#I know technically we have no evidence that he and yas aren’t staying together

[rooolt]

and he’s more concerned about going to college with his boy best friend than he is about going to college with his literal girlfriend,,,,,,,,,,,, which could mean nothing

[arhvste]

❝ the morning after ❞

ft : suna rintarō, sakusa kiyoomi, miya atsumu, kozume kenma, asahi azumane

warnings : sfw but suggestive - implied sex [night before]

SUNA RINTARŌ

-> sleeps in with you

-> neither of you are in a rush to get up and you’re both tired

-> he’s lazy but he has stamina and that’s evident from last night

-> around 11:30AM he’ll grunt at you signalling he’s awake

-> “oi, you awake?”

-> his voice is heavy with sleep and his hands are already looking for your body

-> eventually you’ll stir awake and find your bodies been shifted so you’re back in his arms

-> suna is naturally warm so his body heat is transferring onto you keeping you satisfied in his arms

-> “morning rin” you’ll mumble tiredly back at him

-> the second he hears your voice he’s got a lazy grin painted across his face

-> “wanna get up in a minute?” he’ll ask

-> what he means is he wants breakfast

-> but he’ll be the one cooking so don’t worry

-> he’ll slip his large t-shirt over you to keep you covered and carry you on his back downstairs before sitting you on the kitchen counter

-> lucky you, you get a nice view of his bare back whist he cooks

-> he’ll still be yawning and stretching whist he’s by the cooker but then he hisses slightly

-> why?

-> because you left some angry marks on his back last night >:(

-> “i’ll take care of those after breakfast”

-> your reassurance is cute because he doesn’t actually need treatment but the fact you’re willing to take care of him is precious to him

-> “you gonna take care of me yeah?”

-> pretty side glancing at you in his shirt

-> he wants to tease you, he really does

-> but he just can’t stop himself from losing himself in the sight of you sat on the kitchen counter with one of his shirts covering you while you tiredly rub your eyes

-> he’s so whipped

-> too whipped in fact because he loses concentration of everything else

-> “rin, you’ve seen me with and without this shirt many times now focus”

-> “nah, i like the view”

-> “and i like my eggs preferably not burnt.”

-> he looks down at the pan, and you’re right

-> “worth it”

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

-> he’s up early no matter what his late night activities were

-> and he would be up on his morning run right now but there’s something stopping him

-> you cutely curled up beside him in bed

-> you’re not even awake and yet you still have control over him

-> he just sighs and hopes you wake up soon so you can both shower together

-> although he loves making a mess with you, he loves cleaning it up better

-> he’s literally itching for a shower by the time you stir awake

-> see, he actually waits for you to wake up because he respects he wore you out last night

-> “good morning princex, shower?”

-> he’s already scooping you up from the bed before you even have a chance to respond

-> yourself and sakusa have a very spacious shower room

-> sakusa isn’t a fan of those tight little single showers so he made sure to purchase an apartment with nothing but the most luxurious bathroom layout and facilities

-> please, you even have one of those tile benches installed in the shower

-> and this is perfect because sakusa loves washing your hair for you

-> his fingers are perfect in your hair as he works in the products you use and throughly washes it after

-> he’s very gentle and after washing you down you do the same for him

-> pressing wet kisses along your shoulder blade and collarbone, he loves the feeling of your hands lathering soap across his body

-> he would argue that the activities the morning after were more enjoyable than the activities in the bedroom

-> but they’re both important to him in different ways

-> the soft mutters of “i love you” and “thank you” are exchanged between the two of you as he handled you gently

-> will carefully lead you out the bathroom and sit you down by the big vanity in your room before pulling out a hair dryer

-> the two of you take self care importantly and make sure to take care elf one another accordingly

-> mornings after with sakusa are slow but very intimate

MIYA ATSUMU

-> an early riser but will sleep in the next morning

-> he honestly just wants you close to him for as long as possible

-> he’ll joke about going for a morning round but really he just wants you cuddled up close to him

-> slow kisses always occur when it comes to mornings with him

-> he doesn’t care that it’s mid winter and the two of you are still naked

-> he’ll get his morning kisses one way or another so as soon as he stirs awake he’s trapped you in his arms so you can’t leave him

-> presses kisses along your shoulders and back as he waits for you to wake up

-> honestly, he’s just in love with you all over again

-> who allowed his s/o to be so perfect even first thing in the morning :(

-> “morning tsumu” makes him perk up everytime

-> “mornin’ doll”

-> doesn’t care how awake you are, the fact you’re speaking tells him you’re awake enough for a slow make out sesh before getting up

-> these types of kisses arent like the ones from the night before

-> they’re equally as special but they’re different

-> these kisses are slow and meaningful, he’s making sure you’re aware of how gentle he really can treat you

-> they’re a reminder that he does think you’re special and he does care and want to keep you safe

-> his love language is physical affection and he tells you he loves you through the long and slow kisses he forces you to crave more of

-> after a while you will tell him it’s time to get up though

-> he’ll whine but oblige and get up and out of the covers revealing a very naked atsumu

-> “like what ya see? we can always go for another round if ya-”

-> “get in the shower and i’ll see you downstairs for breakfast in 10.”

-> “yes angel :,)”

KOZUME KENMA

-> waking up at the same time as kenma is a blessing and a curse

-> he loves that he gets to wake up and see you at the same time you see him

-> but he’s also not prepared to be met with his naked s/o first thing in the morning

-> he won’t even look you in the eye

-> “kenma, are you okay?”

-> “you’re um naked”

-> “yes?”

-> “aren’t you cold or something maybe you should put something on”

-> “but just a few hours ago you were eating m-”

-> “JUST PUT SOMETHING ON!”

-> he’s so embarrassed but it’s only because you both know the effect you have over him

-> you just laugh and call him a baby

-> but maybe you should’ve just stayed naked because he’s even more flustered at the sight of you in his sweater

-> your naked body is under that :0

-> he wears that sweater when he streams too :0

-> scandalous >:)

-> “take it off.”

-> “but you just said t-”

-> “kitten please, you’re doing it on purpose”

-> he’s so flustered and it’s all your fault

-> he’s so worried he looks weird in front of you but honestly it’s cute seeing him so vulnerable

-> you just pull him back down under the covers to sleep for a little longer

-> and who is he is deny when you’re clinging to him in his sweater like that

-> looking down at your precious face too

-> how is he ever meant to say no to you

-> and honestly sleep sounds so desirable right now

-> maybe when he wakes up he’d be more prepared for the sight of you in his clothes

-> he’s just so in love with you and he loves and hates that you have this effect over him

-> but he’s glad that it’s you that has this effect on you and only you

ASAHI AZUMANE

-> you are not getting up early in the morning

-> actually, you’re not getting up at all because you ache

-> and it’s a pain because you wake up before him

-> so you’re just kinda sat there waiting for him to wake up

-> when he does wake up he’s met with a small smirk painted across your face

-> “morning?”

-> “i cant move”

-> “please don’t say it like that!”

-> he is so apologetic

-> he didn’t mean to hurt you and besides you were technically asking for it :(

-> but he will pamper you because he feels horrible

-> even if you tell him it’s okay he won’t listen and he will treat you the way he feels you should be

-> he’ll keep you in bed and go make you breakfast

-> any mail is brought up for you to read in bed

-> any water or coffee you require he will bring

-> “baby i’m not sick”

-> “but you can’t move and it’s my fault”

-> please dhsbdjebd

-> he will be like this for most of the day until you insist you feel better

-> constant apologises are given to you throughout the day despite the fact you promise you’re okay

-> he feels so bad oh :(

-> reassure him enough and he’ll start to believe you though

-> also reassure him it’s not his fault because he will be mentally taking note for the next time you guys ya know >:)

-> “why do you ask for it if you know it hurts the next morning”

-> and he has a point

-> “because it’s worth it”

-> that’s always your argument

-> and besides if that’s why you want from him at the time he won’t deprive you

-> you just have to promise to let him take care of you the next morning that’s all

general taglist → @atsumuwoah @bloody-bella @bbymilkbread @miracleboy420 @doggonudez @tsumue @peteunderoos @tsukkisbean @saturnfarie @dear-kozume @zumisace @boosyboo9206 @totorosleaff @27kei @dai-tsukki-desu @angrylittleriri @dearestmegumi @kuxredere @warakou @iss6s @lovinnoya @sophiashortcake @wompwomphq @waitforitillwritemywayout @webworld @brokeasshoee @sunasbabie @rowley-with-ackerman @mjoork

ALL CONTENT BELONGS TO @KUROOSKULT ON TUMBLR 2020 PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, CHANGE OR PLAGIARISE

[oddsnendsfanfics]

The (Mis)Adventures of Kal and Moose - New Year, New Tricks

Genre: Fan Fiction

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Warnings: Fluffy NYE In

Rating: G

Length: Drabble

Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: Happy 2021! Shall we start this year off with some Kal and Moose? 

Henry Cavill Master List

“Henry,” You call glancing around his kitchen, “where did you put the mushrooms and broccoli?”

“I left it on the table, beside the noodles.” Calling back, he flipped through the television channels trying to find something to watch.

“Are you sure?” Picking up containers of open Chinese food, your brow furrows. Beside the noddles is a container of wontons,  stir fry, and egg rolls. No mushrooms and broccoli. “I don't see it,” You pout when he walks into the kitchen to prove you wrong.

“It's right...” Henry paused about to point at the take away container. “I swear, I left it right there.”

Beside you, nails click on the floor, Moose is dancing excitedly eyeing the table of food. His blue eyes sparkling with that all too familiar doggy pride.

“Moose,” You glance down at the dog, stretching he wags his tail and boofs. “You know that is my favourite,” You chide the dog, shaking your head in jest at your furry companion.

Under the table, the tell tale sounds of Kal snacking reach Henry's ears. Rolling his eyes, he sighs. He should have known better than to leave that much food unattended. These two dogs were worse than putting small children together.

“I don't think this was Moose's doing.” Leaning over to look under the table at Kal. With the evidence on his face and paws, the black and white Akita rests with the container under his nose. Licking out the remainder, he looks up at his human. “Kal!”

“Oh Bear,” You groan, trying to hide a laugh at the big dog.

Quite satisfied with his meal and himself, Kal shuffles around slowly crawling out from his hiding spot. Pausing a  moment to lick Moose's face, he burps and continues on to the living room with his friend in tow. The two were somehow always on a roll, especially when together. Grumbling about how Kal has had no manner as of late, Henry sits his plate beside yours.

“Here,” Henry began to put his portion on your plate, “have mine.”

“You don't have to share.” You laugh at the situation, leave it to your dogs to eat three quarters of a large vegetable dish. “It's fine, really.”

“I don't mind.” Henry shrugs. “I ordered it for you, I'd be kind of a dick if I didn't let you have any.”

“I'm not arguing this, am I?”

“You can try, but it will be useless. Consider that your warning.” Chuckling, Henry fills the empty spot on his plate with more noodles.

“Thanks,” You accept the offer, grabbing the bottle of beer that you'd sat down earlier and followed Henry to the living room.

“You Mister,” Henry tutted at Kal, “need to learn some manners. Since when have I ever allowed stealing from the table?”

“It was probably done with Moose's encouragement.” You laugh rolling your eyes when Moose attempted to join you on the couch, when he heard his name. “Down, please.” You gesture to the floor. Like a good boy, Moose sinks to his haunches on the floor, intently watching your fork.

“I didn't know what else to watch, is this okay?” Henry gestures to the screen. You were more than happy to watch The Hobbit, it was a solid go to, when you were unsure of what else to watch.

On the floor at your feet, Kal and Moose laid with hopes of dropped food or plates being sat down, unattended and ripe for their taking. An end of an egg roll was passed down, Moose being the lucky recipient, while Kal looked betrayed by his own human. How dare Henry give the other dog the tidbit. Moose may be his best friend, but it didn't mean Kal had to like or agree to sharing Chinese take away with him.

Crunching on the crispy treat, Moose smacked his lips in a loud fashion. Making Kal watch the act for a long as possible. Slouching and whimpering, Kal laid his head on your thigh glancing at your nearly empty plate. Conveniently forgetting about his mushroom and broccoli dish.

“Here ya go, bear.” You smile and slide him a fried wonton. Happily crunching his own treat, Kal licked his lips and whimpered again. You swear you could see him pouting, when you told him it was all gone.

Engrossed in the movie, Henry sat with his feet kicked up on the small coffee table – his mother would smack him if she saw that – enjoying the quiet New Year's Eve in. When he'd called you on Boxing Day asking if you wanted to spend New Year's Eve together, you happily agreed. Even if it was a quiet night in of four, including the two dogs.  There was no pressure. Showing up in your favourite comfy wear was expected and welcomed, as Henry had also been in his. No crowds, but still enough food and beer to feed a small one.

“Nearly midnight.” Henry checked his watch, looking over at you.

“So it is.” You nod and smile. Stifling a yawn, “If I make it.”  

“I could make some coffee.” Henry shifted around. Preparing to stand if you said Yes.

“No, it's fine. If I doze, wake me?”

“If I am still awake, sure.” He laughed softly. Kal standing and stretching, coming to his human for a pat. “We should probably let these guys out, just in case we do fall asleep.”

“Good idea.” You pause the movie, stretching slowly and standing. Calling to Moose, you follow Henry to the back door. Allowing the dogs to bound out into the small garden for a break. “Once we hit midnight, are you going to walk me home? I need that dark haired man to cross the threshold first,” You chuckle at the superstition.

“It only works if it's well after midnight.” Henry furrowed his brow, snickering. “I'd have to do it in the morning, or there is no luck.”

“So, you're going to let me walk home alone?” You tease, knowing that Henry would never.

“No, I was thinking that you and Moose could stay here. Why rush home? Hot date waiting?” He teased, calling the dogs back in.

“No,” You shake your head, feeling like a teenager defending a teasing over a non-existent crush. Grabbing another beer, you follow the dogs into the living room. Flopping down on the couch, you scoot over for Henry to sit.

“Ah,” Henry continued to tease. “Then we are in for the night? Unless you suggest we run out into the street, at midnight, finding the first person we can and planting a big one on them. You know, since you believe in superstitions.”

“I don't understand the whole kiss thing.” Rolling your eyes, you snuggle down onto the couch beside Henry.

“Are you saying that you don't like PDA?” His laugh is deep.

“I'm saying that I don't understand why people kiss strangers at midnight.” You stretch your leg, scratching Moose with your foot. “You're usually my midnight kiss, aren't ya.”

“Kal is mine.” Henry's laugh booms.

“I've had Kal kisses, they're pretty hard to beat.” Giggles taking over. More than once Kal has attacked your face in a frenzy of slobbery dog kisses.

Because you've never kissed me.

Henry wanted to kick himself, never had he thought about saying such a thing to you. Oh god. You would slap him silly and never come back, if you heard that thought. What kind of person said that to their best friend Clearing his throat, Henry shifted in his spot on the couch, “He does have some charming moves.”

“Like someone else I know,” You lean forward, Henry scooting a little closer. Perhaps this wasn't an entire bust. His heart skipped with anticipation. “Moose, Kal.” You call beckoning the dogs onto the couch. “Yes, you two are such charming gentlemen.” cooing over the dogs, who have invaded the couch you laugh when Moose decides to snuggle in and begin licking Henry's face.

“Moose,” Henry groaned pretending to push the dog away, his laughter giving him away. “C'mon mate.” He gently wrestled the dog from his sneak attack.

“Moose, down.” You giggle, ruffling the fur around Kal's neck. “You can't kiss him yet, it's not even midnight.”

Quirking his brow, Henry sighed as Moose finally gave in. Snuggling up to Henry's side instead. “I thought you didn't believe in midnight kisses.”

