#How To Mute Unfriendly Calls

[betterlifeinoverall-rethabilep]

Busier Daily Love Schedules

Call After CallSome SpammersWhilst Other MutedFew Answered AmusinglyOf What In The Name Of FestivitiesCan I Be Of Help,Few Mentioning BusinessWhilst Others Begged To Be Met, Met In The Name Of Friendship In No Expressless Sound Of What Kind Of Meeting Up And Down As Life Loves To Be, With Weights LiftedAwaiting New Year’s EveTo Uphold New Year’s Resolutions Craving To Be UploadedThen, Made Use Of…

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of Both Worlds (part 20)

Tw: a bunch of profanities, nothing much in this chapter , short chapter tho

Vote below, i will only count the first 20 votes

Part 21

"You are so funny, (name)!" She laughed and playfully slapped you on the shoulder.

You laughed along and continued your conversation with her.

You finished all your classes for the day. You agreed to accompany her to the cafe because you have five grand in your bank account, courtesy by Yves and you can afford to treat her and yourself.

You didn't touch the food Montgomery gave you. Neither did Evangeline, because she too suffered from bad food poisoning when eating at that takeaway. It was thrown in the trash by her, it twisted your heart a little but you knew it wasn't edible.

Yves sent you a couple of texts asking you to call him when you're free along with pictures of what he found interesting. You muted him and chose to interact with your new friend instead.

In the end, the two of you shared the same opinion of Montgomery, that he may be creepy, but ultimately harmless. It's as if you completely had the memory of him punching Yves in the face erased.

It's nice. Someone around your age that shares the same humor and interests. Someone human unlike Yves and someone socially adept unlike Montgomery.

Good god, you can't believe you somehow considered Montgomery a friend.

"Hey (name)? I got this crazy idea."

You asked her what it was.

"Let's do a prank call on Montgomery." You gasped and said no way. But your tone betrayed you, it does sound like a fun joke. As long as the proper safety measures are taken.

"It will be the funniest thing ever. C'mon, here's the plan."

The both of you huddled together and discussed her nefarious ideas.

__

Her internet sleuthing skills are impressive, to say the least. All he needed was his phone number and his first name. You managed to find out he came from a family of farmers, 20 hours by car away from the city. Montgomery has been to more than 10 cities in the past decade, working various jobs and then quitting it to move onto the next place.

He once rented an apartment, but was evicted when he couldn't pay his rent on time. So you and Evangeline assumed he was living out of his car since then.

"Oh wow. You are proactive!" Giggled Evangeline when she saw you already saved his number under "Do not answer".

She is using your phone. Evangeline dialed Montgomery's personal number and pinched her nose to create an unrecognizable nasally voice. It was set to speaker mode.

After a few seconds of ringing, someone on the other end finally picked up.

"Hello?" It's undoubtedly him, coupled with the sounds of jackhammers rattling in the background.

"Heller, is this Mr Yeller? Montgomery Elizabeth Yeller?"

"Yeah, you got the right person. Who is this?"

"Yerr, this is Anita. Do you remember me, Mr Yeller?"

There was a pause.

"No, your name ain't ringing a bell. Anita who?" He finally replied.

Evangeline struggled to stifle her giggles. "Last name, Bath."

"Anita...Bath?" Montgomery was genuinely trying to remember someone in his life named that.

"Yeah you fucking do, stinky." You and Evangeline burst out cackling.

Eventually, Montgomery caught on and became upset.

"Ha ha. Very funny, you little shits. How the hell did you get my number?"

"Through Joe!"

You and her giggled. You pressed your palm against your lips.

"...(Name)?" His voice became soft and hopeful.

Suddenly it wasn't funny anymore. You signal her to cut it out, but she squeezed your shoulder.

"Joe Mama!" She laughed so hard that she had to cradle her side.

"Of fuckin' course." Montgomery's tone returned to being unfriendly. "Don't you fuckin' kids have homework to do? Instead of wastin' y'all's time and y'all's future botherin' strangers?" He snarked.

"No, because we are smart enough to get a scholarship to Ligma!" You heard him scoff from the other side.

"The hell is Ligma? Ya think I fuckin' care if-"

"Ligma balls!" You and Evangeline had tears running down the side of your faces from chortling so hard. "Y-you fell for it three times, Mr Yeller! What the fuck?" Evangeline added between laughs.

"...Stupid good for nothin' kids." He grumbled before hanging up.

Evangeline tried calling immediately after. To your surprise, he still answered.

"I ain't playing with y'all unless you're callin' in to apologize."

"StinkySayHuh."

"Huh?"

You and her let out the loudest scream of glee that he managed to take the bait. The remainder of the call was filled with mocking laughing from you two.

"Y'all can go straight to hell." He scolded before hanging up.

You found it so hilarious despite it being juvenile humor, your howling turned silent and your face became red. You couldn't breathe from guffawing too hard.

"Again, again!" She pressed the button call on his number.

It was declined. She pouted while you're still recovering from your giggles.

She tried calling him repeatedly, but all other attempts went to voicemail. His phone wouldn't receive any texts either.

"Aw, looks like he blocked you." Evangeline handed your phone back to you. Grinning, you thanked her profusely, this is exactly what you wanted.

"No, thank you for hanging out with me. This is the most fun I've had for months!" You laughed along and took another look at your phone.

You had that instinctive jerk upon seeing the time. Her smile dropped and changed to a confused expression.

"What's wrong?"

You were in the middle of packing until you realized you didn't have to take the bus. You apologized and explained yourself.

"Oh, that's totally fine. Hey, what do you say we hang out at the beach?"

You told her that Mr Jones is probably waiting for you.

"Daddy isn't just driving one person around all day. He's like an on-demand taxi! He's going to come to you only after a phone call."

You never knew that.

"Besides, you don't have a stuffy ol' Sir Yves to entertain. You're free! You get to go wherever you want to, whenever you want to." She gave you jazz hands to bring home her point.

"The sun is out, but it isn't that hot. We can dip our feet in the water to cool ourselves down."

You rubbed your chin. That does sound nice, and you don't want to reject your only friend. It's not like you have anything to do at the moment.

"But we're gonna need to take the bus though. I haven't had my driver's license yet." She added.

It takes an hour to ride the bus from the university to the beach. You're full from the junk you ate from the cafe, and you have enough money to buy whatever you want from the stalls.

You could always call Mr Jones up to drive you home from the beach.

However, you should probably go home and talk to Yves. You're barely answering his texts while he was excited to show you the attractions around his hotel.

"So, what do you say, (name)?" She asked with a hopeful smile.

You thought about it.

[genocidehim]

Tuco seeing someone insult his girlfriend and him secretly torturing/killing them for disrespecting her

notes: reader is female, misogynist comments, graphic violence, Just Tuco being Tuco. words: 1212

Both had to make a quick stop at a nearby gas station to refill the fuel of Tuco's 1970 Pontiac LeMans. He seemed much calmer this day, his hard and serious gaze appeared somewhat less tense with you by his side, and although he didn't let go of his tough personality, he was much more lenient with you around.

"I'm going to stop here for a second, if you want you can help me fill the tank while I buy something in the store," Tuco announced as he turned into the gas station and parked the car next to the pumps. "Do you want something, amorcito?"

"Hmm... maybe a juice? I'm a bit thirsty" you replied.

"Whatever mi reina wishes," Tuco gave you a smile and quickly leaned in to give you a peck on the cheek. "It's on me, I'll get the gas. Try to fill it all up."

"Okay, got it. I know how it works, don't worry."

He gave you one last smile before stepping out of the car and walking briskly into the gas station. You decided to follow his lead and got out of the car, walking around it to open the fuel tank and have everything ready to fill it up.

With some care, you went for the gasoline hoses to fill up the tank and decided to do it all at your own pace. You didn't know much about cars and the last few times you had tried, you had ended up getting gasoline all over your shoes and wasting a few drops of it. To Tuco, this was nothing to get angry about; in fact, he found it quite amusing, so he watched you calmly doing all that work as if it were the hardest thing in the world. You were certainly giving him quite a bit of entertainment without even trying.

But not everyone thought like him, especially not the man who was waiting behind Tuco's car with an unfriendly expression.

"Move and fill up that shit tank already!" The man's voice was present, and you almost trembled in response. The man seemed quite in a hurry, and your slowness was beginning to piss him off.

"I'm trying to fill it up! Just a second…" You replied in a somewhat muted tone, despite trying to mimic his tone of voice.

"These damn useless bitches can't even fill a damn gas tank." The man vociferated in response to your actions and you just stayed quiet while you finished filling the tank and put the hose back in its place. "But move the car, damn it!"

"I'm waiting for someone…"

"And can't you move the car and leave it in a place where it won't be in the way? You're a damn useless piece of crap."

"She can't drive, you asshole" Tuco's voice was present in the heated argument, catching your attention immediately.

Tuco had been listening to the argument from that idiot while walking back to the car with your juice in hand. The way his expression frowned and his jaw tightened revealed the anger that was starting to boil in his blood.

The man didn't take long to notice how Tuco's expression began to look increasingly sadistic and tough, making all the airs of arrogance and superiority he had been experiencing a moment ago disappear.

Tuco approached the man's car and was about to drag him out of the car until he felt you gripping his arm tightly and pulling him back.

"Tuco, no, please don't do it… The police can come" you pleaded as you continued pulling him back. "I don't want you to go back to prison… Let's go, honey, it's nothing."

"This damn asshole called you useless. Do you think I'm going to let him get away with it?" Tuco retorted as he watched you trying to move him when you really couldn't. You just looked at him with a concerned expression on your face and worried eyes.

"I'm sorry, man! I was in a hurry, but I won't bother you again. I'll go to another gas station" the man was lucky to be able to back away and leave the place without Tuco catching up, leaving you both alone there while Tuco was burning with rage.

You kept holding his arm while trying to tell him everything was okay. You knew that Tuco wasn't exactly the most stable man, but he didn't need to resort to violence, not in the middle of the day.

"Amorcito, please… calm down. I don't want you to get in trouble because of me" you pleaded with a soft voice that really moved him, seeing you, his girl, so worried and trembling for him.

Tuco's attitude changed quite quickly, and his eyes softened as he saw how concerned you were. One of his big hands stroked your hair as he seemed to regain his composure.

"My girl worries so much about me… You really don't want me to go back to prison, do you?" He turned to you and held you in his hands, being as gentle as his rough hands could be. You nodded your head and he leaned in to softly kiss your forehead while keeping you close. "Don't worry… I won't leave your side."

Although Tuco had promised to stay on the edge, he had memorized the license plate of that guy's car in his head. And he was going to do something about it.

Finding him wasn't as difficult as he imagined. With good contacts, he managed to locate the guy in a notorious neighborhood where fortunately many of Tuco's men worked, making it easier to kidnap the man and take him to his own garage away from the public ear.

The man lay gagged and tied to a kitchen chair in Tuco's garage while his screams were muffled by the handkerchief that kept him gagged. Tuco felt powerful having that idiot under his control and, although he had promised not to get into trouble, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to defend your honor against a heartless jerk.

"Did you really think you could get away with calling MY GIRL useless?" Tuco's rough voice came out in a guttural scream from his throat as he kicked the chair and made the gagged man fall backwards to the floor. "Who gave you the right to treat her however you damn well please? HUH? WHO?"

Once the guy was on the ground, Tuco gave him a good kick to the stomach with the tip of his leather shoes, a blow that would take the air out of the guy completely and have him whimpering in pain while his screams were muffled by the fabric in his mouth.

A twisted idea crossed Tuco's mind and made his eyes light up instantly. He walked out of the garage and returned to the kitchen, searching through the drawers for a potato peeler before returning to where the man was and giving him one of the most sadistic looks he could muster.

"I'm going to peel your fucking tongue so you won't even think about calling my girl useless again… or any other woman for that matter… Now, stick out your tongue and stay quiet or I'll start cutting off your fingers until they're useless…"

[swonkimn]

Mental Work #1

These days I am feeling fat and unhappy. I feel like I am the ugliest person in the world, the most awkward and unfriendly at work, and I just struggle with who I am so much.

What I feel: -Undesirable -Unacceptable -Shame -Self-conscious -Anxious -Dejected -Disappointed

I guess I thought that I would get this haircut and feel like a new person, feel more confident and driven, friendly and accepted...but I just feel like I am just the same person that I always was.

The reality is that I need to do the hard work and put in the therapy time, the personal work time, but it just feels incredibly hard to find the inertia to start. How do I find it within myself to work on my self-love and self-acceptance? To work against the self-abandonment that I really experienced since a child? Realistically: -Watch videos on mental health content -Listen to podcasts on self-acceptance -Wear clothes not to be accepted but for other reasons?? Maybe do some mental work on clothing and figure out what it is about clothing and my identity that is tied together?

I feel like when I get dressed in the morning there are just so many intentions that I have and conflicting emotions that somehow need to be threaded together into the one weave that is called "self-image." I feel like I need to fit in so I wear things that are subjectively decided as "attractive" or "current", but then I also don't want to draw too much attention to myself, so I want things that are "muted" but then I am also interested in accessories and pretty things that express individuality so I want little pops of detail that "dont stand out too much but do attract a little interest". And above all, I don't want to draw attention to my body: my large, tall, broad, awkward, lopsided, lumpy, pale body. I want to cover it up without looking larger than I already am, I want to emerge into society as a physical presence inasmuch as I am a physical being and that is the only way I can truly live life (LOL), but I don't want to drape it with fabrics that call attention to the size and awkwardness that it already is. I just want...moderation I guess. I don't like it when I gather too much attention when I wear what I wear, but I also don't want to be ignored because I want to be accepted above all else. And I think the narrative I was taught all these years by my parents is that acceptance means verbal affirmations of your looks and verbal praise that they approve of you. So I am fighting these two extremes in me, that I want to be included, but I also am positioned in a place that feeds off of approval. But that's such a nuanced and big difference isn't it? To be included versus having approval. Is that the mental work that needs to be sorted out in my mind? To want belonging and to know the difference that it is compared to approval?

[xsavannahx987]

I returned home that the orange of the sky had given way to the blue of the night. I took a quick shower and got ready for the evening. I was excited at the thought of seeing my old friends again, after a long time in which our meetings had taken place virtually behind a PC. It was cold that evening, a sign that winter was almost upon us. We had decided to meet directly at a club in town, not too far from Copperdale. I got in my car and drove down the highway while the radio was playing an old Queen song. The headlights of the other cars blinded me, and my thoughts ran as fast as the tires on the frozen asphalt. The last time I had seen my friends via Skype was several months back, but I was sure they hadn't changed much. I parked not far from the club and walked into the cold autumn evening. The streets were crowded with young people all headed in the same direction as me. I looked around for the faces of my friends and finally saw them. They were standing and talking to each other: Travis, Summer and Liberty, exactly as I remembered them, tight in their coats. "Hi guys" I greeted them a little trembling with emotion. "Hailey!" they did in chorus. Summer and Liberty ran to hug me and I lost myself in their embrace, intoxicated by the sweet and fruity scent of both. Travis kissed me tenderly on the cheek, announcing that he was very happy to finally see me again in the flesh. "Isn't Cullen coming?" I asked when the greetings were over. I was looking forward to seeing him again. Our relationships had been different from that with the others in the group. He had spent several months on a mission and was not allowed to make video calls. He wrote me letters when he could, but they were always late and often piling up between them. "He's late! He texted Travis a little while ago. He said he was going home to take off his uniform and that he would join us," Liberty announced, interrupting the flow of my thoughts.

We talked a little while waiting for the arrival of our last member. Travis updated me on his latest love affairs, asserting, as always, that it was nothing serious. Libery and Summer laughed heartily, telling me about all the different girls Travis brought to their apartment every night. "Do you remember that girl who said eating carrots amounted to murder? Oh God how much I laughed," Summer announced, tears in her eyes. "Yes, ok, she was half crazy, but under the sheets the sausage didn't make her so disgusting" echoed Travis, smug. I laughed out loud as I listened to those anecdotes until I heard footsteps behind me and turned around. "Sorry I'm late" said a deep, warm voice "You'll pay for the first round of alcohol!" Travis announced greeting his friend with a vigorous handshake. "Hailey ..." Cullen murmured in my direction "it's so good to see you again ... finally" For a moment I thought I had suddenly gone mute. I couldn't say anything, as if the words were hanging on my lips, but they were stamping to hold on. He hugged me to him, those hugs that take your breath away and have the taste of home. Cullen ... that he was always ready to defend me, that he consoled me when the boy on duty left me, that he helped me in my studies and supported me when I told him I wanted to study science. He was always there, even when I closed in on myself and chased everyone away, he was there, taking my insults, my unfriendly mood. I could feel his heart beating fast through the heavy coat, as if he too was reliving those past moments and the world around us had disappeared. "I missed you," he murmured as the world swirled around us and the voices of our other friends brought us back down to earth. “So, are we going in or are we going to stay out here freezing our asses?” Travis said with a pat on Cullen's shoulder.

The evening was pleasant. We danced and drank, as if time apart had never passed. I told about the new job and the house I had bought, how happy I was to be back in Copperdale. "You're back to stay, I hope," Summer asked, sitting on a small sofa on the sidelines, while the others danced frantically on the dance floor. "I'm not going anywhere," I announced and my gaze snapped and without  realizing it towards Cullen. "The years in the army have made him more handsome, with those slight wrinkles typical of those who have lived in hell. Isn't that so?" Summer said noticing my gaze elsewhere. "What?!" "Oh child, it can see a kilometer away that you like Cullen. You've always liked Cullen, since high school. I admit I've had some dirty thoughts about him too, in short, he's a nice treat, but he has always preferred something else" "What do you mean?" "My god, Hailey! Did the distant years make you stupid or what ?! Even the stones knew that Cullen had a soft spot for you. Because according to your very clever brain, he never had a serious relationship with any girl, but was he always looking for your company? " "Because we were friends" "Yes, with us too, and we haven't seen each other in person in centuries, and yet tonight when he arrived he had no eyes but for you. Come on, Hailey! Who did he write letters after letters to while on a mission? Not to Travis, this is safe!" and she concluded laughing

[keity-devil]

Another one, I know. (Destinyshipping fic, spoil 'my not my never' child/teen @breathlessmorro.). But is more a fluff one. I think. Enjoy.

--

Powers, my love? - Part 1.

--

Morro and Kai have been in a relationship for a year and a few months already. They were happy with each other. The days together were amazing for them. Kai had met Morro for the first time because of Lloyd's help. They told everyone one day that his cousin was moving to town and he was excited about it. (Especially since they hadn't seen each other in years, Morro not knowing about the Garmadon family's problems until a few days after he came to town.) When he first saw him, he saw an emo and slightly shy boy, but with a tough personality, dreaded if you touched a blond hair of Lloyd's. Kai couldn't believe Morro was really Lloyd's cousin. They were so different from each other. Hair color skin, language, that's what he think until he find out it's actually adopted. They began to meet more often (because Lloyd wanted his best friend and cousin to get along), and the flame ignited. When Lloyd found out about Kai's relationship with Morro, he didn't expect his plan to have such a great result. He had agreed to their relationship, even pleased with it. Kai didn't expect that either, not to mention Morro who was confused at the beginning of their relationship, he thought it was all just a dream, a fiction, he didn't think anyone would love him and yet.. he found someone. They had kept this relationship a secret until they were quite comfortable with the idea of ​​the rest knowing about it.

But they both kept a secret from each other. Elemental Powers. Kai kept his firepower hidden from Morro, and Morro kept his windpower from Kai. They both kept it a secret, and to this day, everything has gone well with this secret concealment of power.

Kai opened his eyes slowly. The light coming from the sun came straight into his eyes. He turned his heavy head to the seat next to it. Morro slept soundly, a few strands of hair hanging down his slightly pale face. Kai turned completely to his lover, staring at him. He could feel the fire in him wanting to come out. It was hard to control himself not to create a heart of fire for his love every time he did something adorable or felt that he did not know how to show/express his love for him. But he couldn't do it. He risked his identity as a Fire Ninja, Red, Flame, he risked endangering both of them.. and he didn't want that.

Morro felt his dream slowly crumble, his eyes hard to open. When he opened them a little, he could already see a smile on someone face.

"Morning..." He said softly, feeling his throat dry.

"Morning mi corazón." Kai approached Morro's face, kissing his forehead softly.

Morro in response, approached him to warm up a little, maybe he will fell asleep. It seemed strange to him how Kai was much warmer at times, but when he asked him about it, he had received the answer that it was only because he is cold.

