#Also low effort because I was too damn tired from all the decorating

[blackbirdffxiv]

So I redecorated my medium and already found my favorite spot in the house.

[songbirdsingingthings]

Midnight Revelations - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

MHA Masterlist - Main Masterlist

WARNINGS: Fluff, Swearing (It’s Bakugou, so, that’s kinda a given)

Requested by @luluwiie​ :

Given your gift for writing, I'm honestly utterly surprised your box is not already full :o but this is my chance ! Kuhuhu * robbing hands *

May I request a Todoroki or Bakugo one shot (Just choose whether you feel more inspired with one, another or both) where they are just sharing some moments with reader, and like, they enjoy their time with Reader and when they come back to their dorms, alone in their bedroom, they just realize how much they care for Reader? Like, more than their close friend and partner in crimes ? Like, more in a pining way? I just love emotional epiphanies 😳❤

Tysm if you do this ! CANT WAIT TO READ YOU MORE ❤❤

- Luluv

A/N: YOU’RE LITERALLY THE SWEETEST ❤❤❤. I had a lot of fun writing this one since Bakugou is such an interesting character, so I hope you enjoy!! (Also, the song “True Love” by P!NK was playing nonstop in my head while writing this.)

Word Count: 1.9K

If it was within his control, Katsuki Bakugou would be fast asleep in his own bed by now. It made sense to him - the sky was completely dark making the stars clearly visible and it was already past 10:30 p.m., so why on earth was he awake? The short and simplest answer yielded the same result; you. How you had wedged yourself in between him and his strict sleep schedule, Bakugou had no idea, so here he was, sat with a grimace on his face as you tried to work out the last math problem on the long homework sheet Ectoplasm had assigned.

“Wait, so when it’s a hyperbola, it’s a²- b² = c²?” You ask, glancing in between the blonde-haired boy sat next to you and the sheet full of conic section equations. Bakugou just looked at you with a mixture of a tired and dumbfounded expression.

“No, idiot, it’s a²+ b² = c² because the standard form uses subtraction. It’s the other way around for ellipses.” He explains gruffly, taking your mechanical pencil and writing down the equation roughly. However, due to the sheer force of his hand on the poor little pencil, the led snapped off. You laughed a little at the outburst that followed shortly after.

“Bakugou, don’t press so hard, the lead is thinner.” You say, taking the pencil from his hand gingerly. He simply scoffs in return.

“Yeah, well, normal pencils don’t do that. Get better ones next time.” He hurumphs, leaning back in his chair and letting his head hang off the back. He remains like this for a few minutes while you scribble down the rest of your equations, ultimately coming to a solution.

“Okay, I think I got it! Is it… (y+5)²/9 - (x - 4)²/25?” With a hesitant voice and a hopeful expression, you push the homework sheet in front of Bakugou to hopefully gain his approval. You wince as he scans your work carefully, raising his eyebrows on certain occasions. Finally, he sets the paper down and slides it back over to you. “Well?” You ask, a little exasperated.

“Yeah, that’s the correct answer.” With a sigh of relief you slumped back into your chair with a smile on your face. However, that only lasted for a few seconds. “Wait, then what the hell were those facial expressions when you were looking at it?” You ask, taking the math sheet and putting it in a folder that was then shoved into your school bag.

“Your handwriting is shit.” Is all Bakugou had to say as he stood up and stretched his arms out. You roll your eyes and glance at the clock.

“Damn, it’s already 11:15.” You murmur, letting one of your hands card through your hair, massaging your head and releasing the tension that was built up by doing several pages of pre-calc. “Thanks, by the way. You didn’t need to stay this late to help me out, so I really appreciate it.” You say, expressing your gratitude to the blonde. Bakugou rubs his eyes before slinging his bag over his shoulder, letting his blazer stay unbuttoned and his tie loose around his neck. You had to admit, his somewhat disheveled look did look quite attractive on him, but if you told him that he would either never let you hear the end of it or get pissed off for commenting on his fashion. He already got enough of that from his parents, apparently. 

“Yeah, I didn’t, and now thanks to you I’m gonna be tired as hell in the morning.” He complains, opening the door to your dorm to exit.

“You know, a cold compress does wonders for eyebags.” You say, a mischievous grin on your face. He narrows his eyes and flips you off. “I enjoyed spending time with you too, Bakugou!” And with that, the door to your dorm was closed.

Katsuki felt like a zombie by the time he got to his own dorm. He didn’t even bother putting his school bag on his desk or arranging his shoes by the door like he usually does. Instead, he just let the brown shoulder bag slump onto the floor as he fumbled to get his shoes off. Why the hell had you made him stay for so long? He finished all of his homework hours before you did, and still, he had to remain stationed at that wooden low table as he had to keep himself busy while you plugged away at your own work. After about an hour, looking through his phone got incredibly boring so he moved on to looking around your room, taking in all of the things that made it up. Of course, he wasn’t doing this to try to get to know you more, he already knew all he needed to… right? But as his eyes raked over the photos and decor of your room, the more glimpses he got into your personal life, so he stopped immediately.

Bakugou did make an effort to change his clothes. Peeling his blazer from his arms and hanging it up haphazardly in his closet along with his white button up. He tugged on a random black shirt and swapped his uniform pants for pajama ones and finally, finally, clambered into his bed. And, although he tried hard to make his brain shut off and just let him enter a dreamless sleep, his mind began to wander. He blamed his delirious nature for letting his neurons take him from place to place, situation to situation, until they finally projected an image of you into his head. It was a simple display of you and a recent one, too. Just Y/N L/N, sat at the little wooden table with her head perched on one of her hands with a stupid mechanical pencil in her hand. Did her hair always kind of frame her face like that? He wondered, scrunching his closed eyes. It didn’t look as horrible today, he supposed. Bakugou let his eyes flutter open, only to see that his digital clock read a clear 12:04 a.m. in electric red. He sighed and let his gaze fall on the ceiling right above him. Why was he thinking of you this late in the evening? And, to his surprise, he realized that he felt much more at home in your dorm room than he did right now, in his own space.

“What the hell…” He muttered, turning on his bedside lamp. His room was shed in a soft light, illuminating only the nearest furniture and himself. If he wasn’t able to go asleep, he sure as hell wouldn’t let this time go to waste. Picking up the book on his shelf that he was most recently into, he flipped through the pages to find his place and started reading again. He would never admit it, but Pride and Prejudice was turning out to be a much better read than expected. Bakugou found the main heroine to be much more likeable than any others he had read about. Her charisma and wit satisfied him where other characters were lacking, and the way she refused to be phased by an arrogant and sometimes brash guy who pushed her buttons constantly… He let the book fall to the ground without so much of a care as realizations flooded his brain. You put up with him. Whenever he was acting rude or was teasing you without relent, you would just simply roll your eyes and fire back. He put up with you, too. All your unreasonable habits, like staying up way too late, he was still by your side. Why?

“I…” Katsuki forced himself to look into the mirror. He saw his reflection to be way out of the norm. His eyes were wide, his posture was perfect, and his cheeks were red. “I like her.” He let the words flow freely from his mouth. With one more glance to the clock by his bedside, he grabbed a hoodie and shoved his head through it while opening his door and heading straight to yours. He knew from all of the prior knowledge on you stored in his brain and the light that shown beneath your door that you were, in fact, still awake. With three soft knocks, your door swung open to reveal you. Clad in soft looking pajama shorts and a flimsy top, your hair was a mess and your eyes were drooping. Bakugou never thought you could look so beautiful.

“Bakugou, it’s way past your bedtime.” You quip, your voice mimicking a doting parent. Bakugou shoved his way past you into your room and began to lightly pace. Your once joking smile fell into a confused frown, your eyes starting to swim with concern. “Seriously, Katsuki, what’s up? You’ve never stayed up this late except for that one time I insisted you did because a once in a lifetime meteor shower was on full display. I mean, you complained about it of course, but I knew you actually liked it because your eyes-”

“Just, shut it!” The blonde finally says. You pull back slightly, surprised at his words. “You write your twos and sevens weird, some of your habits tend to be unproductive, and sometimes I just can not stand you, but I like you.” The two of you are silent for a moment before you take a step towards him.

“You have feelings for me?” You ask, your voice soft like velvet and your eyes twinkling. Despite all of his reservations, his hard exterior and the sneer he always wore melted.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” You shook your head and took another step forward.

“Don’t answer it like you're confirming that I correctly solved a math problem. Answer it like you love me.” Bakugou’s cheeks flamed at your sudden confidence, but he took a step forward so that your bodies were almost touching.

“I love you Y/N.” And with that, a wide grin spread across your face. Your arms wrapped themselves around the blonde’s neck and you leaned into him, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss. It was slow in pace but fierce in passion as he grew more comfortable, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you closer so that you were flush against his chest. Breathless and red in the face, Bakugou finally pulls back to see your ecstatic face. “Oi, what’s with the face?” He says, flustered.

“Nothing,” you say, going into your bathroom with a little towelette. He raises his eyebrows. “I told you before, a cold compress works wonders for the inevitable eye bags that you will have in the morning, and this is the perfect size.” He huffs in amusement and plucks the towelette from your hands. “Plus, you’ll have to return it to me. It gives you another excuse to hang out with me.” Bakugou finally earns a little confidence and his trademarked smirk spreads across his face.

“I don’t need an excuse to hang out with you. You’ll need my help again on the homework.”

“Always the charmer,” you quip, walking with him so that he was standing in the hallway and you in the doorway. “See ya tomorrow,” you smile, pecking him on the lips.

“See ya, Y/N.” His blush was still prevalent, but his eyebrows narrowed and a scowl replaced the smirk. “And throw out those mechanical pencils, they’re absolute shit.”

“Anything for you, Lover!” You joke, closing the door. Lover, he thinks. He can get used to a nickname like that.

[the-rad-pineapple]

i want u

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Supernatural oneshot: After they found a way to get Cas back from the Empty, things go back to normal between Dean and Cas. Dean thinks he made up the whole love confession thing. It was exactly what he wants to hear. Plus, he’s re-written his own memories before like when he lost Cas in Purgatory all those years ago. It totally makes sense he’d make up a love confession to cope with Cas leaving him again. Dean’s suspicions are confirmed when Cas comes back and doesn’t say anything about it to Dean. And things go back to normal as if it never happened. Because it didn’t.

Words: 2.7k

I’ve been writing angsty stuff for my current WIP, but then I had an angsty day and needed something sweet. I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading!

Inspired by Violent by Cummrs

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ao3

fanfiction

wattpad

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Today is one of the best days ever. Sam married Eileen. Dean cried. Multiple times. He ate too much at the reception and got a little tipsy. His best man speech rocked, though. Sam and Eileen left ages ago. They’re having their honeymoon in California. Dean can’t be happier. Everyone left a couple hours after them. The last people to leave were Jody, Claire, Kaia, and Jack.

Now Dean and Cas are sitting against the empty wall of the dirty dance floor. Music is still playing, and it echoes across the empty room, making the moment feel ethereal. Miscellaneous wedding decorations and napkins litter the floor. A lone broken high heel lays near the edge of the dance floor. Dean takes a swig of a champaign bottle and passes it to Cas. Cas doesn’t have his shoes on for some reason. He said it was easier to dance without them or something. He takes a drink from the champaign bottle. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned a few buttons on the top. His suit jacket disappeared hours ago. His hair is messy. He looks so good as a human. Cas hands the bottle back to Dean.

Dean takes it and stares at the empty floor in front of them. “This is the best day ever,” Dean decides. He takes a drink and hands the bottle back to Cas.

Cas hums. “It is one of the best I’ve ever had,” he agrees and takes a long drink.

“Mmhmm.” Dean leans his head against the wall and stares at Cas. The singular white light in the center of the ceiling casts long shadows on Cas’ face, making his face full of dark, sharp angles. It reminds Dean of the Cas he met in a barn over a decade ago. Dean lets the nostalgia wash over him as he stares at his best friend. Cas takes another drink from the champaign bottle and swallows. It’s really distracting, especially when Cas has his shirt unbuttoned like that.

After they found a way to get Cas back from the Empty, things went back to normal between them. Dean thinks he made up the whole love confession thing. It was exactly what he wants to hear. Plus, he’s re-written his own memories before like when he lost Cas in Purgatory all those years ago. It totally makes sense he’d make up a love confession to cope with Cas leaving him again. Dean’s suspicions were confirmed when Cas came back and didn’t say anything about it to Dean. And things went back to normal as if it never happened. Because it didn’t.

And Dean doesn’t really care. It hurt at first, but that was eclipsed by the ecstasy of having Cas back. He’ll take Cas in any way he can get. Angel. Human. Friend. Lover. Anything. Just as long as Cas is here and safe.

Cas hands the bottle back to Dean. Dean finishes it and sets the empty bottle down beside him. They don’t really have a reason to stay here anymore. It’s also getting late. And Dean is tired. They should go back to their hotel. Jody booked everyone a room at the hotel nearby as a wedding gift.

“I don’t want to move,” Cas says.

Dean chuckles. “Me neither.”

A comfortable silence lapses between them. The music is still playing. Dean closes his eyes.

“Dean.”

“Mmm,” Dean answers.

“I don’t want to move, but I also don’t want to sleep here.”

Dean sighs. “Yeah, yeah.” He opens his eyes and looks at Cas again. Cas is staring at him. Dean smiles. “What?”

Cas’ smile turns sad. “Nothing.” He looks away. “I suppose we should stand up now.”

“I suppose.”

Cas sighs and tugs his shoes forward. He slowly puts them on and ties them. Dean watches. Cas’ hands work carefully and precisely. Cas’ hands look soft. He finally stands up and looks down at Dean. He offers Dean a hand. Dean grabs it and stands up. Cas releases Dean’s hand, and Dean wishes he didn’t. Dean doesn’t want this moment to end. He likes being near Cas, and he knows once they get to the hotel, they’ll separate. It’s clingy as shit, but it’s how Dean feels. And he can’t do anything about that, can he?

He used to shove down those thoughts and feelings like they were something toxic. But, over time, he stopped doing that. He’s not exactly sure why. Maybe he’s just getting more comfortable with himself. Maybe he just doesn’t care enough to push them away. Maybe he’s just getting old. Maybe it’s all of those things. Dean doesn’t really know. And he doesn’t really care.

Cas smiles sadly at him again and turns away. Cas does that a lot now. Smile sad. He’s done it ever since he got back from the Empty. Dean thinks Cas misses being an angel.

Dean follows Cas down the short hallway and out into the parking lot. The Impala is the only car left. The summer air is warm and humid. The stars twinkle above them. Dean reaches into his pocket and grabs his keys, already missing today. It was so blissful and happy. Dean’s still adjusting to not feeling completely shitty all the time, let alone happy. It’s nice but also kind of weird.

They both head over to the Impala, and Dean unlocks it. They get inside. Dean turns the radio on to a low volume. The streets are practically empty, and the drive back to the hotel is relaxing. He also enjoys Cas’ presence, even if they’re both too tired to say anything. Just being around Cas makes Dean content.

They pull into the hotel parking lot and get back outside. The night air is peaceful, and Dean stands for a moment to feel it. He’s happy. Really happy. And so is Sam. They somehow did it. Part of Dean is convinced this must be a dream or something.

“Dean?”

Dean turns to look. Cas is standing in front of him, the lights from the hotel outline him. He’s so pretty. “Sorry,” Dean says. “Just don’t want this day to end, you know?”

Cas smiles. This time it isn’t sad. “Me neither.”

An idea pops into Dean’s head. “Wanna watch a movie in my room? We got the fancy tv’s here.”

Cas’ smile grows. “I would like that.”

Dean smiles back. “Awesome.”

----

Dean picks the first action movie he sees. He and Cas are sitting on his bed. Their shoulders are touching. It would take barely any effort for Dean to rest his head on Cas’ shoulder. He doesn’t.

Not even halfway through the movie, Cas starts to fall asleep. It’s selfish, but Dean doesn’t wake him up. He’ll take as many moments as he can with Cas. Besides, Dean will wake him up once the movie is over. But Dean doesn’t count on drifting off himself.

“Dean.”

Dean jerks awake, immediately on alert. He doesn’t have a gun on him, and he goes rigid.

“Dean,” Cas says again, gently.

Dean blinks and blows out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Oh, that’s right. They’re fine. They’re in a hotel. Sam got fucking married today.

Cas continues, “I think we missed the movie.”

Dean chuckles and looks over to him. “Yeah, I think so.”

Cas looks sleepy. His eyes are half open and his hair somehow got messier. His clothes are wrinkled, and he has a dazed smile on his face. He’s gorgeous.

Dean smiles. “You can stay here if you want, sleepyhead.”

Cas lifts his head up from where it was resting against the wall. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not. You never are.”

Cas smiles at him again. But it’s one of the sad ones. “Thank you, Dean.”

“You’re welcome.” They stare at each other. The longer it gets, the more awkward it is, but Dean can’t look away. To break the silence, he says, “I can take the couch.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

They stare at each other again, but Dean is too tired to care. He closes his eyes.

A few moments pass before Cas says, “We can share the bed if you’re comfortable with that.”

Dean cracks his eyes open. “Yeah, okay.” He ignores how his heart jumps in excitement. They’re not even going to do anything, and he’s elated. Dean kicks off his shoes and automatically starts unbuckling his pants and freezes. “Is it okay if I don’t have pants on?” He glances at Cas.

Cas is already halfway under the covers. His eyes flick over Dean’s body. It’s so fast that Dean thinks he makes it up. “Yes, that’s fine,” Cas answers.

The mental image of Cas checking him out—real or not—makes Dean blush, and he quickly looks away and finishes taking his pants off. He shuts down every dirty thought he gets in the process; it’s easier than it usually is since he’s so damn tired.

Dean turns to Cas, and Cas is definitely staring at his bare legs this time. “Can I turn the light off?” Dean asks.

Cas’ eyes snap up to meet Dean’s. “Um, yes.” His cheeks turn pink.

Dean stares for a second and then realizes he’s probably making things worse by staring and quickly looks away at the lamp on his bedside table. He hits the switch and slides underneath the covers. He can feel Cas’ body heat next to him and forgets how to breathe. The temptation of having the one thing he wants most in the universe right next to him is too much. He’s tense and as close to the edge of the bed as he can be without falling off. Dean is wide awake now. He doubts he’ll get a wink of sleep.

Cas shifts beside him, and Dean nearly jumps out of his skin. Thankfully, Cas doesn’t seem to notice. Cas’ breathing evens out. Dean closes his eyes and focuses on the sound. He wants this so fucking bad it hurts. He squeezes his eyes shut harder when he feels the pin-prickle of tears forming. He won’t cry. Not on a good day like today. He spent way too many nights drinking and crying himself to sleep when he thought Cas was dead forever. He won’t do that when he has Cas literally right next to him. Dean swallows down the lump forming in his throat. As sleep tugs at his mind and consciousness begins to fade, he can’t help but think, I love you. I love you so fucking much. I think it’s killing me.

----

Dean wakes up, and he can’t remember where he is. He knows it isn’t the bunker. He feels a body next to him. He’s not even fully awake, and he can’t bring himself to remember who he’s in bed with. Damn. It’s been a while since he’s had a one-night stand. Loneliness stabs him in the chest, and he shifts towards the warmth of the person beside him. He reaches on arm out, and touches their back. He snakes a hand around their waist and pulls himself against them. Dean feels them begin to stir.

“Shh, go to sleep,” he murmurs.

That seems satisfactory, and they relax. They interlace their fingers with the hand Dean has draped over their waist. Dean pulls them closer. He’s so fucking needy and lonely. He wishes he was holding Cas. He pretends he is.

----

Dean’s pillow feels weird. It’s lumpy but soft. It’s very warm. It also smells like Cas. Which is also weird. Why does his pillow smell like Cas? Cas is dead. But, no. No. Cas is alive. He has been for months now. Dean just forgets when he wakes up sometimes.

Dean keeps his eyes closed as he rests. Any second he’s not fully awake is a good one. Dean then realizes his pillow has a heartbeat. Dean’s pillow might not be a pillow. He’s lying on someone. Someone who smells like Cas.

Dean’s heartrate spikes, and he jerks his head up.

Cas blinks up at him. “Are you alright?” Cas asks, his voice deep with sleep. Well, deeper than usual.

“Yes,” Dean says. “I just forgot you’re alive.”

Cas blinks again. “Oh.” He reaches up with one hand and cups Dean’s face. “Well, I’m alive.”

Dean smiles. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Cas smiles back. It’s the brightest smile Dean’s seen on him since he’s been back. But then it turns sad. Like it always does. Cas starts to pull his hand away, but Dean quickly grabs it. He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing; he’s still not even fully awake. Dean closes his eyes and leans further into Cas’ touch, keeping his hand on Cas’. He doesn’t want Cas to move away.

Cas’ breath hitches. “Dean,” he begins.

And Dean can tell by Cas’ tone that he is going to tell Dean to let go or something. Dean doesn’t want that. “Shh,” Dean says.

“Dean,” Cas says more firmly and tugs on his hand. Dean doesn’t let go. “Don’t do this.”

Dean opens his eyes. Cas’ smile is gone, and all the sadness has moved to his eyes. “Do what?” Dean asks.

“I know you’re doing this just because of what I told you before the Empty took me.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t feel obligated to…to sleep in the same bed as me or hold my hand like this just because I love you.”

“What?”

The hurt in Cas’ eyes throws Dean off so much that Cas manages to snatch his hand back.

Dean stares. Then swallows. “I thought I made that up,” Dean whispers.

“Made what up?”

“That you—that you…” Dean swallows again. Why is his mouth so dry? “That you lo—” His voice cracks. He furiously blinks back tears. “You said that, right?”

“You don’t remember?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I do, I just…I thought I made that up. Because I—I want…” He licks his lips. “I want you.”

Cas stares at him with wide eyes.

Dean’s blood runs cold. “Wait, am I completely misinterpreting this, oh my god, Cas, I’m so sor—”

“You want me?” Cas is still staring. His eyes still wide with disbelief.

Dean’s already gone this far. There’s no turning back now. Might as well tell Cas everything. “You’re all I ever wanted.”

Cas shakes his head. “You’re just saying that.”

“Absolutely not!” Dean is just as surprised at his outburst as Cas is. He takes a deep breath before continuing, much calmer this time, “Cas, I have a hard time saying, ‘I love you’ to Sam. Why would I ever say that to you unless I completely mean it?”

“You didn’t say, ‘I love you,’” Cas tells him. “You said, ‘I want you.’ There’s a difference.”

That stubborn motherfucker. But Dean can be stubborn right back. This will show him! “Well, I love you. So there,” Dean states, staring at Cas to challenge him on that.

“Oh…” Cas’ gaze becomes distant.

“Yeah, not so fun being on the receiving end of a love confession, is it?”

Cas is unresponsive.

Uh, oh. Dean cups his face with one of his hands. “Cas, buddy, look at me.”

Cas’ eyes finally focus on Dean. “Y-yes?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Yes,” Cas repeats.

Dean leans in and gently presses his lips against Cas’. There’s a moment where neither of them move, as if what they’re doing isn’t real, but then Cas’ mouth opens up under Dean’s, and Dean moves in closer. He still has one hand on Cas’ face and moves it back to tangle in his hair. Dean allows himself to get lost in the kiss. It’s slow and gentle and even better than anything he dreamed a kiss could ever be. It’s all Cas, Cas, and more Cas, and Dean’s heart is soaring. He pulls back just far enough to whisper, “I love you so much.” before kissing Cas again, a little more desperately this time.

Dean isn’t quite sure how long they do this; kiss each other stupid with their bodies pressed into each other, but he treasures every second of it.

This day is somehow even better than yesterday. And, who knows? Tomorrow might even be better than today. But one thing Dean knows for sure is that they have all the time in the world, and he’s not going to waste a single minute.

[missramu]

Back with the kisses!

Hiya! I know it's been a while, but, good news! Have some sappy JKRM beach episode

Kiss number 26: as an apology

“Are you ready, hun?”

The doctor asked while he went down the checklist. Organized as he was, he insisted on checking every item that was lying by the sofa right in front of him, in order to make sure they wouldn’t forget to bring anything important. It was finally August, and Jakurai’s summer holidays had just started. And, with that, their summer trip.

“Ngh-- Almost! Oof!--”

Replied the younger one, as he tried to close a small suitcase by sitting on top of it. Jakurai, intrigued by his partner’s frustrated noises, went to see what was going on in their bedroom. As soon as he stepped inside, he found the designer struggling with his luggage.

“What on earth could you be possibly packing, Ramuda-kun? We’re going to stay at the hotel for a week, not a month.”

The doctor said that mockingly, but Ramuda stopped right on the spot, looking at him as if he just asked the most stupid of questions. How dare he question his fashion needs?

“And? You never know when you will need fancy clothes! What if I need more shirts because I get mine dirty? Or--!”

Jakurai sighed, drawing a half-smile on his face. This was their usual procedure, after all. Ramuda insisted on packing –excessively– extra clothing, and he had the task of making him see he didn’t need that many.

“You never cease to amaze me.”

After a quick rearrangement and a couple of pouty faces, Jakurai made the pink-haired man realize it was alright to leave behind a three-piece suit –which he wouldn’t have needed anyway– as well as, at least, 7 extra shirts and tees. No need to say that it took them a little while, because Ramuda was stubborn and refused to leave without the garments, but the doctor managed to convince him. He just knew too well how to deal with him at this point.

“It’s good to be ready ‘just in case’, but that was… exaggerated”

Once everything was settled, Jakurai checked his mental list again, trying to recall if something was missing. Meanwhile, Ramuda fastened his sandals and waited at the entrance, swinging his feet back and forth playfully.

“Good thing we’re driving there, cuz if we had to take a train, we’d have probs missed it by now”

The taller man raised an eyebrow as a response, turning to face him.

“Says the one who made us lose our time because he couldn’t decide whether he should bring a blue or yellow sweatshirt on August”

“But!-“

“A sweatshirt. August.”

Ramuda puffed, unwilling to recognize his defeat. The doctor gave him a small pat on the head, offering him his suitcase as a truce.

“Let’s go, then. Our holiday awaits, doesn’t it?”

The younger’s gloomy face suddenly lit up, and it only took the designer a small jump to stand on his feet again. He waited with their luggage outside –since he was already wearing shoes– while the doctor checked every door and window. He knew they had asked their teammates to keep an eye on their apartment just in case, but he couldn’t help but double-check before leaving.

“C’mon, Jaku! It’s gonna be night by the time we arrive!”

It was undeniable that the younger man was excited. Sure, he had the liberty to have his holidays whenever he felt like –benefits of self-employment–, but going on vacation together felt… different. It felt better, just like the old Kuujaku Posse days. It wasn’t their first trip together, he knew that. The designer could never forget their training camp, after all. However, he was beyond excited: it was their first trip to the beach since he got the mastectomy. Ramuda couldn’t wait, and Jakurai was also looking forward to it.

