#-> might have to dye it all back to brown again just to fucking fix it

[leosgreyfringe]

in my ben white circa november 2023 era (bad haircut + bad hair dye)

[the-kr8tor]

HIIIIIIIII SWEETHEART I LOVE YOUR WRITIN STYLE EVERY FANFIC I READ FELT SO NATURAL AND REAL!!! 💗💗💗 was thinkin, could you write a hobie fic how would He react to y/n dyeing their hair I just recently dyed ma hair and had this idea in the back of ma head, HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY OR NIGHT, LOVE 💗 YOU AND ADMIRE YOUR WORK💗💗💗😊😊😊

Thank you hun! You're so sweet, I'm glad you like my fics ❤️ hope you like it! Thank you for requesting!!!

Hobie Brown x gn! Reader

Mention of injury, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie wakes up groaning, he instinctively lays his hand on your side of the bed, trying to find your warmth. He finds your pillow cold, fighting to keep his eyes open, Hobie blinks away sleep. Craning his creaking neck, he glanced at the clock– 1:00 pm.

"Ah, fuck" he moves his aching legs off the bed, the fight with mysterio last night left him worse for wear. Hobie sits on the edge of the bed, contemplating whether or not it's worth getting out of bed today.

He stretches his back, arms wide, Hobie yawns loudly enough to get your attention. He waits for your sweet voice to ask him if he's okay, but the whole flat is dead silent.

He raises his brow, "lovey?" Hobie calls out.

Hobie stands up, wobbling a bit on shaky legs. Maybe you're in the living room? He comes out of the bedroom, roaming his eyes to find your familiar form. It's the weekend, why aren't you home?

His anxiety gets the best of him, mind jumping to conclusions, they're not all good.

"Love?" He calls out again, a bit desperate this time. Hobie scratches his neck, maybe you're in the bathroom?

He heads towards the bathroom door, knocking tentatively "oi you in there?" He knocks twice, thrice, but no one answers.

Hobie wiggles the doorknob, he finds it unlocked, opening it slowly, in case you don't want to be disturbed. "You decent?" His voice echoes out in the tiled room.

Hobie's eyes widened at the red-stained tub, crimson splotches covered the once white bathtub. His heart stops, where are you? Who hurt you? Is this the work of mysterio–

A hand touches his shoulder, waking him up from his daze. His spidey senses betraying him, he slightly jumps at the contact.

"You okay, Hobie?" You ask him, slowly turning him around to face you.

He takes note of your hair in a towel, the white cloth stained pink, where it's closest to your hair. Your hand, and fingernails stained, like you've been trying to scrub it off, but gave up halfway.

He connects the dots, a sigh of relief escapes him.

"Yeah, 'm fine" Hobie tries to put his forehead against yours, but you stop him with your palm, shielding him.

"You might get it on you" you smile, apologetically.

"Right, where were you?" He pulls away, opting to hold your waist instead, Hobie rubs circles on your hips, effectively grounding him.

"I borrowed a hairdryer from the neighbor's" you show it to him, "mine fizzled out for some reason. You missed me?"

"No," he pinches your nose teasingly, you pout at his answer "I'll fix your old one for you, can I see?" Hobie tugs at the towel on your head.

You still pout at him, giving him your best puppy dog eyes, feigning sadness.

"Fine," he rolls his eyes "I missed you, now may I see your hair?"

"Only because you asked nicely" you change your pout to a smirk rather quickly.

Tugging off the towel, you let your hair breathe, the bright cherry red color a stark difference to your natural hair color.

Hobie whistles "Goddamn, look at you, lookin' like a proper punk!" He cups your jaw with both hands, moving your head from side to side. "Hmm, you missed a spot" he points out.

"What? Where?!" You rush to the mirror, trying to find the spot you didn't color in.

"Right, here" he pokes the side of your head.

When you turn to look at him, so you could ask him to show it to you, Hobie leans towards you, crashing his lips to yours, stopping you mid-turn.

You smile into the kiss, Hobie grabs a handful of your newly colored hair, ignoring that it might stain his hand so he can pull you closer, deepening the kiss. You hug his torso, stabilizing yourself as your legs wobble.

Oh, he definitely likes your new hair color.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

I definitely didn't base this when I colored my hair red, once lol. I made the description of the hair as vague as possible, hope it worked well.

Thank you for reading! Consider reblogging if you enjoyed ❤️❤️❤️

[the-sweetheart-chronicles]

.˖˳·˖ ִֶָ .˖˳·˖ ִֶָ .˖˳·˖ ִֶָ .˖˳·˖ ִֶָ .˖˳·˖ ִֶָ 𖹭 ִֶָ˖·˳˖. ִֶָ˖·˳˖. ִֶָ˖·˳˖. ִֶָ˖·˳˖. ִֶָ˖·˳˖. ִֶָ˖·˳˖.

5/11/24-5/12/24

I didn't write all weekend because I'm FUCKING EMBARRASSED. I saw this tiktok of a girl who dyed her hair super dark red almost black and so I used the exact same thing. It looks fucking terrible. I wanted Lindsay Lohan black red hair what I got was the little fucking mermaid. I know I should wait like a week to dye it again but idk if I can do this I wanna dye it back immediately. I don't know why I did this. I was stupid and impulsive and I learned my lesson for sure. I don't think I will ever be dying my hair anything but black from now on. I don't even know why I thought that would be a good idea. I am literally trying to glow up now I look like a clown. I might as well just run away and join the fucking circus. I want to die fr. I seriously need to start a "what time did I think about killing myself first" section of my diary because I it would have been immediately 5AM. I am buying some brown dye and fixing this when I get home I literally hate it. I thought I could give it a week or two and it would grow on me but I literally can't stand looking in the mirror it's so bad. I don't even want to walk in to Sally's I'm so embarrassed. It's literally the color of benitint. I have to work like this all day. Thank God I work in an office and don't see customers. I also barley leave my office so let's pray I only get a 30 minute lunch today because I don't want to have to sit in the break room for an hour like this. I may just suffer the heat in my the car with my mom. I also badly need to learn how to drive. After I dyed my hair I spent the rest of my weekend staring in the mirror pretending I don't hate my hair and playing Minecraft also while pretending I don't hate my hair. Shera would be SOOOO disappointed and I agree with her. I have actually decided I am going to watch at least 1 of her live streams before making any decisions from now on. If I would have watched a live of hers I would have instantly been reminded to not do this and ruin my perfect hair I spent years growing out to be basically virgin hair again. Good thing is I haven't cried I've just spent the whole time regretting my decision but no tears. I think that is really good progress for me. All I know is I am buying new hair dye, going home and fixing this shit immediately. Wish me luck and that my hair doesn't fry.

.˖˳·˖ ִֶָ .˖˳·˖ ִֶָ .˖˳·˖ ִֶָ .˖˳·˖ ִֶָ .˖˳·˖ ִֶָ 𖹭 ִֶָ˖·˳˖. ִֶָ˖·˳˖. ִֶָ˖·˳˖. ִֶָ˖·˳˖. ִֶָ˖·˳˖. ִֶָ˖·˳˖.

[boop-le-snoot]

@buckyownsmylife hey babe! Remember that one time you threw that cool challenge? Here's my entry. Prepare to get absolutely ruined because daddy!Bruce is exactly that sort of man.

main masterlist ☀️ taglist

emotional support nerd

Your best friend's dad, Dr. Bruce Banner, is hotter than you thought he would be. 6k words, NSFW. Kind of Alt!Reader - she refers to herself as 'goth' in one instance. Tony Stark makes an appearance because God forbid I write a fanfic without him in it.

This is filthy pron, ft. age difference (reader is college aged) daddy kink, throat fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, cream pie, possessiveness, belly bulge and ending with a hint at a threesome. I really crammed all I could from Eyre's wheel in here, didn't I. Oh well.

"How much longer, dad?" Lyra's annoyed voice struck a chord within me. I tried to hide my snickering - unsuccessfully might I add - causing my best friend to shoot me a hurt look, equally fed up with me as she was fed up with her forgetful adopted father. "You know what, we'll take the subway."

Lyra's father's voice, both agitated and apologetic, reached my ears in bitten-off phrases as the traffic noises around us grew in volume, NYC rush hour rapidly approaching its peak.

With a sound huff, Lyra removed the phone from her ear, staring me down with the most amount of petulance I've ever seen on her usually reserved, placid face. "It's twenty more minutes. Apparently he's driving Tony's car," she offered in the way of explanation, like it actually did anything to better the cold, wet situation we found ourselves in. "Please, and I can't stress this enough, please don't be weird."

I felt a flood of amusement at Lyra's pleading tone. "Darling, if you wanted a normal friend, you should have looked elsewhere," I gestured to my outfit. I looked like a goth boy's wet dream: chunky platformed boots, fishnets, heavy eyeliner. Of course, all in black.

"You know what I mean," she whined, waving off my pointing hand and fixing me with a hard stare. "The least my dad needs is someone that is terrified of him just because sometimes he turns into a big green monkey. It's not as exciting as internet thinks, anyway," the last part of the sentence was mumbled but I heard it nonetheless as Lyra stared out into the traffic, clever eyes looking for a particular car model.

What Lyra didn't know was that I was not at all considering to be terrified by the man who dosed himself with radiation and developed an advanced version of split personality disorder. I could be intimidated by him, sure, because he was incredibly intelligent, a world class scientist with more PhDs than I had zeroes in my bank account, but even despite his green problem, Dr. Bruce Banner was about as far away from 'scary' as a man could be.

The few scarce pictures of him on the internet showed a short, stocky man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper curls, always dressed in un-ironed, crumpled button-ups with dorky patterns. Looking at him, I mused that there was a high chance he spoke with a stutter and that fact amused me to no end. Jekyll and Hyde, alright.

Lyra was much the same way. Shy and reclusive, with curly brown hair and doe eyes, she spent a good chunk of her first semester in college being avoided by everybody because of her last name; I, on the other hand, avoided everyone out of habit, I'd never been a social butterfly, but the way people subtly made sure to exclude Lyra from all the activities filled me with quiet, seething rage, and I stepped over my general distaste of people and removed my bag from the seat next to me so Lyra could at least study in relative peace.

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all, I'm sure. Weird goth chick adopts a socially awkward, shunned nerd and they become best friends forever. I had to admit that under the shy exterior, Lyra was smart, witty and even funny sometimes. She was willing to entertain my crude jokes without moaning, at least, and I was perfectly okay with listening to her rant about science every now and then.

Rain banged on the slanted roof of the café we were hiding in, the autumn wind howled, making both of us shiver at the prospect of having to go outside, even if it was for a short moment to run to Lyra's dad's car. The day had started out warm and sunny, but much like a badly calculated chemical formula, it all went downhill a split second after we had set out to leave campus.

"There he is," the grouch in Lyra's expression had me once again unsuccessfully attempting to conceal my snorting.

Nonetheless, I followed her out into the rain, struggling to keep up with the brisk running in my platformed shoes, unceremoniously crawling into the car behind her without sparing a glance at the driver in my eagerness to get out of the freezing downpour.

"Hi, dad," Lyra's tired voice spoke up at the same time as I angrily shook out my hair.

"I've just about McFuckin' had it with New York," I was afraid the dye in my hair would bleed out into my clothes, or even worse, the nice, cream-colored car seats.

"Hello, ladies," the voice that greeted us was low, gravelly and apologetic to boot.

My eyes shot up, meeting an expression full of surprise and amusement. I stared at the shockingly handsome face of Dr. Bruce Banner like a deer in the headlights.

The fine mimic wrinkles had stretched into a resemblance of a smile, soft, plush lips revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The five o'clock shadow framed his jaw, giving it a sharp, defined edge, his clever brown eyes slid down my form, faltering on the pentagram on my belt and my fishnet-covered legs, settling on my chunky boots before hastily snapping back up to my face.

"Dad, this is..." Lyra's voice was full of suspicious bewilderment as she attempted to dissipate the sudden awkwardness.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, but you can call me Doc or Bruce," he cleared his throat, turning himself towards the windshield and starting up the car.

"Nice to meet you," I busied myself with putting away any stray hair just to occupy myself with something during the time I needed to recuperate from being just... Looked at by Lyra's dad.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I was so taken aback by his handsomeness and his aura of a gentle but powerful man that the ride to Stark tower, however swift, went on in slightly awkward silence. The streets outside were, thankfully, noisy, and the lack of an attempt to have a conversation could easily be attributed to Bruce's need to focus on the road, but Lyra's increasingly concerned looks did very little to settle the sudden racing of my heart.

"C'mon, I'll give you some sweats so you can let your..." Lyra's vague gesture towards my upper body disappeared behind her side of the door. "Hey, Tony," she suddenly interrupted her sentence, very obviously addressing another person who I managed to miss as Bruce parked in the spacious garage.

"I've been told you're finally bringing your friend, Green Pea," a voice I'd heard a thousand times on the TV poked fun at Lyra.

She bent down to retrieve her bag, shooting big eyes at me and mouthing an exaggerated "Sorry!"

Tony Stark looked about a week in debt on sleep, a contrast to the way he usually appeared in public. The exaggerated eyebrow raise made me shuffle awkwardly in my spot; the Led Zep tee caught my eyes as I lingered on it, aware of my own Mötorhead top on display. He noticed it too, causing his face leave the snide territory.

"Wow, I didn't expect kids these days to have any resemblance of taste in music but you've surprised me, Corpse Bride," he gave me a quiet wolf-whistle, watching me through lidded eyes.

I felt my eyebrow crawl upwards at his attitude but Bruce spoke up before I could say anything: "Tony, no," so firmly, I had to raise both of my eyebrows. I felt a smile tug at my lips, the situation strikingly familiar in it's essence. Like father, like daughter...

"No," Lyra's identical expression, fond and annoyed, topped up with an accusing finger pointed in my direction had everyone snorting a giggle at the situation.

"Lyra," I whined, just so I could coax her grin that she was very obviously trying to conceal. "See, I told you, every crazy genius needs their emotional support nerd," I fixed her with a pointed look.

She promptly grabbed me by the arm, leading all of us to the elevator as the two men behind us shared a hearty laugh at my well-timed joke. It was either that or I would have completely embarrassed myself by gaping and drooling over both THE Tony Stark and Lyra's father.

The rush didn't stop there. I was promptly and generously offered not only a spare pair of pants but also a whole room to stay in after an invitation to dinner I simply could not refuse. Dr. Banner firmly coaxed me into staying overnight with his pleading eyes and a hearty seasoning of guilt tripping, softly crooning how he simply could not let a young woman to wander the cold, rainy night in NYC alone.

Tony added something too, in a tone way too surefire and patronising. I guessed he noticed my eyes lingering on Dr. Banner, being a genius and all.

In a short amount of time, I found myself seated at a dinner table next to a happy, giggling Lyra who'd downed a glass of wine and was well into her second. I found it adorable how much of a lightweight she was; not hesitating in the slightest to point out that fact when she made hands for a pitcher of water.

Tony was the first one to snark back something vague about his college days and all the wild parties he used to throw, booing Bruce upon discovery that he, in fact, actually studied in college in favour of partaking in various illicit activities. That had both me and Tony giggling with Lyra promptly joining in, both of us losing it over the running joke or her being either a test tube baby or the result of immaculate conception.

Bruce's face blushed scarlet. He sputtered, a few stray drops of his lemonade landing on the (ironed!) collar of his purple shirt, cough disappearing in the wake of Tony's truly amused cackling. Dr. Banner was well on his way to either choke on his Lo Mein or turn green; thinking quickly, I decided to defuse a situation by sharing a harmless, funny story that happened to me as a freshman.

"I went on a date with this guy who said that music was the most important thing in his life, and I thought, wow, that's so beautiful!" I began my story over Lyra's incessant snickering. "So we had dinner and went back to his place because I'm a whore," the whole table erupted in laughter at my deadpan remark, Tony reaching over to give me a high five.

"And as we got there, he put on one of his demos which was just a bunch of sampled and remixed Guns'n'Roses songs, and I thought wow, that's gotta be one of the worst things I've ever heard," I pointedly looked away as Lyra's cackling grew in volume, having heard the same story several times by now and the outrage I expressed at the situation first hand.

"But instead of that I said, wow, that's so cool! Then we did the thing and his whole bedroom was covered in Axl Rose posters and I'm sure at some point Mr. Rose stared right up my asshole," there were tears streaming down Lyra's face as Tony flopped his upper body onto the table and Bruce convulsed helplessly in a silent fit of giggles. "And then I thought to myself: wow, I would have to pretend to like his music if I dated this guy and I just couldn't do that..." I breathed out, succumbing to the mirth at the dinner table. "It was good but not November Rain good, y'kno?"

Bruce snorted loudly, sliding down his chair with a hand over his face. The table shook with the force of Tony's cackling; I didn't see his expression but the howling, rasping noises sent me into another fit of laughter, right on par with Lyra.

"Is this..." Tony rapidly inhaled the much-needed oxygen. "Is this why you keep wincing whenever I play the 'Roses in the lab?" Tony wheezed and Lyra nodded.

"I just... I can picture it, and I-" she made a vague, encompassing gesture and a face.

"Please, don't," I urged with a snort. "There are better ways to get disappointed."

Dinner went on by smoothly after that, everybody happily making remarks on my dating fail, the topic of Lyra's birth and Tony's college shenanigans dismissed.

I caught Dr. Banner's pointed look as we finished our dessert - he was studying me, eyes searching for something that he very obviously wished was there. From the damp roots of my hair to the soft, cotton top clinging to my chest, I wasn't left unscrutinzed and unexamined. Like one of the many specimens he studied on a daily basis, Bruce lingered on the many characteristics that made me stand out in the grey crowd.

"Would you like to see the labs?" He asked, appearing behind me without a single sound.

The freshly cleaned dishes clattered in my arms. I'd almost dropped them, startled, but Bruce's hand landed on the top of the stack right before the top plate would have slipped off and shattered into pieces on the cold tile of his kitchen.

Blood rushed to my ears. "I'd love to," my brain had briefly returned to reality, the rush of meeting both Stark and Banner succumbing to logic and reason. My and his fields of study briefly overlapped, the question he posed was more than reasonable. In fact, many people would cheat, lie and steal to be in my position.

Bruce smiled, opening a cabinet and taking half of the dishes I was holding to stack them up in their proper place. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing wide, muscular forearms littered with dark, coarse hair.

I was sure my face was flaming. After waving off Lyra's attempts to put shoes on me and leaving her to watch her TV show, a wide, warm palm rested on the back of my waist, gently steering me towards the elevator.

I tried to keep my eyes off Bruce in the large mirror on the walls of the car as it swiftly moved down, scrutinizing my appearance instead. My throat bobbed, the elevator car suddenly too small and too hot.

His eyes left marks on me - invisible ones, the kind that I knew were there just from the scorching heat sizzling on my skin.

There was a certain je ne sais quoi about him. Perhaps, it was in the way he was acting - a polar opposite of what I'd had expected, Dr. Bruce Banner possessed a quiet confidence and his patience appeared to be endless, heartily doused with an appreciation for his closest ones. The way his eyes lit up in response to people smiling around the dinner table was hard to miss.

When Bruce spoke about his research - whatever wasn't classified, anyway - the spark expanded into a mischievous fire. I could hardly understand the nuances in his work, scratch that- I could not understand a single word he was saying, at all. The individual syllables registered as they should, but my traitorous brain could only focus on the way he licked his lips in between quickly inhaled breaths.

"You're not... Following, are you?" The corner of his mouth lifted upwards, clever brown eyes fixed on my face.

God, I hoped I wasn't drooling. But to deny the obvious would have been a stretch. "No, not really," I swallowed, willing my eyes to lift from the large veins on the hand that was pointing at a set of equations. Reasonably good at math any day, they looked like the scribbles of a madman to me at the time.

Dr. Banner sighed, letting silence creep among the whirring machinery in the lab for a brief moment. "I don't scare you?" He removed his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his shirt.

The question reeked of self-doubt and, perhaps, insecurity. "No," I answered simply, not giving him the slightest chance to find doubt in my words. I was barely holding my voice from shaking, afraid he'd misunderstand my reaction to the sudden change in atmosphere.

He was closer to me than I recalled. My hip was almost brushing his, the bulk of his shoulder millimeters from touching against my bare skin, the smell of something herbal, like tea, and sharp chemicals clouding my senses. It was such a contrasting experience.

Bruce turned to me, an expression between hunger and regret forcing me to shiver and look him straight in the eye. A hand landed on my waist, holding me in place with gentle firmness. "I'm a monster, I could hurt you," he whispered, leaning into me like a touch starved kitten. The man screamed contradiction. "We shouldn't."

Vivid images of the Hulk and the rampages years prior flashed through my mind; the rubble, the collateral damage in the form of many lives. I barely remembered it, having been too little to really understand what was going on. One thing, though, I knew for sure: ever since the world became aware of Lyra's existence, there had been no incidents. Sure, the Hulk still appeared when there was a threat, but there were no documented incidents of the green creature running amok, accidentally.

"You won't hurt me," I spoke with conviction. Perhaps, I was bluffing just slightly but I wouldn't lie like that to myself. The variable, the... Twelve or so percent chance of things going... Awry, it made a small, malicious worm inside of me rejoice and fill my limbs with familiar adrenalised yearning. "You're not a monster. Far from it, actually," I used the hand that was not supporting me against the desk to gently cradle the side of his face, letting my fingertips brush over the rough five o'clock shadow on his cheek.

Bruce emitted a sound somewhere between an agitated grown and a pleading whine, sagging with the sound exhale, pressing himself flush with my chest. His face slipped from my palm, the warm tip of his nose running a steady line up my neck, sending goosebumps running wildly down my back as his hot breath tickled the arch of my throat.

"Baby," the nickname punched a stuttered gasp out of me with the intensity contained in just that one word. "I've been hearing all these amazing things about you," his voice dropped, low baritone rumbling straight into my ear. "I won't be able to hold back. I'll want you all to myself," his bicep flexed under my hand.

My knees would have bucked if I wasn't grasping onto Bruce for dear life after those words. I had some sense of personal pride in me, so while my body was an easy, traitorous thing, my mind was more than eager to participate in this game, to ping pong a little bit before... "Yeah? What things?" I breathed.

Teeth briefly closed around my tender skin, nipping for just a second. "You're kind, beautiful," his hand took a steadfast hold on the back of my neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. More skin to mark, more time to whisper. "Intelligent, bright and clever," the more he spoke, the fiercer he became. Bruce's grasp tightened until I was pliant in it, willingly following his silent commands. "A bit of a pain in the ass," a healthy dose of humour was added into the mix as my ass was roughly grabbed, our fronts pressed together at his insistence.

"That sounds about right," I didn't resist the sudden urge to snark, thoughts lazily floating in my head, like clouds on a bright sunny day, fleeting and sparse. None of them caught on. I was focused on feeling the need, on my need to feel.

A sharp smack landed on the plump of my ass, the sound resonating in the eerily quiet lab. The sounds of machinery had dulled at some point, leaving just the two of us panting our lust into each other's space. "I know you can be a good girl. Will you, princess?" His fingertips dug into my flesh, surpassing the soft sweatpants as if they weren't even there.

I could only nod, dumbly, overcome by the sudden rush of blood to my body. The life coarsing through me sang, demanding a release of the pent-up tension.

"What's that?" Bruce removed himself from my neck, catching my unfocused eyes with a crooked smirk on his lips.

"Yes," I swallowed, breathing through my mouth.

"Mmm," he hummed, running both hands over my sides, over the frayed edges of my Mötorhead top. He admired it, briefly, setting his eyes on the band logo that was right over my breasts. Having decided something to himself, Bruce promptly removed it, lifting it over my head with ease and leaving it right on the science lab table.

Taking hold of my hand, he walked over to a hidden set of sliding doors that revealed a rather large, frequently used bed, shutting them just as I walked in, wearing only my bra and borrowed sweats. My back was pressed to the door in mere seconds, hot palms chasing away the chill of the lab as Bruce slotted his lips over mine.

He tasted like something I've never had before. His lips - so plush and supple, took hold of the kiss with practiced gusto, sucking me in without a chance or the desire to escape. I drank from him, sucked on the bottom lip as his tongue explored my mouth, danced with mine.

The room was spinning, the ringing in my ears growing in volume. I was only partly aware of the sensation of sliding down the wall; our knees thudded on the carpeted floor simultaneously, heavy breathing the only noise I could distinguish.

"Breathe, baby, that's it," Bruce coaxed, gently stroking my nape. The soft cotton of his shirt crumpled under my fingers where I held onto him, desperately searching something to ground myself with.

The buckle of his belt clattered and then clinked again as he wrapped the worn leather around my wrists, bringing them together in front of my chest. I exhaled sharply at the intimate gesture, a whine bubbling up from my chest when Bruce used a single fingertip to raise my chin.

My eyes met his; a brown iris tinged with the faintest of green around the outer edge. "This okay, princess?" He sought my face for confirmation, for agreement, for anything.

I nodded, stuttering mid-gesture, remembering our previous interaction. My mouth did not want to cooperate but I forced it to, even if it came out as little more than a pitiful mewl. "Yes, daddy," the word, sweet and sticky like fruit syrup, poured from my lips.

My eyes slid shut as my conscience - or was it common sense? - took hold of the situation. I was on my knees in front of my best friends dad, a virtual stranger, and I'd just-

Bruce's soft chuckle stopped the negative spiral of my thoughts. "That's my girl," he sounded a tad more breathless now, a hairliner in his perfect façade of self-control. As if he'd sensed my indecisiveness, he tugged on the makeshift restraints, pulling me closer, closer and into his lap.

A warm, solid chest with a healthy amount of fluff greeted me. Bruce let my lax, pliant body fall into his arms, catching me effortlessly and bringing my face to his lips. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're my good girl," he peppered soft kisses all over my flaming cheeks, my twitching nose, my fluttering lashes.

"Please," I begged, shame giving way to the flood of arousal that seemingly hit me all at once. I was aware of the dampness collecting in my panties, the stiffness of my limbs from holding back the ravenous desire to paw at Bruce like a wild animal. "Please, daddy..."

"I know, I know, baby girl," he soothed, not stopping his tender assault on my face. "Daddy will make it all better. I know just what you need," Bruce finally pulled away. I heard the sound of him undoing his zipper and then the awkward shuffle of him shucking off his pants.

Somewhere in between of all that, he'd ended up sitting down on the bed, wearing only his boxers, his shirt hanging open. The red crawled down his chest, partially masked by the coarse salt and pepper hair; his lips were cherry red and his hair was sticking out in odd directions. Bruce looked sinful.

My eyes inadvertently landed on the impressive bulge in his boxers; in response to my widened eyes, he reached out for it, stroking the outline of his thick cock through his boxers. "Like what you see, baby?"

"Yeah," My mouth watered.

"Baby wants a fat cock?" He teased, sounding like he knew exactly what he was doing, testing my self-control like that. With a flick of his wrist, it sprang free, slapping against his tummy, coating the fine hairs with drops of clear, musky fluid.

I swallowed, feeling the taste of him from afar and yearning for more where I was parked between his spread legs.

In a gesture almost loving, he tugged on the belt still wrapped around my wrists, bringing my face to his leaking shaft and my hands to the base of it, letting me feel the weight of his balls in them. The cock throbbed, neglected, weighed down by the heaviness of his full balls.

"Go ahead, baby, suck my cock," the encouragement came with a gentle push to my head.

I obediently followed, wrapping my lips around the pink, moist crown of it, a hum beginning in the back of my throat. My God, Bruce tasted heavenly... I whirled and slipped my tongue a around his head, I dipped into the slit to drink the nectar right from the tap, idly coming to awareness of the broken, choked moans coming from the man above me.

Raising my head got me a view of his chin; head thrown back, the lax O of his mouth glistened in the meager light. My eyes slid lower, to the flex of his abs. Bruce fought hard to stay still. The desire consumed me, a sudden rush of power at having Dr. Bruce Banner's cock in my mouth and the man at my mercy; I inhaled, sliding my mouth further and further down his throbbing length.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter before his hands gripped the sides of my face. "Hungry, baby, are you?" His eyes glowed a faint green; I shuddered at the power he held within himself. Held back for me. "Tap my thigh twice," he spoke and I had no choice but to obey. "Okay. Do that if it gets too much, alright?" I nodded. He gave me a wide, beaming smile. "Good girl," he praised, experimentally bucking his hips into my mouth a few times.

In and out. I focused on my breathing, sharp, little inhales: his girth took up all the free space in my mouth, the tip of it barely fit into my throat. The burn, the stretch; I felt every tenth of an inch, every bulging attempt of my body to accommodate Bruce's huge cock. It was delicious, I couldn't help but crave the same stretch in my neglected, sopping wet pussy.

"Fuck, you're taking it so well," Bruce moaned wetly. "Your mouth... S'like heaven... Could fuck it all day, that's my good girl," the rambling increased in it's intensity as the pace of his hips hastened. Drool and tears flowed like a river; my chin was dropping with it, spit connected my face to his pelvis. "Oh," there was a brief pause to his movements; suddenly, he pulled out, fisting the base of his cock, staring me down with a ferocious gleem in his eye.

I must've looked a straight mess; my face like a crime scene, my clothes disheveled, covered in fluids and most of all - I was desperately grinding against my own feet, too focused on the glorious cock in front of me to notice the weakness of my own flesh. "Daddy?" I questioned, wincing at the grating of my own voice.

Without a word, the belt was tugged once more; in a set of movements just slightly north of acrobatic, I found myself laying on my back in the middle of the bed, my sweatpants suffering a haste demise in the corner of the room.

Bruce crawled atop me, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on every inch of my skin he could reach, mouthing something inaudible into every pore of my body. As he drew closer, I discerned bitten-off phrases, stringing my desire into sticky, tangy mess at the apex of my thighs.

