#I ended up flipping the canvas to make the wind look like it was blowing the other way

[literallyjusttoa]

ToApril Day 10: Flowers, Threads and Needles.

Saw this prompt and immediately thought of the strings of fate. Poor Apollo and his tendency to have the people he's attached to die painfully. No wonder he ends up blaming himself, with how much his life has become a walking tragedy.

(Ignore the fact that I ignored the other two words in this prompt. Hyacinthus is a flower right? It counts)

[cryptiql]

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."

[ktheist]

03 — show me yours & i’ll show you mine | m

➙ muses. seokjin x college student / gamer!reader ft. best friend! taehyung

➙ genre. best friend’s brother au. university au. working au. fwb au.

➙ word. 1.9k

➙ warnings. explicit content, fingering, mild exhibitionism

➙ index. 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | finale | side story 1 |

➙ synopsis.  “why are you doing this if you’re not gonna fuck me?”

x

saturday evening, taehyung comes up to you with a face of a blank canvas, phone in his hand facing the ceiling and relays the news of his break up.

you’re in the middle of watching a show with his two brothers on your laptop.

“wh-what?” is all you manage to say whilst namjoon and seokjin freeze in their spots.

“i broke up with her,” taehyung’s shoulderline rises as he casually shrugs.

“but why?” deep down, you have an inkling - but your mouth moved on its own before you can even stop it.

“cause she was shit talking you,” and with that, he twirls around, heading back to the hallway where one of the doors connect to his room.

and just like second nature, your body shoots up, trailing after the slumped man like a mother to her pupper.

“you guys watch without me,” you briefly say to the two men on the couch, their faces scrunching with growing concern.

for the first time in a long time, you and taehyung bare your hearts to each other. talked about your fears and hopes and what keeps you going. which is, to an extent, each other and the two brothers. you’re not sure how you fell asleep but you wake up with a leg sprawled all over your stomach and a snoring sound echoing against the wall. the blanket draped over you and taehyung isn’t part of his bedset because one, you and taehyung end up sleeping on top of the sheets and two, you know the only one brother out of the three loves the color blue so much, his bedsheets and blankets are always themed with light cerulean. and this blanket - you’ve definitely seen seokjin use a dozen times.

"hey, morning,” you greet the two brothers whilst they’re unpacking what seems to be takeouts from a store you all collectively agree have no bad item in their menu.

everyone eats just about anything from that restaurant.

“morning, sleepyhead.” namjoon shakes his head, smiling - it’s probably the hair pointing in different directions.

“how’s taehyung?” seokjin asks when you come to sit on the stool next to where he’s standing.

“well, i mean - he’s not in a good place,” you begin, “i know he really liked her. and i know she talks shit about me behind my back and she knows i do too and he’s always caught in between, but he always seemed to brush it off and never take sides you know? so i didn’t think he’d break up with her over it.”

“hey, it’s not your fault,” the hand on your shoulder is warm, seeping into your heart as you examine the sincerity of those brown eyes, down to the reassuring smile of those plump lips.

“thanks for saying that, jinnie,” you want to ask for a kiss (and maybe some dick) but with namjoon - though he’s cluelessly continuing with his task of preparing the takeouts - around, you settle for patting his hand that’s on your shoulder.

after washing your face and returning to the kitchen, you find the previously sleeping-like-a-long giant perched on one of the stools, rubbing the grogginess out of his eyes.

“look who’s up!” a smack lands on taehyung’s back.

the aforementioned man doesn’t even flinch as he takes another second to rub all the sleepiness away before craning his neck to look at your smiling face - it may be a dumb smile but someone’s got to be lifting the atmosphere.

“i thought you left,” he grumbles, before his arm snakes around your waist and brings you in for a side hug.

the recoil is almost automated as your smile scrunches into a cringe, arms flailing to push him away and at least get a few inches gap in between,“ew, what the hell.”

“i’m sad! gimme a hug,” he laments whilst namjoon laughs, commenting something about how “adorable” the two of you are and how it “...reminds me of the good old days, you know?”

he means when you and taehyung aren’t as resistant to skinships.

but all your attention goes to the eldest brother whose glance lingers a second too long before he tears his gaze off from you and taehyung.

x

it turns out that little bitch tried making taehyung choose between you and her after he’d texted her (in an attempt to placate her jealousy-prone heart) about how you’d opted to room with seokjin in yesterday.

give them and inch and they’ll take a mile.

“i should’ve known,” taehyung shakes his head, bags heavy under his eyes as he lies in his bed, cocooned by the light cerulean blanket, “you don’t like her but you like everyone-”

“don’t you go justin bieber on me,” you smack him in the stomach, to which he curls up into a caterpillar, moaning in pain and something about suing for personal injuries.

but the fact that he can complaint at all means that he’s recovered half of himself.

“i’m getting some food from the kitchen, you want anything?” you roll your eyes.

“how bout a new girlfriend?” he manages to say, despite the so called blow to the stomach.

“potato chips it is,” you nod before strutting out of the door.

the hallway is dimly lit, save for the lone light in the ceiling and the slightest bit of gap that allows luminescence to pour out of seokjin’s room. so you knock on the door, leaning against the frame, “hey.”

kim seokjin sits on the chair you previously occupied the night before, round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as his eyes widen for the briefest second before offering you one of his warm smiles, “hey, how’s taehyung?”

“he’s eating,” you shrug, trying to appear casual even though something in the way his shirt swallows his already broad built and making him appear like you can fight him and win - gets your heart doing flips.

“that’s gre-” he can’t even properly get his response out because you’re already crossing the short distance between you and him, hands cupping his cheeks before smashing your lips against his. as if you haven’t had water for days. as if you’ve been breathing with your head barely above water.

his hands find their way on your hips, kissing you back more delicately than you can ever control yourself. tingles dot your skin from where his hand caresses your elbow and travels up your arm, lingering there, as though forgetting the reason his warning touch.

“i needed that,” you break away only to steal another kiss before confessing.

seokjin chuckles, his hand slipping over to your chest before attempting to pinch your nipple. to which he fails because your padded bra successfully blocks him off.

“oh, you’re wearing a bra?” the genuine surprise gleaming in his eyes should offend you.

“unless you want your brother accidentally touching my nips while we were wrestling each other to decide who gets to use your comfy as hell blanket,” you roll your eyes.

taehyung won, obviously. which explained why he was lying in bed like a human burrito just now.

“i’d have to give taehyung a personal beating if that happened,” the dorky grin and amused glint in his whenever he cracks a not-so-funny-but-adorable joke, isn’t present.

your heart’s always done this thing where it skips with every smile that curls on his lips, yet the lack of it and the underlying seriousness of his tone is making your heart lurch in your throat, warmth spreading all over your body.

“anyways, i need to get taehyung some chips, thanks for the kiss.” you wave but something wraps around your wrist like an iron hold seconds before you find yourself perched in seokjin’s lap and the man dangerously close to you - despite having shared a passionate kiss just a moment ago.

“taehyung this, taehyung that,” his hand slips under your shirt, coarse hand trailing up your back until you feel him unhooking your bra in one go.

like he’s had enough practice in the art of seduction.

“well, he’s the one out of the four of us with a broken heart,” you pray to the constellations and deities that your voice is levelled though it soon proves to be pointless if his other hand’s snaking up your front and hovers over your chest where he could feel the organ beneath beating wildly.

“you’re breaking mine though... with spending that much time with my brother,” he traps your nipple in between his thumb and index finger, caressing, teasing with a smile that ironically has probably broken a few hearts of his own.

“i can fix that,” you beam, finger tracing down his front and down to the waistline of his pants, to which you can’t reach unless you scoot away to allow your hand to -

“not right now,” the sound of wind chimes drum in your ears as he chuckles.

it makes the umpteenth rejection a little less prickly, as you pout, “when?”

“soon,” and with that, he takes your wrist in his hand, making you push your own shirt up until your nipples are bare in the open, “hold this up for me, please.”

it’s the please that gets you.

ever the gentleman even as he’s about to tease you with his teeth against your nipples and his free hand fondling your other breast.

“why are you doing this if you’re not gonna fuck me?” you grunt, displeased, but arch your back anyway to make it easier for him to suckle and bite on your erected nipples.

you’ve always thought his hair looked soft but it’s softer as you bury your free hand in it. at first, it’s just a gentle caress - just like patting a golden retriever. but then as his tongue lapse over your protruded nub and the pressure in his free hand in your other breast grows more intense, you’re surprised he’s not moaning out in pain from the way your hand’s instinctively grasping at his roots.

“ah!” a yelp escapes you when he leaves your left nipple for the other one, biting down harder than you’re used to but not enough to draw blood.

you’re lost in the pain and pleasure of his tongue and apt fingers, where his mouth isn’t sucking on your nipple, his fingers are pinching and groping it. somewhere in the back of your mind, you distinctively remember a midly pressing matter-

“what the fuck?”

something about a heartbroken best friend and an unclosed door.

"t-taehyung!” you gasp, body almost jolting upward like a criminal caught red handed but seokjin’s arms around your body roots you down in his lap as he slowly pulls down your shirt before turning his attention to his youngest brother.

“taehyung, calm down,” he instructs with ease but his wide-eyed gaze is filled with concern.

“this isn’t-” you begin, slipping away from seokjin’s loosened grasp to pad over to your best friend who looks like he’s seen a ghost or his brother and best friend almost-fucking. either one works, “this isn’t what you think.”

“no-” the younger cups his mouth as he doubles over, his other hand held up in the air as if to tell you to “stay the fuck back-”

“oh, come on,” the slightest brush of your nipples against the material of your carelessly-pulled-down bra makes does not go pass you, yet you put your hand on your hip, rolling your eyes, “don’t be so dramatic.”

and that’s when taehyung hurls his guts out in front of seokjin’s door.

x

note. ooof 

i wasn’t sure if this drabble was gonna gain any eager readers. when i say eager, i mean those who look forward to an update, but some of you showed interest and it warms my heart! so here’s to another update! hope yall enjoyed!

taglist. @aretha170​ @scalubera​ @ambersaesthetics​ !

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Finally finished this! Sorry I’m a bit late.

Made this song in pairing with a new Revalink soulmark fic: Paraphrase

Based on a prompt @motherhyrule (Happy Birthday and thanks!)

Read it on AO3 or, here...

Chapter 1: Holes

There were holes in the sky.

While the artificial blue glow of Vah Medoh was a constant reminder of abnormal circumstances of this view—looking out into the east, you could be fooled for a moment to believe in serenity.

The details of the great, inky abyss were blurred by the occasional grey cloud, crawling towards the light of a decaying moon. Its pale, crescent complexion gave a humble glow to the dancing seas of grass and the motionless hills of glistening lake water. Below, wooden huts embraced one another on the edges of an ancient spire. The winds had crafted a fine sculpture, the unique silhouette of Rito Village cast faint shadows on Lake Totori.

There was distant whistling from either the cutting breeze or a bored village guard, perhaps leaning against his spear, dreaming of slumber.

There's a fire, somewhere. A spiral of smoke rises with a delicious aroma fantastic enough to reach the heights of Medoh. Someone making a late-night stew, under the dotted, broken sky.

If you could tear your eyes away from the nature down below, the navy blue canvas would still be there to greet you—a perfect night that cloaked any traces of the sun, as if time was always meant to be this way. Unchanging, and ever an elegant, unrivaled mix of blue, black, and grey.

But of course, unchanging was not everlasting. The perfect canvas was pierced by the frozen heights of Hebra, and flaming stars. Whole armies of them were scattered across the sky, as if the goddess had flicked a handful of embers at the night, burning through the blue and into an unknown.

"I heard that stars are actually holes into the heavens." Link finally said. "Like...They break through the sky, and at night you can look through them and see the great beyond." He leaned back, shifting himself into a more comfortable position on the rocky cliff.

The ghost beside him raised an eyebrow, wings tucked behind his back.

"Oh? And where exactly did you hear that?"

Silence.

The boy looks out to the distant mountains, wreathed in grey clouds with filtered moonlight. When the wind blows his golden hair just the right way, you could catch a glimpse of a familiar expression.

"...I'm not too sure."

Revali nodded, looking back into the night. He stood beside the hero, and let a quiet sigh escape him, the turquoise flames that circled around the Rito seemed to rise and fall with his chest. "Well. I cannot confirm or deny such a thing, but I imagine it's a decent enough fairy tale to entertain the fledglings."

Link scoffs, a smile tugging at his lips. "Really? They don't give you a big ghost book on how all of life works? What's the point of being dead if you don't know the answer to all the fancy questions?"

"I appear to have missed Hylia's educational spirit lecture. Perhaps my schedule was busy at the time. I do apologize."

"Don't apologize to me! You're the one who missed a once-in-a-afterlife-time opportunity."

"..."

"...Too soon?"

"No, it was just a horrible joke."

"Pfft. Well OK, Mr. 'Well I'll be plucked'"

"I don't think I'm going to accept criticism from someone who's sense of humor isn't even a year old."

"Aha...Fair enough."

A chuckle. A nod. A smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Silence.

The moon crawls further west. Winds start to die with conversation.

The ghost sighs again, but of course, no breath escapes him. Something itches in the back of his mind, and he looks up at Medoh.

Her phantom blue eyes pierce both mortal and incorporeal, yet there's a tenderness in the way her head tilts towards Revali—every so slightly so as not to wake the whole kingdom with the groan of gears. The gesture is wordlessly understood by her pilot, something about speaking the unspoken. He clicks his tongue.

I don't remember flipping a relationship advice switch in your control unit...

Medoh's lights glow brighter and dim, playfully.

The Rito shakes his head.

No, he thinks again. It's better this way.

The Champion looks out towards Hyrule Castle, Medoh's red laser aimed directly into the heart of the swirling malice. From this view, it’s almost beautiful. Like layered petals of a rose...

I cannot wait to burn it to the ground.

"Yeah..." Link replied. "Don't worry, Revali. It'll be different this time. I won't let you down, again."

The Rito blinked. "Ah. Did I...say that outloud?"

Link nodded, tilting his head to the side with a smile. "You always seem in such deep thought when looking at Medoh. Your face gets a lot more s—uh...I don't know... " He trailed off, making the wise decision to not finish the sentence. Afterall, he wanted to hang out for a little bit longer before Revali's glares punted him to the Akkalain Sea.

Nonetheless, Revali grimaced. Looking at him? Acknowledging him? Oh, there was nothing worse in the world than that...

Time really can change anything.

"Hmph. Well," Revali turned his head back towards Medoh, "With Windblight gone, it's nice to actually have conversations...As unconventional as they may be." He makes sure that his smile can only be seen by the sky.

"She's good company."

Link picks at loose pebbles, tossing them off the cliff and letting gravity take them to new destinations. His hands are already coated in a dusty beige dust.

"Well, if Medoh ever becomes a bore. My schedule's always open." He chuckles. "I'm certainly a different sort of company in comparison, so I should be able to spice up your d—!"

"No."

The iciness of his tone runs Link's spine cold. He dares to look up at the Champion.

It takes all of Revali's strength to continue staring at the stars.

"You should really stop coming here, Link. You have a job to do, and so do I. You gain nothing by returning here each night."

He pauses, his beak clenched just a bit too tightly.

"You did well, avenging me, but now...Your job here is done, and there is more work to do. The fact that you keep visiting each night while the world fades away is pathetic, honestly. You banter and quip as if you have all the time in the world, as if everything doesn't depend on your success. Quit acting childish."

Silence. It drowns out the whistling wind.

Revali looks at the holes in the sky.

"It'll be morning in a few, so get lost. I don't need you here."

The Rito can feel the hero's eyes tearing into him.

= = = = = = =

"Careful now! Can't have you return with half a head. Can I?" Revali loosed an arrow just above Link's head, striking true in a Bokoblin's right eye.

Link whips around just in time to see the monster drop dead, just a foot away from where the knight stood. He turns back and gives the Rito a thumbs up in gratitude.

"Eye think that solves that problem." Link groans and rolls his eyes, but Revali smirks at the grin he attempts to hide. "Ah...One of the best things about these occasions is that you're in no position to quip back at me with your hands full like that." Revali shoots him a wink. "Perhaps I'll interpret your silence as overwhelming awe for my verbal abilities."

The Rito bows left and right, playfully. "Thank you, thank you. It takes a great deal of practice, but perhaps you'll grace my level of skill one day."

Link signs as best he can with the Master Sword in his left grip.

"You're an asshole."

"Perhaps. But it's your fault for sticking around!"

"On your left..." He suddenly says.

There's no hesitation as Revali moves his head out of the way, letting Link swing his sword over his shoulder. A brilliant beam of blue light escapes the edge of his sword, the disc of energy making contact with a Bokoblin's neck, slicing it asunder mid-roar.

"Hmm. Now that's just breath taki—"

"Shut UP!" Link says, knocking an elbow into his ribs. He starts to sign again. "Let's keep heading east. We need to close this pincer quickly. I'd like to finish before lunch..."

The Rito scans the snow covered path, littered with monster guts and blood. Deep reds and purple stain the pristine, crisp morning. The sky is a deep green, pine trees covering the day, dressed in coats of white. The breeze blows the smell of rotting corpses and hickory his way.

"Alright. Let's get a move on. Don't need the Princesses yelling at us again."

"A bit late for that, don't you think?"

The boys both look up in time to see a large burst of water erupt from a nearby cliff. It cascades into a shimmering slide, that freezes as it flows. A bright red Zora flips through the air and descends on it, landing delicately in front of the two. She gives a warm smile that could melt the winter.

"Shall I assume you ran into some chuchu troubles, again?"

Revali scoffed. "That was one time!"

"Hehehe...chuchu go 'sluuurrrp...'"

"Plus, that incident was entirely a certain knight's fault. I've been nothing but incredibly efficient and productive, since then."

"And your tail feathers are all the better for it!"

Revali thwacked Link with his bow to shut him up. The knight rubbed the back of his head with an "Ow..." and shot a rude glare, but the Rito continued. "So where is the Princess?"

Mipha gestured uphill to where she had come from, her magical waterfall already beginning to melt away. "We finished cleaning up the other end of the Tabantha path. She's met up with Urbosa and Daruk by one of the bridges."

The Zora smiles as she looks between Revali and Link. "I volunteered to check on you two while the others headed back. Neither of you need help cleaning chuchu slime out of your hair, yes? I do have the pliers, this time."

Revali's rageful squawk was drowned out by Link's laughter.

Before the trio's banter could truly serenade with the sounds of the forest, Mipha was off to regroup with the others, and Link was soaring in the sky.

The sky was open and clear, not a speck of grey clouded the air. The sun was perched comfortably on the heights of Tabantha ridge, painting the horizon with strokes of orange, the distance blushing in the morning's presence.

The wind flipped Link's hair back and forth, so he finished tying the braid behind his neck, woven tightly with a single, Prussian blue feather. Its tip looked like someone had dipped it in the moon's pale glow.

Braid or no, the heights above Lake Totori were quite cold, and Link nuzzled himself further into Revali's soft feathers. If he were any softer, it wouldn't be out of the question to drown in him.

"You're distracting me." Revali craned his neck back, raising an eyebrow at his passenger. "Keep it together, back there."

The hero shrugged his shoulders. "It's cold."

"I told you to drink another elixir before I took off."

"I wasn't cold then! Besides," He flopped back into the Rito's soft down. "This is adequate protection." Link's words were slightly muffled as he spoke.

Revali sighed. "You're insufferable..."

Eying the destination down below, the Rito rolled his shoulders to get Link's attention. "Keep steady. We're almost there." He started to dip forward.

"And try not to go flying, I imagine it won't work out well for you."

Before Link could even process his words, his stomach started to drop. Falling fast, Revali arched nearly perpendicular to the ground, his bright blue scarf flapping behind him. The Hylian on his back could do nothing but grip onto his armour for dear life, clothes flapping wildly. His loose sleeves caught the wind, pushing them back to reveal pale gold letters, etched in the underside of his right forearm.

Leaving so soon?

The wind rushed by Link's ears, and the sky quickly faded from the cerulean glow of morning, to the snow laced air of the Hebra. What was once broad strokes of indistinct colors soon morphed into the intricate faults, flaws, and edges of towering grey mountain peaks. With the heavens stolen from them, and the frozen earth quickly coming to greet them, Revali quickly opened his wings to catch the air, swooping just above the ground and shooting forward towards the Flight Range.

Rows of cool safflina and wildberries whizzed by, the scent of smoked boar drawing closer and closer. Revali could practically feel Link's appetite from aura alone. Although, the fact that his grip on his back was starting to tighten didn't exactly keep it subtle, either.

"I left the stew going before we headed out for the mission. It should be perfect by now..." He tucked his wings into himself with a quick twirl as he shot through a narrow pass.

The cold updrafts of the Flight Range now biting into his face; the Rito let his wings expand with a few more great flaps, before landing gracefully on the railing of the wooden platform.

Link practically soared off Revali's back and bounded straight for the simmering pot.

"'Thank you, Revali, for giving me a ride across all of Tabantha without asking for so much as a rupee in return!' Oh, you're so welcome, my dear hero. It's always a pleasure to aid a flightless Hylian in need." He shook his head as he made his way into the hut.

"'Oh, but really Revali! The speed at which you travel, and the strength required to take on my loathsome person as you fly is truly something to admire. It's a miracle you took me with you at all.' Why, you are much too generous with your compliments, Link. I have half a mind to write this all down for—MmMph?!"

In a brilliant move of both telling Revali to shut the fuck up, while also sharing their meal, Link shoved a ladleful of delicious stew in the Rito's beak.

Warm, savoury stew trickled down his throat, banishing the cold from his body in mere moments. His tastebuds were nestled with flavours of nutmeg, tender meat, and the delicate heat of a perhaps a single, spicy pepper.

Link's expression was equal parts, "Will you shut up now?" and "So how's it taste?"

"Not too bad...The prime meat I procured is obviously the main event. But your seasoning skills are certainly something of note..." Revali made his way to one of the cabinets, as Link rolled his eyes.

The Rito set his bow beside the Master Sword, leaning it against the painted wood. His eyes lingered on it for a bit too long, before he scoffed and continued on his routine.

Quiver on the counter; bomb arrows wrapped properly; armour loosened and set aside; scarf—

The feathers on Revali's neck suddenly floofed up at Link's touch. But he didn't dare turn around and risk losing the sensation.

He carefully unfolded the fabric around Revali's neck, and drew it off his shoulder. He wrapped it around himself, and signed at the Rito, "Mine, now."

The Rito chuckled, before turning back around to look at the hero, now adorned with far too much blue. Blue tunic, blue scarf, and sapphire eyes—it wouldn't be out of the question to mistake him for the sky.

Link stretched out his hand, and traced the edges of Revali's face, eventually falling down his neck, and towards his shoulders. His fingers eventually hovered over some familiar words that wrapped down the left side of his neck and down his shoulder.

You should give yourself more credit.

They both did nothing but smile at each for a moment, leaning closer and succumbing to the moment. Revali could already feel Link's breath, and see the bits of snow still sticking to his (horribly) braided hair.

The Hylian saw something curious in the Rito's expression as he planted a kiss on the tip of his beak. Looking back up at his jade eyes, he couldn't help but smile wide. Revali cocked an eyebrow.

"Something to say?"

Quiet. The fire chuckled in the background.

Link finally leaned in and whispered to him.

"You smell like shit."

Revali scoffed loudly before shoving Link to the carpet, where he burst out laughing, the wind carrying it to the spirits above.

"Gods, you're insufferable. Why do I settle for you..."

Link unsuccessfully attempted to toss a pillow in his face in revenge—Revali catching it with ease.

"Beats me! Now come here, you stinky bird." He patted the space in front of the fire. No doubt he wanted to sit between his wings again

"Stew or no, I need you to keep me toasty."

In no time, Revali had sat down and wrapped himself around Link, resting his beak on his head.

A hole in the ceiling let sunlight trickle on them as they warmed up.

= = = = = = = 

Link finally sighed, the sound falling off into the void below.

"You-I can't-It was never..." He trails off, before chucking another pebble off the cliff, shaking his head.

"...I'm sorry. I know that you...That we're not really...friends or whatever...I don't mean to force you into anything uncomfortable. I owe you that much..." He looked up at the spirit, a determined look on his face.

"But, don't worry. Whatever mess I was before, whatever person you hated 100 years ago. They're gone, now. I promise I'm different. I promise I won't repeat whatever mistakes I made with you."

Revali just wants to die all over again.

"Well. That's good to hear. Perhaps there's hope for you yet, hero..." He walks forward, so he can't see his face, pointing a translucent feather far out east.

"I'd say your next objection should be Rudania. It's the closest. You can backtrack through whatever roads you've already trailed through getting here." The Rito then waved towards some glistening summits just a bit south. "Although, you said you've been to Kakariko and Hateno, yes? You could probably trek to Zora's Domain from there. The Zora will no doubt be a great asset to your further adventures—"

"Who was I closest to?"

Revali knew it was impossible to feel cold at this point, but he felt something shiver nonetheless.

"What do you mean?"

"Like...the pilots I mean. Was I...particularly close with any of them?"

"Well how should I know!" Revali snapped. He immediately regretted it seeing the look in Link's eyes. "I mean...sorry..."

Silence.

"...Mipha would be overjoyed to see you, I'm sure." He pointed again towards the cliffs surrounding Zora's Domain. "She had quite the heart...She'll make better company than I, I'm sure."

"Mhm...Alright." Link nodded to himself.

"But whatever you choose, don't try taking on Naboris, yet. Urbosa was one of the strongest warriors that even I've ever met. So I imagine that what awaits there is...deserving of more preparation."

The moon escaped from the clutches of a grey cloud, and the two of them were bathed in moonlight.

The knight's sword on his back glistens.

"I'll start making preparations tomorrow, and I'll finally be out of your hair." Link scratched the back of his head. "Although...I hope you don't mind if I come back every now and then to get pointers on using your Gale. I really only used it that one time when you gave it to me, and I've been a bit scared ever since, aha..."

Revali nodded. "That would be a more productive use of your time, yes."

Link finally stood, adjusting the strap of his sword around his shoulder.

"S-So...with Mipha. I actually heard from Kass that...uh he's—well you see, I figured you could confirm if she actually—"

"Stop." His response was as sudden as thunder. Link started sputtering again.

"S-Sorry. I know you just s—"

"Stop doing that. Stop trying to learn about the past, there's nothing for you there." Revali poked a feather at Link's head, which surprisingly made physical contact as he flinched away. "You've been given a gift, you understand? You have the luxury of being unburdened by the pains and memories of 100 years ago, while the rest of us have been stuck wallowing in what we once knew for over a century. Things that we can never attain now that we are dead." He glared, eyes sharp enough to stab into Link's flesh.

"It'd be an insult to the rest of us to throw away such a gift. So stop being ungrateful, and move on."

Silence.

Revali sighed, turning back towards Medoh. "Now get los—"

"You have no right to speak to me like that!"

The Rito whipped around. "Excuse me?"

"You don't know what it's like!" Link stomped a foot down. "You don't know what it's like, to have no attachments, no nothing to grasp onto!"

The Hylian shook his head, looking at his hands. "You're dead because of my failures, and for that, I'm truly sorry. I really am. But..." He looked the Rito, dead in the eyes. "But now I have nothing of value. Nothing to tell me what I'm worth, besides being a fighter. Besides defeating the Calamity. I don't know what kind of person I need to be," He waves a hand at Revali, "Or even what person I should try not to be. I can't...I don't want to just be nothing. Nothing but a sword and useless snippets of a dead past.

"So don't try and tell me there's nothing for me in the past. I need to know what I was, what I lost, and what I did wrong. N-Not just for me, but for everyone's sake! I want to truly know what this is all for, even if it hurts me..."

Link looked down, caressing his right wrist. "I want to know...what it was like to be complete...at the very least..."

Revali looked him up and down, something clawing up the inside of his chest, threatening to escape as dangerous words.

"...Let me see your arm."

"What—?"

"Hurry up, and just come."

Link cautiously stepped closer to Revali, extending his right arm towards him, like a handshake. But he roughly tugged him closer and folded the sleeve of his Rito garb away, exposing the skin to the crisp night air.

Pale gold letters adorned Link's inner arm, running from his wrist to his inner elbow.

Why did you think it was impossible?

The Rito nodded to himself. He had noted the first word being different when he had first reunited with Link, but it put him at ease—and completely shattered something—to have his suspicions confirmed.

"Do you know what this is, hero?"

"Yeah, it's a soulmark. This is probably what my soulmate 100 years ago said when they—"

"No." Revali let his arm fall, turning away. "It's a soulmark alright, but your soulmate is very much alive."

"Wh-What?!" Link started to walk up to Revali. "T-That's impossible! I-It's been over a hundred—"

"That's not the soulmark you had when I met you." Revali said simply. "You died. You were revived. You are adorned with a new mark, and are destined for someone new. Or someones. Or, maybe your soulmate is just yourself, it really depends..." He turned his head back.

Link was just staring at his arm. He bore no smile, but Revali could see the new fire in his eyes.

"It's like I said. It'd be an insult to go digging up the past. But I suppose I can't stop you..." Revali continued to make his way to Medoh. "You want something to fight for? Fight for that..."

The moon disappeared behind another cloud, and the glow of Medoh was all that bathed them. Link finally looked up, calling after the ghost in the mist.

"I...Thank you, Revali. But just so you know..." The Rito Champion turned, staring directly at the hero's determined expression.

"This doesn't change what I want. I still intend to know who I was."

There was quiet as they each looked at their ghosts.

Revali sighed, giving a sad nod.

"I know."

He disappeared in glowing blue flames, the embers falling towards the stars.

[kopikokun]

Star-Crossed Lovers༄ mark l.

↳ You’re not supposed to be so hopelessly in love with a man as dangerous as Mark, especially given the fact that you’re engaged, but you just can’t help it.

pairing: hitman!mark x reader

genre: fluff, angst

wordcount: 1889 words

Request 28: Mark + “I’m so in love with you.” (36) + “I wish we could stay like this forever.” (39) + “I want to take care of you.” (51)

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. | 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬.

What was that saying? It’s wrong yet it feels so right?

  Regardless of what it is, you can’t deny the exhilarating rush from doing this. You feel a shiver creep up your spine, and it’s not from the cold night breeze. No, it’s from the sight of the lone figure before you, the ends of their robe dancing with the wind, their lithe fingers adorned with the faint gleam of silver rings, and their large, near worn-out hood, draped over their head, obscuring their face.

  The figure on the shingled rooftop with you holds a small knife in their hand, its sharp and pristine blade reflecting the moonlight as they twirl the small weapon expertly around their fingers.

  You should be scared, and you would be bluffing if you weren’t at least just a little. But you know the man would never let his knife even graze your skin. The only sharp thing which makes your heart pound is his smile.

  “Miss me?”

  Mark’s hood falls to his shoulders, revealing that mischievous face that you fall in love with every night. His grin is deadly, arguably even more so than he is as he continues to weave that knife easily between his ring-clad fingers. From the way he so casually does it, it’s as if he was born with a knife clasped in his fist, which wouldn’t be surprising for Mark. You turn away from the sight, a feeling of mild disdain building in your chest.

