#I was ahead of the curve but nobody would know that sense I only really started posting this stuff in 2021 haha

[azrielsshadows42]

A Court of Scales and Fire prologue

Eris Vanserra x Female oc

a/n: this is my first series that I will be attempting to write, and my first Eris fic, posting will not be consistent, (cause of school, writers block, general lack of motivation or perhaps I am reading. Yes, shock horror, sometimes authors read to) I only have a vague idea of how I want the story to go, it will be a slow burn, there might be eventual smut, there might not, I haven't decided.

Character mood boards

Word count: 1.3k

Edited: 12/10/2024

It was dark, quiet. Not a sound to be heard, no paws stalking across the land, no birds flying over the forest or incessant buzz from insects, even the winds itself seemed to be holding its breath, whether in fear of what had happened or anticipation of what was to come... nobody knew. A leaf falling upon the soft earth would have been deafening.

They both crept forward until they found an opening, it gaped ahead of them, entirely unwelcoming. It wasn't just dark; the shadows absorbed the light like a fire consumed oxygen; violently. It seemed unnatural for something to scream so obviously of danger and foreboding to be just like everything else here; deathly silent. Looking at each other, they discretely agreed to go inside, they needed refuge, desperately, they couldn't afford to scout out the place, or look for a better option. They could only go inside and pray that the complete lack of noise was a sign that this place was uninhabited. She walked in first, looking around with bated breath, katana in hand, blade gleaming in the scarce light and beckoned to her injured friend when she found nothing.

Despite the eerie silence, there were two who had dared to encroach on the land, hoping their presence wasn't met with hostility, hoping their presence wasn't met at all. Wing beats that usually would have gone unheard seemed to echo loudly, the sound ringing in the intruder's ears. They landed and she dismounted, painfully aware of how much the softest of sounds blared like an air horn.

Her friend limped inside, wings slumped, exhausted from days of continuous flight with limited, unsatisfactory breaks and the aerial battle with an unknown assailant less than an hour before. Stumbling through the long, narrow tunnel, she had her hand braced against the wall to feel how it curved, the other guiding her friend. They cautiously walked for what felt like forever but was really about three minutes until the air shifted, and she slowly realised they had broken into open space. She wouldn't go as far as to say she had night vision, that wasn't one of her abilities, but she could see better than most, normally could at least get some sense of her surroundings, so this all-consuming blackness that left her completely blind was highly unnerving, though she dare not light a fire.

They slinked around to find a spot for rest that wasn't quite so... open, despite being underground, she got the sense the ceiling was high, not being able to see just how far it stretched, nor any walls, or even so much as her own hands left a bitter taste in her mouth. After many mini heart-attacks thinking they hadn't been alone, only to find that any sound made was by them accidentally kicking a rock, the vast emptiness causing tremorous echoes to ensue, they finally found a small alcove to curl up in. She blocked the entrance with stone and lit a fire with the copious amounts of moss she was able to scrape off the walls.

As her eyes adjusted, she began to relax. Her friends' leaf-like scales gleamed in the fire light, kind bright green eyes looked into her own: dark cerulean with hints of purple and a ring of amber around the pupil. Her friends' lithe body, bruised and dirty, curled around the fire, tail sweeping the ground causing dust to billow up. She beckoned to her with her head to join, the movement was sluggish as the last reserves of energy left. She sat against her friend and knowing she was nearby she laid her head down and closed her eyes.

She gazed at her, heart aching at the situation they had found themselves in. "We're gonna be ok Everest, I promise." She whispered in an ancient language not even the oldest of fae remembered. "Once morning comes, I'm going to go out, find some supplies and heal you" She stopped to look in the fire, to force herself to feel the warmth seep into her bones, to remind herself she was alive, that she had survived and she was here, free, never to be imprisoned by him, or anyone else ever again. No matter how many centuries passed she still had to remind herself. "Who knows, maybe this place is really nice when you can actually see, maybe we could call this place home for a bit, it's definitely going to be a fixer-upper but, we could make it work, what do you think?" The only response she got was a contented sigh at the prospect of being able to label this place, a location to rest, laced with all the lost hours of rest.

She smiled, imagining what it might be like to stay in one place for more than a month or two at a time, what it might be like to settle down. Yes, she decided. Her and Everest would be just fine, for they had something no one else did. Everest had a skilled swordsman, and Y/n had Everest; a fiercely loyal friend who took shit from no one (Except her), Everest with her wings and fire magic, her spined tail and near-impenetrable scales. Everest, who just happened to be one of the myths parents told their children about so they would come inside before dark.

Everest, the dragon.

And the only person Y/n would die for...

For now, anyways

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

Meanwhile in Velaris

Rhysand was hunched over his desk, doing paperwork that had been sitting there for far too long when he heard footsteps padding their way just outside the door. He hoped it was Feyre coming to distract him but knew she would still be at the art studio. Besides, her footsteps don't sound like that. Instead of his mate, Amren walked through the door, looking highly displeased. He sighed internally, knowing he wouldn't like whatever she had to say.

"Enjoy your vacation in summer?"

She gave him a scathing look, not even humouring him. This was serious. "What happened?" He asked, back straightening. She stared piercingly into his eyes and despite only being high fae now, she still had the same effect of whatever she was before. "Something has entered Prythian, Rhysand. Something powerful, I saw it, I felt it. I don't know what it was, but it's hurt, vulnerable, this is the best time to stop it before it gets out of hand"

Amren looked sincerely worried about this new potential threat, which made it all the more concerning "As you said, we don't know what it is, so how are we supposed to find it" She thought for a moment. "Last I saw, it was heading toward winter. Start there."

So he did. Let this be nothing, please Mother above let it be nothing. He, the rest of the inner circle and likely the entirety of Prythian, was to tired to deal with another threat

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

Eris's POV

It was late, he was tired, his body ached, and there seemed to be a constant throb in his head that no amount of tea or medicine could drown. Still, he had to finish the reports. Welcome to the life of a high lord, I guess. Rushed footsteps notified him that he should soon expect company. One of his sentries burst through the door, gasping for breath. He looked up, annoyed. "Well, what is it?" The fae gathered his bearings enough to pant out "Apologies High Lord, but something has been spotted on our border with summer"

Eris raised an eyebrow. "What was spotted?" He asked with barely restrained irritation. The soldier looked at him nervously " W-we don't exactly know" he stuttered out. Eris's eyes narrowed "What do you mean, you don't know, you said you saw it, did you not?" He spat out, rage threatening to boil over. "I- uh well um, yes s-sort of, we saw s-something and tried to shoot it down, b-but it was dark, w-we couldn't see properly, t-the only thing confirmed was that everyone felt the energy it gave off" Eris sighed deeply, he just solved the threat of his father, and now another appeared. "Find it" he spoke with a deathly calm. "Y-yes s-sir, r-r-right away" and the fae scampered off to track down whatever he and the other soldiers had seen.

Once gone, Eris slumped in his chair and massaged his temples. The Mother was not making his time as High Lord easy.

---End---

Chapter 1

[thislovintime]

Peter Tork: “There never was a time I couldn’t drink. My parents let me drink wine if I wanted with dinner, or a sip of cocktails or a bit of beer, nobody ever cared, and I never got too deeply into it when I was young. But it’s pretty clear that everybody’s… that alcoholics have a curve to their disease, to their syndrome, that is basically not affected by life or by anything else, just it’s genetic, it’s in their bones. And I guess my curve hadn’t taken over me, it didn’t… I didn’t even notice I was in trouble until my late thirties. One or two friends of mine knew I was in trouble before that, but not many. [It appears there’s a genetic history] My father died at 86, you know. It’s hard to say that he died of alcoholism, because alcoholics at best die in their sixties, or early sixties, you know, most alcoholics who can survive, who don’t die of anything else, who just die of the organic damage alcohol does to them, die in their sixties. So it’s hard to say, you know. But I think the best teller of the disease; well, there’s two good tells, I think. One of them is: do you drink when it’s against your better interest to do so, and when the information is there that lets you know that it is. And the other is: personality changes, you know. And I used to see my father with personality changes. My mom drank like a fish, but she may not have been an alcoholic, it’s hard to know. But almost certainly my father was. And that’s the only genetic information I have.” […] Q: “Did anybody approach you, and say, say, ‘Peter, man, what are you doing?'” PT: “Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.” Q: “Wow.” PT: “Because I never… because my… listen, I have a very high-bottom story, really. You know, I would get drunk and behave badly one night, and it wouldn’t happen again for months and months and months. And everybody thought, oh, well, Peter’s just, you know, he’s just had a few too many. And it didn’t happen all the time, and, you know, like the man says, you know, 'I didn’t get into trouble every time I picked up a drink; every time I got into trouble, I’d been drinking.’ But if your bouts of trouble are months and months apart, as they were with me, nobody notices the pattern until you come back and say, ‘I’m not drinking anymore,’ and they go, ‘Oh, well, that explains such and such,’ you know. A lot of my friends who weren’t drinking noticed sort of more in hindsight. ‘Oh, yeah, now that you tell me this, now that makes more sense than it did before,’ some event in their memories suddenly makes more sense, and that kind of thing. But, so nobody said to me, ‘Peter, Peter, you’re playing in traffic, and you’re going to get hit.’ […] In my view, one of the things about my being an alcoholic is that it did keep me from applying the kind of concentration that let me be as good a musician as I want to be. In other words, it’s like every so often I would pick up a new instrument, and so if I could only play many fewer instruments and play them all all commensurately better, I think I’d be a happier musician today. […] I picked up the trumpet the other day. […] I really would rather concentrate on the things I can do somewhat well rather than waste time doing things I can’t do at all well.” - Take 12 Recovery Radio, (late?) 2000s

“Somewhere along the line, it finally sunk in. Not only that I couldn’t drink safely, which I knew, but that there was no pretense, no way to pretend to you or me that there was a chance of a pretense of drinking safely. And somehow, that got through to me and I was able to turn and make some requests… and go find the help that I needed. […] So I got a community. And with a community, who had been through ahead of me what it was I needed to go through, I was able to give up my will. So it was no longer a matter of, ‘Man, what willpower you’ve got, you haven’t had a drink in 28 years, how do you do it, man? If I had your willpower…’ Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah. It’s not having the willpower. It’s giving up the willpower. It’s surrendering, hopefully, to a dedicated community, for starters that — for me — a dedicated community that enabled me to begin the slow process of dealing with all the stuff that I drank about in the first place. Which is all the ways that I had, you know… because I felt like I was — I knew I was a runner-away, I’d run away all the time. And that made me a cheat. And since I knew I was a cheat, I cheated you. Vicious cycle. I cheat you, so… and then I run, and that makes me… and I know I’m a cheat, so it doesn’t matter whether I cheat, because that doesn’t change anything, so I cheat and I run, and I cheat and I run. Everything. Relationships. I was pretty good with cash register honesty, I learned that at my father’s knee. But almost every emotional honesty available to me was not available to me. And I — I’ll tell you the truth, folks, 28 years later, that emotional recovery, emotional honesty, the emotional — the honesty and depth is, right now, my biggest challenge. I ain’t got it yet. It is better than it ever was, and I’m beginning to — I feel like I’m rounding a corner. Of course, I’ve been feeling that for 28 years. But it feels like I’m getting better. And I know I am. The quality of my friendships is richer and deeper and stronger, my friends are more important in my life, and I’m more important in my friends’ lives. And I am able to hear when somebody says, ‘Is that exactly what you had in mind right there? Is that a perfectly honest…’ And I go, ‘Well, maybe not, I think I can probably do better than that,’ and work on it. In other words, because I have what I can rely upon, I am able to get better, and getting better enables me to stay sober, staying sober enables me to get better, and that cycle, which was a vicious cycle before, is now a benign cycle, and it’s taking me to some really wonderful places.” - Peter Tork, Recovery Fest, 2009 (x)

[mcflymemes]

THE DARK KNIGHT PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the 2008 film

what do you propose?

you know what i am?

you're garbage who kills for money.

i'm just ahead of the curve.

you know what i've noticed?

i promise you, the dawn is coming.

maybe we can share one.

the world is cruel, and the only morality in a cruel world is chance.

you crossed the line first.

this city just showed you that it's full of people ready to believe in good.

you have no idea.

criminals aren't complicated.

very poor choice of words.

that's a lot of money.

i want my phone call.

what happened to the rest of the guys?

you know they'll be doubling up.

you were the best of us.

think you're smart, huh?

well, hello beautiful.

what do you believe in?

nobody panics when things go according to plan.

sometimes the truth isn't good enough.

never start with the head.

i won't kill you because you're just too much fun.

i'm going to tell them the whole thing was your idea.

i don't want to kill you!

let's give someone else a chance.

why was it me who was the only one who lost everything?

see, i'm not a monster.

you look nervous.

upset the established order, and everything becomes chaos.

let me get this straight.

what did you do?

so why steal them?

a little fight in you. i like that.

what were you trying to prove?

you remind me of my father.

i think you and i are destined to do this forever.

all you care about is money.

i suppose they'll lock me up as well.

some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money.

i'm gonna make this pencil disappear.

can't rely on anyone these days.

we burned the forest down.

do you want to know why i use a knife?

they need you right now, but when they don't, they'll cast you out.

don't talk like one of them.

you either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

let's put a smile on that face.

if i tell you, will you let me go?

i want you to do it.

if it's so simple, why haven't you done it already?

if you're good at something, never do it for free.

sometimes people deserve more.

you're a lucky man.

some men just want to watch the world burn.

this city deserves a better class of criminal.

what would i do without you?

why do you want to kill me?

i'm an agent of chaos.

there's somebody here for you.

you complete me.

don't talk like one of them.

you couldn't just let me go, could you?

they're only as good as the world allows them to be.

when the chips are down, these civilized people, they'll eat each other.

i'm gonna give it to them.

i just did what i do best.

what have you done with him?

they brought the body.

killing is making a choice.

you have all these rules and you think they'll save you.

why so serious?

does it depress you? to know just how alone you really are?

we decided to act!

this is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

i'll show you.

you see, madness, as you know, is like gravity. all it takes is a little push.

i can tell the difference between punks who need a little lesson in manners, and the freaks like you who just enjoy it.

you die.

you truly are incorruptible, aren't you?

what's the time?

you have nothing to threaten me with.

what difference does that make?

guns are too quick. you can't savor all the little emotions.

i don't want there to be any hard feelings between us.

do i really look like a guy with a plan?

i'm gonna need a cup of coffee.

this is different.

we're not intimidated by thugs.

the night is darkest just before the dawn.

i know your friends better than you ever did.

they crossed the line.

i enjoy dynamite, and gunpowder, and gasoline.

i hated my father.

you wanna know how i got these scars?

you thought we could be decent men in an indecent time.

would you like to know which of them were cowards?

how many of your friends have i killed?

you won't kill me out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness.

[extra-v1rgin]

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

NSFT MATERIAL AHEAD

This fic contains: chastity/cock cages, anal fingering, rimming, oral sex, 69, light c&bt (like very very light)

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Giyuu has a bit of a boner problem. He can’t remember when it started exactly, only a vague sense of the period. The important part is simply the fact that the problem exists. Someone will bump shoulders or touch his back or even be friendly to someone else entirely in his mere presence, and immediately blood will rush southward.

It’s most likely the result of years of isolation leaving him desperate for any kind of contact. Tomioka doesn’t acknowledge that actively, but the idea always lingers in the back of his mind.

Solving this problem isn’t easy either. Well, it’s easy to occasionally fuck a stranger or be fucked by one, but that only fixes his problem for a week or so. The man didn’t think he had a particularly high libido. This issue seems to disprove that.

So even though he still sleeps with someone in a passing town on occasion, Tomioka has also found a slightly more permanent solution. It doesn’t fix the way his stomach twists, but it keeps him from exposing anyone else to his shame.

The cage that sits on his cock is sized perfectly. Custom made it curves slightly with his dick and leaves almost no wiggle room. Every time his body even thinks of getting hard it’s easily dissuaded by the cool metal bars keeping him soft. At most, his dick can let out a weak twist or grow a few centimeters. After a while the uncomfortable aspects of it fade and he has something to keep him protected.

Nobody else is aware of this. The only person who would know is the shopkeeper who held his cock and fitted the cage around it. Occasionally he replays the feeling of a gloved hand circling his length almost callously. During these moments it’s usually because he’s taken the device off in anticipation of relieving himself.

People get close a few times, too close to comfort. Whether Shinobu is checking out a cut on his leg or he’s forced to share a room with someone (for a wide array of reasons) the fear of getting caught makes his problem try to revive. Still, it’s never really happened and over the months Giyuu has grown more lax in reference to it.

Which is not very smart. Especially not when he is sparring with Uzui who has him pinned down. His hips are pinned against the floor, a knee digging into his back. This is the exact kind of situation that would usually inspire a boner. It seems that while his cock is contained for the moment another— completely unprecedented —issue has cropped up. The hard metal usually fades into the back of his mind, as restricting as it is. In this position, it slightly digs into the tender member. Giyuu has to hold back a dozen whimpers (of pain and slight pleasure because wow, Tengen is strong and tough and handsome).

Uzui doesn’t pin him down for long, but Tomioka still groans once he’s finally released. His dick feels sore, but not actually hurt. The man will probably free himself from the cage regardless. (Once he’s alone and not staring at Tengen’s shiny bulging muscles.)

As he rises to his feet Giyuu tries not to pay too much attention to his dick. It sits normally within his fundoshi, there’s no reason to think about how good it’ll feel when he frees it from the restraints.

“I give up, will you leave me alone now?” Tomioka wasn’t sure as to why Tengen had cornered him— asked to spar —in the first place. Now that he had been beaten down there was no point in continuing.

Predictably Uzui smirks and refutes the question. “After one beating? You’re not gonna improve if you act so weak.”

“You’re the one who wanted to fight. Sparring with me won’t help you much anyways.”

“Don’t be so unflamboyant! You should always give it your all.” Uzui tosses Giyuu’s bokken back to him. It was knocked away shortly after he was pinned down.

Though it’d be easy for Tomioka to catch the weapon as it soars through the air he lets it clatter to the ground in front of his feet. Afterward, he does bend down to scoop it up, but the message, that he’s not interested in play fights with the hashira, is hopefully clear. His grip remains loose on the sword. When Uzui dares to rush forward still and Giyuu’s grip tightens immediately. Even with his skills, the harder blow knocks him slightly back. Tengen doesn’t hold back for even a second. Though Tomioka has a certain distastes for the way the hashira carries himself, he’s still an amazing sword-fighter. That doesn’t mean that he has the advantage. Tengen isn’t quite used to fighting with a bokken, so different from his usual swords. It’s barely perceptible. The way he holds the handle is too low. Giyuu aims to block the edge of the strike. It throws him off balance.

It should be easy for Giyuu to close in and topple the man. Uzui likes to play dirty, however. Letting his sword drop to the floor he grabs onto Tomioka’s bicep and simply tosses the smaller man over his shoulder. He’s so completely unprepared for the strange attack. Flying upward easily his waist is tucked inside the man’s hold. His legs dangle much in the same way his arms do. It’s a humiliating position and once again makes his dick twitch. Normally that’d be a problem, but now the problem is that he’s wearing a cage in the first place. The sturdy metal is easy to feel through the thin layers of fabric covering his shame. Usually, the cage hides easily underneath the baggy uniform. It’s not meant to be seen, or rather felt, in such close proximity. There’s certainly no way Tengen doesn’t realize what the situation is, not with his expertise in certain activities.

Giyuu is pretty sure his heart has stopped completely. His carefully controlled breathing breaks as he takes in a strangled gasp. On the other side, he can feel Tengen let out a similar huff.

There’s a pause for a moment. Giyuu tenses up while Uzui manages to stay relaxed. His hands are still weakly clawing at the man’s shirt.

When he’s suddenly dropped Giyuu can’t even turn properly. His back hits the floor, though the small fall leaves no lingering pain. Stumbling back upwards he returns the bokken to its proper spot against the wall.

“I told you I didn’t want to fight.” His words are slightly harsher now. Shame turns into sharp daggers forming from his lips.

Tengen seems unshaken. “Now I always know why you’re so stiff. Having a stick up your ass is supposed to be figurative.” He stops and then laughs at his own joke.

Tomioka’s cheeks go a furious red as he tries not to react.

“Don’t be so down!” Uzui approaches him again and slaps him hard on the back. “I mean worse things can happen. Kanroji-san has probably flashed half the corps at this point.” He laughs again. Giyuu is much less amused.

“I’m not like that. I mean, not…” His words die out as his lips dry.

“Not promiscuous? Whatever’s around your dick says otherwise.”

Tomioka lets out a little noise that might be a hiss or grunt. He doesn’t know how to make it any clearer that he doesn’t want to talk about any of this.

“C’mon man, it’s sex. I’m pretty sure even Gyomei fucks.”

“I’m not a puritan, I just don’t care to talk about this.”

“Fine fine, I won’t tell anyone anyways.” Maybe his voice softens. Uzui always has that sort of tone that seems too light for whatever he’s discussing.

Giyuu’s shoulders dip slightly. He’s still stiff. It’s not really him relaxing, just an attempt. “Sorry.”

“What? I said it’s ok. You can not talk about whatever you want. Or do talk? I don’t care.” It sounds a little rude, the way he says it, but also nice. Usually, Tomioka’s conversations only last a few words.

“Right, sorry.” The word slips from his lips without thought. “I mean, thanks.”

His mistake manages to make Uzui laugh. His back receives another heavy smack as the man puts his bokken back in place as well. “You’re not so bad Tomioka-san! We should spar more.”

“No thank you.”

“Ha! We’ll see about that.”

—-

They don’t spar again, but Uzui seems keen on bothering Tomioka. His pestering isn’t very prevalent, but it’s more interaction than before. That is to say that it’s gone up from zero.

He’s rejected several invites to spar, among other things. Giyuu isn’t used to the extra social interaction. It’s a bit tiring.

Worse is Uzui’s interest in his peculiar problem. The man never asks outright (except for when they come across one another in a hot spring, and Tengen’s eyes widen. He asks, “Are you wearing it now?” in an incredulous tone. (Giyuu is not wearing it.)), but he likes to hint at it. His oogling is rather obvious, even if Uzui acts like he’s suave.

Tomioka isn’t sure how to feel about the attention. It’s been a long time since he’s built proper relations with someone. This isn’t quite proper, not the right word to use, but it’s some form of closeness. Anything is closeness compared to nothing at all.

And sometimes Uzui is good company. He’ll talk about his wives or art or something other than sex for a few moments. He doesn’t mind Tomioka’s silence or short answers. Tengen loves the sound of his own voice and continues to rant even when the lack of interest is mostly clear.

But Tengen still does mostly talk about sex. Giyuu isn’t partial to the subject, though he isn’t bothered by it either. It exists in that space between annoying and friendly that Uzui seems to thrive in. Boundaries are almost non-existent.

Finally, Tengen asks the question outright. “Come on man are you ever gonna let me see it or not?”

“What?”

“I mean you’re cool to hang out with, don’t get me wrong, but how obvious do I have to be!”

“…What?”

Tengen’s hand clamps down on Giyuu’s shoulder, the other covering his face. There might be a pink tint to his cheeks. “I wanna see the fuckin’ thing you have on your dick.”

Shit. Giyuu is wearing it right now. It’s doing its job the way he can feel it constricting his cock. He wishes his whole body had a similar hiding spot. One where he could curl up and die.

They’re sitting on the engawa. Tengen’s wives were there upon arrival, though they disappeared after stepping back inside. Lunch has been discarded in favor of some light drinks. Uzui is nowhere near drunk but his tongue still seems to be loose enough.

Tomioka hopes that some of the red on his cheeks can be brushed off as the effects of the alcohol. Never mind that he’s barely had a few sips of whatever drink Uzui pulled out. As silence hangs in the air Giyuu finishes the rest of his cup. It lights his insides on fire even more, spurring his mouth to open.

“Sure.” The man isn’t really focusing on what he’s saying as Tengen immediately shuffles in front of him. He settles in the grass, uncaring about the damp ground against his clothes.

Giyuu is wearing his uniform despite the other man’s casual garb. It takes a moment to mess with his belt, a painfully long stretch of time. The silence is only punctuated by the clanging of the metal as his hands scurry to unclasp it. Despite the sense of urgency he takes care to set the belt gently beside him. Tomioka struggles once more to then unbutton his pants. Uzui helps afterward, sliding the pants out from underneath his ass. They come all the way off, Tengen discarding them with much less discretion. Socks are peeled off too while the younger man waits patiently in his fundoshi. Satisfied with Uzui’s care he stops his own motions to give up control.

Uzui moves slowly. It’s not exactly teasing but close enough. His hands move over Giyuu’s calves, stopping to squeeze the muscle there. Tengen eventually traces his way up to his hips. The thin strings are easy to pull apart, finally exposing Tomioka. While he’s not necessarily shy (solitary by choice and not any sort of nervousness despite his general lack of social skills) having his caged dick exposed to one of his (very hot, though most of the hashira are) coworkers. There’s a bit of pushback when his thighs are pulled apart to fully expose the member.

“It’s small.” The words slip out naturally. Tengen tries to cover up the comment with a cough. When his eyes dart away he misses the twitch of Giyuu’s cock. “You just keep it in here the whole time?”

It’s hard to construct full sentences when Uzui is kneeling between his legs. “Y-yea, well I mean not if I’m bathing.” His tongue goes numb again when the man looks up. The annoying stray hairs that stick out from his hairband hang over his eyes.

“Do you jack off?” They’re still making eye contact. Uzui’s maroon eyes are dark. Giyuu tries not to stare too hard into them otherwise he can see his own red face reflection.

“Uh- it’s um, yea. It’s off then too.”

His hands brush forward to feel the metal. Tomioka almost jumps out of his skin. The dark eyes move back off his face and again towards his dick. It’s hard to say which is more torturous. His typically careful breathing has become stuttered and hesitant.

Jostling the cage slightly Uzui tugs on the base to see how much give it has. There’s a slight bit of movement allowed, though only enough for a small wiggle. When his fingers press against the bars rough skin can brush against his length.

Deciding that the bit of contact is permission for more hands-on handling Tengen pokes the head of Giyuu’s cock through the metal. It’s drooling, clearly aroused despite its restraints. Tomioka lets out a weak pant as he watches the other man toy with his dick. Uzui’s face is concentrated, eyes focused on each twitch and pulse. It’s a pure focus which is surprisingly erotic. Maybe it’s sexy purely because Uzui acts like he’s not stroking off another hashira.

His fingers release the length to dip beneath and cradle Giyuu’s balls. They’re red, drawn up tightly in anticipation of a release that won’t happen. As fingers brush over the delicate skin it’s clear that every part of Giyuu is hypersensitive. Each touch and nudge force another gasp from his lips.

“Can you cum like this?” Uzui’s voice has dropped slightly. The tone holds what could be slight awe? Maybe he’s just excited to try and push the limits of the man.

Tomioka covers his mouth with a hand. He has to take long slow breaths before even thinking about answering. “I’ve never tried.” He’s scared of telling Uzui that although he’s never cum dry personally, it is possible. The man is probably already aware of that, but saying it out loud seems like it’s an invitation to be tortured in such a way.

“Why wear it then?”

Tomioka gulps. “I uh- I can’t control myself sometimes… physically.” The reasoning sounds flimsy once it leaves his mouth. In the moment it feels as foolish a solution as cutting off his dick entirely.

Tengen laughs, loud and maybe a little cruel. “Is it that bad? I certainly think you’re doing a good job right now.” As he speaks he moves up to focus on the base of the cage. It’s tucked right behind his balls, drawing them away from his body. He tugs lightly on the ring, drawing another gasp from Tomioka. The top of Uzui’s thumb pushes against the small lock keeping everything in place.

“Do you have the key on you?”

Fuck. Giyuu can’t even answer. He just draws the necklace out from underneath his shirt, key threaded through a simple string. The man passes it over when trembling fingers. Anticipation of being freed makes his dick plump up even against the restraints.

But Uzui doesn’t free him. He takes the necklace and with an evil grin drops it into his chest pocket.

Giyuu doesn’t expect to let out a loud and shocked whine, but it slips out. His hand rushes to try and mute his mouth. It doesn’t work entirely and probably just makes him look more vulnerable and pathetic. “Aren’t you going to-“ Tomioka can’t even finish the sentence. Uzui keeps a firm hold of his balls, effectively leashing the man. When he squeezes them, even lightly, another whine slips out.

“Am I what?” Uzui’s eyebrows raise. It’s scary and seductive. It’s Giyuu’s favorite combination.

He smiles knowingly as he finally answers the question. “Maybe. Are you going to be good for me?” Uzui’s voice drops at the end, low and deliciously gravely.

Giyuu knows how to be good. As soon as he nods Uzui rubs the root of his dick. The reward is small but incredibly satisfactory.

“You like it when I touch you?” There’s an underlying question. Do you want me to touch you? Tomioka is quick to nod again. This is a second solution to his problem after all.

Tengen’s hand lowers to brush against Giyuu’s perineum. It’s so close to his hole, twitching with need. “Here too?”

He goes to nod again, again. Giyuu is stopped by a click of the other man’s tongue.

“I don’t know if you really mean that. You’re so quiet. It shows disinterest, you know?” As he speaks he tilts Giyuu back a little more, so he can devilishly circle the opening.

His mouth struggles to form any words. For a few moments, he can only force out small groans. “Y-yes, I want it.”

“More specific?”

Giyuu wants to die right now. He can’t decide if this is heaven or hell. “Want- want you.”

Tengen lets out a heavy groan. “Not exactly what I was looking for, but fuck I’ll take it.” He pulls away only to grab a small jar of oil from his pants. Maybe it should be surprising but isn’t quite. That seems par for the course with Uzui.

Letting his finger get properly soaked there’s no teasing this time. One moment Tomioka is empty and the next there’s a thick finger diving inside of him. Tengen talks the whole time, words dripping with lust.

“You’re so loose here. Do you play with yourself or do you just let others do it hmm? I forget quiet people like you are always whores.”

It’s clear Tomioka likes the attention. He lays further back on the engawa to angle his ass outwards more. The sun is blinding from above, but his eyes would be shut even if it wasn’t there. Uzui is skilled with his fingers. It only takes a few moments for him to sneak another inside. His fingers are much, much, thicker than Giyuu’s own. Two of his are equal to three of the smaller man’s.

He wishes he was in a proper bed with Uzui. As Giyuu’s hands claw at the wood, he wants to wrap them up in fabric sheets. It’s slightly degrading, which is sexy and a little bit sad in a way.

But Tengen pushes forward and places a soft kiss over the edge of the cage. Tomioka can’t even feel anything except the soft breath that follows. It wasn’t done to stimulate him, just a soft show of affection.

The kisses that follow after do make it to his skin. Uzui opens his mouth to stick his tongue through the bars.

As the smaller man sits up again and curls around the head stimulating him, his hands sink into Uzui’s hair. Fingers twitching he pulls out the sleek ponytail to get a better grip on the white locks. Giyuu doesn’t pull hard, but using the hair as a grounding it gets tugged on slightly.

Tengen looks up. His lips are covered in spit, pretty and wet. The caged cock sits on his chin. “Do you wanna cum like this? I’ll milk you dry and won’t even get hard.” There’s a bit of drool leaking from the corner of the man’s lips. Tomioka feels dizzy. He can’t focus on anything. There’s still two fingers lightly curled inside his ass. Saliva is filling his mouth. “I w-want uh-“ His hips slip back onto the fingers more. He keeps tugging at Tengen’s hair, urging him upwards. Falling onto him Giyuu sucks on his lips. His kiss is quickly returned, fingers still stroking his insides.

Something breaks inside him slightly. He wants Uzui to hold him and really fuck him. His wives too, they should’ve done this before the women left. But for now it’s what he’ll settle for.

A third finger slides inside his ass. They move deeper inside him until they nudge against his prostate. When they do his tongue falls into Uzui’s mouth and down his throat. He doesn’t know how to get closer to the man than he already is. He feels dishonest in a way, wanting more than just sex.

Giyuu can barely pry his eyes open. When he does his lashes are thick as they cover his dark pupils. He pulls back slightly to let out a loud moan.

