#i likely wouldn't have had a functioning wrist by the end of it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vhstown · 5 months

Text

ain't no love; pt. 3

"ain't no love and it's sure 'nuff a pity"

— miles g morales x gn!reader series

SUMMARY: Miles G Morales is just a kid without a father; the Prowler is just a "rotten" vigilante. Both of them start coming into your life — one in the middle of the semester, the other by total accident.

SERIES MASTERLIST 📼 ← PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 →

chapter summary: [DUAL POV] The Prowler is someone you never thought you'd run into. Miles thought the exact same thing.

content/warnings: grotesque imagery, depictions of panic and fear, violence, arguments, etc.

word count: 5.8k (dear god)

a/n: thanks to @qiupachups for proofreading cause lord knows i wouldn't have... im not ok guys like actua

“And over here is our robotics department — my favourite, personally.”

All you could think about as the man in front of you talked your ears off — and walked your legs off — was how on Earth you ended up here, rooms and corridors deep into the Oscorp Industries. Trying not to get hit by speeding interns or bump into equipment that cost more than your school uniform, you’d been taking in the winding laboratories and offices that were well past the flashy displays at the reception for the past hour or so, led by the one and only… well, the man had yet to introduce himself since excitedly deciding to take you on a tour. Forming connections, as Ms. Weber had put it, was more exhausting than you’d thought.

“Take a look at this arm for a moment — trained completely on artificial intelligence, and moves just like the real thing!”

You just smiled and nodded, the muscles in your neck starting to hurt from the action. As you did, the metal prosthetic spurred into life, swaying and flexing its bulky fingers in what looked random enough; how realistic it seemed was debatable, though. You noticed small, engraved initials on the wrist, reading “O.G.O”, much like the prototypes in the flashy displays downstairs. You’d seen nothing of the sort up here until now, though. Maybe this one was was just special.

Regardless, you really needed to sit down at some point — preferably in some corner so people could stare at you less. There was always someone throwing furtive glances your way, and right now it seemed to be a gaunt-looking man you’d seen slinking around the department, now in the little laboratory full of strange-looking arms and mechanisms that weren’t nearly as functional as the “A.I” powered one.

“Thank you, Doctor…” You squinted, the faded remnants of the name “MENDEL STROMM” forming on his badge. “Stromm.”

“Professor. Professor Stromm,” he corrected, earnest yet almost with pride. “I always felt like a teacher at heart, anyway.”

You only managed to make it halfway through your umpteenth nod before something caught the corner of your eye. The catching of light from somewhere above you, just for a moment — insignificant, really. It seemed to catch your attention long enough for Professor Stromm to notice your attention had gone elsewhere, though.

“Oh, I must be tiring you. Do you like coffee?” You barely had a chance to open your mouth. “I'll get us both some coffee, God knows I need it— just give me a minute!”

Before you could answer, the man skittered away, his rounder frame creating a noticeable dispersion the sea of people moving through the hall until he was nowhere to be seen.

That left you, a random kid, in the robotics laboratory with probably more than one pair of eyes on you. Or maybe not; when you let yourself look around, there didn’t seem to be anyone in the lab at the present moment. Thank God.

A long-overdue sigh left your chest. As much as you'd been lucky to run into Stromm by the reception (before the less-than-polite receptionist could tell you to beat it), you never expected to be running around so much from place to place, trying to make mental notes of everything he'd been saying.

So far, you had “A.I. arm”, something about “gene editing”, some other thing about “99% efficient generators” and a whole other string of scientific jargon thrown in between half-finished explanations and sporadic spurs of Stromm’s recollection. Admittedly, it stressed you out a little; you constantly had the urge to take a piece of pen and paper and record everything he was saying but you only needed a few brief ideas to go off of on your college essay. That was, if you were even going to go into the science field. You still hadn’t decided, though, if you were going to keep performing like how you did right now in your AP classes, you’d probably have your decision made for you soon enough at the back of those lifeless vegan diners opening up everywhere.

Maybe you could get an internship here, if you were lucky enough. Had you been showing enough enthusiasm? It was hard to match. In fact, the man was so enthusiastic he drained the enthusiasm from you. His passion was admirable, but also somewhat pitiful — like he had nobody to truly share his passions with it. At least until a bumbling, bashful sophomore from Visions came along. You’d rather not think about it too hard — this room was starting to make you feel dizzy. It was like there was something wrong with the ventilation, but you didn’t dare go out, given you’d probably get lost in a minute or two.

It was a week into winter break already, and the realisation made you wince. Just a couple weeks into January and you'd be head-first into exams again, while all your friends who went to other schools lived their lives. Visions just had to be different, it looked like. A couple more of Mr Wellston’s unbearable classes before that, though — instead of learning any math, you’d mastered the art of having one eye on your handout and the other on Miles’.

Miles Morales — you’d almost forgotten about him. Almost. It wasn’t hard, given how every text you’d send him had been left on read. He could’ve been busy, (or given you the wrong number) but the dread of being in that careers fair full of freshmen alone was staring to creep up on you. At least a little confirmation that he wouldn’t disappear off of the face of the Earth this semester would be nice.

Hey?

There was a twang in your chest as you looked over your barren chat.

Read at 2:41AM

…What unethical sort of time is that? He could just be bad at texting — or he just decided to hate your guts now. Either seemed unfortunately probable. Were you enemies, or something? Were you supposed to be annoyed? You’d known this kid for a couple weeks at most. Maybe it was weird of you for wanting to get his number so soon. Miles had his own life, even though he walked you back to your apartment in the middle of nowhere that one time. Why did you even care so much?

Maybe there just wasn't enough time in the day for the both of you.

Beep!

To your surprise, Stromm had come back faster than usual. He had a hand over his face, adjusting his glasses, but… no coffee in sight. The door locked automatically behind him, his badge wrung awkwardly around his neck, like he’d just thrown it on.

“Is the coffee machine broken, or something…?”

“They're completely out of cups, I'm sorry.”

“It's alright.” You could’ve really use that coffee right now, you thought.

Still, you smiled at him, feeling the ache in your face smile with you. The man seemed to be pondering something, standing still with a slightly tense expression on his face. He looked like he could’ve used that coffee too.

“Are you okay, Professor?” You tried asking this as unassumingly as you could, but it got a twitch out of him anyway.

“Yes, yes, I've just lost my train of thought…”

You waited, the faint murmurs down the hallway and the strangled breath of the ventilation system above filling the void of silence.

“Are we going to the next floor…?” you suggested.

“No, no,” he said in that melodic way he did, putting a finger up. At least he was somewhat like himself — just thinking, is all.

You decided to be patient, turning your head to stretch your neck slightly, feigning interest in the light fixtures above.

Just what the hell was that gigantic, moving shadow on the ceiling?

“Um, well I think we should go, it’s kind of warm in here—”

“Actually, I think you could do something for me.”

“What is it…?” Your eye twitched as you noticed a figure starting to form from the shadow.

“You see that robotic arm?” The one on display or the one sticking out of the god damn ceiling? “I think you should try it on.”

“What? Really?” It felt like something you’d get in trouble for, but nobody else seemed to be around — except for, you know, the dark humanoid figure right above you. “I— I think I need to use the bathroom first.”

“It’ll be quick. I mean, it’s already hooked up!” Stromm was already reaching for the device.

“No, it’s okay—”

Krrrrr… Bzzzzt!

The room flooded with darkness. Every light had gone out at the same time, the whirr of machines and electricity dying out.

“What on Ear—”

All but for a blur of reddish-magenta light.

Before you could open your mouth, the sound of a ruthless, metallic thud emerged, immediately followed by the crunching of glass, and then a choked breath.

Your vision suddenly sharpening in the little light there was, you could make out the silhouette of Stromm, staggering into the display which held the arm. Where he’d just been was now a foot, faint purplish light glowing from the underside of a shoe.

And then, a grating mechanical sound followed — it sounded like something was snapping over and over, like the arm you’d seen in the display as it moved its joints. A rim of light flickered around what looked to be a sleeve, which was attached to a giant, metallic set of claws, the sharp edges of which caught the light.

“Who are you?! W—What are you doing here?!” the professor shouted out, his feet heavy and erratic on the floor as he tried to ease himself up. His voice came out strange and desperate, strained, almost unfamiliar. You’d think it was someone else if you didn’t know it was Stromm.

All you could do was watch, taking tiny, careful steps back as you tried not to breathe. The figure moved forward, at an unnatural angle, turning as its mechanical claw clenched and unclenched in a now almost seamless movement. You caught the edge of a strange emblem, scrawled messily across the front of what looked to be a suit. It was familiar, and it sickened you once you realised.

“—In this morning’s report we investigate a disturbing string of robberies and break-ins, suspected to be carried out by a criminal duo including—”

There was no mistake — that was…

“The Prowler,” a voice answered for you, crackling and modulated.

“—Norman Obsorn suspects that Oscorp supply chains have been intercepted—”

An ear-piercing buzzing emerged from the air as threads of energy sputtered from the glowing core of his arm device, climbing rapidly up to the centre of his palm. What formed was a concentrated mass of ebnergy, undulating between the claws and casting harsh shadows around the room. Your eyes darted to Stromm, heart in your throat as you expected to meet a horrified, helpless version of the expression he had mere moments ago — it was anything but.

His face was stuck, slack — near dead. And as you watched the energy inevitably grow, his face began to change. What was once the face of Professor Stromm amalgamated into a shapeless, fleshless form, his skin receding into itself and leaving pallid, bloodless sheets of muscle, twitching with thick shadows in the ever-expanding light. As he lifted his head, deep, glowing pits were in place of his eyes.

The same strange voice that came out of the face, you realised, had never been Stromm’s to begin with.

“You are making a mistake.”

Before you could react, your skin singed with heat, sparks rushing past like missiles as the room threatened to explode into white. That was what finally gave you the sense to run.

“—It seems the notorious criminal and his accomplice have increased their activity among a concerning rise of organised crime. Authorities think they could be affiliated with what is coming to be known as ‘The Sinister Six’—”

CRASH!

Beyond your covered ears, a dull boom reverberated through the lab, a million broken shards of glass and plastic flashing with the aftershock. If you were hurt, you didn’t know, adrenaline ushering through your body. Your heartbeat was sharp and loud, your hands were shaking, bile was coming up your throat.

Get me out of here get me out of here get me out of here leave leave leave leave—

Your eyes were painfully wide, stinging with tears, yet everything was overwhelming and sharp and bright — that was when you saw it.

Glass case. Fist. You gritted your teeth.

CRRAAACK!

Big. Red. Panic button.

SLAM!

Instantly, the room exploded with red, blaring light, sirens howling through the room and beyond the door, the lock disabled. You caught one last gaze from those white electric slits before scampering into the hallway, door slamming shut behind you. All you could hear was the clatter of your feet in tandem with your thundering heart, throat too dry to scream. You just needed to get out of here, they couldn’t catch up with you — they wouldn’t.

Shoving past alarmed faces, you advanced to the end of the hall. Stairs — safest bet.

You scrambled down the dingy stairwell, hip throbbing with pain as you turned sharply against the railing down to the next floor. Sweat prickled at your skin, and you tried to breathe. The stairs seemed endless, but you were soon on the bottom floor, dragging yourself to follow everyone else leaving the building. Until you got out, you wouldn’t slow down.

Staggering into the cold, thin wind bit at your skin, the faint cry of police sirens from somewhere you couldn’t see. You tore the visitor’s badge from around your neck, filling your lungs again in big, painful gulps and squeezing your stinging eyes shut.

Never have you been more grateful to breathe in the musty Brooklyn air that you so, so hated.

“Miles…”

“I wasn’t fuckin’ thinking straight!”

“Miles.”

“I swear I had him I just—”

“Miles!”

“What?!”

“Jesus Christ, man. Calm your shit!”

Miles tensed as Aaron gave him a firm slap on the shoulder, the sick feeling in his throat easing just a little.

“It ain’t your fault.” The cool, collected voice of Uncle Aaron, much to his dismay, managed to break through his racing mind. It was his fault — everything was his fault. He’d messed up everything!

“Yes the fuck it is!”

“Watch yo’ mouth.” Aaron had a sudden severity in his tone, kicking Miles back into normality.

“Sorry,” he mumbled back.

Miles elbowed the punching bag beside him, unable to meet his uncle’s eyes. He’d let the man they’d been chasing for the past month to get away, all because he’d been too hasty — too immature. And you had made a stupidly smart decision to press that damn alarm.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he mutters again, voice seeming to fight itself.

“It’s not your fault,” Aaron repeats.

“He’s gon’ kill more people regardless. He could’ve killed—” He bit his lip, hard; your name was right at the back of his throat.

Aaron met his gaze again, but he didn’t give him the courtesy of returning it, eyes stuck to the ground.

“…There sumn’ you’re not tellin’ me?” Aaron asked.

