#I tried to make a phone wallpaper and sized it wrong AGAIN >:(

[chellodello]

“Sir… sir! The cleansing chalk bath pods are single occupancy only, you’ll have to wash your weird alien pet elsewhere!”

I like to think that once they find a liquid that won’t burn Zim’s skin off, bath-time is very relaxing for them.

[zhanyes]

19 days pandemic version / living together headcannons

I just want to imagine the boys living together because let’s be honest it’s going to be so chaotic but they deserve each other’s company

P.s. I know nothing about how China dealt with the pandemic so this is purely self-indulgent

- When the lockdown happened they were all at He Tian’s for a sleepover so they were forced to stay there for a few weeks until everything settled

- Mo guanshan kicked up a fuss over it but was actually just worried about his mom being left alone at home

Mo guanshan, already taking note of what to put in the pantry: “THE FUCK YOU MEAN WE’RE STAYING HERE?! NO!”

- Zheng xi is surprisingly okay with staying at He Tian’s for the time being, Jian yi says it’s because He tian has a ps5 (He’s not wrong)

-Mo Guanshan lost all respect for Zhengxi when he said “It could be fun.”

- Both Zhengxi and Guanshan’s parents agreed that they should stay for a bit just to be safe

- Jian yi is a panic buyer and with He Tian’s money they bought enough food to feed an army

- He forgot to buy necessities and Guanshan wacked his ass

Mo guanshan looking at the 9 full plastic bags of groceries: “You’re telling me OUT OF ALL OF THIS, you didn’t buy a single toothbrush?”

Jian yi, a dumbass: “I didn’t know we were having toothbrush for dinner?”

Mo guanshan brandishing a knife out of thin air: “Come ‘ere I’ll show you what's for dinner.”

- He tian is a menace in the grocery store, he’s bought about 4 pots, 2 pans, a new dish set AND knives set, 6 new mugs of different colors (Yellow for jian yi, blue for zhengxi, red for guanshan and black for him; the other two just looked nice) and a dozen of scented candles

Zheng xi, trying to keep Guanshan from committing murder in a grocery: “Why did you do this?”

He tian: “They were in sale! Buy one-take-one!”

Mo guanshan: “WHY WOULD YOU BUY 4 POTS OF THE SAME SIZE?!”

- They make it out of the store and Guanshan vows to never let jian yi and he tian do groceries

- Guanshan mostly cooks for everyone and Zhengxi helps out but jian yi is surprisingly a decent cook???

- He needs to be supervised tho because his attention span is limited to 5 seconds and he’ll forget he was boiling water

- He tian canonically can not cook. He is BANNED from the kitchen after he put sake in a pan thinking it was water

- He tian has 2 guestrooms in his apartment but he locks the other one and assigned Zhan Zhengxi and Jian yi to the other room

- Mo guanshan forces his way into Zhanyi’s room and He tian follows. That’s how all of them ended up sleeping in a single guestroom on the floor with mattresses stacked and pushed together

- Zhengxi introduces them to anime and Jian yi’s favorite genre is surprisingly action with a lot of fighting scenes and Mo guanshan (and He tian) likes slice-of-life

- He tian and Jian yi strays away from animes and movies related to the mafia and Zhengxi and Guanshan never asks, it’s an unspoken rule that those types of stuff are banned

- They have game nights because Jian yi thinks bonding is key to make their friendship last longer (and to avoid having anyone murdered)

- Every board game turns into a disaster. There’s no exception.

The boys playing monopoly:

Jian yi: “THAT WAS MINE YOU DICK! I WAS SAVING UP MONEY TO BUY IT!”

He tian: “Have you tried not being poor? No? Well that’s too bad.”

Zhengxi, is safe in jail and has the most land: “Lmao losers.”

The boys playing uno:

Mo guanshan: “Don’t do it…”

He Tian: “I’m sorry Mo this is the only way”

Mo guanshan: “No please you can find another way…”

He tian: “Goodbye, my love *puts a plus 4 down* Uno.”

Mo guanshan: *unintelligible noises of a loser* 

Playing scrabble:

Jian yi: “The fuck you mean gorjeus isn’t a word? That’s what I am.”

He tian: “You’re right, that's what you are. An absolute idiot.”

Chess:

Mo Guanshan to He tian: “You might be smart and winning but I have the power of violence and nothing is stopping me from flipping this table over.”

Word guessing game:

Jian yi: “It’s loud, annoying, depended and cries a lot.”

Zhengxi, guessing the word baby: “Is this you?”

Jian yi: “I- okay yeah that’s valid.”

- Zhengxi is very observant, he knows Jian yi well enough to know when he’s having anxieties about the pandemic, he knows when Guanshan needs some time alone, and when He tian is getting too lost in negative thoughts. He does what he can to help

- His bonding moments with Guanshan consists of listening to pop music and staying quiet

- The apartment is almost always alive and noisy, whether it’s Jian yi suggesting another game or Guanshan screaming about something, He tian takes joy in the fact that he’s with people he cares about

- He’s thankful for the noise after living in silence all alone for a long time. Jian yi knows the feeling of going home to an empty apartment and vows to visit more often with Zhengxi once this is all over (and drag Guanshan along assuming he’s not here already)

- Over time He tian smiles and laughs become a lot more genuine. Once, He tian laughed loudly at something Mo guanshan did and the only thing he can think of is, “Oh shit, happiness looks good on him.”

- Queue gay panic to Jian yi

Mo guanshan: “WHAT IS THIS?!”

Jian yi, remembering He tian doing the same thing yesterday: “Natural selection.”

- Jian yi loves all of them, really, but sometimes he feels claustrophobic from being kept inside for so long

- Zhan Zhengxi always notices, and he would sneak Jian yi up to the rooftop and they would stay there for a while so they can look at the stars, the city lights and Jian yi can breathe easier

- During those times, He tian relishes the alone time he gets with Guanshan, sometimes they talk and banter, but sometimes they just stay quiet and secretly enjoy each other’s presence (they steal glances at each other when they think the other isn’t looking)

- They grew so used to living with each other that they developed a shower schedule and Zhengxi wakes up the same time as Guanshan to help prepare breakfast

- He tian and Jian yi tends to wake up a little later and Jian yi gravitates closer for warmth so they end up cuddling until they’re forced to get up and eat

- Zhengxi takes a picture of them and sends it to their group chat

- He tian has hundreds of pictures of him and Mo, just Mo, the group, Zhengxi and Jian yi, and a lot more stolen shots that he keeps in a separate album in his phone

- He prints out his favorites, hangs them around the bedroom and frames some of them to put it in the living room. None of the other boys have the heart to take them down after seeing how happy He tian looks every time he sees the pictures

- Jian yi asks He tian to share the pictures to him too, he doesn’t print it out but he uses one of the pictures of all of them together as his lockscreen (his wallpaper is a stolen picture of him and Zhengxi He tian took when they were stargazing on the rooftop)

- When everything settles down enough for them to go home, they’re actually reluctant to go

- Still, Mo Guanshan and Zhengxi go home to their families. Jian yi stays with He tian since he knew his mom wasn’t at home anyway, at least this way they’ll both have company

- Guanshan claims (loudly) that he’s glad to get away from them but still video calls with them everyday anyway

Mo Guanshan, in the videocall for the nth time: “I’m SO GLAD. Those were the WORST weeks of my life.”

The others, hearing the same lie for the nth time: “Mhm. Whatever you say, Mo.”

- They have discord sleepovers because they all miss sleeping in the same room with each other (they never mention it but everyone knows)

- Mo Guanshan cooks meals for more than him and his mom and have it delivered to He tian’s and Zhan Zhengxi’s. When asked he claims it’s just leftovers

- Zhan Zhengxi’s body clock is fucked, he grew too used to waking up early so he just went with it and helps his mom prepare breakfast

- They all silently agree that they wouldn’t mind living with each other again in the future (again none of them ever mentions it but everyone is aware)

[bird-on-a-wire20]

morning sex

Here's the thing. You don't stay overnight. It's just a rule you've had for yourself for the last decade. So when you wake up, panicked because you don't recognize the wallpaper or the feel of the sheets beneath you or...the absolute mass of warm man-flesh next to you, one muscular arm laid over your stomach, that you're not quite sure what to do with yourself. 

Even if you could heave yourself out from under the deadweight of this arm that feels like it's the size of a small maple tree, you don't remember where you dropped your clothes, or your shoes, or fuck, even your purse. This is why you don't do overnights because morning is where the panic sets in. The regret of another night filled with a decent fuck, a well-intentioned lover, and one more story for the novel you'll write when you turn 80. But regret all the same. It's not the sex you regret - no, that's always been relatively good, though last night was the exception, to be sure. The hazy memories of a string of orgasms beginning to form in your mind. 

