#I hate how several things were shaded and I probably forgot something

[celesomnis]

Finally got around to completing this

woo first twst fanart!

{ concept art by eyvind earle }

[imnotwolverine]

Wildland

Kilts’N’Romance one-shot: NSFW, stealing, chasing, reference to abuse and a smidge of smut

Wordcount: 1.879 (7 minutes reading) 

I should have never gone,  to where the wild ones live. 

Darkness was falling and the damp had started to crawl back up from the cool tall grass. It was cold, and yet I felt hot. Cheeks flushed with exertion and anticipation. My heart was racing now I knew that the beast was chasing me. Searching me. The only between us, being a man high boulder that was cold and mossy beneath my fingertips.  

I could hear his ragged breath and annoyed curses. I could hear his heavy feet mulling through the tall wet grass blades. And I could just about smell him. This strange beast. Wild one. His nose now probably up in the air, sniffing me back. Would he find me? The thought made my heart gallop even faster. 

‘Oh wee one..’ He breathed. 

I bolted. 

There was a curse in my heart and on his lips as I abandoned my refuge. And all I could do was run. Run as fast as the soaked skirts around my legs would carry me. I had always hated these skirts, and yet it seemed there was a chance that I would, I could, maybe… 

‘STOP!’ He called, feet thundering in pursuit. ‘Oi! STOP!’ 

I ran and ran as I heard his booming voice behind me. The sound covering all the way to the trees that wrapped around this grassy meadow. They would be my chance of escaping, dusk covering me if only I could be fast enough. Agile enough. Swift as a deer in flight. 

A large object crashed into my back and there I was. Smashed into the grass that now suffocated me, green blades cold, wet and sharp against my clammy skin.  

‘Ah…’ He breathed out of breath. ‘You..Naughty lass..’ 

I wiggled and fought but there was no way to move this lug of a man. One large leg was all it required to keep me pinned down and helpless in the sharp grass. 

‘Think you can steal from a man?’ His voice came closer and I found his face now inches from mine. ‘From me?’

There was a tinge of blue in the eyes that hid behind his dark mane and scruffy chin. And lest my eyes not betray me, he was not quite as angry as he had appeared moments earlier. His sharp jaw clenched as our eyes met and a quiet moment passed.

‘I’m sorry.’ I finally managed, heart racing for a confusing mix of things. I forgot for a moment how wet and cold and uncomfortable I was in this darkening meadow. I forgot how severe this situation probably truly was. I had been caught stealing some of his provisions. This wild one. And it took no fool to realize that there was no escape. 

His blue eyes darkened. 

‘Sorry won’t do.’ 

Our eyes met again, though this time his eyes trailed down the rest of my face unapologetically. All the way to the caress of my breasts against my corset. He looked back up. 

‘I was just hungry.’ I tried to wiggle from under his leg, but it didn’t work. He only pinned me down harder, his other leg now swinging around until he sat atop my hip, hands working up the curve of my clothed spine. Even there the dampness had come, bringing with it a cold, cold shiver. 

‘Could have asked.’ His hand found the back of my neck and I let out a soft gasp. His hands were delightfully warm and gentle as they trailed up through my hair. 

‘Please.’ I begged. 

‘Please what me lass?’ 

‘I’ll do anything.’ 

That made him chuckle, his hand leaving a quickly cooling spot on my neck. ‘Whatsa wee one even doing in these lands? Can’t really go ‘round stealing and begging, no?’ He swung his legs back over and before I knew it his departing bodyweight left me cold and stunned. Did he just let me go? With confusion in my eyes I looked up, hands pressing up to get out of the grass. 

He was walking back to his camp. 

‘Hey..!’ I stood up and watched his broad back silhouetted by the campfire that was burning a little distance away. He didn’t look back. 

‘Hey! You can’t just..’ I felt a shiver run up my spine as I realised what a predicament I was in. Beneath the soaked layers of my skirts, the stolen piece of bread had gone fully soaked. It was hardly a meal at all. And as I felt the bread disintegrate beneath my fingertips, I watched as the man casually sauntered back to his fire. His warmth. His food. His everything-I-had-left-behind as I had run from my husband. 

He could have harmed me. Beaten me. Raped me. But despite all the right reasons to do so, he was nothing like the man I had left behind this morning. He just walked. He. Just. Left. 

Without thinking I found my feet moving. Not away as I probably should have. As I probably should have never come to these barren lands. No, I continued deeper onto the path of trouble. I followed the trails to where the wild ones live. For somehow this seemed more welcoming than returning would. 

He finally turned around, his face now hidden in the darkness. The orange flames behind him cast his silhouette in a warm glow. 

‘Coming to steal again?’ 

My breath choked and I quickly shook my head, tongue flicking nervously over my lips. Was he angry with me? I wasn’t sure. He turned back around and finally settled by the fire. 

I followed. 

‘Wait.’ He said before I sat down by the fire as well. I halted and felt the nerves crawl back up my spine again. Any moment could be my last, lest I not play my cards carefully. I looked at his feet in obedience and waited. 

He sighed. ‘Gods be the devil, what is it with ye lass? You’ll sit in the smoke.’ He gestured to where I had thought to settle down and finally I dared to look up. If there was any devil in this man, it was the kindest devil yet. I sighed in quiet relief and smiled a little. 

‘Sorry.’ 

‘And you stop that too.’ He patted a spot right between the outstretched legs that appeared from beneath his kilt. I sat down there, eyes still hesitating to look him straight in the eye. Was this a smart thing to do? Probably not. Did I want to? I probably did. My heart started racing again as I felt the heat that came radiating off him and the fire before me. 

‘What if I don’t want to?’ I whispered. 

He laughed. ‘What a way, what a way. One moment a spirit steals my old bread, next I have a lass in ‘tween me legs.’ 

I finally dared to turn and look him straight in the eye. He was grinning cockily and I felt my tongue go sharp. ‘Well you better enjoy it!’ 

‘I am..’ His grin smouldered down to a charming smirk. 

‘You are?’ I teased, feeling emboldened as I turned a little way more to get a better look at him. Behind all the grime and disheveled hair set a good looking man with a dimpled chin and sparkling eyes. 

He shrugged. 

‘So you gonn’ be a-staying then little spirit?’ 

‘Maybe.’ 

He raised a challenging eyebrow.  

‘What?’ I asked. 

He laughed and shook his head. ‘You must know that the fire don’t kindle itself.’ 

And as he said so something moved beneath the layered pleats of his kilt. A dragging little thing that moved between his legs. I breathed in cautiously and looked back up, his eyes now a good shade darker. 

‘So I can..’ I brushed a hand up and beneath his kilt. His muscular thigh clenched beneath my cold fingers. ‘..stay?’ 

He licked his lips and it was clear it took great effort to calm himself. With a breathy laugh he looked up at the sky as my hand travelled further up his leg. 

‘Oh lass… monsters live ‘ere.’ His words cut short as my other hand copied the snaking caress on his other thigh. 

‘Mm?’ 

He licked his lips again and kept his eyes up at the sky. ‘Big ones.’ 

‘Dangerous ones?’ 

He looked down and back at me. The light of the flames danced over his features, setting him in a beautiful orange golden light. 

‘Only when they need be.’ 

Both my hands were now at the tops of his thighs, hiking up his kilt until there was little modesty left. 

‘Ah fek it.’ He growled and in a lunging assault I was smacked into the ground again. This time no cold hard grass, but a warm bit of sandy earth. Along with the assault came lips. Perfectly supple and wet against my neck and chin. And then there were hands that wandered, mimicking the way my hands had travelled up his legs. 

I gasped and moaned as there was suddenly warmth everywhere. The sensation of my cold and soaked clothes was swiftly forgotten, making place for a heavy musky scent that infiltrated my nostrils. This man smelled of the earth, sweat, rain. Not of alcohol and abuse. There was no pain in the way he touched me. Even if bounded on something animalistic as he growled into the softness of my skin. 

‘Better warm up this cold lass.’ He mumbled in between open mouthed kisses, his lips now finally moving up to my face. First to my ear, then my cheek, all the way up to my nose, where he rested his forehead for a little while, breathing in raggedly as one of his hands cupped around my face. 

‘You want this then?’ His voice had become hoarse. 

I gasped as I felt his legs shift between mine, realising now how he had settled himself down for more. 

‘Tell me no.’ He said out of breath. 

‘Yes. Yes please.’ I gasped.

He pushed himself back a little so he could look me in the eye. The flames danced ever more wildly over his face from this angle. Smouldering fire burned in the darkness of his once blue eyes and I did what good women shouldn’t. 

I kissed the wild one. 

What followed was warm lips and bumping noses and awkward hands that fumbled with damp wool skirts. What followed also, was his toothy smile as he looked down upon me, admiring me in a way men didn’t do often. 

‘Yes?’ He asked. 

I nodded and breathed out, laughing softly. ‘Ye--’ 

Something prodded itself against my apex. ‘Ah!’ I gasped, but before I could scream at this intrusion, his lips moulded around mine. He took my breath in a most star strikingly slow pace. And as his kisses sweetened, his cock pierced. Deep and wide and stretching he slowly coaxed me to welcome him whole. To welcome the wilderness that coursed through his veins. That burned in his warm fingertips.

I realised then as I opened my eyes and looked up at the sky. That there’s a reason why you should never go to where the wild ones live. A single star appeared from between the coal black clouds and I smiled. 

I should have never gone. For it makes a wild one of me too.

--

Author’s note: Henry in a kilt. Henry in a kilt. I repeat. Henry. In. A. Kilt. 

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[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Part 2

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn warnings: lots of swear words, tsukki being a a closet softie wc: 6k (lol no chill as always)

[a/n]

Sorry for the delayed update. I added almost 1k words just to solidify the characters to give depth even more to the story. Feel free to reread. (It's totally not because I started a different series altogether.)

When I say this is slow burn, I meant sloooooooowww burn. 

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist. :)

AO3 

Part 1 || Part 3 || masterlist

What were you even thinking? Actually,  why weren’t you? Had you used at least two brain cells of yours, you wouldn’t have momentarily lost your mind and kissed Tsukishima. You could’ve justified your actions if you were drunk, but you ingested not even an ounce of alcohol that night.

History will remember yesterday as the day a a sober you and a very displeased Tsukishima who found yourselves smooching publicly in the middle of a club. You’re just glad that no other member of the team goes to the same university you both go to. Else, you'd run the risk of getting seen.

Were so touch-deprived that you couldn’t resist even Tsukishima? And what about him? Why did he get along with it? You don’t think he actually hates you. Hate is such a strong word. He just exceedingly dislikes you. So why would he make out with you? Maybe he thought of it as a way of finally standing up to you?

Ugh.

You’re thankful that you didn’t have training yesterday. You were a mess the whole day trying to make sense of what happened. Not that you’re any better today; you’re still baffled as fuck. But you’re glad you had that day off so you wouldn’t have to face him immediately. 

For the first time ever, you’re dreading going to the gym. Even if you’re tired or you lack sleep, you’ve never felt distressed as the manager of the Sendai Frogs. All this because of Tsukishima. But can you really put the blame on him when it was you who initiated it?

“Good morning, y/n,” Eiji, the captain of the team greets you.

“Morning, Eiji,” you say back. Even though he’s older than you, you dropped the salutations already, same with everybody else. 

“You okay?” he asks worriedly. 

“Oh! Yeah, absolutely! When am I ever not okay?” You toughen it up and erase the troublesome kiss in your head. You are their ever shining manager, first and foremost. Anything outside of that has no place in this gym. 

“Never. It’s almost scary actually,” he answers with jest.

“Right? ‘Cause I’m a freaking goddess.”

He gives you a noble bow. “Indeed, you are, my lady.”

You giggle softly. Your players really are the best on and off the court (except for Tsukishima). “Go do your drills instead of buttering me up, ‘captain.’” He gives you a mock salute then jogs off towards the net. 

“Y/n!”

You saunter off to your coach after you were called. “Yes, Coach?”

“Can you help tape the blockers?” You nod willingly, quickly discarding unnecessary thoughts of Tsukishima. 

“Tsukishima’s free. Go start with him.”

You almost flinch upon hearing his name.

‘Great,’ you groan internally as you get the wrap from your kit and drag your feet toward the source of your uneasiness. But what did you expect? Of course, you’d have to deal with him sooner or later.

“Morning, Tsukishima,” you greet him with forced normalcy, acting like nothing’s wrong. As you take his left hand and you’re instantly reminded of what happened the other night -- how this hand gripped your waist while his mouth moved against yours… how his skin felt against the palm of your hand as he towered over you, body against body in a dance so dangerous and so hypnotizing that you lost yourself in the moment.

You tried your best to calm down yesterday, but seeing him right now makes you want to smack yourself from your momentary insanity that led you to kiss him.

Instead, you give him the nicest, brightest smile to channel your frustrations as you start taping his fingers. You just hope and pray that he doesn’t bring it up.

“Morning,  manager .” It was an indirect jab at you. Even when he says it with a dead tone, you know he’s taunting you by addressing you as manager - a tortuous reminder that what happened last Saturday night wasn’t forgotten.

Instead of yielding to the provocation, you respond with your own. You might have messed up, but you’re not letting him get the upper hand. “How was your weekend, Tsukki?” 

“Horrible,” he quickly answers without even thinking.

“Ditto. What happened to yours?” you ask with fake curiosity, already knowing why. Even if you didn’t kiss him then, he was already acting up like an angsty teen forced by his mom to attend a children’s party within the neighborhood.

“Went to a disgusting party.”

You nod pretentiously. “Mine’s horrible too. I got g-”

“I didn’t ask,” he interrupts.

“Well, you’re still going to hear it,” you respond just as distastefully as he cut you off. “I got groped by some perv, but I kinda punched some good manners unto him.” You release his left hand and take his right one to tape it as well. 

“And?” He asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “That’s it. After that, I just went home from how  horrible  the experience was.”

You look up to him, meeting his sardonic gaze paired with a raised eyebrow from what you just said. You know that he understood that you were referring to something else other than the perv incident as horrible.

“How about you? What happened to that disgusting party of yours?” you press on.

“I bumped into someone I didn’t really want to see.”

“And?”

“Do you really wanna know how horrible it was for me?” A smirk creeps up on the corner of his mouth as he asks. There were many times before that you’ve wanted a taste of Tsukishima’s vile sarcasm, just to know what he’d say to you. Today is not one of those times. You don’t want him using that reckless kiss against you. 

“Actually, no. I don’t really care.” You let go of his hand you just finished working with and look around to look for anyone you could use as a distraction from Tsukishima’s attempt to retell the kiss from his perspective.

“Kogane!” you brightly call the setter as you bounce cheerfully towards him. 

Even if you don’t show it, Tsukishima knows he’s gotten under your previously impenetrable thick skin. He detests what happened last Saturday. The more he remembers it, the more he abhors it. The only reason he’s not totally hating himself for getting swept along with your shit is because he knows you hated it too, probably more than he does since it was you who kissed him first.

His smug grin only spreads when you march to Kogane with that cutesy act you only show to players from opposing teams to unsettle them before matches. You take both Kogane’s hands and beam at him. “Do you want me to tape your fingers?”

“Y-you don’t have to, y/n. I can do it myself!” Kogane blurts out, panicking at your sudden closeness and physical touch.

“But I love taking care of you guys,” you pout at Kogane, which only makes the setter blush a shade almost close to red.

Tsukishima follows you to help his babbling, flustered teammate.

“You’re going to kill him, y/n,” he says as he passes by you and Kogane who now looks like he stopped functioning.

You blink at Kogane, realizing what you’re doing to the poor guy.

You must have been really bothered by Tsukishima and unknowingly projected it to someone else.

Tsukishima sneers as he sees you try to ease Kogane from his severe fluster but only make it worse by rubbing his shoulders. 

A dash of pride and satisfaction swells on Tsukishima’s chest as he watches you get agitated with the situation you, yourself caused. Getting back at you feels even better than he imagined it would be. 

--

Even though you and Tsukishima are in the same class, you don’t really notice his presence. Sometimes you’d even forget you’re classmates. Now, though, you are more aware of the fact that he’s actually there than you ever have.

“Alright, class. For your main project this semester, I’m going to have you partnered up. You need to come up with a comprehensive report on mating behavior of reptiles. I’ll randomly generate your assigned reptile.”

You groan. Another collaborative work in the same subject. You don’t like working with others because you don’t want to adapt to anyone’s schedule. You like to get things done ahead of time. You hate procrastinating because you don’t want your uni requirements getting mixed up with potential tasks from your managerial job, especially whenever tournament seasons come. 

The last collaborative work you worked on is a group project where you did most of the work yourself. You wouldn’t have minded if you didn’t have fucking freeloaders as groupmates.  The little shits made you do 90% of the project because you wanted it done early.

You just pray that this time, you get to be paired with someone responsible. You tap your pen on your desk while you wait for your name to be called.

“L/n and Tsukishima.”

You drop your pen at your professor’s announcement. It bounces twice on your desk before rolling to the floor, but you don’t move to pick it up. Your gaze immediately flies to where Tsukishima is seated and find him glaring at you already. You almost want to laugh at how ridiculous this entire situation is.

Seriously? Were you a serial killer in your previous life or something? Did some higher power decide to punish you for your grave sins like this? 

Whatever. You’re not having any of this shit. 

You wait until the class is over and approach your professor. “Sir. I’d like to do this project alone.” Or at least with someone else. 

He continues to type something on his laptop, not bothering to look up at you, as he asks, “Why is that?”

“I just feel more comfortable doing things on my own, Sir. Please.” You try to give him your nice student smile but his eyes don't leave his screen.

“Then what? Have you increase my workload?”

Shit. You forgot that this particular professor of yours is known to not budge to anyone. You scramble your brain for another excuse.

“Sir. Can I do this project alone?” you suddenly hear Tsukihima’s voice behind you.

Finally, your professor closes his laptop and eyes you two unenthusiastically. “My answer is no to miss Y/n, so my answer to you, Mr. Tsukishima, is also no. I don’t know what the deal is between you two, but you’re doing this together.”

You can’t help but scowl despite being right in front of your professor. If it wasn’t for that darn kiss, you would’ve loved working with Tsukishima. Even though you don’t have the same classes, his schedule won’t be that hard to match up with because you two have the same training days. Secondly, he’s smart. You won’t have to carry the whole weight of the project. 

“You know what, I’ll reconsider.” A glimmer of hope lights up in your chest as you hear your professor’s words. “I’ll allow you two to work individually — but with an automatic ten point deduction for this project.”

“No,” you and Tsukishima respond at the same time. 

“Great! You’re already getting along swimmingly.” Your professor picks up his stuff and stands up. “Enjoy,” he waves a dismissive goodbye and leaves.

You slowly turn around to face Tsukishima and find that you share the same lour that he has. You cross your arms and lean on your professor’s desk. “Guess we’re together, Tsukishima.” 

--

You allowed yourself one week to compose yourself before you agreed to start the project with Tsukishima. You still saw him at training days, and even then, you tried to have the least amount of interaction with him so the ‘incident’ wouldn’t be brought up again. Meeting him for a project where it’s just you two is different and you needed time.

As much as you don’t want to be with him, you told yourself that it’ll be over soon. You just pushed the kiss in the back of your head and convinced yourself that it was just a stupid kiss. It didn’t mean anything. He probably just went along with it out of spite, so it’s best you think of it as a spur of the moment madness. That way, you won’t be bothered if he sordidly brings it up again. At least now, you can go back to your usual, cheeky self around him.

You’re about to text Tsukishima that you’ve arrived at the station you agreed to meet up at but you already see him there standing while he’s scrolling his phone with his usual white headphones on.

Unfortunately for you and him, the reptile assigned to you two are crocodiles. It’s the worst possible assignment you could get among the roster of reptiles assigned. You need to travel all the way to Wakabayashi for a legitimate crocodile farm to observe, compared to other reptiles which are easily accessible with nearby zoos in Miyagi. You just pray that you’ll only need this one trip to get all the data you need for your report.

You walk towards him and instantly regard how he looks. Despite being in the same university, you don’t see him around much. Even in your sole class together, you’re seated way too apart from each other to even look at each other’s direction. Not that being seated beside each other would’ve made a difference. You’re not friends. There’s no need to talk to him since everything that’s volleyball-related is relayed through line. To you, he’s just one of your players. As far as you’re concerned, the only Tsukishima you’re aware of is the one sweating his white shirt and training shorts during practice. 

To have this much involvement with him outside the gym is throwing you out of your usual loop. You continue studying him at a distance. Today he’s wearing white plaid pants, black turtleneck (probably long sleeves) with a lighter shade of black coat on top, and a brown wool scarf. He also has a gray bonnet that makes his blonde locks frame his face nicely. 

What the heck? Did he always dress like this even in class? How come you never noticed? 

He finally notices you. He puts down his phone and removes his headphones. “How long have you been there?”

“Wow, Tsukishima. You look kinda hot,” you blurt out without thinking.

His eyes expand at your statement that came out of nowhere. “Huh?!”

“Oh, sorry. That must’ve been random. But you look really good though. I kinda feel like I’m meeting a date,” you say with objective candor as you continue to stare at him. 

That catches him completely off guard. The other day you’re on the edge around him. You weren’t even paying much attention to him during training, but now you’re back to being a headache whose mouth knows no bounds as you faze him with your unfiltered thoughts. Now, it’s him who is uncomfortable again with your thorough eyes scanning him approvingly. 

“As if I’d ever date you,” he snaps back at your remark to which you scoff at.

“I didn’t say you would. Maybe you’re forgetting, I’d never go out with a member of the team.”

“Right. But kissing one is totally fine, huh?” he retaliates in an instant with a condescending look. He waits for your reaction, eager to see you distraught and bothered by it. To his dissatisfaction, you don’t behave in such a way. Instead, you sigh defeatedly.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I got a little crazy that night,” you say casually to a degree that you sounded like it was just a petty accident. “You kissed me back, so I’m sure you were too. Right?” 

The last word is conniving, and he can tell why you phrased it that way. You’re leaving him no choice but to disregard what happened or else it’s going to seem like it meant something to him. The hell it does. It simply resurfaces back on his mind sometimes because of how unpleasant the memory is. 

‘Devious woman,’ he snarls in his head.

It should be okay. Your reason for what you did can also be his excuse for how responded to it. What he didn’t like is that he hasn’t even managed to make the most out of that incident, while you immediately found a way to undo the grave you dug for him to bury you into.

Plus, the only advantage he sees out of partnering with you for this project is the possibility of being able to pester you the way you pester him during practice. Obviously, that’s already thrown off the window. Now, there’s nothing in it for him for the duration of the project. He is left with nothing but the fact that he has to endure your company. To think that he’s already so miserable when this afternoon has barely even started.

“Yeah,” he answers with contained resentment. “Can we go on the bus now?” He asks to deviate away from the topic already. He was hoping he could still use the incident to unnerve you, but it’s for naught now. 

He enters the bus first and assumes you’ll follow him, which you do as you take your seat beside him. You get your shoulder bag and take out a notebook.

“Can you take a look at this outline I made for our report?” you ask while you hand him your notebook opened at a certain page.

“I can’t read while the bus is moving,” he says then waits for a lame comeback from you. But you don’t comment about it. Why must you keep on being such a wildcard?

“Ah, okay. I’ll just tell it to you then,” you smile at him. “This trip is going to take long. It’d be a waste of time to not make use of it, right?”

He groans internally. Why must you be right all the fucking time?

He also made an outline last night, but he didn’t tell you because he thought it’d be better if he just did the data-gathering himself and let you take the pictures the report should have. He forgot that you’re not as irresponsible and carefree as you present yourself to be.

He listens to you explain your outline, looking for flaws in it for the sake of his grade and also for his self-satisfaction. And he does find a few.

“You should have separate discussion points for mating characteristics for male and females. I’m sure they have distinct traits. Also, I think we should include more than just one species, preferably three if the farm has it.” He continues, “Maybe we can note certain unique behaviors per species. It would be inconclusive, but it would still be nice to include it as a commentary.”

He hopes to extract even just a tiny hint of embarrassment from you for he’s thought of it better than you did. But you just stare at him for a good few seconds before you break into a dazzled smile.

“Oh my God. Yeah, you’re absolutely right!”

You open your notebook and scribble the changes in your drafted outline. “Is there anything else?” You consult him genuinely. You accept his criticisms with an open mind, which vexes him even more. 

“Nothing,” he grumbles.

“Alright. Let’s just revise it again once we see what’s on the farm.”

He doesn’t bother replying anymore since you’re once again right.

He puts on his headphones again to drown out whatever chatter you plan to have with him since you’re done discussing the project for now. Instead of bugging him, you take out a bunch of readings and focus on them intently, completely ignoring him. 

With nothing to entertain him aside from the music on his ears, his peripheral keeps going back to you and how hard you’re concentrating with the papers in your one hand and a pen in the other. 

He removes one muff of his headphone from his ear and asks you, “Don’t you get motion sickness?”

You really must be into what you’re studying because you flinch when he speaks, causing you to drop your pen. 

He feels responsible for it so he leans down to pick it up, but you also do the same. As you both reach down to grab your pen, your temple collides with his. 

“Ow,” your fingers go to massage the spot, failing to notice as he does that your faces are too close for comfort. He watches you wince for a quick while before looking at him, finally realizing that he’s within a proximity familiar to you both. 

It’s reminiscent of that night except this time, the natural light affirms that it wasn’t just the ambiance of the club that made you attractive enough to pull him in and share that heinous kiss. With your well-lit features, he can see that you’re thinking about the same thing he is.

Your eyes fall on his lips and for some illogical reason, he does the same.

Like last time, you’re the first to act on it. The major difference is, instead of leaning in, you retreat. You sit up straight with your fingers still on the side of your head and smile graciously at him. “It’s fine, Tsukishima. I’ll get it,” you say, which he finds half-witted because he’s still bent down and he can already grasp the pen.

He sits back up and hands you your pen. You use the hand on your temple to get it.

“Oh, thanks.” You stare at the pen for a second, then tuck it in your pocket. “Anyways, yeah. I don’t have problems reading in a moving vehicle.”

You dive back to his question and disregard what just happened. It works for him. He’d rather not think about it as well. 

“Have you not seen me scrambling paperwork on our bus rides to and from tournaments?”

“No.” He prefers not to pay attention to you. Hell, he pretends you don’t exist when he can. So naturally, he doesn’t know what it is you do when you’re not being your pestering self. It pains him to admit it, but you do get shit done -- efficiently, too. He should be glad because at least, you won’t be like his previous groupmates.

Still, just you being … you, ticks him off.

You laugh out of nowhere. “For someone who doesn’t speak much, you’re so fucking transparent.”

He frowns, not being able to grasp what you meant.

“Okay, look. I like pissing you off. I really do. And you, you don’t like me a lot. But for this project. Can we pretend that I’m not your annoying manager and you’re not the nasty Tsukishima I know?” 

“How the fuck can I do that when we see each other almost everyday as such?”

You roll your eyes and smirk. “Right. What was I even thinking? Go ahead and be emo with your music over there while I study here, yeah?” You pat him on the shoulders twice with that patronizing grin you always give him before pulling your pen back from your pocket and focusing once more on your readings, completely paying no attention to him for the rest of the trip.

—

As soon as you reach the crocodile farm, Tsukishima suggests that you two roam the area separately to cover more ground. In reality, he just wanted to get rid of you even for just a few minutes. He needed a break from you.

He does so by taking his time strolling around the place, observing how the area is situated. It looks like a park with its vast lush green environment and man-made waters to habituate the crocodiles. There are four main areas: the museum, the hatchling house, the zoo, and the breeding pens. He first goes to the museum, looking at the skeletal structure of some crocodiles. It isn’t really significant to the project but he can’t help admire it.

When he realizes that he’s taking longer than he initially thought, he starts looking for you. He sends you a text, but you don’t reply. You had gone to the zoo’s direction so he assumes you’re somewhere around that area. 

When he does find you, you’re not alone.

There you are near a crocodile pen, getting friendly with a guy he’s sure you just met.

It’s so familiar. The only difference is that you’re not wearing the Frogs’ jacket and you’re not in the Sendai gymnasium. He walks towards your direction, not caring if he’s going to cut off your little chat. You’re there for the project, not to snag some random bozo.

As he closes in behind you, he hears your conversation.

“Actually, birds are more closely related to dinosaurs than crocodiles. You couldn’t tell, right?” you explain with zeal. 

Tsukishima stops in his tracks at the foreign feeling in his chest. Wait a minute. Is he actually impressed? Moreover, what the heck is he impressed for? You should know that. You are both in a higher herpetology class. Even though it hasn’t been discussed during lectures, it’s natural that you know that. However, the guy you’re talking with isn't as enthusiastic. 

“Can’t blame you though. Crocs and dinos share the same sexy vibe with those chill eyes and scaly skin. Also, look at those smokin webbed feet. Fucking work of art, dude. You feel me?” you press on fanatically.

The stranger looks at you with a forced smile, obviously weirded out by your ‘passionate’ description of the reptile. “Yeah, sure. I have to go now. Bye,” the guy bows and storms away from you. 

You turn your attention back to the lowered pen in front of you with a satisfied smile and shudder when you see Tsukishima already there beside you. 

“Gah! You scared me. Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask with your hand still on your chest.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you creeping out that stranger.”

You tither at his answer. “Glad you didn’t. It was fun seeing him all freaked out.” 

He finds it weird. He thought you just had an aversion towards athletes. That’s why you keep driving away anyone who’d approach you during matches. Apparently, that’s not the case.

“He looked like he’d follow you back to Miyagi if you didn’t go all freaky nerdy on him.” 

You jeer at his comment. “He could follow me to the ends of the Earth and I still wouldn’t give him my number. I’d rather date Mr. Crocodylus siamensis over here than boring dum dums blinded by how hot I am.” 

“Then why do you entertain them?” he follows up.