“I don't believe in kissing strangers, but Moose isn't a stranger.” You shrug, biting you lip to hide the smirk. “And technically, neither are you and I.”

[lovingumi]

— requested.

— chaos.

⤷ Hi, dear!~ I’m so in love with your Inarizaki writing! Thank you really. This’s too soft~ Can I ask headcanons about Inarizaki in the training camp with their manager?

synopsis: being inarizaki’s manager HC

pairing: inarizaki & fem!reader

warnings: none

+ i’m so happy you love them!! only the best for my boys and lil anons <3333 i’m reposting this because tumblr hates me <3

since it was almost match season, you had decided to ask the managers of some other teams to have a training camp for a few days!

it included karasuno, fukurodani, nekoma and of course inarizaki!

after the schools had agreed to a date and schedule, you gathered the team and told them the plan.

they were pretty excited! especially aran and atsumu since they both would see their friendly rivals.

osamu didn’t have any different feelings, he only hoped for some good food. akaashi and osamu would be besties change my mind

akagi was very excited to play with the top libero’s like yaku, komi and noya!

it was safe to say everyone was looking forward to it.

and so, a week later the team stepped out of the bus in front of fukurodani academy where the training camp would take place.

the managers lead all of you around and told you where you could put your stuff down.

and after that, practice could finally start!

to say that atsumu was fired up was an understatement. i mean, he was going against a setter who was on top of the technical parts of setting, a setter who knew exactly what to do with minimal movements and a setter who knew his teams strengths and how to bring out the one hundred percentage out.

atsumu felt like he was on top of the world and he was thriving.

aran had a friendly banter with bokuto, forcing a smile on your face whenever you were in their presence.

you saw akagi talk with noya, yaku and komi, a hand on his hip as he laughed at something noya said.

you felt all fuzzy inside seeing your team interact with the others )^o^(

inarizaki won majority of the matches they played, the real challenge however being fukurōdani.

bokuto had this tiny blush on his face as he went against someone equally strong, a bright smile on his face as he did what he always did: get some points for the team.

akaashi had this lil smirk on his face when he baited atsumu with a dump, staring at the blonde male who had a pout on his face.

“eh, akaashi. you’re pretty good, aren’t ya?”

akaashi was about to respond if it wasn’t for bokuto suddenly entering the conversation and slinging an arm around his setter.

“akaashi’s the best, isn’t he?” his eyes were closed and his pearly teeth were on display, teasing his best friend who tried to play it down.

inside atsumu’s head while staring at the energetic ace: yeah, i’ll play with him sometime

after practice had ended, they showered, changed in to something comfortable and had some dinner all together!

oh how much i wish that this was real

akaashi, kenma and osamu sat at a table together, talking about all the different onigiri’s they wanted to try and make, except for kenma, he stayed silent and just played his lil game.

“akaashi, we should really meet up sometime and try a few out.”

kageyama and atsumu sat opposite to them and talked about some stupid shit. it was mostly atsumu talking and kageyama nodding with a tiny blush covering his cheeks. please tell me you guys have seen that atsumu and kageyama official art of them in the youth training camp

“tobio-kun, we should play a bit after dinner! i just know that we’d be a good team together.”

at another table were bokuto, aran, hinata, yamaguchi and lev. they were honestly just talking about volleyball and food, nothing else.

hinata, yamaguchi and lev just watched the two aces talk with wide eyes and brag a little bit, bokuto doing the latter a tad more than our sweet aran who just watched with a tiny smile and that lil sparkle in his eyes.

“if you guys wanna be an ace like aran and me, then you should definitely always cheer us on and ask us things you want some more insight on!”

bokuto my lil babie

kuroo, washio, suna, omimi and tsukishima were minding their own business, all smiling a bit while talking about some stupid shit. yes, even tsukki cracked a tiny smile.

“so that’s the story on how i made this one love volleyball!” kuroo smacked tsukishima’s back, forcing an ‘oof’ from the latter before mumbling a quiet ‘hai’, no energy left to go against the stubborn third year.

“yikes, that’s pretty lame.”

not the glare tsukki gave suna

daichi, ennoshita, konoha and kita were just talking about the hard life of being in a team that’s just pure chaos </3

“yeah, the twins aren’t exactly sane either. osamu may look like the sane one, but he’s just as bad. fightin’ and playin’ around all the time with atsumu.” daichi nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. “hinata and kageyama are like that too.” konoha just sighed, a hand on his hip as he shook his head. “we just have a giant baby who needs lots of reassurance all the time.”

and last but not least, our libero’s and their lil chaotic squad!

this one exists out of komi, akagi, yaku, noya, tanaka and suga. its just all chaos with probably just komi and akagi being the sane ones.

“hey, we should definitely meet up sometime and just hang out together!”

you on the other hand kept moving from table to table, receiving a little wave from atsumu when you passed their table, a smile from akaashi, a wink from bokuto with a bright smile from hinata and a loose side hug from kita who bragged a little about you.

“_____, she’s pretty amazin’, ain’t she?” you felt your cheeks warm up a little, giving the sign to get out of here with the sweet excuse of hearing your name get called by yukie.

kita has a lil soft spot for you in my manager head canons because i love him <3

and the next two days went like this one, only a few tables would change and the noise only became louder since everyone had become better friends!

so, mission succes! ^ - ^

+

bokuto had asked you a little favour of accompanying him and a few others in a late night practice, to which you obviously couldn’t say no to when he stared at you with those big golden eyes.

so, you sat on the ground and watched the ball go over the net repeatedly, the squeaks of their shoes on the gym floor echoing through the gym.

team one existed out of atsumu, akaashi, kageyama, hinata, noya and suna. while team two existed out of kuroo, konoha, tsukishima, osamu, bokuto and aran.

atsumu insisted on being with all the setters while bokuto really wanted to play with aran, thus, the teams ended up like this.

you watched with sharp, yet sleepy eyes the guys go intensely against each other. they truly were not holding back even a little bit.

“tobio-kun!” atsumu set the ball for kageyama who watched with big blue eyes the ball rotate in the air. he ran up and hit the ball with sparkling eyes and lips that were curved up into a smile.

konoha dived for the ball and brought it up, only for the ball to go in to the bleachers instead of staying on the court. he stood up, letting out a sigh as the sweat dripped down his face.

“you don’t even know how happy i am that you two aren’t in a team together.” kuroo reached for a water bottle and nodded, speaking after taking a big gulp, “i second that.”

“atsumu-san, your tosses are so easy to hit!” hinata stared at the setter like he put the stars in the sky, mouth wide open as the setter chuckled. “of course, sho-kun! only the best for my spikers,” he said with a grin on his face.

“these teammates of yours are pretty good, aran,” bokuto said, the rasp even more evident in his voice as he raised his head towards the ceiling with his eyes closed.

“could say the same ‘bout you, that setter of yours is somethin’ else.”

bokuto looked down and tilted his head, chuckling as his tooth smile made an appearance. “like i always say, akaashi’s the best!”

suna dropped down on the floor, waving his hand as a signal of stepping out. “i’m done, it’s over for me.”

and just like that, you heard all voices agree, tired smiles on their faces as they started cleaning out the gym.

[bibliocratic]

Ooo jonmartin prompts ya say? 👀 If you're still taking requests, I'm really feeling some Supportive Monster Boyfriends angst rn. Either jon being Very Eye and martin calming him down, or martin being Very Lonely and Jon pulling him back, whichever....😁 --@screaming-introvertedly

Here you are! Supportive Martin and the Eye-based horror his boyfriend sometimes turns into like some sort of shitty superpower

(some content warnings for violent imagery and graphic hurt/comfort, I’ll add more detail to the tags. 

Jon rocks him awake violently, his nails leaving reddened half-moons in the skin of Martin’s arm, clamping his other hand vice-tight over his mouth. He is panicked and panicking and Martin’s pulling his beaten, aching body up out of muddy awakening, dredging together the scraps of energy he has left.

Jon releases him, and makes sloppy gestures, their meaning imperfectly delivered with how rushed he’s being; Up. Leave. Corruption. Now. Leave. Now. Now.

His mouth and hands make a terrified picture of desperation, and Martin’s staggering to standing, steadying himself on the rust-mossed bannister of the car park stairwell they’ve been sheltering in, trying to shuck exhaustion from his limbs to paw around for his backpack.

It’s too late anyway.

Martin can hear the skittering, scraping tumult approaching up the floors below, and Jon must know something he doesn’t, because he’s grabbing Martin’s hand and tugging him manically up, pushing him when he thinks Martin’s going too slow, and their feet are tripping on the concrete stairwell and still Jon is trying to pull them both upwards with nothing but his will and shaky legs. Their thumping, irregular steps echo in the boxy space, and still they aren’t fast enough.

They come as a mass. A roiling, compacted sea of matted, boil-plagued fur and knotted tails. Mouths frothing rapid cry out a hideous rending song that scampers and squeals, and they pour up the steps like a wave and break against them as they run.

Martin fights hard as they’re blocked in at a higher landing. He’s getting good at fighting these days. He scythes with a home-made weapon of brute force and nails while Jon burrows into their backpack, and then he’s being handed a flare as Jon casts down a glugging spill of petrol, and that when illuminates in a fetid barbecue stench takes out a good few of them. Yet they are legion and there are only two of them, and they were shattered and wasting before even this assault, and Martin is not fast enough.

He remembers hearing Jon holler in agony, his body turning in a pirouette of violent motion and intended impact and private terror, and he doesn’t even manage to complete his turn. A rat-king, made of up dozens of writhing furry bodies latches into his leg, using the leverage to claw savagely at his chest with a dozen back legs, a mauling amalgamation of impossible, flesh-rot limbs.

Something chomps into the meat of his arm and dangles there. He screams himself, the sound too big in the stairwell, a return cry of a dozen distant howling Martins, and his body shudders felled as he’s pulled down, and he keeps on screaming. He’s lost sight of Jon. There’s blood and matted fur over his eyes. His lungs expanding with a breathless terror, he tries to batter them away like midges in a summer heat as they swarm over him and take him for food.

The patter of their nailed feet over his cheeks, the paper-cut, dig-drag sensation of the onslaught, the decisive and brutal splitting bite and rip of the skin of his throat.

“Stop.”

The rats stop. So does Martin. The scream bubbles un-made and unvoiced in his chest and he can’t blink the blood out of his eyes. He can’t see Jon, but he doesn’t expect to. It’s not Jon that’s here with them any more.

“Tell me,” whisper-demands-croons-sings the thing that is no longer Jon, voice crashing on the rocks of them with with a wave-foam aftertaste of static and Martin’s mouth fills with the saliva of every shameful story he’s ever kept secret, every unkind thought, every mistake, every evidence of his fragile humanity laid bare.

“Tell me your story, Tangled Hoarde of Many Claws,” compells the voice of the Archive. “Let me rip your song from your spines.”

Martin pays hideous witnessing to the rats’ screaming. He sees when they start rocking their mismatched, desecrated bodies, moaning and keening, when they start dying with all the violent grace that was probably afforded to Peter Lukas. The infected bodies that survive turn delirious, wailing in confusion, lost from their hive, dragging their broken-backed, broken-brained bodies from the battleground, and the Watcher drinks it all in.

Martin feels the compulsion flicker and falter like a loss of pressure. His mouth remembers the agony of his body.

The thing that is not Jon watches him for a steady moment. The edging of its eyes stretches, retracts like the bodies of jellyfish, and pupils bloom into existence like opening flowers with a sucking, popping sound. Still the thing stares and Martin wails at the torn places of his skin, and the flayed torn places in his head that the thing is calmly perusing through as his movements get weaker.

He wants Jon here. He is trembling, and blood-loss woozy and he wants Jon to tell him it’ll be ok.

It is a body in all the ways something can be technically a body, and it moves in all the ways something can mechanically move. The hands that touch him are not the thin-spindle fingers that are deceptively calloused, they are not hands he knows, hands that have held him with a cherishing softness. There is nothing soft in this gaze, like being the only thing in the sights of some predator on a desolate, wind-scoured moor, nothing soft in its hold as it observes the violence done to Martin’s body.

Martin gasps and thrashes faintly, gargles blood through the weeping gash in his throat, and the thing makes a sound like a snarl of tape being wound back.

“Breathe,” his body is commanded. It doesn’t even have a mouth any more. It sounds its demand in the fibres of his skin, in the tendrils of his slipping-away consciousness, and Martin almost weeps at the meat-hook immoveable yank of it as he’s made to persist.

It is unendurable to continue. And the thing, that flexes the outline of a face that could have been Jon’s, whose eyes have lost all colour, replaced by the shock-wide black of pupils like the unblinking gaze of owls, will not permit him to drop into unconsciousness. Martin is instructed to live and breathe and survive in this blood-soaked, echoing stairwell, and his abused body does as instructed. It is efficient, this brutality of meatball surgery, but there is nothing human in it, and Martin’s throat gags on a wail as a tourniquet is applied to his leg.

Finally, eyes that could be eyes he knows boil down to the front of the thing’s face.

“Sleep. Long and dreamless,” comes the final command. Martin has no choice in the matter.

He awakes in a different place. There was a multi-level shopping centre running off one of the floors of the car park, and he opens his eyes in the plush-carpeted, desolate foyer of a multiscreen cinema. His body an anguish, aching and bruised to the bones of him. He blearily looks at the patch on his arm, the neatly sewn stitches and tape marking his skin, manages to move his arm with a pained wince to touch at the padding of gauze at his throat, his upper leg.

Around him like the elements of a summoning circle; medical gear, antiseptic and needle driver, tissue forceps, blood-heavy bindings discarded along with make-shift compressions. Martin wonders how much of his body needed mending. How much of it was commanded to.

Jon is there. His face ashen and smeared with Martin’s blood, the horrifying vista of his face returned to almost normal. Martin watches an eyeball roll back and into the scar tissue of Jon’s throat. He has his back against a circular plinth, body collapsed and folded uncomfortably like he’s lying where he fell.

He’s not looking at Martin. His eyes – his own dark pupils returned to him – staring off at a distance Martin cannot reach, a horizon he cannot venture to.

There are the drying trails of tears down Jon’s cheeks. His mouth is moving but it is not his voice that spools out but a testament of horror bestowed by some other poor soul using a mimicry of their voice.

Jon has the expression on his face of a man who has spent a long time drowning.

Martin wonders if he’s too late to bring him back to shore.  

Martin reaches out, fumbling, his motions jerky, imprecise. His reach limited by the bindings of his wounds, he flails his hand to touch Jon’s leg, the bare skin revealed below the line of the trouser leg, the only part of him he can reach.

“Jon, come back,” he pleads hoarsely, and stares at him as if hoping to snag his gaze away.  “Come on, you can do it, come back to me.”

Jon’s eyes blink slowly, like a lizard. His mouth doesn’t stop moving. His body has started shivering, though it’s warm enough here.

Martin wets his lips and wishes for water.

“I broke my wrist when I was six,” he says, the words scraping up the side of his throat. Jon’s eyes flick to him, and there are still the embers of a hungry light there. He has stopped talking. He is paying attention.  “I used to play rugby, though I was never any good at it. There was a fight in the changing rooms when I was thirteen, and I stopped playing after that.” Martin sucks in more air and Jon’s gaze doesn’t leave him. He’s stopped shivering.

The Eye likes the tales of minor tragedies, of fears and hurts and heartaches and so Martin feeds it like a praying man might light votive candles to try and lead his loved ones home.

“The first boy I loved, it-it was, we were at uni, but he was so ashamed of who he was he kept me a secret too,” he continues. “I am frightened that one day I’ll become my dad. I miss Tim and Sasha. I knew I had a crush on you when you told me I could stay in the Archives, and even then, I wished it gone because I didn’t want to be hurt again and I thought you’d be the sort of man who’d tear me down to build himself up.” He clenches his fingers around Jon’s ankle. “I am scared that one day you’ll drown. Come back, Jon. It can’t have you, come back to me.”