"Don't fall asleep again. You just woke up." He said with a smile.

Morro couldn't stop an innocent grin. "And what if I fall asleep again?~"

"I'll be forced to throw cold water at you to really wake up."

"Oh no, not at all. I'm sick of it. Do you want me to be sick?"

"N-no..?"

"Exactly. Just another five minutes..."

"Okay. Just five minutes." He had begun to stroke his thick, black hair.

------

Ninjas had to patrol the city every night. Just two. And tonight, Wu put Wind and Flame.

"Your serious now?" Wind said, rolling his eyes.

"This is the truth." Flame said, looking at the starry sky outside before he left.

"Why did Wu put me with you?" He said unfriendly.

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

"Maybe it is."

Flame said nothing more, wishing this patrol would end quickly so he could go home. He missed someone and thought of a good excuse for being late. The patrol went fast. Nothing new for the two of them. Wind and Flame were good at fighting, but in conversation and socializing, they needed work.

"Well, end of patrolling for tonight. It's late, I should run home quickly."

Wind looked at him. "Why? Parents, brother, sister?"

"Beloved boyfriend." He said calmly.

"Oh." He lowered his head. He didn't know why, but hearing him say that word, he had done it... "Mhm. Go then. Don't let him wait for you." He said in a tone with a little venom in it, disappearing from Kai's vision like the wind.

"What's with him? No, you know something Kai? It doesn't matter what's with him. I still wonder who's under the mask. Who could Wu trust to have these powers...?"

------

Morro arrived home first. The last conversation with Flame had left him in a bad mood. He wanted to make coffee, but that wouldn't calm him down, so he resorted to his father's method of tea. He went into the bedroom first, no sign of Kai. He could feel the bizarre state in him growing. He left a cold wind behind him, filling the room with a restless cold air.

Kai reached the front door of the apartment. He repeated his apology in his mind.

"Okay Kai. You can do it. Calm down, you know the words." He pressed the doorknob. When he entered, a strong mint smell struck him, with a cold wind as well. "Uh... tea?" He closed the door, rushed inside. At the kitchen table was the brunette, with a cup in his hand, frequently hitting it with his nails painted light blue and black. "Morro? Uh... are you okay?"

"Mhm.. Yes. Why? Problems? " Morro didn't want it to sound so harsh, but he was still on needles.

"Nope. None." He approached him, placing one of his hands on Morro's back. "¿Disgustado?"

"¡No entiendo cuál es SU problema!" Morro started. Not realizing what language he was in. "¡Incluso estaba tratando de tener una conversación normal con Él! Y comienza con eso y- ugh..!" He threw his head on the table, but he had hit the cup of tea with his forehead, overturned the cup, letting the mint liquid run down the tablecloth, which flowed slowly on the edge and on the floor. "Fuck this!!" He screamed, feeling like he was about to throw the cup against the wall. Instead, he picked it up, placing it violently on the table. He rose from his chair, taking a few steps that swirled in a circle walk, his fingers gripped by his disheveled, disheveled black hair.

Kai was just looking at him. Morro had rare moments like this. When he had the first one, it was from an old frustration that happens again. Then he managed to calm him down because he knew the reason, but now he didn't understand him.

"Hey, hey.. it's okay. It doesn't matter that you spilled it and stained the tablecloth. It can be washed. Calm down." Kai try to calm him down with the tea problem.

Morro wanted to scream, but he was holding him in. He didn't know how he could do that, knowing that in moments like this he would throw almost everything out of his soul. The brunette looked at him, his nails still in his scalp. He had taken a few breaths.

"Okay.. Okay.. I'm calm. I'm calm." Morro had taken a few steps to where they kept the water, putting it in a cup and drink it all in one go. "Can we.. forget about it, please? And just sit in bed, fall asleep in each other's arms...?" He said softly, feeling his hands tremble.

Kai smiled slowly. He did not want to insist on the reason for the crisis, because of the emotional state Morro was in now. "Of course. Come here."

Kai reached for the brunette's waist, coming down for a kiss that had greedily returned him.

------

The Ninjas were urgently call by Wu. Morro had not received the call, nor could he.

"Ninja, you've arrived. ... Where's Wind?" Wu knew their identities in each and every Ninja, and Ninja between them, except Wind. They didn't know who Wind was under the mask, nor Wind who they were under the mask. And they agreed with that. One day they will know about each other.

"I don't know, Master Wu." Zane replied calmly.

"Are you feeling well, Kai?" Wu asked, seeing his restless state.

Kai had muted a little, surprised by the question. "No, no. I'm fine, Sensei."

"You don't look good, Master of- "

"I'm worried!" He interrupted his Sensei. "Morro should have called me or sent me a text an hour ago and he didn't..! What if something happened to him??" They had an agreement with the call or the messages. Morro had a telecaster class after school and told him he would let him know when he went out to see him, but nothing.

"Something to happend to Morro? I think you're kidding Kai." Cole said, knowing the personality of Lloyd's cousin, Wu's son.

"I'm not kidding. It's possible. Morro doesn't know how to fight. He's not like us." That had frightened Lloyd. If he knew the truth, he would have been calm.

"I'm sure my son is fine, Kai." Wu reassured him. He was not afraid that Morro was in any danger, he knew his son. If he was in danger, he would have already announced it. "I say to- " The 'Garmadon' alarm sounds in the room.

"Attack in Ninjago by Lord Garmadon. He now seems to be attacking random places." Nya said, looking at the new target of evil.

"That's... that's where I live!" Kai said quickly, recognizing the place. "When I get Garmadon, I'll- "

"Kai... If Morro is there and that's why he didn't contact you?!" Jay suspected agitatedly.

"Oh no... we have to hurry."

------

Morro didn't care if anyone could see him. The world was in danger, and his instincts came first. When he removed the last person from the building, he turned inside, slamming the doors behind him with a strong wind, blocking them.

"Heh, now let's take care of the rats."

He was walking in the white dust with all his senses on alert. He couldn't see well, but he could hear. Suddenly Morro felt a hand grip his shoulder. He quickly reached for the stranger and knocked him to the ground. From the rising smoke, three Garmadon generals had appeared.

'Looks like I'm going to have some fun today.'

He held out his hands wide, after hitting them against each other. The wind that formed next to the three of them pushed them violently together as he clapped his hands against each other. All that was left in the air was his right hand, which had begun to control the wind that was now above the enemies, pressing against them. Sounds of pain were heard. Dust roamed the room uncontrollably. One of them managed to open his eyes despite the strong wind.

"Who are you?! A monster!? Surely a monster!" He spoke agitatedly, closing his eyes again, feeling the pressure even stronger now.

Morro's eyes gleamed in shock at the generals pressed by his wind.

"Monster! You destroyed everything! The houses, the vegetation, EVERYTHING!!"

Words from the past resound in his head. His hand had begun to tremble and his breath was short of breath.

"I'm not a monster." His tone had become harsh, both hands rising, putting them in a cage pressed by the cold wind. He was about to stop their right to breathe- "Monster!" Everything stood still for a few seconds, leaving his trembling hands to fall past his limp body.

The generals were breathing a lot, telling each other to get out of here as soon as possible, that the guy is crazy, a monster. Morro felt his legs begin to tremble, clinging to the wall with his hand.

"Everything is fine.. is fine.. What was in the past is gone..." He looked around disfigured. The white dust fell slowly to the ground. "I'd better go..."

"Morro!" A voice called his name out of nowhere.

"What the..?" Morro was amazed to hear someone call his name from afar, behind him.

"Morro!" Kai stopped running when he saw his lover. He would have arrived sooner if the door had not been locked. He was too agitated to remember what he was wearing at the moment.

"Kai..?" Morro froze in shock, feeling himself tremble much harder. Now it made sense in his head why it was always so hot and warm..

"I thought something happened to you!" He reached in front of him, taking both Morro's pale hands. Kai looked at him intently to see if he had any scratches or injures. He didn't, it was just filled with white dust and shaking body. He looked into his eyes, which were full of shock and... fear? "Morro, mi corazón, are you okay?"

Morro sat for a while, processing the words spoken by the person who had made him nervous the night before. "You're.. Fire Ninja.. Flame.. Kai, are-are you Him?"

This hit Kai directly in the soul. Only then did he realize what was happening. He knew it made no sense to deny it, it was just a waste of time and words.

"Uh.. yes. Yes I am." He remembered the fighting moves and supernatural powers the generals had feared when they left the building. "How do you know how to fight so well?" If they put the card on the table, put them all on.

The brunette, now with white dust on his head, stared blankly. "Wind. I'm Wind, Kai."

"You're kidding.."

"Not at all." He had created a small tornado with both hands. "See?"

"That explains why- Omg... Were you talking about me last night?"

Morro nodded slowly. His heart was pounding inside him. He didn't know if it was from anxiety, fear, emotions, or even all three or more, but he knew it was starting to hurt. Oh, and those damn memories. Morro now expected Kai to yell at him, even leave him. He expected the worst. He was too afraid to think of a good script. But.. Kai had started laughing.

"No.. I don't.. I don't understand.. Why.. why are you laughing?" He was confused.

"Oh! That explains MUCH better your condition last night." He slowly laughed, slowly squeezing his lover's pale hands. "You just didn't think I'd leave you for that, did you?" Morro looked down guilty. "Omg.. come here." He took him in his arms. "I hid that from you too. And you. We're even. It's nothing serious, mi corazón. On the contrary, I'm much calmer now. Calm that you'll be fine.. I had to think that Wind is Wu's son. It was obvious!"

Morro slammed his fist into his chest, looking him in the eye afterwards. "No. It wasn't. I was behaving completely differently."

"Maybe, but not always." He gripped his face in his fingers.

"I say I played theater well at times- " He had been interrupted by someone's lips on his. The kiss hadn't been a long one, but it had been a calm one for the brunette. "You'd better fly, colorful Ninja.~ You don't want the rest to suspect anything. I can feel them approaching the entrance to look for you."

Kai looke behind him, then glanced back at his boyfriend. "After you know what, I'll be back, okay?"

"Mhm.. Just kiss me already."

"Your wish is my command.~" Kai kissed him again, this time it was a longer one.

--

T r a n s l a t e :

Kai: "Upset?"

Morro: "I just- I don't understand what HIS problem is! I was even trying to have a normal conversation with Him! And he starts with that and- ugh..!"

[animeyanderelover]

Ok so you know the requests you did with headcannons of a modern reader getting thrown into different anime universes? What if the reader got transported into the naruto universe before the hidden leaf village was established and met madara and the senju brothers? Even better, what if the reader got turned into a kid and met them during their childhood and grew up with them through out the war and all the way until Konohagakure is established and hashirama is made the first hokage?

This concept is surprisingly popular, didn’t expect it to be so beloved. But growing up together with them is a bit hard since they belong to different clans. I still tried my best though.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, paranoia, protective behavior, sabotage, threatening, bribing, killing, kidnapping

s/o gets transported into their world

🌳🌑🌊It must be a dream and a nightmare at the same time to be transported into a time of war, the danger that every second someone could attack you and you wouldn’t be able to do anything. The fact that you were a kid, again, wouldn’t save you either, remembering that even children were involved by the clans. So being transported into the Anime Naruto before the village had been even established wasn’t half as pleasant as you had originally expected it too.

🌳🌑🌊You had no idea where you even were and panicked a bit because of this, stumbling blindly through the forest where every corner looked for you the same. It was to your huge luck, or bad luck, whatever you like to call it, that you were found. And that by no one else than the Senju brothers. To be honest, they both had spotted you a long time before you had done, but Tobirama had held his brother back, warning him that you might be an enemy. And we all know that Hashirama as the good soul he was wanted to help you the moment they had spotted you. Because you looked completely clueless and like a utter lost lamb. The moment you tripped over your own feet was the moment Tobirama labeled you as an idiot and also as not that dangerous as he had thought at first.

🌳🌑🌊He was still on alert when he and his brother approached you, Hashirama instantly helping you back up on your knees and asking you worriedly questions. What were you doing out here on your own? From which clan were you? Why were you in their territory? You didn’t answer, instead looking fascinated back and forth between the two, realizing instantly just who you had before you. It wasn’t until Tobirama snapped at you if you were mute or something like this. From where were you and why were you here out alone? You flinched at his unfriendly tone and stuttered that you didn’t know why you were here. Hell, you had no idea how you had landed here. The question about from where you were and given the fact that you were speaking to Tobirama who was a strict one you doubted telling from where you were wouldn’t bring you far, probably only earning an outburst and you being called a lunatic from him. So why not showing them? You had still access to your phone and the tons of pictures you had about pretty much every character from Naruto saved, including from those two.

🌳🌑🌊When you pulled out a shining flat box made out of what they thought to be metal Tobirama instantly got suspicious, tending up and warning you to better not try anything whilst Hashirama quickly apologized for his behavior. You told them you just wanted to show them something, making the box suddenly glow and tipping around on it, making Hashirama step closer in curiosity, his brother following shortly after to ensure that you really wouldn’t try anything. But when they saw what you wanted them to see it got very different reactions from them. Hashirama was absolutely in awe whilst Tobirama stared shocked at what he assumed was him in a few years. When you carefully explained from where you were Tobirama have you a dumbfounded look whilst Hashirama instantly started babbling about how cool that was and if you could tell him what your world was like.

🌳🌑🌊And so you were brought to their clan, even Tobirama getting that they couldn’t leave you out there alone. You had also sparked his interest, not nearly as much as Hashirama’s but still. He had never heard from something like this before. The rest of the Senju members was at first shocked when they both walked with a complete stranger into their territory, instantly scolding them for how dumb and irresponsible they could be for letting you come with them, you were a child, but still. They had expected more. When Hashirama started hastily explaining best belief that the clan was furious with him and his nativity. When Tobirama suddenly budged in and told them that you had proof they became a bit more clairaudient, knowing that Tobirama wasn’t someone who believed every bullshit that he heard. So when you showed them the pictures on your phone and were even able to give them a very detailed speech about what powers the two of them would gain over the years they were as good as convinced. The question was now what to do with you?

🌳🌑🌊It was agreed under the elders that they would keep you, your knowledge being very useful even though you had admitted that you couldn’t directly tell what would happen, somehow not being able too. But you could give indirect comments about the future, meaning it could be possibly changed. They didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if the Uchiha would get their hands on you. And since Hashirama and Tobirama were the ones who had found you, you were given in their care. It was their job to help you get adjusted to your new lifestyle and also to teach you Taijutsu and if possible for you, teaching you Ninjutsu.

🌳🌑🌊You were a sensation in the clan, many people coming over to visit you, wanting to know more about your world. Especially by the younger ones you were very beloved and often a bunch of children sat around you whilst you told them stories about your world, Hashirama always being one of them. Tobirama was always the one who needed to shoo everyone away from you, complaining that since he had been made your “watchdog” he hadn’t gotten much time to train and instead being busy with babysitting. Deep down he was also a bit concerned about you, worrying that you wouldn’t get your peace anymore and would get a bit overwhelmed with all the pressure.

🌳🌑🌊You knew exactly when Hashirama would get to know Madara and would have actually really wanted to go with him, but with Tobirama taking his job a bit too dutiful and having grown over time very fond of you this proved to be more difficult than thought. So the only thing you could do was grumbling that you would never meet a young Madara Uchiha. That was at least until one day Hashirama suddenly asked you if you could keep a secret to yourself if he would tell you one. When you answered him you knew and would like to meet Madara he was speechless, you never failed to surprise him with how much you really knew. So very soon you sneaked with him away without anyone noticing your absence at first.

🌳🌑🌊When Hashirama finally brought you along, Madara was at first a bit hostile when seeing you, asking what you were doing here. Hashirama quickly introduced the two of you and told him that you were special, very special. But he didn’t tell him how special you really were, understanding that you would be targeted the moment someone would find out the truth. You yourself were unsure of telling Madara, knowing too well how he would end later on. Sadly you couldn’t tag along too often with Hashirama since the clan and Tobirama kept a keen eye on you, you were very valued by the clan.

🌳🌑🌊But one day when Hashirama had managed to sneak you away from the others again Madara suddenly started talking to you for the first time, asking you what exactly was so special about you. You seemed rather weak in his eyes. He had never spoken directly to you, showing you a bit of the cold shoulder the first few times. But it seemed like he had warmed up a bit and he would have lied if he would have said he wasn’t curious about you quite a bit, having noticed the somewhat strange way you were acting. You hesitated for a while, not knowing whether to show him or not, knowing that the clan would react furiously. Not even to mention that if the Uchiha clan would find out about you that would mean troubles, they might try to take you and use you and the last thing you wanted was to be the reason for even more war between the two clans. So you apologized and told him that you couldn’t tell him that, walking away and leaving him irritated alone.

🌳🌑🌊Madara wasn’t dumb. He had noticed that you were somewhat...different from others. He didn’t know how to explain it, but something about you felt very unique. You had managed to spark his curiosity this way. He knew that you wanted to keep this a secret and he had his secrets as well, but he did try to get a bit more information about you out of Hashirama. But for once in his life Hashirama kept quiet about something, not wanting to tell anyone without your approval.

🌳🌑🌊You fought a long time with the thought of whether to tell him or not, the time slowly ticking away you had left to tell him. And in the end you decided to show him and let him figure it out on his own. One day you just asked him if he would be interested if you would let him in on a small secret. And Madara felt at first a bit confused. Why the sudden change of mind? You didn’t say anything, just pulling out your phone and showing him wordlessly four pictures, him in his younger and adult version and his brother in his younger and adult version. At that time Madara didn’t know who the two older looking men were, but he felt highly alarmed because you knew about his brother. But how? And from whom? You kept quiet when he started throwing questions on you, shutting him up with a few simple sentences.

🌳🌑🌊”I know who you are, Madara Uchiha. I also know about your brother Izuna Uchiha. And if you’re smart you’ll figure my secret out. Your secret is safe with me and I hope the same counts for my secret. If you do tell someone I can’t guarantee that I’ll keep quiet. I know a lot Madara.”

🌳🌑🌊After that day you never came to see him again, knowing it would be anyways coming all out very soon. And the day a livid-looking Tobirama slammed your door open you knew that the secret was no longer a secret. You and Hashirama had to endure quite the telling-off, from the elders, his father and the longest of them all, from his brother. All were mad at how irresponsible Hashi had been to take you with him, you defending him and telling that you had convinced him didn’t really help out of the misery. And so things happened like you knew they would.

🌳🌑🌊As everyone grew up, you once again as well, their obsession for you started forming. Hashirama is, as I often wrote, someone who would have the biggest crush on you since he had been young, obsessing even more over the fact that you were from another world. And as he grew up the crush turned into a suffocating amount of love. Tobirama needed a bit more time and his obsession formed much slower. At first he was just annoyed that he had to babysit you. But slowly he started accepting and respecting you, starting with seeing you as someone he liked and wanted to protect. You went from a good friend and precious person to a small crush, then huge crush and after a lot of years and a lot of established trust and knowing each other like the back of your hand you became an obsession. I do believe that Tobi also admired you for always helping him with his jutsus. He went more often than you might think to you for help since you knew his abilities better than he. A lot of jutsus, for example the Flying Thunder Technique were inspired from you.

🌳🌑🌊Madara’s obsession was a bit different. You lived with the Senju clan and he never had the chance to see you again or ask you what you had meant with those words and what that weird thing was you had showed him. But for some reason he never told anyone about this, for some reason feeling like he should figure out himself before informing someone. It took him years, but he found out. He still remembered the pictures you had shown him clearly, never forgetting the persons. Back then he hadn’t known who those persons had been. But now when looking in the mirror or at his brother he knew that those persons had been him and his brother...In the future. Were you able to see the future? Was that what Hashirama had meant all those years back when he had told him you were special? Was that the reason why you had known him and his brother? This discovery would mean a lot for his clan, someone who knew the future could help them winning the war. But Madara hesitated, your warning still being present in his mind. If he would tell his clan and you would find out, what would you tell the Senju? How much did you know?