As soon as they got everything in the car and were ready to go, the doctor started driving to their destination: Oarai Sun Beach. They were in for a ride that would be two hours long, which the designer was planning to spend between snacks and Instagram stories while his partner drove. Besides that, Ramuda had a self-imposed duty in every single one of their road trips, and that was to take pictures of the scenery and, more importantly, of his boyfriend. Jakurai wasn’t the only one fascinated by his partner; and the younger man loved to see how every single scenery and light managed to boost up his partner’s mature beauty.

The hours went by, and before they could realize it, they were already reaching their destination. The pink-haired man screamed enthusiastically as he saw the sea through the window, losing interest even on the snacks he was eagerly devouring merely 30 seconds ago. After 20 minutes or so, they arrived at the hotel, did the check-in, and rushed to the beach. Jakurai would have loved to take his time, but his partner’s actions didn’t seem to agree with his ideas.

Energetic as always, Ramuda rushed towards the sea as soon as he saw it from the seafront promenade, without caring about the sun cream nor leaving his tee somewhere that wasn’t the sand after launching it. That took Jakurai by surprise –although he should have seen that coming–, quickly finding himself running after his partner, as if he was running after a dog who had something in his mouth that he wasn’t supposed to have.

“AMEMURA-KUN! CAREFUL! THE BODY MUST ACCLIMATE SLOWLY! –“

The designer laughed at the top of his lungs, ignoring his partner’s yelling. Having fun was his top priority right now.

“Oh, shoo! Don’t be such a party pooper! The water’s warm!”

The doctor stopped at the shore, sighing. The younger man was already splashing around in the water, and there was nothing he could do against that. Oh well, at least he was happy.

“You could have waited until I had prepared everything here… Or until you had cream on”

He complained again, as he picked up the t-shirt from the sand, shaking it a little before folding and putting it inside the bag. While the designer was swimming around, the doctor started to set up their beach umbrella, as well as two chairs and a small fridge. He watched Ramuda having the time of his life, now free from the burden of having to wear swimming t-shirts and a binder under it. He could see his boyfriend jump, swim and run in the beach with a liberty he hadn’t had before; and, for him, that was enough to make the trip worth it.

The taller man took his time with the sun cream, and he headed to the water only after being sure it was absorbed. The pink-haired man didn’t hesitate to approach him, sporting a pink and white striped short swim trunk, decorated with lollipops. It was part of his new summer collection, as well as Jakurai’s: his had a light-grey and white plaid pattern and was knee-length. Although it wasn’t as colourful as Ramuda’s, it still had his touch, since it had little lilac plum blossoms around, as well as lilac laces.

Spontaneous as ever, the smaller man jumped into the doctor’s back, taking his chance to braid his hair and make said braid into a low bun. He left a kiss on his partner’s shoulder before jumping back into the water, splashing around once again.

“I wonder how many ways of braiding my hair you know”

Ramuda laughed cheerfully, swimming by Jakurai’s side as he entered the water.

“I’ve always liked to do your hair! So there’s nooo absolute way I’ll ever stop doing so!”

Jakurai stopped walking as soon as the water reached his waist, took a deep breath and submerged for a couple of seconds. Ramuda clapped and followed him to do the same, only to find out that, while that depth was acceptable for Jakurai, it covered his chest and almost his neck. The doctor tried to suppress a laugh at the scenery of his partner floating because of his short height, but in the end, the effort was in vain.

“What’s so funny?! Not everyone’s a damn tower, you know!”

Jakurai laughed again, picking the designer up and letting him sit on his shoulders.

“Then, how does it feel to be one, then?”

The pouts and complains quickly were changed by laughter, as he held tight onto his head, watching his surroundings from his privileged seat.

“It feels… weird! But it’s also funny! It’s like I could crush everyone under my feet like widdle ants!”

They both laughed at the designer’s comparisons, and after a couple of minutes, he took the freedom to launch himself back into the water from his shoulders, swimming somewhere where he could reach without problem –or, at least, stand–. Pitying him, Jakurai followed his partner and stood by his side once he found the perfect depth for himself: now the water was at Ramuda’s waist level, and barely reached Jakurai’s hip.

“That’s on you for being so tall, you know”

The doctor sighed, shaking his head.

“And there’s nothing I can do about that either, my little one”

Ramuda splashed him in response, cracking a laugh. Accompanied by that laugh, the doctor saw behind his blue eyes that he had mischief planned. Whatever it could be, he had no idea.

Like a shark ready to attack its victim, the younger man kept watching his partner closely. The doctor realized his gaze upon him, and although he was ready to counteract, he didn’t pay too much attention to it. He thought that, perhaps, Ramuda would get tired of waiting and would eventually forget whatever he had in mind ready to mess with him. However, he was wrong in thinking that, and he definitely should not have let his guard down. It is not as if he had ever had his guard up around Ramuda, after all.

As soon as the designer noticed him trying to go out of the water, he ambushed. His plan was to run towards him and throw him back into the water. Still, it was quickly thwarted by Jakurai’s height; since he just kind of stumbled against his legs on an attempt to sink him.

“OH, C’MON!”

Jakurai watched him bump against him, raising an eyebrow with curiosity. Ramuda crossed his arms with frustration, sitting in the water by his side.

“Was that your attempt at… sinking me?”

“Yes! And it didn’t work!”

The lilac-haired man laughed playfully, ruffling the younger’s wet hair.

“I’m sure you can do better than that”

Obviously, Ramuda took that personally. He got up and sat back in the shore, arming himself with patience. There, he waited until the doctor tried to leave the water again, and prepared his attack once more: this time, he charged against Jakurai’s knee pits and successfully made him fall into the water. What he didn’t plan, though, was that he would fall with him too, making a splashing mess that could have ended in broken bones if it weren’t for the doctor’s quick reflexes.

“What were you thinking now, Amemura-kun? You could have hurt yourself! What if I had fallen on top of you? Did you think we could have gotten serious bruises, or even worse?”

The designer quivered at his partner’s angry tone, lowering his head while he was being scolded. He just wanted to joke around, but ended up taking it so seriously that he didn’t really think it through. The fact that surprised the designer was that Jakurai wasn’t concerned at all about himself, but rather about him.

“I’m… I’m sorry…”

He replied in a quiet voice, looking at Jakurai with honest puppy eyes. The doctor tried to hold his ground, but Ramuda did know well his weaknesses. He clicked his tongue, sitting on the shore and placing his boyfriend on his lap.

“Are you alright? Does it hurt somewhere?”

The designer climbed onto his lap, hugging him and leaving a shy kiss on the taller-man’s lips. Jakurai replied tenderly, pressing him against himself in an embrace, as he realized it was Ramuda’s silent apology.

“Next time you’re tempted to do such a thing, at least do it where the water covers me”

Ramuda nodded, and said gesture earned him another kiss as a way of settling things up.

[lin-kuei-scout]

Revival | Recollection [ CHAPTER 1 ]

Clarity, anger, guilt, frustration, worry. One after the other, she mulled her thoughts over, the silence between them only filled by the beeping of his heart monitor. Jax could guess the words that were going to leave her next: 

"Is… is that how you feel, too?" 

Characters: Jax Briggs, Sonya Blade Word Count: 2.5K Also on: Fanfiction.Net

Short piece focusing on Jax shortly after his revival. Next chapter will be featuring Scorpion and Jax talking things out.

Being alive… It was taking some being used to.

He, like the others, woke up isolated, hooked up to machines that beeped and flashed numbers, arms shackled to the bed only as a request that he stay where he is. At any other time in his life, Jax Briggs would find the bare medical decore of the Special Forces Infirmary off-putting and unnerving, a reminder of every decimating injury he and those he cared about suffered through.

But now? Now he couldn't tear his eyes away from his heart monitor, slowly sitting up, moving as if he could finally feel the weight of his own body. He was alive, he was breathing, he could think through the fog that had clouded his mind and soul for the first time in years.

And with thoughts came memories. Like a tidal wave, everything he'd done for Quan Chi…

"Oh god…"

It's a choked up sound, nausea and anguish, a bitter mix resting right at the back of the throat, threatening to come up if he breathed wrong. His hands clench the bed frame, seeking any sort of stability, but when his eyes glance over to them the feeling only gets worse. These were still the arms the sorcerer had given him, the same ones that -

Before his thoughts could spiral any further, the door to his side opens, and the sound of it almost escapes him, but he doesn't miss the voice of the person that had come in.

"Briggs." It's trained and contained, superficially devoid of emotion, a testing of the waters, but he knew that tone of voice. Knew who it belonged to. His head nearly snaps off from how quickly he turned to face it, his expression shifting through a myriad of emotions. He had so many things to say, so much to apologize for, so much to catch up on… So he settles on a tired, weary smile, and answers in turn.

"Lieutenant Blade."

That did it. For a moment, it looked like she was ready to bawl her eyes out right then and there, but with a deep shuddering breath and a moment spent with her eyes closed, Sonya eventually returned his smile, eyes watering still as she made her way over to him.

"It's… really you."

Jax just kept smiling, even as the corner of his lips faltered, his gaze returning to his hands, looking at them as if they were foreign before clenching and unclenching his fists. Avoiding Sonya's eyes, Jax can only sigh, smile finally dropping completely. "Doesn't feel like it. Everything's… blurry, but I can still remember every single thing I did… and without hesitation. What did he do to me, Sonya? What kind of monster was I? I know sorry won't cut it, but -"

"No, you're not giving me that crap, Jax." She punches his metal arm, and the dull metallic reverberation is enough to shut him up and listen as her face scrunches up in a pained expression. "That wasn't you, alright? That was Quan Chi using you, forcing you to do things you'd never agree to because he knew it would hurt you." Her gaze softens, then, "Hurt us. The fact that you're sitting here, looking like you're about to sob your heart out, is enough proof that that wasn't you, soldier."

He's quiet then, contemplative. It isn't enough to absolve his guilt, but it was enough to momentarily soothe the shock of being alive, cauterizing an emotional wound he would have to address properly later.

Finally, a low chuckle leaves him, the man shaking his head before looking at Sonya again. "Can't be taking it worse than the other guys, can I?" The exasperated body language that immediately took over her form tipped him off that he was right, but he could see when Sonya needed to rant - he was pretty sure she'd combust one day if she dealt with enough bullshit all at once.

"Actually, from me? You're getting top marks. Sub-Zero is still unconscious, so there's no saying how he'll react. Raiden says that he must 'join his mind to the body Quan Chi had constructed for him', whatever that means. And Scorpion's being…" Sonya mentally counts to ten, then sighs. "He set himself on fire and nearly killed two people, Kenshi had to knock him out. Twice. Raiden tried to speak to him after that, but it just threw him into another fit."

"... Damn."

"Yeah…" She shifts, then, her posture changing into something less confident, a rare glimpse of her being unsure. "I… this is going to make me sound like a bitch, but… I don't know what to do with him. No one knows. We went in hoping to resurrect everyone we lost, but it feels like we wasted that chance by resurrecting Scorpion instead, and the bastard acts like we did him a disservice.

"Meanwhile I can't just say it to his face that we didn't even mean to revive him, now can I? And we can't just let him go either, not without risking him just running back to Quan Chi and wasting all of our efforts." Jax can feel how much this is wearing on Sonya, and he understood her frustration so he lets her rant, but it's clear there was something on his mind. Although he would've waited for her to finish, Sonya doesn't keep going, instead looking at him and sighing again. "Go on, say what you're gonna say. I know that face."

"Look, I getcha, but he won't be running back to Quan Chi as fast as you think."

"... I'm not following, Jax." A deadpanned admission of her confusion, Sonya couldn't see where he was going with this, a hand on her hip as she scowled less at Jax and more at the concept of Scorpion going against her perception of him.

"I know Scorpion was the most… loyal of us, but he also seemed to be the only one of us that could think clearly, even if it didn't do him any good. All it meant was that he did the bastard's bidding unwillingly, was the only one of us that actively wanted to break away from Quan Chi." Unlike he, who felt nauseous at the gratefulness he remembered towards the necromancer. Everything he did…

"Then why is he throwing a fit when he got what he wanted? He's free of Quan Chi isn't he?" She snapped, and Jax almost laughed at her exasperation with the now living spectre, but the weight of his next words took the will to do so from him.

"... Pretty sure he wanted to die and stay dead, Sonya."

That seems to get through to her, and Jax could swear he heard her teeth clack together from how quickly she shut her mouth, lips trained into a tense thin line while her eyes showed the thoughts running through her mind. Clarity, anger, guilt, frustration, worry. One after the other, she mulled her thoughts over, the silence between them only filled by the beeping of his heart monitor. Jax could guess the words that were going to leave her next:

"Is… is that how you feel, too?"

Jax feels his eyes water, threatening to overflow with the emotions he was trying so hard to not acknowledge, and a metal hand goes to wipe at them, trying to pass it off as just him rubbing the bridge of his nose. It helped, somewhat, to have the cool metal press against his face.

"I don't really know how I'm feeling right now. I'm glad, Sonya, I'm really glad to be alive and myself again, but all I can think of is just… I don't even know how long I was dead for." His voice strains for a moment, but Jax refuses to let go of his composure and settles for just clearing his throat, sitting up to lean back against the wall behind him. His arms felt heavier than he remembered.

The same hand that punched his arm now rests on his shoulder, squeezes the muscle underneath, and Jax reaches up with his opposite hand to squeeze it in thanks. Whatever his emotions, he was here now, and he'd deal with things one step at a time. Or at the very least, try to.

"I can imagine it's a lot to take in at once. I'm sorry, you just woke up, I shouldn't have come in here only to immediately complain to you -"

He laughs, there, so genuinely that it startled both of them.

"Sonya, you acting like I'm still just me is what's keeping me sitting here in this bed and not throwing a fit like Scorpion is." He means it as a joke, mostly, but a thought worms it's way into his head. "I want to start catching up on everything I missed out on, see if anything that I know can be used against Quan Chi, I do, but right now… I just can't. This barely feels real." He squeezed the hand on his shoulder once more before letting go, resting his hands in his lap. "Part of me wants to go back to sleep, so sure this is just some kind of fucked up dream he conjured up, a taste of freedom to rip away from me."

Sonya crosses her arms at the waist, gaze resting on his heart monitor, swallowing down bouts of emotion that threatened her composure, ever unused to letting go of her detached military upbringing. She knew it wouldn't be easy, that getting them back was only part of the battle, but… she can't say she didn't hope things would be less taxing on them all.

"Well, it isn't, and I'll be glad to beat that into your head anytime you need me." She sits at the side of his bed, the mattress barely denting under her weight, and it was clear she was struggling still with being genuine, but making an effort. "I've missed you, Jax. I'm glad you're back." She doesn't reach for a hug, but Jax does, and she clings to his frame like she's afraid to let go. "It hasn't been the same without you."

"Missed you too."

They stay like that for nearly a minute, Jax just taking in the feel of a friendly touch, the warmth of another, and again he thinks on how Sonya is being his rock right now, a foundation for him to lean against while reality keeps shaking him down. Eventually, however, they must break apart, and Sonya is the first to do so, awkwardly clearing her throat as she stands, looking around the room.

"I should… probably let you rest some more. You'll have to go through a proper mental and physical examination, and after that I'm sure you'll be swarmed with visits. Johnny said -"

"God, please, anyone but him."

Sonya cracks a smile again, shaking her head. "He said Raiden wanted to talk to you too, once you were ready. Johnny just sent his well wishes from his own infirmary room." Ah, right, Jax stabbed him didn't he? But before he can mull on the guilt that lays there, Sonya raises her hand. "He's fine, Raiden healed the worst of it, and he doesn't blame you, trust me." It doesn't help as much as he wants it to help, but it's enough to push the thoughts into the back of his mind, at least for now. "Is there anything you need or want, before I go? Food, water? I could probably get a TV in here -"

"I'm good, I'm good. I feel like watching the news right now would be a bit much to take in." He wasn't hungry just yet, but he had a feeling he'd be starving sooner or later, once his body realized they had to eat to live again. "I do have a question, though. Before I have to talk to everyone, deal with all the medical bullshit…" The thought that had crawled into his mind earlier, at his comment aimed at Scorpion, wormed its way to the forefront of his mind. "Do you think I could talk to Scorpion? Alone?"

That gives Sonya pause, her brows furrowing in mild confusion and doubt, but her expression softens when she looks at Jax, remembering what he'd told her just a few moments ago. Still, she can't help but worry. "Are you sure? He's a danger to himself and others, Jax. What do you think talking to him will accomplish?"

"I know, I heard ya." He leans his head back against the wall, tilting it up and squinting at the bright white lights illuminating the room. "But this is less about me talking him down and more about… I don't know. Talking to someone who was there with me, understands what I went through." There, he lowers his eyes from the lights to Sonya's face, noting how she was visibly chewing on her cheek as she argued with herself. "And if talking to me manages to calm him down? That'll just be a bonus."

"... Fine. I'll see what I can do." Eventually, Sonya relented, shaking her head as her hand came to rest on her hip again. Their second next bet on dealing with Scorpion was having Kenshi try to talk to him in his dreams, but it was clear that just keeping the living wraith in control was already taxing on the telepath. "But if he as much as looks at you funny -"

"I'll smack him upside the head myself, Sonya." She scowled at him, and Jax let out a short huff of a laugh. "Wrong answer, got it. I'll leave him alone, I promise. I'm not exactly itching to experience third-degree burns."

That seems to appease her, even if her unamused frown remained. "I'll hold you to that, Jax." With that, she turned on her heels and headed out of the room, but she lingered on the doorway, hand resting in front of the sensors to keep the door open. There was clearly so much on her mind, but all she offered him was a tired smile. "I'll see you later. Rest up, soldier."

A mock salute was his reply, and he only dropped it once Sonya was out of sight, the doors closing behind her. Immediately, he laid back down, breathing in and exhaling a deep, drawn-out sigh that seemed to completely deflate him. His thoughts were a mess, and his emotions were an even bigger one, but… that was good, right? It meant he was himself again.

Or so he hoped.

Next Chapter: [ WIP ]

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Precious (One-Shot)

M/F Pairing: Y/N x Choi San (Ateez)

Warnings: language, alcohol use, stripping? (lol is that a warning?)

Genre: Action AU; Spy AU

Word Count: 7K

Summary: Choi San is one of the best investigators in PD Kim Hongjoong’s agency, especially when it comes to the baddest mafia gangs. However, despite the inherent risk of his job, nothing could shock him more than the discovery that his wife might be cheating on him with another man!

A/N: This is actually based on a scene from the movie True Lies. Oh, and go hard San, like damn! 👇

San understood the inherent risk of chasing down mafia gangs who always tried their best to test his patience, especially when it involved saving their own ass. However, it made his job much easier when the ones he targeted would quickly betray their own men without any hesitation. For example, when San first brought the agency’s newest scumbag into the interrogation room, he sat him down underneath the low-hanging lamp with his hands tied behind the chair. And San fully expected to encounter another stubborn punk who insisted that he didn’t know anything about the drug cartel that San was investigating. Of course, that would be utter bullshit, but San was also pleasantly surprised to find a man who was balling his eyes out while begging San to spare his life.

“What if I don’t think you deserve to live?” San asked the man, toying with the knife that he held in his hand.

“Please!” the man cried. “I’ll tell you anything!”

“Yeah? Who do you work for?”

“Kim! From the downtown shipyard,” the man said, spilling his secrets as freely as the tears that were falling down his greasy mug.

“That so?” San asked, circling around the man who whimpered when he could no longer see him.

“I’m being cooperative, sir, just cut me some slack!”

San laughed. “What’s Kim doing these days?”

“I don’t know! He’s messing around with some gang downtown, but they aren’t expecting a new shipment until this weekend.”

“What kind of shipment?”

“Cocaine, marijuana, heroin...the usual shit!”

“Who’s he selling to?”

“It’s just a couple of local dealers. He wants them to buy strictly from his organization.”

“Really?” San asked, humming thoughtfully to himself. “What time?”

“Midnight on the East Dock! There’s a boat coming in with the product!”

San sighed because he was somewhat disappointed that the asshole was so compliant. It meant that he couldn’t play with him using his favorite set of knives. “I guess I’ll let the rest of my men deal with you.”

San immediately started for the door, smirking when he could hear the guy calling out to him: “What do you mean!? I told you everything!”

He closed the door quietly, turning to look at his partner Wooyoung who was waiting expectantly with a cheap cup of coffee in hand. “Well?”

“Check the tape,” San said. “He spilled everything.”

“Hell, yeah, dude,” Wooyoung cheered. “I can finally go home before fucking midnight.”

San’s shoulders dropped as he checked the time. “Damn, that means I’m late.”

“Late?”

“My wife was throwing me some kind of birthday party tonight,” San said, already dreading the idea of facing Y/N’s disappointment when he returned home.

“Hey, I’m sure Y/N will understand,” Wooyoung said. “This happens all the time, right?”

San glared at his friend because that comment certainly wasn’t helpful. “Because I have to stay at work all the time.”

“Dude, seriously? Everything’s fine,” Wooyoung continued. “Let’s go tell Hongjoong the good news and then you can go home and make love to your wife or whatever.”

San rolled his eyes, but quietly acquiesced, and he followed Wooyoung as he led them both into the main control room. He was already waiting for them by the time they arrived, and Kim Hongjoong, despite his smaller stature, was one of the most intimidating men that San had ever met. Not only was he in charge of their private detective agency, but he also regularly tracked down some of the most ruthless gang members with ruthless accuracy, leading investigations with a confidence that defined his character.

Hongjoong also spent most of his time at the agency when he wasn’t participating in field work, and San offered him a generous nod as Wooyoung collapsed into one of the leather chairs. “Well?” Hongjoong asked, looking at San with a stern expression.

“He told me everything,” San said, smirking at a video of Park Seonghwa who had just entered the interrogation room on the screen monitor. He could see their unfortunate suspect pleading with Seonghwa as he attempted to slide the chair into the farthest corner of the room.

“Good,” Hongjoong replied. “He didn’t seem very aggressive.”

“He cried like a little bitch,” Wooyoung said.

“Anyway,” San interrupted. “I’m going home, Hongjoong. My wife is waiting for me.”

“Ah, well give her my best,” Hongjoong said, but San couldn’t help but frown at the comment because it was Hongjoong’s fault that his wife thought he was an insurance agent since they were undercover. Of course, San was also responsible because he wanted to keep his wife safe from the mafia gangs that they dealt with on a regular basis.

In any case, San bowed respectfully, and left the two men behind as Wooyoung launched into another story about his most recent exploit involving a girl from a bar downtown.

The lights were off when San finally entered his house, humming to himself because he wasn’t sure if his wife had gone to sleep. After all, she had made the time for his dinner at 9:00 PM, and San was several hours overdue. He could only hope that she hadn’t put too much effort into preparations, but that sort of wishful thinking was quickly blown away when he walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, baby,” San said, hesitating because he noticed that his wife had her arms crossed over her chest, sitting at the table where the remnants of San’s surprise birthday party were waiting in the form of a delectable cake and several neatly wrapped presents. “I’m sorry.” He sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It was a long day.”

“That’s what you always say,” Y/N replied, and San knew that he was in trouble.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, but the words rang hollow in his own ears because San knew that there would be more nights like this in the future.

“I’m tired, San,” she replied, lowering her gaze to the floor. “We can talk about this later.”

San nodded, and his eyes followed his wife’s form as she trudged up the stairs with an absence of her usual exuberance. He groaned when he sat down at the table in her place, feeling his heart break at the beautiful decorations complimenting the natural elegance of their dining room. He knew that this couldn’t continue, and San needed to do something to convince Y/N that he still cared about her, even if that meant ignoring some of his work-related responsibilities.

Subsequently, the next morning San called the office and asked Wooyoung to handle his morning meetings. His friend protested at first, but San drove a hard bargain when he offered him free lunch for the remainder of the week. Wooyoung was suddenly much more accepting, and San was feeling excited about the suprise that he had planned for his wife. As such, he drove to Y/N’s office to surprise her for an impromptu date to the best restaurant in the city.

As he rode the elevator to the corresponding floor, San checked the time on his watch, smiling when he realized that he would catch Y/N right before she usually left for lunch. He also studied his appearance in the reflecting panels of the elevator, nodding once in reassurance when he stepped out into the hallway, enduring the endless maze of office cubicles to find Y/N’s desk. “Don’t blow this San,” he said to himself before walking in her direction.

He was almost there when he heard one of the assistants mention his wife’s name. “Y/N, your mystery man is on the line!”

San paused, faltering in his steps when he heard Y/N’s voice answer the phone call. “Hello? Mike?”

“Mike?” He whispered to himself, shuffling closer to overhear the remainder of the conversation.

“Today?” Y/N questioned. “Of course, I can meet you for lunch.” San swallowed hard, trying not to jump to conclusions. “I’d love that!” Y/N giggled. “I’ll see you then.”

San quickly darted into one of the empty cubicles, holding his breath when Y/N passed him on the way out of the office. His shoulders instantly deflated, and he could feel a bitter rage churning inside his stomach. “What the hell?” he cursed, reaching for his phone to call Wooyoung because he was nothing short of pissed off and nobody was safe from his wrath.

San watched from a distance as Wooyoung pulled up to the sidewalk, rolling down the window to greet San as he climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Hey, man,” Wooyoung said. “Welcome to the club. The same thing happened to me with wife number two, remember? She was a real piece of work.”

“But this is Y/N,” San argued, still shaken from the phone call. “She wouldn’t do this to me.”

“Hard to argue with the evidence,” Wooyoung said, shrugging like he wasn’t at all concerned. “Look, divorces are common these days. I’ll even let you crash on my couch.”

“It’s not going to happen,” San insisted. “There has to be something else.”

“What did you expect, San?” Wooyoung asked him. “You’re never there anymore.”

The brutal truth hit San like a freight train, and he fumbled with his seat-belt while holding out his cellphone. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not giving up on our marriage,” San said. “I’m fixing this before it gets any worse.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened. “San, I don’t like that look on your face.”

“Relax,” San hissed, holding up the phone to his ear. He was pleased when one of the agency’s interns answered from the other end. “I’m coming back to the agency. I need someone to help me tap some phone lines.” 

“What!” Wooyoung screeched, but San ignored him as he shot off a series of orders to the poor intern who probably had no idea why San was so angry.

“Do it now!” San growled, assaulting the end phone call button before glaring out the windshield.

“San, are you fucking insane?” Wooyoung gasped. “This is a blatant misappropriation of funds! If Hongjoong finds out...”

“He won’t,” San interrupted. “Besides, I’m not doing anything that could hurt the agency.”

“But you’re talking about spying on your wife!”

“It’s not spying.”

“What the hell is your definition of spying, San?”

