#my cat tried to burn my leg the same way but i jerked fast enough that it touched my outer pantleg only and didn't soak through before it'd

[ryanthedemiboy]

Shout out to every person who has ever drilled into me that when you burn yourself in the kitchen to freeze and put down what's in your hand(s).

Because if I didn't know that and jerked my hand or dropped my bowl of seriously-fucking-hot soup? I'd have more than a Tictac sized burn. And they'd be blistered and shit, it'd be bad.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Uhmmm.... so I had a prompt idea. What if hero arrested villain, and handed him to the authorites, and he basically told her that he'd make her pay for it. Then hero goes to the prison for a different reason weeks later, where she sees villain, terrified, sick, and drugged. So, she reluctantly takes him home and cares for him. She is scared he will attack her when he's lucid, but when he does fully wake up, he's just terrified.

This is such a good idea! I saw your submission right before I went to bed and laid there thinking about it, so as you can see I was quite excited to write it.

Paying For It

Warnings: threats, horrible treatment by authorities, left to be sick, fever, blood, drugged, forced sedation, unconsciousness, nightmares, smoking mention, paralysis (due to sickness), sick animal analogy, delirium

~

"You will pay for this," he growled as the handcuffs clicked into place. "I will make you you pay for this and not by money, no-" a chuckle "- I will hurt you."

Hero shuddered as she walked down the icy path back to the same prison that she recently turned Villain into. Horrible thoughts of that said villain breaking out and torturing her flooded into her mind, making her already chilly veins even colder. She hugged her fleece tighter around her and adjusted her scarf, suddenly wishing she wore her winter coat.

Before she knew it, Hero was trotting up the steps towards the concrete building. It was, by design, barren yet strong.

She had some documents to bring to the office. There was a new supervillain in town, actually more like ten, but Hero only managed to get information about the one. They most likely moved in after the biggest threat around, Villain, was arrested.

She opened the door, closing it quietly, and walked up to the desk. The hero, a young boy, most likely a sidekick holding down the fort while his mentor went to do something else, sitting up there was lazily playing a video game on his phone.

Hero coughed to get his attention. The boy didn't respond.

"Hello?" Hero asked.

The boy startled, tossing his phone backwards. "I wasn't," he defended, "on my phone, I swear."

"Uh huh," Hero grunted, sliding the papers over to the boy. "Where's your boss?"

"Probably smoking or something," the boy chuckled, then stopped and looked at Hero with a nervously apologetic expression. "I shouldn't have- you weren't meant to know."

Hero shook her head and said, "I don't care about my colleagues personal habits, but can you get him for me?"

The boy nodded and rushed off, returning later with a stern looking man.

"Superhero," Hero acknowledged, nodding slightly. He smiled then looked at the papers on the desk.

"Are these about..." He looked up at Hero.

"The new villain, yes," Hero finished his sentence, crossing her arms.

"Good, very good," Superhero momentarily flipped through them. In that silence, a thought bubbled up in Hero's mind.

"How's Villain?" She asked. "It's been awhile."

Superhero's face paled, as his toe nervously tapped the floor. Hero raised an eyebrow.

"We've had some... issues, so Villain is spending sometime in detention," Superhero said. He coughed, then said in an overly joyful tone, "Thanks for this Hero, do you want me to escort you to your car?"

"I would actually like to see Villain. Maybe I can, you know, talk to him about his behavior," Hero declined the offer, stepping in front of the papers. Something isn't right...

"Well you see, that wouldn't be beneficial. If anything it would be detrimental towards Villain's... redemption," Superhero pointed out, unconsciously chewing at his lip.

"We aren't a redemption center, Superhero," Hero said quietly, almost a whisper. "Let me see Villain or-" Hero grabbed the papers and proceeded to rip them "- these aren't your's."

Superhero rushed forward, putting his hands on top of Hero's and slid the papers back towards him. He gave a tiny smile and consented to her request.

They walked down the corridor and then down a couple flight of stairs until they reached a steel door with three locks- all with different keys. Hero watched with a stoned expression, thinking about what would happen if one of those keys were unfortunately lost...

"He's in here," Superhero spoke, dancing on his feet.

Hero stepped into the dark room, recognizing the detention cell that she helped invent, and flipped on the lights.

In the corner of the capacious cell, was a huddled figure. His back was towards her, legs spread out. With a pang in her chest, Hero walked up to him.

"V-villain," Hero breathed and crouched next to the figure. Villain whimpered and pulled himself deeper into himself, but his legs didn't seem to be connected to his brain.

Hero gently rolled Villain's head up to face her and nearly gasped when she took in the sight. He looked like a sick, stray cat. Mucus drained out of his nose as vomit spewed out from the corner of his mouth. His half-lidded eyes were bloodshot and had deep eyebags underneath with dried blood coating his cheeks. He had multiple, nasty cold sores all around his lips- or were they infected cuts? Maybe both.

"Why is he in this state?" Hero asked, astounded. This violated so many regulations and rules- the prison could be shut down, many heroes arrested or fined.

Superhero didn't respond. Instead, he appeared at Hero's side and crouched down next to Villain. The villain who didn't even seem to be aware of their presences.

Hero grabbed one of the wrists that were so protectively cuddled next to Villain's chest. He whimpered, trying to resist Hero's touch.

"No," he mumbled. "No no no no. Don't give... m-more... that mm stop." Villain started to breath heavily, his already fast pulse speeding up. With a heavy heart, Hero knew without even looking that he was drugged badly.

"Superhero... why?" Hero squeaked, turning over a wrist to see them heavily bruised and still bleeding from his most recent dose.

Villain started thrashing, but his legs wouldn't move.

"Why can't he move?" Hero asked, running a hand along Villain's shoulder. "Why can't he move his legs?!"

Superhero inhaled deeply then said, "He's very sick, uh... he probably has some sort of infection that makes it hard for him to move his lower body. Maybe, I don't really know."

"You don't even know what's wrong with your prisoner," Hero scoffed in disbelief, dragging Villain's limp body into her lap. She tried not to notice the wetness seeping into her jeans. It would only infuriate her that such a sick person would be kept in a wet and cold cell on top of being drugged daily without any medicines to help kick his fever.

"He's sick."

Obviously.

"I'm taking him home," Hero said, and scooped his way too light form up. His legs dangled uselessly, head falling off towards the side.

"That's illegal," Superhero pointed out. "He is in our custody now."

"And where does our rules permit excessive use of sedatives," Hero said in the same, authoritive tone. "Minimal use only to relax a distressed prisoner and only when necessary. Also, never to the point of unconsciousness." Hero gestured with her head towards Villain's closed eyes.

"And where do they permit us heroes to contain a villain on private property?" Superhero tutted. "Set him down and let me do my job."

"I'll call the authorities," Hero threatened, "and take you to court."

Superhero groaned and threw his hands in the air. That was not a risk he could take.

"Fine," he growled, storming out of the room, leaving Hero in silence other than the slow dripping from a leaky pipe.

She quickly tore off her fleece and wrapped Villain's shivering body up. His eyes fluttered open and he mumbled something incoherently, but that was all as his eyelids slipped closed once again.

Then, she carried his ragdoll-like body out of the prison, down those steps, and into her car.

She laid Villain's limp form on one of the backseats, propping his lolling head against the window and buckled him in. His arms hung lifeless at his sides, legs completely devoid of strength.

With a nervous whimper, Hero sped home.

At home, Hero took a warm washcloth and wiped off the dried blood and mucus to reveal unevenly toned skin underneath. She delicately picked the dry crust off his eyelashes and eyebrows. It was rock hard and the warm water wouldn't loosen it, so she was forced to pull on the tiny hairs. At least he wasn't conscious for the pinpoints of pain.

Hero suddered, thinking about what would happen when he did wake up. Surely, he would keep to his word and hurt her, beating her up for imprisoning him and then of course this newfound dilemma.

She looked down at his sleeping form and sighed. She had him elevated to make sure his airways stayed clear, but his head kept falling to the side and onto the backrest of her daybed. His lips quivered, forming soundless words and pleas.

Hero gently touched his forehead, retreating at the burning heat. His eyes slowly blinked open at the contact, he moaned, and then they rolled back again and closed.

Hero sat next to him for rest of the day, worriedly anticipating his attitude upon awakening. However, as the hours went on and Villain didn't seem to be regaining consciousness too much, Hero realized that they would be in for a roughly long time.

Villain was probably drugged like that the moment he entered that building and judging by his health and state of his wrists, Hero also guessed that there was no care whatsoever during the admission or the aftercare.

Hero ran her fingers over Villain's pale cheeks. His mouth was parted open and he snored slightly from the congestion. Tears leaked from his eyes, irritating the tender skin below. Hero went and grabbed some lotion, smearing the white cream over the red rashes.

Villain jerked away suddenly, curling into himself and protectively guarding his arms. His heavy breathing went shallower and quicker as tiny noises escaped his mouth. Hero sighed and stopped touching him; he was likely trapped in a nightmare.

Hours turned into days, and only then was Villain awake enough to be aware of Hero's looming presence.

Though, his reaction was not what Hero was expecting.

He screamed, shoving himself and his weak form to a corner of the bed and gathering his leaden limbs into a huddled mass of burning skin. He shrieked and sobbed, and watched Hero with wide, exhausted eyes.

"Leave me alone!" He yelled, pulling up the covers in a bade to protect himself. "Please."

Hero never once in her life felt so utterly useless.

She was, like Villain promised she would, paying for her actions.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

pause, m | myg | 4

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Some things that are normal for most aren’t normal for you and Yoongi. He moved in and sleeps in the same bed with you, but still all you do is hold hands and kiss gently. Everyone has their own pace. Not everyone lives in the fast lane. There’s just... this nagging feeling. You have to be honest. 

warnings: rated M (18+) - mentions of a previous physically and verbally abusive relationship; language; smut (penetrative sex); there’s so much fluff you might die; also RIP to their heads XD; non-idol!AU; music producer!Yoongi x dancing fanatic!reader

rated M because I know how sensitive a topic domestic abuse is.

--

3.

-

"Sorry."

"What?"

You retreated your hand from the tuft of hair sticking out of Yoongi's black cap. He turned around and raised his eyebrows at you. You ended up apologizing before actually doing anything or even touching the little black tail in the opening of his hat. He adjusted the brim and gave you a weird look. 

"Something wrong?" he asked, tilting his head. 

"No, uh... I..." You struggled to find the words. "I almost touched you. I wasn't sure if you were okay with that."

Yoongi smiled a little. "It's okay. I know you're there. And I know it's you."

He was sitting right next to you at your computer in your bedroom. You had set up a station for him, the two of you in the corner, occupying two computers ninety degrees from each other. All you had to do was turn to the right and he was there. He turned to the left and you were there. It was kind of cramped and not ideal, but it had to do for now. Yoongi worked on music at home. Some things Yoongi could only do at the studio, but some things he could do at home. You found him a decent computer and some hand-me-down equipment and it was good enough. 

Actually...

It was miles better than it was before. He was surprised when you asked him if he wanted to work on his music at home. It wasn't permitted in Yoongi's previous relationship. But you saw he lamented sometimes, recording demos on his phone and wishing he had some sort of setup to do some things. You didn't understand the technical aspects, but it couldn't hurt to ask, right? It had become a fun project and now Yoongi was sitting beside you.

Yoongi spied the images on your monitor. "What are you looking at?"

You turned back. "Apartments. I'm just trying to see if there's something bigger, so you can have your own music studio at home."

He bit his lip. "I can't afford that right now."

You understood that Yoongi often mentioned money because it was a topic of arguments with his ex-girlfriend. You hadn't gone into this expecting Yoongi to be rich. In any case, it was better for him to invest in his music. You had already told him this, but habits take time to be broken. Thankfully, your work paid well even though it was mostly clerical duties. There were perks to having worked at the same company for a long time.

"It's okay. I want a bigger space too." 

"You mean you want your dance studio back?" he teased. 

You felt your ears heat. "I can use the living room... anyway, I want you to be able to work in peace. I haven't seen anything good though."

"Mmm, well, this kind of thing takes time and luck."

You turned your head to look at him and found his face next to your shoulder. A handsome profile. His eyes shifted to look at you. Something flitted in those dark brown eyes. The nagging feeling came back, tapping inside your ribcage, rattling impatiently. You looked away, back at your computer screen. 

Yoongi said your name softly. 

"Is something wrong?" His voice wavered. "Did I do something?"

"No, Yoongi," you replied, still not looking at him. The frustration inside expanded. You knew you had to communicate. You couldn't not. If you avoided it any longer, you would be growing the seeds of doubt and you wanted Yoongi to trust you. To do that, you needed to be honest. 

"I'm horny."

Silence. 

"What?"

You jerked a little in your seat, moving away from Yoongi before raising your head to make eye contact. Your chest felt tight, ashamed, even though it wasn't supposed to be embarrassing. 

"I'm horny," you repeated, rubbing your fist on your thigh. "I don't want to pressure you because I know that topic might be delicate. I just..." You kept looking at those wide cat-like eyes and then looking away, heart beating fast and heat building faster. "I find that I can't really look at you that long without thinking about it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Silence. You felt your stomach knot.

“I don’t remember the last time I had sex,” Yoongi murmured. “I don’t remember the last time I wanted it.”

Ah. Right. That would make sense. Of course, that’s how he felt. Also, you weren’t exactly sexy. The octopus dancing didn’t really get the guys, so to speak. You could handle yourself. It was fine. He was just so… You wanted Yoongi to feel good with your touch, wanted his heart to flutter the way yours fluttered, wanted to see him breathless with want.

There was a weight on your thigh.

You started, looking down, breath at your throat. You were wearing loose gray shorts and the matching sweatshirt. Not a sexy outfit to get your freak on. But you were staring at Yoongi’s hand, kneading the fabric and your leg underneath and the heat was rising, heart racing.

“I think I need a reminder…” he murmured. “A reminder on how good it feels to be loved like that.”

Yoongi lifted his head and you stared into his eyes.

He leaned forward and closed the distance, kissing you softly, and you breathed him in, fitting your hand over his, guiding it up, gentle touches, turning in your chair to face him, and he was turning to you, holding you close, your hands skimming over his t-shirt, not trying to get more, just wanting to show your want, just demonstrating how you would run your hands over his skin if there was no barrier, and he stood up, making you stand up.

And then your heads banged together.

“Ow!”

“Motherfuc–”

You swore and Yoongi clamped a hand over your mouth, rubbing his forehead and shaking his head.

“Don’t ruin this,” he winced, removing his hand.

“My brain feels rearranged,” was your woozy response, cursing the narrow space.

Yoongi took your hand and pulled you away from the computers, towards to the bed, the same bed you two slept on, but didn’t touch, not like this. You only held hands or kissed gently. Late at night, when Yoongi was fast asleep, you would stare at his profile and wonder if he felt the same passion you felt, but it was weird to watch him sleeping, so you looked away and stared at the ceiling instead, thinking about him and his body against yours.

And now it was, his arms around you, pressing you to his chest, kissing your lips, cheeks, closed eyelids, making you laugh a little. Your fingertips on his back, tracing patterns, his gasp against your skin, cap falling off and tumbling to the floor, his black hair brushing your forehead.

“T-Touch me more…” he murmured.

He took your forearms and pushed them down, sliding your hands under his white shirt and then it was skin on skin, a needy noise between you two. With burning ears, you realized that was you, Yoongi’s hands on your shoulders as you explored his back, fingertips dancing up his spine, his pants in your ear, and then his fingers in your hair, messing it all up, rolling his body into yours.

Hardness.

You gasped, raising your thigh to press against it, and his hands slid down, and you looked up to see his half-lidded eyes hazy with desire.

“I want to follow your lead, Yoongi,” you breathed. “Any time you want to stop, we can stop.”

He nodded, leaning down to kiss you, deeper this time, tongue sliding in and playing with yours, your hands exploring the contours of his back. His skin, so soft, so lovely, smelling the vanilla and patchouli body wash you used because you shared the same shower and he used all your products. You shared so much with him, but there were some things you couldn’t share. Not yet. Not until he gave you his sign that he was ready.

You never told Yoongi, I love you.

The most precious words used in this world, turned to a poison dagger to hurt him, so you never said it, not until he was ready to hear it, not until he wanted to hear it. You knew Yoongi knew. You would hold his hand, draw a heart in his palm, small things like that, and he knew. He’d squeeze your fingers and smile a little smile and that was enough.

Maybe you were tiptoeing too much, but it was impossible to tell, because everyone is different and not even Yoongi himself knew what trivial actions or words would bring back unpleasant memories. He had spent so long repressing them that it was hard to tell reality from fantasy. He didn’t know what to be afraid of because he tried so hard to make them disappear.

You drew a small heart on Yoongi’s shoulder blade and he gasped, pulling you closer.

“I… like when you do that…” he mumbled, sounding a little embarrassed.

“Draw hearts?” you questioned, tilting your head.

“Yeah… on my skin…”

And then Yoongi surprised you.

He backed up a little and pulled his shirt over his head, taking your hands and placing them on his chest, not saying anything, but you could see it in his eyes, I don’t look very good, and you pressed your fingertips to his chest, over his beating heart, looking up at him.

“You will always be perfect to me, Yoongi.”

He gave you a wistful smile, believing you and not at the same time. “You have weird taste.”

You drew a small heart over his, feeling him shiver at your touch. You grinned brightly. “That’s how you know I’m devoted.”

He chuckled, closing one eye, looking sheepish. You waited, letting him work through the emotion, trying not to put himself down, taking it for what it was. It was not an easy thing to do. You had to be patient. Yoongi took your hand and pulled you to the bed, a familiar environment.

“I want to make you feel good,” he said.

“You don’t–”

“I want to,” Yoongi reaffirmed, looking you in the eye, determination in his tone. “I want my hard work to be the reason you feel good.”

You shouldn’t say it. Well, maybe it will lighten the mood. You struggled internally and then leaned forward, placing the back of your hand near your mouth.

“Hard work is a weird way to refer to your dick,” you whispered closely.

Yoongi burst out laughing, gums flashing, raspy and full, shoving you onto the bed. You bounced, hands flapping about, grinning at you own joke as Yoongi grabbed the bottom of your sweatshirt, yanking it up and over your head.

“This and your bad habit of moving your head at the same time as me–”

“It means we’re in sync!”

“I don’t want a concussion every time we make out,” Yoongi shot back, pinning your arms down and hovering over you, exasperated smile on his face.

He was so close.

Your grin slowly deflated, realizing that he was shirtless and you were shirtless, and Yoongi had you pinned down, gazing down at you with dark eyes and that open-mouthed smirk that was also disappearing, realizing he was on top of you, realizing this wasn’t innocent, realizing he was about to do something that should be normal but was made abnormal to him.

“You don’t have to do it,” you said gently.

“I know.” He looked at you under his black hair, messy and flat from being under the hat, brown eyes and pink lips standing out on his fair-skinned face. “But I want to.”

You always thought that parts of life were boring. It would be easier to fast forward and skip it.

But not with Yoongi.

He leaned down and kissed you, a kiss that you wanted to pause and live in forever, him inhaling you, pressing deeply, hands releasing your arms and cradling your head, his kisses like stars, precious light that brightened your whole world. But you also wanted to press play, kissing him back, your hands caressing his sides, drawing small hearts on his skin, your own heart swelling with the electricity of touching the one you loved, not knowing until now how nice it was, the simple sensation of dancing your fingers up his back and back down, his gasps on your skin, kissing down, down the curve of your neck and the swell of your breasts, so focused that his eyes were screwed shut and his brows were furrowed.

“Yoongi…”

His eyes opened slowly and Yoongi looked up at you with shaking pupils. Scared he was going to fuck up.

“It’s just me. You know, the one who dances like an octopus.”

His expression seemed to relax, turning into ruefulness. “How could I forget?”

“Should I wiggle a bit to jog your memory?” you teased.

“Please don’t.”

Your remark seemed to have calmed him, returning to your breasts, slipping the straps down, kissing along the curve of the cup, slipping his tongue under experimentally to make you jump, heart racing once more, a small smirk on his lips as he reached behind you and unhooked it, releasing them from their prison.

“O-oh!”

You yelped when Yoongi pulled your bra down, kissing your nipple directly, tingles flaring from the kiss, leaving you breathless as his tongue danced out, licking gracefully, slow circles that made you clench your jaw and tighten your core to avoid arching your back to get more. Yoongi seemed to sense your urgency and added more pressure, closing his lips around it, and your hands flew up, holding his head as carefully as possible but holy shit, holy shit, Yoongi’s tongue on you was pure ecstasy and he was doing it for you, showing his love for you and that’s why it felt so good, that’s why it was so fucking nice.

“Ah, fuck, Yoongi…”

He kissed to the other side, murmuring your name against your skin, seeped with desire and affection, pushing your wet nipple with one finger as he kissed the other, two points of pleasure that flowed through you, your gasps turning to moans, his hands coming up and encircling yours, lacing your fingers with his and holding them, whispering, faint, nearly silent, vibrating your sensitive skin with his lips and breath.

And then you heard it.

His whisper right above your heart and you looked down, Yoongi’s eyes looking up at you.

Apologetic for taking so long.

“I love you.”

If someone paused the tape right now, took it out, and your life ended right there, you would be okay with that. If that was the last moment in this world, if that was all that was and time stopped, you would be content.

But it wasn’t.

Play.

You smiled down at him, trying to prevent your voice from shaking.

“I love you too, Yoongi.”

The most precious words in the whole world.

“Should I stop?”

Your eyes widened. “N-no! I mean… if you’re…” You stopped speaking, seeing the playfulness sparkling in those dark eyes, pleased to have tricked you, even if only for a second.

“I’m kidding,” he chuckled, lifting himself up to kiss you lightly. “I only wanted to see if you would be bothered.”

“I am very bothered,” you responded, peeved. “Hot and bothered, even.”

Yoongi lifted a brow, small amused smirk on his lips. “Come to think of it, me too.” He backed up and you lifted your chest, only to have Yoongi press down on your collarbones, worry flitting his face.

“What?”

“Don’t bonk my head.”

You grimaced. “I’m not a serial head bonker.” You lifted yourself up and Yoongi swung his head back, eyes flashing with mock fear. You pointed to the nightstand, rolling your eyes, and rummaged around in the drawer, feeling to the back and pulling out the small box.

“How old are those?”

Your cheeks flushed. “L-Last month!”

“You wanted to fuck me since last month?”

“N-No, obviously earlier, but I didn’t k-know if you ever wanted…” you trailed off, flapping your jaw, holding up said box, the condoms tumbling out. You panicked a little, not wanting him to think you were expecting too much, dropping the box and scrambling to collect the pile, the tip of your finger hitting the box at the exact spot that would cause it to fly off the bed and hit the wall.

You stared at it, betrayed.

Yoongi burst out laughing. “I can hear you talking to it,” he chuckled.

“I’m not saying anything!”

“You wanna fuck me?”

Your head snapped back, eyes widening. Yoongi tilted his head.

“Yes,” you blurted. “Well, yes, I mean, you’re so…” This was awkward. It didn’t used to be awkward but, also, you had never been this invested. Your eyes widened. You were invested in a person. Actually invested, invested in Min Yoongi. You looked up at him and he looked back curiously like a cat, not realizing your epiphany. Oh shit. Now this was even more weird.

Do something. Do something. Not that. Oh no, you’re doing it.

You held up the plethora of condoms. “Pick a card?”

Living alone made you too fucking weird.

“Aren’t they all the same?” Yoongi snickered.

You shifted, putting them back down on the bed. “Ahaha… right…” Your leg pressed against his and you jumped, startled. “You’re hard.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows. “When gorgeous tits are out, the human body reacts when there is attraction, even if you’re speaking nonsense.”

You blinked at him. “G-Gorgeous?”

Yoongi’s ears flushed pink and he reached over, ripping a condom off the others. “Y-Yeah…” He straightened, scooting back to between your legs, placing his hands on your shorts. “Ah… unless the mood is killed…”

“No,” you exclaimed, hands flying down to the waistband. “It is not. It is alive and well. Very well.”

Yoongi opened his mouth and shut it. Then he opened it again, smiling a little. “I’m beginning to think we are a bit strange.”

“it’s just because it’s the first time,” you rambled. “All first times are a bit strange.”

This wasn’t getting anywhere, so you yanked down your shorts and underwear at once, Yoongi gasping and snapping his head down as you kicked off your clothes, the sharp scent of your arousal suddenly very apparent. You felt your cheeks heat, unaware that you had such a strong reaction to Yoongi being above you, observing your wetness with round eyes, as if to say, I did that?

“Wow.” Yoongi raised his head, black bangs framing his beautiful eyes. “You’re stunning.”

Was it ever like this? Like every word was precious, every lyric in this song meaning more than the words themselves, like every single piece of the composition was perfect, special, everything pause-worthy, even the odd bits, you reaching up to cup his head, pulling Yoongi down for a kiss, him pushing his own pants down, sucking in a breath as your hand wrapped around him, moaning in his mouth, deepening the kiss, more erotic, more intense, his cock throbbing in your palm, getting harder by your touch, Yoongi whimpering in your mouth, backing off slowly, ripping the condom open, sliding it on, and you watching, oh, he’s beautiful there too.

“Thanks…?”

“… Uh, you’re welcome.”

You spoke out loud. Great.

“Do you need some prep?”

“Yoongi, please put it in before I say something stupid again–”

You cut yourself off as Yoongi pushed in slowly, both of you suddenly gasping at the sensation, you already wet enough because you had been thinking about this for so long, morning, night, morning, night, thinking about Yoongi, and if you could, if he was ready to have him inside you, filling you up, and it was happening, happening right now, sinking into you, looking into his eyes. And you could see the amazement, the wave of satisfaction that shimmered through his dark orbs, and the way Yoongi looked at you.

Like he was complete.

“I… oh, fuck…” His eyelids fluttered. “I might not be that good…”

“Are you kidding me, holy fuck, you feel fucking incredible,” you breathed, clenching around him, moaning softly at the perfection that was him, heart racing with every second. Your hands came up and held his cheeks, your breath hot and fluttering upwards. “You already feel so good, Yoongi. You can see it in my face, can’t you?”

His eyes searched yours, looking for the lie, the performance, but there was none, no need to lie when your hips were already slowly rocking into his, creating movement and pleasure, and he fell into the rhythm, complementing you. Your hands dropped and you put them over your head, grasping the pillows, letting out every cry and soft sound so Yoongi could hear and know this was the truth, your legs circling his slim waist. Yoongi bit his lip, breathing hard, whimpering a little.

“I mean… it’s been a while… and you feel too f-fucking good, oh fuck…”

You realized what he meant and you reached down with one hand, jolting as your fingertip touched your clit, rubbing it forcefully, shudders flying through you, gasping at your own stimulation, breasts pressing together, and Yoongi moaned, feeling you constrict and pulse around him, wetter, thrusting into you harder until there was a symphony of sound, heavy wanton breathing, slapping of skin on skin, chasing your climax as Yoongi chased his, eyes locked, almost there, almost there…

At the bridge.

Somehow you both knew the final chorus was coming.

“Yoongi…”

He breathed your name, drawing it out like the most precious word in this world.

You moaned deeply and it rushed through you, shooting up your torso and into your chest, an overwhelming pressure that took you under, making you throw your head back and gasp his name, pressing down on your clit to amplify every bolt of pleasure that made your muscles shake. Yoongi groaned, thrusting into you hard with his own gasp, cock jerking and shooting into the condom, surrounded by your suffocating embrace and you saw his eyes roll back a little, muscles in his arms tense, fingers bunching into the sheets, black hair sweaty and sticking to his face.

Hot breath mixing with yours, heavy pants of shared ecstasy.

“Whoa…”

His dark eyes flickered to yours, pupils blown out, blinking slowly as he exhaled. “W-What...?”

You felt your ears heat. “Oh… uh… it’s never been like that before. I’ve never felt… so much.”

A red flush bloomed over Yoongi’s cheeks. “Me neither…”

“Maybe we’re in love?” you offered lightheartedly.

