#[ writing reply and probably? last thing ill write until finals are over/i get assignments out of the way but rotates him

[marinehero-a]

garp somehow takes his job both incredibly seriously and absolutely not at all, literal walking shitpost of a vice-admiral and love that for him

[soldierswar]

Sick

            Dad! Bucky X Reader (Fluff)

TW: None. Pure fluff.

Note!!!!: This is a two part series. You could read this as the first one, and use the second one (Oh Baby) as a prologue. Or, you could read the fic mentioned as the first one in the series. It’s up to you, but this one was just uploaded first.

Plot: You wake up ill. And so does your two-year-old Frankie. You’re pretty sure that you two woke up having the same type of illness...At least you think you did.

         You woke up, sick.

           One moment you were fine; and within the next 10 seconds, you found yourself with your head in the bowl.

           You took a minute, rested on your knees, and suddenly felt your husband dotingly stroking and pulling your long hair back.

           “I thought you were asleep,” you croaked

           “Super soldier senses,” he replied.

           “You seem to keep forgetting.”

           You shrugged right before continue retching all of the non-existent contents of your stomach.

           Finally, you felt it was over. Thank God.

           “You need anything?” he asked.

           “Water? Juice?”

           You opted in for one of your daughter’s juice boxes. He left the room and made his way downstairs to get it.

           After putting yourself back together you figured you better actually check on your two-year-old munchkin in her bedroom. She was quieter than normal this late in the morning, and you wondered if you should be concerned.

           You walked across the hall and opened the door to find that she wasn’t in her bed.

           You hoped that she hadn’t gotten into a quietly mischievous mood, and had just taken a ride downstairs in daddy’s arms.

           You quickly shuffled down to the kitchen only to find Frankie sitting on the edge of the counter, and Bucky holding the ear thermometer to take her temperature.

           “Mommy,” she whined, weakly, not seconds before vomiting grape juice onto the floor.

           “100.1,” Bucky announced.

            You pouted and made your way to her to comfort her. She was too weak to say anything, or cry. She just laid her head on your chest as you rubbed her back.

           “She really wasn’t looking too hot when I checked on her this morning.”

           “I can imagine, she’s usually bouncing off the walls by now,” You replied, softly rocking her side to side.

           You looked down at her pale face and noticed her eyes were closed, and her breath steady. She was already asleep.

           “Here, let me take her upstairs,” you said.

           “No, let me go,” Bucky protested.

           “You were sick not even ten minutes ago.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t love how much he cared about you. But it was just those times when he treated you like a weak little flower that made you livid every now and again. Especially considering the fact that you trained new agents to go out on assignments the way you did out in the field before you got pregnant.

           “It’s not like she’s a 200lb barbell. I can carry my daughter up the stairs.”

           “Juice box. Now,” Bucky ordered.

           You rolled your eyes and opted to just go get cleaning supplies for the mess that was now on the floor.

            As you walked toward the closet, you had an intrusive thought. A thought that you weren’t exactly proud of having. But considering the fact that you had gotten sick first thing in the morning made you a little bit nervous the moment after it happened.

You weren’t saying you were the worst mother in the world. But…considering the fact that you had to hold back a smile on your way to the supply closet, you figured you were definitely nowhere near even the bottom of the list for the ‘Mother of The Year’ candidacy.

           Of course, there was no way that you liked seeing your baby like this. You hated feeling so helpless knowing that there was nothing to do but give her medicine and wait for her to recover. The first thing you had to do at the moment was to bring the fever down. But you knew now, that you both just had a bug.

��

           Oh, you caught a bug alright. A tiny human bug. One that you had specifically caught from your husband. You were wrong. You and Frankie did not have anywhere near the same kind of sickness at all.

           You stared at the little plus signs on all 4 pregnancy tests that you peed on.

           “Well so much for that fucking IUD,” you sighed.

           When you thought about it, you really had been ignoring some of the obvious signs. Last time, you didn’t realize you were pregnant until you were 12 weeks along. And thanks to that failed IUD, you really hadn’t suspected a thing. You hadn’t gained much if any weight in your belly area, and it even took another 2 months for you to even start showing. To be fair, you had no idea what it was like to be pregnant at the time so it was hard to figure out.

This time, you figured you had just gained a little of weight because you were eating too much pizza. Granted…last time you craved pizza that often, you had a newborn Frankie in your arms not too long later.

The need to buy more Pedialyte, Motrin, and crackers (the crackers mostly for you), made getting out of the house to go the pharmacy so late in the evening so much easier. Now you didn’t have to give a bullshit excuse to Bucky, so he didn’t suspect a thing. Granted, you were going to have to tell him the news very soon.

You walked upstairs towards Frankie’s door which was cracked open. You peered into the bedroom with dimmed lights to find Bucky laying propped up against the headboard on your daughters’ bed, cradling her tiny form, and reading her a Harry Potter book. She comfortably listened while sipping on Pedialyte infused grape juice.

You really did try to get her into little bunny, and teddy bear picture books. But after she turned two, she didn’t care for those kinds of things. So, you had decided to try a chapter book as a joke and found by accident that she responded to that method incredibly well. You were sure that it wasn’t necessarily that she wanted more complex plotlines, or even understood that the storyline was even about. But, she probably just really didn’t care for the visual stimulation and preferred hearing daddy’s voice while her head rested on his chest. A feeling that you could wholeheartedly relate to.

You backed away not wanting to disturb them and crept your way back downstairs.

On your way down, you couldn’t help but feel your heart melt beyond measure at the sight of Bucky taking care of your precious baby so attentively, and so well. And not necessarily just throughout this day when he noticed right away that she was lethargically ill; but how he was with her since the day she was born. Even earlier when he took good care of you during the good, and difficult days of your pregnancy.

Thinking about this made you realize that there was no reason to fear what or who was coming along next. You had no reason to even feel scared to tell him about another incredibly unplanned child coming into the picture.

…

           After about 30 minutes, James came back down into the dimly lit kitchen to find you sitting on the edge of the marble island counter getting to your emails from your students.  

           “Sorry I was up there so long,” he said.

           “She fell asleep and, and I didn’t have the heart to move her for a bit.”

           You smiled. A result of your heart melting furthermore. It was enough to make you want to cry.

           “You need anything, doll?”

           You shook your head and outstretched my arms for him to come closer to you for a big hug.

           “You know I never doubted that you’d be an amazing dad,” you said, softly with the right side of your face resting on his chest.  

           “Even when we found out about Frankie so far into my pregnancy despite swearing we never wanted kids. And yet, the moment I saw the look in your eyes when you saw our little one on that t ultrasound screen before I even had the courage to look, I feared that I couldn’t be nearly as great a parent as you would be.”

           He pulled away and stared lovingly into your eyes.

           “I knew you’d be a good mom when you took care of that three-year-old Russian girl that you saved during that one mission in Ukraine five years ago,” he replied.

           “She wouldn’t talk to anybody but you, and when I saw the bond you two had created within an hour. I knew right then that if you were to become a mother, you’d be the most amazing one. And I was right.”

           He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you on the forehead.

           “So…” You found yourself pausing.  

           You took his hands away from your face and held onto them, nervously fidgeting with his fingers.

           “Have you ever thought about what would happen if we had another one?”

           You looked up to see his expression. His left eyebrow was raised.

           “Well I sure thought about it this morning,” he shrugged.

           You narrowed your eyes watching that faint little smirk of his start to creep up.

           “So, you figured out that I was preg-”

           “Of course, I did, (Y/N).” he interrupted.

           “And you’re okay with this?” You asked, nervously.

“Even though it was supposed to be a one in a million chance that it happened again?”

           “(Y/N)…if that’s the ratio is a million to one, then we’ve definitely reached the threshold for that one after the million.”

           You smacked him on the arm and giggled.

                       “Of course, I’m happy, (Y/N),” he whispered against your lips while keeping his flesh hand on your belly before reaching down to kiss it.

           “But watch this one be born within the next two months,” he teased. It was definitely a hyperbolic shade to the fact that you had no idea Franky existed until 12 weeks into your term. You wouldn’t have even known if you hadn’t to gone to the med-bay for a sprained ankle you had acquired during a training session.

           You rolled your eyes and once again collapsed your head onto his chest.

           “You’re lucky I love you, Barnes,” you groaned.

           I love you too, Barnes.”

(Ps. Thank you for reading this fluff piece. It made me smile the whole time I was writing it. I love you guys. Also, I’m about to start writing another fic about Frankie being a newborn. Message me if you want me to tag you in it.)

[alright--okay]

you ever been to a basement show? pt. 4

tsukishima kei x reader

summary: Tsukishima sees you everywhere, and for a big school thats weird. And it’s not like he’s gonna do anything, that’d be even weirder, but one day in your shared lecture he sees you wearing a shirt with some small band’s name. A band he know. And well, now he has to know who you are.

word count: ~2.7 k

a/n: the first five chapters are already on ao3 so imma post them here real quick, hope anyone reading enjoys!

read on ao3!

pt. 4 Go Home. Play Music. Feel Better. - Michael Cera Palin

“Ohoho, look who decided to show up,” you said to Tsukishima as he moved to sit beside you in the lecture hall.

Tsukishima gave you an exasperated look, “class didn’t even start yet. Also please don’t take on those idiots’ mannerisms.”

“Why not? I think it’s fun. And completely unrelated, but want to come to the store with me after class? Bokuto recommended me this hair gel and I’ve always wanted to try-”

“Please stop,” Tsukishima turned to face the front of the class as you broke out into quiet giggles.

“Seriously though, I didn’t get to eat breakfast this morning so I’m gonna get something at that cafe near our apartments if you want to join.”

This wasn’t a date. Tsukishima knew this. That didn’t stop his heart from beating a tad bit faster or the apples of his cheeks growing rosier.

Tsukishima shifted his arm to one of the uncomfortable arm rests of the seat, leaning his head against his hand to hopefully help cover any of the heat on his cheeks, “yeah, I’m down.”

“Cool,” from the corner of his eye, Tsukishima saw you give your own small smile as you turned to focus on the professor about to start the lecture.

This wasn’t a date.

~~~~~~

Class dragged on, but soon enough you and Tsukishima were making the short journey to the cafe.

“Did you finish the paper for that class?” Tsukishima asked.

“What paper?”

“The one he assigned last week? Due on Wednesday? The one on that civilization-”

“Wait, no, no, no. That paper’s due on the 18th.”

“y/n…” Tsukshima slowed his pace to look you in your eyes, “Wednesday is the 18th.”

You let a quiet “fuck” slip from your mouth as you faced forward, moving quickly to the cafe now only a few shops away, “then no, I haven’t even started it.”

“Yeah that seemed pretty obvious,” Tsukishima said with a smirk.

“He never mentioned it again! I can’t keep track of everything!”

“Yeah, not even the date apparently,” Tsukishima snickered, opening the door for the two of you.

“Alright, listen!” Tsukishima’s laugh only grew louder, “I thought this class was gonna be fun and easy, and now I have to write a paper in like two days. Disgusting,” your attentioned moved to the menu hanging above the register.

“It’s short, you’re being dramatic.”

“Fuck you,” Tsukishima let out a startled laugh while you moved forward to give your order and pay then stood off to the side waiting for Tsukishima to do the same.

Tsukishima silently pointed to a table off in the corner that was free, “what is your major anyway?” he said as the two of you settled down into the seats.

You told him your major with a small shrug, “Nothing too special, but I liked it in high school so I figured I’d just keep up with it. Are you actually archeology or are you also just in this class for the hell of it?”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, “Yes, I’m an archeology major, but this class doesn’t count for much since it's pretty entry level.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’re good at this stuff?”

“I’m not writing your paper.” “I wouldn’t ask that!” you said with a frown, “I was wondering if you could at least help me though. Read it over, give me some advice, make sure it’ll give me a decent grade, stuff like that. Come on, I’ll make you cookies.”

Tsukishima paused for a moment, “What about a strawberry shortcake?”

“I mean I’ll have to go to the store…” Tsukishima continued to stare at you, “but fine! Yes, I’ll make you a strawberry shortcake, you bastard.” You mumbled the last part under your breath as you got up to get yours and Tsukishima’s orders.

Making a cake would be a small price to pay for a good grade in a class you honestly didn’t care about. Spending time with Tsukishima didn’t hurt either.

“Get as much of it done as you can tonight, I’m done with class pretty early tomorrow so we can work on it together at my place whenever you’re free,” Tsukishima gave you the short rundown as you place the food on the table.

“Why don’t we do it at my place? You have like three roommates. I have Yachi.”

“Good point, text me tomorrow when you’re good,” Tsukishima said with a small nod.

~~~

It was a little past one on tuesday when you decided to text Tsukishima.

To Tsukishima archeology:

hey im walking home now so feel free to come over whenever

From Tsukishima archeology:

alright ill be there soon

You slid your phone back into your pocket, trying to turn your focus on the music flowing through your headphones and not on the lanky blonde that would be spending the rest of the day in your apartment.

You saw Tsukishima at least three times a week and most of that time was spent alone with each other in class or recitation, but this was… different. You were going to be actually alone with the guy. No distractions from a professor or a friend or a cafe worker calling out names. And okay Tsukishima was mildly attractive… Okay he was attractive but you wouldn’t let that come between you and the new friend you made in the snarky asshole.

It's not like anything would happen anyway. Tsukishima definitely didn’t like you like that, and no amount of daydreaming him confessing to you would make it come true (even if it was a very nice daydream).

It wasn’t long before you made it up to your apartment. Yachi had a late class today so you weren’t expecting her back until tonight, hopefully after Tsukishima had already left. It wasn’t that you didn’t want Yachi to know… but Yachi had already been making assumptions and Tsukishima coming over to “do work” alone in your room would do nothing but feed her imagination (even if it was the truth).

In the middle of eating a quick snack, Tsukishima sent you a text saying he was at your building.

You scrambled down the staircase of your building to meet Tsukishima who was waiting (somewhat) patiently on the stoop of your building.

“Finally,” he muttered as you widened the door for him to pass.

“You gave me no warning! Should’ve left you out here longer.”

“Should I just leave then? Seems like you don’t want me here so I’ll just-”

You put your hands on Tsukishima’s back, pushing him further into the building, “Nope, you’re helping me. You already agreed, no backing out.”

Tsukishima let out a dramatic sigh, now trailing behind you, “Did you at least start it?”

“Yes, in fact, I did. Almost done too, just need one more paragraph to push me over the word minimum.”

“What am I supposed to do in the meantime? I thought I was just gonna read it over?” Tsukishima asked as you let him into your and Yachi’s apartment, leading him to your small kitchen table.

“I dunno, dude; do other homework, work on your own paper, pick an album to listen to,” you gestured lazily towards your bedroom door, “all my vinyl is in the crates to the right.”

You could tell Tsukishima tried very hard to hide his excitement, “well, I already submitted my paper,” he ‘casually’ slid his backpack off his shoulders and made his way to the door you just pointed out.

You followed him over, showing him the milk crates you were talking about, your record player sitting on the dresser nearby.

“If you're gonna be sitting here, I’ll work at my desk,” you gathered your laptop and the notebook you had used to organize your paper, settling at the small desk, “if you need any help let me know.”

Tsukishima gave you a small smile and proceeded to get down on the floor to sit cross legged, flipping through the crate closest to him.

The two of you continued in silence for a while until Tsukishima gave a light poke to your shoulder, a recognizable album in his hand.

“I’ve never actually used a record player, so can you…” he trailed off, pushing the album towards you.

You tried to contain your amusement. Tsukishima clearly did not want to be asking you this, but you were glad he took this route instead of trying it and scratching up your records.

“Yeah sure, good pick by the way,” you got up from your desk chair and took the album, sliding the sleeve out to get to the vinyl itself, this one in particular being a bright blue as opposed to the typical black.

You ran him through how to handle the records and how to work your particular player so he would be able to flip and change the records whenever, and soon enough the beginning of Just Friends’ album Nothing but Love began to play.

You smiled again, making your way back to your desk to finish up your paper while Tsukishima went back to sitting on your floor, alternating between listening to the music and playing on his phone.

By the time the album came to an end you placed your laptop in Tsukishima’s lap, “be gentle,” you said, moving to grab an album at random and replace the one coming to an end.

“I’m not gonna promise anything,” he replied, adjusting his glasses to begin reading your paper.

You wandered off to the kitchen for a glass of water, not wanting to be in the room while Tsukishima was judging your writing.

“It’s not that bad!” Tsukishima called from your room, you walked over to lean in the door frame, “I marked some stuff you should reword and you should probably include that thing he mentioned a while ago…” Tsukishima continued to talk about your paper, flipping through notes to bring up examples and point out which parts he found errors in.

“But not bad?” you questioned again with a small smile, taking your laptop back.

“Not great, but not bad,” he said getting up to get his own stuff from the kitchen.