“Caaaauuusse it’s fun to see them squirm,” you declare cheerfully as you veer your gaze at him. “Why the sudden interest with the way I handle men, Tsukishima?”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your lips tugging up to form a playful smirk. “Don’t tell me you suddenly find me interesting?”

You really do know how to push the right buttons to provoke him. He grits his teeth from your audacity.

“I’m joking for fuck’s sake! My god. I already know that even if it’s just the two of us on this planet, and we’d have to procreate to restart the world population, you’d rather choose to doom humanity than have anything to do with me.”

Among all the correct things that came out of your mouth, that was the only thing he could verbally agree with. “Good you know,” he retorts. 

You don’t seem to take offense though. You still keep your unwavering smile as you get your phone out and take a picture of the Borneo crocodile. 

“Should we go see the breeding pens now?” you ask nonchalantly, dismissing the previous conversation like it was nothing. 

--

You both decide to hire a designated tour guide to assist you while you observe the crocodiles, particularly the ones for breeding. 

“Hi, Ms. l/n. I’m Sara and I will be your guide for today,” she introduced herself with a dedicated smile.

“I’m so thrilled that you and your boyfriend decided to learn more about crocodiles for your date,” she adds. 

You and Tsukishima glance at each other before turning back to her. 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” “He’s not my boyfriend.”

You both say simultaneously, except yours sounded like a friendly correction while his sounded like a dead announcement. 

“We’re just classmates for a project,” you correct her.

She bows apologetically with embarrassment and worry. “I’m so sorry for assuming that.”

“No worries, Sara,” you reassure her before Tsukishima says something unnecessary. “Can you lead us on the breeding pens? We’d like to observe the whole thing.” 

“Of course. Right this way.”

Aside from the mishap earlier, you find Sara competent at her job as she fills you in with details not included in the sign boards in the pens. She gives you information about the mating process that you didn’t find when you researched about the subject. You assume Tsukishima’s thinking the same because he doesn’t say anything out of the blue.

“By any chance, will we see a pair mating today?” he asks after a while.

“I’m not really sure, Mr. Tsukishima. It’s really up to the animals.”

You tug on Tsukishima’s sleeve when you catch sight of one crocodile latching himself on top of another.

“What?” he asks irritatedly, but follows your line of sight. 

“Oh, lucky. There you go.” Sara announces with a pleasant smile.

You get your phone and your notes. You multitask listening to Sara, taking photos, and scribbling notes on your paper pad. 

On the other hand, Tsukishima multitasks observing the crocodiles in action and observing you. 

You’re asking important questions to the guide while juggling other tasks. Yes, he doesn’t like you and loathes being partnered with you. However, that doesn't mean he won’t cooperate with you. He won’t mind if you ask him for help, but you seem to have even forgotten that he’s there. 

He grabs your phone from your hand, garnering a confused look from you.

“I’ll take the photos. You take down notes.”

You flash him an honest, grateful smile. “Thanks, Tsukishima.”

Then, you proceed with the things you’re doing more at ease. 

He can’t tell who he’s more pissed at, you or himself. Something about that display of productivity and wit unnerves him. It’s as if it’s telling him that his chagrin over you is unreasonable because you’re actually reliable when it counts. What’s worse is you’re completely oblivious to it. In fact, you’re almost ignoring him.

Goddamn it. What’s he doing? He’s completely distracted now from the project and is solely focused on you. He quickly shakes it off and calms himself down. His attention should be on the reptiles, not you.

He turns his attention back to the crocodiles, but the mating act only lasted a few minutes. After that, you both barrage Sara with an array of questions that she looked too overwhelmed by the end of your tour. 

You’ve covered almost everything for the day and it’s already around 6 in the evening when you get on a bus on the way back to Miyagi.

“That was fun!” you comment ardently with an abnormal shine on your face when you sit down on the bus on the way back. He wears his headphones on before you start a conversation he’s not willing to have. From his peripheral, he sees you turning to him and as he predicted, your mouth begins moving while you animatedly narrate words he could not hear. 

He’s already acting as if he can’t hear nor see you, but you still don’t stop. Knowing you, you will not stop until you make sure he notices you. He wearily removes his headphones only to see you not saying anything and only mouthing words with hand gestures. 

“Seriously?” He scowls at you. He’s already exhausted at having to deal with you even for just half a day, but you still have the energy to mess with him. 

You cover your mouth with your hand as you snicker but it erupts into a hoot of laughter shortly. You gasp ridiculously after you ride out your stupid amusement from poking at his patience. “Tsukki, I swear to God. You make the best faces,” you say while wiping away your joyous tears.

“Were you even going to say something worth listening to?” he questions sourly.

You study him then shake your head. “I think you’re tired, so let’s just discuss what we gathered next time. You can go ignore me now,” you tell him with an understanding smile despite the slight banter.

You tilt your body in his direction and hoist yourself up a bit to put his headphones back yourself like it’s no big deal.

You settle back into your seat while he stills on his seat, stunned with what you just did while you get your readings again and shrink to your own bubble. You don’t seem to make anything of it, so he doesn’t as well. It was very you to mindlessly get on anyone’s —  particularly his — personal space anyways.

He increases the volume of his headphones and tries to relax. Yet, his attention keeps swerving back at you every now and then. You’re really concentrating hard with your brows burrowed while you stare at your hand-outs. After a while, he notices you bobbing your head from the corners of his eyes.

He can tell you’re as tired as he is and trying hard to fight the sleep that’s taking over you. The bunch of papers you previously held are now clutched on your lap.

On the last bob of your head, you snap out of it. You blink repeatedly and return your eyes to your readings again. To no avail, you’re shutting down with your eyes fluttering when you try again. You look like you decided to give it a rest and put your papers back in your bag. You cross your arms and lean back to your seat. 

He feels relieved that you finally yield to your physical exhaustion. He doesn’t need an additional bullet point to his list of why he can’t fully hate you. Also, you won’t run your mouth at him if you’re asleep.

He feels the soft thump of your head on his shoulder. You probably did too as you suddenly bolt up and tell him ‘sorry' which he only understands based on how you mouthed the word. You lean back again and try to settle back to sleep. But when you start dozing off, you sway to the other side of your seat which is the aisle of the bus.

He grabs your shoulder to prevent you from tumbling down to the aisle. Your disoriented self looks around, alarmed at his sudden touch.

“Just fucking lean on me,” he spits out, irked that he has to say it out loud. It’s not like he pushed you away. You could’ve just stayed as you were and he would’ve turned a blind eye at it out of recognition of the effort you put in today. He’d just consider it one of those times that you do something annoying and he just ignores you as a response.

You regard him with dazed eyes. You open your mouth as if you’re about to say something but decide against it as you shut your eyes again and you let your head rest on his shoulder. But even then, your head still falls forward from time to time. He puts a hand on your forehead to settle you back on his shoulder and slides a bit downward on his seat to accommodate you. 

Jesus Christ, you can study in a moving vehicle but can’t even do a simple thing like sleep properly on it. Why does he even have to adjust for you?

He heaves furiously in contrast to your steady breathing, letting him know that you’re easing deeper to your sleep. 

He distracts himself by looking at the window, witnessing the unmoving dark sky and the changing scenery below. He lets out a sigh.

Maybe he should’ve just accepted the ten point deduction.

Part 1 || Part 3 || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged - pls check your settings?)

@ameliaxo @suikrem​​ @akaashisslave @tsumurai​​  @celestialarchiveshq​ @loving-unicorns106​ @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @berna-dette​ @just4readingfics​ @suteorra​ @xxekitten69xx​ @simp4tsukkii @music-is-all-i-need @keshinslittlegirl @raspberrysunshinebby @iminlovewhaikyuu @pdiddy11 @lightyagamami @sailorscout1902 @lovershaikyuu

[drmmyrs]

The Way I Loved You (Poppy x MC) Part 2

I want to make this a slow burn type of fic so I’ll just be giving crumbs for now 😅 I swear tho there’ll be more plot and action in the later parts.

tag list: @whackawriting @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @uselesslesbianfr @baexpoppy @alexroyard @alexlabhont @veenast @cloakanddaggerthings​ (If you wanna be added or removed or just prefer a certain ship just let me know ❤️)

Read Part 1

Word Count: 1700

Warning: none

"I'm sorry, Ms. Min-Sinclair, we only have one more room available for tonight."

Bea watched as the expression on Poppy's face went from horrified to anger. "Check again, please."

"I'm really sorry, but unfortunately, all our other rooms are already booked since we had several guests come in because of the storm," the receptionist said apologetically.

The look Poppy gave the receptionist must have been pretty damn scary, given that his hand was now visibly shaking.

Poppy's voice was beginning to rise. "Listen to me you–"

Bea clasped her hand around Poppy's wrist and dragged her away from the poor guy before she could make a scene. Kind and sweet Poppy was gone entirely. Instead, standing before her was the self-absorbed, shrieking harpy Bea very much knew and hated.

"Calm down, Poppy. The receptionist was just doing his job."

"Calm down?! There's not a chance in hell that I–"

"You know what? If you want to sleep outside in the storm, go ahead because I certainly won't be stopping you," Bea snapped.

Poppy was seething but didn't say anything else.

"I'll be in our room. Feel free to join me once you actually figure out how to act like an adult."

Without waiting for Poppy's response, Bea made her way to the receptionist to finish the transaction, all the while apologizing for Poppy's behavior. Once she got the key, she went straight to the room.

Bea had hoped there were two beds at least, but the way their luck was going, it only made sense that a single queen-sized bed stood at the center of the room. The room itself was average with bland white walls and a window with a city view that was currently shrouded by heavy rain and mist. It certainly wasn't nearly like her room back in Belvoire, but it wasn't like she had any other choice.

After setting down what little things Bea had brought with her–obviously not expecting to spend the night there, and definitely not with Poppy–Bea collapsed on the bed, exhausted. A few minutes later, the door opened, and Poppy walked in, evidently calmer than before. She stood near the doorway, scanning the entire room with a frown. Bea fully expected her to complain about, well, everything, but she just trodded to the side of the bed and glared at her.

"Move."

Bea moved obediently to the other side of the bed, too exhausted to argue. Poppy gracefully slid into bed and took her phone out.

"Stay at your side of the bed, and don't talk to me."

Bea frowned. "I didn't even–"

Poppy scowled at Bea, and Bea made the gesture of zipping her lips. The only sound that followed was the heavy downpour of rain that reverberated across the room. After an hour, Bea got up from bed and started to walk towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Poppy called out, almost sounding... worried.

Bea raised her eyebrow. "I'll come back if that's what you're worried about."

Poppy rolled her eyes, but Bea could see a slight flush on her cheeks. "As if. Get lost in the storm for all I care."

Bea laughed. "I'm just gonna check out the boutique I saw near the lobby. Don't really wanna sleep in these clothes." Bea hesitated. "Do you... want to come with?"

Without answering, Poppy rose from the bed and strode out of the room. Bea followed soon after, and for someone so short, Poppy sure walked incredibly fast that Bea had a hard time keeping up with her.

"Do you even know where it is?" Bea asked.

Probably realizing she didn't, Poppy slowed down until they were walking alongside each other. When they reached the boutique, Poppy immediately frowned in disgust at the clothing selection.

"Ugh, what even is this?" Poppy remarked, looking at a shirt with an unflattering shade of pink.

"Are you saying you can't pull that off?" Bea challenged.

"No, I'm saying that I have standards. Obviously, something you know nothing about." Poppy made her way through the selection, sneering all the while. "I'm not wearing these."

Bea rolled her eyes. "Get off your high horse. If you want to sleep in your sweaty clothes, at least do me a favor and not, like, sleep next to me."

Poppy let out a scornful laugh. "Oh sweety, I'll still smell better than whatever pigsty your perfume came from. But maybe... I'll just wear nothing then."

Despite herself, an image of Poppy naked sprung to Bea's head, sending heat all over her body. She slightly faced away from Poppy.

Noticing Bea's sudden silence, Poppy curiously looked at her. "My, my, Farmsville, don't tell me you're already imagining me naked," Poppy said with a smirk.

Mustering her most dismissive tone, Bea said, "Please, you're not even that hot." A blatant lie, of course. Poppy is a lot of things, and 'hot' is definitely one of those. Thankfully, Poppy moved on after seeing a dress that, Bea agreed, 'should be burned.'

After a painstakingly long search, Poppy was finally able to find something 'tolerable.' They made their purchases and went back to their room. When they arrived, Poppy was the first to get in the shower, and when she came out, she was wearing a tight-fitting tank top and bike shorts that hugged and accentuated all her curves. The room suddenly got so much hotter as Bea tried her absolute best not to stare at her, and even so, she knew it was a losing battle which is why she jumped to the shower the first chance she got. After showering, Bea realized that in her hurry, she forgot to take her clothes with her. She wrapped a towel and walked out to the bedroom to get her clothes. When her back was turned to Poppy, Bea glanced at a mirror nearby and was surprised to see Poppy staring at her with her mouth parted slightly. But when she casually turned around, Poppy had already averted her gaze.

Later that night, the storm got worse as thunders started to rumble outside. At first, Bea thought it was just a trick of the light, but after a few more claps of thunder, she could see Poppy flinch at every roar with her eyes clenched shut.

Is Poppy... actually scared of thunderstorms?  

As if to answer her question, Poppy started to heave heavily, with traces of sweat forming on her forehead. And as much as Bea despised Poppy–or at least that's what she kept telling herself–she actually felt sorry for her. And against her better judgment, Bea reluctantly placed her hand over Poppy's and gave it a soft squeeze. Poppy tensed for a moment at the gesture before she relaxed and gripped Bea's hand tighter. In response, Bea started tracing soothing circles on the back of her hand, and they fell asleep through the thunderstorm, hand-in-hand.

When Bea woke up, most of the storm had already passed, with light to moderate rain falling intermittently. She scanned the room and saw Poppy eating at the desk.

"Your food's getting cold," Poppy said without looking at her.

"You... got me food?"

"I figured since we didn't have dinner yesterday." Poppy turned to face Bea. "Why do you sound so surprised."

Bea furrowed her brows. "Because that's actually nice. And as far as I'm concerned, you're not."

"Well, I don't particularly care about you. And trust me, no one will be happier than me with you gone. But, unfortunately, I do have to keep you alive at least until after the party. Grades and all."

Bea got up and went to the desk to get her food. Poppy got her an English-style breakfast while she was eating... a teensy salad.

Poppy saw Bea looking at her food. "Did you also want a salad?"

"Uh, no. It just doesn't look... filling."

"It's not. But it's not like I have a choice. Their vegetarian selection is awful."

And just when Bea thought Poppy couldn't surprise her anymore.

"Wait, you're... vegetarian?" Bea asked in undisguised surprise.

"Yes." Poppy narrowed her eyes at Bea. "You know, you have to stop assuming you know everything about me. In fact, you know nothing about me."

"Yeah, I'm starting to get that."

Bea went back to bed and started to eat her food, her mind going back to the foster home, how Poppy's entire personality changed around the people there. Before, Bea was so convinced that she had Poppy pegged, just a basic bitch who thought too highly of herself with no regard for others at all. But Poppy was right; Bea barely knew her... and she wanted to know more.

"Why?" Bea turned to face Poppy. "Why are you a vegetarian, I mean. If you don't mind me asking."

Poppy made an annoyed expression. "I do mind, actually."

A grin spread on Bea's face. "Oh my god, you totally care about the animals."

When Poppy didn't respond, Bea continued. "First kids and now animals? My, my, Poppy, what will people say if they knew that their favorite she-devil is actually a big softie."

Poppy stopped eating and turned to give Bea a menacing glare. "If you tell anyone about this, you're dead."

After they finished eating, Bea and Poppy started planning for the party the next day. So naturally, more than a few shouts, insults, and curses were thrown around until they finally, finally, agreed on all the details. Since Poppy was the one with all the connections, she had to call for all the services needed. And when her trusty photographer told her he wasn't available, Poppy cursed in frustration.

"The party, it's not just about your GPA, is it. This is really important to you."

Poppy didn't answer and instead went back to make a few more phone calls.

When everything was settled, the storm had fully passed, and it was already safe to drive home. So imagine Bea's surprise when Poppy said that they were staying there for another night.

"I thought you hated this place."

"I do. But I'm not going to drive an hour home just to go back early tomorrow. Besides, we'll get things done much faster if we stay here."

Bea smiled. "Would you like some champagne?"

[mercy-burning]

Say You’ll Remember Me (Songbird Chapter 1)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: After performing at open mic night at a bar downtown, Reader meets someone that could change everything for her. Rating: 18+ Warnings: Smut (oral sex - male and female receiving, fingering, male masturbation, cockwarming, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie), Language Word Count: 7.1k

SERIES MASTERLIST SERIES PLAYLIST (new songs added with the release of each chapter)

***

Love never came easy to me. Truth be told, a lot of things never came easy to me, and I was okay with that, but love was probably the one thing I wish I could just let myself feel with no problem.

For as long as I could remember, I've wanted to be in love with someone as much as I'd seen my parents love each other. My older sister got a boyfriend when she was 17 and I was 11, and they've been together ever since. They're married with two children now, and just as in love now as they'd been when they met.

I've never seen anyone love the way I've seen my family love, but for some reason I was never able to give as much as them. I mean, I felt love obviously, but it was never that all-consuming, life-changing love that was supposed to make your head spin and your soul ache.

Maybe I just never found the right person, but every relationship I've ever been in ended because of my inability to give out as much love as I was given. And that's not to say that I didn't care about the people I've dated, they were all really great people in fact... But I could never fully be in it, you know? Some people give their all to another person, would do anything and everything for them if it meant they got to spend the rest of their lives together, but I never felt that. Sure, I could have settled in any of my relationships, but if I was going to actually spend my time building a life with another person, I was going to really feel like I needed it to survive. Or, like I deserved it, if I was going to go that far.

For the past few years I've pretty much given up on relationships. I've been on a few dates, had a few hookups here and there, but at this point I was almost certain that love wouldn't find me any time soon.

However, the one thing that filled that love-shaped void in my soul was music. Words, melodies, stories... It all made me feel the way I was convinced love was supposed to make you feel. Even if I never wrote songs about my (positive) experiences with love, I loved love songs, and most music in general. That was the one thing I was sure of. Music was the one and only love I knew I could count on. It kept me safe, it ensured that I wasn't alone, and it hugged me in a way where I've never felt more at home.

Which would explain why I was here on a Friday night, singing in front of an entire crowded bar. Performing and sharing my music with people was the best way I knew how to outwardly show... well, anything about myself, really. I didn't go to open mic nights often, but when I did it felt better than anything in the world.

Tonight was... different, though. Not in a bad way, of course, but there was something in the air that made me feel like something great was going to happen.

It was the same feeling I got whenever I knew I was about to get laid.

Now, say what you want about it, about me, but even if I sucked at finding love I sure knew how to have one-night stands. I loved sex. It was another way I was able to get that happy rush of feelings while being with another person without actually having to be in love with them. Truly, sex was the perfect outlet for me, and my music was a great tool that helped me get it. Not that I needed help—if I wanted sex bad enough I could easily look for it—but the fact that I could play several instruments and sing well definitely made things easier.

And tonight I wanted it bad.

I hadn't realized it until I tried to figure out what song to sing for open mic night, and in turn came to the conclusion that I hadn't had sex with another human being in about a month. Which wasn't a bad thing by any means, but it didn't change the fact that I wanted someone else to help me out in chasing that high this time.

So I opted to go with a cover of a song I knew would do the job no matter what. I brought my electric guitar with me and mirrored the Wildest Dreams performance that Taylor Swift did from the GRAMMY Museum. The song itself was sexy and sweet, but with the electric guitar and the electric guitar only, it made for less sweet and more sexy. I'd always loved that performance from the second I saw it, so as soon as I was able, I bought an electric guitar and taught myself to play it. It was a hit every time I performed it.

I was wearing a maroon, long sleeved turtle-neck crop top that exposed my belly-button ring (which was sparkling silver and caught the light in the bar beautifully, if I were to say so myself), a pair of tight jeans, and black glittery heels that I only ever pulled out when I was feeling brave. My hair was half-up and half-down, leaving a good amount of my face exposed which donned silver eyeliner, sheer lip gloss, and my eyebrow ring. Paired all together with my black and white guitar and shiny nail polish that matched the deep maroon of my shirt, I felt hot as hell. Better than I'd felt in a while if I was being honest.

It felt even better when I was performing. I was confident in my abilities as a musician, to which I considered myself fortunate. If only I could have been that confident in other departments, I feel like I would have been dead-set for life.

But tonight I didn't want to think about that.

I played the song just as well as I had every other time. Probably even better, if only for the fact that I was working to get myself a lay. But whatever the scenario, I was feeling good and that's all I'd ever wanted to accomplish.

I saw him immediately after I sang the last note and the final chord of my guitar faded out into the applause.

He's just... where my eyes decided to wander, I guess. I don't know exactly what it was, but I was thankful for it, even though I almost forgot to breathe with the way he looked back at me. I couldn't tell what color his eyes were because of how far away he was, but I'd have bet on my life that they were some shade of brown. He bit his lip rather nervously when he noticed me staring at him, unable to tear my eyes way, but nevertheless he kept his gaze trained on me. It was so strong I could have sworn they burned holes into my soul.

Or, more likely, my libido.

Either way, I knew it then, when I packed up my guitar and walked through the crowd to find him, that I wasn't going home alone for the first night in weeks.

That was a good feeling.

So good, in fact, that I allowed myself to be a little more vulnerable than normal. It wasn't anything huge, but it also wasn't like me at all.

While generally, guys are more notorious to be the ones kicking out the women after a one-night stand, I always found it the opposite. I hated waking up in the morning and having to kick some dude out of my apartment. They always put up some sort of fight when it came time to leave, and I didn't get why. All the women I've hooked up with were easier to communicate with on that front, so I didn't mind as much, but still made it a point to be the one coming and going no matter who I slept with.

There was something different about this guy, though. Again, my sex drive was probably getting the better of me, so it maybe wasn't the best idea to let him come to my apartment, but I truly believe that a part of me wanted this man to see where I lived. I... don't know what it was, or why it happened, but it felt exciting. It felt new. It sparked some newfound adventure in me that I didn't really know I craved until I had it.

That being said, I could almost tell immediately within minutes of talking to him that he was going to be a hard one to get to leave. But the thing is...

I didn't mind that.

Something deep inside me wanted to feel what it was like to wrap this man around my finger, to have him so invested in me that he didn't want to leave me, and it was a weird feeling. I didn't know what to do with it, exactly, other than test the waters and see what was going to come of it.

He was about to tell me his name. That's when I started to realize it was a bad idea, and I was already in a vulnerable position. So I held my hand out to his face, pressing my pointer finger to his lips and seductively licking my own.

"No names. Is that okay?"

Something in those brown eyes (I was right) practically begged me to let him say his name, and a part of me wanted to know what it was just so I could scream it. But I knew that if I knew his name, I was ultimately going to be in trouble.

Like I said, there was something different about him. I didn't know what it was, and I didn't want to know because if I did, then I was going to be even deeper in uncharted territory. Besides, if anything the mystery of having no names would make this even sexier. Right?

Reluctantly he nodded, and I slid my finger down his lips and under his chin, then over his throat. I saw the goosebumps form on his skin as I went lower, lightly over the navy blue sweater he was wearing and stopping at his lower stomach. I grabbed one of his belt loops and pulled him close to me, smiling softly as his eyes never stopped searching mine.

"You ready to show me a good time, Pretty Boy?"

He exhaled at the nickname , but I couldn't tell if it was from nerves or what... Either way, he said, "Yes," and I twisted his belt loop tighter with a wink.

***

She was the most captivating woman I think I'd ever seen.

She commanded every room she was in, made everyone pay attention to her, and even if she couldn't sing or play the guitar the effect would have been the same. Granted, I only ever saw her in the bar. So, technically only one room.

But it was about to be two.

I didn't even want to be in the bar, and I was going to leave since Derek, Emily, and Penelope ditched me for their own endeavors, but at the very last second a voice in the speakers cut through the radio-generated music announced that someone would be performing, officially kicking off open mic night.

It wasn't that that stopped me. But it was her name.

Y/N.

I had to wonder if, when she said, 'No names," she remembered or even knew that I'd already known it. Or maybe she just didn't want to know my name. Whatever that meant, it didn't deter me in any way from trying to take up any space or time that she had. After she locked eyes with me on stage, I sent out so many signals, hoping to whatever higher power was up there, if any, that she would come to me. I just... needed to know her. To see her up close.

Truthfully I don't know what made me think I had the right amount of confidence or skill to do anything other than babble incoherently or just stare in her presence, but thankfully she didn't have much of a knack for talking.

When she finally stood in front of me, I didn't know where to look. I knew ultimately that I should look at her face, but damn it if I couldn't help but look at all of her, my stomach naturally doing flips when I caught sight of her belly-button ring, and... Her hands... Good God, I couldn't stop staring at her hands. I realized once she was closer that that's mainly what I looked at while she was on stage. The way her fingers worked the guitar, making it look like it was the easiest thing in the world, it was enough to send me into a tailspin.

Truthfully I don't think there was one single flaw about her. Naturally all human beings have flaws, but as far as I could tell, from this first meeting, this woman was nothing but an angel sent from Heaven, specifically to destroy me.

My favorite part about her, though, was by far her voice. I didn't listen to much mainstream music, but if it sounded anything like that, then I wanted to hear all of it.

Forget angel... She was a siren.

Yeah. That was the perfect way to describe her.

And when she touched me...

I'm pretty sure I blacked out.

I say pretty sure, because I distinctly remember telling her, "Yes," when she'd asked me indirectly to leave with her, but everything else only came in one-second flashes. A moment where I was in her car, and more clearly a moment when she pulled me out of it and shoved me against the door after she closed it, running her glorious hands through my hair and attacking my neck with harsh, sloppy, butterfly-inducing kisses.

But I made myself remember when we were actually in the apartment, because there was no way I was going to let myself forget that moment.

So I was completely well-aware of everything around me when she unlocked the door, pulled me inside, and shoved me against another door for a second time that night. This time she kissed my lips, and I all but melted into her. Her tongue didn't waste any time slipping into my mouth, but I didn't waste any time trying to fight it. I would have given her anything she wanted, she didn't even have to ask for it.

That being said, she broke away from me, looked me dead in the eye, and asked, "Can I take your pants off?"

I nodded eagerly, choking out a breathy, "God, yes," as best as I could.

That seemed to be what she was looking for, because she all but groaned as she squatted on the floor and worked at my belt. I didn't know what to do with myself, my hands seeming to wander aimlessly before settling behind me on the door. Once she got my pants down, she looked up at me through those silver-painted eyelids and leaned forward, pressing a hot, wet kiss to my dick through my underwear.

Any other time in this sort of situation, I most likely would have felt embarrassed by whimpering the way I did, but seeing the primal lust widen her eyes as I did it completely erased any doubt I ever had. By the time she pulled my boxers down and licked a large, slow line up the underside of my dick, those doubts were completely wiped off the board, no evidence of them ever having been there.

I wanted to look at her more than anything, to memorize the way she looked wrapped around me, but my eyes wouldn't stay open. Everything I was feeling, every sensation that ran through my veins, every hot lick of her tongue as it swirled around my tip, every small stroke of her hand when she took a break to whisper filthy things to me... It all rendered me completely unable to think straight.

At one point I was almost at the breaking point, and she knew it, too, because she pulled away from me completely and stood straight, running one of her hands along the inside of my thigh as she went up. I opened my eyes to meet her, her mouth slick with a smear of her lip gloss and her saliva. She looked like she was on the brink of tears, but none of them had fallen. But the gleam in her eye, that's what stood out to me. She was so utterly consumed with burning desire that I would have done anything to satiate every need she had.

She waited a beat, studying my face and the way my lips were no doubt still smeared with her lip gloss. And then she grabbed one of my hands and brought it to cup her crotch, tilting her head to the side and practically sighing at the touch.

"Aren't you going to return the favor, Pretty Boy?"

My first instinct was to tell her I needed a second to breathe. But somehow I knew I wouldn't be breathing well regardless of what happened. I stumbled out of my shoes and pants as quickly as I could, using my hand to lightly rub along the seam of her jeans. As soon as I was free of constraints, I made a point to turn us around so she was the one with her back against the door. I helped her pull her pants off, and once they were, along with her heels, I draped one of her legs around my shoulder so the process would be easier for the both of us.

I've only ever gone down on a woman a few times, so it was safe to say I was a little nervous that I wouldn't be able to satisfy her. But even if I hadn't had much practice, I knew I was a good listener. I practically read people for a living, and I knew how to read behavior and body language. So I knew that that would be my strong suit here.

That being said, I did have some idea of where to start. So I looked up at her while I brought my tongue out to her panties, lightly dragging the tip of it along the seam that met the corner of  her thigh. On my way to the other side I pressed the lightest of kisses to where her clit would be through the fabric, and then repeated the process a few times, feeling her squirm beneath me. Once I could tell she was getting close to frustrated, I made it a point to drag my tongue upwards in a long swipe until I reached her clit. I kissed it again before using one of my fingers to come up and slide under the fabric, though not pushing it entirely aside.

She sighed out as my finger ran along the very tops of her lips. When I pushed it in just the slightest, gathering her wetness as my tongue still gently worked at her clit through her panties, I took the moment to look up at her.

If she wasn't already the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and in that moment she was even more perfect, her lip bit and her eyes on the verge of fluttering closed, I could only imagine what she would look like when I was inside of her.

I almost collapsed thinking about it, but went back to my task quickly, knowing that if I stopped thinking for once in my life then I wouldn't have to imagine it, and I could experience it instead.

So I finally pulled her panties aside and used the tip of my tongue again to taste her, just as lightly as I'd done it before. Only rather than fabric I was met with the smooth, slick taste of her pussy. I think I could actually hear her tremble under me as I flicked my tongue over her clit a few times, though everything I was feeling in that moment was so strong that it was more likely that I was losing every ability to think straight.

