#my foot caught and i almost fell down the stairs that end in cement

[thisbibliomaniac]

I almost died just now. If you even care.

[shutupanakin]

Wasting Your Time Ch. 4

“Wh— what?” Tommy choked out, his voice hoarse from the lack of use all day.

The man rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t just ask a completely impolite question. “I said, do you have any booze?”

Tommy sat still. He reached into his jacket pocket, his hand finding only a plastic pen. Could he stab this man with a plastic pen?

Tommy pulled said piece of plastic out, visibly holding it up. “I have a pen.” Something about the bemused look on the man's face made Tommy click it, and again, repeatedly.

click click click click click click click click—

...

or; Tommy planned on dying. He meets Wilbur instead.

first chapter here and crossposted on ao3 here

Tommy had tripped on his way here.

Sam had gone to bed late. Tommy couldn’t hate him for it, because he had stayed up to try to talk to Tommy— he was trying. But Tommy had a place to be. He relied on Sam’s strict sleeping schedule for this. And god, did Tommy feel guilty for brushing him off, and saying he was tired and pretending to be asleep when he was really mapping out ways he could climb out of his fourth story window.

When he had heard the soft shut of Sam’s door, Tommy ran. He practically fell over himself trying to get out of the building.

Tommy booked it to the station. He practically bounced while getting his ticket. He was regretting not doing any sports while in school, because by the time Tommy had descended the stairs into the underground he was heaving for air. Tommy was on the last two steps when his foot caught on his untied shoelaces and he was sent face-first into the cement of the platform.

Luckily, Tommy didn’t fuck up his face, because he caught himself with his arms. Tommy bit back the pain and sprinted into the already immobile train, making it before the doors had closed on him.

Tommy fucking hated his luck, because when he entered, there was a man, sitting at the back of the train.

Not in his spot, three seats ahead of his and Wilburs row, but he was still… there… which made sense! Alright! It was public transport. Tommy knew he would have to run into this issue eventually. But this was just the fucking cherry on top of his fucked up sundae.

Tommy gave him a harsh glare— and deep down he felt bad, because the man hadn’t done anything wrong technically— before grabbing his seat, three rows behind. Hopefully, he’ll get off soon. The train was already moving again by the time Tommy settled in.

Tommy observed the damage he did to himself, finally being able to catch his breath. His jacket saved him from completely messing up his elbows, although the fabric had gotten marked up. His palms however were completely scraped. Tommy turned his eyebrows down, gnawing at the inside of his cheek. Tommy pulled the end of his sleeves over his palms. He’d wash them when he got home.

Tommy reached over, tying up his sneakers. He was in such a rush to get out of the flat that he had forgotten the simplest task. Tommy was practically still putting on his shoes when he left the apartment. He had run this entire way with no issue, of course the tube station stairs ended up being the thing that fucked him up. A guilty part of his brain wanted to blame Sam for this. He was the reason why Tommy was almost late. He was the reason why Tommy didn’t tie his shoes, and why his hands are now scraped up and why his knee is aching. Sam is the reason why Tommy sitting in a cold lecture room every week studying shit he doesn’t like and why Tommy was in a phone call with Tubbo Friday night not breathing because he had received a heavy email from his professor about a test he had failed—

Tommy shook his head. He wiped the tears that were forming away with his sleeve. He was alright. He was okay. That happened Friday. Tommy didn’t have class tomorrow. He could tuck that away for now and not have to think about it. He could ask his professor about extra credit. He could save this. For Sam, he could save this. For Sam.

Tommy didn’t want to be a fucking mess when Wilbur showed up. This was the best part of Tommy’s week. He couldn’t ruin it by having a breakdown, not right fucking now. Tommy leaned on the seat in front of him, placing his forehead against the plastic. Tommy pulled at his hair; he was alright. He can deal with this. He could ride this out and he would be alright.

“You look like shit,”

Tommy’s head shot up, turning at a quick speed to look to his left. Wilbur was standing there. Stupid hair. Stupid glasses. Stupid Reagan & Bush jumper covered up by his stupid brown coat. Tommy hadn’t realized they stopped. He peeked his head over the seat. The man didn’t leave. He would just have to deal with Tommy’s voice then.

Tommy laughed hollowly. “Hey, big man,” Tommy said, rubbing at his eyes. Wilbur sat down next to him. Not across, like the last three times. “I tripped.” He held up his palms, showing Wilbur the scraped-up skin. “My knee is also fucked.”

“Ouch,” Wilbur grimaced. “Are you okay?”

That was a simple question. Are you okay? It was three words. A common courtesy to ask someone who was injured. Tommy shouldn’t be breaking down the way he is over it.

Tommy hit his forehead against the back of the plastic seat. “No,” Tommy answered.

“Bad week?” Tommy nodded. “So that is why you look like shit.”

Tommy groaned. “You’re kicking a man while he’s down, Wilbur,” Tommy complained. “I had to run here. Sam went to bed late.”

“Your brother right?”

“Yeah,” Tommy grumbled. “He wanted to talk.”

“Talking to your family is healthy, Tommy.”

“He has bad timing,” Tommy scowled. “I needed to get here.”

“You blew him off for a stranger at a tube station?”

“You’re not a stranger,” Tommy dejected. “And… I didn’t blow him off. He was asking me about school— how I was enjoying my classes and shit.”

They stopped. The man three seats in front of him moved up, not before giving Tommy a nasty look. Tommy wasn’t in the mood to react.

“And you are not enjoying them,” Wilbur concluded. Right, as always.

“You read me like a fucking book don’t you?” Tommy snapped. “I hate them, man.”

“What are you studying?” Wilbur inquired.

“Architecture.”

“Architecture is cool.”

“No, it’s fucking not.” It was not, Tommy was starting to despise it. Everything was going in one ear and out the other.

“Then why are you studying it?”

“Because of Sam,” Tommy answered. “It’s what he did— is doing. He’s finishing his degree right now.”

Sam was supposed to finish it last year, in the states. But he had stopped his year to come back to England after the crash. Tommy was about to turn sixteen. He was in his last year of secondary school and Sam was still away. It was too early in the states to call him.

“Why are you doing what your brother wants you to do?”

“It makes him happy?” Tommy answered. “He loves that shit. I’ll put up with it if he thinks I love it too. Which sucks because I can’t tell him. I can’t talk to him about it because I—I… I’m going to flunk out!” Tommy cried. “I failed a test that was supposed to save my grade. I’m so fucking screwed, Wilbur.” Tommy put his head in his hands, pinching his nose. He was absolutely fucked and he couldn’t tell Sam because he would be so disappointed. Tommy couldn’t deal with that, he couldn’t. The disappointed frown he would give him, when he realized Tommy was bad at Sam’s life passion.

They stopped. The man left, being replaced by a younger one.

“It is not your job to make him happy,” Wilbur said softly. “Besides, I am sure he would be happier knowing you were enjoying what you are doing.”

“It is my job,” Tommy hissed. “I’m the reason he came back. He came back from the states because of me. Making it easier for him is the least I can do!”

And maybe Sam would, maybe Sam would be happier knowing Tommy was succeeding at what he loved instead of failing what he hated. But that was hypothetical.

“And what is making it easier for him, Tommy?” Wilbur pushed. “Flunking out of college? Do you think that is what he wants?”

“No!” Tommy snapped. “It’s—“

Well, it was dying.

That was his cop-out. That was always going to be his cop-out.

Because it made Sams life easier. Sam wouldn’t have to worry about supporting him anymore, Sam wouldn’t have to worry. He could go back to the states. Sam wouldn’t have Tommy anchoring him down. Sam wouldn’t have to worry about Tommy.

“Tommy,” Wilbur breathed. “I do not think Sam would be happy with you dying,”

Tommy didn’t understand how Wilbur read him so easily, was Tommy really that much of an open book?

If so, why couldn’t Sam read him like that?

“It would be easier for him,” Tommy mumbled. “He would grieve, alright? He’d be sad as shit. I expect that. But he could do so much more, he could have his life back!”

“What about your life, Tommy?” Wilbur snapped. “Are you willing to throw your life away on a maybe? On what you think he wants? On what other people want? What do you want, Tommy?”

“I don’t know!” Tommy expressed.

Tommy could punch him. Wilbur was right next to him. Tommy could push him over and leave at the next stop. Tommy would run, Wilbur would call for him, maybe, and Tommy wouldn’t listen.

They stopped.

Tommy didn’t get up.

“I don’t know what I want,” Tommy repeated. “I haven’t thought about that in a while.”

That was the truth, Tommy hadn’t. Since Sam came back, he’s tried to be easy. He tried not to argue, if Sam told him to do something Tommy did it.

“I—I’m not afraid of Sam, or anything,” Tommy continued. “He would never hurt me. He has never hurt me.” He assured. Wilbur was quiet, letting Tommy speak. “That’s not what I’m afraid of. I… I basically ruined his life, ya know? He came back here for me.”

“Has he told you that?”

“No!” Tommy defended.

“Then how can you possibly know he thinks that?”

Tommy didn’t respond. Because Tommy didn’t have an answer. He had just assumed. Tommy always guessed he was right when it came to Sam.

When they stopped again, Wilbur stood up, letting Tommy out. Tommy winced, putting weight on the leg with the not fucked up knee.

Wilbur, unfortunately, took notice of it as they exited the train. “That still hurts?”

“Yeah dickhead,” Tommy hissed through his teeth. “It still fucking hurts.”

Tommy rubbed at it. He could hide his scraped up hands from Sam, he could just shove them in his pockets. That was easy. Hopefully, his knee felt better by tomorrow, Tommy didn’t know how well he could hide a limp. If Sam were to even notice it.

“Want to go see Manifold again?” Wilbur asked. Tommy was grateful for the subject change.

“Always,” Tommy grumbled. “Who else am I supposed to buy tacky pins from?”

“Well, there is a convenience store in the opposite direction if you want to—“

“No, no!” Tommy cut him off. “I’m loyal now to Mr. Manifold— I cannot betray him like that.”

“So you do not think he is overpriced anymore?”

Tommy scoffed. “Nah. His prices still suck. But it’s called being a loyal customer, Wilbur.” Tommy emphasized.

When they came to the flickering neon sign, they unceremoniously stopped.

“Any requests this time?” Tommy asked, Wilbur shook his head.

“If there are no orcas it is a solid no from me.” Wilbur expressed. Tommy huffed, pushing open the door, the familiar sound of the bell ringing over his head.

Jack was slumped over on the counter, head in a book. He glanced up tiredly at Tommy approaching.

Jack yawned. “Hey Tommy,”

Tommy looked through the pin bowl. “Ow do?” Tommy greeted.

“Fucking tired, mate,” Jack yawned again.

“You should close earlier, man,” Tommy suggested, dropping a white sheep-shaped pin on the glass counter.

“Was gonna,” Jack grumbled, taking the pounds. “was waiting for you, actually.”

Tommy stiffened, furrowing his eyebrows. Jack was waiting for him?

“Oh,” Tommy managed out. “Sorry.” He said shortly.

Jack waved him off. “Ah, don’t worry about it. See you next week.”

Tommy secured the pin in his jacket. “See ya next week.” Tommy mirrored. “Try to get some sleep Jack!” He called.

Wilbur, of course, was waiting for him. “No orca?”

Tommy stifled a laugh. “No, sorry Will,” He pointed at the new sheep pin.

Wilbur scrunched up his nose, making a noise of disgust. “Sheep smell,”

“You smell!” Tommy retorted.

“I smell like nothing, thank you,” Wilbur said.

“I bet animals hate you.” Tommy chastised , Wilbur nodding in agreement.

“They do! I freak them out.”

“You freak me out.”

“Fuck off, fucking gremlin.” Wilbur poked.

Tommy used to have two dogs— when he had to move in with Sam, the building keeper already had a no animal policy, so of course, they refused to let them bring the two large canines into the two-bedroom flat with them.

Tommy remembered begging Sam to find a different place, to look at different flats. Sam’s hands were tied and Tommy didn’t get his way.

Tommy hoped they were happy in their new homes. Because Tommy wasn’t.

When Tommy and Wilbur boarded the tube, there was no one in the back this time, thank god, Tommy thought. Tommy had nearly lost it at the man that kept giving him nasty looks last time.

There was a teenager, maybe a little older than Tommy, at the front. They didn’t spare Tommy a glance.

Wilbur sat down next to him, adjusting his glasses. “Are you going to talk to your brother?”

No, Tommy was not circling back to this. “About what?”

Wilbur sighed in exasperation. “Tommy.”

“No, I’m not talking about this again.” Tommy refused. “Next subject. Next topic. Talk about something else, Wilbur.”

“I am pretty keen on talking about this, actually,”

“No,” Tommy asserted. “I’m not.”

“What would you like to study, Tommy?” Wilbur pushed. Tommy didn’t have the energy to push back.

“Editing,” Tommy sighed. “Like, film and stuff.”

“That is definitely better than architecture,”

“I know.” Tommy expressed. “I know that, Will! And I would be doing it if I could, but I can’t—“

“Because of Sam.” Wilbur finished, Tommy clapped his hands together.

“Yep! There you go, you got it!” Tommy patronized.

They stopped. The teenager left, but an older woman boarded in their place.

“I think you should switch studies,” Wilbur suggested. Tommy slapped his forehead, he wasn’t going to drop this.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not what Sam wants.”

Wilbur sighed. “You do not have to care about what other people want all the time, Tommy.”

“I don’t give a shit about what other people want! Just Sam!” Tommy defended.

“Really?” Wilbur taunted. “It seems that is the only thing you care about, each time you talk to me. Like Tubbo and Ranboo! You think about how just you living affects others, and it makes you want to stop!”

“What’s the point then?!” Tommy cried.

“Making everyone happy all the time is an impossible task,” Wilbur said. “Sometimes you have to deal with the fact that you can not just please everyone all the time.”

“Then what can I do?” Tommy groaned— Wilbur wasn’t giving him any answers.

“Make yourself happy. Do what you wanna do. Put your foot down to him, Tommy. Hell, grow a spine.”

The train slowed. No on or off.

“And what do I do if I lose Sam because of it?” Tommy asked.

“Sam is not going to hate you for pursuing what you enjoy, Tommy.”

“He might.”

“That is purely hypothetical. I did not hate my brother for doing fencing instead of music with me.”

“I’m not your brother.”

That sounded a lot harsher than Tommy meant it to. Tommy was just stating a fact. Something that they both knew was true. A fact. They couldn’t change that. Tommy couldn’t look at Wilbur’s expression. He picked at the thread to stop himself from digging his nails into his arm.

The I wish I was, went unsaid.

Maybe in another lifetime, they could’ve been. There, Tommy would’ve followed Wilbur to the end of the world. Perhaps Wilbur would sing him the songs he talked about writing.

This was unfortunately not that timeline.

Tommy had Sam, and he loved Sam, and it was unfair to treat him otherwise.

“I— I’m sorry,” Tommy stumbled, rubbing his face. “That was mean. I… I just don’t want to disappoint him, ya know?

They stopped, again. The older woman left. Two men and a woman boarded, laughing with each other. Tommy assumed they were drunk.

“It is okay,” Wilbur assured. There was no pain in his voice. “and yeah, I know. But you are miserable, Toms.” He said. “I do not think your brother wants you to be miserable either.”

“Well,” Tommy hesitated. “I mean. There is an alternative—“

“Not that.”

“Ugh, okay.”

“Tell your brother you do not enjoy architecture, okay? Then you can tell him that you are also failing it.”

“I don’t want to do that.” Tommy groaned.

“Would you rather he find out when you are kicked out of school?” Wilbur chided.

Tommy crossed his arms, leaning back into the hard plastic. “Good point,” Tommy murmured. “If you are wrong— I’m going to rub it in your face.”

“I am never wrong,” Wilbur remarked, confidently.

“You better fucking hope. If Sam grounds me and I’m still studying architecture by next week I am going to push you into the tracks, asshole.”

“You can try,” Wilbur jokes. “I do not think you will be very effective.”

“I’ll drag you with me,”

Wilburs stop was coming. Another night was closing.

He scooted out of the seat. “Let me know how it goes,” Wilbur hummed.

“If I don’t show up I’m either dead or grounded,” Wilbur chuckled; like it was a joke. It was not.

“See you next week Tommy.”

Tommy mumbled a good-bye, watching Will leave.

Tommy opened his palms. The stinging pain had subsided, the scrapes were still visible though. Tommy checked his sneakers, making sure the laces were still tied.

His palms weren’t the issue, though. His knee was. Maybe he could avoid Sam in the morning. Tommy didn’t have any classes tomorrow— he could tag in his room until Sam left. Tommy can do that. Then, Tommy could tell him that he had fallen down the stairs when he had gone outside for a walk. That was a lie that Tommy could spin.

On some level, Tommy felt guilty lying to him. Tommy just couldn’t tell him. He wasn’t necessarily lying, just narrowly avoiding the truth. He was just not telling.

When Tommy’s stop came, the drunken group at the front was calling for him. Tommy ignored them, he did however speed walk out the doors once they were open. Tommy rushed up the stairs, he didn’t see anyone follow him, but Tommy wanted to put distance between him and them. Tommy was not getting mugged. Nope. Fourth time doing this and he hasn’t gotten jumped. Tommy was not breaking that—

Tommy’s foot slipped, missing the step by an inch. By an inch! Tommy caught himself on the railing, not before hitting his sore knee on the cement stairs.

“Mother FUCKER—“

[mhashorts]

When Our Eyes Meet

Inspired by mmajjyc’s art on TikTok.

Pairing : God Izuku Midoriya x Reincarnated Katsuki Bakugou

Prompt : God falls in love with a mortal, only to lose him. The reincarnation of his lover slowly remembers him after making eye contact with a painting.

Genre : Romance, Fantasy, Anime

Word Count : 1,550....I think.

It was a sudden visit to the museum, nothing interesting to be expected besides the random pieces of art made years ago by artists known and unknown. And some new pieces of modern art of course. Eijirou thought this trip would be a great outing, something different from the amusement parks, arcades, and movie theater. He also needed the visit so he could write the 5-page essay on specific pieces of art for his college class that was due in two days. Not like he was going to tell any one of his friends that though. Unbeknownst to him, Denki and Katsuki did know the moment Eijirou pulled out his notebook from his backpack once they stepped foot on the museum’s front steps. They just did not want to ruin the positive atmosphere.

Grumbling as the trio walks further into the museum, Katsuki separates himself from his friends but stays close from behind as they enter the Japanese God’s and Goddesses exhibition first. There were a decent amount of people examining the art and sculptures, silently speaking amongst themselves. Some even attempting to sneak a few pictures of the angels in the paintings.

Eijirou and Denki walked at a fair pace, catching glimpses of everything here and there. Coming up to a huge mural-like portrait painting, Katsuki stops in his tracks and stares up into the eyes that suddenly caught his attention. He stays fixated on this piece of art that displayed a crying angel, paying no mind to his friends who continued walking, leaving him behind.

Deciding he wanted to know more, out of pure curiosity, he calls out to Eijirou. “Oi. Shitty hair, give me the guidebook.” He demands, not sparing him a glance as his focus stayed on the painting. “I wanna know who this is.” Eijirou turns to him (as well as Denki) and brings the book up to his face, flipping through the pages.

Finding the right page, he reads it out to his friend who was ready to listen. “It’s a representation of Izuku, The God of Peace. He answered people’s prayers and was worshipped in all Japan in ancient times.” “One day he fell in love with a mortal, and he was banished from the god realm.” An image of Izuku with a huge smile flashed through Katsuki’s memory suddenly, causing him to shudder. He did not know why but it felt like déjà vu to him. Like he has experienced seeing that smile before in person.

“Legend says he is among us, trying to find the reincarnation of his long-lost lover… who remains unknown?”