“I’ll take it!” you took it as a win when you heard Tsukishima’s laughter from the other room.

~~~

It was well into the evening by now, Tsukishima had helped fully finalize your paper a while ago but the two of you continued to talk and do work in your room. At this point you knew Yachi was going to be here soon. You would have to kick Tsukishima out now if you didn’t want her to notice just how long the boy had spent here and that just seemed rude and unnecessary (plus you didn’t really want Tsukishima to go just yet).

“Did you want to just stay for dinner? Yachi said she's picking something up, so if you want anything speak now.”

Tsukishima paused shortly at your question, “where’s she stopping?”

You relayed your and Tsukishima’s order to Yachi hoping she’d get home soon so you could have a proper meal.

You and Tsukishima were back to the floor, sifting through albums and talking over the music in the background.

“I wish you had A Flourish and a Spoil,” Tsukishima said, examining the art of one particular album.

“By The Districts?” Tsukishima’s eyes darted over to you, making you laugh, “I have that one, just probably got misplaced if it’s not with the D’s,” you took a minute to think back to the last time you had listened to the album, trying to place where it currently was.

You hauled yourself up and went to your dresser. Beside your record player was a short stack of albums you had been listening to the other day but were too lazy at the time to properly put away. Sure enough, the dark album art peaked from the pile.

You took the whole stack over to your crates, passing the album to Tsukishima’s waiting hands.

“We’re listening to this next,” Tsukishima said, eyes roaming the back of the album, examining all the details.

“We can definitely do that,” you replied, sorting the albums, “but Yachi’s gonna be here soon so you good with waiting a little bit?”

He gave you a small nod and the two of you resumed your quiet activities with the current record coming to an end. It wasn’t long after you heard the apartment’s door open with Yachi making her presence known.

The three of you sat around the small kitchen table, eating your food and talking about your days. You tried to ignore all of Yachi’s “subtle” looks in favor of asking about the class she just got out of.

“I hate that it lets out so late!” Yachi complained, dropping her head to the table, “I’m so tired and the walk home gets scary in the dark.”

“You can always ask me or Yamaguchi to walk with you,” Tsukishima said, looking up from his food, “if you’re really anxious we really wouldn’t mind, it’s a short walk.”

“Tsukki!” Yachi let out a cry, tears gathering in her eyes, “don’t listen to them, you’re so sweet, I love you.”

“Wait, listen to who-” Yachi interrupted his questions by giving his stiff posture a hug, “what are people saying about me?”

Yachi continued her hug, Tsukishima slowly raising a hand to pat her back, “nothing, nothing, it doesn’t matter anyway.”

You laughed at Tsukishima’s confused and irked expression, clearly not knowing how to interpret Yachi’s words.

Yachi removed herself from Tsukishima, “well, I am exhausted, goodnight,” Yachi said, giving you both a smile.

“Goodnight, Yachi, see you tomorrow,” you said, Tsukishima giving his own goodnight before turning to look you in the eye.

“It’s time,” he said, quickly cleaning up your plates and then heading to your room.

You laughed as you trailed behind him. He was already setting up the vinyl so you settled on your bed, letting your back fall into the comforter sitting atop your mattress.

The opening beats of the first song gently filled your room, quiet enough to not disturb Yachi but loud enough that the thumping drums still hit in your chest. Tsukishima turned around and you patted the spot beside you. He seemed to hesitate for a second before making his way over, letting his body lay beside your own.

“I used to listen to this album all the time in high school,” Tsukishima said to the ceiling. You turned your head to look at his side profile, “I think at the time it was just cause I liked how it sounded,” he paused for a particular chorus to pass, “but now I actually listen to it.”

You turned your head back to the ceiling, “I get that. A lot of albums have changed meaning for me over the years. This always felt like a new beginning though.”

Tsukishima hummed beside you. You let the music fill the room, you and Tsukishima each focusing on the lyrics of each song and how one connected to another.

Side A came to its gentle end, so you got up to slowly flip it, not wanting to break the calm atmosphere your room held at the moment. You took your spot beside Tsukishima again, trying not to disturb him.

“God, this album slaps,” Tsukishima mumbled under his breath at the crescendo of the song, making you break out into a laugh. Tsukishima surprisingly let out a chuckle of his own, “what? You know it's true.”

“I know, I know,” you let your giggles peter out, “I feel like you have to save that for Young Blood though.”

“It can be applied in a variety of places, don’t go around constricting me.”

“Fair enough,” you smiled at him, scooting your legs further on the bed to get more comfortable.

Young Blood, as good of a song as it was, was eight minutes long and by the final words of it, you could feel yourself drifting. It started with just resting your eyes, but soon your body was trying to catch up on the lack of sleep.

As your mind was shutting down, you heard a soft snore beside you. I’ll deal with this tomorrow, you thought to yourself before succumbing to the warmth of your room and the body beside you, letting the final song of the album lull you to sleep.

[jade4813]

Resolution

Fandom: Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist

Title: Resolution

Rating: G

Pairing: Zoey/Max

Synopsis: Sequel to Fallout and Repercussions (and episode 7 of the series). Zoey has finally figured out how she feels about Max, but when she tries to get up the never to tell him, Everything. Goes. Wrong. Will the two of them ever manage to get on the same page?

The clock on the wall read 6:22 a.m., and Zoey was already on her third cup of coffee for the day. She remembered with some regret the way she’d once expressed surprise at Joan’s suggestion that they share a drink in the middle of the afternoon. Her day hadn’t even officially started, and she was already wishing she had something to steel her nerves.

All the caffeine she’d consumed was making her jittery, the coffee roiling around in her otherwise empty stomach until she felt sick. She briefly considered grabbing some cereal or perhaps a piece of bread to settle her stomach, but the thought of consuming food just made her feel slightly ill.

She pressed her hand to her chest and sucked in a deep breath. She could do this! She had a plan! When Max showed up to work, she’d take him aside and tell him that she’d realized that she loved him and wanted to give their relationship a shot! How hard could it be? After all, she already knew how he felt about her, right?

Except…he’d been even weirder than usual with her over the last couple of days, ever since their last conversation, when he’d suggested she should go talk to her mom.

“Zoey? Uh…what the hell was that?” he’d asked.

“What was what?”

His eyes narrowed, he looked at her in confusion and concern. “You…you didn’t just…you didn’t hear that? Are you messing with me right now?”

Completely at a loss as to what he meant, she shook her head slowly, “Max, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Hear what? Did something happen?” she leaned to the side to look around him, scanning the office for something out of place.

He stepped back, running one hand across his face. “I’m losing it. Lack of sleep or…I-I thought you…I must have imagined it. It’s fine. Never mind.” She threw him a reassuring smile, but he hurried back to his desk and avoided her for the rest of the day. And for the two days since, although she occasionally caught him watching her closely, like he was trying to figure her out. Or as though she might bite.

“I don’t bite,” she reassured herself in an undertone. But what if his strange behavior was because he’d realized his feelings were all a mistake? What if he’d realized he wasn’t in love with her anymore – at least, not like that? She hadn’t heard any of his heartsongs since the night he coopted a scooter for her, after her dad fell. Was it possible he just wasn’t romantically interested in her anymore?

Zoey pushed away the thought with a grimace and a stern self-reproach. “Not. Helping.” Desperate for a distraction, she grabbed for her tablet and tried to focus on her work, instead. Her love life might be a disaster at present, but this was a language she understood. This came naturally to her, in a way that navigating her love life did not.

In her very first computer course in college, Zoey had been tasked with programming a robot to wind its way through a maze. She had managed to complete the assignment faster than any of her other classmates, going on to earn an A+ in the course at the end of the semester. When she took a step back and considered her current situation, it wasn’t that different. She just had to get herself and Max through the maze of confusion brought on by intense emotion and miscommunication. And then everything would work itself out.

Reassured by the thought, she shot a quick glance around to make sure she was still alone. Her day hadn’t technically started yet, so she took her tablet to an isolation pod and curled up inside to craft some code. By the time she started to hear her coworkers filter in, her simple program was up and running – a digital Zoey and Max, her programmable “robots,” were winding their way through a complex maze. She smiled when she programmed the code directing the two to lean in for a kiss (hearts showing above their heads and all) when they finally made their way to each other.

It was a silly little program, but it made her feel better. Maybe she was overthinking things. She’d tell Max she wanted to be with him, and the two would kiss. How hard could it be?

Lifting the sliding door to the pod, Zoey stepped out and stretched, working out some kinks that had settled in her shoulders. With one last reassuring glance at her ZoeyBot’s progress through the maze, she closed the program and pulled up her notepad.

Any project was possible, as long as one went in with a plan. Almost every task could be broken down into straightforward, manageable steps. Like programming code. Just take each step in turn, one after the other, until the task was finished. With that in mind, she jotted herself a quick note.

Get Max somewhere private.

Show him MaxBot?? (He’ll get it, right?)

Tell him you want to be with him.

Kiss.

Four steps. Possibly three, if she decided she was too embarrassed to show him her computer program. Three or four completely simple, totally manageable steps. Completely doable plan. Now all Max had to do was to show up, and she could put her plan into action.

Unable to sit still, she dropped her tablet onto her desk and headed towards the restroom. All that coffee was taking its toll, but she also hoped that pouring some cold water over her wrists could help her stay focused and calm. She lingered a few extra minutes to give herself a silent pep-talk and practice an eloquent speech about her feelings before steeling her shoulders and heading back outside.

She returned to the office just in time to see Max grab his tablet from his desk and head towards the wicker seats – the pattern of avoidance he’d established over the last couple of days. Hoping to catch him before he got too wrapped up in code and she lost her nerve, she darted to her desk and grabbed for her tablet.

“Max!” she barked abruptly, a shade louder than necessary. He jumped, startled, and spun around to look at her. Softening her tone, she offered him a sheepish smile as she asked, “Do you have a second? There’s something I wanted to show you.” Her program was perhaps a little silly, but maybe he’d find it endearing? She could only hope.

Before he could come up with an excuse to turn her down, she jogged up to him and pulled him aside. “Okay, promise you won’t laugh. I know this is a little silly, but I wanted to show you – uh –”

Her voice trailed off as she held up what she thought would be her tablet and realized that, in her anxiety and rush to catch him, she’d accidentally grabbed her stapler instead. She actually had a stapler? Why? She couldn’t even remember the last time she needed to staple something!

Max seemed equally as confused. “Your…stapler?” he offered. “It’s…nice.”

Completely mortified, her courage fled. “Ah…yes. My stapler. I was…um…wondering. If you had any staples. I think I’m out.” That was unlikely. It was probably holding the same staples that had come with it when it was shipped from the factory, for all she knew. These things came preloaded, right? She had no idea.

“Ah,” he replied, drawing out the word for several seconds. “I don’t think so. Have you tried the supply closet? There might be some in there.”

Zoey forced a laugh. “The supply closet! Right! Makes total sense! Duh,” she waved the stapler wildly, almost clocking herself in the head. “Thanks a lot, Max…i...million.” She heard the ill-advised nickname as though it was coming from outside of herself, from someone else’s mouth, and looked at him in horror.

His smile was uncertain. “No problem. That’s not really a nickname we’re planning to run with, is it?”

“Nope! No, we’re not!” she promised. Trying to cover for her gaff, she aimed a playful shrug at his shoulder to break the tension, somehow completely missing and punching the tablet out of his hands, instead. “That’s…oh, sorry! I’ll…I’ll replace that if it’s broken.” Maybe discretion really was the better part of valor, she decided, not even wanting to see the look on his face as she backed away as quickly as she possibly could before she accidentally broke something else.

It turned out programming code was much easier than telling her best friend she had realized he might be the love of her life.

Later that evening, once she was safely back at home and unlikely to humiliate herself any further, Zoey scowled to herself and she pulled up her ZoeyBot/MaxBot computer program. It didn’t take her long to add a giant, menacing stapler that chased ZoeyBot down the first section of the maze.

Then, heaving a heavy sigh, she pulled up her To Do list. It hadn’t served her very well so far, but she still had confidence in the basic premise. Make a plan. Stick to the plan. Don’t break anything. Check. With that in mind, she reviewed her list.

Okay, so maybe she was too nervous around him to make a smooth job of it. Was there any way she could take the actual confession part out of her hands? She mulled over the question as she stared off into the distance. Finally, it hit her. Balloons! Everyone liked balloons, right?

Grinning at the brilliance of her new plan, she pulled up a web browser and search for a balloon delivery service in the area. Once she found what she wanted, she placed the order for the next day. In the morning, a courier would bring her balloons, reading “I Love U Max.” The last was a specialty balloon – they’d write in his name, and the sample online looked decent enough. Before pressing the button to finalize the order, she gave it one last critical look. Love? No, she should go with the heart instead. Less awkward, she decided, hitting “submit.” The plan was in place! He’d see the balloons and…that would be it! Not risk of ambiguity or bodily injury!

Well, maybe not it, exactly. If they were going to be in a relationship, she was going to have to talk to Joan. She would hardly be able to hide it, since she was planning on confessing in the middle of the office. Once the cat was out of the bag, she wouldn’t be able to continue to be his supervisor. It wouldn’t be right. But she was confident they could find a solution. Feeling much better than she had an hour or so before, Zoey made a few revisions to her list:

Get Max somewhere private.

Show him Maxbot?? (He’ll get it, right?)

Don’t break anything.

Balloons arrive

Tell him you want to be with him.

Kiss.

She didn’t know the exact time the balloons would arrive; more like a narrow window. So she might have to take things a little by ear. But with a plan this solid, surely nothing could go wrong, right?

Right.

The next day, Zoey realized she’d been humming happily to herself off and on all morning, but she couldn’t help it. She was in such a good mood! This plan of hers was going to come off perfectly. When she walked up to the elevator bay and saw Max waiting for the doors to open, she threw him her brightest smile. “Good morning!”

He looked a little taken aback. “Morning, Zoey. You seem to be in a good mood today.”

She nodded. “Yup! I think it’s going to be a fantastic day. It’s just a feeling.”

“Well, then, I hope you’re right,” he replied pleasantly.

She considered taking the moment of privacy to go ahead and confess her feelings, but then others joined them on the elevator and the window of opportunity was lost. No matter. She had balloons! The balloons would not fail her!

“I don’t understand,” she told the balloon courier with an askance look at the two balloons he held out for her to take. “Where are the rest of them?”

Not appearing to be terribly concerned, he shrugged and offered in insufficient explanation and complete lack of apology, “We were out. My boss said we can complete the order next week.”

“Next week! That doesn’t help! I had a whole plan and now all I have to show for it is ‘U Max’. What am I supposed to do with ‘U Max’?”

He shrugged again. Clearly, it wasn’t his problem. She took the balloons from him with numb fingers and briefly considered letting them loose in the stairway to hide evidence of her failed plan when she heard Max speak behind her. “’U Max’? What’s this about?”

Come up with an excuse! Fast! She ordered her poor, beleaguered brain as she spun around. “Maaaaax-i-mus!” Again? Seriously? What the hell was wrong with her? “I got you these!”

“I can see that,” he replied, staring up at the balloons in question. “I’m just trying to figure out what they mean. U Max? Max U? Is this a secret code?”

Her laugh was forced, high-pitched, and veering on hysterical. “No! Of course not! It’s just a new…management plan I’m trying. I’ll be randomly bringing balloons in to people on the team. To let you know that, uh, well, you know. We…see you. And we…appreciate…you know, you. That is, you. Max. I read it in a book somewhere, I think.”

“Really? That’s a little weird. What book?” She would have thought he was on to her, but he sounded more curious than suspicious.

“Oh…I don’t even remember now. Would you just take your balloons?”

He reached for them. “Sure thing. Well, thank you for reaffirmation of my name, anyway,” he teased.

Her answering chuckle was almost genuine. “We spend so much time in this building some days, I thought there was a chance you might have forgotten.”

“Is that the reason for the new nicknames? Because, for the record, I don’t think I like Maximus any better than Maximillion.”

“No, but duly noted,” she replied with a forced smile, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt as she returned to her desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joan look over at her, Max, and the balloons and shake her head in bafflement before returning to her own work. Zoey was almost pathetically grateful her boss didn’t call her in to demand an explanation. She wasn’t entirely sure she could explain what was going on with her right now, even to herself.

When she saw him walk away and thought he might not see her, she rested her forehead on her desk with a groan, tempted to bang it repeatedly against the hard surface if she wasn’t sure that would bring her too much attention.

Why did her efforts to sweep Max off his feel keep going so haywire? What was she doing wrong?

“Mo, this is getting out of hand. You have to help me!” she cried, pacing back and forth in her neighbor’s living room. Saying it was “getting out of hand” was probably generous. Things were getting downright dire. Her plan was on Day 4, and it had just been one disaster after another.

“I’m not sure there’s any help for you,” Mo offered, shaking her head. “Have you tried just talking to him?”

“Yes! I tried today!”

Mo sat back on the couch. “And?”

“Aaaaand…I decided I would casually drop it in over coffee. But I didn’t realize my ZoeyBot program was up on my screen, and he saw it and asked what it was. One thing led to another, I freaked out and tried to cover it up, and I accidentally…kinda…tripped and…threw an entire cup of coffee at him.”

He blinked. “Wow. I knew you were a mess, but I think you may be even more of a mess than I realized.”

Zoey moaned and sank to the couch beside him. “Really? It’s not even remotely a surprise to me.” Closing her eyes, she leaned back and mulled over her predicament. Then she bolted upright. “I know! What if I do a some kind of flash mob for him?”

“No.”

“What? Hear me out! I get a bunch of people together…”

“No.”

“…and we do some kind of song…”

Mo put a hand on her arm. “Let me stop you right there. So far this week, you’ve brought him a stapler. You got him exactly half of your love confession in balloons, but not even the half that would actually convey what you wanted him to know. And you tried to give him third degree burns. You really think you can get through a whole choreographed dance number without breaking something? Like yourself? Or him?”

Zoey had to reluctantly concede the point, but she wasn’t quite ready to let this idea go. Remembering how she’d imagined him singing outside her window, she suggested, “So what if it’s just me? I could bring a boombox with me and sing outside his window. I saw it in a movie I watched with him once.”

Mo threw her a skeptical look. “Do you even have a boombox?”

She shrugged. “No. Do you?” His answering stare spoke volumes. “Okay, no background music. Just me.”

“Uh huh. And what would you sing?”

“I don’t know; I’m sure I could come up with something. Like, ‘Oh, my lo-‘”

“Nope.”

“Okay. What about, ‘It’s a little bit fu-‘”

“Absolutely not. You should not sing for him. Trust me.”

“But I –” she began.

“No.”

She broke off with a groan. “Okay, what do you suggest?”

Mo sighed. “The same thing I’ve been suggesting all along. No props. No gimmicks. Just walk up to him and find a way to casually drop into conversation that you want to have lots of sex and babies.”

“Are you actually dropping a Love Actually quote on me right now?” Zoey asked in disbelief.

“I’m trying to speak your language,” he replied flippantly, breaking into a grin.

She rolled her eyes as she rose to her feet and headed for the door. “All right. Fine. I’ll just…tell him how I feel. There’s no chance that can end in disaster!”

The table was set. Dinner was in the oven. Zoey was wearing her best dress. She paused long enough to make sure she had matches to light the candles in the candelabra she’d borrowed from her parents’ house earlier in the day, then checked to make sure his jacket was hanging by the door.

She’d gotten Max’s jacket from her mom when she stopped by to visit earlier that day. He’d apparently left it at her parents’ house by accident a few evenings prior, when he’d stopped by to bring her dad some soup from his favorite restaurant across town. It was as good a pretext as any to get him to Zoey’s place, where she would serve him a romantic dinner and confess. Everything.

Wanting to make sure everything was ready, she grabbed her tablet to review her plan one last time. Her (many-times) revised list read:

Get Max somewhere private.

Show him Maxbot?? (He’ll get it, right?)

Don’t break or burn anything. or anyone!!!!!!

Balloons arrive

Bring him coffee

Dinner at home??? “Ham is easy but shows effort”

Make it romantic (candles, yes! Flowers, no. Don’t take your chances)

Music! (Mo says no singing Sing if necessary)

Touch nothing hot until it’s over

No liquids either

Pretext of having his coat?

When he shows up, tell him you want to be with love him.

Kiss.

She took a quick glance around to make sure everything was set up according to her list. Perfect. Things seemed to be going according to plan, for once.

With a satisfied smile, she grabbed her phone. Of course, she probably should have made sure he was free before going through the trouble of cooking an entire ham. But it was too late for such regrets. She tapped her phone with her hand as she paced back and forth, practicing what she was going to say.

“Hey, Max! It’s me! Zoey. It’s Zoey. Do I even need to say that? He has caller ID. Okay, just go with hey, Max! Oh, but he knows who he is. Maybe just hey! Now I sound like a chipmunk. Heeey? No, that sounds creepy. Hi! Howdy! Ugh. Hey…”

As she paced back and forth, she lost track of what was going on around her and so didn’t notice the smoke billowing out of her oven until the fire detector went off, beeping shrilly in her ear. “No! No, no, no, no no…” she muttered desperately as she raced to the oven and pulled it open. On second thought, she should have kept it closed as a ball of fire followed another billow of smoke. “What the-”

She was catapulted out of the way when Mo came in from out of nowhere, shoving her aside to spray an entire fire extinguisher’s worth of suppressant into her oven. As he worked, she jabbed the fire detector with a broom until it fell silence. Then she returned to the stove to throw her meal a morose look. If her ham hadn’t been ruined already, it was now.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Mo demanded in aggrieved affrontery, pulling out her obliterated meal once he’d assured himself that the fire had been extinguished. Wiping off some of the chemicals coating the top, he poked around at the charred meal and exclaimed, “You left the plastic on?”

“What? No, of course not! I removed the plastic!” Zoey peered around Mo’s shoulder to look at the ham, poking it with one dubious finger. “There was a second layer of plastic on the back half of it?” There was, now both firmly baked into the outer skin of the ham and crispy from where it had gone aflame.

Mo sighed and looked around, taking in the scene. Zoey in her dress and heels, way beyond “stay-at-home casual.” The dining table, set for two. The romantic music playing softly over her radio.

“I-I-I-” Zoey stammered, trying to come up with some sort of self-defense, but Mo wasn’t hearing it.

“What did I tell you about props and gimmicks? Would you please go tell Max how you feel about him before you burn down this entire building?”

“I just thought…a romantic meal…”

Grabbing her gently but firmly by the shoulders, he steered her towards the door. “Go. Tell. Him. How. You. Feel.”

“But my meal!” she protested weakly.

He shook his head. “It’s already had a Viking funeral. There’s nothing more we can do for it now. Go take care of this while I dispose of the body. Go.”

Dejected that her plans had once again followed through, Zoey dug in her heels. “Wait! I need my jacket. That black one. And – and my purse.”

She gestured and Mo leaned over to grab both items, passing them over with a dubious look. “That’s yours?” he asked when she slipped the jacket on. It smelled like Max, and Zoey breathed in deeply, pretending it was his arms wrapped around her.

It was huge on her, but she nodded. “Yup! Okay, well…I should go, I guess.”

“Uh huh. Just try not to do anything weird between here and there. I don’t want to get any calls that you’ve been sent to the hospital. Or jail.”

“You won’t. Scout’s honor. You have nothing to worry about!”

Mo shot a pointed look over his shoulder at her demolished kitchen. “Uh huh.”

Zoey rocked back and forth on her toes as she stared at the door in front of her. Too scared to knock, she pulled her phone out of her purse and texted him instead. Hey, are you home? My mom said you left a coat at her place. I’m in the neighborhood, so I can drop it by if you’re there.

She could actually hear his phone chirp through the door. A few seconds later, she got the response. You don’t need to do that! I can swing by and pick it up later if you don’t want to go out of your way. Or you can bring it to work. Thanks for the offer!

He ended his text with a smiley emoji, and she spent much longer than necessary trying to decipher what that meant. Was he genuinely just worried about her taking a special trip? Or was this part of his efforts to avoid her?

She considered making a run for it, but she suspected Mo wouldn’t let her back into her apartment unless he was certain she’d told Max the truth and would theoretically no longer be a danger to herself or others. Before she could lose whatever shred of nerve she still retained, she shrugged out of his coat (admittedly reluctantly), lifted her hand, and rapped briskly on his door.

He opened it a few seconds later, his face a mask of surprise. “Zoey? Wow, that was…really fast.”

What she meant to say was, “Hey! Like I said, I was in the neighborhood.” What she actually said sounded like, “Hey, Ma-nipples.”

He was shirtless again. Didn’t he know what that did to her self-composure? To her ability to string a coherent thought together? Granted, it wasn’t exactly fair of her to blame him. He’d had no real reason to know she was lurking outside his door when she’d sent him that text. But still.

He looked adorably awkward as he lifted one hand to run his fingers through his wet hair, trying to get it in some semblance of order. She’d apparently caught him coming out of the shower. So he was standing in front of her both half-naked and damp? Good. Lord.

Oblivious to her sudden struggle for air, he explained, “Yeah, sorry. I just got back from the gym. I didn’t realize you were coming by.” He hesitated for a moment and then asked, “Do you want to come in?” As she stepped through the door, he looked over his shoulder like he wasn’t sure if he should go grab a shirt. Or like he wasn’t alone.

She stumbled to a halt, her heart seizing in her chest. “Oh, god. You’re not busy, are you? I mean, if you have someone here -”

He cocked his head to the side, throwing her a confused smile. “No, of course not!” Glancing down, he leaned in, his hand reaching towards her. “Oh, I should –”

His face was moving closer to hers, and Zoey’s brain backfired. This was it! The moment she’d been waiting for! Her little MaxBot and ZoeyBots had traversed the maze, avoiding homicidal staplers, menacing balloons, and boiling vats of coffee (and, after tonight, actual bursts of fire that she might as well program in when she got home), and it was finally time to do the thing she’d fantasized about all week! Success!

Completely forgetting that she was holding his coat – and that she hadn’t actually gotten around to confessing her feelings yet – she lurched forward, convinced he was about to initiate a kiss. A kiss she fully intended to reciprocate. The most perfect first kiss one could ever possibly imagine, she was sure.

Instead, in her haste and panic, she missed the mark. Instead of a romantic first kiss, she accidentally semi-headbutted him, her lips landing somewhere in vicinity of the air below his chin. He jerked back in surprise, causing her to lose her balance and stumble forward, stomping on his toe.

“Zoey! What was that?” he yelped, hand cupped over his nose, as he hopped on one foot. Is it broken? Am I bleeding?” She was too horrified at herself to respond, so he pulled his hand away to check for blood before throwing her a bewildered look. “Did you come over here to headbutt me for not being able to hang out lately? Because I really have been busy.”

“What?” she protested. “Of course not!”

He must have seen the misery on her face, because his grimace melted into a soft, reassuring smile. Clearly struggling to hold back a wince, he asked gently, “Okay, then, do you want to tell me what this is all about? Trust me. You have my undivided attention.”

She clutched her hands in front of her, trying to stop them from trembling, and tried to find the words to explain. She found she couldn’t look him in the eye and form a coherent thought. His lips also seemed a little too daunting. His chest was…nope. Still bare. She wasn’t even going to attempt it. Fixing her attention to a spot roughly around his Adam’s apple – that seemed more or less safe enough – she tried to remember part of the elegant speech she’d prepared earlier in the week to tell him how she felt. The only thing that came to mind was “You Max” and she’d already discovered first-hand how insufficient that was to get the job done.

Taking a deep breath, she plunged forward. “I’m…not very good with people. I think we both know that. The only thing I’m really good at is programming! And so I just thought…if I could get the Zoey-Bot and the Max-Bot through the maze…”

Even she could tell she wasn’t making any sense. His Adam’s apple moved as he asked, “The…Max-Bot? I-I don’t…You want me to build some-”

“No. That’s not what I’m trying to say.” Staring at his neck wasn’t helping, so she squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to pull herself together. “I’m trying to say that I took your advice and I talked to my mom.”

Silence fell between them for a few seconds before he replied gently, “Oh. Well, that’s good! Isn’t it? What did she say?”

She opened her eyes, meeting his unflinchingly. “She said…after she met my dad, she could spend the rest of her life running from the way she felt about him, trying to protect her heart. Or she could take a chance that she might lose him one day, and cherish every moment they were lucky to have each other along the way. The good days and the bad, as long as they were together. She said that you can never know the future, but the happiness she found when she chose to take a chance on my dad, when she chose love, outweighed all the pain. Even the pain of losing him.” She had said that, no matter how much it would hurt to lose Zoey’s father, she would never, ever regret loving him.

Max didn’t move. Didn’t speak. As far as she could tell, barely breathed. So she took a tiny step towards him and confessed, “And Max…I promised I would be honest with you, so I will. I’m still scared. And I don’t want to ever lose you. I don’t know how I could bear it. But I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you…a long time ago. Even though I was too scared to admit it to myself. And, who knows? Maybe I never would have if it weren’t for my superpower. Maybe? What I do know is that being with you…it makes me happy. So I’m – I’m choosing love over fear. I’m choosing you. I mean, to be with you.” Her courage depleted, she finished lamely, “I, I mean…if that’s…if that’s still what you want?”