A small smile grew on his lips. “Yeah, maybe.”

You began to raise yourself off the bed, but Yoongi put his hand on your collarbones quickly.

“Hold on. Let me get off first.”

“I’m not going to hit yo–“

“Ow!”

“Motherfuc–”

Press play.

-

fin.

--

masterpost

[kingandfireheart]

YOUR MATING BOND IS SHOWING: Some underrated Nessian scenes pre-ACOFAS

alternatively titled: how did no one in the Inner Circle accidentally tell Nesta?

I didn't include the big moments (the Cauldron, the Bone Carver, Next Time, Emissary, I'll Come Say Hello, CASSIAN, and Hybern) because they are longer scenes, but these are some small and medium sized moments.

When Cassian can't stop staring at Human Nesta:

Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that I could only interpret as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent.

...

Nesta didn’t bat an eyelash as she studied the handsome features, the muscled torso. Then turned to me. Dismissing him entirely.

Cassian’s face went almost feral. A wolf who had been circling a doe … only to find a mountain cat wearing its hide instead.

...

Rhys gave me a warning look. I gripped Nesta’s arm, drawing her attention to me. “Can we just … start over?”

I could almost taste her pride roiling in her veins, barking to not back down.

Cassian, damn him, gave her a taunting grin.

But Nesta merely hissed, “Fine.” And went back to eating.

Cassian watched every bite she took, every bob of her throat as she swallowed.

...

“That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“It is sometimes,” Azriel said. Cassian tore his relentless attention from Nesta long enough to nod his agreement.

When Nesta gives Cassian the finger:

He’d given Nesta a mocking bow, and she’d given him a vulgar gesture I hadn’t realized she knew how to make.

Cassian had merely laughed, his eyes snaking over Nesta’s ice-blue gown with a predatory intent that, given her hiss of rage, he knew would set her spitting. Then he was gone, leaving my sister on the broad doorstep, her brown-gold hair ruffled by the chill wind stirred by his mighty wings.

When Cassian comes back from Wings & Embers:

I assumed seeing Nesta went about as poorly as could be imagined, because my lesson the following morning was longer and harder than it’d been in previous days. I’d asked what, exactly, Nesta had said to him to get under his skin so easily. But Cassian had only snarled and told me to mind my own business, and that my family was full of bossy, know-it-all females.

When Cassian declares he'll defend the humans (ACOMAF version)

His voice was rough as he said, “Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.”

I watched a tear slide down Nesta’s cheek. And I watched as Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away. She did not flinch from his touch.

When Feyre notices the mating bond:

When I looked ahead, I found Cassian staring back at Nesta as well.

I wondered why no one had yet mentioned what now shone in Cassian’s eyes as he gazed at my sister.

The sorrow. And the longing.

When Cassian tells Nesta exactly what is going to happen to Briallyn:

“You come between a male and his mate, Nesta Archeron, and you’re going to learn about the consequences the hard way.”

When Cassian speaks of his own intentions:

I blew out a breath. “Who else thinks it’s a terrible idea to leave the three of them up at the House of Wind?”

Cassian raised his hand as Rhys and Mor chuckled. The High Lord’s general said, “I give him an hour before he tries to see her.”

...

Cassian’s hazel eyes shuttered as he crossed a booted ankle over another, stretching his muscled legs before him. “I go up there every other day. It’s good exercise for my wings.” Those wings shifted in emphasis. Not a scratch marred them.

When Cassian wants revenge:

Mor’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying her best not to say anything. Azriel was trying his best to shoot a warning stare at Mor to remind her to indeed keep her mouth shut. As if they’d already discussed this. Many times.

“I don’t blame her,” Cassian said, shrugging despite his words. “She was—violated. Her body stopped belonging wholly to her.” His jaw clenched. Even Amren didn’t dare say anything. “And I am going to peel the King of Hybern’s skin off his bones the next time I see him.”

His Siphons flickered in answer.

Rhys said casually, “I’m sure the king will thoroughly enjoy the experience.”

Cassian glowered. “I mean it.”

When Cassian realizes how beautiful his mate is:

Yes, devastating was a good word for how lovely she’d become as High Fae. And in a long-sleeved, dark blue gown that clung to her curves before falling gracefully to the ground in a spill of fabric …

Cassian looked like someone had punched him in the gut.

When Cassian got out of an uncomfortable situation:

Mor blinked, but confided to me with a wince, “I think we’re going to need a lot more wine.”

Nesta’s spine stiffened. But she said nothing.

“I’ll raid the collection,” Cassian offered, disappearing through the inner hall doors too quickly to be casual.

Nesta stiffened a bit more.

When Nesta wants revenge

“Were they made immortal?” This question went to Azriel.

Azriel’s Siphons smoldered. “Reports have been murky and inconsistent. Some say yes, others say no.”

Nesta examined her wineglass.

Cassian braced his forearms on the table. “Why?”

Nesta’s eyes shot right to his face. She spoke quietly to me, to all of us, even as she held Cassian’s gaze as if he were the only one in the room. “By the end of this war, I want them dead. The king, the queens—all of them. Promise me you’ll kill them all, and I’ll help you patch up the wall. I’ll train with her”—a jerk of her chin to Amren—“I’ll go to the Hewn City or whatever it is … I’ll do it. But only if you promise me that.”

When Cassian is mad at Feyre and lies:

I studied him, the wings tucked in tight, the shoulder-length dark hair. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He stalked past me to the ring.

“Is it Nesta?”

“Not everything in my life is about your sister, you know.”

I kept my mouth shut on that front.

When Nesta shows up to training:

Something drew Cassian’s attention behind me. And even as his body remained casual, a predatory gleam flickered in his eyes.

I didn’t need to turn to know who was standing there.

“Care to join?” Cassian purred.

Nesta said, “It doesn’t look like you’re exercising anything other than your mouths.”

I looked over my shoulder. My sister was in a dress of pale blue that turned her skin golden, her hair swept up, her back a stiff column. I scrambled to say something, to apologize, but … not in front of him. She wouldn’t want this conversation in front of Cassian.

Cassian extended a wrapped hand, his fingers curling in a come-hither motion. “Scared?”

I wisely kept my mouth shut as Nesta stepped from the open doorway into the blinding light of the courtyard. “Why should I be scared of an oversized bat who likes to throw temper tantrums?”

...

Cassian was saying to Nesta, “Seems like you’re a little on edge, Nesta. And you left so abruptly last night … Any way I can help ease that tension?”

When Cassian has manners: (and realizes his mate may never fly)

Mercifully, or perhaps not, Nesta’s retching filled the silence. Cassian gaped at Rhys. “What did you do?”

“I asked him the same thing,” I said, crossing my arms. “He said he ‘went fast.’ ”

Nesta vomited again—then silence.

Cassian sighed at the ceiling. “She’ll never fly again.”

The doorknob twisted, and we tried—or at least Cassian and I did—not to seem like we’d been listening to her. Nesta’s face was still greenish-pale, but … Her eyes burned.

When Cassian helps her calm down:

There was no way of describing that burning—and even painting it might have failed.

Her eyes remained the same blue-gray as my own. And yet … Molten ore was all I could think of. Quicksilver set aflame.

She advanced a step toward us. All her attention fixed on Rhys.

Cassian casually stepped in her path, wings folded in tight. Feet braced apart on the carpet. A fighting stance—casual, but … his Siphons glimmered.

“Do you know,” Cassian drawled to her, “that the last time I got into a brawl in this house, I was kicked out for a month?”

Nesta’s burning gaze slid to him, still outraged—but hinted with incredulity.

He just went on, “It was Amren’s fault, of course, but no one believed me. And no one dared banish her.”

She blinked slowly.

But the burning, molten gaze became mortal. Or as mortal as one of us could be.

When he calls her "Nes" for the first time:

Both males went a bit still. But Azriel sketched a bow—while Cassian stalked for the dining table, reached right over Nesta’s shoulder, and grabbed a muffin from its little basket. “Morning, Nesta,” he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. “Elain.”

---

Cassian finished the muffin, licking his fingers. I could have sworn Nesta watched the entire thing with a sidelong glance. He grinned at her as if he knew it, too. “Ready for some flying, Nes?”

“Don’t call me that.”

The wrong thing to say, from the way Cassian’s eyes lit up.

When she flies with him for the first time:

My sister’s face was wind-flushed as Cassian gently set her down. Then she strode for the glass doors without a single look back.

“You’re welcome,” Cassian called after her, more than a bite to his voice. His hands clenched and slackened at his sides—as if he were trying to loosen the feel of her from his palms.

When he rescues her and can't hide his disappointment the she didn't hug him:

He said nothing as Nesta launched herself toward him, her dress filthy and disheveled, her arms stretching for him. He opened his own for her, unable to stop his approach, his reaching— She gripped his leathers instead.

...

Cassian only stretched out an arm for her. As if in a trance, she walked right to his side. His arms tightened around both of us, Siphons flaring, gilding the darkness with bloodred light.

When Nesta is recovering from the library attack and he's an attentive mate:

Nesta looked like she was going to be sick. Cassian wordlessly refilled her glass.

When he's protective and we find out about their height difference

Cassian was staring at Nesta—hard enough that my sister at last twisted toward him. Met his gaze. His head tilted—slightly. A silent order.

Nesta, to my shock, obeyed. Drifted over to Cassian’s side as Amren replied to Rhys, “No.”

...

Cassian casually slid Nesta behind him, his fingers snagging in the skirts of her black gown. As if to reassure himself that she wasn’t in Amren’s direct path. Nesta only rose onto her toes to peer over his shoulder.

When Cassian still isn't back from Adriata:

Nesta was waiting at the breakfast table the next morning. Not for me, I realized as her gaze slipped over me as if I were no more than a servant. But for someone else. I kept my mouth shut, not bothering to tell her Cassian was still up at the war-camps. If she wouldn’t ask … I wasn’t getting in the middle of it.

When Cassian is proud of Nesta:

“I would.” Nesta surveyed us all, her gaze jumping past Cassian. Not to slight him, but … avoid answering the look he was giving her. Approval—more. “It was some distant thing,” she said. “War. Battle. It … it’s not anymore. I will help, if I can. If it means … telling them what happened.”

When Nesta defends Cassian for the first time:

Beron only sneered. “I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.”

...

“That bastard,” Nesta said with utter coolness, though her eyes began to burn, “may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.”

She didn’t so much as look at Cassian as she said it. But he stared at her—as if he’d never seen her before.

When Feyre dismissed Nesta but Cassian doesn't:

The door opened, and Cassian stalked in, face grave. The sight of the wings, the Illyrian armor in this opulent, pink-filled room planted itself in my mind, the painting already taking form, as he said, “What’s wrong.”

He studied every inch of her. As if there were nothing and no one else here, anywhere.

But I said, “She senses something is off—says we need to leave right away.”

I waited for the dismissal, but Cassian angled his head. “What, precisely, feels wrong?”

When the Cauldron made Nesta barf and Cassian is an attentive mate

“What’s wrong?” Mor demanded, holding my sister upright as her face contorted in what looked to be—pain. Confusion and pain.

Sweat beaded on Nesta’s brow, though her face went deathly pale. “Something …” The word was cut off by a low groan. She sagged, and Mor caught her fully, scanning Nesta’s face. Cassian was instantly there, his hand at her back, teeth bared at the invisible threat.

“Nesta,” I said, reaching for her.

Nesta seized—then twisted past Cassian to empty her stomach into the reflection pool.

When he touches her forehead:

Cassian stepped in Nesta’s path when she tried to walk past him. Put a tan, callused hand on her forehead. She shook off the touch, but he gripped her wrist, forcing her to meet his stare. “Any one of those human pricks makes a move to hurt you,” he breathed, “and you kill them.”

He wouldn’t be coming—no, he’d be mustering the full might of the Illyrian legions. Azriel would be joining us, though.

Cassian pressed one of his knives into Nesta’s hand. “Ash can kill you now,” he said with lethal quiet as she stared down at the blade. “A scratch can make you queasy enough to be vulnerable. Remember where the exits are in every room, every fence and courtyard—mark them when you go in, and mark how many men are around you. Mark where Rhys and the others are. Don’t forget that you’re stronger and faster. Aim for the soft parts,” he added, folding her fingers around the hilt. “And if someone gets you into a hold …” My sister said nothing as Cassian showed her the sensitive areas on a man. Not just the groin, but the inside of the foot, pinching the thigh, using her elbow like a weapon. When he finished, he stepped back, his hazel eyes churning with some emotion I couldn’t place.

When Nesta watches Cassian in Battle:

Only Nesta strode toward the edge of the tents to watch the battle on the valley floor below. Mor joined her, then me.

Nesta did not flinch at the clash and din of battle. She only stared toward one black-armored figure, leading the lines, his occasional order to push or to hold that flank barking across the battle

...

Cassian was trying. Azriel had lunged into the fray, nothing more than shadows edged in blue light, battling his way toward where Cassian fought, utterly surrounded.

“Mother above,” Nesta said softly. Not in awe. No—no, that was dread in her voice.

...

By the time I strode away, Nesta had already faced the battle once more, rain plastering her hair to her head. Resuming her unending vigil of the general battling on the valley floor below.

When she wraps up his wrist (and when he's an idiot and focuses on Mor)

But Nesta had jolted to her feet, staring at Cassian....But she surveyed his seven Siphons, the dim red stones. And then she said, “You’re hurt.”

Cassian’s face was grim—his eyes glassy. “It’s fine.” Even the words were laced with exhaustion.

But she reached for his arm—his shield arm.

Cassian seemed to hesitate, but offered it to her, tapping the Siphon atop his palm. The armor slid back a fraction over his forearm, revealing—

“You know better than to walk around with an injury,” Rhys said a bit tensely.

“I was busy,” Cassian said, not taking his focus off Nesta as she studied the swollen wrist. How she’d detected it through the armor … She must have read it in his eyes, his stance.

I hadn’t realized she’d been observing the Illyrian general enough to notice his tells.

“And it’ll be fixed by morning,” Cassian added, daring Rhys to say otherwise.

But Nesta’s pale fingers gently probed his golden-brown skin, and he hissed through his teeth.

“How do I fix it?” she asked ...

Cassian slowly sat on the log where she’d been perched a moment before, groaning softly—as if even that movement taxed him. “Icing it usually helps, but wrapping it will just lock it in place long enough for the sprain to repair itself—”

She reached for the basket of bandages she’d been preparing, then for the pitcher at her feet.

I was too tired to do anything other than watch as she washed his wrist, his hand, her own fingers gentle... Cassian seemed too weary to speak as well while she wrapped bandages around his wrist, only grunting to confirm if it was too tight or too loose, if it helped at all. But he watched her—didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration.

And when she’d tied it neatly, his wrist wrapped in white, when Nesta made to pull back, Cassian gripped her fingers in his good hand. She lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.

Nesta did not yank her hand away. Did not open her mouth for some barbed retort.

She only stared and stared at him, at the breadth of his shoulders, even more powerful in that beautiful black armor, at the strong column of his tan neck above it, his wings. And then at his hazel eyes, still riveted to her face.

Cassian brushed a thumb down the back of her hand. Nesta opened her mouth at last, and I braced myself—

“You’re hurt?”

At the sound of Mor’s voice, Cassian snatched his hand back and pivoted toward Mor with a lazy smile. “Nothing for you to cry over, don’t worry.”

Nesta dragged her stare from his face—down to her now-empty hand, her fingers still curled as if his palm lay there. Cassian didn’t look at Nesta as she rose, snatching up the pitcher, and muttered something about getting more water from inside the tent.

Cassian and Mor fell into their banter, laughing and taunting each other about the battle and the ones ahead.

Nesta didn’t come back out again for some time.

When Cassian almost dies, and she's worried sick, and then she looks him over to make sure he's okay:

Nesta stood by the nearest tent, an empty water bucket between her feet. Her hair a damp mess atop her mud-flecked head. Watching us emerge, grim-faced—

“He’s fine. Healed and awake,” I said quickly.

Nesta’s shoulders sagged a bit.

...

Still coated in mud up to her shins, my sister paused on the other side—away from where Cassian now sat. Looked him over. Her face revealed nothing, yet her hands … I could have sworn a faint tremor rippled through her fingers before she balled them into fists and faced Amren. Cassian watched her for a moment longer before turning his head toward Amren as well.

...

Your sister came immediately when I explained what we needed, Rhys said. I think seeing Cassian hurt convinced her not to pick a fight today.

Or convinced my sister to pick a fight with someone else entirely.

When Nesta Scries: No harm no harm no harm

Nesta still didn’t move. She could not use the bathtub, she’d told me. Because the memories it dragged up—

Cassian said to her, “Nothing can harm you here.” He sucked in a breath, groaning softly, and rose to his feet. Azriel tried to stop him, but Cassian brushed him off and strode for my sister’s side. He braced a hand on the desk when he at last stopped. “Nothing can harm you,” he repeated.

Nesta was still looking at him when she finally shut her eyes. I shifted, and the angle allowed me to see what I hadn’t detected before.

Nesta stood before the map, a fist of bones and stones clenched over it. Cassian remained at her side—his other hand on her lower back.

...

With a gasp, Nesta’s fingers splayed wide, scattering stones and bones over the map. Cassian caught her with an arm around the waist as she swayed. He hissed in pain at the movement. “What the hell—”

When Cassian makes an offer most women would not refuse:

“Eat or bed?” Cassian had asked Nesta, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he’d meant it as some invitation. I debated telling him he was in no shape.

Nesta only said, “Bed.” And there was certainly no invitation in the exhausted reply.

When Elain is taken:

“We’ll get her back,” Cassian rasped from where he perched on the rolled arm of the chaise longue across the small sitting area, watching her carefully...

Nesta lowered her hands, lifting her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lips thin. “No, you will not.” She pointed to the map on the table. “I saw that army. Its size, who is in it. I saw it, and there is no chance of any of you getting into its heart. Even you,” she added when Cassian opened his mouth again. “Especially not when you’re injured.”

When Cassian declares he'll defend the humans, pt. 2 (ACOWAR)

“Good,” Cassian said, glancing at Nesta. “If I end my life defending those who need it most, then I will consider it a death well spent.

When Cassian was going to say something before the last battle:

Rhys only asked, “How long do you think we have?”

Cassian clenched his jaw, glancing at my sisters. Nesta was watching him keenly; Elain monitored the army from our minor elevation, face white with dread....

Cassian took a step away, but looked back at Nesta. Her face was hard as granite. He opened his mouth, but seemed to decide against whatever he was about to say. My sister said nothing as Cassian shot into the sky with a powerful thrust of his wings. Yet she tracked his flight until he was hardly more than a dark speck.

When they decide to lure away Hybern:

Nesta stared toward that armada, toward our father fighting in it. “Use me. As bait.”

I blinked at the same moment Cassian said, “No.”

...

“He will kill you,” Cassian snarled.

Her hand clenched on his arm. “That’s—that’s where you come in.”

To guard her. Protect her. To lay a trap for the king.

...

Cassian said steadily, “It’s the only shot we have of a diversion. Luring him away from that Cauldron.” His hands tightened on Nesta.

...

But Cassian asked Nesta, “Do you have what you need?”

Nesta nodded. “Amren showed me enough. What to do to rally the power to me.”

And if Amren and I could control the Cauldron between us … That distraction they’d offer …

Nesta looked down to Elain—our sister monitoring the bloodbath ahead. Then to me. She said quietly, “Tell Father—thank you.”

She wrapped her arms tightly around Cassian, those gray-blue eyes bright, then they were gone.

[whumpzone]

(masterpost)

(I wrote a very nsfw flashback from Col’s past, which can be read here. Heed the warnings and have fun)

As the days went by, Pet quickly realised that Master’s cat was a little… imperfect. He could tell from the way she sometimes bumped her head into doorframes, or table legs, that her vision wasn’t the best. She was old, by the looks of it. Old and slow, and Master clearly loved her very much.

“Hello my little Jaffa,” he murmured, scooping her up, running his fingers through her thick fur. Her eyelids sank down until she looked like she was fast asleep.

It made Pet’s chest ache. Why was Master making him watch this? Did he enjoy being cruel? Pet already knew he wasn’t here to receive affection like that, and the reminders hurt. Especially knowing Master could love his pet even if it wasn’t in perfect shape.

He still hadn’t been given any clear orders, and Pet was starting to think Master was giving him time to heal. Getting him as robust as possible before breaking him down again. The waiting was tough, and not knowing what was to come was worse. But Pet couldn’t speculate, he just couldn’t, or else he’d skirt too close to the memories he kept shut out- the ones he kept hidden, even from himself.

Master’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “Hey, Col, want to come and sit up here with me? I have some biscuits here you might like.”

. . .

Col nodded in that quick, nervous-rabbit way of his, and stood up. He liked kneeling on the carpet, Linden had noticed. He kneaded his balled hands through it like a cat. Kneeling was fine, Linden told himself, as long as he didn’t crawl. And to the boy’s credit, he was doing very well with that.

He walked over now, at about to same speed Jaffa often walked at, trying to mitigate the impact of her frequent head bumps. Linden set her down and slowly grabbed his mug of herbal tea and the packet of biscuits, while Col watched him. Waiting for permission. Linden was starting to wonder if the boy was even able to speak, or if something in his past had rendered him mute. His past had clearly rendered him a lot of things- it was figuring out what could be healed that mattered.

“Come, you can sit here,” Linden patted the wooden chair. “If you want to. You can just get a biscuit and go back to the carpet, if you’d prefer.”

It was as if Col almost started to consider it, then thought better and forced himself into the chair, curling one foot underneath him.

“Comfortable?” Another quick nod. “Okay, good.”

Linden noticed how Col seemed to relax a little at that. Baby steps, he reminded himself. It’s okay to tell him he’s good, if that’s what he needs right now.

He sat along from him, close but hopefully not too close. He tore open the packet and handed it to Col. “Here. They taste nice. You can take one and eat it.”

He peered at it, like he expected it to bite. Then, constantly checking Linden’s face as he did so, he reached in and picked one up. Linden waited patiently, then took one for himself. As he bit into it, so did Col. Okay. This was going alright.

. . .

Master was eating one too, so they weren’t poisoned. Or maybe he had just built up a resistance. Or maybe they weren’t harmful to humans, only dogs?

None of that mattered, of course. Master had ordered him to eat. His orders were odd, they weren’t barked at him like Pet’s first owner, but that didn’t make them any less unavoidable.

It did taste good. It was sweet, nothing like the sour dog food that had sustained him for years.

Pet noticed he had dropped a small crumb onto the table and quickly licked it up gratefully. He wouldn’t dare waste food given to him. It was still weird, not eating from Master’s hand.

“You don’t- it’s okay, it’s just a crumb,” Master scolded him, and Pet ducked his head at the reprimand. Maybe it was funny watching him act like a human- Master was probably laughing at the way he wobbled on the chair, and held the biscuit in his disused hands, and fed himself. He was sure any moment now Master was going to smile and tell him how stupid he looked, what a dumb dog he was.

Pet drifted back to reality at the smell of something even sweeter than his treat. It was coming from the mug in Master’s hands, held securely between his fingers, each one with a painted black nail. Master noticed him staring before Pet could look away, and he cringed. Messing up as usual.

“You want a sip? It’s herbal tea. It’s hot, mind.”

Another order. Pet nodded obediently.

. . .

It was an easy mistake, and one Linden should’ve seen coming, given how out of practice Col was with his hands. Linden let go of the mug before Col had properly gripped it. Right over Linden’s lap.

Linden was aware of the burning against his thighs before he had even seen the mug drop. He jerked up, the chair clattering to the floor behind him, and Col gasped in pure horror.

“Shit, ow, ow, ow!” he cursed automatically.

Sounds beside him. Looking over, Col was already knelt with his face to the floor, trembling all over, and Linden’s thighs were burning and he really had to do something about that first-

“Woah, no, it’s okay, it’s just an accident, I have to get these trousers off, ow…” he muttered, quickly pulling his belt out and, suddenly realising he shouldn’t be getting undressed in front of Colton, scrambling upstairs.

. . .

Pet wasn’t sure if Master was still here- he had heard noises, he thought, going upstairs, but he couldn’t move. He was frozen, every instinct telling him to stay and take his punishment like a good dog.

He had hurt Master. He couldn’t stop trembling. His mouth quivered, his breaths coming out in whines. Fat heavy tears dribbled down his cheeks and onto the floorboards.

He was so bad, such a stupid insolent mutt, and bad dogs got punished, didn’t they, bad pets who can’t behave got belted and burned. Bad pets got taken upstairs to be restrained and, and-

Pet whimpered, a full-body sob that was so close to speaking he almost vomited from fear, and ground his face against the floor, trying to make the thoughts stop. That was his old life and he had a new Master now and this one might be different, he might be worse, but he couldn’t cry before it had even started and he had burned Master’s legs, burns hurt so badly and he was so, so useless that he just wanted the pain to start right now, so he could show he was sorry.

He could feel the cartilage in his nose jostling as he rolled his head. His heartbeat was pounding into his ears. He was in so much trouble, and he was so so sorry but it wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t be allowed to use his hands ever again.

A bump, at the top of the stairs. Footsteps. Coming towards him.

His thoughts went into overdrive. Master was coming and Pet had hurt him and now Master was angry. He had never seen him light up like that before, suddenly so quick and sharp and fierce. Pet’s hands skittered by his shoulders. He could feel every joint. Would they all be broken, perhaps? Burned? It would make sense to burn them. He deserved to have them burnt, even though that made him cry harder. Or maybe Master would concentrate on his thighs. Pour boiling water on them, then make him walk. Perhaps he’d peel the burning skin off and press knives to the raw flesh and make him scream. Or maybe he’d pin Pet’s hands down and bludgeon them until they didn’t even resemble hands anymore

You braindead animal. He’s not going to pick one or the other, you fucking idiot. He’s going to do them both and you’re going to thank him.

Master was stood over him, now. Looking at his unworthy dog, grovelling before him.

. . .

Linden couldn’t imagine how he would look threatening to anyone right now, in the only pair of shorts he could find, his thighs coated in cream. He’d had to roll the shorts up past his burns, and safety pinned them there.

But he knew, he knew, that didn’t matter. He knew Col wouldn’t look up from where he was cowering on his knees, sobbing audibly, and crack a smile.

The tall person in his care looked very, very small right now. He was knelt exactly where he’d dropped to the floor. No running, no backing away. Just like he’d been trained to. It made Linden feel ill. He had to take this slowly.

“Okay, okay, I’m here,” he started, keeping his voice slow and calm, knowing that his presence was Col’s worst nightmare right now. He had lost his cool earlier and he wished he could take it back, even though it was useless blaming himself. It was a shock, and a painful one. Anyone would’ve sworn. But he still felt a twist of guilt when he saw Col lock up, frozen in fear save for his persistent trembling. Linden could tell he was trying to stop himself from crying.

“Okay, you’re allowed to cry, crying is normal. Can you look up at me?”

Col did as he was told. His mouth was wobbling downwards, his nose red from being pressed against the floor. His hands were fully curled up.

Linden didn’t have a chance to say anything more before Col’s wild, terrified eyes found Linden’s belt on the table and he whimpered, holding his hands out eerily quickly, palms up, ready and unresisting.

Linden knew that if he took the belt and slashed Col’s hands with it, the boy wouldn’t fight back at all. He’d cry and moan, but he wouldn’t fight.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’m not. I wouldn’t hurt you, ever.”

He thought about putting his hands in Col’s, gently lowering them and rubbing soft circles with his thumbs, but he shook the thought away. Who knows what he might interpret that as.

Instead, he picked up the belt, feeling Col’s eyes on him while his back was turned, and threw it upstairs.

“No belt,” he said, “I won’t belt you, I won’t hurt you at all. Your hands are safe. I’m not angry with you. It was an accident. Can you look at me?”

He complied, of course he did. His eyes were burning with regret and fear.

“See my thighs? I’ve put some cream on them, to help with the burns. It’ll make them better.”

After a few seconds, Col nodded.