“Tengen-“ The first name falls from his lips easily somehow. “I need more. I need- ngh…” It breaks off into another loud moan as his prostate is stroked again.

Uzui presses a heavy wet kiss to his chin. “I know what you need. I’m gonna give it to you, don’t worry.”

And he does give. Uzui is petting and poking and grinding until it all melts into pleasure. Tomioka can barely tell what's going on. He pushes and pulls with every prompt obediently. It’s a blur of feeling as his cock twitches and leaks.

And it happens suddenly when his g-spot is stroked one last time. His dick twitches and despite the fact that he’s still soft it dribbles out a little more clear fluid. The orgasm is painful in a way. The pleasure is burning until it becomes fire spreading through his bones. Uzui is saying something that Giyuu can’t hear over the fuzz in his ears. Hands are moving over his body and face. His back is stuck in an arched position, muscles still pulled taught.

When the fingers slowly slide out of his ass it’s like torture. It drags out the overstimulation and leaves him tender and open. The whine that leaves Giyuu’s lips accentuates that.

Tengen has to placate him with softer kisses.

“How was that?” There’s a cockiness that’s obvious. Uzui thinks very highly of his sex skills, for good reason.

Giyuu can’t answer. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. For a few minutes, he just pushes out unintelligible mumbles while trying to make actual words leave his lips.

“G-good. Uzui-san I- fuck.”

“C’mon, I heard you use my first name before. Do I need to fuck you to hear it again?”

Tears are pooling in the corners of his eyes. “Yea…” It seems he’s only focused on the word “fuck” sliding his hips back again. “It hurts Uzui.” Tomioka is pawing at his chest again, groping at the pocket that holds the key to his cage. There’s a different kind of desperation now. The orgasm was amazing, but a lack of satisfaction leaves him burning.

“What’re you gonna do when I unlock you?”

“Cum, please? I need a real one.” Tomioka bites his lip, resting his head on Tengen’s shoulder. Now that he can focus on the aftermath more it feels like someone has lit his dick on fire.

A soothing hand keeps running over his hair, occasionally creeping down his back. “I haven’t cum either. It’s rude to only think about yourself! What about a trade huh?”

Immediately hands are darting towards his pants and groping at the tent there. Tengen tries to get a word in but anything he wanted to say is interrupted with a loud groan. For someone so quiet and lonely Giyuu moves quick when it comes to sex. He’s tugging at Tengen’s waistband until there’s enough room to slip his hand inside and beneath the fundoshi. He’s grateful the other man doesn’t have a belt on to struggle with.

“F-fuck man give me a sec.” Uzui has to peel the man off of him. Giyuu looks up with confused eyes and messy hair that frames his pink face. “Not like that come here.”

Tengen stands, taking Tomioka with him. Hands wrap around his neck and the cage brushes up underneath Uzui’s shirt to leak over his stomach.

They end up on the outlook of the engawa. Despite the situation, Giyuu ends up sitting in an awkwardly proper seiza. Large fingers are messing with the cage. It’s always hard to unlock, even having done it dozens of times. Uzui struggling to slide the key in and remove the base is expected even if it prolongs his torture.

Finally the lock clicks and opens. The cage is perfectly sized so it won’t hurt him, but there’s an immense feeling of relief. Tengen doesn’t even have to pull the rest of it off. Metal slides down his dick as it starts to harden immediately. He’s worn it for longer this time. Though Giyuu takes the bars off routinely to clean his dick and let it rest he hasn’t properly cum in nearly three weeks. It was the culmination of jacking off nearly every day to thoughts of Uzui playing with him like this and then locking himself away as an almost punishment.

It’s tiring in a way too. Cumming dry took a lot out of him and having more sex sounds like too much work. The thought of sleeping is more appetizing at the moment.

That quickly changes once Uzui is playing with the edge of his cock. He pulls the head free from the foreskin around it, touching the slick skin. It takes another moment of shuffling around— Tomioka can’t focus on anything other than heat and skin —to get into a proper position. He’s sitting on Tengen’s chest which makes it awfully hard to kiss him but he bends over anyways.

“How clean are you?” Uzui has to hold him back again to speak. “You were clean enough for fingers but what about something else? Not my dick, we’ll have to really prepare for that.”

“I’m clean.” He’s rocking back against Uzui’s chest. It feels a thousand times better now that his cock is free.

Rewarded with another kiss Tengen’s hands clamp down on his hips. Once they separate Giyuu is spun around and pushed downwards.

His ass looks delectable hanging in the air. Uzui doesn’t let up for a single moment, dragging the ass toward his face. Giyuu catches on quickly, settling backward and carefully balancing his weight.

Prying apart the cheeks in front of him Uzui licks over the rim. It’s already loose from his earlier fingering, allowing his tongue to slide in easily. Tomioka is immediately panting and whining again, pushing and pulling his hips with the movement of the muscle inside of him. Every once in a while the tip of his dick slides over the edge of Uzui’s shirt, lighting his body up with pleasure.

Once Tengen has fallen into a rhythm Giyuu feels comfortable to fall forward. At some point, the older man’s pants came off. His length is laying in full view, practically begging to be touched. With the other man’s height, it’s hard to reach his dick, but with a bit of prompting and coordination eventually, Tomioka is able to rub the head of the thick cock over his lips. The dick underneath is ginormous. It takes a few moments for him to open his mouth and attempt to wrap his lips around the obtrusion. He rubs his tongue over Uzui’s tip for a few moments to taste the salt of the skin. Once he wants to take the dick deeper inside the man has to flatten his tongue to the base of his mouth. Gargling loudly Giyuu plunges the dick further inside his throat.

Tengen is eager to show his appreciation. There’s no way for his tongue to fit inside Tomioka more, so instead one of his arms rises to stimulate the man from the outside. His fingers probe Giyuu’s perineum just below his balls. After a brief massage, he finally wraps his hand around the freed cock.

The actions feed into each other. Every time Uzui pulls on the man’s foreskin or licks over the rim of his ass Giyuu chokes down more cock. He can only fit about half of the length into his mouth, but the rest is covered in a thick layer of spit. Hands lightly squeeze and release the base. The saliva coating it makes great lube as his fingers rub over veins and wrinkles.

Eventually, he has to find reprieve and take the cock out of his throat. Taking in a few deep breaths he lets the leaking head rest against his cheek. Sliding down he rests his face in the short nest of pubic hair, neatly trimmed white. There’s now a trail of precum against the side of his face. Uzui’s dick hangs over his head as Giyuu starts to lick at the base. His hand can’t even wrap around it fully. Now his fingers dart up to caress the tip. His blunt nails edge over the slit like the man does to himself when he’s alone and thinking of things just like this situation that aren’t ever supposed to be real.

Without a dick lodged inside his throat, it’s much easier to feel what’s happening to his body. His own cock is being squeezed and milked like it’s an udder, dragged from the base to the tip. The motion is repeated over and over while precum leaks from the tip and runs over Uzui’s collarbones. The end of his cock is red and wet, begging for release once more. All the feelings from before are multiplied tenfold without any kind of barrier in the way. It’s probably clear what he’s feeling as his hips twitch and ride backward onto the tongue inside of him.

Just as he can feel another wave of pleasure creeping up over the horizon Tengen pulls back. He has to wait for the frustrated moans to stop before saying his piece. “I’m not letting you cum before I do this time, so stop half-assing it.” His words are punctuated with a hearty squeeze of Giyuu’s ass. Blunt fingernails dig into the warm flesh leaving tiny red marks behind. He waits until Tomioka begins moving again to lean in himself. Soothing the irritated skin Tengen rubs over it until leaning in to taste Giyuu’s ass once more. He doesn’t play with the other’s dick as much, pulling and massaging the skin in a devilishly teasing way.

Tomioka is much more direct. He pushes his tongue against the bottom of his mouth and manages to fit more of the length down his mouth than before. Breathing carefully through his nose the man bobs up and down, occasionally dipping below the normal threshold of what he can fit in his throat. Each time he pulls back there’s a slight burn in his throat. The feeling will linger for a few days reminding Giyuu of this moment.

Despite the earlier break his orgasm starts to build up again. It starts as a small feeling in the pit of his stomach that moves downwards. With fear of being forced to wait again for release, he bobs his head up and down quicker. Tomioka’s mouth is mostly stuffed but he tries to move his tongue. It doesn’t work amazingly. Uzui is letting out satisfied groans, however, so he continues with the motions. A few times his teeth get close to skimming over the skin in his fervor. Giyuu slows down slightly and focuses more on using his hands again. Though his fingers aren’t small by any means they’re not as large and thick as Uzui’s. His fingers aren’t as good as massaging over the skin. Tomioka keeps losing his grip every time the rim of his ass is licked over again.

Tengen is nice, he decides to let Giyuu cum first after all. As his dick drips into the hand stroking him Giyuu tries not to lose his hold on Uzui. Slowly the man does pull back, letting his length hang free again.

Tomioka dedicates his full attention to the cock now, though there’s still a gentle tongue stimulating his backside. It takes a few more rounds of deep throating and squeezing but eventually, he manages to draw an orgasm out of the larger hashira. Most of it leaks out from his mouth and back onto Tengen’s abdomen. He does swallow what fits in his mouth. For a moment he dips down to lick up more but Uzui is manhandling him again until they’re chest to chest.

“Maybe I should keep this.” The key lies against his chest.

Tomioka moves quickly and snatches it back. “No way.” His voice has already gone back to its flat quality.

Tengen laughs weakly, slaps Giyuu’s ass, and pulls him in for another kiss.

[fruggo]

the boys x tough f!reader (part 2)

requested by : @dranonymous

i love this idea and i hope you all enjoy part two! :D here’s part 1 with the original request.

warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence, dwight is really cute, danny is an asshole, jake is that cute “stoic man who is actually caring and thoughtful” trope because i say so

𝐃𝐖𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃

you are so cool. like ,,,,,so cool

dwight admires you so much. you just got here and yet you are breaking pyramid head’s ankles—dodging his trail of torment left and right, the killer just can’t touch you.

and how did you feel about everything? terrified, honestly, but nobody would ever be able to tell because you didn’t let it get to you. it was like you had already been here before, because the second you learned how to do something, you had it down no problem. fixing generators came naturally, and you could also run the killer for the whole trial if you had to. teammates could easily rely on you to do whatever needed to be done.

that was what made you and dwight such a powerful duo. from the moment you met, you knew you felt comfortable around this guy. he was sweet, maybe a little timid sometimes, but he knew how to step up and be a leader for everyone despite his fears.

you both knew what to do, and you fit together like a glove. your minds worked in very similar ways, which made communicating that much easier and efficient; the second a decision needed to be made, dwight was on top of it, encouraging the teammates and helping them get on their feet. you were already ahead of them, so dwight would just nod to you, knowing you could do your job well.

of course, there were times when dwight’s anxiety got the better of him, and you had to be the one encouraging him.

dwight hated the hag. despised her. he could not stand her jumpscares when a trap was triggered, he would swear he was about to have a heart attack. he couldn’t admit this at first, but you figured it out when feng min was hooked and dwight stuck to the generator, nervously glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. he always went for the saves, so something was obviously wrong.

“dwight? why don’t you go save her?” you asked, eyeing him from your side of the generator.

he didn’t respond, looking over his shoulder again.

you decided to rescue min, but when you got back, you were going to chew dwight out until he gave you a straight answer.

you crawled up to the hook to avoid triggering a trap and gently lowered min to the ground. the two of you inched away carefully until you were far enough away to patch her wound.

“dwight, get off your ass and answer me,” you demanded (affectionately) once you were back at the generator, which was nearly finished. “what’s wrong?”

his eyes conveyed nervousness in every sense of the word; they darted all around, searching for any incoming danger. this was your first time seeing him like this, so you were confused. was he alright?

“it’s just…the hag,” he started, still fiddling with the wires. “her traps, i can’t…”

oh. was he anxious about the traps?

“i just can’t deal with them,” he finally said with difficulty. that was understandable; when they caught you off guard it definitely made you leap out of your skin.

“dwight, listen,” you said. “you’ve dealt with every other killer in this realm, haven’t you? you’ve bested the nurse, the huntress, micky myers, and even the spirit, who’s a bitch. i know hag’s traps are fucking terrifying, but you’re dwight! you are a leader, and you are good at being a leader. you can get out of here, i promise. and besides, with me here, you have nothing to worry about. i’ll kick that witch’s ass, got it?”

your very inspirational speech got him to smile. you were right, anyways—you could definitely kick the hag’s ass. what could go wrong?

nothing, actually. genuinely nothing went wrong. you took chase for the rest of the trial so that dwight didn’t have to worry about a thing, and everybody escaped with no problem. he didn’t understand how you were so good at evading capture—but perhaps you would tell him about your past eventually. you hadn’t yet decided.

back at the campfire, you and dwight comfortably sat side-by-side, patiently waiting until your next trials.

“thanks,” he said.

“for what?”

“for that very motivational speech you gave me,” he laughed.

you wiped imaginary dust off of your shoulder, giving him a confident smile. “i got your back. and man, that hag lady really is a bitch, huh? i can see why you hate her.”

that comment unintentionally caused one of dwight’s long, angry rants about his least favorite killer, and all you could do was watch him and listen with a soft grin on your lips. you’d never seen him angry before—it was adorable. made you wonder if you should just piss him off for fun sometimes.

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊

this guy has hella respect for you

you’re independent and easy to teach, and that’s everything he could ask for.

now and then, the other survivors basically gave newbies to jake to teach them everything about the realm—they considered him the expert on all things survival. you were one of those newbies he was forced to take care of.

jake normally hated teaching new survivors more than anything, because it was never his choice and they were all so difficult. but you were different. you were responsible, reliable, and smart, and it made his job so much easier. as time went on, he grew to be quite fond of you.

word eventually got out that the new girl had managed to charm jake out of his “hermit ways,” but he insisted that it was not true (he also disagreed about the “hermit ways” part). it was never spoken of between the two of you, but it definitely floated around in the air waiting to be addressed.

it really couldn’t be ignored any longer. anytime you were seen anywhere within 24 feet of each other, the other survivors would give you looks and wiggle their eyebrows or shoot you a thumbs up—all of which were unwanted. it created a weird tension between you and jake that wasn’t there before, and you really didn’t like it.

you missed when you were first starting out, and jake had just realized how competent you are. those days were fun—he respected you a lot; you could see it in his face when he looked at you. you always knew when he was pleased and when you did stuff right, because he would have the tiniest, most subtle grin on his face, but you could see it, and it made you feel accomplished.

you knew he still respected you, but you had basically jumped the learning curve of the realm and quickly adapted to every killer, every challenge, and every task. how you did it, nobody could ever know. but you were almost sad, because there was kind of no reason for you and jake to spend a lot of time together anymore. if you did, then everybody would freak out for the wrong reasons, and it would ruin your friendship.

so what if you had a few small feelings for him? no one gave a shit—you knew jake probably wouldn’t give a shit. to him, you were just another annoying survivor he was forced to teach. besides, you didn’t have time for that kind of thing.

man, were you wrong, though. he really, really wanted to be around you, but you already knew everything, so he didn’t know what to do to spend time with you. his way of initial bonding was sharing knowledge, but that had already been done, so…what now?

then came the one trial that changed everything.

it was normal at first. the killer, blight, was doing well, so you had to step up your game. one generator was completed and he had 4 hooks on three different people—you were the only one not hooked yet.

he was after you, and you were expertly dodging every rush and swing he threw your way. unfortunately, you accidentally ran to the generator that jake was working on, and things got a little complicated.

when the blight rushed at the wall, then at you, jake ran towards you while you ran towards him—you were both looking over your shoulders—and alas, bonk. you crashed into each other.

oh, no!! how terrible!! looks like jake fell on top of you :/ what an unfortunate situation to be in /s /s /s /s /s

wowwww near proximity ! you’d never been so close before and it was awkward but nice (?)

then you remembered there was a crazy drug addict or whatever over there and he was chasing you, and the moment was ruined. jake quickly rose and pulled you up with him, and you went in opposite directions, both nervous and wide-eyed now.

lol

after that, the trial went quite south. everybody was sacrificed. perhaps the loss could be partly attributed to you and jake avoiding each other like the plague. but who knows, right?

back at the campfire, you began feeling overwhelmed by all the weird stuff happening lately, so you excused yourself to the edge of the woods to have some quiet time to yourself. a few minutes later, jake came to check on you bc he is a fucking gentleman and yes i will die for the “stoic man who is actually caring and thoughtful” trope. fuck you

it’s slightly awkward at first, but then you start talking like normal and things feel a lot better. a little bit of the tension eases away, but not completely. what the fuck do you do with feelings like this?????

you simply composed yourself as best you could. it would have to do.

now that you felt a little more normal (lie), you trekked back to the campfire to wait for your next trials side-by-side. there was no one you felt more comfortable with or more respected by than jake. he appreciated you for your competency, and that was one of the best things you could ask for.

and to your surprise, jake actually took your hand and laced your fingers with his own. and it felt nice. never in your existence would you have thought he would be okay with displaying public affection, but you smiled up at him and gave his hand a light squeeze.

maybe the entity gave him drugs.

or he just liked you that much. either one would make sense.

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

danny hated you. he really did.

you were so unbothered, so calm, so good at knowing what to do. it really pissed him off.

you got so much attention from the other survivors for your skill and that really pissed him off too. it’s not like you cared or wanted it or anything, but how dare they even touch you when you so clearly belonged to danny?

…who knows wtf that even means. so anyways-

when you realized how much time danny spent chasing you in trials when he should have been patrolling generators, you began to get suspicious. especially when he would take you to the hatch and then close it in your face, watching you die to the entity. he obviously had some kind of beef with you.

you were determined to find out what he had against you, so you began to tease him a bit in chases. your favorite and most frequent phrase was something like, "can't catch me? lil baby man? lil baby? lil baby man gonna cry?" you were really testing your luck with that one, and that's why you loved it.

once, you told him his fly was down, and he actually fell for it, making you nearly keel over in laughter. you got moried without even being hooked after that.

despite the horrors that frequented this place, you were never in a crisis about it. you simply learned what had to be done, and then you did it, much to the chagrin of danny. you had skipped the big "useless baby survivor" phase, and that one was his favorite :( he loved trials with new survivors because it was so easy and fun!

but alas, from the beginning, you were always on top of things, always slamming pallets onto his head or saving teammates with a flashlight.

oh, don't even get him started on your flashlight usage. you were the absolute worst to go against--every pallet stun, boom: danny's eyes fucking burned out. every time he picks up a survivor, boom: danny's eyes fucking burned out. you were a bitch with that item.

he finally began to get so fed up with your behavior that he decided you must be taught a lesson. somehow, countless mori and tunneling and camping incidents had not even managed to bother you. you literally did not care. but he had something different in mind this time.

the realm was haddonfield, of course. all of the killers despised this map, and for good reason--you ran danny around the entire neighborhood for three generators. did he have to chase you? no. but he needed to for himself.

he finally caught you in a dead zone, rejoicing to himself as you fell to the ground in defeat. "wow, that was a good chase," you mumbled under your breath, feeling accomplished. one of your best against danny, probably.

you were expecting him to pick you up, but instead he snatched the flashlight from your grasp and chucked it as far away as he could. and before you could protest, he pulled you up to stand again and yanked you towards himself, gripping your wrists so tightly you swore it left bruises.

"what's wrong...lil baby man?" you said with a pout, trying not to laugh. "is baby man angry?"

you were slightly scared if you were being honest, but you couldn't let him know that.

danny sighed. you really didn't know when to stop, did you?

"bitch," he spat, voice dangerously quiet. "cut that shit out."

"what shit?"

he squeezed your arms tighter, provoking an "okay, okay, i get it!" from you.

"do you?"

"sure. what's the worst you could possibly do to me anyways?" after those words left your mouth, you got a weird feeling that the killer was smiling behind his mask.

"listen, uhh, danny, is it?" you said, putting as much nonchalance into your voice as you could. "i just wanna know why you hate me so much. remember that time you closed the hatch in my face? the fuck was that for?"

he frowned at the use of his name but responded regardless, "you're a little bitch, and you deserved that."

you gasped dramatically, feigning offense. "ouch. that one hurt."

"i can make you hurt a lot more," he said darkly. you probably should have been scared, but you just really couldn't take him seriously.

so you laughed. it shouldn't have been funny, but it just was and now you couldn't stop. "you're just--you--i can't--" you wheezed, shaking from the laughter. "i'm sorry, it's really not funny."

danny didn't understand you. anybody else would have been sobbing if he so much as touched them, and here you were acting like it was a joke.

what could he do if you truly were not afraid of him?

perhaps it was time to let it go.

while his guard was down, suddenly you reached above his head and plucked his mask off, revealing his face and continuing your bouts of laughter at his shocked expression.

you threw the mask in the same direction as the flashlight, composing yourself and putting your hands on your hips. "you look pretty nice," you said, nodding.

wow. what the hell was danny supposed to do with you? perhaps the only completely unbothered, completely unserious survivor? he knew you were smart, and you knew what you were doing. he didn't even want to kill you anymore, you were just that fascinating.

that trial ended in you standing at the exit gate, your finger and your thumb in the shape of an L on your forehead. danny couldn’t care less at this point--he was done with your shit. but somehow he still liked you, and this definitely would not be the last time you saw him without his mask.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Blessings Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 祝福之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This date was released on 28 April 2021 ]

In this desert, there are two legendary figures.

One is a young girl blessed by God, and the other is a bandit who strikes terror in people.

God will bestow the most valuable riches in the world to the young girl in the future, which makes everyone want to own her for themselves.

There is only one person who has absolutely no interest in her -

The bandit who has already seized all the gold, silver and jewels.

-

On this gloomy night, scorching heat seems to cover every inch of land.

A crowd is packed into the cage of a horse-drawn carriage. Lowering my head, I tighten the scarf on my neck.

All of a sudden, the carriage halts outside a large gate.

Bodyguard: We want to make a transaction with your chief, and we guarantee that you'd be satisfied. 

Along with the gradual opening of the gate, what enters my vision is a high wall made of clay, and what looks to be a heavy guarded campground.

The carriage passes through a long sheltered corridor, halting in front of a large bonfire. After that, the slave owner pulls us down from the carriage roughly.

The slave owner before me is someone who commands great respect, and relies on human trafficking to earn huge amounts of money.

Slave owner: Gavin, I’ll go straight to the point.

Hearing the rumoured name, I lift my head towards the man seated on a chair.

Amber eyes reflect the flickering flames, shrouding a strong, dangerous aura.

He leans against the back of the chair, his taut clothes drawing the outline of his figure, revealing faintly discernible muscles.

He gives me a cold glance, then shifts his somewhat arrogant gaze away.

...this person is Gavin.

In this land, there’s nobody who doesn’t know him -

It’s been said that he has a magic carpet that can go up to heaven and down to Hades. It’s also been said that it’s simply a guise for his extraordinary power of wind control.

Not only that. For many years, he’s been stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, and is a thorn that can’t be pulled out from the hearts of the powerful.

Just as I’m thinking about this, the slave owner tears down my scarf, gripping my neck forcefully.

Slave owner: See this mark? She’s MC, the young girl blessed by God.

Young girl blessed by God?

Watching the desperate slave owner and Gavin in front of him, I force out a laugh.

Ten years ago, this inborn mark was bestowed meaning by a well-known wizard -

Wizard (in a flashback): Ten years later, our God will give her the most valuable riches.

Since then, I became the “treasure map” that everyone wanted, leading a life of being continuously captured and escaping.

Slave owner: Gavin, as long as you leave me alone in the future, she belongs to you.

Only the quiet sound of the burning bonfire is in the air, filled with a great sense of oppression.

Supporting his head with his right hand, he appears to turn a deaf ear to what the slave owner said.

Slave owner: Ten days later, the blessings will manifest! Riches might appear in an unending stream, and by then, you can do whatever you want!

Gavin: You travelled all the way here... to make me let you go?

A chilly wind suddenly disperses the sultriness of the surroundings. His slightly narrowed eyes are a contrast to the flames behind him, not at all masking his annoyance and derision.

The powerful aura assaults the senses, and the tips of my toes subconsciously shift backwards.

The reason why I allowed myself to be captured by the slave owner was to beat him at his own game, and get close to Gavin. But would I really be able to obtain information from such a powerful man?

A sense of unease surfaces, but I quickly suppress it.

The king said that as long as I helped him get rid of Gavin, I could obtain eternal freedom -

I have to give it a try.

Moonlight and flames intertwine and are reflected on Gavin’s face. Alarm surfaces on the slave owner’s face.

With forced hearty laughter, he tosses me aside. Respectfully, he fills Gavin’s cup to the brim with wine.

Slave owner: I’m sincerely here to do business with you.

Gavin glances at the wine glass by the side. With a curl of his lips, he picks up the glass, swaying it slowly.

He lowers his head and lifts his eyes slightly, the light in his pupils distinct.

But in the next second, he turns his wrist. The strong scent of alcohol diffuses in an instant.

Gavin: This wine is a little dirty. When you walked through this gate, you should have known what would happen.

The moment Gavin speaks, his men immediately surround the slave owner and his group. 

Slave owner: ...you! Doing this just means both sides lose!

The corners of Gavin’s lips arch upwards, and there are hints of arrogance in his eyes.

Gavin: You seem to have forgotten one fact. I won’t lose.

After the final drop of wine slides off the glass, he releases his hand, and the wine glass strikes the table.

Along with a muffled sound, Gavin brandishes a scimitar and waves it at the feudal lord.

[Note] A scimitar is a short sword with a curved blade that broadens towards the point :>

The sharp blade reflects cold light as it brushes the nape of the slave owner’s neck. Gavin keeps his eyes fixed steadily behind the slave owner.

Gavin: Remember this. I never have to get the things I want through transactions. Get out of my campground.

The feudal lord doesn’t care about anything else, tumbling and stumbling out of the gate along with the bodyguard.

Peace is restored to the campground. A row of us are unshackled one after the other.

After attaining freedom, continuous sounds of appreciation can be heard from the crowd. However, I secretly glance at Gavin, who is afar off.

When everyone else has left, I brisk walk over to him.

MC: My name is MC. Gavin, I want to join you all!

The clamour suddenly stills. Only Gavin lifts his head unaffectedly.

Gavin: Why?

MC: Once I leave this place, I’d just get captured again. Everyone says that you’re the most powerful and most incredible person in the world, so this would be the safest place...

Gavin: This place isn’t a shelter. And I have no need to guarantee your safety.

Gavin interrupts me, his gaze focused on the rag used to wipe the blood off the blade’s tip.

MC: I won’t freeload. If my blessings manifest, I can give it all to you!

Gavin shoots a sharp gaze at me, lingering on my neck briefly before shifting it away.

Gavin: The root of your “so-called” blessings is merely empty talk.

MC: But that wizard said...

Gavin: So what if he’s a wizard? I’ve never pursued such illusory things. Such blessings might simply be a joke for the greedy. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t seem useful to my campground. So, MC, I don’t need you.

Gavin’s words nail me in place. He looks at me directly, and I can tell from his eyes that he has absolutely no regard for the blessings, as well as my presence.

For so many years, I’ve been a treasure map in the hearts of people, and a glittering treasure.

But in his eyes, it’s as though I’m not a young girl who was blessed by God. I’m simply MC.

Even if the prophecy said that the riches would manifest ten years later, those who are greedy would think that might just be the beginning, which is why everyone has been coveting this fantastic wealth.

But nobody has ever been like Gavin, telling me that it could be false.

My heart involuntarily quivers, as though something that I’ve always firmly believed in is beginning to stir. 

I take a deep breath, brushing away the restlessness in my heart.

Whether or not I’m taking action according to plan, staying here is still the best choice.

I definitely have to stay.

MC: I’m not useless. Since young, I often get hurt while running away, so I’m very good at tending to wounds! Please give me a chance. I can prove myself!

He doesn’t speak, and simply looks at me quietly. Those amber eyes are deep with flittering light, as though he can see through me in an instant.

I clench my fists secretly, trying my best to look natural.

After an oppressive silence, he lifts his chin slightly. One of his men walks to me.

-

After I’ve finished bandaging all the injured people in the campground, I look at Gavin sincerely.

Gavin: Since you want to stay here so badly, I won’t stop you.

MC: Thank you. I just want to stay alive.

Those amber eyes narrow slightly when he hears this. Only the spluttering sounds of the burning wood remain in the air.

Gavin: In order to stay alive, you don’t care about anything else?

MC: ...yes.

All of a sudden, rapid footsteps can be heard from the gate. One of Gavin’s men leans over to him, and says something that I can’t hear.

Gavin glances at me, an unreadable smile flashing across his eyes. I stand in place, my heart feeling prickly.

Gavin: Go ahead. There aren’t any “outsiders” here.

The man nods respectfully. Straightening up, he faces the crowd.

Man: The Oasis Flower Garden that the new king ordered to be constructed has been completed ahead of schedule. The location of the coronation ceremony has been changed to the flower garden. Various neighbouring countries have also prepared countless treasures, and will be presenting them during the coronation ceremony.

After a moment of silence, a ray of sharp light flashes in Gavin’s eyes.

Gavin: Let’s go to the flower garden.

MC: Hang on, you’re going to steal the king’s objects?

Hearing information regarding the king, I can’t help but exclaim softly.

Gavin doesn’t seem to care about important information being disclosed, which makes me feel even more uneasy.

Is he very assured about his own plan, or is he suspicious of me, and deliberately wants to see my reaction?

Gavin: Is there a problem?

MC: ...n-no.

Gavin: Since the plan has been changed, we need to check out the flower garden beforehand. Those who know how to draw maps, step out.

His men look around at each other, none of them volunteering to step out. Looking at the silent surroundings, a risky idea formulates in my mind.

If I’m able to check out the area with them, I could find an opportune moment to tip the king off.

With this thought in mind, I take a step forward.

MC: ...I can. I’m very attuned to directions. As long as I walk through it once, I can remember everything.

In order to prove my point, I pick up a twig and draw the path I took earlier in the sand.

When I’ve finished drawing the details of the campground, the men reveal shocked expressions.

A sense of inquisitiveness even appears in Gavin’s eyes.

Gavin: When the time comes, I’ll send someone to the flower garden with you. But this place has never limited anyone’s freedom. You can leave whenever you want.

Gavin’s words seem indicate something. After speaking, he turns around and leaves. Meanwhile, my heart, which had been hanging in the air, is finally set down.

-

I’m officially responsible for the logistics work in the campground.

Based on my observations over the past two days, Gavin would head out with his men, then return from a rewarding journey.

He distributes the money strictly, ensuring that they are given out fairly to those who are in need and poverty-stricken.

Today, the night has just set in. As usual, Gavin returns with his troop.

He stands among the crowd calmly, but his brows furrow at certain times. Realising something, I carry the medical kit and walk towards him.

MC: Gavin, did you get hurt?

Gavin: I'm fine. Go help the others.

MC: In that case, pull open your clothes and let me have a look.

Gavin: ...

MC: Many people who need assistance are waiting for you. If you’re really injured, I could help to heal your wound much more quickly.

After giving me a deep look, he finally sits down, pulling open his clothes.

Underneath his clothes, aside from wounds oozing with blood, I can also see various scars.

MC: Some wounds wouldn’t leave scars if tended to properly.

Gavin: I don’t have the time to tend to every single wound.

He speaks casually, as though these scars are unrelated to him.

Seeing him like this, the guilt deep in my heart seems to tear me apart indistinctly.

Perhaps these mottled wounds have given hope and direction to countless people.

With no idea how to face such emotions, I simply tend to his wounds carefully.

MC: You’ve worked hard.

Gavin: It isn’t hard work. Life is meant to be difficult.

His voice is calm. I can sense that his somewhat scrutinising gaze is focused on me.

But I don’t have the courage to lift my head.

-

Eventually, the people in the campground start to get used to me tending to their wounds, including Gavin.

We’re much more familiar with each other as compared to a few days ago. Occasionally, we’d even engage in conversation.

MC: ...don’t you have a magic carpet or something? Why are your injuries so serious this time?

Gavin: There was a trap.

MC: They obviously did bad things, but not only did they not feel guilty, but also schemed against you?