As time progressed I deepened my every movement, bringing my tongue deeper and harder through her gradually until the point where I was practically eating her out like a man starved. You could argue that I was starved for her in every sense of the word, but that moment wasn't about me. I was focused solely on making her feel good, paying attention to how tightly she gripped my hair when I briefly sucked on her clit, or the way she bucked her hips forward whenever I pushed my tongue inside of her as far as I could will it.

She seemed to like it best, though, when my fingers pumped slowly in and out of her in tandem with each swirl of my tongue around her clit. I took my time, savoring every second I could as my eyes stayed shut. I could barely keep them open.

When I finally did look up her, that seemed to finally be the thing that pushed her over the edge. Well, started to, anyway.

"Wait," she breathed, and for a second I thought maybe I'd done something wrong. I pulled away from her and raised an eyebrow, and all she did was look down at me, her eyes just as lust blown as they'd been before, if not even more. "I want you to edge me, can you do that? Just... keep bringing me there, but don't give me what I want. Not until I tell you to."

"Anything," I told her truthfully, keeping my eyes locked with hers as I brought my tongue to her once more. She shuddered under my touch as I worked at her clit again, quickly flicking over it as my fingers came up to hold her hips. It wasn't long before I brought her to the edge for the second time that night, and this time when I pulled away, I leaned my head into her thigh, pressing soft kisses to the inside. She was so focused on watching my face that she must not have noticed my fingers coming to slide into her again. She fluttered her eyes closed and leaned her head against the door with a soft thud as I fingered her, quickly picking up the pace as my tongue came out to lick at her thigh before I bit into it softly.

"Fuck, you're so fucking good with your hands," she managed to say through a moan.

I laughed a little, glancing over at her hands briefly and just letting the words fly from my mouth. "You're one to talk. The way you played that guitar? The way you touch me? Good God..."

She hummed hungrily, opening her eyes and pulling me up by my hair to pull me away from her. Her leg dropped from my shoulder and I stood up to meet her, towering over her by a good four to five inches.

For a moment we just stood there and stared at each other, both pants-less and desperate for each other but unwilling to do anything about it.

Until she pulled at my hair, craning my head to the side so she had access to my neck before running one of her hands down the side of my face, neck, and finding purchase gripping my shoulder. Her nails lightly scratched at my skin, sending a mess of goosebumps down my whole body, right before she took the other one and grabbed my bare ass.

"Baby, I've barely even touched you, yet."

I don't know what it was that made me so bold, but I smirked as both of her hands squeezed, causing her fingernails to leave indents into the skin on my right shoulder and my left ass cheek. "Touch me, then."

She was more than happy to oblige. Within seconds, both of her hands were slipping up my sweater and roaming my back and stomach as she leaned up and kissed me again. I met her lips happily, allowing her all the access she wanted to my tongue. At this point I was growing restless, wanting more than anything in the world to have her push me onto the bed, or the couch, or even the floor, and do to me whatever she saw fit.

My desperation must have broke the surface somehow, manifested in a way I hadn't noticed, because she laughed against my mouth, pushing me away and ripping off her shirt in one fluid motion. Which left her in only a grey bra that matched her panties.

"Take off your shirt," she said.

I didn't hesitate, doing as I was told and tossing it on the floor with our other clothes.

"Go sit on the couch."

I went there as quickly as I could, only feeling slightly embarrassed being the only one completely naked. But almost as soon as I sat down on her couch—truthfully one of the most comfortable ones I'd ever been on—she'd come up behind me and started massaging my scalp. I closed my eyes at the way it almost lolled me to sleep. If she did that any longer, I'm sure I would have.

Eventually, though, she slid her fingers down my neck and over my shoulders, resting them finally on my bare chest and drawing circles. She brought her lips down to my right ear and grazed it with her teeth before whispering, "Touch yourself for me? Go slow."

I didn't have to be told twice. As I'd quickly learned, I was pretty sure this woman could have done anything she wanted to me and I wouldn't have rejected her.

My hand firmly gripped my dick and went slow, just like she'd asked. With every long, meaningful stroke, she mirrored it with a swipe of her tongue along my neck. Her hands remained at my chest, reaching down to circle my nipples in very light, goosebump-inducing motions.

"Faster," she told me, and I listened. Each stroke of my hand was met with even faster, sloppier kisses along my neck and jawline, and I could have sworn I felt her fingernails digging themselves harshly into my chest.

"Faster."

By this point I was occasionally bucking my hips forward to meet my hand, and Y/N laughed lowly against my jaw, mumbling against it. "You wanna cum, Pretty Boy?"

"Not... Not yet," I stuttered truthfully.

"Aww," she cooed, tilting my head to the side and giving me a kiss on the mouth. It was probably the sweetest kiss we shared that night. "You want to cum inside me, don't you?"

She kissed me again immediately after she said it, and I moaned into her mouth, my hand working faster. If she didn't stop me, I was going to be done for, and I knew I wouldn't be able to go again. Not for a few hours at least. And I didn't know how long she'd want me to stay, or what we would even do while we waited.

Thankfully she seemed to take some semblance of pity on me, because she brought her hands away from my body, pulling back completely and telling me to stop.

I removed my hand and practically sighed in relief. I waited for further instruction, a sound, a touch, anything... But I almost had the wind knocked out of me when she appeared in front of me, having taken off her bra and underwear. What I found shouldn't have surprised me, but somehow it did. This woman was just full of surprises.

She had nipple piercings that matched the silver color of her eyebrow ring, not sparkly like the belly-button ring, but it was the cherry on top to what I'd already found practically perfect in every way.

As she sauntered to me, I couldn't decide where to look. Much like before. So I started from the bottom and worked my way up, eventually meeting her eyes when she straddled me on the couch and took my face in her hands.

"You clean?"

"Yes," I stated clearly, not wanting any signals to get crossed. I even nodded to accentuate my point.

"Good. Me, too. And I happen to be on birth control, so..." She leaned into my ear again and ground her hips into mine, the hot wetness of her pussy slightly grazing my dick. I almost fainted right there. "You can cum inside me all you want..."

She bit down on my shoulder then, and I groaned, bringing my hands to rest at her hips.

Then she pulled back and looked me in the eye again, grabbing my dick and lifting her hips to hover above it. She sunk down completely and quickly, letting me adjust to the feeling for all of two seconds before she gripped my chin in her right hand and smiled, batting her eyelashes. "But only when I tell you. You can't cum without my permission, got it?"

I breathed out a weak, "Yes," and then she got up and sank right back down, setting a quick and steady pace right away.

Both of her hands gripped my shoulders while mine stayed planted firmly around her waist, and if they were too tight she didn't say. In fact, by the look on her face I judged she probably enjoyed how tightly I was gripping her. So I decided to test it out. And sure enough, every time I let up my grip on her waist she would clench around me and move a little faster, making my grip tighten, and then she hummed, digging her nails into my shoulders.

Every high moan and whimper she let out as she rode me was just as melodic and beautiful as her voice when she sang. Added to the way she moved and the way she worked her hands, she was a rhythm all her own, constantly creating some sort of song, some piece of art that begged to be heard, to be felt in the deepest part of any soul that would embrace it...

I wanted it to last forever. I wanted to drown in her song forever.

Maybe that was a little dramatic. I mean, I only just met this woman under two hours ago at least (I wasn't sure how much time had passed truthfully), didn't know a single thing about her other than her first name, her musical ability, and her body. And all she knew about me was... well, my body.

Regardless, I was determined to make this last as long as I could, so I let go of her hips and brought my fingers to comb lightly through her hair, bringing her head up from the crook of my neck to meet mine, our foreheads touched together.

As if she knew what I was thinking, she slowed her hips, and then pressed her lips to mine gently. I'm pretty sure I felt my heart melt.

"What's wrong? Not gonna last much longer?"

I couldn't tell if it was a taunt or a genuine question. Either way, I shook my head and cradled her face. "I don't think so... But I want this to last."

"Hmm," she contemplated, but not for long, because seconds later she stopped moving her hips altogether and stayed sitting on my dick. She leaned back a little, bringing her hands to rest on her thighs as she took me in. "Well, then I guess I'll have to get creative."

I genuinely had no clue what she was about to do, but when she moved one of her hands to her breast and pinched at her nipple, I didn't care one way or the other. I was curious, sure, but ultimately I knew I would welcome whatever she did.

"I noticed you've been eyeing my piercings all night," she said sweetly, continuing to play with her nipples. She bit her lip softly before grinding down onto me and making me suck in a breath. "But I have to say, these two are my favorites... Aren't they pretty?"

"Fuck, they're beautiful," I breathed, splaying my hands over her stomach. "You're beautiful..."

"Aww,” she drawled. “Thanks."

Then she promptly removed her hands from herself, grabbed my wrists, and brought them to her breasts. My hands instinctively squeezed, feeling the contrast of soft skin and cold metal in my palms. I licked my lips before flicking my eyes up to meet hers. "Can I?"

"You can do whatever you want, baby," she purred, grinding her hips once more. A groan ripped from my throat before I leaned forward and brought her right nipple into my mouth, immediately swirling my tongue around the metal of her piercing. I think she might have groaned also, but I was so caught up in the way she grinded onto me and the feel of her skin on my tongue that I couldn't tell you for sure.

I kissed across her chest until I reached her other nipple, and gave it the same careful attention. Meanwhile I suddenly felt her hand slip down between our bodies so she could touch her clit. I brought my head up and peppered kisses up her neck.

"Let me help," I whispered against her skin, bringing one of my hands to replace hers.

She grabbed my wrist before I could get there. "No, keep doing what you're doing. Please..."

And that was that. I moved my mouth back down her neck, down the slope of her breast, and went back to flicking and swirling my tongue over her nipples. Eventually I took one and just slightly tugged at it with my teeth, causing her to buck her hips forward and send a shockwave of energy through me. At that point I was pretty sure I was almost feral with need, not caring how long it took anymore.

So right after she brought herself to orgasm, the movements on her clit slowing to a stop, I shifted our weight and pinned her to the couch so that her back was arched off the armrest. With an amused laugh, she wrapped her legs around my waist as I held one of my hands to the back of her head, the other on her waist, and pushed into her with one, long, fluid thrust forward.

I didn't waste any time with adjustments. I didn't care that my knee was only slightly hurting at the angle it was placed in. The only thing I cared about right then was fucking this woman so good she'd have to remember me. Which wasn't like me at all, but I didn't care.

So that's what I did. My hips set a ruthless, quick pace that had her sliding back until she was almost off the couch, the only thing keeping her anchored being my arm cradling her neck and head and her legs wrapping around my waist. Her heels dug brutally into my lower back, and if I had to guess, they were probably going to leave bruises. Not to mention her hands were clawing desperately at my shoulders to hold on, grabbing any skin she could as I pounded her into the arm of the couch.

I tried to keep my head up, but I was falling into oblivion. And I think she knew it, too, because she used her hands to keep me upwards, even doing so much as looking down between our bodies as best as she could to see me drilling my hips forward. The sight seemed to send her into a tailspin, because she bit her lip and groaned out.

"Fuuuuck, baby, just like that, don't stop, don't stopdon'tstopdon'tst—"

She came hard and fast, trying her best to keep her eyes open, right before looking up at my face. She clenched around me, and I knew I was done for. Any second now and I would finish. Just before it happened, she slid her hands up my neck, brushed the hair from my face, and brought me down to kiss her.

I moaned in her mouth as I came, keeping my hips pressed flush to hers and holding myself deep inside her. She moaned right back, swiping her tongue against mine as she squeezed her whole body around me and pulled me impossibly closer to her. In that moment, I didn't feel like it was just an orgasm... Which might sound cheesy and kind of stupid in retrospect, but it really felt that way. Right then, with her whole body holding mine and daring itself not to let go, it felt like every sense I had was stripped away and all that was left of me was her. As good as it felt to cum, it felt even better just being wrapped up in her in every capacity.

And that was why—even after we were finished and exhausted—we stayed just like that, wrapped up together on the couch with our lips moving lazily together until I felt myself start to drift off.

At that point, she'd somehow managed to pull me off of her and lean me back into the position I'd been in before, and my eyes struggled to stay open.

"I'm gonna go clean up," I thought I heard her say, and I wondered how she had the energy and stamina to stand up and walk around. But then again, I was so exhausted that I wasn't sure if anything that happened after we came down from our highs was even a coherent experience.

That being said, I managed to mutter an "Okay," while she disappeared and I tried to catch my breath. It only took about a minute before I realized that I was alone, and that she'd left to clean up the mess that I made. That seemed to snap me out of it, though not by much; I was still a little light-headed when I got up from the couch and started to collect my clothes from the floor.

I almost had my pants all the way on when I heard her voice from behind me.

"You don't have to leave... if you don't want."

I turned to face her, noticing that she was wearing a large nightshirt and probably nothing else. Even after she'd just gotten obliterated on the couch she still managed to look like the most angelic thing I'd ever seen. Or maybe I hadn't actually done as well as I thought, and she was the one who'd obliterated me... Either way, I felt bad for staying, especially knowing that she didn't even want to know my name.

So I shrugged, stifling a yawn. "No, it's fine, I... I should go. I don't want to intrude or anything, I—"

"Oh, please," she scoffed, walking up to me and placing a soft hand on my forearm. "As far as intrusion goes, I think we're way past apologies, don't you think?"

I smiled at that, admittedly leaning into her touch as her hand drifted up and to my cheek. "Okay. But only if you let me sleep on the couch."

"Don't be silly. You just fucked me on said couch, it's okay if you sleep in my bed with me."

I only shook my head, placing my hand on top of hers. "You didn't even want to know my name, which tells me that you probably aren't the type of woman to let men sleep in your bed with you after sex. Which is fine, don't get me wrong, but... I don't want to make you uncomfortable. And, I... I feel bad enough, I didn't help you clean up, I should have—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," she said, removing her hand from my cheek and placing it on my bare chest instead. "That right there is why I don't mind if you sleep in my bed. Plus, it's late, you don't have a ride, and I can tell you're sleepy because you've been nodding off as we've been standing here. You can barely stand straight."

I didn't know what to say. Probably because she was right and I was nodding off right now.

She spoke again. "At least stay and rest for a few hours before you leave. And if it'll convince you to stay... You can have the couch."

I smiled lazily, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. "I'll be gone before you wake up."

"Well... In that case, can... Can I kiss you one more time?"

"You can do anything you want to me," I told her truthfully, and not even a second passed before she pressed her lips to mine.

Despite everything we'd just done and the fact that I was almost asleep, it was the hottest kiss we shared that night. I was sure of it. It was lazy and wet, and so filled with the aftermath of all that we'd experienced together that I almost fell to my knees, and not because I was tired. Her tongue grazed mine in the most purposeful way I'd ever felt in a kiss my entire life. The way she held me to her, her hands weaved in my hair and mine pressed firmly to the small of her back, had me tingling from head to toe.

To this day, it's still the best kiss I've ever had.

I swore to myself I would never forget that kiss, and I never have. I couldn't have, even if I tried.

When she pulled away, I almost chased her, but I let her go, opening my eyes to stare deeply into hers. She didn't move for the longest time before clearing her throat and taking a small step back.

"Goodnight," she whispered softly. She looked almost as dazed as I felt.

"Goodnight," I whispered back as she turned around and padded into the darkness.

***

As I stood at her kitchen counter four hours later, a pen in hand and hovering over the back of a receipt she'd had crumpled on it, I tried to think of what to write, even though I knew it probably didn't matter to her one way or another if I said anything at all...

At the very least I wanted her to know just how much that night meant to me, even if she didn't feel the same way. Even if she didn't want to remember my name, I needed her to at least remember my face, remember what we did... Remember me...

I recalled the song she sang. And then I wrote it down.

I had the best night, thank you. Say you'll remember me... —S.

***

"Nothing lasts forever But this is gonna take me down."

—Taylor Swift, Wildest Dreams

***

TAGLIST:

@bluesunrise02 @meowiemari @teenwolfgirl90

[zenonaa]

'Like the rest of the group, he also wondered what could have driven out such a grin from him, out in the open like that. Worse, it could have not been a ‘what’, but a ‘who’. He had prided himself on never letting anyone slip under his skin, never letting anyone become close to him. Learning to rely on others, and let others rely on him, was one thing. This felt more personal, like a kick to the stomach.'

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya Characters: Fukawa Touko, Togami Byakuya, Naegi Makoto, Naegi Komaru, Kirigiri Kyouko, Asahina Aoi, Hagakure Yasuhiro Additional Tags: TogaFuka Week 2021 Summary: Togami and the others stumble across a photograph of him smiling, but he can't remember the context so the others try to figure out what happened for him to do that.

Comments: owo what's this? togafuka week day 1: happiness! i haven't actually written something for all the days but this is one of the things that i did manage to squeeze out.

💗 Please like, share and comment if you enjoyed it! 💗

***

Cleaning up Hope’s Peak wasn’t an afternoon affair. Beyond the old school building that Byakuya knew too intimately, debris clogged hallways, trash lay scattered throughout the campus like weeds and the air smelled of rust and blood. The group of seven started with the art building on the east side of campus. For the first few hours, Yasuhiro hummed as he hauled cardboard boxes, Komaru still had the patience to prepare and bring lemonade, and Aoi’s sunshine voice beamed between walls as she shared a story about the time her family held a second-hand sale in their backyard.

By the end of the day, however, their lively chatter had dimmed with the sky. Inside remained as bright thanks to Byakuya and Yasuhiro reconnecting the electricity, but darkening windows reminded them of the aches in their limbs, the ebbing flames behind their eyes. Byakuya swept his gaze across what used to be a theatre but was currently a sorting room filled with boxes instead of chairs. Makoto, Touko, Komaru and Yasuhiro were sitting together on boxes, while Kyouko and Aoi had just walked in with a dirty wheelbarrow.

“We should adjourn until the morning,” Byakuya announced. He reached a hand toward his glasses, intending to push them up, but stopped himself when he remembered the grime clinging to his palms. Not wanting to dirty his glasses, he lowered his hand.

The Byakuya of the past would have deemed this sort of manual labour beneath him, yet he had willingly spent most of that day working alongside his companions. His friends. How things changed.

“There is so much stuff,” said Aoi, who by now had parked the wheelbarrow and was slouched against it. She wiped her vest against her forehead.

“And not a lot of it is useful,” added Kyouko, next to Aoi. Yasuhiro straightened up.

“Nonsense. All we need to do is spruce them up, and they’ll be ready to go on sale.” He walked over to a broken lamp, its shade bitten and discoloured, as dirty as the floor it lay on. “Like this lamp. Fix this up, and it’ll be as good as new. Then all we need is a good pitch and b’am,” he punched his palm, “sold.”

“You can’t do that with everything here,” said Komaru. He put his hands onto his hips.

“Not with that attitude! But with the right mindset, you could sell anything here, guaranteed.”

Yasuhiro rubbed his finger against his nose, grinning like a fool. Some things changed, but others stayed remarkably the same. Byakuya’s gaze drifted over to Touko, who was scowling at Yasuhiro. Touko was both different and the same. Different, because she stood firm where she used to cower, and she let others into her world where she used to cloak herself in darkness.

And same because while like Byakuya, she had learned to allow herself to rely on friends and for friends to rely on her, she was still head over heels in love with him.

She pointed at a black bag containing hunks of metal. “What sales pitch do you have for this?”

“Easy! All you have to do is make the contents into sculptures,” replied Yasuhiro. “Their only purpose is to be admired, ‘right? Add a backstory to go with them and boom, sold. You can do that to practically anything even if it’s trash.”

“No way,” said Aoi.

“Want to bet?”

The group roused to accept his challenge. Makoto found a used wipe container, and Yasuhiro clicked his fingers and said to fill it with plastic bags, turning it into a dispenser that was portable and could fit easily into a car drawer. Aoi presented him with pizza boxes, at which Yasuhiro laughed and demanded more so they could be decked in wrapping paper and transformed into a drawer unit. When Komaru found a metal pipe, Yasuhiro claimed it needed a clean and spray paint and it could sit contentedly on a shelf.

Yasuhiro even sucked Byakuya and Touko into the game. The cork in Byakuya’s hand changed into a keychain, and Yasuhiro’s voice fashioned an old juice carton into a recyclable purse ideal for coins and trips to the arcade. Each item that the others found, Yasuhiro repurposed it into something else.

“There has to be something you can’t reuse,” Komaru insisted. She peeled the lid open on a cardboard box and lifted out a hardback red book from inside it. “What about these photos? Who’d want to have pictures of strangers?”

“Photos?” said Kyouko, intrigued.

“Yeah, there are a whole load of albums in here. I went through a few earlier but didn’t recognise anyone, so I forgot about them.”

Touko rolled her eyes. “Typical...”

Kyouko and Aoi each took out an album. The box seemed to contain several of them, their covers glazed in dust and cobwebs.

“Gekkogahara-san is in this one,” said Kyouko within a few seconds of skimming.

By now, the rest of the group had gravitated over. Inside the album that Kyouko was holding, the photographs were contained in plastic flaps that overlapped so only the one on top could be seen unless it was flicked up, revealing the photograph beneath. In the photograph currently on display, Miaya Gekkogahara was sitting next to a pale guy with dark hair and dark shadows under his eyes, who Byakuya recognised as Yasuke Matsuda. They appeared to be seated at a computer desk, their heads turned toward the photographer.

“It’s really her,” murmured Makoto. “And not a robot masquerading as her.”

“Do you think these are all photos of her class?” asked Yasuhiro as he and the others picked up their own photo albums to browse.

“If that’s true, then everyone in these are deceased,” said Touko.

Aoi winced. “When you phrase it like that, this feels kind of morbid.”

Makoto flipped through a few flaps in the album in his hands. Then his creased forehead exploded as his eyebrows shot up. “This album contains our class!”

Everyone crowded around him. The photograph showed a pink room with a television screen hanging on the wall. Blurred writing glowed on it that Byakuya struggled to decipher. In front of it, Couch seats were positioned around three sides of a table, and on the seats sat members of their class. The only classmate not in the photograph was Sakura.

“Sakura-chan must have been taking the photograph,” said Aoi. “No way would our class exclude her.”

Holding the album in one hand, Makoto scratched his head with his other.

“I vaguely recall this,” he said. “Kuwata-kun... yes, I think it was him... booked a karaoke room, and the whole class packed in. All of us sang at least once.”

While Future Foundation had aided them in recovering from the memory loss inflicted by Junko, some memories were stronger than others. For Byakuya, he could recall plenty of events, but none came with any emotion attached. It was as though he was reading about them in a newspaper afterwards.

“Byakuya-sama graced us with his voice,” Touko piped up. The ends of her lips curled upward as she squeezed her hands together. “I r-remember... he made the air taste like chocolate syrup... his words spread a chill across my skin... ah...”

Byakuya remembered performing a single song, but he hated singing, and he couldn’t remember what compelled him to accept a microphone.

“Enoshima tried to steal such a precious memory from us.” Aoi rubbed the heel of her hand against her eye. “Sakura-chan sang a beautiful song about friendship. Her voice washed over the room like the ocean.”

Kyouko placed a hand onto Aoi’s shoulder. Komaru flicked through the other photographs in the album. Byakuya didn’t pay Komaru any more mind, frowning at Touko as she seemed to relive the experience of him singing. Her recollection appeared much more intimate than his own. Part of him wanted to ask her for more details. Another part was repulsed.

Komaru gasped.

“What is it?” asked Makoto as they all focused on the album again. The photograph that had captured her attention depicted Byakuya. Nothing extraordinary appeared to be in the photograph - he was sitting on a bench at an angle, not facing the camera.

Yet the others stared with their mouths agape.

“I have never seen Togami-chi smile like that,” said Yasuhiro.

Byakuya inspected the photograph closer. Though it had been taken at a distance - probably so he wouldn’t realise someone was taking a photograph of him - there was a definite smile gracing his lips. It wasn’t a smirk, or a cruel grin, or the faint curve he sometimes showed around his friends, but a smile showing teeth, one that didn’t just meet his eyes, but made his gaze, no, his face glow.

What he was looking at, however, was unclear. It was now that Byakuya realised the photograph had been torn, and the section that held the object of his attention wasn’t in the album.

“It must have been something amazing to have made him smile back then,” said Yasuhiro.

They all turned to Byakuya, who pursed his lips.

“Putting aside whether I would tell you if I knew, I don’t actually recall when this took place,” he said.

“Maybe we could help jog your memory?” Aoi suggested. “When I want to remember something, I write it on my palm three times.”

“That won’t help,” said Touko. “You can only do that while you still remember the thing.” Her teeth gritted. “Argh... if only I knew what could have elicited such a pure smile from Byakuya-sama...!”

She dragged her fingers down her face.

“It’s not a big deal,” said Byakuya. While the others burned with curiosity, discomfort stewed in his gut like when he had watched Touko reminisce about the karaoke session.

Like the rest of the group, he also wondered what could have driven out such a grin from him, out in the open like that. Worse, it could have not been a ‘what’, but a ‘who’. He had prided himself on never letting anyone slip under his skin, never letting anyone become close to him. Learning to rely on others, and let others rely on him, was one thing. This felt more personal, like a kick to the stomach.

“There has to be some way to reawaken the memory,” said Komaru, her tone light without the burden of his thoughts. She turned to Kyouko. “You must know a way.”

“Must I?” Kyouko’s eyebrows rose.

“Because you’re from a detective family,” said Aoi, nodding.

“Actually...” Komaru’s smile cringed on her face. “I um... just assume Kyouko-chan knows everything.”

“There are a few techniques we can try,” said Kyouko, faintly amused. “Perhaps if we pinpoint when and where exactly the photograph took place, that may stir something in Togami-kun’s brain.”

Other than Byakuya, no one else was in the frame. A briefcase leaned against a bench leg and a pile of papers rested on his lap. Annoyingly, he couldn’t see any writing that may have been on the papers. In the photograph, he wasn’t looking at them. He was focused on the nothingness where the other half of the photograph should have been.

“That has to be the main plaza,” said Aoi. “I recognise the benches. Sakura-chan and I finished our morning runs there. Then we would sit down and drink some water. We never saw Togami there though.”

“Yeah. That looks like the fountain at the back,” added Makoto.

Kyouko stroked her chin. “The sliver of sky in the background appears rather pale, and judging by the colour of the leaves, it’s approximately autumn.”

“Togami-chi never missed a lesson, so it had to be late-afternoon at the latest, ‘right?” said Yasuhiro.

“Unless it was the weekend,” Makoto pointed out, prompting Yasuhiro to exhale frustratedly through his teeth. The thoughtful expression on Kyouko’s face, however, didn’t waver.

“We can deduce whether he had lessons on that day,” said Kyouko.

“How?” asked Aoi.

Byakuya already knew. “I’m not in uniform.”

“Indeed,” said Kyouko with a bob of her head. “So unless you changed into another outfit after your lessons, this scene transpired at the weekend.”

“Does that ring any bells for you?” Komaru asked Byakuya, clasping her hands together, eyes wide with optimism. “Visiting the plaza on the weekend, and catching sight of something that brings joy to your face...?”

His jaw clenched. All of them were staring at him. They had a campus as large as four high schools to clear and they had only made a dent so far, but the arduous task appeared to have been pushed aside in favour of probing his brain for some memory. Oh, how they tried his patience at times.

“I can’t say it brings anything to mind, though it is unusual for me to be there,” he said in a level tone. “Usually, during the weekend, I would be indoors, either in my room or in the library.”

Certainly not at the plaza. Certainly not with a brazen smile chipped into his face.

“I think we’ve followed the photograph’s lead as far as it can go,” said Yasuhiro. “Now we must turn to guesswork. If we bounce ideas off each other, that might help Togami-chi remember. Perhaps you had come from a meeting, where you struck a billion dollar deal?”

“Or you emerged from the cafeteria after they served some tasty donuts?” Aoi chimed in.

Byakuya’s frown sank in deeper.

“Or you finished a really good manga?” said Komaru.

“Or listened to a good song?” added Makoto.

Yasuhiro clicked his fingers. “I once read that listening to music is a good way to stir up memories. If we find a piece with the right mood, Togami-chi ought to remember the scene!”

“What sort of mood do you guys reckon we should play?” asked Komaru as she shoved her hand into her coat.

“Something cheerful,” said Aoi.

Komaru retrieved her phone from her pocket and tapped on her screen. A few seconds later, a series of beeps sang out of her phone, playing over the sound of clapping and a fast drumbeat. She side-stepped back and forth to the rhythm, and Byakuya lasted until the first few lines of Swedish auto tuned singing.

“Turn that off,” snapped Byakuya. “It’s not helping me think. It’s giving me a headache instead.”

With a pout, Komaru switched it off.

“Perhaps we should visit the location,” said Kyouko.

Touko’s brow creased. “Won’t it be dark?”

“Don’t worry, Touko-chan, our phones can provide you with light,” Komaru assured her, patting Touko on the shoulder.

They set off, departing from the old theatre and winding through corridors toward the plaza. Byakuya stayed silent, lagging behind most of the others slightly. Only Touko seemed to take note of this, and though she didn’t speak to him, she hovered further back than him, and he could feel her eyes on the back of his neck like flies crawling against his skin.

As they drew closer, he concluded that they wished so desperately to discover the source of his smile because they planned to use it against him. Perhaps they intended to humiliate him, or blackmail or manipulate him. But they were his friends, weren’t they? Surely they didn’t plan on using what they learned against him?

Yet... if that wasn’t the case, then why?

The plaza was no longer the picturesque location it once was. It couldn’t have been in a brochure promoting the academy, like the photograph in the album. Weeds grew between upturned slabs, gnarled fingers reaching toward the sky. Nearby, the rubble corpse of the fountain didn’t spout water, dry as sun bleached bone. They all stood silently for a while, observing their surroundings. There were no benches to sit on.

“It sure has changed a lot,” said Yasuhiro.

“It’ll do. Hagakure, bend over on all fours.” Aoi pointed at her feet. “You will play the part of the bench.”

Yasuhiro balked. “Why me? You’re stronger.”