  You hum vaguely in response, and Mark smiles softly, almost a little sadly, as if he knows what you’re thinking. He tucks his knife away.

  “I hope that’s a yes.”

  You don’t even realise that Mark has taken a seat beside you until he sighs. He’s truly a talented hitman, but you’re unsure if that’s exactly a compliment.

  “I missed you,” confesses Mark, his voice so quiet it could almost be mistaken as the light gust of air which fans your face.

  “Really?” you challenge, raising a brow and turning to face him. “I guess you didn’t miss me enough to come yesterday.”

  Mark holds your gaze. “I-I had something to do.”

  “Something to do...” Your chest tightens, and you debate on whether you should even ask. “Who was it?”

  Mark blows out an unsteady breath. “It doesn’t matter.”

  You would push him further, but doing so would take you nowhere. You know that from experience. “Okay.”

  You decide to rest your head in Mark’s lap. It’s what you usually do when you meet him up here every night. At first, you would sit crossed-legged beside him, relishing in the one-of-a-kind view. Buildings and humble homes stretched out for miles, a few of them emitting a yellow glow from their windows, but most dark and dormant, its inhabitants fast asleep as the moon casts its light onto their roofs. The stars blinking, scattered across the vast and endless canvas of the night sky, whispering to you about the tales of the past, about wars, treachery and greed, yet also of two lovers, just like you and Mark, who had lay under these very stars professing their love and clinging onto one another until the Sun began to rise.

  You’ve got a clearer view of the sky with your head in Mark’s lap anyway. And a clearer view of him too. It’s unrealistic how attractive he still looks at this angle. Unfair, actually.

  “What’re you looking at?” Mark’s hands support his weight as he leans back, staring down at you. His eyes are playful and a familiar brown—intoxicating almost—as they reel you in and drag you under.

  You smile up at him. “You.”

  Though one of Mark’s most impressive qualities is how easily he can slither his way into any woman or man’s heart without any emotional attachment, his breath still catches in his throat despite having heard that line over a hundred times. You don’t miss this fact, smiling coyly, knowing that you have this untouchable hitman wrapped around your little finger. “You’re really pretty,” you elaborate.

  Mark laughs heartily, and though he’s a feared man, painted out to be a ruthless beast with a cold stare and a rugged edge to his voice, his laughter contradicts that belief. It’s joyful, airy and boyish, reminiscent to that of a young teenage boy in love, and in this moment, you’re reminded that he’s hardly an adult. He’s only barely been chaffed by the harsh reality of adulthood, yet his eyes possess a wisdom far beyond his years, one he’s earned from the twenty years of sneaking through the shadows and scaling walls silently, grappling to stay alive. But as you stare deeply into his eyes, roaming their never-ending depth, you can make out that dim glimmer of childlike euphoria, something Mark never had the chance to experience. He’s a crumbling monument, only barely standing thanks to a few make-shift pillars and beams, but there’s something beautiful about him, something that had drawn you in that first night you met him.

  Mark tilts his head, smiling softly. “You think I’m pretty? Look at yourself, darling,” he says, putting those long years of charming others to use. But unlike with them, his words are genuine with you. He giggles again, smiling fondly. “I’m so in love with you.”

  Your hand reaches forward to caress his surprisingly smooth skin. He flinches as the chilled metal of the band which hugs your left ring finger comes into contact with his cheek. “I love you too.”

  Mark grips your wrist, even his own fingers are cold compared to yours and the contrast in temperatures sends a prickling  jolt through your arm. He tugs your hand from his face, inspecting your ring. “Oh, really now? You do?”

  You pull your hand out of his grip, sitting up from his lap. He gives you a pointed look, leaning back in his position.

  “Mark…” Your own fingers subconsciously fiddle with the ring, twisting it around. “You know I didn’t have a choice. I don’t get a say in who I marry…”

  “I know that.” He frowns, his usually light-hearted and carefree expression overcome with a bitter one. “He must be great, huh? Kim Doyoung; rich, handsome, intelligent, son of a prominent figure—he’s perfect for you. Little old though, don’t you think?”

  You roll your eyes. “He’s only three years older than you are, Mark. And how did you—”

  “I’m a hitman. Finding out who your fiance is isn’t exactly the hardest thing I’ve had to do. And it’s not like he’s particularly low-profile or living humbly either.” Mark crosses his arms. “And I figured I should know who’ll be sleeping in the same bed as you every night.”

  Mark’s tone grows sinister, and a muscle in his jaw twitches. You place a cautious, delicate hand on his shoulder and sigh, “Mark…”

  “I know. I shouldn’t be getting jealous or possessive. I don’t have the right to, but I want to.” Mark looks at you, his gaze sincere and his smile, sad—longing. “I want to be the one who marries you, who kisses you before you go to bed, who makes breakfast for you when you wake up in the morning, but I can’t do that, huh?” He laughs humourlessly.

  You grow silent. You can’t even bring yourself to look into Mark’s eyes. You know they only hold sorrow as he grieves for something he’s lost; you. Though, he’s never really had you to begin with, and how could he possibly lose something he’s never had anyway?

  You’re selfish. You knew being involved with Mark would only end in tragedy for the both of you, but you went against your own logic regardless. Something about following your heart, you suppose. How naive of you. Fate isn’t kind.

  “I guess, I,” Mark clears his throat, “I want to take care of you.”

  You laugh dryly, though tears threaten to spill, blurring your vision and those stars that seemed so bright and hopeful look fuzzy now, like they’d vanish with one measly swipe of your thumb. “You want to take care of me? You murder people for a living, Mark.”

  Mark laughs too, but it’s laced with despair. “Killing pays, babe.”

  You curl up beside Mark, resting your head on his shoulder as you wrap your arms around his. He lets his head fall to yours too, stroking your hair gently. “I can’t say you’re wrong.”

  “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

  Your frail heart shatters at Mark’s words. His voice is thick with tears, with heartbreak and with acceptance. You don’t realise that all your pent up tears have finally escaped until you feel a single drop land on your left hand. The ring on your finger glints with malice, and that’s what finally breaks you.

  Mark smoothes down your hair, shushing you gently and whispering reassuring words into your ear. You pay no heed to them, because you know they don’t possess an ounce of truth. Because they’re just words—wishful thinking and momentary delusions to get you through the sobs. And Mark knows that too, because eventually he grows silent, crying soundlessly, his warm tears and muffled hiccups mingling with yours.

  When the Sun begins to peek through the mountains in the distance, Mark stands to leave, kissing you softly as farewell. His lips mould perfectly with yours and you grip his sleeve, willing for him to stay. He pulls away, his hot breath interlaced with yours. He runs the pad of his thumb across your hand, before he’s turning away from you, your arm falling limp and cold to your side.

  As Mark is about to leave and flips his hood up, he glances back at you, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” He pauses, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Mark.” You brave a smile for him, desperately hoping it looks genuine.

  Mark has spent his entire life observing people’s emotions, perfecting his craft so he can secure the best time to strike. He knows it’s not genuine, but he returns it anyway and it looks just as forced as yours is.

  As you watch Mark’s nimble figure retreat into the jet black landscape of the night, his body skilfully navigating and leaping from roof to roof as he’s done all his life, you can’t stop the tears from falling. Despite that, you’re still smiling from ear-to-ear, rubbing your swollen eyes with the back of your hands.

  When Mark is finally out of sight, the only trace of him he left behind being the inviting smell of his fabric softener, you hug your knees to your chest and lift your gaze to the sky. You begin to wonder, if you and Mark’s circumstances had been different, would you have fallen in love and got to experience the life you yearned for with him?

  With a resentful laugh you realise you probably wouldn’t have. Fate is cruel, and star-crossed lovers will always remain star-crossed lovers. Suddenly, a burning abhorrence towards the illuminated sky grows in your gut, the flames lapping at you and tearing down everything in its path.

  You cover a single, miserable star with your thumb, childishly hoping that you’ve snuffed it out. You screw your eyes shut. The view doesn’t look that great anymore.

[vanaera]

𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝟎𝟐 | 𝐣𝐣𝐤

Synopsis: A future technology allows cops to jump in the past and future to investigate crimes that have happened and prepare for those that are about to happen. A simple hit-and-run turns into something more when Captain Jeon Jungkook finds himself as the victim of a culprit who cannot be identified by the system. Especially when the culprit seems to be the same person behind the new case that’s threatening the order in the justice organization. All goes haywire when Jungkook gets involved with Y/N L/N, the clairvoyant sketch artist who may be his only help to solve the case.

Characters: Jungkook x Female Reader

Genre/AU: Sci-fi, romance, angst, mystery, action (cop!JK x artist!you), based on the movie Minority Report

Wordcount: 8.2k

Warnings: Dark themes and implied smut (in future chapters); heavy descriptions of a hit-and-run; mentions of blood from injuries (PG-16 Rating)

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭

              The skies were gray and the streets were damp and yet the air remains humid. The scorching heat on the pavement permeates the soles of his leather combat boots. It’s the familiar stench of Down Hill. Jungkook could already smell it when he’s just reaching the boundary between it and Middle Town.

              Jungkook looks down at the scrap of paper that’s been in his pocket since the day started. Namjoon had to write the address of this Y/N L/N, lest DOJ traces his electronic trail and take him in for unnecessary questioning. Jungkook himself had to make up some petty excuse of a “hurting arm” to file a day-off. He just hopes all of this spent effort will worth him something.

              Jungkook nears the 7-Eleven sitting in the fork of the streets. Namjoon wrote Y/N’s studio is cramped among the apartments around this area. He said she never really penned down a home to accommodate covert meet-ups like this. All she has is her studio. 

              In “Mini Palais, 23-B,” Jungkook mutters again, huffing in front of a door with cracking cadet blue paint. He finds the unit after climbing up a series of stairs at the end of the alleyway jammed between the decaying 7-Eleven and a battered motor shop. Jungkook raises his hand to knock when the door bursts open.

              In front of him is a girl. Namjoon already said so and although Jungkook thinks it’s accurate enough for the girl who’s looking up at him through chopped raven bangs, it also wasn’t really enough to describe her. Because the girl in front of him was an aberrant mix of a girl and a woman. Jungkook thinks she’s around her early thirties if he were to consider Namjoon’s history of working with her for about ten years in FJO. There are faint lines around her eyes to support that. However, her relatively small height, plump cheeks, and the natural rosy hue of her lips beg to decrease ten years off that supposed age.  With her youthful face, messy half-bun, and the white, floral off-shoulder dress flowing past her knees, no one will argue with Jungkook if he were to say she’s just 22. 

              “Who are you?”

              “Oh, um,” Jungkook flashes his badge, “I’m Jungkook Jeon, a captain in the Federal Justice Organization. Precrime, Murder sector. I’m here to um, avail your…services for a case.”

              The girl cocks her head to the side and gives him a once over. “I’m sorry, I don’t do services for the FJO anymore.” She moves to close the door but Jungkook was quick to block a foot between it and the wall.

              “I’m a contact of Namjoon’s!” Jungkook exclaims, “He’s Lieutenant Seokjin Kim’s close subordinate.” This is a card he didn’t want to use but it looks like he has no other choice left. Jungkook clears his throat. “Actually, I’m a very close contact of Namjoon. We’re best friends. I even live with him. He’s the one who told me to, um, consult you for the case I’m handling.” 

              The girl opens the door an inch. Jungkook hands a folded paper to her. She spreads it open and scans through the letter. Jungkook doesn’t know what it actually says. Namjoon just thrust it into his hands on his way out and told him not to open it. It must be an effective personal request because by the time the girl reaches the end, she’s pushing her door wide open, tilting her head to the side, beckoning him to come inside. However, her face remains grim.

              “I’m Y/N L/N. This is my studio. I know you already know I prefer to transact business here even for ones intended to be covert. So first off, I want to say I’m sorry you have to travel to such a place like this.”

              Jungkook shakes his head, “Oh no, it’s definitely alright—”

              “I kinda think it’s not when you grew up in a comfortable life. You must be quite shaken up.”

              Jungkook freezes. Y/N looks at him, “Oh, I didn’t look into you or something. It’s just a hypothetical guess, seeing your,” she motions to his silver watch. “That’s expensive. No one from here will be able to afford it anytime soon.”

              Jungkook’s shoulders turn lax. Y/N points to a chair next to a table in the corner. “Just wait there. I’m about to finish this piece in just a sec. Then I’m all yours.”

              Jungkook nods and makes himself comfortable on the seat. Unlike its appearance on the outside, Y/N’s unit is not much of a concrete wreck. It still looks a bit rough. The ceiling has cracks all over it.  A small white bulb precariously hangs on its center. It looks too weak to illuminate the whole room when the night comes. Jungkook thinks it’s a good thing that the unit has huge gaping rectangular windows to let in the natural light. The floor is cemented in gray but the work on it is unimpressive as there are numerous uneven layers, rough patches, and dents that could only be ascribed to poor mason work. The white wallpaper is torn around, some even wet at the edges—probably due to a leak during rains. 

              However, the flowers painted on them is vibrant enough to uplift the dreary unit. Paintings are littered around. Many are big, a few are small. Some were seated on easels, several are just laying around on the floor. Newspapers are strewn across the majority of the floor. Buckets and tin cans of paints line up the corners like a prayer circle. 

              All the colors present in the room can only be attributed to the paint that’s strewn across the newspapers, the paintings, and the 6’ tall canvas of an owl in flight Y/N is currently working on. The girl is standing on a small foldable ladder, painting the feathers of the bird at the top of the canvas. When the wind blows her hair to the side, Jungkook finds a mirage of colors on the scarlet spider lilies inked on her spine.

              After about two minutes, Y/N steps down and dumps her brush into a rusted bucket filled with water. She turns to the man on the chair and makes her way to the stool opposite his. She fixes down her dress and finally looks at Jungkook. “So, what case do you have for me?”

              “This,” Jungkook slides a couple of pictures toward her. They are the screen captures from the CCTV records that caught the black Jaguar. “There’s an unknown driver who’s doing an illegal time jump patterned to Precrime’s traveling agents. We tried to run in the license plate but it just turned to be ‘invalid.’ All we know is that the suspect is male, slim, and tall. He’s interested in the Winston Assassination, and has probably inside ties in FJO since he easily entered the Special Operations Building just ten days ago.”

              “None of the traveling agents has seen this man before? Precrime or Forecrime?”

              Jungkook shakes his head.

              Y/N licks a finger and flips to the next picture, “What about the car?”

              “None of the agents has seen a suspicious sedan sports Jaguar before. It’s the first time we have someone presumably well-to-do threatening the justice system.”

              Y/N nods. Jungkook inserts his hand into his pocket and retrieves a black USB. He hands it to the girl. “Here’s more of the screenshots from the CCTVs, taken in each second. I can’t give you the CCTVs because of the protocol. I can only give you these. Just imagine they’re moving,” Jungkook purses his lips as he looks at the girl. “I want you to identify this man for me.”

              Y/N tucks the USB into her dress’ pocket. She slides the pictures back to Jungkook. “This seems to be a heavy identification check then. Not that I couldn’t handle, of course. However, Namjoon must have told you that my rates are quite high—”

              “Money is not a problem.”

              Y/N cocks a brow, “So you did grow up a comfortable life.”

              Jungkook clenches his jaw.

              Y/N chuckles, “Okay, I’m not gonna dwell on it more. It’s settled then. Send your weekly payment to this account,” Y/N tears a piece from the rolls of paper by her side, scribbles on it, and hands it to him. “Every Friday, 10 AM sharp.” Jungkook looks at the paper before tucking it in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

              Y/N crosses her arms, “We can start next week after you give me the downpayment.”

              Jungkook zips open a duffel bag and places a stack of bills on the table.

              “Eager, aren’t we?” Y/N smiles, “I like that.” She flips through the bills before deciding they’re legitimate and dumping it into a box by her feet. 

              Y/N turns to him. “Now, where are we? Oh—you must already know, but what I really do here is foreseeing the future for whatever cause you have. It’s not just trivial fortune-telling but a purposive one. I can accurately give you whatever you want to know.” 

              Jungkook nods. Y/N’s leans forward on the table. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t really have terms and conditions with my clients. Or any contract to ensure them their protection, as what I do tend to…increase risks. Emotional security and mental stability on your part. Those two and physical toll on mine. It will be absurd to provide any contract as what I am doing is anything but guaranteeing protection. I can’t also be fully transparent about the mechanisms behind the things I will do for you. Otherwise, my gift won’t work. What I can only assure is I’ll never proceed on any memories you have set boundaries on. Should you decide to stop this negotiation anywhere in the future, I will automatically concede and keep the confidentiality of whatever that may happen. As long as on your part, you won’t consider asking for a refund.”

              “I understand.”

              “Good,” Y/N smiles, “Now first things first. Tell me any hurting point you have.”

              Jungkook goes stiff. “Is this actually necessary?”

              Y/N nods. “I know this is a tough question, but we’re talking about memories here.”

              “I know but I can’t just divulge them to a stranger—"

              “I think you don’t get what I’m saying.” Y/N lets out a humorless chuckle. “Look, Jungkook, when I attempt to see the future concerning this elusive driver you’re after, it is inevitable for the past to re-appear. There is no future without any past. Your past memories can clog up with the ones involved in the case because you are in the case. You’re heading it. Good or bad, memories will come up. That’s their thing.  They spring up at the most inconvenient times. No matter how old they already are. No matter how long you must have already moved on from them. Memories demand to be remembered and you cannot just disregard them even if you will it to because it never gave anyone a choice to do otherwise.  So, if you don’t set the boundaries on the memories you don’t want me to cross, I’ll just see everything in their utter unadulterated form.” Y/N leans forward, “And I can assure you, you don’t want that to happen.” 

              Jungkook prods his cheek with his tongue. “Fine. I’ll give you my hurting point and that’s that. No further questions.”

              “Okay.”

              Jungkook digs in his back pocket for his wallet and flips it open. There’s a tattered white edge of a picture peeking through the flaps. It’s been years since he pulled it out. Its replica, now tucked in his shelf, has prevented him from doing so for so many years. Jungkook closes his eyes and slides it toward the girl. “This boy. Anything that concerns him, I don’t want you to cross or even bring up. Understand?”

              “Okay.” Y/N hands back the photo to him. “We go to the second step then. You must already have your assumed suspects. Tell me their names.”

              Jungkook draws back. “I can’t tell you that, that’s highly classified information. FJO’s protocol doesn’t allow it and—”

              “Do you seeking my help part of the protocol?”

              Jungkook looks down, “No.”

              “Right. So, tell me their names. I need to know them to make a memory map.”

              Jungkook’s brows meet “A what?”

              “A memory map,” Y/N repeats, “It’s something I make to identify points of certain memories in time. It guides me to the memories I need to tread to reach what I’m really looking for. It’s like a demo version of Forecrime’s box trainings but except of a machine, I’m doing it manually by hand. For all we know, the real suspect must be close to these suspects.” 

              Jungkook’s brow quirks up.

              Y/N leans forward, “So, tell me their names?”

              Jungkook turns his face away from her, looking at his clasped hands. “Well, I…only have one.”

              “And that is?”

              “Leigh Anderson. Winston’s assassin. FJO has been after him for 17 years. He also has a number of sponsors who’s been sending him missions with promises of large sums of money. But most of all, he’s rumored to have access to time jumping technologies. Illegal of course. FJO is the only one licensed to be utilizing them.”

              “That’s good,” Y/N quips. “Do you have any pictures of him?”

              Jungkook turns to his duffel bag and retrieves a picture. It’s Anderson in the scene of Winston’s murder that FJO has pinned to their system. The one in the crime record Jungkook produced. He hands it to Y/N. “Is this enough?”

              “More than enough,” Y/N smiles. She stands up and walks to one of her cupboards, reaching for a ceramic bowl. She pours some tap water in it and turns back to the table, a short, white candle in hand. She places the candle on the water, letting it float. She retrieves a lighter from her dress pocket and lights up the wick of the candle.

              Y/N puts her palms open on the table. “Let’s start now. Do you have your clicker with you?”

              Jungkook’s brows meet. “What?”

              “Your time jumper,” Y/N grits.

              Jungkook looks at her incredulously. “I don’t see any reason why would you need it—”

              “We’re going to the past to have a tangible memory to start on my memory map.” Before Jungkook could tear himself away from the table, Y/N launches forward and snatches the small, black device hanging on the man’s belt loop. Jungkook shoots an arm out and grabs onto it.

              But it’s too late. Y/N’s already pushed the button.

              The air is knocked out of Jungkook’s windpipe. A numbing pain starts to settle on his chest, a migraine forming on his temple. His limbs also feel stone-heavy. Precrime traveling has always been like this and yet Jungkook can never get used to it. However, he’s not left wondering about it for long because in the next second, Jungkook’s standing in front of a dark road. Tall shrubs and trees shadowing the moon, CCTVs mounted on the lamp posts lining the concrete. It’s Somerset Road.  

              Jungkook’s eyes widen. Why is he here? He tries to move but his limbs are stuck by his side, unmoving as he grunts. He tries to take a step back but the effort is futile when his feet are seemingly glued onto the dark asphalt. Jungkook sighs and turns to the road in front of him again. And this time around, Jungkook’s mouth falls ajar.

              Y/N is standing idly at the other side of the road, opposite of him.

              “H-how did you travel here—”

              A car zooms past. Jungkook turns his head to the sound. The air is punched out from his esophagus. It’s his car—the silver-gray Ford. And there at the other end of the road emerges a black sedan sports Jaguar. The Jaguar speeds on and drives into the Ford, swerving it around, tires screeching loud on the pavement. It topples down, rolling around, then round, and round. Three times, Jungkook counted. Just like the CCTV Hoseok retrieved. The Ford stops, upside down. The black Jaguar zips past it. Like the CCTVs have shown, the Jaguar reaches the other end of the street and disappears. A second passes. The body of the driver in the car drops onto the cold pavement. It lolls his head to his side, bloodied face turned towards the man standing on the pavement. 

              Jungkook’s facing right into his past. He isn’t reliving the memory. He is living it. There’s no anger but pain. Fresh, unadulterated pain that cannot be accounted to the lacerations on his injured arm.

              The wind howls. Jungkook remains frozen in his position. Then suddenly, everything stops—the distant honking of the cars, the wind, the clatter of the crushed car pieces falling onto the ground. What the fuck is happening? Jungkook turns around, only to come face to face with the girl.

              Y/N’s arm shoots forward and fists the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him down to her level. “You didn’t say this business is personal!”

              “It’s not a big deal,” Jungkook spits, tearing her hand off him.

              “It is, Jungkook! You said you were involved. I didn’t think it was this level of involved!”

              “It doesn’t change any fact that I’m still going to be involved either way! I’m still going to head this case because it’s tied with Winston. What difference does it make if I am the victim of this fucking man?!”

              “A lot!” Y/N screams. Jungkook stops. Y/N sighs, “It does a lot of difference, Jungkook. We’re already risking a lot in this until it turns out you’re a focal point in this case! You’re a fucking victim of this culprit! A conflict of interest is highly possible. You will be unable disassociate yourself from this and objectively investigate this case—” 

              “I don’t need you telling me what I should do or not, Y/N.” Jungkook steps forward to the girl. “I know what I’m doing. And I know it when I say I can investigate this following all the legal protocols.”

              Y/N tilts her head. “How can you say that when you’ve just been face-to-face with your past self?” 

              Before Jungkook can say anything, Y/N closes her eyes and clicks her finger. In just one second, everything around Jungkook falls beneath his feet—the trees, Somerset Road, his bloodied self. It rips themselves off from his senses until all he could see again is the dilapidated atelier, the barren ceilings, and, Y/N.

              Jungkook hunches over, coughing as air fills his lungs again. “H-how could you do that?”

              Y/N blows off the candle. “My gift.” She glances at the man. “The accident is taking a serious toll on you. I have to take us out of the time jump.”

                Jungkook sits back and glowers at her. “N-no, what I’m asking about is—how could you snatch my clicker and make a jump without any remorse? You do know that’s illegal!”

              “I know. ‘FJO’s traveling agents and officials are the only ones allowed by the law to engage in time jumping activities’ yaddah yaddah bullshit.”  Y/N leans on the table, face hovering the Captain’s. “But involving a then-law practitioner, much more an outsider like me, into your case is also illegal. I have my gift, yes. But I can only see the future and I won’t be able to see it accurately if I don’t have some sense of the past. Plus, I have no other pragmatic choice to start this case on the right foot. I already saw the future of our negotiation before you sat down on that stool. There’s nothing else I could say other than it didn’t end favorably for any of us.” Y/N turns back to the table she’s clearing, “Not that it’s any different now. Especially when I just learned the case you’ve showed me is more personal than you presented it to be.”

              Jungkook purses his lips. He stands up, gathers his things, and wordlessly makes his way out of the atelier. He didn’t bid the girl any farewell.

              “Looks like you haven’t been sleeping.”

              Jungkook looks up at his friend before looking down at his crossed arms, turning his attention back to his mug of coffee.

              Namjoon takes a seat cross Jungkook. “Did something happen?” He twirls the tea bag around his own mug, “Care to tell why you’ve been sporting those dark eye bags since two days ago?”

              “It’s nothing.”

              “It’s not nothing when the doctor precisely told you to have a healthy lifestyle to help your wound heal faster.”

              Jungkook looks at Namjoon.

              Namjoon points to his bandaged arm, “It indeed doesn’t look it’s healing fast like it’s supposed to.”

              Jungkook sighs. “Fine, you caught me.” He purses his lips then looks at his friend, “I’ve been wondering. You know our clickers are designed to identify the agent it was assigned to before it could work. But, is it…possible for clickers to work on someone that doesn’t belong to FJO as long as someone from FJO is present?”

              Namjoon keeps his gaze on him. A look of surprise seems to wash over his face. But it soon gets replaced by a look of recognition. Namjoon places the tea bag onto the saucer on his left. “I see you already met Y/N.”

              “Y-you knew that about her?”

              “I do,” Namjoon mutters over his cup of tea. “I learned it when the Bureau looked into the Linton Park serial murders. Seokjin’s team, including me, followed the memory map she made for us—a trail of memories that specifically belongs to anything related to the murders. But then, we hit a dead-end for the supposed next victim. Can’t identify her. We only had images of flashing movement—blood splattering in a barn, people running on a green field. There are just cops and a woman.” 

              Namjoon places down his cup, “And so, Y/N told me she needed me to help her make a time jump in the past. I pressed on the clicker and,” Namjoon shrugs, “Y/N successfully made the jump. And also successfully return with the info of the victim—a girl working on a farm. Y/N tied it to the flashing images of the field and deduced the running was not about us chasing a murderer’s accomplice. But us running after a victim before Linton could. It was hard to tell at first why the victim is running away from us. Until we learned through Y/N she was an illegal immigrant.” 

              Namjoon pulls his lips into a tight smile. “I think it’s an additional gift. But at the same time, it’s also a setback. A rightful one at that. Y/N’s inability to time jump in the past unless with a clicker a meter radius within her balances the power of her future-seeing gift. She still needs to rely on the system even if her gift for the future is, hypothetically, unbound from any constraints.” Namjoon takes a sip of his tea. “How ‘bout you? How did you learn this…extra ability of hers?”

              “She snatched my clicker from me,” Jungkook leans back in his seat. “She said she needed a ‘tangible memory’ to start on her memory map. She ended up thrusting us back into the time of my car accident.”

              Namjoon freezes. “Excuse me? Did you say ‘us’?”

              Jungkook’s forehead furrows, “Yeah. We did the jump together, that’s why I’m asking you about this thing with the clickers.” 

              “Jungkook, she never did that before.”

              Jungkook’s brows shoot up. “What?”

              Namjoon scratches his nape, face scrunched up. “When she asked me to let her jump through my clicker, she didn’t take me along with the jump. It’s only her. Like it should always be as one clicker is only for one user. It’s always been like this in all the situations she asked me for a time jump in the past.” Namjoon looks at him, “I don’t know why you got in the same loop as her.”

              The night was quiet but devoid of peace. Like an ugly pause in a running film that’s just about to unwind the questions they laid at the start. Even after intaking his blue pills, Jungkook finds it difficult to close his eyes shut.

              “Big brother!”

              Jungkook turns around. The small boy stands on his tiptoes, small arms reaching for him. Jungkook smiles, “You want to climb on my back again, Daehyun?”

              “Yes!” Daehyun giggles.

              “Alright then,” Jungkook crouches in front of him and Daehyun’s squeals grow louder as he loops his stubby arms around Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook stands up, securing the boy’s short legs around his torso. “Ready for some wind, big boy?” He asks. Daehyun nods frantically and soon, Jungkook is zooming on the green field, turning the heads of the children and volunteers in the park. But all Jungkook could hear was Daehyun’s laughter filling the nice summer afternoon. It brings a huge smile on Jungkook’s face. 

              Then—flashing blue and red lights. Cold pavement. A lone school bus standing in the middle. Its yellowness highlighted by the police’s yellow tape surrounding the area. Reporters dot every possible space on the crossroad. “Shooter on the loose.” “Poor child.” “Blood splattered on the seats.” But all Jungkook could hear is the white noise of the chattering. And the call of “Big brother!” he’ll never hear anymore. 

              Jungkook jolts awake. He sighs, closing his eyes. “It’s all in the past,” he mutters repeatedly under his breath. But no matter how many times he repeats it, it doesn’t shake off the horror he’s reeling in. He’s had this dream again and again for eight years straight. He should be already accustomed to it. 

              Jungkook sits up straight. He turns back to his computer and sees a couple of pictures open on the desktop. It was the screenshots of the CCTVs Yoongi gave them. He looks at the top of his desk. His notes empty of anything new other than Leigh Anderson’s name webbed next to an un-filled space for sponsors. Jungkook covers his face with his palms and yawns. Just then a series of text messages come in.

              Unknown: This is Y/N. I know we left on bad terms three days ago. I’m the one to blame for that for overreacting. I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve done a case for FJO. I’m still kinda hung up separating personal services from investigative ones. (2:13 P.M.)

              Unknown: Nevertheless, I hope you’re free this day. Meet me at Somerset Road. 3 P.M. I don’t want you to waste the money you gave me yesterday (2:13 P.M.)  

              Somerset Road is a thirty-minute drive from the FJO Main Headquarters. However, it didn’t feel like it when Jungkook parks his car on the side road. It seemed like hours have gone by when the sun is about to set in the alcove of trees in the distance. It’s just three in the afternoon. Jungkook steps outside and shuts the door. From his position, he could make out a girl in ripped black denim pants and black tank layered with a pink see-through mesh shirt. From the striking red of the spider lilies on the top of her spine, Jungkook could tell it was Y/N. He almost didn’t recognize her. He wouldn’t know she has an undercut had her high ponytail didn’t highlight it.

              The girl turns around and looks at him. “You’re late.”

              “I have to bribe the Maintenance Office first to give me this afternoon’s CCTVs when we’re done.” Jungkook strides toward her, “How did you get my number?”