"My perfect baby girl," the words reached me; all tongue, he kissed me once more, arching into me as much as I arched into his hot grasp. A brief inspection of my face - he was satisfied with what he saw - and Bruce crawled back, settling in between my spread legs, breathing hot air on the lips of my sex still covered by a sopping wet piece of fabric.

"Oh fuck," I yelped, feeling him smooch it soundly, the hot wetness of his tongue penetrating the meagre lace barrier with ease.

He moved it aside anyway, with a single finger, giving my pussy a broad lick, moaning into my cunt like a man gone mad. It took a few more licks for him to feel sated enough to surface, all the while holding my hips down. I was so sensitive, I felt even the tiniest flicks to my clit, I was sure if I didn't cum then and there, I would explode.

"Such a pretty pussy, princess," his heavy breathing paused briefly. He nipped my thigh. "So wet, is that all for me?"

"Yes, yes, daddy," I rasped, pushing my cunt into his face, losing all shame and trepidation.

"So tasty," he continued the torture, outlining my lower lips before taking another nosedive right into it, swirling his tongue around every fold, sucking onto my clit.

Bruce ate my pussy until my thighs shook, until my core quivered and I could no longer hold back the choked, ragged screams starting somewhere in the low of my belly and coming out as unholy, all-consuming yowls filled with unadulterated lust.

"Louder for me, baby," he inhaled rapidly, and then, he sucked on my clit.

The world stopped, halted on it's axis, every muscle going rigid in my body and every nerve ending simultaneously coming alive. Faintly, I heard a chant, repeating two syllables over and over, it sounded like my voice - but I had no control over myself. All I could do was weakly grind my hips against Bruce's mouth, faltering when the crashing waves of my orgasm began to recede.

The infuriating overstimulation stopped; blinking hazily, I saw Bruce's eyes glimmer brown and green in front of my face. His nose and his chin was glistening with a thin coat of sticky fluid; disheveled and red, he looked a man on the verge of a revelation.

Something hot and blunt nosed at my cunt, bringing back the moment to me - I realized, with a great deal of impatience - how empty I felt. The decision was minute. "Daddy, fuck me, please, I want your cock," the words came easily.

"That's my girl," his eyes fluttered shut as the first inches squeezed through the snug of my cunt. I was sopping wet and as relaxed as I'd be, but even then, it was a stretch. "Good girl, good baby," the mumbled praise made me whine and my pussy clamp on his cock. "Relax, let daddy fill you up." Breathing through it, I consciously unwound myself around him, letting my palms rest freely on his shoulders. "Let daddy take care of you."

Like melted sugar, his husked words stuck to me inside and out. Short, sharp thrusts; Bruce was patiently burrowing himself inside of me, making his way to reach the deepest parts of me I didn't even know existed. His cock head pressed against something hard and spongy inside of me; stars burst behind my eyes I'd clamped shut on reflex.

I moaned weakly, tugging on his arm, pressing myself closer. It felt so, so good. Like a raw nerve had been exposed and he was stroking it, pushing that little switch with every stroke of his hips.

"I'm not gonna last," he muttered as once again, my cunt squeezed him snugly in place, just as greedy as I was to feel that tiny explosion spark up within me again.

"I want..." I panted. Bruce set in a punishing pace after that, a palm under my ass, squeezing it so hard there would definitely be bruising. I craved it, I needed to see the evidence this was not some elaborate fever dream. "I want... Daddy to fill me up," words came out garbled; it sounded like gibberish to my ears but Bruce - they spurred him on.

"Oh yeah?" That breathless, boyish cockiness was back in his voice again; despite how fucked out he sounded, I prepared myself for something truly out of this world. I just knew.

He sat back on his shins, dragging me by the hips with him, making me shiver and moan and twitch and clamp onto him again as his throbbing cock hit that special spot again. And again. And again.

"Look at me, baby," a hand on my belly and his eyes burning right through me. As they slid down, towards the apex of my thighs where he was still moving within me almost lazily, I saw it.

"Oh fuck," I couldn't utter much more than a two-syllabled profanity. There was a bulge in my belly, just above my pelvis, moving in rhythm with Bruce's hips. And then he pressed on it and I-

Something, someone, somewhere was screaming. The noise was loud and pitched, but even then, I could barely hear it though the neverending waves of bliss that enveloped my whole being. Gold and silver at the edges of my rapidly darkening vision; I was drowning in something that smelled and felt like Bruce. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his heated body, the rapid snapping of his hips-

Oh.

"I'm gonna, fuck," the last word was but a ghost of a human speech. Growling low and filthy, Bruce leaned into my ear, his breath hot and moist. "Mine," his hips stuttered, his cock nestled deep, the sensation bordering on painful, forcefully extracted pleasure. It throbbed with every spurt of his seed; each one felt like a solid punch in the gut to my abused pussy.

"Daddy," I mewled, my body jerking away from him but my mind and my soul yearning for more. His rapidly softening flesh made the idea of being separated unbearable.

"S'good, s'my good girl, m'so proud," he mumbled, looking slightly disoriented as he removed himself from me, immediately pressing me to his side and interwining any free, flailing limbs.

We laid in silence, each of us slowly coming back to Earth after the completely unreal experience we just had. I didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do as the realization set in, the post-orgasmic haze giving way to a sudden rush of clarity.

"I can hear you overthinking," Bruce's voice was fond.

Before I could muster up the courage to snark back, the divided doors opened, one very concerned Tony Stark standing there, armed with a tranquilizer gun in one hand and a pack of cookies in the other. His mouth, previously open to (probably) yell at us, remained as open when his eyes had registered the scene in front of him.

I stared at Bruce. Bruce stared at Tony.

"The noise," he offered in the way of explanation, dangling the pack of cookies, looking, for once - speechless. He recovered quickly, however, even if the remark was a thin ghost of his usual sass: "You pick the nerd over me? I'm hurt," he scoffed in mock irritation, although I was pretty sure I saw some satisfaction in there, too.

Bruce looked at me. I looked at Bruce.

A mischievous grin slowly crept up his face, an identical one beginning to appear on my own face seconds after.

"Hey, two nerds is better than one, right?" My response is what did it; or, rather, it was the evidence of my previous throat-fucking clearly audible in my voice... Tony dropped the cookies and then, the tranq gun.

Bruce Banner taglist: @pilloclock @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @mostly-marvel-musings @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @sapphicnoodle69 @couldntbedamned @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @tripleyeeet @tatestripedsweater @stuckybarton

[rodeoxqueen]

SMELLS LIKE QUARAN-NEROKIRI SPIRIT 

Nero/Kyrie

“In quarantine, Nero and Kyrie spend time together.” 

Rodeo’s Two Pieces: 

First time writing for Nero/Kyrie. Tread lightly with my take of their dynamic. 

(I)- Dalgona Coffee and Cookies. 

Despite how everything was shut down and the grocery was found vacant of basic necessities, Nero was grateful to at least be with someone he loved the most. 

“Look, we probably need some time off from kickin’ demon ass anyways,” Nico explained, smoking a cigarette during the video chat. 

“Yeah, not like demons care about being six feet away. People don’t even do that.” Nero looked at himself in the little square in the corner of his phone. Clad in a grey hoodie, he hadn’t even bothered putting on anything over his boxers. No one had come to visit since the mandate to stay inside, what was the point? 

Nico was in her garage again, from what he could see in the camera view. Cigarettes and old cups of coffee littered her desk, warbled country music playing off-view. 

“Who knows, maybe I’ll make something to fix that. I was thinking a mask-gun, rapid-fire reloading.” 

“Artisan of Arms, huh?” Nero laughed, getting up from his bed. 

“You fuckin’ bet. Now I gotta go. Got some things to weld.” 

“See ya, Nico. Stay safe, alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He gave a peace sign before pressing “end video call.” 

The video chat ended and Nero tucked his phone into his pocket. Even banter just wasn’t the same virtually. 

“Who was that? Nico?” Nero made it down the hallway to see Kyrie, bustling about getting things from the cupboards. 

“Yeah, still building stuff as usual.” 

Kyrie had been in their apartment’s kitchen, deciding to try her hand at some recipes she saw online. A bag of flour, too many bowls, and more chocolate than Nero remembered buying, all laid out on the table. 

Just when he wanted something to eat, he’d have to wait or his girlfriend would practically make enough to feed an army and be surprised when he didn’t want anymore. 

He opted for a cup of water instead. 

Nero admired her hair, how it looked when it wasn’t in a ponytail, how it sat perfectly on her shoulders. Seeing how she started to measure some ingredients, he took the hair tie on his wrist, careful fingers bringing it into a low ponytail. 

“Oh, thank you.” She commented, opening her booklet of recipes she had handwritten. Neat, slanted cursive in a smattering of blue, red, and black read out recipes for cookies, cakes, and bread. 

“You look busy, planning to make all of those?” Nero rested his chin on her shoulder, shrouding her with warmth. 

“Well, I don’t know how long we’re going to be stuck at home, might as well try some recipes out. Maybe we can deliver some to the orphanage.” 

“That is if I don’t eat all your prototypes first.” She laughed, birdsong to Nero’s ears. 

“As long as you help me I don’t mind if you do.” Kyrie handed him a measuring cup. Nero sighed, taking it. He always lost count of how many cups of flour he was supposed to put in the bowl. 

A jar of porous dough caught his eye as he sifted some baking soda in his white mixture. He took it from Kyrie’s side of the island. 

“Whoa, what is this? A science experiment?” Kyrie chuckled, watching Nero scrutinize the date on the white tape to the top of the mason jar. 

“No, it’s a sourdough starter! It’s basically wild yeast. We can make bread with it since people bought out all the dry yeast in the grocery store.” 

Nero shook it with curiosity and then opened the silver lid, making an “eh” face at the smell. 

“It’s yeast alright.” 

Kyrie continued whipping up the sugar and butter mixture, Nero helping himself to a handful of chocolate chips. 

“Have you talked to your uncle and father? They must be staying at the shop in Redgrave.” 

Nero shrugged. 

“Most likely, I haven’t talked to them yet. Dante probably didn’t pay the phone bill and Vergil doesn’t know how to use the phone anyways.” 

“Let’s just hope they’re getting along during this time.” 

Nero thought back to all the “family outings” he had since his uncle and father returned from hell, mostly just jobs becoming contests of strength that turned to friendly family fights. Endless banter and elbowing. 

Honestly, compared to that, standing next to his girlfriend while they shaped cookies for the oven was heaven. 

Once the chocolate chip cookie dough was done baking, Kyrie insisted they make some whipped coffee while they cooled.  

“I thought you didn’t like coffee, Kyrie.” She stooped down to find something in the lower cabinets. A robotic hand that was colored dark blue and black, his old Devil Bringer, appeared with a tiny whisk duct-taped to it. 

“Yeah, but that TikTok made it look so good.” Nero handed her the glass container of instant coffee. 

Turning on the Devil Bringer, the tiny whisk spun to life, rapidly mixing sugar, coffee, and water together. With her back turned, Nero popped a thing of cookie dough in his mouth. 

“Honestly, Nico should have patented these Devil Bringers, make a bunch of money, and maybe she’d stop trying to rip me off all those times.” 

“Support local businesses, Nero.” 

He looked over her shoulder, surprised at how an abysmal brown mixture had become fluffy and thrice its previous volume. 

Two cups of milk poured, the practically instantly whipped coffee laid on top like a decadent Mount Everest next to a still-warm plate of cookies. 

“Cheers!” Kyrie clinked glasses with him, stirring her mug vigorously with a spoon. He copied her, taking a sip of surprisingly light and sweet coffee. 

When he lowered his cup, Nero both revealed to the world a mustache of whipped coffee. 

Kyrie snorted into her cup, covering her mouth as she bit back a laugh. Embarrassed, Nero went to wipe it off when Kyrie pecked him on the lips. She drew back to reveal an imprint of the ‘stache on her own upper lip. 

“We match now.” Kyrie giggled, helping herself to another gooey cookie. 

Half a plate of cookies and two mugs properly drained of its contents, Kyrie and Nero loaded up the dishwasher to do the work. 

“This is coffee, why am I tired?” Kyrie yawned. 

The couch was this god-awful IKEA purchase that took hours for Nero to just figure out what the instructions meant. But right now, it perfectly supported both of them while they slept away their food coma. 

(II)- Curl Up And Dye. 

After the second time the mandate got lengthened, Nero could sense that Kyrie was starting to wane in her ever-positive attitude. The news had nothing good to say, and the number of shows they had binged left them indifferent to watching anything more. 

They did a lot of singing during quarantine, Kyrie always being the musical one. Evanescence was one of their favorites to sing together, Nero’s guitar skills and Kyrie’s ability to hit those high notes left many memorable nights of laughter. 

After a while, Kyrie began to just sit on the couch a lot and have Nero pay her company. 

“What’s wrong?” Kyrie sighed heavily, curling into Nero’s hoodie as he opted to stay shirtless. 

“I don’t know Nero, it just feels like everything is the same. We go through the same things every day and I just feel...trapped.” 

Nero kissed the nape of her neck, humming in agreement. 

“Look, I’m usually the one going to you for stuff like this but...it will get better. It’s been a really hard time for all of us, and we’re just watching everything go downhill. It’s not a good situation but, you got me. Always. And there’s still a lot of things we can change up if that helps.” He stroked her hair and rubbed her back, feeling her take a deep breath. 

“You’re right Nero. That really did help. Thank you for listening.” 

“Of course.” 

While he scrolled on his own phone, he didn’t heed all the things Kyrie was watching. She touched her own long hair, seeing the way other people recorded their own home-salon trims. 

“Things to change, huh?” She mumbled. 

So here they were now. 

“It looks so bad!” Kyrie exclaimed, her face in her hands, hair on the bathroom sink. Nero shook his head. 

“No it’s not, Kyrie! You look fine, just let me fix it!” In the mirror, Nero cringed at the way her hair was ridiculously over-layered. 

“Um, what did you try to do-” 

“Curtain bangs! Oh Nero, I shouldn’t have tried to change up my hair!” Kyrie was thoroughly upset, seeing how her bout of bravery lead to her bangs being mauled by her own hands. 

Nero hugged her, noting that she had been wearing his shirt while she trimmed her hair. 

Okay that shirt’s gonna itch for a while until all the hair comes out. 

“It’s okay, let me see if I can fix it.” Kyrie blushed in the mirror, groaning at how bad her hair was cut. 

“There’s no way you could make it worse than what I did.” 

Nero gingerly took the scissors Kyrie put in the sink, a little bit too small for his hands but good enough. Although he was no stylist, he could tell where Kyrie had either cut too much off or unevenly. 

Eventually, they did manage to cut it in a way that hid the previous mistakes. Kyrie took another deep breath. 

“I shouldn’t have been so impulsive.” She murmured, arms crossed. 

Nero chuckled at her rare emotional outburst. He was glad to have been able to be there for her. She always hid how she felt, helping others her way of expressing herself. Now with no one around but him, he totally understood that she felt helpless. 

No one liked being helpless. 

He kissed her cheek and a lightbulb went off in his head. 

“You wanna dye my hair?” Kyrie turned around in surprise. 

“What?” 

“I mean, who knows how long this shutdown is gonna be, it’ll be fun,” Kyrie noted how Nero had forgone shaving, his peach fuzz becoming something more. 

Honest blue eyes peered at her, wondering what she would think. Her surprise softened to a sort of relief in their solidarity. 

“What color, Nero?” 

“Neon green-” 

“Nico’s going to make fun of you.” Kyrie giggled. Nero shrugged nonchalantly. 

“I don’t mind it.” 

(III)- Can’t Get Out Of It, Get Into It. 

“Nero, you look so fucking ridiculous.” 

“Shut up, Dante.” 

His uncle finally managed to figure out how to work the virtual chat on his fossil of a computer, and Nero was already prepared to end the call. 

His father sat slightly off-camera, not in the mood to entertain Dante’s antics to ridicule his son. Although, he did look oddly radioactive with his washed-out green hair and strong quarter-past five o’clock shadow.  

“Quarantine did not do you a favor, good lord,” Dante commented, kicking his feet up on his desk. Nero flipped him off. 

“Good to know you’re still living in shambles, not surprised neither of you cleaned up after yourselves.” The number of bottles on the floor was a travesty and the couch littered with poetry books Vergil had slowly begun to hoard. 

Nico entered the zoom call, smoking another cigarette Nero was lucky to not have to smell. 

“Nice broccoli head.” 

Nero flipped her off as well. Kyrie came into view, smiling at her boyfriend’s family and their shared friends. Nero decided to get a drink, clicking a few buttons before letting Kyrie have the seat. 

As they discussed how the business would continue with Devil May Cry, Kyrie sat next to Nero. 

It was mainly business, until it got to a certain line that Dante said. 

“I don’t know, it just feels like things are just going to keep staying like this. Hate to break it to you Nero, but it’s going to be tough for a while.” 

Kyrie finally heard enough, scooching Nero aside so she could talk. 

“Kyrie, wait-” 

“We’re going to get past this. As long as humanity still keeps coming together for the sake of benefiting each other, and we keep working to make sure to keep safe, we will get past this. We just have to keep hoping, and sure, hoping isn’t always going to make you feel better. I would know. But in a time where we do feel helpless, we should connect with other people in a different way. That’s why we succeed, we keep moving, we keep adapting! And hope, hope keeps that going.” 

Kyrie took a long breath. Looking at the dumbfounded group, she waited for a response. 

“Um, Kyrie. You were muted.” Nero finally said. Kyrie realized her blunder and how Nero’s hand was attempting to unmute them. 

“Oh.” Kyrie flushed, looking embarrassed. 

“I have no idea what you just said, but that’s okay.” 

“I’m sorry, that was so awkward.” 

“Don’t worry yourself, Kyrie. I bet it was real sweet whatever you had to say,” Nico assured. 

The zoom call was full of laughter since, a business call turned to a time to discuss how each person was doing. 

Dante and Vergil had spent days and nights sparring, Vergil learning more about humanity from Dante, and “making their own pizzas.” 

Nico had continued welding and making weapons for her own curiosity rather than based off of commission-based instructions. The van finally had the vinyl player fixed and she apparently gave herself a stick-and-poke. 

“So what did you two love birds do?” Nico asked, lighting another cancer stick. 

Nero and Kyrie looked at each other, smiling at their shared memories of this strange period in human history. 

“Where do we even start?”  Kyrie said, thinking of all the days and nights that seemed to breeze by and also slowly progress. 

Nero ruffled his longer messy green hair, Kyrie tucking her curtain bangs behind her ear. As they were two peas in the pod, Nero had decided to get another set of gray sweats for Kyrie, matching finally. 

Kyrie bit into a cookie, offering Nero some. 

“Smells like quarantine spirit, huh?” Dante finger-gunned.

Nero chuckled. 

“Hell yeah.” 

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Somehow Technoblade had managed the spectacular achievement of becoming the odd one out in an entire community made up of rare and strange beings.

The fact that all the other residents were non-humans happened to be what made him different though. Wilbur had told him the history of the commune, how their town was founded with the direct purpose of being a safe place for mobs and hybrids to live in peace, secluded from the humans who hunted them, enslaved them, or would otherwise harm them. Their location was kept secret, hidden from most by enchantments, and they were almost completely self-sufficient in the way they were run in terms of food and stuff.

Only occasionally would somebody wander out to another village, to trade or just to seek a little adventure for themselves. Phil especially was prone to do this – a traveler at heart, his Elytrian nature – and he was the one who had found Technoblade in a rather... compromising position.

If by compromising you could mean having an arrow sticking out your back.

People didn't like Technoblade. And Technoblade generally didn't like people, but he liked it even less when they chased him out of their villages with their bows drawn. Phil had been kind enough to remove the projectile. Technoblade had bravely said it didn't hurt but then secretly dug his blunt nails into the palms of his hands hard enough to leave white indents. Then Phil had insisted on taking him home to get a proper look at the wound and clean it up.

Not all of the other residents were thrilled with Technoblade's presence at first, scared it could compromise their location. A lot of their tunes had changed when they found out other humans were the cause of his injury, even more so when Techno revealed this was hardly an isolated incident. People didn't like Technoblade at all.

(Most humans had little tolerance for that which they did not understand. And according to them, Technoblade was weird and very hard to understand. Techno understood himself perfectly fine, he always thought they were the weird ones.)

So he stayed and overall things worked out great. There were only minor issues caused by the 'only human around' thing. Their pub was a good example. A few of the others in the commune could simply fly or teleport, and those that couldn't had no problems either since they could rely on inhuman stamina to make the climb tolerable. Techno had a hundred rungs of a ladder he needed to brave with his pitiful human physique if he wanted to get up there. Same thing for Phil's ridiculously high-up birdhouse.

And then one day he got sick.

It was probably his own fault. Last night when it was storming he'd been coming home from mining and gotten completely soaked out in the rain. A small voice in the back of his mind told him he should probably take his drenched clothes off and get warm and comfortable as soon as he got home – the voice sounded suspiciously like Phil when he lectured Techno about fixing his terrible sleeping schedule and eating more regularly. But he had gotten distracted by putting away the materials he'd mined into his chests and starting to smelt the ore and by the time he noticed he was shivering at how cold it was, his clothes were damp more than wet. He lighted the fire and felt too exhausted to bother getting changed, crawling under the covers as he was - though it didn't completely ward away further trembling.

When he woke up his head hurt and there was this annoying tickle in his chest, feather-light touches against his lungs. The clothes had become sticky and uncomfortable, peeling off his skin. Techno coughed into a fist and set out as normal, intent on resuming his tasks where he left off yesterday.

It would probably go away on its own.

Except the coughing didn't stop. Small bursts of it kept coming up when he needed them least. He was in the middle of one when a voice rang out behind him.

"Techno, are you okay dude?" He must have jumped a solid three feet into the air and for a moment Wilbur only chuckled at his reaction.

"I told you to stop doing that," Techno grumbled, a little too sharply. Just because Wilbur could literally appear out of nowhere didn't mean he had to use that ability to sneak up on him for no reason. Techno coughed again, hiding it in his elbow.

"You did," Wilbur acknowledged with a smirk, but didn't apologize. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look I'm doing, I'm headed to the mines." Techno swung his pickaxe up on his shoulder, kind of almost nearly dropping it in the process with how clumsy his hands were being. Stupid.

"It looks like you were hacking up a lung, really." Wilbur's features softened. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Techno responded. He started walking again, knowing Wilbur would have a hard time following him while in corporeal form. Especially in the daytime.

"Are you coming to the pub later? I've got some new plans to unveil, think they'll be sick." Wilbur did make a valiant attempt at following him, though he quickly started falling behind, floating inches above the ground and unable to keep up with Techno's human strides.

"Uh, I'll think about it?" Techno answered evasively. He wasn't looking forward to braving that ladder in his current state. His arms hurt just thinking about it.

Wilbur stopped to call after him. "What do you mean you'll think about it?"

But Techno was far enough gone to be able to pretend not to hear him as he descended down his mineshaft.

Techno liked Niki's hair a lot. He'd even told her so not long after meeting her.

It was long and wavy and a nice shade of pastel pink that reminded him of the sunset. Technoblade would consider growing out his own hair that long if he didn't know it was way too unruly to keep in shape and stay untangled. And if dyeing it wasn't such a chore – one he knew he'd be too lazy to undertake as regularly as he should – he might have dyed it from its boring brown shade into something more interesting.

Niki was glad he was keeping her company while she tended to it, combing through it with what he presumed was a comb made of a seashell. Techno didn't tell her he had only really left the mines early because his lungs were starting to strain from the dust down there, the coughing fits getting closer together with less time in between to let him breathe. He sat on the sandy shore and traced patterns into the sand with one finger while they talked.

Niki was telling him about her builds, and expressing her disappointment over how she couldn't easily show them to her friends. None of them could breathe underwater or deal with the pressure common at the depths Niki lived. But she loved describing them in detail.

She was just explaining the sea glass she was intending to use when Technoblade started coughing again. His lungs expressed their displeasure through a series of sharp pangs that shot up into his neck. The sound he made was wet and disgusting, like there was something liquid rattling around inside his chest. Niki stopped talking to look at him worriedly.

"Are you alright? Techno, what happened?"

He tried to wave her away but it was kind of hard with his body still intent on making it impossible for him to get oxygen. Techno closed his eyes against the blurriness of his vision to concentrate on inhaling slower instead. "M'fine." He could feel the phlegm in his throat.

Niki was pulling herself onto the beach a little, trying to get a closer look at him. "Are you sick?"

"No." Getting up so fast was a bad idea. His head spun and he felt incredibly shaky. Techno ignored it. "No, I'm not. It's fine. I think I'll just head home now."

He started walking away quickly. The afternoon sun felt unbearable suddenly, scorching. Or maybe that was the beginning of a fever.

Niki called after him to wait but confined to the water as she was, it wasn't like she could do anything to stop him. Technoblade walked until he crested the hill, already seeing the shape of the other buildings in the distance. He made it halfway through the grass field and then he felt too drained to continue. Deciding to sit down for a bit, he lay back and closed his eyes.

"Do you think he's dead?"

"I dunno, we should poke him with a stick to find out."

Techno groaned at the sound of loud voices, ringing painfully around his aching head. He cracked his eyes open – not sure when he had even fallen asleep - and tried to blink the three faces hovering above him into focus.

"Oh, I think he's alive. Kind of." That was Ranboo.

"We could still poke him, just to make sure." Tommy.

Which meant the third person had to be Tubbo.

Techno pushed up on his elbows to get into a seated position, hating how difficult it was. His limbs were weak, as if they were made of jelly or some shit. The light fever had escalated into him feeling like his entire body was on fire.

This was not good.

"-chno? Hey, anybody home?" Tubbo was talking to him, waving one hand in front of his face. If his frown was any indication, Techno had been spacing out for a while.

"Hm?" he asked.

"I think there's something wrong with him," Tubbo said to the others.

"I'm fine." Techno tried standing up but fell back onto his ass a moment later when dizziness plowed into him with the force of a boulder. Tommy snorted.

"Yeah, we can tell." He reached out but pulled his hand back as soon as it came into contact with Techno's skin. "Fuck you're almost the same temperature as Jack Manifold. Pretty sure humans aren't supposed to run that hot."

"I'll get Phil," Ranboo offered, teleporting before Techno had a chance to object.

He covered his face with his hands and sighed. This was going to be a thing now and that happened to be the exact opposite of what Technoblade wanted it to be. He just wanted to go home and sleep this off.

"You're not..." Tubbo broke through his thoughts. The boy hesitated, wings vibrating a bit with nervous energy. "You're not like... actually dying are you?"

Techno tried to answer but was interrupted by another coughing fit first. When he was done Tubbo looked even more anxious than before. "Probably not. It's just a cold."

It was definitely not a simple cold. Pneumonia, more likely.

"Oh good."

Techno agreed. Not dying would probably be good, even if he currently felt like death warmed over.

Philza took him to the pub, much to Technoblade's horror.

All his protests and insistence he'd be fine if he was just taken to his house were brushed off easily, especially when Phil took flight with Techno barely able to keep from falling off his back when dark spots took over his vision. If it weren't for Phil's supporting hands keeping him steady he's probably have fallen off.

Normally Techno didn't dislike flying with Phil – despite the other always making some quip about how little Techno weighed for his height. But this time the vertigo was horrible and made him want to puke. Maybe it was fortunate he had skipped breakfast this morning.

They landed on the wooden porch softly, Phil keeping Techno's arm around his shoulder as he put him down to make sure he wouldn't collapse. Techno wasn't about to admit he probably needed that, though he muttered a quick thanks under his breath, which was starting to get more wheezing by the minute. There wasn't an inch of his body that didn't ache.

There were a few beds in the backrooms of the pub, sometimes used for newcomers to temporarily reside. Techno found himself dumped into one, not really caring where Phil went when he left the room. Not when the sheets were so blessedly cool and comfortable. He could have probably fallen back asleep soon if Phil hadn't returned almost instantly.

"I checked with Sneeg, he said this should help a little." Phil sat down on the bed, holding up a cup with the nastiest-looking brown tea inside it Technoblade ever did see. "I'm sorry we don't have any real potions to give you, but he's closest to you in physiology, so I'm hoping this will be enough. We don't exactly have a lot of experience with human illness."

"Did you ask him if it was poisonous?" Techno asked, eyeing the steaming liquid.

"Don't be dramatic." Phil handed him the cup. Techno sighed and downed the herbal tea in one go, suppressing his gag reflex. Medicinal and earthy, it somehow tasted worse than it looked. He didn't think that was possible.

"Great, can I go home now?"

Phil shook his head as he got up again, taking the cup from him. "You're not going anywhere until your fever breaks. You think I flew you all the way up here for fun?"

"Possibly."

Rolling his eyes as he leaves the room, Phil once again came back only a moment later. This time he was holding a bowl of what Techno could only presume was water going by the cloth that was soaking in it. Phil gestured for him to lie down properly and this time Techno obeyed without complaint.

"I think it's best if you stay here for a while," he said while folding the cloth and putting it on Techno's forehead. The coldness of it did feel nice against his pounding headache. "The pub is the best place for us to take turns keeping an eye on you."

"I don't need you guys to keep an eye on me, though. I'm not a child."

"No, you're just a stubborn asshole with pneumonia." Phil drew back a bit, smile faltering. "And also the only human currently living in the commune. We don't have the needed supplies to treat you should this get worse, so I'd rather not take the risk."

And while he did a fair job hiding it, it was undeniably clear Phil was worried.

"Fine, I'll stay." Techno made an effort of showing how annoyed he was by huffing and pulling the blankets over himself. "But can you at least get me a book or something? Won't help much keeping me here if I'll be bored to death."

Phil laughed – light and teasing. Techno liked that a lot more than he did the worry.

"I'll see what I can do."