Miles just shrugged, bottom lip freeing itself with the lingering sting of his teeth. There was probably a lot more than there should be that he hadn’t told his uncle.

Walking over to the drawer, he pulled out the dusty old case file. It had tattered corners and the paper had a weird feel to it, like it was from a long time ago: 3 years, to be exact. It was an older case that had re-emerged some time ago — the last case his dad was involved in.

Flicking it open, he was met with all the reports and notes, ones he’d grown sick of seeing: “Unidentifiable suspect”, “vague circumstances” and “unverifiable” were some of the few reasons why. They weren’t going down the “typical” route of investigation, but it didn’t make it any easier that they could break down a few doors without a warrant.

For the past month, Miles had been searching for leads, clues, chasing down suspects of these missing person’s cases — all of them leading him right back to where he started. Every time he thought he was getting closer, he’d go back a hundred steps. Everything about this case lacked any sense of logic; people would disappear without any sort of reason, completely by random. There was no pattern to these cases, except for the fact that whatever circumstances that surrounded them were vague and undetailed.

No name, no face, no form. But he’d finally managed to catch the fish at the end of the hook, following someone who had yet to go missing: a certain scientist at Oscorp industries, who worked in robotics and hadn’t been seen for 24 hours, but showed up to work the next day somehow.

That man had followed another scientist — Mendel Stromm — only to come back in his body. Miles had let it happen, out of necessity, he thought — to finally see what was going on. And he did, he saw the man transform into Stromm. He saw the man walk back into the laboratory and act as it nothing had happened.

And then, he saw you.

You. He wasn’t blaming you for this, was he? No, it wasn’t your fault, you just happened to be… in severe danger.

Miles could’ve prevented this, had he not been so desperate — so conflicted. He could’ve texted you back, told you to stay away from Oscorp instead of typing and deleting the same awkward replies late at night.

And he was supposed to go back to school and see you, and do that job fair with you, right after he’d saved— Right after you saved yourself — from the Prowler. From him.

“You alright?” Miles whipped his head around to see Aaron looking at him, a slight hint of concern in his face.

“Yeah—” He stopped himself from saying sorry. “Gonna head home.”

Miles pushed the drawer shut, feeling the eyes of the people he’d left behind on him — more recently, Mendel Stromm. He wondered if they blamed him just as he blamed himself.

As he walked back to his apartment, he slipped on his jacket — Uncle Aaron’s jacket. He even felt guilty for wearing it, damn it.

Shutting the door and world outside behind him, he took a hesitant glance at the shoe rack. His mom’s shoes were missing.

“Took an extra shift. Dinner’s in the microwave. Tqm!" (Ily!)

“Y yo te quiero,” (And I love you) he mutters to himself, careful not to crease the note between his fingers.

At least she’d never find out. His mom would be off work soon, so he’d get to spend time with her, hopefully. He was just busy himself, with school starting again next week, the job fair, a million different quizzes, meetings with the guidance counsellor…

His dad’s anniversary was right in-between that.

Miles folded up the note, and then tossed it in the trash. All he wanted to do was go to sleep, but he hadn’t done any of his work for the winter break.

So, with a deep breath, he headed to his room, sitting at his desk. Miles tried to ignore the numerous sketches of his own gear, and half-finished faces as he tried looking for a pen in his drawers.

One drawing caught his eye, a familiar face. Well, it wasn’t exactly a face. It wasn’t finished yet, but he could picture the way it’d look if it were finished. It was “a friend”, he’d practised telling himself in case his mom decided to clean his room without telling him — you, without an expression but the curve of your cheek and the start of your hair he’d been so focused on instead of your eyes whenever he’d talked to you.

“~Ain’t no love… and it’s sure ‘nuff a pity…”

As he opened his notebook, faint music played from his phone, in an attempt to get him to focus. Still, he wondered if you’d find it weird that he drew you, how you’d look at him if you ever knew about it.

Miles wondered how you’d look at him if you knew he was the one at Oscorp — The Prowler.

“Guys, I don’t think he’s coming.”

“No shit!” The sound of laughter burst out in the room. All you could do was sigh, head on your desk.

Winter break had gone faster than you’d expected, especially given the amount of time you spent in the police station. They asked you the same questions, over and over and over, until you started to doubt your own memory. It was probably necessary, to prove you weren’t lying, or something, but it was exhausting, and you were just glad it was over.

“Why were you in Oscorp to begin with?”

“Do you remember the exact time it was before he left?”

“Are you certain it was Dr. Stromm that walked in?”

“You’re sure?”

You didn’t want to think about it, and you didn’t need anyone else to know either. It was better to pretend nothing happened, and that you’d had a productive break like everyone else apparently did. Bunch of try-hards.

The problem now, though, was that Mr. Wellston thought it’d be a good idea to disappear on you right before your midterm. He was supposed to finish teaching integration by now, but your class was far from — and of course, it was coming up on the exam.

You didn’t have a supply teacher either, though that was a good thing. Maybe Wellston would get fired, you’d get a new calc teacher, and all would be right in the world. But for now, you had to deal with these overly-pretentious people you called your classmates, (and always seemed to be okay with Wellston’s incompetence for some reason) talk about how easy the exam was gonna be, and about the homework that Mr. Wellston never checked anyway, and about college — because all anyone ever cared about here was getting into an Ivy. Maybe you should’ve just gone to public school. You pushed that thought back before you could seriously started to consider it.

Instead, your thoughts went to the person slouched at the desk next to you: Miles, the kid that had suddenly lost all interest in talking to you entirely. It wasn’t just the boredom of having Calc BC last period, too. For one, he’d never try to start conversations anymore, and two, you couldn’t even hold a conversation with him if you wanted to. When you greeted him in the hallway today, he just walked past, not even bothering to look at you. Maybe he hadn’t been busy over winter break like you thought — he’d just been ignoring you.

“Bro, that’s Principal Evans! Shut up!”

You squinted your eyes, heart dropping as you saw the Principal advance down the hallway, right towards your class. Miles didn’t move at all. In fact, he looked like he was… asleep?

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

“Miles…!” you whisper-shouted, shaking his shoulder to no avail.

Sighing, you thought about slapping him for a moment before deciding against it, shaking his shoulder it a second time, The boy got up with a start.

“Huh…? Wha… what? What do you want?”

“Prin… ci… pal..!” you mouthed, furrowing your brows at him and pointing to the door.

“Oh, damn…” He stifled a yawn, rubbing his eyes before straightening up on his chair. As much as Miles liked to annoy teachers, anyone would quickly come to learn that annoying Principal Evans was a death wish — from both her, and your parents.

As he fixed up, you caught a glimpse of his face for the first time today. So much for promising to not look at him. Exhausted wasn’t enough to describe it — he looked like he’d gone to war, or something. At least you’d managed to sleep well enough, without dreaming about Oscorp. Count your blessings, I guess.

You didn’t have much time to relish in your few blessings, though, as the tall, well-dressed woman stopped by the door. She peered in, before her brows knitted together, opening the door.

“Y’all don’t have a teacher?” she said, in that quick, strong voice that put you all on edge. Some of you had the confidence to mutter a “no.” or shake your head. “Who are you supposed to have?”

She shook her head as your class answered, pulling out her phone.

“Gimme one second. I don’t care if the period’s almost over. Fifteen minutes of class is fifteen minutes of class…”

You held back the urge to sigh again. If Wellston showed up, he’d probably force you all to stay back an hour and “catch up”. That, and you had the careers fair to help out with right after this period. The door closed again as Principal Evans took a call outside, and you let your eyes shut.

“Hey Martin, I’ve got a class here that…” Her voice fading into the background and your class starting to murmur again, you opened your eyes, only to catch Miles’ gaze just for a second.

“What?” you said, looking at him, though it came out a little too confrontational.

“What?” he mirrored back, though it came out a little too much like a statement. Miles — always good at making you feel stupid, you supposed.

“What’s up with you today?” you started, deciding it was better to bite the bullet.

“Nothing. Why?” Maybe not.

“Are you going to the careers fair…?”

“I kind of have to.” You probably should’ve slapped him when you had the chance.

“…Yeah, but—”

“Alright! Silence!” Principal Evans was at the door, holding it open with her foot. “Nobody’s comin', so y’all gotta do some work until the bell. I do apologise.”

There was a little commotion as people “got to work”, and you shot Miles one last glare before pretending to be interested in the notebook you’d had closed all period.

And so, fifteen minutes passed by with the sound of scribbling next to you, and when you stubbornly tried to peek, his arm just had to be in the way.

A lot was in the way between you two, it felt like. So much for being friends.

The bell finally rang, and you stretched a little as people left, preparing yourself for another hour or two before you could go back to your dorm. At least you wouldn’t have to talk to Miles, you had… freshman to talk to. Maybe this was a learning opportunity — I hated freshman, but from participating in a careers event at my school, I learnt that they’re not just people I have to shove past to get into the cafeteria. At least you didn’t have to put that abysmal sentence in your college essay until next year.

The chair next to you screeched, making you jump a little. You stopped yourself from cursing under your breath, noticing Principal Evans still lingering by the door. She was ushering the last people out, a crease between her brows.

“What class is this?” Her voice was directed at you, you realised.

“Calc BC,” you replied.

“Calc BC…” She seemed to emphasise every sound as she talked, as if she was thinking about something important. “Well aren’t you a bright bunch?” You managed a tiny smile, feeling like you weren’t a part of that “bunch” at the moment.

“I don’t mean to bother you, but… do you know what happened to Mr. Wellston?” you asked, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. You couldn’t believe you were asking about him, but you really needed to figure out how you were gonna pass — and soon.

“I know as much as you do,” she shrugs, earrings swaying as she turns her head back to her phone. “If you wait, I might be able to find out for you. Is it urgent?”

“I mean…” you started, before you felt a slight nudge at your arm.

“We’re gonna be late.” Miles gave you an unreadable look, and for some reason you relented.

“It’s fine, Principal. Thank you.”

“Take care now.” She moved out of the way for you to leave, but before you did, she spoke up again. “Oh, and Miles — I’m already making arrangements, so expect me to call you up at some point.”

“Cool. I mean— okay, thanks,” he mumbled, starting to walk down the hall.

You followed, having to push to keep up among the many students that were moving past. Damn fast walkers…

Feeling the uncomfortable need to talk, you opened your mouth. “We’re going to the gymnasium, right?”

“Yeah.”

“When can we leave?”

“Like, 6pm, or something.” Great.

“That late? How long’s the fair?”

“Thought you’d know.” Oh, maybe.

“I would, if someone told me,” you huffed under your breath.

There was another stretch of silence between you, the school starting to empty as you walked towards the other side where the gymnasium was. Miles didn’t have his earphones in, so there wasn’t much of an excuse for you to be ignored. Somehow, that made you feel less confident to speak.

“How was your break…?” you tried. He was unresponsive for a moment before shrugging.

“Boring.”

“...Yeah, same.” You didn’t sound very certain. The look he gave you made it clear he could tell. There was an uncomfortable pause that made you regret talking in the first place.

“…You okay?” he asked, suddenly.

“What?”

He took in a deep breath, looking at you more seriously. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah… why?” You raised your brow at him, even if he couldn’t see.

“Don’t need a reason to ask.”

“I’m pretty sure you do.”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“How the hell was that a rhetorical question?”

“That one’s rhetorical too.”

When you realised what he meant, you couldn’t help but smile slightly at the stupidity of your conversation. You thought you caught the corner of his mouth raise too.

“Good thing Ms. White doesn’t pick on you, then,” you joked.

“Watch it, I got an A in English.” The way he said it almost made you laugh. Almost. You wouldn’t give him that.

“Right. And what don’t you have an A in?”

“Calculus.”

“No way…” You gave him a dubious look. “Seriously?”

“A plus.” He was definitely holding back a smile.

“Shut up.” You held back your own smile, too.

The both of you made it to the halfway-point of the campus, where the greenery and outdoor seating was — the place where they’d take all the promotional pictures. If only they could maintain the rest of the school like that too. Though you had to admit, it was a nice day out for January.

Miles stayed silent as you walked. You decided to stay skeptical for now, but a part of you also really just wanted to get along with him. Better than being annoyed at his existence for the next 2 hours.

Maybe he’d just had a bad day — or a bad winter break. He’d been absent for a while, anyway. That wasn’t for no reason. Maybe he just had a lot on his plate. A lot to catch up with, especially.

“How are you getting As anyway? Haven’t you like… missed a lot of classes?”

“I guess.” He shrugged, and the setting sun made it clear that he looked more frazzled and tired than usual. His hair looked like it hadn’t been re-braided in a while, though you wouldn’t tell him that.

Still, when he squinted uncomfortably at the sunlight shining right in your direction, you couldn’t help but notice his eyes again. One was slightly more green, the other slightly brown, coppery flecks in each. They were barely distinguishable in the dim fluorescent light of the school, but you couldn’t help but stare.

