#How to Tell if You’re Confused or You Just Have an Itchy Scalp

[thatsbelievable]

[madhattervanessa]

Kinktober 2022 - #6

Kinks: Uniforms, Wall Sex

Words: 1230

Pairing: Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy x f!Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

It’s the start of another mission, another year or more in space and you groan as you pull the uniform on - Leonard had already left with Jim, leaving you to don the itchy and tight uniform all by yourself. You carefully fit the insignia to your chest and look yourself up and down one more time in the mirror: the slacks and the stiff cut of your uniform don’t seem to do you many favors, at least that is what you think. You crack your neck and finally leave for the event. Another speech, followed by another…

…and another.

You’re sure you’d be asleep on your feet by now if it weren’t for one of the nurses adjacent to you making sly remarks out of the corner of your mouth. It barely keeps you awake and somewhat smiling.

You still haven’t seen your boyfriend and when you had arrived, you hadn’t exactly had time to look. Although the CMO shouldn’t be standing too far away from you.

The speeches finally end just as you’re about to audibly complain about your achy feet. As you turn to leave, you crane your neck to hopefully find Leonard and his friends - as you make it to the stairs, you see a mop of familiar, dark hair speeding up from the bottom of the steps.

You move to the side to let other people pass and catch a glimpse of Jim who briefly waves at you from the bottom of the stairs.

You wave back and turn just in time for Leonard to reach you.

“Hey.”

“Hey, darlin’”, he mutters and quickly wraps an arm around your waist. He presses a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry I got a bit caught up. You look great.”

“Thank you”, you murmur back and turn to kiss his cheek. It is then that you notice the slight flush, a bit more than he would usually have after a flight of stairs. “Are you okay? You’re all red-”

“I’m fine, let’s just… let’s get back to our room, darlin’.”

“What, why? I thought there was going to be a-”

“I’ll explain in the hallway.”

He tugs you to walk in front of him and you climb the stairs with a confused frown. When you reach the top and Leonard pulls you towards one of the secluded hallways that lead deeper into the building instead of outside.

He finally stops and you are pulled into a deep kiss that makes a shiver run down your spine. Leonard’s hands wander to your waist and you hold on to his shoulders, his jaw, reveling in the unexpectedly passionate kiss.

When you part, you are feeling just as flushed as Leonard had looked on the stairs.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“I-”, he trails off and licks over his bottom lip before continuing. “I think I really like you in uniform.”

You blink a few times before it really dawns on you and you let your hands roam over his chest with a smirk.

“Oh, is that… is that why you left before I was ready?”

He doesn’t answer but you can tell from that look in his eyes.

You kiss him again, nipping at your boyfriend’s lip as you retreat. You match his hungry look and bite your lip as you lean up to whisper into his ear.

“Do you want to show me how much you like it back in our room, then?”

-

You don’t exactly make it to the bedroom - you’re drawn into a searing kiss as soon as the door falls closed and you both stumble until your back hits a wall. You blindly fumble for some purchase as Leonard drags your pants down your hips, all decorum forgotten between your wet kisses and the nails you’re dragging over his scalp. You moan into his mouth when he lingers over your naked core, his fingers dipping into the slick already collecting there.

He draws more breathy moans from you as he spreads it, his lips continuously chasing yours for more kisses as he pushes two fingers into you and your arch your back to get closer.

He mutters your name, breathless, against your lips and you barely get a few testing pumps of his fingers before he drags them out of you. He smears your wetness over your clit, teasingly rubbing a half circle over the already aching nub that makes you bite at his bottom lip before your both go back to fumbling with your pants.

Your pants fall to the floor first and you push your shoes off while your hands fumble with the front of his pants, quickly undoing the zip before Leonard manages to lift your leg around his hip.

When he lifts his hand to spit into it, you take a shaky breath and meet his eyes.

“You ready for me, darlin’?”

“Hurry up”, you just murmur and kiss him again, feeling him smile as he lines himself up before pushing into you slowly. You feel him groan more than you hear it and hold on to his shoulders.

His hand moves on to your clit, playing you like a fiddle as he grinds against you.

You let your head fall against the wall, bumping your previously impeccable hairdo as you sigh his name. You let yourself go, already close to your orgasm when Leonard trails his lips down your neck.

“You look so good- look so good- fuck, I love you, you look so good in that damn uniform”, he grunts and you smile before dragging him into another kiss, rolling your hips against his deep thrusts.

“Keep doing that”, he moans and you cling on to him while he steadies your hip with his hand. You open the zip of your uniform jacket, feeling too hot already as you expose yourself to his hooded eyes.

His lips part and you moan as he leans down to press a reverent kiss to your exposed clavicle as you rock into each other, pushing yourself higher and higher until you’re losing your rhythm, too close to an orgasm. You’re about to whine but Leonard shushes you, continuing your rhythm and pressing the flat of his hand over your stomach as he fucks into you. Your breaths mingle, your soft uh uh uh’s eventually muffled as he kisses you again, picking up his pace.

You don’t have time to warn him that you’re going to cum but you feel him groan into your mouth as you clench around him. His thumb rubs over your clit and you frown, a long moan leaving you as you come and he keeps fucking you as the sweat starts running down your back underneath the stiff clothes. It takes him just a moment before he is coming, too. Your breath is punched out of you as he pushes you higher against the wall, your left foot barely touching the ground as he spills himself into you.

When he leaves off, you’re both panting heavily and you feel drowsy and slick.  You still manage to open your eyes and level a teasing smile at your boyfriend who is red in the face and panting heavily, his length still twitching inside of you.

“So, I take it you like the uniform a lot.”

He laughs, breathlessly and kisses you again before murmuring, “Yeah. Yeah, I love it a lot, on you.”

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Ignorant | Steve Rogers

Wow I was really going through it with this one, huh? I think I listened to Bring Me To Life by Evanescence for the entire two hours it took to write this. I never write this fast-- I'm really going through it LOL! I hope you enjoy lovelies! It's the first Steve fic for Dinner at DIzzy's!

Appetizers (Tags): Angst

Entres (Pairing): Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader (Third Person)

Sides (Prompts): 3: “Apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, and don’t play well with others.”

Notes: This has a ton of swearing, Requested by Anon

Word Count: 1.8k

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

“Just because you’re the leader here doesn’t mean you have the right to be an asshole, Steve!” Y/n hisses at the man, fists balled at her side.

She’s not going to swing. She would never swing on him— at least she doesn’t think she would— but right now she’s so damn close. All day he’s been pushing her around, yelling at her for the slightest trip ups. Yelling at all of them. She understands that being fugitives isn’t easy but holy shit can the man chill out for five minutes? She fell asleep in the backseat of the car for five fucking minutes! Certainly that doesn’t warrant the hour tongue lashing she just got. It does, however, warrant her retaliation.

He takes a step towards her, face twisted in a snarl unlike anything she’s ever seen before. “Watch your language!”

She doesn’t back down— she’s not scared of him. “Don’t fucking yell at me then! Stop being a dick!”

She doesn’t feel bad for the insult or the way he flinches, his eyes darkening immensely. She had tried to politely ask him for space thirty minutes ago and he didn’t give her any. If he gets to blow off steam or whatever the fuck he’s doing than so will she.

“I’ll stop being a dick when you get some common sense!”

Steve’s raising his own voice now, getting right in her face, and she only pushes forward, her cheeks filling with heat and her stomach clenching painfully. The audacity of this man is incredible. His usual light eyes are a deep navy color now, almost black from his blown pupils. He looks crazy— she doesn’t doubt that she does as well. She would bet money that she looks insane.

“I fell asleep for five fucking minutes and Sam was right fucking next to me! What the fuck is your problem?” She’s doing it on purpose now— if he doesn’t want her to swear then that’s all she’s going to do.

Maybe it’s the triple F-bomb that has the sound of feet pounding against concrete echoing through their shoddy apartment. Maybe it’s just the yelling in general. Either way it’s a good thing that Natsaha and Sam come sprinting in from the other room of the two room complex because if they hadn’t then she’s sure her fist would be cracking against the jaw of Captain Douchebag right now.

“Woah, woah, woah— what the hell’s going on in here?” Sam is quick to get in the middle of them, pushing the super soldier to one end of the room while Nat yanks on y/n’s hoodie. “We could hear you idiots from the stairwell.”

Y/n struggles against Nat for a moment, vision tinted red at the edges. From across the room Steve glares at her, seething. She can practically feel the hatred pouring off of him. It stings at her chest, biting into her veins. He would have kept yelling at her if they hadn’t stopped him, she just knows it. She wishes he would so she could scream back— her stomach and muscles are still tight and she’s aching to lay into him some more. She barely even started and now she feels like she’s about to bubble over.

“Seriously—” Nat tugs again and y/n stops fighting, opting instead to glower at the blonde from across the room— “What’s gotten into you two? You’re supposed to be the responsible ones!”

Steve tears his arm from Sam’s hold but doesn’t clear the space between them. “Why don’t you ask y/n—” he tilts his head, sneering again— “What was it you said ten minutes ago? Oh yeah— apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, and don’t play well with others.”

Why that little fucking— “Don’t put fucking words in my mouth!”

She storms past Natasha, dodging her arm as it flies out— you’re not the only trained markswoman here Nat. Steve does the same, bowling past Sam easily to meet her in the middle of the room.

“Why not? It’s what you meant right?” He’s in her face again, breath hot on her face, and she only retaliates by fuming right back.

She feels like a dragon facing down her enemy— she’s ready to burn the entire building down if it means lowering him a peg or five.

“Actually it wasn’t but now it is you narcissistic dick.”

She can feel Natasha start to pull on her hoodie again but she’s not done— not now. Not when she’s just gotten started.

“You just can’t handle hearing the truth y/n— you can’t handle it when I tell you what you did was wrong. That you could have gotten us fucking killed with your ignorance—”

Her veins flood with fire, her lips curling into a painful scowl. In that moment everything turns slow, her heartbeat a dull thump, thump, thump in her ears, drowning out the rest of his sentence. The only thing that gives away that he’s still speaking is his mouth moving, his teeth bared and ready to be knocked out.

Oh so she’s ignorant now is she? Yeah well fuck you Rogers!

This time the only thing that stops her fist from slamming into Steve’s jaw is Sam catching it mid air, her knuckles slapping off his palm and bringing the sounds in the room rushing back to her at full force. She stumbles back with the impact but the soldier catches her, steadying her on her feet with a worried look in his soft brown eyes. It feels like she’s been underwater for days, her ears popping painfully as she gasps for breath.

“—s enough Steve!” When y/n blinks Nat is shoving her palm against the super soldier’s chest. “You need to back the hell off!”

She doesn’t realize until her eyelashes stick to her cheeks that they’re wet. That she’s crying. The sobs catch up to her when it registers, wracking through her with a force strong enough to have her whole body shaking. Sam is the first to notice, reaching out for her but she backs away, shaking her head. The room falls silent, three pairs of eyes now trained on her but she’s only looking at one pair of wide blue ones. Steve’s chest is heaving up and down, a cross between a feral and a confused look slathered across his features.

The look ignites the last of the dying spark inside her, her hand landing against her chest, wrapping around the dog tags hanging off her neck and yanking until she hears a snap. She waits for the chain to pool in her hands before she whips the metal across the room, hitting him square in the chest with a roar that’s more animal than human tearing from her throat— you wanted flames and now you’re going to get them.

“I’m ignorant? Me? Did you ever stop to ask yourself why the fuck I fell asleep today?” She slips her hands into her hair, tugging so hard on the roots that her scalp feels like it’s burning. “How about because last night you came back from scouting three hours late and looking like you got mauled by a fucking bear? And I asked you what happened and you wouldn't tell me a goddamn thing! You— Mister fucking super serum whatever the fuck! You just went to bed and I spent the rest of the night listening to you gasp for air! Not knowing if the shit was even working or if I was going to wake up to you gone! I—”

Her voice cracks and she curses, scraping her wrist across her face to wipe away some of the hot tears pooling down her cheeks. They feel like trails of lava melting her skin as they rush over her jaw and drip onto the floor. Steve’s face has morphed completely during the span of her rant, his mouth falling open, lips no longer busted open like they had been last night but still horrifying to look at right now. She knows he wants to say something— maybe he even wants to apologize— but there’s no fucking way she’s letting him. She’s not finished yet.

“I spent all night wondering if I was going to lose you! That I would wake up and have nothing! You’re my everything and I thought you were going to die and you wouldn’t tell me anything. So yeah, I guess I’m ignorant! Fuck you too.”

Her throat is raw by the time she’s done spitting the words at him, her head fuzzy from a lack of oxygen and her waning rage. It’s giving way too quickly to sadness— to the agonizing kind of heartbreak that has all her organs seemingly shutting down. Her face is sticky and itchy and she needs to get away from him right now.

She turns to meet the stunned faces of Sam and Nat, swallowing hard and wincing at the way her esophagus stings. She’s not going to have a voice at all tomorrow— or for the next week at this rate. Sam’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head from how wide they are, his mouth open but— like Steve— no words are coming out. She flicks her eyes to Nat who, thankfully, springs into action, nodding her head to the door, the question clear in her eyes— want to get the fuck out of here? Y/n doesn’t answer, she just starts walking.

It’s in that moment that Steve snaps out of his stupor, racing to catch her at the door, warm hand curling gently around her wrist. She doesn’t even give herself a second to enjoy it— to fall into his touch and forget the agony in her chest— before she’s ripping her arm away from him, cradling it against her chest and backing away from him.

“Baby I—” His face is tight, his light brows creasing the middle of his forehead.

She can see it— the regret. It carves across his face, tugging his lips into a frown and making his eyes glass over. Her chest squeezes at the sight, her own eyes coating with a fresh sheen of tears. She wants to wrap her arms around him— to tell him that she forgives him and that she loves him and that she’s scared— but he did this not her and before she knows it she’s taking another step back, shoulder bumping into Nat’s as she shakes her head.

“I’m sleeping with Nat tonight. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Night, Steve.”

Steve’s face falls, the first of his tears pooling down his now angelic face, and as she hesitates. Maybe she should— she feels a tug on her hand, glancing down to where Natasha’s slender fingers wrap around her forearm. She doesn’t have the strength to fight her comrade as she pulls her past the door frame.

As the super soldier falls from her line of sight all she can hear is Sam’s exhausted voice—

“Let her go, man.”

—and she breaks.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Wash Day

Yall I just really want Trisskel to be a solid couple from like, day one and be happy and in love and hhhnnngggg. I have feelings. (specifically Netflix Triss and Game Eskel) 

Summary: Modern AU Eskel helps Triss with wash day when she cant use her arms. 

Warnings: Mentions of burn injuries and burns in healing process, nothing gorey, just the mention of scabs, temporary dependency, dealing with the shitty mental part of recovering from major injuries/surgeries - not fucking bathing, eskel is not flexible and tries so hard to do things right. bless, lol swearing as is usual

I’d like to put a little disclaimer that I did a bunch of natural hair care research for this but I have no experience save from helping my friend diffuse her hair before class. 

________________

Triss groaned and tossed her phone to the other end of the couch she was perched on, wiping her one good hand over her face. Her burns over her chest still weren’t allowing her much range of motion with her right arm and her hair was starting to drive her absolutely insane. Yennefer was going to come over and help with wash day, but Ciri got in a fight at school, leaving Triss to sit with an itchy, ratted, and, frankly, horrendous head of hair. 

She leaned her head back against the arm of the couch and sighed, not even able to adjust the bun Eskel had helped her with that morning. 

Speaking of…

She scooted over the couch to pick up her phone, tapping the little call icon under his nickname, “Hey, Yen can’t come over tonight. No need to pick up the wine,” she sighed. 

“Are you sure? Nothing wrong with a little treat, babe.” 

“I’m sure. It was more for her efforts than my treat anyway.”

“If you say so… How are you feeling?”

“Less shit than this morning. I’m just tired,” she didn’t add the feeling of hopelessness that went along with not even being able to bathe on her own. He worried enough for the both of them and then some. 

“I’m picking up the good wine. I’ve got one more client then I’m done. Maybe take a nap?”

“Skel…”

“I will spoil you if I want to. Oh! Look! There’s my 3:30! Bye Bug! Love you!” he hung up on her before she could protest.

She rolled her eyes as she lowered the phone into her lap, smiling a little despite her annoyance. 

Gingerly, she made her way to their bedroom and laid down, running the risk of taking out the bun to lay comfortably. She turned on a podcast she told Jask she’d listen to and hoped to zone out at the least, if not actually sleep. 

-

Triss was woken by Eskel stomping in their front door and dropping his gym bag with a dramatic thud. A few moments later she could hear grocery bags settling on the kitchen counter, the distinct sound of wine bottles bumping together reminding her what he probably had planned. 

She ever so slowly tipped over and pushed herself up with her left hand, catching a horrifying full-body reflection in the mirrored closet doors. 

The scabs and little spots that were still bandaged she was starting to get used to, but the rest of her? Looking at herself in sweats that hadn’t been changed in two days, a summer tank top with no bra and coffee stains, and mismatching fuzzy christmas socks was… difficult. Her hair was wild, all the curls stretched out and sticking together in big frizzy clumps that stuck out at odd angles. 

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It had only been four weeks. No one was going to be back to normal after four weeks. Her body was using all its energy to heal, not look put together.

Regardless of her efforts she felt the tears well up in her eyes and her breath hitch with the effort of holding them back. 

It still fucking sucked.

Eskel’s soft touch on her thigh made her jump, “Is it hurting again?”

She shook her head, opening her eyes to see him knelt in front of her with his eyebrows drawn up in worry, “No. I’m okay,” she whispered, pulling herself together and resting her hand over his. 

Eskel tilted his head, “Then what’s wrong?”

“I… I look like I fell down the garbage chute,” she laughed. It wasn’t her usual, musical laugh, though. She laughed because she knew, in the grand scheme of things, it was ridiculous. It felt stupid to be worried about how she looked when she’d lived and, well, laughing was better than more tears.

“You’re always lovely to me,” Eskel hummed, brushing her tears away with the back of his knuckles.

She leaned into his touch and took a steadying breath, “I just don’t feel like me.”

He stretched up to kiss her forehead, “I’m sorry, Bug.”

She just shrugged and squeezed his hand. 

“Yen called. I got a very long lecture on wash day and firm orders to help you wash and deep condition your hair. If you’re feeling up to it,” Eskel flashed that crooked grin she could never resist and she shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

“Are you prepared to follow instructions?” she teased. 

“Babe,” he raised one eyebrow, “the only instructions I don’t follow are on Top Ramen packs.”

-

Eskel seemed to have confused ‘instruction’ with ‘directions’.

“I swear to God, Eskel. You don’t have to read the ‘how to use’ blurb,” Triss groaned, sitting on a kitchen chair they’d moved into the bathroom with dripping wet hair, “Just section off my hair and do what I tell you.” 

“But I don’t want to use too much,” he protested, “This says to use one tablespoon!”

“Yeah! For natural blondes! I have completely different hair and know what I’m doing. Use half the bottle! I don’t care! Just get it fucking clean!” 

Eskel rested his hand on her good shoulder and gave her an apologetic look in the mirror, “I’m sorry. How many sections do you want?” 

“I- it’s not a number. You just- kneel down for me I’ll show you,” she pointed at the floor next to her and sighed, missing Yen more than ever. She drew little lines with her nails through Eskel’s hair as she explained just how to scrub while making the least amount of tangles possible. He watched her in the mirror and pointed to the points on her scalp she was talking about with a look of serious concentration. 

It was cute. Even if he was a little inflexible he really did want to do a good job. 

Conditioner was easier, even combing out the tangles went fairly smooth. They took a break and made dinner, breaking open the good wine. 

Just having her hair down and somewhat bouncy again made Triss feel a million times better. The sweats were exchanged for yoga pants and the tank top for one of Eskel’s sweaters too. It almost felt normal. 

They ate ice cream while he worked the deep conditioning mask through her hair. 

“You sure I’m not using too much?” he asked, leaning over her shoulder to take the bite she held up for him, nice and small so he didn’t get a brain freeze. 

“Fbe moreb fbe bedder,” she tried speaking around a giant bite of ice cream, giggling at the face of confusion he made with the spoon still sticking out of his mouth. 

She swallowed and scrunched her nose at the light brain freeze, “The more, the better. We’ll rinse it out in the morning and I don’t want any dry spots.”

He nodded and waited for her to take the spoon back before getting back to work, “Yes ma’am.” 

“Mmm, I like that.” 

Eskel rolled his eyes as she let down a new section, “Oh do you, now? I had no idea.” 

“Mhm!” she nodded with a proud smile, taking another bite of ice cream and earning a chuckle from him. 

She walked him through a couple rough twists and adjusting the plastic soaking cap before attempting to explain how to tie a headscarf. He was… truly awful. Somehow she ended up almost blindfolded before she just gave up and found him a video to follow. It took him a few tries, but eventually he got it the right level of snug. I 

She tried to tilt her head back to look at him but that pulled at some of her new scar tissue, so she tried another angle and another before she huffed and resorted to standing up to look at him, “Thank you Skel.”

“No problem, Bug,” he hummed, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her nose. 

Triss laid her head on his chest, the perfect height for him to rest his chin on top of her head, “No, I mean it. It… helps. A lot.”

He rubbed soothing circles over her back, swaying them slightly, “I’m just glad I could do something…” he took a breath like he wanted to say something more but settled for pressing a kiss to the sloppily tied scarf. She hummed and leaned into him, snaking her hands around his hips and up under his shirt to rest over his back dimples. 

Triss could have stayed there forever. 

[league-of-thots]

The Bee’s Knees

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

A/N: pretty happy with how this turned out! pretty nasty though so please read the warnings carefully. thanks @lady-bakuhoe for checking it over!

(sorry for double post it got fucked up on mobile :/)

Warnings: Smut, gun play, violence, dub-con, oral

taglist: @ikinabi, @redbeanteax, @marilla-eldriana, @kittykatkrissa

You’d always had a bit of a boring life. While your friends had been out at speakeasies and dancing with men and woman through the night, you’d had to take care of your little sewing shop. Repairing and making fine clothing you couldn’t afford wasn’t what you’d choose to do if you could, but it was what you had to do to keep yourself fed and safe.

You lived in a decent part of town, although that didn’t stop you from hearing gunshots every few nights between the law and the mafia. But then again, nowhere was completely safe from the mafia, especially with the bosses at the helm now. All of them were young, violent and eager to expand their territory and prove their worth, and the state of the city and surrounding areas were proof of that. But, nothing bad ever really happened to you, so you often ignored it and did what you wanted on your own time.

However, one day your entire life changed just from simply meeting Katsuki Bakugou, one of the new mafia bosses who’d come to power recently.

It had been a normal Tuesday night, except for the fact that you’d ran out of bread. Something so simple and you- albeit annoyed- went to the store despite it already being night. Getting there and getting your bread had been simple, it was getting home that had changed your life.

On a shortcut to get back to your little shop and home as quick as possible, you passed into an alleyway. Where you happened to run into three people, a blonde with his suit all messed up, someone with bright red hair and a lanky black haired man with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Oh my god- they were all standing around a bloody and beaten body. You drop your purse in surprise and they all turn around sharply to face you. Not caring that you’d be leaving behind money and belongings, you run as fast as you can the opposite way, trying to get to a main street.

You hear them yelling behind you, telling you to stop but all you can think of is that they’re criminals, worst case they’re mafia, and you need to get away.

But they’re bigger, faster and stronger than you are. The red haired one catches up to you first, and he grabs your arm before you can get more than a block away. You try to scream, but as soon as your mouth opens up, his large hand prevents you from screaming and breathing too. You can hear them muttering about what they should do with you as your air supply is completely depleted and you start to black out.

You return to consciousness in perhaps the worst way possible, your headache from being choked out being exaggerated by the really loud yelling coming from a new man in front of the three you’d seen in the alleyway. You shake your head a little as you get your bearings and realize there's duct tape covering your mouth, and ropes tying your limbs to the chair you’re sat on. You begin screaming but the sound is muffled as because of the restraint covering your lips.

Two of the three glance back in your direction which seems to anger the leader who snaps in their faces and starts to yell at them.

“So you accidentally killed the mark instead of subduing them, and on top of that brought back some fucking worthless extra that now I have to find out what to do with. YOU’RE ALL MORONS. GET OUT!”

The three scurry out of the office and he kicks over a stray chair, cursing loudly and sitting behind his desk. You can’t seem to take your eyes off of him. Despite your fear and the obvious lack of self restraint and loud anger he exhibits, you notice he’s gorgeous and has a way of speaking that seems to draw people and energy towards him.

“What are you looking at extra? Hah?” He snaps at you. You just look at him wide eyed and shake your head, showing that you don’t mean anything by it. He snorts and rolls his eyes, and goes back to his paperwork.

You feel incredulous and can’t believe that, after all the fuss he just pulled he straight up ignores the fact that he has a live human captive in his office. You shook your head. How the hell were you supposed to get out of here? Your fear was starting to disappear and in its place annoyance was quickly surging up. You were tired, needed to sleep and had to wake up early tomorrow to get your shop in order. Yet you couldn’t even speak to the man because of the tape across your mouth. So you decide to grab his attention, and the first step of that was making as much noise as you could through the gag. Which unfortunately, wasn’t much. He didn’t even spare you a glance.

So you decided to make a larger uproar, and start shaking on your chair - which was great for making noise, however for staying upright, not so much. You clatter to the floor with a loud crash and let out a grunt of pain as your head hits the floor, your vision a bit blurry.

“What the fuck are you doing? Seriously?” The man in charge yells and starts stomping towards you and you wince in fear as he approaches. He pulls you and the chair upright by a firm grip on your hair, close to your scalp. At this point you’re crying from pain and a little bit of fear and embarrassment. “What do you want?” he asks, even though you can’t answer. You just look up to him with watery eyes, fucking helpless in the current situation..

He curses a bit looking at you, “You know I should just get this over and done with and kill you.” he says, almost conversationally. “You saw something you shouldn’t have and I need to tie up the loose ends of my business. Can’t be on top if we’ve gotten ratted out by a little lady y’know.” His grin is sharp, it reminds you of a wolf. Despite the situation and how close you are to death, you can’t help but be aroused by both his determined attitude and gorgeous features.

Suddenly he rips off the tape gagging you, and you let out a sob in response to the quick pain that burns around your mouth. “If you’re going to kill me, why are you playing around with me so much?” you ask, a little confused.

He just lets out a laugh. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve even been around an upstanding lady such as yourself? Your reactions to things are so refreshing, everything's new and terrifying for you.”

You can hear your heart hammering in your throat as he pulls a pistol out of his pocket and holds it up to your forehead. Your eyes cross as you desperately try to keep the muzzle in sight, even if you know that it won’t make a difference.

“I promise I won’t say anything to anyone! I just don’t want to die, I have friends, I have a job, please, please don’t kill me!” You start pleading with him and straining against the restraints on your arms and wrists, crying because these could be the last few moments of your life.

He cocks his head to the side, emotionless, staring down at you from above - the light from a lamp hits his face as it turns, lighting up his blood-red eyes. When he smiles you feel as if you’ve already signed off on your death sentence, until he starts laughing so hard he has to bend over. It’s an ugly cackle but you’re too shocked at the rapid switch in behaviour to do or say anything about it.

“Oh my god- this is actually a great opportunity, I didn’t even think about it really, but - yeah alright. I’ll give you a choice, what’s your name?” he doesn’t wait for a response. “You let me use you how I please right now or die.”

What kind of choice did you have really? This was your only chance to see another sunrise, to see another normal day.

“Alright.” you get out, the word sounding sad and broken as it leaves your lips. At your agreeance, he backs off to his desk, placing the pistol down and opening a few drawers until he finds what he’s looking for. Out he pulls a wooden case. Inside another pistol, but this one is clean, more delicate looking and has a longer muzzle. He pulls some bullets from the case that it was in and loads the gun, one at a time, making eye contact with you.

What could he be doing with that? You think as he slowly walks towards the chair where you’re tied up, eyes stuck on his. He shoves the muzzle into your face.

“Open up sweetheart, this will go easy or fucking hard depending on your actions.” he smirks poking your lips with the barrel. You feel your teeth cutting against your lips as you resolutely close them. You aren’t going to give him the satisfaction of making this easy for him.

At least that’s what you think until you feel a blooming pain on the side of your cheekbone, the bastard had pistol whipped you and your mouth fell open in a scream. You feel something cold and metal shoved deep into your throat and you gagged harshly.

“I said, fucking OPEN bitch.” he seethes, shoving the gun deeper and you feel your air supply drastically restricted. “Now be a good girl and suck the gun off, my trigger finger is a bit itchy today.”

Sobbing in embarrassment, you begin to bob your head up and down the gun, shaking in fear. You close your eyes rather than have to look at the sick fascination on the man’s face as he sees you work the gun. You know he’s getting hard because of this and as much as you hate the situation you can feel your arousal growing knowing that he’s likely going to fuck you well.

A few minutes pass, the only sounds being wet noises as you blow the gun, the metallic taste of steel taking over your mouth and combined with your fear, making you want to vomit.

“Enough.” he says suddenly, and you drop your mouth open and take deep breaths trying to steady yourself as he takes it out. You open your eyes and feel your heartbeat race as he pulls out a knife in his left hand. You flinch as he brings it to your lower half, but instead of cutting into you, he instead uses it to rip through all your clothing and tears it off. He smirks as he looks at your cunt quivering as the cool air hits it.

“What’s this? Have you been hiding your enjoyment through your tears?” he leans down putting his face near yours and the gun beside up to your head as his fingers ghost across your lower lips. You bite your lip, you’re not allowing yourself to feel pleasured by this. He sees the determination in your eyes and smiles, always excited for any challenge that crosses his path.

He knows he always wins of course.

You feel him enter a calloused finger into your pussy, the slight stretch making you take a sharp breath as he moves it in and out, occasionally curling the digit. Against your will, your body responds to him, hips moving as much as they can while you’re restrained. When he deems you ready, he adds a second in, scissoring them to open you up. His thumb plays with your clit and you let out small whimpers as you feel your core heat up and start to tighten.

“You like me playing with your pretty pussy, don’t you? No matter how much you try to deny it, I can feel you tightening around my fingers, and I can see your eyes start to dilate.” as much as you want to shout that he’s wrong, you know he’s write. You’re not sure if you hate him or yourself more in that moment.

He suddenly pulls his fingers out and looks at you as you whine needily. “Wanna be full again? I have the perfect idea.” he puts the gun on a hook as he takes out the knife again and cuts the restraints on your arms. Immediately you reach to claw at any bit of him you can reach, but he grabs your hands and lets out a tsk in disappointment.

“I thought you were smarter than that. Guess we’re doing this the hard way.” he manages to hold your wrists together in one hand as he gives you a strong backhand across your face with the other, dazing you. Blearily, you realize he’s tied your two wrists together and cut off your leg restraints. He puts your tied arms behind his head and lifts you with one arm, as he picks up the gun once again and brings you to sit on his lap in his large leather desk chair.

He leans back with a self satisfied sigh as he moves his legs to spread yours further apart, watching as some of your juices drip out of your cunt.

“I want you to listen very carefully,” he says lowly, his voice a growl in your ear that makes you shiver. “What’s going to happen is that I’m going to put this pretty loaded gun up your pussy, and you’re going to get yourself off. If you can’t do that within a couple minutes, I might get impatient and pull the trigger. Got it, sweetheart?”

What else can you do but nod? You have no idea if you can even get yourself off only on penetration with the fear holding you stiff, but if you want to live you’re going to have to do it somehow. You clench in surprise as the cool metal is ruthlessly shoved into you without warning, letting out a moan.

His eyes are on you as you gradually start moving your hips into the gun, feeling it reach deep. His wrist moves in time with your movements, helping you out a bit. You try and force out the entire situation and the fear from your mind, focusing on the sensations. The cool metal providing you some sharp pleasure as you pump yourself up and down the muzzle.

You whimper as you start grinding down faster feeling one of the ridges on the weapon hit your clit every time you bring yourself down on it. You lose track of everything as you shut your eyes and lean your head into the man’s neck. He smells almost as good as he looks and you just let yourself go, losing track of time. You enjoy the sensations and soon enough you bring yourself to the edge.

You can hear yourself whimpering and cum with a shout, your juices flowing down the metal and onto his hand. You open your eyes after feeling spent, as he takes the gun out and sends it clattering onto the table. Making eye contact with you, he lewdly slurps the juices from his hand into his mouth.

“Sweeter than I thought. What a good girl you are for doing it right.” He says stroking your face rather condescending. “Now it’s my turn.”

He unbuckles his belt and shimmies them down as he stands up holding you in his arms. He then drops you onto his cock without warning, as you scream from pain and pleasure as he fills your needy cunt. 

He chuckles, the sound much deeper than before. “That’s right I want to fucking hear you scream, better yet I’ll give you a name to scream out. Katsuki Bakugou.”

He lifts you almost off his cock and slams you down again, thrusting as you come down making you see stars. Soon you’re only crying his name out as you card your fingers through his hair and tug as you lose sense of everything else but the feeling of his cock in you. 

“You take my cock so fucking well sweetheart, I haven’t even found a whore this good.” He practically cackles, speeding up his pace as he chases his own release. He slams your back onto the desk and you howl as your back arches, the pleasure he’s giving you covering up the pain of your body being banged up.

You cum shouting out his name, clamping down on his cock as he releases his load deep into you and takes heaving breaths.

He pulls out and lifts your arms over his head as he gets his clothing back on and straightens out his shirt. You want to move, run, get away, but you can’t bring yourself to even move. The most you can do is blink the tears out of your eyes and blearily look up to him. 

“So now I can go right?” You ask, your voice shaking. “You said I could live if you fucked me.”

He just laughs. “I said you could live, I didn’t say your were leaving sweetheart.”

You wail as your heart drops and you realize just how utterly fucked you are.

[mikkomacko]

Sweet As Honey 10

Harry's never felt hollow. He's always had something stirring in his gut, something telling him that he's still breathing. Now, as he climbs the steps of his front porch, hands in his pocket and tears in his waterline, he feels empty. He can hear his feet dragging as he crosses the living room, falling onto the couch. He can hear Gemma retreat to her room, digging around in her dresser. He hears his mom disappear into the bathroom, the lock clicking in the otherwise silent house.