Katsuki’s eyes stayed on the face of the green haired angel and his eyes widen as another memory flashes through his brain once more. This memory was vividly clear to the point a single tear fell down his cheek. He shakes his head to rid the memory, but it was no use. Then he recalls the dreams he had that he never remembered the morning after. Unable to tear his eyes away from the green ones that stared back, Katsuki jumps to the touch of his friend’s hand on his shoulder. He turns to them with teary eyes. Eijirou and Denki stand their shocked, not knowing what to do since this was the first time seeing their hardheaded friend so emotional.

“Are you okay Bakubro?” Eijirou asks, “Did I say something wrong?”

Katsuki uses his sleeve to wipe his tears and shoves his way past the two.

“Woah. I didn’t know he cried. He’s usually so kept.” Denki states, watching his friend leave the exhibit. He looks at Eijirou, “I’m worried. Should we go after him?”

It doesn’t take the red-haired friend more than two seconds to respond, “Just give him a minute. I think he needs to be by himself for a while. I’m sure he’ll message us if he goes home.”

“Okay.” The two continue their visit.

~

Katsuki makes his way out of the museum in a rush, not caring if he bumped into anyone on accident. He was somewhat thankful that his friends did not follow him out, not wanting to break down even more in front of them. He treks down the stupidly long cement set of stairs and when he finally reaches the last step, he trips over his own feet. With no way to prepare himself for impact, he closes his eyes, only for him to land in a pair of sturdy arms.

“Woah. Are you okay?” The person who caught him asks, helping him to his feet. “These stairs seem to be a little steep. There should be a sign that says, ‘watch your step’. Haha.” He jokes before pulling his hands away from Katsuki. Looking up, the two make eye contact and the memory floods back.

~Flash Back~

Izuku’s face was covered in dirty tears as he held his lover in his arms, his face buried in the ash-blonde hair that was now stained red. He screamed out to the gods, begging for forgiveness so he could heal his dying lover. Alas, the gods did not respond to his cries. He rocked his dear Katsuki, kissing his face over and over in hopes that the gods and goddesses saw his pain.

“Don’t die on me. I cannot live on this world without you. I just can’t.” He pulls him closer, “Please Kacchan. Please.”

Katsuki lets out a small cough, placing his hand on Izuku’s tear stained face. “I wish I could, but I don’t have immortality like you, my love.” He whispers, “Or else I would walk on this earth with you for eternity.”

“No. Not like this Kacchan. I won’t let you die.” “I can’t be healed, whether it be from the gods or yourself.” Izuku cries get harder, “This is all my fault. If I didn’t fall in love with you, you would be living peacefully.”

“Yet here we are.” Katsuki coughs, “It’s not your fault Deku. None of this was your fault. I fell in love with you, and nothing could come between that, not even the gods. Please, do not blame yourself.” More coughs erupt and blood falls past Katsuki’s lips.

“I’m sorry, my love.” Izuku apologizes. Katsuki uses the last of his strength to bring Izuku’s head down so their foreheads touch.

“What did I say Deku? Don’t apologize.” He grunts, “We will meet again. And when we do, I may not remember until my eyes meet yours.”

“O-of course.” The two share a final kiss and once Izuku pulls away, Katsuki’s body falls limp.

“Got damn you!” He shouts up at the sky, crying harder. “I did nothing wrong but fall in love with someone who had a heart! You all would do the same if you were in my place. You let me keep my immortality but at what cost. To see my suffering for falling in love!”

He looks down at Katsuki’s body once more, “When our eyes meet. I’ll see you again Kacchan.”

~End of Flashback~

Reality sets back in and Katsuki is in shock. He does not break away and looks deeper into the familiar green eyes. “Deku?”

Izuku, equally shocked, slowly starts breaking out into tears. “Kacchan? Is that you?”

Engulfing Katsuki into a hug, he brings his hands to the ash-blonde hair. Soft and spikey, same as before. He pulls away for a second, examining the face he dreamed about every night. The lips he remembered kissing. The eyes he stared into for hours on end. “Please tell me you remember me.”

Katsuki smiles back, “I do. It’s cloudy but I do my Deku.”

“Yes. I’m your Deku.” He laughs through the tears, hugging his lover again. “It’s been so long Kacchan. I almost lost hope.”

“Like I said, I may not remember until my eyes meet yours.”

They make eye contact again and finally, after decades of their souls being separated, they share a kiss. A spark flows through the two of them, rekindling the fire that has been waiting to be ignited once again.

They can finally live in peace.

~

At the top of the stairs, Denki and Eijirou fist bump. “Our job is done. Great work partner.”

“Do you think we should tell them that the Goddess of Love sent us?” Denki asks.

“Nah. I think they’ll be better off knowing that the gods regret their decision to banish him. Plus, Midoriya is no longer immortal.” They look at Izuku, smiling when they see he is finally at peace and can rest after decades of searching. “It seems like he already knows that.”

“And I don’t want to know what Bakugo would do to us if he finds out we knew about this this whole time. We might be the goddess’s helpers; we can still get hurt.” Denki nods rapidly in agreement.

The two watch on as the lovers walk away, holding each other close as they disappear into the crowd. “We are good friends.”

“THEY DID WHAT, DEKU??!!!” Katsuki shouts, running back towards the museum with Izuku right behind him.

“Hey. Do you still have that essay to write?”

“Yup. Wanna go back to the apartment and help me finish it?”

“Yup.” With that, the two book it.

“KACCHAN. THEY DID IT FOR US! DON’T HURT THEM!”

“THEY’RE DEAD.”

The End.....

So, it is the end of the short story I promised. It took me 4 hours to write since I wanted it to be perfect. I tried to input as much detail as possible get make it short. I cried at the flashback part. I also didn’t know if I wanted to do parts but it took me some thinking and I just decided with this. I also added a little funny ending for my pleasure since it’s what I do in my regular writings.

I hope y’all enjoyed it! Let me know if you did!

Also, thanks to mmajjyc for allowing me to write a short story of the duo! You art is beautiful and inspired me to write this since there wasn’t gonna be a part two. Lol! You are amazing!

Thanks again! Much Love - Maia❤️

[thisisthehardestthing]

This Is The Hardest Thing - 3

CHAPTER 3

Synopsis: A exchange student from the US in enrolled into UA when her father has to move to help with the increased crime rates in Japan. The final year of high school is a lot to handle, adding on top the class of 3-A and the trouble they get into will make for a wild ride.

Triggers: eating disorder mention, swearing

A/N: I have figured out who I’m going to make her get together with eventually, hehehe

Tags: @aizawascumslut @whats-her-quirk

Masterlist

CHAPTER 3

There was a chill in the air. The crescent moon was long and thin, scooping upwards as if to carry the rest of its’ weight up as it rose in the dark sky. The white light reflecting off was scarce, and it seemed as though it would crack in two at any moment, a black egg leaking into the sky. A Hero was on patrol.

He was scouting for a broker that went by the name Giran. A black market salesman who had gone into hiding after the first public fight the League of Villains had thrown themselves into. He’d barely made it out alive then, but his connections were still strong.

Endeavor had gotten intel from a hero with a bird’s eye view on the city that he’d spotted Giran multiple times a month in this exact park. Soil was tasked with doing a reconnaissance mission. He’d been in the park every night for the past week and this was the start of the second. Giran was not spotted any of those evenings, however tonight felt different.

For three hours, Soil had been sitting underneath a tree in the center of the park, bare feet buried in the ground, palms pressing flat against the soft grass. He was feeling for vibrations, disregarding everything that was not human or did not have two feet. This was work he could’ve done in his sleep. He let his mind wander. He thought about his daughter who would’ve had her first day of the new school. Then he frowned, realizing he never got any kind of message from her. His large, muscular back leant against the solid tree trunk and it’s dense hum calmed his worry.

She’s alright, he reminded himself. Rei had basically been taking care of herself since her mom left and he was always on duty. He could feel birds rustling about in their nest above his head before settling down again.

It was around 2:00 am when Soil first noticed something strange. Dull thuds of footsteps began to tickle his toes. They came in waves, left foot, right foot, tap-tap-tapping along the soles of his feet and up into his palms. He sunk his hands under the ground to find out more. Moderate height, neither over-nor-underweight. The right foot was slapping against the grass as though it was a wet fish. The injury that had left him almost captured. It was Giran.

“Alrighty then,” Soil sighed as he pushed himself up to standing. He focused on the direction Giran was walking in, where the footsteps were coming from, and started making his way there quietly. Soil’s quirk let him become one with the earth. His pursuit was silent, efficient, and he found himself trailing a few meters behind the perpetrator within minutes.

Giran was shuffling at a fast pace. His right foot slapped against the dirt road of the park as he made his way to an underground pass that would lead to the street. His purple suit that was usually neatly pressed looked a little worse for wear, and he fumbled in his left pocket for his pack of cigarettes and a lighter in the shape of a small gun. He stopped at the entrance of the tunnel to place one in his lips but before he could start a flame, he found himself encased in dirt and pressed against the damp cement wall.

The black soil was packed densely around Giran’s entire body, leaving only his head and neck to show. The cigarette dangled on his bottom lip, and he shut his mouth to keep it from falling. He couldn’t afford to waste any. His eyes were wide and on alert, darting around. Without his hand, he wouldn’t be able to use his quirk and get away.

Soil walked out of the shadows, striding up in front of the trapped man. His arms, thick as tree trunks, crossed in front of a broad chest. Caramel coloured skin took on a darker shade under the solitary lamp outside the entrance of the tunnel. Giran’s eyebrows shot up, a smile started tugging at the corners of his chapped lips.

“Soil, wow, long time no see. What’s it been? Twenty years?” Giran mused, the cigarette now in the corner of his mouth. His stained teeth glinted yellow, a dark gap where the one was missing was as empty as his words. “You’re looking good. Older. But good. I thought you were in America.”

“Giran,” Soil greeted, towering over the man, taking the now limp cigarette from his lips and throwing it to the ground. Giran’s face fell as his eyes followed the cast away butt. One of the few things in life he was still able to enjoy. “Those things’ll kill you.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

“So I see.”

The two stared at each other in the dark, tensions high. Giran was running through scenarios of escape in his mind, gears turning furiously. He knew this day would come when he would finally be locked away for good. He’d crossed too many lines. He was a villain through and through, but the black market is different that the crowd he’d gotten into bed with a mere three years prior. Soil’s eyes darkened as he took in the man’s weakened form.

“I have a message you need to deliver to Shigaraki.” Giran’s eyebrows raised up once more, a smile wanting to take over his face.

“Oh?” This meant he would not be taken tonight.

“Tell him I’m here and I’m waiting.” Soil took a few steps backwards as the dirt covering Giran’s body started to crumble away, making him fall to the floor. His right foot unsteady in holding him up. “He can’t hide in the shadows again, not anymore. Not while I’m here searching and can feel everything.”

“Uh, sure. I’ll tell him.” Giran was dusting off some of the dirt from his suit. His eyes never left Soil’s face, searching for something, any other information. Shigaraki would not take this threat well.

Soil watched as Giran limped as fast as he could to the other end of the tunnel, not taking his gaze off the man until he rounded a corner at the end. He took out his phone from his utility belt and click Endeavor’s speed dial. The number 1 Hero answered immediately. He hadn’t been asleep, he no longer could.

“And?”

“I found him.” Soil’s eyes glazed over as he was following the man’s footsteps through the ground, imprinting the path to memory. “I estimate we have a week.”

*****************************

The morning sun was pale through the translucent curtains. It filtered into your bedroom, casting shadows all over. The night had been rough. Combining rage along with jet lag was the worst catalyst of poor sleep and nightmares. You checked the phone that was charging next to you: 6:30 am and no new notifications. Cursing yourself, you forgot to connect to wifi. There was no will to do it now however. No one from your old home would be messaging you and you could hold off talking to your dad for a little while longer.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you caught the your reflection in the mirror attached to the closet. Messy hair, bags under your eyes, the tops of your thighs rubbed each other as you stood. Then, you did something you hadn’t done in years. You reached behind with your hands and grabbed the back of your thighs, pulling it tight. You sighed, closing your eyes and letting the skin go. A nagging feel crawled its way under your skin and into your bones.

When you came down the stairs, there was a collective of groans and tired eyes. The smell of coffee clung to the air and a few people were scrambling eggs. You were dressed in gym clothes. Running shorts sat snugly on your hips, showing off toned thighs, and you had an oversized t-shirt on over a sports bra. Everything was black. This was one of the few moments where you wore sneakers to work out in. Your school uniform was neatly rolled up in the backpack you were carrying, tight against your back.

“Good morning,” you greeted with a wave and a smile, this mornings mood plastered over like drywall covering a hole. Jirou and Kaminari lifted their heads resting on their hands sluggishly. Your small altercation with Bakugou from last night must’ve actually woken everyone up as Todoroki said.

“So tired.” They groaned at the same time. You smiled apologetically. You caught Shoto’s eye. He had a cup of coffee, iced and with a straw, in his one hand and he was reading a book at the table, and he just sent you a small nod before his eyes drifted back to the pages.

“Breakfast?” Momo called from the stove top. She had the frying pan hovering over a few plates, toast sprung up next to her; crispy, brown and inviting.

“Oh, no thanks! I’ll get some later, after my run.” You straightened the waistband of your shorts before heading to the door of the shared accommodation. It opened right as you stood in front of it, swinging centimeters in front of your face and Bakugou almost walked into you.

“Oi, watch where you’re fucking going.” He stated, glaring down at you. His hair was sweaty and plastered to his forehead. It seemed like the both of you had the same idea, only he did it first.

“Whatever,” you dismissed, stepping around him quickly and running off. Your temper from last night had simmered down.

His voice rang in your head, the implications behind the words loud like sirens. So you took off at a hard pace, your stiff muscles creaking. You had stretched in your bedroom before leaving the house, but the quick movement was still a shock. You shook your head to get the statement out of your mind. You would not allow yourself to fall back into that trap.

“My body is perfect the way it is.” You repeated to yourself, a mantra you picked up three years ago at 15, when you’d realized just how bad of a state you had let yourself fall into. You picked up the pace, heading around the house and toward the high sandstone coloured walls of the school, imagining the pounding of your steps pound the insult out of your body.

It was an hour later when you decided you were finally done. Your legs were shaky from the overexertion so early in the morning and you made your way to the changing rooms of the sports field and gym of yesterday. You didn’t want to bump into anyone back in the house, not before they all had some coffee and got into higher spirits. You were sure that the spat you and Bakugou had would be what they wanted to talk about.

Sweat-free and dressed, you were walking up the stairs to the third floor, ready to start your second day. There was around 20 minutes before homeroom so you took your time, your legs were still recovering from the brutal morning jog and your stomach panged of hunger. Heavy. I’m beautiful.

It was while you were deep in thought trying to remember when exactly was the last time you ate, that you walked right into something. Or someone.

“Oof,” you banged into someone’s forehead, stumbling backwards a little. A hand shot out to your right shoulder to steady you. “Sorry, are you okay?” You pressed your palm to the sore spot, wincing and looking to see how the other person fared. He was lightly tapping a few fingers to his own forehead, but his eye’s were watching you, amused, even though his mouth was a hard line. His hand moved up to run through his hair. It was a thick mess of purple, standing upright as if they were flames. The weight of his left hand was heavy on you, as if pinning you in place.

“It’s alright…” He trailed off, lilac iris’s scanning your face. He was slouched over, his posture making it so that you were eye level. “Have I met you before?” The scowl turned into a lazy grin as you blushed. His gaze was penetrating, like a spear smashing through a shield with precision.

“I transferred here yesterday.” Your fingertips moved to curl around a lock of hair instinctively. He had the faintest dark circles underneath his eyes and you briefly wondered if a bad nights sleep was the norm around here. His hand was burning a hole through your clothes, body heat radiating into your shoulder.

“Thought so. I would’ve remembered you.” His voice was low, gruff and sent shivers down your spine. The hand that steadied you dusted off some lint on your shoulder before putting it into his pants pocket and straightening up to his full height. “Hitoshi Shinsou, Hero course 3-B.” He seemed familiar, and yet you could not place him anywhere.

“Nice to meet you,” You were about to introduce yourself when over his shoulder you could see a certain spiky duo walking on the other side of the hallway. Your smile fell when Bakugou’s stare caught your eyes. The permanent frown was plastered on his face, cheeks puffed out with a pout and he turned into the classroom. Hitoshi turned his head to follow your gaze and rolled his eyes. Kirishima waved at you just before he followed behind.

“You in the hero course too?” He asked, eyebrow raised as he connected the dots. “Figures they get the luck of studying with you. Oh well, I’ll see you around,” He adjusted the strap of his backpack before giving you a smirk.

You lifted your hand to say bye as he passed by you and into the class room that was right next door. His voice still reverberated in your ears, warmth spreading down your spine.

When you entered your own class, you were shocked by how full it already was. Everyone seemed to be in a better mood even though their eyes were still tired. Mina waved at you with a smile, shouting out a good morning. It was upsetting that she sat on the opposite end of the classroom. You beamed back, welcoming the positive energy with wide arms. Until you saw your empty desk right in front of Bakugou.

You groaned inwardly but walked up to it anyway. Jesus fucking All Might Christ, you’re not a child, you chided yourself. Your dad would be furious to know that you were thinking of avoiding someone instead of making amends. Before you sat down, you pulled your skirt a little lower to cover some more of your thigh. Even though he was completely ignoring you, his words echoed in the back of your mind. You felt hollow inside.

As if reading your mind, a protein bar slid onto your table, plain vanilla. You looked up the see Todoroki standing there, tie neatly done up and the smallest smile you had ever seen on his lips. You remembered the fact that he was there last night, and in the morning when you refused breakfast. The realization that he had noticed just the smallest detail like that fueled the hunger you were suppressing.

“You skipped breakfast.” He stated, before turning around to walk back to his seat. You heard Bakugou shift his chair but you ignored the urge to turn around and look.

“Thanks,” you called after him, holding it up to see you opening it.

It took you less than a minute to devour the sweet tasting bar. You bit your lip to hold in a moan, earning a strange sideways look from Jirou that was sitting to your right. Why the fuck did you let that stupid word get in the way of the happiness that food provides? You smoothed the empty wrapper on your desk to take a look at the branding (endorsed by Mount Lady) and the nutrition contents, before crumbling it in your fist and stuffing it in the backpack under your chair.

Aizawa slid into the classroom, the exact same time that the bell rang, looking worse than everyone in the class inside his zipped up yellow sleeping bag. When he was in his usual spot in the corner, he started roll-call.

First up was a mathematic’s class and you tried to pay as much attention as possible. Tried. Your Japanese was not the best, so if you stopped listening, it was hard for you to catch back up again. Ectoplasm was leading everyone through the first chapter and you felt your gaze wander left and over to the window, your chin on the palm of your hand as your head turned to see the bright blue afternoon sky clash with the green of the forest in the distance. It made you wonder how your father was doing, how their search was coming along.

Ectoplasm suddenly split in two, causing your attention to snap back to him. Momo raised her hand up alarmingly fast, beating out Iida to answer the question by half a second. You slumped down in your chair, back scraping against the wood. Fuck, you thought.

It was that awkward few minutes between teachers switching classes when you found yourself thinking about Shinsou. If you concentrated hard enough, you swore you could still feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder. You could still see the way his eyes seemed tired, yet stared intently in your own. Absentmindedly, you let your head lean back on the top of your chair as you slouched down. The phone in your pocket bouncing against the chair when you moved, reminding you of the fact that you still haven’t checked it. So, you pulled it out and connected to the wifi.

The notifications rolled in, most from your dad, a few from your mom, both were just checking in on you. A couple missed calls, you made a note to call back your dad during lunch with someones phone. There were empty comments of ‘enjoy your new adventure’ from your old classmates underneath the last image posted on social media.  You let out an exhale and closed your eyes, phone slipping back in your skirt pocket.

