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saintsofwarding · 10 months

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WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by Keltii-tea

Chapter 16: A Corpse of A God

As soon as little Karl was able to walk after his Cadou implantation surgery, Miranda had tenderly cleaned the blood from his skin, her touch light, gentle over the still-healing suture scar that carved its way down the center of his chest.

Each touch of the cloth, warm and scented with soothing herbs, washed away the rusty gore, the smears of mold, the ache that wasn't mere pain but a deep wrongness all the way to his core, a heavy, dead sensation in the pit of his chest. A stillness. The thing that was inside him was sleeping, now, calm after its violent writhing that had made him lash out in horror, that had taken hold of his strange new sense, and with a sparking burst of power, had torn everything metal in the surgery into a deadly hurricane around him.

Miranda hummed as she worked. Karl stared at her, his lower lip trembling. She was wrong, she was different. Her sleek blonde hair was braided down the nape of her neck, her black and gold ceremonial regalia traded out for dark work clothes, a leather apron tied over the lot. Only her long black claws and her eyes- bright gold, like a wolf's- reminded him of what she truly was.

A monster. His mother had warned him about monsters. They don't just live in the woods, Karl, my darling. They live in the shadows and closets. Even under your bed. She'd crept up on him with hands crooked like claws, lunging with a growl to tickle him until he began to cry with laughter. Even I could be a monster!

Her black wings had brushed the ceiling, her glory dark and radiant. Karl hadn't watched when she struck the death blow against his mother. He'd stayed still, holding his breath, even as the stripe of his mother's blood reached for his toes under the crack of the closet door, even as he registered the shape beyond the door, sprawled there, broken and mauled, her face unrecognizable with scratch-marks, was his mother.

Mama, he wanted to cry, to crawl to her and shake her and make her get up, but he was too scared, and too little.

He heard the wailing of his baby brother in the cradle by the fire. He heard Mother Miranda's soft murmuring, heard her coo to him.

He didn't remember the exact moment when the baby's cries had stopped, abruptly cut off. He must have made himself forget. He wished he could make himself forget all of it.

Now, Miranda daubing away the blood, he began to cry. A sniffle at first, then real tears, big and messy.

"Oh," Miranda breathed. "Oh, dear, oh, dear. Sweet boy." She ceased her cleaning and reached up to cup his face in her hands. "Why are you crying?"

"I wanna go home."

"Silly." She'd stroked his cheek with her thumb, smoothing it over the healing scar on his cheek. The metal he'd summoned had gashed it open. "You are home."

As she spoke, the memories in his head, they'd...softened. They began to melt on the edges, like butter in a pan, and when Karl reached for them they slipped from him, further and further, softer and softer, running through his fingers.

That was when the hand slid into his head. A cold pressure. A presence. he pushed against it, his heartbeat spiking, the heaviness in his chest waking; movement unfurled, and as his breathing quickened the air began to crackle with little spits of blue electricity.

"That's it," Miranda whispered.

"No," Karl whimpered. "Please don't."

"You don't need to be scared." The hand's grip tightened. Karl felt it down in the pit of his stomach. "You don't need to be frightened. Only of me, if I get angry."

A soft laugh. "And you're never going to make me angry, are you?"

The memories slid away, and so did the pressure of her power in his mind, and with it it tore something loose; he collapsed against her, and her arms enfolded him, gathering him to her, holding him even while he shivered against her, doubly horrified, though now he could not so much as explain why.

"That's my child," she whispered. "My perfect, special child. You and I are going to be happy together. Just keep being obedient, and you'll never have to worry about a thing."

I want to go home, Karl thought, but there was no longer any sense of what home was. It was gone, too, and all he had was her.

She stole all his memories over the years, stole or rifled through, though some Heisenberg learned to hide; those were the precious ones, the memories too strong with rage or grief for her to touch, stuck inside him like railway spikes hammered through whatever was left of his soul. They'd all begun to come back, after Rose; maybe Miranda hadn't so much stolen his memories as suppressed them, as reshaped them.

After all, a gracious god saving a poor, scared little boy from a life of mortal village misery was a good thing, right?

He thought of Rose, and the days after they'd escaped the village and the BSAA after. Thought of drifting off, catatonic with exhaustion, only to jolt awake at the soft sound of her weeping. Thought of cleaning the dirt from her face, the mold tears from her cheeks. The ferocity he'd felt when she looked at him with a grateful little smile. Anything touched her, anything hurt her, he'd destroy it to the roots.

He'd burn it to the ground before it could go after his girl.

You're safe with me, kid.

And now?

Now, he watched Mia Winters limp ahead, wrapped in his coat against the passageway's chill. No use in her freezing before they got to where they were going. Her head was lowered, but her eyes were bright in the humming lamplight. He'd scrapped together the lamp from a few bits and pieces scrounged up from the church, and now it shone with a powerful blue-tinged beam, illuminating the tunnel around them.

Natural stone, mostly, slick reddish rock; every so often they'd pass by the crumbling brick supports to hell-if-he-knew, or stumble down a set of hand-chiseled steps, centuries of water warping them out of shape. Mostly, these tunnels were a purgatory of nothing, darkness and echoes, the taste of damp on the backs of his teeth. But he'd grown up in this place, had spent decades wandering the black reaches of the subterranean ways. Had gotten his first taste of them young.

After Miranda had licked clean his memories, she'd taken him from the sanctum and into the Black God's chamber itself.

Little Karl had expected to be cowed, overwhelmed, standing as he was in the presence of a god, but instead he was filled with confusion, revulsion. A great, throbbing mass, a pulsing growth of pinkish flesh illuminated by torches, swollen into...an image flashed through his head, a baby in a cradle, a woman's hands rocking it back and forth, but then it was gone, and he wondered why he'd thought of it at all.

This thing was kind of shaped like a baby, but vast, hanging above them from ropes of mucus and tissue, suspended in the grand chamber's heart. Statues of saints stood in niches, and everywhere, water, seeping from cracks in the rock walls.

A vibration filled the air. A beat. A heartbeat. It thrummed in Karl's chest, and the thing inside him writhed as if in response.

His eyes stung. Was he going to cry again?

"This is our benefactor," Miranda had explained. "Bestower of our holy gifts. The dreaming-one, the one who gives life, the one who remembers."

She sank to a knee beneath its hanging mass, and after a beat Karl did, too. The air around it was muggy, hazy, scented like...like the yard after a pig slaughter, tangy and metallic and richly organic.

"It is thanks to the Black God that we live again after its holy gift takes root within us," Miranda said.

Karl knew he should be silent, like in church, but he couldn't help but speak up. "Why?" he asked.

"What?"

"Why does it do that? Bring things back?"

Miranda's golden eyes cut to him. "All that it touches are stored within its dreams," she said. "Everyone who lives...who dies...within its grasp, it remembers. And it loves them. It loves them so much it can never forget them."

Her voice had shaken. It was the first time- the only time, until the end- that Karl saw the cracks in her facade, the gaps in her carefully-built persona. The rest was rage and control, glory and feigned benevolence, the play-acted sorrow of a messiah to her worshippers. But this, this he knew. This was a grief like nothing else. Something lost, and yearned for, desperately.

"So you can get things back?" he piped up. "From the Black God?"

"Yes," Miranda told him, and reached out to stroke his hair, already turning brittle and gray. "A merciful god, no?"

But now the Black God was dead. It had been blasted into jelly, the megamycete and Miranda alike turned to ash when Ethan set off the bomb.

How could she have survived in Mia?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Mia rasped in the darkness.

"Huh?"

"You usually never shut up. You've been monosyllabic ever since we walked by that weird stalactite formation you said looked like an- eggplant."

"I didn't say eggplant, sweetheart."

"This is a PG-13 rated death march from hell, thank you very much," Mia said.

She fell silent for a little bit, their footsteps echoing off the walls.

"So," she went on. "Penny for your thoughts."

"Oh, just considering how I want to start cutting you up to excise Miranda's moldy goo. I thought I'd make a nice incision down the sternum, peel back the skin and fat from the ribs, dig around for a bit-"

"Okay, okay."

"Just little things to make me smile."

"Whatever," Mia muttered.

More silence. Water dripped from above; Heisenberg couldn't wait until he got a hat back. He watched Mia walking ahead of him, her head lowered, her face hidden behind her hair.

"Miranda," he said.

"Huh?"

"I was thinking about Miranda. How she used to-" He waved his hand through the air. "Ah, you don't need to hear my personal problems, sweetheart, just what the fuck's gonna happen to you if she claws her way out of your bones and takes you over."

He grinned at her, but she didn't look back to acknowledge it. Disappointing. "Not gonna be pretty once-"

"Cut the shit and let's just keep moving," she snapped.

"Well, excuse me. I thought you liked hearing about childhood trauma-"

"What I did-" Mia cut in.

She fell silent.

"What I did was inexcusable," she went on. "The work for the Connections. The work for Ouroboros. But I swear to you, all I want now is to get Ethan out and see Rose again. To make sure she's safe-"

"To be a family again?" Heisenberg said.

"Is that so terrible?"

"Hm." He considered. "Family is overrated. Better to make one for yourself."

"Like your toy soldiers?"

"Sure." He thought of Rose's little face when she was a child, shivering as he wrapped his coat around her, and smiling all the same. She'd looked on him with such trust it made him sick. "Let's go with that."

"Hmm," Mia said.

She didn't sound like she believed him for one second.

"Listen, Mia." Heisenberg waved a hand through the electric beam. In lieu of a battery, he had to stop and send a jolt of his power through the thing's innards, keep it wound tight and ticking. "We're both terrible people. Let's not try and delude ourselves that we can be better ones."

"What are we doing right now, then?"

"Trying to stop an even more terrible one from coming back."

"And if she does?" Mia said. She slowed and turned, looking straight at him. "If you can't stop her?"

Her eyes glinted in the light, motes of dust or pollen winking like stars as they drifted through the air. She had the look of a half-turned lycan, battered and bruised and bloodied as she was, her hands clutching his coat at her neck, her hair in unwashed strings around her face.

But through it, or maybe because of it, he saw again that sharpness to her, that edge he'd noted before, on the mountainside, when she'd told him how she'd poisoned him to ensure her own survival. Had she looked that way when she was Eveline's plaything, sawing up innocents in the middle of the swamp, the way he'd hunted people down for Miranda and crushed their skulls into paste?

Oh, they'd both done bad things, all right. If the world was fair they'd both be dead and gone. But, like she'd said, it was hypocrisy for Heisenberg to claim any kind of moral high ground over her. In that way, they were both on equal footing.

"I'll try my best to kill you," he said.

She nodded.

"Say, you don't have any more of that necrotoxin shit, do you?"

"It's all in your veins now, Heisenberg."

He gave an exaggerated shrug. "Shame. Well. I'm sure I can dream something up."

"You promise?"

"What?"

"You won't let her return."

"Trust me, Mia," Heisenberg said. "I spent my whole goddamn life dreaming up ways to annihilate that bird bitch. I'll end her a second time if it kills me."

A hint of a smile. "Maybe that would be a good thing."

"Now you're talking." He pushed past her and stuck his thumb into the air. "Hey, you feel that?"

"No."

"It's a draft." He hurried on, lifting the lamp. "Hurry up. We're almost there!"

The path converged up ahead. One fork echoed off and off into a deeper chamber; from within Heisenberg heard the bass bellow of something huge. Better to not deal with that right now. The other twisted upward, walls narrowing, niches in the stone filled with burnt-out candles. At last they reached a shaft that soared straight upward, a rusty ladder visible above, set on a catch-release. A flick of his hand sent it screeching down, ends sinking into the mud at their feet.

Heisenberg let his awareness seep outward and upward.

There you are.

A vast field of metal hummed at his senses, a relief like sinking into a hot bath after a long day of aches and pains. He took the ladder at a scramble, floating the lantern up ahead of him, so it drifted above his head as he climbed like some bizarre moon.

The light glanced off a hatch with a crank handle; he sent it crashing open and heaved himself through, onto metal and rock flooring.

His heart hammered. His breathing echoed away and away, off a vast, cold, metallic darkness, a rusting cathedral of shadow and the snaking traces of huge pipes, winding off into the black reaches of the place. Heisenberg let out a laugh, raw and maniacal, as Mia climbed out after him, crouching by his feet, her eyes wide as she took the place in.

"Look at it, Winters!" Heisenberg cried, spreading his arms. The light cascaded ahead of them, illuminating the piles of scrap higher than his head, the cobwebs hanging like ghosts, the black expanse of oily runoff that stretched into the darkness. "Have you ever seen anything so glorious?"

"Where the hell are we?" Mia said. "Some kind of junkyard?"

"Not just any junkyard." He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. "Mia Winters, welcome to the factory."

***

Fifteen years had not been kind to this place.

When he'd left it, his factory was a living thing, vast engines pulsing like hearts, the walls alive with the rattle of steam and coolant, water-pipes and cabling. Lights burned, hot red and blue-white; every shadow was alive with the tick and skitter of his creations. Soldaten everywhere, ready to deploy or half-assembled; even Sturm, the distant roar of his propeller punctuating each day with a stab of blinding annoyance on Heisenberg's part.

It became a piece of his routine to kick open various grates and yell abuse at him until the creature either shut up or blundered off somewhere to rip open more walls and destroy yet more of his stuff. He'd begun to run out of glass beakers, dammit.

And when his metal army finally marched, they were a river of corpse flesh and rusty metal, red glow and the reek of rot and gasoline, heading toward the ceremony site to kick undue ass.

Now, all of that was gone. Even with the lamp, it was slow going, an agonizing blunder through the darkness, tripping over scrap and meeting closed door after closed door. They made their slow way upward, Heisenberg forcing the doors open with his power, Mia cursing as she snagged herself on yet another piece of razor-sharp whatever.

"Hope you got your tetanus shot," Heisenberg said.

"You sure this place has an end?" She glanced over a railing, down into an abyss of vast pistons and defunct engines, each roughly the size of a city bus, moving parts poised in midair like a bird's wings frozen in flight. Now, long strings of cobweb fluttered from them, grease long-since dried to an oily crust.

"Yeah, yeah, listen, when you have the means-" He grit his teeth. Blue sparks spat, and the doors before them slammed open, crumpling under the force of his will. "-and the time, you get shit done."

"Eighty-five years is a hell of a lifespan, that's for sure," Mia said.

A little jolt went off in his chest. "Huh?"

She blinked at him. "You don't-" She stopped. "Oh," she breathed.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You...uh. Ouroboros had files on you," she said. "I suppose they wanted as much information as possible to better control you. You're ninety-four years old. Born in-"

"Stop."

"-Huh?"

"Stop. I don't want to know. Any of it."

"There's more. It-"

"I said I don't want to know."

"But it's your life. Who you were- before. Where you came from."

"You say that like you can handle that amount of self-reflection."

"Touché." Mia paused. "If you ever do want to know-"

"I won't." Heisenberg stared off into the dark. "But you'd better hope that when you're my age you look as good as I do."

She let out a weak laugh. "Right, right. I mean, maybe with a good shower, a new set of clothes, you'd-"

Her words cut off with a cry; she stumbled against the wall, bracing a hand against the damp-stained concrete. Heisenberg turned on her. He stared at her as she clutched her chest, shoulders heaving. He curled a finger; the pipes around them began to rattle and hum.

"Mia," he said.

"Something's..." She gasped for breath. "For a second, I saw..."

"What?"

"I...I don't know. Just a flash. I thought it was..." She shook her head. "Can't be."

"Let's not play don't-tell-Ethan-he's-moldy, now."

"Shut the fuck up," she hissed. "It was Miranda. Just for a moment I saw her. I think it was a memory. She looked...happy?"

"It'll be the last time she does." He grabbed her arm, releasing his control over the metal around them. "Hurry it up. Workshop's just through here."

Well, relatively. It was a rough climb through service tunnels, up an empty cargo elevator shaft, through cavernous loading bays and under assembly lines, hooks dangling in the still air, now empty of their soldat burdens. Galleries of disused parts and pieces of dismantled weaponry, chimaeric vehicles sprouting gun turrets and spiked treads, drills waiting to be grafted on the amputated stumps of arms. Turbine chambers and waste chambers and chambers he'd forgotten even existed. At last they clambered through a service door and into corridors he recognized well.

"Fuck," Heisenberg muttered. Part of the wall had collapsed in his absence, spilling a vast slew of broken rock and concrete down into the runoff. One of his loading machines lay in the runoff like a beached whale, the thick, dark water slopping at its flanks.

"What's wrong?"

"Door to the pertinent workshop is behind all this shit."

"Can't you move it?"

"Yeah, but it's gonna take time and not be entertaining whatsoever." He heaved a sigh. "Fine. Stand back."

She edged backward on the slab of broken concrete, closer to the water.

"Careful," Heisenberg told her. "The runoff's corrosive. Fall into that and your healing factor won't matter- it'll strip you to the bone in seconds."

"Toss me in if the surgery doesn't work," Mia said.

Piece by piece, Heisenberg heaved the collapse aside, using buried beams and scrap metal as leverage to move anything his magnetism didn't affect. Slowly the doors emerged, massive and weighty, molded with his house crest, a horseshoe enclosing the bridled head of a horse.

Miranda had given him the crest along with the factory, along with his new identity- the crest of the ancient House Heisenberg, she'd announced, running her golden talons over the carved cave wall, candles illuminating the relief with their unsteady glow. Strong and resilient. Just like you, Karl. The blood of kings runs through your veins, and feeds the Black God's gift. That's why the Black God chose you. It knew you were worthy.

Bullshit, of course; he was about as far from being royalty as anyone could be. Miranda herself was...he didn't know, really, but there wasn't a fifth house, a fifth king. She had likely been just as much a mutt as him and Alcina and Moreau. Donna was the only one with any direct claims to her noble house, and look what the inbreeding had done to her.

Was it always lies for Miranda? Or had any of that reverence been real? For all the years he'd spent with her he knew almost nothing about her. That had been her gift- she'd changed herself, whether literally or otherwise, into exactly who she needed to be to accomplish her next goal. And but for moments, until the end, that gift had served her without fail.

The last piece of rubble shot into the darkness, and in the dust cloud the doors stood unobstructed. Without hesitation Heisenberg sent them slamming open and strode into the dark rooms beyond. Dank and low-ceilinged, these workshops he usually reserved for the messy work of eviscerating the corpses brought to him by entrepreneurial villagers, by his haulers, by himself, breaking out the ol' shovel and going to town on a fresh plot. After the guts were gone the conversion process as he'd developed it was simple- pump in the artificial blood, stick a reactor in with the Cadou, wind him up, and watch him go.

Now, the stench of fresh gore had faded, the big tubs he loaded the guts into empty save for a dark, scummy stain down their sides. Pale fungus sprouted from corners, and a rime of dust lay thickly over everything in sight, the casting machine's flames long-since gone out. A sheaf of x-rays lay scattered like translucent leaves- cross-sections of soldaten heads, their mechanical modifications lit up like fairy lights.

"Well, it's no honeymoon suite," he announced, kicking aside a gurney and sending a wrench into midair with a flick of his fingers. He made it revolve, slowly, over his palm. "Still, it should do- ah, shit-"

"What is it now?" Mia stood awkwardly in the middle of the workshop, looking around with a clear expression of you live like this?

Heisenberg shook a green glass bottle at her, plucked from a nearby shelf full of the things. "Fuckin' chemicals are all dried up. I can synthesize more, but without this going-" he kicked the furnace under the casting machine, "-I might as well be working with sticks and rocks."

"How do you get it started?"

"Need to get the main power back online. Reactor. Big reactor." He showed her with his hands. "That thing was made to outlast me, sweetheart, so don't you dare suggest it's not gonna work. Just need to get the damn thing switched, that's all, get the hydroelectric turbines hot, then we're in business."

"I wasn't about to suggest anything," Mia said calmly. "Except that I go turn it on while you prep in here."

Heisenberg rounded on her. She stared back, resolute.

"Mia," Heisenberg said.

He slapped the wrench down into her hand. She flinched.

"No offense," he went on, "but out of the two of us, I'm the one who can hurl metal objects at near sound barrier-breaking levels, so I'm the one that has the better chance of accomplishing the necessary shenanigans."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Who knows what moved into this place while I was gone." He rummaged around, coming up with a pair of ancient radios, showering grit. "Besides, I need you to handle the up-here side of getting the power going. And if you start growing feathers-"

"Just come back in one piece," Mia said, yanking the radio from his hand.

"And, uh, if it all goes badly," he said, with a leer, "what piece do you want back the most?"

"Any will do," Mia told him, "except your mouth." and faced away from him, already clearing the junk off a steel operating table.

***

Jerry-rigged as it was, and in constant need of repair, Heisenberg knew his way to the reactor rooms blind, deaf, half-dead, and temporarily missing a limb, the last by first-hand experience. He found the crawlway, slid down the ladder, landed with a huff and a cloud of dust in the lower level corridor.

"Still there, Mia?" he said into the radio.

"Shockingly."

Heisenberg clicked on his belt flashlight, another piece of equipment scavenged from the workshop. Its dull, ruddy glow illuminated enough to see by, not enough to burn in his sensitive, nocturnal eyes. It would do until he unearthed a spare set of smoked glasses. "Listen, when I start up the power you're gonna need to do a couple things for me."

"Yes?"

"Over by the casting machine there's a bank of controls. Big. You see it?"

"Sure do."

"Right, right, so find the big red button-"

"There are like six big red buttons here."

"Find the big red fucking button that says power, Mia, what's that between your ears, marshmallow fluff?"

"If you don't want help, Heisenberg-"

"No, no, no, all right, you got the button?"

"Right here."

"Good. Soon as I give you the signal give it a push. Should get the machinery in there hot without anything, say, blowing up and giving you a nice suntan."

"Should?"

He let out a guffaw. "It'll be fine, Mia! And if it's not-"

"Just do your part," Mia interrupted, "and I'll do mine."

Heisenberg grinned and stuck the radio super close to his face to whisper "Atta girl." He hooked it onto his belt next to the flashlight.

These guts of the factory had been hacked out over decades by Heisenberg's haulers, by colossal digging machines drilling down into the village bedrock, chewing massive tunnels and shafts deep into the earth. Heisenberg had always wondered how deep he could go before Miranda's control over him broke; though, he supposed, she'd just calcify him the moment he tried to escape. She'd threatened him with that fate enough times.

But what could be down below? More tunnels and caves? Another part of the megamycete, or another megamycete altogether, a fungal network that would put the one near the surface to shame? More monsters, locked in the darkness for thousands of years?

A crystal city, lost since before the first histories of this place had been recorded?

The corridors down here were tight, wandering. He made his way through, down hatches and under huge pipes made to carry water through the factory, looking like nothing so much as massive intestines. Half of this place he'd rarely been to; haulers had constructed a lot of it, and he saw a lot of them as he got closer to the reactor room.

Well, what remained of them, anyway, just crystallized skeletons with ragged, broken teeth and the rusty remnants of control devices bolted to their craniums. Dead Cadou lingered in their chest cavities, tentacles delicate as glass sculptures, preserved in this still, dry air.

He rounded a corner. They swam from the darkness before him: twin doors painted bright red, emblazoned with hazard warnings. Heisenberg shoved his way through. Rusted hinges screamed into the darkness beyond, echoes lapping away and away.

He grinned, stepping onto the narrow metal catwalk beyond and leaning on its railing. "Mia," he said into the radio. "I gotta say. You're missing out."

The great boreshaft plunged into nothingness, its limits lost in shadow, smooth concrete transitioning to rough rock a few dozen yards down. Above, suspended on a scaffolding of massive chains and cables, the reactor hung like some great cyborg heart, loose coolant tubes swinging in the draft from the door.

Huge ducts fed into it from higher up- those conveyed the water that would get the hydroelectricity running, and from the faint rumbling in the walls around him, the water was the one thing in this damn factory that hadn't broken or fallen to pieces during his absence.

When Heisenberg had made this thing, he'd thought to himself how much it looked like a metal version of the megamycete. Now, he had the same thought: both were dead, a long-ago source of power now a corpse.

"You found it?" Mia's voice crackled from the radio.

"Sure did. Looks all right, too." He stepped over a hauler husk, catwalk groaning under his weight. The narrow walkway encircled the boreshaft, chewed in places with holes. "Just gotta- and hey, presto-"

He found the control panel and flicked a bank of toggle switches. "Hey presto," he said again. He gave the control panel a kick. "Hey- argh- it has to work, it has to- you're not seriously telling me that this worthless useless- c'mon, you fucking-"

No lights came on. Heisenberg turned and squinted up at the reactor. No tell-tale thunder of water through the ducts, no thrum of power sparking the great heart to life.

"Fuck," he spat.

He slammed the switches on, crashed his fist into the emergency jump-start button. Nothing happened. A puff of dust issued from the control panel.

"Something wrong?" Mia said.

"Wouldn't you fucking like to know." He turned and sprang atop the railing to get a closer look at the reactor, shining his flashlight upward. Nothing looked wrong, nothing but-

Ah.

"Fuck," he said again.

A little sigh hissed through the radio. "...Yes?"

"Looks like I was right, Mia, as per fucking usual." He narrowed his eyes as he took in the problem with the reactor. "I'm not alone down here."

#saints of warding #re8 fanfiction #re8 fic #karl heisenberg #rosemary winters #mia winters #mother miranda #ethan winters #eveline #resident evil village #resident evil #alcina dimitrescu #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #chapter 16

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

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hole in the wall

In a party for the ages, Shouto comes across a room with hole in the wall that has him coming back for more.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, PWP, cult activity, drug mention, alcohol consumption, glory hole, cursing, degradation, praise, possessive jealous!shouto, stuck in the wall, spanking, overstim, bruising, bleeding, breeding

word count: 7,831

a/n: read the fucking warnings bro, im tired, I hate formatting, here’s to finally writing what I wanna write! also, this is for a lovely bnharem collab that kept getting pushed back... make sure to read the intro to understand my story! anyways, gloryholes is peak anonymous sex and I just,,, if thats the only way imma get to suck shoutos cock, I will. I had something else to say... I forgot. oH THIS IS WRITTEN IN A NEW STLYE-ISH??? porn from shoutos pov!!!

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Traditionally, when people think of the connection between heroes and cults, they expect that the heroes eradicate the cults, not that the heroes are a part of a cult.

It was somewhat ironic that a group of people who advocated for public safety, for the wellbeing of every citizen of the country - the world - would demand compensation in areas that didn't involve financial compensation. Heroes saved the day countless amounts of times, but when they needed... help at night because they've been so busy saving the world, there needed to be compensation.

It had shocked nearly everyone within the hero community when none other than Yaoyorozu Momo brought them a solution. For nothing more than loyalty to saving the day, all heroes granted the benefit of joining the Savior of Eight Million, an… organization brought forth by the prodigious hero. It had shocked the hero community at first that the once thought of a modern-day princess, putting together a wicked group that served the beastly needs of heroes, was almost laughable. But as time passed, as trials tested the organization (cult), the more heroes realized how lucky they were that it was Yaoyorozu who created this.

The Yaoyorozus, in all their riches and connections, made this group untouchable.

Police were bought off, apprehended, silenced.

Heroes with the savior complex were put down.

Villains were never believed.

The Savior of Eight Million held ties with the greatest, the most esteemed people in the world. The parties were unworldly, dripping with diamonds and gold, the sweet smell of champagne barely drowning out the bitter acidic and burning plastic smell of the drugs used vicariously at their gatherings. All heroes joined, politicians and celebrities fought to get in, and commoners wished they could be the servants of the night, whether that meant they would be serving food, drinks, or drugs, or allowing the heroes to do what this was all started for: to fuck them.

Of course, it didn't help that each commoner was paid for their service, discretion, and loyalty. Those who attempted to give away the secrets of the nights were always taken care of, and every gathering after someone tried to snitch, there was always a complaint that a sex slave just wasn't good enough.

Yaoyorozu Momo was a sweet girl, a helpful woman. She was a hero.

Heroes far and wide grovel at her feet in thanks, and even more surprisingly, even her old class supported this. Oh, how great life was when you were the most significant, greatest, and most untouchable cult in history.

To Todoroki Shouto, well, he didn't really have an opinion on this all, not really at least.

The cult - the organization, was created to help out heroes such as himself live comfortably while having such a busy lifestyle. His sex drive had never been that high, with his twenty-fifth birthday approaching, he could count on his two hands the number of times he'd been attended to with the help of the organization within the past five years.