“You will know that burns hurt a lot,” Col whimpered, but Linden tried not to rush his words out. “That’s why I snapped. I was surprised, but not angry. I’m not angry. You can see in my face and hear in my voice that I’m calm and I won’t hurt you. Just because you spilled some tea on me, doesn’t mean you have to hurt too. It was just an accident. And I can tell you’re sorry.”

This was the magic word, it seemed. Col nodded desperately, eyes wide, as he blinked fresh tears down his face.

“Thank you. Apology accepted. It’s okay, it’s all okay. You’re safe and I won’t hurt you. In fact-“

. . .

“…And I can tell you’re sorry.”

Pet could have fainted with relief. His body was still prickling with fear, waiting for the punishment, and Pet couldn’t yet believe Master when he said he wouldn’t hurt him. But he could definitely show he was sorry.

He nodded, trying to get it just right, trying to look eager but not careless, guilty but not too pitiful.

I am so sorry, Master. Your stupid lowly animal is so sorry, your pathetic dog is sorry and won’t ever do it again, thank you for showing your slave pet mercy.

He was definitely being prepped for something, but Pet pushed it from his mind. Master was giving him a chance and he had to show his gratitude.

“Thank you. Apology accepted. It’s okay, it’s all okay. You’re safe and I won’t hurt you. In fact-“

Master walked somewhere behind him, returning a few seconds later with Jaffa in his arms, setting her down beside him.

“Jaffa always makes me feel better,” he said. Pet had no idea what he was talking about, but he nodded anyway, then leant down to kiss Master’s feet, thanking him with his body in the way that didn’t scare him. He only managed one kiss before Master stepped away, and Pet hoped it had been enough to show that he knew his place, and he was sorry, and he would do anything to please Master. It was a lot to show in a single gesture.

“I’ll be upstairs, if you need me. You’re safe, you’re okay, I’m not angry. If you want, you can cuddle Jaffa for a bit. Okay? Okay. See you in a bit, Col.”

Pet watched Master leave, his wiry legs climbing the stairs until they vanished entirely. Jaffa rubbed her cheek along Pet’s folded legs, and he nervously reached out a hand, sinking it into her fur. His hands, that he still had. Pet felt like he was starting to understand what Master was keeping him for, but he didn’t want to accept it. Instead, he stroked Jaffa and dried his eyes, the taste of biscuit still in his mouth.

(tagging: @newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @temporary-whump-sideblog @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow  @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @whumpwillow @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread @vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whumps @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate @littlespacecastle @haro-whumps @extrabitterbrain @briars7)

[pynkhues]

Would love number 20 “in a moment of worry” for Brio touch prompts... thank you!

Ah! Such a fun one, anon (and sorry for the delay).

This is a post-s3 baby!

-

“Can you just - - hold still.”

“I am,” Beth bites, her gaze flicking sideways to where Annie’s fumbling with the alcohol swabs, the first aid kit cracked open between them leaving the faint, alkaline smell of chemicals to soak the air. Not that Beth can smell it that well over the metallic tang of blood, but she can see it on the twist of Ruby’s face where she sits on her scooter. Recognises it from long evenings at the hospital with Sara, when the smell of the space – somehow both pungent and sterile – sucked all the air out of the room.

“You’re holding about as still as Jane when she has to pee,” Annie replies, finally tearing open the plastic wrapping with her teeth and gagging when the taste of the swab hits her tongue, and good, Beth thinks, sniffing. It’s not like it’s her fault that they’re in this situation.  

“I can’t believe you went there alone.”

And okay, Beth thinks, a seed of guilt planting as her gaze snaps back to Ruby. Maybe it’s not not her fault.

With Ruby on her scooter, Beth and Annie have most of the (still) empty floor of Beth’s living room to themselves. The scattered pieces of furniture she’s been able to claim the place with limited to a tiny, frayed-from-cat-claws sofa that Annie had gotten in exchange for covering a co-worker’s shift, and Judith’s antique ottoman – the latter of which is shoved into the corner of the living room, home now to a bag of cash with a bullet hole in it and Danny’s solar system diorama for science class.

The pinch of the hour makes itself known in the lag of Beth’s head, and god, it’s gotta be past midnight at this point. The thought leaves the guilt sprouting as she takes in Ruby’s tired, worried face, and Annie’s pressed focus as she unfolds the swab, and there’s an apology somewhere on Beth’s tongue, because it might not be entirely her fault, but she’ll be the first to admit that tonight didn’t exactly go as planned.

As if on cue, Beth hears a car pull up outside. Hears the cut of an engine and then a beat, two, and a door open and close. The soft pad of feet up her driveway and then the quiet, gruff murmurs of Mick’s voice as he meets the newcomer, and - - newcomer? God, who’s she kidding, she knows exactly - -

Her cheek stings, and Beth yelps, flinching back before she can help it only to be met by Annie’s apologetic look as she presses the alcohol swab harder into the cut on Beth’s face.

“I told you to hold still,” Annie reminds her, and Beth sighs, letting Annie dab a little at her before she drops the now-bloody swab into the pile of torn plastic between them.

“You deserve that,” Ruby chimes in, and Beth just rolls her eyes, her hand travelling up to prod a little at the cut before Annie slaps it away. “Don’t. Your hands are like - - germ factories. I think this might need stitches.”

“You’re lucky gangfriend’s gang friend showed up,” Ruby adds sharply, and that’s a little harsh, Beth thinks, gaze travelling back up to her in time to catch the other woman’s look, but Ruby’s not looking at her, or - - she is, but more specifically, she’s looking at the gash on Beth’s cheek, and okay, it’s not that bad.

The bruises at her shoulder are worse.

She’d seen them in the side mirror of Mick’s car as he’d pulled her out of the warehouse, shoving her unceremoniously into the passenger seat as he’d whipped them out of there, and Ruby was right, she was lucky, but at the same time, it was supposed to be simple.

It was supposed to be a way for them to get some control of their operation again. They weren’t cutting Rio out by going around him this time, they were just - - getting to know their pool of clients. Exploring some potentially lucrative side hustles. If Rio hadn’t wanted them to do that, he would’ve done a better job at hiding that phone number on the paperwork he’d brought into Boland Bubbles, and he definitely would’ve like - - done something to stop her from setting up a meeting if he was already working with the guy himself.

Right?

Or maybe he’d just wanted to teach her a lesson, Beth thinks bitterly, pushing her leg out from underneath her as it starts to cramp. After all, she had been asking him a lot about the Boland Bubbles clients, and well - - 

Mick really had shown up weirdly fast. 

Still. 

“I had it under control,” Beth insists, her frown deepening when Ruby scoffs and Annie gives her a stupid look, and she doesn’t think the guy was going to kill her anyway. He only hit her when she told him he must be as stupid as he looked if he didn’t know a good deal when he saw one.

With a whine, the front door opens, and she knew it would be him, she reminds herself, she did, but still.

It’s something else, that’s all. To see Rio step through her front door, an eyebrow arched and his lips pressed into a thin line as he stops in the open arch entrance of her almost-empty living room and takes them in, and god.

She sits up a little taller, ignoring the complaint at the small of her back, because she’s sitting on the floor and this is not the way she wanted him to see her tonight, or ever, but then again, she reminds herself wryly, they’ve seen each other worse.

Still, she can hear Ruby inhale a sharp breath at the sight of him, Annie shuffle nervously, hear the neighbour’s son playing video games and a baby crying. Can feel the room shrink like it always does when Rio’s in it, and Beth does what she always does too.

She watches Rio.  

Watches as he closes the distance between them, and Annie’s barely got the chance to grab the first aid kit and scramble sideways as he does it, his sneakers scuffed in a way that reminds Beth of afternoons at the park, but nothing good waits for her at the end of that thought, and so she looks up at his jean-clad knees, his shiny, uncracked leather belt, his t-shirt, his half-open peacoat, and then - -  

His eyes are always so dark.

Beth swallows thickly.

Vaguely, she’s aware that Mick followed him in (a surprise given he’d spent the last half hour after bringing her home on her front steps), and Annie’s nervous energy and Ruby’s sunken shoulders, but any thoughts of it are dim, blurred, a smudge of sight, sound, feel in the background, because Beth’s looking at Rio, and Rio’s looking at her.

He clasps his hands in front of himself.

Rolls his shoulders back.

He looks down at her, statuesque, a million miles above her.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” 

And, well - -

It lights her up like a dropped match.

“Your associate is what happened,” she tells him, and the heat finds her tone too quickly, because if this was a test, if he knew - - her chest heaves: “He - - pistol whipped me.” 

From the corner of her eye, she can see Annie and Ruby stare at her, their own eyes wide and unblinking, and she can hear Mick snort, amused, which just - - god, it’s enough to leave a flush burning at her cheeks, but Rio seems unbothered. Unaffected. Just keeps looking at her like that. 

Like - - 

Before she has time to think, he steps forwards again, drops to a crouch in front of her and Beth jerks (and god, that makes her face sting, her shoulder burn), as Annie scrambles further backwards towards Ruby, and she can see the amusement on Rio’s face, no matter how hard he tries to hide it, and she’s still squaring her jaw when Rio hooks a knuckle underneath it. 

Beth’s exhale is trapped in her throat.

It’s worse than the looking – when he touches her. When he looks at her, everything else fades, but when he touches her, there is nothing else, and Beth hates it, hates the feel of the cracked skin of his knuckle behind her chin, hates the memory of it scraping the backs of her teeth once, a long time ago, in her now-empty bedroom, hates that she looks at him and his dark, heavy eyes and knows the memory’s close to the surface for him too.

“See,” he starts, his voice low and slow as he tilts her head slightly to the side (she hates that she lets him), getting a better look at her cut. “Thing I can’t get my head around is why you were even meetin’ my associate in the first place.”

He doesn’t emphasise the my, he doesn’t, but Beth hears it anyway, and it’s enough to make her blink, swallow, to hate the latter too for the way it pushes the soft underbelly of her jaw into his finger, and it’s like he knows that too, because suddenly Rio drops his hand down to his knee, and Beth looks at him, and - - huh.

Maybe he didn’t know, she thinks, taking in his closed face.

Maybe he just hated touching her too.  

“He asked for a meeting,” she tells him, and without his skin on her’s, she hears it when Ruby makes a low, strangled noise (but okay, it’s not a lie – he did ask for a meeting after Beth had implied she’d accept one on the phone).

“He asked for a meeting,” Rio echoes dryly, and Beth stares at him, and he knows. She knows he knows. But still she can’t quite swallow the lie.

“The pitch could’ve gone a little better.”

The grin that twitches at the corners of Rio’s lips is so fast she almost misses it – might have, if they weren’t sitting so close – and she finds something in her lurching with the knowledge, trying to chase the look even as his features resettle.  

“Yeah, he ain’t really used to people like you showin’ up at these sorts of meetin’s.”

“I thought self-starters defined this industry.”

At the words, Rio snorts, shaking his head at her, and it’s sudden – the shift in the look of him – any amusement leaching out of his expression and leaving him quieter somehow. His big eyes half-lidded, the points and angles to him softened, his lips just slightly open to exhale a breath and is it that, she wonders? The warmth she feels suddenly at her cheeks?

Beth wets her own lips, means to speak, to say something, only then his knuckle is beneath her chin again, tilting her head softly to the right. Holds her in place for a moment, and she lets her gaze fix on the far wall of her living room, tries to slow her breathing as she feels him look at the half-cleaned up cut, the aching bruises flowering like spring buds beneath her skin. Feels him - -

Just feels him.

After a moment, he drops his hand, grazing it ever so slightly against her chest as he pulls it away and leans back on his haunches, and Beth should look at him, should twist her head back to him, but she doesn’t – not right away. Drops her gaze instead to the floor, to the carpet, a little stained from where she spilt bourbon once. From where Emma’s tie-dye ballet slippers marked it too.

“You gonna learn anything from this?”

Beth blinks, glances back at him, and his face isn’t open, but it isn’t so closed either – an unfamiliar, familiar expression there instead. Something she doesn’t get. And just - - god. She sniffs, shifts her weight on the bristly carpet.  

“Learn anything from what?”

And she sees it then, the inhale, the way he pushes his tongue into his lower lip, before dropping his head and huffing out a laugh. He slaps his hands down on his knees and gets up out of his crouch, glancing over at Annie and Ruby, still staring tentatively at them from a few feet away, and then over to Mick.

“Take their cut.”

“What?” Annie squawks as Beth’s chest lurches, her sister finding her voice and standing up a little taller, hands still clutching the first aid kit to her chest. “Why?”

“You try to cut deals behind my back, I cut your pay, that’s how this works,” Rio supplies easily, shrugging a little, and Beth rolls her eyes when he turns back to look down at her and adds: “Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

She leaves it just a moment, before she smiles, and even though it makes her face sting, she makes it look an easy, too-sweet thing.

“Right, boss.”

It’s enough to make Rio hum, and she knows he likes it – can read that much at least – and he sways a little closer again as Mick steps around them, a strange, stifled sound in the back of his throat when he grabs the bag of cash off the ottoman and starts towards the hallway, and she swears he swaps a look with Ruby, but - -

Oh, Beth thinks, a shiver erupting through her when she feels Rio’s fingers brush her temple, feels them push her hair back off her face, and she knows her eyes are wide when she looks at him, can feel her breath caught, and when he says:

“Maybe work on that pitch of yours, yeah?”

She thinks I will, and when he slips out afterwards, and Annie and Ruby erupt into chatter, she thinks - -

She thinks - -

Next time.

Touch prompts.

[kermitbread]

a little thingy I don't plan on continuing. my only context for this is... witches, cat boys and... that's it lmao

sorry I haven't been posting too much writing. I haven't been confident about it lately ;w;

The chanting was getting louder the more closer they moved.

Nene had no idea where those people were taking her, because for one thing, she was blindfolded. They even tied her wrists behind her back and unceremoniously carried her away from her house. Wow, way to interrupt a girl from her leisure time, huh?

She could hear the crackling sound of fire and loud shouts of "kill her!" from the angry voices of the townspeople, which finally lead her to understanding what was happening. It had just been her luck that she decided to live in a town that greatly loathed her kind.

Yes, she was a witch. And currently she was going to get executed in the middle of town for many people to see.

What fun.

There wasn't any use on telling them that she wasn't like the bad witches at all. It wasn't like she was bad, it was just that she knew how people would react to the fact trying to explain things would be rendered useless from their moments of delusion.

How in the world did they find out? Was she not being careful enough? Did some kid see her using some minor spells on her garden and snitched? Or did someone see her idly sharing a conversation with that black cat that visited her from time to time?

Ah, whatever. She was going to die and that was gonna be the least of her worries now.

She got dropped onto the ground and pushed against a pole, hands tying her waist around it securely. Something prickly brushed against her legs, which she figured was a bunch of hay underneath her.

"Burn the witch! Kill her!"

So this was how she was going to go, huh? Getting burned to a crisp for everyone's viewing pleasure. Well, if she had any regrets, one of them was not getting a boyfriend. It's because of my ankles right? No wonder they wanna kill me. Me being a witch, and my stupid ankles.

And that little black cat. He would be very sad when he finds out she couldn't make it for their everyday talks together. Maybe he could find a new, cuter witch to be with now? Not like he wanted to stick around a witch with radish legs, right?

The smell of smoke was beginning to become more apparent. She could feel the heat from the fire coming closer and closer. There were many shouts that repeated the same phrase over and over again, and a part of her just wanted them to get over the entire thing already so she wouldn't have to listen to them.

Funny that she still had the audacity to get annoyed on the verge of death.

She heard her name getting shouted with desperation, as she quickly recognized the voice. Ah, Aoi. I'm sorry that I have to leave you behind so abruptly.

The flames were getting closer, to the point she could feel the heat starting to get stronger. This was it. Unless there was some sort of miracle that would happen, which would be nice, there was no turning back now.

"That's a little bit extreme of you people, isn't it?"

All of a sudden, she felt all the ropes that tied her loosen, and herself getting pulled away from the fire that was about to burn her alive. It all happened so fast, she wasn't even able to process what just happened.

"Hey! What are you doing?! We're trying to get rid of her!"

The voice—which belonged to a boy that she seemed to sorta recognize—only laughed. She squeaked when he suddenly flipped her over and she got plopped into someone's arms, probably belonging to him.

What in the world was going on this time?

"Trying to burn a cute girl is considered rude, no? I'm sure we can all understand that." Nene felt her cheeks warm up at the thought of that boy calling her cute. Can you blame her, it was the first time a boy had ever said anything like that around her.

"But she's a witch! If we don't kill her now, she's going to kill all of us!"

"Tch, you humans and your irrationalities." It was strange that he refered to them as 'humans', as if he wasn't one of them.

Maybe he was like her, in a sense?

The air kicked up around her and before she knew it, she was being carried away by her still unidentified savior from the crowd of angry townspeople. She heard Aoi calling after her in a worry, before ultimately the voices of the crowd were reduced to merely silence as they went further and further.

They finally stopped, and Nene could hear water close by. They seemed to be near a river, one that was beyond the outskirts of the town.

Pulling her blindfold off she tried to squint through the dark in order to get a better look at the person. Short dark hair concealed by the hood of his cloak, and golden eyes that looked like the kind that would probably glow in the night if that were possible. She didn't realize she was staring at him until he decided to look back at her.

"You are one clumsy witch, you know that, Yashiro?"

Now how did he know her name? She doesn't recall meeting him at all. Or even seeing him around town for that matter.

He seemed to be irked at her confused look, as he sighed to himself, setting her back down on her feet. He pulled back the hood off his head, revealing... cat ears.

"You seriously don't recognize me, Yashiro? Am I that generic looking?"

Wait. It couldn't be possible, right? Like, she's a witch, sure, but even she thought it wasn't capable of happening at all.

Or was it?

"H... Hanako-kun?" She softly said, unsure whether she was right. Fortunately she was, as seen by how his face brightened up at the mention of the name.

"That's right! It's me! So you do recognize me after all!"

"T-that can't be right! Hanako-kun's a..." Nene trailed off when Hanako walked right up to her and bent over, leaning forward up to her face with a smile.

"This is my real form, you see. I wouldn't be able to save you from getting killed if I stayed a cat now, right?"

"I know that! It's just that... why did you save me? You barely know me, apart from those three months." Nene shifted her foot around, deciding to look down at the grass instead of his eyes.

It wasn't like he saved her for any special reasons, right? If only she wasn't such a hopeless romantic.

Hanako tilted his head to the side, still smiling all the way. "I like you, though. That's enough of a reason for me."

"Huh?!" That was totally uncalled for! What in the world did he mean by that?!

"I said..." Now their faces were so close to each other, to the point she hoped he didn't see how red her face was getting. "I like you, Yashiro."

"As a... as a friend?" She managed to ask, but for some reason she hoped it wasn't the case.

Only a little, though.

Hanako finally pulled away from her personal space, and he turned up to look at the night sky for a while to contemplate, then turned back to her.

"That's up to you to decide." He replied, sticking his tongue out with a playful wink.

"Wha—you jerk!" Nene stomped over to him, trying to punch him on the chest. Of course he was joking! The boy had the habit of misleading her with his words, even before he showed his true form to her. Why was she even disappointed in his answer, anyway?

"Aha, settle down, Yashiro." Laughing, Hanako takes both her hands into his. It was hard to keep a straight face when Nene was making such a cute angry face.

He saw light from torches coming closer to their location. Ah, crap. Those townspeople were on their tracks.

Picking Nene up from the ground once more, he plopped her behind his back, making sure she was secure. "We better move!"

"Eh—Hanako-kun, where are we even going to go?!"

He didn't turn to look at her, but it was clear that he knew what he was doing. "Don't worry, I'll protect you, Yashiro. So hold on, okay?"

Her heart beat fast again, another blush making its way into her cheeks once more. All she could so was nod and bury her face on his back, trying not to be too obvious.

Before she knew it, they were running away once more, away from the people chasing after them. Who knows where they were heading, but Nene had the feeling they were probably going to be just fine.

"Um... Hanako-kun, aren't I too heavy?"

"Yeah, actually—ow! I was just joking!"

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, wildamongwolves!

For @wildamongwolves. Hope you enjoy it!

Read On AO3

*****

Towels Are Cold, So Am I

Chapter 1

It's weird, but Stiles likes hanging out with Derek.

Sure, the circumstances are less than desirable: they're looking for Boyd and Erica, unable to locate the wayward Betas. And since Scott won't help Derek, Stiles decides he needs to be the one to bridge the gap.

They spend the last few weeks of July driving around and eating fast food in parking lots as they ponder over maps of the area.

Sure, Derek snarls and bitches that Stiles is annoying, touching everything in the car and leaving traces of his scent everywhere. He makes fun of Stiles' choice in music and calls him a monster when he sees how many curly fries he can stuff in his mouth.

But Stiles has fun, watching the lines form between Derek’s eyebrows when he’s mulling over something Stiles says. Like he can't believe Stiles is as ridiculous as he is. But he listens, no matter how much Stiles talks.

Like now, for example. He’s running through a list of things that he needs to get from the grocery store before they head back to the loft and Derek gives what Stiles calls his “Encouraging Caveman” sound. It means he’s listening, but he’s mildly distracted by something.

Stiles, vaguely amused that he's gotten so good at Derek's version of communication, notices immediately when Derek’s eyes glaze over.

“Dude.” He snaps his fingers near Derek’s face. "We need to get some more snacks before we keep researching."

Derek glances at him, his eyes dark and haunted. “Okay.”

Stiles studies him, thinking of all the things that must be lurking in Derek’s mind to make him look like that.

He's not one for empty platitudes, so he just leans forward and turns up the radio a little, lightly scuffing at Derek’s shoulder in a way that he hopes comes off as reassuring.

Derek glances at him again before looking back at the road.

The littlest bit of tension leaves his shoulders and Stiles definitely counts that as a win.

-----

It’s October and it's raining. Like, fucking pouring, and Stiles is debating whether or not he should get out of the Jeep. The parking lot of the library is practically flooded. His shoes are gonna be soaked.

He sighs and leans forward against his steering wheel, thinking he might be able to see something other than gray clouds in the sky, but no dice. When he leans back, he jumps.

Derek is standing next to his window.

Stiles rolls the window down an inch and hollers, “You scared the shit out of me. What the hell is wrong with you? Get in the car!”

Derek rolls his eyes and, a moment later, is pulling open the passenger door before slamming it shut. He doesn’t look at Stiles, just stares straight ahead.

“So…” Stiles drawls, “whatcha doing out in the rain, Big Guy?”

Derek doesn’t say anything for a moment and Stiles is about to roll his eyes or huff or say something sarcastic like good talk as always when Derek says, “I’m leaving.”

Stiles blinks at the side of Derek’s face, mouth moving, but nothing comes out.

At his silence, Derek’s eyes flicker to his face for a second before going back to the windshield.

Stiles turns and looks out the windshield too. “Where are you going?” he asks because he can’t ask the question he really wants to, not yet.

“South America, with Cora,” Derek murmurs.

Stiles hums, picking at a piece of leather that’s peeling off his steering wheel. “Pretty warm there.”

“Still pretty rainy.”

Stiles nods. They sit in silence for a long time, the rain pattering against the Jeep the only sound.

Finally, Stiles whispers, “Why?”

“Because there’s nothing left for me here.”

And he gets it, he does. But it hurts, oh yes it does, it hurts quite a bit because Stiles could have sworn that they were starting to get somewhere, the two of them. Maybe Stiles was reading too much into it, but he wasn't sure he was.

Hell, they'd even hugged the last time they parted ways and, as awkward as it had been, it was nice and he thought... he thought...

“I don’t want you to go,” he confesses in a small voice.

Derek closes his eyes, his hands fisted on his thighs, his face twisted in pain.

Stiles waits, hoping that Derek will say something that means he feels even remotely the same.

A long beat of silence passes, the rain pounding the roof of the Jeep.

Stiles isn’t stupid. He gets the picture. He's seventeen and ridiculous and Derek isn't interested in him like that and god he's such an idiot.

He feels like a fucking joke as he nods, staring down at his hands. “Well,” he finally croaks, “I… I hope you find some place good.”

“Me too.” There’s a beat of silence before he whispers, “Goodbye Stiles.”

There’s the slightest ghost of fingertips against the side of his neck then the door opens and Derek is gone.

And Stiles is alone in his car again, the strong rain-wet scent of Derek making his nose and eyes burn.

-----

The first time Derek reappears in Beacon Hills, Stiles is almost sure he’s hallucinating again. After all, isn’t his brain still a little wonky from the Nogtisune? Derek used to be a frequent star in his visions, after all.

And since he’s in the woods alone at night, looking for a witch’s familiar, of course he’s gonna imagine Derek because why the fuck not?

It’s been two years since Stiles has seen him. More than that.

But, apparently, there Derek stands. His hair is a little longer, he's got the beginnings of a beard, and there are a few more lines around his eyes. He looks so good and what the fuck –

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he almost shouts, the orb of light in his hand flickering.

Derek jerks back, looking vaguely confused. “I had to get something from the vault. I thought I’d check on the house. Then I heard someone out here.”

“The vault? I, what?” Stiles sputters. He’s suddenly so angry, it’s almost blinding. “I thought you were dead!”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you fucking vanished and no one’s heard from you for over two years and your luck is astronomically bad! What else were we supposed to think?!”

“That’s ridiculous, I’m fine.” Derek looks down at the orb in Stiles' hand then back to his face. “What’s going on? Why are you out here?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and god, it’s almost like Derek never left. Like This is private property and the long days and nights they spent looking for Boyd and Erica and – focus Stiles.

He starts walking the way he was going, sure that Derek will follow him since there’s no way he’s real anyways. “We have a very angry witch on our hands. She’s not happy that Scott tried to tell her she wasn’t allowed to use the Nemeton to fuel a revenge spell.”

Derek snorts, drawing up to Stiles’ left side and scanning the trees. “Yeah, because that’s always worked well for spell casters in the past.”

He gives a conceding gesture. “Which he tried to tell her, but she didn’t want to listen, so she tapped into the damn tree anyways. It’s given her hella power and she’s killed three people.”

Derek’s thoughtful hum is familiar enough to make Stiles glance over at him.

He’s got to be a fucking figment of Stiles’ imagination.

He glances down at his fingers. Only ten. But the situation still feels so surreal. He decides for now that he’ll talk to his Fake Derek to abate some of his anxious nerves like he used to and examine his mental health later.

“So, anyways,” he continues, “not only is there a body count, the negative power is starting to seep into the land, so I’m stuck trying to figure out what her tether is and what do I find? Her fucking familiar! Which is great, but can you guess what it is?” He snorts. “Oh my god, it’s so stupid.”

“What is it?”

“A fucking mountain lion. She's been using a mountain lion to kill people!” He lets out a hoarse laugh. “Like, what the actual fuck, right?”

Derek huffs. “The irony isn’t lost on me, Stiles.”

“Oh I know, dude, I know.”

Derek frowns again. “Don’t call me dude.”

Stiles is about to snap back that he can call his Imaginary Friend Derek whatever he wants when he’s shoved to the side all of a sudden.

He sputters, looking up at Derek, who’s wolfed-out and growling at a mountain lion.

Can hallucinations shove people? If Derek just shoved Stiles, then he has to be real, right?

But there were plenty of times Stiles was convinced he was awake when he wasn’t and fuck he really doesn’t need to have an episode or something right now –

“Stiles! Now would be a good time to do something!” Derek snaps, jolting Stiles from his contemplation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, sitting up. His hands are pouring blood from his unceremonious meeting with the forest floor. He figures, waste not want not, and licks one of his palms, the dirt and blood a disgusting mix on his tongue. He rolls it around his mouth, jumping to his feet.

“Get out of the way!” he shouts and Derek dives to the side right as the mountain lion lunges.

Stiles catches the large cat’s face in his hands, grunts at the feeling of claws digging into his thighs, and severs the creature’s connection to the witch with a push of his Spark.

An ear-splitting shriek shakes the woods.

The mountain lion falls to the ground, writhing and contorting for a moment before it stills, clearly unable to live without its connection to the witch.

