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aimfor-theheart · 4 years ago

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COIN TOSS– PART II

(18+ MINORS DNI)

PART I

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, a little Shouta Aizawa x Reader

SUMMARY: As you fall asleep, you wonder faintly, almost sadly, if you’re the first thing he’s fully touched without losing in a long time.

You are Eraserhead’s troubled protege with a Quirk that cancels out others the moment they touch you. Tomura Shigaraki takes great interest in you.

(Enemies to lovers, a lot of angst, some hurt/comfort)

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, age gap/power struggle, violence, gore, Tomura’s trauma specifically, (in later chapters) murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut, some blurred lines, rough sex, a smidge of a spit kink, a smidge of somnophilia (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)

If you are under the age of 18, you should not be reading or interacting with this!

A/N: again, thank you @randomrosewrites for beta-ing!! and thank you guys for the support and comments on the first part! here is your part two!! it's tomura heavy, but for those who love shouta, there's a lot of him in the final part! i hope you enjoy! let me know what you thought!

i also am obsessed with making playlists for when i write and i spend far too much time organizing it all and making sure the songs blend together so if you'd like to take a look at the playlist i made for this fic, it's here!

Read on Ao3

***

Shouta, like the responsible adult he is, soothes things out with you. Well, it doesn’t feel very soothed to you, but Shouta’s made his position clear and you’ve both returned to some semblance of normalcy.

He keeps his distance.

You try not to overstep, but you’re aching and furious.

(You’re holding a secret, too, letting it tear apart your insides, letting it turn circles in your mind until all you can think about is the chill of rain, the bite of a desperate kiss).

You hate that Shouta has retreated from you now. You hate that he’ll stop his hand before reaching out to touch you, like he always has to make sure, like he has to decide if that will be good for you. If you can handle it.

You feel shockingly alone.

You lash out at him more, bicker and argue over things you never used to. You don’t even know why you do it, can’t stop yourself from trying to dig into him. You regret it every time when all he gives you is impassiveness, levelheaded coolness. An adult speaking with an unruly child. He’s good at that, unfortunately.

Some days you want to beg him for answers. Why can’t you love me the way I love you? Is it me? How would you have me? If I was older? I can be more mature, I can be better and better and better–

His undercover work grows greater, draws him away from both you and Shinsou more. Shouta seems to ghost around your life now, drawn away from you, keeping a very careful space between you both.

But there are nights where he tells you to train with Shinsou alone now. You feel responsible. Mature. You glow with pride that he can trust you with one of his students, that you could be a mentor to Shinsou, too.

You grow closer to Shinsou because of this, too, when it’s just the two of you in the gym.

There is one evening in particular, when you’re both sprawled out on the floor taking a too-long water break because Shouta isn’t around when he admits that he used to be– still is sometimes– feared for his Quirk.

He tells you everyone expected him to be a villain.

“I used to be a thief,” you admit, “I was a petty villain, I guess.”

Shinsou looks at you and if he’s surprised, he doesn’t entirely show it, except for the lifting of his brows. You don’t sense judgement from him, though, when he asks, “Really?”

You take another swig of water, humming in affirmation. You swallow, “I was homeless, had no money, nothing. I was stealing from a supermarket when Shouta caught me.”

“You were just trying to survive,” Shinsou adds, like he’s trying to justify the crime, like it soothes him to know there was a good reason for a misdeed.

“Sure,” you reply, fiddling with your water bottle, “But I stole things I didn’t need, too. Just things I wanted.”

“But you’ve changed,” Shinsou says and you can’t tell if he’s trying to reassure himself or you more. “You’re a hero now.”

“Only because my circumstances changed. I was given a roof over my head, food to fill me. Clothes of my own that fit and weren’t torn. I was accepted.” You explain, “If it hadn’t been for Shouta, I would never have become a hero.”

Shinsou is silent, watching you.

“I’d probably be in jail. Or still a thief, in the least, if any other hero would’ve caught me.”

You don’t know why, but you think of Shigaraki suddenly. You think of how young some of the League of Villains are. You wonder if it had been them who offered you food and a home, if you’d be with them now, and not here, sitting on the floor of a nice, sparkling gym attached to U.A.’s dorms.

Something strange grows inside you, something a little bitter. It simmers with sympathy for them, for their lives. For kids like Shinsou with their villainous quirks. You wonder if he’d been poor, if he’d been alone, would he be here, too? Or somewhere else?

“But you were good before,” he says, and it almost feels naive, “I know you’re good.”

You shrug, “Good is relative, you know? I thought I was good because I didn’t kill people, I didn’t steal from other poor people, but society didn’t think I was good. I was still a thief.”

“But you were only a thief because you needed to survive.” he says again, “When given the chance, you changed and became a hero.”

“Exactly.” you say, “How many villains do you think just needed a chance?”

Shinsou goes silent now. His brows furrow in thought, pinching together in a way that makes him look a little too old for his age. You think all of the kids at U.A. grow up too quickly, all of them with too much on their small shoulders.

They’re only kids.

You’re barely older.

Shigaraki is barely older than you.

You push him out of your mind, toss your water bottle aside, and rise to your feet again. “C’mon,” you offer Shinsou your hand to help him up, too, “Shouta would kill me to know I let you lay around so much.”

This seems to pull him from his thoughts and he snorts, taking your hand.

You pull him up. And you both stare at each other a moment. You think he looks at you in a different light now and it isn’t bad, no, he seems to be pondering you more.

(And you’ll realize later that he’s become more sympathetic, that he sees you in villains now, reminds himself they’re people, too, with lives and needs and wants–)

It gives you a strange hope, as you begin to train with him again, to know that he’s the future of hero society.

***

Tomura spots you while he’s out stealing with Toga. Usually it’s Twice or Magne with her, but Twice was onto something else and Toga had decided to latch herself onto him for the day. He’s grown to tolerate her.

Besides, she’d managed to steal him a jean jacket, dark, rough, and worn with holes but it keeps him warmer while still being able to keep the hood of his sweatshirt up to hide himself. To blend in. She’d stolen herself something, too, as the weather begins to get colder and they still don’t have a base, wandering aimlessly.

(He feels stupidly responsible for them. But he’s learned good leaders are, in some way, responsible for their people. They don’t have to care in any way that is emotional, but they have to care in some way, make the group feel important to them. And begrudgingly, they are important to him–)

You’re with a boy around Toga’s age. Wild violet hair. You’re laughing at something he’s saying and you’re sharing street food, he thinks, something that’s warm, steaming up into the air.

He feels a vicious surge of jealousy for a moment. It’s so sharp and jarring that he reaches up to scratch at his neck, tearing into his skin.

But the boy looks too young and you tousle his hair like he’s a younger brother, not someone romantic. While there’s familiarity between you two, it’s not overly intimate.

Toga, unfortunately, follows his line of sight.

She looks between him and you. She tilts her head and Tomura can practically see the gears turning in her strange little mind.

“Do you know them?” she asks, almost innocently.

He doesn’t know why, but he says, “Just her.”

Toga looks back at you. She watches as you talk with the boy– the sun through the autumn leaves cast you in tangerine light, all golden and warm.

When she looks back at Tomura, a smile creeps onto her face. One that he knows is going to give him a migraine.

“She’s so pretty,” she trills, eyeing him too closely.

Tomura scratches at his neck again, harder, wincing a little when he feels a cut reopen.

“Do you have a crush, Tomura?” Toga sings, dancing in front of him to force herself into his line of sight.

“No,” Tomura snaps, bristling, which only seems to encourage her.

“Let’s say hi!” she says, about to bound off and Tomura catches her by the scruff of her jacket like a kitten. He’s wearing his partial gloves, but he still keeps a finger away from her.

“No,” he hisses, firmer now, pulling her back towards him. “They’re heroes. Don’t get distracted.”

Toga twists in his hold, wide-eyed for a moment, before her face settles into another enormous and excited smile. “You’re in love with a hero, too?!”

Tomura grits his teeth, snarling out, “I’m not in love with anyone.” He shakes her then and she yelps a little, “Now focus. We need food and I don’t want to deal with them.”

Toga finally squirms her way out of his hold, pouting at him, “You’re no fun.” she whines and all he does is shoulder past her. He stalks ahead, trying not to look at you again, if only to not draw your eye.

“Do you want to starve?” he asks waspishly, glancing at Toga over his shoulder.

She huffs, rolling her eyes, before hustling to catch up to him. She hums a strange little tune the rest of the time, knocking into his side, throwing him new looks as if to suggest they share some sort of commonality or secret. He grits his teeth but suffers through her torment.

When they return to the rest of the League with what they’d stolen, Toga announces to the whole group, “Tomura is in love with a hero, too!”

The migraine that had begun earlier in his temples reaches full force now. He doesn’t bother trying to deny it. He decides he doesn’t care.

Dabi’s laugh grates on him, though, “Is that so? Which little hero?” he asks Toga, and just as she’s skipping past him, he snags her, snatching the granola bar she’d had in her hand from their little raid.

She turns to grab it back and he pulls it out of her reach, “I don’t know! Give that back!” she squawks, clawing at him.

She must really dig at him because Dabi hisses, “You little twerp–” Just before Magne snatches the outstretched granola bar from Dabi’s hand. She hands it back to Toga, who quickly rushes off with it now.

And thankfully, for Tomura’s sanity, you’re not brought up again.

But he hadn’t noticed you– hadn’t noticed the way you’d seen him with Toga, too. Just a girl Shinsou’s age, following after him like an eager puppy.

Shinsou had trailed beside you like that, too, when you’d both walked back to U.A. with full bellies and new coffees in hand, warm and content.

***

There is a night where Shouta is out doing work undercover and you’re left to patrol on your own. You can’t take Shinsou yet, since he hasn’t earned his provisional license. You don’t mind these nights, by yourself, when you stick to shadows and rooftops, watching the city from above.

It’s cooler now and you tuck your face into the high collar of your hero uniform to hide from the wind that brushes past.

It’s been a quiet night so far. There are other, flashier heroes patrolling, too, meandering around the sidewalks to deter petty crime.

You check the time on your phone, noting that you have a little less than an hour until your shift is over, until you can go home and take a hot shower in an attempt to warm yourself up– especially your fingers, the tips of your ears.

You stretch, standing on one of the low roofs of a building. You’re stiff from crouching, so you decide to move around, change position. You use a grappling tool to shoot it onto a higher roof of the next building. You scale the bricks easily and once safely up, retract your grappling hook.

You look out over the quiet city, the golden light of lampposts, the meandering of cars through the streets. Some restaurants and bars are still open, their windows look warm and inviting with the flush of people inside.

You waste most of the last hour of your shift trying to remain warm, keeping a careful eye on the world below.

Towards the end, you notice a familiar figure in one of the alleyways down below. You don’t even see his face, just the back of his hoodie, just the angle of his shoulders.

Just the way he walks.

The thought should frighten you– that you know him like this, that you’re familiar with just the movement of his body.

Shigaraki Tomura walks away from the soft light of the main city, slips away into alleyways and darkness. You glance at the time. Your shift is nearly over.

This counts as hero work, doesn’t it? Silently following after him?

You drop down onto a fire escape– leap off to latch onto a lower window sill, until you’re dropping silently on to the ground a distance away from him.

You are careful to keep away from him, to use everything Shouta taught you about stealth to remain hidden. And you know Shigaraki is observant, you know he’s always looking over his shoulder so you have to stick to hidden places– behind dumpsters, ducking into alcoves of buildings.

He heads back to the part of the city you grew up in, where everything is falling apart, where there are plenty of abandoned buildings for hiding, plenty of places for runaway teens and homeless to sleep. The cheapest apartments, the streets that are the least patrolled by heroes and police alike, where parts of the Yakuza groups are bolder.

These streets are familiar to you. It’s a strange trip down memory lane.

You think of the last time you saw Shigaraki and flush darkly– it was around here, too, what happened that night.

Still, you follow him because you think you still have some upper hand. Maybe he’ll lead you to the rest of the League of Villains. For a heartbeat, you wonder if you’ll tell Shouta, if you’ll tell the Hero Commissions– you’d have to, right? That isn’t some little squirmish. That’s important information.

But he doesn’t lead you to the rest of the League.

He leads you to an apartment building, small and falling apart on the outside. A window is boarded up poorly. There are stray cats that linger around the side, where the trash is. You’re sure there are rats and bugs, too. You’re sure the building is one bad day away from falling apart.

Shigaraki pauses by the door that is nearly falling off its hinges.

He glances over his shoulder, “Are you following me in, too?”

Your heart kicks up, hammering against the inside of your chest. You swallow hard, internally cursing.

For all your effort of stealth, he still noticed you?

Well, there’s no use lying about it now.

You step around the corner you’d been hiding behind, moving towards the glow of a street light that flickers in and out of power to reveal yourself fully to him.

“When did you notice me?” you ask, peering at him, at the shape of him in the dark.

You catch the lifting of his scar when he smiles, just a baring of teeth, “I saw you on the roof.”

Damn, you curse again, you’ll have to work on that, “That bad, huh?”

He shrugs gracelessly, lifting of his shoulders only for them to fall unevenly, “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known. You were silent otherwise.”

It feels like a compliment– a generous one, coming from him. You don’t know why you have to hold off a smile.

He turns back to the door, shouldering it open. He walks through the archway without another word. He leaves it open and it seems there is no light on the inside, just a blackness that swallows up your vision. He disappears inside.

You stand there, beneath the light that flickers in and out, eyeing the doorway. You could go now, run back home to Shouta, to the Hero Commission and tell them you think you know where he stays, you have a lead on him. You look behind you, glance at the alleyway you came from with it’s’ dull, fluorescent lights that splash against the concrete, that barely fight against the shadows.

You look back towards where Shigaraki had been, the entrance to the building.

You’d probably even get extra little hero points for it from the Commission.

Shouta would be proud of you.

For bringing them to this dilapidated, shabby little apartment complex that rests on the streets of the place you used to call home.

You swallow hard, flex your freezing fingers.

Then you step towards the doorway, peer inside carefully. You hold your breath and the door creaks quietly when you cross it’s threshold, into the darkness.

Tomura is mildly surprised when he hears the door creak behind him. He can feel you, even in the dark of this hallway, the tentative steps you take after him. They’re almost shy.

But you followed him, didn’t you?

You followed and followed and followed him– and of course you did, he thinks, you had kissed him back, hadn’t you?

He supposes you could be playing a part, trying to get close to him but his intuition tells him differently, not with the genuine reaction you’d had. Your sudden guilt for giving in to him. Still, he’ll be careful around you.

He’ll probably have to move again, which would be a shame, since he has already killed the tenant of this apartment– he’d been sure they wouldn’t be missed by anyone, made sure he’d have time. He did the work to get it, thought he’d have it for just long enough until the League made another move.

He almost wants to test you, see if you’re going to run and tattle on his location. He wonders how far you’re willing to follow him.

Tomura walks steadily down the hallway, to the apartment he has taken claim to. He unlocks the door, hands in his partial gloves, shoving it with his shoulder to then enter. He leaves it open for you.

The apartment is a studio, shabby and the heat isn’t amazing, but it has hot water and a lack of bugs in this particular room. It has furniture– a bed, specifically, was all he had cared about. There’s empty wrappers of food and cans of energy drinks on the counters because he doesn’t really bother to pick up after himself but otherwise, the space isn’t his. There’s nothing else of his, besides some spare clothes on the floor.

And still, you follow him here, too. But you stand at the doorway, peeking inside.

He glances at you and is reminded of a fox, something with clever eyes but wary, a little skittish– would bite if he got too close too soon.

So he gives you space, just like he let you leave.

If there’s one thing Tomura has learned, it’s patience. Any good plan takes patience. The reward is always sweeter. The longer and harder the level, the greater the wins.

He ignores you, puts even more distance between the two of you as he wanders further in. He flicks on lights. He takes off his shoes, shrugs off his jean jacket and throws it over the couch. He gives the appearance of carelessness, of letting his guard down. Non threatening.

And you take your fist shy step inside. The door behind you remains ajar, though, for escape.

Tomura has to fight a terrifying smile, fight the sudden twisting in his heart, the inhale of his breath.

“I don’t know how wise it was of you to bring a hero to your home.” you finally speak, cutting through the silence. You’re trying to be witty, but he can tell you’re nervous.

“This isn’t my home,” he answers.

Home, with it’s round and warm syllabus, is not what he thinks of this place.

You eye him some more, but before you can respond, he says, “I don’t know how wise it was of you to follow a villain into his home.”

“I thought it wasn’t your home,” you quip and he only gives you a dry look.

Your bravado is wavering, especially when the door clicks shut behind you, your hand finally falling to your side.

And the two of you are sealed away from the outside world.

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask him and your voice is deceptively quiet. Small.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks in return.

You inhale like you’re trying to steady yourself, “Because I’m supposed to.”

Tomura smiles now, something lazy, almost amused. He knows it’s a lie, can feel it slide along his skin, can see the floundering, desperate look in your eyes.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks again, forcing himself not to move, not to step towards you in his budding excitement. Patience, he tells himself, be patient.

“Why did you kiss me?” you ask instead and the question is raw, as if it’s plagued you, haunted you like an insistent ghost. Crept around in the back of your mind, growing teeth and fangs and spindly, lampshade bat wings large enough to terrify you.

The idea that he’s taken root in your mind in the same way you have infested his is near dizzying.

Tomura weighs his answers carefully. He’s silent for a long moment and it’s heavy, charged with something that he can’t name– has never felt before.

When he speaks, his voice is just a rasp of breath, a little more honest than he’d like, a touch annoyed with the truth, “Because I wanted to.”

Another long stretch of silence where you watch him carefully, where he can see your chest rising and falling too quickly. He can see that frightened look in the rounding of your eyes, the high flush in your cheeks.

And when you speak again, it’s hardly louder than a whisper, like it’s all you can manage,“Do you want to kiss me again?”

It is far too gentle of a question for what he wants– it almost feels innocent, juvenile. Out of place between the two of you. But he’ll take it, he’ll take whatever you give him and then some.

He takes a step towards you. You don’t flinch away so he takes another, then another, until he is standing in front of you. You’re close now– so close that he has to force air into his lungs. He reminds himself of patience, of waiting–

He could take whatever he wanted from you now, he supposes, but he doesn’t want to have to wrestle you for it. He wants it given freely, he wants you to kiss back, like you had before. He wants you to willingly submit and it’s taken longer but it’ll be sweeter, so much sweeter.

“Are you going to run away again?” he asks and he can feel his heart quicken, the squeezing of it awful and tight.

You look up at him in a way that reminds him of his dreams, the ones he pretends to hate, where you make those small, soft noises. Where you let him touch you and taste you and have you.

And you shake your head no, just fractionally, the barest hint of movement but it’s enough for him.

The force of his kiss slams you back against the door. You make a surprised noise against him as he crushes himself to you. It’s just as violent as the first, but this time you take back what he gives. You get your bearings quicker, like you’ve learned a lesson already. He grins into the kiss, opening it, when he feels your little hands clawing at his shoulders, at his back.

He groans when you part your lips for him, when you lick tentatively into his mouth. He possesses you, bears onto you, pinning you to the door as his hands, still gloved, curl around your sides, your hips.

Your hero costume is tight, fits the curves of you snugly and in a way that’s making him nearly insane. He isn’t careful, doesn’t care if he’s moving too fast now as his hands roam and grab and squeeze. There’s layers between you, he naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

One of your hands tightens in his hair, pulling when he bites your bottom lip.

But you don’t seem to mind, either, with the way your breath is hitching, with the way you’re trying to pull him closer, desperately fuse him to you.

Your lips are so soft, he notices, even with the forcefulness with which you’re kissing him back.

It feels surreal for a moment, like one of his dreams, when he parts from your mouth only to slot his lips against your jaw, your neck. A whine is loosened from you, which breaks when he sets teeth to the vulnerable line of your throat.

Your hands are in his hair still, body arching into him eagerly. Youthful in your earnestness.

You’re better than anything he could’ve ever imagined, so alive and rosy and warm beneath his hands, beneath his mouth, which is making a mess of your neck. A particular hard suck over the sensitive line of your pulse makes you pull at his hair.

“Don’t leave a mark,” you hush and he thinks you meant to sound more threatening, but it’s softened by the desperation in your voice.

He scoffs into your throat, dragging teeth roughly along your skin.

“Shigaraki–”

“Tomura.” he corrects without thinking, finally pulling away to look at you, which is almost a mistake because you–

You’re flushed, lips kiss stung and pink, all swollen. Your head is tipped back, exposing the column of your throat, hair mussed with being pressed to the door so roughly. Your eyes are hazy and fever pink with your Quirk activated, like spring flowers, glowing in the low light.

He thinks of paintings and colors and dreams, something like beauty, if he knew anything about that.

And he’s so hard it hurts, teeth grinding together as he looks at you because he can’t even fucking stomach this feeling.

Then you repeat his name for him, “Tomura.”

He’s never heard his name like that, bedroom soft, more of a lullaby and less of a tragedy. He feels like he’s going to shake apart, his body to become just old ruins– he feels as if it’ll collapse inwards, topple over to crush his heart.

Where he’s usually seething and livid and clawing ruthlessly, the festering feeling in his chest is replaced with a new energy; something bursting and squirming and warm. His Quirk lies dormant and docile inside of him with your hand in his hair, your other now at his neck, fingers pressing lightly at his jaw.

It’s terrifying, he realizes, to not feel his Quirk at the edges of his fingers.

(It’s freeing, too, he’ll come to find, to not feel it’s weight, it’s demand that had been encouraged and shaped in him.)

You’re both trying to catch your breaths, looking at each other now. His fingers, still gloved, flex and squeeze at your waist, like he’s scared you’ll run off again.

You inch forward instead, rock onto the tips of your toes to press your lips to his again– softer this time, but no less heated, no less desperate.

He thinks you must be starving, too, with the way you pull him close. His mouth slants over yours, demanding more, a little rougher.

You squirm against the door, the slightest rocking of your hips– he can feel it against his thigh, against his waist. It makes him hiss out a breath against your lips, makes him grab harder at your waist, force you to do it again, harder this time.

You whine and it’s the snapping of his patience.

He reaches for the zipper at the back of your hero uniform, gives it a rough tug, pulling it down some. And then you’re pushing at him, nudging him away from the door and it’s a flurry of movement as you yank at his hoodie while he pulls at your clothes. You’re both stumbling further into the room, towards the bed pushed back into the corner.

Tomura feels young suddenly– feels his age. He feels like a twenty something year old with a girl in his apartment who wants his hoodie off. Who's kissing him hard in between every article of clothing that manages to come off.

He sits back on the edge of the bed to ease the rest of your cat-suit down. He watches with interest as you wiggle your hips to help him get the fabric down over you– and it’s nothing romantic, he doesn’t kiss the newly revealed skin, he doesn’t gently run his fingertips over you, but you grow shy under his gaze.

You’re still in undergarments, athletic slips of fabric, but his eyes fly over your face. You’re nervous, he can nearly feel it, with the way you shift, with the way you catch your bottom lip between your teeth and worry it.

A thought strikes him.

“Have you done this before?” he rasps, hooking his hand in the crux of your knee to drag your forward so you nearly fall into his lap.

“Yes,” you grit out, arms coming up to his shoulders to steady yourself. “Once.” you then shakily exhale.

He doesn’t particularly care– your answer wouldn’t have changed how he’d treat you. He’s not going to be gentler nor slower because you’re less experienced.

“Have you?” you ask, eyeing him, fingers nervously toying with the ends of his hair.

“Yes,” he says, perhaps too sharply, but he gives no other information and you don’t press him, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t have the patience for useless questions.

Rather, he pulls you down harder, so your bare thighs finally settle into his lap. He slides his gloved hands up the notches of your ribs to hitch beneath your bra. That comes off, too, and then he’s got his hands on you more. You gasp, arching into his touch when his fingers curl around a breast, fingers roughly brushing over the peak.

He doesn’t think anymore, just acts, just moves and does as he pleases. All the things he’s done in dreams or in his mind– he sets lips and teeth to your breast, tongue laving over your nipple. He forces your squirming still with an arm banded around your torso, keeping you flush to his eager mouth.

You yelp in pain when he uses his teeth too roughly, trying to jerk away from him but you can’t with his hold on you. He grins, mouth opening, spit slick and wet against your breast again. He groans against you when you pull on his hair.

But then he twists you, throws you down onto the bed only to crawl over you. He yanks at your panties just as you pull him down for another kiss– maybe to distract yourself, to settle your nerves. When you pull away, you’re on your back and he’s over you, your legs hitching over his narrow waist. His hands are on your thighs and you–

You suddenly grab for his hands.

“Take off your gloves,” you get out, breathless, and before he can respond, your fingers are sliding against his wrist, up to his hand, beneath the glove and against his palm.

It makes him shiver, makes him grit his teeth. You pull off one, then the other.

For a moment, he just looks at you all spread out and bare for him, his hands now open and uncovered, too.

You squirm under his scrutinizing gaze.

“C’mon,” you coax and he thinks you’re trying to find your bravado, “Touch me.”

There’s nothing between his hands and your skin now and he settles his palm on your stomach, beneath your breast.

He naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

“Tomura,” your voice is pitched, almost pleading, “You’re not going to hurt me– c’mon.”

He tenses for a moment, eyes flashing over your face. For a moment, his heart stumbles, he grows wary. He thinks of you slipping away beneath his touch, falling away into nothing and all he’d have is a bed of ashes.

But your eyes are bright with your Quirk.

His final finger comes down. Nothing happens, except you smile a little, except you arch up into his touch– alive and vivid and furiously warm.

He feels like he can’t breathe, can’t even function.

He catches a groan behind his teeth, falls forward as his hands become feverish and possessive, suddenly confident, suddenly brash– touching and squeezing and grabbing at you.

His teeth clank with yours as he tumbles into another kiss. You’re needier now, making those higher pitched noises that used to haunt him.

It drives him insane, makes him feel half feral, overeager and desperate. His fingers wander lower, seeking and searching, just as the kiss grows in intensity again. It’s messier, all open mouth and tongue.

When he pulls away, a string of spit connects the two of you and he lets more of the saliva pooling in his mouth drip down with it, letting it fall between your open lips, some on your bottom lip, too. It’s depraved and dirty and his eyes simmer as he gazes down at you.

Your face scrunches up as you go to wipe at your mouth, and he hates it because all he can think of is how cute that face is.

“Gross,” you mewl, but his fingers finally move between your legs and–

And all he finds is that you’re hot and slick for him.

He has to grit his teeth to keep from moaning.

But you nearly cry at the touch, a pathetic little noise, hips jolting like you’re not sure if you want to go towards his touch or away.

“Gross, huh?” Tomura asks, voice low, the pad of his finger sliding easily, teasing you slowly before he goads, “Why are you so wet then?”