You shut your eyes, focus on your breathing (hard to do with said tree limb across you, but you manage), shut down the panic and the regret, and try to form an escape plan. 

And then he kisses the back of your neck like this is any typical fucking Sunday morning, pulling you back into his embrace, one broad palm resting on your chest, his forearm resting half on and half between your breasts. 

Here's the other thing that comes in the morning. The fact that despite all your suave efforts and most charming acts the night before, you have absolutely no fucking chill. And who would, when they fucked Henry Cavill for most of the night, and possibly again early this morning (you weren't looking at the clock, so it's a guess). 

"Morning," he murmurs, another kiss against the back of your neck, his face nuzzling against your hairline. 

"...howdy…" you say, and then immediately cringe, because what the fuck is wrong with you? 

There is a moment of stillness between you both. You're hoping he didn't hear you, and him probably wondering how the hell he can find his phone to get his handler to dispose of you. But then he laughs, and you can feel his body shake against yours for a moment before he turns you in his arms, so you're facing him. 

God, he looks gorgeous. Even with bed head, his stray curls going in a multitude of directions, and a day's worth of stubble, he looks good.

"I can hear your brain working in overdrive, Plum," Henry says, and he reaches one of those large, broad hands up to your face, cupping your cheek and your jaw and half your head basically, with just the span of his hand. "Relax." 

"I'm not very good at mornings," you admit, honestly. Giving a small half-shrug like that can explain all of your weirdness. "Normally, I...leave before the sun comes up." 

Henry smiles softly at you, the dimple on his cheek appearing before he leans in and kisses you. It's softer and sweeter than the night before, and you feel yourself melting into it, one hand sliding up his chest, his chest hair soft and sparse beneath your palm, the other cupping his jaw.  

12 hours ago, you'd been all but ravenous for one another. You'd barely made it up the elevator and into his room before he'd slammed you against the inside of the door. Your panties had ended up somewhere, and he'd dropped to his knees in front of you, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder as his mouth descended between your legs. 

The kiss ends slowly, and you're almost reluctant to pull your mouth away, but eventually, you do, and you meet his slate blue-grey eyes. 

"Hi," you say, cheeks turning a little pink, but you're starting to feel less awkward, a little more at ease, a little more confident in the fact that in the warm hazy glow of morning, he still wants you. 

"Better?" he asks, and you nod, letting out a little sigh as you feel his other hand slide along your side, squeezing your hip and pulling your thigh up over his. It's then that you remember you're still incredibly naked, and that movement puts you closer to him, to the thick, ready, length of him. 

"Much," you whisper, closing the minute distance between you, the steady thump-thump of your heart beating in your chest in time to a similar aching throb in your clit. You're tender and swollen from the night before but fuck if your body doesn't respond to him in a way it hasn't with other less fortunate lovers. 

"Mmm, rock your hips, Plum. Let me feel you." His already low voice still carries the rasp of the morning, and the urgency of his request does things to you. And by that, you definitely mean you absolutely grind yourself against his dick, biting your bottom lip as the head of his cock bumps up and over your clit. 

"Fuck," you say, trying to find traction on the mattress as you writhe against him. "I just need…" The words catch and disappear in your mouth as he heaves you up and over him, seating you right where you both want it. The new angle gives you the traction you were looking for, and you can't help but buck against him, over him. "Shit...yes…yes." 

He watches you, thoroughly amused, his hands resting on your hips, before moving them to slide up and down your thighs, all the time his breath coming in short spurts as he tries to keep some semblance of control. 

You realized early on in last night's rendezvous that Henry is an incredibly tactile person. You'd expressed interest last night, and there had been no going back. He'd been quick to get his hands on you, a soft palm at your back as he led you out of the restaurant or the harsh grip of his thumb and forefinger on your chin/jaw when he'd finally kissed you properly, right there in the elevator, between floors 15 and 16.

"I'm already close," you sigh on a ragged breath, your palms flat against his chest, your hips moving almost violently in their desire to chase your impending orgasm. 

"Not yet," Henry says. "I want to taste you again." His hands-on your thighs tighten, stopping you from moving.

"But…" you begin. 

"That too if you're a good girl," he says with a smirk, and you roll your eyes, which lands you a tight hard swat across one ass cheek. 

You're about to admonish him, but he's already pulling you up toward him and sliding down. Then suddenly, you're rocking forward to grip the headboard as you find yourself unsteadily kneeling over Henry's face. 

His breath is hot against you, and he teases you with kisses on the insides of your thighs, his stubble scratching pleasantly against your skin. You jump slightly when you feel the hot slide of his tongue along the delicate skin between your thigh and your pussy. 

You can feel him shift slightly, his thumbs sliding over you, parting you to finally press his mouth over your clit.

"Henry…." You drag out the last syllable of his name, your voice keening high as he swipes his tongue over you. Soft and slow, alternating with a hungrier, needier want, sucking your clit until you reach down and sink your fingers into his curls. Your fingers curl around the soft strands as you hold his head still and grind yourself down against him and finally, almost painfully, tip over the edge. 

You're hardly aware of him moving as you let yourself collapse back on the mattress, your body still recovering as he slips back into the bed behind you. He's slipped on a condom, and he takes his time, teasing your already tender flesh before fitting the fat head of his dick at your entrance.  

"Good?" He asks, his mouth against the shell of your ear. 

"Mmhmm," you mumble because it's all you can coherently think right now because despite having just orgasmed, your body is aching for him, needing to feel as full as you did when he took you for the first time last night. When you came riding the very precipice of pain and pleasure. 

He takes it slow, knows he's worked you over more times than either of you are accustomed to, but you don't know the next time your schedules will align, and hell if you're not going to make the absolute most of this 24 hours. 

"Fuck," he growls, and you can tell he's trying to hold back. "Feel so fucking good. You like this?"

"Yes, god, yes," you answer. You reach up to hold his shoulder, anchoring yourself as he starts to move fast, his thrusts becoming less measured, a staccato of movements until he presses you deep into the mattress with a loud groan. 

Soon you'll have to move, find your clothes, and get dressed. Still, for now, you're content to lie absolutely embraced by this gorgeous man, who smells like wood and leather, and the potential for another round of questionable yet satisfying decisions. 

[rhubarberpie]

Me, Just Me

ao3 || m.list || prologue

-_-_-_-

Marinette took in the silence, trying to ignore the crippling fear that threatened to choke her. It was as if she was stuck in a small, enclosed box, rather than the apartment's dining room, trying to open up to her parents. She had faced monsters double her size, jumped into the mouth of a dinosaur, and yet this was the most frightening thing of them all, waiting for her parents to respond, finally seeing behind her carefully crafted front.

It was her mother, ever patient and loving, that broke the silence first. “For how long has this been going on?” Sabine asked, and Marinette could tell that she was trying to be encouraging, placing her hand on top of Marinette’s, smile gentle and motherly, despite her tense shoulders and edge to her voice.

Marinette swallowed, her tongue heavy like lead. Regret tried to claw its way up her throat, tried to make her laugh and brush it all off, white noise ringing in her ears.

“…A couple of  months.” The words left her quietly, and she slumped with no strength to look at her parents.

In a short, almost non-existent moment, the world stilled. 

Months had passed of Marinette feeling alienated and ostracized, of her feeling completely alone and like she couldn’t go to her parents to talk about her problems.

And almost as soon as the world had stopped, it had started again, as Tom stood from his chair and enveloped his little girl in a tight hug, lifting her from her seat. Marinette wondered if it was to comfort her or himself.

“You won’t stay there,” Sabine said, as soon as Tom had let go of Marinette and sat back down. “We’ll find you a new school and you won’t ever have to step into that place again.” Marinette’s eyes locked with her mother’s, and all she could see was burning determination, the same determination as Marinette would have burning in her eyes as she fought against an akuma.

It was like the weight that had been pressing down on her chest had finally been lifted, leaving her with calming numbness that was reminded of every time she took a deep breath in. Her steps were light as she walked to school next week, 

It was like the weight that had been pressing down on Marinette’s chest, making it hard for her to breathe whenever she was with her parents, had been lifted, leaving her with a calming numbness that she was reminded of every time she took a deep breath in. Her steps were light as she returned to school the next week, and for once Marinette looked at the situation from an outside perspective and forgave herself for everything that she couldn’t do, because she had done what she could.