Yes, two years after debuting as heroes, Momo had approached the graduate class with her plan. Todoroki Shouto could never deny a friend, especially not someone as smart and intentional as Yaoyorozu Momo. He had been one of the first - if not the first - voice to approve of her project.

However, the fifth-anniversary gathering (it was not a party) was finally here. Two months ago, the first round of reminders came around in the form of a beautifully handwritten card by their fearless yet kind leader. Shouto wondered if she really had handwritten each and every card, or if she had created it with her quirk - while he wasn't that heavily involved, he was not ignorant to the numbers of the cult, group, organization.

TO TODOROKI SHOUTO,

I WRITE THIS LETTER TO ASK IF YOU WILL BE JOINING US IN TWO MONTHS FOR ONE OF THE MANY GREATEST CELEBRATIONS WE - THE MEMBERS OF THE SAVIOR OF EIGHT MILLION - WILL HAVE FOR OUR FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF BEING SUCH A WELL RECEIVED AND INFLUENTIAL ORGANIZATION. I AM GRATEFUL TO RELAY THAT OUR ESTEEMED MEMBERS BAKUGOU-SAN AND MIDORIYA-SAN WILL BE HOSTING OUR EVENT!

I FEEL AS IF WE HAVE NOT SEEN EACH OTHER IN SO LONG, TODOROKI-SAN, AND I MISS YOU SO DEARLY. I HOPE THINGS IN YOUR LIFE HAVE BEEN FINE AND THAT WE SHOULD MEET UP AS SOON AS POSSIBLE! PLEASE MAKE SURE TO RESPOND TO THE RSVP TO EITHER JIROU-SAN, KAMINARI-SAN, OR ME!

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, YAOYOROZU MOMO

The letter had been kind, inviting, and so fleeting it made Shouto feel like he needed more from one of his most missed and trusted friend. Still, there would be time to catch up with everyone, no use in pushing now.

Grabbing his phone, Shouto typed in Momo's contact name into the search bar, tongue swiping his lower lip while he typed in his message and sent it. He had never been one for these parties. Too often, there were just too over-the-top. The festivities and friends were fun, but having to fight the impossible crowds for a moment of peace kept him from attending.

A truly mundane member.

But this was different after all, it wasn't every day that they celebrated five great years of service.

I'll be going, Yayorozu.

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Two months went by before Shouto had even realized it.

In those two months, he had received a formal invitation with a day and time.

2X28, OCTOBER 23

STARTING FROM 20:00

Of course, the lack of an address is a precaution for keeping their organization out of the limelight should they be betrayed. Events of all shapes and sizes were always planned by the upper board of the organization. Only a specific few knew the place where the night would befall, and the rest of the members would be brought to the festivities by a chauffeur provided by the Yaoyorozu's. Getting to and from the party was always stressfree, no matter what befell that night, their safety of getting home was still safe.

The invitation was tucked away into the inside pocket of his jacket, it was his ticket to getting into the party, and it was best to not leave it behind.

With the invitation now securely placed into his jacket, the smooth inflexible material stiff against his chest, Shouto stared into the mirror he stood before.

An elegant full-length mirror reflected his image to him, and truth be told, he was impressed with his presentation.

A charcoal grey Italian suit trimmed glinting silver nearly gleamed against the white light; the jacket was undone, exposing the white-collared long-sleeved shirt underneath. Typically, Shouto was a tie man, but the sleek black tie he was to wear lay hanging on the hanger, the first few buttons of the shirt undone. It highlighted his toned chest, the few pale scars on his chest just visible enough on his exposed skin to look like it was intensional. He looked good.

His fingers touched his hair, the once long style had been cut in a recent fight with a villain. It hadn't mattered much to Shouto, and in fact, the sudden haircut had spiked his overall ratings. It was short now, just long enough for his fingers to graze through the locks. It was slicked back, the swirl of red and white mixing and strands of red falling into his sight.

“Todoroki-sama, the car is here.”

Shouto didn't bother turning to the attendee, his gaze taking him in one last time.

"I'll be there."

His footsteps were quiet in the hallway, his waxed shiny black shoes gleaming in his hands as he walked to the front room. He slipped on the tight shoes and looked up to his servant, who stood at the front door with a patterned, black mask.

Nodding, he grabbed the mask and slipped it inside of his jacket as well.

A kitsune.

"Safe journey."

"I'll be back tonight."

And into the car, he went, the warm smell of leather and spices filling the backseat of the self-driving car. Shouto relaxed against the black leather, his eyes staring at the road while he slipped the mask out from his jacket. There was no reason to don the mask while stepping out of the house, being caught with it at his home always smelled trouble.

In the car's silence, his fingers rested onto his lap, his lips set into a firm line while his thoughts lingered to what was to come at this party.

The last time Bakugou and Midoriya hosted anything, it had ended with an overall disaster. Thankfully then it had been for their agency's founding party and not something dealing with the organization. But before he could muster the will to seek out further information on the private event, he realized that the car was already pulling into the large mansion where the event was being held.

People emerged from the cars before his own, the sleek masks donning on their faces, keeping their identities from unwanted eyes. The covers were specially made by none other than Yaoyorozu with the assistance of Hatsume Mei to ensure that those who wore it would be unrecognizable unless they were within a certain radius.

A small puff of air escaped Shouto's lips as his car pulled up to the unloading zone, and his strong fingers slipped on the mask before the car door opened. With the confidence and power, only those who worked as a top-ranked hero had Shouto emerged from the car immediately greeted by the entrance staff.

With his hands moving to button his jacket, he nodded his head when receiving information on what to expect upon entering. Shouto felt like he nodded forever while making his way up the entrance of the event, his hand reluctantly offering his phone and wallet over and receiving a ticket for retrieving it. Of course, the ticket came the bundle of condoms.

An eyebrow arched under the mask, and Shouto couldn't help the amused smirk that befell his lips as he pocketed the condoms.

The fuckers made this a sex party.

Why they even bothered to deny that they were a cult was beyond him at this point.

But as the grand doors opened, Shouto couldn't help but tense at the room's mixing aroma.

The sweet smell of champagne bubbled in his nose, wafting in powerfully with the perfumes secreting from every person in the room. If it had been his first time at an event like this, Shouto would have missed the undertone of burning plastic in the air. His eyes followed a civilian dressed up in a zebra zentai bodysuit holding a silver powder with most definitely not cocaine to who looked like the Prime Minister since he had his mask on.

Rolling his eyes, Shouto walked further into the room, ignoring the offers of drugs and alcohol as he carried on.

"Todoroki, my man! You made it!" came the loud and energetic voice of Kaminari Denki.

It shouldn't have shocked Shouto to immediately be swarmed with who looked like Kirishima (who wore a mask resembling a bear) and Kaminari (who had his mouse resembling mask resting on around his neck), who by the smell at least, were not sober.

"You're the last one to show up, dude! We almost thought you were gonna flake!" Kirishima added, his hand coming to land on Shouto's shoulder, his lips perked into a broad smile. "Everyone else decided to join the orgy room a few minutes ago, but this guy here—" he made a pointed jab at Kaminari's chest. "Was causing a large enough disturbance that we were kicked out."

"Bro, it's not my fault that those dummy civilians can't handle a few jolts of pain!"

"You literally electrocuted everyone in that orgy and left everyone unable to speak for a solid minute, bro!"

"Everyone else is here?" Shouto interrupted rather impressed to here that even Mineta was invited to this party - or maybe he had snuck in - choosing to ignore the mention of an orgy room.

Typical cult things, he reminded himself.

"Yeah, Denki and I don't have to go in tomorrow, so we pre-gamed at his place before coming. Sero did too, but after a few minutes of talking with some trapeze girl, they went into a room and well…" Kirishima trailed off, letting Shouto put two and two together. "Mina is flirting with the crown prince, Yaomomo and Jirou are in the orgy room, Bakugou and Midoriya seem to be micromanaging everything—"

"Those two need sex the most out of the entire class! Have you ever seen a bigger work pole up anyone's asses than in those two?!" Kaminari groaned, his fingers roughly rubbing the skin of his face, and Shouto laughed softly in agreement. It was somewhat ironic that their virgin classmates were the ones who organized and put together a sex party.

"I can't begin to imagine Midoriya having sex. Although that man is basically becoming sex on legs," Kaminari continued to gripe, Shouto grunting softly in thanks when Kirishima handed him a cup filled to the near brim with a copper liquid that burned smoothly down his throat. Shouto grimaced as he managed to down the entire thing. "I can see Bakugou just blowing a hole into the wall and fucking it and considering that sex. Ain't nobody normal who can — OH MY GOD!"

Shouto looked at his friend with nearing annoyance; however, the alcohol already taking a humming effect over his body made the annoyance slip easily.

"Bro, you're gonna get us kicked out of this party, and that's gonna be the shittiest thing!" Kirishima groaned while Kaminari spazzed with what seemed to be the biggest lightbulb of an idea.

"The hoes — the holes! For the glory!" Kaminari slurred with how fast he was speaking, his hands fisting into both Shouto's and Kirishima's jackets, his yellow eyes burning bright in his excitement.

Shouto tried to keep his annoyance down, and the itch to rip Kaminari's iron grip from his shoulder.

"I don't know what you're talking about—" Kirishima tried again, his hand resting on Kaminari's ribcage to steady him.

"Ei, the gloryholes!"

Gloryholes?

Shouto numbing mind searched the banks of his memory to figure out where that word came from and why it sounded vaguely familiar.

"Oh, fuck," came Kirishima's strained approval, and Shouto looked at his two friends who were grinning pervertedly at each other.

"What's that?" Shouto asked, his lips buzzing slightly as the alcohol was fully absorbed into his bloodstream, and somehow the smell of sex filled his nose, and the noises of unadulterated carnal lust filled his ears.

"Oh man, Todoroki, if you don't know," Kaminari trailed off, his lips pinched into an elfish smirk, and electricity coming off his hair in his evident excitement. "Just trust me, you gotta experience this shit!"

Shouto wasn't sure if it was the alcohol that thrummed merrily in his veins or the knowing glint in his friend's eyes that whispered to him to find out just what it was, but he felt his head nod without his full awareness. The feeling of their hands on his upper shoulder felt fuzzy as they took him away, intent heavy in every step they took.

He could barely take in the passing rooms as they went, the aerial artists, the sex rooms, the orgy rooms. There were so many rooms designated for just about every kink imaginable that even the stoic Shouto felt his cheeks flaring in embarrassment. With each passing step and opened room, the smell of sex, pheromones, and lust grew in Shouto's nose; the more the sticky sweet moans and screams of the cult members clung to his skin.

For a hero that was never too hot or too cold without his own ministrations, his skin was feeling feverishly hot with cold feet when they finally stopped in front of the only closed door in the hallway.

"Welcome!" came a cheery voice, Shouto blinked, and a woman appeared from nowhere.

She wore a powder blue ava tea dress; it was elegant, sleek, yet too old-school for an event such as this one. Shouto immediately assumed that she was not partaking in the sexual activities, but was instead acting as a hostess of sorts.

"Just you three patrons tonight?" she asked, her head tilting to the side and Kirishima speaking up in agreement for the group of three. "Good, good. We do have enough openings for the three of you, most people haven't found our little… hole in the wall, if you would," she took a moment to giggle joyfully, her gloved fingers pressing to her ruby red lips and Shouto fought the urge to walk away. "So please, feel free to look around and stay as long as you want!"

Her words were light and breezy, but still, there was rising suspicion and tension in Shouto's spine at her small quip.

With an innocuous smile and a glint in her eyes, she opened the door with a gentle, "have fun," and Shouto's friends ushered him in.

His initial reaction? What. The. Fuck?!

The room they entered was large and spacious, or well, at the very least, Shouto assumed it would have been if it wasn't for the obviously installed maze of walls. But with every wall, there was a collage of pictures. Faces of women, men, humans, mutants, everything you could think of plastered above a hole. Curiously enough, the images above one hole were of the same person.

His eyes swept the room, and he saw a few spots already taken, men with their pants and underwear dropped to their knees pressing up against the wall so that their noses were smushed to the makeshift walls.

Shouto blinked.

Gloryholes? Pictures of random people?

Were they fucking ghosts?

"This is paradise!" Kaminari groaned in pleasure, his arms spacing out as if he had come with fantastic news. "These normies always look at you so weirdly when you fuck at orgies, here… you get the nut and don't have to have them staring at you!"

Paradise?!

Shouto stared as his electricity wielding friend approached a hole that adorned photos of a girl with hooded eyes and a tongue piercing. He dropped his bottoms before sticking his hardening cock into the waiting hole with two raps of his fist. At this point, Shouto wasn't sure if what he had drunk was actually alcohol now.

"These aren't dead people, are they?" Shouto couldn't keep himself from asking, his palms sweating while Kirishima laughed deeply in his chest.

"Not at all, man, it's real people, I promise! Pick your hole and have fun!" Kirishima encouraged, placing a solid pat on Shouto's shoulder before approaching a hole with a picture of a girl with bright eyes and a bright smile.

Nodding numbly to himself at this point, Shouto meandered the different walls, his eyes absorbing the various pictures on the walls.

But he fell on the spot with a picture so vivating that drew him in. The chasms of your eyes defiant yet shy, a smile that called him in, and lips that looked supple and strong.

He stood no chance in defying the itching, burning need to follow suit of every other person in this room. Shouto approached the hole, his fingers pulling at his belt, quickly lowering his charcoal grey slacks and black boxer briefs. He stared into your pictured eyes, mesmerized by them, and grasped onto his hardening cock.

A soft shudder invaded his skin as he pressed his cock through the awaiting hole, the skin of his heated cock scraping against the hole, making him strangle a grunt in his throat. But when the wet heat of your mouth enveloped his cock past the hole in the wall, Shouto's face nearly crashed against the wall.

Shouto wasn't sure what to have expected, but he had summed up that this was some over-glorified handjob, a vigorous clumsy jackoff he could have done himself. But he did not expect, in any sense of what this was, to be met with warm, wet lips and a tongue that pressed underneath the head of his cock.

A guttural noise slipped past his lips, and Shouto's palms pressed against the wall, his head spinning dizzyingly from the sensation.

Shouto's breathing was erratic, his cock hardening more, twitching within your mouth as he felt your head begin to bob against his length at a slow, leisurely pace.

His hips thrust toward the wall, his vision spinning from what this heightened sensation of what he always thought to be a mundane act. Shouto's slacks were too far up his thighs; however, the fabric spread to his max despite his attempt to lower down. He wanted to get closer to the wall, get whoever you were past this wall to take in his entire cock without an issue, so mindlessly, instinctively, he shoved the slacks further down, grunting with relieved pleasure at being able to spread out further, at getting closer to you.

"Holy shit," Shouto grunted, his forehead pressing against the cold wall, undoubtedly crinkling the paper of your photos. His hips came forward, hitting the wall dividing him and you with low, vibrating thuds, and you let him, allowed him to keep his rutting hips at the pace they were. You took him in as if it was nothing, the smooth skin of your lips gliding against his throbbing length, your tongue running alongside the bottom of his cock, tracing the veins of his skin, twisting against the sensitive skin, providing new sensations and shivers.

Shouto knew immediately that you were letting him fuck your mouth however he saw fit.

He felt you moan around him, a long, deep, undeniable noise that somehow drifted through the hole, vibrated against his cock, and could be felt against his curling toes. The sound and sensations were proving to be effective, a pooling heat building in his balls, simmering up and down his spine and neck. How he wished to grab you by the back of your head and drive his cock down your throat without mercy.

Snarling in the back of his throat, suddenly fueled by the image of fucking you, the thought of you on your knees, tears built in your bright eyes and tears rolling down your cheeks feeding him. And as if you knew what he wanted, Shouto's knees near bucked out when your mouth took him in even further, the soft choking noise, the feeling of his cock pressing against the back of your throat sending his fingers digging into the wall.

He drilled in faster, grateful for your ability to keep up, the feeling of his cock pressing down the back of your throat sending his jaw flying open, curses and praises spilling past his lips with every inch you took him further down your throat. The area of his cock unable to be taken in your mouth was surrounded by your fingers — by god, what fucking fingers you had — warm and robust, they held his skin, sliding effortlessly against the spit lubricated skin.

"You can hear me right, whore?" Shouto growled against the wall, the hot air of his breath almost fogging the area he was standing in. Somehow, he heard the choked noise of agreement, the bobbing head vigorously nodding, sending you into a sputtering choke from the awkward angle. But Shouto liked hearing you choke, liked hearing the needy tone in your whining agreement, and he swore he was feeling his heartbeat in his balls. "You're not here entirely on your own will, are you? Came here for money, to suck some rich mans' cock?" His hips stammered when you sucked your cheeks in around his length, his eyes rolling in the break of his concentration, his blood pumping in his hormone pumped euphoria. "I want you to fucking choke on my cock, you hear that? Take me all the way in, don't be scared, I know you probably don't see much cock, but I promise if you can handle me, you'll never want other cock, slut. Take me all, and I promise you, you won't regret it."

A hiccuped breath came from your side of the wall, and Shouto almost wanted to simply burn the wall down to claim you for all his need and glory, someone with a mouth as gifted as yours definitely needed to be fucked correctly. Still, his hips reigned down, slamming against the wall so that the thuds of his impeding hips were heard softly in the other areas.

And you? Behind the wall?

He could feel the weight of your head pressing forward, the feeling of his length sliding further and further down your throat. The pulsing of his cock ridiculously stilled with the restrained muscles of your throat, and the almost excessive drool and spit that dripped from his length with your choking movements.

More, he wanted more, he needed more.

"Fuck, slut, you're taking me so fucking well. You almost have me entirely in your mouth," Shouto growled, an inch or so of his cock still not entirely in your mouth, but not letting your tight fist work his cock. "Don't give up, take me all, I know a whore like you who shows up to be a sex slave can take my cock."

A whine (was that a horny or a frustrated whine?) emitted from the wall, and with a strained noise, Shouto felt your wet, hot lips make contact with the base of his cock as he continued to drill into you. Spluttering groans poured from his throat, the feeling of your hot cavern and resisting throat, sending him over the edge.

"Yes," Shouto gasped, the smell of sex, electricity, and barely burning walls simmering in his nose. "Fuck, yes, just like that."

Shouto could feel his nerves being shot out, the feeling of the compliant mouth keeping him pumping into the hole, his fingers digging further and further into the wall into it cracked and crumbled, his grip trying to keep his shaking legs from giving out, to break through the wall to get to you. He was almost there, so close, but needed to get over the hill. And then Shouto was swallowed completely when his slamming his stopped, he could feel your lip press to his skin hidden by the hole. He had no doubt that it must have been sorely uncomfortable for you, yet you were doing it to the point where he was fumbling for words, fumbling to keep his head on straight as your tongue wrapped around his cock, massaging the skin. Fuck, fuck, "Fuck!"

His head dropped back with the shooting electricity in his blood, sweat dripping from his temple and you, the stranger behind the wall, gave one vicious, strong suck, your mouth only surrounding the head of his cock, your wet tongue flicking the slit on his head, and he was spilling over.

Hot, thick, heavy ropes of white cum spurted from his cock and Shouto shuddered, his shaking breath echoing in his ears, and he could still feel your tongue moving, coaxing out the finality of his orgasm, teeth scraping against his sensitive cock just enough to have him seeing stars.

But the giggle that erupted in your throat was well noticed by Shouto, and he grunted in slight annoyance. Pulling away, a soft, almost unwanted pop echoed on the other side of the wall.

Shouto watched as his spit and cum covered cock pulled back to his side of the wall, and he grunted unwillingly. His forehead still rested against the wall, and he looked up to his left side with a disgruntled noise to see that he did, in fact, scorch his fingertips into the wall.

As he tucked himself back into his underwear and slacks, Shouto's blissed-out eyes fell onto the hole where your hand was perched out of it, your pinky the only finger visible.

"Pinky promise you'll come back later?" your raspy voice asked, and Shouto wondered if that was how you usually sounded or if it was from what happened.

"As long as you promise to do something like that again," Shouto smirked, his pink taking yours anyways.

He could promise that to the hole in the wall.

Shouto slips out the door and is immediately greeted with a bummed out Kaminari and a profusely apologizing Kirishima. He later finds out that Kaminari let out yet another round of voltage of electricity (he's banned from fucking anyone that can't absorb his quirk without damaging themselves), and that Kirishima in his blissed-out state accidentally went into his unbreakable mode and tore a hole into the wall. Shouto didn't bother telling them of the scorched walls and left with his friends.

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It only felt like a few minutes before Shouto found himself outside the same closed door of the room with gloryholes. The alcohol had long since been burned from his system, he is practically positive that you managed to suck it out from his bloodstream.

For the past two hours, he had been around the mansion, aiding Kirishima in his objective to keep Kaminari from accidentally killing a sexual partner. It had been for the best, Shouto believed. He was no prude and definitely didn't hate indulging in the occasional orgies - especially at parties like this. But for some reason, as strangers attempted to shed him from his clothes, lips, and fingers roaming his scarred, heated skin, he thought of you and only you.

Your tantalizing mouth and fingers.

He had exited the orgy room faster than All Might at his peak.

He was strangely obsessed with a stranger, a person who was no more than someone past a hole in the wall. Who knew if your picture was what you looked like, but he sure hoped it was.

But when Mina had appeared out of nowhere, her perfectly manicured fingers pressing against Kirishima's chest as she emerged from behind him. She was, obviously, one of the few easily discernable members of the cult.

"So, the crown prince does not know how to use his dick, and I am disappointed in men all over again!" Mina pouted, but her usual sly grin was back on her face before Shouto could ask if she needed help scouting potential 'dick appointments' as she so fondly calls them.

This was where things got strange in that Kirishima pointed out that Mina should just fuck a woman to teach men how to fuck women properly. Kaminari filled Shouto in with a horribly done stage whisper that the two of them had fucked before and that despite the experience of any man, Mina was never truly satisfied.

"Alright, student Kirishima," Mina had thrust her finger into Kirishima's chest. "Follow me to the hole-y wall and watch the master do her job!"

Once more, Shouto was outside the door, the woman seemingly materialized from thin air in her same powder blue ava tea party dress and ruby red smile.

"Welcome back! For four patrons this time?" the woman gleefully smiled, her gloved fingers clasping below her chin.

"For one, actually," Mina spoke up first, "I'm teaching these boys—"

"I've actually never had a problem," Shouto spoke up, his calm and collected gaze unwaveringly met the hostess despite the chilling horror and embarrassment of his words that crawled up his spine. At the same time, Mina looked up him and down with a small, small smirk. "I'll be taking a spot."

"Ho ho, well, excuse me," Mina giggled, turning back to the hostess with a brightness to her stance. "Two spots then. I have boys to teach!"

"Of course!" the hostess spoke unaffectedly by the group's dynamics. "Please enjoy yourselves! This part is a special treat for you lovely patrons, don't forget to be mindful of our poor angels stuck in the wall!"

The door opened, and in the group of four walked in.

If Shouto had been taken by surprise the first time, he was beyond belief the second time he entered this same room. His first time coming, there had only been those beautiful glory holes, but this time? There were no material holes.

Where the holes used to be, there were only large holes where the person assigned to the area was now presented to the public.

Asses curved to the sky, asses pointed to the ground. Cocks leaking, limp, and red with overstimulation, cunts soaked, throbbing, and swollen with overuse. It was indeed as if these individuals had been stuck in a wall, and Shouto already felt his cock twitch in his carnal lust and need to see just how you were positioned. How he prayed that you were at your spot, laying on your stomach, ass hanging out to the world waiting for his cock to claim you, waiting for him to ruin you. He wanted to feel your liquid lust drip from your cunt, splashing and trailing down your inner thigh.

Shouto didn't bother saying goodbye to his friends, the smell of sex, and his own lust switching his brain onto a one-track mindset with the growing need to get to you immediately.

And almost to his raging hormonal anger, he came to the aisle where you were parked, and while his heart hammered with the growing pleasure to see your ass hanging in the air, your thighs pressed to the wall, his vision turned red at the sight of some no-named man rutting his ugly cock between your dry folds.

In no time flat, Shouto was behind the man, his hand fisting into the collar of the man's shirt and tearing him away from him.

"Mine." he all but growled, his aura darkening while he glared at the red-faced idiot who attempted to cover himself up in the act of running away.

It didn't matter that what Shouto did was probably entirely rude and could result in him getting thrown out, you were his, and no way was someone going to fuck you when he was there. The weirded out gazes that fell upon him temporarily did nothing to Shouto, his focus back onto your squirming bottom, no doubt weirded out by the sudden lack of contact.

But with a sigh, his fingers combing the few falling free strands of hair out of his face, Shouto stood centimeters from your shifting thighs, watching you continue squirming until he finally moved. His hands pressed against your supple, smooth ass, enjoying the way you fit against his hands perfectly.

He stepped forward, allowing the bulge of his strained cock to press against the top of your ass — the perfect height for him. Shouto leaned forward, his forehead once more pressing against the cold wall, his eyes taking in the still visible scorch marks he had left behind and chuckled deep in his throat.

"I'm back, my precious whore, I bet you missed me," Shouto spoke through the wall, hoping that you would respond back to him. He thought he could hear an agreeing sound on the other side of the wall, another layer of muffled, and he wondered if maybe you had been gagged. The thought made him exhale slowly, his hips strained from rutting against you, but against his belief, your ass ground against his hardening cock, sending waves of pleasure through him. "You did miss me, huh?"

His calloused fingers moved from your supple ass to the outsides of your thighs, feather-soft touches skimming your skin, leaving behind trails of goosebumps and twitching nerves. Shouto's gaze remained hard on your body, watching how you completely stilled when he found his fingers against the inner part of your thigh and just shy of the excessive heat that was radiating from your cunt.

And he leaned down, his lips pressing against the curve of your ass, his eyes partially hooded when he felt you relax against his hold. But the relaxed position you held quickly erased the moment his teeth sunk into your skin, and his finger pressed against your swollen clit.

Immediately, your body arched, a weak attempt to buck out of his hold while he heard a muffled cry from the other end of the wall. But Shouto was a hero, he was some with extreme control over his body, and as his tongue moved to soothe your throbbing ass, one finger continued to delicately dance against your clit, while the other shifted over to your softly beating cunt.

Shouto groaned against your skin, his pants feeling too tight, the material of his underwear too hot and stiff for how strained his cock was right now, yet it was nothing to the feeling of your tight, wet, hot cunt. In and out, he pumped his finger, curling the long digit against your puffy spongey walls, the thumb on your clit circulating in slow, intentional figure-eights until you were pathetically rising and falling against his finger, a garbled whine for more barely audible through the wall. He chuckled at the feeling of your inner walls forcible clenching against his intruding finger, and he rewarded you with a second finger.

"Doesn't this feel good?" Shouto groaned, his body straightening back up so that he was flushed against your ass, his forehead resting on the wall, and his now free hand slowly grinding your ass against his crotch.

He watched you with the intensity of a predator stalking their prey, his mouth twitching into a smirk when your toes curled with a sudden drag of his fingers over a ribbed area of your core. Growling in need, Shouto's hips slammed into you, mindlessly fucking you even with his clothes on. His fingers doubled in speed and intensity until the rapid clenching of your walls was unignorable around his fingers.

His forearms ached slightly with his continued fingering, his thumb almost stiff as he continued to assault your clit, but with the arching of your back, the stuttering of your hips as an impeding orgasm was growing bigger and stronger. Shouto barely registered the sight of his own hand rising and falling heavily onto your ass, the sound of the spank echoing loudly, but that had pushed you over the edge.

A loud mewl sounded from the wall, your legs trembling entirely uncontrollably against Shouto, who still drove his hard crotch into your soaked cunt. He didn't care if you were to wet the expensive suit, his mind now solely on the fact that he needs to claim you, needs to sink his cock all the way in, and make sure you were bruised for days to come.

Wasting no time, Shouto sheds off his pants and his underwear, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud before aligning his already hard and swollen cock head to your clenching, sopping cunt. Shouto nearly shivers as he grips his fingers into your ass, his eyes mesmerized with how your flesh molds to his grasp, moving and shifting accordingly. With only a moan as a warning, Shouto wasted no time in pressing his cock to your cunt, and thrusting in with a single, sharp thrust.

