#if this image hadn’t been so blurry I would have used it

[writingmingyu]

Put a Shirt On, Kim Mingyu

Pairings: FuckBoy!Mingyu x afab!reader Summary: Your fwb Mingyu sent you a message and you can't ignore it Genre: College AU, Smut, Minors DNI Warnings: Protected sex - use of a condom, reader is a little mean and a little selfish Word count: ~1.9k

Author’s Note: Happy New Year! I saw this photo and I had an idea (I mean who didn't look at this photo and have ideas 😈) This was fun and something new, we always talk about taking clothes off this man but when do we ever put them back on??? And so it escalated from there.

I hope you enjoy as always ^_^

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

*1 new message*

You reach over to your nightstand to check the message.

It is an image of Mingyu, your fuck buddy. It is cropped so you can only see his bare shoulders in the mirror selfie. You up? The caption says.

You roll your eyes. As much as you like hooking up with Mingyu, sometimes he could be a complete douchebag. This was why you were only fuck buddies and you hadn’t taken the relationship any further. Sometimes you thought he could be the kind of guy you wouldn’t be embarrassed to bring home to your family, other times he did shit like this.

No, put a shirt on and go to bed. You reply. Refusing to look at the image he had sent. He had annoyed you by saying something dumb the previous day so you were not going to appease him by coming over right now.

A few minutes go by and there’s no response, usually Mingyu would take the bait and keep up the banter but there was nothing. So you take another peek at the photo.

It was slightly blurry and he had cropped it in such a way that you couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing with his other hand…you had a rule with him - no dick pics. But that didn’t mean he didn’t send you ones implying his dick was out.

For example, in this image, you could imagine him just standing there, naked in front of the mirror, holding his cock proudly. What an asshole.

But still, you couldn’t help but linger on the photo. Picturing the muscles he’d concealed from the photo, how large his arms were and the feel of them as they were tensed as he fucked you senseless. His large body encompassed you completely as he provided you with numerous orgasms.

Great, now you were horny. You hadn’t even been thinking about Mingyu since he pissed you off. But he knew exactly what he was doing sending you a photo like this.

You put the phone down. Determined not to give in and take matters into your own hands.

Settling into your bed, and pulling out your favourite vibrator, you are ready to begin but a new text flashes up on your phone from Mingyu and makes you curious.

Make me.

Make me. As if those words ever lead to anything but badness.

You put away your toy and reached for some sweatpants, it was time to pay Mingyu a visit. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“Y/N, what a surprise,” Mingyu said when he opened the door, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Shut up,” you respond, pushing your way into his dorm room and heading towards his drawers.

“You know that’s not where I keep the condoms.” He says casually, closing the door.

“I know,” you open the first drawer and pick out a t-shirt. “Sit down.”

Mingyu is confused but he sits on the edge of his bed anyway, enjoying the bossy tone you were using.

You close the drawer and turn to finally take in the sight of him. He was still shirtless, wearing a pair of boxers, presumably thrown on to have a little modesty while opening the door. You let your eyes soak in the view that his cropped photo denied you, if only because you were about to cover it up.

“What game are we playing today?” he asks as you walk over and straddle his lap.

“It’s not a game,” you say, grinding your core down against the bulge in his boxers as you scrunch the shirt up in your hands, “you said to make you put a shirt on, so I am. Put your arms up.”

Mingyu lets out a laugh but does what he’s told. You hadn’t really considered the logistics of this, as when Mingyu raised his arms, it was slightly out of your reach to put the shirt on. But you weren’t going to give up.

You raised yourself up, purposely brushing your whole body against Mingyu’s as your fingertips brushed against his wrists trying to get the t shirt over his hands. 

Seeing your struggle, Mingyu lowers his arms a little, allowing you the reach to pull the t shirt down over his arms, you move down his body slowly, stopping to make sure the shirt goes over his head before bringing the rest of the material down over his torso.

“There,” you say when you’re finished.

“Happy?” There’s a small smile playing on his lips.

“Yes,” You shift your hips towards him, his cock pulsing against your core.

“I’m sure you could be happier,” his hands reach for your hips to grind you down against his length again.

You let out an involuntary moan before taking Mingyu’s hands from your hips and placing them on the bed. “Don’t touch me, I’m still annoyed at you.”

“I know, but you came over, so you can’t be that annoyed right?”

“Maybe I’m just horny,”

“Join the club,”

You both sit staring at each other for a few seconds, it wouldn’t be the first time you had taken your frustrations out using Mingyu. But this would be the first time you would be using him to work out the frustration you had against him. And you didn’t think he deserved the pleasure.

“Take your boxers off,” you stand up heading to his bedside drawer to grab a condom.

You return to stand in front of Mingyu and he has done as you asked. He’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands, his cock standing proud against his clothed stomach.

You open the condom and roll it over his cock. “Wipe that smile off your face,” you say as you straighten to pull your bottoms off. “This is for me,”

“Sorry,” he replies trying to keep his face neutral, but he was enjoying your bossy side a lot. You usually didn’t complain too much when he took charge of your hookups, in fact, you preferred it because you didn’t have to think too much. The only time you were vocal is when Mingyu was first learning the best way to make you cum, but he was a fast learner.

“And if you cum before me,” you moan as you sink down onto his cock. “I won’t speak to you for two weeks. And that’s no fun for anyone.”

“It’s not,” he agrees, breathing heavily as you begin to ride him. “If I’m good will you forgive me?”

“We’ll see,” you use Mingyu’s shoulders to keep yourself stable as you move your hips in a steady rhythm, making sure the tip of his cock hits your favourite spot every time.

Mingyu does as he’s told and doesn’t interact, he just watches as you take your pleasure from him, trying not to think too hard about how hot you look and how the sensation of your walls clenching around him is driving him crazy. He loved when you were on top, taking charge with your tits bouncing in his face. It’s a shame he couldn’t see them in their full glory, as you had opted to keep your shirt on, but that was probably helping him in his quest to keep it together until you got your release.

It doesn’t take long before you feel your orgasm building, you reach down to stimulate your clit, your other hand digging into Mingyu’s shoulder as the pressure builds. You had never left a mark on him before, that was one of his rules but this time you think you might have pierced his skin through the material of his shirt, but you didn’t care.

“F-fuck Gyu, your cock always feels so good,” you whine as you get closer to the edge, looking down at him. His body tenses as he tries to hold off his own orgasm, the material of his shirt stretched to its limits due to his ridiculous size. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” he sighs, closing his eyes, as you bounce faster on his lap.

“Look at me,” you demand, “watch me cum.”

Reluctantly, Mingyu reopens his eyes. His hips involuntarily bucking into you and sending you over the edge. You moan out his name as you cum, one hand still rubbing your clit as you ride out your high. The stimulation and the sight of you proving to be too much, Mingyu cums too, he curses under his breath as his cock pulses within your walls.

Neither of you say anything as you wait for your breathing to return to normal, Mingyu lies flat on his back and you rest your hands on his chest, enjoying the feel of his muscles rising and falling as he breathes. Part of you wants to lay on top of him because his torso always looks so inviting but it would be too intimate so you stay upright.

“Is all forgiven?” Mingyu asks as he sits up, removing the condom after you stand.

“I guess so,” you reach for your discarded clothes. Turns out that taking your frustration out on Mingyu was just what you needed. And you couldn't be sure, but you think he liked that you were a little mean to him. 

“So you’ll come over tomorrow night?” He had a wicked grin on his face that caused your stomach to flip.

“No, I don’t think you deserve that.” You say turning your back to him and reaching for the door. Trying to stay composed before you ended up staying longer. 

“I'll come to you then,” 

You roll your eyes. “I think you've done enough coming recently don't you?”

“It was still after you!” 

You laugh despite yourself, “That's true you did hold off. Proud of you.”

“Thanks, it was tough. Ya know, you're really hot when you're mean.”

“Aww does baby have a kink?” You had turned around again and were leaning against the door. 

“Shut up,” Mingyu blushes and comes to stand next to you. “I thought we didn't kink shame.”

“And I thought you liked it when I was mean,”

“Touché,” he leans down to kiss you on the cheek. That was another rule, you didn't kiss on the lips. It was silly but somehow it helped you remind yourself that Mingyu wasn't your boyfriend. Yet when he kissed you on the cheek it was the most intimate gesture in the world. “Thanks for coming over,”

“It's not like I wanted to. But you know I can't ignore a challenge.”

“Hmm I don't know seemed like you really wanted it.” He smiled. 

“Whatever,” you push him away so you can open the door. It was late and you wanted to go to sleep. “I'll text you?”

“Sounds good,”

“Also if you ever send me another photo like that again I will have to block you. It's full torso or fully clothed. Got it?”

“Got it,”

It’s only a minute later when you get another photo through from Mingyu. This time, it’s a photo of his chest, still covered by the t shirt you had just put on him. My new favourite shirt. He captioned the photo.

You rolled your eyes before leaving him on read. It was taking all your strength not to go back there and get him to wipe the smug grin off his face and rip his shirt while you were at it. But maybe you could revisit the idea when he inevitably came over tomorrow night…

[fintan-pyren]

Sometimes, life is busy. You shouldn't let that stop you from enjoying a good book, but who has the time to read the same words over and over again?

For your enjoyment and convenience, I have removed all duplicate words from the first Keeper of the Lost Cities book.

blurry fractured memories swam through sophie’s mind but she couldn’t piece them together tried opening her eyes and found only darkness something rough pressed against wrists ankles refusing to let move a wave of cold rushed as the horrifying realization dawned was hostage cloth across lips stifled cry for help sedative’s sweet aroma stung nose when inhaled making head spin were they going kill would black swan really destroy their own creation what point project moonlark then everblaze drug lulled toward dreamless oblivion fought back clinging one memory that could shine tiny spot light in thick inky haze pair beautiful aquamarine fitz’s first friend new life ever maybe if hadn’t noticed him day museum none this have happened no knew it’d been too late even white fires already burning curving city filling sky with sticky smoke spark before blaze miss foster mr sweeney’s nasal voice cut blaring music he yanked earbuds out by cords you decided you’re smart pay attention information sophie forced open not wince bright fluorescents reflected off vivid blue walls amplifying throbbing headache hiding sweeney mumbled shrinking under glares now staring classmates pulled shoulder-length blond hair around face wishing hide behind it exactly kind went way avoid why wore dull colors lurked blocked other kids who at least foot taller than survive twelve-year-old high school senior perhaps can explain listening your ipod instead following along held up like evidence crime though probably he’d dragged class natural history balboa park assuming his students be excited about all-day field trip didn’t seem realize unless giant dinosaur replicas came started eating people cared tugged loose eyelash nervous habit stared feet there make understand needed cancel noise hear chatter from dozens tourists echoed fossil-lined splashed cavernous room mental voices real problem scattered disconnected pieces thoughts broadcast straight into brain being hundreds tvs different shows same time sliced consciousness leaving sharp pains wake freak secret burden since fell hit five years old she’d blocking ignoring nothing helped never tell anyone wouldn’t you’ve above lecture don’t give asked pointed enormous orange duckbill center how lambeosaurus differs dinosaurs we’ve studied repressed sigh flashed an image card front display glanced entered photographic recorded every detail recited facts twisted scowl classmates’ grow increasingly sour weren’t fans resident child prodigy called curvebuster finished answer grumbled sounded  know-it-all stalked exhibit next over follow thin separating two rooms block muffled grabbed little relief nice job superfreak garwin chang boy wearing t-shirt said i’m gonna fart sneered shoved past join they’ll write another article child teaches lame-o-saurus still bitter yale had offered full scholarship rejection letter arrived few weeks allowed go parents much pressure young end discussion so attending closer smaller san diego college year fact some annoying reporter newsworthy enough post local paper chooses ivy league complete photo freaked wasn’t strong word more half rules unnecessary front-page articles pretty worst nightmare they’d newspaper complain editor seemed unhappy story run place on arsonist terrorizing trying figure mistake bizarre white-hot flames smelled burnt sugar took priority everything especially unimportant girl most ignore or used caught sight tall dark-haired reading yesterday’s embarrassing black-and-white looked seen particular shade teal smooth sea glass beach glittered flickered expression gaze disappointment decide shrugged leaning closed distance between smile belonged movie screen heart did weird fluttery thing is pointing picture nodded feeling tongue-tied fifteen far cutest talking i thought squinted brown uh yeah sure say reason felt conversation accent british somehow crisper which bothered know are suck words soon left mouth course boys cute made mushy perfect returned told hulking greenish standing albertosaurus all its lizardesque glory me do think that’s it’s absurd

isn’t see saw small t rex: big teeth ridiculously short arms fine laughed i’ll get meet turned leave just classes kindergartners barreled fossil crushing screaming knock step whole realm pain kids’ stinging high-pitched needles many once angry porcupine attacking hands darted rubbing temples ease stabbings skull remembered alone reaction locked forehead pained imagined seconds hushed blood drain mean created plenty racket shrieks squeals giggles plus sixty individual chattering away gasped solved earlier everyone boy’s distinct accented speaking totally completely silent possible whispered widened moved whisper telepath flinched skin itch gave can’t believe backed exit reveal total stranger okay holding sort wild animal calm afraid froze my name’s fitz added stepping name searching sign part joke joking thinking wobbled spent seven find someone else world tilted sideways steady here looking twelve we better question: want air jerked bolted door stumbling shaky legs rhythm sucked breaths ran down stairs burned lungs bits ash flew ignored wanted space strange come shouted picked pace raced courtyard base steps wide fountain grassy knolls sidewalk got inside because poor quality footsteps gaining wait pouring energy sprint fighting urge glance shoulder halfway crosswalk sound screeching tires reminded both ways terrified driver struggling stop car plowed right die second blur swerved missing inches jumped curb sideswiped streetlight heavy steel lantern cracked plummeted instincts hand shot pulling strength somewhere deep gut pushing fingertips force collide falling gripping extension arm dust settled floated feel weighed ton put familiar warned bringing trance shrieked dropped without hurtled watch yanking split crashed ground impact knocked tumbled body broke fall landed chest stretched flurry questions swirling coherent idea sat replaying sense need witnessed miracle tighten panic let’s overwhelmed plan resist street reached intersection north zoo where crowd during firestorm running missed hearing changed terrifying scenarios involved government agents throwing dark vans experiments watched road ready bolt anything suspicious zoo’s massive parking lot relaxed outside milling cars happen witnesses slowed walk breath promise sincere easier opened hesitated supposed am trust won’t considered father sent specific age observe report always talk frowned disappointed himself does means expected threw what’s wrong touched eyelids suddenly selfconscious figured again awe us stopped whoa hang ‘one us’ frowning spotted fanny-pack-wearing within earshot deserted corner ducking green minivan there’s easy we’re human stunned speak hysterical laugh escaped repeated shaking riiiiiight insane trusting kicked stomped telling truth minute last listen plea humans vanished gone reeling leaned argued taking clear set pole minutes ago almost three managed finally saying alien erupted laugher cheeks grew hot also relieved compose elf hung foreign object belong visions tights pointy ears danced giggling expect guess stick wavy spikes rock star good crazy agreed refused serious frodo ring save middle-earth toys hid corners showed oh ought folded slender silver wand intricate carvings etched sides tip round crystal sparkled sunlight magic asking rolled actually pathfinder spun latch top dangerous you’ll faded depends take concentrate matter happens proof prove whisk land curious harm someone’s willed palms sweat fingers laced stupid tingled everywhere scanning warning look scowled bit tongue concentrated racing seriously become those silly girls counted raising facet beam refracted tightened grip forward warm tingling million feathers swelling underneath tickling giggle melted goo keeping oozing blanket warmth wrapped faster blink eye might squeaked stood edge glassy river lined impossibly trees fanning emerald leaves among puffy clouds row castles walt disney throw rocks kingdom golden path led sprawling elaborate domed buildings built brick-size jewels each structure color snowcapped mountains surrounded lush valley crisp cool

cinnamon chocolate sunshine places exist less appear forgotten released realized hard squeezing unable castle towers oddly our capital call eternalia heard shangri-la lost cities you’d stories rarely ridiculous things elves burst quiet gentle breeze brushing soft murmur traffic hammering unspoken very silence rising tiptoes view streets ghost town building towered others stones emeralds banner flying tribunal progress everyone’s watching proceedings council basically royalty holds broken law they’re deal laws well shook wrap cringing question funniest glared funny regained control try cling remaining strands sanity sun casting ray onto leaping hitched ride headed impossible infinite travel haven’t theory relativity stumped dumbest i’ve albert einstein huh dumb argue confident unnerving harder waited feather sensation dryer scattering directions until rubber band later shivering ocean whipping glowed carved moonlight failed passed bring herself true science book read confused observed ‘hey learned smug grin best minds begin comprehend complexities reality elves’ ahead slowest trump proper education shoulders sagged sank four scenery blurred whether tears entire lie nudged hey fault believed taught i’d done works bells chimed large gateway floor-length velvet capes draped tunics emerged followed creatures marching military formation rocky pants muscles prominently flat noses coarse gray pleated folds armadillo goblins signed treaty hating trembling dressed forbidden lumenaria worlds gnomes dwarves ogres trolls mentioning focused motioned farther squatting betrayed ancient councillors intelligent rule planning war ancients violence disappeared forbid any contact devices working defend race famine problems chilled frigid wind licking who’d known must’ve after eventually evolved myths simple yes peeked glowing crucial identity clicked spinning thousand loud clang gate stepped shadows sleek cobalt home jolted mom bus bland boring stole incredible blinding swept smoky fresh surprised recognized plain square houses narrow tree-lined house ask lived coughed handle putting pollutes planet these aren’t normal chemical smells usually wildfires smell barbecue melting cotton candy burn rain arsonists admitted pocket hoping notice dad wants knows neither important meant mystery he’s happy careful please shown today thank act family doesn’t suspect squared courage telepaths special ability rarer ones thirteen six months corrected liking youngest manifest start reverberated scanned positive waking hospital moment forget hooked kinds machines hovering shouting barely separate hold happening group adults haunted worry brows narrowed doing extra private keep wall weak hated bossed answering concerned action worked imagining stretching shadow mine blurted pale process hardest worries live fumbled answers long trouble knees link amazing will tomorrow panicked battered cluttered living phone she’s receiver having reeled daggers calling wandering worried police sorry stammered convincing horrible liar scared mom’s anger concern nervously curly guy realizing lies based freaking walked trolley train teacher guard ugh complained closing adult rubbed wrinkle appeared stressed upset safe stand weirdo understood dangers teased tormented bullied deflate wish trailed close rest sister slipped pin painful tight hug welcome honey dinner ten amy upstairs kitchen unease twist stomach worn linoleum pastel tacky knickknacks ordinary glittering kissed cheek shabby briefcase table how’s soybean wink baby apparently pronouncing thousands times lid simmering pots garlic cream filled handed silverware turn crackin’ scooted plopped usual chair nine role mastered opposite lower average grades popularity sisters wondered definitely powers lowered breathing: inhale exhale repeat care nickname dizzy must lay should eat skipping acting fettuccine night favorite rich sauce sudden nausea tug eyelashes chewed bite swallow fork official thanks great homework sprinted bed hiss shattered marty pounding fluffy cat sitting tail slunk settling lap marty’s purring

confront downstairs settle explained blonde chubby brunette screamed throbbed deeper ripped apart blinked related change lots adopted poked brought e l fudges plate cookies milk getting sick palm fever tired cookie stumbled routine crawled blankets wrapping pillow dreams kissing tucked tradition breathe ella yep elephant stuffed sleep tonight um guys hugged tighter hours labor endured switched birth daughter doubt wondering anymore dreamed keebler perfected recipes liked oreos drown vat fudge woke overrated morning quick shower jeans shirt buttery yellow stripes item closet self-conscious wear gold flecks admit clipped toyed lip gloss snuck check crept yard blinking stuck contained next-door neighbor perch middle lawn forkle rearranging garden tableaux nosy checking effect beady bored hers loved sentences complaining 911 obligated gnome fraction inch gives headaches yapping interrupted ball fur streaked barking spandex jogging shorts chased grabbing dog leash clumsy lunge kneeled stroking wild-eyed panting creature drew growled strained mad sister’s hates displaying several halfmoon wounds bleeding scar suppose willing carry blocks seems winked piercing certainly yelled jogger guy’s louder chaos wonder grab drag should’ve trick react stopping tracks side man straightened height quite intimidating ordered glowered promised snorted grumbling moving explaining whenever appearance waiting incident eyewitnesses frustrating confusing bell rang lurking scream demanded loudly heads bad flashing cocky rush blush unanswered tries creepy snatch slow replayed scene remember growling forkle’s quietly quieter we’ll we’d eyeing suspected impending mischief leap english ditch yesterday strangle pull disappearing fail willingly use telepathy brushed whispering pushed further test tested permission assignment frustrated matters invading offense scrunch nod movement nearby oak drowned could’ve sworn jogger’s campus gestured tree either imagine adjusted shouldn’t anyway who’s committee sidelong heat breaking automatically furious enjoyed caused determines grinned future shield surveyed surroundings metal nearly everglen leading doors absorbs directly likes privacy stressful doubted king kong faint click swung inward striking clearing growing midnight cape fastened clasp diamond-encrusted wings lean vibrant resemblance alden introduced bow curtsy shake greet shy pleasure prominent kidding unusual flush smiled embarrassed fire alden’s injury muttered son shared kidnapping considering such might’ve paranoid has touch rude assure love kidnapper searched reassure kindness agree placed gently jacket ticked indeed fascinating sounding triumphant perfectly specifically nexus forgot covered dug cuff coat clamped bracelet wrist twisting fit snug comfortable accessory single jewel rectangle symbols letters spelled gibberish odd decorate finality safety precaution break particles carried concentration circumstances bare early fools overestimate skills fade cautious answered lose yourself able fully reform pulls forever goose bumps dimple cleared throat prefer reproving send mission collect long-lost guests wiped blooming red pink purple rainbow perfume flowers dizzying testing qualify foxfire paused fungus insulted prestigious academy named represents glow darkened comes ‘fungus’ strongest talent kiss goodbye excuse proud attend accomplishment earliest levels develops abilities continue studies elvin sneak work knowingly chills mixed night’s troubling revelation sickening councillor bronte difficult impress feels upbringing lack disqualify surprises existed miffed votes squat brown-skinned huge tended fairy tale plants slantways shuffled carrying basket twinkling fruit guessing pictured men hats statues servants stare choose safer gardens enjoy privileged taste gnomish produce lunch treat dig slimy tubers slugs hoped menu peeled meadow elegant manor entirely intricately numerous turrets gables rose tower resembled lighthouse braided foyer prism widest hallway fountains spouted streams colored water hall dead-ended encrusted jeweled mosaic

diamond unicorns amethyst spoke wealth squeezed formal dining sheer silk curtains drawing chandelier waterfall shimmering crystals platters fancy goblets figures jewel-encrusted circlets plush thronelike chairs surrounding curtsied necks clasps keys horribly underdressed fabrics except disguise kenric oralie football player toothy princess rosy ringlets met smallest cropped features finger pairs floor laughter squirmed joined pleased shape it’ll transformed noticing autorepeat: scooting oralie’s one’s died yet hurt immortal trace sorrow bodies aging reach adulthood wrinkles belongs yourselves guest uncovered grimace strips glop goop tasted juiciest cheeseburger stuff mashed carnissa root umber leaf tastes chicken animals tone ate toxic waste squirming grimaced vegetarians horror vegetables cheeseburgers tells swallowed mouthful thud discussing openly respond kenric’s jaws dry remembering warnings stay begun eight pass mentioned learn relax bronte’s icy gust common announced jaw flushing chagrined incredulous impenetrable key sentence ‘almost breached guilt conscience sounds infallible thinks likely exceptionally lift weight telekinesis recovering embarrassment shrank goblet accident raised lifting invisible scoffed unimpressed limitations unlike physical confidence clue giving blew pretending imaginary extend sharper worth saucers applauded excellent praise couple glasses determined stronger ounce core empty collective gasp including breathed celebrate cramped strain knocking thunderous collision open-mouthed shock hollered sealed clapped language guys’ enlightened leaped instinctive interesting babbling teasing noisy gripped ‘soybean’ mispronouncing blushed chuckled beside dusting waved insisted sighed suldreen stretch line rare species bird puzzle solve uncomfortable coincidence convince decision barked shoving moonlarks vote otherwise fight favor final fragile lovely empath emotions extended grasped delicate fear confusion sincerity describe azure settles revisited till adjust invoke demand probe planned arranged quinlin busy decipher fun training looks iffy ‘bothered’ dad’s reluctant emptiness exploded choked saving colder implications ditched stall punishment atlantis nowhere patch white-capped waves signs seagulls screech poop hardly continent tide pool triangular slip slick shoes match gown begged status noble members nobility offices empire waist beaded neckline dress costume seeing clothes: tunic embroidery edges pockets sewn sleeves exact size sit boots completed thankfully knowing biana comparison changing subject ledge engineered catastrophe compartment revealing bottles label bottle whirlpool uncorked flung blast whipped faces roar churning ladies suggested worse gulped maelstrom beneath salty sprayed jump push count dignity drowning flailing idiot formed tunnel dipping weaving craziest waterslide starting launched vortex sponge licked toe pack kittens minus kitten sprang cushion smoothed wet incoming rocketed slightly squishy packed sand gleaming metropolis dome beyond soared skyline bathing radiating spires network canals interconnected arched bridges pictures venice modern clean despite bottom underwater muted hum background seashell ear build stores power precisely amount changes plated reflect firelight illuminate sink wandered shops renaissance fair women’s gowns shifted advertised two-for-one specials bottled lightning fast approval spyball applications strolled hybrid chicken-lizard invented main canal hailed carriages floating almond-shaped boat rows high-backed benches elbow-length steered bench reins skimming surface eight-foot-long scorpion deadly pincers reared curled sting eurypterid stroked shiny shell eurypterid’s slice emitting low hissing petted harmless carriage quinlin’s yours fiber mutant insect doom probed gritted pressing hideous sonden’s office thrashed heebie-jeebies commute while secure needs protection file highly classified business district windows tracing bearing names treasury registry interspeciesial services unreadable random strings runes nonsense writing

alphabet clueless chin jumble nah affected gap kid option country tests dropping member broad kelp ornamentation precise read: sonden: chief mentalist cube swiped elbow ping assurances humiliating bypassed receptionist dim damp stone desk dark-skinned chin-length seat ceremony unique understatement squirm handing lick dna unsanitary tiniest hologram center: rotating unearthly breathing prentice sacrificed double helixes sacrifice reasons fears hundred seventy-eight murmured began pacing invaded she’ll greatest keeper older midstep record share trained charge protecting currently hidden karaoke game sing off-key notes clearly eavesdropping strip slid winding stairway climbed oval footage brush projected chill aerial southern california lines circle area images deepened valleys ruled reflections note interrupting communicate waving warn turning overreacting glancing shuddered desperate kidnapper’s threatened easily implied nameless faceless entity quickly threatening authorities would’ve shivered accelerant chemicals leads lighting spilling oil blowing investigate council’s position here: takes visit babysitter decent equally spying steam secrecy existence discovered hoax search updated slight bypassing distracted evillooking matches keepers lagoon glint shimmery dunes lake west shore statue topped hollow iridescent film shimmered loop apparatus resemble bubble lifted clung shrieking levitate forming touching bubble’s rumble coming geyser shoot eleven crash below bobbed where’s scary pure joy popped whisked glaring gates flash strode olive contrast youth shone nerve summoning personal shorter intimidated difference sooner exiled clench fists backward tiergan aware opinion summoned convinced tiergan’s fierce crumbled crossing expert inventory widening whatever foxfire’s newest mentor puppy officially weirding becomes provide retired given persuaded return resentment mixture surprise hone assistance reasonable restrictions pretend opportunity silencing bet terrible mood mumbling mostly irresponsible manage choice benefit stares notify dame alina returning kept bruise meantime session listed remedial schedule lessons dummies correct assumption warmed tuesday brilliant panel everglen’s grounds sessions study student subjects one-on-one nerves one-onone succeed mention level grade relearning self-doubt heavier fragmented disappear explanation aside pleasant dis arguing overstuffed armchairs woman squealed snickered wife della pinched gesturing dear vanishers smiling musical hint della’s beauty tossed pursed heart-shaped parents’ combined gangly troll interceded borrow errands frumpy files requested denied request approve grady edaline case torn radiant parcels strobe unwrapped packages clasped cord neck choker pendant elf-y anytime fund’s activated fund register money standard dollars lusters laughing luster dollar crinkled ew insult afford differently limited seventy eighty makes sad curved window overlooking silvery floor-to-ceiling aquarium wingback facing piled books scrolls anxiety remind stacks newspapers circled crossed news removed drawer theories irritation super stuttered discuss faced solution allow ours they’ve effective immediately too-simple accept kick constant discovery longer unbearable loneliness friends grasping overwhelm areas access severely restricted dead deciding gravestones became vivid: grave tearstained draw suffer struck complicated relocated jobs erase tear obvious believing shutting function erased armchair scrubbed forbade sob occurred risking twenty alert plans clothes sees wiping focus bent unshed horrors cringed buried trembled bouncing busted eavesdrop grounded hugging worrying pouted pettiness bratty obnoxious pain-in-the-butt embrace struggles play daughters mouths senses hook hurry daze rememorize room: dusty available quilt mother tripped furry crouching releasing pathetic meow disk sleeping gas release drugging physically ill backpack slung giggled elizabeth clutching anywhere couch fingered ordering thirty crumpled burying recognize crouched smearing drool snot drugged sobs

overcame jerk washers bags regret bear slept finish hawaiian family’s limp determination taken fourteen cried assured stranglehold haunting gets hope personally oversee relocation flared wrung guardians title selected enthusiasm strangers elwin’s blue-crystaled temptation shiver raked bones orphan conservatory lead backyard security choosing saved ache suffering gift raise ended abandoned wipe elwin physician medical hate doctors brave regular nightmares brief stays struggled dragging direction drop free implying biana’s glare escape punch bathed gigantic glued cushioned cot syringe goes fidget spectacles scientist snapped painless orb flasher manipulate skilled orem vacker show eclipse biggest celebrations traditions damage permanent tensed food chance innocent cells dashing depending orbs squinting lenses stunningly lit dramatic expecting toxins research rifled satchel vials liquids major detox braced medicine syrups nectar unknown fruits tingly drink youth legends enzymes essential health refreshing downed contents gulp drank medicines list follow-up checkup whistled sometimes heated lame stinky stegosaurus shame horrified production wimp doctor phobia jumping needle strap bunch shots allergic how’d concrete nine-one-one unconscious genes kicking trigger bedroom canopied chandeliers room’s gotten deserve ruined chanting mantra shut pajamas tuck asleep belonging alive twenty-five catch breakfast clock shop furniture detoxes materializing clutched ghostly exotic heartbreaker fitted glamorous shopping explosion behold wardrobe outfits extras pick beat-up sparkly casual packing leaked days unpack hungry knotted sadly dampened preserve havenfield exciting jolie deny loss wonderful booming fenced-in pastures spread scrambled versions rehabilitation centers sanctuary protected trap nessie artist endangered gorillas lions mammoths extinct thriving herd woolly colonies saber-toothed tigers slack exists rob qualities provides thrive feeding hunt diet steep cliffs caves flower-lined using ropes lasso lizard neon beast protest drama queen husky male commanded beast’s heave feat twice snaarrll bucked guardian lunged tangled writhed losing balance verdi tyrannosaurus comments meeting jaculus winged serpent feeds support contain bloodsucking snake claws snout tremble lowering fangs glinted slobber motioning glimpse dinosaur-riding chiseled feather-covered james bond robin hood balding relate handsome feathery banged pet rub rex’s stayed docile unblinking separated verdi’s wound plugged slime death rot tuna fish combination kelpie dung bites jar swear edaline’s grady’s wary compared palatial estate mansion standards columns cupola roof entryway central upper floors cascaded ceiling wispy fabric turquoise amber curls similar circles fluff presentable rex picking playing rodeo cowboy nope wash staircase sadness lingered tea mallowmelt insist gooey cake fresh-baked chip soaked ice frosting butterscotch dripping hasty slices served nook grazing linens painted china homesick woken lushberry juice pop possessed conjurer form teleporting objects coolest unfortunately scraggly slurps burps letting friend’s ached grieve fished imparter simply strangled pounded reassuring deafening third star-shaped dangled glittery weaved carpet scent canopy occupied dressing bookshelves brightly volumes bathroom bathtub swimming biting awesome assumed jolie’s tour awkward delicious soupy pizza unpacking wrinkled scrapbook wherever welled remnants dried sixteen sunrise streaks blending mirror darken awake finishing hovered doorway interrupt riser shades clap bruises conjured bowl spoon banana bread tempted impose sloppy handwriting upside symbol corner: bird’s beak tickled babble scare extremely documents cipher moisture particularly believable prescribed drawn eager fidgeting ruffles simplest bought hi kesler groaned island mysterium identical mold vendors spices sweets buzzed crowded sidewalks working-class social rank ‘talent simpler correspondingly unfair born lesser lives type designed village avoiding whispers ruewen pretended different

