#he threw him face first against all four walls and then the TOILET. die you bitch!!!

[irn-bru]

my genuine reaction watching batman beat the ever loving fuck out of Jason in under the red hood when the only other batfam media I know is wayne family adventures

[softomi]

now accepting boyfriend applications.

based on my fic idea: you’ve just become newly single, in a drunken fit, you posted a status indicating you’re accepting applications for your next boyfriend. Oddly, three boys take you up on that; sending in their most professional resumes for the position. It seems there’s some fierce competitors. 

next up: literature

It hurt, why wouldn’t it hurt. Your boyfriend of almost two years dumped you over text message with no warning and his reason? He just wasn’t feeling it anymore, what the fuck. Well, twenty phone calls, a hundred text messages sent to him, and a pretty nasty voicemail. The moment you realized just how crazy you were being was when you began pounding on his door at almost ten at night. His neighbors poking their head out to stare, and it really smacked you in the face how stupid you were being.

So you threw caution into the wind. it’s a Wednesday night, your first class tomorrow didn’t start until noon and you’re literature teacher was more of a lecturer so she probably won’t notice if you’re hung over. If anything, you could always ask the guy next to you for the notes.

Thus, you decide to throw back shots to your heart’s desire, sitting in the middle of your tiny studio apartment, on your bed to scream and cry at the romance movie. Love is dead. You groan loudly when your neighbor knocks against the wall, trying to tell you to promptly shut the fuck up.

Halfway through the movie, your mind is already swaying. Your throat stings just momentarily and you sip your cheap wine in hope it’ll dull the shots you had taken previously. When the male protagonist kisses the beautiful female of his dreams, you promptly chug the rest of the wine in your glass. Upset at their love, you wrap your lips around the tip of the wine bottle, drinking straight from it.

“I can find someone better.” You’ve reached a different point in your post break up sadness, you were mixed with anger, sadness, and an overall feeling of I’ll find someone with a better dick.

It’s never a good decision to post on social media while drunk, but it’s a great decision right now. You were going to post a ‘newly single’ status. Just to be nice and not spam everyone, you think you’ll just post it to your private account for your five friends to see. You’ve clearly neglected that step when you press post and it uploads to your public twitter account.

The urge to hurl takes priority over the sudden notifications on your phone. Your hair disheveled as you’re trying to hold onto the toilet, hold onto your hair, and throw up at the same time. The romance film comes to an end once you’ve fully emptied your stomach. You shove all the things off your bed, food falling onto the floor, empty bottle of wine rolled under your bed, remote lost somewhere. You fall asleep despite your cell phone going off.

The alarm jolts you, it causes you to scream, your palm slapping the snooze button and you aggressively pull the wire so that it comes out of the socket. Your head is throbbing and your cell phone is ringing at the same time. Annoyed, your hand stretches along the bed trying to find your cell. When you come emptyhanded, you sit up. Your hand steading the pulsing of your brain and you spot your phone ringing and vibrating on the ground.

“What?” You spit out, not bothering to look at the contact as you try to block out the sun.

“What do you mean what?” The voice snaps at you, “You post about boyfriend applications all of a sudden, did you guys break up?”

Of course he would be the one calling you, the person who loves gossip more than you do, “Tooru, can you like shut up for a second.” Your brain is dying and he’s over here trying to get the latest dish on your love life, “He dumped me okay.”

“That asshole.” He gasps, “Do you want me to come over?”

You look at the time on your cell briefly, “No. I have class all day. If you’re free later?”

“Of course!”

The phone call ends and rather than getting ready for the class you have in an hour, you’re checking your notifications. You have about twenty missed calls from Oikawa, another thirty text messages from him, he even left a voicemail; god he must have been desperate. Facebook is bland, you spent most of your time on Instagram deleting the photos of your now ex, and rarely do you ever get Twitter notifications. Oddly, you have fifteen notifications; all coming from your public account.

haha, boyfriend applications are official open. only taking serious apps lol

“No.” You sit up.

It wasn’t your post that freaked you out, it wasn’t that somehow it ended up on your public account, no you could delete it and pretend as if no one saw it but people saw it.

Is she serious?

If she is, I’m down.

What does serious applications mean?

Three comments, five likes, and four retweets.

And three unread messages.

Your finger rushes to delete the tweet before it can be retweeted even more by random classmates. All was good now. Your finger presses onto the message icon, you’re confronted with the icons of three of your classmates.

The most recent is from Miya Atsumu, a terrible flirt in your biology class. He chose the seat next to you in lab when his friends ditched him and hoarded their own table. He spun around in his chair, shooting you a cheeky grin when you briefly looked at him.

His first sentence was, “Hey you’re cute.”

And yours was, “I have a boyfriend.”.

You skip over his message upon spotting his use of sweetheart in the preview.

The next icon is of the guy in your intro to business class, Kuroo Tetsuro. The first time you saw him was outside of the classroom, you two ended up accidentally reaching the doors at the same time. He lets you go in first and the both of you chose the seats farthest from the board, and closest to the door. Despite his bed hair that made him look like he was going to sleep the entire class, he was a rather studious guy; chill but smart, he was a business major after all.

“Did you understand anything he was saying?” You murmur to him as you grab your bag.

“Of course!” He states, “I don’t look at twitter on my laptop when he’s lecturing.” Ah, he caught you.

Your eyes briefly scan the preview, he’s saying something about a resume and you think he’s talking about the homework assignment. You’re about to click on his first when the last catches your eye.

It’s from Akaashi Keiji. On the first day of class, you were late due to waiting in line for coffee. You awkwardly opened the door to the classroom, everyone turning to stare, and you lower your head, choosing a random seat that now you’re stuck with for the rest of the semester because that’s just how college works. The professor goes over the syllabus and suddenly announces that the person sitting to your right will be your revision partner for the semester.

“Hey.” You stop him and for a brief minute you feel your heart skip a beat because he was absolutely pretty, “Sorry, I’m Y/n. Since we’re going to be partners, do you want to exchange info?”.

“Uh. Sure. I’m Akaashi Keiji.”

“I’m going to be late for my business class. Do you have twitter?” You were never a fan of giving your phone number out. Before he can answer, you’re scribbling your username onto a piece of paper, placing it on his desk before running out to catch your next class.

His message is brief: Did you get my email?

You click his message first; it must have been urgent if he messaged and emailed you. There’s nothing else to his message, his previous one dates almost a week before his current one, telling you that he finished reading the book you recommended and that he enjoyed it.

The screen is pulled up with your finger, alternating apps to your personal email. The subject of his email simply reads Application.

Curiously, you click the attachment he’s sent with no body text. Your jaw dropped, hand placed over your open mouth and a small scream emitting.

“Is he fucking serious?”

His name is displayed at the top, along with his birthday, star sign, zodiac sign, age, even the pronouns he uses. There’s a short sentence under it. I am submitting an application for the position of Boyfriend. You’re internally screaming, blinking fast hoping that this was a joke but his ‘application’ reads like a resume. It lists his education from middle school to his current, his previous jobs, his skills, and his own personal goals for the future.

Your blushing profusely, you want to pull your hair, scream, even throw your phone but you shove down the feelings that want to have you die of embarrassment. You don’t have the energy to sadly explain to him that you were drunk and weren’t serious; ugh and you’re going to have to continue seeing him for the rest of the semester.

You revert back to twitter; your heart suddenly drops when you think about Kuroo’s message. Quickly, you pull up the messages, clicking his and suddenly you want dig yourself a grave because he’s sent a link to a pdf and it’s simply titled Resume. He probably used a resume template and never changed the title.

And sure enough, it’s a fucking professional resume declaring the certain skills he has to be your boyfriend. In fact, like the professional business major he is, he includes a letter of intent; indicating his reasons of interest for the position. It details the little quirks he finds cute about you. You want to break your phone in half with how red in the face you feel.

As you exit his message, you’re slowly praying that Atsumu’s message is just a random flirty comment that he occasionally likes to throw you once in a while or perhaps you’re hoping that he fell in a ditch and you won’t have to work with him for the rest of the semester since he almost blew up the lab station last time.

Nope, it’s a link to a google document. Oddly, you click it. Your heart has sunk to the pit of the earth because when you open the document, you see his fucking name in the upper right corner indicating he’s still on the stupid document.

Fuck fuck fuck. You’re running away from the document, aggressively leaving the page but it doesn’t help that when you end up back at your twitter messages, you can see the three dots, telling you he’s typing.

Morning sweetheart hope you enjoy the app

He sends it with a flirty wink and you stare at it for five full minutes. Curiosity gets the best of you and you click back onto his link, he’s no longer on the same document and you sigh safely. For someone who’s barely passing biology, his document was rather professionally detailed. Damn, he’s on the school’s volleyball team? Weirdly the page cuts off halfway, you continue to scroll until the next title page boldly states: Bedroom skills.

It didn’t help that you were scrolling a little too fast and caught sight of an image showing off his toned upper body. There goes his professionalism.

Your phone suddenly blares low battery, your screen turns black and now your anxiety is through the roof. You jump on your bed, trying to plug in your phone and you’ve just now realized that it is thirty minutes until your first class starts and it is literature. You’re scrambling to find your laptop, you trip on the bag of chips from last night, awkwardly trying to stand as you reach for your school bag.

“Shit!” You scream. You suddenly remember letting your stupid ex-boyfriend borrow your laptop.

You fall to the floor, fingers pulling your hair as you suddenly think about the deep shit your in. First, your boyfriend dumped you, now you randomly have three guys who sent you applications to be your next boyfriend and you’re still going to have to see them for the rest of the semester if you reject them. Lastly, you’re going to have to go to your ex’s place to get your laptop after having made a scene yesterday, and your phone is dead so you can’t cry to Oikawa about the deep shit you’re in.

[ofbooksandaesthetics]

Survival & Sacrifice

Hunger Games 

Enobaria x F!Reader

Request from @thankyoualexkingston-blog

Summary: In the wake of the 75th annual Hunger Games and announcement of the terms, you beg your lover to let you take her place. 

Warning: Angst, Vomit, Violence

The two of you sat by side in Enobaria’s lavish house in District 2′s victor village. You were both awaiting President Snow and the announcement of the 75th Hunger Games, or more importantly, the 3rd Quarter Quell. Since winning your games, the two of you had watched the Games closely, wanting to support your future tributes as much as possible. But with the upcoming announcement you were both sat at the edge of your seats in anticipation. The past quarterly games had been cruel, punishing the districts and you were both prepared to train the tributes as fiercely as possible. 

But the both of you sat in stunned silence as President Snow read out the sick twist for this year’s game, and your heart dropped into your stomach. 

You couldn’t hear anything. 

It was as if you’re body had shut down. But before you knew it your legs had carried you to the nearest bathroom, leaving your cane far behind. Your knees gave way sloppily in front of the toilet, and your hearing returned. But you wish it had not, because now all you could hear was food making its way back up. You were there for so long that you didn’t notice Enobaria come behind you rubbing your back. Once you were finished, Enobaria moved you into the corner of the room before leaving. 

You sat there in silence, staring at the floor, tears starting to pool in your eyes. You could feel the dull pain in your leg, and as you looked down realised you’d let adrenaline take control and had left your crutch in the sitting room. Throwing your head back against the wall, you let out a loud sob. 

Thump. Thump. Your heartbeat rapidly in your chest, threatening to burst out if you exerted it further. But you had to. You could hear the footsteps behind you, and they were getting louder. Getting closer. You made a quick turn to the left which threw off your pursuer, but it only seemed to fuel his anger. He growled. You couldn’t fail. Not here. Not now. Not when you were so close to victory and getting out of this vile place. But it seemed the odds were not in your favour.

The speed of your sobs increased and not even the return of your lover could pull you from your dark memories. 

You fell face-first into the ground and before you could comprehend what had happened you were on your back. The final tribute had caught up to you. All it took was a single mistake. You remembered his face from training. Although you spent most of your training with the other Careers, you still made an effort to learn about the other tributes. The District 6 boy hadn’t seemed much of a threat but now as you stared into his cold eyes you knew it was a façade. He was just as dangerous as the Careers. 

Enobaria wrapped you in a blanket, with a softness no one would ever know she possessed. The fanged woman didn’t attempt to move you. She had spent too many late nights awake to know that you would talk when ready. Not everyone came out of the arena, stronger than before.

He broke the staring contest first. His hand moved towards his waist and he drew a sharp dagger. Your eyes widened as your gazes met again, but the alarm was due to the wide smile on his face rather than the weapon. It was like nothing you’d ever seen before. Most of the Careers were over-eager but this was something new. Sadistic. Malicious. He again dropped his gaze first and instead followed the blade he was running down your body. He eventually stopped at your thigh and made eye contact yet again. And without hesitation plunged the blade into your thigh, pushing it deeper and deeper with every scream and cry you let out. You tried to shake him out but his weight and the added agony made it difficult. He only seemed to enjoy your attempt to escape. 

After what seemed like hours, but was in fact only minutes, he removed the knife for the last time. You closed your eyes and anticipated pain in your chest. But it didn’t come. Instead, your breathing was cut short. The boy had discarded his weapon on the floor next to you, in favour of using his bare hands. His blood-stained hands wrapped around your throat and squeezed. His smile seemed to grow even more as you clawed at his hands. 

Black. That’s all you saw. Until you heard a boom, and then a maniacal laugh. You wanted to close your eyes and fall into the slumber that was calling out to you. But something else was also yelling your name. You forced yourself to open your eyes and lifted your head. You watched the boy walk away from you, his arms held out in exaltation to the heavens or more likely the aircraft coming to collect him. But at that moment, you decided that his journey was over. Fumbling you grabbed the discarded knife, glad that his senses seemed to be overwhelmed by his victory and the sound of the whirring above. You found yourself standing, adrenaline rushing through your veins and masking all the pain. And before you knew it, you were behind him. Knife poised. Arm back. And in it went. Straight through his ribs. 

You pushed the reminder of your injury and victory out of your mind and steadied your breathing. You had won. Barely. Turning your head you looked at the woman sat next to you. Before you would have been selfish and quietly allowed someone else to volunteer but you couldn’t allow yourself to let Enobaria sacrifice herself. 

“I’ll volunteer” 

Enobaria seemed to either not hear your deceleration or ignore it entirely. 

“Ria. I’m volunteering.” 

Again, Enobaria didn’t reply.

“Enobaria, are you listening?” you sighed but before you could continue you were cut off.

“No. No, you are not” Your lover all but scoffed. 

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I?” You protested. 

“You can’t. You’d die straight away.” She murmured, avoiding your gaze. This time you planned to talk back in anger, but you caught yourself before you could. She was right. Your games were held 6 years ago. You still hadn’t recovered from your leg injury and it was unlikely that you would ever. Too much damage had been made. Unless you teamed up with the other Careers you’ wouldn’t have a chance. And it was unlikely they would even bother. With your disability, you’d be a burden rather than an asset. You two sat in silence, while you mulled over her words. 

“All the more reason to!” You exclaimed. “It’s better to go in knowing I’ll die than watching you constantly fight for your life.” 

For once, Enobaria had no words to say. Usually, when the two of you would have a domestic she’d be the one to raise her voice and you’d be the one to come up with the solution. But today the roles were reversed and you were the one being difficult. 

“Please. I could fight every day and never get tired, because in the end I know I could come back to you. You need to stay here. I can’t watch you die.” And for the first time in the four years you’d been together, you saw your lover cry. Your heart sunk and without thinking you flung yourself upon her, ignoring the sharp pain in your leg. 

The two of you stayed like this for hours. Unmoving. You both knew what would happen when the Reaping came, but neither of you wanted to voice it out loud. Instead, you lay in each other's arms on the cold tile floor.

This would be the last bit of peace you would share for a long time.  

“I’ll love you forever.” 

[intakeofbreath]

I don't know if you really want to get send in prompts for the kisses, but if, can I have 15 with Ailnoth/Ornstein?

Uoh, actually I wasn’t expecting to get requests so I didn’t tagged it as a meme, but I’d love to write this one -or any other prompt!

50 Types of Kisses - Writing Prompts

15.  A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick.

Here you go, it turned out slightly long (1.1k~ words)

--- 

 Throughout the night, Ailnoth’s eyes followed him. Given the circumstances of victory, his place, as the Firstborne's first knight and General, was at the side of the Royal Family, with the other Knights of Gwyn. They were as far as a couple of tables away, yet until late-evening when the nobles were lighthearted and dunker to care about appearances, the protocol must be followed; everybody had to remain on their seats, feasting on the food and drinking until the time to dance came.

  When the speech from the Lord ended, everybody drank to him, and before bringing the glass of wine to his lips, Ailnoth peaked at Ornstein, between the nobles, drinking and some, even, clapping at Gwyn. He met his green eyes, filled with a playful undertone, perhaps, product of the joyful atmosphere. He winked at his partner, and, for a mere second, they also drank to them, because (and it wasn't with the intention to blow their own horn) without them, a large number of dragons would have survived the battle and burned more of their fellow knights in the process.

  The food started rolling shortly after, along with more wine; the guests’ tongues was, then, unleashed. From time to time, out of good habits, Ailnoth’s eyes gazed at the end of the hall; at Ornstein chatting with Sir Artorias and laughing at one of his well-know great jokes, or listening to one of Sir Gough’s fantastic stories while his finger traced the border of his glass idly and a smile parted his lips. With the armour specially forged to wear on special occasions such as social gatherings like the one they were attending, Ornstien looked amazing, handsome, breath-taking… Ailnoth’s mind thought for a brief moment, before returning his gaze to his fellow Dragonslayers, and rectified, for when there had been a single time where Ornstein hadn’t looked breath-taking? Again, their eyes met, and Ailnoth winked at him, taking delight in the way Ornstein’s smile softened yet his eyes tried to speak to him of a need which was inappropriate to say aloud.

  The night went on, the food was all consumed and the nobles got up to socialize with acquaintances who didn’t share tables with and dance with future suitable partners to preserve their surname and legacy. The Dragonslayers nor the most renowned Knights, however, weren’t in the mood to partake in such activities. On the table of the first group, one of the knights, was engrossed in reminisce old times; story after story was told until Ailnoth, with an apparently lack of kindness result of years of friendship, briefly stopped the man speaking.

  “Bladred, I know how much you love to take us to the brink of death, and I’d really love to die out of boredom from your stories, truly, but nature is calling me, and I feel the need to run to more gentle and less hairy arms.”

  “You, pretentious idiot!” His friend exclaimed, throwing him a small piece of bread that had survived the dinner. “Just say you need to take a shit!”

  There was a quiet gasp, from the noble ladies sitting on the other table, and thereby a laugh came from the group of Dragonslayers. Before leaving, Ailnoth gave him a look of fake reprimand and threw him back the piece of bread, when the ladies weren’t peeking at them anymore. Then, on his way to the bathroom, he avoided taking the exit path close to Ornstein’s table (who knows if it was on purpose). Pleasant was his surprise, when he noticed that his partner was following him with his eyes.

  The toilet was at the end of three corridors, far away enough to prevent the casual bad smells to bother the fine guests. After relieving himself, Ailnoth closed the door behind him. However, before having the chance to take his way back to the hall, a pair of hands pressed him against the wall. Not long after, a well-known pair of lips took ownership of his own. The force with which they clashed together was something that took him aback, and so did the hungry implicit on the gesture, as if Ornstein had been starving for a whole day, or a month. Yet again, since they left the city, having the privilege of private time, between fireplaces and tents, was impossible. The kiss took everything from him, everything Ailnoth had kept under a lock to give it to Ornstein once they returned to the comfort of one of their rooms. It left him breathless, and, as if that wasn’t enough, before breaking the kiss, Ornstein bit on his lips, pulling it slowly before releasing it and daring Ailnoth to go after him.

  “So a whole feast isn’t enough to satisfy a lion… Interesting…” He murmured, slowly licking his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue.

  “Mmh… I believe it could, but food is not what I’ve been craving…” Ornstein purred, head slightly tilted to look at Ailnoth’s lips while his hands cupped his face, thumbs caressing cheekbones. “I’m bored of this dance. Why don’t we go somewhere else? How long has it been? Three months? Four?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until the night is over, Gingey…”

  “Since when have you cared for protocols?” Ornstein sighed almost with dramatical longing.

  “Since you became a Knight of Gwyn,” Ailnoth smirked, arms around the waist of the shorter man. “Let’s say I’m trying to be a better influence for you…”

  Ornstein snorted, rolling his eyes. “As if I ever needed you in the first place...”

  The redhead moved closer, and caught Ailnoth’s lips in another fierce kiss. This one, however, didn’t last as long as the first.

  “To be good or bad?” The taller knight asked, a playful smile dancing on his lips while his partner brushed away a black lock out of his face.

  Instead of answering right away, Ornstien looked at him dead in the eyes, with the utmost childish innocence, before dropping his gaze to his lips. He closed the short distance just enough to brush their lips faintly and send a shiver down Ailnoth’s back, their breath mixing for a moment. Then, Ornstein pushed himself away, slowly, his hands travelling the armored arms of his partner before holding his bare hand, slightly pulling him towards the corridor leading to the chambers, to, finally, release him; the last brush of fingers making Ailnoth need for their bodies pressed again.

  “I’ll show you the answer… only if you come to my bedroom.”

  With that, Ornstein turned around and took the path opposite to the hall, his ponytail gently swinging from side to size as if it was the tail of a mischievous cat. Only when his footsteps got lost behind a corner, Ailnoth stopped observing his body, released a breath he didn’t know he was holding and stormed behind him.

[gaarasgoddess]

Welcome to Suna - Part 7

Welcome to Suna. Where the lights never die and the fun never  stops. Sakura and Ino lie to their parents to spend a wild weekend in a forbidden city. Will they regret it? Or will they both find something worth coming for? Main pairing is GaaraxSakura and side InoxKankuro.[Listening to 1989 album by Taylor Swift.]

Chapter summary: GaaSaku and KankIno bonding. [This chapter came fast so I am posting early.]

[Please read previous parts first. part 1 and part 2 and part 3. And part 4. And part 5. and part 6.]

.x.

“Mind if we join the party, brother?”

Sakura stopped her glaring contest with Ino and gaped. His brother? She tried to find the family resemblance but couldn’t. While Kankuro was cute, Gaara was - definitely - gorgeous. The facial structure was different too and she thought maybe one of them took after each parent. It would be funny if Gaara looked like his mother because his features were softer than his brother’s.

She smiled to herself.

Sakura hadn’t noticed the picnic basket in Kankuro’s hand until then. He didn’t wait for permission before setting up his own blanket and gentlemanly helping Ino to sit down on it. They positioned themselves so they were sitting only four feet from Gaara and Sakura.

The blonde smirked at Sakura as though daring her to complain.

Ino will never change.

“Not at all,” Gaara said, his eyes narrowing.

Ino helped Kankuro lay out their food. They had grapes and sandwiches and a pitcher of what Sakura assumed was juice. The blonde looked self satisfied as she fed some grapes to her lover and glanced at Sakura as though goading her.

It’s so on.

Sakura plucked an Onigiri from their own basket and held it out to Gaara. His eyebrows rose and she motioned for him to open up. She felt the tension from a moment ago drift away as he opened his mouth and let her hand feed him. The hungry look from before returning.

Ino snickered at her but both girls kept it up. At least until Kankuro got thirsty for juice and poured a cup for himself and Ino, breaking the silent competition. Sakura decided she’d won and licked her fingers where the Onigiri had made a mess, not noting the darkening of Gaara’s eyes as she did so.

“So Sakura,” Kankuro said around his food a moment later and Ino rolled her eyes and shifted a few inches away from him, ignoring him as she started picking out the food he’d brought. “Tell us about yourself, love.”

Gaara was still glowering at his brother but Sakura noticed he was interested in this question. He sat there, his hands clenching the picnic blanket now watching her curiously. She’d told him a few things but they hadn’t talked too much, she remembered with a blush. He couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her most of the time and his libido (and hers too) often put an end to any kind of other bonding. Especially since she gave in knowing this was just supposed to be about the sex.