              “Namjoon.”

              Jungkook cocks a brow.

              Y/N shrugs, “he wrote it in the letter you gave me. Should you, quote-unquote, be ‘difficult to deal with.’”

              Jungkook keeps his lips in a straight line.

              Y/N rocks on her toes, hands in her pocket. “Let’s get straight to it then. Take your clicker out and push it.”

              “What are you intending to do—”

              “A time jump.”

              “Of course, I know that. What other purpose do we use our time jumps for?” Jungkook spits. “What I want to know is what we’re supposed to be doing first before I follow whatever you want me to do because I cannot just blindly trust you with this—”

              Y/N turns her head to him, one brow cocked up, “Didn’t I tell you before I don’t fancy How-What-Why-Whatever questions to what I do or else my gift won’t work?”

              “Yes, but—”

              “Look, will you just push it or do you want me to snatch it from you again?” Y/N takes a step closer to him, leveling his eyes with hers. “I already did a read for today. I know its new hiding place.”

              Jungkook remains unmoving in his stance.

              Y/N crosses her arms. “If it would assure you, this session won’t end taxingly fruitless like the last time. I’m positive we’ll get something by the end of today.”

              “How did you know?”

              “I told you, I did a read for today. I saw you with an astounded face and me with a happy and proud smile. Obviously, we must have ended up finding something.”

              Jungkook is still unconvinced.

              Y/N sighs, “If you don’t want to do anything of what I can offer you, you know you can just terminate our connection anytime you want. Just so you know you can’t refund the 10,000 zials you gave me for the downpayment.”

              Jungkook keeps his gaze on her. A couple of seconds pass before he sighs and shakes his head as he takes out his issued clicker tucked in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

              Y/N smirks. “See? You know you’re gonna need me in the end and you still try to put up an unnecessary fight.”

              Jungkook grunts. He turns the clicker’s indicator to “1-2 weeks” timeframe and pushes the button.

              It was just like their previous time jump—like any other Precrime time jump. It felt like nothing yet also everything at the same time. An amalgamation of sensations and perceptions flashing in front of him in the blink of an eye as he is transported back to the night of his accident. Jungkook looks down at his feet. He’s back to where he last stood at—the left side of the road next to the corner where his car will come from. Jungkook turns to his left and he almost jumps in shock. Unlike their last jump, Y/N is no longer on the opposite side of the road, but beside him, shoulders almost bumping his. Jungkook takes a staggering step away from her. 

              Even if Namjoon laid everything he knows about Y/N’s skills yesterday, Jungkook still finds it hard to accept that a clairvoyant is able to look into the past with such effortless access. Aren’t they only supposed to see the future?

              “What are you looking at?”

              Jungkook tears his gaze away from her. “Nothing.”

              “Thought so, too,” Y/N quips. “We’re here to work after all. Not ogle at each other.” 

              Jungkook tongues his cheek. He’s not left to his frustration for long as after a second, the burning of tires on the asphalt is heard on their side of the road. A silver-gray Ford appears and it zooms past them in a flash. A black Jaguar subsequently shows up on the other side, its form nearing them each millisecond that passes. It’s only time ‘til the two crashes and sends Jungkook’s car rolling three times on the road.

              But, it didn’t happen. The howls of the wind stop. The screeching of the tires halts in awkward silence. And the cars are frozen still. The Jaguar’s bumper and Ford’s right door are separated by a mere inch. It’s the second before the accident happens. Paused in a picture-like frame as if someone hit the pause icon on a video.

              Jungkook whips his head to his side. Y/N has her palm closed in a post-click of her thumb and middle fingers. Jungkook feels his throat clog up, “H-how did you do that?”

              Y/N rolls her eyes. “Told you before, it’s because of my gift. And it’s also just seconds ago I told you I don’t like questions about how my gift works.” Y/N steps away from him and onto the road. “Follow me.” 

              Jungkook silently follows behind. It’s only a matter of seconds that they reach the side of the door of the silver-gray Ford. Jungkook lets his fingers touch on the coated metal. It felt cold on his flesh. Solid. Real. Jungkook can’t help but be astonished. This is no regular time jump. Totally unlike the first one he did with the woman. For this time, Jungkook doesn’t feel he’s living the film of the scene, just like any of the standard Precrime time jumping. This time, Jungkook feels he’s in the scene. Not in a film, not like the virtual reality experienced by Forecrime agents. But in real-time.

              “Take your hands off your car.”

              Jungkook tears his hands away from his car. He looks at the girl. Y/N gives him a pointed look, “I know this time jump doesn’t feel like the standard time jumps of Precrime so you may be astounded with,” she motions around them, “all of this. But I prefer you not to get too overwhelmed. We’re here for work.”

              Jungkook nods, reluctant. Y/N walks further into the side of the road, now a foot away from the spot where the cars should crash. Jungkook quickly follows behind. When he’s by an arms-length away from her, he faces back to the scene in front of him. And then, Y/N clicks her hand.

              The trees sway again. The winds continue their violent gush on the road. And the cars collide. The film is playing again.

              But then, Y/N clicks her fingers. The scene stops, frozen yet again. The bumper of the Jaguar has dug into the Ford’s door, crushing the metal with its momentum. The side mirror is broken, glass shards shattering in mid-air.

              “Come here,” Y/N beckons. Jungkook walks close behind as Y/N stops by the point of intersection of the two cars.  From their position, Jungkook could see the past him hunched over on the wheel, seat belt digging into his torso. The window by his side is broken, a splotch of blood marring the clear glass. And on his right, Jungkook could see the driver of the black Jaguar. Non-existent.

              Y/N looks at him, “So we know the man you’re after is doing an illegal time jump similar to the pattern of Precrime’s traveling agents. But what you don’t know is: he’s a professional.”

              “W-what?” 

              “Look,” Y/N flicks her wrist and makes an anti-clockwise motion of her hand. The sound goes void again and the cars back away from each other in slow motion. Jungkook’s brows shoot up.  The scene is rewinding. Y/N is turning back the time before the Jaguar collided into the Ford. And then, Y/N moves her arm horizontally to her left and clicks her fingers. The Jaguar moves forward again, but slowly this time. Jungkook could see the silhouette of the driver with arms taut on the wheel disappearing into a cloud of smoke until it turns no more but a nonexistent person on the seat as it hits the door of the Ford. 

              Y/N clicks her fingers and the scene pauses. “As you saw, it only took the driver,” she glances at her watch, “ten seconds before completely disappearing into his time jump. From how fast he disappeared, we could say it only took him twenty seconds in total to make the entire jump. I can only deduce this as the memories we have are short of the time we could see him in his solid form. The same way goes for the CCTVs you gathered. It only captured the last ten seconds of the whole accident. The Jaguar nonexistent in the frame from 20:23:39 and anything beyond before that time mark. The CCTVs only showed the Jaguar from 20:23:40 to exactly 20:24. The last 10 seconds, devoid of any driver.” 

              The girl continues, “Now, to be able to completely vanish in just 20 seconds, you must be a professional in time jumping in the past. Which can only be done if you’ve undergone training under Precrime. However, this could also be just any other outsider that’s gotten lucky doing an illegal time jump. Considering Somerset Road has a strong electromagnetic field that can help anyone do their time jumps faster and more successfully—including the risky ones that involve a huge time frame of unbounded jumps into the past. But to know that about Somerset Road, much less know how to effectively take advantage of its field during a time jump—you should be a long-time agent of Precrime.” 

              Y/N faces Jungkook, “The man you’re after is either a professional Precrime traveling agent or an outsider who’s fed with all the necessary information only a Precrime agent could know. It’s an inside job.”

              Jungkook shakes his head, “No. It can’t be. Every time-jumping device has a permanent tracker that can never be taken out even by the best engineer. Allen McGregor designed it to be like that to ensure these devices will not be used for personal interest. Every agent is tracked of their traveling activities and logged straight into the Investigation Bureau’s files. They’re inputted in glass files similar to the crime records—void for editing, copying, and deleting. And should it be an outsider utilizing Precrime’s technology, a travel will still be tracked back to the agent whose device was used.” Jungkook looks at Y/N. “There have been no reports of anyone traveling on Somerset Road the night of my accident.”

              Y/N shrugs, “I’m just saying what I saw. Especially this.” Y/N makes an anti-clockwise motion of her hands and the scene rewinds again.  The Jaguar is frozen back into five seconds before it hits the silver-gray Ford. Y/N walks toward the car, Jungkook close behind. The girl motions to the passenger seat and Jungkook stills. There on the leather seat is a red file case. Unprecedented murder. Precrime Murder Sector. But this is not what rendered Jungkook immobile in shock. Rather, it’s the label on the file case. 

              “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

              “See?” Y/N smirks, “Told you we’ll find something today.”

              A click of the hand and soon, the dark night sky of Somerset Road bleeds into the burning colors of the sunset. There’s no longer the silver-gray Ford and the black Jaguar. It’s just Jungkook and Y/N alone in the road, back to where they were before.

              Jungkook hunches over, coughing as he beats his chest. When he finally stabilizes his breathing back to normal, he turns to the girl. “You…Ho-how can you be so sure with all of these vi-visions?”

              Y/N looks at Jungkook, an indecipherable look on her face. “This is what you paid for 10,000 zials. I’m handing you what your eyes missed on just the way they are.”

              Jungkook holds in his breath as he knocks on the glass door.

              “Come in.”

              Jungkook pushes the door open and salutes. “Chief Nathan Spencer.”

              “Captain Jeon,” the Chief of Precrime glances up at him before returning back to the stack of papers he’s signing. He motions to the chair in front of his desk, “Make yourself comfortable.”

              Jungkook pulls back the black chair and sits.

              “So, what brings you here?”

              “This week’s report, sir—the joint investigation with DOJ on the unidentified black Jaguar.” Jungkook places a brown folder on the Chief’s desk.

              The chief looks at the captain. “Still no progress in the identification?” 

              Jungkook shakes his head, face grim.

              “That can’t be helped,” Nathan sympathetically mutters. “It’s not the first time FJO has handled a difficult case.”

              “But it is the first time FJO can’t identify a suspect with its current system.”

              “You’re right,” Nathan nods. He flips open the brown folder and skims the report. “How’s the auditor doing?”

              Jungkook clenches his jaw. “Fine. Still…meddling with our processes.”

              Nathan lets out a light scoff. “As expected of someone who’s running for a promotion. Always been a know-it-all jerk, this Min Yoongi.”

              Jungkook makes a tight-lipped smile.

              Nathan chuckles. “Forgive me. I’ve always had a prejudice against DOJ’s auditors. Most, if not all of them, always give us a hard time more than what’s necessary. Anyway, what else do you have for me, Jungkook?”

              The captain sits up straight. “I would like to ask a favor, sir.”

              Nathan clasps his hand on his desk. He leans forward. “What is it?”

              “It’s for the investigation. DOJ has access to all of our files—Precrime, Forecrime, and even the Investigation Bureau. So I figured if I can also do the same since our sector seems to be their main target. If I have the same leverage on our own information as them, I can have control over this investigation and drive them away before they can even assume power over us.” Jungkook leans on the table, “We could see the problems first before they become visible to DOJ.”

              Nathan raises his brow. “So what do you mean?”

              “I would like to have unrestricted access in our archives. Everything that contains anything pertaining to FJO.” Jungkook leans forward, “Including the Memory Temple.” 

              The chief sighs, “That’s a big favor, Jungkook.”

              “I know. That’s why Chief General Andrews told me to go to you.”

              Nathan’s brows shoot up, “The Chief General?”

              “Yes, Chief General Matthew Andrews. He said you’re good friends with Chief of the Bureau, Natasha Ryde. Chief Andrews wants to ask if you could do a favor of a friend for a friend.” Jungkook slides a white envelope underneath the folder, “Of course, not without considerable credit.”

              Nathan purses his lips. A beat. He shakes his head, sighing. “Okay…I’ll try to put in a word for you. I can give you the entire archives tomorrow. But the Memory Temple could take a while. Two days or three.”

              “That’s fine with me.” Jungkook smiles. He stands up and heads to the end of the room. Before he could disappear behind the door, he salutes one more time, “Thank you for the kind accommodation, Chief.” 

              Jungkook heads to the main elevator and hits the second floor below the Superiors’ Hall. The metal doors ding open and soon, Jungkook’s looking at a wide expanse of glass wall reflecting hundreds of shelves on the glass panes.

              Jungkook heads to the entranceway and salutes at the guard, “Sally.” The guard returns the salute, smiling. Jungkook tilts his head, “Did the Bureau come by to retrieve Precrime files?”

              “Not yet, sir. The Bureau’s still busy in their matters with DOJ. They halted the synching of files for now.”

              “That’s good,” Jungkook quips and pushes the glass doors open.

              Tall metal bookshelves snake like an accordion around the floor. The spaces between them is occasionally filled up by wooden desks that mandatorily come along with a wooden bookstand and black study lamp. It looks like a hedge maze made of old books, monochrome papers, and multi-colored files.

              Jungkook heads to the leftmost aisle—Precrime’s archives. He weaves his way through the bookshelves until he stops in front of a separated room in the middle of the labyrinth. It’s made completely out of glass, just like FJO’s offices. The only difference is that this room contains five sets of desks and chairs, bookshelves, and the Archive Manager’s huge white station as the centerpiece.

              And before Jungkook could finish leveling his eyes to the scanner set by the door, he could already feel the growing stare of Emily Young.

              “Captain Jeon.”

              “Ms. Young,” Jungkook nods to the manager.

              Emily smiles, “To what do I owe your visit today?”

              “Jonathan Winston’s Assassination case file.” 

              “As usual,” The thirty-seven-year-old manager sing-songs as she stands up and disappears into the back room. It doesn’t take long for her to retrieve what the Precrime captain is looking for.

              A long expandable, red file with the label in Arial 12 print: “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

              Just like in Y/N’s time jump. Identically the same. Jungkook looks at the manager, “Do you have a log of anyone who looks into this file?”

              Emily chuckles, “I don’t think that will bring anything new to the table, captain.” She scans the numeric code of the file and turns the monitor of her computer towards him. “There’s no one who’s been looking at this file but you.”

              Jungkook peers in. Indeed, the log on Winston’s file contains nothing but his name. From August 15, 2047, the date of Winston’s assassination, to the most recent date, August 3, 2059. The day after Leigh Anderson’s suicide. The day after the Winston case was closed cold. There’s no other name in the log for 12 years other than his name.

              Jungkook looks back at Emily, “Are you sure this is the complete log on this file? No one borrowed the file earlier than July 12th?”

              “That’s the whole log, captain. There’s no record on August 1st because we’re closed to do an inventory check.” Emily leans back in her chair. “Everyone knows you’re busy on a case in Down Hill for the entirety of June. The Allison future murder is all over the news. Of course, with a Metropolis resident as a future victim. And with you busy on another case, this Winston’s file is devoid of any viewers.” Emily releases a chuckle. “Every cop has an obsession with a particular case. Everyone here knows Winston’s case is yours. I think I will remember if someone other than you looked into this file because I swear that day will be a miracle.”

              Jungkook purses his lips, face undecipherable. Right then, his phone rings loud. He turns to his back and picks it up. “Hello?”

              “Captain.” It’s Jimin.

              “What is it?”

              “You have to come to the sector now. There’s a file from Precrime. It’s…a blank.”

              “Okay, I’ll be there soon,” Jungkook ends the call. He faces Emily. “Thank you for today, Emily.” The archives manager nods with a playful salute at him. Jungkook quickly returns the salute and pushes the door open. Soon, he’s tearing past the labyrinth of shelves.

              It doesn’t take Jungkook longer than ten minutes to reach the left-wing of the 2nd floor. The cold sweat from the discovery in the archives is still clinging on his nape. 

              As soon as he steps into Murder Sector, everyone’s eyes are set on him. Including Yoongi. Jungkook prods his cheek with his tongue as he slides in the gloves over his hands. “Jimin, give me the run-over.”

              “Captain, Jeon. It’s a grayish-white file. Precrime, Property and Crime Scene Sector. Traveling agent in charge is Eric Williams. Crime record validated by traveling agents Hannah Peters and Ivan Park. Case number 3571, hit-and-run, destruction of property.  Suspect is unknown. Victim’s name is…Jeon Jungkook.”

              Jungkook whips his head towards the secretary, eyes wide.

              “It’s your case, sir.” Jimin confirms, “Eric accidentally time jumped into the night of your hit-and-run while he’s traveling for a T-Bone accident in Middle Town. Property and Crime Scene figured this blank is a crucial update on your case.” He walks to the end of the glass board and slides the disk into the middle slot.

              Jungkook turns to his front. The glass board lights up and a video starts playing. It’s Somerset Road and it’s almost pitch black in the grainy film. Eric stands frozen on the pavement for a second. But the seeming serenity of the scene soon dissipates as he looks down at his gear and frantically fumbles for his time jumper. Suddenly, hot blinding light fills his peripherals. Eric’s head shoots up. A car is speeding toward him. The headlights grow larger and finally, the car becomes visible. It’s the silver-gray Ford. Eric turns around and right then, a black Jaguar zooms past him, merely missing him by a hairsbreadth. But the Jaguar doesn’t stop and further increases its speed. It bulldozers right into the side of the Ford, sending it flying across the barren road. Eric picks up his feet and dashes to the cars. But his efforts are futile. The black Jaguar has already disappeared before he could even take his 12th step. And then, the record stops.

              Before Jimin could even state the protocol run-through, Jungkook frantically swipes through the blank record. He slides across the frames in reverse, back and backward until he reaches the first second of the blank.

              “Sir, I’m afraid we have to do the protocol first—"

              Jungkook’s hand stills on the board. The frame freezes. It’s a close-up of the black Jaguar as it barely grazes Eric’s body. Jungkook zooms in. There inside the passenger seat of the car is a long, red expandable file. “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

              Jungkook feels his blood run cold. It’s the same file he just had his hands on less than 15 minutes ago. It’s the same file he saw in his and Y/N’s jump. Y/N’s vision is true.  

              Jungkook feels his pocket vibrate and he quickly whips out his phone. However, he wasn’t able to dwell on it longer as a hard force pushes his shoulder backward, forcing Jungkook to tear his eyes off the screen.

              Yoongi glares at him, “Why are you indifferent about this? You know something about this, didn’t you? Captain Jeon!” 

              But even with his name called out loud, Jungkook couldn’t hear anything. All that registers in his mind is one single message.

              Y/N L/N:  Have you ever heard of a Sooah Kim before? (11:14 A.M.)

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Note: This story is based on Steven Spielberg’s film adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s short story, Minority Report (2002). That being said, this series may contain spoilers for the movie so if you want to watch the movie, please do so first before reading!

A/N | Hi hons! Thank you for reading the 2nd chapter! I hope I got you guys more curious about the story hehe. Anyway, I have some announcement: I have finals for a major coming up this week so I’ll spend the next whole week studying. So, I’ll try if I can update the next chap the week after next week, on Sunday, too. But nothing is certain yet as I still have some uni stuff to do. Don’t worry, I only have 3 projects left to do to finally finish this sem. So as soon as I’m done with them, expect more frequent updates from me! 

If you guys wanna get notified as soon as I post the next chapter, I’m gonna add you all in my taglist! Just hit me up down the comments of this series’ masterlist so I can better track you all! The search function of Tumblr is messing with me and my notifs in my inbox usually come late so it’s highly probable your asks and DMs may get lost ☹

Once again, thank you for reading and giving a chance to My Time! :”)

Notes: As you know, this is a mystery fic. So, it will be most appreciated if any theories pertaining to the story be kept down the comments so I can entertain them all without spoiling our future readers! Once again, thank you so much for reading this!

All Rights Reserved 2020 © Vanaera. Reposts, modifications, and translations of content are not allowed without direct permission.

[breaddaerb]

Headcanons for Jett pls?

(Preferably for her backstory or relationships with the agents, if its not too much trouble.)

[ jett headcannons I ]

✎↷: of course, anon! it’s no trouble at all honestly, jett is one of the agents that i first got a soft spot for! apologies for any errors in here. have fun with these:

joon-hee comes from a larger, more populated city like busan or seoul. it makes sense, considering her card, and she’s most definitely taken part in the street food culture of the big cities. she has an older sister and an older brother, as well as her two parents. she gives off youngest kid vibes, so we’re going to go with it.

the age gap between her siblings wasn’t wide, but a gap enough to where joon-hee was equally influenced by her brother and her sister. she had a taste of everything growing up, but their family was happy. she was victim to various tantrums from time to time, back when her feelings were in jeopardy.

most prominently in her life was her dad’s food stall while her mom made a living elsewhere. in her voice line she mentions chopping 달래, which is wild chives in korean. chives are used frequently in 부추전 (chive pancakes), and is a common street food to find when visiting markets and oriental places. joon-hee has always had that culture born into her blood, with talking to the gossipy halmeoni down the street or giving a snack to the passing highschool students.

she’s been at the front of that shop since she can remember. learning how to cook with her appa was always something she looked forward to when she got home from school, eagerly running out from their home to go help him at the store. eventually, they evolved into a small business when she was in middle school, placed at the corner around their house, and made access to the store easier than before.

joon-hee’s home life was centered mostly on her dad. her siblings didn’t carry the same interest she did in the shop, and though they still knew how to help, it wasn’t the same as her own eager hands. her mother had somewhat of a distaste towards her youngest daughter working so much for their store, but she didn’t voice her dissent for it directly to joon-hee herself. it was clear her mother had a preference for her older siblings, though, and hardly gave joon-hee attention.

at this age, she was still as extroverted and rowdy as ever. good manners have been pressed into her, but she couldn’t resist going out to play soccer with her friends or playing tag. her parents didn’t mind mostly, since she could stay in shape that way, and it tamed joon-hee’s endless energy quite a bit.

she wasn’t the most popular in highschool. friendly, but she was incorporated into a mostly guy friend group with a few girls here and there. aside from working at the store, everything about her life was normal.

a fire. there was a fire in the store and jesus, she didn’t know what to do. her father had passed out in the smoke and she watched as it burned and withered around her. her body had moved on its own that time, and her hands shifted and twisted into fists. and then there was wind, soft like cotton yet harsher than steel. it ripped through the fire, building slowly until it grew more and more.

when it exploded, it didn’t take just her out, but her whole family. and the neighbors. and then the whole district.

by now, radiants had been discovered, but joon-hee never thought that she was going to be one herself. never thought that these ‘myths’ she saw on the news were real, encased in blue spirals that licked up her arm. she didn’t know what happened to these people, so she did what she knew best. she ran.

ran like her soccer practices, ran like she wasn’t a sixteen year old girl who barely had a clasp on the world yet. but she had scowered the streets away from her home and swallowed back the thickness in her throat, the one that had developed ever since she watched her family’s bodies get thrown into her own tornado.

kingdom found her like this. hopelessly lost, in search of a home and somewhere to belong. they took her in, raised her and trained her innocent mind. she was taught how to speak english and was forbade from associating herself with korea and her old identity. now, she was hawk, born out of air and sheer force.

it didn’t mean she forgot, though. her heart was as fragile as her, shriveling away from touch with regret feeling bile on her tongue. they told her that she had potential, that her own strength would pull her through out of any situation. all she had to do was let them help her and the deal was done.

joon-hee was stubborn, but desperate. she wanted her abilities gone, to be able to say that her whole existence and the first light had been a mistake to her. instead, they injected her with poisons, fed her powers to where she wasn’t even sure if she knew herself. this body was artificial, nothing like the lithe canvas used for scraping against grass.

with brain wash and evident threats, joon-hee became hawk. she was harsher, unable to help herself from leaping at someone, with her own management issues going unchecked. but she was the star of the show, not overlooked by either of her siblings. where her dad would encourage her and tell her that his ‘little bird was taking flight already!’

joon-hee encountered sabine while she was there. they didn’t see eye to eye and made nasty comments about each other often, but that was a part of life.

— i realized i wrote more than i had intended for the backstory portion that i’m just gonna.. skip over how jett joined protocol and get into relationships —

brimstone: she likes the man! he’s genuinely like a dad to her, which is hard to say when you look at how she grew up. she’s thankful for him swooping into her life, and while it’s fun to prank him and joke around, jett has always taken his affirmations to heart when it comes to self improvement. she still hates doing the stretches he tells her to do, but she still does them. disrespecting her elders is rude. (they help. but only a little.)

breach: breach? oh, he’s hilarious! jett had laughed her ass off when killjoy told her about how breach had broken her arm when they arm wrestled for the first time, and she holds it against her. it also gave breach respect in jett’s eyes, since such a burly man wouldn’t even go easy on the twig nerd. she challenges him to arm wrestles very now and then, and while she does lose, it’s mostly for jett to use as a measurement for how much she needs to improve. they play games together, too, since he’s such a good sport about it.

cypher: a little cryptic, but she likes him. they’re not the closest agents because of their severe differences, but they occasionally share a sneaky retort to one another after a mission or knock elbows together at the bar. jett has also managed to get him into some of her pranks and jokes every now and then, and they team up on phoenix sometimes when things are just too peaceful in headquarters.

killjoy: psh, her? she’s tech support. though, she did teach jett how to make gingerbread, so she guessed that she was okay to be around. jett likes to go to killjoy to find out what she’s working on and if it’s anything for her. usually the answer is a no, but when it isn’t, the two of them actually make up some pretty chaotic ideas together. if this were a highschool au, jett would totally try to bully killjoy into giving her the homework, and the engineer wouldn’t even need the bullying to give it up. she would rather not be harassed.

omen: he’s spooky, but they get along. omen isn’t a fan of jett’s recklessness, but he compliments her when she does something good, and it made her warm up to him just a little more. sometimes, jett will fly up to omen on a higher up position on site and give him a happy wave or a joke that she heard. the man is dull and numb about it, although one time when she actually got a chuckle out of him, it was like the whole world flipped upside down. jett takes pride in the memory specifically.

phoenix: her partner in crime, obviously. she can go from choking him out to talking about how to end the world together, and it’s one of her favorite things about him. jett tends to have no filter around the man and it’s the same the other way around. they have each other’s backs when it comes to being wingmen for each other or backing the other up on the battlefield. their chemistry is amazing, and while it’s dangerous to have them out together, brimstone would begrudgingly admit that they got a lot done,

raze: blow them all up, raze, jett is here for it! her taste for loudness and explosions goes sated because of the brazilian. the two of them talk about soccer together and play on the weekends, or can be seen in the living room tossing balls to each other by their knees. jett goes to raze when it’s something phoenix won’t understand, and the brazilian has provided to be an actually decent therapist. maybe it should start by opening up first..

reyna: scary. jett can keep up with her, but there’s something about the things that the woman says that sends chills down her spine. she never admits it because she’s fearless and doesn’t give a damn about anyone else, but reyna had told her that she could hear her heart racing and wow, that was really creepy and she may or may not be fearing for her life. they still mingle and talk, and jett can’t help feeling small underneath the woman’s presence. it isn’t to say that she won’t do everything in her power to prove otherwise.

sage: tall and pretty. jett likes having the woman help her out a lot, and the korean can often be seen going in and out of the medbay to check in on her. sage had shared her red ginseng tea for jett’s taro boba drink, and both parties ended up more satisfied than they had initially expected. their relationship is mainly jett flitting around her out of admiration, and they get along well in the whole gal-pals aspect of their bond. sage is like an older sister presence to jett, and she appreciates the woman taking care of her.

skye: skye is entertaining, but it always seems like the woman is a step ahead of her. she’s knowledgeable and buddy buddy with jett, and seems to read the korean so perfectly that the duelist has a hard time countering it. she never gives up, but more often than not, it leaves her feeling flustered and confused. skye pulled jett along to one of her morning ones and had to deal with a sluggish and slow assassin, which was much funnier than skye had thought. she does it occasionally just to dote on the younger woman.

sova: he’s a big baby to her, honestly. she’s seen him melt when sage complimented him before, and her view of him has never been the same since then. jett thinks of him like a walking teddy bear, and talking to him is more relaxing than her regular conversation with phoenix. she has a definite appreciation for him, but she wished that he would get himself out of the sky where she belonged. really, his drone freaked her out. when she mentioned it, he had tagged her with the dart in it, and that had hurt like hell.

viper: viper treats her like a young child. she’s not surprised by it, but it still frustrates her when it rubs in a little too hard. sometimes, the scientist notices this, and quietly reassures jett with something like ‘you did well today, regardless’. she’s back to business immediately after that, making the duelist laugh. jett can successfully talk to viper without fearing for her life too much, and her worries go mostly forgotten until she sees the syringe being pulled out from her lab coat. terrifying.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Wedding Colors (Part 3)

(Hayffie ❤️🧡💛💚💙💖. An exploration of Effie’s evolving character as she faces past and present personal intensities while making preparations for Finnick and Annie’s wedding.)

13:00—lunch. For the first time since the ominous day in July that she’d descended into the gloom of 13, Effie’s belly was full. As weeks had turned into months, she hadn’t felt hunger. She’d picked at meals and pushed unpalatable food around her tray. But now something was different. Flint scraped over steel inside her like the wind across her cheeks that morning. Her spoon repeatedly clinked the bottom of the bowl of squash soup. It took every ounce of restraint to not bring the whole bowl to her mouth and tilt it upward to collect the last drops.

Keenly observant, Cressida noted, “That’s new.”

“What?”

“You finishing a meal here.” She dropped her voice. “Are you pregnant, Trinket?”

Effie’s face flushed scarlet, blushing through burnt cheeks. “Bite your tongue!” she snapped.

Cressida glanced at Pollux, and Effie recognized her own faux pas. “Please excuse me. I wasn’t thinking about...”

Interacting with an Avox who was a regular citizen rather than a servant of the Capitol was still a new experience for her.

Pollux signed, “No problem,” and his brother offered the translation.

Effie returned her attention to the inquisitive filmmaker. “I’m JUST hungry. Must a woman be pregnant in order to finish a bowl of soup?” She whispered “pregnant” as if saying it too loudly might invite the situation. Or just as worrisome, Haymitch could walk in at that moment, hear the word, flip out, and not touch her again. Now that she’d opened the Pandora’s box of sex with him, she didn’t want to put a lid back on it.

“Okay. I get it.” Cressida was intrigued by Effie’s blush, but otherwise mollified. “You like the soup. End of story.”

It was golden orange in color and lightly flavored with spices that tasted like autumn. Ginger was recognizable, but the others were a mystery to Effie. Her experience with cooking was mostly limited to a course she’d taken a decade and a half prior at Charis School of Grace, Beauty, and Charm.

Her mother had insisted on “Finishing School” for Effie after she graduated from the Academy. The summer classes had been a compromise, since her father was resolute in his intention to send her to University. He’d even dipped into his personal inheritance to pay extra tuition when her test scores didn’t qualify her outright for admission.

“Charis will focus Euphemia on the most sophisticated etiquette and deportment, preparing her for marriage into greater wealth,” her mother argued.

“University will prepare Effie for a practical career suited to her strongest skills,” her father contended.