You brought your hands up to ruffle your hair at the crown of your head and you all of a sudden bounced up. The seat rattled with force as someone had kicked the bottom of it. Your ass lifted off and fell back down with a hard thud, your heart jumped into your throat. Bewildered, your fingers tips gripped the edge of the chair and you pushed yourself to sit upright, body turning to look at the blonde boy behind you. He was smiling. The kind that knew he’d almost given you a heart attack and relished in it.

“Your shitty hair was on my desk.” Bakugou’s eyes were mischievous, like a little boy that had secretly opened his presents too early. You shut your open mouth and tried to get your shock under control.

“You could’ve just asked me to move.” You retorted, tucking your hair over your shoulders before turning back to the front as Present Mic stepped into the room for the English lesson. You felt your fingertips tingle as last night flashed through your brain. The hum of your quirk revved it’s motors and you gritted your teeth against the feeling.

“Well, we’ve got unfinished business so talking to you first is not a priority of mine.”

You turned your head to look back at him over your shoulder. Involuntarily, you scanned the way his desk was laid out; the colour of his pencil, what hand they rested in, notebook angled slightly to the left. “We’re talking now, Bakugou.” You pointed out. His curse died in his throat when Mic called to everyone, starting the class effectively and shutting down any kind of fight that might start between the two of you.

This was a class you could relax in. Listening to Present Mic speaking English left you a little homesick, he had the same accent your father had when he would go on one of his rants at the end of the day. Bakugou’s ‘unfinished business’ statement echoed in your head. He was right, and if he thought you would back down from the challenge, then he was to be sorely surprised.

You pictured his desk, eyes glazing over as you stared at a blank spot on the chalkboard in front, hands pressing onto the top of your own. The vibrations you could feel was from your dad’s quirk, but this visualization when your feet were blocked off was from your mother’s.

Bakugou shouted from behind you as his notebook shifted, almost falling off the edge of the desk. Present Mic called him out, asking if everything was fine, confusion on his face as he regarded the hot-tempered student.

“Fingers slipped, damn it.” He snapped. Mic nodded and turned back around to write on the board.

Bakugou didn’t know what happened. He had a feeling it was you, but you didn’t move a muscle, where as last night you had used your hands to move the objects. So, he chalked it up to his sweaty palms losing grip and pushing the book involuntarily.

The rush of relief that spread through your body almost made you giddy. You felt as though you were a dam of unused energy, the water barely trickling through and you wanted more. The rational part of you reminded you that you couldn’t do anything obvious to mess with Bakugou, but oh the temptation was like a wildfire.

Now that you didn’t know exactly how the book was placed on the desk, you couldn’t move it again and you didn’t want to look back. So you began doing smaller things, playing with his psyche. The eraser he had placed at the top of his desk, was suddenly on the right edge. The zip of his pencil case that was closed, seemed to be open when he looked again. Each time your quirk activated, it was as though you were a starving dog being fed A-grade steak. The hunger of doing more increased, it wanted to be satiated.

Halfway through the lesson, your body decided to act on it’s own, succumbing to the itch. The pencil in his hand began to move. It was so strong that his fingers just followed along with it. Bakugou’s eyebrows shot up, looking at what was being etched into his notebook, overlapping the neat words he’d written down to study later.

It started with two circles, then a long line moving away before curving right back down. A dick was staring back at him as he fumed. It definitely was you this time. His grip around the pencil tightened, and you felt it vibrate through your fingertips, before it snapped in half, breaking the connection, effectively snapping you out of your trance.

Oh shit. Was the last thing that went through your mind, and you turned around to face him when a palm flew out and nicked your chin, catching you off guard and pushing you off your chair.

*****************

Thanks for reading!

[impala-dreamer]

Sleeping Beauty

SPN FanFic

~Sometimes it takes a curse for magic to really happen.~

Sam x Reader, Dean

2,605 Words

Warnings; Fluffy McFluff-Fluff, Tiny bit o'Angst, Show level everything. Case, Curse, Ending. ;)

A/N: I just woke up with this in my head ... idk where it came from. Hope you enjoy!

Feedback is Gold ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

Cheryl hoisted her giant purse over her left shoulder and attempted to balance the two overstuffed paper shopping bags in both arms. She barely had the leverage to shut the trunk but she managed.

"Phil!"

She called her husband as she rushed to the back door, narrowly avoiding tripping over the garden hose he had once again neglected to coil and put away.

"Phil!"

She kicked the door twice and waited for assistance, but there was no answer. The carton of eggs precariously perched atop the fuller bag almost took a nose dive onto cracked cement steps as she rolled her eyes and opened the door herself.

"I swear to god, if he's watching football while I'm out here struggling-" Cheryl mumbled to herself, stopping short as the back door refused to budge. It opened a quarter of the way and then stopped, held back by something heavy on the floor.

“Phil! Goddamnit!”

Giving up, Cheryl put down the grocery bags and dropped her purse on the second step. She pushed as she called her husband again, shoving at the door with her shoulder. It moved another few inches, the old wood creaking in protest at the weight against it, but it was enough for Cheryl to slip inside.

Next door, Rodney Miller was just sitting down for his nightly after dinner tea and coffee cake consumption when a scream hit his ears. He lifted his eyes to the window, the one facing the Lapinski’s house. His neighbor screamed again, but Rodney chose to ignore it with a heavy sigh and focus on his desert. They were always yelling at each other anyway, causing a ruckus in the quiet neighborhood; why would tonight be any different?

“Latest victims, Mr. and Mrs. Lapinski, found unresponsive in their kitchen two nights ago.” Sam spoke but did not look up from his phone, still scanning the police reports.

“Bummer,” Dean said cooly, right hand casually slung on the bottom of the steering wheel. He shifted in his seat and rolled down the window a bit more, enjoying the cool autumn breeze. “Man, this is nice.”

Sam startled, finally looking up with a hard glare of disbelief. “Nice?” he scoffed. “Dean, four people have fallen into mysterious comas in the last two weeks. They are basically brain dead and there’s no explanation or cure. How is that nice?”

Y/N grinned to herself in the backseat and closed her eyes as the wind from Dean's window struck her in the face. She took a deep breath and relaxed against the door.

"I'm not saying the comas are nice. Jesus, Sam."

“You just said-” He stopped himself and looked back at Y/N, hoping for some backup. She merely shrugged and held in a laugh. “Thanks for your help,” Sam sighed, turning back to his phone.

Y/N let out the laugh. “I think I know enough not to get in between brotherly banter.”

Dean chuckled to himself and nodded while Sam turned to eye her over his shoulder. He was annoyed but couldn’t help the smile that took over his pink lips. She was just too pretty when she laughed, too enticing when she was happy; all the time, really.

When her eyes met his, Sam turned away, blushing hard and hoping that his hair would hide it. Dean caught a glimpse of the moment from the corner of his eye and shook his head. The two were always dancing around each other in some strange game of waiting for the other to catch up. Dean couldn’t understand why neither realized they were both on the exact same footing.

“So, there’s no signs of trauma or anything like that?” Sam asked the doctor, his hazel eyes focused and concerned under a curtain of long hair.

The short man sighed. “Blood work came back fine, too. They just...went to sleep and can’t wake up. It makes no sense.”

Y/N looked back at Mr. Lapinski lying in bed. “Looks kind of peaceful. I could use a nap.”

Sam cleared his throat angrily and the doctor gave her a suspicious look.

“Agents, if that’s all, I do have other patients.”

Sam nodded and Y/N smiled apologetically.

“Yes, thank you for your time, Dr. Williams,” she said, walking with him to the door. As soon as he was gone, Sam hissed at her.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Y/N’s eyes went wide with innocence. “What? Your girl is exhausted. We’ve been on the road for over three weeks without a break. I’m tired.”

Sam softened a bit and licked his lips. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. Dean...he just needs to keep busy right now. After everything he went through-”

“I’d think he needed a nap, too!” Y/N interjected, trying to get Sam to smile. “Oh, come on, dude. Gimme a chuckle at least. Something!”

Sam tipped his head and sighed. “We have a case, Y/N.”

She looked around the room in sarcastic shock. “No...really?”

He glared down at her. “Y/N…”

She scrunched up her nose at him. “Sam…”

He couldn’t help but smile.

“There it is!” she cheered quietly and reached up to pinch his cheek. “I knew you had some smiles in you. Now… let’s get out of here; Mr. Lap-whatever is freaking me out.”

The house wasn’t impressive in any way, just a house, on a street, like a million others.

Y/N and the Winchesters made their way inside, easily opening the door and slipping past the police tape. There was no one home, nor would there be for a long while, so they were in no rush and didn’t bother sneaking around.

Dean went upstairs and Sam took the basement, leaving Y/N to investigate the first floor on her own. To dispel any anxiety of being in a potentially dangerous house, Y/N flipped on any light she came across and kept her gun on the ready.

Living room, dining room, hallway, and something that looked like an office were all clear. No signs of EMF or anything obvious. There were no hex bags that Y/N could see, no sulfur or ectoplasm; nothing jumped out at her.

The kitchen was newly renovated and smelled like lemons. A bank of oak cabinets sat to Y/N’s left with sunk in black appliances and a large granite island took up the center of the room. The counters were tidy and the fixtures clean. Again, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Ready to give up, Y/N slumped over the island counter, leaning down to take a little break and think. To her right was the back door where the police had found the tragically sleepy husband and wife, and Y/N stared at the floor, trying to puzzle together some stroke of genius to hit the guys with.

Nothing came to her. Not a single idea.

“Well, shit.”

Y/N pushed up from the island and grabbed her EMF reader, ready to move on, maybe go help Sam. As she turned, a bowl of fake fruit by the sink caught her attention.

“Oh… maybe a hex bag hiding place?” she thought aloud, making her way towards it.

Glass grapes, a ceramic banana, and a brass apple all sat nicely arranged in a milk glass bowl. Y/N picked up the apple to look beneath it, but the bowl was shallow and there was nothing hiding.

“Damnit.”

Y/N sighed in defeat and put the apple back, deciding to go find Sam. The door to the basement was in the hallway behind her, so Y/N spun on her heel and aimed herself that way.

Coming out of the spin was like coming off of a tilt-a-whirl. Y/N blinked wildly as her vision blurred for a moment. She shook it off and kept going, figuring she was more in need of that nap than she thought.

“Tonight,” she told herself. “Tonight, you’re gonna use that tub in the motel room no matter how grimey it looks. A bath and a beer and then goodnight, Y/N.”

“Talking to yourself again?”

Y/N looked up to see Sam coming up from the basement, ducking his head as he stepped out of the short doorframe.

“No,” she scoffed, turning her lip at him. “Maybe.”

Sam smiled and shut the door behind him. “Don’t worry,” he told her in a whisper, “I think it’s cute.”

“Sam…” She bit her lip and smiled up at him. “Do you think-” She meant to flirt, to say something teasingly adorable, but a yawn came out of nowhere, tickling the back of her throat until she had no choice but to give in to it. “Damn, I’m sorry.”

“All good.” Sam paused for a moment as if he wanted to say more, but gave up as Y/N yawned again. “Wow, you really do need a nap.”

“I told you!” she laughed. “OK, look, first floor is clean from what I can see. Anything lurking downstairs?”

“Cellar is clear,” he reported.

“Cellar? Who says cellar?” Y/N rubbed at her eyes as they began to water.  

“Are you OK?” he asked, watching her mouth open with a yawn for the third time.

“What?” She blinked up at him, suddenly very warm and groggy. “Yeah, I’m- I’m fine. Let’s keep moving.”

Sam nodded and lead the way, trekking down the hallway back towards the front door. Y/N followed closely behind, but soon her feet began to drag, limbs feeling heavier with each step.

Y/N shook it off. “So...do we know what we're looking for exactly?” She asked, watching Sam stick his head into a coat closet that she’d already been through.

His voice was muffled by jackets. “My guess is a cursed object, which seems easy but how many objects are in a single house, ya know?”

“Mhm.” Y/N could feel herself fading. Every exhale made her more sleepy, more warm and happy. “I think you might be right,” she murmured behind a long yawn that made her eyes close and her head roll. “Oh...shit.” The apple. “Um... Sam?”

He turned in time to see her sway on her feet and slam into the wall as she fell.

“Y/N!” He rushed back to her, scooping her up from the floor. “Hey! Y/N!” Panic rushed through his system and Sam slapped her cheek, waking her back up. “What did you do?”

She stared up at him, lips moving slowly but unable to speak. “I…”

Sam shook her shoulder but it was no good, the curse was taking hold. “Y/N, stay with me. Dean!”

“Apples,” she whispered with a dreamy smile. “The apple.”

Sam strained his neck to look up the stairs, yelling for his brother once more. “Dean!”

“It’s a apple, Sam…” Y/N reached up a stiff arm and stroked the tip of his nose. “I like this.”

Sam looked down at her, frantic and confused. “Like what? Hey, hey, come on, stay awake!” He propped her against the wall, a giant hand on her chest to keep her there. “Dean!”

“Your nose, silly,” she laughed, head lolling from side to side. It felt so nice to be sitting down. Maybe if she laid down it would feel even better.

“No. No, stay up, Y/N, come on.”

“What the fuck!” Dean appeared on the bottom step, eyes growing huge as he saw Y/N half asleep on the floor next to Sam. “What happened!”

Sam struggled to explain. “She touched something in the kitchen. I don’t know!”

“Snow White,” Y/N whispered, fingers curling around Sam’s shirt. “I’m Snow White.” The urge to close her eyes was fierce and they rolled up into her skull.

“Damnit, Y/N!” Sam shook her again and her eyes popped back open. “Stay awake.”

Dean leaned down. “Did she say ‘Snow White’?” he asked, bringing Sam back into the severity of their situation.

Sam gasped. “Apple! She said she found an apple in the kitchen, that’s gotta be it.” He almost stood up but Y/N’s head fell against his shoulder and he lost it. “Hurry, Dean!”

Sam cupped her cheek and held her close, trying to keep her awake while Dean rushed to the kitchen.

“Sam…” Y/N felt strangely great. She knew it was bad, knew that if she went to sleep she’d never wake up, but it felt so good to fall limply against Sam’s strong chest. “I…I’m tired.”

“No, Y/N, stay awake, OK?” He scrunched down to hold her face in his hands, shifting her this way and that to get her to focus.

Dean hollered from the kitchen, his voice echoing outwards as he slammed through the empty room. “I think I found it!”

Sam sighed in relief, pressing his forehead against Y/N’s in a moment of hopefulness. “Great! So burn it!”

Dean’s reply was less hopeful and more cringeworthy. “This...thing’s like solid brass or something. May take awhile.”

Sam turned towards the kitchen, screaming down the hall. “We don't have a while!”

Y/N stirred in his arms, still fighting to keep her eyes open despite the euphoric lure of sleep. “It’s OK, Sam,” she slurred. “Imma sleep now.”

“No, Y/N!” He shook her shoulder. “You cannot fall asleep. Please. Dean, hurry!”

She breathed deeply and let her body sink, shoulders relaxing, lips falling slack. Her lashes fluttered as her eyes fell closed, and Y/N smiled at Sam, the boy she’d loved for so long but only in silence.

“I’m gonna save you, Y/N,” he said sadly, tears filling his kaleidoscope eyes. “I promise.”

Her lips curled into a precious smile as sleep dug it’s final claw into her. She sighed and let go, whispering with her last waking breath. “True... kiss.”

Sam watched her fall, tears waiting to spill as she went limp, eyes finally closed and refusing to open again. Her breath was slow and deep, her skin warm, lips parted and slack. She was gone.

“Y/N, no…” He touched her cheek, fingers pressing into her soft flesh. He shook her gently but there was no response, only movement coming from a few strands of hair that fell forward onto her face. Sam brushed it back carefully and stared down at her beautiful mouth, regretting every word he’d never said, every move he’d never made.

And then it clicked.

“True Love’s Kiss…”

He knew it was a long shot but they’d seen stranger. Taking a deep breath and finding every ounce of courage inside him, Sam closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Y/N’s, forcing all of his feelings into his kiss and hopefully, into her. If his desire for Y/N, his love for her wasn’t enough to break the curse, he didn’t know what he’d do.

Like a fairytale, Y/N stirred beneath him, sucking in a deep breath as Sam broke away.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, watching in shock as she woke up. “Y/N?”

“Hey, Sam,” she said softly, still sloppy with sleepy.

“Oh, thank God!”

His rejoicing was cut short as Y/N reached a hand up around his neck and pulled him down, locking her lips to his. The kiss was deep and perfect, and Sam wrapped his arms tightly around her.

“Hey, guys, I got it,” Dean announced, walking out of the kitchen with a half melted apple paperweight in his hand. He stopped in the archway and looked down the hall at the two love birds locked in a kiss. “Huh,” he laughed to himself, “took you long enough."

2019 Forever Tags:

@akshi8278​ @amanda-teaches​ @arses21434​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @because-imma-lady-assface​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @colagirl5​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @cosmicfire72​ @courtney-elizabeth-winchester​ @covered-byroses​ @crashdevlin​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @deansenwackles​ @deansgirl215​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​​   @dolphincliffs​ @dubuforeveralone​ @emilyshurley​ @emoryhemsworth​ @ericaprice2008​ @eternal-elir​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @flamencodiva​ @focusonspn​ @gayspacenerd​ @hella-aj-the-trickers-son @herbologystudent252​ @hobby27​ @ilsawasanacrobat​ @justcallmeasmodeus​​ @katymacsupernatural​ @lastactiontricia​ @maddiepants​ @mariekoukie6661​ @meganwinchester1999​ @missjenniferb​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @mysticmaxie​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @our-jensen-ackles-love​ @peridot-rose @pisces-cutie​ @risingphoenix761​ @roonyxx​ @roxyspearing​ @sandlee44​ @shadowkat-83​ @spnbaby-67​ @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​ @spnficgirl​ @supernaturaldean67​ @supernatural-took-me-over​ @thehardcoveraddict​ @tmiships4life​ @wegoddessofhell​ @winchesterprincessbride​

[duker42]

Part 1 Can I get a highschool into college au. Levi and reader are best friends. Unfortunately reader lives with an abusive father. Levi lives with kenny. Kenny's an asshole but not as much as the manga. More tough love. Levi has no idea about the abuse, shes really good at hiding it, but kenny has noticed the bruises on her and he knows the kind of man the father is. He starts subtly asking levi about her maybe saying he should invite her to dinner disguising it as teasing for him liking her.

Kenny as a decent guy! Yay!!!! 😆😆😆

💜Family Matters💜

“Hey brat! I’m home! Where are you?” Levi winced as he heard the loud voice of his uncle call from downstairs as the door opened.

Y/N laughed at the pained look Levi gave every time his uncle came home from work. Never failed, every day he made that same expression. “He’s not that bad, Levi.” She chided as she rolled over on his bed and looked at him upside down from where he was sitting at his desk.

“Try living with him.” Levi muttered under his breath as he rolled his eyes. He turned towards the door to his bedroom as they both heard feet pound up the stairs.

“Not interrupting anything am I?” Levi’s uncle swung the door opened with a saucy grin. He was a tall thin man, his grey eyes a shade lighter than his nephew’s and had brown hair and a goatee where Levi had jet back hair and was always shaved smooth.

Levi rolled his eyes even harder and threw the pen in his hand at the older man. “Yep, caught us fucking.” He deadpanned.

“Ha! Like you have the balls to put the moves on a girl, runt!” Levi seethed at the comment, but Kenny rolled on like he hadn’t insulted him. “Dinner’ll be ready in about an hour.”

Kenny paused and glanced at Y/N. His nephew’s best friend was wearing long sleeves today. With shorts. Damnit. “Y/N, you’re staying too, right? Don’t leave me alone with this brat to suffer through his sullen scowls during dinner. I’d rather have him moon over you.”

Y/N grinned as Levi’s face turned bright red, Kenny loved to wind him up. “Sure Uncle K, I’ll stay.”