If he had thought your cunt was tight with just your fingers, if he had thought the instance where you had vacuumed your mouth while sucking him off was tight, he was in a world of surprises when he came through from entering you. Your cunt was hot and oh so fucking tight around him, milking him dry of all and any precum that he had gathered at his swollen slit. Your inner walls flutter around him, intensely and quickly trying to adjust to the monstrous thickness that he was, and he could hear the pained panting pleasure of you through the wall, and he almost lost it at the keen whine on your tongue.

He shifted, moving his hips just so slight as to regain what little sanity he had left to ensure that you were thoroughly and roughly fucked.

"Fuck," Shouto moaned, his fingers digging bruises into your skin, his skin feeling sticky and sweaty as he felt you continue trembling beneath him. "For a fucking whore, you have a really tight cunt. I bet you wished I had used fucking lube, huh?"

Shouto took a tentative thrust into you, his legs quivering at the feeling of the way your cunt gripped his cock, making it almost impossible for him to move as he did. "Should've made your pussy wetter then," he spoke in a near whisper to the wall, unsure if you had heard him as he began his conquest in fucking you.

With his fingers gripping your hips, he enjoys the way you bruise against his hold, almost as much as he enjoys the way the wall rocks with every slam of his brutal hips.

The sounds of his cock slamming into your sopping cunt send loud, wet noises ringing in his ears, sending a few other nearby patrons to turn their heads to look at him - to look at him in his conquest of claiming you as his. It only fueled him on, and he picked up his pace until there was a medley of sounds: his thighs crashing against your ass, the squelching of your wet cunt against his thick cock, and your thighs slapping the wall.

Shouto growled at the feeling of your cunt stretching for him, the tremble of your legs, the way your feet twisted and curled against his knees, almost as if in a silent beg to get him impossibly closer, to make him fuck you impossibly faster, harder.

His gorging fingers break your skin, and Shouto delights in the painful, garbled scream from your side of the wall. Your body is weak against him, yet he can still feel your hips jutting against his rutting hips, your body desperately trying to keep up with his insane speed and lust.

And when his hand presses to your lower back and the other right above your crotch so that he can raise you higher, the new angle of penetration sends Shouto fumbling for strength. It's then he can feel the head of his cock pressing against your cervix, your toes digging into his skin as he continues to pound away at your cervix, and he takes the rolling shrieks and moans from your mouth like a good thing.

"Such a good fucking whore, I never found many of you who enjoyed when I literally rearranged their guts," Shouto huffed, his fingers tweaking and yanking at your clit until you were shaking in his arms. "You're enjoying this so much, I bet you wanted this the entire time after I left, didn't you? You wanted my cock in your pussy, I wanted to have my seed pumped into you until everyone knows that you're mine. You'd look so pretty pregnant with my babies, your stomach swollen, and your tits just fucking leaking milk for our children, huh?"

It's then that your cunt around his cock becomes a vice grip, and Shouto shudders at the feeling of your orgasm rocking through you, your pathetic keens barely audible in his blood rushing ears. And he continues, Shouto could feel the familiar sensation of his nerves being shot out, the feeling of your cunt desperately trying to milk him of his seed and worth as you grew limper in his arms, his fingers raking raised lines against your ass, forever marking himself against you, his grip trying to keep his shaking legs from giving out, his mind solidifying over the need to somehow appear where you were now so he could fuck you with no restraint. He thought of your crossed eye gaze, the possible spit pouring from your mouth as you took his every drop of seed greedily into your cunt. He imagined seeing your eyes spilling with tears, seeing your fingers rip into the fabric as he fucked you with no restraint, and with his imagination, he lost himself.

Shouto continued to blindly ram his cock into your cunt, a savage, insane last attempt to spill himself into you, fumbling to keep his head on straight as your cunt pathetically clenched against his hammering cock, finally sending his left hand to the wall, fire bursting from his palm as finally his orgasm tears through him. Shit, shit, "Shit!"

Shouto's temples are damp with sweat, and his vision swims with his overwhelming desire for you and the need to get to your room without destroying the wall to completion.

He picks up his pants and underwear, quickly fixing himself up so that he's almost remorse in the way that he can't appreciate watching his cum spill from your cunt, but the lack of you on his cock is enough to have him zipping up his pants and racing to where the hostess appears.

She doesn't stand a chance when both fire and ice bite against her neck.

"How do I get into the rooms?"

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

After being caught flirting with whoever you had pinky promised, you had been gagged. It wasn't a bad thing per se, that man had been the last person to visit you when the room was still functioning as glory holes. With the new stuck in the wall theme, it only invited men and women to be aggressive, and a part of you guiltily and ashamedly enjoyed how rough they would get in there attempt to hear you against the gag.

But you couldn't help the flutter in your cunt and in your heart when the familiar voice of the pinky promise man sounded through the wall. Right now, however, your body felt wholly and thoroughly used. Every inch of your asscheeks and cunt was abused, but the orgasm that came with his fucking was otherwordly.

There was still nothing to prevent the shameful clog in your throat when he abandoned you after a single orgasm, but then again, you didn't expect the door to your cubicle to be thrown open, and a man stood there with a black kitsune mask. You wondered who it was, but there was the distinctive, infamous red and split white hair behind the cover, and you whimpered at the sudden shame at being caught like this by a Pro Hero you absolutely adored.

The mask was torn from his face, the door closing behind him, and you were ripped back into the tight cubicle, pressed flush against his chest as he sealed off the hole with his ice. You were speechless as his obviously hard cock pressed against your diaphragm, and you trembled upon hearing the zipper of his pants coming down.

And the voice of one Todoroki Shouto sent shivers down your spine, reigniting the flame in your cunt.

"I got to fuck your mouth and your cunt through other people's rules, I think it's about time I get to fuck you however I see fit."

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

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athenamgh · 3 years

Text

DON'T FORGET ME - #II

a/n: soo this is part twoo... part threee? Hmmm.. not sure yet..

paring/s: Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

summary: two broken hearts need to heal each other.. but will they..

warning/s: tears, angst, fluff (i am not sure....)

word count: 2.8k

Chapter I || Chapter II

Natasha Romanoff MASTERLIST

As you stood in front of a mirror smoothing your palms over the small wrinkles on your dark velvet suit, the only thought that was lingering in your mind was how desperately you wanted to crawl up in a ball in your bed and just stay like that forever. You didn’t want to go to that party.

Of course, you wanted to see your dear friends but the thought of how much it will hurt to see Natasha again was almost unbearable. The one that still was, as you understood from Wanda, just as unhappy as you were and you absolutely hated yourself for that.

Your eyes slowly started to travel up your body, the suit still suited you perfectly, shaping your strong arms and wrapping your torso just in the right way. Your gaze stopped at your neck, if a person had very attentive eyes he could spot two necklaces wrapping your neck. You could feel the material of dog tags coldy gazing at your skin, but the other, smaller necklace, you didn’t feel, you just knew it was there, but you didn’t dare to pull it out from under your shirt and look at it, you didn't have the strength, not yet at least.

You felt your heart race as your eyes slowly moved up your face, first they captured your dry lips and a small knife cut scar just above the right corner of your lip. Your tongue brushed it, feeling the roughness of the wounded skin. Finally your eyes connected in a mirror and you saw how your natural pupil color turned to hungry flaming red, your eyes now gloomy, the normal white conjunctiva turning black.

You clenched your jaw at the sight. And you heard a whisper, too familiar whisper: “This is exactly why you could never have her.”. You clenched your fist so tightly that made your knuckles turn white at the words. “You are weak” the voice screamed inside your head and you punched the mirror. It broke, the pieces fell to the ground and your knuckles now covered the blood because of the little cuts. You cursed to yourself remembering that you spent hours picking this mirror and now you will need to order another one again.

---

You already spent around an hour at Tony's party. And you were surprised at how you were still standing here and didn’t leave in the first thirty minutes, because the music was too loud for your enjoyment and people too unrecognizable. You made small talk with almost everyone you knew and now there standing next to the window, your right hand occupied with the glass full of liquid, the other one resting in your pants pocket.. Damn, you missed this view, you could oversee the whole night city from here. People, cars, animals, the smallest lights, streets and buildings, it all were at your feet.

“Unforgettable feeling, huh?” you didn’t even need to turn your head, to know who exactly was standing beside you.

“As you say old man..” you said chuckling, glancing to the side where Tony stood.

He embraced your shoulders with his left arm, “Ahh, that is exactly what I was missing this past year.” You looked at him with a bit surprised expression, arching your eyebrow at him, Tony never was a guy to share too much of his inner feelings. “What?” he asked. You threw your hands up in defence shaking your head. “Those suckers need you” he points over his shoulder, making you turn around and look at Wanda, Steve, Thor and others talking. “Also, I could use your brains for my new project.”

“Do you?” you said playfully not looking back at him. Your eyes wandered through the crowded room, desperately searching for a certain someone, you haven’t seen yet.

Tony definitely noticed it. “It’s still Natasha, isn’t it?” he said quietly. You clench your hand tighter around the glass, taking a swing of the drink.

You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as hard as you could just to relax it again. Taking a deep breath you answered “It’s always been her,” You chuckled “I am pretty sure it’s always going to be her.”

“Then, why did you leave?” Tony asked with a serious tone, his straightforwardness made you take a few steps back .

“You know why I left..” you turned to face him, a tired look on your face. You already did this ritual with Steve months ago, you didn’t want to do this again. “I am dangerous!” you said wanting to wrap this up already, but you could see an ignorant expression appear on Tony’s face, he was not satisfied with your answer. “What do you want me to say?”

“What about, something that is not total bullshit?” he said with a dumb smile.

You sighted in frustration looking around the room “I could never give her a happy, normal life for a long run.. never..”

Tony placed his hand on your shoulder, making you look him in the eyes again, “Maybe, you should have let her decide what is her definition of a normal life.. Cuz kiddo, none of us here'' he pointed to other avengers ''are living a normal life and never will.” You looked down at your boots, you knew this all too well, this horrible thought bothered you all the time. Maybe you made a mistake, maybe you rushed, maybe you needed.. well, now it was too late, you screwed up and badly.

You finally look up at him, changing the topic “So, you said you have a project for me?” this yearned a smile from Tony.

“Right this way, kid” he said, chuckling. As you passed others from the corner of your eyes you saw Tony give a small thumbs up to Steve, but you brushed it away.

---

Your eyebrows narrowed and eyes carefully running through the prototype Tony has been working on for the past few months now. It was a confusing and complicated mechanism, but it looked cool and had a bunch of advanced and very beneficial functions to fight off any alarming threats. “Why haven't you connected the A site area to G one, to decrease the speed in case of an overload?” you said pointing to the red area with big letter A.

Tony looks down at the scheme and rubs his palms, “Ahh, you right. How could I have missed that!?” he said, connecting the dots.

“Cuz you old..” you said, chuckling and getting a light punch to your shoulder. You couldn’t lie to yourself as much as you were trying to convince yourself that you didn't miss all of this: helping out Tony, teaching new recruits with Steve, testing Wanda's abilities.. training with Natasha and cuddl... ahh you did miss it.. and a lot actually. The memories of staying up late just to find yourself waking up on top of the table to the smell of Wanda’s pancakes and soft Natasha's touches..

“Tony? Steve said you needed me?” your thoughts interrupted a person whose voice you could have recognized anywhere in the world, no matter how loud or quiet how big or small the place was.. you just in an instance. Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up and saw no other but Natasha Romanoff herself. Your jaw dropped as you saw her red curly hair falling perfectly down her shoulder, her black dress hugging her figure just in the right places. She looked stunning. You swore she was one of the most beautiful people that have ever walked this earth.

As she saw you she freezed in her steps, her lips escaped a gasp, “Y/n..”.

“Natasha..” you said almost immediately. You looked at each other frozen, forgetting everyone around. After, what it looked like was a whole minute, you heard Tony shift besides you. And suddenly, you realized the whole signal to Steve and this secret twisted plan. You turned to Tony with narrowed eyes “You didn’t need my help, did you?”

Tony cleared his throat “I’d say no, cuz I am a genius playboy millionaire, but you actually did help to improve the prototype. So that was unexpected.” he said smiling innocently. You rolled your eyes at him.

“No..” you heard the whisper slip through Natasha's lips, you quickly turned to look at her. She shook her head if your eyes weren’t so perceptive you wouldn't have noticed how her eyes watered, she turned around and stormed out of the room.

You glanced at Tony for a second and he mouthed at you ‘GO!’ you took off and started running towards Romanoff.

---

You were about to knock on Natasha's room door but you heard a sob in the opposite direction. You knew exactly who's room it was.. or used to be. You turned around facing the opposite room door, on it was still engraved your name.

Your lips split a gasp as you opened a door and found your room untouched. The bed, the table, hanging photographs, your favorite painting of the Avengers 'squad' , damn you were and still are such a nerd, shelves full of books, all the stuff you forgot to pick up from the compound was still left untouched.

You saw Natasha sitting at the other side of the bed, her back to the entrance. It was quite now, you couldn't hear even the smallest or quietest wail…

''Na- '' you started but she quickly cut you off.

''You know, people knock..'' she said with a serious tone. Her voice was firm, you couldn't hear any cracks in it.

''Technically it's still my room, you know..'' you said playfully.. wishing to ease up the gloomy atmosphere surrounding both of you. But she seemed to ignore your statement..

After a few seconds of silence you spoke up again, with a light voice ''Nat''.

''No'' she quickly said standing up. ''I can't do this..'' she said still facing the wall, her arms now hugging her torso tightly.

''Please, Nat, listen to me'' you were ready to beg for her to just listen to what you had to say.. just listen, that was all you wished for.

''Why, y/n?'' she finally turned around and for the first time in months you really looked into her forest green eyes. They were cold and puffed from tears, her face pale, lips tight and nose a bit running. You noticed that she was also analyzing your face and expressions. ''Tell me why should I listen to you? Why after all this time you decided to explain yourself?'' she was hurt… so hurt.. and damn you hated yourself for that..

“Sometimes… sometimes I just want to rip out my heart and give it to you. Because, I can’t. I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t hold this pain in my heart. Because I can’t close my eyes without dreaming of you. I can’t walk anywhere without seeing you. I can’t do anything without you.. y/n''

These words struck you like lightning, your heart clenched in your chest, your eyes watering and vision becoming blurry. You clenched your jaw, looking down. Natasha never was the one to talk about her feelings so freely, but from her eyes you saw that she had enough, she needed to express everything she was feeling, all the pain. But all your lips could spread was only her name "Nat.."

''What? You left me y/n!'' This agonizing scream made you look back at Natasha, her eyes filling up with painful tears. ''You promised that you'll never leave.. and you did..'' she said, her voice cracking. She was right.. Natasha, this amazing woman, who gave you her heart and you crushed it.. and why? Because of your own fears and demons? For being afraid to lose control and put her in danger, for being afraid of losing her because of your selfish acts? ''And the worst thing is that all I can think of..'' she continued, brushing the tear running down her cheek. ''Is that it is all my fault..''

''No no no..'' words quickly spilled through your lips as you took a few steps forwards to be just a little bit closer to Natasha, but she left standing frozen in her place. ''Nat.. it's not your fault.. it never was..'' you said with so much assurance in your eyes.

''Then why?'' Natasha now took a few steps towards you, leaving the two of you a hand stretch apart.

At her question your hands started to shake a little, you closed your eyes taking a deep breath. Your right hand brushing through your hair and stopping at your neck, eyes turned away, intensely staring at the floor. Somewhere deep down in the back of your mind you could hear that awful whisper, cruely reminding you 'you're not worthy of her.. have you forgotten who you are..'

Natasha noticed your body reaction, she grabbed you by your forearms, bringing you a little bit closer to her. Even from such a distance you already could feel the warmth radiating from her, her scent already invading your lungs, oh how much you missed this, even if small, but closeness to her.

''What's wrong y/n'' she asked you, her voice now softer and you could hear a hint of worry in it too.

''I.. '' you stuttered. ''I am so sorry Nat, I didn't want to hurt you.. I.. ha- hate'' your words getting caught in your throat because of upcoming tears ''I hate myself for how much pain I caused you.. I am sooo sorry'' your hands began to shake even more intensively, your eyes shut even tighter.

Natasha brought her hands to your face, cupping your cheeks. ''Y/n look at me'' you shook your head, you couldn't let her see you like this. ''Please..'' she said so warmly and quietly, her warm thumb brushing your cheek with staining tears that you thought you had dried months ago, asking you to look up at her.

Your arms eased up, you took another deep breath, straightened up. You opened your eyes looking at her. You saw how mixed emotions ran through Natasha's face as she for the first time saw your reddish beast's eyes, her hands clenched tighter around your face in surprise. ''I am cursed Nat..'' your eyes watered again, you were ready for her to push you away, but you were confused as to why she was still here, still holding your face so dearly, like her life dependent on it.

''I left because I couldn't let you love somebody who everyday puts you in so much danger.. I couldn't let you love somebody who is forever cursed… you do not deserve it Natasha.. you deserve someone so much better… someone who can actually make you happy.'' a few tears more ran through your cheek, you felt how her thumbs brushed them just beneath your eyelids, she didn't seem to be disgusted or scared of you.

Suddenly she looked deep into your eyes. Those two green orbs staring right back at you, your heart skipped a beat as you realized those eyes still had that unconditional love in them that you missed so much. ''I loved you Nat.. I love you Natasha Romanoff, but I am afraid I do not deserve to have your heart..'' at these last words you felt how Natasha's hands slipped further and wrapped around your neck, bringing you two closer and connecting your lips into such a longing kiss. You secured your arm around her waist at the touch of your lips in an instance, smashing your bodies even closer together. She tasted so sweet and comforting and everything that you missed about her.

You finally separated your lips because you were in need of such mundane thing as oxygen. Taking a deep breath Natasha spoke up ''There is no one more deserving than you y/n..'' she said, brushing the loose strand of hair from your face. ''I do not need a normal life.. hell nothing about my life is normal.. it never was'' she said looking back to your eyes, with light surprise. You could feel that your eyes were back at her natural color shape again.

''And this?'' you gestured to your eye level. Her thumb ghosted just below your right eyelid and then brushed the slim finger lightly against your bottom lip.

She smiled ''I don't care y/n..'' she looked deep into your eyes.. ''I just want you''.

You could feel your eyes sparkle, heart beating like crazy. You took her right hand and brought it to your lips, kissing it lightly, you forgot how indeed soft they were. ''Will you forgive me?'' you asked with so much hope.

''Yes..'' she said with such a light voice and bright smile on her face. You couldn't suppress your happiness anymore. You picked her up and spinned around. As you placed her on the ground you kissed her again. More passionately this time, putting every single drop of love and affection and everything that you were feeling towards her.. so she would know it. Without any doubts.

Natasha broke the kiss away gasping for air. ''Woah, calm down tiger!'' she said with a smile ''We have a lot to catch up'' she said with a smirk spreading across her face, making you arch your eyebrow at her seductively.

#natasha x y/n #natasha #nat #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widdow #black widow fic #black widow x reader #reader #natasha x reader #story #avengers #avengers x reader #the avengers #avenger fanfiction

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

Text

Blurb #9

Pairing- Spencer Reid x Female Reader

CW- none

Author’s Note- this comes from this ask by @leahblackk thanks so much for this love!! it was so much fun to write 💛 also sorry if it looks a little wonky I’m on mobile!!

Word Count— 2K (not really a blurb)

Studies show that the music we listen to at 14 years old is the most influential on our personality and development. Naturally, there’s some exceptions to this. Spencer, for one, tended to listen to classical music or the Beach Boys records his mother had around the house as a teenager. He still can’t listen to jazz without the bittersweet memories of Ethan coming back to haunt him. His music taste, in his opinion, didn’t really develop until Derek made him listen to his CDs on rides during their commute.

It wasn’t until he met his neighbor, Y/N that he learned just how impactful music can be on someone’s life. Spencer, despite Derek and Penelope’s efforts, doesn’t really enjoy modern music. There’s one expectation to that though: Y/N. Everytime she drags him over for late night dinners and movie nights, she always ends up putting a Taylor Swift album on her vintage record player. It’s like a ritual that either comforts her, hypes her up, or softens her heartbreak. Through the months that they’ve been friends, Spencer’s come to enjoy the music nights. There’s something about the way that she sings about love and life that is so familiar to Spencer. The day he realized, it hit him like a ton of bricks. Y/N makes all those magical, heartwarming, Taylor Swift songs make sense.

So everytime he goes over to her apartment, before he knocks he’ll listen for the music. It’s hard to not let his profiling instincts kick when he does this. Thanks to his eidetic memory, Spencer can recognize any of the songs with only a couple seconds of the lyrics.

On a sunny Monday, Spencer listens closely for the record player. He can hear the upbeat, dance tunes of New Romantics. Okay, he thinks. If Y/N is listening to that song, she’s probably happy. So he knocks on the door, a big smile on his face ready to listen to the happiest Taylor Swift songs with the girl he’s pining for and try not to reveal just how much he wants her to love him back.

“Spence! Come on, we’re dancing” Y/N shouts loudly above the music. Spencer doesn’t want to burst her bubble by telling her he doesn’t dance, so he takes her hand and dances his heart away.

In between the jumpy and laughter the song shifts. Y/N must be playing it from her Alexa because the next song is from a different album, Paper Rings comes on next. A song dedicated to the kind of love that probably makes the most sense to Spencer. He’d marry Y/N without any kind of ring- and that’s a terrifying thought.

“I love this song!” Y/N says, closing her eyes and dancing wildly, “You like this one too, right Spence?” she says above the loud music.

Spencer, unable to fully articulate how much he loves this song, decides to grab Y/N by the hand and twirl her around and around. She’s laughing and smiling, happy as she could be. Spencer’s thoughts shift from how beautiful she looks, to how easy this is. How simple loving her could be, but how hard telling her is.

The music slows, turning to Lover, a song that Spencer has dreamt of dancing with Y/N to on a white veiled occasion several times. This must be her happy playlist, Spencer thinks as she pull him close. They’re slow dancing and if Spencer closes his eyes and quiets his mind, he can trick himself into thinking she loves him back. Afterall she holds him like she does.

“I like this one the best,” Spencer whispers, his eyes still closed as he and Y/N sway to the beat of the song, “It’s comforting,” he explains.

“It’s a good wedding song,” Y/N says, resting her head against his shoulder, “like a first dance song,”

“It is,” Spencer says, “It’s actually in the proper beats per second to be a waltz, which is a common dance for a traditional first dance at a wedding,”

“Yeah,” Y/N says, pulling herself in closer to Spencer as she pets small circles into his soft cardigan. The spot where she touches leaves her mark; his heart has belonged to her for awhile now, but Spencer’s ready to give her whatever else she wants, “but dancing like this is also very nice,”

“Hmm,” Spencer says, not trusting himself to say anything else. The music switches again, and Spencer knows the song, probably before even Y/N. Dress comes on and Spencer really isn’t sure how he’ll get through listening to the sultry song that croons about pining after your best friend. Part of him seriously thinks he’s being stalked, because those songs perfectly encapsulate his love and his admiration for the girl next door.

“Oh, I got asked out on a date,” Y/N says, seemingly shocking Spencer out of his daydream, “at the coffee shop. His name is John, he seems nice,” she tells him, sounding a little nervous.

“That’s great, Y/N,” Spencer says, trying to put on a smile for his best friend, but fails to do so, “I’m happy for you,”

“Well it’s, you know. I think I just need to put myself out there and stop waiting around for my wild dreams to come true. Because after all your wildest dreams are just that, dreams,” she says, a little sadly.

“Call me after, Y/N, just to make sure you get home safe,” Spencer requests, he squeezes her hand, in what he hopes can be seen as a friendly gesture, despite him not wanting to let go.

“Of course, Mr. FBI,” Y/N teases, “Alexa, shut up! Hey, Spence, you want to order pizza. It’s been like a week since I watch Long Pond and I’ve got that itch that only listening to This Is Me Trying while stuffing my face with pizza and white wine can fix,”

“Sure, Y/N,” Spencer says, smiling through his heartbreak. He tries to not let Y/N see the tears that prickle in the corners of his eyes when the 1 comes on. It would have been fun, if he could have been Y/N’s “1”. Even in heartbreak, Taylor Swift can capture exactly what Spencer feels.

He almost didn’t bother checking by her apartment because he knew it’s her date with Jake or John, or whatever his name was. Spencer’s not a man to get jealous, he knows that Y/N doesn’t owe him her love just because he loves her. He knows that, but that doesn’t lessen the hurt of her falling for someone other than him.

As he walks by, Spencer’s ears catch the music coming from her apartment. He hears the unrecognizable twangy strum of the guitar and knows it’s going to be back news. Without thinking, Spencer rumages into his pocket, looking for his spare key to Y/N’s apartment. He unlocks the door and is greeted by Y/N’s cat, August, meowing at the door.

“Where’s our girl?” Spencer says, picking up the cat as he slips off his shoes, “hey, Y/N. It’s Spencer. I heard the music and I just thought I’d check in. I thought you were going out on your date?” he asks, finding Y/N curled up on the couch, with piles of tissues littered around her.

“Please, Spence. I’m a mess. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, especially you,” Y/N tells him, mopping her eyes up and petting her lap for August to jump up.

“Hey, hey, honey. You don’t have to worry about being a mess in front of me, I already think you’re amazing,” Spencer says, softly. He tries to gracefully avoid the spoiled tissues, he might be in love with Y/N, but he’s not in love with her used tissues.

“He-he stood me up,” Y/N stutters as a new wave of tears floods her face. Spencer leans over, shutting Alexa off. The sorrow, regretful tunes of Dear John turn off, leaving Spencer with the thought that it probably was an appropriate song to choose.

“I don’t even know why I try any more, Spence” she says, leaning into his body as he puts a comforting and protective arm around her upper half, “it’s useless. I’m doomed to be alone,”

“That’s not true, Y/N,” Spencer says, mumbling into her hair, “not at all. You’re amazing. You’re kind and so smart. You’re beautiful and you have great taste in music. Anybody would be lucky to date you,” he finishes, forgetting himself for a second as he kisses her hair. She smells like green apples and ivory soap.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend,” Y/N says. The emphasis on ‘friend’ giving Spencer a little hope at what she is subtly implying.

“What-what if I wasn’t? What if I wasn’t saying this as just a friend?” Spencer asks, daring to be bold and brave for once in his life. He couldn’t be bold and brave for Y/N, then who is he?

She must be thinking, because Y/N doesn’t say anything. Spencer’s mind instantly switches into full gear, thinking of how he’d get out of here all while sparing his feelings.

“Please don’t say those things, Spencer. Don’t say those things unless you mean it,” Y/N tells him, her voice sounding cold and far off, like she’s trying to put some distance between themselves to protect herself. Spencer’s mind ventures to take it as a good thing, when she doesn’t physically distance herself. She decides to stay with Spencer’s arms wrapped around her upper half and his hands drawing shapes on her back.

“I mean it, Y/N. I really do mean it,” Spencer says, sounding terrified, but feeling braver than ever. “I’d never lie to you about how you make me feel. Not anymore at least,” he explains, waiting for Y/N to respond.

“Can I show you something?” Y/N ask, her voicing sounding an awfully lot like Spencer’s with the mix of fear and tension and love fighting for dominance.

“Of course,” Spencer says, nodding into her hair and letting her go.

He watches and waits as she grabs her phone from the coffee table. Y/N launches her music app, but covers her phone so Spencer can’t see which playlist she’s choosing. Y/N has very curated Taylor Swift playlists kko that help her to either middle through her dark days or celebrate her happy ones.

The music starts and just within the first few notes Spencer can tell which song is playing. “Gold Rush,” he asks, of course getting it correct and making Y/N smile.

“I knew I kept you around for a reason,” Y/N says, scooting in closer to Spencer so his chin rests over her head. “I don’t think you’ve heard this playlist yet,” she says, handing him her phone.

Spencer looks at the phone, reading the playlist title Songs That Remind Me of Spencer, but ends up having to do a double take.

“This song always reminded me of you, Spence. I think it just captures how beautiful you are and how scared I am that you’ll find someone that will make you feel that way. Someone that’s more beautiful and better for you—“

Spencer can’t hear it anymore so he does something that was only a figment of his imagination: he kisses Y/N. He holds her head in his hands, brushing gently on her temples. It’s wonderful and magical, and Spencer thinks that he could kiss her for his whole life. He wants to know what makes her whimper and whine or make her flush. He wants to know everything about her because he is her 1, just as she is his.