Jon sways and blinks woozy. He looks at Martin, seeing again, and his gaze is thready and human and terrified.

He’s stumbling, crawling on hands and knees to Martin’s side. Stuffed in his mouth are all the sorries and regrets and pains Martin can see writ large over his face; his hands span bird-flighty over Martin’s healing, shattered places.

“Jon, I’m ok, you saved me, Jon, we’re alive.”

Martin uses his arm to pull him close. Jon’s hands are beginning to scatter in explanation, in apology, but Martin shushes him with a croaky, relieved sound and holds him, a known quantity cradled in his hands, rocking his creaking, bruised painfully human body as tight as his battered limbs can bear.

[brieannakeogh]

Dog Days of Summer- Ch 6

Dog Days of Summer- Chris Evans X plus sized reader. Dog days of summer are usually defined as the hottest of the year, some define it as lazy days. This year ‘hottest’ has nothing to do with the outside temp. You meet Chris and Dodger Evans while taking your own dog to the park.

Previous Chapter / Master List

Warnings: Cursing and fluff, mild angst

It was about 10pm when your phone dinged. You had already changed into pjs when he left your apartment, and had just finished brushing your teeth when it went off.

“Tonight was fun. Thank you for cooking and having me over for dinner. I was thinking maybe we could take the dogs back to the park tomorrow. It’s been a few days since we saw our friend Ron.”

“It was a very pleasant evening. I had three very handsome good boys in my apartment all night. My neighbors are all going to be jealous. The park sounds great and I think Ron has been very happy we’ve stayed away. Also thanking you for shopping with me. If I had known dinner was going to be a regular thing, I would have included you in more meal planning. We’re going to have to go again soon since it won’t stretch as long with the two of us.”

“I hope you don’t feel obligated, we don’t have to do that. I can also pay for half the groceries too.”

You didn’t see it as an obligation at all, just another way to spend time with him. The fact that he seemed a little insecure himself, endeared him to you even more.

“I actually really like the idea and don’t worry about the money. I’ll get it out of you in slave labor, for toting all those bags, and in gas for using your car.” You were now properly in bed, Popcorn laying at your feet, with the light off.

“Lol, fair enough. I’ve got a few reps I need to do before I hit the sack, if I’m going to hold all the grocery bags.”

“You’re going to work out this late at night? I’m already in bed, lights off, ready for sleep.” You can’t say he wasn’t dedicated.

“I could counter it’s a little early to be going to bed. Let me guess you wear feety pajamas to bed?”

Was he indirectly asking what you were wearing? Your thoughts went directly into dirty territory, but you were trying to fight it. “Don’t say it, don’t say it.” You mumbled to yourself as you typed in a reply. Of course you don’t listen to yourself and text him back with a flirty response.

“Feety pjs are good for lounging, but I don’t like to be restricted when I sleep. Clothing tangles too much when I toss and turn.” Which was true, nude sleeping was always the best. “I had planned to read for a bit before going to sleep as well. I need to...let’s say, relax, after that kiss.” Your eyes widened and you bolted upright after you reread what you sent. While you were a much better and braver flirt over text and chat than you ever were in real life, your heart pounded wondering if you had gone too far, especially after he took longer to respond. Almost two minutes had passed before you see the three little dots from where he was typing again.

“I see a cold shower in my future. Probably multiple this week.”  You sigh in relief and lay back down slowly. “I’ll let you go...relax and if you ever need help with that, you have my number. Goodnight and sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight.” You reply simply ignoring his offer of help comment, tempted to text him back right then, but you knew it wasn’t the time. He had you so worked up, that it didn’t take long for you to be able to cum and relaxed enough to sleep. Your dreams full of blue eyes and a ruddy brown beard.

The next morning you expected to wake up groggy, but giddy excitement from everything that happened yesterday still flowed through your veins. So much for taking it slow.

Your phone already had a message from Chris, telling you a time to meet him at the park and then after you hadn’t responded, teasing you for sleeping in so late. Rolling your eyes as it’s still before 11am, you shoot him a quick text back confirming the time.

Getting yourself and Popcorn ready for the day you head out in time to meet Chris at the dog park. You see him sitting on what you have dubbed in your head as ‘our’ bench and walk over to him. He’s gone casual in his backwards baseball cap, sunglasses and sweatpants. The hoodie he’s wearing looks super soft too. Spotting you as you get nearer, he goes to stand, but you wave him back down as you unhook Popcorn and sit beside him, leaning into his side.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He answers back.

“Fancy meeting you here.” You smirk. “Where’s the pupper? I was expecting kisses.”

“He’s found another playmate.” Chris points to the other side of the park where Dodger is chasing a black and tan dog around playfully. “But I can volunteer my services for kisses if ya like. Guaranteed less slobber.” He smiles, eyebrow arched.

You’re surprised and look around at the other people in the park. “I mean, I don’t mind but don’t you worry someone will…” He cuts you off with a quick chase kiss to the mouth, forehead and cheek.

“See no one noticed, and even if they did fuck ‘em.” He tells you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, and you find you are quite content to just lay your head back into his arm and watch the dogs play. Well dog play, because like usual Popcorn is lying near the bench asleep.

The two of you fall into small talk. Typical things like the weather and the show you had watched the night before, which quickly turns into politics and heavier topics somehow. Chris is pleasantly surprised you share a lot of his views and the ones where you differ are not deal breakers for either of you.

You love watching the passion in his eyes as he talks about the different subjects, much more so then when the topics were light and fluffy. He was ranting about climate change and Biff when you couldn’t help but to let out a giggle.

“What?” He asks with a soft smile.

“Nothing, I just really like this. I’ve just never gotten into this heavy of a conversation after, what? This is technically our second date right? Does yesterday count as a date since it morphed halfway through?”

“I would qualify it as a second date. You knew my intention when you invited me over for dinner, plus you changed and straightened up.”

“Caught that did you?”

“Again, were you trying to be subtle?” You laugh and shake your head. “Also isn’t it better to go ahead and get deal breakers out of the way. I mean we aren’t getting any younger and it would suck if we liked each other a lot and than hit a wall.”

“Ok, shoot.”

“Let’s see….of course you would have to be ok with the actor, famous thing. I won’t want to go officially public until I’m sure. I don’t want to share my private life in front of an audience.”

“That’s perfectly fine with me. The red carpet seems stressful.” He smirks a little at that.

“Also permanent residence here in Boston, and kids. I’ll want those.”

You nod at the Boston, but pause at the kids. This you were iffy on. “I don’t want kids right now, but maybe if I find the right guy, in a few years.” You look up to him and he doesn’t seem bothered by that.

“That’s understandable. You want a little time as a couple before kids.” You nod at him. “Must love dogs and Disney.” Which you roll your eyes at. He’s seen your Disney collection and the dogs are why you are there in the first place. “What about you?”

“Hmmm well, the away on set all the time will be hard, but I’ve dated workaholics before. Can people visit?”

“Depends and sometimes I don’t have a lot of free time when filming.”

“I think it’s manageable. I’m pretty flexible, just the obvious things. Ya know like cheating.” He nudged you in the side to be more serious. “I don’t know, I can’t think of any. I mostly just don’t want to be treated like shit and taken for granted. Which is why the long away periods worries me. Not about you but that my insecurities will fester and tell me why the hell would you want to date me? Then you don’t answer a text and I’ll freak out which will make you mad and upset because you didn’t do anything wrong, you were just working.” Saying all of that quickly in in one breath, you huffed out and relaxed your shoulders.

“Wow, that got real, and dark.”

You roll towards him, putting an arm around his waist and your forehead on his chest. “I warned you I was crazy.” He snort laughs. “No, I’m just thinking extremes. It’ll probably be fine.”

Chris’s hand rubs circles on your lower back. “You know I have to make out with people and pretend to have sex too right?” His voice is very serious like that’s been a problem in the past.

You sit up and look at him in the eye. “Uhhh I’ve watched your movies before...I know how acting works.” The confusion in your voice evident.

“It’s just been a problem in the past when I’ve dated someone not in the industry.”

“That won’t be a problem. It’s a job you’re working, that doesn’t count as cheating and I’m not the jealous type. Honestly, how do you think my ex-fiance got away with it so long? I knew it was just him and his secretary at work all night alone together but I believed him when he said he was working. I’m stupidly trusting.”

“Optimistic is what you are.”

“Optimistic huh? I like that. So no deal breakers found. Does that mean we can go eat lunch, I’m starving.”

He chuckles and calls Dodger back. At the little dog friendly bistro the hostess asks how many, which Chris confirms two, but you interrupt asking if Ron is working.

“What are you doing?” Chris whispers in your ear and you wave him off.

“It looks like he is and he has a table open on the patio if you prefer to be seated in his section?”

An evil grin comes on your face as you tell her “That would be lovely.” Chris shaking his head at you the whole time.

The hostess seats you with a couple of menus and Chris just keeps looking at you with a “I can’t believe you are doing this again.” look on his face as he tries to keep from laughing.

You watch as Ron steps up to your table, not really looking at either of you, as he goes into his spiel on welcoming to the restaurant and what specials there are.

He looks up with a polite smile on his face and you see the look die in his eyes as he recognizes the two of you, unconsciously taking a step back. Chris is hiding his face in his menu, but you can see the shaking of his shoulders.

“Hiya Ron! Long time no see. How’s life been treating ya?” The excitement in your voice breaks an audible snicker from Chris.

“Just fine ma’am. What can I get you to drink?” Ron is trying to be as professional as possible and you have to admire him for that.

“I think waters all around?” You look to Chris who nods, not able to say anything. “Don’t forget thing one and thing two.” You point to the dogs.

Ron grips his pen a little tighter. “It was separate checks correct?”

You look him right in the eye without blinking. “No Ron, not anymore.” And you smirk.

Ron huffs out an irritated sigh and turns on his heel to leave.

Laughter from across the table makes you break into a fit of your own giggles.

“Was that why you wanted Ron’s section?”

“He looked down his nose at me last time, so I wanted show him he shouldn’t judge people. I know it’s a little on the petty side but just let me have my fun.”

“Hey you have as much fun as you want, but you’re paying for the tip. I’m not going to be trying to judge how much extra to give based on how much of an annoyance you were to him. We’re still in the ‘everything is endearing and cute’ stage.”

“So ‘everything is endearing and cute’, you say? I don’t think I’ve heard of that stage. Can you give me an example, use it in a sentence?”

A sly smile forms on his face that has you worried. “For example, that cute little screech you do when I leave.”

Your face heats up instantly. “You heard that huh?”

“The whole floor heard it, but it was cute.”

“Aww you think I’m cute?” Ron stops by the table to drop off water. “Ron did you hear that? He thinks I’m cute.”

“That you were acting cute.” Chris corrected.

“Ron we’ve known each other a while now. Do you think I act cute or just am cute?”

Ron blinks down at you and turns his head to Chris. “Sir sincerely good luck to you and you have my deepest sympathies.” He turns on his heel and walks away from the table without looking back at you.

“Wait? Was that a joke? Did Ron actually make a joke?” You asked Chris excitedly.

“I’m am now certain you have broken Ron.” Chris nods solemnly.

You both crack up at that and then actually read the menu instead of pointing at something random. Leaving Ron alone for the rest of lunch, you still provide him with generous tip at at the end and you think you see a smirk when he comes to pick it up.

The short walk back to your apartment is nice. Conversation flows naturally and you don’t feel as if you need to fill up all the space with talking. The awkwardness you use to feel having the gorgeous man keep pace beside you has all but dissipated. You still find it strange, but his presence puts you at ease. You’re starting to think that maybe this could work, although you didn’t know for sure until you had to go months apart. That was the real test.

The two of you step out of the elevator and into the hall, the dogs in tow. Another plan of watching tv to pass the time before dinner was already in the works. Chris wanted to finish the show you were watching and you were happy to oblige.

Sticking the key in the lock, it turns but without the telltale click when it unlocks. Your brow furrows and you pause with your hand on the doorknob.

“Everything alright?” Chris asks from behind you.

“The door wasn’t locked. I could have sworn I locked it when I left.” His face mimics yours with a frown.

“Step back and take the dogs. Let me go in first just to check.” You really want to argue but you’re scared and he gives you hard look when he hands you the leashes to not argue. He tries to be quiet as he slowly opens the door. You can’t help but to try to peek in around him but his wide shoulders don’t leave much room around the doorway. After he steps inside, he pulls the door to but not completely shut, keeping you on the other side in the hallway.

“Who the fuck are you?!” You hear someone who is definitely not Chris, shout from the apartment. You knew that voice, you had fucked that voice. No longer sitting on the sidelines you barged in and see Matt standing in the living room, arms crossed like he had just caught an intruder.

“I could ask the same buddy.” Chris responded with very similar pose, although with a couple more inches, height and width, on Matt. Chris was much more intimidating.

“Chris it’s fine.” You come up behind him with a hand to his lower back, and he looks down at you confused. “Well it’s not fine but I’ll handle it.” You shove the leashes into his hands as you move between them. “Chris this is my asshole Matt. Asshole this is Chris.” Chris’ eyes flash with recognition and he takes a look at the ex-fiance, judging him on all levels. “Now that we are all caught up, what the fuck Matt? You can’t just let yourself in. You don’t live here anymore and you said you gave me all your keys.”

“I’m still paying for the place. I can stop by if I want to.”

“No, no you can’t, that was the agreement. You moved out and moved in with your side bitch, and as an apology for making me quit my job and move to Boston, you paid rent up for this place until I could find a job.” You were so angry, you were boiling. You didn’t shout, your voice just got cold and deeper as your rage rolled off of you. Matt had never been smart about telling your moods and today was no exception. Chris on the other hand, stepped a little closer, towering at your back to add even more menace to your words, or possible hold you back when you launched yourself at him. It was hard to tell.

Matt scoffs. “Don’t give me that. Who’s this fucker? You’re telling me you weren’t fucking him on the side while we were together?”

“That’s exactly what I’m say, not that you have any right to know. What are you even doing here Matt?” You were suddenly tired and just ready to get this man out of your apartment so you could settle on the couch with Chris. Matt’s eyes shift from you to Chris and then glance at the bedroom. “Oh my god! You can’t be serious!” This you did shout. “You wanted to stay here? Did she kick you out already?” Matt at least had the decency to look ashamed this time, before he went into begging mode.

“Come on Marshmallow, we had good times right? It’s been miserable without you.” Chris’s hand on your shoulder tightened when your ex tried to win you back with nonsense. The audacity he had to pull this stunt in front of who was obviously your new boyfriend, and much bigger than he is, was ludicrous. Uncrossing your arms from your chest, you place a hand over Chris’s to give him a bit of comfort, not that he even needed it. He knew how you felt about the man in front of you, that was digging himself deeper with each word he spoke.

“Matt, please leave. You cheated on me, we’re done.” You cut him off as he was telling you what a ‘big mistake he made was’, but you couldn’t care less. It was very simple to you. “Hand Chris your keys on the way out, he needs one anyway. This will save us a trip.”

The nice guy act that Matt had been putting on melted in front of you. “You can’t honestly fucking expect me to believe you’re dating this guy?! He’s probably just the dog walker. You couldn’t get someone like this to fuck you unless you were paying them. That’s exactly what you’re doing isn’t it! Yeah you had to get yourself a fucking escort since nobody would touch you!” Matt sneers at you.

Chris was right to have come up closer, because you did in fact attempt to launch yourself at him, more in his defense than your own. Even with his muscles he had a hard time containing you, especially when you threw your weight into it. What got you to calm down was Chris’s loud booming voice calling your name. It sounded just like Captain America was disappointed in you.