Stiles takes a deep breath, the pushback from his spell like a punch in the gut as his legs give out, and shoves his hands against the ground. He pushes the extra energy along the nearest ley line and funnels the brightness toward the Nemeton. He snaps the link and almost pukes at the feeling.

He floats in the ether for a moment. The others are sure to be able to handle the witch now. He should probably go find them, help them…

“Stiles, Stiles!”

He jerks, his eyes finding Derek’s. “Oh shit, you’re still here.”

Derek stares at him. “You’ve got blood all over you. Where are you hurt?”

He laughs. He grew up in Beacon Hills. He’s fucking hurt everywhere. Derek should know that firsthand.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice is careful.

He shakes his head, face still cracked in a smile. “I’m fine, man.” He glances at his palms. “Eh, well, I’ll live this time. Yay me!” He tries to stand but his legs buckle.

Derek snatches him before he can hit the ground.

“I’m good, I just, oohh boy. Too much. Too much.” He sighs, the pounding in his head telling him that he definitely used too much of his Spark with not enough preparation. “I just… need to lie down. I’ll be okay.”

“I’m taking you to the clinic.” He scoops Stiles into a bridal carry and starts back through the woods.

Stiles tries to protest, but he can’t walk, so it seems like he’s along for the ride. He tries to reason, “I need to help the others.”

“You’re in no condition to do that right this second.” Derek tilts his head, listening. “Besides, I think they’ll be fine. It sounds like the fight is winding down.”

"You really look like a puppy when you do that."

Derek's voice is as dry as the desert. "Dog jokes, really? Aren't you a little old for that?"

“Fucking hell, I am so good at imagining things,” he states, closing his eyes. “I even got your Stiles-You’re-So-Dumb voice right.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, just tightens his hold and quickens his pace.

He presses his face to Derek’s chest. Derek smells exactly the same and Stiles can’t help but mutter, “Missed you.”

It’s easy to slip into darkness.

-----

Stiles wakes up at the vet clinic, his hands and thighs bandaged, and feels like someone beat him with a baseball bat.

The witch is gone, the others are fine, and he’s got a migraine from Hell.

He goes back to Scott’s house and checks in with the rest of the pack, allowing them to scold him for being reckless and praising him for helping with the familiar. He leaves before the pizza arrives, not so much for socializing anymore.

He almost wants to ask if anyone saw Derek the night before, but stops himself. Surely someone would have mentioned if Derek was back in town, right?

If he was seeing things, he doesn’t want to worry his friends. It could very well be that he made his own way to the clinic, envisioning Derek as a way to keep him upright and moving.

And if he wasn’t seeing things, if Derek was there and helped him and disappeared again…

Well, Stiles has learned that it doesn’t do to dwell on the past.

[sahbibabe]

A Growing Awareness

A Growing Awareness

Soulmate AU

Sephiroth/Fem! Reader

Reno offers you a job that requires your mercenary skills, requested by Rufus Shinra personally. You neither want to do it or obey his every whim.

Sephiroth is vulnerable, if only for a few moments, and allows you in, but you would never have known otherwise.

SO, [NAME], WE HAVE A proposition for you."

Reno, ever flashy in his nice suit, and Rude, who was carefully pouring you tea after refusing to allow you to do it, had cornered you in your shop sometime after closing. Sephiroth had made good on his promise to escort you, and told you in very simple terms that he would be back again to continue your conversation. If he came into contact with the two Turks, however, there would be bloodshed, you had no doubt; death was the last thing you wanted these days.

"Thank you, Rude," you said, thanking him when he handed you your cup of tea. He nodded imperceptibly at you. "What kind of proposition? I'm afraid there's not a lot I can do for you."

Reno grinned. "See, that's the thing--there's plenty you can do for us. You see, I've been digging up some of your old files--"

You went rock solid. Slamming the tea cup down on the table, you fixed him with a look that could curdle blood, mouth pulled into a firm line, daring him to continue. You felt Rude, beside you, spook just a little. "How dare you."

"--and I found out some very interesting tidbits about you. Would you like to hear them?"

"Do I even have a choice?" You sneered. Your amicable nature had taken the back burner and the mercenary was taking its place, ready to spill blood and cut throats. "I assume you're going to tell me anyway."

Reno produced a thick manila file from inside his blazer, slapping it down on the rickety table with an audible smack. There were red sticky tabs labeled on the parts he thought were important, yellow ones and blue ones and green ones that you didn't know the meaning of.

"[Name] [Surname]," he began in a mocking tone, flipping to your diagnostics page. "Twenty-three. Female. Originally born in Sector Two, moved to Sector Seven at nineteen. Daughter of [M/Name] and [F/Name], head Shinra executives."

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Stop."

"Form occupation: mercenary." His tone got more sardonic the more he read. The more he got closer to the information you tried to forget about for hours at a time, that never ceased bothering you every waking moment. "Charted casualties: six thousand. Known kill count: fifteen thousand. You were a busy woman, weren't you?"

"I said stop."

"And here's the interesting part," Reno hummed, flipping to another red tab, another part of your life that killed you to relive. "After a week in Hojo's lab, you suddenly retired. Packed up and shipped out to Sector Seven without any prior word otherwise. Set up a little tea shop. No one looks twice at the blind woman, except you aren't blind and you aren't as innocent as you make yourself out to be."

You couldn't take it anymore. You were across the table and wrapping your hands around Reno's pale throat, fingers digging into muscle and the hard cartilage of his esophagus, eyes boring holes into his own. Rude tried to pull you away, but you held fast, some supernatural strength rooting you there, threatened.

"I said, stop it," you seethed, ignoring the feel of scalding tea seeping into the skin of your abdomen. You would have burns there, later. "Shut the hell up and tell me what you want. There's no reason for you to educate me on my past."

When you finished speaking, you released him roughly, slowly reclining back in your chair when Rude released you, relieved you weren't going to lunge at his partner again.

"Sorry, [Name]," Rude began, no doubt referring to the giant imprints of his hands that would be left on your hips from his pulling you away from Reno. You hadn't even realized how hard until the pain set in, brutal and aching. "I'll get you a potion."

"No need," you huffed, pulling your shirt away from your stomach. The skin was already raw and hot; you guessed second degree burns by the feel of it. "Either you get to talking, Reno, or get out and never come back."

He was still rubbing his throat, red hair downcast over his eyes, and you made out the imprints of your fingers around his neck like a suffocating ring. You felt somewhat guilty about it and felt the urge to apologize, but the smug smile on his face made you take it back and want to give him a nice shiner in the eye.

"Fine then. President Rufus. He wants you to reinstate your merc services." He leaned back in his chair, though he kept a hand on his baton, you noticed. "He has need of your skillset."

"What?" You mocked, mimicking the tone he had used on you before. "Turks not good enough for the mighty Rufus Shinra that he has to hire a retired mercenary?"

You relished in the irritation beginning to show on Reno's face.

"Look. It's three million gil a gig. Take it or leave it. As for your answer, you have a few months before you'll be needed. I'm sure you can come up with a good one by then."

In short, you couldn't tell them no, and you were going to be seeing Rufus Shinra earlier than you had intended, which had just gone from never in a million years to right in a few months. Unless you wanted your life ruined, you had to go. Had to obey, like a dog.

"Get out," you hissed. "Get. Out."

Reno smirked and waved for Rude to stand, the both of them heading to the door.

"You have my card if you make your decision early."

Once the damned Turks were out of your building, you flipped the open sign to closed and began tearing your shirt off to let the burn breathe. You left it somewhere on the stairs and fumbled for your first aid kit, pulling out a sanitary wipe and burn gel that Tifa had helped you procure at an insanely cheap price.

"Damn," you cursed, feeling the scissors drop from your fingers. You instead ripped the packet of burn gel open with your teeth and spread it across your stomach generously, laying back on your bed and sighing in relief when the powerful sting of the burn went away in a rush of cold. "Much better…"

"Three million gil is a lot of money. You should take it."

You jerked upwards with a shriek, nearly shoving the first aid kit on the floor in your haste to cover your chest. Your shirt had been padded, so you hadn't worried too much about wearing a bra, but now you could very well say that you were regretting that decision now.

Sephiroth sat in the same chair he had before, one ankle crossed over his knee, an insanely long katana balanced on his thighs. He didn't seem particularly bored, or as if he had been waiting long. His cat-eye stare was fixed on your face, watching, waiting for an answer; he didn't even look down at your breasts once. You weren't sure if you should be disappointed, relieved, or both.

You swallowed thickly. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough." He gave you a shrug that seemed entirely out of character for him. "I see you were burned."

"I spilled some tea," you explained quickly, eyebrows furrowed,"but… What are you doing here? I didn't even hear you come inside--"

"I used teleportation materia." He leaned over and plucked a red orb from your letter drawer, rolling it between his fingers. "Your turn."

You huffed and, seeing he wasn't going to look at you in an intimate way anytime soon, went to the bathroom to pull on your robe. It was one you had splurged on at Aerith's urging, saying it was soft and comfortable. You had slept in it on many occasions, sometimes when the weather got too hot or the sun lamps were too concentrated.

With your back turned in the threshold of the bathroom, working furiously at the knot you had tied into the belt, you wouldn't have noticed those green-blue eyes admiring the panes of your back, darting from the back of your neck to the dip in your spine near the hem of your pants.

You finally got the belt untied and pulled on the robe with a grimace, adjusting the tightness so you wouldn't have the fibers sticking to the burn gel. You probably should have put gauze on it or something, but in your panic at seeing Sephiroth and being half naked, you had forgotten all about it.

The robe hung open as a result, but you could easily hide your chest by crossing your arms. When you were satisfied, you turned back and began picking up the burn gel and supplies, tucking them away in the first aid kit.

"You aren't going to take it?"

"Take what?" You asked.

"The Turk's offer."

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" You brushed hair away from your face and sat down parallel to him, reasonably positioned on the edge of your bed. "What Rufus Shinra wants, he gets. He'll make my life a living hell if I don't."

"You could always leave," Sephiroth suggested. "Leave Midgar. I doubt he would follow."

You smiled sadly and looked out your window where Seventh Heaven's lights glowed brightly. You could pick out Tifa and Cloud sitting on the steps, pointing towards Jessie and Wedge who were encouraging Biggs to guzzle a drink. You even saw Marlene and Barret sitting outside as well, but you weren't able to tell what they were doing.

"I can't leave." You stroked the soft cotton of your robe idly. "Even if I wanted to. I have friends here… Friends I consider family. I couldn't leave them like that. It wouldn't be right."

"Then you would have to take the offer," Sephiroth concluded, uncrossing his legs. He left his sword on the chair and approached you, standing uncomfortably close. You edged back and leaned against the window frame to allow him to see outside as well. "Rufus Shinra will go after them if you don't."

"I know. He's smarter than his father, I'll give him that."

"Smarter and nearly twice as clever." He shook his head. "What that Turk said--is it true?"

"What part?" You hummed, watching as Wedge approached Cloud and began talking animatedly. You would get nothing out of being dishonest; he had heard everything, after all. The least you could do was be honest. "The mercenary thing, or…"

"Both. The mercenary part, and Hojo's experiments."

He sounded testy, like he was weighing his options and those options rested on what you told him.

"The mercenary part is simple." You looked at him from underneath your lashes, somewhat startled by the intensity he was looking at you with. You had almost thought he had pilfered your personal files, but it seemed not. He knew as much about you as you did him. "I worked as one for about nine or so years, racked up an ostentatious kill count. Got sick, went to Hojo, and he screwed everything up. I left, he never pursued, to make a long story short. I doubt he even knew what he was doing. He only wanted a test subject."

"I see." Sephiroth went quiet, seemingly content with that answer. "You didn't have to tell me. So, thank you. [Name]."

You couldn't help the butterflies that erupted in your stomach at the sound of your name. It was better than you had imagined it to be. "It was a long time ago. It bothers me sometimes when I don't talk about it."

"Of course. Most things do."

When you looked up, you caught that glimmer in his eye--that spark of life and consciousness that he had never seemed to have before. An awareness of the world, you had to guess, or an appreciation of reality, as if he had come out of a long sleep and was just now seeing things for the first time.

You had to wonder what it was like to be a SOLDIER, to live in that mindset for so long that you couldn't distinguish between yourself and the weapon that you had become. Cloud had certainly struggled with it, but he had Tifa; Sephiroth had no one, would not allow himself to be vulnerable to you in that way. He seemed to be slowly coming out of in all on his own, that dangerous aura receding to allow something genuine and almost pure to rise to the surface: thankfulness.

But with that self awareness came problems. You had to face the bad things you had done and the things you would still do before you ever came to terms with your new existence. You would know; you had spent two years curled up in one of Merle's apartments, only eating, drinking, sleeping, and despairing over your previous actions. The people you had killed.

So you decided to make him an offer, even if he wouldn't accept it.

"Hey," you said, your voice a whisper. Any louder and it might break the silent peace that had developed in the room. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here. I might not know much about SOLDIER stuff, but…" You shrugged awkwardly. "I'll be here."

He didn't smile, but you could see a miniscule grin on his face, just the tiniest pull of his lips. He didn't acknowledge it, though, and continued looking out the window until you slumped against the sill with a yawn, eyes heavy lidded and hazy.

Sephiroth helped you to your bed when you stumbled, pulling the blankets over you when you flopped down onto your pillow with a groan at the pull of the burn on your abdomen.

As you closed your eyes and tried to force yourself to sleep, you felt the feather soft brush of lips on your cheek, felt his breath on your ear as he whispered.

"Thank you."

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Handler Todd and 435689: Papers

Here are the results of my live-write exercise! It was super cool! That was a lot of fun and I hope the process was an enjoyable for you guys as it was for me to have you hang out and chat with me while I worked!

CW: Referenced whump of a minor (minor is not whumped during piece). Pet whump, institutionalized slavery. Some gross language regarding said minor. Character is 16. 

“I don’t get it, ‘689.” Todd’s voice was weary, and the boy looked worriedly up at him, struggling to keep up with the taller man’s much longer strides - especially with the way he couldn’t quite put all his weight on his feet leg just now and had to kind of hop-walk down the hall just behind him. “Why bother? You don’t even know that other one’s number, and he had to be at least five years older than you.”

The boy swallowed, hands moving as though they would shove themselves into front pockets, but there weren’t any pockets in the black cloth shorts that were the only pants the boy ever remembered wearing. Finally, he just let them hang awkwardly down at his sides. “Is… is that a question, Handler?” He asked, keeping his voice pitched low.

“What? Yeah, ‘course it is,” Todd said, his eyes scanning the hallways as they walked.

Everything looked the same to the boy - it was always white, and nothing changed. It felt like they went a different way every time they took him somewhere - to the handlers’ training rooms, to the Clean Room where the boy learned to scrub floors until the grout shone white, to the Bad Room.

The handlers didn’t call it the Bad Room - the trainees did.

They kept the Table in the Bad Room.

“What, uh…” The boy cleared his throat, his voice kept trying to shake whenever he had to put his right foot down to walk. The handler didn’t notice, but the boy didn’t mind - they were always hurt, the handlers probably just assumed they were unless they were told otherwise. “What’s the-... the question?”

Handler Todd finally stopped, letting out a low sigh and turning to look down at him. “You are the shortest fucking Box Boy I’ve ever seen, and you’re definitely the youngest. Why’d you stick your neck out for someone who’s bigger, older, and stronger than you? You could’ve been seriously hurt, kiddo!”

The open concern in Handler Todd’s voice felt… so good. It felt so good to hear someone worry about him. Handler Todd was the only one who ever did.

“Well, he… he needed help. He didn’t mean to trip like that, it’s just, you know… we get so cold, here, it’s hard to walk. They shouldn’t have… punished him. It was just an accident.”

“‘689…” Handler Todd sighed again, and something about the way he did it sounded so familiar. It rang a bell in the boy’s mind, warm arms around him and that same soft sigh. He could almost hear a voice that went with it, if he tried.

Almost - but the headache got him, first. The boy winced, and the moment was gone.

“Look. I’m… I’m doing what I can to keep you off the radar of some of the… other guys, but you gotta help me out, here.” Handler Todd put a hand on the boy’s shoulders on either side, and he looked up into Todd’s eyes, his kind face, and he thought, I wish all of us could have handlers like you.

“I don’t like that they hurt us, though,” The boy said, setting his jaw. “That’s not fair.”

I don’t know who gave you that stubbornness, it sure didn’t come from my side of the family.

Headache again. This time, Handler Todd caught his wince and put a hand up to the side of his face, cool and calming. Training took over, and the boy leaned heavily into the touch, pressing his head into it like a cat.

Handler Todd jerked his hand back and away. “Shit. I forgot you guys do that, I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Do what?” The boy blinked, confused. “What… what did I do?”

“Uh… nothing. No, you’re good, ‘689. Look, I figured… I know that you’ve had a rough few weeks, and I thought… I don’t know.” Something passed over Handler Todd’s face, a shadow of sadness the boy didn’t understand. “I thought you could maybe use a break. For a while.”

The boy stepped closer to Handler Todd instinctively, crossing his arms in front of himself. His right leg burned but he forced his weight to rest on it, to prove that he wasn’t as hurt as he looked. The cane wasn’t so bad, there were worse ways you could get punished. “I’m okay,” He said, making sure to put a little hint of a plea there, a whine. The handlers liked when you sounded like you were begging. “I don’t need a break, sir, I’m, I’m okay. I don’t want to go back to my room, I can keep training, I can-”

Handler Todd swallowed and backed slightly away from him, but the boy followed him, trying to press into his space a little, to show that he was fine. “No… hey. No, kiddo. Look, you just-... can you just stay at arms’ length for a sec? I don’t mean go back to your room, I promise.”

“Can I… can I sleep on a mat? In the training room?” The boy brightened at that. That was a special reward, you only got to sleep on the heated mats in the training rooms if you did really, really well that day. The boy couldn’t remember the last time he’d done more than doze, really, he was never good for long enough.

They were always hurting some other trainee, and the boy was always trying to stop them.

“I can do you one better, kiddo,” Handler Todd said, his own expression softening into a slight smile as he saw the hopefulness on the boy’s face. “I can take you outside.” He pointed to a door with a passcode lock at the end of the hallway. It looked exactly like every other door the boy had ever seen, with AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY written on it.

The boy could still read - he knew some of the others couldn’t, any longer, but he could.

“Out… outside?” The boy’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he gnawed nervously on his lower lip, looking at the door again. It didn’t look like a door to outside… and they all knew that outside wouldn’t ever happen until you were bought. And even then your owner might decide to keep you locked up and that was okay, too, because you only existed the way they wanted you to…

“Truly. I promise. Look, I had to… call in a couple favors to make this happen, but… you’ve earned it, kiddo.” Handler Todd hesitated, that weird sad look on his face again. “Shit, you know, there’s… there’s more of you who deserve a good fucking day outside without any of this bullshit than I, I knew… but fuck. You know?”

The boy blinked at him. There was a silence.

“... right, no you don’t. Okay. Look, I’ll try and explain a bit more once we’re out there, okay? Just close your eyes.”

The boy obediently shut his eyes and lifted his chin, just slightly, but all the handler did was take him carefully by the wrist and lead him down the hall, moving more slowly this time. The chill air that came through the vents, endlessly recycled and recirculated, smelling stale and musty, made the boy shiver. He was never anything but cold here, except when Handler Todd would hug him sometimes. Nobody else hugged him.

Don’t mind us, the weird voice he heard sometimes said, somewhere far back in his mind, behind the wall they’d built inside him. We’re all huggers in this family.

He had to stop this or his headache was going to get really bad. The boy focused on his steps, the twinge of pain up his right leg, the ache in his ribs from getting kicked, the way his back throbbed from being caned there, too. If he focused on the pain they gave him, he could forget the pain in his head, and forget what the pain tried to bring with it.

Handler Todd’s grip on his wrist, though, was warm, and not too tight - Handler Todd never hurt him, ever, even when he was angry and defiant and deserved it - and the boy smiled, faintly, as he was led.

Then he heard the soft beeping of the passcode - three short beeps, two long ones, although he didn’t know why or what it meant - and the metallic sound of Handler Todd turning the long handle on the door.

A blast of heat.

The boy didn’t think he’d ever felt hot air before.

Then the light hit, turning the black behind his closed eyes a kind of brownish red, and the boy flinched back from it, a soft worried sound deep in his throat. “H-Handler-”

“It’s okay, kiddo. It’s okay.” Handler Todd let go of his wrist only to step up close to him, and the boy melted into his side as quickly as he could, chasing the safety. Handlers were safe. They  might hurt you, but it was to make you learn - and besides, Handler Todd never hurt him. He was the safest handler of all of them.

Todd slid an arm around the boy’s shoulders and said softly, “Open your eyes. Blink a few times, kiddo, you need to remember sunlight, it can kind of hurt if you come out from the inside light too fast.”

The boy cracked open one eye, and finally two. The light pierced eyes that hadn’t seen it before, felt hot on skin that was only ever cold, now. The world around him began to come into some kind of focus, and he pushed harder into Todd, worried, eyes darting around at the world outside the Facility.

“Am I… am I allowed out here?” He asked, in a hush.

“No,” Handler Todd said. “So this is our little secret, okay? Just you and me?”

Our little secret.

The boy fought the cold rush of fear at the words. Nobody bothered him, not since Handler Todd started talking to him, but he’d heard handlers say those words before, to the other trainees, and… “What… what kind of secret?”

“Huh?” Todd blinked down at him, confused, then looked back out at the world. “Just don’t tell them I brought you outside, kiddo. I’ll get written up for sure for something like this, and you do not want the Director on your ass for breaking rules. Come on, I want to show you something.”

Todd pulled the boy off to the side, and he stared around himself in wonder. There was a giant parking lot that stretched forever, he thought - or at least until it hit a road, and he could hear traffic but not see it somewhere over that direction. There was a green sign that stood tall above everything else, and the boy squinted at it.

STARBUCKS

What was a Starbucks?

Then they had gone through a small gate to a fenced-in area, and the green sign was gone. Instead… the boy stared around at a small courtyard, with benches and kind of a covered area and grass.

He didn’t realize he had fallen to his hands and knees to feel at the grass until he heard Handler Todd laughing, sort of chuckling to himself, as he closed the gate behind them. “It’s been awhile, huh?”

Grass was spiky but soft, both at the same time. Must’ve rained, the boy thought, and wasn’t sure where the thought came from, only knew that the pain followed in its wake. He slowly laid his head down until his cheek brushed the blades of grass, moving it back and forth, humming to himself.

Handler Todd walked away from him, giving him space, and took a seat up on the table part of a picnic table, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out. He watched the boy moving slowly over the grass, taking a long drag and then blowing the smoke out thoughtfully. “What do you think?”

“I think you could put a garden here,” The boy said, then winced. “Ow.”

“Yeah, don’t think too hard, kiddo. I know we take that out of you.” Todd sighed, still smoking, taking quick drags. “Shit, my nerves are shot working here these days. I was okay before I realized some of you are so young, but I can’t just… fucking quit, can I?”

The boy realized after a moment’s pause that Handler Todd apparently expected him to answer. He looked up from inspecting a violet, pressing his fingertip against the soft petals, and said, “Can’t you?”

“Ha. Right. My kids need insurance and there’s no company in the state gives a high-school graduate benefits like this. Plus, I mean, you can’t beat the vacation time, the paid time off, I just…” He trailed off, slowly, and looked over at the boy.

Kneeling on the grass holding a violet he’d picked between thumb and forefinger, the boy wore the white shirt and black trainee shorts and the wide-band shock collar around his neck. He blinked at the handler, then looked slowly around himself.

“What? Did I… is something… is something wrong?”

“No… I mean, yes, but not anything you did. Come over here, kiddo.”

The boy jumped instantly to his feet, ignoring the pain that shot up his right leg - push it back in your head, it doesn’t matter, it’s just going to hurt and you just have to find a way to keep going when it does. He moved quickly to Handler Todd and stood in front of him in Position One, sliding instinctively into the straight-backed posture with his hands behind his back, eyes slightly lowered. “Yes, sir?”

“Look. I didn’t actually… bring you out here because you, uh, got punished today. That was kind of… you definitely need to stop throwing yourself in front of other trainees, but… that’s not why we’re here.”

The boy nodded, slowly, confused.

“Look, you, uh… um. Shit. I’m not sure how to say this. I’m not gonna see you much longer, kiddo.”

The boy’s head jerked up, wide brown eyes focusing on the handler’s, searching for some sign that he was joking, or lying. He stepped forwards, dropping onto his knees on the picnic bench, looking up at Handler Todd, who scooted slightly back, putting more space between them. “Did you… are you leaving, sir? B-but… but no one else is nice, you’re-... you’re the only one who’s nice to me, I don’t get to talk to anyone else…”

“Hey, no. I’m not leaving.” Todd stubbed out his cigarette half-smoked and set it aside, then put his hands back at the boy’s shoulders, rubbing at them gently with his thumbs. “I’m not going anywhere, kiddo.”

“But you said-”

“You are.”

The sun shone hot on his back, made the top of his head feel deliciously warm as it soaked into his dark brown hair. He could smell the earth and grass all around him, and even smell Handler Todd’s cologne, sort of strong and he hadn’t liked it at first, but now it meant safety like no other scent did. “... what?”

“You, uh. You got papers, today.” Todd smiled at him, but it was fainter this time, it wasn’t a smile he meant. Papers meant owners, which was good, but Todd didn’t look like it was good. He looked like… like…

He looked like when you found out your grandpa died, and Mom smiled like this when she said, “At least he’s in a better place,” and you wondered what place, and-

The boy pitched forward, groaning as the lance of pain in his head seemed to ricochet through him, throwing his arms around Handler Todd’s waist and holding tight. Handler Todd leaned forward and slid arms around his neck and held him, too, mistaking his pain for fear, murmuring soft comforting things while the boy tried to stop the aberrant thought from digging its claws too deep.

“Who bought me?” He whispered into Handler Todd’s shirt collar, the rough scratchy fabric that he hated but kind of liked, when it was Todd. “What are they like? Are they gonna be nice to me?”

Todd took a deep, deep breath. The boy felt him drawing the air slowly into his lungs, holding it, and just as slowly letting it out. His arms tightened around the boy’s shoulders, drawing him up a little bit so he was standing on his knees on the bench, his head tucked into Handler Todd’s neck. “A man bought you as a gift for his friend.”

The boy nodded, slowly. This was why he was here, what he was made for, to go to an owner at the end of training. He should be happy about it, but he felt cold, instead. Scared to leave Todd, and scared to leave the white room and the hallways, scared to leave the rules he knew and go live in a new place with new rules he didn’t.

“I’m still… I still get to be a Domestic, right?”

“Right. You’ll be her Domestic. Just like we talked about, just like training.”

“But… I’m not done with training.”

That deep breath again. The boy pulled back, chanced a look up at Todd’s face, and caught an odd glittery look in his eyes. “I know,” Todd said gently. “I know you’re not. But the, um. The order was to send someone… unfinished.”

Confusion, again. Pets weren’t supposed to ask questions, but the boy was pretty bad at remembering that rule, and Todd never punished him for talking too much like the others did, so… he thought it was safe to ask one more. “Why?”

Todd opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. “You’re a fighter,” Todd said, finally. “You fit the profile. Young, dark brown hair and brown eyes, pale skin, and… defiant. The man who bought you wants to give his friend a, uh… someone who will be defiant to her.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” The boy said, in a voice just above a whisper. “We’re not supposed to be defiant. I’m, I’m bad when I talk back, it’s bad that I can’t stop… why… why would they want-”

“Look,” Todd cut in, and the boy flinched, ducking his head down. “Shit, I’m sorry. No, I didn’t mean to sound mad. I’m not mad, kiddo, I promise. Hey. Hey, look at me. Look up at me.” The boy slowly raised his eyes, and Todd took his chin in his fingers, keeping his head tilted up to make eye contact. His voice went low, and soft. “I’m not mad at you. This just… I’m just mad that you’re being sent off on purpose when you’re not done, and that my complaint went nowhere and I’m kind of worried about some shit I didn’t realize was in my contract, and… I’m not mad, I promise.”