He was damn pretty. He was everything, it seemed. Smart, interesting, unique, mysterious, good-looking… You cringed at the realisation that this probably wasn’t a normal thing to think about someone you were supposed to be mad at. Were you supposed to be mad at him…?

“Guess everyone that goes here is a genius huh?” you continued in a rhetorical fashion, a part of you hoping he’d made the same awful joke again,

“That include Rafael?” You pressed your lips together at the mention, stopping the laugh from forming.

“He’s…” you tried, and failed. “Definitely something.”

“You’re smart, though.” You almost stopped walking. He said it so quietly you almost thought you’d misheard.

“I am literally failing Calc.”

“You’re almost failing Calc,” he corrected.

“I will be failing Calc in a week’s time.” You might as well admit it. The thought of that exam next week was hopeless.

“You ain’t even that bad at it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s just practice.”

“Right, right, yeah. I’ll do that.” You didn’t sound very reassured. Miles didn’t seem to be in the mood for reassuring, either, shoving his hands in his pockets.

As you approached the gymnasium, you recognised more of those colourful, weirdly-designed posters, the ones you’d posted around school. Who even made those…?

Someone else was in the distance, walking around the corner. You did a double-take as you elbowed Miles.

“Hey, is that…?” You trailed off, the two of you stopping abruptly.

“The hell is he doing here?”

“No clue. Why’s he coming this wa—”

Suddenly, you felt yourself being pulled behind one of the pillars, and then directly facing Miles.

“What are you doing?!” you whisper-shouted.

“Just shut up for a sec…!” he whisper-shouted back, widening his eyes at you before peering past your less-than suitable hiding place.

His face was just a breath away from yours, arm blocking you from moving, or really seeing what he was so desperately trying to look at. Your heart was starting to thump in your ears, and you couldn’t find it in you to breathe, eyes fixed on his hand curled around your wrist for a moment before he let go, focusing on what was in the distance.

“Nobody’s seen him all day,” he mutters to you.

“Yeah, I know, but why are we hiding?”

“He’s— Just keep still.” He giving you a warning look, much like the one he gave Rafael — this time, with a hint of worry.

Deciding to keep your mouth shut, you dared to look past the pillar, just as he did.

There, approaching the gymnasium back door, was Mr. Wellston. The man came to a stop, walking awkwardly beside the wall, glancing around as if he was trying to avoid something.

In a split second, he disappeared behind one of the pieces of foliage. Miles stared hard, grabbing your arm and advancing the two of you closer. You were confused, before Miles’ grip on your sleeve tightened. Only then did you see it.

Almost seamlessly, Wellston disappeared, taking on the form of a police officer, yellow visitor’s badge around his neck — P.C. Williams, officer for the careers fair.

“Jesus Christ…” Miles muttered, eyes fixed on him, right until he went through the gymnasium doors.

You thought the exact same thing.

thanks for reading and soz for the VERY late update im literally being teabagged by my real life lol! lmk how u found it yasss like and subscribe hit that bell

reblogs super appreciated! go back to the series masterlist here or find the rest of my atsv stuff here!

my lovely jubly taglist: (ask in replies to join!) @noetophat @sakura-onesan @bakugouswaif @qiupachups @phoenixinthefiles @daydreaming-en-pointe @sp1derw1re @kvvrc @proudgojofucker @spam-1

#miles g morales x reader #42!miles x reader #42!miles morales x reader #atsv fanfiction #earth 42 miles x reader #prowler miles x reader #miles g morales #miles g #42!miles #miles gonzalo morales #prowler miles #atsv x you #atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #vhstown

254 notes · View notes

eroset · 1 year

Note

hello!! hole ur doing well, can i request top!m reader w beel from OM? smth involving lingeries n feminization maybe? tyyy<3

TYYYY FOR REQUESTING THIS I GOT CARRIED AWAY CZ I LUUUUUUV BEEL + LINGERIE + FEMINIZATION IT MAKES ME CRAZY KISSES KISSES u accidentally hit one of my favvvv things so idc that its outrageously long <33333 the typo is so funny i would be doing better with a hole. anyway i am doing well here is a gift just 4 u my love hee hee i hope u like itttt🙈

cw: chest/nipple play (c. receiving), chestjob (r. receiving), oral (r. receiving), feminization, praise. ended up making reader more of a soft dom than just a top so 4give me if you did not want that <33

minors dni!

"what is this?"

on his knees in front of your closet in the aftermath of a failed stashed snack raid, beelzebub holds up a fine strip of fabric; a shimmering piece from a lingerie set that costed more than your life, probably.

"oh, that's from asmo. he said i could break it in."

beel gives you a blank look as you speak. "break it in?" and you see his hands tense toward the literal, flexing in a manner as if he intends to shred the fabric. your hand shoots out to grab his wrist, though you know your own strength won't stop him.

"as in use!" you breathe out a sigh of relief when he stops.

"why couldn't asmo use it? isn't it his?" he holds it up to inspect it properly. it's a white, lacy thing with a delicate trim that catches in the light. it's transparent and gauzy in places, with silk ribbons to hold it all together. it's pretty.

not functional, though. asmo had been given a boxed promotional set in an array of sizes, many of which were much too big for him, and much too expensive to just brazenly throw out. he'd opted instead to pawn gift them to you.

beel frowns when you explain this. runs a thumb over the fabric, thoughtful. "it doesn't look too big."

you grin. "he said the top half was way too big for him. he doesn't like women's lingerie, says it fits weird on him. it'd probably fit you, though." you stand from your crouched position beside him, ruffling his hair. "your chest is like a girl's, anyway. guess you're luckier than he is."

and something clicks.

...

it takes months from then for him to work up to this.

for someone like beelzebub, who is simple in his pleasures, who doesn't bother thinking over what he would and wouldn't theoretically like (what's the point?), who is instead content in sticking to what he knows feels good and basks in it, this is a step in a direction he doesn't know what to make of.

but he doesn't see the point thinking too much about it, because if it feels good, then what does it matter?

and it does feel good. it felt good when you said it so easily with him on his knees: your chest is like a girl's, anyway. and when you joked during levi's boring tabletop roleplaying game on your character's twist royal lineage, when asked who your princess would be, your hand flirtily on his knee under the table: beel, i guess. and after one of his work out sessions, when his shirt rode up and you zeroed in on it like a moth to a flame, smoothed a hand thoughtfully over his waist: like one of those bikini models in mammon's fashion magazines.

and it feels good now, when you have him seated on your lap on your couch like something precious, dressed up for you in white lace and silk.

beel doesn't feel self-conscious, even when he's wearing so little. the lingerie fits him well, as you'd predicted. the bralette of the dress clings to his chest, stretched tight over his pecs and fanning out in a pretty skirt that he can't help but fidget with. the suspender belt and stockings were a fight to get on, but they make his legs feel smooth, and he likes the way your eyes darken when you gaze over his skin pudging out of the tight straps crossing up his thighs.

"no," he says with a shake of his head, and he leans forward a little, into you, still towering over you. it's a wonder how you can make him feel small and cherished when he's so much bigger than you are. his thick thighs splay across your hips, and they tense when you run your hands over them.

"you look like a doll," you say with a smile, and that look is in your eye again. it makes his stomach hot. your finger hooks under one of the straps on his thigh and pull it taut. it pops back against his skin with a snap!, and he jumps. you smile at that, too. it makes his stomach hotter.

he sits still while your hands work over him, smoothing and cupping over his body. sometimes over the lingerie and sometimes under, and the touches are long and hot enough for him to end up with him starting to get hard, tense in the way he always gets when he wants friction but wants even more to behave for you. it feels weird to be stroked like this, like you really are admiring the craftmanship of a doll, or maybe just groping him like a pervert, but it's not unpleasant.

"it fits you so well." you pinch and stoke up his waist, just under the hem of the bralette, and he finally realizes your intent when he sees your eyes fix on his chest. "especially here." oh, but he's always too quick to get worked up when you play around with him like this.

"um, wait," he says, hands flying to circle your arms, but your palms are already cupping the meat of his pecs firmly, and he jerks forward without meaning to. instead of pulling them away, all he can do is cling to your forearms when you make a massaging motion. heat coils in him and he releases a heavy sigh. "i..."

you look back up at him, feigning innocence. "is something wrong?"

"no, i just- ah," he mumbles, suddenly embarrassed. his knees try to knock together but only end up squeezing your hips. "my chest..." his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

beelzebub doesn't continue. your hands continue their motions, kneading his pecs with the firm intent of making him blush and shudder in your lap, and of course it works - his chest has always been sensitive. his arms shake when they circle your head to rest his forearms along the back of the couch, leaning into your touch.

he chokes out a sound when your thumbs finally press over his nipples, and his hips stutter into yours. you rub them in short, firm circles that make him purr, boneless against you, feeling much too hot to really lament getting hard so quickly. you've always liked to exploit this weakness of his.

your hips cant up into his hips and he whines against your neck open-mouthed as you roll them between your thumbs. "that was fast."

"uh-huh," he pants. he rolls his hips firmly and without rhythm, just seeking friction - you haven't reprimanded him for it, so he's not doing anything wrong, right? he continues rocking eagerly.

"i was right about what i said before," you coo into his ear, a distraction from your nips and squeezes at his nipples between your fingers. "your chest is like a girl's." and you press down on them again, hard, and buck your hips up just right, and he melts against you with a sweet moan.

it's a short-lived pleasure. he grumbles a confused sound when you push him back, leaning him back in your lap. his cock is hard and heavy, straining up against his white panties, but they must be enchanted to stay in place. he jerks forward without meaning to when you give his chest one final squeeze, a glint in your eyes.

"i wanna see what else i can do with them."

...

beelzebub sits dutifully between your spread thighs, ignoring the fire in his gut in favor of staring in anticipation at your cock tenting against the zipper of your jeans.

"it tastes weird," he complains as you swipe your thumb under his lower lip, wiping away any wayward pink. but his eyes remain glued to your cock, and he swallows reflexively.

"not about how it tastes. it's supposed to make you look pretty." you cap the lipstick and set it aside. (or was it lip gloss? he doesn't know the difference.)

beel squirms a little and finally tears his gaze from your bulge, hands tentatively squeezing your knees. "do i?" he asks quietly. he looks away when you meet his gaze, bashful. "do i look pretty like a..." you've called him pretty in the past, but this time...

your hand catches on his jaw and force his head back to look at you. "like a girl?" you clarify, and your grip softens with a fond smile when he slowly and bashfully nods. your thumb presses against his lips, despite being so careful in your application of color, and he opens it pliantly. "you look like a very pretty girl, beel."

"oh," he breathes, your thumb pressed firmly on his tongue while your knuckles hold under his chin, keeping his mouth open. he squeezes your knees again and clenches his own together and his eyes once more fall down when your other hand drifts to your zipper.

he should be embarrassed about the way he salivates when your cock springs free, especially since you can feel it when you hold his mouth open. you fist your cock and stroke it slowly, watching as he swallows reflexively around nothing, and his spine tingles when you chuckle lowly.

"sit still, beel." you warn, and pull him toward your cock and angle it properly for him, just enough to almost graze the hot head of it against his tongue. you say something else but just the smell of you so close to him has his brain sparking. all he can do is nod to whatever you said, sharp and jerky, eyes wide and begging.

but you still don't release him. you keep your grip on his chin, holding him in place as you slowly and firmly stroke yourself, head angled toward his tongue, so close, as if you were just going to cum over his tongue and he whines low, now confused. you knew how much he loved you in his mouth- what were you doing?

you smile as beel squirms, this time shifting to angle your hips up a little. but when you pull him forward, you pull him up- away from your cock, and the momentum pulls his chest forward, cushioning it against your stomach. you sigh at the feeling and release his mouth, which is drooling freely.

"like this," you murmur, your hands guiding his to the sides of his chest. he pushes his pecs together as you direct him to, wobbling a little on his knees before he steadies himself.

his eye snap from your cock sandwiched between his pecs to your face a little frantically once he realizes that you aren't, in fact, going to throatfuck him. "but-"

"not yet, baby," you croon, like he's so silly for wanting your cock in his mouth instead of between his tits. "said i wanted to play with your chest more, didn't i? you're doing so good."

one of your hands grips his hair at the back of his head, not enough to hurt, just to steady him. the other wiggles between where you're connected; you fiddle with the ribboned straps of his bralette, feeding your cock underneath it to hug it firmly between his pecs, and he shudders when you rub one of his nipples with a thumb for good measure before you lean back.

like this, you direct, and beel can't help but obey you when you manhandle him in in how to move. it's a much tighter fit than he thought it'd be- the meat of his chest already pops a bit between the ribbons, made all the tighter with the heat of your thick cock pulsing between them. he's clumsy at first, not sure how tight to squeeze or how fast to move, but he gains a slow and steady rhythm after a while, one that makes you coo in approval.

the sight of it is mesmerizing, your fat cockhead thrusting in and out of his pecs with a slick pop every time it reappears. it's hot and sticky from his drool, which makes for an easier glide, and soon he's getting into it too, panting a little every time he goes down.

and with you groaning above him, his own arousal is long forgotten in favor of chasing yours.

you thrust your hips up once when he strokes down and your cock hits his chin, smearing against his lips; he gasps and heat floods him at the taste, the way it always does. his tongue sticks out reflexively, swirling around the head of your cock, and when you don't scold him he moans around it, head bobbing down.

from this position he can't take much, but even just the inch he gets in his mouth is amazing. he sucks it dutifully, reverently, and massages his chest around you, coaxing your cock to spit more delicious precum against his tongue.