“Look, I’m just trying to keep this under control,” San retorted. “I would think that my friend might support me.”

“I do support you, San, but this is taking things too far!”

“Just drive back to the agency,” San growled. “I’m tired of arguing.”

San was pleased when several interns greeted him at the main office of their agency’s building. “Mr. Choi, we have the phone wires tapped at the work location and home address that you gave us.”

“Good,” San said, ignoring the way that Wooyoung was trying to get his attention while they entered the recording room.

“San!” Wooyoung pouted, hurrying to match his friend’s pace. “This is insane!”

“Get me some tracking equipment,” San added, throwing the command to the intern who nodded.

“Tracking!” Wooyoung exclaimed. “You’re gonna follow her?”

“Also, make sure that Hongjoong doesn’t find out,” San said, and Wooyoung waved his hands wildly through the air.

“Earth to San! Doesn’t it seem suspicious when you can’t tell Hongjoong about this?”

“He’ll make a big deal out of nothing,” San replied, checking the monitors that were supposed to record his wife’s future phone conversations.

“Nothing? Does this qualify as anything less than treason!”

San turned to look at his frazzled friend, holding his hands behind his back. “I’ve got everything under control, okay? And I need you to bring the van to my house tonight. I can sneak out Y/N’s purse and we can stitch in the GPS.”

Wooyoung sighed. “Anything else, your majesty?”

“Less attitude would be nice,” San told him cheekily, leaving Wooyoung to fume quietly to himself. In the meantime, San had one of the interns help him load some equipment into his car, ignoring the curious looks that he received from the other agents. Because whenever they attempted to inquire about the equipment, San would lie and tell them that he was doing some reconnaissance work from home.

Which wasn’t that far from the truth.

Later that night, San made sure that he was home early, surprising Y/N when he walked inside to offer her a gentle kiss in greeting. “San!” Y/N exclaimed. “You’re home?”

“Is that a problem?” San questioned.

“N-no,” Y/N stuttered. “But I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

“Hmmm...” San grinned. “I’ll be upstairs in the shower. Unless you want to join me?”

Y/N gasped, and her cheeks filled with an adorable blush. “Dinner...”

“It’s alright,” San said. “We can always mess around later.”

Y/N managed a nod which was nothing short of endearing, and San was even more convinced that he needed to keep a closer eye on his wife.

Thereafter, once he finished helping Y/N clean their dishes, they both returned to the bedroom upstairs. San immediately fell across the bed, enjoying the way that his mattress felt against his back after so many long hours at work. He also studied Y/N from the corner of his eye, formulating his next plan of action.

“I thought that we could have lunch tomorrow,” San said, and Y/N paused in front of the mirror.

“Oh,” she said. “I wish I had known sooner, babe, I’ve already made plans with some of my friends.”

“Really?” San asked, keeping a close eye on Y/N when he reached over onto the nightstand to grab her purse. “That sounds like fun.”

“It’s been a while,” she responded, covering her face with a delicate mask that gave San the perfect opportunity to quietly retreat into the bathroom. He immediately found the window above the sink, opening it just enough to toss out Y/N’s purse to an awaiting Wooyoung who was completely drenched from the rain.

“Yeah, thanks,” Wooyoung retorted, and San paused until he was around the corner of the house before returning to the bedroom.

“I’ll be right back,” San said, but Y/N was still distracted by the mess that she had made of her face mask. San chuckled to himself, hustling down the stairs to fling open the front door.

Thankfully, the agency’s van was parked in the driveway, and San waited by the door for Wooyoung who shakily offered him the purse. “You know, there’s still an opportunity for us to give up on this ridiculous plan.”

However, San’s silencing glare spoke louder than words. “What?”

“I mean, the GPS is at the bottom!” Wooyoung replied, flinching when San slammed the door in his face. 

In the meantime, San had re-entered the house with Y/N’s purse tucked under his coat, bringing it upstairs and returning it to its previous place on the nightstand. “Are you tried?” he asked Y/N, laying back down on the bed as he watched her.

“Yeah,” she said. “Do you have to be up early?”

“Not really,” San said, holding his breath as Y/N finally joined him on the bed. He carefully turned over on his side, dragging Y/N closer with one arm wrapped around her delicate waist. “You know,” he hesitated, “I feel really bad about coming home late.”

Y/N stiffened against his embrace. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s okay,” San said. “I should work on that. You deserve better.”

Y/N gave no acknowledgment of his comment. Instead, she muttered something about feeling exhausted because of work, and San simply nodded his head in response. “I love you, Y/N.”

However, Y/N didn’t offer anything in return, and San could feel his heart sinking low inside his chest.

When San arrived to work the next morning, he decided to finally address the mounting pile of paperwork on his desk. It was mostly just an excuse to remain in the office because one of the interns, who he had assigned to watch over the phone lines, might come to him with developing information concerning Y/N. Thus, San was certain that he needed to remain on standby since he might receive an update at any moment.

Eventually, the work was starting to become tedious, and he glared at the clock when lunchtime rolled around, wondering if his wife was going on some kind of lunch date with her “mystery” man. But to San, he wasn’t much of a mystery, just some bastard who thought that he could try and seduce his wife. Which, of course, made him San’s rival, and there was nothing that he wanted more than to confront this man and beat the shit out of him.

His violent thoughts made San feel restless inside his office, and he decided to visit the interrogation office where the interns had been stationed. However, during his brief walk down the hallway, he thought about Y/N and her dismissive attitude towards him from the previous evening. Was his wife really no longer interested in him? Would San have enough guts to give her a divorce if she asked for it?

He shivered at the scenario, but the unexpected sight of Wooyoung talking with his interns provided a good distraction. “What’s going on?” San demanded when he walked into the room, and Wooyoung immediately hid something behind his back. 

“San!” Wooyoung exclaimed, refusing to meet his gaze.

“You’re holding something,” San said.

“No...”

San rolled his eyes, cornering Wooyoung against the wall before reaching behind him to snatch away the transcript that his interns had likely created for him. Ignoring Wooyoung’s complaints, San started reading over the words, frowning when he realized that it was a conversation between his wife and Mike. “They’re meeting for lunch,” San said. “I know this restaurant.”

“Oh?”

San turned to address his interns. “Anything else?”

“No, sir,” one of them responded, and San reached behind him for the collar of Wooyoung’s well-pressed shirt.

“You’re coming with me,” San said.

“Where?” Wooyoung asked, and San held up the transcript that his friend immediately objected. “That’s really taking this too far, San!”

“Are you on my side or not?”

Wooyoung hesitated, appearing entirely conflicted, so San made his decision for him. He snatched Wooyoung’s familiar car keys from one of the desks, and Wooyoung only had a brief moment of realization before he was rushing to catch-up to San on the way out the front door. Unfortunately, San was beyond reason, ignoring Wooyoung’s attempts at rational conversation by opening the driver’s side door. “Take us there,” San requested, tossing his keys into the air before making himself comfortable on the opposite side.

Wooyoung was grumbling when he switched on the ignition. “This is really low, San.”

“You’re supposed to be my friend and partner.”

“I am!” Wooyoung said, slowly guiding them out into traffic. “Which is why I’m the most qualified to give you relationship advice, and I think that spying on your wife is a hard pass.”

“Says the same guy who’s already been divorced twice!”

“Yeah, and that means I know when you’re doing something wrong,” Wooyoung said. “And that we're doing right now? Wrong!”

“Just drive,” San insisted, and Wooyoung must’ve realized that his friend was stoically determined to follow through with his plan because he started quietly driving the rest of the way to the restaurant. “Pull in at the front,” San instructed him.

Wooyoung turned off the ignition, sighing as he leaned back in his seat. “There’s Y/N’s car.”

“Turn on the audio,” San said. “You put the microphone in her purse, right?”

“I stitched it myself,” Wooyung confirmed, reaching down to twist the knob on the machine attached to the radio.

There was mostly static until two distinct voices filled the rest of the car. “Hey, I’m so glad to see you,” a male voice said, and San assumed that it belonged to this Mike character.

“Of course,” Y/N responded timidly. “What did you need?”

“It’s important,” Mile said. “I think they’re coming for me tonight.”

“Tonight?” Y/N gasped, and San and Wooyoung exchanged a quick look.

“You’ll be there for me, right?” Mike asked, and San wrinkled his nose at the disgusting tone. “I have something to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“I can’t tell you until it’s safer,” Mike said. “Come home with me, tonight. We can talk in a place where they can’t follow us.”

“Damn, this guy moves fast!” Wooyoung laughed, but he immediately stopped when he noticed San’s fierce expression. “Oh, shit, I mean, that sleazy scumbag! Who does he think he is?”

“Just shut up,” San said, leaning in closer to the radio because Y/N was talking again.

“I have work until 5,” Y/N said.

“I’ll pick you up outside the office,” Mike replied, and there was a sound that reminded San suspiciously of the noise that he associated with Y/N’s delicate kisses.

“I’m beating the shit out of this bastard,” San declared, and Wooyoung shivered at his dangerous tone.

“Are we following them later?”

“Absolutely,” San agreed, reaching over to grab the GPS tracker. “I’m putting an end to this bullshit!”

Wooyoung simply nodded because he knew that San was past the point of talking him back from over the edge.

However, San was usually the type who could control his temper. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when he had experienced what some might call “blind rage,” but he came pretty close when he watched his wife get in a stranger’s car without any hesitation. Consequently, San was forced to take several deep breaths to clear the red clouding his vision, waiting until he was mostly clear-headed again to open his eyes. Thankfully, Wooyoung was already following Y/N and Mike, maintaining a safe distance so that they wouldn’t suspect anything.

“Keep on that car until they stop,” San instructed his friend, gripping tightly to the dash while they continued to follow Y/N and Mike through the relatively empty streets.

After twenty minutes of tense driving, they finally pulled into a modest apartment complex where Mike pulled in the driveway of one of the units. “He lives there?” Wooyoung asked, driving past their car.

“Turn back around at the end of the road,” San said while pulling out his cellphone. “I’m calling for back-up.”

“Back-up?!” Wooyoung repeated, but it was too late to change San’s mind and he was already ordering most of Hongjoon’s agents off the street to arrive at the complex.

“This is insane!” Wooyoung loudly whispered, stopping his car at the sidewalk near Mike’s apartment just in time to see Y/N walking inside with the other man.

San reached behind him for the gun that he kept on the backseat. “You aren’t shooting him, are you?” Wooyoung asked, but San’s response was nothing but a crooked smirk as he re-loaded the weapon.

Much to Wooyoung’s horror, the other agents were also fast to arrive on the scene, and San greeted Yunho and Mingi who had been dealing with a drug bust downtown. “What do we got?” Mingi asked when he recognized San.

“Some kind of undercover exchange,” San lied. “Clear out the back of the van for me.”

“Do we have any details?”

“Two people,” San explained. “One man and a woman. The dude is complete trash and you can leave him to me, but the woman is innocent, so just try and get her out safely.”

“Yes, sir,” Yunho said, teasing San with the directive. 

“Get your agents ready,” San replied because he wasn’t in any mood to joke around.

Graciously, Yunho and Mingi immediately complied, shouting orders into their walkie-talkies while several agents emerged from around the house, completely dressed from head to tie in their uniforms. Actually, the entire complex was surrounded by Hongjoong’s agents with their sleek black cars, and various cases of equipment and weapons ready for their disposal. “Are you ready?” San asked Wooyoung, covering his face with a mask to disguise his identity.

Wooyoung did the same with a grunt. “I’m sure Y/N will never forget this night.”

San ignored him, checking the safety on his gun, before he stationed himself next to the front door of the apartment. He gave a signal to the agent across from him who nodded once, taking a step back to kick down the door with force, and chaos quickly unraveled as the small apartment was filled with dozens of armed men shouting and aiming their guns in the direction of the two people situated rather scandalously on the couch. 

San recognized Y/N’s screams, eyes widening when he noticed that Mike had somehow made himself rather comfortable in close proximity to his wife. San grabbed the sleazy bastard who was still between his wife’s thighs, jerking him back by the collar of his shirt. “You piece of shit,” San grunted, tossing the man onto the ground to cuff his hands.

“What’s happening!” Mike cried, struggling against San’s grip. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yeah, right, asshole,” San muttered, forcing Mike to stand on his own two feet again before searching for Wooyoung. “Get Y/N.”

Wooyoung nodded, approaching Y/N carefully because her eyes were filled with fear and she was looking around at all the action unfolding. “Let’s go, Ma’am,” Wooyoung said with a wince, trying his best to disguise his regular voice because Y/N might recognize him.

“Who are you?” Y/N demanded, but Wooyoung didn’t try to explain, reaching for her arm.

Y/N shrieked and fought against Wooyoung’s hold, even as Wooyoung maintained his grip. “Oh, come on, Y/N, don’t be like this.”

“You asshole!” Y/N screamed, turning around to knee Wooyoung between the legs and the younger man immediately collapsed to the ground.

“Holy shit,” Wooyoung cried. “That fucking hurt!”

His loud curse attracted San’s attention, and he brought Mike to another agent with strict directions to throw him in the back of the van. Meanwhile, he ran after Y/N who was flailing her arms while tripping in her high heels. “Damn,” San gasped, fighting for air when he finally caught up to Y/N. 

“Who are you people?!” Y/N shrieked, kicking out her legs when San wrapped an arm around her upper torso. He certainly hadn’t expected his wife to fight them so much, especially when she leaned down to bite him. However, he only groaned in complaint and fought against the pain while he managed to drag Y/N back to another agent’s car. 

“Take her to the agency,” San instructed one of the other men. “In the interrogation room.”

“Yes, sir,” the agent said, and San waited until he was driving off before he confronted Wooyoung who was still hunched over on his knees. 

“Come on,” San said, tapping his foot against him.

“You try getting kicked in the dick,” Wooyoung spat, using San’s suspenders to help himself back up. “God, you stupid prick,” Wooyung howled, still feeling the effects of Y/N’s kick while he flipped off Mingi and Yunho who were laughing at his expense.

“Job well done, gentlemen,” Yunho said, flashing San a quick thumbs-up as he settled himself behind the wheel of the van.

“Ignore him,” San told a still seething Wooyoung before they drove off in the direction of Hongjoong’s agency.

The interrogation room was incredibly high-tech with an indestructible Plexiglas wall separating the room itself from the attached studio which was filled with expensive equipment. Wooyoung and San sat together in the studio, watching Y/N as she stormed around the room, screaming and yelling while demanding to be heard. “She’s something else,” Wooyoung remarked.

“Do we still have the voice changing microphone?” San asked.

“Of course,” Wooyoung said, reaching behind him for the appropriate instrument. “Let me get it ready.”

San nodded, thoughtfully considering Y/N who had passionately refused to sit down even after facing stern directions from one of the interns. She had always been passionate, refusing to give in to others, and it was a big part of the reason why San had fallen in love with her in the first place. It was also impossible to describe Y/N’s beauty because, even after such a long and chaotic evening, she still managed to look good in nothing but casual jeans and a simple blouse.

“Good evening, Mrs. Choi,” Wooyoung spoke into the mic, and his voice echoed inside the interrogation room. “We’d like to ask you some questions. It’s in your best interest to cooperate.”

However, Y/N appeared less than compliant, and she furiously slammed her hands against the glass. “Who are you! What do you want from me?”

“Calm down, Mrs. Choi,” Wooyoung said, flinching when San abruptly took the microphone from him.

“We found you with an incredibly dangerous man, Mrs. Choi,” San said. “Can you tell us how the two of you met?”

“Dangerous?” Y/N repeated, looking nothing short of confused. “Mike?”

“How do you know him?”

“We met when I was having lunch alone one day,” Y/N said. “He came up to me with a briefcase and said that he was being followed by some suspicious agents.”

“Why?”

“He works undercover,” Y/N explained. “His work seemed really important.”

“So important that you decided to help him?” San asked.

“Well,” Y/N hesitated. “He said he needed me.”

“Needed you in what way, Mrs. Choi?” Wooyoung took over, much to San’s displeasure.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “What the hell are you insinuating?”

“Is it because your husband isn’t pleasing you anymore, Mrs. Choi?” Wooyoung asked, whining when San grabbed the microphone from him.

“Let me handle this,” San said, before turning his attention back to Y/N. “Why did you keep meeting him, even though you barely knew who he was?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, throwing out her hands desperately. “I guess it’s stupid, but I kinda liked that he was involved with something top secret. It seemed really special for me to be a part of it.”

“Special enough for you to cheat on your husband?” San practically spat into the microphone.

“Wait a minute! How do you know that I’m married?”

“We know everything, Mrs. Choi,” San said, quickly trying to make-up for his slip. “Did you sleep with him?”

“I hardly see how that’s any of our business!”

“Answer the question,” San insisted. “Your compliance with us could help your case.”

“My case?”

“Of course,” San said. “You were found with a wanted man. That makes you an accomplice.”

Wooyoung cleared his throat. “Isn’t that a little too much?”

San shook his head, determined to get to the bottom of things. “No, I didn’t,” Y/N finally said. “Satisfied?”

“Were you attracted to him?”

“No!” Y/N cried. “What do these questions have to do with anything?”

“I just have one more thing for you, Mrs. Choi,” San said, taking a deep breath as he braced himself for the answer. “Do you still love your husband?”

Y/N sighed, looking around the steel-gray walls of the room. “Yes,” she said. “I still love him.”

“Terrific!” Wooyoung whispered. “She still loves you! Everything's fine.”

However, San still had one more thing in mind. “You want some adventure in your life, Mrs. Choi,” San said carefully. “That’s good because we might have a solution to our problem concerning your association with Mike. Otherwise, we’ll have to turn you into the authorities.”

“Well!” Y/N exclaimed. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Wooyoung covered the microphone, looking at San with suspicious eyes. “What the hell are you planning?”

San smirked at Wooyoung. “If she wants some excitement, then I’m going to give it to her.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but remained silent. “Mrs. Choi,” San said. “How do you feel about doing some undercover work for us?”

After ensuring that one of the agency’s interns could safely return Y/N home, Wooyoung and San drove quietly to the edge of town to deal with Mike. They pulled the van off the road next to a large overpass, dragging him out screaming and crying from the back. But despite his attempts to break free, San held him perilously at the edge of an enormous dam. “Please,” Mike cried. “Don’t kill me.”

San rolled his eyes, even though Mike probably couldn’t tell from behind his mask. “Did you really think you could get away with it?”

“What are you talking about?” Mike questioned. “You’ve got the wrong guy!”

“It’s all over,” Wooyoung said. “Your career as a spy is well-documented.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No, seriously, I’m just a car salesman,” Mike cried. “I’ve never done anything wrong!”

“Why did we find you with that young woman?” San asked. “We overheard you telling her all about your secret as a spy!”

“It’s only because I have to lie to get laid,” Mike said. “I made the whole thing up because I was trying to impress her!”

“A married woman?” San asked.

“I’m sorry,” Mike said, and there were actual tears streaming down his face. “I’m the biggest coward in the world!”

“Get the fuck out of here,” San grunted, jerking Mike’s hands free from his shirt.

“As soon as I’m not looking I know that you’re gonna shoot me!” Mike declared, walking backwards as he looked back and forth between San and Wooyoung.

San pushed him out of the way, reaching for the driver’s side door of the van. Meanwhile, Wooyoung turned around to confront the frazzled man. He reached for his gun, firing off a few rounds into the air while Mile immediately covered his head. “Fuck off, dude.’”

One Week Later

The hotel made for the perfect cover, and an ideal situation to carry out San’s plan for his wife, even if Wooyoung was less than enthusiastic. He was currently helping San arrange the room to his liking, moving one of the chairs into the shadows of the curtains. His partner also handed San a tape recorder, and San smiled at him gratefully. “Look,” Wooyoung said. “I had one of the interns record some shit. Just play the phrases whenever you need to talk to her.”

It was a good way to disguise his voice, and sitting in the corner would help keep his identity protected. “Did you arrange everything with her?” San asked.

“We had an agent call the house earlier with instructions,” Wooyoung said. “We told her that she was meeting a man who’d be expecting an exotic dancer. She’s supposed to tell you that the regular girl is sick.”

“What did you ask her to do?”

“We dropped off an envelope by her office,” Wooyoung explained. “Her job is to plant the bug on the nightstand without you noticing.”

San chuckled. “And who does she think I am exactly?”

“A very wealthy man,” Wooyoung said, reaching for his phone when it started ringing. He answered in quietly, stepping off to the side of the room while San finished arranging a bouquet of roses next to the little side table where he would be sitting for most of the night. Despite the fact that this whole night had been his idea, he was still nervous about how his wife would handle everything, and there was inherent risk of exposing his identity that he was trying to ignore.

“She’s on her way up,” Wooyoung announced.

“Then, you should go,” San said, ushering Wooyoung towards the door, even while his partner flipped off the light switches as he passed them.

“I’ll be in the lobby in case something goes horribly wrong,” Wooyoung said. “Since it might considering how insane this entire plan is!”

“Relax,” San said, giving him a friendly pat on the ass. “I have everything under control.”

Wooyoung still appeared doubtful, but he gave his friend the benefit of the doubt, and San made sure that the door was closed and unlocked before he settled himself on the chair that he placed in the corner of the room. He sat down with a nervous exhale, wondering if he should cross his legs or not, and he held the tape recorder behind him. There was no turning back from the plan, and San anxiously anticipated Y/N’s arrival, finally deciding to leave his legs spread out in front of him.

It was only a few minutes later that he heard the sound of the front door opening, waiting with a pounding heart as Y/N entered the room. San swallowed hard when Y/N approached, wearing one of the sexiest dresses that he had ever seen in his entire life. His eyes trailed down the skin of her exposed legs, moving back up again to pause on the tight fit around her breasts. He cleared his throat and reached behind him for the tape recorder. “What’s your name?” 

San jumped when he noticed that the recording's voice was much deeper than his, and it was also slightly accented.

“Y/N,” she whispered, and her tone certainly didn’t match the intimidating outfit that she wore. “The regular girl was sick, but she thought you would like me.”

“Let me determine that for myself.”

Y/N nodded, reaching behind her for the zipper, but San quickly rewound the tape. “No, do it slowly for me.”

She was hesitant, but San sat up straighter when she turned around to undo the zipper on the back of the dress, allowing it to fall onto the floor. San cleared his throat, taking in the sight of Y/N wearing a black set of lingerie, and the panties barely covered her ass when she made a complete circle to look at San again for directions. “Dance for me,” the recording instructed. “I want to see how sexy you are.”

Y/N paused while San reached out to turn on the radio, adjusting the volume for the heavy bass song that began to play throughout the room. San waited, taking in a deep breath when her hips started to move, and it was awkward at first, until she finally found the beat, dragging her hands over her gorgeous body. San watched as her hands traveled over her breasts, moving them down sensuously to tease the waistband of her underwear.

At this point, San’s heart was practically leaping into his throat, and the music sounded unbelievably loud inside his ears. Y/N was clearly distracted by her own dancing, closing her eyes as she continued to hypnotize San with the tantalizing way that she undulated her hips. San groaned at the display because he was uncomfortably hard in his black trousers, reaching down to adjust himself as he watched Y/N grind herself against the bed post.

She dropped lower to the ground, pushing her ass out in San’s direction, and every bit of blood in his body had moved south to fill his cock. It took everything that he had not to launch himself at his wife who was using the post as support to sway her body from side to side. San closed his eyes, leaning over to turn down the radio so that Y/N could hear the tape recorder again.

“Lie on the bed and close your eyes.”

Y/N stumbled in her heels at the unexpected order, but she still obeyed, gently lowering herself vertically across the hotel’s king-sized bed. In the meantime, San took a flower from the vase next to him, walking over to Y/N to drag the velvety petals against her smooth skin. He was unable to help himself when he joined her on the edge of the bed, leaning down to claim Y/N’s irresistible red-glossed lips.  

He moaned against her mouth, resisting the urge to climb his fingers along her beautiful skin that was practically glowing from the light penetrating through the curtains. It had been a long time since he had kissed his wife so passionately, and he was determined to make her feel good tonight. Of course, distracted by the moment’s pleasures, San failed to realize that Y/N had grabbed the alarm clock from the corner of the nightstand until she was hitting him over the head with the offending object. “Pervert!” she shouted, immediately rising from the bed. San grunted as he collapsed to the floor, feeling the dizzying effects of the hit that he had just taken courtesy of his wife’s powerful aim.

However, he quickly came to realize that Y/N was trying to put on her dress while limping haphazardly for the exit. “Y/N,” San shouted, and his wife paused. “It’s me!” He removed the mask and held up his hands, watching Y/N’s eyes grow wide with shock.

“San?” she gasped, and her entire body was suddenly shaking.

“Yes, it’s me,” San whispered, hoping to calm her down.

“H-How?” she asked, clutching the dress tightly to her chest.

“I’m not an insurance agent,” San said, carefully approaching his wife like she might flee at any moment. “I work for a private detective’s office downtown, but I had to lie because I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“What?” Y/N questioned, pulling at the strands of her hair as if she couldn’t process anything that he was saying. “None of this makes sense!”

“It was me that night with Mike or whoever,” San revealed. “I interrogated you in that room, and I had some of the agents organize this night for us!”

“San, you sound insane right now!” Y/N said.

“I know,” San agreed, trying to reach out for Y/N, but she quickly took another step back. “I��m so sorry for everything, baby. I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt because of the stuff that I did at work, so I made up a cover to protect you!”

“You?” Y/N repeated, and San wasn’t sure if it was a question or just his wife’s attempt to make sense of everything. “Y-you're being honest? This was your idea?”

San nodded. “Look, I have a badge and everything,” he said, reaching into his pocket to extract his wallet, holding it out for Y/N who took it with narrowed eyes. “I’ve been working at the agency for years. That’s I’m always home so late because my cases sometimes are more difficult than others.”

Y/N had taken out his badge, studying it with an expression that he had never seen from his wife before. Finally, she dropped the wallet and badge onto the floor, inhaling once as she addressed him. “I can’t believe you’ve lied to me.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” San said, desperately trying to make amends. “I know it was wrong to keep this from you, but I thought it would help you.”

“Help me?” Y/N spat. “Really, San? Because I love thinking that my husband is an insurance agent who spends all night at his office, but it turns out that he’s secretly keeping another identity from me since he could actually die!”

“I’m hardly ever in danger,” San said, but he realized that Y/N wasn’t quite as accepting. 

“And what’s this dancing thing all about?” she asked. “You literally tricked me into coming here so you could watch me dry hump the bed?”

“That’s not it, Y/N,” San said. “I- I heard what you said in the interrogation room. You said that you wanted to do something special.”

“But not after my husband lied to me!” Y/N said, meeting San across the room to sharply push against his shoulders. “Is our marriage a cover too?”

“Of course not,” San said, shaking his head. “Y/N, I love you more than anything else in the world.”