His suit jacket and slacks feel itchy on his clammy skin, and he shifts uncomfortably on the couch. His eyes fall on the lounging chair across the room, cushions and fabric worn down and soft. It's as if the chair, which has always been reserved for Desmond, is waiting for him to come and put his feet up.

Harry's vision blurs but he can't feel the sting of his eyes or the tears that follow the dips of his cheeks and nose. He doesn't wipe them away when he climbs to his feet, walking on numb legs to the kitchen to grab a beer out of the fridge. He lets them fall onto his hands as he removes the cap with a bottle opener, lip trembling as he takes the beer back to living room. He sets it on the table next to his dad's chair, returning to his spot on the couch. If he doesn't think about it too much, he can pretend his dad is still here.

~

He can hear them talking around him, hear the way Anne's voice is lined in panic. He wishes it wasn't, her panic fuels his panic. Gemma's not as worried, at least she doesn't sound like she is as she tries to shush Anne. Later he'll be grateful for it, because her voice is distracting him from y/n's, and he needs to hear her, to feel her.

Gemma must get Anne quiet because the only voice Harry can make out in his meddled brain is his wife's. It's as if she can read his mind, responding to the hurtful thought pounding in his brain.

They're abandoning you again.

"We're here, we love you Harry."

You should've known they'd do this.

"You did nothing wrong bub, nothing at all."

You're not loved.

"Love you so much Harry, come back to me please baby. Need you."

You're hurt, and you're scared, and you're broken.

"I've got you, you're ok. I've got you forever."

Y/n is carding her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp despite the fact that he's heavily sweating. She lets him squeeze her arm, fingers white from the strong grip he has on her. Somehow he's managed to bury his nose in her neck, inhaling her scent through rushed inhales and choppy exhales.

She holds him tight, just like he asked her to all those years ago when she'd begged him to let her help. He thinks of them then. Back when she opened him up, when she took his fragile heart and built it to be strong. When she took his heart and put it with hers, making them each other's safe space. He thinks of the nights when she'd drive to stay with him when he was so lonely he was scared of himself. All the days she'd stayed under the covers with him because he was so exhausted from a nightmare that had kept him up the night before. And he thinks of her holding him when he fell apart, letting him know she'll always put him back together. He starts to come back, reminding himself he's still in her arms, she's still putting him back together.

She must feel him relax because she presses a strong kiss to his temple, murmuring softly,"are you back love? You here with me?"

He nods, peeling his teary eyes open to meet hers. Like always, she shows no hint of fear or anxiety. She's strong, lips in a tiny but comforting smile and eyes looking him over fondly. He releases his hold on her arms, wiping at his eyes messily before cupping her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. She nods, knowing what he's trying to say. It's their thing after he's had an attack because he often doesn't know how voice his gratefulness. A simple "thank you" doesn't feel enough and she gets mad when he apologizes. So he just uses his eyes and hands.

Gemma and Anne watch them hesitantly when he turns back to face them, urging y/n to keep holding him with a hand on her wrist. She doesn't say a word but she keeps her arms around his chest, butt sat on the back of the couch behind him. Harry notices Anne crying and he really hopes that she's crying because she's realized just how much her abandonment changed him.

"We-we don't have to do this now-"

"Yes we do." Harry interrupts Gemma, adjusting his jittery limbs. "I'm tired of being fragile and anxious and putting this off. We've been tip toeing around each other for too long."

Y/n squeezes her arms around him in encouragement. Gemma looks at her questioningly, not believing that Harry can be up for talking after having a panic attack. "He's ok Gemma. Wasn't one of his bad ones, and I think we'll all feel better after this."

She nods, still hesitant, but it seems y/n put her a little more at ease. She must have the same affect on Gemma as she has on Harry.

"We're not moving back to that town." Anne speaks up, voice more firm than Harry's ever heard it before. She meets his gaze, eyes steady and stronger than he ever remembers seeing them. "When we said leave, we met leave your home. Not you."

Harry's throat has gone dry, heart thumping loudly. He's hasn't seen Anne like this since his dad was still around. He finds refreshing albeit a bit unnerving. After all that's happened, he's not exactly the most trusting person in the world.

"We've found an apartment not far from here," Gemma explains, voice extra soft like she's afraid of hurting Harry. "we just thought that this might help us find each other again. You'd get back to your routine and we'd have our own while still being here."

"For you!" Anne quickly adds. "We'll be here for you."

He can't stop his next words, not that he really wants to. "What makes you think I need you here?" He can feel y/n tense behind him, squeezing his chest warningly.

Both Anne and Gemma gape, clearly caught off guard by his question. They don't seem to have answer but he wants one. "I needed you when I was living on my mates couch, homeless and lost. I needed you when I was trying to finish school without killing myself from how fucking lonely I was. I needed you when I was scheduling fights everyday because it felt good to hurt on the outside like I did on the inside. I needed you when I met the love of my life and was terrified of losing her. I needed you when I was marrying her. And I needed you when my son was being born. But I don't need you now."

"Harry-" y/n whispers harshly.

"No!" He interrupts, staring blankly at Anne and Gemma's heart broken looks. "I got through it all. I got through the hurt and the fear and the anxiety. I found my home. And it's perfect. It's so fucking perfect I wouldn't change it for anything. And I did it all without you two."

"You did," Anne croaks quietly.

"I built a home with my soulmate. A home you could never make Anne."

"Harry-"

"She deserves to hear it." Harry says, urging y/n to just let him say everything he needs to. "I spent years staying quiet, taking beatings, picking her back up and she couldn't return the favor. I gave up half of my paycheck every week for years just to make sure they had everything they needed. And I couldn't even get a fucking text back when my son was being born-"

"You sent money?"

Harry falters at their confused appearances. How could they not know? He sent it to the house he grew up in, with Anne's name at the bottom. He saw the money taken out of his account. They cashed his checks.

"Every week," Harry nods. "At least $500 every week for years until they started get sent back."

"Harry," Gemma says. "we never got any checks from you. We never got anything from you. We thought you'd moved on from us."

His head swims in confusion. "You never got anything?"

Anne shakes her head.

"Then who..."

Y/n leans over his shoulder. "Harry," she murmurs sadly. "I think I know who was cashing your checks."

He turns his head to meet her gaze, chest filling with anger as he too realizes what's happened. "Jack," he snarls. "was fucking Jack."

Anne and Gemma deflate at his words, both of them realizing that what he's said is in fact true. With the way Jack ran that house he should've known that they'd never get that money from him.

"How much did you send Harry?" Anne asks hesitantly.

"I sent money, and letters, and invitations. I sent our fucking wedding invitation," Harry seethes. "and that prick never gave it to you."

Gemma shakes her head, eyes blazing in the way Harry's do when he's angry. "If we had known, we'd have been here Harry. I swear-"

"I know," he interrupts because he recognizes this Gemma and Anne. He knows that the two women across from him would've come back for him sooner if they'd have known. "It sucks, but it's ok."

They seem put off by his words, but he doesn't care. He's tired of being mad, and scared, and exhausted. They have so much more to say to each other, but they're willing to move here to stay with him. They have all the time in the world right now.

"You're here now," y/n speaks up, rubbing her hand up and down his arm. "and that's what matters."

Harry nods, glad that she always knows what to say. "I think we should head to bed. We can finish this another time, yeah?"

Gemma and Anne nod in agreement. Y/n unwinds herself from Harry, allowing him to stand up from the couch. He grabs her hand, helping her balance as she climbs off the couch.

"Wait," Anne interrupts, jumping to her feet. Harry looks at her, a little shocked at her outburst. She's never been one to speak her mind. "I'm sorry Harry. I'm sorry I missed so much of your life and your son's life. I promise I'll fix everything."

His chest aches as he looks over her for the first time in years. She looks small and frail, eyes anxious and frightened. He notices that she keeps tapping her fingers on her thigh, a habit she picked up after Jack started hitting her. And it fucking hurts him because that's still his mother and he still loves her. No matter what she did, he should've stayed there and fought for her and Gemma. His father left him as the man of the house, and when things got tough, he let her push him out.

He's failed. He failed at taking care of her and protecting her and making sure she was safe. He was stupid to think a couple checks a month would keep her steady, because he left her with the worst excuse of a human being to ever live.

"We'll all fix it," Harry assures, knowing he's royally fucked up too. "together."

~

Squeezing her wet hair with a towel, Gemma returns to her borrowed bedroom, eyes burning with exhaustion. Today was the best Thanksgiving she's had in years. A real Thanksgiving with a real family. Not only that, but she'd spoken with Harry. Sure, he'd said awful things but she can't blame him. He was right when he said they deserve it. He put up with so much rejection and hurt from them, and still opened his home to them. Even though his words made her want to throw up, she can't help but be pleased. They're getting somewhere, they're healing.

She hangs her towel on the knob of the dresser to dry, a yawn stretching her lips as she retreats to the bed by the window. She freezes, recalling that she'd left the bed a mess of sheets when she'd gotten in the shower but now the blankets are pulled up and the pillows fluffed. And a CD sits on the pillow closest to the door. Curious, she picks up the CD. Scribbled on the front of it is nothing but a date. June 15th 2018. She doesn't know the significance of the date or what's on the disk but she'd know that sloppy scribble anywhere. Harry left the CD there for her.

Too intrigued to sleep, Gemma pops the disk in the DVD player and turns on the tv. It takes a second to load, a light pink screen bordered in flowers coming into focus. Written in cursive across the screen are the words "Mr. and Mrs. Harry Styles" and underneath in a smaller font is "forever and ever." Gemma immediately realizes what this is, pausing the disk and scrambling across the hall to her mother's room.

Anne's already in bed, reaching over for the lamp on the bedside table when Gemma bursts in and she jumps, practically knocking the lamp over. "What's the matter?"

"Come watch what Harry left in my room!" Gemma exclaims, grabbing Anne by the wrist and tugging her back into her bedroom. They settle on the bed, Gemma taking the remote.

"Gemma, is this..."

"Yeah," Gemma whispers, hitting play. The words turn in a blurry mess of pink until it refocuses on a group of girls in pink dresses, Gemma recognizing one as Marie and another as Chloe. They're gathered in a little room, waiting eagerly in front of a door.

~

"Would you come out already!" Kate shouts through the bathroom door, voice lined with amusement despite the fact that she's been asking for about 20 minutes. Biting her bottom lip, y/n smoothes her hands down her dress. The silk fabric is soft on her palms, helping her to relax.

"I'm scared!" Y/n calls back, chuckling as she says it because she knows it's insane. Still giggling, she pulls open the bathroom door and steps into her dressing room.

"Why are you laughing?" Kate asks but she's giggling too, reaching out to smooth down the flowy sleeves of the dress.

"Because it's Harry and he's not scary." Y/n admits, blushing at the thought of him. She wonders if he's dressed yet, if he's got someone to fix his tie after he messes it up. "He's a sweetheart."

"He is a sweetheart," Kate agrees, smiling proudly at her best friend. "and he loves you so much it's insane."

"He does, doesn't he?"

"He's going to give you the best life ever, you lucky bitch."

Y/n snorts at Kate's words, pulling her into a bone crushing hug. "You know, if you ever needed it, he'd take care of you too."

Kate rolls her eyes but nods. Everyone knows Harry would do anything for the people y/n loves. If it's a love if hers, it's a love of his. Inhaling deeply, Kate squeezes y/n's shoulders.

"You ready to marry Prince Charming?"

Her face splits into a beaming smile, eyes watering at the thought of Harry now being her husband. She loves him so much she thinks she could float away. "I've been ready."

"Let's go get 'em babe."

~

The video fades to Harry, back to them as he adjusts the pink bowtie on his neck. The mirror in front of him reflects his face back to the camera, Anne audibly gasping.

"He's so handsome." She whisperes tearily.

Gemma nods, heart aching when video Harry turns to the camera as he walks to the couch in the corner, plopping down onto the leather. He digs some cards out of his pocket, smiling softly as he looks over them.

~

Harry's heart thumps in his chest, teeth biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too big. He can't help it, he's just so fucking happy. He's re-reading his vows when a soft knock sounds throughout the room. Knowing it's not Nick (Nick would never knock), Harry calls for them to come in.

The door opens, just enough for Marie to slip through. Harry smiles at her, placing the cards back in his pocket and rising to his feet.

"Oh," she breathes, cupping her mouth. "aren't you a dream! You look so handsome!"

Harry blushes, chucking bashfully. "Thank you." Unable to stop himself, he adds, "How's she look?"

"Beautiful. She looks like a real life angel."

Harry smiles proudly, shaking head in disbelief. He can't believe y/n is going to marry him. He'll get to spend the rest of his life with her by his side.

"How are we feeling? Are we nervous?" Marie asks him, motioning for him to step closer. He does, ducking down a bit to allow her to smooth back a strand of his hair.

Harry nods, chuckling nervously. He really has no reason to be nervous. He knows y/n, he knows she'll always love him and protect him. He still voices his worries to Marie, knowing she'll know what to say. "I'm really nervous. M'afraid she'll see me at the alter and change her mind."

Marie gasps. "She would never. She loves you too much. I just listened to her go on and on about how perfect you are."

Harry's ears burn, cheeks becoming flustered. "Really?"

"She just can't get enough of you."

"What if one day she decides she's got enough?"

"Impossible," Marie cups his jaw, looking over him with that motherly gaze. "I've not gotten sick of Steve and you two are more of a match made in heaven than we are."

Harry chuckles, knowing she's just trying to hype him up. "I really love her."

"I know you do. She loves you so much too. She wouldn't learn how to give stitches just for anyone, you know?" Marie gives him a pointed look, obviously knowing about the injury Harry had gotten in a match last week that y/n had to stitch up for him.

"I'll take care of her." He swears. "I know she's your baby, she's mine too. So I'll make sure she's got a good life."

Marie tears up, patting his cheek affectionately. "I know you will." She pecks a kiss to his cheek and Harry returns it, thankful that he's becoming part of the greatest family he's ever seen.

~

The bridesmaids and groomsmen are shown walking down the aisle before the video cuts between Harry walking down the aisle, Marie on his arm, and y/n walking down the aisle with Steve. Steve kisses y/n on the cheek, nodding to Harry as he hands y/n over to him. Gemma chuckles when Harry immediately wraps his arms around her waist, pulling y/n into his chest. The small group of guests all laugh, y/n whispering something in Harry's ear as he pulls away, taking her hands in his.

~

"Friends, family, loved ones," the ordainer announces. "we gather here today to witness the marriage of y/n Tomlinson and Harry Styles. Seeing as the groom can barely keep his hands to himself," Harry blushes, shrugging as y/n giggles. "let's begin the vows. Harry?"

Practically vibrating, Harry releases one of her hands to dig out his vows. Y/n squeezes his hand as he clears his throat, smiling softly at him.

"Darling, there's so much I could say today to prove how much I love you and how important you are to me. When I had nothing, you gave me everything. You gave me someone to call my home, you gave me a family, you gave me happiness, but most importantly you gave me your heart. I promise to protect it, love it, and care for it for the rest of our lives. Forever and ever."

Harry chuckles breathlessly when he meets her gaze, the image of her blurred by tears but still beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

"Y/n?"

Y/n doesn't reach for notecards. Instead, she grabs the hand that had been holding his vows, linking their fingers together. "I remember the day I realized I was going to marry you. It was the 18th boxing match of yours I had been to and I'm sorry baby, but it was awful. I knew you were the man I was going to marry when I took you home after the fight and you could barely walk. I wouldn't carry just anyone for 5 blocks, nor would I ice bruises and bandage cuts for just anyone.

"But you're not anyone. You're my soulmate, my best friend, and the greatest man I've ever met. I realized that night, that I want to spend the rest of my life caring and loving you, and I promise I will. Forever and ever."

The rings are handed forward, Harry eager to slip y/n's on. Knowing that Harry's busting with excitement, the ordainer quickly asks, "y/n, do you take Harry to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do." She says firmly, biting her lip as Harry slides the band on her finger.

"Harry, do you take y/n to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do." Y/n slips his band on, giving his hand a brief squeeze before she's wrapping both of her arms around his neck. Harry slips his around her waist, pulling her flush against his front.

"By the power invested in me, I now pronounce thee husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

The words are barely off his lips before Harry's slotting his mouth againsts y/n's. She melts into him, lips perfectly molded with his. Harry can't believe he gets to kiss her forever and ever.

~

The video flashes through pictures of Harry and y/n after the ceremony, posing outside the church with the wedding party and her parents. Silly photos of Harry biting into her cheek or wearing her veil. Sweet photos of them sharing a kiss or Harry holding her from behind with big love-sick smiles on their faces.

It then fades into the reception, Harry and y/n swirling around the dance floor and sharing flutes of champagne. They hang on each other as if attached by a bungee cord, sharing kisses and unintelligible whispers that the camera can't pick up.

Gemma laughs when the cake scene comes up, Harry giggling as he shoves cake into y/n's face. Y/n pouts, discretely getting her own handful of cake. Harry leans in to kiss her, getting cut off by a face full of cake.

It's a version of y/n and Harry that she's never seen before. A careless, bubbly Harry that is so enamored with his wife he can't remove his hands from her for a second. Y/n is shy and giggly, melting into Harry's chest in a flurry of red cheeks and smiles every time he loves on her.

She can't help but hope that she'll get to see this Harry and y/n once they've fixed their relationship.

~

The door squeaks just the tiniest bit as she enters, her shadow being casted on the wall in front of him as she steps in front of the night light. Harry doesn't move, silent and still as she approaches the crib. Her fingers tickle the small of his back, running up his spine as she leans against his strong frame. His fingers tighten on the edge of the crib, wet eyes staying locked on his sleeping baby. He rests his cheek on top of her head, letting her know he appreciates her being there.

"Should get to bed love," y/n suggests in a whisper. "it's late."

Harry hums, but doesn't move a muscle. He can't believe that even after he left that house Jack was still fucking with me. He knew Harry wanted his family to celebrate his graduation with him and Jack kept the invite from them. He knew of Harry's wedding and said nothing to Anne and Gemma. He knew of Arlo and never told Anne she was going to be a grandma.

"I should've known," Harry croaks quietly. "I should've known that he'd never let me contact them. If I had just gone that day-"

"Don't do this Harry," Y/n begs, slipping herself between him and the crib. Her arms tighten around his thin waist, eyes desperately to meet his. "don't blame yourself again. What Jack did, to you and Anne and Gemma, it's not on you."

"I could've tried harder,"

"You did all that you could. What would have happened if you'd gone back that day and found out what was doing?"

Harry tears his gaze away from Arlo. "I would've killed him," he admits. "for taking my family from me, for hurting them. I would've hurt him."

She presses a kiss to his clenched jaw. "That wouldn't have fixed anything Harry. That wouldn't have brought Gemma and Anne the time they needed to move on from what happened and come find you. That wouldn't have made you feel better."

Harry drops an arm around her waist, melting into her as she dots kisses into the crease of his neck and under his ear. "No it wouldn't but he deserves it."

"I think he got what he deserves," she says, and Harry's brow furrows in confusion. He deserves much more than the one ass kicking Harry gave him. "he has nothing anymore Harry. He had the chance to be part of a great family, a chance to love you and he didn't."

"He's really missing out." Harry says sarcastically.

Y/n pulls her face from his neck, tip toeing to match his height. Her eyes seem to shine in the dark room and Harry wonders what thought in her head has her glowing like that. "You won Harry. He tried to take your family from you, force you to be alone. But look at everything you've got. Mum and dad. Louis and Chloe. Charlie and Lacy. You got Anne and Gemma back. And you have me and our babies."

Harry melts, realizing that she's right. Jack took a lot from him, but in the end he's got the most important thing back; his family. His ever growing family. Jack could never take them from him. The worst he could do is hurt Harry but as long as he's got y/n and their babies to come home to, he knows he'll be just fine.

"I love you so fucking much." Harry admits tearily, cupping her cheek. "I thank God everyday for all the shit that happened in the past because it gave me you. And you're so fucking worth it."

"Forever and ever?" She smiles.

"Forever and ever." Harry agrees, sealing the promise with a kiss.

~

"We've been here forever!" Y/n cries, breaking Harry's heart with her big teary eyes. He pouts, pushing her hair away from her sweaty forehead and wiping her cheeks. She blubbers more, prompting Harry to pull her into his chest as best he can without having to climb into the hospital bed with her.

"I know baby, I know," he shushes. "don't worry, he'll be here soon."

"I want him here now!" She whimpers, and as if her words were magic, Harry feels her tense under him. He immediately reaches for her hands, chest pressing to her back as she sits up and squeezes his hands. He presses a kiss to her temple, doing his best to not wince from how hard she's squeezing his hand. She's sure as hell hurting a lot more than he is.

Her contraction doesn't last too long, fading out until she's relaxing against him. Once again, he brushes her hair from her face, dotting a dozen kisses to the side of her cheek. "See, he's just as ready to be here. So excited to meet us, huh?"

Y/n looks at her swollen stomach with a pout, bottom lip trembling. "It's been hours Harry and all that's going on here is pain and sweat and tears and I'm not even sad! Why can't I stop crying?"

Trying not to laugh from how devastatingly cute she is, Harry wipes at her cheeks again. "You're just tired darling. Between me and him, ya didn't get much sleep last night and then I kept bothering ya for a shag this morning. S'all my fault baby."

"B-but I wanted a shag!"

Harry does laugh at that. He always laughs when she steals slang from him. "I know ya did but look at this, we're getting something better. We're getting our baby today."

"Rather be shagging."

He chuckles warmly, murmuring cheekily "good thing they go hand in hand then."

Her retort is cut off by another contraction, Harry's reflexes kicking in so he's holding her hands and keeping her grounded as her body prepares for their son.

She's starting to slump back into his chest when the door to their hospital room opens, Marie returning with ice chips and their doctor. Y/n eagerly takes the cup from her mother, scooping ice into her mouth. She falls back against Harry with a satisfied him, blinking blearily at the doctor.

"How are we doing in here?" The doctor asks, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

"We're great." Y/n hums, smiling softly.

"We're a bit delusional." Harry jokes, petting at the side of her head. "We're getting tired and a lil grumpy. Ready for the little one to come out."

Y/n nods in agreement, crunching away at her ice chips as the doctor checks under her gown to see how dilated she is. Harry's heart jumps when the doctor breaks into a happy smile, removing herself from between y/n's legs and peeling off her gloves.

"Glad to hear we're ready because so is your son. Let's get you to the delivery room." Y/n freezes at her words, looking up at Harry with wide eyes. He's not sure if she's more scared or relieved.

He gives her an encouraging smile, ignoring the fact that his brain is feeling a little fuzzy and fingers numb, because she needs him to be calm and collected. And if there's anything he's sure of, it's that they're going to be the best fucking parents ever.

Harry's in a bit of an adrenaline fueled trance as he's instructed to change into scrubs (just in case they have to perform a C-section). Marie gives him a big hug, telling him to keep an eye on her daughter and in return she'll keep an eye out for any visitors. He knows she's talking about Anne and Gemma.

Before he knows it, he's wrapped around y/n, hands crushed in hers as she grunts and cries her way through the delivery of their son. He hates how happy he feels, knowing she's hurting and by the width of her eyes he knows she's scared.

"Why is there so much blood? Is he ok?" She pants between contractions, eyes rapidly flickering from in between her thighs to the doctor.

"He's just fine. The blood's normal, sweetheart."

She bites her lip, nodding and Harry knows she doesn't believe the doctor but she won't question it. She's just worried, that is their child after all.

"We're ok darling," Harry mururms, trying to distract her from the blood staining the doctor and the paper sheet over her legs. She turns to him, nodding as tears flood down her cheeks. "do we know what we're crying for?" He chuckles, edging closer to the bed so she can rest the side of her head on his chest. "Or are we just crying?"

"I think our son got your giant head."

Harry (and the doctor and nurses) laugh, Harry stroking her side to keep her calm. "Why are ya crying over that? Ya loved my big head yesterday."

"I still love it," she winces, sitting herself up as another contraction hits. "but not when it's coming out of me."

Harry doesn't respond because she's pushing now, desperately reaching for his hands. He holds her, offering little comments of how amazing she is to keep her from getting too exhausted.

The little gaps between contractions stop, and Harry's constantly murmuring into her about how much he loves her, and her cries soon turn into the cries of a newborn.

A newborn that's placed on y/n's chest, naked and red and gooey but oh so beautiful. A newborn with ten toes and ten fingers. A newborn with a nose curved just like his daddy's and lips shaped just like his mumma's. A newborn with the loudest pair of lungs Harry's ever heard. A newborn with the name Arlo Edward Styles.

~

Somehow, y/n coaxes Harry out of the nursery and into their bedroom, guiding him as he refuses to take his eyes off of her. Harry sits placid at the bottom of the bed as y/n strips him of his clothes, leaving him in a pair of boxers and his socks. He lets her tuck him into bed, heartwarming happily at the feeling of being babied. He likes when she takes care of him like this. He likes being comfortable enough to let her take care of him.

His eyes are heavy and blurry, close to falling asleep when he realizes she's left the room. He pouts, sitting up in the bed a bit to look for her. Not even seconds later, she's entering the room, arms cradled around their stirring son. Harry grins, eyes and lips dopey with exhaustion.

"S'tha' ma baby?" He slurs. "Ma beautiful bub with ma beautiful girl?"

Y/n giggles quietly, kneeing her way into the bed until she's balanced next to Harry. He falls back into the pillows, blinking sluggishly as she pulls the cover down enough to expose his naked chest. Harry watches her fondly as she lays Arlo on his tummy on Harry's chest, pulling the covers back up over them. Arlo wiggles, squirming around until his nose is tucked into the column of Harry's throat, Harry placing a hand on his baby's back to settle him. Y/n tucks herself into the bed, switching off the lamp by her bedside and plunging them in darkness. Harry feels her scoot closer to him, her arm wrapping around his stomach and her nose nudging his bicep. His lifts his arm, bringing her even closer to his chest and letting her use his arm as a pillow, even if it makes him lose feeling in his fingers. He doesn't mind.

"Darling?"

Y/n hums, stroking her thumb back and forth over his hip.

"I think I want to go back. To my old house."

She doesn't miss a beat. She never does. "When?"

"When they go back to get their things. I want to show you, and I want to say goodbye."

Harry feels her lips kiss over his heart. "M'kay. Just let me know when to take off work."

He hums an affirmation, kissing the top of her head as his eyes fall shut and the weight of his family on his chest pulls him into sleep.

[thatshxtagain]

Friends Don’t Hurt Each Other

Words: 5,208

Synopsis: When Heathcliff was still Simon, he hurt the NERDS. Badly. 

Warning for violence, slight gore, and angst.

Ruby was allergic to plenty of things. Caffeine, bad guys, tall grass, oblivious teachers, socializing, moronic bullies, spicy soup, almost everything in the world. Over the years, her allergies had turned almost physic, with the ability to predict all of her enemies movements and lies before they happen.

But these allergies also made her predict bad things. Disturbing things. Things she wished she didn't know. So when her knee began to grow hives, her eyes swelling up to the point she could barely see, Ruby wished her allergies weren't so accurate.

Three cells away from her, Ruby could hear Matilda yelling and kicking as the goons kept a firm grip on her, dragging the small girl down the hall. The others had peeked from their cells too, wondering what was going on. Hea-Simon had kept them imprisoned for weeks, why would he bother with them now?

"I assume you already know what I'm doing."

Ruby heard Simon coming a mile away, but didn't bother to acknowledge him. The undeniable dread of what was to come distracted her. Simon frowned, reaching through the bars and turning Ruby's head.

"Hey. Look at me."

Ruby withdrew from his grasp, eyes still glued on Wheezer as she continued to struggle, attempting to escape. Simon followed her eyes, smirking, until Wheezer was out of her line of sight.

The flat screen TVs hung in front of ever cell turned on, revealing Matilda being pushed into an empty, four walled room, the metal door sealing shut behind her. She scrambled to her feet, taking in her new surroundings.

Simon reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a pen. He pressed the top, and a microphone activated. "Hello Wheezer, enjoying your new cell?"

Wheezer growled at the voice. "Simon."

"That's my name! Don't wear it out yet, I'm still planning on revising it, after someone destroyed the very reason I called myself Simon," Simon glares at Duncan. "Now, I'm sure you're wondering why you've been moved."

"Are you planning on making me fight your new bots?" Wheezer asks, going into a fighting stance. "Because I can take those down no problem."

Simon laughed, his forced maniacal laugh that he'd been practicing since he got into the villain business. "Oh Wheezer, do you think I share brains with Jones? Fighting would only give you joy and misplaced determination. No. Absolutely not."

"You see, coming up with something that could break all of you has been proven difficult," Simon continued, and this point Braceface, Gluestick, and Flinch had all turned their attention to the redheaded boy. "I already disabled your upgrades, but you continue to encourage each other, plotting escape plans behind my back. With things like Julio's candy addiction and Duncan's paste eating, there isn't much to use."

"But-" Simon's tone was worrysome, and the expression on Ruby's face didn't reassure any of the boys. "The disadvantage of an asthmatic health condition is the perfect start."

"What is he talking about?" Jackson whispered urgently. "What is he talking about?!"

Matilda seemed confused, having not yet understood what Simon meant. But maybe that had something to do with the fact her head was starting to feel funny. Her brows furrowed, one hand moving to the wall for support.

"How are you feeling Wheezer?" Simon winked knowingly at Ruby, and she recoils, disgusted. "Any dizziness? Spots appearing in your eyesight? Shaky knees?"

Matilda would not give Simon the pleasure of saying 'yes.' Instead, she tries to move to the other side of the room, wobbling on her feet, her head growing heavy. She reaches for her inhaler - only to realize she didn't have it. The goons must've taken it during her struggle. "What are you yapping on about Simon," Matilda mumbles through grit teeth.

"Nothing much really, the room's just limited of oxygen," Simon responds dismissively. "It shouldn't be too much of a problem for normal people, y'know, with normal breathing, and no health problems whatsoever."

Simon grins maniacally. "Unfortunately, you're not one of them."

The remaining NERDS could only watch in horror as Matilda started panting, which turned into wheezing, causing her to place both her hands on her throat, her eyes wide with panic.

"Oh no, she's hyperventilating," Simon mockingly says in concern. "Puffer-fish! Why don't you calm her down with some comforting words? I'm sure some reassurance from her 'wise' leader will certainly help!"

"You wouldn't," For the first time since he arrived, Ruby spoke. "You wouldn't go this far."

Simon whirls around, still grinning. "If I were bluffing, your allergies would've told you! No itchy arms or swollen blemishes?"

Ruby had none of those. That didn't stop her from continuing. "I don't need my allergies to know that this is beyond anything you would ever do. You would never go this far because you spent too much time with us, fighting on our side, laughing and talking as friends. I know you wouldn't do this because deep down you're still Heathcliff, and that this goes against everything you believed in, and that you would never kill off a friend."

For a moment, the two locked eyes, staring down at each other, waiting for one of them to back down. Without looking away, Heathcliff pressed another button on his pen, leaning forward as Matilda's labored breathing grew louder, more desperate. The Korean fell to her knees, gasping for nonexistent air.

"Allergies.." Simon started, his thumb still on the button, Matilda crying out in the background, shrieking at Simon despite him not being in the room.

"Don't..." Duncan ripped his eyes away from the screen, and one of the NERDS' calmest agents began slamming angrily against his bars, demanding Simon stop whatever he was doing. The only thing that stopped Simon from getting any closer to Ruby's face were the cell bars.

"Lie."

Wheezer doubled over to her side, curling up with her eyes squeezed shut, still attempting to take in any air in the room, but Ruby knew there wasn't any left. Not with Simon's hand on that button.  At this point, the frizzy haired girl could already see tears forming in the corner of her eyes, her hands now pulling at her scalp in misery. Through the years she's known her, Wheezer has never once cried on a mission.

Then she stopped. Stopped moving, stopped screaming, stopped breathing.

Ruby tore her gaze from Simon when her foot turned red.

She was allergic to teammates being tortured.

She was allergic to teammates hurting teammates.

She was allergic to teammates dying.

A wave of silence overcame the cellar, the NERDS' expressions a mix of shock, fear, and concern, still processing in their head what they just witnessed. Then, as if only realizing now, they roared, their attention now back on Simon, letting out their anger on the red headed villain.

"What did you do?" Duncan barks, looking as if he were ready to break the bars off with his bare hands. "What did you do?!"

Flinch covered his ears, eyes forced shut as he slid to the floor, breathing heavily, shaking. "Oh my god, oh my god, Wheezer's dead...WHEEZER'S DEAD!!"

"Calm down buffoons, she's only unconscious," Simon mumbles, removing his thumb from the button. "Killing her now would only relieve her from her suffering." The mastermind leaned into his microphone-pen. "Goons, take Wheezer back to her cell. Leave one of the disabled inhalers inside."

Ruby let out a breath of relief. Despite his new villain stature, Simon still had humane morals. He wouldn't kill one of them, not yet at least.

That marked the start of Simon's new torturous methods. From tricking Flinch into eating poisoned Hershey's, to hijacking Jackson's braces into nearly pulling themselves apart, Simon grew more and more creative for the NERDS' suffering.

Ruby's was just to simply watch. To have to listen to each of their screams being broadcast to her from surveillance cameras, unable to help them, unable to remove them from the pain.

Wheezer was always the one who got the worst of it. Whether it was because she was Simon's first victim or her asthma, Ruby didn't know. That was one thing Ruby's allergies couldn't predict. Ruby could remember days where Matilda wouldn't even fight back, letting the goons take her to her panic room without a struggle, handing them her inhaler. When inside, she sits in the middle of the room, eyes glued to the floor, hugging her legs to her chest, simply waiting for her fate. Ruby hated it. Wheezer had always been the fiercest of the spies, never backing down from a single fight. To see her in such a reduced state where she actually considered giving up...that was something she couldn't stand.

Ruby never remembered how they even escaped the wretched place. Maybe a backup team had been sent to rescue them or Brand and Ms. Holiday had personally stormed the place, the blonde wasn't sure. All she and the rest of the NERDS wanted to do was put that chapter of their lives far, far away.

Until Heathcliff came back.

"What did I do?"