store crooked nursery rhyme burps: merry apothecary belched maze shelves pills laboratory beakers bubbling burners rainbow-colored lab skinny tousled strawberry periwinkle blob tubes add amarallitine dex tongs vial experiment poured beaker sparked plume dirty gag concoction exclaimed hello ‘hello impersonation sludge eda scrap sheet kesler’s brother-in-law nephew practically monday al freaks dimples burped beanpole hooded cloak vika annoyance handiwork written girl’s bald scalp meanwhile stina ’cause twitched battling sell solutions sasquatch dent bony appendages children throttle hairoids stock week wailed ogre wicked misses responsible friendly rage here’s spat helping customers potent hat flinch useless buy countered retort stina’s oooh slammed fist timkin heks helps situation traditional absolutely brings stuffy nobles happier grinning mess tweak supplies armful worktable sneaky beard dex’s evil mortar pestle teach tingle attempt fifty-seven solo property collapse practiced checked displayed sliver percent chose he’ll hawk mentors monitor weakness expelled pushes transferred exillium swallowing bile mounting attack messy juline riveted gossip interruption interest hilarious bookshelf mounted cover camera summer flipping pages naked mouse suit disneyland dizznee photos honestly movies outlets flipped technology solar powered rifling sir conley’s luck lady galvin highest rate rig calming flooded seventeen gadgets chimes arrive uniform skirt leggings shirt-vest-cape combo laceup jerkin long-sleeved slacks waist-length superhero captain blueberry rescue meaning order demonstrate rid wimpy halcyon mastodons mascot birds storm mastodon ceremonies costumes glad idiots appealing crest triangle heart: scarlet eagle soaring talons chemistry equipment theirs adopting adoption adopt temporary enrollment manticore themselves parties dies span cope calmed orphans wylie whose recover connection blames wylie’s hanging leapmaster 500 lucky authorized 250 tons rotated five-story pyramid sharply angled u stained seventh amphitheater extensive fields grass hopelessly prodigies uniforms building’s finding ducked starts orientation principal reads announcements attendance collar track peal close-up stunning porcelain caramel-colored foremost whoever reekrod weekend mark punished fullest extent threat dangle continued detect ah spotlight hissed viper’s nest ssssssophie hole crawl concludes today’s nearest exception divided wing banners bore midflight halls quad throughout sparkling sapphire chatted doorways lining atrium spectacle creating marked rune locker mirrored lock uses gross faculty picks flavors pepper sneeze croak yelped stench rotten eggs dash diaper muskog wheezy snicker whirled towering mass frizzy cackling hags stalking hairs shave earth serum friday retorted raven swishing behavior phasers ashamed apologize obviously spend detention alexine stinks beet minions kinda frog fumes catching jensi rapid-fire speech talked buckets redder instructed honest ‘human girl’ ‘sophie’ whim elementalism pride backtracked twists turns drops warped wooden session’s zapped ‘zapped’ thunderclap eighteen tray electrocuted quiver conley hitting fluted botched sending tornado tornadoes mastering elements entering foods series stalls court mall recognizable eaten tables cafeteria whom discourage joining verge perceptible message clear: focusing bigger jensi’s acne braces fairly slicked greasy ponytails drooled setting bang c’mon dude unison ‘e’ duh drooly volunteered singed universe daunting exaggerated messing ‘dude’ killing explode cough pixielike rescuing tossing petite balled braids suicide overeager marella mare nicknames obeyed enemies honored pucker licorice lemon fan prettypants rather grumpy brat brother’s dreamy willpower copying sip looped defending dizznees triplets says ‘bad match’ genetically incompatible inferior aunt uncle superstrange celebrities famous vackers superimportant marella’s sympathy grandma heartbroken helpless veins hopeless cases guarantee scooping mammoth shudder awful afternoon feared astronomical

learning astin whispery complex maps planetarium effortless excelled hour survived approaching dragon hateful invited feelings letters: extinguished stuffing fill animosity deck ‘nice uncanny royal highness bothers remembers talented ‘deck beaming nineteen thursday disaster goal sandwiched colosseum pe vanity near door: sneakers ponytail owned ship slap reply lasted compare redek squish may fool stops idle threats grouped twos tromps manifested fifty-fifty manifesting mysterious remark required variable reign terror ‘everyone’ impressive jolt supervise caton titan god informed channeling supereasy channel parts body: heights speeds normally unimpressive attempts threes bumped defense appetite startled spaceship unremarkable studying superintently snapping scraping probing concept unsettling establish forcing eighty-seven puckered brow assume cheerful scraped intended drained steadying suggest ethics attached meganeura exercise annoy fidgeted cocked wanna buzzing dived vulture-size dragonflies patted freaky-looking bug blown gargantuan proportions creepiest disco balls grown monster enclosure phys ed intense emergency weirdest part: proven trustworthy receive assignments lectured responsibility detecting discover elite avoided mesmer nauseated wow sheesh inflicting curiosity won causes dara lecture: pyramids tidal army hairy hollowing himalayas strangest mumble creeped exile interested dying supertalented fundamental guilty underground eternity ruin fluke churned abandoning illegal washer alter dump brother secluded sorted reminding effort flavored flumes spritzed shove disturbing failing smirked alchemy pupil encouraging cracking melody ominous ingredients trophies gilded items pointy-toed suspiciously midas milky liquid dancing rushing rustle red-brown updo hunter silky decorated patterns swished slightest alkahest universal solvent stored itself dissolves wood flesh taxes substance alchemist wise teaching masters tincture poultice basic serums yellowed box flask jars iron transmuting metals recipe formula labeled instructions fiddled rechecked mistakes plunged whip fizzed rumbled jelly galvin’s exquisite dissolved luxurious damaged salvage welt healing ma’am murder retrieve afterward muttering incompetence flunk sprawled hallways stark ditching keefe gulon disheveled untucked popular belva crush blame 90 certain paid accidentally cue epic alina’s ugly crying treated whiter phobia consisted rooms: treatment beds brewing physician’s paperwork slinky scurried bullhorn demented ferret banshee adorable fellow dramatically wanting seize mmm-hmm acid mimed effects destroyed salve measured whap wash present laughs clarification confirming twenty-one embellished version destruction joked bottling anwen multispeciesial 324 faxon metaphysics complimented requests brown-eye create overnight granted incredibly challenging explosions occurrence unlearn lifetime knowledge levitating rainbows constantly messed highlight skill effortlessly amazed unwanted transmit else’s psychic photograph needing patient plague suspicion snotty maruca i-hate-sophiefoster club reaching growl jealous prettiest bedlam subdue chasing rabbits antlers swinging trunk lump verminion pen boosted mammoth’s trumpeted earthshaking squeal ringing mound timid twig hiiiissssssssssss uncurled rodent bulging hamsters rottweiler-size hamsterzilla trample japanese hamster cooed snaarrrlll impressed chase steer dashed catches fifty stupidest clod mud nailed grooowwwwllll fatal flaw pinned grunted press snarling squeeze verminion’s unlocked assortment spewed whined pile gloves shed trade trudged oversize squirrels rats identify burlap sack quivering snarl steeled shriek batlike heaved wool scratches leg outbuildings carefully organized veterinarian’s laid sterile spreading limbs smeared eyedropper dripped creature’s rewarded squeaky rumbling crackly purr smiles cage barrel soapy chain-sawesque snores vibrating brattail tuber sausage imp guessed six-inch venomous stings snoring vicious describing tame yetis outnumbered conked chipper iggy strand swell

generous hugs touches gestures glistened dubious trails twenty-two sharing congested warthog roommate snuggly sleepless spoil caring ultimate splotching championship sacks cheered sympathetic secretly celebrating partnered naturally teamed splotcher splattered loses winners person wins marks smugly win splotch splat deserved colorful prize contest pardon hopes wonderboy gagging rounds beat opponent knots backing aim ow raw telekinetic flushed compliment disqualifies pumped victory hotter cheering opponents experience duel beginner’s talents mighty competition grumblings battle odds experienced evidently four: sixes trella dempsey paired hopeful muster bested winner fluttered appears competitors betraying butt preference keefe’s chant ladies’ float clenched adrenaline surged audience back-up splotches rebound phenomenon weightless collided simultaneous fate collapsed twenty-three placing compress wincing muscle injured whermiwhahapped worse: laying banshees mortal danger stirred lucid winced stiff glands zinged collected rebounded bounce specialized hammered controls actual mix matched draining practice evenly awfully sidelines wobbling auditorium applause teensy annoyed copied blushing elbowing ribs tie protested declared excused lesson rejoin splotchers acted delivered p congratulations confirm bath lathering bathers soggy instinctively besides creased drive twenty-four meter one-third younger that’d wonderboy’s precious midterms score seventy-five recommend nissa tutoring consider tutor projection gagged flavor yell daily tore prattle chewy caramel peanut butter pouch cracker jack horse mane prattles’ unicorn pins collection examined digital 122 185 number eighty-five super-rare bitterness vaguely compute unexpected development century too-little-too-late branch other’s replaced beeline simultaneously sniff aw stuck-up snob wasted invite humiliate walking ambush capable teeniest details clanged cricket chirped embroidered satin sash wringing exhaled seeming makeovers wrestling polite fortunately braid flutter dirt pitter-patter eh sayin’ shooting quest grateful team jealousy guarded raid questers tagged sentry tabs isolate general nail targets listened softer instantly presence tremendous connected forest thundered vision racked credible crashing bushes partner deceive insists hasn’t secrets toes staying chain apologizing visitors sulking funk snipe wagged there’ve weekly jokes havenfield’s defied exams panicking passing guide narrowing shipped exam brass copper transmutations ideas challenges thwarted spilled gashrooms reek pored frozen cause shattering cheated accomplished cheat ideal dreading twenty-six tri-angular apex streamed pane angle reflection examining confessed forgave neutral violated ethical regulations expulsion suggesting argument ruling obey flourish bother violating reporting stifle closely icily respect authority advises wedding flapped nor pointless cheating tolerated huffed regrets confess serve minimum assigning becoming theme slipping unnoticed what’d gloomy atmosphere desks thumbs-up siren song appreciation art nature clapping earsplittingly shrill whine whale nails chalkboard toddler uncover broadening horizons claiming repentant company brand torture ballroom belva’s sirens dances edwardian claimed valin ponytailed promenade dancers valin’s sweaty chime stars shined brighter spit wickedly slobbery octaves fanned hmm irritated flattered scored points empathy forked smirk ironing holes stack detained increased practicing leaps eyebrow empaths powerful mundane purification vein easiest transmutation lockers traded twenty-seven banging annoyingly caps disqualified chorus groans nonstop cap smurf amalgam telepathic integrity wrote essay betrayal over debate automatic 100 last-minute mentally repeating tips negative vibes stress ethic claim fame skipped skip supportive doubting brag mercifully stalled magenta berries rusty discipline chosen purify ruckleberries fifty-five nasty impurities elderly human’s alchemists methods dive knife pierced berry dribbled pinky haggard glacial quarters

deducted mediocre performance forth whirlwind crack exhausted brutal slamming slumped that’ll public hooks presents spine cards schools hassle babysitters edged obstacle tugging stressing rigid suitable gifts jewelry charms charm twenty-eight unrecognizable streamers shrub toilet-papered tinsel confetti bubbles prizes popping appointment teal-wrapped package uglier hurrying plowing regain literally prying trademark smirks spoken sapphire-encrusted navy-blue intently hairstyle contrasted pristine infamous deflated wilted father’s oily insincerity resigned flame cassius lord performing unremarkably radiated apologies fos er disappointing scores fake critical said: creeps prize-filled prattles dwarf lollipop topple snappy comeback comment loser fails organize overflowing half-empty month misunderstanding shushed slim parcel chiming signaled parent-mentor conferences celebration feast unwrap snatching self ‘dear dance sometime vice president boyfriend rattled reader tease ribbon tapped gadget fingernail speaker thingies coloring dunno disbelief variety edible glosses speckled spider snapper plant fed spiders riddler writes riddle miniature violet thanked showing misty seventy-nine improvement range sensing tomato congratulated comfort sobbing partying included sneer party note: f snap k sugarplums boy-craziness necklace cuffs wristbands vanisher platter customs gelled perfection gym ornate immaculate alvar talks often rumpling fizzleberry wine juggling girlfriends hero beamed piddly quicksnuff emissaries tend conspiracy possibility myself pieced undivided swan’s curve pattern term replied active recently unauthorized investigation frustration twenty-nine alternate spending smelling clues accomplish consumed trapped counting resumed vacation finals received eighty-one eighty-three unacceptable prepared chorused poufy thrown towel drooped oven roasted frosters transmitting charts transmitted peed suffered rested cryokinetics freeze manipulating pyrokinesis mesmers inflictors monitored pyrokinetics inflict fire’s unpredictable truly forbidding pyrokinetic library surely three’s librarian banned archives libraries bust problem: section dire wolves peek promising bins mountain littered haphazardly spaces scan unrolled flip papers helpful lacy dulled childhood: strung lanyards dolls framed bone picture: breathtaking tragedy drinking leftover junk trunks piles unopened bin disturbed murky midterm roll scroll shelf sample starlight moonglade: fireflies flickering stellarscope upside-down spyglass view’s billions wad tag amaranthis memorized fourth lambentine bag spout wider scope knobs cluster dials stiffened lever thumb clinked rubini orroro azulejo cobretola indigeen scratching spectrum rearranged indigo zelenie isolated this’ll bluff scrounging elementine adjusting fidgety hummed shining teared welts frantic thirty-one blackish-purple blisters pot burns sprinkled powder adventure soaking numbs balm miserably regulate temperature palace crown nicer handful roots mutilating blades destroying bashing stubbornness reappeared ointment knelt furrowed fingertip rags longest hottest soapiest griffins discreetly boring-looking firecatching bode bundle solid downright incoherently darkly quintessence fifth element myth truest conditions blow metallic-toned bronze wildly flamed audible unmapped locations merit thirty-two platform thrones remotely procedure involving throne cushions tourmaline sturdy polished dotted onyx heard: clarette velia terik liora emery ramira darek noland zarina flicked mere evacuated three-thousand-year task undisclosed location trial salivating convict straighter dozen marched stationed bodyguards swordlike weapons belts fanfare blasted crowned amateurs seated sapphires shall world’s ungraceful consuming detector fuzzy lying endlessly jell-o hobbled astin’s honesty assigned emery’s argento auriferria pennisi merkariron styggis achromian slower plotting map cowering submit lists convenient judgment frightening hardened remained expressionless mediates telepathically consensus united aspirin unanimous

rise violates actions intentional accountable foster’s involvement addressing agreement millionth wished exchanged dimpling kiddo thirty-three banks sienna bark paintbrushes purfoliage palmae calls pures filter pollution freshest crispest tinge fuzzed hesitation observant instruction lurched sunset farthest councillors’ steadied emerald-encrusted circlet bowed pleasing honor beg refuse descryer response delightfully potential clamoring backfired speaks beginning optional 327 sensed crane sweeping peacock log dream softly regularly useful one-armed fiancé’s projecting vividly replace album dinner’s stroke retracted apology hurting tricks arches replica model thirty-four planted curl plotted page difficulties rivaled protect quieted los angeles hollywood trash conspicuous spider-man batman posed mann’s chinese theatre blended beams issued ‘forgot’ oblivious ourselves stubborn softened unwillingly seeped ‘got of’ ant pavement explore warring hurried consequences captured pleaded mercy prentice’s behalf oversaw shatters society metaphor insurgents rebellion kindest whatever’s decisions encouragement revelations ability-detecting exercises cornered superbusy insistent significant elf-ish onetime played envy tracked master tracking switch spots conspiracies investigating headway ignorance ever: permanently jarred conservation legitimate scientific principle nagging elixir nogginease limbium mineral supposedly resisted bike wheels giddy week’s supply unnaturally syrup absorb nauseating unfastening vest skin’s collapsing allergy dimmed cradling thirty-five fluttered chafed sandpaper wildhaired soothed sensations spectators cleaned vomit upright moaned allergies wits bullhorn’s trite soiled airtight vomiting swollen blotch-free humiliated undershirt noticeably absent dazzling alvar’s raptor disgusting decade spare injected steroids tied budge scolded showers heels crisis ushered deathly tough disasters blankly rests brothy soup elsewhere shadowy comforting yawn snuggled thirty-six squealing hundreds eagle-size pterodactyl somersaulted screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech stability rein speed momentum gained screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech torch pasture dispersed uncannily fried engulfed birdbath sparks jerking possess flareadon fire-resistant replay triggered animal’s cares octave higher killed resting flareadons volcanoes occur gildie strayed ‘flareadon female correcting wade debacle breaks wrestled socks shredded apparent vague emotion animals’ distances qualified lightened results defined iggy’s gildie’s paw tummy reward downy fury paled out-of-breath aura recoiling imperative vital violate risk humiliation fled her: cooperate freezing peered railing partial drifted bars errand thirty-seven mush nights begging blend processing forgetting tearing fluorescent locker: insider’s librarian’s timing shoe absolute librarians plastered sinking confirmed dog-ear chapter everblaze: unstoppable blind thirty-eight paper-strewn something’s ‘everblaze frissyn x stands detailed extinguish overruled excluded unheard indecision warred babies hatch extract unregistered code name: egg cast conventional purpose determine pregnant fertility posing implanted embryo manipulated outstanding retain discovering affects genetic anomaly renegades weapon ‘prodigy illegally forgiving messages suffocating choke word: controlled puppet issue triggers twilight proudly soothe facade crumble table: throaty fix drove wedge messenger delivering seal reseal rampaging limits chaise skimmed bead luminous nonluminous generated lumenite drilled clarify rip grubby paws riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip chunk possession skittered treasure retrieving tattered assess rug glue document accordance canceled thirty-nine heartbeat scrubbing choked-back muffle misery acknowledge gaping owe regardless charade  obeying command churn yeti ricocheted ooooookaaaaaaay slinking acknowledging attempting library-appropriate slothlike triple-check echoing phew scrutiny shrug candleshade overhead clipping playlist jarring numbness bass mature speakers bands sarcastic tune swirled seeping cracks triumphed

tiptoed rustled creaked padding crawling lonely forgive forty cheer stricken envelope headline: claims victims scrawl announcement corridor stark-white gulps sneaking suggestions weigh resolve admirer flood applying replacement heal eased uncertainty brothers recent discoveries recording spy undetected textbook dreaded licensed pathfinders restriction threatens ‘everblaze’ accusation fintan pricked balefire fintan’s requires fuel supported cosmic ‘fire ignite conclusive example surveillance ruining depths former dealing approved overrule objection trusted phantom rebels snatched emissary citizen confidential duly noted digging forty-one partly imprisoned sorting reminders pity tension distant lately preparing prejudice megacrush cave commands successful method unwrapping names: connor kate natalie freeman apply permit huddled thinner echoes evacuee note’s unquenchable abandon supporter afar forty-two stashed drawers ‘you threaten chaperone global dumped significance supplied clothing resistant fly willful punish facets stagger hills screeched tying pried displays seals survival glinting corneas swoop thickest raspy coughs locate singeing shift current overcome coughing inferno ouch thrashing clouded watery beads capped treats paced treating scorched angrier contorted squatted pee severe scalding plunked sticky-sweet healthy grim balled-up yelling homes camped affairs mesmerized desperation launching steal dumping tenderness justified reacts offer unintelligible agreeing concerns forty-three relatively illness actress w-what admitting lifeless freaky dumber connections traitorous resisting grasp peace decency furball storm’s appropriate cliff reveling shard clatter soothing relishing pulverized smithereens boulder violent frightened irrational fallen possibly smothered meaty cloaked swooped sickeningly nostrils sedative cursed rallied scuffle scuttled captor circulation rasped viselike lolled rescued forty-four bonds staging unfortunate complication fog scrambling muddled funerals pendants vise sweetness blackness necessary loomed constricted heaving choking gruff hyperventilating suffocates coated hacking nods croaked relocate stolen grunt syllable drugs mist strapped bound shivers eerie breathy wheeze venom trail gumption predicament footfalls disposed disappearance guts throb ignorant cackle toy reserve widen contorting poison ple clarity struggle overwhelming happiness rocked jostling rescuer foggy occasionally elevator altitude delirium parted flimsy fumbling promises caress weary forty-five searing heightened awareness sensory overload barrage cigarette butts alley surveying hideout interrogation kidnappers scoured alexandre desperately operates anyone’s him: upcoming rounded apologized broom peeking roofs yards landmark eiffel gaped graceful paris france french indian saris currency exchange robbing bank machine atm watches account measures ‘make work’ cameras covering buttons alarm bills robbed technopath froster internet café sandwiches cheese once-living boxy computers navigated web browser googled number-one result pont iii bridge seine lanterns shopkeeper sped excitement decorations horizon lamp nexuses lasts mathematics applied dawn forty-six melder stun evening strolls cloaks leader obscurer bends distortion coil rope goons goon pathways underestimate wire enhanced wishful swirl severing rapid duck whizzed seizure dusted flailed gurgling blank forefinger crescent shaped jagged cowl stumble scarred heft frenzy hatred writhing strengthened pumping pulse heavyset figure’s hideouts options battering crushed nearing tug-of-war lessened allowing glorious drift fading surrendered mind’s imagination funeral weariness overtaking hazy snow labored conscious sparkle freedom sweep forty-seven brightness peaceful wove persisted appeal surge newfound pooled aches splintered clearer enveloped strawberry-blond-haired numbing sedated tingles luxuriating gulping wetness numb shhh sniffled recognizing propped girly seasons faltered proves meaningful floppy snickers emergencies conversations flirting scratch

blasts streaking injuries concentration’s cell half-drained gaunt fleeing canceling flitted nuzzling scratched there’d yawned lights forty-eight covers washed sandor goblin bodyguard inflictor paralysis semiconscious incapacitated dormant trauma latent polyglot languages advance interrogated sandor’s bunny seven-foot-tall buffed-out overtime blindfolded seared monitoring proved arrested custody awaiting deaths tragic innocence error motivate condemning madness reluctance single-handedly now’s crescent-shaped recalled epiphany overweight swells digest explains operative guarding subliminal advantage activate developed who’ll address database detectives arson reigned supreme wisest greater questioned decades measure influential amok globe rejected imprison devastated uprooted supporters initiative resign outspoken recruited activity satisfied handled poorly kidnapped prisoner resolved disposal stamped justice voiced revenge birthday birthdays indefinite spans thirteen-year-old crushes plots rebellions grown-ups understands teenager accepted bargain relented insisting uncertain responding arrange forty-nine pedestal charges bylaws sub-bylaws committed transgressions minor tortured regal express safely accused drafting addressed firmly murmurs debated arguments raging attitude disrespectful rebellious overlooked gratitude however static rulers experiences inappropriate assign ‘already served’ sang admission din bursting provisional basis due aforementioned cannot proceed suggestion issues seats smoothing occasion fancier signaling require records indicate provided remain appreciated despised gladly nicely dipped textbooks someday squash toughest earn deserves murderous successfully fingering justifiably displeasure smirking retake propose alternative state events revealed therefore practical prudent career prospects shifting internal logical volatile qualifies majority erupting directing registered cuddly earned oneon-one immediate tangle concluded gathered twirling nudging trades sidestepped congratulate surviving multiple tribunals swirls diamonds feminine unlatch decides woven triply journey

[ukulelevillainwrites]

who follows the rules anyway?

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

complete

pairing : anthony lockwood x reader

word count : 6.7k

warnings : language ig?

content : a lot more plot, i'm settling all the elements i need to move forward and write pt8 (which i've been fantasizing and imagining since day 1 lol), reader meets Lucy and the gang finally has a plan

taglist : i've lost track lol @demigoddess-of-ghosts @cassiopeiia24 @archiveoftara

note : again i'm sorry this took so long, the weeks keep getting busier and the time flies by faster and i got hit with writer's block too at some point i think idk but i'm on vacation in three weeks and it should help (i hope) anyway i hope you enjoy :)

She didn’t know if she was still dreaming or not when she heard hurried footsteps climbing the stairs. She could hardly move and even though her eyes were open, all she could see were blurry shadows and the greenish light from the ghost lamp outside. For a moment she thought the voice she heard calling her name was her mind still playing tricks on her but the hands that grabbed hers were definitely real and convinced her she was awake. Someone turned on the light, blinding her. She blinked to see Lockwood sitting next to her on her bed, clutching her hands and asking if she was okay. George entered the room practically running, holding a rapier he must have taken just in case.

“We heard you screaming, what happened?” He asked, seemingly out of breath.

“I-I uh… um” She cleared her throat. “I gotta…”

She made a move to get out of bed.

“Come, we’ll make you some tea.”

George helped her up. Lockwood didn’t let go of her hand until she was out of reach with a concerned look on his face. He didn’t say anything, he just kept his gaze fixated on her.

George supported her down the stairs, though she didn’t really need it. But she felt bad that she woke them up, so she let him. Lockwood was in front of them, looking back every once in a while, to make sure she was okay. She must have really scared them to have them acting this way. Or they cared more about her than she realized.

They got down to the kitchen and Lockwood put the kettle on. George brought a blanket from the library to cover her, but she was still sweating from her dream and needed fresh air more than anything.

“So…” George started as he settled into the chair next to her.

“I had a nightmare.”

“Yes, we gathered that much…” Lockwood spoke for the first time in a while. His voice was hoarse, his tone serious. She would have felt like she was being reprimanded if his eyes hadn’t been so filled with worry. It made her want to apologize profusely.

“Though it sounded like you were getting murdered.” George added.

A heavy silence fell over the room. The two boys stared at her expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

“I tend to have intense dreams.” y/n finally said. “It doesn’t happen every time, but they can be very realistic. And that girl… I keep seeing her, but she never screamed at me like that.” She looked into her cup, images of the girl screaming at her flashing before her eyes.

“What girl?”

“I keep seeing this girl, she’s always telling me to find her and to look for her but I never know what she means. To be honest I had forgotten about her. But tonight, she just screamed at me, it was so loud you have no idea!”

“Actually, we sort of have an idea…” George said, burying his head between his arms. He looked like he was about to fall back asleep.

“I didn’t know I was actually screaming I’m sorry…”

“That girl screaming at you was all it took to wake us up in the middle of the night?” He mumbled.

“It’s not just that, I was in this haunted warehouse with agents attempting to clear it, the case went wrong, horribly wrong it was awful. I couldn’t move, I tried to help but I couldn’t do anything, I just stood there and watched.”

“Do you know who she is?” Lockwood asked. It looked like her story had piqued his interest.

“I have no idea… and I don’t know why I need to find her…”

“Maybe it’s just a dream, it doesn’t have to be a premonition. Don’t overthink it.”

“That way we could go back to sleep...” George said, his eyes now closed.

“You should go back to bed, I’m fine really. Thanks for the tea. And for checking up on me. That was sweet of you.”

They both gave her a warm smile. It made her feel even more guilty that she woke them up.

“George really you should get upstairs, you’re barely awake.”

He made a poor attempt at a protest but soon gave up and went back to his room. Lockwood was yawning too.

“You should go too, I’ll go back to the attic in a bit.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Lockwood really I’m fine.”

“I don’t care I’m staying until you get back to sleep.”

She settled back into her chair, sipping her tea in silence. Lockwood was standing against the countertop, doing the same thing. She put her cup back onto the Thinking Cloth and tried to bring up her legs closer to her chest. The chair was too small and she bumped her knee into the table.

Lockwood took her mug and left the room without a word. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to follow him or if that was retribution for waking everyone up. She did anyway and found him in the library. He was settled on the couch, both their mugs resting on the coffee table beside it. She sat next to him and brought her legs up next to her, drawing her closer to him. She draped a blanket over her and took back her cup. Even though she was comfortable, her mind still hadn’t calmed down. She kept seeing images from her nightmare, the girl’s face screaming at her, the heavy doors closing on her teammates, sealing their fate. She was glad Lockwood stayed with her, his presence was comforting.

She finished her tea and put her mug down on the table.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks.” She said, sleepy-eyed.

“You should go back to bed, we have a lot to discuss tomorrow”

She stared at him wondering what he meant.

“Now that we’re officially involved in this whole Dufour mess we need to see how we’re going to clean it up.”

“Oh, right.”

“You look half asleep already, I’ll help you get back to the attic if you want.”

“No, don’t. I want to stay here, I don’t think I’d be able to fall back asleep in my room tonight.”

“Alright.” He hesitated. “I could… read to you if you’d like. It always helped me when I had nightmares as a kid.”

“I’m not a child!”

He was already picking a book from the bookshelf on the wall opposite the fireplace. He came back to settle next to her, bringing her closer and settling her head against his chest.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned with you it’s that sometimes it’s nice to have someone looking out for you.”

“Oh really?” She teased, but she was too exhausted to really give him a hard time.

“You have to ask for help sometimes.”

“Says the guy who couldn’t ask someone to tie his tie for him.”

He nudged her leg with his foot with a laugh. She settled against his chest to get more comfortable and when she finally stopped moving, he started reading in a low voice. The monotonous tone he kept rocked her to sleep. His arms kept her warm. She could feel his steady heartbeat beneath her fingers. She nodded off almost immediately.

When she woke up, the sun was already high, bathing the room in a soft glow. She slowly opened her eyes, feeling an even breath in her hair. Lockwood was still asleep, looking much more peaceful than she had ever seen him. His arms were wrapped around her, keeping her warm. It was more comfortable than the time she woke up with George on the other side of the sofa, probably because this time she was cuddling with her bedmate and not trying to share a couch too small for the both of them. It ended up being a relaxing night after all, the waking up part making up for the nightmare. They were breathing in unison, fitting perfectly in the tight space of the sofa. Her mind was still blurry, she wanted to fall asleep once more to stay in the peaceful state she was just in. She snuggled closer, her face in the crook of his neck as she hugged him tighter, when she realized what she was doing. She was hugging Lockwood, and he had his arms around her. And for the briefest moment she felt like he was hugging her back. Suddenly it all felt wrong. They were colleagues. He was her employer. And landlord. They had a job to do together. During her time at Fittes she never let herself get too close to her teammates, at least not that way. It had happened once or twice that she found herself attracted to one of her colleagues, but she always kept her distance, thinking of the disaster that could have happened if she had let her feelings take over. And yet here she was throwing caution to the wind and allowing herself to get closer than she had been with anyone in a long time. As hard as it was, she pulled away slowly, trying to get up without waking him. She could’ve sworn she felt him holding on to her, trying to pull her back, but once she was on her feet she saw him turn on his side, still asleep. Her imagination was playing tricks on her, giving her false hopes. She covered him with the blanket she had last night, studying his relaxed features. It was unfair how good he looked when he was sleeping. She forced herself to get into the kitchen before George could catch her staring.