Gavin: My life is worth a lot of money to many people.

Gavin speaks lightly, and a disdainful smile appears on his lips.

Gavin: It doesn’t matter. They won’t succeed.

I purse my lips, subconsciously exerting less force.

MC: Please be more careful next time, and don’t add on to my workload.

Being directly glared at by me, Gavin feels a little uneasy, his eyes subconsciously averting to the side.

Gavin: ...I’ll do my best.

Over the next few days, he truly doesn’t get injured again. But because of this, I have fewer opportunities to meet him.

For some inexplicable reason, I start finding all sorts of reasons to meet Gavin -

Making sweet snacks, handing over supplies... I use everything that can create a connection between us.

Maybe it’s just a misperception, but I can always capture a subtle emotion in his eyes.

Those nice-looking eyes affect my heart involuntarily.

Until one day, when he returns and walks past me, straight towards his room. I hurriedly follow behind him, burrowing sideways through the doors that are about to close.

MC: Why did you start avoiding me once you returned? Did you get hurt!

Gavin: ...no.

Without a word, I hurriedly sweep my eyes over Gavin. When I catch sight of the traces of blood on his waist, I lift my head to glare at him.

Gavin: ...

Under my gaze, he averts his eyes a little awkwardly. 

Gavin: [totally not lying] Cough. Oh, turns out I got injured. I just realised. I’ll have to trouble you to tend to it.

Before I even open my mouth, he hurriedly stifles the words I’m about to say.

I release a sigh, reaching out to open the medical kit. I suddenly think of something.

MC: I heard that a child hit you with a stone yesterday?

Gavin: It’s just a trivial matter.

MC: That’s not what I’m referring to... you probably don’t feel good, do you. You’re obviously helping them, but you’re treated as a bad person.

Gavin: It’s very normal for me to be treated as a bad person.

MC: But you aren’t one!

After blurting this out, I lower my eyes unnaturally.

I suddenly feel warm breaths. Lifting my head, my vision is overtaken by him.

Gavin: Then what am I?

MC: I... just think that you’ve done so many good things, and shouldn’t be misunderstood.

[Note] If I were the writer, I'd make MC say: “You’re my boyfriend from another universe where you’re a sexy special agent from STF and we go through lots of angst together like the time you left me alone in the Ferris wheel during that one date.” And then I’d get fired.

A peculiar emotion flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t continue, and he stares out the window.

Gavin: Pack up your things later. You’re heading out tonight.

Realising that he’s referring to checking out the flower garden, I’m stunned for a moment.

It seems that these relaxed and comfortable days have made me forget my goal from the beginning.

-

When I return to the central area of the campground, I discover that Gavin is standing there.

MC: Didn't you say that you’d be sending someone to the flower garden with me?

Gavin: I changed my mind.

A flying carpet hovers in front of me, leaving me dumbfounded on the spot.

Gavin: Scared?

MC: I-it’s fine. It’s just that I’ve never seen a magic carpet, and I don't know...

Before I finish speaking, my feet are off the ground as Gavin takes me into his arms.

It’s as though the scorching heat of his fingertips are able to melt me. Only the sounds of the wind and my heartbeat remain in the entire world.

Gavin: There’s no need to overthink. Just be careful not to fall off.

Gavin leaps up, sitting steadily on the carpet.

With my face red, I prepare to shift away from him. The carpet soars towards the sky, and the frightening sense of weightlessness makes me involuntarily grab onto his waist.

MC: Hang on! Could you let me sit properly before flying!

What I get in response is a soft chuckle, carrying with it some mischievousness.

Gavin: If you don’t want to fall off, hold tight.

After the wind rustles at my ear for a long time, we finally descend at the destination. Without even taking a few steps, I suddenly hear the sound of disciplined footsteps in the vicinity.

At the same time when I turn to Gavin in a panic, he pulls me behind a stone pillar nearby.

The stone pillar isn’t large, and we’re forced to stick together.

Because we’re pressed so closely together, his breath is akin to a gentle feather, brushing my face.

The itch causes me to tremble involuntarily. Gavin hurriedly reaches out to wrap me in his arms.

Gavin: Don’t move.

A soft command drifts to my ear, and I can only nod stiffly.

When the nearby footsteps disappear, I release a breath and prepare to leave. However, he turns around, pressing me against the stone pillar.

Gavin: Are you deliberately trying to get discovered?

MC: Of course... not! It’s because what you did was very ticklish!

I retort softly. In order to prove my point, I stick close to him, vigorously inhaling and exhaling through my nose.

MC: You find it ticklish too, don’t you!

In an instant, our breaths seem to intertwine, and an inexplicable heat secretly climbs up the back of my ears.

Gavin averts his eyes unnaturally, and he releases the hands propped on the wall.

Gavin: Let’s go. There isn’t much time left.

Beneath the clear and tender moonlight, the gentle night breeze and his reddened ears are especially obvious.

Fortunately, the second half goes smoothly. We walk around the flower garden meticulously before returning to the campground. 

The moment my feet stand steadily on the ground, I use the excuse of drawing the map to run swiftly back into my room.

Staring at the blank sheet of paper, the pen in my hand doesn’t descend for a very long time.

...am I really going to continue with this?

[Note] Imagine if Gavin actually just wanted to go on a date with MC but didn’t know how to broach the topic because he’s Awkward™ so he decided to take her on a romantic stroll by “chEcKinG out tHE FlOwEr GarDEn”

-

Ever since returning from the flower garden, I especially cherish the few days I have left of this peaceful life.

While chatting with the men, I unintentionally learnt that all of them used to be bodyguards in the palace. And Gavin was their leader.

As for why they became bandits... looking at their solemn expressions, I didn’t continue probing.

I decide to focus all my energy on the map, treating it as a small “atonement”.

But my progress is even slower than imagined, and I only manage to complete it the day before the operation.

Stepping outside with the map, I see a familiar figure on the roof.

Struck with an idea, I shift a ladder over and prepare to climb up. However, because it isn’t tall enough, I end up pausing awkwardly mid-air.

MC: ...

Just when I’m wondering if I should call out to Gavin, the flying carpet suddenly appears near my feet.

After a moment of hesitation, I climb onto it in a sorry state. Gavin’s figure gradually appears in my vision.

Illuminated by the moonlight, he props himself up indolently, indistinct arches appearing at the corners of his lips.

MC: The map has been drawn.

Gavin: You’ve worked hard.

Just as I’m about to turn around to leave, the sky filled with stars enters my eyes. The stars sparkle in succession.

MC: ...could I stay here for a little longer?

Gavin: Here, nobody can meddle with you. You're free to do whatever you want.

Free... Hearing this term subconsciously makes me feel startled. In my peripheral vision, a shooting star soars past the sky.

MC: Ah, a star is falling!

I’m pleasantly surprised by the sight I’ve never seen before, but realise that Gavin’s brows are tightly knit.

MC: You don’t seem to want to see this sight?

He looks at me, his shining golden eyes turning a little dim.

MC: ...it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. After all, everyone has secrets they aren’t willing to share.

Gavin: Secrets?

MC: Mm. That’s why life is so tough. It’s because secrets are difficult to talk about, yet they refuse to release their grip.

Gavin: I don’t have any secrets.

Gavin says this bluntly, looking at me.

Gavin: That shooting star earlier has a lot of meaning behind it.

The lights and shadows in Gavin’s eyes stir, leaving me unable to identify the emotions within them.

After a moment of silence, his voice drifts to my ear again.

Gavin: An elder once told me that no matter what one does, the stars are able to see it. But if a shooting star were to appear in the sky, it meant that it faded away because it saw too much evil.

Even though his tone doesn’t change much, I can vaguely sense something.

Gavin: Which is why I changed from leader of the bodyguards to a bandit.

I’m stunned for a moment. Gavin turns his head, looking at me.

Gavin: What? You thought I’d hide it?

MC: I...

Gavin: This isn’t a secret. The people here have never avoided the past.

MC: Why?

Gavin: There isn't a special reason. I once thought that as a leader, I’d have more power to uphold justice. Afterwards, a choice to sacrifice a few hundred lives to save a nobleman appeared before me.

MC: Which side did you pick?

Gavin: No matter the side, I wanted to save them all.

He stares afar off, a scorching colour flashing in his eyes. The wind seems to respond to him, causing leaves to rustle.

Gavin: I won't let a single life vanish in front of me. But many people threatened me using my capacity as a leader. Which is why I no longer wanted that title. I just want to be Gavin, and do the things I genuinely want to do.

In the night breeze, the corners of his lips turn upwards. Pride and resoluteness are transparent in his eyes.

My heart quivers. Fragments of the past few days involuntarily surface before my eyes -

How he returned triumphantly with loot, along with wounds of varying sizes.

How he often places somewhat simple and crude “thank you gifts” in front of the gate of the campground.

At first, I thought these rumours of Gavin were just false compliments. But after seeing them for myself, I am fully convinced -

Gavin is worthy of all the praise.

Thinking about this, my heart seems to be tugged roughly by something.

MC: If only I had met you earlier. That way, I wouldn’t just be the young girl who was blessed by God, and...

I suddenly pause, my honest thoughts stuck in my throat.

Gavin: Wouldn’t what?

Those amber eyes watch me quietly, as though waiting for what’s weighing on my mind to pour out in torrents.

MC: You’ll be heading out tomorrow, so rest early. If possible, I hope the stars can see everything I do, and that they wouldn't fall.

I control the stinging sensation in my eyes, showing my sincerest smile.

He seems to be stirred. The brilliant starlight reflects in his eyes, and my figure seems to become clearer.

But my vision gradually turns blurry, as though something is about to fall.

-

A faint light appears from afar. Holding the letter that I spent a night writing, I walk to Gavin’s door.

MC: Sorry. I think some words can’t be said in person. If there’s another chance, perhaps we could... get to know each other afresh.

Watching as the letter disappears at the other end, I feel a weight being lifted off me as I walk out of the gate.

-

Tonight is the king’s coronation ceremony.

There aren’t any celebratory gifts from the neighbouring countries. There aren’t any flatteries from imperial concubines or ministers. There are only soldiers hiding in the flowering shrubs...

And me, who is pressed onto the floor.

King: Did you think that I didn’t plant other spies aside from you?

The king eats grapes indolently, strong distaste flashing in his eyes.

MC: ...

King: As my slave for so many years, you should know the consequences of betrayal.

I couldn’t care less about the king’s threats. All that’s in my heart is worry.

Worry that Gavin didn’t see my letter. Worry that he’d follow the plan and come to the flower garden, and into the king’s ambush.

Just a while ago, I admitted everything in the letter -

According to my understanding of the king, he would definitely deploy forces in the flower garden to guarantee his safety during the ceremony.

It also explains why the palace is akin to an empty city, and can be easily infiltrated.

A sizeable amount of wealth fleeced from the common folk is in the treasury. If they could be returned to their original owners, it should lighten much of their burden.

This is the only thing I can do as compensation.

With this thought in mind, I look up at the brilliant sky-filled sky. My mind doesn’t hold back, and specks of time spent together with Gavin courses through it.

I take a deep breath, doing my best to remember this starry sky forever, leaving behind no regrets.

All of a sudden, a cold wind rolls up beside me. At the edge of my vision, a figure appears along with the wind.

The faraway figure gradually becomes clearer. Gavin is standing on the flying carpet, his expression so gloomy that it’s terrifying.

MC: Gavin, what are you doing here?! Leave quickly, there’s an ambush here!

Right after I finish speaking, arrows fly towards Gavin in succession, but they’re all rolled together by the gale in an instant.

Gavin looks down, his eyes filled with a fury which has reached its limits.

Gavin: Did you think about the consequences of touching one of my people?

King: Men, take him down!

Realising that arrows are ineffective, the bodyguards brandish long swords, closing in on me.

A gentle wind protects me. At the same time, a familiar voice drifts from behind.

Gavin: Hold tight.

He kicks away the person who was restraining me, then carries me on his shoulder.

I subconsciously struggle, but realise that I’m gripped tightly by him, as though he’s telling me -

That he’s angry.

Twisting my head to peer at his expression, I can only see the distinct outline of the side of his face from my periphery.

After the flying carpet leaves the ground, a fierce wind suddenly springs out of the flower garden.

In an instant, the magnificent flower garden turns into a mess. The king dangles upside down from a sculpture, and looks to be in a huge predicament.

With a cold “hmph”, Gavin soars faraway, the flower garden behind him turning smaller and smaller.

MC: Gavin, could you put me down... I’m already safe.

He ignores me, and the rustling wind is the only thing left in the surroundings.

MC: Sorry... I lied to you.

Gavin: I already knew from the start.

He continues staring out, responding coldly.

MC: In that case, why did you still come here?! I already told you in the letter not to...

Gavin: Because I want to bring you back.

MC: Why...?

Gavin: Since you joined us, you can’t leave that easily.

I release a resigned sigh, muttering softly.

MC: You clearly said that I could leave whenever I wanted to.

Gavin: You believe a bandit’s promise?

MC: You...!

Not knowing what to say, a soft chuckle drifts from behind me.

He exerts slight pressure, as though verifying something. Then, he sets me down, drawing me into his arms. 

MC: I even thought you’d keep carrying me on your shoulder and not let go.

Gavin: I actually wouldn’t mind. But I still prefer this.

While saying this, he tightens both arms around my waist.

A sense of security instantly charges into my heart, but it also accidentally tears open the guilt that I've buried in the depths of my heart...

MC: Gavin, you had your suspicions about me from very early on, didn’t you.

Gavin: I had my suspicions at the start. But afterwards, I realised it was unnecessary. Because I knew that you wouldn’t harm me.

His gaze is brilliant as he looks at me, mixed with an unquestionable emotion.

MC: [blushing] Why do you keep looking at me like that?

Gavin: I can’t do that?

MC: [blushing] Of course you can’t. You can’t get used to being a bandit and do whatever you want...

I retort indignantly, my face red as I avert my eyes.

Suddenly, a scorching hand covers my face, turning my face back forcefully.

Gavin: You’re right. I’m used to being a bandit and doing whatever I want to. So, MC, let me take a good look at you.

He carefully sweeps his eyes over me. As I gradually come to my senses, I realise that he’s checking to see if I’m injured.

MC: Gavin, I’m not hurt.

Seeing the concern in his eyes, my heart feels a stinging sensation. No one has ever cared about me like this before.

Even though he knew that I didn’t have good intentions from the beginning, he didn’t blame me at all.

-

The familiar campground once again enters my vision. From afar, I see that everyone’s tidying up boxes filled with treasures.

MC: Did they go to the palace?

Gavin: Mm. I had to bring you back, so I let them go there by themselves. After sorting out the inventory, they will return the items to their original owners.

MC: In that case... could we head to the roof for a while? Today’s also the day my blessings are manifested. Whether it’s real or not, it’d be revealed very soon.

In a moment, we land on the roof. My heart uncontrollably turns anxious.

Gavin: The most valuable riches in the world?

Gavin stands beside me quietly, stretching out his hand.

The full moon hangs overhead, and the night breeze blows gently.

In an instant, the pearls and jewels in the boxes on the ground suddenly fill the night sky, glistening underneath the moonlight.

Countless silver coins and jewels soak in the moonlight, setting a contrast to the flickering stars, as though they are newborn stars.

Gavin: Are these your blessings?

Gavin turns around to face me. All the light in the world seem to be stored in those amber eyes.

Gavin: If you’re wondering about the meaning behind these blessings, let me shoulder it with you. Your fate will not be directed by anyone. MC, you can just be MC. I don’t care if you’ve been blessed by God. What I want is you.

The starry sky casts a faint halo over Gavin, becoming the most dazzling colour in my eyes.

My world seems to be shining into a ray of light, and the interlaced paths of what lies ahead in the future turn clear and bright.

All of a sudden, I realise something with certainty -

This is just the beginning. He will bring me along to be acquainted anew with this beautiful world.

A gentle gust breezes past, and the lower hem of Gavin’s clothes flutters.

His lips move slightly, and his voice burrows into my ears along with the wind.

Gavin: All of the blessings for you - I’ll fulfil them myself.

-

🍷 MOMENTS 🍷

Gavin’s Post: Aside from two plane tickets, I also received a guidebook on surviving in the open country.

MC: Because most of this trip will be in the open country, we have to do our homework in advance!

Gavin: When it comes to safety, there’s nothing to worry about with me around.

-

Gavin’s Post: Aside from two plane tickets, I also received a guidebook on surviving outdoors.

MC: Are you surprised? The first phase of the trip is starting!

Gavin: Great. In that case, leave the rest of the arrangements to me.

-

Gavin’s Post: Aside from two plane tickets, I also received a guidebook on surviving outdoors.

MC: I felt that you’ve been working really hard lately, so I wanted to take you to a faraway place to relax~

Gavin: Actually, it’s enough that you’re around.

🍷 Phone calls: First l Second

🍷 More translated dates: here

🍷 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[poiwritesnstuff]

Hair Pull

It’d been two months now since they’d started dating, so James liked to think he was past the dumb, moon-eyed phase in his new relationship with Lily. After years of chasing after her, he’d almost been too shocked to react when she finally stood still for him, like the moment when a mediocre Seeker falters when they've almost got their hand on the snitch. She'd turned him down for so long that he’d grown used to the pursuit, chasing the high of attaining the unattainable, so what was he supposed to do when she was suddenly his for the taking? He’d built up his fantasies for so long-- what if the real thing wasn’t as good as he thought, or they weren't actually perfect together like he'd always dreamed?

But then they started snogging and that shut him up right quick.

Especially when they were sitting in front of the fire in the Heads’ quarters, Lily on his lap at an ungodly hour, their essays cast aside in favor of each other. His glasses had fallen somewhere, but with her this close, he could see everything-- her long eyelashes fluttering as her gaze flitted over his face, the dark freckles that dotted her cheeks and the faint ones scattered beneath them, the little tip of her nose, and then her lips, pink and plump and begging to be kissed some more.

His grip on her waist tightened and he leaned up, closing his eyes as their lips touched again and the silk of her hair brushed his face. He felt her giggle as she smiled into the kiss, even as their teeth clacked awkwardly and they had to pull apart again to laugh properly. He dotted kisses along her jaw and down her neck, feeling her laughter turn to something else, something deeper and hotter as her hands moved around his shoulders to find something to hold onto. He could feel the little kisses she pressed against his temple, curling more into him, seeking more of him, so he nipped at her neck, a tiny little graze of his teeth followed by another and then a lick to soothe the pain away.

He felt her nails graze over his scalp, gently, and then her fingers curled into his hair and pulled. His mind went blank. He followed her grip and his head fell back, eyes open as stars swam before his eyes. Or maybe those were her eyes? She was flushed now, even redder than she was before, but smiling so sweetly. His whole body was buzzing like never before. Her lips curved wickedly and he felt her fingers tighten in his hair, and he was quite all right with that. She pulled again, harder now, and if he could think, he would’ve been embarrassed by the low moan that he let slip out.

Lily squirmed a little on his lap, and then ground against him more purposefully, experimenting with his body as he reflexively thrust up against her. It took James a moment to realize what had changed that Lily would notice, straddling him as she was. Before he could apologize, she yanked his head back and targeted his exposed neck, biting until he hissed in pain and then doing something with her tongue that drove him to distraction. 

She relented after a moment, drawing back to look at him. She might have been alarmed at the fading red marks she’d left on his neck, but his dazed grin was enough to put her somewhat at ease.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asked.

“You can hurt me whenever you like.”

“Shut up,” she laughed, but it was kind and lovely and warm and she was really there with him, wasn’t she? He was almost worried this was another dream, but her fingers were still moving idly in his hair, nails scraping over his scalp and sending little shocks of pleasure throughout his body. His eyes closed as she continued the motion in silence, before finally speaking again. “I didn’t know you liked… well, I didn’t know what you like.”

“You,” he sighed. Her fingers stilled in his hair, and he opened his eyes again.

“Don’t tease,” she admonished. “I’m trying to do this right.”

She was so earnest, her lips turned down into a small pout, her gaze stern with a little anxiety behind it. He needed to kiss her again before he suffocated.

“Lily,” he said, cradling her head in his hands as he kissed her again. 

It was softer this time, more important somehow. All of the words he couldn’t say flowed out of him. He wanted to remember this, wanted to kiss it into permanence so that every time he started to fret about their future or their relationship or if his latest prank had put her off him entirely, at least they had this. Did it make any sense, knowing that he’d fallen in love with her before she’d ever even considered him? That he’d known there was no option but to spend the rest of his life with her in it, even if she never wanted to date him?

It was halfway through sixth year when he realized with a fright that they only had one more year before they went their separate ways forever. Evans hating him when they slept in the same tower was one thing, but Hogwarts would only be there for so long. If she didn’t have a reason to keep in touch after school, he would never see her again, and that somehow hurt more than the idea of never dating her at all. He couldn’t keep dicking around just to get a rise out of her, hoping one day she’d change her mind. He had to be her friend at least, and to be happy with that even if it was all she'd ever give him. 

Thankfully, the more he started acting like a friend, and not a hunter, the less she acted like harassed prey. James found he liked that. He liked Lily as a friend, as a flirt, as the girl who teased him and held his hand and bit her lip and pulled his hair and--

Lily squirmed again, pulling back slightly, and he chased her lips helplessly for a moment before he let her go.

She made a sort of odd noise, her expression torn between disappointment and relief. “What was that?”

“I don’t--” he murmured. Her face was blurry now, too far to be in focus. How was he supposed to explain all of his feelings without sounding like a psycho? She would either think he was joking and ignore his feelings, or know he was serious and reject him. He didn’t know which one would be worse. But he was all out of flippant remarks, and the longer he wrestled with his thoughts, the cooler the room became as Lily drew back. “I think it’s late.”

James hugged her close, burying his face in her neck and feeling her arms wrap around his shoulders. Eventually, they relaxed, pulses slowing as exhaustion took over. It was, if the clock was to be believed, nearly 3 in the morning.

“So, is there anything else I should know about your apparent preferences in bed?” Lily finally asked, stifling a yawn as they pulled apart.

“Why, Evans, you filthy pervert, I’m pure as the driven snow,” James responded, fumbling for his glasses and hoping they hadn’t broken. “Besides, I dunno what they’ve got up in your room but this isn’t a bed, it's a couch.”

“Shut up!” she laughed, shoving him away. The clock in the corner started to chime and they both groaned.

“I’ve half a mind to skip Transfiguration tomorrow. All the morning classes, actually. Let’s just sleep ‘til lunch,” James said even as he inspected the essays they’d been working on.

“You can go ahead and bring McGonagall’s wrath down on your head since she loves you so much, but I’ll just hate myself in the morning and take a nap during my free period instead,” Lily said, gathering her things. She took her parchment from him. “I hate that you’ve got neater handwriting than I do.”

“I keep telling you I’ll write your essays for you and you never listen. You always slope down the parchment and then you have to write it all tiny at the end. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

“Nobody can stand it, but I can’t have you writing out my essays. They’ll take one look and think Remus is writing my work as well as yours.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Mmm, but it’s true.” She paused for a moment, as though assessing the situation, before she pulled him in for a kiss. James kissed her back, kept kissing for as long as she let him before they knew they had to part.

“I hate that we need sleep,” James said. He suddenly beamed as though he’d had a brilliant idea. “D’you know, I think I’d fancy being the giant squid. I heard it doesn’t have to sleep.”

“...you’re an idiot,” Lily said as she rolled her eyes, smiling so fondly that James felt the stupidity creeping over his brain again. She started walking to her room and called back, “Good night.”

“If you hate your couch, you can always sleep in my bed, you know,” James offered, hoping she’d look back again. She did.

“Good night, James,” she said pointedly before disappearing into her room.

“Night, Lil,” he said, smiling all the way until he fell asleep.

[heli0s-writes]

IV. Symbiosis

Summary: “Since you’ve been caught—” Fury squints, “Canoodling With The Allegedly Injured James Barnes, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s already halfway finished with digging you up. Forgeries. Petty theft. Grand larceny. The damn rest of the kitchen sink. So, Ranger…” The way he says it is both lazy and threatening, completely on brand and irritatingly calm.

“Here’s my suggestion: get ahead of this thing before it knocks you on your ass.”

A/N: 4.8k words. I’m a liar who lies because after 4 months of overthinking and coming up with diddly squat, here is part 4 of Trinity Epoch sans smut. I’m sorry! I’ll double your pleasure next time. xx Thank you for sticking with me, I’m so sorry it’s taken so long.

Warnings: Language. References to canon-typical violence.

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

Bucky stays like that a while longer, just breathing.

Your fingers trace his hair—running through the strands, over the shell of his ear, then resting briefly on his cheek. All the ways you used to with Natasha when she’d break her own heart, or maybe ways you would have liked her to have done for you when you felt like you were dying a little bit.

You feel it now: a small death in the wake of last night’s simple touches. Your body and Steve’s body curled around each other sprung something immeasurable, as if the drift flowered then and ripened beneath your skins. You bit into it. You savored its taste. You could have lived on it alone.

Everything smears together like a child’s careless hand in a mess of paints until all the brights muddle dark. A shaky breath as you work yourself into calming, trying to find coherent words while your head remains a pot of sideways soup, at best.

Bucky shifts until he’s looking up at you, nose millimeters away. His irises are just a touch more gray, a sprinkle less green. You can see Steve in him, just as he can see Steve in you and then your eyes begin to prickle, Nat’s face undulating behind the burn.

You don’t really know what you want to say. Maybe apologize, run, beg for forgiveness, grab Bucky by the shoulders and shake him until he understands that you didn’t mean it— you didn’t mean to hurt him. That you love him. That he lives inside you, too.

His ghost from the drift— the aftermath phenomena of the neural bridge when pilots take on a bit of each other’s consciousness out of the cockpit and into the world with them. Take two people with a predisposition for the drift into the cockpit into each other’s brains and they exit heightened—sharper, better—imbued with each other’s strengths and knowledge. Mind-meld long enough, deep enough, and your core endures, but you become a different beast.

When Steve’s consciousness bled into yours, so did Bucky’s. If you walked away with half of Rogers, you also got a quarter of Barnes and it only compounded worse during Polidori’s drop. Resurrecting trauma, agitating itself, making a mess of your weary soul.

You relived his amputation last night, just as fresh as you relived Nat’s death. More visceral than the first trial run, you witnessed him—felt him—torn and hoarse, clutching his shoulder as he rocked helplessly inside Orion’s chest, frayed wires sparking across his cheek and landing in his own blood. His teeth gnashing together as he tried to hold on for Steve’s sake, steering his co-pilot’s panic back on course. Terrified and agonized, but he was hellbent on making it out.

Bucky who made you laugh. Bucky who took you to dinner. Who walked with you, gave you his jacket, listened to your rambling and crying, and kissed you because you reminded him of his co-pilot, or maybe of himself.  

How could you not love him, after all this?

Armageddon slows for nothing though, and before the first letter of his name can fall out recklessly from your mouth, three precise thumps jostles it back in.

Steve’s voice is muffled through heavy steel. “You in there?”

The door slides open with a tremulous croak but neither of you bother to separate. Nothing seems to matter now.

“Buck...” Steve looks from one raw face to the other, stepping forward and reaching out. He grasps Bucky’s hand. “We should talk—” he closes his mouth into a thin line, shoulders slumping heavily before letting go. “I’m sorry. Later. Shit’s hit the fan.”

-

The office is stagnant air full of questions but other than the squeak of the marshal leaning back in his chair, nobody makes a sound.

Fury untucks a finger from the crook of his elbow before pointing it between your eyes.

“Culpability.”

Across the room, you flinch in his crosshairs. Standing apart from them, you’re partially slack against one of many steel filing cabinets, using it to prop yourself up in case your knees might give out as vertigo descends.

It’s been a lot to take in. Everything— the night, the morning, emotionally, mentally, physically. The hull is a steel cage, and pilots are well armored, but you’re still hooked up to the robot enduring damage, taking hits at barely .0001 percent, but taking it all the same. You’re bruised up good beneath your clothes— Polidori’s claws leaving four tender imprints of a scratch to Orion’s right shoulder. Your shoulder. Steve’s shoulder.

To your right, he shifts. A tiny hint of pain streaks over his expression before it falls serene again, fixed on Fury.

“Since you’ve been caught—” the marshal squints, “Canoodling With The Allegedly Injured James Barnes, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s already halfway finished with digging you up. Forgeries, petty theft, grand larceny, the damn rest of the kitchen sink. So, Ranger…” The way he says it is both lazy and threatening, completely on brand and irritatingly calm.

“Here’s my suggestion: get ahead of this thing before it knocks you on your ass.”

This thing, being any story a 13-year old kid with two thumbs and a twitter account can spin between now and when you let Pepper Potts spin it for you first. There’s not a lot imagination can’t conjure to fill in the blank pixelated space between Bucky standing on the curb and you right behind him wearing his cap and jacket. Not to mention that once speculation goes live, it starts sprouting all sorts of appendages with minds of their own, and no matter how diligently you might cut one off, two would only sprout in its place.

The marshal stands up and takes heavy steps before turning the corner of his desk, absently tapping a pile of folders together like they’re not already in a perfect column. He slips a manila folder out from the stack and it becomes obvious that his suggestion is just buildup to some other type of impetus.

When you open the file up under his sharp gaze, you feel the blood drain from your face and possibly from your entire body.

The bullet he aimed between your eyes hits home. Cue your brains blowing out slow. Impetus met.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky appears over your shoulder, staring at the same grainy photocopied document. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I make a lot of jokes?” Fury leans forward, pointer curving over the top edge, tapping emphatically one, two, three times, even waving it back and forth in front of your unseeing eyes. “I’ve got a good contact inside the PPDC who risked a lot to get this out. They’re just plans for now, dogeared behind other pages, but don’t doubt the Corps’ cowardice for a second. The second this program looks like it might not hold up, they’ll turn their efforts there.”

You’re gone. Trapped between the lines, vehemently scanning the page, reading the same words over and over until they no longer make sense. But it’s not like they made any sense in the first place.

ANTI-KAIJU WALL: CONSTRUCTION AGENDA. SPRING 2020.

The conception of a perimeter stretching around the Pan Pacific—North and Central America, East and South Asia to isolate emerging Kaiju. It’s a fetal skeleton at most, the roughest of outlines for a plan, and truthfully, it’s no plan at all.

It’s shameful. It’s shit.

The so-called Wall of Life implies the portending death of the Program—of all Shatterdomes and Jaegers. It implies no support, no funding, and no repairs. No Kodiak. No juniors. No future.

Back and forth, you’re still desperately inspecting as if the words might shift into a new message, maybe one that didn’t spell out certain extinction, but despair is rippling across your face. Bi Fang and Polidori had wings, and they were only Category II. Bi Fang massacred one of the best pilots you’ve ever known—and it was only a Category II. Any higher and they’d blow through that wall like a ribbon of wet toilet paper.

Hysteria creeps up at the mere thought of it, fear stubbornly lodging itself in your throat. Nuclear-powered automata—the only proven defense against the terror of massive alien attacks are being dismantled in favor of steel rods and cinderblocks. They might as well build it out of Legos.

Anti-Kaiju Wall. A string of ants meeting a boot.

You’re panting softly, tongue swollen in your mouth, shaking with equal parts terror and rage, on the verge of breaking into inappropriate laughter and yelling.

“What—what do they expect?” You croak, “The breach opens, the fucking thing comes out, sees a fence, and what—they think it’s—going to crawl back in…?”

“Hey, calm down,” Bucky curls his fingers around your elbow. His hand and its black plates are peering at you, purring, dull gold bands threading at the knuckles. For a second, the prosthetic disappears. For a second, he’s blood red again.

“Hey!” Bucky grips tightly when you sway. “I’m fine! Don’t—don’t.” Steve’s jaw is set firmly on your other side, arms crossed so severely his biceps bulge with the strain.

“Nick,” He’s abruptly brusque as he eases the file from your grip. “Give us a minute.”

“You’re in my office.” But the marshal’s words hold no bite. He’s already won; he knows. Cornered again, he’s got you same as before in Red Cloud. 

You get the gist: play out your redemption arc and come clean with your record. Win over the public, hoard all the additional support and funding you can because you’ll need every goddamn cent of it when the PPDC rips it away. The gossip. The photos. The headlines. It’s the perfect opportunity for a few hundred million when the media is putting a magnifying glass on your presence in Hong Kong.