He spent a solid week in bed.

Much to Phil's relief, Techno's sickness did not get worse. But without proper medicine, it didn't improve as quickly as they would have liked either. He had to get better the old-fashioned way: waiting for his body to fight off the infection on its own.

Most of his time was spent sleeping. Whenever he woke up somebody else was at his bedside, to make sure he could eat and drink. Phil hadn't been kidding when he said they'd take turns. It was almost comforting to know there was always someone watching over him while he slept, though Techno didn't feel the need to say that out loud.

After that first week, he was recovered enough to at least limp out of his room and around the pub. He was too weak to attempt the ladder and any sudden moves were still likely to throw him into a coughing fit that could last several minutes. But he could sit at one of the tables and talk to Niki when she visited.

Or to the others, who all seemed to be coming by a lot more often than was usual.

Wilbur unveiled his plans and talked Techno's ear off about what he was working on. Fundy came all the way to the pub to try and sell him stolen trinkets. Ranboo was always coming around with some new book for him to read, asking him if he liked his previous recommendation.

(None of them visited as often as Tommy though, who always complained about having to be there while fluffing up his wings, yet always stuck around the longest even when Techno told him he'd be fine on his own.)

And with them around, Techno realized that despite being the only human, he had never felt less alone.

[softlyjiminie]

black swan | three.

⇢ pairing(s): professional dancer!park jimin x figure skater!reader.

⇢ word count: 4.1K.

⇢ rating: 16+, mature.

⇢ genre: angst, eventual smut, fluff, e2l, fake dating!au, corrupted idol!au, dancer!au, figure skater!au.

⇢ summary: a life of skating was all you’d ever known, your heart craving the feeling of ice beneath your feet and the light brush of cool air against your skin under thousands of sparkling lights… what a shame, if only you’d known that one night, one accident could rip you from the life you’d grown to love, leaving your career in the unsteady hands of the prince of ballet, park jimin.

⇢ warning(s): please read for this chapter! heavy angst, social media bullying, mentions of drugs ( weed ), mentions of alcohol and drinking, angry jimin!

⇢ author’s note(s): hello my loves! sorry for posting this so late but i really hope you enoy this chapter. i might have to delay chapter four, for a special post in order of joon n koo’s birthday! love you lots.

⇢ previous | series masterlist | next

“park... you’re out, bail’s been paid.”

jimin rolls his shoulders at the call of his name, standing from his seat on the cold metal bench. he shakes out the blonde in his hair, deciding that the colour was too good and that he’d probably dye it a darker shade as soon as he was back in the safety of his penthouse. smirking, he grabs his discarded leather jacket... designer of course and slings it over his left shoulder— poking his tongue into his cheek as the officer unlocks his cell with a deep blush.

“you sure you don’t want to join me in here one last time sweetheart?”

the officer looks down, fumbling with the keys in her hand as a blush paints her heated face. “wouldn’t you get in trouble for that? another scandal wouldn’t be good for your career,” she bites down on her lower lip and the cat like smile on jimin’s face only grows wider— his forefinger and thumb touch at her chin, tilting her head up to meet his dark eyes as if he’s going to kiss her. “especially now that the paps are outside...”

he only lets out a simple tut, staring down at her with a hooded gaze. “you wouldn’t have a career if you opened that pretty little mouth of yours, sweetheart.” the cop falls silent, not having the chance to reply as jimin parts ways with her— collecting his belongings on the way out. inmates clap and cheer for him, although he’d only been in this station for a night, he’s already built up a reputation for himself around town...drunk driving, speeding, possession of drugs. park jimin was booked in for nearly all of it; but got away with it practically every time.

the sunshine from outside blinds the dancer, harsh golden rays warming his skin in the most irritating of ways. instead, he tilts his shades down over his eyes and way from the mass of bleach blonde hair that swoops messily over one side of his face. cameras are situated around the station, jimin knows that for sure, he can’t see them but he can hear the clicks and flashes from paparazzi that hide in bushes around them. they all want jimin for this week’s front cover, it’s only obvious that he’ll make the headlines for the fifth week in a row but who’s to say he cares? flashing a toothy grin as he flips the middle finger to sneaky photographers that pretend not to be seen.

“you’re so immature, jimin,” hoseok, his manager scolds, fixing the hem of his tight and light grey christian dior suit. the man himself is only a little ways taller than jimin, hair parted and slicked down with brown tinted shades that hide the tiredness in his eyes. hoseok is not that much older than jimin, but they’ve worked together long enough for jimin to consider the elder his family— or more like a pestering older brother. his manager pulls him into a sleek black van parked not even three minutes from the police station, the walk taking longer as jimin stopped to wave at fans. he was a dancer, a performer— it didn’t matter where he was, he always had an audience and he always appealed to them. “get in the fucking car.” hoseok seethed through gritted teeth, opening the door for his client, who only smiled mischievously as he entered it.

slamming the door, hoseok circled the vehicle and climbed in from the passenger  side. “what’s got you in such a sour mood hyungie?” jimin hums lazily, leaning back into the plush, cream leather seats of his mercedes while his manager tuts in annoyance— gesturing for their driver (and body guard), seokjin, to head towards the dancer’s gated neighbourhood. running a hand through his blonde locks, jimin’s caramel eyes light up at the sight of his day bag of which he carries around on a daily basis— diving in he pulls out a box containing a few of his rolled joints. grabbing one and bringing it to the flesh of his plump lips, jimin frowns darkly, at the lack of lighter in his bag. “the fuck his my lighter?”

“i took it,” hoseok mumbles simply, rubbing his temple with his free hand, the other twirling jimin’s pink lighter between his own slender digits. the younger leans forward in his seat, restricted only by his seatbelt as they make their way through the L.A traffic— making a grab for the lighter which his manager swiftly pulls away and pockets. “you’ve been acting up again jimin, it’s not looking good for you—“

the dancer in question lurches forward once more, making seokjin swerve ever so slightly. “give me the damn lighter hoseok.” jimin seethes through gritted teeth, the hand that launched at his manager now digging into said man’s head rest. anger flares up in the dancer’s chest— he’s just spent the night in a fucking cell and all he wants to do is have a few puffs of his joint so that he can relax a little.

but hoseok doesn’t budge, easily sinking into the comfort of his seat. “you can’t keep doing this ji,” he scolds, watching the scenery pass by through their tinted windows. “this is the third time in the last two months that you’ve gotten booked into a station for something...” the younger rolls his eyes knuckles turning white. the manager feels a temper tantrum coming on, from the way his client breathes hotly down his neck. jimin had never been good at managing his anger, no one had ever known why— he was a brat for no damn reason but hoseok sensed there was always more to the blonde, that’s why he took him in. “speeding? when you could have waited for jin to pick you up. not to mention how the company shouldn’t be putting their money towards paying for your bail—“

“money that i bring into that fucking company? they wouldn’t have it if it weren’t for me.” the younger points out childishly... and to be fair, he’s not wrong. people from across the world came to see park jimin perform— if they were lucky enough. his graceful movements and talent for following the music no matter how it changed was always something that entranced his fans. jimin was their biggest source of revenue and a major asset, one of the only reasons they hadn’t fired him yet— hoseok supposed. “i’m park jimin, shit...they need me!”

hoseok sighs in defeat as their bodyguard pulls into jimin’s gated neighbourhood. the brunette turns to face his client, a worn out expression pulling at his heart shaped face. “just think about it jimin, if you don’t fix up and don’t stop your bitch fits... it could be over for you.” hoseok hates to scold jimin like this but he also knows it important that he learns. he flinches when the dancer scoffs, begrudgingly pulling out the pink lighter and passing it to the latter.

the younger simply snatches the small device from his hyung’s grasp, brining his joint to his lips and lighting it as he slides from the car.

he didn’t need to think about shit, he was park jimin for goodness sake.

social media was an evil place.

jimin was used to all types of comments across his socials. he knew he was meant to be in the studio for practice, but he was too deep into the internet to turn back now. so more often than not he found that he was drowned is all sorts of praises and love from his fans, complimenting him on his skills, his physic and his oh-so-beautiful face but sometimes, if he looked hard enough— there were those full of hatred and malice, intended break down the souls of those they were targeted at, break the soul of park jimin.

‘i used to love jimin, but he’s getting caught up in all this bad stuff... we might have to unstan...’

‘he’s still a great dancer, but i’m disappointed in how he’s acted recently.’

‘why do celebs think it’s funny to get arrested? it’s fucking cringe especially since they can afford bail? lol no offence park jimin.’

each word cuts sharply at his heart, like knives, creating deep wounds. it hurts to read them, so much so that it brings stinging tears to his eyes but he doesn’t let them fall— he hadn’t in a long time. moments like these lead the blonde to believe in his hyung’s words, was he a has been? was his career coming to an end? familiar insecurities rot his brain, draining what was once left of the boy who loved to dance.

he takes a sip of the bitter, honey liquid that fills his crystalline glass, eyes blurring and throat tightening at the burn the alcohol brings. a filling pain to ease the hurt in his heart. ‘fuck,’ jimin thinks, he’s fucked and he knows it. the dancer wonders if he had been different had his brother not fucked up his life, the older park was probably off somewhere doing god knows what with who knows who and jimin can’t help but let his mind wonder to what he would be doing if his brother wasn’t there. if his brother hadn’t caused that accident. before that day, jimin only ever dreamed of where he is now— practicing hard wherever he was; the canteen in high school, his bedroom, the kitchen when his mother was making his favourite dish.

god he missed those days.

slamming his glass down onto his island counter, jimin stretches his arms above his head so that his black fitted shirt rises up— brushing his tummy briefly. the news hums from the TV in the background, as he sways with sleepiness. something about an accident, something about a skater...he’s not listening. sighing in defeat, jimin grabs the bottle of special edition brandy and takes a lengthy swig while he makes his way to his on-suite bathroom. the dancer’s nimble fingers brush through the roots of his overbearingly blonde locks, fisting them as he looks into the mirror with reddened eyes and a broken heart.

taking another sip of his liquor, jimin finishes the substance off with a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest before throwing the bottle in the trash and opening his cabinet, reaching for the dark hair dye that sits on the middle shelf.

stopping his mercedes benz, jimin parks his car outside of hangsang studios, the dance company that hired the boy. his eyes that reflect black under the artificial lights of the street lamp flicker up to the company logo cast into the side of the towering building— a scoff emitting from between his plump lips. the door to his car opens not a second later, aeri, jimin’s girlfriend slipping into the passenger’s side with a huff.

she throws her practice bag onto the back seat, making the dancer flinch as he presses his forehead to the steering wheel. “practice started at five, you know that right?” aeri seethes, buckling herself in and pulling down the mirror, she fluffs her blonde hair— colour similar to the one the dancer once possessed as she insisted on matching. “of course you don’t, god sometimes i wonder why i’m even with you...”

her words do nothing to the dancer as he sits up in his seat, pressing his foot into the peddles as he sets the gears into drive. ‘i sometimes wonder the same thing...’ jimin can’t help but think, sourly. he loved aeri, he did, but she was draining to be around— obsessed with the idea of being at the top, even if it meant criticising her lover at every point. he’d grown numb to her abuse by now. “i’m sorry, ri... i’ll be at practice next time.” he says instead, knowing very well that speaking his thoughts will only set the girl off. the streets are clearer than they were earlier in the day, fewer cars allowing jimin to pass through lanes with ease... his eyes focus on the road, but he longs to take in the scenery— just for a moment. to feel like the world has stopped in place. “i’ll make it up to you, babe.”

aeri scoffs, wrapping her arms around herself after she pokes jimin’s arm. he slows the car at the stop sign, watching with thin patience as the signals change from green to red, colour by colour. the girl turns to face him, lips drawn into a scowl and small hand taking a fistful of jimin’s darkened, navy locks. “dying your hair? is this what you skipped practice for? when will you take this showcase seriously jimin? fucking hell.”

the pinch in her tone irritates the life out the aforementioned dancer, so much so that his shoulders pick up while he begins to drive again. aeri wasn’t always like this, there was a time, back when they were trainees where jimin would have tripped over his feet to get her to notice him, they were usually paired for dancing events— closeness eventually leading them to dating. but now, she fancied the idea of being a star rather than the blue haired boy himself... the infamous new york showcase had always been her dream and jimin supposes he was only a stepping stone to that path. his name being a direct lead there, his money an added bonus. he knew that skipping practices made her mad, maybe that’s what why he did it— to get back at all the horrid words she’d spouted at him in the last few years.

“— and i swear, if you don’t clean up your act, i’ll leave you and find a new dance partner—“

jimin tunes back into her words, an empty threat that he’d heard from her many times before— looking into the rear view mirror he catches her humid gaze before making a turn towards her house. “i know baby, i’m sorry...i’ll do better, let me make it up to you, yeah?” he mumbles absentmindedly, using words that he knew would satisfy her appetite to being him down until the next time. “i’ll buy you that bag you wanted, hm? or those dance shoes you were after... will that do until i’ve caught up with dance?” aeri pulls at her hair in frustration, reaching behind her for her dance bag as she kicks her feet and screams like a petulant child.

“pull over!”

jimin does as he’s told, pushing his hands through his hair as anger rises in his chest— rattling inside his body as if asking for permission to break free. aeri waits for cars to pass before opening the door and storming out, not even giving her lover time to react. the blonde girl whips out her phone, texting someone jimin can’t see before the dancer’s wound down his window.

“aeri, come on doll, let’s not fight.” he tries to reason with her, but the will to keep her close has gone from her voice as she looks up at him with a fiery gaze. her chest rises and falls with anger, causing jimin to roll his eyes and bring his head back into the car. “you’re really gonna walk home?”

“no, my new dance partner is coming to pick me up because he’s not a lazy bum like—!”

jimin doesn’t stay to hear the rest of her cold insult, having had just about enough of her attitude, reversing the car and heading in the direction of his home, his anger still simmering brightly.

“well well well, if it isn’t our handsome ji. look who’s finally coming around!”

the boy in question rolls his eyes despite the little smile that plays at his lips, he’s glad to see that hoseok hyung’s mood has sweetened slightly— his expression matching the brightness of the L.A sun that highlights the blue of jimin’s hair, yet causes him to squint at the same time. he pulls his shades over his eyes, ignoring hoseok’s outstretched hand and going in for a quick, apologetic hug. the manager knows jimin isn’t one for displays of affection, but knows him well enough to recognise an apology from the younger when he sees one.

but jimin’s warmth retreats just as fast as it came, the younger pulling away as if hoseok’s new alexander wang suit has has scorched his tan skin. jimin seems to be grumbling as he slides into the van which seokjin drives and buckles himself in. the annoyance the blue haired boy felt from last night has yet to fade, but he knows he has to keep his anger in check— hoseok texted him early this morning about a meeting with the board... which usually never means anything good.

the car ride is mostly silent, the slight hum of the radio in the background as jimin rests in the back seat. there were few times he’d ever met the board, the first being after his accident, when hoseok had recruited him. the second being when he’d made it big, when the CEO had told him he’d made it big just like his parents would have wanted and the third, well...that would be now. seokjin pulls up to the tl the hangsang company building, quickly helping the dancer out before heading with into the building with hoseok by their side.

walking through the company building, jimin attracts a lot of attention— many have said that he exudes an intimidating, strong aura but the dancer only reckons it’s because of his name...after all, his family does come with a reputation. rookies and senior dancers alike blush and bow as jimin makes his way towards the head office, his slicked back blue hair shines under the false white light and reflects off of the black shades that match his jeans,  chelsea boots and turtle neck.  of course, the boy knows that he looks good, fingers coming up to fix the denim jacket he wears but his stride slows when passing his usual practice room— gaze faltering as he spots aeri tangled with a younger dancer, a rookie who jimin recognises as choi san. the familiar emotions from yesterday crawl up his spine and mix with the blackened jealousy that blooms across his firm chest— but jimin doesn’t have time to linger on his feelings as hoseok ushers the trio into an elevator and presses the button for the tenth floor. aeri looks away from the dancer just as the door closes.

“it’s not looking good for you jimin,” the CEO, explains— he goes by the name of mr.chan. jimin himself admits that he hasn’t been listening since the moment they entered the room but he picks up the tone of disappointment in the CEO’s voice.  shaking out his dark locks, jimin scoffs likely and rolls his shoulders— feeling annoyance build up behind his eyes... he’s got a headache now, which is only worsened by hoseok giving him a scolding glare.

“jimin don’t.”

he sits up at the second mention of his name, jimin knew not to test his manager at this time and also knew hoseok would give him the scolding of a life time if he didn’t listen. tilting his gaze to the CEO, jimin finally tunes into mr.chan, even if he doesn’t like what he’s saying. “you’re our prized dancer park, a household name...but you’ve had fewer performances then any other dancer this year, your recent bad reputation is...driving clientele away,” the old man lets out a wheezing cough, making jimin grimace. mr.chan was a greasy old man, with oily hair and beady eyes. he was harsh to the eyes, jimin supposed it was lucky that he was rich or mr.chan was doomed to be single for the rest of his life. “not to mention the bail we’ve been paying, you’re more of a burden than an asset at this point.”

“you’re fuckin’ kidding me right?” jimin rises from his seat like the anger that boils and bubbles through his veins, having enough of the ugly man that rattles on before him. all he can think about his punching the CEO square in the face. “you  fucking need me here. if im a burden to you, i’ll cut my loss and join another company that wants me. they all want me. i made this place what it is and i’ll tear it right back down. you need me.” the dancer seethes, pointing his finger right at the CEO’s face, mr.chan and his fellow associates swallow thickly, because after all— jimin is right. his raw talent alone is what built this company up from what it was, and anyone would kill for the money that he brings in however he may act.

the panel of staff mr.chan has with him, are rendered silent as is the CEO himself— who are they to challenge park jimin? but a lowly assistant speaks up, grabbing the attention of the congregation. “but raw talent will only last you so long...after that, what will you have? a pile of scandals?” she says meekly, as if no one would hear her— but the scowl on park jimin’s face tells her otherwise. usually, she’d have been fired on the spot for talking in such a manner— jimin might have even had a field day with making her run errands for him but mr.chan and his associates need an argument against the dancer’s case, promptly taking  the assistant’s statement and running with it.

the blue haired dancer sits back in his seat with defeat as the group of fat heads before him smile and cheer as if they’ve just discovered wine. although hoseok chooses this time to interject, sensing jimin’s temper tantrum reaching its peak once again. “but we have a solution, don’t we mr.chan?” the manager cuts through their wheezing laughter in a way that would make you think he was the boss around here. “remember what we discussed?”

the old man nods suddenly, almost in fear as he gestures to the assistant to pass a file to jimin. honeybrown eyes narrow as the girl makes her way over with a brown file full of documents— a sense of nervousness emitting from her. the dancer knows it’s partly because everyone is scared shitless of him and his reputation, the other part is that he’s damn well attractive up close. jimin bites down on his lower lip, looking the girl up and down before he snatches the file from her and opens it up — revelling in the way she blushes with embarrassment.

“we’ve proposed that you start dance therapy with a world renowned physical therapist, min yoongi,” hoseok explains slowly, knowing that anything mr.chan says from now will surely set the dancer off. the aforementioned male grips the arms of his seat, knuckles turning white as he tries his best to suppress another outburst and listen to his manager. “he’s excellent at what he does, the best of the best— he’d be sure to get you back on track...”

jimin scoffs, staring daggers into the spot between mr.chan’s unbearably bushy eyebrows. if looks could kill, he’d be dead within an instant. “so you want me to join a beginners class? do i need to remind you of who the fuck i am?”

“no, you’ll have private sessions,” his manger says lowly, grabbing the younger’s attention. “we want him to motivate you, we’re not denying that you’re a phenomenal dancer jimin, you’ve just been heading in the wrong direction for a few years...”

all this new information causes a feeling of unease to reside within park jimin, the changes that are to come don’t sit well with him... but with hoseok’s words from a few days ago swirling and twirling with his thoughts like a waltz, jimin can only agree to their proposition. “so, what’s the catch?” he whispers now.

“they’ve got another client in south korea ,  we’re thinking of bringing them over too—“

“well then do it!” jimin stands, raising his voice, the conversation is too tedious and all he wants it out. he needs a drink or a smoke or something other than people telling him what he was or what he isn’t. running a hand through his navy locks, the dancer grabs the file and begins to head out, not caring about what’s left to he said. but before he has a chance to storm out, hoseok slips a piece of paper into his hand and lets him go with a saddening smile.

“it’s the name of the client,” he whispers.

and so with that, jimin strides out of the office, the company building— not even bothering to greet seokjin properly as he jumps back into their black van. his bodyguard promptly drives him home, knowing better than to question the silenced dancer, who unfolds the paper to reveal a name.

‘LN YN’.

⇢ taglist ! ( comment, like or dm to be added! )

@periminkle​  @ggukkieland​   @aishots​ @ownthesunshine​ @codeinebelle​ @taeass​ @trviahope @singular-itae​ @preciouschimine @yoongismykink @idiakh @honeyspillings@kimsdior @chimshoe95​ @cypherft-v @tangledsparkles​ -@ultraanonymousey @rjsmochii​ ​  @thenoblr @icedoutmywristtitanic​ @chiminies-noona​ @mrsfortune1306​

[saltskinandasociopath]

a very earthling question (onkey, 2min - teen)

summary: 'their names are jinki and minho. minho's the one in blue. jinki's out back trying to fix the ship. they crashed.'

'you talked to them.'

'no, they're telepathic. just - beamed it. right into my head,' taemin says, his eyes sparkling with mockery. 'yeah of course. i even introduced you too.'

(earth girls are easy, onkey (and 2min) style.)

pairing: onew/key, taemin/minho

notes/warnings: some fluffy alien romcom for this valentine’s day.

can be found on ao3 here.

———————————————————————

there is a spaceship outside of kim kibum's salon. it was not there last night, and it has no right to be there now.

this is, coincidentally, the least of kim kibum's problems. he is a colored-in shade of human misery, from breaking up with his on and off (permanently off) boyfriend, and ritualistically categorizing all the places in his life he has yet to cleanse of his presence; to the impending foreclosure of his business; to the sniffing bloodhounds of the other competitors in the area, ready to acquire his, frankly, absurdly sizeable space.

(it is absurdly sizeable, to taemin's key observation, because there's hardly ever customers. it's a hard market to break into, temperamental and not temperamental enough, in equal measure.)

the apartment he occupies above the space is tiny, made tinier with taemin's form crowding the couch, and kibum is mulling the utter dead end that his life has become, when a great collision rocks the dumpster.

and. it is a spaceship. it is definitely a spaceship, almost cartoonishly so. it's about the size of a parade float.

it's probably a parade float, is the second thought. some idiot drunkenly taking it for a joyride down an alley. look, there's an opening, light beaming out before it's blocked out by one body, then another. two figures that are probably human, beneath their bobbled helmets, their thick, stuffy jumpsuits.

this neighborhood gets all sorts of characters. it's why kibum chose it a little over a year ago, taking a chance on the already crowded area, the unfriendly lease agreement, the questionable landlord. these are just two more characters, talking in a garbled tongue that kibum just isn't hearing right.

it's 4am, anyway, and kibum doesn't have time for this. so he throws on his headphones, viciously tugs off taemin's socks in a pique of spiteful vengeance, and heads to his bed to mull over ways to make his bank account stretch even thinner.

--------------------------------------

'hey kibum, there's someone banging on the door. hey. hey, kibum.'

kibum is sleeping, he would be horrified to recognize, halfway on his laptop, lodging a canyon of a line across his cheek. when he scrambles up, his joints aching from the unnatural position he had dozed off in, he finds the time on his phone - 7:17 am.

'do you mind? i'm trying to sleep.' taemin says, nonchalant.

'god you are just the worst,' kibum says. he is looking down at his phone, checking his email when the reminder comes up - bank visit 730.

FUCK. SHIT. goddamn it. the bank, his loans for the space, seeing if he's using the space as intended and isn't secretly - something? insolvent? incompetent? kibum is certainly something, something sharp and biting and near-poisonous in proximity, as he throws on his clothes and tries to arrange his hair into something presentable. taemin holds up his bar of deodorant as he passes and kibum grabs it and pauses to apply it, unwilling even in his panic to let the stink of body odor be his signature scent.

he hurtles downstairs, his shoes sliding off at the heel as he careens down the stairs. in the salon he can see the banker (? is that even the term - auditor? realtor? pain in the ass, really) standing outside the door. whoever it is, is an actual asshole, because it's only 7:27 and he's been at the door for 10 minutes, chomping at the bit to rob kibum of his pride and joy. what a miserable bastard.

he is flipping on the lights, and taking one last duck into the bathroom when he spies them. the aliens. the parade floaters. whoever. they're just standing there, one of them a good 4 inches than the other, helmets still on like they're robbing him. one of them has a device in his hand that looks halfway between a smartphone and a gun.

holy fuck he's being robbed. he has literally negative to give, and he's being robbed.

or

or

he's desperate, is his excuse. he puts his hands together, and extends them out.

'look. i will give you anything you need, if you can just let me pretend you are customers for 15 minutes. just to get his asshole off my back? alright? just - ' he nods, looking between the two of them. the shorter one on the left, clad all in yellow, makes a jerky motion that might be a nod? he'll take it, especially when he moves to put away his gun phone. kibum makes a reckless motion to grab his hand and lead him out. the other one in blue is following when kibum glances over the top of the yellow-tinged helmet. the one whose being tugged along, his grip is loose, almost skittish, but kim kibum is not a quitter. he maneuvers both of them into chairs and holds out his hands again.

'just - stay there. and play along. please.'

before they can respond, or decide kibum's meager wealth is worth the charade, he turns away and schools his features as he strides to the door, popping it open with a cool, professional 'good morning'.

'mr. kim,' the bank asshole says, like he's the one being inconvenienced in every aspect of his life. 'am i interrupting?'

'actually, you are,' kibum replies, opening the door wider. 'i had some urgent client requests to handle this morning, so we'll have some company. i hope that helps you make an informed determination on our operations.'

he's impressing even himself with his handling. the asshole is looking at the two, weird as they are, like they aren't random intruders. which, no, of course not. of course. kibum moves forward to make the case more persuasive.

'i think we're ready to take that off now, sir,' he says to the one in yellow, whose gripping the ends of the chair like he's terrified. still, he doesn't make any motions when kibum moves towards the - neck latch? of the helmet - where it clicks into his get-up. when kibum fumbles with it, he gently moves his hands aside to do it himself, releasing the catches and lifting it up off his head in a smooth, practiced motion.

and, well. shit. kibum doesn't really have time to dwell on how gorgeous one of his assailants is, with sweet, expressive brown eyes. there's a discoloration to his cheeks, a yellow blush brought out by the vibrant tones of his clothes. his nose is thick, straight, and sharp cheekbones and jawline that together are really affecting his ability to make this whole thing believable. he clears his throat and meets those eyes with his own eyes wide, encouraging and asking for forgiveness as he moves to run his fingers through his hair.

his purple hair. it's one of the nicest dye jobs he's seen in a while, perfectly and naturally applied like it had grown out of his scalp like that. if his robber is from one of his competitors, coming in here and scaring the hell out of him, he's going to be monumentally pissed, but at that point he'll have to concede he's outskilled. it's not even fried out, it's almost inhumanely soft. perfect styling, too, framing his face - jesus, that face - like art.

he plays with it for a moment - a half-second - too long, but hides it with a murmur of consideration.

'excellent, i think this is about what you were expecting?' he turns the chair around to face the mirror and the man growls, like he's surprised, or scared, by the motion - like he's never been in a spinning chair? goddamn everyone loves these chairs, it's weird. but it tapers off when kibum steadies it at the stop, his black-painted fingernails resting at his shoulders.

(he can feel them shift slightly beneath his touch, and he's keyed up on panic, chalking his noting of that up to panic)

the man is just staring, silent now, at his reflection, and the asshole is still watching them. his (gorgeous, awkward) robber must have stage fright, so kibum smiles wide in the mirror, meeting his eyes. after a moment he follows the silent instruction, crinkling his eyes, breaking his face into an all new level to kibum's panic, with a wide, warm smile that feels like sunshine. he looks like sunshine, all in yellow, like a lavender flower blooming.

'great!' he says, chirpy in a way that sounds unbelievable to his own ears, but he's moving onto the other one, who is already moving to take his helmet off.

well, fuck, they're both good-looking. this one is a hell of lot less tolerant of kibum's performance, spinning himself around, moving away from his hands as he goes to check out his hair (black, surprisingly close to standard, especially in comparison). it's short in the nape of the neck and when he makes a motion to get up, kibum pinches, hard, giving himself a moment of surprise to push down, his hands full-weighted against his trapezius muscles.

at that point, he goes with the program; his smiling motion is a little quicker, but kibum has already picked his favorite and it's too little, too late, robber asshole.

'we can settle up after we're done, okay, guys? thanks again!' he hates his customer service voice - he doesn't even use this voice for real clients - but bank asshole seems like the type of guy who says 'the customer is always right' so he rubs it in extra sweet. he takes his time settling in, setting his shoulders down and back, lifting his chin high as he plays the part.

'these were just two of the clients we have booked today. actually - they were multi-day appointments, follow-up to ensure all their services were to their exact requests. performers, you know?' he knows he doesn't know. and he knows that bank asshole knows he doesn't know, that he has no idea what's trendy, or stylish, or experimental. helmets for protecting hair? why the fuck not. he'll sell that line all day long if he has to.

he doesn't have to. bank asshole is taking photos - without even asking! - and making notes on his phone. he made the case that he could make, and it was better to have someone here than not. even if they were a little difficult and a little criminal.