“Ok, I’m done staying out of it. Matt or whatever the fuck your name is, hand over the keys. If I ever find out that you were in my girlfriend’s house again, without her permission, I will have a reason to use the myriad of lawyers I keep on retainer.” He turns to you and hands you the leashes to the dogs, who are both looking scared after being witness to the fight. “Take the dogs into your bedroom and calm them down, while I escort him out and down to the lobby.” He runs a finger over your cheek and you realize a stray tear had run down. All you can do is nod and you go around to the back of the apartment to the bedroom. You can hear some muffled talking before the front door closes again.

“Shhh, it’s ok guys, it’s all over now.” Kneeling on the floor you pick up Popcorn and wrap an arm around Dodgers neck, burying your face into the fur on his back.

After what could have been either a few minutes or 15, time wasn’t moving correctly in your world, the door creaks open with Chris leaning on the doorway. He sees you in the floor, arms wrapped around both dogs and his eyes soften. “Did he give you the key?” You ask him. He holds it by the key ring and lets it dangle. “That’s good. I’m really sorry about that. I never thought that he would ever show up here again. I hadn’t prepared for it.”

He sighs and squats down beside you, a hand on your head running it over your hair. “We did move a little fast as well. It was just such a rare opportunity, for both of us, where we didn’t have other things so we could spend as much time as we wanted together. I was enjoying it.”

“Me too.” You bite your lip, debating whether or not you wanted to ask what was on your mind. “Did he say anything else?”

Chris’ eyes flashed for a moment and he took his hand from you. “If you want to take him back just tell me now. I can’t say I understand, but I know you have a history.”

“What?” You were thoroughly confused until it clicked. He thought you were asking if he said anything more about taking you back. “Fuck no I don’t want him back. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t make any threats to you or the dogs or anything. Him being in here and letting himself in freaked me out. What if he has another key?” You were starting to panic and he could hear it in your voice. He sat beside you in the floor and pulled you to him.

“I don’t think he does, although I’m going to have to let my manager know. He finally recognized me when we got to the lobby. He seemed more scared when he figured it out, which was weird. I’m still going to have to keep an eye on it to make sure he doesn’t try to cash the story into the tabloids.”

“Uggg this was not what I wanted. This is your vacation time, you don’t need to be more stressed.” You bang your forehead into his chest, a soft ‘ow’ from him stops you.

“Let’s just forget about it for now and go relax on the couch like we’d planned. After we’ve both calmed down than we can talk.”

It was that word, talk, that dreaded word that got your heart racing again. So much for relaxing tonight.

Next Chapter

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[elthadriel]

Clean up that Blood all over your Hands

During their time in SEP Jack made Gabriel a promise that he intended to keep. He just wished it hadn't had to be under these circumstances.

Tags:  Major Character Death, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt No Comfort, Sad Ending, SEP era, Post-Recall

Read on Ao3

“Need help”

  Jack went from half asleep, squinting into the too bright light of his phone, to completely awake, jolting out of bed in a faction of a second on reading the text. He almost fell in his hurry to pull on his trousers while still staggering to the door of his room. Gabriel’s room was only just across the corridor from his own, but even that felt like to far.

  They had lost two people to this round of drugs already.

  Gabriel’s door was unlocked, they had all stopped locking their doors at some point into this hell.

  “Here,” Gabriel croaked, voice barely more than a horse whisper. He was curled into the corner of his en-suite by the toilet. He apparently hadn’t made it there in time, as there was vomit down the front of his shirt. That wasn’t overly concerning, Jack was throwing up nearly every other day at this point in the experiments, but the sweat soaking through his clothes was.

“Shit, Gabe.” Jack dropped down in front of his friend, pressing a hand to his forehead. It was clammy and unnaturally hot.

  “Bad reaction today’s dose.”  Gabriel tried to laugh but it quickly turn into a hacking cough.

  “I didn’t know you were getting more today.” Jack started to help Gabriel out of his shirt, revealing even more burning skin. There had been jokes the first time they had had to help strip the other, but they had passed the point where this was even a little funny a long time ago.

  “Me neither. Told me after dinner.” Gabriel was trying his best to help, but he was almost a deadweight, clearly struggling to even lift his arms.

  God, this was going to kill them both.

  “Fuckers.”

  Gabriel grinned, revealing blood between his teeth; he had a habit of biting his cheek when he was in pain.

  “I’m gonna get your ass into a cool shower, try and get your temperature down,” Jack said. Gabriel had probably meant to try that himself, but he didn’t look like had the strength to even crawl across the bathroom, never mind stand to turn the shower on.

  “My Prince Charming.” Gabriel drawled, slumping back into the wall without Jack there to support him.

  Jack put the shower on as strong as it could manage; at least the government had supplied them with showers with great pressure. Jack stripped off his own clothes, dropping them into a heap before turning back to collect Gabriel. “Which princess does that make you then?”

  “I always thought of myself as a Jasmine.” Gabriel said, managing a slightly pained smirk.

  Jack hauled Gabriel up, ignoring how his own muscles, pushed to the limit by his own cocktail of drugs, ached at the effort. He was getting stronger by the day, but the strain on his muscles was unforgiving.

  “Jesus, Gabe, how much did you eat today? You weigh a tonne,” Jack asked, trying to lighten the mood, as if everyone in the program weren’t eating enough for three regular, non-lab rat soldiers, and as if the evidence of Gabe’s dinner wasn’t all over the bathroom floor.

  “You shouldn’t have skipped leg day,” Gabriel said. To his credit, he was trying to carry as much of his own weight as he could, but he looked a pale from the effort.

  “Fucking hell, I’m shocked the god damn carpet can even fly with your fat ass on it. Jasmine is the one from Aladdin right? I haven’t seen one of those movies in ages.” They technically had plenty of downtime, but they spent most of it either suffering awful side effects or wired to the point of paranoia, running laps for hours trying to get rid of the anxious energy.

  Still, they should try and have a quiet evening and just watch some films; it would do them both good.

  If the experiments didn’t kill them first.

  Gabriel laughed, before it broke quickly down into awful retching. Jack barely managed to keep Gabriel on his feet as he staggered, bending almost in half. Blood splattered onto the floor. Jack would have tried to convince Gabriel to go to the med bay, if he thought for a second Gabriel would agree, or that the doctors would have better advice than shrugging and telling them to wait it out.

  “Fuck, Jack, it hurts.”

  “I know, sweetheart, I know.” Jack half carried, half dragged Gabriel the last couple of feet to the shower, letting him sink back to the ground once he was under the spray. Gabriel flinched from the water, though it was tepid at worst.

  “Was there blood in your vomit?” Jack asked, concerned at how natural questions like that had become.

  Gabriel shook his head.

  “Just the fever, and vomiting?”

  “I was shivering earlier, even though I wasn’t cold.” He let out a full body shudder. “I’m cold now.”

  Gabriel’s skin was still feverish under Jack’s hands.

  “You’re being a baby, I used to have to take cold showers before school, and it’s not that bad.”

  “Oh yeah, and then you walked uphill both ways?” Gabriel said with a smile though he was still hunching away from the spray.

  There wasn’t enough room in the shower for both of them, but Jack squeezed down next to Gabriel anyway. Their sides were pressed tight together. Normally Jack liked the heat of Gabriel pressing up against him, but now it made him worry. What would happen if he they couldn’t get his temperature down? They’d already lost a couple of others to fevers.

  “Of course, and in the snow, don’t forget about the snow.”

  Gabriel rested his head on Jack’s shoulder. It was hard to tell with the water, but it looked like he might be starting to cry. Jack was almost tempted to join him. He was so fucking tired.

  “I know you aren’t as much of a farm boy as you pretend to be, Jackie,” Gabriel mumbled, barely audible over the sound of the shower.

  Jack smiled despite himself. “Don’t say that too loud, half of my personality is built of people thinking my best friend growing up was a cow.”

  “Don’t say that about your mother, Morrison.”

  “Oh fuck you, Reyes. I’ll leave your ass in your own bile next time if you don’t stop talking shit.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  Jack turned and pressed a kiss into Gabriel’s hair.

  “No, I won’t.”

  ---

  Their skin was starting to prune by the time Gabriel’s temperature finally dropped down enough that Jack felt safe getting him out of the shower. He carefully washed Gabriel’s hair first, cleaning out the sweat and remains of vomit. Gabriel was mostly silent, but he leant into Jack’s hands.

  They both got awful headaches that had become so standard they barely warranted mentioning. Jack had lost track of the amount of times they had sat one of them with their head in the other’s lap, an amateur head massage the only thing stopping them from going totally crazy.

  Sometimes Jack forgot he’d only known Gabriel a few months; it felt like a lifetime.

  “You think you can sleep?” Jack asked, carefully hauling Gabriel to his feet. Gabriel was standing a little more under his own weight now, but still leant heavily on Jack. They shuffled awkwardly across the wet tiles, careful not to slip.

  Gabriel shock his head, accepting a towel from Jack. “Still hurts,” he grunted, but didn’t elaborate. He didn’t really need to, Jack was all too familiar with the engulfing pain the drugs could bring. It made their blood feel like fire, burning them up from the inside. They couldn’t last much more of this.

  He led Gabriel to the bed anyway, leaving him with the towel across his shoulders while he went to find a clean pair of sweats, dragging an extra set from the drawer for himself. His own abandoned in the bathroom.

  Gabriel was shaking again, tiny little moments across his shoulders and down his arms.

  “Put this on, I’ve seen more than enough of your ass for one day.”

  Gabriel smiled weakly, either too tired to make a comment about how no one could tire of seeing his ass, or spending great restraint to hold the comment back. He took the trousers either way, managing to put them on without the help he had needed to get undressed. He couldn’t keep his hands steady, but Jack pretended not to notice as he dressed himself.

  “Thanks for helping,” Gabriel said, sitting in the far corner of the bed, giving Jack plenty of room to sit down beside him. Somehow they ended up pressed up against each other all the same. “I couldn’t move, or really think, I was just fixated on the idea that this could be hit, ya know, that I could die on the floor of a shitty bathroom, in a shitty army base, and who knows how long it would take them to even find me. Who even knows what they do with our bodies, probably cut us up and do just a couple more tests.”

  “Breathe,” Jack interjected, placing a hand soothingly on the back of Gabriel’s neck.

  Gabriel did was he was told, breathing deeply. “Fuck Jack, I’m so tired of being this scared.”

  “Yeah.” Jack wished he had something clever, or meaningful to say, something to make the situation better.

  “I don’t know if how much longer we’ll last.” Gabriel drew up his knees, staring blankly past Jack’s head.

  “Fuck that, don’t talk like we don’t have a chance.” Staying hopeful was becoming harder each day, but the idea that death was unavoidable was unacceptable.

  “Tommy died this morning.”

  Jack froze.

  “What-”

  “Heart attack.”

  Jack’s hands were trembling.

  “We’re gonna die, Jackie.” Jack opened his mouth to interrupt but Gabriel ploughed on. “I’ve been trying to stay positive, but fuck, there’s four of us left, and I’m out of justifications of why I’m gonna live while everyone else dies.”

  “Justifications?”

  “It’s fucked up, but shit like I was stronger than them, or smarter, like they deserved it, anything to keep myself from accepting there was nothing I could do, because being helpless to this is,” He swallowed, “real fucking depressing.” Gabriel laughed, empty and hollow. “But with Tommy, and Zoe earlier this week, they were better than my sorry ass. If this shit got them, it’s gonna get me. It’s gonna get all of us.”

  “They said they think they are close to stabilising it.” Jack hadn’t really believed it when the doctor had first cheerfully shared this information with him, and it sounded even less believable coming from his mouth. Gabriel certainly seemed unconvinced.

  “I’ll believe it when we stop dropping dead because our bodies either can’t take the strain, or the poison is just a little too lethal.” Gabriel’s eyes were unfocused. “I mean look at us Jackie, my body is freaking the fuck out every other day, and each round of drugs is only making it worse, and you were unconscious for three days after your last shot, and they called that a good sign.”

  Gabriel ran a hand through his hair, hysteria flirting at the edge of his voice.

  “They’re killing us.”

  Jack was crying, he couldn’t help it. He wanted to have faith that they could make it through this, but he was so fucking scared.

  “Jack just, shit, can you just do one thing for me.”

  “Anything.”

  “I’m okay with dying, I really am, this was worth trying if it could have helped in the war, just. Please, I don’t want to die alone.”

  Jack couldn’t help but feel it was an empty comfort, having someone beside him as he died, but he would walk through fire for Gabriel, he could give him this.

  “You won’t.” Jack only hoped he'd be able to keep that promise.

  “You’ll stay?”

  “Course. I’ll be here.”

  Gabriel visibly relaxed. “Thanks.”

  “Not this week though, I have shit planned, so you’re gonna have to put off the whole dying thing for a while, how does six decades from now sound?” He tried desperately to drag the tone back to something lighter.

  “Sure thing, Jack, I’ll try and make sure my death is convenient to you,” Gabriel said drily.

  Jack wanted to kiss him, but pushed down the urge. When they’d both made it out of this hell, he’d kiss the bastard, but right now it felt too much like desperation.

  “Fucking right you will.”

  Gabriel smiled, and it might even have been sincere.

  *******

  When they finally took Reaper down, he didn’t go quietly.

  Ana was dead, for good this time. Reaper had put a round of one his shotguns through her face, splattering gore across the wall behind her, apparently without an ounce of regret. She had managed to stick him with one of her darts, too late to save herself, but enough to slow Reaper down, enough for Jack to unload more shots into him than any living creature should be able to take.

  He still wasn’t dead, still trying to struggle to his feet, even as his limbs turned to smoke around him, and his blood, covered the ground. He was snarling like a cornered animal, reaching desperately for one of his guns, metres out of his reach.

  “Lena, take the others and get out of here, I’ll join you shortly.” It hurt to talk, his voice wrecked from all the shouting he had done.

  “You sure, Jack?” Tracer flittered anxiously around in the corner of his vision. “He’s still dangerous.”

  “I’m sure. Get Winston to a doctor, see how much of his arm they can save. I’ll finish up here.” It was stupid risk to take, after all they had sacrificed to get to this point, but Jack had always been a little stupid when it had come to Gabriel.

  He walked as close as he dared before slipping to the floor, crossing his legs, and placing his gun to the side, but still very much in reach.

  “Gabe?”

  Reaper’s mask was cracked, a chunk of it missing down the left side of his face. There was smoke escaping his mouth and nose as he panted, and leaked from the corner of his eyes. His skin was a pasty grey, stretched too tight across his skull. He looked like he had died some time ago.

  The edges of Reaper’s mouth curled into a snarl, and he abandoned his doomed attempt to reclaim his gun, to making an equally fruitless swipe at Jack. He let out a howl of pain from the effort. Fuck, there was so much blood.

  “Say what you want to say, Morrison,” Reaper rasped.

  Sometimes Jack had been able to look at Reaper, even at his worst, and still see part of Gabriel there, in the way he had stood, or something he had said. Now, curled up on himself, dying but still ready to cause as much damage as he could on the way out, there was nothing recognisable left.

  “I’m not here to say anything.”

  “Nothing to say?” Gabriel laughed, and then choked, coughing blood and smoke up onto the ground. “That’s a first.”

  Jack didn’t say anything, but reached up and unclipped his mask, pulling it from his face and placing it down next to his gun. Without it, his vision in his periphery blurred. He wanted to see Gabriel without technology altering his perception.

  Gabriel tried once again to push himself up, but slammed hard back into the ground, letting out a guttural moan of pain. Jack stayed silent as Gabriel drew steadying breaths.