🌳🌑🌊Despite being teached by two of the strongest shinobi to ever exist you were never allowed to fight, at least not in the real battles. You had too much value. You were more active on the side lines with either Hashi or Tobi watching over you. You didn’t want to be discovered by Madara, knowing that by now he might have found out what you had meant. Madara on the other hand looked for you on the battlefield, wanting to have an explanation from you. Or from anyone else who knew your secret. But there was of course also the danger how your clan would react when finding out that he knew. He doubted that they would hurt you, you were too precious for that. But they might ensure to bring you somewhere far away so no one would find you. And that wasn’t a thought Madara enjoyed. Because he was fascinated. Fascinated how dangerous you were and could decide over the ending of a war without needing to be physically strong. Your knowledge could chance the future, a complete new concept of power for him. One that he wanted to own. Especially after losing Izuna he wanted this kind of power, feeling like this could have been prevented if he would have just had you. He. Wanted. You.

🌳🌑🌊I can see him totally provoking Tobirama and Hashirama with this after his brother’s death, mocking them and threatening that as soon as he had you and your power to look into the future he would kill their whole clan and use you. That shocked both of them, especially Tobirama since it had always been his greatest fear that someone from the Uchiha would find out and try to take you away from him and his brother. But from all people Madara had to find out. How? Had you told him?! Were you crazy?! How dumb could you be to tell an Uchiha that?! No wonder that Tobirama wanted to kill him, terrified of the thought of losing you to this guy. Him and his brother would suffer so much. It was only due to Hashirama’s attempted self-sacrifice, begging for mercy and your and his brother’s safety in exchange for his life. If he died at least his brother would be still there to take care of you. Luckily it never came to this and when the two came on that day home you already knew what had happened. You still had to hear quite a telling-off from Tobirama for exposing your secret to an Uchiha, but what happened had happened.

🌳🌑🌊After the village was established Madara finally got the truth from you, you telling him honestly from where you were. And Madara’s strange fascination with you only grew. He could overpower you so easily and yet your influence on this world could be so much bigger than his. You were a powerful weapon without even owning any special jutsus or a kekkai genkai. He also was always was quite amused when you told him about your world and all the things that existed in there. He was not surprised when you apologized for his brother’s death. You had known anyways, hadn’t you?

🌳🌑🌊It was Madara’s utter fascination and admiration that made him obsess over you and he definitely tried to distance yourself a bit from Tobirama since he still had a grudge against him for killing his brother. He had also catched on on their feelings for you and that was personally not something he appreciated, even less because Tobi was in the picture. I’m sure that Hashirama and Tobirama figured their feelings for you out a long time ago and just agreed to share you. But this would throw them off and especially piss off Tobirama. As soon as his brother would even bring out the suggestion of eventually sharing with him too he would scold his brother for being such an idiot. No way he’ll let that bastard anywhere near you. That guy would only use you for your powers. It isn’t like Madara would want to share anyways, especially not with Tobirama.

🌳🌑🌊If it would only be Hashirama and Madara it wouldn’t be that bad. But mix Madara and Tobirama together and you’ll have a carnage. Hashirama is pretty much the only one who would keep them from ripping each other apart. And you poor thing will be literally ripped back and forth between Tobirama who only wants you near him and his brother and Madara who wants you for himself. Both would get very demanding over you and Hashirama is the only one who would try his best to give you less of a harder time, even going as far as scolding them for making you stress out so much.

🌳🌑🌊Separate endings are simple. Hashirama and Tobirama share the same end since they share anyways. Expect especially Tobirama’s overprotectiveness and paranoia to increase. He would feel totally confirmed in his suspicions that Madara was a bad guy, even more since you knew it would happen. I think he would in general try to make you stay away from the Uchiha. Hashirama would become more clingy since he saw Madara as a friend and the betrayal stings even more because you knew it would happen. But both of them would fight with their life if Madara should ever try to get you back. Madara’s version is simple. It’s kidnapping you and he’s the type to try to force you to tell him the future because that’s what made him obsessed in the first place. But Madara has to be more careful because let’s be honest, Hashi and Tobi would lose it when finding out that you’re with Madara and would stop at nothing to find you so be prepared to be constantly on the run.

🌳🌑🌊The thing with those three is that I don’t think any of them would really leave their world to live you in yours if they would find a way. I can see Hashirama as the most willing one to visit your world from time to time since he’s the most eager one to see it for himself. But he’s the Hokage and has work to do. For Tobirama counts the same. Even before becoming the Hokage he was already busy with work and his interest isn’t that huge. But I can see his brother talking him into visiting your world once or twice with you since Tobirama had the tiniest bit of more free time as Hashirama who had to sit in his office. Madara wouldn’t be really interested as well. He has his own goals and as much as I can see him liking the thought that he would have absolute power in your world since he would be somewhat untouchable, he has his own things to do in his world. You also wouldn’t want this man in your world because there would be no one to stop him.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Promises

Hi dear! As agreed, I’ve changed it to dad’s friend!Bucky <3 Hope you’re going to enjoy this!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, age gap, daddy kink, allusion to non-con, death of minor characters.

Words: 3000.

_______________________

Looking at the lonely chocolate muffin laying on the table in front of you, you closed your eyes for a couple of seconds, making a wish: it was your birthday, and you were stuck in some filthy roadside diner with no one but Mr. Barnes by your side.

Bucky. You were ought to call him Bucky, you reminded yourself, opening your eyes and blowing softly on a single candle sitting on the top of your muffin.

It wasn’t his fault you two ended up here - there had been a huge accident on your way back home, a tanker truck exploded into flames in the middle of the highway. In fact, you were lucky you were far away since several drivers and passengers who had the misfortune to be close to the truck had already been declared dead. It was all over the news, most of the people inside diner glued to the old TV hanging on the wall.

Staring at the candle, you carefully pulled it off and dropped it on a cheap white napkin, taking the muffin and eagerly having a bite. Mr. Barn... Bucky watched you from the other side of the table, his coffee already long cold. There was no smile on his face as you quietly said thank you to him, but you barely remembered him smiling at all despite knowing him for several years at the very least. He was your dad’s friend, and he often visited your house to share a beer and watch hockey with your dad late in the evening. Who could imagine it would be Bucky of all people helping you stay afloat.

“What did you wish for?” He asked you, and chuckled grimly at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Apparently, you had to keep it a secret to make your wish come true, but it didn’t matter now.

“To have a family.”

You gulped down a sob and stared at the red table as Bucky reached out to pat your shoulder gently. Both of you knew what you meant, but you had no strength to talk about it again. It was still painful as hell.

“It will get better.” He said quietly as you nodded, wiping away your tears and gulping down your coke. “You need time.”

Yeah, time, that was what everyone around you kept saying as if time could change the fact you were all alone now; as if it could make you forget all that happened and keep the pain away. What could time do? Make you insensitive, unsympathetic, and unable to feel anything at all. All this time could probably do to you, sure.

He bought a couple of ham sandwiches and bottles of coke for the evening and left with you following him closely. The motel room was just as dirty as the diner, but you didn’t expect anything else, preparing to cleaning it up - anyway, there wasn’t much you could do around here. Although there were lots of people stuck here along with you two, you had no wish to go talk to them about the tragedy. You had your own already, and it was enough for you.

“Your uncle looks scary on this photo.” Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you picked it up, reading the message from April, your best friend - your only friend, to be completely honest. “Like he’s straight out of those serial killer documentaries.”

“April, come on."

"what, I'm serious lol"

"Maybe he’s not your sunshine guy, but he’s the only one who stayed with me after all that happened."

"And he is NOT my uncle!”

“sorry girl just wanted to cheer you up”

You smiled at the text, missing Bucky’s gaze as he came closer to you.

“Who’s that?” He asked, and you raised your eyes at him, immediately getting back to your grim state.

“April. She saw the photo I sent her.” Explaining quietly, you tried pretending you were happy, stretching your lips in a thin smile and thinking whether Bucky could feel it. “She’s checking on how we are here.”

“Good.”

With that he left to bathroom, leaving you on your knees scrubbing the floor. He was bad at cleaning - really bad, missing tons of dirty spots to the point it felt like he didn’t clean anything at all. That was why you preferred doing it yourself. Besides, it was him who paid for the room and food despite you trying to share the expenses, so you felt obliged to him.

Bucky certainly wasn’t the most talkative or friendly type, but he still cared about you, supporting you the way he could. Even if he was way older than you, and a part of you still didn’t feel very comfortable around him, Bucky was the only one by your side. He agreed living with you when most of your relatives had little interest in staying even for a few days longer, leaving you all alone. He helped you with all the legal stuff you knew nothing about, never having to deal with these issues before. He gave you a drive to your university campus every morning and called you every time when you were supposed to come home, probably afraid you’d do something to yourself. That was what you thought, at least.

He was a good man. Maybe a little gruff, seemingly unfriendly, intimidating even, but still better then all those who promised to look after you and then vanished.

“I’m going to go for a walk.” Bucky said after leaving bathroom and putting his sneakers on. “Will you be okay by yourself?”

You felt shame bubbling up inside you at his words. He still thought you might be suicidal.

“Of course. I’ll be waiting here.”

With that he nodded and left you alone with a bright pack of Lysol and dirty doormat on the floor. Sighing, you felt relieved, finally staying all by yourself in the grim silence of the room. It wasn’t that bad. You weren’t stuck together somewhere in the desert with no food and shelter. Tomorrow morning you’d be able to return home from that little improvised vacation Bucky organized purely for you, staying in a cabin close to the beautiful lake in the woods. It wasn’t his fault you were spending your birthday like this, scrubbing the floor clean and wiping the dust from shelves and nightstands instead of celebrating somewhere in the club with April, drinking fancy cocktails.

In half an hour you finished the clean up and had a shower, changing into your funny pink pajamas - you knew your looked pathetic in it, considering how old it was, but it was one of the things that made you feel safe. Anyway, Bucky didn’t care about the way you looked, so you simply wore whatever you found comfortable, often looking like a kid who was too big to fit into their old clothes.

“Whatcha doin??” A message popped up on the screen as you checked your phone again.

“Gonna go to sleep, I guess. I didn’t sleep well yesterday again.”

“i have a gooood recipe for a nice 8-hour sleep”

“Really? What’s that?”

Instead of answering you clearly, she sent you a link. To your horror, instead of checking the name first you simply clicked on it and found out April sent you some porno. Groaning, you quickly turned it off, afraid somebody gonna hear it - the walls here were out of paper, you could swear.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?” You typed furiously. “Are you mad?”

“come on, what are we, holy virgins?? Ima telling you, this thing works! Just try it, you’ll be sleeping after this in no time!”

“April, even if I’m gonna believe this crap, Bucky just went for a walk. I have no clue when he’s going to come back. Do you really think I’m ready to do this when he’s around?”

“damn girl just don’t put earphones, cover yourself with a blanket and sit facing the door.” You could literally see her rolling her eyes at you. “you’re a grown up, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. When you hear the man coming, just turn it off!”

Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you muted your phone and carefully opened the link again, trying to understand what kind of porno she sent you exactly. Apparently, it was that daddy thing she kept telling you about - you read the name of the video, and your face grew unbearably hot in a second. Damn, this girl had no shame whatsoever.

But maybe she was right: you needed to release some tension that had been building up over the last months. It was quite an innocent way to do it, really, and you’d be careful enough to do it before Bucky came back, finding anything suspicious. You were a human being, after all! There was nothing nasty in what you were going to do, you tried assuring yourself.

“I’m gonna regret it.”

“NO GIRL YOU WON’T! Treat yourself!!”

Laughing, you quickly dropped your phone on your bed, taking a tablet out of your backpack along with a pair of pink socks - you couldn’t explain it, but your feet were always getting cold while you pleasured yourself. Getting comfortable on your bed and wrapping a comforter around yourself, you opened your tablet, setting the volume level low and finding that link April sent you. You threw a quick glance to the door, prepared to switch the tablet off any second if Bucky was going to show up. Shoot, were you doing it for real? Yes, yes you were.

Opening the video, you bit down on your lower lip, a little ashamed still. Trying to get these thoughts out of your head, you concentrated on what was happening in the video, watching a girl sitting on the lap of a beefy bearded man stroking her ass. He was speaking to her softly, but in a very low, husky voice, and you realized it was getting warm in between your thighs. You closed your eyes, listening to the voice that, along with a sound of him slapping the girl, was making you aroused way more than the picture itself.

"Have you been good, princess?" The man whispered, and you could see the smug grin on his face even with your eyes closed.

Yes, you have, you thought, your hand slowly trailling down your belly and touching the elastic of your cotton panties.

Fuck, you heard the sound of one more slap and bit your lip again, imagining it was you he spanked, caressing your raw, hot skin with his calloused palm, his fingers digging in your soft flesh when you tried moving away, quietly squirming from his touch. You were a good girl for him. You'd do what your daddy told you, baring your ass in front of him and getting back on his lap, moving on top of him, making him feel you through the fabric of his pants until you ruined them. Would daddy be happy if you rode him, moaning like some dirty slut until he shut you with his mouth? Would he like you cumming on his cock with your eyes rolling inside your skull out of immense pleasure?

With your fingers on your clit, you gently stroked that bundle of nerves, getting more and more wet until you soaked your panties, listening to the voice of that man and imagining being with your own daddy, somebody who would take care of you, somebody who would never leave you alone and comfort you when you needed it the most. Oh, were you crying, thinking of it? You could feel your eyes growing wet as you softly moaned. You imagined the man touching your hair and kissing your forehead, and tears were now streaming down your cheeks.

You were pathetic, you thought. You couldn't even pleasure yourself while watching porno anymore.

Softly sobbing, you kept listening to the video, touching your sleek folds and missing the shadow that descended upon you - you couldn't see the stranger behind the window, watching you sitting there on your bed with a tablet in front of you, seeing the video clearly. Maybe Bucky couldn't hear it from the outside, but he knew it - he saw it a couple of weeks ago when he felt a little lonely.

You almost cummed when you heard the steps right outside the door, inmediately hitting the screen to stop the video and hiding your tablet beneath the comforter. You didn't figure out anything better than pretending you were already asleep, aside from the fact it was barely seven.

Covering your head, you prayed Bucky didn't see anything suspicious, mentally cursing April for sending you the link. Shit, you knew this wasn't going to end well! Why on Earth did you even tried something as reckless and stupid as this when Bucky could show up any minute?

"I know you're not sleeping."

His voice sounded so much closer than you anticipated that you almost flinched, holding your breath for a couple of seconds. Fuck, did he know? Did he hear you? Could he see the tablet beneath your blanket?

You stilled, still pretending you were sleeping when Bucky landed close to you, the bed dipping under him. When he suddenly touched your leg, making you flinch involuntarily, you clamped a hand around your mouth. Shit! What was he doing? He had never ever touched you like that before. Was he mad? Did he-

"You can stop pretending, little one." As Bucky lifted your comforter, you stared at him, terrified to the core with your eyes almost popping out of their sockets.

Immediately, you tried moving away, determined to get to the other side of the room, but he quickly held you down with his hands on your wrists, getting on top of you. Shit. Staring at his dark but calm expression, you saw a strange glint in his eyes that had never been there before. The thought made you shiver.

Something was wrong with the way he hold you, looked at you - it was not like before when he treated you like some sad kid, patting your head awkwardly when you cried and rarely giving you a hug. You were staring at the man who barely reminded you of Bucky who had been coming to your house to watch a hockey game late in the evening. This man seemed like a stranger.

"Please, Mr. Barnes-"

"Shhhh." He interrupted your pleading, leaning closer to you so his dark hair brushed against your face. "Don't be scared. It's alright."

No, no, it wasn't alright in any sense, and you kept struggling, doing your best to break free from his grasp until Bucky made you yelp from pain, grabbing your hands so hard you thought you'd have bruises. When you got silent, trembling beneath him with your eyes full of tears, he got closer, his forehead touching yours as he exhaled into your face.

“P-please, I don’t want to.”

“Don’t you? I’ve seen what you’ve been doing while I was gone.” His stormy grey eyes bore into you, and you thought Bucky was angry at you watching that filthy porno. “But I won’t punish you.”

“What do you want then?” You sobbed, then froze when he kissed your cheek, and then your nose and eyelids, his chapped lips brushing softly against your skin. His touch felt warm.

“To take care of you.”

You looked at him with your watery eyes, whimpering softly when Bucky kissed your forehead as you relaxed beneath him, shocked at his words. Take care of you? What did he mean by that? Wasn’t he taking care of you already? No, now you knew why Bucky was close, and he definitely wasn’t some good Samaritan you imagined him to be. Was it all for this? Did he pretend to be your friend just to let you lower your guard?

Crying, you closed your eyes, thinking how silly you were wanting someone to be by your side, having dreams about someone taking care of you, comforting you when even the one you thought was there for you just wanted to use a silly little girl and throw her away.

“Take what you want and go.” You managed to mumble, choking on a sob. “Just leave me alone.”

Bucky raised his brows, his gaze heavy as he stared at your face wet with tears. “Why would I? Didn’t you hear what I just said, little one?”

You gave him a sarcastic smile, avoiding looking him in the eyes. “You’re here because you want to take something from me. So, take it and go. Please!”

Bucky let out a loud breath, getting off you and rolling to the side, but holding you close and pressing your face into his chest. You could feel a subtle smell of sweat coming from him; strangely, it was almost comforting. Anyway, you had no strength left to fight him, so you just laid there, his hands on your back and in your hair. His black zipped hoodie was quickly getting wet with you still sobbing quietly.

“I’m not going anywhere, little girl.” He whispered, touching the top of your head with his lips. “You’re mine to take care off. Look at you, barely able to sleep on your own. How do you think you will manage without me?”

You didn’t answer, not knowing what to say. What Bucky told you was true - you barely existed outside of your house, facing the reality where you were always alone. April was trying her best to help you come to your senses, but she wasn’t family. You needed a family.

“Will you stay?” You whimpered, shaking lightly at the though Bucky would go, too, and you would end up all by yourself, talking to four walls until one day they would talk to you, too.

“Remember your birthday wish?” He asked instead of answering your question, and you felt like the air was sucked out of your lungs. But before you had time to said something, Bucky dropped a kiss to your forehead again, caressing your head tenderly. “I am your family, little one. You will never be alone.”

______________________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin​ @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @ninefuckingoneone @iheartsebastianstan @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters

[satendou]

⟼  roundabout

 next: full circle | ½

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ pairing: osamu/reader

⇢ au: aged up!au

⇢ summary:  osamu leaves you and learns the hard way how much you meant to him

⇥  masterlist

⇢ warnings: angst, breakups, cheating

⇢ word count: 5794

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ a/n: :)

“You’re telling me,” you said, leaning back against the counter as you stared at Osamu, “that you’re breaking up with me so you can get back with your ex? That’s the gist of this right?”

He looked off to the side, crossing his arms in front of him before nodding. Coward.

From the outside, anyone would think this was just another casual conversation. Dinner simmered on the stove beside you, the smell soured in the wake of his words.

“Look, ’m sorry. I didn’t mean--” he started, still inspecting the floor as if he were expecting it to offer support as he broke your heart, but you snorted, stopping him.

“You know, I don’t really think I wanna hear this. I mean, you didn’t mean to hurt me? Is that it? Miya, you can’t break up with someone for your fucking ex and expect it not to hurt,” you said, and the amusement in your voice shook him.

His usually lazy brown eyes were wide as he watched you turn your back to him, stirring the food before it burnt. You weren’t reacting the way he had thought you would, but then he supposed he hadn’t known what to expect when he came in planning to break up with you. He was ashamed to admit a part of him had hoped for tears, with you begging him to stay. Annoying him would have made it made it so much easier to walk out the door.

But your quiet acceptance was a blow he hadn’t prepared for, and it made him feel even scummier for doing it to you.

And he deserved that.

“You can get your stuff out, if you’re ready,” you said, turning the burner off. Covering it with a lid, you moved the pan off the coils and pulled out your phone, checking the time. Your best friend should have been home by then, and you texted her to tell her that you would be coming by. “I’ll leave for a while. I don’t wanna see you when I get home, so make sure you’re gone.”

The tightness in your chest increased as you slid your shoes on. It had only been thirty minutes since you got home and now you were leaving again. You refused to cry in front of him-- he didn’t deserve that from you.

There was a petty voice inside of him, itching to pick a fight as you gathered up your wallet and keys, hand on the doorknob before turning back to him. His chest felt like it was on fire, hands balled into fists at his side as he stood in the living room watching you. The way you acted so callously made him wonder if you even cared.

“You can leave your key on the table,” you said, gesturing vaguely towards the coffee table. 

And then you were turning the doorknob and Osamu took a step forward, heart hammering as a question tumbled out of his mouth. It wasn’t a fair question and it was selfish, he knew that, but your coldness was killing him and he had to know.

“You don’t seem to care, _____. Did you even love me?”

