#'i don't know what color his hair is--maybe rainbow??... do whatever feels right...'

[shepherds-of-haven]

resentfully and grumblingly pulling together references to make a chandry concept art/reference sheet today...

[mila-carat]

Even INI noticed that Takumi and Yudai's hug scene was a little bit "🤨🏳️‍🌈?" and to be honest i'm glad I'm not the only one...

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Call Mom

CW: PTSD/flashbacks, BBU in general, haunted, ghosts, reference to a murder, severe chronic panic

Jameson's Masterlist (scroll down)

-

Aw, crap. Hey, Johnny, do you remember where I put that girl's number? Like, Katie, or Caitlyn, or... do you remember? Hey! Johnny! Put down the fucking xbox controller for two fucking minutes and give me a hand, won't you?

Fingers snap right in front of his face.

Johnny!

Jameson jerks in a breath that sounds like a whine, sitting straight up. The fan blows cool air over his sweat-soaked skin and he shivers, cold inside and out. The air in his room is freezing, suddenly. Outside it's so dark you can't even see the trees - the power outage must still be going, there aren't any streetlights. Thanks to the clouds, no stars or moon, either.

Just darkness.

Wait, if the electricity's out...

He looks up. The ceiling fan is perfectly still above his head, even while ice-cold air keeps goosebumps rising on his arms, the hair standing up at the back of his neck.

See, was that so hard? It'll take like five minutes if we work together, I swear.

"Nat?" He mumbles. "S'at... you?"

Checked there already, actually. Checked the fridge, too, so where the hell did I put it?

He's the only person in this room.

Jameson goes from still half-asleep to fully, painfully awake and aware in a single breath.

The voice comes as clear as if it was right next to him, a voice as familiar as his own - but he has no idea whose it is. There's no one here but him - even Trash Cat isn't here any longer, probably hunting a tiny piece of plastic downstairs that he'll end up stepping on in the morning. So far she hasn't eaten any of them. He doesn't even know where she's finding them.

Johnny, come on. Let's, like, retrace our steps.

His head starts to ache more with every single word, the pain working like tendrils behind his eyes, a pressure trying to crush his skull from the inside. Something flashes, bright and almost like a spectrum of rainbow colors, in the corner of his right eye, but it won't resolve when he turns his head.

I got home from work, I told you we had a hot customer who gave me her number, and then... then what?

Jameson stares into darkness so complete it feels like it has weight. Like it's sitting on the bed next to him, like the mattress dips underneath it. A body made of memory, slowly pulling together the pieces of what's been hidden. Clawing them out but leaving deep weals across the inside of his mind, like a corpse's fingers digging into loose dirt to climb out of his grave.

"Caitlyn," He whispers, as the thought crystallizes. A memory, pure and perfect. Some sliver of whatever they broke the person he was into. Some small piece of the man who signed up. "Her name was Caitlyn, not Katie. She... wrote it on the fucking paper."

Right! Okay, so, clearly I told you her name, and then what?

Jameson turns his head, and there he is.

Hank.

His breath catches in his throat.

Hank is younger than he is, even though he was older then. The older brother, trapped in time, while Jameson - Jonathan - keeps aging. The rakish smile is still there and, Christ, Jameson had forgotten that he'd done that stupid thing to his hair - you forgot everything about him, you begged them to take him away from you so that it wouldn't hurt anymore. He's still got that one crooked tooth he'd refused to get braces to fix. That crooked tooth had been in his dental records. It was how they identified his body.

The fucking crooked tooth, the silver-colored fillings, then the DNA tests...

"No," He whispers, going for a vicious hiss, but what comes out is far too close to a whimper. "No. This is-... this is a flashback. This isn't real, this isn't-"

Maybe I left it in yesterday's pants?

"This isn't real, fuck off." Jameson shoves himself off the bed, forgetting his stupid fucking legs don't work. His knees buckle as soon as they have to take his weight.

He lands wrong on one arm and the pain spikes up through his shoulder, making him cry out in the hoarse, rasping voice that his life has left him with. "Fuck!"

He rolls onto his side, but he can't stop himself.

He looks up again. He doesn't want to remember Hank but he's desperate for one more look at his face. Just the one more time.

Just once more.

Hank sighs, raking a hand back through his hair, leaving it mussed-up and sticking out, looking ridiculous. He did that all the time. Bit his nails, too, and tried everything to stop but he never did. He wore those jeans with the ripped knee all the time, their mother had hated it. Hank, wearing the t-shirt for the band they'd gotten concert tickets for but never got the chance to see. Hank, dead for years, smiles to one side at a brother who isn't there.

The brother who erased him.

"Hank," He whispers. "Hank, you gotta-... you gotta go. You're hurting me-"

Damn. Man, it wasn't in my jeans either. Well, I'll find it sooner or later, I guess. Hank shrugs. His eyes are in shadow, not quite defined. Jameson wonders if it's because he's forgotten what color his brother's eyes were, forgotten it deeply enough that even this can't pull it back.

It'll be okay, Johnny. It really will. Hank looks right at him. Jameson's breath catches in his throat. The room is so cold the air burns as he breathes. It never gets this cold in California. It can't be this cold in California. I mean it. Don't cry yourself to sleep over this.

"I cried myself to sleep... all the time, but I don't now. I'm not-... that guy." He can barely speak. He sees his breath puff out when his lips move, and Jameson slumps back. His voice cracks, it creaks like old floors. He didn't stop crying for weeks. He didn't leave his bed. He did any drug he could find trying to not think about Hank, until he realized there was only one way to make sure he never had to think about what he'd done, by letting Hank walk home alone that one night, again. He didn't want to think about that pain anymore.

They had promised him he wouldn't ever have to hurt like this again.

They lied about that, too.

Jameson makes a sound he refuses to admit is a choked-off sob. "I'm not him, Hank. I'm not Johnny... not anymore."

Hank stands, and it's impossible. He's not here. But he holds out his hand anyway, and Jameson takes it without thinking. Hank's grip is so cold it burns, but Jameson lets his dead brother pull him to his feet anyway.

He smells like earth and ice.

"I'm not him," He whispers.

Right, like that argument ever works. Hank just grins, shaking his head. The man Jameson was - the one he had begged to leave behind - is the reason Hank will look like this in his memories forever. He's the reason there isn't another Hank, only this one, locked in the memories he wanted to boil and burn out of his own head. They're still there, though. They break through.

They never stop breaking through.

He would crawl back into Robert's cage himself if it only meant he didn't have to remember that it's his fault Hank is dead.

Tears run hot down his cheeks - the only thing in him that isn't frozen is his grief, wildfire in his chest leaving nothing but ash behind. Forests after wildfires are ghosts, Hank said once, when they were both high and everything sounded fucking important.

Jameson had called him an idiot - he remembers that now. But... he also thinks Hank was right. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can, focusing. He isn't here. Hank cannot be here. "I don't remember... remember you-... I don't want to remember you! It was my choice to forget!"

Hank claps him on the shoulder. His smile goes briefly gentle and soft. Jameson can see it with his eyes closed. Whatever you say, man. Just promise me you'll call Mom sometime soon, okay?

The pain is too much. If he can't pass out soon, he might die just from having to experience it, unending, never stopping, rising higher and higher. "Mom...?"

Yeah, dumbass. Mom. Our mother? Who gave birth to us and never lets us fucking forget it? I keep trying to talk to her, but I guess my signal's bad. Hank laughs, and Jameson's whole body breaks with the sound of that familiar laughter. The way Hank could throw his head back without the slightest bit of self-consciousness, how he'd hear that laugh across a crowded room and know it was his brother's, know right where he was.

Until he didn't.

Until nobody did.

Until the cops found what was left.

Until-

Jameson jolts again, and finds himself still lying on the floor next to his bed. He's burning up, boiling hot, pouring sweat until his sleep shirt sticks to his back and his arms feel slick with it, his hair sticking to skin. A droplet trickles down the back of his neck like a fingertip, barely touching. He rips his shirt off, then his pants, throwing them as far away from himself as he can, until he's naked on the floor but it isn't enough.

He's still sweating, still breathing in harsh gasps, fighting around the strength of his racing heart to get enough air to fill his lungs. He looks frantically around, but no one's here.

The ceiling fan circles lazily overhead.

He takes in a breath, his heart pounding. It feels like it's going to grow wings and fly away, up his throat and out of his mouth. He's still crying, he realizes only now. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can and fights tears back through sheer willpower and rage, curling his hands into fists. Just like they used to be, his fingers know - muscle memory of mittens that had kept him powerless, once. Now, he does it on purpose, and he forces them to curl through the pain.

Forces down the dream.

Wills himself to forget he ever had it.

"Four... f-four things you can see," he whispers to himself, slumping back down. His voice keeps trembling, catching, and it's everything he has to open his eyes again around the pounding headache in his skull and look. "The-... moon. Out the... window. The, my dresser... for my clothes... M-My, uh, the picture Nat p-printed of me and Allyn... fuck, the... the doorknob."

Every time he thinks he knows how much of his body can hurt at once, some nerves he didn't know existed decide to join the party. He has to breathe in and out, slow and controlled, trying to will his body to cooperate. He won't walk tomorrow, he can tell already. It'll be a day to spend in bed, or using his wheelchair. It might be a week until his body lets him walk again.

He fights back a new well of rage and despair at how well he knows the next way his body will fail him. He can't think about that right now, or the pain and the panic will spiral out of control. He might hurt someone. He can't hurt anyone, not ever again.

He won't.

"Three... things I can touch," He murmurs. "My, my... my shirt, fuck, gross, sweaty... my... my hair... the floor, feels... cold, feels good... the corner of my bed..."

It helps. He makes himself focus on this, on real things, not the nightmare of his brother.

He won't remember his brother.

He won't.

"Two things I can hear. Uh, the, there's... crickets or something outside, and-... and I can hear-"

Hank's voice whispers right next to his ear.

Call Mom.

His breath hitches.

"Not real," he whispers. "One... one thing I can taste..."

All he tastes is blood, and for one horrified half a second he's sure it's Hank's blood, until he realizes he bit his tongue in his sleep.

The blood is his own.

Call Mom.

-

[zmediaoutlet]

this land is your land

for @wincestwednesdays - americana

"Relax," Sam says, and Dean says back immediately "You relax," but that doesn't work because Sam, damn him, is so relaxed Dean's surprised he's still walking upright and not a puddle of dissolved bones, somewhere a few miles back on the sun-baked road. Where the car's sitting, steaming, the engine ticking as it cools, alone--

"You know what's wrong?" Sam says, and Dean gives him a look, and Sam says, "You know how to fix it?" and Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam says, "So what are you gonna do about it between here and that co-op in town?" and Dean says, "You know, this is how you talked when you didn't have a soul," and Sam laughs kinda soft, hitching his backpack higher.

Hot, humid, but not horrible. The fields growing up with something green. Maybe future wheat. Dean's not a farmer. The kind of summer day where you want to lay in thick grass and drink about twelve ice-cold beers and eat watermelon, or burgers off the grill, or a rainbow snowcone just dripping with every color, like remember, that time --

"Fairfield County Fair," Sam says, grinning. He drags his hair back from his forehead. Their jackets tied around their waists and Sam's sleeves rolled up to his elbows; if it gets much hotter out here he might strip that layer too and then, hey, free show. "Yeah. That was good. Other than the ghost."

"Ghost was easy," Dean says, "as was Miss Mindy the concessions girl. You remember, right? All that funnel cake?"

"I think I puked it all over the tilt-a-whirl," Sam says, dry, and Dean grins back at him so Sam rolls his eyes, but -- he remembers, and that's what matters to Dean now. When he's got this brother, stitched back together, remembering the snowcone and the tilt-a-whirl and also what it means, that they're walking side by side through this yellow afternoon, sweating their balls off.

A barn, past the next field of maybe-wheat. White-painted metal that's peeling bad as they get closer, but it's got a heavy fall of shadow in the driven-over silty dust and abandoned crates that don't collapse when Dean plants his ass on one, so it's good enough for now. "Could go for a snowcone," he says, and Sam snorts somewhere past his closed eyes and there's a thunk of his bag hitting the dirt and then scuffing away, through the silt, and Dean watches the world golden through closed lids and imagines. Sam sweating, long, his body moving sure through the shadow and then -- through the barn door, sliding on squeaky rollers -- and then into somewhere Dean can barely hear him except whatever he imagines might echo through the wall, but it's okay because he'll come back. He's promised that, now. Dean turns his head against the side of the barn anyway, his ear against the warm metal, in case there's some echo. Long night and a long day and a long night ahead and maybe it's lame but he's old now, or feels it, and he's tired. He'll take even an echo.

In the barn: dusty John Deeres, and tools Sam doesn't bother to describe, and a case of too-warm water of dubious age in cheap plastic bottles. "Thief," Dean says, but just to say it, and Sam shrugs and says, "Trespassing, too," but he cracks a bottle and hands it to Dean and Dean dumps it over his head, just to get off some of the sweat and dust. Long walk. Sam says dude and Dean says, "Bite me," but when he slicks his hand back over his head Sam ends up smiling at him, after all, and hands him another bottle to actually drink, and then -- bends at the waist and dumps water over the back of his own head, slicking his hair to black in the shade, dripping down and turning the dust to mud. Stripped down to his t-shirt after all and the water sopping the grey to dark. "See, I'm a genius," Dean says, and Sam scratches through his hair and groans like he does on other midnights and says, "Don't get ahead of yourself," but when he sits down next to Dean his hair's curling wet against his neck and he looks as relaxed as Dean's seen him in -- god, how long? Years anyway. Like Dean would see him sometimes in dreams, during that year that's pressed too close up against his back teeth, and he'd wake up on those mornings with his heart full in his chest and with a good mood, almost, that lasted until he opened his eyes and remembered what bed he was in and the mood pierced like a water balloon that hadn't popped right. Draining out slow until he was left pointless and limp.

Sun finally heading toward setting. Over the fields the air's golden, thick in that way of summer. Sky exactly the shade of a cherry '67 Mustang. Acapulco Blue. Sam's bootheels stretch out to full-length in the silt, past the mud-mess he made, and there's his legs long in denim. Dust on the hems. Dean leans forward, elbows on his knees, taking in one of those long deep breaths that when he blows it out feels like he's expelling air from decades ago. Lungs one hundred percent empty.

Big hand on the back of his neck. He closes his eyes. Sam strokes up over his head where the hair's gone spiky-wet and then smooths it back down, his thumb braced up behind Dean's ear. Heavy and hot.

"Gonna make it back to town tonight?" Sam asks. Like he doesn't know the distance just the same as Dean. Dean shrugs. Sam hums and squeezes Dean's neck, and then Dean opens his eyes and looks from where his head's held down like this to see Sam's heel draw up through the dust, and for his knee to press against Dean's, and then his hand dragging down Dean's back and then back up under his shirt, hot on damp skin, a big square heavy thing. Landing somewhere up between his shoulderblades. Dean wants it on his dick and on the side of his face thumbing his mouth and also just exactly where it is. Sam touching him. Over that last year, what he missed more than anything else. For Sam to touch him and for it to mean what it was supposed to, when Sam touched him.

"We've probably got the worst case of swamp ass this side of the Mississippi," Dean says.

"You remember that time in Tupelo?" Sam says, and of course Dean does. Of course, every single time, like some dorky glittery journal in his heart, he remembers -- Sam's face over his in Tupelo spattered with mud-and-blood and laughing at how disgusting it was, and doing it anyway; Sam's breath desperate at the back of his neck in Portland, both Maine and Oregon; Sam's fingers lacing with his in Colorado Springs, and Sam pressed chest-to-chest with him in Pittsburgh, and Sam's mouth blurring strange in the drunken dark in too many places to name. Dean remembers.

Sam lifts his hand, stretching Dean's shirt, and Dean feels the air gust up against his sweaty back before he follows it, unbending slowly, and then Sam's whole arm's shoved awkward up against his spine, his fingers and thumb bracketing Dean's neck, and when Dean tips his head back Sam's there to catch him.

"Gonna miss the show tonight," Dean says, slit-eyed. Salt in his eyelashes.

The county such-and-such. Volunteer firefighters put on the show, one of the witnesses told them. Not a big display but big enough to please the kids and the folk who hadn't got too cynical for it. He was kind of looking forward to catching it, just because. When was the last time they'd had a July 4th that wasn't some kind of miserable?

"Maybe," Sam says. His eyes on Dean's mouth. Which is so like the soulless version Dean's heels dig into the ground, some weird no instinct making him want to stand -- but then Sam's eyes flick up to meet Dean's, and he grins lopsided and dorky like Sam always used to, when he was okay enough to grin, and relief washes through Dean like stepping under a waterfall. "Could celebrate right here, though. Right?"

"You think that line actually works on anyone?" Dean says, chest blooming hot, and Sam says, "Guess we'll see," in a way that's frankly smug, and Dean rolls his eyes but he also swivels on his stolen crate-seat and presses his mouth against Sam's and gets salt-sweat and stale bottled water and also the good spit-flavor of his tongue, and so maybe Sam deserves the smug.

Birds calling in the trees by the barn, squawky-loud like they're making commentary. Sam's thigh hard and hot alongside his. At first Sam presses against him too hard and Dean grunts, and then Sam lays his other hand soft against Dean's cheek and kisses him sweet, instead, and then grips Dean's neck and kisses him just -- right, Goldilocks finding the right level of comfort. Dean lays his hand on Sam's chest and feels his heart go right out of himself, like a roman candle.

[mysisypheannightmare]

Just Another Day (Chapter Two)

Word Count: 4,860

Warnings: Logan Angst, Sickfic, Fever, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort (with actual comfort this time), Stream of Consciousness mixed with actual fully-written scenes, and All sides are present in this fic

Read Chapter One First

AO3 Link

--

He kept flinching away, Virgil noticed.

A part of him wanted to be grateful that it wasn't just him now, but all the other sides, too, that Logan was avoiding every time he was awake enough to recognize they were there with him. But, given Logan's last little freakout, it probably meant that something about the other sides was unsettling him so badly that he didn't want them there.

Well, maybe if he'd actually eat on his own or just get some actual sleep, then he'd stop having a stupid fever and feel better already…

Virgil felt a bit guilty for wanting Logan to just hurry up and get better already, but he couldn't help it. He had to hear Janus explain that Thomas was better from his fever the other day but was still dealing with a mental fog, likely thanks to whatever Logan was dealing with now. It's like the two were linked in some crazy way and managed to get each other sick.

If Thomas ever gets sick again after this, Virgil wasn't going to let there be an argument about it ever again. The man's going straight to bed, or better yet, a hospital! He should also probably make sure he's up to date on all his vaccines, too, just to be sure. This can't ever happen again. Not to Thomas and not to Logan.

"His fever has finally gone down a bit," Janus was telling Patton, who still looked distraught since the moment he even found out that Logan didn't seem to be doing too well. That hadn't been a fun conversation.

"He'll probably be back to himself in no time, alright?" Janus, of all sides, was trying to reassure Patton. Virgil hated that he couldn't tell if he was lying, even if it was only to make Patton feel better, but he certainly wouldn't put it past him. It was kind of his thing, after all.

Patton seemed to be cheered up ever so slightly by the news, however, so at least there was that.

He really hoped Logan was actually getting better.

--

"How's he doing?"

Roman turned to see Patton peek his head in, concern deep in his expression.

It was now the second day of them keeping a watchful eye over Logan. Roman was sitting in the chair they'd moved next to Logan's bed. He was keeping himself occupied with a coloring book and a box of crayons. It didn't take too much to keep him entertained while letting Logan sleep.

Speaking of…

"He keeps tossing and turning, but it's still better than yesterday," he informed Patton.

Patton stepped into the room and walked over, patting Logan on the head, only for him to shift away, turning on his side.

Roman sighed.

"I don't know what else we can do. I tried adding those pillows yesterday, but …well, you saw what happened. I guess he just can't get comfortable."

Patton gasped and then smiled wide.

"I may have just the thing!"

Roman watched, confused, as Patton ran off, ducking back out to the hallway in a hurry. He had no idea what he could possibly have planned, and he certainly didn't expect to see Patton return a minute later with an enormous stuffed animal in his arms.