  “Just here to gloat then? Either put me out of my misery or let me die in peace, Seventy-Six.” Reaper sounded as tired as Jack felt even as he tried to bury it under layers of rage.

  Gabriel’s eyes had been the prettiest brown once, but now there was only the thinnest hint of colour around his eerily big pupils, and the whites bloodshot to hell. Jack might have assumed it was a side effect of dying, but Ana had commented on them when she had seen him without his mask. She had seen many people high on all sort of things, but had said none of it had made anyone’s pupils so large.

  “Will you take your mask off at least?” It was foolish to get emotional, but Jack wasn’t sure how he was meant to do anything else.

  Reaper, surprisingly tried to comply, but his hands were so slick with blood he couldn’t get a grip, hands slipping uselessly off the faceplate. Jack, abandoning any caution he had left, shifted closer.

  Reaper’s hand slammed closed around Jack’s wrist as he reached for the mask, but even without testing it Jack could tell he would easily be able to break free. Still, he allowed Reaper the appearance of control and stilled his hand.

  “What the fuck do you want, Jack?” It would be so easy to reach out and touch the bare skin of Gabriel’s face. They had touched before, since Switzerland, but not without layers of leather between them.

  “I promised I wouldn’t let you die alone.”

  Reaper had already been struggling to hid how much pain he was in, but he the expression on his face suggested that hurt more than any of the bullets Overwatch had put into him. His grip slackened and Jack close his fingers around the remains of Reaper’s faceplate. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, perhaps some great insight into what had happened to his partner, but instead there was more of the same discoloured skin.

  Reaper looked up at him, teeth bared.

  “You think you can change the fact you killed me, with some promise you made forty years ago?” He looked desperate.

  Jack shook his head. He slumped over a little, tugging Reaper’s closer, so he was across his lap, rather than on the ground. Reaper’s blood soaked through his trousers almost instantly. No normal human should be able to lose this much blood.

  “Fuck you, Jack, all of this is on you, you did this.”

  Jack knew Reaper was just trying to hurt him, some final, desperate attempt to cause just a little more pain.

  It still hurt. It was at least partially true after all. Gabriel and Jack had both been just as responsible in the others’ downfall as their own, but it was hard to say they had both faired as badly when Gabriel was bleeding out and Jack was going to walk away from it all.

  It had always been like that, Jack landing on his feet, while the universe conspired to fuck Gabriel over.

  “It shouldn’t have been like this,” he said at last. He wasn’t willing to apologise, not after everything Gabriel had done, he wasn’t even sure he could admit fault out loud. If this had been Gabriel he might have been able to do both, but to this shell, acknowledging the unfairness of it was the most he could offer.

  Reaper laughed, and the bitter tone made Jack whined. “I hope you suffer for this,” Reaper hissed, “I hope it haunts you.”

  Jack didn’t have anything to say to that.

  “I was going to marry you,” Jack said after a long silence. He wasn’t sure why he was saying this now, knowing it would hurt Reaper as much as it hurt him. “I was going to be with you forever. I figured we’d retire, eventually, and head back down to Cali, get a house or something, a couple of dogs. Shit Gabe, I was going to spend my whole life with you.”

  “Stop.” Reaper said, sounding more like Gabriel than he had in years. Jack ignored him all the same.

  “I loved you.” Jack said softly. “Why did you do this to us, Gabe?”

  Reaper twisted in his grasp, lashing out, clawed gloves slashing across Jack’s face leaving two shallow cuts across Jack’s jaw. Subduing Reaper was easy even as he struggled, and Reaper’s strength abandoned him quickly. He slumped back across Jack, breathing heavily.

  “Fuck you,” he managed between gasps. “I hate you.”

  “I know.” Tears pooled around the edges of Jack’s eyes, blurring his vision even more. Maybe it was better if he couldn’t see, it was easier to pretend the familiar weight in his arms was still Gabriel.

  “Then go, leave me. Don’t make me endure your bullshit now.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  Reaper laughed again, loud and manic. “You can’t even do this for me. I ask you one fucking thing one my deathbed and you still can’t do it for me. You selfish son-of-a-bitch.”

  “I promised.”

  “I think the situation has changed just a little since then,” Reaper said.

  He wasn’t wrong, and maybe it would be kinder, for both of them, to leave. Jack couldn’t bring himself to move.

  “Say something,” Reaper snarled, he grabbed Jack’s throat, but it was easy to tug Reaper’s fingers away from Jack’s airways, too easy. Reaper’s strength was failing.

  “What do you want me to say?” Jack couldn’t help but push the strands of hair that had fallen across Gabriel’s forehead back. His skin was as cold as it looked.

  “Anything.” Reaper’s chest was heaving, each breathe painful and laboured. “That I did this to myself, that I deserve this, that you hate me, anything.”

  Jack wet his lips. “I don’t think you deserved this.”

  Reaper was staring past him, up at the sky. His hand had slipped down from Jack’s throat and was clutching weakly at the front of his shirt.

  “But you do hate me?”

  “Sometimes.” Jack was too tired to lie anymore; surprising, as he had always been so good at it. A dashing smile and an earnest tone, and no one would doubt a word that came out of his mouth.

  Reaper looked relieved and Jack wished he knew what he had been thinking, wished he had time to ask what he had been thinking since everything had gone to shit.

  “I still loved you at times too, though, but hating you was easier than trying to make sense of how I could love you and fight you at the same time.” He wished there had been some closure for either of them, rather than the trauma of losing him, and then raw pain of getting him back and realising what he had become all in the same moment.

  Reaper’s face twisted into something that might have been a smile. “Yeah.”

  The light was starting to fade, and his eyes weren’t good in the dark. Soon he wouldn’t be able to make out anything more than rough shapes. Reaper’s breath was weakening.

  “I’d still kill you,” Reaper said, “if I could reach my gun, or overpower you. If I could I’d make you die with me.”

  Jack cupped Reaper’s jaw, running his thumb across his cheek.

  “I know.”

  Reaper fell silent, only the rise and fall of his chest indicating he was still alive.

  Eventually, even that ceased.

  Jack pushed Gabriel’s corpse off his lap and collected his gun and mask from the ground. They had prepared for this, and Tracer had left the supplies behind. He poured lighter fluid over the body and lit a match. Reaper’s body went up in flames but he didn’t stay to watch.

  He contemplated collecting Ana’s body, but found he didn’t have the stomach for it. Someone would have to come perform clean up anyway, they could handle it along with the burnt remains of Reaper.

  He was done with this.

[you-cannot-give-up-just-yet]

You Cannont Give Up Just Yet: Chapter 9: Justice

Papyrus felt his own hands begin to tremble as he gingerly placed the papers in his lap. His brother’s job as the judge of the Underground had entirely slipped his mind. Was this what caused Faia to ask him what Sans used to do before he was the royal scientist? Does this mean that Sans has let the human go? Does this mean that he didn’t fight the human at all?

Does this mean that Sans is the reason that King Asgore is dead?

Papyrus’ breath came more quickly and shook with the onslaught of emotion that began bombarding him. He had to force himself not to hyperventilate. Despite being a skeleton and not technically needing air, it was still a luxury and still had the capability of making him pass out. Sans said it was because it had to do with toxicity or something.

Papyrus came to the conclusion to force himself to stop breathing altogether. It took a long moment as it had been quite sometime since he hadn’t breathed. The last time he remembered was when he was training with Undyne and breathing was becoming laboring and far too troublesome. It had scared the Captain of the Guard initially, but she eventually got over it when she realized that it actually kind of made sense.

Papyrus caught his breath hitching at the thought of his deceased best friend. His ribcage began to burn as he forced all the air in his system to stay put. The burning got worse and worse, like how your legs feel when you suddenly start walking after running for some time. However, it slowly ebbed away as the pain hit its peak.

“Papyrus?!” came the voice of Faia, accompanied by a hand shaking his shoulder. Papyrus looked up and saw concern written all over her face. Right. He probably should have warned her first.

“Sorry, Faia. I’m alright. I’m a skeleton. I don’t need to breathe. I just…. Don’t need to be hyperventilating and passing out,” he explained. It felt strange to feel the air move around in his ribcage and past his mouth without him forcing it. It was hard for a moment to keep himself from inhaling after he spoke. Realization slowly dawned on Faia’s face. She gave a solemn nod before letting go of the King’s shoulder.

“How many monsters asked about this?” Papyrus asked. Faia looked down ashamed. Papyrus wondered if this was an issue he should have been addressed with sooner.

“We had one or two last week. This week over half of the questions were that one…. In some form or another,” She explained. Papyrus felt a pit growing in his metaphorical stomach. That many? The public in general was becoming angry with Sans because he failed to do his job properly? Papyrus shook his head. He needed to calm down. He was certain his brother had reason for making the decision that he did.

What should he do about it, though? He couldn’t just ignore the question. Not when that many monsters had concerns about it. He couldn’t ask his brother about it. He already had so much to stress about and be worried over. People were already looking to him to somehow get past the barrier and free all of them, he couldn’t add this burden onto his shoulders. Sans had just started getting better, the younger didn’t want to make it worse again.

He wondered how vaguely he could ask Sans about it without him catching on. That would prove tricky as he was much more observant than he let on. Papyrus knew this. The only exception to this rule would be an instance, such as previously, when he was too absorbed in his work. Papyrus wondered if he could use Sans’ work as a cover for the questions. It might work.

“Papyrus?” Faia called again. Papyrus shook his head as he realized he was getting too lost in thought. He then turned his attention to the blue fox in front of him. “What are we going to do?” She asked. Papyrus looked down.

“I don’t know…. I think… I think I will try to ask him something vague about it if I feel that he won’t catch on. He already has everyone looking to him to do something about the barrier,” Papyrus explained.

“You aren’t going to tell him?” Faia asked. She recoiled slightly as if she were a bit appalled at the idea. Something about that sparked something in Papyrus that he didn’t like.

“You didn’t,” he curtly pointed out. Faia shrank back much more visibly this time. A pang of guilt hit the King immediately. What was he doing? That was not a very Papyrus thing to do. He forced himself to take a deep breath now that his wave of anxiety had passed. He needed a clear mind if he was going to properly find a solution to this dilemma.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap,” Papyrus apologized looking down at the papers in his lap again.

“No.You’re right… You’re…. You’re right. I didn’t tell him. Maybe I should have before giving you the list instead of expecting you to tell him instead,” Faia returned.

“Well, we’re not going to get anything done about it if we both just sit here sulking over poor communication skills,” Papyrus gently supplied. Faia nodded and straightened back up.

“If we aren’t going to tell him, then what are we going to do?” Faia asked.

+++++++

Papyrus absentmindedly stirred the pot of spaghetti on the stove. What was he going to do? What was he going to say to Sans when he got home? How can this even be entirely about Sans? What was more important: protecting Sans or giving the public the answers they deserve? What would Papyrus tell the public anyway? He didn’t know the answer to their question. It could be very possible that Sans simply wasn’t there when the human came through. Perhaps he was selling something at one of his stands. Perhaps he was at Grillby’s. He could have even been at home.

Papyrus knew he wasn’t usually home at that time, but Papyrus had been waiting outside Undyne’s door until long after the human left…..waiting for the human to come and hang out with the two of them…. Thinking that Undyne and the human could be friends, when in reality the human had long killed his best friend. Papyrus stopped as he realized he was stirring too fast, causing noodles to go everywhere. He was getting angry with himself again. He didn’t need that. Not now. Not when he had his brother’s issues to deal with. Maybe Sans didn’t know? Maybe he didn’t even know people were so upset with him. Papyrus knew he shortcutted straight to the lab every day and he hadn’t seen any grease stains or other evidence of him visiting Grillby, which was probably the only other place the monster would go.

Maybe if he just asked Sans as if he really just wanted to know for himself, he would get an answer. He would find that Sans wasn’t there, that the human had managed to slip past without being judged. Even then, the Underground would probably still be angry with him, but perhaps not quite as much as if he had the option to stop the human and then didn’t.

The sound of displaced air startled the King. He let out a distressed ‘nyeh’ as he jumped, sending a few noodles flying out of the pot. There stood Sans as always, but it shouldn’t be time for him to be home yet, should it? Papyrus checked the clock and then regarded his brother. Nothing different about him, except he was early. Earlier than early. Not the five or ten minutes he was usually early by, but a whole half hour!

“bro?” Sans asked with concern in his voice.

“SANS?” Papyrus asked as he gauged the clock one more time before turning his attention back to his brother.  “You’re home early. Earlier than usual.” Sans gave his typical shrug and Papyrus instantly knew what words would come out of his mouth next. He steeled himself to keep from showing his concern.

“heh, didn’t want to give ya the chance to worry,” He said, just as expected. Too late, Papyrus morbidly thought.

“Well, dinner won’t be ready for quite some time. Why don’t you go take a shower?” Papyrus suggested. He tried to force his hands not to linger directly in front of him. If he kept doing that, he’d eventually start wringing them together and then Sans would know something was wrong.

“you ok, bro?” Sans asked. Well, so much for that. Papyrus gave up on trying to hide his concern on his features. Well, he guessed that now would be as good of a time as ever to ask Sans about it.

“I….. I have a question for you, brother,” Papyrus managed. Sans posture slacked a bit. Papyrus guessed Sans didn’t think that it was anything too serious and was showing relief.

“of course, bro…. anything,” Sans said. Papyrus wanted to flinch. No, Sans definitely did not understand the dire circumstances currently present, nor the severity of the question Papyrus was about to ask. He was afraid that Sans would run away from the question. Run away like he does for every other conflict, but Papyrus didn’t want that. He didn’t want Sans running away from him. Sans can run from conflict all he wants, but Papyrus never wants Sans to run away from him. With that in mind, Papyrus stepped forward and wrapped his brother up into a hug. Sans gingerly returned it.

“Were you in the Judgement Hall when the human came through?” He finally asked. He felt Sans freeze and his hands grip into the scarf. He felt Sans somehow sink while simultaneously stiffen. He wanted to run. Papyrus knew he did. He didn’t want to answer. That made Papyrus fear the worst.

“Yes,” came the older’s voice softly. Papyrus felt his arms loosen from his brother in shock and he flinched away from him as he did. He couldn’t help but wonder as a question kept repeating itself in his head: why?

“you want to know why i let them go,” Sans stated. It wasn’t a question. Papyrus could only find himself to stand back and nod. Sans looked down at the ground, but he didn’t seem incredibly ashamed. He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“they weren’t all bad, papyrus. they had the potential to be a good person. they could have been so much worse. they could’ve killed me, or grillby, or a lot of other people….. they could have killed you…. but they didn’t. i wanted to give them to be the chance to be the person you knew they could be,” Sans explained. Papyrus felt his metaphorical gut sink. Sans spared them…. For him?

Papyrus thought he would faint. Sans knew that the human had killed Undyne and Mettaton when Papyrus didn’t. Did that mean that it was Papyrus’ fault? Should Sans have judged the human according to what he knew rather than what Papyrus knew about the human at the time? Regardless, if Sans spared the human because Papyrus believed in them, that ultimately makes it Papyrus’ fault, doesn’t it?

It would be the same reason that Undyne’s death was his fault. He believed in the human and helped them along in their journey. It was his fault that his best friend was murdered and it was his fault that her killer got away. Papyrus was happy that he lacked a stomach, otherwise he might have thrown up from the intense emotion coiling inside of him.

“But….  but they killed Mettaton… and Undyne…. And so many others,” Papyrus reminded. He felt tears begin to streak down his face. He wasn’t sure when they got there, and he currently didn’t have the care to wipe them away.

