#but its one of those that can also get really loud and reverberate through her whole body

[incendiorum-arch]

lucrezia has a bit of a raspy mew, as well as a deep, rumbling purr. she makes noise quite a bit, and seems to always have something to say with her wide rage of yells, meows, and squeaks.

[spdrvyn]

I loved your post about Miguel x autistic reader and I really want more pleease

overwhelmingly peaceful

summary: you found your place in spider society, but that didn't take away from the fact that it can get intensely noisy. you don't hesitate to turn to where you know for sure you'll be safe.

tags: fluff. suggestive joke/s. autistic reader. reader is gender neutral. hobie's here too i guess. author doesn't know how to write british slang.

notes: i'm really glad that you guys enjoyed the autistic reader drabbles i posted so i'm more than happy to write this request! projecting even more in this one, thank you for letting me self-indulge <3

The mere existence of The Spider Society was always enough to astound you. You thought that people didn't Miguel enough credit for basically building the place from the ground up, not to mention how many times he's had to travel to different universes to recruit all different kinds of Spider-People.

Of course, you were more than honored to be one of those people. There was a very good chance that you just got lucky to be on his team, Miguel caught you in that one moment where your abilities were at their peak and your light was really shining through. Luck or skill, you didn't care. This was the result of it, you were content with that.

Unfortunately, the society has its downsides. Considering the sheer amount of spiders that pass through, the hustle and bustle is too hard to ignore. You can't exactly carry around headphones every time you're there because where would you leave them just in case you'd be tasked to another mission? So you just tried to avoid the noisiest places, even then, it's hard to get any semblance of quiet.

"Oh my god," you mumbled to yourself, as you silently glared at the cafeteria table next to you. Charisma was just a natural trait to any spider, with that came very boisterous laughter from other people too. Surely, they were nice people, but in front of your salad? Really?

"You good, mate?" Hobie intervened, he leaned his head to the side to get a better look at your face, a small grin came onto his features. "Lads beside you 've always been that noisy. Can get them to shut their traps if you want."

An inaudible sigh left your lips as you shook your head, combing the hair out of your face. You gazed down at your untouched food for a moment, you liked hanging out with Hobie. He understood you and he was funny, but you weren't quite sure if you could handle being in an environment like this right now.

"No, no- it's fine." He raised a brow at your lie. "Okay, it's not. But you don't have to do that for me," you picked up your small take-out box of salad and juice, "The canteen is just too much right now for me, sorry."

Hobie shrugged, picking up a fry and expertly throwing into his mouth. "No problem, always got my drummer to bother. You going to hang with your boyfriend now, eh?" His smile turned more cheeky and you stared at him meanly to take away from the fact that your cheeks warmed at his comment.

You huffed and stomped away, "Oi, you didn't deny that!"

Miguel's office (a.k.a man cave) was dark and decrepit. For some odd reason, also liked a smell of any kind. You designated each area of the headquarters with a scent, but his area lacked any of the sort which you enjoyed. Not to mention, silent.

It wasn't like he really allowed any loud noise anyway, he had a strange list of items that were prohibited from entering his corner. Bells, blenders, on occasion, phones but that was from one time Gwen forgot to shut her alarm off and she got a small lecture on being considerate because the acoustics caused every sound that passed through to reverberate and increase in volume.

That means it would only make sense for Miguel to also hear your footsteps from a mile away, his platform already lowered for you to hop on and he's hunched over his desk. Sparks fly (not just from the sight of him, I swear) from the spot that he worked on and if you're not mistaken, there's a band wrapped around his head which meant he was wearing goggles.

You set your lunch tray down on the one empty spot on his desk before approaching slowly, you bend down to rest your hand on his shoulder and to lean your head against his. "What are you working on now, beautiful?"

Miguel put down the small soldering tool and took off his goggles, putting the freshly made panel closer to his eyes. "People submitted suggestions to make the wrist devices less bulkier," he blindly wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you onto his thigh as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. "Why are you here?"

"I'm an assassin, I've come to take your life." You spoke lowly, ominously. When Miguel doesn't turn to face you, you pout. "The noise in the cafeteria is overwhelming," you shift and properly situate yourself on his lap.

"I was just about to head out for lunch," Miguel sighed, before placing the panel in a small container.

"So... back to the cafeteria? People are sure to go speechless from catching a look at you," you joke, but there's a somber fry in your voice that he doesn't ignore. His warm breath tickled your neck as he pressed brief pecks down the column of your throat, the low hum he let out vibrating against your skin. "Are you that hungry, hermoso?"

"What I meant was," he paused, brushing more hair out of your face, properly tucking it behind your ear. "I was going to head up to my place for lunch. Where there's no people?"

You breathe a small 'ohhh' and Miguel chuckled, "That checks out, actually." You nodded. "Obviously there's no people, would've been weird to have anyone there two nights ago when we–"

"Okay, that's enough." Miguel cut you off, nearly smiling from ear to ear. "Get your lunch, mi sol."

"My hero."

[oohnotvery]

Edges of the Night (Chapter 17)

I swear this story—if I’m not sick every time I promise a chapter update, it’s something else. This time, my daughter went to the ER for a head injury. She’s totally okay but it was awful.

So . . . some of you astutely noticed that I told AO3 this story would end at 18 chapters.

That was true until I spent a day in the ER, and now I know there’s no way I can get Chapter 17 out in its full form tonight—but I really wanted to give you all something to read today. So, I’m cutting Chapter 17 into two pieces, which means there will be 19 total chapters of this great beast.

All this to say, we’re reaching the end of a very long, very convoluted road. I want to really thank everyone for following along, even though I went through multiple spells of not writing/posting.

Also, we’ve heard a lot from Scully these past 16 chapters . . . so I thought you all might be interested in seeing what Mulder’s up to :) :) :)

Every time his axe splits open a new log, Mulder cringes at the loud whack that reverberates through the forest. He’s officially been in hiding for eight days now here in this lakeside cabin, and he hasn’t quite gotten over the feeling that someone is watching him, waiting to swoop in and carry him off to a gruesome death.

In the growing twilight, he wipes at his brow and stares at the lake spread out before him. It’s frosty and bitterly cold and the shoreline is studded with heavy chunks of ice. Over the past week, he’s gotten decently good at making fires to keep himself warm in the unheated log cabin, and even though those fires send up smoke signals through the chimney, he’s pretty confident no one has been following him. Plus, it’s far too cold to go to bed without a fire. Scully would be so proud.

Scully.

A lancing pain sings through his chest.

He still has to shut his eyes every time he thinks about that last day in the house. He hadn’t actually expected Scully to fall asleep with him, but he couldn’t have planned it better if he tried. Neither of them would have lasted through a tearful goodbye. More likely, she would have run after him, and the Gunmen, Skinner, and Alan would have had to hold her back. It would have been violent and painful. It was nice, instead, to simply listen to her deep, peaceful breathing for several long minutes, to savor the feeling of her warm body pressed to his, to inhale her scent, to trace the line of her nose with his eyes, to commit it all to memory. And then, to softly, softly press his lips to her temple before quietly, gently extracting himself from their tangled limbs. He allowed himself only one parting glimpse at her, and then he left.  

When the memory of that moment begins to overtake him, he turns his thoughts to all the ways Scully probably wants to kill him now. If he knows anything about Scully, it’s that she was raging mad when she woke up and found him gone. Hell, she probably took it out on the Gunmen and Skinner. That would’ve been fun to see. He huffs a laugh, setting down his axe. If she ever did find him somehow, she’d probably shoot him in the shoulder again just for the hell of it.

After not saying goodbye, Mulder then spent a day and a half chugging up the coast in a discrete little Taurus the Gunmen provided. Once he was deep into northern Maine, he spent a few long hours anxiously searching for the house Frohike had assured him existed near this particular lake. Unmarked roads, misleading snow-packed paths, crumbling one-lane bridges, and steep, muddy inclines made the house nearly impossible to locate, and only by pure luck did he finally spy it just as the sun began to set. It was a good thing, he had to admit, that this cabin was so difficult to find. Out here in the blasted middle of nowhere, with thick pine forests and snow drifts six feet high and not a single other soul for miles and miles and miles, he could be undiscoverable forever.

But as safe and remote as it is, it’s not in this lakeside cabin that he plans to spend the rest of his days. No, he has to get out of the States and into friendlier fields. Every time he thinks about the next phase of his escape plan, a nervous pit settles in his stomach. Tomorrow morning, he will depart this cabin forever and drive into Canada, crossing the border with documents that Frohike himself created. Any time he starts to get anxious, it’s this part of the plan that gives him the confidence he needs to go forward. Frohike wouldn’t fail him.  

So tomorrow when the sun rises, he will leave, bidding a final farewell to all the ties that bind him to his former life. Once inside the borders of Canada, he’ll be totally on his own. No one will know where he goes next, not even Frohike. It’s for his own safety, and theirs, he reminds himself. But still . . . from tomorrow on, he will be untraceable. Even if someone wanted to find him, they wouldn’t be able to.

His heart clenches painfully at the thought of taking that final, treacherous step into total isolation. Up until this point in his journey, he has still been tethered—somewhat tenuously, through Frohike—to his old life, his old existence. But tomorrow, he’ll be lost forever. Tomorrow marks the point of no return.

He shoves away the thought as brutally as he can, forcing himself to recite the mantra that has helped him get out of bed every morning since he got here. She’s safe, she’s happy, she’s safe, she’s happy.

But, god, at what cost?

He tries not to curse himself for the things he failed to do with Scully. For pushing her away when she reached for him on the bed. For telling her no, no, they can’t take that final step together, they shouldn’t be intimate with each other . . . why the hell did he do that again? He swears out loud, angered by the memory. She was desperate for him, begging with him, her pleas like something out of his most erotic fantasies. She wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. And he should have just had her, just that one time. Just for the memories, if nothing more. He shouldn’t have ever left her with any doubt about the way he loved her.

A bird screeches high in the trees and he startles. His eyes search the treetops before settling on a pair of magpies pestering a giant hawk. With cold, aching hands, he gathers a bundle of split logs in his arms and trudges up to the house, locking the door behind him. Because old habits die hard, he’s been sleeping on the living room couch right beside the main fireplace, and it’s here that he starts building his fire. In an hour, he’ll make yet another PB&J and try to read a book he found in the home’s voluminous bookshelves. His go-bag is stored right beside the door, and his weapon rests under a pillow on the couch. He sincerely hopes that he never has to use it again.

Many hours later, Mulder wakes to a frigid house. Cursing under his breath, he stands creakily and adds a few logs to the dying fire, tending to it as carefully as he would an infant. Darkly, he wonders what would even happen if he froze to death in this cabin. Who would find his body? And how long would it take for him to be discovered here? In what stage of decomposition would they find him? Would they ship him off to Scully for an autopsy? Would there even be a funeral?

He snorts and a flame licks up through the logs, sending a burst of heat into the room. He won’t be dying tonight. He glances at his watch in the firelight and notes wryly that it is nearing three a.m. The witching hour. Chills that have nothing to do with the cold run up his spine and he settles back onto the sofa, suddenly wide awake.

It is a near-constant battle not to think about her. He imagines that someday, far in the distant future, he will no longer think of her every minute of every hour. That maybe someday, he won’t wake up to a strange mixture of relief and regret: relief that she is safe; regret that he didn’t have enough of her.

A noise outside catches his attention and every muscle in his body freezes. The fire sparks and crackles and he strains his ears, listening intently. Prey that he is, he has become carefully attuned to every type of sight and sound and smell out here in the woods. Most noises can be attributed to nature—animals scrounging nearby, branches breaking off of trees, melting ice cracking on the lake.

But this particular sound has a different sense about it. It’s the creeping, hulking sound of something heavy moving across snow.

A car. And it’s driving very slowly, very quietly up the ridge to the house.

His brain slips instantly into FBI mode. He snatches up his gun, shucks on his jacket, and slips into his boots. Throwing the go-bag over his shoulder, he crouches low beneath the front room window, adrenaline pumping so hard through his veins he feels like he could crush steel between his hands.

How did they find him here? And how will he escape? Should he run for the car? It’s parked out front, which means any escape would necessarily involve passing by the car coming up the hill—

With unblinking eyes, he peers into the blackness outside until it finally comes into view, an unfamiliar black sedan, headlights killed, tires inching meticulously along the ground, as if the driver doesn’t want to make a sound. When the car comes to a stop at the front of the house, Mulder raises his gun, surprised to find his hand shaking.

How did it come to this already? Should he run into the woods? Or stand his ground and fight?

For a long minute, nothing happens, and he wonders if he should preemptively shoot at the driver’s side window. But that would be a mistake. He would give away his position. What he’s going to do is wait for the person—or people—to exit the vehicle, and then he’ll fire—

The car door swings open smoothly, soundlessly. A person steps out, their aspect unrecognizable in the dark. They shut the car door quietly and begin to walk towards the house, scanning their surroundings furtively. He can’t make out facial features because of a dark mask pulled up over the person’s nose and mouth and a hood cinched tight over their head. Loose clothing hangs off their body and a gun dangles from their right hand.

The person is close now, just five feet away. Now four feet, now they’re climbing the stairs. Mulder swallows thickly. When that door opens, he’ll have one chance to shoot. And if there are others waiting in the car . . . he’ll have to run. His entire body tenses. He’s a coiled snake, a viper waiting to inject the venom—

There’s a quiet knock at the door.

It surprises him so much that his brain sputters.

What the hell kind of assailant announces their arrival with a pleasant knock?

Stealthily, he rises and makes his way to the door. He knows this could very well be a trap. There could be machine guns on the other side of that door, ready to blast him to bits; or a host of feds could crawl out of the sedan and swoop in the minute that door opens—

The door handle jiggles and he startles. Jesus Christ, they’re trying to get in now. He raises his weapon again. His heart is beating hummingbird-fast.

Another knock, this time louder, and another try at the door handle.

And then—

“Mulder? It’s me.”

[existencebringsonlypain]

hey I lost motivation. can you praise my writing so I'll keep doing it

the ringing reverberates in their head.

they keep walking.

they don't have a choice in any of this.

they keep walking.

his voice echoes in their head. those horrid metal screeching noises accompanying it, too. they must've gotten really loud, because they couldn't make out the puppet's parting words through the ringing.

then again, that might just be the lack of oxygen.

they keep walking.

their autonomy is little to none, but there are a few things they control. or, don't control, they're all involuntary reactions. shivering, flinching, expression, tears. hyperventilating, as it turns out. not even a demon possessing their soul can stop the panic attacks.

anxiety attacks? they needlessly ponder the distinction in their head. they want to search it up, but their phone doesn't work in the dark worlds. also they don't have control of their arms, and if they did, they'd probably end up dropping their phone.

they keep- ....... it keeps walking.

not their choice, not their legs, not their lungs. they only hope the sheer panic coursing through their veins is felt by it, so it gets some punishment for its wrongdoings. and maybe because they don't want to be suffering alone.

it keeps moving their legs, putting one metal-clad foot in front of the other.

they can't breathe.

weird.

they always do this, it's like their brain and soul are seperate. brain and SOUL. whatever. but whichever part of them is paralyzed with terror isn't what's thinking these thoughts, because otherwise they're pretty sure said thoughts would be more akin to incoherent screaming.

they want to scream, it would probably be cathartic.

they don't get a choice in the matter.

left leg hits the floor. right leg hits the floor. the impact rattles their spine. it doesn't normally do that, they think. their ears don't normally ring like that either, and their vision isn't supposed to be this spotty and dark, right?

oh, they're slouching a lot. that makes sense, their steps would be more impactful then. but then why would that thing be making them slouch?

they stop walking. probably because they are now on their knees, that computes.

they should get up now, they think idly. just like they should take a breath out, jeez, what are they doing? their lungs are full, but they keep trying to take in more air without letting any out. that's really dumb and obvious, why are they doing that.

oh. susie's shaking them by the pauldron on their shoulder. they really should acknowledge her in any way, they think pointedly at the being holding the strings. alas, they are in no control of what's going on here.

their head thumps onto the concrete in front of them as the lack of oxygen finally catches up to their brain.