“Grace, beauty, and charm ARE her strongest skills. Face it, dear. Like you, our daughter lacks the talent to be a Gamemaker.”

“She has the talent to be more than a rich man’s wife.”

“If I were the wife of a RICH man, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

Their barbs stung each other. After years of practice, the Trinkets knew just where to aim them. They agreed that Effie needed a path which would secure an optimal future for the family. Neither of them asked her what she wanted.

If they’d asked back then, she would have had one specific answer. And if she was honest with herself now, her deepest desire was exactly the same. If she’d voiced it then, her parents would have sent her to the Asylum first before anything else. So she said nothing about it.

By 18, she’d become a master at the art of knowing when to hold her tongue. She’d internalized the pressure to please her parents and reflect positively on her family’s name and station in society. The burden of doing so was a heavy weight on her shoulders.

Effie’s shoulders ached too from the physical work of gathering and carrying around large sacks of perfect leaves. She daydreamed about a bath full of bubbles followed by a nap on a real bed. Allowing the fantasy was a mistake because then her body screamed for it.

She wondered if even babies were allowed to nap here, or did they get merely a half hour of “reflection” before dinner like everyone else? Did they have daily schedules imprinted on their chubby little arms? Eat. Poop. Sleep. What else did the tiny things do? She’d never paid much attention to them in the Capitol. Had she ever seen a baby in 13? She couldn’t recall.

***

14:00—volunteering. The children would be out of school soon. Plutarch told her to expect them along with anyone who was between work shifts. Coin was allowing more flexibility than usual in order to encourage volunteerism. Effie considered the irony in the word spelled out on her arm in purple ink. Following schedules was mandatory. Once “volunteering” is tattooed on your body, doesn’t it cease to be voluntary?

That place made her head hurt if she thought about it too much. She pulled her rose-tinted sunglasses out of her pocket and put them on, hoping the change in light would temper some of the ache, and help her feel less vulnerable.

“Ready or not, here I go,” she said out loud.

She approached the kitchen staff for permission to use large plastic serving bowls to hold the leaves at the tables. The kitchen manager, a middle aged woman named Cuire, put up resistance, muttering something about needing authorization from the president.

Greasy Sae showed no qualms about interjecting. “Now, those leaves ain’t all that different from a salad. We’ll have the bowls washed again long before dinner service.”

The older woman, with her hair up in a kerchief more plain than Effie’s, carried a stack of serving bowls through the doorway without waiting for the manager’s consent. She returned to the kitchen for more until every serving bowl in 13 was in the dining hall. Cuire pursed her lips but said nothing.

Sae pulled a handful of leaves out of one of the canvas bags and dropped them into a bowl. “The list of procedures here’s a mile long. Sometimes the only way to keep these folks from sayin’ ‘no’ is to just not ask ‘em. And then work fast.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Effie joined her efforts to quickly transfer the leaves to the bowls. “Thank you, Sae.”

“Thank YOU, girl. Gatherin’ up all these to make pretty things for the weddin’, you must be exhausted.”

“I had help. From Haymitch.”

“Did you?”

“I had to ambush him.”

“Nah. As often as that boy looks at you, I’d guess he went willingly.”

Ambushed and willing. Yes, he was.

Beetee wheeled up to her with several spools of wire, wire cutters, rolls of electrical tape, and several pairs of scissors.

“The copper color is PERFECT!” Effie gushed.

“This wire is at least a hundred years old,” he replied with little emotion, “The only reason it shows no corrosion is because 13 is fastidious about its storage conditions, including adequate air circulation. The gauge is small. The electrical current from present technologies, would overload and overheat it. The wire is rather useless actually.”

“Well, we’ve found a use for it!”

“In the absence of copper tape, this seems the best match, which is ironic since brown is typically used for high voltages. And high voltages would burn right through this particular wire.”

“We’re just making garlands today, not blowing out an arena!”

“You’re speaking non-metaphorically, of course. We might hope the propo will play a role in shattering the Capitol’s grip on the restless minds of its citizens... That said, it isn’t my intention to imply that YOUR mind is gripped and restless.”

A gripped and restless mind sounded fairly accurate to Effie. “I doubt the Capitol views me as its citizen at this point.” I guess that makes me homeless, even though my family home, my apartment, my belongings, my entire history are all there.

Beetee noticed her smile fade. “You might be right about that. ...I’m sorry.”

After seeing what her victors had been through and what they were still going through, she felt uncomfortable being apologized to by a victor who she held in high regard. I don’t deserve an apology, though manners dictated the proper response to an apology was a gracious, “Thank you.”

“Will you be staying to help?” she added.

“I’m needed in Special Defense. Bring the leftover supplies when you come down later.”

“Beetee, thank you for this.”

The clock was ticking. Effie went to work immediately, arranging leaves in alternating colors and shapes and adhering the stems to a long length of wire.

“What a beautiful pattern!” A friendly voice spoke over Effie’s shoulder. She turned to see Delly Cartwright whose blonde hair fell free of its usual braid.

“An artisan! Delly, I’m grateful you’re here to help with production and quality control.”

From their occasional chats at mealtimes, Effie had learned that Delly’s parents had been shoemakers, and 13 put her to work in textile production as soon as she’d turned 18.

“Me? An artisan?”

“You WILL be, dear. I’ve seen your stitching. I’ve also observed your congenial way with people.” Effie cut a long length of wire for Delly and set her up with supplies to work at another table. “Let’s spread around the talent.”

When school let out, Delly’s younger brother was the first to arrive, not wanting to go “home” to empty quarters. Posy Hawthorne followed close at his heels, skipping to keep up with his much longer legs.

“Stop followin’ me!” he told her.

“I’m not followin’ you. We’re just goin’ the same place, that’s all.”

“Well, you’re a baby, and I don’t want you sittin’ at MY table.”

“Cordwain!” Delly interjected, “That’s not polite!”

“I’m FIVE years old, and I’ll sit wherever I please, CordWAIN.” With three older brothers, Posy could hold her own in disagreements with just about anyone, especially boys. Effie admired that along with her manners.

“Aw, Dellyyyy,” her brother whined, “You’re supposed to call me Cord!”

“You apologize to Posy, and I won’t have to be so stern.”

“Do I HAVE to?! She’s just Vick’s little sister.”

“And you’re MY little brother, so, yes, you do. You know Ma and Pa would say so if—“

“Ma and Pa are dead!” Cord sat at the table with Delly and folded his arms across his chest.

Delly sighed, and her tone softened, “Cordy, honey, that’s all the more reason to apologize.”

His lip quivered, and he muttered in a hoarse voice. “Sorry.”

“I’m sorry they died,” Posy empathized, “My daddy died b’fore I was born.”

She sat across from Effie and looked at her for a long fifteen seconds. Effie wasn’t used to children being so young. The girl’s dark hair fell long past her shoulders in two braids. Her gray eyes were deeply set. She had the look of a person who’d seen the shadow of death and kept going.

“I like your pink glasses.” Posy twirled one of her braids around her finger. “I used to have pink ribbons. Two of ‘em.”

“When I was your age, I wore pink ribbons in my hair. Pink was my favorite color.”

“Mine too! Gale says we can’t go back fer the ribbons. He says they’re gone. Do you think they’re gone?”

“Well... I...” For goodness sake. What does one say to a child whose district was fire bombed to rubble?

Cord muttered some more, “Of course they’re gone!”

Posy ignored him, waiting for Effie’s response.

“Your brother, Gale, is wise, dear.” Effie saw her expectant little face fall. “I am going to your district tomorrow. With Katniss. Would you like for me to look for the ribbons so you know for certain?”

Posy nodded.

“Then I’ll be sure to do that. In the meantime would you like to help make a garland? There aren’t any pink leaves, but there are other pretty colors.”

Posy reached into the bowl and pulled out a red one. “Can I do this one?”

“Of course. Let me show you.”

Effie demonstrated with a different leaf then watched Posy’s small fingers peel and cut the tape and use it to add her chosen leaf to the copper wire.

“How’s that?” the girl asked.

The tape was crooked. The leaf was crooked, and it didn’t fall in line with the pattern. Effie considered telling her so. Aemilia Trinket certainly would have. And for that reason if no other, Effie said to the five-year/old, “That’s wonderful, dear.”

Posy beamed. “You’re nice. You’re not scary at all! I’m gonna go tell Rory that he’s wrong.” She hopped out of the chair and skipped away, turning around long enough to say, “I’ll be back!”

Effie watched her go, not knowing quite what to think. Rory?... She couldn’t remember who that was. One of the Hawthorne boys?

“This year would have been Rory’s first reaping,” Delly explained.

Effie didn’t need to hear anything more in order to understand. The truth split her heart. Half of it dropped like lead into her stomach. The other half rose up into her throat, threatening to choke her.

The children are afraid of me.

Even without a reaping ball in front of me, they are still afraid.

In that moment, she didn’t have time or space to process the realization. She just sat there, forcing a smile, trying to keep the vacant feeling in her chest from showing on her face. As volunteers streamed into the dining hall, she swallowed the lump in her throat, pressed her palm to her stomach, and directed the project as planned.

More children arrived giggling and singing, 🎶”Come live with me and be my love...”🎶 It was the beginning of District 4’s wedding song, which they’d started learning in school. 🎶”...I'll take you out upon the sea...”🎶 drew them into conversation about how the ocean might look, feel, sound, smell, and taste. None of them had ever been to the seashore. They’d only seen it in books.

🎶”...To share the starry night with you...” 🎶 intrigued them too. Some of the children from 12 tried to describe the stars to the kids from 13 who had never been above ground at night. “A star is like the tip of the flame of a candle that never flickers.”... “They just pop out in the sky as it’s changing from blue to black.”... “My grandma says stars are ghosts that come to visit us at night. Good ghosts, not scary ones.”... “Ghosts ain’t real.”... “Are so!”... “Are not!”

Dozens of adults were there to cut wire and strips of tape for the younger children and to ensure the garlands turned out beautifully.

With so many helping hands, Effie had to let go of her precise plans. The work of other artisans became apparent as some patterns emerged which were even more pleasing than what Plutarch and Effie envisioned.

Boggs showed up, carrying his son on his hip. The boy seemed younger than Posy, though Effie was far from an expert about children under 12. Boggs sat at a table with the boy in his lap. The little one reached for the leaves just as Boggs’ communicuff started flashing wildly. “Damon, buddy, President Coin is calling. I’ve just lost my break time. I’m going to need to take you back to daycare, but maybe Miss Trinket will let you take one of the leaves with you?” Boggs gave Effie a pleading look. The last thing he needed just then was an upset kid.

Damon’s big brown eyes welled up with tears. He wiped them away with the backs of his hands which were filled with leaves that he didn’t want to let go. Since the epidemic, Boggs and his son had been on their own. Looking into those teary eyes, Effie couldn’t help but feel for them. The feeling seeped into that empty space in her chest, and eased a bit of the void.

“Your son can stay awhile, if you’d like. Then I can take him back to daycare.”

“Are you sure? He’s a handful, and you have a lot going on here.”

Seeing herself in the moment as “scary ghost” rather than a star, Effie definitely was NOT sure that she was the right person to be looking after a young child. “Of course, I’m sure,” she spoke through her smiling mask.

“What do you say, buddy? Do you want to stay with Miss Trinket and make a garland, or do you want me to take you back to daycare now?”

“It’s Effie. The only one who calls me Miss Trinket around here is Mr. Heavensbee.” She laughed.

Damon climbed down from Boggs’ lap and up into Effie’s. “Oh! Well, hello,” she said, pushing her chair back far enough to make room for him. He was heavier than he’d looked in the strong arms of his father. He squirmed around reaching for everything at once: more leaves of every shape and color, scissors...

Boggs’ eyes widened.

Effie handed Damon a roll of tape in trade for the scissors. “You can hold the tape, and I’LL do the cutting.”

‘Thank you,’ Boggs mouthed the words then told his son, “This is an important job, soldier. Effie is your commanding officer. Are you going to take this work seriously and mind what she tells you to do?”

“Yeth, thir, Daddy, thir!” His lisp melted Effie’s heart.

“At ease, little man. I’ll pick you up from daycare at 18:00.” Boggs kissed his son’s forehead, and Damon was already hard at work attempting to peel tape off the roll.

As Effie helped the boy put leaves on the wire, Posy returned, accompanied by one of her brothers who hurried to claim an open seat next to Cord. Posy skipped up to Effie and patted her head. “I got Vick to come, but Rory’s stubborn. YOU know how boys can be.”

Effie looked up from the table to see Haymitch leaning against a pillar near the edge of the dining hall. He was watching her closely. The expression on his face was a loaded mix of curiosity and seriousness.

“Yes, I do know how boys can be,” Effie agreed, “Especially when they are afraid.”

Haymitch had never seen Effie around little kids, and he was fascinated. The Hawthorne girl chattered on and on, tucking leaf stems into the top knot of Effie’s kerchief. Boggs’ kid was in Effie’s lap, crushing leaves with his hands and unwrapping tape for her to cut with scissors. A girl Haymitch didn’t recognize sat to the side, touching Effie’s bracelet. “Is this silver and gold?” the kid asked.

“This s costume jewelry,” Effie answered.

“What’s ‘costume’?” the girl wanted to know.

“A costume is... something you might wear when you are... pretending.”

The Hawthorne girl said to the other one, “You can wear one of my pink ribbons sometime, and we can pretend to be twins... if Effie finds my ribbons in 12 tomorrow.”

Effie locked eyes with Haymitch. “I promised I’d look, Posy, but please don’t get your hopes up, dear.”

He was trying to make sense of the situation. Effie’s going to 12 tomorrow? Why? And why is nobody telling me anything! Pissed off, he started to walk away.

“Excuse me, girls. Damon, let’s go talk to Haymitch for a few minutes.” Effie stood up, holding the boy on her hip as Boggs had done. “Haymitch! Wait...” She caught up to him before the staircase. If he’d really wanted to avoid her, he would have already been long gone.

“What are you thinking!?” he asked, unsure of what he was wondering about most... Why was Effie going to 12 where the burned corpses of his people were still rotting? Why didn’t she tell him about her plans? And what the hell was his heart doing as he watched her with those little kids?

“Annie needs help selecting one of Cinna’s dresses for the wedding, and Katniss asked if I could go with them for support. So, of course, I said yes. ...Not that I owe you an explanation.”

“You owe me nothing, sweetheart. But it’s bad there. You’re going to see things that’ll change you.”

“I’m already changing.” She boosted the kid up on her hip. “There’s nothing I can do to stop that. ...And I don’t think I want to stop it.”

Damon dropped the leaves and rubbed his eyes. “Are you tired... buddy?” Effie hesitantly used one of Boggs’ nicknames for the boy. He shook his head ‘no’, but rubbed his eyes again. “How about we take these leaves to daycare so you can show your daddy?”

Damon nodded and opened his hands to the floor where the leaves had fallen. Haymitch bent to pick them up and handed them back to the kid. He stood close to them. Effie smelled like the woods, faintly like ginger, and mostly like her. The fragrances helped him feel less agitated. They were familiar, as if less was changing all at once.

“Thank you,” she said about the leaves, “Will you please tell Delly where I’m going and ask her to stay until I return?”

“Sure”

She rested her palm on Haymitch’s shirt where his sweater gaped open. She brushed her fingertips along the buttons. “Will YOU stay until I return? I could really use your help hanging these garlands in Special Defense.”

Her touch felt too good for him to say no.

The peace in his expression was answer enough for her.

As he watched her walk away, a smile crept over his face. He was far too amused to remind Effie that the Hawthorne girl had embellished her head wrap with at least a dozen leaves. In all the years, it was the best *wig* he’d seen her wear. If she was going to roam around 13 looking like a tree, then who was he to stop her?

[marshmallowprotection]

I read your tag about what if lila was shipped with saeyoung instead and it was so cute. i want to see him dressed like a lolita too! do you have any more headcanons on how it would go? 👁️ And what if Saeran was with Minji and Judas. What would that be like? I feel like Minji and Saeran would have a fun time cooking together. But its hard to imagine how Judas and Saeran bonding looks like.

I think I’ve talked about it before, but it’s definitely been a while since I’ve had the thought on my mind. So, let’s consider the possibility here and play around with the timeline and see what would happen if we swapped around the MCs in their relationships. 

Now, I suppose would be smarter to start with Judas since he is involved with Saeyoung much earlier than Lila meets Unknown, or Ray, it just depends on the timeline. Judas, as we all know, is a former informant and would take power by gaining secrets using his body or his promises to get what he’d wanted. He was fixated on revenge and destroying his ex-boyfriend who was to become the next head of a Mafia ring.  

 He spiraled wildly out of control until he fucked up one day. He made a mistake and took down the wrong guy, and it landed a hit on his head. They saw him as a nuisance until he proved himself angry and crafty, and he knew he was rightly fucked. He made a deal with Saeyoung’s agency to trade his secrets for some kind of protection, but we all know the agency wanted his secrets and then they were going to kill him. 

Judas actually met Minji one evening and escorted her home when she walked int the wrong side of town and that was what helped Saeyoung vet Minji when she appeared in the apartment. Now, if we were to say that instead of making one mistake, he meets Rika at some point and she wants him for his powers of true coercision. She sees his anger and righteous fury and loves it. He could make a good boy who deceives others for the cult. It’s hard to trick him, but I think if he offered to help him kill his Ex, he’d take it, and she’d trick the trickster because of his weakness. 

That puts him interacting with Unknown very often. Judas loves to flirt and play around with others for fun. He, like Lila, tends to prefer fashion that is princely in nature and we all know how Unknown feels about fancy clothes and pretty folks. That’s a weakness. I imagine he and Unknown could both bond over revenge in a rather easy way. It’s possible there is tension between the two of them over a lot of power. Trust me, this is the only way that it’d work. They’re both angry and they’re both determined to destroy everyone that hurt them. 

I can see them having this love-hate relationship where they argue a lot and it turns into I-hate-you-but-I-want-to-kiss-you tension. However, they both have a lot of vulnerabilities. They both have mother issues. They both want to be seen and noticed. They both craved to be loved. It’s easy for them to use each other to cope. Unknown would give Judas hell over the small height difference that they have and assert himself and Judas would bite back. 

Now, if Unknown changed his mind at the last second with what he wanted in an assistant, and he took Minji instead... well, that just means that he’s picked Ms. Sunshine incarnate. Minji has a big heart and she knows nothing of suffering and misery. All she knows is that she wants to keep striving towards her dreams of being a baker. It’s odd with them because Minji is taller than Unknown is but he’d had a way of making her uneasy. 

She might have questioned why she was helping him break into an apartment and he got the upper hand on her by surprise. She’s a lot stronger than he is so he didn’t get the slip-on her that’d be messy. She wouldn’t know how to act with him biting and being so patronizing at first. Yet, she’d help him because she can see that she’s got no choice. She decides to get to know him and understand Mint Eye better so she can see why he is the way he is. 

I imagine Minji would be forced to spend a lot of time making sure that Unknown ate something other than liquid sugar. She’s hopeless at hacking. That’s what he would settle for. He would tell her what to do and she wouldn’t fight him but she would try to pick him apart piece by piece until Lila because she isn’t entirely in danger of being hurt. 

Let’s see, her cheery optimism that doesn’t die bothers Unknown. She would do these kind things to him and he would be so fucking lost, man. His heart would pound wildly for some reason when she ruffled his hair and did things for him with no prompting needed on his end. I imagine that he finds that the longer that he’s around Minji, the more he feels like he has a partner that he can trust. That is until Judas starts pushing in. 

Rika wants Unknown to get someone in that apartment right now. So, she pushes Judas to work with him and his new assistant to find out who would be best for this situation. Judas remembers helping Minji and flirts with her quite a bit, and Unknown warns him that she’s his. Judas is going to keep pushing his buttons and he’s going to keep pushing at Minji. It’s going to be tense and Minji is going to find herself working with these two guys, trying to protect the next person that winds up in the apartment she was meant to walk into—

And at the same time, she’s finding more and more that she’s got feelings for the two guys that she’s working with. Unknown is angry but when he has nightmares at night and needs comfort, he shows her that he’s got a heart. Judas helped her in the past and she trusts him, even if she’s lost in his hatred. Her kindness in the face of cruelty is to be admired. 

 I imagine this relationship is one where all parties have feelings for each other but are pretty torn and confused about how to bring the pieces together. In the end, if they’re able to be saved from Mint Eye, I can imagine that SE Saeran will have the most fun just devoting his time in the kitchen helping Minji and being her assistant, hilariously. She just makes him feel safe and warm. Who wouldn’t feel safe when their tall girlfriend scoops them up and dotes on them? Now, it would be harder with Judas. 

I know that they’re going to have sassy banter and they’re going to be snarky, even catty. Their relationship is one where both parties keep pushing the other to their limits, and then they wind up kissing. It just works for some reason that I can’t explain. Judas can be very... high-maintenance but that doesn’t mean that Saeran can’t bite back. 

Can you imagine their cuddle pile? Minji is in the middle and both of the guys are curled up next to her and it’s kinda cute, wtf. 

Now on the flip side, let’s talk about what would be going on with Lila. We all know that Lila more or less left home after she had a big blow-up with her sister, who misunderstood just how much their mother was bullying Lila after she had moved away. It was a big spat. She left because she needed to... not be near the family anymore. She’s hurt and upset but she just wants to be as far as she can get from home. So, this is the first place her hand landed on the map and she went with it. 

She’s insecure, and the only time that she feels like she can be herself is when she’s in Coordinate. If she’s not wearing a cute dress, then she’s looking at the ground and clutching onto the ends of her sleeves. She’s quiet, but she will say things if she has to. She’s also a painter that gets lost in her thoughts, I would call her paintings a blend of Rococo style and Impressionism if that makes any sense. The objects on the canvas feel Rococo but the style itself on the board is Impressionist. 

Let’s say that she wasn’t the object of Ray or Unknown’s infatuation in this AU of yours. I think that Judas would pick her from the crowd and Minji would have given the idea to go and pick someone quiet and easy to manipulate, even if she didn’t say it like that, she gave him the idea. Judas takes it upon himself to bug her phone by tricking her and saves Unknown and Minji the trouble of getting her to open some phishing email. 

She winds up in the apartment, just as confused as everyone else is and she realizes that she got tricked. She just wanted to help someone because she’s a selfless type. She’s lucky if she doesn’t have a panic attack from that happening, but that aside, I think Seven would realize really fast that she’s just a girl who’s from overseas who got tricked because she didn’t think things through. Her use of Korean is a little messy, too, which sort of helped the fact that it was easy to trick her. 

You can Seven felt drawn to her the minute that he started looking into her past and her social media. After all, how can he not find a girl that spends her free time sewing and crafting outfits delightful? He can see that she’s hiding behind a mask just as he is from the start. She’s rather polite to him but he knows that it’s lovely to hear her laugh. She always humors his jokes and pranks for some reason that he can’t understand but it isn’t long before Lila sounds a bit sad whenever she talks to him late at night. 

He means to say, how can she be so polite and straightforward on the chat, and yet, he’s got her laughing so hard she’s crying on the phone? 

He probably won't get the answer until he’s locked in that apartment with her and there’s nowhere for him to go but the corner. Lila clearly is barely holding herself together but she’s biting her tongue and her fears to make sure that Seven feels like she doesn’t blame him because she doesn’t. She’s kind of blaming Rika for asking for a fucking bomb. Who asks for a fucking bomb? 

It isn’t until Lila breaks down in front of him and admits why she feels so happy and at peace with Saeyoung, and it’s because his jokester mask reminds her of her big sister. Her sister is always smiling and laughing, but there’s a pain in her heart that she’s hiding. Whenever Lila talks to Seven now, she thinks about how much she misses her sister but at the same time, she thinks about how much pain Seven must be in. She saw him hear that everyone had lied to him and he had been hiding so much for the sake of everyone around him. 

She’s able to confront him about lying about who he is. She tells him that he can’t hide behind a mask. That won’t make anyone happy, and it won’t make him happy. It’s what she failed to say in the past, and now she finally has the power to confront this problem head-on. She cares about Seven because he makes her laugh and forget about everything, but she also cares about those moments they have had where he whispers his fears to her and she listens to him say it all in the dead of night. 

Seven has to admit that she’s right. He’s not happy, but he wants to be happy and nobody has ever told him that he has the right to fight for his happiness if he wants it. He tried to break her by saying that she’s hiding behind her own mask of some polite princess, and Seven pushes her outside of her bubble and all of a sudden, she’s been tested. She finds herself standing taller and looking people in the eyes, without fear anymore. 

They push each other to bring out the good inside of themselves that they’ve been hiding because they were too scared to be themselves. 

I can see Saeyoung and Lila as this couple that tests each other. He pushes her buttons and makes her believe in herself. She pushes him to be himself, and not once fear that. They’re supportive. Saeyoung gets to explore his gender identity more with Lila and boy, does he not mind being called she/her, or they/them, he isn’t picky, but there’s something about being able to dress up and be doted on in this fashion that makes Saeyoung feel good. 

I HC him as NB/GenderFluid, have to throw that in there. I just want Lila to playfully call Saeyoung her girlfriend when they’re dressed up together and that redhead to turn into a mushy mess. I think there’s potential with the two of them to get along really well, I just never think of them in a romantic way because I’d fear that people would assume that Lila is projecting onto Saeyoung kind of like Yoosung does with RIka. 

Oh, boy. I said too damn much. 

[myfeetkeepdancing]

A Winter Wonder  | Peter Parker x Male!Reader

Word count: 4742

🎄  Enjoy the upcoming holidays! 🎄

_______________________________________________

Everyone has their season. For some, the unbridled sun and heat waves crashing down onto our bare skin are the best days of the year. Others prefer the spring, the start of something new. The transformation from the gray, cloudy days into the brighter ones. Where warmer, brighter tints arise in mother nature's palette of colors again.

 And then there was winter. A white Christmas is often said to be a cliche. We hope it happens every year. And that one year, when it really happens. It's magical. You're gaze fixed upon that white sky. Watching as the heavens slowly coated the world in a blanket of snow Feeling the flakes touch upon your warm skin. And the cold air picking at your exposed skin. A content sigh fans out as a foggy cloud in front of you. Straightening your collars and tucking on your gloves, you carefully make your way down the white covered steps. Here and there a few imprints from previous pedestrians. You can't help but smile at that crystalline crunch as you plant your feet into the untrodden fresh snow. Further down, the pavement was almost cleared of snow. The usual crowd working their way downtown. You double-check the time on your phone before you make your way down the street.

 Christmas decorations are everywhere across the city. From the enormous tree in the center square, littered with twinkling lights and colorful decorations. The small market stands with sweets and drinks. Families spending their time ice-skating. Browsing shops and buying presents. As the Christmas songs finally find their place in the time of year. It's a peaceful and wonderful time.

 Making your way past all the shops and malls, you end up at the usual meeting point. Walking down the snowy path, you eye that familiar bench. Peter wasn't there yet. Your eyes immediately turn to the sky in between the tall buildings. Perhaps you could see him swinging in-between. But to no avail. You turn around, taking in the stunning view across the park. Other then a few people walking their dog. It was idyllic.

 Then that familiar trickle, a glowing feeling, radiating from one of your nostrils. You feel the warmth running down to your lip. Undoing your glove, you unwrap the wrinkled tissue from your pocket. The taste already on your tongue. You can already trace the first drop falling from your lip. Creating a stark contrast in the snow. Dabbing that one nostril, you stare at the sight of the red-stained snow. A sigh escapes your lips. Seating yourself on the nearby bench, you clench the tissue around your nose. In an effort to halt the bleeding. Each season also has its downside.

 The squeaking sound of boots moving through the snow wakes you. "Y-You alright?" A familiar voice calls behind you.

 "Peter!" Raising yourself to your feet. "I'm fine." You swing your arms wide open. Peter hesitates for a moment, looking at the blood on the floor. Then checking for a sign of blood coming from your nose, before pulling you into a tight hug. Encased into his embrace, you feel his arms squeeze around you. Peter was the only one that could give such satisfying hugs. So strong and passionate.

 "It's so good to see you again!" Peter happily exclaims. Holding you close in his strong arms. Lifting you up from your feet out of excitement. "I've missed you!"

 "I missed you too." You smile from ear to ear.

"Got one again?" Peter leans in and carefully studies the blood coming from your nostril.

 "Time of the year." You shrug your shoulders.

 "C' mere." Fully concentrated, he wets a piece of the tissue. And cleans the remains of dried blood around your nostril with great care. "Much better." He smiles. You can't help but smile back. That glow on his face. It's heartwarming.

 "So, what happened to you?" Tilting your head ever so slightly. Inspecting his right cheek, a light red mark up graced his otherwise flawless skin. "Looks like you got hit by a car."

 Peter chuckles as his gaze falls to the floor for a moment. Shaking his head. "I- eh…"

 "You know what." You dive forward, grabbing a handful of snow. "Put some ice on it!" Tossing it into his face.

 Peter, in response, puffs and blows, wiping his face clean. Laughingly throwing back the remains towards you as he almost tumbles over the bench.

 You hunch forward, dodging his throw. But as you come back up, Peter reaches out for you. A massive ball of snow in his left-hand closes in. "Please! No!" You plead before he grabs you by the collar. Giggling as he drags you in. There was no chance you were getting out of that punishment. You squirm and thrash about as the ball of snow sinks it's way into your neck. Peter laughs hysterically as he looks onto you jumping around, trying to get the snow out from your jacket.

 "You made your point." You puff. "But, that blush ain't masking it, Pete." You chuckle. Lightly slapping his cheek with your gloved hand. Still cold from the snow.

 "Ouch." He winces away from your touch, protesting sarcastically. "That hurts."

 "Oh, shut it. You'll regenerate that in no time." You remark with a smirk on your face. "Now…" Wiping the layer of snow clear from the bench. "Normal people would have chosen a warmer spot to meet up. Especially at this time of year."

 "Normal people." He chuckles. "Not us." Peter seats himself beside you, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Just look at it, isn't it beautiful?"

 "It's gorgeous..." Your attention gets drawn to a winter wonderland in front of you. The tall, imposing trees were now burdened with a thick layer of snow on their branches. The vibrant green grass hid away by a white frosting. Like an empty canvas, waiting for the artist's brush. The pond is frozen shut. Creating a mirror-like surface. Only a gentle breeze of snowflakes dwindling down to earth. Bringing a peaceful harmony to it all. "So, how'd you get that?" Tapping at your cheek.

 "Well, I… Eh." Peter hesitates for a moment. "You know, with the w-winter and all that." Judging by his reaction, you know this was going to be good. "The cold temperatures and such..." He grins for a second, shaking his head. "I-...I crashed into a brick wall when my webs didn't connect." He smiles at you with a confessed expression. Lips pressed together. Somewhat ashamed of his action. "Damaged a fire escape in my fall."

 You can't help but laugh at his story. You've known Peter long enough to laugh these moments off. Peter, of course, followed. "I'm sorry for laughing… But-" Wiping the tear rolling down your cheeks. "-you really need some winter-webs." Bellowing into laughter again.