Heathcliff didn't miss how each of the NERDS tensed up at his statement. When nobody said anything, he continued. "I've listened to what you've said about me during mission debriefings. 'Bad-guy Heathcliff,' 'unstable,' 'end of the world schemes,' Benjamin already showed me what happened through the past year, I know what happened, but I can tell he was holding back if the rest of you are still keeping your distance from me. So please, just be straight with me - what did I do?"

Heathcliff studied all their faces. Flinch seemed to cower into himself, gripping the seat of his chair. With a free hand, he turned the knob of his harness, slowly calming himself down. Duncan and Jackson both shared a look of discomfort, busying themselves with fiddling with gadgets and turning over a football respectively. Heathcliff worriedly notes that Matilda had tentatively placed a hand on her throat, her eyes flashing with recognition and a hint of fear that he never remembered her ever carrying. Ruby's expression was unreadable, something Heathcliff learned was never a good sign. None of the NERDS met his eyes, all consumed in their own world.

Finally Ruby got up, the others watching as their leader walked over to the other end of the Playground, where Benjamin was hovering nearby.

"Benjamin," Ruby said quietly. "Show the footage of Day 24 of our capture."

Both Benjamin and the rest of the NERDS were taken aback. "Are you sure this is what you wish?" the orb asked.

Ruby nodded, and a light shot out around the NERDS and Heathcliff, showing a three - dimensional projection.

The projection displayed the NERDS lined up in front of a boy with a skull mask, each battered with what Heathcliff assumes are their own assortment of scars and fading bruises from an unknown source. Duncan had several cuts and arms anywhere that showed skin, Jackson's mouth has pieces of his braces sticking out, and both Flinch and Matilda were deathly pale, although Flinch carried more of a sickly expression while Matilda looked as if she hadn't been breathing for a long time. Heathcliff guessed it had something to do with the masked boy. For some strange reason, Ruby was the only one unharmed. She wasn't even lined up with the rest of the NERDS, instead held back by goons beside the boy.

"Now you're probably wondering why I brought all of you out here today," Heathcliff nearly had a heart attack when he heard his own voice coming from the masked boy. "Usually I'd take you separately in pairs per day, and I never put you all in the same room together. Think of this as experimenting, then we'll go back to the usual schedule, capishe?"

Heathcliff was shocked when all they did was give an assertive nod, letting the goons strap them down to the chairs willingly. Why weren't they fighting back? Why wasn't Ruby helping them?

"Electric chairs? Run out of ideas or something?" Jackson grunted, leaning forward to spit blood out to the side. Heathcliff was horrified to see metallic pieces sparking where he had spat.

The masked boy chuckles darkly, walking in front of Braceface. "these aren't electric chairs Jones. You see, even though you're unable to use your upgrades, you've still got millions of nanobytes swirling through your bloodstream. This-" he pats the back of the chair. "-is designed to hack into those nanobytes. And since you're the first person to question my tactics today, I'll give you a free demonstration."

The boy pressed a button on the side of the chair, and the machinery whirled to life. Or at least the orb hovering over it did. From a distance, the machine simply looked like a massage chair, vibrating and operating like one. But with a closer look at Jackson's composure, it was definitely not a massage chair. The blonde was convulsing in his seat, sucking in air through grit teeth. The orb above him blinked red, and suddenly white bolts of what appeared to be electricity - Heathcliff knew they weren't - struck down on the chair.

That's when Jackson screamed. A deafening, pained noise that snapped the other NERDS' heads up in alarm, their full attention now on their screaming companion. The masked boy immediately noticed. "Ah, interested in the machinery now?" If he wasn't wearing a mask, Heathcliff could've sworn he was raising an eyebrow. "Don't worry, you're all getting a fair turn!"

The orb above Jackson clicked, and the other orbs spun as well, glowing red as white bolts struck down on their own chairs. Heathcliff almost toppled over when they screamed in unison as loud as Jackson, stepping back from where he stood before.

The boy smiled cruelly behind his mask, turning around to face Ruby who, Heathcliff honestly can't figure out how, had kept a neutral expression for this long. Her left eye twitched, hives appearing on her knees as her ears swelled up. The boy frowned when Ruby barely gave a reaction, pressing another button on Jackson's chair. More bolts struck down from the orbs, and Ruby held back a flinch when her teammates screamed louder, jolting in their seats, their hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly as a way to stay conscious.

The real Ruby painfully closed her eyes, arms crossed over her chest as she forced herself to turn away. Hearing her friends screaming in agony, practically begging to be dead but had the dignity to never say it aloud. The sight still flashed in her head, each of the NERDS stuck in their own torment, wailing, crying, every time closer to death. She despised them all.

The masked boy growled, walking over to Ruby, ripping his mask off.  Even though Heathcliff had already guessed it, seeing it personally still jarred him. Heathcliff himself glared down at Ruby, who didn't so much batter an eye at him. "Y'know, I can make this a lot worse Pufferfish," Simon seethed, tilting his head at the leader of the NERDS. "This is only the second setting. There are eight settings in all. All I have to do is press a button-" without looking back, Simon reached behind him, pressing another button, this time on the right arm of Flinch's chair. The orb above him turned yellow, and suddenly the bolts increased, and a sound that could only be described as a mix of a bat and a banshee erupted from the Latino boy. "-and I can force them to simply take it all in."

The two were locked in another staredown, just like the one during the first day, daring the other to look away first. Simon's hand drifted to another button, ignoring the shrieking boy and the bright white flashes behind him.

"Stop it," Heathcliff whispered, his eyes wide with fright.

His brows furrowed, waiting for Ruby to look away, his hand staying on the current button. Pufferfish sniffled, signifying a runny nose, but otherwise she didn't back down. Flinch's screams only increased, the loudest among the rest of the NERDS. Even without his superstrength, Flinch was on the brink of crushing the chair arms then and there.

"Stop it!" Heathcliff exclaimed, whirling to Ruby and NERDS. "Turn it off!"

The NERDS looked over at their leader, their eyes pleading for her to turn off the projection as well. But both the current Ruby and Simon didn't stop.

Simon only lifted his hand when Flinch turned silent. The orb above him clicked, shutting off, its job done.

Like a domino effect, the other orbs clicked off as well. The NERDS panted heavily, each exhaling in relief that it was over.

Until Duncan looked over at Flinch.

Flinch had gone limp in his chair, his head hung heavily. Duncan could still see his back moving up and down, a sign he was still breathing, but barely.

Jackson and Matilda only noticed when they heard choking noises. They turned over to the once hyperactive boy, who was making weird sounds from his throat. Suddenly his shot forward, and the NERDS watched in alarm as he began vomiting on the floor, a foul smell of mashed potatoes, spoiled meat, and blood filling the air.

What terrified them the most were the nanobytes floating around in the remains, each popping and fizzing like the pieces of Jackson's braces.

"That was the fifth setting," Simon informed coldly as the goons unstrapped the NERDS from their chairs. One goon took one NERD each, throwing them over their shoulder as if they weighed nothing. Which, they technically didn't, Simon only ever fed them once in a while. "You're lucky it wasn't the eighth."

The projection ended, and each memory came rushing back to him. The day he proposed the abuse, the weeks the NERDS were separated for torturing, the looks on all their faces when each came just inches away from dying. The redhead placed a hand on his head, an incredulous look on his face. Heathcliff stumbled back, sitting himself into a chair.

Ruby stepped forward without acknowledgement. "During your days as Simon, you succeeded in capturing and imprisoning all of us in your lair. You did nothing to me. But them-" Ruby pointed to the other NERDS, who each carried a self - conscious look, attempting to be apart of the conversation. "You beat them mercilessly in several different days, breaking them, tearing their self confidence to pieces day after day, waiting for them to snap. You hurt them, terribly. It's a miracle they even recovered from what you did to them. God, they almost died several times to the point they were waiting for the day they would. Did you see the blood on Flinch and Jackson? Do you remember how you scraped Duncan's skin just to remove every sign of paste on him? Do you remember how you suffocated Matilda because you knew her asthma would make her vulnerable to minimal oxygen? Do you? Do you Heathcliff?!"

The leader of the NERDS took a deep breath, regaining composure, then continued. "Everything that happened to them, every time you'd punish them for something they didn't do, watching them suffer with a smile, that is what you did. What you did to them is the exact reason I specifically gave an order for them to keep their distance from you. I may not show it often, but I care deeply for each and every one of them. What they had to go through is unforgivable, and I don't want anything like that happening ever again."

The NERDS watched as Ruby began walking to the exit of the briefing room, one by one following her lead. "I hope you got your answer," she called before the door closed shut behind them.

Heathcliff looked up only when he only heard four pairs of footsteps leave. Jackson hesitantly approached the redhead, who sat up at the sight of him. "Jackson...I-I don't know what to say..I...I-"

"Hey, it's alright," Jackson said reassuringly, pulling a chair to sit in front of Heathcliff. "I'm not here to do...whatever it was that Ruby did just now."

"Insult and expose me for the monster I am?"

"You're not a monster."

"That footage sure as heck made it look like I was."

"Listen," The former football player placed a hand on Heathcliff's shoulder. "You shouldn't get caught up in what she showed you. Yes, Ruby's furious and we all got effected by it, but that was all in the past. We're still here, being spies, fighting bad guys, saving the world. You should never let yourself be held back by things that happened back then."

Jackson turned to the orb. "Benjamin?"

Heathcliff didn't remember when Jackson had gotten accumulated to the robotic ball's commands, but the orb spun, showing another projection.

This time, the boys found themselves inside the School Bus, the dark skies through the windows suggesting it was midnight. This took place after the NERDS had been rescued, on their way back to the Playground.

"When all of you disappeared suddenly, we struggled on what to tell your families," Brand said standing up, cane in hand. "Duncan and Jackson's families knew about their spy lives, so that was easily taken care of, but as for the rest of you, we had to simply tell them you were kidnapped and we working on finding you. We can drop you home now, maybe talk a little with your parents-"

"Brand?" The director stopped when one of the agents spoke, raising their hand slightly. Flinch bit his lip in hesitation, then asked, "can we...stay over for the night at the Playground? We'd like... some time with ourselves before returning home."

Brand took a long, hard look at the agents assembled in the cockpit, a flash of sympathy and guilt in his eyes. Heathcliff understood why they wanted to sleep over - with weeks with only their own thoughts, they must've wanted to be closer than ever. "Of course you can children," Ms. Holiday fussed in the motherly tone she used whenever she had to calm them in an argument. "We have a few pillows and blankets in the storage room, but you'll have to sleep on the floor, okay?"

"And take a shower," the lunch lady added. "You all reek."

"Then it's settled," Brand nodded. "There should be some old gym clothes you can wear in the storage room as well, and Ms. Holiday and I can provide you all with bathroom supplies."

The NERDS nodded, some mumbling 'okay.' Brand and Holiday exchanged looks of concern when that was the only response they got, the agents falling silent once more. Usually one of them would spite out a joke to lighten the mood, then none of them seemed interested in conversing.

It wasn't long until they had arrived to the Playground, the NERDS filing out without a word. Ms. Holiday gathered the bathroom supplies and gym clothes at lightning speed, ushering them to the showers. Unlike the showers in the middle school, each had a separate stall, which gave them as much privacy as they needed.

After a while, each of them stepped out of the showers, some later then others, piling up in the room Ms. Holiday had pointed out before they entered the showers. The lunch lady was waiting inside, a weight scale in the corner and an assortment of doctor's tools on a table. "Hop onto the scale," he said to each of them when they came in, taking notes of of their weight. The lunch lady performed a few other tests, pointing a flashlight in Jackson's mouth to check his braces, doing a scan of Flinch's stomach, having Matilda practice breathing for a stethoscope, and so on.

"So from the results of the tests, Jackson's braces are...a hot mess, Flinch has literal nothing in his stomach, which hints either vomiting or starvation, maybe both, Duncan your skin is practically peeling off, so you'll need treatment for that, Matilda, speak for me?"

"Hi," the littlest of the spies croaked, and the lunch lady grimaces. "That basically speaks for itself, I'll probably get you a breathing mask for that, and Ruby-...." the lunch lady falters, squinting at his clipboard. "Ruby, you're completely fine. Besides a few scars and the weight loss shared between the rest of you, you're unharmed. There's not a single hair on your head missing."

The NERDS stayed quiet. They never really questioned why Ruby was the only one who never got hurt, but they assumed it was because Ruby and Heathcliff were close before. Every session Simon would go in front of Ruby's stall, gloating about his latest ideas and plans. If they didn't have cell doors or goons in between them, the other NERDS would've assumed they were working together.

"With this info, would it be appropriate to ask what exactly happened in there?" The lunch lady scratches the back of his head. "I mean, I get that it's a difficult topic to talk about, and I don't expect you to answer right away, but in order to help you, we have to know what was going on."

Again, not a word from the NERDS. The lunch lady sighs, sliding his clipboard on the table. "Alright, I'll be calling you one at a time for treatments and prescriptions. Jackson, you first."

With that, the other NERDS headed to the room on the left, finding the pillows and blankets Ms. Holiday mentioned in a pile. The spies got to work with arranging them into somewhat of a pillow fort, only realizing halfway that they didn't have enough to make it big enough for all of them, so instead left a large gap on the side for them to lay down in. They probably made it too narrow that they'd have to squeeze together to fit, but they couldn't care less. The lunch lady would occasionally pop in to call one of them for treatment, the other returning from it at the same the time.

They finished the fort when Matilda came back carrying a bottle bigger than her head and her replacement inhalers.

"What's with the bottle?" Flinch asked, munching on a granola bar. All the lunch lady said to him was to fill his stomach with the nearby vending machine snacks, but not to take anything sweet just yet.

"The lunch lady said to drink 'plenty' of water, saying it'll help bring my voice back," Matilda wheezed, half her words sounding as if she had inhaled helium. "Since I'm supposed to drink ten eight - ounce glasses of water everyday, he gave me half a pitcher to cover the days I didn't."

"Maybe you should rest your voice for now," Duncan suggested. "You're already having a harder time talking then usual."

Matilda nodded as Ruby adjusted the last pillow for the row of pillows they'd be sleeping on. Five pillows, five of them. "Flinch, finish that granola bar and go brush your teeth. Duncan, go follow him to steer him away from anything with sugar." Both boys nodded, the Latino shoving the rest of the granola bar into his mouth before following Duncan out the door.

Matilda took a sip from her water bottle, glancing up before pointing at the small glowing orbs floating around the room in confusion. Jackson followed her line of sight. "Oh those?" He asked. "Duncan activated them. Said it would give enough light in case one of us needed to go to the bathroom or something."

"We just got back and Duncan's already playing around with the gadgets?" Ruby joked. "That guy really can't separate himself from technology." This earned a chuckle from the other two, the female recapping her bottle before setting it aside. Heathcliff couldn't help but smile a little at the sight. They had just returned from being beaten to the core, and they already seemed to be slowly turning back to their normal selves. Or at least, as normal as a NERD could be.

It wasn't long until Flinch and Duncan returned, and the NERDS shut off the lights, getting ready to turn in for the night. Flinch and Matilda lay on the left, Duncan beside Matilda, making him in the middle of the five, with Jackson and Ruby on his right.

The NERDS stayed put for a while, simply laying there but not exactly sleeping just yet. Not even a few minutes had passed when Jackson blurted, "as tired as I was on the School Bus, I can't fall asleep."

"Me neither."

"Not a wink."

"Surprisingly, no."

"Matilda?"

There was the sound of shuffling beside Duncan, so he assumed she shook her head. "Well that's just great,"  Ruby grumbled. "How are we gonna fall asleep?"

"Hey Duncan, why don't you tell us about those floaty thingies you got set up around the room?" Jackson asked. The chubby boy perked up. "Well for starters, these 'floaty thingies' are called the strontium aluminate-" a loud exaggerated snore cut Duncan off, causing a few laughs from the others. Duncan scowled at Jackson, who in return gave a shrug, smiling.

And just like that, the NERDS stayed up for the rest of the night, finding a deck of cards on one of the shelves and going through multiple rounds of card games to pass the time. Normal games turned into bets, which escalated to screaming matches when they lost. By the time it was morning and Brand, Holiday, and the lunch lady had come in to check on them, they were all sprawled out on in different positions, asleep. The cards were scattered across the room, their pillow fort disassembled, and Jackson's face covered with several sharpie drawings.

"Should we wake them?" The lunch lady asked, walking over to move Flinch to the side. In his original position, one of his legs kept kicking Wheezer, who in return elbowed him in her sleep.

Brand shook his head, a small smile coming to his face. "Let them rest. They're recovering already."

The projection ended, and Jackson turned back to Heathcliff. "See? Even after just coming back, we were okay. Sure, we decided to miss out a few days of school to take a short break, but afterwards were raring to go on another mission."

"Heathcliff I'm going to be completely honest - we all hated you during those weeks were captured. But we don't hate the you right now. You can start over, just like I did. And yes, gaining their trust will be hard - heck Ruby will be dead set on making your life a living hell - but they'll come around when they're ready. They'll see that you're not the Heathcliff you were before, and sooner or later, you'll be back on the team."

"Hey, Jackson," Heathcliff spoke after a moment. The blonde quirked a brow. "Why are you helping me? After what I did, after that order Ruby gave you and the others, why do you still help me?"

The blonde chuckles, getting up from his chair. "Do I really need to answer that? It's simple." He extended a hand to the boy with glasses. "You're my friend, Heathcliff." The boy gradually took his hand, and Jackson pulls him up.

"And friends don't hurt each other."

[galahadwilder]

We Are Miraculous, Ch. 3: Assemble

This chapter was sponsored by @thecorruptedhuman. Sponsor a fic chapter here!

We Are Miraculous Archive

With thanks to @alexseanchai and @paganinpurple

*

This may well be the worst morning of Adrien Agreste’s life. And he's had a lot of bad mornings.

His hands haven’t shaken this badly since the day he realized his mother wasn’t coming back. Every single sense is cranked up to twelve: he can feel every itchy, excruciating fiber of the clothes against his skin, the babble of the classroom and the whine of the fans in every electronic device assaults his ears, every blinking light tries to snatch his attention. He’s on the verge of another of what his mother always called his “episodes” in an exasperated tone—there’s a brief memory of her tearing up, asking if he can’t just once not overreact to such inconsequential things. He still doesn’t understand why it’s so hard for him to control. And his father refuses to acknowledge it.

Caron Questions Hero’s Qualifications After Shocking Confession from Ladybug

Adrien wants to scream. He wants to vomit. He knows that, right now, his Lady is seeing the same headline he is. He knows that, despite her incredible strength, there are places where she is fragile. He knows that right now she must be breaking. She needs him, she needs him and he can’t get to her, and everything’s too loud and too close.

Marinette is okay at least, Alya is taking care of her. Adrien wishes he could have helped but right now he’s an upside-down remote control car, wheels spinning uselessly in the air as he rocks in the mud. He hugs his chest, holding onto his biceps—he's rocking slightly in his chair, trying not to lose control. You're better than this, he thinks, in a voice that sounds very much like his mother's, trying to help him past an episode. You're stronger than this. You're not gonna get overwhelmed—

"Adrien," Nino says, very softly. It layers on top of everything else, but thinly, barely a push on top of all the rest of the things screaming for his attention. Adrien turns his head, looks at Nino's collarbones—can't meet his eyes right now. Too hard. Too—Adrien doesn't know the word.

Nino is holding a mechanical pencil; Adrien's not quite sure where he got it, he doesn't use them. He quickly and calmly disassembles it, laying the pieces out in front of Adrien.

Adrien blinks, and then his hands reach out and twist the top of the pencil back onto the body, and all of the lights and noises assaulting his senses begin to quiet down. He slides the eraser tube back into the pencil. The buzzing from the overhead lights is still there, but he can push it back now, ignore it. He can hear Madame Bustier's lecture again without it being garbled.

He clicks the pencil once, twice, three times, then pushes the lead back in so it's short enough not to snap when he writes. How did you know that would work? he scribbles on the edge of his notebook, not even bothering to put in the (usually painful) effort it takes to make his handwriting legible, much less the "elegance expected of an Agreste."

Miraculously, somehow, Nino can read it. He snaps the cap of his pen back and forth with his thumb, then scratches out a message on his own notebook—Chris does the same thing.

Adrien nods and tries to hand the pencil back to Nino, but Nino shakes his head, pushing it back. "You gotta fidget," he whispers.

Adrien takes the pencil back, confused; but by the time class lets out for lunch and he's disassembled and reassembled the pencil enough times that he's lost track of the number, he thinks he might be starting to understand.

*

"Hey Lila?" Alya says as they're getting up for lunch. "Uh... what happened to your hair?"

Adrien—along with the rest of the class—turns to look, but he can't see what Alya's talking about; Lila's hair looks pretty normal to him. Everyone else in the class looks confused too.

Lila reaches up to paws desperately at her scalp. "No, no, no," she whispers. "Alya, is there something in my hair?"

Alya blinks. "Oh, um, no, it's nothing!" she giggles. "Looks nice."

Adrien can't quite tell if she's being sarcastic. He suspects it, yeah, but anyway that's not important right now.

"Nino," he says as he stuffs his backpack, "I've got something kind of urgent I gotta do for the next few minutes. I'll meet you in the park in ten?"

Nino tilts his head, pursing his lip. "Yeah, sure," he says, mercifully not asking what it is that Adrien is doing, which is good because he hadn't planned out a lie and he's not great at coming up with them on the spot.

*

On the roof of the school, Chat Noir paces, staring at the screen of his baton-phone. Is now a bad time to call? What if she's mad at him for it? What if she hasn't seen the headline yet and he causes a panic attack?

He presses call.

"Kitty?" Her voice comes through the speakers clear as magic, high and soft and calm, and his lungs unwind from where they've tightened themselves around his heart, finally allowing him to breath again. "You okay?"

He slumps against the roof access door. "Actually, I was gonna ask you that," he says. "I, um, I saw the..."

Ladybug sighs. "The op-ed."

"Yeah." He licks his lips. "I'm—I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you. When, you know, when you saw it. This morning."

"Oh, Chaton," she says with a sad chuckle. "I know." He hears her snort. "I know you'd have been there if you knew who I was, but—"

"You two should kiss!" shouts another voice from the same line, much quieter and much farther away.

"Shut up, Rena!" Ladybug giggles.

Chat straightens at the sound of her laugh. "You're not alone," he says, smiling.

"Yeah," Ladybug says. "I... kind of accidentally blew my identity to Rena last night, so she found me this morning as soon as the article came out. Took care of me for a bit."

Chat's chest falls. "Oh," he says. "That's... that's good." He's glad she had somebody with her, but...

Evidently she hears the hurt in his voice."You know I would've told you first if I thought it was safe," she says. "If it had been intentional—"

There's jostling on the other end of the line, a quick give me that and a hands off before Rena's voice is coming out of the speaker. "I only found out by accident," she says. "And a little detective work. Can confirm, she didn't mean for it to happen."

Chat's ribcage loosens a bit again. "Oh," he says.

"If I'd had a choice it would've been you!" he hears Ladybug call towards the phone, and his heart leaps.

"Listen," Rena says. "I have an idea. Do you know where the Lycée François Dupont is? Ground zero for Horrificator, Reflekta, and Zombizou?"

Chat raises an eyebrow and looks down at that very school under his feet. "I'm... familiar, yeah," he says.

"Meet us on the roof after school lets out," Rena says. "We've got a message for Caron and we need you to help us deliver it."

"Yeah?" Chat says, rising to his feet.

"Yeah," Rena says. "No matter what: we stand with Ladybug."

We Are Miraculous Archive

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[keeroo92]

Be My Nightmare Chapter 13

Behind the Masks

Warnings for gore and murder, but there’s a bit of fluff at the end for once :3

Word count - 4,121

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

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

---V---

He woke to the sound of cursing. Bright light shone through his closed lids and a faint aroma he vaguely recognized teased at his nostrils. Comforting warmth enveloped him, the product of a bulky knitted blanket. He was horizontal, how did that happen?

More importantly, where am I?

More cursing. Heavy steps, someone pacing. That voice, he knew that voice…

“What the fuck, what the fuck, I’m gonna go to jail. What the fuck?!”

Dark lashes parted, painfully slowly to give his pupils time to adjust. Plain beige walls greeted him, tasteful art placed in strategic positions throughout the space. Modern furniture dotted the room, arranged to make it seem more spacious than it was. He was lying on a couch, black leather and minimalistic. To his right, a modest TV hung upon the wall beside a small desk with a laptop resting on it. The accursed beanie rested on a coffee table nearby.

“Shit, what the fuck, I’ve lost my mind! What was I thinking?”

The artist sat up and tugged the offensively itchy fabric back into place on his scalp, struggling to organize his thoughts. This must be your home, but how did he get here? The last thing he remembered was the museum, and then…

He licked his lips. What a sweet memory. After such a display, it wouldn’t be much longer before he filled you with more than his fingers.

“V! Finally!” 

His smirk turned to a frown as your quick footsteps brought your worried face into his line of sight. “What do you mean, finally?”

“You’ve been unresponsive for three hours. How do you feel? Let me check your vitals,” you began, already pulling a small flashlight from your pocket to shine in his eyes. 

The artist flinched away, batting at your arm with an annoyed huff. “I’m fine, there’s no need.”

It was sweet of you to fret, but the only lingering effect he noticed was a slight fatigue, and perhaps an irritating itch of deja vu. Nothing alarming, and nothing worth showing weakness, even to you. 

She forgets her place. 

He hummed as you sat back, attentive eyes watching his every move. Vergil was wrong, you didn’t forget your place at all. In fact, he might even say you were where you belonged for the first time.

At his side.

Lithe fingers lifted to dance across your cheekbone, stealing a quiet sigh from your lips. So responsive, so lovely and delicious. His hand drifted lower, his thumb curling to wrap around your slim neck and pull you closer. Your pulse fluttered under his touch even as you instinctively resisted, like any prey facing its predator.

His mind went deliciously blank as your lips met his. Your small hands pressed against his chest as if to fend him off, but with each shift of his mouth, your attempts weakened. Leather squeaked as he leaned closer, shifting his body to curve over you. Another way to assert his dominance.

Yet you still rebelled against his will, stubbornly refusing to lower yourself to lie beneath him properly. True, you would be his equal if he had his way, but for now…

He tightened his grip on your neck until you succumbed. It was a delicate balance to cut off the blood supply to your brain yet to leave your airway unencumbered, and his fingers itched to clamp down and claim his prize. 

How exquisite you’d be, flaying your first victim and carving your way to the truth. Splashes of scarlet on your smooth skin, glimmering silver in your palm and a smile on your face. Oh, how delightful it would be to bury himself in you in the aftermath, when you were still drunk on discovery. 

He pressed his hips into your thigh, letting you feel the ache you woke with a soft groan. The same hands that once pushed him away now danced under his shirt, feather soft touches caressing his skin. Heavenly.

The fires of lust in his cock turned to ice as a sharp knock rang from the wooden front door. Surely you hadn’t betrayed him? Jade eyes searched your expression, digging beneath the panic and confusion to find any hint of disloyalty hidden beneath, yet he saw only more of the same. No, you clearly didn’t expect company.

A second knock, more insistent than the first. Whoever it was, they lacked patience.

“Shit, uhh… fuck,” you mumbled, extricating yourself from his grasp. “It might be my dad… fuck.”

He didn’t like the look on your face, not one bit. “Would you like me to remove him?”

“What?! Have you lost your- no, I do not want you to ‘remove’ my father!”

Yeesh, it was just a question!

He didn’t quite understand. It was a simple offer, you didn’t need to make a fuss. Besides, if the man’s existence brought such an expression, he clearly needed to be dealt with. Perhaps you’d change your mind?

“Look, just… I’ll handle it, you go upstairs and keep quiet,” you said. “Fuck!”

The artist frowned but did as you asked, climbing the narrow staircase to crouch behind a conveniently placed shelf. Blood pounded in his ears, a clammy film coating his palms. If ever you would betray him, now was the moment. When no blade waited in his hand for an offering, when he had no chance of escape. His fate rested in the choices you made over the next few minutes.

The door opened to reveal two figures, though the angle was poor and he couldn’t discern any details. It didn’t particularly matter who they were; none could know he was here.

“Oh! Officer Redgrave, Officer Goldstein, what can I do for you?”

Officers? They’re cops?! You gotta get outta here!

Yet he ignored the avian voice. Why bother telling him to hide if you were turning him in? It didn’t make sense, something else was going on. More information was required before selecting a response.

A low voice replied, though the words were a mystery. You widened the opening and gestured for the strangers to enter, shooting a surreptitious glance his way. The artist ducked lower, just in time as the two figures entered.

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.”

“Aw, this ain’t nothin’. You should see my place!”

The wooden chairs surrounding your dining table creaked as the strangers made themselves at home. As the duo exchanged pleasantries with you, the artist couldn’t resist peeking around the edge to get a glimpse, now that he might be able to spot a useful detail. He needed to assess the threat and possible outcomes, as if he had any control.

Of course, his eyes went straight to your face to find a stony expression, far too frozen to be natural.

The other two didn’t seem to notice. Fools. How could they ever hope to catch him, when they didn’t even notice he was in the same apartment? It would've made him laugh outright if not for the need for silence.

“So, we got the paperwork finished. You are officially a police consultant, doc. Congrats.”

“Just in time for the next body to drop, too. We’re headed to the scene now, wanna come?”

The artist grinned. Surely you wouldn’t miss the meaning behind his work if you saw it in person? How perfect, he couldn’t have planned it better. 

“Yeah, uh… okay, I’ll just need a few minutes. Can I meet you downstairs?”

The two cops exchanged a look but stood, the female stretching her arms as if she’d been sitting for hours instead of minutes. 

“Sure, just be quick. Every minute counts!”

He ducked back to hide as you escorted the two to the door. The moment the lock slid into place, a deep sigh slipped from your lips. 

Huh, look at that. She didn’t rat you out.

“As if there was any reason to doubt,” he replied quietly. 

I can think of a few!

He rolled his eyes and stood, descending the stairs to find you frantically gathering your things.

“Stay here, okay? I don’t- I don’t know how long I’ll be but you need to stay put, got it?”

He scratched his scalp and nodded, mind already focused elsewhere. It was difficult to focus with so many new things to examine and so much to learn, here in the place you called home. Didn’t most people have photos of loved ones? Where did you keep yours, if not on the walls?

“I’m serious, V. God, this is unbelievable… what am I doing?”

The artist hummed, lips curling in amusement. Watching your metamorphosis was such a delight, what a perfect companion you’d become. 

“You’re doing what you want to, instead of what others expect.”

Your lips pursed, a sharp glare lacking any true weight glittering in your eyes. “Stay. Here.”

---Reader---

Outside, Nico and Tony waited by a standard police sedan. Surely they’d let you drive yourself; they wouldn’t make you sit in the back like some kind of criminal, right?

Even though I’m aiding and abetting one…

But this wasn’t the time to think about the murderer currently lounging on your couch. You needed to focus, keep up the appearance of normalcy. Just a little longer, you’d figure this out. All you needed was time. 

“You wanna hop in the back or follow us?” Tony asked.

A nervous laugh spilled from your lips. “I’ll follow, thanks.”

Nico grinned and held out her palm to her partner. “Told ya. Pay up, old man.”

He groaned and slapped her hand back, mumbling curses under his breath as he hopped into the patrol car’s drivers seat. 

Nico paused, watching as you turned to unlock your car. 

“You drive that thing? Are you sure it ain’t gonna explode on the way?” she commented, her eyes wide and locked on your rickety beast. You hadn’t even turned it on yet, no doubt she’d have more to say once she heard it. Better have the music nice and loud, then. 

“Hasn’t failed me yet,” you replied.

The look she gave you made you want to scream. Disdain or pity, maybe a hint of condescension. As if driving a car like yours made you inferior. If only she knew the murderer she was hunting currently occupied your apartment.

He’d better still be there when I get back…

---------

Tony was easy to follow, even with the anxious fluttering stealing your focus.What would you find at the latest scene? What monstrosity had V created now? And how were you going to manage to balance looking like you knew your stuff and covering his tracks?

You sighed. 

As much as you wanted to unravel the mysterious artist, he’d rapidly made a total mess of your life. It felt like being trapped in a spider’s web, watching and waiting as your doom crept closer to consume you. Like you were a fly, desperately flapping your tiny wings as if there was any hope of escape. 

You shoved the thought aside as Tony slowed, pulling into an empty spot in front of a small home currently lit in red and blue from the swirling police lights. Yellow tape cordoned off the small yard, a few stern looking officers milling about to dissuade the neighbors from getting too nosy. 

It was a nice area, if cramped. Colorful homes stood mere feet apart. Shrubs and small trees filled the front yards, adding a layer of refinement absent in most of the city. V chose his location well. A murder in such a luxurious neighborhood would set the entire upper class into chaos.

Not even your fancy security gates can keep you safe from him…

Back in high school, kids from these types of homes were the bane of your existence. A little fear might do them well. At the very least, it might distract them from bullying others for a while.

You turned down the volume to a respectful level as you pulled into an empty spot on the curb, cringing as the engine loudly rattled. Maybe you should’ve ridden in the back, just to hide how crappy your car was…

Oh well. Too late now.

Tony and Nico waited by the driveway, chatting with another officer as you approached. You couldn't put your finger on it, but the woman’s uniform seemed different somehow. 

“Lieutenant, this is Dr. Waras, the consultant I told you about,” Tony said, gesturing towards you.

Her angular features and rigid posture reminded you of a stereotypical drill sergeant, but at the introduction her face relaxed into a grim smile and a hand extended to shake yours. 

“Good to have you, doctor. CSI’s already finished, but try not to disturb anything just in case. Booties are by the door.”

---------

Scarlet droplets marked the artist’s path from the front walkway inside. Small yellow tags sat by each fallen drip, each with a number etched in black. The colors contrasted with the shiny oak floor and you couldn’t help but be amused by it, that all the wealth and status of this home did nothing to protect it from V’s creation.

Nothing can protect you from the horror of reality.

You stepped carefully around a few yellow markers, past the elaborate kitchen and polished granite countertops to follow Tony further inside. Smiling family photos dotted the walls and one of those fancy voice-activated devices sat on a hall table. By all appearances, a young and happy family lived here.

Tony led you to the master bedroom and paused at the door. “I’d recommend you breathe through your mouth. You haven’t eaten recently, have you?”