"fuck," you wheeze, and beelzebub gargles a moan when you thrust up higher. "your mouth's so fucking hot." your tone makes his hole clench, but before he can really get into it, the grip you have on his hair pulls his head off. he suckles at your head as you pull out, a strand of saliva connecting your pulsing head to his mouth.

he licks his lips greedily, savoring the flavor, and pants open-mouthed when you thrust between his chest. "more," he whines, tongue hanging out to catch your cockhead every time you thrust up. he squeezes his pecs together and bounces them on your cock, eager for your cum, and moans when you hiss in pleasure.

"jus' like that," you slur, rocking your hips with him. "so good, you're doing so good."

he sucks at your head greedily whenever it reaches his mouth, tonguing your slit and laving it with care, all the while pinching and rolling you in his chest. his hips buck against one of your calves clumsily, more of an afterthought to the pleasure of his mouth, and he chokes on his spit when you abruptly shove his head down, feeding your cock in deeper.

"take it," you grunt, and he sucks you into his mouth as deep as he can with his chest in the way. it's wet and sticky from drool and precum, and your balls slap noisily against the underside of his pecs every time he bounces them down. it's lewd but he doesn't care, too caught up in the wet heat of everything to focus on anything else but your voice and your cock throbbing against his chest and the way your free hand thumbs at one of his nipples. "that's it, take it, swallow it all like a good girl."

he does so obediently, moaning all the while, swallowing down the thick load you give him, hot and sticky in his mouth, like a good girl. he can feel everything, every throb of your lipstick-peppered cock between his chest as you thrust into him, every pulse of your heavy balls against the satin ropes crossing his chest as your cock spits rope after rope of sticky cum over his tongue and the back of his throat. he doesn't stop, milking you for as much cum as he can get; swirls his tongue against your head as he sucks, head bobbing, massaging his tits around you. the extra attention makes it last longer than most of your orgasms, and you grunt and roll your hips with him, prolonging it for as much as you can. his eyes roll. he's in heaven.

finally, you eventually pull beel off, this time with more effort- he suckles you all the while, greedy to keep you in, and finally separates with a final yank and a satisfying pop. “tastes so good.” he drools, still panting, rubbing his cheek against your thigh, a slow, satisfied look creeping into his dewy eyes.

he rubs his cheek against your palm happily when you settle it down on him, like a cat, not caring about the smearing of drool or lipstick or cum. the heat in him hasn't quelled, but he's more sated now with a bellyful of your hot cum. his favorite snack. your other hand fidgets with his chest and he squeaks when you tweak his nipples, pulling your cock free from under his lingerie with a lewd, sticky sound.

he almost thinks you're done until you knock your calf up, right against his cock- he moans suddenly and jerks his hips down to meet you, gripping your spit-stained jeans.

"we're not done yet, don't worry." your fist returns to his hair and pulls him up higher and higher, knee firm between his legs, until you can pepper his jaw with kisses. "don't you want me to fuck you like a good girl, too, beel?"

#dom reader #top reader #male reader #top male reader #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me beelzebub #ro writes

539 notes · View notes

running-with-the-feels · 5 months

Note

I have returned! With Liu Kang headcanons in tow! Also, this is reallyyy long so no pressure to give an in-depth response.

Liu Kang was born in a small village in Henan Province, China. Due to the small size of the village, home births were common with the only doctor being the local healer. His mother experienced complications while birthing him and ended up dying, leaving his father to raise him alone. His parents had already been struggling with poverty before but now that his mother was gone his father had less time to work. Forcing him to choose between work or raising his son, his father chose to care for him.

Kang’s father was a kind man, the kind to give the clothes off his own back away even if he needed them more. He taught him everything he knew. How to forge and prepare food, how to read and write, the best way to clean, how to fix problems around the house. Have a leak? Don’t know if this mushroom is edible? Liu Kang can help! While he knows the basics of how to do these things he is far from a professional.

Eventually, this caught up to him as he had gotten food poisoning from the rotten food, having given the fresh food to Kang. He died when Kang was six. He buried his father next to his mother in the backyard with a wooden stake as a gravestone.

He lived alone for a little over a year before a Shaolin monk passing through town saw no one cared for him and asked if he wanted to come to the monastery. After some convincing (a promise and deal with the village that his home wouldn’t be touched) he agreed.

Kung Lao is a year older than him, being 8 while Kang was 7 when they met. Lao was ecstatic to have someone around his age around and quickly befriended him.

Kang, despite having what he assumed was a normal upbringing, had a lot of unresolved trauma (mostly from his year alone) and didn’t know how to properly navigate social situations. He had unknowingly internalized a lot of his father’s bad behaviors, especially his self-sacrificial tendencies.

Lao being a fairly normal child didn’t realize this and just thought he was a bit strange and quiet. Constantly asking if Liu Kang was going to finish his food Kang, not wanting to disappoint his new friend, would give him what he had. This came to a head when Liu Kang fainted from lack of nutrition and Lao was thoroughly chewed out by a medic for taking food from an obviously malnourished kid.

Liu Kang has stunted growth as an adult only standing 5"6' when he should be around 5"8'. While short, he is very broad. Broader than Kuai Liang despite being a good amount of inches shorter.

He awakened his pyromancy when he was 10 while sparring (read: play fighting) with Kung Lao. Lao had just gotten the upper hand and Kang, in a panic, grabbed his wrist, and the next thing they knew Lao was screaming and clutching his burnt wrist. He got bandaged by a medic and promised Kang he wasn't scared of him and that "a little fire" wouldn't change anything. Even going as far as to encourage Kang to use fire against him.

Kung Lao looks at the burn fondly now, jokingly calling it the one time Liu Kang didn't pull his punches against him.

While both are pyromancy, Liu Kang and Hanzo's fire work very differently. Kang's fire is genetic and is closer to cryomancy in function (but, like with fire instead of ice). Unlike Hanzo, Kang can be burned (though he has a massive resistance) in the same way cryomancers can get frostbite. Also his magic naturally settles in his lower stomach while Hanzo's sits in his chest.

If I were to describe Liu Kang in one word it'd be repressed. He doesn't want to burden others with his feelings and is more than happy to never talk about it. Only ever talking about it once with Lao when they were preteens. And that was because it slipped out, not because he genuinely wanted to breach the topic. He's gotten better with age, but whenever his feelings are singled out he shuts down.

He doesn't believe he should be selfish (even though it's not selfish) and should be grateful for what he has. His father raised him to be grateful and the Shaolin taught him similarly, acting selfishly would be like spitting on their faces. He needs to be grateful to those who helped him, lest they throw him back on the streets.

And that's where the people-pleasing, self-destructive, and sacrificial tendencies come from! I'm moving onto happier headcanons now :)

He has a competitive streak, not that he'll admit it. And not many realize it. Johnny, none the wiser, challenged him to a cook off and Liu Kang took that seriously. An entire event was made with Earthrealm's defenders to judge the food. Honestly, the food was so good it just turned into a vote of whether you like Chinese or Italian food more. Kang won.

For the next few months, Liu Kang would give Johnny this look that he could only describe as smug. He thought he was going crazy because he was the only one who noticed it and everyone he told brushed him off because "Liu Kang's not like that". The only one who believed him was Kung Lao because he too had been on the receiving end of Kang's post-competition smugness.

Accidentally encouraged Sonya's kleptomania and was mortified when he realized it.

He secretly loves dirty jokes, but he never makes them unless he's either drunk, the opportunity is too good to pass up, or he's really comfortable with you. Even then it's rare. If the joke itself doesn't get you, the shock of it coming out of his mouth will.

If you think Hanzo has no brain to mouth filter when he's drunk, then Kang's 10x worse. Worse to the point they started a quote book that includes but is not limited to: "I sometimes wish I could get pregnant, I'd like to experience motherhood." "*Lao explaining something* Lao we literally took each other's virginity-" "*Loudly sighs and walks up to Jax, taking his cigar out of his mouth, then proceeding to smoke the stolen cigar as he walks away without a word.*" He is usually dragged home from the party by Kung Lao or Kitana, because, no, they don't need to know about our sex life.

Loves smoking but rarely does it because he knows it's bad for his health. At this point, he's convinced it's a pyromancer thing because the feeling of smoke in his lungs causes his powers to thrum. Prefers to use a pipe as they create less waste.

His type is long, dark haired, round eyed, people of prestigious descent, with bladed weaponry, who are taller than him. Being dangerous is a fun bonus.

This took forever to type and I'm going to bed now, looking forward to your thoughts in the morning <3

ohohohoohohoo yiiiiiiisssssssss

Liu Kang's headband is actually a piece of cloth from one of his mother's clothes that his father gave him to keep her close. He has fully burned ppl for trying to take it from him

Once Kung Lao realized how malnourished and self sacrificing Liu Kang was, he made it his mission to ensure that his friend ate. Lao would steal snacks from the kitchen and hand them to Liu whenever he wasn't paying attention and would also glare at anyone who tried to take food from the younger boy.

Because Liu Kang joined the monastery later than most, it took him a while to catch up to their skill, causing some of the other kids to tease him. Lao, once he learned, started fighting anyone who said a bad word about Liu, leading to them both getting in trouble over it.

It did also lead to their first kiss, with them having gotten in serious trouble after Lao broke a kids arm, so he kept trying to apologize to Liu over it, eventually causing Liu to kiss him to shut him up. As much as Liu Kang dislikes hurting the other monks, he can't deny that it feels nice to have someone so determined to protect him, even from their friends.

Lao is taller than him and consistently gloats about it, but he is also leaner which Liu never fails to point out.

Whenever the two are cuddling in bed, Liu will kiss the burn on Lao's hand as both an apology for it (which Lao always waves off) and an affectionate gesture.

Liu never talks about his feelings, even the positive ones, and it is one of the few things he and Lao fight about, with Lao wanting Liu to be more open so that he can support Liu the way Liu supports him

They also fought when Raiden chose Liu as his champion (and pls someone ask me about my Kung Lao hcs I Beg) bc Lao felt that it was unfair to pick one over the other when they where both equally skilled and Raiden could have easily brought both of them (which would be smarter) and Liu, not wanting the last time he saw Kung Lao to be a fight, kept telling him to trust Raiden's judgement and just refused to engage in the argument.

To this day, they both regret that they parted angry before the tournament, without a goodbye kiss or "I love you"

After finding out about Kitana and Liu having their budding romance, Lao pulled back, thinking he was no longer wanted (man is insecure and he hides that under arrogance) which lead to Liu thinking Lao now hated him for being chosen. They were both pining and miserable for months, leading to Kitana being very confused by the situation and not knowing how to handle it (she's not good at people, she's good at murder)

Kitana and Johnny of all people ended up hanging out and she let slip what was going on and why she was confused by it, leading to Johnny dragging Lao and Liu over to his house for the night and making them sit down and talk, acting as a mediator between them. It took several days but they eventually worked it out and then went to talk to Kitana, leading to them all getting together

Kung Lao and Kitana remained platonic, however, though they did start to get along (I am not married to the idea that Kung Lao and Kitana don't ever also get together, but I do think it would take a looooooong time before they did)(if I wrote a Liulaotana story in that vein, would anyone be interested in that? It wouldn't be any time soon but, yknow, still)

Liu Kang also challenged Jax to an arm wrestling competition and lost, which revealed that he is something of a sore loser. He won't say anything and he'll always be really polite, but then afterwards he's grumpy and throws himself into training for days on end.

On those days, Kung Lao and Kitana will usually team up to pull him out of the training yard and back into bed, helping him work his frustration out in a more productive way.

Loves a good dirty joke and is also shockingly good at dirty talk. Once got Kung Lao off with nothing but his voice and some heavy kissing and he remains smug about that. Kitana refuses to believe that story no matter how much Kung Lao blushes in mortification until Liu does the exact same thing to her.

Not only is there a notebook of Liu's lack of filter, the kombat kids have a gc full of videos of him saying various outrageous shit.

he does enjoy smoking, but Kung Jin got him to try a vape once and he threw up from how much he hated it. Sticks to his pipe after that.

Points out that Kitana and Kung Lao are similar and both his type once and neither of them will speak to him for a week bc of it.

lemme know if you have any more! these are great!