He sinks a finger in suddenly– just because he can. Just because he wants to watch your face screw up again, which it does, your mouth falling open, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hm?” he hums, amused with the way you’re gasping beneath him. He starts a slow but deep rhythm and–

And he’s had sex before, a handful of times, but it’d always been for him. He hadn’t cared how the other person felt, hadn’t cared to try and get them off. But now he suddenly wishes he had learned, if only for you, now. He wants you as obsessed as he is, wants you to feel as maddened as he feels.

Thankfully, you’re so expressive. And he doesn’t have to worry about his fingers. He can find the spot inside you that makes you toss your head back into the sheets and moan for him, he can focus on the way you keen when he finds your clit with his thumb.

You’re a sensitive little thing, clawing at his bare shoulders, whining into his neck. He forces in another finger and you start rocking your hips, growing more desperate until–

“Fuck,” you gasp, “Fuck, I’m going to–”

He curls his fingers harder, watching your face as you fall apart, as you try and twist and squirm beneath him. He forces you through it, isn’t gentle, but selfish, wringing everything he can from you.

And when he’s finished watching you whimper and feeling you flutter and gush around his fingers, he takes them out only to force them between your lips.

Once more your face screws up, but you close your mouth around them and he groans low and raw. You look hazy, drooling all over his fingers, lashes fluttering prettily.

He uses his other hand to fumble with his belt, to work his pants down low enough for his cock, aching so bad that he swears he’s going to go insane–

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, watching the mess that comes with it, so wet and slick and shiny. He can’t help the growl he gives, before covering his mouth with yours again.

As you kiss, sloppy and desperate, Tomura slides the head of his cock against you and you’re so slippery and soft and molten for him that his next moan tapers off into a whine.

You pull away fractionally, “Shouldn’t we–”

He thinks maybe you were about to ask about protection of some kind, but he shoves inside you hard, breaches your body and watches as your eyes roll back, just about to cross as your nails turn sharp against his back.

You moan, low and drawn out.

He can’t help the absurd laugh that is wretched from him, his head dropping onto your neck as he snaps his hips forward. He can’t believe he’s actually gotten you here, in his bed, beneath him– let him inside where you’re so warm and soft.

“Fuck,” you gasp, maybe laced with pain, clawing at him, raking your nails down his back.

“Does it hurt?” he hisses, excited, his teeth coming down to close over your exposed neck.

“Yes,” you get out, almost a whimper, “Feels good, too.”

He snaps his hip forwards roughly, grinding deep as he laughs again when you just about sob into his shoulder.

You latch your teeth onto the vulnerable juncture between his neck and his shoulder, where you’d already laid claim to him once before.

He wrestles for your wrist, the one he broke, and forces it down onto the bed.

“Look at you,” he almost snarls, voice low and gravely, “Little hero letting me fuck her.”

You gasp when he angles his hips, when his other hand reaches beneath you, to fist a hand in your hair and pull so your neck is arched and exposed to him.

“I used to dream of this,” he admits roughly, the confession like a curse being spit out of his mouth, “Wanted to stalk you or possess you or–” he groans because he can feel how you’re throbbing around him, how slick you are for him, “Wanted to fucking ruin you–”

He pulls at your hair more, tries to get you to look at him through your wet lashes. The flash of pink meets red and his smile is more a cruel bearing of teeth.

“And you feel so much better than I dreamt– fuck, so much tighter–” he babbles as he ruts into you hard and quick. You keen, high and broken, just as he feels you flutter around him again and he almost loses his mind because–

“Are you going to fucking come again?” he growls, pulling harder on your hair.

“Yes,” you groan, “Please, fuck, please, c’mon–” your voice is high and wrecked and all he has to do is angle his hips a few more times before you’re shattering, nearly breaking apart, squeezing down on his cock so tightly that he shudders, that he let’s go of your hair just to focus on his own pleasure.

He doesn’t even realize he’s drooling into your neck, not as he loses his rhythm, as he shoves himself as deep into you as he can and comes hard. Pleasure races up his spine, turns him white-hot and sensitive, making his eyes roll back into his head, too.

You’re both breathing hard when he collapses on top of you. Your fingers, which were once scratching down his back to cause sharp shooting pain, are now surprisingly gentle, slipping back into his hair.

You squirm, fussing slightly– no doubt sore, no doubt aching with him still inside you but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t want to.

He mouths at your neck, feels you sigh, before he moves to cover his mouth with yours again. He kisses you languidly now, slow and deep.

You’re making breathy little noises against him, content and surprisingly soft, your other hand tracing over his side.

(He doesn’t like how much he enjoys this part, the afterglow, all that violence slipping away, expelled from you both–)

Tomura feels his cock twitch inside of you again, feels your hips arch up a little, and before he knows it, he’s moving his hips again. It’s a slow rocking, your lips still attached to his, heated and gentle.

“Gross,” you say again, just a breath against him as he fucks his cum further into you, feels himself harden, feels the mess he made of you. But you still hitch your leg over his hip, pull him deeper into you.

He grins lazily against your lips, “You like it,” he says and it’s not a question, rolling his hips until he gets you to shut your eyes and moan against him.

“Yeah,” you reply, nudging your cheek against his, rubbing like a cat until he returns the gesture. Until he’s humming because he’s sensitive and you feel so good, better than anything he’s ever felt in this miserable fucking life–

You whine a little, ‘Touch me again?”

He doesn’t deny you for whatever reason, doesn’t even have something smart to say as he slides his hand down your torso, down to where you’re both slick and connected. He rubs unpracticed, messy circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re sighing.

He’s no expert but he doesn’t really care and you don’t seem to mind this time, either. It’s unhurried now, lazy.

This time your peak is a fluttery, soft thing, and he watches as you gasp, as you blink away tears. She’s pretty, he thinks, feeling stupidly young again, she’s pretty like this. Like his dreams.

Tomura spills inside you again soon after, groaning against your collarbones, and this time you force him to slip out of you. Force him to lay beside you as you both catch your breath again.

And he’s not expecting it, but he has the vicious need to be close to you, desperately wants to feel your skin against his. It’s a new feeling– usually after sex, he wants to be as far away from someone as possible. Usually he can’t leave or kick them out fast enough.

But there’s something about you now, hazy and pleasure-drunk, fucked out and dazed, that makes him want to stay close. Maybe it’s just that you’ve soothed all the festering that usually squirms in his chest. Maybe it’s just that you’ve made everything in him quiet for once.

He expects you to find some sort of your regret now, he’s sure that you’ll feel guilty, collect your clothes and go. But you don’t. You stay in bed with him. And it’s strange but he knows he wants to touch you, so he does. He doesn’t deny himself, why would he? He’s always taken what he wanted.

He curls around you, shivering a little with the skin to skin contact after the fog of sex has cleared from his mind. His hands slide over you, touch you fully and without restraint because he can, because you won’t disappear beneath his touch.

And for a moment, as he traces along the dips of your waist, he thinks maybe you were made for him– cut from his rib, isn’t that how the story goes?

He doesn’t know, only that there’s no one else in the world he can touch like this.

You’re surprised.

You’d figured after Tomura had his fill of you, he’d kick you out, send you away. You figured you’d feel guilty, that you would rush out of here and try to wish the whole thing away. But your hero suit stays on the floor and you’re still in his bed.

You didn’t think he’d be a cuddler, you assumed that he wouldn’t want nor care for any sort of contact after. But his arms are wrapped around you now, one of his hands sliding curiously over the curves of your body. All five fingers down, pressing into your skin.

But you suppose, for someone who has to be so careful with touch, that he would like this. That he might want this. You wonder if he ever gets to touch anyone like this, if he ever allows himself intimate touch like this– tender and for no other reason than to soothe or comfort.

You get the impression that he doesn’t, that touch is just a means to an end for him; sex is probably just an itch to scratch. You can’t imagine that he’s very relaxed or enjoying himself when he’s worried about decaying the person he’s with.

But all his crackling, restless energy now seems subdued, sated, as he walks his fingers over you. His hair tickles your bare skin as he nudges closer, nose running along your jaw.

Once more, you feel your age. You don’t feel like a hero, but just someone young, maybe on the cusp of being old. He looks young now, too, with his vivid eyes shut and relaxed, nothing to crease his brow. He doesn’t seem like a villain, either.

You brush a finger over his cheek, touch lightly at the scratches beneath his eyes, drag your thumb down to touch the scar at the corner of his lips.

His eyes flutter open to watch you, half lidded, squinted almost like a cat.

But he allows you to run your fingers over his face, doesn’t protest or jerk away from your touch.

No, his eyes fall shut again. He lets out a deep sigh that you think he has held inside him for years.

He doesn’t have a gentle face, but one that shows it’s angles and sharp edges, the scars and cuts that trail down onto his neck. You’d noticed some on his chest, too. Proof of an uneasy life lived, proof of violence and pain.

You imagine he’s seen horrors, kept them trapped inside for fear of letting them spill out, like maybe it’ll be as gruesome as the memories.

His body hasn’t been handled gently, you can tell, with it’s indents and scars and scratches. You don’t know who was the last person who touched him without wanting to hurt him. And you shouldn’t but you think of yourself when you were a child– desperate for love and affection, desperate for any scrap of attention like the scavenger you always were.

Maybe still are.

So desperate that you’d end up in the bed of your enemy– all because you couldn’t end up in the bed of your ally. So hungry that you’d eat out of a hand that has harmed and killed and destroyed.

Hands that haven’t known gentleness, a body that hasn’t known peace. But he’s being gentle with you now, isn’t he?

So you try to give gentleness to him now, too, with your careful touch. You keep your fingers kind and sympathetic.

Even your own eyes drift shut for a moment, still tracing idle patterns into his skin.

You only slip away from him for a moment, to use the bathroom, to clean up. Your reflection in the mirror looks strange; raw and flushed with color. Honest in a way that makes you turn away.

You slip back into bed with Tomura, let him latch onto you again. You drag your fingers gently over his ribs, over his sides.

You let your eyes fall shut, too.

There’s a sudden, loud buzzing from the floor that cuts through the quiet, which makes your eyes startle open. It’s insistent and you realize after a moment that it’s your phone, caught up in your hero suit on the floor.

You never came home after your shift. You curse softly, almost certain you know who's calling.

You squirm out of Tomura’s hold again, which he huffs at in irritation, but eventually allows you up.

“Where are you going now?” he asks, annoyed, when you climb out of bed to find your phone. Once found, you hold it up to him.

It’s still buzzing in your hand, lit up with Shouta’s contact.

You think the guilt should hit you now.

It doesn’t and that’s what you feel worse over. You swallow hard, frown down at your phone.

(Horribly, you even feel somewhat spiteful, as if you’re trying to prove something to Shouta. Maybe to yourself.)

You don’t answer.

And then you see the several texts from him, wondering where you are. They’re all bland, but you can tell he must be worried. It’s unlike you to not tell him where you are.

“Are you going to leave?” Tomura asks and there’s something strange in his voice, something you can’t place.

“Do you want me to?” you ask in return.

He doesn’t answer right away. But he does eventually give an annoyed drawl, “Do what you want.”

You take that as a no, don’t leave, since you’re certain if he wanted you gone, he would’ve told you.

You send a text to Shouta;

Sorry. Staying with an old friend for the night. Be back tomorrow.

It’s not unheard of, for you to spend time with an old friend from the foster care system.

You get a dry “okay” from him in response. You fight the urge to roll your eyes for some reason, tossing your phone away again.

You end up staying the night with Tomura Shigaraki, one of the most wanted villains in all of Japan.

Its not romantic— he isn’t sweet or funny or caring. But he holds you tight, leaves no room for distance. And it is the first time you’ve ever slept with someone like this, tucked away into a bed, bare, and wrapped up in each other.

Is this what it always feels like? You press yourself into the crooks of his body. You wonder if you’re supposed to fit this well together.

And it’s the first time since his Quirk developed that he hasn’t needed to wear his partial gloves to sleep in fear of decaying something.

He won’t admit it but it’s the best he’s slept in a long, long time.

You won’t admit it, either, but you think you could get used to this, too; this closeness, being held as if you’ll slip away, being held like he doesn’t want you to.

The morning brings rosy sunlight that slants through the windows. Neither of you talk much. You try to tell yourself this won’t happen again, can’t happen again.

But you had kissed him goodbye before you’d left, like he was a boyfriend and not a criminal, and you’d been in a surprisingly good mood for the rest of the day.

Like you had a crush, puppy love you never got as a teenager because you were too busy trying not to starve, only to realize you’d been starving in other ways, too.

But you’re sugar soft and excitable, dropping into bed that night alone, and allowing yourself to admit, in the quiet and privacy of your own thoughts, that you wish you were in his again.

***

One time turns into two which turns into three which turns into so many times you’ve lost count. That little, rundown apartment that isn’t really Tomura’s has turned into another world entirely, some harbor away from the rules of society. It’s almost too good to be true, a dream, a place for a secret as bad as this one.

When you’re here, you don’t talk of heroes and villains. You urge him not to; you think you’ll keep some part of your innocence in this affair if you don’t actually know anything about him or the League of Villains. You’ll feel too guilty, if you know any part of their plans and don’t tell Shouta. And telling Shouta anything about Tomura is beginning to feel like a betrayal, too.

You don’t know anything substantial about Tomura Shigaraki and that’s the way it needs to stay.

You know he likes sour candy, though, and drinks too many energy drinks– they’re sickly sweet and you think kissing him might make your teeth ache. You know he likes video games but no longer has a console. He has trouble sleeping at night. You’re familiar with the scars on his skin, the jagged ones across his neck, the one on his lip. The beauty mark on his chin. You know his moods; from the prickly ones to the downright vengeful ones. You even know the calmer ones, the quiet, contemplative ones.

(In this way, he seems like a normal twenty-something-year-old. In the quiet moments, when you’ve convinced him to watch a cheap horror movie on the tiny, staticky TV in the apartment, he could be anybody. When he’s got his bare hand up your shirt as someone onscreen screams and begs for their life, he’s not the heir to an underground empire. He’s just Tomura, with his face buried in the crook of your neck).

He pretends to get annoyed with you, huffs and scoffs against your lips when you’re being cheeky. You wear his worn down hoodies, slip your thumbs in the holes at the sleeves. He eyes you when you wear them, pulls you to him by the collar.

(He likes to fuck you in them– pushes the hoodie up your stomach to watch you ride him. But he likes things bare and raw, too. Skin to skin. So close it’s terrifying, so close you feel like he’s trying to tear you apart from the inside out. He likes it dirty, you think, because it makes it more intimate.)

You soothe him. You know you do because when he’s festering and angry, all it takes is your hand on his wrist, pulling it away from his neck. Sometimes, when he can’t think straight and there is too much on his mind, he forces you to lay on top of him until his breathing slows and his head is clear.

He can’t talk to you aloud about what’s plaguing him, but you must quiet some part of him. He likes to use you to think, runs his long fingers through your hair as you lay atop him. He pets you until his thoughts aren’t as jumbled, but smoothed out and sharp. Or until he doesn’t want to think anymore at all and he drags you into languid makeouts that always end with him surrounding you, inside you, possessing you.

You bicker sometimes, flash your teeth to make his eyes spark ruby and excited. Mostly, you act your age with him.

You don’t know when his birthday is or where he grew up. You don’t know what his childhood was like or what memories shaped him, don’t know where he’s been or where he’s going to be. You only know him now, in this moment, in this little world you’ve created for each other.

He’s what you imagined first boyfriends are supposed to be; excitable and often immature but fun and new. You never had the luxury of first loves, just odd first kisses with strangers and an uncomfortable loss of virginity with a friend of a friend of a friend who jammed his tongue too far down your throat. You hadn’t had anything stable until–

Until Shouta.

Shouta has grown suspicious of this old friend of yours and how much time you now spend with him.

He questions you about him and you wish you felt worse for lying. The rebellious part of this affair is thrilling, though. Feels like you’re sixteen and sneaking out from under your dad’s nose to be picked up by the boyfriend you’d know he’d hate. Feels like swiping liquor too young and getting sick off it, smashing the bottles and laughing with your friends because sometimes things just need to break.

“Will you at least tell me his name?” Shouta had asked one morning, when you’d let yourself into his apartment after another night at Tomura’s. You had your own hood pulled up around your face to hide the rose blossom hickeys against the skin of your neck.

He’d still poured you a cup of coffee. You’d watched his careful, large hands as they made it the way you liked it.

You’d given him a lie, fed it to him the way he feeds you breakfast, “Shinta. Are you happy?”

He’d slid the mug to you, let you catch in the cradle of your palm. He’d shrugged, but you think his eyes had flashed to you, “You know you can bring him around, right? You don’t always have to go to him.”

You’d had to bite back a painful laugh. It wasn’t funny. It had hurt strangely in the pit of your chest.

You had shaken your head, tried to brush him off, “It’s not like that.”

“Alright,” he’d said, but he hadn’t believed you. “You’re training alone with Shinsou again tonight, I’ll be busy with a job.” Then he’d given you a stern look, “And don’t cut it early to go see Shinta.”

“I’ve never done that!” you’d protested, perhaps a little too defensively. But it was true, you’d never do that to Shinsou, wouldn’t dream of it. The only time you’d cut training early was to share takeout with Shinsou, not ditch him for–

This comment had rubbed you wrong, scratched up against something abrasive and surprisingly fragile inside of you. Maybe because he was questioning your dedication which already felt so flimsy, even if he hadn’t been entirely serious, even if maybe he’d just been trying to take a dig at you. At this new boyfriend.

Shouta had grown cold then, shrugged impassively, took his mug of coffee and brushed past you to keep getting ready.

It had angered you enough to bring it up later to Tomura, when you’re falling into his lap and he’s squirming his cold, fluttery hands beneath your shirt to touch skin, to make you hiss through your teeth.

His lips tilt into a small smile as you fidget while he warms his frigid fingers on your body.

“Eraserhead asked about you yesterday,” you tell him, letting your nose brush against his, “Told me I could bring my friend around– don’t always have to go to him.”

Tomura snorts, eyes falling half-lidded when your lips skim over his. The night is plum dark, presses into this little apartment that’s tucked away from the world.

“How’d you get out of that one?” he asks, fingers walking over the dips of your spine. He likes tracing the bone beneath your skin, likes making you shiver.

“Told him it’s not like that.” you respond, your own hands wandering to his neck. You're careful over the ridges of flesh there, skim lightly to get to his jaw.

“No?” Tomura asks, pulling you closer, pressing his chest to yours, “Don’t want to bring me home to meet Eraserhead?” he sneers and there’s something underneath his voice, lurking, with its hackles raised.

You think maybe it’s jealousy, the same flash of his eyes like Shouta’s when he’d said Shinta.

But then he kisses you deep and drags your hips against his, forces a warbly, surprised little moan from you.

Most of your thoughts melt away then, most turn to something base and desperate, all desire and need. You can’t help but think about it, though, how you can’t ever take him home to Shouta. You can’t ever expect anything more than whatever stays in this room. He kisses you hard, your teeth clinking against his like clashing with the truth of it all.

There’s no happy ending here.

It’s like smashing bottles because sometimes things just need to break.

***

Tomura thinks you would be a good edition to the League of Villains.

You’re clever and capable. He comes to find you’re not just a good thief and pickpocket but an excellent one. You swipe everything from his pockets, right from under his nose, just to play with him. You’re stealthy and sharp; he could use someone like you at his side.

Your Quirk could be useful, though he doesn’t like the idea of you getting so close to people while in battles. You have a reckless streak, but he thinks he could temper that. All you need is a little guidance.

You were a thief once. You give him clues of your past; you didn’t grow up like the other heroes, didn’t come from a warm home with dreams of saving the world. Your head wasn’t filled with fantasies of rescuing the downtrodden. You were the downtrodden. And you learned that there was no one who was going to save you, except yourself. So you stole and fought and survived a world that was willing to forget you.

You’re like him, a very quiet part of him thinks, no one saved you. Not until you were too old, all grown up with sharpened teeth and claws, eyes that see in the dark. That could be now used and extorted by the heroes.

He thinks they’ve leashed you, taught you how to sit and stay and sic ‘em.

He wonders if he’d have gotten to you first, if you’d be with him and not your heroes.

Tomura doesn’t dwell on it, though. He refuses to imagine it. What would be the point? It didn’t happen.

Besides, he is certain he is capable of slowly swaying you to them still. You possess a startling amount of compassion for villains which, perhaps wouldn’t help you as a villain, but that’s fine.

(You’d have him. No one would touch you if you were at his side. You could be as stupidly compassionate as you wanted.)

You meet members of the League with him by accident, times when Toga and Twice’s meeting with him overlap with you arriving. Toga goes on endlessly about you, it seems. Dabi drops by once in the middle of the night, bloody and demanding a place to sleep because he’s tired of sleeping on the streets.

It’d been one of the more insufferable nights, perhaps one of the worst ways for Dabi to find out about you. You’d already been asleep, cocooned beneath blankets and Tomura’s body, just in one of his loose shirts.

Tomura had already been lying awake, listening to your even breathing when he’d heard the handle of the door shake roughly. He’d gotten up then, slipped into clothes, melted into the darkness by the door and waited for the intruder to try and step inside.

The lock had been picked.

He had nearly decayed Dabi by accident before realizing it was him.

A ridiculously quiet but terse argument had ensued then, before Dabi had asked, in a regular speaking voice, “Why the fuck are we whispering?”

Tomura had almost winced when he heard you stir from the bed before your small, sleepy voice had murmured into the darkness, “Tomura?”

You’d said it too soft, too sweet. It’d been for his ears only and something about Dabi hearing you, seeing you, being in this space that had been for you and for him had made Tomura suddenly livid.

He had watched Dabi’s mouth fall open in shock before you’d switched on the bedside lamp to flood the room with artificial, golden light.

Dabi’s face had been near horrific in the light, one side of it all bloody, the stitches mangled or falling out. Part of his face almost looked like it was melting, his eye squinted shut with the damage.

But he’d thrown his head back and laughed when he’d seen you, sitting up in the bed, blinking sleepily at them. Tomura hated a lot of things, but he’d hated nothing more than the sound of Dabi’s rasping laugh in that moment.

You’d narrowed your eyes when you had realized who it was.

“I had no idea you had it in you, Tomura.” Dabi had said.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Tomura had hissed instead, fighting the urge to tear into his neck, fingers twitching agitatedly.

Dabi had gestured to his face with a lazy flourish, “I need medical attention and I’m crashing on your couch.”

Tomura’s teeth had ground together, “Get. Out.”

“No, I’m sick of sleeping on the streets when you’re here playing house with your little hero bitch–”

Before Tomura could even react, though, you had found the small supply of first aid from beneath the sink in the tiny bathroom. You had come up beside them near silently and offered it up, asked, “Do you want help?”

And there it had been– that compassion of yours. Even for the likes of Dabi.

In that moment, he’d wondered how you had ever survived with it. He’d thought that you’d lose your hand if you kept extending it.

Dabi hadn’t let you touch him but you’d gotten a cool rag for him to clean up the blood, watched as he tried to patch up the wound. It was made worse by a mangled staple in his cheek, jutting out strangely.

“Does it hurt?” You’d asked but with the way you were looking at him, at his marred skin up close, Tomura could tell that you weren’t just referring to this one injury.

Does it hurt? You’d asked, like you were asking if it all hurt. You weren’t just seeing a singular part of Dabi, but a series of tragedies that was proudly presented in large, rippling scars against his skin.

“Of course it fucking hurts,” Dabi had spit out, all venom and bitterness. But you hadn’t even flinched.

Tomura had tried to kick him out again once his wound had been treated.

“It’s fine,” you’d said, resigned, tired and rubbing at your eyes.

(Later you’d shrug and tell him, I know what it’s like to not have somewhere to sleep).

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Dabi had drawled, already pulling off his heavy boots, prying the coat from his body to toss onto the floor. “Just don’t do any weird shit.”

And you’d gotten back into bed with Tomura, fit yourself against him, ducked your head down beneath his chin and pressed your hands against his sides, felt the notches of his ribs.

Sometimes he wonders if you can feel the missing one, the one you took from him, the one you’d been made out of.

It had occurred to Tomura that either you didn’t fear Dabi or you trusted him enough to know he’d never let Dabi harm you while sleeping.

Both were acceptable to him, both would aid him in converting you. And they were true, too. You shouldn’t fear Dabi, especially not with him around.

Tomura had brought his hand up then, suddenly covered your mouth with his large palm, letting all five of his fingers come down against your pretty face.

You’d furrowed your brows in confusion, not fear, which made something inside of him grow warm and hungry.

Then he’d slid his other hand down your body, between your legs, just to spite Dabi.

He’d watched as your eyes went wide in the dark, cheeks flushing beneath his hand. He could feel his smirk, smug and sharp, fitting across his teeth like a muzzle.

You’d tried to shake your head, tried to squirm away from his touch, but he’d been persistent and soon enough you were sighing against his hand, melting into the bed he pressed you into. Soon enough you were trying to hold back whimpers, all slippery and soft beneath his fingers, silently begging with your eyes.

He hadn’t denied you that night; no, you were being good, walking the steps he wanted for you. You were moldable and sweet beneath him so he’d give you what you wanted.

He watched in satisfaction as you came hard around his fingers, face scrunching up in that way he loved, fingers easing you through it. He was gentle with you then, taking his hand away from your mouth slowly, letting you nudge closer and cling to him.

(He loved when you clung to him).

You’d wanted so much affection that night and he had indulged you, letting your nose brush against his, or rubbing your cheek against his chest while his fingers wound through your hair.

You’d fallen asleep all tied up in him.

The next morning, you were gone before Dabi even woke up.

Dabi had asked, “What the fuck are you doing with her?”

“Mind your business,” Tomura had snapped, fingers already seeking out his neck again when they couldn't find you. He hated that he wanted your presence so badly now. (Hated that he missed you, but he would never say that, never even dream of it). Then he’d added,“And find someone else’s doorstep to show up on.”

Dabi had scoffed, “Whatever. Just don’t get distracted.” He’d pulled out a cigarette from his jacket still on the floor then, much to Tomura’s annoyance, and lit it with a spark of his fingers. Smoke curled into the air with his first drag. “I’m not about to watch all our efforts fall apart because you wanted to play Romeo and Juliet with some braindead little hero.”

He’d torn into the skin of his neck then. Wished he could tear into you instead.

“Violent delights and violent ends and all that shit,” Dabi had said then, his smile just a curled stitch, smoke pouring from his lips, evidently amused with himself.

But Tomura has never read that play and he doesn’t know anything about poetry in the same way he doesn’t know anything about art or beauty, just that you’re the only thing he’s bothered to compare to a painting.

***

You put Tomura into your phone as Shinta and when you’re too busy to visit him between missions and training, you text him. Though short, he is surprisingly witty over text, something that has you biting back grins and distracted, feeling like a schoolgirl as you try to hide the screen of your phone from the rest of the world.