Kenny gave a nod and closed the door behind him, giving a muffled yell about wrapping it as he thundered down the stairs again.

Levi shook his head as he ground out “That man in a menace.”

Y/N threw a pillow at Levi and dodged it when he tried to smash it in her face. “Stop! Levi! Stop!” She said laughing as he gave her a fiendish grin while bopping her continuously on the head.

~~~~~

Kenny sat back and watched Levi and Y/N joke around with each other as they ate. He nursed the beer he had opened as he glanced at the girl that his dumb nephew still hadn’t worked out that he was completely in love with. She was being abused, he could feel it in his gut.

He knew Y/N’s dad, never really talking much with the man but he had heard things about him. He seemed to get off on bullying those that were under his care. If his hunch was correct, he was abusing the wonderful girl that sitting at his table right now. And that was something that made Kenny sick.

Sure he might be tough on Levi, but it was always to push the kid harder, make him believe that he could become more than what Kenny was, more than what Kuchel had become before her death. He ragged on the boy, probably teased him a bit more than what was healthy, but he had grown a thick skin and sharp wit, something he would need in the real world.

“So Levi, I sent in the check for your tuition today. Don’t make me regret wasting that money on you.” Kenny said, making Levi look towards him.

“Whatever old man, I’m smarter than you give me credit for.” Levi rolled his eyes as Kenny grinned while tossing back the rest of his beer. Yep, the kid was definitely an Ackerman.

~~~~~

Y/N had reluctantly gone home after receiving a text from her father. Kenny had waved her on and told her to go, that Levi would clean the kitchen. Levi had scowled, not at the prospect of cleaning but that Kenny was ordering him to. The boy loved to clean, but he also loved being stubborn when told to do something.

Kenny hadn’t let him do it alone though, using the opportunity to ask a few well placed questions about Y/N’s family and home life. It did nothing more than cement his suspicions that the girl was being mistreated at home. They never hung out at her house, Y/N always preferring to come over to Levi’s. A means of escape.

He was going to have to keep an eye on the situation. Maybe try to keep inviting the brat to stay for dinner more. He grinned, he would be able to tease Levi about the girl more that way too. He had to have some fun with the runt before he went off to college.

~~~~~

Kenny’s sharp eyes noticed that there were plenty of times that Y/N wore far heavier clothes that what was good in the hot weather. Even claiming that she couldn’t go swimming because of her period.

He had to assume they weren’t having sex, because the boy hadn’t picked up on the fact that she had used that exact same excuse two week earlier to not play in the pool behind their house.

While Kenny was grateful that Levi hadn’t figured out what was going on, it meant that Y/N was dealing with it alone. The boy had a temper, and was quick with his fists or a knife when someone he loved was being threatened. Not that Kenny could blame him, he got it honestly and his skills had been taught to him by his uncle.

But he didn’t want the brat to ruin his life before he got started, and he was afraid that Levi would end up killing her old man if he found out. He still hadn’t confirmed it 100% but the fact that Levi had tugged on her arm the other day playfully and Y/N had winced in pain, told Kenny that there was another bruise being hidden in the long layers.

~~~~~

“Kenny! Stop! That’s Y/N!” Levi shouted as he looked out the car window.

Y/N was limping, almost unable to walk as she slowly made her way towards the store that Kenny and Levi had been headed to themselves. Her body language screamed pain as she forced one foot in front of the other.

Kenny pulled to the side of the road and Levi darted out of the car and ran over to Y/N. The older man saw Levi look under the veil of her hair and sweep it back to reveal a nasty purple bruise on her eye.

“KENNY!” Levi shouted as he stared in horror at her face.

Kenny got out and came around to where Levi and Y/N were standing. Her face was swollen, her eye almost completely shut from the pressure of the bruise. Her lip was split and had dried blood crusted on it.

He saw Y/N wince as Levi’s hands tightened around her arms. He grabbed Levi and spun him around, his face inches from the boy’s.

He slapped the car keys into Levi’s hands. “Get Y/N back to the house and clean her up.” He barked.

Levi nodded and reached for Y/N again. He got her bundled into the care and squealed tires as he flipped a bitch and headed back for their house.