 Peter looks up, his mouth falling open. "(Y/N)." He calls out. "That's it!"

 "Yeah, well. Who knows..." You chuckle as you regain yourself. Shaking the funny thoughts from your head. Trying to focus on your eureka moment. "If you think about it-" You both start rambling about the concoctions, listing different reactions and arrangements of chemical ingredients. Peter attentively nods along to your train of thought. Proposing different options and enthusiastically adding on to your ideas. Onto that scrap of paper, left in your jacket, you begin scribbling the formula. It's a symphony of ideas coming together. It flows so smoothly from the mind. As the pen flips from hand to hand. Allowing each other time to write their ideas down. Propose new things. You both gaze at the scribbles before realizing the nostalgia. You look up, giving each other an excited smile. Spotting that innocent sparkle in Peter's eyes.

 "I think we're onto something." He says. "We need to test it!"

 "For sure!" Handing him the folded piece of scribbles. "Now, what's left are the ingredients."

 "I can fix that." As he notes it down in his phone. "I still don't get it how you didn't get into MIT." He sighs defeated. "You'd fit right in. I know you would!"

 "It's what it is, Peter."

 "No, it's just not fair! You-"

 "Peter!" You call out, trying to get his attention again. "How's the heating in your suit?" You subtly try to change the subject. "Last time we were here, icicles dangled from your nose." Peter's face was now full of color, his nose and ears burning bright red. A vibrant smile stretched across his face.

 "Mister Stark was really impressed by your work." His eyes lit up, locked with yours. Full of adoration and pride. "He did do a double-check of course. Didn't want me to burn to a crisp."

 "Neither do I. But how about you?" You continue. "Do you like it?"

 "I love it." He pauses. "No more chilly winds. No more runny noses. It's great!"

 "Good." You nod. "Good…" And search in the pockets of your jacket. "Still got that Spider-Man scarf?"

 "Of course." He chuckles. "I'm never letting that go."

 "It looked so fluffy. Shame you didn't wear it."

 "I'm just glad she didn't knit a sweater."

 "Would've worked better than the scarf." You joke. "Alright, are you ready for this?"

 Peter shifts on the bench. "So..." Leaning in, as he whispers. "What'd you manage to make out of it?"

 "You're not gonna believe your eyes."

 "Show me." He wiggles closer towards you...

 "Check this out." You turn over your wrist and bring up your new gadget.

 "That small?!" Peter's eyes widen. "Awesome!"

 "Here it goes." Putting the button like thing on the inside of your wrist. You both tentatively watch in silence for what's about to happen. But nothing does. You both jump back as a puff of smoke erupts, letting it fall to the floor as metallic bits spew from the opening onto the snow. Little sparks mark the end of its life.

 "Was that supposed to happen?" Peter asks, looking up at you with big eyes. Questioning your tech.

 You squint, giving him a disapproving look. "What do you think, Peter?"

 "I'm sorry." He apologizes. "But I'm sure we can make this work. Say, how about we do one of those weekends again? I for sure can't work on it in Mister Stark's lab."

 "Does he know?"

 "No, and let's keep it that way." Peter looks over his shoulder as if he expects someone listening in on him. "What do you say." He hunches closer to you." I help you fix it, if you help me with my 'winter-webs'." Awaiting your reaction. "C'mon! It's been forever!" Pushing you against your shoulder.

 "Hell yeah!" You slap him against his shoulder. "I'm in!"

 "Awesome! How about the days of Christmas?" He quips before you get a chance to say anything. "Spend it with us!" His eyes sparkled with excitement. Innocent puppy-like eyes stare at you. "Ooh, then we can do presents for each other!" He instantly adds on.

 You can't help but share the same excitement. "Yes, please!" You clap your hands together. "Then, I don't have to babysit my awful nephews."

 Peter jumps up. "Alright!" Balling a fist as a way of showing his victory, followed by a happy skip. "I'll let May know."

 "Hey!" You try to call him back as he suddenly darts off. "Peter!" Picking up the mess from your failed gadget.

 He stops dead in his tracks. Laughing and mumbling to himself. "I'm sorry (Y/N)." He says, walking back to you. "I... got carried away. Got so many good ideas." A huge smile on his face got you wondering what got him all worked up. If it had to be that good, you sure had to come up with something that could match his.

 "Well, hot cocoa is that way.." Pointing backward over your shoulder. "Let's start with that. You owe me one." Straightening your collars, and tucking your hands in your pockets as Peter catches up with you. "After all, I'm freezing."

 "You did that to yourself, dumbass." As he darts his cold hand in between your collar and neck out of nowhere.

 "Peter!" You shout, running a few paces ahead.

 Since you were separated last year at the end of school. You each were forced down your own path. Peter got into MIT, and you somehow didn't. There were a lot of discussions about it. The expectations for your parents. The advice from school. What you wanted.

 Nevertheless, it didn't change a thing. Peter was devastated. And so were you. But life went on. It had to. But without your best friend. Without your equal. Without your lifeline.

 And time pushes people apart, forces you to grow up, and requires you to evolve and be more serious with life. Almost like sucking the fun out of things. Preparing you for real life.

 But being together. There was something relaxing and calming about it. Being with Peter, everything looked brighter. Better. Less daunting. More fun. Time to be yourself. And times like these really felt like a relief. Joking around, messing with each other. Spending time at the local arcade hall. Sharing a meal. Falling in those pointless nerdy conversations at the cinema, while standing in front of posters. To a point, you completely forget to pick a movie at all. Just rambling about anything. Singing along to a song together. There was so much in common. It's special. And you begin to realize that once you were forced apart. Your friendship was special. Where would it end...?

 "(Y/N)?" A voice wakes you from your moment of reflection. "You want some more, sweety?" You pull your gaze from the plate in front of you. A mess of mindless mushed ice-cream laid in front of you. As Aunt May brings up the dessert platter.

 "N-No, thank you, I've had more than enough." You politely waved her away. "Can you hand me that, Peter?" Pointing to the whipped cream beside him. A grin spread across his face.

 "I thought you'd never ask." He happily comments. He brings up his other hand, which was encased in a metal like glove. At the fingertips, a blue like hue beamed outward. The plate of whipped cream slowly started moving upward. You both giggle and wonder at the fantastic piece of tech you two managed to rebuild.

 "Boys." May sighed as the plate slowly hovered it's way over to you. "No more tech at the table. If you're finished, you-..."

 Peter cocked his head towards May. Losing his concentration over the plate. "-can do the presents?!" He finishes her sentence. Causing the plate to obey the laws of gravity again. Followed by a clatter of shards and whipped cream splattering across the table. None of the three around the table were spared. A moment of silence followed. As you locked eyes with Peter, biting his lower lip. May sighed deeply, giving Peter a judgemental stare. "Sorry…May." He quietly apologized.

 "Go change." She points towards his bedroom. "Both of you."

 Giving you a smiling glance, Peter jumps from his chair and makes for his room. You sit in silence for a moment. Taking the napkin, wiping away the spots of cream from your face.

 "So, what'd you ask for?" May asks as she starts piling up the plates.

 "Nothing special that I'm aware of."

 "Hmmm." She hums. "I have to say, I haven't seen him this nervous for Christmas. Like… Ever. Are you sure?" She asks, questionably frowning at you.

 "I don't know…" You intended to help her clean the table. Collecting leftovers and such. But get pushed away immediately.

 "Go." She waves you away with a smile." Go, do your presents. Something has Peter busy. It's too quiet in there." Wiping the whipped cream from her forehead with the towel.

 "Peter?" You ask, going headfirst around the doorframe into the room. Looking around, nothing seems out of the ordinary. Peter was nowhere to be found. You make your way to your backpack, just to make sure your present was still there. From the bathroom, you hear the tap running and the sound of a toothbrush. It's been a while since you last visited Peter's room. Walking around the room, you take in the various posters. Some things have changed. But you haven't taken the time to take it in. The stack of new comics. Little tech bits and bobs he collected over time.

 You fiddle a bit with his black and white Kodak camera. A stack of incredible images lay beside his desk. If only people would know who really took them. Carefully lifting the corner of the Iron Man poster, you admire the growing collage of newspaper clippings of Spider-Man. Peter is proud of what he does as Spider-Man. And he has every reason to be so. But for a long time, he couldn't share his experiences with anyone. He also wouldn't. The things that he saw and helped to prevent. Still, he isn't the type of person that would boast about it either. In the end, not even to you. But you could sense how proud he was afterwards. When you would congratulate him on his recent success. He just glowed. So you couldn't resist collecting little clippings for him to put up on his wall. A way of showing his achievements. But also that the things he does, had an impact. And if only for a very small audience, they still deeply appreciated his work. A small inset picture draws your attention. Your eye is being drawn to it. Like spotting a coin on the sidewalk. It's a clipping from last year, at about the same time.

 Then you eye his drawer. You knew exactly which one to open. You concentrate on the noises coming from the bathroom. But by the sound of it, he wasn't coming back yet. So you rummage around the drawer. With a satisfied grin, you pull out the Spider-Man scarf. You can't help but sniffle as it looked so wrong on so many levels. The colors and patterns. It's hilarious. Winding it around your neck, and seating yourself comfortably on the desk chair. You grab one of the comic books lying around. And patiently wait for Peter to return. Only a few pages in, the bathroom door swings open. Peter appeared all tidied up, clean, and smelling fresh. Full of confidence.

 "You wanna go?" Holding the door to the bathroom.

 But before he has a chance to respond, you let the comic fall forward and shoot a web from your wrist.

 "No…(Y/N)." He giggles, pacing towards you. You missed entirely. A string of web dangled from the ceiling. Peter utterly unimpressed by your actions. "Gimme those..."

 You pout your lips, giving him a disappointed look. "I was hoping to at least find this wrapped." Tugging on the scarf. What followed was the inevitable tickling punishment. His strength was no match against you. In no time, Peter's strong arms had you squirming in his grasp. Removing the scarf and web-shooters from your defeated body.

 "Alright, gimme a moment to freshen up." You blow and puff, catching your breath after the tickle fight with Peter. In the bathroom, you take a moment to change your shirt and tidy up. To your surprise, you find spots of cream literally everywhere. Even on your trousers. After a good clean up, you return to his room. A nervous flutter had your system scrambled. What if he didn't like your present? It kept circling in your mind. What if...

 "Look!" Peter shoots up from his bed. "It's here." Handing you the comic he was reading. "I found it!"

 "You can't convince me, Peter." Brushing his comic aside as you walk by.

 "C'mon, (Y/N)!" He protests, flapping the page to and through. "I'll stop talking about if you read it."

 "And admit I was wrong?" You quip as you look back over your shoulder. "Never…"

 "Ooow…" He sighs. Falling backward on his bed.

 "So, about the presents-" Taking your bag on your lap. Feeling a flutter of nerves. "May said we could open them. And eh… I...I've been-..."

 "W-Wait." Peter interrupts. Nervously pacing up and down the room. "Can I-... go first?"

 "Uhm, sure." Setting the bag beside you, you perch yourself upright on his desk chair. "Go for it." You give him a reassuring smile.

 "C-Can-..." He stutters. "Can you… like… c-close your eyes?" He asks with his hands hidden behind his back, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet.

 "Okay." Closing your eyes and await his instructions. "I can do that."

 "Please… (Y/N)." He mutters nervously. "Don't be mad. I've..."

 "Peter, how can I be-..." But a waft of warm breath tingles your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart skips a beat. And your breath stocks in your throat along with the words. And before you were able to register what was happening. Your lips connect with something soft and warm. A hint of mint and freshness fills your senses. In an involuntary response, you pull away slightly, inhaling a small breath of surprise. And find yourself being drawn into it. Not only by both hands clasping onto either side of your head. But also a sudden spark igniting within. A craving. A desire. A pair of hands take the side of your head. The thumbs slowly caress your cheeks. Pulling you deeper into a slow and tender kiss.

 A sense of relief. It's happiness that washes over you. You want Peter close to you. More than ever before. With your eyes closed, you reach out for his figure. Letting your fingers ghost along his body, from his torso down to his hips. Through the fabric of his clothing, your fingers lightly brush his rippled muscles. You feel his lips tremble against yours, as you reel him in towards you. Gasping a little as he throws his leg over one side, seating himself on your lap. A warm sensation shoots through your body like you never experienced before. A euphoric warmth of pure joy and bliss. His lips moving in perfect sync with yours. Kissing you slow and gentle. Your hands hold onto his hips, drawing him closer to you. Resting Peter on top of your pelvis. His fingers slide towards the back of your neck, intertwining with the end of your hair. Loosely playing with your it, as he holds you. Your lips dancing in sweet harmony. Your hands slide up and down his spine. You feel his lips curve into a smile. You both fall into a small chuckle.

 As a soft moan falls from your lips as your part. You open your eyes, Peter's forehead resting against yours. You look up and lock eyes with his. Peter gazed at you with big heart eyes, sparking with tenderness and love. You watch breathlessly as his eyes studied yours with silent intensity. A blush colored his cheeks. Followed by a genuinely sweet smile, you wish never would disappear. His smile was one of happiness growing. You couldn't do anything else but return the smile. His lower lip quivered as a exhales a shuddering breath. "I love you." He said softly, before closing his eyes. Trying to hide the tears welling in his eyes.

  "Peter..." You whisper, trying to get his attention. At the same time, you try to fight the tears as well. Swallow the lump forming in your throat. "Hey…" Your voice cracks. As you hold his cheeks in the palm of your hands. "Listen to me." Softly caressing his cheek with the pads of your thumb. He slowly opened his eyes, trying to blink away the tears welling in the corner of his eyes.

 "I love you, Peter." Pressing your lips on his. "With all my heart."

 A small tear rolls down his cheek. His cute smile still widespread on his face. "Hey...What are those tears for?" You ask, holding him close to you. Wiping away the rolling tear down his cheek.

 "Tears of joy." He chuckles, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "You make me so happy." He sniffed softly, his nose all runny. "I love you (Y/N)." His eyes turned watery again, so you wrap your arms around him. Pulling him into a tight hug. Peter's head buried in your neck. "I love you so m-much..." He snickers into your ear.

 "Pete… Stop." You sniffle, rubbing his back. "You're gonna make me cry as well."

 "I'm sorry." Wiping his nose clean with the back of his hand. "It's the nerves." He chuckles.

 "I gotta admit, Peter. You got balls." You compliment him with a kiss on the lips... "I couldn't understand why you would brush your teeth…"

 Simultaneously, you both shoot back up and glance up at the sound of slow clapping coming from the door. May stands there, giving you both a look of approval. "Merry Christmas." She beams. "I've seen those heart eyes for such a long time." As she comes forward. Peter and you share a quick moment of eye contact. Not sure what was happening next. But May leans in and kisses you both on the forehead. "I guess you don't have to fight over who's going to sleep on the couch tonight, after all." She rubs your shoulder. "I'm really happy for the two of you. You two deserve each other."

 In silence, you both watch May walk away. Peter's arm was wrapped around your neck, his other hand on your chest. Your one arm was wrapped around his lower back. The other hand on his hip. A lovely position. So calm and serene. Watching May leave the room. You turn to each other again. You both smile with the sense of relief, knowing that May approved of the relationship. But are then shaken up by a metal sound. "You two will definitely not be touching these kinds of things in a while." May jokes as a metal glove gets tossed through the door.

 "Have fun." She gives you a wink before pulling the door shut. You can't help but chuckle for a moment. And listen for movement coming from the other side of the door. The grin on your face stretching.

 "Is she gone?" You whisper, keeping your gaze locked to the door.

 "I don't know." Peter murmurs back.

 "But, can't you sense it with your tingle?"

 "Only your heart racing like crazy." Pressing a kiss on your temple. "Hey..." Cupping your chin with one hand, making you turn your gaze to him. Kissing you very gently on the lips. "I didn't get it… What'd she mean?"

 "Peter…" You chuckle. "It doesn't matter." You let your fingers brush past his cheek and hold the back of his head as you press your lips onto his. "Because you made this the best Christmas ever." And end by planting a soft kiss on top of his nose. "Thank you."

 "You're everything to me (Y/N). The months that I spend away from you…" He blushes. "Have been the hardest. You complete me in every way. I don't want to be without you. Ever." He pauses for a moment, looking at you with those heart eyes and a cheesy smile. "Will you be my Christmas present?"

 "Absolutely." You wholeheartedly agree. "My present wasn't boyfriend worthy anyway." You whisper.

 Peter's eyes widen as his mouth falls open slightly. "Boyfriend." He giggles, spinning the desk chair around. The world fading away around the two of you. There were only the two of you. Nothing else. Now you understand what all those love songs are about. Happiness and joy. Bliss. Finally together. Wrapped in each other's arms. With a thump, you land onto his mattress. Warm and cozy underneath his sheets. Captivated in his full embrace. Cuddling, snuggling, and spooning.

 "Can I unwrap my present?" He whispers in your ear, followed by a brush of his lips on the nape of your neck. While ghosting a finger along the hem of your shirt.

 You roll onto your back, allowing Peter to bury his face into the side of your neck. Kissing you gently. As you rake your fingers through his fluffy brown curls. Bringing your lips to his ear. Quitely whispering to him. "If it were up to me, you and I wouldn't be laying here wrapped in the first place." Peter chuckles softly, his breath fanning across your collarbone, as his hand slowly caresses your waistline. His lips meet your jawline as he rolls on top of you.

 "Never leave me (Y/N)."

[starksnack]

📚 + winteriron + puppies ?

A Paw-fect Family // WinterIron // 2k // Read it on AO3

Tony is laying across Bucky’s lap with his tablet, trying to work up the energy to get up and go out on a date rather than give in to the lure of going back to bed when Steve rushes into the penthouse living room with a frantic look on his face. Tony jolts up immediately, shaking the spots out of his vision as Bucky tenses behind him; neither of them heard a call to assemble.

“Are you guys busy? I need someone for PR.” Steve’s blue eyes are wide and desperate as he begs them to volunteer at the animal shelter for a couple of hours. Apparently, Steve had told the shelter he would send a couple of Avengers over but had totally forgotten to tell the aforementioned Avengers that. Tony and Bucky were the only two currently in the tower, the spy twins were away on mission and Thor and Bruce out of the country making the world a better place. 

Tony nods, it isn’t a big hardship to agree. Tony had just been planning on a walk through Central Park and maybe some hot dogs, this would be pretty much the same thing considering Bucky always stopped to pet every dog he saw.

Together, Tony and Bucky dress between kisses in their softest sweaters, Tony likes that it gives him an excuse to run his fingers across Bucky’s delicious biceps. Their sweaters are in different shades of blue because Bucky thinks it’s hilarious when they are colour coordinated. Tony laughs and rolls his eyes at his partner even though he secretly loves it when they match.

The sun is just barely dipping in the sky when they wave Steve goodbye and set off in the chilly spring air. Tony tucks himself in Bucky’s side, lacing their fingers together as he absorbs the super soldier’s warmth. Their steps are perfectly coordinated as Bucky pulls him in closer, pressing a kiss to Tony’s curls. Bucky’s thumb is rubbing absentmindedly over his fingers and Tony falls in love with him a little more which each soft stroke.

It’s a beautiful day and Tony is glad they had opted to walk to the animal shelter rather than taking a taxi. It’s a rare evening where the city of New York seems to be in a good mood, less honking giving way to the titter of pigeons perched on storefront awnings as they pass. They don’t even get run over as they jaywalk across the street.

Bucky points out a couple of pretty birds, his grey eyes glittering in excitement as he watches them flap across the clear blue sky. The gentle wind blows budding trees, and small baby squirrels play across the sidewalk as they head toward the animal shelter.

It’s not a long walk and before long they are checking in with a star-struck employee who can’t seem to look away from them. Tony grins, he’s used to it, but Bucky is blushing something adorable as he signs his name across the volunteer forms. Rubbing a gentle hand up and down his partner’s back, Tony leads him toward the animals.

The employee, and Tony really needs to learn her name though he honestly can’t be bothered, unlocks a couple of cages for them. A cute, chocolate-coloured puppy rolls out of the first one, blinking up at Tony before bounding over, tripping over his gangly paws and sliding across the tiled floor. He’s a mixed breed, his fur a coloured canvas of white and brown as blue eyes study the two of them curiously. His tongue lolls out of his mouth and Bucky laughs, reaching down to scratch the puppy under the chin. He receives a couple of sloppy kisses in response and he picks the puppy up, cuddling him to his chest.

The next cage that opens lets out an older dog, a cocker spaniel that tilts her head at Tony with a happy bark. She noses at the smaller puppy, tail wagging as she tips her head up to lick at Bucky’s outstretched fingers. The puppy is not too happy, jumping on the spaniel and the two of them go rolling, playfully nipping at each other.

Bucky turns to look at Tony, eyes bright as he reaches for a third dog, a bumbling dachshund who snuffles at Bucky’s sweatshirt before trying to burrow under it.  He frowns when he sees that Tony’s not playing with a puppy of his own, his hands pressed into his lap as the other two puppies roll near him, barking and nipping playfully at each other.

“Hey Helen?” Bucky asks, and the employee-- so her name is Helen-- turns around from where she’s looking through the other cages, twirling the key around her finger. “Do you have any cuddly puppies? Less energetic.” Bucky turns to Tony with a grin. “I know you love a good cuddle, dear.”

Tony blushes in response, refusing to look at Helen as he glares Bucky down. His face says he won’t be receiving any Tony cuddles later tonight but Bucky knows better, knows that Tony is an octopus and will be on his side of the bed before he’s asleep. Tony needs a dog that loves a good snuggle too.

And that’s how Tony ends up with a beautiful golden retriever in his arms, tongue lolling happily out of her mouth as she snuggles up against the warmth of Tony’s body, occasionally licking across his jaw. He’s gently rubbing her soft ears, marvelling as how calm she is in his arms as she blinks up at him with another lap of her tongue against his chin. Tony kisses her forehead and she barks happily in response, nosing into Tony’s neck and slobbering on his sweater.

She’s a beauty, almost as big as Tony and soft long fur that Bucky kind of wants to braid to be perfectly honest. He can tell that Tony’s already in love with her and if Bucky knows anything, he probably wants to take her home with them. Tony was never one for the dogs in the park, but this one seems to have all of his attention.

Bucky picks up the first puppy, giving Tony time with the golden. The puppy looks up at him, his earlier romp with the cocker spaniel completely forgotten as he looks up at Bucky with huge pleading eyes. With a wide smile, Bucky snuggles closer to the pup, smoothing his fingers through his soft hair with a wide smile. He’s quite the cutie and his fur colouring reminds Bucky of the sepia tones his childhood memories are painted in.

Tony leans in toward him, his head on Bucky’s shoulder even though his attention is focused on the dog in his arms. The puppy cuddling with Bucky turns to look at the retriever, tail wagging excitedly as he licks across her ears. She looks surprised before returning the favour with a light yip.

“Can we take her home?” Tony asks burying his nose in the retriever’s soft fur. The dog woofs curling to press closer to Tony. Bucky knows he couldn’t separate them if he tried and they’re so adorable together that he wouldn’t ever try to. He knows immediately that they’re going to be going home tonight with a couple new family members.

Bucky laughs, leaning over the dog’s head to press a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “It’s your tower, sweetheart. If you want a dog, just adopt her. You know Stevie would help out and Clint is practically a dog himself. She’ll be right at home.”

Tony laughs, scratching underneath the retriever’s chin. Helen appears at his side to hand him the information sheet for the dog in his arms and Tony flips through it as the retriever paws at his sweater excitedly. With his free hand, Tony scratches under her chin to calm her down.

“Her name is Fish,” Tony reads, a wide grin spreading across his face as she barks in affirmation. He looks down at her with a wide grin, pressing another kiss to her fluffy hair. “It says here that she’s up to date on all her vaccinations and she’s house trained.” Tony scratches her head, with a laugh. “You’re a good girl aren’t you? Absolutely perfect.”

Fish lays across Tony’s legs, her tail wagging as she looks up at Tony. Bucky knows he can’t resist, and Helen seems to be able to tell cause she’s already holding the adoption papers in her hands, a warm smile on her face. 

Tony accepts the papers and digs his hand into his pocket pulling out his phone and opening up his connection to Jarvis. “Hey buddy you there?” Jarvis answers affirmatively because he’s always there for Tony and the genius grins. “Can you put in an order for everything we need for a new pet? Read whatever books you can find on dogs and get us the works. Read the reviews, order the best, the usual.” Tony looks at Bucky and then at the cuddly puppy in his arms. He turns back to Jarvis. “We’re going to need enough for two dogs, please.”

“Thank you!” Bucky wraps an arm around Tony’s middle pressing a soft, sweet kiss to his lips that’s too quick to really be satisfying. Bucky tastes like vanilla and americano and Tony resists the urge to lick into his mouth. He’s pretty sure Helen is still in the room and he doesn’t want to scar her for life. “Thank you Tony.”

“Anything for you,” Tony mumbles against his lips, moving to press kisses across his jaw before slotting their lips together again, Fish pressing her paws into Bucky’s chest before licking across his neck with an excited yip.

Pulling away, Tony brushes a stray lock of Bucky’s hair behind his ear, cupping his face. Bucky’s grey eyes are delighted and sparkling in the most beautiful way and Tony can feel the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grins in response. He knows these dogs will feel every ounce of love the two of them and the rest of the team have to offer. Bucky has such a big heart, always has. “I love you so much.”

Bucky tucks his head into Tony’s neck, turning his head to press a quick kiss to his shoulder. The puppy he’s holding barks excitedly between them and Fish yips in response, licking across his fur. Bucky laughs, happy that they’ve gotten to be such quick friends. He looks up at his partner with a smile. “I love you too, Tony.”

When they arrive back at Avengers tower hours later and covered in dog fur, their family is up two members both with wagging tails and lolling tongues. Fish immediately makes herself at home underneath the kitchen table as Bucky’s puppy, Roman, runs circles around their teammates, barking up a storm. Steve glances up at them from his newspaper and doesn’t look the least bit surprised as he smiles at the two of them.

Most of their stuff has already arrived and Tony takes videos of their new pets as Bucky rips open the packaging, setting up their food and hanging their leashes by the elevator. There are a couple of dog beds, but Bucky already knows that Tony is going to let Fish and Roman sleep with them. He leaves the plush looking cushions in the living room anyway.

At the end of the night when Bucky and Tony are lying in bed together, exhausted but happy as Fish and Roman cuddle at the foot of their bed, Tony posts all his videos to Instagram, tagging the shelter and writing a long-winded caption about how excited he is about his new dogs. Bucky presses a kiss to Tony’s shoulder, already excited to wake up with what will most likely be a dog’s butt in his face and Tony drooling on his chest.

They manage to drum up enough good PR that all the shelters in New York manage to find loving homes for all their animals.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (4)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. The word rape is said, but only in confusion (nothing ever happens). 

A/N: Bucky thinks he fucked up, but she talks him down. Also he loves comfort food and hates stitches and I agree with both those feelings. They learn a little more about each other including a BIG discovery at the end. I’m very hungry after writing this and you’ll see why (diets are stupid).

Tags are open, if you want on the list please send me a DM or ASK, it’s easier for me to track. Otherwise you can find the new updates each weekend!

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Previously...

Cold. Always so god damn cold.

The sticky feel of him drying on her thighs is the only indication he was ever more than a dream. Hopeless tears fill her throat and after all this time, she wonders how there are still any left in her body.

It doesn’t matter.

They arrive like a tidal wave, breaking over her, destroying everything in their path and dragging her under.

*****

MISSION REPORT

NEW OBJECTIVE IDENTIFIED. RECONNAISSANCE REQUIRED TO DETERMINE APPROPRIATE COURSE OF ACTION. OBSERVATION WILL CONTINUE FROM A SAFE DISTANCE.

Was this it then? How could it be possible, after all these years? He just wants answers. Something to clarify the jagged outline of the puzzle plaguing him night and fucking day.

Balancing the notebook on his knees, he grips the pencil so tight, the sharp point of lead snaps and goes spinning across the page.

*****

Sometimes when it happens, it’s like running face first into a brick wall.

The outline was there in his brain, a lost memory he never knew he needed to find. Now, with the story she offers, the paintbrush in his head goes crazy, spilling out the colors of an icy, destructive night in Paris. Memories return, a blizzard of blurry faces and voices crackling like radio static.

Black-gloved fingers moving effortlessly over ivory keys. 10, 9, 8. Sparkling people and fizzy champagne. 7, 6, 5. Excited screaming. 4, 3, 2. Beautiful eyes, watching him from across the room. 1. Confetti and balloons bouncing. Screaming. Screaming. More screaming. Terrified screaming. Blood on his fingers, soaking into crisp white cuffs. Slipping like a shadow from a locked room. Stalking through the streets of Paris, heading back to base, until, until, until. The detour. Green paint on her walls, an open window with fluttering curtains. A trembling body dressed in satin and lace. Pleasure. Force. Rough hands, rough words. The feel of her clinging to him like he meant something. Like she wanted him. Heat licking up his spine, heat between her legs, heat in her mouth. And then tears. Sadness. Disappointment. Always, disappointment.

He remains frozen in shock, until he finds his voice. He jumps to his feet.

“Jesus,” he chokes out. He drags shaking hands through his hair and the wild tangles snag around his fingers. “Jesus. Did I - I raped you? Oh, my fucking god, fuck. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t – ”

He falls mute. The apology sits heavy on his tongue and he wants to apologize for an eternity, but this is not for him to be upset. He’s not owed the relief of tears: those are reserved for victims, not criminals. Instead, he remains silent, awaiting the condemnation he deserves.

But to his disbelief, it doesn’t come.

“No! God, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” and now she stands up, trying to assuage his horror. “You didn’t, that’s not what happened.”

“Sure sounds like it was,” Bucky grits out. His hands are clenched at his sides and a faint whirring creeps from his arm when it recalibrates, a physical representation of his panic.

“No,” she repeats forcefully. “Listen to me. That is not what happened. You didn’t, you don’t understand, I wanted – ”

She stops in frustrated confusion.

“Still, I – “

“Bu – sorry, Soldier – “

Apologies collide, and both fall silent. Bucky tries first and his voice is quiet.

“Bucky. Please. My name is Bucky.”

Wetting her lips nervously, she tests the syllables on her tongue.

“Bucky,” she begins, embarrassed. “Listen to me. I hadn’t been with anyone that way for a long time. I wanted - that. I wanted you. That night, I wanted you.”

Bucky stuffs his hands in the pockets of the sweatpants and stares at his socks. They don’t match, and he wonders fleetingly where all the socks in his dryer go. He wiggles his toes as he thinks.

“That night, you were waiting for someone else though – you thought I was someone else. Jimmy.”

He looks up and sees the wind of his words blow the light from her eyes. When she speaks, her voice is tired. “I did. I thought, I hoped, maybe I would see him, but – he didn’t come.”

The look on her face speaks of a loss so devastating, it steals his breath. “Oh,” he finally says. He has nothing else to offer.