“If you loved me, then we wouldn’t be in this situation,” Y/N said. “I feel humiliated!”

“I’m sorry,” San tried again. “This is all my fault, and you can hate me for the rest of your life, but I never wanted to hurt you. Because I’ve loved you long before I became an agent, and I just want you to know that I care about your happiness, even if sometimes seems like I’m the world’s biggest asshole.”

Y/N sniffled, studying San for several long moments. “I believe that you love me,” she finally said. “And I still love you too, but we’re gonna talk about this! Do you hear me?”

“Of course,” San agreed.

“Especially about this disaster,” she continued. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Well,” San said, searching for the correct words. “You look really hot...”

“Shit! I’m still fucking mad at you!” Y/N said, but there was also a carnal energy in her eyes that had San hesitating. “I swear to God I’ll make you pay for this!”

“Is that a promise?” San asked, and Y/N didn’t hesitate to throw her weight against him in a furious kiss as they both landed on top of the luxury bed.

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Dreaming While I Wake

Sanders Sides Foster Care AU - Roman-centric Angst & Hurt/Comfort & Abuse Recovery

Roman tries to be upbeat and hopeful despite all the shit that’s happened to him. And a lot of shit has. Luckily, his new foster home is with two literal rays of sunshine (and a sarcastic asshole).

Words: 3,480 Warnings: Major Warnings - Spoilers in Warnings Characters: Roman, Thomas, Patton Universe: Dreaming While I Wake Genre: Chill Hurt/Comfort

Chapter 26

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

   Roman exhaled with relief as he unloaded the textbooks he didn’t need into his locker at the end of the day. He still was so incredibly glad he only required the one textbook for his science homework due tomorrow. Short answer essay questions, because the teacher was the actual devil. He’d gotten back some of his homework today and it was lots of C’s, even though he tried to focus and do his best.

   He got back some homework he got help from Patton on with an A, at least, so he could possibly average out to a B instead of being a solid C student as usual. Not that he could ask Patton to help him again. He couldn’t bother them. He just had to… do better somehow. He managed a B on his own for one of the packets, so he could in theory.

   Roman closed his locker and hefted his bag off the floor, but jumped when he locked eyes with a guy leaning against the locker right in Roman’s face. Roman narrowed his eyes and looked the stranger up and down. He didn’t recognize him and had genuinely no idea why this guy was staring at him. Did they share a class? Roman had trouble remembering faces.

   “Can I… help you?” Roman inquired curiously.

   “What’s with the new look? Trying to pretend you’re interesting or something, now?” The guy sneered at him with a villainous grin.

   “That’s rich coming from a guy dressed up in a fancy peacoat,” Roman slid on his backpack and huffed at him, motioning to his coat. Was this even real life? This was so weird.

   “Hiding something?” He said, reaching out and plucking at Roman’s gloves. Roman twitched his hand back and scowled at him. He knew he’d regret wearing them at school, eventually. He thought they looked okay, certainly less obvious, with the leather jacket, and he didn’t wish to upset Thomas again by forgetting. Thomas reminded him multiple times to put them on that morning, and he couldn’t bring himself to take them off while he went to school as usual.

   “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Roman rolled his eyes and threw his head. He spun around to walk off. He wasn’t stuck in a class with this asshole and had no reason to continue to tolerate this passive-aggressive bullshit.

   “I know,” The guy called after him. Roman couldn’t stop himself from stiffening his shoulders while he strode off. “I know what you’re hiding,” He continued. Roman swung to look at him. His expression was completely impassive and his bright hazel eyes felt piercing as they locked gazes.

   “Whatever,” Roman said dismissively and turned back around to leave. There wasn’t anything that this guy could extort from Roman. He didn’t have cash, and most of his possessions weren’t fancy. If he pretended it didn’t matter, then hopefully it wouldn’t. It had worked before. This guy clearly had problems to seek out Roman just to fucking bother him, and Roman didn’t need to make himself a part of this stranger’s issues. Roman waved at him and headed out the building to walk home. The guy didn’t follow or call after him again, so hopefully, it worked.

   Today was long, PE continued to be a nightmare of glares, and he slept like shit last night because he was so busy feeling guilty about Thomas buying him clothes. He wished to lie down and space out to something on TV. If he got lucky he could pass out to it. His feet freaking hurt and that guy annoyed the shit out of him, so he’d need to relax or his anger would get out of control again. He had that damn appointment soon, and that fucked with his mood enough so he needed to try to keep his cool.

   His mood was not as bad as Virgil’s, though. Virgil stormed past him on the sidewalk, looking as pissed as a hydra that had one of its heads lopped off. He had some paper crumpled in his fists and was slouched over, his hood hiding his dark hair and doubtlessly a very dour expression. Roman sped his pace to keep up with Virgil but kept a berth of a few feet. He wasn’t sure if he should ask or let him deal with it alone. Roman would rather be left alone, personally, so just making sure Virgil didn’t punch anything should be helpful enough.

   Virgil grimaced as he fished his keys out of his jeans pocket and unlocked the front door. He stomped upstairs and slammed his bedroom door before Roman got halfway up. He ambled into his own bedroom and left the door open, in the event Virgil desired to vent or something, and dropped his backpack at his desk. Roman flopped down on the bed and exhaled tiredly. He kicked off his shoes with his toes and considered if he wanted to watch the TV downstairs or on his phone. It’s about all he had the mental capacity to do right now.

   Sitting there and thinking about doing things was more effort than he had. He was fucking tired, annoyed at that prick, worried about Virgil, and his feet which were fully healed were being bastards and aching for no good reason. Was it too much to ask to just stop existing for a while? Even twenty minutes? Roman needed a god damn break like he needed oxygen. Too drained for TV wasn’t exactly a new low, but still some grade-A bullshit. At least he didn’t have to be watching kids right now.

   “Hey, do you know what that was about?” Thomas asked, knocking on Roman’s open door. Roman leaned up and looked over to him.

   “No, no clue,” Roman shrugged and sighed.

   “He’s not answering his texts. Would you mind…?” Thomas trailed off and pointed to Virgil’s room from the doorway.

   “What?” Roman raised a haircut at him.

   “Translating for him?” Thomas finished somewhat awkwardly. “I mean... if he’s okay with it. I’m hoping he’ll respond in person,” He added sheepishly.

   “Um, no, I don’t mind,” Roman sat back up and got up from the bed. Thomas shifted a door over and knocked on it while Roman stared curiously at Thomas.

   “Virgil? I’m opening the door,” Thomas announced. Roman stepped up behind him while Thomas paused. He pushed it open and Virgil was sitting on the floor against the bed, with his arms wrapped around his bed and his makeup smudged. “I brought Roman to translate if that’s okay,” Thomas said. Roman finally got a chance to look into Virgil’s office. He had a surprising amount of things, but the room had a similar setup in that it had a full-sized bed, a dresser, a bookshelf, and a desk, other than the fact that he had a big bean bag in the corner. But there were plenty of little decorations, old toys, and other possessions littered about the area. He had posters up, some bands Roman didn’t recognize and a Donnie Darko poster, which is weird, because Roman was certain that movie was rated R. Virgil’s sheets were royal purple and he had a black throw and pillowcases on it. Virgil didn’t acknowledge Roman or Thomas and stared blankly ahead. “What happened? Are you okay?” Thomas asked, looking concerned and conflicted in the doorway.

   “School,” Roman said as Virgil signed sluggishly. Virgil sighed and leaning back against the bed, looking more exhausted than pissed now. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes slightly hollow.

   “Did something happen at school?” Thomas urged him to open up softly, holding on to the door frame. Virgil took up the crumpled paper and held it up. Thomas stepped in to take it and examined it. It looked to be an essay, but there was a big red zero on the top and a stamp for where the parent had to sign to prove they’d seen the grade. Roman flinched involuntarily seeing that, grimacing. Thomas skimmed the paper swiftly. “It’s okay if you got a bad grade, but I have to admit I don’t see what’s wrong about this essay. Did you go off-topic or something?” Thomas asked with a confused expression, flipping it over to the other side.

   “Oral presentation,” Roman translated for Virgil. Virgil grimaced, dropping his face into his knees and taking hold of his legs again, flopping his hoodie down.

   “What do you mean?” Thomas scratched his eyebrows, appearing to be reading the essay. “This looks fine to me,” He commented, flipping the pages back and straightening them out.

   “I think he means it was supposed to be an oral presentation, and the teacher failed him because he couldn’t present,” Roman suggested sourly and Virgil nodded slowly in confirmation. Thomas stiffened and his eyes widened right away.

   “What a complete and absolute bitch!” Thomas intoned acridly. “Don’t let Patton know I said bitch in presence of you,” He added quickly and ran his hand through his mane. “How dare they, honestly? This teacher is likely still at the school, right?” Roman backed up and nodded, not a fan of this angry energy Thomas was putting out. “Alright, come on, both of you. I’m not leaving either of you alone, but I’m not letting them get away with this,” Thomas hissed. “Get your shoes back on, Roman,” He said, but Roman was a little freaked out and couldn’t react. Virgil curled in on himself on the floor. Thomas inhaled and exhaled gently. “I’m sorry, boys. Please, let’s go. You don’t deserve this grade, Virgil. We need to set this right,” Thomas said much more evenly and Virgil and both let out a tense breath.

   Roman backed out of the doorway and shuffled into his bedroom to slide on his shoes. He didn’t want to walk anymore, but he also didn’t have it in him to contest Thomas. He looked intense, and that was extremely unnerving to Roman. It was usually safer and easier just to follow along, even if he didn’t understand why he had to go. It wasn’t as if he was going to hurt himself or whatever, he only wanted to take a nap and sulk. Though maybe Thomas could see something in Roman that he didn’t. He had to admit he was in a trash mood, and that could make Thomas nervous. Roman pulled himself up off the bed with a pained huff. He headed downstairs and waited for Thomas and Virgil. They came downstairs a few moments later and headed out.

   His feet hurt, so Roman limped every few steps on the way there. Thomas was a full-grown adult and Virgil had long spider legs, so their natural pace was quick compared to Roman’s limping gait and he had to be careful about not falling behind. Thomas was rushing and gripping the essay in his hands. Virgil had his hood up again and was holding himself as he followed behind Thomas. He looked sullen at best, grasping his hoodie with pale knuckles and staring morosely at the concrete below them as they walked.

   They reached the school swiftly due to their long legs and frustrated pace. Virgil led them over to the junior hall and to the teacher’s classroom silently, Roman tagging behind them nervously. Thomas fell on the open classroom door and entered with his shoulders high. Roman slid in to sit down and put out his feet, but Virgil hid behind Thomas and rubbed his arm restlessly.

   “Excuse me? Mr. Brennan. I’m Mr. Sanders, Virgil McNaught’s guardian?” Thomas got the teacher’s attention, standing firm in face of the desk.

   “All you had to do was to sign the paper, Mr. Sanders, you didn’t need to come in,” The teacher said, sounding very tired as he examined the failed essay in Thomas’s hand.

   “I’m here because you can’t give Virgil a zero for being unable to present vocally,” Thomas said coolly, dropping the paper on the teacher’s desk.

   “You’ll find I can. It is not my job to make shy children come out of their shells. He chose not to present,” Mr. Brennan responded, tapping the desk with his pen and looking annoyed.

   “He is not able to speak, and that is a very important distinction. Virgil still provided the presentation in a way he was capable of doing,” Thomas poked the essay on the desk and Virgil shrank back slightly.

   “I wasn’t made aware of a 504 plan for the student,” The teacher replied, sounding frustrated and rubbing his nose under his glasses.

   “Virgil shouldn’t need that for you to know that he can’t talk and thus can’t give an oral presentation,” Thomas insisted angrily, crossing his arms.

   “He does, technically,” Mr. Brennan’s tone sounded bored. Roman stared at him from across the room.

   “I don’t care about technicalities. This still violates the spirit of the ADA and we’re already actively working on getting a diagnosis,” Thomas shot bitterly, standing stiffly and possibly joining Roman in the glare from the slight hunch.

   “Listen, he’s not the first quiet kid I’ve ever seen. He’s got the look and everything,” The teacher motioned to Virgil and arched an eyebrow. Roman gritted his teeth, biting back an insult. “How do you know he’s not lying to you, too?” He demanded incredulously and jumped when Roman’s fist slammed down on the table. If he had ever given anyone a death glare, he was sure giving it to this asshole. Thomas glanced behind him at Roman. “Please control your entourage, Mr. Sanders, it’s after hours,” Mr. Brennan said warily and rubbed his head again.

   “Roman has every single right to be upset, just like I am! He cannot talk. And as it happens, that’s not your place to assume or judge. Boys, come on, we’re going to the main’s office,” Thomas growled slightly as he spoke with firm conviction. Virgil was completely curled into himself and breathing hard. Roman got up and stood between Virgil and Mr. Brennan without hesitating, staring him down.

   “Leave him alone,” Roman hissed menacingly to the teacher, balling up his fists.

   “Roman, that’s enough,” Thomas stopped Roman, putting his hand on his shoulder. He would have preferred to shrug it off, but it was grounding and Roman was barely containing himself as he bared his teeth at the schoolteacher. “An infringement of the ADA is a fire-able offense. The principal can do much worse than you,” Thomas added evenly, though his other hand was clenched tightly.

   “It’s not an invasion of the ADA without a diagnosis, Mr. Sanders,” He sighed with exasperation, flipping his hand out towards Virgil as he rested his head on one arm.

   “Once we have a diagnosis, that’s something completely trivial for my lawyer to handle,” Thomas stared him down, standing resolutely. Roman glanced back at Virgil and he didn’t seem to be doing any better. Roman shrugged Thomas off and walked behind him, squatting down to the floor to face Virgil. He fell on the ground with his knuckles and Virgil’s eyes shot up.

   ‘Hallway,’ Roman signed and Virgil nodded slowly, swallowing hard. His forehead was sweaty, and he looked kind of sick.

   “The school doesn’t have any money for you to sue for. This is a public school, we’re lucky we have running water,” The teacher sounded more fatigued than before, leaning heavily on his hand and scowling.

   “I don’t want money, I want fair treatment for my- for Virgil! I don’t need money, I need you not to treat children like liars! This bullshit is why kids are hurting so much and I’m not standing for it!” Thomas shot fiercely, only barely controlling his volume. Roman held his arm out and protected Virgil as he made his way to the hall. Thomas followed after them after he finished his tirade, holding the essay again.

   “I’m really sorry, Virgil. I’ll make sure this gets solved. Can you breathe?” Thomas asked much more softly, keeping a safe distance from Virgil. Roman stayed within a foot of him, entirely on edge but ready to throw down at any second if anyone even looked at Virgil funny. He’d gotten his ass beat for foster siblings before and he’d do it again in a heartbeat, and he couldn’t use but default to that when he was stressed and Virgil was panicking. Virgil nodded weakly and choked a bit, continuing to shake and grip himself too hard.

   “Let’s all take some deep breaths, okay? I could use it, too. I’m going to count on my hand and you two can follow my lead,” Thomas suggested, putting the essay under his arm and holding up four fingers and starting to breathe in, counting on his fingers. Roman followed suit with his fists gripped tightly. It took plenty of cycles, but the time for each slowly increased and Roman eventually calmed down a bit. Virgil had stopped shaking as well, though his bangs were still holding to his forehead and he looked completely drained, the dark circles under his eyes visible under the makeup.

   ‘Fuck that guy,’ Roman signed to Virgil with a half-smile on his face, but he couldn’t manage to suppress the grimace much. Virgil nodded bitterly and glanced at Thomas.

   “Let’s go to the administrative office. You two can wait on the court out front, just stay together and keep each other safe, all right?” Thomas requested, motioning with his head down out of the junior hall.

   “Way ahead of you,” Roman muttered darkly under his breath. Virgil stuck close to Roman in the hall instead of keeping his normal few feet of distance.

   Virgil dropped to the bench right outside of the front office with a fatigued exhale. Roman stood, not sure if Virgil needed his space on the bench and helpless against the tension in his body. Thomas marched in the administrative office and advanced directly into the principal’s office without waiting for the currently absent secretary to let him in. Roman tapped his fingers on his jacket as he crossed his arms, shifting his weight around on his feet from time to time.

   Virgil’s arm eventually reached out and yanked at Roman’s jacket, forcing him to sit and then scooting over, less than a foot between them. Roman exhaled painfully, his rib acting up. Maybe watching him twitch restlessly wasn’t helping Virgil. Roman uncrossed his arms and wrung his hands slowly instead. Virgil leaned forward on his legs and stared at the floor despondently.

   That motherfucker in the open peacoat with the brown and gold shirt passed in the hall and regarded Roman curiously. Roman glowered at him, doing his best to communicate not to fuck with him right now with his eyes. Roman barely contained his need to fight as it is. The guy paused and looked Roman up and down before he walked up, which meant this person didn’t get the picture. It felt like an invitation that Roman wanted to rip into shreds.

   “Acting out again?” He said smoothly, sliding his hands into his coat pockets. Again? This fucker. Roman didn’t know what he knew or how he knew, but he clenched his teeth and balled his fists against his thighs. “Oh, you don’t enjoy being-” Roman socked him right in the fucking face. He was standing over him and breathing hard before he was even aware of what he was doing. The person in the peacoat stumbled back and hissed in pain, holding his eye.

   “Good!” Roman shot loudly, raising his arms. “Get the fuck out of here before I come over there and finish the job,” Roman spat, cracking his knuckles stepping forward. The guy scampered off hurriedly and Roman growled and ran both his hands through his mane and scratched aggressively at his scalp. He held himself and started pacing.

   Virgil gripped his sleeve while he passed and yanked him down on the desk again, shooting him a furtive glance. Roman sighed and grasped his legs. The combination of jeans and gloves stopped him from feeling his nails pressing through the material and he groaned quietly in frustration, eyeballing the direction that prick head ran off in. He loved to chase that kid and go for round two. He longed to go fight him so much it buzzed in his muscles painfully.

   Roman reached up and scratched at his head once more. He was just as awful as his fucking dad. Roman held his head in his palms and leaned back against the wall, rubbing his face roughly in frustration. Virgil yanked at Roman’s sleeve and removed Roman’s hands from himself. Oh. Right. Roman nodded to Virgil in thanks. His skin felt raw from the leather gloves, but he probably didn’t hurt as much as that kid’s eye did. Roman squeezed his eyes shut and clutched at his jacket, trying to stop attacking himself. What the hell was wrong with him?

Personal Taglist: @bunny222 @elizabutgayer​ @prinxietyforever @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno @the-sympathetic-villain @croftersjam15 @ollyollyoxinfree @xytiiko

the taglist repository (ask to be removed):

High school:  @dragonwithproblems @starlight-era @averykedavra  @potatsanderssides

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Roman-Centric:  @smileyzs  @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemirainnerd

Fostering AU:  @i-am-not-a-dinner-roll

literally everything sanders sides:  @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun  @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven  @ananonsplace

[emmerrr]

Ahh don't worry about not being able to write something for my prompt! Maybe at some point you could just wirte them going to some costume party at some point during the year just because! hahahaha Again, don't worry! ♥ And since you're open to winter/Christimas prompts, maybe "cutting down/decorating the tree"? Pynch, because yes. ♥

@deerlovelylily asked: adam + ronan picking out/decorating the xmas tree for the holiday prompts ?? 💕

this is on ao3 too! enjoy :)

deck the halls

Ronan was usually very good at letting Adam sleep in on a Saturday morning, which is why Adam was surprised and not just a little disgruntled at being dragged out of bed when it wasn’t quite yet light on the first Saturday of December.

Ronan plied him with coffee and bundled him into a coat and then into the car. Adam turned the heat up as high as it would go and sat back, arms crossed as he glared at Ronan.

“This better be astronomically good,” he said.

“It will be,” Ronan insisted, and he looked so bright and excited and rosy-cheeked that Adam didn’t have it in him to stay annoyed.

He rested his hand over Ronan’s on the gear-stick. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“You’ll see.”

“Oh, awesome, a surprise,” Adam drawled, so okay, there was still some room for annoyance.

Ronan glanced at him with a smile. He started to sing: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happyyyy—”

“Fuck off,” Adam said, but he was laughing, finally. He squeezed Ronan’s fingers.

After around twenty minutes on the road, Adam noticed signs for a Christmas tree farm. “Are we…?”

Ronan didn’t reply, but sure enough, he slowed down as they approached the turn off, then pulled into the busy parking lot.

“C’mon, Parrish, all the good ones will be gone soon,” he said as he got out of the car.

Adam followed. He’d never been to a Christmas tree farm before. They’d never had a real one back at the trailer, just a very ancient and small fake one with a set of string lights, the bulbs of which were mostly no longer working. It was a sad sight, but Christmases at the Parrish household hadn’t been fun for as long as he could remember. It wasn’t a time of year he particularly looked forward to.

This year, though, he was finally out of the trailer. He had his own apartment, and he’d be spending the holidays with Ronan and his brothers at the Barns. He was looking forward to it, immensely.

He just hadn’t been expecting to be dragged into the various holiday traditions.

“Come on,” Ronan said again, grabbing Adam’s hand to hurry him along a little faster.

“You’re getting the tree today?” Adam asked.

“Correction, Parrish, we’re getting the tree today. It’s tradition.”

“What’s tradition?”

Ronan absently brought Adam’s hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it, causing Adam’s stomach to do a little somersault.

“Every year,” he explained, “on the first Saturday of December, we’d come here and get our Christmas tree, then spend the afternoon listening to Christmas songs and decorating.”

It hit Adam now, that this was something the whole Lynch family used to do. It also hit him that it was something they wouldn’t have been able to do since Niall had died. And now Ronan was finally allowed back at the Barns, but Aurora was gone now, too. So much had happened so quickly.

The air smelled of pine and hot chocolate from a little stall that had been set up, and the place was busy; families picking out trees, bartering with the tree farmers, assistants helping people load them onto their cars.

Adam felt the enormity of the gesture of Ronan bringing him here, and stopped. As they were still holding hands, Ronan stopped too, and turned around to face Adam, confusion in his eyes.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Adam said, shaking his head. “It’s just...don’t you want to wait and do this with your brothers?”

Ronan frowned. “They won’t be back home until just before Christmas, it’ll be too late then. And besides, I want to do this with you.”

Adam’s heart swelled, but at the same time his brain cautioned him. “Are you sure?”

Ronan grinned and kissed him on the forehead. “Why else would I risk the wrath from getting you up so fucking early?”

Adam smiled and took Ronan’s hand again. “Alright, fair enough, lead the way. What’re we looking for?”

“A tree, Einstein.”

“Lynch, I will murder you.”

Ronan laughed, less of the sharpness in it Adam was so used to, and more of a happy thing that was being coaxed out more and more.

“One that’ll look good in the living room,” he finally offered.

“Whereabouts there do you usually put it?”

“In front of the window that overlooks the fields. In the middle.”

Adam closed his eyes, picturing it. “Okay. Got it,” he said, and set about the task with boundless sincerity.

It only took about ten minutes to find the one. It was big but not too big, and was very green and had plenty of branches for ornaments. Adam could easily imagine it in the space Ronan wanted it, and by the satisfied look on Ronan’s face, he agreed.

They flagged down an employee and paid up, and Ronan turned down the offer of help to get it to the car.

Carrying it between them, Adam asked, “Are you sure we don’t need help? This is pretty big, Ronan, can we even get it on the car?”

“I got us covered. Trust me.”

Adam sighed. He did trust Ronan, he just also wished he knew the specifics of what they were going to do to secure the tree.

When they reached the BMW, Adam saw that there was a roof rack on top that he had obviously been too tired to notice on getting in. He looked at it dubiously.

“Will this even take the weight of the tree?”

“It’s supposed to take the weight of anything,” Ronan said.

“Ah. Dream thing?”

“Dream thing.”

“Soooo...does it work?”

Ronan smiled cheerfully. “Let’s find out.”

Together, they managed to get the tree well-situated on the roof rack, and it held easily. Adam made sure it was attached securely while Ronan doubled back for hot chocolates.

They sat on the bumper to drink them, looking out across the rest of the tree farm and the hustle and bustle going on there. It was the kind of day that was cold enough that you could practically smell it in the air, skies so clear that the low temperatures were biting. But it was made better by Ronan’s ankle hooked over Adam’s, by the heat from the hot chocolate warming his hands, by Ronan’s extraordinarily good mood infecting Adam with good cheer of his own.

Ronan used his finger to scoop out a dollop of whipped cream from his hot chocolate, and dotted it on Adam’s nose with an unrepentant grin.

Adam sighed, but even he could hear how fond he sounded.

“You got something there, Parrish.”

“Uh huh.”

“Here, I got it.” Ronan lunged forward and licked it off too quickly for Adam to register. He yelped and lightly batted Ronan’s face away, laughing and scrubbing at his nose with his coat sleeve.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Ronan mimicked, not looking at all sorry. “In my defence, you should’ve seen that coming a mile off.”

After a moment of consideration, Adam nodded in concession, whilst also secretly plotting his revenge. “Fair enough.” He downed the rest of his drink and hopped to his feet. “Let’s go decorate this thing.”

Once they arrived back, it took some effort to get the damn tree inside. It was difficult to maneuver through doorways, and it moulted like crazy. Opal followed behind them as they painstakingly carried it through to the living room, picking up fallen pine needles and twigs off the floor and chewing on them.

They got it roughly where they wanted it, and then Ronan spent ages getting Adam to help him make tiny adjustments until he decided it was absolutely dead-centre. After that, Adam was officially starving so he went into the kitchen to make some grilled cheese sandwiches while Ronan vacuumed up all the dropped pine needles Opal had yet to get to.

With lunch out of the way, Ronan went up into the attic and passed several boxes down to Adam, all of which were labeled XMAS DECORATIONS. Adam carried them back down to the living room one by one, putting them by the tree before going back for more.

Ronan passed down the last one then climbed down the ladder and pushed it back up into the attic space. “Y’know,” Adam said as Ronan fell into step beside him, “it kinda feels like you only wanted me to help so you’d have someone else to do all the heavy lifting.”

“Obviously, Parrish, did you see how many boxes there were?”

“I did see. Because I carried them all down. One by one.”

Ronan jostled Adam jovially and took the box from him.

Adam smiled. “I appreciate it, but that’s kind of an empty gesture at this point seeing as I literally carried all the other boxes down. And also this is the lightest one.”

They reached the living room and Ronan put the box down, before wrapping his arms around Adam’s waist, pulling him close and kissing across his cheek before lingering on his lips.

“Tell you what. Next year you can pass down the boxes and I’ll carry them downstairs. Does that sound fair?”

It did sound fair, and it sounded like a promise, and it sounded like an invitation; Ronan wanted Adam this Christmas, and he’d want him next Christmas too. It made him feel warm inside and he pressed his face into Ronan’s neck and held him tight.

“Yeah,” he mumbled against Ronan’s skin. “That sounds fair.”