Still, there was something Marinette felt that she needed to do.

Her eyes hopped from classmate to classmate, until they landed on her, well, former friends. Alya was looking at her phone under the desk, with Mme. Bustier none the wiser to the girl, and Nino was trying (and failing) to understand what Mme. Bustier was saying. Marinette bit her lip, forcing her eyes down onto her tablet.

She would have to pick some new holders. Marinette knew that the distrust she now held towards them would be detrimental in a battle, and with their belief in what Lila says to be as strong as it is, Marinette wasn’t sure if they wouldn’t end up saying something they shouldn’t, especially with Lila’s penchant for becoming akumatized.

It was a conversation that Marinette would have to have with Master Fu later, but for now, she would settle for watching the lives of the people around her pass her by.

-------

There was always a sense of calm and peace that entered Marinette whenever she would go to Master Fu’s sanctuary. She supposed that it made sense, but the cup of green tea nestled in her hands might have helped with that too.

“So, what is it you wish to discuss with me?” Master Fu asked.

Marinette hesitated. She could never quite read what Master Fu was thinking, and now, when all she wanted was his approval, the fear that he might disagree with her choice hung heavy on her shoulders.

“Master Fu, what- what would you do if people were being used,  and you warn them about it, but they won’t listen to you? If they turn against you and hurt you, because they think you’re wrong.” Marinette asked. “…would you stay and continue trying to help them, or would you remove yourself from the situation?”

Master Fu hummed in thought, Wayzz looking worriedly between his holder and Marinette.

“Selflessness versus selfishness. In an ideal world, the choice of being selfless would be best, but…” Master Fu looked at Marinette, her tense posture, her fiddling with her teacup. “It can burn you out, and if you hold a great responsibility, that could be dangerous. We are not meant to only think about others, but ourselves too.”

Marinette let out a sigh, visibly relaxing, and took a sip of her tea.

“May I ask what brought on the question?” Master Fu looked at her patiently as she started to fiddle with her cup once more.

“I’m transferring to a new school… or that’s the goal at least.” Marinette looked down at her tea, seeing her reflection mirrored back at her. “Things haven’t really been going well and I… I’m just really unhappy, and frustrated and-” She let out an agitated sigh. “I was almost akumatized, and I don’t want to risk it by being at a place with people that make me feel miserable.”

Master Fu and Wayzz shared a worried glance at the girl’s explanation. She was right, the risk of her becoming akumatized was not worth it in the situation.

“Then I believe you have made the right decision on the matter.” Master Fu said.

“Surely you aren’t alone.” Wayzz said, and Marinette knew that he was thinking about Nino.

“I’m not entirely sure…” She admitted. “There’s someone in my class who’s… aware of what’s happening, but I don’t think he knows the full extent of it.”

“Have you talked to him about it?” Master Fu asked.

“He believes that we shouldn’t do anything, let the situation solve itself but… it’s been months and it’s only getting worse.” Master Fu nodded in understanding.

“That brings another issue though.” Marinette said, her eyes narrowed, calculating. “Rena Rouge and Carapace, I don’t think I can trust them in battle again.”

Master Fu hummed.

“I trust your decision, and if you believe that Rena Rouge and Carapace are unfit or untrustworthy, then we must find others to wield the Miraculous when the situation arises.”

Wayzz looked saddened by the information, and Marinette felt a little bad about it, but she knew that she couldn’t fight beside Alya and Nino again.

“Would it be possible for us to meditate more regularly as well?” Marinette asked. “I don’t know how long it will take for me to find a new school to attend, and while I’m calmer about the situation now, I’d like to have a few techniques, just in case…”

“Of course.” Master Fu said.  “That would probably be for the best. Come by every Wednesday and we can work on your meditation.”

After that, the invisible weight Marinette had been carrying felt a little lighter, if not just slightly.

-----------

When Marinette came home, she looked at her room in thought. The place was filled with memories, pictures of her and Alya, the class, Kitty Section. So many, and in all of them Marinette looked to be smiling. Now the pictures left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Exhaling, she walked up to one of her walls and started taking down the pictures, one by one, all over her room. Nothing was spared, no note or scrap of paper that even slightly reminded her of why she was so sad to begin with.

Once her walls were cleared, she changed her wallpaper on her computer. When she was completely done, there was nothing to remind her of her classmates, nothing but the memories within the walls. It felt nice.

Opening a drawer, Marinette took out a notebook that she had yet to use and a pen. She climbed up and out onto her balcony, taking a deep breath as the wind caressed her features. Tikki followed her holder quietly, giving Marinette some space.

Marinette sat down on her chair and looked out at the city as the sun was setting. Paris truly was quite a sight. She opened her notebook, the pen hovering over the pages for a moment, and after a shaky exhale, Marinette finally put pen to paper.

Word after word, Marinette started to feel lighter, addressing every single classmate, some letters only being half a page, and others, Marinette felt, went on page, after page, after page.

By the end of it, almost all of the notebook was full, and the sun had completely set.

“Do you think I made the right choice, Tikki?” Marinette’s voice cut through the quiet.

“I think you deserve as much happiness as everyone else Marinette, and if you have to change schools for that, then I think that’s the best decision you could make.” Tikki replied.

“Thank you, Tikki.” Marinette kissed her Kwami’s cheek before climbing back inside her room.

She still had so much to do before she could leave.

-_-_-_-

@pawsitivelymiraculous @trippingovermyfeet @all-mights-asscheeks @justafanwarrior 

[just-mirko]

BINARY  

BNHA HACKER AU - CHAPTER 4

MASTERLIST

Mirko x F!Reader

Warnings: HAWKS BEING A SUS BITCH 2.0 #peghawks2020 

WC: 2k 

(A/N: This is unedited! Please message me if you spot any annoying mistakes! I will probably have the edited version up in a day or two!)

__

 “Then with that I leave you, my students, sleep well!”

 He left for the doors and closed them behind him, effectively leaving 15 teenage criminals in a room together.

Hah.

__

            After principal Nezu left, the crowd dispersed. Many chose to scout out their dorms instead of interacting. Each person was a loaded gun. Aimed at their enemies or themselves did not matter, we were all afraid for when the first bullet would strike.

             That being said, most seemed overall relaxed. Students would try to start conversation and socialize, which was apparent by the mumble of voice within the school’s halls that returned from before Nezu gave his brief speech.

             I was turning towards the dorm hallway with my bags in hand. The gentle tap of my shoes along the hardwood floors could be heard in crisp, purposeful taps. Right as I walked through the threshold of the door connecting the dorm corridor and the main hall, I heard footsteps growing louder behind me.

             I kept walking forward and kept a close eye at the plaques on each room’s door that signified who was housed where.

             The footsteps continued getting closer until in my peripheral vision I could see a lock of white hair swaying.

             “You again?” I asked, feigning annoyance. Of course, her presence wasn’t exactly unwanted but it was unneeded.

             “Mmmhmm” Mirko hummed while gazing down at me.

             The image of her and Hawks pushed itself into the forefront of my mind, leaving residues of anger wherever it bounced in my brain.

             “So… you and Hawks?” I looking at the hallway door when I said it. I slowed my walking down to almost a complete stop before turning towards her.

             “Are you guys dati-“ I made the mistake of looking into her piercing red eyes and caught a glare, making me stop my sentence.

             I held my breath for a second, thinking I angered her in some way, but to my surprise she let out a laugh.

             “You got so scared! Look at you! You’re just a bottom little bunny” She relaxed and leaned her arm down to rest on my shoulder. The height difference was so obvious when she was standing this close.

             “C’mon (Y/N), lighten up, combat training is going to be a breeze! I bet the view from the floor will be nice.”

             Did she just- never mind.

             “Oh as if.” I rolled my eyes and started walking again towards my door that came into view. She followed me and watched as struggled with the door.

             The doorknob was plain and silver, with a  small black pad above it. I was more than confused.

             “Were we supposed to get a key or something?”

             I continued jamming the doorknob and pressing at the black pad in frustration. It was getting late, and being locked out of my room wasn’t on my list of things I can emotionally handle.

             One of Mirko’s hands came to rest at about my elbow from behind me. Delicately moving her hands up towards me wrist, she paused, before gently holding the back my hand, her nails ghosting against my palm.

             My heart was racing, none of her arm’s subtle movements went unnoticed. I feared that with how close she was, with her right behind me, and this, whatever this is, she could hear my heartbeat pounding in my chest.

             She guided my hand towards the black pad and brought my left pointer finger down on the sensor.