Considering the checkered past they apparently share - and he knows it’s all true, the memories are back again, slotted back into the space from where they were previously wiped - Bucky doesn’t understand why she hasn’t thrown his ass out the door. He’s grateful for the reprieve. Undeserving, but grateful. Inflicting his presence on her any longer though, seems selfish.

“I should go,” he says heavily. “Thank you. For saving my ass. For cleaning me up. I didn’t deserve it. I’ll get my stuff and go.”

He takes one step and black spots explode in front of him. Grasping the edge of the couch, he stumbles, and she reaches for him. Leaning clumsily into her, he grunts at the bursts of pain flooding from the wounds in his chest.

“No,” she says. “Those two bullets nearly hit your heart. I don’t even understand how you’re walking right now, but you’re not going anywhere until you’ve fully healed. Please.”

“Really, I’m fine - ”

“Really, you are not,” she interrupts, steel-edged voice brooking no argument. “Stay. I insist. Get some sleep, let yourself heal. Then you can head back.” She hesitates, before the next sentence. “The world can wait, Bucky.”

Something in her tone makes him pause. It feels important, like there’s more to this exchange than meets the eye. Bucky feels the age-old desire to wrack his brain hit him hard.

“Okay,” he mutters, looking down. “If it’s really not a problem - I’ll stay. Just a few days. I, uh, I heal pretty quick.”

“Yes, I thought you might,” she murmurs, letting go of him.

Bucky waits for his vision clear, fiddling with the hair tie around his wrist and snapping it a few times to ground himself. “Once I’m not totally useless though, you gotta let me earn my keep. I’m not lying in bed all damn day.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “If you get up to bed and stay there, I’ll find some things for you to do when you feel better.”

“Helpful things?” Bucky clarifies.

“Yes, helpful things. I promise. Now go back to bed. I didn’t spend all that time stitching you closed so you could rip it all open and bleed on my floors.”

“Alright,” he agrees, giving her a small smile.

There’s that peculiar longing in her voice when she speaks again, the same as he remembered when she found him in the snow and her words brand him in the oddest way.

“Stay as long as you want. It’s nice to have someone around, no one ever comes up here.”

Bucky nods his thanks and shuffles slowly toward the stairs. As he walks, he thinks he hears her whisper his name, but it must be the wind blowing outside.

*****

The odds of Steve flipping his shit when Bucky calls are high. Toying with his phone, Bucky grimaces before he punches the STEVIE G button and waits. Blinking little dots fill his screen, and when it connects, he sees a big forehead and snarls of damp blond hair.

“Hey man. How was it?”

The phone shifts and Steve’s whole face comes into view. He’s eating Skippy peanut butter straight from the jar.

“You were eating that last time I called,” Bucky responds. “You ever gonna do anything useful, or just sit around in your underwear?”

Steve scoops a huge blob and stuffs the spoon defiantly in his mouth. “It’s a new jar,” he mumbles defensively.

“Lazy little shit,” Bucky adds, grinning.

“Okay, time for you to fuck off,” Steve replies, now washing it down with milk straight from a carton with TONY written down the side in black sharpie. “How was it? Find anything?”

“It was fine. Another false alarm.”

“Great. Headed back soon then?”

Bucky chews the inside of his cheek and looks away. “Yeah, about that. So, I may have run into some issues – ”

Milk splashes on the table when Steve bangs the carton down. “What’d you do?”

“Well hell, Rogers, I’m kinda offended. Why do you always assume it’s me?”

Steve snorts like an irritated bull and rolls his eyes. “Because. Have you met you?”

“That’s fair, but this time it wasn’t me. I swear. I was heading back to the hotel and ran into this guy, some Hydra asshat asking if I’d set off the distress signal at the base. Anyway, he’s pretty dead now, but the fucker hit me with a couple gunshots and – ”

“Hit you with a couple what?” Bucky’s always surprised Steve’s voice can hit that high note - it sounds a like he’s taken a kick in the balls. Bucky ignores it and keeps talking.

“– and I’m fine, Steve. It’s fixed, I’m all good, I just want a few days to recover, so I’m staying a little longer.”

Steve’s already stomping into his room and throwing open his closet. Yanking an army green canvas duffel from the top shelf, he throws it on the bed and starts digging through his underwear drawer. Bucky sees a handful of demure blue boxers and one pair with neon pink Captain America shields go flying into the bag while Steve mumbles to himself.

“Steve. Steve. Rogers, listen,” but Steve just plows along, ignoring Bucky and muttering about the shortest flight paths and weather reports and meetings to reschedule and all of a sudden, Bucky panics. Pulling the rip cord, he shouts a single word.

“Kit-Kat!”

Steve freezes.

For good reason.

Years ago, when Bucky was mired in a particularly crappy depressive episode, he decided to make a blanket fort in his room. He stayed huddled in the retreat for a solid week, grudgingly emerging only to scrounge up food and get fresh batteries when his TV remote went dead. It was in the middle of the night, while he was watching ‘Twilight Zone’ reruns, that Steve crept into the room and sat beside him. No words were spoken, he simply hugged his knees to his chest and sat in silence.

During a break, a Kit-Kat commercial came on. The click and snap of the candy bar and the merry little tune of ‘give me a break, give me a break’ squeaked quietly from the TV and Bucky’s voice was groggy when he spoke.

“This is really hard. Sometimes, I just – I need a break.”

Steve hummed his agreement and through the thick blankets, Bucky felt the comforting pressure of Steve’s hand on his shoulder. “I know. How about you and me make a deal? If things get to be too much and we need a real break, where you just get to be alone, no questions asked – we say that. Say Kit-Kat and everyone’ll back off. It’ll be like a safeword. Okay?”

The pile of blankets is silent, but a minute later Steve hears Bucky’s voice whisper. “Okay.”

“But you can’t use it often,” Steve says firmly. “This is only for the big ones. You only get to use it when you really need it. Deal?”

The ‘Twilight Zone’ theme song buzzes from the TV, playing through the entire refrain, before Bucky’s hand slowly emerges from the pile. He holds it in the air and waits. Steve grips his fingers to shake and without thinking, unconscious movements walk them through the stupid super-secret handshake they created in 1927.

Bucky still wonders how the hell his body remembers these things, when his broken brain couldn’t recall his own name for decades. Steve reminds him some things are like that.

Muscle memory. Some things just stick.

The pact is binding. Rarely used, but unbreakable when granted. Since their agreement, Bucky’s used it twice and Steve’s tried it once. Now, Bucky watches Steve’s jaw working, peanut butter smudged in the corner of his mouth, and he knows Steve wants to argue.

But a promise is a promise.

Steve drops the duffel bag with a muffled thump.

“Alright. But you better fuckin’ call if you need something. None of this ‘I can get by on my own’ bullshit. Understood?”

“Hey man, that line was all you, not me,” Bucky reminds him and Steve grunts irritably. “But yeah, ‘course I will. Thanks buddy.”

Before he hangs up, he gives the phone a mocking salute and a wide smile. Steve rolls his eyes and flips him off, very pointedly pushing the end call button.

Silence surrounds him and his smile fades as he looks around the room. Exhaustion fills him then and his limbs feel like lead. Collapsing onto the bed, he buries his face in her pillow and closes his eyes.

*****

He sleeps for 48 straight hours.

He gets up a few times and stumbles to the bathroom, eyes half closed and leaning against the wall because he can barely keep his balance, but otherwise he’s out cold. The gnarled fingers of the nightmares always strangling him slither up his neck, searching for purchase, but they’re rebuffed. Again and again and again, they bay for his blood, but for some unknown reason they’re pushed away.

What a god damn relief.

*****

It’s late morning on the third day, when the sound of his stomach growling kicks him awake. Huffing out a soft whine as he stretches, he rubs the grit from his eyes and lifts the blanket. Tugging gently at the tape around his bandage, he sees splotches of green and yellow bruising around the area, and finds two wounds that look weeks old, scabby and starting to itch.

“Good morning,” he hears and looks up to find her standing in the doorway with a purple mug of coffee.

“H-,” he croaks, voice rusty with disuse, and he clears his throat and tries again. “Sorry. Hey. Good morning.”

She walks slowly toward the bed, as if not to spook him. Bucky tries to smile, wincing just slightly as he struggles to sit up. Extending the mug, he accepts it gratefully and takes a long drink.

“Damn, that’s amazing. Thank you.”

Returning his easy smile, she motions to the wound and holds up a small scissors. “I can take those stitches out, if you want. Unless you’d prefer to do it yourself.”

Letting an unknown person near him with a pair of scissors seems like less than intelligent behavior, but Bucky’s never been a fan of stitches – putting them in or taking them out. Broken bones, concussions, burns, those are no problem. But anything that includes sewing human flesh together? That’s at the top of his nope scale.

“God yeah. Please.” He throws the blankets aside and swings his legs over the edge of the bed looking up at her. “How do you, um…how do you want me?”

“That’s fine, just sit up straight and, um, if you can – lift up your shirt?” Bucky nods and pulls up his t-shirt, removing his right arm and then hesitating. He ends up with it half-way on, keeping his left arm and the thick red scars around his shoulder, hidden from view. Clearing his throat, he looks into his lap and waits.

Kneeling between his legs, her fingers are freezing when they touch his skin and he flinches slightly.

“Sorry,” she murmurs apologetically, pulling away and rubbing her hands on her thighs. “My hands are always cold.”

“S’okay, just surprised me,” Bucky replies quietly. She glances up with a fleeting smile and goes back to work.

For the strangest reason, he feels himself begin to blush. Which makes no sense, because how many times has he been buck-ass naked in front of doctors and never batted an eye. But now, he swallows self-consciously and maybe he sucks in his stomach and flexes just a little, because for some wild reason, he cares what she thinks.

Which makes no god damn sense.

She doesn’t seem to notice though, tongue between her teeth while she snips carefully at the threads and tugs them loose. Once they’re gone, she squeezes a bit of ointment on, rubbing her thumb gently over the scab, and puts a clean bandage in place.

When she’s finished, she looks up to find him staring awkwardly down, his face flushed a splotchy red.

“Are you okay? Do you feel warm?” She reaches a cool hand to his forehead and Bucky gets flustered.

“No, no,” he says hastily, and he nearly tumbles off the bed when he ducks away. “I’m great. Fit as a fiddle. It’s just the fire, kinda hot in here, and you have lots of blankets and they’re so fluffy, and I’m, yeah. Whew! Hot stuff. Anyway.”

Bucky wants to sink into the floorboards. Hot stuff? What the hell was that?! he groans internally. Have you ever even talked to a woman? Get your shit together you fucking moron!

His verbal stupidity surprises her, but thank god she ignores it. Standing up, she crumples the used bandages.

“If you’re tired, you should keep sleeping. It’s good for you.”

Bucky shakes his head and adjusts his shirt. “I’ve slept more these past few days than the past two months. Usually have - nightmares and things,” he tucks loose hair behind his ear, frowning at the admission, “but I’ve slept perfect here. No nightmares at all.”

Her eyes light up at his admission. “That’s great. I’m glad.”

“Besides, you deserve your bed back.”

“No, you’re recovering, you need to stay in here – ”

Bucky holds up both hands to stop her. “Yeah, no. You’re not winning this one. If it’s still okay, I’d like to stay a couple more days. Pay you back for helping me. But I’m taking the couch downstairs and if you try to make me sleep in here, I’ll sleep downstairs anyway and this very comfortable bed will go to waste.”

Hands on her hips, she raises her eyebrows, staring him down. Bucky feels momentarily cowed, but he gives just as good, so he folds his arms and stares back.

Finally, her lips twitch and he hears a small laugh. The sound makes his blood sing.

*****

The days tick by.

And it goes like this.

Every morning, she comes downstairs to find him sitting on the couch, blankets perfectly folded into neat squares. He hands her a cup of coffee, asks what he can help with today, and her long list of home improvements begins to shrink.

Every evening, she makes supper and they talk, and Bucky quickly realizes how much he enjoys these evenings. It should bother him, he thinks, to feel so oddly at ease with this woman who’s essentially a stranger. But he finds himself sharing bits of himself, absorbing those pieces of herself she hands over. He relaxes more in a few days of knowing her, than in months of living with his team in New York.

Every night, she tells him to sleep well and she climbs the stairs up to her bedroom. He listens as she gets ready for bed, the quiet path of her footsteps a soothing predictability. When the footsteps go silent, he fluffs out a blanket and gets comfortable on the couch, so he can think.

And all through the night, he dozes in fits and starts, staying awake in the darkness to keep watch over this unknown woman who saved his life.

*****

“It’s just always so damn cold out there. You know what I miss? Soup.”

“Hmmm. Soup would be good. What kind?”

“Um…potato? My Ma makes the best damn potato soup. Warms your bones right up.”

“I have some potatoes left in the cellar. Come over tonight, I’ll give it a try.”

*****

“Can I ask what you were doing up here?” she asks, stirring her soup. Bucky ignores caution and dives right in, chomping into a steaming potato and gasping in pain.

“Damn, this is amazing, I love potato soup. Haven’t had it in years,” he enthuses, fanning his mouth. He swallows the scorching bite and takes a swig of water. “So, there used to be an old Hydra base near here. Been abandoned forever, but one of the old distress signals went off. I came up to investigate.”

Fishing in the liquid for another potato, he captures one and looks up to meet a wide-eyed stare.

“I never knew there was a base around here. Did you find anything?” she asks tightly. Bucky sees her fingers clutch the spoon so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t snap.

“No, nothing. It’s happened before, couple other places. Old bases breaking down, tech sparking out,” he says quickly. “Never anything wrong when we get there. It’s nothing to worry about, I promise. Just Hydra shit finally crapping out. It’s a good thing.”

“You’re sure?”

Bucky hears it in her voice. He’s intimately acquainted with the sound of fear. His spoon clinks when he sets it down and he gives her a reassuring smile.

“I’m sure.”

She’s keeps stirring her soup, thinking. When she asks a question, her voice wavers. “The man I shot. Was he Hydra?”

Bucky knows that sound as well. The uncertainty of someone who was caught in the moment, who fought violence with violence. “Yes. He was there about the signal. Asked if I set it off.”

Looking away, she sees their reflection watching from the living room windows. Her face is thoughtful when she considers.

“I shot someone. And I didn’t think twice.”

The movement is purely unconscious. Bucky couldn’t stop it if he tried.

“Thank you,” he says, clutching her fingers and pouring every drop of sincerity into his voice, “for not thinking twice.”

“You’re welcome,” she says faintly. Her fingers press against his for the briefest moment, before she drags her hand back to her lap.

*****

“You ever think about getting rid of that rooster?”

“Are you trying to murder my birds?”

“No! Oh geez, no.”

“How about this - if he’s still alive next time you visit, I’ll make you fried chicken.”

*****

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” she answers, carefully setting fried chicken on a paper towel to cool.

Bucky thinks for a moment and chooses his words carefully. “The last time we met, it was 1969.”

Her shoulders tense, but she nods and avoids his stare. “Yes. It was.”

“You can tell me to fuck off here if you want, but - you don’t look quite old enough for us to know each other then.”

She stays silent, scratching at the edge of the skillet with tongs. He can tell she’s deciding how to answer.

“No. I guess I don’t.” Looking up at him, she sets the utensil in the sink and meets his curious gaze. “I’m – enhanced, I guess. If that’s what they’re calling it these days.”

It makes sense. There must be thousands of enhanced people across the world. So many choose to stay under the radar, uninterested in the circus spectacle that follows anyone who displays even a hint of ability. Bucky thinks of Steve wearing baseball caps all the time, and Wanda dying her hair black and changing her accent, and Bruce avoiding the color green and staying hidden in Tony’s labs all day.

Sometimes being different sucks.

“Got it,” Bucky says. He watches her pick at her chicken and he nudges a little more. “So, you’re enhanced and you…found a good skin cream then?”

She huffs out a laugh.

“That would’ve been nicer. I was born with an ability. It was nothing powerful. Nothing fun,” she says with a trace smile and Bucky feels himself smile in response. “It was passed down in my family. My mother had it, her mother before her. When I was 27, there was an accident. I don’t understand what th – what happened. But here I am.”

Bucky sees the light in her eyes dim, her expression closing off and he desperately wants to keep her talking. He wants to learn more. He wants to learn her.

“Should I assume Hydra was responsible for that accident?” Startled at the comment, she looks up nervously. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I just, when I told you why I was here, you seemed - scared. I know the feeling.”

Swallowing hard, she licks suddenly dry lips. “Yes. They - liked their experiments.”

Bucky gives her a grim smile. “Yeah. They really fuckin’ do, don’t they?” They sit in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, until Bucky’s curiosity gets the best of him. “What’s your ability?”

With those magic words, it ends. Her expression shutters and she retreats into herself.

“I’m sorry. I’m not comfortable talking about it,” she says quietly. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Bucky replies easily, and he means it. He picks the crispy skin from the chicken leg. “I know what it’s like to be different.”

*****

“You made noodles?”

“A long time ago, when we had plenty of flour and butter. They won’t be as good as the ones you had in Italy though.”

“Nah, those were fascist noodles. I bet your noodles taste better.”

“I would hope so.”

*****

“The food here is fantastic,” Bucky says reverently, piling a second helping of spaghetti on his plate. Maybe he should feel self-conscious at the awkward way he slurps the noodles, but it’s so fucking good he doesn’t care.

She forks the noodles and twirls them into a spoon, grinning at him. Bucky marvels briefly at the effortless gesture.

“Well, I try.”

“You succeed.”

Passing him a basket of bread, she stirs the noodles around her bowl.

“Hey Bucky?

“Hmmm?

“What have you been doing? Since you came back?” she asks tentatively.

There’s a question.

What has he been doing? Revenge. Rounding up the arrogant fucks who escaped the first Hydra purge following DC. Avenging. Throwing himself back into fighting, trying to rebuild his tarnished reputation with the good deeds he owes. All are viable answers, but he goes with a more personal truth, the one that keeps him up at nights.

“Trying to figure myself out, I guess. Learn how to be part of a team again. How the world works, when you’re allowed to make your own decisions. Sorting through memories, trying to make them useful. All that good stuff.”

She takes a drink of wine and seems to gather her courage. “And are you - I mean do you – have you been remembering things?”

The question is so hesitant. Bucky wonders wryly if she’s afraid to hurt his feelings, but it doesn’t matter, he can admit when he has no fucking idea what’s going on. Which is most of the time.

“Some,” he says honestly. “Don’t remember anything from before I was captured. Anything I know, it’s stuff Steve’s told me, or stuff I’ve read. Watched a bunch of documentaries about WW2, that was weird, seeing myself on old film reels. No idea why, but I can’t get to any of those memories, they’re just - obliterated. The ones with Hydra though, they’re reappearing. That’s why I volunteer for jobs like this,” he admits, tearing off a hunk of bread. “Keep thinking if I go back to these places, I can figure out who I was back then.”

“Bucky. Why the hell would you do that to yourself?” she asks sternly. Bucky grins at the tone.

“You sound like Steve. Look, I don’t want to know what I did back then. All the shit I’ve done to other people…all the shit that’s been done to me. Fuck that. I don’t want to know, I need to know. Hard to put yourself back together, when you’re missing huge pieces of the puzzle.”

Bucky looks down at his plate, mopping up spaghetti sauce with his bread. She doesn’t say anything else.

*****

The air is crisp and clean the next night, when Bucky steps outside. Standing on the front porch, he pulls a dark blue knit hat low over his ears and sucks a deep breath, reveling in the freshness that fills his lungs. Mountain sunsets are something incredible to behold and he stops to savor it; the craggy horizon painted brilliant red-orange, deep purple hugging from above, crystal white stars gleaming.

It clears his head in an unexpected way. The scents of snow and pine needles and life. He’d forgotten how reviving life in the wilderness could be. Growing up in Brooklyn, spending most of his life now in Manhattan, he wasn’t exactly an outdoorsy guy. And normally, he hates the snow. Spent far too many years being cold to seek it out, but here? Here, it’s not too bad. The sound of the nearby river bubbling through ice, the smell of wood smoke curling in the air, and – well.

And her.

There’s something strangely calming about her. Her voice, her mannerisms. Her cautious smile. The way she hums while she cooks and how she catches her tongue between her teeth when she’s concentrating. Bucky feels an unusual tug in his belly at the thought. It feeds something he hasn’t really considered since he fought his way back to the land of the living and it’s making him reconsider a few things.

He should probably call Steve tonight. Let him know he’s still knee deep in Kit-Kat mode.

Because right now? Bucky really doesn’t want to leave.

Reaching for the tattered broom leaning by the railing, he sweeps away the couple inches of new snow covering the steps and jumps lightly down. Walking back to her little woodshed, he pops a key into the lock connecting the shed doors and eases the creaking wood open. Rummaging for a few minutes, he piles up a massive armful of logs and carries them back to the bin on her front porch. Three times he makes the trip, arranging the pile carefully, filling it to overflowing, so she won’t need to tramp through the snow to get more.

Maybe tomorrow, he’ll make himself useful and cut more. Manual labor, fresh air. The happy thought makes him giddy.

When he finishes, he flips the lock clasp to bolt it again, but something catches his eye. Peering closer, he finds scratches down the side of the lock. Glinting silver, they look new. Bucky narrows his eyes and glances over his shoulder, into the darkness of the trees beyond.

The world is quiet. Not a breath of wind.

It seems odd, but as she said before – no one ever comes up this way. Likely it’s nothing and she mentioned this lock gave her issues, so maybe it was simply past frustration. Fingering the grooves, he makes a mental note to ask her about it, just in case. Trudging back toward the porch, the scent of pancakes reaches his nose and he leaps eagerly up the first step.

He pulls up short.

It happens then. The brick wall appears.

Bucky feels his brain ricochet from the blow. He wasn’t even searching, but it hits like a hammer, pounding the breath from his lungs and the sound of Steve’s voice fills his head.

“Nah, it was in France, about a year before. SHIELD never returned your bag after – well. After. Who the hell knows though, maybe it’s lost in the archives somewhere. Anyway, there were all these letters you had in there from your girl, maybe they’re something you want.”

“My girl?”

“Yeah, you – your girl. Smart. Beautiful. You were, uh…you were just fuckin’ head over heels. She used to write you all these letters, you kept ‘em stuffed in your bag, ‘Dear Jimmy,’ they always started and – ”

“Stop.”

“Buck – ”

“Stop it Steve, I mean it.”

“Alright, alright, you said you wanted to know, I’m just telling you - ”

“Dammit, just - I don’t wanna remember it. Not right now. Can’t fuckin’ handle hearing about someone else I let down.”

Somewhere in the forest, a bird whistles. The sound brings him crashing back to the present.

Dear Jimmy, he thinks.

Bucky stops breathing.

*****

There’s an old jazz song on the radio perched above her sink, and she turns the dial up. Tapping her feet to the brassy beat, she moves through the small kitchen, humming. Pancakes, eggs, bacon. Breakfast at supper. For some reason it’s always a treat, no matter how old you are.

She’s mixing batter when she hears the quiet click of the closing door, and she sets the bowl down and turns to look at him with a grin.

“Look, I know you said you don’t like your pancakes burnt, but I think you should just try – ”

Her voice fades when she sees him. Bucky stands before her, the blue knit cap clenched in his hands. Dark hair sticks in every direction and he pushes it back, trying to coax it smooth, and she sees his fingers tremble. His face is pale and his bright blue eyes watch her closely.

“Bucky? Are you okay?”

He opens his mouth and closes it. Twice. Unable to find the words.

“Are you hurt?” she tries again, wiping her hands on a dish towel and coming forward. “What happened?”

Holding up a hand, he stops her and moves to sit on the edge of an armchair. Chewing his lip for a full minute, he finally finds his voice.

“I have a question. I need you to answer me with the truth.”

“Okay,” she says hesitantly. She moves to the living room and sinks slowly to the chair opposite him. She pinches her lip nervously and Bucky feels his heart spasm. He keeps watching her, willing himself to pull up the correct memories and failing. Finally, he gives up and whispers.

“Am I Jimmy? Were you waiting for me that night?”

Her expression never changes, but he sees her breathe faster, chest rising and falling quickly. The answer is clear. Closing her eyes, she exhales a long breath.

“Yeah. You – yes. Yes. You were, you are – him. You’re Jimmy.” Opening her eyes, he sees them shiny with tears and when she blinks, they spill over. “I was waiting for you that night.”

Silence stretches longer and longer and Bucky finally realizes his lungs are burning. He lets out his breath with rush and leans forward. Elbows on his knees, he tries with everything in his heart, to remember.

“We’d met? Before then? We knew each other?”

She sits up straight, never breaking eye contact. Wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, she searches for the right words. Bucky feels his heart thump wildly while he waits; her voice is laced with sadness when she speaks.

“The first time we met was in 1944. I was wearing grey and you were wearing blue.”

*****

Next Chapter

*****

Tags are open right now, if you want one, please send me a DM or ASK.

[caroline18mars]

A Man On Fire - Chapter 46

“Just one more..I can't resist it, that is the best french toast I've ever had”, she got up to put the last one on her plate “do you want half?” she glared at him, hoping he would say no, but he was too engrossed with his phone to notice anything. Hmmm, what was so important on there? “ok, you absolutely sure? Because I'm not gonna ask you again” she glared again, still no reaction, fine then, all mine, she cut into the toast and chewed with much delight, ok this was not really fun, she just wanted to have a little conversation. Slowly she slid off her chair, stuck her toast between her teeth to crawl up her scaffolding and touched the tear in the canvas, she could probably mend it, did she want to though? Awful subject..and..nothing, she missed painting. She stood there eating her toast as she made her mind up, completely lost in her thoughts she shoved the last piece in her mouth, time to get your brushes, girl. “Uhmpff' turning around, she bumped into Jared's hard chest who had snuck up behind her, “where is that piece of french toast?” he grinned, “gone, I asked you twice” she stepped out of his grip and jumped down again only to crawl back up again with a few cans of paint and some brushes. “Your phone was way more important than french toast” she dramatically rolled her eyes as she walked past him “what was so important on there anyway, lemme guess..” she put a brush on her chin pretending to think hard, in reality she knew already and it would have been a lie to deny her stomach wasn't in knots. There was that familiar sigh she knew all too well, this was it, their time together was up, “I don't want to..it's important you know that” he started and she finished “when are you leaving?” she didn't have the heart to turn around and show him her upset, so she just kept pushing some paint around on her palette, she wasn't ready for the blow. “Tonight”, fuck! Ok, act cool and unaffected, “oh” was all that came out and slowly she lathered up a brush but just when she wanted to put it on the canvas, he grabbed her wrist, “come with me, please”. He felt her go all tense, please come with me, I can't leave you here, I won't survive, this is our relationship, this is us, “I can't..I've got stuff to do here..don't come complaining now, it's all your fault, it was your decision to make me instafamous by putting my stuff out there” she tried to joke, but inside her heart was breaking, “Not funny, De Robiano, come on, I'm not gonna beg, don't make me go back there without you, we sorted things out, right?”, she put her brush down and took a deep breath before facing him “yes we did, but that out there..that's your dream, I want to pursue mine now..”. Jared's heart was hammering in his chest, he knew her and he knew that this conversation was futile but he needed to try, against all odds, “we'll get your canvases shipped..”, again she cut him off immediately “stop it Jared, you know that is impossible, you can't go shipping out canvases like these and let them travel, it'll cost a fortune and the risk of damage or loss is just too high”. Goddamn, why did she have to be so honest all the time? “Harper..babe..please” so much for not begging, “long-distance relationships work for others, don’t they?” her heart ached, but this was her time, her moment, “NO THEY DON’T!” he suddenly lashed out, trembling with anger that he was losing the game. “You’re being unreasonable, Jared, just listen to me, will you?” she grabbed his arm but he yanked it away, “NO, I WON’T! what is there to listen to? Your mind is already made up!” he pushed past her so aggressively she almost lost her balance on his way out the door that shut behind him with an almighty bang.

Ok, enough with the sulking, she had sat here for an hour, staring at the canvas with a brush in her hand, she got up and threw the brush down, where should she start looking? It was a big city, and maybe he wasn’t even around anymore..his bag was still there..duh, as if he needed that bag, he was filthy rich. Here went absolutely nothing, but she just had to try and ran out the door and down the stairs where the cold wind outside had her zipping up her leather jacket, ok, now what? Where do I start to look for that one guy in a city of 10 million people?. The coffeeshop around the corner? Nope..something drew her towards the park, why? they didn’t have a special place there..the wind made her eyes tear, or at least that’s what she told herself, her heart was aching, a heavy lump blocked her airways..keep walking, Harper, if you don’t find him, maybe you can clear your head..he’s gone, I’m never gonna find him. Big drops of rain started to fall and within seconds the park was practically deserted, ok, fantastic, perfect, I just love my fucking life..after half an hour and completely drenched she admitted defeat and started heading back. The rain relentlessly kept beating but when she crossed the street, she was too lost in her thoughts to look where she was going and a car flashed by, missing her by an inch. Jared watched it happen, he had sat here inside the bakery he knew she loved so much, just to feel a little closer to her, he just couldn’t accept that this was it, that this was the end. Seeing her almost get run over, had the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, almost kicking over his little table in front of the window, he shot up from his seat and ran out, “babe! Coco” she heard her name being called as she stumbled onto the pavement. She was completely drenched but the way the hope shone from her eyes had his heart in the biggest meltdown he’d ever experienced, “come here’” he wrapped his big arms around her and helped her out of that driving rain and into the bakery. “What happened? what were you doing out there in the rain?” he pulled back a chair and made her sit down, “I was looking for you..I thought you had left” she stammered, pushing the soaked hair out of her face. “I just needed to cool down a bit, I would never leave you without a word..like you did a couple of days ago..” awwtchhh that hurt, the truth always did, “I’m sorry” she couldn’t even speak without her teeth clapping. “It’s ok, I really didn’t mean to sound like a prick, guess I just can’t handle going back to Europe again without you” up until now he still had hope she would change her mind, but the second he looked into her eyes, his hope was obliterated, “you still don’t want to come along, do you?” subconsciously he was still crossing all of his fingers. Slowly she shook her head “I’m sorry, Jay..I can’t bring myself to going back there..guess I still need to digest some things..and not just that..I really need to paint, I feel like there’s a new door finally being opened for me and I gotta take that chance”. All he could do was sigh deeply “goddammit woman..I really don’t want to be all long distance with you”  and shake his head, “ok, so what now? this is it? We’re done?” she sat up all nervous. “No, no of course not, we’re not done..” he grabbed her cold, wet hand and kissed it “not if you don’t want us to be done..I guess I have no other choice than to make this a long distance thing..hopefully not for too long?” meet me in the middle here, come on. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when she shook her head “as soon as I can, I’ll join you, promise”, finally a grin curled around his lips “good, you’ve got one month and then I want to see you again..now come on, let’s get you out of these wet clothes, I’ll personally make sure you’ll get warm again, very, very quickly, and after I’m done with you, maybe we’ll have some time to have a romantic dinner before I leave tonight” he plucked a kiss from her lips as he gently pulled her up and quickly paid his bill, there was no time to waste, no time to waste to fuck her for the last time in a very long time, and no time to waste to just be with her, around her for as long as physically possible.

