hear the sound of his chain jangling with the force of his upward thrusts, along with his staccato breathing as he loses himself deeper and deeper within you.

Sweat drips down your forehead, down between your shoulder blades, it feels so good, it feels so wrong. The ever present itch of his mitt presses against your skin, a grim reminder of everything he is, everything he has done. It only turns you on more.

“I…I…AHAHAH! I’m…close.” He stammers, eyes wide when they fixate on the spot where you are joined, sharing himself disappearing inside of you again and again. His bare hand slides down your side and around to your clit, rubbing fast, messy circles that make your hips jump forward.

It’s too much, you can feel your insides growing tighter and tighter as his fingers bring you closer to the release you need so badly. Tossing your head back with a strangled moan as you finally cum, clenching hard around his cock and almost sobbing with how good it feels, how good he feels.

As Servant chases your release with his own, breaking into a breathless laughed as he pounds you with reckless abandon, cumming deep inside of you-

You can’t help but think that the foundation is really not going to be happy with you now.

But as Servant comes down from his high, his grip softens, his eyes grow sleepy, and he gives you a gentle smile that makes you heart race just a little-

And you realise that you don’t really care anymore.

#Nagito x reader #komaeda x reader #danganronpa x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #sorry about the formatting I’m on mobile right now I’ll fix it tomorrow lolololol

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