Kenny’s eyes narrowed as he set out to handle something.

~~~~~

He ignored her protests and stripped her down to her underwear. His eyes were wide as he backed away in horror. Almost every inch of her body was bruised under her clothes. Her skin was a myriad of yellow, purples and greens. Old bruises and fresh ones mixed together.

“Fuck, Y/N. Why didn’t you say something?” He demanded as he led her into the bathroom.

Y/N winched as she sat down gingerly on the toilet while Levi started the water. “How? ‘Hey Levi, my dad’s a sadistic son of a bitch who enjoys beating the shit out of me. And it’s only gotten worse the closer I get to being free from him?’ How the hell was I supposed to tell you that?”

“Exactly like that you fucking idiot!” Levi spat as he filled the bath with some oils that he used when he was sporting some nasty bruises from wrestling matches. Hopefully it would help ease some of her pain.

Y/N turned red when Levi nonchalantly pulled her underwear and bra off before helping her ease into the tub. He was acting like it was no big deal that she was naked in front of him.

He left her to go get the medical supplies and an ice pack for her eye. When he got downstairs, he took a deep breath before opening the fridge door so hard he almost broke the handle.

He needed to focus, she needed him right now. He couldn’t afford to let his own emotions get in the way. He shook his head and started gathering what he needed.

Back upstairs he tended every cut, cleaned every injury she had, hiding the fact that his hands were shaking. She was injured and hurting, she didn’t need to know that he was trying so hard not to let his eyes drift down in a way that wasn’t purely assessing her injuries. He gently cleaned her lip and washed the blood out of her hair while she held the ice pack to her eye.

When he was done, he helped her slip on a clean shirt and gym shorts of his before putting her to bed in his bed. He sat next to her as she tried to smile at him, making him frown and put his finger to her busted lip. “Stop idiot. Don’t hurt yourself more.” He told her.

“Thank you Levi.” Y/N muttered as her eyes drifted shut. He was always so curious why she fell asleep so quickly at his house when they were hanging out. Now he knew, she felt safe, apparently something that was abnormal for her.

He brushed a few errant strands of hair from her face and lean over to kiss her forehead before getting up. He gathered the supplies and took them back downstairs to put away.

He paused, closing his eyes and sighing heavily. He could have lost his best friend. Guilt crashed over him for never noticing the signs that were there. The excuses that she liked long sleeves better, that her arms got cold. The winces when she was touched sometimes, claiming she had hurt herself being clumsy.

She could have died. Beaten to death by that fucking excuse of a man she called a father and he wouldn’t have know until it was too late. She wouldn’t have shown up one day, or responded to his text messages and he would have been clueless until it was in the news or he had gotten angry and gone over to her house.

She had begged him to not do anything, not to confront her father. But Levi knew he was lying when he told her that he wouldn’t. His hands balled into fists and his face turned dark with rage as he started for the door.

Just as he yanked it open, Kenny was reaching for the handle. They looked at each other, his uncle noticing the fierce look on Levi’s face.

“It’s taken care of.” Kenny growled, reaching out to grab onto his shoulder.

That stopped Levi from his murderous goal. His eyes widened as he looked over his uncle. There was a splatter of blood on his shirt, and his right fist had bruised knuckles.

“Where is she?” Kenny asked, his own eyes still dark.

“Upstairs...but-“ Levi started but was cut off by Kenny walking him around him and started up the stairs.

Levi trailed after him as he entered Levi’s room and sat down in the chair at Levi’s desk and looked at Y/N. His noticed his uncle’s eyes took on a hooded look, similar to his own when he doesn’t want to show his emotions.

They sat in silence for about 10 minutes until Y/N stirred.

“Hey brat.” Y/N’s eyes opened at the sound of Kenny’s voice. She went to sit up, but Kenny motioned for her to stay put.

“Tomorrow we’re going to get your shit. You are not to go over there without me or Levi. Understand?” Kenny said as he pierced her with a hard look.

Y/N was confused. “W-What? Where am I going?” She asked.

“You’re living here until college. Your dad agreed pretty easily, but I don’t want you around that bastard alone.” His eyes hardened as he looked at the bruises on her face. He didn’t hit him enough, Kenny thought.

“Why?” Y/N asked as Kenny rolled his eyes and stood up.

“No wonder the runt’s in love with you. You’re just as much of an idiot as he is.” Kenny muttered, ignoring the dark scowl on Levi’s face. He looked down at the girl that if the kid got his shit together would one day be an Ackerman too. “Family matters, Y/N. We may be assholes, but we Ackermans stick together.”

[kingdomdizzy]

lung capacity

i wrote this a while ago, just felt like posting it here now

if you’d rather read it on ao3, here’s the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18605143 

summary: Sora loved to run. Vanitas loved to breathe. One of these things was easier than the other. rating: G words: 2843

—–

The sun was just breaking over the trees, casting light on the dew settled on the untouched grass and the hot breath of Sora as he tossed his backpack onto the dirt. Crickets sang from the field on the other side of the track like a chorus in the quiet morning. The only other sound was the pacing back and forth on the starting line as he set up his iPod on his speaker deck. Even after having it ready to play, he left it silent and went on with stretching his legs and kicking pieces of rock into the loose gravel with his worn running shoes. From the top of the bleachers lining the track, Vanitas sat and watched, wrapped in a large black sweatshirt and ripped black jeans with a stopwatch hanging loosely in his hands. “Six o’clock,” he hummed to himself. “Right on time.”

Eventually, Sora took his place on the line, stretching his leg back and resting his palms on the cold asphalt. He lines up his front foot and took in a breath, relaxing all his muscles and steadying his heartbeat as he looked forward. There was silence, only the crickets growing more into white noise that vanished against his ears. Vanitas slowly lifted his foot from the metal bench in front of him, his finger ready on the start button. Even from this distance, he could almost hear Sora’s slow breath and see his chest moving slowly up and down in his lunge position. In a swift motion, Vanitas slammed his foot down.

BANG!

Sora shot forward. Vanitas tapped the stopwatch into motion and sat back. All he could do was sit and watch as Sora ripped around the first turn, arms remaining strong and steady at his side to carry his momentum forward. His face was set and concentrated, eyebrows furrowed and cheeks puffing out as he controlled his breathing.

Vanitas laughed to himself. Never in his life had he met someone as determined as Sora to run. Even when they first met in elementary school, it seemed that all Sora knew how to do was run. Every gym class, every track and field meet, every little opportunity he could find, he was running. It was ironic, really, that they had somehow become friends even with Vanitas always remaining on the sidelines of all these events, inhaler in hand. It did, however, always make him available to hold a stopwatch, a job he would gladly take over having to run sprints or do jumping jacks. After a while, Vanitas kept the stopwatch on his person at all time and Sora had somehow learned that. He walked up to him one day in junior high, a warm smile on his face with the simple question, “Hey, can ya time me?”

Vanitas, despite his best efforts, couldn’t say no. The rest was infamous and undocumented history.

On the last lap, Vanitas sauntered down the bleachers to the edge of the track, waiting for Sora by the finish line. As he got closer, his heart started to race at how unbelievably attractive he was, even after just running a mile. His spikey brown hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead, his face was the complexion of a slightly under-ripe tomato, veins stuck out on his arms and muscles rippled along his chest (revealed since about halfway through the third lap when he tossed his shirt aside). When Vanitas came into his field of view, a tired smile lit up Sora’s face. His shoes dragged across the line and Vanitas clicked the stopper.

“Six minutes, seven seconds,” he announced, reaching for Sora’s water bottle in his bag.

“Damnit,” Sora huffed. He threw his hands behind his head, turning his back to Vanitas who swallowed hard at the sight of his bare skin covered in sweat. He shook his head, realizing he was doing it again. “Not as bad as last week, but I haven’t made any progress since the season started.”

“Better than seven fifty from the start of last season,” Vanitas shot back, but Sora still had his back turned to him. He had learned that it was better to let Sora talk himself through his motivation and plans than stick his nose into trying to make suggestions or other quips since, really, he had no credentials in these circumstances. After a few mhmm’s, yup’s, and I bet’s, Sora reached out and turned on the iPod dock, instantly spouting out the song Tubthumping by Chumbawamba. Vanitas couldn’t help but laugh as Sora started singing along and jogging sluggishly around the track in a cool down lap. Across the track, Vanitas still heard him. “I get knocked down, but I get up again, you’re never gonna keep me down!”

What a fucking dork.

As he slowed to a walk near the end of the lap, he reached out for his shirt and water bottle that Vanitas tossed to him, and they started up the stone steps to the main school building.

This was the only time Sora went slow, taking each step with as much effort and strain that it took Vanitas. Sometimes, he would start hopping up the steps out of habit, leaving Vanitas behind momentarily, but always waited. Then Sora would wait some more at the top as Vanitas caught his breath, damning his own lungs for already starting to wheeze.

“We can push this back to a little later,” Sora said, casually kicking his foot against the cement sidewalk. “I know the cold air can be tough for you sometimes.”

Vanitas just shook his head and stood up straight, taking a deep breath with a slight whistling exhale. “I’m fine, Sora. You do better in the mornings.” Sora just shrugged, and they continued on. He knew that Sora meant well, but Sora also knew that Vanitas was the most stubborn boy he’d ever known. If Vanitas could be rid of his asthma forever, but it would mean Sora ran half a second slower forever, there would be no question in the answer. And Sora knew it.

“Sub six.”

Vanitas glanced at him. “Your best time ever was six-oh-two,” he remembered. Sora had nearly collapsed that morning after the run and then nearly cried when he heard the time. Again! he had demanded and started running another mile. Vanitas himself nearly crumpled over when trying to get him to stop running and settled to walking the inside of the track until Sora eventually gave up. At that point, he sounded like Vanitas, struggling to breathe and coughing up enough phlegm to scare passing children.

“Sub six,” Sora repeated, sending a smile to Vanitas. “With your help, anything is possible.”

“Woow,” Vanitas scoffed, trying hard to hide the warmth crawling up his neck, “real cheesy there, Sora.”

“Shaddup,” Sora laughed, shoving him slightly. “The real training starts tomorrow. You better be ready.”

The first bell rang overhead, and Vanitas just rolled his eyes. To Sora this only meant, Yes, of course.

+++

Vanitas could never really pinpoint the time or place in which Sora’s smile fully and completely made his lungs stop working. It seemed like it had been a pot coming to a slow boil, starting from the first day he timed Sora’s run and he didn’t treat Vanitas like a fragile piece of glass to reaching a climax on a particular winter morning when Vanitas had an asthma attack and Sora stayed with him in the nurses office through the entire school day, vehemently refusing to leave his best friend’s side and even ‘secretly’ holding his hand through his nap. Since then Vanitas noticed that the pot never stopped boiling; it was continually overflowing from a replenishing source of steaming water, and every time Sora smiled, he felt the water drops sizzle against the fire warming it underneath.

Now, it was just a matter of reminding himself that Sora was, no matter how he spun it in his twisted head, his best friend, which was something he never thought he would have. Growing up, he was always sifted into the category of ‘the weird kid’. Maybe it was his black hair, maybe it was his strangely light brown eyes that glimmered gold in direct light, maybe it was the fact that on the playground after any amount of running with other children, he would start to wheeze and cough and the other kids would run to the teacher claiming, Vanitas is possessed by a demon!

He still hated kids to this day.

Sora, bounding down the stairs carefully as they were still slick with dew, pulled Vanitas out of his thoughts. He was not dressed differently than usual, with black gym shorts, a red t-shirt under a light athletic jacket, and his atrociously torn up and worn-down running shoes that he refuses to get rid of “until my toes are sticking out.” However, his face was different; his eyebrows were furrowed together, and his hands were balled into fists and stuck in his pockets, something Vanitas only saw when Sora had a large thought on his mind.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Vanitas asked with a coy smile. Sora didn’t respond, causing Vanitas to lean forward from his spot on the ground with inquisition. Usually, his terribly lame names for Sora brought about at least a smile in return, giving Vanitas more incentive to do just that. But the silence continued to ring out. All that he heard were the crickets in the field and the buzz of storm clouds gathering overhead.

Rocks scattered into the grass as Sora began stretching and kicking his feet against the track. His eyes were still set, small blue flames lighting up behind the pieces of hair that fell over them. Vanitas sighed and leaned back against the stone, bringing out the stopwatch that hung from his neck in his sweatshirt.

As Sora took his place on the line, lining up his foot, settling his breath and pressing his fingers to the damp ground, he spoke.

“Sub six, today is the day.”

Vanitas looked up at Sora, all his muscles locked and ready to propel himself forward, then looked down at the stopwatch reading zero point zero. With a sigh, he pulled himself to his feet and walked over to the beginning of the bleachers and slammed his foot onto the first step.

BANG!

Sora was off, so fast that Vanitas felt a rush of wind as he passed. He turned to watch him go, the momentum of his push-off taking him nearly all the way around the first turn. There was an itch in Vanitas’ legs suddenly, one he felt sometimes. It went from his legs to his chest, even out to his hands. It was never something he could act upon; he knew if he did everything would go wrong, but watching Sora now, it was all he wanted in the world.

Vanitas wanted to run.

He watched Sora run past, finishing his first lap. The pound of his shoes against the asphalt echoed off of the stone steps, and Vanitas took a step towards the track. As Sora rounded around the corner and closed in on starting the third lap, he took another. Finally, as Sora began his final lap, Vanitas stepped onto the track. It felt different than the gravel; it was smooth under his feet, stretched out in front of him like a runway and he was a plane about to take flight. He took his place on the starting line, where he had seen Sora dash forward so many times before, and stood there.

Then, very uncertainty and without a loud bang! to send him off, he started running.

The first few seconds were easy. Vanitas pushed himself forward, the stopwatch still gripped in his hand and Sora in the corner of his eye as he was about halfway around. It was when he tried taking a breath, the cold air filling into his lungs and spreading through the bronchi branches as they shrank into themselves under his chest, that it began to burn. His heart was pounding against his sternum, a familiar wheeze fell out of his mouth, and his muscles suddenly felt twenty pounds heavier against his bones. Despite suddenly feeling as though he was going to pass out, Vanitas kept running. From behind him, he heard Sora yell something.

The pounding in his ears muffled everything around him. He looked behind him, watching as Sora was now racing towards him, passing over the starting line. Vanitas clicked the stopwatch just as he felt his legs give out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the track with his arms out in front to catch his fall. His chest was on fire. And his breaths came out in wheezes and coughs, one after another, unrelenting.

Sora was quickly at his side, urging him to sit up while also asking what the hell he was doing. “Where is your inhaler?” he asked, a slight panic in his eyes. Vanitas brought his hand up to point at his backpack against the stone stairs, and Sora disappeared from his sight in a flash.

He tried catching his breath, feeling his lungs constrain in his chest enough to think that his insides might implode. In the flash that he was gone, Sora was back, holding a light gray inhaler with chipped plastic edges and light scratches. Vanitas emptied out his lungs (which wasn’t hard) and brought the cold tube up to his lips and took a deep breath.

Sora’s eyes remained on Vanitas as he held his breath and counted to ten in his head, trying to ignore Sora’s hand absentmindedly resting on Vanitas’ shoulder and leaving a spot of warmth.

One… two… three…

Sora’s chest was heaving, and Vanitas just stared at him, wishing silently that he could breathe like that.

…eight… nine… ten.

Vanitas let out his breath, still feeling a tickle in his lungs but ignoring it to look at Sora. He was focused on something completely different now; Vanitas. “Why were you running?” he asked. The warmth of his hand didn’t leave his shoulder.

Small puffs appeared in front of them as both boys tried to regulate their breathing. “I wanted to see why you liked it so much,” he stated. Sora smiled, there was a beat. “Nothing really special.”

At this, Sora laughed and shoved Vanitas, bumping the stopwatch against the ground. With another small laugh, he looked down at it. “I’m guessing you didn’t catch my time?”

“Who do you think I am?” Vanitas scoffed, “of course I got it.” Sora’s eyes lit up, quietly asking what fateful numbers had landed on the small screen. Vanitas slowly lifted it up to his face, watching him, and let out a breath. “Five fifty-nine.”

Sora blinked. “What?”

“Five fifty-nine,” he repeated, a smile breaking his face.

Another blink. Then, a huge smile. Before Vanitas could begin to think about how his face warmed up the cold morning, Sora threw his arms around him. They both tipped over onto the asphalt, a small oof pushed out of Vanitas and Sora’s giddy laugh echoed around the track. “Sub six!” Sora shouted.

“Get off me, you idiot,” Vanitas laughed, even though he wanted anything but.

Sora complied, pushing himself up on his elbows but still hovering over Vanitas. “Think I can do better than that?”

“Nah,” Vanitas smirked, “I think you’ve peaked.”

“Shaddup, asshole.”

There was no warning, no swelling music that surged around them or slow press of lips together. Sora just leaned down and kissed him, causing Vanitas’ heart to pound again. To his delight, Sora didn’t break kiss right away; it was only for a few extra seconds, but Vanitas savored the small extra taste of Sora’s chapped lips.

When he felt Sora’s breath hitting his face again, Vanitas opened his eyes (when had they closed?). The tickle in his lungs started to come back at the sight of the grin that washed over Sora’s face. Vanitas tried to scowl at him. “Why’d you do that?”

Sora pushed himself onto his feet. “You wouldn’t have done it,” he stated, then chuckled at Vanitas’ lame attempted glare and held out his hand. “Plus, you’re not good at being subtle.”

Vanitas scoffed and took Sora’s hand, landing shakily on his very tired legs. He immediately stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Whatever,” he mumbled.

“Well, if I have peaked like you say,” Sora said, slowly walking back towards his stuff against the steps, “then I might as well try to make that five fifty-nine a consistent five fifty-nine.”

“It might be a one-time thing,” Vanitas called back, trying to hide a smile.

Sora just threw his backpack over his shoulder and looked back, motioning his head to the steps. “You coming?”

Vanitas fiddled with the inhaler in his pocket, pondering whether or not he should take another hit with the tickle in his lung. Instead, he started walking forward. He would run to Sora if he could, counting to ten in his head with each step.

One… two… three…

[theoddcatlady]

Granny

My granny was a terrible person.

A crotchety old woman that was hardly over one hundred pounds soaking wet, she would sit in her rocking chair all day long and scowl while watching her TV game shows. She looked like a skeleton with cracked leather clinging to her bones and wisps of colorless hair sticking out from a mostly bald scalp. And she was mean. If I tried to play Legos in the living room?

“You better clean those up, boy, or you’ll regret the day you were born!”

If I laughed too loudly at whatever TV program was on?

“Stop that racket! That junk will rot your brain!”

If I so much as walked too fast?

“Quit rough housing or else!”

And that ‘or else’ wasn’t an empty threat. Granny had a big cane she carried, a dark redwood one with a raven’s head for the handle. I’m pretty sure she could’ve just used a walker to get around the house, she just liked the impression the big ole cane gave off. When she walked about, she’d smack it down with each step, hard enough to make the floor shake. If she wanted to be sneaky though she’d not made a peep until she was right behind you. Then, with her acidic voice and stale breath, she’d whisper into your ear,

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

I wasn’t a bad child. Not really. I didn’t get a chance to be. But Granny made me so nervous I’d often forget to do things, like pick up my toys or not run indoors. And when Granny caught me, oh I’d really would regret the day I was born.

Granny didn’t just spank you with her hand. She used that cane, and she’d take it across your back and your butt with all the strength in her shriveled body. It only took one whack to make you never want to sit again, and she usually brought it down three or four times. Never while mom or dad was around though. Nope. They never got to see the spankings. Granny was too clever, I suppose she knew they wouldn’t stand for that.

I hated my grandmother. From a young age I knew I hated her. She wasn’t ever involved in my life except to cause me pain and humiliation. Invitations to school recitals and plays were met with scoffs. I actually tried a few times to have her come, maybe getting out of the damn house would make her lighten up a bit.

Nope. She would laugh and say, “I’d rather jab my ears out with an ice pick than hear you screech on stage while calling it music, Alan.”

She wasn’t quite so cruel when mom was in hearing distance, but she still wasn’t kind about it. It was a nightmare. I’d go to bed crying and I’d never have friends over. I was too ashamed and I had no doubt that in one way or another Granny would drive them away.

I only had the courage to bring over a friend one time. Kendra Reilly.

She was a fun girl, with red pigtails tied with neon green scrunchies and glasses with round lenses and cheetah print frames. She was amazing. We both liked to sit on the swings and sing during recess. We’d hold little concerts. Kendra, being the goofball she was, would ask for tips afterwards in the form of desserts or crackers. Shockingly that sometimes worked, but she always made sure to split them evenly with me. It was half my work after all, according to Kendra.

I thought maybe it’d be okay to invite her over just once. Granny was laid up in bed more often than not at the time and I figured, why not?

I walked in and was immediately met with Granny’s loud screeching voice, “Wipe off your feet on the mat or else!”

Kendra’s eyes went wide and my heart sank. “Let’s just go play in my room,” I whispered before taking her hand and sneaking past Granny. She didn’t seem to notice that there were two pairs of soft footsteps going up the stairs, she was too focused on Family Feud.

Once we were away from Granny things got better again. I turned on my Disney music and we sang along, Kendra talked about a funny dream she had last night, when it was just us it was fun.

Then my door slammed open and there was my Granny. She took one look at Kendra and her face went red as tomato sauce.  

“Why is there a girl in your room?!” She shrieked before slapping me across the face, hard enough to leave a handprint.

I was only nine years old at the time. I immediately burst into tears. “I’m sorry Granny! We just… just wanted to play…”

My sniffles went unheard as Granny grabbed Kendra by the ear and started yanking her out the door. “Come here, you little hussy! Going into boy’s rooms at your age, you’re going to end up barefoot and pregnant before you’re sixteen!” Kendra started to scream and tried to pull away but Granny was unrelenting.

I think I finally snapped. I was so tired of the years of torment, all the times I felt ashamed of having such a cruel grandmother, and seeing her attack one of my only friends just pushed me over my limit.

I didn’t shove her hard, just rough enough so she’d let go. Granny fell back on her butt with a yelp and then she clutched her chest.

“Oh! My heart! My heart!”

At first I thought she was being overdramatic, that she was trying to make me seem like some sort of monster child so my parents would ground me. But she wasn’t. Her face went gray before her eyes rolled back and she passed out.

Granny survived two days in the hospital before finally passing away.

I was torn between the feeling of finally being free and the grief that I was the one who caused her heart attack. Kendra and I lied, saying that Granny just marched upstairs, started shouting, and then she had the heart attack. Nothing about me shoving her.

My parents were quiet during the funeral. I somehow fell asleep to the minister’s monotone voice. Had horrible nightmares in which Granny burst from the coffin and wrung my neck screaming about how I murdered her. I woke up and had to excuse myself to the restroom, I’d wet myself in fear.

The next week was quiet. I was so used to Granny watching game shows or her shouting at me for something I had done. It was almost relaxing.

I should’ve known the peace was at an end when I came home to find my mother sobbing at the kitchen table while my father was resting a hand on her back. I heard her say, “I thought she was gone this time!” before I finally looked at the stove.

A woman with dark hair in a tight bun and wearing a long black dress with a high neck was stirring some sort of soup. Judging by the smell it was cabbage. She turned to me, her eyes fastened on me like a hawk on its prey.

“Alan, you’re late for dinner. I expect you to be home at five PM every week day. Where’s your homework?”

My mother wailed before burying her face in her hands. I looked beside the woman at the stove, where something was resting against the counter.