It was a close call since he came down as the water started boiling in the kettle. He looked more awake than he had earlier. It eased her guilt knowing he had managed to get some rest.

“I didn’t hear you come up last night.” George remarked as he poured himself a cup.

“After I woke you up in the middle of the night I thought you’d be grateful for that.”

“I’m not complaining I’m just wondering if you got any sleep after that.”

“I did.” She smiled without adding anything, sipping her tea in silence.

“I didn’t hear Lockwood either.” He said innocently while stirring his tea. He didn’t sound like he was simply checking up on her anymore. His voice had an edge with the slightest hint of insinuation.

“You were so exhausted you could barely stand. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had slept through one of us falling down the stairs from the attic to the ground floor without opening an eye.”

“Actually, I had a hard time falling back asleep.” He took a sip looking up at the ceiling.

She didn’t answer. Whatever she could have said would have led to more teasing anyway. She blushed. He just smiled before offering her a biscuit. She didn’t get why he reacted that way. He was looking at her like she had something to hide. But he had fallen asleep with her on that same couch and it certainly hadn’t meant anything! Though, if she was honest with herself she was just annoyed that he could read her like an open book. She took a biscuit out of the box he was handing her, avoiding his knowing eyes and proud smirk.

“I’m guessing things are better between you two then…”

“I came up last night to tell you so, didn’t I?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Before she could throw the nearest dish towel at him Lockwood came in. An awkward silence fell over the room. At least y/n felt the tension. Lockwood didn’t seem to notice and George was back to pretending like his biscuit was the most important thing in the world. He was right of course, things really were better between them. So much better that she wished she could wake up this way every morning.

She didn’t let herself think about it. Nothing good could come of this. Except of course the comfort she felt when she was in his arms, the butterflies in her stomach that danced to the song playing in her mind whenever he looked at her. She froze. She needed to clear her head and started to walk out of the kitchen. Maybe taking a shower and getting ready for the day would help.

When she came back down, she could hear the boys arguing. The debate didn’t sound heated, so they were probably discussing an upcoming case.

“I’m telling you it’s far more logical to do it this way!”

“You never listen to what I have to say!”

She pushed the door open.

“What’s this all about?”

“Ah, y/n I’m glad you’re back.” Lockwood said, walking towards her and putting a hand on her shoulder. “I keep telling George that we should focus on discovering who is at the head of the whole relic operation but he won’t listen.”

“You’re the one not listening! We don’t know enough about the operation to aim so high right away.”

He slid his hand down to her arm. “What do you think?”

His touch was enough to make her mind go blank. “I- um... you’re catching me off guard. Could you walk me through it?”

“Well, I think that focusing on Dufour isn’t useful anymore. Since we know she isn’t in charge we should let her be and focus on whoever is behind this.”

“And I think we could still learn a lot from what she does and follow her.”

“Those are both… good points…” She was still very aware of Lockwood’s hand resting on her arm. She wasn’t used to this. He had been distant most of the time those past few weeks and the sudden change really disturbed her.

“Well, I know I’m right!”

“And I am too! You’d see that if you weren’t so stubborn.”

It really was the pot calling the kettle black. She tried not to laugh at their argument as she crossed her arms, not so subtly removing Lockwood’s hand form her arm.

“You should just go your separate ways then, meet up later today to debrief the info you both get?”

“Yes, I guess we could do that.” They both nodded. “What do you do then, y/n?” Lockwood asked her, crossing his arms.

“I’ll go with George!” She said, realizing it came out a little too loud. Lockwood shot her a confused glance. “I’m just… curious to see what she’s up to… is all.” She tried to justify.

Lockwood briefly frowned before approving their plan, telling them they should meet back at the house at 4pm.

---

“You jumped awfully fast at the chance to come with me on this stake out.” George commented.

“I’m always excited at the thought of working with you Georgie!”

He rolled his eyes at her. She wasn’t being subtle, and he let her know it.

“Plus, I’m genuinely curious to see what this bitch is up to.”

That got a laugh out of him.

They were heading towards the Fittes building to see if maybe they could spot their nemesis stepping out to run one of her fraudulent errands. As they got closer to their old employer’s offices, she noticed familiar faces. She spotted several agents she used to see down Fittes corridors. As they crossed the road, she passed a guy who used to be on her team. She waved politely but was met with a dark stare. She couldn’t remember anything she could have done to upset him, then realized it was probably the aftermath of that offensive column. Her pace quickened, fueled once more by anger. She was determined to see what that horrible woman was up to and most importantly to find out how to bring her down. She was so furious she could have just walked into her office to strangle her. Hopefully George grabbed her arm and led her down a street far enough to remain unseen. He kneeled down to get out a hat and a pair of sunglasses out of his bag.

“Put these on, we don’t want Dufour to recognize us.”

“What are these eggs for?” She asked as she tried on the sunglasses.

“They might come in handy if we spot her car!”

It would have been a great relief, but she didn’t have time to appreciate the mental image she got. Dufour was getting out of the Fittes building across the street, seemingly in a hurry, carrying a large duffel bag. And so, the stake out began.

They tried to keep enough distance to remain discreet and followed her for the next hour. They weren’t sure that following her would lead them somewhere useful or if they would learn anything new. The fact that their old supervisor kept walking without stopping didn’t help. y/n even started to think that she didn’t have a destination at all and was just messing with them. That was until they reached an imposing building located near Clerkenwell Road. As Dufour got closer to the glass doors at the entrance, she looked around as if to make sure no one saw her go in. y/n and George had to hide several times behind cars or newspaper stands to avoid getting caught. The first time she turned around y/n felt her heart sink as she pulled George down with her, crouching behind a parked car. But it was a good sign, it probably meant that she had something to hide. They remained far from the building to remain unseen. George eagerly wrote down the address in his notebook. She could tell how pleased he was with their discovery before he even turned to congratulate his plan, his smile getting wider with every letter he wrote. They waited for her to come back out. She took her time. When she finally emerged from the building an hour later, she didn’t carry the bag anymore. Whatever was in it had to be valuable. Dufour started walking back the way she had come. They ducked and slowly entered the nearest café.

Since it was only 2 and they were starving, they decided to take a break, unable to come back out without being seen anyway. They settled at a table far from the window. They ordered tea and some pastries to share and discussed different theories, trying to figure out what the woman could be up to.

“Given her track record it’s fair to assume that her bag had sources in it right?”

“I’m surprised Fittes didn’t bat an eyelash since she started her operation. I mean she can’t be that subtle…” His eyes lit up. “What if Fittes was involved?”

“Maybe…” She didn’t want to bring down his enthusiasm but she was already picturing him getting way too far from the matter at hand. “Let’s focus on bringing her down for now. If you’re still mad at Fittes after that we’ll see what we can do.” She said with a laugh.

“Right. Then we should try to see what this building is.”

“It’s the Silverpoint Organization building!” said a voice behind her that made her jump.

“Norrie? What are you doing here?”

“Hey George! Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I came to see my girlfriend, she just started her shift. But then I saw you two and I knew you had to be discussing something interesting given all the rumors these past few days… I couldn’t resist.”

“Actually, you could help us a lot!”

y/n greeted the girl as she sat down next to her. The last time she had seen them was at the furnaces. Apparently, the chat she had with George that night inspired her to do some investigating of her own. She had paid closer attention to the weird things she had noticed and caught a guy stealing a source red-handed. Not only did she get the source back to burn it but she also managed to get some information out of him. y/n was really impressed.

“So, I made him understand that he’d better tell me what he wanted to do with the source. That’s when he told me he was to bring it to this building across the street. I dug a little further and turns out it’s the Silverpoint Organization, whatever that is.”

“I’ll have to look into that.” George said while scribbling in his notebook. She didn’t think his smile could get any wider and yet it did.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were passing by!” called a voice behind them.

Norrie turned around to greet her girlfriend. The girl sat in front of her, saying something about having some time before the beginning of her shift. She had short wavy hair, auburn color, almond brown eyes. Her face was round and delicate. She looked friendly, but the warmth of her smile wasn’t enough to keep y/n from freezing. After all, that girl had woken her up in the middle of the night screaming just a few hours ago.

---

“And that’s why we should go after the money trail.”

Lockwood had been talking nonstop since he had walked through the door. He didn’t notice the heavy silence filling the living room. Or the haunted expression on y/n’s face.

“So, you somehow got your hands on an envelope supposedly used by that old man, who you think runs the operation, to pay a relic man who, again supposedly, brought him sources and that’s enough to convince you that you have a proof of the transactions?” George’s eyebrows were furrowed. Confusion filled his stare and his mouth was slightly agape. He looked baffled and not in a good way.

“That’s not all I found, didn’t you listen to what I just said?” Lockwood retorted, unfazed and still so sure of himself. “I have a reliable source telling me that they saw the guy take the money out of the envelope and it also has a strange code on it that has to link him back to wherever the money’s from. There must be a record of it somewhere. They wouldn’t bother writing such a long code on an envelope that gets left in the street if it didn’t have a purpose.”

“And you think this maze is worth getting lost in?”

“We won’t get lost! Like I told you I have contacts to help us out!”

“With relic men transactions? I’d love to meet them.” George still didn’t seem convinced.

“So, what do you think?” Lockwood asked with a triumphant smile, ignoring his friend’s objections.

“You don’t even care a little about what we discovered?”

He looked around the room, finally conceding them a glance. His smile fell as he looked into her eyes.

“What happened?”

It was George’s turn to talk restlessly about their day. Y/n looked at their exchange back and forth and listened to George tell Lockwood all about their successful stake out and their encounter with Norrie. There were times where she couldn’t focus on what they were saying, too caught up in the strange feeling that had followed her all the way home. Lucy had been lovely and tried to make her feel at ease even though y/n had stared at her like a deer caught in headlights for the better part of five minutes. They exchanged a few words about adapting to life in London and leaving agency work behind, though only partly for Norrie who wanted to do her best to help even without being back in the field. They never mentioned the incident that had led them here, just that they had left agency work. y/n knew why the girls had decided to change their lifestyle but nodded and smiled without ever referencing her dreams. She thought it would probably freak them out plus she didn’t want to bring up the horrible event that probably traumatized them in the first place. She tried to focus back on George’s explanations. He was excited to start researching the Silverpoint Organization. It was obvious that Lockwood was frustrated that his idea hadn’t gotten the attention he thought it would have. He sat back to let George talk with a barely hidden exasperated look on his face. But when he locked eyes with her his face slightly softened, allowing George to finish his theory.

“You’re awfully silent, y/n.” Lockwood said as he came to sit down next to her on the couch.

“We met Lucy today.”

She was met with a questioning stare.

“The girl from my dream.”

This triggered more frowning.

“As it turns out Norrie’s girlfriend Lucy is also the girl who woke me up screaming.”

George was still scribbling in his notebook. Lockwood didn’t say a word.

“I don’t really get it either. Hence the silence.”

He grabbed her hand in both of his. He was gentle, like her bones would break if he made any sudden movements.

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

“I don’t think there’s a lot to talk about for now.” She said gently. She still didn’t know what to do with this and didn’t want to burden anyone. “But thank you…” She took back her hand, smoothed down her skirt and sat back, coincidently distancing herself from him. “How about we just get back to Dufour?”

“Right…” He flexed his hand while looking down. He looked back at her, his usual smirk curving his lips. “You can’t let it go, can you?”

“Remind me when you let go of your rivalry with Kipps?”

He smiled, pausing for a second. There was a complicity in the look they shared. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered their wings. She pushed the feeling down as much as she could, trying to win their staring match without blushing. She failed, obviously. Lockwood got up with a satisfied look on his face.

“So, what should we do? I mean… I think my lead is pretty solid…” He said looking up at the ceiling.

“No, it’s not. It’s numbers on a torn envelope Lockwood!” George retorted.

“What do you think y/n?”

“When it comes to instinct, you told me to always listen to George and I followed that rule religiously since I joined the agency.”

“Like following the rules is going to help us with your revenge plan…” He rolled his eyes. But he didn’t look offended or disappointed. He looked…proud?

“But fine it’s two against one anyway and I’m a fair leader. We’ll start with this organization and see what we find.”

George didn’t need more. He rushed back to his room, slamming the door with a renewed determination. They probably wouldn’t see him again until dinner. A silence fell over the room. Her mind wandered, going back to the girl haunting her nights. She had asked her to find her and she had. Now what? She didn’t feel relieved, and meeting that girl hadn’t felt like she was fulfilling some prophecy, accomplishing her fate in a high-pressure decisive moment. What if she had been too late? What if from the start she was supposed to help Lucy save her team? Maybe she was cursed with the guilt she had felt in her nightmare, forever unable to sleep soundly again.

A hand resting on her wrist brought her back to reality. Lockwood had sat back down next to her and was stroking his thumb back and forth on her skin in a soothing way.

“We’ll work it out.” He reassured her. “The answer could be in the extensive research George will make us do.” She looked at him unconvinced, but she appreciated his effort to make her feel better.

“He’s not gonna let us rest, is he?”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“On the bright side, if I’m exhausted it might keep my mind off this.”

He held her hand tighter before letting go. She almost reached for his arm to get him to sit back down next to her. As he told her to get some rest before the busy day awaiting them, she ran back upstairs, her wrist still tingly.

The week that followed was in fact a busy one. They followed a strict schedule of intense research, rigorous preparation of their cases and efficient ghost clearing. The military-like organization was all George of course. He took the habit of waking them at 7:30 sharp by knocking repeatedly on their door until they were up to tell him to stop. They were among the first people present at the archives. Each day George assigned articles and newspaper respectively to Lockwood and her while he worked on the case they had that night. At noon they would switch, George looking over their research while they got familiar with the case before heading home to prep their bags for the evening. It was exhausting but she had to admit that it was yielding results. In just a week they had uncovered detailed information about the organization, how it was founded, who it was founded by, and why it was created in the first place. George had summed up the information both in their casebook and on the Thinking Cloth. Every morning as she drank her cup of tea she could read:

“Silverpoint organization – 1996 – founder Theodor Mullet of Mullet & Sons

TM eldest son and heir to M&S, created Sp Org to “further his father’s legacy” and protect agents against field injuries unrelated to ghost-lock

One fundraiser organized each year

Strong link to M&S rapier supplier

Funds from Fittes?

No financial records or official information available”

She couldn’t help feeling insulted that she slept so little only for their hard work to be summed up in a few lines. She didn’t complain however, at least she had helped find some of this information. Lockwood on the other hand was out of his depth. Research had never been the part he excelled at. He was too impatient and couldn’t sit still. By default, George took the lead but y/n could feel Lockwood’s pride taking a hit. If George, resident researcher of 35 Portland Row, was now in charge, what good was he? He tried his best to remain helpful by offering theories of his own. He kept insisting that the lack of financial records was suspicious and that his hunch was right. Of course, he did so without an ounce of pettiness and repeated that they should have listened to him from the start. y/n had a hard time believing him. His frustration started to show and it affected his work. During cases at night, he was bolder, trying to show off. At one point they were fending off a visitor which could have been easily handled at two while George looked for the source yet he picked this time to demonstrate the new move he had been practicing all day. The night had ended with a rush to the hospital and three stitches.

Today was a close call too. He had jumped down a flight of stairs to get between her and a visitor. She thought he probably had good intentions but she had her rapier ready and the situation was under control. It was a relief to see he didn’t break anything, a miracle frankly. She didn’t need a third time to decide to act. She would talk to George in the morning to convince him to spend some time looking into Lockwood’s lead.

They came back home exhausted, George going to bed immediately to stick to his schedule. She was about to do the same when she noticed the light was on in the library. She wasn’t surprised to see Lockwood sitting there with one of his magazines in his lap, acting like the day had no effect on him. He simply smiled at her when she entered and kept reading. She told him that he should rest. He simply hummed in agreement but didn’t move except to turn the page. She was about to give up and leave him there when he bolted up to show her the page he was on. It was a double page ad for an open-door day at Mullet&Sons, inviting clients to try their new line of rapiers and meet the board. The perfect occasion to get closer and hopefully find out more about the founder of the Silverpoint Organization. A light brightened his eyes as he smiled at her. She was certain he wouldn’t shut up about his finding.

A call the next day brought their enthusiasm back down. Right before they left for the Archives, Inspector Barnes had called. Lockwood had answered. His smile had faltered as the conversation went on. He hung up and stayed silent until George asked him what he wanted. Apparently, the inspector had called to warn them again. Only this time the threat had become much more real. Superiors at DEPRAC had taken an interest in the complaints against them, mostly to get Fittes off their back Lockwood thought. But it didn’t matter why, what mattered was that the ridiculous rehabilitation program offered by an unqualified journalist was getting more consideration than originally thought. One mishap would turn y/n and George into the first test subjects of this “educational” experiment. They were now under more surveillance than before. Sneaking into Mullet&Sons offices during their next event was out of the question, they’d be the first accused.

They stood in the hallway in silence, unsure what to do next. Researching more at the Archives seemed futile now.

“I might have an idea.” Lockwood said.

They looked up at him expectantly.

“We go after the financial records.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Lockwood.” George swore. She understood his frustration. Being right didn’t matter now, and this was really not the time. Plus, stealing financial records wasn’t much better to remain far from suspicions.

“Lockwood…” She looked up at him. “We don’t have a way to do that legally and we’ll be the first interrogated. How could we even give evidence to DEPRAC, if we ever find any?”

“We get ourselves an airtight alibi.” He said proudly, like it was obvious.

They stared at him with a beaten expression, still not knowing what he had in mind. He went to the library and came back with the magazine he was reading last night. He eagerly handed it to them, open on a page featuring one of those fancy parties that took place occasionally. Though it wasn’t just any party, it was a fundraiser for the Silverpoint Organization. The next fundraiser was taking place next week and for the occasion an article was referencing last year’s event.

“We get into this party, make sure that everyone sees us and hopefully get some information about Theodor while talking to the guests.”

“But what about the records?”

“We’ll need some extra help.” He said before winking at her.

---

“By getting traces of the transactions between the organization and relic-men we can bring down the operation. And for that we need your help.”

Lockwood was back to his usual self. Charming, self-assured and most importantly in charge. The two girls in front of him had very different reactions. Norrie seemed to have made up her mind already, looking over at George every once in a while like she was in a hurry to get to work. Lucy was more skeptical. She looked like she was battling conflicted emotions. y/n didn’t blame her. They barely knew each other and they were asking her to steal financial records. They had just given up on a whole life, trying to adapt and they should throw all that away to help people they had just met? It was madness and y/n felt bad for asking them such a thing. But she didn’t really have a choice. Aside from them, there weren’t a lot of candidates.

After his whole speech, Lockwood sat in front of them, determination piercing through his eyes. He quirked his lips up in the slightest. She knew all too well this intense stare and irresistible smile. She hadn’t managed to turn him down, not many could. He spoke in a softer voice to try and convince Lucy to join their cause. And it was working, she was considering it. She said she needed time to think it over. But Lockwood wasn’t usually patient. y/n knew what would come next. A compassionate and understanding tirade so sincere you couldn’t help but join his side. But she knew what Lucy had been through, she was there sort of. Not ten seconds after Lockwood had started speaking again she interrupted.

“Lockwood stop.”

“Is there something wrong?”

“Don’t do this, just give her some time to think it over.”

“We don’t have a lot of time y/n!” He turned back to Lucy. “And as much as I understand the difficult position this puts you in-”

“Just shut up Lockwood!”

George sighed and buried his head in his hands. Norrie asked him what was wrong.

“They had just started to get along!”

y/n ignored his comments.

“Lucy, I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable. I completely understand if you don’t want to join us and stay far away from anything agency related. I just think that we can trust you and we desperately need allies right now. We don’t need a definitive answer now, but do you think you could give it some thought… maybe?”

Lucy looked up at her with a softness in her gaze. She was scarred, that much was clear. She seemed afraid too. But there was much more than that. There was resilience and bravery. An ember in the ashes.

“I’ll think about it.” She said with a thin smile. They exchanged a glance that was enough to make y/n feel a deep connection to the girl. She reached for Norrie’s hand as they exited the room. There was so much more she wanted to say to her. She wanted to tell her about her dreams, about the relief she felt now that she got to know her. The platonic attraction she felt was overwhelming. She had never wanted to be friends with someone so ardently. There was something special about her. She didn’t know if it was El’s betrayal that left a scar or if her dreams were a sign of a deeper bond, but she desperately wanted to find out. She led them back in the hall and slowly closed the door behind them.

She turned to find Lockwood staring at her with a hurt look on his face.

“What the hell was that?”

“I’m… sorry…”

“I’ve been jumping through hoops with you since I met you and I’m getting tired of it.”

Her heart sank.

“Yeah, that’s fair. In my defense, I knew what you were doing and I couldn’t in good conscience let you go through with it.”

“What was I doing?”

“Faking compassion to get what you want.”

“Oh please, not that again. I was just trying to get the help we need. We’re in this mess because of you need I remind you.”

“Lucy’s been through a lot and she deserves genuine sympathy, not some fake act you put on every time we have a difficult client. I still have nightmares about what happened to them, you can’t imagine how it feels.”

“I can actually.”

There was a silence. He looked deeply hurt. She didn’t dare speak, knowing the matter was probably more sensitive than she realized.

“I’m doing everything I can to help you and I need you to be more cooperative. I’m not risking the reputation of my company if this is the thanks I get.”

“You’re right…” She said after a moment. “I went too far.”

He nodded. They stood in silence, neither of them daring to move.

“Just don’t be mean to me again.”

“I won’t.”

He turned to enter the kitchen.

“I wasn’t really mean though…” She said on a hesitant tone. “I was rude sure. But mean… Kipps is mean. He degrades you and all…” She didn’t even know why she said that. A desperate attempt at lightening the mood, giving Lockwood a reason to redirect his anger at someone else. It was pathetic. She could already see herself unable to sleep months from now living the shame of this moment all over again.  

“Oh, so you agree with me now?” He answered turning around. “When did you take the “best leader of the best team” off his pedestal?”

She smiled.

“You’re still a bigger prick than he is though.”

He smiled back.

“Tea?”

[nowritingonthewall]

I just called to say I love you

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Words: 1500

Summary: When you are worried about Poe on his mission, he tries to put your mind at ease.

Warnings: Mostly fluff with some sprinkles of angst, reader is extremely anxious in the beginning, no gender specific descriptions of the reader but Poe refers to them as Beebs’ mommy

The buzzing of your holopad made you wake from your troubled dreams with a start. Still in a daze, it took you several seconds to become aware of your surroundings and realize that you must have fallen asleep on your bed after tossing and turning for hours.

Slightly disoriented you groggily tried to grab your holopad from your nightstand, when you realized with a jolt that there was only one person who would try to contact you at this time of night. The reason why you hadn’t been able to find any proper rest for more than three weeks now: Poe.

Suddenly wide awake, you quickly unlock the holo call while trying to find some clothes between the sheets in case you would have to jump into action immediately.

“Poe?!”

“Hey, Koyopoo!”

“Are you all right? Do you need back up? A mechanic crew? An emergency medical team? Substitute transport?”

“Actually I just – “

“You didn’t accidentally blow up another X-wing, did you? Did you blow up another X-wing? Please tell me you didn’t blow up another X-wing!”

“No honey, I just – “

“Why didn’t you contact the control room? Did Lt. Prebun mix up the frequencies for the emergency channels again? I swear, this guy…”

“Sweetheart, could you just – “

“I told you, you should have taken more pilots to the rendezvous point, didn’t I? I told you…”

You were half way finished with trying to pull the next best shirt over your legs when your sleep-deprived brain finally caught up with the lack of urgency in Poe’s voice. You hesitated.

“Wait, why… why are you so calm?”

“Because you seem to be excited enough for the two of us?”

“Sh… sorry, sweetie!” You tried your best to calm down taking a deep breath before asking, “What do you need?”

“First of all, I need you to relax, bups, everything’s fine!”

“I am relaxed!!!” you shot back with the calmness of an exploding death star.

“Snugglebums…” he cooed gently.

“Kriff, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just… slightly on edge.”

“I know, pumpkin, that’s why I wanted to tell you the we’re all okay as soon as the comms were safe to use again.” His voice was so soft and soothing that you could actually feel some of the tension being released from your body.   

“Also…”

There was always an ‘also’ with Poe, wasn’t there. As if reading your thoughts, though, he immediately assured you, “Everything is fine, really! I just… I just needed to hear your voice.”

Even through the blurry image generated by your holopad you could see the warmth and adoration radiating from his eyes as he lovingly touched the screen of his device.

You could only imagine how much of a mess you probably represented right now, with your tousled and tangled hair sticking up from your head in every direction, your puffy eyes heavy from sleep deprivation and your face crinkled with worry lines. Yet Poe’s eyes seemed to glisten as if he was looking at the most precious treasure in the galaxy. He might have been at the other end of the universe and yet you could sense his feelings for you flowing through you, warming your heart and soul as if he was right there beside you.

Despite your best attempts at trying to sound serious, you weren’t able to keep your emotions out of your voice. “Poe, you know what the General said about keeping the comms clear during missions...”

“I remember, peachy!” He grinned. “But I have a very important message for you, you see?”

“Wait, what, you do? Hang on a second…”

Switching into mission mode again, you frantically rummaged through your sheets looking for your datapad to write down Poe’s message. When you finally found it, you unlocked it as quickly as possible, nodding in Poe’s direction, “Okay, I’m ready, shoot!”

“Right.” He cleared his throat a little overdramatically.

“I just called…” he began.

“I just called…” you repeated typing as fast as you could.

“…to say…” he continued.

“…to say…” you repeated, wondering why nobody had informed you that the secret code for transmitting messages had obviously been changed again.

“I love you!”

“I love… Pohoe!”

“Awwwww did you hear that, Beebs? Your mommy loves me!” The mischievous glint in his eyes accompanying his cheeky smile was framed by the most gorgeous crinkles in the galaxy.

Fighting very hard to refrain from simply covering the holo projection in smoochies, you tried to remember your professional training when you asked him cautiously, “Poe, what did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?” He raised an eyebrow without losing his scrumptious smile.

“Well, for starters, you calling me Beebs’ mommy usually means that you fear you might be in trouble.”

As the transmittance became a little wibbly-wobbly, you were only able to catch a few excited beeps before you could hear Poe again, “Beebs wants to know if you love him, too!”

“Changing the subject, are we, sweetie? Of course, I love him, too!”

“I’m sorry, peanut, I don’t think he heard that.”

“I love you, Beebs!” you exclaimed a little louder.

“Whaaaaat?”

“I love you, Beebs!” you basically screamed at your holopad.

“Geez, babe, there really is no need to wake up half the base!”

Spinning around you nearly fell of the bed when you realized that the man you had assumed to be several systems away was suddenly standing in the door to your room.

“I am going to ki…” – “kiss me?” he chimed in hopefully.

You were about to tell him that he got it half right and look for a pillow or maybe something not so soft to throw at him, when the relief of seeing him safe and sound took over and you leapt to your feet closing the distance between the two of you in a heartbeat. Throwing your arms around him, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, not quite succeeding at suppressing a few sobs of relief.

Whatever cheeky grin or witty comment might have been on his lips, was quickly wiped away as he pulled you as close to him as humanly possible. “Hey, Koyopoo,” he whispered softly, placing a gentle kiss on top of your head.

You allowed yourself to cling to him just long enough to convince yourself that he was actually back and safe in your arms before pulling back to examine him for possible injuries. At least that had been your plan. Which was significantly hampered by the fact that Poe was not ready to let go of you yet by a long shot.

“Poe, sweetie, just lemme…“ – “I’m fine,” he said, knowing exactly what you were about to do and not loosening his hold on you one bit.

“The last time you said that you had to spend two weeks in intensive care,” you pointed out,  drawing a sheepish giggle from him. 

“I’m fine, love,” he repeated a little softer before pulling you even closer to his chest. Closer than you could remember ever being held by him. Close enough for your relief to be dampened by concern.

“Poe, what happened on that mission?” you asked him softly.

“Nothing. I mean, nothing to worry about. I just really really really missed you, boo.”

Gently cupping his cheek you scanned his face carefully, finding nothing there but pure sincerity and endless affection.

Before you got the chance to lean in for a proper kiss, you felt a nudge to your knee, which was followed by a few impatient beeps.

“Oh yeah, Beebs would like to tell you that he loves you too!” Poe explained laughing.

As you knelt down to give the little droid a few belly rubs, he began to wiggle excitedly and chirp happy beeps at you, which became even happier when you leaned forward to place a little kiss on his dome.

“Oh, so *he* gets a kiss?” Poe pouted.

“That’s for bringing him safely back to me,” you explained partly to him and partly to the little droid. “Thank you, Beebs!”

“I had a little to do with it, too, you know.” As he crossed his arms as if he had been mortally offended, his pout intensified.

“Sure you had, flyboy!” you grinned, patting his knee sympathetically.

“C’mere!”

Pulling you back up and into his arms, he gently rubbed his nose against yours before hugging you even tighter than before. As your head came to rest on his shoulder, he put his cheek against yours, tenderly swaying you both from side to side, as if dancing to a silent and soothing rhythm.

“Baby, we really need to find a way to help you relax and stop worrying so much whenever I am on a mission.”

“Mmhhmmmm…” you hummed against his shoulder. “You mean like when you start pacing across the landing pad three hours before my scheduled return? Like when you personally double-check each first aid kit on our transports? Like when you ask my mech at least five times if they are sure my wing is in ship shape condition before every flight? Like when you nearly lost it with the new comm officer for losing contact with me during our last mission?” You raised your head to be able to look at him. “That kind of relaxing?”

“Hold on, I didn’t… how do you even know about this?”

Unable to hide your smile, your gaze flickered involuntarily towards BB-8, prompting Poe to grumble, “You little snitch!”

Appalled by the accusation, the little droid rolled backwards chirping a few indignant beeps that were followed by a long and sad one.

“No, no, of course I am not mad at you, buddy!”

“Whoooeeeeeeh! Bleep blob da blibbo?”

“No, I have no idea why they are wearing my shirt on their bum,” Poe laughed before turning back to you. “Sweetiepie? Why *are* you wearing my shirt on your bum?”

Letting out a groan you leaned your forehead against his shoulder. “Because.”

With a chuckle, Poe pulled you closer towards him.

“I think I kind of like it.”

“Really…” you murmured into the fabric of his flight suit.

“Can I tell you what else would look really good on your bum?”

“Mmhmmm? Of course you can,“ you mumbled as you nuzzled your face deeper into the crook of his neck.

With the fast decrease of adrenaline in your system now that you were back in his arms, you could feel the last weeks of worrying catching up with you quickly and your head was growing heavier by the second. If it hadn’t been for Poe holding you upright as you melted into him, you probably would have collapsed already.

“Maybe some other time,” he smiled. Keeping you steady against his chest, he carefully guided you to your bed. After gently helping you to lie down, he took a moment to smile at the way you seemed to be drifting back to sleep already.

Having made sure that BB-8 was properly docked into his charging station, he swiftly got out of his boots and his flight suit before climbing into bed right next to you.

As he pulled the cover over both of you, you snuggled up against him laying your arm around him, melting into his comforting warmth with your head tugged safely beneath his chin. Slowly stroking his hand up and down your back while leaving the softest of kisses on your temple, he could feel you smiling against his chest.

“Hey, Poe?”

“Mmhhhm?”