Your laugh was cold and empty and the tears stung your eyes against your will, and when you turned back to look at him he finally saw the agony in your eyes. 

“Of course I did. Did you?”

And just like that the door closed on him, on you, and on your relationship.

You hadn’t heard from him since that, so why was his name lighting up the notifications on your phone? You pondered that question as you stirred your coffee, trying to ignore the sting of hope in your chest as you read his text. It was...strange, like he was dancing around something under the pretense of being polite.

‘Hey, I know you probably don’t wanna hear from me but Atsumu mentioned you got that promotion at work, so I just wanted to congratulate you. I know how hard you worked for it.’

It was stiff and polite, all proper grammar and punctuation, so unlike how he usually was-- or rather-- how he used to text you. You quirked a brow, wondering what he would care for anyway.

Screenshotting it, you sent it to Atsumu and to your best friend, both with a thinking emoji.

Atsumu responded with a shrug, but you knew he knew more than he was letting on. He was clearly trying to keep something from you, but you ignored the urge to pester him about it. You were still trying to heal from the breakup and getting involved in Osamu’s business would do nothing to help.

Miyu, on the other hand, sent several unfriendly emojis and a particularly violent meme, asking what the hell his problem was, and you smiled. Turning back to the window, you set your phone down on the table and sipped your drink, enjoying the cloudless summer day.

--

Osamu looked at his phone for the umpteenth time as he sat across from Kana, who was buried in her own phone while she giggled, before locking it and setting it down on the table. He turned to watch the people bustle up and down the street, trying to ignore the dashed hope sitting like a rock in his gut.

--

The next text came a few days later while you were lounging in the tub, waiting for Miyu and your other friend Hanaka to show up for a girl’s night. They had been a source of immeasurable comfort over the last few months and you were beyond grateful.

Your phone dinged and you picked it up, expecting to see an arrival text, but once again Osamu’s name flashed, causing you to frown.

It was an apology text this time, for his previous text, and you opened it to read it in full.

‘Hey, I’m sorry about the other day. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to message you. I’m the last person you want to hear from, and I know that, but you deserved that promotion. I hope you have a good night.’

Same stiff and formal text, and you pursed your lips before locking it again. You really should have just blocked his number but, even as your finger hovered over the button, you couldn’t bring yourself too. The irrational part of your brain liked that he was still thinking about you and the petty part just liked leaving him on read.

Later, when you were out of the tub and Hana was in the middle of painting your toenails, you brought it up, showing them the message.

“Trouble in paradise?” Hanaka snickered, carefully laying a french tip across your toe. 

Miyu, on the other hand, snorted, glaring at the text on your screen. “Serves him right. We all knew Kana was a terrible person. I bet she’s cheating on him now and that’s why he’s texting you again.”

That thought made you frown, and Hana spoke up as she set your foot down on the floor again. “It isn’t your fault, _____. He made his decision, he has to live with it. I guess you should just consider yourself lucky that he broke it off with you before he did anything with her. I’ll give him credit for that.”

Miyu blew on her nails, her tone softer as she said, “Yeah, but he’s still an idiot. But I know that look, _____. You should be careful. Is he gonna run back to you and then leave you again the minute Kana begs him to come back?”

You had been hovering over the keyboard in his messages, considering a reply, but her words struck a chord in you and instead you locked your phone, muting it and putting the messages-- and Osamu-- out of your mind for the rest of the night.

--

Osamu sighed as he watched Kana getting ready to go out. She wandered around the bedroom in a sequined dress and heels, her hair done up and makeup applied, just hunting for her wallet.

She let out a triumphant noise when she located it and turned to look at Osamu, giving him a coy smile. “Bye, ‘Samu. Love you, don’t wait up.”

He hadn’t been invited out that night, and he checked his phone again, discovering a text from Atsumu inviting him to dinner with the Jackals, and he grabbed his jacket with a sigh.

You had left him on read again that night.

--

At work a few weeks later, you received a text from Atsumu, asking if you had decided if you were going to go to a party they were throwing in celebration of several people getting signed onto the national volleyball team. It was that weekend and you had yet to decide, knowing that Osamu and Kana were going to be there.

Hana peered over your shoulder at the text and hummed. “I...kinda think you should go. You shouldn’t distance yourself from the rest of them because of him. They’re your friends too.”

She was right. Of course she was right. They had been supportive of you after the breakup as well, with Sakusa even texting you-- because Atsumu and Bokuto told him to, of course-- that he didn’t want you to “leave the friend group” because of Osamu.

You sucked your lip between your teeth, nibbling the skin as you thought about it. As if you hadn’t been doing that for days anyway, mulling over the pros and cons of going but never reaching a solid decision. Ultimately, you locked your phone after telling him you would have a decision by the end of the night. It was the best you could do, and Hana returned to her own desk shortly after that.

You were in the middle of eating dinner when you received your third text from Osamu and read it with a mouthful of noodles.

‘You shouldn’t distance yourself from the others because of me. I won’t bother you, so tell Atsumu yes. He’s driving me insane.’

You couldn’t help but snicker at that, knowing Atsumu was still pissed about what happened between the two of you. He had called you not long after Osamu told him what he had done, going on a tirade about how his brother was a piece of trash and he was there if you needed to talk.

He could hear that you had been crying and his heart went out to you, but you had told him you needed to go. It had been a while before you looked at him without flinching or hanging up the phone after only a minute, and you had apologized profusely for it. But he understood-- one of the troubles with being a twin was when one was a bastard, the other got in trouble for it too.

You hadn’t held it against them when they forgave Osamu, though Atsumu assured you it was only after cold-shouldering him for a month to let him know they were not happy. None of them ever liked Kana, and had even thanked you when you seemed to revive Osamu after she left him the first time.

None of them could have guessed he would pull something like that on you, though.

Your fingers hovered over your keyboard before you finally replied with a simple thanks.

--

Osamu’s phone lit up and he glanced at it, his hands occupied with molding rice balls, and he almost dropped it back into the bowl when he actually saw your name on his phone.

It was only one word, but something in him eased when he saw it.

He smiled as the screen shut off again, then it fell as he remembered he was going to the party with Kana.

--

The evening of the party, you met up with Hanaka and Yuki outside the club. The team had gone to extremes, renting out a whole club for the party. The music was thumping when you got inside and with the lights down low, you could hardly make out anyone inside.

Yet somehow, Bokuto was still able to pick you out, calling your name loudly over the low beats and pushing his way through the crowd to pick you up in a strong hug. Hana and Miyu smacked his arms as he wrapped them up as well, then you were being led towards the open bar along the wall.

“I’m so glad you came, _____,” Atsumu yelled when he saw you with Bokuto. He was quick to pull you into a hug, kissing the top of your head. You could tell he had already been drinking and he was quick to fix up your favorite drinks, pushing them into your hands. “We’ve really missed you, you know?”

You had to yell to be heard over the music and gave it up after a few minutes, letting him and Bokuto guide you out onto the dancefloor. Pinned between Miyu and Hana, you let yourself get lost in the music and the sway of their bodies against yours. There were more people than you expected there and, when your drink ran out, you had to push your way through the crowd to get to the bar again.

The room was hot, the alcohol coursing through your body only serving to make you warmer. You passed Atsumu, who was wrapped around someone you had never met before. He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes.

As you made yourself a new drink, you casually looked around the club, taking in the familiar faces that you could actually make out. The flashing lights were wreaking havoc inside of your buzzed brain, everything taking on a fuzzy haze even when you tried to concentrate. 

Your heart fell from your chest down into your stomach when you caught sight of Osamu making his way towards the bar.

He was looking over his shoulder at something and froze when he turned back around, locking eyes with you. His lips parted and you could see the surprise evident on his face, his lazy eyes widening a little more as his steps quickened. 

Then he stopped. His whole demeanor changed, his eyes darkening as a frown marred his handsome features. You knew him well enough to recognize the guilt etched into his features, his shoulders hunching as he tried to sink in on himself. You gave him a little wave, your heart thumping in your chest.

In the weeks after the breakup, you had locked all the photos of him in a vault app and let Hanaka put the passcode on it to keep you out of it. When she asked why you didn’t just delete them, you expressed a hope that one day you would be able to look back on them without hurting, and you would know then that you were healed. She seemed to understand and her nails tapped the screen of your phone as she input a password.

Not seeing his face and not thinking about him had obviously dulled your memories because the sight of him felt like a punch to the gut. 

If you thought he was surprised before, it was nothing compared to how he looked when you actually waved at him. Your heart was pounding, blaming the alcohol on your reaction. If you expected him to take that as permission to approach, you weren’t sure if you were relieved or upset that he didn’t.

He hovered in the space between you, looking between you, the bar, and the crowd. Your anxiety eased the longer it remained between you, relief overwhelming the unwanted hope that bubbled in your stomach. Clearly he meant it when he said he wouldn’t bother you, and you gave him another small wave before disappearing into the crowd with your drink.

He watched you go with a forlorn expression, guilt eating at his insides all over again, but he was happy that you seemed well enough. You had acknowledged him, which was the last thing he had expected after the cold goodbye you left him with that night.

“Osamu,” a voice said from behind him, and he turned to look at Kana behind him. She was stunning as usual, her hand warm on his arm. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head in answer, glancing at where you had disappeared amidst the gyrating bodies. If Kana knew that you were here and that Osamu had seen you, she would get extremely pissy and jealous, which was the last thing he felt like dealing with. On top of that, he knew that Kana would go out of her way to find you. She was spiteful like that, even though you had done nothing to either one of them.

“Nothin’, babe. Just got a little dizzy. I’ll get yer drink, just go back to the table,” he said, pulling his arm from her grasp. If she noticed how cold he was, she said nothing about it as she returned to the group-- of her friends.

None of his friends had joined them and, since you were in the middle of them, he couldn’t either. As much as he wanted to be with them, he would keep his promise to you, keeping out of your way to let you have fun.

With one last glance around, he returned to his table to find Kana and most of the others gone. The ones that were left kept glancing from him to the dancefloor and whispering.

He sighed and picked up the drink, downing it on one long breath before falling back against the booth seat. Staring into his now empty glass, he wondered about all the choices he made up until then.

--

You woke up the next morning with a wicked hangover, the room still spinning even after several hours of sleep. Rolling over to pick up your phone, you found there were a dozen text messages from the others, the group chat blown up with praise from the party and complaints about their hangovers that morning, but that wasn’t what caught your attention.

There were a series of texts from Osamu and your eyebrows raised higher and higher as you read them, your heart hammering away in your chest.

��i know i keep texting u nf i don’t jnoq wh y’ ‘u look e d goo tonogjt’ ‘it’s funny’ ‘i thin kksna is cheating on m e’ ‘not that u shuld care right’ ‘atymi thunks im an idipt anf he’s right’

‘i miss you’

The timestamps between the first five and the last one was almost an hour’s difference and you were just starting to process them when another text slid in. It was short, just one word, but it spoke volumes in the emptiness of your bedroom.

‘sorry’

You stared at it for a while longer, just processing everything you were feeling. There was a raging pain where your heart beat, threatening to come out of your chest every time it hit your ribs. You couldn’t think clearly, too many thoughts swirling, making your head throb in time with your heart. What had you done to deserve any of the things that had happened, were still happening to you?

You should’ve just blocked his stupid number because you wouldn’t be dealing with the confusing pain his drunken messages brought. A part of you wanted to believe him-- a part you considered stupid but were unable to ignore. The Osamu you had known, had loved-- still loved, much as you wanted to deny it-- seemed to come out in those texts, and that was a dangerous thing.

Groaning, you rolled over onto your back, reading over the texts again. You were balancing on a tightrope of emotions, dangerously close to giving into the desire to reply.

The typing bubbles showed up again, stopping and starting and stopping again for almost a minute. You held your breath, wondering what he was typing.

‘i’m sorry. i keep messaging you even though i told ya i’d leave ya alone. but i can’t help it. ik what i did was stupid and whta i’m doing now is even dumber but dammit’

You locked your phone even as the bubbles popped up again to roll out of bed, hearing it ping from amidst your blankets as you stumbled towards the bathroom. Your ears were ringing, your head was throbbing, and now your heart was pounding with nerves. You dug through your medicine cabinet for aspirin, listening to your phone go off for a third time.

You couldn’t handle it, whatever he was doing or trying to do, leaving your phone on your bed as you went to the kitchen. Starting up a pot of coffee, you hovered over the sink, sitting somewhere between throwing up and not. You startled yourself when a sob ripped from between your lips.

Sinking down to the floor, you leaned back against the cabinets, wrapping your arms around your knees as you cried. Your tears spilled over your arms and ran down your legs, your nose stuffing up and running. It was several long minutes before you finally quieted, the sound of the coffee pot beeping filling the silence that followed. Your ears were ringing again as the room spun, the nausea from earlier welling up tenfold with the increase in your headache, and you ran to the bathroom.

“Goddammit,” you muttered, your sinuses on fire. After rinsing your mouth out with water, you gulped down a second glass, staring at your disheveled appearance in the mirror. “What should I do?”

You were not about to get in between whatever was going on with Osamu and Kana, but the soft spot you still harbored for him was almost too loud to ignore. Digging your phone out from your sheets, you found 2 more texts from him.

‘i know i don’t deserve your forgiveness. i don’t know what to do’ ‘i don’t know what i want from this but please’

You groaned and unlocked your phone, holding your head in your hands as you stared at the screen. Tears stung your eyes again, your mouth dry as you typed your reply back and then called Hana.

‘I’m sorry, Osamu. I can’t help you.’

--

You still didn’t block him after that. The part of you that still cared was worried for him and you wanted him to be able to reach you if he actually needed you. After making Hana promise not to tell anyone else what he had said in his texts, you talked it out, explaining the myriad of feelings that were impossible to sort out. She praised you for being strong and not giving into him, remind you he had made the decision to leave you, not the other way around.

You had cried some more before then deleted the thread of messages again, unable to stand the temptation to look at them again. Things were, for lack of a better word, fine after that. You settled back into your post-Osamu routine, trying not to dwell on his pitiful messages or be reminded of him by mundane things. Atsumu didn’t mention anything new happening, so you assumed he was still with Kana.

A month after that fiasco, he hadn’t texted you again. Some nights you laid awake, staring at your ceiling, trying to ignore the hope that he would and the temptation to message him first. Whatever Kana was or wasn’t doing to him or behind his back wasn’t your problem or your concern, and you had to keep telling yourself that as you set your phone down on the nightstand that night.

Rolling over onto your side, you stared out the window through the small gap in the curtains, a small beam of moonlight filtering through and highlighting the empty side of the bed. If you closed your eyes, you could picture Osamu there, scrolling through his phone and laughing before showing you whatever it was. He always smelled so sweet and warm, like the confections he baked at his restaurant and you reached out to touch his pillow. It no longer smelled like him after so many months and a few tears fell, soaking into your own as you recalled how he would look at you. It was always filled with so much softness and warmth before he would pull you in close, resting his chin atop your head.

You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep until there was a loud noise from somewhere in the apartment, causing you to jerk up into a sitting position, staring blearily at your door. Your eyes stung from your earlier crying, your skin still sticky from laying on your wet pillow. You rubbed at them while another round of knocking rang through the unit.

Suddenly nervous, you tiptoed down the hall towards your front door, pausing until a voice came amidst another flurry of knocking.

“_____, please, let me in. I--I need ya.”

It was Osamu, and the whole room spun in the dark as you stood staring at the door, unable to process the whole situation. Your pulse was thundering in your ears, your fingers and toes going numb as panic shot through you.

There was more knocking, gentler this time, and then a soft thump.

You stumbled towards the door and swung it open, causing Osamu-- who had apparently let his head fall to the door-- to pitch forward, stumbling into your apartment.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered, watching him catch himself from falling. He stood up straight and ran his hands through his hair, eyes wide and frantic in the soft light from the hallway.

“I don’t know. I didn’t know where else to go-- Kana confessed to cheatin’ finally and I left and just-- ended up here,” he said, falling to the couch. You turned on the light and stood there, uncomprehending.

“You could have gone to Atsumu’s or-- or Bokuto’s or-- literally anywhere else,” you said, still standing by the lightswitch.

Osamu groaned, raking his fingers through his hair again before lacing his fingers behind his head. His face was hidden in his arms, knuckles white with tension. “I know, I know but I-- I know it’s fucked up but I wanted to see you.”

The room fell into silence again, punctuated by Osamu’s heavy breathing while you lifted a hand to your mouth, staring first at him then down at your feet.

“Osamu, please, I can’t--” you whispered, and his head snapped up to look at you.

There was agony in his eyes as he tugged at his hair, standing up. You stepped backwards and met the wall as he advanced on you, hands raising as he came to stand in front of you, cupping your face. “I know, I know it isn’t fair. But I need ya to believe how much I missed ya. I made a mistake and I don’t know if I can ever make it up to ya. But you are the best thing that’s ever happened ta me, and I know that now. I should have known before, and ‘m sorry.” Tears were spilling down your cheeks as you stared up at him, lips parted as you sniffled, and he pressed on. “I’ve been thinking about ya everyday for months. Everything Kana did, I compared to you. How she dressed, how she cooked, how she talked, I couldn’t help it--”

“Then why did you leave? Why did you cheat on me with her, if you thought so highly of me?” you whispered. His thumbs rubbed at the tears, wiping them away slower than they were falling. You sounded so confused and hurt, shrinking in on yourself as he crowded you against the wall. He didn’t care if you kicked him out and told him to never bother you again, so long as he never had to see you like that again.

His throat closed up and he just stared, taking you in. Even crying, even hurting because of him, you were beautiful. Every time he thought of you, it was the image of you walking out of the door and his life, eyes cold and devoid of the love you had once looked at him with.

“Because I’m an idiot. I know I am, I knew it the instant I let ya walk out the door. But I was too stupid, too damn prideful ta ask ya to forgive me. And I’m a selfish bastard for asking ya now, but I can’t stop thinkin’ about ya,” he whispered, his hands sliding back into your hair. He tilted your head further back, eyes dipping down to your parted lips, but refrained from the intense urge to kiss you. He couldn’t, not until you said he could. “I’ll work everyday to make ya trust me again, I swear it, _____. I’ll prove to ya I love ya, just-- please*.”

“I--” you whispered, wrapping your hands around his wrists. Did you want to push him away or pull him closer? The two sides warred with each other, causing you to just stand there in confusion as you stared up at him. His rich brown eyes were glittering, and you searched for any sign of dishonesty in them, but all you found were tears. “I don’t know, ‘Samu. What happens if Kana comes back? If she says she wants you again? How can I trust that you won’t do this to me again*?”

He was already shaking his head, black locks flouncing with the movement, his hand tightening on your cheeks. Panic warred with hope in his chest as he moved impossibly closer, pressing his body to yours as he said, “I promise, I promise, I won’t. I’m done with ‘er. I told ya, I’ve not stopped thinkin’ about ya since I left. I thought-- I thought things would change once I settled down with ‘er but-- they didn’t. Even when things were...okay, it was always you. Maybe that’s why she cheated on me, I don’t know. It doesn’ matter ta me anymore, she can do what she wants. All I want is you.”

All your thoughts were swirling and colliding inside your head, overwhelmed by everything he was saying. Osamu was begging for your forgiveness, looking at you with such raw need and hurt that you couldn’t stop hope from blooming in your chest. But you tamped it down, not yet letting it take root. You couldn’t, wouldn’t let yourself fall victim to it yet, not when you were still so unsure.

Reading the indecision in the way you looked away from him, he whispered, “I know it’ll take time, and I’m willin’ to earn ya back, I swear I am. But if ya don’t want to, I’ll understand. I’ll walk out that door right now and never bother you again.”

“You mean it? If I tell you to get out, you’ll go?” you asked, watching the pain flare up in his eyes, washing the hope away. His shoulders slumped and he nodded, his hands slipping free of your hair. The way he backed away from you, looking so lost, caused your heart to thump and you stepped forward, closing the distance again. “Osamu, I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay, please. At least for tonight, I want--”

I want to be wrapped up in your arms tonight, I want you to love me the way you did before, I want you, you thought, finally letting that hope blossom in your heart. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe you would change your mind tomorrow, maybe he would change his mind tomorrow, but right then and there it didn’t matter.

Even if it’s only one last time.