You grow distracted with hero work, with Shouta. You pay less attention to your life at U.A. You don’t visit Shouta for lunch as often. You haven’t spent a quiet night with Shouta in weeks. You tell yourself you don’t care.

It’s better than fighting with him. It’s better than trying to beg for his love and affection.

Early tomorrow morning you’re supposed to shadow Shouta on a brief mission.

The Hero Commission is trying to train you into espionage and underground work, trying to mold you in the shape of Shouta.

But at night, when you’re alone in your bedroom, tucked away into your own apartment and not with Tomura, he calls you.

You let yourself say his name into the receiver of your phone, hushed and excited.

He doesn’t say I miss you or when will I see you again?

He says, “Touch yourself.”

And you don’t say I miss you, too, or hopefully soon.

You do as he says, let your fingers fan out over your stomach like they might be his. You listen to his breathing turn ragged over the phone. You moan softly for him.

You do what he says in the navy dark of night, bite back frustrated whines because you’ve gotten too used to his touch.

“–Wish it was you, fuck, it’s not fair,” you gasp, tilting your hips up into your fingers desperately.

You can hear the hiss of breath he takes, “Did I ruin you?” he croons into the phone lowly, his voice slithering through to you, making your thighs clench. “Can’t even touch yourself without needing me?”

You groan, high and defeated, fingers slipping against yourself. You’re aching and empty and bereft without him, “Yes, yes–”

He rambles about what he’s done to you, almost seething by the end, when he demands you tell him that you’re his, that he’s the one who made you this way. He’s the only one who can soothe you now. You need him.

He isn’t wrong, you realize, when you still aren’t satisfied after your climax. When it doesn’t feel as good as when you’re with him. You realize you hate sleeping alone now. You miss the press of his body to yours. You coo into the phone about it, lay on your stomach, arms curled around your pillow with your ear still to your phone.

It never gets overly sentimental. You don’t want to scare him, especially as you grow terrified of your own feelings. It doesn’t feel as fun anymore, you realize, only because your attraction to him has now grown serious.

Your crush has grown teeth and claws, ready to tear apart the vulnerable, fleshy parts of you.

But he talks with you until you fall asleep, phone still in hand, heart still on the line.

***

There’s a stray kitten that hangs out around Tomura’s apartment– he thinks there must be a colony of strays in the area, since it’s not the only one. But this one is scrawny, just a messy tuft of grey fur. It’d be sleek and pretty, if it wasn’t so malnourished, if it wasn’t missing clumps of fur or full of scars and scratches.

The kitten likes Tomura a great deal for some reason. It rubs itself against his legs, follows him around outside of the apartment, much to your utter delight.

You coo and fawn over it, scoop the little thing up into your arms and hold it up to Tomura’s face.

He hates it, the face you give him. The face the kitten gives him. He hates that the corner of his lips twitch upwards.

“He’s so cute,” you gush and he can hear now that the little thing is purring furiously in your hands. You wiggle the cat a little bit in front of his face and Tomura finally reaches up to stroke the back of his knuckles against the kitten’s head, if only to appease you.

Your smile is crooked– an excited curve of your lips, your eyes alight.

You’re always so expressive and he used to be livid about it, wanted to teach you a lesson in the worst way possible, but now he just wants to keep you from learning them.

He has to turn away from you at the thought, heads towards the door of the apartment building. You follow after him dutifully, coming up to nudge against his side. He’s become too comfortable with you there, knocking into his elbow.

You’re still smiling down at the kitten in your arms and he wants to look away because some part of this is starting to sting.

The kitten is excitedly looking around, green eyes all round and bright. It’s purring happily.

“Put it down, it’s not coming in with us.” Tomura tells you, his voice rough and soft.

You stop in front of the door with him. Your bottom lip pulls out into a pout. Your eyes get round like the kitten’s.

He gives you a cold stare.

You hug the kitten tighter to your body, “C’mon,” you whine, “It’s just a baby.”

“I’m not taking care of a cat.”

“I’ll take care of it!”

“No,” he responds, harsher, voice a little sharper.

Maybe, in the beginning of this little affair, you would’ve headed the warning in his tone, but now you don’t even bat an eye at him.

“Yes,” you respond indignantly.

You both glare at each other. The kitten’s purr still rumbles on.

Tomura can tell you’re not giving this one up, he can tell by the set of your jaw, the way you’re clinging to that little creature. There’s a determined flush to your face. Your eyes are bright and fiery.

All over this little stray.

“You’re a brat,” is all Tomura says and you take that as a win, because your face immediately morphs, brightens up completely. You duck past him, into the apartment building with the kitten cradled in your arms.

He heaves a deep sigh, following in after you. “I’m kicking it out when you leave.”

“Don’t be mean,” you reply, waiting at the door, and the irony is not lost on him. He comes up behind you, his chest to your back, crowding you against the door.

“I think you need to remember who you’re speaking to,” he says, his voice just a rasp against your ear and maybe at some point, it would’ve sounded threatening, but now you just lean back into his chest. His heart beats against the curve of your back.

Something soft is growing between the two of you, he can feel it. It has no place here, though, in this world. In the two of you. His ugly infatuation with you, all that anger and vitriol he had for you has melted, turned spring soft inside of him after an unforgiving winter.

He unlocks the door, he lets you in.

The kitten ends up coming and going. He opens the window to let it in and out, let’s you feed it. You call it Ryuji. It lives partially in this new little world the two of you have built.

He thinks of it like the pause screen in a video game, somewhere to return to when he’s frustrated or tired or done. Idle, soft music and the freezing of his screen. A moment away from the turmoil or struggle of the game.

But he’ll have to unpause eventually.

He can’t stay here forever, he knows it, but he just has to be sure he plays it right– he doesn’t think he’ll be able to start over this time, with you.

And he wants you there at the ending, at his side like in his dreams.

The ones where it’s all in ruins, the world nothing but his, destroyed, but he gives you his hand to have, and you take it in yours to hold.

***

The distance between you and Shouta stretches and grows until it snaps in the form of a blowout argument. Which, is mostly just you, shouting, crying furiously, and Shouta stone-faced and cool.

It had started with an offhand comment from him about how you’re not focused anymore. You’re getting sloppy. You’re distracted. And usually, you take his criticism with a stiff upper lip and a determined glare.

But you and Shouta haven’t been the same since you tried to kiss him.

You blame yourself, maybe, but part of you feels angry with him, too. Bitter. You thought, in some way, he reciprocated your feelings. He’d acted like it. And when he’d rejected you, he’d pulled away, been more careful with you.

(You wonder if this proves your point, that he was toeing a line with you then.)

And maybe your lies are starting to eat at you, too, starting to rot away on the inside of you. If you focused on them too hard and all that Shouta’s done for you, you think you’d start crying every time you looked at him.

But Tomura has also thrown all you know into question. And you’d already been critical of the life you were afforded by becoming a hero.

You look at all of Shouta’s students and you just get angry. You look at Shinsou, so determined to prove he can be a hero, that he’s good and you are livid. You look at Toga, with her villainous Quirk. She’s near Shinsou’s age and something about it just makes you ache, it makes you sick.

You look at her and see who she could’ve been as a hero– you wonder if they would’ve stuck her in espionage, with the likes of you and Shouta. You wonder if she would’ve gone to U.A. You wonder what it would’ve taken to change her fate.

Even Tomura, you look at him and in the safety and privacy of your own heart, you dare to wonder what he would’ve been like if he hadn’t been a villain.

(He could’ve been a rescue hero, you think, and he could’ve decayed debris to save people. This version of him lives in the quiet, tentative parts of you. It grows soft and underground, a seedling that has sprouted on the inside of your chest, and one day you think this little dream of yours will grow so large inside of you that it’ll breach skin and show the world it’s horror.)

It feels like a coin toss, almost, like the difference between a hero and a villain sometimes is one flip away from changing.

You don’t bother to wonder what would’ve happened if it hadn’t been Shouta that found you, but someone like Tomura. Or All For One. You know if you’d been given somewhere to sleep and a warm meal, you would’ve done what they wanted.

You wish you could say you were a noble, starving person, that there was something shining and golden inside of you. But all you were was starving.

Shouta says you’ve been underperforming lately. He says he’s considering limiting the nights you patrol until you can get it together.

The Hero Commission was supposed to come observe you to see if you’d progressed enough to begin accepting your own missions. He tells you he doesn’t think they should come any longer. It feels like a dig, too, like he’s reprimanding you somehow.

And you snap, “Well maybe I didn’t want them to observe me!”

He looks taken aback for a moment, before he asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know! Maybe I’m tired of being observed and used and watching all of these kids be observed and sought after and–”

“Alright,” Shouta sighs, and it makes your teeth grit because he sounds like he’s trying to parent you, “It’s one thing to be upset yourself, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with these kids.”

Your nails dig into your palms as you try to find the words to get him to understand you.

But he speaks before you can, almost patronizingly, “Clearly, you’re struggling through something, so it’s probably a good thing we’ve put this off.”

Tears well up hard and fast. It hurts to be dismissed like this. It hurts to look at him, to think that he’s a part of the ever growing issue that has been itching beneath your skin. You’re a part of it, too, but you have the sudden urge to run. To get out.

Still, you swallow down all of that turmoil and say, “I hardly know what I want now, so how do you expect children to know that they want to be a hero?”

“What is this about?” Shouta asks.

“It’s about the Hero Commission and U.A. and the entire fucking system. That’s what it’s about.” you seethe, looking up into his eyes, trying to find something there.

“It’s not just about you?” he asks, unperturbed.

“Why can’t it be both?” you respond, trying to keep your voice from going high, from going hysterical. There’s so much you want to say, so much that it’s making you sick, that it’s turning your stomach. “I’m– I’m barely older than them!” you say, because all you keep thinking about is how they’re just kids. And you were just a kid. And at one point, Tomura was just a kid.

He’s barely older than you. Closer in age to Shouta’s students than to him.

“I didn’t invent the system,” Shouta says and he sounds weary, “I just try to give my students the best opportunity at surviving being a hero. I try to teach them everything to keep them alive.”

They’re just kids! You want to shriek, kids that were chosen or forgotten or accepted or shunned.

Looking in the face of the system now feels so massive that it’s hopeless; a system that produces shiny heroes from children with their perfect and acceptable Quirks and discards the rest. Even you and Shouta, with your Quirks that aren’t as flashy, are pushed into the shadows to do the Hero Commissions business. And what business is that? You have to wonder their intentions, too, with all the money that’s pumped into it. Into all of these heroes. A system that forgets anyone who doesn’t fit into it’s perfect mold.

“But you see how it’s wrong, right? And just because you didn’t invent the system doesn’t mean you get to throw your hands up!” You say, voice raising.

Shouta levels you with a cool look. He lets loose a sigh. “What would you like me to do?”

You don’t have an answer, it’s too big of a question.

(You see the appeal suddenly, in wanting to get rid of it all, in destroying it since it’s such a mess.)

But you hate his aloofness, you hate that he doesn’t care. You hate that you feel crazy.

“I don’t know!” you shout, tears finally falling down your angry and flushed face. “I don’t know!”

“Are you done?” Shouta asks and it makes you want to scream more. You just want a reaction from him, you realize, you want something more than his impassiveness. You think of trying to shout more, to try and say something cutting or powerful or enough to make him wince.

But nothing comes to mind and you’re just stubbornly trying to keep back a sob.

So you shoulder past him, rush out of his apartment, rubbing at your cheeks and trying to keep back your hiccuping cries.

You have every intention of going to Tomura’s.

But you realize when you’ve nearly made it to his door that it might be foolish to go to someone like Tomura with tears in your eyes. What is the leader of the League of Villains going to do? You have a feeling you might just get your feelings hurt more.

So you pause, rub at your eyes again, try to dispel all the turmoil inside you. It doesn’t work, so you turn away from him, too, and you start moving.

Your feet carry you to the train station, carry you across town, to a warehouse you used to vandalize and hide in when you were young and alone.

You haven’t been here in years.

It feels strange, loping around the side of the building. The alleyways are cast in garnet light with the fading sun. It makes it look prettier than it is. You enter through the same hole in the wall that you used to when you were young; you’re bigger now, though, need to duck lower, curl yourself up to get through it.

You think of yourself scurrying around, knowing the ins and outs of this dilapidated building the way most children know their childhood home.

It’s strange, stepping back into a place you haven’t been to in years. You know, in some way, it has to have changed. It’s falling apart more, there’s larger holes in the ceiling, letting in auburn light, setting everything ablaze. There’s a lot of debris; from torn tents to discarded sleeping bags to spare junk, it’s all spread out throughout the place. Graffiti covers every corner of the walls. You used to look for a face painted in pink, it’s eyes dripping down it’s face in the back corner of a wall. When your eyes slide along all the artwork, it’s nowhere to be found now. No doubt covered up by the years, but you know it’s there, somewhere beneath all that color and paint.

There are a lot of empty bottles, glass laying around that crunches beneath your shoe.

You pick up a glass by the spout, watch as it catches in the light, murky gold and sunkissed.

You feel small again, fragile like the bottle in your hand. You stopped crying at least, but all that’s left is the aftertaste. Just the lingering frustration, the bitter aloneness that settles over you as cold as Shouta’s stare.

Your fingers squeeze around the glass, curling tight, before you suddenly hurl it at the wall.

It bursts on impact, explodes into thousands of shining, glittering pieces that spark in the sun.

It feels good, so you pick up another glass– this one’s mint green, pretty like the sea, reminds you of spring and the stems of flowers.

It breaks prettily, too, the sound ringing and sharp in your ears, your eyes trying to catch all the splinters of it. It explodes in the light. It’s cathartic, letting all your aching frustration and hurt rush out with each breaking, with each smashing.

You don’t get through many more, not before you hear footsteps behind you.

You can’t say you’re surprised to find Tomura, but you can’t say you were expecting it either. Quickly, you turn away, try to school your features. You try to rub at your eyes again, as if this will somehow dispel damp lashes and splotchy cheeks.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask, but there’s no bite to it as he comes to stand beside you.

He doesn’t answer.

You think he might be, but you can’t find it in you to care.

The sound of the distant city is just a hum between you two. Glass sparkles on the floor like stars in the fading, ruby light.

You turn to face him, don’t bother trying to look up into his face, just shove yourself into his chest. You bury your face into his hoodie, rubbing your cheek against his chest. “Creep,” you mumble, “What are you doing here?”

His hands come up, one at the back of your head, the other along your back. He has his gloves on. Not that it matters.

“I followed you from the apartment,” he admits and his voice is quiet, but it seems to echo in this open space. Then he says, “You should be more watchful.”

“Don’t start,” you grumble, letting your fingers curl in his jacket, “Been scolded enough today.”

The hand at the back of your head tugs at your hair lightly, lifting your head from its hiding place against his chest so that he can look you over carefully.

The light casts him in maroon and russet, saturating him, making the dark of him stand out sharply. It makes the silver of his hair seem peach, brands him in all the sun’s honey and whiskey glory.

His eyes are vivid, maybe the most true shade of red you’ve ever seen in your life.

He takes in your face, perhaps your bloodshot eyes, your damp lashes. You aren’t a fool; you’re certain he can tell you’ve been crying. You have the urge to squirm away, to try and hide from his gaze.

But all he asks, in a surprisingly gentle tone, is “What happened?”

You shake your head fractionally, “Nothing. Got into an argument, that’s all.”

He hums lightly, tracking your expression. You want to glance away from him, but he holds you still for a moment longer.

When you can’t take his scrutinization any longer, you ask, “Wanna break some shit with me?”

He lets you go finally, let’s you step out of his arms despite not responding. You pick up another glass, this once an icy blue that reflects light that reminds you of the color of morning skies.

You watch as it explodes against the wall, flashing like a little firework. Glass rains down onto the ground, some of it flinging up into the air or back towards you. Tomura pulls you away from it by the back of your jacket, yanks you back into his chest as glass shards fly past you.

He glares at you somewhat and you can tell he wants to scold you, but he doesn’t. You squirm out of his grasp to do it again.

Glass showers down as you break another bottle. It rains in shards of tangerine and pale yellow, bright pops of cherry in the light. It feels good, to watch it all burst apart in the sunlight, like watching little stars burst and explode at your hands. It’s so pretty, for such a violent act.

You hand a bottle to Tomura, offering him the chance to also act out. Instead, he pulls off one of his gloves– tugs it off with his teeth, the glint of sharp white against flesh pink. You watch fascinated for a moment, catch his eyes, blazing and barbed.

When he takes it with all five fingers, you watch as it first cracks in your palm, before fluttering away into dust. Into nothing.

You make a face, “That’s not as exciting as breaking them.”

He rolls his eyes, but you catch the way the corner of his lips hike up. He takes another glass, this one icy silver, caught peach in the honey light, though. He keeps a finger lifted away delicately as he lifts it up to the beams of scarlet sun that flare through the rafters.

And in that fiery patch of dusk, with the glass reflecting iridescence onto the angular plains of his face, your heart gives a violent lurch, like it’s trying to burst free from your chest.

I think I love you, you think, unbridled, and so suddenly that it feels as if the thought has slammed into you the way a body might fall from the ledge of a roof.

I think I love you, you think again, because you can’t quite believe it, as he lobs the bottle at the wall. It fractures into a thousand little beams of glass and light, like an exploding comet. You feel as fragile as that, like he’ll do the same to you. Maybe you’ll be nothing but shards by the end of this, nothing but dust slipping through his fingers.

He turns to you, no doubt to say something snarky, but you’re already taking quick steps to him. He doesn’t get the chance to speak, not when you collide with him, hard and reckless, throwing yourself up onto your toes to kiss him with a new violence.

He makes a surprised noise, soft, but catches you otherwise. His hand is already up, worming beneath your clothes to press chilled fingers into the bare skin of your upper waist. He likes the way you hiss into his mouth, and you like the way they dig roughly into you. He forces you closer, melds his mouth to yours, rough at the edges, slick and warm at the center as the kiss blossoms into slow simmering heat.

And by the end of it all, when the light has given way to violet darkness, the press of indigo shadows that stretch tall in this abandoned warehouse, there is too much glass on the floor. Everything is shattered or decayed. Your lips are stinging from sharp-toothed kisses and the desperate press of his mouth to yours. You’ve turned molten, fallen apart the way glass does.

You walk home together, hand in seeking hand.

Your eyes flush pink with your Quirk, brightening up in the dark.

You knock into his side like you’re a kid, eagerly trailing beside him. He has the hood of his sweatshirt up, hidden, as you rush into the next train back to the part of town that holds the little, distant world of his apartment.

You sit beside each other on the train, knees pressing into each other. He leans over to crowd you against the cool glass as the world streaks past you in a wash of darkness. He ducks his face to yours, his hood hiding the both of you from any onlookers as he seers his mouth to yours again.

You feel like a teenager, kissing in front of strangers, beneath the flickering light of the train car. You feel young and reckless, letting him have you like this, while the city burns like a blurry halo behind you. But you feel older, too, older and in love, like you finally know the secret of the universe, the one that every adult knows and has only learned in the burn of a kiss, in the messy squeezing of your heart.

He licks into your mouth slow, you curl your small hand into his worn hoodie. If people stare, you don’t know, don’t care.

He pulls away from you, forcing you up when your stop is announced, leaving you a little dazed and dizzy, but you eagerly follow after him. Your hands bunch into the back of his jean jacket. You stumble behind him a little, feet tangling with his as you duck beneath his arm to come to his side.

Ryuji finds the two of you on your walk home the closer you get, follows you both inside, happily chirping at your coos. But he paws at the window to be let out again a short time later, after you’ve fed him something. Tomura opens the window for the cat, but not before you catch him rubbing a knuckle against the kitten’s fuzzy cheek, brief but gentle.

You think he likes Ryuji more than he lets on. You think he loves all this more than he lets on.

Tomura takes his time with you that night, surprisingly languid for once, like you’re not on borrowed time. Like this is an entirely new planet, a version of the two of you that is not bound by pasts and future expectations. No strings puppeteering you both, no invisible hands holding you both back.

He pulls you down into his lap, to sink onto him, fill yourself with him as you please. You twine your arms around his slender neck to pull him close, eyes half lidded and pyretic pink, fiery and soft with the way your Quirk reacts to his. It always hums somewhere inside of you, brushes against his until it quiets, until he’s soothed and relaxed.

“Do you feel powerful?” he murmurs against your lips, eyes flickering up to find yours.

The question takes you by surprise for a moment, pulling away fractionally from his parted lips. And with the way your heart squirms in your chest, looking down at him like this, you want to say no, I feel terrified and new and desperate.

But he drags nails down your back, makes you gasp and roll your hips down onto him, which startles a groan out of him. The sound of it turning your stomach in the best and worst ways, making you flush, making you squirm to try and sink lower onto him. Greedy and desperate, you wiggle your hips to make his breathing come out ragged.

It makes you realize you have one of the most dangerous villains beneath you, as desperate as you are.

You roll your hips again, slow, take what you want of him. You fist your hand in his hair, tilt his head back and watch as his eyes flutter. His cheeks are flushed.

Pretty, you think faintly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, gliding your lips along his, heart a storm in your chest to have him looking up at you like this, “I do.”

His lips tilt into a knife-sharp smile, enough to gut you.

And he lets you take what you please of him that night, and the thief that you are, you take and take and take. You steal from him with deft hands and a smile that he thinks he’d destroy the world for. You take all the love that you want from him, gorge yourself on it until you feel sick.

Until you feel as if you could rot with it, carrying your love for him in the pits of you, coveting in the safe, secret parts of you, for no one else to find.

Just you and him, like this, hand in seeking hand.

***

PART III

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jadequeen88 · 4 years ago

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A Waitress’ Worst Nightmare

A/N: Written for the BNHA Degeneracy 9-5 collab! THIS IS 18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: TW.sexual harassment, TW.oral(recieving), TW.degredation TW.nipple play, TW.Mommy kink

Pairing: busboy!Keigo, linecook!Dabi, f!waitress!Reader

You’re a college student just trying to get by. The biggest worry you should have right now is if you had enough time to finish that psych paper or when you were going to meet up with your calculus study group. Instead, you’ve got a much larger problem facing you...A problem that has permeated through every aspect of your life. Your coworkers were Grade-A-Assholes who decided making your life miserable was on the top of their to do lists.

You thought waitressing at the 24/7 diner downtown would be a breeze. Money was tight and since you were 21 and almost done with your undergrad, you wanted a little more financial independence. Little did you know when the owner hired you that you’d have to work alongside the two biggest shitheads in the city.

First there’s Keigo. To the untrained eye, he could almost seem charming. But you found out pretty quickly what a dick he was. He was working as a “busboy”, but in reality he didn’t do anything but flirt with every woman within his field of vision. Keigo would leave the tables a mess until there wasn’t a clean one left in your station and you’d be forced to do his job for him.

“What, babe? Stop getting your panties in a twist. I’m real busy these days. You know I’m practically running this place now.”

Oh yeah. How could you forget? He took every opportunity to remind you of that fact. Keigo’s dad happened to be buddies with the owner, garnering a sense of trust with the old man. He slowly weaseled his way into running day-to-day operations while the elderly owner stayed home most days.

Although the diner needed another busboy to pick up his slack, Keigo refused to tell the boss to hire another. You overheard a phone conversation between Keigo and your boss just last night:

“Nah, boss. We’ve got it covered here. No need to hire another busboy. The waitresses are just finding reasons to nag. Women, am I right?”

You were fuming.

***

As bad as Keigo was, his friend Dabi was exponentially worse. The line cook was, without a doubt, a drug dealer. The only motive he could possibly have for working there is having a place to do business with his “customers”(and of course, to help Keigo make your life a living hell). It clearly wasn’t because he needed the money since you’d seen his “friends” slip him generous wads of cash when they stopped by the restaurant. If cleaning up Keigo’s messes sucked, trying to put in customer’s orders with Dabi was pure torture.

“Eggs over easy instead of scrambled? I dunno, Princess. Sounds like it’ll be a pain in my ass. Whatcha gonna give me if I do it?”

Then he’d lick his lips with his long pierced tongue, leering at you over the counter. Gag... You wondered if that ever actually worked in his favor.

One semi-decent thing you can say about Keigo is that he’d never actually laid a finger on you. The same can’t be said for Dabi. You learned after your first day to wear shorts under the skirt of your uniform. You were behind the counter slicing lemons when he took his spatula and lifted the hem of your skirt. Before you realized what he was doing, he was calling out to his partner in crime.

“Fuuuuuck, Kei! Look at the ass on the new girl!”

You wondered what was going on until you felt a breeze and realized it was your ass that was on display. You’d slapped the spatula away and straightened your skirt, but not before they both got an eyeful of your black, lace panties. You cried for ten minutes in the bathroom after your shift that day.

***

The day you’d been dreading was finally upon you. No, it wasn’t a big test or project due... You had to ask off work for your cousin’s wedding. That meant dealing with Keigo (who was now in charge of making the schedule each week).

You squared your shoulders and went over what you would say over, and over in your head so you wouldn’t stumble over your words when you had to face him.

“I need to have Saturday off for my cousin’s wedding. I can work the Sunday morning shift instead.”

This was repeated on a loop in your brain as you walked down the darkened corridor towards the office. You let out a long sigh and gently rapped your knuckles against the wooden frame. The sound of shuffling and muffled voices seeped through the thin faux wood and a moment later, the door swung inward. The thick cloud of smoke and strong, skunky smell almost knocked you flat on your ass. Instead of seeing Keigo alone working on the schedule, you saw that he and Dabi were hotboxing in the small office.

Knowing they were back here getting high while you closed the diner by yourself was the last straw. You slam the door behind you and stomp forward to lean over the desk Keigo was propped up behind.

“Listen you shit heads!” you slammed you fists on the desk knocking over a jar of pens. “I am so fucking sick of slaving away in this shit hole while you two get high and fuck off back here. You’re going to let me have Saturday off or I swear to Christ, I’m calling the boss and spilling my guts! About the weed, the drug deals, the snarky remarks, the groping, EVERYTHING! I’ve had enough!”

There was a moment of silence then the two of them burst into a fit of laughter. In a blind fit of rage, you leap across the desk and grab Keigo by the throat. When you made contact and squeezed as hard as your small hand would allow, a whimper escaped his throat and his eyes rolled back.

Now it was your turn to laugh.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you gripped your fingers tightly again to see if you could pull any more sounds from him. He didn’t disappoint. This time it was a whimper followed by him nervously mumbling.

“Heh, Kid... Seriously, knock it off. This shit isn’t funny.”

Your eyes traveled down the front of his body and when they landed on the crotch of his baggy khakis, your suspicions were confirmed. This loser who acted like a certified pussy-slayer popped a boner just from you choking him.