He pulled away, noticing the soft expression on Ronan’s face and filing it away to revisit later. “So. What’s first.”

“First, tunes,” Ronan said, heading over to the record player in the corner. He flicked through a few records until he found the one he was looking for, then put it on. A song Adam wasn’t familiar started to play, but there were sleigh bells in it so it was Christmassy enough.

“Next, lights.”

“Which box are they in?” Adam asked.

Ronan looked at the bulging boxes, then at Adam, and he shrugged. “I’ve got no fucking idea.”

Adam sighed. “Of course you don’t.”

The next half hour was spent unpacking all of the boxes and sorting out what was in them into two piles; one for tree decorations, one for non-tree decorations.

“When we pack all of these back up after the holidays, I’m organising it properly,” Adam said in exasperation as he pulled out a set of lights that were horrendously tangled with some tinsel.

He wasn’t looking at Ronan to see, but he heard the smile in his voice when he said, “You do that.” He flipped Ronan off without looking up, and was rewarded with a laugh.

As soon as everything was set up in a way that made sense to Adam, they started draping fairy lights around the tree. There were two sets of tree lights, and they used both seeing as how the tree was big enough to take that many, and also they had decided not to put any tinsel on it. (“Chainsaw will eat it,” Ronan said. “It’ll be bad for her.”)

Next came the ornaments. These came in various shapes and sizes, and a lot of them seemed to be homemade. Adam held up a crocheted penguin. “Does it matter where any of these go?”

“Nah,” Ronan shook his head. “Anything goes anywhere.”

There were a lot of tree ornaments, which was good, because there was a lot of tree to put them on. It was a slow process, because they kept stopping to dance together, Ronan humming along to the music in Adam’s hearing ear, or because Adam kept asking for the stories behind the various ornaments. There was a particularly heavy pair of crudely made reindeer ornaments that Matthew had made out of clay when he was little that never got to go on the tree because they were too heavy for the tree to take their weight.

Adam got to the bottom of his box of ornaments to find three left in there. Again, they looked homemade, but they were neat and light. All of them were Christmas stockings in different colours, with different toys sticking out the top, and a different name on each; Declan, Ronan, and Matthew.

Matthew’s was yellow and orange with a teddy bear and a candy cane poking out, Declan’s was blue and white with a baseball bat, ball, and glove visible in the stocking. And Ronan’s was red and black, a toy car and a gingerbread man sticking out the top.

Adam picked them up carefully and took them over to Ronan. “You should hang these ones up.”

Ronan finished hanging up a vaguely creepy Santa then turned to look. A small smile crossed his face, and he gently picked up the one with his name on it, almost like he was afraid he might break it.

“Mom made these when we were kids,” he explained. “The presents sticking out are some of what we got for Christmas that year. Matthew’s teddy bear, my toy car. Declan really wanted to join a little league baseball team but Dad wouldn’t let him. So they got him his own gear for Christmas instead.”

Adam watched as Ronan hung up his little namesake ornament near the top of the tree.

“What about these ones?” he asked, holding up Matthew and Declan’s.

“Leave them on the windowsill, they can hang their own when they get home.”

This was another tradition, Adam realised. The Lynch brothers always hung the ornament that had their own name on it. He stared up at Ronan’s a little wistfully. He reached up and gently brushed his fingers over the delicate lettering that made up Ronan’s name.

“Adam.”

He turned, and Ronan stood behind him, one hand in his jeans pocket. His expression was a little guarded, but it cleared at whatever he saw on Adam’s face. He leaned forward and kissed Adam high on his cheek, just under his eye.

“Here,” he said, and pulled something out of his pocket and pressed it into Adam’s hand. He felt the warmth of it.

Adam uncurled his fingers, and in his hand was a little stocking ornament of his very own. It was two different shades of green, and out of the top peeked the Magician tarot card, and a toy car. The toy car in Adam’s, unlike in Ronan’s, was the same one he’d been looking at in Ronan’s bedroom, right before they had kissed for the first time. The lettering of his name was made to look like vines.

Adam couldn’t stop looking at it.

“Did you dream this?” he finally managed to get out.

Ronan nodded. “Woke up with it this morning.”

Adam’s heart clenched; Ronan had been carrying this around in his pocket all day. “I love it,” he whispered, then reached up to hang it on the tree right next to Ronan’s.

It was the last tree ornament to go up, and Adam stepped back so he was next to Ronan, and he twined their fingers together as they marveled at the tree.

Ronan bumped his shoulder into Adam’s. “Not bad, Parrish.”

Adam grinned. It was all mismatched and colourful, and the ornament distribution wasn’t quite even, but it didn’t matter. “I think you’ll find it’s perfect, Lynch.”

“Oh!” Ronan said, remembering something. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

He ran upstairs as Opal slunk in from the kitchen. She grabbed onto a handful of pine needles. “Can I eat them now?”

Adam put a hand on her head and she tucked into his side. “Not this one,” he said. “Take your pick from the trees outside, any of them are up for grabs.”

“Fine,” she sighed, like it was a huge imposition.

Ronan returned, carrying a chicken-wire rendition of Chainsaw wearing a Santa hat. He was grinning as he held it out. “Instead of a star,” he said proudly.

He handed it to Opal then swung her up so she was sitting on his shoulders, narrowly avoiding getting kicked in the face by wayward hooves. It took some explaining to get her to wrap chicken-wire Chainsaw’s feet around the branches to secure it to the tree, but she got there in the end.

When Ronan put her down, she looked up at her contribution, nodded in satisfaction, and slunk out again, presumably to eat Adam-approved trees outside.

With the tree now done, the rest of the decorations were quick enough to dot about the place. Various table ornaments, festive snow globes, candles, and wreaths were put up throughout the downstairs of the farmhouse. Over the fireplace, Ronan hung up five Christmas stockings, one for Declan, one for Matthew, one for him, one for Adam, and one for Opal.

They made the house feel full. Adam tried to imagine what it would be like to be here over Christmas with Ronan and his family, instead of back at the trailer where he usually spent Christmas trying to avoid his father.

He just couldn’t picture it; he’d have to experience it instead.

The thought made him smile.

“What are you smiling at?” Ronan asked.

“Nothing.” Adam shrugged. “Just happy, I guess.”

Ronan looked like he was going to say something, but then he changed his mind and shook his head. He was smiling too, though. He finished hanging the last wreath on the kitchen door, then dusted his hands off. “And that’s it.” He looped his arm over Adam’s shoulders. “Job well done, Parrish.”

Adam leaned into Ronan, relishing the way Ronan automatically pressed a kiss into his hair. How quickly they’d settled into this relationship. How right it felt.

“You say that, but there’s a pile of empty boxes and bags in the living room.”

“Good fucking point,” Ronan allowed. “Okay, how about you go and stack all of the boxes and bags and leave them upstairs for me to put in the attic later, and I’ll make us hot chocolates and then put a movie on?”

Adam hummed this over. “I’m agreeing to this only because you make a better hot chocolate than I do.”

“Big of you to admit that,” Ronan said with a smirk, then tapped Adam on the ass as he headed into the living room to tidy up.

In fairness, it didn’t take long to get all the empty boxes together, and by the time he got back downstairs after removing them, Ronan was just finishing up with the drinks.

Adam waited in the living room. Ronan had started a fire, and with the Christmas tree lights on as well as one of the lamps, the whole room was cozy and warm and inviting. He’d initially had homework he wanted to get done today, but he suddenly couldn’t find it in him to care; it could wait until tomorrow. Adam had better plans for tonight.

Ronan returned with their drinks, both piled high with whipped cream and dusted with cocoa. They smelled amazing, even better than the ones they’d had at the tree farm that morning.

Adam took his gratefully.

“Careful,” Ronan said. “They’ll be hot.”

He put his down on the coffee table, so Adam did the same, and they sat down on the sofa. Ronan pulled a blanket around them, then let out a contented sigh as he dropped his head back and shut his eyes.

Adam thought back to last Christmas. He could never have imagined, a year ago, that he’d get to have days like this. He was excited to see where the years to come would take them.

But for now, he was happy to have some peace and downtime with Ronan.

Well, relative peace, at least. He leaned forward and scooped out the whipped cream from the top of his hot chocolate. Then he smeared it all over Ronan’s cheek.

Ronan’s eyes flew open. “You sneaky bastard,” he said with a helpless laugh.

Lightning quick, Adam licked a clean line through the cream on Ronan’s face, amid much scoffing and spluttering and laughing.

“Unbelievable, Parrish,” Ronan said, grabbing a tissue to clean the rest of his face.

“In my defence,” Adam replied, “you should’ve seen that coming a mile off.”

[mauve-n-arcadia]

The Pining of the Void: Chapter 1 The Crystal mines

By Mauve & Arcadia

Deep in a Cave was not Where Glush preferred to be. It was damp and muddy, and he really didn’t care for how much washing it took to get the sweat and dirt out of his jumpsuit after a long day in the mine. He placed a chisel in between the rock and the crystal jutting out of it. The crystal shone a yellow light over his tools, thankfully making it very clear where Glush should strike, and he brought his hammer down on the chisel.

The rock was shunted down a bit and then sloughed off the crystal, letting more yellow light pour into the cave. Glush took off his left glove and wiped the sweat off his brow as he stood up and appraised his work. A good chunk of crystal about the size of his thigh was jutting out of the wall, and it looked like if he wiggled it a little he might be able to pull it free.

“How are you doing over here, Glush?” Glush looked over his shoulder to see the white light of a miner's helmet peeking out from behind him, then foreman Shadbak emerged from the depths of the cave.

Glush made a sound of annoyance, he was immersed in his repetitive motion and beat of his work. He gestured towards the rock as if saying, ‘it was going well till you interrupted’.

Shadbak gleaned the meaning behind the gestures and grunts.

“If you use your axe as a pivot from the bottom that should pop right out.”

Glush stared at the crystal appraisingly, he didn’t mind bashing it till the rock came out, but he wasn’t opposed to making his work easier. 

He placed his chisel towards the bottom of the crystal, and it did indeed pop out with minimal effort.

Glush smiled at Shabak and then tossed the Crystal at her. Without missing a beat, she took a large bag off her hip and pulled it open. The Crystal disappeared into the bag with a swish.

“Good work, Think it’s about time we call it a night. We've tapped most of the big veins of spell crystal here, and we ought to give it a chance to regenerate.”

Glush smiled broadly and sighed in relief.

“You look like you could use the fresh air too!” Shadback added as the two of them started their way out of the cave. Glush thought that he could also use a nice long wash, and a cold drink. 

As they crawled through bottlenecks and hoisted themselves up steep walls, Glush noticed that the rest of the miners were nowhere to be seen. He did have a habit for being the one to wander furthest into any given mine, weather he was directed to or not. It just seemed like all the best spell stones were in the deepest caves.

Glush wasn’t sure how he ever ended up with such odd talents, but it was just a fact of life for him.

Finally, at the mouth of the cave, Glush Stretched his arms as far above him as he could, and took in the sunset as it dipped below the horizon far to his other side. The yellow and orange hues were only interrupted by a light smear of clouds and Tall grass that went on as far as he could see.

It was a treat to see the untamed wild these days. It almost seemed like all of the land was taken up by some warlord or other. Though he knew that just behind him, atop the plateau stood Belladonna's west fortress, thakfully it was comfortably out of sight.

---

The next day Glush woke up sluggishly. He rolled out of his cot and hit the ground with a loud thud. He made his way through a small labyrinth of cots to get to the outside of the tent and approached the breakfast pot. 

Today’s breakfast was a rather grey gruel, but Glush ate it all the same. The excuse for the poor breakfasts was that they hadn’t been meeting the quota, so the company couldn’t afford the proper meals. Glush knew it was more of a punishment.

Shabak of course, was already seated and eating. She was an early riser. Glush made his way to the pot, and ladled out some grey for himself in order to join her. 

They ate in companionable silence. Every time Shabak opened her mouth to make small talk, Glush would spoon more gruel into his own mouth to avoid answering. She still found occasion to prattle on.

“Your numbers up yesterday, but everyone else's were down….we may need to move on from this location soon, or dig new tunnels.”

Glush fought a glob of slop down his throat, and cleared it to speak. His first attempt came out as a crackling squeak, then he tried again. 

“Dig more and  fort fall down into land.” Glush jammed another spoonful of the muddy grey in his mouth so he had an excuse to stop speaking again.

“Hah! I’d love to see the warlords fort sink into the earth as much as anyone, afraid that even though there are a considerable amount of tunnels in the plateau, it is nowhere near collapsing, which even if it’s good for Belladonna, it’s also good for us!”

Glush grunted, unconvinced. He was at least half sure that his deathbed would be under a ton of rocks, and probably one of the warlord’s shoddy fortresses one of these days. There wasn’t much he could do about it except hope it didn’t happen though. Spell crystal mining was about the only job that he could get.

Well, it was the only job that best fit him, He was qualified for it, it made him enough money to get by and buy the odd instrument here and there, and he didn’t have to talk to anyone. It was pretty absurd how many jobs required you to speak. That was never something Glush was very good at though.

In fact, Shadbak was probably the only person Glush had spoken more than a brief introduction to in years, and that was only because she would talk to him all the time.

He didn’t mind it much. Shadbak knew better than to expect a verbal response for the most part, but after they had been working together for about a year, she was too curious to not ask questions.

Speaking of which, she had that glint in her eye that meant she was probably about to ask him something. Glush put his spoon down and braced himself. 

“So why the piccolo? You’ve been saving up for a nice instrument as long as I known you and you buy that tiny thing? It’s not even made for Orc hands.” she held up her own hands showing her broad palms, regular sized for an orc lady, but absolutely monstrous compared to human hands that such delicate instruments were made for.

Glush huffed. Questions about why he does what he does were the worst, because they were hard to answer, and when he did, Shadbak was rarely ever satisfied with his response. 

Glush didn’t know how to articulate the answer she wanted. The piccolo just felt right, and sounded nice.

“Pick - low, not that small…” Glush struggled to find the words, “Sound nice. Like… hmm.” Shadbak was still giving him an expectant look, and he couldn’t think of any better words, So Glush fished the tiny instrument out from the inner pocket of his dust covered vest and began to play.

His large fingertips did not falter on the tiny machinations of the piccolo and for the brief moments he played he felt free. The notes danced in the air and flew from his lungs like a flock of birds out of a tree. 

When he finished he stored the piccolo back carefully and looked at Shadbak, her eyes looked a little glazed over.

“Okay, I guess that’s a good enough reason.” She said. “You know with talent like that, you could easily make it as a minstrel. Nobles would pay fine for your little song twig.” Glush chortled and stuffed his mouth, making it clear he was not going to say anything else.

Shadbak looked thoughtfuly at Glush. “I guess it might be difficult since the nobles don’t care much for Orcs.” 

Glush nodded, giving her a look like ‘duh.’

She got up and gathered her dishes, patting glush on the back as she walked by. “Their loss, we get to have the best flutist this side of Yshvid, and we’re just humble miners!”

Glush shortly followed her and got ready to start his day in the mines.

---

As he began to fall underneath the shadows of the plateau his ears perked to the sound of hoofbeats approaching rapidly. 

An armoured figure appeared atop a grey warhorse. 

They pointed menacingly. “You there” they snarled. “Where is the foreman”

Glush blinked a few times at the regalia of the knight and their steed. They were covered in checkered purple and green, and the hanging fabrics were decorated with purple bells. The whole display was a little ridiculous, as was the usual sensibilities of nobility.

Glush though, then he shrugged at the knight's question. He really didn’t know where she went after breakfast. She could be in her tent, in the mine, wherever she damn well pleased really.

Glush couldn’t see the Knight lips curl underneath their helmet, but he could certainly hear the acid tone in their voice.

“Well perhaps you should find him” and they tapped the insignia on their shield, a purple flower.

Glush turned without acknowledging their request and walked into the mines. He didn’t feel like dealing with nobility right now, and though the caves were never comfortable, their silence and isolation was welcome.

Well, relative isolation. The other miners kept to themselves, simply nodding and smiling at glush as he passed by. That wasn’t bad though, as long as nobody tried to talk to him, he actually enjoyed company.

He saw Shadbak sizing up a fresh outcropping of spell crystal. The vein was too small yesterday to really do anything about, with crystals smaller than a fist, but overnight it had grown drastically to the size of the crystal he had finished with yesterday.

She looked over her shoulder to see who was shuffling up behind her and smiled at Glush.

“Got a real good one right here, Not sure if we should take it though. Spell stone that grows this fast may be part of a node.” She felt her hand along the shining surface of the spell crystal. Glush didn’t understand much about the mechanics of magic, but he knew that if this vein was part of a ‘node’ it would be better left alone.

“Hmm. well, don’t really have enough time to figure it out, you and I gotta pick up the slack for the rest of the team, I’m tired of gruel for every meal!” She motioned for Glush to follow, and they both descended deeper into the cavern.

---

Glush and Shadbak fell into a familiar rhythm, She would guide him to the best spell crystals, tell him the most efficient way to pry it from the walls, He would make a few deft whacks, and toss the Rough gemstones into Shadbak’s bag. Time passed easily this way, and Glush had almost completely forgotten there was a knight waiting outside for the forman.

He held the spell crystal he just mined and paused, breaking their rhythm.

“What is it?” Shadbak asked. 

“Knight, outside.”Glush said.

“Huh?” Shadbak’s face quickly went from one of confusion, to one of sudden and urgent realization. “You left a KNIGHT waiting outside this whole time?”

Glush shrugged.

“UGH, you are just awful sometimes.” She didn’t really sound serious, but it was clear she was annoyed.

Shadbak rushed out without another word. So Glush just...kept working. Without Shadbak guiding him, he found himself venturing deeper and deeper into the system. But there wasn’t much to be gleaned. Glush recognized all these tunnels from the many days spent in them before. 

He was working on a rather stubborn crystal. Losing himself in the rhythmic clunk, clunk, clunk, of his axe, when he barely was able to make out the gathering bells at the front of the mine.

He gave the crystal a few last hurried clunks before it popped out, then gathered his meager findings in his arms to be deposited, and meandered topside. 

Shadbak was already giving the others the news. 

“We will be moving west, we’ll need to be packed up first thing in the morning” She announced.

Glush left his pile with the others for Shadbak to collect. 

“But I don’t want to get farther away from my family's village!” One of the Orcs protested. Glush couldn’t remember his name.

“Then don’t come!” Shadbak exclaimed. It looked like she was getting frustrated with the pushback. They all knew we’d have to move on from this mine eventually.

“We’ll be meeting up with another mining company, so there will be plenty of workers to go around. AND, they are paying us 15% more per crystal at this location!”

The crowd murmured at that. Goodbye gruel, hello stew.

“I need everyone up and packing by 7am.” And that was the last of the speech. She found Glush at the edge of the group and locked eyes with him. The harshness in her face eased into more of a scolding look. Glush figured that maybe he was actually supposed to follow Shadbak out, and he pulled nervously at his collar as she approached.

“You hear all that?” Glush shrugged and nodded yes at the same time. He only heard the tail end of her announcement, but he got the important bit. Shadbak sighed. “Look, next time Belladonna sends a knight to our camp, don’t just blow him off. We’re lucky this was just about a job she needs us for.”

Glush shrugged again and smiled.

“Don’t pull that innocent bullshit on me, Glush! Now get your green ass in gear and get ready to go!”

---

[shions-songbirds]

Icing on the Cake

Also posted on ao3

Todoroki didn’t celebrate his birthday. He never really had, considering, well, his home life. That had changed in their first year, because Midoriya wouldn’t stand for him not celebrating it, but, in the end, he didn’t really care about his actual birthday. And he didn’t really like that Midoriya made such an event of it. That didn’t mean the gesture wasn’t sweet or that he didn’t appreciate it, he did, very, very much, but it just wasn’t really his thing. It wasn’t so much that he minded being the center of attention, he was training to become a hero, that came with the territory, he more just didn’t like his friends going through all that trouble for him. For a day that had never really mattered. Sure, Fuyumi would give him a gift, would do her best to spend some time with him, more than usual, but it didn’t actually mean anything. January 11th was just another day. Sometimes it was good, sometimes it was bad, but ultimately, it was just another day, for whatever that meant. 

But, every year without fail, a few days before his birthday, Midoriya would throw a little party with the help of their friends and classmates. He’d enlist Satou to make a cake, ask Iida to help him organize everything, get Uraraka’s help decorating, so on and so forth, dragging everyone in to be a part of it. It made every part of Todoroki scream at the thought of how much needless effort his friends put in to make an impressive birthday party. He knew if they had the option they’d drag him out of the dorms to a nice restaurant or something, but dorm security made that nearly impossible, and so instead they endeavored to make something impressive of their shared living quarters. 

Which Todoroki really didn’t need. He didn’t need anything impressive, he didn’t need all his friends to put in some much effort on his behalf. He had never needed his birthday to be anything special, it never had been, so really, they didn’t need to worry about it. But they did, they always did, and though he’d told Midoriya time and time before that they didn’t need to plan anything special, the class still came together on it every year and Shouto was left feeling touched but tired. 

And he was always tired afterwards. That many people all with their attention centered on him drained him pretty quick. The party was as grand as a party hosted in a dorm common room could be, a too big cake sitting on the counter, decorations ranging from a “Happy Birthday, Todoroki-kun!” banner to a bunch of tacky streamers and dumb little things hanging up and about that he was sure took hours to take down, now that he’d ever been allowed to help with that. They’d also go out of their way to make some “special” dinner for the class, usually just cold soba, where a couple of classmates would generally start trying to make it, Midoriya included, only to be chased out of the kitchen by Bakugou, barking at them that he wouldn’t let them “fuck up his damn boyfriend’s dinner”. Or so Todoroki had been told. 

A lot of planning went into it. Unnecessary planning. But every time, when he entered the dorm commons and saw it decked out in things for his birthday, like right now, he felt a smile appear on his face despite himself, felt touched that his classmates and friends would go through all this trouble. 

He walked up to Midoriya, bumping their shoulders together. “You went too far, again,” he told him, shaking his head. 

“But you’re smiling,” Midoriya pointed out, “which means you aren’t upset about it.”

“Oh I am, you put in way too much effort, but,” he paused to pull him to his side in an awkward side hug, “it always feels nice to see how much you care. Even if you didn’t need to do all this.”

“Of course I did. And I made sure it couldn’t possibly get in the way of yours and Kacchan’s date this year, so I think I did just enough.” 

He shook his head at the reminder of the ordeal last year, where the time of the party had directly coincided with when Bakugou had planned to take him out for his birthday so they’d have all day out without it interfering with their classes. That hadn’t been pretty, and trying to prevent his boyfriend from murdering one of his best friends was really not how he had wanted to spend the day. And it had lead to a trashed party and ruined date plans, which made pretty much everyone unhappy, considering the party was a class wide effort. Avoiding a repeat of that was really the only birthday present he needed. 

“Good that’s… good. The last thing I think I’d ever want is a repeat of that disaster,” he told Midoriya, getting a very hasty nod in return. 

“Kacchan wouldn’t talk to me for an entire week afterwards,” Midoriya admitted.

“Like that’s a new thing?”

“Well, he hasn’t really been like that since our first year, so I thought we’d be fine but… yeah, no, he wasn’t happy.”

“Are you surprised?”

“....” he said nothing for a moment. “No….” 

Todoroki laughed, and the two kept on like that for a little longer before Midoriya shooed him off to go spend time with their other friends. Which was fine. He’d kind of been intentionally avoiding that because that meant talking to a lot more people and he didn’t really have the energy for that, but it was nice all the same. Observing the Bakusquad’s shenanigans as they bickered over whose gift was better (Todoroki didn’t know, he hadn’t opened any yet) was fun. He enjoyed watching people take glances at the cake on the counter, as though wondering if they were allowed to get into it, which, he didn’t care, if they wanted to they could. He’d never had much of a sweet tooth, so the cake was pretty low on his list of interests. He knew they wouldn’t, knew they valued the tradition of birthday boy getting the first piece over their own desire to eat it, but he really didn’t much care. 

He and Momo talked for a little bit about essentially nothing, and she handed him a new dumb romance novel she had found, and he genuinely hoped that was the only gift she had to give him. She had the tendency to go overboard. They all did, actually, but she had the finances that allowed her to do more than everyone else and he did not trust her. Not at all. 

And then there was Shinsou. The local cryptid found him first, but that was always the case. Trying to find Shinsou was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, there was pretty much no chance. If he didn’t want to be found, he pretty much didn’t exist. 

“You look like you’re having fun,” his friend chimed sarcastically. Todoroki shook his head. 

“Too much going on,” he said in reply. He’d been down here barely an hour and he was already exhausted. 

“You can always just leave.”

“Do not be the devil on my shoulder, I will succumb and I don’t want them to think I don’t appreciate it.”

“I’m always the devil on your shoulder. Because honestly, what’s stopping you? God? Societal norms? Courtesy? Ha, they’re meaningless. Powerless. I say just leave.” 

“Shinsou, you’re terrible and I don’t know why we’re friends.” Todoroki huffed. Shinsou laughed. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, and obviously the conversation was over, because he walked off without another word, disappearing into the shadows. How he did that Todoroki would never understand. 

The afternoon went on much like that, with brief conversations with friends, and the pile of gifts he had yet to open growing and growing. They ate dinner together, Todoroki watching his friends goof around with a fond smile on his face, and after they got into the cake Satou had made. It was a good birthday, all around, and he was happy to be there with them, but oh he was tired. The party exhausted him like it always did, left him dead on his feet.

He hauled himself up to his room and collapsed on his bed, burying his face in his pillow. He was tired. So, so tired. But he was happy. He’d had a good night. His social energy was less than none but that was fine. He was touched and that was what mattered.

He kept mostly to himself over the next couple days, focusing primarily on recharging in some much needed isolation, or lying against his boyfriend and watching a movie, stealing energy from him, until Saturday. January 11th. His actual birthday. The friends he saw around showered him in more happy birthdays, and it made him smile, honestly. 

And then he saw his boyfriend. 

“C’mon Icyhot, we have plans today,” Bakugou told him, swinging an arm around his neck and dragging him off towards the doors of the dorms. “I already got us permission to leave for the day, before you say anything.”

“Oh. I hadn’t even thought of that,” Todoroki admitted sheepishly. 

“You’re an idiot,” he said, though his tone was laced with affection. Or what affection sounded like from his boyfriend who had practically no actual tone differentiation. With that wonderfully affectionate comment, the two of them walked to the gate of the school and out.

“So… where are we going?” he asked Bakugou after a moment, as they walked down the sidewalk, watching the cars drive by. 

“You’ll find out when we get there,” was all he got in reply, which, fair enough, he supposed, though he’d prefer knowing. 