“You made a playlist for me?” Spencer says, breaking away from Y/N’s lips to kiss her face. All over her forehead, her cheeks and eyes. He kisses her like he can’t get enough and is only encouraged by Y/N giggles for approval.

“Of course I did, Spence. You’re just everything to me and I couldn’t quite say it myself. So I left it up to the best songwriter I know,”

“I’ll make you one, today. Tomorrow, everyday,” Spencer says, kissing Y/N’s hands and wrists, “I just want to make you happy and know how loved you are. Because I love you, Y/N” Spencer says

“Spence,” Y/N says, not quite able to articulate how much she loves him, kisses his forehead, “I love you. God. I love you so much. And I may or may not have re-written Hey Stephen as Hey Spencer,”

#spencer reid #spencer reid blurbs #Spencer Reid x reader

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soramei · 3 years

Text

Intentional - Part 4

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: none right now, eventual smut

Word Count: 3.4k

Masterlist

A/N: DOUBLE UPLOAD! So i decided to split this part in two since i didn't want it to drag on for too long... next part will be uploaded tomorrow!

Taglist (reply to be tagged!): @planetdemon @hvunvely @fluffybitch0325 @fashi0nablee @juststop88

You picked up the lanyard, looking between your burnt jacket in one hand and the vandalized piece of plastic in the other. The burnt polyester felt rough against your fingers. It was littered with black holes, almost to the point where it was unrecognizable as your jacket.

The lanyard, on the other hand, was almost untouched — save for the black marker that was sketched on the plastic. In the picture, on the part where your upper body was showing, there was only the black marker. The black blob stretched across your torso, the shape depicting a hoodie. Your eyes landed on the eyes in your picture. Thick lines drawn in the shape of an X covered both of them.

You quickly entered your apartment, hoping nobody saw you. You then stood completely still, listening to the silence, trying to find if anybody had broken into your home. After a minute, when it seemed as if you were the only person in there, you decided to lay the two vandalized items on your desk to further analyze them.

Your brain immediately tried to play this down by assuming that these were just kids who did this to your stuff, after all, it was something very immature. Children were the only people who had the time to play with fire and draw on other people’s pictures.

However, your gut told you something different. Why was your jacket along with your lanyard placed right in front of your apartment? Why was the marker outline specifically in the shape of a hoodie? Who could have known you were in the parking lot at that time of day?

Your mind drifted to one specific person. Manager Kim. He not only saw that you were in the parking lot that day with that jacket on, but also he knew your face from the lanyard. But why would he do something this childish? And how did he know where you lived?

The parking lot security guard had also been there when you wore that jacket, but he didn’t even look at you. And he would have no motive to do this sort of thing.

You rubbed your chin in thought, still not understanding everything. Was there somebody else that knew you were there?

Still feeling anxious, you began to prepare a cup of tea. You were reminded of Bang Chan. The tea. The smell of his hoodie.

His hoodie. The black hoodie.

Realization hit you like a truck as your eyes widened in disbelief. Was it maybe… Bang Chan?

Your heart was beating out of your chest. Hands shaking, you picked up your phone to call him, silently begging for the mysterious person to not be him.

He picked up.

“Hello? Y/n?”

You stayed silent.

“Is there something wrong?” He asked.

“I… I lost my jacket and it had my lanyard in it,” you tried to be careful with your words, not wanting to rouse suspicion from him, “have you seen it anywhere?”

“No,” you could almost see Bang Chan furrowing his eyebrows, “I’m still in the building though. I could look for it?”

“That’s alright,” you sighed in relief. He genuinely sounded confused, and plus, he was always so nice — there was no way he would ever do this kind of thing to you. You felt guilty for even suspecting him. “Thanks for offering though.”

“Y/n.”

“Hmm?”

“I know I said this before, but,” he paused, “if you need help with anything I’ll be there. I mean it.”

A chill ran down your spine at the seriousness of his voice. “I know. Thanks.”

You hung up, uneasy. The problem was unsolved, and to be honest, you were a little scared. There was somebody that knew who you were and where you lived. It was probably a good idea to change the passcode to your lock.

The kettle started to whistle. You turned off the flame of your stove and poured yourself a cup of tea, hoping that it would calm you down. Although it did a little, you still felt apprehensive about the whole thing. Your mood stayed the same the whole night, even when you tried to scroll through your phone or go to sleep.

The next day, you woke up with your mind cleared. No longer were you still feeling the aftershocks of the creepy jacket burner, and with your mood lifted more, you felt like you could think more objectively.

And that’s exactly what you did.

Throughout your whole week, this incident stuck in the back of your mind. Although your memory was getting fuzzier and fuzzier with the passing days, you still tried to work out who the culprit was in your free time.

Your mind was also filled with something else. Or was it someone else?

It seemed like, during the whole week, you couldn’t stop thinking of Bang Chan. You had to put part of the blame on him, though. Everytime he had a free moment in his busy schedule — granted it was rare that he did — he wanted to see you.

From secretly bringing you snacks from the vending machine to summoning you to his recording room in order to show his newest creation, he always seemed to stay busy even in his free time. You weren’t complaining, though. It was nice to have a friend who was so different from what you were used to.

You also spent a lot of time with Na-eun too. However, the time you spent with her felt different. Not in any good or bad way, just different. With her, it was mainly in the cafeteria, raving over the food after finally finding a free table. It was also trying to talk over everybody in the crowded streets as you two went shopping after work.

You liked it, sure. But with Bang Chan, every moment felt more intimate. Every smile, every laugh or brush of the hand. Was this what becoming friends felt like?

Other than these intrusive thoughts, the rest of your time was taken up by work. Although you were starting to get the hang of your tasks, there were still many mistakes made. Mistakes in which you had to profusely apologize to Manager Chen for, that you had to stay late nights to fix, mistakes which made you almost lose your mind. You hoped that Manager Chen could see your dedication to not only this project, but your job as a whole.

In the duration of this week, you managed to check in with every department involved with the project and partake in the finalization of the Mid-Autumn Festival content idea. It was decided that the group would do three activities: make lanterns, bake mooncakes, and share a fire while watching the moon. All while in the mountains.

You were surprised when Manager Chen asked you to come along to the shooting despite your inexperience. However, it wasn’t a chance you were going to pass up.

The week was hectic. So hectic, that you didn’t even realize it was almost over until Na-eun brought it up.

“Ugh, I wish I could just steal a whole tray of this food home,” you rolled your eyes. The two of you were raving once again at the cafeteria food. You wished you actually knew how to cook.

“Can you not cook?” She asked.

“I can fry an egg,” you said, stuffing more rice in your mouth.

“My six year old niece can do that,” she laughed. Her eyes widened. “What if I come over tonight and teach you? We’ll make fried rice, even you can’t screw that up.”

“Ha,” you said dryly. “I would, but I have literally nothing in my fridge.”

Na-eun gave you a deadpan look.

“How were you able to stay alive for the past couple weeks? At least you got skinner.” She sneered. “We’ll stop by the grocery store after work, I’ll teach you the bare minimum of living alone.”

And that was exactly what the two of you did. Right after you clocked out of work, you met up with Na-eun to go shopping. You decided to take out some cash to pay for your groceries, an action that Na-eun found hilarious. She was almost crying as she explained that a few groceries didn’t cost as much as you thought.

Your trip was successful. The two of you made it all the way back to your apartment and didn’t waste a second to get started. Halfway through setting things up, Na-eun got a text.

“Hey, is it okay if Yoojin comes? I guess she got jealous that I was here with you and she wasn’t.” She chuckled.

“Of course,” you eagerly nodded. “But, wouldn’t it be hard to get here with her injury?”

“What injury?”

“You know,” you continued, “her ankle.”

“She seemed fine to me.” Na-eun said as she started on the rice.

“Maybe she healed fast.” You shrugged.

“Maybe,” she shrugged back and returned to her task.

You texted Yoojin your address, and it wasn’t long before she was knocking at your door. You opened your door, and she immediately leaped at you for a hug.

“Oh, Y/n! I’m still so sorry for that day, I honestly feel horrible.” She pouted, her big eyes staring at you for a response.

“It’s really nothing, Yoojin.” You tried to sound casual. You let her in your apartment. “But, doesn’t your ankle hurt? There’s a lot of stairs coming up.”

“Oh, uhm, the doctor said it was only a minor injury.” She paused. “And I heal fast.”

“That’s good,” you smiled, patting her shoulder.

“But I still feel so bad, Y/n.” She whined. “Lemme make it up to you. I’ll set you up with this really hot guy I know. He’s a law student. You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“Kim Yoojin!” Na-eun yelled.

“How about it? You’re free tomorrow, right?” Yoojin looked at you, ignoring Na-eun.

“I guess so,” you hesitantly agreed, “since it’s the weekend tomorrow.”

“Great!” Yoojin wrapped her arms around you, jumping up and down. “I’ll text you everything tonight.”

Yoojin kept up with her promise. After the three of you stuffed yourselves with good food, your two friends decided to leave before it got too dark. It was just a bit later when Yoojin’s text came through. You were to have dinner with this man called Kang Taehyun at an Italian restaurant tomorrow. Although you weren’t too thrilled with the idea of eating pasta, you figured you could withstand it for one night on the basis of trying something new.

You didn’t know how you felt about going on this date. Although you were excited to meet somebody new, something just felt off. Plus, you’ve never been on a blind date before. Who knows how good Yoojin’s judge of character was, or if this guy was like anything that Yoojin described.

You sighed, putting those thoughts aside. It was just a one time thing anyways, and who knows? Maybe this could lead to something. You looked over at Bang Chan’s hoodie. His warm hoodie that smelled so much like him. You should return it soon.

It was almost like he read your mind. As soon as you looked away, your phone rang with a call from Bang Chan.

“Hello?” You picked up.

“Hey, did you find your jacket?” He asked. You were surprised he still remembered.

“No… not yet.” You drifted off.

“Oh. We’ll keep looking for it, yeah? I’ll just buy you a new one if you can’t find it.”

You giggled. A couple seconds of silence passed.

“My shoot ends at six tomorrow. Wanna go to that barbecue place I was talking about?” He asked.

That’s right. Bang Chan couldn’t stop raving about that barbecue restaurant the whole week. He was really excited as his diet would end when he was done with his photoshoot, and he was apparently craving meat the whole time. All his praise made you very eager to see what the hype was all about.

You were about to eagerly accept, but then you remembered the date you had just planned not even a moment earlier. “Can we go another time? I… kinda have a blind date tomorrow.”

A few more seconds passed before you heard Bang Chan’s voice again.

“Blind date?”

“Yeah, my friend set it up. We’re going to this Italian place. Apparently he’s a really nice and handsome guy. He’s a law student, too.”

“Wha- law student? Y/n, are you sure you should be going on a blind date now? I mean, you just got here. You don’t know the city that well and you don’t even like pasta. What if he’s dangerous?” Bang Chan scoffed, his words got faster with each sentence.

“Chan, it’s okay. You don’t need to worry, I’ll be safe. Plus, I trust my friend.”

“You mean your friend you only just met?”

Silence.

“I only just met you as well.” You spat, slightly insulted that he would speak like that about Yoojin.

There was more silence that lingered.

“Whatever. Have fun on your date.” Bang Chan spat back, his harsh tone matching yours. Right after he said that, he hung up.

You looked angrily at your phone. Frowning, you threw your phone on your bed. Who was he to get angry at you for having a blind date? You recognized the dangers of meeting somebody new, but you trusted Yoojin. You were confident that Yoojin was honest about Taehyun.

A boyfriend would be nice too. Ever since your last relationship early in your university career, you haven’t had the best luck with men. It could have been because of how closed off your old friend group was. Your friends stayed consistent ever since you were young, and it was way too awkward to date a friend. You also found yourself way too closed off to go out and meet any new people.

Yes, tomorrow would be a good experience, you told yourself.

The next day, the hours leading up to your date felt like they had passed way too fast. The call with Bang Chan from last night still lingered on your tongue like sour candy, but you were determined to push past that in order to get ready on your date. After all, you didn’t want any frown lines to show.

You were excited to get ready. The amount of time it took to do both your hair and makeup was embarrassingly long, as you wanted everything to look just right for tonight. You didn’t want a hair to be out of place. You also took your sweet time to pick an outfit. Although the skirt you picked out probably wasn’t fit for the fall weather, you stuck with it anyways, choosing to layer a jacket over your outfit. One of your non-burnt jackets.

Double checking yourself in the mirror one last time, you locked the door and headed out. The streets were busy tonight. They were filled with people of all ages trying to relax from their tiring week.

Finding the restaurant wasn’t a hassle as the place was conveniently located at one of the busiest streets for weekend night-life. Dim yellow lights illuminated the tall glass windows just enough for you to see just the shadows of people enjoying their Saturday night. Green vines wrapped around the building, twirling and twisting their way around every crevice available. You tried not to fiddle with your thumbs as you nervously entered the lavish looking Italian restaurant.

“Hello, table for Kang Taehyun?” You asked the hostess. She showed you to a little table right beside a window. It was illuminated by a single candle, and already had two glasses of wine placed on it. And sitting at the table, hands crossed in front of him, was a hideously gorgeous man.

He looked like something out of a drama, really. With his tall nose and his sharp jaw, you struggled to convince yourself that this was a real man. His hands looked twice the size of yours.

“Hi, Y/n?” He asked. “I’m Kang Taehyun.”

He smiled and gestured for you to sit in the empty chair in front of him. You politely greeted him back and sat down. The two of you made some small talk before ordering. He made some suggestions on what to order, but you didn’t really care. You knew you wouldn’t like any of the pastas anyway. Plus, you swore to yourself you wouldn’t be drinking alcohol in front of strangers again.

“I’m surprised you agreed to this date.” You said, awkwardly laughing. “Isn’t a law student supposed to be really busy, especially around this time?”

“Well, I’m mainly doing this as a favour for Yoojin. She helped me with one of my classes.” He took a swig of his wine. “That girl is crazy smart. Or should I say crazy, but smart?”

“Oh?” You didn't want to admit that you were a bit disappointed he only agreed because of a favour. But he was being honest, so that was fair. What he said about Yoojin, though, took you by surprise.

“I’ve only heard rumors,” he tilted his head, “but some say that once in first year she went crazy over a guy. Started stalking him and everything. Apparently she even burned all his textbooks just because he started talking to another girl. They weren’t even dating.”

Your eyes widened at the allegations. There was no way any of that was true. You couldn’t imagine Yoojin — sweet, sweet Yoojin — to be capable of anything like that. There was no way her big puppy dog eyes and her fluffy hair could hurt a soul.

“Are you sure that’s what happened?” You asked.

“I mean, the guy was put into a mental hospital shortly after everything happened,” he shrugged, “so who knows? Maybe he made everything up in his head.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You nodded your head in agreement. Some of your hair fell on your pasta. You blushed, quickly trying to dab the sauce away using a napkin.

“You know Y/n,” Taehyun chuckled, “you’re cute. You’re not my type. I mean, I’ve only ever dated models before, but maybe it’s time to start settling down since I’ll be working at the firm soon.”

Thanks, I guess? You thought. You honestly didn’t know if that was a compliment or a jab, but either way you felt slightly insulted. You didn’t know how to reply to that, but it didn’t take long before Taehyun started again.

“I mean, look at my ex,” he said as he pulled up a picture of his ex-girlfriend on Instagram. She looked flawless in her bikini. “There’s no way I could actually marry somebody like that, right?”

If he says ‘I mean’ one more time… You thought to yourself. This date was turning south fast. This man was extremely handsome — almost god-like — but every word that left his mouth was poison infused arrogance. You didn’t know which was worse: listening to the man in front of you talk about his ex, or eating the pasta that was ordered by him.

You tried your best to stay polite with him for the rest of the evening. It was hard, though, as his cocky personality kept poking you down the whole time. It wasn’t until you finally separated that you had space to breathe. Great, you were left both hungry and annoyed.

Turning the lights on in your home, you sat at the kitchen table, still annoyed over your bad night. You took out your phone, wanting to scroll through the food delivery apps to find something to eat. Your thumbs began drifting.

No, stop. You silently begged yourself. Please, not tonight.

Your body didn’t seem to listen to your mind, however, as your thumb stayed hovering over Bang Chan’s contact. You pleaded to yourself to not press it, but your fingers seemed to have an agenda of their own. You pressed his contact. The phone call started.

One ring. Two rings.

“Hello, Y/n?”

You were shocked. He wasn’t supposed to pick up. Not after how poorly your last conversation went. You didn’t know what to say.

“Chan, how was the photoshoot?” You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t expect him to even pick up.

“It went great — feels good that it’s over, though.” He chuckled.

You wanted to tell him about your date: how arrogant Taehyun was, how fancy the restaurant was, how nasty the pasta was. You wanted to say all that, but tonight it seemed like your body just wouldn’t cooperate with your mind. And sure enough, you caught your mouth running before your mind. But this time, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Chan,” you took a deep breath, “wanna come over?”

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #bang chan scenarios #bang chan imagines #stray kids angst #bang chan angst #skz imagines #skz scenarios

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

ʃ: fingers running through sweaty hair for Jake 👀

CW: Creepy whumper, noncon touching (nonsexual), sleep deprivation, referenced electric shock

Takes place during Jake's Interrogation during the Safehouse Raid, after this piece

The metal table is cool against his cheek, and Jake drifts, dazed. He's too tired to even begin to open his eyes, in too much pain to sleep.

His shoulders throb from having his hands zip-tied behind him for... hours? Days? The blood has dried and crusted on the opaque plastic, he can feel it sometimes flaking off when he shifts around trying to find some way, any way to sit that is more comfortable.

There isn't one.

Everly left, said he wanted to try a diner down the road. Or something. He said something, anyway - words break apart in Jake's mind and rearrange themselves in new, unrecognizable shapes.

A shoe scrapes the concrete floor behind him and he flinches, two seconds too late.

"Fucking pathetic," Everly whispers, and Jake doesn't know if he's really here, already back, or if he's just seeing things. "I've had trainees half your size fight longer than you can. You're going to give him up to me, you know."

The handler's fingers run through Jake's sweaty dirty hair, scratch into his scalp, send new shivers down his spine. He tries to push himself back up, but there's a hand against his neck forcing his head to stay down, pressed against the table.

"You won't last. You'll tell us where he is, and we'll go pick him up. Poor thing's probably confused, and scared, huh?"

Jake's eyes close even more tightly, heat building behind them through the dryness that comes with dehydration, exhaustion.

Chris has to stay right where he is, in Nat's house. He has to listen to what Jake told him before...

He has to listen.

Everly's thumb rubs little circles along the thin skin just behind Jake's ear, sending nausea spiraling outward from the contact, making Jake shake with disgust. He's too exhausted to fight back, too tired and worn and hurting too much to do anything but hold still and take it.

And still, it's nothing compared to what the rescues have survived. Nothing compared to the hell they'll face if they're recaptured.

"We'll get him. You'll break, and we'll get him, and I'll make absolutely sure you get to watch us put the collar back on that pretty little neck..."

I'll die first. He tries to say it but he's so fucking tired. He can't remember how to move his lips to form the words.

"Make you watch more than that, if I can get Renford to sign off on it. What do you think, huh? Want to see why your little runaway's worth all this fuss to find him again? See what he can do?"

Rage builds but it's fractured, buried. He can't pull it together enough. He can't pull away from Everly's hands. He can't do anything but keep his eyes closed and try desperately not to picture the horrors Everly slowly, gleefully begins to describe to him, what they'll do to Chris when they find him, how they'll hurt him, how it will be Jake's fault for not being able to keep him safe.

He tries to keep his breathing calm as Everly pets him, slow and languid, they've got all day to treat him like this. All day and all night, to talk and talk and talk.

And elsewhere, please God, Chris is still safely hiding in the safehouse, or made it through the tunnel to someone who can help. Please, please God, Jake thinks, mildly surprised to find himself praying. Please keep him safe.

Everly's voice drones on, and his hand moves rhythmically through Jake's hair. The feeling stops being sickening, at some point - Jake has no adrenaline left. Instead, it's... almost soothing. Lulling him towards a thin, fragile doze.

He's drifting again.

Wait for me, Jake thinks, bleary. He can barely form the thought. Wait for me, Chris. I haven't left you.

I'm coming back to you.

Just give me time.

#whump #box boy #box boy universe #jake the shelter guy #safehouse raid #creepy whumper #noncon touching (nonsexual)#noncon touch #sleep deprivation cw #bbu

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jinkicake · 4 years

Text

Love You Like I Can

Hinata, Kenma, Tendou when their darling finally breaks up with their s/o.

Hinata Shouyou x Reader

Kozume Kenma x Reader

Tendou Satori x Reader

Anon, I apologize, I kinda branched off into something much darker than you maybe intended,,,,,, I couldn’t help myself/still can’t believe I wrote this LOL........ For those wondering what my Feitan writings are like, it is like this but much worse,,,,, sigh. Also! Please let me know if I forgot to tag a tw, I think I got it all,,,,

SMUT // NSFW

TW : heavy implications of yandere themes, stalking, kidnapping, sadistic/masochist behavior, dubcon (kinda),,,