You leaned in close to his face, using this as your chance to get revenge for all the hell he had put you through. “Aww little Keigo... Not used to being roughed up?” you cooed. “Dumb little baby Keigo...I bet if I kept this up, you’d come in your pants like a dirty slut, wouldn’t you?”

You felt movement over your shoulder and heard a deep chuckle. “Dude you’re so pathe-”

Dabi gasped as you grabbed him by the crotch with your free hand and squeezed. He was already hard. You met his eyes and see panic etched across his features. A sadistic grin spread across your mouth as you tightened your grip. His head fell back and let out a whimper almost as needy as Keigo’s.

“You’re both going to do exactly what I say or I swear, I will tell every girl you ever try to speak to what a couple of pathetic virgins you two are...”

***

“Ungh! Plea-please... Harder! I... I need more!”

*SMACK*

Your hand lands hard across the blonde’s face, drawing a pathetic whimper from his throat. He thrust his weeping cock along your shin whimpering, craving more pressure to relieve his suffering.

“You don’t get to tell me what you need, Keigo. Shut your fucking mouth and be grateful you get this much.”

You throw your head back against the office chair and hum as Dabi eats your cunt like it’s his last meal.

“Mmm... See Keigo? See what a good boy Dabi is being? He knows his stupid mouth is only meant for one thing... Making Mommy’s pussy feel good.”

The praise causes the dark haired man between your thighs to moan into your clit sending a pulse of pleasure through your lower body. The ball of his piercing circles your clit and you feel the familiar ache of an impending orgasm begin to tighten in your belly.

Keigo starts shoving Dabi away from you with a growl. “This is bullshit! I haven’t even had a chance yet!”

Dabi elbows him, ”Fuck off Kei! I almost had her finished off!”

Furious from being jerked back from the edge of your orgasm, you grab a fist full of blonde hair in one hand and black in the other. You pull their flushed faces up to look you in the eye.

“If you want to come at all, you will shut...the fuck...up... and get me off. Now”

Dabi wasted no time in diving back into your dripping slit, panting heavily while he ran his pierced tongue in and out of your swollen entrance. Keigo attacked your neck, whimpering as he planted sloppy kisses down your collarbone until his tongue was licking long stripes up you clothed nipple.

“I think you can do a little better than that, baby,’ you cooed into Keigo’s messy blonde tresses, sweetly tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He took that as his cue to remove the clothing between your hardening bud and his hot, wet tongue.

Keigo latched onto your nipple, nursing it with vigor while he gently grazed his fingertips over the other. You heard him mumble something into the soft swell of your breast.

“Speak up,” you pull him away from your nipple with a pop, “I didn’t catch that...”

“I-I said... I...”

Your attention was drawn to the man between your legs as he began to suck down hard on your clit. The hand you had wrapped in Keigo’s hair tightened causing him to cry out.

“Mommy! Please! Wanna be your good boy! Wanna make Mommy come...” He sobs as he starts frantically licking and sucking your neglected nipple. This pushes you over the edge and your long awaited orgasm rushes over you.

After you come down from your high, you push them off and begin getting dressed while the two men you left on the floor look up at you with wide eyes.

Dabi, still panting from eating you so vigorously, chokes out a little half sob.

“But.. where are you goin? We did what you asked!”

“Yeah babe! what the fuck!”

You eyed both men and let the tension hang in the air before turning and walking to the door.

“Give me the whole weekend off. Then we’ll arrange something Monday,” you look over your shoulder, “As long as you don’t piss me off before then..”

You walk out of the office with the biggest grin you’ve had in a long time and feeling a lot more relaxed. Maybe this job was going to turn out better than you expected.

#bnha dabi #bnha smut #dabi x you #hawks x y/n #tw mommy kink #bnha eijiro kirishima #mha hawks #mha x reader #bnha reader insert #jade writes smut

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Something More (Taywhora) - pureCAMP

A/N - Hi Ortega, love you xx

Here’s a cheeky little girl band au in which A'Whora is sort of in love with her bandmate, Lawrence is sort of in love with her makeup artist, and Bimini has no idea what’s going on. Enjoy, bing bang bong <3

Death by a thousand cuts lingers on A’Whora’s mind. There seems to be a million ways to express how she’s feeling; the straw that broke the camel’s back, the final tipping point. The way that little things just build and build and build until their crushing weight is suddenly made noticeable to the poor fool trapped beneath them, already without any hope of survival.

Maybe she’s being dramatic, maybe poetic. Maybe that’s why she’s good at writing lyrics, why she scribbles them down in glittery notebooks that Lawrence makes fun of her for buying. They can hardly use what she writes in her free time, the need for fun, relatable and light-hearted lyrics far outweighing the demand for her emotional ramblings, but nevertheless she’s still alright at it.

More than anything, it’s the numbness that bothers her. This pain isn’t jarring, soul destroying, artistically tragic like she wishes it was. She mostly feels an ever-present nothing, with the occasional empty hole like a vacuum in her stomach that weighs on her late at night, alone in bed. The feeling is heavy and cold, but she can’t describe it any better than that. She’s tried, and the scrunched up paper and furiously crossed out words provide more than enough explanation as to how that endeavour went.

Is she ridiculous to be angry over wanting a little communication, knowing she herself hasn’t done it either? Is she hypocritical for internally begging Tayce to explain when she knows full well she’s not explained her side?

Whatever the answer, she’s an idiot for hooking up with her bandmate.

Sighing frustratedly, she throws her pencil across the room, likely to never be seen again, and shuts her notebook. The pencil flies through the air and hits the wall just as Lawrence enters, missing her head by mere centimetres. She reels backwards out of shock and then clings onto the doorframe, one hand on her heaving chest.

“Fuck me! You trying to kill me or something?” Lawrence demands, her expressions every bit as big and blown up as they are on stage.

A’Whora flops onto her bed as Lawrence sits on hers - they’re sharing the hotel room, Tayce and Bimini paired up across the hall.

“Not you, babes.” She rolls her eyes at herself, stretching her legs out as her head crashes into the pillow.

Lawrence snorts. “Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s far from fucking paradise and you know it, you nasty bitch.” A’Whora shoots back, relieved that neither of them are stupid enough to interpret any malice in the harsh way they speak to one another.

Truth be told, A’Whora and Tayce’s hooking up is probably the worst kept secret in all their band management. Tayce seems to think nobody knows, and she’s all the happier for it, but A’Whora knows for a fact that Lawrence, the entire style team and their management all know what’s going on - it’s really only Bimini, bless her, who’s in the dark about it. The second worst kept secret is Lawrence and their makeup artist, Ellie, but that’s the farthest from A’Whora’s mind currently.

“It used to be fun, you know what I mean, like? Like it’s just me and Tayce and we’re having a good time and everything, there’s no pressure for dating or nothing like that, ‘cause she weren’t ready for it.”

Lawrence blinks. “Am I supposed to be sensing a problem here, or?”

A’Whora groans. “Shut up, bitch, I’m trying to do a fucking monologue for you! Anyway, it’s just weird because I swear like I haven’t done anything and nothing’s changed at all but her texts are really friendly rather than like flirty now?”

“And you haven’t sent me off to Ellie’s room in a while so the two of you can fuck like rabbits.” Lawrence finishes, a sly grin on her face knowing that she’s just pissed A’Whora right off by interrupting the aforementioned monologue.

Crude as she is, she’s right - and A’Whora probably would’ve worded it in a way more disgusting manner herself. It’s a decent system that they’ve rigged up, honestly. Whenever Tayce texts, or A’Whora texts her, she sends Lawrence off to go find Ellie, makes up some lie about why their bandmate isn’t sleeping in their room tonight, and then they can spend some quality time together. It’s simple but efficient, hence its brilliance.

“Sorry babes. You know you can still go see her even if I’m not seeing Tayce?”

Lawrence snorts. “Nah, you’re fine. To be honest she’s fucked me right off recently so I’m not in the mood to see her.”

It’s horrible, but A’Whora’s secretly glad that she’s not the only one entangled in some kind of romantic or sexual turmoil. “Aw, what did she do?”

“None of your business, you nosy bitch!” Lawrence half-yells, but bizarrely, she’s still not mad. “You were ranting about your secret lover?”

“Fuck off,” She shoots back, “I was done, anyway. She’s just, like, reset. I don’t get it.”

She’s not strong enough to confide what she really thinks. It clouds her mind constantly, a small part of her brain daring her to just come out and say it in the malicious hope that she’ll find out how it feels to broadcast. Her stupid, selfish brain is worried that Tayce has met someone, someone she likes, someone she’d be willing to, or interested in, pursuing a romantic relationship with. Because romance has never been part of their deal, something they’d agreed on. Romance was off the table for Tayce because she wasn’t ready, and A’Whora was fine with that.

Maybe she was in the wrong for going along with the hook ups and flirting under false pretences. A’Whora had hoped, secretly, that over time, Tayce’s aversion to love and commitment might begin to soften, and surely the most natural, safe way to ease into it would be with someone who she already knew could have a fun flirty rapport with her, not to mention a metric fuckton of sexual chemistry?

Behind every flirty text held the secret hope that Tayce’s feelings would one day find the strength to break out. A’Whora hadn’t meant to get attached to her bandmate like she had, but there seemed to be fuck all she could do about it now.

“Well,” Lawrence announces, rolling onto her back and gesturing up in the air with her arms, “You’re fucked off, I’m fucked off, I say we go and get absolutely steamin’ and forget that we’ve ever felt a positive emotion towards someone who doesn’t give a fuck.”

A’Whora closes her eyes, heart sinking. “I’d actually love to, but we can’t just go the two of us, because then we’re leaving out the others. Bims’ll wanna come, and if Bims comes we have to invite Tayce and I literally don’t wanna see her because it’s so weird that I’ve been like, demoted to friend.”

“She removed the benefits,” Lawrence nods understandingly, “In many ways, we could compare her to the Tory government.”

“Could we fuck,” A’Whora laughs in spite of her own heavy misery. “You’re literally insane. Loz, what the fuck do I do about this?”

Lawrence shrugs. “I told you, my best solution is to go and get smashed! If we just drink here then we didn’t go out without anyone so we didn’t break any friend rules and they’re none the fucking wiser to our collective romance issues.”

The word romance makes A’Whora tense - it’s uncomfortable to think about it like that, almost embarrassing to dwell on her own feelings as having a romantic nature about them from a purely sexual relationship. Luckily for her, a sneaky or perhaps Freudian slip catches her attention and drags it away from her own issue, A’Whora bolting upright to stare at her friend.

“Lawrence Chaney. Did you just say collective romance issues? I thought you and Ellie were just fanny friends!”

Understandably, Lawrence is horrified at her turn of phrase, but A’Whora doesn’t miss the telltale reddening of her ears that suggests she’s said something she shouldn’t have. An eye-roll powerful enough to induce a tsunami follows Lawrence shifting herself up, glaring at A’Whora, and then scowling.

“First,” She replies, one finger wagging in front of her, “Never fucking say fanny friends ever again. Second…”

A’Whora gasps, already anticipating some gossip.

“You’re gonna get me a fucking gin if you’re gonna make me talk about this.”

More intelligent girls, or perhaps just less heartache-y ones, would know better than to get wasted in their hotel room the night before a show, but A’Whora and Lawrenced have never been the best at smart decisions. Ironically, it’s the deceptively smart bimbo Bimini who usually is able to reign them in, though she often chooses not to. Left to their own devices, there’s a lot of gin and a little bit of lemonade that seems to mysteriously disappear as tongues get looser and inhibitions get lowered. Before they even know what’s happening, both girls are sitting on the floor between their beds, legs stretched out before them, bemoaning their woeful, humiliating love lives.

It’s almost as if they think that if they don’t get it right now, they never will. To some extent, in A’Whora’s mind, that’s true, even when she knows, realistically, that she’s only in her mid-twenties and life goes on. But really, what is love if not an agony freezing you in time, a force that makes the past a mere blur and the future non-existent? Love is present and now, and if she misses her chance, who says there’ll be another?

(Almost everyone says there will. But A’Whora is drunk and her words are happy and her mind is sad.)

Luckily, Lawrence has been talking for long enough that A’Whora doesn’t have to spill all her thoughts into a drunken spiel that she knows wouldn’t make a lick of sense. She keeps swearing and avoiding the point, but somewhere in her long-winded ramble confessions start to unravel themselves, and a good scandal is enough to distract her for the time being.

“So I fuckin’ - aw fuck, hen, do me a favour and refill me?” Lawrence asks, A’Whora just passing her the bottle and gesturing for her to continue. “I fuckin’ asked her, y’know, are we just doing this or are we something more, like, fuckin’ stupid thing to ask honestly and I regretted it as soon as I did but then she answered and fuck me.”

She makes an effort to impersonate Ellie - a slightly higher pitched, slightly less intensely Scottish accent with something of a mockingly nervous whine to it as she repeats, “I’m keeping my options open. Fuckin’ options! I’ve no’ had anyone since her and I wouldny’ fuckin’ want to either and she’s fuckin’ got A, B, C or D all the fuckin’ above! It’s fucked.”

A’Whora gasps. “Bitch, you proper like her! You like Ellie!”

“Say that any louder and I’ll box your fuckin’ ears,” Lawrence threatens, only half kidding judging by the glare in her eyes. “Am I wrong to feel fuckin’ betrayed that I didn’t know she was seeing others as well as me?”

She snorts. “Loz, babes, I’m losing my mind at the very idea that Tayce has found someone, look who you’re talking to.”

Lawrence shrugs in agreement. “Makes me feel sick.”

There’s a pause. “Actually, that might be the gin.”

Another pause. “Oh, it’s the gin.”

She all but launches herself up and towards the bathroom, A’Whora instantly going into a flap. If Lawrence is sick on the carpet she’ll literally never forgive her, but she needs to help her friend, but fuck if she’s gonna stand there in the bathroom gagging at her. She decides, vaguely last minute, to run out into the corridor and grab some cold water from the machine, panicking and shouting her plan in the general direction of the bathroom before dashing outside. Embarrassing, but at twenty five years old A’Whora still can’t handle someone being sick.

A brief but unwelcome thought flits into her head - I’d help Tayce. She shakes it away, tells herself she wouldn’t, but a sad stupid part of her knows she could sit there and painfully gag her way through helping Tayce if she needed to, because she’s a spineless idiot who fell for her bandmate. There’s a flash of guilt for the fact that she wouldn’t do the same for Bims or Lawrence, but reasons that she has to draw the line somewhere.

The hotel has this awful chintzy carpet, a weird swirly print on a red base that reminds A’Whora of weird-smelling care homes and outdated grandma’s houses. Just looking at it makes her head spin uncomfortably - maybe she’s a little drunker than she thought. Perhaps she’ll get two cups of ice water instead, sober herself up a bit and all.

Then Tayce is standing in front of her all of a sudden and A’Whora has no idea how she’s got there.

(Did she… summon Tayce? Manifest her presence?)

“Girl, you alright? You look a state,” She greets, her accent charming enough to rid the words of their potential offense.

A’Whora vaguely points ahead of her, aware of how dumb she probably looks. “Goin… getting water for Loz. She’s absolutely pissed.”

Tayce laughs, baffled. “Babes, what are you playing at getting drunk the night before a show? Gotta make sure you shake off the hangovers before or else you’re done for!”

“Water fixes all.” A’Whora has no idea what to say. Why would she? She’s been lamenting this girl’s very existence for the past…. God knows how many hours, and now she’s here and she has to slip the besties facade back on except she’s a bit too drunk to remember how to do it properly. Sober A’Whora is going to cringe for days over this, she already knows.

Unsurprisingly, Tayce starts to follow her to grab the water, declaring “Well I’m coming with you, sounds like you’re gonna need someone sober to put you both in bed, you absolute lunatics.”

They’re just walking next to each other and yet A’Whora has never analysed her own way of walking so much in her life before this moment. Are her steps too large? Her arms swinging too much, or too little? Which foot comes next? Is Tayce thinking about how weirdly she’s moving? Should she be trying to keep pace with her or will that be even weirder and she’ll realise what a creep she’s been hooking up with all this time and fully decide against any possibility of something more between them?

They’re just walking. Just one foot and then the next.

Ahead of them, the water cooler glistens like a mirage in a desert, a tantalising goal signalling the end of their journey. A’Whora almost feels like she’s been trekking for hours next to Tayce, unsure of what to say, unsure of what her own act to keep up with is.

Naturally, she fumbles in her attempt to get a flimsy plastic cup from the stack, and then all come crashing down before she can even realise what’s happening. She turns to look at Tayce, the both of them momentarily stunned.

“Oh my god, you absolute beast!” Tayce screeches, her voice hushed for the sake of the late night but laughing all the same, clutching the cooler for balance. “We gotta pick all these up now!”

They do; A’Whora thinks about accidentally brushing her fingers over Tayce’s as they scramble to get everything, and then doesn’t. She thinks about abandoning the water and fumbling keys into locks until they fall into one another and forget everything else. She thinks about just blurting out the truth.

By the time all of the potential scenarios have flown dizzyingly through A’Whora’s drunk mind, she finds herself with two cups of water in her hands, Tayce with the same, leading her back to the hotel room and giggling as she instructs her not to spill a drop. A’Whora laughs, pretending like she’s not struggling to figure out how tightly she should be holding them.

Pretend is easy and she’s always been good at it. Pretending she’s a real rockstar with her Sing Star microphone and Playstation 2 in the living room. Pretending she’s not nervous the day before the biggest audition of her life. Pretending she’s a real musician in a band and not one of four girls shitting themselves backstage at the biggest arenas in the city. Pretending like Tayce might fall for her one day.

Once they get inside - it takes four swipes of A’Whora’s key and brief panic that she’s somehow got the wrong one - it’s clear that Lawrence is done with throwing her guts up and has settled herself in a chair, furiously typing on her phone.

“This room smells like a minibar, you hounds!” Tayce half admonishes, her grin entirely downplaying her words and making A’Whora’s heartbeat jump into overdrive. “Lawrence, what are you doing?”

“Communicating-my-feelings,” She answers through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a particularly aggressive stab at her screen.

Out of curiosity, A’Whora peeks at the screen, and upon seeing a horrifically large wall of text typed out in the chat box with no end in sight, snatches the phone immediately. “Tayce! Hide it! She’s writing a fucking essay!”

Whether A’Whora’s drunk coordination is better than when she’s sober - hopefully not - or Tayce is just talented, she deftly catches the device and locks it.

Lawrence all but springs up, incensed. “Fuck off with that! Ellie needs to know- I’m fucking pissed!”

“Ellie?” Tayce pauses, looking down as if she’ll still see the message. “As in, makeup artist Ellie?”

“Who fuckin’ else?!” Lawrence lunges and misses.

“Knew it.” She’s adorably smug, so much so that A’Whora decides against telling her that literally everyone knows. Her perceived victory makes her face light up and she’s already so beautiful that ruining childlike glee like that should be considered blasphemous. It would be a sin to wipe that smile from her face using anything other than her lips.

She holds the phone up in the air above her head, unreachable. “Right. Well, Lawrence, you can have this back after you’ve drank this water here, brushed your teeth and got into bed, okay? I think that’s a fair deal.”

“Get fucked,” Lawrence responds, totally deadpan as she snatches the plastic cup, spilling half of it down her front and not noticing. “I will drink your magic water and then you will fuck off and I will tell Ellie that she’s a slimey wee bitch.”

Tayce laughs, unfazed. “On second thoughts, darling…” She tucks the phone into her bra and gives a little flourish. “Sort yourself out and I’ll get it back to you in the morning. I’m not having you abusing our lovely Ellie ‘cause you’ve had a lover’s tiff.”

Lawrence squints. “Fuckin’… A’Whora will get it for me. I’m sure you won’t mind feeling her up, eh hen? Though I bet your girlfriend might have something to say about it. OOP!”

A’Whora feels her face flushing, and the panic slams into her like a wave hitting the beach full force, washing over everything. At first she was glad Lawrence was drunker than her, hoping to make less of a fool of herself in front of Tayce and direct the attention onto their favourite Scottish menace, but Lawrence being drunker means Lawrence with an even looser tongue, and for someone who loves to crack a joke and make a cheeky observation at the most inopportune moment, A’Whora finds herself wishing she’s passed out snoring instead. Tayce just laughs and manages to mother hen her into the bathroom, where A’Whora spots her in the mirror, grumpily brushing her teeth like a petulant toddler in the midst of a tantrum.

“Tell you what, I could never have kids, this is bloody exhausting!” Tayce explains, her big bright smile distracting A’Whora, thankfully, from the bulge of Lawrence’s phone. At least, it’s easier to pretend, even mentally, that that’s why she keeps looking at her chest.

“God, I know!” She laughs back, faking it harder than ever and sipping her cup of water. She feels sobered up already, though she’s sure she’s probably not, all too aware of her red cheeks and Lawrence’s loose tongue and terrified something else will be said.

“I mean, what on earth was that? I don’t have a girlfriend, I can tell you that.” She chuckles as if the idea’s ridiculous. A’Whora wonders if she genuinely thinks that, if she doesn’t realise just how many beautiful men and women would fall down at her feet if she so much as paid them a glance.

Lawrence stumbles out; in the two minutes she’s been gone, she seems to have forgotten entirely about her phone, and she looks at the pair with lidded eyes. “Fuckin’ shattered, girls.”

Tayce beams at her. “Get your arse in bed, then!”

A’Whora finishes her water, and Lawrence is asleep in seconds. For good measure, they poke her a couple of times, but since she’s very clearly breathing and seems fine, they decide to stop tormenting her and to just let the poor girl sleep. Tayce sets down Lawrence’s phone on the nightstand next to her, making sure to plug in her charger so it won’t be dead when she wakes up, and the tiny act of thoughtfulness makes A’Whora’s heart swell in a manner she’s wholly embarrassed of.

As if she’s swooning at a girl charging her friend’s phone? It’s ridiculous and she knows it.

“Shall I walk you to your door?” She offers, holding her arm out. Tayce laughs and takes hold of her elbow, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Ooh, promenade!”

“You’ve been watching far too much Bridgerton, you have,” A’Whora teases her, jabbing her side as they make their way back down the empty corridor. “Do I have to start calling you My Lady or something, babes?”

Tayce swats her away. “In bed, maybe. Oh, I’ll happily be a Duke or a Duchess, I mean have you seen the pair of them? Bloody gorgeous!”

A’Whora’s chest seizes up at the casual mention of being in bed together. Is the stalemate over? Is Tayce about to explain why she’s suddenly frozen on her and decided she no longer wants to hook up? What the hell even is the reason if there’s no girlfriend? She’s just gone off A’Whora now?

“Oh my God. Tayce, I can’t do this.”

It’s out there. She can’t go back now, can’t reel it back in. She’s fucked.

Tayce stops mid-hallway and frowns, worried. “You alright? If you don’t feel well you can go back, you don’t have to walk me to my room.”

“No, not that,” A’Whora massages her temples, trying to encourage some kind of eloquent thought to help her out, trying to stimulate the part of her brain that writes lyrics, to no avail. “This, us, the weirdness, I can’t do it. I have to know what’s going on, I’m literally going spare over it.”

“I don’t- I don’t get what you mean.”

“Us!” A’Whora cries, then shushes herself, acutely aware of her volume and the people sleeping adjacent to their conversation. “You- you don’t text me the same, and we haven’t- in ages, and I just… Tayce, do you like me?”

Tayce frowns even deeper. “Of course I like you, Rory.”

“Do you proper like me? Do you like me like I like you?”

She feels like a child, enacting a schoolgirl crush with a scribbled note that asks them to tick a yes or no box drawn in pink felt tip, the kind fuzzy from little fingers pressing too hard. If anything, it’s worse than that; at least some prior planning went into those, and a clear question with a yes or no response indicating some kind of confidence. A’Whora has no idea what she’s doing, where she’s going, anything.

“Rory… do you-”

A’Whora cuts her off. “Lawrence thought you might have a girlfriend because I thought you might have one because I was ranting about us to her and how shit I feel that you’ve lost interest in me. We got drunk to ignore how shit we both feel and it didn’t work because she almost blabbed to Ells and now I’m here blabbing to you but I literally can’t help myself. I never can when I’m with you.”

It’s only when she’s finished that she realises Tayce’s expression is full of fear, and her heart sinks like a lead balloon.

“You told Lawrence about us?”

She swallows, guilt seeping in like cracks in a dam. “Tayce, I… We’re not the big secret you think we are. A lot of people know, or suspect. Is… Is that the issue?”

Tayce chews her lip, eyebrows furrowed. Every millisecond that she doesn’t speak is agony, each second another stab to A’Whora’s heart, tiny needles of time cutting into her as she waits and waits for the ugly truth. This is it, now, the swirling nausea in her stomach tells her, this is when it all ends. This is where you scare off the love of your life.

The… what? The fucking what? The who of her what?

Too late now.

“I haven’t lost interest in you. I don’t think that’s even possible. I’m like, obsessed with you.”

A’Whora freezes, expecting virtually anything but that. “You- what? But- huh?”

“Yeah!” Tayce laughs nervously, unsure of how to react - they have that in common, at least. “I mean, girl, look at you, you’re gorgeous. I was getting freaked out by how much I, like, feel, so I just shut everything down and denied it all. I mean, I figured if I was freaking myself out, you must think I’m a right old weirdo. Have I got this all wrong?”

The ice melts. A’Whora can feel the shards shrinking, the wounds closing up, the warmth returning to her in a blossoming not unlike the flowers of spring, freshening the air and sweeping away her anxieties.

“I’ve never been so happy to call you an idiot in my life,” A’Whora tells her.

Tayce cocks an eyebrow. “You dirty liar, you love calling me an idiot,” She bites back, not leaving room for A’Whora to reply before kissing her right then and there, in the middle of a hotel corridor, leaning up against the wall for support. A million chemical reactions spark off all at once, a frenzy of activity rendering her incapable of doing anything but wrapping her arms around her bandmate, her best friend, her everything, and kissing her until she can’t breathe.

When they have to come up for air they do, all gasping and pink cheeks and dazed eyes. Every cell, every nerve, every neuron in A’Whora’s body is awake and alive, drawn towards Tayce like a magnetic pull. She can’t ignore it, and can’t think why she’d ever want to.

“Will you fucking stay still?”

“I haven’t moved an inch, hen, your shaky hands are not my problem.”

Ellie huffs, big pink earrings dangling from her ears swinging as she moves her head. They’re shaped like hearts, the word ‘doll’ in cursive across the middle in sparkling letters, and it’s adorably Ellie Diamond in every way possible. Even irritated, she’s oddly cute.

“Lawrence! I’m not trying to make you look ugly, stay still for me!” She pleads.