Sans finally looked up at the taller skeleton and Papyrus instantly wished that he hadn’t. The moment their eyes met, Sans’ face turned and he frowned. Papyrus saw a large mix of emotion cross his brother’s face. Guilt, sadness, and shame among others. Sans quickly looked back down and Papyrus saw his shoulders come closer together, like he was trying to shrink in on himself from the guilt.

“i know…. i just wanted to give them another chance,” Sans said. His voice was warped from something. Perhaps guilt? Or perhaps he was fighting tears himself. Papyrus saw Sans’ feet spread to shoulder width apart, a sure sign that he was about to shortcut somewhere.

“WAIT!” Papyrus called and flung himself onto his brother again, wrapping his arms around him tightly. He halfway collapsed on the floor due to the height difference, but he didn’t care. “Please don’t go…. Please don’t run away from me.”

A buildup of magical energy that Papyrus didn’t notice before fizzled out. Sans was certainly about to shortcut away. The older didn’t move. He stayed completely still as if he were made of stone. Papyrus felt a few tears drop down onto his shoulder. So Sans was crying. Papyrus didn’t want that. Sans had no reason to cry. He only did what he thought was best…. for Papyrus’ sake.

“Please don’t cry. It’s not your fault,” Papyrus begged.

“you’re disappointed in me,” Sans stated rather bluntly.

“May…. maybe a little, but I still love you Sans. You only did what you thought was right. Please stay,” Papyrus said. After a few long moments that felt like an eternity, Papyrus felt his brother’s arms wrap around him in return. The silence settled back in and neither skeleton spoke. It seemed as though neither skeleton had anything more to say.

Papyrus’ body was feeling sore and stiff from remaining in the same uncomfortable position for so long. Regardless, he continued to hold onto his brother as if he would disappear the moment he let go of him. In all reality, it was a definite possibility. He didn’t want Sans to go and he didn’t want Sans to feel bad. He wanted his brother to know that he still loved him.

“hey, bro?” Sans asked. Papyrus let out a hum of recognition, not trusting his voice. He wasn’t able to force himself to look at his brother in this moment. “your pasta is burning.”

Papyrus immediately shot up and rushed towards the pot on the stove. Sure enough, almost all of the water had boiled out. All of the noodles were bloated from being overcooked and the strands that were close to the sides above the water had already burned and stuck to the pot. It was beyond salvageable. The King let out a heavy sigh as he took the pot off the stove and set it in the sink. He filled it to the brim with water to soak for easy cleaning later.

He turned back to where Sans was, expecting him to be gone. Expecting that he took the opportunity to shortcut away. To his surprise, he was still standing there, looking down with his hands in his pockets.

“I think we still have some leftovers in the fridge,” Papyrus supplied in an attempt to remain off-topic.

“‘s’okay... i’m not really hungry anyway,” Sans said to the floor. Papyrus looked down. He wasn’t really hungry either. There wasn’t really anything left to do for the day either. Papyrus just had the feeling of impending doom as he thought about how to deal with the address tomorrow. Right now Papyrus was just exhausted from an emotionally overwhelming day. He wanted nothing more than to go to bed right now, as much as he hated to admit it.

“Will you read to me?” Papyrus asked.  Sans finally looked up from the floor. For a brief moment he looked as if he was trying to gauge the younger skeleton before he sighed and nodded.

The pair silently made their way to Papyrus’ room where they settled in as they normally did for bedtime stories. The only exception was when Papyrus handed Sans a larger book rather than fluffy bunny, hoping to make his brother stay longer. Even then, when the book was finished, Papyrus didn’t feel that it was enough. As Sans turned to leave, the younger grabbed his hand.

“Please don’t go,” Papyrus begged. “I can sleep on the couch and you can take my bed, if you want.” Sans stayed still for a long time. Papyrus didn’t say anything, unmoving in his proposition.

“i can take the couch, bro. it’s your bed,” Sans provided before pulling free.

He shuffled over to the couch and pulled off the blanket that once belonged to their lumpy couch back home. He quickly settled in, yawning and taking up his spot on the couch. Papyrus watched sadly for a moment before he determined that Sans was not going to run off. Feeling a bit more at ease with his brother in the same room, he rolled over and attempted to go to sleep.

+++++++

When rays of artificial sunlight struck the King’s face, he responded by throwing his arm over his eyes. Sleep had not come easily last night. This left him feeling ragged and exhausted. He wished more than anything that he could just take the day off. Take the day off to stay in bed, catch up on sleep, and not deal with the large crowd of monsters asking questions about his brother.

Taking a moment to build his resolve, Papyrus eventually forced himself out of bed. Looking over at the couch, he saw a blanket tossed to the side as well as a pillow that had fallen to the floor. So Sans was already up. The smell of coffee reached Papyrus and his head tilted to the side a bit in confusion. He followed his sense of smell until it brought him to his nightstand. There sat a caramel macchiato in a familiar fish shaped cup along with a note.

Papyrus picked up the note and read it quickly. Upon so he felt some relief wash over him. Sans had decided to spend the entire day at the lab. He wouldn’t be there for the address. Good. That way Sans won’t have to deal with the stress of Papyrus’ mistake. The whole situation was Papyrus’ fault and so Sans shouldn’t have to deal with the consequences for it. Although, Papyrus knew that, scarily, Sans would be willing to do so for him.

With a heavy sigh, Papyrus picked up the cup of coffee and began to get ready for the day. He trudged into the bathroom and looked forlorn at his appearance. Any progress that had been made looked like it had been reverted with yesterday’s events. It was going to be a very long day.

+++++++

The address had gone horribly. Papyrus had tried to explain that Sans was enacting Papyrus’ decision by letting the human go, not his own. Monsters were outraged. Calling Papyrus’ words unkindly things and demanding that Sans be there to answer for himself. Faia stood to the side all the while and eventually began to tremble at the onslaught of the monster’s accusations.

The monsters were so unruly, in fact, that the address had to be cut short and Paxan was left to quell the roaring crowd. Papyrus felt guilty for it. So many people were having to deal with the outcome of his bad judgement and the general public wouldn’t believe him. None of them thought it was Papyrus’ fault. They all just wanted to blame it all on Sans.

Papyrus crumpled into the kitchen chair with a defeated sigh. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. What would happen if monsters got too angry? Would they dethrone him and demand a new king? Papyrus bitterly thought that perhaps that would be best as he wasn’t a very good choice to begin with.

As he placed his elbows on the table to rest his head, something caught his attention. Another note was sitting in the middle of the table in Sans’ unmistakable handwriting. Papyrus quickly picked up the note, desperately hoping that everything was ok.

hey bro,

sorry i’m not there for lunch. i already ate. i promise i’ll be there for dinner, though. i hope your address went well, but i’m sure it did. you always do an awesome job. you’re so cool. i might be a bit late to dinner tonight. i feel like i’m on the verge of discovering something big.

[biomeberry]

On a Really Basic Itty-Bitty Level

Fandom: Thomas Sanders/Sanders Sides

Pairing: Logicality/PTA Sanders (Logan-centric)

Summary: “ No matter how long you’ll live, you’ll never touch another human being.”  Based on @the-prince-and-the-emo‘s post, Logan struggles with the weight knowledge can bring, and Morality comforts him with his own weird perspective.

Warnings: angst (with a happy ending), existentialism(?), dubious science

Hi there! So this is my first Sander’s Sides fic, and the first thing I’ve written in like three months, lol. I’m trying to get back into it. I really hope you enjoy, let me know what you think and if i should write more :)

@sanders-sideblog​ asked me to tag, so here you go, thank you so much for the encouragement! I’m going to go ahead and tag @prinxietys​ and @dan-yuna​ because they’re also cool inspirational writers (hope you don’t mind) 

Now that that small novel is done, let’s get to the actual fic!

No matter how long you’ll live, you’ll never touch another human being. There will always be a gap, an infinitesimal space between your molecules and theirs. (See, Logan does know how to use that word.)  He knows a lot of things. It’s his job, after all. And most days, he likes his job. He’s nothing if not knowledgeable, and he enjoys explaining things, he really does. He’s a teacher by nature, and most of the time knowledge is great.

But there are those times when it’s a burden. There are things that aren’t worth knowing, things that do more harm than good. Sometimes, he has to think about the bottom of the ocean and the number of teeth dinosaurs have or sixteen different medieval diseases. Technically, there’s no fear to these facts. He leaves the uneasiness to Anxiety, who acts as a sort of go-between for these facts and Thomas. So Logan has no reason to consider that. There’s nothing to fear.

But there is a loneliness. There is a crushing loneliness that comes with knowing that touch is just the transfer of kinetic energy and you’ll never really understand the feeling of a mother’s hand, or a friend’s hug, or a lover’s lips. And Logan considers himself an unbiased, objective kind of person. Because, things just are one way or another. There’s no use getting worked up over things that are unchangeable. But he’s not inhuman, and as frustrating as emotions are, they have scientific roots. Hormones and impulses and a whole lot of questionable neuroscience can explain away weird flutterings and the collapse of composure. So really, a lack of emotions would be less logical.

That doesn’t mean he has to like it. So, on those nights where the knowledge of everything threatens to suffocate him, he hugs his knees and bites his lip and pretends he isn’t lonely or sad. He pretends he’s impartial and cold, because he’s seen how vulnerable emotions make you. He’s seen the pain it puts people through. He’s spent a long time protecting Thomas from irrational action driven by feelings, so he can’t succumb to them himself. He’ll make sure he looks and acts just fine, because he is, as long as nobody can prove that he isn’t.

“Logan?”

But dang it, if some people don’t make that really, really hard.

Morality is standing in the doorway to Logan’s room, a mug in one hand. The artificial moonlight streaming through the window bounces off his glasses, obscuring his eyes. His mouth is just beginning to pull down at the corners, rapidly reversing his default smile.  

“What do you want, Morality?” The more parental side steps over to him, seeming to test the waters.

“Oh nothing, you know how it is. Are you alright?” Logan is absolutely not alright, but he’s not about to let Morality ruin his nice denial session.

“Yes, I am perfectly fine. Now, I would appreciate it if you vacated my room.” Morality hesitates for a moment.

“Well, sure! I don’t want to bother ya, but…” He clears his throat. “I’m here if you need anything, you know that right? It’s sort of my job to keep everyone from being down in the dumps.” There’s a long, awkward pause. “So, I’ll just head back to my room then!” He chirps, turning back around. Logan waits one, two, three beats before his resolve breaks.

“Morality?” At the sound of his name, Morality turns immediately. His relief is evident in the way his shoulders sag into a relaxed line.

“Yup?”

“Are you familiar with C8?”

“The battleship coordinate?” Logan fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“No, C8 is an equation in mereotopology that shows the way two objects ‘touch’ theoretically. For example, if x and y are ‘touching’ then there must be a self-connected ‘z’ that…” he trails off at the sight of Morality’s kind, but ultimately lost face. Logan can’t blame him, he’s pretty sure this isn’t a shared knowledge kind of thing. It’s probably individual like Roman’s Spanish or Anxiety’s affinity for emo bands.

“To put it simply, nothing actually touches, ever. There’s always a pocket of molecules separating one thing from another.”

“Oh.”  Morality seems to consider this. After a moment his eyes light up. “Hey, that means we never touch the ground, right?”

“Yes, I mean I suppose--”

“So that means we can actually fly, and we do it all the time!” Logan stops short. He’s never looked at it like that. Because it’s stupid, he supplies, but also weirdly charming.

“Yes, technically. Though I suppose levitation would be the correct term.”

“Logan, that’s so cool, thanks for telling me!” Morality’s eyes are positively sparkling.

“I guess it is, but…” His friend nods gently, encouraging him. “It’s not just the ground, obviously. Scientifically speaking, we can’t touch each other, either.” He gestures to his knee, where Morality has subconsciously rested a hand. “You’re not touching me right now, just the molecules around me.” Morality makes a small “ah” sound. He’s quiet for a long time.

Eventually, he hands Logan the mug of tea he’s holding.

“Here.” WIth that, he wraps both arms tightly around Logan’s torso.

“What are you doing?” Logan means to say it firmly. His lungs seem to have other plans, as he lets out a squeak with the air that leaves them.

“That’s an awfully difficult way to look at things, Logan.” The more rational side shrugs uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “But I was thinking.”

“Shocking.”

“That stings, but I’m going to count it towards the dad jokes.”

“I need to stop doing that.”

“I was thinking about what you were saying the other day, about how electrons can jump from one object to the other?”

“Thus creating a static charge and giving me an excuse to shock you, yes, your point?”

“Well, right now, even though I’m hugging you, we’re not touching. But, electrons that were on me are on you now, right? So at a really basic, itty bitty level, we are touching! And that’s pretty freaking cool!” Logan blinks.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re sort of right, Morality. I mean, your science is kind of off and you have no affinity for the correct terms...but, at ‘a really basic, itty bitty level’, you’re correct.” It isn’t the politest way to acknowledge somebody’s accomplishments, but Morality seems happy nonetheless.  

“So I’m gonna keep hugging you, okay Logan?” Logan nods, barely. “And,” He takes the other’s slightly trembling hand and laces their fingers together. “I’m going to do this, if you’re okay with it.” Logan nods again, his mind occupied with the sudden spike in his heart rate and the unexpected weight to his breaths. Morality leans in conspiratorially. “We might not actually be touching, but I think it’s pretty nice anyway.” He shifts, snuggling into Logan’s collar before scolding, “Now drink your tea, you’ve got to stay warm!” Logan lifts the cup to his lips, sighing against the steam. He glances over to his companion. Morality’s eyes are just beginning to flutter shut, the lateness of the hour creeping up on them.

And Logan is inclined to agree with what he’d said before. Because even if the touch wasn’t real, the warm feeling spreading throughout him was. The metaphorical butterflies in his stomach were also real, as weird of a thought as that was. And even if everything in this world was a lie, if science explained away everything else, they would have this moment. Logan himself will probably deny it tomorrow morning. It will most likely be weak attempt to normalize a series of variables that suddenly have no control. But for now, he lets all of it slip away as he drifts off. The last thing he registers before a bizarre series of dreams is Morality, gently squeezing his hand.

[puckish-saint]

Anyone else in the mood for some Angsty-Wing!AU? How about Hanzo, Mccree, Daddy76's s/o's wings become critically injured, to the point where they could never fly again. How do they support their s/o in their time of need??

Technically this is part of the Birdwatch!AU (that I totally plan on continuing!) and some context (ie why Hanzo can’t fly) can be read up on in those fics 

Hanzo

Not everyone at Overwatc can fly, justlike not everyone can swim or ride a bike. It’s a trivial skill hetells himself and it doesn’t matter that he’s the only fieldagent who doesn’t possess it.

He rethinks that opinion when a Talonagent pushes him off the cliff and he falls, unable to catch himselfor even slow his descent. He flaps his wings in a panic, screams forhelp but even when you dive over the edge and fly after him he’ssure you’ll be too late. You’re not, if barely. Less than twodozen metres above the ground you catch him but your wings getentangled, rob you off your balance and you crash into themountainside together, tumbling down the steep slope and are nearlycarried away by the strong river current at the bottom of the canyon.He would have died if it hadn’t been for you, shield his head andspine with your wings that caught the brunt of the fall. They lookthe part, too.

It takes hours to rescue you, thecanyon floor too narrow for the aircraft to land and you too weak tomove to a larger site. He spends the time apologising, begging yourforgiveness, asking for anything he can do to help.

Specialised climbing equipment has tobe set up and by the time Fareeha has reached the canyon floor, herpower armoured wings more than capable of carrying you up again, youhave stopped assuring him you’re not mad. You hiss when Fareehasets your wings into an improvised cast and refuse eye contact witheither of them.