Her stare didn’t relent. He managed a few more seconds before he dropped to his knees and planted his hands in front of himself. Once he was in position, Aoi turned to Byakuya expectantly.

“I am not sitting on him,” said Byakuya flatly.

“Please, Togami-san!” Komaru pleaded, shaking her phone in both hands. Light from the screen danced across her face and when her hands stilled, so did the glow. It seeped into her skin, accentuating the crinkle between her eyebrows and the stare from her eyes that pulled, pulled, pulled at Byakuya until he snapped.

“Why are you all making a big deal of this?” Byakuya asked not only Komaru, but all of them. He flung up a hand. “There is a photograph of me smiling. That’s it. It concerns me that you’re so obsessed with finding out what caused me to smile.”

His question clenched them in its jaws, burning the air with acid. He waited for one of them to answer. For Touko to do more than fidget, and Komaru to stop chewing her lip. Finally, the pressure squeezed out a response from Makoto.

“You’re our friend,” said Makoto. “You’re usually so serious, and you rarely ever seem happy. We thought if we could find out what made you that happy back then...”

“... we could bring that happiness back to you now,” finished Touko, curling her fingers into her palms. Byakuya tensed.

That explanation had never occurred to him. For most of his life, he had been forced to be on the defensive, to anticipate betrayals and attacks from anyone. Then again, for most of his life, he hadn’t been acquainted with people like this. Friends. He grimaced, staring at Touko for several long seconds before averting his gaze and pushing up his glasses.

“Nuisances...” But he seated himself on Yasuhiro’s back, setting his feet firmly on the ground.

Byakuya tried to imagine the sky was a pool of water, not ink, and that he was on a bench, and that water streamed from a fountain behind him. However, the air remained as dry and dark as his mouth, and no matter how often his mind mended the slabs of the plaza, they would crack and decay within moments.

“Anything?” said Touko, wringing her hands.

He folded his arms over his chest.

“No,” said Byakuya. A collective sigh spread, though Makoto was soon grinning again.

“I guess we’ll have to keep trying to make you happy.”

Byakuya clicked his tongue, but his lips twitched outward and he quickly hid it behind his hand. Nuisances.

“Does this mean you can stand up now?” Yasuhiro asked from beneath Byakuya.

Aoi stretched her arms upward, arching her back, and yawned. “We ought to call it a day. It’s getting late.”

While the others headed toward the dormitory building that they were currently living in. Byakuya stayed where he was. Their footsteps faded, the glow of their phones shrinking into five pinpricks of light before disappearing completely. Despite his friends’ efforts, they had failed to uncover the story of the photograph. Now that he knew their motives hadn’t been nefarious, he could appreciate their attempts and found himself wondering what had happened all those years ago.

“It’s a shame we don’t know what made you so happy back then,” said Touko next to him, echoing his thoughts. She hadn’t retired for the night with the others. He glanced at her, meeting her gaze. Her phone shone a light against her wistful expression.

“I suppose so,” he said in a casual tone.

“With many of my memories, I don’t recall exact details, but they evoke certain feelings.”

His eyebrows rose a fraction in interest. “Oh?”

“Yes. For example, standing here... is stirring some emotion in me. I think I have a memory associated with this place too.”

Byakuya turned his whole body to face her.

“What emotion?” he asked.

She didn’t answer right away, as if letting the thought sit on her tongue, tasting it.

“Warmth,” she said. “Like the warmth I feel when I’m with you. Perhaps I will never remember what happened to give me that feeling. B-But... I have many other precious memories... and I can work on creating more with you, Byakuya-sama.”

Her lips twisted into a smile. Meanwhile, his insides twisted, much like they did whenever she referred to him in a romantic manner. He had been experiencing the sensation more frequently around her lately. Sometimes, all she had to do was meet his gaze or brush against him, and his stomach would coil like she had pressed her lips against his.

“Byakuya-sama?” Touko’s voice broke into his thoughts. “A-Are you feeling all right?”

He did not want to think what about his face had made her ask that all of a sudden.

“I’m fine,” he said, and he adjusted his glasses. “We’ve dawdled here for long enough. Let’s return to the dormitories.”

“Together?” blurted Touko. Without a word, Byakuya strode away, and she darted after him, keeping abreast. “Are you going straight to sleep when you arrive back?”

His eyes stayed forward.

“No. I will have some tea and read first,” he replied.

“What do you plan on reading?”

“Out by Natsuo Kirino,” he said. Her head jerked back.

“I r-recently finished that!”

“I know. After seeing you reading it, I thought I would give it a try. I was more interested when I learned that it’s not a romance, but a crime novel.”

“I specialise in romance, but I read for a variety of genres,” she said. “I can recommend some more books i-if you want. Have you read The Inugami Clan? You may find the start slow, but I think you will enjoy the cast and the premise...”

He listened as they walked back together. The more she spoke, the more passionate she became, and he couldn’t help looking at her as she lit up, waving her arms around.

A smile poked at the corners of his lips, and he finally felt a sense of déjà vu.

[twiistedgalaxies]

Three Times Jaskier Didn’t Seem Quite Human

(And one time Geralt asked too many questions.)

      “Jaskier isn’t human,” Yennefer stated bluntly, swishing a wine glass in her right hand.

      Geralt blinked, “What?”  This gave Yennefer pause. She knew that her on and off again lover was oblivious, but she hadn’t realized it was quite to this extent. Jaskier gave her a pained, pleading look from the other end of the table. She ignored him.

      “You seriously haven’t noticed?” she continued with a huff.

      “...No?” Geralt’s brows furrowed together in confusion. The nerve of these idiots. Yennefer had half a mind to just state the obvious, to keep these two from continuing to dance around the subject, possibly until the end of time.

      But it was much more fun to gently direct Geralt to the answer and watch his bard squirm. Yennefer took a sip of her wine, mentally cursing her high alcohol tolerance, “You’ve been travelling with the man for decades,” Geralt’s face was blank, the puzzle pieces not fitting into place, “He hasn’t aged, Geralt.”

      “That doesn’t mean anything,” he protested, though from the way his eyes shifted towards his companion he was clearly thinking it over. If they were not at such a high profile party Yennefer would have strangled him. He opened his mouth to say something else, but it was at that exact moment that Jaskier decided to pick up his lute and perform for the crowd - granted, it was what he had been invited to do, but Yennefer sent him a withering glare anyways. She was met with a cheeky wink. Oh if looks could kill. 

      “I could prove it to you, you know? A few well placed detection spells and-”

      Geralt shook his head, “He’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

      “You two are hopeless,” Yennefer sighed.

-@~*^*~@-

      It had been after a particularly difficult hunt, when Jaskier had to dress his companion’s wounds for the umpteenth time. Geralt sat upon a stool in the center of their tiny room at the inn. He looked more irritated than usual as Jaskier gave him what was essentially a sponge bath around where a kikimore had stabbed his shoulder with one of it’s spindly arms. Jaskier winced, it was too close to important organs for comfort. Humming as he worked, Jaskier tried to stitch shut what he could and thoroughly bandage the rest. The wolf medallion on Geralt’s chest thrummed contentedly each time the bard’s delicate hands drew near.

      “Where did you learn?” he asked suddenly, his gruff voice cutting through the peaceful quiet.

      “Hm?” Jaskier hummed, ignoring the Witcher’s grunt of pain as he applied one of his many salves to his shoulder, “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, dear.”

      “The salves, the stitching, all of it,” Jaskier raised an eyebrow at that, but Geralt continued, “It’s a very odd skill for a bard to have.”

      A laugh, Geralt had to bite back a hiss as Jaskier’s touches grew less gentle. He clearly wanted him to drop it. “What? Do you think that I was helpless before you came along with your bulging muscles and witchery glares?”

      The witcher shook his head, silver hair sending droplets of water in the air, “No it’s not that,” the bard had certainly proved capable and skilled many times over, “It’s just, were you a healer before you became a bard?”

      Jaskier froze, seemingly caught in a memory, “Something like that,” he began to bandage Geralt’s shoulder, “This kikimore did quite the number on you, didn’t it?”

      Geralt gave him a look of disbelief because obviously.

      “Come on, come on, give me the details, I can’t write my ballads off of just grunts and intrusive questions now can I?”

-@~*^*~@-

      Jaskier had tagged along on what was supposed to be a minor contract. Nilfgaard had stormed a small town, leaving destruction and countless corpses in their wake. Corpses that were perfect for every Alghoul in a three mile radius. 

      He and Geralt were engaged in their usual banter (which consisted mostly of Jaskier rambling about whatever was on his mind, punctuated with the occasional grunt from his witcher), when a sudden, piercing screech rang through the air. It was high pitched, shrill, and caused Jaskier to clutch his head as he let out a groan of pain. 

      Meanwhile, Geralt immediately leapt into action, drawing his silver sword as a pack of the necrophages surrounded them. He was able to take out several, his sword and the ghouls creating a smooth, gory dance. It all seemed to be going well before an Alghoul caught Geralt off guard, leaping onto his back while extending its spines. This sent Geralt off balance, and he was quickly overwhelmed. His sword got knocked out of his hands in the scuffle and he thought that this, however stupid it may be, would be what would kill him. 

      A cry of rage. Slashing, tearing. Suddenly the weight that was dragging Geralt to the ground grew lighter. He felt something wet and sticky. Geralt looked up to see Jaskier standing over him, holding Geralt’s silver sword, out of breath, and covered in Alghoul viscera.

      The bard looked down at himself, annoyance on his admittedly handsome features, “That was my favorite tunic too!” The tunic in question, once baby blue (like his eyes which were now flashing gold, what the fuck?) was now stained red and black. Jaskier brushed a bit of entrails off his shoulder, visibly disgusted.

      “Huh?” Geralt said, intelligently.

-@~*^*~@-

      The pair was making their way north, Jaskier strumming on his lute and Geralt sat atop Roach. The dirt road was a tunnel bordered by a wall of towering trees, whose orange and red canopies blocked out the sun, casting the duo in dappled shade. 

      Jaskier strummed a few chords in the major key, before he spoke, “Geralt, are you doing alright?” His face was soft and forget-me-not eyes distant like they often grew when he was lost in thought. Geralt shot him a confused look. “It’s just that, you’ve seemed rather distracted lately.”

      “Hm?”

      “I,” Jaskier sighed, collecting himself, “It’s just with the kikimore and the alghouls, and just last week when you forgot your potions in Roach’s saddlebags. I’ve never seen you get like this before, what’s going on?”

      “It’s nothing.” Geralt replied, gaze sliding to anywhere but his bard.

      Jaskier reached up, intertwining his lithe fingers with Geralt’s own, “I’m worried about you, Love.”

      Geralt huffed, he could never resist the man’s pouting lips and puppy-dog eyes, “Yen and I had a conversation at that party a few months ago.”

      He felt the bard tense, “Is that so?” There was a long, uncomfortable silence between them. Jaskier must have realized Geralt, man of few words that he is, wasn’t going to elaborate any further, so he spoke, “What did you two talk about?”

      “She said you aren’t human and I just thought about it more and… it makes too much sense,” Geralt began, feeling awkward as he tried to find the words to explain, “The way you don’t age, your medical knowledge (even of witcher potions!), how you know your way around a sword and how your eyes gleamed-”

      “Geralt, as you know I have an impeccable skincare routine and-”

      He frowned, “Don’t give me that shit, bard.”

      Jaskier sighed, “You really want to know?” A nod. “Okay, well, here goes nothing.” The bard let go of the witcher’s hand, and pulled off a golden ring that, now that Geralt thought about it, he had never seen the man without. A shimmer fell over the bard’s body, like a statue being unveiled. The first thing Geralt noticed was his eyes, they were a sickening, piercing yellow. His face was marred by countless scars, from claws, burns, knives, and magic. Jaskier’s build underneath the glamour more closely resembled Geralt’s, though he retained his shorter stature. The bard smiled sardonically at the witcher’s shocked expression, “Like what you see?”

      Geralt’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, “How?”

      “You’d probably know me better as Julian,” Jaskier’s eyes got that distant look to them again, his face was downcast, an unusual expression for someone who typically embodied sunshine, “I was in the Griffin school, before we were attacked,” a joyless laugh, “I had never wanted to be a witcher, ya know? Wasn’t cut out for it. But my father, Viscount Pankratz himself, couldn’t pay a witcher for his contract, so he offered me up instead. I failed as a noble, so maybe I wouldn’t fail as a witcher. He was wrong, of course, I spent most of my time writing poems instead of studying Signs. Singing instead of sparring. After the trials I spent a few years on the path before I grew sick of it and returned to Kaer Seren.”

      Geralt hummed, encouraging Jaskier to continue.

      “I was made to look after the students, I had to patch up their wounds and keep them from blowing themselves up with alchemy. I loved the little rascals, which is why..” Jaskier trailed off, fingers tracing the grooves in his lute.

      “It’s okay,” Geralt said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

      He shook his head hurriedly, “No, no I want to, I have to,” his voice cracked, “I left after the trials killed them. All of them. I couldn’t bear to be a part of it. A part of everything. So I ran, like a coward,” He spat out that last word like a curse.

      The pair stopped. Geralt placed his gloved hand on the bard’s shoulder, a rare gesture of affection and reassurance.

      “Eventually, I found a mage and spent my life’s savings on a well-made glamour and the lute the elves at Posada so lovingly destroyed. It wasn’t until I had graduated from Oxenfurt that I found out what happened in Kaer Seren.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me?” Geralt asked, his voice gentle.

      Jaskier’s face flushed red with shame, “I was afraid. Afraid of what you would think of me. That you’d hate me.”

      Geralt frowned, “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

      At that, Jaskier laughed, “Just look at me! I’m an ugly fuck-up.”

      “No,” Geralt said resolutely.

      “Huh?”

      “I said no. Do you know how many times you’ve saved my life? Made long nights on the path easier to bear? I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you,” Geralt continued, looking Jaskier directly in the eyes. He didn’t reply to that, just slipped his ring back on and hugged his arms to his chest.

      The rest of the day’s journey was spent in silence.

A/N:  I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment, I love hearing feedback. I had one hell of a time writing this, I originally had only written the first scene, and it took a few months for my single window's screensaver brain cell to finally hit a corner and figure out how to continue and finish the story.

Ao3

[ceoofuwu]

𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 ;; 𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘦𝘪𝘫𝘪𝘳𝘰 𝘹 𝘧.𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟏.𝟏𝐤

𝐀/𝐍: so this was supposed to be published on Kiri’s bday but, apparently, the writer’s block and my idiotic procrastination wouldn’t simply allow it... anyway, I hope you enjoy my comeback huhuhuuu!<33

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: you hate to leave your boyfriend unattended and allow his mood to crumble, but especially today...

𝐓.𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: F L U F F F F F

"What's all that commotion about?" You asked as you entered the living room, where some of your classmates were.

You weren't sure what they were on about but, whatever it was, Kirishima didn't seem too content or uplifted about it. But you weren't letting anything ruin his mood.

Not at a day like this.

"Y/n...!"

"Is this your fault, blondie?" You demanded, eyes narrowing to a deadly glare towards a calmly seated Bakugo, as you took your own seat beside your boyfriend.

"How many times do I have to tell you to fucking stop calling me THAT, idiot?!" Bakugo protested, his anger naturally taking over his features.

"WHO DID YOU CALL AN IDIOT YOU--"

"Hey! Can you please calm down?! There's no reason to fight at a time like this!!" the redhead interrupted in his attempt to cool things down, yet also managing to gain your attention.

"Everything's fine. No one is to be blamed, we were just talking about... manly... stuff..." he explained, clearly not willing to get into too much detail.

You giggled and lightly pinched his cheek in response, "You and your manliness..."

"You shouldn't try to make me throw up, really." Bakugo commented upon rolling his eyes in irritation.

"Cell phones exist for a reason, Bakugo..." Denki mumbled without raising his gaze from the phone screen, giving the example of indifference for the other blonde.

Bakugo responded with a murderous look, while you shifted yours to Kirishima. You truly felt like you had to cheer him up somehow, so you dived in his welcoming embrace and buried your face in his chest, taking in all the wonderful, manly smell of his.

"What now?" your pitiful, innocent eyes met his crimson ones, struggling -- and probably succeeding -- to show him what you needed and consequently forcing a light shade of red to make an appearance to his cheeks.

One arm was suddenly wrapped around your fragile form, while another went to your soft hair and gently started to stroke it. His moves were filled with fondness and his built body was so welcoming, what with the warmth it emanated and all this incredibly magnetic aroma... your eyelids were beginning to feel too heavy for you, as you were listening to his steady heart beat and were concentrated to the way his chest rose and fell...

You thought you were in your bed, securely tucked under the sheets, especially when Kirishima placed a loving kiss on the crown of your head. You even forgot the others were there, as your boyfriend lulled you to sleep and your entire form was practically melting on his.

All that, until a certain someone decided to speak up.

"Did she really come all the way here just to sleep? Tsk, she's an idiot all right..."

"You're just jealous, like everyone." Kirishima retorted, not pausing any of his actions for a second.

"Everyone would want a girl like Y/n..." Sero admitted with a little blush on his cheeks, that unfortunately, you couldn't have seen.

You were thankful that you could feel the chuckle that emerged from Kirishima.

Several minutes of silence passed, which really impressed you, but since your purpose for coming was indeed not simply falling asleep and you were curious to see if the others were actually gone or simply maintained the peace and quiet, you made the decision to timidly open your eyes and speak.

"What's the time?"

"It's nearly midnight... the others went to sleep almost an hour ago..."

So I had actually been sleeping?!

"How long was I asleep?"

"Long enough..." Kirishima said with a yawn, his eyes clearly set to fall shut at any given moment. You genuinely felt bad that you had made him wait so long and lose his sleep for nothing basically.

"Kiri..." you almost whined, earning the redhead's attention, "I'm sorry..."

"You don't have to--"

"The original reason for my coming here was because..." You bit your lower lip, before offering him a sincere, love-filled look, "...I wanted to make sure that I'd be the first to wish you a happy birthday..." you confessed as your naive orbs locked with his surprised ones.

Strong arms were tightly folded around you, securing you enough as to ensure you could never escape. A familiar warmth was embracing you, flooding your senses with a feeling of acceptance and pure love. The most beautiful hug in the world, a hug the spoke of admiration, respect, love without conditions and limits.

"I love you."

DING!

You turned to look at the screen of your smart phone, as the notification sound resounded in the empty room.

00:00 PM.

"Happy Birthday, Kirishima baby".

If only you could feel how he felt upon hearing that simple yet meaningful phrase coming from your lips. How his heart almost jumped out of his chest as his veins pumped with adrenaline and his mind flooded with all the love he held for you. How he thought that you were no human but a god-sent angel, a blessing in disguise and at the same time, a goddess in front of his two red, adoration-filled orbs.

Of course you couldn't know, but you could certainly get an idea, a small fragment of what he experienced, when he grabbed you by your delicate face and kissed you with all the passion he was practically drowning in.

That moment felt so precious to you that you didn't even care about his sharp teeth acting a little uncomfortably to the passionate lip-lock. Because that moment was different; both your hands were needier than usual, searching feverishly for the warmness in each other, your lips and tongues dancing and exploring with insatiable hunger, your bodies aching for one another to the point it was hard to breathe.

And when you felt Kirishima's pointy teeth grazing the crook of your neck, and his hungry lips trailing endless paths of kisses, you couldn't contain the inappropriate sounds emerging from your vocals.

"Do... do you want to go to my dorm?" your boyfriend asked while still holding you in his arms, his expression still as naive as possible.

"Do you want to...?"

"Only if you are ready, Y/n." he replied firmly, honestly not caring at all if your response was coming out negative.

You were. Besides, you had already discussed this a lot of times, not only with Kirishima but also with your friends, and one thing you could agree on was that it's not something one can plan. If you felt ready, you should proceed and not double think anything.

With a curt nod, you swallowed and answered:

"I'm ready."

Without a second thought, the red-haired hero picked you up in his arms and carried you to his dorm. Needless to say, Kirishima had received the best birthday gift he would have ever wished for...

Hope you enjoyed! Leave a heart, comment, reblog! 💕

[michaelarowrites]

Excerpt from Honor the Words

Akaryu Masaomi is drinking coffee when he feels the kick to his chest.

It knocks the wind out of him, causing him to drop his mug and instinctively crouch down, holding his abdomen as he tries to catch his breath.

“Akaryu-san?” says one very alarmed military analyst. Other onlookers have stopped what they’re doing in order to stare at him in concern, since by all accounts, he had collapsed for no reason. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Masaomi says, already straightening himself and forcing a smile. “I’m just fine. My apologies, I just got dizzy for a second.”

Damn it, Youji! he thinks as loudly as he can.

I’m sorry! comes a thought that isn’t his, loud and clear in his mind. I forgot!

It’s the fifth time this week!

Youji-san, I wish you would be more careful, says a new voice in his mind, familiar but still not his.

I’m sorry, Shi-chan.

Masaomi exits the military kitchen, moving towards the training yard where he knows he’ll find Yamazaki Youji.

Hey, you just left your coffee cup on the ground. A third voice appears in his mind. Go back and clean that up!

Make me, Masaomi fires back, abruptly slamming all thoughts down, doing his best to sever the unwanted connection he now shares with three other people.

The strange telepathic communication that sometimes shares thoughts and feelings between the four is especially frustrating because it’s not like the usual mind-reading Masaomi knows how to handle. From a very young age, he’s known how to compartmentalize his thoughts and keep them controlled, with mental shields and wards to prevent unwanted spies in his mind. Threats of mind-reading and mind-compulsions and otherwise dangerous psychic attacks were not that uncommon in his daily life of political intrigue in the Capital.

But this is different. It’s nothing like the magic he knew how to guard against, and it chafes against him like someone has put a collar around his neck.

That same bond pings again, and he looks to the left where the connection is coming from and sees Shiori sitting in the shade. This is enough to waylay his path, as he detours to talk to her. “Shiori, are you okay?”

“I am fine, Masaomi-san,” she says curtly. She stands up from her seat on the bench, and presses down the folds of her plain kimono. Shiori always did like to dress in traditional clothes, as was common in the Capital and in the main Estates, but once she wore silks and it pains him now to see her so low. She looks at him coolly, as if sensing his thoughts (which, all things considered, she might have) and then says, “You do not need to spare any thoughts toward my well-being.”

“Shiori,” Masaomi winces. “You can’t be like this forever.”

“Like what, Masaomi-san?”

“Mad at me. I’ve apologized, and you’re just being stubborn. I thought we were friends.”

“We were friends, Masaomi-san, and then left me to die,” Shiori says, smiling sweetly. “That sent a very clear message about the boundaries of our friendship.”

“I didn’t think they’d actually kill you,” Masaomi says, but he knows it sounds hollow. “At any rate, this absurd higher ground is ridiculous. You’d have done the same.”

And yet, strangely, I didn’t.

He hears her thought loud and clear, and she looks mortified once she realizes what she’s communicated. “Shiori,” he starts, his voice softer this time.

“Excuse me, Masaomi-san. I have business elsewhere.”

It’s a lie, and their new bond means he knows it’s a lie, but he doesn’t stop her as she walks away.

*

Masaomi finds Youji in the training yard, talking to the pretty gumiho woman he’s made friends with over the past couple of weeks.

“—stop dodging, how are we supposed to have a proper fake battle if you keep avoiding hits?”

“Sorry, Mi-chan, I guess I’m squeamish about being hit.”

“Uh huh. Oh look, your rich boyfriend is here.” Sakurano Michiru looks over at Masaomi and smiles. “Hello, rich boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Youji says.

“And I’m not that rich anymore, considering the other grand dragons froze my accounts,” Masaomi says.

“So you keep saying, but I’m not sure I believe you,” Michiru says, talking to Youji. “Although, you were making out with Corporal Toma last night. Get any?”

“He left early,” Youji says.

“He always does. I could’ve warned you. That man’s a tease.”

“I didn’t mind. It was an honor to be teased,” Youji says with a grin. Masaomi manages to hide his scowl but the irritation is probably communicated anyway.

Oh, so that’s where you were last night, Masaomi thinks, despite himself.

I was invited for drinks. You could’ve come along.

I wasn’t invited for drinks.

Out of the three of them—no, out of the four of them—Youji is the only one who is settling in nicely with the Magpies. Even Hinami seems irritated at how easily Youji is fitting in with the ranks. Just looking at the two of them, Youji would be the one people might think has been here for years, and Hinami the newcomer.

Then I’ll invite you next time, Youji thinks.

I don’t want to be invited, Masaomi snaps back, still irritated.

“See, and now you two are staring at each other intensely, which is a thing you two do a lot, and is certainly giving the impression to everyone on base that you guys are madly in love with each other,” Michiru says conversationally. Youji looks like he’s going to protest again, but Michiru just says, “I’m going to spare you the lie, which I’m sure will be very believable and convincing, because I have to go. I got a summons.” She waves her wrist, where the gold Cicada indicates a message received. “Be good, boys. Don’t do anything scandalous without me.”

“Lovely woman,” Masaomi says as she leaves, admiring the movement of her hips as she walks away.

“You’re staring.”

“That is the confident walk of a woman who clearly expected me to stare. It would have been impolite not to comply.”

“Uh huh. Well, behave. I like Mi-chan, and she would eat you alive. That was her kick earlier.”

Masaomi rubs his stomach, still convinced he can feel the dull ache. “Duly noted. You said you were going to be more careful in training sessions.”

“I got distracted, sorry,” Youji says. Hinami’s sparring sessions aren’t as intense, and she rarely gets injured. So far, it’s only Youji who keeps sending these inconvenient flares of pain through their unasked-for bond.

“Apologize to Shiori,” Masaomi says coldly. “She’s a court lady, and isn’t used to pain.”

“I did apologize to Shi-chan,” Youji says, his voice mild. “She’s very forgiving.”

Masaomi scowls, since there’s no way Youji doesn’t know what Masaomi and Shiori were talking about five minutes ago. “It’s all a front. Her grudges could freeze mountains.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. He likes harping at Youji, because Youji never seems to mind. But after his conversation with Shiori, he can’t help but be keenly aware that Youji is the only one on this base who doesn’t treat Masaomi like he’s an evil villain. Abruptly, he asks, “Why aren’t you mad at me?”

“For what?” Youji says, perplexed.

“For—you know. Leaving you to die, and what not.” Youji had already been shot by the humans. Masaomi left him thinking he was dead, or near-death.

“I had no expectations that you wouldn’t.”

“Ouch,” Masaomi says, surprised by the genuine hurt he feels at that statement. But then, he’d already betrayed Youji once before, so of course Youji would have expected that he’d do it again. It’s completely absurd that he feels hurt, when clearly Youji was right not to expect better of him.

“That’s not what I meant,” Youji says, frowning quizzically. His thick eyebrows move like silkworms on his face, and it actually makes him look charming.

“No?”

“I meant—I didn’t expect you to stick around. I didn’t expect anyone to stick around. Why would you have? We just met each other. You didn’t owe me anything.”

It’s everything Masaomi has been telling himself these past couple of weeks—I had every right to leave them! I owed them nothing!—but hearing Youji say it like that just sounds bare and false. “Well. It’s unlikely I’ll do it again.”

Masaomi hates how awkward that sounds. Youji just grins at him and says, “So were you worried when I didn’t come back to our room last night?”

“I wasn’t worried,” Masaomi says, bristling. “You’re my jailer, not my roommate.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

The fact that they’re sharing a military bunk is something that still chafes, because Masaomi has never shared living quarters with anyone. Much less a room that’s little better than a closet. But when they’d first arrived on base, Hinami had said, “I don’t trust you not to run away.”

“There’s nothing you could do to stop me,” Masaomi had said. But their bond was brand new at that point, and he didn’t know how to stop himself from automatically thinking, Youji would probably stop me from leaving. That thought had, quite embarrassingly, been transmitted to the other three. Youji had looked flattered, Shiori had looked coolly intrigued, and Hinami had said, “Good, then Yamazaki will room with you and stop you from leaving.”

The fact that Masaomi is sure that Youji could stop him from leaving—or at the very least, would be able to track him down and bring him back, if he did leave—upsets him more than the fact that he now has to share a room. Not that he plans on leaving, (he’s learned from that mistake), but he’d like the option.

“Maybe you wouldn’t want to leave so much if you made more friends,” Youji says helpfully.

“Stop that.”

“I can’t help it, you’re broadcasting your thoughts so loudly,” Youji says, his voice abashed.

“I am not. I have complete control over my thoughts. This is ridiculous. Call the divine Avatar and tell her to stop this stupid bond thing. I refuse to be a divine champion if I have to keep sharing my thoughts with the three of you.”

“I keep telling you, I don’t know how to summon her. She just shows up. I’m not sure why you keep thinking I have special access to Madhuri anyway.”

“Probably because you call her Madhuri like she’s a childhood friend and not a divine Avatar,” Masaomi says. He’s only known this man for three weeks, and he’s still not sure if Youji is purposefully evasive or if he’s genuinely bad at understanding subtext. Because it has certainly occurred to Masaomi (and Shiori, he’s sure) that Youji is the one whom Madhuri chose to rescue Masaomi from prison. Of the four of them, Youji is the only one Madhuri has talked to without the presence of the others. Masaomi doesn’t believe for a second that Youji is too dim to understand that makes him different from the rest of them.

“What else am I supposed to call her? She didn’t give a family name,” Youji says, sounding genuinely puzzled.

Masaomi gives up.

“If she shows up again, tell her to remove the bond,” Masaomi says, turning to leave. “Or I’m not helping anymore.”

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Three

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 3 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction. 

Warnings in this chapter: sexual harassment (slight); talk of sexism/misogyny/canon violence; mentions of drug use; mentions of depression

Word Count: 8,900+

~

The Compound, 2023, 3:16pm

     It probably would have been better to grieve as a group, to help each other in understanding what just happened, to lean on each other. But the second you saw Clint fall to his knees without Natasha beside him, soul stone in hand and face miserable, like he saw a wandering ghost in need of help, you started to walk backwards off the platform. 