He reached out, trailing fingertips down her arm until she released the death grip she hand on her hands and took his in hers. Her skin felt cold and, she was afraid, probably clammy. But she could swear he was trembling, too, and it wasn’t just her. “What I want? Of course it is! Zoey, I’m not trying to push you into anything. We don’t have to go fast with this! I know you’re scared about what might happen. I’m scared, too. I don’t want to lose you, either! It’s why I didn’t tell you how I felt for so long. But I also know that when I think about the future – my future – I want you to be in it. And that’s worth taking a chance on. I don’t mind taking this slow, as long as we’re doing it together.”

Her breath escaped her with a whoosh, as she felt the tension drain from her shoulders. “Really?”

“Really,” he responded reassuringly, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “As long as you promise Manipples also isn’t going to be my new nickname.” That elicited a laugh, so he suggested, “I have an idea. Why don’t I…put on a shirt,” his mouth curved into that boyish grin that she loved so much as he gestured vaguely at his chest, “and then we can watch a movie together.”

“I’d like that,” she replied, rocking up onto her toes as she returned his smile.

“But first, if you don’t mind…could we try that kiss again?” At his surprised look, she smiled sheepishly and explained, “I’d like to be able to say that I managed it without nearly sending you to the hospital. I made a promise to Mo, after all.” Plus, it was pretty mortifying that he hadn’t even been aware that’s what she’d been attempting when she nearly knocked him out.

“Yeah, of course,” Max breathed, tugging gently on her hand to pull her forward. Stepping into his embrace was like coming home, she realized, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down towards her. With one hand resting between her shoulder blades and the other at the small of her back, he pulled her tight against him. Zoey closed her eyes as she savored the feeling of his lips as they brushed softly against hers once, then twice. She parted her lips and heard him groan deep in his throat as he deepened the kiss.

She thought she could stand there in Max’s entranceway, kissing him forever, but he finally gave her one last, tender kiss and pulled away, pressing his forehead against hers. “I love you, Zoey,” he whispered.

“I love you, Max,” she breathed in return.

[spierfics]

Hdjdkd your fics make me so happy oh my gosbhdhe, but i had a silly fic idea. Basically, a spiderman/love, simon au? Doesn't matter which boy is spiderboy? Thank you again, for sharing your writing with us!! Your writing is so sweet!!

Over the Clouds - Spierfeld Fic

If Bram had known taking AP Chemistry would involve getting bitten by a radioactive spider; one which gave him super strength, insane reflexes, a sixth sense and the ability to shoot webs; Bram would have simply taken Physics.

But Bram had gotten used to the craziness by this point. It had been almost two years since the incident occurred, and more than a year since Spider-Man became a public figure.

The first few months were the toughest, especially since he had nobody to talk to. He had been afraid to speak to Garrett after he’d nearly rendered him unconscious with a pass on the field. The soccer ball had hit Garrett so badly that the school needed to call an ambulance.

Bram quit the team that day.

But Garrett wasn’t someone who quit on his friends, showing up at Bram’s home every day to make sure he was alright. Eventually, Bram told him the truth. It wasn’t like he could hide it forever, especially from someone who was as involved in his life as Garrett was.

“This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Garrett said in complete awe when he’d first seen what Bram could do.

“Well, I’m still crap at everything,” Bram shrugged. “Not really a hero,”

“You’re not a hero,” Garrett replied. “You’re a fucking superhero,”

“Oh my god, did you read the latest article on Spidey?” Abby squealed, scrolling through her phone frantically.

Simon barely registered what she was saying, having been momentarily distracted. Bram Greenfeld had just entered the cafeteria.

Sure, Simon had been obsessed with the masked vigilante earlier in the year; but he’d given up on the idea of ever meeting him, let alone imagine a romantic scenario with the two of them together.

Simon wanted to focus on someone more real, and the way that adorable boy smiled at him sometimes made Simon forget that anyone else other than Bram existed. His crush on Bram had started a few months back when he and Bram were selected to help show new students around.

There was something about him, an aura, that he had a secret too. A part of himself that he couldn’t share with everyone, but he wanted to. It was something Simon couldn’t shake off, and since that day, Bram Greenfeld had been on his mind.

“Si! That woman he saved from the condo fire the other day, said she heard him up close and he sounded like her son. She said he sounded like a kid, not a man!” Abby nearly yelled, pulling Simon out of his thoughts.

“What’s your point?” Simon said, finally tearing his attention away from the table across from them.

“That he could be our age!” Abby rationalized. “He’s not necessarily a man, he could just be a regular kid like us,”

“What kind of kid would give up his everyday life to go around saving people?” Leah imposed, “You don’t think people around him would figure that out? Like his family? Or his friends?”

“Not if he was good at keeping secrets,” Abby replied back. “Come on, Nick. Back me up,”

“Hiding such a massive part of your identity from everyone you know,” Nick thought carefully. “Nah, that’s impossible,“

Simon tried his best not to roll his eyes.

It was way past midnight when Bram finally arrived home, way past the curfew he’d set for himself on school nights. It had been a quiet day, for the most part, there was one mugging and three cats in trees that were successfully taken care of.

Then there was the robbery, on a local grocery shop near an intersection. Bram had run into some trouble there, but Bram left that guy unconscious and tied up outside the store for the cops to find. So all in all, it ended pretty well.

Bram mentally checked his agenda, recalling that he’d managed to finish his Math homework during lunch, which he ate on a non-operational crane. His acrophobia was quite a battle in those early days of training, but he’d gotten control over his fear now. The sights he’d gotten to see were some of the most beautiful in his life.

Thinking of beautiful things, Bram’s mind casually drifted to one person; Simon Spier. Bram had only spoken to him a few times, through their common friend, but never on an individual basis. Bram wished he had the courage.

He scoffed out loud. Bram swung from building to building on a daily basis. He had run into burning apartments and physically fought men with guns. But nothing scared him more than having a conversation with his crush.

‘This is why there aren’t any teenage heroes,’ Bram thought to himself, flinching as he took off his suit.

Something was wrong.

It’s been a week since Bram had come to school, and although Simon had not-so-casually brought it up in a conversation with his friends, he hadn’t gotten any answers. He built up the courage, or stupidity, to go ask Garrett who always was by Bram’s side.

“Um, hey, Garrett?”

Garrett looked up from his phone, momentarily confused since they’d hardly ever spoken to each other, but then offered Simon a huge smile.

“Spier! How are you?”

Simon hesitated before sitting down opposite Garrett, he was certain that he wasn’t on a last-name basis with Garrett, who often called his team-mates by their last name. 

Regardless, he seemed like he was in a good mood, and Simon realized that Garrett probably didn’t care about why Simon was asking about Bram.

“I was just wondering…” Simon said in a small voice. “I haven’t seen Bram for a bit. Is he okay?”

Garrett eyed Simon suspiciously as if he were trying to analyze his intentions.

Simon cursed himself, knowing that asking would be a mistake, Garrett was going to find out and he’d tell Bram and then the entire school would…

“Bram pulled something on the pitch a few days ago, and it still hasn’t healed up,” Garrett finally offered. “But I’ll let him know you said ‘hi’,”

“Oh no! No, I was just worried because we’re partnered up in this Chemistry project together and I just hadn’t seen him…” Simon trailed off as he got up.

The thing was, both boys were lying to the other. And both of them knew it. Nick had told all of them that Bram had quit the team a while back. And Garrett knew Bram had vowed to never take another Chemistry class again in his life.

Garrett went to visit Bram that afternoon, sitting at his desk as Bram rested in bed. It was tough seeing his friend like this, knowing that he could do nothing to help him other than cheer him up.

A few days back, ‘Spider-Man’ had interrupted a grocery store robbery, and he must have been distracted because he came back home with a gunshot wound in his arm.

Apparently, he’d been feigning illness a little too well, and his mother let him take a few days off of school. Garrett was tasked with bringing Bram his assignments and a bunch of medical supplies.

“It’s looking better,” Garrett said, eyeing the wound.

“Scrapes and cuts heal up fast, but I guess this one was a little deeper,” Bram replied.

“That bullet nearly took your freaking arm off, and you didn’t even realize until you got home,”

“It was the adrenaline,” Bram explained.

“Aren’t your spider-senses supposed to defend you from that sort of stuff,”

“It did,” Bram defended himself. “That bullet was meant for my chest, I moved out of the way,”

“Fine,” Garrett surrendered. “Spier asked about you today,”

Bram immediately sat up in bed, staring at Garrett and urging him to elaborate.

“I don’t know! He was worried that you haven’t shown up all week, and then he wrote it off to some B.S excuse about being science partners or something,”

Bram couldn’t contain his smile, “I guess I’ll be back at school tomorrow,”

“Ok, Romeo. But remember, you can’t let distractions get the best of you,”

“I’ll try,”

He had a feeling this was going to be a good day, considering that Bram was finally back after his mysterious disappearance, and even offered him a smile as he sat down next to Garrett after lunch.

Their entire History class had a field trip together that day, and Simon was particularly excited since he and Bram were the only ones who knew each other in that class.

The bus ride wasn’t filled with too much entertainment, but somehow he’d found the courage to offer his seat to Bram, who kindly accepted. Bram was so easy to talk to, once they got past the initial shyness, the conversation flowed easily.

By the time they got to the museum, Simon felt like they were inseparable.

“Hey Bram, I think we’re going to head to the café in about twenty minutes…” Simon began but could see that Bram’s expression had suddenly changed.

“Did you feel that?” Bram asked looking around at nothing in particular.

“No,” Simon replied.

“Si, you need to get out of this building. Take as many people as you can with you, okay!” Bram said in a frantic tone.

Simon was momentarily frozen, not knowing whether he should focus on the random change in Bram’s demeanour, the weight of his words or the nickname that Bram had so effortlessly used.

Simon could barely catch his breath, racing out of the building and holding on to Bram’s hand. He didn’t know how Bram was running that fast, but before he knew it they were out of the building.

“It looks like Mr. Sykes got the class out,” Bram commented, counting the number of their classmates.

“What was that,” Simon asked, his voice shaking.

“I don’t know,” Bram answered, keeping his gaze on the upper floors of the museum. “You should join everyone,”

“What about you?” Simon asked, wondering why Bram seemed so preoccupied at a time like this.

“I’ll join you in a second. I’m going to look for some staff members and talk to them,”

“Why? Did you see something,”

“Yeah, I think I did,”

Bram found an abandoned corner of the building, which housed industrial-sized garbage containers. A perfect cover, and within moments Bram was suited up.

He walked back a few steps before slinging a web to the top of the building. He was sure there would be an entrance up there.

Surely enough, there was and as Bram carefully stepped into the building, he could hear voices. There were four men, definitely armed and Bram planned the entire fight out.

Within seconds, he climbed up on the ceiling, taking advantage of the one who was a lookout and knocking him out cold.

One seemed to be focused on a large piece of artillery, something that could have caused the explosion, while the other two seemed to be looking at blueprints. Bram decided to go after the two, knocking their heads together in one go.

The last one turned around in a panicked state and fired his handgun at Bram. He managed to dodge them without much effort and managed to swing the gun right out of his hands. Another web pulled the final criminal towards him, and Bram used the leverage to kick him down into unconsciousness.

Tying up the criminals was always the most difficult part, as Bram always worried one would wake up and move around, but the four of them were wrapped around a pillar within ten minutes.

Bram shook his head, why couldn’t he have one day off.

Next, Bram checked the main floors for anyone who wasn’t in the building and then exited the museum.  He took a moment to address everyone in the crowd, ensuring them that they were all safe, and he’d taken care of those who were involved in the crime.

“Please let the authorities know that they’ll find the four men in the northwest section of the enclave in the upper level. They’ve been disarmed and the artillery is military-grade. If anyone’s in serious need of medical attention, I can get them to a hospital right now,”

“We’re missing people!” Mr. Sykes called out to him, and Bram panicked before remembering he was a student too.

“How many people?” Bram asked, trying to deepen his voice.

“Two of my students. Bram Greenfeld and Simon Spier,”

“Simon?”

“Yes, and Abraham Greenfeld. According to some of my kids, Simon went to look for his friend,”

“And you let him?!” Bram yelled but caught himself in time before he went too far. “Sorry, I’ll go look for the two of them, just please keep everyone else safe,”

Mr. Sykes nodded, slightly backing away in fear.

Simon knew that sneaking into the building wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but he couldn’t imagine leaving Bram in that type of danger. Currently, he was stuck in an elevator, which had stopped working halfway through.

The lights were flickering on and off, and Simon was sure he’d heard gunshots. It was only a matter of time before someone found him, and it could mean either rescue or something worse.

It felt like forever before he heard another sound, and Simon wasn’t sure if he was imagining those sounds. Someone was calling his name, and he was ninety percent sure any criminals wouldn’t be on a first-name basis with him.

“Simon! Are you here?”

For some reason, Simon thought he recognized that voice, so he shouted back: “Bram! I’m in here!”

The elevator doors began creaking, and Simon knew there was no earthly way Bram could open those with his bare hands. And he was correct because it wasn’t Bram.

“Spider-Man?”

“Hey, are you alright?”

Simon felt like that the masked vigilante sounded eerily similar to Bram, but blamed it on the frantic situation he was in.

“Y-Yeah. I’m okay,” Simon stuttered. “Are you alright?”

Spider-Man seemed to be confused, and paused before saying, “Nobody’s ever asked me that before,”

Simon couldn’t see it, but he was sure that the guy beneath the mask was smiling at him.

“I’m gonna step into the elevator okay? And then I’m going to help you out. This elevator is stuck between two floors, so there’s a bit of a drop, but you’re gonna be safe, understand?”

“Got it,”

“Okay. I’m stepping in now,”

Spider-Man took a step inside and Simon could feel the structure shake beneath him; the hero beside him could clearly feel it too. Spider-Man carefully opened the hatch above them and seemed to be measuring the space mentally.

Then he offered his hand to Simon, who took it slowly.

“Just hold on as tight as you can, okay. And don’t look down,”

Simon wrapped one arm around his shoulder and the other around his neck, holding on as tight as possible. In a flash, Spidey shot a web up and Simon could feel himself being yanked upwards. He closed his eyes shut, but the sound of the crash was unmistakable. That could have been him.

When he felt his feet on solid ground, Simon finally opened up his eyes. He was clearly high up, higher than he’d ever been before. Looking down at the crowd below, he realized he was on the roof of the building.

“You’re okay,” Spider-Man offered him some comfort.

“Did you find Bram?”

The masked hero waited a moment before responding. “Bram?”

“He’s my…” Simon paused. “He’s my friend, the one I went back in looking for,”

“I wouldn’t advise doing that in the future,” the disguised hero replied sternly. “There was nobody else in the building, but I’ll keep an eye out for him,”

“Okay. Thanks for saving me and everything,” Simon said to him casually, “let me know if there’s any way I can pay you back.”

Simon was certain he had just made Spider-Man laugh, and he could definitely put that down on his bucket list.

After dropping off Simon with the crowd, Bram changed back into his regular clothes within a matter of minutes and raced back around the building.

“Bram!” Simon said, as soon as he saw him, running up and wrapping his arms around him in a hug. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m fine. I went looking for you,”

“So did I,” Simon replied. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bram nodded. “Are you?”

“Yeah, got into a little bit of trouble, but I got out of it just fine. Met Spider-Man,” Simon shrugged, sporting a shy smile.

“Oh?” Bram returned his smile.

“He’s not all that he’s hyped up to be,” Simon replied jokingly.

Arriving home, his mother greeted with a tight hug, refusing to let him go for a number of minutes. 

‘If only she knew’ Bram thought to himself. 

As the day turned into night, Bram went over the day’s events in his mind. He had an urge to swing on by to Simon’s house, in full costume, knowing that it was probably the dumbest thing he could ever do. Maybe this was why crushes and heroism didn’t mix well together, but Bram had to remember he was a teenager, and priorities were always muddled.

He paced around back and forth in his room, putting the mask on and off wondering who would impress Simon more. He knew the obvious answer was Spidey, but Bram had a feeling that he and Simon had gotten off considerably well throughout the day. Simon had actually gone looking for him, and that had to mean something.

He almost missed the knock on his door, and barely had time to shove the mask under his bed.

“Honey?” Bram’s mom opened the door an inch. “There’s someone here to see you?”

“Garrett?”

“Nope,” Bram’s mom replied mysteriously.

Bram walked down the stairs and was pleasantly surprised to see Simon in his foyer.

“Si?” Bram said, walking up to him, face riddled with confusion. 

“Hey, Bram. I-I wanted to see how you were doing, after today,” Simon shuffled in place.

“We can step outside,” Bram offered, wondering if Simon wanted to talk alone.

They sat together on their front porch, and Simon tried to keep his breathing under control. He had no idea how he’d built up the courage to do this, but he knew he had to.

If his experience today had taught him anything, it was that nothing was promised, not even the next moment. Today could have ended very differently for him, for Bram, and for everyone there. And he knew that someone wouldn’t always be there to save them.

He needed to let Bram know the truth.

“I like you,” Simon blurted out as soon as they sat down.

“What?”

“I know that sounds fucking weird to hear, and I don’t even know if you like guys, or let alone like me…but I could have died today and I realized that I couldn’t let a day go by without letting you know that…”

“Si?” Bram interrupted.

“Yeah?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I like you too. A lot,” Bram replied.

“Oh?”

“And if it’s okay with you, I’d really like to kiss you,”

“That’s more than okay,”

Bram carefully leaned in to close the distance, closing his eyes in time. He felt the gentlest movement against his mouth and Bram felt his heart skip a beat. Simon was kissing him back.

Bram wanted to stay in this moment for as long as he could, but he knew that this one act was going to change everything. This was going to be another person who he’d either be keeping a secret from, or to whom he’d be confessing a heavy truth. This was someone who’s safety could be used against him. Someone with whom he would fall in love.

But Bram pushed away those intrusive thoughts, giving his all to the kiss. At that moment, he decided, nothing else was going to matter. No bad guys, no overbearing stress, not his secret identity; nobody existed outside of the bubble of himself and the boy in his arms.

There would come a time where he’d have to trust Simon with everything, and Bram had an inkling it would turn out fine. After all, Simon owed him one.

[thrashton]

Soaring light (elu, chapter 3)

Name: Soaring Light Fandom: Skam france Pairing: Lucas Lallemant/Eliott Demaury Tags: assassin!au, falling in love, angst, hurt/comfort Summary: Don’t get attached, do not engage in any physical contact… The list of rules were long, but Lucas had never been the one to follow orders. In fact, he might have broken all of them in just a week, all because of the piercing blue eyes staring at him from the assignment in his hands, and the charming, mysterious boy they belonged to. Chapter summary: Lucas thinks Eliott forgot all about him and watch Pirates of the Caribbean a few too many times to pass time.

prologue and chapter one&two can be found at the soaring-light tag at my blog, just click on the tag on this post. tumblr don’t wanna show my post in the search tag if I put in links… and on ao3 with the username thetimeisnow)

- Chapter 3.

When Lucas was 19, he met an older man at the bar. The man was dressed in a long, dark coat and a colorful hat and caught his attention in a second, mostly because of the odd choice of clothing.

The man waved Lucas over to his table, introduced himself and asked what he did for a living. Lucas found nothing weird or uncomfortable with the man’s behaviour, and he was also a bit tipsy.

The man told him he had been at the bar across the street, where Lucas worked at back then, a few times and had seen him him work, interact with customers and dealt different situations in a way he found fascinating. Lucas had never seen him before, but he did love compliments.

He had then asked him what he’d do for money, for a stable life. Lucas had, of course, laughed said anything because honestly, that’s how he felt at that point; had a low-pay job he hated and had to move within two months.

That night, Lucas had slipped a pill into an old man’s drink, having no idea what the pill did. A day later, he saw an article online about the strange death of the same man, and another day passed before he got his first contract sent with the post. He had put two and two together immediately.

After that, there was no way out. At first, he’d been terrified at every police car ringing in the distance, and as he receive his first reminder of his next mission, he realised the old man probably had proof he killed the guy at the bar and he had no other choice than to continue.

But as time and missions went by and he realised he wasn’t going to get caught; he grew comfortable. He was one of his boss’ best employees and well respected in their community. It was rare, for such a young age, he’d been told multiple times.

Therefore, Lucas had no idea why he went around, nervous like a man about to be hung (or something, but that reference was all he could think of after watching all the Pirates of the Caribbean movies three times to keep himself occupied) waiting for Eliott to text him.

Which he hadn’t. It had been four days.

He was scared at first, that he’d get in trouble with his boss, but he had been contacted by his right hand, a middle aged, rich woman from the more beautiful parts of Paris, and she told him that his boss understood the Eliott Demuary case was special and could take time. He had gotten an offer to change contract, but he nicely declined.

No one else could touch Eliott, except for him.

Two days after the bar, he had gotten a new follower on instagram. And nearly fell off the bed. He hesitated for around five hours before finally following Eliott back. He watched the video of his face a few (fifty) more times, considered writing him a DM, but then Yann slapped some sense into him and told him he had to pull himself together.

Lucas was sitting in his couch, phone upside down on his right. On his left side, a few pills were laying nicely on a folded paper. The easiest thing would be to find him in an exposed situation like before; at a bar, a club, a restaurant. The pills took between five hours to one day to work, depending on how many he slipped in the drink. They dissolved with first touch of water and didn’t taste anything which made them very easy to slip into whatever Eliott would be drinking.

He would rather not watch him die. Maybe he should lock himself up for a week or two after poisoning him so he didn’t have to see any newspapers when Paris learnt their favorite model was dead. Lucas swallowed thickly. It would be fine.

Then, his phone buzzed. He was lucky no one was there to watch him, because he threw himself over it in an embarrassingly fast speed.

-

From: Unknown number

Hey

-

Lucas stared at the screen.

-

To: Unknown number

Who’s this?

-

Did he answer too fast? Maybe it was someone who got his number wrong. Maybe it was not Eliott.

-

From: Unknown number

Eliott. You know, the cute one?

-

To: Eliott

I’m not sure I know you.

-

Eliott could read sarcasm, right? Lucas bit his lower lip nervously.

-

From: Eliott

Funny guy ;) sorry it took so long to write. i didn’t know what to say-

-

To: Eliott

So you settled with “hey”?

-

Was he being rude? No. He was being funny, right? What if Eliott found him incredibly boring and decided he wasn’t worth answering?

-

From: Eliott

I’m creative like that. Do you wanna grab coffee with me?

-

To: Eliott

I don’t drink coffee. wanna come over for gaming?

-

Considering how much he’d been alone at home, playing stupid multiplayer games for a long time now, he had to show off his skills to someone.

-

From: Eliott

On the first date? ;) you could’ve just said so x

-

To: Eliott

NOT what I meant!!!!! Fine. Coffee!!

-

Lucas was blushing. And extremely happy no one was there to see it, or hear the shocked gasp that passed his lips as he realised his mistake.

-

From: Eliott

sure ;) two hours?

-

Lucas glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 11am now. Okay, that could work, he just had to shower, dry his hair, get it to stick in place, decide what to wear, cry for a bit, decide how he should kill the guy and preferably spend one hour yelling. It could work.

-

To: Eliott

okay. where?

-

From: Eliott

ill pick you up, be outside ;)

-

Lucas wasn’t a fan of the winky face.

-

To: Eliott

do you know where i live?

-

From: Eliott

haha lucas, be ready in two.

-

To: Eliott

you didnt answer, do you know where i live??

-

Lucas didn’t get any other answer. Great. Fantastic. He glanced down at the pills next to him. A few images flashed in his head from the guy he’d seen fall down on his knees two months back, his last kill. A middle aged white man who had gotten away with raping his own daughter. It was his ex wife, mother of the girl, who wanted him dead.

Lucas obliged. He didn’t even feel the slightest ounce of regret over kills like that, but he couldn’t understand what Eliott could have done to get a price that high on his head. Sure, Lucas didn’t really know the guy, but he still felt in his soul that Eliott could never be capable of doing anything like that. He had seen evil in the eyes of the men he’s killed, but Eliott’s eyes had no trace of it.

Maybe a rival? Someone who wanted his followers, his money? He surely had to be rich. For a rich person, the amount of money put on his head might not be too much. That was probably the case, Lucas thought, he was just overthinking this.

He hesitated a moment, but then he put one pill in a small plastic bag and put it in his pocket. Just in case he got a good opportunity to slip it into his coffee.

Eliott was just on time. Exactly two hours later, his phone vibrated on the table. Lucas was sitting, newly showered, nervous enough he feared his stomach was going to turn upside down and then he’d puke it out. Disgusting.

He stared down at the text.

-

From: Eliott

here

-

It was just one word, but he still felt like he was going to throw up. Okay, he could do this. It wasn’t that bad, it would be fine. It would be great. If he just managed to keep his heart inside his chest until he was downstairs, it would all work out. There was no good explanation to why his legs were shaking as he walked down the stairs, nor why he was sweating more than normal.

It was just a coffee. It was nothing. It was fine.

Eliott was standing, leaning back on the hood on, what Lucas assumed, was his car. A black, newer Audi model; just what Lucas expected from him. It looked fresh, and so did Eliott, hair a beautiful mess on top of his head, a black hoodie under a brown-ish jacket. He stood gazing up in the sky, like he was posing for a shot. Lucas stopped behind the door out, just to look at him for amoment extra.

Eliott hadn’t noticed him yet, he was tapping with his foot on the ground and if Lucas didn’t know better he’d say he looked nervous. Lucas swallowed thickly, giving himself a confident nod and opened the door to step out in the warm weather. Eliott looked up; a sweet, big grin spreading across his face and Lucas almost melted into a pile of despair on the ground.

Fuck. This wasn’t good. His stomach made him feel things that he wasn’t supposed to feel. Like, extreme fucking attraction. Pure, strong and annoyingly exciting attraction.

“Hey”, Eliott said softly.

“Hi.” Lucas stood in front of him, hands in his pockets.

“You look great.”

Lucas watched him for a little too long before replying. “Thanks”, he said awkwardly, “you too.”

Eliott just kept grinning as he gestured over to the door behind him. “Hop in.”

Lucas nodded, “so where are we going?”

Eliott fucking winked. “You’ll see.”

They drove in silence. Well, it wasn’t complete silence because Eliott was blasting loud, extremely horrible music. Lucas wasn’t going to say anything, though, everyone liked what they liked, but he was pretty sure his ears were going to start bleeding at any moment.

They left town, driving down an empty road towards where only empty fields would fill his sight for kilometers. He glanced over at the confident man next to him, one hand on the wheel and knee bouncing up at down in rhythm with the music. This was how people got murdered, Lucas thought, which was funny because he was the last person who should be be nervous about getting murdered since he killed people for a living.

Technically, if he brought a knife, he could just stab Eliott right there. No one would notice. If he burnt the body, took the bones and set the car on fire, he’d be good to go.

It would be a waste, though, because Eliott looked hot. Leaning back against his seat, sunglasses on, hair in a mess and singing along to the few words his terrible music was producing; Lucas couldn’t stop staring. He couldn’t understand how he went to the same school as this guy and never even saw him, or even knew this walking piece of art breathed the same, sweaty school air.

Eliott glanced at him and Lucas looked away. The beautiful sound of Eliott’s loud laugh filled the air and made his music sound even worse. What was even happening with him, why was he like this? Who was he?

What the hell was he doing to Lucas?

Eliott parked next to what looked like an empty barn, the first building they’d seen for a good fifteen minutes, but it was recently painted in a beautiful red color. Lucas thought he could hear the clinking of glass from inside. Eliott turned off the music and stepped out of the car without a word, and gestured Lucas towards the front of the building.

“What’s this place?”

“The best café in France”, Eliott said proudly.

A few cherry trees were randomly placed on the short side of the building, and outside the barn door, a big, white dog was lying. He lifted his head lazily when he saw them arriving, but made no effort to greet them more than a slow wag of his fluffy tail. Lucas loved dogs. Just the sight of the beautiful white giant made his heart skip a beat.

“That’s Maxie”, Eliott pointed, “he’s supposed to be guarding but he’s not very good at his job.”

“He’s adorable”, Lucas grinned, “hi, buddy.” He ran his fingers through the soft fur. The dog closed his eyes and huffed out a breath. “What breed is this?”

“Slovensky cuvac”, Eliott replied, “or something like that.”

Lucas was sure his eyes were shaped like hearts as he glanced up at Eliott. “Wow. Okay, what does this place got to offer?”

Eliott opened the big wooden door. Lucas threw a last glance around the beautiful landscape, the big, empty fields and the slim dirty road leading up to the bar, before entering.

The inside was just as impressive. Another big, white dog was sleeping under a weirdly placed chair just next to them as they stepped in, and in front of them, what looked like an old stable without horses, showed the way to another door. The walls were filled with old paintings of women in dresses and men in armor and surrounded by beautiful nature, and a few paintings of animals. He recognized racoons, cats, foxes and a few unidentified species, but they were cute either way.

Eliott pointed towards one of them. “I painted them.”

Lucas raised his brows, “really?”

The proud smile on his face told Lucas he was absolutely telling the truth. “Yep!”

“They’re good”, he said, nodding encouraging.

“You think so?” Eliott asked, his voice genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, absolutely!” Lucas agreed because it was the truth. He’d definitely buy one. “Maybe you can make me one.”

Eliott stopped mid step, watching at him closely. Lucas shifted, thinking he said something bad. “What?”

“Hedgehog”, Eliott said and laughed softly, “that’s what I’d make you.”

Lucas raised his brows. “I’m a hedgehog?”

Eliott huffed, “yes. I’ll paint you something and you’ll see. Now, come on!” He grabbed Lucas arm, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and ran down the old stable. Lucas felt like a disney princess, and he was absolutely loving it.