A cane with a raven’s head for the handle.

And suddenly I recognized the woman standing there at the stove cooking dinner.

That night ‘Granny’ came into my room. I was numb with shock. I didn’t understand. Was this really Granny? Was it a clone? Or was this some warped dream?

The door creaked open and I nearly hid under my bed as the dark haired woman walked into my room, her head held high. I pulled the blankets over me as I shook. I thought I was going to die.

When I looked into her eyes, I knew she was truly Granny. Gray like cement and colder than dry ice. Granny glided across the room before she sat at the foot of my bed. She rested her chin on her cane, seemingly lost in thought for several minutes before she chuckled.

“You’re a lot like your mother you know. She actually put rat poison in my breakfast. She wanted me gone too.”

I didn’t say anything.

Granny’s gaze rested on me again and her mouth was twisted in a morbid smirk.

“I only want what’s best for you, Alan. When you listen to me, things will go according to plan. I suppose I just have to be stricter with you. Now, I expect you to be home by five every day. Call me Nanny now, your mother hired me to take care of you because of what happened to your poor grandmother. Start bringing Kendra with you- are you listening or are you nodding off?”

I couldn’t have fallen asleep even if I tried, I bobbed my head up and down frantically.

“Good boy. Start bringing Kendra here. Not to your room. Girls that want to be in boy’s rooms by that age are no good. Don’t give her any ideas but keep her around. Keep your grades above a B or you’ll be punished. Your room must be clean before you leave the house. When you start going out on the weekends, you must give me a week’s notice and perform extra well in your chores. And don’t you try to get rid of me. You won’t like it when I come back. Is that clear, Alan?”

I opened my mouth but what came out was, “What will happen if I don’t listen to you?”

Granny laughed. A creepy, flat sound that scratched my ears and made the hair stand up on my neck.

“You’ll lose your privileges. Your mother used to be able to have a job, go out on Saturday nights, be married so someone she loved… be allowed two children. She lost those privileges. As long as you listen, Alan, you won’t ever have to fear losing your privileges.”

I’m now eighteen. Nanny has ordered me to propose to Kendra tonight. We’re only kids. We’re in love. But we’re not ready.

But I don’t want to lose any more of my privileges.

[headfulloffantasies]

Angel with a Shotgun

Chapter 19: The Cage

warning for descriptions of violence

Ao3

Dean fell end over end. He careened through darkness permeated by swift kicks in the rear. His body felt like it was being beaten with a sack of bricks. Finally, he rolled to a stop. Groaning, Dean pulled himself to his knees. The darkness ebbed. The foot of an endless staircase stretched up into shadow.

“Good thing we didn’t bring Bobby,” he said to the stairs.

“Dean,” Cas stood behind him, wreathed in shade. Dean stood. The darkness strained ever on, swirling with grey ash. Dean coughed as sulfur hit him in the nose. Ash fell like snow, settling on the shoulders of Cas’ coat and in his dark hair.

“This way,” Cas led him away from the staircase. Dean tried covering his nose with his elbow, but the ash had already covered his sleeve.

Visibility was so slim, he almost stumbled right into the first figure.

“Sorry, pal,” Dean said. The person didn’t even look round. Dean looked closer and made out another figure in front of them, and another. They were human, but gaunt, pallid versions of humanity. The falling grey thinned a moment and Dean gasped.

A long line of grey people in rags extended right and left into the endless night. Somewhere over the dark horizon a red haze burned like fire. 

“What is this?” Dean scrambled back.

“This is Hell,” Cas said simply. 

“No kidding.”

“This is where human souls go,” Cas explained. “They walk towards the light but they never reach it.”

Dean stared at the angry red glow. “But where’s the torture?”

“This is torture,” Cas insisted. “They never reach their goal. They will spend eternity like this, never experiencing anything new or different. Some of them have hope that the light is Heaven and if they can only reach it, they will be saved. But they never do.”

Dean shuddered. “Alright. But is Sam supposed to be here, shuffling around?”

“No, this way.” Cas spread his wings and soared up into the cinder sky.

Dean followed. From above, the ash and the red glow mixed to give it the appearance of a distant volcano. 

Cas flew in the opposite direction, away from the light. Gradually, the grey dust whipping past thinned and faded into nothingness. It was just black. Nothing but night. No moon, no stars, no fires below. Dean was straining to keep Cas in view. Cas glanced back and noted Dean’s struggle. A glow enveloped his ebony wings. Lightning blue edged the feathers, tracing pinions and primaries. 

Awe filled Dean’s chest. He trailed through Hell behind an angel glowing with heavenly light. 

After an eon Cas dipped and touched down in utter blackness. 

Dean stumbled his landing, feet kicking up sharp rocks.

“Hush,” Cas warned. “We don’t want to be found here.”

“Where are we?” Dean could only see as far as Cas’ ephemeral light. They were surrounded by razor sharp outcrops of obsidian rock that blended almost seamlessly into the blackness.

Cas reached out and placed a hand on the only smooth surface Dean could see. Cas mumbled something Enochian. The rock gave way. It collapsed like it had been nothing more than shadow. 

Dean took a step forward. Cas grabbed his arm. “Sam is close. He will be well guarded. We may have to fight our way through.”

Dean pulled out the Colt. “That’s what this is for.”

“Dean, do you trust me?”

“What does that mean?”

Cas levelled a serious gaze at him.

“No,” Dean admitted. “I don’t know who to trust. You and Zachariah are both playing games and I don’t know what you want with me.”

Cas’ hand slackened on Dean’s arm.

“But,” Dean continued. “I trust you to have my back against demons. I trust you to help me get Sam. After that…” he shook his head.

Cas nodded. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean frowned. “Let’s get this over with.”

They stepped through the doorway. The sudden light was searing after the abyss. Dean threw a hand over his eyes. His feet sank into a plush carpet. 

“Hello, Dean,” a British accent rumbled.

Dean lowered his hand. A short demon in a black suit lounged behind an ornate desk. The room was styled as a posh office in rich reds and dark wood. 

“Who’re you?” Dean grumbled.

The demon’s eyes flickered red. “Crowley, King of Hell.”

A jolt of cold terror raced down Dean’s spine. He lifted the Colt. 

“Ah ah ah.” Faster that Dean could track, Crowley was behind him. Dean whirled. Crowley ducked behind Cas’ shoulder. 

“Hold on, Rambo.”

“Dean, wait,” Cas moved to shield Crowley further.

“Cas, move,” Dean aimed.

“Hear him out.” 

Dean stopped cold. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“We made a deal, squirrel,” Crowley said.

Dean frowned at the nickname. “The only deal I’m going to make is your life for Sam. Cas, move.”

“I made the deal,” Cas said. Dean turned furious eyes on him. Cas held his hands out placating.

“Allow me to explain. Five minutes,” Crowley offered.

Dean shifted his gaze back and forth between the angel and the demon. “Five minutes.” He lowered the Colt.

“Sit,” Crowley snapped his fingers. Two wing backed chairs appeared facing the desk.

Crowley went and sat behind the desk, fingers steepled in front of his chin. 

“Your brother, Sam-,”

“You don’t get to say his name,” Dean interrupted. He stayed standing in the center of the room, radiating fury. 

“Your brother,” Crowley continued diplomatically. “Is in the Cage.”

“What does that mean?” Dean demanded.

“If you would let me finish, I WOULD TELL YOU!” Crowley roared. Dean glared him down, affronted.

Crowley leaned back, acting as if his outburst never happened. “The Cage held Lucifer for thousands of years. Lucifer finally perished down there. It is an inescapable hole.”

A tiny noise escaped Dean’s throat.

“So you see why we have to rescue him. Drink?” Crowley manifested a crystal decanter of liquor.

Dean spluttered. “You want to break Sammy out of the Cage? Why?”

Crowley poured himself a measure of the amber liquid. “The faction that stole your brother from you are a superstitious and cowardly lot with high ambitions. They think they can shoehorn your little angel into a prophecy he has no business fulfilling.”

Crowley smoothed a hand over his silver paisley tie. “They are calling him the Boy King of Hell.”

Dean’s stomach sank. “No.”

“I agree, it’s tacky,” Crowley mused. “So you see why I need him gone.”

Dean nodded. “So what’s the plan?”

“Walk in, walk out, don’t get killed,” Crowley shrugged. “You’ll need a key to get into the Cage. Here,” Crowley opened a drawer in his desk and removed something oblong. He tossed it to Dean. Dean caught it. Four interlocked rings sat in the palm of his hand. “What is this?”

“The key, numbskull. And I’ll want it back after this. There are a few demons I’d like to lock in the Cage for eternity.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “I still don’t understand why you’re helping us.”

“Because I am the King of Hell. And it’s good to be King. I will not have your snot nosed brother on my throne.”

Crowley turned his wrist, checking his watch. “You’ll want to go now. Out that door to the left. You have five minutes before the guard change catches you.” Crowley nodded to a door that materialised in the wood panelling. Cas opened it and poked his head through.

“Good luck and all that.”

Dean followed Cas. The door led to a dim grey hallway.

“Don’t forget our bargain, angel,” Crowley called. Dean threw a glare at him. The door closed on its own, sealing perfectly into the stone wall as if it had never been.

“What kind of deal did you make?’ Dean whispered.

“Later,” Cas said. “Right now, we have to hurry.”

They turned left and found a door marked ‘Danger’.

“Sounds about right,” Dean mumbled. There was no doorknob or key hole. Dean ran his hands over the smooth grey surface. It was like any other industrial door, just without any access. Dean withdrew the interlocked rings. “How do they work?”

The rings flew from his hand, gluing themselves magnetically to the door. Something clanged deep within. The door swung open.

Dean raced inside while Cas held the door. He held the Colt out as a warning. It was dark inside, a single shaft of light coming from an unknown source. The Cage was styled as a prison cell. The floor was cement that echoed Dean’s footfalls. White chaff was strewn about the ground. Bars covered every wall. Behind them there was nothing. The same blackness that Dean and Cas had flew through surrounded the Cage. Dean’s eyes finally adjusted to the dark. A lump lay curled in a ball in the corner. Dean’s heart leaped.

“Sam?”

“Dean?” A groan answered. Dean dropped to his knees beside his brother. White chaff fluttered around them where he’d disturbed it.

Dean pulled Sam up. Sam moaned. His shirt clung to him, wet with sweat and sticky with blood. Dean swallowed hard. He smoothed Sam’s hair from his face. Sam’s eyes were only half open, unfocused. Blood smeared down his chin.

“I’ve got you,” Dean crooned. “Time to go.”

Sam clung to the back of Dean’s coat, jostling his wings. Something scratched at the back of Dean’s mind. He shoved the thought aside, focusing on hugging his brother.

“Come on, we’re in a rush,” Dean pulled Sam to his feet. Sam stumbled. More white fluff scattered around them. One of them landed on the back of Dean’s hand. His lungs constricted. It was a feather.

Dean locked eyes with Sam. His mind reached out for Sam’s, for the connection they’d shared since childhood. He met only cold emptiness. “No,” Dean choked. “Please, no.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam mumbled.

Dean couldn’t speak passed the lump in his throat. He hoisted Sam’s arm over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

It was harder to ignore the bloodstains now. The whole Cage was a mess of feathers and red smears.

Cas stared at Sam as they hobbled out into the light. He opened his mouth.

“Not now,” Dean cut him off. “We have to go.”

Cas nodded. “The guards will be here any second.”

“Which way is out?”

Cas smirked. “Up.”

He opened his wings and leapt straight at the ceiling. A shout died in Dean’s throat. Cas rocketed through the ceiling as if it had been made of smoke.

Dean glanced down at Sam. He sagged against Dean’s side. Dean rearranged him in his arms.

“Hang on,” Dean unfurled his wings and jumped.

<<Previous   Next>>

[thewalkingdead-imagines]

Negan Drabble ~ The Keys

Summary: The reader is placed in front of a hard decision as she gets her hands by pure chance on the keys to Negan’s cell.

This is one of the drabbles for the time jump between season 8 and 9! It’s linked to my series, so If you like you can find it right here, but you can also easily read it independently from it.

The metal door crashed with a dull thud into its lock, echoing through the cell and the outer room you found yourself standing in next to Negan’s guard.

Negan sat, as always, on the other side of the metal bars on his bed when you were let out of the cell, his eyes still wandering over you, revealing how much he was already waiting for the evening when you’d come back.

His guard began to fumble on his waistband, trying to slip the keys back to the other bunch on the ring attached to his leather belt as his walkie began to suddenly beep, the shrill tone bouncing off the cold walls and letting it echo through the rooms while an annoyed huff left his lips.

“Yeah?”, Roger grumbled, picking the walkie hastily up while his feet were shuffling restless over the cement ground, listening to the stressed voice of the man on the other side of the line.

“Gotta go, you find yourself out”, he finally said as he pushed the walkie back and glanced for a short moment at you, giving you a small nod before he began to rush up.

His heavy footsteps echoed over the ground and up the staircase, that strong that it felt like the floor beneath you would vibrate softly in response before the door upstairs crashed back into its frame.

As soon as the sound hushed you glanced back through the bars, catching Negan grinning softly at you as he ran his palm over his thicker growing salt and pepper beard.

“See you tonight”, you mumbled, giving him a small smile as you saw him lifting himself back up from the bed and beginning to stroll closer to the door until only the metal bars parted you.

“Yeah, see you, tonight, Baby. Now get up or I can’t guarantee for fucking anything. Might rip those fuckers here apart and get you back inside”, he playfully chuckled, teasingly raising his brows as you gave him a small laugh back, even though you could see something flickering beneath the playfulness in his eyes.

The distress of the loneliness the countable hours of the day would bring, the pain of being locked up and only seeing the same four walls each and every day, every hour, every minute, every second.

For a moment he reached through the bars, his large hand squeezing yours reassuringly before you gave him another small smile as soon as his warmth left yours again.

“Till later”, you mumbled, seeing how he gave you a small nod as you knew you had to go now if you didn't want to make it all harder for each of you.

With a small sigh you finally made your way up the stairs, hearing quietly in the background how Negan made his way over to the bed as suddenly something sticking out from the dull cement stairs caught your eye.

It was small and glimpsed in the faint light and at first you didn’t recognize it, until the moment you leaned down, squinting your eyes slightly with puckered brows and caught what as laying right by your feet.

Keys.

Two small silver keys, that laid there by your soles.

Two small silver keys Roger had tried to fumble apparently unsuccessfully onto his key ring earlier.

Two small silver keys that belonged to Negan’s cell.

Your breath seemed to stop for a moment, your heart seemed to skip a beat as you stared at the metallic figures on the ground and felt how your lips began to part in bewilderment.

Your finger began to grasp them almost unconsciously, as if you were stuck in a trance until the cold metal touched your fingertips and got eventually wrapped up in your palm.

Your mind seemed empty and filled up with thousands of thoughts at the same time, leaving you split and torn as a shivering breath left your lips and your eyes darted back down the stairs.

What were you supposed to do now?

You couldn’t lie, this scenario had spooked here and there already through your head but now that it turned into reality, you felt completely muddled.

There were those two sides again, the two sides you had already been stuck between in the war.

Negan on the one side.

Your old friends on the other.

Your mind was spilling over with thoughts and emotions, with the feeling of not being able to betray the people outside that began to finally accept you again but even more, with the urge to finally see Negan free again, to finally see him completely blithe again.

And for a moment this seemed more important than anything else. 

But still, you couldn’t form a single straight thought as your foot met the cement step down to the cell again, your lips shivering as you got down, step by step until you saw the metal bars again.

“Negan”, only left your lips breathily, your hand still clasping the keys as you saw him looking irritated at you, surprised about your sudden return.

Puckering his brows he ran a hand over his thick beard stubble as he lifted himself off the bed, tapping over the floor as his deep voice echoed through the room.

“Somethin’ wrong?”, he mumbled worriedly, his eyes wandering over you, trying to read the answer off your face as you gulped heavily and glanced up at him.

“Roger he-”, you mumbled, too startled to bring your sentence to an end before you slowly opened your hand, “He lost the keys.”

Negan’s eyes widened as he came closer, squinting them as if the keys in your hand were a mirage that could vanish into thin air in the matter of seconds.

His glance wandered up, catching the look in your eyes that wandered repeatedly to the lock of his door and seemed to reveal just enough for his face to fall into a flat frown and his brows to pucker harder.

“No. (Y/N), no. You won’t fucking do that”, he nearly growled, letting your glance snap up to him as confusion and pain spread over your face.

“Negan, I-”, you began, gulping harshly as a shivering breath fell from your lips, “I see you suffering in there, I-”

“Doesn’t matter”, he cut you off, his voice intentionally sharp as if he wanted to cut those thoughts out of your head, “You won’t fucking do that.”

“Why?”, your voice was shivering, a little weaker than you intended to as he already shook his head and stepped even closer to the metal bars.

“’Cause I won’t let you put yourself at that much fucking risk for me, not gonna happen”, he scoffed, his eyes darting at yours, trying to keep them locked with his, “You’re just about to be on a better fucking path with them and that shit took you way more time and fucking work than you deserve. I won’t let you ruin that because of my ass.”

You glimpsed at him before your head sunk a little as a thick gulp wandered down your throat while your eyes captured the keys in your hand once more.

“But what kinda girlfriend am I if I never try to get you out of there?”

“The kinda awesome one that comes every fucking night here to stay by my damn side....and the one who’s not thinking clear right now”, with that your eyes wandered back up to him, puzzled by his response as he sighed and ran his palm over the silver struck thick beard.

“First, this is not your responsibility, not in any damn way. You’ve done more for me than I could ever fucking ask for...second, if this would happen”, he gestured at the keys with a swift motion, “What do you think would follow, huh? A damn flight, with a damn hunt that’d be opened on us? No fucking sir, I won’t put you in that kinda position. I won’t let you...and third...as I said and no fucking matter how much I wanna screw some of those fuckers outside over...You’re finally on your way to get what you had before my ass came along, I won’t be the one to ruin that.”

“Alright?”, he added, pushing the thoughts that had been running through your head already further to the surface, revealing the real problem.

You couldn’t have both, Negan released and the people outside respecting and trusting you again, at least yet.

“Listen, I’ll get out of this shit thing here some day. Earlier or later, they’re gonna fucking need me or some other shit’s gonna happen, but this here, this won’t be the way to go”, he said, still seeing the inner turmoil painted all over your face, “And I fucking know that this wouldn’t be the damn way you want it to happen too.”

You glanced up at him, sighing quietly and trying to let the tension leave your body while the keys seemed to burn into your palm, begging to be recognized.

But he was right, with each of his arguments, no matter how much you wanted to see him outside this cell, this wasn’t how you wanted it to happen.

You wanted peace with the people outside when it happened, not all of them, few had gone too far but at least with the ones who had begun to let you in again.

“So lemme tell you what’s gonna happen now. You’ll swing your sweet ass up there, give Roger the prick those damn keys back and get yourself the damn respect of them you fucking deserve”, he finally said, his hazel eyes capturing yours, keeping them locked to make sure you understood each and every word of his.

“I’ll be fine”, he said, as he reached through the bars and grasped your free hand, squeezing it lightly before he let out a small loosening chuckle ,”Baby, I’ll be fuckin’ fine.”

“Okay”, you finally mumbled, deeply exhaling as you stared at the keys one last time as his hand left yours and your eyes met his once more, reassuring you that you were doing the right thing.

And you were keeping this glance in his eyes in mind as you eventually made your way up the cement stairs, through the unfinished house, grasping those keys in your hand tightly as you were feeling the tension that was radiating from them seeping into each of your cells until you finally found the man watching over the cell.

(The gif isn’t mine/ it was originally posted by dancing-at-the-funeralparty)

tagging:

@agespenst @imaginesforthepeople @porgs-r-us @squidgy84 @toxic-ink@Nobodylastname @nice-shoes-nerd@thegirlwiththelyrics99 @tolieboy @writteninthestars288@magical-spit @straightestgay-voice@xsnak-3x@myrabbitholetoneverland@dasani-saraai@negan–is–god@harry-titss@traumbruch @negans-network@theblankestostares @amysuemc@ashzombie13 @trashimaginezblog@jeffreydeanneganstrash@sweetwittlebosco@futureofdestiel@bananakid42@dragongirl420@kalliewinchester-queenofhell@futureofdestiel@timeladyrikaofgallifrey@osakamilk @kattyshea20@dinodiegos@missmotherhen@kinkygamertrash @beahippie23@xabeautifultragedyx @negansmagic@starwarsandstufff@bdohe21 @lovesjdm @vanilla-negan @to-pick-ourselves-up-7@roselover159@mamarhee @the-writingdead@traumbruch@bellawindixon@dlb1999@thelittlewolf45@collette04@ask-kakashihatake@princessbelgoof@adixon13@botanicalthoughts @nijiru@cheyanhicks@jtklover123@twentyonewalkers @originalwinchestervamp@readytourie @ijashanaa @i-am-lady-anarchy@marauderspads@humble-thumb@hp-hogwartsexpress @mydeliciousdandelion@warriorqueen1991@unholyjs@kentuckywalker @mydeliciousdandelion @dancing-in-embers @gackts-guwashi @ugh-abbyxx@frozenhuntress67@hela-rious48@thoughtfullyoptimisticgalaxy@xojeffreydeanmorgan@thelittlewolf45@babygirlmeepi@thehybridsqueen@blueeyedsoutherngal @naniky @negans-network​ @the-wintergirl​ @fangirl-and-medstudent-help​ @lovesjdm

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[aswithasunbeam]

Broken Bears and Cocoa, a Modern Hamliza AU

[Read on AO3]

Rated: G

Summary: Eliza finds a young Fanny Antill crying alone on the sofa in the middle of the night. The rest of the Hamilton clan quickly follow, and together, they do their best to show the little girl that whatever she's struggling through, she need not do it alone. __ A modern hamliza AU

A soft sniffling  drifted out from the living room as Eliza slowly padded down the stairs. The lights downstairs were all still off, but the soft white glow from their Christmas tree spilled out across the dark entryway. Eliza turned towards the living room and paused, heart breaking at the scene within.

Fanny Antill was curled up alone on the couch, clutching at the stuffed bear Angelica had loaned to her and crying softly, clearly doing her best to make as little noise as possible. The girl looked so young and small; everything in Eliza longed to rush over and scoop her into her arms. But she resisted the urge. The poor girl had just lost her father and her home, and now, without family capable of taking her in, she found herself living with virtual strangers. A hug may not yet be welcome.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Eliza asked, voice low in an effort not to startle the girl.

Fanny jumped anyway, and her face crumpled further. “I’m sorry,” she moaned. “I didn’t mean to. It just fell off.”  

Eliza’s brow wrinkled with confusion until she saw Fanny hold up one of the bear’s plastic eyes, the Christmas lights twinkling off the shiny surface. She felt almost relieved to see the cause of her current distress. At least this was a problem she could fix.

“Angelica’s going to hate me,” Fanny added in a whisper.

“Oh, no, sweetie. She’s not going to hate you,” Eliza assured her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And, anyway, we can fix it.”

Fanny looked at her with wary hope. “Really?”

“Easy,” Eliza promised. “I’ll get the hot glue gun out and stick it right back on, good as new. Okay?”

Fanny wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “Okay.”

Eliza smiled. “I’ll be right back. And I’ll start some hot cocoa for us while I’m at it. How does that sound?”

The offer of the sweet drink brought a tiny smile to Fanny’s face at last. “Good.”

“All right. Wait right there.”

Heading into the kitchen and flipping on the overhead light, Eliza filled two mugs with water and popped them into the microwave to heat before squatting down to dig through the cabinet in search of the hot glue gun. She heard footsteps on the stairs, and turned her head in time to see Alexander come to a stop just inside the kitchen, rubbing at his eye with a sleepy yawn. He had adorably mussed bedhead, and was wearing the old reindeer t-shirt Pip had decorated with his two little handprints for antlers back in preschool. Her husband’s wardrobe had been growing goofier by the day in an effort to make Fanny feel less shy around him. Eliza felt a wave of fondness wash over her, and grinned up at him.

“Hey there, handsome.”

He smiled back at her, though he was visibly confused. “Why are you up? Is somebody sick?”

“An eye fell off that old bear Angelica gave Fanny. She was upset, so I’m making us some cocoa and looking for our hot glue gun.”

“I think it’s in the garage,” he offered. “Pip was using it to make ornaments with Alex yesterday.”

“You let them use hot glue by themselves?” she asked, voice going high with disapproval.

“Of course not. I was supervising. What kind of horrible parent do you think I am?”

She softened and pushed herself up. “I think you’re a wonderful parent,” she assured him, planting a kiss on his lips before scooting around him to go look in the garage. “Can you finish making the cocoa?”