             With a small green light and a click, the door swung open. She kept her grasp on my hand for what felt like a moment too long yet still too short before stepping back and turning towards the door across from me room.

             “The doors are locked via fingerprint,” She stated matter-of-factly with a smirk.

             “Tell me if you have any more troubles (y/n), I’m right next door.” She seemed way too pleased with herself when she walked back into her room, not sparing a glance over towards me, standing in the door frame of my room when her’s closed.

             That night I laid awake staring at the ceiling, just as I had done last night. Though the only difference was last night I was contemplating to even go here, now I was contemplating how I would even survive here.

             The dorms were nice and decently sized for the whole ‘underground secret society’ thing. A bathroom with all the basics including a deep bathtub, a queen bed, a mini fridge, and coffee machine. What set t apart from average was two things. Color changing lights that were set under the bed and desk, giving everything a vibrant glow (A/N no reason for the lights they just look cool :))

               The last special thing in the room was a giant black desk, obviously set up for a giant desktop and even more hardware, but the surface with unscratched, unused, and empty. It sat in the corner of the room alone, unlike the other areas that had lamps, colored lights, or fake plants; the desk had nothing.

             I would still have to grow accustomed to the new and pristine room. It smelled clean. Like fresh disinfectant and fake lavender that is just slightly off from the real thing. I could not say I missed the cans of soda on the floor and random sticky notes everywhere.

             The old apartment was crammed with miscellaneous objects. All the things I was too attached to throw out, but not too attached to leave all together, I guess.

             I rolled over, suddenly very aware of my awakens. I checked my clock. A large sigh eased from my lungs. It was only 11pm. That meant I was not losing too much sleep on my first day. I could only imagine how screwed I would be if those led screen lights were showing 3am or any other blatantly early time.

              I guess since I was awake, it would not hurt to get a snack or something. From my recollection, I remember seeing a café like area in the common room, though I was too preoccupied to look at it for too long. They might have a granola bar or some snack I could eat. I was really craving chocolate milk right now.

             I was in the slightly delirious sleepy stage of consciousness. The point where I had no filter to what I said, and no self-preservation. In said state, I threw on some slippers, grabbed my phone and grudgingly walked out to the hallway.

             “choccy milk, choccy milk!” I whispered to myself in a singsong voice. The walk to the end of the hallway seemed to only last a split second before I was there, at the door to the common room.

             “choccy milk, choccy milk!” I reached towards the doorknob, shivering once the chilled metal touched my fingers. Right as I was about to pull the door with my weak and tired muscles, I heard shuffling from the other side of the door.

             I opened it slowly, and peering in through the crack in the door. Though dark, and his back was towards me, I could recognize the distinct frame of Hawks. The dirty bastard. Why he be actin lik- my thoughts were interrupted by two sharp clicks. On the floor he sat a suitcase and opened it up. It was the same one that had the red unidentified fluff in it. More fuzz was on it than before, apparent as it stood out among the black fabric casing.

             He moved in front of the suit case and blocked my view, but I could watch as he crouched down an opened it up. Suddenly, a flurry of red came spiraling out and circling around hawks. He stood up and the shapes were revealed to be feathers, each one different than the next. The continued to storm around like he was standing in the eye of a hurricane surrounded. Feather by feather they collected by his shoulders, forming broad wings that’s wingspan was around 10 ft.

             He ruffled the wings around, spreading them out and even doing a test flap, which sent a gust of air in all directions. While he was… adjusting them? Stretching them?

             This had to have been his quirk. And it was an amazing one at that. This was my rival? How was I supposed to beat that?

             “Woah” I silently whispered. His wings twitched at the sound, and it appeared all the feathers stood up straight. He quickly turned around, his wings taking on a defensive position and each feather spiking outward like tiny knives. I quickly hid behind the door, hoping he didn’t see me, though he definitely heard me.

             My heart pounded in my chest, and I held my breath, knowing now that whatever his quirk was, it enhanced his hearing.

             I slightly turned my head to my ear was pressed up against the wall and I could hear anything he did. I cringed at the slight scratch of one of my earrings against wooden door and paused again.

             Through the polished wood and all the space between us, I  made out his footsteps beginning again as he walked away from the door. The breath I held in my lungs released shakily. My eyes darted across the hallway, which suddenly seemed so much longer. The expanse of parallel lines from the crown molding and the wallpaper and everything made me feel like caving in.

             I had barely dodged that encounter, and I know it would not have been good if he found me snooping. I was not my intention, but it did give me a slight advantage. I knew his quirk.

             I knew his quirk.

             Unlike someone’s fake name or hacker alias, quirks were something you can change. They stuck with you the rest of your life, one of very few constants we could have. And because quirks, especially unique ones like Hawks’, were specific to each person they not only would let me find his real identity quickly, but also gain information on his past, something most people in this life tried to forget.

             I had no intention of using this information maliciously, it was more or less self-defense. If he was out for me, its only fair that I get to build a shield. I was just evening the playing fields.

             My brain was vacant of all prior need for choccy milk, now, all I wanted was answers, though for now those would have to wait. My smartphone said it was almost midnight, and I already started things at this academy on the wrong foot, I don’t want that to repeat with my teachers.

             I guess it was foolish of me to believe I was always one step ahead of everyone. I was untouchable, invisible, I had power. I forgot that people don’t get into this school on daddy’s money or luck, they’re here for a reason.

             But at that time I didn’t care, of course I didn’t, I just narrowly avoided my current rival, and walked away unnoticed. Untouchable.    

             I went to sleep quickly. I woke up early. I slept well. The next day started good. I made coffee and pondered over the empty desk once more. I was ignorant.

[missblissy]

Rebirth (Chapter Seven)

Alastor X Human!Reader ((Reincarnation!AU))

Prologue || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven

Everything about this city was beautiful. From street lanterns to the very distinctive architecture. New Orleans had this magical air to it that made everything seem romantic and otherworldly. You had never been here before so you got caught up in all the sightsees. You were still in the elegant red dress that matched Alastor’s crimson suit.

Your arm was looped with Alastor’s as the two of you walked down busy and noisy streets. Many people were out and about, bar hopping, drinking, dancing, singing and enjoying the night. Apparently, there was this bar that you just had to see, according to Alastor.

“It’s lovely in there, it’s much like a music lounge!” Alastor told you with a smile. You could see the genuine happiness on his face as he talked about this bar, “I use to go there all the time when I was alive,”

“How do you know it’s still there?” You asked him while raising a brow, “Didn’t you die like…” When did he die again? Uh oh, you forgot, “Um… You died a long time ago, right?”

Alastor flashed a quick toothy grin and gave you a side glance, “1933. Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I don’t keep tabs on the living world,” He then nudged you lightly, “I bet I know more about today’s news than even you do.”

You rolled your eyes, tempted to say something snide, “You sound like an old man. I watch the news, just… not every day. Or week,” You tried to defend yourself. Alastor’s low chuckle caused your cheeks to burn red, “Where the hell is this bar?” You shifted the conversation, “I’m ready for a drink,” And a big one at that.

“Almost there, my dear!” Alastor promised, “What’s your drink of choice?”

You looked at him and thought, “What was my favorite drink when I was a demon?”

A very dark look overtook Alastor’s features. You saw his teeth grow in size, his mouth twisted into an unnatural grin, “Blood,” He said wickedly. The dark look was gone, his teeth were back to normal and his smile was more relaxed, “Oh! You meant alcohol!” Alastor started to laugh at his own dumb joke, “Haha, you enjoyed gin, vodka, tequila. You had an uncanny taste for clear liquor and often refused the darker ones, like whiskey and rum.”

That was very different from now. You kind of hated alcohol and you’d only drink it if it was fruity and sweet enough to mask the gross burning liquor, “Mhm, not the same,” You shrugged, “I’m basic, give me a Mike’s Hard or a Twisted Tea. It’s can’t taste like shit.”

“All liquor tastes like shit,” Alastor hummed with a single chuckle. He wasn’t wrong there. Only a few minutes passed before he suddenly stopped in his tracks in front of an old rickety wooden door.

You were confused, what was here? It was just a dark pine door stuck between two buildings. There was no sign and no address. Nothing but a door. Alastor quickly swung it open, you saw that immediately behind the door was a dark stairwell leading below ground. You followed Alastor into the cellar with caution. There was a second door at the bottom of the stairs and Alastor thew that one open too. Music and smoke wafted from within. It smelled musty and thick of cigarettes.