You rolled your eyes. After seeing Ken’s melted arms and smelling death from the orderly he’d murdered, you weren’t worried. Besides, scent was easy to ignore most of the time. It was a matter of will power.

Beyond the door was a tableau of mutilated meat. Spread out amongst the sturdy furniture and tasteful decorations, the artist had arranged sections of what could only be human flesh. A muscle here, a tendon there… There was blood, of course, but the scene wasn’t as drenched as you would’ve expected from the artist. 

Tony stayed in the doorway and watched as you wandered through the room. It was clear in his eyes that he wanted to vomit or shoot someone, but you ignored him. Far more interesting was the strange display.

Which muscle was that? How did all these pieces fit together to make a person? Humans really were just meat, when you came down to it. Hunks of steak with the rare ability to create and imagine. 

But why had V done this? He always had a reason, he said so himself. Why go through the trouble of carving up some poor soul and hauling their carcas here to arrange this way? 

You stared at the scene for what felt like hours, searching for meaning in the macabre. There had to be something, there just had to be. All you had to do was find it.

It wasn’t until you tilted your head that the design became clear. From most angles, the spread of tissue lacked any rhyme or reason, but now?

Now all the tendrils of tendons and filets of flesh came together to form a single letter.

V.

Yet there were still pieces that didn’t fit the pattern. Outliers, strewn about like so much garbage. 

“We managed to ID the fucker. Name’s Michael DuPonte. Known rapist that we never managed to charge with anything. Guess it’s a moot point, now,” Tony explained from the hall. 

He deserved this, then. 

Who knew how many women he’d made his victims? Even one was too many. You’d worked with sexual assault victims for a while in school, part of your thesis on criminal behavior. Their stories hadn’t been easy to hear.

Mostly because they kept using all the tissues you brought, but one or two told tales that hit too close to home. If it wouldn’t contaminate the scene, you’d have enjoyed spitting on his cock. Or dancing on it, perhaps. Maybe both.

Stay focused, come on! It still doesn’t make sense. Maybe another angle?

With careful steps, you navigated the room and examined the gruesome display at every angle imaginable. At last, you found it - the viewpoint that brought it all home. 

Again, the remains created a single letter, but it was a different one. 

W.

This, this was his point. Not a single nugget was left out, the perfect reformation of a person. Nothing wasted, all to build a message meant for the world.

But why W?

It seemed arrogant to assume it was a reference to your name, but you couldn’t think of another option that made sense. Winter, warrior, wendigo, watershed…

No. It stood for Waras.

The realization sent a shockwave through you. There was no denying the madman had a disturbing fixation on you, especially after the incident in the museum. But to see it laid out for all to see, if only they were clever enough to look, forced you to face it head on. No more hiding. This went way beyond professional curiosity now.

What am I going to do?

Your heart pounded, goosebumps prickling your skin. Blood rushed in your ears and the urge to laugh almost broke free. Of all the people in the world to have interested in you, you got the serial killer. 

Shit, and what about me? Am I interested in him?

Despite his flaws, it was comforting to know someone truly cared. Loneliness was a constant undercurrent in your life and you’d long ago accepted that. You were a freak, incapable of connecting on a deep level like everyone else did so easily. Others couldn’t be trusted, and if they saw beneath your facade they’d surely run away screaming.

But he wouldn’t. The artist already saw past your mask and he was still here. That fact alone brought a smile to your lips and warmth to your heart. Not to mention he was clearly more fucked up than you. For him to run would be the height of hypocrisy. Maybe this was your chance to have it all. Maybe he could finally ease the isolation.

Maybe you didn’t have to be alone anymore.

---V---

To his credit, he tried to be respectful. He really did. It seemed immoral to abuse the trust you placed in him, by leaving him alone in your home. Not that there’d been much choice, but that wasn’t the point.

Yet inevitably, his curiosity overpowered his reason. There was so much he might learn about you, who knew what secrets he’d uncover?

First, he pawed through the kitchen drawers. Nothing of particular interest; only the usual collection of kitchen utensils met his wandering hands. 

Next to draw his attention was the hall closet, where he found cleaning supplies and coats. A few pairs of boots and stylish heels, a box fan and a crate of basic crafting supplies rounded out the packed shelves.

C’mon, there’s gotta be something interesting here!

I’d prefer something useful…

He had to admit, he was disappointed by the mundanity of your home. He’d imagined it to be a more truthful reflection of your personality, but instead it was simply another layer of falsehood to peel through before he could expose your true value. So many masks, why did you bother with them all? It must be exhausting. 

On to the bedroom. Maybe he’d discover a secret hoard of filthy novels or a box of buckles and straps. He certainly hoped so.

But no, even your bedroom lacked any glimpse beneath the surface. It was infuriating, to imagine the circumstances which led you to hide your true self even in your most private of spaces. He would shred whomever built your cage, tear them to pieces as slowly as possible. Drawing out the process wasn’t something familiar to him, but surely it couldn’t be that difficult to keep someone alive and in excruciating agony.

It was in your bedside table that he found it - a stack of photos showing you and several recurring faces. There you were, graduating college. And there, a birthday. Another showed you planting a kiss on an older man’s cheek. Was that your father? You had the same nose. Perhaps the meaning behind your earlier expression hid in the image. 

He took a seat on the bed and examined every pixel of the photo. A drink sat by the man’s hand, a haze of drunkenness evident even in a simple snapshot. Sheets of paper kept the half-full glass company, some kind of form if he had to guess. 

And you… though your lips pressed against the man’s cheek in an unmistakable gesture of love, your eyes remained on whomever took the photo. Worry tainted your lovely eyes and your body angled away from the man, as if you craved an escape. The dark artist wondered why you kept this photo when it was so clear you didn’t want to be in it. 

The man must have forced you. Reprehensible; he’d never hold you back. 

He would set you free.

You should do something nice for her, Van Gogh. Show your good side for once!

The artist frowned and flipped to the next photo, where you played with a dog. A retriever?

“What would you suggest? I can’t exactly go out and buy her flowers.”

Right… maybe… uhh…

V rolled his eyes and looked at the final photo, where a childish version of you stood in a large group of children. A class photo? 

Oh, for heaven's sake! Cook something!

Ugh, cooking… he hated cooking. Some compared it to art, but why bother creating something if it will only be consumed moments later? Food lacked the lasting impact his paintings held.

It might still make a nice gesture, though..

He sighed and carefully set the stack of pictures back in your drawer. What would he even cook? Did you have ingredients? If only he had the freedom to visit a grocery store himself, but it wasn’t worth the risk. 

In the end, he found some pasta and vegetables. A pair of chicken breasts and a jar of sauce rounded out the meal. Simple, but enough to deliver the message. Truthfully, he was a bit excited to see your reaction. This might be the most normal thing the two of you ever shared; at the very least, it was so far.

He set the table and lowered the heat of the stovetop, keeping the meal warm until you returned. 

Now what?

There wasn’t time to figure it out, as the click of a key in the door signaled your arrival. The artist grinned and stirred the pasta, sending waves of savory scent wafting through the air. He hadn’t been this excited for something other than art for years.

“What the…” you murmured, stepping through the doorway with a weary look, shoulders drooping. 

“Welcome back,” V replied.

“You… did you cook?”

He smiled and nodded, gesturing at the spot he set for you. “A token of my gratitude, for all you’ve done for me.”

The corner of your lips twitched, a sound he couldn’t translate slipping through. He’d never seen your face with this expression, what were you thinking? Did you find his message? Perhaps he hadn’t been clear enough, but he could try again soon enough. 

“Alright. I give up, this is too much.”

You kicked your shoes off and dropped your bag, striding toward the table and taking the indicated seat. Perplexed, the artist didn’t move. 

“You give up?”

“Yup. This can’t possibly be my life.”

That… is not the reaction I hoped for.

Chuckles bubbled from your throat as you stared at him, intensifying with each heartbeat. The artist’s heart warmed; he’d never heard you laugh like this before. Choking, holding your stomach and tears forming on your eyelashes. You’d never looked so lovely.

He smiled and took his own seat, the pasta forgotten on the stove. It didn’t matter, he’d rather enjoy your face right now. 

At long last, you managed to calm down, though an occasional snicker still broke through. Slim fingers wiped away the moisture leaking from your eyes, lips still twitching. “It’s insane, hehe, the hands responsible for what I saw tonight also made me dinner. It’s hehe, it’s goddamn surreal.”

With that, you broke down in giggles once again. Something about the sound of your laughter and the wide grin on your lips summoned snickers from V as well, and within moments his own chuckles mixed with yours. When was the last time he laughed, truly laughed?

He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Right now, all that mattered was the flickering joy in his heart.

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

[sophisticatedloserchick]

Fanfic - Afternoon (Not) Delight - 1/1

Summary: Iris tries to surprise her husband for a Afternoon Delight but then things don’t go as planned.

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 1818

A/N: A fluffy fic I had chilling in my drafts that I decided to finally finish up XD

Barry could feel a pressure headache building at the back of his head.

Today had been an awful day. The only other CSI tech called in sick which normally Barry could handle but today the case load included three homicides, two armed robberies and one break-in. He could speed through the paperwork in the blink of an eye but all the DNA and forensic samples he sent to the lab to be analyzed took time to process leaving Barry stuck waiting.

And other small things started happening since the moment he woker up to ruin his day. The water for his shower this morning came out a dark rust color. The the barista at Jitters got his coffee order mixed up, instead of his usual americano double shot  he got some whipped cream caramel confection that tasted like pure sugar. Then as soon as he walked through the doors at CCPD Singh let him know that two of the CSI's quit and as the newly appointed head of the department it would be up to Barry to find their replacements.

Barely half way through the day and Barry felt ready to call it quits.

He doubted anything could turn this day around.

The universe decided to prove him wrong as his wife walked through the door of his lab.

“Iris?” Barry perked up at the sight of her. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes greedily drank her in. She wore a tight navy blue skirt that hugged the curves of her hips and accentuated her small waist. Her crisp white dress shirt with the top three buttons undone revealing a tantalizing V of brown skin. Her long black hair swept to the side in loose curls. The smile on her lips seemed to make the dark confines of Barry's lab become brighter.

“Hi babe,” Iris walked towards him, high heels clicking on the wooden floors. “I thought you could use a lunch break.”

She held up a bag of Big Belly burgers for him to see.

“I know today has kind of sucked for you,” Iris looked at him sympathetically.

Barry rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment remembering the phone call he gave Iris an hour ago to rant about his troubles. He felt bad for making her worry but at the same time getting to see her always made his day better.

“You're an angel,” Barry breathed out when she reached his desk to put the bag of food in front of him. “Best wife ever.”

“Its just fast food you cornball,” Iris laughed but Barry could tell she was pleased by the compliment.

For a few blissful minutes Barry inhaled the burgers and fries. There was something about greasy and cheesy food that made even the worst days seem better. After a moment he consumed two bags worth of food realized that Iris wasn't eating and she didn't even attempt to steal any of his fries. She simply perched herself on the edge of his desk looking at him with a thoughtful look on her face.

“Hows your day going?” Barry asked, using a napkin to wipe away the ketchup and mustard on his face. “Any good news stories break out?”

Barry crumbled all the burger wrappings into a ball and hand tossed them into a waste basket a few feet away.

“Not really,” Iris pursed her lips. “Been a boring day actually.”

“Well I'm happy if it meant I get to see you,” Barry grinned broadly up at her.

He meant it too. Any time he got to spend with Iris he would cherish. Even a simple lunch date was enough to make his terrible day way better, he didn't need much more than that.

Lucky for him Iris had other ideas for their lunch date.

Without warning Barry found himself with a lap full of Iris. His hands went up immediately to steady her. One hand curling around her waist, the one resting on her knee. Heat spread through him at the feeling of her soft, warm body pressing into his. His senses filled with the smell of her lavender soap and the sound of her light giggle.

“Iris?” Barry swallowed thickly. “Are you making a move on me?”

“Absolutely,” Iris leaned forward to press her lips against his jawline. “Can't I spend a little quality time with my husband?”

“Its the middle of the day,” Barry shuddered as Iris shifted in his lap so that her ass rubbed against his crotch.

“Like that's stopped us before,” Iris's fingers ran through Barry's hair, her nail scratching along his scalp causing tingles to shoot down his spine.

“A little afternoon delight?” Barry's hand slipped under her skirt to touch the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

Their lips then finally met in a heated kiss and Barry could barley breath let alone think anymore.

What happened next occurred in a complete blur. Often when he was this close to Iris his powers tended to go haywire. The speed that already infused his cells would intensify at the feel of Iris's hand touching his skin or her lips moving against his. Sometimes he would vibrate, sometimes tiny bolts of lighting danced across his skin, sometimes he would slow down time in order to savor the moment.

Other times Barry would move about the room in small bursts of speed.

One moment the two of them were making out in his office chair. The next Barry had Iris pressed up against a wall across the room. Her skirt had disappeared in the process allowing her long bare legs to wrap around his waist. Her head tilted back as she moaned when Barry grinded his hardening cock against her.

In a blink of an eye Barry zipped them back to his desk. His paperwork fluttering to the floor as Iris lay on her back spread out across his desk. Barry towered over her body looking down at the hunger in her dark eyes.

Barry should of taken a moment to catch his breath. To calm down his nerves that felt like they were moving a million miles a minute. He could feel his grip on control slipping with each passing second.

Which is why Barry wasn't looking when he sped them over to the laboratory side of his office. His focus more on getting his wife out of her remaining clothes then being aware of the shelves filled with bottle of chemicals.

The sound of glass breaking ripped Barry out of the sex induced fog he'd been lost in.

“Wh-what happened?” Iris blinked in a daze.

She was sitting on the edge of the metal counter with her shirt completely unbutton exposing her white lacy bra. Barry stood between her legs, his hands gripping her waist ready to pull her underwear off. Looking at Iris distracted him again but he was vaguely aware of the white mist from the chemicals hitting the air surrounding them.

After his brain snapped back into focus he finally saw what liquid  had been in the glass beaker that broke.

Oh schrap, Barry cursed to himself, its hydrochloric acid.

“Honey I'm so sorry,” Barry spoke quickly while looking into Iris's confused brown eyes. “I need to get us into a shower to get this off us.”

“Wait Barry-” Iris started but Barry had already scooped her up into his arms then sped off.

While not lethal in the small amount that got on them hydrochloric acid in a concentrated form could be corrosive and could do a lot of damage. In their case they were at a high risk of irreversible skin burns. Barry's speedster body would heal in time but Iris didn't have the same advantage. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for marring his wife's perfect brown skin.

In under a second Barry moved them down two floors to the staff locker room. Thankfully no one was around leaving it completely empty.

Faster than the human eye could see Barry got Iris out of her remaining clothes, turned on the facet, and put her under the spray of water.

“Oh god its co-old” Iris winced as the cool water hit her skin.

“Sorry, sorry,” Barry apologized knowing his wife usually preferred her showers to be scalding hot. “The water needs to be cold to counteract the acid burn.”

“Acid burn?!” Iris whipped her head up to look at him panicked.

“You're going to be okay,” Barry soothed. “I think we got here in time.”

Barry examined Iris's arm that had been exposed to the acid mist the most. The skin there looked slightly darkened and irritated but thankfully hadn't escalated to a burn. His focus wavered a little given his wife was now completely naked getting wetter under the spray of water but he didn't think she'd appreciate him lusting after her in this moment.

“Does it hurt?” Barry asked gently, his hand stroked the skin of her waist to help calm her nerves.

“A little,” Iris's lowered her eyes down to her arm. “More itchy and irritated than painful.”

Barry breathed out a sigh of relief. At least he hadn't permanently injured her due to his speedster clumsiness.

Iris's body began to tremble kicking Barry back to worry mode.

“God your shivering. Sorry we should stay under this cold water for a little longer,” Barry wrapped his arms around her to hopefully set off the chill in her body. “But tell me if you get too cold.”

“Its not that,” Iris pushed her hair out of her face and Barry could see she looked upset. “I try to surprise my husband to make him feel better and we end up covered in acid.”

“Which is completely my fault,” Barry gave a sheepish smile. “I got a little too excited like I always do when I'm with you.”

“I didn't make your day worse?” Iris asked biting down on her lower lip.

“I'm currently wrapped around my very naked, very wet wife in the shower.” Barry grinned crookedly at her. “A little acid isn't going to ruin that.”

Iris laughed as Barry nuzzled into the side of her neck. His arms pulling her tightly against him. Even with the cold water Barry could still feel the heat that always existed between them.

He meant what he said too. Every moment he got with Iris was special to him. Even if that included them standing in a cold shower to wash acid away.

“Well you know I'am a little cold,” Iris pressed a soft kiss to the center of his chest causing electric shocks to go through his body, “Will you help me stay warm?”

Iris shrieked in surprise when Barry lifted her up into his arms and pressed her against the shower wall fully intending to pick up where they left off.

[yukiwrites]

The Flow of Time

Thanks for the support as always, @breeachuu! Here’s to Wolfie’s triumphant return!!.... :’D

Summary: After so many tribulations under such a short time, Wolfie finally felt like he was fitting in the Blue Lions, to the point of wanting to make a friendship jewel with Dimitri and everything. But when the Flame Emperor attacked and war broke out, Wolfram had to follow his Destiny’s Call.

Commission info HERE and HERE!

_______________________________

Wolfram barely noticed how fast time passed while he was talking to Dorothea -- he had so much to talk about Caspar it felt as though he simply blinked and suddenly dusk had fallen all around the monastery.

Since he had spent quite a few hours indulging himself in tasty treats and wonderful teas (Dorothea served him two full pots! They really were having a blast in there), Wolfie didn't feel hungry enough -- or hungry at all for that matter -- to go to the Dining Hall, so he simply took a right after leaving Dorothea's room towards the stairs to the second floor. Smiling foolishly, the half-manakete went up the steps, enjoying how the walls of the corridor echoed the sound, surprisingly unbothered by being apparently all alone in the entire dormitory.

Well, since it was dinner time just about then, most of the students were gathering downstairs to share a table at the Dining Hall -- and usually Wolfram would be amongst them if only to have more company; but, for some reason, the boy's heart felt so full at the moment that he needed some time to digest all that had happened.

Never had talking about someone else made Wolfram feel that way -- he felt like he was shining like the sun while his smile was plastered on his face like a buffoon. However, the moment his eyes glanced at one of the nameplates of a room, he stopped in his tracks, widening his eyes.

It was Dimitri's room.

"Oh yeah, I wonder if I should ask him about 'that' now..." He mused, a frown burrowing his face as his thin eyes looked down to the floor. Putting one hand over his chin in deep thought, Wolfram's warm aura from his talk with Dorothea directed itself towards his first friend instead.

They had shared a wonderful friendship in such a short amount of time that Wolfram actually felt awkward to bring up the subject -- since he had always been around acquaintances and friends of the family, he never truly thought about forming such a deep bond with someone else on his own. Clutching his chest, the boy placed his head by Dimitri's nameplate, remembering the lessons his Mother and siblings had given him about the jewel-making.

Perhaps even for a human's standard, this friendship of theirs was a fast-paced one; Wolfram couldn't tell. He had always been surrounded by old friends and what not, so he couldn't say for sure how to determine the exact point where an acquaintance turned into a friend and when a friend turned into an ally close to one's heart. But the half-manakete knew one thing: he felt that way towards Dimitri.

He had been the target of Dimitri's consideration, kindness and open-mindedness so many times it made the boy's heart feel like bursting. He even witnessed the glimpse of darkness that took hold of the Prince's heart, though he kept on believing that he would keep by the light.

Wolfram was sure, however: he truly did want to craft the friendship jewel and give it to Dimitri. So, should he 'strike while the iron's hot' like some humans in Ylisse used to say, or what? There he was, standing ducks right in front of the room of the next King of Faerghus, so why not just come out with it and ask?

Yeah! That's what he was going to do, yep!

... What Wolfram didn't notice, however, was that he went through the thought process of a manakete to reach that conclusion -- meaning he didn't notice how long he had actually been standing in front of Dimitri's room. Which was a really long time, to be honest.

Most of the noble students had been wandering around the halls, stealing glances at the bold, tall boy who stood still with his head on the Prince's door like it was a normal thing to do, only when a polite, deep voice brought him back from his thoughts, right when he had come into a conclusion.

"Wolfram? Is something the matter? Do forgive me for not arriving sooner, have you been waiting long?" Dimitri walked at hurried steps towards his own room, his gaze meeting Wolfram's, making the half-manakete jump out of his own skin.

"Di-Dimitri!" Wolfram stuttered, gulping as he suddenly felt very nervous. There was heat rising on his cheeks, since he didn't know how to actually convey what he wanted to without sounding like he had lost his mind. "I, um, I-"

Catching on quickly, Dimitri glanced at their bustling surroundings before placing one hand on Wolfie's back while the other turned the handle of his door. "Is it something you'd rather say in private? Come, no one shall hear us in my room," he whispered, guiding the tall boy in before closing the door behind them. "Did something happen? You're sweating -- have you eaten properly? I - ah, we were sharing a meal with the Professor at the Dining Hall and we didn't see you there..."

"Oh no, I'm not hungry at all, thank you! I'm, um, I actually wanted to ask something, but now that I'm here, I don't know how to say it, nyahaha..." Wolfram scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, looking down at his feet.

"Of course, you can ask me anything. If it's within my power, I'm willing to help." Dimitri guided Wolfie to sit by the secretary while Dimitri himself pulled a stool to sit on, holding Wolfie's hand on his own. "What has happened, friend?"

"Friend..." Wolfram gulped, brushing his thumbs over the Prince's hands, squeezing it softly as he took a short breath. "What I want to ask is actually related to that," he glanced at Dimitri's clear blue eyes once before looking back to sustain the gaze. "It's, ah, somewhat of a custom back home-- and I mean in my family and the manaketes in general -- to craft something called a 'friendship jewel' out of own scales and a few strands of hair..."

"Huh..." Dimitri nodded as if he understood, though confusion was apparent in his eyes, which made Wolfie's smile grow.

"So I was kinda wondering if you could give me a few strands of your hair? T-that way I could make us a pair of friendship jewels..." his voice died down as he spoke, heat once again rising to his cheeks.

"Oh!" Dimitri also blushed slightly, somewhat delighted and embarrassed to be held in such high regard by someone other than his deceased family. "Of course, Wolfram. How much should I give you?" He gripped at his scalp, meaning to pull a handful of hair from the root, not realizing that would make a really large bald spot on his golden locks.

"W-wai-wait, don't pull that much!" Wolfie held Dimitri's hand back, picking a thin lock on the side of his head instead. "Just this much is fine... Don't get bald on my account, please!" He giggled heartily, stealing a chuckle from the Prince.

"Ahah, very well, then." Dimitri nodded as he pulled the lock of hair out, placing it in Wolfram's hand. "I shall look forward to seeing how this wonderful jewel will look like, then, Wolfram. I do thank you for thinking of me with such fondness -- are you also making one for Caspar? I figure I'm not the first one you propose this to, since the two of you get along so well."

Blinking, Wolfie stopped midway to placing Dimitri's hair into his chest pocket. "Uh, no, I didn't do one for him, actually. This is my very first time doing this, so I obviously thought of you."

"Oh," Dimitri tried to conceal a smile by lowering his head, but his red ears gave his elation away. "Truly? That's- I do not know how to react to this, truthfully."

"Heehee," Wolfie placed the hair safely into his pocket, then took Dimitri's hands again. "You're really special to me, Dimitri; that's why you're getting this friendship jewel. I mean, Caspar is special to me too, but it's a bit different?" he tilted his head to the side in slight confusion, "I don't know how to explain it, but the kinds of like I feel for you and for him aaaare different, I think? I feel it that way, but..."

Chuckling, it was Dimitri's turn to squeeze Wolfie's hands slightly. "I am sure you will be able to figure it out, Wolfram. As I said before, I will be looking forward to the jewel -- perhaps you could tell me how it will be made later?"

"Oh, for sure! I still gotta wait for the right time, so I kinda wanna prepare first before saying anything; but thanks for the hair, I'll treasure it!"

"Anytime, my friend. If you need more, there are a lot from where that one came from, ahah!" He scratched the spot he had pulled the lock from, which was a bit itchy from being forcefully ripped.

Laughing, Wolfie nudged his friend's shoulder, feeling all warm all over again.

Wolfram had to keep close watch on the moon to check for its cycles since there was little information about the precise dates for when a full moon would occur -- which meant that although he could simply check it when the moon rose in the sky, he chose to stay up 'til later to check the positions of the moon and also stretched his wings more often in search of a good place with lots of moonlight for the crafting.

After one such night of staying up late, before he even sneaked out of Caspar's room, a hurried knock on the door made Wolfram gulp a soundless scream as he ran to open it, not wanting to wake up his snoring friend.

"Y-yes? Ah, Cyril, hello there." He whispered, crouching to be able to stay on the boy's point of view. "It's really late, why are you here?"

"Lady Rhea said she wants to talk to you, so I'm here to take you to her."

Wolfram froze in place.

"Lady-"

"Lady Rhea."

"She wants to-"

"Talk to you, yes, yes. Can we go now? I need to wake up early tomorrow so I'd 'preciate if you could come quickly."

"O-oh, um," his heart thumping inside his chest, Wolfie glanced back at the sleeping Caspar before pressing his lips into a thin line, clutching his locket with all he had. "L-let me just change out of my pajamas, real quick." He apologized with his hands, closing the door after Cyril replied with a sleepy 'okay'.

"Oh my Naga, oh my Naga, Naga!" Wolfram muttered under his shaky breath, walking around in circles as he held his head between his hands. "She- she did say she would want to talk to me later, but what- why now? D-did anyone see me while I flew around this week? I've been careless once when Dimitri found me out, but ever since then I've been doing so well!" He took deep breaths so as not to freak out, not noticing how he was actually changing out of his clothes.

Caspar let out a loud snore, then muttered something intelligible and turned on his side as he scratched his belly -- action of which made Wolfram turn white as a sheet of paper and hold his breath in surprise. After a few seconds too long, when his face was starting to get purple from lack of oxygen, Wolfram gasped for breath when Caspar went back to snoring loudly.

"Okay, okay, okay, okay... I just gotta go, right? I just- I gotta..." He whimpered, making sure to wear his father's pocket watch, right beside the locket into which he kept his dragonstone. He was still so terrified of Rhea.

So, so, terrified.

She was a dragon whose power was always just barely in control that he was scared that she might just go berserk and destroy everything around her. Wolfram remembered well of the stories of how Tiki -- the only known manakete to be older than his mother Nidra -- had to be sealed for centuries because her power was so strong she could destroy the world if she lost control of it.

What if Rhea was the same? She did seem to be pretty old -- he meant that in the best way possible -- for a manakete- er, a Child of the Goddess as they were called in Fódlan, so what if after so many years she started to lose control of her power? What if their dragonstones were corrupted? What if, what if-

"Hey, are you done there? You said you'd come quickly." Cyril knocked on the door again, making Wolfram jump one meter off the ground in surprise, quickly putting on his boots to leave the room.

"S-sorry, I couldn't find my socks." He adjusted the bandana on his head, biting his lower lip when the young boy simply shrugged and guided the half-manakete out of the dorms.

They walked towards the main building of the monastery, then up the stairs towards Rhea's office -- towards the presence Wolfram had been running away from ever since the first time he came in contact with it.

"Alright, she's in there, so go on and be respectful to her, you hear me?" The young boy poked on Wolfram's belly with a precision fit for an assassin, reaching right on his solar plexus, making Wolfram bend down in surprise. "I'm going to bed now."

"O-huff... Okay- thanks for bringing me all the way here, Cyril!" Wolfram said as he caught his breath, waving to the disappearing young boy as he went down the same stairs they had just used. "Okay, Wolfie, you got this. You got-" he started trembling. "You don't got this," he whined, clutching locket and watch alike as he slowly, ever so slowly made his way to Rhea's office.

The door was ajar, so he simply had to put a hand over it for it to creak open, though Rhea's eyes were focused on a pile of documents to see him entering.

"Um-"

"Make yourself comfortable, child." She said in a calm voice, gesturing vaguely to the two chairs in front of her desk. "I will be done in a second."

"O-okay," Wolfram could barely hear his own voice under his ever growing anxiety, the power Rhea leaked even while she was doing paperwork enough to make the boy dizzy. His back was already drenched in sweat, as were his hands -- which he kept drying constantly over his pants.

A few minutes passed inside the silent room -- the only sound being Rhea's continuous scribbles over the documents. After another couple of moments passed, Wolfram exhaled slowly, not wanting the sound of his breath to be the thing that made her pay attention to him rather than her work.

"How do you see me, child?" She asked as she signed one of the last papers.

"UWAH?!" Wolfram jumped on his seat, holding his chest in surprise with the suddenness of Rhea's explosive voice. She spoke barely over a whisper, honestly, but the power leaking out of her mouth as well as the large presence of her beast right there, towering behind her, made the experience seem a thousand times scarier to the half-manakete. "S-sorry, um, I don't understand the question...?" he cleared his throat, finding that he was having trouble breathing.

Rhea placed the quill back on its spot, closing the inkpot before placing her clear green eyes on Wolfram, making the boy freeze on the spot. "To me, you feel like a kit," she placed her chin over her intertwined fingers. "A young, weak child with such a faint Presence," she stressed the word in such a way that only those of the Blood would understand, "that you feel like the others."

She let that sink in for a moment, never taking her eyes off of Wolfie's, noticing how much he trembled under her power.

"But you are not, are you? You can also feel us just as we can feel you."

Wolfram knew it! He knew she felt him too! But then, why did she keep quiet all that time? Why did she tolerate it? What was going to happen to him now? He could barely move from his chair, let alone open his mouth to speak.

"Ah, um- I-"

To speak anything coherent, that is.

"That means you can also feel how special Byleth is, can you not?" The moment Rhea mentioned Byleth's name, a vast darkness seemed to appear inside her clear eyes, as though encroaching her in something... mad. "She is the key, young one. Finally, finally the key to the salvation of our kind is so close -- just within my reach." She extended her hand to nowhere in particular, though still in Wolfie's direction, and clutched it as though he had caught something she would never let go of again.

Wolfram's body started shaking even more, his heart beating so fast his vision started to blur. He started seeing everything going dark, nauseous under the barely contained madness of the large, growling beast of Rhea's, right behind her.

As if she hadn't noticed or didn't care about Wolfram's situation, Rhea brought her hand back to where it was, intertwining her fingers again so she could place her chin over them. "I know not how you have managed to hide yourself after all this time -- or perhaps your family managed to mingle with the others so much it has weakened your blood, but it matters not, child. What matters is that you and your class will bear witness to the miracle that will change the course of our lives -- of our people's and the others we have taught over the eras."

Feeling cold sweat contrasting with how fast his heart was beating, Wolfram felt himself lift his finger as though wanting to ask a question in the middle of class, his mind swirling around in a way that made him want to throw up. "I- I don't understand... Lady Rhea-" he huffed, blinking so slowly he didn't know how long had passed since he had last done so.

Rhea slowly got up of her chair, circling the desk so as to place one hand over Wolfram's cheek. "Shhh, fret not, child. You will soon understand." She said in a low voice, her smile growing so large Wolfram thought he saw it actually reaching both ends of her face in a display of mad joy before consciousness evaded him completely.

Rhea patted the boy's head as she watched his eyes roll back in nausea, finally passing out.

Wolfram slept a dreamless sleep, waking up with a startle. "Wah!" He huffed, sitting up with a jump, his eyes as wide as they could get.

"What th- you scared me half to death, man!" Cyril threw the clothes he had been folding overhead in his surprise. "What IS up with you? I just finished folding these, sheesh..." the boy complained, getting up from his bed to pick up the scattered clothes.

"H-huh? Cyril?" Wolfram carefully checked his bandana -- sighing in relief when he noticed he still had it over his ears -- before looking around the small room.

He was sitting on the couch with a blanket over him while the young boy had been sitting on the bed, folding what seemed to be a mountain of clothes.

"Whoa, you did this all by yourself? That's amazing-"

The young boy shrugged. "Not really; it's the usual stuff. Anyway, are you feeling alright? It's the middle of the day by now, so I was getting worried you wouldn't get up anymore."

"MIDDL-" Wolfram widened his eyes, jumping out of the sofa. "Middle of the day?! Oh my Naga, what? How did I end up here in the first place? I just remember being- being... Oh..." he flopped back on the couch, deflating as the terrifying memories of the previous night held him by the neck.

"I dunno what happened, but a little while after I left you there, Lady Rhea walked in carrying you in her arms and telling me to let you stay over for the night. Were you really SO sleepy you had to fall asleep on Lady Rhea? 'Cause if so, that was really rude, you know. But if you were actually feeling bad then I'm sorry for saying mean stuff."

"No, I- um, thank you for worrying about me, Cyril, I think? Um, I'm feeling fine now so I'll be going..." he said so, but he didn't move to get up, his gaze lingering on the young boy. "Say, Cyril, you're pretty protective over Lady Rhea, right? Is she special to you?"

"Well, she saved me when no one else would, so I kind of owe my life to her. So yeah, she's special to me and I'll protect her until I can repay the debt -- by dying for her." The young lips said heavy words as though they were morning greetings, without even taking his eyes off of the clothes he was folding.

Wolfram reached for his chest to grasp at the locket and watch, carefully squeezing them in his hold. "Aren't you, um, scared of her sometimes?"

"Scared? Nah." Cyril raised his gaze to the ceiling in thought. "She takes a lot of hard decisions for the sake of the people and for them to follow the goddess' teachings, so I don't think she's scary, no. She's resolute, firm and kind."

Wolfram could see the sparkle in the young boy's eyes, wondering if he'd ever be able to see the woman who housed such a massive beast inside her the same way Cyril did. "I see... Thanks for answering, Cyril. And for letting me stay over, too. I hope I didn't make any weird noises."

"Eh, it's cool. You're a real quiet sleeper, did you know? I couldn't even hear you breathing sometimes."

"Heehee, really? I wonder why," Wolfram scratched his temple with a soft smile, his head still wrapped around what had happened to properly convey a convincing expression.

Rhea was the scariest person Wolfram had ever met in his life -- even though she was somewhat of the same species as him, she made him feel the heebie jeebies just by her presence alone, so he always made sure to avoid her.