“Is it that I get to finish learning with my owner? Is that why?” The boy guessed, and thought maybe he’d guessed right when the shadow passed over Todd’s face again, and he didn’t answer. He just pulled the boy in closer and held onto him. The faint smell of cigarette smoke clung to his shirt and his skin, and the boy kind of liked it, on him.

“Yeah,” Todd said, finally, resting his chin on the boy’s hair. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it. Maybe she just wants one-on-one, she hasn’t… done that in a long time. She probably doesn’t know how young you are. Shit, no, she does. I’m sure she does, because she knew they did that to you, she knew it and she told me I was making too big a deal out of nothing… fuck.” He sighed, and the boy wondered how many ways there were to sigh, because it felt like Todd knew all of them.

“So it’s, it’s a woman?” The boy frowned, trying to piece together what Handler Todd was saying, but none of it made any sense. A man bought him for a woman, because he wasn’t done, because he was defiant, but the woman knew about it, and knew about… something…

When the boy tried to think about it too much, the headache threatened around the edges, along with an awful rolling fog. He closed his eyes tightly, and forced himself to forget.

“Yeah… well, kind of. Or some kind of fucking predatory lizard wearing a person suit,” Todd muttered, bitterly.

“... what?”

“Nothing. Nothing, kiddo. I just, you know, I don’t… know what it’s going to be like, when you go home for the first time. So I thought maybe you would, uh, just like to see somewhere kind of nice for a while. But, hey, she’s already got two others, so you’ll have friends, right?”

The boy knew the answer to this one, and the words rolled instantly off his tongue, effortless and easy. “Pets don’t make emotional connections with other pets, they are designed to connect with their owners to the exclusion of-”

“Okay, okay, okay, quit it. I don’t need to hear that. I know you know it. But that’s a lie, pets get attached to each other all the time. We don’t like the owners to know it, but…” Todd shrugged. “Talk to your other ones, when you get there, okay? They’ll help you settle in and learn what to… what to expect. From her.”

The boy nodded, relieved. He could learn from them, and maybe he could be good enough that whoever she was would like him.

“Hey, um… sir?” He twisted his fingers into Todd’s shirt, slipping into the space between two buttons along the front and feeling the rough cotton against his fingers. “Can I… can I ask… something?”

Todd didn’t move away from him, this time, and the boy had never felt so warm in his life - being held by someone in the sunshine, out in the fresh air. He was warm inside and out, even with his fear, even not knowing who he would go to.

But you had to go to someone eventually.

What else was he even made for, if not that?

“Sure, kiddo. Fire away.” Todd’s eyes kept skipping down to the half-smoked cigarette, itching to pick it back up and light it again. The boy followed his gaze, frowning slightly, and then he pulled back, reaching across Todd’s leg to pick up the cigarette himself.

Handler Todd stared at him as the boy picked up the lighter, too, and flicked it open, thumb effortlessly pressing the little pad there just right to bring up the flame. “Since when do you fucking know how to do that?”

The boy put the end of the cigarette against the flame, then blinked and looked up. “I don’t know.”

Todd took the cigarette, and laughed - but it was barely a sound, and hardly a smile, and the boy didn’t really think it was a laugh he meant at all.

“Ask me your question, kiddo. What’s up?”

“Do I, um.” He watched the cloud of smoke as Todd exhaled, stinging his eyes and making the boy cough. Todd apologized, clapping his back until he hit a sore spot and the boy winced at that, too. Finally, his voice a little strained, the boy said softly, “Do I still get to see you, when I go home?”

Todd was silent.

In a tree nearby, a bird sang, and the boy thought, yellow bird with black wings, 9 letters, starts with G. Ow.

“... no, kiddo,” Todd finally said, and when the boy’s mouth trembled a little in response, Todd kept his eyes firmly turned away. “That’s not… that’s not how it works. Look, I shouldn’t have been doing this anyway. Half my coworkers think I’m fucking you, for Christ’s sake.”

“... half your coworkers don’t have much r-room to talk,” The boy said, and felt heat burning behind his eyes when Todd looked at him, surprised, and smiled.

“Shit, kid. I think when you come in so young you’re more resilient, more of you sticks. Hold onto that for me, yeah? Maybe… maybe her other ones will be nice, that’d be good for you. Look, I… I’m sorry this shit turned out the way it did. I wouldn’t work here if I’d have known they were taking you guys in against your will. Not that me not working here would fix your problems…”

“I, I want you working here, though,” The boy said quickly, a little desperately. “You’re nice to me, nobody else is nice to me. I want there to be nice people here, for us.”

Todd groaned and leaned forward, slowly resting his head on the boy’s shoulder. The boy held onto him tightly, tears burning in his eyes even though he was supposed to be happy, because… because Handler Todd had made things a little better, and he kind of didn’t want to go home.

“It’d be easier for you all if none of us were,” Todd mumbled without raising his head. “Jesus fuck, kid, this job is fucking killing me. I’m helping you kids out the best I can, but there’s nothing I can do, and I hate that I can’t… just go, either. I just… I can’t think of anyone worse than the goddamn Director to own a kid as good as you.”

The boy’s heart froze.

“... the Director?”

Clicking heels on cold tile floors. Awful eyes, that bright red hair. Smiles that never seemed like more than muscles moving to try and fake an expression she didn’t really feel. Black cane in hand with a silver tip.

Are we going to have a problem, 435689?

“... shit,” Todd said, just as the boy pulled back, jerked himself back all at once, lost his balance and collapsed backwards off the bench onto the ground, scrambling back in a panic. “Shit, I wasn’t supposed to-... I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry, kid, shit-”

“The, the… the, wait, no-... but, but she can’t-...” The boy’s throat constricted, he could feel the way she looked at him, the weight of her eyes because she only showed up when he was at his worst and then, and then… “The Director is who I go to?”

The fear built and built and built inside of him, pressure that threatened to shred him apart, and finally the pressure broke. The boy curled in on himself in the grass and opened his mouth in a scream, but he couldn’t find the breath to make the sound.

Everyone was scared of the Director - everyone.

In a place where everyone hurt you, the Director hurt you the worst.

He made the face into the ground, he didn’t know for how long, trying to breathe in the scent of the soil and the grass again to calm himself, but all he could think of was the Table, when he was really bad and kept hurting handlers trying to get out, and they brought her.

Click, click, click click, heels on tile floors, and some of the boys that went with her never came back to their rooms.

Todd gently laid a hand on his back, and the boy jerked back and away from him with a cry, half-convinced it was her, only to look up into Todd’s worried, kind eyes.

Not kind enough to save him.

“I’m sorry, kiddo, I shouldn’t have told you.”

“I don’t want to go with her,” The boy whispered, and was surprised to find there were already tears on his face. He wiped at them hurriedly with grass-stained fingers, leaving a little green streak along one cheekbone. “I don’t want to be owned by her. I don’t want-”

Todd glanced up and beyond him, out towards the parking lot, and his jaw set in a grim line. Then he looked back at the boy and said, in a slightly harsher voice, “Want isn’t important for you.”

“Hey, Todd, what you got in there?” Another handler’s voice called, too close, and the boy flinched forwards into the arm Todd slid effortlessly around him.

“Just snuck this one out for a while,” Todd said, a smile in his voice, a mean one. The way the other handlers smiled. “Gets a little loud in there, you know? Plus, I needed a cigarette and I wanted something to look at while I smoked.”

“Ha, fair enough. You better get back in, though, we’re due for one of those meeting things again.” The other handler swung the little gate to the courtyard open, and the boy cringed back into Handler Todd’s side at the look in his sparkling dark eyes. “Oh, pretty one. I’ve never seen him before.”

“You don’t exactly work with these, Manning. Come on, let’s get inside. I’ll drop him off at his room.” Todd got to his feet, pulling the boy up after him.

The other handler grinned at the sight of the boy pressed against Handler Todd’s side, staring at him with frightened eyes. “Didn’t have you pegged for this to be your type, Todd.”

“Yeah, well. You don’t know shit about me, Connor,” Todd snapped, pulling the boy right past him to head for the door. “Next time, don’t interrupt me with one of them, yeah?”

“What the fuck ever, man. Don’t get so fucking testy.” Connor gave a low wolf-whistle, then laughed when the boy flinched again at the sound. “He’s neat. Man, I would happily pull overtime for that-”

“He’s sixteen years old, Manning,” Todd said flatly.

There was a long silence.

“Okay, never mind that. I’m fucked up but I’m not that fucked up. I mean. You are, but-”

“Shut up.” Todd pulled the boy back inside, closing the door behind them right in the other handler’s face. “There, now he’ll have to go around to the front.” He turned to look at the boy, tilting his head, lifting his hand to wipe the grass stain away with his thumb. “You okay, kid?”

“No,” The boy said, in a very small voice. “I don’t… I don’t think I’m okay.”

“Yeah… that’s probably not the smartest question I could ask.” The air was already beginning to chill the boy’s skin, wiping away the warmth he’d had from the sun and from Handler Todd’s arms around him. He’d felt safe, for just a second, and now he felt like he was about to be pushed off a cliff. “I guess what I mean is… is there anything I can do for you, before you go back to your room?”

“Help me,” The boy said, softly, looking up searchingly into Todd’s eyes, grabbing onto his shirt again. “Help me not go to her. I don’t, I don’t want to go home with the Director. Get me s-someone else, someone else can, can buy me, right? Someone else?”

“Man already paid his balance upfront,” Todd said softly. “It doesn’t work that way. I’m sorry.”

The boy felt goosebumps break out over his skin, the first real shiver of chill from being back in the frozen air. He hadn’t realized until Todd had brought him outside what it even felt like to not be shivering anymore.

Suddenly, the boy hated Todd more than anything, for taking him out there and then telling him he was going home with the Director. Todd had ruined the sun, and the grass, and the bench and the sign across the street, he had ruined all of it.

Why be nice if you were only going to do the worst thing of all?

“I want to go back to my room,” The boy said, lips moving numbly, pushing sound out, but he was only dimly aware of it. “Take me, take me back to my room, please.”

“Are you sure? I could maybe get you time for a nap while we do our meeting, on the training mats-”

“I want to go to my room,” The boy said again, his chest tight and heavy, heart pounding. “I want to, I want to be alone in my room now, please. Please just, just take me back to my room, I want to go to my room, I want-...”

I want to go home.

I don’t want to be here.

I don’t want this.

I want my life back.

“Kid, calm down, it’s not going to be that bad-... no, shit, that’s not-... fuck. Okay. Look, if you just-”

“Fuck you!” The boy shouted the words, and heard them echo down the hall, before he even understood he had spoken. He clapped his own hands over his mouth, eyes wide as he stared up at Todd, breathing in gasps.

Todd stared at him wide-eyed. He didn’t look mad, or even upset. He just looked… surprised. “What?”

The boy’s hands slowly dropped when no punishment seemed to be coming, and he swallowed, hard. “I, I said… I said… I said fuck you. You, you think you’re nicer but y-you’re not, because you… you just-... you make me remember people can be nice but you don’t help me!”

“I, I can’t, kid, I have to think about my family-”

“I had a family, too!” Todd grabbed at him and the boy tried to push away, but the handlers were always so strong, and he was crushed against Todd whether he liked it or not, trying weakly to push back, finally giving up and burying his face into Todd’s shirt, feeling it go slowly damp as he cried. “I had a family, too, why do you get a family but I don’t?”

“Shit,” was all Todd said.

But he held him, and it wasn’t nearly enough, but it was something.

They stood there - the boy didn’t know how long - until his crying calmed down, until he was breathing the smell of cigarette smoke and cologne and it was a good smell, the only good smell here, and the boy didn’t feel any better for shouting.

He just felt… empty.

And scared.

“Will you still come visit me and, and be my handler, until I… go?”

He felt Todd nod against his hair, the arms around him tighten again. “Yeah, kiddo. I will. I’ll be the last handler you see before they put you in your box, okay? I promise.”

The boy didn’t feel any better to hear it. But at least he didn’t feel worse.

“I don’t want this to be my life,” He whispered.

“Yeah… yeah. I know. Come on, let’s get you settled back in, if I’m late my supervisor will have my ass handed to me on a plate.”

I don’t give a fuck about your supervisor.

The boy kept his thought behind his teeth, because you weren’t supposed to talk back, or complain, or be sad. You just were.

“Look, what’s… what’s something you want that I can get you, huh? I’ll bring it to you after the meeting’s over?” Handler Todd began to help him move back down the hallway, keeping a hand on his lower back, the only part of him that felt warm when he walked.

He could ask for pain medicine for his leg, or he could ask for a pillow - he hadn’t been good enough for one, but…

There was only one thing he wanted.

“Can I have a granola bar?”

“Yeah, sure, kid. That’s all you want?”

No.

I want my fucking mom back.

[strayen-fx]

My Roommate is a Demon | Part II

Genre: Fluff, angst

Wordcount: 1.9k

Warnings: trauma, road accident, mention of death, panic attack

A/N: I've finally finished it! Hope you guys like it 🥺

"That's your delaying tactic, huh?"

Minho paused from petting Doongie and looked up at me, confusion written on his face. "What?"

I stood beside the TV, my arms across my chest, eyeing the demon who was sitting on my apartment floor. There was a reason why I never looked for a roommate -- I'd rather choose to pay an expensive rent than live with a total stranger that may/may not be a psycho, or worse, a jerk who doesn't know how to segregate biodegradable waste from non-biodegradable.

And yet, here I am: stuck with someone who was literally spawned by hell.

"How long do you intend to stay in my house?"

"Until you've told me your wish," Minho answered with a wide grin. He brought his attention back to Doongie and resumed attacking a bag of chips. "Until then, I'll be leeching off of you like the handsome demon that I am."

That's his third bag of chips for the day. "I already told you my wish," I pointed out. "Wishes, actually. But you never did any of them. So tell me -- are you toying with me? Just so you could stay here and play with my cats all day?" I eyed him suspiciously. "Are you running away from your tasks down in your place or something?"

Minho glared at me. "Your previous wishes wouldn't even count as wishes. You called for a demon, not a genie in a bottle," he scoffed. "You were supposed to ask for evil, injurious, hostile, insidious, destructive stuffs. And you asked me to give you an unlimited supply of pizza?"

"That's not the only wish I've told you," I argued.

Minho rolled his eyes. At this point in time, I am already used to seeing that affectionate gesture. "Right. You asked me to duct-tape Chan's laptop. You also asked me to trip Jisung. And you asked me to steal Changbin's plushie. Right. You have an absolutely terrifying and lethal mind, Y/N."

"Playing with Chan's equipment is evil," I reasoned out. I have actually witnessed Chan going nuts when he thought he lost his hard drive, and I swore to myself I would never want to see him furious again. It was the epitome of danger.

"...Are you for real?" Minho asked flatly. "That's, like, one of the top 100 lamest pranks I have ever heard. We're supposed to do crimes, not petty pranks on your kid neighbor."

"Can I just wish for you to leave?"

"Nope. Next question?"

"What am I supposed to do, then?" I whined. "I can't exactly wish for a random explosion in the streets, can I?"

Minho contemplated the idea for a few seconds. "That's not evil enough. We need something impactful -- I need something gold on my resume."

"...Resume?"

"Relevant experience, duh. I'm a hardworking employee. I need promotions."

I groaned, totally done and pissed and just generally going crazy about my whole predicament. How am I going to shake off my cat-loving demon roommate?

Minho grinned once more, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Guess that means you'll be spending an eternity with me."

°°°°°°°°°

"Can you burn my uni down?"

"That's not even an evil request. That's called service to the student body."

"Can you kill all the bugs in my city?"

"I may be a demon, but I do not intervene with the ecosystem. I'm done with you mortals ruining the planet. It's getting bad for my skin."

I frowned at Minho, who insisted on walking me to campus. He said he wanted to see my uni, but I'm pretty sure he's got some underlying intention he's not telling me. I felt wary for a sudden ambush.

"Can you give my professor the flu?"

"If we're talking about the flu that escalates into world destruction, then I guess we can get down to business--"

Minho suddenly stopped walking. He remained rooted on the road, staring at a middle distance. There was a look of worry in his eyes.

"H-hey, is something wrong?" I asked.

"I-I gotta go," Minho said hurriedly. He then sped off, almost tripping on his own feet. "I'LL SEE YOU AT HOME!" he shouted over his shoulders.

I don't know why, but the way he worded it made me feel a major blush creeping on my cheek. "YOU DON'T NEED TO GO BACK!"

°°°°°°°°°

"Where on earth did that demon go?"

My classes have already ended. Chan, Jisung and Changbin were all busy creating new tracks for the upcoming music fest, so I was forced to walk home alone. They were too busy these past few days, I hadn't gotten the chance to update them on the crazy scenarios unfolding in my life. They didn't even know I had a demon for a roommate. They didn't even know I've gotten a roommate, in the first place -- I bet they'd go crazy on their next visit.

That is, if I'd still have a roommate by that time.

"He said he'll see me at home," I mumbled. "Or did he just say that? Did he go back to wherever he came from? Without even informing me?"

As if on cue, I heard rustling of bushes from somewhere in front of me. I initially thought it was a thief. I was prepared to sprint off, but just then, Minho slowly walked into view, holding his hands against his stomach.

"You're here," I said quietly. Was that relief I just felt? Well, I guess I did feel relief knowing there wasn't a thief in front of me (but a demon instead. The irony.)

"Yeah," Minho smiled sheepishly. "I'm, uhh, just about to go home."

I gave him a weird look. "It has been hours since you walked me to school, and you're still here outside? You're just going home?" I noticed a few leaves that got stuck on his hair plus a few scratches along his forearm. My brow shot up. "By any chance... did you... get lost?"

A faint blush formed on the demon's cheeks. "I'm not used to human civilization, okay? I don't know your freak symbols. All the roads look the same -- how am I supposed to know where I am supposed to go?"

I tried to swallow the laughter bubbling in my stomach. "So you did get lost. I thought you're a demon? Can't you track me home with your demon powers or something?"

"I can only track your presence; ever wonder why I'm here in front of you? Your house is another thing. My powers aren't that strong yet." He began striding off to the direction opposite my house. I jogged after him, trying to match his long strides.

"Ya Minho. Are you sure of where you're-- Hey, what's that... thing on your belly?" I pointed at the weird spherical bulge on his stomach. He was wearing a baggy shirt, but the shape was still pretty much evident. It looked like a soft round pillow underneath his clothes. "Are you pregnant?"

"What are y-- I'M NOT PREGNANT, OKAY?" Minho's ears burned red, and he looked absolutely flustered.

"Would you care to explain, then, what--"

"Meow~"

"Did you just meow at me, Lee Minho?"

"MEOW~"

The thing under Minho's shirt suddenly moved, protesting against the hands holding him. Minho was taken by surprise -- he wasn't able to stop the little cat from breaking free from his hiding spot.

"You brought a--"

"Meow~" The cat landed on my feet. He is so small, probably just a month old. He had grey and white fur, and his meow sounded soft and sweet. He looked up at me expectantly, as if assessing the possible danger I held against him. It then brushed its body against my legs, marking me as his human.

"You brought a cat?"

"What do you expect me to do?" Minho whined. "I heared him meowing and crying desperately for help. I can't just leave him alone in the street, he's too young!"

"That's why you scampered off earlier?" I stiffled a laugh. "Are you sure you're a demon? Didn't you send your application to the wrong agency?"

"Shut up. Let's bring Dori home, alright? He's hungry."

"You even named him already."

"I said shut up."

We began walking to my apartment -- the correct direction this time -- while Minho carried Dori in his arms. I had to admit: they looked adorable. Minho looked so soft while cradling the baby cat, and Dori looked comfortable in the hands of his new owner.

And then I thought: Once Minho leaves, who's going to take care of Dori?

Nah, I could definitely take care of another cat at home.

But Minho is the one who found Dori. He is the parent, not you.

Minho has to leave soon -- I can handle Dori on my own.

Okay.

...

You're not gonna miss him?

...Of course not.

...

...

...

But Minho--

Shut up.

We were only a couple blocks away from my apartment. We were approaching a pastry shop which sells delicious cheesecake when suddenly, Dori jumped down from Minho's hold. The cat quickly ran off to the shop, carelessly crossing the street with her tiny paws.

"Dori!" Minho immediately ran after him, not even bothering to check the road for approaching vehicles.

A huge van was approaching fast. The driver probably didn't notice that someone was crossing the road -- he wasn't slowing down even one bit. His headlights blared, bright and harsh and ominous.

My brother. His bicycle. Blood. Van. Shattered glass. Smoke. Blood, everywhere. My brother, limp, unmoving. Blood. He was coughing blood. And his eyes... his eyes were blank. He wasn't blinking. He was staring at me with vacant eyes. He was bleeding. He--

"MINHO!"

The vehicle barely missed Minho by an inch. He successfully retrieved Dori. He looked back at me and smiled reassuringly, his hand held up in a thumbs-up.

My knees felt weak. I fell on the sidewalk, my heart thumping at a hundred beats per second. I couldn't feel my fingers. It felt as if I was dunked head-first into a pool of ice. Tears began welling in my eyes, making my surroundings blurry.

The next thing I knew, Minho was kneeling on my side. He was asking me a lot of questions, but I couldn't understand any of it. My heart was beating crazily in my chest. It was beating in my throat. It was beating in my ears. Dori was standing at my feet, carefully licking at my exposed skin.

"Minho..."

"I'm here," he answered.

"Don't leave me. Never leave me."

He fell quiet for a few moments. And then: "You know that wish is against the rules of hell, right?"

I looked at him, trying to read the emotion in his caramel eyes. There was a look of genuine concern in them.

"We are not allowed to stay with humans for a period longer than our mission. Your wish breaks the most important rule for demon interns like me, which means that it's an evil wish." Minho smiled softly. "Is that the wish you are going to ask from your demon?"

I nodded. I pulled him into a tight hug, not even caring about my unflattering appearance on the side of the road. "Stay with me."

"I've heard your wish loud and clear," he declared. Minho carefully patted my head as he tightened his hold on me, lending me warmth from his embrace. I can actually feel him smiling. "We have a 'no return, no exchange' policy. Whether you like it or you like it, you're now stuck with your demon roommate forever."

°°° °°° °°°

°°°

°

A/N: Please stop me from giving this a steamy part three

[altumvidetur]

Kaishin Fic Recs

Previously: Haikyuu!! Fic Recs

So, I was thinking about the coronavirus pandemic and what I could do to help people out. I’m isolated because I’m at higher risk, so I can’t really offer to go out for my elderly neighbors or my family… but I thought I could try to help keep people entertained.

Because I don’t have an AO3 account right now, I’ve been compiling fic recs for my own amusement for a year or so. And I thought – maybe that’s the time to share these with everyone? So everyone will have plenty of things to read while they have to stay at home, or even to escape anxiety a little bit if you’re forced to go out.

Of course, these cater to my own tastes, so you may find stuff you don’t like around here. I never include works in progress. The Mature and Explicit works will be in italic. I ask you to READ THE WORK’S TAGS before continuing, so you won’t find anything that makes you uncomfortable.

I’ve decided to split it in a series of posts, and, well, when it comes to DCMK, I have one major OTP. So here’s enough Kaishin to keep you entertained for a year:

The Dwelling Night, by proser132

Three shot. KaiShin. Brief moments were all they had, but dwelling on dreams is sometimes enough.

In Theory, by orphan_account

Kaito's got a whole list of cheesy and awful pickup lines to use on Shinichi.

(Un)fortunately for him, Shinichi's got just as many to throw back.

As You Wish, by orphan_account

Shinichi hasn't been doing a very good job of pretending he isn't hiding something from Kaito, and Kaito is more than determined to find out what it is -- even if it means asking everyone the detective knows in order to do so.

He just wants to know what all the boxes are for.

you’re the reason i come home, by LunaDarkside

Shinichi comes home after a two-week investigation in New York. Kaito could not be more thrilled.

Lovesick, by DragonSorceress22

"You know what I want? I want a fic where Kaito sends out a heist notice but then he gets sick but he can't NOT go. I guess it could go the other way too, where Conan solves a heist notice but then he gets sick but he can't NOT go. I want to read that fic." "There's tons of fics like that..." And now there's one more.

whispers and nicks and all these tricks, by LunaDarkside

In which there is sex pollen at a heist, and Kaito and Shinichi end up in the same room. Coincidentally enough.

Be Real, by DragonSorceress22

This, KID thought, was what someone reaching their limit looked like.

a study in scarlette, by kittebasu

There are people who want to live forever, and then there is Shinichi, who just wants to live a little longer than this.

wait a minute (so you’re not just losing the dress), by LunaDarkside

Everything is overwhelmingly good. And then Kaito has to go and say it.

“I’ve never done this before,” he mumbles mindlessly against the pliant softness of Shinichi’s lips, and everything immediately stops.

“Wait, what?” Shinichi jerks upwards, eyes wide.

Or, neither Shinichi nor Kaito has any experience, but they make do.

The printer’s a lie, by OrphanText

In which Kuroba has an annoying printer, a very good looking (and mildly terrifying) RA, and general bad ideas up his sleeves (but it works out in the end).

The Alcohol Test, by DragonSorceress22

When your rival-turned-best-friend is a phantom thief who has recently reached legal drinking age, there’s really only one responsible way to approach the matter. Spreadsheets.

Getting Off Track, by solomonara

The easiest way to find out what someone wants is to ask them, so of course neither Shinichi nor Kaito KID is going to do that. (OR: In which Shinichi and Kaito KID take turns falling into each other's arms.)

Wouldn’t Change A Thing, by BlackKatJinx

“Don't you get tired of it?”

“'It'?” He asks.

“Stealing.”

By Any Other Name, by AngelicSentinel

the one where you don’t know your soulmate until you hear them say your name.

Snowed In, by DragonSorceress22

Shinichi and Kaito are exceptionally bad at quiet nights at home.

Go Out With a Bang (Since We’re to Wilt Anyway), by KXL

Love can be cruel, and painful, but Kaito knew that already. Maybe he's just a masochist.

take in another breath (get closer), by Melomaniac

He paused on the threshold of the door between the pseudo-corridor and the seating area, and faintly corrected himself. Not as alone as he thought. Not as alone at all.

Sat by himself, with his chin resting on his hand, an arm loosely propped on the small table, an explosion of paper and assorted important looking documents in front of him, flask of (presumably) coffee held to his lips, was Kudou Shinichi, whose eyes had met Kaito’s when he walked into the carriage, had widened, and hadn’t looked away since.

In which there is a late night (or an early morning), a train, copious amounts of flirting, a phone, a name, and a stolen heart.

Last Day Again, by Phantoms_Echo

(Summary by me: Groundhog Day!AU with Kaito becoming more and more unhinged as he desperately tries to break the time loop he’s stuck in.)

Net Force, by LunaDarkside

Ran decides it's high time for Shinichi and Kaito to get together. Awkward matchmaking ensues.

Of Corset Hurts, by KXL

Shinichi and Kaito are both pretty much done with the situation, though for somewhat different reasons. Both reasons involve overly long dresses to some degree.

Ace up Their Sleeves, by Procrastination_Sensation

Summary by me: Soulmates!AU in which seeing your soulmark in someone else (your soulmate) causes debilitating pain until the two of you kiss.

Murder by Cremation, by KXL

Capturing the lawless monsters who ate people after burning them up was, apparently, the easy part.

Halloween Heist, by Phantoms_Echo

Because Halloween Scavenger Hunt doesn't sound as nice.

Trick or Treat, Tantei-kun! Up for a little Halloween game? I’ve left clues all over town. Find them all, you’ll get a treat. Fail to find them in time, you’ll get a trick. Good luck, Tantei-kun. -Kaitou KID

the suffering of fools, by AngelicSentinel

It's Las Vegas; the lights are bright, the liquor is flowing, and Ran married someone other than Shinichi. He just wants to drown his sorrows, but a half-familiar face steals his drink.