'well, thank you for your time,' bank asshole says suddenly. he moves to stand and shakes kibum's hand. when he turns, the two - instead of waiting in their chairs - are standing shoulder to shoulder, their helmets at their hips, expressionless, like a low-rent daft punk. he squares his shoulders like everything's normal here, and sees the asshole out with a cool nod.

as soon as he leaves -

he exhales, letting his shoulders and his head drop, releasing a moan to start, and then turning it into a yawn as the adrenaline starts to settle. the lack of sleep, the push to herd his brain into performative professionalism, on top of negotiating his own robbery.

oh. right. he's being robbed.

giving less than a fuck (but not zero fucks), he turns and resigns himself.

'thank you,' he says firstly, pointing it towards the one in yellow. 'ironically you probably saved my ass.'

the one in blue rumbles, like a whiny drunk, before it turns into a questioning 'ass?' the one in yellow turns to him, sharp, an obvious look of dismay on his face. he gestures, hurky, at his gun-phone - kibum tries to take a look at it, but suddenly takes several steps back as the one in yellow - not blue, it would have been easier if it were blue - raises it and aims it at him.

'whoa whoa, just - wait, i can get you - i can get you whatever money, i just have to go upstairs - ' and he squeezes his eyes shut as the one in yellow squeezes his hand, and it fires -

nothing happens. well, not nothing - there's some odd, light noise, like chimes, like the rounding noise of a balloon being blown up, and kibum dares to open its eyes and there are bubbles, iridescent in a way that doesn't quite look right, black and purple and green and red, stringing from one color to the next in a rhythm that's shifting, like it's looking for the perfect hue to settle on, shrinking and expanding out with little explorative tones that feel, inexplicably, like sticking your tongue out to taste the air, except with sound.

it doesn't look real, so jury's out if he's now suffering visual hallucinations, but he glances at the other two and finds the one in yellow is looking at him, with increasing levels of horror.

he opens his mouth and shrieks, incomprehensible syllables that make kibum want to cringe in on himself, but he's also still looking at him long enough to see his eyes shift, from the human brown to an alien orange.

alien.

spaceship.

he's not proud of it, but he passes out. at least in unconsciousness, he doesn't have to worry about dignity.

--------------------------------------

when he comes to, he's propped up in one of the salon chairs. across from him, taemin is sitting on the counter, playing with a pair of scissors. honestly, it's one of the most disconcerting things he can think of, and that's before the blue alien walks into view. taemin beams at him, and gets a smile in return, more tentative than earlier, more genuine.

'taemin,' he says, urgent and undecided about whether or not he needs to risk his life for his worst friend. 'what are you doing?'

'waiting for you to wake up. eating cereal.'

he doesn't have cereal. he ignores this discrepancy and slowly starts to get up. the one in blue doesn't stop him from steering taemin away so they can have this conversation slightly more privately. he still doesn't know where the one in yellow is.

'this is going to sound crazy. but these guys - they're not human - i don't think so, anyway.'

taemin puts his finger on his lips to shush him - to actually shush him, like he's a child and not the most rational, most human individual in the building.

'i know. they showed me their ship outside. it's pretty cool, actually.'

he turns to retrieve a box of cereal from behind the nearest mirror. this would explain kibum's ant problem. his arm goes elbow-deep as he takes a handful and starts eating it dry, talking around it.

'their names are jinki and minho. minho's the one in blue. jinki's out back trying to fix the ship. they crashed.'

'you talked to them.'

'no, they're telepathic. just - beamed it. right into my head,' taemin says, his eyes sparkling with mockery. 'yeah of course. i even introduced you too.'

'kibum,' says a new voice behind him. taemin keeps munching his cereal. kibum turns.

jinki looks infinitely more composed from earlier, which is impressive considering he looks like he's been actively rooting around in an engine, dark smears across his forehead, his gloves covered in something undeniably gooey. unfortunately nothing has really changed the actual look of him, and kibum - who will need therapy - chokes around his first 'hi' like an idiot.

the second one comes out a little smoother. it's hard to hear himself over taemin's chewing.

'kibum,' jinki says again.

'what?' he asks.

'that's all we've managed so far,' taemin says from behind him. when kibum turns to look, he shrugs and puts the box down, licking his fingers clean. 'but it's impressive, right? i'm probably going to be in history books.'

'lucky us,' he hisses. 'you don't even know they're peaceful.'

'um, you've been passed out for at least 30 minutes. and they left you alone and put you in that chair. i was up for leaving you on the floor. they're better than me.'

'low. fucking. bar.'

minho has moved to their side, looking between them like he's unsure whether to intervene or not. kibum turns away in a huff. so now he gets to handle aliens. he can't just leave them to taemin.

with a start, he realizes how much brighter it is outside, and, checking his phone, realizes he's near to the opening hours. he can't afford to leave the little he has, to take up recreational alien-babysitting. he also has, like, an obligation as a member of the human race to not have their ambassador be taemin.

he takes what he thinks is a discreet glance at the other three, and finds jinki looking back at him, patiently waiting. he flashes a nervous smile and looks back down to his phone.

ok.

plan.

small kernel of a plan. jinki is working on their ship. he can keep an eye on him from the salon, with the back door popped open. and he'd rather keep both aliens handy, but if he has them both down here, then taemin will undoubtedly lurk around too. so.

'go back upstairs,' he orders the pair of them. minho doesn't understand him, but he jabs his finger up to communicate the general spirit of it. taemin shrugs, but grabs minho's hand all the same.

his human-looking hand. he must have taken off his gloves at some point, which means that jinki's hands are probably similar.

it's traitorous or selfish or maybe just horny if he wonders what the chances are of the rest of their bodies being human like.

anyway.

jinki turns to follow them, but kibum reaches out to grab him by the sleeve. jinki looks at him, confused, and then takes his own gloves off - and, yes, they are human-like too. he clips them to his belt and grabs for kibum's hand, his grip still as light as earlier. outside of the glove, his hand feels terribly small and delicate, easy to dwarf in kibum's.

'your ship,' he starts, then falters. taemin has already disappeared up the stairs. he starts moving back towards the alley, prattling about taemin's ability to preoccupy people, for lack of anything else; jinki keeps pace beside him, his eyes kept trained on kibum's face, dipping down to watch his lips move. kibum tries valiantly to ignore what that does to him.

he pushes out into the alley, where the ship is opened up, a couple pigeons perched on its antennae.

'you can work on it,' he says, semi-helplessly gesturing towards the ship with their still-joined hands. 'and i'll be inside - ' he puts his free hand to his chest and then nods his head towards the path they just took. ' - if you need anything.' he lets go of jinki's hand and tries to reiterate with slightly more smooth motions.

jinki seems to get the gist of it, at first, but he grabs kibum's hand again and brings it up between them. bizarrely, kibum thinks he's about to kiss the back of it, he just has a gentle, warm look in his eyes that doesn't belong at all - but he doesn't. instead he meticulously opens his fingers, one by one, and then puts his gun-phone against his palm, and wraps his hand around to close it again. he maneuvers kibum's fingers into a series of motions, clicking a switch here, and there, until one of the screens lights up, with a series of lines running seamlessly from left to right.

jinki meets his eyes seriously and brings the device to his mouth. he speaks, clear and decisive: 'jinki'.

then, he moves it back to kibum and nods encouragingly.

'um, okay,' he says. he leans in, and clears his throat. 'kibum.'

jinki nods again and releases his hold. he clutches his hands together in mimicry of kibum's own posture, and mouths silently.

'you want me to talk into this,' he holds it closer to his mouth again, and, in doing so, notices the lines from earlier spiking with each syllable. oh. okay. translation device. or recording device. or... communicator? either way, it's not like it can do any harm. probably, anyway. his life is suddenly full of probabilities, when he had felt dead set on the certainty of failure.

'okay,' he says, deliberately slow, into the device, and is granted with a wide, happy smile from jinki.

he starts backing away from jinki, out of his own preservation instincts and the need to get the salon opened on time. he keeps his eye on the alien, on the off chance he has misunderstood, but jinki is also turning away, casting one last glance back at kibum, and nodding encouragingly when kibum clicks the button and says 'goodbye' into it. if it sounds a little sappy, well, there's no one here to call him out on it.

when he steps back into the building, he takes a few deep breaths and buoys himself up to start the day. everything else before this moment won't count for a good 10 hours.

--------------------------------------

he can't hold it the entire time, it's just not possible. but he does keep it on whenever he has one hand free, from greeting customers and employees as they arrive to clock in. he puts it aside when he's intent on a cut, or a wash, conscious at all times of when he's left it alone, peeking more often down the back way. occasionally he catches a glimpse of yellow, and once he saw jinki staring upwards towards the sky, lost in thought.

it twangs something in his chest, that he has to push aside.

he manages to get through the majority of his day like this, when his stomach suddenly and angrily growls. one of his stylists is nearby, and quirks an eyebrow at him.

'don't even start,' he says, and she sticks her tongue out, making him laugh. why not, he has to take a break at some time. he'll run upstairs and make sure minho and taemin are fine, and drag jinki along with him, and make sure he has something to eat to.

the question of what aliens eat is a good one, and kibum doesn't know, but he can at least ask. they're aliens, they can probably figure out if something will kill them.

'jinki,' he calls as he heads outside. there's a great clatter from the spaceship and jinki pops up, his lips parted and he lets out a pleased bark. kibum, fighting his own smile, motions for him to come down and simultaneously says 'let's eat some lunch, okay?' into the device.

'okay,' jinki repeats amiably, and kibum is positive he doesn't know what he's saying, but he isn't about to object to his sweet agreeability. especially considering they're going upstairs.

he waits semi-patiently for jinki to come down and then sneaks them both inside after looking, shooing jinki up the stairs.

'taemin, minho, have you guys eaten anything yet?' kibum calls out as he turns the key - there's no click, taemin didn't even bother locking - and enters. he waves jinki inside and takes a quick scan to make sure everything is in order. it looks like there's plates in the sink, the TV is loud from around the wall, but neither taemin or minho are anywhere to be seen. but, if they ate, then that speaks positively towards jinki being able to eat something. he clicks the button and starts talking.

'i'm going to give you some water. food...normally i'd just run out to GS25 and grab something, but i should have some packets here...taemin! what did you eat, i'm trying to feed for four here....'  he trails off as he realizes he hasn't heard much of anything since coming in except the TV. he abruptly turns and jinki senses the sudden change in his mood, setting his shoulders back and walking with more caution into the underlit apartment.

it's a small place, with a hole of a bedroom and a bathroom split off from the hybrid kitchen/sitting area. there's only so many places for people to lurk. kibum throws open the door to the bedroom, half-expected taemin to have taken over his bed, and minho resigned to the small desk in the corner, his helmet a pillow. but no such find waits for him there. which means they've either left, and they're altogether fucked, or -

jinki, following kibum's example, apparently is already turning the handle on the bathroom, and when he opens it he jumps back with a noise kibum can't even properly describe - it's like a gasp, gurgled through a mixer of soju and rock salt. when kibum takes the three steps necessary to arrive at his vantage point, minho is turned away, shoulders hunched in, his right arm in an all-too-human motion, and taemin is wiping his mouth and looking exceedingly - exceedingly - unapologetic.

'tell me you did not just suck an extraterrestrial dick, taemin, jesus!'

jinki makes some more noises that kibum trusts has the same energy.

kibum has always known about taemin's hobgoblin-esque exploratory promiscuity. he only asks that his friend be safe, perfectly unbothered that his metaphorical line in the sand is the human race.

he, understandably, never expected to have that sanguine understanding stress-tested.

while he's been busy engaging in a one-sided staring contest, jinki has pulled minho out into the hallway, and is having a furious conversation that sounds halfway between static and muzak. kibum has to consciously tune them out, has to do something to communicate that this cannot happen again, and also - how the fuck did this happen?

'how the fuck did this happen?' he yells. 'i left you alone for a morning, and you put him in your mouth? you don't know where he's been!'

'space,' taemin says. 'and this apartment.'

'you don't even speak the same language, you - you asshole - how can you even call that consensual?'

'hey,' taemin looks genuinely offended. 'i gave him some porn first and showed him how to turn it off and turn it back on. he found a blowjob one and had a boner. i asked and made sure he was good with it. c'mon, hyung, i'm not that guy.'

'fine. you are still the guy who just sucked a dick without having any idea of what it could look like, or what - what it was like when he came - or if the - if it was okay for you to swallow.'

'i didn't swallow,' taemin looks incredibly pleased with himself for his foresight, and holds his hands up in the universal sign for obviously. 'it's fine.'

'it is no way fine,' kibum hisses. 'you are such a dumbass.'

as he lets out the invective he turns and faces the other pair, who have stopped their own discussion and are now looking at him with expressions of apology and confusion - jinki - and...resolve? consternation? whatever. minho doesn't look nearly apologetic enough for kibum's mood.

'you're a dumbass too,' he hisses, stabbing a finger at minho.

'dumbass?' he parrots tentatively, pointing at himself, and then taemin. kibum rubs his temples.

'yes, exactly. both of you. glad we're all on the same page.'

'dumbass?' jinki asks, quieter, and pointing at himself.

'....no,' kibum responds, shaking his head. he can't even be bothered to try to explain, he just heads back to the kitchen. 'c'mon let's eat something. taemin, you are gargling and brushing your teeth first.'

'ok, but that means i have to use your toothbrush.'

the only respite kibum can take is that jinki helps him as best he can in the kitchen, monitoring the water he sets to boil and handing out the chopsticks when the convenience store ramyeon is done cooking.

--------------------------------------

he doesn't have much of a choice except to leave minho and taemin again. jinki seems much more opposed to it, pausing in at the bottom of the stairwell. he gestures towards kibum's pocket, where the edge of his device is poking out. at the motion, kibum pulls it out.

'sorry, i forgot to use it upstairs. don't think you'd want to remember much of it, to be honest.'

jinki shakes his head, and silently holds his hand out. kibum passes it over, watching as he holds it up to the side of his head, and presses a smaller button. the device says 'jinki', then 'kibum', and the rest of all the little pieces of conversation kibum has had throughout the day, speeding up until it's completely unintelligible, spitting noise into jinki's waiting ear. when it finishes, jinki nods, a small smile.

'thank you,' he says, clearly, carefully watching kibum's face.

'oh,' he replies faintly. 'you're learning? that helps you speak?'

jinki narrows his eyes in effort, and kibum realizes it's limited just to what has been recorded. has he talked about learning today, with the elderly mrs. park, or the chatty server from down the street? probably not. 'thank you' is thrown around so much in customer service, no wonder it's the first thing he picked up.

'you're welcome,' he says back, and jinki's smile is a quickly blooming thing that smacks kibum right across the face. he takes a step closer and presses it back into kibum's hand.

'use it more,' he asks softly. 'please.'

--------------------------------------

it's stupid, but he does. he memorizes the feel of pressing it just enough so it activates, and what it's like when his finger slips. he finds a little clip and fashions an attachment to his apron, so it's sitting on his collarbone. when there's an odd question about it, he says he's taking better notes of his day for record-keeping, and that seems to work well enough, though one or two stylists keep giving him odd looks. he doesn't acknowledge them.

at the back of his mind, he knows he's doing this for more than just improved communication, that he likes the way jinki smiles at him, the cadence of his voice when he says his name - the proud look in his eyes when they managed to exchange just a few words. he likes his steady, reserved presence. he has a sweet temperament that smooths down kibum's rough edges, just by being.

it's a crush. kibum brooks no self-deception. it hasn't been a week since he's broken up with his last boyfriend, and jinki is an alien, an actual alien, preparing to leave the planet, that he's known for all of nine hours. and he has a crush on him.

maybe when they lift off, he'll get burned up in the rocket fumes. frankly it's the only satisfiable outcome kibum can see from this.

he has one last appointment for the day, an older lady of the neighborhood who likes to talk, even when kibum doesn't. for once, this anticipated division doesn't bother him much, because it can be put to good use. he makes sure the button is pressed down and secure and leads mrs. choi to the chair, nodding along as she starts laying out her day, her impending anniversary, her entrenched drama with the other salon down the street (the cause for her patronage of kibum's location). it's all much formless noise to him, to be certain. luckily for him she doesn't need a partner to have a conversation, and he's lost in the focus of trimming when there's an unmistakable 'kibum?' from his right.

both he and mrs. choi turn to find jinki standing there, lavender hair a stringy mess, coated through with goop. kibum almost swears in dismay, stopping himself only in the nick of time. he looks down at mrs. choi and, before he can say anything, she swats up at him like they're friends. important to note that they are not friends, but kibum needs the money, and also needs jinki to stay undiscovered.

'jinki,' he says cautiously. 'what's wrong?'

visibly uncertain on how to proceed, jinki raises his shoulders, and lets them drop.

'it's a mess,' he says, and, yes, kibum did call a few things a mess today. 'i need to clean up. upstairs. okay?'

'oh honey,' mrs. choi says, feigning an unwarranted level of camaraderie. 'you really do. are you kibum's boyfriend?'

'friend,' kibum hastily corrects. he doesn't need to get himself into a fake-boyfriend scenario for further emotional torture. he looks square at jinki and nods. 'okay. take my key and go upstairs. wash.'

jinki nods, and kibum is grateful, glad that he managed to phrase it in a way he could understand. he excuses himself to go to the desk and pulls out the key ring, wiggling out his apartment key. jinki saw him use his key earlier, right? he should be able to figure it out. he takes a moment to send a text to taemin too to warn him.

'thank you,' jinki says again, and kibum dips his head back, oddly formal, and familiarly warm with pleasure when jinki turns with a small smile.

mrs. choi should go back to her old stylist, he'll lose her business gladly, because she greets him with a loud 'how handsome your friend is! you must be close, to let him use your shower.'

she says the last part with a relish to her voice, and god, kibum could kill her so easily. he laughs, hollowly, and she continues on.

'he's very polite too. have you known him long?'

'no.'

'mmmm, well. if you don't mind me saying, you shouldn't let him get away. and he seems to like you too!'

'well it doesn't matter who we like. can't really help that he's leaving town soon,' he says tightly.

she lets out a hiss of disappointment. he could give her a terrible asymmetrical cut in return.

'well, that's too bad. he seems to like you well enough, and well enough could be, well, enough to get him to stay!' she laughs gaily.

'ha ha,' he says.

--------------------------------------

'hey, it's me,' he calls through the door. knocking on his own door is just the way to end this day, tired and more emotional than he ever cares to disclose. 'let me in already.'

he hopes taemin hasn't gotten so far as to fuck minho. or let minho fuck him. or let minho suck his dick. if there's any chance they're incompatible, then spitting could hardly have been the apex of protection. taemin could be rotting from the mouth in, or minho from the dick out.

a small, tiny part of him thinks they'd deserve it. a larger part says if that happened, his crush on jinki would have the shit topper of misfortune it deserves. just to round it out perfectly.

he knows jinki must still be up there - because he checked out back before locking up, and the ship was half-dissembled, with jinki nowhere to be seen even when kibum called out - but he did not expect it to be jinki opening the door. he also did not expect jinki to be wearing some of his clothes, an oversized sweatshirt that makes him look like a college student.

'hi kibum,' he says, and he beams when he says, 'welcome back.'

it's so cute, is the thing, so exceedingly domestic and homely that kibum may not survive its cruelty, knowing it won't last.

'i washed,' he continues as kibum sets down his things blindly. 'taemin gave me clothes.'

'good,' he croaks. he fishes out the device before he can forget, hands it over to jinki's obvious pleasure. he holds it up to his ear, and kibum just watches his face, his eyes closed, as he learns. it's not fair, is it? life's not fair, is what they always say, but they're talking about things like losing your job, being left behind by the people you thought were you friends. not being teased with happiness, with love, and having it literally leave for the stars.

well, maybe there's an astronaut or something who can relate. whatever. kibum isn't about to argue technicalities with his own feelings.

'where's taemin and minho?' he asks, instead, when jinki has finished and is setting the device back down in the table. kibum presses the button before he asks, leaning back against the couch. he might as well keep giving his words, it's all he can do.

'they went out,' jinki says. 'for food.'

'okay,' kibum says. he's tired, but jinki looks like he's on the precipice of a question, and kibum knows he's going to have to say goodbye, so he doesn't wave it off.

'earlier,' he starts. 'taemin and minho. what are they doing?'

trust him to ask the hard question.

'sex,' he says. he hasn't said it at all today, it's not something you talk about with your customers. he's open, but he's not that open. he casts his mind back to some of the idle chatter from the afternoon. 'they kissed. taemin was making him happy.'

'oh,' jinki says. he sounds unfinished. he brings his fingers to his lips, and asks in confirmation. 'kissed?'

kibum nods.

'okay,' jinki says, then repeats it to himself. 'kibum?'

'yes?'

'does kissing make you happy?'

he snorts.

'sometimes.'

jinki tilts his head, his brows gone quizzical. there isn't enough vocabulary between them to explain it, but something in his eyes feels compassionate, and - kibum is just sunk. there's no way he's getting out of this without some damage.

'you're good,' he says, plain and honest. kibum flushes and turns away, but jinki continues speaking. 'you're good to us and to others. you should be happy.'

'i want to be,' kibum confesses to his hands. 'i want to be happy.'

jinki moves to his side, the couch arm between them.

'"sometimes"', he says back to him. he touches his lips, and then reaches out, stopping short of touching kibum, but pointing towards him all the same. 'tonight?'

kibum looks at him, and considers a thousand things that don't matter, because he's already saying 'yes', already watching jinki go down on one knee, then the other, folds his arms across the couch until his hands are resting on kibum's upper arms. he smells like his soap, but in this light his brown eyes spark orange once more, and there's a buzzing beneath his touch that hasn't been there before, and then he can see every star in his eyes, can see countless worlds in every freckle, and he surrenders at the first brush of jinki's lips against his.

it's only a momentary touch, but it lives past its occurrence. isn't that a thing? like the light shining down well after the sun had exploded, kibum can still feel his lips after he moves away.

jinki asks.

'are you happy?'

the light is blinking out.

kibum shakes his head, manages to smile a little.

'not tonight.'

--------------------------------------

he closes the salon the next morning, contacting the few appointments by phone call to make sure they get the notice. minho and taemin both slept on the couch overnight, wrapped up in each other, while jinki slept on the floor. the blanket kibum had lent him wrapped tightly around his form. it turned out his bathroom was hosting their suits, the helmets on the floor of the shower, so kibum just washed up the best he could with the sink, brushing his teeth with his finger on the recollection of taemin's earlier use.

apparently minho had also lent his device to taemin for a similar purpose, so the morning was filled with a lot more korean than he was used to, most of it full of minho's innocently profane conversations.

'you had to corrupt him,' he had wearily warned taemin after minho had given an enthusiastic definition of a rimjob to jinki.

'it was educational,' taemin retorted, and in a way, it was. it was certainly more straightforward than anything kibum had given jinki. but still, jinki had cast him his own looks, alternating between amusement and confusion. kibum shrugged helplessly and tapped their shared device reassuringly.

for now, it was much of the same as yesterday, minho and taemin keeping each other company while jinki worked on the ship. kibum was stewing over his business, trying to think past today, or tomorrow, to the return to his regular life.

it was much easier when jinki wasn't calling him out, excitement laced through his voice.

'kibum! come here!'

he gets up and heads out to the back. the ship looks great, with jinki perched atop the cockpit, half his body hidden inside.

'good news?' he asks, careful to have the button clicked.

'yes! very good!' he yells joyfully back. 'come here!'

'how?' he asks, because he doesn't feel like possibly cracking his back from falling onto the pavement. jinki laughs, the slightly alien rhythm of it, and extracts himself, climbing down with no problem at all. when he meets kibum, he turns to present his back and leans forward slightly.

'get on,' he says.

'it's called a piggyback ride,' kibum says uncertainly. he reaches out to touch the broad expanse of his back, before retracting. 'are you sure?'

'yes!' jinki says.

well, when it's said like that, kibum does his best, hopping awkwardly up and wrapping his legs around his hips. jinki grabs at his ankles and starts up, so that kibum is sitting further up on his back. he still smells like kibum's soap, even back as he is in his suit, and it's making the whole experience that much more surreal as jinki clambers easily back up to where he was.

'um, jinki, it's a little small,' because the entry is. looking into it, he's not sure how jinki expects both of them to fit, when he must have just had enough room to squeeze his lower half into the porthole-sized space. jinki shakes his head.

'it's not small,' he explains, without explaining. 'watch.'

he starts squeezing himself in, getting to his earlier position of being cut off at the waist. when he moves to slide down further, his upper half disappears in a blink, leaving the gap empty.

'what the fuck - jinki!' he yells, looking down and also watching his own step, now paranoid about being transported god knows where.

'it's okay!' comes his voice from - inside? kibum peers closer and can't see him at all. anxiously, he dips one toe into the space, but nothing happens. as though entering a cold pool, he starts to clamber in, toe, foot, knee, then the other. all of the sudden he can feel a grip around his ankle and shrieks in fear, starting to kick out before jinki's voice calls out again.

'it's me, i'm here.'

'okay,' he says, chanting it to himself, once, twice - on the third time he bends his knees to go lower, and just as the metal siding brushes his belly button he can feel something wrap around him, like a squeezing flash of warmth, and then he really is being squeezed, by jinki's solid arms, the alien smiling at him reassuredly.

'not small,' he says, and releases him so kibum can see he's now inside a spaceship a good three times bigger than it was on the outside.

'yep. you're right,' he concedes. 'not small.'

'i want to show you something,' jinki says, and he takes him to the front. out of the window he can see the entry into his salon, and beneath it is an expanse of controls. on the far left, there's a screen with another alien, his helmet off, pink hair almost cartoonishly bright.

'jonghyun,' jinki says, with clear affection in his voice. 'kibum.'

'hi,' kibum says, waving. jonghyun waves back, but doesn't speak, clearly turning to look at jinki to translate.

he's gotten so used to jinki talking in korean that it's disorienting to hear him let out those indiscernible noises again, and to hear jonghyun respond back in kind, but he doesn't want to interrupt the clearly happy reunion. jinki is smiling wide, and jonghyun's a bit softer, but obviously genuine.

they're talking about his coming home. kibum wraps his arms around his torso and waits, because what else can he do? this was an accident, after all, and accidents get fixed.

they are talking for a while, it seems, their tones shifting into something more serious - as best kibum can tell - so he takes a step back and begins looking around. the ship is bigger than outside, but clearly was only ever meant for two - two seats, two beds towards the back. there has to be some food for their journeys, kept somewhere, or maybe they were fed nutrients, like in the matrix, until it was time to wake up. it's a big universe, and jinki is meant to be somewhere else in it. not here. not with kibum.

'done,' jinki says, cutting through kibum's thoughts. when he turns back, jinki is looking at him, so he comes forward. from the screen, jonghyun looks pleased to have jinki (and minho, but - you know - fuck him, he goes in the same bucket as taemin) coming back soon.

'done?' he asks and jinki nods, pleasure evident on his face. he performs a complex little signal with his hands that jonghyun reciprocates, and then reaches out to turn it off.

'can we go outside?' kibum asks, because he doesn't think he can stand to be in this ship anymore, with its two seats, two beds, and engine ready to leave. he moves aimlessly back towards where jinki caught him, and jinki lets out that alien laugh, richer for having talked to jonghyun, high off of his happiness.

'there,' he guides kibum to one of the circles decorating the floor, hand gently clutching at his elbow. 'wait.'

that bright, warm flash and kibum is on top of the ship, with taemin and minho looking up at him from the blacktop. before he can make an excuse for his expression - because he can feel it - he can feel the pressure of tears at the corner of his eyes, jinki appears as well. he turns and leans forward again, inviting kibum to ride his back once more, and kibum - he's not proud of this at all - he clutches jinki in a hug from behind, before jumping up into the piggyback.

they climb down together, kibum burying his face in jinki's neck. he's sure he can feel a snotty tear or two, and wipes it across his yellow suit before sliding off.

'ready?' minho asks, anticipation evident in his voice.

'ready,' jinki says. in unison they make that hand signal jinki just shared with jonghyun, and kibum clears his throat.

'thanks for - thanks for crashing into our planet,' he offers, with a respectable command of his voice.

'it was our pleasure,' jinki says.

'literally,' taemin interrupts, elbowing at minho, and the taller alien blushes with a greenish tint. he steps forward to be side by side with jinki, and they each bow forward to taemin and kibum, from their waist, in perfect form.

then, jinki turns to minho:

'i've spoken to jonghyun about the return, and he is prepared,' and he turns to taemin, who - kibum is now noticing - has a bag over his shoulder. 'i have marked all foods that can be eaten. do not stare at the stars too long; you will burn your eyes out.'

'what,' says kibum.

'i brought sunglasses,' taemin argues.

'that's not enough,' minho says, and jinki is handing him his helmet, and minho is moving to place it over taemin's head, and jinki is taking off his suit, revealing one of kibum's old t-shirts, and some sweatpants, and -

'what,' says kibum.

'i want to stay,' jinki says. as he steps out of his suit, he stumbles, and minho catches him with long practice. he moves forward and kibum instinctively turns away from minho and taemin's gazes, trying to find some privacy, to find some equilibrium, because jinki is talking like -

'i like you,' he says.

'you don't know what that means,' kibum says, but jinki smiles.

'yes, i do,' he says, gentle, always gentle. 'i'm not leaving town.'

mrs. choi, and kibum's fingers on the button, keeping it on. jinki pressing the device against his ear, listening carefully and telling kibum he should be happy.

'it's not fair to you,' kibum says again, because he is selfish, he has always wanted more for himself, and in his experience what he wants, doesn't agree to be had. 'your planet - '

'my planet doesn't have you.'

jinki closes his hands over his.

'kibum,' he says. 'will kissing make you happy today?'