"What the fuck is going on?"

She presses the left arrow key a handful of times. Something fucked up, maybe some error in the cutscene sprites? They started doing the weird zombie-Kris shamble they do when they take out her SOUL, and now they're just doing the collapsed position and none of her inputs do anything. That's probably not how cutscenes work, but she doesn't code, she wouldn't know.

She reattempts the menu and sighs as it does nothing. Stopping to deliberate what to search up to adequately describe this bug, she gets out her phone, only to put it down again when Susie moves.

* What the fuck?!

Yeah, good question, Susie. Where was that in the script??? This was supposed to be a swear-free game. It has been up to this point.

* What the fuck?! Kris! Get up! What the hell!

Oh. This was... Intentional? Huh?? Is this what got the game rated in Australia, instead of piss?

Susie looks to be shaking Kris on the shoulder like at the start of chapter 2, but it looks a bit wonky due to the different in height they're at now.

Suddenly, the GOOD animation gets brought out? But only to have them thump their head on the floor, dealing a hefty 122 damage. What?

* KRIS?! SHIT. FUCK. RALSEI, HEALING SPELL.

What the fuck is going on? Ralsei shakes his head- guess the budget went to him to- and... flaps his hands? Paws? Oh, alright, autistic character headcanon time. She doesn't even like Ralsei!

* This isn't- This isn't in the script, what's going on?

HAH. Ralsei agrees. Love the fourth wall break. She notes that Ralsei's the one who brought it up, he knows about the script. She KNEW something was up with him! And he's STILL treating Kris like they're less important than keeping the game on track and entertaining her!

aaaand that's where I ran out of steam

[worlddevoid]

World Devoid: Episode 1.4 - This Is (Not) Your Morning

(Word Count: 1.2k)

...

As they clear the stretching road scattered with broken down vehicles and approach the campus dorms, Baz slows to a roll and parks directly in front-- ignoring the 'No Parking' sign pitched up at the entrance. He kills the engine and turns to Cassie, realization and horror finally setting in.

"Cassie. What the heck do you think happened here? And real talk- what the FRICK was that thing- because I promise you it was no spider!” He blurts out.

"I don't know, but I desperately need a shower, and so do you. Let's hope someone at the dorms can tell us what happened," Cassie responds, moving to get out of the RV, still in slight denial about the fact that they haven't seen a single other person. ‘There has to be someone, right? I mean, surely we're not the only ones around... Right???’ She reasons anxiously.

Baz hops out of the RV and falls in line with Cassie. "Yeah, someone at the dorms..." He mutters, but his sentence trails off as his eyes graze over the disheveled exterior.

The uneasy feeling that they’re being watched causes Cassie to glance around, but she sees no one nearby. Choosing to ignore the shiver trickling down her spine, she walks right up to the shattered glass remains of the entrance doors.

Carefully stepping over the shards, the crunching sounds under her toes make her cringe. Nevertheless, she pushes forward, casting aside all her worries even as she notices signs of struggle all around. It looks like some kind of fight happened and then everyone left in a hurry.

Inside, the shattered glass crushing beneath their feet litters the tile flooring and the furniture scattered about looks like it had been swept up in a tornado. Armchairs lay on their sides, loose flyers and supplies riddle the ground, potted plants have been tipped over-- dirt splashed in front of them like blood at a crime scene.

The fluorescent lights flicker as if acknowledging their presence.

Baz takes one step ahead of Cassie, centering themselves in the main entrance hall. He eyes the front desk- a telephone hanging haphazardly over the front by its cord- before calling out a hesitant, but loud, "Hello??!”

As Baz calls out into the empty room, their voice echoes ominously. They wait for a few moments but no response comes.

Tentatively, he takes another step forward, craning his neck to get a better view further down the hall.

Not a single sign of life nor movement comes. It seems that they are completely alone. “Helllooo??” He stupidly calls out again.

When Baz’s greetings are met only with his own echoing voice mocking him, he takes a step backwards in fear and trepidation.

"Ugh, where is everyone?" Cassie cries out from behind him, lightly kicking a tipped over chair in her frustration. She doesn't want to admit it, but she’s really starting to freak out. Feeling on the verge of tears, she thinks to herself, ‘What is going on??’

Baz glances back and watches a plume of dust billow out of the chair Cassie had aimed their anger towards.

Suddenly, in the distance, a very faint scuttling noise can be heard softly reverberating off the walls.

‘There must be more of those creatures here. I have to study them! But also…those guys give me the creeps.’ Baz contemplates; admitting to himself that, even for a bug lover, this is all a bit too much. He turns to face Cassie and speak his piece.

"Cassie, I think it would be wise of us to strategize at this current moment. That encounter on the road was way too close, and, though I am not easily surprised, I will admit that even I was taken off guard by those things. If I'm deducing this correctly, I think those creatures are fearful of large vehicles. I suggest that the best course of action would be to ram our RV through the entrance and drive it through the halls for protection."

‘I'm so frickin' smart.’ Baz thinks smugly, puffing out his chest a little.

Cassie was positioned to abuse the furniture once more, but stops- leg midair- to toss Baz an incredulous look.

"You want to drive the RV through the dorms? The whole building could collapse on top of us!" She immediately protests, but honestly, she doesn't really have a better idea right now.

"Perhaps" Baz replies thoughtfully. ‘They're right, but I could have sworn as soon as we got back into the RV, that spider thing was twitching and freaking out. There has to be some correlation…’ He reflects before concluding, "All I know is the vibes are freaking weird in here and I'd feel safer in the RV."

Baz looks around again at the empty and disheveled lobby. What once was a manicured and vapid entranceway, had become the stomping grounds of an event unknown to the two of them. The place not only looks empty...it looks like it had been attacked.

More scuttling sounds erupt down the hallway- this time closer than before. Baz jumps three feet in the air and grabs Cassie's arm in alarm.

"Dude- Cassie-- I think that thing that attacked us on the street had friends...." He points down the hallway towards the source of the noises. "I think there's more down there. D-Do you think-" he gulps hard. "Do you th-think those creatures are responsible for all of this?" He gestures around the room at the clear signs of mayhem.

"It sure seems that way. No time to discuss further, let's just get back in the RV for now," Cassie twirls around and heads back toward the front entrance, but before she can even take two steps, a horde of spiders pour in from around the corner, flooding down the hallway.

Hundreds of eyes blink in odd rhythms at them as they trample over each other in an attempt to make headway.

Cassie snags Baz's arm and takes off running. They drag him along behind them as they push themselves to sprint faster. Somehow, they both make it to the front entrance, jumping over the broken glass and heading straight for the RV.

"WHAAAAAAAAT THEEEEEEE FRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICCCKKKK!" Baz is yelling as he is dragged by his arm; his feet kicking wildly behind him as he tries to find his balance between forced steps.

When their large vehicle pops into view, he finally snaps into action-- shaking free of Cassie’s hold and scrambling to get into the RV. He slams the driver's side door closed and sighs in relief, slumping into the seat.

‘They can't get us in here.’ he assures himself.

Struggling with her chunky heels, Cassie had fallen behind when Baz broke away. As he clambers inside easily, the tip of Cassie’s shoe catches on the sidewalk and she trips forward onto the concrete - scraping her palms on the way down. The spider-like creatures begin to close the distance as she struggles to push herself back onto her feet.

The sounds of thousands of tiny, tapping legs - skittering across the ground - grows more intense, and she scrambles up in a panic.

She expertly launches herself towards the passenger door, frantically groping for the handle as the hoard scuttles closer and closer.

...

(Original Photo Credit: Reddit r/LiminalSpace - u/AlexandarPANASONIC -- Edited by @same-soup-just-reheated)

(Banner by @charzardmain)

[ranalatus]

The Imposter — II

slight spoilers - Albedo's backstory

genres: SAGAU, villain/imposter AU, isekai

characters: albedo, kaeya, lisa and tsaritsa cameo, very very brief mentions of the archons and a few other characters, isekaid imposter!GN reader, (actual) Creator of Teyvat

warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of punishment, mentions of starvation, naked people being judged for treason??

notes: part two is here!! Also how do y'all feel about me posting scenarios about this au but isnt necessarily important in the timeline?? Like who first found out about the actual creator of teyvat or what everyone went through before reader was isekaid? Lmk if you'd like to see smth like that!

Part I.

Cries of the innocent are heard all throughout the halls of the Zapolyarny Palace

They were stripped to their very toes, the chilling bite of the cold and the humiliation of looking like this in front of the all powerful Creator amplifying their sobs

“Mercy!” They shout. “Please have mercy!”

It is all too noisy for Albedo

The ‘traitors’ are brought on their knees in front of their God. They were accused of stealing possessions from the Divine, as well as spreading false rumors about their God

Albedo isn’t stupid. He knows they’ve done no such thing. There was no evidence, and it was all mouth service from the Tianquan. Moreover, there is more proof that shows their extreme loyalty to their God. It is illogical. However, she clearly did this for a reason

His eyes trail over to those of the former Geo archon’s

And he has to be part of it

“Tell me,” The Tsaritsa’s voice echoes loud in the main hall of the cold palace. “Why should their excellency forgive you for doing such a foul sin?”

“We’ve done no such thing!” One particular brave soul retorted

Albedo quickly looked away as the sound of crushing ice reverberated in the hall. He spotted his fellow acolytes next to and across from him, sitting on some sort of makeshift bleachers

Yes, every single acolyte is in here. For their excellency

Albedo has never called them that before, nor does he plan to

But it is strange, he wonders, eyes going back to their God sitting on an icy throne in front of the traitors. Their God is different from before. No ordinary person would be able to tell immediately, but this indifference is not from the usual ingenuity or boredom, it is more from being lost

Their God’s full attention and mind is not on the scene going on in front of them, but rather it seems to be on something they are thinking about. But what could it be? What could the all powerful, all knowing Creator have to ponder about to make them so lost?

“They’re not paying attention.”

A voice whispered next to him, Albedo’s eyes turn back to the naked traitors, ignoring the blue snake that found its way next to him

“Come now, Albedo, you noticed it too, did you not?” Kaeya leans back, arms crossing across his chest as he lets out a light chuckle. “Why else would you be staring when you’ve never expressed interest before?”

“I’m just curious.” Albedo’s short reply came. He would be lying if he said Kaeya was wrong, but Albedo doesn’t care enough to think about it any further

“Your indifference to their excellency is gonna be your downfall one day. You know how hardcore their acolytes can be. Should they know that you don’t worship them the way you should be doing..”

“They did not create me.”

Kaeya is left to ponder about those words alone, as Albedo rises from his seat and exits the biting chill of the Zapolyarny Palace

He feels Lisa tap his shoulders from behind him. “Why did he leave? Their excellency is just about to determine the traitors’ punishment.” Kaeya shrugs off her hand, settling further down in his seat

“He had to do something back at his lab. Something dangerous, apparently.” The lie effortlessly rolled off Kaeya’s tongue, and luckily it was enough to get Lisa off Albedo’s back for a while

Really, the blond should thank him

“Your sentence,” Their God’s words shut everyone in the room up. The cries were sniffled, some were silently praying to the being in front of them. They were praying for mercy from the merciless Creator. “Shall be to never set foot inside my temple again.”

Kaeya’s eyes widened a fraction. The palace felt colder than usual. The time ticks, one or two more, as complete silence swallows the crowd

Then came the thankful cries of the traitors, the displeased sighs of the archons, and a particularly smug chuckle coming from the Tianquan a few seats away from him

What a light sentence, everyone is thinking. The traitors are escorted to the dungeon where they shall redress before heading back to their homes. They would not be able to get any more jobs, but at least they’re alive. Some of the more indifferent acolytes leave early. A few noteworthy ones being Keqing, Eula and Diluc. However those who are closest and most devoted to their God are visibly panicking

What happened to their excellency?

Kaeya watches as Zhongli and Venti escort their God to a room in the palace, with the Tsaritsa leading the way. Their God, in all their glory, remains with a cold poker face, and a very different aura all around

How amusing, Kaeya thinks. How will the story unfold now?

. . .

Footsteps startle them, a hand comes to their wound immediately and their legs are already up and ready to run

The familiar voice eases their panic a little bit, but they do not let their guard down. It irritates them how much this cocky smile calms their beating heart

“Dearest imposter,” Kaeya greets. He throws them a sunsettia, the ‘imposter’ fighting the urge to scramble to it like a helpless animal. They would not entertain someone as filthy as Kaeya. “Why such a harsh look? I gave you food.”

“Thanks, Mr. Bare Minimum,” They mutter. They glare at the sunsettia a little longer before hunger prevails, and they pick it up with fervour

Kaeya lightly smiles. “I noticed something interesting today.”

“Spare me the small talk,” They take a bite out of the sunsettia, sitting back down on the floor. Kaeya walks closer and sits next to them, leaning their head against the crate behind them

“It’s not small at all, it’s about their excellency,” The scoff coming from the ‘imposter’ doesn’t deter Kaeya from his story. “They’re quite different from before.”

“Let’s hope they aren’t more immature than they were before. Who the fuck sends a bunch of obsessed cult followers after someone’s ass just because they share the same face? God,” Again, with their weird speech, Kaeya notes. What other god are they talking about if not their excellency? “I don’t want to hear about them.”

“I don’t care, I’ll talk about it either way,” Kaeya banters back. “They changed, they’re less strict, less mean, less.. Them, should I say.”

“They grew as a person? Wow, I didn’t expect that.”

The slander should have offended him as someone who grew up worshipping their God’s name, but all it does is make him laugh. “They have a secret they’re hiding, and I want to find it out.”

A few seconds pass before they speak up again, wiping the sunsettia residue on their torn up clothes. “How will you do that?”

Kaeya’s smile turns borderline sadistic, a gleam in his eye that screams at the ‘imposter’ to run

But they stay, and they’ve fallen into his trap

“I need your help.”

— This is pretty late actually JAKDKEJE ANYWAYS the actual part where acolytes start finding out Reader isn't who they are and is actually the imposter starts on part three with Childe!!

[erimeows]

Sari wants to go to a concert of a world famous pop star in Detroit, Optimus gets strung along and the singer starts flirting with him with ten times his confidence, after Sari got her autograph. What would our precious Oppi do about all the attention (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧?

Love your work btw, I need to get into the habit of reposting things lol I always forget :(

Hey! Thanks so much, I really appreciate it. Headcanons below the cut <3

They’re at this concert that he doesn’t really want to be at, just him and Sari. It’d loud, crowded, and too many people have come up to him asking for his autograph and pictures. 

He politely obliges, but is also incredibly anxious; anxious about protecting Sari in the midst of this mess of adults who could easily trample her, about being a literal giant who is probably blocking the view, anxious about the fact that Isaac was kind enough to pay for them to go and he had no way of paying him back.

Bumblebee and Bulkhead are cuddling in a seat somewhere in the crowd, and Ratchet and Prowl are back at the base because they didn’t want to come. 

Optimus is in the very front with Sari on his shoulders, spark slamming in its chamber as the opening act ends. The music is reverberating through the huge outside area as you show up on stage, and his optics go wide in awe, as this is his first time seeing you in person.

Him and Sari actually bonded over your music when he first came to earth. You were one of the only human artists he’d liked, so he had seen all of your music videos, memorized all your songs and their lyrics, watched every interview you’d done and admired your work. It was absolutely insane to see you on stage, especially with Sari there, as she was an even bigger fan than he was.

You start performing and he swears he feels his spark swell. Your voice is even more beautiful in person, and the sight of you all dressed up and in the flesh, singing your heart out is especially captivating to him. At one point during the chorus of one of your songs, you stop and move to the front of the stage, tilting the microphone down to him.

Him and Sari sing the line into the mic, and the crowd cheers and continues, but he swears you looked at him with blushing cheeks and something sparkling in your (e/c) optics when you did that.