How could you have not guessed? You walk into a dark underground bar and lounge. The lights shined low rays, making it easy to hide in the shadows. The floor was covered with a thin and dirty green carpet. The walls had wooden paneling that went about a third of the way while maroon wallpapers climbed to the ceiling. There had to be a few dozen people already in there. You took a look over at Alastor and saw stars in his eyes.

Little did you know that this was the bar where Alastor wasted away most of his life. It had barely changed. Sure there were new paintings and pictures, but so what? And yeah, there were dozens of TVs and speakers littering the walls now. Other than that, it was the same. Same gross green carpet with wine stains spotting all over the room, there were still green stain glass lights hanging from the ceiling, the bar looked exactly the same and there was a nice new pool table in the corner. Further back in the larger room was a small stage completely void of anything. Dozens of little tables scattered the room. This place was big enough to fit at least 80 to 90 people. It made Alastor incredibly happy to be here, even if it was some several decades later.

The two of you walked over to the bar without a word spoken between you. There were lush and comfy stools with soft green cushions for a seat. You gazed at the other people hanging around the bar. There was an older woman smoking a cigarette at the very end as she drank her margarita and played on her phone. A few seats away from you was a young man covered with tattoos and piercings.

Alastor quickly leaned on the bar with a smile. You stood beside him and you didn’t understand why you felt so nervous. It made you feel awkward to stare at him so much. You couldn’t help it though, his looks kept drawing you in. He looked rather dashing in the suit. He knew how to pick colors that complemented his features. He looked better without his glasses on too. You could see the dark and haunting color of his brown eyes. When he flickered his gaze towards you, you quickly averted your eyes and watched the bartender sluggishly walk along the bar.

He seemed tired and overly sleepy. The bartender shrugged as he asked, “What can I get for ya?”

You quickly looked at Alastor with a nervous expression. Luckily he was a man of action, “Two whiskeys, my good friend!” He tapped the bar twice with his hand and gave a large grin.

While the bartender got your drinks, you peered along the counter. That man with the tattoos was looking at you. Then at Alastor, then you again. The way he stared made you suspicious of him. You looked away from him as the bartender returned and slid two glasses towards you and Alastor.

“Give it a try, darling,” Alastor eyed you as he grabbed his own glass, “It’ll only bite a little bit,” Then he winked at you. It took you by complete surprise and you were quickly flustered. At the same time, he pulled a little black case from one of his pockets and unclipped the latch. As he flipped it open it revealed several dozen cigarettes tucked neatly in rows. Alastor swiped one quicky then snapped the case closed. You watched as the cigarette lit itself alive as if my by magic. Alastor wasn’t even looking at you anymore. This was the first time you saw his human face without some sort of smile. He had a soft and blank expression as he took a drag of the cigarette. Why did he make it look so…. attractive? He even did a french inhale, slowly passing smoking from his lips and inhaling it into his nose.

As much as you hated the burn of alcohol, you quickly grabbed your own drink and down a large gulp. Your heart was fluttering in your chest and you couldn’t stop it from beating harder and harder as every second passed. Once you placed the glass down you quickly rushed your words out, “I- uh!” You coughed and cleared your throat, “I need to you the restroom!” You actually needed a second to calm down, “I’ll be right back,” You flashed a little smile on your face as Alastor watched you with amusement.

“Take your time, dear,” He gave a sneaky and snide smirk, he was beginning to bring the cigarette back to his lips, but you quickly turned and walked off as calmly as you could.

Alastor watched your every step until you found the bathrooms and disappeared around a corner. He could finally let out the soft sigh and relax a little. Everything was going perfectly so far. All he had to do was keeping working his charm and soon you’d be his once again.

He took this time alone to reflect on the entire situation. Alastor flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette into an ashtray. With his free hand, he reached for his whiskey. As happy as he was to be here, it brought him a small sense of sorrow. It was beginning to become more and more clear that you were not the same person you once were.

It pained him because he was realizing that the person he was looking for was dead and gone forever. No matter how much he tried, he’d never have his beloved wife back. He couldn’t deny it however, he stilled felt a deep love for you even if you weren’t exactly the same. Little did you know, Alastor had come to terms with spending the rest of your natural mortal life with you, simply because he couldn’t bring himself to kill or even harm you in any way. He also felt the need to protect you from any harm as well. He wouldn’t allow you to killed in any way unless it was on your terms.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt this way. Maybe it had to do with the fact that your soul wasn’t tainted enough to go to hell, or maybe he loved your soul’s newfound purity. Maybe it had nothing to with anything, he couldn’t be sure. He had shut himself entirely off from his emotions the day you were reincarnated. It had been a long time since he explored the thoughts and let them run free in his mind. There was a strange uneasiness that overcame Alastor at the same time. He looked around and found the man looking at him, the one with the tattoos.

How interesting, Alastor watched this stranger begin to approach him. A little smile lingered on Alastor’s face. He wanted this man to go away and leave him alone, “Hello!” Alastor lifted his smile some more, “What brings you over here, my good fellow?”

The tattooed man was a little surprised at Alastor’s straight-forward approach, but other than that, he didn’t seem to fazed by it. Alastor could smell the pot and vodka rolling off of this stranger. It didn’t take a whole lot to see how intoxicated he was. There was even a drip from his nose and Alastor had no doubt that it was induced from a little knife bump of coke. But he smelled something much stronger, it was the soft and dull beat of blood rushing loosely through this drugged-up man. It was intoxication, it made Alastor’s eyes grow a little wider as he stared harder at the man.

“I wanted to know ‘bout that lady of yours!” The stranger slurred slightly, “She with you?”

“Ha!” Alastor enjoyed the stranger’s bluntness, “Something like that!” He bared his teeth with a smile, “I think there was someone more of your taste out on the corner there, old sport!”

The stranger laughed loosely and shook his head, “Aha, hmhm,” He sucked in a quick breath, “I was thinking you’re more my type. Or the both of ya.”

Alastor’s smile melted only slightly as it became more thin, firm and pressed. Why couldn’t he think of anything to say? He didn’t think this would make his as uncomfortable as it did. Panic leaked into his bloodstream for the first time in decades. How was this possible? He felt a bead of sweat form at his temple. Then a whisper crawled into his ear, saying, He’s only a human. Scare him away.

So he took a quick breath in and Alastor smiled calmly, “You don’t want to walk down this road,” He closed his eyes and smiled some more, “There’s nothing here for you!” His voice was bouncy and happy despite his true feelings hidden below his throat, “Nothing but a dead end!” Alastor smiled away.

But the man was either too drunk or stoned to hear the ominous threat in Alastor’s voice, or he just didn’t care. He leaned forward slightly, “You sure? I’ve got a ton of X and coke- Oh hey-”

You had just shown back up and you could feel the terrible tension in the air. The tattooed man was swaying on his feet and he had a sloppy half-grin on his face. Alastor, however, had dark eyes boring into the man and a smile on his eyes. His unblinking stare was menacing, “Hey,” You frowned. At the sound of your voice, Alastor turned his head quickly and he looked at you. He didn’t say anything though, “What’s.. uh… going on?” You looked between the two of them.

The stranger shrugged, “Just trying to see if ya’ll are interested in a little party-”

You quickly held up your hand, making him stop talking. This is why you hated bars and drinking, well… you mostly just hated drunks. Nothing was more dully and stupid than a drunk person, in your opinion. You frowned at the stranger, “I’m going to have to stop you right there, thanks but no thanks, we’re not interested.” You learned a long time ago that the only way to get them to go away is to tell them to fuck off, “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to enjoying my night.”

The man gave you a swore face, he shrugged again, “You’re loss,” The mood changed and he didn’t seem so happy anymore. He left with a flip of his long hair and muttering something under his breath.

You heard a sigh next to you, and you saw Alastor’s smile drop down to a mild grin. He seemed… upset? You weren’t very sure, “You okay?” You asked.

“I hate humans,” Alastor grumbled, “Primitive, primal, promiscuous. Utterly useless creatures,”

“What? Don’t like guys flirting with you?” You started to slowly chuckle at him. Was this what he was like when he was flustered or mad? It almost made you laugh. He just looked bitter with a dumb smile. Maybe it was because he was in his human form, but he didn’t look as intimidating or scary without all the evil demon teeth and claws.

“I’m not a fan of the outcome,” Alastor looked at you from a side glance. He waved a hand, “Fornication is utterly disgusting,”

Oh. You blinked, slowly understanding what he was trying to say, “So you’re like… Asexual?”

Now Alastor gave you a confused smile, “I wish I could go through mitosis,” He gave a weak laugh after that.