A’Whora watches from her chair, face already expertly done. She woke up pleasantly early, nestled happily in Tayce’s arms after everything. They’d decided to go back to A’Whora’s room, just in case Lawrence woke up and tried to send reams of abuse to Ellie, and ended up laying together cuddling until they fell asleep. No matter how sober A’Whora swore she was, Tayce just giggled and told her there was no chance of anything more than a cwtch, at least until the morning.

Thankfully, they’d kept Lawrence’s phone away from her, but there was nothing she could do but watch helplessly as Ellie and Lawrence engaged in a battle of attrition while doing makeup.

Lawrence rolls her eyes so hard A’Whora can practically feel it from across the room. “Not to worry hen, there’s more than one girl in the band, I’m sure you’ve got options on who can look pretty and who can’t.”

A’Whora winces at the low blow, and judging by Ellie’s expression, all pouty lips and big sad eyes, she’s hurt. More than anything, she wants to rush in and fix things for them, help them do the big talk and work it all out, but she knows it’s not really her business. They have to do this for themselves, so she sits quiet and prays that they will.

“Oh my god.” Ellie sets down her brushes and stares Lawrence in the face, awfully bold and completely unexpected. “Are you gonna hang this over me forever? I just - didn’t want you to think I was too forward! I’ve been regretting it all night, I regretted it as soon as I even said it! I can’t stand you being upset with me.”

Lawrence’s expression softens. “What?”

“You’re, like, the best person ever. I look up to you so much, I don’t think I could admire anyone more than I admire you. I really didn’t mean to upset you, I didn’t want to come on too strong.”

There’s a pause - A’Whora holds her breath, and notices that just across from her, Bimini is suddenly paying attention, her phone long since abandoned in her hand as she gapes at the two of them, dumbfounded.

Lawrence throws her arms around Ellie, squeezing her in an embrace that seems too tender to be looking at, the next best thing to a kiss when in the middle of painting someone’s face. Ellie squeezes back, her lips mouthing words that the other girls can neither hear nor try to. This is for them and them alone.

Tayce enters just as they break apart, throwing herself into the seat next to A’Whora and grinning. “Hiya, gorge, what’d I miss?”

She leans over and kisses A’Whora’s cheek.

Bimini’s eyes pop open. “You and- and then her and- what the fuck? Babes, I think we skipped a few chapters!”

“You just haven’t read the book,” A’Whora winks at her.

“Right, right,” Bims nods understandingly, ever one to just go with the flow. “And is the big lesbian orgy before the concert or after?”

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #purecamp #taywhora #ellie x lawrence #tayce #a'whora #lawrence chaney #ellie diamond #bimini bon boulash #uk2 #lesbian au #popstar au #something more

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themadlostgirl · 4 years ago

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When It’s Cold

*Felix simps come get y’all juice!

The hyperfixation hit me hard and because I just have to add backstory and character development to every single request I get, this one shot request is another mini-fic. I do not know how long it is going to be but I am hoping to keep it under ten. I already have like 5 chapters written now. Also, Felix deserves some multi-chapter love dang it!*

Prompt: Reader and Felix are stuck in Storybrooke together. What will happen next? Spoilers: it’s feelings and fluff and a horny teenagers being stupid.