It was a big white unicorn, nearly three feet tall, with bright, neon pink tufts of hair for a mane and a shiny rainbow horn sticking out of its head. The way its pink-colored hooves bounced as Patton walked back in, it was clear the unicorn's legs have more weight to them than the rest of the stuffed animal. Optimal for hugging, in fact.

Patton strode right up to Logan's bed and set the large plushie next to Logan with a triumphant grin. "That should do the trick!"

And somehow, he was right.

Roman watched as Logan turned over again on his other side again, almost instantly pulling the unicorn to his chest like it was meant to be there. He seemed to calm down right away, relaxing his shoulders and everything.

Finally.

It may have looked ridiculous for Logan to do such a thing, but if it got him to sleep more soundly, Roman would leave it be. He could just tease him about it later when he was no longer sick.

--

Logan woke up again, holding something soft to his chest. He tiredly opened his eyes, seeing only white fur with pink tufts sticking out… Oh! Palindrome, his stuffed unicorn! He hadn’t seen it in so long.

He squeezed it tighter to his chest, only to remember…he’d gotten rid of Palindrome over a year ago. So why was it here?

He glanced around to see he was still in his room. His mind seemed far clearer as he looked around some more and recognized everything was in its place, save for a new chair set next to his nightstand with a very bored-looking Janus sitting in it, flipping quietly through a book that Logan was fairly certain was from his own collection.

“…Janus?” he tried to say, but his voice came out exceptionally raspy. Wow, his throat really hurt, actually. Like he’d somehow managed to swallow barbed wire, the prickling sensation worsening as he tried to adjust to sit up on his elbows.

What on earth happened?

Janus looked over at him and quietly shut the book in his lap and set it aside.

"Hey, how are you feeling?” he asked him, an odd expression on his face. He seemed to be looking Logan over instead of just looking at his face. “Still tired?”

Logan narrowed his gaze at him, trying to decide what he meant by that. His mind seemed to be slow to give him his usual deductive reasoning, but was he implying Logan was tired earlier? Why would he ask that?

He opened his mouth to ask for clarification but somehow managed to choke on air, and let out a pathetic cough into the side of Palindrome’s head.

He frowned. Oh, he really hadn’t meant to do that.

“Thirsty?” Janus asked, and as Logan looked up again, he noticed a water bottle being held out to him.

He took it, aware that his arms felt very weak. He tried to sit up just enough so he could take a quick sip of the water, and then he finally asked the burning question…

“What… Uhm, what happened?”

Janus stared at him for a moment, that same unreadable expression on his face.

“It seems you had a fever, Logan,” he finally answered, leaning back in his chair again.

Logan waited, but Janus didn’t continue.

“Care to elaborate?” Logan asked, now trying to sit up properly and lean back against his headboard. It was more of a struggle than he expected, but he managed it regardless. He set Palindrome at his side, trying to resist the urge to hug the stuffed animal for comfort that he knew he didn’t need.

“Depends,” Janus responded, almost cryptically. “What do you remember?”

Logan sighed. He sure didn’t remember having a fever, but unless Janus was lying – which was extremely likely – then he couldn’t really be sure of anything that happened after Thomas had started feeling off and had thrown up yesterday…

“Oh,” he realized, “Thomas was sick."

Janus nodded. “Yep, had a fever, and then you managed to catch one, too.”

Ah, a fever probably wasn’t good, now that he thought about it. Though, Logan wasn’t even sure the sides could become ill. Patton and Roman had claimed to be sick a few times over the years, but they seemed to always be fine after having one of the others take care of them for a couple hours. He’d honestly thought they were just in need of some relaxation and special attention, not actually sick in the way a human could be, but maybe he’d been wrong.

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time…

“Is he doing better now?” Logan couldn’t help but ask.

Thomas’ health was definitely the priority here, so he ought to make sure.

“Considering it’s been about three days since his fever broke and he’s gone right back to normal? Yes, I’d say he’s doing much better.”

Janus looked over at him then, as though waiting for something.

Logan blinked, glancing away. Wait…three days? “Did you say three…? But wasn’t that just…”

How could that have been three days ago? Thomas had only gotten sick just yesterday! How long had Logan been sick then?

How long had they had to put up with him being out of it, especially if he couldn’t even recall a single moment from the whole ordeal? Hopefully he hadn’t completely inconvenienced everyone or kept Thomas from any important activities. Three days was such a large amount of time.

He sat up some more. He looked across the room to his desk, where his laptop sat open and ready for work.

Maybe he should check his schedule, just to see how far behind he had gotten…

"You really don’t remember then? Any of it?” Janus asked, some sort of emotion lacing his words. But what emotion was there, Logan couldn’t be sure.

He looked over at Janus. He seemed bothered.

Oh, no.

Had Logan done something burdensome? He didn’t know what it was, but he hoped he could make it up to him and the others. There were far too many possibilities if it occurred due to illness. Maybe it wasn’t anything too awful and a quick apology and some acts of kindness would suffice?

"I’m sorry if I bothered you in any way,” he told Janus right away, trying to adjust and move the blankets off so he could stand. His arms were still shaking a bit, but he needed to get back to work quickly if things had really been that bad. “I can assure you it won’t happen again.”

Janus eyed him as he tried to stand on wobbly legs. He rolled his eyes before sighing heavily and reaching over to push Logan back down onto the bed.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Janus told him flatly. "You're probably not fully well just yet."

Logan wanted to disagree, but he couldn't be sure. He looked over at his nightstand, seeing his glasses lying there, so he picked them up and put them on. His eyes adjusted slowly and with his vision clearing, he felt confident he was probably fine after all.

"If you don't remember, perhaps I should fill you in," Janus offered.

Logan glanced over at him, and Janus took the opportunity to explain in vague detail that Logan hadn't been seen by the other sides most of the day after Thomas had initially gotten his fever.

Once Thomas was better, they'd all assumed everything was fine…until they realized Logan was missing, so they'd gone looking for him. Apparently he was in his room, dazed out of his mind, sitting at his desk for some reason. Virgil and Remus got him to bed, but when they came back to check on him, he'd gotten up again and each time was either wandering around aimlessly in his room or sitting at his desk again, doing nothing.

"It was frustrating how many times we had to redirect you because you wouldn't sleep, for whatever reason," Janus said with a laugh.

Logan grimaced. That sounded very annoying for them.

"Apologies. I hope it wasn't too much of a problem."

Janus looked at him.

"It wasn't a problem."

Again, Logan wasn't sure what emotion was there in Janus' words, but there was definitely something. He felt awful not being able to assign it, but that had never been his forte, after all. He couldn't be expected to understand something that he wasn't meant to, even if he kept trying and failing for years at this point to do just that.

Janus sighed, continuing his explanation,

“By the next day, things got… well, they got a bit intense there for a while.”

Logan wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that meant. He found out anyway.

“You seemed terrified any time you were awake and one of us tried to help you with anything. A single touch had you backing away, even if we were just trying to get you to drink some water..”

Oh. Logan tried to remember why that might be, but his mind didn’t supply him a reason. He didn't find himself typically afraid of the others, so there was no reasonable explanation for him to do such a thing.

“And when you slept, you seemed to have nightmares. Painful ones, from the looks of it.”

Well, that probably wasn’t fun to deal with, either. No wonder Janus seemed bothered.

"Around the height of your fever, you had somehow managed to get out of bed and run across the room, tried to grab…I think it was a letter opener? Who knows what you were planning to do exactly, but when we finally stopped you, you…said you were trying to die for us.”

Janus stared at him, willing him to remember. But Logan didn’t remember anything like that at all.

Why would he have done something like that?

Perhaps his mind believed he was in danger or maybe they misunderstood the situation? That's such an odd response, though, even for someone who's ill.

“That…sounds burdensome,” Logan stated, in lieu of having anything else to say. “I’m sorry.”

Janus sighed, leaning back again.

"You really don’t remember? At all?" he asked again.

Logan shook his head.

“Well, there goes my hope of getting some answers at least,” Janus responded. “And what about all the mumbling you made in your sleep about Thomas replacing you?”

Logan froze. Well, that he remembered, but not from his time being sick. He’d been sure for quite a long time now that Thomas ought to replace him, find a suitable Logic that functioned and performed adequately, who didn’t constantly cause problems and instead fixed them like he was meant to. Had he mentioned that out loud?

“Uhh…”

“And something about not being productive enough? Being useless?” Janus added.

Logan swallowed, a pain in his chest rapidly starting to ache. Had he really said that? He was hoping none of them would find out how badly behind he'd been on his work.

He was able to get most of Thomas’ necessary tasks taken care of every day, but as time went on, his energy always seemed to dwindle, and lately, he’d been downright terrible about keeping proper tabs on everything. He had been covering it up well enough so that it wouldn't bother anyone or cause further problems, but that clearly wasn’t the case anymore if they knew.

How was he going to fix this? Did this mean they would replace him, after all? They would have to, right?

His breath felt shallow. But he'd been expecting to be replaced eventually, hadn't he? He was certain this was supposed to happen, just not so soon!

His throat felt tight, and his mind started racing, but it seemed Janus wasn’t finished yet.

“Oh yeah, and then there was a remark in there about how this was supposed to happen. Does that ring any bells to you?”

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe steadily, but absolutely failing.

Yes, of course he had thought about these things for quite a while, but none of the others were ever meant to know about it!

He was supposed to keep existing until the moment he could finally resolve all those problems he'd tallied up over time, even if the biggest problem was himself. He was supposed to stay for as long as he was useful, even if he’d already been found to be useless. He never wanted them to know how pathetic he was and had been all this time. He'd wanted to fix things before Thomas found out, at the very least.

What would he do now? Janus couldn’t have been the only one to know. What would the others do? Did Thomas know already? Were they replacing him already? What was going to happen to him?

He was supposed to have more time to fix everything before it had to end. He'd thought about it so much, but he was only biding his time and getting what little done that he could, then he would address it outright with Thomas, because he deserved to know…just not yet! It was supposed to happen, just not yet!

Was this inevitable? Was this always going to happen, the truth would come out before he had the chance to fix everything, even if he hadn’t somehow fallen ill?

Logan’s mind wouldn’t shut up or let him catch up on everything. He tried not to panic, but none of this could possibly end well.

Would it even end at all?

"Logan, breathe, please!” Janus pleaded next to him.

Oh. He wasn't breathing. That's probably what that pain was. Oh, no.

“You’re going to be okay," Janus told him.

He wasn't going to be okay. He messed everything up and hadn't even figured out a way to fix it!

"I wasn’t trying to confront you about this right now," Janus continued. "I just wanted to see if you had remembered… Perhaps, not my best move, all things considered.”

How could this have happened? What was he supposed to do now? He'd have to change everything, but if they all already knew, what could he possibly do to fix it? He couldn't fix anything! But if he couldn't fix anything, Thomas and the others would still be left with all the problems he'd left unresolved!

They'd all be so disappointed. They probably already were.

His chest ached.

He tried to imagine how the others would have reacted, but all he could think about was how he hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone or make them think they’d done anything wrong. He wasn't supposed to leave them with any burden. But now he’d gone and bothered everyone for no reason!

They all knew he’d been useless to Thomas and believed he deserved whatever fate came of that…

They must have been so upset with him.

“Logan.”

But it wasn’t as though this was the first time, right?

“Keep trying.”

They would never understand. He wouldn’t be able to make them understand. He already knew that from the start.

“Please.”

He really should have expected this.

…something about that thought was far too sobering.

He took in a deep breath and his vision seemed to clear up. Right, breathing is a good thing. Of course.

He managed to get in another deep breath, but it still felt as though his throat was tight and his heart was beating way too fast. What was wrong with him?

"There we go," Janus said in barely a whisper. "Honestly, I thought I was going to have to do it for you again."

"Again?" Logan squeaked out, looking up at him. "What… do what again? What do you mean?"

Janus frowned.

"When you were panicking before, when you were still feverish, you had tried to hurt yourself… You wouldn't calm down, so I…helped," he explained, then looked away. "Or tried to, anyway."

"How?" Logan couldn't help but ask, his breathing finally starting to slow back down. His chest hurt. Everything hurt.

"It's just a trick I know," Janus replied. "I have so very many of them, after all."

Logan watched as Janus leaned back, looking more like the Janus he knew rather than the worried mess he'd awoken to. Maybe that was a good thing?

Janus turned back to him then, squinting as he added, "You know, I haven't used that one on anyone in years. It just makes you calm down really fast, it's better for things like panic attacks. Virgil had gotten so mad the last time that I used it on him, he…" Janus trailed off, covering his mouth. "But it sure seemed like you needed it. I can only hope it actually helped."

Logan blinked.

"If I could remember, I would tell you."

Janus nodded. "I believe you. But I would also rather not have to do it again… which means you'll need to talk to me, or at least someone about what's been going on."

He stared at him intently, and Logan tried not to react, without making it obvious he was pointedly ignoring the suggestion. He let himself breathe, trying to get back to some semblance of normal.

"Those kinds of thoughts rarely spring from nothing, Logan," Janus remarked.

Logan didn't really want to think about it, if he were honest. It was always so much harder to understand if he let himself think about it. There had been so much and he had no desire to see the consequences of these actions anytime soon.

But clearly Janus wanted him to make a decision anyway.

"I'm aware," he responded. "I'll consider it."

Janus just continued to stare.

"Please do."

They, thankfully, didn't discuss it further. Janus let him rest a while longer before insisting he eat something.

Logan tried not to think about everything that was being left unsaid.

--

It was when Patton visited him again later that day that he decided to address the issue with the stuffed animal. The issue being that it wasn't meant to be in his room anymore.

“Did you bring this here?” Logan asked, holding out the stuffed unicorn plushie so that Patton could take it back. Sure, he could admit that he had missed Palindrome, but it wasn’t as though anyone else would know that.

Patton smiled brightly, taking the stuffed animal into his arms and letting its big hooves wiggle back and forth as he gave it a quick hug.

“Oh, Palindrome had shown up in my room a while back,” he told him, taking a seat in the chair that still sat next to Logan's bed. “I tried to return her when she first appeared, but you said she wasn’t lost. You said… I think you said something about not needing her anymore?”

Logan recalled why he’d willed the stuffed animal away in the first place. He wasn't meant to keep sentimental items in his room anymore, so he put them away in storage and got rid of them entirely. He wasn't sure where Palindrome would end up, but considering Patton seemed to already have an ever-growing collection of stuffed animals in his room, it certainly didn't surprise him that it ended up there.

“That sounds about right," he replied.

Patton continued, “I figured I would let her stay with me until you needed her again, so I gave her as many puzzles I could find to play with, and any time a new book showed up, I’d give it to her to read! She seems to really like them!”

Logan wanted to be grateful, but he didn’t understand why Patton was telling him all of this.

"…this doesn’t really answer my question, Patton. Clearly, you brought her here… I mean… Uhm. You returned this stuffed animal for a reason, right?”

He didn’t like sounding attached to an inanimate object, but that didn’t seem to matter to Patton as he replied with a laugh,

“Well, sure!” Patton pushed the unicorn back into Logan’s lap, tilting the animal’s head up at him. “You needed Palindrome back, didn’t you?”

Logan grimaced. “I don’t think—”

"Whenever I’m sick, my stuffed animals are always the biggest comfort when I’m trying to sleep,” Patton explained. “It only makes sense that Palindrome could help you be comfortable, too. Isn’t that just logic? It has to be.”

Logan wasn’t sure what it was, but it definitely wasn’t logic. Not that explaining that would help matters. He sighed.

“While I appreciate the gesture, Patton—”

“Will you keep her, then?” he asked Logan earnestly.

Logan paused and looked away. He really should just get to the point with this.

He handed the stuffed toy back to Patton yet again.

“Like I said, I don’t need a stuffed animal. And certainly not to sleep comfortably.”

It was the truth. He didn’t require comfort, let alone comfort items. He’d willed the unicorn away last year because it was beyond time for him to stop clinging to a toy so unnecessarily. If anything, Patton seemed the exact type to enjoy having an extra stuffed animal around, so it was best for him to keep her, not Logan.

Logan didn't need it, Patton wanted it, so this just made sense.

He’d made up his mind about this.

Patton leaned forward ever so slightly.

“She misses you.”

…what?

Logan whipped his head back to see Patton staring right into his eyes. He tried not to squirm under such harsh attention but failed as he started to shift uncomfortably.

Patton reached out, setting the unicorn right back on Logan’s lap resolutely, and then continued to look at him with determination.

“I don’t want her to think she’s alone,” he told Logan, his voice and eyes portraying true honesty, “even with all her friends around her. I know she likes to do things by herself, but I think it’s important that she at least have that chance for comfort when she needs it most.”

He gave the smallest smile after that. “Don’t you agree?”

Logan wasn’t sure what to think.

Palindrome was just some stuffed toy. Easy to toss aside and forget. Even easier to replace, with something better, more suitable. It's as though the damn thing was built to be useless, as though it was meant to be tossed aside eventually. Even if he had kept it around for a long time until now, why would Patton or anyone else think anything important could ever come from such a thing?

“What if she doesn’t need it?” Logan asked.

Patton’s smile faded.

“Everyone needs it. Even if it’s in a different way than we expect, but that’s okay. It’s always okay.”

But it’s so excessive. They didn’t need to waste time providing comfort for someone—for something that didn’t deserve it, that didn’t appreciate it! It couldn’t care, it couldn’t reciprocate, it couldn’t do anything that could ever help anyone else! It was useless!

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just get rid of her?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

Why not just remove the problem? Why wouldn’t they just make things easier for themselves instead of trying to cater to something they didn’t even understand? It’s not like he could even begin to tell them--

“I don’t think so. I think she’s right where she belongs.” Patton reached out to pet the fur on top of Palindrome’s head, adding softly, “But it looks like maybe her friends could have done a better job at reminding her of that… but they want to try now. Do you think she’d let them?”

Logan peered down at the unicorn in his lap, trying not to cry. This felt awful, it felt wrong.

"What if she’s scared it will only make things worse?”

Why was he playing along with this? What could this possibly accomplish? Nothing was ever going to change, so why even try?

“I think she deserves the chance to see what it could be like, Logan.”

His breath came out shakily as he tried to hold back the tears building in his eyes. There was so much that didn’t make sense, so much that could go wrong, but they wanted to do this anyway? He didn’t understand why they would bother.

Logan squeezed at Palindrome’s sides, still resisting the urge to hug her. He didn’t deserve that comfort, he knew that. It didn’t stop the thought from invading his mind, though.

Any time these pesky emotions stirred up, he knew all the books and research he’d read claimed he needed to examine them and then feel them and move on, but it was as though a tightly locked door was between him and these feelings, and even if he tried to open it willingly, he couldn’t seem to get inside, even for just a look.

He knew he would never be able to understand himself or what he was feeling. Nothing would ever change that. And it was his own fault. No one else should have to deal with that. It wouldn’t be fair. He was supposedto handle this on his own.

“Logan,” Patton reached out, just barely laying a hand over his arm. “Do you think you could try?”

He wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem like the right thing to do, but he just wasn’t sure. He… he wanted to, but he was terrified to know what would come of it. He wanted to but he didn’t want to bother them with all of this. He wanted to, but he couldn't possibly convince himself he would ever deserve it.

But he wanted to.

And he wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted much of anything before, except for things to finally end.

Maybe this was a different way… a better way.

He held his breath and looked up at Patton.

And nodded.

[caramelo7dulce]

Irondad & Spiderson Rec List Pt. 5

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

Part 4 here

Rec Masterlist here

*NO STARKER*

The Disappearance of Peter Parker by Milstrim - Peter regretted it, not paying more attention to his Spidey Sense, because now he was sitting in a freezing cell, not knowing if his aunt was alive or dead, if anyone was coming for him, and every inch of him hurting.

don’t help them to bury the light by silentsaebyeok - After a few minutes, voice small and shaking, Peter broke the silence. “May, I think I’m going crazy.”

I wouldn't drink that if I were you, kid by Lequia - In which Peter Parker feels abandoned, Tony Stark manages to screw things up even more, and DUM-E may or may not have found another fire extinguisher.

i. you are my sunshine by peterstank - the one where tony finds out he’s going to have a kid and he thinks maybe, just maybe, he could try giving the whole ‘dad’ thing a go.