Duty. Duty. Duty.

You’re just one small part of this colossal puzzle—a negligible smear of guts across the battlefield trying to keep the rest of the pieces together while the PPDC sits in their panic rooms throttling the entire fucking thing.

Fury steps to the cabinet and slides the file back in its place, keeping the illusion of it being just another unremarkable envelope in a row of hundreds of others. The metal drawer shuts with a clang, housing the most damning piece of information you’ve ever seen. His tact aside, you know he would never show you his hand like this if it wasn’t completely necessary—or pertinent.

Steve was right, you understand now.

The world owes you. And it owns you.

-

The next six—seven?—hours scatter like pulled teeth with your head spinning like a top the entire way. Pepper had been outside the door for the conversation, waiting on standby to whisk you off for princess lessons. Having already (and correctly) predicted your compliance, Fury scheduled an interview for precisely at nine. Then you were off, towed along by Miss Potts and her hasty strut.  

You try to find perspective, reminding yourself that you’ve successfully gone toe-to-toe with the Empire State Building with fifteen rows of teeth seven fucking times and come out on the other side alive and if not in one whole piece, then at least 2-3 relatively serviceable pieces. You’re functional. A little damaged, but fine enough. But there’s also the fact that you’d just hopped out of Orion not even 24 hours ago coupled with how you’re suddenly in the middle of something that feels less like a confused love triangle and more like divine providence at the end of the world.

Fuck. No time to think about it now. The human brain is not programmed to multitask, and you’re hanging on by a mere thread. You prioritize making it through the night just as alive as you can make it out of a drop. Just a couple of hours and you can rest. Just a couple more.

After what felt like an eternity and a half of simulating Q&A, practicing your posture, smiling into a mirror, and one horrible limo ride where you stared dead-eyed out the window—Steve and Bucky’s steely gazes after you—the building finally comes into view.  

Hair. Makeup. Wardrobe. You wear pants. You smile for the camera. You don’t stand in the middle of the group photo.

8:55 and time halts to a near stop. You can hear your heart in your throat, or in your skull. Your eyes feel switched from their sockets, or stomach rotated 30 degrees. Someone fixes your mic wire, your blouse collar, asking you to turn just a little over there. Three cameras are pointed to capture every angle, punitive red dots angry and glaring.

A live broadcast was agreed upon to ensure the least amount of potential edits and skews, as well as the charmingly quaint idea that it’s unscripted. The rub, therein, lies upon the burden of poise and a flawless performance. You rehearsed lines until your jaw felt like it was coming unhinged. Then you did it again. 

Everything requires precision, and you keep that in mind with your hand on the glass of Dom Perignon being constantly refilled. An amicable gesture by the hosts, but their intentions are cunning: loose lips sink ships, and they’re betting on yours to sink the S.S. Orion Bravo.

Out of view, the translator sits with her legs crossed, listening to the questions before turning the words over in English.

You take a sip of champagne and it fires off like a gunshot—Cantonese and English in rapid-fire verses.

<2017 was a fateful year for both the Jaeger Program and the world. Beloved pilot Natasha Romanoff sacrificed her life to protect Alaska’s coast in a final battle against Category 2 Bi Fang. Memorials dedicated to Romanoff’s efforts appeared across every nation to lament her death and celebrate her heroism. Yet, somehow, no one seemed to be asking the million-dollar question: Where is her co-pilot?>

<Two days ago, pictures were taken in Hong Kong of James Barnes and a mysterious woman. Our sources here at TVB have worked tirelessly to uncover her identity.>

<Today we have the pleasure of introducing her to everyone tuning in. This is the first time you’ve ever been in the public eye, and astonishingly, next to two of the best pilots in the Program. There are so many questions, but first, the whole world wants to know…. why keep it secret?>

The host’s open hand urges your reply.

The lights seem to turn up even brighter. Your back starts sweating. The room is about to collapse. In short, naturally­­—infuriatingly—you choke.

Seven hours of droning like a broken wind up toy, already knowing how to answer this question by heart, prepping yourself for the interrogation, the relentless demand to publicize your grief, to placate the people about your relationship with their heroes—and, you choke.

Bucky’s chin tilts microscopically in the corner of your line of vision. You’re fine, he’s saying, you got it. He’s strangely calm, even pleased, as you stutter involuntarily. Like he’s the first to remember an inside joke you’d long forgotten, his grin widens the longer you look at him. Steve turns next. Focus. Don’t fight the drift. The drift is silence.

And suddenly, your shoulders ease. The static in your exhausted brain slides out of your ears.

You sit up tall. You smile. It doesn’t quite feel like your smile, but, it’s a good one. You know this smile; it’s Steve’s smile. Like a seamless assembly, you fall into rhythm.

The white of his teeth slip out from between Steve’s lips. He notices too.

You calmly recite the introductory speech you’d been practicing for the last two hours, feeling out your new voice, borrowing from his bearing—deeper, smoother, certain. The major points get run through: your record and own personality traits keeping you from the spotlight, admitting genuinely that you’re pretty damn uncomfortable now, so they’ll have to forgive you for any slip ups. It goes over well, as Pepper predicted; “candid” blunders made Rangers human—made them likable.

When the subject of Anchorage rolls back around, you can practically feel Steve’s jaw bulging preemptively. You graze his foot with yours as a warning to back off.

<It’s remarkable that you were able to bring the Jaeger back to shore, there has been only one pilot who was capable of that—>

“I’m thankful to have had Stacker Pentecost as my mentor. I owe so much of my resilience to him. It was difficult, but simply put, I had no other choice. I feel so lucky to have survived it.”

<Natasha Romanoff-->

“She was one of a kind.”

<Was it hard to—>

“Yes.”

The host clears his throat, visibly awkward that you’re being so terse, but taking the hint until  Bucky turns into the spotlight, that divorced happiness he’s so skilled at beaming into the lenses. 

Steve easily picks it up, steering the conversation where he wants it to go. He’s disarmingly sincere as he relays the process of Bucky’s injury, replacement, apprehension, and finally success

His bright blue eyes flicker secret messages and you decipher them all.

“The connection was like—"

There’s a bell chiming in your ears. Bright, crisp chirps of it, cutting through laughter and bickering. You taste summer air in your throat, Bucky’s hair flying in the wind. “Riding a bike…”

“Exactly. New bike, same motions, and it worked. It was great. We learned things about each other. Some good, some bad—”

Crosshatched pencil lines of their shared apartment. Smudges of charcoal in a sketchbook. “He’s an unbelievable artist, but—”

“No— don’t say it!”

Bucky smothering a small kitchen fire. Steve throwing a damp rag on him in a frantic attempt to assist. Your voice is bubbling out gleefully. “—an awful cook!”

“It’s true,” Bucky smugly chimes in. “The boy can’t boil water. Breakfast eggs come with shells every time.” You can taste the grit between your molars—crushed grains inside an overdone omelet, Bucky spitting out spinach and feta cheese.

“Oh my god,” you sputter into a sip of champagne. “It’s so bad.”

“Do you see what I have to deal with? Two people knowing my secrets. Two.”

<Fantastic! Already we can see a great friendship here—>

It seems congratulatory, but there’s determination to drive into scandalous territory, poking at any rumor to lance and leak. A sly smile crosses his face as his assistant shows photos of you and Bucky in the city, but the lurid suggestion only gets shrugged off. “We’d gone out for dinner. It was the first time I’d left the Shatterdome after Seigehook and I needed moral support.”

<The jacket tells a different story.>

“I’d give you my jacket if you looked cold.”

<Steve, Ophelia isn’t concerned that your new co-pilot is a woman?>

“No, absolutely not. ‘Lia’s the first person to support Orion—and the loudest. I don’t know what I’d do without her. You don’t have her behind the curtain, too, do you?”

<Well, what about personal memories? Won’t you know everything about each other…? Private things?>

“Sure, but what pair of pilots don’t? You got twins and siblings, not just married couples. Look, here’s the thing: the neural bridge doesn’t take you to a filing cabinet. It’s not open like that. It’s more like—somebody help me—” Bucky snaps his fingers your way, “—what’d you call it the other day?”

You didn’t, but you say, “A dream?”

“Right, a dream. If you think about it, you can pull on it, but if it’s not in the forefront of your mind. It’s a non-issue.”

“We’re all adults here,” Steve confirms.

<Do you plan for James to return to the cockpit? Is that the goal? James, how do you feel about all of this, taken away from your own Jaeger?>

Steve’s palm faces outward as if keeping the host at bay— or, you think, keeping himself at bay.  “Hold on. This isn’t about replacement. Nobody is framing it like a nail in the coffin—we’re in the interim of a period of time, readjusting. Short of death, nothing is going to take him away.”

Sunlight. Recruitment. Ice baths. Training until they had to carry each other to bed. Your eyes flutter, head pilfering through the memories like instinct.

“James is still Orion’s co-pilot.” You agree. Apprehension. Dread. Terror. Confidence in each other even when they didn’t believe in themselves. They were together. Nothing else mattered. “Steve’s co-pilot.”

The tight look on his face is temporarily wiped as he beams proudly, “He’s my Bucky. Always has been, always will be.” He claps Bucky on the back twice and each thump’s echo bounces its way into your chest.

Bucky bristles and sputters, but a healthy pink dusts its way across his cheeks, “Don’t embarrass me, Rogers.”

“Are you blushing?” You tease, elated.

“Don’t you start, either.”

<Well… this is very wonderful. Is there a possibility we’ll be seeing a triple-piloted machine? The Tang triplets have been in talks for a new model.>

Steve shakes his head. “We haven’t discussed it yet. Nothing’s off the table, by any means. Just not priority at the moment.”

<What is priority at the moment?>

“Normalcy, as much as we can get in the middle of all this.” Bucky holds out his hand, closing it into a fist, letting the camera zoom in. “We’re… still working through all the kinks, balancing the personal and global.” 

He flexes his fingers, letting the microphones pick up the drone of machinery, but his meaning is another secret. Clicking Morse codes of well-oiled obsidian plates purring two names. You’ve stopped listening to everything but the echo incandescent in your heart.

You down your glass.

-

Champagne tipsy, you try not to stagger through the lobby. The doorman nods toward the limousine parked faithfully by the curb.

The barrage of questions slowed after it became apparent that there would be no sensationalist headline. There was attention to Bucky’s arm, his handsome face, of course, before the banter quickly devolved into entertaining frivolous sidebar queries. Five flutes bubbled down your throat and by the end of it, you no longer wanted to grab camera one and shake the shit out of it, anger whittled down to a dull hum of annoyance.

Thirty million stupid dollars for inane reels of:

What’s in your purse? What do you eat? How do you stay feminine in a Shatterdome full of testosterone��have you tried any K-beauty skincare routines? Do you have anyone special in your life?

Bucky went in, then, leaning forward until he was nearly rocking off and leveled his glare. You know she’s on the other side of the same robot, buckled up into a ninety-pound rig steering two-hundred tons of—

It took a miracle (see: Steve’s firm hand discreetly on the back of Bucky’s neck and Pepper drawing a sharp line across her throat) to effectively halt the derailing train.

“I can’t believe,” Bucky grouses now, opening the door and waving the driver back to the front. “Those goddamn questions.”  

“Does wiping my sweaty face with my even sweatier shirt count as skincare? What’s the K stand for?”

Bucky smacks the back of your head with one hand, other clumsily yanking the door open with the other. “For Korean—have you been living under a rock? Just—get in the fuckin’ car.”

You slap him back. “Quit it, you invalid.”

“Invalid? I’ll show you a fuckin’—Steve, did you hear—”

“Both of you, get in the car.”

And you shriek, scrambling in and yanking Bucky along by the scruff of his jacket. Mischief courses beneath your skin, encouraged by clever alcohol, now fully buzzed its way to every extremity.

Still giggling and leaning into the thrill of it, you slump over the smooth plastic molding of the door and press your face against the tinted window. It’s a cool reprieve on your warmed cheek, frosting when your temperature meet the glass. Bucky’s easy Cantonese, albeit slurred, is requesting a ride back to base. His hand has found its way into yours, fingers laced large and warm, clasping tight before he lets go.

“Haven��t had a drink—oh--” you murmur, catching yourself as the wheels shift.

“Since Red Cloud.”

“Outta my head, Rogers.”

“Says the person who kept finishing my sentences during that interview.”

“It’s the champagne! It makes me—“

“Stupid?”

“You’re an ass, Barnes.” But you’re laughing at him, at the way he’s smirking— cheeks gone ruddy. Both of them, open beside each other, heads inclined intuitively together. It makes you ache to see—to experience again after disruption—Rogers and Barnes. Barnes and Rogers. Perfectly fitted.

The partition slides up. The sunroof tugs open with a whistling draft.

Hong Kong’s lights are vivid—too much to properly see the extent of space’s beauty, but there are a few twinkles you’re able to make out in the moonless night as light poles and skyscraper tips whiz overhead. They’re brighter than most, simple to spot patterns in the dark.

“Orion’s out tonight,” you mutter, moving to catch the line of its belt, “Look. Beneath his feet is Lepus, the hare, pursued for all time.” From across, Steve follows, also looking to find their hero as your hair rustles wildly, making a hurricane against your ear.

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic,” Bucky scolds. He’s annoyed and comfortable on leather, ankle crossed over opposite knee. “You’re not being chased by anything. Besides, if you were a constellation, you’d probably be the soup ladle.”

You laugh. He’s always playing the part of a stoic so well. “Hey, I’ll have you know the Little Dipper’s got the north star in it. That soup ladle’s gonna be the thing that gets you home when you’re lost.”

The tone shifts—time dragging its pace as you look at them in wonder. The city’s overripe heaviness of the blows through, making goosebumps on heated skin.

“Buck,” Steve says, and Bucky slips his jacket from his shoulders to slide over yours. He tugs the lapels down like he’s trying to keep you on earth and your hands clasp on his wrists for a second before you let go. They’re both sitting up now, watching your bleary gaze unfocus.

Steve and Bucky oscillate in front of your eyes, their lines blurring until it doesn’t really matter who you’re looking at—until they become one. So easy, like this, just them like two sides of the same coin, belonging so seamlessly to each other.

“Sorry,” you blurt in shame, “I feel like I fucked it up. Ruined a thing that wasn’t mine to ruin.”

“Think you put it together,” Steve responds quietly, and the simplicity of his statement throws you off. “We found our way.”

“Soup ladle,” Bucky jokes.

“But, aren’t we just trading one war for another? World peace only made it because of monsters.” Unspoken questions hidden inside large-scale metaphors— symbiosis could only be achieved under the lies of other relationships. Whatever this would be, it wouldn’t be accepted. Steve still retains his supermodel girlfriend and you and Bucky dutifully fall in line for your own packaged little PR lies.

He shrugs. “I’m fine with losing a few battles in this war, but Orion’s got a good track record, doesn’t it, Buck?”

“Twelve— thirteen kills, sweetheart.” Bucky’s grin is lopsided. “Don’t forget you made that happen.”

“Thirteen’s an unlucky number.”

“Feels lucky to me.” Steve’s hand wraps around your wrist, thumb resting on your pulse. He taps your skin, looking genuinely apologetic. “Listen, all I can do is ask— and I’m not good at asking for things. I just want to make them happen.” A quick glance at the watch under his cuffs and he tugs at your arm like a lost child, “So, before we get back… will you come here?”

As he said, he’s not really asking. More like reaching his will out to you, finding you when you’re caught in the undertow and pulling you back to safety. To them. Okay. Okay.

Your footing slips, but they take your hands and turn you carefully, letting you settle in between. Bucky hums a low sound, fingers curling around your waist. Steve does the same to the opposite side and you feel both torn apart and held together by them.

Steve nuzzles your neck, hot on your skin.

“She was wrong,” he whispers, barely audible over the sound of your rising breath, “You know that? She was wrong, and I was wrong. I thought it couldn’t happen—thought I had other priorities, other things to manage and settle and save and... I lost sight of what matters most. But I’m gonna really fix it this time—I’m gonna do it right by you.” 

He looks to Bucky, pained and relieved, “Both of you, I promise.” He takes Bucky’s hand in his own and holds it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, his palm, saying softly, “I love you, Buck. I’m sorry you waited so long.”

“Hey stupid,” Bucky says shakily when your chin starts to quiver at the sight of them. He’s sniffling and swallowing his syllables, unable to stop himself from staring at Steve’s face in his hand, how Steve kisses the blue pulse in his wrist. “Ain’t you—too pretty to cry?”

The rocking of the car flattens out as Steve gently presses his lips to yours, letting the trail of salt bursting down your cheek into his mouth. He moves to the line of your jaw, promising,

It’s okay. I got you. Nothing’s gonna hurt you anymore.

They kiss you and the world turns itself right.

They kiss you and then they kiss each other. Again and again and again.

[limerental]

Here we go, my first @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo fill, for the prompt, Romeo and Juliet

Relationships: Ciri/Dara

Rating: T

Content Warnings: referenced genocide, briefly assumed threat of sexual assault, minor head injury, canon typical fantasy racism & misogyny

Summary: Canon Divergent. Ordinary princess Ciri (no elder blood, no child surprise) is dreading her upcoming political marriage when she meets Scoia'tael Dara in the woods outside of Cintra.

Ciri urged her mount on through the tangles of the undergrowth, leaning to cling to the mare’s neck as she surged up inclines that scattered loose soil underfoot, leaning back again as they dropped into vine-choked valleys. 

The horse was sure-footed and hot and could sense Ciri’s rush of adrenaline and frustration, the overwhelming need to flee and flee fast. Whoever dared to chase her would not keep up, not with the reckless route that she took through the landscape. 

But no one was chasing her. Not yet, at least.

“Go take that new mare out,” her grandmother had said after Ciri’s frustration bubbled over into snide words unbefitting of a princess. Her lips had pursed with pale tightness, but the softness of her eyes said that she understood some of what Ciri was feeling. She and Queen Calanthe only fought so fiercely and so often because of how similarly stubborn and rebellious and bold the both of them were. “I trust that you’ll come back with a clearer head.”

She could pretend for a moment while hugging the mare’s muscled neck, that this headlong race was part of a much grander, more exciting adventure. That her life was not spiralling utterly out of her own control in ways that were so mundane.

Princess Cirilla of Cintra, having been of age for nearly a year now, was to be married off before midsummer. 

“We have delayed long enough,” said her grandmother. “If it were wholly up to me, I would not have you marry at all except for love. But the threat from the Scoia’tael increases by the day, and a marriage will strengthen the coalition of our allies. You have known your whole life this day would come.”

Ciri’s whole life made for a dreadfully boring story. Nothing exciting or interesting had happened to her even once or ever would.

Even a harrowing flight through the forest in defiance of her Destiny was nothing more than a cliche. The newest feminist literature told similar tales over and over. Stories of bold maidens who spat and brandished swords and cut their hair short and fled from the marriage bed were all the rage in the more forward-looking areas of the Continent.

But this was Cintra, and Ciri was not a girl but a Princess. No one would ever write a story about her except as a footnote to some arrogant prince, further noted in the lineage of her sons and grandsons. 

Probably her name would be misspelled. <i>Princess Serilla of Cintra</i>, it would say. <i>Producer of prodigious heirs and otherwise simply not of note even a little bit.</i> 

The rugged landscape suddenly opened up as the mare charged ahead, and Ciri found herself on a beaten track, cutting off a rider on a grey stallion who scrambled desperately to avoid a collision. 

Her mare skidded in a great cloud of dust and veered one way while Ciri veered the other. She soon found herself sprawled on the path observing just how much faster her mount could run without a rider as the horse disappeared around a curve in the path, her hoofbeats fading.

Something nudged Ciri in the stomach.

“Ow,” she said, touching the velvety nose of the grey stallion who snuffled at her abdomen. The horse’s face was fine-boned and dished along the curve of its profile, and it wore a bridle embroidered with intricate stitching and hung with tassels. The reins jingled with miniature bells. The horse’s ears were pierced with golden barbells. 

This was no Cintran horse and certainly no Cintran rider.

Mustering all her courage, she forced herself to squint up at the towering rider, the dappled sunlight through the trees casting a mottled glow on his figure. A young man dressed in earth tones, his skin dark and jawline bare of facial hair. He looked down at her with brow furrowed, as though confused by the series of events that had led to a girl lying flat on her back on the path before him, dazedly stroking his horse’s muzzle.

Most distressingly, he wore a cap sitting askance on his head, a squirrel’s tail slung across his right shoulder.

“You’re a--” Ciri wheezed to clear the dust from her lungs and sat up on her elbows. “You’re an elf.”

“I’d say so, yes,” said the young man. "Have been since I was born.”

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” Ciri shoved herself up to stand and found herself much less fine than expected. The world spun.

“You alright?” asked the young man.

“No, of course not,” said Ciri. “What a stupid thing to ask.”

Her brain a bit addled by the fall, Ciri was not sure whether she should be more fearful that the elf would leave her alone in the forest or that he would take her with him. There were said to be Scoia'tael encampments scattered throughout the countryside, but she had not expected any so close to the outer wall. 

She didn’t notice the rider dismount until he was standing beside her at the stallion’s head.

“His name is Wyn,” said the elf, lying a gloved hand on the horse’s face, “and I’m Dara. How about you?”

“I’m--” She stopped herself. “I’m no one. I’m an orphan. A brigand. Nobody.”

“A brigand? Did you plan to rob me? By flinging yourself from your horse?”

“Well,” said Ciri, “I’m not a very good brigand.”

“That was a well-bred horse for an orphaned nobody,” said Dara. He was smiling, the slow sort of smile that touched his dark eyes first, though she didn’t know what exactly about this situation was anything close to amusing.

“I stole it.”

“I thought you weren’t a good brigand?”

“Suppose I just go lucky,” said Ciri. She drew a deep breath and felt a twinge in her ribcage. Ignoring it, she squared her shoulders and faced Dara with all the bold nobility she could muster. “Or not. I know all about that cap you wear. I know who you are. I know you hate my kind and want me dead. So go on, get on with it. Try to strike me down. I'll defend myself."

“Your kind?”

“Humans,” said Ciri simply. “You wish to wipe us out and claim our castles for your own and muddy our bloodlines.”

Dara bent over his knees to laugh, a startlingly loud noise in the quiet forest.

“I think you may have some things a little backwards," he laughed. “Is that really what’s being said about us these days?”

“Yes. In all the… brigand camps.”

“I didn’t know brigands cared about castles and bloodlines.”

“No but--” Ciri felt her cheeks turn pink. 

“You’re Princess Cirilla of Cintra,” said Dara, and Ciri’s heartbeat leapt in her throat.

“How did you--”

“You’re wearing the seal of Cintra at the clasp of your cloak. Your hair is as pale as they say. And you speak like a princess.”

“I damn well do not,” said Ciri. “Fuck you,” she added for good measure.

Dara laughed again, a sound both light and musical, a warming sort of laugh.

“Princess Cirilla,” he said, stepping closer to her. The horse between them seemed bored of the affair of standing in the middle of the road, his eyelids fluttering closed. Her head felt too muddy to know what she was meant to do in this situation. She expected that she should flee. Call for help. At any moment, a gang of Scoia'tael could burst from the trees and claim her for ransom.

“Ciri,” she corrected. 

“Ciri,” said Dara, smiling. “I’m not going to leave you alone in the woods.”

“Right,” said Ciri, suddenly dizzy. She found that it was not as gratifying as she thought it would be to be a part of a more exciting narrative. “You’re going to kidnap me and take me back to your camp and make my grandmother give in to all your sick and twisted demands for my safe return. Or worse, you aim to defile me and force me to bear your children which will ascend to the throne. Or you--”

Her dizziness overwhelmed her.

The forest pitched to and fro, and when she became aware of her surroundings again, she rode on horseback with someone’s arms clenched around her, the undergrowth a green blur and the horse’s pace swift and sure. 

Cold fear gripped her until she saw a familiar outer wall rise up from the forest. She knew if she craned her neck, she would see the glittering spires of Cintra’s main keep far away on the hill.

“You took me back,” said Ciri, her voice scratchier than expected. Dara’s grip tightened as she shifted to look round at him, and he reined the stallion to a halt. He had removed his cap, and she was struck by the strange urge to touch the line of his pointed ear. She realized a second too late that she had given to the urge and snatched her hand back, face burning. 

“I took you back,” said Dara. “I’m not an animal or a monster. I don’t kidnap or defile distressed maidens. None of my kind do. We want reparations, not slaughter. We want our relics returned to us and our history respected.”

“How boring,” Ciri mumbled. “The other story’s much more exciting.”

Dara dismounted and shifted to help her do so as well. Ciri swayed on her feet but managed to stay upright, distracted by the warmth of Dara’s hands on her arms.

“I’m sure you know there’s a gate not far from here. Follow the wall. I can’t go farther than this.”

He gathered up Wyn’s reins and turned to lead him back into the forest, and Ciri felt her heart clench strangely.

“Wait,” she called. “You saved me. You’ll be rewarded.”

“I don’t think that’s how this works, Princess,” said Dara and smiled his soft smile.

Ciri breathed deep, holding herself upright and summoning all her bravery, and strode with only some unsteadiness to stand before him. 

“Thank you, Dara of… the woods. For your service and protection.” 

“Very formal for a brigand.”

“Yes, as is taught at brigand school.”

Being almost of a height, Ciri needed only to rise slightly onto her tiptoes to brush her lips against the line of Dara’s brow. His fingertips touched the curve of her elbow, and she rested a palm on his chest. Small and lingering touches that she would remember with perfect clarity long after.

“Have you read any of the latest stories? With defiant maidens who flee from the marriage bed and learn to fight with swords and ride swift horses and cut off all their hair?”

“I can’t read,” said Dara simply, “but they sound like good stories.”

“Yes,” said Ciri, and with all the stubborn rebellion that was her birthright, she ducked forward to kiss him on the bow of his lips. 

[fandomsonrequests]

keep in touch

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: spiderman!yunho

reader: gn!blackcat

word count: 2.7k+

summary: life as spider-man is sometimes never easy- especially when your past catches up to you.

notes: spiderman au, somewhat loyal to black cat’s plotline, some angst

a/n: if ever you’re unfamiliar with black cat in the marvel universe, basically she was a criminal that dated peter parker. here’s her page if you wanna read more about her. she’s a really cool character :D

Yunho sighs as he settles down onto a building’s rooftop edge. He momentarily rips off his mask, allowing himself to breathe after swinging around the city in his suit. The cool night breeze brushes against his dark hair as his eyes take in the sight of the city’s multiple lights, flashing in different fluorescent colors. 

[Another day, another crime solved right Yunho?] 

Mingi’s voice came into the hero’s intercom along with the slurping noise of a drink going through a straw. The slightly taller male chuckled, somewhat tiredly, as he leaned back onto his arm with his feet dangling along the edge. 

“I can’t believe Kingpin managed to smuggle truckloads of those weapons.” He recounts as he runs a hand down his face. “Who was it for again? The Demons?”

[It was actually for The Underground. Which is ironic because they hate his guts.] 

“I’m not sure what they want from him or vice versa but we should keep an eye on them. I don’t have a good feeling about their arrangement.” 

[That’s what I’m here for- the guy in the chair to keep watch on stuff you can’t.] Mingi chuckled. [Well anyway- I’m gonna shower, dude. I’ll see you back at home.] 

“Leave some food for me, please. I don’t wanna have to eat frozen pizza again.” Yunho grunts as he gets up on his feet, pulling his mask down back over his face. 

His best friend assures him to leave out some of the dinner, brought to them by their other friend Wooyoung because God knows neither of them could cook, before leaving the channel on the intercom. Yunho brushes off the dirt from the back of his thighs as he prepares to swing back home when he spots movement in the corner of his eye. At first, he thought it was just some flock of pigeons that escaped from their coop again. But when he turned his spider senses started tingling; that, and because that movement happened to be a single figure. The figure leaps across the building swiftly and silently before dropping down onto the dome roof of the fancy art museum nearby.

Yunho sighed, thinking that its probably an Underground member or one of The Demons from the way a stream of light trailed behind them. But as he swung closer, his gut told him it wasn’t just his average, run of the mill criminal. He had a feeling that they were much more… sophisticated than the Underground or the Demons. 

He landed with a barely audible thud on the glass dome of the art museum. His mask adjusts to the darkness inside the museum, eye lenses shifting and tilting so he could see clearer. After a while of scanning from his position, nobody seemed to appear. “Huh,” he huffs when there seemingly was no one. “Where are they?”

The man crawled his way over to one of the vents of the building before slipping inside and quickly making his way into the museum. He lands with a thud onto the linoleum floor, a variety of paintings and sculptures displayed in every direction. “I mean I get why some of these paintings are here but some of these abstract ones seem a little silly…” he tells himself when he observes a framed piece with a yellow background and a black square in the middle. 

He goes up to the main piece, which is smacked right in the middle of the floor, covered in glass while a velvet rope keeps people from going too close to it. It was a famous portrait made by an old, and I mean old, European artist that was probably around in the Renaissance era. It was meant to be on display for a while before being shipped back to the Louvre. 

“You’re probably here for this, aren’t you?” Yunho called out to no one in particular. “If you are, I highly suggest you stop before I catch you. But if you still want to ignore me, I’d rather we take it outside. I don’t want to break anything in here.”

“That’s never stopped you before though,” a voice responded making him jump a little in surprise. “But then again, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Spidey.” 

Chills ran down Yunho’s back at the familiarity of the voice. The voice he was once, maybe still is, so enamored by. The one that whispered the most filthiest to the most comforting words in his ear. 

“_____,” He starts, hoping his voice wasn’t as shaky as he had anticipated. “Still into art, I see.” 

You emerge from the shadows behind the large painting, a devilish smirk on your plump lips. Your clawed gloves trailed along the intricate curves of the painting’s golden frame. Your gaze pierced his, like a predator locked onto its prey. You step forward, hands drumming against the glass that kept you two separated. 

“Still into saving people, hm?” You hum, smirk growing wider. “You never change, Yunho.”

“I thought you left this… ‘business’ long ago?” Yunho presses on, determined to not fall under your spell again. 

Deep down, the poor boy was still head over heels for you. He’s created so many memories with you, grew as a person because of you. There were nights where he’d sometimes think of you, how you fit so comfortably in his arms. Or when you hugged him from behind in the morning, hair all over the place with the cutest pout on your lips. He missed telling you how much he loved you most of all. 

“You know me, baby, old habits die hard.” You reply with a small chuckle as you move to take the painting off the hook. But he could tell that you were hiding something from the way your shoulders tensed for a fraction and how your confident smile faltered. 

“_____, please, put that back. You don’t have to resort to this kind of thing anymore.” Yunho begged while looking for a way to get into the glass box. How the hell did you slip in there anyway?

Your smile returns but it’s tight-lipped, almost forced. You sigh, head turned down and lip caught between your teeth. You turned to look over at him but your hand never left the picture frame, showing that you were still hellbent on taking it for yourself. Despite the mask you had on, Yunho could see the signs of a troubled person through your eyes. 

“If we weren’t in this kind of setting right now I’d probably be already swooning into your arms,” You chuckled as you tried to make light of the situation. “I appreciate the concern, Yunho. I really do. But this time… I just can’t turn away.” 

And before your former lover could say anything you had already thrown down a pellet, causing the glass box to be filled with smoke. As soon as the smoke cleared, you and the painting were nowhere in sight. Yunho looked around, adrenaline rushing through his veins once more, and caught a glimpse of the light that emitted from your gear from the top of the building. 

Wasting no time, he shot out his web and swung after you, following the trail of fluorescent lights you left behind. He watched as you skillfully jumped from rooftop to rooftop with the painting in one arm. You moved slower with the object in hand but nonetheless, you still managed to always be one step ahead of him. 

You glance behind you when you felt that someone was chasing you and groaned inwardly. Although, part of you, the one that was still soft for Yunho, was quite impressed that he still managed to chase after you.

“Back off Spidey!” You call out to him, managing to evade a web that he shot at you to restrain you. “Don’t make this difficult.”

“The only one making this difficult is you, _____!” He replied as he scanned for a path that would lead him right to you. 