Eventually, the show ends and they use their VIP passes to get backstage. Tons of other fans are back there talking to you and some others, but eventually, you work your way out of the crowd and approach him and Sari. 

First, Sari talks to you, and you have a very enthusiastic conversation with her about your music, her and her hobbies, etc before signing the t-shirt Sari is wearing with the cover of your most recent album on it.

Then, you turn to him with a smirk.

“Hey, handsome, need an autograph?” You don’t even ask before lifting yourself up to sign his chestplates- thankfully, with a dry erase marker. Your name is scrawled out across his body, and a weird part of him wants to keep it there forever. “What’s your name?”

“O-Optimus Prime, and you are?” He stammers, voice cracking, and Sari, who is still on his shoulder, laughs at him. “W-Wait, no, I know your name! I’m a huge fan, really... Forgive me, I- I’m a little flustered, I just-”

“Well, Optimus Prime, here’s my number,” You grin and write your number on his palm without even asking before winking at him. “Gimme a call sometime- I can tell you want to, handsome.”

And, of course, he does give you a call- as the humans would do, he waits a couple of days and gives you a ring, and the two of you start setting up dates, those of which have to be kept very secretive and private to avoid paparazzi, but he doesn’t mind it.

Optimus being Optimus, he falls in love with you very quickly. You’re charming and bold, confident and fiery, passionate and loving, direct and open- a lot of things that he isn’t, and he loves you for it. 

The two of you develop a great, dynamic relationship, and everyone loves it. Y’all are in those celebrity magazines all the time, and of course, y’all have a whole ship fandom. 

[dienamights]

A Reverberate Lullaby | K.Bakugou

✎ The echoing howls stalk you, a ghost hunched on your shoulders, wailing like a child calling for rescue, who cries with no tears. Chanting for a hero that is willing to pick up the pieces of its soul and being, yet it is only left to wither. For the ghost has lost faith that such others exist and can only be cured by finding them, for you are the ghost of your world and love is the only true exorcist.

✎ Protagonists: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

✎ Word count: 4.1K

✎ Category: hurt/comfort, Implied Mature Content MDNI, Prohero!au, Established relationship!au

✎ Caution(!): Implied Mature Content MDNI, mention of depressive state, toxic family, toxic coping mechanism, mention of reader’s weight gain and thoughts about self worth. Please keep in mind while every person’s reaction to depression is different, don’t belittle anyone’s battle when you don’t understand it.

✎ Author’s notes: Hello! Hope everyone’s taking care! Still on hiatus BUT I’m here to post my contribution to the Mental Health Awareness collab by @doinmybesthere​ ! This has been in the works for a while because I kept scarping ideas for triggering me lmao. This piece is very personal to me and I’m glad I am able to share my experience with you all, I hope that it might help anyone out there in reaching out and asking for help because I know how difficult and scary it might be! Please check out everyone’s contribution that they worked so hard for! kisses kisses take care!

OOH ALSO! Thank you so much for 900 followers aaaaaah! You’re all so amazing and if anyone has suggestions for an event to hold in June lemme know! I’ll also think of some ideas

» Masterlist | Requests | Taglist

The morning sun barely rises and peaks through your blinds, sunshine starting to kiss at your cheeks as you squint at the light, the room welcoming the warmth that is being brought into it after the evening’s chill that made you curl tighter in on yourself, clasping whatever heat you could muster than to turn around and find it in the heating pad of a body that lays next to you. 

An alarm only just rings before quickly being shut off, followed by the creaking of the bed when the person behind you shifts, shifts again, another time, before getting up and stalking to the bathroom, after letting an elongated sigh when they sit at the edge of the bed, not acknowledging your presence accompanying theirs. The door clicking closed before the trickling of water fills the quiet room.

Your clock reads 5 am when you squint at it, and you blink at the time before you go on with your routine, setting up breakfast while your boyfriend gets ready to go to work. 

Oddly enough, you don’t really quite remember when you started working on the food, all that you could see in front of you is nothing but a scene that looks like it’s out of a broken TV - there’s just so much static. The voices are distorted, as if they’re coming from a defective radio.

“Listen, this ain’t about me, this is about you and how you-”

“What about me? Huh? That you see me as nothing but a burden? No, you can say it-”

“You wanna hear me fuckin’ say it then fine! This is about you sitting on yer ass all day obsessing over her while she wouldn’ give you the time of day y/n. When will you fuckin’ realize that?”

The scene blurs and sways, and you feel your mind run at a speed you didn’t know it could muster, and you’re unable to keep up with it. The knife in your hand shakes vigorously and barely misses your fingers when you bring it down to cut the vegetables.

The sound of the bedroom door shutting closed alerts you, straightening your back when you hear the drop of your boyfriend’s gauntlet by his chair at the dining table. Katsuki approaches you with careful steps, his still ungloved hand circles your waist before pressing his lips to your temple, a gruff greeting of a whisper laced in between.

“G’morning.”

The familiar scent of caramel mixed in with his aftershave welcomes you, wraps around you and cradles you, promising everlasting safety and happiness. Yet, your heart wrenching sobs and muffled crash of your laptop against your floor that rings in your ears tell a different story, shrieking at you, roaring about your failures, mocking your entire existence.

“Made gohan, should be ready in a minute.” you mumble back, posture stiff at the close proximity of Katsuki and you feel the curl of his lips in displeasure pressing into your temple from both not reciprocating his greeting and your choice of meal for the morning. “You don’ eat gohan,” 

“s’why I’m making it.” The quick retreat from your figure is like a slap to your face, and you barely stop yourself from reaching out and forcing his arms back around you. Because it's the bite in his voice that halts your movement. 

“You’re still going?” you finally turn to take a look at him, the garnets in his eyes shifting, bleeding from hurt, betrayal, confusion, you really weren’t sure. And by God you had no energy left to try and figure out. “Yes I’m still going Katsuki, they’re my-”

“Yer really listenin’ to the bullshit spillin’ outta ya? This isn’t about em being your family y/n, we’ve been through with it already.” the space between you two feels like endless miles, pieces of the broken bridge you both worked so hard to build the only evidence of it ever being there, the rest crumbling into the valley in between your bodies.

“No, you’ve been through with it, I just wanna make things right, m-maybe I can fix it”

“It ain’t yours to fix y/n, when will you realize that?”

“No!” there you go again, sobbing pathetically. “W-why can’t I have a family, huh? Why- why can’t I, fuck, have a family that just loves and supports me a-and just doesn’t- ” your voice croaks, not failing to notice how Katsuki stepped away from the wreck in front of him. Probably having had enough of you, had enough of how troubling and bothersome you are, probably wondering how he got roped with all your shit and got dragged into your mess of a life.

His hands feel like scolding fire when they’re placed on your shoulders, halting their shaking as you cry into the palm of your hand to muffle the sobs, a habit Katsuki has been working so hard on to help you overcome, saddened to see you try and hide your vulnerability from him.

“Because they never made an effort, so why should you?” The tugging at your heart burns, the swallowed sobs feel like needles prickling at your lungs, making breathing feel like an impossible chore. You can’t help but feel restrained whenever you’re presented with the truth, especially unfiltered and unsugarcoated like right now, you know he’s right, you’ve known he was right a long time ago, but admitting it out loud just felt borderline impossible. 

So you do what you do best, push him away, all the strength you can muster barely budges his figure, the meal forgotten on the counter as you run and lock the bedroom door on yourself.

Your footsteps feel heavy, dreading the topics and scenes you’re bound to relive. The grip on the strap of your shoulder bag tightening as you push the glass door open. A sigh escapes past your lips again as you enter the restaurant, half-heartedly smiling at the hostess before making your way inside to look for them.

It’s always the same scenery, the kind that always makes you want to run away to the other direction instead of being dragged down into whatever hell this is. And you pause to question yourself, again, why you actually agreed to put yourself out there.

There they are, seated in the four person table, with two empty seats, one for yourself and the other for the sibling your mother always hoped to have instead of you.

Your mother’s pursed lip could be seen from where you stand at the entrance, the clicking of her tapping foot sounding as bad as grinding metals in your ear, you hate it, despise it

It’s the same clicking you learned to memorize, to anticipate, to fear, when she passed by your room, the clicking that made you smother your face in your pillows and swallow your sobs, because the sound of you crying brought her more distress and annoyance than concern for her daughter.

With another tug at the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, you approach the table, hugging your father when he stands up and nodding to your mom when she eyes your figure.

“Good morning mother. It’s good to see you.”

“What’s wrong with your hair?”

Here we go, you breathe out before tugging at a strand of hair, spitting out your words “nothing’s wrong with it.”

“Then why does it look awful like that?”

There are times like these where you are left to question your reasoning for accepting whatever invitation you received from your parents to have brunch with them after all those months, a moment of weakness deceiving you into believing it was better than to spend it in your empty apartment, with the silence that ate away at your sanity every second. The only evidence of life in it other than yours was the recently cleaned dishes and the note thanking you for the meal, the promise of cuddles and movies tonight making you gain just a little more patience, barely.

You refrain from answering, your response is to lower your head, drag the dining chair before plopping on it, a dreary sigh escaping your lips as you scoot your chair closer to the table. Your mother never changes, it’s been a while since you were able to move out of her home, and while your father tries to tell you that these brunches are a way to reconnect with them, you yourself know that it’s merely a chance for your mother to nitpick at everything you ever did or are doing since you left.

“How have you been y/n.” your father smiles at you, both of you ignoring the sound of your mother kissing her teeth when her attempted jab at you is ignored. “Uh, I uh I’ve been good, I just wrapped up with my exams and so far things have been-” 

“How is your hero boyfriend?” 

For a second, you contemplate whether to ignore her question and keep conversing with your dad, dreading the questions that are to be pushed your way regarding Katsuki, of which will be used as bragging material for when she meets whatever group of friends she associates herself with, but you know better than to ignore her with the way she gets when she isn’t fed with attention. 

“He’s uh, good.”

“Why isn’t he here today? What, too good to meet us?” your mother nags, and for the love of God, would that fucking clicking ever stop?

“No, he’s doing his job of, you know, being a hero.”

“Is he now? Well, what about you, hm?” She cocks her head as her nails tap the table. ”Did you think your father and I wouldn’t figure out you got fired?”

“How-” the gritting of your teeth is deafening at this point, your jaw clenching so tightly as you and your mother stare each other down. “Your dad pulled some strings, it isn’t that hard. So tell me, you like leeching off of him after you were done with us?”

“This isn’t, I just- I was- I, I had a lot of university work piling up a-and I couldn’t make time for my shifts and I just, it was just so hard for me to get out of bed these days and I.” why are you doing this? Why are you explaining yourself to people that don’t deserve it? Why are you feeding off of their acceptance, knowing damn well you never got it, and that thing was never gonna change. 

“Oh, I don’t wanna hear about you not getting out of bed, you’re here now aren’t you? This is all in your head y/n. You need to stop talking nonsense, what’re people gonna say about you, about me, when they hear you?” 

It feels just like yesterday, your figure standing and facing your full length mirror, your reflection eyeing you with identical vacant eyes. Fingers running through your bed head, a wince escaping you at the movement. Bringing your hand up and catching a glimpse of a slight swollen purple bruise along your wrist and the dried blood on your knuckles, the skin stretching upon rotating your wrist and causing notable pain.

Alas, that pain paled in comparison to when your mom barged into your room, blaming you for the way you were acting and belittling your reasoning. Beckoning your father over to replace your broken vanity and for your house maid to disinfect the space, the place sparkling clean and void of any evidence of what had transpired the day prior. 

The shattered glass was picked up and thrown out, the splatters of blood were wiped clean, and whenever you brought up, what your mom refers to as ‘the temper tantrum’, you’re ignored by both your parents as they continued about their day, fearing the shame it would bring upon their name if the event was to catch others’ attention. 

“Good morning! I’ll be your server for the day. What can I get you?” the foreign voice sounds more comforting than your own mother’s, and you almost laugh at the irony of it, but you only return her smile and take a look at the menu. Lighting up a smidge at the name of one of the dishes, while your parents place their order.

“Can I please get the soufflé pancake?” you look up to catch the horrified look on your mother’s face, followed by her clicking her tongue and shaking her head as if your choice of food was shameful. 

“Certainly-”

“Uh, no she won’t be having that. Get her the Honzen Ryori,” your mother eyed your figure -whatever was visible to her from across the table- before turning to face the server again “maybe cut down on the rice, God knows she doesn’t need the extra calories.” and waves her off, disregarding your protests and tapping her nail against the table top, her annoying method in demanding your silence, which you subconsciously react to, snapping your mouth shut when the sound reaches your ears.

“What was that for? You know I like having sweet breakfasts,” was fuming even close to what you are feeling? Probably not. “Yes I can clearly see that, you’ve let yourself go as well. Do you think that boyfriend of yours will stick around when you start putting on even more weight?”

At a loss for words, you turn to your father, who has been quiet this whole time, for any sense of support when it comes to his wife. But the way he presses his lips together tells you all you need to know, how just because he isn’t bad as her, doesn’t make him that great of a parent. That standing by while you have been bullied your entire childhood and well into your adulthood is just as bad as being the cause of it. 

“God forbid he realizes how much of a train wreck you really are and throws you on the side of the street, because you know damn well we won’t be here to pick you up.”

It began as a whispering in the air. The day had been beautiful -well, as beautiful as it can be with the kind of day you’re having- and the sky was like a dome of plasma-blue. The clouds had looked like airy anvils drifting under the gleaming disc of sun. People quickened their pace as the clouds began to gather in the sky. The postcard-perfect sky started changing. The beautiful cocktail-blue shade merged in with the flaming orange and mesmerizing purple as the sun sunk deep into the horizon, before beginning to darken into gravel-grey. Large pillows of cloud start to form, blocking out the old-gold color of the sun.

The first splatter of rain hits you when you’re halfway across the street, dismissing the need to take shelter under the roof of the buildings like some passersby are doing, hoping to see out the shower. Droplets of moisture begin to drip onto your head, sprinkling onto you like a gardener’s hose. It was well after your meal with your parents, and you had spent the last few hours walking aimlessly through the streets, making sure to avoid those covered by your boyfriend during his patrol. Hoping, praying, that something will clear your head, will help your poor jumbled mess of a mind forget about this entire nightmare of a day.

Should’ve listened to him 

The rainfall intensifies, the drops drumming against the hood of the cars that you pass by, there is so much rain that the sound blurs into one long, whirring noise, reminding you of the blades of the fan that you stuck your finger in, that one time when you were left alone in your house when you were only five years of age. Eventually, they fade into a musical chime as you push your drenched hair away from your face and feel the vibration from your phone as it rings the ninth, maybe tenth time. 

He told me so. 

Tall apartment complex building; you couldn’t see its end from where you stand. You shiver as you approach it, the doorman - bless his heart - running and placing his umbrella to futilely shield you from the rain, and you just laugh and tell him that you’re already drenched and just waiting to go back home.

God forbid he realizes how much of train wreck I am

Not wanting to dampen the people at the elevator and make them uncomfortable, you take the stairs up to your shared apartment, you usually don't mind the exercise but with how heavy you feel after the rain and day spent up on your sore feet, all you think about is locking yourself in your room and discover what kind of new façade could you try and fool Katsuki with when he reaches home.

Just how I trick him into thinking I’m not with him to leech off of him

Eventually and with a struggle, you make it to the door, dreading the sight you might come to face, almost hoping for a black hole to emerge and swallow you whole.

What would people say about me? Do people think I’m crazy?

With a forced exhale out of your lungs, you fetch the key from your bag to unlock the door, but it’s wrenched open before you have a chance to insert your key.

“Where the hell have you been?” 

Your eyes meet the beautiful rubies of Katsuki, and despite his anger that always overcompensates his worry, you smile and throw yourself on him. The shivering ceasing when he wraps his warm arms around you and that loving caramel scent engulfs you, in spite of how your hair is drenching his shirt and how you sniff against his neck.