“Sure.” He was already in the kitchen when she glanced back.  

The glue gun was in fact in the garage, back on Alexander’s makeshift workbench beside some old fishing hooks and scraps of felt. Bare feet freezing on the cold cement, Eliza rushed over to collect it and hurried back inside the house, still shivering as she flipped off the light and closed the door. She heard the television as she made her way back down the hall.

“I’m independent,” she heard Hermey the elf declare. She stepped back into the room to see the elf suggesting to Rudolph, “Hey, what do you say we both be independent together?”

Fanny was still on the couch clutching at the bear with one hand, but Alexander now sat on the other end. They were both holding steaming mugs of cocoa, and Fanny looked at least mildly interested in the movie. Alexander smiled when he spotted Eliza, and nodded to the television. “Rudolph’s on.”

“Exciting.” She stooped down to plug in the glue gun, then narrowed her eyes at the mug he held. “Hey, you stole my cocoa.”

He made a face at her, which made her laugh.

“We can share,” he offered. “I promise I don’t have cooties.”

“What’s going on?” Eliza looked back to see Angelica standing at the foot of the stairs, half her hair loose from her ponytail and one leg of her polar bear sleep pants twisted and caught around her bony knee.

Fanny tensed at the sight of her, but Alexander waved her over to the couch. “Come here, Geli bean. We’re watching Rudolph.”

Angelica looked slightly wary, like this might be some sort of trick or test, but she came over after a seconds’ hesitation and crawled up onto the couch beside her father.

“Cocoa?” Alexander offered, holding the mug out towards her. Her face lit up with delight, and she happily took the mug.

“Angelica?” Fanny asked, voice scared and small.

“Yeah?”

“I broke your bear.” Fanny slowly unclenched her fist to reveal the shiny plastic eye in her palm. Angelica frowned at it for a minute, shrugged, and took another sip of cocoa. Fanny watched her carefully, then asked, shocked, “You’re not mad?”

“Mama will fix it,” Angelica said dismissively.

Eliza smiled at the utter faith her daughter seemed to have in her ability to fix everything. The little light on the glue gun had stopped blinking, she noticed, indicating it was ready for use. “I’m going to fix it right now,” she said, motioning for Fanny to come over to her. “Come here, honey.”  

Fanny slid off the couch and came over, holding out the bear and the eye. Quickly smearing the glue all along the back of the eye, Eliza affixed it in its rightful place and pressed down, counting under her breath for half a minute before releasing the pressure. “There, all fixed. We’ll let him stay here on the table to set while we watch the movie, all right?”

To her surprise, Fanny surged forward and wrapped her in a tight hug. Eliza happily returned the embrace, squeezing the little girl to her securely. “Thank you,” Fanny whispered.

“You’re very welcome,” Eliza whispered back, kissing the top of the girl’s head.

Just as she was unplugging the glue gun, she heard the sound of tiny footsteps on the stairs again, and looked over to see Jamie coming down, his ratty old blanket in hand and his thumb in his mouth. The little boy grinned at her around his thumb and raced over to the couch, plopping down on Alexander’s lap.

Alexander laughed and cuddled the boy to him. “I think we’re going to need more cocoa,” he said, glancing over at her.

“I’ll get it,” she offered. “And I’ll wake Pip and Alex. We might as well all be up as a family.”

By the time the movie had ended, the coffee table was littered with mugs and a half empty bag of marshmallows, and their children were all snoring between them on the couch, snuggled up under blankets. Fanny was cuddled between Pip and Eliza, her newly fixed bear held close, and all evidence of her earlier tears now gone.

Eliza noticed Alexander watching her with his head resting against the back of the couch, his face warm and soft in the glow of the Christmas tree. “She’s going to be all right,” he said, his gaze flickering down to the little girl in her arms.

“You think so?” Eliza asked.

“I know so. There’s a lot of love in this house. Whatever she’s going through, she’s not going through it alone.” She stretched her free hand out across the back of the couch to ruffle his hair tenderly. He gave her a wink and added playfully, “Not to mention how amazing we are at parenting.”

She laughed. “Oh, yes. Quite the parenting we’re doing--hopping our kids up on sugar and letting them pass out in front of the tv at one in the morning.”

“Exactly,” he nodded sagely, serious for a beat before his face broke out into a beaming smile.

[thekidultlife]

Reverence + high-school!seungcheol

Of all the four seasons, you’ve always liked it when fall comes around. Especially when you get to wake up early on the first day all the leaves fell, red, green, gold, and all colors between them. And, now, walking on a sidewalk covered with the glorious carpet of fall, you smile as the leaves got into your hair and got crunched by your boots. This is one fine day, you said to yourself, smiling, as you skipped along and relished the sound and the smell of leaves and the sun.

You found yourself imagining the scent of your

favorite brew, of beef stew and salted seafood. You found yourself imagining festivals and bright lights, and you thought of school and the project you were making. Then your phone vibrated, and you knew that your one fine day was not going to be fine anymore.

SIX: Hey, it’s me. Can we talk? I’m at the rooftop.

You closed your eyes and breathed deeply. What is it, this time? Whenever your boyfriend sends you messages like this, he either needs help for homework or wants to—

“I caught the first leaf that fell from our tree this morning,” a deep, bright voice said from behind you, breaking your reverie. You spun around and all the gloomy thoughts that Six sent with his message melted away. You smiled brightly at Seungcheol, who was holding out a beautiful red maple leaf.

“Seungcheollie,” you gushed as he tenderly placed the leaf on your palm. “This is so perfect!” “I made it a point to wake up early to wait for that leaf to fall,” he said nonchalantly, his beautiful large eyes gleaming and his smile infectious. “I almost gave up, but I caught the first leaf.”

He was talking about the first leaf that fell on the maple tree you’d planted when you were both nine years old, at the playground just across the street where you lived next door to each other. The whole planting thing had been an inside joke and a secret at the same time, because you and Cheol had only dumped some seeds one day while playing house but you guys never actually expected the tree to grow. But it did, and it got its own uniqueness, too: it was the last tree to ever shed leaves, come fall. The people in your neighborhood have noticed this, and they’ve always wondered how a maple tree grew in such a small patch of soil right in the middle of a cemented playground, but there you go.

You didn’t know how Seungcheol did that, but he always caught the first one. You had no cause to disbelieve him; you’ve seen him do it three years ago, when it was nighttime and you both were sitting on the rusty swing set facing the maple tree. He was talking about going to college and becoming a teacher, and you were looking at the way the streetlamp was illuminating his deep black hair and you were so engrossed with the mole on his cheek. You remembered thinking that you hadn’t noticed that mole before when Cheol’s eyes suddenly lighted up and he quickly went under the maple tree just in time to see it shed its first leaf, which was followed by a cascade of red and gold beauty. In one swift motion, he caught the leaf, and turned to you with his face shining with delight.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said now, tugging at your arm, “we should make our wishes.” Seungcheol tucked your hand in his and you both walked towards nowhere in particular, enjoying the swirling of the leaves around your feet.

You and Seungcheol have always made it a point to make two wishes each on the first day the leaves fell. One wish was to be spoken aloud; the other was to be spoken by the heart.

And you both did it again, as the leaves danced softly on the sidewalk.

You looked sideways at your best friend since you were six, and you made the first wish. “I wish,” you declared, “that Seungcheol would go with me to Seoul so that we could still be together.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened, and he tackled you in a bear hug. “Y/N! Don’t tell me—”

“—Yep,” you said smugly, holding up the letter of approval you’ve received from your dream school. “I just got accepted! I’ll be continuing my senior year there, Seungcheollie!”

“You’re so amazing!” Seungcheol laughed with glee as he snatched the letter from your hand. His face scrunched up as he read the contents. “Wow. You’re getting a full scholarship all the way to college.” He looked at you with endearing eyes and gave a big thumbs-up. “I’m so proud of you.”

You elbowed him. “But you have to follow me there, you hear? I’m not going anywhere without you.” For a few magical heartbeats, Seungcheol just stared at you with an unreadable expression, the smile he had on his lips faltering for a fraction of a second.

Don’t look at me like that, you heart pleaded. Please don’t look at me like that.

But Cheol always does.

He has this way of looking at you like you were some sort of person to look up to, a girl to be revered, to be worshipped, adored. He always looks at you this way. You never did anything that special to make him so attentive, so doe-eyed frozen looking at you like you were all he sees.

Six never looked at me like this. And you had this tiny part of your heart that wished you could be something more, but you knew Six well enough to expect as such.

In order not to get flustered with the way Cheol was gazing, you continued, rather hastily, to speak. “Fulfill my wish, will you? You know I’ve always been the scared one when it comes to trying out new things and going to new places.”

Seungcheol recovered long enough to laugh again, shaking his head, as if trying to shake off the look he was giving you moments ago. “Yeah, sure. My turn!” He looked at you and said aloud, “Please let Y/N and I fulfill our dreams together just as we planned!”

You grinned up at him and held out your hand. “BFFs for life, eh?”

He grinned back, but his eyes didn’t follow his smile, and as you looked back at this moment later on, you couldn’t help but wonder why. “Of course. Best friends. For life.”

He said the words so softly, like a whisper, but it pierced through your heart so deeply that for a moment you were unable to return his smile. Then you caught yourself, and you nodded, smiling brightly for him. You honestly didn’t know what was wrong with you two, because lately, everything’s been too mushy between you and him. But you sort of didn’t think much about it; if anything, it just made the both of you closer.

At exactly that point, your phone rang. Hands shaking, you answered it.

“Six?”

…

As far as Seungcheol was concerned, Six was a sleazeball and a jerk all rolled into one pathetic human being. And even before you had been acquainted with the asshole, he’d been irked by the guy. Something about Six just rubbed Seungcheol the wrong way.

It probably started when Six began lording all over the campus with his good looks and playboy charm. But he found that he hated Six more when Six started dating you.

“That guy’s no good for you, Y/N,” he had said, scowling as you pulled your hair up in a ponytail and primped up for your first date. “I really don’t like the idea that you’re dating him.”

“Oh, please,” you had said as you put on some makeup. “I hated Seol, too, when you first started dating her. You’ll get over this best friend touchiness and love Six once you get to know him.”

But that day hasn’t come yet, and Seungcheol doubted that it would come anytime soon. He hated the fact that you hadn’t listened to him.

“I thought you were gonna break up with Six when he started playing around with Eunbi,” Seungcheol said as he followed you onto the rooftop where you said Six was

waiting.

“I thought you were gonna break up with Seol when she started playing around with a lot of men,” you spat back as you went up the steps. Then you stopped going up and turned around to face Cheol. “Look, you didn’t have to come here with me.”

And now, he was even more pissed off that you’d gone home crying. Again.

He knew this was Breakup No. 7, with the Crying Encore that left him feeling even more of a jerk than your ex.

He shouldn’t have left you all by yourself. He should’ve waited for you, because he knew this would end badly. He was cursing himself as he bounded up the stairs to the condo unit where Six the Sonofabitch was staying.

He pounded on the front door, shouting out Six’s name.

And when Six opened the door, Cheol couldn’t help it. He knocked him down, relishing the moment when his fist made contact with the sonofabitch’s sorry little nose. The Crying Encore was forgotten; the crunch of Six’s nose was enough to send Cheol singing “hallelujah”.

He got a little more angry, though, when Girlfriend No. 2 came running out of the bedroom door wearing nothing but a thong. Cheol furiously pointed at the door. The girl left, half-naked, screaming.

“I don’t know why you had to fucking mess with Y/N’s head every fucking time, but I’m done watching you, you motherfucker,” Seungcheol fumed, his eyes flaring up with an intense anger. “And I don’t care about the cops taking me in for the night. I’d do this all over again if I had to.”

“You sonofa—” Six sputtered out, holding his broken nose. “You were one of the reasons she and I don't work out. You always had to butt in on our—”

“—she’s the most important person in my life,” Seungcheol swore, “and I’d fucking kill you if you ever come near her again. You made her cry for how many shit-days, you moron. That will not happen again.”

“I always knew you weren’t serious about Seol,” Six taunted. “I’m gonna make fucking sure—”

“—oh, spare me your threats.” Seungcheol slammed his foot down on Six’s stomach, and Six screamed with pain. “Don’t ever come close to Y/N again. Know your place, you little shit. You don’t deserve her.”

“And neither do you, fucker,” Six growled, his eyes daring Cheol to say otherwise.

But Cheol just smiled sadly.

“I know.”

- Admin Leanne

Send us a word + an AU + a member!

[mavda]

Melted

Ch.1 | Ch.2 | Ch.3 | Ch.4 | Ch.5 | Ch.6 | Ch.7 | Ch.8 | Ch.9 | Ch.10 | Ch.11 | Ch. 12 | Ch.13 | Ch.14 | Ch.15 | Ch.16 | Ch.17 | Ch.18 | Ch.19 | Ch.20 | Ch.21 | Ch.22 | Ch.23 | Ch.24 | Ch.25 | Ch.26 | Ch.27 | Ch.28 | Ch.29 | Ch.30 | Ch.31 | Ch.32 | Ch.33 | Ch.34 | Ch.35 | Ch.36 | Ch.37 | Ch.38 | Ch.39 | Ch.40 | Ch.41 |  Ch.42 |

Ch.43: Pins in the hem and a twirl

Link spurred Epona to guide the last of the Ordon goats back to the stable. Fado whistled in amazement and slow clapped till Link stopped in front of him, the boy had talent and Fado had been missing him.

"Amazing as always, Link! Thanks for helping out!"

Link jumped off and waved off the compliment, "You have anything else for me?" Link closed the barn and cleared off the dust on his clothes.

Fado was waiting for Epona to breathe evenly, and apple in hand. The mare was huffing and puffing but nuzzled Fado's hand nonetheless, "Nuh-uh, everything's done for the day, man."

Link rested his back on the barn, nodded to himself, "Great."

Fado was expecting for Link to get on Epona and leave, but the boy just stared up to the darkening sky, "Something on your mind?"

Link blinked, "No," he frowned, "not at all, don't worry."

Link waved his hand and Fado saw him trotting to the village. Before Fado lost sight of him he put his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Tell Zelda I said hi!"

Link straightened his back and waved his hand again. Fado chuckled, he could see Link's blush even from where he was.

The village had asked few questions and had received Zelda with open arms. It had helped that Mayor Bo had vouched for her, that the popular Rusl had stood behind her in a protective stance and that Link, beloved child, had asked for the people's help. Link, who barely thought before saying yes to those who needed him; Link, who gave away his money for the better of everyone else; Link, who had gone through hell and back to save their children, their future; Link, who had come back gloomy and serious and had laughed every worry off. Link, who looked at Princess Zelda with puppy eyes and whispered in her ear to make her smile.

The village came to an untold agreement to keep quiet, keep outsiders under watch and look out for Zelda in every way they could. It didn't hurt that Zelda exuded charm.

Talo screamed before plunging forward. Beth was doing little to help, as her shouts were cheers for his enemy. Colin held his breath every time the sword got near Zelda.

Zelda twirled with grace and made Talo stumble with her foot. Talo turned and let out an exaggerated sigh, "Not fair!"

Beth started to counter that it was fair, and that he just sucked when Zelda stifled a smile and crouched to Talo's height, "You'll get better, you just have to practice."

Talo looked to the side, mumbled, "Link said the same thing..."

"Well, Link is right."

Talo stomped on the ground, "I don't seem to improve, though."

Zelda touched Talo's arm, "You will have to be patient, Talo. I assure you, if you keep practicing, you will get better."

Beth and Colin smiled at Talo, trying to comfort him.

Talo pouted and then looked at Zelda, "What do you say we practice with the bow, now?"

Beth was jumping up and down, yelling that it was her turn now and that she, too, wanted to be part of that.

Zelda straightened and put away the wooden swords Link always left in Epona's stable for the kids to use, she was putting on the quiver when the kids started to greet somebody.

Illia smiled in return, "Oh, Zelda, we are going back to eat at Uli's now, I'm sure the kids can wait for another of your classes."

Beth ran to Zelda, "But I'm first tomorrow, all right?"

Uli had been clear from the get go, Zelda could and should say and ask everything she wanted, Uli's house was her house and as such she could do as she pleased.

Doing as she pleased, for Zelda, meant shadowing Uli and feeding off her niceness.

Lunches at Uli's were soft and warm, and Zelda could only remember Link's pictures of this place and smile. Being in Ordon felt soft, warm, nostalgic.

Coming to Ordon had been the best decision she had made that month. Link would have breakfast with her and then he would leave to help the village, Zelda was always invited to have lunch with someone and when Link came back they would take a walk around.

Illia passed a plate to Zelda and their fingers touched. Illia had been nothing but niceness to Zelda, polite, eager to help, trying her best to be there. Illia would be the one to show Zelda around when Link was still doing errands.

"You like this, Zelda?"

Zelda eyed the pumpkin stew and gave a polite nod, "It's delicious."

"Everything with pumpkin is Link's favorite."

Illia gave Zelda so much information about Link, Zelda felt she knew him better and better each time. Illia gave these with ease, with trust, with care.

The children would go back to their houses after, tired and sleepy. And then it was only Zelda and Illia.

"Want to come to my house?"

Illia was the nicest of them all. She made sure Zelda was fine, would ask Zelda whenever a choice was to be made.

"Sera brought some fabric the other day and I've been making a dress with it, I want your opinion."

Illia twirled around in her dress, the hem still had pins in it. Illia had become a friend. Zelda had thought Illia's niceness was due to Link, he had asked for help and her best friend had been first in line to back him up. But Illia...

"Illia," Zelda called, and the dress stopped mid-twirl. "I'm going back in a week."

Illia nodded, ironed the front of her dress with her hands.

"I plan on asking Link to come with me."

Illia scrunched her face, "He's going whether you ask him or not," she laughed.

Zelda could feel her face burn up.

Illia smiled and sat next to Zelda, "I'm really glad Link brought you here, you know." Zelda stilled next to her. "Now I know you're not how they say you are."

Zelda hummed, "Great."

"Because, you know, I used to think that you were just using Link, I imagined you with a smirk on your face laughing at the poor sap he was."

Zelda looked at Illia in shock and coughed a little.

Illia smirked, "See? And you're none of those things."

Illia looked at her hands. The reason Zelda had wanted to tell her this... "Thanks for telling me."

"Your dress is really pretty."

Illia brightened and stood, "You think so?"

"Yes, the color really suits you."

Illia moved through her bedroom with exaggerated moves.

"Illia."

"Yes?"

"Are we... have we become friends?"

Illia stopped and looked up, "Of course we are."

"Oh," Zelda hid her face behind her hands, "oh, great," Zelda looked away.

Illia thinned her lips, "Zelda, if you hide your face like that it feels like you're confessing."

"Oh."

"Zelda, loot at me," Illia laughed.

"Just give me a second."

Illia grabbed Zelda's hands, "We are friends, come on, I've been so nice to you because I thought we were!"

Zelda tried to hide her face but started laughing, "I was just making sure, all right!"

"I gave you dirt on Link, Zelda! That practically cemented our friendship!"

Zelda threw her head back and laughed, Illia fell with her on the bed and the door to Illia's room opened.

"Sorry, am I interrupting?" Link's mop of hair got halfway through the door before stopping.

Illia laughed a couple more times before rolling over, "Link!" Illia twirled and ended with a bow.

"Oooh, looks pretty."

Illia smiled and winked at Zelda, "I know."

Link frowned and looked between the girls, "I can come back a little later."

Illia clicked her tongue, "We are done here, Link, you can take Zelda."

Zelda gave a little smile before closing the door.

"Zelda, next time I'll tell you about the time Link almost poisoned us in a festival!"

Link shined red, "Illia!"

Illia's laughs resonated inside her room.

Link was waiting down the stairs. "Link," Zelda said when she caught up.

Link raised his head but everted his look.

"Illia already told me that one."

Link closed his eyes and looked to the ceiling," Illia!"

Illia's guffaws followed them oustide the house.

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Taken and Turned | 1

SNOW COATED every inch of the ground, it's white and subtle touch burning against my eyes. Everything looked so undisturbed- black oil and soot pressed against either side of the highway in attempts to dirty a perfect winter wonderland.

Large pine trees lined either side of the winding trail, the green standing out against everything else- including the deep grey that littered the sky. The scent of a burning plastic was still thick in my lungs; the rental car not being touched by a living soul since last summer.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel until my knuckles turned a sickly shade of white. I couldn't feel them anyway, the leather just as cold as the windows that threatened to fog at any moment. The silence amplifying the sound of the tire against freshly thickened ice.

A soft fluorescing light filled the car as a rough buzz sounded against the cup holder that my phone rested in. A shaky sigh moving past my lips as Tyler's contact photo flashed against my vision. He would keep calling, I knew he would.

With a little hesitation, I slid my finger against the cooled screen, raising it to my ear as I slowed my speed. I didn't want to wreck before I even got to the place- the roads empty and desolate. If I crashed, there was little to no chance of even being found.

"Tell me it's not true."

"Hello to you too, Ty."

He paused for a second, but I could hear his breath. It was spotty and drawn in. His anger was apparent, something I hated to hear from him. The moment I asked Joey for the keys, I knew I would be getting a phone call; both boys wary enough to keep scarce contact with one another.

"What the hell are you thinking?" he hissed, voice like venom. "You've done some reckless things these past few months Andrea, but this is by far the worst."

I was silent, not knowing exactly what to say. Reckless? Yes, it was. Everything about this little weekend trip had danger written across its face in giant block letters. "It's necessary."

"For what?" Tyler asked, tone refusing to soften, even just a bit. He was out in public, I could hear the creak of a few doors and the sound of a sink running. He didn't have time for my antics, he didn't have time to follow me out here.

"For my sanity."

He let out a thick sigh, this time it was steady. This time he knew exactly what he could do. Nothing. I was already too far down the road to turn back, that giant brass key sitting next to me and a travel sized bag filled with clothes rattling around in the back seat.

"This is your choice, Andrea." He said, "I suppose I can't talk you out of it?"

"No," I whispered, knowing he could hear it. He could hear everything at this point, his surroundings quieting enough for both of us to sit in an uncomfortable silence. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are," Tyler said, the silence becoming permanent as he hung up. No warning, no goodbye. Part of me aching just to hear his anger again. We never left conversations with malice- but this time was different.

I wanted to believe that he would forgive and forget. That he purposely didn't give me parting words in hope that I would return and search for them myself. Incentive other than relief, I suppose. I threw the phone down in the passenger seat next to me, it made an odd, yet soft noise as it pressed against the upholstery.

The trees began to thin, parting to the bright light of a sky as my thoughts varied. This was it, the house was only another mile ahead. A mile of thick woods and isolation tactics that reminded me more of the shining. Not a Victorian mansion.

Nothing about the mansion was normal, though. A far cry from the night I had spent there two years back. The weather colder and taught iron gates stronger. It stilled loomed in its excessive style- two stories of pure elegance made up of brick and white paneling.

The stone driveway wrapped around a lime fountain- the carving of an angel dripping with rust and stains. The water had been stopped for the winter months, instead, white powder collected in the eyes and piled on the sagging and chipped wings.

The brakes on the car groaned in exasperation as I came to a full stop in front of the large front steps, cleared and easily accessed from the rest of the winter storm. The same storm that made a pale yellow light shine like gold across the crystallized ice.

Cold bit through my clothes quickly, the keys in my hand the only thing to keep the heat that I was blasting for the last 300 miles. My legs aching and numb from sitting in the same position for hours on end.

Everything was a peaceful quiet as I climbed the steps, careful not to slip on any condensation, again going back to thinking about how empty this place was. If I fell, no one would be around. No one except them.

Part of me wanted to knock. The large iron lion that stared at me was most likely cemented to the door with ice, but I took a chance anyway- a ripping sound filling the air as it broke apart from its basin fairly easy.

I let it fall a few times, echoing and strong as the house seemed to shake in its silence. I kept the keys in my palm, not wanting to use them at all. I wasn't even sure what door they went too- Joey getting pale and almost unresponsive when I mentioned anything to do with the place.