She cleared her throat as Ino didn’t try to intervene. “I.. uh. I’m pretty boring.”

“Nonsense!” Kankuro proclaimed. “What’s your favourite hobby? Other than fucking my brother of course,” he said with a smirk.

Sakura fiddled with her fingers. “Well I love reading. I’ve built a large library in my room back home. For my area anyway. It’s harder to get books into rural areas than the city.”

“You got a smart chick on your hands Gaara.”

Gaara just nodded his head. The gears were turning in his head, Sakura could tell.

“Sakura loves trivia,” Ino said suddenly. She looked up and winked. “Me though, I love shopping. Not that there’s too much to buy in Konoha.”

“You don’t shop for objects, Ino-pig,” Sakura said. “You shop for boys.”

Kankuro threw his head back and laughed as Ino screwed up her face. Even Gaara had a soft smile on his face.

“I’ll have you know they come to me, forehead not the other way around.” Ino huffed.

“What else do you like, Sakura?”

She turned to face Gaara, startled as his hand found her thigh, but then returned his smile. He started running his thumb over her leg in gentle motions.

“I... uh, don’t collect boys.” Kankuro giggled at that but Sakura continued. “I work at the local trauma center on most weekends. It’s not a big hospital or anything and most days it’s just about learning rather than doing...” She blushed at revealing this to total strangers.

“She’s going to be a doctor in the big city,” Ino said, proud of her.

“And you, Ino?” Gaara asked, suddenly feeling magnanimous.

“She just wants to marry a rich guy.” Sakura stuck her tongue out at her best friend as she threw a grape at the pinkette.

Kankuro leant in to whisper in Ino’s ear making her blush. “I...” She stammered. “I want to own a flower shop. Like my mum, but not my mum’s.”

As Kankuro continued to whisper sweet nothings in Ino’s ear, Gaara leant to Sakura and whispered, “we’re playing Doctor later.”

She turned bright red, picking up another Onigiri and shifting into a more comfortable position as Gaara looked at her expectantly. He made a show of sucking on the rice ball as he took the last bite of it from her hand, in his mouth. She couldn’t help but stare at his lips and lick her own lips.

When he finished the mouthful, he pulled her to him and kissed her. She responded eagerly. She was about to ask him about his own life goals.

Oh whatever.

It could wait.

Sakura vaguely heard herself moaning without caring. His hands were wandering so she returned the favour and rubbed her hands over his chest, grazing his nipple. His right arm rubbed her back and shoulder as he leant into her as she shifted to sit on his lap. Gaara’s left hand was rubbing at her breast and she made a cute high pitch noise which just made him smirk into her mouth.

They did not see their audience. Gaara’s right hand wandered down to the front of her shorts. His shorts. They were too slim for his own hips. The shorts weren’t his but he felt a primal pull to his gut knowing she was wearing the clothes he’d chosen (from a guest house). He bypassed undoing her blouse this time and just went straight for her core, fingering her through the denim material. Her hands were in his hair, messing it up and she ground her pussy against his cock which was slowly coming to life.

Someone nearby cleared their throat and Sakura barely registered it. But she was too caught up to respond. A few moments later and when Gaara had seemed to decide he needed to touch her unimpeded, someone cleared their throat again. Loudly.

GaaSaku broke apart and spun their heads around, startled. They’d forgotten they weren’t alone.

“You two are cute,” Ino said, causing Sakura to flush.

“That... was hot!” Kankuro said.

Ino nodded. “I agree.” She stood up. “Okay, we girls need to go wash up.”

Sakura frowned before understanding. Ino wanted to catch up without the boys around. Sakura nodded her head, quickly kissed Gaara’s lips as he pouted and stood to follow her friend.

Kankuro gave Ino some quick directions to the nearest bathroom said, “don’t get lost, lovelies” and they were off, arm in arm. Two sets of very smitten eyes watching them go.

.x. 

Ino didn’t say anything as they walked but she was grinning at her blushing friend, obviously very proud of her. They found the bathroom easily; Sakura noted they were still in the same wing but this area looked uninhabited. Perhaps usually used for guests? The doors opened inwards and Sakura felt like she was walking into well maintained public toilets.

The bathroom was almost as large as the en suite in Gaara’s bedroom. Sakura loved the smell of it too. It wasn’t the off putting disinfectant smell of a hospital but was just as clean and shiny. There were three toilets - what they needed so many for she didn’t know - and three sinks.

“So...”

Sakura turned around as Ino leant against a wall and crossed her arms.

“You lost it last night right?”

Sakura rolled her eyes at her friend’s frankness. “No, Ino.” She smirked as the blonde frowned. “I was too drunk and instead popped my cherry on Gaara’s bed this morning.”

Ino squealed clapping her hands. “I knew you’d find someone here. Isn’t Suna awesome?!”

Her happiness was contagious and Sakura returned her grin.

“I really do need to wash up, though,” Ino said and ducked into the furthest toilet as Sakura waited for her.

The pinkette turned on one of the taps and cupped the water in her hand before washing her face. The water was cool and refreshing and she was reminded of the quality of the water in Gaara’s shower.

She’d gotten carried away in the gardens, kissing and groping Gaara. His kisses were intoxicating and his fingers always felt so good. Never would she have imagined doing such a thing in front of others. She wasn’t an exhibitionist or a voyeur.

But Kankuro was right - it had been hot.

She washed her face again, trying to calm down her flushed appearance. She still felt so naive and innocent and easy to lead on but somehow Gaara had brought out her wilder side. She blushed at all the things they’d done so far but she didn’t regret it and wanted more and more.

Sakura was running wet hands through her hair in order to tame it (Gaara had mussed it up a bit) when Ino finally emerged and started washing her hands. She whistled for a moment before talking about her own sex exploits with the older brother.

“Kankuro’s cock is about average,” Ino said, ignoring Sakura’s blush. “It’s good though, I think he’s not used to girls wanting to suck him off and it fits real good in my mouth.” She patted her own cheeks and smirked at Sakura. “What about Gaara?”

Sakura nodded.

“Come on, I gotta have more than that.”

Sakura sighed. “I don’t know if he’s average.”

“Of course.” Ino started drying her hands with the paper towels supplied on the wall. “But you’ve sucked him, right?”

Sakura pushed down her embarrassment and nodded again. “Yeah.”

“Come on!”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay fine, he doesn’t quite fit in my whole mouth but that’s probably because I’m not used to it.” She bit her lip as Ino grinned at her, but continued. “I... uh... like it. A lot.”

Ino clapped her hands together. “Yea-heh-hes! Take that Naruto!”

“What?”

Ino just shrugged. “You know him. He’d tell you to wait until marriage or something.”

Sakura didn’t think Naruto was that bad but kept it to herself. This wasn’t about her other blond annoying friend. She loved them both but this decision to come to Suna, though Ino’s idea, was totally Sakura’s. She didn’t want to regret this and she didn’t want to be a blushing virgin anymore than she wanted to be some horny slut.

There was a nice middle - below Ino who wasn’t a slut but had sex way more than anyone that wasn’t. And Sakura wanted that middle.

With Gaara.

There was that traitorous thought again. She sighed.

“We better get back before they think we’ve gone looking for their porn stash,” Ino said.

.x.

Gaara was annoyed with his brother on so many levels.

“Relax, bro.” Kankuro shoved a handful of grapes in his mouth. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your fuckfest.” He ignored the growl Gaara gave him. “But Ino wanted to make sure you weren’t doing wrong by her girl, so here we are.”

Gaara sighed. He could respect that. He pushed down his annoyance and stared after Sakura, wondering how long his idiot brother was going to tag along for. From what he’d figured he only had the weekend with the pinkette and didn’t want to waste a moment. She was definitely something else. Just thinking about her made his dick twitch which was a feat for him. Every inch of her was delectable, he could barely keep his hands to himself, and she tasted so incredibly fucking divine.

Kankuro continued to stuff his face, talking around his food about the blonde friend of Sakura’s. Ino apparently had the tastiest cunt this side of the equator or something. Gaara didn’t respond, not wanting to get into a pissing match with him on whose pussy was best. He just knew Kankuro would do that. After a while, he started to get anxious.

“They’ve been gone awhile.”

Kankuro looked up and checked his watch. “Yeah. Hope they didn’t get turned around. We should probably go looking for them.” He stood up and dusted himself off. “Come on.”

Gaara groaned at his bossiness but followed suit. The last thing he needed was for more time to be wasted because Kankuro’s instructions didn’t lead Sakura to the bathroom. He desperately wanted to just grab her and...

Don’t think like that right now.

If he got a hard on right now he’d never live it down.

.x.

[ohshit-itsyagorl]

Four Dipshits and a Michelle

Part 6

Y’all I’m getting tired of linking all the chapters every time I post an update, so I’m just going to link the first part and my masterlist.

Part 1, Writing Masterlist

Read the story here on AO3

Summary: Michelle never believed in soulmates. But what happens when she turns seventeen and gets her mark? What happens when she inevitably finds the person with the matching tattoo? And what is she supposed to do with Peter Parker. Her best friend in the whole world. Her crush. Someone she feels drawn to for some inexplicable reason.

Also, I know it’s been a long time since the last update (yikes). I actually update every Sunday night on AO3 and just haven't had the time to catch up, so if I ever go a long time without updating just check there first lol. Alright, here we go...

Michelle woke to the sound of a camera clicking and soft snickering. The sun made her head hurt, eyes blinking rapidly.

“I’m sending this to the group chat,” she heard Ned say from somewhere behind her. She yawned into Peter’s chest. Oh no—this was not happening right now. She turned her head to see Ned standing in the doorway, furiously typing away on his phone, grinning like an idiot.

“Ned,” she whined, “please don’t.”

“Too late. It’s already done.”

“Damn you, Ned. It’s too early for this shit,” Michelle complained, though she kept her voice quiet so as not to wake Peter sleeping behind her.

She carefully tried to shimmy out of his grip, successfully turning around to face the edge of the bed, but when she tried to scoot out of his arms she found she couldn’t.

Peter mumbled something and pulled her closer to his chest, arms banding around her waist—going under her shirt—as he buried his nose in the hair at the base of her neck.

MJ felt her cheeks redden as Ned tried and failed to hold in his laughter, letting out a loud cackle that effectively woke Peter up and simultaneously ruined MJ’s morning.

She turned her head and watched as he blinked the sunlight out of his eyes, then looked to Ned, who pointed at MJ, who wanted to sink into the ground and die just to escape the embarrassment she felt crawling like ants under her skin.

Peter looked down at her. He stared for a second—two; then he seemed to realize what he was doing—one hand wrapped around her waist while the other disappeared under her shirt, scraping across her ribs, dangerously close to the undersides of her breasts. “Oh my—oh my god,” he cried, quickly withdrawing his hands and sitting up. The sheet pooled around his waist, and MJ shivered as her eyes dropped to his chest. To that spider tattoo over his left nipple. Peter covered his face with his hands, tight muscles rippling with the movement. MJ bit her lip.

Click.

“Goddamnit, Ned!” Michelle screeched. She grabbed a pillow, soft sheets scraping against the calluses that covered her hands from drawing, and threw it at his head with all her strength.

Ned squawked in outrage. Then seemed to remember what he was doing. “Man, Betty and Cindy are never going to let you guys live this down,” Ned muttered, looking at his phone. “So embarrassing.”

Michelle stumbled out of the bed, grabbing her phone and bag on the way to the bathroom. She flipped them both off for good measure. She slammed the door and collapsed down onto the toilet. Pulling out her phone, she opened up her text messages.

Four dipshits and a Michelle:

Ned: Check it out!

Ned’s text was followed by a photo of Peter and her. She had her face pressed against his chest, his arms were banded around her sleeping form, and his nose was buried in her hair. The sheet had been kicked down to their waists, and Michelle blushed when she realized her shirt had ridden partway up her back. It did look rather incriminating, though it really wasn’t. She scrolled down.

Betty: WHAT THE FUCK?!?

Cindy: I FUCKING KNEW IT ERIJFNCNDLW

Then there was the other image. The one of Peter’s shirtless chest, abs on full display, hands covering his face. And there she was—obviously looking lower than his face, biting her lip, large t-shirt hanging off her left shoulder, clearly showing she wasn’t wearing a bra.

She opened the other group chat with incoming messages—the one with only Betty and Cindy.

Cindy: Well, this is a morning I will never forget

Betty: The way she was looking at him in that second photo, tho

Cindy: I KNOW! MJ with horny eyes is almost scarier than MJ with angry eyes.

Betty: Someone’s got the hoTS FOR PARKER!!!

Betty: MJ, have you locked yourself in the bathroom yet?

Michelle’s fingers flew furiously across her keyboard.

MJ: Those were NOT horny eyes.

There was a split second where the bubble icon popped up. Then it disappeared. Reappeared.

Cindy: They were definitely horny eyes. Betty?

Betty: I agree. The council has convened. Michelle Jones has a crush on the nerd next door.

Betty: Also, SINCE WHEN HAS PETER BEEN RIPPED???

Cindy: Yeah, when the fuck did that happen?

MJ: He’s had abs for a while.

Cindy: You’ve seen him shirtless before?

Betty: !!!

Cindy: Girl, you are so screwed.

MJ: Stop trying to kill me. I died, like, twenty minutes ago.

Betty: But you LOOOOVE him

Michelle shut off her phone at that. One minute. She would allow one minute of embarrassment, then move on.

She leaned her head back against the wall and groaned, trying to use the cool tile to calm her racing mind. Her eyes fluttered shut, slowly counting down from sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight.

The way Peter had reacted, like he was uncomfortable waking up with her. She had been uncomfortable, too, but that was because of Ned. What if Peter was uncomfortable because of her?

Forty-five.

Her skin still felt like it was on fire, mark tingling pleasantly in a way that sent shivers down her spine. She cursed quietly.

Thirty. Twenty-nine.

And maybe the unrequited love was starting to drive her crazy, but she could have sworn he had been breathing her in—he had been asleep, of course, but…

Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve.

Her whole body cried out at her to tell him, to be with him, to make him feel good—body and soul.

Seven.

But she couldn’t.

Three.

Silence. Resignation. Determination.

One. Zero.

MJ stood up and shucked off her t-shirt and Peter’s boxers, nearly tripping in the tight confines of the bathroom. And maybe she was being selfish, but she shoved the boxers into her bag along with her shirt. Peter wouldn’t miss one pair. But wearing his clothes… it just felt so right, and she decided that after this morning, she would allow herself that small satisfaction. She put her hair up into a ponytail and looked at herself in the mirror. Then, before she could think better, she reached out a finger and touched her tattoo. Hissed. It was so sensitive—so sensitive after a night spent curled up with him. She could feel her heart beating quickly in her ears, but she could also feel the pulsing rhythm of a slower heartbeat; Peter, it seemed, had calmed down more than she had.

She put her clothes on and marched out of the bathroom. “Not a word from you,” she snapped at Ned as she stalked past. Peter had already put on a shirt and shorts, thankfully. She didn’t think she would be able to keep her eyes off that spider tattoo and then Peter might start to get suspicious.

Michelle turned to look at them. “So… the park and then lunch at Delmar’s?” She asked.

“Sounds good to me,” Peter replied, running a hand through his hair. Michelle looked away quickly, lest her eyes track the movement.

Ned noticed, though. He smirked. “Shut up,” MJ quipped.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You said nothing very loudly,” MJ grumbled. Ned just grinned at her. She flipped him off.

————————————————————————

By late August, the heat had become pretty much unbearable, the little air-conditioning units used in the cramped New York apartments no match for the sweltering summer.

Which is why Michelle found herself reading on the fire escape with a fold-out chair, trying and failing to cool down, sweating buckets and hating mother earth.

She turned the page. A small breeze swept through the alley and caught her bookmark. She reached out blindly to catch it before it flew out of reach of the fire escape. Just as she caught it, upper body leaning over the railing, sweat plastering her hair to her forehead, she felt hands come to steady her waist.

MJ screeched and whipped around, punching her attacker straight in the face.

Spider-man stumbled backward, hand reaching up to cup his masked jaw, and cried, “What the hell was that for?” His voice was clearly being altered by mask. Another way to protect his identity, she guessed.

Michelle shook out her wrist. “You touched me.”

Spider-man’s eyes widened. He reached his hand up as if to run it through his hair, but he was wearing a mask. “I was trying to help!” He said indignantly, bringing his arm back down and crossing them both over his chest. “I thought you were going to fall.”

“I wasn’t even off balance,” MJ quipped. She reached to push some stray curls off her sweaty forehead, then eyed his suit. “Shouldn’t you be dying in that thing? It’s, like, over a hundred degrees out today.”

“Built-in cooling technology,” he said, leaning against the railing. Michelle rolled her eyes; she supposed he thought it looked cool. It did, but that was beside the point.

“Lucky you,” she snarked. “I’d kill for that on a day like today.” She motioned to her sweaty face.

“The sweat suites you, darling,” he said, white eyes shifting down her body.

Michelle’s face reddened. “Oh my god, that’s disgusting. You could be forty—and if you touch me again, I swear—”

Spider-man’s eyes widened in shock. “No—I’m not forty! I’m a boy—I mean—young man!”

Michelle raised her eyebrows. “How old are you, exactly?” She asked. She waited a moment. “If you don’t answer I’m going to assume you’re older than thirty, which is still creepy, by the way.”

“I’m not, okay?” He said. She waited. “…I’m seventeen.”

MJ furrowed her brows at that. She was seventeen. She could know him. “Okay,” she said.

“You believe me?”

“Do I have a reason not to?” She arched a brow at him, a small smile tugging on the corners of her lips.

He shook his head furiously. “All I’m trying to say is you’re still really pretty, even with all the…perspiration.”

She looked at him more closely; something about him seemed familiar, the way he talked, or the way he held himself—maybe she really did know him from school. “Thanks, I guess. You’re not too bad yourself for a teenager wearing a spandex unitard.”

His hand slipped from the railing, and he stumbled to keep his footing. MJ’s shoulders shook with repressed laughter as she watched him, forgetting for a moment how hot out it was. “It’s not spandex!”

Michelle reached out and touched his arm. He froze. She chuckled. “It sure feels like spandex.”

“Well, it’s not,” he said a bit defensively. He nodded to her book. “What are you reading?”

“A Secret History by,” she checked the cover, “Donna Tartt.”

He nodded. “Is it any good?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Yeah, I’ve actually read it before, though. I ran out of new books and I’m too lazy to go to the library so I just picked up an old one.” She shrugged.

“Maybe I’ll go get it after the superhero gig tonight,” he said. She held out the book to him. He just looked at her, then at the book. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “I was offering for you to borrow it, dipshit.”

His eyes widened again—it was actually a little creepy how they dilated; like, how did they know when to dilate? “Really?” He squeaked, reaching out to grab the book.

She pulled her hand back. “You’re not a serial killer, are you?” She eyed him suspiciously.

“What? No, I’m a superhero,” he said, still holding his hand out. “Why is that part of the vetting process for borrowing one of your books?” He made little grabby motions with his fingers.

“I feel like being a serial killer goes hand-in-hand with ruining borrowed books,” she said, narrowing her eyes. She handed him the book. “But if you damage it, I’ll kill you—friendly neighborhood Spider-man my ass.”

“Who’s the killer now?” He joked. Then he tilted his head to the side. “Well, I’ve got to go. Duty calls!” He reached his arm out and shot a web, swinging off the balcony with the book in his other hand.

“Don’t you dare drop it!” She called after his retreating form. She shook her head, not sure why she was smiling.

———————————————————

Michelle saw Spider-man again two days later. She was out reading on the fire escape again when he landed with a soft thud. She didn’t look up right away, determined to finish one last page.

He cleared his throat.

“I know you’re there,” she said.

“Oh.”

MJ let out a hum, reaching blindly for her bookmark and slipping it between the pages of her book. She looked up at him. “What do you want, Spider-pig?” She smiled to herself at her inside joke, remembering that day in biology with Peter.

He held her copy of A Secret History out to her. “I finished. It was really good—I can see why you enjoyed it.” She took the book from his hands, peering at him from her chair. His eyes narrowed at her.

“What do you want? I can tell you want something,” she deadpanned.

“What should I call you?” He hopped up onto the railing. Her eyes widened a fraction watching him. He chuckled, “I’m not going to fall. Spider-man, remember?” He mimed shooting webs out of his wrists in rapid succession.

“You can call me Michelle.”

“Really? Your friends call you Michelle?” He swung his feet back and forth, leaning back over the railing so his body hung precariously over the alleyway below to grab a piece of garbage floating in the breeze.

“No. I have a nickname, but you can call me Michelle.” She didn’t just let anybody call her M or MJ, and just because he could swing around the city on wisps of silk didn’t mean he deserved special treatment from her.

He huffed a breath. “Fair enough. You look nice today. How have you been?”

Wow, that was a lot to unpack. She looked nice? She was wearing a ratty old painting shirt that hung below her knees and her hair was up in a topknot. How had she been? Well—

She decided to ignore the first comment. “I’ve been fine. I painted today so now my back hurts, but beauty is pain, right?” She said, gesturing to her paint-stained t-shirt.

“You have paint on your face,” was his only reply. He leaned forward, reaching his hand out toward her cheek, “Here, let me.” He brushed his finger over where she assumed the paint was, but then his eyes narrowed and he ran a finger over the spot again.

“It won’t come off, Idiot. It’s dry.” She smirked at him as he withdrew his hand.

“You didn’t punch me,” he breathed.

She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t. Don’t get too comfortable, though—I might be in a bad mood next time you try to pull shit like that.” She mimed a quick sucker punch, then blew on her fist as if to cool it off.

Spider-man laughed at her antics. “You could give most common criminals a run for their money, you know.”

She shrugged, looking down at her hands. The paint under her fingernails seemed way more interesting than it had earlier that day when she had opted not to spend twenty minutes cleaning it out. “I learned from experience. My dad—” She stopped herself before she could say anything more. That was too much information; information she hadn’t even told her best friends, that she definitely did not want to tell an almost-stranger.

She was saved by a ding coming from next to her on the chair. She picked up her phone.

Four dipshits and a Michelle:

Ned: Has anyone seen Peter? We were supposed to meet to build the millennium falcon.

MJ snorted. She quickly typed out a reply.

MJ: Nope. He probably stayed late at the stupid Stark internship.

MJ: Also, you’re both total dweebs.

She looked up to see that Spider-man wasn’t sitting on the railing anymore. She almost had a heart-attack when she heard a voice right next to her ear. “Peter… Peter Parker?”

She squawked, turning around to see him upside down in an army-crawl position on the wall behind her. “Never,” she panted, “do that again.” Then his words registered. “Wait, you really know him?”

Spider-man propped his head up on his elbows. “Yeah, I know him—from the, uh, the Stark internship—which, by the way, is not stupid.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “It’s rude to read someone else’s messages.”

“Well, I got to go,” he said suddenly. “I have somewhere I need to be.” He shot a web to the roof of the building next to hers and launched himself off the fire escape, disappearing as quickly as he’d come. Michelle looked down at the book in her lap. “Hey!” She looked up to see a red and white mask peering at her from above. “What book are you reading?!”

“The Assistant by Bernard Malamud!” She called back.

He gave her a thumbs up and disappeared again.

She waited, but he didn’t come back a second time.

Part 7

[namluve]

paring: hoseok x reader rating: 15+ genre: soulmate au! fluff, crack, a little angst warnings: talk about death, a little kissing, wedding that might make you cry a little word count: 5.7k note: I am somewhat back, trying to write again after what seemes like forever due to many life changes. I want to thank @spicykoreantatertots​ for beta reading this mess that turned out way longer than I planned.  collab: april showers, bring may flowers @bangtanscenery 

read part one, love on borrowed time if you haven’t first!

Waking up in the middle of the night, laying on your side you stared at the wall that was in front of you. Your mind in a state of calm before reality hit you. Hoseok was gone. He was most likely laying beside you, lifeless. At this point and you felt the tears beginning to form in your eyes.