#liu kang #kung lao #kitana #liulao #liulaotana #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x #mortal kombat 11

49 notes · View notes

kittlesandbugs · 2 months

Text

FHR: Pulse points Pairing: Sidestep/Lady Argent Warnings: Canon-typical hints at self-harm/suicidal thoughts, nothing explicitly depicting Word Count: 694 Prompt: Prompt from @mihqorio for Riley/Argent and hands on/at wrists

Curiosity bubbles to the surface of Argent's mind as you take the silver hand draped across your chest in yours and examine it in the golden light cast down from the ceiling lamp. Pillowed in her lap, your eyes dart up to hers, and she doesn't seem to mind. Wants to know what you're doing, what you think, as you examine the flawless mirrored skin. As you wiggle her fingers, playing with the joints that all seem to function normally. As your fingertips explore hers, her nails soft and safe right now.

"Having fun…?" she asks, her voice tinged with a slight edge, but she doesn't pull away.

"Mhmm," you hum, tracing back to her wrist again, your original thought unsatisfied. You can't tell where she ends and the nanovores begin. Not at all. But you don't want to tell her that. Or ask and pry. You aren't sure how she'd take that kind of scrutiny. You know you’d hate it if it was directed at you and your tattoos. So you keep your nosy intrusions to yourself. Instead you press your lips to her where her pulse should flutter and come away unscathed this time. "Beautiful," you offer instead, earnestly, truthfully.

You think she'd blush if she could. You feel a little ripple of heat and embarrassment dance across the surface of her thoughts, but you dive no deeper.

She scoffs and takes your hand in hers, just as gently, and mimics your examination under the light. The skin is dry and a little cracked. A little worn with age. Not as much as Ortega’s. You feel her tracing every little scar. Some are from tinkering, because you hate wearing gloves and knick yourself. Some are from going through a window and landing on the glass. You'd prefer not to think about those, but it's difficult under her curious scrutiny. She traces the chipped nails and fine lines, and you aren't sure how much texture she actually feels.

Eventually the exploration makes it down to your wrist. To the lines that can't be attributed to accident or the incidence of living. You feel something roiling under the surface of her thoughts as her lips purse and her thumb traces the very old and very ugly scar running parallel to your pulse.

"That was where the tracking chip was," you offer, because you know what the scar looks like. You may have hurt yourself in the past, when you were trapped in the lab, but you've never went so far as that. "I had to cut it out the first time I escaped. It was… not planned. Things got a little messy." Armed with only a razor blade, adrenaline, and a vague notion of where it was, it was definitely not your cleanest work. But it still is one of your proudest.

"Just a little," she says with a huff of an amused laugh, and you feel her anxiety released with your admission. Your easy answer makes want to her push a little further, to see what other secrets she can sneak a peek at. "Where's the second one?" she asks, eyes darting to your left wrist that’s bare of the same scar.

"... There isn't one," you admit quietly after a moment's hesitation. "I wasn't supposed to ever leave the lab again. No need for it."

You feel a brief stab of regret for the question. She brings your wrist to her soft cool lips and kisses the scar. A quiet apology.

As your pulse quivers against her mouth, you feel an edged shiver running through both of you, and you aren’t sure where it started. You both know it wouldn't take much at all to knick the skin. To indulge the little ants swarming her thoughts at the scent of blood so close to the surface. But if it wasn't for your telepathy, you'd never realize the intrusive thoughts teeming inside her skull. Her placid expression gives none of it away as she places your hand back on your chest.

"What do you want to watch today?" she asks instead, swallowing down the instinct that isn't hers with a bite of chocolate doughnut.

#kitbug writes things #fhr #argentstep #lady argent #sidestep #riley owens #i guess reve got the floodgates open lol mired in sidestep brain #anyway have some soft girls #enjoying a quiet moment #dancing around each other lol

24 notes · View notes

ellipsae · 1 year

Text

Here's the next Post-Epilogue design for Jade! I struggled a lot with this one because a lot of his design has specific purpose so I was weighing function against aesthetic and had to make some trade offs. Anyways, the small satchel and wrist contraption is a prototype for strengthening fonic artes.

More details under the cut. !Lots of Spoilers as well under cut!

-So firstly, I fully believe Jade would return to his research on Fomicry and lead the medical movement for replicas and replica health as he had mentioned in-game. I like to imagine that he goes by Jade Curtiss-Balfour as it's just easier than being called two different Family Names (as he's more well known in the research circles as Balfour).

-In the post-Epilogue world with the Planet Storm stopped, the concentration of fonons have dramatically decreased so I imagine spellcasters like Jade would find their fonic artes significantly weakened and perhaps some higher level artes can no longer be activated in normal circumstances. So to supplement the lack of fonons, the prototype uses concentrated fonic crystals (manufactured by fontech machines) that can be consumed during casting. For most efficient usage, the crystals can be absorbed into the body via contamination so it doesn't dissipate into the atmosphere.

-It's a bit hard to see, but Jade has half-glasses and one eye is darker because he's dispelled the fonic eyes on one of them. My understanding of the fonic artes is that it opens the fon slots in the eyes beyond normal circumstances to absorb more fonons in the air. With the lower concentration of fonons post-Epilogue, I figured that in desperate situations, the fonic eyes might overstrain themselves to try and draw in fonons (which increases the risk of going blind) and it happens to Jade once and he decided to cut his losses by removing it/disabling in one of his eyes and keeping the other one as a last resort (even if it may result in sacrificing sight in one eye)

-His turtleneck sweater is an homage to Professor Nebilim. The quilted coat is partially based on his young design. I had really wanted to keep his military boots in the design in the same colour scheme but having them all blue-teal made it really hard to colour coordinated the rest of his outfit so I changed it to grey. I wanted him to be able to switch between 'Doctor Balfour' and 'Colonel Curtiss' mode very quickly.

-I'm not too familiar with military ranks but I really hope that Jade tried to resign from the military so he could focus on his research (he can't do both jobs full time) but Peony wouldn't let him so he either demoted him or gave him a sideways promotion into a non-commanding officer role. It works out for Jade in the best way because he can take advantage of his military resources and access to help his research.

-His main research base is in Keterburg hence his winter-oriented outfit but he frequently travels to Belkend to collaborate on research and projects. He will sometimes help with theory behind new fontech and also deciphering old Dawn Age technical manuals (which were released in small batches from the forbidden archives in Daath).

-End of the day, Jade becomes super well known because of his knowledge and expertise that eclipses his former research and Necromancer title from his military days which makes him more approachable for marriage meeting requests plus he's more personable now after his travels and friendship with the party

#Tales of #Tales of the Abyss #ellipsart #Post Epilogue ToA AU #I decided it's about time I gave it a tag #this is probably the most I've written for this AU #I really like Jade you might notice

178 notes · View notes

fandom-junk-drawer · 6 months

Text

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Error 404 Brain Not Found: Bonus Scene - Part 7

Geralt had thwarted Jaskier's every attempt to get him with water balloons, eggs, and various nerf darts, citing that his Witcher reflexes were just too good.

Jaskier knew Geralt wasn't bragging. It was just a fact. An annoying fact that often runined his fun. Some pranks just weren't as fun when your target kept effortlessly dodging the bit that would make it funny.

Jaskier had decided to test just how good Geralt's reflexes were. He challenged him to Slappsies.

Jaskier failed miserably at slapping Geralt's hands. By the time he even thought about moving his hand, Geralt's hands were already safely out of the way and Jaskier was hitting empty air.

Then it was Geralt's turn.

A few rounds later, and the backs of Jaskier's hands were as red as a smacked ar*e.

*disgruntled bard noises*

*smug 'hmm'*

"Yeah, well...let's see how you do if you have to start with your hands behind your back!"

*sound of massive Witcher paws smacking the backs of human hands at the speed of mach Jesus*

*pained squealing*

Jaskier, inspite of being a rational adult, had paused to check the floor, just to prove to his brain that his hands hadn't just been slapped off his wrists.

No. They were still there, and functioning normally, if a little tingly. Okay, maybe it was time to try a different test before he ended up having to make a career change. Or learn to play all his instruments with his feet.

Which wouldn't be a bad thing. Some people had a thing for feet. Jaskier was absolutely not a kink-shamer!

Jaskier had to come up with a test that 1) wouldn't make a mess that Yennefer would yell at them about, and 2) was much more challenging than the old catching-a-falling-ruler, or Whack-A-Mole.

"I bet you can't take a block of cheese off a rat trap without setting it off!"

"I can, but I bet you can't!"

"Please! I've got very nimble fingers. All the ladies say so! And there's no way you can do it with those clumsy sausage fingers. I've seen your f***ing text messages. Every other word is misspelt!"

Geralt looked at Jaskier.

Jaskier looked at Geralt.

A trip to the hardware store was made, and shortly after, Jaskier was frowning as Geralt casually plucked a cube of cheese off the rat trap without setting it off.

Geralt 'hmm'ed in a smug tone.

Jaskier scoffed, "That doesn't look so hard. Even I can do that!"

Geralt nodded towards the trap, "Hm!" (Go ahead then!)

Jaskier went about very carefully resetting the trap. His hands shook slightly as they set the fiddly mechanism. It was a delicate operation that required a light touch...

Trap, for no apparent reason: *snap*

Jaskier: *shrill scream*

Geralt: *snort*

"Shut your gob!"

Jaskier got the trap set, studied it for a few breaths, then went for it. He crowed triumphantly, holding the little cube of cheese in his fingertips and pretending like he hadn't been sh*tting himself the whole time.

"Hah! I told you I could do it! I have very nimble fingers. I work very hard and put in long hours of practice to be as good as I am at fingering."

"I can finger for hours and not miss a beat. I've been told by various members of the nobility, and even commoners, that my fingering is the best in the Continent!"

"Hmm!"

"Mouthing off? Excuse me, but just the other day, the f***ing Prince of Redania told me that he quite enjoyed my fingering, f***youverymuch!

Geralt's brain had to take a moment to process the very idea that Jaskier was not making any kind of innuendo.

He was completely serious, and it was mentally throwing Geralt off. This was unnatural. The Universe was out of balance.

"And he said my tongue was quite talented, too! He was begging for more! You can ask Madeleine, she was there!"

"Then show me how good you are with your tongue," Geralt rumbled, feeling like he had to make the jokes now.

Jaskier blinked, then tried to hide a cheeky grin. "I don't know, Geralt. Sounds like a bad idea. I mean, what if Yen walks in?"

Geralt realxed. Ah, that was better. The balance had been restored. He lightly smacked Jaskier on the back of the head, saying "Stop bragging about your fingers. If I could play guitar, my fingering would be four times better than yours. And since I'm a Witcher with superhuman reflexes, just imagine how good I am with my tongue!"

"Ow! Why don't you prove it, Mr. Super Witcher Reflexes? I bet you can't knock the cheese off the trap with your tongue!"

Geralt baited the trap, set it on the table, and then crouched down to eye level with it. There was a tense moment of silence where he and Jaskier eyeballed each other distrustfully.

"You better f***ing not touch me or the trap!"

"I won't!"

"You just stay over there! Don't move, don't say anything, don't even f***ing breathe!"

"I'm not going to do anything, you suspicious b**tart!"

Geralt grunted, then slowly extended his tongue. It touched the cube of cheese, barely brushing it...

He must have twitched, or breathed too hard, because the trap went off with a snap!

One second, the tip of Geralt's tongue was touching the cheese, the next second, the hammer was snapping down across his tongue.

Geralt stood up with a loud ululation of anguish, the rat trap dangling from his tongue.

Jaskier went from gasping in shock, to laughing until his sides ached. He couldn't help it. Geralt was making this distorted screaming sound and doing jazz hands while he danced round, the trap hanging from his tongue.

Jaskier was too busy clinging to the kitchen counter, tears streaming down his cheeks as he howled with laughter as Geralt gained enough brain function to start yelling "Fffukhhhh! Fffukhhhh! Helm me!"

Geralt pawed at his tongue, trying to remove the trap with fingers that were suddenly clumsy.

Jaskier swallowed his laughter and came to the rescue.

"Holy f**k, are you alright?" he asked as Geralt prodded gingerly at his tongue. It felt swollen and numb, yet painful at the same time.

Geralt stood there, looking pitiful for a moment, then said in a small, lost voice, "I fink I neeb uh popfikool."

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Maybe you should try enunciating?"

"Ahthhoww!"

"Say 'I was born on a pirate ship'!"

Geralt glared angrily at Jaskier

"Do it and I'll give you a popsicle!"

*put upon sigh* "I wath born on a piol-a' sh*'"

Jaskier: *ugly cackling*

Geralt: "now gib me mah ffukhim popfikool!"

"Sorry, we're all out of the F**k Him flavored ones. Do you want blue or green?"

Geralt: *unamused glower* "Boo."

The popsicle was handed over, the trap was disposed of, and Geralt prayed the swelling would go down before Yennefer got home at the end of the week.

40 notes · View notes

not-your-fucking-kacchan · 2 years

Note

deaf y/n x kirishima fluff? Y/n getting made fun of cuz she cant pronounce words properly?