That soft, gentle buzzing by kuragay - Soulmates aren't predetermined. Instead, they're created when you get close enough to someone, in the form of an empathy bond. Peter has bonds with Ned, with May, and with Tony. Three people who take up his soul, and he would die for each and every one of them. He used to have a bond with Ben.

hold tight, sweetheart (you'll find a rainbow) by neon_air - Peter has never liked violence. Especially when it lives inside him.

the hearth by sagemb - What to Do When Your Wife Is Out of the Country: A Guide by Tony Stark. 1) Gain partial custody of a child 2) Sleep on the couch 3) Have the child gain partial custody of you

the stars the moon they have all been blown out (you left me in the dark) by madasthesea - It starts off with his vision fading in and out. What kind of demon drug can make someone go blind by inhaling a single lungful? Whatever it is, Tony doubts it’s reversible. And while Peter’s no idiot, he can be idiotically optimistic. He's determined to fix what appears to be unfixable.

will you be there to catch me when i fall? (don't let me be alone) by rad_sad - The blood on his forehead is cold now, sticky and in his hair, his eyebrows and drooling down the side of his face. Aunt May isn't picking up and Peter is falling apart. So, he calls the only person he has left. He calls Mr. Stark

acolyte by macabre - Peter looks down at his hands. The two regenerated fingers aren’t the same color as the others - they stick out, even at just a glance. “I wasn’t always like this.” “No, you weren’t, but you work all the same.” Tony folds the kid into his arms, slowly, so he can break away if he needs.

porcelain by macabre - She constantly calls Tony a child of excess and Peter a child of absence. It makes Tony cringe every time. “He’s not used to having all of these things, and the things that he was offered in previous foster situations came at a price. You know this. Just be careful.”

New Dream by writerllofllworlds - “You ever tried to escape?”

for us, child, the stars refuse to shine by MotherKarizma - When the Avengers stumble upon Peter Parker, he is not a fifteen-year-old, bubbly, nerdy high school student. He is eighteen, homeless, and a drug addict. Peter refuses to let them discover the squalor he lives in when the mask is off, refuses to ruin their perfect little makeshift family with all his dirt, refuses to get too close. Unfortunately, he doesn't really have a choice.

The Strongest Wills by forensicleaf - The battle is raging all around him. People are screaming. Dying. Peter can stop it. He can stop it right now

The Stories On My Skin by orphan_account - “Yeah well I didn’t realise that you fucking cared so much!” The word’s erupted from Peter’s throat before he could catch them, the teens repressed temper finally snapping in half. Tony’s entire body froze, pure shock knocking the already heaving breathes of sharp air from his lungs. Peter had never spoken to him like that. Hell, he imagined the boy never spoke to anyone like that.

Shattered on the Ground by ironxprince - Due to excessive drinking, Tony begins losing his memory. He slowly forgets about Peter.

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter twelve - “it’s hovercraft time, bucky barnes”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: neither bucky nor y/n can sleep... until they do. and the next day brings them an unexpected, but pleasant surprise.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

It was four in the morning when the psychologist and the super soldier got in their respective beds after the nightmare. Y/N laid on her side in the bunk across from Bucky, facing away from him and staring at the wall. Her body wanted to sleep but her mind kept whirring on and on, worrying about him.

It wouldn't be that bad if she could just ignore it. It wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't wide awake also thinking about how it would be utterly impossible for him to have any eye color other than blue.

She sighed. Christ almighty, just go to sleep.

About twenty minutes passed before she heard it.

"Why are you still up?" he mumbled.

She turned over to her other side, dramatically, staring at his silhouette in the dark.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"I'm a trained assassin," he said, as a matter of fact. "I can recognize breath patterns."

"Yeah, well I know for a fact that you aren't even trying to fall back asleep."

"How could you possibly know that?" he repeated her question.

"I just do," she stated before turning on her back and staring straight up.

He scoffed playfully.

"What?" she asked.

Her tone wasn't as playful. It wasn't angry or annoyed; she could never be with him. But, it was void of emotion and her usual sarcastic cadence. She didn't enjoy people reading her like that. She knew he wasn't, but it felt like she was being called out for caring so much. She wanted to rein in her own compassion, but she couldn't help the way he softened her.

"That's just code for 'I'm a trained psychologist and I know how you're gonna react to nightmares.'"

She replied with silence, desperately trying to end the conversation so she could try to sleep and leave this night behind.

"Sorry, did I- did I say something?" he asked.

"No, you're good."

Part of her felt bad for being short with him, but she needed it to be over. She needed to somehow distance herself from her own feelings.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up with the nightmare and messed with you being able to fall back asleep. I know it's... a lot."

He's sorry. He's sorry?

"Don't you dare apologize. It's not your fault, and it's not even why I can't fall back asleep."

"What's the problem then?"

"It's nothing. Just try and get some sleep."

"Yeah... about that..."

"Will you have another?"

"Not  sure. I don't wanna find out."

"I know. And I'm sorry. Sleep shouldn't be this menacing, but you should still try anyway. Your body needs it."

"So does yours."

Y/N let out an exasperated sigh. There she went caring again and he kept deflecting. Her frustrations about her own emotions came out in stubborn defiance.

"I'm not sleeping until you do."

"Guess we're both stayin' up then."

"Bucky," she gently admonished.

"Y/N I can't- that... was the worst one I've had in a while."

That was it. Any and all aggravation faded to nothing, and her cheeks were hot with guilt. To hell with it; she refused to leave him to pain. She then got out of her bunk. Carefully, she maneuvered out and kneeled on the floor, facing him. She felt bad; she didn't mean to push him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, I should know better."

He mirrored her actions, slipping out of his own bunk and kneeling on the floor in front of her

"It's okay," he didn't miss a beat. His voice was as soft of hers. "Thank you."

He was closer now, so she could see a more detailed outline of him. She never really noticed just how large he was. Just his arm looked as big as her head. He was supposed to look frightening, but... she just couldn't see it.

"If you don't wanna sleep that's okay. I'll stay up with you so you don't have to be alone."

"Y/N..."

"I'm already up, I don't mind," she countered. "Seriously. I'm wide awake now. Honestly, I don't even know if I could fall back asleep if I tried."

"I can't ask you to stay up and babysit just 'cause you feel bad."

She scooted forward, determined not to lose to deflection again. Babysit? and Cause you feel bad? How could he truly think so little of himself?

"I am definitely not babysitting. I just happened to be awake at the same time you are... and not because I feel bad."

He scooted forward a couple inches, squinting, trying to decipher her facial expressions. "I can't tell if you're joking or not just from your tone of voice."

In the very back of her head it returned: that hazy enchantment feeling that swelled from her lungs through her brain stem every time she was this close to him. It is important to note - it was in the very back of her brain, and if you ignore something long enough, you can convince yourself it's not there.

"James Buchanan, I am awake and there's not a thing you can do about it."

"Alright," he sighed. "I don't know if you're expecting some kind of entertainment, but I can't really juggle with one arm..."

"I can't juggle with two."

"Ever been to the circus?"

"No."

He laughed. "Oh man, you're missin' out."

"No, I got the clown right here."

"Wow, is that how it is?"

"Depends. You got face paint and a rainbow wig?"

"Smartass."

The air was quiet after their breathy laughs fizzled out. A few moments of awkwardness quietly passed, both unsure of what to say next.

"You know when you're in the dark, your pupils dilate to take in as much light as they can in order to see better?" Y/N asked.

"I think I knew that? I'm not sure, I might've heard it somewhere. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I can't see your face super well, so it made me think of it. I can barely even see your eyes."

"Maybe that's better," he chuckled. "I don't know if they're still blood shot from earlier."

"Like I'd care."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"What?"

"Why wouldn't you care? I feel like seeing someone's puffy face and post-cry eyes would be kinda gross."

"You really think I care if your eyes are red or puffy?" she questioned. "Buck, I know I'm probably not supposed to say this because technically I'm your doctor, but I honestly consider you a really good friend. I'd be more worried to see that you've been crying than be aversive to it."

He scoffed in honest disbelief.

"What?"

"I just can't wrap my head around the fact that you think that way about me..."

"What do you mean?"

"...the person I am, the things I've done, the..." he shook his head, "the horrors I've committed..."

"The horrors you've committed are not who you are. I know you see yourself in a lot of different ways because it's hard to un-learn what other people have decided you are: a monster, a ghost, an asset, a machine, an assassin, a weapon, whatever. But have you ever considered that you're just human after all? You're a man who got dealt a shit hand in life. But there is still light in him... light that never left, no matter how hard they tried to beat it out of you. You're a survivor, Buck."

Bucky took a deep breath in, contemplating, before turning and laying on his back. They both remained on the floor, Y/N kneeling a few inches away from the side of Bucky's supine figure. He stared straight up at the ceiling.

"Sometimes I think I'm a better 'ghost' than I am a human being. My mind's a mess, and even though I'm trying, I still can't help but feel like I've lost who I am."

"You haven't lost who you are. You're just different now, and that's okay."

He looked up at her. "How do you always know what to say?"

"I know everything."

Y/N smiled, following Bucky's laugh, allowing the somber atmosphere to lighten up a bit. They so easily slipped in and out of the therapy dynamic, but now it seemed more like a heartfelt conversation between friends rather than treatment between doctor and patient.

"I consider you a really good friend too by the way - closest one I've had since Steve."

"Wow, really? That's an honor."

"Not really," he chuckled. "Steve's a punk."

And there she went laughing again. In one way or another she always found herself laughing around him.

However, she found it more confusing than funny when she woke up the following morning to find herself sitting on the floor, leaning against one of the beds with Bucky's head in her lap. She found her hands resting on his head protectively, fingers slightly carded through his long hair. She woke up before him... That's a first.

Y/N looked down at him. He was fast asleep; he looked peaceful and so relaxed. It was such a rare state to see him in, so she gave herself a few more seconds to study how his face looked when it was completely tranquil before she smoothed her hand along the back of his head and replaced her lap with a pillow.

-

"Hey," a raspy voice called out.

Y/N turned around from her seat at the table, hands still wrapped around the cup of tea she made herself a few minutes prior.

Bucky was awake, sitting up, but still in his previous spot on the floor.

"Hey. You want some tea?"

He stood up, nodding and stretching his back. "Did I fall back asleep?"

"You did," she smiled. "I'm pleased. I told you you needed the rest."

He seemed pleasantly surprised. "And on the floor too. Very classy."

She raised her mug to him, as if to make a toast. "Classiest man I know."

He laughed before grabbing the kettle and realizing it was empty.

"Shoot. We're outta water."

"It's alright. We know where to find the waterfall. You want to go get more?"

"Mm hm."

"Alright, I'll just finish my tea and go out in a few minutes."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm coming too."

"You sure? You just woke up. You can take some time to just relax if you want."

"No. I'm going."

"Stubborn. I can go myself, you know. I know the way."

"Would you let me go by myself?"

Y/N was silent for a moment before sighing.

"Get your shoes."

-

"You know, there was really no reason to almost push me into the water," Bucky commented as they were making their way back to the shelter after restocking their water supply.

"I wasn't actually going to!"

"You might as well have! My life flashed before my eyes!"

"Bet that took forever. You wanna backtrack? I can do it for real this time."

"I'm throwin' you in next time."

"You couldn't throw me," she challenged.

"Like a football," he countered, smirking.

"I don't wanna test that theory."

Their banter continued as they continued walking, making sure they were in the tree line and not out in the open. Bucky was always cautious. He was able to laugh with her while still making sure they were safe. That was until his arm was suddenly around the front of her shoulders, and holding her against his chest as his back was flush against a tree, effectively hiding them both from sight. She just stared forward, barely registering how fast he swiveled both of them around.

"There's someone at the bunker. I'm sorry- didn't want us to be seen."

He removed his arm, but her feet were stuck. She had never been close to him like this before; she didn't know what to think of it. She stepped forward a bit, breaking the contact but still facing away from him. She was hyperaware of their proximity but that quickly dissipated as she registered what he said.

"What did you see?"

"There were a couple people, but I didn't get a great look 'cause I moved out of sight fast. One woman, two men? I think."

His tone and demeanor reminded her of that day Shuri told them they had to go in hiding. He was so calm and collected. She forgot situations like these were practically muscle memory to him.

"Do you think someone found us? What were they doing?"

"I only saw 'em for a second, I'm not sure. Stay still, I'm gonna look."

As soon as his head peaked around the tree, so did Y/N's, ignoring his order.

"Wait, I think that's Shuri."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. I don't know if I'd bet my life on it."

"What's that other thing?"

"The hovercraft?"

"Hovercraft? God, I love this place."

"Wait, see the crest on the hovercraft - that's the one only Shuri can unlock."

"Alright, just... stay behind me. Okay?"

"Okay."

The two slowly made their way towards the three Wakandans. Y/N actually listened this time and stayed behind Bucky. As soon as they were in sight, Shuri came running up to them.

"Y/N!" she exclaimed, immediately throwing herself into the psychologist, embracing her.

She was startled at first, arms awkwardly hanging by her sides before her brain finally caught up to her and she brought her arms up lightly, returning the hug.

"Shuri! What happened?"

"We won!" Shuri grinned. "It's a long and complicated story, but the rightful King never died. My brother has reclaimed his place on the throne. Wakanda is ours once again!"

A monumental weight was lifted from Y/N's shoulders. She sighed in relief, knowing she was no longer in danger, knowing Bucky was no longer in danger.

"That's incredible. I'm so glad everything's okay, and I'm so glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you too, my partner," Shuri hugged her once more before addressing Bucky. "Sergeant Barnes. I'm sorry for all the trouble. I hope everything was alright?"

"We've been getting along just fine," he nodded. "Thank you."

Shuri called over the two other men - royal guards that came with her - before turning back to Y/N and Bucky.

"You've been camped out here in hiding long enough. Let us go home."

As they walked behind the Wakandan princess, Y/N nudged Bucky with her elbow.

"It's hovercraft time, Bucky Barnes," she managed to say through a face numbing smile.

delicate taglist: @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie @strivingforelegance

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 4

Previous chapter links:

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER FOUR

The cab ride towards the White Wolf was much faster and louder than you anticipated. The cab driver's blaring music from the radio was so loud it felt like you were inside a rave. You and Bucky had to yell over the music for you to talk about what has been happening in your lives for the past few months. You couldn't summarize everything in a five-minute cab ride. So far, these were just some milestones you both gathered (well, more of his): while Bucky was in different parts of the world (Greece, Macau, Amsterdam, Monaco, Aruba) managing interrelation business and hosting nightly parties and whatnots, you were just in New York tending to drunkards (and that includes Peter sometimes) and taking photos of whatever products that come your way.

At that moment, you saw your life pass by in black and white, while Bucky's in color -- just a parade of rainbows trailing behind him wherever he goes.

Yet he still found the things you did interesting.

You wondered what the word interesting meant to him. Of course, you didn't bother asking him that. Perhaps he just felt sorry and wanted to make you feel good.

The moment you got out of the cab, you guys took a deep breath, thankful that that awful ride was over. The music floated away as the cab sped up in the streets.

"What a dick." Bucky commented, watching the cab race through the streets. Any more speed, the cab would've flown in the air.

"I know." You snorted. "God, that was an awful ride. I felt like I was at a frat party."

"Funny. You don't look like someone who would go to one." He joked.

"I went once." You defended. "With Parker."

Bucky raised his eyebrows at you and stared.  Blue eyes piercing right through you in disbelief. "Okay." You sighed. "I picked his drunk ass up at that party. But I really have been to a party with Parker." You left out that detail of you and Peter making out at that party. That was just between you and Peter and you wouldn't want to include his stepbrother in it. Or perhaps Bucky knew about it. You did just found out they talk to each other almost every night. But as you told Bucky about that party, you received no reaction whatsoever which meant he knew nothing. You felt good about that.

You and Bucky stood in front of the White Wolf, trying to shake out the ringing in your ears. Stupid cab ride. Why you couldn't just walk here was because of Bucky. Apparently, he was still a bit hungover. You wondered what would take him to get fully sober.

You stared at the wolf headstone once more, admiring it for the second time today.

"I commissioned an artist for that." Bucky spoke, poking his finger on his right ear. "Just found him on the subway one day. He was selling some sculptures he's made. Asked him if he could make me one and ta-da!"

"It is beautiful."

"I have others he has made inside." With this, Bucky started to walk towards the inside of his hotel.

The uniformed man greeted you on the steps. You sent him a knowing smile once his eyes landed on yours. He smiled back as you introduced yourselves to each other.

"Is she still in my room?" Bucky asked the uniformed man who you now know goes by the name Leonard.

"Yes, sir." He replied. "She said she'd -- "

"I know what she said." Bucky groaned, remembering what you'd told him earlier. "I'll call you from up there if anything goes wrong, okay Leonard?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be on alert."

You watched the exchange in utter fascination. It was like watching something straight out of an action movie: "I'll be on high alert" "I'll tell you when the coast is clear" "Roger that" "I'll call you when something goes wrong"

The only thing was, this wasn't some action movie though Bucky did have a plan. You just never knew about it until you got in the elevators.

"Here's the plan." He started. "We go in holding hands, I'll introduce you as my girlfriend. Maybe fiancé! When she sees you, tell her you're my fiancé and when she tells you that she slept with me, I'm going to deny and you're going to believe me because as my fiancé, you deeply love me and believe everything I say."

"Ew, it's like I'm a sub."

"Wow, you're a dom?"

"I can be." You winked at him.

"Huh, I honestly thought you're a virgin. You know, that type of 'never been kissed, never been loved' type."

In your head, you started singing the rest of the song. "I'm an angel in the streets and devil in the sheets, Bucky." You joked which he took seriously seeing it on the look on his face. "Anyway, your plan?"

"Right! She'd yell and go nuts until she gives up and then leaves the hotel -- "

"Then we get married and let Peter pay for our honeymoon!" You finished for him with a sarcastic smile on your face.

He smirked. "I like the way you think, Aria. But I don't think Peter's gonna want that."

"What do you mean?"

"W-well, he's not gonna afford it is what I meant."

"You're probably right." You gave him a low chuckle. "You're rich. Pay for our honeymoon." You joked.

"As soon as we get this bitch out of here, yes I will, doll." He scrunched his nose up and winked at you right before the elevator doors opened. Swiftly, Bucky grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers. "Let's do this."

Hand in hand, you stepped out of the elevator. What stood in front of you was the same woman from earlier this morning. Body still clinging to Bucky's shirt. Faint red lipstick still smeared on some parts outside her lips. Blonde hair still disheveled. If you didn't know any better she was just here in the penthouse, waiting, not moving even a single inch.

You put your hand on Bucky's arm, hiding a faint expression of how big it felt against your skin. "Honey, who is this?"

"I-I don't know!"

The unnamed woman managed to step forward, looking Bucky in the eyes. "What do you mean you don't know? We slept last night!" Then, she looked at you. "Who the hell are you?"

"His fiancé." There was a sly smug tone in your voice. Even on your face.

"Fiancé? He didn't tell me anything about a fucking fiancé!"

"What the hell are you saying?" Bucky yelled. His grip tightened on your hand. "I've never even met you! How did you get in here?"

"We spent the night together, what the hell, Bucky!" She bellowed like a monster, then her voice softened. "I-I told you I love you."

"You're crazy."

"Call security." You said. "Now, Bucky!"

While Bucky grabbed for his phone, the woman pleaded, still trying to convince you that she slept with your fake fiancé. "If he says he doesn't know you," you responded, "then I believe him." Bucky slipped away from you, probably calling Leonard from downstairs. He gave you a knowing look, as if ushering you to unleash some kind of hell on his one-night stand. "You need to go, lady, if you don't want to be banned in every hotel here in New York. Yes, my fiancé can do that. So better get your ass out of here or -- "

"Okay, okay!" She held up her hands, giving up. "I'm out of here! Jesus fucking Christ -- " She mumbled more under her breath as she took of Bucky's clothes, revealing a white tank top underneath. She picked up her heels that were scattered on the living room: one shoe on the couch, the other near a foot of a small table. Picked up some pair of jeans on the carpet before stepping inside the elevator.