Take this into consideration before you read ^^^

WC- 2,171

~~~

Hinata Shouyou

Do you know Yoosung from Mystic Messenger,,,, LOL I think you guys know where I am going with this,,, Yoosung is the same type of yandere that Hinata would be like…. In this situation/in my mind

Hinata is so sweet and pure that it almost seems unreal for him to be possessive and protective,,,, not to mention obsessive and controlling,,,, so you never see it coming

Pls, if he sees you talking to any guy that isn’t him ,,,,, or any person even,,,, I think he would get really riled up

He’d want to be with you always and be the only one that you’re thinking about….

Hinata just reminds me of that soft boy™ who would turn out to be a mf yandere type…..

Let’s say you go to Shiratorizawa and you know Hinata from volleyball,,, bc your s/o also plays volleyball. When word gets out that you and your s/o break up, Hinata would be the first to comfort you and would be so supportive with everything you do

Then it kinda goes to shit because one minute you’re drinking something and then the next you’re waking up in an unknown room that you’ve never seen before. You’re all tied up and can barely move, can barely focus on what is even in the room

When you finally wake up Hinata is so happy and he still has that exciting energy he always has,, he’s like ‘ah I’ve been waiting for ten hours and now you’re finally awake!!!!’ And if you try to ask like where you are and stuff, Hinata would just say some bs like ‘you’re with me?’

This mf,,,,, I feel like when he tortures you, he kinda twists it into a way that it makes it seem like he is doing it for your own benefit. Like him carving his initials into your skin is to protect you and for everyone to know who you belong to, that sorta thing

Hinata would put all his energy into showing you why you belong with him, why you two need to be together, he’d probably punish you for not seeing it sooner and that’s where the angry sex comes in….

“Didn’t you know I was there for you all along?” Hinata asks curiously, still thrusting three of his fingers inside of you while ignoring the muffled whines and cries that leave your lips. “Why did it take you so long to come to me?” He continues to ask, a frown taking up his face as he voices his thoughts. His fingers inside of you once brought pleasure but now they are bringing pain, he has made you cum five times and has not once stopped. Your walls are feeling so stretched and every touch to your clit feels like you’re being shocked with electricity, it hurts. “Don’t you realize how much I love you? Why not me? Am I not good enough for you?”

His orange hair dips as his frustration oozes out of him and he flicks his wrist as he curls his fingers inside of you, dragging along your walls to find that one spot.

“You’re all mine now, I don’t have to worry anymore, right?” He growls and stares at you, his eyebrows furrowed and the dark look on his face makes him look unrecognizable.

“You don’t have to worry anymore, Shouyo-“ You cry, and your back arches into the air as he finally drags his fingers along that spot.

“Good, good.” He sighs happily and uses his other hand to rub your clit with four of his fingers. “I love you (Y/N), I love you so much and now you’re all mine!”

Hinata’s eyes light up with need as he stares at your swollen clit getting tortured underneath his fingers, his mouth waters at the sight of your cum spilling down his wrist. Hinata sticks his tongue out of his mouth in concentration as he repeatedly snaps his wrist to thrust his curled fingers along your walls and his mouth drops out when you squirt all over him.

“You must love me so much, don’t you (Y/N)?” Hinata asks you and you don’t have the nerve to tell him that you hadn’t just cum, not when he is like this. His orange hair dips once again between your thighs as he mutters to himself. “It is so obvious, how did I never notice before.”

Kozume Kenma

Now,,, with Kenma….. I think his feelings would be really dormant for a while,,,, like he would always have these obsessive tendencies with you but he would be able to control it and hide it

He’d become your friend and gain your trust,,, then stick cameras in your room when you’re not watching so then he can always know what you’re doing

Kenma is the type where your friends would joke about him having a little crush on you and you’d all laugh it off but in reality,,, Kenma is obsessed with you…. He doesn’t simply have a crush on you,,, he is in love with you

And as soon as you break up with your s/o, all his restraint will fly out the window. He will have zero problems taking you back to his own apartment/room and keep you there,,,,, Kenma does this in a way so that it makes you think you have control over the situation like you’re going to his place because you want to

He kinda reminds me of 707 type yandere you know? I don’t know why I keep referring to mystic messenger character but it helps me write this so….

Kenma won’t pay any attention to you or give you any attention but just simply having you in the same room as him makes him feel calmer, he lets you talk or rant for as long as you like,,, he is very manipulative with this whole thing

However, when Kenma finally has enough of you talking about your stupid ex s/o that he cannot stand ,,,, he will shut you up

Cue him kissing you and shit~,,, this will go from 0 to 100 real quick like what you think is your ‘friend’ trying to make you feel better will turn into Kenma’s dormant feelings exploding with every touch

All his previous feelings of rejection and just an obsessive need to make you his will surface,,, but he does it in such a way that it isn’t that intense and you’re into it…… even if he has an entire closet filled with sex toys that he wants to use on you

Kenma will leave physical marks on you….. You’re not coming out of this the same, no, he has a hold on you now and he is never going to let go

“Kenma!” You cry out as his slender cock rubs along your walls, his arms tighten around you and you moan again at the feeling of his warm skin.

“I can fuck you so much better than they could,” He whispers into your ear as he twists your leg up into an odd angle, one that makes it easier for him to dive deeper into you but also makes your muscle scream in pain.

“W-what?” You ask, unable to focus on what Kenma is saying due to heat taking over your body.

“You never moaned like this with them before,” Kenma mentally notes and begins to bite down on your neck, letting his thin hair tickle your jaw. “I’m going to show you how much I care about you.”

You can only nod at his words, even if you have zero clues what he is saying, it doesn’t really matter when he’s fucking you this good. It’s like you can’t even remember your own name.

“You like that, don’t you?” He coos in amazement and tests his theory as he sits up on the back of his calves, holding you up by your waist with your legs draped over his shoulders, practically fucking you upside down. This new angle makes you feel everything, and the gravitational pull on your breasts makes you grab onto them which brings a new wave of pleasure.

“Oh, Kenma I’ve never been fucked like this before,” You mewl happily and take pleasure in the way he is quite literally rearranging your guts. Kenma smirks to himself and digs his nails into your waist, watching as you wince slightly.

“I know, I know.” He mutters quietly and continues to smack his hips into your ass, watching with heavily lust-filled eyes at the way you squirm at the sting. “What kind of filthy whore likes this kind of play?” Kenma wonders in amusement, the deep crescent moon shapes are left into your skin by his nails and Kenma starts to wonder what exactly else he can get away with you.

Tendou Satori

Tendou,,,, ah,,, I kept thinking about this one for a while……

He would somehow always be able to keep tabs on you,,, even if you’re not really friends and if you go to different schools. Whether it be that he just always keeps himself updated on your social media or hears a lot about you,

Any aspect of your life… Tendou will somehow know about it without you even realizing it… He also is very attentive with your s/o too and always keeps tabs on them as well and very soon it turns into an obsession like Tendou has to have you

Tendou wants you so badly and all to himself, to the point that he can’t hold himself back and he needs to talk to you

Even if you go to different schools Tendou will coincidentally run into you, it is so perfect that you’d never expect that every minor detail was planned, and he slowly builds up your friendship from there

Tendou seems like the type to be very clingy and always touching you but not to the point where you’re weirded out by it,,,, he does it in a way that you genuinely come to like…. You and your s/o probably break up because of Tendou

I feel like Tendou would manipulate his actions so that you genuinely fall for him,,,, which works perfectly for him because now he has you all to himself

It’s like a flip is switched and Tendou goes from your caring friend to the possessive person he is, all his feelings come pouring out and he can’t help the way he treats you

I feel like when you cry it turns him on so he wants to see your tears when he fucks you,,,, Tendou plans everything he does and manipulates every aspect so you start to enjoy it and you think it is just some hot sex when really….. it is just Tendou showing you everything he feels for you

You are literally his after this,,,, Tendou is not going to let you go,,,, and you wouldn’t want it any other way

Your elbows give out after a particularly hard thrust and you fall face-first into the mattress. Tendou grins and cockily rolls his shoulders back before pressing on the back of your head with his palm to shove your face into the sheets. You can barely fucking breathe but with the way Tendou is slapping his hips into your ass and the way his balls are deliciously slamming into your clit, you don’t care.

“You’ve always wanted my attention, haven’t you?” Tendou spits and narrows his eyes down at you. “You always wanted me to fuck you like this, I know how much you like me.” He throws out into the air and if you could nod, you would. “That little Seijoh boy can’t fuck you like this? Can he?” Tendou mocks and you moan loudly at his words. “If only he could see you now, see how good I am fucking you.”

Tendou brings his hand down to slap your ass, the arch in your back has your ass practically shoved into his face. His grin only widens when he sees how your ass jiggles for him and how each thrust has your tits slapping your face.

“Tell me I’m the biggest cock you’ve ever had.” He twists your hair around his fist and yanks your neck so that your face is slightly up again. You take in a deep breath of fresh air and whine loudly.

“Yes,” You cry and Tendou raises an eyebrow before slapping your ass again, laughing at the way tears fall down your face at the sting.

“Yes, what?” He asks darkly and places his had right against your spine, right above your ass before pressing down hard. The pressure makes you sob even harder and you whimper at the pain.

“You have the b-biggest cock I’ve ever had.” You repeat and relax into the sheets when he starts fucking you again, the fast pace is something you refuse to try and even keep up with so you lay against the sheets with your eyes closed.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now (Y/N), we aren’t even close to being done.”

Taglist.

@yams046 @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy @xhanjisungiex @xxashshs @chaosamu @angelkogane @augustdearly @kunimwuah @lovellucy @osamuonigiri @pearzuko @darksxder

#hinata shoyo x reader #kozume kenma x reader #tendou satori x reader #hinata x reader #kenma x reader #tendou x reader #hinata smut #kenma smut #tendou smut #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu smut

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neonacity · 3 years

Text

Black Daisies Chapter 5| Canzona

Preview:

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”

An NCT mafia AU with OT23.

Summary: Working for the mafia comes with many layers. There’s excitement, violence, loss, and betrayals. Yet there’s also friendship, family, loyalty, and code. The last thing it needs? Love and all the complexities it brings.

TW: violence, death, mentions of drugs and other illegal activities. If you’re uncomfortable with any of these, feel free to skip. Author’s note: This is purely a work of fiction. In no way am I supporting all the illegal activities and behaviors that might be mentioned in the story nor am I implying that any member of NCT acts whichever way I may write them here--they’re all sweetiepies that need to be protected.

Chapter: 1/ First Stage

Chapter: 2/Overture

Chapter: 3/The Conductor

Chapter: 4/Crescendo

The fog of smoke from the lighted cigarette mixed with the cold breath coming from blood red lips. A woman stood in a small overhead overlooking the city, watching the shadows move across Seoul like a dark cloud bidding disaster.

The sound of gravel crunching under boots sounded from behind her. She didn’t acknowledge it at first, however, instead dropping the nearly finished stick of nicotine between her fingers to the ground. A gust of air blew the stray stub away, its embers flaring up slightly before dying out.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

For a moment, it was only silence that answered her. Her dress danced in the wind, its red color looking like dried blood in the darkness.

“You were waiting...for me.”

She finally turned around to look at the guest. Her eyes, though naturally sharp, flickered with familiarity as she took in the form of the boy in front of her.

“I know you’re about to do something silly. I’m only here to tell you to stop whatever idea you’re having right now.”

The figure didn’t move in front of her, but the way he stared at her made the distance between them almost crackle with electricity. The man’s jaw tightened, before it finally relaxed just a little bit.

“None of NCT is planning to participate in his game.”

The woman merely raised a perfectly shaped brow, knowing that there’s more to what he is saying.

“But I—”

“Jaehyun. Don’t be stupid.”

“Being the Don means I can do anything I want, right? So you and I can—”

“There is no you and I,” her voice, though it sounded clipped and cold in the meeting hall earlier, had a tinge of emotion this time. Is it desperation? Frustration? Helplessness?

Jaehyun took a few steps towards the smaller figure in front of him, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep him from reaching out to her.

“You will be free. From him. From all of this.”

“If you win.”

“And I will.”

“Not after you’ve betrayed your brothers. You know what things this kind of game brings. Don’t do something you’ll regret later.”

He locked his jaw again, his expression intense even under the shadows that wrapped the two of them. Jaehyun finally pulled one hand from his pocket and moved it to touch her arm. The woman took a step back, evading his touch carefully.

“I don’t need to betray anyone. We all agreed on it. Everything will carry out as usual,” he said in a tone that sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. As she looked up at him, she saw the same desperation in his eyes—the same eyes that used to be so innocent before they were hardened by his life in the mafia.

“And you believe them? Look at where you are now, in front of me, telling me you’ll be doing this. You think you are the only one who has a reason to go after the position among all of you?”

“I…” he trailed off, a frown settling on his forehead. “I trust them.”

“With the way you are acting, I don’t think you are worthy of their trust at all.”

Something finally snapped inside of him and he finally closed the distance between them in quick strides. He didn’t touch her, but they were close enough to each other that the cold fogs of their breath mingled in the darkness.

“This is the only chance I have—you have—to finally leave.”

For a moment she simply looked at him, gaze unfaltering. She wanted nothing more than to reach out to his face and cradle it, tell him everything is going to be fine, but even as a flicker of emotion slipped on her gaze, she quickly let her cold mask replace it as fast as it came.

“I don’t need you to save me. Don’t do this.”

Before he could say, or do anything else, she finally took a step back again before turning on her heels to walk away. Jaehyun followed her with his gaze until the darkness swallowed her retreating form.

“Yo, you okay?”

I looked up from squinting at my computer and turned towards the boy grinning in front of me. I probably looked funny, my face all scrunched up from staring at my screen, because he broke into a laugh before dropping himself into the seat next to me.

“Ya… I know Taeyong said you’ll be our first line of defense, but you haven’t peeled your butt from your seat since last night. Relax. I don’t think Cypher is going to do anything—at least not for now.”

My squint turned into a frown and I opened my mouth to shoot back a reply. Before I could say anything though, a painful throb on my left temple made me stop. I barely slept a wink last night. I leaned back on my chair with a defeated sigh.

“You don’t know that, Yuta. Those guys… they’re nasty. If they got the same message that we all got last night, I’m 99 percent sure they’re thinking of something to sabotage us now.”

“Mm… were you able to hack into their system though?”

“Yeah. Their firewall sucks as usual. Nothing seems out of place for now…” I trailed off as my gaze moved across the room. From upstairs, I saw Taeyong slip out of his room in his sweats, hair messy from sleep. He ducked into the fridge on the second floor, rummaging for something there.

After the announcement from the Don, all the members decided to stay in the headquarters temporarily instead of going to their separate dorms to ‘watch each other’s backs.’ It was a good move in my opinion, but another side of me is also a little bit nervous of having everyone around all the time. Not that I don’t like having the guys as company… but I have my personal reasons to be anxious about the recent change in living arrangements.

From upstairs, Taeyong finally managed to fish out one of the tetra boxes of banana milk from the back of the fridge. I didn’t realize I was still staring at him until his eyes finally met mine and he gave me a sleepy smile.

I quickly turned my eyes back to Yuta only to find him giving me a Cheshire grin.

“What?”

“I asked you if you also tried checking temporary databases Cypher might be using but you were too busy eating up breakfast with your eyes,” he snickered before throwing up his hands as if in surrender. “I get it, I get it. All of us are handsome but you only have eyes for—”

I quickly gave him a punch on his left shoulder as I felt blood rush to my cheeks. “I—wasn’t staring!”

“Sure, you were just drooling—”

“Hey, anyone up for some drinks tonight?”

Our childish banter temporarily stopped as Yuta and I looked up to see a very sweaty Johnny stride through the door. He was slightly panting as he approached us, the slight flush of his cheeks a sign that he just finished his morning run.

“Why? You going to Anarchy?” Yuta asked in curiosity as he dug his hands in the front pocket of his sweater.

“Yeah, I have to make sure the dealers are selling the new goods well. I could go alone as usual but our Mom there,” he moved his lips to point towards a still sleepy-looking Taeyong upstairs, “said it is best to go in groups for now. You know, just to be sure.”

Yuta shrugged. “I can go with you. I’ll also ask the other guys too. I sure need a bottle or two.”

Johnny turned to look at me. For the first time since last evening, I felt extremely conscious of how I look. I was wearing an oversized hoodie, my hair up in a sorry excuse of a bun. My glasses didn’t do me any favors, barely concealing the dark circles under my eyes.

“You want to come with us?” he asked, smiling at me.

“Uh… I don’t think that’s a good idea. I have to—”

“She has to watch over the rats, is what she’ll say,” Yuta interjected from his seat. He turned to look at me then with a frown. “Seriously, if you’re going to act like this, you’ll never see sunlight in the next two months.”

I opened my mouth to speak but Johnny was too quick to answer for me.

“Great. You’ll come with us then.”

“But—”

“You can work in the club. I’ll have Jungwoo bring those mini computers you both love tinkering with. You can use them to do your magic codes and spying voodoo, right?”

I stared at him, at a loss for words.

“Good talk. We leave at 9PM,” he flashed me another grin and turned to walk away. I was about to give another rebuttal when my eyes landed on the way his shirt stuck to the muscles of his back. I closed my mouth and sank back to my seat.

Beside me, Yuta was grinning from ear to ear again.

“Don’t you just love it that we’re all staying here now?”

I turned and gave him another punch on the shoulder.

Two hundred miles away from Seoul, a man sat back on his seat as the screen in front of him turned black. The lone light of the overhead lamp in the room made eerie shadows dance across his face as he mulled over the closing words of the Don.

“You are free to do anything you like.”

His impassive face slowly broke into a smile so sinister it almost made his angelic features unrecognizable. He has no fucking idea why the idiotic man decided to start this little game of his, but he likes it nonetheless. A chance to take over the whole mafia sounded so enticing to him that it almost made him laugh, but there’s another reason that ultimately made his blood boil in excitement.

NCT.

“Jihoon.”

He only slightly moved his head to look at the female who cracked the door open to his room. She had the same eyes as him, though hers didn’t look tainted with madness. In fact, it look slightly worried right now as they took in his expression.

“You called for me?”

“Ah, yes,” he finally turned his swivel chair towards her so he could give her his full attention. He intertwined his long slender fingers on his lap and gave her a sweet smile.

“I need you to make preparations. We’ll be going on a little field trip.”

Her questioning gaze almost made him snicker.

“Where are we going? We have a deal to close tomorrow and we can’t—”

“Oh dear, I can’t care less about that now. It can wait.”

The girl pursed her lips. “Fine. Where are we headed to so I can make arrangements?”

The boy leaned back on his seat, head pressed against the headrest. He grinned at her, the emotion playing in his eyes making her blood run cold.

“Seoul. We’re going to visit some friends.”

---

A/N: Hi everyone! Decided to post this today even though it is super short. So I’ve decided to introduce Jihoon... and I would love it if I can have a face claim that I can use for him as a reference. To those who have been following the story, I’d love to know your suggestions! This will make it easier for me to develop him because then I’ll have an idea of how he looks like. <3

Chapter 6: Rapture

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runawaymun · 3 years

Text

@ramyun-monster

per this meme

Oh I was quietly hoping someone would ask me about this one!!

*INHALES*

The thing is, I’ve always gotten the impression that the first couple of years since making The Choice(tm) was really rocky for Elrond and Elros. In my mind, Elrond made his Choice because he had foreseen that Middle Earth would need him in the years to come. He had a huge part to play. He saw that Elros did, too, but he assumed, naturally, that meant they had huge parts to play together. He never imagined that they would be separated from one another.

Elros, on the other hand, didn’t have as strong a gift of Sight as Elrond did. And I have always kind of figured that when he went through his bastard emo teenage phase (as we all do) he wanted nothing to do with the elves. In his mind, everything awful that had ever happened to him and Elrond came as a result of shitty things that elves did for shitty reasons. Like, hello, the kinslayings. He loves his Atya and Atto just as much as Elrond does, of course! But the rest of the elves can shove it. And I also have this impression that both of the twins struggled with some level of, for lack of a better term, species dysphoria growing up. They’re fucking WEIRD, okay? Not really Elf, not really Man, with a bit of Maia mixed in??? And I just kind of headcanon that Elrond always struggled with not looking Elvish enough, whereas Elros always hated the parts of him that were Elvish and wished he looked more Mannish or like a Maia.

So, of course, as soon as there came an option to identify with the mortal side of him he took it.

And hoo boi. Did they fight about it afterward.

But they made up, of course. Because they love each other. And by then Elrond looked much more Maia/Elvish. He never grew a beard. He’s very willowy and slender and freakishly tall, with those too-long delicate fingers and eyes filled with starlight. Elros became...not necessarily stockier, but sturdier I guess is a better word. He grew a beard. His eyes softened. And it’s really upsetting and emotional and disturbing for both of them when they first see each other again after a long, cold distance because for the first time they’re not identical.

For as long as Elros and Elrond can remember, they can see their reflection in their twin. And suddenly, they’re unrecognizably different.

But Elros still has pointed ears.

And he hates them.

Like they trigger his dysphoria so badly and Men either give him like, awe-struck stares or like, dirty looks. Depends. And that, of course, only makes him hate himself more.

And Elrond loves his twin. He loves Elros to bits. So he wants to help him with this even though it breaks his heart, because it’s the one feature they still share in common.

But he does it. He does it anyway. He figures out a way to reshape Elros’ ears for him because he wants nothing more than for his brother to be happy and to feel like himself, and he wants Elros to know that even though they made different Choices, he accepts and loves him, and he will eternally. No matter what.

Okay enough rambling: SNIPPET

It had been a longer road to healing than Elrond had anticipated. But that was another thing that had changed. Their sense of time was so unbelievably different. The past few weeks had gone by in an eyeblink for him, but not a day passed that Elros did not complain of how long it was taking for the surgery to heal. And it did, admittedly, take longer than it should have.

No, he corrected himself.

There was no ‘should have’ with Elros.

Not anymore.

They stood together at the mirror in Elros’ bedroom. Elros, at Elrond’s insistence, had covered his eyes with his hands. Elrond couldn’t help but stare at the two of them: Elros’ beard and lightly-haired arms, Elrond’s own smooth skin. He had grown a little taller than Elros, too. Nearly imperceptibly so, but they had once been the same height hair-for-hair.

Elrond had loved Elros’ ears. They had been his own ears. The last reminder of what they shared. The last bit of him that was Elros. And now, no longer.

“Are you ready?” he whispered, trying to keep the grief out of his voice.

Elros nodded. “Yes,” he breathed.

“No peeking. Not until I say.”

He could imagine the way Elros was scowling beneath his interlaced fingers. Elrond unwrapped the bandages from around his head and, with trembling hands, touched the shell of Elros’ ear. Elros sucked in a sharp breath. The suture scars were still visible where he had trimmed and reshaped the cartilage. There was only one final step.

He began to sing the cantrip he had devised, touching first the right ear, then the left, until at last it looked as if they had always grown that way. Round. Like a Man’s.

“There.” Elrond’s chest hurt. He scrubbed at the tears building in his eyes so Elros wouldn’t see them. “There,” he said again, injecting as much of a smile into his voice as he could stomach. “You can look.”

It was worth it to see the look on Elros’ face when he saw himself. Worth it to see that little bit of starlight return to his gray eyes such that Elrond had not seen in an Age. And oh, it hurt to look at him. To look at his twin. His brother. He was struck with a sense of wrongness which he swiftly rejected.

This was what Elros wanted. This was how he saw himself. He beamed as he traced the new shape with the tips of his fingers, over and over, feeling for a seam, a scar, anything. But there was none. No painful reminder of what they had looked like before. Only new skin. New beginnings.

I need to actually finish this one of these days because it kills me. But for now it sits in my docs folder. I’ll get to it lmao. When I can like, see through my tears to finish typing it because I cry every damn time I stare at this.

#out of uniform #elrond #elros #lotr #lord of the rings #the silmarillion #cw dysphoria #more like a discussion around dysphoria #but still want to tag to be safe #this one hurts ok #it hurts my heart

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pumpkinov · 3 years

Text

Where the Dust Settles

This chapter is a little weird, but there's lots of things I need to set up. Bear with me, I promise, we're heading somewhere with this!

You can read Chapter 1 here

Portia Collins, the sole survivor of Vault 111 has lost more than most. With the Institute defeated, she sets her sights to the next big jobs - unification of the Commonwealth wastelands and the large warship docked at the Boston Airport. More work for the General of the Minutemen, who is finding herself increasingly alone as her companions move on with their lives. John Hancock, the Ghoul Mayor of Goodneighbour is struggling to find his footing in the new political climate of the Commonwealth, and is finding a surprisingly vocal supporter in his local Minuteman General.

Chapter 2. I can hold a grudge like nobody’s business

There is an important meeting, Piper chain-smokes and Hancock climbs a heavy set of stairs.

He fucking showed.

“Well, fuck me.” Portia exhaled in surprise, as the red figure approaching her across the quiet square held his arms out wide. There was an interesting leap in her chest as he grinned. Fuck he was smug. But it was hard not to smile back, despite the almost constant urge to hit him.

Mayor Hancock was an anomaly.

“Good morning, General.” He whipped his tricorn hat off his head and held it to his chest as he dropped into an exaggerated bow.

“Good morning, Mayor.” Portia offered him a cigarette, which he accepted. They stood in silence for a moment, their breath fogging between them. It was still in the square, it had snowed overnight and the ground beneath their feet was covered in a soft powder that would no doubt turn to a dirty, watery sludge by midday. The air was crisp, and Portia’s nose and cheeks were already turning red. The sun lay in bars across the ground as it rose through the buildings.

Hancock exhaled smoke. “You’re surprised to see me, aren’t you?”

Portia raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t pick you for an early riser.”

He shrugged, flicking the ash off the tip of his cigarette. “I don’t sleep much.” He paused, then grinned wickedly, “Bed serves a different purpose these days.”

Portia opened her mouth to scold him, but was interrupted.

“General?” She turned to see Preston walking down the steps of the Rexford. He was in better shape than she expected, honestly. He had a dark hickey on the side of his neck, but his eyes weren’t bloodshot and he wasn’t swaying.

“Good night, Preston?” Portia asked, reaching to adjust his scarf. He grinned broadly, and batted her hand away.

Hancock snickered, and pitched his cigarette butt into the gutter. “Should we get this freakshow on the road?”

Preston hummed in agreement, slinging his laser musket across his shoulder.

Portia’s rifle was strapped to her back, her pistol strapped to one leg, and her combat knife strapped to the other. She eyed Hancock, who appeared weaponless. He waved an arm towards the entrance of Goodneighbour. “After you!”

The streets of Boston were quiet this early in the morning. The regular patrols of Minutemen and traders helped keep the path between Diamond City and Goodneighbour relatively safe, though all three kept their heads on a swivel as they made their way through the shell of the city.

Hancock moved slightly ahead of them, and Preston fell into step next to her.

“How did you convince him to come?” He asked, quietly. Preston had spent a good hour trying to convince the mayor to accompany them to the council meeting the day before.

Portia shrugged. “I appealed to his better nature.”

Preston hummed a little, “You wore him down.” Portia knocked her shoulder against him, causing him to sway a little. He grinned back at her, before adjusting his hat. “I’m glad he’s here. I know he’s a pain in the ass, but-”

“He’s a wildcard.” Portia muttered. “I’m not sure if he’s going to dazzle them all, or stab them all.”

Preston shrugged. “It’s the Commonwealth, General. That’s a risk we’re always taking.”

Hancock stopped, spinning on his boot heel. A shotgun had appeared in his hands, and his face was serious. “If you two are done gossiping, we have company.” A bullet whistled past Portia’s side, and she heard the garbled cry of the supermutant who had shot it. The angry green face attached to the cry peered out from the side of a building just up ahead. Portia whipped her rifle off her back, as Preston cranked his laser musket. She aimed and fired off a shot, clipping the mutant in the shoulder. He cried and stumbled, before letting another bullet fly, at Hancock this time. The mutant’s aim was off, and Preston dispatched him with ease.

Another mutant appeared in the doorway of the building, running headlong at Hancock. She heard his rough laugh, before he unloaded a shell into the green creature’s face. He disappeared from her view in an explosion of blood and gore, both Portia and Preston breaking into a run to reach him. He was standing over the headless body of the mutant, his face pulled into a snarl that made him almost unrecognizable. Portia reached for him, her fingers brushing his coat.

“Hancock, are you-” She faltered a little, his eyes were wide and wild. There was a flash of memory, Portia; fresh out of the deep freeze and entering Goodneighbour, Hancock sliding a knife between the ribs of a man who had threatened her. The face was the same. Hancock took a breath, and adjusted his hat. The fierce look started to melt out of his eyes as he looked at her, his breath rising hot in front of his face in the crisp air.

“I’m fine, sister. And you two?”

“We’re fine.” Portia realised she was still holding onto his sleeve, and released it. Preston clapped Hancock on the shoulder.

“Excellent spotting, sorry we were late on the draw.”

Hancock smirked a little, looking more like himself. “Lucky I have my cat-like reflexes, Garvey.” Preston grinned ruefully, “Look I’ll take that. I’ll spot the next ones.”

“Good man.” Hancock gripped Preston’s wrist tightly, eyes shining.

The rest of the way to Diamond City was uneventful.

There were two familiar figures standing at the gates to the city. Piper was smoking furiously, pacing back and forward. Nick Valentine stood straight and still, watching for their arrival. Portia’s chest warmed at the sight of the pair. Preston raised a hand in greeting, and when they were in earshoot Piper pitched her cigarette and broke out into a jog, colliding with Portia and smacking a loud kiss on the side of her head. “Blue!” Portia laughed and wrapped her arms around Piper, lifting her feet a little off the ground. Piper reached for her battered red hat to stop it sliding off her head, “Put me down!” she shrieked. Portia released her as they moved forward, keeping a hand on Piper’s arm as she staggered a little.

They reached Nick, who shook Preston’s hand warmly before enfolding Portia in a hug. His metal hand pushed briefly between her shoulder blades before he released her. His yellow eyes landed on Hancock, who stood slightly aside from them.

“It’s good to see you, John.”

“Likewise, Nicky.” Hancock rasped, his eyes crinkling again at the corners. Piper pursed her lips, another cigarette already clamped between them. Portia squeezed her hand, before turning her attention to Preston.

“Are we ready for this, Garvey?”