Suddenly, his comms open and a voice filters through. 

[Dude you were supposed to be home five minutes ago. Why are you going further away from the apartment?] Mingi asks with a confused tone.

“I sort of ran into trouble,” Yunho grunts as he pulled himself to the next building. “It’s _____.”

He could hear his friend splutter behind the comms. [ The _____? As in Black Cat _____?] 

“Yes, them. Can you help-” Yunho gets cut off when something hits him in the chest, momentarily stinging him and jamming his comms as a wave of electricity runs through him. He stumbles back against the roof of a building, his web-shooters momentarily malfunctioning. He looked up to see you blow a flying kiss before continuing on down your path. 

He sighs to himself. “Well, I guess we’re going to have to do this the hard way…” 

Yunho may not have his web-shooters right now but he still had the agility and reflexes of a spider. He jumped and crawled from one building to the next as he trailed after you, still hot on your tail. 

“You never know when to quit, do you?” You say when you notice that he was still after you. It was once amusing but now, it was starting to get on your nerves. Especially since you were on a tight schedule with your… client. 

“I mean that’s how I ended up with you.” He retorts as he jumped from an antenna down to the glass roof of a condominium’s greenhouse. “You played hard to get and I played along with you.”

[You’re back online.] Mingi suddenly butted in to notify his friend.

Yunho took this as an opportunity to catch you off guard and literally catch you in his webs. He shot out short but consecutive bursts of webs towards you, making you stumble on your path and fall towards an apartment building roof. The painting clatters out of your hand and skids across the floor. 

The young man took this as a chance to catch you, webbing both of your hands to the concrete floor before you could get up. He lands by your feet, opting to take the painting first before you could escape. You struggle to free yourself from your bonds, glaring up at him. 

“The webs will dissolve in an hour,” Yunho informs you as he walked towards you. He didn’t want to resort to this but you were just too stubborn. “I’m going to let you off once, but only if you tell me why you’re doing this.”

You stopped struggling and suddenly smirked up at him. “Awe, at least I know that you still have a soft spot for me.” You tease, crossing your legs together despite your compromising position.

[Are they really flirting with you right now?] Mingi asks in disbelief. [Dude- that’s like some spy movie shit.]

“Not now Mingi,” Yunho whispers over to his comms but your ears manage to pick up what he said. 

“Hi Mingi!” You call out from your spot on the floor. “Hope you’re doing well.” 

[Did they just-]

“_____, please. You can trust me. Why are you doing this?” Yunho asks you, removing his mask to prove his point. 

Your breath hitches momentarily. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him, a few years in fact, but he still managed to sweep you off your feet. “All I’ll say is that something from my past has caught up with me. And whether or not I liked this job- it’s something I couldn’t just turn down without losing something as a consequence.”

“Is someone forcing you to do this?” He asks as he steps closer to you. 

You, on the other hand, decided to flip tables. While Yunho was distracted with interrogating you, you had managed to cut bits of the webs on your wrists with your clawed gloves. As soon as he was in proximity with you, you kicked up your feet and tore your hands way from the floor. Yunho toppled to the ground with you on top of him, knees pinning his legs to the floor while your hands held his wrists down. 

“Hm, it’s been a while since we’ve been in this kind of position.” You tease, leaning over him to grab the painting. You chuckle at the way a beautiful red shade dusts his cheeks, his furious blush traveling all the way up to his ears. 

[Oh, man. I’m not listening to this.] Mingi resigns before logging off of his comms, leaving Yunho alone with his thoughts and you. 

“... does this have something to do with your family..?” He guessed, hoping that you’d let down your walls around him. 

Your jaw clenches at the mention of your family. That’s when Yunho knew that you were in trouble. He knew how much you loved your family and what they meant to you. Hell, he loved your family too. They welcomed him like he was their own son when the two of you were dating back then. 

“______- please. You can trust me. I can help you with, with whatever the hell this is.” He whispered up to you. 

Silence surrounds the both of you. Your brows are furrowed as you look down at the man under you. You can see in his eyes that he was genuine, sincere in wanting to help you. He still loved you and you could see that in his gaze. And it tore at your heartstrings to see that he still felt something for you despite what you did to him back then. When you worked under Kingpin to get some powers from him so that you wouldn’t become a liability to Yunho and when you teamed up with Hammerhead to take him down later on. 

Your anger and bitterness from your break up with Yunho and your drive to prove yourself worthy in the criminal underworld brought him so much pain and yet— here he was ready to drop everything to help you. A person who not only crushed his heart, but pieced it back together only to break it again. 

You hadn’t realized that you were crying until you felt a hand brush your cheek. You flinch at the contact, backing away from Yunho and getting up from the floor. Yunho didn’t miss a beat and stood up after you. “_____,” He sighed and approached you. He took one more step towards you when you didn’t move away. 

“...why are you doing this..?” You ask him when he was right in front of you. This time, when he reached up to cup your cheek again, you didn’t pull away. You instinctively leaned into his touch, a small sigh escaping your lips. 

Yunho flashes you his signature smile. The dorky, lopsided that smile that never failed to lift your spirits. “Aside from the fact that I’m still head over heels for you,” He chuckled softly. “It’s the right thing to do. I know you’ve tried quitting this lifestyle before, and I can help you get things back to normal. But you just have to put your faith in me. There are other ways to go about things.” 

You release a heavy sigh, eyes fluttering shut as you let his words sink in. “Fine,” You say after a while. And you swear his grin grew wider. “Only if you let me off this once.”

“A deal’s a deal, baby.” He says but snatches the portrait away from using his webs. “But we’re gonna have to put this back.” 

Now it was your turn to smile. You shake your head and chuckle at him, fingers trailing up his arm to pinch his cheek. “Whatever you say Spidey.” You purr, leaning in to kiss the corner of his lips. 

He freezes up at the sudden action, his blush returning to his cheeks. He only reacts when you toss his mask back at him, already backing away from the rooftop. “I’ll see you around~” 

You blow a kiss at him and hop off the ledge of the building, traveling back to your home. Yunho watched as your figure disappeared into the night, the weight of your lips still lingering against his skin. As he reached up to touch the part you kissed, he looked down at the painting you had stolen. It was still safe, thankfully, but a sticky note was plastered onto it. 

Here’s my number. Keep in touch xoxo

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

36. Angel

prompt used - Lifting the other one up | fluff | mentions of f*cking | to @drarry-is-my-therapy because she's an angel and it's her birthday. Happy Birthday love.

The drowning sun reflected over the stagnant waters, making it glow in red and yellow, the soft breeze humming in their ears as they Walked barefoot with their shoes in their hands intensely conversing about the movie they had watched a week ago. It was in a faint hesitation harry spoke up to the silver boy glowing in golden.

" think we should try to recreate that scene where he picks the girl up in the air, for fun "

" oh yes, golden boy, as if it's that easy "

" it seemed easy" harry shrugged.

Draco contemplated for a moment, he would be lying to himself if he said that he didn't wanted to try it out but it seemed far too risky

" it wasn't "

And yet somehow harry with his amazing pursuing skills had convinced draco to recreate that specific dance scene from dirty dancing.

" I can't believe you're making me do this " draco shook his head as his rubbed his palms together as if he was getting ready.

" just run alright, I'll catch you. Just trust me " harry motioned his hands in a gesture to indicate draco to run towards him

" that's the problem, I trust you too much " and with that Draco ran forward towards Harry and just when it came for harry to catch him, he stepped aside, making him fall on face over the beach sand.

" what the fuck was that for?" Draco looked up from the ground at harry

" I'm sorry, I just got scared. It suddenly seemed scary, I'm sorry , fuck I should've said something-"

" damn right you should've said something " draco groaned, half wet from falling over the sand and his hair covered in sand itself.

" I'm sorry, I really am " harry nervously said as draco flipped so he was facing harry

" you bloody idiot " draco grimaced

" sorry " harry pressed his lips in a thin line and offered his hand for draco to take, which obviously in his pride he didn't take and swatted Harry's hand away.

"fuck " and just in the moment harry immediately grabbed onto draco's waist and helped him stand

" are you alright ?" Harry asked concerned

" I think- I sprained my ankle you dimwit " draco grimaced in pain

" let's get you to hospital" and with that harry grabbed all his thing's and apparated them to a muggle hospital nearby.

" well, whatever happened, the sprain is a bit more severe, not that it's a fracture but it will take a few days to recover. So try not to walk too much and apply these ointments " the doctor with spectacles said

Draco shot harry a threatening glare before thanking the doctor and leaving with harry.

" I said I'm sorry " harry rolled his eyes at Draco, taking away the bag of ointments from him and his jacket too, leaving draco to carry nothing

" that doesn't change this sprain harry " draco rolled his eyes. Just as they stepped outside the doors of the clinic, draco winced.

" maybe we shouldn't apparate. I wouldn't want you to have any splinching " harry suggested

" I can't walk " draco responded.

" well, there's not much option-"

" carry me " draco smuggly said as if he was waiting to say this for a long time

" what?" Harry questioned, somewhat shocked at such a proposal

" yes carry me. It will compensate for you causing this injury and we'll go home too. It's not that far anyway " draco frowned trying to explain harry how it wasn't such a bad idea.

" I- well it only makes sense though " harry pouted looking at the road ahead, thinking about how far he'd had to go.

" you've not more options. Give me a piggy back ride. I'm sure the flirtatious doctor would appreciate it "

" one,he wasn't flirting with me and second you're very demanding "

" you wanna fight me ?" Draco raised his eyebrows in a threatening way

Harry chuckled " Darling, I think you'd definitely lose. Now hop on" he kneeled onto the ground for draco to cling his arms and legs around him.

" don't drop me " draco said as he finally put his arms around Harry's neck. In a Swift move, harry put his arms under draco's thighs and got up.

" wow, you weigh too much. Draco I think you're getting fat " harry teased as he hopped draco a little to get a good grip then finally started walking

" I have not " draco hit Harry's head Playfully, adjusting his face in Harry's neck, breathing into it

" are you sure, because I think otherwise"

" please I work out. Have you seen yourself ?"

" you mean being fit and having a good physique, thank you very much "

As much as draco wanted to deny that, he didn't because God knows why he had Always adored Harry's body. Well adore is a bit too smooth of a word for saying he had always found himself staring at harry if he ever got a chance. It was so finely carved with all the curves and abs at the right places, the toned muscles, the slightly broad shoulders with perfectly not too much toned arms and a perfect arse. Draco every once in a while allowed himself to gawk like an owl at harry, but never would he ever admit that harry was considerably hot, especially whenever harry wore draco's sweater.

" whatever " draco rolled his eyes hoping he had not blushed.

They talked on their way over, giggling about things, making jokes about each other, discussing celebrity crushes. Harry felt odd with draco breathing on his neck. He had never felt this way before, the way draco's giggles in his ears sounded so soft and his breathing down his neck causing shivers and the smile he'd feel over his neck caused a fluttering effect in his stomach, like butterflies and the way draco just seemed to talk today was so different that harry wondered how had he never admired his voice before, of his hands, or his fingers or his laughter, everything about him but whatever it was, harry enjoyed feeling it. It was new and Harry was a sucker for new things.

Just as they reached draco's flat, harry first helped him get waters, then taking him to his bedroom while harry fetched the ointments he left at the kitchen table top. When harry returned to his room, he only found draco standing with his sprained leg spread out, without a shirt. He did work out, and it seemed pretty hot..

" what ?" Draco asked when he saw harry simply staring at him

"you're fat " Harry lied blushing, keeping the ointments on the bed

" well, thank you harry for thinking I'm hot " Draco smirked, putting on a new shirt. Harry allowed himself to stare at his soft chest, the left part of his chest covered with a phoenix tattoo, the v line disappearing under his pants and his abs glowing softly in the dim room light and the way draco was putting on a shirt, Harry only wondered why ?

But before could notice harry practically lusting over him, he had moved his eyes to the opposite side of the room, much to draco's disappointment.

" well, I'd come back later?" Harry asked

Draco thought for a moment before nodding " you're going to be at that get together at Ron's place, right " harry nodded " right, so pick me up. I don't think I'd be able to drive or apparate till then "

Harry nodded again before telling him when would be come to pick him up and finally going home with such eruptions of feelings he had once felt for Ginny, but something completely different. Harry didn't think much about it.

Over the next few days as harry spent picking up draco and helping him with regular things, he found it hard to resist himself from feeling things for him. Even if so he wanted to ignore them, he'd just find draco fondly looking at him and harry would blush like a flower and simply turn away, inappropriate thoughts rushing into his mind. The truth as harry spent thinking about in night was that, harry might've always liked draco in some way but right now, the way he felt just made him want to do things he could only possibly think of. But having learnt about heartbreak ages ago, he found himself Afraid of such feelings. He promised himself that he wouldn't fall for anyone who was just, ordinary but then again, draco wasn't ordinary.

The night finally came for the get together at Ron's place before he left for a 6 month mission to southern Europe and would not return until it's done. Despite the fact that it was a normal get together, everyone invited for forced not to dress too casual nor too formal, something harry never quite understood. Voila, comes the fashion king into his mind, draco. He had irrevocably amazing fashion sense and nobody could deny that so he picked up a few shirts, pants and jeans and drove to draco's place an hour early.

" you're early " Draco frowned as he opened the door wider for harry to come in

" fashion advice " and without a doubt draco understood what he meant..

They moved into the living room, draco settling down on the couch with harry standing in front of him with a bunch of clothes.

" what the hell not too casual and not too formal Is supposed to mean ?" Harry rolled his eyes as he dropped everything onto the chair.

" well technically it means the event is special but with close people. I have dibs on how maybe he's going to propose Hermione "

" you know what, I thought soo too " harry gossiped

" anyways, I think you should go with a nice pants and a button down shirt " draco suggested

" that's what I'm standing in " harry said with a as a matter of factedly face

" well- that's right. Show me what you got " draco ordered and one by one harry started showing him everything he could bring only for all of it to be rejected by him.

" well, we've run out of clothes " harry said as he looked down at the pile of shirts and pants on the other chair.

" that is true- you know what. I have a shirt for you, I bought it sometime ago but it's a bit lose and you can just pair it up with any of the black pants "

" what are you waiting for then. Show me " harry excitedly said

" well a fractured man can only walk so fast "

" you don't have a fracture "

" but I can take the advantage of saying that " Draco's voice echoed as he walked down the hallway into his bedroom, fetched the shirt and came back.

" I've got to admit you're quite dramatic. I'm pretty sure the sprain is fine by now. It doesn't even have a swelling " harry said as he took the shirt from draco's hands

" what do you know " draco narrowed his eyes at harry before settling down in the couch before harry.

Harry placed the blood red shirt over his chest, frowning at how good it looked

" didn't know you liked red now ?"

" rare occasions. Wear it. I've got to get ready too "

And with that Draco departed into his room to get ready. Harry had just began to put on his shirt when draco walked into the living room asking for something.

" oh " Draco's Throat echoed as he saw harry shirtless

" what ?"

" I didn't know you were- well undressed " draco blushed

" not like you haven't seen me this way before" Harry shrugged putting on the shirt.

Why, god, why, draco's inner voice screamed in lust.

" anyway- which one is better ?" Draco asked still blushing

" both are good draco. You've got a nice dressing sense "

" don't flatter me. I can't wear both, choose one " draco asked again. Harry scanned both the shirts.

" the light blue satin shirt. Makes your skin- eyes look good " harry Blushed.

Draco wondered what the fuck was harry blushing for when he was the one complimented with one of the finest compliments.

" I did not know that " draco said lowly

" well now you do " harry smiled. Draco nodded before walking away, the glimpse of harry rolling his sleeves invading his senses.

After about half an hour, they both were fully dressed and ready to go.

" you look good " harry complimented

" so do you " draco smiled in returned

" shall we ?" Harry as he pointed the door.

When Draco finally nodded, they both departed to Ron's place, realising the get together was at the roof top.

Half-way through the party, harry sensed Draco was probably right and was still finding it hard to not see Draco from all the way across the room. There was no men finer in the entire room other than him and harry hated it as much as he loved it. It was excruciating to find someone so attractive who was your best friend who you had no chance with but the desire to want him was longingly growing inside his chest.. he was so desirable across the entire room, bunched about with a few people, laughing and smiling over something harry couldn't possibly decipher. His thoughts ran in his head like an endless loop until the boy in Harry's desirable dreams saw him and paused his ongoing conversation and made his way towards harry. Caught in the act he tried to busy himself with the bottom of his shirt until the other man cleared his throat.

" oh, didn't see you there draco "

" right, so you were looking at ..."

" pansy. She looks good in that dress "

" Pansy isn't even here harry " draco chuckled, blocking Harry's line of sight.

" oh"

Draco genuinely smiled at harry knowing exactly that he wasn't the only boy caught in the loop of desiring the other.

" so you want to pretend that you weren't looking at me for half the party, not to mention with an admirable gaze " draco smirked crossing his arms in front of him

" that would be nice " harry frowned lightly

" well then I have to pretend that I wasn't checking you out back at the flat almost as admirably as you were " Draco smugly said as he shifted besides harry, standing against the railing..

" as long as we're pretending then I think I'll pretend I didn't check you out a couple of days ago when you were changing " harry replies smiling, almost liking this pretend game.

" okay then, I'll pretend that I haven't checked you out everytime you're shirtless, or everytime you wear one of my sweater or when you ruffle your hair " draco smirked. Harry raised an eyebrow at Draco, slightly amused

" then I'll pretend that I didn't enjoy carrying you on mu back a few days ago because I got to be close with you " harry smirked

" then I'll pretend that I don't like being this close to you " draco said as he stepped forward..

" then I'll pretend that I don't have these fluttering feelings for you which seems to invade all my senses "

" I'll pretend that I haven't liked you for almost forever "

" then I'll pretend that I don't want to take you home right now "

" I'll pretend I didn't agree "

______________________________

" I knew you bought that shirt for me " harry lazily smiled as he softly grazed draco's naked arms spread over his chest covered on blankets

" don't flatter yourself potter " draco rolled his eyes as he snuggled further into harry

" fine I won't but doesn't stop me from teasing you about how you let me fuck almost 5 times last night alone " harry grinned cheekily as if it was proud achievement

" If you do it again, you are going to regret it " Draco softly threatened

" well you did let me, not once, not twice, not thrice, not fou- what's the word- four times , five times-"

" you're an asshole " draco rolled his eyes

" well I'd like to be your asshole, if you want me to be ?" Harry asked, worried if he had ruined the conversation by bringing this up.

" if you don't shut up and let me sleep, I won't let you be my asshole but if you do, I'd let you be so much more " draco yawned, tired from all the activities from last night.

Harry chuckled at the lightness of the tone before kissing the top of draco's forehead.

" sweet dreams angel "

And draco hummed, falling fast asleep again in Harry's arm..

Unedited

Day 35 - every inch of you | Day 37- you're my home, draco

[razorblade180]

Shackles 10: Beasts

[part 9]

“You know I’m really getting tired of walking through hot rocky deserts.”

“Yang, you’re the last person I want to hear complain about the heat.” Ilia grunted. “Just be thankful we aren’t in Menagerie.”

“We marched through it yesterday for a couple days.”

“Oh….well then stop complaining! Dawn has barely broke and Vacou is marginally less hot. These two know what I’m talking about.”

Blake and Jacquelyn remained silent. Both were lost in thought, mentally preparing for what was ahead. Ilia clicked her tongue. She looked at the spot marked on her map to make sure she hadn’t messed up the directions.

Blake could hear her teammate’s heartbeats as they walked. Jacquelyn might’ve been quiet but her heartbeat was faster than a hummingbird. Yang’s beat like a steady drum while Ilia’s, well, it was actually calm. Not a beat of worry. Blake was envious.

“What I wouldn’t give to be calm like you.”

Ilia looked back at her briefly before looking onward. “There’s nothing you have to give. Last time I checked we were taught to be calm by the same person. Though I guess…it was more of a quiet rage. He had that in common with my parents.”

“Has.” Jacquelyn corrected. “And I wouldn’t say his rage was quiet. Sometimes it felt like he could only scream into the wind.”

Yang raised her brow. “Wasn't that annoying? Concerning even?”

“Rage doesn’t do well bottled up. Should I have been concerned and annoyed when you yelled at me?”

“I…that is…” Yang sighed, giving up on a response.

“Rage like this can’t be solved immediately with wimpy meditation practices or a stress ball. Better to shout in a nameless desert than to go around breaking things. Anyways, that hasn’t happened in awhile. Adam has been lost in thought lately more than anything. Now that’s concerning. Being alone with your thoughts is risky business. I’m sure we all agree on that.”

Ilia stopped walking as she made it over a dune. “I don’t know. Thoughts are probably the best thing in a place like that.” She points down towards a lone rock plateau with a tattered wooden mineshaft entrance.that’s blocked by debris. “We made it.” Blake and Jacquelyn said nothing as they began walking ahead of her. Small talk was over.

Yang took a deep breath. She was never one to be nervous about situations like these. Being a huntress meant you saw some disturbing things by nature, but that didn’t stop the air itself from feeling dead. Blake described the scent as a slaughter house earlier. Somehow, Yang could tell she was right. “We ready for this? Who knows what is waiting for us inside.”

“Ready as we’ll ever be. Ilia will stand guard outside. We don’t want them knowing our numbers fully or any backup arriving. You and Jacquelyn back me up while I take the lead.”

“Works for me. But…” Yang approached the entrance and pressed up against a support beam, widening the entrance as debris crumbled out of the way. “That’s better. I’d rather have a quick escape instead of a squeeze through when things get loud, because it’s definitely going to.”

Blake smiled. “Quiet was never your thing anyways, but remember, this is a dust mine. Dried up or not, let’s not shoot anything immediately.” Blake walked in with her swords ready. Jacquelyn followed second with Wilted Rose on her hip.

Yang gave Ilia a wink before following the other two. The shaft didn’t take long before it started sloping down into darkness. A problem for anyone not hanging out with a faunus with great eyesight, or a girl whose hair glows like a torch on command. Normally that would be a benefit, but it made things all the more uneasy for Yang.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too dark in here? I mean…I don’t think the guards themselves could see; unless…” she trailed off. Breaking their focus was the last thing she wanted, but Yang was certain they already knew. Step by step the cave expanded. Water dripped down to the pools below. Faint clinging metal grew louder while Yang’s light revealed rusted cell bars, chains, and mining tools. A thick, potent odor hung in the air so intensely that it made swallowing difficult.

“Don’t look inside, not yet.” Jacquelyn uttered, holding back her gagging.

Blake marched forward. “Smell getting to you?”

“It’s not the stench that makes me want to hurl.”

At last they reached the end of the holding area to reach another passageway. Light curved through it and Blake’s pace slowed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hear people. Dozens of them. Workers and…the rest.”

Jacquelyn’s eyes glowed. “Then what are we waiting f-”

“They aren’t moving. Everyone’s just…” Blake approached cautiously, crouched and weary. A knot festered deep inside her. Tears she restrained kept fighting to the surface the closer she got to turning the corner until Blake finally came around. In front of her was the main area. Faunus of every kind stuffed into this giant chasm. Men, women, and children bound in shackles all over the place while guards over watched them; yet nobody was working. They all were watching a man on a platform make another example of the very person that brought them here. Without thinking, Blake spoke.

“A-Adam…?” She said barely above a whisper, yet all heard her in the deathly quiet chamber.

Guards and prisoners alike turned to her in surprise. Jacquelyn and Yang came in soon after with their own look of shock at what they were witnessing. Tired, dread, shock, pain, terror, rage, lifelessness; so many expressions stared at the three from the prisoners who cowarded and guards that pulled weapons.

“Halt. Let’s not be too hasty.” Sobek said, turning around to view his arrival. They couldn’t help but notice his white lab coat stained in red that matches the curved knife he currently wiped on his sleeve. “My goodness. Well isn’t this quite the surprise. I should’ve known catching a big fish and the fact some of my men hadn't returned in a while meant someone was gonna come knocking on my door, but my wildest dreams didn’t think it would be you. Ms. Blake Belladonna, welcome to Purgatory. I’d shake your hand but…” he grabbed Adam by the hair to lift his battered face, but that was tame compared to the gashes and massive bruises that riddled his body in red and purple. “I’ve been pretty busy.” He lit Adam’s head droop limply again.

Overwhelmed, neither Blake or Jacquelyn could speak. The two had yet to shake the shock of it all. As for Yang, she chose to break formation and get in front of both of them. “Why?” That’s all she could ask. That’s all there was to ask. Yang was so caught up by the horrific sight before her that she failed to realize her eyes had long abandoned their lilac color.

Sobek smiled at her. “What’s this, a human? Well I suppose wonders never cease. Caring humans do exist but to find one here is both shocking and unfortunate. You see these monsters before you aren’t worth your compassion. Every last one of them are affiliated and conspired with the very group that poisons the world you and I cherish.”

“That does not answer the question! Why the hell are you hunting people?”

“Animals! How many times do I-” He took a breath, composing himself. “These animals do nothing but spread misery, breed hate. They teach it to their vermin and drag the good faunus through the mud! Just like they did with my daughters! The White Fang aren’t faunus. They’re animals that need to be tamed; and the ones that can’t get put down! The High Leader understands.”

Blake tensed up. All eyes shifted to her and her alone.

“It was faunus like you that showed the rotten parts. The posers and liars that threatened good names. You yourself waged war against the splinter cell this filth-”

“Let him go.” Blake finally spoke. Her voice trembled. The taste of iron hit her mouth as her teeth clenched and pupils constricted. “Let them all go, right now!” She yelled.

The charisma the man held faded. “Excuse me? S…Surely you’re not defending them?”

“And why wouldn’t I!? This…it’s sick. In what right mind does any of this make sense? All you’re doing is hurting people.”

“They get what they deserve.”

“AND WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE!?” Blake could feel her blood boil. Her nail pierced skin and she could feel her heart pound. “I don’t give a damn what your reasons are. I don’t care if anyone in here took lives. This is not how things work. You don’t get to decide others' lives, especially after this!”

“You stand here before me and defend the likes of Adam Taurus, terrorist?”

“I defend life.” Blake pointed her sword towards the man. “I defend change, no matter how bleak!”

“……I see. So you're a beast after all. Then mourn for them.” Sobek withdrew his hospitality, and then snapped his fingers. The guards took their weapons, then went for the prisoners to immediately beat, stab, and shoot whoever.

Yang wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Before she could even act, Blake had let out a scream of pure anger, leaping through the air to Sobek while a trail of tears were left behind. The scientist had made a mad dash towards a metal down with Blake in pursuit.

“Blake!? Don’t go alo-shit!” Yang dove back into the passage they came from to avoid gunfire. “Damn it all!” Yang readied her for a shoot out when the sound of lightning rattled her ears, followed by the sound of several yells before silence returned. Yang looked out and found gunmen on the floor, Jacquelyn walking by them.

The maiden said nothing. Her goal was a simple one and if she was honest with herself, everything else was white noise at the moment. Wind lifted her up to Adam’s platform. Jacquelyn gripped the shackles that strung him up, freezing them until they shattered like glass. His body fell onto hers and she fell to her knees. The world gave Jacquelyn her fair share of tragedy, but this was too cruel to comprehend. His face was so swollen the skin was purple, his good eye swelled shut. Blood leaked and clotted all over his torso and back from stabs, gashes, shocks, and the broken bones.

“Adam?” She uttered, but no response was given. She leaned down to hear the faintest sign of breathing and a weak beating heart. What should’ve sparked hope only made her cry. They had kept him conscious through so much and now his body…

Guards begin to circle around them aim their guns. “Don’t move! Step-” the guard couldn’t even finish his demands before letting out a strained cough as the rock wall behind him shot out like a spear through him.

“I’ll kill you.” Jacquelyn lifted her head, making all the guards shake in fear of her glowing tear filled eyes. The wind picked up around her and the air began to freeze. “I’LL KILL ALL OF YOU!”

“FIRE!” The guards shot into blistering winds that cut and carved the area around their target, firing back ice and imposing the pressure of her storm to the point the entire cavern shook.

“Give me a break. So much for dust safety.” Yang ran through the area, punching and shooting unsuspecting enemies caught up in the whirlwind of dust as she made her way to prisoners; tearing apart chains and yanking them out of walls. “If you can walk then help those who can’t!” She shot falling debris from afar that nearly blocked the exit. “Hey! You’re going to bury us!” Yang’s words didn’t reach the emotional woman holding her partner. Yang looked around frantically. Guards still poured in, some tried escaping, and others ran to where Blake left. All while prisoners either ran for safety or layed dying; beyond the limit of what they could take. “C’mon, act Xiao Long. Act!”

Her feet moved without thinking. Yang didn’t know how this was going to end but if she wanted the best then she’d have to reach for it with her own hands. If that meant rushing head first into a snow storm then so be it. Her hair ignited into pure flames and her clothes kindled like dying embers. Yang lunged right into the dome of wind to grab Jacquelyn.

“Jackie, get a grip! People need us right now. We’ll all die here if this keeps up.” She put her hands on the sides of Jackie's face. “Hey hey hey, look at me.”

Jacquelyn looked Yang in the eye. “He…He’s dying.” Her hands pressed against open wounds. Fire and ice sealed and cauterized wounds but what good it did was unclear.

“Adam’s a stubborn bastard. He cheated death before and he’ll do it again.”

“But-”

“I will take care of Adam! I promise.” Yang put her hands on Jacquelyn’s. “You take care of the guards following their boss and back up Blake. I hate to say it but I don’t like my odds going through that door, so I’ll get these people out. Okay?”

“E…Even if I barrel through them all I don’t know if I can handle-”

“They’re… weak.” Adam mumbled, gaining their attention. He could barely see or move but managed to move his hands enough to grab Jackie’s. “All mutilated, barely trained; but insane. Sobek, he… Atlas.” He coughed blood.

“Adam!”

“Just…grab Blake.” His consciousness faded in and out. However, Adam managed to squeeze Jackie’s hand for reassurance before going silent.

“Well you heard the guy. Though if you do see a chance to grab the bastard…”

“Oh you don’t have to tell me twice.” Jacquelyn was hesitant but gave Adam to Yang. She finally stood up, gripping the hilt of the crimson blade on her. “I’ve always wanted to do this.” With one fluid motion she drew the blade while channeling her magic. A fierce and single slash cut through the wind; pushing it out with force that pushed everyone while the attack cut the metal door down. Jacquelyn didn’t delay any further in doing what she was asked. Yang put Adam on her back best she could. Thankfully he was able to wrap his arms over her shoulders.

“Do me a favor and don’t fall off.”

“Do me a favor and don’t get me shot.”

Yang groaned. Of all the people she had to save. Right on que, bullets flew their way. Time to head out. Yang did her best to run with the extra baggage. Adam honestly wasn’t too heavy but that wasn’t a good thing realistically. Chances are he hasn’t eaten much in days. If it wasn’t for the swelling then the man’s features would’ve been sunken in and pale. Yang can’t say she has compassion for him but she’d be hard pressed to believe she could idly watch if it happened right in front of her. Ruby would say that’s what makes her a hero. It was more frustrating in Yang’s opinion.

“For your sake I hope you’re worth all this trouble.” Yang kicked downed guards trying to get up from the wind blast to give others more time. “Well at the very least all these people are so I guess I should shut up about it.”

Adam did his best to look at the chaos. His vision couldn’t register faces but he saw how many people pushed and rushed over one another. Though one of them, he couldn’t help but think about Sobek’s words and thought process. It was twisted, outright demented, yet one part of it held true to an extent. Adam felt his ego take a hit. He led them here.

“…I got what I deserve.”

“Tsk, if you ask me you’ve only gotten a piece of it. How you get rest isn’t for me to decide, thank goodness. If I were you I’d start thinking on how-”

“Cells.” He interrupted. “Don’t leave without opening the cells.”

“Huh? Most looked empty or wore silent. No one even came up to bars.”

“A girl, Jasmine, she should be there. Brother too.”

“Dude you can’t afford many detours. I’ll try but no promise we’ll find anything. I’m telling you it was quiet. Dead quiet.” Yang felt ill saying that last part. “What kind of person does this to kids? Can’t imagine a childhood like this.”