Suddenly, you heard the toilet being flushed.  That… should not happen. It can’t really flush itself… can it? Mortified, you turned around, expecting to see Hoseok laying next to you, but to your surprise, he was gone. Did he know he was going to die? Did he leave the bed so you wouldn’t have to wake up next to his dead body tomorrow?

The sink had been turned on in the bathroom. Something was not right. Finding courage, you sat up on the bed, ready to face whatever was in your bathroom. What if it was a burglar? Or worse, a murderer? The sink was turned off and it was quiet.

Suddenly the door opened, and you screamed, too caught up in your own thoughts and scared to death by the action. What you didn’t expect was the person on the other side of the door screaming as well.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” You scream out as you see Hoseok… well and alive?

“HOW ARE YOU ALIVE?” He screamed back at you and you did a ‘what’ motion with your hands. Wait, did Hoseok think you were going to die? Did your clock tick down to this day just like his?

“What do you mean?!” You shout back, not as loud this time and you see how Hoseok pounders, thinking about the next words he is about to say.

“Your clock… It should be zero right now… you shouldn’t…” He began to quietly explain, still trying to wrap his head around the situation.

Hoseok knew the day he met you that he wouldn’t have much time with you. The clock on your wrist showed that you only had a little over half a year left to live. He wished so many times he would have met you sooner so that he could have had more time with you. The fact that you were still alive and well in his bed made him think his wish might have come through somehow. A smile on his face as he looked on your distraught form. You were alive.

Hoseok threw himself at you, tackling you down onto the bed, holding you so tight you could barely breathe.

“Hobi…I can’t… breath…” You choked out and Hoseok immediately let go of his tight grip around you, but still held you in his arms. Tears were streaming down his face as his eyes met yours.

“I thought you… Your wrist said…” Hoseok incoherently choked out as he took hold of your wrist, examining it.

By now, you had gathered all the signs and clues together to solve the mystery of Hoseok’s weird behaviour. He thought you were going to die. His eyebrows furrowed together as he, still confused, examined your wrist, not believing what he was seeing. Suddenly it all made sense.

The way he held so tight when you were about to sleep. How he took the day off to spend it with you. His proposal… Wait- Hoseok proposed to you? Knowing, no, thinking you were going to die?

“You thought I was going to die?” You asked him and he nodded. Sitting up, you escaped his grip on you, your breathing ragged. Thoughts and emotions spinning uncontrollably around in your head.

“Yah! You proposed to me thinking I was going to die? The day before I was supposed to die?!”

“Yeah?” Hoseok looked up at you with his puppy eyes, confused at your sudden outburst. You, however, didn’t imagine your proposal like this when you were young. You always imagine it would be out of love, not just because the other person is dying. The thought of Hoseok only proposing to you because you were going to die filled you with an unexplainable sadness.

“You can’t just do that!” Holding back the tears in your eyes as you spit out the words angered with the fuel from the never-ending thoughts that maybe, just maybe, Hoseok didn’t mean anything he said yesterday, at all.

“Why not?” He questioned, and you sighed, brushing away the tears that had escaped going down your cheek.

“Because… marriage is not supposed to be taken lightly… it’s something you go ahead with when you know you love the other person and wanna spend the rest of your life with them.”

“But I love you… and I actually get to spend the rest of my life with you…” Hoseok murmured, mostly to himself because frankly, he still couldn’t believe it. But you still heard it, feeling bad for reacting the way you did and also feeling butterflies in your stomach at hearing Hoseok say ‘I love you’ for the first time. He said it quite often, to his mom, friends, all the animals he’s meet but this, this was the first time he had ever said it to you.

“You love me? So… you didn’t just propose to me because you thought I was going to die?”

Now, you felt stupid. Why would you even think that in the first place? Hoseok had poured his heart out to you yesterday and you said to him was yes. If anyone should be doubting, it should be him.

“No!” Hoseok answers fast, upset that you could even think of such a thing, “I meant what I said last night, I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” Letting out the breath you were holding it, you sigh. Crying uncontrollably as you throw yourself onto Hoseok, holding him tightly. He didn’t doubt your love for one second, never again would you doubt his.

“I love you too… I can’t believe you’re here…” You choke out as you begin to cry, “I really thought you were going to die.”

At your words, Hoseok crooked up his head, taking hold of your shoulders, pushing you back to create distance between the two of you.

“What do you mean you thought I was going to die?” He questions as the cogwheels begin to turn in his head, connecting the dots. “Yah! Did you only accept my proposal because you thought I was going to die?”

“No, I- “

“Is that why you were accusing me of not loving you? Yah, you really are something aren’t you ‘___’?” Crossing his arms Hoseok looks at you while shaking his head as you start to defend yourself.

“Yah, what else was I supposed to think? I was so happy when you proposed last night it seemed unreal and then… I find out you thought I was going to die?” A silence settled between the two of you, the realisation of your current situation sinking in as Hoseok carefully whispers out his next words.

“So… you do want to marry me?” Hoseok’s question caught you of guard but your answer was still the same, just like it would always be.

“Yes… And you still want to marry me?” Laughing, Hoseok throws himself at you, hugging you once again tightly, placing kisses all over your head and face. Laughing at his sudden attack on you, you no longer feel any sadness at all. Only joy. Only love.

“Yes, yes and yes. Always.”

A few days later, things went on as usual. As if you and Hoseok were never destined to die that fateful night. Things were quiet in your shared house. The storm that had raged the night the two of you were fated to die had ended the next morning.

You and Hoseok were sitting on the couch, watching Netflix. The drama you were watching felt almost bland compared to the life you would get to have with Hoseok. Sure, they were in love and their love story was interesting but did the characters cheat faith like the two of you had? Was their love so strong that it saved one and other somehow? 

Maybe your time was really up, and this was just some middle stage, even though, that made no sense either. So, you decided to keep believing that it was the love you had for one and other that saved you somehow, looking down on Hoseok’s wrist, seeing the 00:00:00 mark, no longer counting down.

Your thoughts were interrupted as Hoseok’s phone started ringing. The vibrations startled you, making you jump closer to him, if that was even possible considering how close the two of you had cuddled up. Hoseok smiled, muttering ‘cute’ under his breath.  

Turning off the sound on tv, Hoseok began taking up his phone awkwardly from his back pocket as you were pressed flush against him, refusing to move. As he saw the caller id being ‘mom’ he pressed a finger against his lips, a quiet ‘shh’ leaving his lips before he pressed answer.

“Hi mom!” He answered and their conversation went on. With your head still laying on his shoulder and arm wrapped around him, you began to feel sleepy. Your brain going back to your previous thoughts. You had googled a lot, not finding much about the phenomenon, except that it had happened a few times before. A total of four cases had been recorded so far.

As you tried to recall the articles you had been reading, you closed your eyes and laid your head comfortably on Hoseok’s chest. After a little while, you began snoring and Hoseok laughed quietly to himself, his mother wondering at what.

“Nothing… ‘___’ just feel asleep on me.” He spoke a little quieter, smiling as he looked down on you, your face pressed into his chest. Hair messily laying around on his t-shirt, some of it falling down your face. Carefully lifting his hand, Hoseok removed the strands of hair, pushing them behind your ear.

“I’m happy to hear that.” His mother began as she tried to figure out how to pop the big question she was really calling him for. “About your fiancé…”

Hearing his mother call you his fiancé made Hoseok freeze. Yes, he knows he just proposed to you. Yes, he knows you accepted his proposal. Still, hearing someone call you his fiancé made him freeze because that meant it was all real. Not just some dream that you actually survived that night, despite your clock showing 00:00:00. Neither had the two of you discussed that night really, the thought of it still making Hoseok uneasy.

“Have you decided on a date for the wedding yet? I know that’s a big question, but I just wanted to know if I could be of any help.” His mother's soft voice woke him up from his thoughts and Hoseok realized that the two of you had not talked about the wedding, at all.

The weekend following the phone call from Hoseok’s mother was spent planning. Or rather, passionately discussing, because you refused to call it arguing. Both standing of the opposite ends of the kitchen. Arms crossed. The tile floor being the battleground between the two.

“Why can’t we have it in the summer? It’s warm, nice and my favourite season.” Hoseok argued and you shook your head. You had been through this already, while summer was Hoseok’s favourite season, you thought it was the absolute worst. Bugs everywhere, burning sun in the sky making the air feel suffocating. No thank you.

“Do you know how much I will sweat under the dress? I won’t be able to be in a wedding dress.” You argued back and Hoseok smirked.

Raising an eyebrow, you looked skeptically at Hoseok as he began to close the distance between the two of you.

“What?”

“Then don’t wear one,” he said as he reached you and you scoffed, “it’s going off anyway at the end of the night.”

At his words, Hoseok picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder and you yelped. If this is how he planned to carry you on your wedding night to your suit, you would make damn sure to never show up at your wedding, at all.

“HOBI!” You screamed as he began to carry you towards the bedroom. You knew exactly where he was going with all of this. He had been more touchy and clingy ever since that night and kissing always seemed like a good solution whenever you wouldn’t agree with him. You were much more tolerable tugging at his hair, kissing his lips than when you were disagreeing with every suggestion he made.

“What? It’s true.” He said as if he had just won the argument as he entered the bedroom. Rolling your eyes before you were thrown onto the bed, a smug smile plastered on Hoseok’s face that you’d do anything to wipe away. He crawled on top of you, placing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how the groom carries the bride,” you tease, your annoyance being replaced with playfulness as you remember that a week ago, you never thought this would be possible. You and him, playfully bantering in the bed and he smiles at your words. His eyes filled with love as he looked down at you.  

“If she walks in without a wedding dress, I’m pretty sure that would be precisely how the groom would carry his bride. Which is how I imagined you.”

“Hobi!” You exclaim as you smack him playfully on his shoulder. He only laughed, connecting your lips once again. More passionate, more desperate and needy this time.

Planning a wedding turned out to be harder than you thought, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. As long as you got to spend the rest of your life with Hoseok.

Suddenly, into the kiss you felt your cheek getting wet. Breaking the kiss, you meet Hoseok’s gaze that shows nothing but sadness, tears in his eyes as his shaking hand caresses your cheek.

“Hobi, baby… what’s wrong?” His hand never leaving your cheek, eyes filled with sadness and uncertainty as he lets out a shaky breath before speaking.

“What if… I lose you tomorrow… What if… the clock is broken or something and starts ticking again?” You didn’t even know what to say. How could you reassure him when these were the exact thoughts running through your head, over and over again, every day? How could you comfort about something you felt deeply burden by as well?

You decide to say nothing, embrace Hoseok in your arms, hugging him tightly. Finding comfort in each other as you finally begin to talk about that night and try to understand what had really happened.

Spending hours in bed talking about your fears, your hopes, and the future. Actually managing to plan the wedding a little bit at the end after both of you had opened up to one another.

The wedding would be held at the end of the summer, on the beach near where you grew up and suddenly, everything felt okay.

A month later, you and Hoseok had most things planned out when it came to the wedding. It would be held in the end of August since Hoseok wanted it during the summer and you wanted it during autumn. You had to compromise about a lot of things but in the end, as you started to see the pieces all come together, you couldn’t be happier.

The thought of a future together with Hoseok making you happy in a way you didn’t even know was possible. The kind of happy that you can’t ever see to end, filling you with warm fuzzy feelings of comfort and joy.

The only problem was how you were supposed to fund it all. Both of you had big plans, well not that big, but bigger than your budget. Both of your parents wanted to help which you and Hoseok respectfully declined, wanting to be able to say the two of you did it all, together. Just like you had survived that night and still kept on living with the 00:00:00 marks on your wrists.

That day, a news segment on the tv caught your eye. Scientists talking about a possible gene modification that allowed soulmates to live, even though their clocks had ticked down to zero. Since it was so rare, scientists tried to reach out to the public and offer them a sum of money if they came in and took some tests.

Since you and Hoseok needed money for the wedding and also wanted answers for what happened that night, you called in as soon as the segment was over. Booking a trip to Seattle for the coming week, excited to contribute to new discoveries and hopefully, find answers.

Boarding the plane, holding Hoseok’s hand, it felt like this was fate. The two of you were meant to have a beautiful wedding, just like you’d imagined and dreamed of. 

Live a long life together. The talk about children even being brought up in your conversations. The house you were living in did have a spare room after all. You and Hoseok would often go into it and imagine a little bed there instead, your first born sleeping peacefully in it.

“You doing good baby?” Hoseok asked as the two of you had lifted off the ground, the plane now high up in the sky above the clouds. Still holding hands as you sit comfortably in your seats.

“Couldn’t be better, just a little nervous.” As Hoseok squeezes your hand, he gives you a reassuring smile. Eyes sparkling with hope.

“Me too,” he answers and for the rest of the flight you watch movies, talk about your wedding and everything the future holds. The future you were both blessed to be able to have that you would hopefully find some answers to in Seattle. 

Months passed by since the two of you, along with the other couples that had gotten tested, finally would be able to get some answers. Sitting by your computer, Hoseok adjusts the volume as you join the zoom meeting, greeting everyone that had joined so far.

Once everyone had joined and small talked for a bit, the head researcher asked for everyone’s attention, her intern standing beside her.

“We are happy to say that we are certain that the gene modifications you both have are a different kind of soulmate clock.” Doctor Jean began as each and every contributor of the scientific research from all around the world, including you and Hoseok, listened carefully. Nervous and excited to finally get some answers as to why your clocks worked differently.

“We were able to discover that your clock doesn’t tick down to your death, but to the moment you start loving your soulmate.” As Doctor Jean spoke those words, you and Hoseok both exhaled in relief. Worrying about what it all could have meant all these months to find out it was something as pure as falling in love.

Her intern began showing the results, pictures of what gene, how common they expect this phenomenon to be and how it would affect future generations. The gene was dominant, meaning, your children would have this type of soulmate clock as well. It was the future for humanity. It was no longer an advantage of knowing when your soulmate would die, as opposed to thousands of years ago. In today's age it was more important to know when your soulmate would fall in love with you so the two could move forward in their relationship.

Your children would never have to experience that night that you and Hoseok had. They will grow up, knowing what their clock is ticking down to. Reassured, happy and excited you and Hoseok leave for bed once the meeting was over and all the results had been presented.

“You can never not love me now. The clock says it.” Hoseok says as he lays down on the bed next to you. Shaking your head, you roll your eyes.

“That’s totally not what the doctor said… but you don’t have to worry about that. In two months… I’ll be yours.” Giving a peck on Hoseok’s lips, smiling as he pulls you closer, not giving you any time to pull away.

“You already are,” he says as he gives you another kiss, this time, with his arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you tightly as if you would shatter if he didn’t.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, but I want you to say it.” Wrapping your arms around Hoseok’s neck, you look at him, smiling. Saying the words he wanted to hear each and every second if he could.

“I’m all yours.”

With now only a week left until the wedding you were both busy running errands, preparing and making sure that everything goes as planned. With Hoseok’s parents staying in your guest room and always being around the house, it felt as if you never had the opportunity to be alone with Hoseok. To spend time with him and to just be with him. It almost made you wish that the wedding was today so you could just get it over with and spend time with him again.

‘Soon’ your mother would always remind you when you vented to her on the phone. The word following your thoughts every day. Soon, you would be married, soon Hoseok would be your husband and soon you would be married. Husband and wife, til death do you apart.

That week went by faster than you could’ve ever imagined, now standing at the beach, in your wedding dress, as you wait for the cue for you to walk in. It was a sunny day with a little wind blowing occasionally, the breeze caressing you every now and then, comforting you.

You were standing by the cliff, the rocks nearby covering you as the altar stood far down by the ocean shore, but not close enough for the water to ruin your shoes when you would stand by the altar as the waves hit the shore. If you peaked around the stone formation, you could see Hoseok nervously kicking in the ground as he was speaking with Yoongi, his best man.

Your hands were sweaty, holding the bouquet of flowers close to your body, afraid you’ll drop it somehow. Today was the day and all you could think about is how would you be able to walk in your high heels up to the altar without tripping in the sand? Seriously, how was a beach wedding one of the few things you and Hoseok agreed upon and you never considered this factor?

Hoseok wasn’t thinking about that at all. He knew you would stroll down with ease, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. Looking like a goddess on her way to great Poseidon, not to marry Hoseok, that’s how beautiful you would look.

He hadn’t seen you with the dress yet but he knows it in his heart. You looked like a goddess without it in whatever clothes you would wear, however you would style your hair, with or without makeup, you always looked like Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty. 

As the music began to play, both of you were pulled from your thoughts, now present in the ceremony that would bind your love together forever.

You started walking. One foot in front of the other as everyone turned their heads to face you. Your friends, your family, all staring at you as you continued walking down the aisle, not remembering how you managed to get there really from behind the rocks. But you did, almost freezing as your eyes met Hoseok’s, filled with tears of joy as he saw you.

He had been watching your every step in awe of your beauty, not believing how lucky he was to have you as his partner. His soulmate. His fiancé that would soon be his wife. That he was lucky enough to be able to spend the rest of his life with.

Thinking back about that night almost made him want to just run up to you and hug you, to be sure this is all still very real and not just in his head. A dream that he would soon wake up from, lonely as the bed would be empty and your warmth gone.

Your thoughts had also been drifting back to that night, being grateful at fate for giving you a second chance at love. To find the right one but also to give you time with him. To give you a future with him and give your life new meaning.

Trying not to tear up, you took your final steps to the altar. Your feet sinking lightly into the sand as you do. You had been reciting your vows in your head, making sure you would remember them. You reached the altar and took your place standing next Hoseok in front of the priest. 

Smiling widely, you took Hoseok's hand. He squeezed your hand with his, as though he was making sure it was real. Holding the bouquet in your other hand, cursing on the inside for not choosing a smaller one, the weight of it heavy in your hand.

As the music stopped, you heard the waves more clearly, bringing a sense of calm to you. You turned your body toward the priest, Hoseok followed your lead, still holding your hand tightly.

“We’re gathered here today…” As the priest begins to speak you end up in your own thoughts, watching the waves crash into shore. Feeling the light breeze graze your skin.

Turning your head to look at Hoseok, you see the tear that he had been holding back. It almost made you cry, so happy to be here with him today. There was no one else in the world who you wanted to spend your life with. It was Hoseok. It always had been.

Hoseok never turned his head once towards you while the priest was speaking, afraid he was going to lose it and cry as soon as he did. He felt your gaze on his face, watching him, and he wondered what you were thinking. Did you feel just as blessed as him? Did you also think that maybe, just maybe, the past couple of months was just a dream?

“Do you, Jung Hoseok take Y/N Y/L/N to be your wife?” Hoseok was awakened from his daydreaming as the priest addressed him.

“I do.” He says without a doubt, smiling at you, tears running down his cheek.

“Do you, Y/N Y/L/N take Jung Hoseok to be your husband?”

“I do.” You answered equally eager, equally happy to finally be able to say it.  

“You may now say your vows to each other,” the priest spoke. Turning your body towards him as he did the same, bringing up your other hand to place it in Hoseok’s. Holding both of his hands as you stared into his eyes.

“I want to start,” you announced, and he let out a sigh of relief. Usually, he wasn’t nervous about talking in front of people, but you always made his knees weak. Made him stumble over his words and thoughts, not able to think straight in your presence.

“The night you proposed to me… you poured your heart out and I haven’t had the chance to do the same…” It had been something you had been thinking about for a while, having a hard time finding the words you wanted Hoseok to know. Swallowing hard, you saw a tear leaving Hoseok's eye.

“Hobi… You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Before you, I didn’t know where my life was going or where I would end up staying. I am glad to know that I’ll be wherever you are, by your side, building our future together.” You paused, sniffing as you try to keep your own tears at bay to no avail, your cheek wet, glistening as the sunlight hits it.

“The first time I saw your time mark and figured out we wouldn’t have much time, life just felt so unfair,” you remembered it all so clearly. Hoseok must have had the same thoughts at the time, he sniffed and gave you a weak smile. “I found the person who could always make me smile, even when I’m crying. The person who always made me feel safe and loved. The person… I love the most in the entire world.”

Choking on your tears, you tried to finish your vows. Hoseok stood in front of you speechless, attempting to hold back his own tears without any success. His tears slowly fell down his cheeks and onto his suit. The tears in your eyes made it difficult to keep eye contact with him.

“I want you and I want you for the rest of our lives. I love you so much Hobi and I can’t imagine a day going by without thinking about you. I just love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

As you finished your speech, you wiped away your tears and finally had a moment to take in Hoseok’s appearance. You notice how his usually sparkly eyes were puffy, red and filled with tears. Tears that kept falling from his eyes. He still couldn’t believe you were here with him, pouring your heart out in front of him and everyone important in your lives.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to beat that…” he joked, laughing  a little, trying to collect his thoughts, ”but I do have some things that I want you to know.” Wiping away his tears, he took a deep breath and looked deep into your eyes.

“Even though this last year have been one of the most difficult ones, it’s also been the one with the most joy… because of you. You make everything better and I’m always excited and happy to get home from work just to see you. Even though I sometimes come home to the kitchen being almost on fire,” your guests laughed as you and Hoseok both let out a chuckle, “I do really think I need to tell you in front of everyone not to try all the recipes you find on Facebook.”

You laughed, your tears replaced with the thought that Hoseok really did it. He managed to expose and embarrass you on your wedding somehow and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I hope you know I’m serious,” you almost rolled your eyes but kept it in. Seeing how happy Hoseok is to tease you about your cooking skills made you forgive him in a heartbeat.

“Even though you almost burn down the kitchen once a week, it’s one of the things I admire the most about you. You always try your best and you always have new ideas, want to try new things and…” Hoseok trailed off as he watched your lips form into an even bigger smile than the one you were already wearing before.

“Where was I... Oh yeah! And you always make life more interesting, willing to try anything to put a smile on my face. Even when you fail… You always make me smile anyway because I know how hard you try.” You can barely look him in the eyes as he speaks so softly about you, just as he did the night of the proposal.

Almost as if Hoseok had heard your thoughts, he began speaking, bringing up one of the saddest nights of your life.  

“Now… I know you said you didn’t want me to bring up that night but… It was the scariest night of my life… Going to the bathroom… Thinking you were laying there dead in our bed, I was so scared I didn’t even want to leave the bathroom after I went to pee…”

He had never told you this, never did you think much of it to ask either. He must have been in the bathroom for a long while, not wanting to go out and face your dead body laying in your shared bed.

As you began crying again you could hear a few sobs coming from your guests sitting below. They couldn’t even imagine what you and Hoseok had gone through.

“But what was even scarier was finding you sitting on our bed, very much alive, and screaming at me. I swear I had just gone to the toilet but I’m pretty sure I peed myself in that moment…” Laughter was once again heard throughout the crowd and you tried your best not to laugh at his bad joke, but failed miserably.

“Now… I want to end this on a positive note so I don’t want to drag this out any longer even though, I could tell you all night about all the things I love about you. I want to end it by saying I love you… I love you so much and I’m so happy to be here today with you and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

As the two of you cried, squeezing each other’s hands, the priests began speaking.

“You may now exchange your rings.” Letting go of each other’s hands, the both of you took hold of the rings that your little sister brought to you.

Taking hold of your hand, Hoseok took his ring and placed it over your finger as you did the same with his. Enjoying the quiet moment, hearing the waves in the background, you just held hands for a few seconds. The feeling of another ring on your finger still foreign, but in a good way.

“You may now kiss the bride.” As soon as the words left the priest's mouth, Hoseok’s hands were cupping your face, his head bending down to capture your lips. The music started just as your lips met, loud cheers being heard from the audience as he kissed you even harder. Refusing to let go of your sweet lips, the ones he now would be able to kiss every day.

The lips that would greet him each day as he came home to your shared house, starting your new life together with everything life had in store for you. Together, forever and ever. 

[panickinganakin]

promises

Kylo Ren (au) x reader

A/N Here is chapter three! I plan on making a master post soon, but you can find the others here

chapter one

chapter two

this is basically everything leading up to the meeting with Snoke after the night they had dinner.