Preston met her gaze. He looked nervous, but resolute. He nodded. “Yes General, I think we are.”

Portia smiled a little, trepidation twisting through her stomach. “Right, let’s get this over with.”

Hancock hesitated at the steps. He watched the welcome party climb the stairs ahead of him, talking excitedly. He took a deep breath - the place looked almost unchanged. His sense of smell wasn’t the strongest these days, but he could still make out the smell of Takashi’s noodles, the scent of paint and dirt. Diamond fuckin’ City. He never thought he’d come back here. He took a deep breath, and stepped onto the first step. The rest were easier to take.

McDonough’s old office had been stripped bare. There were chairs gathered in a semicircle, with Piper set up at the desk in the corner. There were settlers clumped in groups around the room, Hancock stood to the side, leaning against the wall, observing. Trying not to notice the bloodstain in the corner where the synth (his brother?) had died a few months previously. The floor was wet from the melting snow off everyone’s shoes. His eyes followed Portia as she moved around the room, greeting people. She was smiling, touching people, remembering names and faces. He didn’t really recognise any of the people in this room, except for Wiseman, who ran The Slog. Their eyes met, but there was no flicker of recognition in the old ghoul’s eyes. Wiseman remembered a different John, in a different lifetime. Eventually Portia arrived at the front of the room, and it fell quiet. She cleared her throat, and glanced up. Her eyes met Hancock’s for a moment. He felt a smile stretch the corner of his mouth up, and she bit down on her bottom lip, smiling in response. There was warmth in those eyes, despite how cold she could be. Lady will be the absolute death of me he thought idly, his eyes drifting down her frame as she started speaking.

“Welcome, everyone. This is the first time in a long time we’ve had a meeting like this. The people in this room represent the settlements of the Commonwealth, and for anyone in this room who may not know me, I am General Collins, leader of the Commonwealth Minutemen. This is my second in command, Preston Garvey, and I’ve bought you all here today to discuss the future of Diamond City, and the future of the Commonwealth as a whole.”

Portia had been right all along, Hancock mused to himself, this meeting had been important. And deeply, deathly boring. They discussed trade routes, infrastructure, and people brought up grievances both imagined and real. He tried to listen, he really did, but similar to his brief foray into education he found his mind drifting. He slid a box out of his pocket, and placed a mentat on his tongue. As he was trying to surreptitiously close the box again, he glanced up and caught Piper’s eye. She frowned at him disapprovingly, and he fought against the childish urge to poke his tongue out at her. He glanced out the window and saw that the sun was already heading back down again in the sky, how the fuck was it late afternoon already? His gaze fell down to the market below them, watching the small smudges that were the citizens of Diamond City go about their business. It looked the same from when he was younger. Except it wasn’t the same. Not anymore.

Portia was still standing in the front of the semicircle of chairs. She had tied her long brown hair back off her face while Hancock had been staring out the window, and he realised he’d never seen her with her hair up. The back and sides of her head were shaved. He wondered idly how those shaved parts would feel against the palms of his hands and grinned quietly to himself. He felt the mentat starting to work as it melted in his mouth, he was finding the words coming from the General a lot easier to follow. She was discussing the upcoming election for the new mayor of Diamond City.

“I think we’ve probably covered enough for one day,” she smiled, rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes briefly. “We’ll meet up again tomorrow, to discuss the Diamond City election a little more before this meeting is completely adjourned. Are there any questions before we call it a day?”

There were murmurs as a negative response to her question from the rest of the settlers, but Hancock found himself pushing his upper body off against the wall and stepping forward.

“I have a question, actually.”

Portia’s eyes met his from across the room. Her eyes were no longer warm, they were tired and guarded, but she still inclined her head.

“The floor recognises Mayor Hancock, of Goodneighbour.”

Heads turned to stare at him, and he found himself smiling, not in a particularly pleasant way. He fixed his stare on Geneva, sitting in one the chairs closest to Portia, his idiot brother’s old assistant.

“I’d like to know what plans are in place to remove the Anti Ghoul Decree of 2282?” He swirled the mentat around his mouth languidly, feeling it spike in the back of his skull. “Since both myself and Wiseman here are standing in the former mayor’s office, I would assume it has been retired at least in a non official capacity?”

Geneva looked at Portia, then Preston, then met his gaze. “Diamond City currently has only a small council, no changes to policy can be made at this time.”

Hancock raised a bony ridge where an eyebrow would be. “And is there discussion to remove it once there is a new mayor?”

“I - uh -” Geneva trailed off, looking back at Portia for assistance. Portia sighed, and stepped forward.

“That’s an excellent question Mayor, let’s table it and add it to the agenda to discuss tomorrow?” Her eyes met his again, this time pleading.

“I’d really like an answer now.” He smiled. She took another step forward.

“Mayor I don’t believe anyone has the capacity to answer this -”

“It’s a simple question,” he stepped backwards, opening his arms wide and looking around the room. “I just want to know if there’s any plans to allow the ghoul’s who used to live here to come home? The ones who survived, of course.”

The silence was heavy in the room. No one would look at him except Wiseman, whose face was emotionless.

“Good to know.” Hancock returned his gaze to Portia, and smiled. “Good to know. That’s all I had General, thank you.”

#fallout 4 #fanfic #John Hancock #Hancock #hancock/sole survivor #hancock/female sole #Where The Dust Settles

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awesomerextyphoon · 4 years

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Slit Reflection

This is my entry for @jtargaryen18’s Haunted House 2020 Challenge. Mine was Sam Wilson. Credit for dividers goes to @firefly-graphics. Check them out!

Summary: You’ve always loved Halloween, especially the haunted house at the edge of the woods. So happens when the ‘Star Spangled Trio’ enters the mix?

Pairing: Demon King!Sam Wilson x Black!Reader (Fem)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 3,054

Warning: Kidnapping, Forced Marriage, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Stalking, Breeding Kink, Mentions of Torture, and Non-Con/Dub-Con Smut. You have been warned.

Back to Masterlist

You’ve always loved Halloween. It was your birthday and the haunted house at the edge of the woods gave the best spooks and thrills. It was your first Halloween after undergrad and this year was different.

The Star Spangled Trio were celebrity guests and they were bringing two of the old rooms back!

It took you six days to get a ticket. You tried getting one online, every shop in town, but got nothing.

Finally, a new face at the library took pity on you and gave you the last ticket along with a book on demon folklore. You thanked the new librarian and rushed out of the building. Had you looked back you would’ve noticed a smirk on their face and their sclera and pupils turning black and gold respectively.

Halloween—the day of your birth—was here, and it was shit. Your toothbrush broke, your car refused to start, the job that you desperately wanted was dashed by yet another rejection email, and both your student loan and rent checks bounced. You just need to get through today.

You missed the cutoff, but got in because the person working the line was a family friend. Anxiously, you wait in line wondering how the haunted house in your small ass town managed to nab the Star Spangled Trio when you noticed the excited expressions of the people leaving. Now you’re super anxious.

By the time you entered the haunted house, you’re doing the breathing exercises to calm yourself. This was it! You were finally going to meet your all time heroes (and possible spank bank entries)!

The first few rooms were your typical haunted house fare which you loved, but were secondary to your excitement in seeing your heroes. Maybe you could get an autograph and hug from them!

You were about to follow the person in front of you into the haunted house’s hospital room when you noticed a light flickering to your left. It revealed a door done in the Neo-classical design with some Latin text engraved in the middle (had you studied Latin , you would’ve known that the text read “Reveal yourself, my beloved”).

Opening the door, you saw that it lead to the Hall of Mirrors. This part of the haunted house was always a favorite of yours, but both the itinerary and the ticket worker said that it was closed this year. The hall itself was chillingly quite and pristine as if no one else had stepped foot inside this season.

All of the mirrors looked standard for the haunted house; some of them made you laugh or briefly catch your breath. The one at the end of the hall caught you off-guard. It was at least 12ft (about 3.66m) high with intricate carvings of characters out of dark folklore and a single diagonal slit.

You were about to turn away when you saw nothing thinking it was a small haunted house joke at your expense when the mirror flashed.

In your place was the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, but it still looked like you..sort of. Your hair was long, luxurious and gently flowing. Your eyebrows, eyelashes, and nails were immaculate. Your nose was adorably broad and your lips were sensually full (the type of full women would shell hundred’s if not thousands of dollars for). You wore a diadem with thick gold chains ladened with diamonds, onyx, and rubies and around your neck was a ruby and onyx amulet. You were dressed in a loose, yet sleeveless form-fitting Vivaldi red gown with hints of fiery red and a thin rosewood colored shoulder veil connected to the dress by a ruby broach in the middle of your cleavage.

You looked about four or five inches taller and the mirror version of you made you feel nervous about your curves being out on display.

Curious, you reached out to touch the mirror. Your hand was less than a centimeter away when your mirrored self opened it eyes. Suddenly, it grew curved horns and its eyes glowed pale gold.

The mirrored version of you grabbed your outstretched arm and dragged you through the mirror all while you screamed hoping someone would come to your rescue, but to no avail.

Samael, or ‘Sam’ was notified of your departure and the trio had to excuse themselves from the festivities to congratulate Sam on finding his bride.

You woke up with a start and shout clawing the air but stopped once you realized that you weren’t falling anymore. Instead, you were in a huge, opulent room filled with treasures that not even Windsor Castle had. Curiosity seemed to have taken hold of you because you walked out onto the connecting balcony to find that you were on a different planet/dimension/realm, whatever!

There were floating landmasses (the smallest of which was the size of your small town) and five planets ranging from Moonbow Gold to Venetian Red in color.

You thought about where the fuck you were and how you could get back home when a voice interrupted your thoughts.

The source of the voice was a demon with Antique Ruby skin with reddish gray undertones and Cinnabar and Rosewood colored hair. She had two short outward curved horns with a gold chain and aquamarine teardrop connecting them. Her eyes were an inviting aqua blue eyes with a dark red sclera.

“Hello! My name is Scheherazade, but you can call me Sherry. I’m your Lady in Waiting. I’ve brought some food.” Sherry offered as she set the tray of food on a small table next to a dresser.

You smiled cautiously at your new elevated handmaiden,”Do you know why I’m-”

“Oh, I almost forgot! We need to get you ready for your presentation!”

The Fuck?!

“What do you mean ‘presentation’?,” you asked as nicely as possible, but reality came out more like a demand.

Sherry stopped her ministrations and faced you,”Well, when the monarch, crown prince, or princess declares their mate, they are presented to the royal court,” she then returned to her task of finding a suitable dress for you not catching the mortified expression on your face.

This day can’t get any worse. Wait?

“What time is it?”

“Oh, yes, It’s pretty much always night here. The sun only comes out for three hours. Would you look at the time! Everyone’s waiting!”

“One last question,” you started as Sherry began dressing you,”Who am I marrying?”

“Why my second cousin, King Samael, one of the Three Demon Kings, of course!”

You fought the impulse to faint.

It took thirty minutes for Sherry to make you look unrecognizable. Thankful for her assistance, you followed the floating torches to the throne room. The throne room was an enormous room with high wide vaulted arches, delicately carved pillars and columns, and a small bridge connecting the ground at the door to the center. The court comprised of beautiful yet fearsome demons of all shapes and sizes.

The king himself was seated on a grand, ornate throne atop a huge dais with at least 25 steps. He seemed familiar.

As soon as you were passed the threshold, the king raised his head and everyone stopped talking and cleared a path for you. Several courtiers whispered as you striddled towards the dais. When you finally reached the dais, the king got off his throne and walked down the steps to greet you.

You almost face-palmed. The king was Sam Wilson! Or at least, looked like him.

Sam for his part was devastatingly handsome. He had a tall, powerful build, broad shoulders, bulging biceps, muscular thighs, short well-kept hair and beard with surprisingly kind eyes.

“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” Sam uttered as he pulled you in for a hug. You could’ve sworn he sniffed your hair, but you didn’t want to go into that right now.

“Everyone!” The court turned to the throne,” Thank you for coming. I have finally found my bride. We will be married tomorrow night!” Sam exclaimed to thunderous cheers and applause. He slipped on a magnificent ruby and diamond engagement ring with a black gold band.

You could not believe this, “I can’t-,” you started, but Sam discreetly grabbed your wrist, “Pre-wedding jitters,” and led you to a side room.

You expected him to hit or yell at you like so many other royals in a similar setting, but instead he gave a sad smile and asked if you were truly happy in your old life. You thought about your crushing debt, little to no job prospects, both parents dead, no friends and you had to admit your life did suck, but he didn’t get to decide.

Disappointed, Sam casted a small compliance spell and pulled you in for a kiss. Your pupils blew out in lust and you lost yourself. When he finally decided to break for air, Sam stated that you will be his bride and he will not be denied any longer. You smiled and gave him a short but passionate kiss. He moaned but had to end it before he went too far.

Tomorrow night he promised himself.

He quickly called for Sherry to return you to your quarters.

Sherry woke you up the next ‘morning’ with a small army of beauty experts and maids.

“Rise and shine, Your Grace! We’ve got a bride to present!” Sherry proclaimed.

Damn it! It wasn’t a nightmare.

They managed to stuff you into a marvel of a wedding dress. It was a Torch Red long-sleeved mermaid wedding dress with soft yet detailed lace work made to look like an enchanted forest, diamond, dark ruby and pearl beads, and a floor length train. On your head was a black gold spiked sunburst goddess with deep ruby roses and a simple ruby teardrop chain that rested on your forehead, the ends of which were wrapped around your horns.

“Not even Lilith could compare, Your Grace!” Sherry gushed at her handiwork.

The wedding procession and ceremony was done in a swift fashion as Sam didn’t want to wait much longer. The vows were short as well. You wanted to object, call for help, anything but a voice in the back of your mind beat you to it.

A couple hours into the wedding festivities, Sam announced that it was time for he and his new queen to retire and led you to his quarters. It’s the fanciest suite you’ve ever seen dripping with luxurious reds, violets, and obsidian.

In all your awing of Sam’s quarters, you failed to notice him approaching you in only a simple loose shirt and trousers. He gently put his hands on your exposed shoulders,”Alone at last, my love.”

You recoiled, “Can’t we wait for a few days? It’s just…” you trailed off as soon as his jovial expression vanished replaced with something darker and hungrier.

“I’ve waited for so long to have you here with me, love,” Sam confessed while you moved towards the exit,”and I will not be denied any longer!”

In an instant, Sam pulled you in for a demanding kiss. He pushed his tongue past your lips moaning when your tongue tepidly danced with his own and from the sweet taste of your mouth. He pushed you onto a bed that had to three times the size of a California King and his lips moved jaw and neck, egged on by needy whimpers and moans.

He took his time ripping off your gown, enjoying the view like a child on Christmas, ”Fuck, you’re so beautiful. Utter perfection,” Sam murmured as he watched your breasts bounced free. He alternated between sucking and pinching your nipples with his hands and mouth,”I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he whispered in your left ear and he continued to play with your breasts like a concert-level musician. All the while moaned and cried out feeling pleasure you never thought possible.

Once satisfied with his handiwork with your chest, Sam’s hands roamed over your stomach and hips followed by strategically placed butterfly kisses that made you squirm. He tore off the last of your wedding gown causing you to hiss at the sudden sensation of cold air touching your pussy.

You used your last bit of willpower to plead, “Please stop! I’ve never-,” Sam stopped and raised his head to look at you.

“I know, love. I’ll be your first and only,” and with that, he gives your folds one long, slow lick and growled at your sweet and tangy taste, “I’ve wondered how you’d taste. You’re even better than the best Kharian wine. I could get used to this.”

He dove back in and played your pussy for all it was worth. His tongue worked its magic stroking and circling your clit sending you higher and higher into euphoria. Sam kept you right on the edge of an orgasm, just enough to beg for release.

“Say you’re mine!,” you mewled in response, to blissed out to use words. “Say it or I’ll leave!”

“Please let me cum, My King!” you cried out when he thrusted two fingers into your pussy.

“That’s a good girl. Now,”Sam started as he vigorously rubbed your pussy,”cum for me, love.”

Your orgasm came like a tsunami and Sam made sure finish his feast.

You got out of your post-oral haze to see Sam looming over in all his naked glory. His body must’ve been made by the gods because it was divine. His frame was an ode to sexiness wrapped in sinful warm sepia skin.

Sam caught you biting your lower lip and cocked his head, “Like what you see?”

Damn that cocky bastard, but damn if he wasn’t right. Part of you wanted to fuck his brains out…and that was before you saw his cock. Standing proud and erect with angry veins, his cock had to be the biggest you’ve ever seen (not like you had much exposure, just a few pornos).

Sam crawled up to you, lifted your chin and gave a soft kiss on the lips sensing your unease, “Relax, love,” He then lined his cock to your entrance and slid in as gently as he could.

You hissed from the pain, he was just so damn big. Sam praised you on how well you fit around him like ‘you were made for him’. Once the pain subsided, you bucked your hips into his causing him to moan at the sensation. He smiled at your eagerness and picked up the pace, making his thrusts come out to just the tip was in you and slamming back into you. You cried out his name each time he filled you to the hilt, pleading with him to go faster. Soon he reached your G-Spot causing to orgasm again, this time with you crossing your eyes and coming with a squirt.

Not too long after your second orgasm, Sam came with an otherworldly roar and glowing bright gold eyes shooting rope after rope of thick cum into your womb. He then flipped you onto your stomach and forced you onto your hands and knees so that he could take you from behind.

He got ten orgasms from you, each one more mind-blowing than the last. Once he was satisfied, he let you sleep.

“Soon you will be round with my seed, and we will have many children. I can’t wait.”

Ah hour after you closed your eyes, Sam left his, now yours, quarters. “Make sure she doesn’t leave,” he orders the guards although, he’s confident that she’s not going anywhere with the way he hammered her.

He strode down the corridors until he reached the dungeon. There, he found a rather nice looking apartment-style cell with only one prisoner, your mother.

“I’ve taken your daughter. Do you want to see her before you go?”

You see, Samael, Mikael (Bucky), and Stelios (Steve) were demon warlords who began conquering kingdoms left and right 1200yrs ago. They fought their way to the last free kingdom, Kharan. By the time your grandparents were brought before them, they had killed your uncle, the heir to the throne. The king and queen begged for their lives and the kingdom to be spared.

The trio agreed on one condition: if the next child the queen bears is a girl, then she would be Sam’s mate (Mikael and Stelios already had mates).

The king reluctantly agreed. The queen gave birth four months later to a girl, but she was in demon form. The queen had two of her most trusted attendants spirit the child away to another realm and raised her as their own.

Sam had your grandparents slaughtered and razed Kharan to the ground for their trickery. No matter, he was immortal. He would bide his time.

Eventually, your mother was told about her true parentage and form. She learned to control her powers, found love and she too was with child.

Sam found her a week before she went into labor and said that it was time to collect. She promised you in her stead immediately in hopes that it would buy her some time.

It did. She was able to pass you, a cambion, off to a friend of hers who wanted a child but couldn’t conceive and gave Sam a fake baby. He had your mother thrown into the dungeons.

Sam searched for you, but discovered that your mother put a cloaking spell on you. So, he approached your mother with a deal: her freedom for you becoming his mate.

It took your mother three years of torture for her to say yes.

Once the spell was lifted, Sam went to work. He made sure your adopted parents had a little ‘accident’ when you were old enough to take care of yourself, made sure that no one would want to hire you, and saddled you with debt. He even got Mikael and Stelios to pose as ‘The Star Spangled Trio’ with him to finally get you to the Hall of Mirrors.

Your mother bowed her head in shame, “No. It’s best for her to believe that I don’t exist.”

Sam unlocked the cell door with a simple spell, “You’re free to go. Have a nice life,” and returned to his quarters to be with his mate and queen.

Your mother took one last look at the palace,”I’m sorry, my little moon and stars,” and disappeared into the night.

Taglist: @jtargaryen18 @threeminutesoflife @giorno-plays-piano @lookiamtrying @sherrybaby14 @opheliadawnwalker3 @life-of-yn @mcudarklibrary @marvelfansworld @imdarkinme @sapphirescrolls @samingtonwilson @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @pseudonymphet @dahkness @saiyanprincessswanie @golden-ariess @chixkencxrry @anyatheladyclown @stargazingfangirl18 @saint-bvcky @cherienymphe @iguessweallcrazyithinktho @cockslut-padalecki

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

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June Contest Submission #22: Left in the Dark

Words: ca. 4,000 Setting: Modern AU, Airport Lemon: No CW: None

A flash of lightning brightens the whole sky once more. Four seconds later, the low rumbling of thunder pierces the pattering sounds of rain hitting the large windows of the airport. The glass is working especially hard today to keep the raging storm at bay, and it doubles as the only source of light in this massive blackout.

Elsa presses her palm against the cold glass. All around her, people are expressing their fear over how long this blackout will last, calling loved ones to tell them their flights have been delayed, or are meeting this darkness with great indifference. She envies all these people, wishing she could feel something that isn’t gut-wrenching guilt.

When she pulls her hand away from the glass, her imprint from the condensation trickles and fades moments later. The last update they received before the power went out was that the weather conditions would be keeping all planes grounded for at least four hours. If people chose to catch a flight tomorrow instead, they’d be reimbursed for the inconvenience.

A lot of people chose that option, but Elsa decided to wait. She didn’t want to spend any more time in Denver than she needed to.

An hour later, when the power went out, everyone including Elsa who decided to stick around began wondering if they made the right choice. She jumps as she feels the phone in her back pocket vibrate. Hesitantly, she pulls it out and is relieved to see that it’s just a message from her mother, telling Elsa to be safe no matter what she chooses to do.

It’s not like she’s stranded in unknown territory, she still has a couple of friends from college in the city who might let her stay over for a night. And if that fails, she has enough money for an Uber ride and a hotel room. But the stormy skies aren’t the only dark clouds in Denver that she wants to leave behind, so it looks like she’s staying.

Air traffic workers outside are desperately setting up flares and other alternate sources of light on the airfield, and no doubt the airport’s technicians are working to get at least the backup power working. They won’t stay in darkness for too long, she hopes, even if it feels somewhat calming at this moment. But what else can she do to pass the time for the next few hours? Text her friends and hope they’re up for a three-hour conversation? Edit her resume? Take a nap while snuggling her backpack and duffle bag to keep anything from being stolen?

“Wow,” she says, speaking her first word since yesterday. “My life really is just one big pile of nothing, huh?”

Her existential crisis is interrupted by the gentle plucking of guitar strings that cuts through the torrential silence. It’s familiarity compels Elsa to grab her things and find the source of the melody, and though her hearing is heightened by the darkness, she uses her phone’s flashlight to guide her way so she doesn’t step on anyone. The guitar strings guide her along and bring her closer before they’re accompanied by another sound: a sweet, gentle voice comfortably singing the lyrics to the song.

Ooh thinkin about all our younger years There was only you and me We were young and wild and free

The girl singing it sounds far too young for the lyrics to pertain to her, and yet her alto voice still carries a reminiscent feel to what she’s saying. Elsa follows the secret siren up to the aisle she thinks she’s sitting in, just as the girl reaches the chorus. Though she keeps her voice down to a near whisper, Elsa can’t help but sing along as well.

Baby you’re all that I want when you’re lying here in my arms I’m finding it hard to believe we’re in Heaven

However, the music stops before the chorus ends and Elsa is left singing the last three words by herself. She purses her lips, mortified, taking a step back just in case she’s told to get lost.

“Why’d you stop singing? Your voice is really pretty.”

Now, Elsa’s even more embarrassed. She has enough common sense to realize the voice asking that question is the same voice that brought her here, but not enough to keep from shining her phone’s flashlight on her. Fortunately, the light only gets up to the girl’s chest before Elsa yelps and turns it off. Which isn't that much better, but she’ll take any victory she can get right now.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you heard me,” Elsa replies.

The girl chuckles, “Was I not supposed to hear you?”

“No, I mean I don’t know, I-I…” Elsa sighs, “I was embarrassed, I guess.”

“Well how about you stop being embarrassed and sit down?” It’s such a gentle command that Elsa doesn’t realize she could have said no until she’s used her phone’s flashlight to find an open seat right next to the mystery guitar girl. “So are you a big Bryan Adams fan or do you just know that one song?”

Darkness paints the corner they’re in and keeps Elsa from getting a good sense of who she’s talking to. It makes for one of the most interesting conversations she’s ever had. “Oh, I only know a couple of his songs, but I wouldn’t say I’m like a huge fan. A-are you?”

“Not really, but I’m a sucker for those classic love ballads, you know?”

Elsa nods before realizing she’s not going to see that. “Yeah, I know.”

She hears the woman adjust in her chair and the guitar strings squeak as she runs her fingers along the frets. “Alright, let’s see if you know this one.”

Before Elsa can ask what she’s doing, there’s a gentle yet deliberate strumming of the guitar strings unlike the soft fingerpicking from before. And once again, the woman begins to sing a song that Elsa’s quick to recognize.

And I’d give up forever to touch you Cause I know that you feel me somehow You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be and I don’t want to go home right now

“I know this song too,” Elsa interjects with more excitement in her voice than she’s expecting. “It’s by the Goo Goo Dolls, right?”

The woman stops her singing, much to Elsa’s unexpected disappointment. “That’s right, Iris.”

“A-actually my name’s Elsa.”

“What?”

“Hmm?” Elsa cringes, realizing her mistake. “Oh gosh, you weren’t calling me…you were saying the name…of the song.”

She prepares herself for the laughter, but it never comes. “Elsa, huh? That’s a really pretty name, I like it.”

“You do? I- wow, that’s…I mean, thank you. For that.” This is so strange, she’s usually much better at talking than this, she has a degree in it for goodness sakes. But there’s something that’s keeping her tongue-tied and ruining her common sense. Maybe this woman really is a siren. “I’m from Rhode Island.”

“Elsa from Rhode Island,” the woman says like she’s trying to make sense of those words in that order. “Well you’ve got a very pretty voice, Elsa. My name is Anna. From Arizona.”

Anna. The name fits, even though Elsa doesn’t actually know anything about her, not even what she looks like. “Nice to meet you, Anna from Arizona.” Though they’re in the dark, Elsa can feel that Anna’s smiling at her. Maybe because Elsa’s smiling too.

“Alright, you’ve established your knowledge of the oldies…” Anna begins to strum a soft, basic chord progression. “Let’s see if you know something a little more modern.”

Elsa’s not a music expert in the slightest but she still listens intently, if only to hear more of Anna’s beautiful voice. When she begins to sing, they’re lyrics that Elsa doesn’t recognize.

I hear the beast, its awful cry, but never see its face I feel the water coming down, it’s keeping me in place And in this stormy weather, though I should be so afraid I’m with the one who makes it fade away

Anna continues to sing, and Elsa is torn because she doesn’t know what this song is but she feels like she should. The voice accompanying the words make them sound much more beautiful and earnest, but the song is unrecognizable. When Anna begins to hum instead of sing, Elsa admits defeat. “I-I think you win, I’m not sure what this song is.”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” Anna says, abruptly ending the song. “Because it’s one of mine.”

Elsa gasps, “Not fair.”

She can sense the victorious grin on Anna’s face. “Hey, it’s a modern song. I started writing it today actually, well okay maybe writing isn’t the best word for it.”

“You wrote that today?” Elsa asks. “Have you written any other songs?”

“Yeah I’ve written a few, some of them are actually pretty good too, I think: Whenever I’ve got something in my head, I pick up my guitar and record my thoughts. I’m not trying to be the next Taylor Swift or something, but it…yeah it helps.”

A flash of lightning paints the windows and illuminates Anna’s silhouette for a moment, not long enough or bright enough to see any details other than the shape of her hair. It surprises Elsa when she realizes just how much she wants to see what Anna looks like. A minute ago, she didn’t even know this woman existed and now she finds herself considering the stupid idea of shining her phone’s flashlight on Anna’s face. Because nothing says “good impression” like blinding someone.

Another realization hits her, though it’s more of an unhelpful observation: Has it really been so long since she’s been attracted to someone that she’s falling for a random woman at the airport with a beautiful voice and nice…manners? Pathetic, she doesn’t actually know anything about Anna other than she writes songs and is from Arizona.

Hoping to at least remedy that, she searches her mind for something to ask. Something casual but informative. But Anna beats her to it.

“So Elsa from Rhode Island, you’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”

Elsa nods out of habit as thunder roars outside the airport walls, “Uh y-yeah, just a little bit yeah. And you’re…not that far from home, Anna from Arizona.”

Anna giggles like Elsa said something funny. “No, well not yet. I’m actually going to New Jersey and figured I’d save some money by taking a couple of connected flights instead of flying straight there. My parents are renewing their vows and of course they want me to be there for the ceremony. Remember that song I was singing? Heaven? That’s actually their song and I’m gonna surprise them by playing it.”

“That’s really sweet,” Elsa replies, relieved that she bit her tongue before making a joke about New Jersey. She hears a tap on hollow wood and the squeak of guitar strings as Anna slides her hand across them. She eagerly anticipates another song, but instead she gets another question.

“What about you? Any vow renewals waiting for you in Rhode Island?”

Elsa giggles, but it’s not as pretty or confident as her companion’s. “Ah no, there’s nothing…waiting for me back home.” Wow, that answer was much more depressing than she wanted it to be. Even if it’s true. “Well I mean there’s my parents. And my apartment. I guess my job counts too but other than that, there’s nothing else.” She feels like she’s making things worse.

“Oh dear.” There’s a heaviness in Anna’s reply, but Elsa doesn’t hear any pity which she’s grateful for. No one should pity her for the life she’s chosen. “So why’d you come to Denver? It’s not exactly a top vacation destination right now. Unless you like rain.”

“I love rain,” Elsa replies far too excitedly, as if rain is like her favorite thing in the world. “But no, I didn’t come here for a vacation. I…I came here…”

“Hey.”

Elsa’s startled by a hand that lands first on her upper arm and then on her shoulder. It’s soft, gentle, and she hopes it belongs to Anna or else this is getting awkward.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with,” Anna continues. But that’s the thing, Elsa feels very comfortable around Anna and she can’t explain why. All she can do is see and now feel her, but there’s something about Anna that makes her feel safe and trusted. Moreso than even her therapist.

Elsa sighs, the heaviness of this weekend’s events once again piling on her, hoping this will help her let it go. “I came here to call off my engagement with my…with my ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s- gosh, I’m so sorry that must have been really hard.”