And yet, although she was terrifying, she carried a boy almost an entire foot taller than her down the stairs towards a safe place so he could sleep peacefully. She also saved countless children and delivered judgement to the wicked in accordance to what their goddess had taught them.

Was she a terrible or a good person? Wolfram couldn't tell.

But after that night, even if his impression of her changed, he still would rather stay away from her... at least until she regained proper control.

Once Wolfram came back to the dorms, he was received by all sorts of worried classmates -- especially his roommate Caspar, who jumped on him to lock him in a shoulder lock and dishevel his hair for making him worry so much.

Under laughter, Wolfram apologized to his classmates, slowly recovering the warmth he felt he had left the moment he entered Rhea's office.

Soon it would be time for the month's mission -- for the time Rhea had said that they would witness the miracle of the era.

It was with such thoughts that Wolfram followed the Blue Lions closely once the day came for them to go down to the Holy Tomb. Rhea led the way with a serene-looking smile, but Wolfram felt the shadow of her dragon swaying around as though about to break away from its leash, which made him lock arms with both Dimitri and Caspar as they marched right behind Byleth.

"You alright, buddy? You're really scaredy for someone of your size, right?" Caspar snorted loudly, the sound echoing in the eerie-looking walls that glowed without any apparent trigger.

"Ha-haha," Wolfram shivered, feeling the Old Energy oozing out of the stone -- it felt much stronger and somehow more right than the one back at the abandoned shrine Solon trapped Byleth in last month. He gripped on both Dimitri's and Caspar's hands, alternating his gaze from Byleth to Rhea, not knowing who to watch.

Ultimately he decided to look at Byleth, since she was his mission, but that proved to be harder and harder as they advanced towards a stone throne etched on the wall -- because Rhea's presence seemed to engulf the entire underground, caressing all of their cheeks in a cold and controlling way.

"Go on, Professor. Sit upon the throne to receive the goddess' message! You recognize it, do you not?"

Byleth was silent as she gazed upon the throne, nodding a "I do," before going up the stairs under the gazes of the students.

Rhea clasped her hands together in anticipation, widening her eyes more and more the closer Byleth got to the throne, a large smile covering the Archbishop's face once the Professor sat on the old stone.

One moment passed.

Another breath shook.

Three heads looked around.

It was then that Wolfram felt something with his heightened senses. "What...?" He whispered more to himself than to the Prince whose hand he still held as he looked around with a growing suspicion. "It feels like... there's someone else here other than us..."

Dimitri's brow quivered as he tilted his body to Wolfie. "Is that true, Wolfram? I do not feel anything out of the ordinary..."

"Hmm," the half manakete narrowed his eyes, looking around at the faraway walls, "I can't quite pinpoint it, but I think we should... get ready for something." He let go of Dimitri's hand to reach out for the tome he always carried with him, gripping harder on Caspar's hold.

"What, what's going on?" The shorter boy asked in a normal voice, looking around since he was bored of watching Lady Rhea say that something was wrong while Byleth was just sitting up there doing nothing.

"I think it's-"

"Halt! Who goes there?!" Dimitri jumped to the rear of the group, yelling to a place that was seemingly empty.

Then, as though reality distorted itself, the concealing magic worn off, revealing dozens of Imperial Soldiers circling around the Holy Tomb.

And at their center, there lay the Flame Emperor.

"At long last- you reveal yourself, fiend!" Dimitri roared, unsheathing his sword. "I shall have my revenge!"

Rhea and Byleth started barking orders for the students, making them take strategic places around the sarcophagi to protect the ancient Crests Stones from being looted by the enemies.

His heightened senses screaming, Wolfram felt a rush of adrenaline flow around his body, allowing him to carry out Byleth's commands faster and with more precision. The moment the enemies were almost routed, Byleth took Dimitri's side to strike at the Flame Emperor from afar with her long-reaching blade.

The moment his mask fell, however...

Wolfram felt a chill go up in his back, widening his eyes to the point of actually showing them open. "Edelg-" he choked as the imperial princess' white locks flew from inside the Flame Emperor's helmet.

Dimitri's shoulders trembled slightly as his head hung down in shock -- or so it seemed. A faint laughter started to rise from the Prince's throat, evolving into a mad cackle. "IS THIS SOME KIND OF TWISTED JOKE?" He roared, running ahead like a mindless animal, trampling over the fresh bodies he made with his bare hands. "I am going to take your head from your shoulders and HANG IT FROM THE GATES OF ENBARR!" He threw his weapon with so much strength towards Edelgard that the column it landed it exploded in fine dust.

The moment he was about to grab the princess from her neck, however, Hubert appeared behind her, teleporting her out of his mad reach.

Panting, Dimitri looked at the empty space Edelgard had left, his eyes shaking as his body. "Hahh... hahh... AAAAAGH!" He yelled atop of his lungs, the sound echoing a thousand fold in the old halls, sending shivers down Wolfie's spine.

"Dimitri...!" The half-manakete choked a sob. "Don't lose...!" He whispered under his teeth.

As Byleth escorted the students after Dimitri hurried left ahead (followed by Dedue), Wolfram gripped at the Professor's coat like a lost child.

"Byleth, I- um, Professor-"

"You can call me whatever you want, Wolfram," Byleth patted the boy's arm, her face somber.

"Okay, thanks, Byleth. But- what did all of that mean? What's gonna happen?"

Byleth looked ahead, pressing her lips into a line. "It's war."

Honestly, Wolfram had such a high of adrenaline, everything happened so fast and so slow at the same time it made him dizzy. He could barely remember how he and Caspar got back to their room so quickly.

"Oh man, oh man," Caspar scratched the back of his head. "I'm screwed, this is messed up! How could Edelgard just do that, man." he grumbled, sat down and immediately got up. "But I just hope that, dammit, I hope I don't gotta face my dad in battle..."

"Oh... Oh, yeah, I didn't really think of that, but you're not uh, going home to fight your country's war?"

"No way in hell, man! I'm staying here and fighting with everyone. I was born in the Empire, sure, but it's not like I gotta die there, you know. I wanna fight for what I believe in."

Wolfram let out the breath he didn't know he was holding, approaching his short friend and covering him with a hug.

"Wha-hey, what was that for?" Caspar patted Wolfie's back. "You getting scared again? Don't worry, I got your back." He smiled proudly, resting his head on Wolfie's chest.

"Mhm, I'm a bit scared, yeah, but I thought you'd need the hug more than me... you were just saying you were screwed."

"MAN YOU REMINDED ME OF IT, dammit... Dad's a monster on the battlefield, Wolf, you wouldn't believe it. I hope he's not on the front lines... man I'd rather fight three demonic beasts all at once!"

Wolfram giggled, amazed that he could do so under such circumstances -- the turmoil that Naga had predicted was unfolding right before his eyes, after all. There was so much to think about, but, in the end, he would only do one thing, and one thing only.

He would stay by Byleth's side until the end.

The preparations for the battle were hasty, especially because the Imperial Army had a head start and would arrive much sooner than the Monastery could get ready for it. Some students hurriedly packed and left while others helped with the evacuation of the citizens... but soon battle was upon them.

Wolfie barely had time to speak with Dimitri, finding that the Prince was avoiding any and all contact, his eyes tainted in a dark glow as the pain of the past took over his entire demeanor. The half-manakete watched the full moon come and go, sad that he wouldn't be able to make the jewel for Dimitri as soon as he thought he would.

But once this was all over, he would. Surely he would be able to make it and convey his feelings to his troubled friend.

Surely.

...

... Yet, it was hard to maintain such train of thought during the rages of battle; under a thick layer of falling ash and the nauseating scent of burning flesh and woods; between magical explosions and roars of demonic beasts; amidst the screams of the townspeople who still couldn't mobilize themselves; under his classmates' sweat and blood as each and all of them took turns to protect one another...

Amidst it all, Wolfram started to feel the flow of battle change -- as did something in the Presences around him.

Rhea distanced herself, a loud, deafening roar the prelude to the largest dragon Wolfram had ever seen in his life (he never visited Plegia to see the bones of Grima, though). She spoke in a deep and far-reaching voice, telling the people to flee while she took care of the enemy's reinforcements.

Suddenly, the madness Wolfram had always felt coming from her felt more controlled than ever -- as though putting her life at risk for someone else was the trigger to make her feel humane again. However, the half-manakete had barely any time to dwell in such thoughts, even during the fierce battle he was fighting atop Aquilo.

He saw Byleth look over to the students, then to the dragon.

Their eyes met and he knew it.

He knew she was going to help Rhea.

"Byleth-" He reached out, so far from the Professor his voice wouldn't be heard no matter how loud he screamed. "Don't- Byleth, don't!" He warned, whipping Aquilo's reins. "Come on, boy, don't lose sight of her!"

Aquilo did its best to pick up the pace as he avoided the flaming turrets, columns of smoke and stray arrows, Wolfie's eyes entirely focused on the Professor.

The ground shook and the already too-loud battlefield was covered in a deafening roar.

One, two, five, ten- dozens of demonic beasts started to raze the ground, trampling on foes and allies alike as they all locked on their target -- the Immaculate One.

"Watch out!" Byleth whipped her Sword of the Creator on one beast's eyes, making it let go of Rhea, who was soon overrun by beasts. "I'm coming, Rhea, don't give up!"

"Why have you-" Rhea tried to ask under the pressure of over twenty beasts, widening her eyes when she felt someone charging magic towards them. "EVADE IT-"

"What-" Byleth turned around just in time to dodge the blow, but the ground started to give out.

"Byleth!!!" Wolfram roared, whipping Aquilo's reins. "Go on boy, faster, fast- NO!!" He reached out once he saw the rock crumbling under Byleth's feet. "No, no, NO!" He jumped out of Aquilo's back, pulling out his own wings so he could cut through the wind towards the Professor. "BYLETH!"

"Wolfram-" The Professor widened her eyes as she fell, seeing the foreign horns, wings and tail rip the boy's uniform up. "WOLFRAM!" She reached out her hand, her entire body curling itself up in anticipation for the painful landing.

"I won't let you fall, I won't, I won't! C'mon wings, faster, faster!" Wolfie gasped for breath, diving into the cliff with a speed he never thought he'd be able to reach, feeling his veins pop up under his struggle. "Byleth!!" He reached out to her, brushing his fingers on hers. "I got you!" He smiled, though Byleth's wide eyes made him look back a second too late -- the ground up there gave up and many rocks fell upon them by the hundreds.

The boy was hit on the back, shoulders, head, legs and wings, but he never stopped reaching out for Byleth, burning tears flowing up as he did his best to go down to her.

Once their hands finally touched, Wolfram hugged Byleth and twirled himself to cushion her fall -- but then, darkness.

He didn't even had had the time to confirm if he managed to save her before consciousness ebbed away from him through his wounds.

I stayed by her, Naga... The Heart of Immortals. He remembered thinking before it all went dark, fading away into the flow of time.

[shooter-nobunagun]

Quarantine UST 6

//Suggestive content

“Um, s-sorry about this...”

“Nah, it’s fine. Though, maybe I should be askin’ if you’re alright with this...yer quakin’ like a leaf.”

“A-Ah, uh...”

“...”

The girl shook her head. No, this was her idea in the first place; it would be rude to back out now...especially after all the trouble they went through to acquire the supplies. “No, I’m...sure. So, please do your best, Adam-san...I’m in your hands, literally...”

Adam was not sure if the sniper was aware of her word choice and the innuendo it carried, but nodded solemnly anyway. Armed with a comb, hairdryer and specifically, a pair of sharp salon scissors, he tied a sheet around her neck and spritzed the girl’s unruly bob down, prepping it for a trim.

After two weeks of trying and failing to clip her hair back, the sniper had given up and then sheepishly asked him to help her trim it. At first he was confused as to why she didn’t ask Jess, considering the woman was a model, but one look at those round maroons and he agreed before he knew it. Though Adam didn’t have much experience with hair styling in general, he had trimmed his own hair before on occasion, and reasoned if she just wanted it shorter, then he’d probably do all right.

Probably.

“Eeek! Th-That was a bit too close of a shave,” the sniper squeaked as the scissors chopped off a good chunk of her bangs. “...You didn’t cut too much off, did you? My forehead feels more bare than normal...”

“Uuuuhh...n, no, you look...fine.” Adam tried to make his voice sound neutral, but one look at the sniper’s face and he instantly knew he’d fucked up. ‘God fucking dammit...real smooth, Adam.’

“...Well, worst case I guess it’ll eventually grow back.” Sio muttered, now seriously wondering if it had been a good idea to ask the guy who housed the soul of a throat-slasher to help cut her hair. ‘But you’d think a guy who’s so skilled with a blade on the field would be dexterous enough for hair cutting...’

“Hey now, you’re the one who asked, squirt; I’m doin’ you a favor here...cut me some slack,” Adam muttered, still smarting over his mishap. “I ain’t a hair stylist or anything, surprised you asked me instead of someone like Jess...”

“W, Well, th-that just shows how much I trust you!” Sio blurted out, before realizing what exactly she’d just said. ‘Oh crap! I hope he doesn’t read too much into that...’

Of course, Adam read exactly as much as Sio feared he would. “...I’ll try. Just...don’t expect anythin’ fancy.” He had to pretend to busy himself with sweeping away the hair to stop himself from shaking. Did she really say she trusted him? ‘What the hell does that mean...well, I guess it means at least she doesn’t think I’m a total arse anymore...’ Thankfully, the rest of her hair was easier to contend with, though it was hard not to get distracted as he hovered in front of her face, doing his best to make sure the ends were even and not ragged.

‘Oh boy, he’s standing so close...! I can feel his breath on my face...and that nice scent...’ The sniper gulped nervously as Adam pulled her ends and squinted, trying to determine if it was level or not. ‘I wonder if that scent is from his shampoo, or laundry or...maybe he wears cologne?’ 

He didn’t seem like the type though, upon further thought. Or maybe that’s his natural scent, a naughty voice in her head joked, and it took everything fiber of her being to not just jump out of the chair (lest she get another too-close shave). She prayed her face wouldn’t turn red as Adam moved to the back, now cutting off another inch or so.

“Hmm, is this good? You said you like it just below your ears, yeh?”

“H-Huh? Oh yeah, that’s good. I just want it away from my neck...it gets so itchy otherwise.”

“Right. Got it.” Brushing away the loose hair, he switched to the scissors. “Gonna see if I can give you some more layers back here...otherwise, it’ll look bad within a week...”

Sio sat nervously as she watched bits and pieces of brown hair litter the yard. The sun was shining; not too high yet, but she hoped they would finish before it got overhead. The days were definitely warming up, and more than once Adam came downstairs complaining of how stuffy the attic was, to which Mahesh could only reply that he’d made the choice to take it.

“I did give you a choice when we first arrived, and you were the one who said you’d take it, so...”

Something soft brushed against the nape of her neck and she squealed. “Th-That tickles...!”

“Sorry; anyway, think I’m almost done. Just need to blow off the stray hair and comb it back out...” Adam blew off the rest of the hair, before combing everything neatly back into place and then gave a final nod of approval. “Alright, I think that’s good. Hm, not too shabby, if I do say so myself.” He handed the girl a small mirror. “So, verdict?”

“Oh...” Sio studied her own reflection, turning this way and that. Aside from her bangs (they were definitely too short, she sighed), it wasn’t half bad. He’d actually managed to give her bob a bit of an angle, so it was slightly more stylish than the flat cut she usually had. “Hey, not bad. I like it...well, the bangs are too short, but...”

“I’m sorry, alright? It’s a bit hard to get it right when you’re squirming around so much...” Adam grumbled. “Next time, when I say don’t move, I mean it.”

“Well, it’s not my fault my neck got itchy,” Sio stuck her tongue out briefly, but Adam knew she was just joking. “But still, thanks...finally, I have short hair again! It feel so nice...” She brushed the back briefly, enjoying the puffy strands. “Heh, I think your hair is now longer than mine,” she teased, glancing at his silvery-white strands that now just touched his shoulders. “Sure you don’t want a trim as well?”

“No thanks; I’ve seen what you can do with a knife, I’d rather not risk it,” he replied flatly, cleaning up the supplies. 

“Hey! Jerk,” she muttered, but he had a point. If it’d been up to her, she’d probably just have gotten the kitchen scissors and chopped it all off in one go. When she announced her original plan to Adam, he stared at her for a few seconds with thinly concealed horror, before managing to convince the girl that it would be worth it to get a pair of scissors just for this.

As Adam returned everything inside and swept up the stray hairs, something brushed against the back of his neck .”What th—” he jumped in surprise, before realizing the sniper was combing his hair.

“Your hair sure is getting long, though. Maybe you should tie it back; after all, don’t you know your vision’s gonna go bad like that?” She scolded, fingers running through his bangs that were, admittedly, starting to become a nuisance.

“...That’s just an urban legend,” he murmured, trying not to blush. Her fingers were delicate and small as they touched his skin, then through his scalp as she smoothed everything out with a brush. He nearly moaned as they brushed down his neck, but he bit it back just in time. “If you’re so concerned, then why don’t you tie it up for me?”

“W, Well then, I might just do that!” With a steely glint in her eye, the sniper returned with a hair tie and comb, now determined to make this work. “Seriously, how do you even see half the time?” She raised an eyebrow as she pulled his bangs back. “Oh hey look, you do have two eyes! Who’d’ve thought.”

“Right. Sure.” He rolled his eyes, trying to maintain his cool. Her cute little face filled his vision as she squinted those maroons in concentration, pulling his hair back. It felt nice to have someone brushing his hair, and even moreso, when she ran her fingers through it...he shivered slightly as the sniper started to rub his head a little more...

“Uhn...wh-what are you—”

“Is it nice? I read that head massages are a great way to relax...and it’s super easy to do,” she cooed into his ear, and that definitely sent a shiver down his spine. Was it just him, or did she suddenly seem more...mature than usual? This couldn’t possibly be happening, could it? The Sio he knew was shy, awkward and bumbling; the only time she ever showed any dominance was during battle...

‘Wait a minute, don’t tell me she’s being influenced by her e-gene even when we’re not in battle?’ 

Adam didn’t have anymore time to ruminate on that, however, as Sio massaged his scalp in earnest. His eyes fluttered shut, but he still had enough control left to not just start moaning, though it did feel really good. Just before he passed out though, she pulled his strands back a final time, tying it into a low ponytail just around the nape of his neck.

“There, all done. Huh, you look kinda different with your hair all back like this...but, not bad. It’s...different, but I like it.” She smiled as she handed him the mirror this time. “You should grow it out really long!”

“Heh, well at the rate things are going, who knows...” He glanced at the reflection. It did make him look different, but at least he didn’t look like one of those hipster ‘bros’. Also, it was true that he could see a lot better now, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. “Thanks, Ogura.”

“Mmn hmm. Consider things between us even now.”

Both Jess and Mahesh commented on their new styles as they went back in, although Sio was still very self-conscious of her now-bare forehead.

“I don’t think it’s that bad, dear. Besides, you have a cute forehead! Just think of it as not needing a trim for a while.” Jess consoled.

“Trying for a new style, Adam? I think it suits you. Maybe you should try the ‘man bun’ next, I hear those are in,” the Indian teased, getting out of the way before their leader could throw something else at him.

“Do you two wanna get your hair trimmed?” Sio offered, but they shook their heads. Jess already had long braids, and Mahesh, well, he apparently couldn’t care less how disheveled he looked.

“It’s not like we’ll be going anywhere or seeing anyone, aside from just...well, us. I don’t see the point, frankly.” The group was lounging about the living room, most still in their sleepwear; Mahesh still didn’t wear a shirt, but at least he threw on a jacket, and Jess had graduated from knickers to short shorts. Sio was making herself some toast and jam while Adam was busy with his Final Fantasy VII file, everybody else watching in great amusement or else shouting at the screen.

“Dodge dodge! No wait, do a counterstance!”

“Whoa, that’s a lot of damage...”

“That’s a lot going on at once on the screen.”

“Oy, would you all shut yer traps?! You’re not helping,” Adam groused, narrowly avoiding a game over with a phoenix down. “If you’re not going to be giving me useful advice, then can it!”

Sio giggled slightly to herself, taking in the scene before her as she ate her bread. ‘Even though it’s not the best of circumstances, it is nice to be able to spend time with everybody, like this.’ Back aboard the Logan, or even the Forrester, everyone mostly kept to themselves, except for perfunctory meetings or battle. To live an everyday existence with her teammates, and get to know them beyond their e-genes... Sio felt a warm glow within her, glad she got to experience this. 

At last Adam stopped for food, lunch consisting mostly of leftovers from the night before and whatever they had lying around. Sio slowly finished a packet of instant ramen with spam, as Adam made a smorgasbord out of leftover breakfast items.

“Y’know, if it weren’t for the fact that we’re kinda forced to be here and the circumstances, it feels a bit like uni,” Jess commented as the group sat around the table. “Though I can’t say I experienced much of ‘traditional’ university life.”

“Hn; yer romanticizin’ it too much,” Adam retorted. “Trust me, actual dorm life with a bunch of other strangers wasn’t exactly something I enjoyed. There’s a big difference between living in a giant dormitory versus a single house...”

Sio perked up at the conversation. ‘That’s right, Jess said Adam was just beginning college when he left for DOGOO...I wonder what his school life was like?’ The sniper herself hadn’t even begun to think about university, even before everything happened, and now she wasn’t sure if college was in her future. Not that she had an inkling of what she might study, anyway.

“Um, so what is it like, anyway? College?”

“Thinkin’ of applying after this is all over, squirt? Well, let me tell you it’s not all fun and games,” Adam warned as he finished off the rest of his plate. “Especially if you’re not used to taking care of yourself...”

“Th, that’s—are you implying something...” She met Adam’s eyes with a stare, which was returned in equal fervor. “A-Anyway, I doubt I’ll have to think about that for a while...who knows if I’ll even go back after all this.” Most of her classmates were already talking about their final senior year trip abroad, which, from the sound of things, might actually include San Francisco—once the pandemic was over, of course. “I’m not even sure what I’d major in, or where to go...”

“Well, it never hurts to think about your future after all this. With any luck, we’ll still be able to get on with our lives...eventually.” Mahesh commented breezily. “Who knows, maybe you’ll come out of this whole EIO thing with a better idea of what you actually want.”

Sio pondered those words over in her mind as everybody picked up their empty plates. ‘What I actually want...’ Well, for the immediate time being, it would be to get through this pandemic without dying. And maybe (hopefully?) figure out how to navigate her increasingly-complicated relationship with Adam. ‘Urg...I know I really shouldn’t be entertaining those thoughts, but still...I can’t help it if I feel this way. Is it really so wrong to like him?’

She climbed the stairs up, debating if she wanted to relax a bit before she hit the gym, or play games, or go for a walk. It was interesting to realize that, despite not really being able to go anywhere, she still had a fair amount of choices and autonomy within her daily life here. Even small things, such as deciding what to do for meals, or how to spend her free time, were things she never really considered back when every other second was spent fighting.

“Oh baby, can’t live without you baby, I’d give it up for you... You know I love you—”

“Huh? Where’s that sound coming from...” She cocked her ear up, realizing the sound was drifting through the attic door. “Oh, I guess Adam’s listening to music.” It was some low-key, jazzy R&B in English; she never would’ve guess Adam was into anything other than rock, but curiosity got the better of her, and before Sio knew it she was knocking on his door.

“Eh? What’s up, Ogura?” Adam looked at the girl in surprise, not expecting her to come knocking. “Need something?”

“Ah, uh, not really...I was, um, just...” She squirmed, hoping she didn’t sound too forward. “Just, I heard music coming from your room...a-and, I...was curious to what it was...”

Oh. “Ah, sorry about that...guess I should turn down the volume,” but Sio shook her head.

“N-No, I like it...er, well, from what I’ve been able to hear, anyway...a-and it’s not like you’re disrupting me or anything, just...” She shyly looked down at her feet, wondering what was the best way to invite herself in, if possible.

“...You, wanna come in?” The sniper looked up in surprise, face blushing a pink before she could control herself. “Since you’re curious about my taste in music and all,” he teased, but she simply nodded, and Adam stepped aside. “I’ll admit, I kinda messed up in choosing this room, ‘cause it’s hot as fuck when the sun comes in...but eh, whatever. I don’t feel like movin’ everything all over again...plus I doubt Mirza’ll be interested in switching, anyway.”

“Oh! I’m sorry to hear that...I mean, if it really bothers you, I’d be willing to trade rooms?” The sniper looked up with those round maroons, but Adam merely smiled and shook his head. 

“Nah, I’m just grousing. It’s fine, don’t worry about it, squirt.” He picked up the a jacket and pair of pants off the bed. “Sorry for the mess; wasn’t expecting a visitor.”

“A-Ah, s, sorry...” Though, just a quick glance around and Sio thought Adam must have very high standards for cleanliness. The bed was made, no dirty laundry piled anywhere, and the desk was neatly set up with a couple documents and a laptop, which was playing the music. ‘Seriously, if he stepped inside my room, he’d probably pass out first...’

“Well, make yourself at home; I’m just taking care of some stuff from DOGOO...” Adam muttered as he scanned the latest email from Saint-Germain, which contained details about an all-hands to discuss the Objects’ next potential moves. “Seriously, what the hell? They want to meet 10pm our time...”

Sio stood around nervously, unsure if she should just leave if he was going to be busy, until Adam caught sight of her just standing to the side. “Oh, feel free to sit on the bed or whatever; it’s fine by me.”

“O-Oh, okay...” She resisted the urge to just flop into it, but the moment she sat on the coverlet she could smell the scent that was very familiar by now. ‘Oh no...of course his bed is gonna smell like him...!’

“Anyway, MONKEY MAJIK’s playin’ right now, but if you wanna change the tunes, let me know.” Adam turned the volume down slightly. “You heard of them before? They’re actually founded by two Canadian brothers who went to Japan to teach English, but ended up starting a band.” As if to emphasize it, Adam changed the track to a Japanese/English one.

“Nanoni kokoro mitasa rezu Nakushita kakera sagashite Mitsukedasenai Dubai Paris Shanghai”

“Eh? Whoa, they’re so good...” The music wasn’t bad, either; it was definitely a departure from the stereotypical J-pop that she heard so often, or even the J-rock songs she liked to listen to. “Heh, it’s actually kind of fun to listen to, if you can understand both languages...” Smiling, Sio closed her eyes, simply enjoying the music.

“Dokoni ite mo I need your love Umi wo koete I’m giving you love Donna toki mo, soba ni iru yo Kore kara mo share my life with you...”

Sio blushed as she listened to the lyrics. ‘I’ll always be with you, and share my life with you. I wonder if Adam knows what the words mean...’ Actually, he most likely did; she knew Adam could speak and understand Japanese at a near-native level, which was impressive considering he’d only ever studied it in school. ‘Although, I guess I’m not half-bad with English, considering I never used it until now...’

As much as she enjoyed MONKEY MAJIK’s romantic, R&B tracks however, she was starting to become just a bit too self-conscious, as each track seemed to be more passionate than the last. “Er, um, A-Adam-san? Sorry to bother you...but, I was wondering if...if we could listen to something else?”

“Oh yeh, sure.” Adam swiveled around on his chair. “What’re you in the mood for? Alt-rock? Top 40? Pop?”

“Uh, I was wondering...you know that song that you played when we were doing VR? Beat Saber?” Adam looked confused as he searched for his memory, until he finally his mouth made an ‘o’. 

“Ah, you’re talking about Camellia then. Japanese EDM? Didn’t know you were into that...”

“Well, I don’t know about that, but it sounded really good...also, you sure like Japanese music, don’t you Adam? Are you one of those people who got into Japanese culture ‘cause of anime and games?”

At that comment however, the white-haired main spun around, a rather annoyed look on his face. “Alright look, I can see why you’d say that—and yeh, I’ll admit I first got into it ‘cause I watched a bunch of anime on the telly after school and I did study Japanese. But I am definitely not one of those waifu-worshipping Japanophiles who think it’s a paradise and can do no wrong. It’s a country like any other, just like the U.K. It’s cool and all, but it’s not perfect.” 

Sio nodded timidly, not wanting to upset him. “Of course, Adam-san...I’m, actually glad you think that, ‘cause as somebody who is from Japan...yeah, it’s definitely got some serious problems...”

“Sorry; I didn’t mean to badmouth your homeland like that...” Adam sighed and mentally berated himself for letting his mouth run, again. “Anyway, there’s several songs in the game apparently, but my favorite album is the first one, Crystallized.” 

“Rain of Amethyst...” Sio muttered to herself as she peeked at the track listing. “It sounds really pretty...” As the music chimed in though, she decided not only was the title pretty, but the song itself was beautiful. The delicate chimes mixed with piano, before the synthetic notes burst in; all accompanied by a heady, thumping bass track. It was quite different than what she usually listened to, or even heard in Japan. Not being one to frequent nightclubs or similar places that would feature this type of music, Sio found herself falling into a trance almost, concentrating on the echoing chimes and sounds that she never knew could exist.

Even though the songs barely had any lyrics worth mentioning, they were just as layered and nuanced, if not more so. All the different layers of sound, music, notes and beats combined seamlessly, the music’s flow never stopping, it seemed. Certain tracks made her feel like she was flying through space, or time, the way it washed over her. Notes flowed like water, occasionally interspersed with delicate piano or other crystal-like tones; then all of a sudden the music’s beat would kick up, sending a rush of brilliance through her ears.

‘Oh, it’s this song...!’ Finally the track Adam had been playing started; she recognized the gradual piano build-up, before the song dove headfirst like a rollercoaster into a seemingly-impossible combination of beats and notes. Closing her eyes, the sniper didn’t even realize herself sinking onto the bed, too caught up in trying to absorb the music as rapidly as it slipped her by. ‘It’s amazing...I never knew music could make you feel like this...’

“Well, that’s the album. Did you like it squirt?” The album finally ended and Adam turned around, only to find the sniper curled on her side on his bed, seemingly fast asleep. “Uh...squirt?” He looked at her slumbering visage, eyes closed and a peaceful expression on her face, and smiled to himself. 

“Heh, you’re really somethin’ else, Ogura.” Gently, so as to not disturb her, he pulled a light blanket over her, then quietly went downstairs. ------- What th...where am I? She was floating in a nebulous space, darkness all around but it wasn’t frightening at all. Beyond the horizon, a faint glow stretched into forever, her view lit with the glow of countless stars.

She looked down. Her body was nude, but she wasn’t embarrassed or cold. No, it was natural after all. It was perfectly normal. Making a wave-like motion, she discovered just a simple movement could propel her at what felt like light speed, and she struggled to stop herself from flying off into infinity.

Whoa! Slow down, get a hold of yourself... But it was like moving through molasses; each movement greatly exaggerated no matter how careful she was. In the end, she decided it was easier to go with the flow instead of fighting it. She shot forward like a rocket, marveling at the blurs of light that flew past her vision.

Suddenly she could see the Earth; only this time, there was a web crawling around, like a sinister shadow. Hey...what’s going on? And before she knew it the planet was sucking her in like a black hole, no matter how hard she tried to stop it. It was like being sucked into a whirlpool, a vast, endless depth of blue-black water (?) and though she didn’t know how, it felt like she’d become the planet itself, integrated with the very life force of Earth.

Wait...stop, what’s going on? Why am I like this? Am I trapped...? When can I get out? There was no answer, only an unsettled feeling that somehow never grew into a full panic. This can’t be real...no, I don’t believe it, it’s not real...!

“...Ah. Uhn...huh?” A low rumble of voices combined with the occasional clink of silverware greeted her as Sio opened her eyes, still bleary with sleep. “What th...that was one whacked-out dream.” She didn’t forget it like last time, but even then it made little sense. Floating in space, and then becoming part of...the planet? Even though she knew it was just a dream, probably influenced by the ethereal tones of the music she was listening to, it was still slightly disturbing. “Nnn...remind me to maybe not listen to music that gives me an out-of-body experience before bed...”

Still yawning, the sniper descended the stairs, realizing it was already past dinnertime. The skyline was a barely visible twilight now, and the smell of food made her stomach rumble. 

“Oh...sorry guys, I somehow overslept...”

“Sio! Don’t fret, we figured you’d probably want food eventually, so there’s plenty.” Jess got up and pulled a chair for the sniper, along with a bowl. “It’s curry tonight; Mahesh made it less spicy so we wouldn’t die.” 

“That was some kip you took, Ogura. You feelin’ alright?” Adam cast her a curious look as she piled her bowl high with fragrant basmati rice and the thick, creamy-orange chicken curry. “Also, nice bedhead...” Sio’s hand flew to her hair at his comment, frantically trying to smooth out the stubborn strands.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m okay...though I wasn’t expecting to just pass out like that... I guess your bed is just too comfortable, Adam-san,” Sio said innocently, unaware of the weight her words carried. Adam choked on his tea, and Jess and Mahesh raised an eyebrow at each other. 

“...What? Is there something on my face? Why’s everyone looking at me?”

“...Nevermind, squirt.” Adam sighed and prayed the other two wouldn’t say anything else, though it was too late to try and deny that anything happened, even if it was all completely innocent in nature. 

“I did have a really weird dream though...it wasn’t exactly scary, but...well, it was just weird.” The sniper frowned, trying not to get pulled too deep into it. “Meh, oh well. Oh man, Mirza-san, this is soo good...I could eat two bowls of this...”

“Well, help yourself, there’s plenty. I’m definitely taking that as a compliment. Sure you’ll still be able to sleep tonight?”

Sio laughed sheepishly. One thing she never said no to was more sleep. “I think I’ll...manage.” Besides, if she needed to release some pent-up energy, there were definitely ways to do that, her brain suggested naughtily.

As she helped clean up the table, Jess and Mahesh now finally pitching in regularly as well, she noticed Adam was still at the table, quietly sipping his tea and seemingly lost in thought. “Hey, you...okay?”

“Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing. Sometimes you just wanna ruminate a bit...” He shrugged, reaching for a biscotti to dip into his tea. “Although, this means you missed today’s training, squirt...” Sio groaned dramatically, but Adam only laughed. “I’m just kidding, Ogura. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Then why do you keep reminding me,” she grumbled, lips formed into a pout. “Do you enjoy making my life miserable?”

“Hn. Depends on what you mean by that...”