"I wish you luck in your fucking marriage." She said, tone filled with rage. Then, she proceeded to flip Bucky one last time before she disappeared behind the elevator doors, eyes boring into Bucky's.

"Okay, she's going down. Tell her to never come here again. Thanks, Lenny." Bucky dropped the phone call and gave you a smile. "And thank you for your performance."

You bowed, like how actors bow after a play ends, and flashed him a smile. "Why, thank you."

"Thanks to you I'm never gonna see that woman again in my life."

You turned your back on him, seeing the place for the first time without a tainted image of the woman. A line of little sculptures near every wall (perhaps the ones he commissioned from that subway artist). Family photos, albums and trophies took up a whole cabinet. You shifted your gaze towards the living room where a nice brown couch sits on top of a beige rug, which faced a huge flat screen television. Two pairs of love seats sat across from each other. A glass table set in the middle. On the back wall was a photograph of Bucky which took the whole space. He wore a neat, well-pressed grey suit, sitting on what seemed like a throne inside a home office, one leg stretched outwards and one leg just resting normally on the floor. He had this head tilt on one side, right hand under his chin, blue eyes looking directly at the camera. On its floor were stacks of magazines, and papers.

Even you couldn't deny how good Bucky looked in the photo but the photograph itself? You knew you could do better than that.

You turned around and found Bucky nowhere. "Bucky?"

He then emerged from what seemed like a kitchen because he was carrying loads of food and trod towards where you were and placed everything on the coffee table. "Yeah?"

"If I wasn't here, what would've you done?"

He shrugged, and opened a yogurt. "Probably stay in your apartment forever."

"Wow," you sat on the couch, watching him devour the food on the table, "seems like you've planned everything out."

"Seems like it, yeah."

"Do you always do this, Bucky?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have sex with girls, then make up a lie to get them out of your life."

"Oh, that was the first time." He replied. "Those three words really freaked me out. I've never heard that come from someone besides my family. Never even told anyone I've loved them, again, except my family."

You nodded in response and looked around the penthouse some more, admiring some paintings, big and small, on the walls. Perhaps some were real, perhaps some were just school ofs. On your right, was a draped curtain covering a whole glass wall that overlooked New York city. Bucky clicked some button somewhere which let the curtains open, letting some of the New York sun inside. From here, one could see the whole view of New York. All its pleasure, glory, grime, and lowliness.

Oh, the things you would give to live in a place like this. If you wanted to take in the beauty of New York, you had to climb up on the fire exit towards the rooftop. And the view from up there wasn't as pretty as this one. All the pretty spots were behind million dollar skyscrapers.

You looked at Bucky once more who leaned against the love seat, then closed his eyes. That same fuzzy image, which you thought you had buried at the back of my mind, resurfaced.

"Bucky?"

He shot straight up. "Yeah?"

"Have we... met each other before?"

A frown formed on his face, his blue eyes meeting yours, his gaze intense; as if he was trying to put a finger on something, on you. But then he gave up, telling you perhaps you'd just seen him somewhere here in New York the last time he was here, bumped into him. Something like that.

You agreed. Maybe that was it.

Again, you pushed that image at the back of your mind, hoping it would never come up while Bucky was still here.

You were about to ask Bucky how long he was planning to stay in New York before partying in every country outside America when your phone rang.

It was Steve. You picked it up immediately. "Hey, Steve. Is everything okay?"

Bucky shot his head towards you, perhaps wondering who this Steve was.

"Hey." He replied. His voice was groggy, like he just woke up. "There's been some misunderstanding with the shipments. They thought I said drop them in the morning. Long story short, the shipments are just outside the pub's door."

"What? They can't do that!"

"They have a lot of deliveries today so they had to. I told them to wait for you but those are impatient bastards. New shipment boys."

You cursed then stood up. "I'm actually not in the apartment right now. I'm somewhere else. Not important. I'm on my way."

"Get there fast, Aria."

"I will, don't worry. Bye, Steve."

Once you got off the phone, you told Bucky the whole situation.

"Let's go then!" He said with much enthusiasm. "Those drinks are no good sitting out there. How else am I going to make you the best drink you'll ever have, darling?"

[mmilkbreadd]

the colors of spring

|| Miya Atsumu ||

Prompt: “Aren't the flowers beautiful?” “Yes, but they're not quite what I'm looking at.”

Genre: florist au; fluff; kinda angst.

Word count: 1.2k

Masterlist || Network Event

Miya Atsumu was a pretty simple person. A simple gray color among the rainbow of colors that spread throughout the world. Although they normally considered his brother that way, because of his hair more than anything, Atsumu believed that the color gray was what represented him the most.

And in spring, it was where it was most prominent.

Miya Atsumu hated spring and became a completely different person during those three months that the 'horrible' season lasted: annoying, grumpy, and with a completely red nose.

He was allergic to spring. Well, flowers really. 

Could that be the reason for his simple, dark color?

So when a new flower shop was established right next to his volleyball team's training venue, MSBY Black Jackals, he thought his allergy would get worse… But maybe that wasn't entirely true after all.

The first day of spring was sunny, the birds sang, and cherry trees swayed from side to side on the sidewalk where Atsumu walked. Next to him, the colors that surrounded him, were shining, making him even smaller in his own greyness. His steps were slow and his back was arched forward. Also now and then, the sleeve of his jacket brushed his nose.

Anyone who saw him walking like that, would think he was spending a lot of time with his former teammate, Suna Rintaro; who was distinguished by having a rather particular posture. 

A few meters before reaching the entrance of the building where he had to train, someone got in his way. And then Atsumu sneezed loudly.

“Do you want a flower?” asked the figure in front of him. “It's free, I just opened this place so new clients are welcome, but for now, it's just a taste of my great pieces of art!”

Atsumu looked up after trying to stop a second sneeze with his forearm. 

'Sakusa won't want my sets now' he thought as he examined the flower that caused his major allergy.

The vibrant pink color that could be attractive to many, and that only made Atsumu want to run away (and sneeze over and over again), sat on both hands that came closer and closer to his face. A big smile was hidden behind that present, which he did not even dare to inspect, and eyes full of hope and dreams looked at every move he made.

“Sorry, but no. Thanks though,” he replied after a few seconds and continued walking. Behind him, a discouraged sigh was heard, but Miya didn't turn around. 

He hadn't even seen the face of the person who had offered him the flower; not that he was very interested in it. The thing is, that was the first time you two met, and unlike him, you memorized his face; hoping to meet him once again. He would get one of your precious flowers, whatever it took you. 

There was something about Atsumu that caught your attention. It could be from his sneeze caused by the flower. Or also that in some way, he resembled one as well.

Finally, and just as Atsumu had predicted, his teammate, Sakusa Kiyoomi, did not approach him for the entire practice.

The next day, the colors were the same. And Atsumu, gray as always. Unexpectedly, the same situation happened: a person with a flower approached him, Atsumu sneezed, apologized, and continued his way. This time, though, he looked at their face; and to his surprise, he saw a big smile. Your smile.

Even if he had rejected one of yours 'great pieces of art’ just as he had before, you wanted to show him that even when you were repudiated, you still hoped that he would accept sometime.

Atsumu was the one who memorized your face this time. You didn't look gray like him, you were pretty as a flower. Well, how a flower was supposed to be. Not just a source of allergies and a bad mood, but something beautiful that was loved by all. 

Something full of color.

'Maybe spring isn't so bad after all' thought Atsumu before sneezing for the eighth time after his second time meeting you, regretting his thought.

The whole week was the same: a gray Atsumu, a pink flower, and a big smile from you. He denied, apologized, and walked. 

As the days progressed, a smile appeared on his face, but on yours, it disappeared. Maybe he wasn't interested in your flowers after all. What you thought was just a 'game' for you to keep insisting, it might not be one. Maybe it was time to stop; although Atsumu was already planning to ask for your name. 

So today you both had different plans. For the first time Atsumu stopped his walk solo, no one had intercepted his way. Startled, he looked at the ground, where he found a small flower, very similar to the one you had offered him the previous days. 

The flower was almost destroyed. It had been stepped on several times and some petals lay beside the stem; which still remained with some of them. Its pink color looked grayish. But still broken and discolored, her beauty still existed.

“Maybe the owner dropped it?”  he asked aloud, not waiting for an answer, of course.

Atsumu panicked. It was just a simple flower, as simple as he was, so why bother? His allergy was far more important. But on the other hand, he was just a few steps from the flower shop, just a few steps from you. 

Knowing your name was more important than his allergy, right? 

Atsumu zipped up his jacket to cover his mouth and nose and then covered his hands with the sleeves. He later bent down and took the flower. Miya tried to breathe as little as possible, but as soon as he got up, he sneezed.

Atsumu watched as the flower fell from his gray hands, only to be picked up again by someone

“Poor thing, it didn't deserve this terrible fate,” you said, looking at the flower with a melancholic smile. “Of course it's not your fault though, you tried to save her from imminent death. Tragic, but imminent. I can tell that you like flowers, even if your body tries otherwise. Thank you anyway.”

Atsumu widened his eyes. Again you had stood in his way, only this time, to save the little flower even more destroyed after his sneeze.

“You don't have to thank me, I did absolutely nothing. I couldn't even lift her off the ground! ” Atsumu said, without letting his nose be uncovered.

“Oh do not worry! Even crushed and gray it's pretty, don't you think?” you asked, and then noticed that not only he was watching the one you had in your hands but all those that were in the ornaments at the entrance of the flower shop. “Well, actually, aren't the flowers beautiful? In general, I mean.”

Atsumu returned his gaze to your bright eyes, remembering your words: 'Even crushed and gray it’s pretty…’

Gray… just like him. 

When Atsumu realized it, he felt like a fool. How could have he missed it? The flower was simple and gray, just like him! But it didn’t mean it wasn’t beautiful! 

It didn’t mean Atsumu wasn’t important or that he didn’t matter.

Maybe the color gray didn't feel so simple anymore.

And you were the one who made him realize that.

“The flowers…? Yes, but they're not quite what I'm looking at.”

The colors of spring were always part of Atsumu's life.

He just didn’t know that before.

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 27 (NSFW)

Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad

Read Chapter twenty-six

Title: There is No Redemption

Words: 7.4K

Summary: Happy trail worship? Happy trail worship. 

ST Rambles: Hello readers, I hope you enjoy this part. I am in my final semester for my ADN and cannot promise even monthly updates at this time. Please, please, please comment your thoughts because I don't want to produce content that is not enjoyable. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER / @elmidol

Stress enveloped your skull in throbbing pain, Karmen’s six-hour rundown stinging your senses and drawing you inward.  Halfway through, you had already begun to feel the excess of information take its toll; Zag’s voice – unpleasant in small doses – grated into you, each word coming too fast and leaving too soon.  Thankfully, no doubt to cover herself, she had left you with a thumb drive; it summarized everything she’d mentioned.

After the ordeal, when she left by the sharp click of her heels, you understood why it was recommended to arrive two days prior to the initial hearing: you were utterly and dreadfully exhausted.  After unpacking – ensuring easy access to your favorite socks and keeping Snoke’s letter tucked into the back drawer of a desk – you had sat in bed for an hour trying to refresh with the thumb drive’s contents; you’d were determined to be prepared for tomorrow’s shift at Canto Bight’s recovery wing.  If nothing else, you would not make a fool of yourself during your practice here.  This you swore to yourself.

At some point you had drifted to sleep, waking to find your cheek stuck to the datapad that’d been propped up before you.  The sunset woke you with a searing ray of light, screaming fuchsias and hazy purples warming your outstretched arm as they cast through open curtains.  The breeze rolled off of the bay and tickled loose hair over your nape, a deep breath stretching your lungs awake before you unfurled from yourself. 

The radar at your wrist indicated Kylo Ren was near but not in his quarters, probably not inside the building.  It was a confusing feeling – the unsteadiness you felt when revisiting your earlier interaction, the vagueness of his words contradicted by the certainty in which they’d been delivered, but simultaneously this calm in your chest since you had left him.  Although you had no idea what he’d gone on about, or what in time meant, his mere presence – the fact that he was near and would continue to be – allowed you these glimmers of peace.

Not since Starkiller.  Not since Snoke.  Not Mason and his baseless confidence, no matter how much you wished to latch onto it; not Talia, who had helped you back from your darkest moment.  The only things that stilled you were the known proximity of your master, and the nature of the words he’d earlier spoken.  You’d felt it that recent night on the Finalizer, how it lingered in your muscles just before you’d dozed off, how it seemed his presence had scared your nightmares away.

However ridiculous and backwards, Kylo Ren – the one whose pain is printed on your skin, who led a slaughter just strides away from you – had become a constant.  It was never what you had expected, but when you thought of the trial now, what eased your nerves was nothing less than the raven-haired warrior whose face was slashed with midnight hues of pain. 

Much like you, you’d come to realize, he had survived Starkiller, and the event changed him.  Though you could not know for sure, you began to wonder if what had gone on had not only left him with the wounds that’d wet your skin, but perhaps ones that were deeper – ones that were not so visible.  Something happened before that explosion, something more than whatever fight had earned him that scar.

You shook your head; this was too much to think on right now.  With a throw draped over your back, you trudged through the room and out into the chill of your side-balcony.  This sky held more beauty than any you’d ever seen; you watched the sun descend, spying a domed, octagonal pavilion at the far left of the side gardens.  It dripped with violet-petaled ropes and emerald ivies, was supported by scalloped columns entwined with twinkling blooms welded from gold, the whole stage centered around a sunken fire pit. 

Considering for a moment, you saw it would have a better view of the sunset, and you’d been cooped up since arriving.  It was a quick decision, catching view of a spiral of stairs that led to the grounds, but only after noting the pair of doors a few paces left of your room’s.  They were closed, and the inner curtains seemed to be shut, the room behind them dark.  Empty.

No, Kylo Ren was not here, but – a thumb over your radar – he was not far.  Somewhere off on his own business.  Training, maybe.  At least, that’s what you supposed kept you from traveling with him, the thought frustrating.  Maybe – no, undoubtedly – he would never admit to it, never show it, but he was still recovering. 

Ten days ago he was in a medically induced coma talking about someone named Ben and how he’s dead.  Bacta works wonders, but it means nothing if a patient is noncompliant with post-operative restrictions, like swinging around a plasma sword for hours on end, or doing trial runs with the Force – which, although you knew little about, one could easily assume it put strain on the body. 

Maybe you were wrong and your master was completely fine, maybe the Force aided in healing.  No matter, you worried; for him, mostly, never forgetting how he appeared in that medbay, but also for yourself.  It was clear that you cared for him – for fuck’s sake, when you thought you’d never see him again you wanted to tell him you loved him – and you knew his pursuits could very likely be the death of him.  Stubborn as you might be to acknowledge it, so long as he was okay and not recklessly shredding through healed wounds, so long as he returned to you, you could rest somewhat soundly.

Hugging your blanket, tighter when the wind blew, you wandered down to the courtyard’s trim lawn, along the overflowing flowerbeds that brimmed with brilliant colors, until you met the few steps that led to the pavilion’s stage.  Flames shocked you when you stepped onto the eight-sided base, your presence triggering a hidden system.  The rectangular pit exploded into a rainbow of fire, thin veils of flames ascending elegantly into an ordered myriad.  The pit was massive, consuming the base but for a few paces from each support.

Much like everything else, the pavilion was grand in size and decoration; the hearth’s hues danced along the draped flora, at least ten paces separating each gold-threaded pillar.  Everything here was explicitly luxurious, so big and gorgeous.  You wanted to settle into it, but it was temporary, and you would not know how fatal that fact was until it was too late.

Farther out, flames rippled over the bay; the sinking heat of the sun endeared your skin, the warmth at your back growing in distance as you gave in to the silent call of the scorching sky.  First tracing the tip of one of the gold leaves woven to a pillar, admiring the detailed stems and ridges, you curled up against the column’s wide base.  Head caressed by the smooth, cool stone, knees curled close to your chest, you were glamored by the water’s rhythmic sway, wondering if you would ever have the chance to feel it on your skin.

It took little effort to keep Karmen’s lecture from your thoughts, too lost to the burgundy of dusk that bloomed as the sun wilted toward the bay.  A stillness surrounded you, and then you tuned into the chirping whispers of bugs that remained hidden with the fall of night.  It did not bother you in the slightest, their distant songs a reminder of your life before the academy.  A passing thought, fond amusement lazily humming in your chest – there are no crickets in space. 

You remained folded against the pillar for some time, watching night creep over the city, more grateful for the heat on your back as warmth waned, the moon climbing higher with each lulling minute.  The stone iced into your cheek.  You went to leave, but your commlink buzzed at your waist, and you knew it would be wiser to keep this particular conversation outside. 

Elbows to your knees, you ruffled a hand through your hair, closed your eyes, and answered Mason’s call.  “How’s your day, McCarty?” There was no use in starting an argument if he had moved on from earlier.

“Probably better than yours, if I had to guess.” He sounded chipper.  It was a relief.

“Well, what went on? Where’d you go? Who’d you see? What’d you eat?”

“I’ve really just been hanging out at the house since getting here.  Caught a nap, which was nice.  Soto sent me a transmission detailing updates on a few patients.”

He wasn’t hostile at all.  Hopefully it meant he was done being weird.  “I also got a nap.  Which, agreed, is definitely nice.  Especially after being kept in a room with Zag for six hours and trying to keep my head from exploding.”

“Six hours? With Zag? Are they trying to get you convicted of murder?”

You shared a laugh, scooting along the stone floor and peering up to the ceiling.  It was tiled with mosaics, the fire’s vibrant colors reflecting off of it and shifting along the intricate designs.  The view of the city was wider from this position, distant lights shimmering in windows that peered into whatever parties were undoubtedly happening. 

“She isn’t that bad.  It’s just her voice.  And I barely have a handle on anything other than the fact that I have my first shift tomorrow, and then two days after that is the initial hearing.  And I don’t even want to think about that to begin with, so…”

“Well,” he sighed your name, “I’ll be there.  Bright and early, just like you.  Wearing my second-best attire, saving the very best for the official trial, of course.”

“Jeez, that’s another thing, right? They fly us out here, put me up in some military-grade villa, but they give me nothing to wear, are aware that my residence just exploded on Starkiller, and then still say I can’t wear my uniform.  I just find that a bit unfair.  But that’s what I think, which we both know has not mattered since the very beginning of all this.  I don’t even know why I expected anything different.  I’ll just have to request transport to the shops or something.  And then make credits appear out of thin air to pay for it.”

With notably increased enthusiasm Mason said, “Actually, I, uh, I was going through the house earlier and there’s actually a lot left over from my family’s recent trip.  You’re free to come over and take some stuff back to your embassy if you want.”

“Alright, first – not my embassy, and if we’re calling it anything, I vote palace.  Seriously—” you stared at a trellis that overflowed with wild blooms of every shade of red, the dead, fallen petals mocking you in the familiar way they pooled beneath.  “—this place is too beautiful for any of the old businessmen who stay here.  It’s actually ridiculous.”

“So it’s not homey, after all?”

A bellowing laugh came from the center of your chest, echoing up to the domed roof and into the growing dark.  “No.  No.  Not homey.  Not quaint.  None of that.  Just giant and spectacular.”

“Well, whatever it is, do you want to come over and grab some clothes?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah.  That’s a lot better than spending credits I don’t have.  Although maybe I’m worrying for nothing? Don’t they forgive your debt when you die, anyway?”

Mason did not laugh, did not even speak, and your amusement fell into alarm.  An edge menaced along each pointed word when he spoke; “Maybe they’ll forgive your debt, but I won’t forgive you for dying.” He grunted in rejection.  “You’re not dying, so I don’t know why we’re discussing this.”

Silence swallowed you both, and for a moment you could hear him trembling, hear the shakiness of his breath.  A sharp exhale startled your hand from your ear.  And then it was quiet again.  He cleared his throat, and you noticed how thick it had become.  Was he crying?

“Mason, you need to tell me what’s going on.  And don’t say-,”

“Nothing is going on.  It’s fine.  We’re fine.”