In the following days a lot of ‘if’sand ‘would have been’s come to light. If the team was betterprepared for mountain rescue operations they could have gotten to youfaster. If you had kept a better eye on each other one of you wouldhave noticed Hanzo fall sooner. The biggest ‘if’, the fault, themistake, no one says out loud. If Hanzo had learned to fly instead ofstubbornly refusing lessons, he could have taken care of himself andcaused you harm.

You refuse to see him, have the othersrun interference until you get out of the hospital and avoid himyourself. He makes one or two attempts to track you down but truth betold he’s scared of the conversation he knows has to happen. A partof him is glad you express your anger by ignoring him, even if itmeans sleeping in an empty bed, curling his own wings around himselfin a sad substitute for yours.

Until one night it stops.

He’s almost asleep, has gotten to apoint where he isn’t brought to tears by your absence anymore,doesn’t listen for the quiet sounds of your breathing and rustlingfeathers. The door opens, lets a sliver of light from the hallway in,and closes again. You haven’t said anything but he knows it’syou, knows it by the quality of silence. Saying none of the wordsthat need to be said you crawl into bed with him, skin cold butwelcome nonetheless. He turns around when no wings fold over him likethey used to and without opening his eyes he feels for you in thedarkness and spreads his own over your body, cradling you like youdid him, hundreds of nights and one fatal fall.

He doesn’t know if you cry, can’ttell with his own whispered assurances that he loves you and that healways will, but he holds you through the night, knowing that’s allhe can do and hopes it will be enough.

McCree

When you wake up in a hospital bed, thefirst thing you feel is searing pain. The first thing you hear isJesse’s low drawl, telling you that against all evidence this is agood morning. The first thing you see after turning your head in thevague direction of his voice and opening your eyes is a bottle ofbuffalo sauce on the night stand.

You look up, unimpressed.

“Really?” you say while Jesse givesin to the laughing fit he must have fought against ever since he cameup with the idea. His own wings are only a little singed at the edgesbut yours, yes, wouldn’t look out of place at a barbecue.

“Aww, darlin’, you know how much Ilove chicken wings. You’ve just gone and made yourself prettier forme.”

What you did do was to get caught in anexplosion that would have burned you to a crisp if you hadn’tprotected yourself with your wings. As it is your back and feet arestill covered in the same gooey substance your wings are. You dearlyhope whatever it is has been sanctioned by someone who doesn’tthink bringing buffalo sauce to a patient with severe wing trauma isin any way funny.

He sees your face and sheepishly takeshis hat between his hands.

“‘M sorry. Just thought you coulduse some cheering up.” he says and despite the pain, despite thebad joke, you’re overcome with a fondness for this man that can’tbe put into words.

“C’mere.” you say and hold outyour arms, letting him curl up on the bed and half in your lap, hisweight on your legs comforting. He’s still here, cracking badjokes, loving you. It could have been so much worse.

You’ve made peace with the idea ofnever flying again and thus aren’t surprised when the news come.Your feathers were burned down to their roots and won’t grow back.Only advanced skin grafts and months of physical therapy will let youmove your wings at all. It’s an expected blow but that doesn’tmean it’s painless.

Jesse’s with you every step of theway. He’s there to help you change the bandages, and he eases yourfrustration through the exercises. He makes fun of you looking like aplucked chicken but at the end of the day he assures you with kissesand sweet nothings that he still thinks you’re prettier than allthe stars in the sky.

Eventually you’ll talk about wingprostheses and exoskeletons, ways to get you back in the air at hisside where you belong, but until you’ve healed you stay on theground. It’s hard on him, sitting and watching the others fly andkeeping his wings folded against his back. More than once youencourage him to get up there, that you’ll be fine for a while, buthe doesn’t take you up on it.

“I wanna be up there with ya.” hesays and steals a kiss from you. You’re eating the buffalo wings hemade and are far ahead enough in your recovery that you canappreciate the joke.

“Some day.” you assure him. “Nowget up there before they all outfly you.”

He wants to, it’s in his face, thelonging glances towards the sky, the competitiveness that neverreally left him as he got older. You nod, push him out of the chairand promise you’ll be fine for a bit. He takes off, shoots up intothe clear blue sky faster than anyone else on base can and you leanback and watch him fly, thinking this is almost as good as the realthing.

Soldier: 76

The wound is small and persistent.Shrapnel lodged deep in your wing chafing against nerves and tendonswith every move however small. The pain drives tears into your eyesbut you grit your teeth and continue on, through enemy territory,Jack leaning against your healthy wing, taking weight off the bulletwound in his leg.

By the time you arrive at the baseyou’ve lost feeling in your wing. You try not to think about whatthat means, that the lack of pain isn’t a good thing. Jack knows,even though you don’t speak, and once he feels safe enough toholster his gun he takes your hand in his and holds it.

He holds your hand through the medicalexam, and while his leg recovers quickly, your wing is another matterentirely. A tiny wound, barely larger than your thumbnail has robbedyou of any possibility of ever flying again. And that’s when hestops holding your hand and makes an excuse to leave. He doesn’tcome back.

Weeks pass during which he pretendsnothing happened. He encourages you to get back on your feet again,that there are missions to be planned, objectives to be captured,goals to be accomplished and never breathes a word about how to dealwith your disability. He acts like if he doesn’t acknowledge itsexistence, it will go away by itself. Everytime you tell him it won’tand that you really need to talk about where to go from here hechanges the subject. It’s getting old.

“You can’t keep pretending thisisn’t real.” you say, not for the first time. Lately he’sstarted plain outrunning you if the subject comes up and right now hemarches down the hallway in a blur of fiery red, feathers rustling inirritation. But he doesn’t answer. Doesn’t argue.

“Jack, I’m talking to you. We haveto talk about this. You’re the one in charge of team missions, weneed to figure out if I should sit back and focus on recon or if Ican be put back into the field again. We need to set up trainingexercises, see where my limits are, how I can work around them. Jack,for crying out loud, listen!”He snaps. With two stepshe’s turned around and shoved you against the wall, the painshooting through only one of your wings and making you fight forbalance. You bring the remaining functioning wing up against yourshoulder, prepared to defend yourself. You’ve never seen him thisangry.

“We don’t need to do shit if youstop pitying yourself for one second!” he shouts. “You’re notfucking disabled, you’re just injured. Don’t treat this like it’ssome kind of big deal, because it’s not. You’ll rest, get onphysical therapy and then you’ll go back into the field the same asyou always have. I’m not gonna listen to you act like you lost adamn limb. Your wing is right there, it’s fine.”Youwatch as he grabs a fistful of your bad wing and pulls it out fromunderneath you. It falls, hangs limp and lifeless from your back.Jack stares.

For the first time he seems to realisethat your wing might look fine but it’s far from that. He curls hishands into fists, takes a step back. Looks around as if a way outmight present itself any second now. This he can’t ignore, this hecan’t think away.

“Jack ... “ you say but he shakeshis head.

“No. No, you’re messing with me.You just want to be right, you don’t want to admit you’re wrong,you just … you … God.” He falters, conviction breaking in theface of overwhelming evidence. Then he surges forward, pulls you intohis arms, mindful of your wings and buries his face in the crook ofyour shoulder.

“I’m so sorry.” he says and witha shock that shatters your heart you realise he’s crying. “I’msorry, I didn’t … I didn’t want to believe it. You told me andI just let you go through it alone, I ... “

He breaks off, pets your healthy wingto comfort you or calm himself you don’t know. You rake your handsthrough his feathers, whisper soft nothings into his ear.

“It’s alright. We’ll deal withthis together.”He nods, clings tighter to you and says, voicemade hoarse by his shouting and tears: “I won’t leave you alonewith this anymore. I promise.”

[btsinspirationtakesme]

Part Of Your World (Mine part 2)(Namjoon)

https://inspirationtakesme.tumblr.com/post/156322016968/mine

A.N: Part 2 of 'Mine' because I felt like the story didn't quite finish. This is the end of  the 2 part 'Mine' series. A little angst is something that can lead to greater love! (Link to ‘Mine’ is attached above). 

Description: Namjoon finds out what Y/N's fears are about their relationship and is not pleased. Word count:1665

'What are you thinking about?' Y/N asked, glancing up at Namjoon as he looked deep in thought. Namjoon took her into his arms again in bed.

'You. Since that's all I've done since the day you told me about your theories on Gatsby's soul being present in everyone of us.' Namjoon teased.

'They haunted you, didn't they? That's even more evidence!' Y/N was excited now, a gleeful grin on her face.

'Aish, before we get into that for the 100th time let me tell you what I was thinking about'. Namjoon said, prepared to pour his thoughts out. Moments like these were the best thing ever to exist for him, the ability to have someone who you could bare your heart and soul to without being judged or misunderstood.

Y/N payed attention, her eyes adoring Namjoon as he began.

'I was thinking about the first time I noticed you.' Namjoon said, chuckling after.

'It's nearly been a year.' Y/N said wistfully thinking about how much had changed in a year. She then remembered her encounters with Namjoon and how they had never spoke about them until now.

Y/N broke away from Namjoon's embrace and smacked his arm.

'Kim Namjoon you were the worst at noticing me!' She yelled, slightly annoyed thinking about how difficult it was to even get Namjoon to look at her properly.  

'Aish! Here I am pouring my heart out to you and this is what I get. Ya, Y/N you really are a piece of work.' He said, feigning hurt and rubbing his arm.

'Just like yourself. That's one of the first things I actually thought when I met you.' Y/N said.

They had never had this conversation before, so Namjoon was intrigued to find out what was going through that pretty little head of hers when they met.

'Why? I was nothing but nice to you.' He was confused.

'Pfft,  "hello Y/N, thank you Y/N" ' she said doing a bad imitation of his voice.

'Not once did you even look up to meet my eyes. I knew you were into sexy girls but I didn't know it was so bad you wouldn't even look at a normal girl!'

Namjoon snorted. If only he knew how 'normal' she was for a girl. He also felt bad, because Y/N had some truth to her words. Namjoon didn't really pay attention to Y/N when they first met. That's because he wasn't expecting someone who was technically apart of the staff to be of interest to him. All he remembers was his manager asking for some paper work and then being briefly introduced to Y/N. Namjoon was so engrossed in his composition that he smiled up at her from the corner of his eye, registering what he thought was a cute smile and that was it.

'Jagiya we were all in the mentality of not even having enough time to sleep, let alone have a relationship.' Namjoon said, which was true. Maybe though if he had only looked at Y/N earlier he would have probably realised how fascinating she really was.  

'You still don't! It's a miracle we're still together.' She blurted. Y/N only found out just how busy BTS' schedules were after Namjoon and her had gotten together. Secretly, to some extent now she questions how long she'll last with Namjoon. Here she was, a student about to graduate and go to graduate school and there was Namjoon, award winning artist and probably on his path to taking the world by storm someday with BTS.

'Why'd you say that?' Namjoon asked, seriousness lacing his tone. He had noticed the change in Y/N's face which told him something was wrong.

'Namjoon, be real.' Y/N said.

'I'm here aren't I? Be clear with me Y/N. What are you trying to say?' He said, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to get Y/N to meet his eyes.

'Isn't it obvious? You have a good brain I thought you'd realise how the odds are stacked against us.' Y/N's voice quivered towards the end.

'You're Kim Namjoon of BTS. You're only just seeing the effects of your hard work and success. This is only the beginning. I'm Y/N. Student at ""       "" University. Soon to be grad student and part time book fiend. We're from different worlds.'

Namjoon clicked his jaw in annoyance. No, scrap that. Not annoyance, but fury. For someone so calm and composed, this was a rarity.

'So that's how you really see us.' He looked towards a blank spot on the wall.

'Yah, it's frustrating how you don't see yourself clearly.' His voice was scary low.

Picking up the vase next to his bedside, he threw it against the wall and watched it hit and shatter instantly. Y/N flinched, but stayed silent.

'If you think we're just prone to failure then why are you still here?' He taunted.

'Are you just using me? Seeing how much you can get out of me before you leave me because you know you'll fail?' His voice rose octaves.

'Kim Namjoon. Don't you dare say I'm like that. You know I'm not like that.'

Namjoon didn't know what to think anymore. His Y/N thought they were prone to failure. It explained why she didn't have any expectations when he came home late and didn't scold him, sometimes acted nonchalant if he had to stay on tour a few extra days. She was always prepared for things to end.

'You've been hiding a part of you from me.' He said in realisation.

Y/N couldn't deny that. Whether she wanted to or not, she was hiding a part of her from Namjoon because she was scared. She was scared that one day, he'd wake up and realise she was a girl like so many others and realise he'd made the wrong decisions with her and that held him back from better things. She was petrified he'd end up hating her.

'It's so it's easier for me, when you decide that I'm holding you back.' She said in a quiet voice.

Namjoon's anger shifted into disappointment.  The Y/N he knew was fiercely strong. She was not who was here right now, doubting her own self worth. He took a deep breath out.

'Well you better decide when to stop hiding.' He said, taking his pillow with him and leaving for the guest room.

The atmosphere had started off as playful, but so quickly the air had thickened and Y/N felt like Namjoon and her were really fighting. She knew it was bound to happen, because Namjoon would be too idealistic to face the truth about who he was and who she was. He didn't look at her at first because he knew that she was someone that shouldn't be apart of his world.

She knew it.

And still, tossing and turning as she tried to sleep it off and tell Namjoon a reasonable reason why she thought they wouldn't last in the morning didn't come. Her body was tense. Y/N sighed out loud.

'Namjoon's always the one to come over to me. Maybe I need to go over to him.' She admitted.

'Oppa?' She entered into the dark guest room, making out that Namjoon was awake and writing.

'Why does she torture me so? Call me sweet nothing's and take control over me?' He said aloud, pronouncing the words as he wrote them down. He looked angelic, sitting there wearing glasses as he wrote.

Y/N sat down at the edge of the bed.

'I'm sorry.' Y/N breathed out.

Namjoon cocked an eyebrow in her direction before going back to writing.

'I'm sorry for not believing in us.'  She said. There was an awkward silence that followed the room after, the only sound being Namjoon's pen as he wrote down what he thought.

'I should go.' She said, thinking that this was it for Namjoon and her. Belief in yourself was so central to Namjoon, belief in happiness, belief in opportunity and belief in love. Y/N not believing in them must have hit him too hard to the extent he couldn't think of Y/N without regret.

She left the room and started to pack a hand luggage full of stuff she could take with her for a few days. Silent tears were rolling down her eyes. Y/N didn't think of the moment Namjoon would realise she wasn't enough as being so quick.

She could feel his presence behind her as he leaned against the door.

'I'll get the rest of my stuff tommorow with some help, I-' Namjoon cut her off by taking the hand luggage out of her fist and throwing it on the floor.

'Who do you think you are?!' He yelled, closing in on her.

'You think you can come here, steal my heart and then just run away when you feel like it?!'

'Aish this stupid girl! How can you not see!' He gripped his hair in frustration.

'Namjoon I've seen what I nee-' He broke Y/N off with a searing kiss. Whether she liked it or not, she instinctively melted into his arms that softened their harsh grip on her arms.

'I'm in love with you jagi. If you think we're finite then you're wrong.' He said.

Y/N's eyes brightened up in shock.

'You- you?'

'You think I'm going to let you walk away? Or that I'm going to walk away?' He snorted.

'I love you, jagi. But please, believe that I love you and that you make me a better person. You don't hold me back. If anything, I hold you back. A idol boyfriend is going to be a gossip point for anyone right?'

Y/N was about to protest.

'I don't care what they think. They're all jealous I have someone like you by my side. Someone who I can bear my heart and soul to. But baby, you have to bear more of your soul to me too. Your heart fascinated me, but I want to see more of your soul. I'm scared to, because it'll make me love you even more.' Namjoon admitted, scanning her eyes and trying to see beyond them.