“You need a shower, you’re shivering.”

“Take one with me?” you look up at him through your lashes, and he blinks at your uncharacterized boldness but agrees nonetheless, helping you out of your clothes and turning on the hot water before stepping in with you.

It is a struggle to help you clean up when all you do is grab at him, whether they’re your hands on his shoulders to lower him to kiss you, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your breasts against him, or palming his hardening cock as the poor man tries to shampoo your hair.

“Would ya knock it off? I’m tryna help you here shitty woman” you frown and squint your eyes when the shampoo gets close to them. “I wanna have sex.” 

“Yea I can fuckin tell, just lemme-” you bring his arms down and press his palms to your boobs, letting go of his wrist when he starts squeezing at them. “Do you not want to?” he gulps, his dick twitching at the feeling of your soft mounds in his hands, your nipples covered up by the suds from the shampoo, as your finger traces the underside of his cock. “Yeah, I uh, fuck, I do, just- you need to wash up so you don’t get sick, alright?”

“Do you not think I’m pretty anymore?” you pout childishly, tears threatening to escape your eyes, and they burn as you close them when he washes the product out of your hair, a deep frown on his lips when you open your eyes back again. “The fuck you on about? That rain really fucked with ya?”

“Are you gonna get rid of me when you realize how much of a mess I am?” you whisper, your voice muffled under the sound of the shower above you, and you keep quiet as he helps you scrub your body, but your boyfriend is observant, he isn’t fucking dense.

“What do you want, right now?” he lowers himself to your level when he’s done, his hands stroking your cheeks as he eyes the way the water droplets cling to your lashes, but still not missing the red rimming around your eyes.

“I just wanna for- I uh, I wanna have sex.” you mumble, a plea hidden underneath your words, a plea to help you forget, to help you bury this day behind you and pretend it never happened.

What you don’t expect is the way that Katsuki pulls your naked wet body out of the bathroom and drops you on the bed, feeling your bodies dampening the bed as he hovers over you, no words are spoken between you as he kisses and nips at your skin. Marking it up and down as he all but worships your body, strands of his hair tangle between your fingers when you run your hands through it, arching your back at the feeling of his tongue tasting your slick.

He doesn’t let up until you cry out, and not in pleasure, your sobs far beyond those he loves to hear when he’s denying you an orgasm. No, they’re sobs that wreck your whole body, kicking away at his shoulders as you curl in on yourself and wail into the sheets. Sitting on his haunches on the floor, Katsuki’s eye soften at your figure, the way your shoulders are shaking and how -yet again- you’re trying to muffle your cries with the sheets this time, pressing your face against the mattress in an attempt to lower your noise, as your mother would call it.

“Hey, look at me” you feel his lips grazing your ear as he kisses it, pressing his lips against your temple, fingers unwrapping your fist against the sheet and digging into your hands and pressing kisses against the nail marks in the palm of your hands. “There she is, there’s my girl.” you hear when you lift your head from the bed, sight blurry from your shed tears but still easy to distinguish Katsuki even between billions of people.

You sniff when he kisses at your lids, groan when he chuckles and calls you ‘snot the naught’ when you wipe your nose with the back of your hand, beaming when he hears you let out one weak chuckle at the way he teases you. Still pressing his lips against any surface of skin he can reach.

“You don’t have to talk about it you know, to me at least” he mumbles to you when you’re both dressed in your sleepwear and are cuddling on the dry side of the bed, opting to change the sheet the next day. “Maybe, maybe we can get someone who can help you, you know.” you press your face deeper between his neck and shoulder, shuddering when his warm palms rub your back from under your shirt. 

“I can make some calls, get in contact with someone.” you lift your head. “But I can’t afford-” he tuts and frowns at you “None of that.” 

“Remember what I said when we agreed to move in?” you do, you just love the sound of his voice when he says it, feels like he’s making all these promises all over again. “Tell me.”

“Told ya I’d be whoever you want me to be, whoever you need me to be. I’ll be yer mom, even better than that bitch, I’ll support and love you unconditionally.” you sniff and tighten your hold against him as he presses his lips against your cheek. 

“I’d be better than yer pussy dad, you can rely on me any time and I’ll live up to all your expectations. And callin me daddy is always a plus” he tangles his legs with your own when you wiggle away from him, laughing and giving you no chance of escape, not that you are even thinking of it. 

“I’d even be yer genius fuckin nanny that taught you to tell yer mom to go fuck herself when you were four,” your suppressed giggles lights him up and he can’t help but chuckle as well. “I’ll be anything and everything you’ll ever need, baby. I’ll be your goddamn hero.”

The sun comes out again, casting slanted beams of light across the buildings. Steam rises slowly from the greenery. It rises up eerily and drifts mist-like towards the molten-gold sun, right before it escapes into the abyss. The image is so vivid that it stays with you for as long as you remember. Because on this exact day, the shrieking that follows you everywhere you go, haunting you and mocking you, suddenly is nowhere to be found. And all you can hear is the comforting sound of Katsuki as he hums you a lullaby to sleep.

aaaah I hope you like it!

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 5

More people said yes to Hannigram, which is good because Will is already involved in the plot and it would be awkward to have him just disappear. Also, I had someone request a Hannigram x reader in my asks. Apologies to the one person who voted no; I promise there will be more solo Hannibal x reader content in the future.

Hannibal decides to that y/n could do with some extra protection, but doesn’t anticipate what she has to tell him.

I have no idea how to make a proper tag list but @deadman-inc-bikeshop and @dovahdokren here you go 

Trigger warnings: discussions of alcohol, victim blaming

“When I saw his face, I immediately knew he had never once experienced the touch of his own hand, let alone that of a woman.” Charissa read out loud to everyone on staff. “Or, that he was buried so deep in the closet he found Narnia, but those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.” 

It was expected to be a slow night, as was normal for an ordinary Tuesday. On nights like those, you could get away with more, like reading a tabloid article out loud for everyone to hear. 

“I can’t believe [F/N] actually went public.” One of the new busboys commented. “What an absolute madlad.”  

“Did you just unironically use reddit terminology in an actual conversation?” You narrowed your eyes at the kid. 

“[F/N], you are making a very dangerous enemy.” An older waitress said, cryptically, from the corner of the room. 

“Who, Jason?” You gestured to the busboy. “What’s he gonna do? Make me cringe myself to death?” 

“You know that’s not who I mean.” She frowned. “I’m talking about Chase Mulvaney.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You shook your head. “He’s not stupid enough to come back here.” 

Charissa made a noise that denoted her doubt. “I dunno, [F/N]. You’d have to be pretty stupid to start stabbing people at a crowded restaurant in broad daylight.” 

“But he was smart enough to get away, right?” Jason asked. “That’s gotta count for something!” 

You and Charissa exchanged glances. Neither of you had the emotional bandwidth to explain white privilege again. Instead, you just humored him. 

“Yeah.” Charissa lied. “He was smart enough to get away, meaning he probably knows better than to come back.”

"You're kidding yourself." A third waitress, who's name you couldn't seem to place, added. "People always say that killers are these galaxy-brained superhumans, but they're not. Mulvaney believes he's divinely ordained, so any thought that pops into his coked-out head is a sign from god."

And so shattered your thin firmament of denial. You made a point to never learn this person's name just out of spite.

“Oh, shit.” You said, trying to hide your genuine fear with a sarcastic voice. “Maybe he is coming back for me.” 

Charissa glared at the two other waitresses, equally pissed at them for scaring you.

"And it'll be your own fault for provoking him with that article." The older waitress said.

"Holy victim-blaming, batman." You mumbled.

“Alright, listen up, y’all.” Matthew announced to the group. “In ten minutes we open for dinner. Remember, if you want to switch shifts with another person, you have to run it by me first. I don’t want to see anybody but [F/N] at the bar tonight, capiche?”

“Yessir.” You saluted him and made your way over to the bar. You’d been doling out your bartending shifts left and right to avoid even the possibility of being cornered by another Freddie Lounds. You were only prolonging the inevitable, though. Eventually, you needed to return to the bar.

You passed the hostess's stand, where Charissa was stationed. Suddenly, you felt someone grab at your arm.

"Fucking hell, dude?!" You flinched violently and your heart rate jumped. "Don't do that!"

"Shit, sorry!" Charissa looked immediately regretful. "But, look!"

You followed her gaze through the window where a fancy car was parked. He leaned against the door, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt.

Now your heart was beating fast for a completely different reason. You squeezed Charissa's hand, trying to keep a lid on your nervous excitement.

"I think your luck's starting to turn." She said in a sing-songy voice.

"Yeah, I bet he'll protect me from the Baltimore Butcher." You whispered, trying not to giggle like an elementary school girl.

"Oh, could you imagine those arms around you?" She sighed deeply, her hand firmly against her chest. "I would die."

"Not until he sinks his teeth into your neck." You smirked, gnashing your teeth together.

"I would let him." She rested her chin on her hand.

"Yeah, me too." You agreed.

"I would give anything to trade shifts with you." Charissa groaned.

"Well, you heard the boss." You shrugged, suddenly feeling much better about your assignment. "I gotta stay behind the bar."

"Oh, pobrecita." Charissa rolled her eyes. Underneath the stand, she put up her middle finger in your direction. "Suck a dick, [L/N]."

You walked backwards towards the bar, keeping your eyes on your friend. "That's the plan, baby."

You tried to make yourself look busy. You dared not look at him as he entered the restaurant.

He exchanged pleasantries with Charissa then took his seat at the bar. You pretended not to notice him right away, only to give you an extra second to compose yourself.

"Hi there." You greeted, knowing you'd feel stupid no matter what you said. "Er- good evening."

"[F/N] [L/N], I assume?" He asked.

Fuck, you thought. His voice was dark, low and made your insides tremble. Even though part of you knew he was going to know your name, it still felt so sensual passing his lips.

You realized you had waved to him with your bandaged hand. That's how he was about to identify you so quickly. "Yes, I am she. I mean- her. Me."

Way to go, dumbass. You thought. Now he knows you're nervous and he's going to wonder why.

“God, I need to stop wearing this damn thing.” You said, clearing your throat. “What can I get for you tonight?” 

He was quiet for a moment. "What do you recommend?"

"Well, that depends." You said, pulling your gaze from him and grabbing a few wine glasses down from a high shelf. It was the only way you could maintain your composure.

"On?"

"What you're having for dinner, for one." You said. "And whether or not you're a vulpine tabloid journalist trying to corner me into a dubiously ethical interview. That's also a factor."

"So that's how Miss Lounds wore you down?" He concluded. "With wine?"

You rested your elbows on the bar, filled with an intoxicating confidence. "She tried wine first. Then she tried to get me fired because she asked for chardonnay and I brought her chablis. And when that didn't work, she siphoned my gas."

"I wish I could say that was out of character for her." He looked at you, apologetically.

"I take it you've had your own run-ins with Freddie?" You smiled.

"She's tried to infiltrate my practice multiple times." He sighed. "She's entered my office under a fake name with a recording device in her purse."

"What a sick fuck." You said, before remembering you really weren't supposed to curse in front of customers. You covered your mouth. "Sorry."

The corners of his mouth turned up into an amused smile. "Don't apologize. You're right."

“So you’re a doctor?” You asked, hoping he wasn’t the type to be offended by questions. 

“I’m a psychiatrist.” He nodded. “I used to work as a surgeon, but I find the mind much more compelling.” 

"Seriously, though." You pushed yourself back to your feet. "What can I get for you?"

He eyed the wine menu and then looked back at you. "What is your favorite red?"

"My favorite red?" You placed your hand on your collarbones. "On a night like this, I enjoy a nice, dry Argentinean Malbec."

"In that case," he thumbed through the list once more. "I'll have a bottle of Cobos Chañares from 2016, please."

You smiled. You wouldn't mind taking a sip of that if he offered. "Right away."

You carefully pulled the solid black bottle from its crevice and placed it on the bar. You removed the plastic seal and reached for the corkscrew. The bottle opened with a satisfying pop, filling the air around you with the strong, complex and seemingly contradictory aromas.

You poured a bit of this criminally expensive wine into his glass. He smelled it, then swirled it for a moment before taking a sip.

"Redcurrants and vanilla," he began. "With floral notes that operate with the precision of interlocking gears in a clock. Everything in its place."

"So you're a sommelier and a poet?" You tilted your head and filled his glass. "I'll bet you make women swoon at every corner."

You never had the best grasp on flirting, but even you knew that line was awful.

“Are you flirting with me, Miss [L/N]?” He asked, clearly not too worried about the consequences and enjoying the flattery. “Or are you just trying to get a taste of this Malbec?” 

“Little bit of column A, little bit of column B.” You shrugged. “Though you are as handsome as everyone says, I’ve had my eyes on that wine for slightly longer.” 

You fought the urge to slap your hand over your mouth. You had just broken the cardinal rule of workplace gossip. Panic reverberated through your body as you tried to break down his unreadable expression. 

Once again, he just looked amused. “I’ve seen those lingering glances, the way you all whisper and giggle. It’s flattering.” 

You felt your cheeks growing hot. “...I see.” 

“If you tell me what they say about me, I’ll let you have a taste.” His eyes bored into yours. 

You paused, trying to decipher exactly what he was offering. Then it hit you. 

“Oh!” You interjected. “The wine.” 

“Yes, that’s what I meant.” He said. “Dare I ask where your mind went?” 

Your cheeks stung from all the uncomfortable smiling. “I’d really like to keep my job, thanks.” 

“Have you never heard of bartender-client confidentiality?” His voice lowered and his eyes found your lips. “Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls.” 

Your insides turned to jelly. He rested the wine glass in his hand and offered it to you. Your hands shaking, you cradled the glass like an 18th century French village prostitute being offered a mug of hot soup. You brought the glass to your lips, the strong, overwhelming smells assaulting your orifices.

You let the wine grace your tongue. You had taught yourself to overcome the sting of the alcohol and focus on the undertones. Your eyes rolled back in to your head and you let out a little noise of pleasure. 

“Christ on a bike, that’s decadent.” You said, gasping for air a little bit. You quickly passed the glass back to him before Matthew could see you. “Thank you.” 

“Now, indulge me.” He instructed, glancing at the fresh pink lipstick mark on his glass. “What do the lovely women of Terroir whisper while I’m just out of earshot?” 

You rested your elbows on the bar and leaned in close. “They say you’re a vampire.” 

Judging by his unchanging neutral expression, it clearly wasn’t the first time someone had made that connection. “Perhaps they’re on to something.” 

“One of our line cooks used to say you were the devil.” You informed him, hoping that was one he hadn’t heard before.

“Used to?” He raised his eyebrows. 

“Until Chase Mulvaney came around.” You instinctively ran your fingers over your bandages, as if to make sure they were still there. It was a nervous tick you’d developed anytime someone brought up that day. “He’s stopped talking about, like, anything having to do with his religion ever since.” 

“It takes a lot to get an evangelist to stop evangelizing.” He refilled his glass. “Do you think he lost his faith?” 

“I heard someone say in passing that it was because he and Chase Mulvaney went to the same church.” You whispered. “But I can’t verify that.” 

“I’d say it’s more likely than a regular customer being a vampire, wouldn’t you?” 

“I wouldn’t trust their word because they made a regular customer into a vampire.” You corrected, hoping he would overlook the fact that you were one of them. “Secrets may stay within these four walls, but they tend to bounce around. It’s only a matter of time before one escapes, and you’d better hope it’s not one of yours.” 

This man must have been an exceptional therapist, because, there you were, baring your soul to him after fifteen minutes and one sip of wine. Occasionally, you were pulled away from the conversation by another customer who had the audacity to also want a drink. But, very few people came to you with the sole intent of drinking on a Tuesday evening. You and the sommelier talked until closing time. 

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Miss [L/N].” He said pulling out his wallet. “You are as delightful in person as you are on paper.” 

“Thank you, but I never caught-” you said, but stopped yourself. “I mean, you never gave me your name.” 