-shuu

Omg this is so cute I loved writing this <3

Do I want to make this an entire fic with separate parts and everything? Absolutely I do sjjabekbfbd weewgwggegwheheb plspslpslslsls cus it's gonna be so good and ah- 😩😫 cus no because like omg and I made the reader sorta like toph from atla but really- just bc of the heightened senses and sensitivity to vibrations and omganakdnnd my midoriya brain went OFF on this maksnjdbf and omg I imagine reader would be BESTIES with mei hatsume najwobdjsn and omg Bakugou as well??? Reader would absolutely gain his blessing to be kirishimas gf and they would be thick as thieves- a trio of doom, you will, and omg I have so many ideas about reader helping bkg to protect his hearing BC she wouldn't want to see a friend suffer the same fate, and nansjdnbd Kiri only loves her more bavjsbfnd bye bc midoriya would love to come up with ideas for mei to help reader and sndnfknd bye

Anyway hope you enjoy :D

Warning: Ableism...

Masterlist <3

Kirishima x Deaf!Reader- Hearing Problems

You had lost your hearing a long, long time ago, but that doesn't make it much easier on you in the long run.

You had the kind of hearing problem that rendered you almost completely dead, save for the grating tinnitus that followed with every step.

It was almost always a problem for you, and had almost left you completely incapable of being a hero. Imagine having all control over your life stripped from you because of some dumb fuck's drunken driving. It filled you to the brim with rage every single day, along with the fact that you were punished for someone else's mistake when they only had their licence taken away.

It did more than make you angry, really. It fucking broke your heart. You almost lost access to your dream after he permanently disabled you, and what did he get? A slap on the fucking wrist?! This must be some sick joke.

You had tried your absolute damnest to adjust and get stronger to compensate for the loss of a pretty vital function, and it worked! In the end, you turned out stronger than ever. You had trained every sense you could learn about, because as it turns out, there's more than just six of them, and all of your exhaustive, mind-numbing hard work had been repaid.

Of course you weren't the best, yet, but you could absolutely beat some ass if you wanted to, and during the entrance exam, you did exactly that.

Things were going so well, and you were racking up points like no other, until you weren't.

You were having a little trouble with finding the other robots because they were quite a ways away. Luckily though, Kirishima could tell you might've needed a hand.

He could see that you didn't react to sound the way that others did, and it was when the high pitched ring of a far off explosion made everyone flinch but you, that he could finally tell you were deaf.

His eyes widened and his mouth formed a little 'o' shape as his brain finally connected the dots, and he made his way to you with a smile as he spoke normally to you, still not sure if maybe you were just partially deaf or could maybe read lips or something.

Meanwhile, all you could hear was that same high pitched ringing of tinnitus, which drowned out the similar effect of the explosion, and you were starting to get frustrated with wondering which way to go. There was no telltale smoke, or faraway sparks of people fighting. There was only silence. So you were especially surprised when this fiery looking ravenet walked up to you, speaking normally. You assumed he didn't know you were deaf, and you read his lips as normal, however his suspicions were confirmed when he saw the direction in which your eyes were focused. So you do read lips.

Surprisingly, he was leading you towards the action. Oh. Maybe he could tell you were deaf.

It was nice to have someone know that and not give you the same pitying look they always do. You wanted to be respected, not pitied. This guy seemed to respect you though, and you were thankful as you followed him to the next gathering of robots, letting out a loud "t-thank you-!" when you saw someone side-eye you and laugh.

You didn't like the snide look on their face at all.

"What? Are you deaf or something? I've never heard someone speak like that! You must've lost some braincells to these robots. You'll never pass if you sound like a total idiot!"

Comments like these never ceased to make your heart ache and bring a lump to your throat. It'll never get any easier to deal with comments like this.

It's not like you were gonna let him see your hurt though, so just as you make a step to tear him a new one, you're interrupted by Kirishima, who didn't want to see you disqualified for beating another kid half to death.

"That's really not cool, man! Have you heard yourself talk? You sound like someone's bigoted grandpa- I hope your mother smacks some respect into that ugly head of yours soon, because you'll be the one who never makes it as a hero with talk like that! Heroes are supposed to be actually good people, you know? Buzz off!"

Both you and that ableist prick are stunned into silence, and you can't help but smile as you read his lips and see his condescending glare. Secretly, you thank whatever Gods you can think of that your little emo friend seems like a truly respectable guy, and as the two of you pair up for the exam, you find that you work relatively well together for two rookie kids that have never met.

The judges watch on from behind the cameras and smirk as they blacklist the ignorant kid from passing, though he was running rather low on points in the first place. None of them are surprised either, when the two of you gain points placing you among the top scores. It seems like you both were fated to be friends.

When the exam is over, you end up exchanging numbers with your favourite little red-eyed emo, learning that his name is Kirishima Eijirou. And when he flashes you a smile that you would die for, your little heart melts right there and then as light pink dusts your cheeks.

You put your name in his phone in silence, and send a message to confirm that you wrote your number down right, thanking him for standing up for you.

You find you're quite pleased with yourself when he develops a bashful blush too. Oh yeah, you're definitely not letting him go, even if one of you doesn't make it to UA.

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha #bnha #bnha fluff #bnha headcanons #mha fluff #mha x fem reader #mha x deaf reader #bnha x deaf reader #bnha x fem!reader #deaf reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima headcanon #kirishima eijiro fluff #eijirou x reader #eijirou kirishima imagine #eijirou kirishima fluff

279 notes · View notes

blaqcats-fics · 1 year

Text

(He's) Just a Phase – Part 3

MASTERLIST

Word Count: 3.2K

December 1993

Relocating to Los Angeles has been an adjustment for Steve. Seattle was cozier, and he had the potential to settle down there, given the chance. On top of that, Steve made many good friends and acquaintances in a short time while living in the Emerald City.

Steve felt a sense of unease in Los Angeles as if he didn't belong there like many others. He had grown up with a wealthy family, despite the fact he had been cut off, but now it seemed that comparatively, his parents wouldn't have been considered special in any sense in the city. His mind briefly wandered to the Byers family and how they made it in California. It baffled him that Joyce had seemingly found success here despite being a single mother. California was proving to be much more expensive than Steve had ever imagined, yet Dr. Owens seemed to have some kind of influence on their luck. Despite the privilege Steve was born into, he couldn't deny his growing anxiety, especially since California was a different beast compared to Hawkins or Seattle.

Steve barely had time to enjoy Los Angeles as it was. He was busy day in and day out, and most days, he was close to just giving up and living with a void inside of him. However, the moments of weakness were always short-lived because Steve's mind never strayed to far away from the thought of Eddie, especially when the other man was almost close enough to touch.

It was common knowledge that Eddie lived in Los Angeles, and with that knowledge, Steve made it a mission to avoid going out to different bars and restaurants. Instead, he stuck close to the studio he was working for and spent his free time learning meaningless skills. He had been in the middle of learning how to crochet, and it was enough of a hobby to keep him distracted. It also helped that Kacey kept him busy enough as it was when doing his new job.

'You can't be a one-man deal,' Kacey said, sitting at her desk. She was perched on the large mahogany surface, nibbling on the end of her pin. 'You can, but you need a band to back you up. Unless you have invisible hands that can magically play different instruments.'

Steve was sitting on the floor, different pages scattered around him. The pages were a mix of other things, upcoming dates that Steve needed to memorize, resumes of people eligible to become his manager, and deadlines to meet for his debut. It was enough stuff to make Steve feel dizzy.

'I don't think I'm not functional,' Steve joked. 'But putting together a band won't hurt. I can't just play every song with a guitar that's on its last limb.'

Kacey hummed. 'Your sound,' she began, 'Did you ever figure out what you wanted it to be?'

Steve nodded. It was different from what he was used to or comfortable with. He didn't listen to rock music, and he didn't listen to metal music, but he needed something loud because if it wasn't loud, then there was no way it was going to reach Eddie.

'Something loud,' he said. He cringed slightly. 'Sorry, that's vague.'

'Uh-huh,' Kacey said, eyeing him. 'Rock? Metal? I don't think either of them really suits your vibe.'

'What's my vibe?' Steve asked, pulling his scrunchie from his wrist and pulling his hair into a ponytail. He pulled his knee to his chest, resting his cheek on his knee, and loudly yawned.

Kacey hummed, examining him.

Steve felt scrutinized under her gaze and felt his skin start to crawl. Bowie lifted his head up from where he was lying and let out a low whine.

'Can you not stare at me, please?' Steve asked. He looked at Bowie, patting the empty space next to him. He watched with a small smile as the rottweiler came over, laying next to him and putting his head on Steve's leg. Bowie's tongue rolled out his mouth as he looked up at Steve with a droopy look. 'Hi, sugar-plum,' he cooed, moving his hand to scratch Bowie's head.

'Sorry,' Kacey said but didn't sound apologetic. 'Grunge or alternative rock, maybe. Something similar to Kurt Cobain.'

Steve hummed as he absent-mindedly petted Bowie. 'Can we experiment with that before we settle on it?'

'Of course, we can,' Kacey said. 'We can go to a studio and get a producer to sit with us and figure out what suits your voice and message best.'

'It has to be loud,' Steve said.

'Remember that the most important things don't always scream the loudest,' Kacey said. 'You're message won't get across if the public doesn't like you, and for them to like you, you need to find a sound that fits your voice.'

Steve stared at her for a long moment before sighing. ‘When’s the soonest you think we can get in the studio?’

Kacey glanced up at the clock that sat above her door. ‘It’s only 1,’ she mumbled to herself. ‘Let me call Cameron and see if he has a space open today. He mentioned something back, having just one or two clients today.’

Steve nodded, moving his hand away from scratching Bowie. He picked up a few pages with song lyrics messily written. He tapped his foot anxiously, ‘How’s this going to work when I don’t have any of the instrumental parts written?’

Kacey glanced at him, ‘Don’t worry about it for now. You mentioned you can’t read music, right?’

He nodded, ‘Kinda just figured it out. I know a few notes and things, but just enough to get my way around a guitar.’

'That's fine. Plenty of artists don't know how to read sheet music. Prince, Jimi Hendrix, Paul McCartney, Eddie Van Halen, Bob Dylan,' she rambled off a list of names. 'They've made it big without reading sheet music.'

'Alright,' Steve said hesitantly. He knew who they were, but he also knew they were already prominent in the music scene. Moreover, they probably had backgrounds in music, whereas Steve had none.

'Have some confidence in yourself,' Kacey said. She reached over to her phone, punching in numbers that Steve couldn't identify from where he was sitting. He assumed she was calling Cameron to see if a spot was available for him to come in.

Steve pulled his gaze away, looking back at the sheets of paper in his hands. He mouthed the words, taking a moment to process the lyrics. He frowned for a moment, going back and re-reading to make sure his mind didn't change any words on him. He continued making sure everything made sense while he listened to Kasey strike up a conversation on the other side of the room.

He closed his eyes, thinking of the lyrics as he tapped his hand against his thigh, trying to find a rhythm matching the song. He scrunched his face up, changing the pace. It would be easier to hear the music with different instruments, but Steve didn't have access to that yet, and the song didn't seem right with an acoustic guitar. He let out a sigh, mumbling the lyrics under his breath.

‘Sorry to break your concentration, ‘Evie,’ Kacey spoke up, hanging up the phone and pulling Steve’s attention toward her. ‘Cameron has an open studio since one of his clients flaked. Said that we should head there if we wanna keep the room.’

‘Sick,’ he said. He started gathering up the pages scattered around himself and stuffed them into his binder. ‘Will the studio have a piano?’ he asked.

‘Of course, it will,’ Kacey said, pushing herself off her desk, gathering her belongings. ‘Why?’

‘I think I want my debut to have a piano base,’ Steve said, unsure of the technical term. ‘But not in a somber way? Kind of upbeat?’

Kacey grinned, 'You might want to play around with the keyboard then. It's the same understanding as a piano, there are different sound settings you can mess around with.’

‘Well,’ Steve pushed himself off the ground, Bowie standing with him. ‘I might have a debut record under my belt.’

The studio was spacious for one person. It was a bit terrifying, despite Kacey being on the other side of the glass. He wondered if the room would feel claustrophobic with other band members. He wondered how chaotic it would be, given the idea that Steve would even get along with his future band members. On the other hand, Steve knew that Eddie probably found this part of the process exciting, just after performing concerts in front of hundreds, if not thousands, of people.

'Alright,' Cameron's voice echoed in the studio. 'Go ahead and get a feel for the instruments and the equipment, and whenever you're ready, we'll start. Sound good?'