“Funny, because when you say that, when you tell me we’re fine when I didn’t ask, it makes me think the exact opposite.”

He sighed, but at this point there was a good chance it was more exasperation or fuming than anything else.  “I’m not having this conversation when I can’t see you.”

“Well, I’ll just turn my transmission on and we can-,”

“No.” Clipped, barked.  Final.

It concaved your chest.  Mason had never spoken to you like this.  Your teeth scraped at your bottom lip.  “Should I be worried?”

He paused.  “No,” as it gritted through his teeth, your name was contoured with wisps of ire.  An ounce less of restraint and whatever he was holding back would crack this hardened, taut façade.

The worst came to mind.  All you could manage was a terrified whisper, “Are you revoking your seat to testify? Is that what this is about? Am I about – fuck – am I about to- I can’t lose you.  I can’t-,”

“I told you.  I told you I will be there.” Frosted fury swept through his following pause.  His flat tone was laced with quiet hurt when he next said, “Do you really think I could do that to you? Leave you in the dust like that?”

“No.  I guess not.”

“You guess not,” he thought aloud, a long drag of breath crackling into your ear.  “I’m glad that you’re settled in, and… good luck during your shift tomorrow.  You don’t need it, I know, but nonetheless.”

He was dismissing you.  You hated it.  “I’m not hanging up until I know we’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” he said simply, too fast.  Mason cleared his throat.  “Request transport for the morning after your shift.  You can shop around the closets and after, we can order lunch and… and we can talk.  About things.  Everything.”

It was apparent he would not give anything more away, but you knew from his flat tone that whatever it was, was detrimental to him.  Or you.  Or both.

“Yeah.  I’ll put in the request after shift tomorrow.”

Another long, aching silence.  You listened to his breath, trying and failing at ignoring the knives in it.  The line remained silent, the hanging static a backdrop to the hidden, harmless creatures humming in the night. 

“I love you, Mason,” you prompted, teeth catching your trembling lips, time choking you with every halved second that trudged along.

It killed you, every inhale adding to the weight in your chest, every empty, wordless moment he spent cutting into you with a silent blade.

Another second and you turned back to the heightening tide of the bay, the clear night sky dying it a deep navy.  Even as you tried to focus on the waves that foamed along the distant shore, there was no sound louder than Mason’s nonresponse.

“Goodnight,” Mason said, small, far enough away that it splintered through your heart like ice wedged through rock.

“Good-,” the line went dead, the static dying, a night-kissed wave crashing in your periphery, “-night.”

The iridescent veils of hearth rippled before you now, turning away from the seemingly infinite expanse of water.  Even so, you shivered, and you were sure it had nothing to do with the weather.  Tucking your commlink into your waist pocket, loosing a long-kept breath, you stood from the stone and clasped your blanket over your shoulders.  With a final glance, chin to your shoulder, you appreciated the beauty of your first night here. 

Whatever awaited you tomorrow, the next day, and in the weeks to come? It would remain.  For now, just this one moment alone, you could pretend that everything was okay.  Just for a moment.

A soft touch brushed your shoulder, but when you turned to meet whoever it belonged to, you found there was no one around.  But a light caught your eye, one that had not been there before.  Maybe that interruption to the dark captured your attention, but not at all was it what kept your gaze above the gardens.

Through the clear night, a breeze danced through the flora, glittering scarlet petals into the shadows.  Above those dwindling rubies, leaning over the balcony’s curve, was Kylo Ren.  Behind him, the golden light of his quarters caressed his back, small fragments draping over the sharp, toned muscles of his shoulders.  He was staring down to you, his gaze laving along your figure, eyes those of a predator aware their prey was no match for them.  The ever-heightening moon was all that lit his front, but it was enough.  No, so much more than enough.  Entrancing.  Captivating.  Beguiling.

Light cascaded along the taut strength of Kylo’s abdomen, his broad, thick chest emanating with the smooth white of the dusk’s sun.  Once more, like it always did, the scar skating through his features kept your attention.  From a distance it was less intrusive, but its presence sank your heart like the sun had wandered into the sea.

A whip of night air pushed his hair back to tease his ears, his head slightly cocking to the side when you found his eyes again.  There was no color to them, none that you could see so far away, but you felt their heat slink along your lips, then your neck, over your chest, and lower still.  When they claimed yours once more, they were sculpted with steadfast steel, strong and slithering, ordering your compliance to the smoking promises beyond.

Without noticing, that chill from earlier had left you, and you gathered the blanket so it hung from your forearm.  Kylo held you with his eyes, the fire’s warmth falling away when you stepped off the platform and wandered, in leisure, down the steps and into the plush lawn.  A dew was readying to form on the grass beneath your bare feet, the coolness welcome under his blazing attention.  One step, two, another, and a final; small, shuffling, like you were hypnotized – truthfully, you could have been, but there was none but your own intent in the steps that carried you closer to him.

Only when he straightened to his full height, standing away from the balcony’s edge, did you halt your advance.  He paused there, watching you, so gracefully still you were unsure of his breathing.  From his new position you could no longer see his hands, but – you could feel them.  A pressure along your cheek, your heart stammering at how its span so completely matched his own, and then around your throat, dizzying when it teased your carotids.  Breath shivered from your slack mouth, catching when that – his – ghosted touch skimmed down your sternum and pushed into your rib cage. 

Kylo made no sound, but when the night’s quiet scattered around your faint, gasped moan – feeling the whispered hands smooth over your hips, around the front of your thighs – you saw his jaw flutter, darkness and moonlight tangling when he gave you one final glance.  The phantom touch left, a feline smirk flickered along his lips, and when his brows descended and veiled those deep, deep eyes, Kylo turned and sauntered out of sight.

But you understood his message, the silent one that only his body spoke, and you knew that his leaving was not goodnight, but an invitation.  One you fully intended on accepting. 

The trees swayed above you, the beds of perfectly spaced flowers blowing with the gentle breeze and combining with the sea behind to fill your head with the salty, fresh aroma of a Canto Bight night.  Each step you took along the patterned grass shimmered anticipation through your veins, heady, wanton thoughts brimming in your mind.

The cold stone that marked the ground level’s patio shocked through you, wet crimson petals that had pooled below the trellis now clinging to the soles of your feet.  You did not have time, or at least were desperate to not waste any, to pluck them off, allowing them to travel with you as you led them up the curved staircase.  As you climbed the steps, you stole a fleeting glimpse of the bay; from this height the city’s nightlife sheened along the shore, a few private ships zooming above the skyline and carrying their passengers to events unknown to you. 

Events that you could not have cared less about, not when you arrived to the second-level balcony, not when you saw the swaying curtain beyond Kylo Ren’s open, waiting door.  No, those events meant nil, exceedingly so when you found the beginnings of a trail leading into his room, the first crumb that of pooled, discarded athletic pants. 

Instant, overwhelming chills clamored about your skull, the blanket draped over your arm joining the black bottoms when your limbs went wobbly.  Through the wind-swept gossamer you spied the second addition – one long, impossibly large, black sock – and when you came closer, the cool of night waning as you met the threshold, your heart thrummed louder at the nearing shaft of light that fled the refresher’s entrance. 

Heated tiles warmed your first steps into Kylo’s room, the coquettish curtain kissing the tip of your nose before the door at your back locked shut in near silence.  You brushed past the veil of fabric and took in your surroundings, quite different from what they were earlier.  The golden rays of morning had since been overridden by soft panes of night, only the moon reflecting onto the light tile, not a single star to join it.  The bed’s canopy remained shut, its thin sheets cascading around the bed so there was ample space to walk within its soft confines.  And from that canopy, from the circular track above, bloomed delicate, mild light; it melted midway down the canopy, fading to nothing before it breeched the polished ivory below.

Another step and you noticed the trail of scarlet, dew-drop-covered petals you were leaving in your wake.  On the step up from the bed’s level lay a second sock, so you padded to it, and tuned into the sound of heavy, rushing water that became louder as you delved further into the dimly lit room.  This level was dark save for the glow of the open refresher; you followed that light like a lost vessel in space, hands trembling as you passed through the sitting area with soundless strides.  Finally, as you’d calculated at the earlier bareness of his chest, you found the piece of clothing that signaled your final destination lying at your feet.

Atop the refresher’s threshold lay a pair of black boxer-briefs – unfolded, just as they’d appear fresh off the heated, muscled body from which they’d come.  A smile played at your lips, remembering how the pair he’d so generously provided you the morning after you’d first slept next to him had hugged your hips with subtle compression.  Those, unfortunately, were undoubtedly obliterated with everything else that had exploded with Starkiller. 

Kylo Ren was nowhere within view, but running water tucked behind a corner to your left, and when steam swirled around an inlet that bordered a sleek, unbroken wall of ash-grey tile, your lungs lit with need, with want, your thoughts only focused on the body and man that waited for you just beyond view, just out of reach.  Suddenly you became aware of how overdressed you were, so you turned to your right and found a mirror that ruled its own wall and plucked open the top button of your uniform.

The fogged silver expanse provided a blurred, softened outline of your near-bare body, scalding goosebumps scraping up your neck at the thought of Kylo’s slicked, dripping body.  Hands hooked behind your back, you loosed your bra and smoothed the straps down the sides of your arms.  And then all that covered you were the lack-luster panties the Finalizer had provided all those months ago, but they soon joined the small pile at your feet, leaving you naked and anticipatory and adamant.

Plopping your watch onto your clothes, you squared your shoulders, fixed your posture, and approached the heat of the hidden shower.  Its warm embrace evoked such a calm through you, first loosening your shoulders, then steadying your breath.

Beyond the smoke hued barrier was a chamber of luxury, the water cascading from above like it came from an invisible storm cloud; its volume suggested a harsh pressure, but, stepping beneath the jets that seemed to span the entire stall, your skin was graced with the pleasant fall of a spring shower.  Looking up, blinking through the misted warmth, you found the navy night sky peering down at you through the clear glass ceiling.

All light but that of the moon left the stall, and when your attention shifted down, you saw him through the sheets of water that kept you apart.  The air was thick with fog and mist and night, but he remained the most devastatingly gorgeous person you’d ever seen, ever known.  You needed him to be closer, you needed to be closer to him.  No matter if you’d been with him those few nights ago, and though you’d spoken just hours ago, there was a tautness that tightened as your steps brought you to him. 

Arms at his sides, stance strong and confident, Kylo Ren was a stride away from you, and you stopped.  Inky black hair dripped down his neck, and his mouth was set in a flat, unreadable line, but all you could think of was how it felt you were seeing him for the first time all over again.  He was different now, body scarred and worn from the passing of time.  You did not stare at the red and black that had only been there for such a short time now.  You appreciated it.

Kylo observed you, and a measure after your gaze followed the ebony ribbon rested in his countenance, you lifted a hand to it.  He tensed and you caught his eyes, giving him a small nod before the very tip of your fourth finger kissed the start of his scar.  You watched him, vaguely aware of your hand slipping along the marked path through his brow and down his cheek.  Breath pushed from him in eased waves, his eyes danced between yours, and when you reached the line of his jaw and tapped your finger to the raised, pinking skin there, you closed your eyes and leaned up on your toes so you could press an aching kiss to it. 

That tenseness that’d clanged into him at your touch was instantly gone, the heated streams above not a match to the stifling relief that fogged from his nares.  So near to him, a second hand pushing through wetted, onyx locks, you remembered how he’d stared up at you on the Command Shuttle, how unreadable his expression was when his new scars had still been fresh wounds.

Your touch found the tail end of his healing flesh, and you swallowed down a thick, betraying sob.  “Why did you believe me?” you whispered, not looking up to him.  “When I told you I hated you and I wanted to quit.  When I said,” you winced, “when I called you a bastard and said I wished I could forget you.  Why didn’t you fight it longer?”

Kylo was quiet for a moment, body still but not reluctant to the steady meandering of your fingers.  Something haunted him when he said, “Irredeemable bastard, if you’ve forgotten.”

“No,” your throat bobbed, “I haven’t.  I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day.  Any, any part of it.” Looking up at him, you smoothed your hand over the scar settled into his shoulder.  “After that morning, after everything, why did you believe me?”

“You were saying goodbye,” he murmured, like he’d mulled over that day time and time again and never considered the possibility.  “Before Takodana.  You knew.  He’d gotten to you by then.” A note of betrayal sharpened his tongue, a snarl lighting when he referred to Snoke.

The hand that wasn’t tracing circles along his scarred muscles now toyed with his ear, the tip of your index finger molding to the curved pinnae.  “Kylo,” just a breath, nearly drowned by the water ricocheting at your feet, “answer me.  Please.”

Smooth, low, he began, “Because who could-,” he swallowed, considering you before starting over, “Because I’ve never known anyone who didn’t hate me.  And I’ve always been a bastard.  So when you said those things, after that morning, after you’d ran through Starkiller to tell me and kept saying them…”

Memories fluttered behind his eyes, and as their burning brown centered glittered against the navy night, you lifted your hand so you could hold his face, hold it like a parent would caress their child’s tear-sodden cheek.  Kylo blinked back to you and you comforted the purpled skin beneath his eye. 

He did not want to voice the answers you sought, but you watched as, piece by piece, you dented one of those walls he’d erected in that time-stained interrogation room.  Perhaps it was a hopeful thought, but you swore you felt him ease into your hand.

“I stopped fighting because only a fool counters the truth of his life.” Kylo’s throat bobbed, his deep, shadowed gaze swallowing you whole.  He caught your hand and led it flat along his broad chest, and then to the panes of his abdomen, placing it over the bruised, raised flesh of the scar you’d yet to explore.  “I believed you because there was no reason to doubt you.”

The showering heat from above shielded that which was blurring your vision.  He believed you because he believed those things of himself.  After seeing him wear so many masks, physical or phantom, you saw it in his eyes that he still thought those things and had for his entire life.

And then it made sense, and the realization dragged jagged, thorn-wrapped talons through your heart.  You whispered through the water, wondering if you were speaking only for yourself when you said, “That’s why you didn’t look inside my head.  You didn’t think it would show you anything different.  You didn’t think I could ever feel differently.”

You ran your thumb along the uneven ridge of the scar forming over his side and tucked your other arm around his waist.  With the force that kept moons anchored to their planets, you pulled him in and nestled into the notch of his breastbone.

Through your teeth, “You are not a bastard.  Or irredeemable,” your fingers dipped to the center of the healing tissue, “I’ve learned that we make the choices we think are best, and if that’s true, if I believe it? What do either of us have to be redeemed for?”

Kylo said your name, clear as the night that loomed overhead, and a patient finger tipped your chin up.  “Nothing.  Because there is no redemption for those who do not want it.”

Intensity hardened his face, and once more you felt that sense of equality between him and you.  Long fingers smoothed into your drenched hair, and you found a prompt in his brow.  Sighing, lungs stuttering, you asked, “What, then, if not redemption?”

The hand that he’d set over yours shifted to your hip, thick fingers prodding at your flesh.  Kylo’s touch left your chin and the pad of his thumb rolled over the faint scar that cut into your hairline, a twinge of pain lighting at the memory of its origin; it had healed days ago, but you would never forget the sound of it cracking open when Robbie knocked your skull against the durasteel door. 

Kylo stopped musing when he heard you wince, his eyes meeting yours in a stark, unwavering gaze.  He smoothed over the blight a final time and proceeded to skate his fingers along your jaw, his thumb coming to rest over your bottom lip.  Similar to this morning, yet colder and with a quiet fury breathing beyond his eyes, he looked at you with solidarity.

Calm, sure, adamant, Kylo said, “Retribution.”

A moment to process was spent in his gaze, studying how unbreakable it was, swimming in the shadowed hazel that poured into you.  Kylo’s eyes flicked to your lips, and before he could look away, you leaned up so you could reach his own.  The swirled hair at his nape slithered through your fingers when you swept you hand from his abdomen and up his torso.  Massive, enveloping hands trailed praise along your body until they were mirrored under your breasts.

Exploring his skin, your fingers took residence over the small of his back, digging red trails along the slick surface.  You moaned into Kylo’s mouth when a capable hand claimed your supple chest and kneaded into you.  He growled in response, a predatory sound that rippled through your nerves and tightened deep, deep in your belly.  The pliant pads of his thumbs circled your nipples, the very tips of his nails flicking upward before he added his forefingers and pinched the sensitive peaks to his will. 

Kylo mouthed the hinge of your jaw, the bridge of his nose slipping along the bone until you surrendered your neck to him.  He hummed against your artery, sucking away the beaded moisture that’d collected for the past few minutes – or had it been hours? Time evaded you further when the schemes of his tongue at your throat delved deeper, revealed themselves further when he laved at your clavicle, shifting between kissing and biting and marking as he made his way to your breastbone. 

His muscled back flexed as your fingers routed to his front, dipping low until you found the haze of soft, wet hair that grew from his pelvis.  Kylo continued his endeavors and pulled you in by the curve of your back so he could bare your chest to him and run his nose under the base of your breast.  His need for your body was evident in the way he bent you to his will, cradling your back so he could have you, but also permitting a sense of safety in the relentless strength that flowed from his forearms through to your marrow. 

Near limp in his hold, you tread your fingers down his pelvis and savored the feel of that patch of hair, feeling his pulse beat beneath it, reveling how water collected and fled in such a slow, teasing manner.  His chest was to yours, so you felt, rather than heard, the pleasure vibrate from him, deepening when you grazed the very foundations of his hardening shaft.  He breathed into your skin, mouthing at your breast and sucking painful paths as he went.  The heat of his mouth melded around your nipple, and he bit, and even when you winced and writhed with satisfied hurt, Kylo kept on; not until you were sure he’d drawn blood did his teeth – their unique ridges now throbbing into your breast – leave you, replaced by the salve of his plush, scorching lips.  The body of his tongue was structured with adamant, laving over your pebbled peak until poems of pleasure groaned from the depths of your chest. 

He leaned you back up and shifted his attention to the remaining half of your body, but you needed him just as much, and you wanted to litter his body with the same pleasure he’d given yours.  So, snaking your hands to his jaw, you kissed the hinge opposite to his scar and pecked harder and longer, sucking at his skin like the blood that bruised would grant you eternal life.  Falling to your knees in a steady, unrushed descent, you kissed every inch of his abdomen, every bump and ripple of skin that was present around the mending injury.  With eyes peering up, hands cherishing the fronts of his thighs, you tongued the scarred tissue and watched him shutter with ecstasy, eyes half-lolling, mouth slackening for a second before he swallowed down whatever satisfaction would have left him.

You teethed at the soft, raised skin, watching him, content when a guiding hand pet down your slick hair.  Shifting to his middle, you hummed from one hip bone to the next, feeling the tickle of hair that fled from his naval and dispersed in an even, thick layer of black atop his pubis.  Hunger ravaged your throat and you nuzzled into the soft bed of obsidian hair.  A kiss to it, then a nip, and then the tip of your nose swirled around the dark patch, his cock twitching at the side of your face.

Anchoring your eyes to his yet again, you dragged the flat of your tongue through the maintained, drenched hair and pushed both your hands along his inner thighs.  The muscles beneath your touch sang, streamed just as fluidly as the droplets that were trickling down your spine.  Pulling away from him, you faced his cock and observed how it bobbed with your eyes on it, watched it strain for friction when your hands teased both sides of his base, sifting through the dark curls beneath. 

The moonlight painted his shaft with subtle, breathtaking contours – a shadow cast under the spongey ridge of his head, light glinting off the misted moisture that’d caught on his flushed shaft.  Each prominent vein cast a winding whisper of darkness just a measure from the next.  It hypnotized you, the way they overlapped and crossed at points, bulging out from his cock and shifting with each throbbing pulse of blood that clamored through him. 

Curious fingers flitted along the heavy, hot column of flesh, tapping it and listening to the thickening breath from the man watching you through ravenous eyes.  A smirk curved your mouth, and you peppered a light, whispered kiss to his slit, pushing his cockhead just so it met your teeth, and leading your lips away so the teasing burned through him.  You pulled a hand away from his leg and sat back on your calves, taking a breast into it and kneading as he had before, plucking your nipple through each space between your fingers. 

“A teasing little whore tonight,” he purred, voice thick.