“I love you, too!”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this little blurb, I would love to hear from you 💜

[irabelaswriting]

influx

pairing: morpheus x f!reader  |  rating: E  | words: 8.7k |  ao3

tags: sexy dream stuff blurries the line between dreams and reality you say?, count me in, alternatively titled what no dick does to a mfer, service top dream, afab reader, oral sex, masturbation, sexual fantasies, pining, mentions of choking, mentions of spanking, mentions of public sex, no use of y/n

summary: "My name. You wondered about my name," the dream that is no longer a dream says. As plainly as possible, as if he's not a stranger in your home.

"Do- do you have one?"

"All beings do."

or

You meet a stranger in a dream.

And then you meet him again.

a/n: i am dipping my fat littles toes in this particular pond. hope y'all enjoy!<3 let me know what worked and what didn't!

It’s really starting to get cold out. 

October has just rolled around – autumnal colors all around. Pumpkins freshly harvested from patches set out on the steps of the houses you pass, leaves slowly making their descent from tree crowns. A promise of frosts sits in the air; come morning, the cold would make the warm colors more vibrant. 

If it gets too cold you might need to start commuting, you decide, no longer taking the oh-so familiar road you’ve incorporated into your daily routine for months now. 

The streets are wide, a winding path you walk along – passing by garbage and street lights, small little shops and narrow alleyways just out of the corner of your eye every so often. 

Every day, you walk down this road. It’s routine – just like how putting on socks or brushing your teeth is. 

Yet, as you pass another alley, something stops you midstep.

Something about this particular alley on this particular day makes you turn your head as if you’d just caught the eyes of a long lost acquaintance across the room. 

And unbidden, an image flickers across your mind. 

Large hands pushing up your skirts, finding the gusset of your underwear between your thighs soaked through, all for him, deft fingers sliding beneath wet fabric. A teasing touch against you, the slick slide audible in the dark, quiet alley. Someone could find you, see you, if they had mind enough to just look hard enough for a moment longer. 

Your heart skips a beat – the memory as clear as day on your retina. 

As if it had been real. 

The dreams… the visions, had started a while ago. Unbidden, as wet dreams – ugh – usually were. Of course, it was all just a normal part of being alive, you rationalized. Heated situations in a dream with a crush or someone whose outwardly attributes you liked more than the person themselves was a totally normal, natural response to non-reciprocated attraction. 

What wasn’t normal was having them about a person you didn’t even know. And, that they were recurring.

Not one night of reprieve had been awarded to you since it all had first begun. 

Every night, he visited you in your dreams. 

The man in your dreams hadn’t been known to you. Well, not previously. Now, you felt as if you’d recognize him in a crowd, that you could pick him out in a lineup of all your previous lovers despite him not truly being one of them. Stoic and pale, tall and lithe, composed of lean muscles that rippled under smooth skin, with hands so very large in comparison to your own. A voice that whispered into your ear, deep and dark and holding promises of pleasure everytime it raked across your brain. 

The first time you’d seen him it had been a seemingly ordinary dream. Usually, they’d be about losing all your teeth at once while simultaneously trying really hard at an exam in school only to realize you were taking it naked. All the people involved, witnesses to your embarrassment, were usually pieces of a puzzle coerced together simply under the guise that you had some bias from having them there. 

Yet… the dream in particular had been nothing but ordinary; not even sexual. You had gone about your usual routine, said your usual hellos and goodbyes, walked on the very road you were trudging along right now, when he had caught your eye. A face in the crowd of muddled features. 

He had stared back at you – with consciousness, a responsiveness that didn’t belong in dreams. 

It had been impossible not to look back at him – meet his striking gaze. 

One moment, he had been there, and in the next, he was gone.  

They weren’t real, you tell yourself yet again, bending down, pretending to fix a shoelace in case some unbidden voyeur was privy to your mindless stop on the street. Above, a tree canopy rustles as a bird takes flight, the only evidence of it ever sitting there being the dark feather landing by your feet as you rise. 

The way home is a winding one – but the scene replays in your head enough that you feel a sticky heat coil in the pit of your belly. A hunger wanting, no– needing to be slaked with the ease of your own fingers (all the while imagining someone else's) sliding across heated skin. 

You think that you must've met him somewhere. 

That your subconscious is pulling a mean prank on you with blurry half-imagined images of a man you might’ve maybe (hopefully) snogged on a night out and can’t recall more than that fuzzy encounter of. 

That it’s not a stranger, but rather surely some acquaintance or a mutual friend of a friend you’ve been introduced to at a party and promptly forgotten the name of. 

That you’ve somehow baked him into your subconsciousness like a calzone. 

That you’re so starved for attention that you have wet dreams about the one guy who has proved to be somewhat of a constant in your life. 

Good gods, were you really that starved for affection that you had wet dreams about a guy you’d only seen in your dreams?

Your depravity was endless, a bottomless pit.

Because it hadn’t happened just once – no, now, the image of him panting above you was etched to your mind as the code into your apartment complex was. 

Finally, you reach your destination – home. You take the steps to your apartment two at a time, riled up by the promise of what awaits in the solace of your bedroom. The steps are made of polished limestone filled with fossilized ammonites that you’d otherwise stop and look at but you’re on a mission now. 

Everything lays forgotten as you move into your abode, closing the door and securing it with a physical deadbolt. Then, the weight of the day hits you. A layer of grime and dust surely lingers on your skin, sweat and dirt that came with moving about your business–

A change of plans. 

Instinctively, you move towards the bathroom, chucking clothing items as you go, leaving them for a future you to take care of. 

You let the water get hot before getting in. 

In the shower, you let yourself go, fingers slipping down between wet skin to an even wetter core, teasing yourself just slightly before really getting to work at easing the orgasm out of your body.

In your mind's eye, in your dreams, it’s easy to let fantasy do the work; change your position, have your hands tied or free at a mere whim, shoved faced down or facing your unknown, nameless lover.

It blurs together into a mess – but it’s orderly, kind of – every whim you have is met. 

If you imagine him grabbing fistfulls of your hips and pushing down, spewing lewd vitriol against your ear – you get it. 

If you imagine your hands tied and him using them for leverage until the change of altitude makes you woozy – you get that too. 

Every urge is abid and sated, the fantasy adjusting at once depending on however you’re feeling inclined. 

That’s the easy part, recalling the intimate moments as if they’ve been real, emulating his touch on your body.

His hand moving down along your naked front; cupping your pussy in his hand, fingers skirting along slick folds but being withholding, not giving you anything, not until you’re writhing in his grip, reduced into a needy, begging mess–

He talks, too, you recall, fingers picking up their pace – with a deep, baritone voice that ushers praises and harsh little words at just the right moment. Instantly, you incorporate it in your fantasy. 

“So good,” he whispers by your ear as you titter on the precipice of yet another orgasm at his hands, fingers working inside you just so, “so good for me.” 

No, take it slow, you inwardly scold. Prolong the pleasure just a bit longer. Listening to the constant stream of water running over your body and down down the drain, you steady yourself. 

Rewinding, you alter the daydream. 

Fingers pressing into you only after you’ve earned them on your knees – your reward a perfect curling motion that has you keening. A sound that only has him roughly pulling you deeper down on his fingers, your back arching as heady pleasure rolls over you in thick, heavy waves. 

You moan into the air, air that’s filled with water vapor that condenses, droplets of saturated water that run down your bathroom mirror. Despite the water steadily streaming across your body, you feel the sensation of sweat beading behind your knees; a surefire way of predicting the impending orgasm. Swallowing thickly, fingers pick up their pace. 

Hands tied tightly behind your back, large fingers skirting along your innermost thighs, grabbing fistfulls of plump, supple flesh, lightly smacking the fat of your ass, the soft waves of pain and pleasure making your belly coil together hotly. Knowing what’s to come when–

Just right, you curl your fingers, pinching a nipple simultaneously. Teasing at first, building up the anticipation of filling yourself up with your fingers, circling your core until you can’t take it any longer and give into the first few moments of blissful fullness.

One moment, on your back, the other, on your knees. Throat stuffed with cock and cum, and in the next– 

Shamelessly moaning into the air, you goad yourself with more to tip over the edge.

His hand twisting in locks of hair, gently coaxing your head towards him, tucking his face against your shoulder, hand covering your mouth as he whispers for you to be quiet, pounding you through an orgasm in a dirty back alley.  

Hips undulating, you tense up – voice vibrating in the humid air, reaching a crescendo. 

Slender fingers circling your waist, before finally settling on your hips and pulling you down on his cock with soft, pliable resistance–

But it isn’t him. It isn’t real. Has never been. 

You stop abruptly.

Defeat washes over you – and still, you try again, scratching at that particular itch, that particular daydream, yearning for the release. 

The fall over the edge never comes. Blissful pleasure never arrives despite being right there, and soon the movement of your fingers is a chore, the throbbing in your lower belly almost hurting. 

A groan leaves you, head against the bathroom tile, as you flex your cramping fingers, finally relenting. Panting now, hot all over, water still flowing freely across your body.

Only thing you were achieving now was running up your water bill.

Pride swallowed, you twist the blender into icy cold, dousing yourself until you’re nothing but a shivering mess. 

You step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body, cursing yourself under your breath. 

This was all so– so stupid. 

It had never been an issue before. Really, you could bust a couple out in an evening if the mood struck – but since this all started, your statistics for masturbation ending with a climax had dwindled hard. Had the graph of your sexual habits been recorded somewhere it would’ve been exponential in it’s decline – off the charts with failure. 

You take the disappointment and frustration out on your hair, doing your best in drying it before making your way into the living room. It’s cold there too, and you feel goosebumps rise along your arms, prickling on the back of your neck. Even the mess you’ve left for yourself to take care of annoys you, no help in bettering your rapidly souring mood. You kick a shapeless mass of clothing into a corner, trying to stop the beast in your belly from blossoming and tearing through. 

One blanket secured later, you plop down into the sunken down couch – exhausted. Still shivering, you turn on a rerun of some show you’ve already seen a hundred times on Netflix. 

All in all – it serves as a little distraction from your already wandering thoughts. 

The failed orgasm is still lingering in the back of your mind, a steady thumping in your core that won’t go away with anything other than time. You don’t click the little skip intro prompt that pops up this time; and boredom soon takes over as a scene you know by heart starts playing. With a sigh, you turn over, starting a mindless scroll on your phone instead, nuzzling into the couch that’s finally starting to warm up your shivering body. The show provides a soft chatter in the background, filling the void with some non-tangible noise – a mere background buzz. 

Body heavy, you sink down, down, until there’s nothing but the soft embrace of sleep to catch you. 

Bent over a desk, cheek pressed into unrelenting varnished wood, slender fingers around your neck as he thrusts inside you, buried to the hilt with one languid roll of his hips. A deep groan ringing through the air, your own sounds muted from his grip around your windpipe. 

Your ass high in the air, fingers digging into the divot where thigh meets hips, one large palm ghosting over the round surface of your rear, rising up to give the already tender flesh another well placed hit. 

The same rough pace still persists, forcing stuttering little words from your lips, fingers now digging into the softness of your sides. Livid bites left along your neck and shoulders, a hand slipping between your thighs. A sheen of sweat covers your back, as well as the forehead that’s pressed to a shoulder blade. 

The gasp that escapes you as the room contorts until it’s no longer recognizable echoes through the void. It’s not even your bed anymore, the sheets you’d hand picked out of the bargain barrel replaced with the softest of silk that flows like water between your clutching fingers.

He’s in front of you, above you– 

Behind you.

Fingers tug the towel wrapped around your body off. 

You yelp – instantly going to cover yourself.

“Nothing I haven’t already seen,” a murmured whisper intones, goosebumps rising along your skin. “Don’t be shy.” 

His hands are cold – in clear difference to your already much too hot body – and your back arches as if to escape from his light touch against your ribcage. 

Instead, he’s behind you, and you’re in his lap, with nowhere to run now.

You try again to cover up, but large hands grasp your wrists and pull them back. 

Finally, you relent, relaxing.  

“There we go,” right by your ear, you hear him, feel him rest his chin on your shoulder, peeking down the valley of your now bared breasts. 

Eyes glimmering like stars watching as his own fingers trace gently along bare thighs before finally pushing apart the sticky folds of your pussy. Soft, teasing graces toying with you before finally pushing inside. Curling just right, adding just the right pressure, until you throw your head back against his shoulder, a leg darting out for purchase against the incoming wave of pleasure, thumb flicking against your clit just as he finds that spot inside you–

He stops. 

You whine – almost crying from the let down, feeling that fire die down by not being tended to. 

“So desperate,” he chides, lips barely tracing yours as you jerk more, convulsing in his hands from being denied. “Still not enough?” 

“No– please, more,” you murmur against soft lips, speech rendered into a mess of sloppy and slurred kisses. It could never be enough – you want him, you want to beg for him, want a name to call out into the night, some title to give him more than this shape that comes to you each night. 

Your hand digs into him, keeping him close. As if he would disappear if you didn’t. 

You want to know him – taste him, share more than just this simple fantasy with him – you want more, crave it even as he’s on top of you, inside you–

“Tell me, do you think you’re awake?”

His voice echoes in the nothingness surrounding you. 

What did he mean by that? 

He has deviated from the usual course, the script that you’ve willfully, intently, set in your mind and eagerly fulfilled your role in–

“Realizing you’re dreaming wakes most people up.” His hands are on you again, moving across your skin until he’s right by your ear, whispering. “Interesting.” 

Halfway – that is how far your fingers, reaching out to grab his own, make it before the world tilts and changes again. 

With a start, you wake up, immediately sitting up from the pile of blankets on top of you. 

Blearily, you blink. 

Are you still watching? Netflix questions, mockingly. 

You– you must’ve fallen asleep – the throb between your legs has only intensified, coupled with your heart hammering in your throat and you know– you remember what he had said–

Out of the corner of your eye, something moves. 

A man is in your living room. 

Not just any man – it’s him.

As clear as day – across the room from you. Dressed in all black and staring at you with familiar, gleaming eyes. 

“Um,” you start, heart hammering hard behind your ribcage, working overtime in keeping you alive, “c-c-can I h-help you?”

Ah. Yes, the good ol’ fight or flee or freeze or fawn or– 

Customer service.

You clutch the blanket around you even tighter, backing up into the corner of the couch – hyperaware and noticing everything in what feels like a millisecond.

How you’ve slept through at least two episodes of the show you put on. That the street lights outside your windows are bright, casting luminosity on the streets below. That there’s no immediate sign of a break in, no broken door hanging off its hinges. That you’re in nothing but a towel and covered by a blanket. 

And, that the man currently across your living room is staring at you. 

“My name. You wondered about my name,” the dream that is no longer a dream says. As plainly as possible, as if he’s not a stranger in your home. 

“Do–do you have one?” 

“All beings do.“

At a loss for words for a moment, mind racing (how did he know that? followed by a frantic oh god why is he here? and how did he even get in?) you offer him your own name, and the side of his mouth twitches upwards, as if he’s known it all along. 

“I am Dream of the Endless. Lord of dreams and nightmares, and ruler of the Dreaming.” His voice is deep and calm, much calmer than you yourself feel at the moment. A rich baritone that carries across the room despite him not even raising his voice. 

It sounds… pompous, but not untrue. Still, you can’t keep yourself from asking. “Any more titles?”

“Morpheus. Lord Morpheus.”

You hadn’t seriously considered that there’d be more. 

“... The Dreaming?”

“Yes, it is my realm, where I hold sovereignty,” he explains, “I am the maker of dreams and nightmares for all beings of this plane.” 

For a moment, you wonder if you’ve gone insane. If not getting your rocks off for the past weeks has changed your physiology somehow, that you’re so pent up that you’re hallucinating this. That this isn’t real – just a dream of a dream to soothe your already fragile, underfucked psyche.  

“Sleep well?” 

Your breath hitches in the otherwise silent room at the question. 

At once, you’re aware that he knows. He knows. He’s solidifying that fact with that question – a question he probably knows the answer to too, and is simply asking because your inherent uneasiness of the situation must also be known to him. 

Or, as you might suspect when your eyes flick to meet his own and notice the hint of smugness present in them, he is simply asking to embarrass you further. 

“Ah, yes, uh,” the heat on your cheeks is mortifying, shame welling up at the base of your throat, “I’m sorry. If– if you’re able to see them and all–”

“I do.” 

No need in explaining what they are, then. 

“So sorry about that, erm,” the words fumble out of your mouth, “they’re just– fantasies, right, my, uh– my l-lord?”  

You probably actually don’t need to address him as such, one of the many titles, but something about him demands your attention, your respect. Is it shame? A part of you cringes inwardly, finding it difficult to meet his hard eyed stare. Eyes that are simply observing you – not eating you alive, not even undressing you. Yet you get the distinct feeling of being under a microscope, every part of you being dissected. Evaluated.

Deciding to err on the side of caution – he is, afterall, a stranger – because you’re not completely sold on what he’s selling you. 

Which is an explanation to all of this.

“I don’t understand,” you say, shaking your head. “Are you– are you the one doing this to me?”

Dark brows pull down. For a moment, you think he’s cross with you–

Maybe that’s just the guilt rolling together in your stomach, all bile and acid, because he knows. He knows everything. He’s the unwilling participant, no– object, of your fantasies. 

“... These dreams are–” Morpheus pauses. 

Filthy, dirty, wholly indecent, you mind intones on its own, preemptively wincing. 

”Very imaginative. Thoughts that are all your own work.” 

No hammer falls to sentence you – judgment simply not present in his tone. 

Unbeknownst (or simply not caring) of your internal dilemma, Morpheus takes in your space, the adjoining kitchen and door to your bedroom before continuing, voice the same even tone. “My involvement never stemmed greater than simply… appearing. It seems you’ve grown attached.” 

Attached to the idea of him, just as you’d find a kind stranger enticing. It wasn’t… had it truly been him? 

“I just thought–” you don’t even know what you’ve been thinking, how you’ve cause this more than– “that since I daydreamed about it– it could alter what I dreamed of while sleeping–” 

“It does. Not to this extent, usually, but you seem to have acquired a gift not many are even born with.” Morpheus says, carefully stepping over the heap of clothes you kicked earlier. “A form of lucid dreaming.” 

“... I’m shaping my dreams?” You had seen a couple of videos on lucid dreaming during your teenage years. Followed the seemingly simple instructions a lady in harem pants had listed in a 16 minute long youtube video – but to no avail. Now, however, you would envision scenarios, make up context for your fantasies, was that what he meant? 

“Are you surprised?” Morpheus asks, head tilted to the side slightly. “Every day life affects dreams, yes, even fantasies and wishes do. That is not the unusual part.” 

Pieces of a puzzle started to form a cohesive picture – you couldn’t control what happened in your dreams as much as you could perhaps entice a certain end to happen. Set one ball rolling and hoping it triggered a response in kind. 

Maybe, if you could still find it, you should leave a comment on that video praising its effectiveness. 

“Willing them to happen as you see fit, however, is.”

Immediately, you think back on the dream you’d just been pulled out of rather roughly – where you’d been denied, where he had denied you–

“That is why I’m here.” He answers your unasked question as he steps further into your living room, continuing. “It’s usually a gift sought out and refined by dark arts practitioners, not by… lonely girls.” Morpheus almost scoffs a bit at that, as if he’s noticed the singular plate drying on your dish rack, the adjoining single pair of cutlery and glass from last night's dinner, and realized exactly what you are. 

Now, you glower at him. You weren’t lonely in many ways of your life – you had friends, family, hell, even coworkers who all adored you. It was just… a lonely life in one particular department, one that you weren’t fully ready to admit to even really coveting. 

Yet he isn’t outright judging you – nor the contents of your dreams. Moreso, he seems mildly annoyed at being pulled into this.

That wasn’t wholly true though, was it? No, he had done this – he was the weird magic dream guy, not you. 

“I didn’t want this,” you almost hiss back at him, “you’re the one– who's done this– you’re the reason I can’t–”

The words hang in the air, unfinished.

–can’t get my rocks off. 

You don’t want to say that – to frame it that way, to admit it. 

Some part of your subconsciousness obviously found him desirable, attractive – you couldn’t keep that from him, even now, as he imposed himself in your apartment and had almost scared you half to death – because he had been in every single dream since you’d first laid your eyes on him. Appeared in them, he had said, as if he was just a supporting role in all your fantasies. Knows about the predicament the dreams leave you in every morning – has to know.

Instead, you just glare at him now, grit your teeth. Accusingly. “Fix it.” 

At your words, he looks like he’s on the verge of an emotion – but like he can’t decide on which one. Incredulity and genuine curiosity both flit over his stoic features; you dare order him? as well as clear unfeigned interest that that’s exactly what you’re doing.

“As I said,” he finally says after a moment, “you’ve grown attached.”

It’s your turn to scoff. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You mortals do like excuses.”

Instantly, you regret all the very good things you’ve inwardly thought of him, a flash of annoyance welling up inside of you. Morpheus was certainly much ruder like this than in your dreams, where he was all willful, enthusiastic compliance to your whims. You suck your teeth at him. “Why are you even here?” 

“I have already told you. It’s a phenomenon rarely seen, and I’ve come to inspect it further.”

Describing it like you’re nothing more than bacteria on a petri dish, a mere body ready for autopsy – clinical, medical, distanced. 

“And you’re doing that by… breaking and entering my home?” You look away from him, fighting against the flush of emotion moving up your shoulders and neck. “Could’ve just knocked on my door instead of sneaking up on me in my sleep.”

“Only one of those statements is true.” 

You’re just about to question which one he meant when you note the faint lilt of amusement in his tone. 

You don’t need to see him to know that he’s pressing closer to where you’re still sprawled out on the couch. 

“Here I thought you were inviting me over when you asked for more.” 

Your head whips back to him – just to find him peering down at you. 

Much closer than before. 

Tendrils of heat sink their clutches into you at once. 

“I can’t help but wonder… if you got a taste of the real thing, would it stop? Would you stop calling me to come fill you up in the middle of the night?” Leaning down, his fingers wrap around your chin. “I do have a realm to tend to, other duties to… see to.” 

The shift in the air is palpable. 

Your mouth is so dry now. This feels so much more real than anything else before – you’re conscious, this is not a dream, you finalize like a mantra, fingernails digging into your palms. 

A light slap to your cheek, ordering you to open up your mouth, to show him his spend on your tongue before being allowed to swallow. 

The image had come unbidden – that it’s a particularly degrading one is even more mortifying. Pupils blown wide, you peer up at him through your lashes. 

“Even now, you want it.” His thumb brushes against the plump of your lower lip as he regards you. His tone indicates that he’s almost… surprised at it, your willingness. 

Embarrassed, you come to your own defense.

“I don’t.” You lie. 

A peculiar sound leaves him – something halfway between a scoff and a laugh. 

“You are as predictable here as you are in your dreams,” he says, sounding far too amused for your liking, thumb sweeping along your cheekbone. 

Then, he kisses you, all slow and soft. 

The protest that had sat on the tip of your tongue is swallowed down. 

One hand curls in the front of his shirt, the other wrapping around a bicep reached out to support himself on the couch’s backrest, searching for purchase. The rest of your body freezes, not yet answering the kiss in kind. 

Eyes squeezing shut, you try making sense of this, this whole situation. The interest that’s been rewarded you has been for reasons you barely understand, abilities you didn’t even know you possessed in the first place– 

At once, you sink into the couch pillows, escaping the kiss but not the hand that has settled on the back of your neck. Still, it lets you fall back with no resistance. 

He – Morpheus, you inwardly remind yourself of his name – hovers above you, tilting his head to the side imploringly. Like a crow would, or how dogs do at funny sounds. 

Swallowing uncomfortably, you break the gaze he has you in. Despite that, his eyes stay on your face, pinning you to the couch as much as the weight of him above you does. 

At first, you don’t know how to put the words that sit on the forefront of your mind. You were overthinking this, you were thinking far too little, you were–

“What you said before… Am I controlling you? H-have I been controlling you?” Your eyes search Morpheus' face.

He snorts. “You are not nearly powerful enough for that.” 

Good to know, you think, shifting beneath him, still. At least there’s that.  

Even with his body hovering above you, with layers of clothes and fabric separating your bodies, you feel yourself flush, an instinctive reaction to him, the object of all your desires and pining, being so close, so real. 

After a moment of silence, you start again. “You’re doing this to make it stop? Will it work?”

Morpheus seems to weigh his options a bit – all of them, the consequences of whatever reply he’ll give you obviously fluttering across his mind – before he goes on.

“It is… a working theory. If simply fulfilling your imaginations in the Dreaming would have been enough to keep you satiated,” he lingers on the word enough that you feel a fresh flush travel up your shoulders, “then I would worry about how much power you’ve already managed to steal from me.” After a moment’s longer deliberation, he adds: “... Honestly, it is seldom something like this occurs.” 

“I haven’t stolen anything.” You huff. You hadn’t willfully robbed him of anything. 

“Maybe not. Perhaps it was a gift.” Fingers trail up your bare arm, goosebumps rising in its wake, his eyes following the path he traces. Almost contemplatively, as if he’s just seen you for the first time, he goes on. “When I first felt the promise within you as you dreamt… it was a mistake showing myself in your dreams. Now, I am simply dealing with the consequences of my own recklessness.”

Reassurement aside, it is also a bit gratifying, knowing that he’s at your beck and call. That he’s here because of you – because it’s you. That the interest is mutual, in some capacity. 

That this isn’t a pity fuck – not one solely reserved for lonely girls who happen to call the Lord of Dreams into their own little fantasies. This was as much him as it was you. 

“Then– take it back.” 

“Oh, I am eager to make sure it is returned to where it belongs,” the slightest uptick of his mouth punctates the last bit, a promise of imminent closeness, the word stressed with weight as he leans down to whisper right by your ear, “for the both of us.” 

And even though he’s kissed you hundreds of times in countless dreams – this first, proper one is tentative, uncertain. A chaste press of his lips to your own, all soft and unimposing. 

Searching for any lingering doubts, making sure–

A pause follows as your eyes meet again. Morpheus pulls back slightly, brows tugging down again. Instantly, your arms move on their own accord, wrapping around his neck. You pull him back down, into another kiss, this one claiming more, allowing more. Fighting against the smile you feel spread across your lips when he answers the kiss with the same fervor is hopeless. At once, fire starts to spread under your skin, cinders smoking in your belly, his hands clutching you against him in return. 

He tastes soft, like rainwater and fog, and dark and deep like wine, musky and minty all at once. Something to get drunk on, lost in. Nothing like you could ever conjure up yourself. 

Your hands leave his neck – moving down his collar between layers of fabric and shoulder blades, feel them move as he settles against you, hands adjusting you underneath him, scratch your nails against whatever skin he’s allowing you to see, to touch. Searching for a definite clutch to assure you that it’s real. As if on cue, he lets the dark coat fall off him, your eager hands just as helpful as his own when in return he makes short work of the fabric between you. The towel falls off your body as easily as it had in your dream, discarded and out of sight. 

Despite yourself, you keen into the kiss, feeling a soft haze settle into your mind, as if you’re on the verge of slipping into easy sleep, hitting your senses and spreading through you like the first warmth of a bath.

It’s delicious, languid bliss.

Bodies molding against each other, settling into the natural curve of each other, thighs spreading to let him between them; teeth and tongue and lips mingling together in the kiss. Your fingers tread through the hair at the nape of his neck, humming softly when he pulls back from the kiss. 

Slender fingers dig into bare skin, his hands maneuvering you beneath him. They touch every inch of skin within reach; the pads of his fingers dragging against hip bones, along every rib, between your bare breasts and trailing along the natural curve of them. 

Finally, his hand sweeps across your neck, the tips of his fingers running along the column of your throat before lightly tracing your collarbone. When the hand pulls back, it’s replaced with his mouth finding the side of your neck, teeth biting down. Your breath hitches from the sting, clutching at him even harder as a delicate sound leaves his own lips. 

“What do you want?” Morpheus mummers against your ear, lips brushing against the sensitive skin. “Ask and I’ll give.”

“Mouth,” you whisper out, breathlessly, “I want your mouth on me.” 

He must know what you meant, where you mean. 

Yet the path there is tortuous and slow. 

Arms unwrap around him to give him freedom to travel the path further down, another press of his lips to the intimately hidden skin behind your ears, your clavicle and sternum given the same attention. Little love bites left in his wake, never hard enough to bruise or break the skin even if they make you squirm beneath him. 

Finally, he finally seals his lips around one stiff nipple without anymore of the slow, teasing buildup. Toying with the hard nub with lips and tongue, teeth nipping lightly, shockwaves of warm pain and pleasure spreading out from your chest, curling in on itself deep in your abdomen. It’s not until you start to shake and whine earnestly that he switches over and lavishes its twin with the same attention, kneading the other in his broad hand. 

Your fingers tread through dark hair, urging him down with more force than needed to further incite him downwards. Even as he maneuvers you easily, your fingers fist in the back of his collar, tugging upwards before he catches on and lets you drag the shirt off him. 

When he finally relents, it almost takes you by surprise. Large hands get a hold of your hips, hauling you down until you hang off the edge of the couch, before letting them settle on the back of your knees. The soft pressure of his forearms urges them up, like you’re nothing but a doll in his hand, tilting your pelvis up while he simultaneously sinks down his knees. Hearing his breathing deep at the visual of your spread legs, center slick and heated, is almost as gratifying as the swipe of his thumb against your clit that follows. Eyes locked with yours, he tastes the wetness as your mouth falls open as a new wave of want rushes through you, hips arching up to entice him into hurrying up. 

As if on demand, a large hand circles around a thigh, butterflying out against the softness of your belly, a throaty hum leaving Morpheus. 

It’s a visual for you too – seeing him on his knees, framed by soft thighs, eyes gleaming as he finally leans down–

Slowly, a silken, dexterous heat envelopes your clit. 

The sound that leaves you is desperate; long and pitched low in your throat, the joints in your fingers almost locking with how you tense up. It nearly hurts with how good it feels – and you let it be known, vocal cords not able to keep in the loud moans. Thighs clamp shut around him, starting to squirm with a needy gasp as his tongue flutters over your clit in broad, slow strokes. His grip tightens around your thighs, giving a hard squeeze, the soft pressure on your belly increasing. 

It’s almost impossible to not tilt your hips up and meet the unhurried laps of his tongue, and it’s almost harder to remain unmoving when you notice the prickly friction of stubble across your innermost thighs. Not a wholly unpleasant sensation but rather… tickling. The soft laugh that makes it past your lips as you squirm yet again is rewarded with a hard stare and an even harder hold circling your thighs, keeping them open as he pushes you further into the couch. A silent order to keep still. 

You bite your lip as he uses his teeth softly against your thigh, fingers flexing in the upholstery below you. Morpheus has given you all the incentive to obey. 

Not until you're well and properly still does he move again. 

He’s warm, not at all like in your dreams, and he’s velveteen against you; tongue rolling in repeated soft circles against that bundle of nerves, swollen with need. 

You think that there’s an easy way around this all – Morpheus doesn’t need to do… any of this. Not only the reassurement he had so willingly provided after you’d shown the slightest of doubt, but also–  

You’d been slick and ready from the moment you woke up. Really, the dream he had pulled you out of had been more than enough to ensure that. This was as needless as an AC on the North Pole. Maybe, it’s simply because you asked. 

Yet, as you peer down at him again at a particularly long stroke of his tongue, you meet his eyes yet again. The striking eyes are already watching you; taking it in, watching you come apart underneath him. A new rush of arousal surges through you, wetter at the mere thought that he’s enjoying this, that this is for him as much as it’s for you – following your whims, making your fantasies come alive– 

Morpheus’ motivations are a mystery to you – and impossible to focus on, too busy letting the high tide of pleasure swallow you whole. His tongue circles around your center without pushing past the ridge into you, so close in giving you something to tighten around. 

“Please,” you gasp, hands twitching with need to hold onto something, to ground yourself with, to fill you up with, “I– I need–”

Two fingers sink into you. 

Instinctively, one hand tangles in his disorderly dark hair, anchoring him closer, harder into you, the other grabbing his hand splayed out across your belly still. 