”Why are you punishing me like this?” his hand lazily drew lines over her shoulder and down her back, did he ever have orgasms this intense in the past?  It sure felt like he had been living in the desert until he met her, “punish you?” her head shot up and she gave him this hilarious, you-fucked-every-ounce-of-intelligence-out-of-me kind of look. “Trade me for your art..how can you possibly live without me?” he mockingly sighed, “do you know what they say about men with a huge ego?” she put her chin on his chest with a deadpan expression on her face, “I haven’t got a clue” he giggled in anticipation of her answer. Harper raised her hand and just when he thought she was gonna flip him off, she wagged her pinky at him “tiny dicks, that’s what they say” she tried to suppress her laughter, “I do not..” he sat up in mock shock “have a tiny dick”. Oh no, no tickling, I’ll take it back, just no tickling, she tried to dodge his grabby hands “no, please no, no, no” her giggles turned into a hiccupping laughter as she unsuccesfully tried to squirm away from his touch, “take it back” he sat on top of her, threatening to attack her sides. “Nope! No way” she shook her head, “Fine, have it your way, I’ll just have to prove it to you then” he was hard as a rock again, “Yay!” she squealed in delight as he attacked her neck and flipped her over, oh I could do this over and over, and over again, just fuck me and change your mind, stay here with me.

All too soon their time was up and they found themselves standing on a cold, windy tarmac with the deafening noise of jet engines warming up, blasting in their ears “ok, you take care of yourself” she didn’t know what to say, it was simply unbearable to say goodbye all of a sudden so she pushed herself against him. “I will, just promise me it won’t take a month before I see you again” he whispered, he held her so tight, she could actually feel his heart beating out of control, “I’ll do my best” she fought to keep the tears at bay again, this man was going to be the death of her, what had she done? Why couldn’t she just go with him?. From the corner of his eye, he could see the nervosity of the flight attendant on the top of the stairs, constantly looking at her watch, they were going to miss their slot for take-off “I love you so very much, you remember that, ok? and promise me we’ll pick up where we left off from sending all those crazy e-mails to each other?” he pulled back a little to cup her chin, so she could look into his eyes, was she crying?. “Promise! I love you too” she breathed, “ok..I guess this is goodbye then” he kissed her one last time and then slowly pulled back “see you somewhere in Europe”. Be brave, Coco, don’t let your insecurity and hurt show, remember you did this to yourself, this is your choice, you’re gonna choose ‘you’ for a change. He reluctantly let go of her, her touch imprinted on his skin, “see you there” she gave him a nod and a faint wave as he hopped on up the stairs to the jetplane. One last turn, a kiss that was blown and caught and…he was gone, the door closed behind him with a dull thump, the roar of the engines became almost unbearable as the tiny plane slowly pulled out of its’ spot and hobbled towards the runway. Jared put his head against the window, his eyes closed as the jet seared to the sky, that was the weirdest, shortest, yet most heartbreaking goodbye he had ever said, why did he have the feeling that he wasn’t gonna see her again? In his lap his phone automatically connected to the wifi and lit up like a Christmas tree, sliding it open one of Shannon’s many messages greeted him ‘good to know you’re on your way back, guess who’s decided to join us?’ he frowned, oh god don’t tell me his brother’s addict fuckbuddy decided to show up again?! But then he saw the picture in the next message and his heart skipped a couple of beats..wow..oh just..waw, she was back? She was actually back? Seeing the twinkle in those mischievous eyes of hers.. it had been what? A year?  God, he had missed her.

[nexstrik]

circa Regna tonat

Summary:  [It thunders around the kingdom.] Ruby, Pyrrha, Nora, and Ren are on a mission to rebuild Penny. The last piece of the puzzle is in an abandoned factory far outside the kingdom walls. Pyrrha would do anything to atone for her actions that led to Penny’s death, and protect Ruby from future harm.

Ships: Ruby/Pyrrha, Ruby/Penny, nearly all of it unrequited

Warnings: None! Enjoy this safe-for-work story.

You can also read this story on AO3. 

The cliff face appeared without warning. According to all their maps, this part of the forest stretched on indefinitely; the darkest part of the wilds that neither humanity nor faunus had tried to brave yet. Ruby ran ahead. Something on the wind made her nose twitch (and she faintly remembered Blake always stroked the top of her head and teased that maybe she was part faunus herself).

Then Ruby found herself pushing past a bit of scrub with a casual swipe from Crescent, and she was on the edge.

It was as wide as a village, a hole bored into the ground. Some greedy god might as well have carved it out with a giant ice cream scoop, leaving the earth hollowed out. It was wide and smooth and unnatural, and Ruby teetered on the edge with her arms windmilling until she lost her balance and fell.

"Yaghh!"

She lashed out with Crescent, burying it deep onto the edge of the hole in the ground. Instinct stuck the landing and she swung there by one hand, gazing out at miles of black glass.

On the other end of the crater, the factory loomed up. Steel and rust, grown over with moss and vines. It was ugly as a bruise on the horizon, ragged columns jutting up into the sky, and broken walls exposing a darkness so deep that she wasn't sure their lanterns would cut it. Something had happened here, she knew. A Dust explosion, one so hazardous that the factory needed to evacuate with little warning. It was one of the few left behind from Dr. Polendina's research, and within it lay their only hope to revive her best friend.

"We found you," she breathed, a little in awe.

Then there was a pull at her belt buckle, and her bracers and her kneepads and the joint that replaced her right elbow. Relaxing into the familiar touch, Ruby let Pyrrha pick her up by her metal bits and deposit her safely back on solid ground.

"Are you okay?" Pyrrha asked, fussing over her, but Ruby's eyes were still focused on the factory in the distance. "When I saw you fall, I..."

Realizing she was being ignored, Pyrrha followed Ruby's gaze to the crumbling ruins. The softness in her face fell away, replaced by determination, and something exhausted and hard-edged.

Pyrrha's hand rested on Ruby's shoulder, and Ruby covered it with her own palm. They both needed the comfort of touch, right then. "That's it, isn't it?" Pyrrha said.

"Mhm."

Storm clouds gathered overhead as Ren and Nora caught up to them. With a warning hand, Pyrrha kept them back from the abrupt drop. Shading her eyes against the setting sun, Nora squinted at their destination. "How is it still standing?" Nora wondered. "Holy moly, the lights are still on! You see it too, don't you, Ren?"

Twilight approached, darkness falling faster when aided by the clouds overhead. And from far away, the little factory lit up from every window. Even from this distance they could hear the hum of Dust generators, and a low pulsing of gears.

"I wasn't there for this part of the lecture," Nora said. "Can somebody fill me in?"

"Dr. Polendina said it would still be operational." Pyrrha pulled her notebook out, flipping past pages of sketches and scribbles to the instructions they were left behind. "When the accident happened, they hit the self-destruct function before abandoning the facility.” 

"Oh yeah," Ren said, "Totally non-sketchy protocol."

"But the signal didn't go through," Ruby said. "It's just sending out a distress signal, like, it's saying What do we do? What do we do? Everything is broken. What do we do? over and over and over again, but there's no response. So the final step isn't working. So the factory keeps running like it always did, kinda."

Nora wrung her hands nervously. "It won't blow up with us inside, right?"

"Not if you keep your scroll off," Pyrrha warned her. "You did turn your scroll off, right?" It wasn't a sure thing, but Dr. Polendina had warned them of the possibility. The self-destruct message might piggyback off the signal their scrolls sent out, and then the countdown would begin.

She nodded. "Miles ago! Ages ago! I did it the second you told me to!" 

"Right after finishing the last row in her game of Rocks Blocks," Ren said.

That earned him a hard punch to the shoulder. "Snitch. You're just mad I'm beating you."

"You cheat," he returned. "You bought all those bombs to clear the last level."

"It's not cheating! It's a function of the game!" Nora lifted both hands to the sky. "Embrace the microtransactions, Ren!"

"Never!"

Ruby just rolled her eyes as the tragic love story between her two friends played out in the usual steps. Standing a little closer to Pyrrha, she wrapped an arm around her waist and turned them both towards the factory.

"So what stopped people from coming back?" Ruby wondered softly, seeing the factory lights flutter. "It's still running. It hasn't exploded. Like why didn't anybody come back to fix it, or at least finish the job and make it all go boom?"

The storm clouds overhead grew thicker than ever, and then, as if answering her, struck the entire building in a seizure of lightning bolts. One after the other, so fast and so blinding that all four of them hit the deck on instinct. Green and blue lightning flashed and stormed, raging with a fury so potent that Ruby could feel it in her soul. There were few things that made Ruby Rose flinch in fear, but the display before them left her trembling faintly, in awe at the pure power on display. When she dared to look up again, she saw several smaller craters had opened up around the main impact site.

"I see," Pyrrha said.

"Wow." Ruby snuck a glance at Nora. "I wonder if..."

"Mmm-mm." Nora shook her head. "Nope. Nope. Nuh-uh."

Ruby quickly retracted it. "You're right. I shouldn't have said anything."

"...We've never tried green lightning," Ren said.

Nora got up to her knees, rising before any of the others dared to. "And we never will!"

They all retreated further back into the forest as another volley of strikes rained down on the crater and the factory. Ruby pulled a schematic from her backpack, unrolling it and listening carefully to the storm. She counted off each booming thunderclap until the sky was quiet again. Using that number, she applied it to the formulas Dr. Polendina gave them.

"It's not random," she said. "But this next storm is likely to keep going for another few days, at least."

Nora punched her fist into one palm. "So we wait for an opening and then we bust into the joint. Sounds good to me."

Nodding once, Ruby rolled up all the papers and schematics strewn about, and they made camp.

That night, Pyrrha came into her tent. She was still awake, staring at the roof of canvas over her head, and didn't say a word when Pyrrha slowly stretched out next to her. There was a careful amount of space between them, until Ruby turned onto her side and met Pyrrha's gaze.

All the blood had drained from Pyrrha’s face. Even though their eyes met, Ruby got the distinct feeling Pyrrha was staring somewhere else, somewhere miles away, where no one else could ever reach.

"Can't sleep?" Ruby asked quietly.

Pyrrha tightly shook her head no.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Quicker this time, Pyrrha shook her head no again. "You've got your own burdens, Ruby. I don't mean to saddle you with mine." 

"Then you should scoot in here," Ruby suggested, opening up her bedding a bit and letting Pyrrha snuggle closer to her. She knew Pyrrha was only a few years older than her, and just as vulnerable— maybe more so, despite it all. But when she was wrapped up in Pyrrha's arms she felt so safe and protected, and she always fell asleep faster. Pyrrha seemed to like it, too. They'd been sharing the same tent for months now. She wondered why they even bothered the pretense of setting up two separate tents at night.

These days they were all less afraid to ask for what they needed. Once upon a time it would have been embarrassing to admit they hungered for touch and to be held and coddled. It felt like something a kid asked for. But there wasn't any room for that now. Now they all knew exactly how young and how fragile they really were.

When she woke up the tent was empty, and Pyrrha was out taking guard shift while Ren caught some sleep. This wasn't Grimm territory but none of them were naive enough to believe that would protect them for long.

"Let's move," Ren suggested once he woke up. "We can't linger too long in one spot."

"Yeah, let's not make it any easier for Grimm to sniff us out."

Cracking a grin, Ruby flexed at them. As always, her right elbow clicked a little. The metal joint was always audible to her, and she wondered if others could hear it and know about the injury, even if the rest of her was still meat and bone. "Well if they do, you know Pyrrha and I can always give them the silver and gold combo."

Pyrrha paused in the middle of rolling up her own unused tent, just to give Ruby the driest look imaginable.

"I'm kidding," Ruby said.

"Jokes are supposed to be funny," Pyrrha responded, mildly.

They all knew Pyrrha wouldn't use her Maiden powers. Not if she could help it. Not against a Grimm, at least.

Every so often the storm would erupt again, just close enough to make them all flinch. But by the end of the second day they were completely unphased by the noise, ignoring it as they played a game of dominos around the campfire. They had moved further along the rim of the impact point, as close to the factory as they could get before the lightning bolts threatened them, as well.

"I wish I could talk to Penny and tell her how close we are to completing the mission," Ruby lamented. The last time she got the chance, they were still miles from the impact point.

It was Pyrrha's turn. She looked at her hand, hesitating over the smooth white tiles.

Lying out on her stomach, Nora propped her chin in both hands. "Awww. Don't worry, Ruby. Soon we'll be able to use our scrolls again and you'll get to chat with your girlfriend and I'll be able to demolish Ren at Rocks Blocks."

Pyrrha paused mid-move, head tilted to Ruby, carefully listening.

Ruby's face burned bright scarlet. "Penny's not my girlfriend! How do you even have a robot voice as a... listen, she's my best friend."

Sitting up straighter, Nora gasped in offense. "I thought we were your best friends?"

Pyrrha finished her turn and then it was Ren's move.

"You are." Ruby waggled one finger, admonishing her. "It's an honorary distinction you know. And it's not competition."

Nora squinted, tilting her hands back and forth as if she were trying to balance something out. "Okay, but like, if it was... where would I rank? Top ten? Top five? Out of curiosity."

"I'm not gonna rank my friends!" Ruby stopped to think about it. "Wait. I don't think I even have ten friends."

"Yes! That means I'm in the top ten by default!"

They squabbled, light-hearted, wondering where Blake and Weiss and Yang fit on the pyramid since two of them were teammates and one of them was Ruby's sister. It all felt comfortable as trying on old shoes, the kind so built to your feet you could just slip them right on. It felt like being back at Beacon; it was cozy and warm.

When the rain picked up again they all scattered back to their tents, ignoring the booming thunder in the impact site next to them.

Ruby waited for a few hours, staring at the roof of her tent before becoming impatient. The cold was making her right elbow hurt. She pulled her blanket over her head to cover herself from the rain before sliding open Pyrrha's tent.

"Hey," she said, "You awake?"

In the darkness, she could see Pyrrha's long outline under her own blankets, shifting subtly. "Mmhmm."

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Of course," she said. "I just didn't want to bother you..."

Before Pyrrha could even finish her sentence, Ruby was wrapped around her, sighing deeply. "You never bother me." 

Maybe those rough, calloused hands should have frightened her. They were killer's hands, after all. They belonged to something that wasn't entirely human anymore, that glowed gold Dust and yoked the elements of the earth to her will, stronger than any storm. But when Pyrrha angled those hands up Ruby's cheeks, knuckles brushing against her hair, fingertips stroking over the shell of her ear, Ruby could forget.

It was just Pyrrha. Her best friend.

"Are you nervous?" Pyrrha wondered, thumb stroking just under her eye.

Warmth spread out from wherever her body was pressed to Pyrrha's. It made her drowsy, and the last thing she wanted was to think about things that made her nervous. But Pyrrha was so rarely in a chatty mood, she wanted to indulge her. "About what?"

"When the storms die down and we head in there. What if we don't find what we're looking for?" 

"Don't worry about it."

Evidently, that wasn't the right thing to say. Pyrrha stopped stroking her face, her soft body feeling tense, hard. "What do you mean, don't worry about it?"

"I mean exactly what I said." Ruby drew away, just far enough to look up at her. "Things don't always work out the way we want. Sometimes bad things just happen."

"Of course I— obviously I know things don't always—" Pyrrha started to stammer, tripping over her own words. "I'm not an—"

Ruby took both of her hands when Pyrrha made to push her away further. "I meant we'll do what we can. If it doesn't work out, then we try something else. But being nervous doesn't really serve us right now."

"But there might not be anything else. This might be our only chance." Clearly tormented, Pyrrha tried to pull her hands free, tugging futilely. "Don't you think I know— don't you think I've prayed for— I have to fix this, Ruby! I have to pay for what I did!"

Sad realization fell down like a stone into the pit of her stomach.

"...Oh, Pyrrha. Pyrrha, that was an accident." She stressed it, harder. "It was an accident. It wasn't your fault. You can't still think anyone believes you meant to hurt Penny."

"And Cinder was an accident?" Pyrrha suddenly returned her grip, iron-hard. "And Jaune?"

Ruby didn't immediately respond, even though she was the only one who could answer. This was something only they shared. That night on the roof of Beacon's tower, when Pyrrha became the Fall Maiden. The price she paid, and the earth-shaking power she wielded, and how in the end none of it changed anything at all.

"Yes," Ruby said firmly. "It was all an accident. I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it. I'll do anything you need." She didn't retreat, even when Pyrrha's grip started to hurt. "Please, just tell me. If it's anything I have, I'll give it to you, Pyrrha. And that's a promise."

And Pyrrha crushed their lips together in a searing kiss.

Of course she knew what a kiss was. But Ruby had always figured it was just something couples did because...reasons. The same reason you shake hands when you meet someone new. She didn't think it would feel like being drenched in hot, sticky strawberry syrup. She didn't think it was like submerging in a warm bath and being set on fire at the same time. She didn't think it would feel so good.

Her eyes flew wide open, a shocked noise escaping her.

"—Shit."

She'd never heard Pyrrha swear before, but tonight seemed like it was made for firsts. Pyrrha retreated all the way to the far side of the tent, the canvas threatening to buckle. Both hands covered her face, and she gasped in rapid, shuddering exhales.

"I'm so sorry," Pyrrha started. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I'm just... I don't know why I can't— I don't know why I always do this!" her voice raised sharply in anger, but not at Ruby. At herself, as always. "I always go for someone who isn't available and then when it's too late I act like a complete fool."

Honestly Ruby was still reeling too much from the kiss to try and unpack any of that. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No!" The little tent sparked with light, amber and golden. It was just for a flash, but Pyrrha's eyes still burned for a while longer. Even when Ruby closed her eyes she could see after images, the stamp of Maiden power.

"Then..." Ruby hedged. "Do you... do you need... me?"

The question lingered, heavy as her tongue in her mouth. Ruby dared a little closer, curious about this, about the things that Pyrrha had left unsaid for evidently a very long time.

"I don't know what that means."

"Do you need me to kiss you again?" Ruby clarified, less nervous now.

"But Penny—"

"Penny is just my friend," Ruby insisted, but this time when she said it, it hurt. And there was no reason to keep pretending it didn't hurt.

"But you love her." The glow in Pyrrha's green eyes waned from confusion. "Don't you?"

"I don't know if she feels the same way." She was too afraid to ask. She was afraid of the answer. So maybe she was still a child after all. Because she knew firsthand what it was like to lose Penny, to regret everything unsaid, but now that she was granted the miracle of a second chance, she couldn't spit it out. 

Musing silence, for a while. "I guess we're in the same boat then."

Pyrrha's fingertips brushed over her lips, the touch like spark to kindling.

Ruby kissed her, this time. Then she lost track of who was kissing who. There were more important things to think about, like who was kissing where. Pyrrha covered her entire face in needy kisses. Some of them felt as docile and warm as those nights spent sleeping in her arms, and some made Ruby feel achingly and uncomfortably awake.

Somehow, gentler was worse. She felt every centimeter of Pyrrha's lips on her neck, and she hadn't realized lips could be so soft. Every time she thought she'd reached a peak, that she couldn't take any more, Pyrrha kissed her again and took her even higher, until she was squirming, mind white-hot and blank. She wanted to scream, honestly. She almost did when Pyrrha rolled on top of her, reaching under Ruby's shirt to stroke her bare stomach.

It was like a hunger, but one that only grew sharper the more it was indulged. Pangs of pain, longing so deep it hurt, were only soothed by Pyrrha straining even closer, closer. She needed her closer to be satisfied. She wanted this, all of this, directly in her bloodstream. She wanted it—

Inside, she realized, with the spark of something close an epiphany. Inside, inside.  

Inside, her body chanted, like a starving little beast. Inside my heart, inside my soul. Even if she had no idea what to ask for she knew Pyrrha could give it to her, could fill that aching need. All she could hear was the thundering of her own heart and Pyrrha's voice, raising every hair on the back of her neck.

Then Ruby stopped, suddenly alert. "Whoa! Brakes! Hold on." Shushing Pyrrha in the middle of another apology, Ruby cocked her head to the side and listened. "I don't hear the storm anymore. Do you?"

They both listened, waiting for the lightning to start up again. She'd covered Pyrrha's mouth with one hand, and hadn't moved it, so Pyrrha could only shake her head no. Then the two of them were scrambling to put their gear on, waking up Ren and bringing Nora up to speed as she kept watch over their camp.

Pulling her hood up was an act of instinct rather than any real need. The rain had already stopped, and the skies cleared up to reveal an expanse of twinkling stars. In the distance, the factory was dead and dark, no lights shining, no generators humming.  "Okay everyone. We talked about this, you know the plan."

"Don't die!" Nora said cheerfully, and they split up into pairs.

There were enough broken walls to make entry easy. Less easy was the sense that they had stepped into a graveyard. All around them, stacked fifty feet high, were dead bodies. They all looked different, had different shapes and sizes and functions, but they were all like Penny. All of them were built to house a soul, and none of them ever would.

"If there are any security bots, I'll handle them." Black energy curled around Ruby, the force of Pyrrha's semblance as familiar and comforting as a hand on her shoulder. "Though I think they turned off with the rest of the facility."

"Let's hope so."

As they ventured further in, the source of the weather anomaly became clear. Miles of Dust crystals lay dormant on rows of machinery, too complex and alien for them to parse out. They flickered every now and then, cracked and shattered and broken beyond repair. Green and blue sparks sputtered and then died, waiting for something that would never come.

She wasn't entirely sure of the correlation but it seemed that whenever the factory went dark, the lightning storms did, too.

"What happened here?" Pyrrha wondered, pausing in front of another lifeless doll. She reached out and took its hand, curling the jointed fingers. When she let it go, it dropped, heavy and empty. "What triggered the first explosions?"

"Dunno. Didn't ask." Ruby was only half paying attention. She wanted to find the main console and get out of here as soon as possible. After cracking open a rusted door that lead to one of the control rooms, Ruby and Pyrrha finally found what they were looking for. They compared the console to the sketches they both had in their notebook, glad for the lessons they'd learned in Beacon about proper field notes. Resisting the temptation of relying on their scrolls for too much had turned out to be a boon after all.

"Keep guard," Ruby said, and made sure the long-distance signals on her scroll was turned off before she used it to boot up the main system. A few lights flickered on, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she requested permission for what they needed. Using Dr. Polendina's password, they found its location.

The chip. The spark of life.

Ruby turned off her scroll again and waited, breath held. But the countdown didn't start. They hadn't been sure if turning off the long-distance communication function of their scrolls would work, so keeping them entirely shut down was the only way to be safe. This risk might not have worked.

But it did. Thankfully.

Another quick run through mazes of mannequins and dull glass eyes lead them to their goal. A safebox with all of Penny's code and backup files, everything needed to build her again and fuse her to a new body.  Every single body in this building had one, and theoretically they could have been reverse-engineered for Penny. But the easiest would be to use Penny's, and here it was, right in the palm of her hand.

Casting a glance around them, Pyrrha said, "Do you think we should take one home for her?"

Another series of clicks from her right elbow as she stretched. Ruby took a second to think it over, rubbing the aching joint. All around her were bodies, empty. Any one of them could have served their purpose. "Doesn't seem right to pick without consulting Penny, first." 

"None of us were consulted when we received our bodies," Pyrrha pointed out, unable to keep the low humor out of her voice. "I would have asked to be a little taller."

"You're already plenty tall as it is. Anyway, all we need is this." Ruby pocketed the chip, heart hammering. "Let's get out of here."

A loud crack made them both flinch, fear lighting them up from the inside. But it wasn't a thunderclap. It was a flare.

It was Nora's distress signal.

"I'll catch up!" Pyrrha said, seconds before Ruby activated her semblance and rushed out of the facility, streaming like arterial blood. She skidded to a halt outside on the edge of the crater, rose petals swarming around her as she sought out Nora and Ren.

Clouds were gathering in the sky. Not good.

A swarm of Grimm were gathered around the facility. Extra not good.

The first one pounced with a shriek, claws gleaming white. Spinning Crescent Rose out, Ruby pulled it into scythe form and let inertia work against the Grimm. She stepped to the side, holding the staff firm and the blade wide, catching the creature mid-leap and slicing it in half.

Rain began pelting down, the clouds growing thicker overhead. Shaking herself like a wet dog, Ruby snarled at the approaching Grimm, firing off a bullet to keep them at bay. "Okay, Silver Eye Power, now is a good time to go!"

It didn't work, and the Grimm rushed her. She spun and kicked, using Crescent Rose as a shield, as a brace, as a balancing beam. She slashed and fired, a one-woman army as another distress flare rose up from the other end of the facility. Once she had cleared a path, she held her breath and flew. Streaming out with the power of her semblance again, she arrived next to Ren and Nora just as she was about to light another flare.

"Buzz off!"

The tip of Crescent Rose sunk into thick skull plating, cracking a Grimm's head in half. Nora gave her a smile of relief, her face sticky with blood and pitch.

"Thanks, backup! Where's Pyrrha?" Nora asked. 

"On her way." She shifted Crescent partially, just enough to fire off another round. "We got what we needed."

"Oh, good." Ren fired off another flare to let Pyrrha know where they were headed. The rain pelted down even harder, sparks of green and blue already lighting up around the impact site. The facility was streaming with light, every system online. The storms would resume soon, and she didn't want to be here when they did.

She wondered briefly what the broken factory looked like when it was occupied and maintained. With people in it, doing their job, living their life. She wondered what messages it was sending out now in its afterlife, over and over again.

What do we do? What do we do? Everything is broken. What do we do?

"Okay, Silver Eye Power," Ruby said, spinning Crescent one more time. "Now is a good time to go!"

It didn't work (again, the damn thing never worked when she needed it to) and a Nevermore dropped from the sky like a bolt of lightning itself. Covered in misshapen growths, it could barely fly, swollen and riddled with veins of pure green Dust.

It opened its maw at them, rattled all its feathers, and shot out a blast of electricity directly at Ruby. She'd never been electrocuted before and to be perfectly frank, she did not care to have it happen ever again. For an instant there was nothing except pain, white lights erupting behind her eyelids. She swore she saw every vein in her eyes coursing with that light, and then she was outside her own body, looking down at herself convulsing on the ground.

She could see herself, map out her entire nervous system. Alive for now, and bright... with the exception of the dull metal in her right elbow, her clicky joint. All of it could be snuffed out in an instant.

The Nevermore puffed itself up, rattling again in preparation for another strike.

"Watch out!"

Nora leaped in front of her, taking the blow. Grounding herself, Nora buzzed with the excess energy even as she tried to let some of it seep into the earth. Then the sky opened up, pouring rain down over all of them as the storm began to reach its peak once more. Ren dragged Ruby away as Nora redirected the power right back at the Nevermore. It screamed, and then screamed again when she vaulted herself up and struck it over the head.

"I'm fine," Ruby said before he could even ask, stumbling to her feet.

"Why isn't Pyrrha here yet?" Ren shouted over the resulting din. Rumbles sounded, thunderous drums, like a giant in the clouds blowing its warhorn in preparation for battle. "We need to get out of here!"

"I don't know! She should have been right behind me!" Drenched all the way to her skin, Ruby shouted again. "I'll be right back. Watch after each other!"

Nora turned a jagged smile at Ruby, lightning coiling on the curve of her tongue. "He always does!"

With another snap of fabric she billowed out towards the facility. Lightning struck her footsteps, the clouds sparking and hissing. When she found Pyrrha she was surrounded by a mass of dissolving Grimm bodies, covered in pitch. Another wave was rushing her, and without thought Ruby ran to join her. There were so many, swarming and howling, and no matter how many they cut down, there were always more. Finally, two other giant Nevermore dropped from the sky, trembling and twitching with Dust mutations. The first one opened its beak, striking Pyrrha the way Ruby had been struck, while the other grabbed Pyrrha in its claws and—

And Ruby screamed, shrill, rippling with uncontrollable power. A blast of silver erupted from her, knocking the Nevermore aside. One of them went up in smoke, the other managed to dodge just enough that she only managed to clip its wing. Ruby swung forward, chasing the limping Grimm, but it opened its maw and fired right back at her. Green and blue surged in her direction.

Staggering from being electrocuted once, Pyrrha knocked Ruby to the side. The second blast hit her.

Bracing herself, Pyrrha caught the bolt of lightning with her bare hands.

It crackled, twisting and zapping like a living thing, but Pyrrha wielded it until it became solid. Golden light erupted from her, chasing away the sickly green, and the gust of wind blowing from her knocked Ruby down onto the earth.

Lightning struck down. Once, twice, three times in a row. Each time it hit Pyrrha, as if targeting her. But golden light swirled around her, coating her as she caught every bolt. The misshapen lightning bolts stayed around her, hovering in her Aura until she seemed like an ancient Grimm herself, covered in the ruined weapons of everything that had failed to kill her.

Her eyes glowed, and she flung out with one hand, all the lightning formed into a row of crackling spears. Every single lightning bolt struck the Nevermore at the same time, and, overwhelmed, it splattered into a fine black mist.

Ruby didn't even have time to feel relief before the assault began again. 

The sky was in chaos. The storm was coming. Pyrrha grabbed Ruby, standing over her with her shield held up. The white material expanded, three golden arcs of protection faintly visible over its scarred surface. The lightning struck, again and again, each one sounding like something between crashing cymbals and a dying animal, and each time Pyrrha's protective energy batted it aside.

"Pyrrha—" Ruby started, shouting in fear, but when Pyrrha glared down sharply at her, the words died in her throat. Ruby was staring at a stranger. Something inhuman, not her best friend. Yellow light poured from her eyes, from her gasping mouth, billowing from her in golden coils of steam. Her expression frozen in a grimace, lined like a bronze mask. Blood red leaves whipped around them, the winds alternating muggy hot and bitter cold, Autumn refusing to relent to neither Summer nor Winter. The scent of rot hung heavy in the air, layers of pine needles and animal bones, buried things, detritus, offal.

The Maiden. She'd only ever seen her once before, held aloft on wings of fire and lightning. Elemental magic. Raw.

Pyrrha gripped her by the hood, leaving Ruby feeling like a kitten being hauled by the scruff as she took her to safety. It was slow travel, the Dust storm focusing them as the only upright figured on the scorched earth. Even when they hit the shelter of the trees, the freak lightning followed, splintering wood into matchsticks. Ruby squealed, hiding her face against Pyrrha's shoulder as she was half guided, half dragged out of the blast zone and then dumped onto the forest floor.

When they were finally out of range, Pyrrha let the Maiden power drop from her. She stood upright for a while longer, shivering and twitching, and then her eyes rolled back into her skull and she collapsed. 

Scrambling over to her, Ruby gingerly lifted her up onto her lap. "Hey. Hey!"

She tapped her cheeks lightly, urging her over and over again. When Pyrrha didn't even stir, and the rain began to pelt down harder, Ruby took her emergency flare out and let it fly. Even if it drew Grimm to her, at least it would also let Ren and Nora know where they were.

Pyrrha flinched at the noise, twitching with a flash of semblance. Her spear and Jaune's shield flew to her hands, ready to fight, but there was no foe to be found. Just Ruby grinning down at her wanly.