You hummed, pleased you were getting to him.  “I’m your little nurse, remember?” The tip of your tongue teased circles into his frenulum.  “And you are my master.  Isn’t that right? Master Ren?” Fuck, the title even got to you, cunt fluttering with the hope to be overflowing with him.

“Good girl, teasing whore, nasty slut? Little nurse? You have so many names now.”

“And all of them belong to you.”

You teased his tip and finally laved a flat tongue on the underside of his shaft, flicking it side to side and gripping into his structured, rippling thighs.  Something animal, completely primal, roared in his throat, and sooner than you knew, Kylo Ren had joined you on your knees, the weight of his cock slicking down your middle and slapping up to your slit when inertia bounced through it. 

A masterful tongue slipped into your mouth and licked your hard pallet, next dropping down and pushing against the side of your own tongue.  A muffled moan – one that you were unsure was his or yours or both – clouded through the shower’s downfall.  But then a throat-thick huff, aggressive and impatient, gnarled through the air and you were spun on your knees so your back was flush with his chest.

“Yes,” he rumbled, “they do all belong to me.” A possessive hand pushed you into him with might, taking residence in the valley of your breasts.  “Your names, your body.  Everything.” His hips canted, and the tip of his cock knocked against your clit, fire billowing in your belly, quicker and deeper now. 

“Everything,” you echoed, finding his free hand and guiding it so it lay over the permanence etched into your thigh.  “I’m- everything.  It’s yours.  I am yours.”

Unrelenting digits bruised more marks around the one he’d made prior, and when you felt his cock fall in line with your entrance, you thrust into him as he did the same, and you took all of him, at once, in one, fluid, aching motion.  An unabashed cry echoed euphoria throughout the moonlit stall.  Before you could fully recover from the first thrust, his hand – the free hand that didn’t remain under your own, clutched to your thigh – dipped into your folds and that blooming fire from earlier mushroomed at the graze of his thick digits against the buzzing nerves. 

Thrust after thrust after thrust, fucking into you and filling you to the brim and then some each time, knocking the air from your lungs and burgeoning those sweet spots within with each paced, violent pass.  All of that pressure combined with the winding circles and strokes he racked your clit with, you felt the breath of climax rise first in your chest, and then upward into your throat. 

Kylo was panting by your ear, sucking the skin behind, clutching you to him so it became uncertain where his body ended and yours began.  You hooked your arm above your head and clutched at his drenched tresses, flailing for a better grip and settling on clasping your hand onto the back of his neck.

“I feel you,” he groaned.

“Feel me,” you huffed.

“I know you.”

“know me.”

“You’re mine,” your name was laden with yearning claim, lilting from his tongue so it caressed your mind, body, and soul all in one fell swoop. 

“Yours,” you heaved, “all, yours.”

You came.  Simple.  Body swimming in the schemes his fingers and cock and tongue and voice forced into you until it became too much.  A few thrusts more and his pace faltered, cum spurting against your walls and dripping out of you as more and more left him.  Full lips pressed fleeting, lulling praise into your nape, your shoulder, until he angled your head to his and branded his lips to yours. 

Spent, emotionally and physically, you fell into him and enjoyed the image of his legs framing your own.  But then your eyes lolled shut and you simply breathed, settling into this moment as best you could, and tried to memorize the tide of his chest slicking against your back.

Barely aware in the vague, misty stall, you only realized that Kylo had begun cleaning you when he guided you back to your feet to rinse you free of soap.  Even then you just leaned into his chest and let the jets spray silken streams down your skin.  And then you were wrapped in a heated towel and cradled in his arms, leaving the steamy refresher and coming into the gentle atmosphere within the golden gossamer canopy.

With less than a word, maybe a breath, the light from above waned to nothingness, and the room was black save for the glinting eyes that studied your own.  The towel discarded to the floor, you now lay beneath the thick comforter and linen sheets of Kylo Ren’s bed.  Both naked, you huddled together in the center of the expansive mattress, legs wrapped together in an impossible knot, each breathing in the other’s warmth. 

Ease trickled into your muscles, and you shifted so your forehead could rest in the heat of his chest.  

“What changed? From the other night?” you yawned.  “What convinced you? About Snoke.”

He was tired, too, you knew, the hand tucking you into him tracing lazy, distracting circles into your back to keep him from sleep.  “Perspective, really.  Seeing things clearly for the first time in… Seeing things clearly.”

For now, fatigue caressing you, that was an answer you could accept.  He’d given you more of his mind tonight than ever before, and you did not care to mar that fact with a half-wit interrogation.  Perhaps you would listen to him this time, given how little you potentially had left, and do as he’d said this morning.

Trust me first.

It was sound advice, and not worth questioning on the eve of your first shift on Canto Bight.  So you nuzzled into him and giggled when the tip of your nose nudged that black healing ribbon over his collar bone.

“I like your scars,” you hummed.

You could not be certain, sleep plunging you into its riptide, but just before it pulled you under, you swore you heard the fatigued rumble of Kylo Ren’s voice whisper, “I like yours too.”

[happytsukki]

89. “what are you? a scaredy-cat?”

YOU’VE ALWAYS PREFERRED THE RAIN. whether it be the light drizzle that places soft kisses on your cheeks or the heavy downpour that leaves your socks soaked, it greets you with something new every day.

“why won’t you tell me?” you huff, glancing over at kuroo with a quirked brow. cold water droplets splash against your legs as you hop from one puddle to another, the sound of its soft pitter-patter lulling you into peace after a rough day of tests.  

kuroo answers wryly, “because it’s called a secret for a reason." he looks over at you, his lips stretched into a smile teeming with false innocence. 

after intruding in on their volleyball practice earlier that day, you're met with the shocking discovery that the kuroo tetsurou, captain of nekoma's volleyball team and your best friend, has a crush. it's like a slap in the face, which causes excitement to bubble in your stomach till a particular sadness emerges from the fissures of your heart, and confuses your mind entirely. 

but despite your dumpster fire of feelings, you were still dying to know. why wouldn't you? kuroo's had a handful of suitors chase after him, juniors and seniors brave enough to confess with a box of chocolates every valentine's day, and no matter how beautiful they were, kuroo always rejected them. you began to believe that he would probably never get a girlfriend, or want one because he prioritized other things. that's why this news left you stunned and questioning who could possibly capture his heart. 

"just tell me her name, kuro. maybe even her initials-- give me something!" you plead, showcasing a pout and the best puppy dog eyes you could offer up at him. you were determined to get something out of him on your walk home together. 

kuroo cackles, shaking his head profusely to indicate that no, he will not tell you who she is nor give a hint for your futile guesses. 

you groan, “but c’mon you told kenma! i thought we were best friends too, ya know.” 

“i didn't tell kenma, he found it out by himself, he’s smart like that," he says smugly. 

“if you won’t tell me, fine," you roll your eyes in annoyance, curiosity itching at your skin. "but if you really want a girlfriend, you need to confess first, idiot.

“hmm," he pauses, scratching the back of his neck with uncertainty, "it's not like i haven't thought about it, i just don't think its the right time yet." 

“what are you? a scaredy-cat?”

you taunt in a sing-song tone, just enough to incite a reaction out of kuroo, hopefully, one that involved him revealing who he had his eyes set on.

"me? never," he mutters in a challenging tone that counters yours.

you're too caught up watching the crystal drops splatter across the pavement to agnize the lack of footsteps beside you. a few feet behind you, kuroo drops his umbrella to the ground, and without protection, raindrops quickly cascade from the heavens and onto his skin.

you turn, staring up at him with bewilderment, he’s an absolute lunatic, you think to yourself. all your attempts to wave him over, hopping up and down whilst you flail your hands around to stop him from whatever he was trying to do were simply ignored. 

“i’m in love with my best friend and i don't want anyone else. she's the only one for me,” he shouts boldly. his arms are outstretched, eyes shut tight as he tilts his face up towards the sky, almost like he wanted the whole world to know. 

the rain doesn’t slow down, it’s relentless and continues to stream down his face and body, soaking his school uniform from head to toe and causing his hair to stick to his skin.

“maybe someday she’ll be mine,” he yells, before pausing mid-declaration to look straight at you with a stupid grin, “but right now, i think she’s too stupid to even realize i’m talking about her.” 

his loud voice reverberates through the streets of your neighborhood, earning a few judgemental stares from onlookers. 

your breath hitches at the back of your throat and the palpitations of your heart hammer against your rib cage. ecstasy envelops you and adrenaline rushes through your veins as you sprint towards kuroo.

you drop your umbrella immediately and almost crash your body into his, but you're able to catch yourself and peer up at him with a gleeful smile that stretched so far that your cheeks began to ache. 

you imitate his actions, shutting your eyes and allowing the rain to pour down on you and your love confession.

"i'm in love with my best friend too," you shout, saccharine laughter mixing with your words, "even when he's cheesy and overdramatic like this." 

you loved the rain, not because of its endless puddles or its calming hum against the earth, but because after every downpour appeared a rainbow.

kuroo was your rainbow, painting your life with all the vibrant colors on the spectrum. 

+ a/n: this was a cute request but i had so much trouble trying to write it out oof

[god-save-the-keen]

Luke Danes, the most perfect man, propmt list!

1. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm great. It's big, fat, happy sunshine day for me."

2. "Name, are you a gigolo?"

3. "Ever worry that if a bird flies into your head it might never get out?"

4. "My life meant nothing until you used my toothbrush."

5. "Will you just stand still?" *Kiss her/him*

6. "Name, this thing we're doing here, me, you, I'm in. I am all in."

7. "And it's so good to have someone to share this hate with."

8. "Are trying to kill me?" *Losing his/her patience.*

9. "I just like to see you happy."

10. "When you make plans, then you have expectations, and when you have expectations, they… you will get disappointed."

11. "You know my father always told me that whatever does not kill you makes you stronger." "You're gonna be really strong."

12. "Have you seen Name1 or Name2?" "No, but have you tried the insane asylum, where everyone in this room is supposed to be."

13. "On the verge of blubbering here." "Not doing too well myself." "Not you, too." "I'm blubbering. You're freaks!"

14. "Name, what is it exactly that you want me to do? I'm not mad, I'm not holding a grudge, I heard your apology, I feel I'm being polite, I listened to your donut bit, I got you your coffee. What would make you happy?"

15. "Go to hell!" "Right back at ya!"

16. "You ate that?" "No, I didn't eat it!" "Oh, of course." "I'm upset not suicidal!"

17. "He's systematically buying up the town. He's gonna turn it into Nameville, where everyone will have to wear cardigans and have the same grass height!"

18. *About a messy room* "I'm having nightmares where I'm being chased by boxes with arms and they tackle me and throw clothes on top of me and secure it with masking tape and while I'm lying there, you're standing in the corner laughing putting gel in your hair!"

19. "You know what?" "What?" "This is nice."

20. "We should have eaten before we came." "Shh! And, yeah."

21. "Name1, this is Name2. She/He owns the Independence Inn." "Oh." "That's "hello, nice to meet you" in slacker."

22. "So are you going to act?" "Yes, I am. I'm going to act like you never came in here."

23. "That's it, gets upstairs and change." "Whatever you say, Uncle/Aunt Name." "It's Name. Just Name. Mister Name. In fact, don't address me at all!"

24. "You're really just gonna stand there and watch me eat a Danish?" "Cable's out. I'm starved for entertainment."

25. "Me? Raising a kid? I don't even like kids. They're always sticky like they've got jam on their hands. Even if there's no jam in the house, somehow, they've always got jam on their hands! I'm not the right guy to deal with that. I have no patience for jam hands!"

26. "That's what you want?" "Yes." "That's really what you want?" "Yes!" "You got it." "Thank you!" "You're welcome!" *As they cross over a bridge, Person1 pushes Person 2 into the water.*

27. "Can I ask you stupid questions?" "There's no such thing." *Frustrated* "How does the ink come out of pens?!" "Okay, there is such a thing."

28. "I think you can hack anything."

29. "I guess if you can find that one person, you know, who's willing to put up with all your crap and doesn't want to change you or dress you, or you know, make you eat French food, then marriage can be all right...but that's only if you find that person."

30. "Crazy people. The whole town should be medicated and put in a rec room with ping-pong tables and hand puppets."

31. "Doesn't matter what time it is. I'll always be around."

32. "I warned him/her. I warned him/her when I first met him/her, if he hurt her/him...Ah. Maybe I could key his/her car." "Better yet. Key Name1's car and tell him/her Name2 did it."

33. "Get away from me you mental patient!"

34. "Is this bothering you?" "This conversation? Yes."

35. "I hate that he/she's pleased."

36. "Hamsters can't laugh." "Oh, this one laughed - trust me."

37. "Your mother called me an idiot."

38. "C'mon, you gotta think positive here. Bright side, good thoughts. Rainbows, unicorns. *slowing down* Clowns. *Pause* Little ... cute ... *Longer pause*... furry ... *Giving up* Okay, I'm out."

39. "I can't imagine anyone seeing you as a disappointment."

40. "That's the wrong table." "Since when is there a right table?" "Since the coffee cake I baked for you and the stupid balloons I blew up for you are at that table over there."

41. "Will you marry me?" "What?!" "Just...looking for something to shut you up."

42. "This is not an herbal tea morning. This is a coffee morning." "Every morning for you is a coffee morning."

43. "It's like my life isn't even real to me, unless you're there, and you're in it, and I'm sharing it with you."

44. "I never thought in my wildest dreams that it would happen, that you and me would happen. But we did it."

45. "Don’t add stuff from your to do list to my to do list."

46. "You wanted something festive." "You made me a Santa burger." "It's not a big deal."

47. "The only way out of this life is in a body bag."

48. "Listen, I know I'm not the easiest guy/girl in the world to build a life with and to share a house with, but there is no one who will be more here for you than me. I will never leave. I will never think about leaving."

49. "You won't have to hear my opinion on anything ever again, okay?" "Oh, don't tease."

50. "The things you find amusing astound me sometimes."

51. "Wow, I feel important." "You are important."

52. "Last time you gathered up some of my stuff, you accidentally brought me four bras/brief and no pants." "That could've been intentional."

53. "God, that's terrible! It's like drinking 'My little pony'!"

54. "We kissed." "I remember." "It was a great kiss." "Yeah." "So you concur?" "Dear god, yes."

55. "All you need is six dancing penguins and Mary Poppins floating in the corner--" "--to bring back two of the worst hours of my childhood!"

56. "An ice rink? How did this happen?" "Jack Frost brought it." "Did he look like Name Lastname?" "A little. Not as handsome/gorgeous."

57. "Your slave is here." "And where's the french maid outfit?" "I've got it under the plaid."

58. "You kept this in your wallet." "Eight years."

59. *Awkwardly grabbing the another person's head* "I'm not good at hugging."

60. "I'm prepared to jump up and down if necessary."

61. "I can be a movie guy/girl. You like movies."

62. "You're watching me watch the movie. It's creepy."

63. "I shouldn't have gotten into a business that involves dealing with people."

64. "It just my favorite time of the year. The whole world changes color." "I think I'm blacking out."

65. "Keeping tabs on me?" "Always safer to know which direction the tornado's coming from "

66. "Fresh coffee will be ready in a minute unless you want to just roll up a dollar bill and go nuts."

67. "What the hell was that?"

68. "The only bright side of my day is being asked to be a prostitute." "That's something to cling to."

69. "What? Relationships? Look who you're asking."

70. "You enjoy typing to people more than talking to them?"

Use it, shared them, ask for a request, have fun! ❣️

[xxisxxisxxis]

Shining Star | Part Two

[Axl Rose x OC]

Words: 3.1k

Warning(s): Explicit language, mentions of suicide

Tag list: @teller258316 @reigns420 @xpoisonousrosesx @oskea93 @blowinmeupwithherlove @redlipscrystalskies14 @sparxx27 @kaitieskidmore1 @sublimeprincesswasteland

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED

"Pretty as a picture." I say to myself, swiping lipstick across my lips in the bathroom mirror before I click the tube shut and make sure my hair looks good. 

My stomach churns at the thought of seeing Tommy...and Vince. 

I haven't spoken a word to Vince since he got Tami pregnant a year and a half ago, and I haven't spoken to Tommy since he leapt out of my bedroom window after 3 minutes of awkward sex. 

"Do you fuck all of your friends?" My mother's words come back to bite me in the ass as I groan out in frustration. 

The only plus to any of this is that I'll get to hang out with Viv. 

There. Viv. Just focus on Vivian. 

I leave the bathroom and glance around to see if I see any familiar faces. 

Nope. 

I pull the skirt of my dress down a little and rub my lips together, people passing left and right, looking either too drunk to be bothered or too busy. 

"Tansy?" I hear a confused voice and look straight ahead, seeing Vivian by the payphone. 

"Hey!" I reply excitedly, rushing to her as fast as I can, being careful not to trip over my feet adorned in red heels. 

Vivian Sixx—Kinston at that point—had a ballet scholarship to Juilliard, never missed a Sunday church service, and was one of those annoyingly gorgeous girls that genuinely thought they were ugly. She couldn't stand her red hair because she was teased in middle school and called "firecrotch," she hated her freckles and her height because she'd been compared to a giraffe--"tall as shit with brown spots"--and the fact her mom was a batshit crazy Jesus lunatic never helped matters…but that stuff was all in her head because after middle school, guys looked at her differently, Jesus-lover and all. She saw annoying traits, but most people saw legs a mile long, a unique hair color that stood out in the sea of bleach blonde, freckles that framed emerald green eyes, and a heart as kind and beautiful inside as she was on the outside. 

She's always said I was the most gorgeous woman she'd ever met, but she is, to me, the most stunning. 

She didn't have to try to get anybody's attention, she walked in a room and she had it--so much so that Matt Sorum called her "Fire Woman" after The Cult song because he claimed that's the first thing that came to mind when he first saw her walking back stage at his first gig with Guns N' Roses. "She could give me the fucking clap and I'd kiss her feet for it." He told me, his facial expression mimicking someone who'd been struck by lightening twice…

People always looked at her like that but she rarely noticed because she'd be too busy looking up at Nikki with utter hearts in her eyes, but we'll get into that later.

"What are you doing here?" She asks me curiously. 

"Vince called me and wanted me to come." I explain and she raises her brows. 

"Vince?" She asks and I nod. "The same Vince that cheated on you multiple times Freshman year? And your entire relationship?"

"It's been, what, four years?" I ask, in reference to how long it's been since he and I started dating. "Maybe he's grown up a little." I suggest and she just clears her throat, cueing the hollering of an angry girl.

"Fuck you! Piece of shit! Motherfucker!" She shouts, the sound of her hitting Vince gets louder and she stomps down the hall as he follows after her, continuously trying to get her attention by saying "babe" repeatedly. 

"My pants! Babe!" He's fully in sight now as she stomps off...and he's fully naked.

"Fuck you!" She calls back to him, leaving him behind. 

"I fucking love those pants." He whines, disappointed, cupping his dick. 

"Your swimsuit parts are out." Vivian tells him, and he and I make contact over her shoulder, my nerves tensing up anxiously as he looks at me with a grin. 

"Hey, Tans." He says to me, about to come closer but Vivian stops him. 

"Go put some clothes on." She orders to him and he rolls his eyes, turning and walking away, his butt shining as he leaves. "You had sex with that." She reminds me and I frown slightly. 

"Yeah, he hasn't changed a bit has he?" I ask her and she shakes her head a little. 

"He's gotten worse." She states. "Alright, c'mon, let's go see Tommy." She takes my hand and leads me to where he is, my heart nearly beating out of my chest. 

How awkward is this going to be? 

We turn the corner and see him and two other guys standing in their street clothes, and when Tommy sees me, all my nerves dissipate because he completely makes me forget our awkward sex never even happened. 

"Tansy fucking Reilen!" He exclaims excitedly as I walk to him to hug him. 

He leans down to reach my 5'3" height and wraps his arms tightly around me. 

"Hey, Tommy!" I reply, just as happy. 

This is the first time he, Vivian, and I, will be hanging out together...Viv's been having to hangout with us separately because we've been avoiding each other for the most part. I guess we don't have to, anymore. 