Morpheus’ smug hum vibrates through you, nose brushing against your clit as you start to stutter. 

Soft and easy, meeting plump resistance and your own tightening walls, soft and wet heat, a slick sound as he starts moving the digits. Lazy, languid movements that give you delicious stretch, friction. A steady rhythm that’s just what you need – flashes of electricity moving up your spine with every slow pump of his fingers. 

Then, they curl into a coaxing motion, and the pressure is almost punishing, coupled with his lips locking around your clit again, sucking as he repeatedly taps against that soft place inside of you. 

It’s devastating. 

“I’m– I’m gonna– oh–” you breathe out, managing to unravel your voice from where it’s stuck in your throat, everything seizing up into one big wave, grip on his hair turning steely. He doubles down – giving you just what you need, latching onto anything you’ll give him.

Hot white lightning floods your veins – and the pent up weeklong backlog of being denied bursts through, wringing itself out, tightening up like a vice. Stars sparkle behind your eyes, a broken moan leaving your lips as you twist on the fingers working the orgasm through your entire system, legs trembling. All of your synapses are on fire, feeling every precise flick over the oversensitized nub wreak havoc on your nerve endings, every crook of his fingers prompting an influx of heat. 

The force of it nearly makes you fall off the couch. 

Luckily, his hands are there, holding you down, securing you against the furniture so you have no wiggle room, unable to do anything but take the shockwaves that flood your system, no choice but to just take the fingers working the orgasm through you. 

When your muscles finally relax and you go limp in his hold, you fill your lungs with oxygen, chest rising and falling. Panting into the air, feeling the aftershocks sending flickers of electricity through muscles contracting. The scent of sex hangs heavy in the air, the faint soapy smell of your showergel, as well as something wholly different from yourself. The hand on your belly moves, and you notice that you’re still clutching at Morpheus’ hair. You let the cramp like hold relent, and he unlatches himself from between your still shaking thighs. 

A line of gossamer slick still connects his mouth to your core. Thoughtlessly, you dart your hand out and collect the wetness with your fingers. All motor skills leave you in his hands – your body acting on its own accord rather than how you want it to. 

Heady eyes move between the slippery fingers and your own gaze, peering up at you through thick, dark lashes. With the barest of motion, he takes the digits into his mouth. 

Eyes wide, pupils blown, you watch the peek of pink tongue run over your fingers, heat coiling together tightly in the pit of your abdomen. His lips are warm, soft against the pads of your fingers, as he pulls back, drinking in the look plastered on your face. 

“You are just as demanding here as you are in your dreams,” he says, sounding too amused for your liking. A secret joke you’re not wholly in on. 

You watch him rise up between your thighs, eyes immediately lowering– 

Now, you notice that he’s as naked as you are as he stands between your spread legs. And he wasn’t done with you yet. 

You gasp when he pulls you up with him. He grabs just below your knees as he stands, adjusting you until your knees bend inwards towards your head.

A thin, barely there, trail of hair on his chest and stomach catches your eyes, almost translucent and unnoticeable if you weren’t looking for it. You run your hand over it, fingers skim along his adonis belt, following the natural curve of the bone and down. “Imagine if I was more demanding,” you say, a bit breathlessly, watching alabaster skin twitch under your touch, the flesh that’s stretched over bones and lean muscle, pressing your fingers to his heart to really see if there’s something there, “what then.” 

In return, Morpheus grabs your wandering hand, pressing his lips to the back of your fingers hastily. The both dark and bright glimmering eyes catch your own. The cosmos must be in them, you think, as they sparkle with something much more indelible than you could ever hope to be. 

What you’re thinking of, the realization that hit you, must show on your face, because the faintest of smiles graces his lips as he traps the wandering hand to your side, stopping any further investigation of him. 

“More,” he finally answers, as something blunt and slick presses between the apex of your thighs, the glide made easy by your own wetness, when it catches on the ridge and– 

“I’d give you more.” 

With one surefire thrust, he’s filled you to the hilt – the baritone groan leaving him reverberating through the room. 

Your mouth agape as your vocal cords work, but no sound comes. 

Quickly, you snag your fingers around his wrist, around one bicep, and his own fingers dig into soft, pillowy flesh. He pulls back and thrusts down, the stretch of him instantly making your legs quiver, supporting himself on the edge of the couch, easily maneuvering a leg over his shoulder. 

Staggered at first, the pace he sets has your eyes rolling with every inch pushed into your waiting cunt. A groan rattles through his narrow chest, cock seated inside of you, grinding his pelvis against your own. You moan, hips arching up, plainly asking for more. And he grants it; the leg over his shoulder that he’s keeping there almost cramps up from the pleasure, and you feel a hot breath let out against the soft skin behind your knee, his lips pressed against the skin he’s able to reach. 

He fucks you through the couch. 

At least, that's what it feels like. 

It’s a pounding – the couch springs underneath you doing little to absorb the shock as you take his cock, barely offering any plush comfort. He fills you completely, reaching deep and hitting something completely shattering within you. Broad hands grip your thighs, keeping you flush and filled completely with him. Every snap of his hip brushes against your clit, adding little bursts of stars behind your eyelids. 

When you start calling out his name, begging for more, he murmurs against your skin, back bending to kiss the salty sheen off your brows and collarbones. 

And suddenly, you’re caged under him. 

Slender fingers settle into the plump of your rear, and instinctively your ankles lock over narrow hips. Letting gravity do the work as he thrusts down, Morpheus drives the pace even further, making your wail and digging your nails into his back, shoulders, anything you can reach, tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck. 

When his mouth covers yours it’s mostly to keep you quiet, you’re sure. 

It’s comforting – the heat of him above you, covering you like how blankets of snow cover the streets in the middle of winter. Finding comfort in being wanted and needed, coveted, in the way that you feel you need him, cling to him, head thrown back as his strokes hit deeper and deeper, whispers of encouragement leaving his lips all the while. 

What was tentative and searching at first turns into a fervor; more, you think, more. 

Even as he surrounds you utterly, completely. In every breath, you smell him, taste him, feel him as he rocks into you. Lips eagerly opening for each other without any hesitation, a hot need, a want, rising in your chest. Every ounce of closeness that he offers, you take and swallow whole. Nails dig into his shoulders, as his own fingers do the same to your hips, grip on the cusp of bruising. 

You feel bent in half – his forehead against yours, a salt sweat covering your body. You start to moan in earnest; you feel yourself clutching around him, the first warning pulses of an orgasm rippling through from your toes to the veins in your throat seizing up. All the air rushes through your lungs – up and out, twisting into a shout. 

Every movement is precise, every caress and kiss and bite he rewards across your skin serving a purpose. It’s perfect; it has you keening, writhing like molten metal has filled your veins. The air is filled with your quick, rapid breathing. His own low, dark grunts and praises against the shell of your ear are private, reserved only for you. Your toes curl as if there’s hot sand below them, like you’re racing across the hot dunes of a desert, like you’re falling into quicksand and sinking down into the hot center of the earth. The way he takes you is rigorous; leaving nothing behind to have you wanting. It’s deliberate, knowing, of both you and your wants, and you think that anyone else would pale in comparison to him. 

No one would – could – ever compare.  

The second orgasm unfurls, wicked and hard, crashing through you. It burns a hole in the pit of your stomach, clutching at Morpheus, back arching to keep him close–

It doesn’t stop, he doesn’t stop, not relenting an inch as he pushes you over the edge you’ve been begging for, imagining for weeks on end. Every thrust tightens your cunt until everything inside you is fierce and tense, chest heaving with almost seismic force, wet and hot bliss. 

It’s devastating, utterly destructive – complete pleasure that soars through you.

Head dropping to your shoulder, Morpheus drags himself over that same brink as soon as you’re done toppling over, hips stuttering against your own until his pelvis presses against yours and stays there, grinding deep with a throaty groan. 

Gradually, things start to return to you; Morpheus' forehead pressed to your sternum, the tranquility around you, watching dust particles dance in the soft light coming from outside your window. The breath he takes as he holds you still is deep, slowly pulling himself out of you. Immediately, gravity makes itself known by the sticky wet that runs down your innermost thighs. You shudder at it, the unpleasant feeling of cum slowly leaking out of you. 

It doesn’t matter though – no, you couldn’t do anything about it if you wanted to. 

You’re boneless. Joints all locked up, stiff from the position, panting breath rising towards the ceiling. A dull throb still persists between your legs, aftershocks of the way your muscles have been working, the comedown starting to kick in. 

The couch is worn down, sunken in after years of diligent use. 

But at the moment, it’s the most comfortable thing you've ever felt.

And you sink down into it, let yourself be taken into Morpheus arms as he leans down into the couch.

You groan into the air, hand thrown over your eyes. 

“Sated.” Morpheus’ voice is soothing, but the statement is plain. As if you’re some fairytale beast he’s just offered a sacrificial lamb to, and was now awaiting a boon. Pleasure lingers, as does the weight of him, the feel of him inside you. His voice is smooth, lulling, a promise of the sleep that would come, eventually – as inevitable as dreams themselves. 

Fleetingly, you wonder if he’d still meet you there, in that inbetween place, where all your previous encounters had taken place. 

“Are you serious? Who– where else could I get fucked like this? I’m ruined.” You moan, like you’re a maiden who's just been sneaked out of her virginal purity by showing too much ankle. 

The thought, that certain consequence, hasn’t seemed to dawn on the King of Dreams, Lord Dream or whatever it was. Or at least, that’s what his silence tells you. When no reply comes after another moment, you part the fingers across your eyes, just in time to see him move. 

And then, he’s rolling you over, hovering above you as you lay beneath him, heart suddenly stuck in your throat – staring down into your eyes intently. 

“Maybe,” Morpheus closes in on you again, leaning over you, lips barely skimming yours as he follows up that particular thought, “this shouldn't be the last time then?”

---

i read a total of three (3) morpheus/reader fics before i started writing this. happy sandman renewal and what not!! 

is the ending a set up for a sequel? well,,, 

let me know what worked and what didn’t! <3

EDIT: this ended up getting a sequel! read halcyon here

[roswellsmokingwoman]

(Aziraphale x Crowley) Headlights - Chapter 5

Read Here - NOW COMPLETE!!! Good Omens Human AU with a divorced Crowley and Aziraphale finding love again and getting back together.

Soho, Present Day

Crowley is a coward, plain and simple. And so what if he is? His cowardice brings out Aziraphale’s bravery. After all, it was Aziraphale who called first after three years. It wasn’t that Crowley had been too stubborn to make the first move, and it wasn’t anger that stopped him from dialing the number of the bookshop. Only now, it isn’t the fear of rejection that stops him from proposing. 

How does someone propose the second time around? There’s a shortage of articles on the subject of remarrying your once-spouse. He knows Aziraphale too well to doubt that Aziraphale’s expectations grow with each passing day. Because a ring would be too small and my physical heart too impossible, I gave him nothing and nothing was enough. Is that romantic or pitiful? Crowley wonders.

Now, with all of his grand plans, his ability to propose falls short. So, if he can’t take to one knee, he resorts to a course of action he knows Aziraphale will understand. He’s tried his pen at romance and never managed a convincing tale. The one he’s written now, to him is the essence of romance but to others, it must be a maddeningly ineffable tale of two idiots

The binder is thick and heavy between his hands, and he holds it awkwardly like a sandwich, presenting it to Aziraphale the way in which a child presents a drawing to a parent–clumsily, with both pride and embarrassment. Binders are new–he’s never put the pages of a book in a binder, but it’s helped him this time around to have the presentation. It’s a crude approximation of cloth-bound pages he’s used to, but it gives the image of a finished product. 

Aziraphale eyes Crowley suspiciously, his brows furrowed. “What’s this?” he asks, but his heart thumps in his chest. Best not to assume , Aziraphale reminds himself. The memory plays over in his mind, and if it is what he thinks it is, then Crowley must be telling him he’s ready. His hand hovers near the binder, too afraid to take it. 

Crowley thrusts it out to him. “I want you to read it,” he insists, handing off the binder with its hundreds of pages. 

“Is it your book?” Aziraphale whispers. 

Crowley nods. 

Aziraphale isn’t prepared for this. He desired this so desperately, but he still hadn’t brought himself to buy a ring. He’d looked at several, comparing each to the platinum band with a crimson stone that Crowley once wore. None ever came close to it. You don’t need a ring to ask , Aziraphale tries to tell himself. 

“Could we read it together?” Aziraphale asks instead. 

Crowley miscalculated. He hadn’t accounted for those moments when Aziraphale chose cowardice, too. And then he would pass off the helm to Crowley, eagerly awaiting his savior. He’s smiling so innocently, the bastard, Crowley stews. 

But Crowley agrees and sits down with Aziraphale on the couch, sharing a thin tartan blanket. It’s supposed to be Aziraphale’s reading hour, and the room is already set–a candle with wooden wick flickers, infusing the room with warmth. The lights are dimmed except for those nearest to the couch, for ambience. 

Crowley clears his throat, shifting as Aziraphale lays his head on Crowley’s shoulder. He begins reading, inflecting as he’d imagined the pages should be read. Aziraphale smiles, mesmerized by Crowley’s cadence and the gentle rasp of his voice. 

He had the patience of Job. The nameless man lives in the dark. It isn’t the kind of dark that eyes can adjust to, forming dim and blurry shapes. The darkness is perfect and impenetrable. The man walks through the void, measuring days on his watch that never stops running, the sole light that reveals nothing in the darkness. He knows time, just as he knows he’s spent one thousand one hundred and eighty-two days here. 

And while he doesn’t remember his name, he might as well be called Job because, against reason, he believes the darkness will abate. Job had been left here, all those many days ago, to wait. How and who had left him, he doesn’t know. But he remembers a flit of blond and the smell of a good bookshop. He remembers the pleasant voice of a man, reading from Chaucer at his desk. Job remembers love, vivid and bright, that carries him through the pitch blackness of this place. 

“Too bad it won’t be published,” Crowley states wistfully, interrupting the flow of the novel.

“It’s too beautiful not to publish,” Aziraphlae argues. He thumbs over the pages fondly, smiling at Crowley. It’s a smile that Crowley struggles to argue with, blinding and beautiful and sincere. 

“It’s you and me,” Crowley reminds him, nevertheless.

“I wasn’t reading Chaucer when we met,” Aziraphale notes. “So is it really?”

“Creative liberties, angel.”

[lizard-shifter-noms]

Still Subject to Change Chapter 15 (NEW)

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Hello everyone! i decided to repost arc 1 of SSTC

(the chapters were way too long and had a bunch of typos but hopefully this will make reading easier)

this Story contains Vore, Dont like dont read.

if there are still any grammatical errors i’m sorry.

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I wasn’t sure how long I stayed unconscious for but I woke up to something repeatedly tapping at my face as well as some noise I could not Identify for the life of me.

I really wanted to go back to the warm comforting darkness but I knew that I should get up even if I would rather continue to keep my eyes closed.

I wasn’t sure where exactly i was but i knew that everything Fucking hurt a lot and wanted it to stop.

The noise came back, this time louder and clearer than before and I could finally make out that it was someone talking.

“Donovan please wake up! Please!”

The voice was very familiar and I was confused.

Why would I know someone well enough to know their voice?

I was a street rat, an unwanted bastard, So why was the voice I heard so full of concern?

I was pulled a bit more into consciousness when I felt an excruciating pain in my abdomen from Something applying pressure on me.

Or in me? At the moment I hurt too much to care but I opened my eyes a crack anyway, curiosity overriding pain for just a second.

The things I saw were dimly lit greenish gray walls and someone standing in front of me.

Something was off though, the person stood close enough to appear slightly blurry but seemed to still be really small?

“Donovan! Are you okay? Please be okay!”

The Redhaired form rushed at me and clung to my neck in a weird sort of hug.

“Robin?”

I croaked recognizing that mop of ginger waves everywhere.

He went back to where I could see his face and I noticed that his eyes were slightly puffy.

Had he been crying?

Before I could continue that train of thought a new wave of pain went out from my guts causing me to hiss out from the awful sensation.

“Don’t move! That’s just making it worse!”

Another voice called from somewhere I couldn’t see and I complied, recognizing Arthur’s voice.

At this point I wished that this awful pain would finally stop.

Oh. wait. FUCK!

Rikaad was still in my pouch, the very same pouch that had been horribly assaulted with a blade and suffered at least two stab wounds.

No wonder I was hurting so bad! Lying sideways on the glowy moss hadn’t made things better of course.

But at least the glowy moss was better than collapsing in the snow.

Wait a second, I wasn’t actively stopping Rikaad from stabbing me again by squishing my pouch!

But he still wasn’t doing anything it felt like, just a limp form lying as far away as possible from the wounds he had caused.

Even though all the pain I could tell he wasn’t moving and that worried me greatly.

Rikaad was a stubborn man, he wouldn’t just- He wouldn’t just lie there and do nothing.

For a second my mind conjured the horrifying image of him having drowned in my blood that was no doubt still trickling from the wounds he made.

Despite knowing how much pain it would cause me I tentatively flexed a few muscles just to make sure he was still alive.

I somehow ended up flexing my ribs outward a bit instead and he jerked, trying to brace himself from the sudden movement.

“What the fuck are you doing i said don’t move!”

Arthur snapped from wherever he was.

I glanced around trying to find where he was and saw him sitting between my hands and middle, some bandages in hand and trying to wash out the bite wound Rikaad had made.

Where the hell did he even get bandages? I didn’t know but they looked suspiciously like strips from my handkerchief.

I chose not to care about it, the thing had been old anyway and at least like this it was useful one last time.

This time I did what Arthur said and instead turned my attention to Robin again who was hugging my ear like his life depended on it.

“What-”

“I’m so glad you woke up again”

Looking at him to the best of my ability as he was still hugging my fuzzy ear I could practically feel the worry radiating off of him.

He really must have thought I wouldn’t wake up again after I fell unconscious.

I wish I could move to hug him but I was pretty sure that if I did that the entire pain I had beforehand would flare up again.

And at least whatever Arthur was doing seemed to have helped just the tiniest bit.

My entire torso still hurt like hell though, and I didn’t dare move in case I upset the wounds again.

Rikaad was still lying completely docile and moving as little as he could while confined in an ever shifting environment.

It was really weird and kind of off putting that he was just- just lying there but I was VERY glad he hadn’t decided to cut me open while I had been out of it.

I wondered if I could move my head without straining my torso at all and slowly turned my head towards Robin who looked up at the movement.

He scrambled to get in front of my face again, stumbling once and then was back to standing before me, still looking as worried as ever.

“How are you? Can I do anything to help?”

His usual chipper demeanor had vanished completely, replaced with nothing but worry as he looked at me, eyes still a bit red.

I wasn’t sure what exactly he could do to help as I didn’t really know the extent of my injuries, hell I didn’t even know what had happened since I got to the cave.

Well I probably could just ask, and it would make Robin feel at least a little useful and maybe i could figure out why Rikaad was so weirdly calm.

I didn’t dare speak to the man, I wasn’t keen on another beating as this time I WOULD die.

“Say what the fuck happened? I know I keeled over and then?”

I didn’t dare ask why Rikaad had not cut himself out, the mental image would probably make him sick, and me too if i was honest.

“Well when you fell over you said he was hurting you, so we yelled at him to stop then Arthur shoved me out of the way and started yelling, i think he was cursing?

But uhh he did stop and Arthur explained stuff? I think he did get some things wrong but Rikaad understands now i think”

Well at least that, I still didn’t dare speak to him though.

I didn’t WANT to talk to him, my physical injuries weren’t the only thing hurting right now and honestly? I was a bit sour that he didn’t believe even after I had promised twice in a row that he’d be okay.

Well nothing to do about it now, best to just let it be.

“Say how long was I out for? I still feel awful”

He glanced at the cave entrance, apparently trying to gauge how light it was outside.

“I’m not sure but long enough for the storm to pass”

Not exactly the information I was hoping for but at least without the storm we had one less problem.

Now it was only back to about five other problems, We were still away from Kamerasca and now I was hurt with no way of actually helping me.

Even if by some miracle we found a doctor or medic out here in the middle of fucking nowhere they wouldn’t know what to do with my freaky anatomy.

Besides, I was still a bastard so I wouldn’t receive help anyway, if not outright killed.

Before I could think of anything else to say or ask we were interrupted by Arthur.

“Donovan? Do you think it’s possible to get Rikaad out? I don’t think having him staying there is going to help your wounds, i mean he did say that they mostly stopped bleeding but uhh yeah”

And there was the question i had dreaded, it wasn’t surprising that he wanted out but i knew that if i just attempted to do so would rip my pouch to shreds.

“I want to, i really do, but if i try that i’m going to rupture something”

I winced, I didn’t want him in there anymore than he did but I wasn’t keen on dying either.

And everything still hurt so much!

It was a hot throbbing pain that made me feel like someone switched my heart with my pouch and there was this underlying feeling of nausea all the time telling me to get rid of the uncomfortable lump sitting in my Pouch.

Arthur just nodded and went back to check the bandages once more.

I could tell he was nervous and decided not to point it out or tell him that he didn’t have to check the bandages every ten minutes.

At this point I could almost feel the exact shape of the gashes Rikaad had made and they weren’t exactly benign.

I could tell that it was one longer slash above a single stab where the knife had twisted itself into the flesh during the time I had squished Rikaad.

There was a slight shift inside and I had to bite my tongue to not let out a pained hiss.

Rikaad noticed my discomfort anyway and went back to being extremely still.

If he wasn’t moving he was so still that I could mistake him for a corpse and it was kinda unnerving but at least it kept the pain to a minimum.

Though my ear flicked when he spoke the first words to me since I had fallen unconscious.

“If you can get a needle and thread to me i could sew the wounds shut and reduce the risk of reopening them”

My heart sped up a bit at his proposal, sewing a wound wasn’t an easy task even if you weren’t confined in a fleshy bag that moved while its host was breathing.

Not to mention that he had no light to work with and I would not let anyone attempt to do that when they couldn’t see anything.

He did not move as he spoke, simply waiting for a reply.

“I- you don’t have light, how are you going to sew it when you can’t see what you are doing? Also I’m NOT going to swallow a needle! Thats fucking dangerous!”

“I am not saying that you should swallow a bare needle but you could find a container for it, as for the light there should be a lantern with glass and a candle with my stuff, if im fast enough it wont even get warm”

I hated that he had a logical solution for all of these but in the end he was once again right.

“Fine! Just- just be careful?

Everything still hurts and you are not making that better!”

I might have sounded a bit snappy but I decided after all that happened I was allowed to sound sour.

“Of course and, whether you believe me or not i am truly sorry for what i did”

“Just help fix it.

I don’t want to talk about it right now okay?

ARTHUR! Can you find a needle, some thread and a container for them? Also some lantern that's with Rikaad’s stuff”

Arthur’s head snapped to me before scrambling to get upright and sift through all our stuff for the required items.

“Oh what can I do to help? I want to help too!”

While it was nice of him to offer i wasn’t exactly sure if Robin Could help, I knew he was the most clumsy out of all of us and I didn’t want him accidentally dropping the needle.

Finding it again would be a nightmare.

“You could uhh- you could do something to draw away my attention from having to be sewed up?

Having something distracting me would be appreciated!”

He nodded enthusiastically and then his brain seemed to be buffering on what to do.

His eyes flicked over me before settling once again on my ears.

He went over to the one I wasn’t currently lying on and began to massage it.

Well this was something his tiny hands were good at, Having a positive sensation to distract me from the negative one was a good idea.

Not to mention that it was actually relaxing and successfully calmed me down enough to not flinch when Arthur returned with a tiny metal box in hand that usually contained the fire starters we used and the lantern Rikaad mentioned.

Strangely enough he was also dragging a piece of a thick branch behind him.

At least the lantern was round with little sunk in windows so breaking the glass would be difficult.

“I have the stuff! And something you can bite when Rikaad sews you up”

Ah so that was why he brought that log over, it was a nice gesture and i was sure it would keep me from howling out in pain.

Now for the hard part, actually getting the unpleasant looking metal box and lantern down to Rikaad.

I had never actually attempted to swallow something while lying sideways, why should I have?

So this was gonna pose a problem, how would I even get it down without choking?

Arthur seemed to have had the same thought as he glanced at my arms, One of which I was lying on and the other holding my guts as gently as I could and moving would probably cause more pain.

“Uhh you know what I’m just gonna toss them? No wait, one contains glass, uhhh how should we? Like you can’t move, what should we do?”

Good question, but I had no answer to that either.

Before either of us could think of something Robin had moved from his spot and went up to Arthur.

He took the items out of a confused looking Arthur’s hands and went in front of my face so that I had to cross my eyes to see him.

“I have an idea! Open up!”

He gently nudged at my mouth with his elbow and i was so confused that i simply complied.

I did not expect however that he would just stick his entire torso in my mouth.

I was so surprised that I almost jerked my head back but I didn’t dare move.

I did not want to end up hurting him, at all.

Looking at Arthur for help i could see that he had a shocked expression, He didn’t expect that either huh?

I tried my best to keep my mouth completely still but my tongue seemed to try and act on its own so I had to incredibly restrain myself.

I could feel Robin leaning in even further with his arm above his head one item in each hand.

Was he just gonna shove it down my throat?

The answer to that was yes as he started to do just that.

The sensation of having something small and pointy shoved into my pharynx was rather unpleasant but I bore it and prepared myself to send it to the pouch.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see that Arthur had grabbed one of Robin’s legs to keep him from going too far in.

I was grateful for that as it reduced the risk of me accidentally swallowing him and inflicting even more pain upon myself.

Though i had to say that swallowing the small things was far from pleasant as they were hard and had pokey bits.

I couldn’t believe that I would actually prefer to swallow an entire person instead of these boxy things.

And I was really glad that Arthur had decided to hold on to Robin as he had been dragged a bit further back when I swallowed and had to be pulled out a bit.

The Stuff Rikaad wanted reached him just as Arthur hauled Robin out of my mouth.

“Warn a guy before you do something like this, please that was not what i expected don’t do that again”

He just nodded and tried to get spit out of his hair using an already saliva soaked sleeve.

He stared at it for a moment and grimaced.

“I’m going to wash at the pond, I’ll be right back!”

He slipped out from Arthur’s grip and made a beeline for the small body of lukewarm water.

Arthur had meanwhile moved closer to my pouch again, asking Rikaad if he had found the items.

I was glad that they did not bump or scrape the wounds on their entry but the peace would last long now as Rikaad would sew them as soon as he had light.

Speaking of light, I hoped he would manage to actually get the candle to light up.

While I wasn’t exactly keen on having a literal fire in my guts it was better than having Rikaad work in total darkness.

From the movement that sent a new pain signal to my head he had found them and was preparing himself to play doctor.

“I have found everything, it wasn’t difficult as half on it landed on top of my head”

I would have laughed at the mental image if I wasn’t sure that it would just bring a new wave of pain.

While we waited for Rikaad to set up his stuff Robin came back with partially dried hair and clothing and resumed his place next to my ear.

He continued with the gentle massage but I couldn’t help and get the image of someone petting a cat in my head.

Well not like anyone else would ever know about this.

“I have threaded the needle, prepare yourself i will begin stitching you back together”

I tried my best not to tense.

I really did, but the needle felt like a wasp sting every time it went in and out of my flesh.

I hissed in pain and bared my teeth in a grimace, I hated this!

It hurt and I couldn’t even move lest I risked making it worse.

Arthur, seeing my plight, dragged the log he previously searched out over to my face.

It was a wonder he could even hold the thing as it was at least as wide as a person and twice as long.

“Here you can bite this, maybe it’ll help?”

He almost dropped the slightly curved wood on his foot and stumbled back a bit but it was close enough that I could take it between my teeth.

Between being able to bite something and Robin still gently petting my ear it got at least bearable to have my insides sewn up.

I did however hope that Rikaad would be done soon, not just because it hurt like hell but also because I could start to taste a faint hint of smoke at the back of my throat.

There was a particularly bad twinge as Rikaad called out again.

“Almost done! I just need to tie the thread”

And I bit down on the wood stronger than I had before with a pained sound.

It cracked and suddenly I had a mouth full of splintered wood and sawdust while larger pieces just fell to the floor.

I didn’t think I would be able to bite through solid wood and stared at the pieces of it for a horrified second, not comprehending what just happened.

“What the fuck?”

Arthur pressed out in a higher pitch than normal, staring at it with wide eyes.

Robin hadn’t seen exactly what had happened as he was basically next to my neck underneath my ear but he had stopped petting it and curiously looked over to the mess.

“Oh you are going to have to pick out all the smaller pieces later”

He ducked back to his spot now weirdly calm and quiet.

Aw Fuck, scaring them was the last thing i wanted to do but of course i somehow still managed to do it anyway.

At least Rikaad was done sewing my insides up as the stinging sensation was gone now and the taste of smoke slowly disappeared from my mouth.

As much as having him play doctor was awful, I had to admit that it actually was a bit better now, probably because the wound covered less of the skin there and didn’t run a risk of opening itself with every motion.

For the first time in hours my body was able to relax a bit again and I just lay there with my head on the moss feeling just a tiny bit better.

Arthur quietly leaned on my shoulder next to Robin and slid down to the floor looking rather tired.

Right, I didn’t even know what time it was, or how long it took to sew me up.

Before I could ask though, I heard Rikaad again.

“You should sleep, the rest will aid you in your recovery”

I could feel he was lying on his back, he probably had the stuff he had used put on his chest to not lose it.

He better not lose it, I didn’t want random items to be left behind.

He was right though, sleeping would help even if it probably would take a while to actually fall asleep with how everything was still aching.

At least the other two wouldn’t have much of a problem with that judging by how Robin was slumped over and cuddling up to my neck.

Arthur wasn’t faring much better either, he was slouched next to my shoulder and looking only minutes away from sleep.

Everyone’s adrenaline must have worn out and left them feeling tired, me included.

So best to heed Rikaad’s advice and simply rest till the next morning.

Waking up my brain took a few seconds to start working again, but the feeling of something in my aching pouch made the memories rush back to me and I prepared for a sudden onslaught of pain from the wounds.

As nothing happened beyond the constant ache i recalled that Rikaad had sewn it up yesterday, and subsequently was still in there.

Glancing down I could see Arthur slumped against my shoulder in a rather uncomfortable looking position.

Robin was also still cuddled up to my neck, I couldn’t see him but I could definitely feel his little body there.

I wasn’t sure if I was the only one awake as Rikaad wasn’t moving, but I knew from taking shifts watching that he could lay there like a corpse and still be wide awake.

I deemed it best not to do anything as I didn’t want to wake the two curled up outside of me.

They looked like they needed the rest, at least Arthur definitely did, and Robin had never been a morning person so i let them sleep until they woke up themselves.

Though, Arthur looked a bit miserable with how he was slumped over, And with how he held his head that couldn’t be good for his neck.

So I decided to carefully move for the first time since I collapsed on this spot.

Slowly raising the arm I wasn’t lying on closer to my head and making sure the movement didn’t disturb the freshly sown wounds in my gut.

When there was nothing besides a weird pins and needles sensation from not moving my arm I gently brushed the splintered wood from yesterday away from me.

Slowly as not to wake him I slid my palm under Arthur and put him next to Robin in a more comfortable position that wouldn’t strain his neck so much.

Before I could take my hand back though something latched onto my thumb and wouldn’t let go.

Robin had grabbed it in his sleep.

Damnit, now I couldn’t move.

Well I WAS ordered to rest anyway so I could deal with this for a couple of hours until everyone else woke up.

Before falling asleep again I tried to focus on the damage that was done on my insides and how bad it was now that Rikaad sewed it up.

It didn’t seem like it got any worse at least, and it had stopped hurting as much as it did before.

It was still aching of course but nowhere near as bad as at the start and thus a lot more manageable.