'yes,' he whispers, and jinki smiles. there are stars in his eyes.

the space between them closes, their lips pressed together, the world is shaking, rumbling like it never has before and jinki is holding him close as the ship lifts off, taemin pressed against the window like a bug. behind him, minho waves, the light bouncing off his helmet.

jinki is pressing another kiss to kibum's hair as he watches the ship become smaller and smaller, until it's little more than another dot of white among the clouds.

and kibum -

he's happy.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter two: you’re all i’ve got tonight

“i don't care if you hurt me some more, i don't care if you even the score. you can knock me and i don't care, and you can mock me and i don't care, and you can rock me just about anywhere, it's alright.” -”you’re all i’ve got tonight”, the cars

Bill wasn't necessarily cruel to her, albeit not from how Sam saw her parents and the way in which they communicated with one another during the mornings when she was growing up, and given she hardly saw him during the week except in the mornings and in the evening; however he seemed on the verge of cruel to Matilda and Cassandra. The first morning Sam spent the night there at the house, following Marla's departure and her realization that she was alone there in Lake Elsinore, she sauntered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee and a bite of breakfast prior to their leaving for school and Bill about to head off somewhere outside of the house—and he never said where he was headed either—no sooner had she sat down in the chair when Mattie stopped her.

“We eat in the dining room,” she told her in a flat tone of voice.

“Really? When I was growing up here in Elsinore and then up in Reno, my parents and I always had breakfast in the kitchen before school.” Mattie shook her head at that. Sam frowned but she figured it was for the best regardless of what she dealt with as a kid. She picked up her coffee and her bowl of cereal and took her spot there near the end of the table in the next room over.

“I sit there,” Mattie told her, still in a flat voice. She moved over one. “Cassie sits there.”

Careful not to let her see her rolling her eyes, Sam took her spot right across the table from her. Soon Cassie came in the room, already completely dressed for the day. Indeed, Mattie was fully dressed herself. They merely sat there as well with their hands in their laps, while Sam had one hand on her spoon and another hand on her cup of coffee, still in her pajamas and with her hair unbrushed. They sat there and watched her.

Within time, Bill stepped in the room with two bowls of what Sam initially believed to be cereal and he set them down before them. She looked over at the tops of their bowls, at the plain oatmeal inside. It wasn't even oatmeal, just porridge.

The times in which she had oatmeal at her parents' house, Ruben always sprinkled some brown sugar or fresh blueberries on the top. But that was plain porridge as far as she could tell. Moreover, all three of them moved in robotic fashion, especially those two girls. They moved like clockwork to the dining room table there downstairs and they even ate their porridge in unison, to the point it made Sam squirm in her seat.

Even with her parents' marriage about to crumble apart four hundred miles away, all of her memories of the mornings before school consisted of having breakfast and watching cartoons, especially when she was their age. They were tiny adults as far as she could tell, but even as an adult herself, she knew they were lodged in a whole other world different from her. She drank down the rest of her soy milk.

“Don't you want to like—put some sugar on those oats, or something?” Sam wondered aloud.

“Why?” he asked.

“Plain oats in a bowl of water can't be very appetizing. When I was a kid, and on the mornings I had oatmeal, my dad always jazzed it up with brown sugar or fruit because he knew that there's no way it can be good for a kid.”

“But they are. These oats are inexpensive, but sugar is—forget it with brown sugar. I had to bust out a whole five dollars for a bag of that stuff just to satisfy your request for a cup of coffee. Same with the soy milk. I always look out for good deals, even with indulgences such as that. No way I'm wasting fruit on that, either. Cutting it up into pieces and then disposing of the rinds and the cores like that when they could be put to good use? Forget it.” She frowned at that. It seemed so strange to her; she remembered that Joey was rather thrifty himself, but he always managed to find a way to make things enjoyable with her. They had a strong bond to boot as well.

“How's the coffee?” Bill curtly asked her.

“Delicious. Nice and warm.” But then again, it missed something. The kiss of cream was perfect for her, but it lacked something within. She took another sip to wash down the soy milk and the rest of the cereal, and she stopped right in her tracks when Mattie and Cassie took another bite of porridge in unison. It made her shudder right in her seat, and she picked up her cup so she could go into the other room.

“Where are you going?” Bill asked her, still in a brusque tone of voice.

“I'm just—I'm just—” She could hardly speak.

“No, you sit at the table and finish your coffee. First off, it was expensive, as was that bottle of cream in there. The bag of coffee was five bucks, and the cream was two.” Sam almost burst out laughing at that; there was her answer to that. “Second, there's that nice carpet in the living room—you're not spilling coffee on that.”

“I won't?” she said with a raise of her eyebrow. He folded his arms across his chest at that and she stayed still there. All the times she had stood up for herself, and when Lars told her to do so that one time given the nature of her very name. She climbed off of the chair and she walked towards the kitchen doorway, when he stepped right before her, still with his arms folded across his chest.

“You're a rebellious little thing, aren't you?”

“Bill, this isn't school,” she scoffed as she adjusted one of the straps of her camisole. He shook his head at that.

“Not in front of the girls, please,” he told her without moving a muscle.

“They're just tiny adults!” she pointed out with a gesture back to the two little girls at the table, both of whom still moved in robotic fashion. “Look at them!”

“They're children,” he insisted and he never raised his voice for a second.

“They don't act like children,” she argued.

“Sit down,” he commanded, and he never flinched for a moment when he said that.

“Why?”

“Sit down.”

“No.”

“Sit down or I take your coffee.”

“Take it then,” she scoffed and she handed him the cup, and she stormed past him into the kitchen. She needn't drink down that cheap coffee, anyways. She needed to get away from those creepy children.

“You splurge on those type of crackers again, I'm locking you in your room,” he called after her, to which she whirled around and gaped at him.

“What?” She couldn't resist chuckling at that.

“Yes. I am locking in your room if you splurge on cheese crackers like that again.”

“I got those for them!” she insisted, “and what do you—” She laughed at that. “What the hell do you even mean by 'splurge'? They were like a buck fifty! Not even that! They were like seventy five cents each.” And he shook his head.

“By the way, you owe me a new glass.”

“By the way, how 'bout you buy your own damn glass,” she retorted, and he lunged for her right then. He never grabbed her but he did stop her right in her tracks by his mere presence.

“Don't you dare curse at me again, young lady, or I'm really locking you in your room. You're never leaving this house if you curse at me again.”

“Like you would,” she persisted. “Like you would do such a thing to your precious star student.”

“I would,” he persisted himself, and with a cold look on his face. She trembled a bit, much like when she scolded at Aurora back on New Year's Eve. The sole exception was that she didn't have the safety net of the telephone and a restaurant in Ithaca around her.

“I most certainly would,” he repeated her. She sighed through her nose, and then she realized where she had moved to: they may as well have been in arm's reach.

“By the way, I should tell you that I have friends nearby who might to want to come over at some point,” she said in a single breath.

“In fact I might as well just do it now,” he replied to that.

“Why?” she demanded, but he never replied to her. “Why, Bill? Why?”

Instead, he almost bumped her with his chest from his standing so close right before her. She staggered back. He kept on moving closer to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted all manner of recyclables stashed away in the corner of the laundry room. The man did not throw anything away.

“Why!” she yelped.

“Get upstairs now. Or I'm tying you up while I'm at it.” Sam fixed her straps once more.

“Do you want to see your precious friends again? Get upstairs.” He downed the rest of her coffee right then and there. He held the cup right before his chest even though Sam could clearly see on his face that he hated it. Fuming, she stalked back upstairs to the loft.

“Fucking sack of shit,” she said aloud as she closed the door right behind her; the joke would be on him, anyways, because the door opened into the room. She returned to the dresser on the other side of the room, right next to her bed, and she picked up her hair brush. The way in which her hair moved through the bristles made her think of Rapunzel.

If her hair grew long enough, to well past her waist, she could in fact hone her in at any given moment in the future. She need not dye her hair blonde, however, but she could in fact behave like Rapunzel. She pictured Testament outside, down on the lawn, and with Joey right before them as well, complete with the guitar before his body. He sang to her to let down her hair: given the very nature of his voice, she knew she could hear him from afar, from thirty feet off of the ground.

She stood there before the dresser when the warm summer breeze blew in through the window next to her.

The very start of August, almost time for the Santa Ana winds, or the Diablo winds as they were referred to up in the northern half of the state, when things were dry as a set of bones and easily set on fire despite the cold piercing feeling of it all. She returned to the thought of Joey, her prince who had come to save her from the tower, from the house upon the windy moors.

She turned her head again and she wondered if Bill would in fact seal her door shut at any given moment. It felt beyond reason, especially given he fretted about buying a bag of crackers for one of his own children: there was no way he would do such a thing, not with her being his supposed star student, unless he was genuinely cruel at heart.

She brushed her hair once more before she turned to the door once again and propped it open.

No way he could do it now: she was alone up there anyway. She left it open as she took her spot at the desk and began on a brand new drawing for herself.

That very thought of Joey down on the grass, with Testament right behind him. Or rather, she figured she would draw Joey solo.

She was near the Los Angeles area again. Somehow, she had to make her way there, and it wasn't until she and Chuck ran into each other at the supermarket when she made a mental note to ask him and Tiffany to take her to an art shop when they swung by the house in the next week. She also made a note to call up Marla again when things became quiet again at the house.

But things remained rather quiet downstairs all the while, such that she had no clue as to whether the girls left for school already and Bill had left the house as well. She waited until the winds picked up some more before she headed on back downstairs to the kitchen for some more cheap coffee.

Regardless of it being cheap, she brewed herself a new cup with a little kiss of cream. She yearned to have coffee with Joey again, and she yearned to have coffee with Alex at some point. So much more to that boy than she had originally assumed before, and she was about to see more of him when the time came. Something behind that cool demeanor and she wished to see it as she stood at the kitchen sink and she sipped on her cup.

Every day since Sam saw Chuck at the supermarket, and given school had already started despite the very heart of summer, for the whole five days a week, she always took to the desk in her room. Whenever she opened her drawer for one of her pencils, she always saw that piece of rice paper at the very bottom. Every so often, and careful not to damage the delicate nature of the paper, she slipped it out of the bottom for a better look at Alex's signature and his handwriting.

Almost three years she had had this piece of paper with her and it felt like a whole eternity ago back to the time Cliff was alive.

When she could make her way up to the San Francisco Bay Area to visit that field again, just to get a sense of his presence, to feel the mere memory of it all again even with his body incinerated and cast about that grass, was a whole other question. Metallica themselves were still up there, as far as she knew anyway. Meanwhile, she had no real means of driving up there, and she held out the hope that something would crop up and serve as her ticket out of there.

At one point, on Friday afternoon, she had considered calling up Marla again to find out if she had landed something at the school. But then again, if she did, then Bill would have said something to her about money. But then again, he kept the whole thing to himself. In the meantime, she wondered what she could wear that night when they came to pick her up the next week. Indeed, she wondered how they would even come to the house as well, given Bill dismissed the whole thing on that first morning.

She hoped to see Chuck again at some point between that day and the next Friday as she made her way down the block to the supermarket again for another sandwich and some better coffee. She had her own money to herself but she could see how Bill fretted about that sort of thing.

Every time she broke even with a dollar, she pocketed the change. There had to be something more to the house, however: if there were all manner of old books there, there had to be something more, like an empty jar given how much he worried about money and ridding of things. Or so she figured if that first morning was anything to go by.

When she returned to the house and she made her way back upstairs, she thought about that night in the following week. She recalled that Bill never replied to her suggestion that friends could come over when they so felt like it, and thus she could only assume that he disallowed it.

Or perhaps he did allow it, however he never said anything, much like how he never said anything about what carried importance such as money. She set down her things and then doubled back down the stairs for the cordless phone, and she returned once more up the stairs for Chuck's number. She sat down at her desk and she dialed it; at the same time, she had no idea if he was even home back up in the Bay Area.

And yet, it didn't even ring once.

“Hello, hello?”

“Hey, Chuck, it's Sam.”

“Oh, hey! I was just thinking 'bout you, um—hang on a second—”

“Sure, sure.”

He disappeared and in his wake, a hissing noise emerged on his end, such that it made her move the phone back from her ear.

“Yeah, just like that,” he said in the background, and someone behind him chuckled. He returned to the phone right then. “Sorry—I'm making chorizo for Alex, Greg, and Louie right now. Complete with homemade tortillas, too.”

“Oh, my god, that sounds so delicious.”

Someone behind him said something.

“It's Miss Samantha,” he told them.

“Hi, Sam!” Greg shouted in the background.

“Hey, Sam!” Louie chimed in.

“Hi, Samantha!” Alex followed suit in that big voice.

“They all say 'hi'.”

“Hi, fellas!” she said, and she couldn't resist the smile on her face.

“Hi, fellas,” he echoed her, and they both laughed out loud. There was a metallic clink and then he returned to her again. “Anyways, how's it going?”

“Um—listen about the Death Angel show next week—you guys might hell of a time getting here.”

“Why's that?”

“Um—are they right behind you?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you guys keep a secret?”

“I can.” He turned his attention to the three of them again. “Can you guys keep a secret between all of you?”

“I can,” said Alex.

“Yeah, I can, too.” The sound of Louie's voice made her think of what he told her about Zelda in the hotel room. The secret was out of the bag as well, and she wondered if Louie even could keep a secret as dire as that from someone, anyone, especially if that someone was Joey.

“I'll try to,” Greg confessed.

“D'you get all that?” Chuck asked her.

“Yeah.”

“Wish we had like a speaker or something to hook the phone up to,” she heard Greg say, and Louie laughed out loud at that.

“Okay, so. It's not complicated, but my counselor—whom I came out here with for my senior project—apparently—kinda—sorta—married me.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. When Marla and I came out here earlier this week, he made me sign some things, and they were like concealed so I couldn't see what they were, and apparently they were nuptial papers.”

“Oh, my god—is he even allowed to do that?”

“What is it?” Greg inquired from the background.

“When she and Marla came out here the other day, her counselor made her sign some papers and they were apparently for marriage. Like he duped her into it.”

“Is that even legal?” she heard Alex ask him.

“I dunno,” Chuck confessed, “doesn't sound legal.” And then he returned to her. “So what does have to do with the show?”

“He is so—cheap and controlling.”

“The dude's a control freak,” he told them.

“Total control freak,” she corrected him.

“Total control freak,” he echoed her.

“He actually threatened to bar me in my room!” she exclaimed.

“He actually threatened—wait, what?”

“Yeah! He threatened to seal me in my room if I spend money on certain things.”

“The guy actually threatened to lock her in her room if she even so much as spends money,” he relayed back to them.

“What the actual fuck,” Louie blurted out.

“Yeah, I don't get it, either,” she confessed. “I tried to stand up to him—”

“She tried to stand up to him,” he relayed it back to them.

“—and he like bullied me into submission. Like—literally backed me into a corner.”

“Just totally backed her into a corner.”

“God,” one of them muttered in the background.

“I kind of worry about you guys coming over here, to be perfectly honest.” She sighed through her nose and bowed her head a little bit. It was the truth: she didn't know if they could in fact break through to him, that is if they could. There was another metallic clink, followed by another loud hiss of the chorizo in the frying pan, and then it went away.

“Off the heat, boys,” Chuck told them, and then he returned to the phone again. “You said he's cheap, too?”

“Like, really cheap,” she replied. “I spent a dollar fifty on a couple of little bags of crackers for his two daughters and he yelled at me for that.”

Silence on their end.

“Chuck?” she asked him. “Are you there?”

“Sam, I will swim in that lake and burrow under the house if I have to,” he vowed.

“No, don't do that,” she told him. “Don't, Chuck. Please don't.”

“No, he's gonna be dealing with a guy who rides big bikes in his spare time,” he continued.

“Most badass—” Alex cleared his throat and then he leaned in closer to the phone. “Chuck is the most badass Native American since Sitting Bull. Mark my words, Samantha.”

“Uh, yeah, what he said,” Chuck quipped. “That sick bastard's not going to want to mess with me. I'm sure he wouldn't mess with Joey, either. Mr. Hockey Player. Hockey player who knows how to fight dirty.”

The mention of Joey's name made her close her eyes. She had only been away from New York for less than a week and yet she missed him so much, as if he had slipped through her fingers like grains of sand.

“Sam?” he asked her.

“I'm still here.”

“By the way, why does she wanna swear us to secrecy?” Greg called from the background.

“Yeah, why are we sworn to secrecy about it?” Chuck asked her.

“I don't want Joey to worry about it,” she told him.

“She doesn't want Joey to worry about her.”

“He should probably know about that sort of thing, though,” Louie pointed out from behind him. “You know, her being his girl and everything.”

“I don't know, to be honest,” Sam confessed, and she had to stop herself from laughing at that sentiment. “I'd rather he'd just miss me.”

“D'you hear that absolute statement, Lou?” Chuck asked with a bit of a snicker.

“I did, yeah.” Sam thought about Louie, and she knew that she had to call up Zelda at some point as well. Marla did advise her to call either of them in any instance whatsoever.

“Besides, Joey has enough to worry about, I would think,” she pointed out.

“Oh, yeah, he definitely does,” Chuck answered to that, “Anthrax are in the studio right now. Or—no. They went on tour—just yesterday, actually. Brand new tour, too! But—it would make sense, though. But—you want us to keep it all under wraps, though. So we gotta honor that wish.”

“Yeah, I won't tell a soul,” Alex promised from the background, and she remembered that he didn't really have anyone to talk to about that sort of thing anyway.

“I still want to come along to the show, though,” she insisted. “You know, I wanna see Death Angel, and I wanna see you guys, though.”

“She still wants to come along with me and Tiff to the show,” Chuck echoed her. “By the way, you coming with us, Alex?”

“Yeah, I might as well. Don't really have anything better to do at the moment except sit on my butt and read.”

“Don't blame her,” Greg said, “I don't blame her one bit. I'm coming along, too.”

“I don't, either!” Chuck proclaimed. “She wants to get away from that mother fucker and out of that damn house.” He then returned to her. “We'll figure out how to get you out of there,” he promised her.

“I can always do a Rapunzel sort of thing,” she suggested, “like let down a rope of sorts and climb out the window.”

He laughed out loud at that. A big hearty laugh that made her smile in response.

“I dunno if push will come to shove in that instance, but we'll figure something out, though.”

“Enjoy that chorizo, by the way!” she declared; ever so faintly, she heard the front door open.

“Oh, they are,” Chuck assured her, “especially Alex. A little too well, might I add.”

“This is damn good, though,” Alex insisted in a muffled voice.

“Before I go,” Sam started again, “you mentioned Anthrax are doing a brand new tour and a new album soon?”

“Yeah! Uh—State of Euphoria, I think it's called.”

“I like that,” she told him, and she smiled again, that time out of a time gone by her. “When's it coming out?”

“September, I think? I'll have to ask Charlie the next time I see him.”

“Anyways, I gotta go,” she told him.

“Okay—we'll come and get you Friday night. Don't know how but we're gonna do it, though.”

“Gonna get you away from that pig,” Alex called from the background.

“What he said!” Chuck said again. “You be careful until then, little Sammich.”

“Yeah, you guys have a good weekend.”

They hung up at the same time, and it was right then, she had no clue what was about to go down that weekend. She sighed through her nose as the silence fell over the bottom floor. The door propped open and she couldn't hear anything what was going on down there. She stood to her feet but she lingered there by the chair. She listened closely to the silence from downstairs.

It was tempting. It was tempting to walk out of her room and listen to what was being said down there, in the softest of voices.

And she bought into the temptation to an extent.

She stood within the doorway and she turned her head to the side to better hear them. All the shows she had gone to in the past never damaged her ears as much as the silence from downstairs, silence penetrated only by the intermittent soft voices of two small girls. The noise never damaged her ears, anyway, given she always wore ear plugs.

Careful not to make any more noise, she crept over to the top of the stairs and she stood there with her back to the wall. Mattie and Cassie's voices echoed up the first stairwell from downstairs. She wished to see what they were doing there at the very bottom floor. But she had no idea as to how to do such a thing without jarring them for even one second.

She closed her eyes and she pictured Chuck, Alex, Greg, and Louie in a small warm kitchen up in the Bay Area somewhere, all congregated around a small table and with plates of fresh spicy chorizo and homemade flour tortillas rested upon their laps. So simple, and yet she wondered how those little girls down below would react to it.

She thought about Alex and his cold stone face, the way he was so mature despite his youthful age and the gray streak on his head only added to it. She was able to crack through to him a bit, but these two girls felt like a challenge, especially with Bill never too far away from there as well.

Sam thought about her first weekend there, given they had started school so early.

Then she heard one of the two girls mutter, “Amen.”

She opened her eyes at the sound of that. They had come home and whispered a lengthy prayer. She never saw a cross anywhere in that house.

Alex's parents may have been non traditional Jewish but he wore a yarmulke and a Star of David once in a while: they probably celebrated Hanukkah and Rosh Hashanah to boot, too. But to hear that word only brought up more questions about this little family here before her.

The front door opened again.

“Hello, father,” one of them said in a flat voice. If it was Sam and Ruben, she would've been overjoyed to see him at the front door.

“Hello, girls,” Bill greeted them; his voice floated up such that if Sam moved a little closer to the railing down below, he probably would have seen her. But she moved forward a little bit, and she made out the sight of his blond hair near the front door. “Did you say your prayers?”

“Yes.”

“Did you read your scripture?”

There was that one instance during Anthrax's tour of New York City the year before, that morning where those women who walked by her and Zelda and they called their music Satanic as they kept on walking. Indeed, come the next Friday, she was about to see a band called Death Angel with three guys from a band called Testament; the only thing to make it even more potent was to have Exodus there with them as well. She squirmed in her spot there on the stairs and her stomach turned at that thought.

“Have you done your homework yet?”

Sam frowned at that.

“They're elementary school age,” she muttered. “Why would they have homework?”

One of the girls said something that she couldn't hear.

“Well, remember, the Lord is always on your side, especially on the bus rides to the school.”

And then it dawned on her. They started school so early because they went to a religious private one rather than a public, and ultimately free, one. No wonder he was so stingy with money!

She began to wonder if Marla had said anything to the people at the school about his still being on the payroll. If she did, then he would be removed from it.

And then he would lose his money and his sole income as far as she knew. Therein lay his reason for why he was so cheap. It worried him so that he was willing to become cruel to Sam herself. The whole thought made her heart hammer inside of her chest, and yet she couldn't speak to him about that sort of thing. He forbade her from speaking about it.

Instead, she ducked back into her room and she clasped her hands to her head. She didn't know what to say right then, either, and Chuck, Alex, Greg, and Louie already had it out for the guy, too, after his threat to seal her away in her room. Add to this, she knew that there was no way she could feel okay with his being cruel to her, either.

All she could do was wait out the weekend and maintain an appearance to herself. If something happened at the school, surely it would remain a secret as well.

“Miss Shelley?” he called from the second floor, such that it jarred her, and she dropped the cordless phone. She scooped it up and she stuck it under her mattress.

“Are you home?”

“Yes!” she called back.

“Okay, good. I need you to make dinner tonight.”

She surfaced from the room right then, and he stood there at the landing beneath her.

“What would you like?” she asked him.

“I found some really good deals on pasta—there's a couple of boxes awaiting you in the kitchen. And then just some sauce.”

“Okay! Sounds easy enough.”

He nodded but he never smiled at her.

The whole entire time she made dinner, she thought of Chuck in that kitchen up north. She considered tossing in a little bit of spices into the vodka sauce to liven it up a bit, but the one spice she found in the cupboard above the stove was cinnamon. Indeed, as she made up that pan of sauce, she took the jar down from the rack and she unscrewed the lid.

Not true ground cinnamon, but the very aroma of it reminded her of Cliff. How she yearned to have a cup of Mexican hot chocolate again, and how she wished to see him again.

Soon, dinner was ready and she served the plates to Mattie and Cassie, both of whom awaited her with their hands in their laps. After her realization, she felt a little more sympathetic towards them as she set the plates before them both.

They never thanked her but they picked up their forks and ate in unison once she and Bill took their seats in silence. He glanced up at her with a thoughtful look on his face.

“This is quite good,” he told her with his hand up by his mouth. “Excellent, actually. It needs a little salt, but it's good, though.”

Neither of the girls said anything but they did help her clear the table afterwards. Later, she turned in for the night with a new perspective on it all.

But at the same time, she needed to get away from that house. Away from the tightness of it all, especially since they were probably of the crowd that saw Testament and Anthrax as the music of Lucifer herself.

On Sunday morning, the three of them left for church, and even though Bill offered her to attend along with them, she turned it down given she didn't believe in the same things they did, either. Instead, she took her seat there at her desk with the cordless in hand and she dialed Marla's number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Marla.”

“Oh, hey, Sam! How's it going?”

“Alright, I guess. I ran into Chuck the other day—he, Tiff, Alex, and Greg are all gonna take me to see Death Angel down in L.A. this Friday.”

“Cool! Um, listen—I wasn't able to get a job at the school, as of yet. I got put on a waiting list for something, though, and Bel got me an interview at the glass studio she works at. Commutes to Albany are tough but I think I can do it, though. But I was able to tell Mrs. Robinson, mine and Bel's old counselor, about Bill still being listed on the payroll. She told me that's going to be rectified at the end of the month, like they have to send out the final check in two weeks and then he gets a notice on the fourth week.”

“Listen, about that—”

“Oh?”

“Apparently Bill's daughters go to a private religious school. He literally doesn't say shit about this sort of thing with me, but my guess is it's a bit pricey. Those payroll checks were the only way he's able to send them off there.”

“Oh, shit,” Marla blurted out.

“Yeah.”

“Well, he's gonna have to do something else, though. After the way he treated you and me both, and after he legitimately threatened to lock you in your room!”

“How'd you find out about—” Sam stopped. And she closed her eyes. “Louie,” she muttered with her head tilted back away from the phone, and she returned it to her ear.

“Sam, you can't let him get under your skin like that!”

“I feel kinda bad about it, though.”

“He'll figure something out, though. If he was able to maintain a spot on payroll this whole entire time after he got fired, he can figure something out for him and his girls.”

“They're creepy, by the way,” Sam confessed.

“They are? How so?”

“First off, they don't behave like little girls. They sit quietly at the dining room table before breakfast and dinner, like they don't even talk to each other. And they eat simultaneously, too, like completely in sync with each other. It's really weird, like unsettling, I want to say. Everything is really strict here—like really strict. Alex grew up in a bit of a sheltered household, but I doubt it was anything like this. It's all because of the whole faith thing and also because of the whole money issue, too. I imagine that getting worse when he gets kicked off of the payroll for good, too.”

“Ew.” Marla shuddered on her end. “Besides, how're the boys even gonna come and get you on Friday night? Because I remember how that place is laid out. There's no way around it.”

“I have no clue. Chuck even told me he has no idea. But—you know.” Sam rolled her eyes at what she was about to tell her. “I have faith in those guys, though.”

Marla giggled at that.

“Yeah, I have faith that they're gonna have faith in themselves.”

Marla laughed some more at that. It was good to hear her laugh again, even if it was for a few moments.

Over the course of that week, Sam made more art for herself, until Friday night came about. She had set aside her nice black blouse, the same top she wore when she saw Testament and Stormtroopers of Death both the first time around, and her black jeans, which had gotten rather low slung with the passage of time so they accentuated the curvature of her hips and ultimately her body. Testament themselves were going to be all that she had that night as well: the best she could do was sneak out of the house and meet up with Chuck and Tiffany at the property past the house.

The sun began to hang low over the tree line and the haze from the Los Angeles area not too far away from there.

Bill and the girls were downstairs doing some kind of study with their Bibles, which meant she had to use the back door to get out of there. But even if she used the back door, she still had to go past the living room and within their line of sight. No makeup on her face lest he question her for a second, but she had to time it right.

She reached the second landing of the stairs and Bill said something to the girls. A rustling noise and she knew that he had stood up.

“Shit,” she muttered. They were waiting for her outside—she didn't even have to look out the window in order to know that they awaited her—and yet she had no way out of there without a bit of inquiry. Sam returned to the loft on the third floor so as to gather her bearings and rethink things.

The front door then opened. Bill said something.

“Is Sam here?”

Greg!

Sam gasped and she hurried down the first flight of stairs at that moment.

“I'm—here to see her?” he replied; she reached that top landing where she spotted Bill before the doorway with his hands pressed to his hips. Greg looked so funny there in the doorway with him, that long beautiful dark hair down over his chest and the little stubble of a mustache over his upper lip, and his slender body wrapped in a black T shirt and low slung black jeans.

Like a dark version of Jesus himself.

“Well, she has a lot of work to do, son,” Bill sneered at him.

“No, no, it's okay, Bill!” Sam called out to him from the landing. He turned his attention to her with a finger pointed up to her.

“You have a lot of work to do, young lady—get back up there.” Greg widened his eyes at that.

“Well, I can take a break, can't I?” Sam pointed out. Bill shut the door right on Greg's face, to which followed a loud “ow! That was right on my nose!”

“Get back in your room,” he ordered.

“Don't slam the door on his face!” she yelled as she stormed back upstairs to the loft. She shook her head as she made her way to the window. Out there, on the block right behind the house as it ran along the lake's edge, she spotted Greg as he walked on back to the low two door hatch back royal blue car over there. Chuck awaited him on the outside of the car. From a distance, she watched Greg shake his head.

“Damn,” he declared as he rubbed his nose. “Got me good, too!”

“Well, fuck,” Chuck said.

“Well, we've got to get her out of there somehow,” she heard Alex tell them from the back seat; even from upstairs and a distance, she could hear his big loud voice. “Show's about to start in like an hour.”

“What!” Chuck was stunned at that.

“Yeah, dude! It's seven fifteen!”

“Shit!”

“Hey, there she is!” Tiffany called from the passenger seat. Chuck and Greg turned to the window and Sam waved both arms at them.

“Gotta get her out of there,” she heard Chuck tell them. There was a pause as she looked on at him, just like Rapunzel. If only there was a way in which she could tell him that the way out was through the back door, and she was close to it as well. Greg said something, which was then followed by another pause.