He signed his name on the paper check, then pulled out a fifty and unceremoniously handed it to you. “Now why would you want to ruin the mystery?” 

“Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls, remember?” You grinned and crossed your arms. “Come on, I won’t tell anyone.” 

He took the customer copy of the receipt and scribbled something down on it. He the folded it in half and slid it in your direction as if it contained nuclear launch codes. 

“Join me for dinner someday.” He ordered. “I’ll supply the Malbec.” 

[neonacity]

Black Daisies: Chapter 1

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”

An NCT mafia AU with OT23. 

Summary: Working for the mafia comes with many layers. There’s excitement, violence, loss, and betrayals. Yet there’s also friendship, family, loyalty, and code. The last thing it needs? Love and all the complexities it brings. 

TW: violence, death, mentions of drugs and other illegal activities. If you’re uncomfortable with any of these, feel free to skip. 

Author’s note: This is purely a work of fiction. In no way am I supporting all the illegal activities and behaviors that might be mentioned in the story nor am I implying that any member of NCT acts whichever way I may write them here--they’re all sweetiepies that need to be protected! 

That’s all! Enjoy! 

Slight static sounded from the earpiece as the woman behind a computer pressed a small button to activate it. A few miles away from her, the same low hum could be heard from the ear of a young man as the line came alive. The boy barely moved from the shadows where he was crouching, his head twitching just a little bit at the alert. 

“Haechan, target just entered from the main hall, door A,” a voice sounded from the small electronic bud attached to his ear. His eyes lifted to look at the shadowy pillars above his head where a quick glint of light confirmed that another boy hidden there heard the same words. 

“Got it, noona. Plan C?”

“Plan C. Where are Jisung and Chenle?”

“Two floors down from us. Jaemin’s with them. Renjun’s done with the wires.”

“Jeno, you good?”

Up above the rafters from Haechan’s head, a darker shade of shadows moved. The metallic glint flashed again, followed by a low sigh that could be heard from the earpieces of the two people involved in the conversation.

“So I can’t use my gun again?”

“No. I already told you, right? What’s family rule number 2?” The female voice answered from the other end of the line, a tinge of laughter lacing her tone. Haechan giggled softly from beneath the rafters, enjoying the banter. 

“....we don’t shoot people in the head and kill them.” 

“That’s right.” From her screen, the woman’s eyes followed the movements of their targets as the man boarded the elevator that would take him straight to the penthouse of the high rise building. Her nose wrinkled a bit as she watched him wound his arms around two giggling women who look half his age. 

Disgusting. 

“...there’s something we can do though…”

Haechan tightened the scruff of his gloves as he heard the soft hum of the elevator climbing closer to where he and Jeno are. He smirked slightly to himself as the welcome ding from the penthouse reverberated just one floor below them.

“We put them in their right place.”

“Good luck, boys.” 

A soft buzzing sound indicated the earpiece temporarily being turned off the same time loud explosions sounded from the floor and roof of the penthouse.

“Noona!” 

I whipped around on my creaky swivel chair to face the group that just bounded through the door, wide grin plastered on my face. The blonde boy who called my name closed the distance between us with his long, excited strides, cheeks plump from his smile. 

“Look what I got you! Pretty nice, eh?” He asked with pride as he took a seat beside me, opening his palm to show a blood red stone nestled there. I moved a little forward to squint at it before gingerly picking it up. 

“Red diamond. I think two carats, at least. Wow, that’s impressive, Chenle! Thank you.”

The boy’s grin widened as he turned to the others who just settled on the scattered chairs and bean bags across the plain cement floor. 

“See? I told you she’d like it!” 

“We almost got busted because he wanted to take it.” Another boy with light purplish hair piped up from one of the bean bags on the ground. It’s adorable how only half of his body could fit on it, leaving him with no choice but to splay his long legs on the floor. 

“Did not.” 

“Did yes.” 

“Shut up, Jisung. You’re just jealous I’m the one who got it for her tonight.”

I chuckled from my seat, rolling the princess cut diamond against my palm. The kids always do this--if it’s not Chenle who is giving gifts from their little rendezvous, it was the others. It was a sweet act, at least if anyone counts out the fact that it came from ransacking a high profile businessman’s penthouse.

“Who wants some ramen? I’m starving.” A black-haired boy asked from across the room where a counter was set-up to serve as the headquarters’ kitchen. Five heads whipped up and gave various forms of yes, making him turn towards the group, one hand on his hip. 

“Yah, Lee Haechan. Help me cook.”

A groan sounded from the leather couch as the boy in question winced at the request.

“But I’m tired. I detonated two bombs today!”

“And I had to unlock three high-security safes. Come on.” 

I chuckled as I watched Haechan pull himself up from the couch, his boots still on. Three consecutive beeps from the monitor behind me made me turn back towards the table again, fingers tapping over some keys to review the message.

“Noona, how about you? You want some?”

“No, thanks, Jaemin. Just ate,” I flashed him a quick smile before turning to read the notification on the screen. Slowly, the corners of my lips lifted into a full grin as my eyes finished scanning the words. 

“127’s back from Tokyo. They got the goods well and secured.”

“Whoah, really? I gotta ask Mark-hyung if he was able to get me my favorite chips!” A boy with black and white hair said as he swiped his phone up from the back of his pants pocket to send a quick message. Beside him, Jeno propped his head up from one of the love chairs, looking at me. 

“Who sent the message?” 

“Doyoung.” 

“Did he--”

“P.S. Tell Jeno I got him the silencer he wants,” I read the closing note on the message with an amused eye roll and a smile. Jeno gave an excited whoop from behind me, clearly excited over his new toy. 

I quickly shot a reply to the message, making sure to give them a quick update from my end. A green logo flashed after I hit send, a special kind of cyber filter that automatically deletes all traces of conversation that passes through my computer at my command. My eyes registered the familiar three letters before it flickered and glitched to black. 

NCT. 

For anyone living a mundane life, those three letters might be senseless. However, it’s a different case altogether for anyone who is in any shape or form involved with the underground. It’s a name that is often said in low whispers of reverence… or spat with spite. Whichever of the two, the name itself only means one thing to those who know it: the top mafia group ruling the underground of Seoul--if not the whole of Korea. 

The “family,” as I’d  like to call it, is divided into three different smaller sub-groups of varying specializations and activities. First is 127, the primary group in power over Seoul. The unit specializes in drug dealings, assassinations, and smuggling of firearms, and its members are also the ones managing the many businesses (both legal and illegal) falling under the protection of NCT. As the group with the most experienced members, they are also the ones who often go across countries like Japan where they also have their own hold. Limitations and Prohibitions: none.

The second group; Dream. Despite having the youngest members, the sub-group also has its own chokehold over the city of Seoul. Specialization: Heists and Ambushes. It doesn’t matter if it is a high-tech bank or a high-walled fortress like Alcatraz--once Dream sets its sights on a bounty, they’ll make sure to get it. Limitations and Prohibitions: no killing allowed. 

Finally, the third cluster: WayV; the current ruling crime group of China. Specialization: Organized Cyber crimes and biological warfare . While the sub-group has its original roots in Korea, it didn’t have any problem taking over Beijing’s underground in a few years time. They are considered the visionaries of the family--always one step ahead when it comes to anything technology touches and influences. Limitations and Prohibitions: none.

I leaned back against the chair and gave a soft sigh. Compared to the others, I don’t have as much exposure to the so-called thrills of the job. Still, I do admit that being the eyes and ears of the whole group is not a leisurely walk in the park. It’s been a few months of being temporarily assigned to Dream, but with 127 back, work will surely double again in no time. Not that I’m complaining with how well the job pays, of course--I did get a blood red diamond today, after all--but things sure can get tough sometimes. 

Lifting my arms up, I gave myself a well-deserved stretch before kicking back from the desk. The smell of ramen hit my nose, making me smile. Another day, another job well done. 

“Hey Jaemin, changed my mind about that ramen. I think I’ll have it after all.” 

Chapter 2: Overture

[bittydragon]

The Ant King

Note: Huge thanks to Bittydragon for inspiring me to write this. I’ll be honest, this is the first fic I've ever actually written, as well as the only piece of creative fiction I've written in like two years so… fingers crossed it goes well hahaha.

TW: tight spaces, darkness, uh,,, bugs i guess. Near death experience

  There are things you have to know about ants when you get an ant farm. Basic fundamentals. What to feed them, how to keep them alive, what type of ants you have, etcetera. Even if your intentions were… torturous. After all, you need to know what makes something tick in order to make it stop.

One of the more common facts about ants is that every colony has a queen. She orders her ants to keep her alive so she can make more ants. Simple biology, the continuation of a species. Every nest has a queen, or it dies.

Apparently, this colony didn’t get the memo.

These thoughts buzzed in grumpy circles around Wilbur's’ head as he followed his ant companion, Tommy, deeper into the ant-farm. They had been wandering these tunnels for what felt like days now, in the center of the farm so there were no glass barriers to show the outside world. They were deep too. Almost at the bottom of the compound. Wilbur was not one to show fear, but even he was beginning to get claustrophobic.

Tommy, who up until now had been jabbering like a toddler the whole trip through the ant-farm had also gone uncharacteristically silent. The whole trip Wilbur had wanted nothing more than a few seconds of quiet from him, but now he missed the carefree noise.

They were on their way to see the ant King. A type of ant that, as far as Wilbur knew, didn’t exist. So either they were on a wild goose chase, or Will was way out of his depth.

The further they went, the more he was convinced it was the latter.

“Tommy do you-” Wilbur paused, his echoing voice in the tunnel almost felt like a taboo. An affront to the maddening silence that stalked them. He lowered his voice.

“Do you think… Will I ever get back to normal? Will the ant king change me back?” He hated that little quiver in his voice. He hated the uncertainty. The waiting.

Tommy continued to march forward silently, pondering the question.

“I dunno big man, I think you’ve changed heaps since you got here.” He turned his head to flash Wilbur a grin “Then you’ll be out there and all nice n shit. It’ll be poggers.”

The tunnel was dark, but not dark enough to hide the flash of uncertainty in Tommy’s eyes.

Wilbur's heart sank. “Thanks mate.” He mumbled, and they trekked on, once more in silence.

  By the time they saw light, it felt like they had been walking for days. Wilbur was almost glad he was about to meet possibly one of the most powerful ants in this colony. They rounded one last bend, and they were there.

Before them stood a huge double door set in the wall. Two vines with some kind of glowing fruit framed the door, shedding light on the small space. In front of the door, leaning on a spear made from a twig was another ant with a pair of large white rimmed goggles. 

“Well… This is it I guess.” Wilbur muttered. He cleared his throat “Hey, um. I-i’m here to have an audience with the King? If that's alright.”

The guard ant didn’t respond, continuing to stare at them with no discernible expression.

“H-hello?” Wilbur glanced at Tommy, who shrugged.

“Excuse me? Anyone home?” Wilbur snapped his fingers in front of the ant's face.

He seemed to startle slightly, before slumping down a bit and letting out a loud snore.

“What the fuck” Tommy said.

Before anyone could do much of anything, one of the massive double doors creaked open and a voice came through.

“George, I swear if you fell asleep again, I'm going to rip off your antenna and use them as- oh.”

Another ant entered the room, this one also carried a twig-spear and had a strip of white cloth tied around his forehead.  As soon as his gaze landed on Wilbur, his expression soured.

If looks could kill… Wilbur thought nervously

“It’s you” The new ant spat “Took your sweet time getting here Soot. Earthquake slow you down? Didja get a taste of your own medicine from your big pals out there?”

Wilbur pursed his lips, and the ant snorted. “Yeah. Thought so.” He walked forward and gave George a hard shove, sending the other ant sprawling with a startled yelp.

“Sapnap what the hell?!” He snapped, before spotting Wilbur and Tommy. “Oh hey. That guy is here.”

“Yeah he’s here, idiot.” Sapnap smacked George over the head with his spear “And we would have known a lot sooner if you hadn't fallen asleep on duty again!”

“OW! Sapnap stop! Get off me!”

Wilbur cleared his throat, drawing their attention “Sorry to interrupt, but me and my friend have been walking for a long, long time, so could we please have an audience with the King?”

Subpoena glared “Yeah. He’s waiting for you. Against my advice, he wants to see you.”

Oh. That… didn’t sound great.

Wilbur tried not to think about the implications of that statement as he approached the double doors. Tommy moved to follow, but was stopped by the guards.

“Hey!” He groused “Let me through dickheads!”

“I'm afraid the King only wants an audience with the great and powerful Wilbur Soot” Sapnap said with a smirk.

“But I want to go too! Let me in! You stupid ugly bitch ill fight you! You may have a fancy stick but just wait until I pull out my knife-gun!”

“Tommy its fine.” Wilbur interrupted “I’ll be fine mate, promise. Just wait here. I wont leave without saying goodbye.”

The last thing he saw was Tommy’s antenna drooping sadly, before the doors swung closed behind him.

  If Wilbur thought the tunnel was dark before, that was nothing compared to the room he was in now. The darkness was so thick, so absolute, that it made no difference if his eyes were open or closed.

“Hello?” Wilbur called “Uh… your majesty? I was told that you wanted to see me.”

His voice echoed slightly in the huge space, but there was no reply.

Wait. What was that? Something rasped ever so slowly across the opposite wall. Something big. As it moved, the moss where it had been standing glowed a dull green.

Bio-luminescence Wilbur reasoned. Trying to distract himself from the fear creeping up his spine. Touch activated, it seems.

He swallowed dryly “L-look, just tell me what you want. I’m not here to cause trouble”

The thing moved again, its raspy scuttle reverberated through the chamber.

“Wilbur Soot, not here to cause any trouble” A thoughtful voice hummed from the dark “Now that’s a first.”

The bio-luminescent moss was lighting up more of the room. If he squinted, Wilbur could make out a... leg. Probably.

Wilbur inches slowly to the side, the moss lighting up his own path. “Okay, I get it, I've done morally questionable things in the past, but I've learned a lot from my time here. I’m sorry.”

“For now” The voice replied. The thing was moving on the other side, matching him step for step. “What's to say you aren't faking remorse to get out of here? And maybe you really are sorry. How can I be sure you wont change your mind the second you're back to normal? It's too much of a risk.”

Wilbur continued to back away nervously “Your majesty-”

“Please, call me Dream. Everyone else does.”

“Right… Dream. I can say with 100% certainty that won't happen. I've seen people die in front of me. That’s enough to change anyone's stance on something.”

“And yet I'm still not convinced.” It was moving faster now, scuttling across the floor, walls and even across the ceiling. Wilbur's head spun with the motion. “And since we’re talking in hypotheticals, riddle me this: Whoever said I was going to let you out anyway? What if I just like to play with my food?”

Dream stopped suddenly, rearing over Wilbur, and with all of the lit up moss, he got his first proper look.

This ant was huge. Twice- no, at least three times the size of Wilbur himself. He looked a bit like a centaur, with a human torso connected to a pure white and thorax and abdomen.He also wore a strange white mask with a blank eyed smiley face drawn on.

Two huge claw arms- similar to those of a praying mantis- extended from Dreams waist and slammed into the dirt either side of Wilbur, startling him enough that he fell onto his ass. The king leaned forward with that lifeless grin, and Will closed his eyes, preparing for the end.

“But…” Dream said thoughtfully “A proper experiment should account and test for all variables, shouldn't it?”

“Y-yeah generally” Wilbur stuttered

“Oh good.” Dream hoisted him roughly to his feet. “I’m glad I asked you. After all, you know all about experiments, don’t you?”

Wilbur chose not to answer, glowering at Dream as the eyes on his mask briefly glowed a dull green.

A moment later, Sapnap and George marched in, dragging a cussing and struggling Tommy behind them.

“YOU STUPID MOTHEFUCKERS!!! Let me go or ill get married in rage!! Fuck you and-! Oh. wow that is a big fella.” Tommy stopped and stared in awe at Dream

“Sapnap, give Wilbur your spear.” Dream ordered.