He groaned and dragged you forward, crushing you to his chest and enveloping you in his arms. The familiar smell of confections filled your nose and your legs trembled as he dragged you down the hall to the bedroom while you clung to him, hiding your face in his shirt as your heart raced. If it was a mistake to let him stay, then you were willing to pay the price come the morning, but it felt right as he fell to the bed with you.

He pulled you to his chest, pressing your nose into the column of his throat as he hid his face in your hair. It remained silent between the two of you, the only sound in the room the creaking of the ceiling fan and your quiet breathing as you processed each other’s presence.

“Will you be here in the morning?” you whispered when it grew to be too much. “If-- If she* messages you, are you going to leave?”

Your heart skipped a beat when he pulled away and stared down at you. 

He took in your pale face in the faint moonlight, features pinched and drawn, eyes bright with fear. He rolled over onto his back and pulled you forward onto his chest, arm wrapping tight around your waist to keep you there. Into the dark, he whispered, “I know ya won’t believe me right now, but I’ll be here when ya wake up. I’ll go get my stuff from her place and go stay with ‘Tsumu while I figure out how I’m goin’ ta win ya back. I won’t let ya down again, _____.”

You continued to stare through the small gap in the curtains, listening to his heart beat erratically in your ear. You wanted to believe his words, wanted to believe you would wake up in his arms tomorrow morning, and hesitantly let yourself relax. It was a gamble, you knew that, in the same way you knew that if he was gone, you would fall apart all over again.

It was a stupid risk, but as your eyes closed, you let yourself believe in him, just one more time. 

He felt your breathing even out and carded his fingers through your hair as he stared up at the ceiling, holding your head to him as his heart filled with hope. He would prove he meant it, he would earn you back, and he would never, ever* put what he had with you at risk again. Rolling back onto his side, you tried to squirm away only to be pulled back into his arms. Unwilling to let you go, he chuckled when you grumbled before curling into him once more

He sighed as his eyes closed, soaking in the warmth and letting the familiar smell of you envelop him as he fell asleep. Tomorrow you might change your mind, so he would hold you close while he could and let himself hope before it was ripped away from him for the final time.

⇥  masterlist 

⇥  taglist: @sluttony​, @visaintes​, @yunhosblackgf​, @super-noya​, @byebyes-world​, @newfriendjen​, @atsunakaashi​

[askthetimetravelboyfriends]

The last person Marty expected to see when he’d slipped out of the kitchen to answer the door was his father. His heart leaps into his throat, and George smiles kindly at him.

“Marty.” He says, and Marty’s grip on the doorknob tightens.

“Wha- what are you doing here dad?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” George replies, and Marty anxiously glances toward the kitchen. “I’m not trying to take you away, kiddo.”

Doc joins them before Marty can do much more than sputter in confusion, and his expression is guarded but not unfriendly when he looks at George.

“Mister McFly.” He says, and George’s smile doesn’t falter.

“Doc. I want to borrow Marty for a minute. Won’t take long.”

“Of course.” Doc nods, turning to face the near-catatonic teenager next to him. His hand lands on Marty’s shoulder and squeezes gently, and that’s enough for him to mostly snap out of it. “Marty?”

“Right. Talk. Of course.” He releases the doorknob and takes a hesitant step toward his father. “I’ll be right back.”

Doc nods, concern clear in his eyes as Marty steps out. The door closes behind them, and Marty sags to take a seat on the steps- his father doesn’t hesitate to sit right next to him.

“How are you doing?”

Marty can’t help but snort.

“How am I doing? That’s a loaded question, dad. What are you doing here?”

George sighs softly and reaches out to gently pat Marty’s knee. Marty’s gaze never leaves his fathers face.

“I’m trying to understand.” He says. Marty starts to bristle, but George ignores the defensive look and presses on. “Are you gay, Marty?”

Well. That’s not what he’d been expecting. He sputters for a second, face igniting crimson.

“What? No- dad no- I dated Jennifer remember!” He insists. George’s lips twitch upward, and Marty quickly looks away. “I’m- I don’t know. I like… it’s both, I guess.”

“I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” George says lightly. Marty’s gaze snaps back to him. “You know, when I was your age Biff and I-“ He falters, amused at the horror reflected in his sons eyes. “Well, I guess that doesn’t matter.”

“You… and Biff?” Marty can hardly force it out, the concept sounding so foreign and so wrong it almost makes him sick. His dad with a man? Fine, no big deal. But Biff? Biff Tannen? The man that bullied him and pushed him around- the man that had still done all of those things until Marty had unwittingly changed the future

That Biff?

But how do you voice that- how would Marty even know that?

“Me and Biff.” George shrugs. He shifts so he can more properly face his son, making sure to meet his gaze. “But I didn’t come to talk to you about that. Marty, why didn’t you tell us?”

Marty recoils slightly, expression incredulous. He looks rapidly between his father and the door several times before loudly scoffing.

“About Doc? Are you kidding- did you not see how mom reacted-“

“Not just about Doc.” George interrupts, and Marty’s mouth snaps shut. “I may not like that you kept that from us, but I can at least understand why you did.”

“I didn’t want you guys to try to separate us. I didn’t want mom calling him a-“ He scowls and looks away, refusing to say it. “That’s not what he is. I approached him. This relationship has moved at my pace.”

George manages a smile and reaches up to squeeze Marty’s shoulder.

“I’m happy to hear that.” He says genuinely, and Marty nods once. “Why didn’t you tell us you were interested in men?”

Marty’s face colours slightly.

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to risk that you guys weren’t okay with that. I didn’t want to risk you guys hating me- and I thought…” He puffs out a breath and turns his gaze skyward. “I thought if I told you, even if you did accept it, it would draw more attention toward my relationship with Emmett.”

George’s expression softens slightly.

“Now Marty, your mother and I may not always agree with every decision you make, but we’re your parents, and we love you unconditionally. Of course we have some reservations about what’s happening here, but you have to understand that it’s because you’re so young. You’re not even 18 yet, kiddo, and he’s older than me.”

Stubbornly, Marty looks away.

“I know that.” He mutters.

George squeezes his shoulder tighter in a wordless show of comfort.

“I meant it when I told you I’m not here to try to make you leave.” He pauses, tilting his head slightly when Marty refuses to look at him. “I just want you to look me in the eye and tell me I don’t have anything to be worried about.”

Marty instantly whips around to face his dad, unshed tears glistening in his eyes as he makes eye contact, voice trembling.

“You don’t have to worry about anything. I promise. I know what it looks like, I know what people will think, we both do- he’s a perfect gentleman dad honestly, I promise-“ He breaks off and roughly clears his throat. George’s gaze isn’t judgemental, he’s clearly open to hearing what Marty has to say. He takes a deep breath. “He’s not a- he’s not. He’s a good man. He was my best friend for a long time, you know first hand that he’s a wonderful person.”

George nods once.

“I do think he’s a good man.” He says after a pause that almost feels too long. “I wish he’d waited until you were 18 to… well, pursue you.” George sighs and shifts slightly, lifting his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m not going to go to the police.”

It’s like a weight off Marty’s shoulders, and he sags limply like a cooked spaghetti noodle.

“I worried you might.” He admits weakly, and George shakes his head.

“I won’t lie to you and say I’m happy with how this happened, Marty, but I won’t do that. I’m choosing to trust you, and trust Doc.” He meets his sons gaze once more, expression stern. “But I want to be clear, if you give me any reason to think I’ve been mislead..”

The warning hangs heavy in the air between them, and Marty nods.

“And mom?” He dares to whisper.

“Your mom needs some time. Not with- not with the boys stuff, just the Doc stuff.” George says, and Marty swallows thickly. “She won’t go to the police. She left this up to me.”

“Okay.”

“She’s not happy.”

“I know.”

George sighs and stands then, stretching his arms over his head until his back pops. Shakily, Marty stands up next to him.

“I’ll leave you to your breakfast.” He says then, and Marty nods mutely, mind whirling a mile a minute.

Without another word George ambles down the sidewalk toward his car. Still frozen in shocked silence Marty watches until he can’t even see the car anymore. Only once it’s completely out of view does he find the strength to turn and head back into the house.

Brain on autopilot Marty shuffles in and locks the door behind himself before beelining for the kitchen. He finds his boyfriend stood in front of the stove stirring their scrambled eggs, and he turns his head when the floor creaks beneath Marty’s weight.

“Marty.” He murmurs, immediately setting the spatula aside. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” He says slowly, words tasting wrong on his tongue. Doc tilts his head slightly. “I’m just a little overwhelmed honestly.”

“Do you want to talk about it after breakfast?” Doc offers, and Marty nods.

“Yeah, okay.”

Doc turns back to the stove in a clear invitation, and Marty instantly accepts it. His chest aligns flush against Doc’s back, arms winding around his waist, and he nuzzled his face between his boyfriends shoulder blades and inhales deeply.

Content, Doc softly hums as he finishes cooking their breakfast. Marty frowns in the moment, pushing his conversation with his father out of his mind to enjoy this moment of domesticity with the love of his life.

[magioftheseas]

WIP Wednesday

It’s that time again! And since it’s Akechi’s bday soon, I’ll share a snippet of an AU focused on him!

It’s an “everything is the same but instead of Black Mask or the Detective Prince, Akechi is an overzealous photographer” AU. Isn’t that exciting...

I do have a fic I’ll post for his bday but I don’t think I’ll be linking it here because it’s such a weird AU. I hope you all enjoy this sneak peek instead!

Between my fucked up hands and all the other shit happening, I don’t know when I’ll ever finish writing this (my plan is to have it end around the Madarame Arc and only go for continuations later if it seems worth the effort) but I still enjoy sharing things, soooo...

Under Read More

If asked what he hoped to achieve, his simple answer would’ve been besting the boy who tricked him. If prodded further, Goro would have to go silent. He couldn’t very well admit he was curious or, god forbid, enthralled. Not even to himself.

It wasn’t curiosity. It was just a more direct approach.

Still, the ringing of the bell overhead felt just a little judgmental as he stepped inside LeBlanc for the first time.

“Welcome,” the owner grunted out, gruff but not unfriendly. “Come on in.”

“Oh... Yes.”

He had practiced for this moment countless times in the mirror, but Kurusu’s gaze flickering towards him in a quick glance had his heart unfairly stutter. Goro still kept his smile as he strode in, sitting right in front of Kurusu in an act of defiance.

“I know you,” he said sweetly, as if he hadn’t dreamed of yanking out that rat’s nest by the roots. “The transfer student! Oh, what was your name...?”

“Kurusu,” was the muted reply he got, and he expected as much. He did not expect Kurusu to raise his gaze, to fix him with a rather intense stare not the least bit dampened by unsightly glasses. “Akechi, right?”

“Yes, guilty as charged,” Goro laughed as if he had anything to feel guilty for. “I didn’t know you worked here! Do the teachers know?”

“He’s not really working,” the owner cut in. “It’s more that he’s...helping out. An act of charity. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, I was just...” Goro sputtered a bit, and the owner regarded him with such suspicion. And damn Kurusu just seemed so unaffected!

“Sojiro-san took me in,” Kurusu said oh so simply. “So, I’m helping him out with his shop. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

Damn him. What gave this lousy so-called delinquent the right to be so frustrating?

“Nothing at all,” Goro replied serenely. “I’d like...to take my order now.”

Kurusu gave Sojiro a quick look, and the owner got to work preparing said order. Goro refrained from clasping his hands too hard as he watched Kurusu watch Sojiro brew a cup. Goro was hardly paid any attention, even as he sipped from what was easily the best fucking coffee he ever had.

He would’ve pouted the rest of the day had at least not one interesting thing happen while he was there. A young woman stepping in, Sojiro immediately going rigid and turning more hostile—defensive, and the woman playing it cool as she ordered.

Even Kurusu seemed to be a bit as a loss, but Goro recognized that woman. She was the student council president’s older sister—and a known chief prosecutor. That she was harassing some coffee shop owner was unusual, given how Sae Nijiima was known for being quite focused and no-nonsense.

Or she’s just a bitch, Goro thought idly. That’s an explanation as good as any.

Still...hadn’t Sojiro been too frazzled?

I’m not here for that, he reprimanded himself, noting that Kurusu had straightened up. Just a little. But it might be helpful to keep in mind.

[silveryinkystar]

Two Houses (both alike in dignity)

Rating: Gen

Characters: CT-7567 | Rex, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker

Summary:

 [“Did you not just hear what those sleemos said?” Commander Skywalker’s voice was high, loud, and grating in all the ways that Rex couldn’t care for at the moment with his splitting headache. “How can you just let them say those things, it’s – it’s –”

“I don’t disagree with you, Padawan,” General Kenobi said softly, shifting slightly so that Cody’s armour wasn’t digging into his back, “but your anger is not going to help you right now.”]

--

Or; a lesson in controlling emotion, from a certain point of view (or few).

Jedi June Appreciation Event | Saturday, June 5: There is no emotion, there is peace.

[Read on Ao3]

“Did you not just hear what those sleemos said?” Commander Skywalker’s voice was high, loud, and grating in all the ways that Rex couldn’t care for at the moment with his splitting headache. “How can you just let them say those things, it’s – it’s –”

“I don’t disagree with you, Padawan,” General Kenobi said softly, shifting slightly so that Cody’s armour wasn’t digging into his back, “but your anger is not going to help you right now.”

“You – it’s like you don’t even care –”

“Have I given any impression of that when we actually have the time to care? My priority at the moment is to get our men to a safe location and call for a medevac. As much as those comments incensed me, I cannot allow myself to be distracted by my own feelings right now. Not when it’ll do more harm than good.”

Rex supposed that it was some Jedi philosophy that the General was quoting, but he could see the reasoning behind it too. Although he found it a bit surprising that Skywalker didn’t seem to agree. After a few more minutes of this back-and-forth exchange, General Kenobi sighed and ushered the Commander away for scouting duty.

“Nice move, sir,” he said dryly, wincing when his hastily splinted leg caught on a particularly large stone. Kenobi smiled and extended his hand, which Rex eyed warily.

“You should get some weight off that foot, Captain,” he said mildly, shifting Cody to a single shoulder. “And I can bear your weight without issues, since I’m currently uninjured.”

“General, with due respect, you’re already carrying Cody. Injured or not, it’ll tire you out quicker than supporting just one of us.”

But Kenobi simply quirked an eyebrow. “I know my limits, Rex, you needn’t worry about me. It shouldn’t be so far off, anyhow, Anakin doesn’t seem to be too distanced from us over our bond.”

Sighing, Rex relented – his leg did hurt like hell, and if they needed to get into action quickly, he couldn’t afford to worsen the injury pre-emptively. Kenobi held him to his side with ease, and matched his unsteady hopping at a comfortable pace that wouldn’t strain his other leg too. It couldn’t have been comfortable with both Cody’s and his armour digging into his shoulder, but the man barely showed any signs of it, not even complaining once the way his insufferable brothers might have done.

“I sense you’re deep in thought, Captain,” Kenobi invited lightly, looking for the world like he was simply taking a walk along the corridors of the Negotiator, rather than holding up the weights of two fully armoured, grown men, without breaking step.

“It’s just… what you said to the Commander, earlier. Was it from the Jedi Code?”

He hummed. “It was and it wasn’t. It’s technically only a part of our philosophy, but given our nature of influence on the communities around us – and our use of the Force, Jedi are usually trained to manage their emotions effectively from a very young age.”

“I see.” Though he wondered what it would mean for nat-borns to learn those techniques, especially since they weren’t bred for psychological (well, and physical) hardiness the way the clones were.  He mentioned as much to the General, who momentarily had a strange look on his face before it smoothed into the usual geniality he’d begun to find comfort in.

“We provide any psychological help we can, of course,” he explained bluntly. “A lot of Jedi go through traumatic events in their lifetime, and while it’s not a flawless system – sometimes the situation at hand means that there’s simply not enough time to process things until much, much later – it helps. And aside from trauma, we still offer counselling to anyone who seeks it. Even if it’s for gentle reassurance about things people may consider to be trivial, or for specific issues that Initiates and Padawans approach them for, or for serious conditions that need long-term help and therapy, we don’t turn them away.”

It sounded like an incredible system, to Rex. “I’ve heard stories about the kind of missions Jedi usually go on,” he said carefully, “and I get what you mean about the trauma. But do you have the sort of infrastructure and support available at the scale that the war is producing?”

He snuck a sidelong glance at Kenobi, who appeared to be openly stunned at the question. Rex’s heart sank; had nobody asked the Jedi how they were doing since the beginning of the war?

Granted, only the Jedi had ever asked after the well-being of their troopers (other than their brothers themselves), but it was surprising to Rex that the group of people committed towards helping the galaxy around them got such little thanks for it. He knew that they never did it for the gratitude, but used their “gifts from the Force” for good as was their mandate (something they genuinely loved following, which delighted his brothers to listen to them about), but to see the way they were treated almost completely reflect the way that clones themselves were treated was unsettling.

That a simple check-in based on what new knowledge he’d gained had surprised a member of the Council, a leading representative of the Order who would have interacted with enough dignitaries to actually be privy to the thanks the Jedi may get, was even more upsetting.

Rex wondered if this was what the Jedi usually felt whenever they saw brothers being mistreated, and while he filed his indignation away for later, he thought he understood why Skywalker had reacted the way he had, before Kenobi had sent him off on his errand.

“I’m not sure that we do,” Kenobi confessed quietly. “We’ll continue to do our best, of course. We won’t turn people away when they need all the help they can get. But we may have to reorganise our structure, which is… disheartening.”

Rex personally thought that it was a lot more than disheartening, but he’d keep that to himself and make plans with his brothers later. He suspected a lot of nights of brothers coaxing their Jedi to talk to them, wheedling their burdens away from them as much as they could and sharing them together. Cody was going to be impossible when he was healed enough to know any of this, but Rex wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Master!” Skywalker winced at his own volume when multiple soldiers around him flinched, apologising quickly under his breath. “There’s an… alcove? Some form of shelter nearby, it looks naturally formed – and there are a few cave systems close by which look abandoned, they’re probably safe for us to stay in while we wait.”

“Very good, Anakin. Did you check the systems for unfriendly inhabitants?”

“They’re completely clear, Master. There’s no sign of life in them, but there are signs that people have camped there previously. Ashes in a fire pit, and so on. But they don’t look recent.”

“I suspect those caves may be a traveller’s lounge, now,” he said wryly, and Rex snorted. “Lead us on our way, then, my apprentice.”

Skywalker nodded eagerly, before giving a few troopers directions and setting up a new purposeful pace. Rex grimaced when he realised that this meant speeding up, but somehow Kenobi managed to find a new pace between them that didn’t jostle his ankle too much even as they moved faster than before.

Soon enough, they’d slipped past the alcove into the cave systems and set up a steady watch cycle while moving off to provide more medical attention to the injured troops. The campaign had been hard on them all, and where brothers weren’t injured, they looked exhausted. Kenobi and Skywalker were among the few who looked like they would last longer than a few hours without immediately passing out, which he took to heart as a sign that the army had been wise to have the Jedi lead them instead of other nat-borns. Wolffe had vented to him about one of his older nat-born leaders who had managed to kriff up an entire mission to save his own skin, and that it was thanks to the crazy plans of Generals Koon and Fisto that they’d emerged alive, if not entirely whole, from that battlefield.

He’d emphasised the word “whole” too, indicating the massive bandage around his head where Ventress had sliced his eye out during her escape.

Skywalker had taken it up to himself to restart the old argument they’d had on the road while Kenobi helped Rex sit against the wall of the cave before gently setting Cody down and looking him over for specific injuries.

“Anakin, it’s not that I wouldn’t defend them, but my assessment of the situation meant that leaving quickly and ignoring the heckling was the best way to proceed. If I’d stood around and verbalised my defence of our men, I would have lost more men to injuries due to the time I would have wasted – yes, wasted, in relation to how quickly we managed to get them here!”

“You always say that we’re meant to defend others, to stand up for those who need us. And I’m not saying that they can’t do it, but…”

“Commander, permission to speak freely?”

Skywalker blinked when Rex spoke up directly, but nodded mutely.

“Permission granted,” Kenobi translated frankly, guessing that he wanted the verbal confirmation before he went for it.

“Thank you, sirs. General Kenobi’s right on this one. We appreciate your willingness to stand up for us, Commander, but at the time, it wasn’t what we needed. We needed a quick exit, and the situation may have gotten out of hand if we’d stayed and argued with them for longer. Even if we’d sent out a batch of scouts to find this place, we would have been stuck between waiting for a promise to help – one that would be uncertain, anyway – and trying to get people to that distance. As it is, a lot of the troops are close to critical condition.” He nodded at Cody’s prone form, and Kenobi’s look of concentration as he presumably stabilised his brother’s condition as best as he could without overtaxing himself.