Reassured that I was now getting better, I fell back asleep with my hand still used as a pillow by Robin.

PREVIOUS / NEXT / OVERSIGHT

[cantstoptheimagines]

Reminders (Holland!Peter Parker | MCU)

Summary — Odd details of your life begin to merge into memories of the boy who lives next door.

Requested by @tokufan400 — Headcannon for Ned and MJ post NWH: Ned, MJ and the Reader somehow get their memories back of Peter. The Reader then says they are going to kill Peter once they find him before rushing off

Warnings & Other Tags ➳ Angst (amnesia, memory loss, deja vu, etc.); lovers to strangers to lovers again; takes place a few months after the events of No Way Home.

Notes ➳ Word Count is 911, including lyrics. ➳ Reader is gender neutral (they/them). ➳ The lyrics used in this work are from “Lover” by Taylor Swift.

FAQ | Masterlist | Fandoms | Requests | Coming Soon | Schedule 

Peter seemed nice enough.

He was a good neighbor, which sometimes seemed difficult to come across in the endless sea of people who lived in New York. The way he had introduced himself by helping you carry in some groceries endeared him to you rather quickly.

He was always inviting you out to lunch. Even if he knew you wouldn’t be available on a particular day, he still wanted to extend the offer. Not to mention, he was the one you could trust to take care of your cat if you had to leave for a few days. 

Despite him being kind, however, you’d occasionally catch a flash of sorrow in his eyes whenever he looked at you. It would quickly disappear once he realized you had noticed. Of course, you knew he had lost his aunt only a few months prior to meeting him, so you figured that must have been the reason and didn’t pry into the subject.

Peter, however, always sent feelings of deja vu throughout your mind. You were sure you hadn’t met him before. Maybe you just remembered passing by him on the street? Or meeting his eyes at one of the local bodegas? That must have been it, right?

It wasn’t until things started popping up around your apartment that waves of familiarity began to overwhelm your mind. And it all led back to Peter.

The first discovery was a photo of the two of you, specifically one you didn’t remember taking. It was tucked away in a desk drawer, hiding beneath an old chemistry assignment for who knows how long. 

Your eyebrows furrowed at the sight of it. Holding it delicately in your hands, your index finger traced over the image of Peter’s face. 

Even though the picture was blurry, as though the two of you were tumbling over while taking it, you could still make out the bright smile on his face. You were pressed against his side with one of his arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders. 

While you were looking at the camera with a wide smile, Peter’s eyes were on you. They had a certain twinkle to them that made him appear gentle and soft, much like the Peter you knew now. 

Within moments, the photo was framed and placed upon your nightstand. You admired it each night as you fell asleep.

You never brought it up to Peter. Perhaps the photo was a spur of the moment decision that you can’t recall making. With that rationalization set in your mind, you moved on.

Until you found a shirt that wasn’t yours. Digging through one of your drawers, you paused at the sight of it. It was an oversized, white t-shirt with a yellow taxi on the front, along with the words ‘I survived my trip to NYC’.

It was something a tourist would buy. Not you, who had lived in the city your whole life. You were left to wonder where it came from, but couldn’t come up with an answer. For some reason, however, you felt the need to fold it neatly on top of your nightstand, directly next to the photo of you and Peter.

You finally drew a line in the sand when it came to a song. It was one of your favorites, one that you had listened to who knows how many times before. But you had never listened to it around Peter. That you know of, at least. 

The two of you stood in your kitchen. Your cat is weaving between Peter’s legs, begging for attention, as he stands by the stove and stirs some pasta. You’re busy chopping up a few vegetables. Music is playing through a wireless speaker that sits on the kitchen table. 

You’re quietly listening as Peter tells you about his day. He went to the local bodega to get a sandwich after going for an afternoon run. After that, he had to do a few errands before coming back to his apartment so he could get ready for your weekly dinner-and-movie night. 

You offer an occasional hum to let him know you’re paying attention to what he’s saying. As he starts rambling about the movie he brought for the two of you to watch, the song echoing the speaker fades out and changes to a different one.

You blink at the opening rhythm, pausing in the repetitive motion of chopping the vegetables. Instead, your eyes drifted to Peter, who still had his back to you. His voice was slowly fading away as you gazed at him with furrowed eyebrows.

And there’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear... Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

The feeling of his skin against yours in times of uncontrollable love. Receiving a photograph as a gift after a date. His lips against yours beneath the glow of city lights. Sleepovers where he’s falling asleep in an oversized, white t-shirt that he inevitably forgets the next morning.

Dancing to these lyrics and this rhythm together in your kitchen nearly a year ago. And both of you deciding it was meant to be your song. 

These moments from your life are suddenly flooding your mind as you admire him. It’s a wave of realization, your remembrance of memories long lost.

Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close forever and ever? And ah, take me out, and take me home! You’re my, my, my, my—

“Peter.”

[ash5monster01]

Perfect To Love Part 5

Pairing: Steve Harrington x FemReader!PlusSize

Warnings: fluff, mentions of bullying, body image issues, fat shaming, angst, trust issues.

Summary: Beth Walker was used to living in the shadows. She had only one friend and anyone else who paid her mind usually bullied her for her size. So she learned to keep her mouth shut, her head down, and her heart closed because she had to accept the fact that she would be nothing more than the fat girl to people. That is until Robin decides Beth needs more in life and that might just include a boy who she never would’ve thought could see her for who she truly was.

word count: 2,387

Part 4 ←→ Part 6

Masterlist

It wasn’t often Steve and Dustin ended up alone these days. After they had become friends and Dustin started bringing around the party it just made sense to always do things as a big group. Yet every once in a while they’d get lucky and have time just the two of them. Today was one of those days since Mike went home early to call El and Lucas was taking Max to the movies to distract her from having to move into the trailer park. That meant Dustin was the only one that needed to be picked up from school today. Which also left Dustin alone with Steve since Robin was working a solo shift at Family Video tonight. He could finally hound the boy in private about his recent observations. Observations he had to keep to himself all weekend in anticipation of getting alone time with the guy.

“So how long have you been crushing on Beth?” Dustin leisurely asked after Steve had gotten done telling him about his most recent shift at Family Video. It was so smooth Steve didn’t even realized what he was asking for a moment.

“Since the party she-… Wait. You tricked me” Steve turned and glared, in disbelief he had fallen so quickly into Dustin’s trap. Loosening him up so he wouldn’t notice when he asked. He knew he should’ve been concerned when he asked about his day.

“Look I felt like skipping over the whole denial part and getting to the good stuff” Dustin offered, arms crossing over his chest.

“How’d you even know?” Steve asked, annoyed he had to explain himself to a child about a girl he wasn’t even sure what to do with. He had never dated girls like her, and that wasn’t meant to be conceived as bigger. Most girls he dated were dumb, ditzy, and had fried brain cells from too much aqua net. All of them were like that except Nancy and he totally screwed that one up anyway. On top of that, what was even the correct thing to say to her? Most times he tried to convince her of her beauty she just denied him. He didn’t want to lie to her but he wanted her to know she was worth as much as those other girls despite being different. That kind of line could get blurry.

“When you brought her to the movies with us. You did that thing where your ears turn red because she touched your arm and complimented you. It was funny. She likes you too” Steve’s eyes widened as Dustin spit this information out at him. He wished the boy didn’t notice everything all the damn time.

“She does not like me. She would’ve agreed to get food with me instead of sit through that horrible horror movie” Steve said referring to the second Nightmare on Elm Street they watched. He hadn’t even seen the first one and the only good thing about it was Beth leaning closer to him when she got scared.

“She only wanted to watch the movie cause you freaked out when Mike suggested you were going on a date with her” Dustin told him because it was true. No girl in the world wants to see the guy they like panic over the thought of dating them. Especially a girl like Beth that has only ever been hurt by men.

“Shit, I obviously didn’t mean it like that” Steve said hitting the steering wheel lightly.

“Yeah but she took it like that. I wouldn’t want to go and talk to a guy for two hours either after he made it clear he doesn’t want to date me” Dustin told him and Steve sighed, parking in front of Dustin’s house.

“Damnit, I just don’t know what to do with her. She’s different, obviously not in a bad way. I just have no idea how to approach the situation, she doesn’t believe me when I flirt with her. I have no idea how to get her to understand I want to kiss the shit out of her” Dustin snickered lightly as Steve admitted to this, not bothering hiding how he feels about the girl anymore in front of the boy.

“Where did all these feelings come from, you just met her?” Dustin asked, confused how one night could change everything.

“That night we went to the party we had a lot of fun, I was so comfortable talking to her. Plus she looked so good, like an angel. Then I caught Colin saying mean things to her and next thing I know I was punching him and claiming her as my own. When I heard those vile things he was saying I realized I wanted to protect her forever” Dustin looked at him with wide eyes, the first time he was hearing about Steve actually punching the guy.

“You punched him, and won?” Steve rolled his eyes and shoved the boy lightly to which Dustin just laughed.

“We left and she just broke down. Cried in my arms in the middle of the street and all I could think about was how many times she had cried because of that asshole and never had anyone to hold her” Steve finished his spiel and Dustin nodded, taking in all the information he had finally gotten from him.

“Makes sense why I haven’t seen Colin call her a mean name in a while. Actually I don’t think he’s even gone near her. I just assumed he got the black eye from football” Dustin told him, knowing him and the Hellfire Club usually had a front row seat to Colin’s bullying in the lunchroom.

“Good, means that asshole listened to me when I said to never go near her again” Steve seethed, already getting worked up about the guy. Where did Colin think he was getting off treating a girl like that?

“Look, just ask her on a date. Make it clear it’s actually a date this time too. Just move slow about it. You would probably scare her off going full King Steve” Dustin told him now reaching for his backpack.

“Okay, let me talk to Robin. If you tell anyone about this I’ll kill you” Steve said pointing at him and Dustin rolled his eyes before pushing open his door.

“Whatever, you screw it up with Beth I’ll kill you” Dustin told him back, already feeling protective over the girl because he knew what it was like to be treated differently because of your looks. Steve shook his head as Dustin got out the vehicle and slammed the door back shut before heading inside.

Steve drove off, towards the direction of Family Video, prepared to talk off Robins ear in hopes of getting advice about the girl. That was the plan until he pulled up outside of Family Video just to see the blue corvette parked outside. It was freshly washed, glimmering in the soft light of the autumn sun. He realized pretty soon Beth would have to put the car away, go a winter without it in order to protect it from rust. His BMW had always been important to him, he took care of it to the best of his abilities, but even he knew he didnt love his car like Beth loved hers. She loved so fiercely he wondered if that was why she hadn't allowed herself to be loved by anyone else, because she knew she would always love them more. His curiosity got the best of him and he pulled around the building to park in the back where he normally would during a shift. This way he could sneak in through the breakroom without alerting the girls.

"He showed up at your house?" Robin questioned, clearly unaware of the boy who wasn't supposed to be here since he wasn't currently working. Beth hadn't had a chance to talk to Robin since the series of events unfolded. Sunday Beth was worried about bothering her by calling and in school they didn't have a chance just the two of them to talk about it.

"Yeah I was working on my car and he just appeared in my driveway" Beth told her, leaning over the counter. She never wanted to be a girl to gossip about boys but it wasn't until now she realized how confusing boys could be.

"Then he asked you to go with him to take the kids to a movie?" to Beth Robin just seemed like a friend asking questions about what had went down over the weekend but Robin was curious because her and Steve hadn't planned on that. She was aware of most moves he was to make with Beth because it was her idea. He never brought up bringing her with the kids.

“Not exactly, he wanted to do something while they watched the movie but I said we should watch with them” Beth explained, having regretted it since she learned it was a horror movie. She didn’t sleep the entire night that night.

“Why would you do that, he clearly wanted to spend time with you?” Robin curiously asked, shoving some returns to the side that still needed to be put away.

“Well that’s what I thought until Mike suggested we were going on a date and you should’ve seen him freak out Rob. It was like even suggesting it was torture enough for him” Beth sighed, her head falling into her hands. This answer made Robin almost instantly fall into a glare. Steve's job was to mae Beth feel good about herself, acting horrified about going on a date with her clearly wouldn't help that.

"Maybe you just took it wrong, sometimes Steve is an idiot. Trust me, I would know" Robin comforted, her hand falling on the girls shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

"I dont know, I just feel stupid. I used to hate all the pretty girls that went in and out of that BMW like clockwork and now here I am, one of them" Beth groaned, feeling silly for allowing any feelings for Steve to seep in at all because she still hadn't forgiven him for what he had done. All those simple conversations made it easy to pretend but at the end of the day you could never really take a way the kind of harm he had done.

"You're not one of them Beth, no girl gets invitied into the BMW more than once these days. He's the one that showed up at your house, invited you to tag along with him. He probably panicked because he didn't want the kids teasing you guys if you did go on a date" Robin explained because she had seen how Steve was with the kids. There was a time they did it around her, Steve panicking about them suggesting a relationship between the two. That was because they didn't know she was gay. Hell she wasn't even sure Beth really knew.

"I just shouldn't of let him get close Robin, I've been out of my safety bubble too long. If I let this go on any longer all thats gonna happen is getting hurt and being reminded fat girls don't deserve that kind of love. I have to take a step back" Steve's heart dropped as he heard this confession from the back room. That was when he realized he couldn't be shy about this crush he had on her. No waiting around for hints she likes him back. Beth deserved to be pursued and he was gonna pursue the hell out of her. So he rushed back out the back door, hopped in his car, and sped back to the front of the building.

The bells on the door were hit so hard from his entrance they barely jingled, just a loud chime clambering into the wall as Steve rushed in. The wind from his stride making the Phoebe Cates cutout flutter slightly. Both girls jumped, too deep in their serious conversaton to be prepaed for such entrance. After all no one was ever that in a hurry to rent a movie. Once Beth saw it was Steve her heart calmed but Robin knew he had been listening. The stupid dingus had been eavesdropping from the back room. This was the only answer especially since Steve never cared to move so fast ever, even when he was clocked in.

"Steve we were just talki-"

"Will you go on a date with me? Saturday night, 6pm sharp, at Enzo's. I'll pick you up" Beth stared at the boy, eyes wide by his abruptness. Robin rolled her eyes, his answer enough to confirm he was spying on the two.

"You want to go on a date with me?" Beth finally muttered out, her heart racing so fast she swore they both could hear it.

"Yes Beth, because you deserve to be pursued and I want to pursue you. So we're gonna go on a real date, away from the kids, away from Robin, away from highschool assholes like Colin Matterson, who couldn’t be decent enough to take whatever snotty cheerleader he's dating this week to Enzo's, and we're going to have a damn good time. So, will you go on a date with me?" his small spech had left both Beth and Robin shocked but finally after a beat Beth nodded.

"Yeah, okay" a large smile broke across the boys face as she agreed. This wasn't just for Beth anymore, this was for him because he really liked Beth. It may have been unexpected but he was going to do the best he could to get to know her for real. So much for not going full King Steve.

"Perfect, I can’t wait" he told her with a dopey grin before turning and walking back out of the building. The minute he was alone in his car he let out the breath he was holding out. That had been the first time since Nancy that he had been nervous to ask a girl out. Hopefully it wouldn’t end the way it did with her.

“Did that just happen?” Beth asked, unable to keep a smile off her face. Robin glanced at her nervously, unsure of Steves true intentions, praying this would go her way.

“I think it just did”

Taglist: @kindablackenedsuperhero @rinarecommends @starryeyedpoet17 @crustless-toast @loverofmarsss @alexa-33 @bethanysnow @middle-of-the-earth @princessadriana4-blog @mochminnie @legendaryhumandiplomatgoop

Comment if you want to be added to the tag list :))

a/n: sorry it’s been forever. I’m busy all of the time and I’ve been trying to keep my excitement going about this small fic. please show some love <3

[mostthingskenobi]

CASSIAN'S RECKONING - Chapter 6: The Detritus

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Tarkin pushes Cassian too far…and all the rebel can do is think about Jyn.

Here's a nice long chapter for you. I hope you enjoy reading it :)

READ THE FIC ON AO3

THIS IS A WHUMPY FIC W/GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS ON AO3.

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CHAPTER 6: THE DETRITUS

Cassian was freezing, his teeth audibly chattering in his head.

Why is it so damn cold in here? he thought, his brain feeling slow and frozen like the rest of his body. Aren’t they cold too? he wondered of his captors. Tarkin paced back and forth, seemingly impervious to the iciness. The death troopers shifted their weight. He could hear their gear creaking.

The temperature had dropped so low that blood was beginning to freeze in Cassian’s hair and along the edge of his right eye. His skin was burned under the electrobinders. His lungs ached. He could barely see. Whatever the IT-O droid injected had practically blinded him, retracting his vision until he could only make out blurry images directly in front.

But the pain.

The pain was beyond anything he could have imagined.

And it was constant, a never-ending barrage that flooded every nerve, every cogent thought. He lost consciousness several times, but the droid instantly revived him, showing no mercy. At first, he had been cataloguing each scratch, trying to rationalize his way through the agony. It’s only a chemical reaction. They hadn’t needed severe tactics; the injections multiplied the smallest cut into fire that bloomed across his nervous system. He tried to reason away the pain, trick his brain into believing it was an illusion.

But that didn’t work.

Eventually he had vomited on one of the death troopers. Cassian wanted to laugh every time he remembered it. The trooper had practically yelped before punching him; it was a small price to pay for something so deeply satisfying. Cassian allowed himself to laugh out loud when Tarkin ordered the soldier from the room. “Sorry to spoil everyone’s fun,” he snorted.

The Grand Moff hadn’t found the incident nearly as amusing as Cassian. His response was to increase the interrogation’s intensity. The droid used a razor-thin blade to pepper the rebel’s body with small half-inch cuts. Nothing significant in an of themselves, but together, and combined with the droid’s relentless injections, they became excruciating. His neck, his chest, his face, his hands, his fingers, his feet; there was nowhere to retreat from the pain.

Tarkin kept asking him to identify everyone who had been with him on Scarif, showing him one hologram after another. When Jyn’s face appeared, Cassian had made a strange sound, somewhere between a gasp and a croak, that he managed to cover up with a coughing fit. Jyn’s smokey eyes, her mocking smirk, almost undid him right then and there. He knew he should stuff that part of himself somewhere deep and dark, cover her up and convince himself that she was nothing.

If he didn’t, he would break.

If he broke and gave the Empire what they wanted, Jyn would be next on Tarkin’s list.

The thought of her enduring the Grand Moff’s sadistic interrogation techniques made him sick to his stomach. He would endure this pain so she and the other members of Rogue One wouldn’t have to.

By now, Cassian was in a stupor. His head fell back as he struggled for air. Every breath burned.

For the first time, the IT-O droid spoke. “A suspension of interrogation is recommended.” Its voice was monotone and deep.

“Whatever for?” Tarkin replied, annoyed.

“Subject’s core temperature is dangerously low and continued hyperventilation of cold, dry air has put the prisoner at risk. If we carry on, his lungs will fill with blood and he will be useless to you.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Allow the room’s temperature to rise above freezing.”

The Grand Moff did not hide his irritation. “Do it,” he said, moving toward the door. “We can’t have him dying on us. We have far too much to discuss.”

——————–

He didn’t know how long they left him alone. He could feel warm air blowing into the room and he forced himself to focus on how it felt against his skin. Eventually, he stopped shaking as his blood and lungs returned to normal temperatures.

He wanted to sleep or cry. He wasn’t sure which urge was stronger. But he was afraid to do either.

For now, he focused on tangibles. He knew the warmth wouldn’t last, so he drowned himself in it, letting it permeate every sense.

It reminded him of something.

A warm breeze on a curved shoreline.

And orangish-pink sky.

Sand under his knees.

Scarif.

That hellish mission haunted him like no other.

All of this, everything Tarkin was doing to him now, was because of Scarif. Cassian’s heart tightened in his chest. He hoped the sacrifice was worth it. He hoped the Death Star plans were with the right people, people who were smart enough and brave enough to blow these imperial bastards to hell. He had already lost so much; anyone he ever cared about had disappeared like smoke.

Except Jyn.

The thought hovered in his mind, frozen on the threshold as he tried to decide whether to welcome or banish it.

Cassian clenched his teeth and swallowed thickly.

He let her in.

He didn’t care about the risk, didn’t care if it made him defenseless. He needed her strength.

So, he permitted himself to think about her.

She was unexpected. Wary, damaged, and bitter when they first met.

Just like him.

But, over time, as they proceeded through Operation Fracture’s labyrinthine twists, something came alive in her, something truthful, vulnerable, and determined. As Cassian watched her transform, something inside him began to change as well. She turned the mirror back on him, forced him to see how far afield he’d strayed. He had become so committed to the Rebellion that he’d forgotten how to listen to his conscience. He believed in the greater good, the cause as they called it, but he had allowed the ends to justify the means for too long. Jyn had not so gently nudged him back on course.

And he had begun to love her for that.

He hated that word.

Love painted a target, put everyone involved in jeopardy.

Plus, how could he love someone he hardly knew?

But ever since they met, Jyn was right alongside him, matching him step for step. Or perhaps he was trying to keep pace with her. He liked that about their friendship. She blazed her own trails; she didn’t need him, but she wanted him, sought his camaraderie, his advice, his laughter, and he did the same with her.

He couldn’t put a finger on how it happened. All he knew was that they trusted each other, had complete faith in each other, and treated each other with equal respect. He knew he could put his life in her hands and vice versa. Is that love? He wondered if there was a better word to describe his feelings for Jyn.

When had the shift from strangers to companions first started?

Perhaps on Jedha. He could have left her to die in Saw Gerrera’s hideout; he found Bodhi, who could have brought him to Galen Erso, negating the need for Jyn. But Cassian couldn’t leave her behind. In fact, he hadn’t been able to stop worrying about her the entire time he was trapped in that small, dark cell. After seeing Bodhi’s condition, Cassian worried Jyn might suffer a similar fate at Saw’s unpredictable hands.

Why had he cared?

Just days prior to meeting her he had shot his own contact in the back on the Ring of Kafrene. Why did he suddenly want to protect a resource with which he had no established history?

Cassian finally admitted it wasn’t all that sudden. He’d had his doubts about his own morality for a long time. The Rebellion had made a habit of asking him to kill, like it was an automatic given despite the toll it took on Cassian’s soul. The more lives he took, the more he thought of Clem and Maarva. Not that they would have opposed his joining the Rebellion; they both suffered cruelly at the Empire’s hand. But Cassian found himself thinking about what he wished life had been; something quiet and safe where Maarva and Clem laughed and were happy and grew old together. And every time he pulled the trigger on his blaster or sniper riffle, that dream slipped a little further away. By the time he’d met Jyn, he no longer had the refuge of daydreams. All he had was a waking nightmare that he desperately wanted to escape.

In Jedha’s holy quarter he watched a broken, angry young woman put her life at risk for a child she didn’t know. She took out an entire squad of stormtroopers with nothing but a truncheon—Cassian smiled at the memory. She fought desperately to save her father on Eadu. Then she faced death on Scarif, willing to give her life for something bigger than herself.

If that wasn’t worth loving, he finally decided, he didn’t know what was.

After Eadu. That’s where it changed.

They had been standing in the stolen ship as K-2 and Bodhi navigated them to safety. Jyn was frozen with shock, her clothes dripping with the acrid Eadu rain, staring at him from across the compartment. Cassian could feel her eyes on him even though his back was to her. Jyn’s rage was palpable; he understood it, but he was dealing with his own demons. She lit into him right there in front of the others, called him a murderer and a stormtrooper. He flared with anger, almost shouting in her face. They both had their righteous fury, their personal pain, their justifications. Even though he had been livid, he respected Jyn for giving him hell, and, more so, for not backing down when he gave it right back to her.

After that argument, he didn’t think she would ever forgive him, especially since his mission had been to kill her father. But somehow, she’d seen past her grief and judged him by his actions rather than his orders. Now that he knew her better, it didn’t surprise him that she’d forgiven him. Jyn was raised in battle and had an uncanny ability to sift through emotional detritus and get to the root of things. Ultimately, it made them closer, gave them an instant loyalty that could only be made through scorched egos.

When they arrived back on Yavin 4 Jyn still despised him. But when he’d backed her plan for Scarif and recruited a team of thirty soldiers willing to die by her side for the greater good, the anger fell away allowing them to finally understand each other. Up to that point Jyn and Cassian had been surviving their lives, moving from one moment to the next, never really landing anywhere stable. When Cassian leaned in and whispered, “Welcome home,” he wasn’t welcoming her to the Alliance, he was telling her that he was sticking with her all the way to the end. Jyn’s gentle smile proved she understood.

They set off for Scarif, ready to die together. The entire ordeal had been like a horrible dream, bluffing their way into the citadel tower, deeper and deeper into the belly of the beast until they crossed a point of no return. When K-2SO died, Cassian knew their fate had been sealed. His droid, his friend, was the latest in a long line of losses. It was the catalyst that forced him to let go of any hope for survival and allowed him to fully commit to their mission, no longer worrying about protecting himself. He would protect Jyn for as long as he could, giving her a running head start to transmit the plans.

Then he fell.

Hard.

Well, first Krennic shot him and then he fell, hitting two durasteel beams before smashing into a grated platform. He broke four ribs and fractured parts of his hip and left leg. He lay inside the databank for what felt like ages; the pain was delayed but when it came it overwhelmed him. As he fought to breathe, he was startled by a banging sound and realized her could hear Jyn climbing the tower. He also knew Krennic wouldn’t give up until he killed her. So, Cassian forced himself to move, dragged himself off the metal grate and into an access vault where he found the lift to the spire’s top. Adrenaline dulled his physical suffering just enough for him to reach the data dish platform in time to see Krennic, his blaster fixed on Jyn, standing between her and the transmitter. Cassian didn’t hesitate; he shot the bastard that had ruined his friend’s family, who had taken her childhood, her safety, her parents. He wasn’t about to give Krennic the chance to take Jyn too.

Cassian would never forget the look on Jyn’s face after she initiated the transmission, sending the Death Star plans into the chaotic battle above before stepping to his side and grasping his arm, relieved that he was still alive.

He remembered the anger that entered her eyes and roughly pulling her away as she lunged for Krennic, their foreheads touching as he said, “Leave it. Let’s go.” She had leaned into Cassian and allowed him to guide her away.

They got into the lift and headed down to the beach. The long ride was a momentary respite, an unexpected quiet fraught with emotion as Jyn and Cassian held on to each other. She had looked up at him with large, open eyes, an expression on her face he had never seen, as though no one had ever come back for her, as though she didn’t know what it was like to matter to another person. He tightened his grip as Jyn held him up; in that moment, nothing existed but her. All the pieces of his life fell into place; every heartbreak, every mistake, every victory culminated here in Jyn Erso’s arms. The understanding gave him calm. He wanted her to know that she mattered, that he cared, that he was with her.

When they made it to the beach, they saw the radioactive plume rising out of the ocean, recognizing the work of a planet killer. Their steps slowed as realization set in. Poetic, he had thought, to be killed by the very weapon we’re trying to destroy. They fell to their knees on the shoreline, watching certain death rushing head on. As Jyn had said, their chances were spent. They were both afraid. What would this death feel like? Would they even feel it at all? They wrapped their bodies around each other, together all the way to the end. Jyn tried not to sob. Cassian shook with fear, whispering, “I’ve got you,” in her ear over and over. Then, out of nowhere a ship dropped in over the water, the side hatch open with Baze and Chirrut visible inside. Jyn hauled Cassian up and they sprinted, dumping into the shuttle before the hatch slammed shut. The sudden relief made Jyn burst into tears while Cassian’s wounds finally got the better of him. The last thing he remembered was Jyn cupping his face in her hands, begging him to stay with her. He woke a week later in a hospital cot, in a long room lined up and down with injured men and women. Jyn was there, right by his side. And she stayed every day until he was able to walk again.

After Scarif’s intensity, Jyn and Cassian were closer than ever. But they had not yet been able to cross the barrier where that closeness dissolved a life’s-worth of fear.

As Cassian sat now, covered in his own blood in an imperial cell, he wondered, if he had the chance to do it all again, would he tell her? Would he have the courage to tell Jyn that she mattered to him, that he cared about her, that he was hers, if she wanted him, all the way to the end?

He looked down at himself, wrists raw from pulling at his binds, skin burned by shock cuffs, blood running down and dripping from his fingertips onto the floor. His reality, as Tarkin put it, was setting in. This cell and pain and blood was all he would know until he took his last breath. Jyn was out of reach forever. He had to accept that. Cassian closed his eyes against the tears that rose to the surface, forbidding them from spilling over and running down his face.

He knew what he should do, but after Jedha and Eadu and Scarif, Cassian Andor could never let go of Jyn Erso.

——————–

END NOTES

NEXT CHAPTER IS CALLED “THE SALT" - Jyn is ready to launch her rescue mission but all she can do is think about Cassian. Tarkin has no more mercy for Cassian and uses a brutal tactic for personal gratification.

Thank you for reading!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are very welcome!

Much love!

——————–

READ IT ON AO3 - Kudos and Comments Welcome :-)

READ CHAPTER 1 “The Razor”

READ CHAPTER 2 “The Scythe”

READ CHAPTER 3 “The Cold”

READ CHAPTER 4 “The Expendable”

READ CHAPTER 5 “The Truth”

READ CHAPTER 6 "The Detritus"

READ CHAPTER 7 “The Salt”

READ CHAPTER 8 “The Power”

READ CHAPTER 9 “The Betrayal”

READ CHAPTER 10 “The Ruse”

READ CHAPTER 11 "The Reprieve"

READ CHAPTER 12 “The Ghosts”

READ CHAPTER 13 “The Redemption”

READ CHAPTER 14 “The Spoils”

READ CHAPTER 15 “The Interrogation”

READ CHAPTER 16 "The Rogues"

READ CHAPTER 17 “The Absolution”

READ CHAPTER 18 “The Reach”

READ CHAPTER 19 “The Hologram”

READ CHAPTER 20 “The Divide”

READ CHAPTER 21 “The Cost”

READ CHAPTER 22 “The Fallout”

READ CHAPTER 23 “The Wounds”

READ CHAPTER 24 “The Hand”

READ CHAPTER 25 “The Heart”

[imababblekat]

In His Eyes

**WARNINGS**: mentions of eating disorder, self hate, body image struggles

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@ glowinthedarkmooon ,”Could I request a link x reader, when the reader is plus sized and they feel insecure about their body. Reader uses gender neutral Pronouns please (I've been feeling really bad about this lately and couldn't find a link comfort so yeah it'll mean alot to me ^^ )”

AN: To those of you struggling with body insecurities, this one is for y’all. As someone who has also been struggling, I want you to know you’re never alone and that there is absolutely nothing wrong with you, no matter how hard that can be to believe <3

~xXx~

You stand looking in the mirror, a heavy sigh leaving your soon to be quivering lips. It was another one of those days where you couldn’t stand to be in your own body. Most times you’d be able to push the horrid thoughts aside, but sometimes, your own brain was stronger in deceiving you. Picking at the parts of you that stood out and caused a self hating ache in your heart, you hadn’t noticed your Hyrulean Hero climb up the stairs. A low grunt alerted you to his presence, and you gasped his name with rosy cheeks of embarrassment, and quite frankly, shame. “I-I’m sorry. . .”, you hushed out, quick to cross your arms weakly over your body, gaze falling to the floor and desperately trying to hold back tears. Links wonderfully blue eyes stared back, a sadness in them to match his growing frown. He hated to see you like this. It was hard enough to know how much you disliked your own self, not being able to see what true beauty you held, but what hurt more was knowing that you now also felt he would be disappointed in you. Truthfully, he never could feel that way, no matter how many times you took steps back in your journey to finding self love. With an urgency in his steps, Link placed down his hunting gear and brought you into his arms, his heart strings tugging at the quiet, choked sobs you so desperately tried to hide from him. “I’m sorry.”, you repeated in a painful cry, pushing yourself further into Links chest to hide. The weakness you felt yourself displaying before him the harder it got to stand yourself. You knew Link would never be mad at you for something such as this. He’d been your number one supporter through your struggles even before you two became something deeper then just friends. Yet, every time you pinched, prodded, popped, scratched, or did anything to go against your own body, you felt like you had failed him. A soft kiss to the top of your head and reassuring rubs to your back quieted the storm swirling from within. Pulling back some, Link gently lifted your chin, taking in the tear stained face of the person he fell so deeply in love with. Even through the blurriness of tears, you could make out his smile. Despite all the hate in your heart, the gentle smile of his and endearing eyes always somehow managed to make things feel just the tad bit lighter. He wiped at your cheeks, and reassured to you that there was nothing to apologize for. That no matter how many steps back you took, he would be there with you, just like how you had for him all that time he journeyed across to save Hyrule. And you believed him, because Link is an honest and devoted person, most especially when it came to those he held close. Pointing over the lofts railing, Link questioned if you’d like to have some calming tea, knowing well that in moments like these you would have most likely not eaten/over eaten. With a shaky breath, you silently nodded, following Link along hand in hand. Peering over your shoulder, back to the mirror which held a reflection of your retreating forms, you wondered how the famous Hylian truly saw you. As if reading your mind, you watched as Links reflection mirrored his gaze to look back at you with nothing but the purest adoration and love, something that gave you a realization of the truth and a new, delightful feeling to bloom deep with in your once aching heart.