A flicker of doubt crossed Sapnaps face but he obediently shoved the spear into Wilbur's hands.

“I’ll make you a deal, Wilbur Soot.” Dream purred, circling him. “I will let you go to your old life. You can do whatever you like; kill us, torment us, throw us away… it doesn't matter. All you have to do is kill one ant.” He gestured to Tommy.

“What?” Wilbur whispered.

“WHAT?!” Tommy roared “fuck you! I'm not your dumb-ass pawn, I'm going to kill you! Rrrrrrrrrrr!” he writhed, attempting to bite George who did a surprisingly good job of holding him still.

“Go on.” Dream cooed “It's just one insignificant ant standing between you and freedom. You've killed hundreds. What's one more?”

Spear in hand, Wilbur took a hesitant step forward.

Tommy's gaze snapped up “Wilby?” He asked, his struggling pausing for a moment.

Their eyes met, fear clashing with sorrow. Tommy seemed to see something in Wilbur's expression and hung his head in defeat. As if he had expected Wilbur to betray him.

Oh hell no. Fuck that. Wilbur angrily tossed the spear aside.

“No. I won't.”

“What?” Dream spat

Wilbur rounded on him “No! I won't kill him! Keep me here, kill me, hunt me for sport, whatever! Just leave him out of this! Tommy has been nothing but nice to me since I met him, even though it don't deserve it!” He rubbed his arm. “God knows I don't deserve it.”

“Hmm…” Dream hummed “Are you sure, even if it costs you your life?” One of Dream's massive claw arms grazed his side, a subtle threat.

Wilbur looked over at Tommy, who had a look of hope on his face.

“Yeah.” Will smiled, “I'm sure.”

I probably could have written more, but i wont. I hope you like this fic bitty! Thanks for reading :)

Edit: Fortune, this is amazing! Like, I hadn't really thought about this encounter in a lot of detail, but I honestly like this a lot! And Dream being a big boy since he's the king ant. Just yes. Thank you so much for this.

[pitaparka]

when you want him to choke you headcanons

note — NSFW. this bitch is kinky. obviously. lost of choking references, a little breathplay at the end there. all of the boys are willing in one way or another because pedro plays them, alright?? i believe in my heart that that man is kinky as hell. good morning and good night. happy superbowl. fuck you tom brady. big love to every one else besides tom brady <3

warnings: choking, penetrative sex, breathplay

MANDO

- is stunned

- you want him... to do what??

- excuse me??

- choke you?? like, with his hands??

- in the heat of the moment you guide his huge, bare hand to the softness of your throat

- he can feel the vibrations of your whimpers against the webbing of his hand and he almost blows his load right then and there

- the idea that he can wreck you like that gets him excited

- the first few times it gets his adrenaline pumping, but then he really starts to want to get closer to you, pull you in closer, fuck you on his lap in the cockpit while the baby naps in the pod

- he finds it interesting, all of these kinks, and never gets bored of them, but he's a simple man

- he's just glad you want to share these experiences with him and provide such a stable source of pleasure for him in his life that used to be so devoid of it

EZRA

- finds it quite hard to choke you with one hand, but willing to oblige you

- he's afraid of putting too much weight on your neck, so he refuses to do it in any position where he doesn't have much control

- but he ends up getting really into it

- he finds it so arousing, the dubious nature of it

- he likes the idea of being so in control of you, being able to control your breaths, your breathing

- he quite literally has your life in his hands, and it gets him rock hard

- he likes to control your moans, cut them off with his hand while you're riding him, pretending like you two have to be quiet

- will definitely ask you to let him do it again sometime

FRANKIE

- frankie is a little taken aback when you ask

- but you're so needy, mewling and whimpering underneath him

- he squeezes your jaw hard, and presses his mouth to it

- his husky voice reverberates against your nerves, and his lips move passionately across your skin before his hand moves to tilt your head up for better access

- it's like he can read your mind

- just the right pressure, just the right grasp, and can easily read when it starts to become uncomfortable

- he loves the way you anchor yourself to him by grabbing his wrist, pushing him in closer and pulling him back when it becomes too much

- communication is super important for him, so being able to gauge when he's getting too into it and what kinds of pressure you like are vital

- he loves the way you moan when he does it, so eventually, he's going to ask you to do it to him as well

WHISKEY

- a bit more vanilla than you'd expect from someone so forward, but is interested in this particular kink you have

- he'll trace the shell of your ear with his fingers, brush the side of your jaw, play with you lower lip, before cupping his hand lightly to your throat

- he likes to see how you fit so well in his hand, the way you gasp and shudder for him when he forces your chin up to look him in the eye

- the way his lip curls up when he realizes how smitten you are for him, the way he could tell you to do anything and you'd probably do it with the heat of his hand flush against your neck

- you have to show him how to do it properly, in order to not crush your windpipe, but he gets the hang of it swiftly enough

- is very possessive, and WILL allude to it in public

- he'll wrap his arm around your shoulders, and brush his fingers up against your neck

- he'll say you have something on your neck and go to wipe it away, his fingers splayed down the side of it

- he smiles when he sees your goosebumps, and you know you're in for it when you get home

JAVIER PEÑA

- he likes to kiss you with his hand wrapped around your neck

- to feel your heartbeat through your throat

- if it speeds up when he does it, he knows he's doing something right

- when he takes you from behind, he likes tugging on your hair, wrapping a hand securely around your throat so you know you're not going anywhere

- he really likes it, actually

- he loves the feeling of pressing you impossibly closer into him

- he likes to admire your beautiful throat, when your chest is pressed up against his and he's fucking up into you

- he'll grab your hair at the roots, and pull back on it, to wrap his fingers securely around the base of your throat, keeping you there

- his hands find every erogenous part of you they can, so to have one more spot he knows he can get you off with, that's all the more pleasure from javi

MARCUS MORENO

- he laughs mischievously when you ask him to do it

- he likes to get your blood rushing to all the hottest parts of you first

- he plants wet kisses to your neck, his nose pressing hard into your skin

- the way you heat up for him, and get so excited when he does it

- his free hand finds a way between your thighs and the other one curls around your throat

- it's great for when you're getting too loud and he's afraid you'll wake missy or alert the neighbors, even

- he loves listening to you pant heavily after you're done

- he also loves feeling you dig your nails into his back when you orgasm and his hand is wrapped around your throat

- those scratches aren't terribly difficult to hide, and the idea that you've marked him up as yours is reward enough for indulging in your requests

MARCUS PIKE

- will be the most reluctant, as nobody has ever asked this of him before

- he's scared of hurting you, but you seem to get really into it

- he's in awe of you when you push his hand harder and harder into your neck, moaning and whimpering soft and broken from underneath his grip

- he's not actually the one in charge here, but with his hand wrapped around your windpipe, her certainly feels like he is

- he doesn't want to leave bruises, and definitely checks up on you after the sex or the make out session

- you tell him that he doesn't have to worry as much, but that doesn't give him peace of mind

- it's only when you gently introduce him to the receiving end of it does he understand

- he doesn't like it as much as when you're writing and moaning underneath him, but he figures that if you like it, and he's really not hurting you, he doesn't mind you wrapping his fingers around your neck sometimes

MAX PHILLIPS

- max has always loved your neck, nipping at it, leaving hickeys, pressing his fingers into the pliable skin there

- so when you beg him to choke you, to force all the air out of your chest, to wrap his long fingers around your throat

- he doesn't need to be told twice

- he loves it so much, he starts doing it without needing to be asked

- he presses you up against a wall, or pins you to the bed, and squeezes just enough for you to just barely be able to breathe

- he fucks hard when he chokes you

- you swear you almost pass out when he does it, but he allows you to pull his hands back if he's getting too rough

- he likes to feel your hands wrapped around his throat too, mainly because he doesn't need to breathe, so seeing you fall apart on top of him, seeing your hands wrapped around such a delicate piece of him, squeezing as hard as you can as you ride out your orgasm

- he loves nothing more than orgasms, necks, and good business. and two out of three isn't bad

MAXWELL LORD

- he frames your face with his hands, thumbs tracing your cheeks, and you almost melt at his soft touch

- maxwell is usually quite eager, but gentle in the best ways

- the best part about when he chokes you and fucks you at the same time, is that he subconsciously squeezes in time with each of his thrusts

- his arm frames your head and his face is so close you yours and you just can't help trying to moan around his hand

- he loves loves loves hearing you moan, so usually he'll let up to allow them to escape your mouth

- but then he's right back on it, because he knows that the more he does it, the closer you'll get, and the louder you'll be

- his rings dig marks into your neck, but you love the cold contrast to the warmth of his fingers

OBERYN MARTELL

- will most definitely choke you if you ask him to

- he likes to have you demonstrate for him just exactly how you like it

- your breath hinges in your throat when he takes your hand in his, and presses it underneath his jaw, right above his adams apple

- and you press into his neck and his eyes narrow before he take you and pushes you down onto whatever surface is closest so he can fuck you

- he lights a fire in your core that's impossible to extinguish without him

- he likes to come up from behind you, wrap his hand around your throat, and shove his hand into your pants or up your dress or around whatever you're wearing

- and he loves to feel you push back against him when he does it

- he knows he's got you right where he wants you in that case

- his fingers flex around your throat and he tries to cover as much area at once

- he believes in allowing you to be as loud as you want, since he wants all of dorne to know how good of a lover he is

- but if his fingers are wrapped around your throat, he doesn't mind swallowing all of your moans in a kiss

PERO TOVAR

- tries to choke you out with two hands at first

- you really gotta slow him down and show him the ropes

- sometimes he gets excited about it, other times he's less enthusiastic

- but he loves pleasing you, deep down inside that cold heart of his

- which is why he obliges the request

- once he gets the hang of it, its over for you bitches

- he's up in your ear, panting and whispering dirty things, downright filthy things

- and he squeezes your neck tightly, his fingers wrapped snugly around your throat

- you swear his one hand almost wraps the entire way around, his fingers are so long

- he prefers fast and dirty sex, so this kind of kink is right up his alley

- especially because of how rough he can be with you

- when you two get close, he starts squeezing tighter and tighter, until you almost cant breathe, and your release, when he finally lets go, is one of the best orgasms you've ever had

- which is how pero accidentally discovers his breathplay kink

[iovjun]

tsubaki (椿) - preview

PAIRING: commander!jeno x rebel!reader (fem)

GENRE: fluff, angst, enemies to lovers(ish), royalty(ish) lmao idk

WARNINGS: mentions of murder, death, swords and knives, blood, violence

SYNOPSIS: all you’ve ever wanted was to avenge your parents, who died at the hands of the emperor. when you meet jeno, the man who commands armies, he offers to help your cause. but how can you trust the man who works for the very thing you plan to tear down?

WORD COUNT: teaser: 1.2k (estimated wc: ?? definitely more than 6k idk)

A/N: this is my very first long fic lmao not sure when it’ll come out, maybe in the next month or so. special thanks to @yoongistoesuwu for the original idea and some scenes that were also her ideas and for helping me out sometimes

[SEND A MESSAGE OR AN ASK TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST]

A silent warrior in the night.

You ran as fast as your feet could carry you, your steps making a muted thud against the soft ground. No other sounds could be heard but the chirp of the crickets and the breeze brushing past your ears. There was a howl in the distance, the sound of a wolf closing in on its prey.

You, like the other creatures of the night, were out for blood.

Each footfall ripped a ragged breath from you, your chest falling and rising rapidly. Ahead of you were the looming walls of the palace, too tall to see over. You approached the sturdy structure, cautiously observing your surroundings for any movement. Giving yourself a minute to catch your breath, you hid in the shadows beneath the wall, watching the starry sky above you.

The clouds moved and obscured the moon for a moment, pitching the world into murky darkness.

You moved quickly, taking hold of a jutting stone and scaling the wall in no time. As quiet as a mouse, you landed on the other side firmly, scurrying to find another shadow before the moon appeared again. It was risky to go through the palace courtyard, but the night was on your side this time.

As the clouds advanced once again so did you, scanning the vicinity for anyone that could be watching.

There was an approaching guard. When you saw him, your breath caught in your throat and you almost choked. You flattened yourself against the inner wall, scolding yourself for that one reckless moment that could’ve foiled your mission. As the figure got closer, you hand wandered down to rest on the dagger hanging from your hip. If he got any closer you would have no choice but to take him out.

Your grip tightened on the dagger, inhaling softly and watching the guard closely, getting ready to strike. Just as you were about to pull it from the scabbard, he turned on his heel sharply and headed the opposite direction.

Letting out a relieved breath, you continued your precarious trek along the stone wall. Your plan was perfect. Eliminating a guard was not part of it.

Just ahead was the gateway that would lead to the palace itself, and all you needed to do from then on is walk right in. It was comical how easy it was to break into such a heavily guarded place. The thought of it could make you laugh out loud.

Without making a single noise, you sprinted across the decorative stone floor and crossed the tall gateway, smirking to yourself at your skill. You finally pulled out your small weapon, holding it against your palm and crouching along the stone pillars. You momentarily stilled, your skin tingling the way it did when you trained.

Spinning on your heel, you turned and met an incoming blade with your dagger, the metal clanging and reverberating throughout the courtyard. Your eyes widen, and you quickly shove the long sword away from you, the blades making a shing! sound.

The man wielding the sword was not the one from earlier; he seemed of higher rank from his uniform robes, but you couldn’t tell clearly thanks to the lack of light.

It dawned on you that you had been discovered, and it was a problem.

In a split second, you pulled out your second knife, twin to the one you held in your right hand, and held it in your left. You lowered into your offensive stance, bending your knees and holding out your weapons in front of you.

You lunged first, aiming for a weak spot, but he moved just as fast and blocked your attack. Once again, your blades rang out and you could feel the power in his parry that made your daggers vibrate.

“Stop.”

His voice was hushed and calm as he lowered his sword. You took the opportunity to aim for his undefended chest, yet he anticipated the move and stepped aside. He grabbed your wrist and yanked you forcefully, the action catching you off guard. You tumbled down with him, hitting the stone ground hard.

“Hey!” you growled, attempting to untangle yourself from the mysterious man.

He put a hand over your mouth. “Shh...you’re going to get caught,” he muttered, pulling the both of you closer to the pillar, blending into the darkest shadows.

“Who goes there!” shouted an unfamiliar voice from behind the pillar.

You sucked in a breath and heard your unwelcome companion do the same, gripping your daggers tighter. Neither of you moved an inch, watching the other guards’s silhouette for his next move.

“I asked who’s there! Come out now before I call for more soldiers!” the voice rang out again. The hand over your mouth was removed and he used it to bring it to his lips, asking for silence. You watched him with wide eyes.

“I’m going to go out. Don’t move or make any noise, alright? I’ll take care of him,” he whispered, gripping your shoulders. “Just trust me, okay?”

Before you could even think of a response, he shot up with his sword in hand.

“Lieutenant Han!” he exclaimed. “It’s just me, don’t worry. Resume your rounds please.”

“Commander Lee? Right away sir,” the guard replied quickly as the man in front of you sheathed his sword like nothing.

Commander? You had been caught by the damn commander.

You got up quickly and stepped back but, as if reading your mind, the commander held out a hand to stop you.

“I know what you’re doing here, but you’ve got to have a better plan than just walking in and killing him,” he said, his voice low.

His words miffed you a bit. “So are you going to stop me?” you taunted, holding up your knives once more.

He sighed. “Put those down, you’ll attract the whole force if we fight. If you try now, you won’t make it. It was foolish of you to come alone.”

You lowered your weapons. “What are you saying then?” you asked him, raising your eyebrow.

“I’m saying go back home, and come back with a better plan.”

“Are all commanders this lenient? Aren’t you going to arrest me?” You scoffed.

The man shrugged, the action making him seem a bit more boyish. The shadows on his face made it impossible to discern his age, but from his voice he seemed young, too young to be a commander for the emperor.