You stumbled and teetered before finding balance against the railing. No one seemed to notice you, all wrapped in their own suffocating grief, and you abandoned the group to run across the grounds of the compound. It wasn’t until you ended up by the lake that you realized you were crying, tears flowing but face tough and angry, chest heaving as you came to a stop. You just stared at the ground, shaking hands still gloved and teammates still back at the compound and - oh, god Clint, oh god, oh god, oh god. 

Chest still tight and finding it harder to breathe, you shut your eyes and leaned against the nearest tree. Several minutes flew by, the only sounds that of your suit’s fabric stretching and retracting as your breathing grew slower. And the grief that enveloped you almost instantly turned into fury, and it hurt, it hurt, but you were just so damn angry that you found yourself wishing it was you. Natasha didn’t deserve this, and neither you, but you would give anything to just believe for a second that this couldn’t be real.

But you all knew the risks. This was inevitable. And you were so angry. 

Voices startled you from your thoughts and you watched your teammates pace toward the dock, ideas bouncing from one head to another as they strategized ways to reverse this. But Clint quickly shut them up, telling them that no matter what they did, a sacrifice was a sacrifice and that was the end of it. 

“It was supposed to be me.”

And finally someone said it, because it should have been anyone but Natasha, and that thought caused bile to burn your throat and why in the world could you not control your breathing?

You ran from your spot, legs carrying you to the gardens and burning as you increased speed. You collapsed near the lake, shredding your suit until you were left in the comfortable t-shirt and leggings underneath, sounds of the garden ringing in your ears. 

The time of day could be told by the purple and orange streaks painting the sky, evening dew on the plants near your feet and the sound of a cricket’s chirp cutting through the silence. You counted the hours this way, focusing on the colors and sounds of the outside world that for some reason, didn’t feel like your own anymore. Guilt latched onto your core as you found yourself falling into the therapeutic senses of it all, eyes closing and a silent plea of ‘I’m so sorry, Nat’ escaping your lips. The tears you had shed hours ago were now dry, creating a minor strain of your skin, noticeable as you moved your face. 

Legs dangling from the dock and eyes simply watching the sky change shades, you barely heard the soft footsteps behind you. And you smiled, surprised that it took your teammates this long to recognize your absence.

Thor grumbled below his breath as he sat beside you, his feet barely touching the water. You swung your legs together, impossibly empty yet consumed minds working behind such sad eyes. 

“You want to jump in and freeze? It’s autumn, it’s cold, we’ll probably die from hypothermia.”

Your body lunged forward lightly as a tiny laugh left your throat, a small smile twitching on the corner of your lips. “Yeah, I’m down.”

Thor grinned at your equally dark response, reaching over and gripping your hand in his. He rubbed small circles into your knuckles and resumed watching the clouds shift. 

You looked down at your conjoined hands, wondering why he came after you in the first place. Still, you squeezed his hand back and relaxed in the feeling. 

“Doesn’t seem worth it anymore.”

Thor turned his head, “She traded her soul for trillions of others who had no choice.”

You mumbled, “Still isn’t fair.”

Thor scooted closer to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, grinning when you accepted the invitation to lean into him. 

“None of this fair. We have one more fight, Y/N.”

You sighed, ready to complain and run back to the compound to lay under a mountain of blankets, wallowing in self-pity and increasing depression. 

“Look at me,” Thor instructed, gently pulling away from you. “I know what you’re feeling. I too want to sleep and never wake up.”

Your face dropped, sympathy flooding your eyes. You raised a hand to lay your palm on his cheek, wiping away the stray tear he had let slip. “You don’t have to be so strong.”

Thor leaned into the feeling of your warm hand and he gave you a sad smirk. “I know. But it’s all we know how to be.”

Thor could sense your depleting energy, and as much as he wanted to carry you to your bed and wrap a blanket around you, cup of tea ready and some comedy movie on repeat, he had to persuade you. There was one more fight that needed to be fought.  

“Breathe, and think of the first thing that brings you comfort. Lean into that, let it give you strength, and use it.”

You turned to him, prepared to protest, but Thor simply gripped your face in his hands, allowing you to do the same. He rested his forehead against yours. “Think and use it.”

You nodded, still apprehensive to the idea, but you shut your eyes and thought. New and old friends. It could have been anything - Natasha’s final and unknown farewell, Wanda’s loud laugh as she fought Sam (who was on Steve’s shoulders and her on Bucky’s) and tried pushing him into the water, or even Tony’s face as he realized he forgot to put the lid over the blender before turning it on - anything, but you held onto the first flash of joy your mind recalled. 

The sudden image of Steve’s face frightened you. Not because Steve himself was scary, but because the more you thought of him, the more prepared you were for the final battle. You had something to fight for. Someone. You simply saw Steve - Steve who tucked his knees up to his chest when he sketched the trees outside his bedroom window - and how he would put his pencil down and march toward you because ‘don’t you ever knock?’, and push you out of his room as you laughed and apologized at the same time.

“Use it,” Thor repeated. You opened your eyes. 

So you wiped your tears and changed back into your suit, hair now held in a ponytail and new gun on your hip. Your breath hitched as Bruce lifted the gauntlet to put it on, his eyes swimming with fear but also determination, and you found yourself glancing at Steve. He felt eyes on him, and he found yours, and something alerted you of the shift. Perhaps this was his last straw, it was yours too, but this was different. You wanted to go back to Thor and ask him to help you find that memory again, ‘tell me to imagine Steve again, Steve with his soft face and gentle hands, Steve who doesn’t look like he’s just seen a ghost!’. A perfect stranger, and before you could ponder such a drastic change, Bruce began screaming in agony. You stood behind Tony, allowing Bruce’s screams to fuel your energy, because you had one more fight. 

Just one more. 

A Forest in Iowa, 2025, 6:47am

     You awoke with a strangled groan, a crick in the neck that needed to be remedied by a quick snap to the opposite side and a very numb ass. You dreaded having to remove your arms from the warmth the blanket provided, but the quicker you turned the car on you could relax. You leaned over and did so, the tingles along your lower back and bottom begging you to get out of the car. Steve was startled awake from the sudden rumble of the engine, alert within seconds and examining his surroundings. 

You practically crawled out the car and stretched every muscle, even muscles you didn’t know could become inflamed, and started walking around the campsite while rubbing your palms on your sore ass. Steve joined you outside after a few minutes, laughing at the random stretches you were performing. 

“Laugh all you want, Rogers but if I don’t get this knot out my ass then any danger we encounter you’re taking out alone.”

“Do you need help?”

You snapped your body back up, an involuntary loud cackle rising from your throat. “That would be a treat.”

Steve rolled his eyes and began stretching himself, arms bent and raised behind his head as he tugged on his elbows. “I just meant in general. Not specifically your ass.”

You giggled at his innocence, walking back to the car and grabbing the blanket you had regretfully crawled from. You wrapped it around your shoulders and made your way back to Steve, extending your right leg out and dipping your upper body down to continue the stretch. You heard the sudden ‘pop!’ of your hip, surprising both you and Steve. You screamed in slight but joyful surprise, pulling yourself back up to look at Steve. He just stared back, amazement and a little concern in his face. He scrunched his nose and smiled wide. 

“That hurt?”

You shook your head ‘no’ and extended your left leg now, bending down and stretching the same way. Again, ‘pop!’

And Steve had to walk away in complete astonishment, hands covering his ears and a comical expression on his face, because it just sounded so weird. 

You stopped at the first secluded diner you stumbled upon, barely open for the morning and understaffed. There was a lonely waitress behind the counter folding napkins and cleaning the leftover coffee grounds someone forgot to clean before her. She looked about thirty, slightly dark circles under her eyes, but presented a cheerful smile as you and Steve walked through the door. If she was surprised with two Avengers walking into her place of work, she did an excellent job at hiding it. 

“What can I get you two?”

You took a seat on the light blue swivel chair at the counter and flashed the waitress a kind smile as you spoke. Her name tag read ‘Martha’. “Coffee and tea to start with, please.”

She clicked the coffee maker on and went to retrieve a kettle from the back, leaving you and Steve alone. 

“You hungry?” you asked. 

Steve plopped down in the chair beside you, already grabbing the two sugar packets he would put into his tea. “Starved.”

You rolled your eyes, “You were the one who refused the last granola bar.”

“You said you were hungry.”

“Aw, you starved yourself for me?”

Steve huffed in annoyance, playing with his sugar packets and head hung low to avoid recognition from incoming customers. You stared at him longer than usual, studying the way his jaw ticked every so often and how he would sniff at nothing only to pass the time and countless thoughts. You reached over and grabbed a handful of sugar packets, piling them in between you and the super soldier, and began constructing the base of a tower. It seemed to snap Steve out of whatever thought he had, and he quickly became interested. He helped steady the base, careful fingers adding to the height. You two worked in silent cooperation, little giggles filling the empty and quiet diner. 

Martha returned with two mugs and went to grab both the freshly made coffee and tea. She watched as you and Steve constructed your sugar packet tower, a smirk on her face as she poured your drinks. “Anything to eat?”

And it was one of the best meals you had. The sheer amount of grease on those sausages and hash browns warmed your once empty stomach and meshed with the coffee in the most delightful way. You almost wanted to ask for seconds, those scrambled eggs not nearly enough, but the longer you stalled the longer the ride on the freeway was going to be. 

You paid and left a generous tip, finishing the remaining amount of coffee in your mug. Steve had gone to the restroom, your sugar packet tower still standing tall and proud. It didn’t seem like Martha was going to knock it down any time soon. The bell over the front door dinged with a new arrival, the cold air from outside making you clutch your hot mug tighter. 

You glanced over your shoulder out of instinct. The man looked to be in his mid-forties, a trucker no doubt, and had only the slightest hint of an unwashed smell. He took a place at the counter a few seats away from you, throwing his hat down and begging Martha to bring him a coffee of his own. You took a sip from your mug.

“Woah, you’re an Avenger, aren’t you?”

Busted. 

“Nope.”

The man scooted a few seats closer, eyes now wide awake. He pointed at you in an almost accusatory manner, but voice still cheery. “No, seriously - I’ve seen your face in the news and everything!”

You set your coffee down and saw the look of pity Martha was throwing you from across the counter. “You want a picture or something?”

The man laughed now, a nasty smirk on his face. “Or something would be nice.”

Your face scrunched and your shoulders immediately tensed. “You better not be implying-?”

“Woah, hey, no harm here! I just mean, you’re here alone and I’m here alone…”

You looked away from him, taking a big swig from your mug. The burn down your throat was somewhat therapeutic. “I’ll do the picture or else I start screaming.”

“I’d love to hear that.”

Steve rounded the corner when he heard a full-on conversation he was sure just started during his absence. He almost cursed himself for leaving you alone during such an important mission, even if it was to urinate. He could have had you standing outside the men’s restroom just to feel more secure of your well-being. Still, he remained behind the wall and listened to the conversation. If Steve was to interrupt before you could get your own kicks in, then he wouldn’t hear the end of it. 

‘I had him on the ropes!’

‘Excuse me for assisting a teammate!’

‘Get bent!’

Yeah, Steve would let you kick this person’s ass and brag about it instead of yapping at him.  

You groaned, hoping the loud sound would make the man retreat back to his breakfast. “Bet you would.”

But it seemed to encourage him more, and he stepped closer to lean on the counter and bump your shoulder with his. You kept your eyes trained on your abandoned coffee. 

“C’mon, I’m just a lonely trucker trying to make ends meet. I think I deserve some kind of reward.”

You put on your best fake smile, tilting your head towards him. You flashed your teeth, a great distraction for him as you reached into your pocket for your throwing knife. “That picture offer seems to be wearing very, very thin, dude.”

He placed his dirty hand on your shoulder, squeezing as he spoke in a low whisper. “Guess that’s for the best.”

His hand was immediately twisted from your shoulder, the sound of his instant wail frightening poor Martha. You knew what had happened, and as chill as ever, you swiveled the chair around casually. 

The man groaned in discomfort, “Woah, hey! - oh my god.”

Steve’s single hand was crushing his, digits begging for mercy as each second Steve squeezed even harder. He could feel the man’s knuckles start to crack painfully. “Yeah, ‘oh my god’. Touch her again and I’ll total your truck.”

The man shook his head violently, “We were just talking!”

“Nuh-uh,” you chuckled, elbows resting on the counter behind you. 

“C’mon Cap, you gotta believe me!” The man tried to sprinkle some humor on the situation, which only caused Steve to shove him into a booth, hand still gripping his. 

Steve towered over him now as the man had no choice but to fall back into the booth. “That’s just it - I don’t.”

The man looked from Steve’s face, to yours, to his own purpling and bruising hand. “What are you two doing out in the middle of nowhere anyway? Danger nearby?”

You stood from your seat and stood beside Steve, arms crossed and a smirk on your face. “Look, bud - tell anyone you saw us and you’ll regret it.”

And like the idiot he was, even with Steve’s hand cramping down on him, he still countered. “Are you threatening me?”

Steve couldn’t believe this guy. Of course, he could squeeze harder and just yank this guy’s fingers clean off, but he wasn’t that evil. The guy was just a creep and a pervert, which in Steve’s moral compass, called for a few cuts and scrapes and not a permanent disability. 

“Yup, and I tend to have some creative ways of framing people.”

     “C’mon, I know you can hit harder than that!” 

Steve threw a few more punches at the cushion Bucky was holding up, boxing gloves nearly sliding from his fists because of their large size. 

“One more, there we go!”

Bucky lowered the cushion as Steve threw his last punch, racing toward the bench to fetch Steve’s inhaler and hand it to the younger boy. 

“I could have gone longer.”

Bucky smiled at his best friend, “I’m sure you could have but you were about to pop a lung and I love you too much to see you go out that way, pal.”

Steve took a drag of his inhaler at the same time he tried to wrap his arm around Bucky’s neck. But the older boy was quicker and lunged out of the way, taking a celebratory light jog around the ring for such minimal effort on his part. Steve just glared at him, a small smirk forming as Bucky started chanting. 

“Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, defenders of America, the world, we avenge the fallen!”

Steve let Bucky exaggerate, inhaler finally working enough for him to take a big swig of water. “You really think we’ll save the world?”

Bucky held his chest and laughed loudly, “America isn’t going to war anytime soon, pal. Let’s focus on rescuing dames from bullies and perverts first!”

     “Captain, you gonna let her-?”

You snapped your fingers in his face to get his wandering eyes back on you, “I’m speaking to you.” 

Steve couldn’t hide his grin, a slight blush growing on his cheeks due to your authoritative tone. He had heard you speak this way countless times, roughing up some guy on the opposite side whenever they proved difficult. Although you weren’t currently throwing punches, Steve was proud nonetheless. 

You continued, “Tell anyone and I’ll tell the cops you tried selling us drugs.”

The man’s eyes widened comically, “What? I don’t even have-”

You reached into your back pocket and revealed a tiny baggy half-full of white powder. Martha’s tiny giggle reminded the man that he had an audience, a possible witness, but her overall lack of involvement was enough to know he was alone in this. “Come again? You were saying something?”

The man gritted his yellowing teeth, “No fucking way.”

You jiggled the baggy closer to his face, watching in amusement as he whipped his head to the side as if it was poison. “Way. I’ll stash it in your beloved truck where only the dogs can smell it.”

Steve, hands still gripping the man out of instinct, was completely shocked. He watched the baggy in the most peculiar way - analyzing its size, crumpled appearance, even the way the tiny specks of white dust latched onto the moisture inside, resembling salt or sugar. Obviously he knew what product you handled, but he had never seen it up close and personal unless he was in the evidence locker room. Maybe ‘shock’ wasn’t used with negative connotation, because Steve wanted to both laugh at your threat and snatch the baggy from you to ensure no other soul saw you handling it. 

The man looked from both you and Steve, determined expression falling as he ran out of viable options. He sighed in defeat, “Okay.”

You snatched the baggy away from his face and pocketed it. You smiled at him with such brightness, as if you hadn’t just threatened to ruin his life. “Cool, nice meeting you!”

Steve let him go and walked back to his original seat to pick up his coat. He ignored the annoying babbling from across the diner, choosing to grab your belongings too and smiling at Martha as he took his leave. You rushed after him, turning back to wave at Martha. 

“Best coffee ever, Martha!”

You settled into the car and continued your drive fairly easily, a comfortable silence between you two. Steve didn’t know if it was the jitters from the coffee - not like he was really affected by caffeine anyway - or the effects from the uncomfortable situation he should have pulled you from sooner, because next thing he knew his voice was an octave higher and cracking. “So, you just had that shit in your back pocket this whole time?”

You choked on your laugh and covered your mouth, looking up from your phone and at him. You shared the same playful look in your eyes. 

You shrugged, “You never know when you might need it.”

Steve shook his head but kept the same tiny grin, “Do you…?”

The playfulness somewhat subsided, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. The seatbelt was digging into your right breast and side of your neck. Steve waited for your response, the question an entirely personal one. He was about to retract it, apologize and focus on the freeway for the remainder of your trip, but you cleared your throat. 

“Once. But I was young, curious, and it burned like hell so I didn’t do it again.”

You were fourteen, still unsure of yourself and the world around you, clinging onto the inner child your environment was beginning to kill. You remember running through the mansion, the ranches, random hotels and random weddings - a dozen other children and teenagers running alongside you, each avoiding interaction with those their guardians had told them to avoid. And you remembered the day you wanted to enter your bedroom to retrieve your little iPod shuffle, the door resisting as you pushed. Your strength ultimately won, revealing a bedroom floor full of all types of guns, grenades, and automatic rifles. You didn’t scare easily, you never had, but that angered and annoyed you greatly. That was your room, your own sacred space to avoid confrontation, and it had been tainted. You had stepped over the guns carefully and reached your bedside table. Attaching your headphones to the device and clicking shuffle, you had almost missed the packages of drugs laying on your white bedsheet. Where you slept.

More out of anger than curiosity, you had carefully poked a hole in one of those taped packages and rubbed it over your teeth and gums like you saw some of your father’s men do. The sensation was weird, more numb than anything, and although you wanted it to taste like the flour you used for baking, it didn’t. So you picked a small portion under your pinky nail and sniffed. It burned, similar to when you burped and the carbonation came back up through your nose, and you wanted to scream. An instant headache, an unknown high, and a very angry Seda appeared around the same moment. 

“Why do you carry it now?” Steve asked. 

You snapped yourself out of the flashback, “My father knows we’re traveling by car. We’ll be arriving in the next day or so. He could call at any time and tell me he needs someone taken out in whatever state we’re currently passing through.”

Steve hummed, face showing discomfort. “Taken out? Do you often plant drugs on innocent people?”

You huffed, “Hardly innocent. Just drug dealers or other smugglers that got on his bad side.” 

You played with the button to roll down the window, watching the moisture from water droplets begin to dry and leave their smudge. You continued, “Quick drop into a glove compartment or someone’s pocket while they’re distracted usually does the trick.”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed, “Guess I can understand that.”

You left the window slightly open, the cold air nipping at your cheeks. The smell of rain was prominent. “I do my research before, you know. I don’t just frame random people.”

Your soft voice suddenly hurt Steve, almost like you were accusing him of thinking of you as evil. Whether you discussed your undercover work with him or not, he would never assume you escaped morals. You were an Avenger after all, and even though no one knew, Tony used to have a huge part in the decision-making process with Fury. And if Tony had seen something in you, then he trusted him. “I know.”

“Thank you, by the way. I may not look it, but he did scare me for a sec.”

Steve sighed, “We’re partners, Y/N. I would never let anything or anyone hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes at his sincerity, smiling toward him but avoiding his gaze. “Still… thanks.”

“No problem. Your playlist this time?”

You passed the next several hours listening to mostly instrumental music, the foggy and dense atmosphere of each state you drove through providing the same calm feeling. It was winter after all, and although California didn’t have quite as much snow as the midwest, it certainly had rain. The drive consisted of small talk about your surroundings, about your friends, about the most random things you could fill into a twelve hour time stamp. You played with the seat warmers, laughing when Steve jumped a foot in the air when his got a little too hot for his liking. And his cursing. When you first met Steve, he didn’t curse all that much unless it was in the middle of a fight or when he was truly angry. But now, especially after these last couple of years, his vocabulary expanded to new inappropriate lengths. You didn’t mind, no, it made the conversations all that more interesting. 

So when Steve grumbled under his breath as he spilled crumbs from his granola bar onto the passenger seat (you had volunteered driving the sixth hour in), and mumbled “jesus fucking christ”, you gave him such a bright smile with equally bright eyes that had Steve scrunching his eyebrows together and he leaned away from you, a blush crawling up his neck. 

‘What?’

‘You took the lord’s name in vain.’

‘Yeah, so what?’

‘Over a granola bar.’

‘... I see your point.’

You stopped about an hour away from the hotel, legs cramping and backs strained but overall happy that no one else on the journey recognized you two. There had been that kid who paused in the aisle of a small gas station, wide eyes staring up at both you and Steve as you reached for a bag of chips. Steve had crouched down to his height, chatting for a few seconds before giving him a small fist bump. You smiled at the kid, bringing your finger up to your mouth to mime a tiny ‘shh’, and followed Steve out the store after paying. 

You spent the next few minutes stretching, the sudden pops of your hips causing Steve to create as much of a fuss he had done before. 

‘Is that normal?’

‘It’s a ball and socket joint, they crack.’

‘So violently?’

‘It actually feels awesome.’

The California air was musty this season, humid and wet. The smell of various weeds and tree bark overpowered anything else, and although there was moisture in the air, the coldness dried your eyes. You found yourself blinking multiple times to accumulate some tears, and you reached into your backpack to reapply some lip gloss. You donned a simple, forest green tracksuit with a knitted sweater over it all, layers and layers to combat the cold breeze. Steve wore a similar knitted sweater, but he seemed less fazed by the cold than you were. 

“So, how much do you trust this person?”

You snapped your head up from your lazy resting and asked Steve to repeat his question. Once heard, you shrugged and answered. “About ninety-five percent.”

Steve chuckled and wrapped his arms over his chest, “Will it ever be a hundred? C’mon.”

You grinned back and took a deep breath, chilly air slightly burning your sinuses. “They took a bullet for me once. And they didn’t have to.”

You were meeting your main contact of the mission. Maribel, a childhood friend, a friend who ultimately took a bullet for you to keep your undercover identity a secret. You could have been compromised, forced to stand trial in front of your father and his men, but she took the fall. After going off the grid and living in Madripoor for about six years, she had contacted you after the snap. Her relief, and her eagerness for revenge, all were to your benefit. So you fed her any information you could, both vowing to fuck with your father in any means. And since you were the only person on the inside with ties to the Avengers, having Maribel be an insider with no ties ultimately helped prepare your case. Two sides, two people with shared experiences, all truth. And you were going to do everything in your power to clear her name and get her a good deal. 

“So, why isn’t it a hundred?”

“I haven’t trusted anyone a full one-hundred percent since SHIELD was compromised.”

Steve’s voice dropped a little, but you could still make out his teasing tone. “Do you trust me?”

“It wavers.”

“Wait-”

You interrupted and pointed toward the trail hidden by the trees, “There she is.”   

Maribel had changed immensely since you last saw her. Her natural ginger hair was now dyed a dark brown, her freckles seeming to have multiplied and draped themselves from her cheeks and down her neck, over her shoulders, etc. She wore all black, leather jacket and leather boots, loose strands of hair blocking the view of shoulder buttons and shoulder pockets. She looked younger, more refreshed in her natural glow, healthy even. You found yourself breathing a sigh of relief, chest tightening with genuine love as she flashed you a wide smile. You gave her a tight hug, patting her back and welcoming her back to the states. She smelled of the bushes she had to track through to get here. 

She released you from her tight grip and looked over at Steve, giving him an almost teasing look. “Heard you were invited. Nice to meet you Captain.”

Steve shook her hand, “Pleasure’s all mine.”

She chuckled and winked at him, “Y/N inform you about me? How do I sound? Look?”

Steve seemed to be affected the same way you had, an involuntarily reddening of his cheeks giving him away. “Like a possible ally.”

Maribel scoffed playfully, “I’ll take what I can get.”

“Status?” you asked.

Maribel handed you the file she carried, “Hotel is secure. Neighboring cities have no alerts about your arrival or of the upcoming celebration. Everything’s pretty quiet.”

You smirked, looking over to Steve in recognition of what that meant. “Of course it is. He wouldn’t dare kill any U.S citizens on American soil.”

“Heard he got sloppy,” Maribel sang, rocking back and forth on her heels. 

“Let’s hope it’s to our benefit. You meet up with the agent in charge I told you about?”

Maribel nodded, “Torres is set up a few miles from the venue. He’s been running surveillance for about three days already.”

“If you can’t get into contact with me, Torres is your second. Got it? He reports back to Sam.”

Maribel agreed, “Got it. So, what’s the plan for the rest of the week?”

“Steve and I will draft a report tomorrow morning and send you the encrypted file.”

“Can’t wait. It’s nice to see you again, Y/N,” she smiled, bringing you back into a tight hug. Steve simply stood to the side, listening around for any disturbances. 

“Likewise,” you spoke, sad to watch her walk away and back toward the hidden path. Her feet crunched on some fallen leaves purposefully. You suddenly remembered the bit of information that could be useful if Maribel were to encounter an old foe.

You called out to her, “Oh, and if anybody asks - Steve is my boyfriend and you’ve known about it for three years now!”

Steve hid his face behind his hand, looking down to his feet to avoid Maribel’s teasing and humorous expression. “Lucky you!”

     The hotel was nicer than you expected, the pictures on google doing little to showcase just how grand it really was. With some of your savings and a little money under the table from Fury, you were able to book a single bedroom with two beds for five nights. Obviously, the wedding night wasn’t counted as the two of you were going to have to haul ass immediately, but five nights in this grand arena seemed vacation enough.

From the outside, it seemed like any chain hotel, but the inside provided a more Gothic feel. It compared to a Vegas type, but also your typical breakfast inn. It was an odd combination, but you figured they had that liberty since it was a really quiet part of the city and didn’t see many regular customers.

You lugged your suitcases through the elevator doors and pressed the button for the seventh floor, looking around for the security cameras in the corner. You spotted the red light blinking and immediately smiled and waved. 

“Steve, say hi to Bucky.”

Steve looked at the camera and raised an eyebrow, giving a small wave. “You know regular security can see us, too?”

“Can’t hear us, though. Neither can Bucky.”

“So, if I were to call him a thousand bad words right now, he wouldn’t know?”

You squinted at Steve as the elevator dinged, “He can still read our lips.”

“That adds to the fun!”

The room was big enough to set up an extra pull-out table and computer in the corner, the only separate part being the bathroom to the side of the entrance door. The beds were both queen sized, multiple throw pillows scattered on top and two bedside tables in the middle. 

You rushed inside and threw your suitcase carelessly at the foot of the bed closest to the door, and ran to leap in the air and land face first on the cushy mattress. “Heaven!”

Steve picked up your suitcase and set it against the wall, “Glad to see you’re already making yourself at home.”

You rolled over and pressed some pillows to your chest, “You ever plopped yourself down onto a hotel bed? Do it!”

Steve tilted his head slightly, reluctant to the idea. “What if I break it?”

You burst out laughing, “Oh my god, I didn’t even think of that.”

Steve sighed, shoulders sagging as he gave in. “Promise you won’t laugh if I break it?”

“Do you know me?”

Steve rolled his eyes and braced himself against the wall, pushing himself off and leaping into the air only lightly, crashing onto the bed the same way you did. The bed creaked and made a horrible sound. But it held, the wood proving stronger than you thought. 

“Okay, I see the pleasure in that,” Steve laughed, face still smushed inside the mountain of pillows. You lay in your own beds for about an hour, naps wholeheartedly enforced. 

A quick knock on your hotel door snapped you from your short slumber. You rolled over with a groan, looking over your shoulder at a still snoring Steve. His age was catching up to him alright, because he totally should have woken up from that. You opened the door and greeted Torres, allowing him to step inside. He lugged in a hotel cart with a heavy drape over it, careful in not hitting the doorway. 

“Agent Y/L/N, it’s so great to see you again!”

Now Steve was awake.

“You too! I thought our last rendezvous was cut too short,” you teased, sticking your bottom lip out and giving him puppy-dog eyes. Torres blushed under your gaze but shook his head at your flirting. 

“Well, here we go again! Got everything you need right here.”

He revealed the desktop computer and multiple other monitors, radios, a printer, and earpieces. 

“Looks like Christmas morning,” you joked, helping Torres set up. 

“Sorry for waking you, Captain. Sam said I had to deliver all this before nighttime.”

Steve waved his apology off, “Don’t worry about it. Thanks for doing this.”

“Anything.”

You went over the itinerary for the rest of the week and once Torres announced his leave, you handed him the extra key card you had asked for. 

“If you need anything, or we don’t radio in at the times we set up, you use it. Okay?”

Torres gave you a sincere smile, tucking the key card into his coat pocket. “You can count on me.”

Once Torres left the room, Steve spoke. “Watch him barge in when one of us is showering.”

“Let’s hope we don’t scar the poor kid.”

It took about two hours to set up all the tech and connect it all back to the compound. You video chatted with Bucky and Scott and discussed the itinerary tomorrow. You double-checked mic connections, triple-checked police reports filed within the last few hours, and reviewed spy cam footage Torres had taken of the ranch. It was basically homework. 

“We have to set up our backstories, our so-called relationship, you have to know everything.”

Steve hummed, tapping his pen on the table. “Where do we start?”

“They might ask why you help me in the first place.”

“Fuck America, that’s why.”

You stuttered, voice timid and eyebrows high. “O-oh?”

Steve laughed at your reaction. He leaned in with confidence, “I mean, your father grew up close to a similar time I did. He’s old fashioned, no?”

“Kind of. He’s old so he hates the new clothing styles, women’s rights, the works,” you shrugged. 

“Wow, he sounds worse the more you speak about him.” You rolled your eyes at Steve and his sarcastic tone. “So I can say America just changed way too much since I came out of the ice.”