Warnings: angst, crying, anger, nothing bad, rather PG.

Word Count: 1144

tags: @bensoloslover @crockgoblin69

You had beads of sweat dipping down into your temples, running down your cheeks. “Again.” His voice was loud and extremely clear.

Not again, I can’t go again. You felt a lump forming in your throat, tears starting to prick your eyes. “Kylo, I can’t-”

“If you don’t push yourself now, you never will. Stand, again,” his voice was more encouraging than demanding. 

You tightened your fists. You can do this. In the short time you spent here with him, in your opinion, had learned a lot. But, that didn’t mean it would be enough for Snoke to label you valuable. You nodded and closed your eyes. As you felt your body floating away from you, you lifted your hand and locked onto the table. You opened your eyes and watched as the table lifted, you threw your hand to right and the table went crashing into the wall. You flung your hand at Kylo, locking onto the lightsaber. As it left the seethe, he also held his hand up. The lightsaber floated in mid air, shaking from the pulls from the two of you. 

Come on, you though. Just one time. All the muscles in your body felt like they were knotting up, you were given it everything you had. The weapon was quaking now, looking as if it would be torn apart. You felt a sharp ringing in your head, almost too much discomfort to push on. Then, the saber flew toward you.

You caught it, astonished, you finally did it. You threw your arms up, “I did it!” You felt so happy. Finally.

Kylo clapped his hands together, “Well done, Y/N.”

You kept smiling, but you were thinking about pushing things further. You needed to prove you were worthy. You flung your arm back up, knocking Kylo on his back. You lunged at him, placing your barefoot on his chest, pinning him down. You ignited the fiery red blade and it above him. 

His eyes doubled in size, but you could read it now, you could almost see inside that pretty head. He was impressed with you. “You tricked me,” he huffed. 

You cut the saber off, moving your foot to offer him your hand to help him up. “I thought it would be a nice touch.”

He was smiling when he grabbed your hand, playing the same trick on you that he did him. He flipped you over, your air escaping your lungs as you landed flat. He rolled over elbow jabbing into your ribs so you couldn’t move. His eyes scanned you, both of you surprised. His face was inches away, you could feel his breath. You stopped breathing, your lungs ceased to work, your brain shutting down. He was inside your head now, you could feel it. What were you even thinking? Confusion. You were confused as to how you even got into this room in the first place. You were now confused on how you ended up pinned down by Kylo Ren and why you liked it.

Kylo stood up quickly, shit, holding his hand to you. “Up. You need sleep. Tomorrow is life or death for you.”

“Kylo, can I ask you a question?” He was now walking to his quarters now but he turned, curiosity spread across his broad features. He nodded so you continued. “Even if he says I’m not valuable, why would he kill me? Why couldn’t I just come back to work in the living quarters for the First Order again?”

Kylo shook his head, his black waves not budging much because of the sweat the two you had worked up training. “Someone with your midi-chlordan count is dangerous. If you’re with us, you’ll be an asset. Against? You could be the weapon the resistance needed, the First Order’s downfall.” He didn’t offer anything after that, the door shut behind him.

You dragged yourself to your room, changing into your night dress, unable to coordinate real thoughts still. After laying down it hit you all once, you began to sob. Violently. You finally felt important, like you could be something, but tomorrow you could die. There was a chance that after sleeping tonight you’d never see these living quarters again.

You weren’t sure how long you had been crying, it was hard to shut your mind down amongst the chaos that was storming in your body. Your door slid open but you didn’t have the energy to look up.

The mattress you were on top of dipped down as new weight was added, you didn’t look but it had to be Kylo, no one else was allowed in. You wiped your eyes, trying to dry up what was still flowing. “Stop,” his voice was soft, almost soothing. “Stop thinking it, I can hear you... I do- don’t, just don’t think that.”

You realized what he was meaning, you kept seeing the image of yourself, cold body laying on the ground beside Kylo who watched you, helmet on, and he kept seeing it too. You were crying hard again, “Kylo, w-what if the Supreme Leaders kills me? Not even giving me a chance to come back? How can I be dangerous? I’m just a maid.”

You felt his warm hand press into the small of your back, shivers erupted across your whole spine. “Stop. Show him your anger tomorrow, when he looks into your mind think about being kidnapped, think about slinging the table into the wall. Thinking about how you are so much more than scrubbing toilets and dressing beds. You have potential, you are extremely strong. I know I could be wrong about the outcome, but I see you flying back with me tomorrow, I cannot see me leaving your body there.”

You rolled over, his hand now on your stomach, sending chills through your body. “If he kills me... What was this for? Won’t he just be angry you wasted your time here? Training me? When you could have been looking for I don’t know, Obi-Wan!”

Kylo chuckled, “You really don’t know much of the our history. Obi-Wan is dead, Darth Vader killed him. Besides, I’ll do everything I can, I promise.”

At his words, you felt like crying again. This time an almost happy cry, not because you were scared anymore. “Kylo, will you stay in here with me? Just until I can find sleep.”

He nodded, crossing his hands at his stomach. He was far away from you, on the other side of the bed. Not wanting to make him uncomfortable you scooted as far over to the other side as you could.

Searching for a blanket of calm, anything to pull your mind to a stop. You needed to sleep for tomorrow. You kept eyes pressed tightly shut, even when the sheet at your feet slid over you, wrapping you in warmth. You smiled, it helped. The last thing you remembered before finding your dream state was a hand, tucking hair behind your ear- Kylo.

chapter four

[split-n-splice]

This night will last a few chapters. ;B enjoi

[Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3]

29. Aura of Others – 3

Even a strange blue man in bed next to her would have been a better sight than cracking her eyes open to a scruffy brown rat down by her feet, nibbling a puff of popcorn. Shilo shrieked and nailed the pest with a shot of plasma before she could think twice. Blasted straight off the foot of the bed, it hit the ground running, and she heard the squealing rodent flee to the hole in the wall across the apartment.

Regretting the reflex, she hoped that it wouldn’t die in the walls and leave a nasty odor.

She heaved a breath and melted back into the sheets, limp and just a little numb already from the undue adrenaline. She had four minutes until her alarm clock sounded off, which was four minutes to spare to stare up at her hands.

Today was the day. She’d really be testing her willpower and self-control by the end of it.

Shilo let her hands ignite, pouring her concentration into it until the glow began to feel hot even by her standards. It was a good indicator she was overdoing it when the cotton sleeves bunched around her elbows began to discolor and smoke.

She snuffed it out completely at will as the alarm clock beeped, and let her hands cool in the air for another minute before dropping them over herself, warming her stomach.

Deep breaths. She could do this. It wasn’t like she’d never been on a date before. Well, alright, so maybe she hadn’t officially – but she’d hung out with people in groups and alone and that was practically the same, and she’d made out with the neighbor boy a few times after returning to the charade of a normal life and might have made it to third base had big brother not presumably butted in.

She shoved the thought from her mind too late. She didn’t need a grudge fogging her brain today, and she didn’t need to kick it off by over-thinking scenarios so soon and getting in a tizzy.

The alarm clock was on her last nerve. She nearly blasted it to smithereens. But it was in front of the vanity mirror, and she was in no mood to clean up more shattered glass so soon.

As she prepared herself for the day, she tried to remain deaf to the rain coming down in sheets and driving waves of clamor on the roof and windows, at least until the saturated roof began to leak. She sighed remorsefully and mopped up the mess with a designated towel before pushing a pot under the drip which she knew might not be enough to contain the leak if the rain didn’t let up soon.

She had her slicker and an umbrella, and was braced to make the soggy walk to Buckley’s despite any drowsy agreements she’d made last night, but was pleasantly surprised to find herself smirking gratefully at the blue man in a brown suede jacket standing outside her door, holding an umbrella of his own.

“So you can tell time,” she noted.

Drakken grunted but held out an arm. “Your chariot awaits,” he said. It might have been more charming or funny had he been more enthusiastic.

Shilo didn’t remark on his mood and rather than accepting the gesture, she shoved him before stepping under the shelter of his umbrella instead of popping open her own.

He’d worried her last night with his little outburst, but he’d reigned it in and composed himself in short order. She’d lightheartedly offered to make a pact that if they both found themselves diligently avoiding family on the fourth Thursday of November, they could just skip town and dine on gourmet Chow, holiday edition. Effectively cheered up, Drakken had loved the prospect enough that he hadn’t even noticed the plasma glittering over her palm when they’d shook on it.

Though he’d been in good enough spirits when he insisted on leaving early last night, he didn’t look all that giddy today. His eyelids were heavy, though he didn’t look incredibly tired, and his lips were pulled into a slight frown as if something had left a bad aftertaste in his mouth. As she studied his face, he cast his dark eyes her way, and she snapped her stare back to the road quickly.

“Chow?” he offered.

“If we hit the drive-thru,” she agreed. She sighed drearily to herself and leaned her head against the window streaked with rain. “I’m going to get sick if I keep eating that crap though.”

“You’re realizing this now?” He was one to talk, with his freezer full of microwavable junk.

She almost kicked him. “Shaddup.” She settled for flipping him the bird, but Drakken only chuckled.

Truth be told, she was too uneasy to have more than a couple bites of her breakfast cereal earlier. She’d dumped the remainder down the toilet, and the rest had followed a moment later when she’d upchucked, no thanks to the nerves curdling in her stomach all morning. She’d barely been up for an hour and the day was off to a bad start already. She’d brushed her teeth and gargled afterward, but a hash brown patty to nibble on helped get the taste out of her mouth and off her breath once and for all, or so she hoped.

She was picking the patty apart and watching the grey swaths of rain sweep through town as they left the Cow-n-Chow lot when something caught her eye. The neon sign wasn’t lit this early, but it was legible enough. With a surge of nerves prickling down her spine, her eyes popped wide and she realized she’d never tracked down the rendezvous point.

There was no need now, she realized as she watched Westinger Grill slide away into the gray haze. She shot an inquiring look to her glum driver and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder.

“Westinger Grill,” she spat out. “That’s the weird karaoke place, right?”

Drakken glanced back in the mirror and gave a grunt and a shrug in reply. “You mean the one you hated?”

A baffled, “Huh?” fell out of her mouth. Sure, she might have been uncomfortable and dreaded being pulled on stage like the first time, but – Shilo frowned at the gloomy man and defended herself, “I never said that.”

“You dined and dashed,” he stated as if the fact alone was proof.

Shilo clammed up at the reminder. She almost threw her hash brown to the dirty floorboard of the stolen station wagon, appetite momentarily quelled, but took a big bite instead for a perfectly acceptable excuse not to answer him. She didn’t have to defend herself anyway. She’d been under no obligation to stay. She hadn’t even left because she hated it – though it might be better to let him think that, she decided. In fact, she’d really sort of liked it. Too much. And he’d sat a little too close, and his smile had been a little too warm, or made her a little too warm – and she’d decided it was better to bail before it was too late, before she lost her cool like she did every time angel boy hexed her, like she was on the verge of doing now—

“Do I need to pull over?” Drakken piped, interrupting her spiraling thoughts. “You look sick.”

“It’s just the dru—uh—uhm.” She couldn’t blame the medication anymore. He couldn't know about the debilitating drug at all – period – let alone that she had it in her possession. “No. I’m fine.” Her mouth was full of cotton but she swallowed against it anyway, and slouched back and folded her hands over her stomach to discreetly blow on them with a sigh. She’d taken another nip earlier to cool herself down, and had the remnants of the tablet in her purse just in case. She was good to go. She wasn’t at risk of flaring up at the tiniest bit of agitation.

“Are you sure?” He sounded less concerned for her and more concerned with having a mess to clean up.

“I’m sure.”

She picked her hash brown back up from her lap, finishing it off and inwardly hoping he wouldn’t need to pull over after all as she tucked into her muffin sandwich too.

The big day was really off to a rotten start, she decided. She’d been sick once, almost sick a second time, nearly lost her cool over a trivial accusation, and resorted to messing around in her purse to take another pinch off a pill and sneak the crumb under her tongue when Drakken wasn’t looking, all before even arriving at Buckley’s Brew.

When he asked if she’d be needing a ride this afternoon, he added the snide remark about chaperoning her and angel boy. She told him to get bent and leapt out of the car to make the dash through the pouring rain and into Buckley’s. In her haste, she forgot her umbrella but opted not to go back for it.

All day, she watched the rain outside fall. In such dreary weather, foot traffic was low and customers were few and far between. Which left ample time for Abigail and Chester, the kitchen hand, to gang up on her, making inquiries and accusations about her involvement with the local villain, perverse or otherwise, as well as pressing for classified information regarding Team Go  – like what was a real lair like, did she really think she stood a chance of getting into LHU with her track record, and was Drakken hiring yet?

The dogging lasted until Buckley broke it up. Shilo regretted sneaking yet another nip halfway through her shift – otherwise, she might have thrown a glow-laced punch at her fellow barista’s pudgy face to end the discussion. Given a break from the remarks and questions, she slumped into a seat as a fog settled over her, only to jump up at the chime announcing a customer’s arrival. Her immediate fear was angel boy, or Drakken, or her brothers, but it was just a regular, and she put on a warm smile for the drenched woman laughing and making light of the downpour filling the reservoir.

By noon, a small ray of hope shined, golden and tantalizing outside on wet pavement. The rain hadn’t stopped, but it had lightened up considerably, the clouds breaking up enough to let some shifting sunlight reach the drenched oasis town.

As she left Buckley’s that afternoon, she looked to the heavens to study the blue sky mottled with bruises of grey rain clouds drifting eastward. The weather report, according to the television installed in the corner of the café, claimed the storm had passed, but there was still a churning tumult in her stomach as she trudged home, taking detours around flooded streets and grudgingly wading through an ankle-deep puddle on the last intersection, her studio in sight.

Her umbrella was leaned against the door. She scoffed a curse at the man who wasn’t even there.

As she hung up her things, she cast a glance at the clock. Three hours to go. She contemplated showing up fashionably late, or early, or – she swore again and combed her fingers through her hair. What did people wear to these sorts of things? She groaned to herself, wondering if everyday street clothes were acceptable, as she didn’t own anything nicer. Not yet anyway.

Two hours later, she’d turned her closet and drawers inside out and prayed she wouldn’t be bringing a guest home tonight. That thought alone was like dropping a live wire in a puddle, sending sparks of heat flooding to all the wrong places. She was getting ahead of herself. She was in this for payback. Not to behave like some deprived love-struck puppy. Not that she could risk pushing her luck without a little help from the pill – and she wasn’t about to roofie herself.

She squeezed her eyes shut and denied doing exactly that just to relax enough to watch a simple movie with Drakken last night.

Hell, she’d even started to fall asleep again, despite his outburst. The rogue could have done anything, but instead, he’d decided to take his leave. Shilo wanted to shout and swear now that she’d only imagined grabbing his sleeve to ask him to stay. Or maybe she’d asked if he wanted to stay. Maybe she’d been asking, or hoping, for both. Maybe she’d even wanted to try having someone beside her – actually beside her, not out of reach clear across a stupidly vast oversized bed. She’d slept in dogpiles among her brothers after tough missions before, but a man was inherently different—

She shuddered and tried to pull her thoughts back to angel boy. Angel boy was who she was seeing tonight. Angel boy was who she pulled on her nicest spotless khakis and teal cardigan for, and why she clipped on the bracelet for good measure. Hair tied back to show her earrings, she wondered if the rockhound could tell at a glance the difference between rhinestones and genuine diamonds – and then decided if he was such a snob that he cared, well, she’d just have to raise the price of payback.

She still wasn’t sure what she had planned for angel boy. Something along the lines of burglary brought a smile to her as she headed out into the evening to make the trek across town. She could steal things little by little, or swindle him, or scope out the precious gems packed in that big gaudy house she was positive a young guy like him didn’t own. It was probably his parents’ house. That slowed her pace. She really wouldn’t like having to deal with meeting anyone’s parents, but if that’s what it took to get inside to get a good look around, then so be it. A house like that probably had a nice security system – not that cameras had ever stopped her before.

A cold wind blew straight through her as the Cow-n-Chow came into sight, just off Main Street on the far end of town. She hugged herself and wished she’d worn something warmer than the cardigan. She longed for a cozy woolen sweater, maybe one that enveloped her in a weird mix of comforting smells like cookies and oil-spills in the lab. Then again, smelling like one of Drakken’s workshop rags couldn’t be the best way to show up for a date, she supposed.

She looked up from watching for puddles as the chosen restaurant came into view. The sign to Westinger Grill buzzed in bright red, and in the window, just as she’d seen before, the karaoke sign flashed as if to tempt passerby.

As she cut through the parking lot toward the tall junipers lining the walkway to the entrance and patio, a familiar ugly station wagon caught her eye. Before she could groan in dread – it couldn’t be – she was discontented to find the front patio was occupied.

Slumped over on a bench near the door sat a man looking a little too blue for her liking. And of all things, he was puffing away at a cigarette she doubted was making him feel any better, by the looks of it. Or if it was, she’d hate to have seen him before he lit up. He was still in his plain street clothes, yet he looked a little disheveled as if he’d been thrown out or had neglected to tuck in his shirt or straighten his jacket all day.

Shilo’s pace slowed as she neared and she stopped before him. Her hands rested on her hips, but his droopy gaze didn’t lift from his scuffed oxfords. “Dr. Drakken?” she called down to him as if unsure it was the same moody scientist she knew. His eyes darted up at her, and he pulled a face almost like a sneer – yep, still Drakken – and she shifted to cross her arms. “What are you doing here? You know, this stalking thing is getting old—”

“Oh, you think everything’s about you, don’t you?” he snorted, and nodded to the window behind him. Specifically the blinking karaoke sign in it. He checked his watch. “Doesn’t start for another…oh…fifteen. Thirteen? Minutes.”

She gathered she was early.

“And you’re totally sulking about karaoke and not the fact we aren’t doing some Bonnie and Clyde gig, which you were just bitching about yesterday.” She nodded to herself as if that made perfect sense – and in the next second, she had the feeling she was off the mark when he shot her a dirty look that made her shift again and back down.

“It’s not about you, Shego,” he reiterated, grinding out the words. “Fuck off.” He was in an especially bad mood tonight, she decided.

Shilo held up her hands in peace. “Language, Doc,” she teased tersely.

The crotchety man rolled his eyes and mimicked her in a whiny indiscernible mutter. “Why are you here?” he grumbled, eyeing her suspiciously as she turned to cast a glance back around the parking lot.

No angel boy in sight, she stepped forward and took a seat next to Drakken on the bench, though she kept a mindful distance. She leaned a little to peek at his wristwatch, but that was as close as she came. “What do you think?” she scoffed, smoothing out the wrinkles on her sleeves. “Waiting on my date.”

Pissy mood aside, Drakken cracked a weak lopsided smile. “I’m flattered,” he jibbed.

“Oh, shut up,” she bit back, and almost struck him in the shoulder.

Drakken almost reluctantly offered the cigarette her way then, raising his brow as if in question. She decided maybe he wasn’t in such a bad mood after all. Or maybe it was improving the longer she sat beside him. She wanted to pretend she was imagining it, but she could see him cheering up and sitting straighter, his eyes brighter, focused, and on her.

Minutes of silence passed. The cigarette changed hands a few times before Drakken finally flicked the butt into the juniper hedge, and the silence ensued for some time after as patrons of Westinger Grill came and went.

Shilo heard the first musically-challenged karaoke enthusiast of the night begin caterwauling inside. Drakken remained next to her, twiddling his thumbs and looking glum, but still better than he had when she’d arrived. “It’s starting,” she noted.

“Yes, I know. I’m not deaf.” He made no move to get up. He seemed to shrink just a little even, his spirits dimmed.

“Well, if you’re not gonna sing, then what are you doing here?” she wondered. “You know, besides sulking out here in the cold?” She could see her breath now and it wasn’t the smoke anymore, she realized. She rubbed her arms. If she hadn’t been medicating herself with a pinch here and there all day, she might have had her second nature readily burning her up right about now.

Drakken slouched back and let out a horrible noise that passed for a sigh. “You don’t want to know.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t want to tell you.” His snooty answer changed when she kicked his shin, but not before he released another guttural groan and slumped forward to hide behind a hand. “The plan is to drink my troubles away and do something foolhardy,” he grumbled, and she elbowed him. He nodded to the parking lot. “I’m pushing the car off a cliff.”

Shilo still had the sense he was omitting something, but she let it go for now. She stifled a small laugh and caught herself inching closer, close enough he was almost warm against her side. Or maybe that was just her. “What? You think I wouldn’t want in on pushing a car off a cliff?” It sounded better than karaoke, anyway.

“Why would I invite you? You were supposed to have a date,” Drakken reminded.

He had a point. She narrowed her eyes and didn’t comment on it though. Instead, she scoffed. “Why the sudden urge to push a perfectly good car off a cliff anyway?”

She had a pretty good idea of the ledge he was thinking of. She’d parked the SUV there her first night in the oasis. It was a good place to push a car from – if memory served her well. The thought of sitting on top of the car overlooking the pond of light in the valley below, sharing quiet chatter and making plans to cause a little chaos, was more appealing than sitting outside a grill waiting for a tardy angel boy who may or may not show.

Drakken shrugged. He dug in his coat pocket for his pack of smokes, but she reached across to push his hand down. If he lit another now, they’d be out here until it was finished – and it was getting pretty chilly out. Her hand rested over his for a second too long, and it was a decidedly good thing he was wearing his leather gloves or he might have felt the pinpricks of her nerves shooting down to her fingertips before she could snap her hand back.

The man let out another grievous sigh, his breath still smoky from the last cigarette and already bearing a hint of alcohol. She shouldn’t have been close enough to smell it. “It looks too much like my mother’s,” grumbled Drakken.

Shilo couldn’t help quirking her brow at him. “I thought you said you wanted a station wagon?”

“I did, but that was before – nngg!” He shoved his glasses up and scrubbed his face. His temper was climbing again. “Just let it go, please. I’m begging you.”

Just as she’d been about to scoot away to give him breathing space, Drakken jumped up. His hands flailed in the air and he gestured down the street, smacking into the juniper in the wild movement as he did. “Why can’t you go to Cow-n-Chow?” he griped, just about yelling it down at her.

“Why can’t you go to Cow-n-Chow?” she retorted, rising as well.

Drakken crinkled his nose and curled his lip. “Because! I’m – I was here first!”

“Too bad. I have a prior arrangement to be here.” Shilo crossed her arms and planted her feet.

He took a quick scan about and threw his arms out into the air on either side of him. “Well it looks like you’ve been stood up,” he announced. That wasn’t true. Was it? She didn’t have the time – and Drakken didn’t know when she was supposed to meet angel boy anyway.

Shilo crossed her arms. The assumption stirred worry in her gut, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking around to be sure for herself, or of letting the disappointment show on her face. She gave a little shrug she hoped was nonchalant and indifferent enough to mask it. “Yeah, not the first time,” she lied.

A strange mix of pity and anger flashed in the man’s eyes, and his face twisted, and he crossed his arms as well and practically stamped a foot as he turned to take in their surroundings again. “We could both go to Cow-n-Chow,” he suggested as if it were troublesome just to speak the words.

“Little tired of Chow,” Shilo dismissed. It wasn’t a lie in the least. Some pasta and breadsticks would be a nice change, but she’d be happy with chicken tenders too.

“Alright then…” Drakken rocked on his heels for a second, hands stuffed in his pockets. He was starting to look chilled. At least, she’d like to think that was why his ears and cheeks were turning purple. “Well, there’s always room at my table,” he said with a nod to the door of the restaurant and held out his arm for her to take, just as he had Monday night when he’d been decked out in his Halloween costume. “Care to join me?”

Eyeing his arm, she entertained the idea. Her hand, nervous tingling aside, itched to take it, and her heart thumped in encouragement and her stomach did a funny flip that wasn’t as sickening as she might have expected after being so worried sick earlier in the day.

But a buzzing pulled her attention past Drakken then, and he glanced back over the hedge just as none other than angel boy came zipping into the parking lot on a dinky little white moped. Drakken scoffed and made a sarcastic comment under his breath, “No helmet? What a daredevil.”