Requested by: anon

~~~

“I blame you.” Felix said.

“How is this my fault?” I retorted. Felix and I sat on the docks of Storybrooke overlooking the water.

“You’re the one that convinced me to come to Storybrooke with you. Now look what’s happened! Pan is dead and we have no way to get back to Neverland.”

“We’ll find a way back to Neverland.”

“And how do you figure that? There is no more shadow to ferry us, we have no magic bean, or any pixie dust to fly us back. We are stuck here!”

“Will you calm down?”

“You want me to be calm? How can you expect me to be calm after everything that has happened?”

“I don’t know but you panicking is not going to help us any. Storybrooke is the only town in this realm with magic. If there is a way to cross realms we will find it here so stop worrying so much and start brainstorming. Like you said, there is no more shadow so our reliable way of getting back is gone. Magic beans are scarce if any even still exist. So our only option is to find some method of transportation that can either fly us back or we become mermaids and swim through the realms. So we gotta sprout wings or gills. Ideas?”

“Well I can’t swim worth a damn so I guess we’ll need to find a way to fly.”

“No point staying here.” I got up, “We were fine camping in the woods but that’s not going to serve us well much longer. Winter is rolling in and neither of us have ever lived somewhere that wasn’t tropical and humid all the time so I don’t think we’ll survive long on our own out in the wilderness. We need to start looking into different housing options.”

“You sound like an adult.” Felix groaned.

“I hate it too but there’s not much else we can do unless we want to freeze to death. Come on,” I held a hand out to him, “The sooner we find someplace the sooner we can start dedicating our time to finding a way out of here.”

“I’m coming,” Felix stood up, ignoring my hand. We walked all around Storybrooke looking for someplace to hole up in. My main concern was having a place with heat which left a lot of the vacant houses out since their utilities were shut off. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem if it wasn’t for the fact that there were no fireplaces so starting a fire to keep warm was also out of the question.

It was getting late and our search had yielded nothing. I had a bad feeling that if we couldn’t find somewhere suitable through our own means we would have to resort to actually paying for housing somewhere. Which meant we would need money which also meant we would need to have jobs. Paying bills, having jobs, this was a nightmare!

We shuffled back to our camp and checked the traps we had laid for any game but only caught a small rabbit. Barely big enough for one person. Better than nothing at least.

As Felix roasted the rabbit over our fire I sighed, rubbing my arms to keep off the chill of the late autumn.

“You know what I’ve noticed these past couple days?” I said.

“Hm?” Felix hummed not bothering to look up.

“This is the first time in all the years we’ve known each other that we’ve ever really hung out.”

“Guess so.” Felix shrugged.

“Is that not strange to you? We’ve known each other for decades on Neverland. We hunted together, played together, fought together with the boys but this is the first time us two have ever been alone together. How do you not find that strange?”

“It’s not like I was close to everybody on the island.” He took the rabbit off the spit and cut it in two, “Besides, you were always off galavanting with Artie and Frank. What’s it matter if we ever hung out?”

“I guess it’s just making me wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“Why you followed me here?” I answered as he handed me my half of our dinner. “You didn’t know that Pan had switched consciousness with that Henry kid until after we left Neverland. You could have stayed on Neverland with the other boys. You didn’t need to come with me when I asked you to. So why did you?”

“Let me ask you something,” Felix dodged around the question, “Why is it that you asked me to come with you in the first place? You had your friends on that ship already. Why take me along? Why is it that you’re roughing it in the woods with me when you have friends that are snug and cozy in that fairy monastery? Answer me that.”

“I--I--” The words were caught in my throat. Why had I asked Felix to come with me? I knew the answer lay deep in my gut but I couldn’t for the life of me bear to bring it to the surface. I bit into my rabbit with a small scowl.

Felix gave a small exhale before diving into his dinner as well. The conversation thoroughly ended. I curled up to go to sleep near the fire. Our only source of heat. I really did miss Neverland. I would deal with a million humid heat waves if it meant that I could be warm again.

Sometime during the night a gust of cold wind snapped me awake. I huddled in closer to myself trying to retain some warmth when I felt something being draped over me. I peeked an eye open and saw Felix lay down again and curled more into himself. I looked to see what he had done and realized he had draped his cloak over me. His only form of heat, thin as it was. I decided at that moment as I watched him violently shivering on the cold ground that I would gladly grow up a little and get a job if it meant we would have somewhere warm to sleep tomorrow night.

The morning came and as casually as I could gave Feilx back his cloak. I made no mention of his generosity. I knew he wouldn’t appreciate you pointing out his selflessness for whatever reason. Too proud to accept my thanks.

We went back into town and I sent Felix off to find some cheap accommodations for us while I walked along main street and hopped into every store that I could looking for work. Unfortunately it looked like no one was hiring. Dejected and pissed after the tenth shop owner denied to even let me fill out one of their ridiculous applications I stole a handful of dollars from their tip jar. At the very least I could buy us a decent meal tonight.

We met up again outside of the diner. Felix had no luck finding a place to stay either. Everyone just shrugged him off. To my delight though he had the same idea as me and produced a wallet he had pickpocketed off the landlord he had spoken to. A couple of twenties tucked safely into the worn leather. We may not have anywhere warm to sleep tonight but at least we could get a hot meal.

We entered into the diner and immediately were met with stares. It was the same stare I got from everyone I asked a job from. I tried to shrug it off and sat down with Felix at the counter. We ordered two plates of the lasagna. The waitress was kind enough but everyone else at the counter moved away from us when it was evident that we were staying.

“Felix,” I whispered, “Is it just me or is everyone--”

“They don’t want us here,” he whispered back, “They’re not saying anything but they’re making it obvious enough. The reason no one will give us a job or let us live anywhere is all for the same reason. We were here for Pan and even though he’s gone they still don’t trust us. Just eat your food and we’ll go back to camp.”

“Do you think we have enough money to maybe spend just one night at the bed and breakfast?” I asked, hopeful.

Felix shook his head. “Even if we did I think we should be saving this for food since game is proving difficult to come by.”

“You’re right,” I stabbed into my lasagna. “It just gets so cold…”

We finished our meals quickly and left just as fast. At least I was more full than yesterday. We started on our way back to camp when I noticed a trail I hadn’t seen before.

“Where are you going? Camp is that way?”

“I know but I need to see something.” I told him as I started running down the other trail.

“Wait!” Felix ran after me. I kept huffing and puffing down the trail until it opened into a large field. In the distance was a huge house. A mansion by the looks of it.

“Whoa,” Felix said as he took in the sight of the mansion. “How did we miss this?”

“I don’t know. Let’s get a closer look.” We ran across the neatly trimmed lawn and hopped over the fence onto the mansion grounds. The lights were off inside. Whoever lived here was either gone or asleep. We checked the garage and found no car. Peeking in as many windows as we could it didn’t look like anyone was home.

“Should we?” I asked Felix. The temptation was too great. “Even if someone does live here it’s so big I doubt that they would even notice us staying here as well.”

“Let’s take a look.” Felix grinned. Strangely enough the front door was left unlocked. I tried the lights and was delighted when I realized that the electricity was working, there was running water too. Even better was that there was heat! Heat and dozens of bedrooms.

The place was so clean and orderly but yet there were no signs of it being lived in. No pictures on the walls. No food in the fridge. All the doors and windows were unlocked. There was a large kitchen, dining room, multiple rooms just for sitting in, a dozen bedrooms, and even a ballroom with a beautiful crystal chandelier. All the windows had the most spectacular views of the ocean or the mansion’s garden.

“This place is amazing!” I picked up a strange cylindrical paperweight with stars painted on top of it and tossed it in the air. “Felix, I don’t want to get our hopes up but I think we found a place for us to stay.”

“And you’re sure no one lives here?” Felix gazed around the room we were standing in.

“We searched all the rooms we came across and found no one. The place has been cleaned out of food or toiletries. Either whoever lives here desperately needs to go shopping or they just don’t exist.”

“You think we’re really that lucky?”

“I think we’re owed a bit of luck. Even if someone still does live here do you really want to spend the night shivering outside or spend a night wrapped up warm in a bed and run the risk of someone chasing us out in the morning?”

“You make a compelling argument.” Felix grinned, “Race you for the master bedroom!”

“Felix!” I chased after him as he went flying up the stairs. He got to the room first and flopped down on the large king-sized bed.

“I win! Go take one of the lesser bedrooms.”

“You only won cause you have those long lanky legs.” I flopped down beside him and sighed as I sunk into the soft mattress. “I don’t think I can move from here. It’s way too comfortable.”

“Too bad. My room.” He pushed me off.

“Hey!” I laughed as I stood back up. “Fine, you can have the master bedroom but only on the condition that you find us more money to buy food and toiletries. Got it?”

“Sounds good to me,” Felix stood too, eyeing the bathroom attached to the bedroom. “Soap or not I think I am going to indulge in a hot bath.”

“That does sound heavenly.” I haven’t had a hot bath in decades. “Have a goodnight, Felix. We go grocery shopping tomorrow.”

“Night,” Felix gave a wave as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

I left the room and wandered around the hall looking for a space of my own. I found a nice bedroom that felt just as grand as the master bedroom. I went into the bathroom and drew myself a piping hot bath. I nearly moaned when I sunk down into the water. Even if this lasts for only a night I’ll be happy. One night of warmth.

After my bath I wrapped myself in a large fluffy towel and went back into the bedroom. I really didn’t want to put my old dirty clothes on my clean body. I opened the dresser drawers hoping maybe the resident left behind some old clothes but they were all empty. I crept out of my room and checked the other guest rooms surrounding me but all their drawers were empty too. There was one place I hadn’t checked. If the owner did leave something behind it would probably be in the master bedroom. I glanced down at my towel with a grimace. It covers everything at least. I tentatively knocked on the door but was met with no answer. I cracked it open and sighed with relief when I saw no Felix in sight. He must still be in the bath.

I went to the dressers and, “Nothing? Really?!” I slammed the dresser shut again. How is it that there isn’t so much as a single shirt in this house?

“Why are you making so much noise?” Felix stepped out of the bathroom in a billow of steam. My throat went dry when I caught sight of him. Completely naked except for the towel hanging from his hips and still dripping went. His blonde hair that usually hung in his face was brushed back opening his face up more. His torso had an array of scars I never knew he had before. That wet chest that was impressively chiseled…

I shot to my feet clutching to the towel covering me. “Sorry! I was just looking for some clean clothes.”

Felix gaze swept me up and down. He took a deep breath and grabbed something from inside the bathroom and tossed it to me. It was a fluffy white robe with a monogrammed M on the breast. “There.”

“Thanks.” I slid the robe on over my towel. “Anything else in there?”

“Nope. Just that one.” Felix turned away from me. His face looked red and I could only guess he was angry at me for barging in. “Now scurry back to your own room.”

“Right. Thanks.” I rushed back to my room, my heart hammering in my chest. That was certainly new. I never thought I would see that much of Felix. I mean why would I ever want to see his wet, practically naked, and not so shockingly buff body? No! Bad! Impure thoughts I should not be having about my...my…

Huh. What was Felix to me? On Neverland we were Lost Ones but that didn’t really fit here. I don’t know if I could exactly call us friends either. Roommates? Was that what we were now? We have been living together at our crappy camp all this time and now we’re staying in this mansion together. I guess that’s what we would call one another. Roommates.

I dropped my towel and pulled the clean robe tighter around me. My thumb traced over the M stitched on the breast. This house has no food, no toiletries, no clothes, not a single photo on any wall but yet there was a single monogrammed robe. Who was M? Who had lived here?

Those were questions for the morning. I sunk into bed and this time I did moan as I cuddled under the many thick blankets. Finally warm at last.

---

(Next)

#felix imagine #felix x reader #ouat felix #ouat #neverland #request #peter pan ouat #roommate au #i'm just gonna put this in the tags since it doesn't actually matter to the story but #they are in the sorcerer's mansion introduced at the start of season 4 #the place where they find all the blank story books and rumple and belle have their honeymoon #that's it. just let my kiddos have a warm place to sleep. they deserve it.

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quillandink-tmblr · 3 years ago

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To Weather the Oncoming Storm

Hi everyone! So, I haven’t been super noisy about it, but over the past few months I’ve been a writer in my first ever big bang, the 2021 Grishaverse Big Bang hosted by @grishaversebigbang, and today I get to post my final product, my longest fanfic to date at a wonderful 13k words! So much appreciation for my Corporalki (betas) and Materialki (artists and edit makers) and their incredible help/content for this fic. This is honestly what I consider my best published fic to date, and it wouldn’t have been the same without them. Now, without further ado, some tagging and linking and the prologue down below under the cut!

Corporalki: @sitaarein @tate-the-corgi

Materialki: @we-are-made-of-stories (x), @arystafall, @juliettecai, @violetfolgi, @the-grisha-artist, and @emartsemi

Summary: “Kaz,” Inej says, stopping and turning to face him. “You’re leaving already?”

“I have business in the Barrel,” Kaz says, the words bitter on his tongue but calm past his teeth. He puts his hands on the head of his cane and leans on it just a little. The approaching storm is making his old wound shift nervously under the surface of his skin. Quiet. Waiting.

“I’ll visit the Hendriks’ residence tomorrow,” he says, not only for them but for himself as well. “I have business today, things that can’t wait. I’m still a Barrel boss, even if everyone’s together again.”

“Tomorrow,” Inej says.

“Tomorrow.”

Kaz Brekker still has a lot to learn, even two years after the Ice Court heist. The Bastard of the Barrel will realize that he has friends one way or another, though, even if it takes a dark storm, a fledgling gang trying to burn his docks, and a few memories of being fourteen to get there.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33525424/chapters/83298406

Prologue under the cut:

Dhamiria wishes the world turned differently.

She wishes there was never an Unsea; no reason for the True Sea, as the Ravkans call Ghezen’s Diep Expansie—the Kerch commerce god’s Deep Expanse of commerce-topped saltwater—to need the specification in its name. She wonders what it was called by Ravka before the Shadow Fold tore a hole through their lands and changed the only sea to simply a sea.

“Hold still, Dhamiria,” the Healer sitting in front of her says for the second time in as many minutes, a gentle reminder with soft laughter on her peach-tinted lips snapping Dhamiria out of her haze. Their knees clack together from their matching chairs, Adeliya’s skirts rippling against Dhamiria’s pants-covered calves, and Adeliya murmurs an absent apology. Dhamiria waves it away and straightens her spine, pulling her chin up and her arms back to her sides.

“Is this still enough for you?”

“Da,” Adeliya says simply, close enough to the Kerch ja that Dhamiria instantly recognizes it for the yes that it is, tilting her fair face to peer at one of Dhamiria’s dark, golden brown forearms. She holds her hands up in an artful motion and the clear liquid in the open vial sitting on the table by her elbow lifts into the air, curling toward Dhamiria. Dhamiria watches, just as transfixed the hundredth time as the first, as the liquid settles against the skin of her forearms for half a moment before sinking into it, into her muscles to spread through the rest of her body.

Dhamiria will forever be grateful that Corporalki discovered a way to synthesize hormones years ago, giving her the chance to seek the body she truly wants. The body she has now, just over two years since her first dose. The first Healer to sit with her for these weekly sessions moved back to Ravka four months ago, homesick and wanting to see his family again, and so Dhamiria and Adeliya had met and become fast friends by the second week.

“Almost done,” Adeliya hums, light and sweet, as her pale, lithe hands twist in the air.

Dhamiria smiles. “And next week you’ll bring syrniki and I’ll bring my mama’s ugali just like we agreed, right?”

“Food for food,” Adeliya agrees with a tone of amusement and excitement as she tilts her hands into a third configuration, raising her connected hands toward Dhamiria’s forehead to form a triangle of empty space a few inches away. “Some Ravkan, some Zemeni. But you had better not be lying about your mother’s ugali being the best ugali east of Weddle, Dhamiria, or else I will need to have words with you.”

“I would never lie about my mama’s cooking.”

“Well,” Adeliya allows as she lowers her hands and gives Dhamiria a sunny-bright smile, one Dhamiria might like to keep in a jar on her window sill to appreciate daily, “if you did then I would say, ‘Dhamiria Fuli, you are a liar and a cheat—’”

“I’m already both of those things, Adeliya.”

“‘—and I’ll only forgive you if you teach me how to do that fancy card trick you showed me last month.’”

Dhamiria tries her best not to laugh as Adeliya promptly re-seals the hormone vial and carefully places it back in her satchel with a pleased look on her face. “If you wanted to learn the trick you just had to ask,” Dhamiria says.

“You’ll have to teach me over syrniki and ugali, then.”

“The deal is the deal,” Dhamiria agrees in an overly serious tone, reaching to shake Adeliya’s hand, and the young woman laughs so hard her shoulders shake, bright and clear like tinkling bells as it fills the small bedroom.

Dhamiria is glad she’s made a friend in Adeliya, just as she’s glad that some things in the world are the way they are and that she gets the chance to hear Adeliya laugh instead of cower in fear, protected by the Dregs and their leader from any harm that could come to her on the streets of Ketterdam.

The relaxed moment is interrupted by a knock on the door to Dhamiria’s bedroom. Adeliya’s laughter subsides, the woman looking at the door with a curious expression as one hand drifts to curl around the strap of her satchel.

“Come in,” Dhamiria says, and the door opens part way, a Dregs member ducking into the doorway to look at Dhamiria and Adeliya.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” Floris asks, flaxen braid pulled over his shoulder to rest against his chest.

“No, Adeliya just finished,” Dhamiria says, a small furrow appearing between her black brows. “What do you need?”

“Brekker is leaving the Slat, we’re not sure for how long,” Floris says, giving Adeliya a polite nod and smile as she stands and pulls the strap of her satchel over one shoulder. “You’re in charge until he’s back, according to the boss. I think he’s already out the door.”

Dhamiria being in charge when Brekker is out isn’t unusual, it’s been the norm these past months, yet despite that Dhamiria can’t help but let curiosity overtake her dark features.

“What’s got him leaving in such a hurry?” she asks.

Floris grins, eyes twinkling.

“He’s going down to Fifth Harbor to meet his Crows,” he says. “The Wraith is coming home.”

#to weather the oncoming storm #gvbb21 #grishaverse big bang #quillandink writes #six of crows #kaz brekker #grishaverse #fanfiction

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firespirited · 3 years ago

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Shang Chi and the legend of the ten rings review

It felt like a disney movie meets comic book action hero one if that makes any sense. It’s comic-like in that it’s a sexless bloodless world where consequences don’t really matter and it’s jarring because i’ve only experienced Tony Leung and Simu Liu in worlds where little things mattered greatly. The magical elements are what make it feel disney-esque, the hidden forest was truly wondrous, it made my heart ache in childlike awe.

First negative: I felt like the sister’s arc was superflous even if it’s the set up for a future villain. You can’t throw us the potential of that character and never give us enough time or weight to delve into her grief, her issues with her dad, her moral choices. It felt cheap to give her so much fighting time but just a character sketch. Same for Michelle Yeoh, as a bit character!!! How dare you?!

Quick Note before this next section: I’m not coming at this from a “killing is bad for the soul” perspective or a marvel galaxybrain “you’ll become as bad as the villain blabla” ... nah, i’m coming at this as a Hong Kong low budget fight movie aficionado where the philosophy is part of the kicking-ass package and the person who wins was either tapping into their emotions or transcending them (or tapping into ancient heritage magic - that genre is fun too) and that mental breakthrough gave them a asskicking advantage. That was what I was expecting given the two main leads and the importance given to the two fighting styles.

So Shang has a really interesting character point and it’s never used: the man can kill and has killed and deliberately doesn’t when he could probably kill any obnoxious rando he met with the right chokehold and make it look like a heart attack. We don’t get to see any of his journey out of child soldier mode and back into sociability. We get a brief view of him doing pushups but not meditation or mantras to keep violence, risk and self harm away. Then when confronted with doing violence again it’s back into video-game-mode straight up, not Am I going to end up wrecking myself? How do I feel about being a weapon? He starts out using the Jackie Chan-Sammo Hung comedy action fighting technique but without the deliberate and very obvious avoidance of violence. So, from this first fight, I expect the violence to ramp up once we’re not among civilians. It doesn’t. Shang is clearly talented but inflicting bloodless painless moves where bones don’t break and enemies collapse quietly or dissappear from view.

Then we’re told he needs to bridge the divide between his mother and his father’s characters and fighting styles to become his true self. Okay. This is going to be the core of his origin story, usually this is about balance and abstraction of the self or learning from nature. The father is heartless & disconnected. The mother and her people are visually depicted as spiritual... but there’s not a single word referencing that, nor that different martial arts have different intentions and mindsets. Shang has an inner turmoil, he learns his mother’s style again then reflects and says he needs to kill his father: this is shown as worrying even though the ethics are sound. We’re not told *anything* of the thought process. There’s no emotional change to show his focus, this trained warrior is entirely re-active instead of pro-active. The change happens to him and the rings go orange and it’s supposed to mean something.

So basically there this big story hole where Shang’s supposed to reconcile his heartless training with (crypto?) buddhism and in the absence of anything else, it’s american christian shaped... and it feels very wierd.

Basically we go from

A- Killing dad is bad even though he’s a warlord terrorist who’s going to burn a sacred place to the ground if he doesn’t get what he wants

then B- Killing dad would be ok as it’s rooted in compassion for your second family (and saving the whole world) but it’d leave you “soiled”

to C- Avatar the last Airbender cop out, no killing required because demon ex machina

to D- Dad’s worth grieving because he did a tiny self sacrifice

and bonus really wierd E- Girlboss take his place, diversity win: the terrorists are now 50% female yaass!

It’s gorgeous, the actors are top notch but can only work with what they’re given. The ten rings are not earned, the ten rings are not a corrupting force to counter-balance: they are merely a tool. Shang has minimal agency, he chooses to face his past for his sister but beyond that he is moved from situation to situation by others or magic. His choice to fight his father is taken from him twice. He does not have to earn the protector dragon’s trust, he doesn’t have to discard emotion to focus on the fight, he doesn’t have to choose to take on the burden of the rings to save people. Tony Leung’s Wenwu shines like he’s the main protagonist because he is, his choices define the whole story, his will moves the plot along, everyone else is along for the ride.

Now how does Shang Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings stack against other superhero films: It’s good, it’s very enjoyable watching. The wire fu and Liu’s skills are very impressive. If you go in with the understanding that this is a marvel film: it’s more magical and charming than most, you really root for Shang he’s got the survivor with a heart of gold quality to him, he’s been hurt but he’s chosen warmth, they gave him friends and family who push him towards growth and the villain is multifaceted. He’s instantly likeable and relatable unlike Tony Stark or even Thor who needed time to embrace the responsibility part of power. But this is a Marvel film so we won’t get much character depth until we’re at Shang Chi III.

So go in expecting standard superhero fare and be pleasantly surprised. The spiritual has been scrubbed at least on a textual level from what can often be a buddhist or taoist genre (or shinto if you’re into japanese films) so you need to sort of mentally reset back into superhero mode or it feels like something’s not adding up. But that might be a localized problem: in continental europe we consume a lot more asian films and european gen Y & Z are more likely to be watching anime and doramas than say, CW/Riverdale stuff: the thought is that it’s foreign either way.

BTW french netflix is full of kdrama, jdrama and anime, if you use a VPN you can access it from your american netflix and avoid Viki

#saf #shang chi #shang chi and the legend of the ten rings #movie reviews #I know nothing of chinese movies btw just HK and they are not the same

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japiform · 4 years ago

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Logs: Explain what the fuck he’s talking about

[[mind the tags]]

Helmsman: Have you ever been in a building after it's closed for the night? The darkness? The dead air? The faint feeling of unease, like you're somewhere you shouldn't be? The darkness?

You're the only one there, looking for something. Maybe the way out. Maybe for answers.

Maybe the store hasn't been open for years. The darkness. The overgrown plants, crawling over the ground and walls. The smell of brine. The water in your boots. Are you being watched or is that your imagination? Surely you've already been at this hallway. Did one of the tentacles move? Are you alone?

And finally, you find it. The husk of what was once a man. One who laughed and fought and loved. It's eyes behind the goggles are dark. It's twitching in the hold of the ship. The ship twitches in extension of the man. The darkness.

Are you alone?

Grand: You are not alone, but the atmosphere makes you tense, makes your keen eyes dilate wide to get as much out of the lights you brought as possible. Your boots splash in the salt water, and you wonder where the fuck the rest of the empress's entourage is. Surely she had some sea fucks with her to keep this massive place running.

It isn't important, except that it makes you tell your clowns to keep their guards up as you descend into the bowels of this abandoned place. It's going to take a bit, the empress's ship is so fucking massive. But that's alright. You're patient.

Ish.

Every moment he is off is another moment he could be dead. But at least you know generally where to go. You've been on Her ship before. Though, motherfuck, it was not like this.

When you get to him, you are relieved, motherfuckin gratified to see his form twitching. You hope it's not just some errant tentacle fuckery of the ship, you've never seen one so... overgrown before.

Well. Nothing for it. Give him a little slap on the cheek. "You alive in there motherfucker?"

Helmsman: Static electricity zaps the Grand Highblood's hand, the spot where he touched the Helmsman clammy and hot and viscous, somehow. But the Helmsman's eyes snap open, barely emanating any light at all before they slip closed again, unseeing.

On closer inspection, he's breathing shallowly from dry lips, mustard blood dripping shallowly from every orifice. It looks uh. Bad.

Grand: Ouch. Spicy. Still, the zap, the eyes coming open, the breathing reassure you that this isn't a totally fruitless endeavor.

Still. Oof. That's a big old yikes, you don't know if your mediculler can fix that shit. Ugh, what a mess he is, stubborn bastard. "Aight, where the fuck is my nerd?" You look at the clowns behind you. One of them better have brought the helm tech with them.

Devoteer: The small crowd produces a troll that can be succinctly described as cereal box shaped, and he dips his jagged horns in a sign of reverence towards GHB before fumbling for his toolbag. "If I may, Your Grand Whimsican, this Technicrusher will do everything in my power to preserve the life of this... of the helmstroll, if that pleases you." Behind a faltering, whiny speech is a troll who's had to disconnect many a half-dead helmsman from their block in his time. But the Devoteer has never in his life seen a helmsblock this... overgrown...

Grand: Oh, yep. That's a nerd, you'd know em anywhere. "I want his pump goin and his pan in there fuckin somewhere. Tell us what the fuck to do and we'll get it done. If I've come all this way for him to burn out, imma be real fuckin pissed, you pickin up what i'm puttin down?"

Devoteer: "I am indeed, picking it up, Your Unholiness." You sidle around him and inspect the helmsblock, before plucking a waterproof pen from your bag and marking off some of the smaller tendrils in dark purple. "These are the connections to his cardiovascular system, his life support, and the main nutrition and waste tubes. All the rest need to be cut away- about an inch at least from his body." Looking at the state of his nutrition tubes makes you faintly ill, but you keep the green out of your gills.

"Al- also I'm going to need a small supply of nutritionslurry, high in vitamins, a jar of mind honey, and some cauterizing knives. Is that amenable, High Priest?"

Grand: You click your tongue. "Easy enough, brother mine. I definitely got the last bit, at the very fuckin least." They drop into your hand quick as miracles, and you hand the gruesome weapon/medical tool over. You look over the crowd. "Aight, who brought the nerd?" A motherfucker raises his hand with a wave, clearly not paying that much attention now that his duty's done. "Give him his fuckin goods, what do you need, an invitation??? Mind honey. Nutrition slurry." You snap a few times, and the goody bag gets passed forward like you're in fuckin schoolfeeding. Whatever, if it works.

"That gonna do you aight, or are we gonna need someone ta go shoppin?"

Devoteer: "This is perfect, Beloved Dreamer. I'm going to need some space." You put your goggles on, and get the fuck to work. It's incredibly loud and messy, the knife slicing through tendrils like a hot blade through butter. Which is basically what it is. Pieces of helmsblock go flying as you shear it away, leaving something that looks a little less like a H.R.Giger painting and more like a person.

Wiping your hands clean with a microfiber cloth, you take the vials and hook the Helmsman up to a rudimentary IV drip, methodical as always. "Now um. A-as soon as the honey enters it's system it's going to become a bit of a lightshow in here, but it'll keep it's psionics cycling until it stabilizes. Be careful removing it, it's limbs are. Rather delicate."

Grand: Oh yes, the smell of burning flesh. Acrid, meaty enough to make you hungry, smoky enough to make you sneeze. You aren't sure how the rest of your mirthful are taking it, because you're definitely not paying attention, but you're vaguely interested enough in the work to observe the whole time, make sure he isn't taking unnecessary risks with your prize.

"Damn, we love a light show," you look over at your clown friends (turns out they weren't all doing the best), and get a few nods. "Quick question though, brother. How likely are his limbs to be any use, and what's the risks in not givin a shit?"

Devoteer: You give them one look and shake your head. "Even if, er, they weren't looking due for sepsis, it would take a real medical miracle for them to be of any use again, sir." They're uh. More hole than flesh, to put it lightly.

Grand: "Sick. May as well take em off and not deal with the hassle then, gimme that knife brother," you hold out your hand so you can get your tools back. You don't know if this fucker knows how to carve through bone instead of helm tentacle, but you sure the fuck do.

... Might wanna wait for that light show though.

Devoteer: You hand him the knife and step back into the crowd just as the Helmsman stirs, sparks beginning to crackle around the goggles as his eyes open just a sliver. And then the screaming starts, teeth bared as red and blue light fills the large room in a one-troll supernova.

It's only for a few seconds though, before it starts winding down as the psionics cycle erratically. His specially made goggles- the one thing between him and GHB being a pile of troll shaped ash- crack under the display of pure uncontrolled psionics.

The air is sharp with the smell of ozone.

Grand: Oh, that's neat, isn't it? Look at him go, he's like a one man firecracker. You grin big and wide at the sight, let him run himself out, and hope he isn't going to be choking on blood from screaming.

Alright, let's get this shit done quick. You step up into his shit and start cutting away tentacle and limb alike, until he is a lump of torso, head, hair, and probably just... so much rot. Just, an unfortunate amount of rot. You'll take the effort to make sure you cut as much of the sepsis as possible without getting to his innards, but.... Eh. That's about all you can be bothered with. You'll just make sure the medicullers go real hard on the germ killin shit, so he don't rot much more.

Dumbass motherfucker.

Helmsman: The screaming has become coughing, before he settles down with a whimper, curling into himself now that he isn't forced upright by the helmsblock. For how tall of a troll he once was, he looks small. Maybe he'd always been a small troll, under all the sass and vitriol and power.

It's hard to say.

Grand: ... Ain't that almost sweet... You hold him close, fully aware he could vaporize you if you're not careful with them damn glasses, but still finding it a bit...

Somethin. You can't say. Sad, maybe. Pathetic.

Any fuckin way. No need to linger. "Aight, motherfuckers. Job well done, head the fuck out, don't trip on tentacles or i'll make ya the butt of the next sweep a jokes. Keep ya eyes peeled, but i doubt there'll be much else excitin." There's a few laughs, a few groans of disappointment, but they do as you say, because you are fuckin king.

... And the king's gonna need a shower after this, because this battery is decidedly rank.

One step at a time, though. No need goin quick and jostlin all his lively bits until he ain't got no life left in him. One step at a motherfuckin time.

Helmsman: Despite the chill of GHB's skin, Helmsman takes comfort in it, craving any amount of warmth against his feverish form. As he tucks himself as close and comfortable as possible, the ship around the parade of clowns becomes even darker, emergency lights flickering off as the biggest asset to the empire goes silent.

Behind his eyes, the Helmsman fitfully dreams of being swallowed by a goat the size of a sun.

Grand: At least, finally, he can be completely asleep.

#ooc eyes only #death #rot #sepsis #amputation #tentacles #surgery #ask to tag

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malum-somnium · 4 years ago

Text

Sleep No More

Timing: Recent Location: The Cave of Voices Participants: @zahneundklauen, @drqueenieking, @nicsalazar and Kevin Summary: Kevin finally finds what she’s searching for.

The night air was still, not even the usual whispers thought to break the silence of it. So strange for the Cave of Voices to be so quiet. Kevin wondered if it knew what was to come. There had been a few children poking about earlier, though none had seen her sitting in the dark of the cave. They had all gone off now. It was better that way. Tide was low. Perfect for her dreamers, it wouldn’t do for them to slip on the treacherous rock. Kevin sat in the middle of the cave, eyes shut, waiting. They were coming. Three lovely little souls walking in their dreams, following the path she had set before them. It wouldn’t be long now. They were bringing the elements to her, the things she had lost. Soon they would be whole again. She would be whole again.

The first thing Alcher registered was the weight in her hands. As her blurry vision cleared in front of her, a dim glow could be seen between them. It blotted out most everything else around her as she squinted. The next thing was the cool touch of rock under her bare feet. She did not slip or falter as she walked along them. Her body carried itself until it came to a dark cave, lit mostly by the object in her hand. It felt soft and cool against her hands as well, much smoother than the rocks digging holes into the pads of her feet. She did not know where she was, only that there was someone already here, and more coming. Her body stood stiff as she came to a stop. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The figure in front of her swayed, blurry, in and out of her vision. Who are you? Her mouth begged to say. Where am I? Her eyes asked.