Behind he next door, a small, cute café opened up. With only five tables, Lucas realised this was probably only for the need-to-know-guests, and not just anyone. A third, big white dog of the same breed was lying under one the table, raising his head when they entered. He barked. A deep, loud sound.

To the left the counter was placed, different buns and creations were piled up to show off the different options to eat. Footsteps were heard, and a blonde head looked out through the door leading in to what Lucas guessed was the kitchen.

“Eliott!” the lady exclaimed happily and hurried around the counter to greet them. “It’s good to see you! Didn’t hear you come in, dogs didn’t react!”

“They like me now”, Eliott laughed and hugged her. “Lucas, this is Alison. Alison, this is Lucas.”

The blonde beauty, Alison, grinned at him with white teeth. She reached up and kissed his cheek “Hi! Nice to meet you. Are you the boyfriend?”

Lucas stared at her, stuttering out an embarrassing whiny sound. “Wha- no. No, I’m not- what? No.”

She laughed loudly, holding her hands up in defense. Eliott was grinning too. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. What can I get you?”

“Hot chocolate”, Lucas said dumbfoundedly.

“And two cheesecake, lemon. Please?” Eliott gestured towards the table for two closest to the big window the room. Lucas sat down without another word, which was probably for the best since he was incredibly talented in embarrassing himself.

Eliott filled a glass of water and followed him, sliding down on his chair and resting his face in his hands. God, what an actual angel sent from heaven, Lucas thought, how was he going to kill this guy? Just as the thought passed through his head, Eliott excused himself to the bathroom and left him alone. Lucas stared at the water glass in front of him.

Just slip the pills in. They’ll dissolve, no one will ever know and he’d be dead within 24 hours. Just put the pills in, get the money and forget about Eliott Demaury and his stupid, perfect smile and his soft hair he so badly wanted to run his fingers through.

Just slip the pills in the glass.

But Lucas couldn’t. He could only stare, stare for how many minutes it took for Eliott to come back in the room, give a half-hearted greeting and sit down again. Lucas continued to stare at the lost opportunity and did his best to ignore the growing lump in his throat.

“So”, Eliott smiled, bringing his attention back to reality, “tell me about yourself.”

[reddielibrary]

Still The One

Secret Santa: Katie | @kaspbrak-eddie

Gift for: Elmo | @ellomello16

Special Message: Merry Christmas to the sweetest member of the fandom! I hope you enjoy this lil fic and I hope you have a good day, ily ♡♡

Word count: 6,789

*click title to read on AO3

Richie Tozier had never considered himself to be a wildly successful person. In school, he’d always been above average but had never been the top of his class, putting little to no effort into homework and exams but still managing to maintain mostly A’s and B’s. It may have been impressive, sure, but he had never been exemplary, and he prided himself in that. The slight apathy he felt for his schoolwork still yielded the same outcome that most of his friends and peers could only barely achieve through long, arduous hours of intense reading, writing, revising, re-revising. He didn’t bat an eye at assignments his classmates lost countless hours of sleep over. School had always come easily to him, as most things did. He was an incredibly charming man, never failing to make even the most stuck-up assholes crack a laugh every once in a while. 

Humans he had never taken issue with, he felt most comfortable in social situations and threw himself into them head-first every opportunity he had. Meaningful human interaction, on the other hand, deep, personal, one-on-one connections, well that was one of the few items on the list of things in life that made Richie uneasy. And he had a string of failed relationships to show for it, one that was longer than a suburban mother of six’s grocery list. Richie had simply never been able to connect with anyone on that profound, meaningful level that everyone talks about--that his partners talked about feeling with him. He had simply always felt like there was something missing, something not right. It felt as if something--or someone--was pulling him away, but if there was one thing he was sure of, Richie Tozier knew that he had never been in love.

Eddie Kaspbrak, on the other hand, had. Countless times. He fell easily, and when he did, he fell hard. Lamentably, he had a nasty habit of falling for people who could not even come close to reciprocating the love he gave--the absolute, irrevocable adoration that could only come from someone who aimed to please. The household Eddie had grown up in had been built around his mother’s intense, all-consuming need to be needed. Eddie had never known her as a rational person, although he supposed she probably had been at some point in her life. To Eddie, she was overbearing, almost dictatorial. Everything he did had to be passed through her first, and she approved of almost nothing. After years and years of the constant hounding, the unremittant whining and worrying, Eddie had learned that it was easier to just let her have her way, and he’d carried with him this skill of always striving to please. And he was damn good at it. It affected every part of his life as an adult, relationships with friends, with significant others, but most importantly, it made him incredibly good at his job.

He was passionate about his career--he threw every part of himself into his work, and he loved it. Although the work was unceasing, exhausting, it was a good outlet for his energy, especially when the same tendencies that made him great at his job had a propensity to affect his relationships negatively. Everyone he’d ever dated had had one of two problems with him--either Eddie was too clingy, fell in love far too quickly and let it overtake his entire personality, often morphing it completely to become more appealing to his partner. That, or they fought with him constantly about being work-obsessed, stating that he spent too much time away, or even when he was home, that he was distant, thinking about work; they complained about his going above and beyond to be the best, never supporting him the way he needed. By the time he was in his late twenties, Eddie had decided that he was done with relationships. He was exhausted and completely fed up with pouring his endless love and energy into people who didn’t champion his goals and applaud him for reaching them. In his memory, he had never had someone like that, someone who he could be himself with, someone who wanted him to be his very best. And he assumed he probably never would.

It was a Wednesday morning when Richie had gotten the call at 7:45, jolting him awake abruptly from a deep, heavy sleep. He groaned and patted around blindly for the phone on his nightstand, brushing his sleep-kinked, floppy hair out of his face as he did so. “Tozier here,” he grumbled into the phone, his voice thick and deep.

“Rich! It’s me! Get your ass out of bed, you lazy piece of shit!”

Still half asleep, Richie groaned, “The fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m just kiddin’ buddy. But seriously. Great show last night, you were fuckin’ hilarious!”

“Yeah, Steven. You always say that. That’s what you’re supposed to say, you’re my manager.”

“Yeah yeah.” Richie’s manager, who doubled as his best (read: only) friend, pushed on, ignoring Richie’s humility, “So the guy from SNL called back finally. You’re golden, baby. They want you to come out next week to audition.”

Richie’s eyes shot wide open, he was definitely awake now. He scrambled for his laptop on the floor by his bed as he replied, “Steve-O are you serious? If you’re fucking with me right now I’m gonna drive to your house and murder you.” He opened his laptop hurriedly to check his email, first reaching over to the bedside table to grab his glasses, sliding the thick, bulky lenses over his eyes to bring the world back into focus. Once he got his email pulled up, he desperately refreshed the browser, clicking the ‘get mail’ button incessantly.

“Bro, I can hear you clicking from here. Relax, I haven’t sent you anything yet. I’ll get it to you once I put everything together, I literally just got off the phone with the guy.”

Richie sighed. “Steven, you really are a genius. It’s happening!”

“It’s not me, Rich, it’s all you. And I always told you it would, have I ever lied to you before?”

Richie chuckled, rubbing at his eyes, pushing his glasses up to his forehead, still in disbelief, “Stevia, baby, you lie to me all the time.”

“Hush now. You know when I do it’s just for your own good. Alright, well, I’ll let you get back to sleep… Or back to whoever is in your bed right now.”

Richie mock gasped, “Are you accusing me of having premarital sex? You know I’m waiting until marriage, Steven, sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh shut up, Richie. Goodbyeee...” He dragged out the last syllable as he audibly pulled the phone away from his face and hung up, his voice trailing off as the microphone was drawn further and further away from his mouth. A few minutes later, just as Richie was succumbing back to sleep, his phone vibrated with an email containing his itinerary.

Eddie sighed as he lay down on a cot in the on-call room of the hospital he’d worked in for almost four years now. He was halfway through another long shift, it was almost 6:00 am, but he could at least take comfort in the fact that it was just a twelve-hour rather than a twenty-four. Eddie had always had a penchant for medicine, even when he was young. Growing up with a mother whose every waking moment was dedicated to her only son, Eddie had been the target of her constant and unrelenting care. Although all of the illnesses she was sure Eddie suffered from had turned out to be fake, the excessive doctor visits as a child had made him extremely comfortable in hospitals and outpatient centers. As he’d grown older, he’d taken comfort in understanding his “illnesses,” and in doing so, he had begun to understand the source of them. He’d never been a slow kid--neither mentally nor physically--and at the ripe age of eleven, he’d realized just how his mother’s protection had hurt him, and he had vowed to leave her the very second he was able.

The only support system he’d had as a kid had been the friends he had made, who, after he’d left town for college, he had forgotten more and more about every single day. He was unsure if it was due to the influx of new information and experiences or something else, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t conjure up any of their faces in his memory, not even a single name. There was something there, he knew, something--someone--tugging at him. Something that panged in his stomach every time he walked past someone on the street with dark, frizzy hair, something he couldn’t put his finger on. There was the day in college he’d gotten reading glasses, and that night just as he was turning the light out, the sight of the frames laying on his bedside table gave him the strongest sense of déjà vu he’d ever experienced in his life, so much so that he had felt light-headed for a few seconds before regaining his composure. He had not slept well that night, dreaming of his childhood, blotchy and blurry, the only clear parts he could pick out in his head were a pair of impossibly thick glasses, beat-up black sneakers, scraped knees, and popsicles melting in the sweltering summer sun.

He’d been awoken by a panic attack in the early hours of that morning, something that rarely happened anymore, only when he had these dreams. These confusing, disorienting dreams. They were trying to tell him something, that he was sure of, but after years of having them, he was resigned to the fact that he’d never figure it out.

As he curled up in the cot in the on-call room to take a quick nap he thought of these dreams, hoping against hope that someday soon he’d understand what they meant.

As Richie boarded the plane at LAX at 5:00 am, he was so jittery that he could barely stand still. Most of it was from the four cups of coffee he’d already downed that morning in the Uber to the airport, but the rest was from nerves. He was nervous about the SNL audition, sure, but he was also nervous about something that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Something that was in New York. Something he couldn’t remember. He shook his head quickly to rid the thought as he flashed the cute, young flight attendant a small smile, pushing his glasses up and turning to look down the long airplane cabin and find his seat.

He didn’t get much done on the flight, too distracted to think straight, his mind running a million miles an hour. Immediately after he sat down he pulled his laptop out of his backpack, searching for the hours of SNL footage he’d downloaded to watch on the way in hopes it would ease his nerves. He lost himself in the footage, even laughing out loud at some points. He’d lost track of time, but about halfway through the first episode he’d started, he felt a tap on his shoulder and pulled his bulky headphones off, knocking his glasses askew. Fixing them quickly, he looked up.

“Sir, we’re taking off. You have to put that away until the pilot gives us the go-ahead to get large electronics back out.”

Richie nodded and hastily shut his laptop, stuffing it in his bag and slouching down in his seat, looking out the window as the plane taxied the runway slowly. The take-off was excruciating, his seatmate asked him to stop bouncing his leg at least four times, having to speak up over the mechanical, monotonous roar of the engines. He apologized profusely each time, only to be asked again a few minutes later, not even having noticed that he’d started again. Once the electronics light above him lit up, he grabbed his laptop again and tried to relax, doing breathing exercises he’d learned from a school counselor while he was in college to try and ease his anxiety. It worked somewhat, and the five-hour flight raced by quickly. Once they’d landed, he rushed through the airport carelessly, almost mowing down a few toddlers on his way to the exit; airports always made him uneasy, too many people, he always felt overstimulated. As he made it to the arrivals area and found the driver he was told would be waiting for him, he broke into a near sprint, running up to the unexpecting man out of breath. “Hey,” he took a heaving breath and gestured in between the sign and himself, “That’s… That’s me. I’m Tozier.”

“Hello, Mr. Tozier. Pleasure to--”

“Just call me Richie. Please.”

The man nodded solemnly, “You got it, Richie. And is that the only bag you brought? I was told you’d have a suitca--”

“Oh, fuck!” Richie exclaimed in a hushed yell. “Be right back!” He took off, loping through the crowded baggage claim area, his backpack swinging behind him.

Richie managed to find the baggage carousel fairly quickly, and his bag was--by some fucking miracle--one of the first up. He grabbed it and rushed back to the driver, who was chuckling quietly to himself. He unzipped the suitcase to retrieve his winter coat--something he hadn’t needed in years since he’d moved to California. “You ready to go now?” The driver asked kindly after Richie had thrown the old, worn coat over his shoulders and zipped it up tight.

Richie nodded and extended the handle on his beat-up suitcase to wheel it behind him. The ride to the hotel Richie’s manager had booked for him took about an hour and a half. The hotel was in the middle of the city and traffic was, as always, an unbelievable nightmare. By the time they arrived there, it was just after noon, and Richie was starving. The car pulled up to the curb and waited as Richie paid and pulled his suitcase from the trunk. He shot the driver a two-fingered wave and turned around. Right into a shorter man, a man who looked to be around his age. He donned a set of blue scrubs shrouded by a thick parka that went down to his knees, his chestnut hair was tousled and frizzy under the hood, the guy looked exhausted. “Hey, can you fucking watch where you’re walking? Fucking touris--” His voice was cut off as he looked up to glare at Richie, and all of the breath left his lungs.  “Do-- Do I know you?” His eyes went soft as he let the hood fall off the back of his head, looking up at Richie, his gaze tracking quickly back and forth over his face.

“I don’t… uh. Maybe? You look kinda familiar…” Richie trailed off, pulling his suitcase in closer to his legs in order to avoid the looks of antipathy from passerby.

“Sorry, you just…” the guy shoved his gloved hands in his pockets nervously and took a deep breath, his exhale condensing in the air in front of his cheeks, flushed from the cold. “You look like someone I used to know… I think. I don’t know. Sorry, have a nice day,” he said as he quickly turned on his heel and hurried off down the street.

Well that was fucking weird, Richie thought to himself, I could have sworn I… He shook his head to clear the thought from it, he needed to focus. As he checked into the hotel, he couldn’t help but be slightly absent, his mind running circles, distressing over the audition, but also blindsided by the strange interaction on the street.

Eddie huffed as he replaced his hood on his head, tucking his chin into the jacket so that as much of his skin was shielded from the cold as possible. You’ve gotta fuckin’ stop with this, Eddie. The dreams… they don’t mean anything. He’s just a dude in glasses. Nobody. Focus. Forget about it. He sighed, quickly weaving through the slow walkers on the sidewalk and darting down into the subway tunnel, taking the stairs two at a time, grateful for a break from the incessant wind. When he got home and went to sleep, he had the same dream as always, but this time it was clearer than it had ever been.

The audition went fine, not as well as he’d hoped, but Richie wasn’t worried about it, he enjoyed his job in California; although Los Angeles did seem a bit lonely sometimes. He was glad to be heading back to Maine for the week to spend Christmas with his parents, who he hadn’t seen in over ten years, always too busy building his career to make it back home. This was the first year since he left for college that he was finally able to take a few days off and be home again. He thought about his childhood as he packed up his hotel room from his quick, three-day stay, pondered why he could remember hardly any details from that period of his life at all--not even the name of his best friend.  

He’d run around with a bunch of kids in those years, but there was just one. He knew there was always just one. The one that he wanted to spend all of his time with, the only one he still had any semblance of a memory of: band-aids, tears, cheeks flushed a darker red than Richie had ever seen in anyone--or had ever seen since. The one thing he remembered from his childhood, clear as a bell: the tinkling, warm laugh that echoed from his friend’s freckled, pink lips. The laugh he’d spent his entire childhood and adolescence doing anything and everything to elicit. The reason he still enjoyed making people laugh, why he’d made a career of it. He smiled to himself as he puttered around the room, his mind distracted by all manner of things, the man from the other day all but forgotten.

He gave one last look around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything then rolled his suitcase out the door behind him. The drive to the airport was slower this time than it had been three days before; snow began to fall about halfway through the drive, covering the city in a layer of pristine, sparkling powder. Richie watched out the window as the car blazed past skyscraper after skyscraper, his breath fogging up the window.

By the time he got dropped off at the airport, the snow hadn’t stopped, in fact, it hadn’t slowed at all. It looked as though there was a large possibility of his flight being grounded for the night, although he’d been refreshing his email every five minutes for the entire duration of the car ride, checking for news from the airline as well as from SNL. No news yet, so he strolled on in and through security quickly. He grabbed his backpack and tennis shoes from the scanner after they came out and sat in a nearby chair to put them back on. As he was slipping his second shoe on, a body plopped down next to him to do the same, dropping a pair of suede ankle boots on the tile floor with a loud slap. Richie could overhear him talking with someone on the phone frantically and snuck a peek up at the man. He was pressing his iPhone between his shoulder and his ear tightly, rambling so quick Richie wasn’t sure how he could get a breath between the words.

“I know, Ma.”

“Yes, I checked, it looks like it’s still going out.”

“It’s really not that bad, I pr--”

“Well, the news always exaggerates, you know th--”

“Yes, I’ll tell the pilot to be careful. Sure.”

“Mhm-- Yeah. Bye, Mom.”

He sighed loudly as he hung up the phone, dropping it onto the seat next to him then bending over to put his shoes back on. He chuckled quietly, “Sorry if you overheard any of that…” he said as he fiddled with the hems of his jeans, folding them just so and tucking them back under the tongue of his shoes, tying them up with the thin laces. He smiled over at Richie, who was still bent over working on the same shoe he had been when the other man had sat down.

“Hey… you’re that dude from the other day, aren’t you?” Richie asked quietly.

The guy screwed up his face, sitting back up. Richie followed, and he watched as realization fell over his features. “Oh my god, yeah. I’m sorry about that, I was just off a twelve-hour shift and…” he blushed and tried to flatten the hair on the back of his head, just long enough to show a slight curl. “And I was tired. But I’m Eddie.”

“Richie. Pleased to meet you, Eddie. Where ya headed?”

Eddie stood up, beckoning Richie to follow. “Bangor. You?” He asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“No shit? Same.”

“Oh that’s weird… I’d definitely peg you for a west coast type of guy.”

Richie laughed, warm, loud, “Ah, yeah. I’ve lived there for almost ten years. Born and raised in Maine though, baby,” he said, pushing his glasses up on his nose as his laughter yielded a snort.

“Don’t call me baby,” Eddie snapped. He’d always hated being called baby, although no one he’d ever dated had used the pet name; it stemmed from something else. It wasn’t his mother, as she favored more cushy pet names for him: Eddie-bear, muffin, sweetheart. Someone else had called him baby, had used it so many times. Why couldn’t he remember? The only thing he had left of the name were the feelings attached to it: the pain, the sorrow, the grief.

Richie put up his hands defensively, “Sorry ‘bout that, it’s a habit.” He checked his watch, there were still two hours until the flight was due to start boarding. “You on the same flight as me? The 4:45 one?” Eddie simply nodded in response, looking over at him with warm eyes. “Wanna get some food? I’m fucking starving.”

Eddie, in turn, checked his phone for the time and shrugged. “Sure, what did you have in mind?”

“Well I don’t know about you, but dat Chili’s 2go really hits the spot pre-flight, it’s an absolute delicacy.” Eddie laughed, a sound that made Richie’s head spin, made his heart ache. He beamed, “Letsa go!”

Eddie shot him a smirk, “You know Chili’s doesn’t serve Italian food, right?”

“It does if you order the spaghetti,” Richie quipped with a laugh.

After wandering around for ten minutes only to discover--to Richie’s utter dismay--that there was, in fact, no Chili’s 2go in their terminal, they settled for a little bar that wasn’t too busy, sitting down in a corner booth in the warm, dimly lit restaurant. When the waitress came over, Eddie immediately ordered “the biggest glass of red wine you guys are allowed to serve.” As she walked away, Richie’s eyebrows shot up at him, above his glasses and into the mess of his hair.

Eddie shrugged, “I fuckin’ hate flying. Plus, it’s an airport, everyone is allowed to drink here at any time of the day, right?”

Richie chuckled, “If I got drunk I’d spend the entirety of the flight trying to get you to let me blow you in the tiny airplane bathroom.”

Eddie’s mouth hung open in horror, “God, that’s fucking disgusting. Is everyone like this in California? Do you guys not have germs there?”

Richie winked, “Sorry.”

“So, anyway, what were you doing in New York?”

“Well, uh, actually… I was auditioning for SNL,” Richie said nonchalantly, looking down at his water glass and taking a small sip of it through the straw.

Eddie raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling in the soft light of the restaurant. “That’s cool, what the hell?”

Richie shrugged. “I do a lot of stand up in LA, my agent knows a guy who knows a guy.”

“That’s so fucking cool.”

Richie nodded, “It was terrifying though. Did you know they don’t laugh when you audition? Like at all. They’re not supposed to.”

“God, count me out. I can’t even make old people laugh. And they don’t have the internet, they don’t see any jokes.”

Richie smiled, “Maybe that’s ‘cause they’re just distracted by how cute you are.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie replied, stifling a grin as his cheeks turned a dark, warm rouge. Richie’s heart nearly stopped beating at the sight.

They finished their meal with more expository conversation and slightly less dirty talk, although it was admittedly not much better. Eddie’s cheeks slightly flushed from the wine, Richie’s cheeks sore from smiling, they wandered to their gate quietly. “Well, we’ve still got like an hour…” Eddie yawned as he checked his boarding pass, looking around at the gate numbers ahead of them. “Ah! Over there,” he said, pointing to a sign that read 35, the area underneath already had some people milling around it.

They found a set of chairs that was as secluded as you can really get in an airport and they both sat down, depositing their bags and coats on the chairs on either side of them. After a few seconds, Eddie looked over and nudged Richie, who was rustling around in his backpack. “Will you. Uh. Would you watch my stuff if I nap for a little? I can’t sleep on planes, but I’m fucking exhausted.”

Richie nodded, zipping up his backpack after having retrieved a book from it. “Sure thing, sweet cheeks.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “Don’t… call me…” he was interrupted by another yawn, this one bigger than the last. “Whatever.” He pulled his knees up in front of him in the chair and reached for his coat, covering himself in it completely; only his head poked out above the thick fur that lined the hood. “Wake me up before they start boarding, I’m in the first boarding group.”

“Damn, how’d you swing that?”

He looked up at Richie, his eyes already half-closed with sleep yet still somehow managing to shoot daggers, “Printed off my boarding pass in a timely manner.”

Richie raised his eyebrows, “Well alright, just call me out for poor time management.”

Eddie nestled further into his coat, closing his eyes completely, “Mhm. Night, Rich.”

Richie’s heart soared at the pet name, his stomach fluttering with warmth. He smiled to himself as he looked over at Eddie, already breathing evenly next to him.

After about forty-five minutes, Richie was abruptly pulled from his book by an announcement over the loudspeaker that their flight would be delayed by at least an hour. He folded down the corner of his page and set his book aside, turning to look at his still fast-asleep neighbor. His voice low, he placed a hand on Eddie’s shoulder softly.

“Hey. Eddie,” he whispered, pressing his fingertips lightly into Eddie’s arm.

Eddie stirred, but not enough to move or even open his eyes, “Mmm?” He grumbled, curling up under his coat even more than he already was.

Richie kept his voice at a whisper, “Flight’s delayed. Another hour.”

Eddie murmured some sleep sounds, balling his fists up in the fur of his coat and wrapping it around his sides. “Good. Hndhdon’t wanna,” he let out a long, deep exhale, “dohnwandjsee my mom ahneeway.”

Richie chuckled, “That’s okay, Eds.”

Eddie, almost fully back asleep now, leaned over the armrest separating them and rested his head on Richie’s shoulder, nestling his cheek into the soft material of Richie’s baseball tee.

“Dohncallmeethat,” he whispered on an exhale, and his next intake of breath was a sleep-gurgled almost-snore. It was Richie’s turn to blush, he stifled a smile as he recovered his book and opened it back up.

After another hour, Eddie began slowly to wake back up, his eyes fluttering and a yawn breaking his lips apart as he sat up, sloughing off the coat, now too hot under its insulation. He looked at Richie, his cheeks flushed slightly from the warmth and the sleep. “Uh. Sorry for… I didn’t realize… That I’d been sleeping on you… How long was I out?”

“Like two hours,” Richie replied, a grin on his face. “I bet they start boarding soon, the snow stopped a bit ago.”

Eddie attempted to keep another yawn at bay, “Thank god. My mom is gonna have a fucking conniption.”

“Yeah, you said something about her while you slept,” Richie said, looking down to make eye contact with Eddie.

His eyes flew open wide, panic on his face. “Fuck. What did I talk about? I have weird dreams a lot… Didn’t realize I talked during them. That’s.” He paused, running a hand through the hair that was kinked on one side from being pressed against Richie’s shoulder. “That’s great.”

“Oh, not much. You just said you didn’t wanna see her.”

Eddie looked relieved. “Oh. Well yeah, that’s not untrue. She’s… A lot.”

“Sounded like it. From what I overheard when you were talking to her on the phone earlier…” Richie trailed off, the PA system in their gate had turned on, a bored-sounding woman began to drone out their flight information.

“Boarding for flight XF56G to Bangor will start in the next twenty minutes, sorry for the delay.”

“Where’s your seat?” Richie asked, still looking at Eddie, now rifling through his coat pockets for his boarding pass.

“12G,” he replied, neatly refolding his boarding pass and tucking it into his pants pocket.

Richie hastily retrieved his, folded and nestled into the back of the book he’d been reading. “Dang it, I’m 23B.”

Eddie smiled snarkily, “What I get for being on time.”

Richie glowered over at him, “Whatever, a flight’s a flight. Sucks no matter what.”

Eddie shrugged, “I guess you’re right. Well, it’s been fun, thanks for not stealing my shit while I slept.”

“All I had to do was sit here and watch you look pretty,” Richie replied. “Wasn’t too hard of a task.”

“I swear to go--” Eddie started, but was interrupted by the call for boarding group A, of which he was a part. “Well, maybe we could, uh…” He cleared his throat as he stood up, folding his coat over his forearm neatly. “Maybe we could get drinks or something while we’re in town, I’m only about twenty-five minutes outside of Bangor… God knows I’ll need the alcohol.”

Richie smiled. “Me too, maybe we could meet in the middle. Now go, or you’re gonna forfeit your precious group A standing. Find you after the flight.”

Eddie nodded, turning around and hastily pushing past strollers and bags and masses of people to make his way to the desk, turning around to shoot Richie one last grin before he disappeared behind the door.

The flight was quick, not even two hours. Richie spent most of it reading and attempting to sleep, although neither was going very well at all. He was continually interrupted by snippets of memories, playing in his head like snapshots; popping up and disappearing like old, faded polaroids. Things from his childhood he’d since completely wiped from his mind; at first, it was his parents, yelling at him for breaking his glasses, praising him for his A averages, worrying at him for something that to him was still a cloudy and nameless entity in his head. A relationship, maybe, but he hadn’t dated anyone in high school. Hadn’t he?

Then came his friends; the treasure trove of memories that opened up the moment he began to recall them was immense, it was endless. Summers spent swimming at the quarry, the years when time had had no illusion of significance, no meaning at all. The group of them roving the entire town on their bikes as if they owned the damn place, building the clubhouse in the barrens, hiding out from their bullies there. He was abruptly ambushed by memories of those boys, the bullies who’d made his and his friends’ lives living hell until one by one they’d moved all out of Derry. These memories he’d packed so far away he wondered if he’d been paying the bills for the storage space these had taken up, they surely had not been in his head all this time.

He remembered his friends one by one, Bill first. Bill. He hadn’t had a name in years, hadn’t thought about his friends since he’d moved, every attempt had ended with him left more confused, with more details forgotten. God, had he adored Bill. The leader, the coolest one of all of them by leaps and bounds. Bill’s power over them had been unmatched, they had all loved him, stutter and all. He then remembered Beverly, cooler than Bill by all standards but their own for no discernible reason. He recalled her beauty, but more than that he recalled her biting wit, her fierce loyalty, her courage. He remembered the others too, nearly all at once. Stan, Mike, Ben, their faces came up in his mind as if he was looking at photos, as if he was watching the greatest hits of his life. They came crashing into the forefront of his mind like a shattered stained-glass window being reassembled in front of his eyes.

Just as the plane began its final descent, more memories came to the surface, ripping through the others almost violently, overtaking all of his other thoughts like brushfire and flooding his mind with nothing but Eddie Eddie Eddie. Cute cute cute. How he could have forgotten him he had not the slightest notion, but those years with Eddie came rushing back, and suddenly it was all he could do not to pass out. They came over him in a deluge, swarming in his head like bees and making him light-headed. Little Eddie Kaspbrak, little in stature but never in character. His friend with the asthma that had turned out to be nothing but a bad case of worrying. His friend who had carefully and meticulously cleaned up and bandaged his knee that one day he’d fallen from the back of Bill’s bike, the only one of them able to stay calm and level-headed through all of the blood, all of the pain. His friend with the too short shorts and the too big t-shirts. His best friend. The love of his life.