“Hang on, I got an idea,” she heard Chuck tell them. “Greg, come with me—this is gonna get us killed but it's gonna get her out of there, though.” He got off of the side of the car and the two of them walked along the road, along the lake's edge. Sam knitted her eyebrows together as she watched Chuck and Greg all the way to the back of the house.

“Wait here,” Chuck said to Greg, and he turned his attention to her. “Meet him here at the back door.”

She nodded her head at that, and she doubled back to the door with her purse over her shoulder.

Another knock on the front door.

“Who is that now?” Bill grumbled as Sam reached the second stairwell again. When his back was turned to her, she hurried down the next flight of stairs to the very bottom. He opened the door only to see Chuck right there, dressed in heavy black leather and with a red and white feather attached to one side of his head.

“Peek a boo!” Chuck lunged for him.

“JEEZ!”

Sam made a run for it right there to the back door. Right in her line of sight. Greg awaited her out there.

She jiggled the door handle. Locked!

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered, but then she turned her attention back to the front door right as Bill shut it. She ducked into the kitchen and the window there over there sink. Greg nodded at her from outside. She opened the window and, with one foot on the sink basin and her other foot right out the window, she climbed through. She poked her head out, followed by her arm.

“Greg!” she called out to him and he hurried over to help her out.

“You got me?” she asked him as he took her hand and set a hand on her knee.

“Yeah. You got it?”

“I think so—” It was a struggle given she almost slipped on the sink basin but she managed to take her other foot through the window. She climbed out through the kitchen window and she landed onto Greg's slender little body. They fell on the grass in unison, and he groaned at the feeling.

“You okay?” she asked him as she lifted herself up into a push up position.

“Yeah.” He gasped for air and he gazed up at her with a goofy grin on his face.

“Hey, Sam hill,” he greeted her, and that brought a laugh out of her.

“Sam hill, is that what you called her?” Chuck laughed along from the side of the house.

“What in the sam hill is going on 'round here?” she laughed as well. She helped Greg to his feet and then she led him out of the back yard and into the street. The three of them ran back to the car right as the setting sun touched the tree line on the far side of the lake.

“Let's get you the hell out of here,” Chuck advised her as he took the keys out of his pocket. Sam reached the passenger door behind Tiffany and she poked her head into the back window where Alex awaited them.

“Alex?” He leaned forward and greeted her with a big toothy grin.

“Hey—” He froze right in his tracks with those deep eyes wide with fear despite the sun.

“What's the matter?”

“What's wrong, Alex?” Tiffany wondered aloud.

He pursed his lips together and held still, and then he bowed his head a bit.

“Very slowly—look—over—there,” he said through gritted teeth and without moving a muscle. Sam turned her attention to across the edge of the lake to the back door of the house, where Bill stood there with his hands pressed to his hips.

“Get in the car!” Greg shouted. “Get in! Get in!”

Alex scooted over and Tiffany leaned the seat forward for Sam and Greg.

“We gotta go,” Chuck declared as he climbed into the driver's seat, “—we gotta go—we gotta go—we gotta go!”

He fired up the car and they lunged forward down the street, only to find it was a cul de sac.

“What the hell!” Alex declared, but they were quick to make the turn around in there, all past the small houses there at the end.

“Hang on, everyone—” Chuck called back as Alex, Sam, and Greg leaned to the side with the turning. But then they doubled back down the street as fast as they could to the next block over. They kept on going until they past the supermarket. Out of breath, Sam leaned back in her seat.

“We out of sight?” Tiffany asked him.

“I think so,” Chuck assured her as they proceeded on to the heart of town. “Didn't look like he can get very far, either.”

“No, there's no way he's getting very far,” Sam added from the safety of the back seat and from in between Alex and Greg.

“That was intense,” Greg admitted.

“Very much so,” Sam added. “I wanna thank you guys, though. I couldn't be happier to be here right now. You guys are all I've got right now tonight.”

“Yeah, we get to hang out for real now!” Alex said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, yes, it's all fun and games now from here on out!” Chuck declared as he reached for something in the center console. “Little pre show ritual, ladies—and gentlemen. Some Motorhead to set the mood!”

She pictured Marla running down the street in Manhattan to those fast drums on that first song “Overkill”. They drove along fast to it, especially once they reached the freeway and began towards the heart of Los Angeles against the sunset. She nestled down in between Alex and Greg all the while: add to this, not only did her parents not know about it, but Joey didn't, either. And it was right at that moment, as the wind fluttered through their hair and Lemmy's growl sliced through the noise of the road underneath them, that she realized she had become a true bad girl.

[twothumbsandnostakeincanon]

My brain apparently really likes the idea of wing!whump. How about: After the Nogitsune spits him out, Stiles' wings are wrong. He does his best to hide it, and them, but someone is going to notice sooner or later. Cue Peter being both more intrusive and more empathetic than expected (only one of those is actually a surprise).

Okay. Okay. Fuck, I love this. This is so good.

When the nogitsune split from Stiles, it took the original body and shoved Stiles into the new one. The new one was identical to the old one, down to the last mole, except for one thing: instead of dusty brown feathers, he had black. So black that they seem to suck in light, making it hard to distinguish individual feathers. The flat effect was so uncanny that some of the sillier students at the high school started a rumor that Stiles had his feather wings surgically replaced with bat wings. 

That was ridiculous, of course, and most of the student body and townsfolk just assumed he was using powders or dyes. It’s his teenage right to have a goth phase, so no one looked twice after they’d taken in the new look. The pack looked even less, thinking that they already knew the secret of Stiles’ changed wings. 

But Peter watched Stiles. He’s always watched Stiles, from the beginning, before he could even fully grasp why he was doing it. Because he watched, he’s the only one that noticed how Stiles’ wings do catch the light- but only sometimes. Only in spots, but never the same spot twice. 

It happened at random times as well; after a day long research binge on the town’s latest irritant. During an argumentative pack meeting. Peter even saw it by happenstance at the grocery store. It tugged at Peter’s curiosity. 

It couldn’t be a cosmetic product, or the effect would be more uniform. It might be magical in origin, but Stiles’s magic put off a specific scent since the nogitsune- not an unpleasant one, but consistently noticeable just the same. 

He found the answer thanks to the manticore and his own violent streak. 

Peter had been ready for a tussle- the unsolved mystery of Stiles’ wings left a simmering frustration on the back of his tongue, and he was fully prepared for a cathartic evening with his claws. 

Scott, of course, had wanted to sedate the beast. Peter was even gracious enough to allow him to try all four vials of ketamine before flicking him out of the way and attacking. He deftly dodged the wings, spinning beneath the beasts claws before burying his own in its neck, ripping out its throat and sending arterial spray across the clearing. 

A part of him reveled in the violence of the mess- the evidence of his abilities, the satisfaction of his base instincts. 

The rest of him, however, had an aesthetic to maintain. 

He took his handkerchief out and began to carefully wipe down his wings, ignoring the disgusted complaints of the rest of the pack. Well, the complaints of everyone but Stiles, who was too busy harvesting the spines from the manticore’s tail. Peter looked at him appraisingly, noticing that he hadn’t missed the spray of blood, but was simply more invested in taking advantage of the situation. He’d wiped his face clean, but still had blood spattered across his neck and shoulders, and presumably across his wings, although it was impossible to tell with how dark the feathers were. 

Except. 

Except, they caught the light. In exactly the way that baffled Peter so, in random spots. Spots briefly reflecting the moon. 

Spots that were covered in blood. 

Stiles finished gathering the spines, and did his part in calling up the earth to bury the animal. Everyone parted ways immediately afterward, eager to find the closest bath. 

Peter, however, followed Stiles home. 

He knew he was being allowed to; there was no way Stiles was unaware that he was being followed, and if he truly didn’t want Peter there then he had enough wards to keep him out. 

Instead, Peter found himself easily allowed into Stiles’ room as he was putting away his new bounty. 

“What do you want, Creeperwolf?” Stiles asked, looking up at Peter curiously. Peter shrugged casually. 

“I made a bit of a mess back there-”

Stiles snorts, repeating “a bit” sarcastically under his breath.

“-so I thought it polite to help you groom your feathers.” 

It was fascinating, to see the slight shifts in Stiles’ expression. The ones that mean nothing on his face was real. The ones that mean everyone else has been shut out. 

“No thanks, Uncle Bad Touch-” Stiles said caustically, but Peter interrupted him. 

“They’re quite a mess,” he said lightly, eyeing the wings critically. It’s not really true, the feathers he can see are mostly straight even after their busy night. But it does get the mask on Stiles’ face to drop slightly. 

“My wings are fine. Did you honestly come here to act like a bitchier, cut-rate version of Jonathan Van Ness?”

“I’m not a bitchier cut-rate version of Jonathan Van Ness, Jonathan Van Ness is a less bitchy cut-rate version of me, and how would you even know if they’re a mess? You can’t see.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but Peter was too fast. Too quick, and too determined. 

He slid behind Stiles, ignoring the immediate buffeting of his wings, and peered closely at the coverts. More blood was obvious now that he was looking closely, but it was buried beneath the thick layers of matte black feathers, close to the skin. He carefully moved the top ones aside, stopping when Stiles let out a pained hiss and froze. 

There was blood everywhere. 

Broken pin feathers scattered his skin, the collection of calami much denser than normal. Bent rachis and torn vanes could be seen all over the place, once again hidden beneath the thick layer of top feathers. 

A memory of burnt wings, and the pain that came from deformed feathers constantly breaking made him shudder.

“Christ,” he breathed out. 

Stiles hunched a little, clearly bracing for more pain, babbling. 

“I can’t- they just grow that way now. They’re so thick, there isn’t enough space for the new feathers to come in. They’re constantly breaking. Even if I had time to groom for hours every day-” 

“This happened after the nogitsune?” Peter interrupted. 

Stiles nodded, and then carefully pulled away, turning to look at Peter, who finally dropped his hands. 

“Something about the- the way the nogitsune made this body… I heal faster now. I don’t need as much sleep.” He scoffed out a tiny laugh and looked away before turning his dry gaze back to Peter. “My hair is thicker too.” He sighed. “It’s not like it’s a real problem-”

“The blood on your feathers is evidence to the contrary,” Peter interrupted again, voice tight.

Stiles went silent.

“Let me help you with your wings,” Peter said. Insisted, really, even if Stiles’ didn’t know that yet. 

“Peter-” Stiles sighed. “It’s not just that I don’t have time. It- it really fucking hurts, okay?” He grit his teeth. “The amount of time it would take to straighten everything out daily… I’d rather just bear the pain of some feathers breaking than spending hours trying not to scream.” He jut out his jaw, as if daring Peter to mock him for wanting to avoid the hurt. 

As if there was anyone who understood the bearing and avoidance of pain more than Peter.

Instead, Peter lightly said, “If only you had someone offering to groom you who is also capable of taking away your pain.” 

Stiles’ mouth fell open. He clearly hadn’t considered that.

“Lay down,” Peter demanded, only a little surprised when Stiles actually did so. He placed one hand on the small of Stiles’ back between his wings, rubbing his thumb back and forth as he began to drain the pain of the broken feathers. 

It was difficult to stay calm in the face of evidence that Stiles had been bearing this much pain since the nogitsune without anyone in the pack noticing. 

With his other hand, he began to clean and straighten feathers. 

Stiles fell asleep almost immediately, as surprising as not beneath Peter’s hands, given the situation and their night. Peter continued to work for hours. He groomed as best he could under the onslaught of sharp quills and thick down, considering the various medical and magical options available that might help the problem. 

By the time he finished, his own hands were beginning to ache. Stiles stirred just as he opened the window to leave. 

“Peter?” he asked, voice rough, not quite fully awake. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Peter assured him. “I’ll groom you again and we can talk about how to fix the problem.” 

Stiles stared at him for a moment, sleep rumpled and more relaxed than Peter had seen in months. Then he collapsed back down to his pillow. 

“You’re weird,” he muttered, and then-

“Thank you, Creeperwolf.” 

Peter smirked, and shut the window behind him. 

[fangbites]

Who: Felix With: Tate ( @sxncerelyme​ ) Verse: TBD​

Felix knew he looked like shit.

The thing was, it had been a long week. And an even longer month. Moving cross country kind of did that, he supposed; and so did constantly juggling both reassuring your clingy older brother that you were fine and forbidding him from moving here after you. Riel meant well, he was just… well. Codependent. They both were. But Riel didn’t really see that as something that needed to be worked on or improved, and Felix- part of him didn’t give a shit, but part of him was just… tired. Mostly, he’d wanted to escape the shadows that lingered over them both. He couldn’t even remember his father, really; Riel could, but to Felix he was just this man with a blurry voice and a soft voice and even softer bloodsoaked hands, telling him not to come out from where he was hiding and then never telling him anything ever again.

Cheers for childhood trauma. 

But to the point, he’d come here to escape the ghosts of his past and all that poetic bullshit. There were very few things he wouldn’t have accepted as a trade for that; somehow, actual ghosts hadn’t really registered on his list of possibilities. 

It was an ancient, condemned building in a sleepy town in Georgia; likely with a family history as gruesome and despicable as his own, and in hindsight it only made sense for it to be haunted up the wazoo. They weren’t particularly malevolent ghosts, though the one that liked to wail out near that old dried up well made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Mostly, they were the ghost equivalent of spited housecats, tearing down curtains, knocking shit off any flat surface they could, making loud noises in the dead of night for no fucking reason and flinging plates everywhere. That last one didn’t have quite the effect he assumed they wanted given that he was still living that post- move paper plate life, but it was still fucking annoying and a waste of his money. Combined with that and the utility bills rocketing because they wouldn’t quit messing with the thermostat or lights or the fucking water, he might have a lot of bloody family inheritance to spend but Christ, he’d be going bankrupt within six months of living there.

So he was here, in Atlanta, biting the bullet and looking for a fix for his problems.

It was an odd feeling, this; despite it being one he was used to. By nature, witches were inclined to seek out a coven, seek out a family to thrive in and nurture magical bonds. But having a lineage that was considered to be the worst of the worst and a black mark on all witchkind sort of put a damper on actually acquiring any of that, not to mention the fact that well, saying he and his brother had a complicated relationship with magic was putting it lightly. It wasn’t like a wolfpack, where anyone could find a way to contribute; if you weren’t adding to the strength of the coven you were detracting from it, and with too many bodies in a coven- that became harder to handle, harder to lead, harder to cohesively concentrate. Best to keep it small but powerful, packing a punch. Needless to say, a witch that couldn’t use magic would fall under the category of detracting from the coven and even if he hadn’t been undesirable on the basis that he was a Tabor he would have been because of the curse.

But it was fine. He’d started a fucking garden, fruit trees and all, and he’d built himself a goddamn chicken coop despite curious, irritating ghost’s interference. He’d made the executive decision that he wasn’t going to care if he never used magic again, he just- he just wanted to exist, at this point. He wanted to be.

‘Wanting to be’ had evolved into ‘wanting to be- without ghosts’, but, whatever. That was why he was here in this little magical shop equivalent of a speakeasy, hoping for a pain-free solution to solving his spirit infestation.

His first impression was that it was busy; little pings zapping at his senses every which way. Magical items in particular had a way of yearning for an owner, calling to a witch if they weren’t otherwise bound; and before the door had even fully closed behind Felix, he knew this place was the real deal. Not some kitschy tourist trap type bullshit. If he’d been anyone else and he’d had the opportunity, he would have loved to browse, would’ve loved to discover what oddities and secrets were scattered about this crowded shop. But he was here on a mission, and just hoping to get through it without any goddamn trouble.

His favored attire had an added bonus of not being anything even remotely threatening. In his opinion, at least. Black and white Adidas slides, a very worn, very comfortable black hoodie with the hood down, black, loose- fitting threadbare sweatpants and prominent, exhausted dark bags below his eyes. He’d made some kind of attempt at finger- combing his hair, but it didn’t look like he’d done anything more than that, just a mess of black strands and brown roots atop his head. Hopefully nothing memorable, but it didn’t really matter. Ideally this was meant to be his only trip here ever, and he’d get to live out his quiet, ghost free, magicless life.

What more could anyone want?

He shuffled over to the counter, pausing to blink foolishly at the pretty man behind it. Oh, what the fuck. Couldn’t it have been some crone with a red box- dye gone wrong and too- long fingernails? Why’d it have to be a gorgeous twenty- something with the softest goddamn eyes Felix had ever seen and a distracting few freckles on his neck and cheek? Felix stared for a moment, suddenly wishing he’d just stayed at home with his ghosts. “...Sorry,” He said eventually, flushing dark and closing his eyes, scrubbing a hand across his face. No, I don’t get out much, what gave that away? Christ. He exhaled, scratched at his cheek with black- painted fingernails, and accepted the fact that there was nothing he could do but press on with what he’d come here for, terrible impression and gay dismay aside.

“What would you recommend for a ghost problem?” He asked, and then paused, rethinking the conversation slightly. Exorcise them, cast them out, et cetera- things that weren’t exactly options for him personally. “Pretend I’m a human, and I’ve got this horde of annoying but old ghosts who haven’t moved on and aren’t interested in communicating any unfulfilled bullshit. What would you tell me to do? I mean, I know coming into a magic shop and asking for non- magical alternative solutions sounds exponentially stupid, but… not a ton of fuckin’ options for where to go with ghost advice around here, either.”

[ubernoxa]

The Token: A GNR FanFic

Chapter 3: You’re Insane

(Masterlist)

Story Summary: Story inspired by the movie She’s the Man. A female Duff is tired of dealing with the bullshit of trying to make it on the strip as a female bassist.

Chapter Summary: Betsie confront Michelle aka Duff about how stupid her plan is. Michelle realizes that keeping up the charade might be harder than she originally thought

Taglist: @smokeandmirrorz

“Are you fucking insane,” I looked up into the bathroom mirror to see Betsie standing behind me. She knew who I was no doubt about it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied before drying my hands.

“Give it a break Michelle, I locked the bathroom door, so it’s just you and me in here. You don’t need to keep up the act,” it was clear that Betsie had seen right through my act, but here was no way I was admitting it.

“Michelle?” I continued my charade hoping she would leave.

“Don’t play dumb bitch, I know your eyes! Don’t forget I’m the one who would do all of your eye makeup when you were apart of Pixie,” she shot back while I remained silent staring her down. Maybe if I don’t talk, she would leave?

“Oh fuck this,” it was in the moment that Betsie jumped towards me and placed her hand on my fake dick.

“Is that a sausage,” I pushed her off of my before he could continue messing with it.

“Well yeah, I’m a guy so I have a dick,” I replied trying to keep it nonchalant. Spoiler, I was failing. I wasn’t ready for someone to lunge at me and grab it.

“Jesus fucking Christ Michelle, I know it’s not real because it’s currently sliding down your leg,” she shouted back. For the first time all night I was glad that the music was loud.

It was there in the bathroom that I admitted my defeat and pulled my pants down to fix my sausage that was currently sitting at my knee.

“Didn’t know you were so religious,” was the only comment I could muster as I fixed myself. There was something wrong with adjust my sausage in front of Betsie, and by something I meant everything.

“Cut the crap, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m dressing as a guy to join a band. After I ‘left’ Pixie six months back I’ve been apart of 5 bands. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of being treated different than any other male bassist ....People don’t take female musicians seriously, you know that. I just don’t understand why they treat me differently. I’m just a musician no different than them.......this was actually Walter’s idea,” by now the two of us were sitting on the countertop talking.

“He seriously recommended you to do this?”

“Why? You don’t think he would recommend it?” I quickly shot back earning a giggle from Betsie.

“I would pray he wouldn’t. He the most sane out of the three of you,” without thinking I let out a quiet snort.

“I like to think I’m pretty sane,” I teased back causing laughter to fill the bathroom.

“What?” I quickly questioned only earning more laughter from Betsie.

“You? Sane? You have a sausage taped to your fucking thigh! Sane people don’t do that,” she gestured towards the sausage.

“He meant it as a joke, but it actually worked. It was the easiest band audition I’ve ever had. We didn’t play music until like two to three hours into it. It’s different you know. Being a boy musician versus being a girl. I feel like I’m actually apart of the band, not just the token girl. They weren’t dicks when I started playing, and we just had fun!” I sent Betsie a warm smile to only receive a frown.

“You know this is wrong..right? This won’t work! I get you’re able to hide your boobs and shit, but they will find out one day. This is going to blow up in your face, and you won’t recover from it. Enjoy it while it lasts, but one day you’re going to slip up. Everything you’ve worked for will disappear, and you will forever be known as the girl who dressed as a guy to get in a band. Guys will hate you because you pretended to be one of them...they’ll probably think it’s weird as fuck. The girls though..we will never forgive you. You’re betraying all of us. You’re sending the message that a girl can’t make it unless she is a guy,” I immediately cut her off.

“I’m showing the guys that I’m just as good, maybe even better than them. I can play the drums, guitar, and bass, but you don’t see ANYONE coming and knocking on my door asking me to join their band. You wanna preach how I’m betraying girls everywhere? You wanna bring up how I’m not ‘loyal’ to the other female musicians on the strip? Take a moment to look in the damn mirror, and think about what you and Pixie did to me when I was forced to leave the group,” before I could continue, it was her turn to interrupt me.

“We didn’t force you...”

“Oh really? Don’t get on that bull shit! You kicked me out and then spread shit about me. Do you know what it’s like when you show up to an audition and everyone thinks you’re a whore? Do you know how differently guys treat you? Pixie destroyed my reputation with the bullshit lies y’all spread. Don’t you dare give me crap about how I’m betraying the girls of the strip. Y’all betrayed me a long time ago,” I shot back. Silence filled the bathroom as neither one of us was going to break eye contact.

“You can’t just throw us all in a group and blame me for what was said about you too!” Before she could continue, I interrupted her again absolutely don’t with her bull shit.

“When you sat quietly and did nothing while they spread those rumors about me, that’s when we stopped being friends. Actions speak louder than words. Your action of doing nothing spoke volumes,” I shot back.

“They would have kicked me out of Pixie, Michelle.”

“Oh shit! They would have kicked you out of the band? Pixie has never done that before! That sounds terrible...so sorry to hear,” I sarcastically replied. I wasn’t bitter, I was pissed.

“I don’t give a damn what you think of me. All I want to do is to play my bass. I want to do what I fucking love, no matter the cost,” I added breaking the silence.

Betsie nodded her head before she headed towards the door. It must have been clear to her that there was no way she could talk any sense into me that would result in me changing my mind. Before she left, she turned to me and asked, “What are you going to do if you actually make it big? You know you can’t keep this charade up forever.”

I didn’t answer. Not out of stubbornness, but because I didn’t have an answer. The truth was that I had no fucking idea.

“Just promise me you won’t forget who Michelle is,” with that final statement she left me alone in the bathroom as I pondered what the fuck just happened.

After carefully splashing some water on my face and trying to calm myself down, I was left with one question. Could I trust Betsie with my secret? As I stared myself down in the mirror, still not used to my own reflection, the answer was yes. Not because I trusted her or knew she would never betray me or some shit like that. The answer was yes because that was the only answer. I had to keep the charade going. I had to keep being Duff.

————————-

I stood in my uncle’s coffee shop sporting a brown wig as I took orders from the next customer.

The wig was rather annoying and created several problems for me during my work shift. The first was that you could tell it was a wig by the fake hairline, so I had to wear a hat at all times. The second propblem was that it was hot as hell under that wig and my head was sweating like no tomorrow. The third was that I could only pull it back in a low lose pony which sadly was the hairstyle I spotted throughout middle school. Also known as the highly debatable worst years of my life, but who know that might soon change. It all depends on if Betsie opens her big fat mouth about me dressing up as Duff.

“Did you do something to your hair Mic? It looks different?” I perked up at my Uncle’s words.

“Just dyed it. I was tired of the old color and Macy offered to do it for free,” in my defense it wasn’t a complete lie, so he shrugged it off and went back to his office to work.

“What did you really do to your hair?” My coworker Derek quizzed once my uncle left.

“Dyed it a color he wouldn’t approve of,” I answered the questions just like I practiced with Macy maybe it wouldn’t be too hard.

“Ohh how very punk rocker of you. The wig looks realistic thought, where’d you get it?”

“Stripper friend of Macy. How’d you know it was fake?”

“I saw you take you hat off to scratch you head. The hairline is a dead giveaway. Don’t worry your secret is safe with me,” he whispered before heading to the back room to do inventory.

I peeked up at the sound of the door creeping open. Great, just what I needed. I watched as Axl and Izzy cautiously walked into the small coffee shop.

I was thrown for a loop as I watched them get in line behind an older woman who was a frequent customer who seemed to be holding her purse a little bit tighter than she was moments ago.

“Be careful of those two boys behind me. I think they’re up to no good,” I smiled at the older woman and promised that I would make sure everything was going to be okay. I looked around the room and like clockwork my uncle offered to make her order. There was no doubt in my mind that he had a crush on her

“Can I help the next customer please?” I put on a fake smile as Axl and Izzy stepped forward.

“Is this a joke?” I crossed my arms as the pair stood in front of me.

“What I’m not aloud coffee?” Axl protested as he seemed determined to keep up the charade.

“Only paying customers are aloud it,” I turned to Izzy before continuing, “What are you here for?”

“Did you dye your hair? It looks different,” I took a deep breath as I nodded my head. There was no way Izzy knew I was wearing a wig.

“Yeah, Macy offered to dye it, so I thought why not. I could use the change. Now cut the small talk, why are you here?”

“We’re looking for Duff, thought you might know where to find him,” Axl admitted after a couple seconds of silence. It was weird seeing him cooperative.

“Yeah, I know where to find him. I live with him. What’s up? You kicking out of the band or some shit?”

“No, he’s one of the best bassists we have had in our band. We have a gig coming up and we wanted to tell him our new practice schedule,” Axl continued before he handed me a piece of paper. I bit my tongue hard at his comment. Interesting on how yesterday he said Michelle was only mediocre.

“Does he have a job?” Izzy’s words pulled my attention from Axl. I didn’t know why, but he was staring me down. I didn’t like it, not one but.

“Yeah, works for Walter’s father. Walter was nice enough to get him a job so he could feed himself,” I was rather proud of how casually I was able to respond with another rehearsed lie.

Izzy remained speechless, but nodded his head. By the way he was staring my down I thought he was trying to look into my soul or some shit like that. Long story short, I felt uncomfortable.

“Will he be able to make these practice times?” Axl asked breaking the awkward tension between Izzy and me.

“From what I’ve heard, he will be working mornings, but I don’t know if that is his entire schedule,” I shrugged back. I was relieved to see that the practices were all in the afternoon which worked perfectly with my work schedule.

“Practice starts tomorrow, so just have him stop by. He knows the address,” Axl and Izzy began to walked towards the door, but before they left Izzy stopped.

My heart sank as he turned around and walked back towards the counter. Luckily I was just cleaning and there wasn’t another customer.

“Do you have a pen and paper?” I raised a brow at his question.

“Yeah,” I calmly replied curious to see what he was up to.

“Don’t worry, it’s just our number so Duff can call us if he can’t make the rehearsal,” Izzy said as he seem to write a lot more than a phone number on the paper.

“See ya,” Izzy said before hurrying to join Axl who was still receiving several glares from customers.

Once they left, I opened the note which caused my heart to sink.

Duff,

Below is our number if you can’t make it to practice.

*insert number here*

- Iz

Also, blonde was a good choice Michelle, brings out the color in your eyes.

Fuck. He knew.

[cherriesradio]

Story I’ve had in my mind for a while that I honestly wanna make a comic with

(This is very simplified and with out any of the big events lol) tw blood mention

So there are three time travelers. None of them know they others are also time travelers, and keep running into each other without knowing it. Over time they all fall in love. Luka, Marshall, and Wilbur.

How Time Travel Works -

If you die in one time you don’t come back.

They don’t quite know how time travelers actually works. They know that they can’t find themselves, that the world spins when they travel, and the inbetween. Which is also where they first meet and find that they are all travelers. (Aka me still trying to figure out how time travel will work)

“The inbetween” is a giant White Castle/mansion. It was empty till Wilbur and Marshell started bringing in little items from their travels that their friends and family’s would feel odd about. It’s where they go after and before they travel to a place, because it gives them a second to process what they’ve done and possibly go back and fix mistakes. Which these himbos never do.

These are the only rules I’ve made about time travel, when I want to I watch movies and dives into different movies take on time travel to see what works.

Luka -

He was born in some timeline. He doenst remember which, but he has a few memories.

This is his motive of traveling. He’s trying to go back to his time, which he can’t find because he has no memory of when he was.

He first time travelled when he was five and has been trying to find his way since he was eight, after being taken care of by a forty-five year old man.

Who he often visits now.

He’s now twenty-one.

All his memories:

Playing in a flower field with who he assumes is his brother, who has the same dirty blond hair as him and freckles. He remembers his brother telling him “Dads gonna be so mad having to get all that muck out of your hair.” Most likely from rolling around in the field.

Having someone with very rough yet gentle hands running there hands through his hair as he watch’s his brother write.

A blurred figure telling him about how it’s going to be cold out that day while putting his long hair up. He somehow remembers the hair tie being black. (That has nothing to do with the plot lol)

He somehow fell on his face and he remembers his father (he assumes) telling him off while wiping off blood from his face.

He has long, dirty blond hair which he usually ties into a ponytail. (He hates when people touch his hair.) He has a small amount of freckles and brown eyes. He has a number of small scars from getting a little to into peoples business while traveling. He’s on the slim side, but has lots of lower body strength from running away from business owners after trying to steal stuff.

He likes trying the foods around different timelines; which lead him to getting food poisoning way more time than he should’ve.

He often felt bad about stealing stuff at first but after bringing a hoodie to 3,000 B.C. that he stole from a target he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt.