'Okay.' Y/N smiled, wrapping her hands around Namjoon's neck.

'Okay?' He asked.

'Yes. Yes. Yes.' Y/N said, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She could finally show more of herself to Namjoon. It was scary and exciting. She leaned in to meet his lips, letting the tensions of her body meet his lower half as their body language heated up.

'Fuck. How could I have ignored these?' Namjoon asked himself, wrapping Y/N's legs around him and pushing her against the wall as he kissed her breasts.

'So perfect.' Namjoon left lingering kisses from Y/N's breast all the way up to the apex of her neck.

'Say it'. Namjoon commanded. He was referring to what Y/N called him when she had messed up. It made him melt in her hands usually. She had used it an hour ago when they were fighting and he wrote about all the restraint it took to not just go over and take her until she screamed for release.

'Mhhm, Oppa?' Y/N hissed into his ears, causing Namjoon to buck straight into her centre.

More post coital bliss followed in the morning, when Y/N complained about her soreness.

Namjoon smirked as he bit into his toast.

'Just remember, whilst you're limping in class today- I did this to you.' He said, leaving her with a lingering kiss.

'Mine. I love you.' He said.

'I love you too. I'll wait up for you.' Y/N said as Namjoon prepared to head to the studio for a day of rehearsals.

He grinned at her. This is what he was waiting for, and his Y/N had really opened up. He wanted to know what the real Y/N would do when he would come home late. The Y/N that was hiding would feign sleep to show nonchalance. His Y/N now, would do what she felt. Namjoon felt elevated.

'You're not part of my world. You are my world'. He said seriously, giving Y/N a passionate kiss on the lips before leaving.

[mistleto-3]

Crying for the Moon: Part 8

MikoTotsu Werewolf AU

Pairing: Mikoto/Tatara

2,930 words. For MikoTotsu Week 2016.

Previous part | All parts | Next part 

AO3

Twenty thousand yen. That was the cost of the cheapest bike Tatara could find for sale, and he had nowhere near that amount of money; his father was struggling to make ends meet as it was. By now, winter had firmly seized hold of the town, and it was getting far too cold to walk to school and back every day- it was a long trek from his home and back, and Tatara didn’t want to spend too much time in the cold and risk getting sick; he didn’t really have money for medicine or doctor’s visits. He would have gotten the bus to class and back, but the fare would have quickly added up to more than Tatara could afford; while he did have a weekend job at the corner store near his house, most of  his wages went to keeping the lights on and the fridge full when his father wasn’t able to, which was another risk of getting sick- missing a shift at work wasn’t really an option. Not that he complained, but now that he had no bike, the fact he’d been unable to save up for an incident like this was inconvenient. Not to mention that there was only a week until the full moon, and being without his bike would make getting to Mikoto’s house a struggle. He’d be willing to walk there, of course he would, but once again his worry was that his immune system wasn’t exactly the strongest, and an hour out in the freezing cold didn’t seem like the best idea.

When he’d finished class the day after Mikoto had gotten into that fight, he’d found his bike no longer fastened to the rack where he’d left it- in its place, the severed chain of his bike lock lay in a heap on the ground. He had his suspicions that the theft had something to do with the rumours still circulating about him, which had only been stoked by the news that Mikoto had broken someone’s nose in his defence.

When he told Izumo of his conundrum the next day, he’d instantly offered to spot him the cash.

“I can’t let you give me that much money; I’ve no way to pay it back.”

“Ya can’t be without a bike, though. How’ll ya get to class?”

“I’ll have to walk…”

“Your house is miles from here, Totsuka. You’ll freeze.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“Tell ya what. Pick up a few shifts helpin’ out at my uncle’s bar, work off the cost of the bike. We could always use a few extra hands.”

“Seriously? Are you sure that’s alright?”

“Of course. We can’t have you strugglin’ to get to school an’ back. Not to mention gettin’ ta Mikoto’s place; he’s seemed a lot happier now ya’ve been goin’ over and takin’ care of him after full moons. My uncle knows about Mikoto; he won’t mind ya borrowin’ some money to make sure he’s alright.”

“You’re an absolute lifesaver!” Tatara threw his arms around his friend in gratitude, though he had to admit he was a little curious as to why Izumo’s uncle knew about Mikoto’s condition, but the bell to signal the end of the lunch break rang before he had a chance to ask.

After school that day, Izumo accompanied Tatara into the town to visit the cycle shop and helped him pick out a replacement for his stolen bike, along with a sturdier bike lock, then paid with his uncle’s credit card.

“Are you absolutely sure he won’t mind? I don’t want you getting into trouble…”

“My uncle is more the front-of-house guy; I deal with all the money. He isn’t too good with numbers, so he leaves that stuff to me; he won’t even notice.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Just lemme know when you have a few hours spare to help out.”

Wheeling the bike out of the store, Tatara felt a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He thanked Izumo a dozen times before his friend finally told him to piss off home with an exasperated smile, though Tatara hadn’t been able to resist shouting another “thank you” over his shoulder as he rode away.

The next day was a Friday, the busiest evening of the week for the Kusanagis’ bar, so Tatara volunteered to lend a hand and headed over for his first shift after class. He’d visited the place before, but never stayed long in the bar itself; when he and Mikoto went over to hang out with Izumo, they spent most of their time in his bedroom in the apartment above the establishment.

While Izumo and Mikoto were technically neighbours, the bar was on the main street, whereas Mikoto’s house was set back off the road, accessible only by a long, gravel driveway. It was easy to miss from the main road; the pub was on the very edge of the small village, and the woodland that surrounded the settlement swallowed Mikoto’s house from view.

When Tatara pushed open the door, a bell jingled to announce his arrival, and Izumo poked his head out from the back room at the sound.

“Ah, Totsuka, you’re early. We don’t open for another half an hour.”

“I figured I might as well make a good impression, help out if I can.”

Izumo rolled his eyes. “We’re pretty much all set for opening by now. How’s the new bike?”

“It’s great, I love it,” he said with a grin.  

Izumo walked around the bar to take a seat on one of the red velvet stools in front of it, and Tatara sat beside him.

“Have you seen Mikoto since the other day?” Tatara asked.

“Yeah, I went ta check in on him a couple days ago; he seems pretty happy about being able to stay home an’ sleep all day.”

“I didn’t expect much different,” Tatara said with a chuckle. “So… you said your uncle knows about Mikoto’s... condition?”

“Ah, yeah… That’s quite the can o’ worms you’ve opened there.”

“Sorry, if you don’t want to talk about it…”

“No, no,” Izumo interrupted. “Ya oughta know, seein’ as you’re involved in all this now. The only reason’s cause Mikoto’s lived next door to me my whole life; we were only born a couple months apart, so we grew up together. The night Mikoto was turned, we were both nine years old. Our houses were both attacked; he got bit, and the wolf killed my parents.”

“I’m sorry… I had no idea…” Tatara had always wondered why Izumo never mentioned his parents, but he decided now that he knew, he would’ve preferred to have remained oblivious.

“It’s alright; it was a long time ago. The wolf’s urban legend around these parts; people say there are still wolves in these forests, even though wolves went extinct in Japan more’n a hundred years ago. Most people in the village are pretty sceptical about it, ‘specially the younger ones; they pass it off as stray dogs in the woods, or as a story people made up to stop kids venturin’ too far into the forest and gettin’ lost. I never believed in it when I was a kid, but Mikoto’s grandfather was very superstitious, and he wouldn’t let him play outside on a full moon when he was little.”

“His grandfather?”

“Yeah, I never knew anythin’ about Mikoto’s parents. He was raised by his mother’s father, a strict old guy, he was. Never let Mikoto believe in Santa Claus or anythin’ like that, said it was nonsense, but he was obsessed with this fear of wolves, and I never believed a word o’ it before I saw it the night my parents died. Mikoto’s grandfather called it ‘Kagutsu,’ said it was named after Kagutsuchi, the fire deity, because it has red fur, but I ain’t never heard anyone else call it that.”

“Red fur? Like Mikoto?”

“You’ve seen Mikoto’s wolf form?!”

“Of course I have… Mikoto didn’t tell you that?”

“No! How aren’t ya dead?!”

“What did Mikoto tell you, exactly?”

“He said he told ya about his condition, and ya came ta keep him company the day after the full moon, an’ it helped him feel better quicker, ta keep his mind off it, which I thought was why ya needed to go see him.”

“Ah…” Tatara chewed his lip.

“I take it that ain’t what happened?”

“Not exactly… I went over after school, the night of the full moon, to bring him some soup and to see if he needed anything, because I thought he was sick.” Tatara purposely left out the part about bringing him flowers. “And I went looking for him and I found him in his room, and he started yelling at me to get out of there, then he transformed.”

“Christ… And he didn’t attack you?”

“No. He recognised me; he said, well, not said, but I asked him if he normally lost himself when he transformed and he nodded, but for some reason he didn’t when I was there. So I just hung out with him, chatted with him to keep his mind off stuff, and I ended up falling asleep on him. When we woke up in the morning, I stayed to look after him because he felt a bit under the weather. It seemed like it was my presence that stopped him losing his mind, so I offered to stay with him every full moon.”

“Bloody hell…” Izumo’s mouth hung open in astonishment. “Just… be careful, okay? If it was a fluke…”

“It wasn’t.” Tatara cut in.

“How can ya be sure?”

“Because it’s happened more than once now, and he recognised me both times.”

“Well… still be careful. You never know what could happen, an’ he’s dangerous when he doesn’t know who he is; I’m like a brother to him, an’ he doesn’t even recognise me when he’s in wolf form.”

“Really?”

Izumo nodded, a grim expression on his face, and he pulled up his shirt to reveal three parallel lines gouged into the skin of his abdomen, raised and pink against the surrounding flesh. The scars were old and fading, but the wounds they commemorated had evidently been quite gruesome.  

“He did that to you…?” Tatara asked quietly as Izumo tucked his shirt back into his waistband.

“The first time he transformed. Thankfully he didn’t bite me, so I didn’t end up a werewolf myself, but I had to get a lot of stitches. I never told ‘im about what he did; it wasn’t his fault, so he didn’t need the guilt, but I think he figured out that somethin’ happened ‘cause I was off school for about a week after it happened.”

“So if he normally can’t control himself, what used to happen on full moons? He said he usually wakes up in the woods covered in blood…”

“We did our best every month to try an’ lock him away, but he almost always managed to escape, so my uncle an’ I ended up barrin’ the doors to keep ourselves safe, an’ we faked a burglary at the bar to encourage the neighbours to beef up their security systems. Thankfully, we don’t think he’s hurt anyone since then- he normally keeps to himself up in the woods and stays outta the town, but a few people’s pets have gone missin’ and stuff like that, and the deer population in the woods is goin’ down. We think he just panicked that first night. My uncle hasn’t forgiven him, though.”

“Why not? It’s not like Mikoto did it on purpose…”

“No, but he also looks a lot like Kagutsu, and my uncle never quite got over his vendetta against him; he’s always wanted to avenge his brother and sister-in-law, and the resemblance between ‘em is pretty striking. Obviously, he’d never act on it; he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt Mikoto. While he ain’t exactly Mikoto’s biggest fan, he’s no barbarian. He wouldn’t kill an innocent kid.”

Tatara nodded slowly, a forlorn expression on his face. “Well… at least, if I’m right, your uncle won’t have to worry about Mikoto anymore.”

“I admire your faith, kid. You trust him an awful lot, based on a couple o’ nights.”

“I just… have this feeling about him.”

“…I’m sorry if this is outta place, but I have ta ask: do those rumours about you an’ Mikoto bein’ a couple have any groundin’ in reality? Obviously I ain’t gonna judge if they do…”

“No. We aren’t a couple.”

“…You’d like to be though, wouldn’t ya?”

Tatara felt his cheeks heat up at the question. “W-what? Of course not…”

“You’re a terrible liar, Totsuka. I’ve see the way ya look at him, the way ya talk about him, the way ya always stand so close ta each other. You like him, don’t ya?”

Tatara’s eyes darted about frantically as he scrambled for some plausible denial, but he drew nothing but blanks. With a sigh, he admitted: “Yeah, I do. It’d never work though, so… please don’t tell him.”

“Why doncha think it’d work?”

“If I’m right, then I’m the only thing stopping him from losing his sanity on full moons. If he doesn’t like me back, it’ll just make things really awkward. I want to help him; I don’t want things to be too unbearable between us that I couldn’t do that anymore.”

“Mikoto isn’t exactly the type to care about awkwardness,” Izumo pointed out.

“Still, it’s not worth the risk. It’d be selfish of me to put Mikoto’s mental health on the line like that, and that is what I’d be risking. He was obviously really suffering, knowing he could potentially kill someone, and I’m the only one who can give him peace of mind about that.”

“You’re talkin’ as though there ain’t a chance he’ll like you back.”

“What, you think there is?” Tatara’s voice was sceptical.

“I mean, he obviously ain’t a homophobe, or he’d care more about the rumours goin’ around about you two, but he only cared when people started pickin’ on you for it. But aside from that, I’ve never seen him warm up to anyone like he warmed up ta you. Anyone else he would’a told to scram, but he let you stick around, even though he hasn’t made any new friends in over 8 years. You should go for it.”

“Just because he likes me as a friend doesn’t mean he’ll want to date me.”  

“Ya said you fell asleep on him, right? Was that in his bed?”

“…Yeah, so what? You said you used to top and tail with him.”

“Yeah, when we were six. Nowadays, sharing a bed with anyone is about ten levels too intimate for someone like Mikoto, and he let you do it. ‘S kinda romantic, don’t you think?”

“That’s a bit of a stretch… It’s not unheard of for friends to share a bed. And he was a wolf.”

“Was he a wolf in the morning, when ya woke up?”

“Well, no… he’d changed back by then.”

“Exactly. Somethin’ tells me you’re playing down how romantic it actually was. I told ya, you ain’t a good liar.”

“Okay, so I woke up and he was sort of spooning me, but he was asleep…”

He was interrupted by Izumo chuckling.

“Shush…” Tatara grumbled. “He just doesn’t seem like he’s interested in guys… he doesn’t seem like he’s interested in anyone. Have you ever heard him say he has a crush?”

“There’s a first time for everythin’. Stranger things’ve happened.”

“You spouting clichés doesn’t prove anything,” he protested.

“I still think ya should go for it.”

“I told you, I can’t risk him turning me down; if he isn’t into guys, I’ll just make a fool of myself.”

“What if I found out for ya?”

“What, find out if Mikoto is into guys?”

“Yeah.”

“…As long as you promise not to tell him I like him, then I guess…” Tatara conceded reluctantly, but he felt his pulse stutter in his chest. The possibility of his feelings for Mikoto ever being requited was not one he’d considered. Hell, he’d never even intended for anyone to know about his crush, much less help him find out if there was a chance he could act on it. But Izumo, who’d known Mikoto longer than anyone in the world, seemed to think he had a shot, and Tatara didn’t know how to feel about that. Of course, he was hopeful, but the prospect of commitment and of what might happen if he messed things up made his heart beat so quickly that his chest ached.

“I promise. On the condition that, if he does swing that way, you ask him out.”

“Fine.”

The hopeful part of Tatara was sort of glad that his hand was being forced; it had been less than a month since he’d realised his feelings for Mikoto went a little further than friendship, and it was already becoming unbearable. Just being around Mikoto made his throat dry up and his head go hazy and his words turn to gobbledygook as he tried to speak them, and it would be a welcome relief if he could put an end to that as quickly as possible.

But of course, there was also the quiet pessimist in the back of his mind that wanted to indulge his fantasies about Mikoto having feelings for him a little while longer before they either became a reality, or were destroyed.

“Come on, it’s almost opening time,” Izumo said gently, but there was a mischievous smile on his face.