“I thought you might say that you value a leader who sticks up for you,” Skywalker admitted. “Not that we won’t, but wouldn’t it be easier to trust us if you know that we’ll be your first line of defence without you needing to ask?”

“Pardon me, sir, but that sounds like banthash-”

“You make a fair point, Anakin,” Kenobi cut in smoothly with a heatless glare at Rex for his language. He fought back a snicker. “Actively, verbally making your allyship known to someone would bolster their confidence in you – but that’s in a situation where they’re safe enough to acknowledge and process it. Your anger is well-directed, my apprentice, and that is not what I find an issue with.”

“Sir, you’re not wrong that we appreciate you defending us,” Rex added carefully. “A lot of the men find it reassuring that you have our backs even off the battlefield. Especially the shinies, since the Kaminoans…”

Kenobi’s expression darkened a little, but he nodded encouragingly even as he carefully unwrapped Rex’s ankle. Rex hissed when the man felt around the break, but aside from a quick apology, all he received was the request to keep talking.

“But… on the battlefield, if we stuck around defending each other without paying attention to the bigger picture – ow – we’d all be dead in seconds. We’re trained to push those impulses away. Not that we have those coping mechanisms you Jedi talk about,” he added wryly, wincing when Kenobi re-wrapped the ankle in a fresh bacta-soaked bandage. Where he even found the bacta, he didn’t know, considering the General hadn’t moved from where he was kneeling before Rex the entire time.

Must be some Force nonsense, he thought to himself.

“So… how do you manage it?” Skywalker squatted down next to Kenobi, frowning at him. “As Jedi, we’re also taught to put aside our emotions, but…”

“It’s not so much about putting them aside as… well, I suppose Captain Rex would be able to help you here, a lot more than I could, given the way we each process things.”

Rex supposed that it had to do with how calm General Kenobi always was. Of course, the man felt things – he’d seen him determined, elated, exasperated and even downright irritated sometimes, but the depth of emotion he expressed outwardly was remarkably controlled. And for all that he felt emotions, they never quite seemed to be so intense, in the way he himself experienced his feelings. He was just good at setting them aside or using them as a drive for his actions.

“Well… that anger you showed earlier – it can be performative if it isn’t followed through. The men need affirmation that you’ll stick with them on and off the battlefield, so I’m not saying that you should stop defending us if that’s what you’ll continue to do anyway, but… we spend our whole lives justifying our right to live. On Kamino…” Kriff, he’s never said this to anyone before – a brother would understand, and whyever would a Jedi want to hear this–

But they did want to hear. And Rex, upon really thinking about it, found that he wanted to tell them.

“On Kamino,” he repeated slowly, “it was always something with the trainers. Not to mention the Kaminoans themselves. If we weren’t the best, certain… actions were taken. Please don’t ask me to get into specifics,” he added hurriedly when Skywalker started glowering, “but we’ve always had to put our success over ourselves. Not in the way that you Jedi prioritise a mission, but…”

“In an almost self-destructive manner,” Kenobi surmised, looking about as close to angry as Rex had ever seen him.

“Yessir. It’s kind of… habit, now, for us to channel our emotions into the battlefield – you’ll find a lot of brothers who refuse to voice their thoughts but let out their aggression in the field, because it’s the only way they’ve learned how. And by doing that, they learned that they can keep more of their brothers safe. So… when General Kenobi says that your anger isn’t helpful, it’s because it’s… reactionary? It resolves your emotions, but doesn’t really do much after that.”

Skywalker nodded slowly. “I think I get it now.”

“With anger,” General Kenobi said softly, “it’s purely, ah, performative, as Captain Rex put it. You can yell at someone for a while, toss them around if you’re that type of person, and sometimes it’ll give you short-term relief, but it doesn’t achieve anything good in the long run. But if you channelled all that anger into something else, let it go and focused on the next action rather than the reaction…”

“‘There is no emotion, there is peace’?” Skywalker quoted, and Kenobi nodded.

“Precisely, Padawan. Act with intention, with rational thought, not with emotion.”

“So I should just cast my feelings aside? I don’t think I could hold them off. I’ve tried.”

“Holding them off isn’t the goal, Anakin, but shifting your focus is. Think of it this way – Rex, you dual-wield blasters, right?”

Rex nodded, wondering where this was going.

“Which means you’d need to be aware of both of those weapons in the field – how they weigh, the recoil on them, and managing your aim with both hands.”

“Yes, sir. If I got careless, I’d shoot a brother, or either of you.”

“Which brings me to my point – while you were still in training, you would have had to do it all consciously, right? Think about each of those elements, get used to the weight of your blasters if you replaced them, figure out how you can do every one of those small checks faster and faster until they became instinct.”

He nodded again, catching on. “Act with intention until it’s instinct.”

“Precisely! Now, if you were to act too hastily based on an emotion, how do you think that would work?”

The reply is instantaneous. “I might misfire. Forget to check my gear, or my aim, or my hands may be too shaky. And if the shot goes wide, even if I don’t hit a brother or either of you, that means there’s one more droid in the battlefield that could kill us all at any point of time. It’s about them, not me.”

“You think of yourself as a part of a whole, and as a whole. And it’s usually the former that gains precedence here,” Kenobi completed, pleased. “Anakin, it’s not so much that your feelings are invalid or too strong in that they must be held off, but you must be aware that their strength does not consume your judgement in decision-making.”

The Commander bit his lip, but nodded. “Okay, Master.”

It wasn’t the best confirmation that he’d actually understood, but evidently Kenobi was satisfied, so Rex dropped it.

“I wasn’t expecting a philosophical discussion today, though,” the General murmured to him when Skywalker moved off to mingle with the other troopers – and probably to help, if their talk had been any indication. “Has it occurred to you that the theory that you often share about yourselves often mirrors what we learn as Jedi, if with different reasoning behind it?”

“Sir, Cody’s always said that the Jedi are the closest it gets to a nat-born understanding us clones,” he said bluntly. “And you’ve said that the reverse is true.”

“I suppose it’s why we work together so well,” he said, smiling up at him.

Rex couldn’t help but agree.

[subarubi]

The List

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Everyone’s got a submission to his list. Watch this. Read that. Go there. But you’ve never given him anything. Not a single idea of what it is you like, what makes you feel at home in this world. Never made an effort to bridge the gap between the 40s and now, and yourself and him. And it oddly bothers him.

Word Count: 3.6 k

A/N: this is my very first reader insert i’ve written and am posting, so i’m excited :) appreciate anyone who takes the time to read!

Everyone’s got a submission to his list. 

Watch this. Read that. Eat here. Go there. I Love Lucy. Moon Landing. Berlin Wall. Steve Jobs. Disco. Thai food. Star Wars. Nirvana. Rocky. Troubleman Soundtrack. Things he absolutely must do if he wants to call himself a modern man. Which, he does. But kind of doesn’t? Doesn’t even matter much now anyway.

You don’t.

Have a submission to his list, that is.

You’ve never been talkative anyway, he reasons. You’re quiet, reserved, and a bit of an outsider in this haphazardly thrown together group of extraordinary people. 

Not that you’re ordinary, not in the slightest. You’re a comet. Your power, palpable. A volatile missile, ice and dust carving a hole through space. Nucleus, hard body amalgamation of granite muscle and tungsten bones. Tail, a whipping flurry of wild hair, muted decimation in its wake. No, you are far from ordinary.

You just... stick to the walls.

With arms-- arms he’s seen bring men to their knees-- crossed over your chest, face set in marble. Not unfriendly. You’ll talk nice when prompted, smile when appropriate, but you never initiate. 

You seem to prefer a distance, a line between work life and personal life. A line that just doesn’t exist with the Avengers. Somehow, though, you manage to maintain the separation. Natasha’s prying questions, Stark’s intentional invasions of your personal space, Sam’s harmless but persistent flirting. 

It’s all so easily deflected. 

Made even easier now that the family you’d always resisted has been fractured. 

You don’t care to foster intimate relationships with any of these people. And you definitely don’t care to put in a submission to Captain America’s To-Do List. 

Everyone, everyone has something to add to his list. Even Bucky, Bucky, who has spent the better part of 70 years in and out of cryo, brain pulled apart and replaced with a new, foreign synapse each time, said something about a movie he’d seen somewhere. 

It bothers him. It shouldn’t, but it does. 

Steve can physically feel it--  that’s how much it bothers him. A now permanent path of his eyes to your form in a room. An itch in his fingers for a pen and paper anytime you say anything. A burn on the tops of his ears, hot and red, if you smile softly at some reference he doesn’t understand. Is that a signal? Would that be a suggestion if you actually talked to him?

Regardless, he trusts you. A boundless amount. Unexplainable given just how little the two of you have actually spoken.

You don’t make suggestions for the list, and it only really bothers him because he does trust you. He wants to know what you have to say, what you think is important for him to experience. What you like. If, perhaps, what makes you feel at home in this world could help him too. 

It’s a Thursday and he’s thumbing the pages of his notebook when Natasha gets the idea. 

The quinjet cabin is filled with a heavy, pregnant silence that no one can bear to cut through. Full-term. Unbearable pressure on the sciatic nerve-type silence. 9 months discomfort and anxiety, stifling their words. 

A mission gone right, but leaving a bad taste in their mouths. 

Bucky sits near the front, aimlessly bouncing a tennis ball against the starboard wall. Sam is in the co-pilot seat, trying to read a book with a red cover and yellow spine. Nat’s knuckles turn white on the yoke, keeping the quinjet on track even though it could pretty much fly on its own. 

You like music, Steve thinks. You there now in the back corner-- fingers drumming to the private beat on your thigh, eyes closed and head tipped back, white of earbuds in stark contrast with your dark combat suit-- is a frequent sight. He imagines your recommendation might be an album for him to listen to. 

Steve’s fingers ghost over the familiar scrawl of his list; some crossed out, some recently added. 

He decides it could use more music. 

You should just ask her, Natasha smirks, jutting her chin your direction. When she moved to sit next to him, Steve didn’t know. But, she is, after all, the spy. He’d been otherwise occupied anyway. He lifts his bowed head up to fix her with a puzzled look. Nat gives him that smirk and Steve has to fight back a groan. Knocking her knee against his, she teases,  you know, she can probably feel you staring.

His eyes shoot over in your direction, sighing a little in relief when you seem to still be lost in the music pumping in your ears. Steve realizes Natasha isn’t talking about the list. Years now, and she still hasn’t given up on playing his personal matchmaker. It’s slowed, surely, due to circumstance, but she’s never satisfied. A date. He should ask you on a date, is what she means. He’s suddenly as red in the face as the tips of his ears and Natasha’s hair. 

Steve’s not blind. 

You’re attractive. 

Soft and hard in so many ways. Lips, pink and pillowy and parted ever so slightly. Sharp line of your jaw clenched, brows furrowed. The gentle curve of your neck, warm skin disappearing beneath a dirt stained, hole ridden suit that hasn’t seen mending hands in months. Not since you followed him in his free fall from grace. 

You’d followed. Wordlessly. Burned out, abandoned by coworkers and the public, you resigned yourself to this life of Motel hopping and operating outside of the realm of what’s legal. Though not outside of what’s right.

Pondering what any of that could mean feels forbidden to Steve.

The hard shell of a man, not any less great, but perhaps less sure.

He looks back at Natasha with a low shake of his head, abruptly shutting his notebook. She sighs, but takes the hint. Enough. Not now. 

Almost a year later, he does ‘just ask’. 

It’s kind of like a date, in barely-there ways. You’re left alone, facing each other in a booth, knees brushing. You go to the bathroom, Steve orders for the both of you. Kind of like a date. 

Stuffed in the sticky booth of some diner in Middle America, alone together. Natasha gone off on her own again. Bucky recovering in Wakanda. Sam out like a light on a creaking Motel 6 mattress-- hard, just like he likes it. Your muscles like jelly, stomachs rumbling with the dull ache of hunger, soaked head to toe from the torrential downpour outside. No idle chit chat for you two. Steve stares out the window, impossible blue eyes following the path of a raindrop. You ring the bottom of your shirt out onto the small bit of floor between two pairs of feet. It splatters on the ground loudly. 

Not a date. 

You risk a glance at him over the piping hot brim of your coffee mug. Silently marvel at just how much he’s changed through thin white wisps of steam. More than longer hair, more than a handsome and disguising beard, more than the ripped out star of his suit sitting in a heap on the motel room floor. You can’t say how, it’s more a feeling. 

He’s a lot quieter now. Like you. 

Steve’s always been stoic. Passionate when needs be, but not exactly loose with his emotions; never as restrained now. His voice was always strong and sure, but never quite so gruff from frequent disuse as in this past year. You suppose it’s partially your fault. With Natasha gone much more now and Sam talking enough to carry a conversation himself, you’re not exactly great company. You might be one of the reasons he speaks less and less. 

A pretty waitress is smiling wide at him, a signal that she knows. A beard and hat pulled down as far as possible would never be enough to hide those golden boy blue eyes. 

Those eyes millions of women would gladly melt into a puddle of rainwater on the dirty floor of some diner in Midwest America for. You’d have to ask for a mop later to clean up the mess. Yours and the one spilling from ‘Molly’s lips. 

I heard you have a list, she smiles coy. You tuck in to the plate of chocolate chip pancakes doused in maple syrup as she bats her eyelashes down at him. 

Steve shifts, glancing over at you seemingly uninterested in the conversation. He’d given up on you having anything to do with the list weeks ago. He may be a fugitive-- may no longer be an Avenger, Captain America-- but he’s still a nice guy.  

Yes, he laughs kindly, hands clasped together on the table top.

You sniff and his eyes snap to yours again, tense. You’ll have to leave soon. Now that ‘Molly’ from the midnight shift at Red’s diner has seen Steve Rogers and his pretty blue eyes, you’ll have to wake Sam from his long overdue sleep and be gone before dawn. You wish he could’ve been left longer. It’s just how things work these days. A long shot from living plush, courtesy of Tony Stark. But you can wait long enough to finish coffee and breakfast.

Can I make a suggestion? she leans down and speaks in soft tones, a wicked grin hidden beneath those sweet, innocent looking red lips. 

You raise a brow when Steve politely nods, pulling out his trusty notebook from his back pocket. Steve asks to borrow a pen which she hastily holds out to him, purposely having their fingers brush in the exchange. Surely he knows she’s flirting, he’s not that naive. There’s no way. He’s a nice guy, maybe too nice.

She’s young. You imagine she has spent more than a few nights looking up at a poster of his face, clean shaven and perfect, playing this exact conversation in her head. That she has carefully thought over what her input would be. 

You should definitely watch ‘Friends’ when you have the time. 

You snort. Loudly. 

Molly instantly shrinks in on herself, deflated. Steve gives you an odd look, which you brush off and promptly resume shoveling the sweet breakfast food into your mouth. 

He’s so kind, it’s downright disgusting. 

Steve makes a point of writing it down underneath ‘Stevie Wonder’, smiling, Thank you. And for good measure, when he returns the pen, Captain America runs his ring finger across her knuckle. Oh, he knew. So considerate, you almost want to smirk when you catch it.

She’s gone now to wait on the other late night stragglers, blushing and gently ghosting her fingers over the spot he’d touched. Your hurtful mocking isn’t enough to dampen the feel of being caught in Steve Rogers’ warm glow. 

His knee presses along the inside of yours again when he shifts to shove the small book back into his pants. You take a measured sip of coffee. 

Steve raises a brow in your direction, Did you have a better suggestion?

There. He’s asked. 

Maybe he could finally breathe in your presence now. 

No luck considering you simply shrug and break from his gaze. So unreadable. It’s frustrating. He has half a mind to write ‘shrug’ underneath ‘Friends’. Are you? Friends, he means. You’ve known each other what feels like a lifetime now. At whatever this is for a year and a half. He can count on one hand the amount of conversations not involving a mission you’ve shared. 

He trusts you with his life, which, after everything that’s happened, is a rare commodity. He’s sure you feel the same. 

You’d say that no, you’re not friends. You probably wouldn’t deny the unfathomable trust in each other, though. That’s comforting at least. You sleep a bed away every night after all. 

Steve doesn’t really sleep. 

He doesn’t know you know that; you don’t sleep either. 

He’s staring, maybe he doesn’t realize it. 

You’ve abandoned your fork, suddenly feeling sick with it. That fucking blue. It split you like butter and might’ve knocked you over had you not been tightly gripping your knee under the table. 

So handsome it hurts. 

How could anyone be that pretty? Heartbreaking. Even before the serum-- you’ve seen the pictures. Breathtaking. The beard. The beard is really something. So so pretty. Adonis and Aphrodite. Michelangelo’s David. Torturous. 

It’s been almost a full minute now. Of him, just staring. 

You clear your throat in hopes it might pull him out of whatever it is that has claimed him. It doesn’t work. You talk just to end it. You know for certain that will surprise him. 

Why do you even keep up with it? The list. That stupid goddamned list.

You can see the flush on Steve’s neck when he does realize that he’d stared at you, through you, in you, for the longest two minutes in history. He coughs into his fist. 

What do you mean? his brow furrows, and you almost want to touch the crease between them to make it go away. It’s a ridiculous thought. One you shake away with another measured sip of coffee. 

Doesn’t it seem... you shrug, and there’s an urge in him to grab you by the shoulders and beg you to stop fucking shrugging so goddamned much. Steve thinks he might go insane if he sees those shoulders twitch up again. I dunno, kind of pointless now?

In a way, yes, it is. 

Steve can’t exactly pop in a film or binge watch a tv show like this. And sitting down to listen to read a book doesn’t really seem right.

He doesn’t answer. You watch him finally pick up his own fork, cutting into an omelette more cheese and meat than egg. 

It still rains down hard. 

Steve pays the bill, smiling tightly at Molly when she lays her hand on his bicep. He tips her well, she was sweet and young and still half terrified from just you snorting. 

You follow a few paces behind him out of the diner, mindful of maintaining that distance. 

Neither of you bother to fight against getting soaked. 

You’re both immediately set on edge when three cars pull into the parking lot, tightly together. It’s the kind of thing you’d been trained to be suspicious of. The kind of thing that never means anything good when around people like you. It means they have come for you both. It means you'll probably have to fight. 

He pauses underneath the buzzing neon sign. His back is to you, the tense expanse of muscles outlined by the wet shirt clinging to his skin. A breath. Another. 

Giggling.

You hear giggling of all things, bubbling through the parking lot. Girls, a whole crowd of them, spilling out of the cars, hushing each other. His name is on their cherry chapstick lips. Not his name, his title: Captain America. Molly had texted them, that’s clear now. 

It’s better, at least, than your previous estimation. But it’s trouble nevertheless. 

Steve turns to face you and somehow, the soft glow of red on his face only makes his eyes bluer. He takes a step forward. You understand. You always understand in the absence of words. There’s a link between the two of you when you’re in that working mode. That trust, tangible in how you too, step forward. 

It’s procedural. You fall into it so easily.

His head ducks, yours raises. Eyes locked in one another, but ears elsewhere, listening. Not touching, but near to it. A breath away. Swaying in the rain. You feel it sizzle on your skin, see it coming off him in steam. 

No one bothers the two lovers, obviously too occupied with each other to be superheroes. Natasha had taught you both that. 

It pours harder yet. 

The giggles fade into nothing, drowned in the monsoon-- no space between the fat drops pelting the earth. They couldn’t see the two of you now even if they tried. 

Why did you come? You never really said, he has to shout, the rain is so loud. 

You’ve left a lot unsaid. Some things are better that way. 

Steve’s hands, large and powerful, stop your shoulders mid shrug. Don’t, he squeezes his eyes shut, drops of rain trickling down the slopes of his nose, For the love of God, don’t fucking shrug.

Everything is heavy: your drenched clothes, his hands still gripping your shoulders, the crushing weight in your chest-- the rock lodged in your throat with all the things you’ve never said for the sake of some stupid credo about not letting things get personal. You’ve let the words die on your lips and for what? 

It did nothing. The lines blurred anyway, out of your control. 

The truth: there hasn’t been a distance greater than the width of his notebook between the two of you for a long time now. 

You pretend. 

You both pretend that absence of any extended conversation means you haven’t already learned everything about each other just by watching. Stealing glances when the other is turned away. 