“Helpful,” he said instead. They were holding hands as they walked, moving past a myriad of cute businesses and restaurants, places that seemed interesting but if that wasn’t where they were going then so be it. And if they weren’t stopping at a bus stop or going to take a train, then obviously it was somewhere near enough to walk to, which left so many and yet so few things. He didn’t figure they’d be going out to breakfast, and frankly he hoped not, because he had already eaten earlier that morning. They weren’t nicely dressed, so it obviously wasn’t going to be anywhere particularly fancy, not that a fancy lunch or dinner seemed much Bakugou’s speed. He just felt horribly confused as to where they could possibly be going. 

He was both shocked and confused when he found himself outside of what seemed to be an arcade. Bakugou refused to look at him. 

“Shitty Deku told me that you said you’d never been to an arcade before but you wanted to, so this is our first stop for the day,” he told him, still refusing to meet his eyes. It took Todoroki a moment to realize that he was embarrassed, that it embarrassed him admitting that he’d wanted to take him out to do something he hadn’t ever done before. He smiled gently, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand, because that was so cute and sweet and he was just… touched. He was touched. 

Bakugou didn’t acknowledge it, but his face was red, bright red. How cute. He dragged him inside the building, getting some tokens from a machine and then letting go of his hand, letting Todoroki look over the area around him. 

“Whatever you wanna do. It’s your birthday or whatever,” he said. Todoroki grinned before grabbing his boyfriend’s arm and dragging him off towards what looked like a fighting game. 

“Then we’re doing this, first,” he told him, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Bakugou scoffed, a little ‘tch’ of a noise.

“You think you can beat me? Good luck with that. But hey, for your first time, I’ll go easy on you,” Bakugou said and he said it so suggestively, it had Shouto reddening. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, put your money where your mouth is,” he replied, trying to mask his embarrassment. It didn’t work. But Bakugou did indeed put his money into the machine, and Todoroki, admittedly, was awful at the game. They played a good couple rounds, and he hadn’t managed to squeak by with a win even once, always getting completely crushed by his boyfriend’s skillful play, which certainly did more than his hasty button mashing in his desperate attempts to keep up. Annoyed at his losses, his competitive streak sparked, he dragged Bakugou away from the fighting game, ignoring his laugh because that was so not fair. He had never done this before, he deserved to be cut some slack, thank you. He refused to be laughed at. 

So he dragged him over to a racing game next, getting the same taunting laughter and the promise that he would lose. Which annoyed him, even if it was probably true. Neither of them expected him to absolutely kill it in the racing game. 

His first victory was, perhaps, a fluke. Neither of them knew how he’d managed to pull off a win in the last few seconds of the race, but he had, and they were both left in shock. Bakugou didn’t allow him to get a word in about his victory before huffing quickly that “we both know that was a fluke, let’s do that one more time” which Todoroki really couldn’t argue, because he was right. That definitely felt like a fluke.

But he won again. And he won again. And he won again, watching his boyfriend get huffier every time, even though he tried to be supportive and a good loser. He tried, which Todoroki appreciated, he just failed monumentally. 

“Good job, even though you only barely managed to scrape by with that one, how about--” Todoroki cut him off before he could propose one more round.

“How about, instead, we go and try one of those stuffed animal crane games?” he offered, pretty sure that something that was decidedly without competition was probably the best bet for this little adventure of theirs, if they didn’t want to end up here literally all day, which he was almost certain his boyfriend would not have the money for. And that sounded bad, but he knew Bakugou wouldn’t let him pay a dime today, far too stubborn for that, and he just really didn’t want to waste all of his boyfriend’s money on a racing game for hours. 

Not that the crane game was any better, he decided after a moment of playing. They were gunning for a cute but goofy looking stuffed pomeranian that Todoroki was exceedingly fond of. He didn’t say it was because the little thing reminded him of his boyfriend, but that was absolutely the reason. And they kept getting so close to snagging the little thing. So close. And yet. They had put far too many tokens into the damn thing at this point, and for what? They remained empty handed. But neither of them wanted to admit defeat to the sinister, villainous machine that was most definitely rigged, a fact that they were most definitely not about to acknowledge. 

Honestly, Bakugou looked about ready to blow the machine up, his face scrunched up in a dedicated sort of anger, and Todoroki found himself more than willing to help him, if it came to it. Would that technically make them criminals? Yes, but honestly, he thought the cops could understand where they were coming from on this one. These plush toys were way too hard to get, and this was costing them far more money then it was worth. 

But as they watched the claw tighten snag the little pomeranian by its neck and tighten its hold, he felt that the gods were smiling down upon them. The fluffy creature didn’t slip from the claw’s grasp, it was carried slowly but seamlessly over to the drop, and both he and Bakugou watched it with rapt attention, hoping that it wouldn’t once more elude them. And when it slid down with a thunk, he pulled his boyfriend into an excited kiss, uncaring of any other company around them in the arcade. Bakugou didn’t protest, kissing him back just as eagerly, and when they pulled apart a little bit later, he pulled the fluffy plush toy out of the hatch, holding it close to his chest. 

“We got it,” he said, still a little breathless from their kiss. Bakugou nodded. 

“We got it. Little fucker’s all yours now.” Did they waste too much money on it? Absolutely. Was it a complete waste of time? Without a doubt. But did Todoroki love this plush puppy more than he loved himself? Unquestionably. This fluffy monstrosity held against his chest was the best thing he’d ever gotten. And if, in his head, he named it after his boyfriend, well that was between him and his plush toy, thanks. 

The arcade took longer than Bakugou had planned, on account of the puppy currently settled within Todoroki’s arms, but it wasn’t late enough to require a change of plans. Snagging his boyfriend’s hand, the one not currently gripping the plush toy like it was something sacred and beloved, he pulled him out of the arcade. Their next stop still wouldn’t require the taking of a bus or train. In fact, it wouldn’t even take much of a walk from the arcade. It was a small place, a tiny restaurant tucked out of the way of heavy foot traffic. A cozy, simple little place, where they sold a food Bakugou felt his boyfriend would enjoy. It wasn’t particularly unique, or special, but the experience of doing it together, well, maybe that would make it something a bit more special.

The place was a simply monjayaki shop. Todoroki was pretty certain he had never been in one, his father having never been too big on going out to eat, especially not to get something as simple and cheap as monja. And as they started actually making it, he became all the more certain that this was definitely not a part of his childhood. This was far too commoner for his father’s “refined” tastes, and he loved it. He loved every second of it. Loved watching Bakugou as the two of them made their food, loved watching it cook before his eyes, loved all of it, loved everything about it. He loved this. 

He loved Bakugou. 

Oh, did he love Bakugou. 

And oh, he had just said that aloud, if the vibrant flush on his boyfriend’s face was any indication. He wasn’t sure if he should acknowledge it. Wasn’t sure if he should say anything more, but Bakugou made that choice for him.

“...I love you, too,” he said quietly, barely loud enough for Todoroki to hear. “And if you’re gonna be making confessions like that then you should be callin’ me Katsuki,” he said it like it was just something that may as well happen, not like it was an important admission, not like it meant that he wanted to be called Katsuki. Todoroki was definitely red himself, his heart melting in his chest, staring at his boyfriend with what were undeniably heart eyes. 

“Then call me Shouto, Katsuki,” he told him, subtly trying the name on his lips, feeling it on his tongue, as he stared at him a moment longer, before the smell of burning food hit his nose and he realized they had definitely left their monja to cook for too long in their moment of simply staring at each other. They scraped the burnt mess off of the skillet, stared at it, both of them decidedly not hungry for it any longer. 

“Want to go back to the dorms?” Katsuki asked (Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki), to which he hastily nodded. 

“... when we get back, do you want to watch movies together in the common area?” he asked in return as they paid and left. Katsuki hesitated a moment before nodding.

“If I get to chase everyone out of there, then sure,” and that sounded more than perfect to Shouto. And if the entire walk home he pressed himself a little closer to his boyfriend’s side, if he quietly whispered Katsuki’s name the entire way back, getting an elbow in the side when he kept at it too long, well that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the two of them, and how close he could be to his boyfriend, how much he got to relish being in the same space as him not just for this but for the rest of the day, and longer, hopefully longer, much, much longer. That’s what he wanted. Everything he needed. 

And exactly how they spent the rest of the afternoon. Curled up on the couch, exchanging kisses as they sat cuddled together, watching random movies Shouto had never gotten to see in his childhood. The feeling of Katsuki pressed against his back, every little kiss they traded back and forth, the shine of the tv and the din of cutesy movies and overly extra action scenes, old super hero movies and movies that were apparently a hallmark of the childhood he hadn’t had, and he found that this was the most at peace he had ever been. This was what he wanted for his birthday, what he needed, just a quiet couple hours between the two of them, a loving day in. Everything about this was perfect, idyllic, this was everything. Being together with Katsuki was everything, all he could ever have wanted. This was perfection. This was the best birthday he had ever had. 

And if the next morning, he woke up to a hundred livid texts from his father, and a couple from his friends, links to articles that were posted about him and Katsuki being a thing, well, that was just the icing on the cake.

[cannotgiveafuck]

Shazam Week Prompt 2

I'm a day late and expect to do again, but I'm not quitting!

Heres prompt 2: Holidays

-

Halloween had always been one of Billy's favorite holidays. 

Before he was Captain Marvel, he would spend the day at the Fawcett Park Market, getting his face painted in preparation for trick-or-treating. The amount of candy he snagged would last him weeks, even far into December if he controlled himself.

Before he managed to permanently escape from his Uncle Ben, Billy enjoyed Halloween for the chance it gave him to be far away from the man. At least for the night. When he returned, he'd always have to hide a majority of his stash in his room, lest his uncle throw his entire loot into the garbage. 

Ever since becoming the Champion of Magic, however, Billy found no time for Halloween shenanigans anymore. He had a responsibility to uphold, civilians to watch over, monitor duty to attend. 

Billy Batson wasn't a kid anymore. 

"What do you mean, you're not going out? You're thirteen years old! Go throw eggs and TP at some old tosser's house, get sick from too much candy, and all of that!"

Billy didn't know where to begin, everything about what he'd said was just...wrong. "John, I'm twelve. And I'm on patrol tonight. Do you know how bad it would be if the League found out I… egged someone's house? I'd be toast!"

But the thought of throwing rotten eggs at his Uncle Ebenezer's house brought on a joy he was ashamed to acknowledge. 

On the other side of the mirror, Constantine took a long, contemplative drag of his cigarette. "Do you realize how mad what you just said was? You're twelve and you've got patrol for what? Fawcett? The entire bloody world?"

The familiar heat of indignation, of embarrassment, flared at his cheeks. "So what?"

When he sighed, smoke obscured part of his features, but his blue eyes - clear and crisp and so much deeper than others gave credit for - pinned Billy to his spot. It was an accusing stare. A look that challenged Billy, doubted him, was filled with more condescension than John's words could imitate. It was a look plenty of adults gave plenty of kids when they did something particularly exhausting. 

Billy hated that look.

He also knew that John hated the League, that Billy was even part of the League. Against all opinions of him, John was actually quite soft for children, became rather protective and reckless for them. Billy knew John thought of him as a child, heck, the magician looked out for him well enough, and Billy appreciated it, really he did. But…

"Know much about the spirit world and Hallow's Eve?" John asked, thankfully diverting the subject. At Billy's head shake, he continued. "The veil between alive, dead, and undead becomes thin, nearly open. All the planes of existence sync up. Get the most supernatural activity around that time. And I know the lot of em throw one killer of a ball."

Immediately, Billy had perked up, always interested in learning more about the magical community. But at the mention of a party filled with paranormal creatures?

Billy knew the glee on his face was evident as John chuckled.

"Unless, of course," he added, tone teasing, "you're too busy patrolling."

Ah, crap.

[[MORE]]

-x-

"Are you sure this will work?" Billy asked as he looked at John's handiwork. It was impressive and amazing, and Billy never got tired of seeing magic in action.

"C'mon now, lad, trust me here," he said with a face that did not at all look like John Constantine.

"It's not that I don't trust you, exactly…" 

They were currently in New York City, strolling down an alleyway that John was very certain lead into their destination. As they got ready earlier in the day, he had explained that the ball was a public affair, a yearly celebration that warranted total truce once entered. No murderous or underhanded conflict permitted on the property. The event was hosted by an affluent influence within the magical or supernatural community, though it took the effort of some key abilities to pull it off, to ensure the location was safe and secure. 

However, just because there was no guest list didn't mean anyone could waltz on in. Unless they were a plus one, a regular human or extraterrestrial could not enter the compound. Afterall, there was still so much that neither knew or understood about the world, about Earth and her inhabitants and patrons from all walks of existence. Only those immersed in the community and its secrets could be trusted to attend. 

Though, Billy was unsure how solid a definition of trust that they used. 

And then there were certain individuals or groups on a blacklist. No matter if they had attended before or were invited by someone going - once someone was banned, it took a great deal of influence to be welcomed back.

That is, unless someone was clever and crafty enough at magical tricks to sneak in.

Someone like the infamous and definitely blacklisted John Constantine.

"Think of it like any other Halloween party, yeah? Some folks go as themselves and that's fine, but boring, honestly, and others wear costumes. Nobody's gonna rip off someone's mask, right?" John smiled with far too many sharp teeth, with a face that was not his own. "That's how glamour is around these ilk."

It made sense, sure. But still, Billy couldn't help but feel...weird. Don't get him wrong, it was exciting getting to join in on this adventure, but looking into the mirror and instead of seeing himself, or even Captain Marvel, he saw a strange creature. It was creepy. 

Once John applied the glamour dust, Billy used his own magic to shape what he wanted to appear as - an aesthetic look inspired by his own Feyr. 

With Tawny's help, Billy became a tiger themed witch boy. Pointed ears and a gliding tail, sharp fangs and claws, wild hair and catlike eyes, a magically fitted black suit with striped markings that followed onto his skin, and eerie blood splatter across his hands and face - Billy so wanted to wear this for other Halloween parties.

(He doesn't actually believe he'd ever get the chance, but well, one could dream.)

Though, he admitted, he was sort of jealous of John's glamour. A full transformation into a stylishly decorated demon - large horns, full black eyes, fancy clothing and a grand colorful coat. He looked really, really cool.

"I could've gone as Marvel, you know. Being an adult seems easier for this," Billy commented. It would have also been safer. 

Great adventure aside, Billy wasn't stupid enough to ignore the dangers he was getting into. He may be magical inclined, but Marvel was the Champion of Magic. If things went south, he would prefer to have the Gods on his side. And great costume aside, something about attending a party as a kid, albeit a never aging one, seemed like it was asking for trouble. What if the glamour wasn't enough? What if his magic wasn't enough? What if someone saw right through them and realized Billy really was just a kid? If he got blacklisted from the coolest supernatural party of the year before he even turned eighteen, he would never live it down.

"You telling me that you want the entire place in chaos? That's what the Champion of the Gods would do. Half the party would swarm you for autographs and most likely try to pull you into rooms you do not want to go, and the other half would fall over themselves trying to leave the damn place. Some may even risk breaking the truce to get a piece of you."

"I thought that's what the glamour was for."

"A pretty costume can't hide the fact that he's the Champion of goddamn Magic. His energy alone would blind the lot like a beacon of divine fucking light." John stopped them before they reached a dead end wall practically oozing magical illusion. They kept a good enough distance, though he still lowered his voice. "I know you run with the big superhero league, but his reputation goes farther than you've been flying around in his cape. Near everyone knows about the Ancient Champions and their patron Gods, and half of those know about the Wizard and his lofty seat at the center of all Earthly magic. He's a bloody legend down here, so no shouting for your giant fuckall lightning, alright? You don't need to leave here with a massive target on your forehead."

Well, then. This was news to him.

"It'd be nice if you told me this before, you know, instead of when we are literally walking into the lions den!" Knowing that there could be powerfully magical beings who would want to hurt him… that seemed like important information.

"That's why I told you to stay as a kid, kid," John flicked at his forehead, infuriating and condescending all at once. Which wasn't an uncommon thing, unfortunately.

The response was immediate, Tawny's low rumble, warning John Constantine away.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it," he lead them forward and to Billy is felt like walking through a curtain to see what was covered on the other side. "Now, stay within eyesight of me, and don't accept drinks you haven't seen the bartender make. And even then, keep to what you know," John said. 

Billy knew what to do, thank you very much. He's had talks with his neighbor Candy, and he's heard older teens whisper at foster homes, and him and Freddy have watched teenage party movies. He knows what to do and unlike John, he doesn't go pissing off every magical being he comes across.

He'll be fine!

-x-

He was not fine.

Billy was very much not fine at all.

He felt sick and nauseous and all he wanted to do was throw up, but he couldn't and that made it worse. Thanks to John's quick thinking, he managed to get them out before Billy's glamour wore off. Though, with how fast John was walking, he was practically dragging Billy along, making the sidewalk blur and the street lights flare painfully. 

"That's what you get for accepting a drink from the eternal witch boy," John said, voice teasing. It was salt in Billy's wounds along with everything else right now.

Words seemed to escape him for the moment, so he gagged and spat on the ground at John's feet to let him know how he felt about that.

"Didn't take you for a delinquent," John continued. He sounded more amused and Billy hated it. "Not that I'm judging, mind you. I had my first taste of alcohol when I was ten."

"Didn't know," Billy muffled out. He'd tried beer before, him and Freddy had snuck out with a can each one time. They'd stolen it from one of the foster dad as he lay passed out on the couch. It was the most disgusting thing Billy had ever tasted.

"Yeah, can't blame you there. Mead tastes deceptively sweet. Either way, it was from Klarion and that's where you went wrong."

Okay, he really did not need a lecture right now. It was Halloween and he nearly blew their cover and he may have become an ally to Klarion and they almost got found out by Zatanna and all Billy wanted to do was sleep forever.

Still incapable of words, because talking required thinking and that was not going to happen - Billy groaned.

"No, no sleep yet. Gonna need some water and greasy food first, or you'll be feeling even more like shit come morning. Good thing I know a place and they won't ask questions." 

At the mere thought of food, Billy felt his stomach turn and finally threw up. Surprisingly, it made him feel better. 

"Hmm. Good thing you don't have monitor duty tomorrow, you're sleeping in. And no patrol, either. Consider it an extended holiday."

Halloween had never been this eventful before, at least at a personal level, but it all honesty, Billy didn't feel an ounce of regret. This was probably his favorite year yet.

Vomiting in the middle of the street excluded.

[darealbellabelleoftheball]

Phantom Rambles ~ The Finale

(The Author is now speaking)

I have now told the singular, but veracious story of the Opera ghost. As I declared on the first page of this work, it is no longer possible to deny that Erik really lived. There are to-day so many proofs of his existence within the reach of everybody that we can follow Erik’s actions logically through the whole tragedy of the Chagnys.

There is no need to repeat here how greatly the case excited the capital. The kidnapping of the artist, the death of the Comte de Chagny under such exceptional conditions, the disappearance of his brother, the drugging of the gas-man at the Opera and of his two assistants: what tragedies, what passions, what crimes had surrounded the idyll of Raoul and the sweet and charming Christine! . . . What had become of that wonderful, mysterious artist of whom the world was never, never to hear again? . . . She was represented as the victim of a rivalry between the two brothers; and nobody suspected what had really happened, nobody understood that, as Raoul and Christine had both disappeared, both had withdrawn far from the world to enjoy a happiness which they would not have cared to make public after the inexplicable death of Count Philippe . . . They took the train one day from “the northern railway station of the world.” . . . Possibly, I too shall take the train at that station, one day, and go and seek around thy lakes, O Norway, O silent Scandinavia, for the perhaps still living traces of Raoul and Christine and also of Mamma Valerius, who disappeared at the same time! . . . Possibly, some day, I shall hear the lonely echoes of the North repeat the singing of her who knew the Angel of Music! . . .

Long after the case was pigeonholed by the unintelligent care of M. le Juge d’Instruction Faure, the newspapers made efforts, at intervals, to fathom the mystery. One evening paper alone, which knew all the gossip of the theaters, said:

“We recognize the touch of the Opera ghost.”

And even that was written by way of irony.

The Persian alone knew the whole truth and held the main proofs, which came to him with the pious relics promised by the ghost. It fell to my lot to complete those proofs with the aid of the daroga himself. Day by day, I kept him informed of the progress of my inquiries; and he directed them. He had not been to the Opera for years and years, but he had preserved the most accurate recollection of the building, and there was no better guide than he possible to help me discover its most secret recesses. He also told me where to gather further information, whom to ask; and he sent me to call on M. Poligny, at a moment when the poor man was nearly drawing his last breath. I had no idea that he was so very ill, and I shall never forget the effect which my questions about the ghost produced upon him. He looked at me as if I were the devil and answered only in a few incoherent sentences, which showed, however — and that was the main thing — the extent of the perturbation which O. G., in his time, had brought into that already very restless life (for M. Poligny was what people call a man of pleasure).

When I came and told the Persian of the poor result of my visit to M. Poligny, the daroga gave a faint smile and said:

“Poligny never knew how far that extraordinary blackguard of an Erik humbugged him.”— The Persian, by the way, spoke of Erik sometimes as a demigod and sometimes as the lowest of the low —“Poligny was superstitious and Erik knew it. Erik knew most things about the public and private affairs of the Opera. When M. Poligny heard a mysterious voice tell him, in Box Five, of the manner in which he used to spend his time and abuse his partner’s confidence, he did not wait to hear any more. Thinking at first that it was a voice from Heaven, he believed himself damned; and then, when the voice began to ask for money, he saw that he was being victimized by a shrewd blackmailer to whom Debienne himself had fallen a prey. Both of them, already tired of management for various reasons, went away without trying to investigate further into the personality of that curious O. G., who had forced such a singular memorandum-book upon them. They bequeathed the whole mystery to their successors and heaved a sigh of relief when they were rid of a business that had puzzled them without amusing them in the least.”

I then spoke of the two successors and expressed my surprise that, in his Memoirs of a Manager, M. Moncharmin should describe the Opera ghost’s behavior at such length in the first part of the book and hardly mention it at all in the second. In reply to this, the Persian, who knew the MEMOIRS as thoroughly as if he had written them himself, observed that I should find the explanation of the whole business if I would just recollect the few lines which Moncharmin devotes to the ghost in the second part aforesaid. I quote these lines, which are particularly interesting because they describe the very simple manner in which the famous incident of the twenty-thousand francs was closed:

“As for O. G., some of whose curious tricks I have related in the first part of my Memoirs, I will only say that he redeemed by one spontaneous fine action all the worry which he had caused my dear friend and partner and, I am bound to say, myself. He felt, no doubt, that there are limits to a joke, especially when it is so expensive and when the commissary of police has been informed, for, at the moment when we had made an appointment in our office with M. Mifroid to tell him the whole story, a few days after the disappearance of Christine Daae, we found, on Richard’s table, a large envelope, inscribed, in red ink, “WITH O. G.‘S COMPLIMENTS.” It contained the large sum of money which he had succeeded in playfully extracting, for the time being, from the treasury. Richard was at once of the opinion that we must be content with that and drop the business. I agreed with Richard. All’s well that ends well. What do you say, O. G.?”

(Awe Erik it’s so sweet that you returned the money) 

Of course, Moncharmin, especially after the money had been restored, continued to believe that he had, for a short while, been the butt of Richard’s sense of humor, whereas Richard, on his side, was convinced that Moncharmin had amused himself by inventing the whole of the affair of the Opera ghost, in order to revenge himself for a few jokes.

I asked the Persian to tell me by what trick the ghost had taken twenty-thousand francs from Richard’s pocket in spite of the safety-pin. He replied that he had not gone into this little detail, but that, if I myself cared to make an investigation on the spot, I should certainly find the solution to the riddle in the managers’ office by remembering that Erik had not been nicknamed the trap-door lover for nothing. I promised the Persian to do so as soon as I had time, and I may as well tell the reader at once that the results of my investigation were perfectly satisfactory; and I hardly believed that I should ever discover so many undeniable proofs of the authenticity of the feats ascribed to the ghost.

The Persian’s manuscript, Christine Daae’s papers, the statements made to me by the people who used to work under MM. Richard and Moncharmin, by little Meg herself (the worthy Madame Giry, I am sorry to say, is no more) and by Sorelli, who is now living in retirement at Louveciennes: all the documents relating to the existence of the ghost, which I propose to deposit in the archives of the Opera, have been checked and confirmed by a number of important discoveries of which I am justly proud. I have not been able to find the house on the lake, Erik having blocked up all the secret entrances. On the other hand, I have discovered the secret passage of the Communists, the planking of which is falling to pieces in parts, and also the trap-door through which Raoul and the Persian penetrated into the cellars of the opera-house. In the Communists’ dungeon, I noticed numbers of initials traced on the walls by the unfortunate people confined in it; and among these were an “R” and a “C.” R. C.: Raoul de Chagny. The letters are there to this day.(Awe)

If the reader will visit the Opera one morning and ask leave to stroll where he pleases, without being accompanied by a stupid guide, let him go to Box Five and knock with his fist or stick on the enormous column that separates this from the stage-box. He will find that the column sounds hollow. After that, do not be astonished by the suggestion that it was occupied by the voice of the ghost: there is room inside the column for two men. If you are surprised that, when the various incidents occurred, no one turned round to look at the column, you must remember that it presented the appearance of solid marble, and that the voice contained in it seemed rather to come from the opposite side, for, as we have seen, the ghost was an expert ventriloquist.

The column was elaborately carved and decorated with the sculptor’s chisel; and I do not despair of one day discovering the ornament that could be raised or lowered at will, so as to admit of the ghost’s mysterious correspondence with Mme. Giry and of his generosity.

However, all these discoveries are nothing, to my mind, compared with that which I was able to make, in the presence of the acting-manager, in the managers’ office, within a couple of inches from the desk-chair, and which consisted of a trap-door, the width of a board in the flooring and the length of a man’s fore-arm and no longer; a trap-door that falls back like the lid of a box; a trap-door through which I can see a hand come and dexterously fumble at the pocket of a swallow-tail coat.

That is the way the forty-thousand francs went! . . . And that also is the way by which, through some trick or other, they were returned.

Speaking about this to the Persian, I said:

“So we may take it, as the forty-thousand francs were returned, that Erik was simply amusing himself with that memorandum-book of his?”

“Don’t you believe it!” he replied. “Erik wanted money. Thinking himself without the pale of humanity, he was restrained by no scruples and he employed his extraordinary gifts of dexterity and imagination, which he had received by way of compensation for his extraordinary uglinesss, to prey upon his fellow-men. His reason for restoring the forty-thousand francs, of his own accord, was that he no longer wanted it. He had relinquished his marriage with Christine Daae. He had relinquished everything above the surface of the earth.”