But you giggled behind your hand for a second. Oh, how the tables had turned, “No, Al,” You saw him perk up at the nickname, “It means yours not into fornication.” It looked like he started to understand, “You know, some people are homosexual? Hetero? You’re Asexual,” To help further your point, you dug out your phone and opened up the web browser. You did a quick google search then showed him.

He was wary, but he looked at your phone, quickly reading the words, “Hm,” He hummed, “Well would you look at that!” There was a smile on his face. He gestured for you to come and sit beside him again.

You climbed back into your bar seat once again and Alastor turned so he could face you. His cigarette was long burnt out and gone and he didn’t hesitate to pull another one out. He offered you one but you shook your head lightly, “So many things are different,” Alastor mumbled from behind the unfiltered end of the cigarette, “You used to smoke a pack a day,” He chuckled softly.

“Yeah?” He knew he had caught your interest. You perked up in your seat and even scooted a little closer, “What was I like? Like… aside from being a demon and your wife. Like personality and attitude?”

He couldn’t help the sweet smile from curling on his face, “You were very hardworking. People praised you for your incredible loyalty as well. But you were also uncontrollably emotional,” You faintly remembered the book saying something about that.

“What else?” You wanted to know so much more. You wanted to know everything you could know about your past self. It was an obsession you couldn’t ignore anymore.

“How about we focus on this version of you?” Alastor smiled a little more and gave a raise of his brow. You felt flattered that he wanted to know more about you. You remembered that you still had a glass of whiskey to drink.

As you grabbed the glass and took a sip, you asked after a brief moment, “What do you want to know?”

Alastor leaned forward and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. There was a light and spark in his eyes that made your hight jump a little, “Anything,” He said with a smile.

_________________________________________________________

“-I was so scared. He looks at me and says, ‘You lit?’ And I was…. I was totally baked out of my mind. It was the first time I… ya know? Aha- And my professor is looking at me and the whole class is! I almost started to cry but then he sharted to shake his hands and go ‘No, no, no! You eat that cookie! You stay lit!’ And he just goes on teaching!” There were about six or seven empty glasses next to you. A smile was on your face as you told some stupid story from your freshman year of college.

Alastor was listening intently with his own smile to match. He held your hand in his as they rested together on the bar, “Ya know I was always a fan of opium every now and again!”

For some reason that made you laugh a little, “I’d never do something like that,” It was safe to say you were tipsy. Maybe a little bit drunk. Just a little. Alastor, on the other hand, didn’t seem the slightest and he drank more than you, “Like you said. I’m just a goodie goodie.”

He chuckled and gave a grin, “I also said we could change that.”

“You said a lot of things,” You smirked. The last..? What time was it? Well, you had spent some time talking to Alastor. He asked about your life, your birthday. He found out you had no siblings and that your father was dying. He even wanted to know about what school you went to, what classes you liked. You didn’t expect him to be so curious. He cracked a joke every now and then and tease you for something silly.

It was nice to just… talk to him like this. It was almost like he was a real person who wanted to get to know you. A little voice in your said It’s almost like I’m on a date with a real guy who… likes me. You shook that voice away. And caught Alastor staring at you. You laughed nervously and said, “What?”

He just shook his head slowly then shrugged, “Nothing… You’re just very pretty. I like this version of you. Some things are the same, like your eyes and your smile. But others are different,”

“Like what?” Damn it! You couldn’t stop the little smile on your face.

“That’s not important,” He quickly dismissed your question, “It doesn’t matter whats different and what’s the same. I’m just happy to spend time with you again.” Why did that answer make your heart flutter?

His hand was still holding yours and you couldn’t deny that comfort you felt from his touch. It was familiar in a way that you just couldn’t describe. It was almost addicting in away. You could feel your soul reaching out and trying to touch Alastor.

What time was it again? You pulled out your phone and looked at the clock. You almost jumped out of your seat and lost your mind, “It’s three in the morning!? I have classes at eight am! Fuck!” You ran a hand through your hair then looked at Alastor, “This is your fault,”

He grinned, “Skip classes tomorrow, sleep in,” His voice called out and tempted you.

It sounded nice, but you knew better. You shook your head, “No, I need to go to bed, can you take me home?” You looked at him and waited for him to say something but he just grinned a sneaky little toothy smile, “Please?”

“Alright,” He finally said. He closed his eyes and with a smile, he snapped his fingers quickly. There was a static sound of white noise and suddenly you were outside your apartment door. Odd. Why didn’t he just teleport you guys inside? What if your door was locked?

Alastor quickly took your hand in his and brought your fingers up to his lips. He placed a kiss on them, holding your hand there as he gave you a look that gave you chills, “I had a lovely night with you, my dear. Until we meet again.” He placed another kiss on your knuckles. You wanted to say something but he quickly faded into a swarm of misty black shadows. He was gone before you knew it and you were alone with a might need for him to come back.

[descensummichael]

My Heroine (Michael Langdon x fem!OC)—xiv. bad shivers

Trying to bridge together the ideas for this is honestly going to be the death of me. Not sure if many people are actually reading, but if you are, hope you enjoy! x  (Read the rest of the fic here.)

"So, are you going to tell me about the house?" Michael raised an eyebrow, waving a hand as he peered around. "Don't you think it's a little much, even for you?"

They had been sitting in silence for what felt like forever, and it was uncomfortable and weighing down heavily.

Arella laughed. "What is that supposed to mean, 'even for me'?"

"I mean," he stood up, gesturing to the various-sized knives hanging over the black marble fireplace. "This is just weird."

"It was my grandmother's house," she explained. "I kept everything as is when it went to me in her will. Of course, no one knows if she's dead or not. She just sort of vanished."

"I'm sorry," he paused, running his fingers across the textured black wallpaper. "That must be hard."

"It's fine," she shrugged, trying her best to hide the inward hurt at even thinking of her grandmother. "It got me away from my parents. Working at a bar wouldn't exactly afford me the luxury of a place half this nice on my own. The taxes are ridiculous. I still don't know why she would choose LA."

"Are you not close with your parents?" He asked her, still gazing at the various odd accent pieces, which included a human skull that he still couldn't decide if it was real or not.

She sighed. "You ask way too many questions for someone who has given me little reason to give any answers."

He chuckled. "Touché."

"What about you? Are you close with your parents?" She questioned him.

"They're both gone," he shrugged, looking down at his feet. "Mom died in childbirth, and my grandmother never talked about my dad except to say she hoped I never turned out like him."

"Oh," she was taken aback by this. "I-"

"Don't feel bad," he glanced at her. "I don't know any different. It's always just been my grandma and I. I like it that way."

"Okay," she nodded slowly. She was beginning to see through his demeanour, and she was surprised with what was underneath.

"Anyways," he stood up straight, and it was as if she could physically see the walls building up around him again. "It's getting late. I should be going home now. Sorry you didn't get what you needed from me."

"Michael, I-"

"This isn't right, Arella. None of this feels right," he shook his head, pulling on his shoes. "Just forget about it, okay?"

She exhaled as he pulled on the door handle, resigned. His eyes met hers one last time as he shut the door, his mouth set in a straight line, features hard. Within moments, he had completely frozen over. Shut her out.

She wanted to scream. She felt like it was becoming more and more crucial that she figured him out, overpowering the warning signs flashing in her mind.

This was much more complicated than she thought.

❦❦❦

It wasn't like he didn't feel bad for what he did. He was horrified with himself for walking out on her in that manner, but opening up felt wrong. He had spent so long manufacturing a façade that breaking it down was uncomfortable. The talk of warlocks confused him and made him question things he didn't even want to think about.

Upon calling an Uber, he hopped in before giving them the address to his grandmother's house— his home.

His phone buzzed in his hand as he glanced down at it. A text from Arella was on the screen:

I know you told me to forget about it but I can't. I can't forget about it. You're in my head and I can't get you out.

He sighed, sliding his phone in his pocket as the car rolled to a stop in front of the house. He smiled a silent thank you to the man in the front seat, closing the door behind him. Unlocking the front door to the house, he stepped inside to see his grandmother sitting at the kitchen table, a cigarette in her hand.

He kicked off his shoes, going to move past her to his bedroom down the hall.

"It's late," she remarked, setting the cigarette in the ashtray. "I know we've had this conversation many times before, Michael."

"I won't do it again," he mumbled, attempting to leave for a second time.

"But it always does, doesn't it?" She questioned him. "Have you been out drinking again? I swear-"

"I'm not a child anymore!" He exploded. "Stop treating me like one."

"Oh, but you are," she retorted, standing up. "Just because your body grew overnight doesn't mean your sense did as well. And as long as you're living under my roof, you will be treated as such."