“If you want me to, I have nothing against it. I thought it would be nice of me to give you a chance to spare your life,” he said bluntly. “Now go home, shoo shoo.”

“I am not a child. I’m here to kill the emperor,” you stated, getting defensive. “Now if you won’t stop me then move.” You tried maneuvering around him, but he blocked your path.

“I know, and I’m all for it. I told you though, it’s not time. Look at how easily I caught you, do you really think the other soldiers in there would be as forgiving as me? Go home princess.” He added the last part, putting a hand on your shoulder.

You shrugged him off. “I’m no princess. Don’t you want to murder him too? Is that why you’re letting me off the hook?”

The young man smiled dimly. “The lieutenant is coming back. I’ll see you later, princess,” he said, smirking as he emphasized the ridiculous name. “I’m Lee Jeno, by the way. Find me when you improve your master plan.”

[bluegarners]

“I have your loved one” with Dick and Jason?

heyyy, it's finally here haha! i'm slowly getting to each request lol

here it is on ao3

I Have Your Loved One

It’s Thursday.

Time: 23:47, or 11:47 p.m.

Bludhaven has hit a rough patch in its weather, a vicious storm battering against thin windows and overflowing gutters and drains. It’s one of those storms that brings in the water but no lightning, dark clouds blanketing the entire sky, remorseless and relentless in its pursuit of smothering any light from escaping. The clouds don’t muffle anything though, perhaps amplifying instead the downpour that floods through Bludhaven’s streets and alleyways. Its citizens like to think this is a New Jersey hurricane, freshly mutated and traveled from the east coast into their humble, mildew covered city.

Dick likes the rain. Likes the way it pounds against his apartment, screaming to be let in but just barely warded off by seven inches of concrete and steel. The blinds are closed against the windows, and he has towels pushed up against the sills just in case the sealing lets up. Even if they were open, Dick is sure all he would see is another wall of gray and black, dozens of delicate raindrops splattered against his windows.

Because of the storm currently wreaking havoc in his city, Dick has elected to stay indoors for the time being. Eventually, the rain will let up, its pattern being close to about 05:00, and then he’ll suit up and do a quick patrol before work. For now, he’s content with sitting on his couch and listening to the water smack against the old building and run rivers down the sides. He’d like to sleep through it, a free white noise service at the ready, but his mind simply refuses to allow him to rest just yet. In a few hours, he’s sure he’ll come to hate himself for not taking NyQuil or some other drug to help him fall asleep, but for now… Well, it’s nice. The rain is nice. It’s also very loud.

He misses the first call.

His phone is face down on the kitchen table, about eight feet away from where he lays on the couch, mindlessly staring up at the ceiling. It vibrates, buzzing for thirty seconds, before falling silent.

He misses the second call too.

Thunder rumbles through the black sky, its force shaking the windows and only encouraging the downpour. His phone buzzes again during it, quieting after another thirty seconds.

Dick hears the third call. Hears the tail-end of the buzzing, getting up from his position on the couch and padding over to pick up his phone only to miss the last few seconds. He unlocks his phone, checking the number, and feels something cold settle into his gut when he sees no caller ID. It’s the same person though, all three times, but no voicemail.

He’s about to call the number back, just in case it’s someone he knows and they’re ringing from a payphone or something else, when the no caller ID flashes across his screen for the fourth time.

Dick answers on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Is this Richard Grayson?”

“Yes, that’s me. Who is this?”

The voice is feminine, a slight, western accent, longer o’s and a faint drawl. Somewhere from Arizona most likely. Lower register too. Older woman, mid-to-late fifties. Smoker.

“That’s good. I was starting to think I had the wrong number, Richard.”

“Yeah, sorry, I just didn’t have my phone on me. You didn’t say earlier, but who is this?”

“That doesn’t matter too much right now. What does matter, though, is this.”

She pauses. There’s shuffling he can hear on the other side. A faint, second voice in the background. No, three voices. At least two others in the room with the woman. He can hear the sounds of an air condition unit rattling.

“I think you might’ve cut off there. What were—”

“I have your loved one, Richard.”

Lightning cracks through Bludhaven.

His stomach falls onto the floor, pooling around his ankles. The storm outside grinds to a halt, the quiet louder than any thunder it’s ever managed to produce, and there’s a high pitched ringing reverberating inside his skull. Dick thinks he might be sick.

“What?” he chokes, the air in the room suffocating and weighing down his lungs. “What did you say?”

“I have your loved one,” the woman repeats, calm and slow. “Your brother, actually. Then again, he tells me you aren’t related by name nor blood, so we’ll settle for a loved one.”

“What do you want?” Dick demands, already scrambling to get to his computer, find where they’ve taken Jason. Find his brother.

“He did say you weren’t one for small talk,” the woman carries on, unhurried and unconcerned. “Your brother isn’t either, hardly said a word all this time.”

“Can I speak to him?”

There’s a small huff on the other end of the call, exhalation and a sigh leaving the woman’s mouth. A cigarette. She’s smoking during this conversation, blowing the smoke into the receiver.

“I don’t know,” she finally answers. There. Dick has his general location. Still in Gotham. He needs the tracker to be more precise though. It’s taking time though. Too much. “Your brother here was pretty convinced you wouldn’t answer after his daddy didn’t pick up. Cried pretty hard about it too.”

“What are you talking about?” Dick grounds out, fearing his phone will crack with how tightly he’s gripping it.

“Well, you weren’t our first choice to call, Richard. I’m sure you understand.”

Dick says nothing, focused on the computer screen in front of him. He should contact Barbara. This would be faster with her. Faster to find Jason.

“We called about seven times,” the woman continues, blowing another puff of smoke out into the phone. “Isn’t that right, boy? We called and called and called. His daddy didn’t pick up once, went straight to voicemail each time. A shame, really.”

There’s a sniffle on the other side of the call and Dick’s heart seizes when he realizes it’s probably Jason.

Batman was currently off-world, all communication with him being strictly between Justice League lines. Bruce Wayne was somewhere in the Bahamas, partying with Italian models and Spanish actresses.

Of course he wouldn’t pick up.

“Can I please talk to him?” Dick asks for the second time, fisting a hand into the couch cushions. “Please, I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

More smoke. “I’ll ask him.”

There’s a muffled thud, the phone most likely having been put down, and quiet voices filter through the line. He can’t hear much of what they’re saying, short bursts of comprehensible syllables before fading back to unintelligible noises. His computer dings with a response from Barbara. She’s going to use one of the J.L satellites to better pin-point Jason’s location. She’s also in communication with the police, reporting a child-abduction.

Keep them talking, she writes. Everything is going to be okay, Dick.

It feels like his heart is beating in his throat and his tongue has swollen to the size of a bowling ball. The storm outside is unrelenting. Lightning hasn’t struck again.

There’s more movement on the other side, clattering and scattered noises. The phone’s been picked up.

“Alright,” the woman says, raspy and uncaring. “The boy says he wants to talk to you, Richard.”

Dick holds his breath, waiting. There’s more noises, a transfer he thinks, and another sniffle interrupts it.

“Hello?” a shaky voice asks into the receiver. Dick feels like crying.

“Jason,” he breathes. “We’re going to get you out of there, alright? You’re going to be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” his brother rattles, a sob latching onto the end. “I’m so sorry, Dick. I-I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” Dick shushes, feeling himself get choked up at the fear in the younger boy’s voice. “I know you didn’t, bud. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“No, not really. I didn’t think you were gonna pick up,” he admits, voice cracking. “B-Bruce didn’t. He didn’t answer, Dick, and I-I thought you weren’t gonna either. I-I thought—”

“I’ll always answer, Jason, I promise. I’m coming for you, okay? I’m going to come get you and we’ll both go home together. Does that sound good, Jay? You’re going to be fine.”

“Okay,” the thirteen year old relents. “You promise though, right? You’re not gonna leave me here?”

“No, Jay, of course not. I’m not going to leave you there, I’m coming to get you. Right now. I promise, okay? Jason, I would never abandon you. You’re my kid-brother and I love you. I’m not going to-”

“As touching as this is,” the woman interrupts, “I think that’s enough.”

“Put Jason back on the phone,” Dick snarls. “I swear, if you lay a hand on him, if you even touch him, I will end you.”

“Sure, honey,” the woman drawls, puffing into the receiver. “Here’s what’s going to happen, so I want you to listen to me.”

His computer dings. It’s Barbara. She’s got the location. It’s close. Not even twenty minutes away. Border between Bludhaven and Gotham. Motel next to the gas station connecting the freeways. Room 13.

He’s out the door and revving up his motorcycle before the woman has even taken a second drag from her cigarette. The rain is beating against him, gloomy street lights flickering through the shrouded dark of the storm. Thank god for Bludhaven sewers, only slightly better than Gotham’s. The water level is only a few millimetres high.

“Now, I don’t want to keep this kid anymore than you want him to stay here with me,” the woman drones. The streets are empty. Dick blows through every red light he comes across. The tires are new, the grip is fine. “So, I think we can make this simple.”

“What do you want?” Dick growls, transferring the call into his helmet. He prays she can’t hear the rain battering against it. “Just tell me what you want already and I’ll give it to you.”

“Don’t rush me,” the woman snaps, and it is then that Dick realizes that this is all probably by chance. This isn’t some criminal mastermind who plotted to find and kidnap the son of a billionaire. This isn’t a case of a rogue villain piecing together vague details and figuring out Batman and company’s identities. It’s simply someone desperate. Someone who saw the opening and took it. The poor planning is evident, practically spelled out in bold print that these people have no real idea what they’re doing.

“Sorry,” Dick bites out, veering through a short-cut that says, in neon orange, Danger. Construction Zone. “Please continue.”

The woman on the line is vindictive though, choosing to remain quiet as the sound of a lighter clicking open tinnies through the call. She takes her time lighting a new cigarette, taking a long, slow drag and holding it in for a few seconds. Dick jerks his bike to the right, narrowly avoiding a large pothole. A passing car blares its horn at him. Finally, the woman exhales. He can hear Jason cough in the background.

“What I want,” she starts, a new color of intrigue hitting the back of her throat. He’s barely ten minutes away now. Could probably half it if he took more backstreets and increased his speed. “Is for my son to be released from prison.”

“Who is your son?” Dick asks, cursing silently as his back tire skids, hydro-planing for a moment. Thunder crashes above him and the rain continues to pelt at his body. It feels like getting hit with a paint-ball gun.

“Landon Jennings. I want you to get him released. I know you have the access to lawyers, probably have debts owed to you from people in high places. I want him released tonight.”

Time: 00:14.

01:14 a.m standard time.

“I can do that,” Dick says, heart beating faster as he sees the sign for the motel, dim in the gray, “but I’ll need a few hours. I need to contact my lawyers. Where is your son stationed?”

An icon appears in the front of his digitized visor. It’s Barbara. She sees him closing in. Police are on route. Seven minutes out. He has the option to wait on them and keep the kidnappers on the line.

“Same place they all go,” the woman barks. “Use that head of yours and figure it out. I want my son out by tonight, or you’re not going to see your brother again. And,” she rushes, “I don’t want the police involved. If you call them, I’ll know, you understand? I don’t want to hurt the kid, but I’m not scared to. My husband is here with me too, so if you try and—”

Okay, so waiting isn’t an option. He’s going in.

“No police,” Dick interrupts. “I understand. Please, don’t hurt him.”

“If you just do what you’re told, then I won’t have to.”

“Thank you,” Dick whispers, gently getting off of his bike and leaving it on the side of the road. He can’t chance them seeing him pulling into the motel lot. “You said your son’s name was Landon? If you don’t mind me asking, what is he charged with?”

“Why do you need to know?”

Dick jogs towards the motel, careful to stay out of direct light. The general office looks closed. Most of the windows facing the lot are shielded by salmon colored curtains. There’s only one floor, thankfully. Dick sees door 13. He’s shaking. His fingers are numb.

“My lawyers said they need to know in order to file for a judge to repeal his sentence.”

“Is that so?” the woman asks, suspicion tailing her voice. She takes a drag from her cigarette, contemplating. Dick’s clothes are soaking wet and he cringes every time his shoes squelch against the concrete. He decides crawling is best, ducking under windows and avoiding peepholes. “Fine then. Landon got falsely accused of statutory rape and breaking and entering. Is that what your damn lawyers are looking for?”

“Yes,” Dick breathes. He’s at door 10. He can see a faint glow coming from behind the curtains of room 13. He’s so close. “Thank you.”

He taps on the side of his helmet, sending a series of numbers that he’s sure Barbara will understand.

23-26-8-37

E-N-T-R

He can’t wait any longer.

While crawling, Dick made sure to get a good look at the motel’s doors and hinges. They’re standard, and though both Gotham and Bludhaven tend to have better locks than most other cities, Dick recognizes the model of the door and the wood it’s made out of. They’re thin enough for him to ram through. The hinges on the sides are rusted over as well, and Dick thinks they might just be weak enough to break. The windows however. The windows are his best bet. He doubts this kind of motel invests in bullet proof glass, and on some of the sills, he can see water damage. They leak. Poorly made. Meaning, if he ran at them, he could break through pretty easily.

But, if that doesn’t work. Or if he’s not fast enough to get on his feet once in. Or if the window is directly in front of Jason and the glass breaks all over him. Or if—

Stop. He can’t think about the what-ifs right now. Dick knows he can do this. Knows how to do this. There isn’t any more time to wait. He promised he would get Jason out of there, and goddamnit, he’s going to keep his promise.

“You’re being really quiet,” the woman mutters. “What’s going—”

Dick takes a deep breath and tenses. The light behind the curtain flickers. He needs to move. Now. Now.

Lightning splits across the sky and Dick can’t tell if it’s the glass shattering or the thunder that makes the other-worldly crack but it doesn’t matter because Dick lands feet first and is tucking and rolling before the occupants have a chance to react.

“Oh my god!” someone screams, but Dick isn’t paying attention to them because his gaze zeroes in on his brother, tiny, thirteen year old Jason, who’s tied up on one of the beds and staring right at him.

He can’t linger long though because he hears the words, “Get the gun!”, and he’s up on his feet again, rushing the closest person. It turns out to be the husband, a balding man with a patchy neck-beard, and Dick bunches up his fist and swings, socking the man in the stomach. He doubles over, wheezing, and Dick can see the small pistol in the man’s right hand, and Dick strikes down on his shoulder, kneeing him simultaneously. The pistol drops and so does the man, groaning, and Dick turns to the woman, who is staring at him like an animal cornered.

“Don’t come any closer!” she yells, pocket knife trembling in her grip as she shoves it in Jason’s face. “I’ll stab him, I will!”

Dick holds up his hands, sidestepping the groaning man. “Put the knife down.”

“No!” the woman argues, a strand of black hair falling into her mouth. “Now I told you- stay there! Don’t fucking move or I’ll kill this kid, you hear! I’ll fucking slice his throat open!”

With how scared the woman is, and how precarious she holds the pocket knife, which Dick can see is dull even from where he’s standing, he knows it’s not an idle threat. Scared people will do anything to get out of the situation they’re in. Scared people are unpredictable and dangerous.

But so is Dick.

So is Jason.

“I’m not going to move,” Dick reassures, eyes flickering towards his brother, “so, please, drop the knife. We can talk this out.”

“Talk?” the woman shrills, jerking the knife closer to Jason’s jawline. “You just killed my husband!”

“I didn’t kill him,” Dick corrects. “He’s just unconscious. Come on now. It’s just you and me. Let’s talk this over. I can still get Landon out if you give me back my brother. It’s as easy as that, alright? Just put down the knife, and we’ll talk. Does that sound okay?”

The woman looks like she’s considering it, the hand holding the knife still trembling, when the first sirens enter the lot. Red and blue light flash through the broken window as rain seeps into the curtains.