He releases me, immediately turning to the ball of teased, jet black hair. 

"This is Nikki," he informs me, "the band's bassist." 

Hazel eyes--nearly green--look down at me behind his hair, traveling down my face, to my chest, down my legs, and back up again, the tiniest, mischievous smirk on his lips, and I raise my brow a tiny bit…

Trouble. Trouble. Trouble. Trouble. Is exactly what Nikki was, and it was all he and I could get ourselves into for years to follow.

"And this is Tansy." Tommy tells Nikki, oblivious to how he's looking at me.

"Nice to meet you." I tell Nikki. 

"Yeah." He replies. 

"And Mick, our guitarist." Tommy says next, nodding to the shorter man who's also got jet black hair. 

"Hi." I say to him. 

He just gives a small smile and mumbles, "hey."

"He's a little quiet but when you get to know him he opens up." Tommy says to me, quietly as Vince reappears with clothes on. "We were about to head to the rainbow," he starts next, his eyes flickering to Viv. "If someone's willing to stay out late." 

"Fine." Vivian doesn't argue, sighing out. 

"Hallelujah. Thank fuckin' God." Vince pipes, sliding his arm around my shoulder, making me roll my eyes. 

The entire time to the Rainbow, Vivian and Nikki are constantly back and forth, tearing each other new assholes and going for each other's throats. I don't know what beef they have with each other but it's brutal and borderline sex fueled. 

Once we get to the bar and grill, I drag Viv to the bathroom with me so I can touch up my makeup. 

"So…" I start, looking in the mirror, "...have you lost your virginity yet?" 

"No." She says it as if she's slightly offended. 

"Oh." 

"Why?" 

"It's just…" I start but quickly decide that it'll just piss her off, probably. "Nothing." 

"Tansy." She sighs, irritated. "What is it?" 

"Nothing. I just thought you and that Nikki guy have messed around." I shrug and she looks like she's seen a ghost. 

"I—ew why would you think that? We haven't." She insists and I hold my hands up in surrender. 

"I'm sorry, I just thought you had." I tell her. 

"What makes you think we have?" 

"There's a tension." The words are framed by a smirk and she widens her eyes. 

"There is not a tension. There is so not a tension." She gets it out without laughing although I can tell she wants to. “We argue. All the time. He thinks I’m a self-righteous prude and I think he’s the spawn of Satan. If there’s a tension, it’s because we hate each other.”

"You don't have to like someone to have sex with them." I inform her, speaking from experience of the guys who've had sex with me without giving a damn, and me having sex with guys I didn't necessarily like just to make them happy. "I really like him for you, though. You get all riled up and firey when he's around." 

"Oh, please." She rolls her eyes. 

“I just met the guy and I can tell he has you acting different. You used to be so quiet and shy around people you don’t really know, now you’re jumping in to conversations just to piss him off and prove him wrong.”

“Because I don’t like him.” She shakes her head. “And he doesn’t like me. That’s where the tension comes from. See? It’s full-circle.”

"Hate-sex is always an option." I suggest. 

"Do not even start." She scolds me, pointing her finger. 

"What? It gets rid of all the aggression and ill feelings." I explain. 

“So does their shows. Did you know they encourage people to get their feelings out during a show so they go home chilled out and not so uptight?” she tells me and I look at her, not even the slightest bit convinced. “And it works.”

“Yeah, until he gets off stage and then you get all hot and bothered.” I reply with a grin. 

“I get hot because he’s Devil-Spawn and the heat from hell radiates off of him and I get bothered because he’s an arrogant idiot.”

“Or you like him and don’t know why you do so you displace your frustration and confusion on to him.” I shoot back. “I was honestly joking about the hate sex okay? I don’t want you to go jump in to bed with him if you don’t want to but you two were fighting like cats and dogs the whole time we were on our way here. I think you should try to let whatever kind of bravery he evokes in you come out in a way that’s not in the form of riled up anger or fiery hatred.” I recommend and she nods a little. “Now, c’mon because I have a slutty blonde waiting.”

That was the night Mötley Crüe was signed to Elektra records by rock-god signing Tom Zutat, who's responsible for record companies grasping ahold of a plethora of leather-patented hair metal douchebags that could make good music and snort their way through long enough power rails of coke that once they reach the end of white powder without flinching, China's on the other side. But you want to know a secret? It was all bullshit. Every person I've met in that rock scene, you know, the ones that despised the term "hair metal" yet teased their hair two feet above their heads and played heavy metal? Yeah, them. Every single one of them had this "I was made for this shit" attitude. 

Some of them nearly put bullets through their head, OD'd, hung themselves, turned their cars on and locked themselves in their garage...even the ones that hadn't purposely tried to take themselves out either almost pushed it too far and died accidentally from too much booze or drugs or vehicle accidents, or did push it too far. 

They weren't made for it. 

Nobody's fucking made for millions of people wanting a piece of them every single night, management running them to their grave for more money, dealers keeping them numb, all their relationships just exploding in their faces, all of their "friends" wanting more and more and more. 

They thought they were made for it because when someone gets a taste of what they decide the universe or God or whoever or whatever destined for them to become, they take it and run with it without reading the fine print. 

They see the fame without the lack of privacy and hangers-on. 

They see the fans without the people who hate their guts and make it known. 

They see the money without the gold diggers. 

They see the excess without the high risk that comes with taking advantage of having everything with the snap of their fingers. 

They see the glutton without the punishment. 

Until they're standing on the railing of the balcony of their Hollywood penthouse, their best friend trying to talk them down while the police are on their way. 

And then of course when they do turn up dead by suicide, people talk their typical, "how awful, they killed themselves in their mansion, surrounded by their expensive furniture, wearing their expensive clothes, with millions—possibly billions—in their bank account, how sad for them, boohoo." 

As someone who's been dirt broke, to the point of getting my water cut off and having to shower at a friend's house, but then growing up to have more money than I knew what to do with aside from blow it on drugs? Money doesn't buy happiness, jerkoffs. It can buy distractions to buffer pain and suffering, sure, but once the high wears off, or that new car loses its luster, or that new house starts to feel fucking empty, all while that wall full of awards and plaques and magazine posters cementing your fame and worth and stake in the industry you sold your soul for just reminds you that you don't even recognize who the hell you are anymore and nothing can change that...you get fucking depressed. Hate to say it. Hate to be the bearer of bad news, that even though you're poor as shit and are depressed as shit that even if you had money and fame you'd still be fucking sad. But I'd rather tell you the truth than sell you the fallacy that me and everybody else I was friends with bought, that landed every single one of us in situations where we felt we had no other way except to just off ourselves all while remembering when we were stupid enough to proudly say: "I was made for this." 

People are made for this like Matthew Trippe replaced Nikki Sixx, which—if you want the truth—is complete bullshit.

“He said we could possibly score a five album deal, Viv, why aren’t you happy about this? I thought you wanted us to get signed?” Tommy asks Vivian as she slings her keys across the guys' shitty living room, pissed beyond measure.

“You just told me you were dropping out of school, Tommy! We are so close to graduating, can’t you just wait?!” 

“No, I can’t! I can’t just wait because what I wanted is happening and I need to focus on the band right now more than ever!” He argues while motioning to Nikki and Vince, who, like me, are being smart and staying near the door incase we need to get out of sight once Vivian and Tommy kill each other.

“Your education should be your main focus, at least until you graduate! You are so close to being done, Tommy, why can’t you just—“

“Because I don’t give a fuck about school, Vivian! What I am passionate about doesn’t require a diploma, and I’m sorry if me dropping out makes you feel like I’m leaving you behind or whatever the fuck you feel, but I’m not sorry for wanting to focus on my main priority!”

“What I’m hearing is that I wasted hours of my time throughout school trying to tutor you and help you all for you to throw it away on the idea of being some hot-shot rockstar with girls and drugs and booze—”

“Oh, my God, you act like you would have had better things to do with that wasted time!” He sounds like he already knows he's gonna lose the argument while Vivian just rolls her jaw. “And it’s not a fucking idea, it’s fucking reality and you’re only mad because you have no control over it!”

“I’m mad because we talked about this and everything we agreed on, everything we promised each other, is absolute void to you now that it’s actually happening!” 

“Shit changes, Viv, people change! What I considered important junior year is completely different than what I consider important now.” He calms down, sighing. 

“We agreed we would both graduate high school and I could either put off college or drop out if I needed to...” she trails off, her voice shaking slightly with oncoming tears, making me feel bad for her. “That was our plan to avoid this from happening. To avoid you leaving me behind.” Now it's crystal clear why she's freaking out over them being offered a record deal. “You considered me important junior year when you came up with that plan. When you promised me you wouldn’t go on to bigger things without me and forget me. And now...” She takes a step back, while Tommy attempts to walk to her. 

“Viv, I didn’t mean it like that.” He tries to tell her. 

“No, you’re right.” she replies, her body shaking a little. “Shit changes.” I raise my brow because I've never heard her curse before. “People change.” She keeps on. “Glad this is happening now, though, so I don’t waste any more time on a completely different page than you, Tommy.” Her voice cracks a little and she grabs her keys quickly.

“Viv—“ Tommy tries to grab her arm as she heads to the door but she snatches away from him. “Fuck you.” she cracks, her voice barely coming out as tears spill over her  lashes. 

Nikki and Vince step aside to let her leave all while I contemplate following her, but if I know Vivian, I know she likes to think about things when she's upset, rather than just talk them out with someone. Which is the only time she likes to be alone. 

She just slams the door on us, and Tommy. 

Most definitely wouldn't be the last time she did that.

"Tommy, are you—"

"—I'm goin' home." He grumbles, grabbing his keys, and me and Nikki and Vince all look at each other. 

"Tommy, you are home?" Nikki reminds him. 

"I'm stayin' with my folks so I can vent to my sister because she's the only one who knows Viv good enough to know she's being fuckin' unreasonable." He states. 

"I barely know her and I can tell you she's unreasonable." Nikki scoffs, earning a glare. "Sorry, man." He mumbles in return. 

"Bye." Tommy says, closing the door behind him. 

"Well...I'm gonna go find a chick to fuck." Vince says, stretching.

"You got one right here." Nikki chuckles looking at me and I raise my brows. 

"Not since I knocked Tami up." Vince reads my mind and I nod. 

"Exactly." I reply. 

"Who?" Nikki asks. 

"Nobody. Don't wait up." He tells us, opening the door and leaving, too, more than likely heading to the strip club down the street. 

"So, like, how old are you?" Nikki asks. 

"Why?" 

He just gets a shit eating grin on his lips. 

[zombierocker17]

Forever, Harry Styles imagine. (Long)

Here it is. It took me two days to write this. And I hope everyone has got there tissues this is incredibly romantic. Please enjoy ❤️

You were at your shared home relaxing after a long hard week, it was a cold winter morning. You felt the soft cream colored crochet blanket that Anne, Harry’s mother had made for you last Christmas.  Mouse yours and Harry’s cat came to sit next to you, Harry named her mouse because when she ‘meows’ she sounds like a little mouse.  She nestled her small head into your arm, you pet her head and scratched behind her ears. Looking at your phone background of Harry you smiled. It was a picture of him sitting on the set of SNL smiling like the goofball he is.  Mouse meowed when she saw the picture, “I miss him too sweetie” you say petting her as you get up and head to the kitchen.

Harry was off working on stuff for his second album, he was very busy and often wasn’t home for weeks. He was supposed to be home in a week, you understood his busy schedule.   You turned on the kettle to make some tea, prepping things for tea. You realized you actually pulled out two mugs and spoons as you normally would when making tea for you and Harry. You wiped a small tear away putting the other mug and spoon away again. You poured the steamy water into your mug with your preferred tea, and walked back into the living room. Sitting on the couch again with Mouse finding her way back to your side purring. You sipped on your warm tea feeling it warm you up.

You ended up falling asleep on the couch for a few hours, waking up to the sound of your laptop beeping at you. It was a Skype call.  ‘Sweet creature is requesting a video call’. You sat up and answered the call to see Harry in his car smiling at you.  “Hey Babe” he said adjusting the laptop on the dashboard of his car. He looked beautiful, the light on his face was pale and bright. He had his nails painted black and his favourite black sunglasses on his head. Hair tousled around the frames, light stubble on his jaw and upper lip, which you found absolutely attractive on him. He smiled at you admiring him through the screen. "Hello??? Y/n? Anyone home? " He said chuckling as you hadn't answered him yet .

You shook your head focusing on the conversation now. “Yes, I’m here sorry, got a little distracted. How are things going babe?” you say. He chuckles knowing his effect on you “Things are going amazing actually.” Harry says scratching his jaw.  Mouse hears his voice and meows, you show her Harry on the computer. “Look who misses you babes” you say, “Hi Mousey” he says using her nickname she meows. You giggle positioning the computer again so he can see you he smiles, “I miss my girls, I-“he gets cut off by his phone ringing “One sec babe” he says answering it.  He’s on the phone for about a minute before hanging up the phone. “I’m really sorry babe I have to go do something” he says with a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay , I’ll see you later this week, I’m going to probably order some pizza then watch a movie with Mousey then go to bed” you say a little upset but trying not to show it.  “Alright I love you, bye” he says ending the call. 

You hadn't seen Harry in a month, you missed him so much. You missed the way he would pull you closer to cuddle in bed, resting his head in your shoulder. You missed his scent a light mint and vanilla smell, was his favourite cologne. You would spray it on your favourite sweater which was actually Harry's but he didn't mind you wearing it. You missed the way he would make you laugh. When he's gone the house felt empty, no laughter, no romance, no Harry. You loved him so much. Thinking about him was all you did.

You sat there in that thought for about 20 minutes, until the doorbell rang.  You thought ‘did I already order the pizza?’  Pulling out your wallet you walked to the door, digging in your wallet for cash you opened the door without looking. Then you looked up and saw Harry there in a dark grey sparkly Gucci suit with a black dress shirt, the first few buttons undone showing the edges of his chest tattoos. He was a holding a bouquet of light pink and coral roses, and a large black box. Smiling at you “Surprise Y\N”.  You almost fainted seeing him, instead you wrapped your arms around his neck, also wrapping your legs around his waist kissing him.  “I thought you were going to be back next week? “ You asked tearing up a bit. “Change of plans, things got done a lot faster than I thought. So I get to come home.” He says. “Oh Harry I missed you so much” You say hugging him tight. He puts you down and walks into the house, He hands you the box and sets the roses on the table.  “Go put that on we have reservations for dinner” he said pushing you upstairs to the bedroom, he walks downstairs to put the roses into some water.

You open the box, it’s a dress. A dark grey long dress, the same color as his suit.  It has a sweetheart neckline with small black gemstones across the top. You quickly styled your hair into a sweet up do with little hairs hanging out. Light amount of makeup, and some black strappy heels.  You admired yourself in the mirror, the dress hugged all of your curves before flaring out below the knee. It made you feel like a goddess.

You walked down the stairs to see Harry’s back facing you, kneeled down petting Mouse. She meows looking at you, Harry turns to see you before saying. “For the first time in my life I know the difference between pretty and beautiful” you blush and he leads you outside towards a black sparkly limo. Harry greets the driver "Hello Altman ", "Hello Mr.Styles, and hello to your lovely lady" the driver says shaking your hand. He opens the limo door helping you in. Harry joins you in the limo after telling the driver where to go.

After driving for a while the limo stops in front of a small looking building, it had slate stone walls and large windows, it looked dark inside with very little light. Altman opens the door helping you out with Harry behind you. The restaurant had the name on a sign near the doors, the sign said Buried Beneath. Harry held the door open for you as you walked in like the gentleman he is. The entry room was small you wonderd how this was a resturant . Walking to the small check in table there was a tall very thin man with thin rimmed black glasses. "Welcome to Buried Beneath, what is your code word? " the man asked. You were confused, Harry simply said "Eroda ". The man nodded typing into the tablet " Mr.Styles?" Harry nodded " Right this way" the man lead you two down a short hallway to some stairs going down. Harry helped you down the stairs until you entered an area. A short thin woman around maybe 40 years old leads you two into the dining area.

The dining area was dark with beautiful high ceilings and red lights, dark furniture and decorations. It was a bit overwhelming, Harry saw that you were a bit nervous so he put an arm around your waist comforting you. You could smell the familiar cologne on him, you relaxed as the woman brought you to your table it was in the back of the room a more private section. Harry pulled out your chair letting you sit before he did. A waiter came for your drink orders, Harry orders a bottle of their house wine for you to share. You shared a platter of seafood and salads. (Or whatever you like to eat) Everything tasted incredible, the wine was rich in flavor. Harry was telling you about what he was working on for his new album. About the word Eroda and what it meant, he told you there was a song to go with it and that it was going to be released in a few days for the fans.

After the meal was finished Harry paid the bill with a very generous tip, he also purchased 3 bottles of the red wine. He really enjoyed it. You left the restaurant Harry helped you into to limo again. It was dark out now with thousands of stars in the sky, it gave you butterflies in your stomach. You returned home and Harry led you to he bathroom helping you out of your dress placing it on the dresser along with your shoes. He started to run a bath with candles burning and bubble bath. You stood naked in front of him, he admired your figure tracing your collarbones tracing up to your jaw. Lifting your chin to kiss him, it was a long passionate kiss.

Harry then stripped naked and climbed into the large steamy bath with You laying on his chest. You traced your fingers under the water against his lower abdomen vines tattoos. He chuckles " I adore you Y/N" he says "what?" You say as Harry grabs a small remote. He pushes on of the buttons at the small stereo speaker you had in the bathroom. A soft pop beat comes out a song you've never heard before.

Harry starts singing :

Walk in your rainbow paradise

Strawberry lipstick state of mind

I get so lost inside your eyes

Would you believe it?

You don't have to say you love me

You don't have to say nothing

You don't have to say you're mine

Honey

I'd walk through fire for you

Just let me adore you

Oh honey

I'd walk through fire for you

Just let me adore you

Like it's the only thing I'll ever do

Like it's the only thing I'll ever do

You look as his lips as he sings, like an angel the words effortlessly pour out of mouth. Every now and again he would gently give your side's a squeeze. He truly loved you through and through, and you knew it. When he finished singing, he wiped a small tear from your face. "What do you think?" He asks blushing. You got up so you were now straddling him " Harry that was beautiful, the fans will love It, I love you Harry " your about to kiss him when he stops you. He reaches out of the bath into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small ring box and places it on the ledge of the bath.

" Y/N , we've been together for 4 years and I've loved every minute of it. Your incredibly important to me. Your beauty is undeniable, your personality is flawless. Every time I look at you my heart beats faster. I can't explain your love, it's better than words. And if you love me as much as I love you I hope you will say yes." He opens the box to show a decent sized diamond engagement ring. " Y/N would your marry Me?" He asks holding the box in front of you "Yes I will Harry!" You say as he pulls you in for an even more passionate kiss than before.

You spend the evening cuddled on the couch with Mouse in your lap, underneath the cream crochet blanket. Harry by your side from now till forever.

This was fun. Let me know if you enjoyed it! ❤️-Briana

[bards-witcher]

What about a fic of your favorite ships at Pride since Pride month is in less than a day? You don't have to rush it and finish for the first day. Just post anytime in pride month or maybe next year 😂😂 Thanks in advance!

So I kinda did this?? and I’m sorry this took so long, but I really wanted to get this out before the end of June, next year I might try and do something more pronounced, so sorry about that :(

Anyway, I hope you like what’s here anyway, the main pair is WildOhmToonz and the others more implied, but you can still figure it out.

.

He couldn’t keep the smile from his face as his eyes scanned the massive crowds around them, sitting atop Tylers’ shoulders he bopped his head a little to the music, having already been chastised when he’d tried to dance a bit more vigorously, causing him to almost topple them both.

Tightening the rainbow flag he had draped across his shoulders, he then weaved a hand through Tylers’ hair to keep himself steady as he brushed his other hand through his own hair, looking at the glitter now coating his hand before reaching out towards Luke, however, the other man quickly noticed him and moved away.

“The fuck did I say about the glitter, Ry,” He could barely hear the shout over the music but and he couldn’t help but laugh as he instead wiped the glitter off into his beard, careful not to smudge the rainbow stripes he’d painted on.