~xXx~

[star-going-supernova]

Prompt Gregory breaks into an apartment to hide from vanny...and finds the out with a cold Vanessa Anderson

Tumblr generated prompt number 21! I’m on a roll! So, for this one, since I’ve already done a “Gregory meets Vanessa who’s out sick and someone else is Vanny” ficlet, I decided to mix things up a bit. It’s a shorter one, but I’m really happy with how it turned out. Gregory is also fifteen here!

Plausible Deniability

Vanessa’s head was absolutely pounding. Her nose was stuffy, and she ached all over. She drifted in and out of a restless doze, one leg poking free of her blankets to try and keep from becoming too sweaty. 

Sick as a dog, Vanessa was on night three of missing work. It would have been a nice vacation if she hadn’t felt so miserable. 

Bleary as she was, it took a long minute to register the scraping sound, then connect it to her window opening. She twisted her head and peeked one eye out from her pillow. 

Gregory stared back, crouched beside her bed. 

“Wha’ have I said ’bout breaking into my apartment?” she croaked. 

“Not to,” the gremlin answered easily. She should have expected that, she supposed. Gregory wasn’t bound by silly little things like rules or laws or authority. 

She closed her eye and sighed. 

Gregory was one of the many homeless people in the city that she tried to help out. She arrived to work early each evening and saved all the leftover food that would otherwise be doomed to the dump. She let them use the staff locker rooms to shower. On cold or rainy nights, she invited them in to wait out the bad weather in the safer, lockable rooms. 

They watched out for her in return. If she had any luck, this home visit was just Gregory being worried about not seeing her for a few days.

“What are you doing here,” she said, sniffling pathetically. 

“You look like a stiff wind could knock you over. How long have you been sick?” 

She raised three fingers. 

“So it’s definitely not you,” she heard him murmur, but she was honestly too tired to wonder what he meant. “Cool. I can be violent, then.” 

“Wha’?” 

He patted her head. “Don’t you worry about anything, Ness. You might even get some real time off soon while they repair the pizzaplex and conduct an investigation.” 

Gregory had always been one of the more cryptic friends she’d made with her do-gooding. He delighted in causing trouble and giving cops and social workers the slip. 

That being said. “An investigation?” C’mon, that was one of her rules. Her bosses couldn’t find out about what she was doing or they’d doubtlessly put a stop to it. 

“Someone’s been killing people at the pizzaplex while you’ve been away,” Gregory told her, and the eager, excited tone he used was fully at odds with the words he’d just said. “I’m gonna go make them regret it.” 

Vanessa lifted her head up and stared at his blurry image in her dark bedroom. He smiled. 

“Plausible deniability,” she grumbled to herself, flopping back down. “You like plausible deniability, Vanessa. This is just a dream.” 

“Ignorance is bliss,” Gregory chimed in, and she listened to him walk away with a bounce in his step. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Vanessa, I’ve got it all under control! Get well soon!” 

She grunted and only slipped into sleep once she’d heard her window slid shut. 

[lizhly-writes]

Hello— ORV whump prompt because I’m Thinking So Many Things and want to see what cool authors like you think about it!

Scenario fic: one member is brought back to the event that led to the first meeting between the party. Of course it’s our Rat that disappears in a poof of sparkles, and of course KimCom think the first people to meet were KDJ and YSA so they rush to head to Minosoft… BUT!

a) on the way they pass a certain all boys school at Just The Right Time

b) LSK is there and knows the Truth and Freaks Out

c) they don’t find him in time and track him down when he’s on the verge of d**th

Dealer’s choice hehe!

hello! i finally sat down and started writing through this ask! i appreciate that you came into my askbox and immediately slammed the button on 'misery', always a fun time lol

anyway. i have ideas. unfortunately if i attempted to fully finished these ideas, you would probably see this ask either in a year with a full fic or in uh, never, so you get this.

There is a teenager.

She looks much like any other teenager bored out of their mind in class.  Chin propped up on one hand, other hand wielding a pan tapping out a distracted staccato on her notebook, perfectly in time with the tap-tap-tap of her foot, watching the blackboard up front but mostly watching the clock above it, waiting for everything to be done. 

She’s so sick of class.  Sitting in one place, trying and failing to listen to a teacher saying shit she doesn’t care about – ahhh, but she’s got to care about it, doesn’t she?  Gotta make sure she knows enough to score good on the CSAT, except that’s never going to happen because she’s got shit-for-brains, shit-for-grades.  At this point, wouldn’t it be easier just to drop out?  Who wants to live this kind of life?  Not her.  Not anyone else.  Who likes school?

…Yeah.  Jung Heewon was like that, as a kid.

“Hey, you,” Jung Heewon says.

That image of her younger self ignores her.  So does everyone else in her old middle school classroom.  The teacher drones on, uninterrupted – and it really is a droning, the kind of indistinct murmur you hear as background noise, only occasionally cut with actual lecture material.

Everything here is indistinct.  There’s a vague sense of blurriness about everything.  The faces of her teacher and the few classmates she remember are clear, or at least, almost clear.  Everyone else?  Faceless.  Unmemorable.

… Maybe that’s the point.

…

Yoo Sangah likes to think her memory is good, but truthfully, it’s hard to remember the faces of her middle school classmates when she hasn’t talked to them in years.  A few that she kept in contact with, sure, but everyone else, she’s likely to get wrong.

They’re in some kind of scenario space right now, and if the scenario is drawing things from her memory, that might be why everything is so… unclear.  Unreal, almost, the edges of reality soft instead of well-defined, only sharpening around her younger self as she files out of the classroom, chatting with – is that Ahn Minji?  Yoo Sangah hadn’t thought about her in years.

Things only get worse as they head outside. The younger Yoo Sangah is a beacon of clarity, but everything else is just fog, white and dense and casting a featureless pall over everything.

…No.  Wait.  Not quite.

…

Lee Hyunsung had taken some time to tear his eyes away from that boy he’d once been, talking to one of his seniors – “I guess I’m not really sure what to do.  I don’t have to think about it if I go directly into the military after high school, right?”  In the end, though, there wasn’t any use to paying attention to that sort of thing, not when he was alone.  He hadn’t entered the scenario alone, so where were the others?

Not in his school, he’d looked.  The only other thing he could do is go straight into that strange white fog, even if it meant he was walking blindly towards nowhere.

Except it hadn’t turned out like that.  In the backdrop of nothingness, he could make out a building, getting clearer and clearer as he ran towards it.  So well-defined – that had to mean something, didn’t it?  

…

Shin Yoosung pressed her nose against the glass of the window.  That building, the only one she’d seen in what felt like forever, was getting closer.  Maybe that was where the train would finally stop.

Maybe the train wouldn’t stop at all.

But no, that’d be weird, wouldn’t it?  There had to be an end to the scenario somewhere, and it couldn’t end if she was just stuck on a train that never stopped.  Or, well, maybe it could, but – the point.  The point was that the scenario had to have some way of ending it.  It couldn’t go on forever, that wasn’t any kind of proper entertainment at all.  That was just throwing an incarnation into an infinite commercial break, wasn’t it?  No dokkaebi would let that kind of scenario pass.

Yeah.  There had to be a way out, right?

[Ahjussi, are you there?] she sent up tentatively.  

Still nothing.  There had been nothing for a while.  But she had to keep trying, didn’t she?

…

Lee Gilyoung had been trying.

But there weren’t any bugs on this train.  Sometimes, he’d get the faintest impression that there was something there, and then – nothing.  If he could get a bug, any bug, he could – he didn’t know.  Scout.  Get some information.  Call a plague against anyone moving against him.  Something.

That was Plan A.  Plan A wasn’t working out, so he was stuck with plan B, which was this: if he kept running through this fucking train, he’d run out of carriages eventually.  He’d run into something eventually.  Maybe the conductor’s carriage, and then he could press some buttons and force it to stop, or maybe drive it into a building or whatever.

…

Yoo Joonghyuk pressed his hands into his eyes.

He’d really thought that he had died.  Ended regression three, back to the start at regression 4, back in that same train carriage all over again, and this time with a death he hadn’t even seen coming.

He’d died three times now, but the shock of it, even though it wasn’t real – hard to snap out of without a scenario in his ears telling to kill someone to live.

What had happened?  

There had been a scenario.  

He had been with his companions.  There had been a scenario, and Kim Dokja had vanished.  Then that subscenario had kicked in… what was it?

…  

[Sub Scenario  – Will to Survive]

Category: Sub (Personal)

Difficulty: ????

Clear Conditions: Help Incarnation, Kim Dokja, realize the will to survive.

Time Limit: ????

Compensation: ????

Failure: ????

…

Kim Dokja blinks.

He had the strangest feeling that he had forgotten something.  Something important.

…It can’t have been that important if he’s forgotten about it.  He’d already run through his list of things to do, anyway, not that the list was very long.  He supposed the right thing to do was to talk with somebody, but really, he had no one to talk to, so there wasn’t any point.

There was maybe Mother, but… no, she didn’t count.  He didn’t talk to her, he talked at her, and she never cared enough to give a response back.  If she, by some miracle, cared enough to be upset about what he was doing, then – well.  She could get over it.  There was nothing wrong with him enjoying the sunset.  There was nothing wrong with anything he did after that, either.

With that thought firmly in mind, he took one last breath of the air – cool, refreshing – and headed towards the edge of the roof.

[dumdumsun]

To Nightfall

A/N: Enjoy!

Warnings: alcohol, mentions of alcohol and death

Word Count: 5119

—————————————

Chapter 17: Seven Bells

In mid-September of 1963, Sir Reginald Hargreeves found himself sending his daughter off to her very first outing with one of his colleague’s sons. He seemed to be a reasonable match for (Y/N). It was difficult to come by gentlemen her age with an intelligence like hers. Preston Hildebrand was in no way or degree of being smarter than (Y/N), but he would do.

“Reggie, she’ll be fine.” Grace reassured him from the lounge room. Reginald peeled himself away from the door, where he had been watching the two teens walking off down the street. “Come have a seat. Relax.”

Reginald sighed and sat himself in his usual armchair, gently taking his book from Grace that she held out for him. She sat herself down on the sofa and began looking through documents. “You don’t have to be afraid, Reggie. You know how your daughter is.”

“Yes, I do. Stubborn, relentless, emotional, sarcastic.” He turned a page. “She is also diligent… compassionate… sharp.”

“An absolute angel.” Grace grinned. Reginald hummed thoughtfully.

“May I repeat myself so confidently when I say that I truly believe (Y/N) is my greatest accomplishment?”

Grace chuckled. “You may.” Her laugh earned a small smile from him. “It’s crazy to think that she wouldn’t be in our lives today had I not been walkin’ down that sidewalk… She probably wouldn’t be breathin’ if we hadn’t met.”

Reginald lifted his head to watch her smile soften with affection.

“Makes ya think about how impressively the world works. How some of the best people show up in our lives when we least expect it… Like they’re meant to be here with us.”

“Yes,” He mused with a smile of his own. “Like they are meant to be here…”

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

A dull ache settled into Five’s temples as he opened his eyes. The orange light from outside casted into the bedroom, which gave it a soft glow. It was nice, he thought. The Kugelblitz could hardly be seen in a positive light, but it did give off a nice view. With a groan, he sat up in bed, the duvet sliding off his bare chest and landing in his lap. Five massaged his temples in silence, save for (Y/N)’s soft breaths beside him.

“What did I get up to last night?” He whispered, staring around at the empty bottles and mannequin legs littered about the room. Blurry images flashed through his mind. Images of him drunkenly giving some speech at the wedding, chasing (Y/N) through the halls with plastic mannequin parts in his arms, taking many breaks to copulate in nearly every hall of the hotel. But the last thing he very vaguely remembered was what happened in the White Buffalo Suite.

“There is no time.”

Reginald was talking to someone the slightly ajar door obscured.

“I can’t do this without you.”

He made a deal.

Five furrowed his brows, his fuzzy brain trying to recollect any clues as to who the mystery second party was, but all he could remember was (Y/N) pulling him away. He tried not to dwell on it too much, for the frustration was only adding to his throbbing headache. “What was the old man up to?”

Beside him, he heard the sheets rustle and he turned to see (Y/N), creaking her eyes open just the slightest in order to see him. She only needed to glance at their bare bodies to remember exactly what they were up to the night before, the two sharing a smile in recognition. With a tired sigh, she stretched her arms.

“I feel like I wanna take a bath.”

In his room, Viktor stirred awake. It had been odd, not seeing Allison in the bed across from his. He figured she had found a new room, any empty ones open to her now that the other guests were no longer in the hotel. Part of him was relieved that the tension didn’t have to follow them in the room, but another part of him was hurt that she couldn’t stand to share one with him.

He jumped in alarm at the sound of a throat being cleared. He turned his head to see Reginald standing next to Allison’s old bed, a tray of food in his hands. “Bad dream?”

Viktor fought off a wince at his headache as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Why are you here?”

“What does it look like? To feed you, child. I’m sure after last night’s festivities, a hearty breakfast should bring you a bright start to your day.”

“It’s all such a blur.” He groaned as Reginald set the tray down on the bed and took a seat at the foot.

“Ah.”

Viktor gratefully picked up the glass of water on the tray and raised it to his lips. He halted when Reginald continued to stare at him. “Is there anything else?”

“To be honest, I have some concern.”

“Since when do you care?”

“May I remind you, I am not the Hargreeves you grew up with. Yes, we share the same DNA, impeccable style, and mannerisms, but I can assure you our life circumstances are very different.” He opened the tray cover to reveal two berry scones and two boiled eggs. “And being the only sober person at the wedding, I had the unique opportunity to witness your argument with Allison. Such a shame to see a family struggle so.”

Viktor scoffed as Reginald popped the food into his mouth. “Family… What does that even mean?”

“Family are the only people who know us whilst we endure our most epic trials. I think that should count for something.”

“Why don’t you tell Allison that?” He removed the blanket from his body and stood from the bed. Just outside his window, the Kugelblitz seemed to have moved even closer overnight, its orange clouds consuming what was once a bright blue sky. “Jesus…”

“He’s due any minute now.”

Viktor’s head snapped to Reginald, eyes wide.

“That was a joke.”

He chuckled with a raised brow, earning a smile from his father. “You do jokes now.”

“Actually, what I’m here to discuss… is deadly serious.”

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

The drip of the water from the faucet into the tub every few seconds was the only sound within the spa. Five sat in the hot water that rose to his chest, absently staring at his wife, who sat across from him in the tub, eyes shut and brows raised. She seemed to still be waking up since they had gotten out of bed. She hadn’t made a single sound since they sat down.

“Feeling better?” He whispered, receiving a quiet hum.

“I needed last night.”

“See? Told you so.”

She didn’t open her eyes, but she still frowned at him playfully. Moving her brows so suddenly slightly worsened her headache, so she released the expression to continue riding out her pain. “It was the first time in awhile where I celebrated something… and then something horrible didn’t happen right afterwards.” She gently opened her eyes and smiled sadly. “I don’t think I’ll get another night like that…”

Five reached out and caressed her scarred cheek in his palm with a soft look. “I’ll try my best to keep you happy, Starlight.”

“You already do… I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He whispered, leaning forward to sweetly kiss her lips.

Within Luther and Sloane’s room, the couple looked up from where they were sitting on their floor, in hardly any clothing, to see Allison standing in their open doorway. “Sorry.” She rapped her knuckles against the wood. “Door was open.”

“No, don’t worry. Come in.” Sloane scrambled to stand, Luther doing the same. “Sorry for the mess.”

“Oh, don’t be.” She smiled and stepped into the room. Sloane grabbed a cup of yogurt and sat in a chair on the side, Luther straightening to look at his sister. “Uh, look, I just wanted to come by and say I’m sorry. Okay, I’ve… I’ve been a really shitty sister lately.”

Luther widened his eyes at the unexpected apology, assuming Allison would never come to her senses. “You know, if you’re handing out apologies, Viktor should be top of the list.”

“No, I know. I’m…” She nervously stuffed her hands into her pockets. “I’m gonna get to him. I just, um… Working my way up.” She chuckled.

“Okay.” He whispered. “Well, I forgive you.”

Her smile widened, a gentle look in her eye. “‘Kay.” She smiled at Sloane, who smiled back, before heading towards the door. She stopped abruptly as if she remembered something and turned back around. “Oh, uh, Dad called a meeting at noon today. Are you both gonna come?”

His look of confusion melted into a sarcastic smile. “Oh, I see.” He pointed at his sister with narrowed eyes. “I see what this is.”

“Luther, he has a plan.”

“Mmhm?”

“No, a plan he thinks can save the universe.”

“Really?”

She sighed at his feigned interest in what she had to say. “So, please, come. Both of you.”

“No.”

“We’ll be there.” Sloane stood.

Allison grinned at her, then at Luther. “Great! Okay.” She nodded before leaving, Luther sighing as she shut the door behind her.

Back in Five and (Y/N)’s room, the former had just gotten dressed, the latter looking through the drawers for an outfit. He adjusted his tie and walked up to her, snaking an arm around her waist from behind. “I’m gonna have a drink outside. Feel free to join me when you’re ready.”

“You just got over a hangover, baby.” She looked over her shoulder to press the side of her forehead to his. Five smiled and kissed her cheek.

“Can’t let all those bottles go to waste.”

“No, I guess you can’t.” She chuckled. “Alright, go ahead. Love you.”

“Love you.” He pecked her lips and walked out of the room. Within time, (Y/N) shed her robe and put on her undergarments along with a pair of black slacks before a knock could be heard at the door. Thinking it was Five, she called for the person to come in.

She was taken aback when Allison opened the door and walked in. A long silence passed through as they stared at each other. Averting her gaze, (Y/N) went back to looking for a shirt. With her inebriation slept away, she no longer had much patience for Allison’s recent behavior. If she came in to argue once again, then (Y/N) was prepared to tell her off.

“Um… so…” Allison sat down on a small sofa near the bed. “I wanted to talk about… everything that’s happened between us. I’m… I’m not proud of it. I just wanted you to know why it went down the way it did.”

“I know why it did.” (Y/N) pulled on a light grey long-sleeve that stopped just above her navel. “You lost your daughter and your husband in our last jump and no one seemed to care. Barely even mentioned it, which just made it look like it didn’t matter. You were told to just accept it and move on. You were angry… angry that I appeared to be doing exactly what you weren’t. I get it. But I wasn’t.”

Allison stared as (Y/N) buckled harness straps to her waist and her shoulders. Her sister’s new style wasn’t one she particularly understood, but it did look very flattering on her. “You just… You looked so happy and I… didn’t know what to do with that.”

(Y/N) sighed and leaned against the wall behind her. “I’m sorry about Claire. Really, I am. I miss her, too, you know. She was my favorite niece.”

The two chuckled, Allison wiping away a tear. “She was your only niece, (Y/N).”

“That’s why it hurts so much more,” She pushed off the wall and strode up to Allison, sitting beside her on the sofa. She shook her head as her throat became restricted with unreleased sobs. “I lost my babies, too, Allison. I feel like… like I’m dying every second I’m not with them.”

Allison sniffled and pushed her sister’s hair back. “I know… I know. I’m sorry.”

(Y/N) sniffled and deeply inhaled, tears falling as she gently gripped her sister’s hands. “This family is all I have… And I’m holding on tight with everything I have. I need you to hold on, too, Allison. Because if you let go… you’re gonna slip, and you’re gonna fall.” She let out a choked sob. “And I don’t want you to fall, Allison. I wanna be in your corner, and I want you in mine.”

Sniffling, Allison pulled (Y/N) into a tight hug, letting out her own cries. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry, (Y/N). No matter what, all I’ve wanted for you was for you to be happy. But I couldn’t understand how you managed to do that when I couldn’t. Then I realized that… you weren’t telling anyone how you felt. You were just keeping it all bottled up. And I hated that.”

She pulled away to hold (Y/N)’s face in her hands. “Just… no matter what happens… I want you to remember that. No matter what I’ve done or said, or what I haven’t done or said yet, I just want you to be happy. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Allison nodded and hugged her sister again before they released each other and sat back. “Also… I’m sorry about the Sparrow (Y/N). You guys seemed close.”

(Y/N) sniffled and nodded, twisting the white bracelet on her wrist. “She deserved happiness, too… But it’s very clear that the children of Sir Reginald Hargreeves will always live in misery…”

“You’re still pissed at him?”

“Pissed? I-I’m fucking infuriated with him. A-And then he calls everything he’s done a fucking ‘rough patch on a verdant lawn’? What the fuck?”

“(Y/N), you have every right to feel that way. You do. But Dad has a plan that can fix all of this. And he called a meeting-”

“No-”

“-at noon. It’s at noon, and I really think you should come to at least hear him out.”

“I’m not hearing shit out, Allison. You expect me, after I nearly killed him with a promise in my actions, to sit there and listen to anything that man has to say? No. Hell fucking no.”

Allison sighed and stood. “Do what you want. And I know I’m not anyone to ask you to listen to me, either, but you said it before. We can’t think about ourselves when it comes to the end of the world. So, maybe, you can put aside some of that hatred to hear what he has to say.”

(Y/N) looked away with a clenched jaw.

“Okay… If you don’t, me or Five can just relay it to you. Think about it, though.”

Allison sighed and left the room, closing the door behind her.

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

At the edge of the world sat Five, tipping back a bottle and gulping down its contents. Behind him, on the other edge of the world, was the Kugelblitz. Everything on the other side was being sucked into the radiated black hole and he wasn’t trying to stop it. It was a jarring thing to think about.

He turned his head slightly when he heard footsteps approach him. For a second, he was about to call out to (Y/N), but those weren’t her footsteps. He’d recognize hers anywhere. Trailing his eyes up, he was met with-

“Reginald.” He greeted with a disregard to the man who stood beside him.

“I take it you know why I’m here.”

“How ‘bout I save you some time? Give you the ‘no’ upfront. I’m not the least bit interested in this bullshit plan you’ve been cooking.”

“It’s not, as you so colorfully called it, bullshit.”

Five only took another drink.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Actually, appreciate some…” His nerves were irked when Reginald sat down beside him. “...solitude.”

“Mmhm.”

“It seems I won’t get any.”

He handed the bottle over to his father. Reginald took a drink of it and winced. “Dear god!”

“Mmhm. Louis XIII, it ain’t.”

“I’ve had worse.” He set the bottle down and looked up at the new sky. “It is impressive, isn’t it?”

Five followed his gaze. “All the ways we could have screwed the pooch, this way is the most complete. I’m relieved, actually. This time, everything goes. There’s no Commission, no leaping away. No life spent going mad… with the desperation to see a familiar face.”

Reginald took another swig. “I’ve seen worlds end in ways that would knock your socks off, old man.”

“Wow! Reginald Hargreeves, you never cease to surprise me.”

“That is some comfort.” He smiled a bit. “You know, they all run together after awhile. But you never forget your first. Your home. Your original sin. You never stop wondering, ‘Did I do enough to save the people I loved?’.”

“Did you?”

“No… but I was hoping you children could help me out with that.”

Five raised his brows. “There it is.” He tossed back some more alcohol. “You can go ahead and scratch (Y/N) off your list of recruits. I think you’re the first person to ever land on her blacklist.”

With a genuine sigh of disappointment, Reginald glanced down at the nothingness below them. “One of my deepest regrets was hurting her so.” He looked up to meet Five’s curious gaze. “It seems I have underestimated the relationship you have with her. I see much of your influence in her, and I can’t say it is necessarily unhealthy.”

“What, is this your blessing or something?”

“You wouldn’t have accepted a blessing of mine.” He chuckled. “(Y/N) would have none of that. She has gained more nerve than she had when I last saw her. Though, it was only days for her. It was a change she needed, and perhaps a change that would not have occurred had you not been with her. That is the difference between her and my second-selected version of her.”

Five shook his head at that. “There were many differences between the two of them.” He gulped down another swig. “Sorry, Reg, but you can cross me off, as well. I got a message from the future.”

“What future?”

“My future self told me very explicitly not to save this world.”

Reginald quietly laughed in disbelief. “You are an arrogant son of a bitch, aren’t you? ‘Future you’. ‘Present you’. The past is as much a mystery as the future.” When Five only continued to drink, his amusement washed away. “You ruined your life once before by not listening to me. Are you prepared to do that again?”

Five stared him down with a clenched jaw, his teeth grit behind his closed lips. With a sigh, he relented. “Fine, I’ll attend your stupid meeting.”

“Excellent!” He smiled, standing to his feet.

“If…” Five gained his attention. “...you tell me what happened with you in the Buffalo Suite last night. Who were you talking to? Was it Klaus? Was it Ben?”

“No one. I was alone.” He shook his head. “Though, I doubt you were in any condition to remember. We should go. Don’t want to be late for the meeting.”

Five remained seated.

“I would move if I were you.”

He furrowed his brows. “What, are you threatening me?”

A sudden rumbling shook him, prompting him to hurriedly get to his feet and step back, the part of the ground he was just sitting on breaking apart and falling into the endless pit below.

“Shall we?” Reginald smiled and walked back to the hotel. With a scoff, Five set the bottle down and followed him.

Upon entering, an outburst of claps and cheers for the boy sounded from where the family sat. Five sighed and approached them as they all applauded for his drunken speech at the wedding, where, apparently, he had said some very heart-warming words. To the side, though, Reginald caught sight of (Y/N) walking to the lobby from the elevator she had just exited. With a deep breath, he approached her.

“My child.” He greeted, the girl flinching with a glare. “Before I commence the meeting, I wanted to deeply apologize for (Y/N)’s death. I can see that it has wounded you, and I regret my actions in the entire ordeal.”

(Y/N) sighed and crossed her arms, looking anywhere but at him. “You know, out of anyone, you should be apologizing to her. But she isn’t here for you to do that… Not even her clone.”

He sighed, scrambling to find the right words to say. Reginald Hargreeves wasn’t usually someone to be caught speechless, but (Y/N) never failed to bring out the unexpected. At his silence, she shook her head. “Why did you even do it? What was the point of it all?”

“My child… the day you and your mother left in 1963, it formed an unforeseeable hole in my life. Even your mutt left.”

“Mr Pennycrumb…?”

“Taken by Grace. All I ever wanted was a family like ours once again. So, in order to have even a bit of the past, I adopted you again in 1989. However, I never took into account that a different environment would cause such a drastic change in her character. She was nothing like you, (Y/N). In hopes of repairing what I had already damaged, I coddled her. I made sure to be more attentive with her than my other children. In my attempts, it only resulted in her nature to become cocky and entitled.”

(Y/N) frowned in confusion, but let him continue.

“My Sparrow (Y/N) suffered from underlying issues. She was a very disturbed and… sadistic individual. I first realized it when she was only thirteen, in a time when she was my Number One. She could not lead a unit to success, for her wickedness held her back. It held her siblings back. I was afraid… I was afraid that if she continued the way she did, she would shape the Sparrows into a team of endangerment.

“I demoted her and isolated her from the rest. She was unreasonable, ridiculously headstrong. There was no need for the Sparrows to know the truth, as it would only cause fear and rebellion. With a clone, it was a means to start once again. A blank slate. I instilled an entirely different personality within her clone. One where she was subservient and constantly seeking validation from me. From everyone.

“You have to believe me, it wasn’t what I wanted for her. It was a finer alternative than the person she truly was. I was keeping the children safe… I believed I was keeping her safe. I see now that my intentions blinded me from what I was truly doing to her. I would have ceased my wrongdoings if I had known I was corrupting her mind.”

(Y/N) stayed silent for a second, taking in everything told to her. The entire situation seemed so superfluous. All he had to do was talk to her. Her whole life, it seemed Sparrow (Y/N) just needed someone to talk to her, not isolate her. It didn’t make sense. “You were such a good father in ‘63…” She shook her head. “I wonder what happened in between.”

Reginald gave a small smile. “You were not there.”

“Don’t put this on me. If I had such an impact on your life, then how did I not teach you to be a good father to any other child of yours?”

“In every timeline, (Y/N), you are my daughter. I suppose you are the only one I planned to truly raise, for there is no other child to raise like you.” His smile widened a bit. “I love you very much, my child.”

She scoffed and walked past him, walking in the seating area. All irritation she had just felt washed away when she came face-to-face with her family, who greeted her warmly.

“Hey, there, Miss Maid of Honor.”

“Quite the entertainer last night.”

“Oh, yeah, the life of the party.”

“We need to book you more for events.”

(Y/N) chuckled and jokingly curtsied before walking over to the armchair Five sat in, sitting herself on one of the arms. Reginald returned to the room to stand before everyone. Without any context, he began to explain.

“The Norse had seven sleepers. The Blackfoot, seven stars. As a boy, I heard the legend of the seven bells. All these stories are the same. The village is under threat by flood, by fire, by a night that never ends. A shaman brings his disciples to a sacred cave. He tells them if they can ring the seven magic bells, the village will be saved, and all will be restored just as it was.”

Lila raised her hand. “Reggie? Can we get a little less Brothers Grimm and a little more ‘What the hell does this have to do with us’?”

“There is a truth to these myths. None of you can deny what’s going on around us. All of existence will be gone by the end of the day, but whoever or whatever wove together space and time, they left a way to put things back together if the universe ever faced total annihilation. There is a portal in the universe. I built this hotel around it… and on the other side… is the answer.”

Luther shrugged. “And… we’re supposed to, what? Just stroll in there, ring some bells, and fix this shit?”

“Sarcasm aside, you are mostly right. Except for the guardian.”

“What kind of guardian?” Viktor asked.

“Kinda guardian that does this.” Diego lifted his hand, where two makeshift prosthetics took the place of where his fingers used to be. “He had a sword.”

“It is a force to be reckoned with.”

Luther shook his head. “See? Yeah. This is where you lose me.”

“This is where he loses you?” Lila raised her brows. “I checked out at the sacred cave.”

“Why would the builders of this ‘back door’ need to have a guardian?” Viktor asked.

“Ah!” Sloane pointed. “To protect it from people who want to use it for nefarious means.”

Reginald nodded. “That is correct, Sloane.”

“So, I guess it’s gonna take all of us to defeat the thing protecting the bells.”

Five glanced over at Allison from where she sat in an empty luggage cart. “You’re actually buying his crap?”

“How is a guardian and bells any crazier than time-traveling briefcases and assassins with cartoon masks?”

“Actually, she’s got you there.” Luther agreed.