“You rat!” she screams, furious and terrified and desperate all at once. “You fucking called the cops! You broke—”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish before Jason snaps his head back, headbutting the woman directly in the nose. He falls to the side, getting out of range of the knife, and Dick takes his cue, leaping forwards and gripping the woman’s wrist and squeezing, weapon falling from her grasp. There’s blood spurting from her nose and Dick throws her to the floor, getting her on her stomach and hands behind her back. He sits on top of her, his weight overpowering any strength she has left, and in the next few seconds, police are banging on the door.

“This is the GCPD! Open up and put your weapons down!”

“You can come in!” Dick shouts, holding the squirming woman in place. “We’re unarmed!”

Things happen quickly after the door bangs open, several officers pouring in like the Bludhaven storm. As soon as an officer handcuffs the woman he’s on top of, Dick is rushing to Jason’s side, another officer cutting away his bindings. His younger brother turns to him, about to say something, but Dick cuts him off with a crushing hug, cradling the back of Jason’s head to rest against his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” Dick whispers, gathering his brother more fully into his arms. “I should’ve been there sooner. God, Jason, I’m so sorry.”

“I-I thought you weren’t going to come for me,” Jason confesses, hiccuping. “When Bruce didn’t pick up, I thought it was because he didn’t want me anymore. I-I told her that, I told her Bruce wasn’t coming but she wouldn’t listen and-and I—”

Dick wraps his arms more securely around the sobbing preteen in response, gently rocking back and forth as the mattress springs squealed under the pressure.

“I know I haven’t always been around,” he says, uncaring about the snot dribbling into his shirt, “and I’m sorry you thought you couldn’t rely on me to come and get you. You’re my brother, though, and I will always come running when you call. No matter what. I promise, Jay. Anywhere, anytime, I promise I’ll be there. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jason wheezes, the adrenaline from before slowly releasing its hold. “I trust you.”

Dick presses his face into his brother’s hair, relief washing over him as his heart slows. He’s never had a sibling before. Things were still tense with Bruce, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a big brother. There isn’t a thing in the world he wouldn’t do for this kid in his arms right now.

“What’re brothers for, right?” he mumbles.

The rain doesn’t stop and pours and pours and pours. Dick just holds Jason tighter.

The real storm was over.

Five months later

It’s Thursday.

Time: 11:47 a.m.

The stone is nice. White marble. Shiny. Expensive.

There are fresh flowers. Roses and yellow daisies. The dirt is still new too. Evidence of freshly upturned earth. Dick reaches down and pulls out a weed that’s sprung up at the corner of the stone. Tosses it away.

He doesn’t have flowers. He has a newspaper in his left hand. Reads: Mourning billionaire sets off on trip to Europe.

Jason died a month before he got back from across the universe.

Anywhere, he had said. Anytime. I promise I’ll be there.

He crumples the newspaper into a tight ball and shoves it into his pocket. Stares at the stone. The sun is out. There are no clouds in the sky. It’s nice.

It’s a nice day.

“Fuck,” Dick mutters, a familiar burn in the back of his eyes. “Fuck.”

Anywhere, anytime.

Dick Grayson is an only child once again.

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 17)

Previously on LBitR...

Trust me. Trust me. Trust me. Trust me.

Trust me.

It’s like the sudden, deafening clang of a bell; the violent clash of a gong reverberating painfully—in a literal, physical way—through Lena’s head, echoing agonizingly loud and bright, so, so bright in her psyche.

Instinctively, Lena moves her hands to her head, cradles her forehead in her arms—her cast on her right hand thuds painfully against her temple, and the radiating pain makes her shut her eyes. There’s still blinding flashes of white, like lightning behind her lids, blazing and flashing at a speed she cannot keep up with.

It’s not just memories, this time. Or well, maybe they are, but they are all coming at once like a film sped up and backwards, moving so fast and so painfully through her mind Lena can’t actually make out anything, can’t recognize anything substantial. Lex’s words reverberate in her head like the echoing of a gunshot, which is an apt analogy, Lena thinks through her agony, because she’d be willing to bet he used those words as a trigger.

Lena’s used to headaches—a good week is one with fewer than three nearly debilitating migraines—but nothing, absolutely nothing she has dealt with has come even close to being this excruciating. It’s an implosion, an earthquake, or perhaps a blinding supernova rattling and rupturing inside her skull. It’s heat and light and noise, so much unexpected noise, it makes her want to tear her hair out. She’s trembling, sweating profusely, teeth gritted so harshly she might just dislocate her jaw entirely.

It feels like her brain might melt, and that would be a mercy.

It’s her broken hand that gives Lena some respite from the overwhelming chaos in her brain. As she trembles—flails, really, because the experience is so uniquely agonizing, she’s practically seizing as her body tries to process it, close to convulsing—her cast thuds hard against the corner of the metal nightstand.

It hurts, in a completely different way to what’s hurting inside her head—she feels the pain at her wrist in a jarring jolt, and then it travels up her forearm to settle at her elbow. It’s sharp, and it makes her release a breath through her gritted teeth, and lingers for just a second.

Her broken hand throbs, for a moment, but it’s enough—Lena latches onto the new sensation, grasps at it with all her strength and tries to turn her focus completely to her fractured metacarpals, and the flashes seem to subside, even if only marginally. They still crash like furious waves upon a rocky cliff, but there’s a pattern there, one that Lena picks out immediately, waiting for it to climb, to build before it explodes all over again.

Once the pain reaches its peak, she slams her arm against the nightstand with all her strength.

It’s blinding pain, but it does the trick—it distracts her from the effects Lex triggered with the implant long enough she is able to do what she does best. She focuses, hard and determined, on the pain in her arm, counts each of her throbbing broken knuckles once, twice, tenses the muscles of her forearm in time with her breathing.

 When she feels her body start to relax, Lena boxes up the implant-induced agony in one of her little containers. It’s not the best—it’s a little see-through and maybe a tad on the flimsy side, but it is labelled and categorized and compartmentalized. In other words, it works, it works so well Lena finds herself releasing a bark of hysterical laughter.

Fuck you, Lex.

Once her breathing has calmed, Lena dares to open her eyes again. The bright fluorescent lights don’t hold a candle to the blinding brilliance of what she saw with her eyes closed; she has trouble seeing for a few moments, and it’s bizarre. Eventually, she can make out the details of her little cell again—the nightstand has been dented with the force of her strike. She wouldn’t be surprised if she cracked her cast.

As soon as she can breathe and see and sort of move without jostling her newly created mental boxes, Lena sits up on the bed, crosses her legs under the blankets, and just thinks.

She needs a plan. As much as it was a good idea to send Kara away, Lena has to admit (though she hates, hates, hates doing so) that Lex is right. Kara would come back to National City, and knowing that stubborn Kryptonian, she would do it sooner rather than later. Lena cannot let her walk into a trap.

Not for her, Lena begins reasoning, but immediately stops, because that is just not the truth. As much as she’d tried to push them apart, there is just something that draws them together like magnets, and Lena knows, she finally knows, or at least admits, that there is nothing she can do to prevent it. She’s not sure she’d want to.

So, Kara will be back. But not just for her—for Alex, too, who is god-knows-where, perhaps also victim of one of Lex’s little implants. It’s only a matter of time, and Lex may very well have the ability to use the two of them against Kara, and Lena absolutely cannot let that happen.

Her options are limited, in this little cell. There are no windows, only the biometrically-sealed door and the fluorescent lights. There’s another door that presumably leads to a bathroom, but Lena does not have the strength to investigate it. There’s the nightstand, the cart with the pitcher of water, and an ominous little red blinking light in the corner of the ceiling.

The obvious camera is, naturally, a taunt. As if Lena didn’t assume she was being watched from the get-go.

With a sigh, Lena brings up her good hand to her temple—her fingers feel icy-cold, and she realizes she’s been sweaty profusely when they come away wet. She pokes gently at her temple, then up, following her hairline, feeling and prodding at her skin in search for the damn implant. At the very least, she can try to see how the fuck he’s doing this mind-control thing. With any luck, Lex hasn’t drilled it directly into her brain. Or something.

The thought makes her shudder.

Lena’s almost given up—she’s on her third pass or so, poking so strongly she might come away with a bruised scalp, but then, almost by accident, she feels it. The implant.

It’s close to her left temple; right at the juncture of her skull bones, and holy shit, it is small. Smaller than a grain of rice, Lena isn’t even sure she actually found it until she prods a little more and feels its distinctive shape. It’s not as deep as she thought it might be—then again, she assumes Lex had to come up with a fairly non-invasive method to actually insert this very invasive contraption into her head. If only Lena could see it. She wishes she had a mirror—the best she can do is try to use the glass she drank for to try to locate the diminutive device embedded in her skin.

The glint of the dull fluorescents on the glass gives her an idea—it pops up into her brain as she twists it in her hand, trying to see her own reflection.

It could work. Maybe.

Lena prods at the implant one more time, tries to memorize its exact location. It’s risky—very risky, given her meningeal artery may or may not lie close enough to the implant to be disastrous.

But. Lex wouldn’t let Lena die. Not before his grand plan.

Lena takes one look at the blinking red light at the ceiling, and makes up her mind. The glass shatters against the same corner of metal she had slammed her cast on, thankfully not shredding her good hand in the process, and in large enough pieces to be useful. Lena finds a shard amongst the glittering wreckage—a good size, a good sharpness—and hisses under her breath.

“Fuck you, Lex.”

 << Previous || Next >>

[guabiju-marciana]

When you unintentionally become someone's hero - Part 2 - Cove Holden x Reader

He didn't expect to walk in on something so unpleasant so late on a warm, exhausting day like this.

The older boys have (Y/N) pinned underneath them, and are smearing mud and worms on the preteen's face and chest as she trashes and kicks out, trying to make the one holding down her arms lose their balance.

She is putting up a fight as per usual, though seems weirdly only interested in defending herself. Cove knows she'd usually have no qualms about leaving bruises on the bullies, even resorting to biting if the need called for it, so he finds himself more worried than usual. Already he can feel his eyes sting with fresh tears and his body shiver with nerves. Should he go get an adult to help? Her situation looks bad but if there's something he learned about the girl this past year is that (Y/N) would definitely be mad if he called someone over. She hated depending on the adults especially, he still doesn't know why but he trusts her enough not to question it too much, surely she had a good reason for it.

So he decides not to do it, instead, looking around for something to aid her with. The younger boy wouldn't be able to insert himself into the struggle and be of any use, so he needs to find a solution that is more indirect and less aggressive. What to do?

He spots a nearby house with a big porch on the street corner, he knows it's a good place to play music given the numerous times he's passed by the charming home and was met with some jolly reverberating tune. He glances down at his sandals for a moment, contemplating what he was about to do. Worst-case scenario, the bullies catch on to the plan, and both (Y/N) and him get beaten. Best-case, his neighbor either gets left alone or gets an advantage. So he takes a deep calming breath, paying no mind to the moistness on his cheeks, and ninjas his way to the other side of the street and onto the house's private grounds. Usually, the old people that live here have a small music player on one of the plastic tables tucked away in the corner. Also, given the late hour, most of the street must be out for bingo night, so getting caught is unlikely, not that the older kids need to know that. This plan should work, it should give them a big enough scare so they'll leave in a hurry.

Or it would have if the music player was where it was supposed to be. The empty table seems to mock him with its pristine white surface, which makes Cove puff out his cheeks and hold in a sob. From here he can't hear nor see the struggle between (Y/N) and the others, so anything could be happening there, anything really, really bad, something worse. He can't really conjure any ideas of WHAT exactly, but his anxiety is shot through the roof, and he can't help but feel like his neighbor is depending on him even more now.

This was the last thing the both of them needed after such a long school day. He'd only stalled for a few minutes to use the bathroom, only to find her in their meeting spot being harassed by those bullies. Maybe they should change spots with more frequency, or maybe they should take advantage of the offer from the couple a few streets down to stay at their place while their parents made their way over. It wouldn't have been the first time, and his dad certainly wouldn't be opposed to making it the rule. The blonde hated having his kid and (Y/N) stay out on the big city's streets waiting to be picked up. Besides, the young couple was sweet and kind to the children, seemingly having taken a liking to the girl's broody attitude and Cove's bluntness. He can't say he'd mind the adults too much, especially if it meant keeping his neighbor safe.

The loud caws from the street's crows reach him, making the boy snap his attention back to the present. Alright. If he can't use music, he'll have to use something else. But what? Looking around doesn't provide many good ideas, he needs something loud enough to reach the kids while also not giving them a clear view of him. So something nearby and out of the way. Something kinda hidden? As he turns around to scope out the rest of the place, his eyes land on a shiny green car. It's parked just out of the park's line of sight, while also being rather close to the section where his neighbor is being held. Perfect. And scary. Can children get arrested for this? He doesn't want to find out, but there aren't many other options. He'll just have to cross his fingers and hope that no one sees it.

He jogs back across the street with his legs feeling like jelly, heart frantic in his chest. As he nears the metal beast, he takes a moment to glance around in search of witnesses and, finding himself in luck, swallows thickly and squares up to his target.

“Alright mister car, let's do this”

With his blood rushing inside his ears, Cove takes hold of the driver's door handle and pulls with all his might.

Even though he knew what was going to happen, he's still caught off guard when the alarm starts blasting shrilly, and he trips on his own foot. His butt slams onto the concrete sidewalk, making him wince and rub his bum as he stands back up on shaky legs after taking a second to regain his bearings.

Hopefully, his plan worked.

He quickly makes his escape from the crime scene and wanders over to where his neighbor was, first peaking around the building's wall to see if the coast is clear. Not seeing the mean kids anywhere, only the girl carefully sitting up, he releases a long breath and starts crying in relief.

(Y/N) sees him huddled against the closed ice cream shop and frowns worriedly. He's quick to catch on to her intention of coming to check up on him and, instead, quickly makes his way over to where she's still crouched.

She seems to relax once she's able to see he isn't hurt.

“Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

“Yeah, I'm okay!” He fidgets under her curious gaze. “I was just so worried that it could go wrong, the alarm, I mean… I'm glad it worked out”.

Her eyes widened. “You're the one that set off the alarm?”

“Uh…yeah…don't tell dad”

She blinks and shakes her head with a breathy chuckle. “I won't. It worked out great, you should've seen the look on their faces, I've never seen anyone scramble to get away that fast”.

Cove feels himself relax completely at her calm composure. He watches on as she takes to moving the worms to the edge of the park's tree line before walking back towards him.

“Mom should be here any minute now, we should get going”

He nods along, and they start making their way down the street. He keeps glancing at her openly, hesitating on what to say, she is still very much covered in mud. What were they going to tell her mother? But when she sighs and gives him a look, he can't bring himself to ask about her plan of action, instead choosing to clarify something more important.

“Why didn't you kick their asses?”

She raises her eyebrow at his annoyed tone.

“Because I didn't want to accidentally squish them”

“You didn't want to squish Nate and his gang? Don't they kind of deserve to be squished?”

“What? No. I meant the worms. They're small and fragile, and they were EVERYWHERE” She pauses for a moment “But I agree, those vermin do deserve to be squished”.

Cove frowns. “The worms?”

She gives him a blank look, “Natew and his wannabews”.

The self-satisfied grin that splits her face after makes him sputter with a blush. It's been a while since he last saw her smile. He missed it.

“Speaking of them…”

Cove glances up from his hiding place between his hands when she gently nudges his shoulder with her own.

“That was smart of you back there, I didn't think you had it in you”. He squeaks while she fondly ruffles his hair. “Little troublemaker!”

Just like that, the older girl steps away from him and appraises his renewed pink face. With an amused chuckle, she slightly squints her eyes at him and holds his gaze. “Thanks for helping me, I won't forget what you've done today”.

His wide eyes start stinging again as she turns back to the path and resumes walking. He knows this moment won't be one he forgets either, as deep down he can feel that their relationship has shifted. He can't help but trust it was for the better, his rapidly beating heart and warm butterflies acting as a testament to the notion.

Cove sniffles and starts running after his friend.

“H-hey! Wait for me!”

And she does.