Steve pretends that the reason your input in the list matters so much to him is because he wants to know the people he’s trusting with his life. 

He already knows you. Not your favorite color or band, but you. Your outline in the darkness of a thousand motels. The smell of you under layers of grime and sweat and blood-- you’re scrubbed clean with the same soap he uses. Your breathing patterns: one when you’re resting with your earbuds in, head bopping to songs he’s not been privy to; another when you’re side by side in combat, moving together like one; the most prominent, when you’re both laying in bed staring at the ceiling, too lost in thought to even care about sleep. 

You know him too.

His question. How do you answer? You followed. Wasn’t that answer enough?

Where’s your notebook? You ask instead, though it’s more of a call in this downpour. 

Steve’s brow furrows again, left hand flying back to pat the small book in his pocket. This time, you do reach out, though you don’t have to go very far. His breath quickens when the pad of your thumb brushes against the wet crease of skin pulled together in uncertainty. He swallows hard, rifling through the pages a little messy because he can’t stop looking at you. Your hand stays there until the pressure releases. For a good second after, too.     

When he finally opens it up to the two pages worth of ‘to-do’, the ink is running. Black to blue. A melted mess of jumbled letters on delicate paper one wrong twitch away from ripping. 

You take it from his hands, gentle, because you’re pretty sure this notebook has been a lifeline for him. Grounding. There’s sketches in there that you’ve only caught glimpses of. 

You lament now that it has been ruined by the rain. 

I don’t have a pen, he says softly. Softly, because he’s closer now than you’ve ever been. You’ve never heard him so soft. So cautious that his voice might scare you away. 

You spare a languid glance up to see just how close he is. It must be only inches because you can hear him through the rain. You tilt your chin to the sky, heavy lids widening slightly. 

He’s closer than even that. Not inches, centimeters. If you hadn’t been swaying in synchronization and instead leaned forward at the same time...

You don’t even know what you’re doing. For the first time in a while, you’re scared. 

The book is closed between your palms, the list shut. You’ll deal with it another day. You’ll help him remember everything that was on there so he can rewrite it. 

Steve leans in more. Not enough. 

I’ll just tell you then, you nod. Steve’s chest brushes against yours as you both suck in heavy breaths. You press the notebook there, against the hard swells of his front, closer to his heart. 

Which question are you answering? Why did you come? Or did you have a better suggestion?

Bob Dylan.

What?

Bob Dylan. Bringing It All Back Home. 1965.

Oh.

The stupid list. For years now, that’s all he’s wanted to hear. But there, under the neon sign, in the parking lot of Red’s diner, drenched in the deluge of rain, it’s not enough. 

We’ll listen to it together, you smile and he’s never seen it quite so big or bright.

Together. It is enough. 

Your lips taste of rain and maple syrup. He’ll remember it for a while. Forever, maybe. And him, you don’t recall something ever being so rich in your life. Steve’s mouth, so decadent you could die with a sated smile still. It’s all the sweeter, the press of your lips together; in it all those words left unsaid. You breathe them into his mouth, warm and red and waiting, and he sears them back into yours with the delicate slide of his tongue. Mouths together form lost sentences and sing. A crescendoing flurry of soundless vowels and consonants that only the two of you will ever hear. 

Steve faintly hears the notebook fall in a splash at your feet and you can feel the grin in his lips by the scratch of his beard against your chin. You’ll feel guilty for dropping it later, but your hand had been hellbent on curling itself under his arms and around his shoulder. His own hands cradle your neck and face, slipping across the rain wet planes of your face. And those forearms, like hams, rest heavily on your shoulders-- so that you can never shrug again. If you can’t find the words, Steve’s content to have you speak them on his lips. 

Everyone’s got a submission to his list. 

But yours come with a kiss. 

Yours is the only one that he’s ever really cared about.  

Sam complains weeks later that he’s sick of hearing Bob Dylan.

[katealpha]

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a crossover between Jurassic Park and The Lion King done before. At least not seriously (as seriously as you can make something like that I suppose). So this idea for a scene popped into my head a while ago and after developing it, I finally wrote it and had a commission made. The art here isn’t mine, but made by the outstandingly talented Genocide Knight, who’s link I’ll add here. A few ideas presented here I also got from the head canon of Kaze-Blue involving Kula and Malka.

Link to Genocide-Knight’s page

www.deviantart.com/genocide-kn…

He has my eternal thanks for making this beautiful cover, and I hope that it enhances the story you’re about to read.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~IT IS TIME~

Nala stomped her way back across the log that just a few moments before, was where she and Simba were taking a walk through this beautiful oasis, only to argue about his return to the Pridelands. She needed time to herself to think on what to do next. This wasn’t the Simba she remembered years ago when she was a cub, the Simba who wouldn’t ever stop going on about how he was going to be king one day. All the things he’d do. Now he was a shell of that. But why?

She shook her head as she walked through the dense jungle, her stressed thoughts wandering through her head. Whatever was happening with Simba, she had to get him to confront Scar. Who else would? Malka was driven out, her closest friends like Kula and Tama were either extremely pregnant, starving, or had left to find help as well, and Sarabi was too accepting of Scar’s rule. The sand colored lioness felt ready to have another headache, and mostly because of her hunger. Maybe a drink would help cool her nerves, maybe help her to talk to Simba again later and get him out of this funk.

The crystalline water of the large pond she and Simba drank at earlier stood still as Nala walked out of the bushes towards the water’s edge. She breathed in a breath of humid air, enchanted by the amount of trees around her. Once there, the lioness peaked down at her reflection and pressed herself down on her belly, lapping up the cool waters. It brought an unfriendly reminder of her childhood. How happy she was to hang around water like this with Simba and Kula, the latter of whom had turned from their chubby, bubbly zebra eater, to being gaunt, pregnant with scar’s cubs, and depressed. Her eyes clamped shut as she lifted herself up and whispered.

“I hope I made the right choice leaving you all…”

Nala’s troubled thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of what she could describe as a loud hooting noise that a bird would make. She assumed it was such as she turned her head back. That’s when she saw the bushes where she was coming from just before move. There was something in the jungle with her. Something bigger than just some squirrel or hare. Nala adopted a perplexed look and stepped forward.

“Simba? Is that you?…”

There wasn’t an answer, but the hooting sound was heard again in front of her. This wasn’t from above like she had thought. The hooting sound was coming from directly in front of her. She furrowed her brow as her voiced called out again, trying to sound intimidating to mask her instinctive nervousness.

“Timon?? Pumbaa?? This had better not be a prank like last time with the spider. I’ll rethink not eating you, warthog.”

A moment passed without another word from the figure in the bushes. That was until Nala took another step forward. That finally roused a response from what was hiding. Something big rose up and stepped out of the bushes in front of Nala. Something she’d never seen before. It was covered in an intriguing pattern of green, bumpy scales like the tiny lizards she ate in the pridelands to keep herself and the others from starving. This lizard was not tiny however. It stood slightly taller than her and moved its long neck, head, and it’s legs like a bird would, bobbing its head and bending its neck like a crane. The head of the creature was adorned with a double pronged crest, almost resembling a crown that was reddish compared to the rest of its body. It looked at her with a pair of beady yellow eyes, which also resembled the eyes of a bird. A bird of prey to be exact.

The creature approached her slowly, walking on its two bipedal legs and letting out a soft hooting cry as it made its way around her. Nala could only watch it in awe as she backed up to the edge of the clearing. She witnessed the thing bend over and lower its crested head to the water she was drinking. When she felt it safe, Nala cleared her throat.

”H-hello? Who are you? What are you?”

Once again, the creature didn’t reply, only lifting its head and bending its neck back to stare at her with a blank expression. Nala sighed, figuring that this was either a mute, or something that just simply didn’t understand how to speak. Nala turned her back to the creature and called out with her voice once more.

“Simba?? Timon?? Pumbaa?? You’ve got to come see this! I’ve found something! Or rather something found me…”

As soon as she said this, she heard the hooting again. Right behind her. Nala’s ears raised before she looked back to see the scaly creature standing in front of her, it’s yellow eyes looking into her own teal ones. It blinked once and chirped. Nala didn’t say anything else, waiting for it to make a move, almost not hearing the soft rattling down coming from it. When she did hear the rattling noise, it was far too late. A wide, bright and colorful frill spread out from the creature’s neck, shaking around and catching her attention. Nala’s eyes widened and her mouth gaped at the display before this strange animal screamed a raspy hiss at her. She took a step back from the startling sound before after another scream, a black sludge shot out from its mouth. A glob of it hit her in the face, on her nose. It smelled nasty, making her gag and stagger back. She looked back up and it screamed again. Another glob of black goo was shot at her, but Nala saw it coming and moved her head, making it hit the trunk of a tree.

This creature was no friend, Nala now knew. It stepped towards her with its pronated arms now reaching with sharp claws like her own, it’s frill deflating into its neck. Nala snarled and bared her fangs, jumping at the creature and swiping with her claws. It used its powerful legs to jump over her before Nala lunged forward to tackle it, making her miss the mark. The spitting creature unleashed its frill and hissed as Nala turned on a dime and ran over to fight more. They were in a stand off. The creature used its frighteningly bright frill too threaten another spit attack and Nala stood her ground, not backing down from this fight. Her instincts were guiding her now.

The creature made the next move, spitting another glob that Nala was quick to sidestep and launch herself at the beast, pouncing on it and sinking her claws into it as both animals landed on a deep slope. Nala gasped as she and the Spitter rolled down together in much the same fashion she and Simba did an hour before. But now she was trading claw swipes with a scaly monster that wanted her dead. Nala landed atop the creature and roared down at it. It didn’t look intimidated as its neck twisted up and its jaws snapped at Nala with needle like teeth. She moved her head back, causing her weight to shift just enough for the beast below to rise up and throw her off.

The wind was knocked out of her as she landed on her back in a bad spot. Looking forward, she saw the spitter get up and look at her, it’s yellow eyes narrowing in malice before it roared at her, flashing its frill triumphantly, then running towards Nala with its claws out. Nala got her senses back at just the right moment. As the creature was about to land atop her with its disemboweling foot claws, she lifted her back paws and pushed up with all her might, lifting the beast over her and making it slam into the tree behind her. She rolled onto her paws as it fell in her spot, landing on its side.

Nala wasted no time as she pounced again as it tried to stagger to its feet. Remembering her hunting, she pinned it down and after moving her head to dodge a few snaps of its teeth, she exploited an opened and wrapped her jaws around the base of its head where the neck net. She bit down hard and while still holding her weight over the struggling animal, she forced its head down and didn’t let go. She breathed deeply and her muscles ached fiercely as holding it down was no easy feat. However, after what felt like hours, the beast she had fought tooth and claw to survive against succumbed to her experience as a hunter, and her sharper teeth.

Once she was sure it stopped moving, Nala sat up and let out a huge few breaths as the limp animal laid motionless before her, mouth gaping and eyes wide. Nala moved her paw over and closed its eyelid, not wanting to see it staring at her again. The lioness took a moment to examine her bounty. This beast was truly like nothing she’d seen before. A perfect blend of bird and reptile, almost like they were one in the same. Her fascination ended when a deep gurgle roared from her belly. She glanced down to it and made a puzzled sound. She looked back at the dead spitter and remembered. She hasn’t eaten anything substantial in weeks, and Pumbaa was off the menu. Nala licked her lips and smiled. Maybe something nice did come from this encounter…

[the-darklings]

Give us all the vampire au we didn't know we needed

𝙑𝘼𝙈𝙋𝙄𝙍𝙀!𝘼𝙐:【01】| 【02】| 【2.5】|

.

“Ah, the woman I have heard so much about,” a silky, accented voice purrs from the folds of the shadows. “They say molten poison flows through your veins, Vipress. They say my kind finds that poison irresistible. Their sweet undoing. Hm, such a shame. They did not tell me you were beautiful, too.”

Such flattery. But vampires often have silver tongues. Some can bewitch mind and body with nothing more than a few carefully measured, enticing sentences.

A flutter of air against the curve of your neck and you spin. Your blade—holy and blessed by Winston himself, bestowed with all the divine power the old man believes the Holy Rite grants—hisses against that golden skin.

He is not what you expected.

You’ve heard tales of the D'Antonios before. The oldest vampire family in the world. The purest, most potent blood flows through their veins. The power that comes with that is indisputable. Terrifying. 

Camorra is an empire of the supernatural world. 

Many seek shelter under Giovanni D'Antonio and his endless, ancient power. 

Few are ever granted it, and even fewer survive the pit that is Camorra. Even the supernatural are not immune to eternal death.

Vampires, werewolves, wraiths, fae—they’re just some of the creatures said to dwell in Camorra’s ranks.  

The vampire prince before you looks like a golden dream, however. 

Unlike his father who carries darkness in his every step, even unlike his sister who is a seductive, cold princess of the undead, Santino D'Antonio looks like he belongs in the light. 

His skin is sun-kissed, his eyes vivid green and his dark hair curly and wild. 

Green. 

You’re so used to seeing that muted, rusted red in every vampire’s stare that for the briefest second it gives you a pause. 

“Do you think you can kill me, bella?” he wonders softly, mockingly. “You are…tempting but I am not so easily swayed.“ 

The silver blade, etched with holy runes scorches against his skin but the vampire prince only grins; a caress, sensuous and slow. His eyes drag over your features. 

“I could care less about your pride, vampire.”

He leans closer and your knees tremble. He’s strong. So strong that he makes your strength seem slight by comparison. But you are far from helpless. 

“I wonder,” he hums quietly, leaning even closer and you jerk back but his next words still tickle against the curve of your cheek. “Do you taste as delicious as they say, hm? Perhaps one of your holy blades would be a worthy price to pay for a…taste.”

Your foot drives into his knee and you swipe another blade free, aiming both towards his chest but he catches your arms in a deadly grip, pulling you closer. A snarl bubbles at the back of your throat. 

“If you kill me, you’ll have Johnathan Wick to deal with.”

The deadliest Holy Hunter there is. 

Even shadows fear and hiss his name in terror. 

The Boogeyman. 

The one individual every dark thing fears. 

Santino D'Antonio’s quick, long fingers brush away a strand of loose hair from your cheek and he chuckles. The sound is unfriendly, but it still manages to feel like a stroke, like those elegant fingers trailing down your senses. 

The blood in your veins—that honeyed poison the prince spoke of—hums and hums and hums at his presence. It hums whenever any vampire appears close but with him….it’s a roar. Such a loud one it takes substantial effort to focus. 

“Ah, yes, Johnathan,” the vampire before you speaks, letting go. A blink and he’s gone from sight. It’s a game to him, you realise. He finds entertainment in this little chase. You imagine eternity can get pretty boring. You’re unsure how old the prince is but you know he’s the younger of the two heirs. “I had the displeasure of encountering him several times over the last few decades. Not one for chatter. How unfortunate. Such stories about you two though.“ 

Your head snaps behind you and you find the vampire prince lounging on the sofa, his legs crossed and expression bored. He inspects his nails, golden Camorra ring gleaming on his hand. Every inch of him reeks of arrogance. 

His head lifts, slanting, and his lips quirk upwards. It’s a tickle of a smirk but it’s laced with fine cruelty. Scorn, even. 

“Some say you are friends,” he continues easily, but something dark lingers across his features. “Others say you are lovers. Which is it, hm?”

Your feet sound dull against the cold cobblestone as you stalk closer towards the vampire, ignoring his question. 

His eyes flicker towards you, and there is hunger there. You know you appeal to him. That’s the whole point of you. You exist to lure them in and kill them. Prince or not, D'Antonio is still driven by hunger, by instinct. 

He can’t hide it from you. 

“How did they make you, I wonder?” he murmurs and his voice is lovely if you are to allow yourself such a kind thought. “To make you so deadly? What wretched things did they put you through to make sure you can hunt that which does not die? I bet it hurt, no?”

He’s chatty. Most of his kind would be spitting curses and trying to kill you by now. Half-boredom and half-arrogance. You suppose he doesn’t get a chance to converse with your kind often. If at all. You’re food. The enemy. 

“I had the Holy Text etched onto my back when I was twelve.”

You have nothing to hide. It had made you what you are. It’s what gave you that pull, that poison, that courses through you. It’s what made you special just like Jardani. Two of a kind. Best of the best. 

The vampire stills. 

It’s that unnatural, stifling kind of stillness that no living thing is quite capable of. 

“What?”

A soft, cutting knife. The spark of shock—fury—that glints in his eyes for just a second surprises you. Why would he care? 

At the church, they called it the Making. 

When the High Priest deems one worthy of ascending into the Hunter ranks, they are taken to the catacombs below the Holy Church and laid on their stomach where every priest lays a blessing on their skin by cutting into it with wax and ink and knives. 

Those too weak to bear it die right after. 

If you survive, you become a Hunter. Tasked with only one thing: eradication. 

In the last several decades, you and Jardani have been the only ones to survive the Making. Only ones blessed with skills that rival the dead and the undead, the foul and the dark.

You don’t remember much from your Making. Just screaming and the heat and stench of sweat and blood. And through it all, Winston’s fingers gripping your own even though he’s not supposed to, and his quiet promise that it will be over soon. 

Fortis fortuna adiuvat. Jardani’s words. Fortune favours the brave. 

Under the vampire’s harsh, disbelieving stare, your own words seem to itch. 

Ego sum qui ferrum mundum emunda. Your clothes scrape against your back and the vampire stares at you like he can see right through you. I am the blade that will cleanse the world. 

“Is that what your church does?” the vampire demands and his stare is terrible, furious. “Carves up little children so they have a slight chance of opposing my kind? How pathetic and desperate you have all become. Accept your place in the world, bella. This scrambling is ceaseless. No matter how many you save, I will kill a hundred more. For every divine deed, a thousand more unholy, sinful things will be committed. It will never end. And you will be dead. Sooner or later, hm? It shall all end the same. And it will be as if you never existed.”

He rises to his feet, all ethereal grace but deadly intent, and your fingers around the twin blades tighten. You tell yourself that a shiver that races down your spine and the knot that forms in your chest has nothing to do with his words and everything to do with the fact that you can feel his poorly leashed power rumbling through the air instead. 

“Do you think your church will remember you? Thank you? Do you?” he demands, his tone cruel, and he moves towards you slowly even though you both know how fast he can be. He doesn’t want to hunt you. He wants you to hear him, you realise in a daze. “Do you believe that they will erect statues in your name and call you a Saint? No, amore mio, they will not. You are a tool and those are easily replaceable. You have no idea of your potential. Do you think you’re powerful now? Imagine what you can do with a gift of eternity.”

He comes to a stand before you. His green eyes glow in the dusky light and you hate yourself for the fact that you hesitate. 

Hesitate because you, too, have considered it before. Even mentioned it to Jardani in the past. 

Imagine if we were like them. Imagine us then. No one could stop us. 

Jardani’s eyes had dimmed then, his rough fingers against your cheek but the look in his eyes cautious. It is unwise to speak of such things, (Name). We are trying to hunt them, not become them. Do not speak of this again, especially around the priests. Or they will banish you. 

The glow in those green eyes, however, says that you could have it all and then some. 

You go straight for his non-existent heart. 

His fingers latch around your own, your blade scraping against his shirt, his chest. 

Santino D'Antonio grins; a crooked, sly thing. It kills some part of you that he looks knowing, wisely interpreting your hesitation for what it is: lack of certainty in your current path.  

He jerks your hand down and tugs you close, his cold breath a whisper against your clammy skin, “Think on my offer, amore,” he purrs, his words silk. “You do not have a bearing of a woman who settles for scraps when she can have the world.”

You blink and he’s gone. 

[delimeful]

be unbroken or be brave again (1)

here it is! an AU ive been working on for a while that i am publishing today, 12/19, for our favorite emo nightmare’s birthday! :D hope you enjoy! 

warnings: blood, mention of illness and murder, injury, roman is a jerk but he’s just being an idiot, hurt/comfort

-

Virgil frowned, studying the tracks on the ground. Horse hooves, but more importantly, the treads of heavy boots. The same boots that had been following them from a slowly-decreasing distance for months now. He sighed, scuffing his own bare foot against the ground. 

The hunter was gaining ground too fast for comfort. 

If he had been alone, he could have lost the human easily. Would have lost him on day one, in fact. The reason his kind were so hard to track was because of their ability to take off and vanish into thin air, after all. Assuming they weren’t too busy starting massive fires, that was. 

Still, he wasn’t alone, and he had no plans to reveal his true self to the one person alive that tolerated him, so walking it was.