You nodded and rapidly wrote the basics of the backstory into your notepad. “Okay. But I hope you know you’re gonna have to play into that conservative part, especially with him and Seda.”

“What do you mean?”

You smirked at him and cocked an eyebrow, “You gotta be drowning in toxic masculinity.”

“Fuck, really?”

You almost wanted to lean over and slap his shoulder. It was then that you realized how disconnected Steve really was to this whole situation, never once meeting your father or his minions. He didn’t know the shit that went down when he was in hiding, only the basics, and scaring him now didn’t seem like a great idea. 

“Really. You’re playing the role of my boyfriend in a male-dominated drug war. They think you’re in charge, which is technically correct to assume. Your rank is higher, your status is higher, so your personality needs to match that or else you won’t gain their trust.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, “I don’t know the first thing about disrespecting women.”

You snorted, “I’m gonna be honest and say that was the most adorable shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Stop it.”

You spoke with your hands, fingers dancing as a way to sprinkle some sensitivity on the issue. “Order me around. Tell me when it’s time to leave, be possessive if anyone wants to get my attention, interrupt me.”

“Y/N, I don’t think I can do that.”

“You technically already do it.”

Steve blinked, “Excuse me?”

You lowered your voice to explain, “You’re my Captain. You give me orders on the field. You shut me up when I’m too loud or turning something serious into a joke.”

He shifted again, “But I don’t do it to dominate you.”

“I know you don’t. Trust me.”

“So, I gotta become an asshole?” 

You nodded, “Yes. But you need to know your limits.” You handed Steve multiple files for him to examine. 

“Ramirez is one of the rare ones that loves his family, especially his wife and daughters. You can’t be an ass in front of him.”

Steve grinned as he read, surprised with the restraint Ramirez and his men were able to achieve. “Guess that’s a little relief for me.”

“And White is too much into his own product all day to give a shit.”

Steve paused before he spoke, licking his lips in hesitation. “What happens if your father goes overboard?”

    “Shit,” you mumbled, tumbling into the compound and practically crawling to the first floor. You didn’t know who was home or who was visiting. Wanda, Steve, Natasha, Vision, and Sam were on the run for more than a year now - Scott and Clint were on house arrest (which you were also, technically) - so you truly did not know if your cries for help would be heard. You had practically begged to accompany Wanda or be with Bucky back in Wakanda, but because of your undercover status (and the fact that your father still did not know you aided Captain America in hiding an assumed fugitive), you weren’t allowed to leave the compound without permission. The memory of the separation was almost as painful as the gunshot wound in your abdomen. 

You clutched the side of your stomach and crawled through the doors. 

“Arrrgh - is someone home?”

And with a stroke of luck, Rhodey rounded the corner just in time to hear your plea. 

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, dashing across the room to help you sit up. “What happened?”

“They were getting too suspicious,” you said, wincing when Rhodey pressed a nearby blanket on your wound. “I couldn’t give them Steve’s location.”

“Are you talking about your father and his partner?”

You nodded quickly, helping Rhodey apply pressure. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, alert the medics. First floor,” Rhodey stammered, the sight of your blood making him a little queasy in the morning. 

“I’m gonna kill him if he got one of my kidneys - I was saving that, you know?”

Rhodey involuntarily laughed, quickly covering his mouth. You brushed it off and let him know that if you were still able to joke, he was able to laugh.

“Take your mind off the pain, what happened?”

You sighed, shutting your eyes in distress. “You know that the main players in this game are me and Steve. My father decided that it was time to meet the star-spangled man, time to meet who is distributing his product behind the back of the U.S government.”

Rhodey rotated the blanket to dab with a clean side. You continued speaking. 

“I told him Steve wasn’t active at the moment - not a lie, by the way. But the more I told him that I had no way of being in touch with the dude, the angrier he got. Seda fired a warning shot into my gut, I guess.”

“Shit… I can’t authorize any more solo trips without back-up, Y/N. This has gone too far,” Rhodey sighed, adrenaline lowering once he saw a few medics burst through the door. 

Hours seemed to pass before you awoke. The doctors found no serious damage, your stitches were already healing with the help of Tony’s new tech, and you were up and walking within hours. A slight pinch in your gut bothered you, but other than that you pulled yourself out of bed to go search for Rhodey. You heard voices talking over one another, all angry and authoritative. You tip-toed into the room just in time to see Rhodey end a call and turn back to the group of people he was talking to in person. Your breath hitched when you saw him, face still rugged and more tired than you remembered, but still gorgeous. 

“Steve?” you quietly muttered, all eyes darting toward you. “Wanda?”

You tried to run over to them but were caught limping. Still, Wanda rushed over and enveloped you in a tight hug, noticing the way you twisted your hip outward to avoid full contact.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” Rhodey said as he came over to hold you steady. 

“What happened to you?” Steve asked, his hand now resting on your blushing cheek. You studied his blue eyes carefully, scared that this reunion was going to last for only a few more seconds, his warm hand making your stomach knot. He had a full beard now, hair longer than you remember, and he filled in his suit more. You were so unbelievably happy to see him after everything that went down. 

You patted his chest with a soft chuckle, “Finally ripped that star off, huh?”

Steve’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but you could see a glint of tenderness. 

He placed his hand over yours, “Who’s ass do I have to kick?”

You waved your hand in the air. “Family drama.”

Rhodey didn’t let that explanation fly, though. He informed the rest of the team of what happened to you, Steve’s anger building. 

But you quickly silenced them, “I’m alright. I’ll deal with it later. What threat do we currently face?”

After their brief update, you were ready to go back to bed. 

“So, you’re telling me that we gotta fight this big purple dude because he wants Vision’s stone? Sure, why not?”

     “I really hope he doesn’t go overboard.”

Steve repeated the question, however. “What do we do?”

You sighed, picking at the potato chips to your side. “If you’re feeling uncomfortable, or I am, we’ll just squeeze each other’s hands.”

“Like a safe word?”

Your smile grew slowly as you registered his innocent words. “Yes, Steve, like a safe word.”

You popped a chip into your mouth and leaned back into your chair,  “Wow, you’re on a roll with that adorableness.”

Steve rolled his eyes and stole a chip from your bag, “Shut up.”

You pointed at him and smiled wider, “See? Toxic bitch.”

It took a moment for Steve to register his previous words, “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven.” 

You dusted off your fingers and handed him even more files, “Alright, so we know that to make it in this drug game, you gotta have connections everywhere.”

“Understandable. What are we looking for tomorrow?”

“Drug lords love to conduct business in the middle of huge events. Big distractions mean more leeway.”

“But tomorrow?”

“We’re going to cut them off. Swipe their ID’s.” 

You elaborated, “To survive in this business, you have to have ID’s to get anywhere and everywhere. We’re looking for fake press ID’s, fake police ID’s, even fucking farming and landowning ID’s or… licenses, really. Those two give us the proof of ownership for certain lands.”

“Just swipe them?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“My father keeps them all in a little safe inside the wall. It’s located in the study. Just his and Seda’s.”

“And they won’t notice they’re missing?”

“Word is that they’re not planning a move until the day of the wedding. Meaning, they’ll be cut off when they open that safe. We have to keep the product from moving or else our agents won’t find the tangible evidence when we give them the green light.”

Steve wrote in his notepad. “So, we’ll focus on the hacking-?”

“During the rehearsal dinner.”

“Gotcha.”

You grabbed the bag of chips and ate a few, the silence still comfortable. You spoke, stealing Steve's attention from the files. “This is gonna work, Steve.”

Steve thinly smiled and reached over to steal the bag from your hands. “As long as we don’t get caught.”

      The steam from the bathroom practically whipped Steve across the face, the smell of lotions and perfume overpowering the natural odor of the hotel air conditioner. He groaned as he searched his suitcase for his pajamas. 

“You couldn’t have left me some hot water?”

You scoffed, towel rinsing your wet hair. “It’s a hotel charging two hundred a night. If you don’t have hot water, then we’ll go down there and ‘Karen’ it up.”

“Funny,” Steve mumbled, pushing past you and locking the bathroom door. You stood, arms slightly raised in confusion, expression mimicking those in comedy shows. If there was any hidden camera, your eyes scanned for it. 

“Uh, what’d I do?” you mumbled to no one in particular. But you brushed off Steve’s sudden change in attitude and sat for the next thirty minutes hand drying your hair in sections and watching television. You were invested in an episode of Kitchen Nightmares that you barely heard your phone ding. You unlocked your phone, laughing under your breath at the group chat messages. 

Bucky: Kill him yet?

Peter: bet she will by wednesday.

Wanda: Ridiculous, all of you

Y/N: Twenty bucks says he kills me.

Bucky: hey are you even allowed to bet on this?

Wanda: Seems fair since you’re so sure she’ll crack

Peter: She’s more sneaky

Y/N: He mad right now

Bucky: He’s always grumpy before his bedtime

Y/N: dude it’s eight

Peter: lmfao

     The same fog of heat exited the bathroom as Steve opened the door and you murmured a quick ‘I told you so’ for him to hear. He ignored you, rubbing his eyes as he plugged his phone to his charger and crawled under his blankets. He sat up, though and reached over to grab his sketchbook, knees coming up to substitute as a flat surface. You snuggled into your blankets after turning the television volume lower and placing the remote closer to Steve’s bedside table. You brought the blanket up to your chin and hummed peacefully.      

The sounds of Steve’s pencil prompted you to open one eye. His tongue was between his incisors and his eyes were squinted slightly, hair only a little wet from his shower and the tip of his nose pink.             

“Drawing always seems to ease your mind, huh?”     

Steve didn’t look up from his drawing, “It’s relaxing. I have control over it, so…”     

You thought his explanation was weird, but you understood what he meant. “I wish I could draw. It seems fun.”     

Steve paused his movements and glanced over at you, “Do you want to learn?”    

You stretched your legs and moaned loudly, “What? You want to teach me how to draw an eye tonight? I’m warning you.”   

Steve shook his head, “Right, I don’t think I have that much patience.”   

You snorted, cracking your knuckles absentmindedly as you searched for a more comfortable spot. “Mm, maybe some other time?”     

“I know you sing, though.”     

You flopped back over to face Steve, elbow now propped up to hold your weight. “How in the world do you know that?”    

“You sing sometimes, in your room. It was quiet, but you would sing along to some song on your earphones.”     

You scrunched your nose and chuckled, “And you were just outside listening?”    

Steve paused his movements again, “What? It was pretty.”    

You sank back down into your pillows and drew the blankets higher. “I feel like you saw me naked.”     

Steve scoffed, “Totally not the same thing.”     

You teased Steve further, “I’m exposed.”     

A throw pillow hit your side out of nowhere. “Stop it, I was being serious!”    

You grabbed the pillow and threw it back at him, “I haven’t sang in a long time. I hum mostly.”     

Steve caught the pillow, and resumed his sketching. “Well, you should definitely sing more.”   

“Thank you, my number one fan. I’ll take that into consideration.” You sighed and closed your eyes again. 

“Why did you stop?”

You winced but quickly covered it by taking in a deep breath, eyes still closed. 

      “You’re still fuming about it. You’re still fuming about your image being ruined. Good ol’ Captain America as a secret, undercover drug dealer!”

Steve finally showed proof of cracking, hands gripping his hair harshly. “Y/N, I said don’t start! I’m finished!”

But you persisted, now screaming and countless, frustrated tears tainting your red cheeks. “You can’t fucking stand me because I tarnished that fucking star on your chest! I made you look bad to a bunch of fucking criminals!”

     “Guess I just didn’t feel like it anymore.”

Steve didn’t want to ignore that, he wanted to dig deeper, but even with much persistence pinching the tip of his tongue, he remained silent and accepted your answer. He glanced your way a few times throughout the next couple minutes, finding your chest fall into a steady rhythm as you drifted off. He turned a page in his sketchbook, quickly brushing the surface clean of any dust before starting the outline of your sleeping form. 

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise​

[crossroadsfossil]

106 degrees

Summary:

Here’s a fun science fact: Birds consistently run at a higher temperature than humans do. It tends to range between 99 degrees fahrenheit up to 112 degrees. Hawks’ own body temperature tends to self-regulate around 106 degrees.

This is important when you get caught in an autumn rainstorm with a villian you don’t really trust.

Also known as 5 times Hawks falls asleep on Dabi

Prompt: For something fluffier, how about Hawks can't stop falling asleep on Dabi because of how hot he runs. Dabi constantly has an arm full of bird and has no clue what to do

Bonus if they still didn’t trust each other the first time it happened

A03 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31366130

Here’s a fun science fact: Birds consistently run at a higher temperature than humans do. It tends to range between 99 degrees Fahrenheit up to 112 degrees. Hawks’ own body temperature tends to self-regulate around 106 degrees.

It’s something he and Rumi discuss often, if only because Rumi liked to snuggle up to him and comments on it constantly. She has no room to talk since she also runs at a higher temperature. Granted, it’s not much higher than your usual human baseline. She runs about a hundred or a hundred and one, depending on the season.

Needless to say, Hawks is a very popular patrol partner in the winter. Add in his feathers (which are amazing insulation, despite not being meant for it) and the large fluffy jacket he’s never without, and it’s not surprising that he’s almost never alone in the cooler weather, even if most of his companions can’t keep up with him once he gets going.

Neither his feathers nor his jacket are doing him any good right now, as soaked through as they are. His day had gone from bad (a long day topped off with a meeting Dabi ‘forgot’ to tell him about) to worse (an incoming cold front) to absolutely terrible (a storm that was preceding the cold front, resulting in rain, sleet, snow, or all three since this was Japan after all).

As soon as the sky opened up, Hawks insisted they take shelter. He’d herded Dabi towards the closest abandoned warehouse. He ignored the expression Dabi sported as he broke in. He didn’t care what the villain thought or how entertained he was by the action. He was a practical man and it was abandoned. Besides, if he didn’t get out of the wind and rain, he was at serious risk of going into torpor. The gear he was wearing today wasn’t meant for repelling water and it was about as much use as an icepack in winter.

There were a list of things he didn’t want to happen around Dabi, and going into torpor was fairly high up on that list, alongside bullet points such as ‘getting drunk’, ‘getting high’ and ‘running into another hero’. The best Hawks could expect from Dabi was for the villain to light his feathers on fire. At worst, he figured Dabi wouldn’t be the only burnt nugget around after he was finished with Hawks.

“Hey birdie, I’m not opposed to a show but take me out for dinner first.” Dabi said, watching as Hawks shrugged out of his coat and feathers in one fluid movement, catching his jacket before it fell off completely. He let his feathers fall to the ground with a disgusting splat. Laundering those would be less of a hassle than laundering his jacket. He draped his jacket over a nearby box in the vain hope that it might dry a little. It probably wouldn’t, but who knows. Maybe if he annoys Dabi enough, the fire-quirk user might raise the temperature in the warehouse by a few degrees.

“Ha. Ha. Not everyone has a fire quirk, asshole.” Hawks replied, giving what remained of his wings a shake to get as much of the water out. A quick look around the warehouse revealed it wasn’t as secure as he had thought, with great gaping holes in several of the walls. He shivered as the wind blew through them and started looking for anywhere that would provide a barrier between himself and the wind. He watched enviously for a moment as Dabi rolled his shoulders and began steaming slightly, burning the moisture out of his clothes and coat.

He spotted a pile of boxes, with several piled up on three sides to make a small nook and started to walk towards it.

“So, what do you have for me?” He asked, sitting down and scooting until he hit the back ‘wall’ of boxes.

Dabi shrugged. “Nothing. Just wanted to see if you’d come.” He replied.

Hawks stared at him, not quite believing what he just heard. Dabi’s growing grin cemented the fact that he had not, in fact, misheard.

“You’re an asshole. You seriously just called me out here on a whim? I’ve got better things to do, Dabi.”

“What, rescue people? In this weather? I think not.” Dabi said, slinking towards Hawks. Instead of taking a seat on the box directly in front of him, Dabi decided that the best place to sit was practically in Hawks’ lap. He shoved the hero over and leaned against one of the boxes that made up a makeshift wall and smiled at Hawks, daring him to do anything about it.

“Dick. So what now? Are you going to suggest we play Shiritori or I-Spy to pass the time? Since you invited me out for a playdate, we might as well.”

“That is not what I did.”

“You did it on a whim. It sounds like either a playdate or you miiiiiiiiiissed meeee.” Hawks said in a sing-song tone, delighting in the way it made Dabi’s face scrunch up in irritation.

“We could play ‘how many burnt feathers does it take to get to the crispy chicken center’.” Dabi held up a palm, a blue flame flickering to life in the center of it. Hawks looked between the flame and Dabi’s face and, very pointedly, brought his hands up to warm them.

“Thanks. My fingers were getting cold.”

Dabi huffed and closed his fist, snuffing the fire out.

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

When the bird actually showed up in the storm, Dabi wasn’t sure what he was expecting. He certainly wasn’t expecting the hero to stick around, let alone break into a building. Especially not the way he had. In the split second between Hawks looking at the door and breaking in, he’d assumed the hero would use a feather to lock-pick it. It seemed like something the hero would do- sufficiently flashy enough and sounded like the sort of party trick the pigeon would learn. Instead, Hawks had pulled out one of his larger feathers, slid it into the bend of the padlock and twisted it, using the feather like a lever and cracking the lock off with brute strength.

He wouldn’t say it intrigued him, but it was damn close. There were still things about the bird he didn’t know and he was still half-convinced the hero was a spy, but shit like that definitely made him question that assumption.

The hero also annoyed the ever-loving hell out of him. More than Toga or Twice did, so he was hoping the bird would slip up and he’d have an excuse to roast the number two hero.

The storm outside had rolled in completely, throwing the warehouse into almost complete darkness. He and Hawks had stopped sniping at each other almost half an hour ago, the warehouse filled with the sound of screaming winds and hammering rain. He was pretty sure this was a new record for Hawks. If he gave a shit, he’d say something about being impressed. He didn’t give a shit and he was more interested in figuring out what the fuck was making that weird noise. It kept disturbing the quiet of the warehouse; it was almost a peeping squeak, like a chain swinging in the wind, but far more organic.

He lit up one of his palms, peering out into the darkness to see if he could spot the noise. All it did was make the shadows worse and throw the hero into an eerie light. The hero was sitting with his eyes closed, and as Dabi watched, about every third exhale the bird would shiver slightly and let out that peeping noise.

Was that… Hawks’ version of a snore?

Pretty ballsy of the hero to fall asleep next to him. Ballsy and stupid as hell. Slowly, he brought his hand closer to the bird, intent on setting at least one wing on fire.

Gold eyes blinked open, unfocused. Dabi froze, waiting for the bird to react.

Hawks did, but not in a way Dabi had been expecting.

“Fucking hell-” Dabi spat as Hawks leaned against him.

The bird was freezing.

It was like getting hit by a wet washcloth that had been sitting in a freezer, and within moments he could feel the water seeping through his clothes. The bird was freezing and soaking wet.

Then the bird shivered again, almost cuddling into Dabi’s arms. Hawks’ eyes had closed again and it left Dabi with an armful of bird and no good idea how to handle this or how to feel about it.

Logically, Hawks was probably seeking out the warmth, and hell, maybe he was like Spinner. Spinner hated the cold and was about as tolerant of it as Dabi was of the heat. Guess that might explain the sleepy-thing. Spinner mentioned something about torpor once. Dabi hadn’t been listening because Spinner was goddamn annoying.

He brought his legs up, shifting Hawks so that he was sitting sideways and half on Dabi’s lap. One of his hands came up and, against his better judgement, settled on the remaining plumage Hawks had left on his wings. They looked comically small like this, and he had been wondering about how they felt.

Right now, they felt wet and cold.

He tsked and slowly heated his hand up, combing his hand through the feathers.

Slowly, they went from feeling like wet paper to delightfully smooth and soft.

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

Normally, Hawks enjoyed waking up. He had a nice bed and decadent sheets. He usually woke with the sun, and despite having an early shift, that still usually left him with an hour he could spend just basking in the delight of a nice bed. If he left the shades open, he could do so in a puddle of sunlight.

His bed didn’t feel right this morning. Too lumpy and for a moment he tried to recall if he had brought anyone home the night before. There was a hand combing through his hair, so there was a very distinct possibility that he had left the warehouse the night before and-

His eyes flew open at the thought.

He didn’t remember leaving the warehouse and-

“Chill your tits, bird brain. Just me.” Dabi said, giving a light tug on a lock of Hawks’ hair. He ignored the pleasant way it sent shivers down his spine.

“What the fuck.”

“Yeah. That was my thought too. Lemme guess- you go into torpor?” Dabi asked.

“Do I even need to answer that right now?” Hawks’ shoulders slumped and he groaned.

Fantastic. He did exactly the thing he hadn’t wanted to do. Dabi let out a soft huff, almost a laugh but not quite. Hawks leaned back, feeling an arm against his back and keeping him from going too far. Dabi didn’t look peeved, and that raised his hackles. His eye narrowed as he tried to figure out what happened.

“What?”

“You did something.” Hawks stated, running through a checklist in his mind. He didn’t feel any burns. Nothing smelled like ash. The only real change from before he went into torpor was his hair and wings were fully dry and his clothes felt, well, not dry but not sopping wet anymore.

Oh.

OH.

Dabi noticed the grin on Hawks’ face, and started spluttering. “You were just-”

“You preened meeee.” Hawks sang, laughing at the affronted expression on Dabi’s face.

“I did not. You were dripping everywhere.”

“Uh-huh. And that included drying my wings… why?”

“....Because they were there. So shoot me if I wanted to know if you had greasy bird feathers.”

“Nope. That the same reason you decided to sweetly comb through my hair? I mean, really Dabi. If you wanted to play with my hair and wings that much, you could have at least gotten me dinner first.” Hawks teased, stifling a laugh as Dabi’s expression went from affronted to a grouchy embarrassment, before then actually lifting Hawks up and dumping him on the ground.

One- Damn. Hawks’ wasn’t heavy but he was mostly muscle so. Damn.

Two- He was just laughing harder now. To think that Dabi got shy about being caught playing with hair. He got to his feet, trying to brush the dust from his pants before giving it up as a lost cause.

“Well Hotstuff, thanks for the preen and playing heating pad. Guess we did get to know each other a little better tonight.”

Dabi flipped him off, sliding off the crates and making his way towards the door they came in through.

“Dabi?” Hawks called out. To his surprise, Dabi stopped, turning to look at him, dubiously waiting for the rest of his question. “For the next meeting, can I play with your hair?”

A moment later he was scrambling away from the fireball Dabi sent his way, despite knowing that it wasn’t a true attack and Dabi was only trying to get him to stop talking and hide his frazzled expression. Hawks watched Dabi make a beeline out the door, wheezing on his laughter as he gathered up his jacket and feathers.

Teasing Dabi was going to be so much fun.

[alistonjdrake]

June’s World Building Cheat Sheet Part Nine: Multicultural

I kind of touched on these subjects before but as I’ve been doing lately I’ve had more thoughts and I want to do a deeper dive. 

Honestly while I’ve been thinking about this for a while and briefly mentioned it in a previous post, it really hit me when I was playing Crusader King’s 3 and my character became the Norwegian-Irish Emperor of Britannia and France, and a lot of my subjects had some qualms with my cultural identity and as I watched areas of England get Norwegian-nized and names changed I started thinking about cultural markers. 

To put it simply, a “cultural marker” is basically just something to quickly pinpoint where someone is from or what their heritage is. Of course these are not always super specific and there is overlap. Like, me saying I speak English does not immediately make it obvious that I’m American. But if I talked about what I grew up eating, regional slang, some things people wore commonly, you would probably be able to narrow it down. There’s also what I tend to refer to as the stereotypical cultural markers so if someone was to say “I’m from X” what’s the first thing that comes to people’s mind that they relate to that place and that culture?

I also started thinking deeply about language and language as an extension of someone’s identity. This also stood out to me in the case of empires or in places were dozens of cultures have blended. At some point, language either is or isn’t an extension of someone’s background but the language someone does speak can say a lot about them or the area they grew up as I mentioned in my last post with regional dialects or when a certain language might be considered the “default” among some characters.

Now, as always, I have to say I do not think it’s extremely pressing to give fantasy cultures so many layers. I don’t think it’s always necessary to have a throwaway line about people speaking multiple languages in your metropolitan city or the fact that the culture is either not a monolith on its own or new people have moved in. Do I think it spices things up a little bit? Of course. That’s why I’m talking about it.

The lack of especially falls short to me in settings, as mentioned, that are empires or densely populated or considered “centers” of the world. How many times have I read a fantasy university or guild settings or these expansive cities and all the characters were more or less from the exact same place, all spoke the same language, pretty much ate the same things, and had the same opinions on anything not a huge plot point. 

So Let’s Talk About Language (Again)

I’m not gonna lie. My nerd brain loved it when my Norwegian-Irish emperor took over England and instead of the names of familiar places changing completely they were just changed to sound slightly more Norwegian while still looking enough like what it used to be. I am upset with myself for never considering this before in my own work or thinking about it when I craft fantasy worlds, especially in settings where one group or place takes over another. The language would change or there would be shifts due to either

The sounds for the original thing they’re trying to say do not exist in their language

That’s simply how they pronounce it

Maybe they were feeling frisky that day and decided to change it just because. 

I think we see this most often especially with borrowed words. When a word more or less exists in several languages maybe because they’re taking on a title or a position, it’s not so much that the word changes but each one has to put their spin on it. Not always intentionally it might just be how they say it given either the limitations of their own tongue or how they heard it. 

In my last post I began to touch on this with the introduction of people speaking the same language differently in my Grazan Escan vs “regular” Escan dialect (the basis of this discussion just that people who live in Graza in my setting speak the language slightly different than non-Grazans which sometimes makes the language hard to understand for even native speakers). Last night I had another breakdown about how much I hate the common tongue and the concept of the common tongue and I’d like to also mention that if there is going to be a “common” language in a setting, I myself tend to use Escan as the common language because Escan is an imperial nation and have intentionally spread their language all over the place so a lot of my characters speak it, I think it is important to have some context as to why a language would be so widespread/ common. Someone would have had to go to these far places and teach people how to speak this language (and somehow walk away with it having no regional differences). Why would people in this setting think it a good idea to even learn this language if they have their own and rarely communicate with people outside of their community? What is the impact of a character having to take up another language in order to? In my recently finished draft of The Night Court, due to my own temporarily fleeting memory I forgot one of the main characters was going to a place where he could not speak the language and spent that entire half of the book asking for translations and not being able to speak to certain characters directly. Which, now that I’m done with the draft I appreciate more because I’ve definitely been in situations where I’m in a new place and my poor planning and education made me the only one who couldn’t speak the language and I had to have friends help me.  

This is where language as an extension of identity comes in. Could this character have assumed that his first language was dominant enough where he could travel to new places and not have to learn anything else? Or was it just bad luck and now he feels isolated in a setting where he cannot speak to anyone? What are the implications behind someone’s first language based on where they live? I just wrote two posts now talking about Prince Toli of the Escana Empire’s first language not being Escan and how that impacted his early life and how he appears by the time we meet him in the books. What does it say about the world characters live in where what language they speak and what language they learned to speak first has such an impact?

And in the reverse, what is the perception of someone being multilingual? It is expected in a setting? It is a bonus? A requirement of certain jobs or positions? A necessity to live in certain areas? Given how much court intrigue and political scheming I write I tend to have characters switch languages to avoid spies or eavesdroppers but on the other hand it’s also easier to make new allies if you extend the branch by speaking their language. 

Are there official languages? Court languages? Trade tongues? Coded languages you’d only learn for very specific purposes? 

Clothes And Culture: Sumptuary Laws & The Fashion Police.

This is a point I missed completely in my fashion post and I’m sorry about that. As with all my “advice” I feel it important to note I don’t ever expect anyone to go the extra mile nor do I usually think people need to. These are just things I like to sprinkle into a setting to give in breathing room or background information so it doesn’t feel like it was created just to serve a story purpose, but that it’s a world people live in. 

On that note. I’m very passionate about clothing. I’m encountered a lot of fantasy fashion in my day and I understand why people don’t ever find it relevant to mention certain things but as my setting is a late 18th century world in which the common people are starting to realize that royalty kinda sucks, it’s something I can talk about.

Like, the extensive labor that goes into making sure my royal characters have 100s of different outfits. Fashion is cheaper than its ever been but that was not always the case. There’s a reason why often see people in ye old days with only like 2 outfits for any given occasion. Characters and people who had constant changes weren’t just fashion forward, they were showing off wealth whether or not that was front of mind. To give some context as a lover of historical fashion and beautifully detailed garments, I did some quick math to see how long it would take me to recreate one of my favorite gowns by and. Given the intricate details, all the delicate beading and lace and all the fabric I’d have to buy (I didn’t even get into costs) it would have taken me at minimum 50 years. 

Now does anyone need characters going around talking about how Princess Zurina is wearing a gown that would have taken one man 50 years if not for the staff of seamstresses who likely work on her wardrobe? No. If a character in a setting is a seamstress or if the story has anything to do with wealth distribution and the extravagance and waste of the super rich, sure maybe throw it in there. One half of the book I’m working on is about political cartoons criticizing the royalty and wouldn’t you know if I go back to the time period I’m basing my work off of, you can find a lot of jokes and slights towards outrageous dress because people back then understand the labor that went into these garments. 

This is where I’m going to mention sumptuary laws. Basically, whenever I do my dives into fashion history I’ll find a lot of policing towards the way people dress. I mean we still have them now but maybe they’re not as apparent to us? And a lot of them used to be more class-oriented. One should not dress above their “means” or status which is where we get certain fabrics or colors meant only for certain types of people. But it also happened in the reverse where certain groups are designated things to wear so other members of the community know who and what they are. People not being allowed to wear certain things either because they would be related to deviance or offensive. Like characters in my setting cannot wear any shade of green around the king because dark green is the Escana mourning color and it would be considered as cursing the king to die.