Nicole’s steps were determined as she entered the Cave of Voices. It hadn’t been easy, driving all the way to the docks. Then the climbing. Stepping in a few puddles inside the cave was nothing in comparison. But as she blinked back into consciousness, she felt the familiar jolt of fear in the pit of her stomach. Worried brown eyes scanned her surroundings as she blinked into consciousness. Confused, the bag she held in her hand almost dropped to her feet. Her grip tightened just before it could slip from her fingers. Disoriented and frozen on the spot, there was a sense of deja vu. It wasn’t the first time she had woken up in the middle of sleepwalking. It was the first time, however, where she was unable to panic. If the adrenaline running through her veins was any indication, the stakes were high. Her own feelings could wait. “What…” she opened her mouth to speak, all her thoughts vanishing before she could string more words. She turned to her side, to the person carrying the only source of light in the cave, then to the figure ahead of them. She couldn’t make out who it was.

Queenie shivered back to consciousness. Her foggy memory was only enhanced by the darkness of her surroundings. There was nothing more than dim lighting and the cold bit at her as she slowly started to realize that she thought that she should be in her home, but this was certainly not her home. Despite this, Queenie seemed too dazed for this realization to truly affect her. Although logically she knew that her mind should be racing with questions, she couldn’t help but think that she was exactly where she needed to be. Even if where she was still remained a mystery, and the people gathered around her were nothing more than complete strangers. On instinct, her hand went to the pocket of her sleeping shorts. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt the outline of the pen through it. She had no idea what the pen was or why she immediately thought that it was so important, but she felt calmed just knowing that it was there. Finally, her body seemed to recognize the cold and she found herself huddling into a fetal position and hugging herself for warmth, “What is this place?” She managed to ask through chattering teeth.

“There you are, my loves.” Kevin smiled as she slowly stepped toward the light. The glow of it was soft, warm, just as she remembered. They had done it. Oh how wonderful! Her perfect dreamers! If only her hands could hold theirs properly. Not yet. But soon. She looked to each of them, her eyes warm. “I’m so glad to have you here with me. Please, may I know your names? I won’t take them from you, I’ve already found one. You may use it of course, please call me Kevin. Show me what you’ve brought me, dears.” Three perfect dreamers bringing the pieces together.If only she could banish the cold--actually, now that she thought of it. Some of her strength had returned, maybe it was enough. She lifted one of her warped limbs, muttering under her breath. A rush of warmth billowed from her fingerless hand, filling the cave, forcing out the chill of the waves. “There. I do hope you’re comfortable.”

Despite the new warmth surrounding them, Nicole shuddered, hair standing up on the back of her neck as the figure spoke. Eerie yet welcoming, she didn’t know what to make of that combination. It shouldn’t be possible. And why was the voice speaking to them like that? She shook her head curtly at the request. “N…” no she didn’t want to give her name. But part of her craved pleasing whoever was speaking to her. Kevin, what a friendly name. Kevin wanted her name and her bag. How could she deny it? Her initial defiance only lasted a moment, taking a tentative step forward. She opened the bag, looking inside with apprehension. Luckily, the bones were still there. “Is this…” had she obtained what Kevin needed from her? Despite feeling awake, her brain still was too foggy to work properly. Every word she tried to speak slipped away before reaching her mouth. And what about her name? Right, she was supposed to share that as well. “Nicole”.

Alcher’s eyes steeled themselves as the figure in the center spoke. She’d been joined by two others, but there was still only three scents, including her own. Why did this center figure not have one? Who were they? A name told Alcher nothing. But despite the initial distrust, despite her years of paranoia and watching over her own shoulder, she found herself compelled to speak. “Alcher,” she said, and she didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t even try and give her fake name. Alcher clicked her jaw shut and tried to look around, but found her body stiff and unwilling to yield to her own demands. Her hands stayed out in front of her, cradling the bulb as if it were a child, a newborn bastion here to save the world. Or perhaps just this mysterious figure. She narrowed her eyes to convey her distrust instead, but did not move otherwise. “Why are we here?” she found herself able to ask.

Despite her brain knowing that logically something was amiss, Queenie grinned against the new warmth that enveloped around her. There was conflict. Not outwardly, but within herself. Battling against every bit of her that knew none of this made sense. Queenie was a doctor, a woman of science and logic. This figure, this… Kevin defied those things. But instead of fear or disbelief, Queenie felt triumphant. Because this was where she was supposed to be at this moment. As if Queenie had always known exactly what it was for, she reached into her pocket and pulled the pen free, setting it on the ground in front of her but keeping her hand cupped over it so that it couldn’t roll away. She needed to keep it safe. “My name is Dr. Queenie Lin-King.” She glanced over at the two nearest to her. They were like her, not like Kevin. Were they here for the same reason? Could they explain any of this to her? Did Queenie even need any of it explained? Everything felt so confusing but yet it all seemed to make sense. The dissonance was jarring enough to build a tension headache.

“So wonderful to meet you all.” Nicole, Alcher, and Queenie, what wonderful names. Kevin drew close to Nicole first, leaning close to inspect the bag. She sucked in a delighted gasp, bringing her hands together. If only she could clap properly. “You’ve done it, my love. You found him. Oh, I am so very proud of you. Here, lay him out carefully,” she said, stepping to the side, ushering Nicole forward. Perfect, so very perfect. Alcher next. “You’re here to help me, sweetling. You’ve already done so much, finding my things for me.” She took the lightbulb carefully. With a mutter under her breath, the glass fell away. The glow remained, a small, warm ball of light that she tucked back into Alcher’s hands. “When dear Nicole has him set out, put that in his chest, thank you, my darling.” She was so close, they were so close. Her sweet dreamers, they would all be handsomely rewarded. Smile wide, Kevin turned to Queenie, moving to crouch before her, inspecting the pen trapped beneath her fingers. “That’s it! A doctor, you said? So refined! Will you write for me? Here, let me show you.” She reached out, mangled hand gentle as it alighted on Queenie’s temple, giving her the words, where they ought to be on the bones, and the ones meant for each dreamer.

The joyful gasp should’ve soothed some of the doubts lingering in the back of Nicole’s mind. She had earned Kevin’s approval. That was all she wanted, right? But as the sound reached her ears, a shiver ran down her spine. Could she still back out? No, there was no time for that. She drew a nervous breath, kneeling as Kevin requested for the bones to be laid out. She set the bag on the ground carefully, memories of the night she had dug the grave flashing through her mind. Her stomach twisted unpleasantly when her hand touched the first piece. Never in her life she imagined she’d be putting together a human body, as if it were a puzzle. In hindsight, she really should’ve paid more attention in biology. Once she was confident enough with the job done, she dusted her hands off, shooting one last concerned look before stepping aside for Alcher. It was a good moment to look at the other two people there with her. She wondered how they felt. Desperately wanted to meet their eyes, search for any sign that they were doing the right thing.

Alcher’s uncertainty didn’t matter in the moments after Kevin’s joy filled the cave. The approval sent a warmth through Alcher that she hadn’t felt in well over two decades. It matched the warmth in her hands, even as the mysterious figure took the light from her. She almost felt wrong without it, but then it was returned and instructions were given. She watched the woman named Nicole begin her task, setting out the bones. They had no smell and Alcher shivered. But she waited patiently for her to finish before she went over to the bones herself and kneeled. The light drizzled from her hands as if it were physical-- thick, heavy sand, sliding through her fingers as it dripped down onto the bones, and Alcher placed the light directly into the chest, whose ribs were all broken, collapsed in on themselves. Was she giving him life? Was this what Kevin wanted? When her task was done, she stood and backed away, hands empty, and looked to the last woman. Her task was perhaps the strangest, but somewhere deep down, Alcher knew she would complete it without question. Just like they had.

Everything made sense once Kevin had helped Queenie see. Before, the words would not come to her. It was all she could do to sit helplessly and silently against the cave floor and cradling the pen as if her very existence depended on it. She had questions, but no means to form the words to ask them. She had just waited for the opportunity, for Kevin to help her realize what it was that she needed to say. Once she knew, it seemed that she had never had any need to speak those words at all, but instead write them. It made sense, since she was carrying a pen after all. Queenie stood by, eagerly waiting for Nicole and Alcher to finish their pieces. Once that was done, Queenie crawled over and immediately got to work. It was as if the bones had been labelled for her and she was simply tracing over the lines. She slowly worked her way down the remains, filling in each spot before finishing up and turning towards the two that had woken up with her. She moved towards Nicole first, pressing against the woman’s forehead and writing across her, spanning its entirety. After she had finished she slid across the floor until she met with Alcher, motioning for the woman to lift her shirt and then proceeding to draw across the ribs, her pen rising and falling with Alcher’s breath. Then she finished with herself, scribbling up and down her arm before switching to her left hand to try to do the same to her either. After she was finished, she studied the work. She squinted her eyes as she tried to read them, but for some reason none of it seemed legible. Though it made perfect sense to her as she wrote it, now she couldn’t seem to make out any of the lettering. Giving up, Queenie slid back to her original spot and continued gripping the pen tightly.

“Wonderful, my loves,” Kevin said, positively beaming. They were all so wonderful, such good listeners! She could feel the energy coming off them in waves, so, so alive. But it wasn’t theirs that she needed. Still, they could give her strength. Breathing in deep, Kevin rounded the body, kneeling before the skull. She looked to her dreamers with an encouraging smile. “Sit with me, darlings. Nicole, at my left, I think. Alcher, if you would sit closest to the light, yes, just reach out and touch his ribs, be gentle, my dear. And dear doctor, if you would try to hold his hand--the right one, yes. We’re nearly done, I only need a bit more help, you will ground and guide me. Close your eyes and think of a dream.” She waited a moment, allowing them to take up their positions before she closed her eyes, a soft, even chant dripping from her lips, slow, like the water dripping gently from the roof of the cave. It would take a bit of doing, navigating to him. He had been so difficult, and that had been before he had been dead and buried for a few centuries, now he was likely to be an absolute nightmare. But as her chant went on, Kevin could feel him, a wisp of the wind flitting into the cave. She went on, her words, grabbing, tethering, pulling the ancient spirit back to the bones. “Now my dreamers, hold him tight, we have him. Don’t let him trick you.”

Nicole’s body stiffened, despite the gentle trace of the pen tickling against her skin. She wished to read what was being written, but as the woman— Queenie, reached for Alcher it became clear deciphering the words would be impossible. She observed in silence, brow slightly furrowed as the doctor completed her task. She waited for the next instructions, her hands balling into fists as Kevin asked her to sit with her. She did as she was told with no hesitation, she was past the point to rationalize what was happening inside the cave. With one cautious look at her companions, she closed her eyes at last. A dream. She could not think of any. She lowered her head, taking the foreign chant in. The repetition made her eyelids heavy, and as she began to think falling asleep wouldn’t be such a bad thing at all, a deep, chilling voice boomed in the cave disrupting the atmosphere. She jerked at the sound, shoulders rising to her ears almost expecting something to fall on them. Eyes opening wide, she turned to Kevin for answers. Her breath grew shallow as the cries continued to resonate against the walls. He wanted them to stop, he needed help. Were they not doing exactly that? What the fuck was she supposed to do?

Alcher stayed still as the doctor wrote upon her ribs, hands holding the tattered shirt she wore up so she had access to her ribs. As if she just knew where the writing was to go, and what it meant, and why it was there. But she did not. When the doctor moved on to herself, Alcher lowered her shirt and watched with curious eyes. When Kevin beckoned them to sit with her, Alcher obliged without hesitation. Though she was born and raised to be a family head, a leader, her body still understood how to follow. It still craved for the uniform movements of a pack. She sat and closed her eyes. A dream. A happy dream. Her brothers, her family. Mother and father watching as children played in the fields. Their laughter echoed in her ears and she smiled. It was interrupted by screaming. A man. Alcher’s eyes wrenched open but all she saw was the skeleton and its light and Kevin. Whoever this man was, he did not understand. They were helping her. They were giving her life. What could have been better than that? “Just let go,” she said to the man in her native tongue, “just stop fighting.” She could not fathom why she fought so hard for this Kevin, but everything inside of her told her that this was right-- that she was right. Alcher closed her eyes once again and pulled harder on her energies, keeping the man in place as best she could.

It seemed obvious that the other two dreamers as Kevin referred to them were in a situation much like Queenie. Confusion seemed to rest upon their faces just as it did on Queenie’s, but much like her they were readily complying. It should have raised so many red flags, but instead Queenie pushed any doubts aside because Kevin was there for them. She was going to take care of the three of them. All they needed to do was help her with this. Whatever this was. Through the fog, Queenie knew that something was amiss. This was something that Queenie would not participate in. Things that she did not believe in. Yet she sat eagerly with Alcher and Nicole and closed her eyes at Kevin’s commands. It was time to dream. But someone, or rather something, was trying to stop them. Another voice, different from any of the ones within the cave now permeated through Queenie’s thoughts. Begging all of them to stop. Queenie tried to ignore it, but the voice was constant and unsettling. If Queenie were completely insane she would almost call it inhuman. It had been enough to force Queenie to break into a cold sweat, but she ignored it and continued focusing on Kevin instead. She just needed to see this through.

“Don’t stop, my loves,” Kevin said, briefly pausing her chant. They were strong, all three of them. But so was he. Kevin glared at the darkness above the body. It was thick, heavy, the air almost seeming to as the spirit fought her pull. He wasn’t as strong as he once was. Kevin’s misshapen hands gripped the ancient skull as she resumed her chant. The wispy darkness spiraled and swirled before stilling for a moment. Then, with a jolt, it began to rush into the light. A faint shadow flickered over the bones as the spirit returned to them. The skull shifted in her hands, the ribs moving slightly, as if trying to take in air for lungs that had long since decayed. Sinking back, Kevin took in a few, long, slow breaths. There. He was trapped now. All that was left was to consume. But that was a task to do alone. She looked to her dreamers, tired, but almost glowing with her love. “You’ve done so well my darlings. We have him. I will finish alone, but know that I owe you a great debt. If you should ever need me, all you must do is call and I will be with you. Now, it’s time for you to go. Close your eyes and your dreams will carry you back home.”

#chatzy #potw #wickedswriting #zahneundklauen #nicsalazar #drqueenieking #alcher #nicole #queenie

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zoryany · 5 years ago

Note

Hi! I REALLY liked that Skysolo AU where Han has to meet the royal family, if I prompt you ‘8. I know of your reputation all too well.’ could you possible continue it so he meets Vader? 🥺 (totally understand if not, great AU either way!!)

I’m glad you enjoyed it and I ABSOLUTELY can continue it with that prompt, thank you !! (I’ve definitely blurred the line between “ficlet” and full-blown fanfic at this point tbh…)Imperial Royal Skywalker Family AU Pt 1 || send me ficlet prompts – optionally include characters

After they’d finished their tea, Luke was quick to excuse himself and Han, ushering his guest towards the suite he’d prepared earlier. A wave of relief rolled off Han the moment they left the parlour, and Luke couldn’t help but share the sentiment. Everyone had been civil enough for the duration, but Luke had felt the tension that lingered beneath the polite conversation. Mother and Leia were both furious with him, he could tell, and though both would maintain a proper amount of decorum in front of their guest, Luke knew exactly what he was in for once Father returned.

That was not something he was looking forward to.

As he led Han through the corridors between the parlour and the guest room, Luke tried to stay relaxed and exude as much nonchalance as possible. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I’d say you’ve won over two out of three already. Probably helps they’re both so upset with me that it’s easier for them to speak to you without snapping right now. Though I will be getting an earful later…”

“Gee, that makes me feel real great about this whole thing,” Han grumbled. Luke couldn’t help but feel sheepish at that, which Han instantly noticed and grimaced in response. “No, I just meant that – look, I’m sorry you’re in this mess, and I’m sorry if it’s ‘cause of me…”

“Hey,” Luke said sharply, “none of that. You didn’t make me leave home in the first place, and while I’ve definitely been enjoying our time together, don’t flatter yourself into thinking you’re the reason I’ve stayed away this long.” Chuckling lightly at the look of offense he was getting from the smuggler, Luke continued. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s no way I would’ve stayed on Ord Mantell as long as I did if not for you, but truth be told… well I actually would’ve stayed away longer if we hadn’t met – just on some other planet.”

He could feel the curiosity burning within Han. They never really talked about why he ran away or what he was doing on Ord Mantell. That was part of the reason the two of them had gotten along, initially – no obligation to speak about their pasts, just focus on the present and the future. Even now, Han wasn’t pushing him despite his clear curiosity, but Luke couldn’t avoid his responsibilities forever.

Reaching the door to the guest room, he let out a sigh as he pushed the door open and gestured for Han to enter first. The smuggler hesitated slightly before breezing past the threshold and into the suite. It was not nearly so resplendent as the Royal Rooms, but it was still the height of luxury. Luke had been sure to select one of the smaller rooms and furnish it modestly enough so Han wouldn’t be overwhelmed, but he was all too aware of how extravagant it was. Simple yet tasteful artwork lined the walls, a large window revealed a magnificent view of Coruscant’s upper levels, and the bed that dominated the space was a plush four-poster with a dreamsilk canopy draped over it. Most of the bedding in the Palace was expensive and made of some form of soft, silk-like material, but Luke had managed to dig up a set of lighter sheets made of Alderaanian cotton that would better suit Han’s comfort level. And, sitting on top of the bed was –

“Mother…” Luke groaned as Han held up the finery and examined it. “She wants you to dress for dinner. Probably sent Threepio to set these out for you while we were distracted by tea, and I’m willing to bet my lightsaber that those will fit you perfectly. I’ll throw in my speeder and guess that I’ve got an outfit set out, too.”

“She seriously expects me to wear this?” Han was holding the dark-coloured suit as though it was made of tissue and would shred if he gripped it too tight. “I’m pretty sure the shirt alone cost more than I’ve made – or ever will make – in my entire life.”

Grimacing, Luke felt a pang of embarrassment, knowing full well that he couldn’t deny that. It was part of the reason he’d left in the first place. He’d never felt comfortable with his status, preferring instead to tinker with mechanics or get to know the people or practice flying over the city. Being a prince just never sat quite right with him. But his parents insisted on nothing short of the best for their children, and nothing quite surpassed their desire to keep the twins safe. They meant well. Luke knew they meant well. They were just… stubborn.

He wasn’t ready for that conversation with Han yet, though, so instead he just let out a breezy laugh and shook his head. “I think you’ll look dashing in it. Mother does have impeccable taste, after all. You don’t gotta put it on yet, though. We still have a bit of time before dinner. I can give you a tour, show you all the places I hid and the secrets I discovered growing up.”

***

Tugging lightly at his collar, Han shifted in his seat, hoping he didn’t appear too awkward as he tried not to stare at Luke sitting across from him. When the two had met, he never would have guessed that the scruffy blond with grease on his cheek and dirt under his fingernails could possibly be anyone even remotely noble. He looked like just about every other down-on-his-luck scoundrel just trying to scrape by, even if the kid had a lot more enthusiasm than most. But if Han thought the difference in his voice when speaking to his mother was jarring, seeing Luke dressed up and put together was staggering.

Though his hair wasn’t quite slicked down – Han wasn’t sure if that was even possible, anyways – it was obvious that Luke had at least put some effort into making it presentable, and it lay a lot smoother than usual, framing his face. A white shirt was visible beneath a black tunic, and he wore matching black trousers, all made from the same, expensive-looking material. The real highlight of the outfit, however, was the deep blue cape secured around his neck with a bright golden clasp and a silvery pattern woven throughout the material like constellations. Luke wore the night sky, which only served to make his features appear even more like a radiant sun.

Han had been mostly quiet through the meal in an effort to keep himself from saying anything overly foolish, sticking to polite acknowledgements and general courtesies. He was so caught up in maintaining decorum that he didn’t even really hear much of the conversation around him, catching only snippets here and there.

Luke looked much more at ease than Han was, and he even appeared to have relaxed since the tense tea session they’d had earlier. He was sharing lighthearted banter with his sister (who kept shooting Han suspicious glances, albeit less frequently than before) and chatting pleasantly with his mother (who seemed far warmer and more genuine than earlier). It was clear that, despite the conversations the family still needed to have, they maintained a strong bond and genuine love for one another.

(Han was decidedly not jealous of that. Not at all.)

The pleasant air in the dining room carried on into dessert, by which time even Han had relaxed a bit and would make the odd remark or share the odd barb with the Princess. They had almost finished working their way through the decadent assortment of cakes and pastries when the atmosphere suddenly shifted.

The change was most obvious in Luke, whose eyes blew wide and a shudder rippled through him as he stiffened in his seat. Gasping with a shaky breath, he lifted his gaze and fixed it on something behind Han’s chair.

“Father.” Oh. Kriff. He probably should have been able to guess that. “I, uh – you weren’t due to return home until after dinner.” It was incredible how quickly the kid’s composure could crumble, switching instantly from the picture of Imperial Royalty to the naive, stammering vagabond who could not lie to save his life.

“No, I was not.” The basso tone produced by the vocoder seemed to fill the entire room, and Han had to suppress a shudder as the towering dark form crept into his field of view like a shadow. Darth Vader loomed over Luke, who looked absolutely tiny next to him, and Han had to give the kid credit for not cowering when a gloved finger was pointed between his eyes. “I do, however, have every right to alter my schedule when matters arise concerning my son.” Luke did cringe a little bit at that. Vader wasn’t done. “My son, who I have not heard from in several weeks, who has returned home with… company.”

Han could not say he deserved the same credit as Luke as he cowered the moment that death mask turned to face him. “Ah yeah, hi, that’s me, uhh nice to meet you, Mr. Vader, sir, I’m –”

“Captain Han Solo.” His jaw dropped and he gaped at Vader as he cut him off. “Yes. I know of your reputation all too well.”

Luke’s eyes had gone wide again, and his jaw dropped down as well. Even the Princess seemed taken aback, though the Empress seemed unfazed.

“You – you know who I am?”

“I make a point to know who the Hutts choose to have dealings with.”

Oh. Kriff, he’d forgotten about Vader’s vendetta against the Hutts. “Hey, hey, I don’t go makin’ a habit of it or anything, just a few jobs for Jabba – who didn’t even like me, anyway. Put a bounty on my head when I dropped a job after realizing the cargo wasn’t spice. I don’t smuggle people. Far’s I’m concerned, the galaxy’s better off without him.”

Vader inclined his helmet slightly while keeping his gaze fixed on Han. The dark, deep crimson of the eyeplates felt like they would burn twin holes right through him. “I must admit,” Vader finally said, “that I can agree with you in that regard, at the very least.” For the briefest second, Han got the impression of amusement before the temperature in the room plummeted again and he had to work to keep his composure. “That does not, however, change the fact that you are still a criminal, nor does it excuse the rest of your misdeeds.”

“Well,” said Han, silently cursing his uncontrollable disregard for his own wellbeing, “ya got me there. But I’m a changed man, honest. I’m pretty aware of your reputation, too, and I got no interest in experiencing it firsthand.”

From across the table, he caught a glimpse of Luke’s expression, which was a confused jumble of amusement, horror, mortification, disbelief and resignation. Beside her brother, the Princess concealed a snort, passing it off as a cough. Han was pretty sure he was done for when Vader took a step forward, his arms uncrossing from his chest as he reached a hand towards him, but the Empress had fluidly risen from her seat and appeared at his side.

Resting her hands delicately on his arm, she gazed up at him with a gentle, soothing expression and whispered something that sounded like “Ani.” Her next words were clearer while still remaining gentle and placating. “Captain Solo here is Luke’s guest, and I have personally offered him our hospitality. Please refrain from terrorizing him tonight. You know how our children feel when you frighten off their company.” Luke and Leia both flushed pink and sunk in their seats.

On the surface, it was a standard family interaction, mother holding back father, father upholding authority, children doing all they could to mitigate their embarrassment, but Han could not think of anything more surreal. The mother in question was the most politically powerful person in the galaxy, dressed in resplendent garments of deep crimson as she looked lovingly up at her husband. The father was the most dangerous man in the galaxy, cutting an intimidating figure and dwarfing his wife while still, somehow, managing an unexpected level of tenderness. The children were set to inherit the galaxy, twin Highnesses -- one of whom he was involved with -- and no less dangerous than their parents.

And Han... had no idea what to do with himself.

Far more gentle than he would have ever expected possible, Vader rested a hand on his wife’s cheek and the two shared a brief embrace, seeming to exchange something entirely private and intimate. In their seats, Luke and Leia flushed deeper, and Han found himself wishing he was anywhere else. Withdrawing his hand, Vader seemed somewhat reluctant as he took a step back.

“Very well. This is clearly not a conversation for the dinner table. I shall retreat to my study to tie up what loose ends I can while you conclude your meal. However,” Vader turned to face his son, “your mother and I have much to discuss with you, boy. Do not attempt to needlessly delay this discussion.”

Luke, who had slid about as far down in his seat as he could without falling right off, grimaced and looked up at his father with an expression of contrition. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled before stuffing a small pastry in his mouth.

Vader turned on his heel and swept out of the dining room, leaving it in a thoroughly uncomfortable silence. The Princess was resting her hand on Luke’s shoulder and giving her brother, who appeared mortified, a sympathetic look. The Empress had returned to her seat, looking nonplussed, though she had regained some measure of her former severity.

Once again, Han shifted in his seat and avoided everyone’s gaze. He was starting to get a clearer picture of what he’d gotten himself into. Now he found himself wondering if he’d finally manage to get in over his head.

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trillian-anders · 5 years ago

Text

chambers - vi

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, angst, slow burn

word count: 3892

Description: post-endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Inspired by the Netflix series of the same name.)

Well, this was awkward.

Peggy sat across from you, a gorgeous off the shoulder red dress, red painted lips, hair curled perfectly. Lipstick stained the rim of her wine glass. “Relax,” She soothed, her hand coming to place gently over yours. Her nails were red lacquered, perfectly manicured. “You look like you’re waiting for the floor to drop from beneath you.” She humored.

“I think in some ways I am,” You smiled at her. You almost couldn’t believe you were even here. You’d come back to almost the minute you’d gone into the ice. A separate timeline. A new future. You looked around the room, other couples just as cozy and close. It was a romantic italian place, pianist playing softly in the corner.

This was your first date with Peggy. Steve’s first date with Peggy. The plates in front of you were soon picked at and consumed, the woman across from you with her eyes twinkling made your heart skip in your chest. She was just as beautiful as you remembered. This aching hole being filled by her soft touch. Her hand in yours as you slowly danced to the pianist’s lilting melody.

“I’ve been without you,” You could hear yourself say, “Longer then I would have ever liked to be.” Her dark brown eyes smiling up at you.

“I love you, Steven.” You smiled, pressing your lips to her forehead, before resting your head on top of hers,

“I love you too.”

It only made sense that you would have that memory now, sitting here in a little cafe in Brooklyn, sweater sleeves curled over your fingers as you tried to warm them from the cold. Fall was here and it swept through the city quickly, the leaves were almost fully changed you’d noticed on the drive in. A few stragglers still holding their green hue while others have submit to their lifecycle.

“You could hardly even call this coffee,” Eric joked as he settled into the chair in front of you, “You have a sweet tooth?” He smiled as he took a sip of what looked like black coffee. You smiled back, wrapping your cold fingers around the mug of your milky sweet coffee taking a testing sip. Almost perfect.

“Not usually,” you admit, “For whatever reason I just really like my coffee being sweet.” You shrug, “It’s how my grandmother always took hers.” He was handsome, just like you remembered. Dimpled cheeks, very white teeth, his smile was infectious and made you warm all over.

“So, how’ve you been?” He asked, leaning forward, your mugs and hands almost touching. Today was VA day, a week had passed since you’d last seen him and you told Sam and Bucky that you were going to head into the city early to grab coffee with Eric before heading over.

Sam was quick to give a teasing flirtatious grin, whereas Bucky wasn’t too keen on the idea. “I’ll go with you,” He offered. He was obviously irritated when you’d told him no.

“I’ve been alright,” You took a sip of your coffee before continuing, “Been taking a break from the testing and everything.” You’d explained you Eric briefly over text about complications that came with heart surgery, but you didn’t tell him what those complications were.

“It must be strange, huh?” He glanced out the window and then back at you, “Living with heroes like that.” You shrug absentmindedly.

“They’re just like everyone else,” You laugh, “but they’re really nice people,” Eric nods, “They’re a fun crowd.”

“I bet.” He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. “So you work for the Avengers?” He asked, picking at the muffin he’d bought. It was probably best to lie here,

“Yeah, I just assist Dr. Banner in his lab,” You lie, “I have no idea what he’s doing half the time, but he likes the company. What about you?” The motor oil around his nail beds,

“I’m a mechanic now, my Pops had his own shop that I took over after—“ he choked up a bit, “After I blipped back.” You placed your hand gently over his,

“Hey, it’s okay.” You smiled, “You don’t have to hide that kind of stuff from me.” Rubbing your thumb against his rough hand you continued, “Everyone still hurts from the blip. Everyone.” He nodded, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Thank you.” He sighed heavily, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry and make this awkward—“

“I don’t feel awkward.” You offered, watching a smile break out on his face. “Listen, I’m not sure if I’m ready to date yet either. This was kind of like—“

“Dipping your toe in the water?” He asked, god he was cute.

“Yes.” You laughed. “So don’t feel pressured about it. Really.” He nodded, beginning again,

“Anyway, I’m a mechanic.” He laughed nervously clearing his throat, “I live here in Brooklyn, I have my entire life aside from when I was doing my tours.” He’d done two of them. He spends most of his week working under the hood and the rest of it was spent going to the VA, visiting his sick Mother who was now in hospice. He was just a normal guy.

A handsome, sweet, opened the door for you as you left, normal guy. It was nice.

He didn’t make a big deal about your heart. The fact that you just had surgery, which was also nice. It seemed to be the only thing people wanted to talk about when they found out you’d had a heart transplant, not having to talk about it and skirt around knowing the name of the donor like you had to with everyone else.

He’d bought both of you coffee to-go, “The stuff they have down at the VA is kind of trash.” He laughed, the two of you walking to the community center where your cars were parked. It was a Wednesday afternoon, the sun was shining, your sweater becoming a poor choice now that it reached the days highest temp.

You’d been a block or two away when it happened.

The fight or flight kicks in before they even made themselves aware, Eric was grabbed before you were, you watched a fist meet his face, blood spattering on the ground as you screamed in alarm. Hands met your arms and Steve took over, twisting around to turn his wrists, smacking your head against his, causing your ears to ring and vision blur momentarily as he fell to the ground unconscious.

Another man, twice your weight and at least a foot taller than you grabs you roughly, shoving you to the ground, grabbing your foot and dragging you into the alley where Eric was pinned against the wall, punches raining on his gut, “Let her go!” He yelled, trying to break free.

You kicked your handler in the groin, the large man grunting in pain as he curled over, grabbing himself as you jumped up from your spot on the ground, your hands had gravel embedded in them, beginning to bleed.

You raise your fists, back against the wall facing the large man as he straightened back up. “Give up kid,” He grunts, “Just come with us.” You ball your fist tightly, turning to swing on him, but your fist fell through the air, the man being ripped away from you, throwing you off balance to fall on the ground.

Bucky.

And Sam. The two men who were pummeling Eric were soon disbanded, one taking off out of the alley and onto the street, the other unconscious, Sam’s hand fisted in his shirt. You crawled on your knees, over to Eric pushing his chest against the wall, helping him sit upright from where he collapsed on the ground.

“Bucky!” You yelled. The super soldier had the large man in a headlock, his eyes slowly closing and the hand that beat against his metal arm slowing until it stopped. “Bucky…” You felt your vision begin to blur as you fell backward, head hitting heavily against the concrete.

“Stay down kid.” The greaser spat. You could taste the blood in your mouth, the concrete beneath your hands as you pushed yourself back up, stumbling on your feet. “You’re either a fuckin’ idiot or you just wanna die kid.” He raised his fists back up.

“I don’t like bullies,” came from your mouth, and you remembered. This guy was being fresh with a girl. In the diner where you were having lunch and sketching. He wouldn’t leave her alone. “Especially not perverts who don’t understand what ‘no’ means.” The guy rolled his eyes at you taking a quick swing that connected with your jaw, tossing you back on the ground. You groaned in pain, trying to get back up.

There was a scuffle and when you looked up, Bucky was in boxing stance in front of you, landing a right hook on the jaw of the greaser, throwing him back into the wall before the guy took off leaving the two of you with your heavy breathing.

An asthma attack was coming on. “Alright big guy,” Bucky’s hands met your arms, pulling you off the ground. “Breathe, Stevie.” Bucky matched your breaths with his, pulling a little jar from his pocket. He popped the lid and held it under your face. Peppermint oil. You could feel it, cold down your airways, his soothing breaths matching yours until you were calm.

“Hey Buck.” His hair was slicked back, he was wearing his work uniform. He must’ve just come from the canary. He rolled his eyes at you before wrapping an arm under your shoulder to help you walk home.

“You can’t keep doing this Steve.” Dabbing alcohol on your bleeding lip and fists. “One day you’re not gonna get back up.” Throat tight with emotion. You felt guilty. Every time. But you couldn’t help it. You can’t just stand by and do nothing. It just wasn’t who you were.