"Hi. I'm glad that woke you up."

"Did we win?" Pyrrha said, looking bleary.

"Aaaand I think you took too many zaps to the head." 

Ruby helped her sit up, stroking her wet hair out of her face. Pyrrha slowly regained her focus, and nearby, the storm raged on. Blue and green flashed in regular intervals, and Ruby began to count them. This storm would last a lot longer than the first, if her mental math was correct.

"That thing hit me," Pyrrha mumbled, rubbing her forehead. "I got electrocuted."

"Me too. I think my scroll must be fried at this point.

Then, jolted by the fear of sudden realization, she checked her satchel for Penny's chip.

She retrieved it. And its charred, blackened husk crumbled in her hands.

Holding her breath, Ruby fought hard not to cry. This wasn't the end. There were still dozens of robot bodies inside the facility. They just had to try again, that was all. After a moment, Pyrrha's gaze sharpened on the smoldering ash in her hands, watching the rain wash gray rivulets down Ruby's bare wrist. 

"Oh, Ruby..." she said. "I'm so..."

"Don't." Ruby let the burnt chip fall, rubbing her eyes. "Don't apologize."

"You shouldn't have come back for me. This is all my fault."

"The Grimm might've gotten you." She inhaled sharply, not even wanting to bring up the fact that the Nevermore had shocked her once already before she'd gone back to check on Pyrrha. "I thought you were right behind me. When you didn't show up I got so scared."

"I would have been fine, I can handle a few Grimm."

"Well I couldn't take that chance." Ruby's eyes burned. But she refused to cry, even if that would have been a good time for it, because with the rain washing down her face she could have pretended she wasn't crying. It wouldn't have fooled Pyrrha, probably, but she could have pretended anyway. "I can't. And I don't want you to tell me that was the wrong decision."

"Okay. I won't." Pyrrha held her tight. The rain pounded harder than ever, shockingly cold. If Pyrrha were more in control of her powers, maybe she could make it all go away. Maybe she could turn it into a warm summer shower. Maybe Ruby could blast the clouds into nothing but wisps with her silver eyes, if she knew how to use them. But they didn't know how to use their powers, or even where to begin learning how. They didn't know anything and they didn't have anyone except each other, and nobody else knew how much it cost them to be special, to be powerful, to be something out of a legend. "It's okay. I'm sorry. It's all going to be okay. We're still here, we're still together."

They squeezed each other tight until a loud rustle in the treeline made them both leap apart, weapons brandished. But it was Ren, and behind him Nora— carrying someone? An injured person, Ruby thought at first, until she came a little closer and used the person's hand to wave at them.

"Hi!" she said cheerfully, half of a robot strapped to her back. "Look, I killed the Grimm and found a friend! Settle a bet for me. Doesn't this one look just like Coco? She does, right?"

Ruby almost dropped Crescent in shock. Running up to Nora, she pushed her hand out of the way and searched the robot, feeling around for the hinge on the back of her neck. If this one was the same as all the others...

She cracked it open, finding the blue chip inside. They could use it. Reverse engineer it. Scavenge what they need to bring Penny back.

And for a moment she hesitated, looking down at the unfamiliar face, wondering, Is this okay? Is this looting from the dead? If we hooked her up, would she come alive?

She closed the hinge, letting Nora piggyback the body for now. "Let's keep the chip inside the body. That might protect it better than my pocket would, anyway."

"Huh?" Nora blinked a few times, taken aback. "Keep it? What, the broken robot? Ew!" 

Ruby ran a hand down her face, wondering just where to start in order to explain what had just happened.

  It took about a week to find civilization again. The first thing Ruby did was turn on long-distance signal and call Penny. Pacing anxiously in her hotel room, she smiled in relief when Penny picked up and answered. "Salutations!" 

"Penny." She sighed, sitting down on the edge of her bed. Two other mattresses were squished up to it, but for now, she had some privacy. "We did it."

A crackle of joy. "You did? You retrieved the memory core?"

"Kind of. We hijacked it from another broken bot. But that should work, right? It didn't have to be yours?"

"Yes, that should work. If the unit hasn't been activated, then it's just a blank slate." Penny made a few noises of thought. "It might take more time to etch my memories onto it, but a blank core should work just fine. You did excellently."

A little hologram of Penny hovered over her scroll. She looked much like she did that last day together, not aging a day while the years changed everyone else. Ruby stretched, her right elbow clicking. In a few months Ruby wouldn't even be a teenager anymore. Filling Penny in on everything that happened, Ruby ended it all with, "I missed you so much. It drove me crazy, not being able to talk to you every night."

"I missed you too. I hope the others kept you entertained." 

Briefly, Ruby remembered that kiss, just before the storm broke. Neither of them had spoken of it, and Pyrrha hadn't entered her tent again since. "They definitely... were something."

Pyrrha had been green and gold and red. She still burned in Ruby's mind, every time she closed her eyes. 

She didn't want to think about Pyrrha. She wanted to talk and think about anything else. "Hey, Penny. Do you have a new body all set up?"

"I do! Would you like to see what I'll look like once I'm repaired?"

Ruby nodded, and the hologram changed. Startled, Ruby stared at a brand new face, everything different from the style of dress to her hair. "I thought I'd go for long black hair," Penny explained. "Long and beautiful, like Blake and Weiss and Pyrrha."

Pyrrha. Pyrrha was very beautiful. "You look great, Penny. Are you excited?"

"Mostly excited to have you back home," she confessed, swapping back to her usual avatar. "It's been so long since I held your hand. I can't wait to do it again. I can't wait to hug you!"

"Me neither!" Relaxing onto the bed, she felt her whole heart soften at the idea. "I miss you, Penny. Even when I'm talking to you like this. I miss you all the time."

Another crackle. Static. The image of Penny fluttered, and for a second Ruby worried they had lost signal.

"You there?"

"Yes." Penny said. "Just... listening to you."

"Well, I don't have much more to say." Ruby glanced out the window. "It's getting dark. I should try and turn in early, so we can be ready for tomorrow."

"Then I won't keep you." Another long pause. "Will you call me again tomorrow night?"

"Of course. Every night I can, I will. Just like I promised."

Penny smiled, and said goodbye, and the line went dead.

Lying back on her mattress, Ruby stared at the ceiling and rubbed her sore arm, wishing she had said more.

But the words were never there.

   The journey home was always ten times easier than the initial quest out. No matter where they ventured, that always remained true. Maybe it was just hope giving wings to their feet, or maybe they were just more familiar with the terrain and didn't need to be more careful. From foot, to rail, to plane, they made their way to Atlas.

And every night she called Penny, whenever she was alone. Even if it was just for fifteen minutes, she needed to talk to her.

A few times, Pyrrha walked in on her mid-conversation. She'd stop, staring at her, and then smile and apologize and leave. And afterwards Ruby would always gaze at the spot where she'd stood, and worry, and wonder.

Finally, she decided there was only one course of action.

She had to talk to her best friend.

"Pyrrha kissed me."

The lengthy silence couldn't mean a disconnect, this time. They were in the heart of Atlas, with some of the best signal money could buy. Penny was in stunned silence, digesting what Ruby told her. "What, right now?" 

She shook her head. "About a month ago. She just grabbed me and we started making out."

"...For no reason?"

Flushing to her roots, Ruby went to the window. Outside it was snowing thick and heavy, and the cold made every single one of her scars and joints ache. Not just the metal one. "We were stressed out. I told her if I could comfort her in any way, I'd do it. And she responded like that." Blushing again, she rubbed her scalp, tracing over the familiar lines of old sutures. Like so many other hunters before her, the job had taken its toll, and taken chunks of her with it. Even Aura and advanced healing could only repair so much. "I think she was lonely."

"Hmm." When Ruby checked to see what the hologram was doing then, she was surprised to see Penny hiding a very big grin. "Do you want her to do it again?"

"Penny."

"What? It's what happens," Penny said. "Kissing makes the heart beat faster. It makes you all warm and tingly. And then you want to do it over and over again."

Her throat tightened a bit. "I thought I didn't. You know. Do feelings like that. I kind of thought everyone else was exaggerating or joking a little." Then her face twisted up. "Wait, how do you know about all this?"

"Research," Penny said.

"...Oh?"

"Secret research," she stressed, sternly, letting Ruby know not to continue any questions down that line.

"Well it sucks," Ruby said, just as firm. "I don't know. I love her, I really do. I love all my friends." A little shyness. She bullied past it. "And you. I love you, Penny."

Penny didn't even hesitate. Of course she didn't. "I love you, too."

As a friend? As a girlfriend? She didn't know. But it was strong, this connection between them both. Comfortable silence, then. The snow fell, all the roads blocked for now. When the paths cleared, Ruby and her friends would find Dr. Polendina.

Then the real work would begin.

Written for my friend Cal. Thanks so much for everything!

[spazzbunn]

Sirens In The Forest

 The sun was starting to come down with dusk starting to appear. I had gotten a late call about some missing hiker. Oddly enough they never gave me a name for the person. Saying that it is a white male in his early 20s with dark brown hair and a scruffy beard. Apparently they were able to see through security cameras that he walked into the Pine Ridge Hiking Trail. We had cameras around incase of any suspicious activities like with arsonists, drug dealers, punks, you name it. The oddest part was the rangers back at the base said they never saw him walking back. The trail has no end. You would have to go out the way you came in. Pretty much everyone knew that around these parts. So we either had someone that was very new to these woods here or he was from another state.I was the one they called since I was the closest to the Trail. So I took my truck and went over to the gate. I parked close to it as I took my keys with me and got out of it. I had no need of locking the doors. Plus I had nothing worth stealing in the car so it would be dumb to try to steal a forest rangers car. I walked forward and I hopped over it. This was more of a barricade to stop any cars from driving. So you had to duck under or hop over it. It was all we could do for now. The budget was tight after all. So me and my other rangers called them gates.With dusk approaching, I had to bring my flashlight and turn it on before I could walk down to the trail. I only brought the flashlight besides a flask and a pack of crackers since I had no need for anything. I didn’t need no gun since I had the knowledge of the animals by heart. It was better to be smart and not cause trouble to them. Especially the bears. Although to add, bears seemed to be less around now that I think about it.Usually we get reports of bears doing the ‘Yogi Bear’ tactic of them stealing food from people’s picnics and scratching and knocking down the signs for the Pine Ridge Hiking Trail and other Trails as well. But something got them spooked. Mainly because I never saw a bear here. Usually when I do, I see a dead one. Gruesome as all hell, but bears do fight after all, and they gotta eat for their cubs. I walked down and followed the trail as he swished my light back and forth slowly to keep track of anything that was moving. Any sign of any animal. Or a person hopefully. I wanted to get home soon and have dinner with my family. I kept forward as I then notice a few steps away was a backpack. A blue canvas backpack with straps being of a light leather color to it. Clearly odd but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. With how rarely people come here during the Spring season, there is no worry of someone taking your bag so obviously, he must have set up a camp close by. People tend to camp on trails like this. Obviously he must have been new to this and most likely someone that knows of our place. I looked into the backpack. Nothing but a map, some water bottles, and a pack of peanut butter crackers. Nothing appeared off. Maybe this was just a hiker and must be either those “influencers” or a nature loving fella. I walked to the left side which continued the trail while I left the backpack where it was. It felt like the barely lively sun was starting to make the scenery dark so my flashlight was working somewhat more efficiently. Yet I also had that feeling of eyes looking at me. Granted, I always remember it is the animals of skunks, squirrels, raccoons that tend to stare at me. The trees were lively. The wind slightly blowing to cause some of them to move their branches full of green leaves, so I had no worry of anyone watching me. Only the animals. I kept going as far away I started to pick up the sight of something. It looked big. It looked messy. I swallowed my fear away as I pretty much was seeing something that looks of a bear having to have had a person for dinner. I kept going though. I had to be sure. As I did, the mess appears to seem too odd. A lot of blood. Yet with big four dashes on the ground. Maybe five. It looked too bloody to tell. I could handle the smell of metallic thanks to my odd young years of sniffing coins in my hands. Yet I felt sick. This wasn’t fresh either. This had been days. When was the last time someone came here? Before I could even think of a theory in the corner of my eye was a bush by my left. It had a torn cloth of a blue shirt stick on its tiny branches. Maybe light-ish blue or aqua. I got no idea. But that made me feel wary of my surroundings. Something felt really off now.The reason was because of the fact that the person I was looking for had a light gray hoodie with his shirt looking green. This was somebody else. Yet again they never did say anything about other people going in. Just this one person who could be a killer. With my determination to see if this was just some prank by fellow kids and cuff them for trying to scare me, I set foot and continued on. I know it had to be a joke. I mean it made sense. It was dark, a missing unknown person, blood stained mess. Yet in my head, I was swimming with thoughts. No one could ever make fake blood looking strong like that. The scratch marks even were deep. No normal shovel or knife could make lines like those. But my mind also was remembering something I heard about.There were reports of missing people in the woods. We haven’t heard of anything happening to our Trails, yet we might have a few people slipping through our cameras or our rangers seem unfit for keeping a watch on things. People rarely come to this one since it is just short with the end being a bunch of trees blocking the way. We never did get the chance, either due to budget or situations that halt us from removing the trees in winter to make a longer trail for people. I kept going until I saw another mess on the dirt wall that the rangers and I made to let people stay on the path and know where they are going.It looked as if it was the same blood smear with claws. The flashlight showed that it was true. In fact the sickening smell of old dried blood was hitting my nose again. The same dashes. The same smell. It looked disturbing to me. Hell, I even felt eyes staring at me. Making me want to keep going as if I was to turn around I would be killed. Something wanted me to keep going. I took a breath and I walked forward with my body starting to shake out of fear. I called to the woods. To see if anyone was here. I could handle a damn killer, I just didn’t want to be alone in these woods. Feeling the eyes on me. Watching my every move. I swear I heard twigs breaking yet I moved on. I blamed it on raccoons, yet my arm was ready to swing on the killer and have my flashlight meet his skull.I turned right and as if I was being messed with I saw another bloody mess. This was was longer and on the ground. Walking closer, I saw the same number of dashes. More longer though. Oddly, it looked as if it was leading me somewhere. I gulped to swallow my worries and fear away. Whoever wanted me to keep going, I gladly accepted their invitation and walked. I felt the feeling of being watched again. I swing my flashlight to shine the light and I was met with just the wooden oak of the trees. It felt like it was getting darker by a couple of steps. It could have been my sanity toying with me. Or maybe my gut, heart, and brain in union was telling the truth. That someone or something was out in the woods stalking me. I heard nothing. I shouted out again to the only response was the wind blowing and leaves rustling. It felt odd. It felt scary. To be alone in these woods now. I usually am around at day time but never when it was close to night. My neck hairs on the back side were up and I never felt more alert. I walked at a normal pace. I was near the “dead end trees” as I nicknamed them. No way someone would go through there. Especially with bears and poisonous snakes roaming around. My light seems brighter. Either due to the strange batteries or how the slowly rising night was taking away every drop of sunlight it had left. I saw the trees. Yet again, my sight saw something not an average person sees. The wood on a couple of trees looked darkly red. As I marched forward with every bit of courage in me, I saw clear as day what the color was. Blood. So much blood. On the trees and on the ground. This was something non-human. Infact, the blood mess on the ground had the dashes again. I knew slowly but surely that no human could do a work like this. I walked closer to be hit with the strong scent of the blood. But yet it smelt worse. Like the blood was rotten. Like raw meat on a hot summer sun. I almost puked from that stench alone. But I aimed my flashlight and eyes down on the ground. There I saw it. A torn apart broken in pieces human body. Some of its skin was ripped off, barely the veins show which were not covered in blood. Barely a broken torn apart arm and scratched up in half leg as all I could see of the limbs. My stomach was turning inside out and flipping upside down. I have seen dead animals torn apart. But that was nature. This wasn’t nature. Not something God would allow. This was unholy work. For a non-human being. I looked to the left side of the unknown torn apart person since it seemed naked with all clothing just ripped apart and bloody. A piece of a light gray cloth. This was the guy. The poor bastard was chased by something. And this was his fate. His guts didn’t even seem there. Like it was all gone. No liver or intenses. Not even a god damn stomach. I had to go. I had to head back to the station.As my body was ready to turn as I was going to make a book to the truck, I heard a noise that slowly was starting to grow in sheer loudness and terror. The sound of a static noise. Like a television acting up when the satellite was out. I turned slowly and pointed my flashlight towards it. All that I was meeting with, in God’s honest truth, was something I couldn't even describe. It was tall. Like, really tall. About the size of a telephone pole. Its body looked like rusted metal. Skinny and dried up like it was mummified. Skinny long arms that were almost as long as its body. Everything looked so off. Its head was the oddest part of this bizarre mass of dehydrated flesh. It was of a siren. Two speakers on the pole that looked to be connected to the flesh and even the veins of this thing. It was still emitting the loud static sound at me. My flashlight looked over at the tilted siren as the speaker was facing me. Pure white human teeth. This was not Satan's work.No God and no Devil would ever make something like that. This was a true monster. A creature with no reason to live. Just to have more reasons of fear. It stopped its loud screeching and started to emit a new sound. The sound of the speakers started to make the sound of a warning weather alert. It started walking towards me in big steps. With my ears covered to prevent hearing damage, I quickly started to run in the right side to avoid its skinny hands. I ran with my tired feet sore and aching as I just kept going. The flashlight was still in my hands, covering my one ear as it was cold and metal as I felt the ground shaking as the creature was slowly but in big steps, catching on to me.My heart, my mind, my everything. It was all rushing in union. But only because as I was running down the path I started to remember that haunting sound. Months ago we heard this sound before. Us rangers weren’t so focused on it. Mainly due to how we knew of an old siren from so many years ago that used to be for signaling big tornados or hurricanes. It would quickly die off every thirty minutes or an hour before it would start up so months later. The pieces were hitting my face like hard bricks. We rarely have people come over here in this trail. Maybe one or two in those few months. We then hear that sound. This thing has been in the forest for an unknown amount of time. Using that deathly howl as a way to block the screaming of its victims. To not have anyone else intervene with it. I looked back and it still was taking big steps to try to get me. I was faster, but it still wouldn’t give up. It started to lower the volume of the alert as I turned my head forward and kept running. I was close to the truck. I could see the backpack from far away now. That is when the new sounds started to startle me. It was one of the most oddest things I ever heard. It started to speak. Not in basic human function. But static like. I couldn’t remember much due to my heavy breathing and my heart pounding but it was shouting words at me. “Don’t” and “Come”. The words were different voices. Like it had no real voice. It either was from radio stations that it was able to pick up and understand or it listened to the victims to gather more information to understand human speech.I was close. I was so damn close. It kept spewing out words. “Do not go”. It wanted to eat me. To tear me apart and slurp up my guts like spaghetti. “Stay here”. I wasn’t going to stay and die. I had to live. I ran past the backpack as I was closer to my truck. I looked back to see it was far behind but still catching up to me. This thing would never stop. I run harder as I see the gate. In one big jump, I was able to hop over the metal gate and be right next to the car door. I opened it in such speed and force as I threw my flashlight and almost myself in. I slam the door and reached into my jacket pocket to pull out the key. I grab and quickly slide the metal key into the ignition and turned it to start the engine. Within seconds I heard the car purring and in a mere couple of seconds I put my foot down on the gas pedal and my car went forward. I drove without ever looking back. I can still hear those voices. That loud alarm. That horrific creature. I still can see it. Can hear it. The back of my brain will always have me remember that monster. Something that will never go away as the years pass. It will haunt me forever in my broken and terrified mind. (Case #19-9-18-5-14) Report: Forest Ranger having to be in his older 30s rushed into police station at around 10:13 PM. Acting hysterical with his body shaking and looking out of the windows most of the time as officers got him to calm down. Saying a creature in the woods had chased him. Tall as a telephone pole with the head being of a siren. After roughly thirty minutes, we drove him off to his home where he exclaimed he would do an interview tomorrow for the sake of the ‘Missing People’ (See Case #8-5-1-4 for more detail) At around 10:30 AM he came down to be interviewed to give more information of what he witnessed yesterday evening (See the ‘Witness Report’ from the Forest Ranger). After about a two hour interview with the Forest Ranger we were able to get him to show us ‘Pine Ridge Hiking Trail’. He did show some hesitation until we were able to persuade him by offering more officers to the scene. He stated ‘With bigger numbers, the creature might just stay far away.” At the crime scene at the ‘Pine Ridge Hiking Trail’ several officers were able to find the clues and pieces told from the Forest Ranger’s story. We took the blood samples of the blood we discovered and some tissue samples from the torn apart body the Forest Ranger had discovered yesterday. A day later at around 1:54 PM the forensic lab was able to confirm that the blood samples and tissue samples do belong to the people in the  ‘Missing People’  case, but also to the person the Forest Ranger was looking for. ( See the Update for Case #8-5-1-4 to see the listed names.) The Forest Ranger was able to provide multiple alibis: - Video surveillance with a timestamp of when the hiker had appeared and seemed to be missing and the time the Forest Ranger had appeared after getting contacted by another Forest Ranger. - Other Forest Rangers were able to show proof as they had recorded audio of him speaking into their radio dispatch of the report of the creature and to not let anyone near the woods. -Gargled audio from the video camera planted by the “Pine Ridge Hiking Trail” sign of the sound of a weather alert system going off as the Forest Ranger had said in the interview. -Pieces of the cloth and of the hoodie showed no DNA of the Forest Ranger’s finger prints. We do know the backpack has the fingerprints of the Forest Ranger, but since he had admitted in the interview he did opened and looked into the bag to see if the hiker had planned to camp out the trail, there is nothing more to further add him as a suspect. -The Forest Ranger was submitted a urine test before he was sent home yesterday night to see if he was under the influence of drugs. The urine had shown that he had no drugs in his system. -The Forest Ranger was also able to give us his medical records to prove to us that he was not acting crazy nor has any mental problems. His medical records show of a clean bill of health which was last checked several days ago. Due to the witnesses and alibi’s, we had to remove the Forest Ranger off the suspect list for now. (Additional Note #1: The blood from the Forensic Lab appeared to be weeks old. The only type of somewhat fresh blood was from the hiker the Forest Ranger was sent to find) (Additional Note #2: The Forest Ranger had exclaimed that he does not want his name to be mentioned nor said in either news coverage or reports. Due to the evidence showing that he was not the culprit of the crime scene and because of how well known he is in town we had respected his command and kept his identity private until further evidence list him as a main suspect.) (Additional Note#3: During the time at the crime scene many officers had reported hearing a faint ‘white noise’ coming from the woods. Several officers checked but saw nothing that could be making the noise. The Forest Ranger explained after the officers and detectives finished up the crime scene that the creature could most likely be asleep.  White Noise is a type of sound that is combined with different sound frequencies together. It is known to help people sleep.)

(Credits)

-Siren Head was created and belongs to Trevor Henderson  https://twitter.com/slimyswampghost Also on Tumblr @slimyswampghost -This story was based on the Siren Head short game  https://modus-interactive.itch.io/siren-head

[postmastered]

I Was An Island

Words: 1653

Warnings: Cursing

A/N: i think this counts as a songfic but who gives a hecc 

Cole watched from the window of his school as the other dweebs that went to his school fled home for the day, only to return tomorrow. The window was open, luckily, and Charles, his best friend, was the last person waiting to go home. Like always. He yelled, “Hey, nerd!” and Charles, being the scaredy cat he was, jumped, turning around quickly.

“For Tesla’s sake, Cole! You almost gave me a heart attack!” Said nerd snapped at him from the gate.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Oh, very mature. Go bother your dumbass jock of a crush so he can-“

“Ooooookayyyy, no more from you, go home and shove your snake up your ass!”

“Tch. I’ll do that when MCR gets back together.”

“OH, YOU BITCH-”

“Charles!” His and Cole’s attention turned to Kat, Charles’ parent. He waved goodbye to Cole, who promptly flipped him off, yelling “That was for Gerard Way!” He watched as Charles walked home, chattering idly with Kat. They insisted on walking with Charles for fear he’ll get hurt if he did that on his own, but their house was around a block away, and they did like talking while they walked home. He eventually dipped back into the school as the two figures got smaller and smaller, shutting the window and roaming the very empty halls. It was a crisp September afternoon, tree leaves turning orange and brown, blowing through the chilly wind. Cole was wearing a scarf and a black coat, walking through beams of setting sunlight, eventually arriving at the auditorium doors.

He, an art club member, was asked very nicely by the drama club and theatre kids, specifically the leader of the drama club.

Adam Adams. 17-year-old senior, Adam. A whole seven inches taller than him, Adam. Stood in front of him, pouting and pleading with him to “Pleaaaaaaase help us paint the sets? Please?” He was adamant (heh) to say no to any other members who asked, but… he couldn’t say no to Adam. His one weakness. So here he was, standing in front of the auditorium, clutching his supplies.

Great.

He walked in, he had a job to do, after all. He shambled onto the stage, moving towards the mostly blank, save for a few sketches he did during school hours, sets. Setting his own personal playlist to shuffle, he plopped his stuff on the ground, taking out his painting stuff and sweeping his brush along the unfinished background.

Once he realized which song it was, he smirked. Gee, that’s fitting. He thought to himself. It was “I Was An Island” by Allison Weiss. He often admired her. Reminded him a pinch of someone he knew. He turned, taking a glance at the empty auditorium.

Come on, Cole, you know there’s no one here. It’ll be just like when you’re at home alone, singing into a hairbrush. Deep breaths, Noir. Deep breaths, edgy last name. Deep breaths, equally edgy first name.

He took a breath, merely saying “Yo” as a test to see the echo of the auditorium. Huh. Fun. Anyway, right, fun, he should be having that.

He took a breath, as he’d promised himself, and sung.

I was an island.

He paused for a moment, just in astonishment that his voice sounded… nice? He giggled a bit, oh, this’ll be fun. He didn’t try too hard at home, just set on dicking around. But doing this for real, less for funsies? The. Best.

Before you came along.

Put your boat in my sand, hand in my hand, heart in my song.

Cole stopped, suddenly. Did… did he hear something? No, he didn’t. He glanced at the doors. Shut. He looked around backstage, as far as he could see just from front and center. He heard a creak. His gaze spanned across the seats, eventually back down to his feet. He pressed his foot down onto the hardwood floor. It creaked. “Well, that explains things.”

I was a fighter.

And I was so, brave.

But I lowered my sword, when you held me and swore, you’d stay, stay, stay…

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Adam was staying late after school to practice football with his younger sister, but eventually she had to go back home, but he decided he might hang around for a little while longer. The hallways did look a lot cooler at sunset. Of course, he was given permission to stay. He sprinted through empty halls, doodled cute little messages on chalkboards for teachers he liked. He decided he might go over to the auditorium. His favorite room in the school. He reached for the doorknob, but heard a sound from inside. A fiend, perhaps?!

He pushed the door open just wide enough for him to slip through, dashing to hide in the shadows so the monster who was hiding here wouldn-

Oh.

There was… just a kid. A short one. With black hair and a striped hoodie.

Wait.

He knows that guy. That’s the guy who he asked to help with th-

O h .

The kid was singing. And it was… oh gosh. He’s so gay, oh golly. He stood up a little taller. He wanted to go up on that stage, tell that kid that he’s incredible, that he likes his haircut, and if he wanted to go get some slushies sometime, but… he stayed. He didn’t move. He was mesmerized.

He watched as the kid waltzed around the stage, occasionally running a hand through his hair.

Now that, that was a pretty sight.

Adam hadn’t moved a muscle since he got there. That is, until the kid turned around, looking at the seats nervously, to Adam’s surprise. He ducked down, hiding from view.

He waited until the kid kept going, Adam stepping closer to the stage with each line. He eventually got two rows away. Just two rows of seats away.

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Cole didn’t look behind him once after the first time. He just kept painting and singing, occasionally stepping back and admiring his work. Once he knew he was getting to the ‘good part’, he whirled around, moving closer to the front of the stage. He shut his eyes, still singing, but his movements had more passion, more drama.

I can’t do this alone anymore.

‘Cause I’m no good on my own anymore.

What did I do to deserve this?

What did you do to me?

Baby come back.

You know I don’t wanna be free.

Oh, baby come back.

You know I don’t wanna be free.

No, no, no.

Oh, baby come back.

You know I don’t wanna be free.

He opened his eyes as the song ended, eventually smiling and laughing and turning back to his canvas to keep working. And that’s when he heard clapping.

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Adam kept listening to the kid until he was done. He was right in front of the first row of seats.

His voice was angelic, truly. He recognized the song, he knew how it went, and the kid’s voice fit the song, but he added something to the song that made it… better? More special? He couldn’t pinpoint it, but all he knew was that this kid was gorgeous, his voice was gorgeous, and Adam was very gay.

He snapped out of his little trance once he realized the kid had finished. He ducked down before the kid could see him when he went back to his work. Eventually Adam stood back up, clapping. The kid turned around, startled to high hell. He was spooked, that was for sure. He stuttered with his words, trying to make a sense of things.

“I.. uh.. wh- Who are you?” Cole watched Adam walk up the stage stairs, eventually coming face-to-face with him. Well, it was more like face to chest. Cole and Adam just stared at each other for a moment.

“Uh.. Hello?”

“Oh! Right, I’m sorry, I just happened to be parading through the halls recklessly and heard something in the auditorium. I thought there was an evildoer in our beloved school. But it was just you. Your singing is lovely, by the way.”

Cole’s face flushed. Okay, what?! No, he’s either dreaming or dead. Wouldn’t be surprising if he was dreaming about this, in all honesty. “Uhh… What?”

“I said, Cole Noir, that your singing is lovely.” Adam held Cole’s hands in his. The other practically shrunk under his gaze.

“HAHA YEAH COOL THANKS BRO REAL NICE OF YOU!” Cole frantically tried looking away from Adam’s stupid face that had to be stupid attractive and his stupid hair and his stupid warm hands and his stupid everything. He tried his best to pretend he was straight, but his skills were rusty. Adam wasn’t buying it.

Adam laughed a bit at his reaction. “Tell you what, if you’re straight-“ He placed a little note into Cole’s palm. “You can ignore this happened, and we can never speak of this again. Or, if you’re not… you can let me take you out? On a date? Please?”

Cole felt like all his blood had rushed to his face. He stared at the paper in his hands, then looked up at Adam. “Uhhhh…..”

Adam slapped him on the shoulder, almost making Cole fall over. “See you around, sunshine!” Cole watched, not having moved a muscle as Adam walked out of the auditorium.

“O.. Okay?” But he was already gone. Cole glanced once more at the sticky note in his palm. Eventually, he broke out into giddy laughter. His! Crush! Asked! Him! Out! He stuffed the paper in his pocket, smiling as he picked up his things and left the auditorium, Adam long gone, already gushing to Skylar about the occurrences of that day. Cole practically ran home, seeing his mom’s car in their driveway for once. He dashed straight through the door, immediately gushing to his mother about Adam. She rolled her eyes, still delighted to see her son so happy.