Richie felt the plane land, hard and fast, felt his seat underneath his legs jostle him around as they made a bouncy impact with the ground, the movement slowing down as they taxied to the gate. He was pulled from the cavern of his thoughts, he looked up and around the plane, searching for that warm brown head of hair he’d just spent so many years without. It had been ten years, but the next five minutes were due to be the longest of his life. The moment the plane stopped moving, Richie unbuckled and jumped up, joined by some of the other overeager passengers. And Eddie. Richie caught sight of the button nose as the man turned his head, his eyes desperately searching the overcrowded cabin for the boy he’d been in love with since before he even knew what love was. The smile that was on Eddie’s face, his eyes brimming with tears, communicated exactly what they were both feeling. The rush of emotions, the inability to wait five minutes even though they’d waited years already. Richie just stared back, unaware of what his face looked like, although he supposed he probably looked like a damn slack-jawed idiot.

They held eye contact until Eddie’s seatmate exited the aisle and followed the line of passengers off the plane. Eddie tore his eyes away and reluctantly followed, flashing an uneasy, impatient smile before he moved. Richie waited patiently--as patiently as he could, although patience had never been his strong suit. When it was finally his turn, Richie moved anxiously off the plane, following the mass of people in front of him who apparently felt that it was okay to walk as slow as physically possible. On the jet bridge, he began to bob and weave through bodies, trying not to push anyone but nearly mowing down a few old ladies, hobbling at an astoundingly low speed through the wide tunnel. The moment he stepped off, his eyes found Eddie, who was waiting patiently for him, bag and coat in hand. Eddie smiled as Richie approached, dropping his belongings on the floor to reach out to him. Their bodies collided solidly, Richie also cast his bag away, their things in a messy heap on the dirty airport floor.

Richie looked down, looked closer this time than he had before. “Eds.” He fixed his glasses on his face, as if unsure whether or not his eyes were betraying him. “Eddie.”

Eddie nodded, tears welling in his eyes. “Richie,” he whispered.

Richie reached his free hand to cup Eddie’s cheek, letting his thumb swipe softly back and forth across his high cheekbone, still as littered with freckles as it had been when they were fourteen. Richie could feel his eyes wetting as well and blinked a few times, refusing to tear his eyes away from Eddie’s, they were still the same warm, hazel brown with flecks of gray. Richie could feel Eddie staring back up at him, boring holes into his own crystal blue eyes, cast into an almost clear aqua by the brilliant afternoon sunlight reflecting off the snow outside, magnified by the thick lenses that sat in front of them. As they looked at each other for the first time in over ten years--really looked at each other--Richie could feel every single memory of them crashing over him like a tidal wave, crushing him and building him back up again, and he could see the hurricane raging on behind Eddie’s eyes as well. He remembered the long glances, the soft touches, the warm, summer sun reflecting off the water, shining on their wet hair and their wet arms, coaxing freckles out of hiding. The bitter winters, those memories still dominated by warmth, the campfires, the backseat of Richie’s truck with the heater all the way up, the two of them wrapped up under blankets in the same bed. The hot breaths and lingering touches, tingling, warm skin covered with goosebumps. The warmth coming to a crescendo, a blaze that had destroyed everything in its path, igniting their lives and incinerating everything within reach. The fight that had ended it all, and the cold that it had left behind. Replaced again with only longing glances out the back of car windows, driving opposite directions across the country.

Richie watched as Eddie lost his battle with the tears in his eyes, letting a sob escape his chest, beaming up at Richie as the tears began to fell. “It’s been… God, it’s been so long, Rich. So fucking long. And how did we-- how did we not...”

“I don’t know… It doesn’t matter though. Because we’re here. And we remember. And… I never told you when we were younger because I was seventeen and a fucking idiot. But I love you, Eddie. I have since the moment I met you, and… I don’t think I stopped, even while I couldn’t remember you.”

Eddie smiled, laughing through the tears. “I love you too.” Just then, Eddie’s phone began to ring in his pocket, vibrating between them. He pulled it out hastily, sighing at the screen and pressing it up to his ear. “Mom. I just landed, calm down. I’ll be there soon.”

“Yes, I--”

“No, it’s fine, I can--”

Richie chuckled softly to himself as he watched Eddie’s brow furrow, and he reached in his pocket to retrieve his own phone. He read through the few texts he’d missed, deciding to deal with them at a later time. He took a deep breath as he opened his email, refreshing it slowly, ready to see nothing. When it finally loaded, there were two messages. Both from his manager. With shaking fingers, he opened the first one. His eyes pored over the screen, barely reading the words, attempting to absorb the contents of the entire paragraph at once. He scrolled to the bottom quickly, not really retaining any of the text at the top. When he got to the last line, it said this: “I know you’ll have scrolled through this whole thing and not read any of it. So, here’s the deal…”

He looked up at Eddie, who’d just hung up his phone in frustration. Eddie’s eyes went soft when he caught sight of Richie’s face. “What’s up?”

“I did it, Eddie,” he said, exhaling a short, relieved laugh. “I got the job.”

[anotherlifefic]

Chapter 16: Bad Timing

The royal doctor's office was lavishly decorated, but not as much as the other parts of the castle I had seen thus far. And there was a quite deep pool of water on the northern end of it, close to the window. For a moment, I was confused by that, until I saw the doctor. She was a Zora woman with a kind and gentle face. Had I been forced to guess, I would have said she was middle-aged, judging by the slight wrinkles around her nose and forehead. She quickly rose from her seat when she saw me enter. „What's the matter?“, she asked, her tone slightly startled. The maid spoke for me as she lowered me on one of the chairs in the room. „Her Highnesses' esteemed guest, Mistress Rebecca, woke up with nausea and dizziness. I found her in her bathroom after she threw up.“ „Nausea and dizziness?“ The doctor raised her technically non-existent eyebrows. She then pulled her chair closer to the one I was sitting on and sat down, looking at me. „I will have to ask you some questions. Please answer them truthfully.“ „Of course“, I replied, wondering why she thought I would lie to her. „Okay. Did you eat anything unusual yesterday? Anything that might have been spoiled without you knowing?“ I tried to recall anything I ate the day before. „Not that I'd know of. The pantry in my home has a place where blue fire burns to keep the food fresh, you see?“ The doctor nodded in acknowledgement. „Did you go on any journeys in the past two weeks, to any place where you might have been exposed to any kind of illness?“ „About a week ago, I travelled to LonLon Ranch for my wedding. But everyone there seemed perfectly healthy.“ „Hmhm“, the doctor commented. „And when did you have your last period?“ I blushed and lowered my head. But then I thought about it a bit, and my head snapped up. „About six weeks ago.“ Now, the doctor leaned forward. „Is it possible that you might be pregnant, despite not having been married at the time of conception?“ My heart began to race. I wanted to have children with Link, but the timing couldn't have been worse. „Yes. I shared the bed with my husband several times before we officially got married.“ The doctor smiled. „Congratulations, then. I'm sure your husband will be happy.“ I placed a hand on my belly, as if I could already feel the little life growing inside of me. Would he be happy? After all, with this, there was one more concern for him while he really should be concentrating on saving Hyrule. The doctor returned to her desk. „I will give your assigned maid a herbal tea for you. That should help with the nausea and dizziness. Try to avoid stress as much as you can. Short walks in the royal garden might prove beneficial to you and your child, but do not over-exert yourself. And make sure that your clothes keep you warm enough. If you feel yourself become tired, take a short break and then return to the guestroom. Oh, and you might want to keep a bucket next to your bed, just in case.“ „I will“, I said and stood up, staggered a little, and then gave her a slight curtsy. „Thank you for your time.“

I returned to the guestroom after that, sitting down on the bed and staring at the ceiling and stroking my stomach. Now that I had the chance to calm down, the reality of the situation began to sink in. I was pregnant. Link's child was growing inside of me. I looked over to the nightstand, where a tray with food had been left for me. My breakfast. There was a nice selection of foods one couldn't normally buy on it. The bread was lighter and fluffier than any bread one could buy in the city, and it came with slices of meat and cheese of the highest quality. Princess Zelda really made sure that her guests were taken care of. But my stomach was still way too upset for me to eat anything, even though I was also very, very hungry. A little later, the maid came in, carrying a slightly smaller tray with a teacup filled to the brim with the herbal tea. „There you go, Mistress. Drink up.“ I smiled. „Thank you. And I'm sorry for startling you earlier.“ „Oh, do not worry about that, Mistress.“ She smiled and placed the small tray with the tea on a table close to the window, before leaving. I got up and sat down at that table, taking tiny sips of the tea as I was looking out the window to the road. Some day, no matter how far off that would be, Link would come riding up that road. And I... no, WE would be waiting for him. I tried to imagine his face when I told him the news. Would he be happy? Worried? Maybe both. My gaze wandered farther, across the rooves of the city to Hyrule Field, where LonLon Ranch was. I felt a pang of sadness as I thought of Malon. Oh how I wanted to have her with me right now... she would know how to cheer me up. Judging by how far the sun had risen by now, she was probably already done with her morning chores and was now taking a break, eating cheese and bread and drinking milk. I wondered if she was thinking of me. Maybe I should write her a letter, I thought. But I couldn't go down to the city to send it from the post office, and I did not want to bother any of the royal couriers. They had more important messages to deliver than mine. I felt much better once I was done with the tea, and so I decided to take a little walk in the castle gardens, like the doctor had told me.

I asked one of the servants to take me to the garden. It was autumn now, and the leaves on the trees were all shining in bright shades of red and yellow as I walked in between neatly groomed bushes. The guards patrolling the garden had been informed of my presence, so they acknowledged me with polite nods, but did  not pay much attention to me otherwise. In spring, this garden must have been even more beautiful than it was right now. Still, I felt a deep calm fill me as I walked over the paths to a small part where obviously few people besides the gardeners ventured. It was just as well maintained as the rest of the garden, and yet seemed a little more humble. The small garden was enclosed by the castle walls on three sides, with the only open one being the one through which I came in. Along the walls was a small stream, and in the middle was a flowerbed with bright asters and chrysanthemums. On the wall opposite to the entrance, a platform led up to a window through which one could watch what was going on in what I assumed to be the throne room, judging by what little I could see of it. Then my gaze was drawn to the figure sitting on the stairs of the platform. Fine clothing, and long blonde hair. Princess Zelda. I was about to turn around and leave, feeling like I had stumbled into a place I really shouldn't be in, when she noticed me. „Rebecca.“ I turned to her and curtsied, as always. „My apologies, Your Highness. I accidentally ended up here while taking a walk; I did not mean to bother you.“ It was odd to see the noble Princess sit on the stairs like a normal woman from the city. She smiled and patted the spot next to her. „Come, sit down with me.“ I slowly walked over to her and sat down, making sure to sit on the cloak I had wrapped around me so I wouldn't get too cold. „I was just taking a break from my duties. Call me irresponsible, but I always insist on taking at least a one hour break every day.“ „Understandable“, I replied. Princess Zelda looked over to the flowerbed. „Beautiful, aren't they?“ „Yes, very much so, Your Highness.“ We were both quiet for a moment. „Your maid told me that you had to go see the doctor this morning. Is anything amiss?“, she politely inquired. I blushed and lowered my head. Hadn't the maid told her? „I'm... I'm pregnant.“ The Princess let out a soft, but audible gasp. „Pregnant? Are you quite sure?“ „As sure as I can be.“ Again, I put my hand on my belly. „I'm honestly not sure how to feel about it. Sure, I'm happy, but...“ „I understand“, Princess Zelda said and gently put her hand on my shoulder to comfort me. „These are scary times.“ There was conflict in her eyes as she looked at me. A strange mixture of resignation and... pity? „I'm so sorry“, she told me. „So... so sorry.“ I looked at her with my mouth open in surprise. „Your Highness.. what are you apologizing for?“ She sighed and looked at the flowerbed again. „I'm sure that by now you already guessed that I also have... feelings, for Link. Feelings I cannot act upon. As the Princess, I have certain duties, and one of them is to pick a spouse who would have the ability to really help me with governing the country. And Link... He's a warrior, not a politician. He's used to fighting and travelling. And he wouldn't be happy being confined to the castle, having to deal with nobility.“ She buried her face in her hands. „But I couldn't stop thinking about him. So I thought... maybe if he were married to another, and thus completely unavailable to me, I could finally get him out of my head. So I pushed him to rush into marriage, despite the better judgement of everyone involved.“ She sniffled. I found myself reminded of the many times Malon had to comfort me after a fight with my parents when I was still a child, so I did what Malon had done back then as well: I hugged her. „Please don't cry, Your Highness. I do not blame you for what you did, and I'm sure Link won't, either.“ She accepted the hug, and leaned her head against my shoulder. „You must think that I'm so pathetic.“ „Not at all“, I assured her. „I understand how your heart aches, Your Highness. I'm the one who should be sorry; I never meant to hurt you... or anyone.“ „Of course you didn't.“ She sighed. „Thank you for listening to me. I really needed to get this off my chest. When Impa was still around, I would talk to her about things like this, but now... well, up until now, Link was my only confidante.“ Then she smiled at me. „That might be sudden, but I have come to consider you a friend, Rebecca.“ „Really? That's very kind of you, Your Highness...“ „Zelda“, she said. „I don't like it when friends use my title. Just call me Zelda.“ „Zelda“, I repeated, as if I was sampling the taste of her name on my tongue. She chuckled. „Just like that. And this child...“ Her hand wandered to my belly. „If they are anything like their parents, I'm sure they will have a lot of friends, as well.“

In the following days, I took a lot of walks; always at the same time, so Zelda and I could meet up in the garden and talk. She told me about the seven years she spent disguised as a boy named Sheik, and how she helped Link in his quest. In turn, I told her about my childhood in the city, how much I missed working on the ranch, and how worried I was about Link. During one of these talks, she told me:„I just had the kitchen staff order some milk from LonLon Ranch. Malon should deliver it in two days. Who knows, maybe she'll take some time to talk to you.“ I grinned and hugged Zelda. „Thank you so much!“

[matronaa]

Jungkook “fuckboy?” drabble

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 1,637

Genre: Fluff/mentions of smut?

Okay look its about 1 in the morning while im writing this and i just got done literally scrolling thru @jungshookz  e n t i r e page and honestly ive been delusionally laughing over her stories for like an hour and a half like the tattooartist!jungkook fic legit killed me i love it  and i’m probably going to force my friend to check her out because legit i love it so much and she seems like such a funny person and if she sees this 1) ily and ur writing and i wanna be friends but idk how to start a conversation because im a awKwARd bEan and 2) im sorry for probably spamming ur notifications with likes okay i couldnt help it so now im inspired for the first time in a while to write but im way to loopy to put together an actual fic so enjoy this ig

Okay i should stop rambling (okay just note that im so sleep deprived that i had to google ‘words for excessive talking’ to remember the word rambling because im an idiot and i cant think and ooo its 1:11 am rn make a wish b*tches)

Okay im sorry ill begin~

A/n all of this is completely unedited and if bad grammar annoys you srry not srry

Lets talk about what fuckboy!jungkook is oki

I feel like in reality there are just a bunch of rumors about him but hes so smol and hes the quiet type so he doesnt have the energy to dismiss them

Like im sorry soft jungkook is way to good in my mind rn okay #cuddles4days im not in the mood for him to strangle me with his amazing biceps

Anyway

you never rlly met him in the 4 years of going to the same highschool as him (since you’re in those smart people classes like humanities) until senior year

You and him had the same AP Lit. class lmao english class is  l i t

Which surprised you bc of the rumors like i thought he was a badboy ?? arent those normally idiots ??

Nah my bby is a smart nugget, he just likes to look hella bf 25/8

First day of school cliche where you show up late to class and have to sit next to him because i  d i e  for those plots okay

But you dont know thats him because you’ve never seen him, so you’re confused on why most of the girls keep glaring at you

But soon enough you catch on and you’re like fml

And then the professor is like “where you are sitting is your assigned seating for the rest of the year” and you’re like f m L

He ends up introducing himself to you because i mean like table buddies

But hes really nervous because hes a cute little bean and you’re hella cute cuz lets be honest ur probably wearing like basic black leggings and a hoodie with your hood over your head to hide the bed hair you didnt feel like brushing that morning

Oh, just me? Okay…

He likes ur name because it rolls off the tongue and he thinks it suits you even tho he doesnt know you

Yet ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You dont really think hes a fuckboy because he seems so nice and he has the cutest lil bunny smile sEE

That is until after school u end up getting to ur locker late because u left something in one of your classes

And u see him pinning a girl against the lockers down the hall

And ur like well shit nvm

And u quickly get ur shit and go because das  a w k w a r d

But then he sees u run off and hes like awh crap i dun fucked up

A few weeks go by and u notice he barely really comes to class so u usually sit alone

On days he does come his chair seems extra close to yours and he’s basically smothering you

But u dont mind because he smells nice

And on the days he does come you get kinda excited because

1) you get a partner who doesnt expect you to do all of the work

2) this boy cute when he gets all intelligent

Ur  like “yes pls continue speaking about the essay we are writing that i have no idea is on because i kept getting lost in the sound of ur voice”

He notices when u zone out because you start staring at his lips when hes talking and he thinks its the cutest thing

One day u get assigned a week long project and ur close enough friends with jungkook to basically scold and force him to come to class all week

But only if he can force u to come to his house to work on it after school

Which you’re low key nervous of because ur going to a ‘fuckboy’s house’ by yourself

And u dont wanna do the dirty because ur a pure child haha not for long

But you agree anyway

And honestly even after the project is done (which you got an A on) you continue going over to his house because his bed is comfortable and he always has snacks

And his mom loves you

Like legit on days you dont go the next day you do she’s like “wheRE WERE YOU”

When the semester is over the professor lets you pick seats but you both enjoy each other’s company so you stay seated together.

finally ur at his house one day and ur just laying on his bed scrolling thru insta and he’s sitting on his bean bag in the corner on his phone and u look up at him and realise

Shit

You like him

Like a lot

And u mentally face palm because this was not supposed to happen

But it happened and you’re too far down the hole to climb out

Sometimes u end up napping at his house after school because his bed is more comfortable than yours and one friday night u wake up in his arms

And its like the best feeling ever

Its so warm and hes so cuddly hes like latched onto you

You stay under the warm blankets before you question when he even got in bed since he was playing video games before you fell asleep

And then his phone lights up and ofc you check it for him bc ur a nosey bitch

But not before you observed how adorable he was while he was sleeping

Nope not creepy at all

its his friend tae texting him (you didn’t really know his friends since you had different friend groups)

You check it and its smth like “stop staring at y/n while shes sleeping and reply u creep”

And you’re like w a t

So you scroll up and see that while u were sleeping jungkook went on a full rant on how cute u are and how whipped he is

And ur like holy fadoodles dis boy likes me

And so u decided to text tae like “this is y/n, does he actually like me”

Which turns into you both having a convo on how thirsty jungkook is until he wakes up

Hes like wtf r u doing and he snatches the phone and reads through your messages with tae while u like sit up to stare at him

And he’s still half asleep so it takes him to realise whats going on

“Omfg y/n i can explain-”

He starts rambling about how long he had been crushing on u and that he didn’t want to tell you because you seemed uninterested so he kept it a secret and never told anyone

And honestly he was freaking out because the onE tiMe he tells anyone that he likes you, you find out

But while he’s rambling you’re coming up with an excuse to text your mom that you’re spending the night at his house, so you just say he’s not feeling well and his parents are gone for the weekend.

Lmao she doesnt care she’s just like “lmao ik ur lying but have fun dont get pregnant”

Or Maybe thats just my mom idk

You have to shut him up by snatching his phone out of his hands and kissing him

When you pull away you’re just like “you talk too much lmao”

You explain to him that you like him too and u just get under the covers again and snuggle up next to him, and he wraps his arms around you

And you stay like that for a while before hes like “its late you should get home”

And you tell him you’re staying the night whether he likes it or not

And he is so down for that

But then you end up just spending the weekend there because why not his parents love you

And every night is just filled with cuddling, watching netflix, making out, late night snacks, etc.

Saturday night he gets a lil touchy and soon enough ur like straddling him and grinding your hips against his

But then he’s like “Ive never done this before��� and you c o m b u s t

Ur like aren’t you like the school fuckboy how have you not done this

And he tells you its all just rumors and hes too lazy to set the record straight

And you basically decide to take things slow that night since it was you’re first time too and honestly it was so cute

It wasn’t really steamy rough sex it was more soft fluffy love making that is filled with giggling and exploring and appreciating each other

That was definitely the night you fell in love with him

Which is big because you thought love was gross

The next day you’re cuddling and he’s like “you know ur my gf now”

And ur like duh

You start going on cute dates after that like going to cafes or amusement parks

He loved taking you to the beach during the summer because u looked gr8 in a bikini

You found out you were going to the same college with was fantastic, so you decided to rent an apartment together nearby the campus instead of living in a dorm.

Which normally you’d be against because moving in together so quickly ?? but you felt different like this relationship was going to last

UNTIL HE CHEATED

Lmao jk gotcha bitch

My baby is too pure and innocent to cheat

Well innocent until you both get into bed and then oh lord it gets steamy

He wants to experiment with like e v e r y t h i n g and honestly you were down

But ofc you set some boundaries.

There were lines he couldn’t cross

I mean sometimes he tried but you shut that down real quick

Overall your relationship was perfect and you couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend

I mean he brought you pizza rolls and dr pepper to ‘study dates’ how could you not love him.

Oml it took me over an hour to write this its like 2:30 am why am i awake anyway imma go to bed now, idk ur name jungshookz but pls write more fanfics i need more to read late at night okay gnite

[tinybibmpreg]

Day 63 // ft. Azarane, Christovao, Surath, and Brother Berrain

#89 / Truth

“Tell me what you want,” Arazane begged.

Then, for the first time in weeks, he received an immediate and truly honest answer, “I want my family to be safe.”

“Then why are you doing such risky things?”

“It’s my duty, Arazane. I’m sure you’ll understand someday.”

-

Christovao handed him a tea bag, and giving him a fake smile that didn’t reach his empty eyes, told him that it would help him with his morning sickness. Though he trusted his lover more than anyone else, as he took the offering, he was filled with a sense of dread. But he smiled back and thanked him, and silently resolved to take it to be tested for magic.

“Sir Yamega!” one of the other knights called for Christovao. “The king is riding out to the border to check on new evidence. He wants you to lead his personal guard.”

“Who has been assigned to guard Prince Arazane?”

“I have, sir.”

“Good.” He turned back to Arazane. “I’ll report back as soon as the King allows me, your highness.”

“Of course.” With a dip of his head, Christovao put on his helmet and left. As soon as he was gone, Arazane said to his new guard, “I need to visit Brother Berrain. Accompany me.”

“Yes, your highness. Are you ill?”

“No. I just need him to check something for me before he goes out to treat the afflicted.”

-

The little tea bag exploded on impact with the shimmering water in Berrain’s mixing bowl, and he and Arazane startled. Arazane had suspected that the tea would have some faery magic in it, perhaps something to make him forget Christovao’s involvement with the woods, but he hadn’t expected it to react to the minor barrier charm like that.

“Goodness, your highness, that tea was made entirely of magic. There’s not a speck left. Where did you get it?”

All he could do was stare at the once pale green water as it turned a deep blood red, symbolizing what was malevolent intent. Finally, he asked, words slow, “...Berrain, can I trust you?”

“Of course, Prince.”

“You can’t tell anyone. Not even my father.”

“I haven’t even told him that you’re with child,” Berrain assured. “Any secret you speak is safe with me.”

He hesitated, but then put a hand over his belly and replied, “Christovao gave it to me.”

“Sir Yamega? Why on Earth would he give you such toxic magic?”

“I- I don’t know what exactly happened that started all of this, or when it began, but he went into the woods. There was a faery, dying, I think, and he helped them. They convinced him to help them, and he’s spent the night in the woods. The plague on the people… Christovao is the one infecting people.”

“Did he tell you what’s wrong with them?”

“No. But he was disturbed by the idea of anyone cutting open the sores. He said it’s better for everyone to not know.”

“I’ll tell the others not to try it. Now that we know it’s faery magic, maybe we can work on a treatment… Don’t worry, I won’t tell them my source.”

Arazane nodded, grateful. “Berrain, do you know how we can help Christovao? He’s not even the same person anymore, and I’m afraid of what he’ll do if he gets exposed…”

Berrain clucked his tongue. “Claimed by the faeries. Not much anyone can do there. All the cases I’ve heard end in tragedy. Faeries are fickle creatures. If they get bored of something, they’ll get rid of it. Killing’s a sport to them, you know.”

“I know. I don’t want anything to happen to him… He was just trying to be kind, helping someone in the woods… Chris doesn’t deserve to suffer because of that!”

Going towards a bookshelf full of large, old volumes, Berrain pulled one out from the bottom. It looked ready to fall to pieces. He brought it to his exam table, and set it down. Carefully, he opened it, and began flipping through the pages. “Now, we know so little about faeries, and this is probably terribly outdated, but I’m sure I can find some way to help him. This book was outlawed decades ago, but almost everything we know about faeries and their magic, their culture… it’s all in here.”

God, he hoped that they would be able to help him. Arazane sighed, and let his gaze wander around the room as Berrain searched for the page he was looking for. Something caught his eye, and he looked back at the bowl. Instead of being a solid blood red, there was a white circle in the center. “Berrain? What does that mean?”

“Huh? Oh- Lord, what is that?”

“Blood is for malevolent intent, right?”

“White… White is benevolence. That’s strange, how can something be both at once?”

“Maybe it’s a typically malevolent spell, but prepared with good intentions?” He’d rather think that Christovao had given him a curse to help him instead of hurt him.

“Perhaps. Pity that detection charm is recent, or else I’d look it up in my books.”

It took awhile for Berrain to find the information they wanted, and when Arazane looked down at the book, he was greeted with eerie sketches of humans with hastily scrawled notes next to them. Most of the drawings were weeping or in the midst of violent acts, and one looked to be laughing even as their limbs were clearly depicted as broken. Next to that one, it simply said ‘emotion reversal. Pain = pleasure, sadness = joy, and so on, so on.’

“Contrary to popular belief-” Berrain started, jumping at the chance to explain something to a willing audience, “-claiming by faeries doesn’t cause random effects. This book documents the specific symptoms different people get. Of course, each case is different, and has their own mixture and severity… Ah, here it is! Is this how Sir Yamega is behaving, Prince?”

It was a sketch of an adult man, with the face scrawled out. Next to it, there was a glued on journal entry in quickly scrawled handwriting.

I visited the town of Hero’s Lake this winter, where I met with the wife of a farmer who was robbed on his way home through the woods. The man was accidentally thrown into a faery circle, where he lay unconscious all night. His wife told me how he gradually lost all of his emotions, until the only thing he truly desired to do was tend to his animals, so he could bring milk and eggs to the faery circle for them to eat. I attempted to cure the man with a purification spell, but with no effect. It is with great misfortune that I write that two weeks into my visit, the man committed suicide in his barn, where his wife and I discovered his body being pecked at by crows. I suspect it is because he was no longer providing the creatures with food during the cold months.

Likewise, I met the parents of a young girl who suffered from a similar fate on my travels. The faeries grew bored of her in a matter of minutes when she couldn’t provide any more amusement, and strung her up for the crows.

Those with no emotions are in great danger, as the faeries will become bored with them once they no longer need them. Any attempt to stop them from fulfilling their purpose can lead to the display of other symptoms. The girl’s father attempted to stop her from walking to the field where the faeries watched her dance, and she thrashed about, screaming as though in pain. She injured her leg in the skirmish, and could not dance properly, which led to her demise.

They would have to be careful then. Trying to stop Christovao from helping the faery wouldn’t work. Though it would mean the people would continue to be diseased, Arazane had to let him continue, lest he lose his lover forever.

“That’s exactly what happened to him.”

“Has he displayed any other symptoms? Can you tell what his last desire is?”

“I don’t think so, and he said all he wanted was to protect his family… But why would a faery have him want that? It must be to help the faery survive. Maybe it truly is sick.”

-

Every Sunday, Arazane’s father allowed the citizens of the kingdom to come and speak to the court, to make requests or ask questions. It allowed him to get to know the problems of his kingdom, and his father was a good man who always tried to solve the problems the people brought to him, lest they turn to the magicians and untrustworthy spells for help.

He always attended, and Christovao always stood guard. So he left Berrain to do more research, and returned home. By the time he arrived, his father had returned from edge of the woods, and Christovao was there to help him out of his carriage, offering a gloved hand.

Christovao nodded to the knight that had been guarding him, dismissing him. “How are you, your highness?”

“Well. I visited Berrain. He’s doing some research about the plague, and I wanted to know if he had anything I could tell the King.”

“Good. The King is expecting you in the throne room.”

The knight led him there, and Arazane took his place beside his father. The King leaned closer to him, and asked, “How was your outing?”

“I visited Brother Berrain. He believes he knows what’s causing the plague, and is certain it was not caused by dark magic, but he has to test his theory. He’s also going to warn the other doctors not to attempt to cut into any of the affected areas just yet.”

“Excellent. This kingdom doesn’t need another rogue magician. This is great news.”