Steve sent him an awkward thumbs-up, clenching his throat and forcing his gaze onto the keyboard. It was well-kept, he noticed. Someone who knew what they were doing had obviously taken care of it. The paint glimmered under the lights, like wet stone or a diamond chiseled into intricate designs. He didn’t live under a rock, but it seemed more complicated despite being smaller than a normal piano. The buttons and settings were probably more intimidating than they really were. It also didn’t help that Steve really knew nothing about pianos. He liked how they sounded, but the last time he played one was in elementary school when his mother forced him into lessons.

He plucked a few keys, listening to the tone. It sounded slightly off compared to a piano, but Steve ruled it out because the keyboard was electric. He glanced at the settings and changed the sound, cautiously plucking another few keys, grimacing at the sound. He shook his head and continued trying different modes until he found one that sounded right. It was almost like the grand piano but sounded a little bit different.

‘Okay,’ Steve said, looking towards the window.

‘Ready?’ Cameron asked.

‘Yeah,’ Steve nodded. ‘I’m still going to have to get used to the keyboard, but I’m good enough to throw around something.’

‘Sounds good, kid,’ Cameron said.

Steve bit the urge to correct him, but he adjusted his headphone on his head, situating himself in front of the microphone, and ran his fingers over the keyboard. He glanced at where Kacey was sitting beside Cameron, and she gave him a wide grin.

Swallowing, Steve glanced to where Bowie was lying, trying to find comfort in his presence before pressing down on the keys and playing a few notes before shaking his head. ‘Can we start again?’

‘You’re the boss,’ Cameron said. Steve watched him move around. ‘You’re good to go.’

Steve repeated as he did before, stumbling along a few keys. The same pattern repeated itself — play, fumble, repeat.

It wasn’t until nearly two hours that Steve started getting the hang of how he wanted the song to be played.

‘Again?’ Cameron asked.

Steve nodded. He didn't bother to look over. He waited for the green light before diving into playing the keyboard. He didn't focus on his vocals, just on creating the song's beat. He nibbled his lip, coming to a stop after a few minutes.

‘That’s it,’ Steve said. ‘I need to add in some strings and the vocals. Then we can put it together? See what we get?’

Cameron nodded. ‘Sounded good,’ he said. ‘Give me just a second, and then we can start on whatever strings you want to use.’

Steve nodded. He looked around the space and walked towards an electric guitar. He hadn’t ever played one before, but it was nearly the same as an acoustic — under his assumption. Eddie had always made playing the electric guitar easy, but Steve wasn’t stupid. Eddie had played guitar for a long time, probably before he moved in with Wayne. Steve had only been playing guitar for two years. He still fumbled around, nowhere near perfect.

He plugged in the guitar, moving his hand to the head of the guitar, adjusting the tuners. He plucked a string, testing the tune before adjusting them again. He walked back to the microphone, humming to himself as he played some chords, figuring out a similar pattern to the piano.

‘You ready?’ Cameron asked.

Steve glanced at him and nodded, 'As I'll ever be.'

Cameron nodded, ‘Go for it.’

Steve swallowed nervously, starting at the CD that rested in Kacey's hands. Two weeks ago, Steve was just messing around in a studio, and now suddenly, he had an EP with three songs that could be his debut. He didn't expect the CD to come in so fast, though.

‘This CD is your future,’ Kacey said. ‘There’s only one thing wrong with it.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’ Steve asked instantly, heart jumping. Bowie nudged his ankle, and Steve tried to calm down. ‘I’m fine, Bows.’

Kacey chuckled, 'Nothing bad, I promise. You just can't leave these songs untitled.'

Steve let out a sigh of relief. ‘Don’t scare me like that,’ he huffed.

‘I’m your manager,’ Kacey shot back.

‘That doesn’t mean you get to scare me!’ Steve exclaimed.

Kacey wiggled her fingers at him, ‘I can do what I damn well, please. Now, you have three tracks that need naming. These are like your children. Name them carefully.’

Steve rolled his eyes. ‘The first track,’ he stated. ‘Hind-sight. I figured that one out already. That one’s probably my favorite one.’

‘It is a good one,’ Kacey agreed.

Steve watched as she wrote on the back of the CD packet, pulling #1 Hindsight on it. ‘I thought that one could be the song I used to debut?’

Kacey leaned back in her chair. ‘If I could, I’d let you do it, but once we name these, I have to give it to Jared. He will sample your tracks to people, and whichever song warrants a more positive reaction gets debuted.’

Steve groaned. ‘Damn.’

‘Sorry, ‘Evie,’ Kacey said. ‘Thems the dice.’

‘That’s fine, I guess,’ he sighed. ‘The third track,’ he continued. ‘Momentary.’

‘The second one?’

Steve closed his eyes, thinking. ‘End of Beginning.’

‘Well,’ Kacey started, writing the rest of the titles on the back of the packet, ‘The EP is officially finished.’

‘Yeah?’ Steve grinned.

‘Yeah.’

‘What happens once the debut song is decided?’ Steve asked, glancing at his lap as Bowie rested his head on his leg. He moved his hand to scratch his head.

‘We release it,’ Kacey shrugged. ‘And depending on how well it’s perceived, we drop the rest of the EP over the next few months. During that, your schedule will start filling up more, and you'll start making enough money not to live out a hotel room.’

Steve felt his heart sink at the thought of the hotel room. He was desperately trying to find a job, but it seemed like every opportunity was ten times harder to come by in Los Angeles than he expected. With Kacey constantly demanding his time at her office and in the studio, Steve could not find a job that could sustain him for long. The only thing keeping him afloat financially was the money from the music record. Unfortunately, they refused him a proper apartment, so all he could hope for was a small hotel room with a bed, hot water, free coffee, and complimentary breakfast. Even though this should’ve been seen as a dream come true, he still felt despondent about settling for less than he deserved.

Kacey was the only friend that Steve had made in Los Angeles, and he soon realized how lonely he was without his other Seattle friends. Even though he had come to Los Angeles with a singular goal, sometimes the longing for home and the people he had left behind overwhelmed him. He found himself wishing for conversations with Robin and his kids more and more often, missing the days when he talked to Sam, Gale, and all of the other people he had known in Seattle.

As the days passed, Steve's doubts lingered. He had sacrificed so much for something that might not be worth it. He cherished Eddie with all his heart — and he would never stop loving him — but a part of him questioned if leaving was his only option. He could have continued to live in this empty state, never daring to feel anything more than apathy. But Steve knew life wasn't worth living without closeness, passion, or purpose.

Doctor Newman had said that Steve only had to forgive himself to heal, but Steve wasn’t sure. He knew he had to tell Eddie his truth in an apology, even if it meant being ignored. The thought of a forgotten apology torturing him fueled an unbridled amount of anxiety. The idea of not being forgiven for something he could not control tore him apart inside. His parents had been the type to never apologize, or if they ever did, it would be empty and shallow. But Steve knew better than most that a simple apology was powerful — it didn’t matter whether it was accepted. It was unheard of, but the hopelessness of letting Eddie know how sorry he was weighed heavily on his mind. He hoped Eddie would hear his plea loud and clear and accept that many truths can lie within an apology.

'Depending on the popularity of your EP, we'll schedule a meeting with a screenwriter to develop a music video. If the script is accepted, we'll start with you meeting a choreographer and setting up a meeting with a director to shoot the video. Then we'll sell the video to be played on MTV,' Kasey continued to speak. 'Music videos push you to the top, and there's no way that your ex won't see it.'

Steve licked his lips, 'What if I don't want to do a music video? I don't really want to show my face yet. Not until I write the song.'

Kacey gave him a long look, 'We need to do music videos, but perhaps we can alter your image a bit. Make you a mystery to your inspiring fans.'

'How?' Steve asked.

'A costume,' Kacey said. She paused, shaking her head, 'A new persona. You'd still be you — you'd just be Evie. We can create a story around your new persona and then use different means to disguise you.'

'Kinda like KISS?' Steve asked.

'Sure, but it would be different. People know who KISS is behind the face paint. People wouldn't know who you are,' Kacey said.

Steve thought about it for a moment before shaking his hand. 'No,' he said. 'I want people to know who I am. If no one knows who I am, everything has been for nothing. I wanted to do this so I didn't have to hide who I was or what I identified as. It'd be against what I'm trying to do.'

'Then why no to music videos?'

'I don't know. I just don't want him to see my face before I can see him in person,' Steve shrugged. 'If a music video is unavoidable, I'll do it, but I have reservations against it.'

'Let me talk to a few people, get an idea of something, and I'll toss it to you once I know something,' Kacey said. 'Because if he doesn't see you on MTV, he'll see you on the front of a magazine or see an interview and connect the pieces.'

Steve nodded, feeling a sense of dread at the thought of Eddie seeing him before he was ready. He knew it was inevitable, but he wanted to control the narrative as much as possible. He wanted to be the one to initiate contact, explain himself, and apologize. The idea of Eddie seeing him on TV or in a magazine, without any context or explanation, made his stomach twist.

'Alright,' he said, rubbing his hands over his face. 'I trust you to figure something out.'

NOTE: Eddie's showing up soon, I promise lmao. I like world-building a bit too much. I have a good bit of part 4 written, which is another flashback. part 5 has an outline of sorts at the moment, it's a skeleton to fill in, and well, Eddie is finally a part of that skeleton. So, hopefully, by Wednesday morning, I'll have both parts 4 and 5 posted. And Steve during the second and third Steve did get a band, but I doubt I'll focus much on them.

Taglist is still open, so if you wanna be added to it, let me know via comment or dm.

This is also uploaded to Ao3 HERE. There's a few-hour post difference. Tumblr sees it first, and yadda yadda.

TAGLIST: @swimmingbirdrunningrock x @cinnamon-mushroomabomination x @phirex22 x @kylobith x @screaming-alone x @poopypantsbennett x @ledleaf x @rhyswritesreadsandcries x @trashpocket x @oxidantdreamboat x @moonshadows-13

37 notes · View notes

somethingbcrrowed · 26 days

Text

(@musesreunite continued from here.)

CONTENT WARNING: This thread contains dark themes that may be triggering to some people. Please do not continue if your triggers include imprisonment, kidnapping or being bound. Mind the tags!

Klaus really hated waking up hungover.

The sensations were just too much- sight, sound, taste, touch, smell and spiritual, all six of his senses raw like an exposed nerve ending in a broken tooth.

The first of his senses to get its shit together and function properly was smell. The place smelled like mildew, cleaning supplies and the scent of bitter metallic underneath. Like blood. His heart fluttered, and his stomach twisted with unease and curiosity.

The second sense to get its shit together was touch, and he could feel the cold hard flooring underneath him. It felt like it was made of cement or cold tile or metal bed. He definitely wasn't outside and no bed outside of a morgue felt like that. But a morgue smelled clean and sterile, almost like a hospital with an undertone of blood beneath. The stench of mildew was heavy in the air- there was no way he was in a morgue.

Was he in someone's house? In their basement? Okay, maybe he'd partied a bit too much last night and had gone home with someone from the club. Passed out in the basement or something. No biggie.

His head gave a throb as he attempted to turn onto his side, eyebrows pulling together as he found he couldn't properly move his legs. There was also.. something.. rough and itchy wrapped around his wrists that felt kinda like rope...

Was he... bound?

He was torn between excited anticipation and blind terror at the realization. It wouldn't be the first time he'd woken up bound in someone's basement, but that had been by choice and he remembered making it. He didn't remember choosing this. His eyelids fluttered open and he groaned, wincing in pain as his vision swam and his head gave another throb.

"… Oh shit... Wha..." he uttered as his wide eyes looked around frantically and took in his surroundings. A room with metal walls and a tiled floor with a drain in the middle. The light, a fluorescent nightmare hanging from the ceiling. He couldn't see any doors or windows or...

He let out a surprised grunt as his gaze found the other occupant of the room, and his expression transformed into one of pained desperation.

"Shit... H-Hey-- Hey man, you scared me. Do-- do you happen to know what the fuck's going on around here, or? D'you know how we got down here-- who-- who's doing this, are ya-- are ya still aliiiiive--- y'know, anything that-- might help--" His words seemed somewhat disjointed, almost like he couldn't focus on them, and they were interrupted completely as he looked to his left and stared at an empty spot next to him silently for a few seconds.

Then he said to the empty space beside him, "Y'know, people who can't untie the ropes because they can't actually touch anything don't get to have any opinions on what sort of escape route I should try..." as he began to wriggle his way into an awkward as hell sitting position.

#musesreunite #klaus hargreeves #cw swearing #cw implied violence #cw blood #cw imprisonment #cw kidnapping #cw implied drug use #cw implied alcohol use #// sorry this is so long sdkjfdksjf #// don't worry about matching length pls #Long Post

2 notes · View notes

andromedaexists · 7 months

Text

I've had a lot of friends reach out to me the past couple days and I just don't have the spoons to respond to all of y'all so I'm gonna say what I need to here:

I love you and appreciate you all. Your condolences and well wishes were received and mean a lot to me.