He rolled his eyes at her, going off to his room and slamming the door shut. He heard her scream something about him rolling his eyes, but he blocked her out.

He had been growing increasingly angry at her, the woman who took him in and raised him from birth. The one who dealt with all his outbursts and oddities through his childhood. The one who loved him for who he truly was.

But she was becoming more and more of a nuisance, thinking he could be fixed by a priest and his stupid cross and book. Taking out all her anger on him. He was having a hard time swallowing it anymore. He didn't want to be this way. In fact, he could hardly grasp who he was, let alone why he was.

The bitter feelings bubbled to the surface as he lay there, waiting for her to go to sleep. He could feel the anger burning in his stomach, the acid making its way into his throat.

The next thing he knew, he was on top of her, his hands around her neck.

"You don't tell me what to do anymore," he spoke through gritted teeth, his grip tightening.

Her eyes were frightened, truly frightened for once as she struggled to remove his grasp on her. He took note of this, the trance he was in snapping as he dropped his hands from her and began to cry.

"Grandma," he spoke softly as her hands moved to brush the tears off his face.

The tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she grasped her grandson.

"Can I have a glass of water?" He asked, his voice breaking.

"May I," she struggled to speak.

"May I?" He repeated after her.

She nodded. "Yes."

He smiled at her as she got up.

This was why he needed to stay as far away from possible from Arella, he noted. He was poison to everyone who tried to get close. He truly was just a volatile child, unable to control his anger and outbursts. Going into his messages, he deleted her text.

He wouldn't allow himself to poison her, too.

[seijuurouxryuu]

who are we in these unwanted skins

Title: who are we in these unwanted skins Author: Shiro (TeitoxAkashi [AO3]/ seijuurouxryuu [tumblr]) Rating: G Pairing: Sasagawa Kyouko & Sawada Tsunayoshi Event: @khrrarepairweek Prompts: Roleswap AU | Platonic Cuddles Tags/Warnings: No Archive Warning

Day 5: Rain Day

Her skin, doesn’t felt like her skin sometimes. Some days, it felt right as it should be, comfortable and her, but other days, she felt like she was an impostor, wearing someone else’s skin, stomping around in a body not hers.

Some days, she felt like she was alright, but other days, she felt like she should be another. 

AO3

Her skin, doesn't felt like her skin sometimes. Some days, it felt right as it should be, comfortable and hers, but other days, she felt like she was an impostor, wearing someone else’s skin, stomping around in a body not hers.

Some days, she felt like she was alright, but other days, she felt like she should be another.

And today was the day she felt weird. She—they—stared into the mirror, seeing themselves yet not, so familiar yet so foreign. They pulled at the dress that she would usually love and felt that it doesn't suit them. It made their skin itch and what they wanted to do was to peel it off their burning skin. It made them so uncomfortable, so aware of themselves. Weird. Out of place. They couldn't stand it.

They were aware that they were running late for their date with the other girls, but they couldn't help but stare longer at the mirror and their wardrobe, scanning again and again to see if there was anything that they can change into and let them feel alright. There was suits and all, of course, but they were all rather skin hugging and.... Girly. They felt that changing into anything else that is in their wardrobe wouldn't make them feel any better. It might make them feel worst.

They bit down on their lips hard.

Suddenly, their phone rang--thank god white and neutral, breaking them from their trance and almost panic episode. They hurriedly picked it up from their dressing table and finally—finally—turned away from the mirror.

"Hey! Sorry I got lost track of time. I'm coming over right now!" They turned off the lights and headed out, a mask of comfort in place.

.

The incident was soon forgotten as time passed. She soon returned to herself, distracted by her friends and life in general. It was as though a dream, now that she looked back on it. Like it was just her imagination, that it never existed.

At least, until it hit her again, harder.

They looked around their room, far too pastel, and felt uncomfortable all over. If it wasn't their room, they wouldn't feel anything but it was theirs. They are used to the pinkish orange wallpaper, so that was fine, but the dressing table, the wardrobe, the bed sheets—too pastel. It wasn't the furniture's fault as much as it was theirs, but they were out of their norm that they couldn't actually convince themselves that it was alright. Not to mention that they still couldn't find any clothes relatively suitable for them at the moment.

It was difficult.

They closed their eyes and sighed, lips trembling slightly. They would have to buy new clothes. At least, some that can be used when they have moments like this. (Yes, they acknowledged that they felt very weird some days and it just made them annoyed, unworthy and guilty.)

They sat up abruptly.

Picking up their phone and wallet, they checked their money and decided to pull out some more from their drawer that they saved from the previous allowances. Before they went out, they stopped and looked down at their clothes—a knee length shorts and a plain white t-shirt. Pondering for a while longer, they decided to steal Ryohei's hoodie and left.

.

As it was a weekend and they didn't want anyone who recognise them to know what they were doing in the shopping district, they pulled the hood over their head and scanned through all the boutiques. They avoided the normal boutique they frequent—those sells clothes that they didn't really desire at the moment anyway—and looked for more gender neutral or masculine ones.

They paused right in front of one, pretty small and unpopular one, that was probably going under. Which was understandable because those clothes looked old and ugly—if they were targeting young people anyway. But they found that they have a selection of plain shirts, sweaters and black jeans—long and short—that looked nice and acceptable. Not to mention that it was on sales.

Tugging the hood lower, they headed in and started browsing, picking up a few as they go. They didn't want to try it now so they just picked a size larger than they normally wear. It wasn't until they had more about 8 articles in their arm when the shop owner—or they presumed—appeared.

"W-welcome to the Goldmine. H-how can I help you?" Perhaps they were probably too zoned out mentally calculating their money and the cost, they couldn't recognize the voice and mumbled. "It's okay. I'll look through on my own."

Then silence.

Perhaps finally realizing that something was wrong, they looked up just in time for the worker to stutter incredulously. "K-kyoko-chan?"

They flinched so hard that they almost dropped everything on their hand. Their hands trembled as they tried to smile. "A-ah, Tsuna-kun!"

Tsuna tilted his head, blinking. He wasn't as nervous as he was before, and he was curious. And worried. Kyoko's face was pale and fearful, eyes darting anywhere but him. It wasn't like the Kyoko he knew—something was wrong.

"W-what are you doing here?" Kyoko asked first, a little skittish. Tsuna, bless his soul, decided not to question Kyoko (yet) and started complaining. "Well!" He sighed loudly as his shoulder sagged. "Reborn is the reason. He suddenly asked me to tend this run-down shop and tell me to hit /a week's/ target sale in one day!" He grumbled, ruffling his hair roughly.

"Worst, this isn't even his shop! He just—accidentally injured the owner and decided to leave me to clean up his own mess! It was bad enough that no even a fly would come in, how am I going to hit the target!"

If he could, he would've wailed until the whole world could hear.

Somehow, through his rant, Kyoko finally calmed down and laughed. "Well, that's Reborn alright."

"No shit..." Tsuna grumbled under his breath. Seeing that there weren't any other customers and that Kyoko was probably still slightly uncomfortable, he asked. "Do you want to.... Talk inside? You don't have to say anything you don't want though. I can just wrap things up for you while we have some tea."

Kyoko hesitated. They looked down at the pile in their arm and bit their lips. They were caught, and they didn't want to give up on their finding. Not when they finally managed to muster the courage to choose men's clothing. They knew Tsuna wouldn't tell anyone if they didn't want others to know, and that Tsuna wouldn't judge them, but this was a secret they had held for almost their whole life. It wasn't easy for them to finally talk about it.

They looked up and right into Tsuna's brown eyes again, honest and kind. Accepting. And they finally nodded. "Yeah. Why not."

Tsuna smiled and brought them to the back of the shop. Surprisingly, despite its closing down, small and rather cluttered appearance, the storeroom slash employees rest room was clean and comfy. Probably the only place maintained by the owner. There was a small round table, two chairs and one sofa.

At Tsuna's gesture, Kyoko sat on the sofa and placed the pile of clothes beside them, patting it absently while the other moved around the small room rather clumsily to make tea. Setting it down with the cookies he managed to find, Tsuna sighed and plopped onto one of the plastic chairs.

"Thank you for appearing. With you here, I have an excuse for slacking off."

Kyoko laughed awkwardly. They gingerly reached out to the cup of tea—printed with Kero the frog—and sipped it. Surprisingly, it was calming. "I won't save you from Reborn."

"Welp I guess I'll just die."

"I'll help with the burial though."

Tsuna sobbed. "Harsh!" Kyoko chuckled and munched on some cookies, which weren't as delicious as the ones they made (yes, their bakery is the best shut up).