After a few agonizing seconds, the door creaked open, warmth radiating from the foyer, my heart racing against the inside of my wrist as I caught a small glimpse of the same old winding staircase and checked black and white floors that I only thought belonged in tacky diners or small delis.

Her eyes immediately reflected some sense of recognition. Her shoulders strong and squared as she kept her stone cut jaw raised slightly. It was odd- seeing her after so long. Her hair cropped to the same blonde pixie cut that it was before- her stare a deep grey.

"Andrea?" She gasped, quickly taking in my appearance as well, a slight smile on her pink lips. "I never expected to see you again."

"That makes two of us," I chuckled a bit, more a nervous habit than anything. She looked good, dressed in something other than a steampunk creation that Cedric made her keep. Part of me didn't know what to call her anymore, the old nickname "jetpack girl" Not fitting her current appearance.

"Come on in, you must be freezing." She wasn't mistaken, my own limbs feeling numb as I stepped into the large welcoming room. Everything looked the same, smelled the same- other than the distinct lack of copper.

A large rug was a new addition. Right at the edge of the stairs to cover up the very spot that Joey had fallen under the blade of a sword aimed towards a woman with a pension for evil. One that destroyed any sense of family that I had created.

Jetpack girl cleared her throat, the door having been closed. She must have caught me staring at the exact place- the exact moment this house was released from evil. "I knew one of you would come back, I just assumed it would be Tyler."

I gave her a genuine smile this time. "No, I don't think he'll ever step foot back in this place."

"I don't blame him." She rocked back and forth on her toes for a second. "Don't take this the wrong way, Andrea. But why?"

I swallowed roughly, mouth dry despite that. Grey eyes peered into mine as I struggled to find an answer. Part of it had been my sanity, my well-being. The thoughts that kept me up at night strange and unwelcoming. "I want to learn more."

"About the house?" She asked, voice hushed.

"No," I shook my head, quiet with my own words. "About her."

[dontshootmespence]

Two Most Graceful People Ever

A/N: A request from one of my tumblr children @ssa-banshee for a Spencer x Reader where she is a dancer (think hip hop, not stripper) and he is a professor, and he sees her hurt herself while practicing, so he goes to check on her. These are the dance (s) I based this one-shot off of because I wish I was that cool tbh. @coveofmemories @sexualemobitch @jamiemelyn

                                                                ----

There was nothing like the complete and total freedom you felt when you were dancing. At first, it had been a way to meet people, have fun and stay in shape, but now dancing was so much more to you. It was a way to decompress during the stress of classes. It was a way for you to escape whatever feelings about whoever you happened to be dating or whether or not your best friend was going to lose her scholarship because she was partying to much and was failing her classes. Dancing was freedom. And you always danced like no one was watching.

It was amazing really. Without any music or choreography to adhere to, you had absolutely no rhythm at all, but once the music started and the choreo started playing through your mind there was nothing stopping you. You started out playing random music between classes and practicing a variety of freezes, kicks and flares.

Practicing between classes had become a thing since you broke up with your boyfriend - cheating bastard. You weren’t really on the market for anyone else, but you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit that showing off for one of the young professors wasn’t on your agenda. Dr. Spencer Reid taught in a number of adjunct roles in addition to his work with the FBI, and while so many of your classmates laughed at his awkward mannerisms, here on their parents’ orders with no intention of actually doing anything with their lives, you found it endearing and always enjoyed his classes. He was very passionate about what he did. Plus, he was tall, slender but not overwhelmingly muscular, with dark, deep set hazel eyes and sandy brown hair that kind of did whatever it wanted to do on any given day. And when he smiled? Fuck, you melted. It was stupid how cute he was. So of course you wanted to impress him.

It just so happened that he’d pass you during classes (ok, you knew where he taught and decided to practice outside of where his class let out, whatever) so instead of practicing random moves, you decided to practice one of your favorite dances for WTF by Missy Elliott. 

As the music started up, people gathered, as they tended to do - anything to distract them from the monotony of classes for more than two seconds. You’d perfected this choreo before - the fluidity of your movements practiced yet deliberate. You got cheers normally; people loved the faces you’d make during this song, acting a fool but with an excuse. 

The person you noticed however was Professor Reid, leaning against the building where his class had just let out. His light brown hair caught the sheen of the afternoon sun; it was almost enough to distract you - almost. But you kept moving, stealing glances at him when the angle would allow. You didn’t imagine he had much experience with this type of dance, but you figured that’s what made it more interesting for him. He was learning about something he didn’t already have knowledge of - something you assumed he craved given his three Ph.D.’s and seemingly endless pursuit of knowledge. 

Once you finished, you took a bow and told your small audience that if they had time, you’d be doing a few more dances. Stealing a glance toward Professor Reid’s building, you realized he wasn’t there anymore and sighed, until seeing him walk toward the crowd of students and meet up with a few other professors - most much older than him. 

He was probably just interested in your dancing, but you were definitely going to use this opportunity to dazzle the sexy professor if you could. Of course, you picked a dance that was slightly sexier than the last one, but still showed off your skill. 

Each time you stole a glance at the professor, he seemed fascinated, and by the end, he was clapping alongside the rest of the students; the older professors had left not that that surprised you. Most of the students dispersed as well, needing to go to class. That left you to practice a couple random moves that you needed to nail for the upcoming competition while Professor Reid watched. He sat at a nearby table and made it look like he was doing some work, but you could tell he wasn’t. 

A lot of the more difficult moves required a crazy amount of upper body strength, which you had, but only if you were doing them in short bursts. When you needed to hold them for longer...well, let’s just say you needed to work on your arms some more. Windmills and headspins were two other moves you loved, but those wouldn’t work was well on cement (ow), so you decided to work on the deadman float - so. much. stomach. and. arm. strength. required. 

Over and over again, you managed to do a planche pose, basically what you were attempting only staying still instead of moving, but getting moving was the problem. If you were able to nail it, it was more about momentum so you were able to carry it through, but if the momentum wasn’t there then you got stuck in a planche pose and you were fucked. Thankfully, you didn’t have to nail this move for the competition coming up. 

You had no idea what you did wrong, but all of a sudden you felt a muscle pull in your hand. Pushing off the ground with the opposite one, you landed badly on your foot and fell to the ground - graceful. When you looked up again, you saw the professor still there and bumbling toward you, presumably to help, only to have him trip himself. “A-Are you okay?” he asked, picking up the books that had fallen out of his hands. “I was coming over here to check on you and I tripped myself. Graceful, huh?”

“That’s what I was just thinking of myself,” you laughed. Your foot was fine, so you stood up, gently shaking out your hand; that’s what hurt. “You’d think with all of the things I’m able to do I would be able to not trip over my own two feet.”

Professor Reid finished grabbing his things and stood up to meet your gaze; he was even more beautiful up close. Wincing, you looked down at your wrist, taken off guard when the professor flipped your wrist and asked what hurt. “I think you might have the beginnings of tendonitis,” he said, no longer flustered. He seemed to become more confident when he wasn’t speaking directly to people. “I don’t know anything about dance, but I do know that out of the muscles you’re using for whatever that was,” he said, spinning his finger around above the ground, “the wrists are the weakest for pretty much everyone, so I’d give it a day or two and then do some wrist strengthening exercises so they can accept the strain you need to put on them.” When he looked up again, he instantly became flustered. “What is that move anyway?”

“It’s called the deadman float,” you said. “I can hold the position, but moving around on my wrists is absolute murder.”

He laughed as the two of you started walking toward another building. His next class was your next as well. “I don’t d-doubt it,” he said as he opened the door. “I’m lucky the FBI accepted me into the academy. It’s purely for my brain because I have little athletic skill to speak of.”

Although you were both a bit early, you walked into the classroom up a grouping of about three or so steps. The Professor’s books went flying once again as he tripped up the stairs. “Oh my god, are you okay?” you asked, kneeling down to help grab his books. 

“I’m f-fine,” he replied. “I’m just so graceful today.”

You stood up a tripped on one of his books, flying back down into the floor. “Well, that makes two of us,” you laughed.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 3 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 2 here. Part 4 here.

Summary:  Your first Ceremony goes as planned. Or, it kind of does. Can one really plan for something like this?

Words: 3000

Warnings: Dubcon, Handmaid AU, the sads

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Hi, y'all! I'm so sorry I'm slow at updating. There is life stuff going on and it's hard for me to get back into the swing of writing at the same time! But! I am working at it, I promise.

Here is the Ceremony! Probably not the type of sex we all wanted, but... hey... we need a foil for the future, right? OOP.

Anyway, I love y'all so much, thank you to those who are entertaining my strange desire to write this fucking AU! See you soon!

You descended the stairs, heart in your throat, toes at Emma’s heels. You knew what was to come next--you remembered this, if anything, after having practiced it for a period of time that you imagined to be months. You weren’t sure, though. It could have been days. Or years. It all had melted together, anyway.

She led you into a den; two ornate, mahogany chairs sat at the head of the room, adjacent to the worn limestone hearth. Glass lamps emitted golden light, gilding the walls and turning it to a palace before your eyes. It was warm--so warm, you almost mistakenly felt welcome, as if your comfort and happiness were a priority. But you knew better. So you followed your brain’s commands, floating as a wisp to the center of the den and descending to your knees. Your skirts piled around you like a red mushroom cap, your white-wimpled head the upended stem.

Kneeling there, you stared into the floor, torrents of blood tearing through your body, rushing loud in the shells of your ears. Around you, movement. One Martha--Emma, you guessed--fell to her knees beside you, and then another, the one whose name you did not know. Only feet in front of you, the blue hem of Johana’s skirt skimmed the perimeter of your sight as she took the second chair--the one next to what could only be described as the throne.

It was large, made for a frame twice the size of yours, upholstered in fresh, blood-red velvet. It was where the Commander would sit, you were sure, when he arrived. Face hot, you glanced to the entrance, but caught Johana’s gaze instead.

“Don’t look so anxious,” she hissed under her breath. “There’s nothing to be excited about.”

Before you could bow your head, the floorboards shuddered underneath you, heavy footsteps sending shockwaves through your veins. You swore they’d been petrified. Holding your breath, you watched, knowing Johana was watching you, studying your face, hunting for any moment of weakness. The steps stopped, and the door squeaked open, thick oak swinging to reveal your Commander.

Seeing him again stole the breath you’d been holding, and when he met your eyes, the air vaporized. Time moved like wind through tall grass, your attention chained to him as he entered. He stepped forward, a graceful predator, his dark hair framing his face, his gaze cementing you to the floor with every passing nanosecond he stared. You couldn’t wrench yourself away, even knowing Johana could see, even knowing she knew what was happening. He was seducing you, there, in front of her, in front of everyone, his eyes like amber pools of lust, hardening around you and casting you in resin desire.

You swallowed, lips parting--and he turned, breaking the spell, leaving you gasping and breathless as he took his seat beside his Wife. Cheeks burning, you dropped your head toward the floor, your heart pounding in your temple. Johana had seen it all. You were certain. You cursed your errant, disrespectful cunt.

“What was that?” It wasn’t to him--but it wasn’t necessarily to you, either. The question hung, a challenge to the sexual energy in the air. “I saw that. What was that?”

Flames fanned at your face, your lips tight over your teeth. In your lap, your hands trembled.

“I’m unsure to what you are referring,” Ren said coolly. “I have to begin the reading.”

Johana sucked in a sharp breath of air. “N-no. No, you don’t.” Her voice was tremulous. “You need to explain. Explain what that was.”

“Do I?” he asked. Your eyes remained locked on the floor, but you heard shuffling from his seat. “I wasn’t aware I owed you an explanation on anything.”

“Well, you do!” she snapped.

Beside you, the Marthas shifted, stuffing their gasps. You would have gasped, too--but your lungs were still empty, your body still frozen to the joints. Your Commander didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe.

Johana seemed to regain her sanity, pausing for a moment. “I didn’t mean you, Sir. The, um. The Handmaid. Shared inappropriate eye contact with you. She needs to explain.”

Blood filled your cheeks. You were suddenly drenched in your own sweat, beads at your hairline slipping over your skin. Opening your dry mouth, you went to speak--but nothing left.

“Did she?” There hadn’t been so much as a flinch. “I hadn’t noticed.” Rustling of pages--the Bible--as he thumbed through the passages. “To begin today’s--”

“B-but, Sir,” Johana insisted. You almost marvelled at her bravery. “Laws state--”

“I’m well aware of the laws, Johana.” Her name was venom on his tongue. “Unless you believe I’ve forgotten the very regulations I’m bound to uphold.”

You watched her feet inch together from the edge of your sight. “No, Sir.”

“I wonder, now…” He stood, stammering your heart in your chest. “You wouldn’t be trying to disrupt the Ceremony, would you?”

“Oh, no--”

“Because if you were...” The Bible plopped with a solid thud onto the seat of his chair. Slow, methodical footsteps circled her. “I’d say that’s an error more egregious than incidental eye contact.” He stopped, and you peeked through your lashes. He was in front of her, looming, daring her to continue her challenge. “Wouldn’t you?”

Johana’s attention darted between her husband and you--catching her glance, you whipped your head toward the floor again. “Yes, Sir,” she murmured. She was admitting defeat. For now.

“Good,” he said. “I agree. But…” You heard him grab the Bible. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I don’t need to begin the reading. Perhaps I don’t need to do the reading at all.”

Ice filtered into your blood.

“What?” Johana’s question left her in a sputtered laugh.

Ren paused for a moment--you felt the cast of his eyes on your cowered frame. “Go upstairs. Prepare for the Ceremony. I’ll be in shortly.”

With that, he left, the dull click of his shoes disappearing down the hall. You were a mannequin, unwilling to volunteer the first movement, and so were the Marthas. Together, you imagined you looked like a display in one of the old malls, modeling a fashion collection meant only to speculate. Except that your life was no speculation. This was it.

After what seemed like eternal silent moments, Johana stood, clearing her throat. “You heard him, Emma. Rose.” The Marthas stirred. Rose--Rose was the other one. “Get to it. And you,” she spat, kicking her foot in your direction. “Come on. Let’s go.”

You scrambled to your feet, stumbling over the volume of your skirts and the knocking of your knees. Embers had replaced your skin, every scrape of fabric like sandpaper. It wasn’t as if you’d never had sex--but the thought of seeing him over you. His length sliding inside of your body. Would he be gentle? Would he be--big? Your face glowed with heat. Johana met your eyes and scowled, nodding toward the other end of the den before marching through it. Whimpering, you scampered behind her as she led you to the other end of the house--far past where you stayed.

“I know what I saw,” she murmured. “I’m not an idiot.”

Your chin quivered. “Um, I don’t think you are, ma’am--”

“Shut up.” Her small hands curled into fists. “I’m watching you, girl. Just know I can do with you what I’ve done with the others.”

“Um. O-okay.”

In silence, you ascended another staircase, this one coiling up toward the ceiling in a tight, iron spiral. Your head swam with fear, the world whirling around you like a top--and the stairs were only making it worse. What I’ve done with the others. That needed no defining. Stay away from the Commander. Neither did that. And somehow, you needed to abide by this advice while simultaneously preparing to receive his semen. An unbidden shiver raced through you.

Dammit.

Johana led you through the hall. Large, clear windows revealed the encroaching darkness, the dying sun emptying the vestiges of its light into the sky. A blackbird flitted across the pink-orange dusk, its silhouette like an imitation of freedom. A door marked the end of the hall, and Johana stopped, fishing a key out from her sleeve and popping it into the knob. You wondered, briefly, if there was a lock on your door. Wondered if it served to keep you in--or the Commander out.

The second you passed the threshold, she yanked it shut behind you. Wincing, you wrung your gloved hands together, appraising their bedroom. A bed sat at the opposite end of the room, facing the door. It was enormous--bigger than any you’d ever seen. Even a king-sized mattress wasn’t as impressive. Its sheets were dark and luxurious, the frame an ebony wood that supported a thin purple canopy. Black velvet curtains were drawn over the windows, the only light coming from a single lamp and the white taper candles that Johana was leaping to light.

The rest of the space echoed its centerpiece--a construction of dramatic darkness, a reproduction of a storybook bedroom. As warm yellow fire filled the air, Johana wagged the final match cold and left it on the nightstand before turning to you, her stone face half-cast in darkness. The air was dead.

“Are you going to get ready, or are you just going to stand there?”

Swallowing, you nodded, inching off to the side of the bed for privacy, turning your back toward Johana as  you gathered your skirts above your hips. The fabric was heavy and hot in your hands, hotter still as you worked the modest excuse for underwear down over your hips and feet. When you were finished, you pulled yourself up onto the bed, forcing yourself to ignore the soft give of the mattress or the smoothness of the sheets. You imagined your Commander sleeping there every night, his long, black hair tousled over his face.

Dammit.

Johana sighed, joining you, your body rigid while she guided her legs to either side of you and eased your head onto her stomach.

“Down further,” she said. “Toward the edge.”

You nodded, scooting to the edge, allowing her to adjust your position until your calves dangled over the end. She touched and dropped you with the same affection one might treat a pail of vomit. When she finished, you heard her lungs expand--as if she were about to say something--but before she could speak, the door opened, and she snatched up your hands in hers like she’d been holding them the entire time. The bones crackled.

“Good evening, Sir,” said Johana.

The Commander closed the door behind him, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt while his eyes traveled over the both of you. “Johana,” he replied. “You’re ready.”

“I am.”

“Not you,” he said--and met your gaze. You clenched. “Her.”

Johana’s hands gave yours a sharp squeeze.

“Oh.” Saliva clogged your throat. “Y-yes. Sir.”

He sauntered forward, thickening the air with every step. “Good.”

Dark eyes, honeyed in the candlelight, roamed over your lower body, forcing your cunt to clench against its will. His lip twitched, and he stepped closer, taking the hem of your skirts in his large hands. Johana’s grip tightened as he peeled them up over your hips, exposing you to his stare. He held them high, examining you. Gold fire flashed in his irises. One hand, hidden by the curtain of your skirt, skated over the sensitive mound of your pussy, touch like sparks to tinder--and he dropped the fabric. You bit your lip, stifling the whine that wanted to leave.

“Very good.” The depth of his voice made you question what exactly he was praising.

Part of you couldn’t believe how bold he was being--and the other part wished he would freaking stop, because he was going to get you either shipped off to the Colonies or strung out on a rope and you just kind of wanted to get this whole affair over with. You chewed your cheek, watching his hand fall between his legs, rubbing and palming the bulge behind the fabric.

Damn. It.

He stared at your naked pussy, continuing to tease himself, stroking his concealed cock back and forth, allowing it to grow larger in his trousers. Johana shifted underneath you, and you stole a glance--her blue eyes were glued to her husband, her lips separated by mere millimeters. She wanted him, too.

The jangle of a belt, a short zip--your attention was back on him, hypnotized as his pants and underwear fell to the middle of his thighs, his dick springing free. Now your lips parted, saliva spilling into your mouth as you gazed at his length. His cock was huge--bigger than you’d ever seen. And you were supposed to take that?

Ren’s head tilted while he inched forward, putting himself in position, the head of his cock only inches from your cunt. You were positive you’d forgotten to breathe, evidenced by the lack of circulation in your fingers. Or perhaps that was because of Johana, grinding your bones in her hands. He said nothing, the flicker of lust snuffed out, now, as he observed your pussy like a blueprint. Blinking, he gripped his dick, leaning over you and parting your folds with the tip. Your breath hitched--but if he had noticed, he didn’t care, taking his time to coat the head of his cock in your slick before furrowing his brow and pushing in.

You restrained any noise, as you’d been taught--pleasure was not part of this--but it was difficult when he stretched you, breaking you open with a long, deep thrust. Instinctively, you clenched around him--and, against all convention, he lost control of his detachment, a tiny groan escaping his throat.

Johana’s hands crushed yours, and you flinched, seething in silence. But you were unable to tear your eyes from him as he rolled his hips, pulling out and thrusting back in, this time ignoring the delighted flutter of your walls around his cock. You wanted to hate this--wanted to hatehim--but instead you found yourself memorizing him. The smoky musk of his body, the hint of skin between his jacket and trousers that he’d exposed, the girth of him prying you apart. And, strangely, your face fell at his studied, solemn expression, his focus trained on the feeling of your pussy swallowing his dick--rather than on you.

Another thrust, and another, and his head bowed, a few messy locks of hair drifting into his face when his pace quickened. Ren shifted, angling himself to fuck deeper into you, his jaw dropping as an undeniable tide of bliss washed over him. His breath, stifled by necessity, was coming in pants, his chest unable to suffocate the grunts of effort while he chased his climax. Johana’s breathing was in sync with his, her grip attempting to pinch you in two--and you were drowning, torn between wanting to disappear and wanting to release the moan trapped inside of your lungs.

Ren grunted again--louder, this time, his lids shut in concentration. His hips smacked yours, your body rocking into Johana’s, who was muttering unintelligibly. Repression smothered all three of you, unspoken and strangled desires greater than your roles, greater than the Ceremony, greater than God. You wanted to want the Commander, wanted him to want you, wanted Johana to fade into the wall, wanted this to be intimate--passionate. But it wasn’t, it could never be, because you were a hole to fuck, a vessel for his seed, an unfortunate drawback of your uterus.

Hips jerking, Ren sucked in air through his teeth, and you tensed, taking the brunt of his weight as he slammed into you, a choked moan catching in his throat. Three final pumps of his pelvis, and he came, groaning and shuddering above you, finally, finally completing his duty, finally filling you with his cum.

Johana’s hands trembled in yours, her grip gone loose, and Ren recovered, waiting for his breath to even before pulling out and tucking himself away in silence. You wanted to speak, wanted to say something--anything--but your brain was blank, still reeling in awe of him. The Commander’s eyes met yours a final time, something glittering behind them, and you swallowed your spit, your hands threatening to fall onto the bed. Before they did, he left, closing the door behind him.

“Get off,” Johana grumbled, shoving you as she squirmed away and off of the bed. “Do whatever you’re supposed to do and get out.”

You blinked, for some reason blushing. You needed at least ten minutes with some sort of elevation. “Um. Can I use a pillow--”

“You want to get your disgusting mess on my pillows?” She scoffed. “No. Figure it out. When I come back, you better be gone.” With that, she flounced into a side room--when the door opened, you caught tiled floors and soft lighting.

So you laid there, the Commander’s cum leaking onto your thighs, and pushed your hips into the air, a weak attempt to encourage fertilization. To be honest, you simply didn’t have it in you. Your first Ceremony--you weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been this. Not this nebula of ambiguity that ate away at your innards like a starving void. Not this vacancy of thought, of feeling. Not an undefinable ache that rippled through you, physically, mentally, leaving you wanting but omitting the want.

You weren’t sure if you were disgusted or aroused or disappointed or relieved. All you could focus on was the heartbeat in your fingertips, the throb of your cunt, the soft, feathery noise of your breath, grounding you, inexorably, to your reality.