“Hey.” His voice was soft against your ear. You shifted in his arms. You were in his arms, turning your head, wincing at the sunlight coming through the car windows you quickly covered your eyes with your arm.

“Bucky.” You whined, head pounding.

“I’m here doll.” Fingers moving soothingly against your back. He was whispering to you. You could feel you were in the back seat of the car, it was moving quickly. You felt nauseous.

“I’m gonna be sick.” You groaned, he shifted you up slowly, sitting you upright in the back seat.

“You definitely have a concussion.” Your eyes were squeezed shut as you heard him move around.

“How’s she doing back there?” Sam’s voice came from the front seat. So he was driving.

“Where’s Eric?” You asked as Bucky pressed his cold hand to the back of your neck. It felt so good. You placed your hand over it to keep it there.

“We had medical take him back to the compound,” Bucky explained, “Where does it hurt?”

You opened your palms and he could see the gravel embedded in them, knuckles split and bleeding from the fall. “Just my hands and head.” You couldn’t open your eyes. It hurt.

“We’re almost home,” Sam said from the front, “I’m gonna go check on the perps and see how Eric is doing. Buck, you think you can take care of her?”

“Yeah, I got her.”

He’d lowered the blinds and threw a bandanna over the lamp next to your bed, creating an easy light for you to manage, finally being able to relax your eyes for the first time in what felt like hours. The chair next to your bed was wordlessly pulled close as he laid out a pair of tweezers, rubbing alcohol and some bandages. A little dish was there to collect the pulled gravel.

“It’s almost like you’ve done this before,” You joked. Wincing as he pulled the first piece out. He scoffed, continuing on in his work.

“I didn’t want you to go alone.” His gruff voice replied, “I told you I’d go with you.” You sucked your teeth as he pulled out a particularly large piece.

“To be fair, you thought Eric was the threat.” He looked at you through his lashes.

“I still don’t like the guy.” You hummed in response. “You know this means you can’t leave the compound by yourself anymore?” He gently dabbed your hands with the rubbing alcohol, before spreading a cream on them.

“What could they possibly want with me?” You asked, “Who even are they?” He, with great care, wrapped your hands.

“We don’t know,” He admitted, “Could be Hydra,” He shrugged, “Could be something else. We’re going to interview the two guys we captured, so I’m sure we will know pretty soon. Here,” He put two pills in your hand and a glass of water, “Take these and lay down.” He shifted the blankets around, slapping his hand against the pillows as he helped you get comfortable.

“Don’t leave me.” Your wrapped hand gently gripped his. His other hand lay over yours,

“I’m gonna be right back sweetheart.” Sleep was coming on quickly, “Get some rest. I’ll be back.” His hand softly slipped from yours and you slipped into sleep. “Sweetheart?” Bucky mumbled to himself.

Bucky looked at you for a moment longer, lingering, before exiting the room. Face turning into a scowl he quickly took the elevator down, meeting Sam right outside of the interrogation rooms where they had the two perps cuffed in separate rooms, letting them stew. “They didn’t have cyanide capsules, so I don’t believe they’re Hydra.” Sam was staring at the monitors, arms crossed.

“How’s the guy?” Bucky asked, Sam’s eyes shifted over to his quickly before turning back to the screens.

“He’s got some internal, but he’ll be fine… This isn’t your fault Buck.” Hand coming to rest on his shoulder, Sam turned to him.

“No,” He growled, “It’s yours.” Shrugging his arm off him, “I wanted to tail them Sam. If you’d let me be there--”

“No.” Sam shook his head, “People still would have gotten hurt or these assholes wouldn’t have come out of the woodwork. Either way, you can’t tail her to go get coffee just because you think that dude is a shady guy for no other reason than your ‘intuition’.”

“My intuition has never been wrong before,” Bucky leaned in, looking at the monitors. “No one knows she’s got Steve’s heart Sam. Even if they did, they don’t know what it’s doing to her. So what’s going on here. Why do they want her?”

“I don’t know man.” Sam looked at his friend in concern. “You’re getting better with her.” Bucky nodded, chest tight.

“I’m trying.” He cleared his throat, looking over at Sam. “I feel guilty.”

“You should.” Sam smirked, “So who's gonna be good cop and who’s gonna be bad cop, cause I was thinkin’ it’s my turn to be bad cop.” Bucky rolled his eyes, dropping his jacket from his shoulders and rolling up his sleeves.

“If I don’t get to hit at least one of ‘em I’m gonna hit you instead.”

Wanda sat steadfast next to the sleeping man, fingers itching to do it. To look inside his mind. She had to know. Bucky was clear about how much he didn’t like this guy and she trusted Bucky. She can look, just take a quick peek. It would give her all the information she needed to make a sound decision on whether or not to trust him.

A red tendril spilled over her palm, crawling down her fingers to slip into his temple.

It was chaos.

Screaming, blood. A nightmare. The fear, the anger. The loss. It felt so familiar. Like she’s seen this before, but she doesn’t know where.

She sat back in her seat heavily, panting. The stress and anguish. Her heart was racing. She found no ill intention, but an immense attraction to you. She found exactly what you’d described. A man who had seen war, who had lost everything, she saw his mind as it was. Nothing to be hidden. So why did she feel so uneasy?

“Lock them up for the night.” Bucky instructed to the two agents standing guard outside the interrogation room. “Make sure they’re at opposite ends of the cells, we’ll be back to deal with them in the morning.” The two young cadets nodded, a ‘yes, sir’ and they were off to their task.

“We’ll work on them tomorrow,” Sam looked at his watch. “Go check on Y/N, maybe get her to eat something.” Bucky nodded, hands on his hips.

“Something doesn’t feel right about this.” The pair watched the two criminals be taken to their cells and locked in for the night before leaving,

“There’s gotta be a leak.” Sam agreed. “I’ll call Clint.” Bucky hummed in agreement before walking away, deep in thought.

“We should maybe reach out to Peter too.” He said as the two entered the elevator. “Have him keep an ear out when he’s patrolling.”

You were right where he left you, the dim light giving a soft illumination to the room. He walked over to your side of the bed, brushing the hair out of your face before squatting to your eye level.

“Hey Y/N,” He spoke softly, gently rousing you from sleep. His advanced eyesight scanned your pupils as your sleepy eyelids parted.

“Bucky.” You whimpered, head throbbing.

“I’m right here kid.” What was he doing? Fingers gently massaging your scalp stilled and awkwardly removed themselves. “Here, take these.” He helped you sit up, giving you two more of the tablets you’d taken earlier, following them with the stale water from your bedside. “Are you nauseous?”

“No.” You croaked, sinking back into the pillows. “I’m sleepy.” Your throat felt thick and palms were itchy.

“Alright, I’ll be right here okay?” The shuffling of the chair as he sat down heavily. He gave you one last look as you drifted off,

“Okay.” Mumbled against the sheets.

He pulled out his phone drafting a text to send to Peter Parker,

suspicious activity in Brooklyn, focus patrol. all suspicious persons bring to compound.

With a tap it was sent and he settled down deeply in the chair, fatigue hitting him for the first time in two days. “Peppermint oil.” Mumbled against the sheets, drool forming by your lips. “That’s sweet, the peppermint oil.” He watched you shift around until you were laying on your back, arm tossed over your head, one across your belly. His heart tight in his chest.

It helped with asthma. The peppermint oil. A ventilation inhaler didn’t exist for another twenty years. Bucky made due. He kept it in his pocket everywhere he went in those days. Just in case. The thought made your heart sing, but it wasn’t your heart. It was Steve’s.

It made Steve’s heart sing.

He was sure to wake you up periodically, making you drink water, giving you more medicine, before sinking back into the chair next to your bed. Your own private watchman. If you weren’t hurting so badly you’d be enjoying the company, just because it was Bucky and the attachment Steve had to him, that was then passed down to you, was sated by it.

The next morning it was as though nothing had happened, when it came to your injuries anyway. Your head was clear, hands had no mark when Bucky went to change your bandages.

“How are you?” Wanda asked, pulling you into her arms.

“I’m fine,” You smiled, you looked to your right through the glass window where Eric was resting, “How is he?”

She swallowed heavily, “He’ll survive.” She looked you in your eyes, oddly. “He’s been in and out throughout the night, he’ll need to stay for a few days but should be good to go by Monday.” You worried your lip,

“I owe him an explanation,” You sighed, “I feel terrible.”

“You couldn’t have known.” Wanda defended, hand soothingly rubbing your arm. “We had no clue that someone was targeting you.” She seemed angry, “Nothing on our radar.”

“Who is doing this?” You asked, looking up at your friend. She shrugged,

“I’m going to go join them in the interrogation.” She said, “See if I can find out. Do you need anything?” You shook your head, eyes staring blankly at Eric’s sleeping form. She left.

The door handle was freezing when you put your hand on it, turning to enter. A chair was set next to the bed, one that you sunk yourself down into. It was quiet in here, the slow melodic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound.

His jaw was a mix of black and blue, a swollen eye, his right hand was bandaged where he had tried to fight back against his two assailants and failed. Guilt churned in your gut. Maybe you should have let Bucky come with you after all. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone. Then Eric wouldn’t be lying here with a morphine drip 12 hours out of surgery.

“No self pity on my watch,” A groan from the bed, his split lip coming in a half smile. Your watery eyes met his.

“I’m so sorry Eric I-”

“Hey,” His fingers twitched, hand moving dismissively, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from--” He groaned, shifting in the bed. You leaned forward, taking the bed’s remote and using it to sit him upright. He winced.

“It’s not your job to protect me,” You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I’m sorry we were attacked. They were after me. It honestly--” You felt a fat tear roll down your cheek, “It is my fault.”

The man in the bed studied you for a moment, “Did you tell them where we were?” He asked, “Did you tell them to attack us?” His bruised mouth never faltering in a smile. “You had no control over this.”

“Still, I’m--”

“I know.” He smacked his dry lips, reaching a hand over for the water cup on his tray. You’d quickly grabbed it, bringing the straw to his lips. “So,” He rested his head back on the pillow, “Are you gonna tell me what’s really going on here?” He gestured vaguely to the tip of the thin pink scar that was peeking out from under your t shirt.

You owed him an explanation. He’d taken an ass beating for you, it was the least you could do.

A chill went down Bucky’s spine as Wanda told him the name of who was responsible. She knew the name in passing, an issue she’d never had a problem with. Something that happened adjacently to her, but she knew the name enough to know the man was dangerous.

The trio thought to the couple sitting in the medic ward, Eric recovering from internal bleeding and you, who was still trying to figure out what was going on with your body, your heart. What would he want with you? What did he think he could possibly do with you? And also who was relaying this information to him?

Sam put on his Captain voice, chest tight, shoulders back. There was tension there, and a lot of it.

“Call Sharon Carter,” He commanded, “Tell her to come to the compound with all the information she can find on Helmut Zemo.”

Bucky thinks he’s going to be sick.

taglist // @nutellakirb @witch-of-letters @torntaltos @emotionallysalty @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @albinotigerpython @an-lover

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #avengers #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #the winter soldier #steve rogers

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atomic-taco-muffin · 4 years ago

Text

The Lost Princess Chapter 18

Warnings: fluff/angst

Rating: SFW

Previously in The Lost Princess:

“What is that?” Donald asked.

“Wow, it’s huge!” Sora said. It flew over them.

“It’s a giant whale!” Goofy said.

“It’s Monstro! He’s a whale of a whale, and vicious besides!” Jiminy said. It flew back around.

“Whoa! Sora, get us out of here!” Donald said. It made its way toward them, opening its enormous jaw, revealing a mouth full of teeth.

“Too late! He’s going to swallow us!” Sora said.

“When we grow up, let’s get off this island. We’ll go on real adventures, not this kid stuff!” Riku’s eyes grew wide with anticipation.

“Sure. But isn’t there anything fun to do now? Hey, you know the new girl at the mayor’s house? Did you hear?” Sora said.

“Oh yeah. I heard about her. She’s kind of like me I think,” you said.

“Hey! Who’s there?” he asked. A wooden puppet looked down at them from the ledge.

“It’s me,” Pinocchio said.

“Oh, it’s just Pinocchio. ...Pinocchio!?” Donald said. Jiminy jumped onto Sora’s shoulder.

“Pinocchio?” he asked. Pinocchio began walking down the ledge away from them carrying a large gummi block.

“Pinocch, where are you going? Pinocch! Come on, everybody! After him! Quick!” Jiminy said. Pinocchio hopped along the various wood piles scattered throughout Monstro’s enormous mouth. Sora, Donald, and Goofy made their way over to a wooden boat where Pinocchio was talking to an old man.

“Pinocchio, stop fooling around! This is no time for games!” Sora said sternly. They start to turn away.

“But, Sora, I thought you liked games,” Riku said. Sora whirled around to see Riku.

“Or are you too cool to play them now that you have the Keyblade?” Riku asked.

“Riku! Wh-What are you doing here?” Sora asked.

“Just playing with Pinocchio.”

“You know what I mean! What about Kairi? Did you find her? Or (Y/N)?”

“Maybe. Catch us and maybe I’ll tell you what I know.”

Riku had returned to his vessel, standing in the captain’s hold, talking to Maleficent.

“So, Kairi’s like a lifeless puppet now?” he asked.

“Precisely,” Maleficent said. Riku stared at Kairi’s body, lying on the couch in front of him.

“And her heart was...” he said.

“Taken by the Heartless, no doubt,” Maleficent said.

“What about (Y/N)? What’s gonna happen to her?”

“Her powers are starting to grow stronger and pretty soon it would help open the door.” He whirled around, the desperation showing in his eyes.

“Tell me! What can I do?” he said.

“There are seven maidens of the purest heart. We call them the princesses of heart. Gather them together, and with (Y/N)’s power, a door will open to the heart of all worlds. Within lies untold wisdom. There, you will surely find a way to recover Kairi’s heart. Now, I’ll grant you a marvelous gif,” Maleficent said as she leaned closer to him.

“The power to control the Heartless,” she said. She raised her arms and green energy surrounded him. He took it in, feeling its power, and turned to look at Kairi.

“Soon, Kairi. Soon,” he said. Meanwhile, Monstro, disrupted by all this agitation, sneezed everyone out. Sora, Donald, and Goofy were back in their gummi ship.

“I sure hope Pinocchio and Geppetto are okay,” Goofy said.

“Yeah, hopefully they landed safely somewhere,” Donald said.

“Riku...” Sora said. They returned to Merlin’s Study in Traverse Town and spoke to the Fairy Godmother.

“Oh, another summon gem? Let’s help this little one. Here we go! Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo!” she said. Sora was granted the power to summon Dumbo.

“If you find any more of these stones, bring them to me. Oh, did you find any clues as to where (Y/N) is?” she said.

“No. I haven’t,” Sora said, sadly.

“Don’t give up, dear. I can tell that she’s waiting for you to save her. Have faith.”

“Thank you.” Sora entered the 100 Acre Wood, finding a broad expanse of vegetable fields. He walked across the bridge over the stream to a mailbox labeled “RABBiT”. There was a letter inside.

I hope we’ll be finding more honey together soon! --Pooh

Sora walked up to the door in the tree, but was stopped by a stern voice.

“Nobody’s home! And I’m out of honey!” they said. Sora walked to the back of the tree, where Piglet and Pooh were staring in through a hole in a burrow beneath a sign reading “RABBiT’S HOWSE”. Piglet saw Sora.

“Look, Rabbit’s house c-came back! But it looks like Rabbit isn’t home. Pooh’s been calling and calling, but the house says no one’s there,” he said.

“Nobody’s home?” Pooh asked.

“That’s right, Nobody!” the voice said. Sora ran back around the house and entered through the door.

“Who is this person named Nobody?” Pooh asked. Pooh began climbing into the burrow.

“Nobody, have you seen Rabbit?” Pooh asked.

“No! No Rabbit here! There’s no one here!” they said. Inside the burrow, a yellow rabbit sighed as Pooh hopped in, Piglet following.

“Hello, Rabbit!” Pooh said.

“Why, P-Pooh. What a pleasant surprise... Nice to see you, too, Piglet. And...” Rabbit turned around as Sora entered.

“Is this a new friend? P-Pooh, I’m sorry, but... I’m all out of honey at the moment,” Rabbit said. Pooh walked around the room, sniffing the air.

“Sora, do you smell honey?” Pooh asked. Sora saw a honey pot on a tree root going through the ceiling.

“H-Honey? Now, how did that get up there? Would you like some Pooh? Don’t feel you have to, of course,” Rabbit said.

“Oh, thank you, Rabbit. I would like just a small smackeral. I’m quite hungry,” Pooh said. Pooh sat at the table eating from the honey pot.

“Um, Pooh Bear...” Rabbit said. Pooh continued to eat the honey.

“You’re not eating the whole pot, are you?” Rabbit asked. Pooh didn’t listen and continued to eat the honey.

“Once you start, there’s no stopping you, is there...,” Rabbit said. Pooh continued to eat the honey.

“Ohh... Out of honey again,” Rabbit said, defeated. Sora left the house and attempted to walk off the grounds.

“H-Help! Please help Pooh!” Piglet said. Sora turned around as Piglet ran up to him, and tripped on the ground. Sora ran back inside with Piglet, seeing Pooh stuck in the hole in the wall.

“Oh, help and bother. I’m stuck again. I came in through this hole, so it must have shrunk,” Pooh said.

“Oh, wh-what to do?” Piglet asked.

“All this because he can’t stop liking honey so much!” Rabbit said. Sora ran around to the back of the burrow, where Pooh’s head and arms were sticking out.

“Oh, how will I eat honey if I’m stuck here? When it’s lunch time, perhaps you could bring me a honey jar,” Pooh said.

“No honey ‘til you’re unstuck!” Rabbit said as he ran in.

“If Pooh doesn’t slim down, my house will stay plugged up forever! If only there were something we could do...” Rabbit said. He perked his head up, his ears pointed.

“Wait, I know! A bit of carrot top juice will do the trick! I have a carrot patch on the other side of the stream. Carrot top juice is just the ticket to slimming down a Pooh!” he said as he turned toward his garden.

“Oh no!” he shouted. He ran ahead, Sora following. He saw a stuffed tiger bouncing into the area much to Rabbit’s dismay. The tiger jumped onto the bridge, destroying it, and bouncing over to Sora. Rabbit ran over to see the damage and lowered his ears. The tiger tackled Sora, knocking him over, laughing as his tail uncurled behind him.

“Hey, there! Name’s Tigger! T-I-double-guh-RR. That spells Tigger!” he said. (I love Tigger! He’s my favorite Winnie the Pooh character!) Tigger looked over Sora, standing on him.

“Well, now! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before!” he said.

“Hello, Tigger. You’ve just bounced my new friend Sora,” Pooh said.

“Hey, Pooh! Say, you’re lookin’ mighty uncomfy today. Is that some new exercise? Why, bouncin’ around is a lot more fun.” He leaped off of Sora, who stood up, brushing the dirt off his clothes.

“Wh-Why do you bounce around so much, Tigger?” Sora asked.

“Why? ‘Cause bouncin’ is what Tiggers do best!” Tigger said. He put a paw to his forehead and looked around.

“Speaking of which, my bouncin’ spot has gone and disappeared! So for now, this’ll be my new bouncin’ ground,” he said. He laughed and bounced away toward Rabbit’s garden.

“Tigger’s bouncing will ruin my vegetables! And if we don’t give Pooh some carrot top juice, he’ll be stuck forever,” Rabbit said as he turned to Sora.

“Please help me! Keep Tigger away from my carrots!” he said.

“This is quite a fix. But I have just the solution. Pay attention, now,” Owl said as he flew down to meet them. He took Sora over to the carrot field.

“Sora, you’ll have to protect this carrot patch. If Tigger bounces on a carrot twice, it’ll be buried,” he said. He demonstrated jumping on a carrot.

“Once...” he jumped again.

“Twice!” He flew back off the carrot.

“Just like that. Protect the carrots from Tigger’s bounces and you’ll receive points. How you ask? It’s elementary!” Owl said as he swung out a wing.

“Simply get to the carrots before Tigger lands on them. There are fifteen carrots here. Your score depends on how many you save, and how many times you block Tigger. Oh, and one more thing.” He flew over to Sora.

“The Rush command is the key to a high score. Select Rush while near a carrot that isn’t buried yet. You’ll dash to the target area before Tigger lands. Well, good luck!” Tigger bounced over and Sora protected the carrots from him. Tigger danced around.

“How about those bounceroonies? They were good even for a Tigger,” he laughed and bounced away.

“Thank you so much. Now I’d better make that carrot top juice. I’ll get the carrots, so please wait inside the house,” Rabbit said. Sora entered the house. Later, Rabbit returned.

“Oh, what a day! I gave Pooh the carrot top juice. All we have to do now is push him out. Just a little push should do,” he said. Sora ran and tackled Pooh out of the wall, sending him flying into a pile of honey pots. Piglet covered his eyes while Rabbit was in shock.

“First my vegetable patch and now this...” he said. Pooh sat up, a honey pot stuck over his head.

“Oh, bother. Where am I? It’s ever so dark in here. Well, it isn’t so bad, I suppose. There is plenty of honey,” he said. He laughed and Sora regrouped with Donald and Goofy in Merlin’s Study. They left Traverse Town and competed in the Pegasus Cup at the Olympus Coliseum. After making their way through the tournament, they spoke to Phil and Hercules.

“That was great! Looks like Phil’s trained another great hero!” Herc said.

“Is strength the most important part of a hero?” Sora asked.

“Well, what you really need is a strong heart. What makes a strong heart? If you have to ask, you’re not a hero yet!” Phil said.

“Stop talking in riddles!” Sora said.

“It’s not a riddle!” Phil said. Sora, Donald, and Goofy boarded the gummi ship and traveled to Atlantica.

“Okay, guys. Prepare for landing,” Donald said.

“Land where? In the sea? We’ll drown!” Sora asked.

“Not with my magic, we won’t. Just leave it to me.” Under the water, fish scurried away as Sora, Donald, and Goofy appeared in a flurry of bubbles. They inspected their new aquatic bodies. Sora had the tail of a dolphin, while Donald and Goofy were an octopus and a sea turtle, respectively. They swam around for a while, getting used to being underwater, before a mermaid and a small fish swam toward the alcove, followed by a red crab.

“Come on, Sebastian!” the mermaid said.

“Ariel, wait! Slow down! Don’t leave me behind!” Sebastian said. Sebastian came face to face with a glaring Donald and screamed. He swam away frantically while Sora paddled up to them.

“Relax, Sebastian. They don’t look like one of them. Right, Flounder?” Ariel said. She looked down to her fishy friend, who was hiding behind her.

“I don’t know. There’s something weird about them,” Flounder said. Sora laughed nervously.

“What do you mean?” he asked. Ariel swam around him.

“They do seem... a little different. Where are you from?” she said.

“We’re from kind of far away. And we’re not really used to these waters,” Sora said nervously while Goofy had a staring contest with Flounder. Sora continued to laugh nervously, not sure of what to say.

“Oh, I see. In that case... Sebastian can show you how we swim around here,” Ariel said.

“Ariel, King Triton will not like this!” Sebastian said. Ariel rolled her eyes and smiled

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said.

“Easy for you to say... Okay, it’s time you learn how to swim properly. Practice swimming with Flounder. Try to tag him. All right. Begin,” Sebastian said. Sora played tag with Flounder until he got the hang of swimming.

“Good job. Now let’s move onto self-defense,” Sebastian said.

“Sebastian!” Ariel scolded. He looked over to Ariel, who was pointing to the Heartless swimming toward them from the tunnel. Sebastian started swimming furiously as Ariel swam into a side cave.

“Class is over. Good luck!” Sebastian said. Sebastian closed himself and Flounder in a clamshell. Sora, Donald, and Goofy fought off the Sea Neon Heartless. Ariel swam back when they’re gone, and Sora opened the clamshell.

“Those creatures chased us here,” Ariel said.

“Oh, no! Those monsters might be heading for the palace, too!” Sebastian said.

“We’d better head back right away!”

“But, wh-what if we run into more on our way back?” Flounder asked. Ariel looked over at the trio.

“I’m sorry, but we need your help. Please come to the palace with us. The trident markers on the walls point the way there. We won’t get lost as long as we follow them. Okay, let’s get going,” she said. They swam to King Triton’s Palace, pursued by Heartless. As they entered the Throne Room, a bolt of lightning obliterated the Heartless.

“That was too close. As long as I have my trident, I will not tolerate those creatures inside this palace,” King Triton said.

“Daddy!” Ariel said as she swam up to him, smiling.

“Oh, Ariel! When will you listen? It’s dangerous out there!” Triton said. Ariel looked at him, guilty.

“Strange creatures lurk outside,” he said. He gazed at Sora, Donald, and Goofy with stern eyes.

“Behold. You swim before the ruler of the seas: His Majesty, King Triton,” Sebastian said as he cleared his throat.

“And who are they?” Triton asked.

“They helped us fight off those creatures,” Ariel said.

“They don’t look familiar,” Triton said, warily.

“We’re from an ocean very far away,” Sora said.

“Yup. We came to find the Keyhole and a friend of ours,” Goofy said as he swam around.

“The what?” Triton asked, stunned.

“What’s that?” Ariel asked.

“A-hyuck! Well, it’s a—”

“There’s no such thing! Certainly not here!” Triton interrupted, angrily.

“But, Daddy...” Ariel said.

“Ariel, not another word! You are not to leave the palace. Is that clear?” She scowled at him and swam away. Sora, Donald and Goofy swam after her. Triton sighed.

“Perhaps I’m being too strict... I’m just concerned for her safety,” Triton said as he watched them swim away.

“Of course, Your Majesty. But I must admit, now I’m quite curious about this Keyhole,” Sebastian said.

“That need not concern you, Sebastian. Have you anything to report?”

“Just as you suspected, Your Majesty, they seem to be coming from Ursula’s grotto.”

“I knew it. That sea witch is up to no good again.” Triton stroked his long white beard.

“I see exile from the palace has taught her nothing,” he said.

“Yes, she poses serious danger,” Sebastian said.

“And I told you to keep Ariel away from such danger, did I not?” Triton asked, sternly.

“Your Majesty, please, I, uh...” Sebastian said, nervously. Meanwhile, Ariel lead Sora, Donald, and Goofy to the Undersea Valley.

“Come to my grotto. I want to show you something,” she said as she pointed to a large boulder on the seafloor.

“There it is. See?” she said. They entered Ariel’s Grotto, which was filled with various thingamabobs from the human world.

“Look at all the wonderful things Flounder and I’ve collected. I think it’s all from the outside world,” she said. At the end of the room, there was a trident-shaped impression in the rock

“Someday, I’m going to see what’s out there. I want to see other worlds. Does that sound strange?” she said.

“No. Not at all. I used to feel the same way. And so did my friend,” Sora said.

“Used to?”

“I mean...I still do. I wonder if (Y/N) still does as well.”

“Who’s (Y/N)?”

“Oh. She’s the friend I’m looking for. She was kidnapped by someone and I want to find her before something bad happens to her.”

“I’m sure that you’ll find her. Hey, why don’t we try looking for that Keyhole you were talking about?”

“But your father said—”

“Oh, he treats me like a little girl. He never wants to let me do anything. He just... He just doesn’t understand.” Sebastian listened from behind a rock, with a sad look on his face while Sora and the others spoke to Flounder.

“There’s this really big fish who can swim against the current. But he’s scared of those weird things swimming around. So if we chase them away, I think the big fish’ll play with us. Maybe if you grab onto him, he’ll take you somewhere,” Flounder said. They swam out of the grotto, and two slippery eels came out of hiding. They each had a golden eye, glowing like their vicious grins. In her lair, the sea witch Ursula gazed into her cauldron at an image of Sora and Ariel, laughing to herself.

“Those impudent fools will never find the Keyhole. Or that wretched spirit, ” Ursula said. The image of Ariel floated out of the cauldron with Ursula’s hand movement.

“But the girl could prove useful. And I’ve got the Heartless on my side,” she said as her long tentacles swayed behind her.

“Triton, my old friend... Your day is coming,” she cackled loudly. Meanwhile, Sora, Donald, Goofy, and Ariel found a dolphin swimming in the Calm Depths. After eliminating the Heartless in the area, the dolphin let them ride it through the rough current to a large area with a Sunken Ship. They entered the ship and an ominous shape swam in the waters above. Once they reached a stateroom inside the sunken ship a huge shark crashed through the window, attempting to bite them. It was unable to swim inside the shape due to its size, so it swam away and waited for them to leave. Inside the ship they found a crystal trident inside a treasure chest.

“Hm. Its shape reminds me of something...” Ariel said. They left the ship, where Glut was waiting for them. After a persuasive battle, the shark gave up and swam away. They returned to Ariel’s Grotto and placed the crystal trident in the rocky impression.

“Ariel, you’ve disobeyed me again!” Triton said. They turned to see King Triton enter. Sebastian was on the floor.

“I told you not to leave the palace!” Triton said. He saw the crystal trident and was filled with anger. He raised his trident, which started to glow. Ariel tried to stop him.

“Daddy, no!” Ariel said. A bolt of lightning fired from the trident and destroyed the crystal.

“How could you...” Ariel said, sadly. She swam away from him and he turned his eyes on Sora.

“Young man, you’re not from another ocean. You’re from another world. Aren’t you?” he asked.

“Huh?” Sora asked, surprised.

“Then you must be the key bearer.”

“How did you know?”

“You may fool Ariel, but you can’t fool me. You don’t know your dorsal fin from your tail.”

“Aw...”

“As the key bearer, you must already know... One must not meddle in the affairs of other worlds.”

“Of course I know that, but...”

“You have violated this principle. The key bearer shatters peace and brings ruin.”

“Aw, Sora’s not like that,” Goofy said.

“I thank you for saving my daughter. But there is no room in my ocean for you or your key,” Triton said. He left the grotto, leaving Sora staring down at the Keyblade. Ariel was alone in the Undersea Garden, crying to herself, when the two devious eels arrived.

“My, my, the poor child suffers such deep sorrow,” Flotsam said. They swam around her in circles.

“What a pity. If only there were something we could do...” Jetsam said.

“Wait. Maybe she can be of some help,” Flotsam said.

“Yes. Maybe she can be of some help to you.”

“Who’re you talking about?” Ariel asked. They started swimming upwards in a spiral

“Oh, she would surely help you,” Flotsam said.

“She’d make all your dreams come true,” Jetsam said.

“Ursula can help...” The two of them said. In a flourish of ink, Ursula appeared.

“You called, my dear?” she asked as she smiled down at Ariel.

“You’re Ursula? I was just wondering if—” Ariel said, dauntingly.

“It’s all right. Helping others is what I live for. Let me guess. You wish to see other worlds. That shouldn’t be too hard. After all, your new friends came from another world,” Ursula said.

“What?” The witched swam closer to her.

“But they had special help—that mysterious key,” she said. Ariel looked toward the sea floor.

“Now, now. Cheer up, sweetie. You have something special, too,” Ursula said. The eels swam around them as Ursula leaned in closely.

“Now listen carefully. I think the Keyhole they seek is somewhere in the palace,” Ursula said. Ariel swam into the palace throne room.

“Now, my dear, if you can take me there without your daddy knowing...” Ursula said. Ariel turned as Ursula entered behind her.

“I can help you get to these other worlds you long for,” Ursula said. She saw the trident floating behind the throne, and smiled. After Ursula snatched the trident, she laughed evilly.

“The trident is mine at last! And I couldn’t have done it without your help, my dear,” she said. Ariel was at the throne beside her father, who looked terribly weak.

“Ursula, no! I didn’t want this!” she said.

“Why not? Aren’t you tired of following your dear daddy’s orders?” Ursula asked as the eels swam around them.

“Oh, yes. We had a deal, didn’t we? Time for a little journey—to the dark world of the Heartless!” Ursula said.

“We cannot find the Keyhole,” Flotsam said.

“The Keyhole is not here,” Jetsam said.

“What?” Ursula asked as she looked behind her to see Sora, Donald, and Goofy swim their way to her.

“Why, we have company. I’m afraid you’re a little late, handsome!” Ursula said. She chuckled, raising the trident and vanishing in a burst of ink just as they arrived. Ariel looked to King Triton.

“Daddy!” she said.

“The trident... We must get it back,” Triton said, feebly.

“Come on, let’s go!” Sora said. They started to swim out, but Ariel stopped them.

“Wait, I’m going with you! My father is hurt and it’s all my fault. I have to stop Ursula” she said. Sora nodded in agreement.

“That’s right. I’m right behind you, Ariel,” Sebastian said.

“Ursula draws power from her cauldron. To defeat Ursula, you must strike her cauldron with magic,” Triton said. They returned to the Sunken Ship area and found a large stone with the marking of a sea monster. Behind a sunken lifeboat nearby, there was an something embedded in the wall but Sora was unable to reach it.

“What is that thing?” he asked.

“Need some help? I’ll show you how it’s done,” Sebastian said. Sebastian swam between the lifeboat and the wall and pushed the small rock in the wall, causing the large leviathan rock to sink into the ocean floor. They entered the Den of Tides and followed it to Ursula’s Lair. Ursula crawled out of her shell, scowling.

“Come out! You can’t run!” Donald said.

“Your time has come!” Sebastian said. She swam towards them giving them a frightening look, scaring Sebastian and Donald. She tossed a potion into her cauldron, which started to glow. Goofy and Ariel started fighting off Flotsam and Jetsam while Sora and Donald striked her cauldron with magic.

“Sea and wind, hear my command!” she said. Goofy and Ariel knocked Flotsam and Jetsam unconscious and Sora sent a Thunder spell at Ursula’s cauldron, which ignited its contents, sending a burst of magic spilling out in all directions. Ursula was knocked out temporarily and Sora attacked with his Keyblade. Soon Ursula regained consciousness.

“Get up and fight!” she said. She healed Flotsam and Jetsam and began cackling, spinning wildly in the water. Donald casted an Aero spell on everyone to shield them from her whirling tentacles. Sora started striking her cauldron until it exploded again onto Ursula.

“No...Impossible!” she said. The foiled magic disintegrated Flotsam and Jetsam, to Ursula’s horror and she swam away in a fury.

“You’ll pay for this!” she said.

“Let’s go. We must get the trident back,” Ariel said. She taught Sora and company the Mermaid Kick and they caught up to Ursula in the Open Ocean.

“You pathetic fools! I rule the seas now!” Ursula said. She brandished the trident and spun upward. A wave of ink and darkness emanated from below as she began growing to an immense size. A crown appeared on her head and she towered over them.

“The sea and all its spoils bow to my power!” she said. They swam upward to escape from her crushing tentacles and she stared down at them with crazed eyes.

“Hey, you. Not so fast! Get ready for this!” she said. She spat out disorienting bubbles at them, which stopped them for a second, but they swam straight at her and began pummeling away. Suddenly, the current changed and Sora felt himself being swept upward towards her mouth. He swam away frantically as Ariel and Donald attacked from behind. He managed to get away just as she bit down.

“Hmph... Slippery little morsel,” Ursula said. Lightning struck around them, a defense mechanism, as they attacked her directly.

“You dare to strike me!” she said. She summoned an energy beam which she aimed at Sora, who began swimming around her to dodge it, but she continued circling, unwilling to let him escape. She caught her breath after the intense beam left her defenseless. Donald and Ariel continued attacking her head while Goofy went for her hand, which was still clutching the trident. She gathered strength again and lifted the trident high.

“This won’t be pretty!” she said. Several lightning bolts attacked the water around them, almost knocking them all out. Ursula, at her wit’s end, began inhaling water, dragging Sora toward her. Instead of swimming away, he used this to propel himself toward her and tackled her with the Keyblade right into her throat. She tried to scream, holding her hands to her throat as the water around her crackled with energy. She began flailing and disappeared in a flurry of darkness, leaving only the trident floating in a beam of light. They returned to the Throne Room and spoke to King Triton.

“Daddy, I’m so sorry,” Ariel said.

“Please don’t be angry with her,” Sora said.

“It’s my fault. You followed Ursula because... I wouldn’t let you follow your heart. And when you found that crystal, I lost my temper and destroyed it,” Triton said.

“Oh, yeah, the crystal! Why did you destroy it?” Goofy said.

“The crystal held the power to reveal the Keyhole. The Keyhole is dangerous. I had to keep you away from it at any cost.”

“Daddy...”

“Key bearer, I have one more request: Seal the Keyhole. My trident also holds the power to reveal the Keyhole. Will you do it?”

“Of course. That’s what we had in mind from the start.”

“Where is the Keyhole, Daddy?”

“You should know better than anyone. It’s in your grotto.”

“Really... Sora, let’s go.” They returned to Ariel’s Grotto and Ariel used the trident to reveal the Keyhole. Sora aimed his Keyblade at it and sealed it. Ariel floated over to him.

“Tell me, Sora. Your world, what’s it like?” Ariel said.

“Oh, about that... Sorry for lying to you,” Sora said.

“It’s okay. Besides, if you can travel to other worlds, maybe I can, too,” she smiled. She swam upwards in a spiral, looking towards the surface.

“So many places I want to see... I know I’ll get there someday. I’ll find a way somehow. I’m sure of it,” she said.

“Well, if you find it, do me a favor and leave me out of it,” Sebastian sighed.

“This is from my collection. I want you to have it.” Ariel handed Sora a keychain.

“Hope you find your friend soon,” she said.

“Thank you,” Sora said.

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