♠ ♦ ♣ ♥ Case Files, by AngelicSentinel

Solving life's little mysteries, one at a time.

one-shots in the suffering of fools universe

A Study in Trust, by Calculatrice

Conan swallows anger and condemnation and, for the very first time, gives Kaitou KID the benefit of the doubt. ________________

In which Conan constantly has to revise what he thinks of a certain thief, and is frankly getting pretty sick of feeling like his subconscious is already ahead of him.

Jacket, by Calculatrice

He turns to look at KID, grimacing as his overlong sleeves swish around him.

“It doesn’t exactly fit me,” he frowns as he points out the obvious. “Does this do anything for you?”

Kiss and tell., by DragonSorceress22

Shinichi might have gotten a little ahead of himself. And KID. Luckily, Hakuba has a level head and a soft spot for lovesick genius-idiots.

the goat one-shot, by helloimtrash

They're family now.

Interrogation, by Calculatrice

Admittedly, there are many things Kaito could probably be blamed for, but pulling Shinichi into the nearest empty hallway to kiss him senseless isn’t one of them.

So It Goes, by Calculatrice

It goes like this.

(In which Murphy’s Law isn’t much of a law - more something to be gleefully stomped on.)

Mii Plaza, by Calculatrice and helloimtrash

“Okay,” Kaito grins as the opening notes of Wii Sports ring out. “Are you ready for defeat?”

“Can’t we just play Mario Kart,” Shinichi frowns, crossing his legs as he watches Kaito push the coffee table out of the way. “It’s like, one in the morning.”

The Forensics of Falling, by LunaDarkside

[FF.Net Link] When fans of world-famous magician and actor Kuroba Kaito begin turning up dead, Inspector Kudou Shinichi is put on the case.

the toxicology of trust, by LunaDarkside

World-famous magician and actor Kuroba Kaito and the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Force's star inspector Kudou Shinichi finally get some much-needed time off. Or they would, if there wasn't a killer on their cruise.

(sequel to The Forensics of Falling)

On Familiarity, by lastdream

No one had ever known Kaito quite like Shinichi did, and Kaito wasn't sure he could take it.

Lies and the Art of Relaxation, by DragonSorceress22

Shinichi is stressed and Kaito is a liar. Business as usual.

And Again, by Calculatrice

It’s late, late in the night, and while on another night they may have been awake and neck-deep in plans, or perhaps delirious and making silly conversation, tonight he and Kaito are both curled in bed.

the only bed worth sleeping, by LunaDarkside

Kaito's not a detective, but he's pretty sure there's no logical explanation for Shinichi's disappearance from his apartment. Or for the cat that's shown up in his kitchen.

Magic Eight Ball, by Rikkamaru

Shinichi chases Kaitou Kid into the Blue Parrot thinking he's injured.

(For the Kaishin Discord, which made a "challenge" that a few people took up.)

swing for the fences, by LunaDarkside

"How to Fall in Love with Kudou Shinichi (Featuring Pink Panties, Dead Bodies, and Ill-Advised Bets): A Comprehensive and Kind of Embarrassing Guide" by Kuroba Kaito.

In The Soul, by Calculatrice

Shinichi ferries souls from the shores of the living to those of the dead, so they may pass safely on to an eternal afterlife. It’s really not a difficult concept, and definitely not one he thought could be wilfully ignored, but Kuroba Kaito obviously didn’t get the memo.

even miracles, by LunaDarkside

“No, Mother,” Shinichi says pleasantly. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to host a dinner party to find me a wife.”

bros before, by LunaDarkside

Shinichi needs a fake date for his parents' vow renewal ceremony. Naturally, he asks his best friend, Hattori. 

maybe I was going too fast, by Ann1215

A year after Kaito faces off Conan, who'd figured out his identity, he comes across Kudou Shinichi during their first year of university.

Trouble is, Kudou has no idea who Kaito is.

swear i’ll never leave again, by Ann1215

When Kaito eventually grows tired of his mother's relentless matchmaking tendencies, he ropes Shinichi into tricking everyone they know and love that they're both engaged. To each other. And it's easy enough, because all they have to do is:

1. Don't lie to each other. 2. Don't tell anyone about their plan. 3. Don't fall in love with each other.

At least, it was supposed to be easy.

(See you) Next Illusion!, by PhantomsEcho

Collections of Oneshots too long to fit in Next Conan Hint.

beneath a waxing moon, by kittebasu

The man stares at him, and then shakes his head, messy hair shaking with it. “Car trouble, Detective?” The way his lips curl around the word ‘detective’ strikes Shinichi as strange, eerily familiar, and Shinichi almost has to physically shake the feeling away before he can reply.

“Engine’s making a weird noise,” Shinichi says, and then his thoughts catch up with alacrity, his muscles tensing all at once. “What makes you think I’m a detective?”

“Police tags on your car,” the man replies, grin growing wider. “Plus this is a Camry from the nineties. No one drives those but police, these days, and regular officers drive patrol cars.” He leans forward a little, gloved hands circling his helmet and lowering it slightly to his handlebars for extra balance. “Far from undercover, if you know what you’re looking for.”

The cloud cover shifts, revealing the gorgeous full moon, and the light catches the man just right, surrounding him in a pearly glow and putting his face in shadow. “And you know what you’re looking for?”

broken glass, by jadedgalaxies

KID presses Shinichi into the wall, covering his mouth with a gloved hand and shushing him quietly. Shinichi’s heart thrums. KID isn’t looking at him but every part of KID that is pressed against Shinichi is electrified. Even amidst the circumstances that led to this moment, KID’s heartbeat is steady under Shinichi’s trembling fingers. His hair tickles Shinichi’s nose, his scent sweet and overpowering. KID is warm, alive, thrilling. Shinichi’s face warms.

In this moment, beneath the pale moonlight, helping KID evade arrest, detective Kudou Shinichi realizes he’s in love with the Phantom Thief, Kaitou KID. And he probably has been for a long time.

-

Shinichi realizes he's in love with Kaitou KID and that's just the beginning.

Owned and Never More Free, by Curry Jolokia

Kaitou Kid is uncatchable. Except for this.

about a love that glows, by LunaDarkside

The good news is that it’s not an overt time limit on his life, and it’s not anything parasitic. It’s not a life-force drainer, or a bad luck charm, or a magnet for unfortunate circumstances. It’s not going to bother him in day-to-day life.

The bad news is that if Shinichi falls in love with someone, he’ll die. And they’ll die.

(There is no good news, really.)

the empty vault of night, by AngelicSentinel

Shinichi offers Kid a gift. For a price.

Sound of Silence, by Cesela

His return to being Kudou Shinichi was not everything he had hoped for, not with Ran moving on, a limp and a shattered soul as he struggles with the return to normalcy. And then there’s the neighbour with a soft smile slowly battering down his walls. Kaishin / Shinkai

A Case Closed Carol, by solomonara

With apologies to Charles Dickens. Shinichi is working way too hard and has zero time for Christmas or anything else, really. But a rather unlikely source is about to put him back on track...

where villains spend the weekend, by aishiteita

A former teen sleuth enlists a should-be-retired-thief's help to slap ennui in the face.

(Alternatively, a study in motives.)

always ends in a hazy shower scene, by LunaDarkside

Shinichi didn’t mean to shack up with an internationally wanted thief.

[lookimtryingmybest]

“How to accidentally die, meet a shady ghost and become a half demon” A story by Logan Freud.

Part 1 Part 2

It was a quiet Sunday morning. Logan had left a note for his parents on the kitchen counter, grabbed his keys, and left the house. He played some music in his headphones as he made his way to the location where he had agreed to meet the others. The street noise was something he’d rather not deal with this early in the morning.

He knew the way. He knew which crossroads were dangerous. He knew to be more aware of his surroundings. Logan wasn’t going to be completely deaf to the world. He knew what he was doing.

Logan spotted Virgil on the meeting point, just across the street. Early as always, he noted.

He was going to cross safely. He swore to himself over and over that he was going to do it. Wait for the speeding cars to pass and then cross. 

But he couldn’t ignore the kid he spotted, standing in the middle of the road. 

Without thinking twice, something Logan didn’t have the tendency to do, he started running. He moved to grab the kid’s arm and pull him away.

He passed right through him.

The kid stared at him, and Logan stared back.

“You can see me?” The kid asked.

And before Logan could respond, he got hit by a car.

Virgil cursed when he saw Logan run and just stop. In the middle of the road. 

He screamed when he got hit.

He doesn’t remember much of what happened later. His legs moved for him, and someone called an ambulance.

The ambulance wasn’t fast enough.

Virgil’s memories started becoming more vivid after his parents got him home. He explained that they just wanted to meet and go have fun in the park. They just wanted to enjoy the swings and the slide without being looked at weird by the little kid’s mothers.

He stayed in his room for the rest of the day. His friends called. He ignored every one of those calls. 

His mind kept repeating the accident. How Logan ran. 

He never thought Logan could do something so careless. So stupid.

Virgil curled up in his bed, buried under blankets. He didn’t try to stop the tears.

“What the fuck has just happened.” Logan said, as he opened his eyes again. He remembered a kid, with golden eyes, and being on the road. Then everything became blurry. He thought he might’ve heard Virgil screaming over twenty one pilots’s ride. 

He looked around him. He was standing up. And dressed up in a suit. How did he wake up this way?

He saw Virgil from a distance, along their mutual friends. Logan smiled. 

He ran to them.

“Virgil!” He shouted. Virgil didn’t react. “Virgil?” 

Logan moved to grab his shoulder. He passed through him. He tried again. “Virgil? Virgil, listen to me!” He kept trying to grab him, failing.

He turned to the others. Patton was holding back tears, as he held Remus’s hand. Remus was a mess, not even trying to hold back on his sobbing. Roman kept drying away his own tears, smudging his eyeliner beyond recognition. 

“Guys?” Logan said, trying to get their attention. “Remus? Patton?” He tried to grab them. He passed through them. “Roman?”

He turned again, trying to understand what they were so upset about.

Oh. That made sense.

Logan saw himself, wearing the same tux he was wearing now, laid down in a coffin. Lilacs on his hands. Lilacs were always his favourites.

He gulped. No, this couldn’t be real, right? He couldn’t be dead, he was still here. He just needed for the others to see him.

Logan didn’t believe in ghosts.

Oh, the irony, he thought, once he had calmed down. After the funeral, his funeral, ended, not knowing which of his friends to follow. 

Something on the back of his mind told him to follow Virgil. And so he did.

Virgil’s house was old. Very old. Remus liked to joke it was haunted. It was a running gag now, Virgil had even made up Dennis, the ghost that lived in his house and that liked pushing his stuff to the ground like a bastard cat.

That joke didn’t seem so funny now to Logan.

He followed Virgil to his room and watched him burry himself in homework as a distraction. Logan could hear the music blasting from the headphones.

He looked around his room, not knowing what to do. He tried touching things. Anything. Nothing worked.

Logan looked around the house. He saw Virgil’s parents. They were talking. Logan decided it wasn’t his business. 

He went to the living room. 

And there was the kid from before, watching the TV.

Logan stared at the kid. They should be around his age, probably younger. He was dressed in dirty pajamas, no shoes on. His hair was a mess of brown curls and his skin was dark.

The kid turned to face him, and Logan saw the other half of his face.

He screamed. 

The kid jumped to his feet, startled by Logan’s presence. 

“Virgil, did you leave the TV on again?” Virgil’s father asked, entering the room. Both ghosts watched him as he turned off the TV and left.

Then they went back to staring at each other.

“Aw, man, I was watching that…” The kid complained, turning to the TV. He avoided Logan’s gaze. 

“What happened to your face?” Logan asked, trying not to look to half part of the kid’s face.

The kid grimaced. “Rude.” He said, sitting on the carpet again. “Why are you still here?”

“My apologies.” Logan said. He considered sitting next to the kid. “I was simply… surprised.” 

The kid scoffed. “You mean disgusted? Yeah, I get that a lot. Why are you still here?”

“What do you mean?” Logan said, sitting next to the kid. The kid moved away from him. 

“Move on, continue your business, however you wish to call it.” He said. “Why haven’t you done that already?”

“I can do that?” Logan asked.

“Yes.” The kid said. “Everyone does so. So just do it and leave me alone.”

Logan stared at the kid. He tried to do what he was doing. Move on. But he didn’t know how to do that. 

“I’m afraid I can’t.” Logan said. “Who are you?”

The kid turned to face him again, frowning. Logan made an effort not to stare at the burned flesh. “What do you mean you can’t? Everyone can!” He said, gesturing widely. 

“Well, if everyone can, why haven’t you moved on?” Logan asked.

The kid dropped his arms, staring at nothing for a few moments. “Almost everyone can. I can’t.” 

“Well, then, I suppose I’m in the same situation as you.” Logan said. He held out his hand for the kid. “I’m Logan Freud. And you?”

The kid stared at his hand before shaking it. Logan noticed how his hands were dirty with blood and ashes. “Janus.” He said. “Although Virgil calls me Dennis. He got the idea of that weird show about vampires. I really like that show.” 

“Buffy the vampire slayer, yes, I know that sho–wait you’re who?” Logan said.

“Janus. Yeah, I’ve been bothering Virgil for a while now. He’s fun to mess with.” He said, trying to sound causal. He failed, being far too awkward for this. 

“Oh my fucking god.” Logan said. “I thought you were a joke”

“Yeah, Virgil thinks so too.” Janus said, scratching the burn tissue on his hands, avoiding Logan’s gaze.

“I’ve laughed at the mere idea of you existing.” Logan said.

“Yeah, I know.” Janus said, getting tired of the topic. “I was there.”

“I… god, fuck…” Logan said, laughing. He didn’t even know why he was laughing. “I’m dead. Fuck, I’m dead.”

“Yep.” Janus said. “Welcome to the club.” He stood up. “Imma leave ya to your existential crisis and go bother Virgil.” 

Logan stared at the TV, as he heard Janus left. He stood up after a few moments. 

He didn’t notice he was heading to his home until he passed through the door. He heard their parents talking in the kitchen.

Logan couldn’t decipher what his parents were saying. He heard the words, but he couldn’t just figure them out. 

His parents weren’t crying. They weren’t grieving.

They didn’t care. 

Logan went back to the living room. He traced his fingers through his old piano. He should’ve played it more often when he was alive. It’s not like he loved doing so, but it was a good de-stressing method.

He pressed his hands against the keys. He jumped back when sound came out. After a few seconds of staring at the piano, he tried to grab the pillows on the sofa. Nothing. He passed through them.

He hesitated before placing his hands against the keys. He started playing a melody he knew from back when he was five.

He stopped when his mother entered the room, looking paler than usually. Logan moved away from the piano, smiling. 

“Mom, I–” He dropped his smile when his mother walked straight through him. 

He watched her close the piano’s lid and push the stall under it. She didn’t even bother putting the protective cloth on the keys before slamming the lid close.

Logan bit back tears as he tried to get the lid to open. It didn’t. He screamed in frustration and tried to hit something. He just kept passing through the furniture, which didn’t help calming him down.

He crumbled to the ground, hugging his knees. He let the tears ran down.

He was dead, he no longer cared. 

No one could see him. 

Not even his parents cared.

Roman had thrown himself into sewing. He grabbed his latest project right after breakfast and spent hours on it. 

He didn’t notice how thirsty he was until Remus forced him to go eat lunch. He almost didn’t believe how much time he’d spent focused on his dress. His hands hurt.

Remus didn’t look better either. He had stayed in bed until three o’clock, ignoring Roman. And the world. He hadn’t even bothered changing clothes since the funeral. 

They sat at the kitchen, as Remus forced his twin to eat some fruit. 

“Logan’s parents called” Remus said, peeling an orange with numb fingers. “They’re leaving for the month.”

“Oh.” Roman said, watching Remus struggle with the peel. He’d usually bit into the orange like an apple and spit out the peel later. “Ok.” 

“They’re asking us to watch over the house while they’re gone.” Remus said leaving the peeled orange on the counter. He wasn’t hungry anyways.

“Ok” Roman said again. “Jerk move. But ok.” He gulped down his chocolate milk. “You should eat as well.”

“I know.” Remus said. “I will.” He took the orange and contemplated it.

“Are they asking us to go inside?” Roman asked, watching his brother munch on the orange as if it was an apple, juice dripping down his arm. 

“Yeah.” Remus said, his mouth full. “Once per day, to check for squatters.”

“As if people were dumb enough for choosing an obviously occupied house.” Roman said, bitterness slipping into his tongue. He had never liked Logan’s parents much. “Let’s get this over with for today.” He stood up, leaving his mug on the sink. “I want to finish the dress today.”

“You said it would take you a few weeks to finish…” Remus said, following him. Orange juice dripped to the floor. None of the twins mentioned it.

“Did I fucking stutter?” Roman asked. 

Remus just shrugged. “They left the keys under the doormat.”

“Stupid decision.” Roman pointed out. Remus hummed in agreement.

Roman contemplated the option of changing clothes. The pajamas were comfortable, though, and he wanted to get this over with as fast as he could. Get into the house, check the rooms and go back to sewing until his hands fell off.

Remus opened the door and clicked the lights on. Neither of the twins made any attempts to move inside the house. 

Roman grimaced. “Let’s get this over with.” He said, brushing his brother as he entered. 

They passed through the kitchen, the living room and Logan’s parents’s room. 

If Remus noticed how Roman purposely ignored Logan’s room, he didn’t dare to mention it.

Remus looked at the old piano. It was closed. Logan hated it when people closed his piano.

Without thinking twice, he opens the lid and brushed his fingers against the keys.

He jumped away, falling to the ground, when the piano played on its own.

He heard Roman approaching. 

“Remus, stop playing the piano, we have to–” He stopped, staring at Remus in the ground. He blinked twice before looking at the piano, that kept playing.

Then he fainted.

Remus felt like screaming. Instead, he crawled to his side, trying to ignore the piano as it kept playing. He poked his brother in the face. 

“Please don’t be dead.” He said, barely above a whisper. “Roman, please, don’t be dead.”

The piano music stopped. Remus felt a breeze pass through, sending shivers through his body. 

Then Roman opened his eyes, and stared at the ceiling. 

“Remus, what the fuck?” He said, sitting up. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling a numb headache coming.

“Ah, thanks, I thought you just died.” Remus said, trying to smile. 

“What has just happened?” He asked, getting up.

Remus looked at the piano and then at Roman. 

“Bold of you to assume I have any idea.” He said. “The piano is automatic, or something.”

A chord interrupted him.

“Never mind, it’s haunted.” Remus said, smiling nervously. “Let’s fucking leave.”

“Wait.” Roman said. He approached the piano. “Ok, eh… can you hear us?”

“What are you doing?” Remus said. “It’s a piano it can’t respond you, let’s just fucking lea–”

A single note interrupted him. A ti. 

“Ok, B. What does a B mean?” Roman said.

“Why are you asking questions to a piano?!” Remus said. He was starting to lose his composure. “Roman, please let’s just go home, I’m seriously freaking out.”

“B meant ti, right?” Roman said, ignoring his brother’s panic. “In like, the British English?”

“Yes, Roman, B means ti or si.” Remus said. “Congratulations, you remember music lessons, can we now go away?”

“Si. Sí. Yes. He’s saying yes.” Roman said. The piano played a few other tis, as if it wanted to confirm it. 

Remus ran his hands through his hair. “It’s a piano! Not a person!” He said, voice filled with desperation. “Please, Roman, I really need to leave.”

“You leave.” Roman said. “I’m going to…” He sighted, looking at the piano. “I’m going to talk to Logan.”

“You what?” Remus exclaimed. “Are you out of your mind? That’s not Logan!” He gestured to the piano like a maniac. “It’s a piano!”

“His piano.” Roman said. “He could be playing it.”

“He’s not. Logan’s dead, there’s no way.” Remus said. His voice cracked. “There’s no way. He’s dead.”

Roman looked down, guilt pooling in his stomach. He inhaled deeply before turning to the piano. “Are you Logan?” 

A ti note played again.

“Roman, quit it, it’s not funny” Remus pleaded.

“Ok, Do for no, ti for yes.” Roman continued, trying to ignore the tears that went down Remus’s face. “If you are Logan, did you like peaches?” 

A do. Logan hated peaches. 

“It’s not Logan, it’s just tricking us.” Remus said, drying his tears. “I’m leaving. Stay with the damn piano all you want.” 

“Wait.” Roman said, reaching out to grab Remus arm. “Please?”

Remus hesitated, before pulling his arm from Roman’s grip.

“You have one more question.” He said. “Choose wisely.”

Roman sighted. He turned to the piano again. “If you really are Logan, play Remus’s favourite song. You know the one.”

There was silence for a few seconds. Remus scoffed, turning away.

Then Pop goes the Weasel started playing. And Remus froze, not knowing what to do.

“Ok…” He said. “Ok, stop!” He snapped, and the melody stopped. 

“…Remus?” Roman asked, reaching out to him.

“We need a notebook.” Remus said. “I have an idea.”

Logan watched Remus and Roman leave his house. He stared at the half eaten orange that had been abandoned in the floor. Gross.

He stayed by the piano, playing soft tunes. He hadn’t meant to scare anyone, he just wanted to talk to his friends. He didn’t want to make Remus cry ever again.

He stopped playing when the main door opened again. How long had he been playing?

The Twins rushed into the living room. Remus was holding a stack of cut out post-it notes. Without hesitation, he started sticking them to the piano’s keys. 

Logan was almost mortified by such thing done to his beautiful piano, until he noticed the letters written on the notes. 

Remus was smart, he noted. 

In fact, he had also added a comma, a point, interrogation and exclamation points. And numbers.

Remus was very smart.

“Ok!” He said. “If you’re Logan, –I’m still not sure about that one– talk to us! Say anything, whatever you want!”

Logan eyed both twins. Roman held his notebook, waiting to write down whatever Logan played. He was shaking slightly. Logan couldn’t blame him.

He placed his hands on the piano and thought. What should he say?

An idea clicked on his mind and he started playing, slowly enough so Roman could write everything down.

“The birds work for the bourgeoisie.” Roman said. He stared at the piano. “Really? Out of all the things you can say?”

Logan didn’t even bother holding back his laughter. “It was the first thing Remus told me in history class.” He said, as he started playing the sequence of keys. 

Roman read the sentence out loud and looked at his brother. “How am I not surprised?”

“So it is him.” Remus said. 

‘Of course it’s me’ Logan played out. Roman read it out loud again.

“Should we call the others?” Roman asked. “I think we should tell them.” 

‘Dennis is real, btw. His name is Janus’ Logan played. 

Roman frowned. “Repeat that slower, I didn’t copy it right.”

Logan sighted, doing so. 

“What did he say?” Remus asked. “I got lost after the second n.” 

Roman stared at the sentence he had written. “Dennis is real. The fucker in Virgil’s house is real.” 

“I knew it!” Remus said, bouncing up and down. “I fucking knew it!”

“Ok, that’s it, Imma go call the others.” Roman said, handling the notebook to Remus. “You keep Logan company, I’ll try explain this without causing them to freak out.”

Logan watched as Roman left. Remus grabbed the notebook and sat on the piano stool. He passed right through Logan. It was a weird feeling.

“So… how is it being dead?” Remus asked.

Logan thought about what to answer for a few seconds. ‘Lonely’

“What about Dennis? Can’t he keep you company?” Remus said.

‘His name isn’t Dennis. And he wasn’t sociable.’ Logan played.

“Lol.” Remus said. Logan sighted. He hated when Remus said text slang out loud. “So… do you know how to get you back?”

Logan smiled fondly. He sighted, before playing. ‘There’s no way, Remus, I’m dead.’

Remus’s smile dropped. He stood from the stool. “Right” he muttered, getting away from the piano. “I’m going to check on Roman”

Having said that, he left.

Janus floated behind Virgil as he made his way to meet the twins. Janus liked the twins. They were funny. 

He frowned when they passed the twin’s house, walking straight towards Logan’s. 

Logan wouldn’t have been able of communicating with them, right?

If Janus hadn’t managed a single thing after fifty three years of trying, it was imposible for Logan to have communicated in just a few days.

They entered the house, and went straight into the living room. Janus ignored the twin’s explanations of what they were doing in Logan’s house and went to the living room.

Someone had filled the piano with stick notes.

He looked at Logan, who was standing there. With his hands over the piano keys.

“How the fuck did you manage that?” Janus asked. 

Logan shrugged. “I don’t know. How did I see you when you were a ghost?”

“I dunno, I didn’t do shit that time.” Janus said. “I was just waiting to see what the fuck you five had planned, and if it was worth it to watch.”

“We were planning on… well, vandalizing the park sounds a bit too crude, doesn’t it?” Logan said. “We just wanted to paint on the ground with chalk.” 

“Meh, probably worth it.” Janus said, shrugging. “Anyways, what did you do?”

“Oh, right!” Logan said, turning to the piano. “I managed to do this:”

He placed his hands on the keys again and started playing a soft melody. Janus heard Virgil and Patton curse, and yelp in surprise. 

Logan stopped. 

“How the fuck?” Janus said.

“Language” Logan reprimanded. “And I have as little idea as you.” 

“Logan?” Remus called. “You’re still there, right?”

Logan played a series of three notes. Janus noticed the papers sticked to them spelled ‘yes’. 

“I’m going to tell them about you.” Logan said. “It’s that alright?”

Janus thought it for a moment. “Yeah… It’s ok…” He could work this into his favour. He could actually make this work.

Logan started playing a series of notes. Janus got lost after the third note. He was never a fast reader.

“Yes. Janus is here as well.” Roman read out loud. “Who’s Janus? It sounds like a middle school librarian name.” 

“Another ghost?” Patton asked. “I thought ghosts weren’t real…” 

Virgil shrunk back into his hoodie, sitting on top of the couch. “If this is a sick prank, I’m murdering you two.” 

“It’s not!” Remus said. He grabbed Roman’s notebook and gave it to Virgil. “Copy the messages and watch for yourself.” He turned to the piano. “Look, Logan, can you tell us who Janus is?” 

Logan sighted and started playing again. 

After a few seconds, Virgil spoke, with a shaky voice. “The ghost that lives with Virgil. Dennis.” 

Everyone stared at Virgil for a few seconds. He looked moments away from fainting. 

“Holy fuck, I’ve been living with a ghost.” He said. Patton rubbed his arm, trying to calm him down. “For how long?”

“How long?” Logan asked. 

“Eh, I’ve been dead for fifty three years, so since always.” Janus said. 

Logan sighted. “How am I not surprised?” He said, as he started playing again.

“Fifty three years.” Virgil read. “Oh, god, he saw me as a stupid little kid.” He blushed, hiding his face with his hoodie. “God, why?”

“Tell them to get a fucking ouija. I’ve been waiting years for Virgil to get one, but the damn emo won’t do it.” Janus said.

“Virgil is too scared to do so. And so is Remus, no matter what he might say.” Logan said. “I’ll ask them for one.”

Virgil scribbled down Logan’s message. 

“He wants us to get an ouija.” He explained. 

“But we already got the piano.” Roman said. 

Logan played again. Janus didn’t even bother trying to decipher it. 

“He says Janus can’t use the piano.” Virgil said. “God, getting used to an actual ghost being in my house is going to take a while.”

“Yeah, I think getting used to all this is just… not going to be easy.” Patton said. “I think my cousin Remy has a ouija. I can go ask him to lend it to me, and we’ll meet here tomorrow?”

“That sounds like a good idea, padre.” Roman said. “At the same hour?”

“Yeah, sure, I don’t have anything to do on Sundays anyways. Except apparently talk to a ghost. Oh, god, he heard me sing” Virgil said.

“He sings well when he isn’t trying to hard to hit the high notes.” Janus commented. “Who are you going to follow?” 

“I’ll stick to Patton.” Logan said. “I want to see Remy. He’s a cool guy.” 

“Yeah, I know, I was with Virgil when y’all met him, remember?” Janus said.

“Right. I tend to forget you actually existed.” Logan said. He turned to the piano and played a message. 

Virgil groaned as he struggled to write everything down. 