Adam’s grip tightened. “I can.”

After a few more minutes of letting stragglers go first and looking out for danger, Yang left the cavern. Defending everyone was a Dream already killed before it could start and she promised to look after Adam so taking her time wasn’t an option. “Do you know what cell?”

“I was strung up on a platform.”

“A no would’ve been fine.” Yang started checking one at a time, punching in doors just in case. It was far too dark to see completely in them otherwise. “Uhh Jasmine? Hello?” She kept looking again and again but no one answered. Yang was about to cut her losses until she heard hissing when a prisoner bumped into a set of bars. “Jasmine?”

No one answered. Yang grabbed the bars and hissing turned to growling. There was definitely someone in there. She busted open the door and stepped in, lighting a section of the area. A gasp escaped her lips at the sight of blood soaked dirt. Pale eyes glowed in the corner. Yang stepped closer carefully until the girl could no longer hide in the dark. A maple skinned girl covered in dirt, sweat, and blood crouched low with eyes as scary as Blake’s; her teeth gritted while the volume of her growl grew louder with her soiled white ears folded back. Yang was easily in no real danger, yet the glare on her was startling. This little girl clearly was ready to kill if need be.

Yang got low. “H-Heeey. Sssshh It’s okay. I’m gonna- ah!” Yang winced. Jacquelyn lunged forward and sunk her teeth into Yang’s good hand. Yang didn’t lose composure. She reached out with her other hand, rubbing the child’s face. “Feel better? Hehe, let’s get you outta here.”

Jasmine tried biting deeper but was caught off guard by a third hand resting on her head. Her eyes widened once she realized Adam was one the woman’s back. Her jaw loosened up and the rage turned into grief.

“Jasmine, where’s-”

“Adam…?” Yang said, staring to the right. Her light didn’t reach the other side of the cell but it was enough to make a trail of blood and limp arm visible. The two went silent again. Adam pulled Jasmine closer until she climbed up on him, clinging for life as she began to whimper against his back. Yang let her hair fade out and then left, walking through the dark. She didn’t want to see another second in this place.

xxxx

Jacquelyn wasn’t much of a better time. Unlike the rest of Purgatory, everything past the medal door reminded her of Atlesian research labs. Including the defenses. Around every corner was an annoyance. Two armed guards tried getting the jump on her but were quickly outmatched. Jacquelyn froze the first with ice breath while the second tried taking a swing at her. Catching the fist, Jacquelyn twisted the guard's arm and pinned her against the wall; draining what aura she could in the process before pressing on. Jacquelyn was thankful Yang calmed her down when she did. Expending more energy like that would've been bad in her condition. Jacquelyn felt like she was running on fumes.

“I can see why my mom never gave me siblings. Gotta make this quick before I’m the one who’ll need saving.” More enemies marched from behind, forcing her to run through the sterile hallways. On the way a trail of several guards were already taken out that led to a bigger group of struggling men. Jacquelyn could make out a pissed off Blake in the middle of it all.

“LET ME GO!” Blake headbutted the one restraining her right arm and swung at the ones in front of her. A burst of strength rushed through her. She gripped the guard on her left arm, flinging them across the room. Blake swiveled around to aim at the ones behind her but Jacquelyn was quicker on the draw. Adam’s signature gun already riddled two with wounds while the blade cut down three more.

“Where’s Sobek?”

“He keeps heading deeper in.” Blake pointed at the scientist’s fallen scales and light trail of blood. “I tried taking a shot but I kept getting swarmed.” Blake noticed the pack behind Jacquelyn and tried running but was immediately grabbed by the wrist. “Jacquelyn!?”

“It’s a trap. We both know that.”

“We’ve known that from the jump. If we corner him then-” Blake and Jacquelyn shot past each other at the same time before standing back to back. Jacquelyn slammed her hand on the ground and conjured ice walls to by time. “Damnit! There’s no end!”

“Yeah…let’s retreat.”

“What!? But you’re the one-”

“I know! Believe me, I know. Honestly I want to tell you I came here to back you up but Yang offered to take Adam to safety in exchange for yours.”

Blake’s eyes widened. “Yang…offered?”

“Truth be told, I think it was more self preservation than kindness. Listen I don’t want to get blown up again but Sobek seems like the type to let it all burn when things fall apart. I told you that you’d find your answer when we arrive. Don’t tell me it was to get angry and die?”

“……” Blake shut her eyes and took a breath. It didn’t help. If anything her heart felt like it was beating faster. Pent up frustration gnawed away at her so much she couldn’t stop shaking. Her grip was so tight around Gamble Shroud her hands threatened to bleed. “What did you say earlier outside, about screaming when you’re enraged?”

Jacquelyn chuckled. “We’re well past that point. Don’t tell Adam but I think we should break some shit. Lucky for us we have volunteers. Care for a violent escape?”

Blake turned away from the path deeper into the lab and faced Jacquelyn’s direction, listening to reason. “Back me up. I’d feel guilty if your baby got hurt.”

Now that was an offer Jacquelyn couldn’t refuse. Blake’s kindness managing to shine even while in this situation was something Jacquelyn could only respect. She got behind her. “I’m in your hands. Now let’s get busy.”

Jacquelyn spit the wall in front of them to funnel the lackeys in for Blake to cut loose on with her blades, performing a double cross slash into snap kick that launched one backwards into the group. Keeping on the offensive, Blake followed up with a rising knee to push them further back. A strong gust of wind from Jacquelyn helped increase the force and distance Blake went while suppressing the rest. A guard tried restraining her but only grasped the afterimage while the real one unleashed an aura slash that went through the crowd. Deep cuts engraved the wall and glass shattered. Blake tossed her blades up and went through the halls quickly guiding Jacquelyn safely to the other side.

Pressure filled the air. A dense building of force rose steadily until Jacquelyn couldn’t ignore it. “Blake? What did you do-” the cuts in the wall doubled in size. An almost unseen second flash went through the hall, the blades traveling with it until stopping on a dime in front of Blake for her to grab from the hands of a clone Jacquelyn never saw materialize. It faded as quickly as it was noticed. One by one the guards adamant on killing were dropping like flies.

“A double moon slice? Heh, I guess you really are his disciple at heart.”

“In more ways than one.” Blake flung the blood off her blade while she sharpened them on one another.

“And why would you say that?” Blake looked back at her. The vacant and dim stare she gave expressed a bleak hollowing pain Jacquelyn couldn’t mistake. “Oh…well that’s okay. It just makes you one of us.”

[im-whatchamccallit]

New Normal//Mark Tuan (Got7)

Request: Could you write a Mark Tuan Scenario where he starts crushing on the shy short cute girl that works at his local grocery store? I hope this makes sense and I hope you are staying safe and healthy!

Pairing: Idol!Mark Tuan x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of Covid-19

Words: 4.5k

(A/N: This is kinda all over the place so sorry about that (Also running on 0 hours of sleep for the past two days so the editing is a little sloppy). And I feel like I didn’t really execute the concept too well but this was just one of the plots I came up with that honestly stuck with me

Mark put on the fakest genuine smile he could as the two girls snapped photos, quickly pulling his mask back on as they checked to make sure the pictures came out perfectly. He was prepared to walk away as they said their thanks, bowing politely and even inching further from the area, only to stop with wide eyes.

“Wait, Mark, do you live in this neighborhood? We live just a few blocks away, I can’t believe we haven’t seen you bef-“

“N-no! No, I’m not from the area, I just had to find a fully stocked grocery store is all. Everyone’s been going crazy since the outbreak so-“

“Right!” The girls spoke simultaneously, still not moving away as they discussed how people have been handling Covid-19 so far, Mark staring intently and nodding as if he were listening but, really, he was using all his willpower to not roll his eyes in annoyance.

Mark didn’t hate his fans, he adored them more than anything, but the idea that even during a pandemic they would bother him for photos and autographs, even in a busy and buzzing grocery store, was irritating. He didn’t even want to leave his home that day, but the fact he was running low on toiletries and needed more perishables made the trip essential. But after standing in this one spot for the past ten minutes with a shopping cart filled with food, tissue, and body wash, and two girls that seemed to be in their own world as their topic jumped from Covid to Loona fancams, he was determined to make this his last trip for at least a month.

“But did you see Yves?! She’s so pretty and-“

“Excuse me, I’m going to have to ask you to move from the area and maintain a distance of 2 meters between all of you.” A man said with a cheery voice and smile that could be seen through his mask although it reached his eyes as well.

“Oh! Sorry! Thank you for the photos!” One of them said, dragging her friend along as Mark let out a sigh of relief, the man stepping slightly closer to him but not enough to invade his space.

“You don’t have to leave the area. One of our cashiers said those girls wouldn’t leave you alone and assumed you needed help. Sorry to disturb you.” He said, preparing to walk off before Mark hurried to tap his shoulder.

“Wait, which cashier?” He asked. He was tired of human contact at this point, but really thought they deserved a proper thanking.

“Oh, right there. Her name’s (Y/n).” He said, giving one more smile before finally walking off.

It seems like you had been watching the scene unfold for a while, gaze intense and focused on the male ahead of you and, even as you watched your manager point in your direction, causing him to lock eyes with you, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Well, not until you saw him walk in your direction with his cart ahead of him.

You didn’t mean to stare at him, it was natural for your eyes to wander to people entering the store, but to see someone this attractive? It felt like you spotted a unicorn. You would glance up occasionally to see if he’d pass by again, watching him going back and forth in the aisles as if he’d been there forever, yet you’ve never seen him before. Maybe it’s because you were working full-time now that you didn’t have to travel so far out to school, or maybe he was just new to the area. You wanted to ask, but how could you just approach someone like him? He was cool and you were…Well, you. He’d probably walk past you like you were some nobody. But once you saw him stop to speak with two girls, you knew you most likely had a chance, but you couldn’t just interrupt their conversation to start your own. So, you waited. And waited. And waited, until so much time had passed you managed to check out three customers with enough groceries per person to feed five villages, but you couldn’t shake off how expressive his eyes were. He was miserable, obviously not in the mood to stand around and chat all day, and if you weren’t going to start a conversation, you could at least help him go back to shopping and getting back home instead of lingering in the virus hotspot you called work. You thought all would be well and done once you alerted your manager, but you didn’t expect the very man you were creeping on to approach you.

You were freaking out, trying to look busy in hopes he’d go away but the sound of his cart only grew louder, a pathetic whine leaving your mouth once you looked back up, putting on the bright smile you typically did as you greeted him, not wanting to seem even more ridiculous than you did.

“H-hello, sir, are you ready to check out?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Mark said, clearing his throat as he began unloading his cart, eyes trained on you although your head was low, gaze focused on the items slowly approaching you on the conveyor belt.

He couldn’t see your face but he knew you were cute, your voice evidence enough of that. You were working fast but just slow enough for him to notice small quirks about you. You mumbled under your breath about how ridiculously priced a bag of rice was, making some joke about how it was probably the cure to every disease since it was so expensive. You weren’t talking to him but he could tell you had a sarcastic nature to you, your jokes making him stifle chuckles to save you from being anymore nervous around him. He didn’t like the awkwardness though, the way you avoid his eyes to continue scanning the candy he threw onto the belt in an attempt to stay in your line for as long as possible without speaking not what he had planned when approaching you. He was naturally timid, but the way you were watching him proved you knew who he was, so he didn’t have to be himself. Right now, he just had to think of you as one of the fangirls you saved him from, and his idol persona could ease the situation immediately.

“I just wanted to thank you for your help. I don’t think I would’ve gotten out of here if you weren’t watching.”

Your eyes snapped up to see his face, a blush creeping onto your own as you tried to find some excuse as to why you were staring before, nothing coming to mind except maybe just being honest, but is telling him you only noticed his distress because he was so gorgeous the right way to go? No, you had to be cool about this, maybe it’ll keep you from turning into a tomato, especially with the way his eyes went from doughy and sweet to sharp and flirtatious.

“W-well, I figured you just wanted to hurry out of here, y’know? No one wants to be out during a pandemic, right?” You giggled and Mark could’ve sworn he was having a heart attack.

He swallowed thickly, eyes scanning your entire being as you finally bagged the final item, pressing total and reading it back to him, your eye smile all he could see. He figured you knew who he was once he took of his mask earlier, but it seemed like you were completely oblivious. He didn’t want another encounter like before but, knowing he could simply pay and leave at this point was comforting, so giving a quick thanks to a potential fan that saved him wasn’t too big of a deal.

“You probably don’t have idols come by a lot, do you?” He asked, watching to see your reaction, only to find your eyes glancing to the side and brows furrow in confusion, deep in thought before gasping out loud.

“Well, not idols, but Son Heung-Min stopped by once and took photos with some of us! He was a lot nicer than he looks!” You joked, Mark nodding in both understanding and confusion.

So you were more of a sports girl? You certainly didn’t look that way. Even from behind the register, he could tell he towered above you by a good 6 or 7 inches, your introverted personality made it hard to believe you’d work well in a team, and you seemed just a bit too young to care more about sports than idol groups. Not that it was anything rare, but almost every girl in your age group knew one or more kpop group, but you managed to name a soccer player that plays six months out of a year instead of a single idol that had promotions almost year round. You treated him as if he wasn’t famous, like any other customer. And he loved it. He didn’t feel the need to repay you by making your heart flutter at the mere presence of his celebrity status, but rather as a human would another human.

Before he could think of such a way to do so, he found himself in your debt once more, your hands filled with ten bags of various items he purchased, placing them neatly into his cart before sighing in relief, giving another smile to him.

“I’m guessing we won’t see you here for a while.” You joked, his lips unable to curve upward in amusement at the statement, knowing he really had no reason to return any time soon, but his curiosity made it impossible for him to accept that.

You were strange to him. Other idols treated him like a celebrity even when they were at the same height of fame, fans treated him like some god, but you? You were instructing him to use the pin pad to complete his transaction like you did any other person to walk through your line. Maybe you didn’t care that he was an idol, maybe you just didn’t know, but to think you were someone he didn’t have to fear when leaving his home, someone he didn’t have to hide from in case they wanted to invade his privacy and risk his health. Ironically, you were the breath of fresh air he couldn’t seem to get in the outside world.

“Yeah, I guess I won’t be seeing you for a while.” He commented, watching you bow politely before diverting your attention to an elderly man slowly unloading his basket, Mark’s body reluctantly heading to the exit as he tried not to stare at you any longer. It really would be a while before he saw you again.

But a while for Mark was only three days. He made the excuse that he forgot to buy kimchi to come back, scanning the store until he spotted you pushing a shopping cart filled with cans, scanning the shelves before grabbing a few to place them into empty slots. He was hoping he could talk to you personally at your register again, but he figured this would do for now.

You didn’t sense him as you hummed an unfamiliar tune, hands busy tidying the two rows of canned corn before moving on to the canned bread, a grimace on your face at the idea of bread in a tin can.

“That sounds gross.” You nearly screamed as Mark’s voice echoed behind you, your body turning to face him as you shrank under his gaze. It wasn’t scary, just very intense despite his eyes being so soft and inviting.

“Oh. How are you today, sir?” You asked, bowing politely as you smiled brightly at him, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he tried to keep his face from going bright red, silently praying this interaction goes the way he fantasized in his head the past few days.

“’sir’? I’m surprised my hero doesn’t remember me.” He wanted to hide at how stupid that sounded, suddenly rethinking his entire plan of even showing up here, but the way your eyes grew in size while scanning the floor around you, picking apart your memories to decipher what he meant and who he was, slightly put him at ease once more.

“I-I don’t kno-“

“It’s me.” Mark chuckled, pulling his mask down just enough to give you a warm smile before covering his face once more, a relieved giggle leaving you as you realized it was only him.

“You really had me worried. I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” You admitted, turning back and continuing to placing the cans on the shelves behind you, not wanting to slow down on your work.

Mark was anxious, not wanting to lose your attention but not wanting to seem desperate. You were most likely going ask how was his day then move on without another thought, but he didn’t come all the way back here just to have a two minute conversation with you. But that’s really all he needed, just a bit of normalcy in the now upside down world.

“Yeah, I just needed some kimchi. Didn’t realize I was running low.” He chuckled, growing worried as you remained silent, only to see you jumping pathetically to place a can of mackerel onto a higher shelf, your free hand grasping the shelf below it to hoist yourself up, a gasp leaving you as you stumbled backwards, Mark placing his jar onto the floor and catching you by your waist to hold you steady.

Your eyes were wide, flickering up to him as he set you back onto the ground, grabbing the can from you and placing it into its spot.

“How about I help you? I don’t want you to get hurt.” He said, your cheeks burning as your body felt like it was shrinking in on itself, trying to escape the tingles his invisible handprints left on you, your head low as you nodded with a meek ‘thank you’.

You stood at his side as he placed cans onto higher shelves, you working on the lower ones to keep him from feeling like an unpaid worker. It was a bit too quiet for your liking, your eyes glancing at him every once in a while to take in his appearance, hoping you could find something to talk about. He was only wearing black joggers and a white t-shirt, his hair a honey brown shade, the only thing that stood out was the beauty hiding beneath his mask, but you couldn’t start a conversation like that! It’d be too weird! You had to stop overthinking, the answer right in front of you as you noticed the jar of kimchi waiting idly by as he focused on making each row straight.

“Are you sure one jar of kimchi’s gonna be enough for you? I usually finish an entire jar with one meal.” You said, partially lying considering you could finish half a jar before feeling full.

“Uh, yeah, I don’t really eat it all that often but I was craving it today.”

“Oh.”

More silence. You didn’t bother to speak again, feeling as if he didn’t want to talk to you anymore. Maybe it’s because you’re making him do your work, or you’re just boring, that last idea causing you to feel a little embarrassed seeing as he happily came to you with the intentions of talking, only for you to have nothing to say. You wanted to just crawl back to your tiny register and hide at that point.

“You must work a lot.” He commented, your eyes snapping up as his words, body jolting when you realize he had his eyes locked on you.

“I would’ve figured you’d have a few days off since I last saw you, just so you aren’t too overwhelmed.” He added, a dry laugh leaving you as you returned to your work, crouching down to straighten the bowls of instant ramen that were suddenly mixed up and unorganized.

“Well, I could took some days off but if I don’t work, this place would be in chaos with everyone trying to stock up before this virus gets worse. Plus, it keeps me from being bored at home every day.” You admitted, not thinking the conversation would take such an upsetting turn, your mood a bit down as you finally felt weeks’ worth of exhaustion hit you, your words flowing out precariously as he listened carefully.

“I’m honestly really socially awkward, but I value human connection, so I try to stay positive and pretend nothing’s changed but, it’s like I’m always having one-sided conversations with customers. No one has time to talk when they’re busy trying to stay healthy, so I can’t really blame them. But, I was really happy when you talked to me, I finally had an actual conversation again. Talking to you makes it feel like nothing’s changed.” You giggled, finally facing the man above you.

Mark’s eyes were hard with a strange mixture of sadness and understanding. He had his groupmates to talk to, his family and friends as well, but facetime conversations were nothing like being there and present. It was comforting knowing you felt somewhat normal when talking with him, the same way he felt just by seeing you, but it pained him knowing that he could show up any day and you wouldn’t be here, cooped up in your home with nothing but your thoughts, or him staying home while you assisted customers that only acknowledged you when they were ready to pay and leave. He didn’t know why you made him feel this way, not acting on pity but a protective instinct that seemed to gnaw at his very being with every second that passed. You were his new normal as he was yours, and he wanted you to know that.

“You know, I only really came here to see you.” He admitted, slowly lowering himself until he was crouching at your level, your eyes locked on one another’s as he tried find the right words.

“When I met you, I thought you were so weird, but it makes me want to see you even more. And I hope you’re fine with seeing me too.”

“S-seeing you?” Your voice was small, the way you swallowed as you anticipated his next words was visible as he gave you a final glance before fishing his phone from his back pocket, pressing the ‘Create New Contact’ option and handing it to you, your eyes going between the device and his hidden but noticeably kind face.

“Whenever you’re working, let me know so I can at least stop by to keep you company, even if it’s for a few minutes. And, on your days off, we can talk as much as you want, m-maybe go out to any place that’s open.” He didn’t want that last part to sound like a confession, it was way too soon for that, but he was silently praying you took it that way.

It took a second to comprehend the situation, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside of you as you slowly took his phone, typing away at both letters and numbers before pressing ‘Done’ at the upper corner. Mark allowed you to slip the phone back into his hand, a smile on his lips at the random string of numbers followed by a name he couldn’t stop thinking about since he met you. He hurriedly sent you a text before placing his phone back into his pocket, holding his hands out once more for you to take as you both slowly stood.

“I should probably get back to work. The cool manager isn’t here today.” You joked, hand cupping his as a silent plea for him to stay, but you knew he couldn’t, that’s what his number was for, right?

“You can always reach me if you need someone to talk to. But, I don’t think I’ll be back for a few days.” He said with a sad tone, your head nodding understandingly although your disappointment was evident.

“Don’t overwork yourself, okay?” He released one of your hands to ruffle your hair, your body shrinking under his touch as you giggled unconsciously.

The air around you seemed thick as you watched him collect his jar of kimchi and head down the aisle and away from you. It felt like an empty promise the way he said he’d be there for you, but you knew you couldn’t keep him there forever. It wasn’t fair.

You sighed, returning to the now empty cart to take it back outside for customers to use, but not before checking your phone. It was always on silent because they weren’t allowed to use it during work, but you never knew what kind of emergency could arise during your shifts. You took a quick peak, expecting nothing important before seeing an unsaved number had texted you, your finger quickly opening it and, at that moment, you couldn’t be happier about the sly lie you were just told.

‘I’ll stop by before the store closes :) -Mark’

Ever since then, Mark kept his word. He was always in the store whenever you told him you’d be working, he would pick you up from work and go to any available restaurant to make sure you’ve eaten, and he always text or called you on your days off to either invite you to hang out or just pass the time in your own homes, separate but together. You were two weeks into the new arrangement and haven’t felt more alive, mainly because the nervousness you felt in the presence of someone so handsome turned into a full blown crush, every interaction sending you into a fit of blushes and giggles. You both were shy but grew to be playful and a lot more flirtatious, Mark’s confidence with every pick-up line causing your once bold behavior to fade into the bashful one he experienced upon your first meeting.

He thought you were cute, he said it all the time. You thought he was cute, you admitted it just a few nights ago once you gathered to courage to explain how you ended up “saving him”. He was smart, kind, always sharing funny stories about his old “roommates” that you couldn’t get enough of. He would sing songs softly as they played from the speakers in his car, his voice soft and angelic just like the smile he adorned, everything about him screaming perfection. You never wanted someone more than you wanted him and, tonight, as you finally settled into the passenger seat of his car after an eight hour shift, his free hand in yours as he steered out of the parking lot, you know he felt the same.

“You’re a lot touchier lately.” You joked, your free hand playing with his fingers as his eyes flickered between you and the road.

“What? You don’t like it?” His lips curled into a smirk, your heart stuttering in your chest.

“It’s not that. I just didn’t think you’d be into awkward cashiers.”

“And how do you know I’m into you?” Luckily there was a red light so that Mark could give you his undivided attention, a wave of contentment washing over him as you looked away, still flustered by his simple acts.

“I don’t know. I guess the same way I knew you were a k-pop idol.”

“So you knew?” He chuckled, giving a quick glance to the light that had yet changed.

“You were really obvious about it. You asked me about it when we first met, you sing like an angel, plus you kept saying ‘your friend BamBam’ and, knowing he’s already pretty famous just for being hilarious, it wasn’t hard to find a simple picture of you two with the rest of your group.” You said smugly, almost as if you decoded a million piece puzzle that no one else dared to touch.

“I’d honestly spend hours daydreaming you weren’t an idol, just because the thought of dating a regular person is easier. But you’ll always be an idol, and daydreaming about dating an idol is no different than actually dating one; you’d never have time together so it’d never really work.” It was such a strange confession, almost as if you were pushing him away but begging to be by his side. Your eyes were low, voice filled with sadness at the realization this was all unreal and all fairytales had to come to an end, but Mark didn’t think it had to.

He didn’t expect to be here with you, not this soon or this fast, but the last few weeks felt like months to him. You were his biggest weakness now, a constant fear that his desire to be with you would cause a slip up. Maybe a tabloid will discover your yet-to-be relationship and expose who you are, maybe some fans will catch on he lives in the area with how often he visits you at work. He was scared by how reckless he was being, yet he didn’t care. For every reckless act he was met with a bright eye smile, a warm hug only for you to scream ‘2 meters apart!’ and launch yourself away from him, and the sound of your giggles. You were the best risk he’s ever taken and he’d be damned if he’d give you up after jumping through so many hoops to get to this moment

You looked at your joined hands, his fingers weaving between yours until they were firmly intertwined, your eyes slowly ascending to his face that held no amusement or playfulness, just sincerity and a sternness that demanded you take in his every word.

“(Y/n/n), I could be a million miles away or right next to you every day and night, and I’d always have time for you. And if I don’t, I’d find a way. I promised you that.” You felt like you could faint with the way his eyes bore into yours, or that you could melt with the way his voice was so gentle yet firm, but you damn near died with the way his face slowly inched closer to yours, heart hammering against your ribcage as you silently applauded yourself for taking off your mask earlier so that nothing would slow him down.

Your eyes fluttered close, waiting for the impact of his lips on yours when a sudden honk brought you back to reality, Mark’s body withdrawing from yours reluctantly before facing forward once more, the green light causing him to immediately step on the gas, both of you hot faced but at ease. Mark might not have gotten his kiss, but he got the confirmation he needed that he wasn’t crazy for feeling the way he did, that it wasn’t a one-side attraction. The weight on his shoulders finally gone as he was free to enjoy the night with no awkwardness, no tension, just you. It truly felt like he could breathe freely again.

[beca-mitchell]

there's no control (you calm my soul) (1/1)

Summary: Dani just wants to feel warmth again. She finds it in a motel room in Vermont, Jamie by her side. 

or,

the second first time fic nobody asked for. Rated M/E.

Word count: 3,190

A/N: Fic title from "Spiritual" by Super Duper, ft. Mr Gabriel. This idea would not leave me alone and demanded to be written no matter how horrible the outcome, so my apologies in advance. I wanted to explore how thirsty Dani would be after sleeping with Jamie for the first time so this is kind of a second first time fic.

Read below or on AO3.

“Yeah?” Jamie asks, finger curling around the strap of Dani’s bra.

Dani, who is already hovering above Jamie, basks in how natural it all feels. How natural it feels to hovering over this woman; this woman to whom she is so incredibly attracted.

“Yeah,” Dani agrees. “Please.”

And warmth—warmth spreads everywhere.

There is so much she wants to do.

 * * * * *

 America is cold.

Colder, perhaps, than how she left it just under a year ago (had it already been close to a year?). England had been cold at the beginning as well, then it had warmed, but nothing quite like a hot summer in the South. Nothing quite like sweet tea and ice cubes and endless sun. But it had been warm—warm enough until the unbearable cold.

And now she’s back in the U.S., less than a year after leaving everything behind. Fall in the Northeast. Close to winter now.

Dani is cold. She shivers, slumping a little in her seat as she takes in the snow-lined trees and the gloomy skies.

Of course, she’s cold, she tells herself. She’s cold because it’s winter. Almost, anyway. It’s fall, it’s winter, and she’s cold because she’s too tired to even reach out and crank the heat in the car.

But Jamie—Jamie is warm.

Dani takes a moment to glance over at Jamie who is seated in the driver’s seat, expertly navigating the unfamiliar roads as they make their way further north.

Vermont, Jamie had suggested. To see the snow. And Dani had agreed because it was better than feeling the ache that continued to permeate her heart—the same ache that had never quite gone away since leaving England for America.

(Perhaps, even, the same ache that never quite went away since leaving America for England—but that alone feels a lifetime away, even if it nips at the back of Dani’s mind from time to time.)

Instinctively, Dani reaches her hand out to her left, longing to touch Jamie again. To feel comfort. To feel safe. To feel grounded. She pauses halfway, hovering awkwardly over the middle console. Dani flushes, quickly turning her head to the side so she can gaze out the window instead. Her hand falls lamely just beside her thigh and she moves to pick at a loose thread in her pants just to have something to do.

As she follows a random, slow trickle of water sliding down the window, her eyes wander to her own reflection, slightly distorted in the rain-speckled side-view mirror. Without fail, she catches the disparity in her own eye color, still as jarring as it was the first time she had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

But—ultimately, that was the important takeaway: she had caught a glimpse of herself and that alone. Herself. Alone.

A soft, gentle touch startles her out of her gazing. Dani turns quickly, eyes dropping to where Jamie has hooked her pinky just around the tip of her finger. Her gaze flicks up, a sheepish smile spreading across her lips involuntarily when she catches the barest hint of a smile—a smirk—on Jamie’s lips, though her gaze is fixated ahead, carefully driving all the while. Dani’s eyes track up and around Jamie’s profile with the kind of laziness she has only recently allowed herself to indulge in: she takes in the curve of her chin, the tip of her nose, the gentle natural red in her cheeks, and finally the unruly curls peeking out from under the soft hat jammed atop her head.

No, not alone, Dani thinks. She will not have to be alone for whatever stretch of life she has left before her.

With a smile and her lip tucked between her teeth for the briefest of moments, Dani relaxes in her seat, curling her hand around Jamie’s and letting herself drift off.

 * * * * *

  Jamie’s hands on her body are neither heavy or light. Quite simply, her hands feel like they are a part of Dani’s body. Not quite extensions of herself, but gentle like the lap of waves against the shore. Over and over. All over. Everywhere.

Everywhere, her hands roam—but the most striking intimacy happens when her hands grab Dani’s, both of them expelling a trembling breath.

“Touch me,” Jamie whispers. No—begs. She begs, eyes dark and alight with something wonderfully new and exciting.

And Dani does.

Dani won’t stop—she couldn’t if she tried. Not now, knowing what she does. Wanting what she wants. Being who she is.

Jamie has unlocked everything.

 * * * * *

 They end up in a cozy motel (two words that are not necessarily meant to go together, but Dani has experience with the unexpected at this point) by the time they reach the Vermont state line. It is dark and chilly and Jamie all but drags Dani from the car over the sound of Dani’s half-hearted protests that they just sleep in the back of their car all night. Keep each other warm. Cuddling. She’s sure one of those suggestions will land, but Jamie ignores her and they end up securing a room for the night.

“Motels freak me out,” Dani admits, finally, as Jamie nudges her fully into the room. “Always have.” Her eyes, however, land longingly on the comfortable-looking beds. The two notably separate beds. Dani chances a glance at Jamie to see whether Jamie has a comment or remark about their sleeping arrangement, but Jamie is already grumbling to herself and rifling through one of their oversized duffles.

It takes a moment for Dani to process—like, really truly process—but they’re here. They’ve left that part of their life behind. The very brief spell at Bly, pleasant and horrible memories alike.

A new adventure.

A new adventure, starting with the hunch in Jamie’s shoulders and the determination that seems to reverberate from her with every breath. Dani wonders which demons Jamie herself is running from (she has some idea); Dani wonders if Jamie knows that Dani isn’t necessarily something to run towards either (Jamie knows; she must).

But—

One day at a time.

Dani can try. For Jamie, at least. “Hey,” she calls, taking the chance to step into Jamie’s orbit again, leaning up to rest her chin just over Jamie’s shoulder to peer at the mess she’s making inside the bag. “Let’s just get some rest.”

“Impatient,” Jamie replies, offering a smile over her shoulder. Dani catches the smile with her lips, leaning in as best as she can to press a messy kiss to Dani’s mouth, only managing to get somewhat of an off-center kiss and the corner of her mouth.

Dani stifles a smile at Jamie’s surprised expression, happy to know that her kiss evokes as much a reaction as Jamie’s kisses do in her. She catches the way Jamie’s eyes flick down to her lips as she twists slowly in Dani’s hold, from where she is backed up against the little table in the corner. “We should probably shower though,” Dani suggests lightly, this time unable to keep the laugh from escaping when Jamie’s entire posture deflates and she ends up pouting right at Dani’s face.