It really wasn’t, but Arazane did not say any more on the subject. He sat back and watched his father talk. Everyone was relieved to hear that Berrain was once again making strides in his research, and a messenger went to spread the news and warning to the rest of the doctors, who were out tending to the afflicted.

“There is no need to shield your face in my court, sir,” the King said as a lone person walked up. They did not kneel as everyone else did. “Please, feel free to remove your hood.”

“Of course. Now, please do not fear, my good man. I mean no harm and come in good faith.”

It couldn’t be.

The person pulled off their cloak to reveal that they were none other than a faery. In all the years that the kingdom had stood, Arazane knew that not once had a faery ever set foot in the palace. There were barriers to prevent that, charms to ward them away.

But the faery smiled at them, insect wings stretching, long ears twitching. “Hiteran, I come to make a request.”

“I do not bargain with pixies!”

“No, no, this is no offering. I’ve simply come to retrieve something of mine. A person, who is very dear to me.”

His father glanced at him, and Arazane shook his head. “Faeries do not leave the woods to fetch people. They lure them in.”

“True, of course.” Something seemed off about this faery. In a way, he was familiar, though Arazane knew he’d never seen a faery in his life. “But this person is already claimed. He belongs to the woods. To me.”

“A personal claim?”

The faery nodded, putting his hands on his belly. “Yes. You see, I’ve come to retrieve the father of my child.” Arazane felt his eyes on him as he spoke, and he held back the urge to wrap an arm around his own belly.

“A human fathering a faery’s child?”

“Yes. It’s truly a miracle. The Ancients have smiled upon our union. We have sworn ourselves to no one but each other, and he has vowed to protect our child. I thought it would be considerate of me to inform you before he comes with me.”

Faeries couldn’t lie outside of the woods. Everyone knew that. Arazane felt like he was drowning as he realized who the faery was here for.

The faery snapped his fingers, and Christovao stepped forward, drawing his sword. He approached the faery, and instead of striking him, he got on one knee, the point of his blade pressed right in front of his foot like a staff. He bowed his head, and the faery smiled.

“Hello, Chris. It’s wonderful to see you again.” The faery crouched down and removed Christovao’s helmet. He let it fall to the floor, and took the knight’s face in his hands, angling it upwards. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Yes.”

[thegreatwhiteferret]

I Can’t Help Myself

Summary: Vic had died a little inside when Mrs. Banks had said his name after Tozier’s. It was no secret that the Losers Club had always been the bane of Henry’s existence. That meant that Vic was supposed to hate them too, and after taking beatings every time the Losers did something to thwart Henry, Vic had an overall discontempt for them. Richie Tozier more so than the others, for reasons that Vic never really let himself explore.

Pairing: Victor Criss/Richie Tozier

Rating: Explicit

A/N: Alright, cards on the table, Vic Criss does not get enough love. And yes, I know that he is a bully and part of the Bower’s Gang, but he is a wonderful character to play with and expand upon. This fic was requested by an Anon after I begged for something that would allow me to write a Vic Fic. I am so sorry that it took me so long, I got swamped with requests and lost some inspiration, but I am busting my ass to get it back. I hope that y’all like this and GIVE VIC CRISS A FUCKING CHANCE. (Also I really fucking love writing Richie Tozier, God damn.) 💖💖💖

NSFW Under the Cut...

“We will be having an exam on Antiderivative and Indefinite integrals next Tuesday. I will be assigning you study partners, now to keep you accountable, I will also be passing out a log that you need to both sign and you both will also be responsible for handing in all of your notes. That means that I will know if you haven’t met up with your partner.” Mrs. Banks instructed from the front of the room, she was met with the collective groans of sixteen high school seniors. She chuckled slightly at their pain. “I know, I know, I am just the absolute worst. This is what you get for taking AP Calculus.” She moved towards her desk and pulled out a list of names. Richie raised his hand and she nodded at him to go ahead.

“Mrs. Banks, is there a minimum amount of time that we have to spend with our study partner?” He asked, pushing his thick glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Contrary to popular belief, Richie was all business when it came to his actual classes. He and the rest of the Losers had been talking about all going to college in Boston for years, and Richie had his heart set on M.I.T.. Applications were due in a few weeks and he was not about to do anything to mess his chances up.

“Well Mr. Tozier, I would say that a good minimum to set would be two hours, because I know that you all have work for your other classes, but in all honesty, I think you should work with your partner until both of you are completely confident with your understanding. Who knows? You might enjoy your study partner and choose to work with them for the rest of the year.”

Richie nodded in understanding, he looked around the room to see who he might possibly end up with. His eyes settled on his best friend Stan in the desk next to him.

“Keep looking, Richie, you know there is no way she is going to partner us up together. Every teacher in this school knows that we have been friends since we were toddlers. They want variety in the pairings.” Stan muttered, without even looking up from his notes.

“Well that is just...homophobic.” Richie settled on and Stan shot him a glare that told him to cut the bullshit. Richie rolled his eyes and began looking around the room again. He was a little bummed when he first found out that he and Stan were the only ones out of the Losers who were admitted into the class, but he wasn’t completely shocked. Bill exceeded in English, Mike and Ben in History, Bev was all over art, and Eddie was taking all of the extra science classes that he could to prepare for pre-med.

As he looked around the room he was striked by the fact that although he had known all of these people since kindergarten, he didn’t really know any of them. He might be able to pull their names out of his ass, but anything more than that would be impossible. His eyes settled on a figure slumped over his desk in the back of the room, a shock of blonde hair falling into his eyes as he read through his notes. It was Vic Criss. Richie had been shocked to find out how intelligent he was, once the Bowers gang broke up a few years prior and Vic actually began to apply himself. No longer afraid of what Henry and Patrick would do to him if they found out that he was actually smart.

Then Patrick had been sent to a juvenile detention center somewhere in Kansas or another bum fuck state like that, a facility that could control his mental illness and prevent him from harming any other living thing. That had happened when Richie was a freshman. Henry had still tried to terrorize people, but without the resident psychopath, his threats didn’t seem so harsh. Instead of asserting his dominance over the entire student body, he took it out on his much smaller and weaker boyfriend.

Richie didn’t know the full story of what happened. He had heard rumors that Belch had been the one that saved Vic’s life, carried him to the hospital himself to receive help one Wednesday night in late fall when Vic and Richie were sophomores, but no one ever knew for sure. All anyone knew for sure was that when Vic had returned to school the following Monday, he looked like a train had hit him. His already pale skin was covered in painful looking bruises. He yelped everytime he sat down or moved too suddenly.

Belch became his bodyguard and escorted him through the halls, making sure no one touched him. Henry being the lovely human that he was blew up one day a week or so later, calling Vic a pathetic little slut who was too much of a sissy to take it like a man in front of everyone at lunch. Vic had run off in tears as Belch and Henry started swinging at each other. Eddie had been the one to follow Vic into the boys bathroom and held him as he cried, reassuring him that everything would be okay.

Richie wasn’t supposed to know about that. At least, he figured that Vic would probably prefer if no one ever knew. Eddie had told Richie in confidence, needing to get it off the chest, and Richie promised to never mention it again. He wouldn’t of course, Richie knew when to keep his mouth shut.

“Okay, then.” Richie was pulled out of his thoughts when Mrs. Banks cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention. She had found the appropriate list for the class, and Richie could vaguely see that there were two columns on the paper. “Let’s see...Mr. Uris, you will be working with Miss Bloom…” Stan groaned slightly, Pattie had had a crush on him for the last year and a half and refused to accept that he was in love and in a relationship with Mike. A few more names were read off the list, and then he finally heard his own. “And Mr. Tozier, your partner will be Mr. Criss. You have the rest of class to set a schedule to meet up. I’ll be here to answer any questions you have.”

Richie’s eyes drifted to the back of the classroom again and his eyes automatically found Vic’s. He tried to send him a polite grin, but Vic just nodded towards him a solemn look on his face, and dropped his eyes down to his notebook again.

Richie sighed, he had no idea how this was going to work out.

-

Vic tapped his pencil gently against the table in the library where he was sitting, waiting for Richie. Vic had died a little inside when Mrs. Banks had said his name after Tozier’s. It was no secret that the Losers Club had always been the bane of Henry’s existence. That meant that Vic was supposed to hate them too, and after taking beatings every time the Losers did something to thwart Henry, Vic had an overall discontempt for them. Richie Tozier more so than the others, for reasons that Vic never really let himself explore.

He was about to just give up on Richie ever arriving, he was twenty three minutes late already, but then there was a crash at the front of the library and suddenly a sprinting figure with black curls and an outrageously loud printed shirt was coming in his direction and sliding into the seat across from him.

“Shit...hi! Sorry I’m late.” Richie apologized, slightly gasping for breath. Vic shot him an unimpressed look and opened his binder, trying to locate the specific notes he needed. Richie eyed him as he did this. “You know that you’re going to have to talk to me right? For this whole study buddies thing to work, it’s going to involve talking.”

“I’m aware, Tozier. But thank you so much for checking in and making sure that I did. I appreciate it.” Vic replied cooley, his voice void of any emotion. It made Richie want to squirm in his seat, he didn’t like it one bit. Richie groaned, they needed to clear the air.

“Alright, Criss. Let’s get it over with, cards on the table. Why do you hate me so much?” Richie asked point blank, Vic lifted his eyes from his papers and stared at Richie for a moment, he groaned when he realized that Richie didn’t find his actions intimidating.

“I don’t. I don’t hate you.” Vic mumbled, it was so low that Richie had to strain to hear him. He shot Vic another pointed look. “Jesus Christ, what do you want me to say, Tozier? You know how it was. Our groups didn’t get along. It’s as easy as that. I don’t hate you, I don’t particularly like you, but I don’t hate you.”

“Well then…” Richie started, a wicked smirk crossing his face. “We will just have to change that, won’t we?” He let out a low chuckle, and Vic knew he was in for it. He wasn’t going to escape these study sessions unscathed.

-

The thing is, that when Richie sets his mind to something, he gets it done. It’s a fact that infuriated the other Losers at times. Last year when he had heard about the Women’s March in D.C. he decided that Bev had to be there to experience it for herself. Everyone shook the idea off at first, it was too expensive, too far, but Richie believed in himself and sure enough, he and Bev walked the streets of the capital wearing their pink pussy hats.

Vic was no different for him, he was determined to make the boy either like or hate him, preferably like. He couldn’t stand the neutrality of being in between.

The thing that was different for him was how surprised he was that he enjoyed Vic’s company so much. Vic was really intelligent, but in the way that he still had to work hard for his grades, like Stan did. Richie had always been able to walk in completely unprepared for an exam, and still pull a high grade.

Vic was also surprisingly funny, he didn’t even have to try. Richie really enjoyed finding that out about him, sharing hushed laughs in the library. They met after school every single day, long after the first test had come and gone. He really enjoyed their study sessions, although they rarely got much studying done. Vic was becoming a really good friend.

-

Vic wasn’t sure when exactly it happened. Somewhere in between mathematical formulas and stupid jokes, he fell for Richie Tozier.

He resisted for as long as he could, reminded himself of all of the pain that Richie had inadvertently caused him over the years.], but every time that he tried to get himself to hate him, all he could see was that goofy smile, freckled face, and his kind brown eyes hidden behind his huge glasses. He was so far gone for him.

He closed the door to his room, flicking the lock closed and dropping his backpack on the floor before throwing himself on his bed. He had just gotten back from one of his study sessions with Richie, and the bastard had licked his lips every five seconds, causing a familiar heat to pool in Vic’s abdomen.

He wiggled his jeans down his hips kicking them off and onto the floor. His flannel and t-shirt went next until he was laying in just his boxers and socks. He let the heel of his palm press lightly into his clothed cock, feeling how hard he already was. He raced to get his boxers off next, his cock springing free to curve up against his belly.

He squeezed a pump of lotion out from the bottle on his bedside table, and rubbed his fingers together in an attempt to warm it up, and then his hand was on his cock. Jerking in a slow and familiar rhythm. He closed his eyes and threw his head back into his pillows, moaning out at the feeling of his own hand. He thumbed his slit slightly, collecting the drops of precum that had collected there and let them mix with the lotion. He kept jerking up and down, flicking his wrist when he would get close to the head.

Images flashed behind his closed eyes. He imagined running his fingers through those messy dark curls, and pulling on them. God, he would pull on them so hard while Richie swallowed his cock. Then there were Richie’s fingers, long and slim, skilled from playing the guitar, Vic could imagine how the callices would feel against his delicate insides, fucking him open. His tongue, that sinful tongue. Vic wanted that tongue inside of him. In his mouth, God in his ass.

Vic could feel his orgasm fast approaching, his hand sped up, chasing release. He rubbed his thumb against the sensitive ridge under the head of the cock, just on the verge of painful, and then he let himself imagine what Richie’s cock would look like. Long and slim, but impressive, just like Richie himself. He jerked two more times before he was cumming. He felt his toes curl and his entire body spasm, spurts of milky white cum landing on his chest. He stroked himself slowly through it, before he fully collapsed onto his pillows.

Not even a moment later, he felt the shame kick in. Of what he had just done. He needed to keep control of himself. He couldn’t let this go on any longer, what if he slipped up at school? What would happen then.

-

A stray look and a small smile on his face. That was all it took for Vic’s feelings for Richie to be noticed by the worst possible person. Henry.

It happened at lunch. Vic and belch were sitting off in the corner where they always did, the Losers at their own table in the middle of the chaos. Richie had stood on the cafeteria table and started to perform what was surely the worst Irish step dance in history. Bill and Ben had tried to pull him down off of the table, but he was surprisingly strong and coordinated enough to leave them toppled over while he was still upright. The other Losers just shook their heads at his antics, Bev recording the whole thing on her phone.

Vic smiled at the sight. The sight of the happy boy that he liked dancing goofily on a cafeteria table. It felt like only seconds had passed before he was being lifted out of his seat and slammed into the floor. He gasped for air, head throbbing from impact. He looked up to see Henry, damn near foaming at the mouth above him. Belch moved to help Vic up, but Henry shot him a warning glance, the kind that told everyone that he would actually slit his former friend’s throat if he had the chance.

“ARE YOU FUCKING HIM YOU LITTLE FAGGOT?” He screamed down at him, Vic tried to scramble up to his feat, but Henry pushed him back down by his shoulders. “I ASKED YOU A QUESTION YOU DUMB SLUT. ARE YOU FUCKING RICHIE TOZIER?”

“N-no NO.” He stammered out, his chest felt heavy, like he couldn’t fully breath. He wished that he had his anxiety medication on him, but Henry never believed in those pills anyway and would have just thrown them away.

“What are you Stuttering Bill now?” Henry asked with a cruel laugh, he squatted down in front of Vic, he was so close that Vic could smell of stale cigarettes that clung to Henry’s tongue, and something else he knew all too well, beer. “I saw you smile at him Victor. You pathetic little fag, in love with a Loser?” Henry looked at someone behind Vic and sneered. Vic didn’t have to look to know that it was Richie.

“HEY BOWERS! Why don’t you leave him the fuck alone?” A voice called out, it was Richie’s, and it made Vic’s heart clench in his chest. Why couldn’t Richie just keep his mouth shut. Let Vic take this beating, and just move on with their lives.

“Why don’t you shut your fucking mouth, Tozier?” Henry spat, and his attention was back on Vic who had managed to stand up, but was struggling to keep his balance. “Does he know, Vicky? Does he know what a pathetic little slut you are, all the things you let me do to you? What you let me AND Patrick do to you?” Henry snarled, and Vic’s breath caught in his throat.

He hadn’t let them. In fact he had convinced himself that it was all a dream, that the pain that he had felt in his ass, like he was being torn open until he bled, was just a dream. They had gotten him drunk and high, just enough that he would be pliable, but not enough for him to black out, he honestly thought that he would have prefered that more, but then he wouldn’t have been able to feel what they were doing to him, and that was truly Pat’s kink. Causing people horrendous pain. Henry liked the dominating side of it, and that night he had. He had dominated Vic without his consent, and let his boyfriend be violated by his friend as well, at the same time. The painful memories came flooding back in Vic’s mind. He could feel the tears pricking his eyes.

“That’s right, Vicky. You remember good and well. He’s never going to want you, even trash like him wouldn’t want something used and destroyed like you.” That was the last thing Vic heard, because he was running again, he had to get out of there, away from him. He was tired of Henry tearing him down like this, in front of people, it was cruel. This time he didn’t just run to a bathroom and hide, he hightailed it out of the front doors of the school and just ran.

He collapsed to his knees once he reached the park, body overcome with emotion and unable to physically continue. Sobs began wretching themselves from his throat, tears flowing freely now. He hadn’t heard anyone behind him, but then he felt a hand touch his shoulder and he flung himself backwards, scared at the prospect of it being Henry, there to finish him off.

“Hey, I’m so sorry. Vic, can you look at me?” A soft voice said, and he whimpered at the sound, he knew that voice. It was Richie. He blinked back tears and turned his head to look at the other boy. Richie wore a concerned expression on his face, and he moved to kneel in front of Vic, careful not to touch him again. Afraid that he would spook him. “It’s just me, Vic. It’s just me.” He soothed.

Vic nodded, and tried to get control of his breathing, he moved closer to Richie, allowing him to wrap an arm around his shoulders. Richie rocked him back and forth in his arms for a few minutes, until Vic had stopped shaking.

“I…” Richie started, but stopped, trying to figure out how to word what he wanted to say. “I am so sorry, that he said those things to you, that he physically did what he did today, and everything else he did before. I’m so sorry, Vic. You don’t deserve that.” Richie told him softly.

“You don’t know that.” Vic said, voice small as he shook his head. “You don’t know me. I’m pathetic, just like Henry said. I let him do those things to me…” He couldn’t continue, he keeled over and began retching into the grass, the newfound memories present in his mind.

“I don't think that you’re pathetic. I think that you are so strong.” Richie told him, and Vic scoffed slightly. “And I would really really like to get to know you. More than I do already, because I like you Vic. I think you’re special.” Vic looked up at him with tear filled eyes.

“You mean that?” Vic asked, and Richie just nodded. They stayed still and silent for a few more minutes, before Richie was pulling himself into a standing position and reaching a hand down to help Vic right himself.

“Why don’t we go back to my house? I can make you some tea, and we can get to know each other a bit better. How does that sound?” Richie asked sweetly, and Vic could feel his stomach flutter at the tone.

“That sounds perfect.” Vic told him, and let Richie grab his hand, leading him down the streets of Derry to his house.

-

Vic let out a yawn and stretched as he began to fully wake up, he was in an unfamiliar bed and it startled him for a moment. He was about to panic when the door to the room opened and Richie walked in with two mugs.

“Hey, you’re up.” Richie said with a soft smile, Vic must have looked confused, because he continued. “You were really worn out when we finally got back here, you’re in my house by the way, so I figured that it would be best to just let you sleep for a while, you’ve had a rough day.” Richie told him, handing Vic one of the mugs.

“Thanks.” He said, accepting it and taking a small sip of the hot herbal liquid. “For everything, for following me and getting me somewhere safe.” Vic said, nothing but sincerity and gratitude in his voice.

“Of course.” Richie smiled at him again, he really needed to stop doing that. “Vic...can we talk about what happened, what Henry said?”

“I...I don’t really want to talk about the abuse...the things he did to me…” Vic said sadly, a hiccup making its way out of his throat, a sign of how upset the topic made him.

“No. Not that, although if you ever feel comfortable telling me, I would listen as best as I could.” Richie told him. “I was referring to what Henry was saying, about you having feelings for me...do you?” He asked softly, voice full of something that was hard for Vic to pinpoint.

“I do. I’m sorry, I tried so hard to fight the feelings, but I just couldn’t.” Vic confessed, a frown etched on his face. Richie gently grasped Vic’s chin and pulled it up so that he was looking him in the eye.

“I’m glad you couldn’t, because well, I couldn’t either.” Richie told him and Vic’s eyes went wide with shock.

“W-wh-what?” He choked out, and Richie let out a small laugh before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to Vic’s lips. He pulled back almost immediately, watching the smaller boy’s face to see his reaction.

“Was that okay?” Richie asked, that mysterious tone was back, self doubt he recognized it as now. His eyes held so much hope, but also fear.

“FUCK YES!” Vic cried out, surging forward to capture Richie’s lips with his again. He crawled into Richie’s lap easily, refusing to break the kiss. Richie held onto his hips, while Vic ran his hands up and down Richie’s back. They pulled back after a few minutes, desperate to catch their breaths. “Richie…?” Vic asked, gaining his attention. “Will you fuck me, nice and slow and lovingly? I’ve never had that before.” Richie’s breath got caught and he choked slightly.

“Are you sure? It’s been an emotional day…” Richie started to ask, but was cut off when Vic pressed his lips to Richie’s again.

“I’ve never been more sure of something in my life. I trust you, please make me feel again.” Vic said softly, and Richie nodded. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, and stood to pull his jeans off as well. Vic followed suit, pulling his sweatpants and long sleeved t-shirt off as well. Richie let out an audible gasp when he saw some of the scarring that Vic had on his arms and his chest, he knew that they were battle wounds left by Henry.

Richie helped Vic to lay back on the pillows, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek before moving down to his chest. Richie pressed a sweet kiss to each of Vic’s visible scars. Acknowledging all of the pain that he had been through. When he was finished, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of Vick’s briefs and looked up at him for permission, Vic nodded and Richie pulled them over his ass and down his legs, so that Vic was laying completely bare in front of him. He licked his lips at the sight.

“Can I suck you off, Sweetheart?” Richie asked, and Vic moaned at the thought. Henry had never done that for him, in fact Vic had never had a proper blow job in his entire life, and here his crush was asking him if he could. He nodded in consent. Richie moved forward, wrapping his hand around the base of Vic’s cock and guiding it to his lips. He took it in easily, letting his mouth slide up and down the shaft. Vic let his hand rest in Richie’s curls and Richie groaned, encouraging Vic to tug his hair slightly. When he did, Richie moaned louder, the vibrations sending shock waves through Vic’s cock. It was beautiful, but he didn’t want to cum from just that.

“Richie, if you don’t stop I’m gonna...you know.” Vic let out, and Richie pulled off with a pop, smiling up at him.

“Okay, I’ve got you, how about we try some fingers next? I’ll take it nice and slow, working you open for my cock.” Richie told him.

“Yesyesyesyes.” Vic rushed out, and Richie let out a fond laugh. Richie reached into his bedside drawer and pulled out a tube of lube and a condom. He set the condom on the bed, and popped the cap on the tube of lube. He squeezed enough onto the tips of his fingers that he could coat three of them. He rubbed his fingers together slightly to warm it up before turning his attention back to the boy in his bed.

“Can you hug your knees to your chest for me, V? Put that pretty hole on display for me?” Richie’s tone was sweet, but also had a directive tone to it. He wasn’t just asking Vic to do something, but rather telling him exactly what needed to be done. Vic did as he was told and hugged his knees to his chest. Richie groaned at the sight, when his little pink puckered hole revealed itself. “Alright, here goes one finger.”

Richie traced the ring of muscle with one of his lubed up fingers, teasing Vic’s hole ever so lightly. Vic whined and Richie finally relented, pushing his finger past the ring of muscles and into his hole, he took it easily, and soon Richie was thrusting in and out with more force. Vic moaned out at the sensation, and then his jaw dropped open when he felt two fingers pushing back into him. Richie scissored his fingers and flicked his wrist every once in a while, driving Vic absolutely crazy. He was going too slow, he needed more.

“Richie, please. I’m ready. I can take it.” Vic cried out, but Richie shook his head and added another finger so that Vic was being stretched open by three. He was right about Richie’s long and slim fingers fucking him open. It was perfect, exactly what he fantasized about. He started rocking his hips back to meet the thrusts of the fingers, and Richie took that as his cue that Vic was ready for more.

“Are you still with me?” Richie asked, and Vic nodded, cheeks and chest flushing from his arousal. He watched as Richie shed his boxers, his cock just as beautiful as he had imagined in his fantasies. Richie grabbed the condom from the bed and open the foil package, easily sliding the latex down his cock. He leaned forward, the blunt head of his cock resting against Vic’s hole. He gave him one more concerned look, met with a nod, before he slowly pushed himself all the way in. It took a minute, he didn’t want to hurt Vic after all, but then his hips were meeting Vic’s ass, and it felt amazing.

“You can move.” Vic told him, and Richie started thrusting in and out of him slowly and fluidly. Vic moaned at the feeling, screwing his eyes just from the sheer force of pleasure. Richie picked up his pace, building a steady rhythm and adjusting his hips to fuck right into Vic’s prostate. “Ahhhhh fuck!” Vic cried out and Richie repeated the action. Vic was crying out with every thrust, every slight touch of skin on skin anywhere but their crotches.

Richie could feel his own orgasm coming closer, but this was all about Vic. He needed to cum first. Richie snaked his hand down in between them and took a hold of Vic’s cock. He began pumping him in time with his own thrusts. It took less than ten strokes before Vic was letting out a long and drawn out moan, cumming all over his and Richie’s chests. Richie kept pumping into him, now with a purpose, he pressed in one final time and filled the condom deep inside of Vic’s ass. He pulled out carefully, dropping the condom into the wastebasket next to his bed. He moved to lay behind Vic, his arm wrapping over his midsection, and he pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Thank you for this, Richie. It was amazing. I just can’t help myself when I’m around you.” Vic said graciously, and he could feel Richie smiling from where he was rested against his neck.

“Right back at you.” Richie said with a slight giggle. “Now how about we go to sleep now, and then deal with discussing what this means when we wake up?” He asked, and Vic nodded turning to press a sweet kiss against his cheek.

The snuggled into one another, neither remembering the last time they had felt this safe and comfortable.  Vic and Richie thanked God they were assigned as study buddies.

[lokifiction]

Caught in the Crossfire

The day the Battle of New York occurred was a fateful one, especially for Camryn, who was caught in the crossfire of a Chitauri weapon and Loki’s Tesseract-powered scepter, the blast sending her into a comatose state.

When Thor returns to Midgard to assist with rescue efforts, he finds her, unconscious and close to death, though emitting a strong magical trace. Puzzled by it, the prince brings her to Asgard for medical care- and observation.

Over time, the mystery of what salvation or destruction she will cause because of her magical abnormality becomes harder and harder to solve. As she begins to lose control of herself, she must seek help from the only person that can teach her how to harness her newfound power and the one who happens to hate her the most.

Loki.

Category: Fanfic

Rating: Teen

Notes: Hi, guys! I know I always apologize for late updates, but I felt particularly bad about this one. I planned to try to write a lot in my last month of summer, but I’m in the process of uploading the fics from this page onto ao3 (more info about that later), so that already caused some delays. Then rehearsals and my conditioning program for the year started, pushing my writing back even further. And then, when I finally finished the chapter, a bunch of busywork stuff came up, and I never had time to get it edited. Every night I couldn’t get this up I felt absolutely awful, and I’m so sorry! I hope this proves worth the wait for you guys!

Warnings: Some language and very mild mentions of sexual content in this one. Enjoy!

Masterlist

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Chapter Fifteen

           Despite our heartfelt declarations and our supposed new relationship, hardly anything changed in Loki’s and my routine, and the only thing altered in our behavior towards each other was the addition of painful awkwardness. Loki had no more outbursts of hatred towards me and I stopped fearing they would happen, but we still weren’t in sync. We would share luncheon, served by Gerd and Inge (Toril had been mysteriously absent ever since the kiss), have a training session, then eat dinner together before retiring to our respective chambers. The only thing that would mark us out as being in a relationship were the hesitant touches and pecks we would share upon greeting and goodbyes. In fact, we had never been together anywhere outside of my chambers, and I hadn’t even seen his.

            Admittedly, the removal of prevalent fear in our dynamic helped me make excellent progress in my training, and I soon reached the point where I hardly ever had difficulties controlling my power. Loki, glowing with pride, had said that as far as my physical prowess, the containment training was nearly finished, and soon we would be able to move on to actually applying my abilities. The enormous hug he gave me the day I had no reaction to the most intense triggers he could summon was the most natural moment between us since the kiss, while every other gesture of affection, while genuine, seemed forced. I began to reflect on how little time we had actually known each other and began to wonder if we rushed into things too soon.

           I expressed as much to the girls as I was eating breakfast a week and a half after Loki and I kissed and had our reckoning, responding to Gerd’s question of why I seemed so jittery.

           “Well, he didn’t give you much of a choice,” Brenna commented, biting into a fig. I didn’t require check-ups after my lessons anymore, and wouldn’t again until we got to the stamina portion of my training, so she often came to take breakfast with me to keep in touch. “He took you and kissed you. Hard, from the way I hear it. You couldn’t just go back to normal after that. He threw any notion of a properly developing relationship out the window.”

           “I know, but we had such chemistry before,” I argued. “While it’s not completely gone, it’s considerably diminished. We’re not passionate now, yet we were when we still hated each other. Now we’re like two preteens in their first relationship.”