“He says he’s gonna follow Patton. And he wishes us good luck.” He said. 

“Aw, thanks Logan!” Patton said. “It’s so nice to be able of talking to you!” 

“Ok, let’s get the fuck out of here, I can’t handle this shit more.” Remus said. “My heart is going to fucking explote.”

“You ok?” Roman asked.

“Ha. No.” Remus said. “Too much adrenaline for today. I’m going to go back to bed now.”

“You’ve been out of bed less than an hour today.” Roman said. “It’s not healthy.”

“Fuck healthy, I do what I want.” 

“Gays, don’t fight.” Patton said. “Let’s just go out now, I’ll call Remy when I get home.” 

“…fine.” Roman said. 

“See ya, Lobot” Janus said, following Virgil. He floated right through the door.

“How the fuck does he float?” Logan wondered to himself, walking behind Patton.

It took Virgil a lot not to panic when he was alone on his room again.

Dennis, or should Virgil call him Janus, was real. He had been watching him.

God, that was so messed up.

Virgil groaned, throwing himself to bed. 

“If you’re still there, fuck off.” He told the ghost. “I don’t want to live with a ghost.”

There was no response. Seconds later, Virgil’s pencil case fell to the ground, scattering its contents. 

“Jerk.” Muttered Virgil, getting up to pick it up.

He couldn’t help to smirk, though. There was finally an explanation to all the weird falling things in his house.

As fucked up as it was.

Remy had a ouija board. He hadn’t used it twice, after almost dying of a heart attack when Emile decided to prank him and his friends while they were playing. Shutting down the lights was not a pleasant experience for neither of them.

Remy knew about Patton’s friends. He had met a few. 

He knew about Logan’s accident.

And that’s why he didn’t think it was a good idea giving Patton the Ouija board.

“Remy, please, just for one night” Patton pleaded. “One night. And I’ll give it back.”

“This shit doesn’t work.” Remy said. “Patton, I know you’re hurt, but this is not way to cope.”

“I know.” Patton said. “But I need it. Just one night. Promise.”

Remy looked at his cousin, who was giving him the best puppy eyes performance Remy had ever seen. 

He sighted. “You promise not to tell our parents and to be careful?” 

“Yes!” Patton said. “I do!”

Remy looked at Patton. He shook his head as he went over to his closet, were he kept the ouija board, under dozens of other board games.

He blew the dust of it.

“Here.” Remy said. “Have fun. Ghosts aren’t real, and I don’t know what you’re attempting to do, but be careful.”

“Thank you!” Patton said, pulling the ouija board close to his chest. “Thank you thank you thank you!” 

Remy was left alone, watching as Patton left his house. He was lucky his parents weren’t there. They would’ve been more strict, yet Remy had always had a soft spot for Patton. 

He shivered when he heard a thank you. Patton was nowhere close. He was home alone.

“Ghosts aren’t real.” He said to himself, bracing himself and trying to believe his words. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

Remus drew the curtains closed, not for the ambient, but because he didn’t want anyone to see what they were about to do.

It was Sunday. Their parents had left for work, leaving the twins alone at home. 

Roman had called the others, asking them to come over. Remus started making space on the living room, moving the table away and getting enough pillows for everyone to sit down.

He contemplated getting a pillow for Logan. He was a ghost, ghost wouldn’t be able of sitting, right? He got a pillow nonetheless.

He sat down and waited for the others to arrive. 

Roman entered the room, followed by the others. Patton had a cardboard box under his arm. 

“Ya got it?” Remus asked.

Patton nodded, sitting down in between the twins. “I had to disguise it so my parents didn’t notice.” He explained, taking the ouija board out and setting it on the middle of the ground.

“You’re sure about this?” Virgil said, fidgeting with the ends of his hoodie. “It always ends poorly in movies.”

“We’re not a movie.” Roman said. “And it’s Logan, Logan wouldn’t hurt us.”

“Janus could try…” Virgil said. “I mean, he’s been living with me and hasn’t tried anything, but still…”

Patton placed the wooden triangle on top of the board. “How does one use a ouija board?”

“Oh, it’s easy” Remus said. “We ask questions, put one hand each on the triangular thingie and wait for an answer.” 

“Oh, ok, Logan?” Patton said, looking at the empty pillow in front of him. “Are you there?”

“You forgot about the hands on tri–” Roman started saying, only to be left speechless when the triangle moved on it’s own. 

It slid through the board, towards the ‘yes’.

Everyone stared at it for a few seconds. 

“Ok, is Janus here as well?” Virgil asked, biting his lip.

The triangule raised on the air and fell to the ‘yes’ once more.

“Do any of you two want to hurt us?” Remus asked. “Whether it’s killing us, torturing us physically or psychologically, mutilating us, sewing our li–”

“Remus, please don’t give them any ideas.” Roman said, interrupting him.

The triangle moved to the ‘no’. Then it continued moving.

Roman struggled to scribble down the message. 

“I’m not letting you get hurt.” He read aloud. 

“Aw, thanks,”–Patton said, bouncing on his pillow–“but if Janus turns out to be an evil poltergeist, you won’t stand a chance.”

The triangle moved again. “Rude.” Roman read. 

Remus laughed. Virgil hid a laughter as a cough. Patton pouted.

“I’m not rude!” He said, childishly crossing his arms. 

The triangle moved to the ‘yes’ space. Patton pouted even more, before breaking into laughter.

“I wanna say something too.” Janus said, trying to grab the wooden triangle. Logan pushed him away.

“Wait for your turn.” He said, answering another dumb question from his friends.

Janus tried to grab the triangle again. “You’ve been at it for long enough, my turn.”

He grabbed the wood piece, snatching it from Logan’s hands.

“Hey!” Logan exclaimed, trying to get it back. 

Janus held it away. “It’s my turn, fuck off!”

“They’re my friends, fuck off!” Logan said, grabbing the triangle and pulling. Janus didn’t let go of it.

“I’ve been dead longer, fuck off!” Janus said, trying desperately not to let go of the triangle.

“Well I’m dead because of you!” Logan yelled, pushing Janus away.

Janus fell through Roman, who couldn’t help a shiver. He turned in the air as if failing with no gravity. 

Logan dropped the triangle, his hands flying to his mouth.

Janus straightened himself, standing up as if he was alive.

“Janus, I’m so sorry.” Logan said. “I didn’t–”

“I’ll be going now.” Janus said, bitterness dripping into his voice. “Have fun with your friends.”

“Logan?” Remus called, gaining his attention. “Is everything alright?”

Logan sighted, grabbing the triangle. He kneeled next to the board and placed it on the ‘yes’. 

‘Janus wanted control over the board. We argued. He left.’

He waited as Roman read aloud the sentence. 

“I have an idea.” Virgil said. “It might be stupid.” 

‘Go ahead’

Roman read it aloud once more. Virgil nodded, shifting on his pillow. He reached out and grabbed the triangle. He raised it to his face, peering over the hole.

Logan scoffed. “Like that’s gonna work…” He muttered to himself.

Virgil drew in a shaky breath, his hands shaking. “It does, though.” He said.

[itsthesinbin]

Happy Birthday Tori!

@beansapalooza wanted me to write some Home Made Smut of our ocs for her birthday. This ended up being WAY longer than intended, but is that really a bad thing?

Carter is my oc, Fran is Tori’s.

If you don’t like: Xenophilia, Femdom, petplay, or humiliation steer clear. Otherwise no content warnings.

Hope you enjoy, Tori! And anyone else who reads ofc but this is HER present

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

There’s something empowering about having a giant, hostile alien kneeling at your feet. The way Carter’s dark eyes glinted with frustration was a treat to Fran. She tugged on the leash in her hand, making Carter tilt his body ever so slightly forward.

Carter was… an interesting specimen. A species that takes over and assimilates other lifeforms for themselves. Appearing human at first, but went through a metamorphosis to become a seven foot tall, inky black monster.

Carter, despite how he tried to appear, was a very curious and devoted creature. Sure, he didn’t portray his emotions in the same way humans did, but after growing close, Fran has figured out his tells, tics, and body language.

The faintest of purrs vibrating his chest when they’re together. The way he stares when he simply wants to be near her. He was almost like a giant cat.

Except now, of course.

This hulking beast, kneeling on the floor with a muzzle over his face. A growl so deep escaping him that she can almost feel it in her chest. But, despite the frustration in his gaze, he stayed still.

Just like a dog. Just how she liked him to be.

“Look at you,” she purred. Fran leaned down, tilting his head up a little more. His eyes flicked down to her mouth, and she knew he wanted to kiss her. She grinned.

“You’re being so good for me, Carter. Such a good boy.” She let him go, sitting back up and easing the tension on the leash. He let out a clicking noise, one that Fran knows to mean he’s enjoying himself.

A simple glance down showed that his dick was already out, the large tendril thrashing in an attempt to find something to stimulate it. Her grin widened.

“Mating season is in full swing, hm? Looks like you’re so turned on it hurts.” He glanced away, easily proving her point. She let out a little chuckle, making him tense up a bit.

“You want some relief, don’t you?” No response. She waited a moment, before tugging on his leash once again. He chittered, looking up at her.

“I asked you a question.” He let out a slow exhale, trying to suppress the urge to growl at her in annoyance.

“... Yes… ma’am,” came the slow, hesitant reply. He was still so shy about being submissive. It was cute.

“Good boy,” Fran purred, seeing a subtle shiver go through him. She loved watching him when he was desperate.

“Well… you know what dogs get, right, Carter?” He paused, before giving her a small glare. Her smile widened, growing smug.

“If you want to get off-” she stuck her leg out a bit “-the only way you’re gonna do it is on my leg.” Carter stared down at her leg, feeling the ache between his legs grow worse. He really hated that he was considering it.

Not waiting on him, she pressed her leg between his own. The groan that came from his mouth was almost sinful, in her opinion. The way his eyes almost rolled back made her want to push him down and torment him, but she could be patient.

She could see his thighs shaking a little, as he tried to decide what he should do. She leaned down, tilting his head up with a smile.

“You want to be my good boy, right, Carter?” He froze, and she could feel him swallow a lump in his throat. Slowly, he gave a nod. She’ll let it pass that he didn’t give a verbal answer, letting his jaw go.

“Then go ahead.”

He clicked quietly, taking a shuddery breath in. Slowly, his hips began to move.

He rolled his hips against her leg, looking off to the side to avoid looking at her. Fran felt his dick squirm against her skin, thrashing to get as much stimulation as possible. She watched his chest heave, his short fur raising and his thighs trembling. Absolutely pathetic and adorable. Just how she liked her men.

A hand trailed down, threading into the thicker fur on his head. He glanced up, seeing the smug look in her eye. She smoothed his fur back. A signal to look up at her. He did so, obediently. Her smile returned.

“You’re doing so good. My good boy.” She saw the shudder go through him, hands coming up to grip the bed sheets between his claws. He tilted forward, putting more pressure against her leg. Desperation quickly overpowered his embarrassment.

“It hurts, doesn’t it,” she crooned, earning a frantic nod from the alien below her. Of course, she knows this won’t be enough. Even if just getting off was enough, one orgasm wouldn’t be enough to help him.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Fran purred, carding her fingers through his fur. His eyes fluttered at the affection. “You know I’ll help you.”

His claws pierced the fabric of her sheets. Normally, she’d punish him for that, but she knew he was REALLY out of it right now. Mating season was brutal on him. She can afford to let some things pass, this time.

That meant he was close, though. She gave out a soft chuckle, moving her leg away from him.

He keened, hips still twitching. Her grin widened, before she reached over to her bedside table. She pulled out a remote controlled vibrator, and she saw his hips stutter at the sight of it.

“You’re going to sit there like a good boy, okay?” She knew his thighs had to be burning by now. But, like the obedient dog he was, he nodded. She smiled, handing the toy to him.

“Put it in then, dear.” He hesitated, before grabbing it with a shaking hand. He was slick, so the toy slipped in easily. She moved to get her pants off, sitting back in front of him with her legs spread.

“Since you were good, you get a treat. Go nice and slow, alright?” He keened, pressing his face against her thigh. Carter looked up at her, eyes pleading, but she simply threaded a hand into his fur again. Her hands trailed down, removing the muzzle so he could eat her out. With a slight stretch of his jaw, he moved.

With a shaky breath, he dragged his tongue against her slit. She was more turned on than she’d like to admit, so the action got a nice sigh out of her. After a few slow laps against her slit, dragging his tongue up to her clit, she turned the vibrator on.

The reaction was immediate. His hips jerked forward, and an almost sobbing moan left his mouth. She saw his arms shift, and she gripped his fur tightly. He keened, looking up at her.

“Don’t touch yourself,” she commanded. He didn’t reply, instead moving to grab the bed again in an attempt to follow her order. With another “good boy”, she eased the grip on his head. A deep clicking noise escaped him, before he latched onto her clit to start sucking gently.

She let out a soft moan, turning the vibrator up to high. Maybe it was a little cruel, going from the lowest to highest setting in one go, but hearing that sob and feeling that massive body lurch forward was worth it.

Oh, he was trying so hard to focus on her, but it was so hard. He was lapping at her clit, distracted by the almost painful buzzing within him. Well, she did say “slow”, at least. She wasn’t looking to really get off yet, anyway.

She heard his breathing get heavy, and turned the vibrator off completely. He let out a disappointed moan, looking up at her with dazed, pleading eyes. She smoothed his fur back with a smile.

“You know you’re not allowed to cum yet, baby. You can take it.” She barely gave him time to rest, before she started the toy up again. Medium speed, this time, allowing him SOME relief without immediately killing him.

He was tense. Twitching. His movements were frantic and desperate, a constant stream of clicks, keens, and whines leaving him as his hips ground against nothing.

She turned the toy off once again, hearing him sob out a “please”. Usually, it took a lot more to get him in the headspace to beg. She smiled. Mating season was a fun time to mess with him.

“Hm… How about this,” she started, tilting his head up. His eyes were almost unfocused, chest heaving with harsh breaths leaving his open mouth.

“You can cum after I do, alright?” And just like that, a switch was flipped. He snapped to attention, causing her to laugh slightly.

“But, don’t go too fast. I still want to enjoy myself.” He huffed, moving back to her pussy again. He dragged his tongue along her once more, before sliding the long, textured appendage into her opening.

She groaned softly as his tongue thrust into her slowly, curling and pressing against sensitive spots within her. She felt something slide against her thigh, and looked down to see tendrils sprouting from his back. They slid towards her clit, probably to rub it in place of his hands.

Since his claws were almost piercing the bed, she’ll allow it.

Fran turned the toy onto low, earning another whine. She hummed lovingly, running her fingers through Carter’s fur and lightly scratching his scalp. The tendrils finally found her pussy, getting to work.

One circled her clit slowly, another slid along her slit. A third, thinner one pushed into her opening along with his tongue, making her feel full. She moaned, head rolling back a little. She messed around with the vibrator’s settings, changing the intensity randomly.

Carter jerked with each change, humping the air and back arching. He pulled his tongue out, allowing the tendrils to continue to pleasure her so he could speak.

“Fran,” he sobbed. Oh, if his species was capable of crying, she’s sure his face would be soaked with tears.

“Please- It hurts, please,” he begged, finally getting her to look down at him. She sighed, turning the vibe onto high. He let out a high pitched, desperate noise, hips bucking. He pressed his face against her leg, sobbing out pleas and whines.

She pursed her lips, keeping the toy going for a moment before turning it off completely. She was about to get stern with him, before she noticed his expression.

His eyes were rolled back a little, and his hips were still twitching and jerking. His breath caught in his throat, and the tendrils between her legs had stilled. When she realized what was happening, she smiled.

“Aw. Did you cum?” He let out a pathetic whine, slowly focusing back on her. She pet his head softly, listening to his quiet begging.

“It got ruined, didn’t it,” she asked, talking as you would to a sad-looking pet. She even pouted as an extra, humiliating measure. Of course, she couldn’t help but take advantage of this.

“Go ahead and get up, Carter. I want you to lay down for me.” He was up in an instant, much to her amusement. She moved, placing a couple towels down before he got into position. She’d need them for what she had in mind.

She straddled him, holding his dick tightly with a hand as she ground against him. Didn’t need it slipping in without permission. He moaned, reaching up to grab her. She stopped, frowning.

“Did I say you could touch me, pup?” Immediately, his hands were back at his sides. Her smile returned, and she slowly began to slip onto him. He tossed his head back, hips twitching as he tried not to buck up into her.

She moved slightly, biting her lip as he squirmed inside of her. When Fran turned the toy back on, poor Carter nearly lost it.

His feet dug into the mattress, and his back arched. Poor thing was so sensitive from his ruined orgasm, but still hungry for more. He was already begging to cum, with her just sitting on him. She hadn’t even started moving yet.

“Didn’t you just cum? Greedy today, aren’t we,” she joked, trailing her free hand down his chest. Slowly, she began to roll her hips. Not even really bouncing on his dick, more like soft, glorified grinding. It was enough to make him cry out.

She had barely begun to move before he was close. She turned the toy off, pulling off of him and allowing him to work through it himself. He tried to hold it, she could see that he did. In this case, though, a prehensile, constantly moving dick was his downfall.

She watched him buck his hips, wailing out in desperation as he had another ruin. She stroked his cheek, watching him press into her hand. He was almost crying his pleas out, by now, and she began to feel a little bad.

“Safeword?” She asked, but got no response. She set the remote down, putting both hands on his face and stroking his cheeks with her thumbs.

“Hey, hey,” she soothed, getting his attention. He looked up at her, breathing uneven. Maybe she went a little too far. If only he wasn’t so cute when he was desperate.

“Carter. Safeword?” He swallowed, processing the question. Slowly, he shook his head. She hummed, still stroking his cheeks.

“Yellow?” When he didn’t want to hard stop, they used the color system to get across how he was doing. He thought for another moment, before nodding slowly. She smiled, giving him a kiss to the forehead. No safeword needed yet, but close to it. Understood.

“Alright. We’ll back off a bit, then,” she promised. “Do you want the toy out?” Another nod, and she moved to slowly pull the vibrator out. She carefully tossed it onto the dirty clothes- they’d need to be washed anyway, so she’ll clean all of it at once.

“You’re doing so well,” Fran purred, wanting to calm him down a little before they continued. She grabbed his hands, placing them on her. A silent approval that it was okay to touch her. With her already bending over him, his arms locked around her waist and back to cling to her.

“You wanna sit up?” Easier on her back, if he wanted to hold her like this. He nodded, and they both moved to sit up. She wrapped his arms around his shoulders, allowing him to bury his face in her chest. She slid her fingers through his fur, resting her cheek on the top of his head.

“You alright?” He gave out a quiet “mhm”, and she pressed a kiss to his head. Slowly, she reached down to hold his dick in place so she could slide back onto him.

Carter moaned as she did so. Still desperate, but not as intensely as before. She rolled her hips slowly, easing him into it. She felt him shudder, before he began to lap and nip at her neck.

Fran sighed as she began to move properly, not simply just grinding down onto him. Those tendrils returned, Carter knew he couldn’t rub her clit with his shaky, clawed hands at the moment.

Two tendrils slid along her clit, circling and pressing gently. She sighed appreciatively, lightly dragging her nails down his back. He bucked up into her with a chitter.

Oversensitive and in the throes of rut, he began to get close again. He swallowed, trying to will himself to hold back. She knew him too well, though, and smoothed a hand over his head.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. If you get close you can cum. I’m done being mean,” she soothed, leaning down to kiss at his cheek and trail to his jaw. He sobbed out a “thank you”, digging his claws into her back. She knew there’d be marks, but thankfully there was no blood. He really was holding back, despite how distressed he had been. She was impressed.

It didn’t take long before he locked up. He arched his back, letting out a loud, high pitched moan as he finally got to cum properly. She continued to move slowly, drawing out his well-earned orgasm.

She slowed to a stop, allowing him to calm down after his intense orgasm. He continued to cling to her, bucking up into her once again. She laughed a little. Of course he wasn’t done.

Fran knew he wanted to take over. Go faster and harder. But, she didn’t want him to end up overstimulating himself even more.

“You’re alright,” she purred, speeding up once again. With the tendrils still playing with her clit, she was starting to get close, herself. She moaned softly, as one circled her clit roughly.

“If you still need more, we’ll get one of the less intense toys after this, okay?” He nodded, and she was glad he agreed. She didn’t think she could handle going for an hour like last time he was in rut.

His next orgasm was sudden, almost even to him. He let out a loud keen, bucking up into her once again. She moaned as he thrashed inside her, arching against him. Carter bit into her shoulder, earning a gasp from her.

She kept moving for a moment, both to let him ride it out and to chase her own orgasm. Thankfully, for both of them, it didn’t take long.

She moaned lowly, clenching around him as a hard orgasm made her legs begin to shake. Carter’s tendrils kept rubbing her clit, making it last as long as it could.

The two panted, calming themselves after an intense session. Fran smiled slightly, slowly pulling off of him He keened softly, oversensitive and ready to rest.

She eased him down onto his back again, grabbing the towels that were below him. She used those to clean both of them up, tossing them with the dirty clothes.

She crawled up next to him, pulling the giant alien against her. He rested his head on her chest, almost clinging to him.

“Carter? You feeling alright?” He nodded, not quite trusting his voice yet. She leaned down to kiss his head, before petting his fur again.

“You did so good, my sweet boy,” she purred, earning an actual purr out of him. It was almost silent, but she could feel the slight vibration coming from him.

“I’m sorry I worked you up that badly. You know I wasn’t trying to hurt you, right?” He nodded again, looking up at her. Oh, he was exhausted, she could see it on his face. It was rare that he ever looked tired, so when he did she knew he was about to pass out.

“... It’s… fine. It was… still enjoyable,” he admitted, voice quiet with embarrassment. He still wasn’t used to admitting feelings, his species not really… used to having feelings in general. Let alone actually being free to talk about any feelings they DO have.

“That’s good. Still, I’ll make sure not to go too far, next time.” He didn’t reply, instead settling back down. She chuckled, patting his shoulder.

“Hey, don’t sleep yet. We need to go clean up. You can rest in the tub, okay?” He was quiet, before he huffed. He slowly sat up, and she followed suit.

She took off his collar, setting it on the table before rubbing her thumbs along his neck. No marks, thankfully. He purred appreciatively, though, before the two got up.

Once in the bathroom, Carter ran the bath while Fran grabbed clean towels and washcloths. She returned to find him already sitting in the slowly-rising water, much to her amusement. She set the toiletries down, before sitting between his legs and leaning back against him. A soft sigh left her at the comfort of the warm water.

She’d love to sit behind him and hold him, but since he’s two feet taller than her and this tub is already awkwardly small enough, she’ll have to suck it up.

“Feeling better?” No response. She waited a moment, thinking he was just tired. When she still didn’t get a response, she turned around.

“Carter-?” She snorted, covering her mouth to keep from laughing. He was passed the fuck out, exhausted. She smiled fondly, sitting up to kiss him on the cheek. A soft purr rumbled from him in his sleep.

“You sleep, good boy,” she muttered, settling back into place. She’ll let him sleep a little bit, before actually waking him to get clean.

A relaxing soak before cleaning up sounded nice, anyway.

[delimeful]

the shapes in the silence (4)

warnings: guilt, panic, arguing, general tension

Chapter 4

One movie later, Virgil somehow found himself curled up on the couch between Roman and Patton, slipping in and out of sleep to the bright tunes of the Lion King.

He woke fully, briefly freaking out because everyone was big and why was he sleeping out here like this, as Roman turned the TV off and bid them goodnight. Logan must have left earlier, probably keeping to his typical strict curfew. He gave himself a moment to breathe deeply, and then lifted himself up into a stretch, hearing a few pops as he arched his back like a cat. Patton giggled softly from next to him.

“You tired, kiddo?” he asked, lifting a hand and running a thumb over the sloping horns by his ears. Virgil, still half-asleep, let out a soft coo not unlike a contented dove. Before he could be embarrassed, Patton cooed back, offering his hands again. 

“You wanna come sleep in my room for tonight?” he offered earnestly, and Virgil groaned internally. He couldn’t say no to that face, but in this form… he didn’t really have to. No reputation to uphold, other than his own pride. 

If it was any other side, he’d feel too guilty to take advantage when he wasn’t who they thought he was, but whenever Patton found him in the common area at an ungodly hour of the morning, he made the same offer. Always denied, obviously, but this was similar enough to be okay… right? 

Too tired to think on it any further, he crawled into Patton’s arms and struggled to keep his eyes open as they trekked down the hall to Patton’s room. 

Patton had clearly memorized the inside of his room, because he didn’t even turn on the lights before plopping down on the bed. It was ludicrously soft, and Virgil waited until Patton had pulled the covers over himself to burrow into a corner of the bed and curl up.

Now all he had to do was wait for Patton to- He looked up at the loud snore. Patton was already asleep. Deeply, going by his breathing. He shook his head, amused despite himself. 

Pulling himself up from the unfairly comfortable bed, he tried not to let Patton’s sleepiness affect him. He had to get back to his room. He’d been in this form for three days straight, and it was starting to make his head feel fuzzy. 

Hopping down from the bed on padded feet, he carefully made his way past any furniture, thankful that his night vision seemed to be intact. The door was cracked open, and he managed to slip through without Patton stirring. 

Everyone else was asleep, so he let himself break into a run as he bolted back towards his hall, his door, his room. He’d never spent so much consecutive time with the others before, generally choosing to leave when it became clear that his presence would only make things worse. The videos took some time, but he always made himself scarce afterwards so he could mull over everything that he did wrong in the privacy of his own room.

He nearly ran face first into the familiar black door, before feeling around with a paw and finding the cat-flap to push through. The familiarity of his room felt like stepping into a comfortable bath after the day he’d had, and before he knew it, his dragon form slipped away from him like sand through his fingers, leaving him sitting on the floor with his normal human legs. He sighed in relief, and then immediately realized that the cuff had vanished, no sign of it on his wrist. 

On one hand, that meant there was no chance the others could tie him to the dragon through it, which was good because not even his hoodie would be loose enough to effectively cover that bulky band. 

On the other, completely worse hand, this meant he wouldn’t be able to try and remove it until he turned into a dragon again. Oh god, what if the tracker led to the last place he was a dragon? He shook his head rapidly, trying to ride out the impending panic attack, and threw himself in bed. He was too exhausted for this. 

In what was definitely some hours but felt like no time at all, Virgil woke to the sound of banging on his door. He grimaced into his pillow, but the noise continued until he hauled himself out of bed and cracked open the door. “What.” 

“Hey kiddo,” Patton said, eyes red-rimmed, and Virgil instantly felt terrible. He didn’t let himself ease up, though, because Roman was right at Patton’s shoulder, glaring. “It’s Sunday, so I thought I would ask if you wanted to come down and eat breakfast with us?” 

The weekly breakfasts were always an affair, the one meal Patton scheduled so they would be able to make it, no excuses. Virgil often skipped anyways, since sitting next to the other two sides who probably didn’t want him there with his stomach roiling too badly to eat wasn’t his idea of a great time. Patton kept knocking to invite him, though, every Sunday. 

He sighed. Patton already seemed upset about something, and that meant he’d be too worried about what it was to go back to sleep anyways. “Yeah…,” he said raspily, and cleared his throat, “Yeah, I’ll be down after I get ready.” 

Patton smiled brightly at him, cheered, and nodded. “I’ll go get started!” 

Virgil watched him head back downstairs, before going to close his door, but- 

“Not so fast, Doctor Gloom.”

Virgil took a second too long to process the shoe blocking his door from closing, and dragged his gaze up to Roman. “What do you want, Princey.” He was too tired for the nickname game right now.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me. I know you were in the Imagination yesterday, using your loathsome creations to target me.” Roman shoved the door open further, gaze furious. “What did you do to him?” 

“What are you- who?” Virgil said, feeling a headache coming on. He’d known that Roman would confront him about the shades sooner or later, but he’d been hoping for later. It wasn’t like he manifested them on purpose, they just… happened whenever he went to the creative side’s realm. Downside of having your creative thoughts all be about who’s out to get you and how, he guessed. 