“Jerk,” she muttered under her breath, but there wasn’t any real anger behind it. Truth be told, he was a lot better than say, the beginning of this quarantine. Perhaps living as normal people for once had a mollifying effect on everybody’s personalities? Given how stressful their lives were most of the time, it made sense that everybody’s real natures would come out, when they could relax and be themselves.

“...Is it wrong if I wish this could go on longer?”

He raised a white eyebrow at her. “You mean you actually enjoy voluntarily being imprisoned in this house?” She was about to retort when he laughed. “I know I know, I’m just teasin’ ya; sorry, but you are just a bit too easy sometimes...”

“Baka.” Then, before he knew it, she stole the latter half of his biscotti, causing the man to let out a cry. 

“Oy! Get your own biscuit!” 

“Hmph, that’s what you get for being a meanie,” she stuck her tongue out at him, before chomping the treat up in two bites.

“If gettin’ outta here means I don’t have to worry about you stealin’ my food, then I’m all for it,” Adam muttered. “...But I know what you mean. It’s been a long time since I’ve lived like a ‘normal’ person.” He gave a rueful smile. “Sometimes, it seems like I’ve almost forgotten about my life before DOGOO...”

Certainly, his life before all this hadn’t exactly been exciting, and oftentimes a younger Adam secretly wished for something to happen, to have some guiding direction in his mundane life. Be careful what you wish for, huh? Who would have thought that all it would take was a spontaneous cruise trip, right after his freshman year of college, and everything was turned upside-down? Sometimes Adam wondered what life would’ve been like, if he hadn’t discovered his powers; would he still be wishing for something to break up the ordinary, everyday monotony?

“Well...that’s why, we should take advantage of it now. ‘Cause I’m sure, even though right now I’m complaining about being bored...once we go back to the Logan, I’ll be missing this, a little bit...” Those maroon eyes seemed a bit more melancholy, her face a bit more mature for once.

“Hn. Same Ogura, same.”  

[grumpyhedgehogs]

The Judgement of Petals

Summary: The Judge leaves flowers for various citizens of Hope County. Secrets are brought to light. 

Part 2: Here Part 3: Here

Notes:

I just love that the Judge will go pick flowers if your player is idle long enough. My sweet summer child. 

One important thing about this fic is that I went with the headcanon that nobody actually knows for sure that it’s Dep behind the mask, but some people have suspicions. Because you can’t tell me that Grace and Sharky and the Ryes wouldn’t go in guns blazing to get Dep back. 

Also: SPOILERS! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON’T READ IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED THE GAME. (Also, I just kinda handpicked the parts of all the endings that I felt went with the story. Ah, the powers of fic writing.)

@sadyeehawmp3 asked me to tag them, so here you go! Hope you enjoy and angst and fluff!

“They speak only one language- that of violence.”

~

The Father

After it was all over- the twins dead, Hope County saved, the Father neutralized- after everything, the Captain wasn’t surprised to find the Judge had simply disappeared into thin air. They had knelt next to Joseph for a long time at the end; Captain could hear their sobs but couldn’t tell whether they were of sorrow or relief- but they did speak of some unknowable grief. Captain had turned away, paced a few yards, and left them to it. They deserved to collect their thoughts, if only for a moment.

When the Captain turned back, arm already up to gesture that they could both return to Hope County, that they were both free from whatever hell they had fallen into, the Judge was gone. In their wake, they had left three small purple flowers. They were cut too early, barely blooming, and speckled with dirt and ash. They looked bedraggled and flattened, as if the Judge had smothered them into their coat for safekeeping- which they probably did.

The Captain recognized them as petunias.

They were left there, to rot or to burn with the body of the Father. The Captain had a vague hope that the wind would carry the petals away before the flames reached them.

~

Jerome

It had been three or four weeks since the end of the conflict, and to Jerome it seemed as if he was even busier than before the war with the Highwaymen ended. He was needed from one end of the county to another, day in and day out, working to help refugees, go on supply runs, shore up defenses, provide faith and council to the hopeless- whatever the people needed, Jerome was determined to provide.

But he was hesitant more so now than ever to call these people his flock. He’d been burned one too many times he supposed. It never helped to get too attached to many in a place such as their world.

These thoughts, these anxieties-what if something else happens? One thing after another, who’s to say there won’t come someone else- someone worse that Joseph Seed and the Twins put together, we never catch a break do we- combined with the storm brewing that night had him wide awake. He sat quietly watching the rain lash at the muddied yard beyond his porch. There was a fire dying in the grate behind him- he could hear the fading crackles of the last bits of wood. Soon it would just be embers.

He must have been more tired than he realized- maybe the rain or the dying fire had lulled him into a doze, maybe he had been sleepwalking and had only dreamed that he had gotten up, maybe this was still a dream- he couldn't settle on a believable explanation for not seeing who left the bouquet on the top step of his porch.

Jerome jolted in his seat, heart pounding hard enough to break his ribs. The rain had gotten even worse now, mixing with the dark to make a gloom that was impenetrable. There was no way he could catch whoever had done it.

He approached cautiously, thoughts of Faith Seed flickering behind his eyes, but none of the blossoms on the worn wooden floorboards looked a thing like the Bliss.

The bouquet was obviously made by an amateur; the blooms weren’t full- some of them were too young or too old, there were torn petals and browning edges, most of the flowers looked like they’d been drowned in all the rain, and pollen blurted out onto the toe of his boot when he went to nudge them. It was all held together with a rough piece of twine, threaded with another unknown purple flower.

Jerome bent closer, hand on his holster, afraid to inhale in case he did in fact have another Faith on his hands. But he recognized irises when he saw them. Bluebells -the low hanging flowers missing a few blossoms, as if they were pulled off the stem hastily- were there too.

It wasn’t until he showed Nana the bouquet later the next (same? Jerome really needed to catch up on his sleep) morning that he found out the two flowers he didn’t know were called bittersweet and magnolias. The one in the twine was verbana.

“What does it mean?” He asked her, rubbing the back of his scalp irritably. He was unused to feeling flustered by plants.

“Means someone out there thinks very highly of you son,” Nana quipped flippantly. “Magnolia and bittersweet, those are nobility and truth, respectively, ya see, and bluebells are humility. Verbana’s a strange inclusion though- usually means ‘pray for me.’ Guess they know you’re a pastor. But the iris, now that’s the interesting one.”

“It is? Why?”

She tipped her head back, blew out a big breath and pushed her glasses up her sweaty nose. The storm had blown away in the early hours and now Jerome could already feel a sunburn starting across the tops of his shoulders. “Means a couple a things, depending on who gives em- faith, hope, those are probably the meanings this one’s going for. Wisdom and valor, too, I suppose. If somebody you know gave ‘em to you they can mean that your friendship means a lot too. Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Nobody,” Jerome hastened to answer. He shook his head in bewilderment, staring at the wilting flowers in his palm. Something deep in his gut flickered with warmth. There was a nagging at the back of his mind. “I didn’t see who left it.”

“Hm,” Nana rejoined. She shrugged. “Captain said the Judge left flowers for the Father at the end. Petunias.”

“You think the Judge is giving out bouquets?” Jerome couldn’t really wrap his head around such an imposing figure slogging through the storm in the middle of the night to give him flowers. But there were rumors…

Nick had said that when he saw their eyes there was something familiar-

“You see anybody else picking flowers these days?” She had a point there. “Besides, if it is the Judge, they think a hell of a lot more of you than the Father.”

“Wh- that’s not true. They loved the Father. They followed him everywhere. Captain said they grieved when he died.”

Nana’s glare was so sharp and hot he had to drop his eyes. “They cried all right- lots of reasons for people to cry, and not any of them very good these days. But the flowers say something different about those two than your image of their relationship, Jerome. Petunias- they’re something you leave an enemy. Most of the time, at least. Anger, resentment- only good thing they mean is not losing hope.”

Jerome didn’t have anything to say to that. Nana huffed and walked away from him, shaking her head.

In the next few weeks he was on high alert; every crack of a twig and patter of rain outside his door was greeted with attentive eyes. If it was the Judge- if what Nick thought was true-

But he never saw anyone.

(He kept the flowers until they browned and cracked and crumbled away.)

~

Kim

Kim had already talked about the petunias with the Captain- they had seemed agitated, upset ever since the Judge disappeared after they helped take down Joseph. Kim wasn’t sure what surprised her more; that the Judge really turned on the Father they loved so much, or that the Captain was so torn up about them leaving without saying goodbye.

Nana had also let slip that Jerome had received an odd gift from out of the blue a week ago, but she hadn’t thought much of it. Jerome was an attractive man and a compassionate one at that- it wouldn’t surprise her if he had more than a few admirers around Hope County.  

Her flowers showed up on the kitchen table in the early morning.

Kim had been the first one awake; that in and of itself was a startling feat, given that Carmina was wont to be up at the “ass-crack of dawn” as her father put it. She’d decided to have an actual breakfast ready for her daughter and husband today; no cereal bars or stale bread crap for them today.

The kitchen was cool and welcoming in the soft morning light. Kim loved this time of day; everything seemed quiet and peaceful. The world was for the taking and Kim wasn’t going to waste the chance.

She’d opened the back door, propped the screen ajar to get some nice air flow and gone into the pantry to check their stores. Her fringe brushed into her eyes. As Kim lifted an absent hand to stroke the strands out of the way, she heard that faulty floorboard two feet inside the back door creak.

She froze.

There was silence. Her fingers twitched to her gun. Birds were singing outside the window.

There was a rustle of fabric. Kim pulled her gun. It caught on the calluses of her palms, slipping in her sweat. Should she call out to Nick? Take whoever it was on her own? How much time did she have?

There was another shuffle. The same floorboard creaked. She breathed in, breathed out.

“Hands up,” she shouted, twisting around the corner, gun up, trigger finger itchy. Kim only caught a glimpse of the tails of a long coat whipping out of sight around the screen door.

There was a thump from upstairs, feet on the landing. “Mom?”

It took Kim a second to see the bouquet. It sat innocently before her chair at the table. The twine was tied in a lopsided bow.

The confusion Nana had mentioned Jerome expressed suddenly started to make sense.

“I’m fine honey,” Kim called back while holstering her weapon tentatively, knowing that wouldn’t assuage Carmina’s worries in the slightest. “Just- thought I saw somebody. It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”

She had to take a few more minutes to calm her daughter down enough to go back to resting, but once she did, Kim snatched up the bundle. Just like Nana had mentioned with Jerome’s flowers, not a single Bliss blossom was in sight. They were all flowers Kim knew were native to Hope County, all ones Carmina herself had picked for her mother when she was little.

There was a book on flowers somewhere on their bookshelf; Kim remembered thinking it could tell them about which ones were good to eat before promptly forgetting it was there when she put it down.

She found it after a few minutes of scrambling, in which she tried to be as quiet as possible for the house’s sleeping occupants. It was old and dusty, pages yellowed and crinkled with water damage. It took even longer to find all the right flowers inside.

Camomile she recognized from the front of the box of tea; apparently they were for relaxation now, but the old meaning was “energy in the face of adversity.” Some 19th century bullshit.

Red poppies, like the ones that grew outside their home, meant “remembrance.” (Something twisted in Kim’s chest.)

Blue violets meant “faithfulness” or “watchfulness”; the book suggested that the sender was either saying they would watch out for the receiver until death, or that the sender believed that the receiver was a symbol of faithfulness. White zinnia was supposedly for “goodness,” and white heather meant “protection.”

But the last blooms, the ones that it took Kim the longest to define, were purple hyacinths.

“Pleading for forgiveness,” Kim murmured aloud, and the knot in her chest moved to her throat.

She showed Nick the bouquet; he’d already heard from Nana who the old woman thought was giving out flowers and Kim knew who Nick thought the Judge was. She didn’t say anything, just slid him the book across the breakfast table after Carmina had blown out the door to “get shit done.”

He sat silently for a few minutes but Kim knew when he got to the hyacinths. Nick shoved the text away, pushed his hat back on his head and placed his face in worn hands. Kim couldn’t think to say anything- what was there to say that would make this better? She just sat with her husband, held him around the shoulders, and stared at the crudely put together gesture on the table. The flowers were as ragged as Nana had mentioned Jerome’s were. The twine was obviously pulled off of a larger rope. It looked like a child had made it.

(Kim put it in a vase on her bedside table and woke every morning for the next week afraid it would be gone when she looked over. She didn't want to think what they’d do once the flowers died.)

~

Hurk

Blade showed up holding a bouquet out to his father with a note declaiming Hurk as the recipient. His son and cousin had been down at the river, hoping to catch something edible and not canned to eat for dinner. When Hurk jerked around to stare accusingly at Sharky, he simply shook his head.

“Kid went to take a piss in the woods and says he stopped to draw some shit in the dirt or something. Said a nice stranger from the trees gave him that and a cool stick to play with.”

“You think it was the Judge?” Hurk asked uneasily. If Blade’s mother found out how near to the Judge their son had been, he would be in deep shit.

Sharky’s face was uncharacteristically stony. “Kid said they didn’t say nothin’.”

“Nick says- do you really think it could be them?”

Sharky paused before he shrugged. The Dep was always a rough topic with him, just like they were with Nick: talking about a man’s only friend who died horribly did that.

“It was a pretty cool stick,” Sharky admitted.

Hurk gulped and nodded. He pried the flowers gently out of his son’s hand and dropped a kiss on the top of Blade’s head. Sharky motioned to Blade to help him get the fish he had thrown over his shoulder to the kitchens. Hurk held out a hand to stop him.

“How am I supposed to know what the fuck any of these mean? Kim said they might be important but I know fuck all about flowers, man.”

Sharky smirked a little and nodded at the note with Hurk’s name on it. “Think they made it easy on you, idiot.”

Hurk scowled at his cousin but flipped open the note, which was really a piece of notebook paper folded in half. He hardly registered Sharky herding Blade away once he stared matching the names and descriptions to the petals.

The handwriting was sloppy and jagged, trailing off and leaving punctures through the paper in places as if the person writing wasn’t used to holding a pen. Hurk read it all anyway. And then he read it again, just in case he missed something. His stomach was sinking.

Red tulip- Loyalty. Weird start, but okay. He guessed he was pretty loyal to his family.

Daffodils- New beginnings. Was the Judge talking about Blade? Probably. Hurk hadn’t exactly been quiet about his excitement about being a father.

Red Gladiolus- Strength, integrity. What the hell did integrity mean again?  

Buttercups- childishness. Which, okay, that was fair he guessed.

Coreopsis- Always cheerful. Hurk swallowed thickly at that: Dep had liked him for his sense of humor.

Red/Yellow Zinnia- In memory of an absent friend.

That one threw him for a loop. Who was missing? A lot of people these days, but Hurk flashed on how torn up Kim Rye had seemed that day she muttered something about her own flowers dying, how Jerome had seemed pale for weeks, how Sharky and Nick were unable to speak from anger when they saw the Captain with that stupid old deputy outfit they’d found and donned on a lark. Yeah, okay. Maybe Hope County was missing someone pretty damn important.

The bouquet itself wasn’t tied with anything but a few other flowers; these were long stemmed yellow flowers, keeping in theme with the colors of the bouquet itself. Hurk flipped the paper over and found one last line down at the bottom of the page like he wasn’t really supposed to find it.

Rue- Regret, sorrow, repentance. You were a good friend.

“Well,” Hurk said aloud. He was hoarse; it hurt to speak. “Fuck.”

He stopped thinking Sharky and Nick were crazy after that.

He kept Blade close the next few days because while he missed them something awful like hell was he gonna let his son anywhere near somebody who’d been brainwashed for years on end by Joseph fucking Seed. That didn’t mean that he didn’t try to look out for anybody living in the woods. Sometimes Hurk thought he saw somebody moving on the edges of his vision when he was out there, but there was no one whenever he turned.

(He kept the flowers on the windowsill- he couldn’t take care of them for shit and his throat felt tight every time he realized that the only thing he had left of his friend would die in a day or two, but he just- he wanted them to know. To see. He is loyal, damn it. He is.)

~

Sharky

The Dep and Sharky were good friends. They were best friends.

He didn’t feel at all put-off that he hadn’t received a bunch of stupid flowers from the Judge. Nope. Nuh-uh. They didn’t even know that the Judge and Dep were the same person, really. The Judge could just be some weirdo in a mask with personal space issues. He didn't care if he didn’t get a bunch of plants from some stalker psycho killer. Zero jealousy here. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

“Oh fuck yeah!” Sharky pumped his fist in the air when he saw the stupid not at all long awaited bouquet sitting on the hood of his truck. The same notebook paper as Hurk’s bunch lay folded underneath the plants, so that the hot metal was buffered from melting the petals too easily. The heat wave was continuing, though, and the flowers were already looking more than a little worse for wear. He snapped them up eagerly and shoved his way into the truck before he allowed himself to read it. His hands were shaking.

His name- Charlemagne Victor Boshaw IV, not his nickname- was printed sloppily on the outside. (They remembered how to spell my name!)

On the inside, his note looked pretty much like Hurk’s.

Morning Glory- affection. Don’t make any jokes.

White clover- Thinking of you. Seriously, no jokes.

Purple Carnation- changeable, whimsical.  His mood swings weren’t that bad, come on.

Baby’s Breath- purity of heart. Okay, that one wasn’t really true.

Azalea- Take care of yourself for me. NOT that way.

Viscaria- Invitation to dance. We disco-ed pretty good, huh?

Then, at the bottom, it was signed with a shaky smiley face. It looked like they’d tried to cross it out a few times, but he could still make it out.

Hurk had told him about his note, and there was still at least one flower he didn’t know the name of. His heart beat too fast in his mouth. This part was gonna suck.

Sure enough, there were three more lines on the back.

Aloe- grief.

Love-lies-bleeding- hopelessness.

Don’t try to find me, friend. Please.

“Oh, like hell,” Sharky snarled at the paper. He crumpled it in his overeager grip, but just as quickly smoothed it back out. His friend- his only friend.

They weren’t dead.

“Hang on in there, Dep,” Sharky muttered, starting up the truck. The engine whined, rumbled, and turned over. He’d have to take a detour; Nick Rye would want to know about this.

He’d keep looking however fucking long it took. The Dep couldn’t honestly expect to reappear having obviously been fucked up by Joseph Seed for years, turn on the fucker at the last second and then get away with just sending fucking flowers, could they? They couldn't really think he’d leave them out in the cold without putting up a good Goddamn fight.

“You just hang on in there, buddy. We’re gonna getcha home safe.”

(He kept the flowers in a loop of the same twine that tied them together hanging from his rear view mirror. They dried and crumpled in on themselves in record time, but he didn't mind. When they started to lose their smell Sharky dug out an old air-freshener from the glove box. It was all good.)

~

Grace

Grace had Nana explain her flowers to her when they came.

She knew that she might get some; hell, if Hurk radioed in to say he got a bouquet she sure as shit better get one if the Judge really was who they thought they were. God, this would all be a lot easier if the Judge could talk. If Grace could see. If the world hadn't gone to hell in a handbasket.

“If, if, if.” She had no time for “if” these days.

The flowers smelled pungent; they must have picked the ones they did so she could find them in the dark. They were on her window ledge when she woke up in the morning. Grace was less worried about the Judge wandering around her land in the dark of the night than she thought she'd be. (she still closed the window.)

Nana took her hands and placed her fingers on the petals as she explained them. Grace kept her touch as delicate as she could; she could imagine it was almost as if she were touching the Dep’s face instead of dying vegetation this way.

Who knew being blind bred loneliness?

“Black-eyed susans,” Nana helped Grace finger the thin, long petals, soft like silk. “They’re bright yellow, in pretty good shape. The Judge is getting better at picking flowers.”

“What do they mean?”

“For you? Justice, most likely. Now these next, with the wide petals? Those are geraniums, pinkish-white, they mean determination, or refinement I guess, but I think it’s the former. These layered ones are chrysanthemums, white and purple, so let’s see, that’d be...truth and honesty.”

“This is-” Grace felt the next stem, her fingernail accidentally slicing into it. “Isn’t this a dandelion? I can feel the- the fluffy bit.”

Nana snorted a laugh. “Yes ma’am it is. They mean overcoming hardship.”

Grace’s mouth went dry. God damn them. They could still get to her, and they didn’t even have to give a rousing speech to do it this time.

Where the hell were they?

“What’s this tying it together, Nana? It’s not rope.” whatever it was, there were crinkles in it like the Judge (Dep?) had tried to do something fancy with it but gave up halfway through. The knot itself was double or triple tied. It was probably cutting into the stems too much. Grace guessed the Judge moved around a lot on a daily basis; they probably wanted to make sure the bunch all stayed together.

“That’s ivy, dear. Feel the leaves? Don’t worry, I’ll bet the Judge made sure it wasn’t the poisonous type. It’s got some wormwood woven in, too. That’s the pokey bits.”

“Why ivy? Why wormwood?”

Nana sighed softly. “Ivy means endurance, faithfulness. It’s good for you, kiddo. But wormwood-”

Grace had heard from Jerome that not all the flowers were- she’d heard about this part. “What?”

“It means absence and bitter sorrow. The absolute worst kind, you know? The kind you don’t really come back from.”

Damn it. Damn them.

“I don’t believe them,” Grace decided suddenly. She wanted to slam the flowers down, to run away from this- how dare they put this on her? How could they just say something like this and not face the consequences?

(Her heart was squeezing too tight, wrung out like a sponge. How could they not come to me?)

“Kid-”

“No, I don’t believe it.” Grace thinned her lips, narrowed unseeing eyes towards where she knew the breeze came in the open window. She hoped they saw her. “I can't believe that. They’re coming back. By God, I'll drag them back kicking and screaming if I have to.”

(She took apart the bouquet carefully and kept everything- ivy, wormwood and all. She dried the flowers and put them all in separate books on her shelf for safe keeping. They’d stay there until she could figure out how to catch the idiot and smack some sense into them. Maybe the flowers would still stay after that. Maybe always.)

~

Nick

Nick didn’t care how long it took. He didn't care who thought he was right, who thought he was wrong, or who thought he was crazy. He’d known from the start, from the day the bombs dropped, from the day that the Dep took care of them when Carmina was coming. He knew the Dep was gonna survive. If anyone could make it through hell and back with a funny one-liner and a lopsided grin, it’d be the Dep.

He’d seen them when they were following the Captain through the countryside a few times. Something about the way they held their bow, shifted their feet, deliberated silently whenever they took a shot- it was familiar. At first Nick thought maybe he was remembering Jess Black but that wasn’t it. Actually, he didn't start putting it together until he unsuccessfully tried to get the Judge to talk to him outside his home.

The Captain had been busy and left the Judge standing awkwardly by the porch. Nick had offered them a seat, nervous around someone with no discernable eyes, but was met with silence.

That was the first clue.

“Hey, you all right in there?” He’d ventured uneasily. The Judge (the Deputy, it was Dep, he knew they couldn’t be dead, the tough son of a bitch!) hadn’t answered, simply tipped their head in just the right way and-

“Holy shit,” Nick could remember exclaiming. The Judge had shuffled back a step and he’d scrambled to recover. “Sorry, I- you remind me of-”

He never got to finish, though, because the Judge had veritably sprinted across the camp to where the Captain was beckoning for them. They’d been careful not to come near the Ryes ever since. Nick wasn’t sure how to take that.

Sure, he knew, but Nick sure as hell didn't know what to do about the fact that he knew. Everyone else- even Kim- didn’t seem to understand. They thought it was wishful thinking.

But Nick knew. He knew.

So when he caught the Judge stealthily sneaking a bunch of flowers into his barn, he didn't yell or attack.

“Ya know, you could just come in for a beer, man.” He leaned against the doorjamb, trying to appear casual. The Dep had always been skittish, and that was before a madman had locked them in with him for seven years.

The Judge whirled so fast he winced in sympathy for their back. The flowers scattered a few petals. Nick raised his hands in alarm; the Judge was panting- nearly wheezing- behind their mask.

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya.” He wondered if he should step inside. The Judge was darting looks over their shoulder to the nearest exit. Nick would either have to get real good at negotiation real fast, or he’d lose his only chance. “Heard you were making house calls, thought I’d check it out for myself.”

They didn’t seem pleased with that. They took two steps to the right and one back. Nick tried to step forward, but only succeeded in making the Judge leap back so far they slammed into the opposite wall. “Hey, hey, no worries, man, I’m not gonna hurt you- stop!”

They lunged to the side, towards the open barn door and Nick hurtled forward too, catching them around the elbow.

“Hey, stop okay- I know that’s you, Dep!” They stilled for only a moment, but Nick thought- stupidly, maybe- that he’d won. “It’s okay, you can come in now. It’s over- you and Cap killed Seed-”

The Judge turned and shoved him back with the hand holding the bouquet. Nick probably could have done more to stop them, but between the fact that he didn’t actually want to cause violence, and the fact that the Judge took his free hand and curled it over the flowers, he was left standing stupidly gaping, in an empty barn as they ran.

Nick Rye was never one to take shit lying down though, and he was hot on the Dep’s heels a second later. (Maybe chasing them around Hope County didn’t say “hey, it’s super safe now and I promise I won’t hurt you like the crazy guy you were locked up with for years on end,” but he was flying by the seat of his pants here.)

They’d cleared half of the yard by the time he was done tripping over his own feet, but Nick was gaining fast, and the Dep still had a fence to clear before the woodline started.

“Dep,” He screamed; his lungs felt like they were about to give out. He really was getting old. “Goddamnit Dep, stop running!”

They did not stop running.

The dirt was dry and cracked in the yard but the grass was still dewy from early that morning, and Nick saw them slip a little when they got to the fence. The entrance was actually on the other side of the barn but they probably didn’t think they could cut around the barn fast enough to get away. He could have caught them from a side entrance to the barn if they’d done that. Dep had always been too smart for their own good.

Nick lurched forward, heart dropping to the pit of his stomach, unsure of whether he was lunging to help Dep up or excited that their slip gave him a few seconds to catch up and make them stay.

But the Judge righted themselves easily and flung a hand out in his direction. Nick was lower to the ground, hand out already to try to help them up, and the dirt that flew out of their palm struck him square in the face.

“Augh!”

He twisted sideways, lost his footing and slammed his shoulder hard into the ground. It was the first time the Judge (or Dep) had ever done something to harm him.

“Fucking hell, Dep,” He called, ignoring how raw his throat felt. Dust coated his tongue. “Christ, would you just listen?”

The fence jangled. Boots hit the ground. They were getting away.

He managed to regain his sight after a moment, although tears trailed down his temples. He was having a hard time not coughing up a lung. But when he raised his head feebly, the Judge hadn't disappeared into the darkness of the forest. They were standing stock still, head tilted to that same fucking angle as always, watching him through the fence.

For a long moment, they held each other’s eyes. Nick’s shoulder ached something awful.

Finally, his hip and knee told him they wouldn’t stand being dug into the dirt any longer. He rolled over onto all fours and slowly, painfully, hauled himself up.

“That was a shitty trick, man.”

The Judge shifted on their feet, took a step back. They let out a concerned grunt. Nick decided to think it was concerned, anyway. He chuckled lightly and dusted his hands off on his jeans. “Nah, I’m good. Just the joints- they don’t work exactly like they used to, is all.”

The Judge took another step back and joined their hands together at their middle, making sharp, small movements with them. It took a second for it to register with Nick.

“Aw hell, don’t get so worried,” Nick reassured them, rubbing the back of his neck. It was never easy dealing with a nervous Dep. “Ya didn’t hurt me- stop wringing your hands man, you’re freakin’ me out.”

Another grunt. The Judge gestured to the house.

Nick perked up. “Hey, yeah, I’ll go in- but you gotta come with me, okay?”

They shook their head so vigorously there was an audibly crack. Another step back, and they pointed to the ground, then Nick and finally themselves.

“I’m tellin’ you, you didn’t hurt me. You can come in, Dep. You can come on home.”

The noise they let out was as close to a wail as anything Nick had ever heard; it bubbled forth from somewhere deep and warbled in the air. The pitch grew and grew for agonizing moments before the Judge dropped their head in their hands, shaking, and cut themselves off.

It was the worst thing he’d ever heard.

“Hey,” he soothed quietly, shifting forward an inch. He held out his hands, palms out, and tried to make himself as non threatening as possible. “Hey, it’s okay, see? You’re oka-”

The Dep jerked their head up towards him and Nick froze. He was still holding the bedraggled remains of his flowers in his dirt covered right hand. They seemed to zero in on the torn blossoms, and they let out a low-pitched sob behind that damn mask. Their hands clutched the sides of their head for a moment, squeezing violently.

Then the Judge turned and sprinted for the forest. They were gone in seconds.

“Shit.” He muttered, pulling his cap off and running his hand through his hair. “Fuck. Shit. I fucked that up.”

Kim was kind enough to only glare a little when he presented the torn up blossoms and grumbled out the details. She thumped the book down in his lap and stormed off to the kitchen. That was fair enough he guessed.

Nick wrote the meanings out this time- he knew Kim hated that her flowers had died months ago. He’d caught her flipping through the book just to read the same descriptions over and over again. She did it when she couldn't sleep.

Myrtle meant love or affection, and peonies wished the receiving party a happy marriage or life. Snowdrops meant hope. Bells of Ireland, which took him forever to find, were meant to tell him good luck in life. Pine needles, which were threaded through the stems, could mean either hope or pity. Nick hoped it wasn't the latter.

The last flower was something called a rainflower. It didn't look very intimidating, but Nick’s throat still closed when he read the description.

Rainflower- often taken to mean “I must atone for my sins, I will never forget you.”

“Goddamnit Dep.” He pushed shaking fingers through his hair again and tugged, letting the burning in his scalp turn his thoughts from the burning in his eyes. “Why can't you just, for once, let someone help you?”

(He put the flowers in the same vase Kim had- she hadn't moved it from their bedside table. Maybe she’d been waiting for his turn. Maybe she’d just been hoping that if the vase stayed, the Dep would have to come back and give them more flowers to fill it. Nick knew that’s what he’d been naive enough to wish for.)

~

Carmina

Carmina found them paying unexpected respects at Rush’s grave. There had not been any sightings of them, hide nor hair, since her father tried to convince them to come back.

They were still wearing that thick, furred coat even in the heat. Summer was in full swing. She worried about heat stroke.

(Heat stroke wouldn't matter if she couldn’t get them to listen. They’d die of exposure or bears or starvation if they didn’t quit this stupid running schtick.)

“Deputy,” Carmina called softly, letting her footfalls sound louder than they usually did. She wasn't eager to get shot full of arrows because the person her parents told her so much about got jumpy.

The Deputy was standing over Rush’s grave silently in the fading light. She couldn’t see their hands- they were standing with their arms held in front of them, maybe clasping their hands. She didn’t know if they ever prayed.

They stiffened at her voice but didn’t turn. They didn’t run.

“Deputy, we all know that’s you in there.” She inched forward cautiously, as if the person in front of her was the scared child, not her. They shook their head and made a rasping groan of denial.

“Yes, you are.” Carmina admonished gently. “You’re not the Judge. You’re not anything he made you.”

The Deputy looked at her then and Carmina’s heart clenched tight. Their mask was covered in grime, caked in dirt and blood. There were cracks and fissure in the material (was it wood? Plastic? She could never get close enough to tell). Their neck was stained with what was either tear-tracks or sweat. Maybe both. Their jacket was spattered with gore and stank to high heaven- the Dep probably hadn’t bathed in at least a few days, simply hunting and foraging and picking flowers instead. They were holding a few lilies- flowers for a grave.

One of the lenses in the mask was missing. Through the hole it created Carmina could finally see one bright eye. It blinked at her. The Deputy shook their head.

“He’s gone,” Carmina stepped even closer. They didn’t move. She risked a hand on their bicep; she could feel them trembling. “It’s over. You made sure of that.”

With her other hand, Carmina pressed the bunch of flowers she’d brought into the Deputy’s palms.

“Rose leaves say you can hope,” Carmina explained gently- unneeded, to be sure, but she had the idea that if she stopped talking the Dep might just book it. “And tea roses say we’ll never forget you. Stock, for the bonds of affection and to remind you you’ll always be with us. Star of Bethlehem for “reconciliation.” White jasmine for “sweet love,” and goldenrod for “encouragement.” And finally-”

She pulled one stem from the rest and reached to tuck it, safe and sound, into the hood and behind the Deputy’s ear. “White daisies: for rebirth.”

The Deputy moaned quietly and dropped their head. Their shoulders quaked as they sobbed weakly behind the mask. Carmina held them lightly, carefully, against her shoulder. She turned her head to speak directly into their ear. “It’s okay now, Dep. It’s time to come in from the cold. It’s time to come home.”

[savvylark]

Crush It - chapter 8

This story started with the prompt: “You’re my crush’s sibling and I started dating you to piss off my crush and make them jealous enough to confess feelings for me, except you’re actually really sweet and awesome and I think I might like you better, and I don’t know what to do now that my plan seems to have worked.”

An Everlark Summer College AU. Huge thank you to my Beta, the legend, my personal friend @katnissdoesnotfollowback who this story was written for. Her advice and incites are invaluable. When I was discouraged she nudged me and motivated me. Also shout out to my new friend @butrfac14 for pre-reading this.  And thank you to the talented @akai-echo for this beautiful banner!!

Rated: M or maybe E for dream smut and future Everlark steaminess.

Read it here on Ao3 or 

As I drive home in a figurative fog, the emotions I've been repressing have clouded to the surface, a storm builds inside me. Echoing how I feel in unexpected solidarity, light water droplets pepper my windshield. When I first formulated my plan, I planned to date Peeta, casually, so as not to hurt anyone… and it seems I've hurt everyone, especially myself.

Lightning flashes as the song playing on the car radio croons on about a crush, of all things. The sound is vaguely familiar. Though I haven't sung a note since my dad passed years ago I find myself humming along.

The lyrics express the exciting hesitant eye contact, the sighing, the blushing, the curiosity and want for more. That's how I felt about Rye. An emotional reaction. A fleeting thrill. We were both interested in the other's attention. What it did to boost the other's ego. It felt good, exciting. Temporary.

The cold reality washes over me.

As the radio shifts to a song with more depth, a raspy voice confesses a deeper love.

The damn inside me breaks.

Tears roll down my cheeks and I'm forced to sort out my feelings.