When no one else spoke, Ben stood and walked up to his father’s side. “I’m in.”

Five thought back to last night.

“I can’t do this without you.”

Could it be Ben?

“Me, too.” Diego stood, causing Lila to gently fall back on the couch. Five looked over at him.

“Do we have a deal?”

Diego? Did Diego make the deal?

“But I think some of us should stay back. Like Lila.”

Five immediately scrapped the idea. Diego only wanted to protect his girlfriend. It was the kind of person he was. He wouldn’t team with Reginald. Lila raised her brows at Diego and stood.

“Uh… or you can stay, and I can go.”

“No.” Allison spoke. “This is much bigger than all of us. Nobody can stay back.”

“You, my children, are all that stands between us and oblivion.” Reginald tried to convince them further. “Are we ready to go?”

Viktor looked around. “Well, I say we vote.”

“This isn’t a democracy.” Ben hissed. “Dad’s calling the shots.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “No the hell he isn’t. If there’s a chance we can avoid ending up like Diego or worse, I’d like to know it was because we actually thought on it first.”

“I agree.” Five grabbed her hand. “We vote.”

Reginald frowned at them. “The world is ending, and you want to count hands?”

“You’re asking us to risk our lives,” Luther reasoned. “I think it’s only fair you give us time to discuss it. Privately.”

With a disappointed scoff, Reginald left the lobby with a pat to Ben’s shoulder. Luther looked around and nodded. “Why don’t we meet back here in an hour?”

“Agreed.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Whatever.”

“Sounds good.”

Allison tried to hold back her anxiety as she clenched her hand into a fist. After the family dispersed, she quickly went after Viktor, who had known she was following him the whole time. When she called out for him to wait, he sighed and turned to her.

“For what? So you can hand me my ass again?”

“Look, I was really drunk last night-”

“Okay, you don’t have to make excuses. I get it. I am your least favorite sibling. I ruined your life-”

“Okay, no, that’s not-” She sighed. “Will you just stop and listen, please?”

Viktor motioned for her to speak.

“Last night, you were right. Claire and Ray are gone. But… hating you won’t bring them back. And my pain… doesn’t give me permission to hurt you.” She turned to lean against the railing, her next words choked on her welling tears. “But it’s real. And it’s something that I have to carry. Which is why if I don’t… If I don’t do something, if I don’t- if I don’t act now… it’s just another thing that slips into nothingness.

“If we stay here, we die. But if we go through the portal, we could… we could save the universe. We could save… everybody. So, can we just put our past behind us and move forward together? Can you give me that?”

At a loss for words, Viktor nodded, which caused Allison to smile.

“I love you.”

The words he had wanted to hear from her, the ones that he thought he lost, were finally spoken once again, pulling him into the routine to immediately repeat them back. “I love you, too.”

Allison moved forward and pulled her brother into a hug, Viktor reciprocating it. This was everything he wanted. All he wanted was for he and Allison to apologize to each other and make amends. To hug and become siblings again. However, something didn’t feel right. He tried to push the feeling down as deep as he could, but he couldn’t dismiss the suspicion he felt. He just hoped her intentions were pure from here on out.

On the other end of the hug, Allison blankly stared forward, all her sadness and guilt wiped away. Her mask had fallen. She was an actress, after all. She had to improvise.

—————————————

Taglist: @natewrightt @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya @sm0kingcrack @sbyderman @moatsnow @bubblegumflamingos @starstormssymphony @meowiemari @magicalgothpandamaker @keayastitties @hehehehannahthings @harryshomeismyhome @rhain3 @deigobonitooo @xxeiraxx @camerondiaz48104 @theyaremorethanjustfictional @that-can-of-fizz @luckyzipperscissorsbat @0range-slices @molzsecretspace @officialjypofc @dragon-master-kai @justsomecreaturewandering @fandomxo00 @roman0ffsheart @idktbhloley @wifeofcamillamacaulay @twsssmlmaa @teamspideyman @instabull @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol

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CW!!! Implied suicidal thoughts!!!

Sorry for the wait lmao, hit a block and had to take a break, anyway!

Take My Tea With Formaldehyde

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Chapter 12: While I Whittle My Bones

(More beneath cut)

Mumbo felt like tearing down the posters from the wall. 

He stood in his bedroom, tears finally drying enough to be nothing more than discoloured tracks down his cheeks, and he was staring up at the posters on the walls. Ariana’s bright smile, her comforting eyes, everything that had been so sweet, so secure just a few hours before… it felt like they were taunting him. Mumbo wanted to scream, he wanted to sob and rage and rip them from the walls, careless of their condition, of the way that they would surely tear and crease.

He wanted to. God, he really, really wanted to.

It was so tempting just to throw out all of the CDs piled on top of his drawers, the merch stacked in his closet, the DVDs balanced in the corner. He wanted to toss them out of his bedroom window, he wanted to break them, to stomp them into the ground. 

He needed them gone, all of them. He couldn't stand to look at them anymore. They felt mocking, like they were the reason why the argument even happened, as if–

He didn’t throw them out. 

He couldn't bring himself to destroy anything, no matter how angry the mere sight of it made him. He tried, he stood paralysed in his room for hours at a time, staring at the posters on the walls, the discs on the shelves. He watched as the light of the room changed, as late afternoon turned to dusk, as everything was bathed in shadow.

He couldn’t even make himself reach up and touch them for a long while. Like he was scared they would fade away, like he was scared something would go wrong.

Instead, after taking the time to work up the nerve, Mumbo took down the posters gently. He rolled them up carefully, slipping them into cardboard tubes and tucking them safely into a box. He was methodical in his movements, slow and measured and cautious. He handled them like they were fragile, like they were poisonous, like they were one wrong move away from pouncing on him.

The box was the same one that he had used when he moved everything into there in the first place. 

He hadn’t even had time to put it away, before it was being used again for the exact same thing.

The room looked empty when he was done. The walls were bare, the surfaces lifeless. In the short amount of time the posters had been there, he had become so used to them. Eyes roving across the emptiness, Mumbo felt the upset crashing down on him once again. 

It felt fitting. 

With a shaky sigh, he hefted the box into his arms, moving to put it into the attic. He stopped after only a few steps, his eyes caught on the photo standing innocently on his bureau. 

The image was unsuspecting, something unprofessional and blurry, ever so slightly out of focus. The frame was old and cracked, the cheap gold inlay beginning to rub away and the wood surrounding it bleached from the sun.

He was a lot younger in that picture. Freer.

It showed him – acne ridden and awkward, with only the barest hint of facial hair – and… and his best friend, at the time. Gr– his friend had his arm slung casually around Mumbo's neck as they beamed happily at the camera. Mumbo must've been about…18, at the time? The other man in the photo would have been 19, that meant. 

They hadn’t known each other for long at the time, yet they still managed to act as though they'd been friends for their entire lives. They were familiar, perfect. Honestly, Mumbo can’t remember who started their friendship, but if he were to really consider it… it was probably the other. He had probably been the one to spark it, to befriend Mumbo. He had always been the more extroverted of the two.

Mumbo’s eyes began to burn as he stared at it, unblinkingly. 

They were so young. So happy. What happened? When– when had that changed?

He shook his head, trying his best not to dwell on it, and, with a sigh, Mumbo stepped forward and placed it into the box robotically.

Another picture caught his eye soon after. And then another, and another. There were photos taken by Mumbo and some taken by him – images of Mumbo, drenched after a successful prank; of the other, asleep in the grass after a picnic. They surrounded the room, littering the drawers and walls, interspersed with images of other friends, of other loved ones. 

Distantly, Mumbo wonders if he can even think of him like that anymore.

The pictures had become almost invasive now that he considered it. It felt like an intrusion, seeing all of the memories that were once happy, that had filled him with enough joy for him to prop them up around his house and pile them in his drawers.

There were a lot of photos of the two of them from when they were younger, more than Mumbo had ever really noticed despite the fact that he had put them into their picture frames. They both looked so present, not yet tired and weary from the stress of work or adult life. They were so involved with one another, their lives well and truly intertwined in a way that Mumbo hadn’t even noticed had been slipping away. It must have been years since they knew each other like they did back then.

Walking from his bedroom, Mumbo’s eyes caught on the photo frames hanging on the wall. Huh, he had… never really realised quite how many there were. He looked over them all slowly, gaze flicking from a picture of his parents, to his childhood dog, to Iskall, and then Gr– him.

It was a more recent photo this time, showing the pair of them on the beach, sitting together in the sand. Mumbo remembered that day, filled with relaxed banter and casual conversations, their feet in the sand and the wind in their hair. It felt tainted. He reached up and pulled the frame from the wall, sliding it into the box in his arms.

Moving towards the living room, he walked straight towards the polaroids hanging on a wall, pinned up in a way that he had once been so proud of. Some of the polaroids included other friends, but most were just the two of them. He'd never realised just how many they had taken together, even despite the fact that he had been present for every single one.

It took a while, much longer than he would want to admit, but eventually every single photo ever taken of the two of them, of him, ended up in the box. Mumbo was thorough, checking every room for painful reminders of the other. The pile he ended up with was almost overwhelming.

He didn’t want to see them, he wasn’t sure whether he would want to see them ever again. They made him feel so hurt, so angry. He double checked that every photo was in the box almost manically, looking at each of them over and over again. 

When he was sure that they were all gone, he taped the box shut and brought it up to the attic. He shimmied it back as far into the small space as possible, pushing it past dust and cobwebs, leaving it behind boxes filled with holiday ornaments and old school awards. 

He stepped away from it slowly, trying to ignore the way that the box peeked past all of his barricades. The way that he could still make it out, even as he began to climb down from the attic.

He didn't want to see the box. He didn't want to think about it.

He felt nauseous as he left, each step trembling and hesitant, as if there was something magnetising him towards all of the memories, as if it wasn’t truly put away, even though it was out of reach.

He didn’t know how better to hide it.

He didn’t know if he wanted to.

~

Mumbo was starting to think that he wasn't capable of feeling anything, anymore. 

He was numb, he couldn’t really bring himself to care for anything at all. It was as if his heart had turned into a void, he felt devoid of emotions, something distant and encompassing buzzing through him, weighing him down. It was as if all of the care that he had once had, all of the time that he had once put into everything, had finally become too much. Like his mind now finally had had enough, too exhausted and overwhelmed to continue, and was instead sparing him from feeling, because it knew it would only hurt. 

He just felt tired. As if the pull of gravity was too strong for him to fight.

That was probably why he just spent most of his days laying on the couch, staring into nothing. He felt heavy, really, really heavy, but at the same time he felt weightless as if his head was constantly sleeping and he wasn’t touching the ground and everything was static and–

He felt as if he was floating in something heavier than water, something more viscous and violent, just waiting to drown. 

In all honesty he didn’t want to be awake, he just wanted to sleep, to slip into that inevitable bliss of not having to think, to feel. That’s all he wanted, sleep until he had the energy to be awake, to sleep until everything stopped being.

He had lost track of how many times he had called to work and said that he was sick. They believed him every time that he did, his reputation of rarely, if ever, being away from work helping him in a way he knew he should feel grateful for. He couldn’t stay away forever though, despite how much he wanted to do nothing but rest. Whenever he went to work, he ended up half asleep, exhausted from being around people and carrying out all of the necessary tasks, but as soon as he came home to rest, he just couldn’t.

His mind was far, far too loud. Yelling things he didn’t want to hear.

Logically, Mumbo knew that he wasn’t at fault. Logically, he knew that he hadn’t done anything wrong. He knew had just been trying to help. He knew that he hadn’t deserved anything of what the other had said to him.

Logically, Mumbo knew all of that. 

However, his brain didn’t seem particularly concerned with the logistics of the matter at the moment. It hardly mattered just how certain he was of what he knew and what he didn’t, not when his mind was constantly reminding him of his shortcomings, screaming words and insults that hurt. 

It didn’t matter how logical he wanted to be, when he found himself absentmindedly agreeing with those thoughts. The facts weren’t important, not when he conceded himself to the screaming that rang in his ears. 

He felt strangely apathetic, almost detached from the insults, from his body, despite how much it all hurt.

It didn’t matter what Mumbo knew, what he was certain of, what was logical. Not when it all hurt so much. 

~

Mumbo had called in sick to work once again, the day that Iskall came over.

He hadn't been expecting any company, and Iskall hadn't told him that they were going to show up. They just did. 

When Mumbo heard the front door open, he first thought it was… him. Hell, he found himself kinda hoping that it was. Some small part of Mumbo wanted it to be him, desperately hoped that it would be him, appearing to try and fix things, to salvage them before they were too far gone. Mumbo wanted him to be there, if for nothing else than to prove that they weren’t done with each other. Even if it was bad, even if they did nothing but hurt each other again, it still meant that there was a chance. 

God, he wanted there to be a chance, even despite it all.

But, realistically, Mumbo knew better than that.

He knew that it wasn't him, that it wouldn't be him for a long, long time. That maybe… maybe they’d never see each other again. Maybe everything was just too much, maybe something had broken between them that couldn’t ever be fixed. 

He thought back to the photographs, to the countless polaroids and pictures scattered around his apartment, to the innocent happiness that their friendship once had. Mumbo wasn’t sure that they could ever be like that again.

But… he can’t help but entertain the idea. What if he walked in right now? What if it really was him at the door? What could they possibly say to each other? 

The sound of Iskall hanging up their coat and taking off their shoes was familiar, it felt a little more like routine than Mumbo had experienced in days. He listened carefully as Iskall began to walk towards the bedroom door, the heavy, habitual pattern to their steps a clear indicator of their presence. Their footfalls always had been louder than… his.

If Mumbo felt more like himself, he might've wondered how Iskall got inside. Maybe, if he had more of his wits about him, he would have remembered that they didn't have their own key.

Instead, Mumbo didn't wonder. He didn’t think about anything more than the noise of Iskall’s movements. He didn’t try to get out of bed. He simply just stared straight forward at the now-blank wall, his eyes burning from his blinkless gaze. 

He couldn’t bring himself to move a muscle even when he heard the bedroom door open. Even when he heard Iskall walk over to him, he still didn't move, he didn’t blink. The rise and fall of his chest was shallow, slow, controlled. He wished that the bed would open up into a hungry maw of pure void, that he'd fall into it and disappear. 

He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to be anywhere. 

He heard Iskall sigh beside him, but they didn't say anything, and Mumbo’s eyes remained glued straight ahead. They just sat down next to him on the bed, and gently brushed Mumbo's hair out of his face, tucking it delicately behind his ear. 

"Bad day?" They asked softly.

Mumbo nodded his head, his neck complaining with the sudden unexpected motion, and he sunk further into the bed pathetically. The numbness that had taken over his entire body evaporated instantly, pulled apart and shattered into pieces as a lump grew in his throat, bulbous and heavy. He didn’t want to cry, not in front of Iskall.

"I– I’m sorry, I know you don't want to be checking up on me," Mumbo whispered, his voice tight and strained. He felt guilty that Iskall was taking time out of their hectic schedule to check on him, that the other felt the need to make sure he wasn’t wasting away. 

It would have been his own fault if he was, that wasn’t Iskall’s responsibility. The guilt in his lungs threatened to swallow him whole. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best not to cry.

Iskall sighed again, seemingly ignorant to, or perhaps strategically ignoring, Mumbo’s internal spiral. They put a hand on Mumbo's blanketed shoulder, squeezing in a way that was comforting. 

"Mumbo, I'm here because I want to help you," they said gently. "I know what I said in the past, and that wasn't fair to you. At all. I want to check on you and make sure that you're okay.” They sighed, pausing for a few moments, “And if you're not, then I'd like to help the best that I can, but… I'll only help if you want me to, okay?" 

Mumbo thought about it for a second and then nodded. It sounded good, to have someone take care of him. He was so heavy, so overwhelmed, and even though there was guilt at such a suggestion, Mumbo knew that he wouldn’t be able to help himself. Not like this. 

"Well, let's get you out of bed then, hm?" Iskall stood up with a dramatic groan, holding out their hands for Mumbo to take. 

Mumbo didn't really want to leave his bed, he felt like a stone buried at the bottom of the ocean, unable to be picked up even by the rushing tide, but he knew he had to try. With a deep breath, he raised his own shaking hands to Iskall’s, letting himself be pulled out of bed. 

"Well done!" Iskall said, smiling genuinely at Mumbo. "Now, I’m going to get started on some food, so maybe you could go take a shower? It will make you feel a lot better, I promise."

The floorboards beneath his feet were cold, and Mumbo shuffled against them uncomfortably. A warm shower sounded like a very, very good idea. 

"Yeah,” he agreed, “Yeah… I– I probably should."

Iskall beamed, running their thumb over the back of his hand. "Great,” they nodded happily, “And then come to the kitchen when you're done, yeah?"

Mumbo just nodded in response. He didn't have the energy to reply.

His room was cold. He felt like he was made from ice. 

He didn't cry.

~ 

The warm water from his shower ran down his body like rain, the steam rising from his skin and surrounding him with a stifling, suffocating air. He titled his head upwards, so that it would run down his face, and–

Mumbo began to cry. Painfully.

It felt like he'd been stabbed, run over by a train or shot in the chest. Everything hurt. It all hurt so much, it felt like it was killing him. 

The argument hurt. Putting everything away hurt. Thinking about him for even a second hurt. It all hurt. 

The shower washed away his tears, disguising them in the hot water, dragging them away into the drain. Little by little, he started to feel more like a person, and less like a pathetic grey blob of sadness. 

He stood there for a while, basking in the way the water pelted against his back, the way that the steam made it feel like that was the only reason breathing was so hard, and eventually, he felt okayish. Mumbo stayed under the water until he stopped crying, soap and shampoo filling the air with a sweet scent, the conditioner making his hair smoother than it had been in days. 

He stepped out of the shower eventually, wrapping a towel around himself. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. 

He looked… better. His hair wasn't messy anymore, his skin was slightly red from the hot water, and he didn't look as tired. There were no traces of tears left on his face. The dark circles under his eyes were still very much there, standing out starkly on his face as if to mock him. He traced them with his fingers, following their shape over and over like he could wipe them away. 

Mumbo looked at himself for a little while, staring into his dull, murky eyes, before he began to pull on some clothes. They felt like soft cotton clouds against his skin, something soft and soothing, and he found himself wanting to go back to bed.

But… Iskall had said that they were going to make food, and even if Mumbo would rather do anything but eat, he still felt obligated to go to the kitchen. They had come out to check on him, after all. Surely he owed them this.

Mumbo dragged his feet as he walked through the flat, his steps slow and sluggish as the cold floors spat ice back into him, crawling up his body to freeze him once again. He was shivering, despite the hoodie that he had pulled on, but somehow zipping it felt like it was too much work. 

Vaguely, he noticed the state of the flat. There were clothes on the floor, abandoned cutlery and plates and piles of takeout boxes. He hadn’t noticed how messy it was before. Like he just dropped everything on the floor and couldn’t get himself to pick it up.

The flat was bathed in a grey darkness, the sun strangely low for the time of year, only barely peeking through the windows. Mumbo wondered what time it was. He hadn’t had to think about it in so long.

His lamps had been turned on, two placed on opposite sides of the living room, and he couldn’t help but think that they didn’t light the space up enough. Even with them, everything remained dreary and dim.

And yet, the light in the kitchen felt far too bright, and the room felt claustrophobic despite not being that small. It felt uncomfortable, and suddenly Mumbo wanted to be anywhere but there.

Instead, he pulled out a chair from the table, the chair that was usually his, the one that Mumbo couldn’t remember picking up from the floor. Mumbo could almost see the argument replaying in front of him. Who said what, who did what, who–

He shook his head, instead focusing on Iskall, who was unpacking grocery bags in the kitchen. They must’ve realised he hadn’t bought food for himself in a little while. There was barely anything in the fridge.

They talked about…something, as they unpacked, shuffling naturally around the kitchen. Mumbo couldn’t really hear what they were saying, listening took too much effort, but he appreciated the background noise that it provided. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, absentmindedly scrolling through social media, occasionally giving Iskall a half-hearted hum. 

He got stuck on Ariana’s page for a little while, scrolling through the new pictures and teasers that she had posted, before hovering his thumb over the unfollow button. He didn’t want to see posts from her or related to her popping up in his feed, she felt like a reminder, like a bad memory. He hit unfollow before he could talk himself out of it. 

Then he got stuck on Gri– on his page, scrolling through years and years worth of photos. Mumbo was in a lot of them, somehow being the focus of a lot of photos despite few of the moments or events actually being about him. His thumb hovered over the unfollow button of that account too, but–

He closed out of the app. Mumbo didn’t want to know what would happen if he were to unfollow him. 

Somehow, he ended up reading through their old messages instead. He had changed his name back to just “Grian” a few days ago, having a nickname felt… wrong. He didn’t want to think about– 

“What are you doing?” Iskall asked concernedly as they placed a pan on the stove. 

Mumbo shrugged. Some part of him didn’t want Iskall to know that he was reading through old conversations, he felt almost… ashamed of it. Like Iskall finding out was akin to a parent seeing you do something you knew you’d get in trouble for.

The meagre response didn’t make them any less worried, but instead of saying something, they simply peered over at his screen to see what he was doing. 

“Nope,” they said, pulling the phone out of his weak grip, “That’s not healthy, Mumbo.” They slipped his phone into their jeans pocket, and strolled back over to the stove.

Mumbo wanted to protest, it felt unfair somehow, but he knew that it was probably for the best. Otherwise he would’ve kept digging himself further and further down into a hole. With nothing to do, he tried his best to tune into what they were saying instead.

"So, Ariana has been put on hia–" Iskall began, a topic chosen deliberately, probably aiming to engage Mumbo.

But… no. No, Mumbo didn't want to hear anything about her. Actually, he’d much rather hear about anything but her. Well, maybe except for– 

"I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but could we talk about something else?" He interrupted quietly, fiddling with the strings to his hoodie.

Iskall seemed surprised. "But you–" Mumbo could see the realisation slowly setting in, something dawning over their expression as the gears turned in their mind. "Oh, so that's what it was about," they murmured, "That explains–" 

Mumbo could hear the end of the sentence, even as Iskall cut themself off.

'That explains the missing posters.'

“Okay, let’s talk about…" 

The room went silent as they thought. It wasn't a bad silence, not really, but it still made Mumbo rather uncomfortable. He felt bad about asking them to change the topic. Maybe he could have just sucked it up, maybe he should have just sat through it, maybe–

"As a child, I spent a fair amount of time in Denmark," they began, turning back to making the food. It smelled nice. Buttery, in the same way pancakes smell. "And something I began to wonder – like really really wonder – was why the hell are there so many doves in Denmark?!” They gestured wildly with the spatula in their hand, voice raising slightly, “Like seriously, picture it, you go outside, and there's doves everywhere – I’m not kidding– everywhere. You can't go five metres without a flock of doves follow–"

This seemed to be something they were strangely passionate about, and Mumbo realised that he didn't really mind the rant. It was meant as a distraction, and it was working fairly well. 

He listened half heartedly as they ranted about the doves in Denmark, which quickly turned into a rant about how the differences between the Norwegian, Danish and Swedish were fairly big and that "We don't always understand each other, Mumbo!", and then the rant turned into how gorgeous the nature was in Norway, and then further into other topics surrounding the Nordic countries.

Honestly, the random ranting about topics Mumbo couldn't relate to let him relax for a second. They made him more comfortable in his kitchen. They made him think less of him. 

Though, when the food was done, Mumbo's stomach churned. Eating dinner in his kitchen felt…wrong, too familiar and it was too close in time, he couldn't eat in there, he wouldn't be able to–

He stared at the bowl of soup Iskall had placed in front of him, before asking quietly, "Could we eat in the living room? This room is…too much." 

Iskall tilted their head. "Of course, it's your apartment," they replied gently. "Take your bowl through, and I'll gather the rest." 

Mumbo complied, holding the warm bowl in his hands. It warmed him up slightly, his fingers defrosting under his tight grip. 

He sat down on the couch as Iskall placed down a tray on the table. It had a pot of tomato soup, something white in a small bowl, Iskall's bowl, and two cups of tea. 

"Unfortunately, the soup I wanted to make doesn't exist here, so I just bought tomato soup instead," Iskall shrugged, sitting down in the other corner of the couch. 

"What's that?" Mumbo asked, pointing at the small bowl.

"Just mozzarella that I cut up,” Iskall replied casually, "It tastes pretty good in tomato soup."

Mumbo nodded. "Weren't you making pancakes?" He asked, slightly confused. Sure he didn't mind the soup, not at all, but he had seen Iskall make the pancakes. 

"It's Thursday, we can't have pancakes without eating soup first," Iskall replied, as if Mumbo's question made him confused. 

"...What?" 

Iskall was silent for a second. "...Is that– that's a Swedish thing, isn't it?" 

Mumbo smiled slightly. "Yeah, um… yeah, that's a Swedish thing."

Iskall shrugged again. "Well, that does explain some things," they said, "Anyway, you wanna watch something?" 

Mumbo looked up at the TV, tearing his eyes away from the bowl of soup still warming his hands. "Uh…" Did he want to watch something? And what would he want to watch? Every single idea he came up with felt like it would just make his mood worse, or it would make him think of Him, which he desperately wanted to avoid. "...Chicago?" He said, eventually. 

It was really the only movie he could come up with, all of the others being bad options.  

Iskall nodded, grabbing the remote from the table, "Chicago it is."

The two ate in silence, the movie playing quietly on the screen in front of them. Honestly, Mumbo had seen it so many times that he couldn't really care less about paying attention, but, as he chewed on the slightly melted mozzarella, he realised that somehow he felt…better. 

Not okay by any means, but less like he wanted to crawl up and sink into the ground.

Maybe it was the fact that he actually got some decent food in him; maybe it was the shower. Maybe it was just the fact that Iskall was trying so hard to make Mumbo feel better without pressuring him. 

Maybe it was even all three at once. 

Maybe. 

But… it was only at that moment, that moment where they were together, that he felt better. 

Mumbo couldn’t help but wonder, later, when Iskall left, would he still be feeling okay?

Would he?

[wildfluffyappeared]

Wrote a follow up to some Genshin Impact Ragbro angst I wrote a while back (you don’t have to read the other one first though this one is good to stand alone)

***

Kaeya took another swig directly from the bottle. It hadn’t been this bad in a while. And of course it had to be today.

Today. Diluc’s birthday. The anniversary of the death of the closest thing Kaeya could remember to a father.

Earlier that day, Kaeya had decided to join Outrider Amber on a routine patrol of the Mondstadt countryside, just to… get away from everything at home. He didn’t need Jean’s sad glances at him, making sure he was okay. He didn’t need anyone making a big deal over his feelings. And he certainly didn’t need to see Diluc.

About halfway through their patrol, Kaeya and Amber encountered a small patrol from Springvale. Upon hearing that the patrol was searching for a father and son who had gone missing, the two set to searching. And they found them.

A small group of hilichurls had attacked the small family. The father, while not an accomplished warrior by any means, had used his hunting bow to fight back. He actually held his own well enough to drive off the hilichurls, but the wounds he had sustained were still too much. When Kaeya and Amber found the scene, the father lay dead in the young son’s arms as the son cried silently.

Amber ran in to help, to comfort the child, anything. But Kaeya was paralyzed. The scene was familiar to him. Viscerally, uncomfortably familiar. He and Diluc had been much older when it happened, but… This was still like a mirror image for him. It took him back in a flash to the day it had happened, when he had arrived too late to help his father, to help his brother. To the night after, where the last family he had left had struck out against him, leaving him with a Vision and a broken heart.

Amber had noticed Kaeya’s distress, and in a moment of silent understanding, she had simply nodded at him, as if to say, “it’s okay if you need to go. I’ve got this.”

And now here he was. Kneeling in front of Crepus’s grave, on the Dawn Winery property, with a half empty bottle of dandelion wine clutched in his fist and tears streaming down his face. *Imagine how furious Diluc would be if he found me here,* Kaeya thought, before choking out a mirthless laugh. Who cared what Diluc thought? He couldn’t prevent Kaeya from mourning his father. Their father.

Kaeya lifted the bottle and drank again, deeply. And then he cried some more. And sooner or later, the time seemed to slip away, and the bottle seemed to empty, and all sense left Kaeya’s mind.

***

Kaeya felt his body being shaken roughly, and an anxious voice calling his name. He slowly cracked his eyes, internally wincing at the throbbing in his head.

As his eyes opened, Kaeya saw a blurry figure above him, a man in formal wear with long red hair tied back. Still disoriented from the alcohol, Kaeya laughed, and said, “Oh, good, it’s you, Diluc, help me out, Dad’s gonna be pissed if he finds out I’ve been drinking again—“

He was interrupted as Diluc threw him back to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. “What, is that supposed to be some kind of sick joke?” he asked, barely contained fury in his voice.

The shock of hitting the ground had jogged Kaeya’s memory, and he felt himself remembering when it was, what had happened. “Diluc… I’m sorry, okay? Today’s been hard, and I’ve been drinking, and I just…”

“Forgot?” Diluc scoffed. “How I wish I could forget what happened so easily.” He turned his back to Kaeya and started to walk away.

Kaeya bit his lip, unsure of what to say. “I could never really forget. Not really. Please believe that of me, at least. I’m just… not handling the memories very well this year, if I’m being honest.”

With his back still turned, Diluc clenched his fists in anger. Unable to hold it back anymore, he turned back. “Why is it I’m supposed to keep it together, to be strong, but YOU’RE allowed to fall apart like this? YOU’RE the one living up to everything Father wanted for us!” Diluc shouted.

Kaeya glared back, tears beginning to roll again down his cheeks. “Everything Father wanted, like his own son trying to kill me? I became a knight not to best you, but because Jean cared for me when you wouldn’t! I lost a father that night too, Diluc. Except for me, it was the second time.”

Diluc laughed and said with a bitter edge to his voice, “Oh, you’re referring to your first father, the one who left you in our midst as a Khaen’rian spy? And you came to me after the death of MY father to tell me all about how you were placed here to undermine us if Mondstadt ever went to war with—“

“SHUT UP!” Kaeya screamed. Between the ragged sobs that racked his body and tore at his throat, he choked out, “Diluc… how could you not understand? When I came to you that night. To tell you of my true origins. I wasn’t telling you I was there to betray you. I was telling you because I needed you to know I’d chosen Mondstadt, the family who took me in and raised me, over Khaen’riah, and the father who left me alone in Master Crepus’s grape fields. But I couldn’t get that out. Before I could even explain to you what my true feelings were, you, my brother, the ONE person in Mondstadt I trusted deeply enough to share my darkest secret. You turned your blade on me. And at that moment, I lost the last of the family I had. Can you fucking BLAME ME, Diluc? Can you blame me for running, for not trusting, for hiding every fucking part of myself again, for falling apart? And now I come to you, and I just want my brother back. And you tell me I have no reason to be upset? Diluc, please… I’m… too miserable to let pride stand in my way, and I’m too drunk to care. I’m begging you to just try to understand how I’m feeling…”

Diluc turned away from Kaeya. It was always hard for him to show vulnerability to anyone, even as a child, back when it was easier to trust Kaeya. But what he had just heard, from the man he once called his brother, shook him. How had he never stopped to consider how Kaeya had felt? Diluc, too, now felt tears rolling down his cheeks. “Kaeya. I’m…”

Diluc took a deep breath to steady himself. “It’s cold outside and you’ve been drinking. You don’t want to make yourself sick. Let’s head back to the winery. Adelinde will make your old room up. Let’s each take some time to rest and process everything, and… we can talk things out in the morning. Okay, Kaeya?”

Kaeya nodded. “Y-yeah. You’re right. This is too sudden. We both need time to process.”

As they walked back to the winery, Kaeya muttered, “Hey Diluc?… Thanks.”

Diluc simply grunted and rolled his eyes. But he had to turn his head away to hide a smile.