Shilo shoved him toward the door. “Get outta here,” she hissed.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he grumbled. “Suit yourself. See you inside.”

“Don’t crash any cars without me!” she whispered sharply at his back.

[i-heart-danchou]

Stay with me

This is for bottom Erwin week prompt Freeform but I guess it could also be for Bathing so yay I sort of technically did all of them, cool.  This is a canon rewrite, and I put some of my medical knowhow into play for this one (I actually did surgery on a cat with injuries similar to Erwin’s XD, he’s fine).  Also I quite liked this idea so if anyone’s interested I might keep going with it.  ------------------ “Captain Levi!”  Floch was panting, sweating, his muscles were quivering as he pulled himself up onto the roof with Erwin strapped to his back.  “The commander— he— he’s critically wounded!  His side’s been hit, his organs are coming out, I can’t stop the bleeding I… I thought… I thought maybe that injection you had could help.” Levi’s eyes were wide, his mouth ajar, his heart thundering away in his chest.  Time seemed to slow for a moment, and he clutched the syringe to his chest.  He imagined a future with Erwin as a titan, the colossal titan at that… a monster, a villain, a human being so unbelievably dangerous that no one would dare get close to him.  He imagined the light in Erwin's eyes getting dimmer and dimmer, the more of himself that he sacrificed to humanity.  No.  The choice was obvious.  “Eren.”  He muttered.  “Give me your gas, all of it.” Eren was crying, obviously very confused.  “Captain?” “I said give me your gas!”  Levi practically threw the syringe at him, not wanting to waste one more damn second.  He replenished his fuel supply and strapped Erwin to his back.  A hospital.  A hospital.  They had to fucking get to a hospital.  

He didn’t care about Bertholt, or Armin or whatever fucking drama was going on in Shiganshina, he had to help Erwin, he didn’t have any fucking time.

Obviously carrying 92 kilograms of dead weight made the gas canisters tremendously less efficient, but Levi couldn’t think about that.  

Come on… come on…. “Stay with me, Erwin.  I’m getting you help, I’m going to get you better.”

Erwin groaned in pain, or maybe in delirium, and his head flopped forward onto Levi’s shoulder.  

“I’ve got you.”  Levi whispered.  “I’m gonna get you home.”  

He found a horse just at the entrance of Wall Maria— a runaway, perhaps?  There had been so much chaos, he wasn’t surprised that they hadn’t managed to keep all the animals together.  Thank fuck, thank fuck.  There weren’t enough trees between here and Wall Rose to get him home, he’d need this fucking horse— Erwin needed this fucking horse.  

He mounted the beast, secured his commander, and galloped as hard as he could.  “Stay with me, Erwin.  Look at that beautiful sky.”  Levi had never known fear like this.  Every second he wasted Erwin’s pulse was getting weaker, and it made him sick to see the commander’s blood seeping down the horse’s side.  

“Stay with me.”  

**

They charged to the wall and Levi sent up a signal flare a good 500 meters before he arrived.  The gate needed to be open, he didn’t fucking have time for this.  “Commander Erwin is wounded!  I need help!”  He called out, and he watched as the garrison scrambled to let him back into the walls.  Eyes went wide when they saw the state of the commander, and a group of medics descended to help.

Levi was loath to let Erwin go, even into the hands of qualified professionals who would try their best to help him.  He followed, he followed, and he ordered them to be careful.  “Please.”  He whispered as the doors of the operating theater swung shut.  “Please help him.”

Hours passed.  Levi sat with his head in his hands, titan blood all but evaporated off of him, Erwin’s blood caked and dry in his uniform.  Please.  He was begging the universe.  Please let him be alright.

A surgeon emerged by nightfall, blood soaked through his sleeves, speckled on his glasses, his hair limp against his forehead with sweat.  “Captain Levi.”  He said somberly.  

Levi stood up, his heart in his throat.  The doctor was hesitating, and Levi felt the acid burning in his mouth.  “Out with it.”  He hissed, his eyes narrow.  

“The commander is… alive.”  

Levi’s lip twitched.  Why was he hesitating?  What was he so afraid of?  

“He suffered extensive damage to his abdominal wall, including full thickness lesions penetrating into his abdominal cavity.  There was damage to his small intestine, portions of his bowel, and one of his kidneys.  We’ve cobbled his intestinal tract together as best as we could, but there was barely enough muscle available to close the abdominal cavity.  We’ve taken a graft from his leg, but it may not survive.  He’s experienced significant hemorrhage and was in severe hypovolemic shock at the time of presentation.  He… may have irreversible brain damage.  He may not know you if he wakes up, and he is likely to be less intelligent than he was before this happened.  If he survives the night, there is an extremely high probability that he will develop septic peritonitis.  If that happens, there is not much else we can do.  His intestinal repairs may also fail, which will only worsen and compound matters.  He may not be able to use the toilet properly anymore. He probably won’t ever walk again.”  The doctor licked his lips.  “If he makes it to the end of the week, he has a fair chance of survival.  Do you have any questions?”

Levi put a hand on the wall to steady himself.  What had he done?  He’d condemned Erwin to a life worse than death… a life without his mind, his mobility, his… his dignity, even.  Why had… what…. He swallowed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Can I see him?”

“No.  I’m sorry captain, his infection risk is too high right now and… and you are heavily contaminated from the battle.  I would recommend you go home for some rest.  Things will be more clear in the morning.”

“I’m not leaving him.”  Levi snarled.  “I’m not.”

The doctor was weary.  “Fine.  There are showers that you can use, if you wish.  Ask one of the nurses to assist you.”

**

The tatters of the SC returned in time, to thunderous cheers and celebrations.  Levi wasn’t with them, and he didn’t care to be.  His place was with Erwin, and he would reap whatever horrible consequences resulted from his choice.  If Erwin needed to be cared for forever, if he needed someone to feed him, to bathe him, to wipe his fucking ass he would do it.   All of this was Levi’s fault, and nothing would tell him otherwise.

Hanji joined him at the hospital, a thick white gauze plastered over her eye.  “How is he?”  She asked cautiously.

“Bad.  They think he has brain damage. He’s crippled.  Everything is fucked up.  He’s probably going to die in horrible pain.”

Hanji was quiet.  “Why didn’t you give the injection to Erwin, Levi?  Why did you do this?”

Levi glared at her, his anger easily melting into grief and pain and remorse.  “He didn’t want to be a monster.”  He offered lamely.  “He deserved to see the truth.”  

Hanji put her arm around Levi’s shoulders and hugged him as tight as he’d allow.  “He did.”  She agreed.  “We’ll just have to see what happens.”

**

Erwin didn’t die that night, nor the next morning.  Levi was allowed to sit with him provided he followed the hospital’s sterility protocols, and he sat beside Erwin in a white gown and mask, watching him writhe in agony as his recovery progressed.  

He was pale, clammy, unresponsive, his pupils dilated and his groans heartbreaking.  Even in his delirium there was no respite from his agony, and Levi’s hair was standing on end.  “Can’t you do anything?? Give him something for the pain, at least??”  He demanded, his eyes wild.  

“He’s on the best medication we have.”  The doctor explained.  “We’re trying to control the fever, but this is a natural part of surgical recovery I’m afraid.  I’ve heard he’s quite strong.”

“The strongest.”  Levi assured him, casting a wayward glance at Erwin’s recumbent frame.  “The greatest man I know.”

“Then he will fight, he will endure, and he may survive.”  The doctor patted Levi on the shoulder.  “Support him however you can, captain.”

Levi did everything he could to keep Erwin comfortable.  He fluffed his pillows, he wiped his forehead, he even helped to change his bedpan.  While Erwin fought to stay alive, Levi sat beside him and whispered in his ear.  

“We took back Wall Maria.  Humanity’s first major victory, and of course you led us.  They got to the basement, Erwin.  They found out the truth.  I’ll tell you everything when you wake up.”

About four days in Erwin opened his eyes once more.  Every movement was strained and agonized, but it was obvious he was doing his best to conceal his distress.  He sat up with some difficulty, but he managed.  His eyes scanned the room and he smiled when he saw Levi.  

“Levi..”  He managed.

“Erwin.”  Levi breathed.  He knew him.  Erwin knew who he was.  “Say something smart.”  

Erwin laughed then, only a slight chuckle but it was enough to send him into a spasm of agony, gripping at his side as he doubled over in pain.  

Levi’s eyes widened with alarm, and he rubbed Erwin’s back until he was through the worst of it.  “Fuck, Erwin.  I’m so sorry.  Are you okay?”

Erwin took a few moments to catch his breath.  The pain must have been excruciating, and Levi could see the whites of his eyes.  “Yeah.  I’ll be fine.”  He was visibly shaking by the time he righted himself, his face pale and slicked with sweat as he leaned back in the bed.  “What happened?”

“You got badly wounded by the beast titan.  Floch found you, he brought you to me.  I got you to a hospital.”  

Erwin nodded slowly.  “And… the mission?”

“A success, Erwin.  We did it, we took back wall Maria.  We got to the basement.  It’s all thanks to you.”

Erwin smiled then, and shut his eyes once more.  He was so weak, dammit.  He was so exhausted.  It hurt to see him like this.

**

The doctors kept Levi away for a while then, citing Erwin’s exhaustion and debility.  He needed some rest, and frankly Levi did too.  

He still didn’t want to leave the hospital, but it seemed like Erwin had rounded a corner and hopefully wasn’t in danger of imminent death anymore.  Hanji caught up with him at the barracks, grabbing his elbow as he barged into Erwin’s room.  “How is he?”  She demanded.

“Awake.  He seems all there too.  He’s not recovered yet, obviously, but…” Levi wasn’t a man who allowed himself to be optimistic, but the hope in his heart was creeping in whether he liked it or not.  

“He’s… going to want to be commander again, I presume.”

Levi hadn’t thought of that.  “Probably.  It’s who he is.”

Hanji looked very sad.  “He can’t, Levi.”  She had a copy of Erwin’s medical report in her hand, and Levi wondered if the doctors had dumbed down how bad it was for him.  “He’s going to need help for the rest of his life.  He can’t be an active member of the military.”

Levi’s hackles went up.  “So— so we throw him away?  Because his body can’t keep up anymore?  After all these years, after everything he’s lost, we just— we tell him to fuck off cause he’s wounded?”

“Fuck Levi, no.”  Hanji rubbed at her eyepatch.  “We just have to be realistic.  There’s a whole world out there, wanting to kill us.  We need a commander who can actively attend combat and make choices on the field.  Erwin is brilliant, he’s the best commander we’ve ever had but… Levi… he can’t anymore.  He can’t.”  

Levi’s blood felt cold.  “We need him, Hanji.  Humanity needs him.  You can’t tell him we don’t need him anymore.”  

Hanji put her hands on his shoulders and looked at him.  “Of course we need him.  But we have to be realistic.”  She bit her lip.  “I’ll be commander, and he can be my advisor.  He’ll remain on staff and I’ll be able to provide him with support workers if he needs them.  Do you want me to tell him?”

Levi shook his head.  “No.  He should hear it from me.”  She was right.  Of course she was right.  He had hobbled his commander, and his penance would be eternal.  

**

Erwin took the news better than Levi expected, but then again Erwin was extremely intelligent and he probably shouldn’t have been surprised.  Of course he knew he couldn’t be commander anymore.  Of course he did.

“That’s very generous of Hanji to offer.”  He said eventually, his hand running gingerly up his side.  “I’ll continue to help humanity in any way I can.”  

Erwin was using the formal commander language that Levi hated, but he felt it wasn’t his place to stop him.  Of course Erwin would keep fighting, not allow himself any time to rest.  He deserved a cabin by a lake, he deserved to retire and have a statue made of him in the town square of wall Sina.  But Erwin never stopped, and Erwin never rested.  

Despite his injuries, he kept moving, no matter how hard it was.  Erwin never, ever complained.  Levi was silent as he watched Erwin double over in pain when he ate something too rich for him, and he was silent when Erwin quivered from the exertion of trying to stand to relieve himself.  He offered a shoulder to support him, a hand when he needed it, and he kept his eyes forward.  No matter what else happened, he would preserve this man’s dignity.  

He helped Erwin into a wheelchair and pushed him through the hospital when he was finally discharged.  The sun was warm and soothing, the air was crisp and beautiful, and Erwin smiled as the gentle beams of light hit his skin.  

It was awful to see the top of Erwin’s head like this.  To be so much taller than he was, that Erwin was banished to this chair, unable to push himself forward at all by himself.  He swallowed his distaste.  It was worse for Erwin, and Levi refused to make this about himself.  

During his convalescence, Hanji had made some changes to the barracks to make them a little more accessible for Erwin.  His office had steadying bars screwed into the walls, the desk was adjusted so his chair could fit beneath it, and the bathroom was completely redesigned with his comfort in mind.  His bedroom had been refurnished as well; his bed softer and more comfortable, his sink and shelves shortened, and someone had thought to put a carpet and fresh flowers in too.  It felt homier.  

“Not bad.”  Levi commented, wheeling Erwin through so he could see the four square walls in which he would endure the rest of his life.  “I bet you’ll come up with some great war strategies here.  We’ll really need you from here on out.”

Erwin said nothing and licked his lips.  “Levi— I…”. His nose went a touch pink.  “I’m really sorry but— I need…”

Levi nodded and hooked Erwin’s arm around his shoulder.  He needed the toilet, and he hated to ask for help like this.  “I’ve got you.”  Levi reminded him.  “You’d do the same for me.”  He helped keep Erwin steady, he helped him open his trousers, he looked away from his cock while he pissed.  

The relief on Erwin’s face was endearing, actually, and he sat back into his chair with a pleasant sigh.  “Thank you, Levi.”

Erwin was at rock fucking bottom, and it made Levi feel sick.

Levi nodded at him and wheeled him to his desk.  ‘Do you hate me?’  He wondered, ‘for what I did to you?’   “I got Eren’s father’s books for you.  Three volumes of answers for you— about beyond the walls, about the fate of humanity, about everything. You were right, Erwin.  You were right.”  

Erwin smiled and passed his hand along the spine of the tomes, he seemed… content, at least.  Levi didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath as he watched Erwin begin to read.  This was Erwin's dream, his everything… he wasn’t sure what he would have to live for when he finished reading those books.  So he distracted himself, he made them both some tea and set the cup down beside his command— his advisor.  

He was quiet and respectful while he watched Erwin devour the information, and he wasn’t sure why he was so nervous.  

“A whole world of humans.”  He said thoughtfully.  “A whole world of different places and cultures… kept beyond our reach because of a curse in our blood.  Titans come from our people, from across the sea, and are used to keep us within these walls.  Fascinating.”  

Levi was glad, Erwin seemed… happy, kind of, with the information.  “A whole world against us.”  Levi added lamely.  “Then again, you’ve always been good at beating the odds.”  

Erwin smiled then, humility and sadness crossing his features.  “I suppose that’s true.”  He gingerly touched his healing abdomen, flinching ever so slightly as he touched a sore point.  “Levi… what will you do?”

He was taken aback by the question.  “I… I want to stay with you.” 
Erwin took a sip of tea slowly and carefully, presumably not wanting to upset his stomach.  “It’s alright, Levi.  I don’t want you to waste your life here.”  His voice was kind and gentle, his eyes were distant.  

There was a terrible implication beneath Erwin’s words; that his own life would be a waste.  That there was no future for him, no happiness, no value.  “It’s not a waste.”  Levi said immediately, but Erwin gently touched his hand to stop him.

“It’s a waste of your talents and your abilities.  You’re a combat genius, Levi.  They’ll need you at the front when we go to war.”  

 Levi had never really disobeyed Erwin before, but he was certainly considering it now.  “Erwin.”  He said tersely.  “It’s my fault you’re like this.  I want to help you.  I want to be with you.”  

“Levi…” Erwin’s eyes were so warm, and he put his hand on top of Levi’s.  “You put so much on yourself.  It’s not your fault I got wounded.  It’s not your fault the beast titan threw rocks at us.  You saved my life, Levi.  You let me see the truth for myself, you helped me make my dreams come true.  Even in the worst moments, I never blamed you.  I’m grateful for this gift that you’ve given me, and I don’t intend to squander it.” 

Levi turned his hand over and squeezed Erwin’s fingers.  It was perhaps the most intimate thing they had done together, and he hoped it read loud and clear.  

 Erwin smiled, and delicately threaded his fingers with Levi’s.  “Do you remember when we first met?  How I said we’d save humanity together?”

Levi nodded, his heart racing.  

“I still want that, Levi.  And I know you can help make that happen, but not if you’re stuck here looking after me.  I’ll be alright.”  To prove the point, he shakily stood up on his own two feet and slowly, carefully, painstakingly hobbled to the nice plush bed and sat down.  It wasn’t much, but it was a start.  “Levi… come here, please.”

 Levi obliged, approaching the bed with uncertainty.  

 Erwin lay down and gestured for Levi to join him.  Of course Levi did, and he cuddled up to Erwin’s side, trying his best not to upset his healing muscles or skin.  “Erwin… I don’t want to leave.”  He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed himself for getting emotional.  

“I know.”  He said gently.  “And I won’t make you.  I won’t judge you for following your heart.”  Erwin’s smooth fingers were stroking his muscles, and he leaned into the sensation.  

 Levi imagined foreign invaders arriving on their island… maybe with flying machines, maybe with titans, he imagined them destroying the barracks, imagined Erwin getting crushed to death inside.  This war wasn’t over, their fight was only just beginning.  Erwin was right, Levi could do so much more if he fought than if he allowed himself respite.  “No, Erwin.  You’re right.  They’ll need me in the battle.  I’ll do it.” 

Erwin’s smile was sad and distant.  Levi wondered if he would miss being in the fray.  “I… I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back, Levi.  I know you’ll survive.  I know you’ll come back to me.”  

“Okay.”  He promised.  Because Erwin was always right about this sort of thing.  

They didn’t get naked, they didn’t have sex, they didn’t do anything except hold each other that night.  Levi doubted Erwin would have sex in a meaningful way ever again, but it didn’t matter.  He pressed his ear against Erwin’s chest and greedily absorbed the steady sound of his heart beating.  

 “I’ll come back.”  Levi promised.  “When this is all over, I’ll come back.  I’ll bring you more of those photographs, new inventions, maybe a medicine for your body I— I’ll help finish what you started.”  He kissed Erwin’s neck and breathed him in.  “Erwin… I…”

“I know, Levi.  Me too.”  His voice was a soft rumble, and Levi arched his neck up so they could kiss.  

Levi burned the moment into his mind, a soft safe place for him to remember in the coming months and years of conflict ahead of him.  Erwin was alive, he was waiting, and he’d be there when Levi came back.  That beautiful bright smile would keep him going, give him a reason to keep fighting… he would return to those open arms and find peace.  

Levi would fight until his body could take it no longer, and Erwin would wait for him.  And one day, he hoped, the world wouldn’t need them the way it did now.  They would hang up their swords and find somewhere peaceful to rest.  

[uas-fics]

Title: Nine Forty-Five in the Morning

Rating: T

Summary: On your or your soulmate’s sixteenth birthday, you get a clue to finding each other. Stan is 100% sure Wendy is his soulmate, so why does the universe think it should be Butters?

Ships: Stutters

Other: Soulmate AU.

Technically set in the same universe as ‘Three Hours After Midnight’, since I could not get the line about Cartman making fun of Butters out of my head. Enjoy~<3

~~~

From time to time around the lunch tables at South Park elementary, soulmates became the topic of discussion for a day or two. Usually, the topic was brought up in relation to some big event such as a celebrity finding theirs or when someone's older sibling turn sixteen.

Unfortunately, at Stan's table, the topic was most often brought up by Cartman while he was taunting Butters.

"I bet your soulmate decks you in the face, Butters," Cartman said around a ketchup-covered chicken nugget, "for leaving them with your bad eye."

Butters pressed his lips into a line as he reached up and absentmindedly touched under his eyebrow. His fingers traced along the scar that ran through his eye and ended at the top of his cheek.

Butters didn't defend himself, instead turning his face down to his own tray. Something about this always bothered Stan. The very notion of hating one's soulmate was an impossible thought to even entertain!

The bedtime stories say once people's souls were much bigger than they are now, but people were too happy and never left their own company, so the universe split the soul into different bodies, usually in two, but sometimes in three, four, or even more.

The stories also say that the universe saw how desperately people were searching for their other halves and promised them all a clue: on their sixteenth birthday, they and their soulmate would switch one eye. That way, each person always had a little bit of their soulmate.

His mom always ended the story by telling him that when Stan found his soulmate, he'd be the happiest boy around.

If the story was true, then you couldn't hate your soulmate. They were meant to fill up the holes in your self.

Kenny punched Cartman in the arm. "No one would hit their soulmate on purpose, dumbass."

When this topic came up, Kenny always jumped to Butters' defense. Maybe he did it because he was just a good person, or maybe he felt bad for scarring Butter's eye in the first place.

Cartman snorted. "If you woke up one day blind in one eye, you wouldn't be upset? What if you lost your job because of it? You'd have to learn to live life completely different than you do. You can't say that wouldn't be a pain in the ass."

Kenny opened his mouth, then shut it. Butters slumped farther down in his seat.

Cartman smirked. "My point exactly! Butters," he dropped his hand on Butters' shoulder, "You probably shouldn't even look for your soulmate. They'll hate you. It's better you just die al--"

Stan ripped open his ketchup packet and squirted the contents right in Cartman's face.

"Can't you just shut up?" Stan threw the empty packet at him. His voice came out harsher and more defensive than he'd intended. This did not go unnoticed by the rest of the table. Even Kyle, who usually kept his head down during Cartman's ragging, raised an eyebrow.

Stan's face went red. He coughed into his hand.

"It's getting so old now, dude," Stan said in a cooler tone. "Besides, at least he'll be able to find his soulmate easily. Unlike you."

Cartman glared over the top of the napkin he used to clean his face.

Now that the topic turned against Cartman, Kyle happily jumped in.

"He's right, you know," Kyle sneered. "It'll be super easy for Butters to find his eye. The scar makes it distinct. Not like your eyes."

"Hey!" Cartman gripped his hand into fists.

Kyle went on as if he hadn't spoken, "You and Kenny have eyes that are, like, exactly the same. What if you both have soulmates with brown eyes and you end up switching soulmates and your life would be miserable?"

Kenny gasped, a look of worry on his face. "Don't even joke about that, Kyle! I wouldn't want Cartman's soulmate. Fuck no!"

Before Cartman could reply, the bell rang. With eyes narrowed venomously, he stood and stormed off, leaving his tray behind. Kyle smiled triumphantly as he left to dump his tray. Kenny's face remained concerned a moment. He ran after Kyle, probably to confirm that he and Cartman couldn't mix up their soulmates.

Stan stretched. He grabbed his tray and turned to dump it when a warm hand fell on his forearm.

Butters looked at him in awe.

"Thank you," he whispered. "That was real swell of you to defend me like that."

Something in Stan's chest squeezed, but he didn't know why.

He shrugged. "Cartman's just annoying and jealous. You shouldn't let him get to you."

"Oh, I don't, usually," Butters admitted. He opened his mouth to continue, but Stan saw Wendy leaving her friends.

"Butters, I gotta go," Stan told him. Butters clamped his mouth shut and slowly withdrew his hand from Stan. For a beat, he looked disappointed, but his cheerful disposition returned before Stan could really take it in.

He did notice, though, that where Butters' hands rested, a strange warm feeling began to grow a moment before it faded. Stan almost wanted the feeling back, but he shook the feeling off.

He needed to meet Wendy by the door before they were dismissed to class; they were going to hold hands the whole walk to their lockers.

~~~~

A few years later, Stan woke with a foggy recollection of that day in the elementary lunchroom, but it faded seconds after. He laid in his bed, covers pulled over his head. He knew he needed to get up. Today was a busy day, after all.