           “It s a completely new dynamic, and the two of you are just figuring it out.” Gerd topped off my tea, placing a comforting pat on my back before pouring herself a cup and settling into the chair next to Brenna. “Give it time.”

           “I just fear…” I broke off, staring at my hands. “I’ve just been thinking of how little we really know each other. I can count our interactions before the kiss on my fingers. I worry that our attraction for each other was just us reacting to extreme stressors and new situations, and that it’s not really there. I wish we would have had time to riddle that out before becoming entirely romantically involved.”

           “I agree with Gerd,” Inge put in, reclining in her seat. “Give it time. The two of you made a mistake by rushing into it, so just don’t let it happen again. Don’t force anything, and let it happen naturally. If it’s meant to be, it will all work itself out.”

           I nodded as I reached for my fork to finally devour the plate of delicious food that had made me queasy not a minute before, the churning in my stomach quelled a bit by their advice and reassurance. Around a bite of warm, spiced fig, I looked around at the women seated before me, my heart swelling with thanks that I was able to come across such a wonderful support group. Though, as I studied Gerd and Inge, I realized just how long it had been since I saw their third member.

           “Where has Toril been the past week?” I asked, attempting to sound casual. “I haven’t seen her since the night Loki and I kissed.”

           “She fell ill the next day, and has been in bed ever since,” Inge replied, blowing on her cup of hot cider.

           I cocked an eyebrow. “Suspicious timing.”

           “I thought so, too, until she didn’t get any better. She’s been locked in her room this entire time, and refuses to let anyone see her. Today she departed for a leave of absence to her mother’s house in the countryside until she recovers.”

           Brenna furrowed her brow. “If she’s so ill, why did she never come to the healers? Usually Eir has to give her permission for a member of staff to take a sick leave. We never even knew Toril was afflicted with anything.”

           Inge shrugged. “I’m just getting this all from Edill.”

           Brenna scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Edill is Toril’s lackey. I wouldn’t trust a word she says.”

           “I don’t entirely, but I did see Toril leaving the palace today.” Inge looked pointedly at me. “If she’s not sick, she’s up to something. I would be on your guard, Camryn. Part of the reason why Loki never kept his lovers for long was because Toril always got involved if they were around any longer than two weeks. She can be vicious.”

           I gulped, my food becoming unappetizing yet again. I had refrained from asking Loki about Toril thus far, but Inge’s information made me realize that I had to at the earliest opportunity. I needed to find out what was really going on, and why Toril felt the need to sabotage our first outing and hurt all of Loki’s past lovers, for my own safety. Surely he’d understand my fear and tell me for that reason.

           Though, an awful voice in my head crooned, if he doesn’t, it could ruin everything.

 ***

           “Good afternoon, Camryn.”

           “Good afternoon to you, Loki.” I stepped out of the doorframe to make room for him. “Come on in.”

           Loki entered the room with a smile and a tender brush on my upper arm. “How are you today?”

           “I’m good. And yourself?” I grit my teeth at how congenial we were being. We were like strangers on the street. No heat burned between us any longer, whether that heat be hatred or love.

           “I’m well. I’m eager to start your training today. It’s going to be an entirely new unit, so I’m anxious to see how it goes.”

           “Well, come and sit down for lunch so we can get started all the sooner.” I went to direct him to his chair, but at the same time he made to pull mine out for me, so we ended up gently colliding en route. With pressed giggles, we went to our own respective chairs and sat with our gazes trained on our plates.

           “I have somewhat exciting news,” Loki eventually announced, draping his napkin across his lap. “I thought that after our lesson, we might finally have our palace tour. I’ve made sure that there will be no interruptions this time.”

           My stomach knotted with nerves, but I knew I couldn’t pass up such a perfect opportunity.

           “So you heard about Toril’s illness, then? And that she left the palace?”

           “I heard about her leaving, though I doubt it’s from illness.” He snorted, raising his wine glass to his lips. “It’s probably best that she’s away for a while. There will likely be hell to pay when she returns, and this way we’ll have more time to prepare ourselves.”

           My breath hitched in my throat and I drew my trembling hands into tight fists. “Loki, I- can you...I was wondering…” I broke off with a frustrated sigh before blurting, “What’s your relationship with Toril?”

           “That…” He set his goblet down with an arduous movement that made me want to scream. “Is a long story. I suppose I should start from the beginning.

           “I was about four hundred and sixty-five years old when she came to the palace. By that point, I already had a reputation of being a womanizer, but I had yet to do the deed. Until she came along, that is.”

           Oh no, I inwardly moaned. Toril took his virginity, didn’t she?

           “Because of her low status, she was assigned to be a scullery maid upon her arrival. Usually, they work out of sight in the nobility, but in my youth I was always thinking of creative ways to evade my family and tutors, so I often crossed paths with them, anyway. I noticed her out of the corner of my eye a few times, and after a week or so I realized she was watching me.

           “One evening before bed, I was informed that the maid that usually tended to my fires in the middle of the night had sprained her ankle, and a substitute would be provided until she healed. I suspect that Toril injured my usual nighttime maid herself, and convinced the head of housekeeping to allow her to fill in.

           “I often stayed up until the early hours of the morning or didn’t sleep at all, and the idea of an unfamiliar person in my room whilst I was sleeping made me uneasy, so that night I sat in my armchair, tearing up a mystery novel my mother had gifted me that morning. I was there when Toril walked through the front door, and all she did was say ‘Good evening, Your Highness,” before abandoning her tools, coming over to straddle me, and kissing me deeply.

           “Now, Toril was a couple hundred years older than me, and her mother was a whore. They don’t like having children living in brothels, so I suspect she was put to work for her room the moment she was able. Though, Toril is the twisted type of person that actually enjoys that sort of work, and was very talented at what she did. All that experience drew me in, and the pleasure made me her prisoner. I remember her whispering to me, right after she strippped me bare, ‘Before I do this, promise me that you’ll put in a good word to your mother about me.’ I was so aroused at that point that I would’ve agreed to anything, so of course I said yes.

           “We were together that night and many others. I helped her rise through the ranks to become Mother’s handmaid, and she taught me everything I know. However, I was not one to be tied down at the time, and we never established any sort of relationship outside of sex, so after a few weeks I began pursuing other girls again. She didn’t like it, but tolerated the one-night-stands. However, if it went on for any longer than that, she became testy.

           “She learned that when I was truly interested in a girl, I would pursue them for longer. I wouldn’t jump right in and take them to bed, but I would romance them for a week or so, and often keep them around for about a moon. She picked up on this behavior, and she started doing things about it.

           “First, the girls would mysteriously fall ill or become injured before I could take them to bed a second time. Then it would happen before I could do it in the first place. I picked up on the act when girls started handing in their immediate resignations only a couple of days after I started pursuing them. I realized that, while I had no feelings for Toril other than lust, she had formed her own twisted kind of love for me. It was out of control.

          “Due to Toril’s eventual high status as my Mother’s handmaiden, we kept our ‘relationship’ a secret, so when she convinced me to stop pursuing other girls and Mother noticed that the stream of chambermaids and healers-in-training stumbling from my rooms in the morning had ended, it was decided that I was to have a betrothed- a Vana named Sigyn. Toril grew cold and refused to see me during the courting stage, but when Sigyn and her family came to stay in the palace as guests, they were only there three days before one night I was roused by Sigyn’s hysterical screams. I rushed to her chambers to see what was the matter, and through sobs she begged me not to come near her. Her party left before dawn the next morning, and they haven’t set foot on Asgard since. That night, however, Toril came to my chambers, and made me hers again.

           “Ever since, I’ve never courted anyone else, yet Toril has always just been the one I fucked. It’s quite sad, really, because when I think about it, I realize that I’ve lived a life devoid of loving someone outside of my own family. I came to her when I was upset, angry, frustrated, confused, happy, or just simply wanting it. There have never been any feelings from my side of it,  she was simply…”

           “She was your own hand, in a way,” I giggled, hoping the joke would distract me from my fear that he was lying about not really having feelings for her. The history the two had, even if it was just sex, was something I couldn’t ever hope to compete with.

           Loki chuckled. “That’s a particularly vulgar way to put it, but our relationship was vulgar, so I suppose it’s fitting.”

           I bit my lip hard, screwing my eyes shut and bunching the fabric of the gown in my fists. “And…have you been with her since we...since you started training me?”

           Loki reached across the table, running his fingers down my arm and around my elbow until I surrendered my hand to him, and he held it tightly.

           “I haven’t been with her in at least three years, though she’s made her advances. I’ve tenaciously refused every one, which I must admit, makes her come back with more vigor. But I made my decision long ago. Whatever strange relationship we had is over,” he assured. “You have nothing to worry about as far as infidelity through her. When she comes back to the palace, though, there will be backlash, but we’ll be ready for it, and I’ll make certain that no harm comes to you.” He squeezed my palm reassuringly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile. I could only reply with a shaking breath, the edges of my lips twitching upward as I averted my eyes to the table. Loki’s brow furrowed in thought, and as he rubbed his thumb along the top of my hand, I realized that I was too distressed to realize that we were finally having a tender moment with no awkwardness.

           “I’ll tell you what,” he proposed. “Since you’ve been out of your cell, you haven’t had a day off from your training. You’ve made such good progress, so let’s not do the session today. What do you say we go straight out and have our tour, hm?”

           I raised my head and mustered a small, genuine smile, giving a single nod.

           So Loki and I set off, arm-in-arm and sharing light conversation, mostly composed of him telling stories, both personal and historical, about nearly every nook and cranny of the palace. It made me realize just how long he had lived, that he had so much to say and so many tidbits about a mind-bogglingly enormous building. He took me into ballrooms and galleries and dining rooms and throne rooms (apparently the one I had been in was used only for court), and by the time we reached the top floor of hundreds, the shadows were growing long and my stomach rumbled audibly. Loki chuckled at the sound.

           “Perhaps we should stop for the day, and go get you something to eat.”

           I looked up at him with an incredulous expression, inwardly noting that the tour had helped relieve even more of the discomfort between us.

           “‘For the day’?” I echoed. “What do you mean by that?”

           “Well, the tour is far from over,” Loki said theatrically. “I’ve merely shown you how to find your way around! There’s still so many rooms to take you into, and the secret passageways, and you haven’t even seen the grounds, except for the enclosed courtyards! And not to mention that once we’ve exhausted the palace, I have to show you the city, and then all the rest of Asgard.”

           I laughed, patting his bicep. “Well, I suppose we have our date night activity set for the next, what, ten years?”

           I waited for his joking reply, but he merely went stiff, eyes trained on something ahead of us. I followed his gaze to the end of the lengthy hall and noticed a relatively young man with chestnut waves, sporting luxurious goldspun robes, walking our direction. He didn’t notice us, however, for he was deep in conversation with an older man dressed in the dark colors of a personal servant.

           “Damn,” Loki muttered. “I forgot that I told everyone you were a visiting diplomat from Alfheim.”

           “What does that mean?” I whispered, sensing that this was a situation where I should keep my voice down.

           Loki broke our contact and stood in front of me, shielding me from view, scanning my face before reaching out and freeing the hair that I had absentmindedly tucked behind my ears at some point, rearranging and patting it down so that it thoroughly covered them.

           “You may look elvish in the face, but your ears are a dead giveaway. I meant to give them a glamour, but I never quite got around to it,” he explained. “Keep them hidden.”

           “Oh. Alright.” Stiff in my frazzled state, I merely watched as Loki manipulated me like a puppet into our previous position, completing it just as the robed man sent his servant away and focused his attention on us.

           “Good evening, Your Majesty. My lady,” he greeted, coming to a halt before us with a pompous, if not slightly smug, expression. His build was short and stocky, but he was still conventionally handsome, with sun-browned skin contrasting his light blue eyes.

           “Councilman Olaf.” Loki tipped his chin curtly. “Lady Camryn, may I present Olaf Umunson, a member of the High Council. Councilman Olaf, I introduce-”

           “The elven diplomat everyone’s speaking of,” Olaf interrupted, an unsettling gleam in his yes. “Camryn, you said your name was? How odd. That’s not an elvish name, rather, it sounds quite... Midgardian.”

           My heart leapt to my throat, and though Loki betrayed nothing in his expression or stance, a hard squeeze on my hand relayed his fear. Councilman Olaf knew something, but I sensed that Loki was silently urging me to find out the extent of his knowledge before revealing anything.

           “My parents simply wanted something different,” I improvised. “They were quite creative, and simply made it up.”

           “Hm.” Olaf pressed his lips together, thinly suppressing a smirk. “Alfheim certainly is a beautiful realm. What region are you from?”

           Before I could panic, a familiar voice echoed in my head, one I recognized as the Tesseract feeding me information.

           The elves that have dark hair and eyes like you usually come from the forests in the south, it whispered.

           “The south,” I piped up, feeling Loki ever-so-slightly relax next to me. “Near the forests.”

           “The most beautiful part of Alfheim, in my opinion.” Olaf rocked back and forth on his heels. “Forgive me, but I’m quite out of the loop of the current events of Alfheim. Who’s the king right now?”

           As the Tesseract fed me the answer, it became clear just how extensively Olaf was testing me. I raised my chin defiantly, puffing my chest up proudly.

           “Actually, there’s a queen on the throne right now.” It was my turn to smirk. “Queen Euraviel.”

           “Your Midgardian is educated quite well, my king,” Olaf chuckled darkly, and my smile vanished. “Did you school her up on Alfheim, or was that the Tesseract talking?”

           “Pardon?” I choked out.

           Olaf reached out and pushed my hair away from my ears. “Those aren’t the ears of a light elf. This little girl is a mortal, come here because she has power from the Tesseract.”

           “How do you know that?” Loki spat, drawing me closer to his side to prevent Olaf from touching me again.

           “There are a large handful of guards that have dealt with her when she’s been in the midst of dangerous states.” Olaf shrugged. “Men are as gossipy as women, you know.”

           “I know it wasn’t one of the guards.” Loki’s voice was dangerously low. “I and Queen Frigga before me put a spell on everyone that dealt with Camryn and did not have our unconditional trust. If they tried to speak of her, their voices would not work. If they tried to write things about her, their hands would be stilled. Gods, even if they tried to act things out, their bodies would become petrified. I will ask once more: who told you?”

           “A concerned citizen that wishes to remain anonymous.” Olaf remained nonplussed. “One that told the High Council that this mortal is very, very dangerous.”

           “I’m training her to control her power,” Loki said through gritted teeth. “She doesn’t have outbursts anymore, and now I’m teaching her how to apply her abilities.”

           “Then she will know how to use this incredibly dangerous force, and it could mean terrible things if she turned against Asgard.” Olaf began to walk away from us. “I’m not trying to anger you, Your Majesty. I’m just passing along the message that the Council wishes to meet with her tomorrow. Just the usual, simple inspection like we do for all unplanned guests; nothing to worry about.”

           Once Olaf was out of earshot, Loki broke away from me and swore in a different tongue, and though I didn’t know the direct translation, I could tell it was blistering.

           “Loki…” I began in a voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to provoke him further. “You know it was Toril that told him, right?”

           “Of course I know it was Toril.” Though Loki’s tone was sharp and biting, it was clear that his anger wasn’t directed towards me, and that he was only raging at the situation. “It doesn’t surprise me that it was Olaf she used, either. He’s the only one on the Council that’s not a shriveled old man. She likely gave him information and then fucked him to convince him to tell his peers and call the meeting. That’s exactly why I tried so hard to hide you: to keep the lecherous Council from interfering.”

           “What’s so awful about the Council?” I dared to question.

           Loki, who had been furiously pacing through our conversation, suddenly stilled, voice calming. “They’re the only beings on Asgard that have more power than I do.”

           “How can that be?”

           “Well, perhaps not on all counts. In most aspects, they’re a royal council like one you would see on Midgard. They’re the king’s chief advisers, and each of them are masters of certain aspects of Asgard. For example, Olaf is Master of Agriculture. There’s one Councilman for each of the nine districts of Asgard, and they serve lifelong terms. They’re selected by a popular vote from their district, because the motto of the High Council is to keep the interests of the people as their priority, and prevent them from having a tyrannical leader. If the vote between the nine of them is unanimous, they can overrule or nullify any laws or commands, and they can even remove a king from the throne.”

           “What if the Council just doesn’t like a king, or they’re the ones that are corrupt and tyrannical?” I questioned.

           “That’s why they’ve never been popular with the royalty. If a king tries to overrule the Council or remove one of its members, he’s instantly branded as a tyrant and the Council removes him.” Loki smiled bitterly. “That’s why I didn’t want them, more than everybody else in the palace, knowing who you really are. If they deem you a threat to Asgard and its people, they can override everything Frigga and I have done and take action to remove you.”

           “Something in your voice tells me that I don’t want to find out what removing me would consist of,” I whimpered. Loki, clearly not wanting me to be upset any longer, softened his expression and took his face in my hands. I was suddenly entirely distracted from my fear, for it was the most natural and passionate thing to happen between us since our first kiss, and my heart began to pound in my chest.

           “I’m sorry. I’m overreacting. You needn’t worry about them.” He dragged his thumbs along my cheekbones. “I’ll convince them that you’re harmless, and they’ll leave us alone. They don’t call me Silvertongue for nothing.”

           I closed my eyes and laughed once, savoring the feeling of his cool fingers drawing soothing lines on my skin and the tenderness with which he cradled my head. “I didn’t know they called you that.”

           “It won’t be long before you find out why.” He leaned in and kissed me briefly, playfully running his tongue along my lips before pulling away. It was a simple, quick thing, but it was enough to cause me to throw my hands up in surprise and leave me flushed and breathless. I suppose our problem with not having heat is officially a thing of the past, I thought, my head swimming.

           “Now, you were hungry, weren’t you?” Loki wrapped his arm around my waist, drawing me down from my daze. “Let’s go get you something to eat, hm?”

           And so we returned to my chambers and shared a meal with easy conversation suiting new lovers, filled with laughter and gentle touches, all the while our feet playfully rubbing against each other under the table.

           “Let’s change things up a bit,” Loki suggested as I walked him to the door at the end of the evening. “Would you like to come to my chambers for breakfast tomorrow?”

           I grinned. “I would love to.”

           “Wonderful. Good night, Camryn.” He leaned in and gave me a parting kiss, tender yet long. When he walked away, I felt as if I could float right after him, my toes tingling and my heart beating irregularly.

           “That certainly didn’t seem awkward,” Inge commented as she cleaned away the dishes. “What changed?”

           “We were angry and scared together. We have a common cause that’s drawing us closer,” I answered in a thin, dreamy voice, but as I slid down the door and hugged my knees to my chest, my mind couldn’t be further from Toril and the Council. All I could think of was Loki, and all I could do was count the seconds until I could have my lips on his again.

Next Chapter

[elfnerdherder]

Ill Intentions: Chapter 1

Summary: AU in which Will Graham is a disenchanted journalist, resigned to his fate of back-page wedding announcements at Tattler News. He has a watch that beeps to tell him when to get water, when to go for a walk, and when to eat, but he hasn't yet found a program to tell him how to feel when the Chesapeake Ripper of all people sends Fanmail.

Dear Will Graham, I adored your analysis of the Minnesota Shrike. How quickly you boxed him into a corner and revealed his hand! Surely the ladies on campus will sleep better knowing to avoid anyone that looks remotely like them with a father in tow. That, or perhaps you’ve inspired them all to dye their hair a poignant shade of blonde until the next killer comes along. I wonder if your clever little mind would be able to catch someone like me, however; would you be interested in playing a game, Mr. Graham? I’ve grown bored as of late, and the city is not much to entertain these days. You can respond in your new column. Congratulations, by the way. -Chesapeake Ripper.

He really shouldn’t be excited that there are lives at stake. In reality, though, Will hasn’t felt much in a long, long time.

You can read Chapter 1 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 1: Writer’s Block

           Will was trying very hard not to slam his head against his desk.

           Deadlines were one thing; he’d struggled meeting deadlines most of his life, from getting to class on time in high school to finishing a paper due promptly at midnight in college –what professor wanted a paper posted by midnight, anyway? What professor decided that at midnight, they’d wake from their recliner in their tenure-paid home and pad over to their HP, gleefully closing the submissions link on the assignment before anyone else could turn it in? Did they grade it immediately after, from 12:01 to 4:00 where they’d finally pass out at their desk, exhausted but proud of their ability to really dig it to the students whose hopes were crushed at exactly 12:02 when they realized with a sinking sensation that they couldn’t turn their paper in?

           He told himself tangents were just another way to get out of the task at hand.

            Deadlines were one thing. He’d gotten better at deadlines in the ‘adult world’, gotten better at a watch that kept him on track and on time with its beeps, dings, and notifications. Most of his life revolved around the smartwatch that even reminded him when it was the last time he’d eaten or stood up from his uneven, wobbly desk. Time was odd for him, but that small, sturdy little electronic had kept him on time for the past four years. More or less.

           No, no, the problem at hand was writer’s block.

           “Dear Bev, I’ve heard a lot about the Minnesota Shrike, and it makes me scared to go to class. He’s targeted universities all over this area, from Maryland, Virginia, New York, Maine; when will the FBI catch him? What kind of person would do that to these girls?”

           He considered the other questions Beverly had chosen to answer, then compared it to this one. ‘Chats with Bev’ was the long-running advice column at Tattler News, a high-ratings paper that –in his opinion –verged dramatically towards gossip-fodder and tabloids at times rather than news. It was a job, though. Four years out of college and at least he could say he had a job.

           This, however; this was not his job.

           “It’s not really right for me to do this,” he called out irritably to Beverly across the room. “I’m not ‘Bev’.”

           “A bet’s a bet, no matter how drunk we were,” Beverly replied cheerfully. She wasn’t the least bit perturbed by his expression, or by the way his fingers tapped angrily against the keys.

           “I have no idea what to say to these people,” he muttered.

           “Hey, you’re getting credit for writing the column this week. That’s a little extra money in your pocket, right?”

           Right. He rubbed his face, leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette, letting it hang from his lips as he considered the question. It was a little ham-handed sitting below ‘my husband is cheating on me’, but it was a little awkward just above ‘what can I expect when my daughter starts her period?’ It was a serious question, one bred from terror and fear. The Minnesota Shrike had been attacking for months, no word on whether or not he’d be caught anytime soon, what with the way the FBI was trying to keep things under wraps.

           That wasn’t his problem, though. His problem was writer’s block, and trying to make a reply that was engaging, informative, and colorful enough that when it hit the third page of Tattler News, neither he nor Beverly would lose their jobs.

           He sighed, took a drag of the cigarette, then promptly put it out in the ash tray. It was a nasty habit, one he’d been trying to break for years.

           At least he’d had the smoking habit longer than he’d had the writer’s block.

           He pulled up articles, news, and reports on the Minnesota Shrike, staring down at them and tapping his fingers over the words. The reply needed something delicate, something carefully constructed rather than the normal garb that told people to stay safe and remain in groups. He wasn’t targeting just people, he was targeting women. He wasn’t just targeting women, he had a type.

           That type was now currently terrified.

           He poured himself a finger of whiskey, sighed quietly. It was going to be a long night with him and the Minnesota Shrike.

-

            Writing was a comfort when it worked. It was as much a release as it was a barrier, one where Will could spend his days behind the comfort of a computer screen rather than interact with people. He knew how to interact –the application of eye contact was sorely lacking. That made people nervous, as much as being stared at for too long made him nervous. His watch beeped. He needed to drink some water.

           He couldn’t, though, not with his boss staring so acutely across the desk at him.

           “Beverly told me about you chiming in on her column. I approved it, seeing as how it’d already been done,” he said. A cigarette was tucked behind his ear, the remnants of his own bad habit. Will figured that editor’s offices in the newspaper industries were probably the last safe havens of many things, from comma splices to typos to chain smoking. The air was thick with it, and he inhaled deeply and nodded.

           “If it wasn’t right, sir, I understand,” he said, studying the pen holder. Two weeks later and he was going to reap what he’d sowed.

           “Right? You know how popular ‘Chats with Bev’ is? It’s page three for a reason; housewives across this god damn town been sending me questions and e-mails for years, wanting advice from some faceless woman with a penchant for telling it like it is. You know what you did when Beverly let you take a whack at it, eh?” Charlie was one half of the writing spectrum whose prose on paper was enough to make knees weak, but his speech left much to be desired. Will figured he spent so much time making his words pretty on paper that there was none left for real human interaction.

           Will could personally identify with that.

           “Did I ruin ratings?” he asked weakly.

           “Ruin them? Hell, kid, I’ve got triple what I’ve ever gotten! Men, women, teenagers, fuckin sororities sending in group messages. It wasn’t your advice on periods because you’re in way over your head with that, fuck, don’t ever try and give advice on that again.” A warning glance was tossed his way. “These people are asking us about killers, Will. You’re making them all sorts of excited about killers.”

           “What?” Disbelief colored his tone uncomfortable, his cheeks red.

           “I spent a lot of time thinking about this, EllaofGWU. I think it was a sign of my privilege, being a mid-twenties male that I didn’t know that much about the Minnesota Shrike, and for that I’m sorry. There must be a little bit of resentment, I’m sure, walking down campus with brown hair and fair skin, terrified to realize that you are part of a demographic that someone horrendous has targeted.

           “I can’t say when the FBI will catch him, but your other question sat with me for a long time: what kind of person would do that to these girls? There is the hope that they’re alive, but after contemplating that question, alone and ignorant in front of my computer, I think I can safely but regretfully surmise that they’re not. This person, after attempting to get to know such a person through the many lines of type and black #321 ink, is not keeping these girls.

           “He uses them, you see, to feed a need. He is delicate, meticulous, able to completely disappear with them without leaving a single trace. They are a proxy, a stand-in for the one he holds dear, the one he so desperately yearns to consume. He loves them in his own way because he loves her –his golden ticket. What kind of person would do that, you ask me? Someone that hungers. Someone that can’t remove the intrusive thoughts from their head. He is sick, and he very much has a daughter that looks a lot like you.

           “They say don’t talk with strangers, but that’s not the concern, is it? Don’t just avoid men with invasive questions, EllaofGWU. Avoid their daughters that look like you. A girl that looks alone, camping out at campuses to see which one to attend, whose father watches in the background with love and admiration; avoid them. He hunted these women, and if there’s one thing we know about hunters, they tend to enjoy using bait. Whether the bait is aware of this or not, though, we can’t say.”

           Charlie’s eyes pricked pins in his un-ironed button-up after he finished reading Will’s answer aloud. Will shifted, busied himself with filling a plastic cup full of water in the corner. It sat full because Charlie never drank it. The sun from the window made it warm, but he’d deal with it.

           “It took up a lot of space, so we bumped the period question because your answer was about as tactful as a senior tugging at a freshman’s panties,” he rumbled. “But we printed this one.”

           “They liked it?” he asked, glancing up. His teeth worried over the lip of the cup before he took a sip.

           “They fucking loved it! They ate it up, begged for more –some lady just down the road stopped me at Hank’s Hotdogs and started pestering me about wanting you to write about Ted Bundy, and I just fuckin stared at her like she was a shark before I realized they loved you talking about killers, kid. They fuckin loved you talking about the crazies.”

           “Death sells,” Will muttered.

           “Death, sex, intrigue, conspiracies, scandals, and serial killers. Sometimes, serial killers fall into all five before it, and they ate you up. They want you to have your own column, your own space where they can ask you all about these things. I been getting fuckin calls all week, asking if you were gonna collaborate with Bev again.”

           “I cover weddings, mostly,” Will defended. It was a weak defense, one without much passion or care. He hastily took another sip of water.

           “Your wedding covers have been weak lately. Freddie was suggesting tossing you, but this…” Charlie jabbed a finger down on the latest paper, grinning. “This is golden, kid. I feel like this was a bit of a redemption, something to remind me you can actually write some good shit.”

           “Freddie is always suggesting to toss me,” Will grumbled.

           “Well, when you’re front page news material, I’ll give you that same ear, how’s that?”

           “Right.”