Peeta and I looked out for each other. Had our own lives, our own interests. We confided in each other, opened up about real things and shared hardships in our past. He paid attention to the things I cared about, and what would fit into my busy life as well as his own. We looked out for each other. There was a healthy give and take. It seemed to come so naturally. We just fit. Whether consciously or unconsciously, I was slowly falling, with each caress, embrace, hand squeeze. In our comfortable silences. We were living life together side by side. A unified front.

I do have some lingering questions that confuse me. How much of it was Peeta merely playing along to help me make Rye jealous? How much of it was real?

I started to hope the things were real for him. The things he said the night he fought with Rye might have meant...but now I don’t know. He could have said those things in defense of a friend. Maybe I heard it all wrong.

The beautiful melody and lyrics prompt a memory I’ve tucked deep in my heart for safe keeping, I remember my father's face.

His dark hair hung over his forehead and eyebrows, knitted in concern or concentration, his jaw clenched and eyes squinted. Then my mother seemed to float by, a flutter of silky flowing golden hair and creamy pale skin. She wrapped her arms around my father and murmured sweet reassurances in his ear. His steely gray eyes softened and seemed to sparkle as his whole expression loosened all tension. His shoulders relaxed and his strong arms wrapped around my mother. He held her tightly as if she was giving him strength, re-energizing him. He sighed and swayed with my mother in his embrace to the music.

Then, as if he was actually in the car, a voice over the radio becomes my father's singing voice to my ears. Painting beauty in my mind's eye, a deep rolling vibrato rumbling in my chest, resonating out and swirling through the car back to me. A precious sound I treasure and keep locked away. Conjuring up the memory of the look in his eyes, the unmistakable expression of love on his face when he would sing to mother.

Sweet moments with Peeta Mellark come flooding back. There's a big difference between a crush and the way that Peeta has deeply rooted himself within me. I gasp when I finally recognize the sound I barely recognize myself. It's my own voice echoing back to me.

I hate to cry, but for some reason I don’t fight it. I let the tears fall and as if I willed it to, the light tapping of the rain on the car increases and pours down. Lighting flashes again, the thunder roars, and rumbles deep in my chest, drowning out my sobbing.

It's almost cathartic, the earth and I are in agreement. Crying out together, alone.

I revved the engine, water splashing, lightning flashing. A hazy watercolor scene of blues, grays and flickers of blinding bright lightning.

I make a split second decision and u-turn, gunning my car back to the bakery. Back to Peeta.

I have to tell him.

I screech to a halt, bolt out of car and feel the water soak my clothes, but somehow I don’t feel cold. I feel red hot. I sprint through the metallic and glass bakery doors. I’m flooded with hope at the sight of Peeta’s smiling face. I speak the words in my heart. The muted and muddled colors seem to pale and gray around me. His blue eyes look pained as his brows raise and lets me down gently. He was helping me make Rye jealous.

He only ever saw me as a friend.

Nothing more.

I turn over and gasp for air, then bury my face in my pillow and scream. I’ve had this dream a few times now. It seems to start out with true events, driving in the rain through tears as the radio plays.

I never turned around that day, but I dream of the ‘what if.’ What I find through the bakery door changes with each dream. I find Peeta kissing the blond he was with, I find him angry with me, and one instance that I cherish, he runs out before I reach the doors and kisses me in the rain.

It's Monday morning, or is it afternoon? I stand, rub my eyes and study the clock. I would normally be late for my second job by now.

As if life would ever relent in the roller coaster that this summer has been, last week my fatigue and an itchy throat came at me full force. My mom urged me to get checked out, and sure enough, the blood test came back positive: mononucleosis.

I was forced to quit my second job because of exhaustion. The fall semester is approaching, so I convinced Sae to keep me on the schedule at the diner, even if all I can do is four hours shifts, and then rush home to collapse into bed. She instructed me to wash my hands every chance I can and keep my mouth shut as much as possible. “I'm sure that will be difficult, I’m known to be so warm and talkative, Sae.” I rolled my eyes and then shrieked as Sae snapped her towel at me for my sass.

Adding insult to injury, Gale's various texts informed me that Rye was also bedridden with mono. Another reminder of the kisses we shared. I collapse in a heap on my bed and sigh into my pillow.

My days and nights are so mixed up. I've barely left the bed on days that I'm not scheduled to work. I'm fatigued all the time and pathetically weak. I hate being weak.

My eyelids grow heavy. In a sleepy daze, I distantly hear the rattling of the loose front door knob. Prim cheerfully greets someone at the door and eventually two muffled voices echo from the kitchen. The deep timbre I hear almost sounds like Peeta's, but that can't be right. “I love his warm laugh,” I mumble to my empty room as I drift back to unconsciousness.

As I feel a blanket being tugged over my body and a kiss planted on my cheek with a brush of stubble, I smell baked bread and a manly scent that bring me warm feelings. I grip the soft cotton fabric tightly and beg for the feeling, the sensation of home to stay. I feel moisture escape one of my eyes.

I hear a raspy whispered reply and I'm engulfed in a haze of warmth, sweet aromas and a sense of belonging.

I drift off in a blissful sleep thinking of deep blue eyes and orange sunsets.

I wake and it seems to be the middle of the day. I look next to me and muse, “I love dreams when I find myself wrapped in Peeta's arms.”

I gently reach for his hair and sink my fingers into the soft blond waves. I remember noticing these ashy blond strands in a couple of college courses we shared, and I couldn't help noticing the way his biceps protruded when he would stretch. I kept thinking he was out of my league, and I was right. I gently scratch at his scalp and study his profile through weary eyes.

“I do too.” He sighs, slowly opens his eyes, he tightens his hold on me, and snuggles a little closer into my chest.

My breaths becomes out heavier, my heart beats a little faster. I relish in the feeling of Peeta's body against mine.

“We need to eat. I'll make dinner soon.” I mumble.

“Not too soon alright?” His voice has a husky sleepy quality. His kind eyes meet mine and plead with sincerity, “Just let me take care of you for awhile.” I nod with a small smile.

This is such a nice dream. I feel so warm inside. Cocooned safely, wrapped in hope and light.

“I'll wake up any minute and he’ll be gone. He won't be mine. I’ll wake up alone and cold,” I think. The agony and longing in my heart causes me to wrap tighter around him.

“I'm so tired, Peeta.” I trail kisses across his jaw and whisper secrets in his ear. Words of longing. I confess that I think of him all the time and keep dreaming about him. I even blurt out that I was thinking about him when Rye kissed me, wishing it were Peeta instead.

“Every love song on the radio is about you.” I hum a tune, and sing the melody softly. He looks at me with surprise, happiness and opens his mouth to say something but closes it, looking curious, but almost afraid to say anything. Peeta sighs and holds me tighter.

I whisper, “I know I don't deserve you.” A tear slips down my cheek. All words I would never be brave enough to speak face to face to a living breathing non-dream Peeta. More tears seem to prick my eyes as I bury my face into his neck and inhale his scent, sweet bread and dill from baked goods.

“I'm sorry I ruined it Peeta, I'm sorry for everything.” I admit pathetically, and I drift back to sleep.

I turn over and open one eye. I'm alone, as expected. I wrap a blanket around myself to follow the banging pots and chopping noises in the kitchen. Prim’s happy chatter causes me to search the clock, 5pm. I squint. Does mom have a short shift today?

Two blond heads are bent down chopping vegetables and chatting in our tiny kitchen.

I do a double take because the second head is taller, and much broader than my mother.

I think I know why Peeta's here: I'm in trouble!!

I slap a hand over my forehead, “It's Monday isn't? I'm sorry Peeta! I didn't mean to bail on our hiking plans.” I grit my teeth and cover my eyes. Of course I'm already ruining our fragile newly established friendship.

Prim laughs, “Katniss that was hours and hours ago. I told him how exhausted you've been and,” she smiles at me with mischief in her eyes,  “how much nicer you are lately. You don't scowl as much! You're just sweet and pitifully tired.”

If I had more energy I would say something sarcastic, or at least make a face. Instead I just slump in a chair at the kitchen table wrapped in my blanket.

Prim smiles at me and tells me Peeta had her practice driving in an empty parking lot, he taught her how to parallel park. She's so excited to get her licence soon. She casually mumbles something about groceries.

“That's nice.” I remark as my head lobs forward. I give up, holding my head up is far too much work. I rest it in the crook of my arm on the table. Stifled laughter follows.

The laughing might be about me but I don't have the energy to care.

“Do you need anything for your throat?” Prim asks me, I open one eye to look at my amused sister with sweet baby blue eyes. “We picked up lozenges for you.”

I bob my head and close my eyes, just for a moment...

I turn and find myself wrapped in steady arms. I burrow in and inhale the calming scent.

I’m gently placed on my bed and my arms wrap around Peeta, I look up at him with blurry eyes. Things I want to ask him, things that I want to say linger heavy in my chest.

Why are you still here? Why are you taking care of me?

And of course the guilt.

I’m sorry.

His blue eyes twinkle as he looks at me, a crooked smile on his face.

I’m sorry I kissed Rye.

He motions to pull away and I shake my head and cling to him. “Just-- Will you talk to me?” I ask in a small voice. I shift and pull him to me, he groans but relents and shifts beside me.

We lay beside each other in silence, all my thoughts bubble and boil to the surface until I just blurt it out all at once “I didn’t do that on purpose, that wasn’t my plan to, er--” I sigh and try again, “I kissed Rye and it was a mistake. I didn’t… It didn’t…” I lower my head and hold my face in my hands with a discouraged sigh. I feel Peeta’s comforting hand lightly rub my back in circles.

“Katniss, it worked. Rye was jealous and he stopped stringing you along and admitted he liked you. He stepped it up because you reacted tactically, you faked left and gained the edge and you had him in a half Nelson-- exposing but not pinning. Most girls would go in for the take down, once they have him, they pin him…”

I shake my head and blink a few times. “What?”

Peeta sighs, shakes his head, scratches under his jaw and tries to explain again. “I already talked to Rye, I know you don’t want to be with him. You got close enough to know that he isn’t right for you. Thanks for putting my brother in his place. I think he needed that lesson,” he smiles sadly, “and I got to know you.” Peeta squeezes my hand and lets it fall.

“You say things when you’re tired. I don’t always know what’s real and what isn’t, but I’ll find out,” he whispers and I stare at a spot on the wall as my mind races, trying to imagine what that means. Did he hear me talk about my dad? Did I talk about Peeta in my dream about him?

“Don’t worry about it now, okay?” he says. I nod and stretch out, so that we're both lying in my bed facing the ceiling, and Peeta pipes up, “So tell me the story of how you won Lady the goat for Prim?”

His blue eyes are intent to listen, as I start in with how excited Prim was to see the goat at the fair. Peeta takes my hand in his and playfully draws shapes on my palm that make me... Well, warm, relaxed, and nervous I guess? Because it's hard not to concentrate on the gentle caresses across my palm.

“...and I looked at the target and thought, ‘well that can't be too hard.’ Sure enough, Gale would have scoffed at my so-called-competition. I basically had none. I found a pink ribbon at another booth for the goat to wear before I showed my sister. The best part was the look on Prim’s face.” Peeta’s blue gaze meets mine and my heart skips a beat. I bite my lip and attempt to divert the conversation.

“I knew that goat could be a gold mine, you can make a killing with goat milk at the farmers market. We've done pretty well.”

“Right, and it had nothing to do with how much you love your sister and her happiness?” Peeta asks in a teasing tone, his eyes gleam.

His fingers continue to trace each of mine and with gentle strokes in soft slow movements. I'm nearly taken adrift, lost in the sensation. I find my eyelids growing heavy, gently lulled to sleep. The kisses on my cheek slightly tickle.

I barely breathe out the word “Stay.” A pathetically vulnerable plea, but I just want him with me. I feel like everything is going to be alright with him near.

His sexy breathy voice does things to my insides that make me squirm and breathe heavier, “Always.”

His warm plush lips land on my cheeks. I feel his lips reach below my ear, then linger on my neck, a hum trembles deep in my throat. “That's not a friend thing to do.” I mumble, though I can't fight the tug of a smile I feel on my cheeks.

“Huh?” he asks, all too innocently and kisses my neck again.

“In the bakery, you said we were just friends.” I murmur drowsily.

“Friends, for now.” Peeta whispers just before I'm taken under the heavy nothingness that is a sound deep sleep, wrapped in safety and warmth.

“I just don't know why Peeta would want me to go to the zoo with his sister-in-law and nephews Saturday.”

Prim looks at me like I'm an idiot and throws a kernel of popcorn at me. I wince, turn my head and laugh.

“Why would he come by almost all week, knowing you would be a walking zombie, just to be with you?” she asks.

“I don't know, maybe he feels like he owes me because I helped him when he had a concussion?” I answer, frustrated.

“Katniss, you're oblivious sometimes, but not this bad. What's your real deal here?”

“Don't know, I'm scared? This is nothing like the way I felt about Rye, or any other guy for that matter. I think he's seeing a beautiful blond, and Rye did tell me Peeta had a silver tongue.” I huff, I’m getting frustrated and exhausting myself by over thinking.

“Did you ask him if he was seeing someone else?” She asks, her eyes twinkle in a way that tell me she finds my frustration funny.

I sigh and shake my head.

“And he's an amazing guy, I'm selfish, impulsive, brash…” I trail off and don't admit my fears about it not being real, he’s so kind to everyone. That doesn’t mean he feels the same.

We gather the popcorn bowls and set them on the coffee table, and then pile pillows in spots where people might want to lounge on the floor for our movie, because we only have one couch and a chair in our small living room.

“And what if those are things he wants? You're fierce, assertive, protective of those you love, and you jump at the chance to do what is right. Plus, you're beautiful, his eyes follow you when you're not looking.”

I start shaking my head because Peeta doesn't feel that way, and I'm plain looking. But those kisses on my neck and his words, “For now…”

Prim looks at me seriously, “He's so in tune with you, Katniss. He knew just what you needed when he planned this movie night!”

The bell rings and at the door I'm met with Finnick, Annie, Gale, Madge, and Peeta's smiling faces.

“We brought Pizzas!” Finnick announces, holding the hot boxes above his head as if dramatically bestowing a gift. Annie rolls her eyes and steps in to hug me and place the boxes on the counter.

Peeta has a way of making everyone feel comfortable in a group. The way his eyes crinkle in a genuine smile and how humor and hidden genuine compliments just roll off his tongue he makes everyone feel appreciated and keeps the conversation flowing without dominating it.  

I made it halfway way through the movie before my eyelids felt too heavy. My head started to nod, as I fought to keep eyes open.

Peeta opened his arms I started to slump towards him and snuggled into his warm soft sweatshirt. Enjoying his comforting scent and the safe feeling of his arms wrapped around me as my eyes slid shut.

[serenlyss]

Linger

Rating: T (psychological trauma, heavy topics, vomit) Pairings: Terumob Summary:  Shigeo knows that something about him has changed, and not in a good way. He knows when his fingers start to itch, when he's sweating in a cold room, when he sometimes loses the ability to breathe right. He just can't figure out why, or how to fix it. After a week, he finally decides to ask for help. Crossposted to AO3: Linger

This ended up being really long but,, oh well. This is based wholly off the line in the anime where Mogami says the experience will be forever etched in his heart, an exploration of what kind of aftermath that kind of event could have on someone if it was the main focus of the story. I also just really wanted to write some considerate/caring Teru bc he's one of my favorite characters and I love him. Hope you enjoy! This was beta read by @thedeadgodlives, thanks a bunch for your help!

Shigeo’s pencil scratches against the lined paper of his notebook, working out a difficult math problem his teacher had assigned to him the previous school day. His head is leaning on his open hand, fingers digging into his hair and pressing against his scalp as though it will help him think easier. He hums to himself, pausing as he reaches a point in the problem where he can no longer remember the steps to solving it.

He’s never been good at math, but even after years of struggling the nervousness and fear of failure never gets any better. He rolls his pencil between his fingers restlessly, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he fights to remember his teacher’s instructions. It’s no use, he laments after a moment. He’ll have to search his textbook later for the directions. He hopes his teacher doesn’t call on him in class; he’d surely make a fool of himself in front of his classmates.

The fingers holding his pencil tingle, and he pauses in his fiddling. The sensation is familiar to him now, but he still can’t figure out where it’s coming from or why it’s happening. The tingle grows into an incessant itch until he can no longer ignore it. He sets down his pencil, rubbing his fingers together in an attempt to make the itch go away, but it isn’t working. It never has, not since he first started experiencing the itching a week ago. He scratches at his fingers with the nail on his thumb, frowning at his itchy fingers disapprovingly.

Shaking his head, Shigeo returns to his homework, but his focus has been broken. The itch in his hand multiplies and spreads to his other hand, which twitches against his scalp in response. He straightens up in his seat, pressing both hands palm-down on his desk. The sensation lingers in his fingertips, but no matter how he scratches them, the itch doesn’t go away. It’s distracting and annoying, and it’s keeping him from doing his work.

With a disgruntled huff of breath, he pushes himself to his feet and slips out of his tidy bedroom, heading for the bathroom at the end of the hall. He runs the tap hot and lets his hands hover beneath the stream of water, washing away the sickening sensation that clings to them. He leaves them there until the heat of the water becomes too much for him to handle, hissing out a pained breath as he feels his skin scald. He quickly jerks them back, turning the water off and drying his hands on the bathroom towel. He looks up at his reflection in the mirror. He’s paler than usual, he notices, and there’s sweat beading on his brow despite the comfortable temperature of his house. He scrubs it away with the towel, taking deep breaths to calm his nerves. When had his heart started beating so quickly? He swallows down the lump in his throat, carefully folding and replacing the towel as though it had never been touched at all.

He’s not sure what’s wrong with him, exactly, but he recognizes that it probably isn’t supposed to be happening. He doesn’t like to dwell on it, because then his thoughts start to race to places where he can’t control them, places where he’s still trapped in Mogami’s mindscape, fighting for his life in a completely different way than he’s grown accustomed to.

But he isn’t there anymore. He’s home, he’s safe, it’s over.

He repeats the thoughts in his head like a mantra. You’re home, you’re safe, it’s over. The tingling in his fingers is gone, and his heartbeat goes back to it’s regular speed. He feels like he could probably fall asleep now despite the fact that it’s the middle of the day. He still has homework to finish, though, so he returns to his desk and slips back into his chair.

As he attempts the math problem once more, he wonders if his classmates are struggling with the concepts as much as he is. His tongue feels dry. If he keeps making a fool of himself in class, they’ll keep pushing him around, calling him stupid and useless and spilling things on him. They might even try to hurt him, if they’re feeling particularly cruel that day, and he has no way of defending himself without his-

He lets out a gasp, shaking his head. His classmates had never done such things to him. They mostly ignore him, or at best, tolerate his presence. Sure, they laugh when he’s unable to answer the teacher’s question, but they’ve never done anything outright cruel to him, at least not to his face.

His head hurts. He scrubs at his face with both hands, groaning softly. His head feels foggy and his mind is racing, trying to reconcile two polarizing images of the same group of people he’s known since he was in grade school. It isn’t the first time he’s confused himself with conflicting memories, and every time it never fails to give him a splitting headache. He needs painkillers, and something to distract him from his unsettling thoughts.

His hand moves to pick up his phone as if on instinct, and before he knows it he’s opening up his text app in search of someone to reach out to. He pauses, fingers hovering over the keys. Hesitating. Reigen always gives good advice in times like these, but he’ll pry in deeper than Shigeo is willing to divulge. Ritsu, maybe? No, he’s still at school at this time, talking with the student council. He’s not sure Ritsu would be very good at taking his mind off of things, anyway.

Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’s holding, Shigeo punches in Hanazawa Teruki’s contact. Yes, Teru would know what to do to take his mind off of things. He sends a quick, simple message: “Hello, Hanazawa. Are you busy?”

He keeps his messages brief and polite, refraining from using phrases that may come across as too friendly or overbearing. Teru’s never been one to take the professional route, though, and his reply comes a minute later.

“Hey, Kageyama! :D Ah, you could say so. I’m working on some homework for a class. Why, did you need something?”

A small smile comes to Shigeo’s face. Teru’s friendly tone is easy to respond to, and the emojis he always includes are an easy way for Shigeo to deduce how he’s feeling. Not to mention, they’re quite cute. “Ah, sorry to bother you, then. I was just wondering if you had time to hang out, but if you’re busy, then I understand,” he types in response, curt and apologetic.

“Don’t apologize! I should really take a break anyway,” Reads Teru’s text. “I’d love to hang out, actually! :) If you have some homework, why don’t we work on it together? You can come over to my place and keep me company.”

Shigeo’s gaze flicks to his half-filled notebook page. “Are you good at math?” he asks.

Teru’s reply is immediate. “I do well enough. I can help you with it if you like, as long as you help me with my japanese in return.”

Shigeo’s fairly confident that he can at least help a little bit when it comes to Japanese, so he agrees quickly to the arrangement and tells Teru that he’ll be over shortly. He packs up his school supplies and changes out of his uniform, trading his black slacks and jacket for a tee-shirt and jeans. He leaves his room and heads downstairs to walk over to the train station, bidding his mother goodbye with a promise to stay safe on his way.

The trip is quick and easy, nothing eventful getting in his way as he turns toward Teru’s apartment from the station. He’s only been there a handful of times, including the few hours he’s spent resting there after Ritsu was kidnapped by Claw, but he’s memorized the stop he needs to exit from and the route he takes to arrive at Teru’s front door.

Teru’s quick to answer when Shigeo knocks softly, greeting him with a smile and a wave. “Hi, Kageyama. Come on in and have a seat,” he says, stepping aside and holding the door open for Shigeo to move past him.

“Thanks for having me,” he says politely, slipping off his shoes and leaving them by the door like he always does when he comes over. He makes his way over to Teru’s living room, where his friend has already taken up shop to work on his own homework. There’s a textbook open on the coffee table beside his workbook, and an empty mug with the last dregs of a sweet-smelling tea in it. Shigeo sits down on the couch while Teru steeps another batch of the tea, a common routine for the two of them when they study together. He pulls his notebook out of his backpack and sets it up beside Teru’s, fetching a pencil from a side pocket to write with.

Teru joins him shortly after, a steaming cup in each hand, and sets one in front of Shigeo.

“Ah, thank you,” Shigeo murmurs, taking a tentative sip of the hot drink.

Teru flashes him a smile and plops down next to him, leaving just a few inches of space between them for their arms to move. Teru has always been the kind of person who likes to casually touch his friends, as far as Shigeo can tell, quick to guide him with a hand on his back or a congratulatory squeeze of his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch when their arms brush or their hands touch accidentally, and he’s quick to loop an arm around his shoulders or lean against him when he’s feeling tired. Shigeo doesn’t mind the constant contact, and Teru seems appreciative of his receptiveness, so when he lays an arm across the back of the couch behind Shigeo’s shoulders, he doesn’t react or draw attention to it. Instead he focuses on his math work, determined to solve the problem he’s stuck on.

Teru’s quick to jump in and help him, praising him for what he’s done correctly and gently pointing out his mistakes. Teru isn’t at all like his teachers or classmates, Shigeo realizes as he listens to Teru’s instructions. He moves at a pace Shigeo can easily keep up with and doesn’t berate him for not understanding right away, and he’s endlessly grateful for his friend’s innate understanding of him.

“Thank you, Hanazawa, this all makes much more sense now,” Shigeo says once they’ve gone through a few problems together. He turns to smile at Teru, setting down his pencil and letting his hands fall to his sides.

Teru’s face goes slightly pink, but the pleased smile on his face shows his gratitude at Shigeo’s words. “Anytime, Kageyama. There’s no better way to learn than by teaching someone else. At least, that’s what my math teacher always says,” he replies, reaching up with one hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

His hair is getting longer again, Shigeo notices. He hums, thoughtful, and reaches out with a hand to brush aside a strand that’s fallen into Teru’s eyes. His fingers graze Teru’s temple as he does, feeling an annoying little zap at the miniscule contact. It’s not enough to make him flinch, but it’s noticeable nonetheless.

Teru doesn’t move away from his touch, but the blush on his cheeks darkens some, and he glances away in an almost embarrassed fashion. “Ah, it’s getting a bit long, isn’t it? I cut it short after our fight, but I’ve been growing it out since then. I kinda miss wearing it long,” he says, rambling a bit, but Shigeo doesn’t mind. Teru’s always been more of a talker than he is.

“It looks nice,” Shigeo compliments, letting his hand fall back to the couch again. He turns his attention back toward his homework, nearly finished now, as Teru falls quiet.

The other boy doesn’t respond, going back to his own work, but a moment later Shigeo feels bold fingers brush against the hand that rests between them, cautiously slotting themselves between his own.

The touch burns like fire almost immediately, seeping into his skin with jolts of white-hot electricity that stab up his arm and make his mind scream, Don’t touch me!

He rips his hand away with a pained gasp, holding it against his chest. The searing heat continues to spread, making his arms quiver against his control and causing his stomach to turn. He feels queasy and hot as the burn spreads to his head and he breaks into a sweat.

“I-I’m sorry,” Teru stammers, quickly retracting his hand. Shigeo’s head jerks to look at him. He looks incredibly guilty and a little mortified, actively leaning out of Shigeo’s space when he normally would lean in. “I just thought - I mean, it seemed like - ugh, what did I do?” He tears his gaze away, clasping his hands together as if to punish them for wandering.

Shigeo opens his mouth to reassure his friend that it’s alright, it’s not his fault, that there’s something wrong with himself that had caused a misunderstanding, but the words die in his throat. His tongue feels thick and dry, his throat thinner and hoarser with each passing second. He feels like he’s going to vomit.

He stands up in a hurry and makes a beeline for Teru’s bathroom, pushing the door shut behind him as he struggles to take a meaningful breath. His fingers burn terribly, the sensation making his stomach roll. He gags on his own choppy gasps, bracing his hands on the marble countertop around the sink and leaning over it in case he really does throw up. He feels like his heart is about to leap out of his chest, and his lungs burn, as though there’s no oxygen in the air to replenish them. His face is pale and he’s begun sweating profusely, his forehead damp and cold to the touch. With a start he realizes that he’s crying, tears rolling down his cheeks and falling into the sink. His knees wobble, and his stomach does another nauseating flip. He barely manages to fall to his knees in front of the toilet before he’s heaving up the contents of that day’s breakfast and lunch into it.

There’s a knock at the door. “Kageyama? Are you alright?” Teru asks from behind the door, voice thick with concern.

Shigeo’s voice continues to evade him, stomach heaving once more, but there’s nothing left to throw up. He gags, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m coming in,” Teru warns. Shigeo hasn’t locked the door behind him, and it swings open with urgency. In a second Teru is at his side, a steady hand on his back. “Kageyama! You look terrible, what happened?” he frets, reaching across Shigeo’s back to tear a strip of toilet paper from the roll. He holds it out to him.

Shigeo draws in a shuddering breath, his shaky hands grasping the toilet’s rim so tightly his knuckles have gone white. After a moment he detaches one hand from it and takes the wad of paper from Teru’s outstretched hand, opening his eyes. His vision is fuzzy, black spots dancing at his periphery. Am I going to faint? he wonders with a flash of fear. He manages to wipe the edges of his mouth with the toilet paper, but his breath tastes like bile and his head feels like it’s going to burst. “Teru, I-I think I’m really sick,” he manages to choke out, voice shaky to the point of unintelligibility and thick with misery.

Teru takes the paper from Shigeo’s hand and drops it in the toilet, flushing away the evidence. Then he grasps him firmly by both shoulders and turns him so they’re facing each other. “You’re not sick, you’re panicking,” he says, reaching up with one hand to push Shigeo’s sweat-slicked bangs out of his face. His eyes flicker back and forth across Shigeo’s face, brows furrowed in unhidden concern. “You’re hyperventilating,” he realizes worriedly, biting his lower lip. “Try breathing with me, okay? In, and out…” Odd. Shigeo doesn’t feel like he’s breathing at all.

Teru holds his gaze as he repeats himself, over and over, and Shigeo fights to match his tempo. Teru’s thumb presses against the front of his shoulder and rubs small circles just beneath his collarbone, offering some sort of stimulation to distract him from his racing thoughts. Shigeo clasps his hands over his knees and digs his fingers in, the sensation keeping his vision from fuzzing out entirely.

He isn’t sure how long the two of them sit on the cold tile floor for, Teru murmuring words of reassurance to Shigeo as he fights to control his rapid breathing, but eventually the dark spots fade and the throbbing in his head goes down enough to let him think again. His face is slick from sweat, but his hands have stopped burning, a faint tingle all that remains.

Teru stands up and releases his hold on Shigeo, wetting a rag with cold water from the tap above them. Shigeo’s breathing stalls for a split second at the loss of contact before starting back up again, unsure what to do until Teru kneels in front of him again and presses the cold cloth to his face. The sting of it shocks Shigeo to his senses, his hands twitching involuntarily. “Cold,” he gasps.

Teru chuckles, using the wet rag to mop away the sweat that clings to Shigeo’s forehead. “It’ll make you feel better,” he assures, holding the cloth against the back of his neck.

Shigeo lets out a breathy sigh as the rag cools his overheated face and neck and makes him feel overall a little less sticky and gross. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“It’s no problem. I, uh, know what it feels like,” Teru admits with a smile, and it’s so soft and sincere and caring that Shigeo almost does a double-take. “Still, you gave me a scare. What happened?”

Shigeo glances down, focusing on the fading coldness on the back of his neck. He doesn’t answer, but not because he doesn’t want to tell Teru what’s been going on. He simply doesn’t know how to put his feelings into words.

Thankfully, Teru seems to pick up on his thoughts. “Well, there’s no need to force yourself,” he says, removing the rag from Shigeo’s neck and setting it on the bathroom counter. He pushes himself to his feet. “Do you want to use my shower? It always helps me to feel better when I’m feeling overwhelmed, plus it’s good for thinking. I’ll lend you something clean to wear, too, so you don’t have to stay in those sweaty clothes.” He extends a hand out for Shigeo to take, then his smile falters and he appears to think better of it. He swallows visibly, curling his arm up toward his chest as a form of recoil. Shigeo doesn’t blame him, after the way he’d reacted to the last time they’d touched hands.

Shigeo tears his gaze away from Teru’s hand and looks down at himself as Teru mentions his clothes, flinching at his bedraggled appearance. There’s sweat stains in the pits of his white tee-shirt and, horrifyingly, a few spots of vomit that hadn’t quite hit the mark. He bites back what he wants to say, an instinctive reassurance that he’s fine and doesn’t need to be taken care of anymore, and instead just nods his head. “That sounds like a good idea,” he sighs.

“Great. I’ll grab you a change of clothes, then, and a fresh towel,” Teru says, pretending his little misstep hadn’t occurred at all. “You can use my shampoo and stuff if you want, I doubt you’ll use as much as I always do.” He laughs at his own words, turning to the door, but it comes across nervous. “Be right back,” he adds as an afterthought, pulling the door half-shut behind him to offer some semblance of privacy.

Shigeo takes a deep breath and hauls himself to his feet, using the edge of the counter as leverage. He still feels a bit shaky on his feet, but as least he doesn’t feel like he’s going to keel over and pass out anymore. He runs the tap water cold, scrubbing his hands briefly with Teru’s citrusy soap, and feels the last remnants of the burning sensation disappear as the water washes them away. He lets out a breath of relief at the return to semi-normalcy, though he’s still pale and a little uncertain on his feet. He splashes some of the cold water on his face for good measure before turning off the tap.

Teru returns, silently pushing open the bathroom door, as Mob is drying his face. He has a fluffy gray towel draped over his arm, along with the promised change of clothes. “These should fit you, I hope,” he says, setting them in a neat pile atop the kitchen counter. Then he holds the towel out to Shigeo. “Here, you can use this. Just hang it up on the hook once you’re finished so it can dry.” He nods his head toward the hook that protrudes from the inside of the bathroom door.

Shigeo manages a small smile, accepting the towel from Teru’s outstretched hand. “Of course. Thanks again, Hanazawa,” he says. “I’ll make it up to you soon.”

“Don’t worry about things like that. We’re friends, so there’s no need to keep track of favors,” Teru assures with a wave of his hand. He steps out of the bathroom to give Shigeo some space. “I’m going to work on some more homework while you shower, so just come find me when you’re done, okay?”

Shigeo nods in agreement and Teru closes the door behind him with a parting smile, leaving Shigeo alone with the shower.

He takes advantage of Teru’s offer to use his shampoo, scrubbing the salty sweat from his hair and filling the misty air with the scent of Teru’s fruity hair products. He pushes his bangs away with his fingers and cranes his neck back, letting the warm water pelt his face and return color to his cheeks. He takes deep breaths, letting his thoughts wander. He obviously owes Teru an explanation for his unexpected outburst, but he still isn’t entirely sure what had caused it. He glances down at his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers. Ever since his encounter with Mogami, he hasn’t been able to touch anyone else without feeling like he’s been scorched by an open flame. His hands had it the worst, he’d determined. That’s not even counting the times he’s found himself staring at the throats of his classmates, his mind flashing back to the student he’d nearly asphyxiated in Mogami’s monochromatic world.

Taking a breath, Shigeo lifts a hand and lightly covers his own throat. He can distinctly remember the feeling of Teru’s fingers digging into his flesh, squeezing until no air could pass in or out. His touch had left no bruises at the time, Shigeo’s body hyper-durable as a result of his psychic powers, but the memory is still there. He’d long forgiven Teru for their fight, to the point where he hardly thought back on the event anymore, at least before Mogami. Since then the thought has come up more and more often, as he recalls his imaginary classmate’s terrified eyes and gasping breaths. Did I sound like that, when Teru attacked me? he wonders, frowning.

Teru… he’d have to apologize properly for the way he’d reacted. In truth, he’d kind of wanted to hold his hand. He’d been curious about it for a while now, actually, since the two of them had infiltrated and subsequently escaped the Claw 7th division headquarters and Teru had proven himself to be a loyal and dependable friend. He caught himself staring, sometimes, at Teru’s face, at his back, his hands, a quiet curiosity he wasn’t bold enough to act on, but that was always there. What would Teru do if he decided to hug him, or reach for his hand? Would he even be able to without feeling the fire burning him?