That night he and Wendy were going on the most romantic date Stan could afford: an evening at the Italian restaurant in town. There would be tall candles and they would drink sparkling fruit juice out of stemmed glasses.

Stan couldn't wait until Wendy complimented on what a good job he'd done and how much she'd enjoyed it.

Ever since they both turned fifteen, Stan had gone above and beyond to show her how much he cared, because he knew they would be soulmates. He'd known since third grade. When his birthday in October came and he woke up with her dark eye instead of his blue, it would be confirmed.

They'd live happily ever after.

Something tickled in the back of Stan's brain. He was forgetting something...

He groped around his bedside table for his phone. He clicked it on and a calendar reminder stared back at him.

Oh, right, today was Butters' sixteenth birthday. It was nine forty-three, and Butters said he was born at nine forty-five, so in two more minutes Butters could truly pass into adulthood and have his soulmates eye.

Stan almost felt jealous of the time he would have to wait. He brushed the feeling aside. What did it matter if he had to wait another month? He already had his life plan ready, unlike Butters.

Wendy would earn her degree in women’s and environmental studies while Stan earned his in veterinary sciences. They would live happily in a little house outside Denver with their pets — and maybe a few kids. They hadn't decided if they wanted any yet.

Their perfect life together was a little more than a month away.

Stan stretched up in bed, wincing at the light from the window, then finally stood. He still had a few hours before the party, but he might as well get up and shower now. Also, he had to remind his mom to iron his church pants for his date.

He shouldered open the door with a yawn.

Just after he took a step, everything around him changed. He stumbled back, gripping the wall, trying to remember how to breathe, and more importantly, how to see.

The world seemed flatter as if someone used a transform tool on a photograph. His head spun, trying to process the world around him. He blinked a few times, stumbling forward. His trek to the bathroom resulted in him bumping against a table he was sure hadn't ever jetted that far out into the hallway before.

He missed the doorknob twice. He used both his hands to successfully find it on the third try.

Rubbing his eye, Stan muttered, "The hell? Am I getting sick? No, I can’t get sick today. There is just something in my eye is all...”

Slamming the door behind him, Stan made his way to the toilet. He sat to do his business, phone in hand, still rubbing his eye.

Kyle was already up and texting him, as usual. He didn’t even have anything important to prepare for but Butters party at noon, unlike Stan. That was just how Kyle was. He didn't seem to understand they were teenagers. Sleeping until noon on Saturdays was a luxury they would soon lose.

His best friend asked if he was up and if he wanted to go play some basketball in an hour or two before heading to Butters' party.

Stan considered this before replying, "Maybe. Feeling weird this morning."

Kyle texted back almost instantly. "You think you'll be ok for your date?"

Kyle only asked because Stan hadn't shut up about the date all week long, and if something went wrong, Stan would whine about it for a week afterward. Stan knew that, but found himself thankful Kyle didn't say it aloud.

"I'm sure it's nothing." He paused then tacked on, "Do you know you can become a fourth depth blind?"

He didn't think he'd accurately described how the world looked to him at that moment, but hopefully, Kyle would be able to understand regardless. They were best friends, after all.

Stan set his phone near the sink as he finished. He'd flushed and began to tighten the drawstring on his pants when his phone rang.

He rolled his eyes before pressing to accept the call.

"Hey — "

"You're going blind?" Kyle cut him off. Of course, always the mom friend, Kyle began to fret at the slightest indication of illness.

Stan turned on the sink to wash his hands.

"No, it's nothing. A joke," He looked up towards the mirror as he washed, "nothing to wor...Oh my God."

"Stan? Stan! What's wrong?" Kyle's voice had a frown in it.

Shaking Stan pressed his stomach against the counter, looking closer at his face.

"No, oh God, no, no!" He whispered. "This can't...no, no, no— !"

"STAN!" Kyle shouted into his phone, leaving him thankful he left it on the sink and not against his ear.

Stan scrambled to pick up the phone. He missed hitting it with his hand, nearly sending it into the toilet, but snatched it before it took the plunge.  He stared above Kyle’s call icon to the clock in the corner.

Nine forty-six AM.

Holding it to his ear, Stan whimpered, "Kyle, I need you to come over now. Don't ask questions, just come over and come to my room. Oh no. Oh shit. Hurry, please."

Before Kyle could ask any more questions, Stan hung up.

He crouched down, hugging his knees to his chest.

This couldn't be happening...

~~~~

Kyle showed up in less than ten minutes. When he rushed into Stan's room, he was sweaty from running and had a worried expression plastered to his features.

Stan sat on the old trunk at the foot of his bed, curled in on himself. It once held toys and games, now it held books and old clothes and a shoebox full of love letters Wendy had sent him over the years.

The thought of Wendy made his chest ache. He squeezed himself into a tighter ball, heaving sobs.

Kyle made sure to shut the door before walking over. He set a hand on his back.

"Stan?" He ventured. "What's wrong? Are you ok? What can I do to help?"

"Nothing!" Stan choked out. "Nothing can be done! I'm fucked!"

Kyle sat beside him on the trunk. The fact it still supported both their weight after all these years was a sign of its craftsmen's ship. He rubbed circles between his shoulder blades until Stan cried himself out. Years of dealing with them had taunt Kyle a lot of how to handle Stan's emotional outbursts without making the matter worse.

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Kyle reassured him. "Come on, dude, what's wrong."

Shaking, Stan slowly raised his head and met Kyle's eyes.

Kyle's face blanched.

Inside Stan's head were two different colored eyes, both ringed with red. one was the same sapphire color that had always been there, but the other was a milky blue with a scar tearing through it. The scar in the eye did not extend through to the flesh, as Kyle knew it should.

"Oh my..." Kyle's mouth gaped. He raised his hand, grasping Stan's face to pull him closer. "Holy shit."

"This can't be fixed," Stan whimpered, a fresh batch of tears spring up.

"No, but, um," Kyle wracked his brain a moment, "maybe it's not his. Maybe it's someone else's?"

It was a feeble lie, and they both knew it.

"It's Butters birthday today and it's Butters' eye!" Stan wailed. "We're...we're..." He couldn't bring himself to say ‘soulmates.’

He and Butters couldn't be soulmates, because he and Wendy were! Wendy completed him. Wendy was supposed to be with him forever. Not Butters!

Kyle chewed his lip. He wrapped his friend in a comforting hug.

"What are you going to do?"

"I dunno." Stan sniffled. "Die, maybe? Drink?"

Actually, that second one didn't seem like a bad idea. In the back of his mind, he remembered his dad hiding some of his expensive wine in the attic. If he could get Kyle to leave...

"You're not doing either of those. Kenny, Cartman, and I will do another booze sweep of your room. Don’t test me," Kyle told him sternly. His friend took a breath before pulling back. He stroked his chin in thought.

"Do you want to talk to Butters about this? It's still early, so no one else should be there for the party. Or do you want to talk to Wendy first?" Kyle prioritized.

His stomach turned. Stan nearly vomited on his shoes.

He didn't want to talk to either of them. Wendy would be so disappointed. All those years building their relationship, only to have it snatched from them by some cruel trick of the universe?

Anger began to boil in his stomach to replace the unease. He wanted to be mad at Butters, but he knew it wasn't his fault. The universe chose this fate for them well in advance. So he pointed his rage towards fate and the universe and swore when he died, he and God would have a long talk about this.

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Stan sniffled.

"Butters lives closer, but I want to talk to Wendy," He muttered, grabbing Kyle's wrist. He looked up at him. "I can't walk worth a shit because of this. My depth perception is gone. Could you help me out and drive me there?"

Kyle nodded. "Yeah. I'll drive. Let me run home and get my wallet. You get dressed."

~~~~

Stan slumped down in the front seat of the old minivan. The seatbelt pressed against his lower lip. Now the Thanks to the sunglasses he wore, the world bathed in a dark blue tint.

Kyle slammed down on the brakes. The seat belt slipped from his chin against his neck, choking him as he lurched forward.

"Sorry!" Kyle blurted out. Kyle only passed his permit test recently, and gradual stops still gave him trouble. Technically, he wasn't even supposed to be driving without an adult in the vehicle, but both of them agreed this counted as an emergency and borrowed the minivan without asking.

Stan rubbed his neck, sitting up correctly. Kyle flipped on the blinker as they pulled into Wendy's driveway. Her house loomed over Stan like a hangman’s noose. He rubbed his neck as he prepared to be punished for a sin he didn’t chose to commit.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" Kyle asked, already unbuckling his seatbelt.

"No," Stan shook his head. "I'll do it on my own."

Stealing himself, Stan unbuckled and pushed open the door. He marched up. His heart threatened to escape his chest as he knocked.

Mrs. Testaburger opened the door after a moment’s wait. She looked at him with an eyebrow raised. He'd never noticed that her eyes were two different shades of grey before.

"Why, good morning, Stan." She tilted her head. "What are you doing here? It's a little early for your date, isn't it?"

"Emergency," He said. At her concerned expression, he amended, "School emergency. I left my homework sheet at school and wanted to copy Wendy's."

Mrs. Testaburger let him inside, though she didn’t look like she totally believed his lie. With the reminder to leave the door open in his ears, he carefully dragged himself up the steps towards Wendy's room.

The door was open. He walked in and purposefully shut it. Wendy jumped from her laptop at the noise, spinning around. She was fully dressed and ready to take on the day. Guilt gnawed his stomach as he realized he was about to ruin her Saturday before it began.

"Stan?" She frowned. "What are you — ?"

Before she finished, the tears came up again. Stan found himself on his knees with his face buried in her stomach.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He sobbed. "It's not my fault, but I'm sorry!"

"What's not your fault?" Wendy pushed him back. She reached to remove his sunglasses. The moment her eyes landed on his, she gasped. The sunglasses hit the floor.

The look of shock, hurt, and betrayal on her face made him want to die even more. She took a breath, soothingly stroking his head.

A few more whimpers escaped his throat, but no words. What could he say to that face?

"Oh, oh boy," she muttered. "Is that..?"

"Yeah.." Stan nodded as he rested his cheek on her lap. "Who else's could it be? It happened this morning."

He wanted her to hug him, hug him so hard that the universe would see it made a stupid mistake and fix this situation. In a feebly attempted, he shut one eye. Out of Butters' eye, the world was nothing but darkness. No, the universe didn't fix its mix up.

Because the universe is an idiot, Stan decided.

"Have you told him?" She asked, voice tight. “What did he think?”

Stan shook her head. "No, I...I can't, Wendy. He...I can't."

In all honesty, Stan didn't know what Butters would think. In fact, he'd been purposely dismissing any thoughts of Butters since he found out.

If he never let Butters' into his mind, then he couldn't start to think about how he felt about him. For the last few years, he tried his best to only think about his feelings for Wendy.

When he was thirteen and he realized that his attractions extended beyond just girls — and beyond just Wendy — he’d forced himself to ignore any line of thought that might mess with his and Wendy’s life plan together. He already taught himself to ignore other girls like that, it wasn’t too difficult to extend that to other genders as well.

Now he focused all that learned ignorance towards his feelings to Butters.

Wendy hugged him to her chest. "It's ok, Stan. I'm not mad at you. I understand." She kissed the top of his head. She tried to hide it in the soothing tones, but Stan still heard the hurt in her voice.

"I don't want this," he muttered. "I don't know what to do."

"You'll have to tell him, sooner rather than later. You don't want someone else realizing it's your eye before he has."

Stan wanted to vomit again.

“I can't. I...I don't want to,” he whispered, shaking. “Wendy, don't you see? It's Butters. Butters is...you know!”

She set her mouth in a line and shook her head.

“No. I don't know,” she replied.

Stan fumbled to find the words to describe what he meant. Only as he thought about it, he couldn't explain it to himself. It was tempting to say Butters was social suicide, but he dashed that idea. Butters had made himself a nice little niche in the social ladder. Not really super popular, but not hated or mocked like he used to be, either.

Even then, Stan knew most people would jump to the defense of soul mates if someone tried to mock them.

Finally, Stan told her quietly, “He's not you. I want you to be with me forever. You’re supposed to be the one to complete me. Not him. If I don't see him, then maybe I can still pretend its a mix-up and it's you and...I love you.”

Wendy continued to pet his head but didn't speak. He saw pity on her face now. His lips trembled. He wanted to scream. Go outside to yell and shout until everything was as it should be. He and Wendy were together forever and Butters was happy with someone else.

Instead, he clenched her tighter to him, trying not to bawl like a child again.

“I love you too, but,” her voice cracked, and so did Stan's heart, “you're not supposed to be with me.”

“Yes, I am!” Stan countered, “I've loved you since second grade. I don't love Butters!”

“How do you know?”

Stan's voice fell silent in his throat. Truthfully, he couldn't answer. For a moment, something pushed up in him. The feeling was familiar, but Stan couldn’t put a name to it.

He shoved the feeling down as hard as he could.

“But...I want you,” he tried one last time. Wendy opened her mouth, but a knocking cut her off.

Kyle stood in the doorway with a frown.

“Sorry,” He apologized. “My mom called. She isn't happy I took the car without asking — and drove illegally.” He added the last part under his breath.

Stan nodded stiffly. There was nothing else he needed to say to Wendy that wasn’t more pleading and begging.

He slowly stood. Wendy grabbed his wrist. She pulled him down to kiss him, but not on the lips, on the cheek.

“Talk to him Stan, ok? Call me if you need me.” She whispered.

“Ok, I will,” he promised before heading to meet with Kyle.

When Stan shut the door behind him, he heard her start to sob.

~~~~~

Mrs. Broflovski stood in the Marsh's driveway with Stan's parents to her left. A strangled whimper came from Kyle's throat when his mom's eyes fixed through the windshield at him. He took a breath, steeling himself before he opened his door.

“Young man! What is the meaning of this?” His mother gestured to the car. “You don't have a full license. You can't drive without me or your father in the car with—”

“It's my fault, Mrs. Broflovski,” Stan cut in as he left the passenger side.

Stan noticed the mismatch eyes their parents had. Brown and hazel on his dad. Blue and green on his mom. Pale grey and black on Mrs. Broflovski.

Mrs. Broflovski covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my...”

“Wow.” His dad whistled. “Huh. Will, uh, will you look at that.”

At that moment, Stan realized he'd left his sunglasses on Wendy's floor. He winced. There was no way they didn't know whose eye he had. Knowing his parents and Mrs. Broflovski, all the other parents would know by church tomorrow, and probably Bu—

He cut off that thought.

“It's my fault,” he repeated. He noticed how raw his voice sounded and swallowed his spit a few times. It didn't help.

“I wanted to talk to W-Wendy.” A shuddering breath and he went on, “I can't really walk well right now, half blind and all, so Kyle drove me. Sorry, Mrs. Broflovski.”

“N-no, it's ok, honey,” Mrs. Broflovski told him an overly sweet, but understand voice. “We'll let it slide this once.”

Stan nodded and walked past them up the walk.  As he passed her, his mom grabbed his arm. He met her eyes before he sighed and shook his head at the unasked question on her face.  

Have you talked to Butters?

“I'm going to go lie down,” he said after escaping her grasp.

From the car, Kyle called, “I'll text you later, dude. Um...stay strong?”

He sounded like he didn't know what to say. Luckily, Stan didn't know what he wanted to hear.

~~~

Stan laid face down on his bed for either weeks or hours. At this point, he wasn't sure and didn’t care. He went downstairs only once to grab a glass of orange juice and untoasted Pop-Tart. He didn’t talk to either of his parents as he grabbed his snack, though he felt them keep worried eyes on him the whole time. Even Shelley didn’t tease him when he passed her in the hall.

Stan tried to keep his mind blank. He didn't want to think about the situation. He didn’t want to think at all. It was a foolish idea to think if he ignored it, it would go away, but for the time being, he was willing to be a fool.

A ping from his phone foiled his attempts at keeping his mind empty.

Holding it above his face, he unlocked his phone and opened the Instagram notification. Kenny tagged him in a post.

Cheerful selfie of Kenny and Butters stared back at him. Kenny flashed a peace sign while Butters winked his eye at the camera.

No, my eye, Stan thought bitterly.

The post itself was a generic birthday post, wishing Butters well and ending with “this party is gonna be lit! Can't wait to see everyone there.” followed by all the username mentions.

Stan glared at the Butters in the selfie. If they were soulmates, then how can he be so happy? If Stan was miserable, then Butters should be, too. It was only fair.

In a fit of anger, Stan went to Butters’ profile and blocked him. Then he went onto every other social media site they shared and blocked him, from Twitter to Youtube to the Facebook account he never used, he blocked Butters on every single one.

As he finished blocking him on Steam, Stan let the phone fall to his stomach. He hoped blocking Butters would make him feel better, and it did, for all of a minute.

Then the guilt set in for being childish and petty.

Like before, he reminded himself this wasn't Butters’ fault. He didn't get a choice in the matter any more than Stan did.

After some time, Stan rolled to his side as a change of scenery. His gaze lingered on some of the trophies and medals displayed along his shelf.

With such poor sight in one eye, how was he supposed to play football? Or run track? Or basketball? He had to hold tight to the stair railing just to make sure he didn't trip over his feet. There was no way he could catch a ball or jump a hurdle.

Hadn't Butters played football after he lost his sight? Stan remembered suddenly. Back in fourth grade, when the game was changed to sarcastaball or whatever?

He recalled Butters being ok at football, but exceptional at sarcastaball. What caused them to end that sport again? Some scandal about...

He flushed all the way up to his ears then pulled his pillow over his face.

Why, why did his soulmate have to be Butters?

Stan lowered to his pillow under his chin. He tried to shoot a text to Kyle but kept pressing the wrong letters. It took him nearly a half a minute to finally fix all his mistakes and make the text readable.

“Are you at the party?” He sent.

Five minutes later, Kyle replied, “Yeah. Are you ok?”

“Sure,” Stan responded. “Did you see Butters? Did he have my eye?”

He winced at his question, but sent the whole text. It was stupid, but he needed confirmation.

“Yes. It's yours.” came the simple answer.

Stan looked at the cursor bar, debating what to say.

He typed out “did he say anything about me?” then deleted it. Next, he typed, “does he know I'm his soulmate?” He deleted that too. Before he could finish his third attempt, Kyle texted him.

“I told him you were sick and couldn't make it. He looked disappointed.”

Stan frowned. Was Butters feeling that way because they were soulmates and the universe was forcing him to? No, Stan shook his head at the thought, that’s just how Butters was. He was a nice guy and Stan’s friend. Of course, he’d be sad he didn’t show on his big day.

Would I be disappointed if it was the other way around? He thought on that a moment.

Would he? He and Butters weren’t best friends, not like he and Kyle, but somehow Stan felt that if Butters didn’t show up to something Stan invited him too, even a big party like his sixteenth birthday, he would be disappointed, at least, a little bit.

“Thanks for covering for me.”

A couple of minutes, then “NP. Call me if you need anything.” came in reply. Stan was about to shut his phone down and continue staring at the ceiling when another text came.

He lifted his phone to check, assuming it was from Kyle, but was instead greeted with Butters’ smiling seventh-grade face looking back at him from the message icon.

“Hey! I heard you were sick. :^( I hope you feel better soon. If you’d like, I’ll save you a piece of cake. :^)” Butters said.

For a moment, he felt scared. In his mind, he knew his knee jerk reaction should have been to throw the phone across the room to avoid talking to Butters, but it wasn’t. Instead, he felt that same warm feeling again. His thumb moved of its own accord, pressing Butters’ icon to bring up the full picture.

The start of puberty was weird for everyone in his class: pimples, voices cracking, growths spurts, hair showing up all over, limbs not growing in tune with everything else.

Stan had been aware of that from the day Kenny’s voice suddenly dropped in the middle of a conversation at the bus stop.

Butters was no exception to the curse of hormones.

In seventh grade, he looked like a brick on stilts: long, thin legs, but a compact, almost rectangular, torso. Even on a good day, he had pimples on his cheeks and forehead and, not unlike Stan himself, it took a little while for the concept of personal hygiene to really kick in as an everyday task.

Stan stared at the picture, unsure of the feeling in his chest, then he opened Instagram and went to Butters’ profile. He unblocked him after a second’s consideration, then started scrolling.

He didn’t stop until he hit the very bottom, then slowly made his way up. Through years of photos, Stan watched Butters grow up before him.

He smiled to himself a few times when he saw photos of any of the phases Butters went through: Paladin Butters, Professor Chaos, little league and the other sports, all the way up to his current extracurriculars, choir and cheer squad.

For some reason, Stan felt happy seeing all these pictures — the proof of Butters growing up alongside him.

When he finally got back to the top, his heart skipped a beat.

The newest photo was of Butters and Clyde, toasting pizza slices to the camera. Stan’s sapphire colored eye looked back at him from Butters’ face.

This time, the knee jerk reaction to throw the phone took hold. It hit the carpet and slid until the phone half-disappeared under a pile of clothes. He almost hoped he broke it, but he didn’t get up to check. Instead, he let out a cry of frustration.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Stan? Are you alright?” his mom asked.

“No. No, I’m fucking not, Stan groaned, burying his face in the sheets.

The door opened and two sets of feet gently padded in. The bed sunk down before his mom put a hand on his shoulder. He turned towards them, only to realized that he couldn’t see them on that side, so he sat up.

His dad set a hand on his mom’s back. They both wore the same, sympathetic smile.

“Your mother and I were talking,” his dad started, “and we want you to know we’re here for you if you need us.”

Stan shrugged in reply. “I don’t want this,” he muttered. “I want to stay with Wendy. I don’t love — ” his voice cracked, “I do not love Butters.”

His dad chewed his lip then asked, “And how do you know you don’t?”

Stan glared. “I’ve been in love. I love Wendy, and I don’t feel that way about him.”

Neither of them looked convinced, but Stan wasn’t surprised. They never took his feelings seriously.

He focused his gaze on the Nike logo on his socks.

“Well, Stan,” his mom put his hand on his knee and squeezed, “you haven’t talked to him since he turned sixteen, have you? Soulmates are complicated. Maybe your feelings will change.”

“Or,” his dad cut in, “maybe you’re not in love love with him. You know your Uncle Jimbo and Ned are soulmates, and their just good friends.”

Stan’s head snapped up. He stared at his dad with wide eyes.

“Oh my...that’s it. Friend soulmates! That has to be it.” A smile spread across his face. “How could I be so stupid?” He hit his forehead with the heel of his palms. “Butters is straight. He couldn’t be interested in me like that anyway! Everything makes sense now. Thank you, thank you!” Stan threw his arms around his mom’s shoulders, then his dad’s.