“You’d better not be putting that shit in my hair either or I’m droppin’ your ass” He laughed again before tightening the hand he still held in the taller man’s hair, already swearing to himself that he’d get the other two covered in glitter before the day was through.

The two of them were more subdued than him in their looks, the both of them simply wearing casual attire with the Bisexual flag draped across Lukes’ shoulders, barely able to make out the Bi colors painted high on his cheeks from the sunglasses he was wearing, whilst Tyler simply had the rainbow colors on his cheek, the flag around his own shoulders representing them both in the crowds.

“Luke, can you kiss Tyler for me and promise him I won’t put anything in his hair…yet”

The older man just rolled his eyes up at him before he moved in front of Tyler and leaned up to kiss him, his smile softened at the sight, the overwhelming noise of their surroundings fading away around him as he watched the two of them.

He moved the hand from Tylers’ hair to tangle into Lukes’, keeping the two men pressed close together, tugging harshly at it and feeling Tyler’s chuckle as Luke moaned into their kiss.

With a smile, he loosened the hold on Lukes’ to return to his task of watching out for their friends who were supposed to be joining them.

When he’d first mentioned to the group about the three of them were going to pride, the others had been quick to tag along with them and given that Tylers’ house could just about house them all it was a done deal.

However, he feels they should’ve planned this out a bit better, that their friends should have all arrived the day before so that they could get here as a group but he supposed that by their random recording schedules it was clear that planning was not their forte.

What he didn’t expect was to feel hands around his waist tugging him slightly, and it’s with a shriek that he’s trying to cling onto Tyler, who’s still making out with Luke, the taller man’s hands quickly grabbing onto his calves to keep him in place before the both of them turned to face whoever had gone for him, a look of murder on both of their faces and he could see Lukes’ fists clenched at his sides.

Upon sight of the culprits though they quickly relaxed, in front of them were Anthony, Scotty, and Marcel, all dressed rather casually except that they each sported a rather garish pair of Pride sunglasses, with Marcel sporting the colors of the pan flag on each cheek.

Once over the initial shock that he wasn’t actually in danger, he aimed a bright smile to his friends, watching as Luke went forward to hug them, followed by Tyler who cautiously embraced each one in an effort not to make him fall.

“You’re like a fucking beacon with all that glitter in your hair, Ryan, or maybe it’s just cause you’re sat on this fucking giant” He chuckled a little as Tyler reached forward to smack Anthony’s arm, watching as the other man moved away in mock pain.

“Well you’re right about the fucking part, just ask these two” His cheeks turned red at the comment, ducking his head to hide his face whilst the other three groaned, all while Luke unashamedly leaned up to kiss Tyler again until their friends were begging them to stop, only doing so when he aimed a gentle kick into Lukes’ chest.

The two of them broke apart laughing, easily falling into what chatter they could over the music whilst he resumed his search.

Maybe Anthony was right in calling him a beacon, given that over the next 20 minutes they’re joined by John, Smitty, and Brock with Brian in tow.

He’s somewhat surprised at how full out everyone went, the two younger men having come out with rainbow everything, shirts, pants, shoes, hell Smitty even brought a rainbow wig, the both of them only just outdoing Brian who instead sported the Bi colours but had chosen to wear jeans as opposed to the offending coloured pants the other two did.

Meanwhile, Brock was more subdued, simply wearing a rainbow shirt as he kept an arm wrapped tight around Brian, chuckling a little when he heard Brock chastise the Irishman when he started to pass around cans of beer.

With that he returned to his search, the only two people left to join them being Jon and Evan, and after a few minutes finally spotting them in the crowd as they gradually weaved their way towards them.

He was about to wave in greeting and let the others know of their late arrivals, but he could just about see the two men press their fingers to their lips in lieu of telling him to keep quiet, and with a smile, he did so.

Whilst he’d tried to have been somewhat organized with the glitter he’d put on his body, he could see that Jon and Evan hadn’t put in the same care, patches of glitter and paint littering their hair, faces and clothes, having to keep back his laugh as he thought about getting them to help him glitter up Luke and Tyler, and perhaps one or two of their friends.

Apparently, they were already a step ahead, he watched them stalk closer to the still unsuspecting group, each with a bag in one hand, barely catching the glimmer of what he thought to be glitter in their hands, gesturing to the rest of their friends who’d seen them to keep quiet as they had done to him, all of them electing to drink from their cans to stop their smiles.

It was then he decided to grab a hold of Tylers’ hair, giving an appreciate glance to Anthony who was already moving behind the taller man, ready to catch him should he fall given his reaction to what was about to happen.

In the next moment chaos erupted, Jon had snuck up behind Luke and dumped the entirety of his bag over his head, his crazy laugh just being heard over the furious shouts of the older man who proceeded to put him into a headlock and mess up his hair, all while trying to shake as much glitter and confetti as he could out of his hair and onto Jon, however, it made little difference.

It was then that Evan quickly darted in front of Tyler, throwing his own handful of glitter into his face, the taller man already sputtering out glitter from his mouth, which had been open from laughing at Jons’ antics.

As suspected, Tyler jerked back, and for a moment it was reminiscent of being on a bucking bronco where he fully expected to fall, however, strong hands on his legs keep him in place, but he didn’t have to see Tyler to feel his silent fury.

Knowing he was free, for the moment at least, Evan then proceeded to make his rounds amongst their friends, half-heartedly trying to throw glitter and confetti at each of them until Brian finally managed to grab the bag off of him and dump whatever was left over the Canadians’ head.

He cringed a little at the amount of glitter he could see covering Luke, he felt like they would be clearing it up from their bed and themselves for what he was sure to be months.

With a final glance at the events happening around him, smiling again in excitement, he gave a couple of taps to Tylers’ head and then the other man was kneeling down so that he could awkwardly get up off of his shoulders.

However, before he could even take a step, he felt a hand grip his wrist and the next thing he knew he was in Tylers’ arms, a brief glance at the other man’s glitter-covered face all that he needed before he was laughing uncontrollably.

He watched the frown on Tylers’ face whilst he kept laughing, quickly reaching a hand up to keep the other man’s face away from him in an effort to remain somewhat cleaner, but the feeling of kisses being pressed against his neck made him jolt, giving Tyler enough time to lean down and kiss him.

The moment the taller man’s lips pressed against his own all fight left him, no longer caring about the sparkly mess that was sure to be covering his own face when they parted as Luke kept pressing gentle kisses across his neck, occasionally feeling a hand brush through his hair that he’s sure is from Luke transferring more glitter to him.

He was barely given a moment of respite when they parted before he was being turned and suddenly he was kissing Luke, with Tyler now nuzzling against his neck, paying no mind to their friends who he could hear making gagging noises at them.

However, Jon barrelling into Luke is what breaks the moment between them, a quick look to his left shows a couple of their friends looking rather sheepish, namely Marcel and Evan, suggesting that the other man had been shoved, something Luke didn’t care about as he once again tried to bring the younger man into a headlock.

“The fuck you do that for, Jon?”

“Cause you guys are being fucking disgusting with your PDA” They turned to look up at Scotty as he spoke, Tyler giving him the middle finger at which only got him one in return, whilst Lukes’ hold loosened enough to allow Jon to escape it.

“Yeah, you guys are bein’ fuckin’ gross, I don’t need to see my brother doin’ that shit” He chuckled a little at Jons’ statement only for it to turn into a grunt when he felt Luke grip at his cheeks, pushing them together causing his lips to purse so that he could do little else but make garbled noises.

“Look at this cute little face, ain’t nobody resistin’ that, besides, I don’t give a fuck what you guys think” With that Luke freed his cheeks from their prison, but kept a hand cupping his face as he leaned down to press a small peck on his lips, chuckling a little as he heard the groans from their friends.

“Everyone for leaving these gross fucks to go watch the parade say I”

He rolled his eyes at Anthony’s statement and the resounding chorus of I’s from the group, before he was grabbing Lukes’ hand to begin dragging him through the crowds and towards some of the stalls he’d spotted earlier when on Tylers’ back, only stopping briefly when Luke had leaned back to grab a hold of Tyler.

The rest of the day went by in a blur, taking in a constant stream of food and drink, and despite being on the verge of being sick by the continuous intake of food, he couldn’t help himself, using the excuse that it was a special occasion when Luke gave him a disapproving look and attempted to cut off the food supply, as if Tyler wouldn’t have smuggled some to him anyway.

At some point in the day he made it back up onto Tylers’ shoulders, much to the envy of some of his other friends with Anthony having to quickly intercept Smitty’s attempt at getting onto John’s shoulders, lest they receive the ire of the people around them who they’d already bumped into a couple of times in their venture, and instead having to settle for a piggyback.

It’s only when the day’s activities drew to close and the streets begin to come alive with lights and music as drinks flowed more freely, people becoming a bit too friendly with one another, that Tyler got them to leave with the promise of their own little after party back at his house.

He gives an appreciative smile at the other man, despite having had a great day out he was beginning to reach his limit, the constant bump of strangers against him was starting to aggravate him and set him even more on edge, the comforting arm around his waist from either Luke or Tyler, or sometimes both, the only thing keeping him sane.

Feeling somewhat exhausted after the day’s events, he was left leaning heavily against Lukes’ side as they walked to Tylers’ car, the older man having had enough of dragging him and instead picked him up, letting out a small giggle as he nuzzled his head against Lukes’ neck, wrapping his arms tightly around his shoulders whilst Tyler just rolled his eyes.

“You spoil him too much”

“As if you weren’t about to do the same thing, bitch” Tyler just scoffed at Luke before picking up his pace slightly, all whilst Scotty trailed after him saying that he could always carry him if he wanted to carry someone, only causing him to laugh again as Brian and Evan joined in the plead to be carried.

With a final smile he settled down in Lukes’ hold, pressing a small kiss against his collarbone which earned a small smile from the older man before he felt hands tighten around him, letting the voices of his friends comfort him into sleep, which he was sure to be teased about later, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment, far too content in Lukes’ arms with Tyler by his side watching over them.

[nisaeiam]

TIMELESS - an ACOTAR fanfic

After spending her entire life in Cretea, Zivia finds herself in the company of the Night Court, sent as an emissary to help after the war. As she navigates her way outside her once secluded life, she develops unlikely bonds with the people around her - especially with the one wreathed in shadows.

PROLOGUE, CHAPTER 1, CHAPTER 2, CHAPTER 3, CHAPTER 4, CHAPTER 5, CHAPTER 6

Also posted on ff HERE

CHAPTER 7

"It was here."

Zivia muttered under her breath then took another turn in an alley. She had been walking around the streets of the city for minutes now after leaving Rhys at the town house, looking for the sweet shop they passed by earlier.

She rolled her eyes as another dead end met her. Turning back, she scratched her head as she casually walked back to the main street. Some of the faeries would occasionally look at her and she best hoped that they couldn't see how utterly and pathetically lost she was. As much as she thanks the Mother for giving her gift, she couldn't help thinking would it hurt anyone for her to do something about her terrible sense of direction?

She growled in frustration and just as she was about to give it up and fly home, she sensed a familiar presence around the corner.

"I thought you were dancing?" she said as Azriel emerged from the shadows lining the alleys. He looked a bit surprised at her noticing him

"And I thought you were tired," he countered.

"Well I am now." She loosed a sigh blowing the loose strands of hair from her face.

His eyes narrowed at her and she felt stupid for her sarcastic retort. She opened her mouth to say something but realized that he wasn't exactly looking at her but at something behind her. Her wings. Or where her wings were supposed to be, at least. She hadn't let down her illusion since conjuring it up back at the bridge.

It was that same look he was giving that prompted her to ask, "What is it?"

The others might not have noticed but she saw all that curious looks he was giving her the moment she arrived at the Court. It would be incredibly stupid of her to think they meant anything besides him being suspicious of her. She met his eyes that almost looked black in the dark.

"What are you?"

She blinked.

"Excuse me?"

Last time she checked, she was still a high-Fae complete with all the necessary limbs but she ransacked her memory for any possible instance she could've gone wrong with casting her glamour. She once tried to make herself look like a wyvern only to end up her looking like a hybrid between a monkey and a horse – almost gave her father a quick trip to the afterlife, she could still remember. But that was centuries ago. Surely she's gotten a better grip on her powers now.

"You look like you're having an identity crisis," said Azriel noting the horrified expression on her face, an almost smirk ghosting his lips.

"Yes!" she blurted, "No! I mean, don't…don't I look normal to you?" She hated that she sounded desperate and worried.

He made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh. He covered it with a cough and said, "What I meant was the kind of magic you use."

Oh.

She scratched her nose in embarrassment. Stupid.

Her magic, of course it would be about that. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to her if the spymaster asked her about it. She had actually been expecting for him to make a move the moment she knew that he knew something was off about her. Feigning ignorance would only increase his wariness towards her, and if they were going to spend time together in the Continent, it definitely wouldn't help.

"It's my gift," she said as Azriel stepped completely out of the shadows. "Aside from my deft use of the air magic that our kind possesses."

Like being a daemati or a shadowsinger. But she couldn't discern what hers was called exactly.

The Illyrian started walking and though he didn't say anything, she felt inclined to follow.

"The High Lord of the Day Court has the same affinity towards light," she ventured, falling into step beside him.

"But it's different. Helion's light allows him to break various kinds of spells. Yours doesn't do that." His voice sounded accusatory.

"It doesn't," she murmured more to herself than him.

The way she uses light allows her to manipulate it at its basest form giving her access to bend it to her will and to merge with it altogether.

"It feels a lot like mine."

She turned toward the shadowsinger. "That was what I felt whenever I see those shadows around you."

That was what it was that has always been tugging at the back of her mind but couldn't quite place.

"I have not met another shadowsinger yet and I'm wondering what you were for being someone who could use a magic similar to mine but with a different element."

And all those curious looks he was giving made sense now too.

Maybe that's what she really was - a lightsinger.

Nope.

Doesn't sound good, didn't seem right either.

"I guess it has something to do with me being in my mother's belly when she was Made, probably messed up something during my development."

Ever since discovering her abilities at a very young age, her parents have always been puzzled how it was unlike any other magic they've known. But that was the extent of it. It didn't matter whatever kind of power she had as long as she was alive and healthy, considering the ordeal she and Miryam went through together.

Azriel inclined his head as if deciding whether that was explanation enough. The gesture made his face catch the light in all the right places and she hated that little tumble her heart made at the sight of it.

After a while, he halted and faced her. "I'll go from here." He paused, considering. "Do you want me to accompany you back to the House of Wind?"

Her cheeks heated and she fumbled for a response. "No. I'm – I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

She raised a brow at him. "Yes."

Azriel tipped his head in a bow before spreading his mighty wings and shot toward the sky, sending waves of humid night air. Her eyes followed him for a moment while she smoothed her hair back into place and deciding to call it a day, she turned on her heels to go when she found herself standing in front of a shop lined with jars of rainbow-colored candies and stacks of chocolate bars.

No way.

She quickly looked back towards where the spymaster has flown to but he was already gone. Reluctantly, she entered the shop unable to decide whether to feel thankful or embarrassed.

===================

Their trip to the Continent wasn't scheduled for another day and Zivia spent most of her time waiting cooped up inside the library, gathering as much information as she possibly could.

Being secluded in an island away from the rest of the world for centuries, she needed to increase her limited knowledge about how things exactly go in the outside world. She was reminded about Mor saying that the mortals she's used to won't be the same as the ones they are going to deal with and she wasn't about to make a fool out of herself and disappoint the High Lord especially not in front of his spymaster. Hopefully, her experience in politics and with humans back in Cretea would help her through it.

She just came out of the library and on the way to sun her wings after spending hours inside when Cassian landed in the balcony.

"Hey there, princess," he greeted.

"Please don't call me that." Her brow furrowed at him. "What do you want?"

The Illyrian flicked an invisible dust on his armor as he tucked in his wings and stepped inside the dining room.

"I was wondering if you're up for another exercise."

"Again?"

The two of them have spent some time at the training grounds above the house, sparring with each other. She was quite surprised when he first asked her to train with him and, thinking it would be a nice way to kill time, she obliged with his request. It wasn't a total shock when he came back to ask a second time. And a third and a fourth…

"Let me guess, the High Lord was again busy with all his lord-ly duties and Azriel is out there spying and whatnot?"

He turned to her and smiled sheepishly. "I'm telling the truth this time."

When he told her that days ago, she knew he was lying but she did not dare call him out for it when he clearly looked upset and mad.

"You know I'm not some kind of punching bag where you can punch away all of your frustrations hoping to chase them off from constantly bugging you."

She met his gaze and for a moment, his muscles went taut and he stood with utter stillness that Zivia second-guessed whether it was right to bring up this subject. But she knows that they both knew what – or rather who – was the reason behind his constant need to vent out.

"So is that a yes?" he asked, all the tension disappearing from him like a smoke on a windy day. A wide-toothed grin now plastered on his face.

She couldn't help rolling her eyes as she threw up her hands in exasperation and they both head to the training grounds without any delay. They've somehow developed an unlikely platonic friendship during those times and she would really feel bad for not helping him on this one.

It was barely half an hour after her workout session with Cassian when Rhysand sent out notice that he'll be meeting them at the estate to talk about last-minute plans before they set off for the Continent. Azriel and Cassian were already present when she got there. Mor arrived few minutes after her.

"What happened to you?" exclaimed Cassian throwing an incredulous look at Mor. "You look … rushed."

Indeed, the female looked like she just got up from bed, her hair disheveled as if hastily styled and she wore a dress that was probably the first thing she saw after waking up and didn't bother looking for another.

"I got the notice late," Mor reasoned as she smoothed out the folds of her dress.

Zivia pointedly ignored the narrowed look that Azriel was giving Mor, as if also doubting the words she said. When Mor sauntered over to a chair beside her, she noticed a small bruise-like mark on her neck that she tried to conceal with her hair when she noticed that she was staring. She gave her a not-so-subtle wink and Zivia snapped her attention back to Rhysand and did her best to school her face into obliviousness, more so when she felt the shadowsinger's burrowing gaze turn to her.

The meeting was fairly quick, going over some new information that Azriel was able to gather and also additional preparations that needed to be done for the upcoming treaty council involving all the high lords of Prythian in a few months' time.

Zivia was walking along the corridors of the estate after the meeting when she caught sight of the lush garden through the glass windows. An onslaught of fresh and sweet earthy scents greeted her upon stepping out of the veranda and she took a deep breath, drinking in the aroma that reminded her of her mother's own botanical garden atop their palace. She followed the cobblestone path that leads to the fountain in the middle of the garden, letting her hand graze along the hedges as she walked by. Almost every kind of blossoming plants were present – from hydrangeas to daisies to daffodils and peonies and tulips and roses and her all-time favourite, sunflowers. She was busy admiring the towering yellow-petalled flower that she overlooked someone who was crouched and digging the soil around the plant. The gardener spotted her as she approached and stopped to greet her.

"Hello."

It was the High Lady's sister.

"Uhm, hi."

An awkward reply wasn't what she was planning to give her but given how gorgeous she looked even in her drab gardening clothes, she instantly felt conscious about herself again. She was suddenly glad that she was able to take at least a shower before going to the meeting.

"You like flowers too?" Elain asked her as she dusted off the dirt from her gloved hands. Her palms didn't appear too sweaty when she removed them.

Must be enchanted, she thought. Like the one she would use whenever her mother would ask her for help in trimming a bougainvillea shrub, as it prevents getting her fingers torn by its spiky stems.

"My mother developed a particular inclination towards horticulture and I find myself enjoying it too. We do pottery together for some of her plants."

She took a step closer to the sunflower to stoke its petals.

"Isn't it amazing how they turn towards the sun, following it across the sky? Plants do have magic on their own." Elain's smile was expectedly devastating.

"Do you think they'll live when grown away from sunlight?" she mused as she stared at the flower tilted towards the ball of light now sinking slowly on the horizon.

"Where there is darkness, the light will always find its way."

Her head snapped to her, brows knitting together in confusion. She wasn't sure if she was still talking about the plant. And there was something odd about the look Elain was giving her. But it didn't linger for long when she offered to walk with her to the fountain and talk more about gardening.