Elsa shakes her head. “Don’t be. You didn’t know.”

“I know, but in my mind I thought you were like running from the law or something.”

“I wouldn’t have told you my real name if that were the case.” And she definitely wouldn’t be out in such a public place for so long, blackout or not.

“Wait so Elsa’s really your name?”

“Yes?”

“Holy shit, that’s pretty. I bet you’re like secretly royalty, aren’t you?”

“Nope, I’m just boring Elsa from boring Rhode Island.”

“Oh please. Boring people don’t get engaged.”

“…”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it-it’s alright. The breakup doesn’t hurt as much as it should, it was a long time coming and I prepared myself for it. But it just happened, I’d feel bad joking about it so soon.”

Though talking with Anna helps, the darkness still plays with her perception. In her mind, she’s constantly playing back the exact moment she took off the ring and gave it back to Hans. She’s remembering the shock and anguish on her ex-fiancé’s face, like she’d just stabbed him in the gut. She hears on loop his last words of “Elsa, what can I do?”

And though the images are shocking, they don’t sting any more than being pinched on the arm.

“Still doesn’t give me the right to joke about it.” Anna sighs, and takes her hand off Elsa’s shoulder. It had been on there for so long that Elsa almost forgot about it, and now she’s disappointed that it’s gone. “I must seem like such a jerk.”

“No, you’re hilarious,” Elsa says truthfully. “I’m not offended, it’s…I got all the bad feelings out of the way a while ago. I only came to Denver to call things off because it’d seem insensitive to do it over the phone.”

“That’s noble of you.”

Elsa laughs pitifully, “No. I led him on in a long-distance relationship for months while I fell out of love with him. That’s not noble at all.” She feels a tingle along her shoulder, like something’s hovering above it. The feeling goes away a second later.

“You can’t do that to yourself, Elsa. You can’t put the whole burden of the breakup on yourself. I mean, what’s the reason you fell out of love with him in the first place?”

Oh that’s a long story that will take up the rest of the word limit. Elsa thinks about the important details, the ones worth sharing, and a silly, unhelpful thought flashes in her mind like the lightning that strikes once again: What would Anna think if she leaned on her shoulder right now? She shakes that thought away and starts with her pitiful monologue.

“We got engaged about a year ago, it was actually the last thing we did before I graduated from college and moved back to Rhode Island. He still had a year left, and the plan was that we’d get married once he graduated. But it’s like…I don’t know, it felt like I was two different people when I moved back. It’s like there’s ‘Elsa from Rhode Island’ who’s calm, quiet, and likes to draw and sing in the shower, and then there’s ‘Elsa from Denver’ who’s energetic and charming, and is always trying to cheer people up with kind words and stupid memes. And I wanted so badly for both of these Elsas to coexist, but the longer I was away from Denver and Hans, the more I realized how exhausting it was trying to be who I always used to be. And when I tried to be 'Elsa from Rhode Island’, Hans wouldn’t respond to that and think I was angry or something, so I had to flip the switch. It took a while to realize that I didn’t want to keep putting on that mask, and if Hans didn’t like who I really was, then…I couldn’t fix that. I cried and panicked and did all that other stuff when I finally decided to break up with him. So much so that when I finally did it, I had already moved on. Breaking up was just a formality, like signing my name on a piece of paper. Even so, I feel guilty for doing this to him and sometimes I wonder if I just wasn’t trying hard enough to be who I needed to be. It’s stressful to think about, and right now all I know is that…I don’t want to set foot in Denver ever again.”

After a long moment of silence, punctuated by the storm outside fighting to punch through the windows, Anna’s hand makes contact with Elsa again. This time on her wrist.

“Elsa…” she starts softly. “I don’t think he tried hard enough.”

Elsa raises an eyebrow, she’s heard this take from her parents and friends, but it hits a little more when Anna says it.

“I mean you weren’t in a relationship with yourself, right? He had to meet you halfway on stuff like this, especially if you’re going to commit the rest of your lives with each other. If he couldn’t accept who you are now, then what would things look like if you got married?”

“But people change in a relationship,” Elsa argues. “What if I was just scared to change? What if I was too comfortable with what was familiar and I was scared about doing something new?”

“Well, how much can change about yourself before you stop feeling like yourself?”

This is the first time anyone’s ever asked Elsa this question before, and it shuts her up quickly. All the while, Anna continues unfettered.

“I’m not trying to be your therapist, so I’m sorry if I cross the line anywhere. But I feel like…the best relationships are the ones where neither of you have to worry about what you look like to the other person. Like you have nothing to prove because you like yourself, and they make you feel comfortable with that. And I think if you get too caught up on the whole 'changing in a relationship’ thing, it means you’ve already lost sight of why you’re in a relationship in the first place. It’s not always about what you do for each other, but what you can do together. That’s…I mean I think that’s the beautiful part of being with someone you love. That you’re you, and that they’re them, and you’re yourselves doing stupid things like eating a grilled cheese sandwich on the balcony at 3 AM.”

Elsa’s so caught up in Anna’s wisdom that her silly joke catches her completely off-guard and she snorts, “What? Where’d that last part come from?”

Anna huffs, “Look, I really want a grilled cheese right now, okay?”

“Well, uh I think I might owe you one.”

“Really? For what?”

“For telling me what I needed to hear.” Boldness overtakes Elsa and she places her hand on top of Anna’s. Though the thunder roars and whines, Elsa swears she hears a hitching of breath. “You’re quite the love expert, Anna of Arizona.”

“Oh, uh…thank you? I don’t think I’m a love expert at all. I’ve never actually…”

She trails off, Elsa leans forward. “What was that?”

“I said I’ve never been in a relationship before.”

“Oh. Wow.” It sounds like Anna’s genuinely embarrassed by this, so Elsa reassures her. “Well, that sounds ridiculous.” Or at least she tries to.

Anna laughs, but in a way that you laugh when your parents are telling stories about dumb things you used to do as a kid. “You don’t have to do that. It’s my fault, I don’t put myself out there that much and it…I don’t know, I think I might be hard to love.”

Elsa gasps, “That can’t be true. I think anyone would be lucky to love you.”

“You don’t even know me,” Anna says in almost a whisper.

“I know enough. I know that you can sing and write songs. I know that you’re caring enough to comfort a total stranger on their breakup. I know that thunder storms don’t scare you.”

“I mean it’s just loud noises and rain,” Anna mumbles.

“And I know you have a beautiful voice. A beautiful mind. A beautiful heart.”

Anna doesn’t respond right away, but she does squeeze Elsa’s wrist in what she thinks is an expression of gratitude. The more they stray down this new path in their conversation, the harder it is to assume what Anna must be thinking. How she must be feeling. Elsa can only hope that she feels the comfort that Anna made her feel just a few short minutes ago.

She hears Anna take a breath like it’s something she’s forgotten to do. “You don’t know what I look like. I could be Medusa. Or a gross, alien thing.”

“I bet you’re a beautiful, gross, alien thing.”

That gets another laugh from Anna, this one with the joy and relief that Elsa was waiting for. “Well, I bet you’re a beautiful, gross, alien thing too.”

And that’s when Elsa feels it. That pull. The daring pull forward that she hasn’t felt in the longest time. In the dark, under stormy weather, and in the quiet of their secluded corner, Elsa admits to herself the bold attraction she feels for a woman she can’t even see. It’s exhilarating and terrifying, and the words she wants to say are on the tip of her tongue. The words “I think I want to kiss you” are ready to escape like a whisper.

But a flash of light hits wall to wall, brighter than the flashes of lightning from before, and interrupts all her thoughts. The airport is finally pulled out of its blackout, and the collective sigh of the remaining hopeful passengers rings through the corridor. Unattended luggage sits on dull, gray seats, people wake violently from their naps, and Anna-

Oh.

She can finally see Anna from Arizona.

She can see her large, forest green raincoat, her guitar on her lap with its polished rosewood and silver strings, her cane resting against her chair, her auburn-colored hair traveling down her shoulders, her freckles accenting her surprised expression…

And her milky, white eyes.

It catches Elsa so off-guard, that all she can do at first is sit up and blink. When words come back to her, she manages to stumble out a “Wow…”

Anna must sense the weight in Elsa’s reaction, and she shuts her eyes. “The lights came back on, didn’t they?”

“Y-yeah, I- they did. They finally did. I mean not finally, but…Anna-”

“No,” Anna interrupts, eyes shut painfully tight. “Please, you don’t have to say anything. I should have told you when we first started talking.”

“You didn’t have to, that’s not…I…this looks bad. Not look! Not- I’m sorry, I’m making you feel worse.”

“You’re not,” Anna protests, now ducking down to bury her face against her guitar. Through the covering, she says with gut-wrenching guilt, “I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable, Anna, I'm not. I was just surprised.”

“But in a bad way, right?”

“No! Not in a bad way.”

“Ugh, I should have told you. But I was too busy being stupid and crushing on you, and I forgot to just give you a head’s up like 'Hey by the way, I’m blind and have zombie eyes, I hope that doesn’t scare you’. Stupid Anna, stupid stupid-”

Elsa puts her hands on Anna’s shoulders and says her name, which causes the rambling woman to gasp and stop talking. When she’s sure that Anna’s not going to freak out on her again, Elsa says, “Please lift your head up.”

With a little assurance from Elsa, Anna finally sits back up and her hands rest on her guitar.

“Please…open your eyes,” Elsa asks with her hands traveling down to rest on top of Anna’s.

Anna shakes her head, though thankfully her expression has softened and it doesn’t look like she has a massive headache. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“I’m not scared, Anna. And I won’t be. Just please open your eyes.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

After a deep breath, Anna cautiously opens her eyes again, accompanied by another thunder strike. Though Elsa barely registers that, her focus is completely on Anna and the nervousness she can still see through her cloudy irises. At this point, someone much more deep, profound, and better with words would say something that would make Anna’s heart soar. And Elsa’s thinking of what she’d say if she were that kind of person.

But she’s not that kind of person and that’s okay.

Elsa smiles for the both of them and says, “I told you. You’re beautiful.” Expectedly, thankfully, and earnestly, Anna smiles too.

#elsanna #submission #June 2021 contest #prompt: storm

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suca-loca · 3 years

Text

it’s been a long year since we last spoke (how’s your halo?)

Read on Ao3

Words: 11.5k

Tags: Hurt No comfort, Angst, No Happy Ending, No beta we die like Wilbur

Warnings: Body horror, Blood, Death, Suicidal Implications/Thoughts, Mentions Of Torture, Beating/Fighting

Author's Note: I tentatively present you all this fic as my ticket to board the Dream SMP Fandom. I took some creative liberties with this, such as hints of Niki and Wilbur being childhood friends, as well as Niki living near Techno's cabin, and making Niki respawning to restock her hunger bar during her spiraling/villain arc one of her canon deaths. Also, despite Niki wearing a new skin she has stated that her character still wears Wilbur's coat. Just adding that in here so people don't comment that I got her outfit wrong during a certain scene. And finally, even though I feel this is obvious, this is about the characters and not the streamers themselves. With that out of the way, enjoy the fic!

Summary:

"Time down here is like stars, Niki. We're dead, dead for thousands of years, but to them," he points up, "we still shine. It'll take light years for them to realize they are staring at just a memory."

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry.

or; Niki tries, unwillingly may she add, the whole being dead thing. Oh, and Wilbur is there to "help"

The worst part about it is that Niki's whole life doesn't flash before her eyes. It doesn't happen in slow motion and neither is there some comforting, bright light for her to walk towards. It's simply this: one second she's at Church Prime and the next she's falling into pitch blackness.

Then again, she should have known better than to expect any of that dumb cliche stuff 'cause it's not like she died or anything. Not really. Her communicator may say she did, but she knows the truth. She was teleported.

So why does this feel like dying?

foolish girl breaking at the seams from using the same stitching of a burning flag to put yourself back together again. you think the afterlife cares how you arrive? the entry fee is the same for all

She comes in screaming and doesn't stop even when that's all she is anymore. Her body is unrecognizable to her, turned inside out, muscles stretching and bending and snapping in an attempt to mimic the shape she once was.

(She wishes her muscles luck in regressing back into a memory because oh primes, oh dear primes did she try, try again to be the girl wore a white and blue uniform with pride, but that girl only exists now in dreams and sometimes nightmares)

But they can't, for her organs and bones and flesh do not know what it means to not be confined (but they should know, they really should, because she still finds it hard to breath in small spaces ever since Schlatt caged her between iron bars and dirt and Sapnap left her in a hole in the ground over a fish) and so they shake. Convulsing and spasming until she is just sound, just an echo of shrieks that are happening in the past or the present or the future depending on how fast it travels down this tight, narrowed cave she lands in.

Wait, lands in?

She finds herself laying flat on the ground. She blinks. Then does it again for good measure to make sure she's not imaging having eyelids.

She touches her face. Feels the crook of her nose, the curve of her chin, and her soft round ears.

It's all skin. No muscle, no tissue, just her.

Still her.

(For now)

Her body is back. Not whole though - never whole - for she will always be a walking empty space within a solid object, but for now, her body is right. Her body is here. She closes her eyes in relief.

Someone is staring down at her when she opens them again.

"Hello Niki," Wilbur says. "It's been a while."

(It's Doomsday. His name shows up on your communicator and so you become a lit match. The fire eats you away just like the bark of a tree, like the walls of a bakery, two things you once loved most, and you're watching them both burn with his coat over your shoulders, which doesn't help you ignore who you must look like, who you're acting like, whose footsteps you're following in; and doesn't it hurt to know that what's before you isn't just a friend but a reflection?)

She's already scrambling back before she's even fully sat up.

She doesn't get very far, not with the way her wrists twist and bend before finally buckling under the pressure, and she can't find the strength to stand up and run. So all that's left to do is hyperventilate at the way his eyes land on her face, roaming, analyzing, absorbing, trying to read her like a book, unaware she's ripped out the pages long ago. At the way his shadow covers her and maybe once it felt like a blanket, but that time has passed, now all it is is heavy, suffocating, pinning her down. At the way he wears his Pogtopia outfit, pressed and cleaned when the last she saw of it it was covered in ash and black feathers and red, so much red.

But it never comes. In fact, her lungs don't move at all. Almost as if she doesn't need to breathe. As if she hasn't been breathing since she's been down here.

Is that why it was so easy to keep screaming?

"You're not here," she whispers. "Not really."

Wilbur tilts his head to the left.

(Does it in a way a predator would while observing its prey from afar, waiting for the right moment to strike)

"Oh? Where am I then, Niki?"

"My head," Niki responds, practically blurting it out. "Yeah - yeah, that's right. This is just my head playing tricks on me again. A horrible horrible trick, but that's all it is. I - I know it."

Wilbur hums. He sits down as if this will take a while. As if she won't blink and he'll be gone. "Well, that's a damn shame. I was hoping it'd be a beach. Mexican Dream has been talking a lot about La Jolla lately. Sounds like a nice place."

He smiles, suddenly.

(No, not smiles, more like baring his teeth. His very normal teeth that give off the impression that they should be very sharp and very large and very deep in her throat right now)

"Let's hope I don't blow it up."

(Niki is shouting for Wilbur over the chaos when her communicator pings in her pocket. It gets hard to breathe as she reads what it says, and it isn't because every inhale of smoke and pulverized concrete from the tumbling buildings poison her lungs. There's a ringing in her ears, and it isn't because of the TNT that just detonated in front of her. She feels broken, and it isn't because the force of the explosion knocks her back and she skitters across the field, hitting rocks and choking on dirt until she stops on her stomach, limbs bent at weird angles. Her communicator lands right beside her, the screen shattered and static flashing, but she can still catch glimpses of what is on the screen, as clear as day, like a taunt: WilburSoot was slain by Ph1lza)

Niki scrambles to her feet, presses herself as much as she can against the walls, and maybe, just maybe, she'll glitch and go through it and suffocate in a block.

She immediately throws herself away from it when she realizes what she just thought.

Wilbur stands with her. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he says. "I thought it would lighten up the mood. So, how are you?"

"How am I?" Niki echoes. "I'm imagining my dead best friend even though I thought I was getting better and I could have sworn I was, I was I swear I was, and this place, this place, I don't know where this is but it, it just feels - I don't even know why - so familiar and so - "

She pauses.

She looks around.

She was so busy panicking from Wilbur's presence that she never took in her surroundings. She stares at the smooth stone walls, the occasional hanging vines, the little aquarium in the corner right next to the entrance, and, finally, the stand. The stand with two signs on the front that read -

No. It can't be. It just can't.

She won't believe it until she's seen the whole thing.

She walks further in, each step hesitant.

And she notices the way everything around her seems so devoid of life. Almost colorless. Close to numb. She thinks it's her body shutting down, the stress finally getting to her, but no. This is worse. Something's going on. She doesn't know what it is exactly, but she knows it isn't her that's wrong here.

(This time)

Wilbur follows closely behind and, as if to prove her point, his footsteps sound muffled, distant, apart from him, like in the way you hear something underwater.

Maybe she is underwater because everything is getting blurry and her face feels wet.

(Or maybe the better comparison is like hearing something behind glass. She's been tapping against the window of a caravan for months as men in suits discuss a country she bled for just as much as them, if not more, without her. The tapping turns to banging, but it is not the glass that shatters. Not the glass that breaks)

She stills as she catches sight of the small wheat farm in the back room, dried and frail and unkempt.

(Like a flower shop)

It really is her bakery.

"No," she mumbles. Then, more stern, as if it'll blow this place away, as Wilbur should have done the first time. "No no no no this can't… this can't be true. I, I shouldn't be here I - it doesn't make any sense, how how how - "

She whirls on Wilbur, the tears coming in waves now. "What are you doing to me?"

(It's his fault she's back here. It has to be, he's the reason you wanted to burn the memories why this is all gone why this should be gone why isn't this gone gone gone gone)

foolish girl who has become like the nation she despises, you are a crater, there is a hole inside of you where a soul once was and it was caused by your own hands because the only destruction you're good at is your own. you couldn't even kill a child with a nuke, so what makes you think you can end a small room on the side of some hill?

"What do you see?" Wilbur says, and the voice in her head disappears. She can't remember what it said. She shakes her head as if the words will fall out her ears.

Suddenly she can't remember why she's shaking her head.

Her next words come out frail.

"My… my bakery. But how? This shouldn't be possible I, I destroyed it - I - "

"Limbo is different for everybody," Wilbur interjects. "For me, it's a train station."

"Limbo? What are you talking about? What is going on? I was nowhere near L'manburg I was - " Niki's mind blanks.

(Smooth quartz all around her and she feels safe there, that she remembers because there is no killing here, the one place bloodshed does not haunt her, and then crushing disappointment that turns into actual crushing as her body gets shredded, mangled, undone like a ribbon except it does not look pretty)

Wilbur gives her a slicing smile. It cuts her down. "This is the afterlife, Niki."

She blinks. She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted to the spot. "What?"

"The afterlife," he continues, eyes sparkling. "Hell. The void. Eternal darkness. Whatever you wanna call it. I call it home."

"Home?" She repeats, shakily.

foolish girl with no place, no one to call home because she's an expert at finding comfort in things that don't stay, of course he sees this place as home. Although if he really wanted to surround himself in emptiness so bad then he just needed to wait a few months for you to become just that

"I'm not dead," she mutters. She attempts to laugh, because if she laughs then this will sound like a joke. Wilbur would joke about such a thing. After all, he poked fun at exploding L'manburg just a while ago. So of course this is a joke. It has to be. It is, and she will not allow her breakdown to be the punchline.

At Wilbur's unflinching smile she says it again, with more conviction. "I'm not!"

"How else do you think you're talking to me? How your bakery is still in one piece? Sorry to be your grim reaper Niki, but you're dead. And now you're here, in the afterlife, with me!" He leans in close, close enough that she should feel his breath on her.

There is nothing. He is nothing.

(And maybe, so is she)

"Isn't that great? We're together again! You and me, just like the old days. And look," His eyes glance at what she wears. It's the coat. Specifically, Wilbur's coat, wrapped around her shoulders.

"We're even matching," he coos.

She thinks she might scream.

She throws herself away from him, almost throws the coat too, but into the furnace next to her.

('I gotta burn the memories I need to destroy it I need to destroy it I need to destroy it,' she once screamed to no one but herself. History repeats itself)

How she ever found comfort in this ratty, old coat she'll never know. And she'll never care to find out. Not when Wilbur is acting like this, like before, like a loose city wire, all dangerous and unpredictable, each word an electric spark, and Niki is trying not to get stung. She remembers how that story ended.

But her's will not end. Not yet.

"I can't be dead," she argues. "I don't remember that I would remember something like that so I - I can't be dead, and I have two lives left so, no, no I can't be I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and I'm in bed I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and you're not real, just a nightmare. I'm alive I'm alive I'm - "

"It's really me, Niki," Wilbur says, and the fire from the furnace roars in response as if his words fan the flames. It's the first time something in this wicked place has felt alive. "In the flesh. Or, rather, a close imitation of it. I think my corpse must have liquified by now, swelling up for months before bursting open, leaving nothing but a skeleton behind. What about you? What did you leave for them to find?"

She covers her ears. "Stop! Stop it stop it stop it!"

"Remember it. Remember your last moments."

"Wilbur, please - "

"Feel your wrist," he says. No, orders. And she does. Because she, at her core, is still his soldier.

(She says that she is loyal to him and he responds by saying he wants her to be loyal to L'manburg. She remembers being confused, for she saw them both as the same. Wilbur is L'manburg and L'manburg is Wilbur, one cannot coexist without the other. A few months later, amongst the wreckage of her nation and a father's anguished screams, she'll realize too little too late how true her statement holds)

She doesn't find her heartbeat.

For a second she thinks she made a mistake. That she has her fingers in the wrong place, but no. A soldier knows where to look for life so that they may snuff it out. She can't be making a mistake.

Still, she presses her fingers down, harder this time, nails first, that blood draws, and sobs as she's still met with nothing.

She has no heartbeat.

She is dead.

She chokes. She clutches her chest, not because it hurts to know what she lacks in her chest, but because she remembers. Remembers it so intently, remembers it happening in the snap of a finger, literally, from a smiling God (and maybe it is quite a fitting end, for she goes out the same way she lived, giving second chances to men who don't deserve it) and how the world tilted as the ground slipped away.

But what's worse is the realization that comes after.

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find," she says.

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find because I didn't die," she says again, but weaker. More horrified. "I was teleported. I was on the holy lands when - "

"Teleported?' Wilbur interrupts. His features, just a second ago, eccentric and mad, turn curious. "Wait wait wait, hold on a second, are you telling me you were sent to Hell, Hell, on the fucking Holy Lands? "

Niki weakly nods.

It goes silent.

Suddenly, a snort. A snort that does not sound like it once did, back before the war for independence, before the election, before banishment, before it all, when all there was was a caravan and the worst of their worries was getting Sapnap a vegan hotdog. It's meaner, more shrill, and laced with a madness that seems to roll off his tongue so easily nowadays.

If she weren't watching how hard Wilbur's shoulders shake she'd have never guessed such a sound would come from him.

But there's something else about this snort that chills her to the core. Although she never could have imagined it coming from Wilbur doesn't mean she hasn't heard this kind of laugh before.

It's almost breathless, almost like something left on a stove, steaming, almost like the sound of -

(Dream and Wilbur worked together, both wanted L'manburg gone, both almost killed a kid, both cut off attachments, both lost trust in others, all things Niki has done too, and if Niki is like Wilbur and Wilbur is like Dream then that means - )

(No. Please, no)

"That is -," Wilbur wheezes, wiping away a tear. "That is horribly ironic."

"DreamXD!" She shouts, head tilted up. "Take me back! Take me back right now!"

Wilbur shakes his head. "Oh, no need to try that. I've been there. The whole shouting for help thing? Yeah, will do you no good. No one can hear you down here."

"DreamXD! I'm here!"

"Scream all you want, prime knows you don't need to breathe down here so nothing's stopping you from doing it for forever, but when your screams are all you hear for eternity… well, it'll drive any person mad."

"DreamXD," she shrieks. And her lungs don't shake, don't even give a small quiver, she knows it. Nothing in her does, for the gears don't need to be turning to keep this machine of a body that's been on autopilot since an explosion knocked her off her feet alive anymore. "Please!"

"You stop talking after a few years of just endless screaming for your voice becomes a reminder of your entrapment. But then the silence itself, after a few years, is unbearable. Yet you don't dare speak or make any noise, so it's just madness of a new kind."

She pushes her way past him and makes her way to the exit of her bakery. "I - I liked the magic trick, DreamXD! I really did! You - you can teleport me back now!"

"Too scared to make a noise, but too scared to keep quiet. So you stand still. Your body deteriorates, muscles numb from lack of use, and all you do is use your nails to scratch marks onto the walls to mark how many years have passed since… since absolutely nothing."

She stills. She slowly turns around.

(L'manburg is surrounded by a wall. A wall so mighty and tall she never thought she'd see the day it'd be torn down, much less by its own inhabitants. But this wall right here, the one between her and this old friend, this is a wall that will never meet the same end as its predecessor)

"Wilbur," she whispers. "What do you mean by years?"

Silence.

Wilbur has a far-away look in his eye.

(That look was born in a dirt hole on the side of a small hill and Niki doesn't learn that lesson for she builds her bakery in a similar place. Two places, so small, so cramped, started with hope, have become their worst downfalls, their unfinished symphonies. She parallels him in all the wrong ways)

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry. She was paralyzed before but now, with fear pumping through her veins, she runs. Fear is a more dependent motivator than strength or bravery could ever be, for fear, unlike any other heroic emotion, can't be beaten out of you. Can't be threatened out of you by a friend on your birthday as you try to stop him from pressing a button. Fear only grows, like a weed, you can try to get rid of it all you want, but it multiplies the more you struggle.

She finally gets to the exit, nearly throwing herself at it, only to find a stone wall staring back at her. It's been cemented shut.

She's trapped.

(She is in a cage, a zoo animal for Manburg citizens to point and laugh at. It is cramped, it is humiliating, and it is her home, her everything in wake of becoming nothing to people she once considered friends, Schlatt tells her. Until Quackity frees her. But there is no one to free her now. Except herself)

She pulls up her sleeves and begins mining with her bare hands.

She's been torn apart before, but at least it was quick. This, the way her flesh slowly peels off at each scratch is its own kind of torture. Not because it's painful, but the torture in knowing what you're willing to do to yourself just to see the sky again.

She keeps going.

(She does not throw up at the sight of chunks of flesh dangling where nail once was because she is a soldier and she has seen worse. Seen a child trapped in a box screaming for help and she's unfortunate enough to have a seat in the splash zone. Helped patch up Ponk's wound where his arm should be, afraid she might lose him to blood loss because whoever chopped his arm off didn't cut across the joint to avoid the bone and therefore had to hack again and again and again to get through the bone. Sewed Fundy's head back together from when Schlatt beat him over the scalp with a beer bottle before dying in the caravan; it took a couple of hours to finish because his fur made it hard to spot the bits of glass sticking out his skin. This is not the first or last time she will wash blood off her clothes, she just has to hope it will continue to be someone else's and not her own)

Wilbur comes up beside her. He doesn't even try to stop her, much less flinch at all the red on the wall. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Tommy did."

She snaps her head to him, her clawing ceasing. "Tommy was here?"

He nods. "Arrived a few years ago. I have to admit, when a space opened up here I thought it would be him again, not you. Not that I'm complaining. Don't get me wrong he's a good kid but, well, you know how Tommy gets."

(Everyone you've ever hated, everyone you've ever sworn to end; Schlatt, Tommy, and although you do not hate Wilbur or Jack you're relationship with them is complicated because they remind you of when you spiraled, you lot are all connected now, bound together from sharing the similar experience of death. She can never separate herself from them. Will be rever grouped in with the people she can't stand most)

"How long was Tommy here for?" She asks softly.

Wilbur clicks his tongue. "Two months I think."

She closes her eyes.

(She wanted to look deep into the crater Tubbo's nuke made and confuse Tommy's charcoal, burnt body for obsidian. She wanted to catch Tommy's choked last breaths in a bottle and get drunk on it every night. She wanted to leave spruce wood on his grave as a sort of flag marking her latest conquest. She wanted to stop thinking that if Wilbur was wrong for believing in Tommy then that means he might have been wrong for believing in her)

She doesn't want Tommy dead anymore and although they're still not friends even she wouldn't wish this on him.

"Two months," she says, and it sinks in.

Is that how long she'll have to wait until someone comes looking for her?

That is if someone even cares to look.

(Puffy doesn't respond to any of her messages after their first date. She turns Jack away when he tries to pull her back into the obsession of caving Tommy's head in. Everyone grieving L'manburg remembers her setting L'mantree aflame. Anyone in the Eggpire is too far gone to even care about themselves. She doesn't have a Tubbo. Isn't anyone's disk. She's just Niki, forgotten, ignored Niki, the first ghost of the server before Ghostbur. Why spare a glance at someone transparent? Someone, not all there?)

No one will come for her.

Wilbur cracks his fingers, and Niki winces, for her bones are still on flesh display and slowly repairing. "Well, now that we've played twenty questions let's move on to a new game. You up for some solitaire?"

She rises to her feet and numbly nods. She might as well have something to do to, to try and prevent the inevitable insanity with a card game.

Might as well accept her fate.

Wilbur reaches into his pocket and pulls out the cards. He sits down on the ground. "Sorry," he says. "I'd offer we play on a table but there are no tables in a train station and I doubt your bakery has one either." He hands her half of the deck. "Help me set it up."

But Niki doesn't take them, for she's focused on the word table because -