With that, he scrambled to his feet and started towards the door. “I need to go take a shower. I love you, Mom and Dad. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Finally, his life plan was back on track.

~~~~

Chapter 2

[thecolorpomegranate]

Along Came A Spider

Summary: Becoming Spiderman is no easy feat for Peter Parker. His whole body has to reinvent itself, and it’s an excruciating process for a skinny, frightened fourteen-year-old kid from Queens.

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker

Warning: Blood, illness, and a little profanity.

Word Count: 1431

This fic can also be found on FFN and AO3.

——————————

Peter woke up with a jerk; his stomach felt like someone was stabbing it repeatedly with a jagged blade, and his entire body was on fire. Peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt, he crawled into the bathroom in only his boxers, lying against the cold tile for some relief against the relentless heat. The spider bite on his hand bristled and then flared with pain, making him gasp in alarm.

He remembered stumbling back home after the field trip, dizzy and confused; he’d fallen into his bed afterward. He knew that Aunt May had left for a night shift, and she wouldn’t be back for at least four o’clock. He curled in on himself, whimpering and moaning, on the floor of his bathroom. Sweat poured down his forehead, and the pain only worsened, spreading from his stomach outward, to his chest, head, arms, and legs.

Peter had never felt pain like this before.

At one point, he remembered screaming, but he could barely hear anymore. His sight and hearing were cloudy now, as though someone had wrapped his head in cloth, and there was a horrible, bitter taste in his mouth, like he’d swallowed a thousand spiders.

He didn’t know how much time was passing; it could have been a few minutes or a few hours. He clung to the porcelain rim of the toilet, heaving weakly into it. Tears trickled down his cheeks, and he cried, for the first time in a long time, for his parents. He wished they were here, to tell him everything was going to be okay and he would be fine.

But there was no one here but Peter. Once the nausea finally subsided, then came the headaches, splitting his skull with a white-hot axe. Curled up on the floor of his bathroom, he couldn’t stop the tears from coming now, spilling from him as though they could prevent the avalanche of pain currently wracking his brain. And light started to hurt, too; eventually, the light bothered him so much that he had to crawl to the other side of the bathroom on his hands and knees just to turn it off. The darkness provided some relief, but then the blazing heat returned, washing over him in waves of fire ants marching over his skin. He cried and cried and threw up again. When one pain was gone, another seemed to take its place, sending him into a whole new kind of misery.

Peter wondered if he was going to die this way: on the floor of his bathroom, surrounded by his own vomit. He prayed that Aunt May would come home soon, because she always made everything better. Something rose in his throat; thinking he was about to throw up again, his frail body lunged for the toilet, scrambling to grip each side, but instead he coughed uncontrollably. Spitting up into the toilet, he felt something hot and wet drip down his chin. When he forced his eyes open again, his nerve endings protesting violently against the action, he saw red splattered against white.

Peter cried harder.

He wished he could pass out, just so he wouldn’t have to experience this level of absolute physical torture. It’s just the flu, he thought, over and over again. It’s just the flu. I’ll get over it. I’ll be fine. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was anything but fine.

Eventually, he was on the floor again, lying with his back against the wall. He’d stopped throwing up, at least, for he had nothing left to bring back up. However, just as the agony in his torso faded, his muscles began to spasm, so much so that he couldn’t cling to the toilet anymore.

Suddenly, he couldn’t feel his fingers. The odd feeling of numbness crept up his arm with a violent shiver; Peter have never felt so scared in his entire life. He slid across the floor, dragging himself towards the other side of the bathroom. Maybe then he could reach the phone… But then his feet went numb, too, and the fire started again.

Peter wished he was dead.

Peter didn’t know how long it had been, but finally, he could feel life trickle back into his body, one cell at a time. He was lying on his stomach on the bathroom floor, and everything went into laser-sharp focus. He could feel every hair on his body stand up straight in his shock, and the pain ebbed until he could only sense this perpetual state of extreme attention. His skin felt sticky, almost clammy, but the intense waves of heat were gone. He climbed shakily to his feet, holding onto the sink for support.

He felt...different. It was like he could sense everything around him, all at once, and it hurt. His eyes felt like they were going to explode. He squinted to narrow his focus, and the pain dulled. He glanced from one thing to another, examining everything with extreme precision: the blood spots on the front of his shirt, the beads of sweat on his skin, the dirt on the floor. He could see everything.

When he looked up, into the mirror, he realized how much of a toll it had taken on him. His eyes were horribly bloodshot, feeling almost swollen in their sockets, and red trickled from the corner of each eye in mimicry of tears. There was blood coming from his ears, too, now sliding down the side of his neck.

Peter had never seen so much blood before.

It was red, brighter than he’d expected against his pale skin, and everywhere. On his face, on his hands, on the bathroom floor… He wanted to wipe it away, but currently he didn’t possess the strength to. This… Whatever this was… It had sapped every bit of energy from his fourteen-year-old body.

He staggered out of the bathroom, bracing himself against the wall. He was starving. It was still dark outside, he noticed, and when he glanced at the clock he realized it had been eight hours since he had first fallen asleep in his room. He stumbled into the kitchen, flung open the fridge, and gathered everything he could find, wolfing down takeout box after takeout box before he even knew what was inside.

After he ate, he limped back to his room, his limbs still shaky from the whole experience. Every inch of his body ached, whining with protest as he moved. What had just happened to him? The flu didn’t make someone feel like this. He collapsed onto his bed, exhausted yet still buzzing with energy. Whatever it was surging beneath his skin… This wasn’t normal.

Peter closed his eyes, blocking out his super-focus, and hoped that this strange feeling would be gone in the morning.

Before he could even try to sleep, however, he heard Aunt May’s key enter the lock all the way from his room with a soft click. May always tried to sneak in so she wouldn’t wake him, but today, his senses wouldn’t let him ignore her presence, even though she was tiptoeing inside. He stayed curled up in a ball on his bed, hoping his aunt would just want to go to sleep and leave him alone, but she didn’t. Instead, she went into the bathroom, and it was only when Aunt May, panicked, exclaimed, “What the fuck?” that Peter realized that the mess he had made in the bathroom was still there. All the blood and vomit in there was still… Fuck, he thought.

“Peter!” she shouted; her voice was a frightening combination of terror and hysteria. “Peter! Where are—” She burst through his door, her face the epitome of fear. “Peter!” She rushed to his side, immediately wrapping her arms around him in a gentle hug. “You okay, kiddo?” Her voice was still shaking. “What happened in the bathroom? What happened to you?” She was touching the side of his face now, testing for fever, but finding only dried bloodstains and clammy skin.

Peter only shook his head and clung to her as scared, fourteen-year-old kids did, sobbing, “I d-don’t kn-know, I don’t know!”

Startled, Aunt May pulled him into her arms, sitting on the bed with him and smoothing his hair away from his forehead. “It’ll be okay,” she promised, holding him to her. “Don’t worry, kiddo, you’ll be okay.” She rubbed his back in slow circles, shushing him like she did when he was little, murmuring softly. “You’re gonna be okay.”

So Peter gripped her tightly and cried, believing every word she said.

[brahms--heelshire]

My Murderous Angel 2/? (USUK)

(A/N): I wrote this instead of sleeping. It’s chapter two, so I would recommend reading chapter one first if you want it to make sense. Trigger Warnings for killing, stabbing, and profanity.

“We’re going to need to keep on the move.” Arthur dug through my kitchen drawers, grabbing every steak knife that I had.

“Why’s that?” I asked, picking up my lucky baseball bat.

“We’re going to need our rest. If we stay in the same spot, we’ll just get constant ambushes. I don’t think we’ll be able to deal with that.” Arthur pulled holy water out of his pocket and put his shirt back on, tucking the tips of his wings into the top of his khakis.

“Ah,” I said, “so I think we should make some hotel reservations, then.”

“Sounds good,” he mumbled, concentrating on gently dropping holy water on each of the knives. He then took my baseball bat and put a few drops on there, too. He whispered something- likely a prayer- holding his hands over the weapons.

I pulled a hotel app up on my phone, reserving rooms at four different hotels for the next five days. Doubting any demons would find us on the first day, I booked the first hotel for two days. If it took longer than that to kill the demons- well, we could cross that bridge when we came to it.

When I looked back up, Arthur had finished blessing the items. He put half of the knives in his bag and the other half in mine.

“So, you ready?” I asked, holding my hand out to him.

He took my hand, holding it in his. “As soon as you are.”

And we left the house, getting into my car and driving towards the first hotel.

The drive was peaceful, despite how on edge Arthur and I were. We held hands the whole ride there, which admittedly, was not the safest. But nothing bad happened, so we assumed that we were okay.

We rushed into the hotel, checking in quickly before rushing up to our room. The top floor. That wouldn’t make it easy for a quick escape, but it did make us harder to find. I wasn’t sure whether that was good or not.

Our room was comfy. There was a short hallway leading to the bathroom, the living room, and the bedroom. The small ‘living room’ area had a couch, a desk with a swivel chair, and a TV. The bathroom was a standard bathroom, with a toilet, a shower, a mirror, and a painting on the wall. The bedroom was also standard. A king sized bed rested against the back wall, a TV facing it. A nightstand was on each side of the bed, each equipped with a lamp. One nightstand also had a phone and the TV remote on it.

Arthur pulled his shirt off, his wings fluttering once they were released.

“Well someone sure is eager,” I teased.

“Shut up! It’s just more comfortable for my wings when they’re not forced to stay stuck to my back.” Arthur gritted his teeth.

“I’m not complaining,” I said, pulling a pair of boxers out of my tote bag, “I’ll get changed for bed, then you can go, if that’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Arthur muttered, pulling some clothes out of his bag.

I went into the bathroom and changed out of my sweaty clothes into a pair of boxers that I brought to sleep in.

Making finger guns in the mirror, I strutted out, stopping where Arthur was seated.

“Okay, babe. Your turn,” I said with a grin. I gave his cheek a kiss when he stood up.

He walked into the bathroom, the green clothing in his hand bunched up in his tight grip.

I let myself into the bedroom, quickly finding a nice spot under the covers.

A few moments later, Arthur walked in and I let myself gaze at him. He wore a pair of green pajama pants and let his wings stay half-opened.

He walked over to the bed, quickly getting under the covers and snuggling close to me.

Arthur let out a content sigh, his head resting on my chest.

“Do your wings ever make your back sore?” I asked quietly, gently petting the feathers of his wings.

“Sometimes,” Arthur mumbled, “They’re not too heavy. It’s fine”

I kissed the top of his head. “Aw. Do you need me to work out the knots? I’m a licensed masseuse.”

“It’s really fine,” Arthur said, sounding sleepy, “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, a little,” I said. Truth was, I skipped dinner in the whole rush with getting Arthur out of the door.

“Go ahead. Order some room service. I brought my credit card.” Arthur yawned, snuggling even closer to me. He continued to do so until he was practically lying on top of me.

I checked the menu, before picking the phone up and hitting the button for room service. “Hey, could I get a cheeseburger without the cheese.”

“Will that be it for you, sir?” The voice on the other end of the call asked.

I glanced at Arthur, who was still lying on my chest. I wasn’t sure that he’d want anything to eat, but I did know one thing that would perk him up. “Uh, could I also get a bottle of old tom gin?”

Arthur’s face lit up and my heart leapt in my chest.

“Okay sir, that will be $58.79,” the voice said, “Is that okay?”

“Yes. Thank you,” I said, enunciating my words.

“What room?”

“Room 954.”

“Okay, sir.” The employee hung up.

“Oh shit, I forgot to ask how long that will take to get here,” I mumbled as I put the phone back on its stand.

“Just sleep. The knocking will wake one of us when it does get here,” Arthur said, pulling one of my arms until it was wrapped around him.

So I did.

We woke to the sound of knocking.

“I’ll just let myself in, sir. To bring you your food.” The voice came through the door. It didn’t sound natural, though. My suspicions were only confirmed when Arthur’s head whipped up. He pulled a knife out of his bag.

We looked at each other when we heard the door open. After a few moments, there was a demon in front of us.

“Lovino,” Arthur hissed.

“I’ll have you know that I actually made your idiot boyfriend’s hamburger,” Lovino told Arthur.

“Oh shut up,” Arthur said.

Lovino lunged for me and scraped my arm with his nails. It- ironically- stung like hell. I gripped it tightly, hoping that the slight compression would help ease the pain, but it did nothing for me.

But I saw the change in Arthur’s eyes when he saw the blood dripping from the deep wound in my arm. I saw the way that Arthur immediately looked as though he were on the offensive instead of the defensive. Arthur was Pissed with a capital P. Arthur had always been protective of me- which I guess might’ve just been angel instinct?- but in that moment, he was filled with pure rage.

“Arthur, when we’re done with you’ll wish you were never born,” Lovino taunted.

Arthur lunged at Lovino, stabbing every part of the demon that he could reach.

“Die, fucking scum,” Arthur spat, getting Lovino’s blood on his chest and pajama pants as he stabbed the demon.

The blessed knife burnt every part of the demon’s flesh that it touched. Once Arthur was done with him, there was barely any of the demon left. Arthur picked up the last of the demon’s body, opened the window, and threw it as far as he could.

It was, to say the least, a gruesome sight. I felt the adrenaline wearing off. All I could think was that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to kill if it came down to it. Even if they were demons, they just looked like people with wings and horns. I didn’t think I could kill anything. Fuck, I cried when Arthur killed a spider in my room. Because as terrified as I was, that was still a life.

“We need to go,” Arthur said.

“Okay,” I replied, practically breathless.

He dug deep into his bag until he found some bandages to wrap my arm with. He held my arm in his hand, gently applying cream and pressing bandages on tightly.

Then we grabbed the rest of our stuff and he took my hand, dragging me down the staircase under the veil of night. We ended up in my car again.

“Arthur, where will we go? I had us there for two nights.” I looked on my phone to see if any hotels nearby had open rooms.

“Don’t worry. I know someplace safe we can stay for a night.” He gave me a wink and snatched my phone, typing an address into the GPS.

[gaarasgoddess]

Welcome to Suna - part 4

Welcome to Suna. Where the lights never die and the fun never stops. Sakura and Ino lie to their parents to spend a wild weekend in a forbidden city. Will they regret it? Or will they both find something worth coming for?Main pairing is GaaraxSakura and side InoxKankuro.[Listening to 1989 album by Taylor Swift.]

Chapter summary: Gaara is attentive during Sakura’s first ever hangover. Fluffy.

[Please read previous parts first. part 1 and part 2 and part 3.]

.x.

.

Sakura woke with her face pressed into her pillow, her hair unkempt and a warm arm casually stretched out over her back. She did not realise immediately that she was flat on her stomach as the pain in her head hit her first. It was a reminder of what she’d done the night before and how it was her first time drinking excessively. But the reminder was slow coming as she was still half asleep.

Sakura didn’t or couldn’t open her eyes - she didn’t even try but knew she would fail. Her eyelids were heavy and her body was exhausted. She felt like she’d run a marathon.

Did everyone feel like this after over indulging?

She remembered the drinks and the fingers inside her; the kisses and orgasms. But the face of her first time lover was hazy, along with the details of how far they’d gone. She focused on the pain in her body, moving her hips slightly to make sure the soreness was not coming from between her legs.

Thank-fully, it didn’t feel like she’d gone too far in her drunken state. But the feeling was still of having been touched and despite the pain, Sakura silently reveled the memories that were slowly coming back to her. She was still left with the residual feeling of his fingers inside her. Every inch of her body that he’d touched was humming in the aftermath, even hours later.

As she managed to move her head slightly, the body next to her shifted, the warm arm disappearing from her for a few seconds before fingers began trailing down her back gently. A warm kiss to her arm, up her shoulder, and finally on her neck. She moaned softly in both contentment and confusion.

He was next to her, Gaara.

Sakura remembered his face now. Beautiful and well-shaven; his attractiveness wasn’t like those boys she’d fawned over in magazines and on the internet. But he was alluring and handsome, despite this.

Gaara.

Sakura moaned again, pushing herself to roll away from Gaara’s ministrations but internally complaining when he removed his hand. His fingers had been warm and comforting. But she needed to see if he was still the same person she fell asleep next to. In his bed, it seemed.

Amused, light green eyes met hers as she blinked at him, trying to bring his face into focus.

“Morning, sleepy head.” Gaara leant forward and kissed her forehead gently.

“Hm.”

Gaara smirked and she realised his face was only inches from hers. But she didn’t panic and quite liked the way he was looking at her.

“I’d kiss you but morning breath is really bad. Don’t want to turn you off kissing me later,” he said when she frowned, and lifted a hand to brush at her hair. “You look beautiful in the morning. I kind of don’t care that you haven’t brushed your teeth..”

Sakura shook her head reflexively then regretted it when her vision swam. She groaned. It felt like everything she’d eaten and drunk in the last twenty-four hours was trying to come back up.

Gaara’s hand fell to her shoulder and he steadied her as she swayed, even laying down.

“If you need to throw up, I have an en suite.”

“Can’t move,” she muttered. If she did move, the world would spin.

Gaara kissed her forehead again. “Come on.” He climbed out of the bed and walked around it to her side before gently rolling her toward him and helping her to sit up.

Sakura closed her eyes out of necessity and let him help her. She wondered deliriously if he was going to hold her hair for her as she threw up - and why he didn’t seem to be hung over. But Gaara merely helped her to the bathroom and left with the promise of bringing back breakfast.

Alone and crouching next to the pristine, porcelain toilet, Sakura finally looked around the room. This bathroom was the size of her bedroom back home! There was room for a shower, bath/jacuzzi, a huge built in cupboard, vanity, second closet, above average toilet, second sink, and ample floor space for multiple people.

Where the hell am I?

Her memories from last night were still fuzzy but she remembered coming into Gaara’s house through a side entrance and a carpeted staircase and... maybe a portrait the size of a door...?

Ugh. She’d conveniently forgotten how rich it seemed Gaara’s parents were. She didn’t want to think about that - or them. Hopefully she was right with her assumption that he had an entire wing to himself and she would never have to meet the mother and father of the boy she wanted to lose her virginity to.

Sakura felt herself blush and sway at those thoughts. While she was glad he hadn’t taken advantage of her the night before, she still wanted to play this little adventure out. Never mind that Ino would want to know she’d been ‘broken in’ and that. She wanted something to brag about. And Gaara was a gorgeous, sweet and helpful way to making that happen.

She sighed. Her stomach was settling and Sakura didn’t feel like throwing up anymore. Was it usual to not throw up when you drunk this much? She didn’t know. She groaned and tried to stand up but didn’t get far before resigning herself to waiting a little more. Maybe Gaara wouldn’t be too long and would help her again.

When her vision was better, Sakura tried again and found herself slowly walking back into the bedroom. Still alone, she decided to investigate Gaara’s room. If the bathroom was the size of her bedroom, then this room was the size of five of her bedrooms. Or maybe six, she didn’t care.

The four poster bed she’d jumped into the night before was large enough for an orgy... she shook her head of that image and tried to force down her blush. She was going to leave Suna as a deviant for sure. Back in Konoha, she’d never have had that thought.

She admired Gaara’s walk-in-wardrobe, the armoire styled furniture, desk, and other embellishments. She had been in Naruto’s bedroom, back home, and his walls had been covered in ninja and anime posters; his ceiling lit up with glow in the dark stickers with the light out.

But Gaara’s room was immaculate, except for a crumpled shirt and her own hand bag. It was probably his parents doing, or a maid, but she felt uncomfortable now - Gaara was from a world she could never be good enough for. What was she doing with him? And what did he see in her? Surely it wasn’t just to get laid? The daughter of a rich man would satisfy just as much, right?

Feeling sorry for herself, Sakura threw herself back onto the bed but this time stared up at the canopy.

What am I doing here?

Morose thoughts continue until Gaara opened the door and Sakura turned her head to watch him walk in, closing the door. He hadn’t changed clothes or anything but he did look more put together than he was fifteen minutes ago.

He gave a questioning look at the sour expression on her face but said nothing.

“Hot, fried food. Bacon, egss, tomato, onion if you like it. Up you get,” he said, placing the tray of food next to the bed and tugged on her gently. “It’s the hangover cure.”

Smiling, Sakura sat up, reaching out for Gaara as she swayed again. He held her hand as she scooted over to the edge of the bed.

“Thanks,” she mumbled shyly and he grinned.

“You’re welcome, beautiful.”

She flushed and surveyed the food before digging in. It was delicious. She thought for a moment how it tasted fried by a chef but stopped herself from saying it out loud. Gaara picked at some of the food, but kept glancing at her from time to time as they ate in silence. She felt really uncomfortable about that.

The food was good enough to keep going and Sakura finished it off in no time.

She wiped at her mouth with a serviette and washed the food down with a glass of juice, feeling like she was living an opulent lifestyle. It was so strange. Everything was so delicious.

Sakura glanced at Gaara, wanting to break the silence. “It’s ..a nice house.”

“And it’s only the east wing,” he said. “You haven’t seen all of the estate, yet.”

Yet?

“Done?”

Sakura nodded and he stood - he’d sat down next to her - before pulling her up.

“Let’s get our mouths washed so I can continue kissing you again.”

She blushed and reflexively swatted his arm which only made him smirk wider.

When the tooth brush finally left her mouth, and the mouth wash was down the sink, and Sakura had cleaned up her face, and Gaara was also done, he growled.

“Finally.” He cupped the back of her head with his hand and pulled her to him.

The kiss started off soft but intensified when he started suckling and licking, his mouth slanted over hers, his head bobbing in time with his enthusiasm. Sakura gave back just as hard, encircling his head with her arms and tugging on his hair.

Gaara groaned into her mouth, pressing his hips into hers and backing her against the bathroom sink for support. She felt him harden in his pants as he started brushing his hands down her sides and along the underside of her breasts. It was coming to life so fast she was embarrassed!

He was excited and she felt light and happy at the feel of his body pressed against her even as their mouths attacked each other. She loved his kisses - the perfect balance between wet and dry. She loved his hands - so warm and sensual and still large and so masculine as they explored her body.

When he admitted defeat and finally pulled away, Gaara’s right hand started stroking her hair and his left flicked her nipple, eliciting a groan from her.

Gaara kissed her lips chastely even as he smirked into her mouth and his left hand began to arouse her breast. “So, what shall we do with ourselves now?”

.

[mskagome123]

The Raven Part 2

My morning was slow, even the taxi ride over to Loki's apartment. I was still tired but I had a job to do. Most of the ride was spent with me in a whirlwind of confusion from last night.

The sun cast shadows over the tall building as I paid and climbed out of the car. The building was tall and made of brick. I used the key at the front door and it opened to older walls painted a brownish yellow and stairs. I looked around for an elevator but there were none to be found. With a huff, I started up the stairs.

After making my way around the fairly large building on the third floor, I noticed that there were eight apartments on each floor, meaning I would have to go up one more flight of stairs.

“Hopefully, I get used to this,” I mumbled, already ready to go home.

“Are you new here?”

I turned around to the voice behind me and nearly jumped out of my skin. A man had his head out of a doorway. His hair was short and a dark brown, kind of shaggy. His eyes matched and looked at me with a smile.

“Ah. No. Sorry if I disturbed you. I’m a cleaner for number twenty-seven.”

He huffed, but not in a way that would make it sound like he was angry at me. More like I was in for something.

“That guy is strange. Be careful up there. If you need any help, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I know him,” No, you don’t, “But thanks anyway.”

“Not a problem.”

Then he disappeared back in the doorway, the door closing behind him. I turned back to my mission and climbed the last flight of stairs. The floor was like any other and so I made my way around, looking for his apartment. When I made it, I noticed the seven had no top screw, causing the seven to fall upside down.

“That’s reassuring,” I mumbled again as I slipped the key into the door.

The place wasn’t particularly messy when I stepped inside. There was a lot of boxes around, making me think he just moved in recently. I sat my bag on the floor and looked around. Despite the hall, the apartment looked newly renovated and the furniture made it look modern. I trailed the apartment slowly, trying to make a list of what needed to be done.

The kitchen was the big mess, with dishes in the sink and others all over the place. There were piles of trash in the corner and, in noticing the electricity wasn’t working, I ran to the fridge. Inside was a lot of the food I had seen last night, although rather moldy.

I closed the fridge before I could puke up my breakfast.

“He’s a pig!”

It took me time and a lot of willpower to clean the kitchen. After I opened the fridge, I couldn’t get the smell out of my nose. So it was the first thing I cleaned. I threw the food away, which filled another bag, and cleaned it out until it was sparkling. After, I took the four bags of garbage in my hands and slowly made my way to the front door. It was antagonizing and left me with my arms wanting to fall off but I grabbed the keys and made it even more slowly out of the apartment building.