According to the Persian’s account, Erik was born in a small town not far from Rouen. He was the son of a master-mason. He ran away at an early age from his father’s house, where his ugliness was a subject of horror and terror to his parents. For a time, he frequented the fairs, where a showman exhibited him as the “living corpse.” He seems to have crossed the whole of Europe, from fair to fair, and to have completed his strange education as an artist and magician at the very fountain-head of art and magic, among the Gipsies. A period of Erik’s life remained quite obscure. He was seen at the fair of Nijni-Novgorod, where he displayed himself in all his hideous glory. He already sang as nobody on this earth had ever sung before; he practised ventriloquism and gave displays of legerdemain so extraordinary that the caravans returning to Asia talked about it during the whole length of their journey. In this way, his reputation penetrated the walls of the palace at Mazenderan, where the little sultana, the favorite of the Shah-in-Shah, was boring herself to death. A dealer in furs, returning to Samarkand from Nijni-Novgorod, told of the marvels which he had seen performed in Erik’s tent. The trader was summoned to the palace and the daroga of Mazenderan was told to question him. Next the daroga was instructed to go and find Erik. He brought him to Persia, where for some months Erik’s will was law. He was guilty of not a few horrors, for he seemed not to know the difference between good and evil. He took part calmly in a number of political assassinations; and he turned his diabolical inventive powers against the Emir of Afghanistan, who was at war with the Persian empire. The Shah took a liking to him.

This was the time of the rosy hours of Mazenderan, of which the daroga’s narrative has given us a glimpse. Erik had very original ideas on the subject of architecture and thought out a palace much as a conjuror contrives a trick-casket. The Shah ordered him to construct an edifice of this kind. Erik did so; and the building appears to have been so ingenious that His Majesty was able to move about in it unseen and to disappear without a possibility of the trick’s being discovered. When the Shah-in-Shah found himself the possessor of this gem, he ordered Erik’s yellow eyes to be put out. But he reflected that, even when blind, Erik would still be able to build so remarkable a house for another sovereign; and also that, as long as Erik was alive, some one would know the secret of the wonderful palace. Erik’s death was decided upon, together with that of all the laborers who had worked under his orders. The execution of this abominable decree devolved upon the daroga of Mazenderan. Erik had shown him some slight services and procured him many a hearty laugh. He saved Erik by providing him with the means of escape, but nearly paid with his head for his generous indulgence.

Fortunately for the daroga, a corpse, half-eaten by the birds of prey, was found on the shore of the Caspian Sea, and was taken for Erik’s body, because the daroga’s friends had dressed the remains in clothing that belonged to Erik. The daroga was let off with the loss of the imperial favor, the confiscation of his property and an order of perpetual banishment. As a member of the Royal House, however, he continued to receive a monthly pension of a few hundred francs from the Persian treasury; and on this he came to live in Paris.

As for Erik, he went to Asia Minor and thence to Constantinople, where he entered the Sultan’s employment. In explanation of the services which he was able to render a monarch haunted by perpetual terrors, I need only say that it was Erik who constructed all the famous trap-doors and secret chambers and mysterious strong-boxes which were found at Yildiz-Kiosk after the last Turkish revolution. He also invented those automata, dressed like the Sultan and resembling the Sultan in all respects, which made people believe that the Commander of the Faithful was awake at one place, when, in reality, he was asleep elsewhere.

Of course, he had to leave the Sultan’s service for the same reasons that made him fly from Persia: he knew too much. Then, tired of his adventurous, formidable and monstrous life, he longed to be some one “like everybody else.” And he became a contractor, like any ordinary contractor, building ordinary houses with ordinary bricks. He tendered for part of the foundations in the Opera. His estimate was accepted. When he found himself in the cellars of the enormous playhouse, his artistic, fantastic, wizard nature resumed the upper hand. Besides, was he not as ugly as ever? He dreamed of creating for his own use a dwelling unknown to the rest of the earth, where he could hide from men’s eyes for all time.

The reader knows and guesses the rest. It is all in keeping with this incredible and yet veracious story. Poor, unhappy Erik! Shall we pity him? Shall we curse him? He asked only to be “some one,” like everybody else. But he was too ugly! And he had to hide his genius OR USE IT TO PLAY TRICKS WITH, when, with an ordinary face, he would have been one of the most distinguished of mankind! He had a heart that could have held the empire of the world; and, in the end, he had to content himself with a cellar. Ah, yes, we must needs pity the Opera ghost. (I wholeheartedly agree) 

I have prayed over his mortal remains, that God might show him mercy notwithstanding his crimes. Yes, I am sure, quite sure that I prayed beside his body, the other day, when they took it from the spot where they were burying the phonographic records. It was his skeleton. I did not recognize it by the ugliness of the head, for all men are ugly when they have been dead as long as that, but by the plain gold ring which he wore and which Christine Daae had certainly slipped on his finger, when she came to bury him in accordance with her promise.

The skeleton was lying near the little well, in the place where the Angel of Music first held Christine Daae fainting in his trembling arms, on the night when he carried her down to the cellars of the opera-house.

And, now, what do they mean to do with that skeleton? Surely they will not bury it in the common grave! . . . I say that the place of the skeleton of the Opera ghost is in the archives of the National Academy of Music. It is no ordinary skeleton.

Tag

@angelofmusicsuggestions

@ask-the-angel-of-music

@potoincorrectquotes

@maladypond  

@summerb4jc

@masksonmasks

@wheel-of-fish

@epwhales

@phantomgraphicnovel

@phantom-of-the-keurig

@phantomofthetrashcan

@phantom-of-the-uhhhpera

@shernoel

@madamedaae

@quill-of-doom

So in conclusion. . . 

This just might be my favorite fictitious book of all time! I really Enjoyed reading it, and sharing my thoughts with you all really made me feel like I’m part of something greater than myself! 

I’m going to do a master post with all the Links starting from the beginning... soon, but until then...

Thank you all for joining me on this magical Experience Together!

And Thank you for accepting me into the Phandom community. I love you all have a great rest of your day! 

[elizabeth-marston-roberts]

Something New | Abigail Marston x F!Reader |

This is part three of the ‘Something’ series! There will be one more to wrap it all up. :)

Words: 2,659

Part One

Part Two

Abigail visits the ranch every few days for three weeks. You always meet her with a smile and a hug, but you notice with each trip she makes, she's more and more tired. She makes a long journey every time she comes /just/ to see you, and while it warms your heart at the dedication, it also makes you feel intense guilt.

So on a day after she's left, you ride your horse out to Beecher's Hope. If nothing else, the ride is beautiful. The Great Plains were vast and full of life, and for the most part you left the animals alone. The sun was beating down against your back, but for Abigail it was worth it. She'd done it for you, after all, so you could do the same for her.

You turn the corner into Beecher's Hope, a smile forming on your face at the sight of Abi's horse hitched by the barn. You hitch your own horse beside him and adjust your hat, walking up the porch. You can't help but notice the blood stain by the steps and wonder if that's from her husband's death. She hasn't spoken about it in detail, but you've inferred it was a violent death.

"Abigail?" You call out, going to knock on the door.

When the door opens, it's not Abigail, but her son instead. You smile at him, hoping he remembers you. "Hi there. Is your mom around?"

"Howdy, miss." Jack says politely. "Are you the one my mother's been goin' to see at the MacFarlane's?"

"I sure am. I thought this time I could be the one to make the long journey."

"I sure appreciate that. Come on in." He steps out of the way and leads you inside the house. It's a nice home that's definitely had a lot of love put into it over the years. It's tidy and most of the decorations look to be handmade. They've made it a home here, and the back of your mind reminds you that you haven't had one of those in a very long time.

"Jack, who are you talkin' to?" Abigail's voice rings out from the kitchen, prompting your heart to leap. It hadn't even been an entire day since she left, and yet you were jumping for joy at the sight of her.

"Why don't you turn around and see for yourself?" You say as you step into the small kitchen.

"What-?" Abigail turns and shrieks lightly, though later you're sure she'll deny that. She latches onto you like lips on a cigarette, her arms tight around your waist and her head on your chest. It's darling how short she is. "What are you doin' here?!"

"I came to see ya!" You laugh and put your arms around her, rocking slightly. "You keep coming to see me and I wanted to return the favor."

"You big ole sweetheart! I don't mind goin' to see ya!"

"I don't mind coming to see you!" You rub her back. "Whatcha makin'?"

"Oh, just some stew an old friend of mine used to make."

"I'm out, Momma!" Jack says, kissing the top of her head briefly before he goes to the door.

Abigail sighs and pulls away from you to follow Jack down the hall. "When are you coming back?"

"I'm not sure." He says. "By tomorrow evenin', I promise."

"Okay... I love you, Jack."

"Love you too." He's out the door then and Abi's shoulders droop.

You push your lip out in a soft pout, coming up behind her and cautiously putting your hands on her shoulders. "He's a man now, Abigail... And men just love flexing their muscles for all to see."

"You may be right, but I don't like it one bit." She puts her hands on top of yours.

"He's going to be just fine. Come on, let's get back to that stew. It sure smells good."

She snorts. "Stop trying to flatter me. I know I'm a mediocre cook at best."

You chuckle and hold your hands up innocently, walking with her to the kitchen. You dip your pinky in the pot of stew for a sample. It isn't the best you've ever eaten, and as far as stews go it's probably the worst, but you've definitely eaten worse-tasting things.

"Let's try and spruce this up some." You say, and Abigail can't help but laugh. "You got any spices?"

"A whole rack of 'em. Don't know what they are or how to use 'em, but they're there." She points to the little spice rack John had built for her in an effort to help his wife's cooking.

You pick up a vial of thyme, examining it. "How come no one taught you to read, Abi?"

"Well, it won't for a lack of tryin'." She explains, sitting at the table. She tucks her bangs behind her ear. "Ol' Dutch tried teachin' me, and Hosea did too. But I couldn't get the hang of it and I just gave up on it. John tried teachin' me himself, but he won't a good teacher and I couldn't make heads or tails out of none of it."

You add some spices and stir the stew, listening carefully as she speaks. "Sounds like they just didn't know how to teach you, Abigail. Will you let me try my hand at it?"

"I respect you too much to do that."

"Abigail." You say sternly. "You don't have to spend the rest of your life as an illiterate widow with an empty nest. I really would like to give it a shot because I think you deserve someone that's not going to give up on you, or let you give up because you're frustrated."

"Why is it so important to you?" She asks. She's not angry, but there's a guarded look in and around her eyes that you haven't seen before. It's not a good feeling, being on the other end of it.

You sigh and kneel in front of her at the table, taking her hands in your own. "Because, Abigail. Because I used to be a widow in the way that you are. I was grieving and I didn't know how to continue living after Pat died. I had no one to help me navigate this damn world, and I don't want you to be alone. And at least if I can teach you to read and write, you can manage a whole lot better than you have been."

She closes her eyes and ducks her head. "You're right. I don't know what I'm doin'. There were a lot of times where I didn't have John, but it was never like this. Now I know he's not comin' back." Her voice breaks, and she sobs. "He's not comin' back home to me, because he's dead and there ain't no comin' back from that, and I don't know what to do!"

You gather Abigail in your arms, tucking her head beneath your chin. She curls up like a small girl and cries. You remember when you accepted Pat's death. It was the hardest part of your grief, it was what made you hurt the most. Witnessing Abigail suffer like this almost pained you as much as that.

"I know it feels like giving up." You whisper. "It feels like you're leaving him behind. It feels like betrayal. But Abigail, you need to hear this: John died. You didn't. You are still breathing in the air, you wake up every morning, you have been blessed to still be alive." You delicately kiss her forehead, lips lingering for a beat. "So step one. Learn how to read.

She sniffles. "Alright. Step one. Learn how to read."

xx

It's been a week since you saddled up and left the MacFarlane's. You're in the kitchen preparing dinner as Abigail sits at the table with a book that Jack loved as a boy.

"Do not as..." She says slowly, her finger placed underneath each word she's reading. She lets out a low sigh and softly counts to ten, something you taught her after her first attempt to quit learning.

"What's it start with, dear?" You ask from the counter.

"E." She says proudly. She always knew the alphabet, she'd told you. Dutch had been able to teach her that much.

"Sound it out." You hum, cutting a bread loaf.

"E... v... il."

You grin. "You got it, Abi!"

She grins, a sparkle of joy in her blue eyes. "You were right! It ain't easy, but once you get the hang of it, it gets better!"

Chuckling fondly, you bring dinner to the table. "Alright, bookworm, set it aside and have some supper."

"I can eat and read!"

"I'm sure you can, Abigail, but I don't want you to get any food on the book."

She laughs softly as she puts the book away. "You make me feel like a child."

You smirk at her when you sit down. " You make me feel like a mother."

"Oh please." She rolls her eyes and waves a delicate hand.

Dinner is quiet until Abigail gathers the courage to ask you something she'd been wondering about for some time. "Did you ever have any children?"

Rubbing your lips together and considering your words carefully, you set your spoon down. "No."

"Why's that? I think you'd've been a great mother."

"Ah... Pat and I just weren't compatible in that way."

"Oh." She murmurs. "... I had a daughter, but she died. And obviously I got Jack. John and I had always talked about havin' one more baby, but..."

You squeeze her hand. "Just didn't have the time." You finish for her.

"Yeah." She nods and looks you in the eye. "Just didn't have the time."

"Say, why don't you read to me on the couch? I'll light a fire and make some tea." You bargain with a smile, hoping she won't say no.

"Okay!" Abigail's smile is the most beautiful thing you've seen.

She's close to you now on the couch, reading slowly but with everything she's got. You help out occasionally, and only when asked to. You've noticed just how stubborn and headstrong Abigail is when her mind is set, and it endears you just how determined she is to better herself for herself.

Gently, you're gnawing on your bottom lip. You can smell her shampoo, she's so close. Her back is at your front and her sweet voice is vibrating lightly against you. You're feeling a legitimate need for water now, but you know it won't help.

"You're doing wonderfully, Abi." You whisper, lips itching to press against her dark hair.

She turns her head and smiles brightly at you. "Why thank you!"

The eye contact is immediate and neither of you can look away. Your heart begins thumping in your chest at how easy it would be to just lean in and...

Abigail closes the distance, pressing her lips to your cheek. Your eyes shut and you lightly lean into her touch before she pulls away and folds the corner of the page over, closing the book. "It's late." She says, standing up. "Should get to bed now. I'll... See you in the morning."

You swallow thickly, cheeks burning now. The feeling of her lips linger still. "Yes... Goodnight, Abigail."

She nods awkwardly and shuffles towards her bedroom. She stops for a moment before she turns the corner, her hand on the wall while she looks back at you sitting on the couch. Ducking her head, she silently continues her retreat into her bedroom. You shudder a sigh and lay out on the couch, covering your eyes with your forearm.

This couldn't end well.

xx

In a handful at weeks, Abigail is a reading and writing pro. Jack's been staying out later and longer, but they've been sending each other letters in between his absences. Somehow it makes them closer.

It's early in the morning, before the sun is even starting to rise. You're moving around the living room quietly, packing your bag. Your work here is done; it's time to move onto the next town, the next ranch.

You're working at a much slower pace than you normally would. Telling yourself it's because Abigail is sleeping, you fold your clothes, tucking any other precious belongings you own in the middle. Rufus is sitting in the corner of the room, staring at you with his normally soft, dark eyes. He seems judgmental, but that's most likely you projecting... Isn't it?

Your bag is packed and you're ready to go just as the sun starts to rise. You've got a letter in hand for her to read when she realizes you're gone.

You know this is wrong and that she deserves better, but it's not stopping you. Abigail waking up and discovering you, however, does.

"What're you doin'?" She asks through a yawn. Even in her nightgown with her hair mussed from sleep, she's beautiful. Her cheeks are dusted pink and she's pushing her hair from her face. There's no escaping now.

You sigh. "Well, Abi... It's time for me to go."

"Go where?" She's awake now and she's frowning; it's not a good look and frankly, it's not good for your physical or mental health when you're the one that's put it there.

"Go... Away. Move on. I'm a real vagabond, Abi. You know this..." You're turned away from her, your eyes on your belongings.

"So you think you can just leave me without a proper goodbye?! You think you can just walk out my damn door like it's nothin'?! You're wrong! You're wrong and you know that and that's why you can't even look at me! Look at me!"

"I'm leaving, Abigail!" You shout back, eyes burning as you continue staring at a green blouse.

"Look at me." She's angry, you know this, but you can't ignore the desperation in her voice. "Look at me!" She shrieks, rushing to where she was stood mere inches from you.

Abigail grips your chin between her thumb and forefinger, adjusting your head to where you had no choice. You look into her blue eyes, and then she speaks again.

"You do not get to just up and leave me." Her voice wavers, but she stands firm. "Without you, I have nothin'. Do you understand that? I'm a wife without a husband and a mother without a son. I am damn tired of bein' left behind!"

"Abigail." You whisper. "I'll write to you. We'll keep in touch, I promise. "

"I don't wanna just 'keep in touch'." She whimpers. It's a pitiful sound that gnaws at your stomach. "I want to see you. I wanna hear you. You... Have made such an impact on my life. You're my best friend."

"I'll visit you. Once a month, I promise."

"Why can't you just stay? Why do you have to go?"

"Ever since Pat died, I... Haven't had a place to be."

"Your place is at this ranch!" She's so close now. She's begging you, she's crying for you...

"I have to go." You whisper. "I know you don't understand. It's better for the both of us this way, Abi."

"Be honest with me. Why's it so-called 'better this way'? Why would me wakin' up and findin' you gone with some stupid letter be good for me? Just because your husband died don't mean nobody's never gonna want you around!"

"Abigail." You say softly. "Pat's full name was Patricia."

She blinks, unimpressed. "Well... That don't change how I feel, if that was your intent. I want you to stay on my ranch with me, because ever since John died, this place won't a home. And it won't a home until you showed up all them weeks ago. So you're stayin'." She pokes your chest.

You swallow thickly. "Yes ma'am."

Abigail grins. "Now, since you're up so early, you can make the coffee."

It was the best-tasting coffee you ever brewed.

[raendown]

@letliv3 You will take it and you will like it because this is your fault.

Pairing: MadaraKakashi Word count: 3745 Summary: In which Obito helped found the village, Madara was a member of Team Minato, and Kakashi gets lost down a few different paths in his life.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI in the blog header!

Building Our Own

Kakashi was pretty sure he didn’t like Madara. Pretty sure. There were times when it was really difficult to stay inside his shell and hate the world because watching Madara – barely taller than himself yet filled with enough attitude for the whole village – face off against the taller, brighter, unsuspecting Minato-sensei was always the highlight of his week. Knowing the two of them had so much in common did not mean Kakashi wanted to make friends with the other boy. He didn’t need friends to become the greatest ninja this world had ever seen and restore his family’s honor.

Anyway that Gai idiot followed him around too much already. His non-existent friend quota had been filled, thank you very much.

It was still kind of hard to ignore Madara. The boy refused to not be seen but he wasn’t obnoxious about it. There was just something magnetic about his competence even at such a young age, the confidence in every move he made, even the spiky stupid mess of his hair. Most of the Uchiha that Kakashi met had beautiful smooth hair but Madara seemed to have skipped that gene; his hair stuck straight out from his head in stiff spikes reminiscent of Kakashi’s own locks. Yet another thing they had in common and could have commiserated about together – if he had time for stupid things like friendship. Which he did not.

Much to their sensei’s despair, Madara didn’t seem all that upset that one of his teammates refused to bond with him. The majority of his concentration went to edging a few words about his precious baby brother in to every single conversation ever. None of them had ever met Izuna but after less than a month of being a team they all could have probably picked him out of a crowd and recited at least ten different points of trivia about him off the tops of their heads.

And that right there was the one thing that truly set them apart, the one bit that stopped Kakashi from allowing himself to at least like the boy, even if only from afar. Where Kakashi had lost everyone he ever loved Madara still had someone, even if it was just a useless little brother. He still had someone to care about, someone precious, and besides that he had a clan that treated him like absolute royalty. Apparently Madara was a direct descendant of the great Uchiha Obito, founder of their village and betrayer of the Shodaime Hokage. Kakashi didn’t really see why he got to be venerated for being related to a traitor when others were shunned for the same thing but the one time he had tried to question it Minato-sensei had hushed him and Kakashi felt his heart grow a little bit smaller.

So Kakashi stayed small and quiet and spent the hours he wasn’t training with his team training in private instead. He would grow bigger, stronger, and someday he would be the one to show Madara his back. He would be the one that others watched from afar.

He would restore the honor his father had lost. Only then would his life be worth something.

-

“Your father’s honor is not your own.”

Madara’s words left him reeling, adrift and unsteady where he had always felt solid logic underneath his feet. Kakashi waited for the world to stop spinning before baring his teeth behind the mask that hid them.

“What would you know about it?” he snarled. Madara scoffed.

“I’m descended from the biggest traitor this village has ever seen but does my clan care about that? No. They care that I inherited his strength. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘innocent until proven guilty’ before?”

“At least you have a clan! Don’t talk like you know me!”

“Of course I know you, dumb ass.” Everything Madara said was always said with confidence, as though it was an absolute immutable truth. It made refuting him very difficult sometimes because the way he spoke made Kakashi want to believe.

He resisted because clearly no one else should have a say in his situation not when they weren’t the ones living it.

“I will restore my father’s honor!” he began. He got no farther in to his rant before Madara rolled his eyes and interrupted.

“There’s nothing to restore, he’s dead. We build our own honor. And you have plenty of that even if you’re an asshole. Take the stick out of your ass and wake up. You’re Kakashi, not Sakumo. You can’t fix his mistake any more than I can. He didn’t even make one!”

“He – what?”

Kakashi sat, stunned, and listened to the entire fifteen minutes of Madara’s rant about how true dishonor was in abandoning your comrades and how the entire concept of their village itself had been founded on the desire to protect one’s comrades. Apparently the history books left out quite a bit of information about Uchiha Obito’s life before he abandoned Konoha; Kakashi never knew it was him that had named their fledgling settlement or him that had come up with the idea in the first place as a way to protect his own precious ones.

All through the boy’s impassioned speech he remained silent, soaking in every word like a message from on high, and when Madara finally stopped to pant angrily, kicking at a nearby tree stump, he cleared his throat with more awkwardness than should have fit in to his twelve year old body.

“We should find Rin,” he murmured. It was the best he could do for an apology. Madara narrowed his eyes, probably trying to determine whether or not he meant that, then nodded decisively.

“Good to see you got your head out of your ass. Damn right we go find her. No more of this ‘the mission is more important’ bullshit, alright?”

“Yeah…”

“So what are we waiting for? Aren’t you supposed to be mission leader? Lead on, jōnin-taichou!”

Amazed that his teammate still trusted him to do so when he had only just a few minutes ago suggested abandoning Rin to her fate, Kakashi nodded and closed his eyes to think. “My summons will be able to follow her trail more easily than we can.”

Kannabi Bridge went on to become the mission famous as a long-awaited turning point in the war, the incident that finally gave them a clear advantage to end things in Konoha’s favor. For the ones who carried it out, however, it was memorable for a different reason. The mission to Kannabi Bridge was the day they finally – finally – became a true unit, the day Madara brushed that chip off of Kakashi’s shoulder and offered the hand of friendship instead.

It also became the day Kakashi would look back on and realize he was completely and utterly screwed.

Of course he would fall in love with his best friend. Of fucking course.

-

ANBU suited him a little bit too well but that was fine. Everything was fine as long as he had Madara there with him, eagle mask covering his face and endless black hair spilling around it like a cloud of death. He wondered why they bothered with the masks sometimes. Both of them were entirely too identifiable by their hair alone so really all the masks did was add a bit of extra dramatic flair.

Shaking his head, Kakashi forced his attention back to the task at hand, pushing just a little more speed out of his tired legs. The two of them had run countless missions together since becoming true comrades, both in the name of Team Minato and as the perfectly matched pair they were now in ANBU, but never had they run a mission this important before. It was only the second time Rin had been captured and already it was starting to feel like a pattern. He wondered which idiot had been the one to decide this time that she was the weak link in their band of comrades. Rin was many things but she was not weak.

As evidenced by the carnage that came in to view when they finally found her. More than half of the bodies that lay dead around her were decorated with perfectly normal wounds, their flesh opened by blades and the extra clean sort of cut that could only come from her weaponized medical jutsu. The rest had been mauled as though by a hungry beast – and a beast she looked, right then.

Her pretty brown eyes glowing red and her entire body bubbling with a sickly green cloak of pure poisonous chakra, it was hard to tell whether or not she recognized them at first. A low growl rumbled across the space between them and the two young men shared a look before hastily removing their masks.

“It’s fine now,” Madara attempted a soothing voice. “They’re dead.”

“Don’t,” she warning when he tried to take a step towards her.

“It’s just me, it’s just Madara.”

“Shut up! I know who you are, dummy!” The growl in her words cracked and hiked to a whine that Kakashi recognized all too well. He’d raised eight dogs on his own; he knew what a wounded animal sounded like. “I can’t go back with you. Not like this.”

Unfortunately neither of them had been born with an ounce of tact. Kakashi snorted. “Can and will. Haven’t you heard the rumors, Rin-chan? We’ve had a beast living with us the whole time and I’ve never seen Kushina-nee bite anyone’s head off yet. Well, not literally. She’s scary but she’s not out for blood no matter what the monster trapped inside her wants. She can help you.”

It was a terrible thing to see in a friend, that broken light of hope too small to be believed in. Kakashi inched forward, saddened when she flinched away but determined to reach her, and when her bubbling chakra burned his skin he refused to show any sign of pain.

“Come home. If we can survive Madara for this long then we can survive you. He’s more of an animal than anyone.”

His friend’s offended screech broke the tension and Rin’s startled laugh was a balm on all their souls, just enough of a positive emotion to push the beast in her belly down. The effort left her exhausted but Kakashi caught her and Madara took point to protect them both as they turned for home, wearing a pout still but it was a very cute pout so Kakashi only teased him a little bit. It was good to be together.

-

“That’s a big fox.”

“Your observations are as astute as ever,” Madara’s voice drawled from behind his shoulder.

“We have to fight that big fox? He’s just a big scary dog. I don’t wanna hit a dog, Dara-chan!”

“Stop calling me that!”

Kakashi smiled briefly to see Madara stomp one foot. Fifteen years old and he still hadn’t grown out of the habit. Then he turned his eyes back to the carnage in front of them when Rin touched down at his other side.

“Isobu says that Kurama isn’t acting like himself,” she reported. “Something must be controlling him.”

“Right. Let’s found out who, shall we?” Kakashi narrowed his eyes, all traces of amusement gone from their little trio of death as they all pushed off the Hokage monument they had been perched on to make their assessment. Team Minato, as they still sometimes thought of themselves, were not the first line of defense in any fight. They were the ones who ended the fight.