Roman growled impatiently.

“The dragon I was with when you sent your minions to attack me, Villain!”

His thoughts screeched to a halt. Roman was worried about him? Well, dragon him, but still- what the hell? He was literally a monster. “Dragon? I-” wait, no lying, “Why the hell would I care about something like that? I was in the Imagination for my own reasons. Try not to get too big a head.”

“Lies! I know you have tormented the dragon before, for he has shown most clearly that he is afraid of you,” Roman insisted, pushing further into Virgil’s space.

He leaned his full weight against the door to keep it steady, sneering face inches from Roman’s. “Maybe he’s just got better survival instincts than you.” 

“Then would you like to explain how he vanished overnight from Patton’s room, a clear beacon of safety?” Roman’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Why are you so desperately concealing your room if you have nothing to hide?” 

Nope. That was enough of that. They were not looking in his room. 

“I didn’t touch a scale on your new little pet’s head,” he spat, releasing the door and moving to avoid Roman’s surprised stumble forwards. “Maybe he left because he was sick of dealing with your idiocy.” 

Without giving Roman time to recover, he shoved the prince back out the door hard enough to make him land on his ass with a shout of protest. “If you think I’m such a liar, why don’t you go ask Deceit if I messed with your lizard. Just keep me out of it.”

He slammed his door shut behind him, letting it lock firmly, and then strode past Roman with hunched shoulders. He couldn’t believe he’d knocked him over like that. His pace increased, steps hurried as he near skidded down the stairs. Roman wouldn’t do anything in front of Patton, right? 

He couldn’t help but check over his shoulder for pursuit as he got into the common area, which was probably why he nearly collided with Logan head-on.

“Shit!” he yelped, grabbing Logan by the shoulders to steady them both and then just as promptly tearing his hands away as though he’d been burned. He wasn’t a dragon anymore, they didn’t want him touching them. “Sorry, sorry. Wasn’t watching.”

“No harm done,” Logan responded, but he was watching Virgil with slightly narrowed eyes. “Anxiety, are you-“

“Fine,” he cut the logical side off brusquely, stepping to the side to walk around him. “Not impeding Thomas, don’t worry. That’s my job.” 

Logan turned to follow his movement, mouth open to say something else, but he was already bolting for the kitchen, berating himself internally. Don’t worry, that’s my job, he mocked himself. A joke. Really, Virgil? 

“Hey kiddo, you alright?” 

He looked over to where Patton was standing, hands working a waffle iron effortlessly. A beat late, he nodded, taking deeper breaths. 

“Y- eah, I’m good.” He winced at his own voice crack. Subject change time. “Uh… how about you?” 

Patton jerked his head up, surprised. Shit. Bad subject change. He forgot he was terrible at interacting without his asshole barrier up. “Nevermind, you don’t have to-”

“It’s okay!” He turned the waffle iron over, setting a timer before turning back to Virgil. “I’m just missing a new friend.”

Uh oh. “...Friend?” 

Patton smiled. “I think you would like him! He disappeared during the night though, so you can’t meet him right now.” 

His smile became a little watery. Goddamn it. 

“Uh, well. It’s only been a little bit, right? I’m sure he’ll come back,” he soothed, uncertainly. 

Patton perked up slightly. “You think so?” 

“...Yeah, I do,” he responded honestly, keeping the worst of the sigh from his voice. “Need help setting out breakfast?” 

“Aw, sure kiddo!” 

When he walked out of the kitchen, a plate in each hand, Roman was already there, speaking in exaggerated whispers to Logan. He shot a scathing glare at Virgil, opening his mouth to say something stupid, and then closed it again sharply as Patton walked out behind him.

Virgil gave him a smug smirk, ignoring his elevated heart rate. Roman mouthed the word ‘cheater’ at him as Patton turned to set a plate down, and just for that, Virgil put one of the plates he was carrying in front of Roman with a saccharine smile. The prince stared at him with blatant suspicion as he carried his own plate to his spot. 

He proceeded to enjoy the show, watching as Roman inspected each piece of food, face pinched. Patton picked up on it, naturally, and asked if something was wrong. Roman was quick to assure him that his cooking was as wonderful as ever, and took a bite to prove it, face pale. 

Once enough time had passed that he could reasonably assume it wasn’t a fast acting poison, he glowered at Virgil and started eating in earnest, the conversation picking up again. Virgil picked at his food as they chattered, letting it all wash over him. 

Until the conversation turned to him.

“-is there anywhere you haven’t checked, Patton?” Logan was asking, a notebook in his lap.

“I can’t think of anywhere I haven’t already looked! On the fridge, under the bed, in the closet- and you know I don’t go in there lightly.”

“I can think of somewhere,” Roman growled, glaring at Virgil. He returned the look twofold. 

“Oh, you can think? Color me surprised,” he snarked back, and then Logan chimed in.

“Ah, that’s right. We searched our rooms, but not Anxiety’s.” 

Virgil couldn’t help but tense, and Patton hurried to intervene, “Well, we don’t want to invade his privacy, do we now?” 

Logan blinked. “Of course not. I was simply implying that we should ask Anxiety if he had seen anything strange that would indicate a small dragon’s passage or presence.”

He pretended to consider for a moment. “Nope,” he responded, popping the P, “can’t say that I have.” 

“Darn!” Patton said.

“Back to the drawing board, then.” Logan nodded, turning back to his notebook. 

For a moment, Virgil and Roman stared at him with equal amounts of incredulity. 

“What, you’re just gonna take his word for it?” Roman protested, a beat late. 

“... Yes? Why wouldn’t we?” The logical side looked up, a bit annoyed.

“Because he’s an untrustworthy scoundrel?” 

“Roman!” Patton scolded, frowning in a way that made Roman wilt.

“That is not the case, though I understand that you believe as much due to Anxiety’s many negative effects on Thomas.” Logan chimed in as well. 

“Ouch.” Virgil muttered under his breath. Still, it wasn’t like he was wrong. 

“Still, Roman, there’s no reason for Anxiety to lie to us. It’s not in his nature, and there are no logical reasons to draw a connection between the absence of the dragon and Anxiety, beyond your rather blatant dislike of him.” 

“And with that,” Virgil cut in, seeing his opportunity, “I’m leaving.” 

Patton reached out and Logan frowned for some reason, but he cut off their protests preemptively. “No, if all we’re going to do is talk about how much everyone doesn’t like me and what I do, I’ll just wait until Thomas summons us for the next video.” 

Shit. That came out too… emotions-y. He threw his hood up and sunk out before they could say anything else, but it wasn’t quick enough to miss the triumphant expression Roman wore. A flare of anger rose up in his chest and was just as quickly extinguished. He deserved as much after interrupting Logan and probably upsetting Patton by leaving so abruptly. This was why he didn’t go to the goddamn breakfasts. 

He thought about Patton’s eyes rubbed red around the edges, and the stomach-churning fear he’d felt after even the smallest confrontation with Roman. The way Logan detachedly stated that he was hurting Thomas, like it was a fact. He tried to take a breath, but his lungs felt as though they were being compressed, and his head was ringing. His vision spotted black for a moment, and when it cleared up, everything was huge around him.

Oddly enough, though he still felt bad, a lot of the physical symptoms he normally felt were… faded, almost diminished in this form. Overwhelmed by the other set of instincts that overlapped with his own. Strange.

Too busy wallowing in his own misery to overthink for once, he padded out of his own room and straight to Patton’s, curling up on one of the plush pillows to wait for the moral side to get back. 

At least like this, he could offer something positive to someone. 

[raelelliswrites]

It didn't start with the white dot; I know that much. The problem had started long before the white dot had ever shown its stupid face. There was evidence of its presence everywhere; the sandwich bread and peanut butter on the floor, the cat in the dryer, and the ironing board on the roof. The problem was, as with many other things in life, the start of this major change was about as easy to pinpoint as a slow moving current. Jamie knows best which came up first, but I can't ask her. She doesn't answer.

"Til death do us part" is a dice roll, a gamble on which of you will die alone. It was a scary thing to think about until I met Jamie. Her clear blue eyes wrapped me in a joyful and comfortable cocoon, and from the moment I saw her I knew I’d never be the same. It sounds cheesy, but it’s true. We met in high school, my freshman, her sophomore year. "To the cutie who sits next to me in French class," she signed in my yearbook. A seed planted, rooted through subtle playfulness and teasing touches, bloomed in shy glances across the room. Her jealous girlfriend gave us reason to give each other a wide berth, but whenever we were in a room together, everyone felt a change in the wind. After college started and I showed up at her university, it wasn’t 24 hours after their breakup that we were kissing in the sprinklers of Old Main. Some judged us. We let them. Ten years later and counting, we still held each other tighter than ever and loved as hard as we could, the best we could. We raised our voices to prove a point, slow danced in our living room, laughed and cooked together, and made love. Every night, I looked into her clear blue eyes and knew I was safe. Before the white dot. Before the sudden change.

The first thing I noticed was her hand always at her neck. It didn't matter what she had been doing that day, worked or played, ran early in the morning or slept in. She was always waking up with a crick in her neck and no number of massages from yours truly could help. Jamie started out taking two pain meds daily to handle the pain, but it soon became three pills a day, then four. At least, those were the meds I saw her take. She always had her left hand on the back of her neck. It creeped into our conversations, into her laugh. She had this big beautiful belly laugh that shook the room, scared the cats, and captured me absolutely. Now her laugh stopped itself short. The left hand went up, followed by a grimace. The house remained unshaken. Jamie became quieter with the constant pain on her mind.

The next thing that came was a confusing amalgam of symptoms pulled from every which illness. Her doctors couldn't make heads or tails of it, even with her studious research and symptom tracking in her journal. Her heart rate would drop and her blood pressure would spike as she stood up, causing her to faint if she stood up too fast. Soon she holed up in one part of the house at a time, migrating like a mammal from the office to the bedroom and back again. We got her a wheelie office chair to get around the house before we realized that this wasn't going away. A proper wheelchair was too real. Jamie struggled with her new reality in a way I hadn't expected. I came home from a walk one day to find her painting peanut butter on a smattering of sandwich slices on the carpet. "I haven't vacuumed that in weeks, you know," I said. I picked up sticky bits of hairy bread and dropped them again, covering myself and the carpet with peanut butter. Jamie didn't say a word, only kept buttering more pieces of bread. Her rolling chair lay overturned next to her.

The person I had known since high school seemed to vanish before my eyes, deteriorating to a shell of a woman, usually checked out. Amid the worst of it, she didn't do her ritual "cat check" before locking our littlest one in the dryer and starting it. She didn't hear her screaming for Jamie through the door, until she was silent, overheated, overbaked. Jamie wailed her head off when she found her later, neck twisted and warm. We buried our little one in a shoebox in the backyard. I held Jamie as she cried big wailing sobs, silent tears rolling down my cheeks. We didn't sit shiva with anyone, though. The sickly smell of flowery dryer sheets and burnt hair permeated the house until Jamie and I became immune to it. House guests, we had none. Close friends and family slipped away one by one, as Jamie ignored call after call. Who would dream of entertaining in a house that smelled like burnt cat? Laundry went on the list of chores Jamie couldn't do by herself.

Jamie wasn't in her right mind, I'm telling you. But it wasn't her fault she was ill and I had to take care of her. Not only because she deserved dignity in her decline, but because I loved her with my whole heart. I still do, kitten killer or no.

That's why I was so concerned when I woke up one morning to notice Jamie was missing. Her rolling chair was next to the window that overlooked the garage, next to the sink. The broom closet was ajar, the iron cold and discarded on the floor, brooms and mops strewn on top of each other like dolls tossed aside. The ironing board was missing. The kitchen window was open. A shadow moved across the dead lawn outside as I heard clunking coming from above me. The pit of my stomach dropped.

Much of what happened next seemed to happen as if in a dream. I pulled on my white robe and headed to the open window. Trying my hardest not to look down, I climbed out of the window onto the rickety roof shingles. One foot, landed. Careful, now. The other foot landed. I shifted my weight onto my feet, only for them to skid on pebbles lining the rooftop. I gripped the window runner so tightly I could almost taste the metal. I steadied myself. My heart was racing, air caught in my throat. This time I tested my weight first, then shifted. Before I knew it, I was on the green garage roof, right below the roof of the attic. I heard a scrape, and a shuffle. Another scrape. A shuffle.

I told myself I wasn't going to look down, but in that moment I did. I looked down at the dead yellow grass littering our yard to see the shadow of a deformed mud monster pulling itself out of the bog on top of our roof. No, not out. Along. Scrape. Shuffle. The arms pulled, but the body only went sideways, raking itself across the roof little by little.

My foot slipped and I gasped, skidding across the stones and battered roof shingles. I grabbed my hands out behind me to slow myself down, hoping to create enough friction to stop. My open robe billowed out behind me like a cape as I kept sliding. I kicked my bare feet out in front of me, trying to get traction, ignoring the burning as my hands and feet ran across the sandpapery shingles.

My heels were the first to fall over the edge, red and raw from kicking. My hands didn't know how to find steady bearing but kept grabbing for it. My knees went over the edge. All I could picture was my body ketchup splatted on the ground below. I turned toward the roof, tried to claw my way back up. My hips and torso followed my feet, gravity pulling me down, down. As the top of the garage roof slipped away from my sight, I could only squeeze my eyes shut and pray. My hands heard my prayer, and though my palms and fingers were sweaty, a stuck out nail pierced my left palm and held me there, hanging from the verge.

I cried out, partially from pain, partially from shock. I was still hanging on.

Blood broke against my eardrum as my heart beat itself back to normal. Scrape. Shuffle. At first I tried pulling myself up with both hands, but the palm with the nail in it complained. I had to pull myself up using only my right arm. I scrambled to grab hold of the gutter and swing my right half back over the ledge. When I finally got myself back up, I tried to pull my left hand off of the nail. The area surrounding my wound was a little numb, but the area in question was too tender to jerk from the point. With my other hand, I peeled the shingle attached to the nail from the roof and carried it under my hand, nail and palm intact. I heard a puffing of air above me: Jamie gasping for breath. Whatever she was doing was tiring her out.

As I climbed the ashy green tiles, traveling from the garage roof to the attic roof, the extreme change in Jamie I had seen in the last month struck me. She used to be a force of nature; an engineer with a quick-witted tongue that could pierce through the steel of the most guarded of hearts. I fell in love with her more and more every day. Her beauty ran marrow deep, no more inseparable from her intelligence and empathy than the color swirls of pulled taffy. The depths of doldrums had steamrolled Jamie's bruised and bleeding heart. I had seen her at her lowest of lows, cutting wit bit into her own flesh, turned against herself without knowledge of a clear enemy. I held her when she dissociated completely, empty eyes streaming, snot dripping in long strings onto her clenched fingers. One night, I remembered as I circled the attic roof, I even talked her down from slicing rivers of blood through her forearms and wrists with a rusty razor. Those were the dark times, and they had tested us, tested Jamie in her resolve. But never, ever had I experienced anything like this.

I found a foothold in a missing roof tile about halfway up the slope of the attic roof. As I reached for the top of the roof, I bounced my leg in preparation for a full climb up. Scrape. Shuffle. I could see the top of Jamie's dark brown hair and the side of her creeping frame. She looked behind her and I waved, calling out, "Jamie! Hey!", but she wasn't looking at me. She pulled something with the arm that wasn't dragging her body along and looked to make sure she still had it. The ironing board. What does she want with the ironing board up here? I couldn't guess.

I pushed off the plaque of tile I had chosen, reached my right arm up, and jumped for the top of the roof. My hand found the curve of the dusty tiles and I used my jumping momentum to run against the slope of the roof. I scrambled to the top. I wobbled as I was about to get to the top of the roof, and instinctively reached my left hand out to balance. White hot pain flashed through me from palm to shoulder. The blood-covered nail wedged through my tendons. The metal tip poked out between my knuckles. "FUUUUCKOWWW!" I wailed, pulling my left hand back, and my face turned toward Jamie. Her form, clung to by her white nightgown, never stopped, never looked back.

The wind whistled and whipped Jamie's hair around, a welcome reprieve on a cloudless summer day. She only kept pulling herself forward, left arm carrying the ironing board. Scrape. She was almost at the ridge of the roof. Shuffle. Jamie pulled the ironing board in front of her, panted in place for a moment, then began lifting her torso up on all fours, then, onto her feet. Jamie straddled the tent of the roof. She seemed to have a moment of stability, then her hands wheeled behind her as she righted herself from falling forward. "JAMIE! Fuck!" I screamed more to myself than her, certain she would fall. Jamie didn't fall, though. She continued to push the ironing board forward, the pointed tip of it peeking over the edge. We weren't a particularly religious household. In our home, God was more of an abstract concept. To us, God was our love, our bed was our temple, our promises to each other, our prayers. I began crawling, a three legged animal holding my hurt paw to my chest, and for the second time that day, I prayed.

My heavy breathing echoed through the wind as I neared Jamie, standing at the tip of the roof, sun rays streaming through her hair and arms. As I squinted at her, I raised my bad hand to block the light. Jamie pushed the fulcrum of the ironing board out to the edge of the roof now, and began to walk along it like a plank. A sound like the wind passing through a dozen vacuums. As I peered through Jamie's wobbling legs over the rooftop to the ground, I saw a mass of people agape. Jamie took another step forward along the spine of the ironing board, balanced herself. Once she reached past the fulcrum of the board, that balance would not hold. Distance closed between Jamie and me, and I gazed up at her. How was I supposed to get her attention without causing her to fall? How would we survive this? Jamie took another step forward. A siren whooped in the distance.

I looked around, searching for anything that might help. The only thing nearby was the small round chimney top jutting out, neglected of a good cleaning for years. Think, think, think! Jamie took another step. Think! I closed my eyes and patted around my right robe pocket. Nothing there. I sat straight up and patted through my left pocket. A bulge of soft white plumped out from the pocket. Ha! I grabbed the robe tie in the pocket and unfurled it, then looped it around the chimney and watched it grow black with soot. I tied a double knot, first around the chimney, then around my closest foot. My bloody hand protested, but the hum in my ears and adrenaline in my blood quieted it. I tugged on the tie. The black chimney top wobbled, green tile dust filming the base. Jamie took another step. One more and she was going over the edge. The chimney would have to do. Red and blue reflected off one side of the black rickety cylinder. Sweat broke on my forehead, and I tried not to look down at the growing crowd, but I couldn't help myself. The group of ants cramming around our home seemed to shrink farther away as I looked. My stomach lurched; I tasted bitter bile. A megaphone wah-wahed in the far distance. I tugged at her white nightgown like a scared child. Looked up at her. No response. Jamie took a step.

The rest happened in the matter of an instant. The crowd gasped; I heard someone scream. I rushed forward; the ironing board went careening off the edge, Jamie at its helm. My right hand lurched forward and grabbed for Jamie's wrist. It reached her. Feeling her cool skin under mine, I squeezed tight and heard a pop. Gravity fought hard in the tug of war. I felt my body jerk forward, saw the sidewalk streak closer, felt the tie around my foot constrict like a boa, heard the metal of the chimney groan. "Jamie, hang on!!" I yelled, not sure if it fell on deaf ears.

Jamie looked up at me. Her eyes were vacant, big black pools of tar, lightless aside from a tiny, island of white in the middle. "Grab my hand!" I reached my stabbed hand forward, the flat head of the nail pressed against the wrist now holding Jamie's life. Pain tore through my palm, but I didn't care. As I grabbed Jamie's wrist with that hand, the nail pushed farther through the skin on the back of my hand. I cried out in pain, my grip on Jamie slipping with blood. Jamie's hanging arm swung up, her hand grabbing my left hand, the nail piercing through her palm.

Her eyes dilated inward, blue rings pushed the receding black back, until her pupils bloomed back open. Light returned to her eyes, and she screamed, loud and long. I yelled with her. The nail stitched our hands together. The blood in my foot pulsed hard, and the chimney top groaned forward, jerking us down closer to the ground. Our eyes connected. Jamie's giant wet eyes seemed to be lucid once more, and tears streamed down her face.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered. "I'm so, so sorry, Red."

"You're gonna be okay," I said, "Hang on a little longer." The chimney groaned, then jolted us down as a screw came loose, then another.

"No matter what," I said, "I love you, Jamie. So much." Salty drops landed on Jamie's palid cheeks.

"I love you back," she whispered. My eyes blurred, but I wouldn't close them. Not for a second.

A black blob moved through the crowd at high speed, stopping under Jamie and I, its maw gaping wide. We rocked forward as two more screws on the chimney came loose. Jamie's foggy face blinked under me.

"Red-" she said as the last screw gave out. We tumbled forward into the black oblivion, down, down into gravity's grasp, into the yawning mouth below.

We fell into the firefighter's trampoline and bounced once, twice. Jamie and I lay there, swaying on the black stretch and cried, our hands still stitched together by one rusty roof nail.

The first responders and I tried to convince Jamie to go to the hospital. She insisted on sleeping in our bed that night.

"One more night with you," she said, "Before all they're gonna put me through," Jamie sighed, “I’m so tired.”

I couldn't say no to those eyes, especially because I needed a cuddle something terrible after the day we'd had. Bloody bandage on my left hand, I tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and tilted up her chin.

"Okay," I said, and kissed her.

We lay in bed, holding each other. I turned to kiss Jamie goodnight before turning off the bedside light. I looked into her eyes, now back to that sky blue, and noticed...

"What?" Jamie asked, noticing my hesitation. I blinked. Still there.

"Baby, can you see okay?" I asked her.

"My glasses are a little scratched today," she said, "but I can see fine-" She took off her glasses. Looked at them. Put them back on. Took them back off. Blinked.

"I don’t think that’s a scratch on my lenses…" Jamie said. She looked at me, her left side in my shadow. Her left eye glowed with the lamplight. The small white dot from before, no larger than the head of a pin, reflected deep inside the black well of her pupil.

"We’ll tell them when we take you to the hospital tomorrow morning," I said with a weak smile. "People treat cataracts every day." I kissed her forehead, her lavender shampoo wafting under my nose. "It's nothing compared to what we survived today, right?"

Jamie looked at me, nodded and kissed me before shifting under the blanket and rolling onto her side. I was so certain, so secure in the hope of western medicine and the name of this culprit. Had I formed my mouth around the truth of it, I may have screamed at the sound of my own voice. I may have stood staunch in denial and dismissed such a moment of prescience as pure speculation. But I have no such sensitive gifts, and no reason to suspect anything different. If I only knew time was of the essence.

When I woke up, Jamie was standing at the foot of the bed, staring at me. I shot up in bed. Her pupils, now pure white, reflected an opal shine. I was reluctant to think it, but Jamie was beautiful, even like this.

"Jamie, you're up!" I said. She seemed to recognize her name and tilted her head, but didn’t say a word.

"Okay Jamie, we need to get you to a doctor, like, now," I said. I swung out of bed and moved her toward the bedroom door. Jamie walked backward, matching my steps, but didn’t stop when I did and walked the back of her head into the corner of the door. I heard the dull thunk where skull met wood. I grimaced in empathetic pain, but Jamie didn’t seem to mind or even notice the blood. She kept walking backward through the door and down the hallway. Her eyes were glassy and her lips chapped. Dry bits of lip skin begged to be picked.

I must have been imagining things, but her skin seemed to have taken on a light gray hue, almost ashy in appearance. It was hard to tell in that dark hallway, morning sun peaking over the horizon and into our living room. I couldn't see well, but I thought I saw her lips twitch. The sides of her mouth curled upward, and a slab of drool dripped from the corner of lips. One white-blue eye shined in the dark, peaking through her mass of brown hair. My heart quickened dreadfully, confused with love and fear. Blood pulsed in my ears; crashed like ocean waves. I had a sudden vision of an antelope carcass being ripped open. I stepped back. As if in a dance, Jamie stepped forward. I sidestepped to her left, and her eyes watched me, her head on a slow swivel. I kept sidestepping, never keeping my eyes off her, never losing those eyes.

Once I got to the living room, I backed up step by step, all the way to the front door. The front door lock clicking open and Jamie swung her arms as she jumped her body around to face me. It was as though a distracted puppeteer piloted her movements. Now that I noticed it, Jamie’s arms hung too limply at her side. Her shoulders sat too unevenly on her long hourglass frame.

I grabbed the doorknob behind me, not daring to lose sight of Jamie. I had to get out. I was going to go get help, going to come back with paramedics and doctors, going to get help for my wife, my best friend. I had to leave, but I was going to come back. I turned the knob, slowly, ever so slowly, ever so quietly, then thrust the door open behind me. Jamie charged. The dull sound of her feet pounded the floor as she ran straight at me. The dreadful leap in my chest again, followed by its sinking into my gut like a stone, rippled nausea up my throat. I turned. I sprang. I ran.

Loping across the grassy yard, I had an urge to look behind me. My bare toe caught the edge of a rock. I fell, arms in front of me, and heard a loud crack. Something had broken, but I only cowered, eyes closed, not wishing to see what my possessed lover had in store for me. I listened to her heavy bounding draw closer and closer. My breath caught in my chest. It was another minute before I let myself exhale. The sound was heading away from me, to the car filled street in front of our home. I opened my eyes. She was racing straight into the busy street.

"Jamie!" I called after her, voice cracking. I crawled to my muddy knees. My face contorted at the crack of pain that shot from my bloody bandaged hand, but I couldn’t stop. I raced to the street. "Jamie! Stop!" A car horn blared as Jamie ran across the first lane of traffic. Tires squealed as the first car stopped before it reached her. It was the car in the second lane that sent her body flying to the pavement. It was still honking over and over even after it had screeched to a stop.

"JAMIE! Holy shit, no no no no..." I ran harder. She had to be okay. She couldn’t be dead, it wasn’t her time yet. We had so many good years left, years with more slow dances in the living room and cuddles in front of the fire, more arguments and apologies and birthdays. Jamie’s body lie in the street, a marionette with her strings cut, limbs splayed. I didn’t notice the pool of blood mixing with the mud on my knees as I kneeled over her fractured frame, watching for any movement of her chest. I stuck my hand out to find her neck slick and warm with blood. I traced her neck as I had so many times before. No pulse. I looked for her face under the wet tangles where her head must have been and moved her hair away from her face.

Her eyes lay open, white bloomed outward from her pupils, robbing me of one last gaze into her once cool blue irises. I tried not to notice how her skull dented inward, a cracked egg on a hot pavement, deflated eyeball leaking out of its socket. I brought my ear down to her chest and lay still, tuning out the small crowd that was now forming. No heartbeat. No breath. I held my own. Now, wait. I heard a rustling sound. At first I couldn’t tell where it came from, but then it got louder. The sound was unmistakable. It was coming from Jamie’s rib cage. The skritch scratching grew louder and louder. I sat upright, staring. That’s when I saw it.

Little white dots, like the ones I first spotted in Jamie’s eyes, began floating out of the crevices of her skull. First a few, then more, floated through the air in a choreographed flight, like dandelion seeds spread to the wind. Jamie’s arm twitched. It was all I could do not to scream. Cracked backward like a broken wishbone, her arm used what muscle it could to push her torso backward. She untwisted her spine. The other arm came to life and propped her up to sitting. More white specks leaked out of the gashes on her head. I could now see the pink and bloodied crater through her scalp where her brain kissed the concrete. Jamie, or what remained of her, placed one gliding bone joint on top of another and stood. Exposed ligaments and tarred hanging flesh dared anyone watching to disbelieve. The body took a step. And another. Haltingly, jerkily, until the body walked Jamie to the car that hit her. The driver stared in bewilderment as she lumbered up the hood of their car to the roof.

There, Jamie stood in the golden morning light. The sun reflected her eyes, the wind played with wisps of her hair. The spores streamed like milk out of cracks in her skull and soon poured out of her eyes, nostrils, ears and mouth. Jamie stood agape, her arms hung off her shoulders. As spores surrounded us and the nearby cars and bystanders, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful Jamie was, even like this.

My heart leaped, dreadfully.