He often ends up interacting with the Wilbur more than Marshall, just because Wilburs reaosn for travel makes him go to times similar to his. (Wilbur finds flowers comforting, Luka visits a lot of flower fields)

Cant take a compliment or insult.

He wears lots of different things from different times, casually wears modern clothes the most because their the most comfortable.

He simps real easy

Bi king, more into guys

Will laugh at anything

Total DND nerd and he has a little DND group in the late 2000’s that he makes sure to go to on time

Basically he’s bastard baby and we love him

“Scrawny motherfucker with a cool hairstyle”

Wilbur -

He’s from modern day 2000’s

He’s just trying to run away from his problems ngl

His family’s having so many issues, trying to keep their small diner up and running in COVID while they have to pay for his sisters funeral.

She was only eleven.

He’s a SOFTIE TO THE CORE

He’s a shy guy but if you crack his shell he RANTS SO MUCH ITS ANNOYING

He’s a big fan of mcyt and accidentally mentions it while talking to a poor bread boy in 1675 🥲✋ who turns out to be Luka-

Was the first to suspect that there were more time travelers cause he’s the only one with a brain cell

“Humble” aka hates everything about himself even though he’s the BEST

Give him praise or he will cry

Huge cry baby, might just be me projecting but like jabsnjsbshsja

Gets straight (pan) A’s in school 👌

Has curly brown hair that he dyes all the time and has to use impermanent dye so he can wash it out. He’s fillipino, he’s not really into the culture but loves the food. He’s a little overweight but still healthy.

Has the softest skin in the world like jesus

He wears lots of sweaters/hoodies/ anything bigger because he’s insecure about his weight 🥺 again projecting

This really just went straight from lore/ plot to baby didn’t it-

He plays animal crossing while chilling in the back of a horse drawn carriage in the 17’s

He’s pretty cautious about everything, not wanting to mess up history and all that.

But he’s legit created like fifthteen different time lines-

He’s like 19 the poor baby

Marshell

Marshell “Anger Issuse” Taylor

The reason he travels is because of his sister and brother. They died in 9/11 and worked making food there.

He often visits when the towers fell, thinking in his mind how he could save them. But he won’t risk it.

I’ve worked the least on him

People at his school used to always call him Marshmellow and when I tell you it pissed him the fuck off I MEAN IT

he’s muscular can and will beat you up

Fully capable of murder

Besides being a walking time bomb he’s pretty nice.

Sarcastic comments are his thing

Luka thought his DND alignment would be “lawful evil” at first but legit broke when Marshell told him he though he was a good person in the sweetest tone-

He DEFINITELY fell for the others first

He notices little things, and he has a whole list in his head of little things that Luka and Wilbur do that he loves

He likes the inbetween.

Was held back in fourth grade and called stupid for it.

20

When they all get together romantically the ages are - Luka: 23 Wilbur: 21 Marshell: 22

[softspideys]

Enemies at First Sight (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

summary: when your best friends start dating, you and bucky barnes have no choice but to hang out. there’s only one problem: you hate each other

warnings: none

word count: 4.6k

pairings: bucky barnes x reader

a/n: nothing like a good ol’ fashioned enemies-to-lovers college!au am I right ladies.....this is my first time writing for bucky so I really hope y’all enjoy! :) 

“Remind me again why I agreed to do this?” you said wearily as you shut the door to your Uber and followed Sharon to the bar.

“Because you’re my best friend and you love me?” she said, shooting you a smile over her shoulder. You wrinkled your nose and she sighed. “Because I’m buying your drinks when we go out for the next two weeks?”

“That’s better.”

“Can you at least try to have some fun?” she asked, pulling open the door and allowing you to go inside first. It was only nine o’clock but the place was already packed. This was Georgetown, for God’s sake. Why was everyone in your entire school at this small, shitty bar?

You weren’t usually opposed to going out. You would just rather be doing it elsewhere. But Sharon had met some guy in her Military History class who was apparently so cute and so smart, and he’d asked her out for drinks. They were still in the early stages of getting to know one another, so he’d suggested they could each bring a friend to keep things from becoming awkward. You ended up being Sharon’s pick. Lucky you.

“All I’m saying is this guy better be, like, Leo DeCaprio in Titanic levels of good-looking,” you said, shaking your head. “Some Kappa guys were having a party and I wanted to go to it.”

“Kappa guys are gross,” Sharon said, craning her neck to see over the crowd of people. “And I’m telling you, Steve is like, Leo DeCaprio in Romeo and Juliet levels of good-looking. Seriously. Oh, there they are!”

“I wasn’t talking about Steve,” you said as she began to wave. “I meant his friend. You know, the one I’m actually going to have to hang out with tonight?”

“Oh, be quiet,” Sharon said, flipping her hand. “I’m sure you’re going to get along fine. And if not, it’s just one night. It’s not like you ever have to see each other again.”

You opened your mouth to argue further, but two boys approached you before you could get any words out. They were both tall, although that was pretty much where the similarities ended. One of them reminded you of a Ken doll: he had neatly combed blond hair, eyes the color of your favorite denim jeans, and a million megawatt smile that was born to be on infomercials, selling people ThighMasters and Snuggies at three in the morning. He was picture-perfect in a white t-shirt that stretched over a muscular chest, jeans, and a brown leather jacket.

His friend, however, was a little leaner, more casual in just a black t-shirt and jeans. His had a sharp jawline, tousled dark hair, and blue eyes, but not like the first guy’s: they were a bright, icy blue that reminded you of a frozen pond on a winter’s day. There was something darker and more elegant about him, like he should’ve been born an aristocrat instead of a college student.

“Hi there,” the blond guy said to you, flashing you that charming, All-American grin and offering his hand. “You must be Sharon’s friend.”

“Y/N,” you said, shaking it. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Steve,” he said before he gestured to his companion. “This is my friend Bucky.” The other boy nodded to you, a bored expression on his face.

“Bucket?” you said, scrunching your eyebrows together. The bar was loud, and it was hard to hear Steve’s low voice over the din. “That’s your name?”

He fixed you with a glare that was nothing short of hostile. “It’s Bucky,” he said. He didn’t say it loudly, but you heard him clearly that time. He didn’t elaborate, either.

“Oh,” you said, nodding slowly. “Alright.” An awkward silence followed.

“Should we get drinks?” Steve asked, clapping his hands. “First round’s on us, right, Buck?” You and Sharon gave them your orders and went to go find a table to sit at. As soon as they were out of earshot, you turned on her.

“What the fuck was that? What kind of name is Bucket?”

“It’s Bucky,” Sharon corrected, almost pleadingly. “Come on, you just met him. He can’t be that bad; he’s Steve’s best friend!”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one stuck with him!”

“Look, would you rather be here or at that noisy, smelly, gross Kappa house with all those creepy guys?” she challenged you.

You pretended to think for a second. “Kappa house, easily.” Sharon shot you a look as Steve and Bucky came back with your drinks, sliding into the booth across from you.

“So,” Steve said, “what are you studying?” You told him, and he nodded appreciatively. “Nice. I’m double majoring in History and Criminal Justice.”

“Cool.” In an effort to be inclusive, you asked Bucky, “What about you?”

“Foreign Language and Literature, minoring in Russian,” he said flatly. You’d never met anyone studying either of those, but Bucky had a look on his face that made it pretty clear he didn’t want to be asked any questions about it.

The night dragged on like that. After about fifteen minutes of painful group conversation, Sharon and Steve opted for leaning in closer to each other, talking and giggling in low voices. You were used to playing wingwoman for your friends and had gone on double dates before, but none of them had ever been this unfriendly. Bucky seemed to have zero interest in you, preferring to check his phone over talking to you.

“Hey,” Sharon said to you after what felt like hours. “Steve knows the bouncer at that really nice bar two blocks up. We’re going to head over there, do you wanna come?”

“Um,” you said, standing up. “No, that’s okay. I’m kinda tired, I think I’m just gonna go home.”

“Bucky will walk you,” Steve jumped in. “Right?” Bucky looked like he’d rather have his teeth pulled than do that, but he nodded anyway. You weren’t happy about it either, but forced a smile.

As Sharon hugged you good-bye, she whispered in your ear, “Thanks for being a good sport. And look: now you never have to see him again.”

You rolled your eyes. “Be safe, okay? Fill me in on everything tomorrow morning.” She nodded and you waved to Steve before following Bucky out the door.

The two of you walked in silence for a while before he said, “Look, you seem nice—”

“Gee, thanks.”

“—but I’m just not that interested in dating right now.”

“Wow, I never would’ve figured that out for myself,” you said sarcastically, shaking your head in disgust.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve barely said two words to me all night and you look like someone just killed your grandma. I don’t see how I could’ve gotten any impression other than that you don’t like me.”

He shot you another icy glare. “It’s nothing personal. I just didn’t feel like coming out tonight.”

“So why did you?”

“Steve’s my best friend.”

“He doesn’t have other friends? Preferably nicer ones?”

“He does,” Bucky said defensively. “But he asked me to come.”

“Okay, so why you?” you asked. “Aside from your obvious charming and friendly nature, of course.”

Bucky was silent for a second. “He thought it might cheer me up,” he said at last, like he was choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been going through some . . . stuff . . . recently and I haven’t really been in the mood to see anyone.”

“Stuff?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows. “What, did you just get dumped or something?” It was a random guess, but he didn’t answer, staring at his feet as you walked. You snorted. “Oh my God, you did get dumped! And now you’re using your heartbreak as an excuse to just be a jerk. This is rich.”

“You know what?” Bucky said, stopping abruptly. “I’m thinking that you know your own way home. You don’t need me to walk you.”

“No, I certainly don’t,” you said, continuing down the sidewalk. “Thanks for nothing, Bucket.”

“It’s Bucky!” he shouted at your back. You smirked, shaking your head. Overall it had been a shitty night, but you were comforted by the fact that you would never have to see or interact with this stupid Bucky guy ever again.

Although you did have to admit he was handsome. You’d always been a sucker for blue eyes anyway. But it didn’t matter. “Not a chance,” you told yourself, chuckling a little at the absurdity of the idea. “Not a chance in hell.”

*****

Sharon practically floated through the door of your apartment the next morning; apparently she and Steve stayed out all night talking and walking through the streets of D.C. together, and they’d made plans to see each other again. One date turned into two, which turned into three, which turned into many, many more.

You were happy for her, of course. Steve seemed like a genuinely nice guy, and it was clear he was head-over-heels for Sharon (honestly, who wouldn’t be?). You didn’t mind when he stayed over at your apartment, or when she picked hanging out with him over plans with you. No, your biggest issue was still with Steve’s best friend, that asshole Bucky Barnes.

You’d learned more about him through Sharon: apparently they’d known each other since they were kids, growing up in Brooklyn together. Before he hit puberty, Steve had been (much to your amusement) small and scrawny, a favorite target among the bullies at their school. Bucky had always been the one to defend him.

Sharon also said Steve didn’t like to talk about Bucky’s ex-girlfriend, since apparently it hadn’t been the most amicable of breakups. All she’d managed to squeeze out of him was a name: Natasha Romanoff.

Some quick social media stalking revealed a couple things: she was a Pre-Law major with a minor in Russian, which was probably how the two of them had met. She used to be a ballet dancer and had spent time training in Volgograd. She’d done some modeling in Tokyo last summer. She was also, quite honestly, the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen.

“Holy shit,” you said, passing your phone to Sharon so she could scroll through Natasha’s Instagram. “Look at her hair. Do you think she dyes it?” Though the style changed throughout the photos, the color always remained a rich, dark red.

“Wow,” Sharon commented, taking a swig from the bottle of wine you were sharing. “She’s gorgeous. No wonder Bucky’s so grumpy all the time; I would be too if I got dumped by her.”

You rolled your eyes. “Being dumped by a hot girl is no excuse to be an asshole for as long as he has.” You’d been forced to hang out with Bucky several more times since your first disastrous meeting, and not much had changed between the two of you.

The next evening, you pulled up to the curb outside Bucky and Steve’s small, shitty off-campus house that they shared with three of their friends: an Aerospace & Bio-Mechanical Engineer major named Tony Stark, a Mechanical Engineering major named Sam Wilson, and an Exercise Science major named Clint Barton. You were there to get Sharon, but were surprised to see Bucky sitting on the front steps, reading a book. He glanced up at the sound of your car and made eye contact with you through the window.

Against your better judgment, you rolled it down. “Hey, Bucket.”

He scowled. “It’s Bucky. What are you doing here?”

“I’m picking up Sharon,” you said. “Why are you sitting outside?” It was nice out, but it was also ten o’clock at night. The only light he was getting was from the crappy one above him on the porch.

“Forgot my key,” he said. “Tony’s with Pepper, Sam and Clint are at the gym, and Steve and Sharon are . . . occupied.”

“Ah,” you said uncomfortably. Clearly you had some time to kill, so you cut the engine and unbuckled your seatbelt. “What are you reading?”

“Crime and Punishment,” he said. “For my Russian Lit class.”

“Dostoevsky,” you said, nodding. “Cool.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You know him?”

“Uh, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugged. “Just didn’t know you were that smart, is all.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, feeling a fresh wave of hatred for him wash over you. “Just because I’m not, what, Pre-Law and Russian, that means I’m not smart?” You didn’t mean to say Natasha’s studies specifically; somehow they just slipped out.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “No, it’s because—wait.” He blinked. “How did you know that?”

“Know what?”

“Natasha’s majors,” he said, forcing the name out. “How’d you know that? How do you know her? Have you been stalking me or something?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, although your face was burning at being caught. “Sharon told me. I have no interest in you or anything you do, don’t worry.” Desperate to end the conversation, you laid on the horn, hoping Steve and Sharon would hear it and speed up the process.

“Yeah? I’m glad we’re on the same page, then,” Bucky snapped. “So do me a favor and stay out of my business.” Sharon finally came out, looking apologetic. Steve was behind her, holding the door open so Bucky could come inside. He got to his feet and stalked past him.

“You’ve been here for, like, a minute,” Sharon said as she got into the passenger seat. “How are you guys already fighting?” Steve waved half-heartedly as you drove away.

“He’s a douchebag, that’s how,” you said, ignoring the voice in the back of your head that said a handsome one, though.

*****

You met Natasha Romanoff for the first time at Bruce Banner’s birthday party. Originally, you weren’t even planning on going. Sharon and Steve had been dating for several months now, and you got along with their friend group just fine (aside from a certain blue-eyed jerk), but you didn’t really care to go to a party full of them.

That all changed when Sharon told you that Bruce, their constantly-stressed Physics major friend whom the party was for, was now dating Natasha, Bucky’s ex-girlfriend. Now you were interested. A chance to see Bucky uncomfortable? What could be better?

You were in the kitchen, fixing yourself a drink. Sharon was in the next room, cheering on Steve and Sam as they played a heated game of beer pong against Tony and their other friend Thor, a friendly and competitive frat boy type who was also Bruce’s roommate.

Suddenly, a voice behind you said, “Hey!” You turned and saw the birthday boy himself walking in, smiling at you. There was a girl standing behind him, and of course you recognized her immediately. The infamous Natasha.

“Hi,” you said, focusing on Bruce as he reached forward to hug you. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks for coming! I’m so glad you decided to show up.”

“Yeah, of course,” you said. “Wouldn’t miss it.” An awkward silence followed. You were grateful to be holding a drink, since it gave you something to do with your hands.

Bruce glanced at the girl, and then back at you. “Hey, you haven’t met Nat, have you?”

“No, I haven’t,” you said, because technically it was true. Meeting someone in person was very different from stalking their social media. “Hi, I’m Y/N. I’m Sharon’s friend.”

“Hi,” Natasha said, giving you a small half-smile. She was even more perfect up close, and you found yourself trying to picture her and Bucky together. The thought of it made you a little uncomfortable, although you weren’t sure why. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

“You said you were Sharon’s friend?” You nodded. “So you must know James.”

“James?” you repeated, racking your brain to try and think of who James could possibly be. You knew pretty much everybody in Steve’s friend group now, thanks to Sharon constantly forcing you to hang out with them. But you’d never met anyone named James. “No, I don’t think so.”

Bruce laughed, flicking Nat lightly on the arm. “What?” she said, although her half-smile grew into a bigger one as she looked at him.

You raised your eyebrows, confused. Clearly this was some inside joke you weren’t privy to. Bruce shook his head at you, still chuckling. “James—that’s Bucky’s real name.”

“Bucky’s real name is James?” you repeated in disbelief. You honestly had never thought about him having an actual name, though it obviously made sense. He was always just . . . Bucky. Just that word brought the image of him to your brain, rolling his eyes.  

“Yeah. James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Oh my God,” you said, snorting. “That’s completely ridiculous. James Buchanan wasn’t even a good president.”

“I always liked it,” Natasha said with a small shrug. “And where is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him at all since we got here.”

“He should be here somewhere,” Bruce said. “This is his house, after all.”

Now that you were thinking about him, you realized that you’d only seen Bucky once so far tonight, when you first walked in. The two of you had locked eyes across the room and scowled at each other. Bruce and Natasha had arrived not long after, and then he’d simply disappeared.

It wasn’t your problem. For God’s sake, you couldn’t stand the guy. And yet you still went looking for him. You didn’t bother asking Steve or Sharon where he was, knowing they’d just jump to conclusions, so you wandered throughout the house, peeking into random rooms and hoping you wouldn’t walk in on anyone having sex.

At last, you opened the door to the bathroom and found Bucky sitting on the edge of the bathtub, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. He glanced up when you walked in, but said nothing.

“Hey, Bucket.”

“It’s Bucky,” he corrected you, like always, but he sounded tired this time.

“Or maybe you prefer James?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. Looking at him, though, you privately wondered if maybe you preferred it. James Buchanan Barnes. It was too stuffy, too old-fashioned for someone like him, but at the same time . . . it fit.

His gaze snapped to you quickly, his expression unreadable. For some reason it made your stomach jump. “I guess you met Natasha,” he said. He didn’t phrase it like a question.

“What makes you say that?”

“She’s the only one aside from my mom and my grandma who calls me James,” he said. “Always said Bucky was the name of a cartoon beaver, not a real person.”

That struck you as kind of harsh, but you didn’t say so. “James is okay,” you said with a shrug. “But I think I like Bucket better.” He cracked a smile, one of the rare ones you were able to elicit from him, shaking his head. “Why are you hiding in here, anyway? You’re supposed to be out having a good time.”

“Like you care.”

“Oddly enough, I do,” you said wryly. “It’s no fun if I’m not the one making you miserable.”

Bucky snorted. He was silent for a few seconds, and then he said abruptly, “It’s just—hard to be out there, I guess. Nat and I dated for two years, but we were friends before that. I know—knew—everything about her. And now it’s . . . not like that anymore.”

“It must be weird,” you said cautiously. “To see her and Bruce together.”

“That was why she broke up with me. Did you know that?” You shook your head. “Yeah. We’ve all been friends since like, freshman year, but I guess last semester was when they got close. And then she dumped me, and next thing I knew they were dating.” He exhaled. “I never saw it coming.”

“That really sucks,” you said. “I’m sorry.” And surprisingly, you meant it.

“Yeah,” was all Bucky said. “I don’t know. I want her to be happy. I thought I made her happy. But if it’s being with Banner that does it, then . . . that’s cool, I guess. Because she’s a great person, you know?”

You nodded. Even though she’d broken Bucky’s heart, you had to respect her for breaking up with him properly instead of just cheating. And Natasha had seemed funny and friendly when you met her. You just couldn’t hate her.

“You deserve to be happy too,” you said quietly. Bucky looked up at you, and for once, there was no irritation or malice in his gaze. He had a thoughtful expression on his face, and it made your stomach flip again. Butterflies? You didn’t think you could handle getting butterflies.

“I guess so,” he said finally. “I’m getting there.” You held his eyes for a few seconds until he shook his head a little, like he was snapping himself out of a trance. “I don’t even know why I told you all that.” He got to his feet and moved past you, opening the bathroom door. “You don’t even like me.”

But as you watched him successfully beat Steve in a game of flip cup, argue good-naturedly with Tony over the future of nanotechnology, and cordially say hello to Bruce and Nat, you wondered if maybe he was wrong.

Maybe you did like Bucky. Maybe all of the arguing was just to keep things interesting, and maybe the only thing you wanted to do right now was go up to him and kiss him right on his stupid mouth.

Oh no. There was only one solution to this: you went back into the kitchen and refilled your drink.

When you woke up the next morning with a terrible hangover, you rolled over to face Sharon, who always crawled into your bed and snuggled with you when she was drunk. “Sharon. Hey.” She groaned. “Wake up.”

“What?” she mumbled, her face half-smushed into the pillow.

“I think I like Bucky.”

There was a pause. You waited for her to be surprised at this revelation, or offer you some advice that only a best friend could. Instead, she opened her eyes and squinted at you, looking utterly disgusted.

“Yeah. No shit.”

*****

“You came to this party with Rumlow?”

You turned around and saw Bucky Barnes of all people standing in the doorway, staring at you.

It had been a strange couple of weeks. After Bruce’s birthday party, you came to the unfortunate conclusion that you had feelings for Bucky Barnes. It was a particularly hard pill to swallow, since a) the two of you couldn’t go five minutes without fighting, and b) he would never in a million years like you back.

You tried to act normal whenever you were around him, but soon you found that just being near him made your heart beat faster than normal. Suddenly it was hard to even form coherent thoughts, much less speak. So, avoidance it was.

You’d sworn Sharon to secrecy, forbidding her to even tell Steve, which she wasn’t happy about. She was convinced the two of them would be able to work some matchmaking magic, but you knew better. Bucky was better suited for girls like Natasha, who were interesting and mysterious and fun. You were just an occasionally annoying presence, a friend of his best friend’s girlfriend. Nothing else.

If Bucky noticed you weren’t around as much, he never said anything. In fact, the two of you didn’t speak at all. Until tonight, at a party thrown by your friends Scott and Hope. You’d spent most of the night successfully avoiding him, but made the mistake of stepping out onto the empty balcony to get some air. Now he had you cornered.

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Theoretically, yeah, I did.”

“So you’re aware that he’s hooking up with some random girl in there?” Bucky asked, almost accusingly.

Brock Rumlow was, by all accounts, a scumbag. Sharon was always telling you how much Steve hated him. But he’d asked you to go to the party with him and you’d do anything to not look like a pathetic, pining loser. Except, of course, now you did, because Rumlow had ditched you to sleep with someone else.

You knew you should care, or at least pretend that you did, but you couldn’t find it in yourself. So you just shrugged, turning back to look over the balcony at all the drunk people stumbling and laughing through the streets.

There was silence, and you thought maybe he’d gone back inside. But suddenly he was right next to you. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah. You’ve been, like, weird lately.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, annoyed.

“Just—I don’t know. It feels like you’re avoiding me or something. Ever since Banner’s party.”

You finally turned to look at him head-on and immediately wished you hadn’t. You’d forgotten how beautiful he was, how wonderfully messy his hair was as it fell across his forehead, how flushed his cheeks were from the cold, how bright his eyes were. You had to force your brain to start working again.

“Isn’t that what you want?” you said after a second.

To your surprise, he let out a long sigh. “I thought it was,” he said. “But now I’m not sure.”

“Sorry, wait, what?” you said, holding up a hand, acutely aware of your heart starting to pound. “What does that mean?”

“You just—you drive me insane, okay?” Bucky said. “Like, you pissed me off the first night we met and you fight with me about literally every single thing and you’re so freaking stubborn—”

“Is there a point to this? Or are you just going to keep insulting me?” you interrupted.

“I’m not done!” Bucky said, sounding frustrated. “See, this is what I mean! You’re always just around, and you always seem to like everyone but me and—and then all of a sudden you stopped coming over, or you only come over when I’m not there, and now you’re here with Rumlow and you—you make me feel weird.”

“Weird?” you repeated.

“Yeah. Like—like my stomach is fluttering or something.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t know.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you like me?” you said, feeling like the wind had just gotten knocked out of you. There was just no way that was what he meant. It just couldn’t be.

“I . . . yeah,” Bucky said quietly, exhaling. “I think I am.”

For a second the two of you just stared at each other. You searched his face, looking for any sign of him joking, but couldn’t find it. His eyes never left yours, looking back at you unflinchingly. You swallowed. This was real. This was actually real.

“I think,” you said finally, “you should kiss me.”

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice. He slid over, leaning in to crash his lips against yours. You fisted one hand in his shirt while he cupped your cheek, pressing closer still. Everything else seemed to stop, and you didn’t care that it was freezing out, or that your lips were slightly chapped, or that Steve and Sharon were never going to let you hear the end of this. You were kissing Bucky after all these long months of so desperately wanting to.

And God, he was good at it, kissing you so deeply and thoroughly it made your knees feel a little weak. His warm hands ran down your torso, slipping beneath your jacket and shirt and rubbing the skin there. Part of you couldn’t help but be annoyed at the fact that you’d known Bucky for about six months now and had only just gotten around to kissing him now.

At last, he placed one more soft kiss on your lips before pulling away, his eyes sparkling in a way that you’d never seen before. He looked . . . happy. Really, genuinely happy. I did that, you thought to yourself, almost in wonder.

“Do you wanna get outta here?” Bucky asked, gesturing to everything around you. “I know it’s a little overdue, but maybe I can walk you home now.”

You laughed and nodded. “Yeah. That sounds great.” He held out his hand and you took it, liking the way your fingers fit between his. “Let’s go, Bucket.”

“It’s Bucky,” he corrected you, but he was smiling.

[unusualbill]

You, Me, and a Birdie - Prologue

Roman looks back as the boys move forward 

mostly fluff, some angst. pre-established relationship

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, a domestic spat

taglist: @elisabethwise @svenyves @xkdouchebag @upirs-and-wolves

Roman's fingers ghosted over a patch of faded wallpaper, the shell of a memory that once hung in a horribly kitschy frame. He traced along the god awful floral pattern, a mess of teal and brown, faded from decades of wear, biting back a tearful smile. Staring at the now empty wall, once covered in photographs and faded memories, it hit him. This would be the last time he could ever call this home.

"Roman?" Peter called from the doorway, final moving box in arm "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," Roman replied, his voice breaking "Yeah, just give me a minute." 

"Aw, I thought you hated this old dump." the wolf teased, shifting his weight to get a better hold on the cardboard box.

"I do, it's disgusting..." He gestured to the living room wall where a collection chalkware children once stood proudly on the shelf.

"But?" Peter coaxed 

"But this is where we lived when we got married man, that first night after our honeymoon," Roman laughed if only to fight back the tears "...This is our first house, man, our first home." 

He wiped the tears from his eyes, smiling at his husband, and the memories they made together. 

"Just give me five minutes alright?"

Peter nodded, "I'll go start the truck." 

As Peter headed out to the U-haul, Roman turned back to the vacant trailer. It felt so lifeless with all of the decorations gone. The collection of mugs Peter still had from his travels, novelty signs that proclaimed “This house is a home”, The porcelain cats that he hated so much

“This place was bad enough to start with, do we really need to add to it?”

Peter finished arranging a set of ceramic cats, bought specifically to annoy his husband. 

“Aww Romie, don’t you like Mayor Meow? I bought him just for you ya know.” 

Roman rolled his eyes, attempting to hide a smile.

“Call me Romie again and it’s over.” He said, putting his arms around his husband’s neck, their lips inches apart.

Peter lifted the porcelain pussycat to Roman’s cheek, speaking through it in an unnaturally cutesy voice.

“You don’t like me Romie? Don’t you think I’m purr-fect?” 

Roman pulled his husband into a deep kiss, guiding his hand back down to the dresser and making him release the figurine.

“I want a divorce...” he mumbled

“Good luck getting rid of me now Godfrey.”

As he started to leave, his eyes gravitated towards a hole in the wall, left there from their first big fight, along with the beer stain on the carpet.  

“What the fuck is this?” Roman yelled, throwing a small cardboard box at his husband. 

“Your hair dye.” Peter said flatly, picking it up and handing it back to him. “Or is it one shade too dark for his highness?”

“This isn’t the one I get and you know it.” Roman tossed the box aside, shunning it like a child during a tantrum

“Yeah, well the one you get costs three hundred dollars, and in case you haven’t noticed, Godfrey, we live in a trailer.”

“Well whose fault was that? I didn’t ask to live in this dump. We could have lived somewhere decent. But no, apparently I’m too immature for that huh”

“Yeah? Where else would we go? A mansion?” Peter spat “You knew before I married you that I wasn’t going to live in some overpriced glorified box” 

Roman paced the floor, his hands curling into fists at his sides. 

“What’s so wrong with living in a nice place? Why is that so bad to you? Why are you so hellbent on living in a shithole like this?”

Peter’s tightened his grip on a now half empty beer bottle. Shithole? Their home was a shithole? 

“You don’t get it. You’ll never get it” the wolf hissed “The biggest struggle you’ve ever had was deciding which fucking designer shampoo to buy. And I’m not gonna just sit here and let you waste our money on gold dipped diamond studded who gives a fuck while there are people on the streets, my family, who are gonna freeze to death tonight.” 

“Our money?” Roman asked, never one to admit he’s in the wrong “You mean my money?” 

“You want it to be just your money?” Peter removed his wedding ring, an old family heirloom, and threw it in Roman’s direction, hitting the wall mere inches from his husband’s head “There. It’s just your money” 

Roman tightened his fist before turning and slamming it into the wall beside him, rage coursing through his body.

How dare he. Does he think he can just get up and leave? Abandon him again?

Feeling something crack, he released, unsure if it was bone or dry rotted wood. Carefully grasping his knuckles he turned, watching as Peter hastily packed his clothes into an old duffel bag he kept under the bed for this very occasion. 

“Peter wait-” Roman started, interrupted by a beer bottle crashing into the wall behind him. 