Still. This is so new. And Dani still doesn’t quite know what to do with all the warmth that spills through her—spills out of her. A strangeness, almost, this sense of wanting and needing like she has never wanted and needed before. She gapes for a moment too long, something that she hopes looks like desire across her face as clear as day, because Jamie smiles again at her. Jamie smiles, playful and understanding all at once.

“For that, we’re doing this separately.”

Dani protests weakly, still not quite catching up to her own emotions, loosely letting Jamie’s shirt slip past her fingers. “I didn’t—”

“Sure,” Jamie drawls, flashing one last smile over her shoulder. “It’s okay, you’re valid, Poppins.”

Dani’s blush reaches all the way down to her wooly socks.

 * * * * *

 Dani is brushing out her hair, warm and fluffy from the cheap blow dryer in their bathroom, when she walks out, eyes landing on Jamie already tucked under the covers on one of the beds, nose buried in a book. A swell of affection rushes through her at the sight of her—her girlfriend, as foreign as the thought sounds. Companion. Company. Girlfriend.

She longs to test the word out on her tongue, but her own fears haven’t quite ebbed yet. The move back to the U.S. has barely settled in her chest, let alone the thought of a life past Christmas. And yet, here, in this nondescript motel room, Jamie is setting her book aside and gazing at Dani as if she hung the stars themselves.

One day at a time.

Dani flicks the light off, walking slowly over to the other empty (cold, desolate, lonely), unoccupied bed. She pauses midway and she peeks over her shoulder hesitantly, the question dying on her lips when Jamie is already lifting the edge of the comforter on the too-small bed.

“C’mere.”

Dani bites her lip, sliding beneath the comforter. She shivers as her leg brushes against Jamie’s. “S’cold,” she mumbles, tucking her head under Jamie’s chin.

“You’re always cold,” Jamie teases, though there is a hint of tiredness in her voice.

Dani doesn’t respond for a long moment, wondering if Jamie knows how close to the truth she is—the lingering thoughts and worries always nagging at the back of Dani’s mind. Maybe it’s all just banter to Jamie. Maybe it’s somewhere in between, in that gray area they haven’t really touched yet—but Jamie never pushes. Never forces Dani to talk.

Only when Dani’s ready.

“Not so much when I’m with you,” Dani finally whispers, letting her breath wash over the bumps of Jamie’s collarbones. She lifts a hand slowly, tracing the delicate bone, marvelling in the warmth that crashes through her when Jamie shivers as if she is drawing some of the cold from her lover. Entranced, Dani traces her finger up the delicate column of Jamie’s neck, then to her jaw, and finally to her lips, lingering. Jamie’s lips press forward, kissing her fingertip ever so gently that it makes Dani want to cry.

She doesn’t cry.

She surges up, kissing Jamie with as much gusto as she can, rocking the bed ever so slightly as she does so. Jamie’s tiny noise of surprise quickly morphs into one of distinct pleasure as she responds to the kiss easily and naturally, like they’ve been doing this for years. Like their lips have only longed to meet again and again with the experience of lovers who have had thousands of kisses before.

Jamie’s hand is sure and steady as it slips up the back of Dani’s shirt, fingers mapping new but familiar paths. The faintest memory of their first night together comes rushing back, but the new sensations scramble to overwrite the wiring in Dani’s brain as she arches into Jamie’s warmth. Each sensation feels like a jolt to her own senses—each fractured breath between them as they kiss, messy and desperate, like each kiss is their first kiss anew.

A new first kiss: there is no greenery; there is no lake; there is no haunted spectre. Just them, together in this bed (it’s a bed, even if it isn’t the best), finally.

(But not a first kiss that replaces their first kiss, to be sure. Dani would never.)

“You sure?” Jamie murmurs quietly, the words barely slipping past swollen lips. Dani pauses, taking in Jamie’s murmured inquiry. Jamie is unable to hide the faintest hint of self-doubt in her voice. It makes the last wall crumble; it makes Dani want to cry again, damnit.

Dani nods, swallowing. She leans in again to nip at Jamie’s lips once more. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Yes. Please.”

I need you.

I want you.

I missed you.

Her unspoken words fall away into the nothingness—and for once, it is a nothingness that she is comfortable with because the nothingness only highlights that she is with Jamie and Jamie is with her and nothing else matters.

Jamie gently cups the back of Dani’s head, tongue slipping into Dani’s mouth as she goes. With further tenderness, Jamie rolls Dani to her back, keeping a sure hold on her as she goes. Breathless, Dani longs to pull Jamie further into her, but there is no more space between them, not even air and yet—

(damn clothes)

“—Off,” Dani mumbles as best as she can between heated kisses. “Take it off.”

Jamie huffs, something akin to a laugh, and begins kissing at Dani’s neck, nipping and sucking with gradual intensity. She pushes at the bottom of Dani’s shirt, lifting it so painstakingly slow. Her hands follow the path of the shirt even as she stops pushing the shirt up. Slowly, oh so slowly, Jamie’s hand finally reaches the curve of Dani’s breast, hesitating for the briefest of moments before Jamie’s palm rests atop a straining nipple.

Dani exhales loudly, her head tipping back. Jamie does nothing for a long moment. Cherishing. Lingering. Remembering. Her lips move languidly across Dani’s skin, but she does not move her hand as Dani begins to shift restlessly beneath her. Her hands weave through soft damp curls at the back of Jamie’s head, somehow more unruly than before, and she is immediately, once again mesmerized by the texture and the ease with which she can touch her lover.

It is easy, like breathing—something that Dani remembers how to do, but for the first time in a while, it feels like she can do so freely. Breathe easy. Breathe freely.

In and out.

As easy as breathing.

Being with Jamie is as easy as breathing; as easy as existing; as easy as both breathing and existing when both those things were so hard not too long ago.

When Dani opens her eyes again, she is so present and so grounded that she startles at the clarity with which she is perceiving the moment. A soft, wanting gasp leaves her lips as she pulls Jamie in for another searing kiss, this time taking measures to roll Jamie onto her back, tucking their bodies as close to the center of the bed as she can.

Jamie makes a noise of surprise, head falling back against the pillow before Dani is kissing her eagerly once more. Freely. Messily. The rest comes easily, as natural as it was the first time. Something visceral claws within Dani’s chest, entirely needy and wanton as her skin brushes against Jamie’s fully. She gasps, hot and desperate against Jamie’s neck as she rocks experimentally down against Jamie’s thigh. Dani grabs at the sheets, the pillows, Jamie’s hair—anything to ground herself in the moment.

But that moment quickly bleeds into the next and she lets her hand wander as it pleases, delighting in Jamie’s pleased sounds and broken gasps. It is a reaction that Dani wants to elicit again and again until they’ve both exhausted themselves. Like the first night. And more nights to come.

Dani stifles a quiet moan of her own, slipping her fingers down past the plane of Jamie’s stomach—further, further—

“Yes,” Jamie murmurs softly, then louder, “Dani, please—”

It is the choked-off moan that does it for Dani, really. Her cheeks flood with heat and warmth and she clenches—hot and wet around nothing—at the wanton display of need.

She could spend the rest of her life doing this. How had she wasted time doing anything else? How had she bothered to live her life not knowing what Jamie looked like or sounded like with Dani’s fingers teasing at her clit, regardless of how clumsy or awkward Dani feels about it?

Slowly, she slips her fingers through hot, wet folds, careful in her ministrations. Dani tries to recall every single thing they did together that first night, but the memory feels more like an echo or an impression of a memory rather than a clear image. She does not despair. The thought of making new memories excites Dani—feels her chest with something infinitely more than dread.

It is hope.

Her fingers move.

Love.

Jamie whimpers.

Joy.

“Fuck,” Dani whispers, nearly silent. She tries again, louder, punctuating the word with a steady thrust of her fingers. The movement feels natural and when Jamie tenses around her so wantonly—

“Don’t stop,” Jamie mumbles. “I need you to—“ she cuts herself off with a gasp, a knee bending, her back arching—all to take Dani’s fingers in deeper as she curls her fingers experimentally.

It’s then that Dani feels another shift in her mind. She stares with open desire and wonder, looking down at Jamie’s flushed face. Unbidden, a memory of Jamie guiding her hand up her back. Jamie encouraging her always. Jamie wanting her and wanting Dani to want her back no matter what.

God, Dani wants her.

She wants her girlfriend and there isn’t a thing stopping her. Not either of their demons. Not what Dani fears lives inside her.

So she wants, and wants, and wants. The wanting—the sheer act of primal desire—warms Dani like a flame the begins somewhere in her belly and rises up to her forehead. Down to her toes. And oh—how it threatens to spill out of her.

She cracks herself open then and lets her desire run over.

Dani grabs Jamie’s hand, guiding it between her own legs. She lips her tongue into Jamie’s mouth to stifle the knowing chuckle that’s bound to slip past Jamie’s lips.

All that can come later. For now, she wants nothing more than to feel the gentle dampness on their skin, slow build of sweat along their foreheads; she wants nothing more than the rhythmic sound of the bed; she wants nothing more than to want and be wanted because it is better than being lost to the recesses of her own mind.

If Dani could say all this aloud in some way, she would. She could. But as Jamie's breath ghosts down her collarbone, hand curling around her hip, Dani finds that she does not need to say anything at all because she has everything she might ever need within her grasp.

Like benediction—a reprieve from all that has transpired—Jamie's name falls from her lips like a mantra; Jamie's name falls from her lips like she's forgotten her own name and quite honestly, she isn't sure that she would want it any other way. 

 * * * * *

 Dani wakes to the sight of Jamie’s face. Her eyes track slowly across every last inch of skin available to her. Jamie’s nose. Her lips. The golden hues of sunlight glancing off errant curls.

Inside Dani, she is warm. All is quiet and still as the morning air around them. She is sure the silence won’t last - it never does - but for once she does not feel dread or the urge to shiver.

She longs to wake Jamie, if only to see her eyes again, but she settles

One day at a time, as long as she gets this for the rest of her days.

fin.

[infinitegalahad]

WIFE

Summary: You and Dick, after years of indefinite separation and depression, have finally reunited. Dick can’t wait to start a family with you. You love Dick, but you soon realize that you cannot bear him a son, a daughter, or a child.

Word Count: 10.9k (i’m being generous)

Warnings: Infertility, period typical sexism, Loneliness, based off of a mitski song what did you expect, here comes the angst train *sad choo choo*

Notes: Female reader. and title (literally) taken from Wife By Mitski, which I rec listening too for the extra painful experience. So I’m back from the dead...ish. I wanna apologize for going AWOL for two-three months, guess Iw anted to focus on other works and I feel like x readers are not my strong suit. But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna write them! I can’t promise anything, but I am planning some stories. Not as long or as painful as this is, of course!

I’m not gonna lie, I cried while writing this. Not only because it’s Mitski, but infertility is something that hit’s close to home for me and my family. Was this story just me projecting my generational trauma into this fic? Never! Anyways, hopefully I won’t go AWOL again, atleast not for that long. It’s really hard to find the motivation to write, but I’ll do it. For you guys ;)

Taglist: @easy-company-tradition​ 

When Dick Winters had left for the war five years ago, he had made a promise to you the night before he was drafted. You were nineteen and naive, planned for college and he was twenty-seven, a post-graduate and Business Major. Your father was his professor and one of his best students. You would see Dick every Friday Night. As you would pick at the leftover peas on your plate, he would turn to look at your father to talk about something business-related. His eyes, you could never tell if they were a light shade of blue or green, would meet yours. It would be for a brief second. Those brief seconds would make you drop your fork and your cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

You had a small crush on Dick Winter’s.

It took you a few weeks to catch onto his eye color. They were a beautiful mixture of blue and green, reflecting a mint color. The taper candles would always lighten his eyes up. The reason you finally found out this eye color was because each dinner, you’d catch Dick staring at you. You were naturally oblivious to it, keeping your head down as your father talked a business deal. But whenever he mentioned Dick’s name, you would look up, see Dick’s dilated mint pupils looking right into your eyes before he swiftly turned his head to your father, acting like he was listening to every little word he was saying.

Dick had become a family friend. Instead of dinners once a week, he would come by your house more frequently in the summer months. The summer you had met Dick, there was a three-month-long heatwave. From what you understood, Dick had been doing an internship with your father along with extra studies, extracurriculars, and even more. It sounded like a lot for a young man. He was over three times a week, always in your father’s studies or the porch, drinking lemonade as he and your father discussed business. You’d sit on top of the porch, lazily slumped in a chair in your floral dirndl, reading And Both Were Young as you watched Dick Winters, in shorts and a tight white shirt with his strawberry blonde hair a little messy. Every time he spoke, your heart would skip a beat.

“Two jobs?” You cried, skipping ahead of him in your flats that you had slipped on in a rush, the heels hanging out of the back. “And an internship? How do you do it all?”

Dick looked down at your tiner figure, his lips curving into a subtle smile at your question. Whenever he smiled, his cheeks would wrinkle. It was a small detail you caught into about Dick that you adored. “I don’t go to parties a lot. Not worth the time that I’ve got. I work these jobs so I can get through school and support my family.”  

“That’s very admirable, Dick. Not a lot of guys my age would even consider that.” You remarked with a compliment. Dick walked beside you, hands behind your back with a straight back. His gaze lingered in you as he scanned your figure. Now that Dick was around more often, you always made sure to wear your best outfits. You wouldn’t have considered yourself very vain, but with Dick, something had changed. You started wearing the pretty pastel dresses your mother approved off, fine pearls, expensive cologne, and even the short rompers that your mother didn’t approve of. When wearing makeup, you felt like a woman more than a girl, which is what you wanted Dick to see you as.

“Thank you, y/n.” The strawberry blonde politely thanked with a curt nod. The two of you had a little routine now. While your mother would make dinner and your father would smoke a cigar in the back with the dogs, you’d take Dick into your backyard and down a little cobblestone trail to a hidden lake. You liked to go there to read to escape, and Dick needed a small break from working in the burning heat. So it was idle. “Do you have plans now that you’ve graduated?”

“Yes. I’m starting classes at Franklin and Marshall since they’ve allowed women. My mother prefers I stay home and learn how to be a lady instead of reading,” You explained with a sigh. The only woman in a class full for men. Times were changing, and nothing was going to stop you from working. “She cares more about her grandchildren then her daughter’s desires.”

“Well, it is your choice? Not your mother or father’s. As long as you were happy, then they should be happy for you. I think you’ll like it,” Dick kindly reassured, “You’re a very nice young lady, y/n. I’m sure you’ll do great things.”

The two of you arrived at the lake. The sun was setting over the sky as it shined on the lake. There was an orange and pink hue in the sky. Dick and you stood besides each other. The strawberry blonde shut his eyes and let out a long sigh, feeling a small breeze in the night. The air got colder in the nights, which felt like a refreshing treat after a long day of work and unbearable heat. The sun made his strawberry blonde hair and skin glow like he was some kind of god.

You admired Dick as he stood there, biting your lip and hands playing with the belt fabric on your skirt.

“Dick?” You managed to choke, your voice cracking.

He opened one eye and looked at you, worried. “Is everything okay, y/n?”

“Can you please kiss me?”

Dick looked bewildered. It took him a second to process the question. His expression was that of a high school student stumped on an equation in math class. He hadn’t been outside much, maybe the heat was getting to him. “I don’t think I heard that correctly.”

“Can you please kiss me?” You reiterated, biting your lip in vexation. “I haven’t met a man like you, Dick. None of the boys my mother is setting me up with are like. They aren’t as intelligent, hardworking, cordial. When I tell these boys I want to read and live my life, they put me down-call me insane and ill. But you don’t do those things. You just stand there and listen to me. I may not make sense since I am probably just some young immature girl who knows nothing about being a proper lady. You even give me kind words of advice. No other boy would do that. Only a man would do such a thing.” You vented, letting your words spill out like vomit.

Dick wasn’t reacting at all. At Least it wasn’t obvious. He turned his figure towards you, eyes glued as his lips puckered against each other’s. He seemed taken aback by your honesty since you were someone who was reserved, only speaking when necessary. That didn’t mean adding your opinion to one of your father’s at dinner. Dick wasn’t obvious to your “rebellious” nature. Your mother would always scold you for interrupting the men. Your father didn’t mind your info if, and so didn’t Dick. He was interested in your perspective, and would always ask for further intake since it was the gentlemen thing to do.

You looked at him and shook your head, turning to walk back. “Forget it,” You sighed as you walked past him, your shoulder brushing against his. Dick got a smell of your perfume, a lavender and vanilla, it was definitely expensive. He liked y/n’s armora, especially after a long day of being in a stuffy room full of whiskey and burning cigars. “You probably think I’m just a mad woman-“

Dick thought about his decision for a second. He had to think thinkly. When he made up his mind, he sped walk towards you. “Wait,” He called. He saw you turn around with your silky (y/h/c) (y/h/t) spring right behind you. He scrunched up a fist feeling a lump grow in his throat as he looked a few slow steps towards you.

“You’re not a mad woman. I think you’re wonderful to be around. I always enjoy our conversations and our midnight walks,” Dick commented. He was at a loss of words for the kiss. When you had asked, you sounded like you were begging, but hid it.

It took him a while to realize that the two’s of you had a fair amount in common. You both were soft spoken souls, friendly but quiet. You distanced yourself from large crowds and were usually confident in each other since you both had a trust. You know how eachother worked like nobody else did-a small, intimate detail that only the two of you would watch into.

“You’re also growing into a beautiful young woman each day. Being a lady doesn’t mean being all prim and proper, it means being mature, kind, and respectful to others. That’s what you are.” Dick was only a few steps away. You listened to every word he said, your hands restraining themselves from touching his chest. He could once again smell the cologne and see the moonlight shine on your eyes and hair-the gloss you wore sparkled as well.

“But I couldn’t kiss you. You’re father wouldn’t approve of it.”

You couldn’t hold yourself back. Your hands met his chest. You were so caught up in the heat of it that you didn’t realize that your hands rested on Dick’s Ivory collared shirt. Dick, however, didn’t protest at all.

You gently scrunched the fabric, “He’s not here. Just one. Before my mom tries to marry me off. Just one kiss and I won’t ask for anything else of you, Dick.”

Dick put his bigger hands onto yours as his thumb finessed the small part of your soft, [y/s/c] skin in between your index and thumb. “I…”

You gave him those eyes. They were begging. One kiss from a real man and you would be content.

Dick let out a defeated sigh, “...will. Just one. For you.”

So he did. In the moonlight, Dick Winters held you close and became your first kiss. Your lips were like a sweet treat. It felt miraculous after a long day of work. It was meant to be quick, but he was obsessed with your cushion lips and sweet lip gloss. His hands firmly rested on your lower back as his fingers scrunched with the material. It wasn’t his first kiss, but it was yours, so he made sure to be gentle with you, even though he struggled. The whiff of your perfume, your shirt showing off your abdomen, the silliness of your hair. It was hard just for it to be one kiss.

Dick walked to you, your arm slung in the hole of his elbow. The two of you didn’t speak any words once you arrived back for dinner. It was a typical dinner. Your mother always made Salmon, rice, and peas on Saturdays, which occurred to be Dick’s favourite meal. Your mother raved about boys who could “tame” you, your father spoke of a new business deal in the news, you picked at the leftover peas, and Dick looked at your father with his weary king eyes, attempting to look interested in the conversation.

What kept him away in the dinner as your bare ankle, brushing against his trousers. It was a little bit distracting. Thank god he was a good pretender. It felt so wrong to be doing this, yet so right. You were unlike a lot of women Dick had met. You always caught his attention, watching you each day as you grow into a young, educated woman.

To tame your foot, Dick wrapped his ankle around yours, tenderly holding it down until the meal was over. After dinner was over, Dick wished your family a goodnight.. He gave your mother who adored him a kiss on the cheek, your father a firm handshake,  and you apart on the shoulder. His fingers struggled on your bare shoulder for what seemed like forever, brushing against the edge of your neck.

And with that, Dick was gone into the night. You headed to bed and changed, not washing your lips. You had a smile on your face as you twisted and turned. It was a one time occurance, but it felt like your fantasy had come to life.

But before you knew it, it would all be over. Dick would be back on Tuesday, and the two of you would act like nothing had ever happened.

But what Dick and you didn’t know is that it wouldn't be the first time of hushed kisses, lingering fingers, and limbs grazing passionately against each other.

————

The US had entered the war overseas. Most of the boys in your class were putting a pause on their lives to go fight in Africa, The Pacific, or Europe. Anybody who was over the age of eighteen was required to draft, so town was a shit show of crying mothers, lanky boys who could possibly never come home, and military trucks. You wanted to apply to be a combat nurse, but you weren’t of the age requirement.

Dick was going to war.

Ever since the night at the lake, you and Dick kept a closted relationship. He still came over in the Summers. Some days you wouldn’t even see him. But the small moments you had together, whether that be watching the twinkling stars on your walk on the lake hand in hand or cuddled reading books on a rainy day in your isolated greenhouse porch, mattered so much. If you had a bad day, he'd sit there and listen. He wouldn’t judge or give any advice. You didn’t know if he understood your struggles, but it made you happy to know that someone would sit there and listen. For comfort, he would take the book out of your hands and bookmark it, slide off your dangling flats, and pull you into his chest.

Dick’s language of romance wasn’t grand or romantic. Although reticent, his tranquil actions were nothing but idyllic. It was the little things that counted, whether it was fresh perennial’s picked from the field or even a hug. Your relationship didn’t have to be based on gifts and what others thought of you. It was the little things that counted.

The night before he was drafted, Dick invited your family over to his farm. It was at the edge of town and down a long dirt road, leading to a little white house and large red barn. It was picturesque, a cornfield and trees for miles on end. There was no constant chatter, horns blaring, or pressure-it was just quiet.

When your parents and Dick’s parents were distracted in conversation, Dick requested to take a walk with you. As much as you enjoyed talking to the bubbly Anne, you needed a small escape. You followed Dick to the back of his tiny kitchen. Being the gentleman he was, he held the door open and let you walk ahead of him. The only noise that could be heard were the chirps of crickets and the wind gently blowing. You held a hand down on a dress your mother forced you to wear. It was a Jade summer frock, but Dick had complimented you. So it made the frock somewhat bearable.

The two of you walked in his backyard. You had no clue where he was leading you. You turned to Dick to ask. He didn’t respond with words. His fingers edged on your as you unruled your fingers, letting his hand sink into yours. His hands were worked, and you felt awful so you gently caressed the upper skin with your thumb.

“Where are we going?” You questioned as you looked left and right, clinging onto the shawl that hung from your shoulders.

Dick looked down at you. He had a subtle smile on his lips as he looked down at you. All of the anxiety he had felt about being drafted, work, and the war faded away when he looked at you. Dick didn’t need to kiss you to know that you loved him; he could tell from the gentle look of your stunning (y/e/c) eyes. He watched you look into the never ending field ahead of you, the wind blowing loose strands of your updo. You wore a little bit of makeup. It was always subtle. He knew you hated wearing makeup and did you want to do it to look “presentable”. Dick didn’t care what you looked like, whether it be in overalls or a dress, he was infatuated with you.

He should have known from day one that y/n, the mischievous daughter of his Economics professor, had been yearning for him. He attempted to get lost in the papers and speeches of your father in his regal office with the shades closed and the whiff of smoke, earth paper, and Whiskey. Even when he was trapped in the office, you were still on his mind with your elegant perfume and book in hand.

“Here.” He announced, overlooking the cornfield. The colossal, green plants waved in the wind, in front of a hazy smoky dull sunset. You didn’t respond and simply looked into the sunset, slowly watching the shining sun set into the ground. “The cornfields, they remind me of you.”

A smirk curved on your gloss lips as you squeezed his bigger, worked hand with your tinier one. “Is that so?”

“They're wild. No matter the season, they are always growing. They're not the easiest plant to manage, there...unruly.” Dick explained, still a gentle smile on his tringale face.

“Are you comparing me to a bunch of crops?” You teased as your head landed on his shoulder. “Not a lot of women find that very romantic.”

Dick leaned his head on top of yours as he, your thighs brushing against each other.

“I’m going to miss you a lot,” You broke the silence.

Dick didn’t move and had an eerie stoic expression. He tightened his grip on your hand before looking down to let out a soft sigh.

The sun didn’t shine anymore, the corn had stopped moving in the wind, and the stars didn’t sprinkle. You felt your stomach drop as goose bumps appeared on your exposed arms and legs. You froze and looked down at the grass, seeing your feet nestled right next to Dick’s.

The possibility that this could be the last time you saw Dick, held him, read with him, and kissed him haunted you. As a child, you had made it official that love was off the table. But when the giant gentle with red hair and mint eyes waltzed into your kitchen on that fateful night, your world had been turned upside down. Trying to be logical, you could live if Dick died. He was far too old to marry you, and most likely showed no interest. You could've been just a pretty face for him to silently hold before acting like you never shared tender moments in the moonlight. If he died, you would move on, marry someone your mother chose out for you, and start a mundane life of cooking, folding laundry, and having children.

But emotionally, if Dick didn’t come back to Lancaster, something would be missing from your life. Something important.

“I can’t promise anything. You know that, sweetheart.” Dick cautioned you, whispering into your hair. At Least he was being honest-better than sugar coating a sensitive subject. He tried to make you look at him, but you refused. You were being stubborn, pushing away the emotions and trying to think logically. But in all honesty, it was catching up to you know. Tears stung at your eyes as your mouth quivered.

“I know, you don’t have to tell me, ” You sniffled, “I’m not an idiot. I prefer it if you be straightforward with me.” Dick looked at you with his thin eyebrows knit together and narrowed eyes. After sharing such a kind moment, he most likely wouldn't wanna break news that would tear your heart to pieces.

You preferred if he’d just spit out the words and get it over with. Make it easier for both of you to handle.

He moved on his hands to your cheek to wipe the incoming tears, but you refused. You turned your head and swiped the tears with your shaky palm, red lipstick and mascara staining your skin.

You scoffed in frustration, “Just say you want me to break up with me. It’s for the better. I’ll go to school, you go to war. We act like nothing ever happened. For the greater good. It was fun while it lasted..But I...nevermind.” You looked down at the ground, refusing to look at Dick. One glance and the next thing you would know, tears would be streaming down your face as you ran into the night.

Dick turned and followed after you as your footsteps increased with a few mumbled sniffles. “That’s not what I wanted to say-”

A pained sob escaped your mouth as you walked forward, a red face with tears streaming down your cheek. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Please, for the better of us. It’s better to use your mind over your heart and not worry about some young, naive girl who had a crush on her father’s best student!”

“Y/n...”

You continued to walk forward and ignore Dick’s pleas, but your stomping slowed down.

“Y/n...”

Dick was creeping up behind your. Your speed walking slowly turned into slow, sluggish steps. Tears streamed down your face as your hands slung at your sides. Dick was now right behind you, watching you as you sniffled. You slowly turned your head to look at him with mascara running down your face.

“Oh, Sweetheart..” Dick softly sighed. Your whole body turned around as you fell into his arms, letting out a loud sob. Small sniffles turned into wails as you cried into his chest, staining the ivory collared shirt. He stroked your hair as he ran reassuring circles on your back. He wanted you to get all of those pestering emotions out. After a few minutes of sobbing and Dick comfortingly holding you close, he broke the silence.

“That’s not why I brought you here,” Dick cooed into your hair as he traced mindless figures into your lower back.

You looked up with your big (e/y/c) orbs, letting out a little sniffle. He had a soft smile on his face as he wiped a stray hair from your face, slowly tucking it behind your hair. “Then...why did you bring me here..?”

“This cornfield holds a special place in my heart. I come here a lot. It’s peaceful, but lonely.” Dick explained as he grabbed your hand, holding your tiny one in his own. He looked down at you, “After working with your father, I’d come home and run here. I’d stop midway to look at the wind and the way it moved the corn. It was so relaxing, so that’s why I brought you here.”

“To not feel lonely?”

“Yes. I felt alone, until I met you.” He admired, “I was surrounded by people, but I still felt alone. But when I spent time with you, I didn’t feel alone at all. It was a highlight to see you, even if it was sitting across from each other at a table or seeing you, laying on the porch. I looked at you and I got happy.”

“Dick, I…” You were speechless. His words wanted your heart, but his message baffled you. “Appreciate your kindness, but what do you mean?”

The gentle strawberry blonde held your hand. He didn’t hold it tight, but used both his hands to hold them up. He slowly backed up and lowered himself on one knee. From the books you had read, you knew what this way. Initiatively, you would’ve said no and ran away. But Dick had courted you with his gentle hold, reassuring words, and sheer presence.

“I couldn’t keep it any longer. I know there’s a chance that this will be the last time you see me for a while or at all. I said I couldn’t promise anything, but I..can’t hide it. I love you, y/n. I don’t care if you want to start school and make your own money, I don’t care if you wear pants, I don’t care what you do. I care about your happiness. I want you to live a long and happy life. You’re the most beautiful and intelligent woman I have ever met. I understand you’re young, and you can turn this down if it’s too much. Dick announced as he pulled a velvet box from the back of his pants, he opened the box to reveal a golden Celtic band. You put a hand on your mouth in joyous disabelif. “I want to be with you, but only if you want to be with me. You’d never be alone...Will you marry me, y/n?”

“Dick, this is…” You chuckled in disbelief. One minute you were crying, now you were laughing. Dick in one hand held a beautiful ring, and the other hand your delicate hand. “Wonderful. But my parents...they…”

“I talked to your father. He said pick out a white dress you want.” Dick replied. “You’re mother cried. I thought she was upset, but she was beyond happy. She told me she knew you had an eye on me since I started coming over for dinner. They approved...but if you don’t want this, I understand. I just couldn’t hold it in, even if I don’t come ba-“

“Yes, Yes, yes, yes, yes…” Your words started low, but then turned to loud cheers. You squealed, nodding enthusiastically. “I will, Dick. I’ll marry you. I don’t care. If something does happen, I'll be happy knowing that I’m yours. Even if you don’t…” the three lettered words struggled to come out your mouth. It was such a rough word. Unable to bring yourself to say it, you chose to leave your pessimistic side for something more optimistic. “I won’t be alone, even if you’re in Europe, The Pacific, wherever. I’ll just know you’re here, in my heart and dreams.”

It turned out that this whole dinner was a setup by your family and the Winters. It just had to be Anne Winters that she found about your relationship with Winters. Being sixteen and sassy, she casually shrugged it off and stated that “Dick was a horrible liar”. It should have been obvious with Dick’s favourite meal, the fact that you were placed right next to time, Anne’s teasing, and your mother pestering for you to look presentable. It all made sense now.

But there was one ball in the air-the ceremony. Dick would be leaving for Toccoa the next day, the afternoon. Your parents wanted a big ceremony for the morning. The Winters didn’t care-they just wanted the two of you to be happy considering that Dick was going to be away for a long time or forever.

You and Dick had to come to an agreement. You announced at the end of dessert that you would wait to be married until Dick came back from the war.

Obviously, this caused a bit of uproar. But with Dick leaving tomorrow, they chose not to make a big deal of it. As long as you and Dick were happy, your families could be nothing but be happy for you. Even if it was a short amount of time.

After the storm that settled, you and Dick had left his house. You hopped in his truck and drove to the local chapel Dick had attended with his family every Sunday. In the middle of the night, the two of you eloped. He made sure to pull over and pick out a group of Perennials, all kinds of your favorites. You even stuffed some into your messy updo which had turned into a half updo.

After your quiet ceremony, the two of you drove back to your estate. There, the two of you spent your first, and poetically final, night together in your childhood bedroom; making love, cuddling, and cherishing every moment you shared with each other.

The variety of perennials’s Dick had picked out were placed into a blue and white ginger jar. It was meant to be a memory of Dick. He wouldn’t be there psychically, but spiritually, he would be right there.

Dick was surprised to learn that you weren’t a virgin. He was raised a Mennonite, waiting for marriage. You, being a curious young woman, had experimented. It was once, and an unpleasant experience. Before, you had felt indifferent about sex. It was something that women were meant to desire. You were told to be a virgin and wait for a man to take control of you. Hating those words, you chose to do the opposite. Nobody knew of your little secret, besides Dick-your husband.

Dick was nothing like the boy you had lost your virginity to. Unlike that boy, he was a man. Not because he was masculine and tough, but because he treated you like his equal. He never treated you any differently from your father. Dick had morals and integrity, he was compassionate, quiet but polite, open-minded, and used his brain and heart. That was what you defined a real man as.