           “Until then, I’m getting them to move some of the ads around, bring them down to maybe a 5.5 to make room for your new column. Chats with Bev, meet your male-killing-counterpart, ‘Will Intentions’.”

           “Will Intentions,” Will echoed. The name sounded corny, trivial.

           “A play off of Ill Intentions, you know? Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter.” Charlie waved a hand dismissively, grabbed the half-finished cigarette behind his ear and lit it. A sign the conversation was over. “I’ve got Cassie on Weddings now; you’re writing my crime-hungry column, got it?”

           “Got it.” A beat. “Thank you, sir.”

           He walked out of the office, found his desk and sat down, stunned. He had his own column. He wasn’t stuck writing cheap wedding announcements anymore.

           His watch beeped; a reminder he needed to finish his water.

           He downed it, crushed the cup and tossed it in the wastebasket beneath the desk that leaned somewhat too far to the left. Idly, he grabbed two books and propped the leg up to straighten it, blinking small spreads of stars out of his eyes at the thought that he, Will-fucking-Graham, had sat in his corner of Tattler News for four years and had finally gotten out of his stupid, sanguine-sweet wedding announcements all because he’d made a bet with Beverly while drunk about who could eat the most boiled eggs in under a minute.

           What in the hell was real life?

    ��      “I heard the news,” Beverly said, standing in front of his desk. He straightened in his chair, adjusted the setting Beverly had no doubt changed when she’d sat down to hunt through his drawers for a highlighter, and smiled a little.

           “Will Intentions?”

           “Not my idea, swear to god,” she snickered. “I think Freddie.”

           “Freddie,” Will groused, shaking his mouse to wake up the computer. “She was trying to get me fired before this.”

           “Your wedding announcements were getting a little lackluster,” Beverly pointed out. She sat on the edge of his desk, hip jutted to keep her balanced. “There are only so many times you can mention baby’s breath.”

           “I never want to hear baby’s breath again,” Will warned her.

           “Are you excited?” she asked.

           “It’s not really setting in yet,” he admitted. He let the words roll around in his head: no more wedding announcements. From now on, Will Intentions.

           Whatever the hell Will Intentions meant.

           “They’re going to bring by the letters, and I’ll forward you the e-mails. Basically, you choose the five best and answer them. Easy, right? I think that’ll help it set in.”

           “Easy,” he echoed with a nod.

           Beverly shifted, and he watched the leg of his desk wobble threateningly. He wondered if he’d get a new desk if the column worked out. He also wondered if he’d tank abysmally, and Freddie Lounds would be able to see him get the can after all.

           His watch beeped to tell him to eat.

           He ate as he went through a stack of letters that would have intimidated a lesser man who’d forgotten his lunch. They were quaint, from compliments of his analysis to questions regarding past killers like Bundy or Dahmer. He wasn’t as interested in those as he was the questions about why the police don’t take missing persons cases as seriously, or what caused a teenager to bring a gun to school. Those were recent. Those were fresh, raw wounds. He set those aside, as well as the compliments –a bit of an ego booster in truth.

           There was one that made him pause, though, something written on plain white paper with what looked like a fountain pen. Will was somewhat of a connoisseur of pens –he liked to think most writers had a special type of pen, something they used for their best work on bus rides and random notepads while walking in the park. He touched the long-dried ink, nodded to himself. A fountain pen, and a nicely edged one at that.

Dear Will Graham,

           I adored your analysis of the Minnesota Shrike. How quickly you boxed him into a corner and revealed his hand! Surely the ladies on campus will sleep better knowing to avoid anyone that looks remotely like them with a father in tow. That, or perhaps you’ve inspired them all to dye their hair a poignant shade of blonde until the next killer comes along.

           I wonder if your clever little mind would be able to catch someone like me, however; would you be interested in playing a game, Mr. Graham? I’ve grown bored as of late, and the city is not much to entertain these days. You can respond in your new column. Congratulations, by the way.

                                                                                               -Chesapeake Ripper.

           He kept that one because he was curious. Pranks were common, especially when killings were mentioned. He’d once done a paper on the amount of time and money wasted on dealing with false calls during murder investigations, psychos claiming credit for what someone else had done. He read over it once, twice; a third time made him set it by the only photo on his desk, a pack of dogs in an open field. He’d gotten his first crazy, and he hadn’t even done the column yet.

-

           He was intercepted as he was leaving work, the sun falling fast behind the skyscrapers and high-rise buildings of DC. The man wasn’t so much tall as he was broad-shouldered and stout; the trench coat and sunglasses get-up was about as obvious as a black eye, but Will wasn’t going to mention it. He looked him up and down, hitched his backpack up higher, and walked around him.

           “Will Graham?” the man asked.

           “Something I can help you with?”

           “In a hurry?”

           “Got a bus to catch,” he replied, still walking. The man kept pace, and Will noted the large black suburban following along.

           “I’m Agent Crawford of the FBI, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

           “I’ve got a bus, Agent Crawford,” said Will. He noted the flash of a shiny badge in the corner of his eye, although he didn’t stop. If he missed his bus, it was a five mile hike home and he wasn’t inclined to that sort of exercise if he could help it. He was a writer, not some god damn athlete.

           “We’ll give you a ride,” Crawford assured him.

           “My dad always taught me not to talk to strangers, and if they offered to give me a ride I was supposed to run screaming to the nearest adult.”

           “We caught the Minnesota Shrike, Mr. Graham.”

           That did stop him. Will paused, puzzled, then looked to Crawford. His watch beeped to remind him that he had a bus to catch. He hardly heard the noise.

           “…What?”

           “I read your reply in Tattler News last week, and it intrigued me. Enough that I looked back through a few things on the case I’d been currently investigating, and we found what was necessary to catch the Minnesota Shrike.” Crawford held the badge in hand, prepared to show it to Will again.

           “You caught him?” His throat was dry. His watch didn’t beep to tell him to get water, but he figured he could use a glass of it.

           “We caught him,” Crawford affirmed. “Now, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

           Will decided that he didn’t mind much at all. His palms were dry, although his heart had begun to jerk about against his ribs rather unsteadily.

           They sat down at a small café crammed into the corner of a building two blocks away, and Will stirred his mocha around idly, watching Crawford’s mouth as Crawford watched him. He had a presence about himself, something brutish and capable. Will wondered what his fingers would write out if he’d had the chance to describe him. Lips that turned down, a tarnished gold wedding band; this was not the sort of man with a happy marriage, as of late. He had his work, though. He had the Minnesota Shrike.

           “It was just a question,” he explained. “Someone asked a question in the advice column, and I looked through some articles and made a guess.”

           “A guess.”

           “Yeah.” A pause as he took a sip of his drink. “I mean, a good guess, right? My major was criminal psychology and forensics. I kind of knew what I was looking for.”

           “But you’re in journalism,” Crawford pointed out.

           “Yeah, well…I didn’t get into the FBI. I’d double majored, and the second was journalism.” Will tried to make his shrug as nonchalant as possible. Strict psychological screening procedures and what-not.

           “You couldn’t fight crime, so you wrote about crime,” Crawford mused. He stirred sugar into his coffee and finally looked away from studying Will so intently. “How’d you guess he was using his daughter as bait?”

           “Was he?”

           A pause, brief enough to tell Will the answer. “…Yes. When we went into the house, he tried to kill her. She was his –how’d you call it?”

           “His golden ticket.”

           “His golden ticket,” Jack repeated.

           “They’re all from universities. He had to be a visitor, someone going to and from without notice, right? The profile said he was middle-aged, so either he’s working with a company that works with all of those universities –possible but not likely –or he’s got something that makes it not weird for him to be there, staring at students. Girls know to be wary of boys, but if he’s got his daughter asking questions or just trying to make friends, why would the victims be worried?” Will took another sip to try and hide how nervous he was, answering these questions. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but he felt mighty guilty, somehow.

           “How’d you know they wouldn’t be alive?”

           “Why keep taking them if he’s still got the stand-in?” Will asked.

           Jack nodded, accepting this. They sipped their coffee in silence, and Will’s watch beeped to tell him he should be home and fixing dinner by now. He downed his drink, stood up. Jack followed suit and offered him a ride in the SUV.

           He left him his card, whatever that meant. Will tucked it in his pocket all the same, waved him off at the entrance to the complex. Call if you need anything, he’d said. Maybe he’d call and ask for one of those fountain pens, the kind the high-ranking got after a particularly bristly promotion. Will scuffed his shoe, snorted. He was a writer, not some weird FBI crime fighter.

           Granted, he’d once wanted to be, when he thought maybe people could overlook his weird idiosyncrasies and inability to hold conversations very well with random strangers. He’d once thought maybe his quirks at seeing far too much about a person would lend a task force some insight they’d missed. If he could see through the eyes of the guy next door that was cheating on his long-term girlfriend, couldn’t he also see through the eyes of a killer terrorizing a city?

           Apparently so, since he’d helped the FBI inadvertently catch a killer.

           Psychological screening procedures and what-not, though. Behind the screen of a laptop was where he best shined now, not running around trying to find serial killers to bring them to justice. Truth be told, it wasn’t just the justice part that was enticing, it was the finding, the knowing. Save people from dying, understand the person behind the bloodied knife. There was something oddly cathartic at the thought that the twisted and sometimes horrendous way he looked at things was actually helpful for once –like a chair of antlers, grotesque but useful.

           That was that, though. No matter how buzzed his veins were at the idea he’d helped, in his own way, catch the Minnesota Shrike, it was time to get back to the real world. The real world had deadlines. His watch beeped again to tell him he should have eaten by now.

           He ate a bowl of oatmeal and considered the letters he’d narrowed it down to. He’d have to look at the killers they referenced, the murders that’d taken place.

           I saw the Minnesota Shrike was caught –amazing. Just amazing. Women are being found in the bay here, and I was wondering what your thoughts were on that? They’re not calling it a serial killer because they’re prostitutes, but get real. Pimps don’t just start killing their prostitutes willy-nilly and so easily found. So many, too. Way too many, don’t you think?

           At the bottom of the stack, he kept his first crazy fanmail, fingers tracing over the signature. He’d heard vague accounts of the Chesapeake Ripper, although after his realization he’d never be an agent he’d tried to put such thoughts out of his head. They only served to tease him with what he’d never have.

           No matter. It was a prank, although a flattering one. It sat at the bottom of the stack to remind him that when given the right opportunity, he actually was a decent writer. Enough to bring a psycho out to play.

-

           The next morning, as he shuffled across creaking wooden floors and made a pot of coffee, he blinked sleep from his eyes and contemplated the beeping on his wrist. Time to get up. Don’t forget coffee. Without coffee, you’re late for work.

           It took him far too long to really open his eyes, and as he spooned cold cereal into his mouth, it took approximately half of the bowl and four minutes on his watch to realize his laptop was propped open on the table. He turned it to shut it, confused since he thought he’d powered it down the night before. A yawn, eyes watering and mouth painfully gaping took him aback, and he covered his mouth with the spoon. It took another minute for him to realize what he was seeing, since the coffee was in his stomach but not quite in his bloodstream.

           There, propped up on the screen of the laptop, was the fanmail from the ‘Chesapeake Ripper’. As if to tease him, to convince him he hadn’t just left there before he’d gone to bed, a golden sticker had been placed at the top of the sheet, as if to beg him, me, me; pick me.

[comebackwhen]

omg may we have a fix-it of Clack, and #29? Zack survives the ambush!

So this is waaaaaay overdue. So are all the other prompts in my box. I’m sorry I disappeared for so long! I have been so uninspired that I decided to take a break rather thank write bland trash. I’m going to do my best to work on the prompts that are still waiting for fills, but it might be slow going.

This still feels a little rusty but I’m still pretty pleased with it. It’s also almost 6k words so… that’s a thing! I’m going to break it up into four parts for easier readability and post them as I finish the final polish on them in the next couple of days. 

This is a companion piece to another prompt I filled a while back. You don’t need to read one to understand the other. Some creative liberties taken with the timeline to make it work, but considering the dumpster fire that the timeline is, I’m sure no one will mind too much. It came out a little more Zack-centric than Clack, but I kinda like it. I hope you do, too. If you’re even still around…

I’m going to stick it under a read more, just because it’s so long. Let me know if you guys prefer long posts or read mores. I want to do what I can to make it easier to read! 

Prompt: “I thought you were dead.”

Part Two; Part Three; Part Four

When he had handed his sword off to Cloud, Zack had honestly believed he was dying. Considering the severity of his wounds, it had been a valid conclusion to come to. He had not been able to save Angeal or stop Sephiroth. He had done what he could for Genesis, but he had been forced to leave the man behind. Cloud had been the only person that he had actually managed to keep alive and if he was able to use the Buster Sword to stay that way, then handing it off was the best final act that Zack could imagine.

In those last moments, Zack found himself fixating on strange, insignificant details. He had lived in Midgar for a good portion of his life, but he could only remember a few times when it had actually rained over the city. He had always wondered why they had chosen to build Midgar in a desert, but when he realized he would not have to fight monsters in soaking gear, he quickly came to appreciate it.

The rain was cool and felt nice against his skin. He had been filthy and sun baked for so long he had forgotten what it felt like to have clean skin. If he was honest with himself, he could not be sure his current state could count as clean… but as he was about to die it probably did not matter.

Zack’s skin started to tingle and he could feel it as the wounds sluggishly stopped bleeding… or maybe it was simply that he was losing feeling in the area of the bullet wounds. He was too tired to make the distinction. He had always thought dying would be harder or more painful, but in the end it seemed a lot like going to sleep.

That was, of course, until he woke up again.

The sun was nearly setting when Zack opened his eyes again. The rain had washed away the worst of the blood from the cliff, but there were still helmets and armor scattered around him. Zack sat up slowly, expecting pain, or at least to be stiff after an afternoon passed out on the hard ground. Instead, he felt invigorated. His shirt and armor had been shot to shreds, but the skin of his chest was perfectly unmarred. If it had not been for his ruined clothing, he would have guessed the whole afternoon had been a dream.

The reality was that night was fast approaching and he was unarmed and alone in enemy territory. He took what he could from the scattered supplies that remained from his stand-off against the Army. One of the nearby helmets would cover his face and give him some anonymity. There was a uniform shirt in a pack that had been dropped that was only a little tight in the shoulders. The green scarf covered the collar of the ill fitting shirt well enough. His own pants were the wrong color, but as long as no one looked too closely he would be fine. If they were in a position to look any closer, Zack would have bigger problems to deal with.

He drew a pair of short blades from where they had sunk into the rain softened ground. They were pretty standard quality, if a little damaged from the last battle, but they would keep him from being eaten by a monster until he could get his own sword back from Cloud. Just thinking of his blond friend, finally awake again after all this time, was enough to make his heart lurch. He had hoped for it for so long, spent almost a year talking to a comatose body, just hoping that it would be enough to bring him back. Now that Cloud was back with him, they could finally work on putting an end to Hojo, so what happened in Nibelheim could never happen again… all he had to do was find Cloud.

It had not been hard to pick up Cloud’s trail. For quite a way, the edge of the Buster Sword had been dragged through the mud. The line lilted drunkenly to the side from time to time, but slowly it seemed that the path disappeared. The bootprints that had been beside it grew deeper and steadier until they disappeared onto the dry packed dirt of a footpath. It was pretty obvious at that point that Cloud was headed straight for Midgar.

Zack worried about finding his friend in the sprawl of the city. It would be too easy for Cloud to get lost, or worse disappear. If Cloud did have any contacts in Midgar, there was no way to be sure that they were still safe after all this time. It was the same issue that he had been considering before their transport back to the city had been attacked. His exhausted mind had decided that a plan would come to him after he had gotten a decent night’s sleep in a relatively non-hostile area, but even after his odd power nap on the cliffs, he was no closer to a plan. He could only hope that if he asked around for a blond in a Soldier First uniform carrying a large broadsword, someone would be able to point him in the right direction.

The guards watching the checkpoints at the sector entrances were an unwelcome surprise. By the time he realized there was someone waiting for him, there was no way to turn back without looking suspicious. Thankfully, they did not question him. One guard peered at the name stitched onto the insignia on his bicep and marked it onto a list.

“We figured that any survivors had long since made it back.” The other murmured with a nod of respect, “Most everyone who came through earlier went back to regroup at H.Q. Unless you’ve got orders, head back and find your C.O. They were running special trains up earlier to get the wounded back for treatment, so you might still be able to catch a ride.

In his pocket, his phone let off the beep that signified he had a new message. The first guard let out a little chuckle, “Bet that’s probably orders for you.”

Zack clapped one of them on the shoulder as he passed through the checkpoint, pulling out his phone with the other hand. It was another message from Kunsel. He moved into an alley where he would have some privacy and opened it.

Subject: I can’t decide what would be worse; From: Kunsel

Casualties are still coming in from the massacre on the cliffs today. They’re saying those research samples were found just outside of the city by an Infantry patrol. Official word is both samples were eliminated. Nobody in Soldier even heard about it until after it was all said and done… not that a lot of us are left these days. Still, seems to me that a Soldier should have been assigned to handle it, especially once I stopped by the infirmary and saw the number of injured Troopers.

I know the look of a cut from the Buster Sword. Either you are one of the escaped samples or you’re dead and it stole your sword. Look… if you’re still out there, I want to help.

It was a mistake, if not an outright trap. Zack was sure of it. Still, unless he went to Aeris, he did not have a better plan, and he wanted to be sure that Shinra was not still hunting him before he went to see her. If Kunsel really was on his side, it would be useful to have a contact inside of Shinra to help with his search for Cloud. He sighed and tapped out a reply.

You sure about that?

[vintageladylemondrop]

The Vanishing of Ladybug and Chat Noir- Chapter 3

Gah, life gets in the way of me writing this fic but I’m having fun writing it. I finally finished chapter 3 and hopefully I’ll get chapter 4 out sooner than later, so enjoy -VLLD

Here’s the link to the fic on Ao3 if you want to read it there instead.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/9251336/chapters/22432703

Chapter 3 - Revelations and Running

(Scene 1- Marinette’s POV)

She must have been going crazy. She and Adrien were sitting at her desk looking at the research they had collected for their report. Her crush was sitting right next to her, but that’s wasn’t why she felt like she was going crazy. What was wrong with her today! Hell what had been wrong with her all week! She couldn’t even focus on the opportunity in front of her.

She should be happy, She had been partnered with Adrien for a class assignment. She had to keep smiling or he would notice that something was wrong. Adrien had been talking to her all week, she had to take this opportunity, but why wasn’t she…why couldn’t she… It was too late he could see.

“Are you okay Marinette?” Adrien asked her. “Are you feeling sick?” She sure didn’t feel well, but she wasn’t Ill, just going insane in her own mind. She thought her brain was going to explode and then whatever remained of her was going to float away never to be seen again.

“Ya I’m alright, you just surprised me earlier, that’s all” she gave a small fake laugh. He turned away from her, and gave a small sigh.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to scare you…” She cut him off mid sentence. She didn’t want him to misunderstand her.

“No No, it’s not that… You just sounded like a friend of mine is all.” the tone in her voice deflated a little bit as she spoke. He got quiet and then they directed their attention to the assignment. They worked in silence, every minute that passed seemed more and more awkward… Had she messed up? Then Adrien’s voice rung in her ears

“Soooo, this friend of yours, what’s he like?” he asked. Well crud how was she gonna get out of that question! it’s not like she could tell him that this friend of hers was Chat Noir, because who would believe that, she would just sound crazy.She fabricated a lie as quickly as she could

“You wouldn’t know him, he moved away last year, and since you only started attending our school this year…” Her voice trailed off, she started to regret her lie.

“Oh too bad, sounds like my kind of a friend” he chided. At that moment Marinette started to realize something she hadn’t thought of before.

(Scene 2- Adrien’s POV)

“Where is the restroom?” He asked her. He and Marinette had been working on the assignment when she got really quiet he had tried to make her feel better, but the air between them seemed to be worse.

“It’s downstairs, it’s not to hard to find. If you have trouble just ask my parents” she said

He excused himself and went downstairs to the restroom. He needed to calm down. She had definetly noticed that he spoke like Chat, but still lied about him being her friend . I mean of course it made sense, it’s not like she was going to tell someone she didn’t know about Chat because it would give away she was Ladybug.

He splashed his face with water, he was flushed because being near her made his stomach turn knots. Had she figured out who he was or hadn’t she? He couldn’t tell. Had he hurt her?, was he too relaxed?. He didn’t know he just hoped things would work out for the best.

He climbed back upstairs and into Marinette’s room. As he opened the hatch he started to speak

“Hey, I’m back what did you want to to do for the biblio…” It took him a minute to realize Marinette wasn’t paying attention. She looked like she was going to explode. Something was wrong, very wrong.

“I’ll be back in a second I’m just going to go downstairs to check on something” she mumbled and quickly left her room. He sat down on the desk chair and went to search for his phone in his pocket. It wasn’t there. It must have fallen on the floor earlier when he had gotten up to use the restroom. He picked it up and noticed a message on the screen.

Marinette- Maybe we shouldn’t meet. I hadn’t really thought it through and it’s a risk we should think through.

Shit well if she didn’t know before now she sure as hell did now. Ugh he needed to talk to Marinette when she came back. He leaned back in the desk chair and waited for Marinette to return.

5 minutes passed, then 10 minutes passed and still no Marinette. Something was definitely wrong. He went downstairs, she wasn’t anywhere to be found. He went into the Bakery to ask her parents if they knew where she was.

“Excuse me, Have you seen Marinette anywhere? She excused herself about 15 minutes ago and I haven’t seen her since.” He questioned.

“Oh my that girl” she gave a chuckle and continued to speak" “Didn’t she tell you? She said she had an errand to run and left in a hurry” her mother replied.

“No she didn’t tell me.” He sighed.

“I’m sorry, sometimes our daughter is forgetful, we assumed she had told you and you had left through the back awhile ago.” Her father said trying to make Adrien feel better. He went back up to Marinette’s room gathered his things, and gave his farewell to her parents.

He needed to find Marinette. He scrolled through his phone contacts. He pressed call and waited for an answer.

“Hey, Alya I need a huge favor.”

(Scene 3- Marinettes POV)

“I’ll be back in a second I’m just going to go downstairs to check on something” she quickly told him. She felt like her insides were fighting a war, to say she was freaking out would be an understatement. She rushed to the Bathroom and began puking her guts out. This couldn’t be real, it just couldn’t. If it was real than what hadn’t been real. When she finished she felt better. She had to get away so she could take all this information in. She told her parents a lie, and left. She knew Adrien would definitely be mad at her for this, but it was all too much for her.

She decided to go sit in a cafe her and Alya frequented on the weekends. She could hide here for awhile until Adrien left. Marinette got some iced tea and tried to calm down, and she started to connect the dots.

(Memory- Marinette’s POV/ a few months ago.)

“So are you excited about the dance tonight!” Alya practically shouted while they were nearing their destination.

“I’m not so good with dancing,you know that” Marinette replied sheepishly. She and Alya had decided on going to the cafe to get some caffeine before getting ready for the dance.

“Look who it is!” Alya practically shouted. They had just walked into the cafe, when Alya had noticed that Adrien and Nino, Adrien’s best friend were there.

“Hey guys! What’s up?” Alya easily went over and approached the two boys.

“Just getting some coffee before the dance tonight” Nino replied. Marinette noticed Adrien looking down. She wondered if he was alright.

“Yup what he said!” Adrien perked up and pointed towards his friend.

“So, Marinette what’s this I hear about you not liking dancing?” Adrien teased. She would have cursed her best friend for telling him, if not for that it gave her the chance to talk to Adrien.

“It’s not my thing, that’s all…” Marinette replied as sincerely as she could without stuttering. Alya and Nino went to go order the drinks for the four of them.

“If it makes you feel any better Im new to this whole dance thing, Ive never been to a dance.” Adrien continued “but…well if you don’t mind would you save me a dance tonight?… I know it’s not your thing but everyone deserves to cut loose every once in awhile”

“Surereere , I’d be be honored.” Marinette hoped this wasn’t the doing of Alya. She didn’t want Adrien to feel like he was being forced to dance with her.

The four parted ways and got ready for the dance. Everything had been perfect that night, except Adrien never showed up. Nino explained that Adrien suddenly had to work and wasn’t going to be able to come to the dance. Marinette had been definitely a little disappointed, but probably not as disappointed as Adrien had been about going. She could tell he had been excited about it. She went home early, because she hadn’t really been having any fun. When she arrived home she didnt even bother to undress, she was still all done up for the dance almost as if she didn’t want the magic of the night to end even though it had ended for her before it even started. She hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but did anyway because the day had been more exhausting than planned.

“Knock” she awoke to sound of something knocking on the glass. It echoed off the walls of her room for a moment, she then got up to see what it was, she had a feeling she knew who it was though.

“What do you want you silly cat?” She was slightly annoyed. She opened her balcony hatch and let him into her room.

“Is everything all right? you are usually meowwre welcoming than this.” He asked her.

“Ah, this…” She probably looked strange considering she was still dressed up. “ I… There was a school dance tonight, that’s why I’m all dressed up, but…” She wasn’t sure if she should tell him about the nights events. “…but it didn’t go exactly as planned, sorry for my attitude earlier, I’m just a little salty.” she felt she could trust him, he was her partner… Well even if he didn’t know that, they had this strange relationship between them anyway.

“So what happened?” He gave her a polite smile.

“Ah, well I was asked to save a dance for one of the most popular guys in school but… He wasn’t able to make it to the dance. I know he couldn’t control it, but I can’t help but be a little disappointed… You see I don’t really care for dances and dancing that much. I was really only going cause my best friend had dragged me into it, but for once I really was genuine in my excitement.” She told the Masked Cat Boy.

“If it’s any consolation to you, you look really nice this evening and I would have loved to dance with you if I had the opportunity” he chided. She was trying not to be flustered, it was just she didn’t get compliments on her looks from boys as often and it suprised her. She kept telling herself.

They continued to chat for a little while longer talking about random things, whatever she wanted to, It was easy to talk to him. That evening in her mind took a turn for the better when Chat appeared. It was almost like magic she thought.

(Scene 3 - Marinette’s POV continued)

The dots were adding up in her mind and it was overwhelming. She needed to calm down or she was going to break down here in the cafe.

“Bzzzzzttt” her phone started ringing. It was Alya, dammit she surely had already heard from Adrien. She picked it up, before Alya had a chance to lecture Marinette she was going to speak first.

“Alya, I need a huge favor” She told her best friend.

“How huge of a favor is this?” Alya questioned playfully.

“Big, I need you to hide me from Adrien. I can’t talk to him right now… sooo can I spend the night at your place, because there is something I need to talk to you about” She pleaded.

“Fine, but you at least owe him an apology, for running off like that.” Alya said. She continued to lecture Marinette for another 5 minuted and then Marinette headed back to her house to get her stuff for the night.

(Scene 4 - Alya POV)

“What did you do to my best friend lover boy?"Alya said anxiously over the phone to Adrien.

"Uhh… That’s kind of confidential, but is she alright?” Adrien asked. Alya had called him back shortly after he had called her earlier.

“She’s not dying, but I don’t think she’s ready to talk to you yet… Give her some time she’ll come around."Alya continued ” I can’t help you with that favor though, her favor out weighs yours, no offense"

“That’s alright at least she’s physically okay” Adrien responded.

Alya got off the phone with Adrien after trying to get a few more details on the events of the day to no avail. Adrien hadn’t budged so she was walking into the situation with Marinette almost blind. She waited for Marinette to arrive at her house. She heard a small knock at her front door. When she opened the door she saw her best friend was a mess. Her hair wasn’t done and had obviously fallen out at some point during the day. She had spilt something on the front of her shirt. She looked like she was being held together by a thread and if someone were to even approach her she would snap in two. Alya saw tears start to bubble over her best friends eyes and fall down her face. It was clear to Alya that Her best friend was falling apart at the seams.

“Marinette, come inside let’s talk okay?” She said softly. Marinette stepped inside and she shut the door. Alya took her best friend into a hug. She talked softly “What in the world happened, Are you feeling okay?” Marinette had felt a bit feverish in her arms. Her best friend told her the first truth Alya had heard from her all week.

“No, Alya I’m not okay”