When they found the man controlling the Kyuubi he was much older than they might have guessed – ancient, in fact. The fact that he could still move the way he did seemed to be due to the fact that one entire half of his body had been reconstructed with an unidentified white substance that reformed and reattached itself when injured, healing faster than they could hurt him. And that wasn’t even the part that made the fight difficult. No, that was the fully formed Sharingan in his one good eye, an abomination that enraged Madara.

It took all three of them to bring him down, one unit moving perfectly in sync. It took Isobu and Susano’o and eight dog summons. It took everything they had but in the end Uchiha Obito lay ancient and exposed at their feet, screaming his impotent rage and crying out revenge against a man who had never truly wronged him.

“Senju Hashirama is dead,” Kakashi muttered in exhaustion, kicking away a severed limb still trying to crawl back to its host. “You should be too. Hold still and let me fix that.”

“He abandoned me! He will pay! The world will pay! I will have what I am owed! The perfect world, don’t you see? We could all live in the perfect world!”

“Something tells me your perfect world would not be like mine.” With his blade raised Kakashi shook his head in pity. “The world owes you nothing. Those who go back on their word like he did are trash, that’s true. But those who abandon their comrades? People like you who break bonds, you’re nothing but scum. Goodnight, Uchiha Obito, I hope you find rest.”

“Poetic,” Madara noted, watching as Kakashi impassively drew a blade through their defeated enemy’s throat.

“Maa, I didn’t mean to be.”

Rin groaned and sat down on the bloody grass. Then she fell over backwards with a sigh of relief. “Well that wasn’t what I wanted to do with my Tuesday,” she said.

“Any chance one of you can sense how Minato-sensei is doing with the Kyuubi? I’m fresh out of chakra.” Very gently, slowly so as not to jostle his sore body, Kakashi lowered himself down to join Rin. Madara snorted at them both.

“Your reserves are pathetic,” he pointed out. “The Kyuubi’s chakra has been split but I can still feel Kushina-nee. It would seem sensei was able to seal the beast in to two places at once. Very interesting.”

Both of the two on the ground made soft noises of curious agreement but investigating would have to wait. Just knowing their precious ones were alive was enough for now. Everything else could be left until after they had recovered the feeling in all of their limbs, possibly until after they had slept for a week. They had gone head to head with a legend today, after all. That definitely deserved a nap.

Madara wandered over to perch next to Kakashi, brushing something out of his hair without seeming to realize he was doing so. As much as he didn’t seem to want to admit it he was just as tired as the other two. Kakashi held his breath and allowed gloved fingers to trace the shape of his jaw.

“You took a lot of stupid chances today,” his friend murmured. Kakashi nodded.

“So did you.”

“Hn. Dumb ass.” His piece spoken, Madara’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body gave in to the exhaustion he’d been trying not to show. Unfortunately when he passed out he flopped down across the other two, who both grunted in surprise and then wriggled in dismay to find themselves trapped, lacking the energy to roll the idiot off of them.

Rin was the first to give up, flopping back down to the grass with a sigh. “You know for a second there I thought he was going to lean down and kiss you.”

Then she laughed as best she could at the redness of Kakashi’s face and the disconnected syllables gurgling out from behind his mask.

-

Twenty years old was a terrible age all of his friends were at least one year older. Twenty years old meant that all of his friends could drink while they oversaw the chūnin exams here in Suna but all he could do was sip soda and watch. What was the point of such a high drinking age anyway? And who had ever heard of a shinobi being denied a drink? He’s been getting served back home since he reached jōnin at the age of twelve.

Actually that probably wasn’t a high point and Minato-sensei should probably make sure that practice wasn’t still being followed. But his point still stood!

Kakashi felt cheated when his decision to go out with his friends in the hopes of watching them all make fools of themselves ended with sitting in the corner of a dusty Suna club watching over the ladies’ purses while Madara snoozed next to him. He’d really been hoping Madara would get drunk and do something stupid. Or maybe that he would get absolutely blackout drunk and do something completely out of the blue like, say, decide to make out with the comrade who’d been silently in love with him for almost a decade now.

Life was so unfair.

Jerking his elbow in to the other man’s side at least got him the amusing reaction of bleary eyes jerking open and an angry expression. He muttered something too but it was impossible to hear of the thumping music so Kakashi shrugged and shook his head, completely unrepentant. Madara scowled deeper and leaned over to put his lips right next to Kakashi’s ear.

“I said, you’re a dick. I was trying to sleep until we can get the hell out of here.”

Kakashi pushed away the urge to shiver and shouted over the music. “So let’s get out of here.”

Rin and Anko both tried to wheedle them in to staying when Kakashi wound his way through the dance floor to give them back their purses but he skipped free of their reaching hands and hustled back to Madara’s side. Stumbling outside was heaven on his ears, stepping passed the barrier of excessive noise and in to the blessed silence of the desert at night. Both of them groaned with relief and rubbed at their aching heads as they hurried away, ignoring the judging eyes of the club’s bouncers, eager to get back to their hotel rooms and just relax. Neither of them were really the sort to enjoy this stuff anyway. A nice homey bar would have been more their style but it had been Rin who invited them out so it had been her choice of venue.

Madara’s steps were surprisingly steady for someone who had pounded back enough alcohol to fall asleep in that blaring chaos. He wove side to side a bit whenever something interesting caught his eye but for the most part he didn’t seem too dizzy and Kakashi felt cheated all over again that he wasn’t needed to heroically offer his shoulder as support.

“Where are we?” The sudden question made him furrow his brows.

“Uh…Suna?”

“No! I mean I don’t recognize this street.”

Stopping to look around, Kakashi bit his lip. “Huh. You’re right. I think we’re lost.”

“That’s fine. As long as I’m lost with you.” Madara shrugged and continued on while Kakashi’s feet stumbled to a halt, one hand pressed against his chest to sooth his suddenly racing heart.

He glared as best he could and hoped the darkness covered the blush on his face.

“You can’t just…say stuff like that.”

“Oh. Shit. You’re right.” Confusingly, Madara looked embarrassed as well to realize what he’d said, clapping a hand over his mouth and sending a guilty look out the corner of his eyes.

“Wait. I know I’m right but why do you think I’m right?” Kakashi asked.

“Cause I don’t want you to know that I like you!”

“Maa, of course you like me, we’re best friends…”

Now frustrated that he wasn’t being understood, Madara stomped his foot and turned to shake a finger under Kakashi’s nose. “No! I mean like like you! Love like you! Don’t misunderstand me! I swear sometimes you do it on purpose because you know it annoys me and–”

His friend continued to rant but most of it washed over Kakashi, who had of course heard this lecture a hundred times and more. Well, except for the part where Madara was apparently in love with him, that bit was new. And mind-blowing. Life-changing, really. It took a while to sink in that Madara didn’t seem to realize what he had just confessed, either because he was too drunk or because nothing else ever mattered when he’d found something to be irritated by.

Why Kakashi found that cute was a mystery.

He did finally shut up when Kakashi kissed him, though. Actually, to be fair, he did make a few aborted attempts at speaking before finally giving in and kissing back, one hand fisting in the front of Kakashi’s vest to keep him in place. When they slowly pulled apart he licked his lips and fell immediately back in to a scowl.

“The mask, you idiot,” was all he said. Kakashi scrambled to pull it down out of the way.

“You want–?”

Madara’s answer was another kiss. And it turned out he was right, it was definitely better with the mask out of the way.

Someday, when he had eventually recovered his scrambled wits and picked himself up from the puddle of goo he could feel his body melting in to, he would need to say thank you. Not for the kiss, although the kiss was good enough on its own to warrant starting a diary just to describe it and Kakashi very much hoped they could do this again. Preferably every day from now on. But eventually he would need to impress upon Madara how grateful he was to have the other man in his life, how important it was that Madara had never abandoned him even when he was a young child with a terrible weight on his shoulders that he should never have been carrying in the first place.

Eventually he would need to say that he owed everything he was as a person to Madara.

But not now. Right now he pressed forward slowly to bury his fingers in long thick hair and cling to the one person he had been striving for since long before he had ever acknowledged it.

My honor is my own, he thought as they stumbled against the front of a nearby shop, his thoughts going back to a moment between them half a lifetime ago. And I owe my honor to you, who showed me how to believe in it. How to believe in us.

[insomniac-arrest]

Preview of my Next Story

I was struggling with some of my other stories, so I made this one as more of a palate cleanser

The Walmart Predicament

Jesse’s life is a bit of a mess, Jesse has insomnia, Jesse gets bored, Jesse is certain the centaur at the Shell gas station is going to light him on fire one day.

Ty is a Walmart greeter who is always there at 1am and kind of looks like a K-pop star that should be on the front of knock-off Twilight novels.

Vampires were all supposed to be killed off around 1901 with the Vampire hunters doing their damn job, but Jesse has a very shaky theory that one just happened to make it. And works at Walmart.

Based on that one tumblr post, urban fantasy where vampires are the fantasy part.

Preview:

Part 1: You Can’t Live with your ex-Girlfriend in a One Bedroom apartment

Jesse was looking at a Pokemon figurine, a very blue, very smooth pokemon figurine. According to the confusingly labeled rack this thing was either supposed to be 14.99 or 4.99. One was a little more reasonable than the other.

On one hand, the little plastic toy of a mudkip was probably going to be made of a much better plastic if it was actually $14.99. On the other hand, all he had in his pocket was a crumpled ten dollar bill and his debit card with Schrodinger's amount of money on it.

He refused to check so it was like bank account was empty and full at the same time, ooh, science. He told himself it was science and he wasn’t waffling on buying a toy from the kid's aisle.

Jesse had no idea how long he had been standing in aisle nine, it could have anywhere between 5 minutes and fifteen minutes. But he blinked and it felt a lot more like an hour.

He leisurely looks down at his blank watch and then back up toward the end of the aisle. He wondered the Home Decor section earlier looking for someone to ask but then reverted to the ‘wait and ambush’ method in aisle 9 instead.

He waited.

Walmart had been nominated for the number one customer service store in the US for five years in a row. Jesse had no idea why.

He waited for at least twenty minutes hoping an employee would pop up and tell him if his pokemon figurine was 4.99 or 14.99. But it looked like he had been left to the wolves.

Alone in the world to try and navigate Walmart at 4 in the morning. Or five in the morning. His watch was also broken and Jesse liked to keep his phone battery at a simmering 4%.

It gave his brother anxiety to look at but Jesse liked an excuse on why he didn’t answer texts. He had enough to think about already without 22 questions from his coworkers on what kind of hot sauce he preferred (Cholula).

Jesse looked back to the mysteriously priced toy and then back to the end of the aisle. Walmart had won the number one customer service award for the United States for five years in a row.

Ricky said it was because everyone had very low expectations for the place so whenever an employee so much as smiled at them they just thought ‘banger, best place in the states.’ Jesse took that as a life motto: keep expectations low and blow ‘em away with minimal effort.

He was working on the minimal effort part after coming off a nine-day bend of only 3-4 hours of sleep a night. Per night.

He had been in the aisle for anywhere between thirty minutes and an hour thirteen minutes, he glances down at his blank watch again. Finally, he puts the toy down and goes shuffling back toward the front of the store.

If he said he remembered why he drove over here in the first place, he’d be lying.

He’s contemplating the fact that one of his socks is gray while the other is dark purple when he hears a sharp voice off to his left. “Good morning, ma’am. Let me know if you need anything.” Jesse’s head swivels around like a partially-broken merry-go-round, moving at half speed. He recognized that voice, like a silver chime in the wind against a very blurry morning mist, Jesse blinks.

He stays perfectly still for a moment, a young man in a blue vest and styled dyed blonde hair stands by the door. His hands were neatly held behind his back and his shoes were a shiny black material that reflected the light.

Jesse’s mouth opens slowly, his eyes go wide, he knew this greeter. Ty, blonde, shiny-black shoes Ty.

Jesse freezes in place and fixates on a single glowing sunbeam that peaks just through the door. It was happening. His eyes dart to the greeter, and then back to the sunbeam.

It had to be somewhere around five o’clock in the morning now, his eyes go back to the sunbeam, and then once more toward the greeter.

Ty, the young man with dyed blonde tips and a pleased smile on his face steps delicately out of the way of a sunbeam as it snakes up toward his shoe. He takes several steps away from it.

Jesse’s mouth was completely open now, he takes out his phone to take a picture but then he remembers his battery is dead.

He looks back up, Jesse is pretty sure the door-greeter at the Walmart is a vampire.

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

Jesse sat slumped on the couch with his neck craned at just the right angle for it be almost comfortable. The couch itself slumped underneath him like it wished to be a lumpy mattress in its next life and the floor stayed perfectly still. Which was a good thing.

He couldn’t say the same thing about his vision, but the blurry smudge people in the corner of the room were probably friendly. The TV was on but he couldn’t repeat the plot of it if he wanted to, a girl around the age of 17 sat in front of it munching on croutons out of the bag.

Jesse was lucky he heard his phone ring as he was reaching into his pocket, his instincts let him just press the little green button before checking the caller ID.

“‘Ello.” He says as the smudge people in the corner of the room begin to dance emphatically.

“Jesse?” He hears a high-pitched voice call out, “this is the third time I’ve called.” Jesse shrugged as if the other person could see him, “the TV was loud.” He just hears a heavy sigh on the other side, “It’s Tom.”

Jesse lowers himself down in the chair, ”I know hey.”

”I’ve called because-” “I renewed the lease, yeah.” The voice sounded tired, “That’s what I thought.” “For like, just another month.” “Jesse,” his brother says on the other side of the line in a slow voice, “you can’t live in a one bedroom apartment with your ex-girlfriend.” Jesse just hums, “perhaps?”

The girl near the TV turns around, “What’s he saying?” Jesse blinks up slowly, “he doesn’t want me to live with Yumi anymore.” “Tell him to push off,” she crunched a crouton between her teeth, “she’s the only one that vacuums.” Jesse frowns, “hey, I do the laundry. We are both contributing.” “Will you do my laundry?” His niece bats her long lasses and Jesse makes a face.

“No.” “Then your argument is invalid, next.” “Jeez,” the voice on the other side of the line says, “this is what I’m talking about. You can’t live in a one bedroom apartment with your ex-girlfriend and still do her laundry.” “We’re friends. And she doesn’t like touching detergent.” “It’s weird! And,” Tommy, his brother, continues, “weren’t you getting more hours at the Shake Shack anyway? You know. To find a new place.” “What’s he saying now?” Chaudhry asks as she turns around in place.

Jesse holds the phone away from his ear, “he thinks I should get a new place or Yumi needs to leave.” Chaudhry rolls her eyes, “he’s gay now Tom,” she says in a loud voice, “not mean. You should learn something from it.” “More hours!” Tommy continues, “at the Shake Shack!”

Jesse tilts his head back, “they’re actually cutting them. But I figure, hey less time there, ya know?” He hears a loud groan, “I can’t pay everyone’s phone bill forever.” “Thanks for that Tom-Tom by the way,” Chaudhry had crawled over and was sitting by his knee.

“Please,” it was almost begging, “at least tell me you’ve gotten some sleep this week. Or gone to the group.” Jesse opens his mouth, he closes his mouth again. “Do you think Walmart hires vampires?” He heard a small muffled cry, “can someone put Yumi on the phone actually? I can consider switching to being her brother.” “She’s buying more paper plates since she hates doing the dishes,” Chaudhry props her chin up as she speaks. “And touching dish soap.”

“Well, nevermind them.” Tommy sighs. “Right, sleep. Yes? No?” Jesse frowns, “I tried.” He studies the smudges in the corner of his eye, “but the vampire thing was kinda bugging me, you know? He’s really pale, well-dressed, asian, like a K-pop star or something since his hair is all, you know. Buttery.” “Buttery?” “Yellow.” Chaudhry contributes.

“Yes, yellow,” he says with a jab of his finger, “that one. And he’s only there at night.” “He just works nights then Jesse, actually, okay, yes, yes, I’m coming over, stay right there.” “Wait,” Jesse says it too late, “you don’t need to-” Click.

And that was the end of that.

Chaudhry takes out another crouton and munches it between her teeth, “I would like to hear about the vampire.” “He’s a door greeter,” Jesse says slowly as he blinks, “and he couldn’t tell me how much this Pokemon figurine was.” His brother was still coming over to the apartment.

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

Jesse had one older brother and one older sister, his sister was ten years older than him and already had two kids which put her in a league of her own. A superman if you will, but Tommy, Tommy was only one year older than him.

And that meant something.

He also didn’t want him to live in a tiny apartment with his girlfriend that broke up with him two months ago, but some things can’t be helped. Like sleeping, that was hard to help.

Or do, or stop thinking about sometimes. Sleep, sleep, sleep, that’s all that came across his mind, like a seashore he could never reach but kept paddling towards. It was an uphill battle.

Jesse was having one of those nights, Chaudhry had gone home to her moms after Tommy began chewing Jesse out and now he once again, staring up at his ceiling. Tracing imaginary lines in it with his eyes and taking deep even breaths.

He wished he could invite Yumi back onto the bed, having someone else there usually helped. But the bed had never really been big enough for the both of them, and even she drew the line somewhere.

Her distant snores helped, but Jesse felt his consciousness start to tighten around him like a boa constrictor. Did he remember to lock the front door? Did he need a new lock?

What kind of idiot didn’t check their doors now, or have a spare lock.

Jesse sat bolt upright in bed, he blinks. He needed to go to Walmart.

[unapologxtic]

Slowly coming to, I let out a low, weak groan, my body exhausted. I wasn’t sure if it had only minutes that passed, or if it had been hours, or even days. But somehow, someway, I was still hanging on, and only God knew why, or how. All I knew was that my plan was to die, obviously so, yet my heart was still pumping blood throughout my body, oxygen still filled my lungs, and the pain I attempted to run scared from was more all-consuming now than ever before, a truly wicked thought. Was this some sick, twisted joke? I’m supposed to be dead, yet… My honey hues /finally/ play peek-a-boo, as my eyes flicker open, immediately scanning my surroundings, this… This environment was unfamiliar… Wait… No… What… I’m in a fucking hospital bed. How??? Nobody was supposed to find me, and now my plan is ruined. I was supposed to be reunited with Levi, and maybe even my mother, too, but no. I was in a fucking hospital bed. Restrained, and alone. Even death rejected me. This is unfair. This is a nightmare. This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I don’t want to be here. Fuck. How did I even get here? I assume it was my new neighbor, Karen or whatever. She’s proving to be a nosy broad thus far. Didn’t she know you’re not meant to put your nose where it doesn’t belong? Nosy bitch, she’s lucky I don’t run over her damn garden when I get out of, well, wherever I am. I know I’m in a hospital, which one I wasn’t sure. But… Didn’t she know I’m not supposed to be here anymore? I was already a prisoner to myself, and now I’m a prisoner to this fucking hospital. They have me restrained like I’m a murderer, when the only life I’m trying to end is mine. Speaking of, where’s the call button? Surely it’s been hours since my slumber ceased, my eyes are now fully accustomed to the excessively bright fluorescent lights at this point, and my bladder felt as if it would erupt. Relieving myself, however, would prove to be a difficult task, considering I was tied to a bed and all. And not in a cute, kinky way either. Thereafter, I attempted to maneuver myself, and failed miserably, my quest to locate the call button ultimately unsuccessful. Although I hadn’t spoken in what felt like forever, and the fact my mouth was more dry than the Sahara desert itself, I found myself in a position which deemed language necessary, as I needed a nurse. I needed a nurse now. Fuck. “Excu—se m—e,” my voice cracked, it was frail. My effort to draw attention to myself likely falling on deaf ears, convinced my desperate plea didn’t even make it to the door. Fuck. “Hellooo!” My second attempt. My voice seemed stronger, but still weak, and it appeared nobody heard me cry out, if that’s what you could even call it. Fuck. Inhaling deeply, I counted down from ten… 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… Searching for a solution from the depths of my mind, which was filled with complete and utter chaos… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… This is it. Oh. Maybe not… My thought process now interrupted, the door which was slightly ajar pushed open further, allowing, what I assumed to be, a nurse to enter. FINALLY. It was a woman, likely my age, maybe even younger. She was petite, probably the same size as me, and she had golden hair, which was secure in a perfectly imperfect messy bun. Overall, she looked put together. Good for her. Couldn’t say the same for myself. Obviously. But at least she was here now. Maybe I could find some relief. Fuck. She was taking forever to approach, or maybe my brain was just processing things slowly. Either way, my patience was nearly nonexistent. “Hi, I’m Charlotte, and I’m your nurse on duty. Do you know what day it is?” Are you serious??? How the fuck would I know that? I didn’t even know how I got here, let alone know how much time had passed. “I don’t know, but I do know I need to, you know,” my tone was flat and cold, as my head tilted in the direction of the toilet. “Before you can do that, I need you to answer a few more questions. Can you tell me your na—,” her speech was interrupted, as figurative steam emitted from my ears. Are you serious??? I didn’t realize my need to relieve myself required a ‘ticket out the door’ if you will. I was already irritated by my existence, and now she was pissing me off. “My bladder is going to combust. I don’t want that, and I’m sure you don’t either.” I interjected, my protest valid. I wasn’t trying to make her job more difficult, but she knew who I was. Fuck. My damn name and DOB was written on the white board across from this shitty bed. “I can’t work with you, if you don’t work with me,” she stated, her tone was warm, but there was a hint of irritation evident. My previously inquisitive, now dull optics simply rolled. If anyone should be annoyed, it was me. I didn’t even want to be alive, and I certainly didn’t want to be here. Now, this ‘perfect little princess’ was demanding I answer redundant questions before I could empty my bladder. How ridiculous is that? I didn’t realize it was a privilege that could be stripped away like that. Fuck. “LET ME… GO… RIGHT NOW!!!” Wow, that was, unexpected. My voice was clearly getting stronger. Truthfully, I was surprised, but also satisfied. Failing others as well as myself was my specialty, but at least I didn’t fail myself just now. I was impressed, but it was apparent that blondie wasn’t. “Name and date of birth,” she demanded, the warmth in her voice now gone. Fuck. Whatever. I was tired of fighting with her. With myself. With everyone, really. White flag raised, I reluctantly surrendered. “Noah Layne Díaz. August 5, 1996.” Yikes. My voice sounded defeated. Whoever saved me should have let me die, it was so unfair. I never get what I want. “Do you want a blood sample and my first born in order to pee, too, or?” It was an unnecessary jab, but I didn’t care. I was consumed with a plethora of emotions. Guilt, disappointment, anger, regret, despair. The list was endless, and I found herself particularly troubled by the fact my plan didn’t unfold how I envisioned it. I’m supposed to be dead. “I’m going to unfasten the straps now, and need you to remain calm,” Miss. Perfect began to explain, stern at first, as she maintained her professional demeanor, opting to ignore my juvenile remark from before. “And the door must be cracked,” she added, her softness resurfacing thereafter. A part of me wondered if she actually cared. I assumed probably not. Nobody did. If people cared, I wouldn’t be here right now. But I am, and it’s obvious they don’t. Truthfully, I’m tired of getting my hopes up for things I know won’t happen. Being cared for, one of them. No one ever seems terrified of losing me. I’m not entirely surprised either. The only person who seemed to give a damn about my existence was Levi, but even he wouldn’t stay. He promised he wouldn’t leave me. But, I guess, promises are meant to be broken. Shaking my head, I was finally freed. Well, mostly. I was attached to countless machines, which included a bag of fluids, wires everywhere, only complicating my ability to comfortably transition to the bathroom further. Britney… She looked like a Britney, right? Fuck. I felt like Britney. Britney Spears, that is. Circa 2007. Whatever… Watched me along the way, her gaze transfixed. I wasn’t a fucking child, but it is what it is. Soon after, my bare foot stepped onto the tile floor. It was cold, and caused me to shiver, my body draped in a thin hospital gown. There wasn’t enough warmth in the world to melt what was now my icy heart, and it was because of that, that fueled my desire to complete my mission. With the door slightly ajar, I situated the machine prior to plummeting onto the porcelain throne, and dramatically grunted. Plan B now in action. “Is everything okay in there?” ‘Sunshine on a cloudy day’ inquired. “Actually, no. It’s not my birthday, but Mrs. Monthly gave me a gift.” Charlotte wasn’t supposed to leave me unattended if I wasn’t secure, they probably assumed I would do something stupid, but I was hoping that my “needs” would cause her to falter. A brief moment of silence ensued. Does that mean she was considering it? “Okay, well, don’t move, alright?” Fuck. She did, her lapse in judgment providing me with a window of opportunity that I desperately needed. I was, in fact, ready to do something stupid, and once I heard her exit the room, I knew my time was limited. Proceeding swiftly, I yanked the needle plunged in my arm out, the 18 gauge tip now revealed. There was no time allotted for hesitation, this was it. I positioned my arm accordingly, and gripped my newfound best friend, at which point, I immediately forced it into my arm and dragged it downward, the pain causing me to wince, as my enamels embedded in my plump lower tier, my attempt to stifle any noises that could potentially manifest. During my initial quest, my method was more meticulous, whereas, now, I was racing against time, my actions spontaneous. I had no idea I punctured an artery, all I knew was that a wave of crimson flowed and I was started to see stars, the entire bathroom a bloodbath as I collapsed to the floor, my head bouncing off the tile, knocking me out completely.  Drifting in and out of consciousness, my body felt exhausted, the copious amount of blood lost the obvious culprit, at least that’s what would make the most sense. But wait… Did it work? Did I do it? Did I die? Squinting my eyes, they opened soon after, exposing my wondrous honey hues, which immediately captured my environment. Where am I? The room was small, the lighting was dim, and the walls were decorated with square sections of padding. Was this some weird, warped version of purgatory? I’m so confused, and I start to hyperventilate. My heart is dancing to an abnormal rhythm within the confines of my rib cage, body temperature elevating as I battle a ruthless panic attack. What’s going on??? I’m desperate at this point. I knew that I was a disappointment and deserved to be punish, but this is cruel. I continued to squirm, finding myself paralyzed, unable to move, as the walls narrowed, closing in on me. Fuck. Fading into another deep slumber, my body aroused an unknown length of time later. At this point, time was a concept that held little relevance. Knock. Knock. My eyes darted to the door. Absolutely not. I’m not playing that game, not unless you are delivering pizza or here to liberate me. Fuck. The door creaked open and two unfamiliar individuals stepped inside, shutting the door behind them. “Hi Noah. I’m Dr. Hawkins, the on call resident, and this is Dr. Jameson, our psychiatrist.” The middle-aged man announced, gesturing to his counterpart. “We’re here to make sure you’re not a risk to others, and especially yourself.” I’m so confused. I didn’t know where I was, how I got here, or why these people were looking at me with such perplexed features, but, fuck, it doesn’t matter. All that matters, and all I know, is that I need Donovan. If you’re thinking about suicide, are worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline network is available 24/7 across the United States. 1-800-273-8255 You are NOT alone, we will end the war within TOGETHER. Visit https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ for more information.