“Fuck off Godfrey!” the wolf growled

“So you’re just gonna leave me? Over this?”  Roman gestured to the previously forgotten box of hair dye, a sharp pain shooting through his fingers. He drew in a sharp breath, wincing as he bit his tongue to keep from wailing.

“Don’t pretend this is only about the hair dye-” Peter’s voice softened as he eyed Roman’s trembling hand “Are you okay?”

Roman shrugged it off, hiding his injured hand behind his back

“I’m fine…” 

“Let me see it.” Peter insisted 

Roman extended his hand out to the wolf, flinching as he touched it.

Peter slowly bent Roman’s index finger, causing him to cry out. 

“I think you broke it,” Peter assessed “Sit on the bed, I’ll grab the first aid kit.” 

Roman hesitantly sat on the broken mattress, weary of Peter’s sudden shift in tone. He absentmindedly picked at the embroidery of the faded quilt beneath him.

“How many did you hurt?” Peter asked upon returning

Roman flexed his fingers, regretting it almost instantly.

“All of them.”

Peter shook his head, chuckling as he started on Roman’s splint

“You fucking idiot.”

As he made his way through the trailer, moving gradually from room to room, surrounded by the memories they’d created there, it all came flooding back to him.

“I Don’t see why we have to live in this dump” Roman huffed, setting down a box marked ‘kitchen’.

“It’s because someone needs to learn financial responsibility.” Peter teased “Remember Vegas?”

Roman rolled his eyes at the mention of their wedding night .

“Besides, this place isn’t all that bad, it just needs a little love and care.”

The Godfrey boy ran his finger across the counter, lifting the dust that resided there.

“Maybe a little dusting…”

“...Right.”

Roman entered the kitchen, giving it one last check for anything they might have missed, eyeing the jagged edge of the counter.

“I leave for five minutes and you’ve already destroyed the kitchen?”

Roman sat on the floor, a hunk of formica in his hand. 

The ground was scattered with pieces of the crumbled counter. What remained of the counter was covered in what appeared to be a thick black tar, oozing from a pot on the stove.

“Oh, not ‘Are you okay Roman?’ or ‘Is that blood on your sweater Roman?’ just ‘You’ve already destroyed the kitchen?’ Nice to know I’m loved.” 

Peter eyed the small laceration on his husband’s forehead, and then the piece of the counter in his hand.

“How did this even happen?” he asked, “What were you even trying to do?”

Roman mumbled something as he stared at the floor.

Peter’s face softened as he lowered to his knees.

“What were you trying to do baby?”

“I was trying to cook you dinner...” Roman said, no louder than a whisper “You’ve been so stressed trying to get everything else done that I thought I’d help, but I fucked it up.” He buried his head in his hands “I fucked it all up.”

Peter started to console him, hand hovering over his husband’s back.

“Hey, hey it’s alright-” Roman cut him off

“Why are you still with me?” 

“What?” 

“I always fuck everything up, why are you even still with me?” Roman was mere moments away from tears.

“Baby I-” 

Peter fell to his knees, wrapping his lover in a careful hug. He caressed his back,quietly shushing him. 

“I’m still with you because I love you, stupid.” He grinned, gently wiping away Roman’s tears with the pads of his thumbs “C’mon, let’s get that cut cleaned up.”

“What about the mess?” Roman sniffled

Peter eyed the broken counter and still bubbling pot of what might have once been beef stew. He shrugged it off. 

“We can fix that later, right now I’m worried about you alright?”

“Roman?” Peter called, bringing Roman back into reality “C’mon, car’s running.”

He made his way into where Roman was lamenting.

“I know, it’s hard to let go.” 

Roman hadn’t realized he’d been crying.

“Old memories are hard to let go.” Peter took his hand  “So c’mon, let’s go make some new ones.” 

[readwritevibe]

Maas University Chapter 6

See Chapter 1 for summary :)

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6

It wasn’t until Saturday evening, after a week of classes where almost no work was assigned or done, that Bryce saw all of her roommates together in their room again. The walk to their dorm from the library had taken her all of seven minutes, not a long stretch of time at all, and yet she found her shoulders sagging in relief as the cool breeze of the air conditioning brushed against the bare skin of her shoulders and neck. She listened as the dorm door slammed behind her, dropping her keys and purse at the kitchen table as she stopped to survey her roommates, who were all sitting in the living space. Aelin was on the couch, her head tipped back over the top and her eyes closed, a Microsoft word document still opened on the laptop that sat on the coffee table in front of her. Feyre was frowning at something on her tablet, her fidgeting with the apple pen in her hands her only movement. Across from her, Danika was sprawled over the entire chair, her legs dangling over the armrest as she typed something into her phone at a rapid speed. Bryce was almost surprised to see that she was out and about, given how much Danika had had to drink last night. Then again, Bryce had almost gone shot-for-shot with her, and was still able to wake up early that Saturday morning, going for a run and then hitting the books in the library. When she had last left their dorm earlier that afternoon, though, Danika had still been asleep.

Aelin rubbed her eyes, mumbling, «Oh good, you’re back.» The blonde sat up, stretching her arms over her head and cracking her back before turning to look at Bryce. «We have plans tonight!»

Feyre looked up from her tablet, narrowing her eyes at Aelin. At the same time, Danika raised her eyebrows, the only indication that she was paying attention to the conversation, given that her eyes were still intently focused on her phone. 

«We do?» Bryce shifted her weight to her right leg, placing her hands on her hips.

«Yes,» was Aelin’s answer as she closed her laptop. «We haven’t done anything as roommates in a week, and all of the student organizations are hosting a big fair tonight. We’ll go together.» The certainty in Aelin’s voice shook Bryce to her core. It was if her roommate was commanding her to accompany her tonight, as if she had no option to say no. Bryce couldn’t decide whether she respected her roommate’s confidence or resented the way she insisted on being in control.

Luckily, it was Danika who responded. «Well, it’s not my fault that you two were off galavanting with boys last night, leaving me and Bryce to go clubbing without you.» She gave pointed looks to both Feyre and Aelin, her gaze following the fingers she pointed at them as well. The former didn’t even seem to notice, having gone back to frowning at her tablet, her apple pen now tucked behind her ear.

Aelin, however, bristled. «I would hardly call shelving books for five hours, after running ten miles, ‘galavanting with a boy.’» Aelin threw up air quotes around the phrase as she rolled her eyes, earning a snort from Danika. 

«Why go to this fair anyway?» Danika finally lifted her gaze from her phone, looking at Aelin. «How good can it be if it’s school run?»

«Two things,» Aelin responded without hesitation. «One, there’s free food, and two, there’s going to be cute guys barbecuing the free food.»

Laughing, Bryce moved her gaze from Aelin to Danika. «She’s got you pegged.» 

Danika narrowed her eyes at Bryce, even as Aelin added, «Plus, if we flirt with the right people, we can snag an invite to the after party.» She turned her head slightly to the right, fixing her turquoise eyes on Feyre. «And Feyre’s boy, Tamlin, is going to be there.»

The mention of Tamlin broke Feyre’s focus from her tablet, which she now placed in her lap, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks as she looked up at Aelin. «I’d hardly call him mine.»

«Oh, please,» Aelin snorted as she rolled her eyes, «I saw you crawling into bed this morning as I was waking up.»

Simultaneously, Danika’s eyes went wide and Feyre’s blush deepened. The former scrambled into a seated position, bracing her forearms on her thighs as she leaned forward. Bryce narrowed her eyes, recalling the message Ruhn had sent her almost a week ago now. «I wouldn’t get mixed up with him, if I were you,» he had written. «I haven’t heard of him doing anything bad himself, necessarily, but from what I’ve heard, his family has done some pretty fucked up shit, and he keeps some interesting company.» Bryce had been tempted to press her brother for more details, but had ultimately decided against it, simply thanking him in reply, and ignoring his follow-up message asking her if she wanted to meet up at some point. She had decided that that particular conversation could be saved for a later date.

«You’ve done the walk of shame already?» The grin that was slowly spreading across Danika’s face was almost feral.

«No,» Feyre snapped, wincing at the sound of her own voice only moments after the word left her mouth. Then, «Not really.» The second reply sounded more like a question than an answer. «We went back to his room after going to the botanical gardens, and we talked for a while, and I fell asleep. We didn’t do anything.» 

Danika leaned back in her chair, shrugging. «I mean, no judgement if you did. I’m honestly kind of impressed.»

Bryce chewed on her lip and wondered if Danika would be as impressed if she knew what Ruhn had told her about Tamlin. Not that it was something Bryce would ever bring up in front of her roommate, though. That would raise too many questions, mostly regarding how Bryce and Ruhn knew each other. While Aelin and Feyre, having grown up in other states, most likely wouldn’t have the slightest clue who Ruhn was, or more importantly, who Bryce’s biological father was, Danika likely would. Especially since she had grown up in Lunathion. And since Bryce’s father had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with her, well…some secrets were better left unsaid, she had decided. 

«So, are you in?» While Aelin had phrased her words as a question, it certainly felt more like a threat to Bryce.

«Yeah, sure,» Bryce answered with a shrug. She supposed that if nothing else, scoping out what student organizations existed could be useful. There was a dance group that Juniper had mentioned to her when they had run into each other outside one of the clubs off campus the night before that she wanted to check out, and her father’s reminder to keep her self-defense skills sharp also ran through her head. «What time does it start?»

«Six o’clock!»

Bryce clicked the power button on her phone, the time flashing in big white font on her lock screen. «Gods above, Aelin, that’s in ten minutes!» She barely registered Feyre quickly darting across the room and into her bedroom as she looked at Aelin, who was grinning like mad.

Slowly moving towards her bedroom as well, she drawled, «We’ll just have to be fashionably late then.»

Bryce only rolled her eyes as Danika walked up to her, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her into their own room. For someone who appeared to be fairly bony, she sure had a vice-like grip. The blonde kicked the door closed behind her with her foot before turning her eyes to look at Bryce.

As she attempted to pull free of Danika’s grip, Bryce asked, «What’s up?»

«I have a plan to piss off Sabine tonight, and it doesn’t involve a frat party. Well, at least not immediately.» Danika’s voice had dropped to a whisper, her eyes darting towards the closed door. «I need you to help me.»

Bryce narrowed her eyes and angled her head slightly towards her right, only half meeting her roommate’s gaze. «What is it?»

«I want to dye my hair.»

Bryce blinked, a laugh bubbling in her throat. «That’s it?» She shook her head and smiled as she continued, «From the way your were whispering, I thought you were going to ask me to rob a bank with you.»

«No, that’s my plan for Tuesday night,» Danika retorted with an eye roll. «The thing is, Sabine is friends with a lot of higher-ups at the University, and if any of them see me buying dye, it’ll get back to her.»

«So you need me to buy the dye for you.» It wasn’t a question. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Bryce was able to remove her hand from Danika’s grasp, and walked over to her desk, beginning to move her wallet and keys into a smaller black purse. «I can go to CVS after the fair tonight.»

Bryce could’ve sworn that Danika’s eyes softened a bit, but her tone remained as upbeat and carefree as it usually was. «Perfect! We can reconvene in Connor’s room afterwards!» With that, she strode across the room and opened the door, smiling as she glanced back at Bryce and added, «Thanks.»

«No problem.» Bryce shook her head and followed Danika into the main room, where Feyre and Aelin were already waiting for them. She registered the fast speech of the other girls, but didn’t process a word they were saying as her train of though warped around Connor’s name. She had only seen him once since Danika had introduced them. Apparently, Connor was in her maths course, but it had taken her until Wednesday to realize that. By the time she had seen him and taken up the seat next to him, the lecture had begun, and their professor, a wiry brown-skinned man with an incredibly rapid rate of speech, had made it very clear on the first day of class that the only voice he liked to hear was his own. Bryce had noticed Connor looking at her out of the corner of his eyes whenever he got the chance, though, and had been pretty sure that if the lecture hall had had better lighting, he might have caught her blushing. When the lecture had ended, he had quickly dashed off, claiming that he had another class in ten minutes. Not enough time for Bryce to ask him what Danika had said to him outside of the elevator almost a week ago. Despite that, Bryce was almost positive that whatever Danika had said was more responsible for Connor running off than his need to be on time for his next class was. 

She’d see him tonight, though. He had no excuse to run off this time, since Danika had invited her to his room. Maybe she could question him while Danika blowed her hair dry after the dye had set. That way, she wouldn’t hear Bryce prying into her private conversation. The thought had Bryce frowning, though, despite her curiosity. She had become rather fond of her roommate the past few days, appreciating the way her personality lit up a room, and how her laugh seemingly infected anyone around her. Something about her was so fundamentally good and kind, but not at all in a way that could be mistaken for weakness. Bryce had decided pretty early on that she did not want to see what came of those who got on Danika’s bad side. Would prying into her roommate’s secrets get her there herself?

It had only been a week, and yet it seemed that already all four of the girls living in their room had amassed their fair share of secrets. Danika hadn’t mentioned her conversation with Connor since it had happened, and also hadn’t given a reason as to why she suddenly wanted to piss off her mother so badly, though Bryce supposed the latter question did not require much guesswork. Aelin sure hadn’t shared any more details about Sam with them, whom she had apparently loved, despite the fact that their prom picture now hung in the living space as decoration. Had he broken her heart? Gone to a different university? Died? Bryce wasn’t certain which of those explanations was the most reasonable. Aelin also hadn’t mentioned why she loathed Rowan Whitethorn so much, beyond stating that their RA was a prick, which Bryce wasn’t entirely inclined to agree with. He seemed like a pretty normal guy to her. Then there was Feyre and Tamlin, whose potential relationship boggled Bryce’s mind. How had that even happened? Then again, it wasn’t as if Bryce had been entirely forthcoming about Ruhn either, but at least she had good reason for that.

«Hello? Earth to Bryce?» 

Bryce blinked as a hand moved up and down in front of her face. In front of her, Aelin smirked, withdrawing her hand. 

«Sorry.» Bryce grimaced. «I got a little lost in thought.»

«Clearly,» Aelin replied with a snort. «Sorry to bore you with our conversation.» She looked over at Feyre, who offered Bryce a small smile. «Is there anywhere in particular you want to go first, now that we’re here.»

Bryce had to blink again, shaking her head as she took in her surroundings. They were in fact, there, though she supposed the walk couldn’t have been long, since they were standing on the campus quad just outside of their dorm building. Tables had been set up in rows for the various student organizations, and student milled about between them. At the far end of the quad, some picnic tables and a few small barbecues had been set up, manned by students in their fraternity letters. The smell of the cooking meet drifted towards her, and Bryce was tempted to say that she wanted to head there first, but forced herself to turn back to her roommates instead. «There’s a dance group Juniper mentioned that I want to check out, but I don’t know where their table is.»

«Alright, so we’ll wander then,» Feyre decided, looking in turn at Aelin and Danika, who both shrugged their approval. They began to move towards the first table of the row closest to where they had stood. As they walked, Aelin fell into step beside Bryce, letting Danika and Feyre lead the way in front of them.

«You dance?» There was no hint of surprise or doubt in Aelin’s eyes, which in turn surprised Bryce.

«Yeah, it’s my favorite hobby.» As her words floated through the air, nearly swallowed by the voices of the crowds of people around them, Bryce found herself wondering why she had even been worried that Aelin might doubt her. She really didn’t owe Aelin anything, and if she didn’t think that dancing was a hobby Bryce should pursue, like so many others did, then fuck her.

«That’s great,» was all Aelin exclaimed in reply though, her smile nothing short of genuine. «I used to take dance classes when I was younger, but I never quite got the hang of it. That level of grace, where it seems like you’re just floating across the floor, was always just out of my reach.» The blonde shrugged, turning back to scan the tables to their right.

«I’ve never preformed at a competitive level, or anything.» Bryce frowned. «I was always told that I didn’t have the right, ‘look,’ or, ‘body-type,’ for that level of dance.»

«Okay, first off,» Aelin began, linking her arm through Bryce’s as she turned her attention back to her. Her turquoise eyes were burning with intensity. «Fuck whoever told you that, because you’re fucking hot as hell.» In front of them, Danika snapped her fingers, and Bryce couldn’t help but smile.

«Secondly,» Aelin continued, «you don’t need a specific ‘body-type,’ to be a good dancer. What really matters is the performers emotional connection to the story the music tells, and their ability to convey it with their movements, and I will argue that until the day I die.»

«Well said!» Feyre grinned as she looked over her shoulder at Bryce.

Bryce opened her mouth, attempting to form a reply, or a thanks, but was cut off by Aelin darting away without warning to a table a few feet in front of them. She yelled out something as she weaved through the throngs of people in front of them, but her words were lost to Bryce’s ears as she shoved her way after Aelin, vaguely aware of Feyre and Danika doing the same besides her. When the last of the crowd was behind her, Bryce found Aelin standing behind a short, dark-haired girl in a simple white t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts that looked just a little too big for her small frame. She wore her hair loose, and it fell over her shoulders in waves, down to her mid back as she spoke to Aelin in soft tones.

At that moment, Aelin looked up, and beckoned to Bryce and their other two roommates, who had practically stumbled into Bryce only moments before. «This is Elide.» Aelin pointed at the dark-haired girl, who offered a quick wave in response. «Elide, these are my roommates.»

Feyre spoke up on behalf of them. «Nice to meet you!»

«Elide is a family friend,» Aelin explained, «We used to play together when we were young and our parents had work to do together. Though, we haven’t seen each other in years.»

Elide narrowed her eyes at Aelin, the dark color of her irises almost an exact match for her hair. «If by play, you mean that you chased me and Sol with worms on a stick while Ravi, Ren, and Aedion argued over who was the strongest, then yes, we played as kids.»

Bryce laughed at the image of young Aelin chasing other kids with worms, which really wasn’t that hard to imagine. Beside her, she could hear Feyre doing the same as Aelin’s cheeks flushed with color. Danika was the only one who spoke, her arms crossed as she chuckled and asked, «Why doesn’t that surprise me?»

«I tried to find indoor activities for us to do,» Aelin sputtered. «But you didn’t like to read, and I don’t like needlepoint!»

Elide only laughed, wrapping her arm around Aelin’s shoulder. «It wasn’t all bad, though. You truly were an expert at getting Murtaugh to sneak us extra blackberry tarts.»

At the mention of the memory, Aelin smiled, her hand reaching into her pocket and retrieving her phone, which vibrated in her hand. «All it takes is a few smiles and some wide eyes. You were the mastermind who got the boys to distract each other so we could ditch them in order to sneak extra treats in the first place.» Aelin’s gaze shifted from Elide to her phone, before shifting back to Elide again. «Speak of the devil, Aedion’s looking for me. Want to come? I’m sure he’d be glad to see you.»

«I get the sense we’re being dismissed,» Feyre whispered, laughing slightly.

«So much for quality roommate time,» Danika snorted. She linked her arms through Feyre’s and Bryce’s as Aelin and Elide ran off in the other direction. «Can we get food now? I’m starving!»

Bryce rolled her eyes, inclined to agree nonetheless, but stopped herself before the words could come out of her mouth. «I have to find this dance group first, at least just to put my email down for the listserv, but after that, yes, definitely.»

It took the trio about fifteen minutes to find the dance group’s table, and another five minutes for Bryce to get an answer as to how to join from the dark haired girl who looked down her nose at Bryce as she talked. Bryce looked down her own nose at the girl in return, who eventually relented and informed her that auditions would be taking place in a week, but that there would almost certainly be cuts. At that, Bryce had to fight to not roll her eyes, reassuring herself that it was at least better to try out and then be cut than to not try out at all. If nothing else, her showing up at auditions might piss the girl at the table off just a little more, which would be slightly satisfactory. By the time Bryce had written down her name on the sign-up sheet, she found that her companions had drifted across the row, coming to stand with a tall blond who had his arm wrapped around Feyre. 

Squaring her shoulders, Bryce made her way over to her roommates, taking a spot besides Danika and looking the blond up and down. So this was Tamlin. She had to admit, he was kind of good looking, but certainly nothing spectacular. Maybe if he had dropped the half-smile and the relaxed facade that just screamed, «douchebag,» he might be more eye-catching, but that and the way his arm was tense as it sat atop Feyre’s shoulders instantly had Bryce on edge. 

«Did you stay for the firework show they do before closing?» Danika’s fingers were tucked into the pockets on the back of her jeans, a closed lipped smile gracing her face as she spoke to Tamlin. «I’ve heard they’re breathtaking.»

«No,» Feyre answered, tugging slightly at the hem of her shirt. «I’ve heard the same thing, but Tamlin wanted to get going.»

«And you listened to him?» Bryce crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at Feyre, electing to ignore Tamlin for the time being. She was sure that if she looked over at him anyway, she would just find that he was scowling at her. Nothing new there, if she was being honest. «A true gentleman would have sucked it up and stayed to make sure you had a good time, is all I’m saying.» 

With a shrug, Bryce now turned to face Tamlin, who was indeed scowling at her. She scowled right back, angling her chin slightly upwards to look down her nose at him, same as she had done with the girl at the dance table a few minutes before. His green eyes were narrowed, and there seemed to be a storm brewing in his expression that put Bryce further on edge. She knew his type - had dealt with them many times in her hometown - boys who wanted a good time from a girl and no further connection, and would leave the girl in ruin when they were done with her, as if she were nothing to him. 

She could feel the tension in her shoulders, even as Feyre attempted to diffuse the situation. «It’s really no big deal! We have four more years to see the fireworks, anyways. Maybe more, depending on where work and grad school takes us.»

Tamlin smiled down at Feyre, a flicker of warmth in his expression making Bryce hesitate. Just as quick as it had appeared though, it seemed to vanish. Bryce turned to Danika, who was frowning at the couple in front of her. «Do you want to go get food now?»

Danika exhaled heavily through her nose, but nodded. «Are you coming with, Feyre?» The question was flat, as if everyone already knew the answer.

«I’ll catch up with you later,» was Feyre’s only reply, before she let Tamlin lead her off in another direction.

Bryce frowned again at the retreating pair, even as she and Danika made their way over to the barbecues. «There’s something off about him, and I don’t like it.»

Danika only shook her head. «Glad I’m not the only one who got that vibe from him.» 

They stopped at the end of a line formed in front of a barbecue that was giving out hotdogs, the smell of the cooking meat beckoning to Bryce’s empty stomach. «So what do we do about it?»

«Dig up dirt on him.» Danika’s voice was flat as she shrugged. «Try to push Feyre away from him. What else can we do?»

Bryce bit her lip, exhaling heavily through her nose. «You’re right, I guess. I just wish she could see what we see.»

«That would definitely make things easier,» Danika mused. «I’ll ask around, and see what I can find.»

Here’s to hoping that you’re more successful than I was, Bryce thought. Before she could reply, though, she locked eyes with the boy behind the barbecue, and felt the world stop for a short moment. As if this night couldn’t get any stranger.

«Well, if it isn’t Bryce Quinlan!»

Danika raised an eyebrow at Bryce, accepting a paper plate with a hotdog on it from another boy who stood to the side of the barbecue.

«Hello, Flynn,» was all Bryce said in response, forcing a closed-lipped smile on to her face as she locked eyes with the grinning boy behind the barbecue.

«You two know each other?» Danika’s expression hadn’t changed at all since Bryce last looked at her.

«Oh, Bryce and I go way back,» Flynn answered, fixing his smile on Danika now. «I’m friends with her cousin, you see, and she used to come hang out with us when she was younger. Gods, how many years ago was that?»

«Five,» Bryce supplied, wishing the hotdogs on the barbecue would cook faster. «It was five years ago, and I was thirteen, and I haven’t seen you since.»

«Time flies!»

Bryce was half tempted to just walk off without a hotdog at this point, but turned to look at Danika instead, who was now looking at her with narrowed eyes. «I’m going to head to CVS after I get my hot dog,» Bryce decided as she addressed her roommate, «I’ll text you when I’m heading back over.»

«Good idea!» Danika was already taking one step backwards. «I’ll go find everyone else to make sure we’re all there when you come back. Get the craziest colors you can find!» 

Bryce nodded, half tempted to ignore the fact that Danika had said, «colors,» plural. She turned back to Flynn, who was now placing a hotdog into a bun. Thank the gods. 

«Ruhn should be over there, somewhere.» He inclined his head toward the picnic tables. 

Bryce nodded, taking the plate with the hotdog from Flynn before walking in the direction Flynn had gestured to. The universe seemed to have decided that the conversation she had been putting off was going to happen tonight after all, and she began the search for a familiar head of dark hair.  It wasn’t hard to pick out Ruhn in the crowd. It never had been when they were younger, and with the new haircut he had evidently gotten since then, it certainly wasn’t difficult now. Regardless, even if he had been hard to find, it wouldn’t have mattered, because Ruhn spotted her first. In an instant, he was at her side. She didn’t make eye contact with him, and instead just took a bit of her hotdog and continued walking towards the sidewalk beyond the picnic tables.

«I was hoping you’d be here,» Ruhn began, breaking the silence as he fell into step beside her.

«I’m actually leaving.» Bryce took another bite and finished chewing before elaborating. «I’m have to go to CVS, so if you want to talk, you’ll have to come with me.»

She looked at Ruhn out of the corner of her eyes, only to see that he, too, looked only ahead as he nodded. «Looks like I’m going to CVS, then.»

They walked in silence for a few minutes then. Despite being side by side, Bryce had never felt like the distance between them had been larger. It hadn’t always been this awkward, she supposed, not when she had been younger and excited to learn that she actually had a sibling, even if he was only her half-brother. Things had changed since then, though, she knew, remembering the words that had sliced like knives through their friendship. 

It was Ruhn who broke the silence again. «You’re not getting mixed up with Tamlin, are you?»

Bryce sighed and threw her now empty plate into a trash can that they passed as they walked along the sidewalk. «No, I’m not, but my roommate is, unfortunately.» She turned her head slightly towards him then, taking in the side profile of his face, only to find that it hadn’t changed much since they were younger. «He gives off a new level of bad vibes.»

Ruhn’s lips were a thin line. «I’ve heard stories of the messed-up shit his father has done, although I can’t really fault him for his father’s actions, but some people have told me that he helped his dad do it.» 

«Right, you’ve already mentioned that. Care to elaborate?»

He shook his head, his dark hair brushing over his shoulders as he did. «I’ve heard more bad stories about his friend - that girl, Ianthe?»

«Don’t know her,» Bryce interjected, shrugging.

«Well, she’s done some fucked up shit.» 

«So you keep saying,» she retorted with a sigh. «Like what?»

«Not my story to tell,» he replied.

Bryce only rolled her eyes, stopping to face him fully and placing her hands on her hips. «Gee, thanks for all the insightful help.» Bryce could have sworn that she saw him wince, and, with a softer voice, she added, «Though I suppose that gives me a place to start.»

«I think you’ll find that there’s greater forces at play in this school.» 

«Oh, please,» Bryce snorted, «Cut the ominous bullcrap.» 

«And where’s the fun in that?» Ruhn smiled now, turning to face Bryce fully as well as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket. «Here,» he said, pressing a pile of bills into her hand. «To cover whatever you need at CVS. I should probably be heading back now. Can’t leave Flynn alone around fire for too long.»

Bryce only looked at the pile of money that now sat in her hand as she replied, «Thanks.»

«Don’t mention in,» Ruhn responded with a shrug, his hands in his pants pockets as he began to walk back towards the fair. «Let me know if you need anything else, in the future. Or you could just invite yourself over, again.»

Bryce’s eyes narrowed, even as the corners of her lips began to tug upwards. «And why would I ever want to do that?»

«Who knows?» A smile had appeared on Ruhn’s face as well. «You didn’t always used to need a reason.» With that, he turned and strode away, leaving Bryce with the money and more information than she had had before.

Would it even be of any help, though? Feyre was certainly more than capable of making her own decisions and handling herself, and yet Bryce had to wonder just how long it might take her roommate to come to her senses. She had seemed so observant when Bryce had first met her, her eyes practically drinking in every detail about the world around her, but somehow it appeared that Feyre had missed the signs surrounding Tamlin. 

Maybe love is blind, Bryce thought as she entered CVS, beelining for the hair dyes. It didn’t take her long to decide on some neon colors that practically screamed Danika’s name. Within minutes, Bryce was back outside, pocketing Ruhn’s extra money and texting Danika that she was on her way. 

When she made it back to campus, she found Danika waiting for her outside the door of their dorm building. «There’s a lot of people in that dorm room,» Danika explained in greeting as Bryce approached. «And I couldn’t wait to see what you got.»

«I picked four of the brightest neon colors I could find,» she replied, passing the plastic bag to Danika, who looked inside it with the excitement of a child on Christmas day. 

«You are incredible!» Danika slung her arm around Bryce’s shoulder, the now familiar weight of it comforting. «I’m thinking multi-color streaks! Can you do that?»

Bryce bit her lip, eyeing her roommate. «I’ve never dyed hair before,» she admitted.

«What? Come on, you seem like the person all of your friends would turn to for this kind of thing!»

«I didn’t have many friends at home.» The weight of the words and the silence that followed them hit Bryce harder than she had expected them to, and she floundered as she searched for a way to breach the silence.

Like a lifeline, Danika came to the rescue. «Well, it’s their loss, really.» She poked the call button for the elevator with her free hand, the cvs bag rustling as she did so. «And as for the dye, there’s a first time for everything. I’m sure we can figure it out. And if it becomes a hot mess, we can get drunk and laugh about it tomorrow.»

Bryce’s grin widened as Danika’s eyes met hers, all of her other thoughts and concerns melting into the background of her mind. Her other worries could wait. Tonight was a night for fun. «Sounds like a plan.»

Bryce could have sworn that even the elevator’s ding sounded happy as it arrived, its doors opening wide to let the girls and the giddy energy surrounding them on board.