Are there punishments for wearing the “wrong” thing? Is exaggerated wealth or having too many outfit changes something calls criticism if the character is at the top of the food chain (or maybe criticism them no mater social standing)? Are there any unwritten dress codes in a setting that people unknowingly follow? In settings where multiple cultures might exist or people from different backgrounds exist in the same place, do their choices in dress reflect cultural markers? And is there a stark difference between traditional (to a culture) clothing and modern dress? 

I think really I’m spewing this out because I want to see more culturally rich settings that reflect some of the stuff that I think is the most interesting things about a person which is what they wear and how they speak. But again, this is a personal preference and it’s just stuff I think about. 

[robininthelabyrinth]

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5

- Chapter 6 -

When Nie Huaisang was five, almost six, his mother suddenly started to show an interest in him again.

It was all that awful Madame Yu’s fault, Meng Yao thought. It’d started right after the Jiang sect had come to visit, a nice official visit purportedly meant to introduce the two young sons that were about the same age – Madame Yu was Madame Jin’s friend, and therefore hated Meng Shi on her friend’s behalf, but she was so much smarter about it. She was as vicious and poisonous as the spider mentioned in her title, and Meng Yao’s mother was good and talented and sneaky but she was as susceptible to flattery and wiles as anyone else, especially since she’d never been the target of such poisonous words poured into her ear before, all designed to incite her into doing something she’d regret.

Meng Yao figured out what was going on pretty quickly, and even Nie Mingjue was wary of her belated interest in Nie Huaisang, although in Meng Yao’s opinion he focused a bit too much on the possibility of harm to Nie Huaisang’s feelings and not quite enough on the fact that the only thing standing between Meng Shi and the significantly more secure position of first wife was him.

Meng Yao had his first real out-loud argument with his mother over it.

Nie Huaisang didn’t care at all, indifferent as he was to Meng Shi after all this time, except of course in the sense that he was upset that Meng Yao was upset. Nie Mingjue was charmingly worried sick about their reignited and intensified cold war – so much so, even, that he went behind everyone’s backs and arranged for Meng Yao’s first mission with Chiwen to be a bodyguarding escort mission to take Qinghe’s current mistress on a shopping trip.

Sometimes Meng Yao wanted to strange him.

Irritatingly enough, it worked out just as Nie Mingjue must have planned. There was a limit to how much teenage sulking Meng Yao could get up to on an extended road trip that required a month’s travel in each direction, and his mother wasn’t so stubborn that she couldn’t be convinced regarding to exactly how underhanded Madame Yu’s instigation had been. Anyway, in the end, she did love him more than anything, and that made forgiveness easy.

Soon enough they were back to their old ways, living in each other’s pockets as they always had, only this time they had money in their pockets and the arrogance of having a Great Sect backing them up. They made a point to stop by Yunping again to rub their good fortune into the faces of the brothel owners and other prostitutes that had once so tormented them, and even ended up buying his mother’s old friend Sisi’s freedom at a much-discounted price, given what had happened to her face.

“No one will notice in Qinghe,” Meng Shi assured her old friend, clutching at her hands with a smile brighter than anything Meng Yao had ever seen on her; it made her look ten years younger. “Half the women there have scars – scars, and sabers, too, if you look inside the main house. We’ll say you’re my maid so that you can stay with me all the time, but I won’t make you lift a finger – I promise!”

Meng Yao thought it was a good thing. His mother would have company which she’d lacked, especially since Lao Nie had stopped visiting her courtyard, and even better it was company she already knew she liked. They could sit together and play games, or music, do their hair and make-up and clothes, and never have to think even once about what a man would think of them.

Meng Yao was in a very good mood.

He probably should have realized that something terrible was going to happen.

He should have, but he didn’t, not until they rode straight back in through the gates of the Unclean Realm and Nie Mingjue rushed out in a panic to meet them. He had a black eye and bruises on his neck that Meng Yao identified at once as being caused by a man’s hand – he’d seen it before in the brothel, though not since – and although Nie Mingjue was ignoring it he favored one leg over the other in a way that suggested that his ankle was swollen and maybe even fractured under his robes.

“Da-ge!” Meng Yao cried out in pure shock at how wrong it was. Although there were spars every day in the Unclean Realm, even vicious ones that were only a shade away from true fights, no one should be able to lay a hand on the eldest young master of Qinghe like that without getting their head chopped off for it, and even a night-hunt surely couldn’t have gone that badly. “What happened –”

“I’ll tell you later,” Nie Mingjue said, and his voice was harsh, but with terror, not anger. “Come with me right now. He can’t be allowed to see you. Either of you.”

Meng Yao had many questions, but Nie Mingjue permitted none of them; he ushered them up to the guest quarters, the mediocre ones where neither honored guests nor hated enemies were housed, and hidden inside, wrapped in blankets and yet shivering, pale-faced with fright, was Nie Huaisang.

Meng Yao rushed to him at once, of course, and Nie Huaisang burst into relieved tears at the sight of him – silent tears, which was unusual for him; Nie Huaisang had always been prone to wailing.

“Don’t let him make noise,” Nie Mingjue instructed, and it was at once apparent why Nie Huaisang was doing his level five-year-old best to turn sobs into whimpers and heaving breaths into quiet pants. Meng Yao turned to look at Nie Mingjue – Meng Shi and Sisi turned, too, expressions of shock and confusion painted onto their features. Nothing like this had ever happened before, and they’d been here for years; there had to be a reason for all this panic.

“What happened?” Meng Yao asked, and “You need to see a doctor,” but Nie Mingjue shook his head, promised Later, and left, locking the door behind them – locking them in.

Nie Huaisang tugged on Meng Yao’s arm. “We have to move the table,” he said. “Da-ge said, as soon as you were here, we need to move the table.”

“Move the table…? Where?”

The answer, it turned out, was in front of the door. The table, and a bookcase, as if they were planning on resisting a siege.

“Are we hiding from a monster?” Sisi asked Nie Huaisang, trying to make light of a situation she clearly didn’t understand – that none of them understood, because Nie Mingjue hadn’t explained anything.

She was trying to make light, but Nie Huaisang nodded solemnly as if she’d only said the truth. “It’s not his fault, though,” he said, his lower lip quivering. “It’s not A-die’s fault that he’s a monster now.”

Meng Yao was so steeped in cultivation lore that he forgot himself for a moment, thought immediately of possession or demonifiation or a curse or something, and then his mother said, “When did he start hitting your brother?” and Meng Yao remembered that powerful men didn’t need an excuse to be monsters.

But no, that didn’t make sense either – perhaps it would have, if he hadn’t lived here for years, if he hadn’t known Lao Nie, but he had. Lao Nie had a fierce temper and a tendency to hold grudges, a heavy hand and a cold rationality in his heart that Meng Yao understood at first glance and that Nie Mingjue hadn’t quite figured out for all that he tried to parrot his father’s teachings, but he was generally speaking not a bad man. If he sometimes raised his hand to his sons, it was meant to teach them something – he wasn’t some customer at the brothel whose always-bruised children stayed home with shadows in their eyes.

Or at least, he hadn’t been.

Meng Yao got some broken parts of the story out of Nie Huaisang with some difficulty, being as Nie Huaisang was five and self-centered and had no tendency, as Meng Yao had at his age, to listen at doorways. There was a night-hunt, apparently, and it had ended badly – Lao Nie’s saber, Jiwei, had shattered, entirely unexpectedly, and the creature had taken advantage of the moment to gore him, with only Nie Mingjue’s quick reactions saving his life.  He’d been in a coma for three days.

Three days, and then he’d woken up, his eyes bloodshot with ceaseless rage, and he’d called for Nie Mingjue to bring him his saber.

“Qi deviation,” Nie Mingjue told him later that night, climbing in through the window with a few more bruises and a cut high on his forehead so new that it was still scabbing over. His eyes were dull with exhaustion. “He doesn’t understand that she’s gone, no matter how I try to explain it.”

It wasn’t that Meng Yao hadn’t heard all the stories about the Nie clan’s tendency towards explosive and early deaths, but this was too early – Lao Nie hadn’t actually been all that old, for all that he’d waited longer than most of his ancestors to have children, and weren’t there supposed to be warning signs about this sort of thing? And the saber breaking, a Nie saber breaking –

“It was Wen Ruohan,” Nie Mingjue said. “At the dinner party, some months back. You remember. They had that back-and-forth about that fancy new saber he got as a present.” He shut his eyes. “I was standing next to him when it happened. I felt the echo of Wen Ruohan’s cultivation right before it happened – he did something, weakened it somehow, unbalanced her. Shattered her.”

His hand had found Baxia’s hilt as he spoke, his fingers white with pressure of holding her; Meng Yao couldn’t say anything, his own fingers tight around Chiwen – Nie sabers were spiritual weapons, so tailored to their makers that one might almost think they were conscious, and there were whispers that if you cultivated enough they would really become so, rising to semi-sentience and maybe even full thought one day. A Nie disciple cultivated their saber using their own soul and spirit, making it part of themselves…even imagining such a thing was like a nightmare come to life.

Meng Yao took a deep breath and held it for several seconds before exhaling. “Okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t okay, not at all. “What happens next?”

“You stay here with Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said at once. “I’ll bring you food, water, everything you need – there are servant’s passages in the walls, or I can fly Baxia to your window –”

Meng Yao reached out and caught his waving hand. “No, not – what happens next? We can’t cower here like trapped rats forever.”

But Nie Mingjue only looked tired, tired and afraid. “Meng Yao…”

“We can’t,” Meng Yao insisted. “And you – look at you, look what he did to you –”

“He’s still sect leader,” Nie Mingjue said. “And my father. He’s entitled to do as he likes.”

“There has got to be some sect law permitting the removal of a sect leader for madness!” Meng Yao exclaimed. “This isn’t a surprise; it’s hereditary – someone must have put in place measures –”

“Measures that require three-fourths of Nie sect elders to participate, enough to fill a quota, and an heir old enough to make a reasonable argument for inheritance,” Nie Mingjue said, and they both knew that he wasn’t. He was only fifteen; who would respect him? “There was some underhandedness a few generations back, someone trying to frame someone else for it in order to steal their position, so madness is a high bar to reach. I’ve sent letters to summon back everyone above the right age, as many as people as I can spare, but until they all come – we can’t let anyone know.”

Meng Yao hunted for words, but his silver tongue could not do what his mind knew was impossible; there really was nothing for it. Tensions with the other sects were too high. Even putting Wen Ruohan aside, there was Jin Guangshan in Lanling, always avaricious, and dozens of small sects dreaming of becoming bigger at the Nie sect’s expense. It was one thing to say that Lao Nie was injured and healing; yet another entirely to reveal that the Nie sect’s leader had gone mad, mad with anger, and that they were as rudderless as a raft on the open ocean.

They couldn’t openly demand that their traveling sect elders all come rushing back at once without alerting everyone to the problem – they couldn’t even ask the other sects to help find them.

No one could know.

“So, what are you suggesting,” Meng Yao said, his smile even gentler than usual in his rage. He might not show his fierce anger the way the Nie clan did, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it. “That we just put up with it until we gather enough people to do it right, or else until he dies? How long will that take?”

Nie Mingjue rubbed his face. “I’m not sure. A year, maybe?”

A year.

“That’s implausible,” Meng Yao pointed out. “Sect business still needs to get done.”

“I’ve been doing what I can,” Nie Mingjue said, because of course he was. He was the heir – he was the rightful sect leader, even though he was far too young for it. “Great-uncle says he thinks I can pull off being eighteen, so that my signature will be sufficient for most documents…”

“I’m going to help,” Meng Yao said, and held up his hand when Nie Mingjue tried to protest. “You know I’m ten times as good at household accounts and logistics as you, and it can be mostly done on paper, so there’ll be no need for me to go out of here to do the vast majority of it. You’re not stopping me. You need me.”

“Fine,” Nie Mingjue said, because he did and he knew it. “Fine. But for the few things you do have to come out for…listen, I tell you to run, you don’t argue, okay? I don’t know if he’s still angry at you about what happened at the Discussion Conference a few years back, but I’m not planning on finding out.”

Meng Yao shuddered. “He still – remembers?” he asked, because that was worse, somehow. So much worse to know that the monster that beat Nie Mingjue to limping, that wrapped his hand around his neck and tried to squeeze the life out of him, still had the same memories as Lao Nie, who used to look at his son like he’d been a star in the night sky that he’d placed there himself. Who’d never let his disagreements with Meng Shi affect the fairness with which he treated Meng Yao, who had once put his hand on his shoulder and told him he was doing well, that he was promising, that he was glad to have someone like him in his sect…

“It’s not so bad all the time,” Nie Mingjue told him. “Sometimes he forgets, for a little while, before it starts up again.”

That just made Lao Nie unpredictable, Meng Yao found, and he hated it – he hated the way Nie Huaisang cringed at doors, the way he’d started to wet the bed again, the way they’d had to let all his pet birds loose after Lao Nie destroyed one of their cages in a fit of unexpected fury. He hated the way his mother and Sisi both donned veils to hide their faces, lest they draw attention, and took to sneaking through the servants’ quarters; he hated the way Nie Mingjue stopped fighting about going to see the sect doctor the way he always had and started making a visit there every week like clockwork and sometimes in between, and didn’t even seem to realize anymore how bad it had gotten; he hated the way it almost seemed sometimes like Lao Nie was still in there, somewhere, confused about what was happening like a man lost in a fog that he thought might be on the verge of thinning and asking for someone to fetch his saber as if it were a lantern that could help guide him out of the dark.

But his saber was gone.

“I’m going to kill Wen Ruohan for this,” Nie Mingjue said one night, lying with the side of his head pressed against the cool stone wall to help reduce the swelling – Lao Nie had thrown something at his head again, trying to get at Baxia; he’d mistaken her for Jiwei again.

Meng Yao was sitting next to him, trying to compose a response to Lan Xichen’s latest letter – it was cheerful, talking about plum blossom tea and lessons in etiquette and a new guqin for Lan Wangji, the only sour note a reference to his mother’s illness not having yet resolved, though he hoped it would by the next visit they had scheduled. Meng Yao was having to wrack his brain to come up with some sort of fiction about what they were supposedly up to in Qinghe that would not bleed resentment through the lines.

Maybe he could say they got a dog? An especially rabid one, vicious and cruel, with a tendency to turn against everyone with teeth bared and no care for how they bled even though they loved him –

Maybe not a dog.

“You can add it to all the other crimes he’s committed,” he said absently, and he knew that Nie Mingjue would take it as referring to the man’s overall maliciousness – Wen Ruohan was an iron-fisted tyrant, vicious and mean, and he wasn’t quiet about his enjoyment of ‘punishments’ that were more torture than anything else; Lao Nie had vocally criticized him over it, and with him no longer there to rally disdain against it, Wen Ruohan would undoubtedly only get worse – but actually Meng Yao had meant the crimes Wen Ruohan had committed against them. Against the Nie sect, against the Nie clan.

Against Nie Mingjue.

Death was too good for the bastard, but for once Meng Yao would be fine settling for less so long as it happened.

Nie Mingjue huffed in agreement, as Meng Yao had expected, and finally closed his eyes to sleep the way Meng Yao had been on his case about doing for the last half-shichen. When he was deeply asleep at last, breath regular and easy for all that his brow was still furrowed in fear and worry that no longer went away, Meng Yao, who had been staring at the hypnotically beautiful sight of Nie Mingjue’s chest steadily moving up and down, alive and not too hurt, saw a shadow out of the corner of his eye.

“Huaisang,” he said, not even bothering to sound stern. “You should be asleep already.”

Nie Huaisang came up to him and put his head on his shoulder. “I want to help,” he said softly.

Meng Yao blinked. “With what?”

“Whatever we have to do,” Nie Huaisang said. He was watching Nie Mingjue breathe, too. “Whatever we have to do to make it right.”

Meng Yao wasn’t sure what to say. “Huaisang –”

“I want to help, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, and there wasn’t any doubt in his voice, any uncertainty. “Da-ge may be stronger, but you’re meaner. If anyone’s going to kill the one who did this, it’ll be you, and I want to help.”

Nie Huaisang ended his pronouncement with a huff, a familiar sound, and for all that it was a sound more characteristic of the Nie than his mother, Meng Yao couldn’t help but smile because he knew what that sound really meant: it meant I hate him, it meant he hurt da-ge, it meant I don’t know how to care about the world, I only know how to care about the ones I love, and for them I will burn it all down.

Meng Yao knew exactly how that felt.

It seemed that Nie Huaisang was vicious thing after Meng Yao’s own heart, underneath it all, and Meng Yao marveled all over again at his luck at having a living brother of his own blood – not any of those hypothetical bastard half-brothers and sisters Jin Guangshan sowed like he was trying to grow grain for the harvest, but his mother’s child.

A monster, just like him.

“All right,” he said. “If I can, I’ll let you help.”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Keeping Vigil || Morgan & Eddie

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @specterchasing & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: When Morgan can’t carry her hope, Eddie is there to help. 

CONTAINS: body horror, discussions of death, mortality, decay

After reaching another dead end in her search for answers, Morgan broke down and took an extra long shower to get rid of her smell and wash the rough parts on her body that had been hurt or picked at by bugs. The water pattered on her just right, steadier and softer than rain. When she let it fall into her ear and make the room feel like underwater, she could hold onto the water and nothing else and the aches and cramps faded, and everything was fine. She savored the change in water temperature as it faded from hot to cool as much as the change in the sky from light to dark.

A little later, as she picked at cold fried rice and brains, the waistband on her sweats started to feel a little tight, and when Morgan looked down her coloring had gone another shade of wrong and when she touched her stomach (first in the middle, then all around) she got the sinking feeling she used to once a month: bloating. Maybe it was water damage, maybe it was just that time in the un-life cycle. It didn’t fucking matter, did it?

“Great. First I’m dead, then I’m falling apart and ripped up like a rag doll, and now I’m a dead ripped up balloon doll waiting to pop.” She thought about how she’d announce this latest development to Deirdre when she got home and decided she didn’t want to. So she made some tea, remembered all the chamomile in the world wouldn’t actually calm her and threw it against her studio. 

The mug bounced off the wall. Tea splattered the yard.

Morgan picked it up and holed herself up inside the four little walls where she was supposed to be alone. Maybe if she disappeared in a book or a playlist she could forget about what was happening to her body. Funny how she’d dreamed of feeling the world again every day for the last fourteen months; now she’d try just about anything to go numb and float off again.

As Eddie approached the front door of Morgan’s home, an unexpected sound from the backyard caught his attention. He took a few steps back and looked over the fence in time to see the studio door close. If that’s where Morgan was, it would be pointless to try getting into the main house. Admittedly, tracking her down would be a nonissue if she knew he planned to drop by, but Eddie had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t want visitors in her current condition. Be that as it may, he needed to see her. For all he knew, this might be his last chance.

Eddie reached over the fence’s gate and unlocked it from the other side, immediately re-locking it once inside. Even in his haste, he didn’t want to be the reason something unwanted took an open door as an invitation. Eddie quickly bypassed the garden that usually imbued him with a sense of calmness. Today, all it did was put more space between him and Morgan.

At the studio door, Eddie knocked only to enter without waiting for a response. The second he saw her, his heart fell into his stomach. Morgan, for the first time since meeting her, looked dead.

“I heard about what happened,” Eddie announced. He figured wasting time on small talk would be insulting at this point. “I wish you would’ve told me yourself, but I guess it doesn’t matter now.” As he spoke, he walked further into the studio. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of people in your corner right now. Is there room for me to throw my hat in the ring?”

Morgan only managed a few minutes of stillness before she heard a knock. She flinched, dreading what she would have to explain to Deirdre, but before she could work up the nerve to answer, Eddie came in. She was so startled she forgot to cover her face. Her blue-purple pallor was growing new colors, black in some places, yellow in others. Somehow, her skin was peeling and shriveled and swollen at once. Her eyes, now clouded like frost on a window, looked smaller than they should and her lids sagged around the empty space. For a woman who would never age, she sure looked like she had outlived her time.

In the brief instant Eddie held the door open, three flies flew in and circled lazily toward her. They knew a good thing when they saw it. She should probably have been more grateful that maggots and fungi hadn’t found her yet, but the only thought she had room for was, Eddie shouldn’t be here.

“W--what? I--” It didn’t really matter how he found out, did it? “I don’t want to be one of those people that puts their bullshit on kids and makes them carry it,” she sighed. “And I don’t...know what I’m going to do about any of this. If I can do anything about this. I went through the books I had, I tried looking through some others and--” Nothing. She slumped back in her corner on the day bed and covered her face with a pillow. Then, feeling ridiculous, tossed it away and settled for pulling her legs up and hiding that way. “You should probably grab some air freshener from the kitchenette,” she mumbled.

Eddie had never seen Morgan look so small before. In the past, her petite frame always seemed like an act of misdirection. When she spoke, the weight of her words commanded attention. Her laugh charmed a sigh of relief from the world around her. Out of everyone Eddie knew, he couldn’t think of a single person he respected more than Morgan Beck. Seeing her this way didn’t change that, it only proved the severity of the situation. It was time for him to start repaying her for everything she’d done.

“Well, this kid would rather help carry your bullshit than let it bury you,” Eddie replied as he took her advice and walked over to the kitchenette. He wanted to tell her he didn’t mind the smell but lying wouldn’t make the situation any better. Eddie pulled the trigger and a clean-linen scented mist mingled with the smell of decay. It would have to do.

“So,” he continued, moving closer to her before taking a seat beside her on the day bed. “Catch me up to speed, I only know the bare minimum.” Eddie didn’t think being told the details would lead them to a solution but that wasn’t why he came here. Other, more capable people would help Morgan in that area. What he wanted to accomplish was simply to make sure she knew she wasn’t alone. Maybe it wasn’t as glamorous of a purpose as finding a cure but believed it to be important all the same. “You woke up and, out of nowhere, you were alive again?”

Morgan grimaced at the hiss of the air freshener. She had suggested it, but smelling it and knowing how little good it would do was another matter. “You might wanna go a little heavier on that,” she deadpanned. “I’m almost a week into this, and whatever is fucking with me the slow, painful way, has a year’s worth of decay to catch up on.” She let her head rest against the wall and closed her eyes. All her physical senses back, and she still had to endure this latest cosmic ‘fuck you’ in complete sobriety. No rest. No relief.

She curled up a little tighter as he sat by her, as if her death-sickness was contagious. “Uh, if you haven’t noticed, I apparently don’t need to be buried. I can decompose all by myself.” She worked his question thoughtfully, trying to find the right words for it. How stupidly excited she was for so little, and how suddenly it was a little too much.

“I wasn’t alive,” she said at last, face still buried in her knees. “No heartbeat. No warmth. I could just...feel again. The bedsheets were cold. And soft. Weirdly soft. And my girlfriend was soft and cold but different, and the carpet was...coarse and thick and plushy...it was like I’d never been on this planet before. Everything was new. The words I had weren’t enough to describe it. I spent a whole two days convincing myself that whatever was happening it wouldn’t be so bad. Some weird town thing we’d have to reverse. But then I got hurt and it took me forever to heal. And then I didn’t heal at all. And I ate, I had so many brains, but my body was shriveling up, turning color, smelling, all that gross stuff that’s not supposed to happen to me if I do everything I’m supposed to. And do you know how it feels, literally feels, to have your body dry up? Or to--” One of the flies landed on her cheek and began exploring the new terrain. Morgan raised her hand and let it, waiting til it reached her hairline where she wasn’t so sensitive. She slapped it dead and left the goo where it was. “Be food for the bugs? Because that’s something I know now. Can’t wait for everything else to go, or for whatever’s keeping me wide awake for the whole horror science show to...decide what comes next.” She didn’t want to die. She wouldn’t be this frustrated if she did. But being nothing but wobbling bones and leather and dust frightened her just as much as oblivion. She didn’t know which she was really supposed to hope for.

Eddie listened as Morgan described the past few days. At first, her condition sounded like a gift. He remembered when she told him how badly she missed being able to experience the world as a living participant. No heartbeat or warmth meant certain sensations were still off limits but, other than that, he imagined those first two days felt pretty damn good. A false sense of security, obviously. He hated this.

Morgan swatted the fly and Eddie’s lips pursed in response. “Hold on,” he announced, standing up to make his second trip to the kitchenette. Facing the counter, he tore a few paper towels from the roll and wetted them in the sink. After wringing out the extra moisture, he carried them back to the daybed and took his seat again. Eddie tentatively reached out and, as gently as he could, washed away the insect’s remains. When his hand lowered, he kept the damp wad of paper in his hand in case another decided to land on her.

“Morgan, do you remember what you said to me about hope, that it’s a choice?” Eddie asked. Of all people, he knew how unqualified he was to preach the importance of hope but he wanted to try. “You also said that to stop believing in the future is to stop believing in existing.” Even if he lacked the experience to explain the importance of looking for good, he knew Morgan didn’t. He could use her own words to help him navigate the situation.

“This isn’t the first time life’s given you its worst,” he said. “Obviously, you can roll over and accept hopelessness. Or, you can do what you do best and tell death to go fuck itself.”

“Yeah, this is an anomaly—so are you. Nothing is written, right? Don’t give up. Not yet.”

There were a lot of words Morgan had spoken in the past that haunted her now. Magic is going to save my life. All I need is to break the curse. Hope is a fucking choice. What was there to hope for when the only thing on the horizon was another shade of suffering? How could she continue believing in existence, when existence seemed to be shutting her down at both ends? Was she supposed to bone-jangle her way downstairs to breakfast every morning? Or be carried on a stretcher in so many pieces, to and fro? Or would the magic take away her mind too, and this was simply a farewell tour she didn’t have a say in? Morgan didn’t see much hope in that. What had all her suffering been for? A year of half a life, and then this?

Morgan scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and said nothing for a while. Then, just peeking over her knees with dead, swollen eyes, she said, “Death comes for everyone, Eddie. That’s what gives life balance. We end. We go...somewhere. Home. Even if it’s not until this planet implodes or gets struck by the right meteor. Everything is change. To stay stuck one way, that’s the biggest waste of what we have.” She shrugged. “But...stars in the fucking sky above…” Her voice drowned with held-in tears. “I couldn’t find anything about this, Eddie. I haven’t figured it out. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to imagine to hope for. And I’m so tired...I am so tired of climbing back up, of fighting the universe for one scrap of good. And right now...I almost wish I could give up. But I don’t even know what to give up on. All of it looks like giving up something right now.”

Eddie knew death came for everyone. Until recently, he clung to that fact with everything he had. Even now, his grip was only a little looser than before. Death, to him, sounded like a release. Morgan was tired, it made sense for her to want rest. A few months ago, Eddie might not have argued that it wasn’t the answer, but now he knew what loss felt like. If Morgan died, a piece of him would too. Ironically enough, the more he cared about someone, the more selfish he became.

“Lots of things that happen in this town don’t have books written about them. That doesn’t make them impossible to handle,” Eddie insisted before adopting a softer tone. “I know you’re tired. If anyone deserves rest, it’s you, and you’ll get it.” Eddie reached out with his free-hand and took hold of Morgan’s. “Like you said, death’s inevitable but it doesn’t have you yet. As long as you’re here, there’s a chance for things to get better. And—and, no, I don’t know what your pain feels like, but I know my own. Most days, getting out of bed is a fucking triumph, but I still do it; for you. For Alfie, for Bex, and Kyle, and everyone else who’s been kind to me. I don’t know what I’m hoping for exactly. Maybe I’m just hoping for hope.” Eddie paused before speaking again. “Think about that scrap of good, are you ready to let it go?” He meant the question genuinely and without pretense. “If you do, there’s no getting it back. No more garden, no more Deirdre, no more laughter, no more anything. Is there really nothing left worth fighting for?”

Morgan hid her face again as it crumpled with grief. But she let Eddie take her hand, and though her fingers were stiff, she squeezed his back. Mina had told her once that life was a curse of its own; Morgan had brushed it off as a flash of witty irony. But it came to her again now: was this living? Was crawling out of one hole only to fall into another what life looked like from the inside? She couldn’t think of a person she knew who wasn’t crawling out of something right now. The difference was only in terms of degree. When she was alive, human-alive, she had coached herself into accepting happiness as a stolen gift, a thing she would be caught red handed with and have to surrender. It would all be okay, because when the curse was over, she could have as much as she wanted and more. She could chase down every bright thing and know that however it turned out, it was fair as anything on earth could be, and she had given her best. It made her dry organs shrivel just a little more to suppose this was the way of all things, not just a thirty-nine-year blip of existence.

And yet there was no better choice before her. It was just like Eddie said. If she tried to will this bullshit to the end, she would be releasing everything she’d fought so hard to hold. And if she surrendered to the thought of an eternity of true living death, it would be much the same. The world struck no natural balance in the course of a life, and in White Crest it arched toward cruelty, and yet there had to be another horizon. These scraps of good had to be enough because they were all she had. And maybe In another week, a month, in a decade, things would be different. Magic always had a key to unlock itself. What was done might someday be undone. (Might, and with so little evidence to make it feel like anything at all.) She tried to imagine it, coming out of a stupor like sleeping beauty, kissing her own skin for holding its shape and keeping her here just enough to try and make a better balance in the world, kissing Deirdre, and the cats, and having every fresh memory from those early days to guide her toward contentment. She couldn’t hold the image very long. It burnt in flashes. Somehow, it hurt worse than either path of doom she saw. Morgan nodded and let hope in and sobbed, breaking with the weight of it.

She tried to muffle her cries with her other hand, but it was no good. She shook and soaked her sweatpants with her tears and turned Eddie’s fingers red with her grip. At last she noticed the change in the feel of his hand and let go. “Sorry. I’m...s-sorry. Um.” She wiped her face on her sleeve and tried to look at the boy. “You know you’re...a really kind, brave kid, right? And that’s why we all want you to be more careful? Because we need more of that around. We need you. And I wish you could be there for yourself like you are for me right now.” She heaved another dry sob and scrubbed her face again fighting for composure. It was always harder to show up for yourself, especially when you were alone.