Dick treated you like you were made of glass. He wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you. He didn’t care about his feelings, he only cared about yours. He wanted to make sure that you were enjoying yourself. You aided him in some areas, but the two of you were on a ride after a rocky start. Dick always asked how you were doing, if you wanted him to stop, go slower, or if you needed to break. He left sloppy kisses all over your body and had his hands wrapped around you like a young child with a bear. Dick didn’t let go of you once.

That night, the two of you held each other close as you chatted for hours on end. That was what you had looked forward to, not the sex. Sex was still a big piece in your marriage, but it wasn’t the most important. You looked forward to the long and mindless conversations the two of you had. Dick held you in his warm arms, toned and muscles from the workout’s he did year round. He would hold you close to his body as the two of you discussed life after the war.

It didn’t matter what the future held. If Dick was gone for one year, ten years, or forever. What mattered was the two of you had each other in your little moment of peace before all hell would break loose.

You and Dick had chatted the whole night away. The next thing you knew, you would go from the bedroom to the train station. It was a moment you dreaded, but it had to be done. Dick once again had a stoic expression. He kissed his mother, your mother, and sister, shook his father's and your father’s hand, and gave you a long sweet kiss on the lips. Dick struggled to pull away, but he knew it was for the best. Before climbing onto the train, he promised to write to you at every opportunity he got and tell you about Europe, the war, and anything he desired to tell you.

The next thing you knew, you were alone again.

When you arrived home, you kicked off your shoes and walked up the stairs. Your mother asked if you were okay, to which you silently nodded your head. Your father had noticed your unusual silence. He had offered to take you shopping, thinking that money would make you happy. All you did was politely decline and retreat to your bedroom.

Your room was stuck in time. The sheets were all over the floor and Dick’s tall figure that had been imprinted on the left side of your bed. The dress your mother forced you to wear laid on the floor, along with your flats and pearls.

The sun shined through the curtains as you crawled onto the side where Dick had laid. You closed your eyes and sunk into his pillow, holding onto the disappearing scent of your husband.

On Top of the books, you had been reading were the perennials; lavender, daylilies, and stonecrops. You looked up from the pillow, your nose buried into the pillow and a blanket loosely covering your legs.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel that so alone anymore.

———

One year turned into two, two turned into three, and three turned into four. You kept the calendar’s from over the years in your room, neatly stored under your bed. You found it funny how time flew by. You could remember the first day of walking in your classroom and the day you walked off the podium with your diploma. The pretty perennials that Dick had given you from what seemed like a decade ago had died. They were withered and derived of the bright colors they once had, hanging on the side of the blue and white ginger jar. The perennials reminded you of yourself. Once you had been a fiery young girl, and now you were an exhausted graduate student who was bound to become a widow.

Around the time you had found work at Lancaster, BBC announced that the war was over in Europe. That should have phased you and made you jump up with glee, but in all reality, it didn’t. The optimistic side you once had was long gone, turning into a pessimistic bitterness. The war was over in Europe, but not in The Pacific. Dick still wouldn’t be coming home, and you learned to accept that.

Sure, he had sent you letters in the beginning. Lots of them. He would talk about his adventures in training, his dreadful drill sergeant, his friend who was a “one of those city folk”, and so many more things. He expressed his boyish pride in being a patriot for his country. His little letters used to make your day. But as the leaves fell from the trees and the years passed, his letters would slow down. The last one you had received in January, written in December. It was short and sweet. The letter rested  in your drawer. As the days passed on, a small part of you broke. You had been married for five years, yet you felt like you weren’t even married. No Dick kissing you, holding you in your arms, or comforting you in your darkest moments.

When the flowers had slowly withered, so did your hope.

But that all changed on a warm September day. Your mother had called you from your room, not specifying what was awaiting for you at the door. You grumbled and got up, taking off your glasses as you walked down the stairs, expecting to see another colleague trying to woo you.

You didn’t expect to see a tall man with a soft smile, strawberry hair, and a neat military uniform. Your husband-Dick Winters.

It was like a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. You dropped everything, running right into his arms. You buried your face in his chest as he pulled you in close, his worked hands resting on your lower back and hair. He smelt amazing, and his uniform was soft. You missed his tender touch and soft words. It had been forever since you had seen him. In that moment, nothing mattered. No words needed to be spoken. In all honesty, you never wanted or needed pity from others. You just wanted someone-Dick-to be close. You thought of yourself as a coward, but all you wanted to feel was alright.

“Sweetheart, I missed you. I’m so sorry,” He apologized, stroking your embrace. His voice was stoic, as usual. It really was Dick. He was home and in your arms, at last.

“Don’t. Just stay. Please.” You softly cooed into his chest. No, you couldn’t let go now.

Dick let out a soft chuckle and stayed in the embrace. War was a strange beast. It stripped families of their children and caused mass discussion. Dick thought he wouldn’t come home and see his wife who had married the night before he was drafted. As the years had gone by, Dick began to regret his choice. What if he had left you a widow?

But that was the past. It was gone-nothing to waste tears on. In your extended embrace, the future didn’t matter, it wasn’t worth stressing. Dick and you lived in the present moment and made it beautiful.

-----------

Nothing had changed after Dick had come home. Life was still the same, except you weren’t as alone. Dick was still his stoic self. He was a doting husband. You expected him to struggle when he returned to civilian life. He wasn't used to homemade dinners and a bed much-the flashes of exploding limbs and artillery flashing through his eyes. Both you and Dick were independent. It wasn’t a bad thing. You could spend hours reading as he did a puzzle in another. On some days, the two of you would do activities together. You’d lay your head in his lap as he’d did his puzzle. On other days, Dick would be needier. Originally, he wasn’t vocal about it. It took you a while to catch onto it. He held your hand more in public, pulled you closer as you slept, and whenever he was in a mood-he’d come right to you and just give you a look. You knew the look all too well-and knew how to cure it. Dick would wrap his arms as you snuggled into his chest and talk about anything your minds came to. Sometimes you’d talk, but other times the two of you would close yours and fall asleep. Dick wouldn’t have any nightmares if held you close for comfort.

Without you, Dick didn’t know what he would do. How he could return to the simplicity of life.

Somehow, he returned. And every day he made sure to thank you for making him feel like a human and not a machine-whether that be through a gentle peck, a cuddle, or even a literal “thank you”. He loved you more than anything in the world.

----------

Shortly after Dick returned, the two of you moved out to New Jersey. His “city-boy” friend (his name was Lewis Nixon, but Dick called him Lew) had offered him a job at his parent’s nutrition company. So off the two of you drove from Lancaster to the suburbs of Haddonfield. Haddonfield and Lancester were virtually the same; small country bumpkin towns isolated from the big cities.

You and Dick had bought your first house (which was given by Nixon was a “late honeymoon gift). It was a small colonial house in a tiny suburb, pristine white with red doors. The decorations in the house were limited, a few photos of your and his family with elegant furniture gifted from your parents. It was a little big for your liking. It was a nice gift, but in Nixon’s words, it was for the “incoming armada of redheads”.

Babies. Children. Of your kin.

Dick had mentioned having children. When he was still adjusting, he’d hold you close as he talked about his plans for the future. Buy a farm in Pennsylvania, build his own business, and start a family of his own. He had told you that anywhere you would go, he would go. Anything you wanted, he wanted. He was about thirty two and you were close to turning twenty-five. It was expected at your age to have young children, but with no husband around and a job, it was difficult to settle down. You would gulp and smile, looking down as you held his hand.

Dick didn’t want to pressure you. He knew that were siginactiatly younger. Times were changing, you had a job and life of your own. He never wanted to interfere with it. When you would get insecure about not being the “ideal wife”, he’d reassure you that you were his wife and didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want. Dick wasn’t a man who put fear into others to get what he wanted. He was a patient and gentle soul.

You had tried a few times here and there. As much as you tried to enjoy something that was pleasurable, it was painful. You hid it from Dick, but Dick wasn’t an idiot. Dick wanted you to enjoy it. You could his mint eyes, hungry yet soft, as he laid on top of you, both of your hands restricted as you did the deed.

You weren’t making any noises, looking to the side. Something was wrong, you knew it. But you couldn’t break it to Dick. How would he react?

Dick catched onto his. He pulled himself together and pulled out. You looked at him and gave him a stubble style as he scooted closer to you, his breath heavy and gelled hair a mess.

“Hey,” You smiled awkwardly, clenching at the sheets.

Dick looked at you, a smile curving as his lips as his hand caressed your cheek. “How is my wife doing?”

It was a private nickname. He called you it after the war, especially when he was feeling vulnerable. Sometimes it was “my little wife”, which could be sweet or driven by lust. The little nickname made your heart skip a beat. You were proud to be his.

“Good. I’m tired,” You yawned as you held his hand close, playing with his big fingers.

Dick looked at your face as he admired your natural beauty, a pearly smile, your hair loose on the pillow, and your figure covered by a thin sheet. His hand moved from your cheek, your nape, and eventually your stomach. He drew slow, soft circles around your tummy.

“My little wife with our baby,” Dick remarked, his fingers dancing across your bare skin. Any girl would’ve fallen head over heels if a man had said that. You should have been happy, you wanted a family.

But how could you tell him?

There was a long silence between the two of you. All you did was look into his mint orbs, stroking his hair out of his face.

“I hope he, or she, looks like you. So they get their mother’s beauty.” Dick looked down at your stomach and planted a kiss.

You gulped, thinking of a response. A pretty white lie. “And there’s dad’s redhead and kindness. If you’re a little guy, I’ll tell you that it’s hard to find a man like your day.”

“And it’s hard to find a woman like your mother. She’s a firecracker,” Dick jabbed as he playfully ruffled his hair.

“Dick…” Your words were low as you held back a sob. You plastered a smile, it hurt to lie. “We don’t even know if it’s a boy or girl. I don’t even know if I have a baby there…”

“Well…” Dick laid his head on your stomach, gently finessing the skin under your breast. “If It was a girl, what would her name be?”

You hated the feeling-naming a baby that wasn’t in your stomach. Dick believed that you were pregnant, or at least he believed you were. In response, you bit your lips-looking like you were deep in thought.

“Margaret,” You announced, “Molly for short. After my grandmother, in her memory.”

Dick tilted his head up and nodded, “For your grandma,” He planted another kiss and rested his head once again, “A boy?”

“Lewis? You like that fellow a lot.”

Dick shook his head, “No. I can’t look at him and our child the same way.”

You let out a chuckle before shaking your head. An image of a little baby flashed between your eyes. Mint eyes, dimples, and soft red hair. You wished it would occur.

“I can’t think of a name. You?”

Dick was silent for a minute as he laid on your stomach, your fingers entangled in his locks.

“Thomas. His name could be Thomas,” Dick proposed.

“Why is that?” You questioned.

Dick let out a sigh before crawling up to you, pulling you into his arms,“He was a C.O, to replace Sobel. I didn’t know him for long since his plane was hit. He’s listed as missing in action...but,” He froze on the words, unable to say it. You looked up at him Dick, who looked to the side with guilt tugging at his heart. You planted a kiss on his chin.

“He was twenty-two years old, just married. He sent a letter out to his wife to tell her that he was coming home. She still believes he’s out there, lost in some forest, finding his way home..” Dick looked down at you. Just like Meehan, he had been freshly married, sending out a letter. While Dick had kept his short and sweet (he didn’t want to promise anything), Meehan was too big for his britches. He didn’t show his fear, confidence in the face of adversity.

“Okay, Thomas it is. I like that name” You expressed.

Dick saw your face glow up, and so did his. He smiled, nodding along. “Thomas and Margaret,” He looked at your stomach once more, running his hand across your flat stomach. “I like that too.”

You nuzzled into his chest as he planted little kisses on the nape of your neck, holding you close for warmth. The two of you remained there, the only noise being your breathing.

Pulling your head back, Dick moved his hands down to your lower back to pull you up, closer to his face. “Y/n?”

“Yes, Dick?” You looked into his mint eyes, the candle in the room glittering in his orbs.

Dick held your cheek as he admired your face, “I love you, my little wife.”

You looked down before looking at your husband, moving slowly up to his face.

“And I love you two, my big husband.”

Maybe time stopped when Dick’s lips had met yours, but the flutter only intensified. Your heart pounded in your chest as your knees went numb. You could only focus on how soft Dick felt against your mouth, how addictively he invaded all of your senses.

It wasn’t clear if you had dreamed this all, but the raw emotion in the way Dick’s fingers curled against yours. Dick kept his eyes open, sneaking a guilt peak every time you took a breath for air, just to make sure you weren’t a product of his imagination.

You weren’t sure if nature rooted for this moment, but it distracted you from everything. You just laid there with Dick, draped each other's arms as you sloppily kissed. Dick pulled you in once again, gently placing his lips onto yours until your knees had once again gone numb, overpowered by his. His other hand rested on your stomach as he murmured Margaret and Thomas, talking about how excellent of a mother you would be to your babies.

By the time you became aware of this, you froze, letting Dick kiss your body. You looked at the ceiling, hands in his hair as he decorated your skin.

It was like a car had run into you, throwing you down to the side-a rude awakening. As much as you denied it, it was creeping up on you.

There was no Thomas. There was no Magaret. There was never going to be a Thomas or Margaret.

Your stomach was flat, nothing moved. There was no life in your stomach ever. No matter how many times you tried, wished, prayed, there was only one conclusion.

There would never be a son or a daughter in your stomach-ever.

From that point on, life was slow. You woke up, gave Dick a kiss goodbye, worked from home, cooked dinner, read with Dick, fell asleep at an ungodly hour, and repeated the mundae routine everyday. With Dick being a general manager, he would work late hours. At some points, the only time you would see him is late at night when he’d crawl into bed giving you a kiss or early in the morning. Still, in his weary and stressed state, he’d always kiss your stomach every night and morning.

With your irregular cycles, constant negative tests, and pelvic pain becoming more evident in your marriage, you decided it was best to see your Doctor. As much as you didn’t want to know the possibility of what could be wrong, at least you would have an idea of what it was and how to make it better.

It turned out you couldn’t make your problem better. The doctor had a sympathetic look in your eyes as he listed off possibilities. You just sat there and looked at your stomach; your cold hands pressing against your stomach.

You were infertile.

There was never a Margaret growing in your stomach, nor was there a Thomas. There was nothing in your stomach.

How the hell were you going to tell your doting husband this?

---------

It was another Friday night in September. The leaves fell from the trees, the radio softly played in the back, it was peaceful in your little white house. Dick still hadn’t come home yet. You attempted to act like everything was normal as you put on a nice dress, pearls, and a fake pearly smile. It was all fine.

Nothing was fine.

You stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down into the haunting abyss. This feeling of dread and tightness became background noise as if it were traffic on an unseen road. There were times where you could handle it, and times where you could not. This was a day where you couldn’t handle it. Each day passed, and the more you repressed it-it hurt. It hurt even more than it was supposed to.

You were faced with a dead-end, a terrifying one, with thoughts of temptation and contemplation. You felt even lost in your own home and marriage, feeling helpless and scared. This wasn’t supposed to happen. In the partial society you lived in, a woman’s identity revolved around the ability to convenience. As a girl, you laughed it off, saying you’d do what you’d please. But you were no longer a fiery girl, but a broken and bitter woman. Bitter at the world for forcing the idea that women were baby machines. You, as you typically did, pushed it away.

Stuffed it into a closet, but it was now pouring out. All the baggage that you had repressed was right in front of you. You never felt like you belonged in the parthricaral society you lived in with their white picket fences and predictable lifestyles. That didn’t mean you didn’t want a family of your own. You had a husband, a job, a house, everything seemed perfect. But one thing was missing-a baby.

The older you had gotten, the more it affected you. Going to those parties for Dick’s job and seeing all the wives with their babies and fumbling toddlers. You didn’t feel anything towards them at first, but they eventually grew on you. Dick’s first few days home contained long conversations about what your lives would be after the way. You would chat with him for hours about it to distract from the nightmares that flooded his mind, holding his hand.

“A nice little farm near Lancaster, one or two kids, my own business, and the most important thing...you ” Dick would say, his words full of love. “My wonderful little wife, Margaret, Thomas, and me, on our farm. We’ll have each other.”

The kettle boiled in the water, the loud noise screeching in the kitchen. You dropped the knife and heard it clack onto the ground. All you did was stand there with wide eyes and shaky legs, looking down at the ground as your nails dug into the counter.

You couldn’t bear him children-you tried and tried and tried but to no avail. If you were not Dick’s, then what were you?

---------

Dick had taken off his trench coat, sliding his shoes off as he neatly put them right next to yours. He let out a sigh as he loosened his tie. Work had been stressful once again. All he could think about was seeing you and his growing little babies. Of course, he never told anybody. But knowing the thought was between you and him made it special-something so personal and beautiful. He couldn’t wait to see your face and hold you close, talking for hours on end. Anything you said or did made him head over heels, just like it had done to you five years ago. You had been distant and not your usual self, and Dick was worried. He knew of the insecurities you had, feeling like you never had fit into a certain mold.  

He had walked into the kitchen and instead of finding you, he found a dropped knife and kettle that was overflowing with boiling water. It looked like you had left in a hurry. He made sure to check all of the doors to see if you had left, in which you had no. In a calm manner, Dick cleaned up the kettle and put the knife back where it was. He wanted to help so you wouldn’t stress.

The pitter-patter of the shower coming from upstairs alerted Dick. He walked up the stairs and down the dark hallway, seeing the bathroom light creak from the bathroom. Creaking the door open, the all to familiar noise hit his ears. The bathroom was foggy as the shower ran. Looking down, Dick saw the water come to his feet, staining his wet socks. Your flats were spread on the ground along with your knit cardigan, soggy from the water. Inside of the shower was you, clothed with your makeup running, hugging your knees as you looked down.

Dick let out a soft sigh as he looked at you, his shoulder slouching down. It was paining him to see you in this state, “Oh honey..”

You didn’t move, only your eyes did. He walked towards you, into the shower. He wore a white suit and dress pants, which were now we're stuck to his skin. He put himself right next to you as the hot water warmed his cold skin. You adjusted yourself to lean on his wet shoulder. Dick said there as you leaned on him for comfort, listening to the white noise of the shower.

“I tried,” You mumbled as your fingers ran circles in his arm.

Dick looked down at you with his strawberry hair sticking to his forehead and drips of water rushing down his face. He frowned, tiping his head to the side.

“I tried and tried, time after time. I tried so hard and I…” You lamented, grasping onto Dick’s arm. It was hard to spit out the words. You had already said the first half of it, you needed to say more. “I just can’t. I can’t do it.”

“Do what?” Dick questioned, his fingers lifting your chin. Tears streamed down your cheeks, your mascara coming down along with it. His thumb wiped away the incoming hot tears. He was too kind to you. His mere presence reassured you. “Don’t cry, my little wife. Let me help you. Whatever it is, whatever you need, I-”

“I can’t have children. Not now, or ever.” The words came out your mouth. It felt like you were spitting fire. It felt strange like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. Even though it was gone, it still lingered. “I went to the doctor last week. I’m infertile, Dick.”

Dick just sat with a frown on his face. You couldn’t tell what was going through his head. His free arm had wrapped around your shoulder was slowly falling as he let go of your chin, making an “oh” noise.

You looked at him and let out a sob as your face fell into your hands. “I didn’t wanna tell you. I know you’ve wanted children, every man wants that for their wife. You want a son who looks like you, and a wife who can provide that for you. I can’t. I wanted it too, but I watched my dream break. I’m supposed to give you a baby like a normal wife should...” Through the sniffling and sobs, you refused to look at Dick. He seemed disappointed, but you could never tell what he was feeling. “If you want a wife who can give you a child, then, by all means, do so. I’m worthless.”

You could feel it. Your relationship was over. Maybe it was for the better. Dick could start his family, and you could work a job in Philadelphia. They did have an opening in Philadelphia. It was better to have nobody-so you couldn’t get hurt and hurt others around you.

“No,”

Slowly removing your hands from your face, you turned to Dick. You scooted back, not able to tell if he was upset at you. “No?”

“No. You’re not worthless, y/n.” Dick attested, “What would make you think such a thing?”

“We’ve always wanted a family down the line. You would kiss my stomach every night, talking to the...” You looked down at your flat stomach, your hand gently squeezing the skin. It broke your heart even more just feeling what Dick assumed was Margaret and Thomas. “Just didn’t want you to get mad at me. I know you're upset with me.”

“Don’t give me that malarkey,” He growled, crawled closer to you as he grabbed your cheeks with your foreheads nuzzling towards each other. You could feel the warmth on the top of your forehead, “I’m not upset. You didn’t have to hide this from me. I should’ve known, I’m so sorry sweetheart.”

Dick tenderly grabbed your shoulders and leaned you back on the white subway wall. He was gentle as he wiped the sticky hair from your face for a clearer view. He had a soft smile as he caressed your cheek with you leaning into it.

“But if I can’t give you children, what good use am I?”

“The reason I married you wasn’t that I wanted a family. At that moment, in that cornfield, I wanted you to be my wife. If I didn’t tell you, I don’t know if I would’ve died content with my life,” Dick complimented with a kiss to your wet hand. “You're not just a pawn used for children-my little wife. Just because you can’t have children doesn’t mean I won’t leave you. I wouldn’t even consider the thought. It’d be hard to find someone like you, y/n. Nobody as hardworking, beautiful, and fiery”

A chuckle escaped your lips, “Like a cornfield?”

“Like a cornfield,” He assured. “I don’t care about children, the past, the future, anything. I married you because I was in love with the beautiful, growing woman five years ago, and I still am. All I care about is my little wife, y/n-you. I love you.”

You nuzzled into his shoulder, “I..love you too, Dick.”

Silent communication was your and Dick’s form of romance. You didn’t need big gestures and materialistic gifts to feel comforted, sometimes you just needed someone right next to you, or in your arms. The silence was nice and the warmth was needed. Dick’s warmth felt like a little touch of heaven, warm, together, cozy. You wished that you could extend the night just so you could stay in his comforting embrace, relived in his hold. In his hold, you believed that there is nothing to fear, that there is all sunshine and love. Dick was the cure you needed, a lone star in an otherwise empty sky, he was the morningstar that you prayed wouldn’t disappear.

“I’ll make us dinner,” Dick said as he got up. “I’ll even run you a bath. Does that sound good, my little wife?”

Your fingers held the tip of his hands. Your (y/c/e)‘s met with his mint ones that shined in the pristine light. He gently helped you up with a hand resting on your waist.

Resting a hand on his chin, you looked down and shook your head. “I want to make dinner with you. I feel clean.”

“Are you sure?” Dick questioned, pulling you closer to his body. “I know you haven’t been sleeping.”

“Well I’m not tired. I haven’t felt like we’ve talked lately. You’ve been gone and I’ve been distant.” You confessed. The brutally honest was needed now. You tipped your head to look at Dick. “I wouldn’t mind a helping hand.”

“Fine, if you insist,” He placed his hand on your upper back and swept you off your fear. You let out a little chuckle as you snaked an arm around his shoulder for stability, “You said you needed a helping hand.”

Once you and Dick changed out of your wet clothes and into your matching silk robes (gifted by Lew, the man even had your initials engraved into the pocket), the two of you headed down to the kitchen to cook. The radio played in the back and the kettle silently brewed as you sautéed the chicken and Dick set the small table in the tiny dining space.

“Hey, y/n?”

“Yeah?” You looked behind you as you washed your hands of the greasy oils and spices.

“Did you grow up with dogs?”

You nodded as you dried your hands, “Two-a Westie and Cairn terrier. Your point?”

Dick came over the counter as he leaned on it with a smirk. It wasn’t condescending, but it looked like an idea had popped in his head. You loved it when he smirked or smiled; the dimples on his cheeks would show.

“I know you get lonely when I’m not around. Lew knows a lot of good breeders in the area. How do two dogs sound?”

You were lonely. Loneliness was a feeling you knew all too well. It haunted you as a child and adult. Except when you were a child, you thought it would disappear. But in truth, it did not.

“Two dogs sound nice, Dick,” You confessed. The kettle began to make a shrieking noise. Walking over, you grabbed two cups and poured hot water into them. The water from clear to a darkish brown. You let the bags settle for a few minutes before taking the two cups over and handing one to your strawberry blonde husband.

“There breed? Are we sure Lew won’t try and steal them?”

“Well, Lew wouldn’t steal them. He and Grace already have enough animals to take care of,” Dick put his two big hands around the mug. “Two terriers, a boy, and girl. Just like the ones you grew up with.”

“Ok,” You smiled, raising your eyebrows. “And their names?”

Dick took a sip of his tea before smacking his thin lips. “I was thinking of Margaret and Thomas. Do you like that?”

You finally knew the answer to why Dick was asking about getting dogs. Not that you were in protest. Dogs were like children-just easier to take care of.

“Yeah, I like that a lot.”

Dick put a hand over yours, giving it a reassuring squeezed. He smiled at you, and you smiled back.

Within the week, Lew had come over with the cutest puppies you had ever seen. He had also brought over all of the necessary supplies for two puppies, and even two sweaters with their names. One was a feisty and quiet Westie named Thomas and the other was a sweetheart with a sour side named Margaret. You and Dick loved them more than anything in the world. They were fed Filet Mignon from the table, slept in between you and Dick, and always for what they wanted. Even Dick gave into their puppy eyes whenever they got into trouble. The reason he wanted dogs in the first place was for his little wife; y/n-you. Not only did he want to make you feel a little less lonely in your little colonial house, but protected. Dick wasn’t always there to look out for you, even though he knew you could handle yourself just fine. Still, it was the thought that counted. Knowing that you would have two little balls of energy to keep you entertained made Dick content, and so did you.

Lewis Nixon was right all along. He never saw you and Dick having children. In his wise words, dogs were “far superior” than children. Dogs didn’t cry as much, they weren’t as needy, and they didn’t wake you up in the middle of the night. Mostly.

You would see the way the dogs would interact with Dick, and how Dick would interact with them. He’d treat them like children. From rocking Margaret in his arms to having long conversations with Thomas about why he shouldn’t bite you his mother while you peacefully sleep, it made your heart skip a beat, seeing Dick be so gentle with the two puppies.

Every night before you would head to bed, Dick would always remind you that his dream had finally come true; buying the little patch of land in Lancaster for the farm was within reach. He’d give you a kiss and pull you close as the two of you fell asleep in each other's arms.

You broke away from the terrifying cliff that you had looked down, heading towards your morning star, Dick, with hope that it wouldn’t disappear.

[madroxed]

IN POISONED PLACES [SHADOWHUNTERS. SIMON/RAPHAEL. “FORBIDDEN FRUIT”. @AO3.]

“I want that cup,” Camille says, and so Raphael’s following the Shadowhunters, obeying orders even as his blood sings with anger and frustration and the seeds of anarchy. The Mortal Instruments are dangerous, he knows that, understands what it means in the greater scheme of things, sees war and bloodshed ahead. He also knows Camille is the last person they need leading them into that mess.

Heaven forbid she actually gets the cup.

The girl’s apartment is clean. Not as clean as it should be; there’s magic threaded in the corners and the faintest scent of Downworld clinging to the walls, but the cup’s not there, and for all he can tell the girl and her mother lead a boringly mundane life.

He’s ready to give up, head home before sunrise rather than rifling through strangers cutlery drawers, when it hits him, faint at first and then strong enough to make him dizzy.

He hasn’t felt like this in decades, not since he was first Turned and Magnus took him in and talked him through the concept of bloodlust and self-control. The way his blood’s burning in his veins, vision a little hazy, makes him feel young and naive and so out of control that he wants to find the offending item and tear it apart with his hands.

(Wants to drink it in, bathe in it until it’s the only thing in the world to fill his senses.)

The sweatshirt’s flung behind the couch, a ratty thing with a hand painted design on the front and holes in the cuffs where someone’s pushed their thumbs through. Raphael barely resists holding it to his nose.

Get it together, he tells himself and leaves.

+

“We need leverage,” Camille says, and once again Raphael’s sent out to do her dirty work whilst she drinks from crystal goblets and ignores the vampires under her care.

The Shadowhunters are untouchable, of course, and the girl’s mother’s missing. Taking the girl herself seems risky given the Institute’s interest in her, and Raphael’s not stupid enough to have missed the scent of wolves at the apartment but he’s also not willing to get his people into an unnecessary fight.

“Anything?” he asks, and Lily nods, all business. He likes that about her. Thinks she’d make an excellent second given the chance.

“There’s a friend. A Mundane.”

“Where?” Raphael says, and goes to do some recon of his own.

+

He knows it’s the right place three blocks away. The scent’s so strong here it almost sends Raphael to his knees, his fangs pushing through against his will and his mouth watering in a way he’d be embarrassed about if he could form coherent thought.

It takes him too long to get himself together, and he stands and breathes it in, lets it wash over him until he’s able to push the flood of desire to the back of his mind. He’s better than this, has more control than any vampire he knows, hard fought under Magnus’ watch a lifetime ago, a fact he’s always been proud of and always relied on.

He’s not going to let some random Mundane take that from him.

Raphael watches everyone that passes, trying to place them, a terrible, useless part of him eager and wanting.

“Okay, Mom,” a boy says, leaving a house down the block. “See ya!”

He has dark hair and glasses, dressed like anyone else his age and draped in the same awkwardness, excess energy practically vibrating through his skin.

Raphael had always intended to follow him; that he does so without any conscious thought just makes him mad.

He’s heard other vampires talk about this before, the humans they’ve been unable to resist until they’ve drained them or Turned them. Raphael doesn’t want to kill the boy — young man, really, but everything’s comparative — hasn’t killed anyone outside of battle since he become who he is today, and certainly not before. Every primal part of him wants to taste his blood, though. Feel it drench his tongue and set his veins alight.

Raphael shakes it off, drags his control back into place.

He definitely doesn’t want to Turn him. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

It’s overwhelming, though, this need he has to pull the young man to his side and keep him there come hell or high water. Raphael’s never needed anyone or anything. He hates that some mark up of chemistry or magic or that same Fate that’s clamped him under foot since he was born might change all that.

That doesn’t mean Raphael doesn’t want it.

The young man’s phone rings.

“Simon!” someone says on the other end.

Simon.

Simon.

Okay.

+

“Bring him to me,” Camille says, and Raphael hates himself for following the rules so carefully and can’t stop the buzz of excitement under his skin.

He makes a show of it because of course he does.

The clan has a reputation to uphold.

The girl’s mad, the Shadowhunters more concerned with their bruised pride, and Simon—

Simon doesn’t stop talking.

He throws a knife at him and ruins his new jacket.

It’s possible he’s the most annoying person Raphael’s ever met.

(Raphael wants to bury himself in the curve of his neck and not let go.)

Camille tries to use Simon as a pawn, the way Raphael knew she would, and the Shadowhunters show up in force, battle ready, with Camille leaving her most loyal to die in her stead.

“Take the others,” he tells Lily, keeping his voice low. “Steer clear.”

It’s not Raphael’s best plan but it’s the only one he has. The fact that it so largely relies on the Shadowhunters not being as trigger happy as they usually are isn’t the best odds, but if everything plays out the way it should then he couldn’t have written it better himself.

He traps Simon between his chest and a knife, sees the girl’s whole body go tight, and tries not to accidentally draw blood.

He’s not sure he’d be able to control himself if he did.

They follow him out easily enough.

“You mean nothing,” he says when Simon thanks him, throwing him to the light. It’s not a lie. Simon is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. The Downworld is on the brink of war and one bright-eyed boy who talks too much and vibrates with anxious laughter is a nobody.

Raphael has a hotel full of vampires waiting on his word, has Camille to put a stop to before she can incite even more damage, and Accords to reset lest punishment be handed out. Even without Valentine’s shadow on the horizon it’s enough to give him a stress headache.

There’s not time for Simon, the Mundane who’s so clearly and terribly made for him that Raphael wants to laugh and scream and go back to his grave.

No, the Mundane is off-limits.

Raphael’s responsibilities are too numerous and too important, and there are too many souls relying on him to make it through the coming days.

(Sometimes he wishes he knew how to be selfish.)