(There's a table, a weird table, made up of this block she's never seen before. It's sponge-like, with a hole on top decorated by a blueish-green frame, and she's about to ask where they found it when Phil suddenly apologizes for exploding her bakery. At her shocked expression, he explains he'd like to air out all possible tensions before starting their first-ever official Syndicate meeting so that no past grievances keep them from working as an effective team. Techno merely snorts, saying it's not their fault her bakery was on government land, and Phil responds by shooting him a glare fit for his title as Angel of Death. She'd have laughed, she'd have cried because such a look was once how Phil got Wil to eat his vegetables if it weren't for the fact she tells them they have nothing to apologize for. Tells them she left the oven on the day before the attack and by next sunrise, it was already burnt to the ground. Ranboo doesn't blink once from where he sits across from her as she talks. She sees in his eyes that day, how her laughs and her wails blend in with the chaos around her, as if it belongs there, as if she is one with it. And maybe she is, for the fire that consumes her bakery grows and grows and grows but Niki just gets smaller and smaller and smaller as if she has to sacrifice bits of herself to keep the fire going. Perhaps she is, for every monster requires an offering, and her bakery is that. A representative of the old her burning alive to make room for the new, merciless, unhinged her. Good. She looks down at the flint and steel in her hand and in the reflection of the metal she sees a boy with mismatched eyes standing behind her, staring. And then he takes out his book and writes. It feels like Ranboo has placed a noose around her neck. The memory fades and she holds her breath. She waits for him to say something, to call out her lie. This time, Ranboo undoes the knot. He looks away)

Because she needs to tell Ranboo she appreciated his silence that day. Needs to joke about how all this snow reminds her of an ice cream shop and watch Ranboo nervously laugh as she lightheartedly punches him on the shoulder.

Because she needs to know how that story Phil was telling her about his adventures with Techno on another server, something about an Antarctic Empire, ends. Needs to feed the crows with him to make sure he doesn't stare at their wings for too long.

Because she needs to braid Techno's hair one last time while they talk about how pink is clearly the superior hair color. Needs to thank Techno for giving her these becauses, for they wouldn't exist in the first place had he not offered her a place in the Syndicate.

Ironically enough, she always knew she'd die before she could give back all that she owed them. But only because what she owed them was too long a list, too difficult to be expressed in any way that captured what they deserved.

(Somewhere, in a snow biome, there is a family. They're different from each other, too different at times, and yet Ranboo and Techno could wear each other crowns, each fitting perfectly on their heads and no one would know of the switch, except for Phil of course. Right now they're probably looking at their comms around the dinner table, confused by the last message. 'Nihachu fell from a high place.' They aren't worried. Not yet. But in a couple of days, months for her, they'll start to pace. Phil will stand at the edge of the roof, ready to step off, only to remember he doesn't have wings, can't look for her high up in the sky like he used to when she was a kid. Ranboo will force himself through experiments, lose sleep, break himself in, trying to learn how to teleport so as to cover ground faster in the search, to do more than just let his powers go to waste when they could be what brings her home. Techno will grab her rainbow sweater and put it to Steve's snout, but the trail will go cold every time until eventually all of Niki's clothes don't smell like her anymore. They'll do this every day. Nothing will change but their hope, dwindling away each day. So will they just stare at that last message, her unintentional goodbye, looking for some sort of explanation? For some secret message? Some coordinates until they go mad? They won't think she's dead until they've found a body. Won't stop looking, won't leave a corner of the server untouched. Won't stop till they have something to bury)

She can't do that to them.

She slaps the cards out of Wilbur's hands.

"No," she growls, trying to sound tough and less like a kid throwing a tantrum. Perhaps slapping the cards away was not the best start. "I am not going to waste my time playing Solitaire when I could be spending it finding a way back home. And I will if it's the last thing I do."

Wilbur frowns. Niki has the inkling suspicion it has more to do with the cards being all scattered about than from her declaration. "There is no 'last thing I do anymore.' You dying was the last thing you'll ever do. All you have now is this. This is your forever. Our forever."

She turns away from him, just for a second. Away from the sight of his furrowed brows and the crinkles in the space between them where her index finger would go to poke as she teased him. Away from the scrunch of his nose she would joke made him and Techno finally look like twins. Because despite everything, despite all the months that have settled into their bones since the last they saw each other and the wars they've fought on land and in their minds, it's still Wilbur's face. But only in the physical sense. After that, he stops being her Wilbur.

This would be so much easier if his face had physically morphed into a stranger, to prove to her how much he's changed, what he's become over the months, is not all in her head.

Somehow, she finds a way to start.

"You know, not too long ago I'd have stayed with you here. I wouldn't have even put up a fight. I'd have just laid down, closed my eyes, and let the vines on these walls grow over my body until I was just moss. I was… I was so tired, Wilbur. A part of me always will be. I understood. I finally got why you acted the way you did. There was a time I was on half a heart and instead of eating I would - "

Her body begins to shake so hard she almost expects to look down and she cracks in the ground from an incoming earthquake. The only cracks see she's are her own.

She can't say it. Not like that. Not yet.

" - I would respawn to restock the hunger bar," Niki chokes out instead.

(She respawns with dried blood on the back of her head and bones still rattling from the fall. Along her jutting spine, in an almost perfectly straight line that could be confused for an unkempt path lost to weeds and drought, are bruises. She doesn't feel them. All she feels is the urge to do it again)

She blinks and her hand is in her hair, looking for the bump. She pulls her hand away as if it's a hot furnace. "But I can't stay. Things have changed. I've changed. This is not the first time something dark has tried to consume me, but I can't let it win this time. I can't let this place turn me numb and unhinged, or worse, content. Not when I have people to go home to. Not when - "

She looks down at her hand, the one that traced her scalp, and sees it has clenched into a fist.

(At the count of three, Niki throws rock. She groans as she notices all the other hands make paper. Ranboo and Techno exhale as if the losing sentence wasn't shoveling the front lawn, but death. Or worse, going shopping with Phil for a refrigerator to put in the Syndicate meeting room. Ranboo lost that one. Niki points at Techno's hooves and says it's cheating since they can't ever tell which shape he chooses. She demands a rematch with the same tone one uses to declare war. A few minutes later, they're shouting, going over the rules of rock, paper, scissors, and they only stop when Phil comes home and pulls out the dad voice. They begrudgingly agree to do a rematch another time, once they've cooled down. That was yesterday)

She holds her fist close to her heart. The hand was never her rock, it was always three men in a snowy cabin, handing her a mug of hot cocoa. "Not when I have a lawn to shovel."

Silence.

Then, Wilbur sighs. "You know," he says. He places his arms behind him and leans back to get a better look at her. Somehow, even on the ground, he looks to hold all the power. "Years ago your determination would have been a sight for sore eyes, but here's a reality check. I've been here for almost a dozen years. Eleven years of letting the passing train rip right through me in the hopes it would send me to another layer of hell or maybe propel, heck, even drag my body to the next station. But every time I'd wake up back in the train station as if nothing had happened. Like my body breaking under the wheels was nothing."

He is an avalanche, growing and picking up speed with each word, and Niki realizes, too little too late, she's about to be buried alive. She tries to step back, but Wilbur is up quick and approaching. "There is no escape. The limbo is our stage and we have our lines, our cues, but we do not have a curtain call. We just keep going and going, an endless loop. You can't not play your part. It won't let you."

"I have to at least try," she says.

"Why? What's the point? They'll never know you tried."

Her fear turns to disgust. "Is that why you think I'll try? For the sole reason that one day they'll know what I've done for them? That's far from the truth."

(People built statues of Tommy, for all he's done, for all the influence he had on this server. Niki knows they will not give her the same treatment. But that's fine, more than fine. All she needs is a grave in the snow, beside a little cabin)

She didn't want to look at Wilbur's face before, but now, glaring at him straight on, all she sees staring back is Phil.

The day they found out Wilbur didn't inherit Phil's immortality was the day Phil looked like he should, centuries-old instead of thirty-three, the age when angels stop physically aging. Niki will never forget how deep the lines on Phil's face ran. They might as well have been cracks. And maybe it was, for Phil was breaking as he held his dying son - not dying now, but for an immortal, every second a mortal breathes is just inevitable death - in his arms.

But what still haunts Niki the most after all these years are his eyes. They carried the weight of the world in them. She could feel it, even now, pressing down on her shoulders. All the wars, the fall of cities, the birth of them, children with big smiles and even bigger graves.

Niki was not a soldier yet. She was just a nine-year-old girl who wanted to sleep over at her best friend's house.

She threw up in their sink and they mistook it as her reaction to the news. She didn't correct them.

The only reason she slept easy that night was from the knowledge she would never see those eyes on Wilbur's face. And yet, lo and behold, here it is, like a punch to the gut.

Except now, Niki has had time to numb herself to it. It's hard to get surprised by such a dead look when it's on the face of your roommate.

(Phil's screech - no, not a screech, a caw, high pitched and grief-stricken - is like an alarm clock. Except, instead of Niki waking up to the rising sun outside her window, it's to moonlight and blinking stars. This is the fifth time this month she's met Ranboo and Techno outside Phil's cabin, armed to the teeth, ready for war. The door creaks open, loudly, but they don't wince, for they know it won't wake him. Nothing really does when he's in this state, except for one thing. Techno holds him down and it's weird, will always be weird, to see Techno use such force, such retaliation, on Phil of all people, and then Phil nearly throws Techno through the wall with just a brush of his fingers, and she remembers it's necessary. This isn't Phil they're dealing with, it's the Angel of Death. It takes a while until Techno can get all of the Angel's limbs down, but even then they know it won't last long, and that's when Niki throws a slowness potion on him. Ranboo, meanwhile, turns around all the photos of Wilbur in the room, a safe distance away. They told him it's best he handles that since he's built like a stick, putting him anywhere near a powerful avian would be an accident waiting to happen. It definitely has nothing to do with them freezing up whenever they see Wilbur's smiling face, all happy, and so very alive. Phil's movements turn sluggish as the potion kicks in and Niki holds his face, murmurs soft words, and Techno gives his own weird, but comforting, comments. Something about how Phil can't afford to lose sleeping beauty to these night terrors, what with his old age. Niki snorts. Phil's eyes open immediately. Phil sucks in a sharp breath, like he's forgotten how to breathe, his fist clenching and unclenching. The eyes are back. Based on Techno's face Niki knows then she's not the only person that has seen them. They look at each other, nod, and hold him as he cries. They don't need to ask. There's only one person that could cause such a look. They force Ranboo, who is awkwardly standing to the side, to join. Eventually, they break apart, and Techno coughs. He says he hates them for making this all emotional and bans such an awkward event from ever happening again. And yet, when Phil keeps waking up with eyes too dark around the corners, Techno is there. And so is she and Ranboo)

She will not be the reason Phil's eyes age another year.

"It's about Phil, Techno, and Ranboo deserving someone who will never stop trying to find their way back to them," she says, with conviction. "I'm sorry you're too twisted to see not all actions stem from reward or acknowledgment."

She expects a laugh, a glimpse at his forked tongue spewing words so sweet she could use them as sugar in her desserts, only to take a bite and realize it was salt all along. But what she gets is silence. The type of silence before a storm.

"Phil?" Wilbur whispers.

Niki closes her eyes.

She should have never said their names.

She also should have never opened her eyes again, because Wilbur is looking more like Phil each second. Not because of the eyes. No, worse. Because she sees a boy, a boy with his arms spread open wide and flapping about in an attempt at mimicking his father's wings, and they're both running around in circles in the backyard as he tells her how she'll never have to walk anywhere ever again. He'll carry her when she's tired, when she's not tired, whenever she wants wherever she wants. They stop running around in circles flapping their arms when too much time has passed and his wings still haven't grown in, but the acceptance that it never would did.

She blinks and the memory is gone. Slipping through her fingers like sand.

"How is he?" Wilbur says. His voice wavers a bit. He hides it quickly with a cough, but Niki catches it. Niki thought she always would.

(But then a button was pressed and she realized just how untrue that was)

Niki hesitates. She thinks about the night terrors again. She almost mentions them but falters as she remembers Ranboo telling her how it was Phil who gave him a place to stay after L'manburg was blown up for the last time. How as Technoblade hibernates there's a blanket over his shoulders that wasn't there before and a stick missing from the fireplace. How he always places Niki's plate of breakfast down before the others, as if he knows of her first canon death.

He is a kind man, but that is not why he does these things.

"He misses being a father," she settles on.

Wilbur's shoulders slump. Somewhere, in a different life, Niki's hand is there, squeezing comfortingly. "Is he… is he mad at me?"

"No." She answers quickly. "He's just tired, Wilbur. We all are."

Wilbur laughs. It sounds defeated. Mournful. "Understatement of the fucking year."

He slumps against the wall and Niki is sure it's the only thing keeping Wilbur on his feet. His head hits the smooth stone when he suddenly throws his head back and laughs. Niki doesn't know if she winces from the loud crack the impact makes or from the shrill, unhinged laugh.

"I told him to kill me," Wilbur chuckles. His eyes are blinking rapidly. "I told him to fucking kill me."

(The diamond sword has collected dust. Sometimes, everyone jokes, Phil looks like he has to. Playful teasing about how he's a walking antique that should be displayed in a museum. Phil always laughs them off. But it's moments when he stands too still, alone in his thoughts for too long, that Niki wants to put him behind glass with signs that say 'do not touch,' because all it takes is one gust of wind for an artifact to shatter. But that is no way to live and Phil is not so easily breakable. Worn down a bit, rusted from the loss throughout the eons, yes - who hasn't on this forsaken server? - but not breakable)

Niki thinks she might throw up. "I know."

Wilbur looks at her. His eyes are red, but there are no tears. "You said you understood me. You get why I had to ask him to do it."

"Wilbur - "

" - And so you also understand why you have to stay here."

"What?"

"We've changed Niki," Wilbur starts. "For the worse. Don't you feel it? How that server has destroyed every cell in our body? A slow painful death eating us from the inside out until we've just withered away into someone new, someone unrecognizable?"

(Niki feels she's in a never-ending house of mirrors. Constantly encircled by reflections that are her and not her staring back, each representing different points in her life. Some are unrecognizable, stretched, or squished beyond identification, like a fuzzy memory of a girl carrying a backpack, skipping down a path she was told by a best friend would lead to a nation with yellow and black walls. Some are too terrifying, demonizing her features, giving her slits for eyes and claws for nails holding flint and steel over TNT. All of them she wants to smash)

Wilbur either ignores the horrified expression on her face or doesn't see it. "We killed our old selves as a sacrifice, an offering, to the monster we saw lurking in the edges of our mind. And once you let the monster in there's no going back. All we know from then on is to destroy, to rip apart all we once held dear with no remorse until there's just ash and dust. We thrive, no, revel in it."

(Nemesis, she names herself. Goddess of divine retribution and revenge. Maybe that's who Niki sacrifices herself to. Why she felt such an attachment to the name. A remorseless Goddess said to have led Narcissus to a pool, knowing full well he'd be too captivated to leave his reflection for food or warmth. He died there. It's no coincidence a few weeks before she lived the story herself, leading Tommy to his death in the form of a hot blast of air at the speed of light and seeing it as justice)

"I'm not having this conversation with you," she says, voice shaking. She whirls around, nearly tripping over her feet, fully willing to ignore him as she looks for an exit.

But his next words make her go still.

"Phil didn't know what I'd become. That's why he had to be the one to do it."

She winces. "Don't."

"He didn't even pull out the sword, his arms were too busy holding me, holding me, as if the shape of me still fit against his chest even though I felt so hollow, so much thinner - "

"Wilbur - "

" - he stroked my hair too. Even though it was dirty and unkempt and a mess like everything else about me and I'm pretty sure his fingers got stuck a few times he just wouldn't stop untangling each knot with such care and precision that I remembered my last thought being - "

"Wilbur - "

" - could he have brushed away all the knots and twists in my soul like this? Cleaned me up on the inside like he's doing on the outside? I thought I went crying, Niki. Maybe I did. I'll never know because all I felt was his tears ricocheting on my face - "

"Stop - "

" - he tries to wipe them off. He's cursing at himself, apologizing profusely through hiccuping sobs and, and I don't understand why he's so sorry when it feels like, like when he'd lick his fingers and scrub the grimes of our faces after we played outside too long. Do you remember that Niki - "

"I don't wanna - "

" - because I do. We'd screech so loud, saying it was disgusting and unsanitary as we slapped his hand away and ran, but he'd always catch us a second later because of his wings. I don't wanna run away this time. I'm relishing it, craving every stroke because I'm starting to go cold - "

"Please - "

" - and I wish you weren't teleported here. I wish you had died instead - "

"Wil - "

" - so you would know, so we could relate to what it feels like for the limbo to claim you. To mark you. It's like, it's like being mutilated over and over again. A mallet to your bones, a hole in your brain, everything from your skin to your tendons unraveling before you - "

"Wil listen - "

" - spilling out and about like confetti, and you, you are confetti! You're shredded pieces, everywhere and nowhere all at once, and just as the mangling begins it stops, replaced by the limbo trying to put you, no, force you back together again. It's the same sensation, but in reverse, almost a loop, a tunnel with no light at the end, and all you can do is scream - "

"WILBUR SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!"

Something shatters

Wilbur falls silent.

Niki looks down. There is a puddle, slowly growing at her feet. She looks to her left. Her hand has punched through the aquarium. Blood trickles down her hand, some get over the glass. She doesn't pull her hand away.

"You never listen," she mumbles, but it seems so loud to her ears. "No one does. No one wants to. I talk and I talk and I talk and yet no response. Not even from the wind. I am a voice box stuck on rewind, repeating myself as life moves on without me."

Niki can hear her voice ring down the bakery, bouncing around with nowhere to settle. Until it does, in Niki's chest, rattling, crackling like a fuse has been lit, and perhaps it has, for her anger feels sizzling. "You used to always say how words were powerful. How they could stop wars, how they could build nations." She lets out a laugh. It burns her throat. "But what would I know?! You and everyone else never gave me a chance to use my voice! Always talking over me whatever chance you could. Even before Pogtopia you walked all over me! Even when I was screaming at top of my lungs you'd - "

She gasps. The glass presses deeper into her skin as her hand trembles. She does not feel it. "Oh primes, oh primes Wil, didn't you hear my screams? I came here screaming, Wil. I, I do know what it feels like for the void to take you. I still feel it, even now, why, why do I still feel it - "

Wilbur staggers to his feet, so quick he promptly falls. He catches himself halfway on Niki's wrist.

His hand scratches on the glass. He doesn't even flinch. Their blood mixes.

(They are one)

He doesn't even grip too tight, and yet it hurts. Stings. "You do understand," he grins. Wide, too wide for his face, that she almost expects his nose and eyes to sink into his skin to make more room. "You do, you do oh thank primes. I'm not alone in this. I've been alone for so long but now, now you're here and you understand! Oh, Niki, I'm so happy you're here."

"You're… happy, I'm here?" She mutters. "You're happy I'm dead?"

He nods frantically. "It's more than that Niki," he says. "DreamXD, whoever that man is, he's my hero for sending you here."

(Parallels between Wilbur and Dream and her and now Wilbur and Dream and DreamXD no no no she can't be them she can't she can't she won't she won't - )

"You don't mean it," she cries. "You don't mean that Wil. Say you don't mean it."

The grin, somehow, becomes wider. She realizes then his eyes don't have to disappear. They're already gone. Replaced by a black hole, too dark in the corners and its gravitational pull making it hard to look away even though she knows staring at it too long will get her sucked into an endless void.

He leans in close like he's sharing a secret. "I only wish he had sent you here sooner."

(Wilbur's life, Niki is realizing, is like a house of mirrors too. Except Wilbur has smashed every mirror. No, actually, not true. Niki sees, if she squints, that Wilbur has abandoned the sledgehammer and is observing a still intact mirror. He didn't keep the mirror depicting a little boy sitting on the steps of a home, their home, trying to play a song and failing because the guitar is too big for his body, but he refuses to buy a smaller one because "this is my Dad's guitar Niki! So, therefore, it's by default the best guitar in the world". Or the one of a father panting heavily on a couch, cursing his human legs while Niki is doubled over laughing because there is a baby fox is running on all fours around the house at 45 miles per hour who doesn't want to be put to bed. Nor the one of a leader, handing out purpose and meaning in the form of a blue and white uniform with a soft smile. No, it's the one of a man who's just pressed a button. Who long before L'manburg's destruction, always felt like he was breathing in smoke, but now kept warm by the ash and dust of his nation flying up to the red sky, it feels - for the first time in a long time - easier to breathe. Niki can't believe he didn't destroy it. He's… preserving it. Why is he preserving this version of himself of all things?)

foolish girl with dreams for a better nation, better server, better future, too much better somethings, you've ruined reality for no one but yourself. think for once about what is and not what was or could have been. he is different. changed for the worse. he's preserving it because he doesn't care about you. can't you see how happy he is over your death? how there's light in his eyes for the first time over yours being snuffed out? how he shows no sympathy in your entrapment here, forever away from Techno, Phil, and Ranboo because it benefits him. so give in and fight fight fight fight

She sees red.

Her fist collides with Wilbur's nose.

She doesn't even wait to hear the crack before she's already reeling back her arm for the next hit.

This time she aims for the jaw. She feels something split. It could be Wilbur's lip or bone. Maybe her mind. She doesn't know and she doesn't care.

What she does know is how familiar this is, having something break under her knuckles. It's easy, familiar even, throwing punch after punch, like some sort of autopilot response. Perhaps it is, for every punch is instinctive, out of body almost. No longer is there a before in the blows, only an after.

Except, that's not true. Not entirely. Because Niki is realizing why there is no before. Because before each blow there is always a struggle from your opponent. Flailing limbs trying to make contact with something, choked wheezes, an attempt to curl into a ball, and, sometimes, begging.

Wilbur does none of that. He's silent the whole time.

It's almost like he takes it willingly.

clever girl with hands too bruised, too scarred, too violent to ever be held so gently. a finger trained to pull the trigger is not meant to bear a promise ring. who's fault do you think that is? you've held back for so long, don't stop now. so give in and get revenge revenge revenge revenge

A swing at his eye. A swift kick to the ribs. A fistful of his hair so tight she could yank his scalp off if she twisted her wrist just so.

It's all a flurry of movements really, too fast for even her own eyes to catch. Half of the time she's lost on where the hits land, totally dependent on wherever the blood leaks the most and the bruises that weren't there a second ago to tell her. Eventually, the damage starts to blur, too much of his face has swelled up to spot any new marks and too many limbs bend at weird angles to differentiate what is and isn't broken, so she stops trying to guess.

Which is why she doesn't know which strike finally gets Wilbur to fall, all she knows is that he does. He doesn't even sway. One second he's on his feet and the next he's on his back.

It's kinda pathetic really, that this was her general.

For a second he's still, too still, and then he spits out a tooth. He licks his gums with a grimace, looking for the gap before finally speaking.

"I see Technoblade's been training you. Do you feel better now?"

clever girl who's seen her fair share of men with livewire tongues, spitting rogue sparks at your skin in the form of harsh words to quiet you down. do not be silenced once more. you let him speak before and it cost you a nation. this time silence him, and I will secure you a limbo without him. so give in and maim maim maim maim

She screams. She thinks she does. It's hard to tell over the deep reverberated banging of Wilbur's head against the stone floor.

The first slam simply causes blood to trickle down his forehead.

The second one caves in the front of his scalp.

The third one he's unrecognizable.

The fourth one there's nothing left to bash.

She keeps going anyway.

"Shut up," she pants between each crack and occasional splat. "Shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP."

Wilbur tries to say something. All that comes out is a gurgle, wet and sharp and loud. So very loud. And it keeps going, stringing along and along and along longer than the large chunks of skin and brain on the pavement. It shouldn't be possible, his mouth, along with everything else, is practically gone. Nothing but a small pit inside a bigger pit.

Yet it continues, getting increasingly louder in pitch.

And then she gets it.

He's scared.

clever girl of never-ending war zones, jumping from one horror to the next. this is the last one. and I know that's been said before but you can trust me. just end it and you can finally rest. wouldn't that be nice? so give in and kill kill kill kill kill

She smiles. It hurts her face.

She picks his head up from the ground one last time. She's humming, like a lullaby. Maybe it is. She's putting the baby to sleep. She knows he can't die again, but wherever he goes after this, if the limbo keeps its promise, it can't be pretty.

"I said," she laughs. "Shut up."

She brings his head down.

She blinks.

Her empty hand meets black stone slabs.

"Niki?"

She looks up and immediately regrets it. Everything is too bright, scorching, a burning gaze on every inch of her skin, but what really hurts are her eyes. She thinks they're sizzling, like actually sizzling, because her sclera feels as if it's bubbling and her iris is definitely melting into her brain and there are so many spots dancing behind her eyelids.

And then the voice, soft and familiar, speak's again.

"Do you have your stuff?"

It takes a while, and a lot of blinking, but her eyes eventually readjust.

She gasps.

The first thing she processes isn't that George and DreamXD stand just a few feet away or that it was George speaking. No, it was how absurdly colorful, everything was.

Here there was life. Life. It was like she poked her head through a kaleidoscope, what with how the specks of a rainbow illuminated itself in the clear blue water of the fountain and the sight of shimmering white quartz glistening under the sunbeams that poured through the purple-tinted windows. No longer was everything dulled around the corners and drained at the center like anything in her dreadful, cramped space of a bakery she shared with -

Oh primes.

Her bakery.

This isn't her bakery. This is Church Prime.

"She's back," DreamXD exclaims. He turns to George, bouncing on his heels excitedly as if expecting some sort of reward, but George pays him no mind/ He's too busy looking at Niki, or, more so, through her.

"What happened?" He asks.

She opens her mouth, then slams it shut.

She's alive. Dear primes, she's alive and she's back and she should be happy, cheering, jumping up and down to feel the livelihood ache in her bones but…

She looks back down at the floor. The floor should be covered in blood. Wilbur's blood, and his bits of flesh and tissue and muscle and -

Oh primes. What has she done?

Or better yet, what didn't she do?

"George," she whimpers. "I don't know what's going on. I, I don't know what's going on here."

She hopes it was her imagination. It had to have been. Otherwise, she hosted Wilbur's head up by the splits of his hair, pushed down as hard as she could and -

She wouldn't. She couldn't, not anymore at least. She left that side of herself in a gate full of slaughtered chickens as Jack demanded they try and kill Tommy again. That side of her is as dead as those chickens.

Right?

She prays so, for this is a church after all, and that means prayers have to be answered here. They have to come true. They have to.

There's a smile in DreamXD's voice when he speaks again as if he knows how much this torments her. "I sent her to hell and then I brought her back."

No.

She sobs. She looks down at her hands. Their bear and yet they feel so heavy. As if the ghost of Wilbur's blood and gore is still there, a new thick-coated layer of skin.

She tortured him. Broke him brick by brick again and again and again even as he tried to beg. Her best friend, her general, her family, begging at her feet, and she kept going, would have kept going too, with an ear-splitting grin, like it was some sort of game.

And it had felt so good to finally get a checkmate.

Wilbur is not a demon. He's just seen too much in too little time. Too much pressure on too little shoulders. Too tired to be all there. It's not an excuse for all the pain he's caused, far from it, but it shows his actions didn't come from a place of malice, but rather a cry for help. Niki knows this, she gets it, and she'll say it time and time again. But all she could think about at that moment, before the final strike, was how happy Wilbur was about her death. He deserved a piece of her mind, but not like that. Never like that.

What is wrong with her?

No, no it wasn't her. It was that place, that voice. It was a parasite, burrowing deep within her brain and planting itself in the center, telling her what to do and what to say. Telling her to slaughter left and right. It was so loud, rattling around in her head and echoing like war drums. She couldn't just ignore it, it was too much. So, no, she is free of guilt, free of responsibility, hands all clean.

But she knows that at the end of the day the host still needs to be somewhat conscious for the parasite to thrive.

Oh primes. Is this what Techno deals with every day?

Then, she jumps to her feet.

Techno, Phil, and Ranboo.

It's coming back now, that memory of fury in her eyes, that fire in her voice as she told Wil she had people to go back to. How she was willing to claw her fingers down to bone to make an exit. But that voice, that stupid stupid voice, it told her she could rest, could get revenge, and against her better judgment she listened. It caught her at a moment of weakness, Wilbur's words of memory lane, of Phil, of everything that came before and after his death, she was at a low point. And like a moth to a flame, she was there one moment and gone the next. Back to the old her.

She thought she had left that version of herself behind when she joined the Syndicate. She was so sure she was getting better with Techno, Phil, and Ranboo around.

But all it took was one voice to ruin all her progress.

Her chest constricts and her head feels heavy.

She needs to find them. She needs to tell them what she saw. She needs to tell Phil. She needs… she needs…

She just needs them.

"What did you see?" George says, snapping her out of her thoughts.

This time, her mouth has no problem moving. "George," she starts, voice trembling. "I have seen things. I... I... I have seen things. I don't know what's going on here but I don't know if I should - "

Niki gulps. It's getting so hard to breathe. She should feel thankful that she can breathe in the first place, but every inhale stings as her lungs try to remember to do a motion so foreign to her.

How long has she been down there?

She doesn't want to know.

She just wants to go home.

She walks away, backward, from the two, eyes fixated tightly on them and barely blinking. She remembers the last time she let her guard down around DreamXD. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry George. Good luck with him but I - "

She doesn't finish, because she's already out the door. She wants to run, but she's so sure her lungs would explode at the first push forward of her heel. So she walks.

And walks.

The world walks with her, with each rotation. As if they’re friends taking a stroll. As if it hadn’t cracked open and swallowed her whole, chewed up everything good in her and spat her out when she turned bitter. Returned her back to a world that didn’t change one bit while she was gone, despite her herself changing so much.

It’s like what happened to her didn’t happen at all.

And then she realizes a horrible thing.

Everyone on this server is going to see today as a normal day.

Is it bad that a part of Niki wishes something like the Green Festival could happen right now, so that they could all feel the monstrosity of today?

She stands still. Stationary, like this Earth wants her to be. She thinks she could do it, stay like this forever. She feels numb enough.

Somewhere above, a crow caws.

She burst into tears.

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