He turned to circle back around to camp, his leathery wings fluttering once on his back. It was dumb of him to let the glamor down in the open like this, but he couldn’t help but want to release the spell whenever he got the chance. It was taxing, hiding a bunch of his true features all the time, even in sleep. He would put it back up before he got to camp, but for now his horns and scales would stay, the same deep violet purple as his wings and tail. 

Those features were undoubtedly the reason the hunter was after them in the first place, probably to harvest his parts or slay him for the greater good or whatever nonsense Knights were always spouting about their reasons for murdering a whole species. He grit his teeth, fangs pressing into his lips near hard enough to cut.

He was used to such treatment, but Patton was perfectly human, and now he too was in danger because of Virgil. He should have taken more measures to hide their trail, shouldn’t have let the hunter catch his scent. Maybe he should have killed the last few that came after him. He imagined the look on Patton’s face if he ever found out and shook his head to dismiss the thought. He was as soft as ever when it came to humans, and he’d continue to be that way until he inevitably died. Probably his mom’s fault.

… Whatever. He’d make up some excuse to get him and Patton on the road again, take some shortcuts to lose their pursuer, and be more careful in the future. Lesson learned. 

A scraggly-looking tree he had marked earlier reminded him that he was getting closer to the clearing, and he quickly touched the stone between his collarbones to re-cast the glamor. It settled onto him like a heavy cloak, his senses becoming slightly muted, and he made sure to check his reflection in one of his daggers before moving on.

The clearing was fairly quiet, shielded from view by thick brush, but he could hear the soft movements of someone shuffling about in the dirt. Patton had already gotten back from gathering kindling, then. He pulled the canteens from his bag, to show that he had completed his own task.

“Hey, Pat, I found a river near-” His voice cut off as he realized that the man crouched in their campsite wasn’t Patton.

He was tall, with heavy leather armor covered in red sigils over every inch of him, kneeling in the dirt with one hand brushing the footprints that the two occupants had left in the camp. The same exact thing Virgil had been doing only minutes ago. Unquestionably a hunter by attire alone. 

The Knight’s head had snapped over to look at Virgil the moment he’d called out, and now they were frozen in a silent staring contest. Virgil let his gaze dip slightly to the sigil on the Knight’s shoulder, and paled at the sight of it. It was the Faerin coat of arms. 

A Knight from the Faerin Kingdom, known far and wide to be the most vicious and merciless to Dragonwitches. A Knight from an empire that he knew didn’t care about collateral damage any more than the dirt under their feet. 

A Knight that could hurt Patton, if the human got back to camp while Virgil was fighting him.

Without another thought, he bolted, the canteens dropping to the ground as he fled. There was a yell behind him, and he felt a wave of relief as the sound of footsteps took off behind him, a glance over his shoulder confirming that he was being chased doggedly. The Knight was taking the bait. Patton would be safe.

Now all he had to worry about was saving his own skin. 

He sprinted through the forest, twisting and ducking in case the Knight had projectiles. Maybe he didn’t even have to fight him. If he could outstrip the guy, he could double back and lose him, go back to the camp and get Patton and book it-

Twang!

He barely had time to register the thin, near-invisible wire he’d plowed through before something heavy and rough hit him head on, knocking him to the ground. He twisted around and dropped the glamor, trying to flare his wings and tail to get the offending object off, but it only got him more tangled in the metal netting. The trap- for what else could it be?- was weighed down at the edges by solid metal balls, so he couldn’t even rise to his feet to try and keep running. 

In a moment of desperation, he reached for the power of his other form, the one already snapping for control like a cornered animal. Nothing. The metal burned unnaturally against his skin, no doubt enchanted for the very purpose of holding him.

Loud footsteps made him still for a moment, and he summoned up a hateful glare as the Knight approached with an air of casualness. The bastard didn’t even seem out of breath. 

“Gotcha.” He said, voice arrogant, and Virgil snarled inhumanly at him between pants. “Oh, don’t be like that. Not my fault you were too slow.” 

He stepped closer, ignoring the threatening growl building in Virgil’s chest, and grabbed the upper arch of his left wing, entangled firmly in netting. He jerked away anyways, trying to thrash the limb, but the Knight’s grip held firm, fingers digging into the delicate flesh. “Let go!” 

“In a second, in a second.” The Knight’s face fell into a frown, deepening the longer he stared at the wing he was pulling on. “I suppose they look black in the right lighting…” He hummed, releasing the wing and circling back around to face Virgil from the front with a speculative gaze. 

Virgil’s lip curled up into a sneer. With the focus on his wings and scale color, this guy had to be a skinseller. Perfect. Just what he wanted to deal with today. Not.

The Knight flipped an ornate dagger from hand to hand, wandering slowly into range. He threw the dagger into the air with a frankly unnecessary amount of flair, and Virgil followed the shine of the blade carefully. “Committed any notable atrocities lately, monster?”

“Nothing more atrocious than that outfit.” Virgil shot back, voice rough and gravelly. He eyed the distance between the Knight’s hand and his teeth speculatively. Just a bit closer...

The knight placed a hand on his chest in a dramatic gesture of offense. “Honestly, you must be delirious with stress to think I look anything other than fantastic.” He cast a judgmental eye at Virgil’s own appearance. “Maybe delirious with heatstroke, under all that black. I wonder, does the color of your terrible clothing choices carry over to your true form, beast?”

“Bite me,” Virgil spat, and then lunged at the Knight’s nearest hand, dagger be damned. The longer he kept this one occupied, the longer Patton had to realize something was wrong and get out of there. 

Unfortunately, the Knight was quicker. His target was yanked out of biting reach, and then fingers promptly wrapped around one of his horns and tugged, driving his face into the ground. He grunted in pain as something in his nose gave way with a pop, and warm blood started to drip down over his mouth.

“Nice try, Bitey,” the Knight said, ignoring the low, rumbling growl radiating from Virgil’s chest. He planted the dagger in the dirt, inches from his bloody face. “Now, how about you make this easier on yourself and tell me the scale color of your little friend you meant to meet back in that camp? What was their name… Pat?” 

Virgil stiffened, his tail lashing back and forth as much as it could while so entangled. “Fuck me and my big mouth,” he mumbled incoherently into the ground, grimacing at the taste of dirt. 

“What was that?” the Knight asked, pulling him upright so he could breathe properly again. Virgil cleared his throat a few times as though about to speak, and then opened his mouth and spat a mixture of blood, mud, and spit directly into the Knight’s face. 

The Knight dropped him like a hot potato. “Ugh, come on!”

He sounded so disgruntled that Virgil couldn’t help but laugh hoarsely from where he was laid out on the ground. “Too gross for you, Your Highness?” 

The hunter stiffened, pausing in the process of wiping his face to stare at Virgil with surprise. Virgil’s lips curled up slightly, vindicated by the hunter’s reaction. Got it in one. 

He bared his fangs in an unfriendly smile. “You think you’re being subtle? I’ve met plenty of hunters, and only idiots and nobility wear Faerin’s crest and finery like a badge of honor. Congrats on fitting in both categories.” 

The Knight scowled at him, hooking a hand in the wires and hauling him up by the shirt. Virgil managed to brace himself just before the Knight slammed him up against a tree, and he hissed a pained breath through his teeth as the bark scraped against his back and the soft in-between flesh of his wings. 

“And how many of those hunters are still around?” the Knight asked, deadly serious as he pressed his other arm against Virgil’s throat and leaned forwards until they were only inches apart. “How many did you kill? How did you slaughter them?” 

Virgil almost rolled his eyes at the dramatics of it all, struggling to breathe through the damn bloody nose. If he’d killed those hunters, there was no way this idiot would have ever caught wind of him, let alone tracked him down like this. Knights were all the same. They only heard what they wanted to hear.

“Come on, you already know. I did what you’re supposed to do with trash,” he rasped, inhaling deeply enough to make his lungs ache from the pressure. A purple haze began to leak from his lips. “Burned it.” 

The Knight’s eyes widened, and he leaned back as Virgil clicked the sparkscales in the back of his throat and ignited a breath of deep purple flame directly into the hunter’s face. He held it for as long as he could, his exhale finally sputtering out seconds later. 

The Knight stared back at him, unimpressed. His eyebrows were slightly singed, but the rest of him remained completely intact, courtesy of the protective charms embedded in his armor. The sigils glowed and pulsed like hot coals. “Did you really think that would work?” 

“Nah,” Virgil admitted, and then drove his knee into the Knight’s groin with all the force he could muster. “But this will.”

The Knight made a noise that sounded like a mix between a mouse’s dying squeak and the wheeze of someone getting all the air punched out of their lungs. Virgil grinned with immense satisfaction at the way his skin paled to the color of spoiled milk, and then took advantage of his loosened grip to slam his forehead against the Knight’s with a resounding crack.

“Freaking ow!” the Knight recoiled, finally letting go of him to step out of range. As soon as he was released, Virgil’s legs gave out from under him, leaving him collapsed at the base of the tree trunk. He had planned to try and stay upright, maybe make a grab for the dagger or even just make some progress on untangling the net, but… 

“What in the underworld is your skull made of?” he screeched, trying to blink away the spots in front of his eyes. It felt like he’d headbutted a concrete wall instead of a normal human. “Do you have rocks in there instead of a brain?”  

“Me?” the Knight scowled, pointing at him imperiously. “What did you think you were going to achieve? Who in their right mind uses dirty street fighting without being able to run away after? You’re wrapped in a net!” 

“Oh, I dunno,” Virgil really did roll his eyes this time, “maybe someone who doesn’t want to die?” 

The Knight stopped short, and turned away to take a deep breath before facing Virgil again with a less harsh expression. “Look, I admire your tenacity,” he admitted. “I’m looking for a particular dragonwitch, and I doubt that you’re it. I don’t want to kill you. You don’t even have to tell me anything that would give me an advantage in a fight against your friend. If you’ll just tell me what they look like, I can escort you to become a protected citizen of Faerin.”

Virgil snorted. “Oh, so I can have my powers suppressed and die slowly of tar-lung working in some harvester mine instead?” And that was if an uppity Knight didn’t randomly decide to execute him for existing too loudly. Protected citizen, his ass. “I’ll pass.”   

“Yes, your powers would be sealed for everyone’s safety. And dragonwitches can’t get tar-lung.” The Knight frowned at him in reprimand, and Virgil almost pitied him for his sheltered naivety. He’d be in for a rough time in towns after he passed the range of his kingdom’s influence. Everyone hated dragonwitches, but a fair few hated Faerin as well.

Oh well. Not his problem.

“Even if that was in any way appealing, I’m not the type to sell out my friends,” Virgil flared his wings one last time, as though the net would suddenly decide to answer his pleas and fall away. Instead, the metal only cut into his wings harder, and he dipped his chin to touch his soulstone, his glamor settling back over him and his aching wings fading into non corporeality. If the hunter wanted to kill a monster, he’d make himself look as human as possible.

He leaned his head back against the tree, tilting his chin up in challenge. Pinned behind his back, his hands trembled. “Be more merciful your kingdom, hunter, and give me a quick death.” 

As expected, the jab at his kingdom made his expression darken with anger. Chauvinists. So predictable.

“I already offered you mercy, and you refused it.” The Knight pulled a broadsword from its scabbard with a scraping of metal, and Virgil clenched his hands into fists, keeping his gaze locked with the hunter’s. How was he planning to strike? The head or the heart? Could he dodge like this? For how long? Was there a point?

“I suppose we’ll see if your body will lure your friend out of hiding.” The Knight lifted his blade high, the tip poised to stab down through Virgil’s heart.

In the next moment, a human-sized blur dove out of the trees, tackling him from the side with a battle cry and knocking the hunter clear off his feet. They both went tumbling, the sword sliding across the ground far out of reach of any party, and Virgil stared at his savior in disbelief. Who would be stupid enough to attack a Faerin Knight within the kingdom’s borders, all alone-?

The attacker sat up from where he was half-straddling the Knight, twisting to check on Virgil. “Are you okay?” he cried, face strained with worry. 

“Patton?” Virgil’s voice went up an octave, fear surging through him. He started clawing desperately at the netting again. “Patton, no, no no no you have to run! Get out of here!” 

The human’s face furrowed in confusion. “Wha-?” 

In the next moment, the hunter had surged up and reversed their positions, pinning Patton to the ground by his shoulders. Virgil lunged forwards and let out an inhuman screech as he toppled over, his struggles only making the trap tighten against his flesh further. 

“Aha!” the Knight declared, and pulled a waterskin from his belt triumphantly. He tugged the cap off with his teeth and splashed the liquid inside all over Patton’s face. 

Patton spluttered, completely unharmed. “Rude! What is the matter with you? Why are you attacking Virgil, he didn’t do anything to you!” 

The Knight gaped, shocked enough that Patton was able to shove him off and climb back to his feet. “What- you’re human?” 

Virgil tried to push himself into an upright position, his blood still rushing in his ears from the scare. “Patton, please, you’ve got to get out of here!”

Patton, the wonderful idiot, gasped at the sight of him, bloodied and bruised, and immediately headed towards him. “Don’t worry, Virgil! I’ll help you!”

Virgil resisted the urge to groan, and then tensed against the net again as the Knight grabbed Patton’s wrist to stop him. “Wait!”

“Oh, what now?” Patton asked scornfully, with the sort of this-better-be-good expression that would have had Virgil properly abashed for at least an hour.

The Knight barely faltered, a testimony to his bravery. “You don’t have to listen to this foul beast’s orders anymore! You’re free.” And there was a testimony to his idiocy.

“What foul beast?” Patton’s frown only grew more severe as the Knight gestured expansively to Virgil’s entangled form. He pulled his wrist free to jab a finger into Roman’s chest. “That’s Virgil, and I don’t know what ale you’ve been drinking, sir, but it must have gone sour, because he’s just as human as you and me!” 

Virgil felt a chill go down his spine. Now that he wasn’t imminently facing the worst possible scenario (Patton dying), he had enough clarity to be terrified about facing the second-worst possible scenario (Patton finding out he wasn’t human). The Knight looked between the two of them, gaze settling on Virgil, probably easily reading the guilt written all over his face.

“You’ve been tricked,” he voiced his realization aloud, and held a hand up to stop Patton from going further. “Not to fear! I can prove my claim to you. I have an elixir that destroys any glamor upon contact. I’ll show you.” 

Ignoring Patton’s protests, the Knight strode up to where Virgil was propped up on one arm, his lips thin with anger. Virgil leaned back as he knelt next to him and met cold eyes, knowing it was meaningless to plead but desperate enough to try anyways. “Please.”

“Were you planning on granting that man a merciful death when you got tired of toying with him, demon?” the Knight asked with a voice like ice. Virgil didn’t even have time to open his mouth before the waterskin was upended over his head.

The elixir burned as all human magic did, and as he hissed, his glamor cracked away like ash to reveal his slitted pupils, his pointed ears, his dark scales. All irrefutable proof of his true nature. 

A sharp inhale made him look up, and he met Patton’s shocked gaze. “V… Virgil?” 

The fear in Patton’s soft brown eyes was like a physical blow. He looked away, noting the way the Knight stood between him and Patton protectively. He’d retrieved his sword.

“You can see the truth, clear as day,” the Knight spoke gently, but his words were harsh. “This is no friend of yours. The monster was only pretending to be human to lull you into a false sense of security. It’s a… common tactic for dragonwitches that prefer to,” the Knight grimaced, “play with their food. I’m sorry.”

“Virgil? That’s not true… is it?” Patton sounded near tears, and though he’d had nightmares about this exact scene frequently, he had never realized the way it would hurt, to hear his only friend doubt him. 

He opened his mouth, the words all on the edge of forming. Of course it wasn’t true! He would die before he hurt Patton, he would do anything to keep him safe. The very idea that he would ever devour his friend made him feel as though he was a second from throwing up.

All these defenses and more sprang to his mind, clamoring over each other, and yet- 

His mouth shut with a click. What would happen if he convinced Patton of his innocence? What would the Knight do? What would Patton do, to protect him? If there was one thing Faerin Knights excelled at, it was killing innocents. He was still trapped. He couldn’t do anything if the Knight turned his blade on Patton. 

He had to make sure Patton wouldn’t put himself at risk like that. He… He would do anything to keep Patton safe.

Even if that meant being the villain the Knight wanted to slay. 

Virgil swallowed thickly, forcing away the desolation to focus on what mattered. If he had to put on a show, it would have to be convincing. Patton would never believe it otherwise.

He let the last scraps of the glamor fall away, let his face shutter off into something dismissive and uncaring. “So you got me. I just wanted an easy meal at hand, is that such a crime?”

The knight stood tall, proud of having broken through a monster’s disguise. He looked down at Virgil with disgust. “Eating people is and probably always has been a crime, yes.”

He shrugged with loose shoulders. “S’not my fault snacks are so easy to fool these days.” His eyes caught Patton’s again, and he forced himself not to look away from the heartbroken expression. “If you really thought we were friends, you’re even stupider than I thought. Looks like your family really did pick the wrong one to die for.”

Patton’s face crumpled immediately, and he let out a sob. The Knight stepped in front of him, blocking Virgil’s gaze. His eyes dropped to the sword in his hand, and he felt a twisted sort of relief that he wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that he’d just said those awful things, that he’d taken what Patton had confided in him and turned it into something sharp to hurt him with. 

“Don’t worry. He won’t be able to hurt you or anyone else, anymore,” the Knight reassured Patton, and stepped forward with menace in every movement. 

Virgil forced himself to stay still, squeezed his eyes shut and ignored his racing heart. He was silent as the prince raised his blade, compliant because if it meant it wouldn’t be turned on Patton then it was worth it. It would always be worth it. 

He waited for the swing of the blade, the last thing he would ever hear- 

Clunk. 

The Knight made a strangled sound. Virgil’s eyes opened of their own accord, watching as the hunter swayed on his feet, his eyes rolling back in his head, and then collapsed bonelessly onto the ground. 

Just behind him, Patton stood, clutching a rock the size of his head in both hands. He was looking down at the fallen Knight with an expression that was just as stunned as Virgil felt, and dropped the rock to the forest floor with a thud. 

He took an uncertain, wobbling step towards Virgil, and he couldn’t help but flinch back because anything Patton did to him right now would be justified, but it would still hurt-

-and then there were suddenly trembling arms around him, tugging him into a hug against a warm chest. He froze, body stiff. “Patton...?” 

“You are a terrible liar,” Patton informed him wetly, “and you’re my best friend, you dummy. Human or not.” 

His voice was thick with tears, hitching with every breath, but it was devoid of hatred or fury or fear that in that moment, Virgil had never heard anything so comforting. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, and then, as though the words had broken a dam of tension within him, he immediately started muffling his own strangled, hiccuping sobs into Patton’s neck. “I didn’t m-mean any of that, I swear, I just- I’m sorry for not telling you. I was- I was scared.” 

“You were scared?” He could barely move his arms in the net, but Patton was doing enough clinging for both of them, limbs wrapped around him like a koala as he spoke. “When I realized that you’re actually a dragonwitch, I thought for sure that hunter was going to try and kill you! Again! That’s two murder attempts too many!”

Virgil made a sound that was half-chuckle, half-sniffle, and set his chin on Patton’s shoulder. “You’re really not mad?”

“Yeah. I’m not mad.” Patton stuck his hand under the net’s grooves and combed his fingers through Virgil’s hair soothingly, barely hesitating over the ridges where his horns met his skull. “It’s okay. I… I get it, Virge. I forgive you.”

The simple statement set him off again, which set Patton off again, and they went through a whole second round of tears and snot before Virgil felt coherent enough to speak once more. 

“What are we gonna do with that guy?”

Patton pulled away from him slightly so they could both stare at the unconscious body of the hunter. The guy totally had a head wound. Looked like his thick skull could be defeated after all.  

“Well…” Patton wiped a sleeve over his nose and then tapped his chin in consideration. “It’s been a while since we visited home. We could take him there. You could carry us there! Oh, we can travel places so fast now!” 

Virgil gave him a flat stare, ignoring the flying comment for the moment. “You want to take a Faerin Knight. To our house.” 

“Well, I’d feel kind of bad leaving him here with a nasty head wound like that!” Patton said, as though he wasn’t the one who had caused the injury. Or, more likely, because he was the one who had caused the injury. Virgil sighed. 

“Yeah, okay, fine. But I’m not going to like it. And he’s definitely not going to like it. And I’m not babysitting him.”