“I’m not--uh, this isn’t because--” She gestured vaguely at the mess of herself. “I mean, you’re right. You’re right and I know you’re right and it’s just--” Kind of wish you weren’t. It would be so much easier if you weren’t. She shook her head, abandoning words in favor of meeting his gaze. What she didn’t know how to say was this: it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, holding out for hope and hoping for its own sake. But Eddie knew dark almost as well as she did; maybe he would know this just by looking at her, too.

When Morgan broke down, Eddie knew he’d struck a chord. He could only hope that meant something good and that he hadn’t made things worse. Her grip on his hand tightened exponentially but the pain barely registered. All he could focus on were her anguished sobs—he wondered how long she’d been trying to swallow them. Despair like that didn’t come to term in an instant. It laid in wait, brewing and accumulating more grievances both big and small until it could no longer be contained. If he had managed to help her rethink the release of death, maybe a release like this one would suffice for now.

“No, no, it’s—” Eddie’s dismissal of Morgan’s apology cut off when she spoke again. His expression slowly relaxed, brows raising in gentle surprise. A few people had called him brave now but he never seemed to get used to it. After spending so much of his life in hiding, he didn’t think he deserved that kind of praise. At the same time, he wanted to believe he was wrong. Eddie smiled sadly at Morgan. “One day, maybe. It’s a work in progress.” He didn’t know what to say about being needed but he tucked the compliment away somewhere he could find it when he lost sight of what mattered.

What she said—or, more accurately, didn’t say next resonated exactly as she expected it to. “It feels impossible, doesn’t it?” Eddie asked before his smile returned. “Kind of like when you’ve been in the dark for so long your eyes adjust to it and suddenly a light comes on and blinds you.” He gingerly rubbed the back of her with his thumb. “We’ll adjust to the light the same as we did the dark, just gotta give ourselves some time.”

Morgan nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Slowly, she unfolded her legs. There wasn’t much of her left to hide, and the second fly was already crawling along her skull. She thought about what Eddie said when it came to the light and the dark, and wondered how long it would take for her vision to get screwed up from so much back and forth that everything hurt. It would have to be a long time from now, wouldn’t it? She would have to make it that way.

After what seemed like a long time she said, “You know, for someone who lumped in hope with the evils of the world, you’re getting pretty good at being hope’s cheerleader.” Then after another silence, “You don’t have to stay with me though, okay? I’m not gonna go off the deep end, or do anything I shouldn’t. Deirdre will probably be home soon anyway.” Time had a way of moving funny when you were miserable, something Eddie was probably familiar with too, but the last thing she wanted him to carry was more worry about her. She nearly reached over to pat his arm, reassure him in a performance of her good ol’ self, but she remembered how she looked and let it fall empty instead. “Thank you though,” she said quietly.

Since Eddie last gave Morgan his opinion on hope, a lot had changed—was still changing. He didn’t find comfort in misery as much as he used to. Now, he understood happiness took a little elbow grease and that brains need to be re-wired every now and then. Some days were harder than others, he didn’t always believe his positive affirmations, but he was trying. For himself and everyone he loved, he was trying.

“When you’re wrong, you’re wrong,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I might as well give your outlook a shot. It’s going pretty okay so far.”

When Morgan next spoke, Eddie considered her carefully. He didn’t want to linger if she needed time to decompress but he also didn’t want to risk leaving too soon. Finally, he said, “Okay, if you’re sure.” Eddie stood up and took a deep breath before turning to face her. “If you need anything, anything at all, call me. I don’t care what time it is. I know it sucks to feel like you’re weighing people down but I love you, Morgan. I like helping you.” He leaned down to wrap his arms loosely around her. “Don’t ever feel like a burden.”

“I love you too, Eddie,” Morgan whispered. “Go on now. Be good and I’ll see you soon.”

Eddie straightened up and walked over to the kitchenette to toss the wadded up paper towels in the trash. Afterwards, he headed for the door. “See you soon,” he said, glancing back at Morgan before taking his leave.

[the-hero-unknown]

Summary : Haekhael gets ready for a fancy dance with her friends, proceeds to be mildly insulted. Not only that, once at the dance, she got shot by an arrow to her shoulder. Fortunately, the injury is fixed by magic. Mild revenge and after all that, Haekhael dances with Voryn's brother. 

Edit : Forgot to @chaoticnart for being such a big inspiration for this fic with all their House Dagoth head canons! They are an absolute blessing 💖

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It was an interesting day, at least in Kogoruhn where the chimer and dwemer would almost seamlessly be one. Nerevar kept the delicate fabric woven, but this was where the fabric had first come from. In truth, Haekhael found it beautiful. She hadn't seen anything quite like it before. She stood out of the meeting hall, right infront of the door. Inside, they were discussing trade routes and some missing shipments. Nothing out of the ordinary. The meetings always bored her anyways. 

Haekhael felt out of place. Like a square in a circle. All around her were the chimer folk of House Dagoth, nobles of the other chimer houses, and the dwemer. Yet she was the only human. Not even a familiar Nord, no. Haekhael was Yokudan. In a way, Haekhael had not felt so distant from how they dressed. The pauldrons that were made of bone and shell, and then the silk robes during the summer that almost reminded her of Yokuda. Far was the memory of her homeland, but it was there. Not to mention it was winter. Her arms were crossed as she looked around the halls. 

Satisfied that no assassin seemed to slip through the shadows and doors remained closed, Haekhael leaned against the wall. Soon, chatter came closer to the door. Haekhael flinched when it was opened. The door made one of the most awful sounds.  Though the elves that came from the room ignored it. For they were going to take a brief recess from all the politicking.  Almalexia would pull Haekhael to the side for a moment as Nerevar would follow the dwemer king Dunmac and the tonal architect, Kagrenac. 

The chimer queen of Mournhold would say,"There's a dance this evening. I know you say you have left feet, but I figured you may want to come along." "I might just tag along. I've been standing here all day with nothing to do. Goodness, you all talk so much yet get nothing done." 

Almalexia rolled her eyes, allowing the comment to slide. Haekhael would not be sorry though. She hated standing with nothing to do but anxiously wait for someone to try to kill her or any one in the meeting halls. A dance wouldn't hurt her, but the armor she wore might. 

Almalexia quietly pulled Haekhael along to a guest room. 

"I have some old robes of Nerevar's that you could wear. Though, be careful with them, they are far older than you'll ever be." 

Haekhael glared, it was a constantly reminded fact of her short mortality. She'd die long before Almalexia or even Voryn, which Haekhael was sure he was the oldest of the First Council. Though, the woman dare not say a word about their ages lest she want to be exiled for a second time for a much sillier reason. 

"Don't look at me like that, you know it to be true." Almalexia shut the door behind them, heading over to a small wardrobe and opening it. Inside were many long robes. Some were a crimson red, others a forest-like green, there were even sky blue robes. There were also some very nice silk belts. Almalexia tapped Haekhael's shoulder,"Well, are you just going to stand there, jaw-dropped and not choose?" "Well... I mean, I'm simply processing what is infront of me, my queen." "Could you process faster? The robes are quite difficult to put on. Trust me, I've tried to do it alone. And that dance is tonight!" "Why would you wait until the day of a dance to ask me this, wouldn't it be easier to be asked a day beforehand?" 

The queen would shrug,"I figured you didn't want to come, but when I came out the meeting room, you seemed uneasy." "So dancing would all the sudden ease me?" "Hey! That's not what I meant, think of it like a small break. Now go choose one or I'll choose for you." 

Almalexia went behind Haekhael and gave her a light shove to the wardrobe to encourage her to hurry. The woman sighed and looked around at the robes. She found it rather odd of Almalexia to care for if she wanted to dance or not, but she wasn't about to question her persistence. Haekhael picked out a light blue robe. Almalexia picked up a robe of emerald green and a long seafoam colored scarf. Getting the gist of it now, Haekhael grabbed a golden colored belt. Almalexia looked at Haekhael and down at her boots and said,"We'll find something nicer than those in here, I'm sure." "Say, does Nerevar know that I'm going to be wearing these?" "I know we don't talk often as I'm busy ruling Mournhold and such, but yes we had a private discussion. I think Vivec and Sotha Sil are helping as well." "... So does everyone just assume I'm coming along?" "Well of course, you're still my body guard. We plan on hiding some weapons on you." 

In some peculiar way, this relieved Haekhael. 

"I'm sure Sotha Sil has some nice shoes you could borrow-" "No. That mer is constantly covered in oil and probably other weird alchemical ingredients. Wearing anything of his is asking for death." "Tell me, would you prefer Nerevar's shoes?" "You make a fair point." "Exactly." 

Haekhael began to undress, and with Almalexia's help, she was in exquisite clothing. Almalexia tied the belt, securing the robes in proper place. She had Haekhael wear the scarf draped over her arms and lower back. Soon, Haekhael was dragged along with Almalexia to help her with her robes. Haekhael was happy to help. Vivec was already in the room, sitting on the bed. Vivec was in a vibrantly red robe with a light blue to contrast it underneath, with pauldrons of shells on hir shoulders. Hir hair was braided, showing the shaved sides of hir head. It was surprising to hir all dressed up, Vivec seemed to feel the same way about Haekhael. Hir eyes were wide. 

"You look like you've been swept right out of rags and into riches!" "... I'll try to keep that as the compliment I assumed it to be." 

Almalexia clapped her hands,"We need to hurry up. We still need to get her some weapons. And I still need to get dressed up myself. I can't disappoint anyone." 

Vivec got on hir feet immediately,"Right. Haekhael, c'mon stop standing there." 

"I just got in here and the robes are dragging me down, forgive me for being slow." 

Haekhael and Vivec helped dress Almalexia in the finest of robes. The first robe was a soft green, the next robe was jade that matched her eyes. The final robe reminded Haekhael of the pines in Skyrim. Haekhael stared in awe for a moment before grabbing a pair of extravagant shoes. They were also another shade of green, jade. With yellow woven patterns of flowers and pointed toes. Almalexia hastily put on the shoes as Vivec began to do her hair. Haekhael went to a small chest and grabbed a pair of earrings for Almalexia, after all, she was a queen. So while Vivec braided Almalexia's hair with hir nimble fingers, Haekhael carefully put in the golden ruby jeweled earrings in the lobes of Almalexia's ears. Then there were small brass ringlets to add to the middle and top of Almalexia's pointed ears. Once Vivec finished braiding Almalexia's hair it was stunning. It reminded Haekhael of a circlet put on backwards. The rest of Almalexia's long,red, curly hair was left down. 

"Haekhael? Haekhael? Are... Are you alright?" "Huh? Oh yes. I'm fine." "If you say so, you've just been awkwardly looking up, does she look bad?"

Haekhael's cheeks were warm with frustration,"Vivec! No! Almalexia just... Is beautiful." "Alright, do us the favor and pull yourself together,  we still have to attend the dance." "That reminds me, I never asked, what time is this dance?" "Late in the evening. It's going to last all night long!"

Haekhael huffed. Vivec just grinned. And the three were of to see the court wizard, Sotha Sil. 

Sotha Sil swung open the door, it made a loud creak, he seemed to just ignore the worst sound in the world as he spoke,"Come along, I've got some pauldrons you can use and a few things you can hide in your sleeves. Can't have you be too boring." 

Haekhael was beyond offended as she set a hand over her heart,"Boring? This is by far the nicest thing I've worn in my life! And fashionable." "You are several eras behind with fashion then. But fear not, I have some things I'm willing to hand over to you. And maybe let you keep."

Haekhael was slightly frustrated as Sotha Sil led her in. Almalexia and Vivec laughed behind her back for a bit before Almalexia cleared her throat. In a silver lined box, Sotha Sil pulled out a brass wide-toothed hair comb. Vivec sat Haekhael down at on Sotha Sil's bed,"Is it alright if I put up your hair?" "I mean I guess, what's with the comb though?" 

"This old thing?" Sotha Sil said, waving it infront of her face,"It's from when I was a child. I wore it often, and quite frankly, it fits your outfit enough. Please give it back though, after tonight." 

Haekhael would nod her head, Sotha Sil delicately placed it in her hands. He seemed to regret it. He turned away, as if afraid to look at her. Vivec put most of Haekhael's braided hairs into a bun, leaving four braids down. After using a thin netch leather strip in her hair to keep the bun in place, Vivec got infront of her. Vivec lightly lifted two of the braids over Haekhael's shoulder. Ze handled the other two braids with a delicate manner of moving it over her other shoulder. Vivec had almost a childish grin whenever Haekhael carefully handed the old comb to hir. Vivec gently place the comb in the braids and cover hir mouth," Ayem, Seht, look!" 

Almalexia stood next to Haekhael and lifted Haekhael's hand up,"She's beautiful!" 

Sotha Sil turned his head over slowly, still nervous of the comb. He had a gentle smile, relief even? Sotha Sil said,"You do look lovely Haekhael, even if in... ancient clothing." 

"Replies the mer, all centuries upon centuries years older than I!"

Sotha Sil rolled his eyes while Vivec stuck hir tongue out. Almalexia let go of Haekhael's hand and moved it to her shoulder. Sotha Sil picked up a small but freshly sharpened dagger. He handed it to Haekhael,"This is to put on your leg." "My leg? Forgive me, but how am I to put this on my leg?" "I have a small harness for it." "Wait, I almost forgot. I need to borrow a pair of shoes." "Is that really a good idea?" "... Yes." 

Sotha Sil raised a brow, lightly tossing the small harness. He bent over and grabbed some shoes from his dresser. They were a light blue. The shoes looked light worn. Much like Almalexia's shoes, they were pointed and had yellow embroidery. The shoes yellow embroidery was not flowers but cogs, like the dwemer machines. "Custom made I take it?" "Shut up and put them on, or I'll take them back." 

Haekhael grinned and put up her hands up with the shoes,"Hey, I was just stating what I thought." 

She quickly slid on the harness, sliding the dagger into it. Haekhael was just a little worried it would jab her thigh, but fortunately, it seems secure. Haekhael put on the shoes, which rather by fortune or misfortune, fit just fine. Almalexia offered her hand as Haekhael would pull it to stand up. 

Soon the three would arrive with Nerevar and Voryn. Haekhael stuck close to Almalexia, as it was her duty. Almalexia danced with Nerevar, Vivec, and she even got Sotha Sil to dance. Haekhael watched closely standing beside whoever paired with Almalexia. Although a very taller chimer would nervously tap her shoulder. She raised a brow, having to look up to see who tapped her shoulder. He looked much like Voryn. His hair was braided beautifully, and his voice was sweet,"Hi, I was wondering if I may take a dance with you." 

Haekhael would shake her head,"No sir, I'm on duty. I thank you for the offer." 

She smiled a bit, the mer politely bowed his head and left. She felt a little bad, and she really had wanted to dance, but Haekhael had to focus on protecting Almalexia. And that's when Haekhael heard bow string snap and then the whistle of an arrow. She side stepped, holding out her arm in front of Almalexia. Instead of the arrow landing presumably to kill Almalexia or Nerevar, it landed in Haekhael's shoulder. A soft gasp echoed in the room. But all Haekhael could see was red. In her rage, she grabbed the arrow and pulled it from her arm. She ran and pushed anyone out of the way. This included Voryn Dagoth, as he was shoved to the side.

The woman would push through the crowd of tall and short mer alike and cornered the assassin. The assassin wore a wornout Morag Tong uniform, and an amulet. 

"Halt assassin!" 

"Never!" The mer cried, Haekhael tackled the armored assassin. She put her hand on the mer's neck and they fought. Haekhael tore off the elf's helmet to reveal an elderly dwemer. Many scars laid on his face. It was fragile, Haekhael would remain merciless. 

_______________________

Her arm had need to be patched up. Voryn had her laying down. As he began to cleanse the wound he said,"This could have been avoided if you just  wore pauldrons." 

Haekhael flinched from Voryn touching the tender shoulder. She tightly gripped on part of her robes, as to not slap Voryn. She grunted as he began to heal the small wound with a spell,"Hopefully that wasn't poisoned." "Well, if it was, it was poorly done. Although, I am surprised you're not dead." "That is the story of my life." 

Voryn rolled his eyes,"Whatever you say, sit up. I need to see you move your arm around." 

Haekhael ignored his request and leaned back,"I don't know, I feel pretty tired after ripping an arrow out of my shoulder and crippling an elderly mer." "I will yank you up myself if I have to. Do not test me." "Alright, alright, I'm getting up. Just don't murder me." 

Haekhael sat up slowly, nervously holding out her arm. She moved her shoulder around. There was no pain, only movement. Haekhael used her other hand and pressed against what was left. The memory of where the arrow hit. There was now a scar in the place. 

A soft knock was at the door. Voryn looked over,"Whoever it is, you can come in." "Almalexia was almost assassinated and I would have died, and you're going to allow anyone in?" "Well you're not dead and neither is she, I doubt anyone will try again tonight."

The door creaked open,"It's just me, I swear, I mean no harm." "Ah, Araynys. Have you met tonight's hero?"

The mer was familiar, his braided hair was over his shoulder. He had a light stubble of ebony hair. In a cheery voice the tall mer would say,"Oh, yes! I tried to ask her for a dance. Foolish, as she was on duty."

Haekhael chuckled a bit,"Well, at the moment I'm off duty. My name is Haekhael by the way." 

Araynys walked over and picked up her hand,"It's a pleasure to properly meet you. And a shame I haven't heard more of you! I saw how you wrangled that assassin with ease. Almalexia is blessed to have you as part of her guard." 

Voryn rolled his eyes,"Stop, you're feeding an already big ego." "Speak for your self, I think its quite nice to be appreciated for my work. It's nice to meet you as well, Araynys."

Araynys let go and put his hands at his sides, he seemed childishly shy. He put his hands together and mustered up the little bit of confidence he could and said,"I know there's no music to dance to, but since you said you were off duty, may I have a short dance?" 

Haekhael stood up and grabbed Araynys hand,"Of course, its always nice to make new friends. Though, out of common courtesy I must say I can't dance well. Forgive me if I step on any toes." "That's alright, I know how to dance and I'm still terrible." 

"Have fun being terrible together, try not to get shot with another arrow." Voryn said as he went to the door, shutting it behind him. 

Araynys towered over Haekhael, yet he was gentle as he grabbed her hand and waist. The two carefully stepped along. Still, they managed to step on each other. Haekhael led the dance in the small room as they spun around. Haekhael ended up slipping, and thus, taking Araynys with her. As they crashed, they laughed. Haekhael sat up and apologized. Araynys just shrugged it off,"Don't worry about it. I hope to get to know you more." 

Haekhael smiled,"Yes... You best be off though. I hope to see you more often, preferably under different circumstances."

[heartsywritesthethings]

Team 7 Training 2

Part 1 

“I just wanna get stronger so I can show Sasuke that we can be friends!” Naruto said, throwing a couple of punches at the air. His new sensei, Jiraiya, just stared at him fondly. While he admired the nine tails for his intense friendship with Sasuke, he was worried that it would break the kid’s heart to learn about the true betrayal. True, he had fought off several ninjas in order to fight off Sasuke himself, but he still had it in his mind that Sasuke was coming back. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to get strong so a certain lady friend will finally notice you? Ladies absolutely love strong ninjas like you.” Jiraiya offered, leaning back against a tree lazily as he watched his new pupil. Naruto turned a bright shade of pink and he quickly looked away.

“W-well, maybe that too. But mostly for Sasuke. And becoming the strongest Hokage the Hidden Leaf has ever seen!” Naruto exclaimed, jumping up high into the air as he mentioned his lifelong dream. 

“If you ask me, becoming strong for the ladies is far superior to all of those things. If you’re strong enough, you can get any girl you want in the village. In any village!” Jiraiya said, smiling at just the thought. Ah, all of those different girls. Each different village meant a different level of experience and kinks never before seen in the leaf village.

“You’re gross sometimes, pervy sage.” Naruto said, scrunching up his face in disgust. There was only ever one girl on his mind at all times and she already had her heart set on Sasuke. Maybe if he brought Sasuke back, she would realize how strong he was too and decide to choose him instead. That thought alone was enough to get the fire back into his heart.

“I really do hate it when you call me that,” Jiraiya grumbled to himself, but it wasn’t as if he could actually correct him on that front. Even some of the girls he had relations with admitted that he could be pervy at times.

“Alright, Pervy Sage! Let’s get to training already! I wanna know how to fight better and get Team 7 back together!” Naruto said excitedly before bouncing over to where his sensei was. Jiraiya always looked so bored, but that never really bothered Naruto. His first official teacher in the ninja arts was Kakashi and that man was just about impossible to read because of his mask.

“We’ve already trained so much today. Leave this old man alone to his thoughts.” Jiraiya whined, closing his eyes in hopes that Naruto would just leave him alone. Of course, that was like asking the kid to just stop breathing.

“If I leave you alone, all you’ll do is think gross thoughts, Pervy Sage. I still have a ton of energy and more to practice! Let’s keep going! Keep training!” Naruto said, bouncing up on the balls of his feet as he looked at Jiraiya with the widest eyes that he could. Even though the sage couldn’t see it, he could practically feel those puppy dog eyes piercing through his armor. 

Fine. If this kid wanted to train, they would train.

“Alright, kid.” Jiraiya sighed, opening his eyes begrudgingly.  Naruto jumped up high in the air with an excited yell. Where the hell this kid had the energy to do all of this was  beyond him. It was almost impossible for him to just keep up with his own pupil.

“What are we gonna learn today? Can you teach me how to make a lightning sword? Or maybe you could teach me to talk to bugs? Dogs? Oh! Foxes! I bet I would be really good at talking to foxes.” Naruto said excitedly, looking around as if any of those creatures would be available for him to attempt to control. Jiraiya rolled his eyes and picked Naruto up by his shoulders and walked him over to the nearest tree. 

“Oh! What are we doing now? Are you going to show me how to climb trees quietly? I can already do that since I am a top notch ninja.” Naruto said excitedly as his back was pressed against the bark of the tree. 

“Put your arms up.” Jiraiya said calmly. He did his best to hide his own smile. This would definitely tire the kid out.

“Uh, are you going to make me climb the tree backwards? I’ve never tried that before.” Naruto said, mostly to himself as his sensei wasn’t listening at all. 

Jiraiya took out a piece of rope from his pocket and began tying up his new student against the tree. He could practically hear the gears turning in Naruto’s head as he tried to make sense of what Jiraiya was doing. 

“Are you trying to see if I can get myself free? I totally can! Not that I would ever let myself be kidnapped like this. Being kidnapped doesn’t look good for a future Hokage like me.” Naruto said, already wiggling and struggling against the ropes. He couldn’t budge much, but Jiraiya wouldn’t doubt that the kid could get out if he really wanted to. 

“You are going to have to withstand certain torture methods without relying on your nine tails power.” Jiraiya said smugly, standing back and looking over his handiwork. Naruto paled slightly. 

“Uh…torture?” He squeaked out. His former energy immediately draining out as his mind went to the absolute worst torture methods that they had gone over in ninja class. Was his sensei really about to do those things to him just because he was asking for help.

Jiraiya held up a hand, seeing the panic in the kid’s face.

“Not like that, Naruto. Give me some credit as your teacher.” Jiraiya told him. 

Wow, what has this kid gone through to think that someone would immediately hurt him like this? Someone that he trusted? That would have to be addressed at some point in the future.

“Now, I’m going to tell you a word, and you are going to have to keep that word a secret from me. If you tell me before I stop, then you lose and we’ll have to do some more torture training and you’ll have to leave me alone for the rest of the night.” Jiraiya said, giving Naurto a pointed look with that last statement.

“There’s no way I’ll break! I’m Naruto Uzumaki! I’m going to be the greatest Hokage in the Leaf Village!” Naruto yelled out. His confidence boosted slightly, and he couldn’t let his sensei know that he was actually kind of scared of being tortured as a form of training. Jiraiya finally smiled. An evil smile that Naruto had never really seen before.

“Naruto, are you ticklish?” Jiraiya asked.

Oh. Naruto’s smile slipped ever so slightly. How in the world was he supposed to answer something like that? No matter how he responded, he was sure to get tickled. Instead of saying anything, he instead clamped his mouth shut. This was supposed to be torture training, right? Jiraiya chuckled to himself.

“You’re already in the right mindset, Naruto. Now, the word you’re going to keep from me is Ramen.” Jiraiya said, “You can back out any time starting now. All you have to do is say that word.”

Naruto opened his mouth to say something, but decided to close it. Jiraiya couldn’t help but chuckle. This was probably the only time this kid was quiet when he wasn’t eating or sleeping. Hell, he was still loud doing both of those things. Jiraiya went ahead and began his torture.

He began wiggling his fingers near Naruto’s elbows. Naruto immediately began focusing on not laughing. His face was honestly hilarious. Naruto was glaring at an empty space in front of him, scowling with intense concentration. 

“You can go ahead and say the word, Naruto.” Jiraiya hummed, moving his tickly wiggly fingers under Naruto’s arms. Small squeaks escaped Naruto’s lips and his face twitched as a smile fought to the surface. 

“You seem pretty ticklish, Naruto. You should probably go ahead and say what I need to hear so that I stop.” Jiraiya hummed. Truthfully, he was enjoying this. The lack of laughter seemed like a challenge. Now he had to make him laugh. Naruto shook his head furiously. He was going to get through this. He was going to be the Hokage of the Hidden Leaf Village after all, he could withstand a few tickles.

Right?

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Jiraiya said, still tickling and occasionally pinching at Naruto’s armpit with one hand as he reached into his pocket with another. He pulled out a long purple feather and Naruto could practically feel all of his blood draining from his face. 

The feather lightly danced around one underarm while Jiraiya’s other hand continued to scratch and squeeze at the other.

“Wahahahahiihihihit!” Naruto giggled, shaking his head more wildly. He couldn’t hold back his giggles and his laughter anymore. The conflicting tickly feelings were driving him up a damn wall. This was somehow worse than when Kakashi and the other members of team 7 all ganged up on him. Maybe it was because now he was purposefully holding out for a reason. Before, he would just enjoy the tickles and laugh wildly, but now he had to hold back from yelling the one word that his body was screaming for him to yell. 

“Aw, that easy? Go ahead and say what I wanna hear then. Might as well since I can already tell that it’s going to get worse from here.” Jiraiya said with a shit eating grin on his face.

“NAAHAeheheahaver! Never!” Naruto laughed.

“Your funeral kid.” Jiraiya chuckled. 

Next was the ribs and sides. Jiraiya began pinching up and down Naruto’s ribs and sides. With each pinch, Naruto jumped and squeaked. It seemed that Jiraiya was planning out which ribs and spots on his body were the most sensitive. 

“Looks like here…. And here.” Jiraiya said, focusing on two very specific areas on Naruto’s body to attack now. One spot was the second upper rib on his left, and the other was just below his ribs on his right. Jiraiya began pinching each spot sporadically. 

“AHAHAHA SENSEI! NOHOHOHO ACK!” Naruto lauched, his heels digging into the dirt and grass underneath him as his body attempted to get away from those tickly fingers. No matter how much he wiggled, he couldn’t escape. Once he realized how futile fighting would be, he let out a giggly groan.

“Ah, finally realized that you’re stuck, huh?” Jiraiya said, talking a little louder in order to be heard over all of that laughter. “Wait, why didn’t you attempt to get out sooner? You knew what was going to happen, so why wait until now to struggle?”

“Shuahahahat UP! AHA! PEheheEHEHRvy SAGE!” Naruto laughed. He squeezed his eyes shut as the tickling feelings filled his body. Those weren’t even his worst spots and he was already going crazy.

“I’m starting to think that this may not be torture to you. Do you, Naruto Uzumaki, like being tickled?” Jiraiya said. He watched as his pupil turned a very bright shade of pink. Sure, it could easily be written off as just lack of oxygen, but Jiraiya had a feeling that wasn’t the case. 

“How about this. You admit that you like being tickled, and I’ll stop. The original word doesn’t count anymore.” Jiraiya said. Naruto immediately snapped his head up. He was still laughing and giggling, of course, but he was shocked.

“Never! Ihihihih’ll never fahahall for someTHIHIHIng sohhohoho stupid.” Naruto laughed, and managed to actually stick out his tongue at his sensei.

“So you really like being tickled because otherwise, you would have thought a little bit before doing that.” Jiraiya said.

Little did he know that little goes on in Naruto’s thoughts before he does anything. Oh well. The damage was done.

Jiraiya began targeting Naruto’s stomach now. The nine tails began to accept that this was how he was going to die. By the tickling hands of his sensei no less. It was all over. Goodbye Sasuke, Sakura, Kakashi. Goodbye Ichiraku Ramen – he’d miss that the most in the afterlife.

Jiraiya was a little too good at this. The feather began swirling around Naruto’s belly button. The seal of the nine tails, though hidden now, seemed to be the most sensitive place on his body. Aside from his navel of course. Once that feather dipped inside and twisted around, Naruto lost it.

“RAMEEEEN! RAMEN RAHAHAHAMEN! PLEHEHEAAAAAAAAASENOTTHEREEEE!” Naruto screeched. While it did pain him to have to give up so quickly, this kind of tickling was just unfair. 

Jiraiya immediately pulled back. Even though he had changed up the rules, he didn’t want to actually kill his new student. Not yet anyways.

He untied Naruto and the blonde slumped to the ground. Jiraiya picked him up, tossing him easily over his shoulder. He walked Naruto over to his sleeping bag and set him down.

“Now, will you please go to sleep and leave me in peace?” Jiraiya asked. Naruto huffed out another laugh and curled up on his sleeping bag.

“I…still gotta…run three miles…then…I can sleep,” Naruto said between deep breaths. Jiraiya just stared at him. This boy just about had his soul tickled out of him and he still was up for a run? Three miles?

“I will never understand you, kid.” Jiraiya sighed, though he was warming up to having a student like Naruto. Maybe it would make all of the mistakes he had made in the past go away if he could do right by this crazy chaotic kid.

(17/25)

-GA!Babe