Now, for those who are not in the loop, I would like to take a moment to tell you about why I haven't been around for a hot minute despite really trying my best to be (under the cut, because good lord are there a lot of heavy topics on the table such as pet loss, depression, mental and physical health and the degradation thereof, stress and anxiety and more)

So, just in a brief bullet point recap, since about july of this years I have:

been switched onto a project at work that put increasingly more important responsibilities on my shoulders despite me saying that i never want to be in that position again

been switched back to my normal project in the middle of a hierarchy shift, therefore not knowing who to contact for literally anything (we're still working this out, btw)

started my final semester of college with 4 classes (reading & translating dead language #1, reading & translating dead language #2, novels in dead language #1, and the history of my native tongue that requires reading in the dead ancient form of it)

found myself being forced into monthly outings with my mother (a test in repairing our relationship that is going... okay)

somehow became integral in a discord (not upset, just not sure how i ended up here frfr)

being told on the first day of classes that i am having surgery ASAP on a cyst (we all know my history with cysts here.. it's not pretty)

the absolute atrocity that blue ridge ended up being. that was supposed to be my relax time, my time to unwind from everything else and i still have not recovered my loss of sleep from being up for 40 hours straight because of how horrible that weekend was

had my surgery cancelled because i'm too fat and then being ghosted by the doctor

had my heart absolutely demolished by a guy I thought I could love, only to be reminded that love is a luxury not afforded to people like me

broke up with my primary care physician because my health is degrading so fucking bad that i literally woke up feeling like i broke my wrist just because. and he still won't take me seriously. i can barely walk at this point, let alone stay awake and functioning longer than 4 hours at a time

had my employee review (that actually went well, but i did get my ass chewed out for low production)

had the world fall apart around me as any hope i had for humanity is shattered

release my book 3 days later because it was too late to change the release day by then

bury myself in a depression hole that i'm learning is normal for authors after their book releases

have to move my grandma into assisted living/memory care

have to immediately move myself out of my apartment with a weeks notice because the stress of living next to violent neighbors was finally getting to me (triggered my past with domestic violence) AND they started harassing me

had to undergo a medical procedure because i can't even eat food without my body rebelling

missed a month of classes because of depression

failed 2 latin tests in a row followed by bombing the midterm which was... great of my mental health especially considering i haven't received anything lower than a B or a C on an exam since ever (i was an honor roll/4.0/gifted studies kid)

Failed a History of the English Language exam because i cannot code switch between German, Latin, and English quickly enough (those are the 3 that comprise middle english btw)

a week after moving into my grandma's house I almost burned it down

found out that someone I really respected and looked up to as a friend was a Zionist

and finally: on Saturday I had to put down the cat I have owned for 15 years. She's undoubtedly older than that, but I was her owner for 15 years. She was my first ESA. I was able to tell my prof I wouldn't be in for the SECOND LATIN MIDTERM on monday because of it so now i have to take it tomorrow, but i couldn't get out of the greek exam or work. I asked for one (1) day off work and was told that my cat dying was not sufficient enough reason for the time off without using PTO (that i don't have because I used it on the absolutely horrible weekend that was Blue Ridge)

So yeah. I haven't been around. I've been more around on twitter but that's mostly me just reposting a bunch of posts about Palestine rn and other posts that my friends make. I'm so fucking exhausted and nauseous and just done. I haven't really written anything either because my work up until now has shown both the horrors of humanity and the underlying hope but I do not have that hope anymore and it hurts

Ironically since I've started working on Desecrate I've started wondering if this is my punishment for straying from God all those years ago. I don't think so but not I gotta add re-working through my religious trauma and my Catholic Guilt to my never ending list of things to do.

If you read this whole thing, kudos to you. I appreciate you all and I'm sorry for dumping it but I have not been able to really say anything about what's going on in my life because i just.. idk I don't have the words for it most days. I'm just tired.

#andi talks #vent post #life fucking suck rn man #and i just i don't know if i can keep holding out for it to get better

4 notes · View notes

starlit-hopes-and-dreams · 2 years

Text

Chapter 5 ~ Everything hurts and I'm dying

Hidden Depths

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

Genre: Fantasy whump

Written per Whumptober 2022 prompts

CW: captivity, untreated wounds, blood, mention of “paying” for an item with sexual favors, passing out? (I don’t even know about some of these lol)

WC: 1725 1778

AN: This is a shorter chapter. Because, well, it's time for a breather, right?

I mean, if you consider fresh out of the torture chamber a breather, that is 😅

Resh

It was all Resh could do to keep from screaming as he was half-dragged back to his cell. Whatever toxin had been on those plants left his muscles quivering and his skin so sensitive that even the touch of his shirt was unbearable. Every time he moved his legs, it sent jolts of pain through him, not that he had the strength to be doing much of that. He was so weak he could hardly hold his head up.

In the end, it took two guards to get him back. They dumped him inside, and he collapsed on the packed dirt floor right in front of the bars, unable to stand on his own. Resh had no idea how he would be able to work tomorrow, but he knew he wouldn't have much of a choice. Besides, he needed Mieste to look at his arm. He still couldn't feel the fingers on his right hand.

It had been loads of fun learning how to function with only his left hand. He hoped it wasn’t going to be a permanent change.

"Y'all are a buncha sick fucks," a familiar, though weak, voice said.

"Shut the fuck up, kid," a gruff voice replied. One of the guards.

The first voice belonged to Carr. Resh raised his head, trying to see where they would put him.

In a rare stroke of luck, Carr was placed in the cell directly across from him. Resh looked him over, not liking what he saw. Carr’s right hand had a slight tremor when he reached up to grip the bars. His vine-covered left hand was held up to his chest, probably protecting those broken fingers. Then there was Carr’s right leg. Blood soaked his pants where he had been stabbed, and more dripped into the dirt under his foot.

The guards turned to leave, talking quietly among themselves.

"Hey," Resh croaked, propping himself up on his left forearm. "Are you getting Mieste?"

One of them spun, a sneer on his face. "Scum like you and that piece of trash don't deserve a house call from the herbalist.” The guard snickered, moving away again. “You'll have to wait until clinic tomorrow."

Shit, that was not the response he wanted to hear. "At least give him some bandages! Hey!" he shouted, or at least tried to with what was left of his ruined voice, but the guards completely ignored him.

Fuck. Carr was just staring, like he couldn't understand what was happening. Perhaps he couldn't; kid looked like he'd lost a decent amount of blood. Resh couldn't stifle his moan as he pushed himself up. Sitting wasn’t much easier than standing, but he leaned against the bars, which was good enough to serve his purpose.

He tried not to cry as he stripped his shirt off, which went about as well as expected. When he inspected his chest, he expected to see charred skin based on the agonizing burning sensation the scrape of fabric against flesh had awoken. But his skin wasn't even reddened. Aside from his bleeding wrist and whatever his throat looked like, there wasn't a mark on him to prove he'd spent the last however many hours enduring the torturous touch of that plant.

It was a little unfair. There should be proof. A visible reason for him to feel the way he did. Instead, it looked like he was crying over nothing.

Resh surreptitiously wiped his eyes, but all he ended up doing was smearing the dirt and blood coating his hand on his face. Fucking pits. Fucking Marcus. Fuck it all. He clenched his jaw and balled his shirt up, eyeing the distance between his cell and Carr's.

"Whatcha doin?" Carr asked, sliding down the bars to sit on the ground. He pressed his hand to the hole in his thigh with a pained grimace.

"I can't wear this shirt right now, and you need a bandage," Resh said, not meeting Carr's eyes.

The distance between their cells was a bit far. Resh doubted he could make the throw with something as light as his shirt in his weakened state. Mother help him.

"Why?" Carr asked, his brow wrinkling.

"What do you mean, why? You're fucking bleeding everywhere." Resh looked up, noting how pale Carr's face looked. He was so small; Resh wondered how much blood Carr could really afford to lose.

Carr shook his head, uneven chunks of blond hair flopping across his forehead, the reddish tones absent in the dimly lit hall of cells. "Why would you gimme your shirt? What do you want for it?"

There was a wariness to the question, and the shadows darkening those hazel eyes had Resh forgetting all about his embarrassment.

"Carr, no! I just… I just don't want you to bleed out. It'll be a while until you can see Mieste during his clinic tomorrow."

Resh couldn’t hear anyone in the adjacent cells, which meant the other prisoners were probably still working. Or maybe even eating, depending on how late it was. Ugh, eating. They wouldn’t be getting any food for the rest of the day, that was for sure. Prisoners in this place only got to eat if they worked.

Silence. Resh used it to gather the strength to launch the damned shirt.

Carr worried his lower lip. "I... you don't… I don't want your help." He turned away from the bars, presenting Resh with his back.

Resh watched the boy’s shoulders quiver. Marked the uneven, too-fast cadence of the rise and fall of his chest. With Carr's back turned, and no one else in the cells or hall, it was the perfect opportunity to do what needed to be done to get his shirt over in the other cell. Resh just hated that Carr was thinking the things Resh knew he was thinking.

The purple pool of his magic beckoned to him, full of energy and writhing with a desire to be free. Resh formed a channel and concentrated on the dingy, wadded-up ball of gray fabric.

Purple light illuminated the space before him when the shirt rose into the air. Resh directed his magic to float the material across the hall, letting it plop to the ground beside Carr with enough force that the kid might actually think he’d thrown it. Then, Resh closed his eyes, waiting out the fading glow as he cut the channel and his magic dissipated.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he could use his magic to steal a key to his cell. Or if he was strong enough to use his power to hold back a few guards long enough to escape. But that would expose him as a mage, which could make an already bad situation worse if he was caught. And he was slow as fuck with his busted limbs, so unless he waited a few more months, he really had no chance anyway. Resh cursed himself for not experimenting more with his magic when he'd had the chance.

Holding his hand in front of his eyes, he cautiously opened them. No purple glow reflected back at him, so he was safe again. He looked across the hall, where his shirt lay untouched next to Carr's stiff body.

"Carr, please use my shirt," Resh said, exhaustion hammering him as he pressed his face to the bars. What little he'd done with his magic typically wouldn't take much energy, but he'd started out with next to nothing and now had less than nothing. Everything hurt–he just wanted to curl up in a ball and pretend he didn't exist.

"Don't need it."

But first, Resh needed to convince Carr he didn't want to trade his shirt for sexual favors. The very thought made him feel sick.

"Yes, you do," Resh said gently, eyeing the dark clumps of dirt beneath Carr's outstretched leg.

He had never heard Carr's voice sound so small; the kid had been all bluster and bravado and reckless defiance from the first moment he’d arrived. It made him uncomfortable that this was what knocked his attitude down a peg. It felt wrong.

"I promise I don't expect anything from you in return."

A sniff. Then, Carr reached out with his vine-covered hand. But he didn't pick the shirt up, just rested his hand on it and leaned his head back against the bars.

Damnit. Resh wished he could see Carr's face. Wished he could tell if the sniffling meant Carr was crying or if he was just hurting. Resh stayed silent, letting Carr work things out in his mind. Hopefully, he would figure this out before Resh passed out from sheer agonized exhaustion. At this point, it was difficult to even blink his damned eyes; they didn't want to stay open.

"Nobody does nothin for free," Carr finally said, fingers curling into the fabric at his side. "'Sides, you got hurt cuz of me. Why do you even care, if not for that? I got nothin else t’ pay with."

"Carr—" Resh began.

"Not that I'm willin t’ pay, you hear? So don't come lookin for a good time just cuz you're too stupid t’ keep your shirt on." Carr's voice was harsh, but his hand visibly shook when he finally picked up the shirt and shook the dirt loose.

Thank fuck. Resh didn't even care about the words, just the actions. He forced his eyes to stay open until Carr began to tie the shirt around his leg, then carefully laid down in front of the bars. Resh couldn't have moved to his cot if his life depended on it. Just the act of lying down had tears flowing down his cheeks. Fresh waves of pain rippled throughout his body when his back hit the floor, and he sucked in air, trying to breathe through it. Gods, he couldn't understand why it still hurt so much.

"Resh? Are you okay?"

Was Carr worried? Resh turned his head and tried to open his eyes again. All he could see was a blurry pale oval across the hall. Carr's face. "Mm fine," Resh mumbled. "Just… tired."

"I'm sorry I got you hurt," Carr said, sniffing again.

"Not… your fault," Resh said, eyes drifting closed. The oblivion of unconsciousness was dragging him under, his pain-filled, depleted body unable to keep functioning.

No wait, he needed to… needed to say something else. "Not gonna hurt you, Carr. Swear."

More sniffling.

Resh tried again. "Hear me?" His words sounded slurred; maybe Carr wasn't understanding.

Then, "Yeah, I hear you. Go t’ sleep, Resh."

Good, that was good...

Resh wished Carr believed him as well—

But Carr… probably needed

proof.

His thoughts drifted away.

Image Description

[ID: The banner is a blue-green background, with tree branches arching over a set of blue-green eyes, forming an approximation of a face. The words Hidden Depths are written in white above the eyes. end ID]

21 notes · View notes