He turns off the water after several minutes of simply standing under the hot spray, toweling himself off. He slips into Teru’s lent clothes, a soft pink sweater and comfortable gray sweats, chuckling softly. Even now, Teru was trying his best to take care of him. He appreciates his friend’s experience and comforting presence, but he knows he has a hard conversation ahead of him. He uses the towel to soak up the extra water from his hair until it’s damp instead of dripping, then hangs it up on the hook behind the door to dry. Then he cracks open the bathroom door and slips outside, leaving it open to ventilate the mist.

When he pads, barefoot, out of the bathroom, he spots Teru sitting back on the couch, staring at his open notebook. He’s not holding a pencil, though, and his leg bounces restlessly. He looks up as Shigeo exits. “Ah, you’re finished. Do you feel better now?” he asks with that familiar soft smile.

Shigeo swallows and nods, already feeling his nervousness bubbling up as he crosses the room to take his seat beside Teru once again. “Yes, thank you. I’m sorry for troubling you,” he replies.

Teru shakes his head. “It isn’t your fault. You had a panic attack, and a pretty bad one at that. Those things are out of our control.”

Shigeo clasps his hands together. “So, you get them, too?” he asks softly.

“Sometimes.” Teru looks down at his empty tea mug. “I’ve learned how to cope with them, to an extent. Have you had one before?”

Shigeo hums, then nods, remembering how he’d felt the burning in his fingers just that afternoon. At the time he hadn’t been able to place what was wrong, but it fit in hindsight, now that Teru had explained it to him. “Never as bad as that, but sometimes my hands get really hot and shaky, and I get pale and sweaty, and it’s hard to breath for a while. When that happens, I always wash my hands with hot water and it goes away. This time was… the worst one, so far,” he admits. “I’m sorry I reacted so badly to you touching me.”

Teru chokes on a nervous chuckle, which turns into a brief cough. He clears his throat into his hand. “Ah, I shouldn’t have done that without permission. It was just an urge, I suppose. You obviously didn’t like it though, so I won’t do it again, I promise,” he says, but he can’t stop the hints of disappointment that come through as he speaks.

Shigeo shakes his head quickly. “No, I didn’t dislike it,” he assures. “I normally don’t mind when you touch me, I even like it most of the time. I just haven’t really… been myself lately, I suppose.” He unclasps his fingers and stares down at his open palms, frowning. “When you touched my hand, it felt like it was burning. Other times, when I’ve felt panicked, my hands will start itching until I can’t take it anymore. Like when a mosquito bites you, but far worse. It’s only my hands, too. When Master grabs my shoulder or something like that, it doesn’t have the same effect.”

Teru looks concerned to hear this, but there’s some relief in his face too, that Shigeo hasn’t completely rejected his touch. “When did this start happening?” he asks.

“It’s been about a week,” Shigeo admits softly. He fiddles with the soft edge of  his borrowed sweater to give his hands something to do. “Ever since I defeated Mogami Keiji.”

Teru’s eyes widen at the name; Shigeo’s told him about Mogami’s psychic powers and the world he’d lived in for six months, but at the time he’d played it off as something that was over, finished. As it would appear, it isn’t over at all. “Did something happen in there that’s making you panic? A bad experience, or something he said to you?” His voice is edging on protective, Shigeo realizes, and the thought is oddly comforting. What isn’t comforting, however, is the realization that he’ll have to describe what he’d done.

He falls quiet for several seconds, but Teru is patient, and doesn’t push him for answers before he’s ready. Shigeo is grateful. Teru is trustworthy, he knows, and he’s sure that he won’t think any less of him for something that technically never really happened, but that doesn’t keep the doubts from coming. Shigeo can feel his headache resurfacing as he struggles to tell himself that, yeah, it wasn’t something he’d actually done with his own two hands. His body had been in Reigen and Dimple’s care at the time, but in the moment it had felt very real. “I think I almost killed someone, in Mogami’s dream land,” he confesses, the words heavy on his tongue. “They were bullying me, telling me I was stupid and worthless and terrible. I just felt so angry.” He pauses to take a breath, trying not to ramble, but the words don’t stop coming. “I know it wasn’t a real place, and I was being influenced by an evil spirit, but those are still choices that I made, I think. Sometimes my memories from that world bleed out into this one and I catch myself being scared of my classmates, wondering when they’re going to beat me up next or what horrible things they’re saying when I’m not around. To be honest, I-I can’t tell my real memories apart from the ones Mogami created for me. My heart knows what’s real, but my head gets all fuzzy and my memories get all jumbled up and then I get a really bad headache and nothing gets solved at all.”

As if on cue, Shigeo feels his head throb painfully, and he stifles a pained noise, wincing.

“Sounds like you’ve had a rough time,” Teru says, but there’s an uncertainty to his voice that says he really has no idea what Shigeo’s talking about. He stands up and moves into the kitchen, rifling around in one of the cabinets. Shigeo doesn’t blame him for not understanding. He doubts many others have had an experience like he has, and if they had, they likely hadn’t lived through it.

“I had thought it was over,” he sighs, pausing as his head gives another painful throb. “It’s been a week, Hanazawa. I feel like it should be in the past now.” He leans his forehead into one hand, the other falling limp on his lap, palm skyward.

Teru returns, pressing a bottle into Shigeo’s free hand. He’s careful not to let their skin touch, which Shigeo is simultaneously grateful and disappointed about. He doesn’t want Teru to distance himself over something that shouldn’t even be happening, but, well, he wasn’t left with much of a choice. Teru sets a cup of water on the table in front of him and says, “Take two.”

Shigeo blinks, glancing at the label on the bottle. Painkillers. Relieved, he untwists the bottle’s cap and shakes two bright red pills out of it, setting it aside and picking up the cup. He downs both pills with one swig of water. “Thank you, I think I needed that,” he sighs.

Teru hums to show he’s heard, but he’s deep in thought. “I’m no therapist, Kageyama, but I think what you experienced classifies as trauma, maybe even PTSD,” he says after a moment of quiet. “It’s obviously had a prolonged effect on your body, and your mind. That kind of thing can cause panic attacks like the one you had. To be honest, I’m not sure there's much I can do to help you with that.”

Shigeo sighs, slumping over in his seat. “I don’t know where else to go,” he says softly. “I know there’s something wrong with me, and that I should probably see a doctor, or-or a therapist, but what am I supposed to tell them that won’t make me sound like I’ve gone insane?” He pauses, takes a moment to breath before things get out of control again. “I think, if I can create a divide between what’s real and what happened in my dream, some of these symptoms will go away, but I don’t know how to do that by myself.”

Teru leans back in his seat, worrying his lip between his teeth for a moment. Then he blinks, eyes bright, and sits straight up again. “Why don’t we make a game out of it?” he suggests. “Tell me something that happened, it doesn’t matter where the memory comes from. I’ll tell you if it’s real or not.” He grins at the idea, looking quite pleased with it.

Shigeo blinks. Could that really work? “What about the things I never told you about?” he asks. He and Teru talk often, whether it’s in person or via text, but there’s no way Teru will be able to dissect all his jumbled memories.

“Well, I’ll just have to admit defeat at that point, then,” Teru replies with a shrug, “but I think it’s worth a shot, if you’re willing to give it a try.”

Shigeo hums, mulling it over. It couldn’t hurt, as far as he can imagine. “Okay, let’s try it,” he agrees. He combs through his recent memories, searching for something he knows is true. “Um… I tried to run for student council once, but when it was time for me to speak, I didn’t say anything,” he begins.

“That’s true,” Teru says immediately. “That was when Emi asked you out.”

Shigeo smiles; it kind of feels like a quiz show. “Alright. I once exorcised a group of over fifteen bikers and their gang boss.”

“True,” Teru repeats. “You exorcised a huge evil spirit there too, right?”

Shigeo nods, chuckling softly. “It was big, but it wasn’t very strong,” he confirms. “Okay, next one, then… Sometimes, my classmates like to hit me for fun.”

Teru’s smile falters at this, obviously put off a bit by the morbid tone, but plays along for the sake of the game. “No, that’s false. Your classmates mostly don’t pay attention to you at all.”

Shigeo lets out a relieved breath. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says. Logically, he’d always known the difference between Mogami’s harsh reality and his own privileged life, but something within him felt validated that someone else could also make the distinction. “Why don’t you do one, Hanazawa?”

“Me?” Teru echoes in surprise. “Hmm, I guess I can try to trick you with a lie.” He taps his chin with one finger, searching for something to say. “When I was a kid, I used to look for coins on the school playground and collect them in a little jar.”

Shigeo’s face splits into a smile. “Ah, I remember you talking about that. It’s true,” he says. “Okay, my turn. When my brother sees me in trouble, he sometimes avoids getting involved to protect himself.”

Teru shakes his head. “No way, Ritsu is way too protective of you to ever do that,” he says. “False.” He fixes Shigeo with his dark blue gaze, growing more confident in his answers. “I broke off my connection to Blake Vinegar’s gang after you beat me in a fight,” he says, leaning forward in his seat.

Shigeo nods. “It was one of the first things you did.”

Teru’s eyebrows raise and he sports a devious grin. “Oh? Who says I’m not still controlling them from the shadows?” he challenges.

Shigeo doesn’t answer, but after a moment they both devolve into fits of uncontrollable giggling. It’s good to know that they can joke about those days without feeling like it’s bringing up bad memories. Rather, the incident merely marks the start of their friendship. “I can’t imagine you doing things like that now,” he says. “You’ve changed a lot, Hanazawa.”

Teru’s laughter turns more self-conscious at Shigeo’s compliment, but he’s clearly pleased to be told so. “Yeah? I’m glad. You’ve changed quite a bit yourself, Kageyama. In a good way,” he replies, and the pink flush is back.

Shigeo finds himself staring at it, somewhat distracted. “True or false,” he begins, voice softening. “You and I are friends in both worlds.”

Teru blinks. “I don’t know,” he replies, “but we’re definitely friends in this one, so that’s what’s important.”

Shigeo nods, accepting this. He shifts a touch closer to Teru, fiddling with the fingers on one of his hands. His leg and Teru’s are nearly touching. “You and I broke into the Claw 7th Division headquarters after Ritsu was kidnapped.”

“That’s true,” Teru replies, glancing at Shigeo curiously. He’s noticed the way Shigeo is inching closer, as though he has a purpose behind wanting to be so close.

He reaches out and brushes the back of his knuckles against the side of Teru’s hand experimentally, catching the hitch in Teru’s breathing when they make contact. Unpleasant sparks poke at his skin where it touches Teru’s, and he draws back quickly, thoughtful. Teru has his eyes fixed on him, concerned but curious.  He continues, “Sometimes I come to your school to walk you to my apartment for our study sessions.”

Shigeo nods. His reaches out again, this time touching with the pads of his fingers. He lets the touch linger, and Teru doesn’t move, frozen in place. Shigeo draws a sharp breath, wincing. Electric shocks sting his fingertips, but the heat is bearable for a few seconds before he feels like he needs to retreat. When he finally does, he says, “That’s true.”

“Yeah, it is,” Teru agrees, breathless. Shigeo stares at his fingers, eyebrows furrowed, and catches Teru turn over his hand in his periphery, his palm facing toward the ceiling. “Once, I even went back to your house, and we did homework in your room instead. Your mom wouldn’t leave us alone, and kept asking if we wanted snacks.”

Shigeo cracks a smile at this, and when his hand ventures out this time, he presses his palm against Teru’s and just lets them rest on top of each other. He tenses, hot needles poking into the surface of his palm. He curls his fingers around Teru’s hand and squeezes it, willing the sensation to disappear. I control my own life, he reminds himself firmly, and doesn’t let go despite the occasional stab of discomfort in his palm. He feels the heat spread upward, sweat beading at his hairline, but he doesn’t feel like he’s panicking, so he doesn’t let go.

Teru shifts his grip, emboldened, and slots their fingers together.

Shigeo stumbles over his breath, eyes widening. The motion feels like two strips of sandpaper rubbing together, chafing him. Teru jolts, moving to disconnect their hands, but Shigeo stops him before he can go through with it, squeezing his hand tightly to prevent him from moving too far away.

He flinches as the burning sensation begins, crawling from his fingertips up his arm. “It hurts,” he grunts through clenched teeth, but he maintains his grip on Teru’s hand despite the way Teru moves once more to break the contact. He looks up and meets Teru’s dark blue gaze. “Wait, just a bit longer.”

Teru stares at him, fear and uncertainty in his gaze, but doesn’t force him to let go, just squeezes his hand back in an attempt to reassure him that all will be well. “I stole you away from a date so you could break up your little brother’s fight after he discovered his psychic powers,” he says, watching Shigeo carefully.

The boy chuckles under his breath, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. He’s thankful that Teru can still find ways to lighten the mood, even though he’s clearly just as distraught as Shigeo is. “It wasn’t a date, I’ve told you that before,” he insists, calming some.

Eventually, thankfully, the burning sensation reaches a peak and then begins to wane. Shigeo feels the heat in his face go down with his timed breathing, and he relaxes the iron grip he’d been holding Teru’s hand with. He doesn’t let go, though, feeling the itchy tingles and occasional stabs of discomfort lingering. “Are you okay?” Teru asks, worried.

Shigeo nods, giving his hand a little squeeze and smiling at the little noise of surprise Teru makes. He coughs into his hand, though it doesn’t sound very convincing. “How do you feel?” he says after a moment.

Shigeo’s eyelids droop, but he continues to cradle Teru’s hand in his; his skin is soft and the way he holds his hand is endearingly gentle. “Itchy, but otherwise okay. I think it’s going away, for now,” he says, rubbing his thumb experimentally against Teru’s. Without warning, he drops his head to Teru’s shoulder, sighing out sofly, “Your hand is warm.”

Teru jumps slightly at the contact, but quickly relaxes into Shigeo’s touch the way he always does. “Good warm or bad warm?” he asks lamely, all his usual flirtatiousness and bravado and confidence blown out the window by one unpredictable Shigeo.

“Good warm,” Shigeo murmurs. “My head feels a bit clearer, too. I think the game worked, at least a little.” It hasn’t cleared up all his misgivings, and there are still plenty of jumbled memories in his head, but he’s starting to see the distinctions that separated the real world from the fabricated one, now that someone else has been able to reaffirm them. He bites back a yawn, humming sleepily. “That made me tired. I was already kind of drowsy from before I came over,” he says. The painkillers are starting to kick in, thankfully, dulling the pounding in his head and, interestingly, banishing the lingering itchiness from his hands.

Teru peers down at him through dark blue eyes. “Wow, you do look tired. Will you be alright getting home by yourself? Your house is pretty far away from here,” he points out. “Maybe you should just stay here for the night. It’s dangerous to fall asleep on the train, and I’d hate for you to end up lost.”

Shigeo hums noncommittally, drawing a chuckle from Teru’s lips. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Don’t fall asleep yet, though, you need to tell your parents that you’re staying over. You don’t want to worry them, after all.”

Reluctantly, Shigeo sits up and picks up his phone from the coffee table. “Alright, I’ll give mom a call. Thanks for letting me stay, you’re probably right about falling asleep on the train. Honestly, I don’t know if I can keep my eyes open much longer.”

“I’ll make space in my room,” Teru says, standing up. He hesitates for a moment before untangling his fingers from Shigeo’s, then turns away before he can see his expression. “Er, be right back,” he adds, moving across the living room and disappearing into his bedroom.

Shigeo feels a flash of disappointment at the loss of contact. He likes holding hands with Teru, and he hopes his friend won’t be hesitant about touching him now. He doesn’t want to lose that contact. Shaking his head, he calls up his mother and tells her that he’ll be back the next morning. Thankfully, it’s a weekend, which means he doesn’t have to worry about waking up extra early to go home for his uniform, and his mother sounds almost excited to hear that he’s staying with a friend. Well, she’s always liked Teru. “Thanks, mom. Love you too, bye,” he says, and ends the call as Teru reemerges from his room.

“Okay, I know you’re tired,” Teru says, making his way over to where a small television is set up in the corner of the living room, “but hear me out. This is a sleepover now, which means we have to watch a movie.” He’s carrying a bunched-up, thick blanket in one arm, which he tosses onto the couch beside Shigeo. “If you’re up for it, of course. It’s an action movie.”

Well, Shigeo thinks, amused, I can’t say no to an action movie. It was his favorite genre, after all, so he nods in agreement. “Mmhmm, that’s okay. I might fall asleep during it, though,” he warns, if only so Teru doesn’t get offended.

Teru just smiles at him, popping the disk into his DVD player and turning on the television. “No problem,” he replies, moving back to the couch and taking his seat beside his friend. He takes the blanket and drapes it over both of them.

They sit close together as the intro to the movie begins, but Shigeo is quick to notice that Teru consciously avoids bumping into him by accident. He’s trying to be considerate, he knows, but it’s still a little frustrating that Teru was changing his typical behavior over concern. It’s nice of him to want to stay within Shigeo’s comfort zone, but it’s not what Shigeo wants him to do. After a few minutes of sitting quietly, Shigeo reaches over and takes Teru’s hand once more, linking their fingers together over top of the blanket. He scoots closer to make the action more comfortable, too, letting his side press against Teru’s so their linked hands lay atop his lap. He glances at Teru, searching for signs of discomfort, and instead finds Teru fighting an obviously pleased grin.

Smiling softly, he returns his attention to the movie. His hand feels normal, to his relief, and he’s fairly sure the painkillers Teru lent him are partly to thank for that. Even if it’s temporary, he basks in the feeling of Teru’s soft skin against his own, the way he idly rubs circles into his skin with his thumb. Despite the action happening on the tv screen, Shigeo finds his eyelids drooping within the first hour, lulled by the long day he’d had and Teru’s fond touch.

“Can I lay on you?” Shigeo asks, stifling a yawn behind his free hand as he turns to look at his… friend? He blinks, mind blanking. All of a sudden friend doesn’t feel like the right word. The thought knocks him so off-guard that he nearly misses Teru’s nod, a subtle action of consent.

“I don’t mind.”

Shigeo nods back, removing his hand from Teru’s light grasp and shifting away from him to make room. Teru looks confused about why he’s putting distance between them, but then Shigeo lowers himself down onto the couch and lays his head down on Teru’s lap.

It takes Teru a moment to relax into this new position, but he’s never been one to shy away from an affectionate touch. He moves one arm to the side of the couch and lets it rest there, his other hand hovering, unsure where to let it fall. After a moment, however, it finds a place at the back of Shigeo’s head, threading into his hair. His touch is calculated, experimental. Shigeo can tell he doesn’t want to go too far. “Is this okay?” Teru asks him in a soft voice, his fingers traveling down and brushing Shigeo’s bangs away from his forehead.

“Yes,” Shigeo replies, voice thick with weariness. He lets out a soft hum as Teru’s fingers grow more confident, drawing through his bangs and brushing over the skin of his scalp in feather-light touches. He closes his eyes, the movie forgotten. Part of him doesn’t want to sleep yet, wants to watch more of the movie, but Teru makes the decision for him. He removes his hand from Shigeo’s hair, and a moment later he feels the blanket being tucked around his shoulders and neck so it covers him completely. Then the hand returns to his hair, rhythmically brushing it away from his face as soft fingers trace his hairline and tickle the back of his neck.

In the soft, fuzzy space between wakefulness and sleep, he feels Teru bend over him and brush his lips over his temple, feather-soft and loving. They leave a warmth behind them, bringing a faint smile to Shigeo’s face as Teru’s soft caresses lull him into a quick and comfortable sleep.

[geekygoddesss]

“When are you going to...”

Luke

"...Get a haircut?" I ask my boyfriend who is too busy looking at his cellphone while laying his head on my tummy, giving me the opportunity to play with his curls a little bit. It was one of those days, days of extreme relaxation, where none of us really wanted to move at all, just relax, enjoy each others company, have random conversations… I think this is random enough.

"Not today, or tomorrow, or next week..." he mumbles lazily, still playing with his phone. He turns around, looking at me with an eyebrow raised "Why?" He asks in curiosity "don't you like it? I thought you liked tugging it when I-" he says but stops to have a laugh when I slap his arm to make him shut up.

Yes, sometimes he could be a bit of a pervert.

"I do like it" i say pouting and still running a hand through his hair, feeling the softness of his blonde hair against my fingers "but I miss the quiff though," I say shrugging a little.

I have to admit, ever since Luke decided to style his hair a bit better a couple of years ago, I was here for it, seeing how he went front his “too straight hair” phase to the “quiff” situation was pretty much a game changer for him and I loved the way he looked with that new style. About a year ago he just gave up on it, he cut his hair and just let it take his own way naturally, which at first was pretty normal, but then it grew and grew and kept growing, until it formed curls that now touched the middle of his neck and covered his ears, I could say this was his “Lazy hair” phase and he wasn’t mad at it, he was in fact very comfortable, I respect that. But I still miss the quiff.

He sighs deeply, going back to his previous position and staring at his phone "it's not coming back, babe" he says.

I chuckle a little, running my fingers through this scalp and massaging it "What about just like, short hair?" I suggest innocently.

"I would have to go to the Baber for that, I think I’ll pass" he excuses himself, just groaning at the thought, I knew how lazy he actually was for this things "let me be, woman" he says, lifting his hand and reaching for the side of my hip, squeezing on my soft spot and making me break in a short fit of giggles.

"I let you be!" I argue as I move away from his hand and try to speak like a normal being "I just love your old look that's all"

He laughs, sitting up on the bed and turning around. He was showing me a teasing smile and shaking his head a little.

"Aw" he says sitting up moving up a bit to lay by my side, moving up shortly to peck on my lips before laying in his spot and picking up the remote beside me  "but I'm a man with a hundred looks, honey" he says, winking.

And sure he was, he has too much to show up with his style and I could not wait to see what he had next.

Michael

"...Shave?" I whisper in his ear one Monday morning while we laid together, legs intertwined and skin to skin while the only sound in the room was the singing birds from outside and the wind softly hitting the window ever so slightly.

"What do you mean?" He mumbles turning his head to me.

"I mean that I want you to shave" I say running my hand up and down his chest. Feeling him relax under my touch "don't misunderstand me, I love your beard, it's just..."

"Just..." he mimics me waiting for my answer. a teasing tone in his voice and a small smile on his lips.

"Scratchy" I say tracing forms on his chest with my fingers.

"You want me to shave because my beard is scratchy?" He says in a scoffing tone, laughing a little as he took the liberty to run his fingers through my hair and caressing my scalp  "I Don't know" he mumbles in a soft voice.

“Please?” I say, In a begging voice and looking up at him with big puppy eyes “I promise, you look so incredibly handsome like never before, Michael, you are the light of your band with that beard-” I keep talking but he laughs hard, shaking his head at my words and running his fingers through my hair as he laughs “But it’s itchy”

“Hm” he says, really thinking about it for a brief second, If he wanted I could give him a million reasons why he would look better shaved right now, but I don’t think I need to, I think he knows it perfectly. “You weren’t complaining about that earlier” he concludes, throwing at me a teasing look.  

“Mikey” I groan, suddenly blushing hard, too hard for my liking. I hid my face on his chest for a small second but right after I was sitting up on the bed and covering bare chest with the sheets and raising my hand to place it softly against his scruff  “I really hate to be the one telling you this” I mumble, as I caress it softly “But it’s time”

He smiles and laughs at me again. He takes my hand in his and spreads kisses in each of my knuckles, to then place my hand again on his own face and leaning into it, feeling my touch. It was not that I didn’t like it, I do, but I had my personal reasons to want it gone, first and foremost, because he looked cleaner and more put together, I could kiss him without that barrier of hair interrupting me from spreading my love.

“Okay” he says, opening up to the idea of shaving for the first time in his vacation break, or that’s what I thought before he looked down at me and said “You do it”

I frown, a little confused at what he was saying “Do what?”

“Shave my beard” he explains, again moving my hand from his face and lacing our fingers together.

I am instantly blocking that idea away from my mind, nope, that could not happen, so many things could go wrong with that and I would rather it didn’t.

“No” I say, shaking my head at the thought  “I’m going to cut you, no”

“No you won’t, I’ll guide you” he says as if he could convince me that easily  “What are you going to do when I’m all old and gray? someone has to do it for me” he says kissing my knuckles again.

“That’s years from now” I laugh at his dumb excuse “For now I would like to not hurt your precious face”

He is laughing again, taking my compliment and feeding up his ego. “Precious face” he says, his eyebrows moving up and down in one funny face.  “Actually I was going to shave anyways but the thought of you doing it, It’s kind of hot”  

Ha, it’s a pun, I get it.

I laugh a little, moving upwards to cuddle in his arms and let him wrap me in a hug.

“You’re just so lazy” I say, softly nudging his side.

We laugh together, he pulls me in for a kiss, places his lips over mine and slides his tongue in my mouth, I kiss him back, feeling the kiss deepen up, but then he takes the big chance to rub his cheek against mine and making me feel his beard more than ever. I yelp and push him back as I laugh, he was teasing me and that was not very nice of him.

“That I am” he says, moving over me and getting up the bed in one skilled move “Your wish is my command, lady” he says, kissing my cheeks before stealing the sheet from me and wrapping it around his hips. “I’ll be back with a brand new baby face” he says, giving me a playful wink.

I gasp at the sudden breeze running through my body and roll on my stomach, grabbing my own covers and putting them over me. but I ignore what he just did.

“Thank god” I say rolling my eyes, watching him disappear in our bathroom.

Honestly, whether he shaved or not he would always look handsome to me, but sometimes, it was very necessary and one thing was for sure, He would always look hot in any way possible.

Calum

"...get a dog?” I let out, as Calum sits in the other side of the table.

A very casual and perfect summer day for going out and hanging in a Starbucks, Calum decided it was a good idea for us to get out of the house a little and take a walk around. He leaves the cup of coffee in front of me as he takes a sip of his own, his eyebrows frowning underneath his sunglasses at my sudden question and apparently finding it weird, I guess that’s how you start a conversation.

“What?” He asks, leaning back on his chair and pulling his shades up.

“When are we getting a puppy?” I ask again, a little giggle leaving my lips as I rest the straw on the corner of my lips.

“I didn’t know you wanted a puppy” He says smiling a little, watching me as I took the first sip.

I almost moaned at the taste, I love this drink, He knew what I wanted so well. I swallow it down quickly though, I need to elaborate on my point. “Well, I love dogs” I say shrugging, it was really the only reason I need, dogs are the best. “think about it, We’re not old enough or ready for a baby but we have a big house and we have a stable relationship, so why not?” I smile.

again, It was the only point I needed to expose right now. We have been dating for a very long time, we know each other more than ever and we have been living under the same roof for about three years or so, I think it was the right time. It’s been a while since I’ve been thinking about a dog, but bringing it up seemed like a hard step for me, I didn’t know how to say it, how to elaborate it and after a while or really meditate it, I decided, I’m just going to say it and see what happens, It’s not a bad question after all.  

“I don’t know I didn’t gave it a thought” he says, looking up at the sky and thinking about the idea for a solid minute. I wait for his answer and deep down I spect for it to be a yes or a no, but things weren’t that easy  “would it be my dog or your dog?” he asks, a smile on his face as he drinks from his cup.

I laugh, clever question.

“I can share” I shrug, leaning my elbows on the table and resting my chin on my hand.

He laughs softly, shaking his head a little and copying my movements and resting his chin on the back of his hand. “It doesn’t seem like a bad idea” he says shrugging  “you would get company when I’m gone”

“And a fluffy son to play with” I add, a big smile on my face.

I was doing it. He was buying it, I could see it in his face, he likes the idea, he really likes it. Something inside of me snaps in emotion at the expression of his face, I really didn’t thought it would be so easy. I need to keep talking.

“I love dogs” I say, smiling and switching my position to grab his hand.

“And I do too” he says, letting my hold his free hand and lacing our fingers together. his fingers were warm against my cold hand and that comforting heat was just the one that made me feel home, I love to have him close to me in any way.

“Babe, this is a big step” he says, now in a more serious tone as he squeezed my hand softly.

“Is it?” I ask, my eyebrow raising a little bit and my head leans to the side just a little. He nods, not saying a word but still keeping it serious. “Well I guess it is” I sigh, nodding as well, he was right. would be happy to give it with you”

He smiles at me, leans to kiss the back of my hand and looks at me in the eyes. “Yeah me too”

my eyebrows raise even more as a wide smile appears on my face. “So…”

he hawks a little, fixing his position on his seat just a bit and grabbing my other hand “(Y/n), would you adopt a puppy with me?”

I suppress a laugh at all this formality but can’t seem to hide my excitement when a loud and clear “Yes!” comes out of my lips.

I lean across the table, just enough to kiss him on the lips for a short moment to then sit back on my sit, giving small jumps of joy on my spot. I was too happy, I couldn’t even describe how happy I actually was, I tried my best to control myself and not seem like the crazy overexcited lady that makes a scene in the middle of Starbucks.

“Oh my gosh, finally!” I say, cheering, lifting my arms in the air as if I was doing a little victory dance. “This is going to be so much fun”

He keeps looking at me with a weird smile, I smile at him noticing his gaze and quiet state. So I raise my eyebrow in a questioning look and without saying much, I lean to rest my weight on my forearms and listen what he has to say.

“You were planning this all along, Were you?” He says, with a hint of teasing in his smile.

“In my defense, it was easier than I thought” I say shrugging and going back to doing my dumb dance.

“Hm” he says, chuckling a little and leaning on the table to kiss my lips very shortly “I love you”

“I love you more” I sing in a childish voice, leaning again to press his lips against mine one more time.

Oh, gods, I love him so much, there is honestly no words for me to explain it. I couldn’t wait one more second to give this step with him. It seemed right, it feels right and it seemed like the best thing we could do to make us stronger. Because we were already strong, but this would bond us even more, we would be unbreakable, more than we’ve ever been.

Ashton

“... teach me?” I ask, looking around the room and checking every single instrument around.

He turned around, leaving his notebook on the table in front of him as he sat down in front of his desk, full of papers and full messy notebooks for him to look at. Even on his days off, he would be the kind of person who liked to immerse himself in a bit of work. He has been here in his studio for a good portion of the day an I was starting to miss him, being alone with him in the house was not fun at all, especially when I knew he could be relaxing but still, he’s here working on stuff.

“Guitar or drums?” He said, almost as a mockery. Taking another of his many books and opening it in the middle, taking a short look at it before turning to look at me.

“Whatever you want” I say, keeping my tone serious, walking around and sitting on the armrest of his chair. I rest my hand on his back and give him soft rubs, trying to get him a little more relaxed.

“Right now?” he asks, looking up at me and resting his hand in my knee.

“Yeah” I nod, shrugging a little  “We have the day for us anyways” I chuckle, moving up and taking the full liberty to sit on his lap. If I could spend some time with him, what if it was doing something he loved? Maybe I would like it as well “So?” I ask, kissing his cheek softly.

He chuckles at me, hugging me close and kissing my lips shortly. “Sure baby” he said, palming my thigh softly to then get up and carry me with him.

I laugh at the unexpected move, I was not used to being carried like this, but I couldn’t say I was mad at it, so when he set me on the couch, it was somehow of a big relief for me, for the unfamiliar feeling but at the same time I felt weird, because I just loved when he held me. “I can’t say you wouldn’t be a sexy drummer but we have neighbors and they don’t love me playing so let’s go with guitar” he said, chuckling as he grabbed his acoustic guitar and moved to the big sofa with me.

“If that’s what you think it’s right” I smile, shrugging a little as I sat up straight for him “I’m ready”

“Okay” he nods, basically crashing on the sofa with me and laying the guitar on my lap “Now, I don’t know the most but I know the basics, don’t judge me”

I chuckle, shaking my head as I say “You play pretty songs”

“Yeah but you know” he explains, moving to strum each string just a bit and check if it was tuned  “Mike hasn’t tutored me in a long time”

he fixes the guitar in my hands, checking for me to have the best position I could for playing, and when he considered I was ready, then we went at it. That’s just how we spend hours and hours just here, him teaching me and me doing the best I could to do a good job on this.

Turns out I wasn’t that bad, sometimes my fingers felt too short for this, but if I was being honest, I was having a lot of fun with this, It felt educative, intimate and like something we should have done a long time ago.

He would correct me and let me try one and a million times for me to get it right and I loved it. I loved learning new things and especially, I loved learning new things with him.

“I wanna try something” he says, after a lot of hours later when I couldn’t stop strumming the same five chords now that I have finally mastered this little piece of a song.  “Just to see if you learned well, You are going to play for me” he says smiling and moving closer to me.

I don’t know what he wants to do, if I am being honest, but I have a slightly suspect when he moves to sit even closer and takes the guitar from me to place it between both of us.  “Great synchronization exercise, by the way, I will strum the strings and you will mark the chords for me up here,” he says, guiding my hand to the neck of the guitar.

“Oh man,” I chuckle, shaking my head “Is this something to make me feel dumb about my coordination?” I scoff

“Never” he said, chucking to then fix his hold and nod to me.

I take a deep breath, It was a nice exercise, but I hope we get away with it. I nod back to him “Okay, go”

He strums the chords up and down, in the same rhythm we have been repeating for over two hours already, I concentrate on his rhythm but also in the placement of my fingers. Making sure my fingers are on the right spot every time I have to change chords and also making sure I do it on the right time, trying for this exercise to come out perfect. It was easier than I thought, if I was being honest, I was having fun.

“You did so great!” he cheers, one we finish the exercise, moving the guitar aside and lifting his hand for a high five “Oh my gosh, you did it, baby!”

“I don’t suck that much!” I say, high fiving him and holding our hands together. “Yay”

“you’re doing this now but how knows, maybe you’ll be the master of guitars soon” he chuckles, leaning in and pecking my lips shortly.

“I’ll be better than your friends!”

“You’ll be better than me”

We laugh together. I hug him, making sure to him as a brief thank you for passing one of his many talents to me in a small but meaningful way. I press my lips to his once, caressing his cheek softly and go to make the kiss deeper this time, but when I go to kiss him even more, he pulls apart and gets up from the sofa, leaving me hanging and definitely surprised. Rude.

“Ash?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Hold on” he says, going quickly to his desk to pick up his phone “We need to do it again” he says, showing me a smile and setting his phone camera on a good angle for us. So we get in position and repeat it.  

Somehow it’s kind of funny for me, it seemed like some playful thing to do between the both of us, I was having fun but he was having much more fun than I was having.

and that is the story on how not only I started playing guitar but also how we became the Instagram couple, right away. Maybe this was destined to happen.