It was a long time before I made it down the four flights of stairs and even longer to find the trash bins. I thanked the heavens it was winter and the cold was cooling the sweat that covered my body.

I was thankful until I slipped. My shoe caught a patch of ice and my body came crashing down and my head smacked against the concrete. Immediately, I felt sick and I left the garbages next to the bin, not having the strength to carry them up. My head ached and I clutched on the wall to get back inside.

Get to the third floor. Get to the third floor.

I climbed the stairs slowly and a sound of ringing came to my ears. On the third floor, I knocked on the door the man was at before.

“Woah. Hey. Are you alright? You look pale.”

I shook my head. “I fell and hit my head.”

“Oh shit. Come in. Come in.”

He helped me to the couch and the smell of something baking hit me in the face.

“I’ll get my first aid kit, okay? Don’t fall asleep.” I nodded as I tried to focus my eyes on something.

I need to tell Loki.

Would he care?

The man returned with a box and I looked at him.

“I’m going to check to see if you are bleeding or not, okay?”

I nodded and sat forward so he could look at my head. There was pain and I winced as he probed at it.

“You are bleeding a bit. Won’t need any stitches, thankfully.”

“Are you a doctor or something?”

I heard him chuckle. “A nurse actually.”

“Good thing I remembered where you lived then, huh?”

“Yes actually. You can sit up now.”

I did as he said and he held two pills and a glass of water. “Some painkillers. They aren’t strong but they should last you until you can get home. Drink that whole glass too. ”

“I have to go do my job. There's a lot to do.”

“Text your boss and tell him you can’t finish today because you have a concussion and you need to rest.”

I laughed. “It’s my first day on the job. That sounds like a terrible idea, nurse guy. What is your name, by the way?”

“James. And if you refuse then I’m going to have to go with you.”

“Okay.”

“Fine. We will go when you are ready.”

I nodded and after a moment, I began to stand up. I fought both nausea and dizziness as I made my way over to the door. My body felt heavy and I felt James’ arms as they touched my arm and my back. My vision changed, blurring the door ahead of me.

“I can’t. I want to throw up.”

He helped me to the bathroom and I gave him my phone at his request.

“What’s he under,” he asked as I bent down at the toilet.

“Loki,” I said before my breakfast came up.

“Is this Loki,” I heard James say, “Hi. This is James from downstairs at apartment seventeen. I am aware that this is Stephanie’s phone. She is unable to clean today due to her slipping and hitting her head. Yes. I am a nurse and she is in good hands. Oh?”

There was a knock at the door and I pulled away from the toilet in time to hear James open it.

“Mr. Loki, sir? She’s in the bathroom.”

“I’m going to take her home.”

I felt a soft tug as someone pulled me into their arms.

“My purse has my keys in it,” I said softly, “It's in your apartment.”

“You know we have no need for that,” not to me, he added, “What does she need to do at home?”

“She needs to sleep and relax but she needs to be monitored, in case she has any troubles. And keep her hydrated.”

“Thank you.”

Loki held me close as he exited James’ apartment.

“Feel better, Stephanie. Let me know when you do.”

“I will. Thank you.” I smiled down at him and Loki turned away to walk down the stairs.

“Close your eyes. This will be worse than last time.”

I closed them and the shift twisted wrongly in my stomach. I was thankful when my feet hit the ground in the kitchen since I was able to dry heave into the sink. Almost nothing came up since I had already barfed my breakfast just a few moments ago.

Loki stood awkwardly beside me, his hand on my back.

“Get a cup from behind you please,” I said, turning on the faucet.

He did, handing me a tall glass. I thanked him and filled it with water from the tap. I drank the full glass before stepping away.

“Let lay you down.”

“I know what James said but you don’t have to stay. I’m fine on my own.”

We went to the couch and he sat at the end. “And if you didn’t wake up and vomited and died, you’d expect me to live with that?”

“People die,” I said morbidly, sitting at the other end of the couch, “It wouldn’t be your fault.”

He pulled on my arm until I moved closer to him, laying my head on his lap. “God’s don’t die so I’d have to live with something like that my whole existence,” he said, laying a blanket from the back of the couch over me, “And I’m not prepared to live with your death on my conscious.”

He can’t be fretting over me.

“Or any other humans?”

“No. Just yours. Now go to sleep.”

What he said confused me. Does he care or not?

I fell asleep with that thought on my brain.

“You aren't meant to be alive. Did you know that? Your dad forced me to have you. You weren't supposed to be here. I was going to be famous.”

“She doesn't eat.”

“I dare you to give her something to eat.”

“Why is she still alive?”

I jerked up suddenly. Loki's lap was replaced with a pillow and the sun had fallen for the night. At the sight of movement, I jerked my head toward the kitchen. Loki was focusing on something before but was looking at me now, worried.

“You're sweating. Are you alright?”

I thought for a moment before nodding. It was just a dream. Those people weren't here.

“I'm making some dinner. Would you like some?”

“Did you go to the store or something? I don't have any toward

I need to go to the store.

I stood slowly, making sure to keep myself from getting dizzy. I was feeling loads better from earlier.

“No. I just found some cans in the cupboard.”

I walked over to the empty cans and fought the urge to laugh. “You do realize Chef Boyardee Spaghetti O's, black beans and chicken and rice soup doesn't go together in a pot, right?”

“No?”

He motioned towards the large pot on the stove, which had a strange orange color to it.

“Okay. This looks like a disaster. We can just order food. Please get out of my kitchen.”

He lifted the knife he was using to cut the last of the celery. “But it's almost done.”

“Put the knife down. Please.”

He did as I asked and moved from the kitchen. I cleaned up, trashing the makeshift soup that wasn't even heating on the stove, and only ate a few bites of the celery before putting it into a bowl and tossing it in the fridge.

He was looking at my books, which kept him preoccupied him as I ordered a pizza.

“Have you ever had pizza,” I asked him as I hang up.

“Yes. It was edible.”

“Good. We have one on the way. Now I ask, no more cooking unless you follow a recipe and learn to turn in the stove.”

He only nodded, despite looking to argue. “Actually I can't stay. I have a date.”

I gave him a look of confusion.

A date? I guess that clears feelings up.

“A date? Then please be on the way.”

“Is something wrong?”

I had turned away from him but I turned back. “No. Nothing is wrong.”

I could feel his eyes move around as I did, following me. I grabbed the phone and called back the pizza place to cancel it.

I had mostly conquered my eating disorder but I still struggled.

“Why are you canceling? You need to eat.”

“I have celery. I was buying it to spare you of eating your own cooking.”

He frowned. “Celery is not enough for you. You need to eat something more.”

“You need to get ready for your date, God of mischief.”

I sat at the end of my couch and curled around a pillow.

“I will see you tomorrow then, at the apartment.”

Fuck. My purse.

“I need my purse. Would you be able to-”

As if a blink of an eye, he disappeared and reappeared, bag in hand.

“Thanks,” I said slowly, grabbing my purse and setting it next to me.

“You're welcome, Stephanie.”

He bent down to kiss my head but I moved.

“Don't.”

He looked visibly hurt and I almost regretted not taking the kiss. “As you wish.”

He disappeared again and something in me broke. Tears fell from my eyes and I felt like melting away. I turned more into the pillow.

I don't care.

But I did. And it hurt. He's so nonchalant.

“It's pointless,” I say to myself, forcing it out as I cried, “he was only helping a jobless woman out.”

That was it wasn't it. I was one of those girls that though a man liked them when they were just being nice.

With that realization, my crying slowed and the dark thoughts lingered.

Of course, he isn't interested. Who would be? You should just disappear. You weren't meant to be born.

I forced myself up then. If I stayed on the couch, my night would get progressively worse. I needed to do something. So I went to the kitchen, grabbed my last full bottle of wine, and made my way to the corner of the living room, where I had an empty art easel and several empty canvases. I picked a few colors from the shelf and placed them on the plate of already dried paint.

I took a few drinks of wine and lifted my paint brush. The wine settled uncomfortably in my empty stomach but I sat the feeling aside and began painting.

It was half a bottle of wine later that I realized what I was painting. It was a Raven in a state of grey. Under one of its talons was a black handkerchief with a green and gold l.

I stepped back when I was done. It was beautiful. Prettier than my other works. Carefully, I took it from the easel and sat it on the kitchen counter to dry.

The wine didn't last much longer after that and I called back the pizza place to order. Getting drunk made me hungry and I knew it was a good idea to eat.

When the door had rung, I stood up to get it and the dizziness ensued.

But I felt fine.

“I'll be right there,” I said as I slowly made my way to the door.

It was moving, it seemed, laughing at my inability to travel from the couch to it. My vision blurred too, almost not seeing it at all.

“No. No.”

I felt sick and as the man at the door was pounding on it, I fell to the floor and began throwing up the wine I had previously drank on the floor. The door was broken down, I think but I had collapsed by them, seeing only a shadowy figure.

There was beeping, something steady and calm. My body was encased in something soft and warm. I didn't want to move. A knock came to a door and I heard it open.

“Has she woken yet,” a familiar woman voice asked to someone in the room.

“No. The doctor says it's from the alcohol she drank. She wasn't fully recovered from a concussion.”

That was Loki's voice. He sounded so strange. I'd say worried if I didn't know any better.

“Were you with her before?”

I didn't hear an answer.

“And you left her? No wonder she drank.” There was a pause before Pepper swore. “Did she eat at all?”

“Last night, she had barely eaten and I'm not sure about this morning. She was throwing up when I saw her first today and I hadn't seen her eat before I left her.”

Pepper's steps echoed the room. She was nearing me.

“If you are around her, you have to help her eat. When we were younger, she was hospitalized from refusing to eat. Something her mother instilled in her.”

Loki was silent.

I slowly opened my eyes and immediately watched the relief wash over Pepper's face. She sat beside me, wiping a tear away from her cheek.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“I feel like I got hit in the head with a bat,” I grumbled back, my throat raw and dry.

Dramatic.

“You took a nasty blow yesterday and the lack of food in your system only made it worse. Plus the alcohol. What were you thinking?”

“Like I had a shitty day and wanted to drink and paint.”

“Stephanie…”

“I'm fine, Pepper. I'll be fine just like all the other times.”

“This is worse than any other time. You could've died from bleeding in the brain or alcohol poisoning or starving yourself,” Pepper stopped to sigh, standing, “I'm going to go get the doctor okay? And your breakfast should be up soon. Loki will make sure you eat.”

He had been silent, just leaning on the wall beside the bed. Pepper kissed my forehead and left the room, leaving us alone. We fell into an uncomfortable silence.

“Why do you do that to yourself?”

So it speaks. I looked at him, my face only showing a tired expression.

“Do what?”

“Why do you stop eating?”

I sighed. “There was a period in my life where I would look in the mirror and see what others thought of me. 'She's too ugly’, ‘Shes so fat” or in my mother's case, ‘You were never meant to be on this Earth and you should just willow away’. So eventually I did.”

“You know they are wrong, don't you?”

“That doesn't make it any easier to deal with. Those thoughts are still there, instilled in my brain. Pepper thinks it was all my mother's doing but everybody whispers things like that around me.”

I showed him my arms, which were scarred from years of self-harm. He slowly drew closer, sitting by me to take my arms in his hands. His thumbs ran across them slightly and I could feel the warmth on the raised flesh. After a moment, he ran his thumb along a straight line that fell parallel to my arm.

“This one is different,” he whispered.

He wasn't showing much emotion, simply observing. If we weren't talking about one of the darkest times of my life, I would have smiled.

“That was the scar that nearly cost me my life. Pepper found me in our dorm. My mother had just visited, only to give me the last of my things. I loved her, despite her hatred of me. That was the last time I saw her.”

He drew his hands close to mine and covered my hands with his. His eyes looked up to my face.

“You aren't a waste. You are beautiful and you always were. No one can take that away from you.”

I nearly choked hiding back the tears. Besides Pepper, no one had said anything like that to me. And it was somehow easier to believe from him.

“You didn't know me before,” was all I could muster as tears fell down my face.

“I know you now and that's all that matters.”

Without thinking, I pulled him into a hug and he sat stunned for a moment before closing his arms around me. I cried into his chest, causing my headache to worsen. He combed his hand through my hair softly and I only clutched onto him tighter.

He thinks every girl is beautiful. It's not like he gives more than a damn about you.

Stop it. Just stop it. This is enough. To know he cares is enough.

I pulled away from him slowly, mumbling a sorry for ruining his black shirt, which he was still wearing from the last time I saw him. I gave him a look.

“Who found me?”

“I did. I was checking on you but when I found you, you were on the verge of passing out.”

I grumbled, laying back in the bed. He saw me passed out in a literal bed of wine. That's nice.

He hadn't let go of my hand, I noticed, even as a knock came to the door and a kind woman brought a tray of food in. She spoke something about a 'soup of the day’ and made her way back out.

Great. It's soup.

I lifted the cover for the food and it was, in fact, soup. Chicken soup by the look of it. There was also a too-small portion of apple juice and a strawberry sugar-free Jello. I sighed and picked up the spoon. Before I dipped it in, I noticed Loki staring at me.

“You don't have to watch me when I eat. Pepper just meant by 'help’, it's more like a 'check after I eat to make sure I did’ sort of thing. ”

“You heard that?”

“Yes. From when she came in at least.”

“Can I ask you something, then?”

I took a sip of the broth and nodded.

“Why was she not surprised you drank after me telling her I left you alone.”

I stopped. I didn't expect that question and I wasn't sure how to answer. “It's not important.”

He had dropped my hand a moment ago and was now running it through his hair. He stood and began to pace to the wall my bed faced and back, his hands in a prayer-like position in front of his lips. I stayed quiet, just watching his movements.

“You were passed out covered in regurgitated wine when I found you. Did I force you to drink? Because if this was my fault I want to know.”

I stayed silent. I felt pathetic now for how I reacted then but I couldn't take it back and I certainly didn't want him to know.

“WAS IT ME?”

My fork had lifted then and flew across the room to stick in the wall. I jumped and the look on my face make him look down in almost horror at himself.

“Yes. But no,” I said, hiding my shaking hands under the blankets, “It was just a way I reacted to something that you did. Because I thought something else was happening when it wasn't and so when nothing did, I became disappointed in myself. So it wasn't you. It was just my image… of you.”

“What do you mean?”

I looked out the window beside my bed and tried to focus on the small dotted pattern from the shades in front of it. “ I thought that you cared about me in a romantic way and when you went on a date, that image in my head broke and I reacted badly. It wasn't your doing but my own,” I looked back at him, “Please don't blame yourself.”

He was looking at me, his brows furrowed as if he was completely oblivious to what I was talking about.

“I don't know how to act with you,” was all he said as he moved back over to me and sat on the chair close to me.

I didn't look at him and took another drink of the soup in front of me. “Act however you want to act with me, Loki.”

“I. Can't.”

All at once, he disappeared, the fork fell and a knock came to my door. I looked up from my soup and tears welled in my eyes. Wiping them away, I was greeted with Pepper once again and another familiar face.

James.

[blueraspberrymilkshake]

#kymanweek ~ Day 2: Fight

A/N: I know I'm late, but while I was writing this I wanted to add a few things to make the story a bit more interesting. At least I've finally contributed to this amazing week! Enjoy reading!

@kymanweek

~x~

Kyle laid back against the wall with a cup of pina-colada in his right palm (although he was forced to ‘take his damn foot off the wall’, barked Clyde himself; it took him and Mr. Donovan years to afford this kick-ass house, and he wanted to keep it as neat as possible before his dad gets back from vacation). He was also talking to Token, who said was glad he was at a decent party that doesn't take place in his parents’ mansion, but at the same time questioned Clyde's contradicting decisions; he loved his new home, but he practically invited half of the students at Park County High for a fucking house party, what did he expect to happen? Token then said he would be back because he left something in his car, before heading towards the front door.

After Token left, Kyle looked around the room. The entire Junior class were here; one group lounged near the snack table and gossiped, another group toured around the Donovan’s residence by themselves, and a few of the teens were even attempting to flirt. The entire room has an eerily feel, the only source for light was on the ceiling, dimmed down enough so any noisy neighbors walking through the house wouldn't have to see a group of underage teenagers drink alcohol, get high off crack, or make out near the kitchen. Speaking of which, that was almost exactly what some of his classmates were doing; Clyde was livid when he caught Jason White and his crew cutting cocaine with a razor, let alone at the coffee table. Not to mention Annie Knitts and Bradley Biggle seemingly going second base upstairs in his dad’s own bathroom. He kicked all of them out of the house respectively.

Kyle took a long sip of his pina-colada before slightly tilting his head back against the wall, taking up some mediocre pop song that was playing on the radio. He didn't really want to come here; besides the huge History test sometime next week, only Cartman of all people decided to bother showing up (not that Kyle minded at this point). Stan bailed on them for a movie date with Wendy, and Kenny practically protested to stay with his sister for the night. It had been months since all four of them hung out together, and as adulthood lurks their consciousness - like a fog on a gelid October morning - there was no need to wait another minute before the group part ways. Kyle then realized that Cartman wandered off shortly after grabbing a new bag of chips off of Clyde's dining room table, and the redhead was talking to Token for about twenty minutes. Kyle cursed under his breath and stared at his half-empty drink, considering that from now on he and the rest of the boys need to plan properly; because when they don't, things usually backfire and at the end of the day no one would be happy.

We have got to be more prepared. Anything could happen...

Suddenly, a group of three unrecognizable faces ganged-up on Kyle, the first guy yelling “Yo, fuckface.” Kyle turned around; but before he could say anything else, the guy got closer and pushed him, causing the redhead to stumble backwards, spilling his lukewarm drink on his jacket and fingers. He looked up and glared at Douchebag 1; who was some pretentious blonde football player named Mark, wearing his stupid green Letterman jacket (he was apparently on the same team with Clyde and Stan, but neither of them payed a whole lot attention to him).

Speak of the Goddamn Devil…

He and Kyle never liked each other, especially since the time the latter rightfully told on the blonde for catching him threatening one of the school geeks. According to the Rules of Douchebaggery, doing said act on a school jock wouldn't get you a beating; the very least you'll get is said jock humiliating you every chance he gets. There was something that Kyle did to be on top of Mark’s death list, too bad the former didn't know what it was.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Kyle shouted, getting off the ground and stomped towards Mark, refusing to back down. The room was getting silent, and Clyde was screaming at the boys to ‘stop all this roughhousing bullshit!’ before he was shoved away by Douchebags 2 and 3.

“Don't play innocent, dipshit,” the blonde snarled. And just like that he punched Kyle square in the jaw. Kyle stumbled towards the dining room table and was yanked by the collar by Mark. The redhead kneed him in the balls, causing him to shout in agony, before grabbing him by the back and waist, flipping the athlete to the ground. Kyle tried holding him down before taking a blow on the back the head, nearly losing consciousness as he was shoved back to the ground. Behind Mark was one of the other guys holding a solid metal stool at the legs, and Kyle quickly held his arms to his face as Mark continued punching him with an audible growl. Mark's crew then backed him up and attacked Kyle; and the redhead screamed and squirmed as he felt balled-up fists and steel-toed boots invading his entire body. Kyle felt helpless; it was no use, it was three against one. At this rate, all he could do was give in to the world of pain, and give to the screams of fear from the other teens in the room, who were either yelling at the gang to stop, or running away from this terrifying moment.

This is it. I'm going to fucking die.

Then it happened. One of the guys let out a yelp as he was pulled away, the dim lights inside the living room returning to Kyle’s eyes. His arms were still covering his face, even after Douchebag 2 ran towards the boy who would save Kyle's life. Kyle seized the opportunity, and grabbed Mark by the back of his neck and with all his strength, he punched him straight in the eye, making the blond throw his head back with a shout. He got off of Mark, and turned around to see Cartman, screaming a colorful sorts of profanities as he slammed Douchebag 2 to the table; meanwhile the third Douchebag was on the floor, barely recovering from Cartman's chokehold.

“Cartman!” shouted Kyle, as he ran to the other teen. Cartman threw Douchebag 2 to the floor, and glanced at Kyle with slightly knit eyebrows and glossy eyes, before carefully taking his hand, “You okay?”

Kyle let out a weak cry, and took his hand away with a hiss. Cartman stared at Kyle's hand; the skin turned red from all of the punching, and his knuckles were slotted with wet stains of blood. Just a second later he turns to see Mark running towards him and Kyle. “Look out!”

Before Kyle could register what was happening, Cartman got in front of him and grabbed Mark by the wrists, turning the blonde around and slamming him against the wall. One of them knocked over a lamp, causing it to fall and dissolve to glassed bits. “Who the fu-” Mark muted for a second and squirmed against the brunette, but Cartman kept his wrists against the wall. But seeing that the blonde showed no fear, and his face was an eerily red from anger, there was no telling if he would surrender. “Who the fuck are you supposed to be? His boyfriend?”

Before Cartman could say anything, he felt Kyle touch him in the shoulder, “Cartman, we have to leave now.” The redhead’s voice cracked a bit, and he glanced at Clyde calling the police department. “Eric, please,” he pleaded, shaking the other boy a little, before he felt Cartman shift stiffly. The brunette continued to stare grimly at Mark, who then smirked at the two before letting out a dark chuckle. As Kyle and Cartman hurried towards the front door (with Kyle having to drag the other boy out of his trance), the jock murmured with malice, “See you queers later…”

~x~

“Ow! Fuck!”

“Shit, sorry dude. Here. Let me do it slower.”

Kyle nodded before Cartman tried again - he dabbed the redhead’s open wound with the alcohol-induced cotton swab in swift motion - not pressing too hard, but enough for the swab to collect bits of Kyle's blood.

The drive back to the Broflovski residence was over a half-hour. The second the two step foot into the empty house they had made their way into the family bathroom, and Cartman insisted Kyle to relax on top of the toilet seat while he got a stool nearby. They haven't talked much as Kyle was getting treated, and instead the redhead stared at Cartman as he took a bandage out the First Aid kit. The brunette apparently took his coat off before he came back, with Kyle's own jacket folded up and placed at one side of the bathtub. Just like his companion, he has bruises on his debauched arms and face. Kyle’s lips were still sealed shut; not wanting to disturb the peaceful silence, but also wanted to know what the brunette was doing before the fight.

As if he read his mind, Cartman finally spoke up, “I caught Token smoking in his car and decided to talk to him for a bit.”

‘Huh. So he was outside Clyde's house the whole time,’ thought the other boy. Though to be fair, Kyle wasn't paying too much attention with his own timing.

“Then he brought up that Mark kid for some reason, apparently he used to hang out with him and his other friends everyday after football practice. But after a while it turns out that they only wanted Token for his money; surprise, surprise. So Token dropped him like an expired Taco Bell coupon. And then one day after school Mark and those asskissers tried to beat him up, and Token said that he was wrongly accused for sneaking a bag of crack near Mark's stuff in the locker room. Mark was suspended shortly after the investigation, and he's been physically violent ever since.” He punctuated his monologue by placing a bandage on Kyle's last visible wound.

“It turns out that the bag of weed belong to neither Mark or Token, and someone was fucking with Mark's feelings without him knowing it. You remember Chad, right?”

“You mean the shitstain who hit me with a stool? Yeah, I remember…” Kyle reached for the back of his head again to make sure it wasn't bleeding. Thank God that blow didn't do too much damage.

“Well a few weeks ago Token was heading home when he caught Chad smoking marijuana near the train tracks. It's been only five days since Mark was permanently kicked off the football team…”

“Jesus Christ,” whispered Kyle. The fact that a close friend of the former football player was ruining his life as they speak, for shits and giggles nonetheless, was incredibly low.

“Those guys were on your ass for too long, Kyle. And I...shit. I wish I would've known sooner, before they got their dirty hands on you…” the brunette stopped for a moment to cover his eyes with his right hand.

Kyle shifted closer to the other boy, “Eric…”, he then tried to pry Cartman's chubby hands away from his face, and the first thing he saw were sky blue orbs, wet with his own tears. Kyle caught one drop with his thumb and wiped it away, all while examining Cartman’s face. There was no permanent damage; but the small blotches were still there (they were most noticeable below his right eye and left cheek) along with the small, bright red daub just below his nose. He kissed the first healing scar, making sure his lips doesn't press fully on it, before moving to his nose. Cartman decided to loosen up, accepting the redhead’s reverence. He froze completely when those full, chapped lips pressed against his, and once he was sentient again he parted his own mouth to deepen the kiss.

How did we come this far? Then, we fought each other, but now, we fight together…

Talk about irony.

There was no guarantee if they would stick together on the long run, but they would not use this time to worry about the probability. They have each other to count on, and as long as they stick together, everything would be alright.

No matter what happens, we'll both be okay. We'll all be okay.

In the meantime though, they needed a good explanation about all of this when Mr. Donovan comes home.