Seeing Kyoko happy at his demise, however, brought relief to Tsuna. The face Kyoko was sporting was similar to the one in the future-that-never-is, and Tsuna had sworn not to do anything that will brought forth that kind of face to his beloved family anymore, even if it wasn't him who cause it. (A part of him just wanted to X-burner everything that hurt his family down to nothing but ashes, but more of him knew that that wasn't possible.)

Tsuna tilted his head and smiled, eyes warm. It almost made Kyoko flinch again, because they felt like they don't deserve receiving kindness from Tsuna. Not since they became friends, not since they rejected Tsuna—they don't feel anything else other than familial love for the new brother they found—and especially not since they were so ungrateful for what they have. (Their clothes, beautiful and lovely, yet revolting in moments like this. Their body, perfectly flawed yet just a skin they wore uncomfortably in times like this.)

They didn't know what was so amazing about them to be accepted by the kindest and sanest person they knew. It made them happy, yet it made them guilty for something that they can't control.

Kyoko shifted uncomfortably, still eating the pastry while thinking about what they should say. It was times like this that they were bad at small talks. Not that they ever were good at it though. "U-um, Tsuna-kun..." They managed to get out, wincing slightly at how high pitched their voice was. God, they wish that they could just control their voice like a machine. They coughed and continued.

"... Please help me keep today's meeting a secret..." They plead, not ready for even the slightest moment to tell anyone else they knew.

Tsuna nodded immediately. Bless his soul, he didn't even ask about what and just took it as everything. "Sure." He smiled, uncharacteristically calm and understanding. "Until you're ready."

Kyoko suddenly has a hunch that the boy, now eighteen, knew what they were hiding.

Kyoko let out a watery smile and muttered, "Thank you."

.

It was emotionally wrecking, that day with Tsuna. Of course, Tsuna held onto his promise and did not speak about it even after he was punished by Reborn for slacking of, or so Kyoko had heard. She was very grateful for that, yet she was very guilty of that.

"I'm sorry, Tsuna-kun. For..." She trailed off as they stood on the roof of Namimori High, third year and graduating with the college entrance exams in the horizon. There were only the two of them, with Tsuna sporting a large bump on his forehead for getting hit by Xanxus who came to visit. (It was already a miracle that Xanxus came to visit, let alone not kill him.)

"Oh, it was nothing." He grinned, as though it never bothered him. That only made her even more guilty. She couldn't hold it any longer—especially not when the previous time marked such a huge scar in her heart. (Not the boutique encounter, but the one time she met Tsuna, Gokudera and Yamamoto outside again, except that her hair was tied into a tight bun and her clothes were the opposite of what she would where. Gokudera and Yamamoto had questioned her from heaven to hell since they were both curious and worried, and it was Tsuna who saved her out of it. It earned Tsuna a lot of troubles, trying to find excuse for her.)

Steeling her heart, she decided to talk about it. Tsuna wouldn't judge her. He never had, and he never will. Nodding to herself and taking a deep breath, she called out. "Tsuna-kun!"

Tsuna jolted, but kept quiet as she started rambling. "T-the thing is, there are days that I don't feel like--like me. Those days I hate the girly stuffs I own, and I hate- hate this body. I hate the world in those days and everything just makes me uncomfortable. I know I shouldn't feel that way and it doesn't make sense but I- I just don't feel like myself.

"I hate the fact that I am a girl then, and I just don't feel like anyone normal. I-" She sobbed, unaware that she had started crying during her vent. "I just wanted to be normal... That's why I tried... Wanted to have clothes that don't make me feel like a girl...

"I know this is selfish of me... I should just accept myself as who I am and appreciate everything I have, but I couldn't help it. I—" She choked. All the pain she harbored, all the guilt and sorrow she bottled, all overflowed out of the small cage she locked them in.

"I-I'm sorry..." She didn't dare to look up, not wanting to see Tsuna's face. She was afraid, afraid that she wouldn't be accepted. If she wasn't, she wouldn't blame Tsuna. Not when the boy remained her friend even after rejecting his feelings for her. (She never understood love other than the one she had with her family.)

Her hands trembled, sweating as she clutched them together tightly. She realized that she was afraid of losing this precious friend of hers.

Tsuna was silent for a long time, and just when she started to regret everything, Tsuna asked. "Can I hold you?"

Kyoko was so surprised by the question and looked up. Something, probably relief, swelled in her as she saw the smile, kind and accepting smile, on Tsuna's face. He reached out to her at her tiny nod, and hugged her tightly. He gently tucked her face onto his shoulder, calming her as he rubbed her head. "Sister mine," Her heart beat in delight at that. "First of all, don't apologize for what you feel.

"Don't apologize for who you are. You are you, you are just fine the way you are." He said softly as he cradled her. "Girl, boy, none, all, it doesn't matter. As long as you remain true to yourself, accept yourself, then it is all alright. I don't mind what you define yourself as, as long as it is not self-depreciation. And I'm sure no one else mind. If anyone does, then you are better off without them."

Kyoko sobbed louder, feeling liberated. "Thank you, Kyoko, for telling me. It must have been hard... I'm sorry that you have to suffer."

Kyoko shook her head, only for him to hush her more. “It’s fine if you aren’t ready to tell others—I’ll keep it a secret between the two of us. Only, you don’t have to hide from me anymore, okay?”

“D-don’t you think it’s… Weird?” Kyoko silently asked, a little afraid.

“Not really.” Tsuna said, then paused for a moment with his lips pursed. He was contemplating whether to tell Kyoko of his own secret. He trusts Kyoko, obviously, but he didn’t know whether it was okay to tell her. In the end, he decided that she was okay to know. He would carry the consequences later.

“… Actually—I’m a pan.” Kyoko blinked in surprise.

“You’re a cooking pan?”

“Wha—no! I mean—I’m pansexual.” Kyoko blinked again, flushing when understanding dawned her. “Oh.” She was glad that she currently had her face on his chest that he couldn’t see how red in shame she was.

“Yeah. But that’s mostly because I’m not really sure of my gender sometimes too… I might be a genderfluid, but I still haven’t properly settled on it yet… Which is why I said pan—because I’m more attracted to males.”

Kyoko jolted out of his arms and looked at him in the eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay to tell me all that?”

Tsuna smiled and shrugged. “Yeah, why not? It’s not exactly a secret actually. I just never told you guys.”

Kyoko was a little unhinged by how carefree Tsuna was with that. She had always been tormented by herself that she couldn’t understand how easily he accepted all that. “I…” Kyoko felt a little stupid and weird.

Tsuna reached out and patted her head. “Hey, I’m fine telling you because I know you will accept me regardless of how I am. I know the others will too. I just haven’t said anything because…” He trailed off before changing the subject. “I know it can be scary, to tell your loved ones who you truly are. After all, who knows how they will react. But Kyoko, we’re your friends—family—we will accept you for who you are, just as how you accepted us for who we are.”

Kyoko nodded as he continued. “You can take your time telling others. Do it whenever you are ready—but remember that we will love you still.”

She teared up a little and nodded again, smiling as she rubbed her eyes. “Yeah—thank you.” She sounded a little choked up, but relief was in her voice. “Thank you, Tsuna-kun.”

Tsuna hugged her again. “Anytime, sister. Anytime.”

If Gokudera and Yamamoto noticed how crumpled Tsuna’s shirt and how puffy Kyoko’s eyes were, they said nothing.

.

“Say, is the person who sexually awakened you Xanxus?”

Tsuna choked on his chips and coughed so hard that he almost dislodged Kyoko, who was lying on top of him reading his manga. They smirked as Tsuna turned red from the sentence (and the chips).

“I knew it.”

“S-cough-stop!”

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

A/N= 

I've nothing to say :3c Happy reading.

Also yes, I did not edit it so I died like Byakuran COUGH

[I apologize for any grammar, spelling, etc. etc. mistakes]

[blancheludis]

A/N: @iron-man-bingo, square: Only One Bed

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Words: 3.525 Tags: 2012 Avengers, Miscommunication, Only One Bed, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Summary: On a secret mission for Fury, Tony and Steve get stranded in a small town during a snowstorm. There is a motel with a free room - only that it has just one bed. While Tony already has fantasies about cuddling with Captain America, Steve takes offense to the idea of sharing a bed with Tony. 

---

The stairs up to the second floor of the motel are steep enough to offer Tony a nice view of Steve’s backside as they trudge slowly upwards. They are both exhausted, but Tony feels his spirits rising at the sight. No one could say he is not a man easily entertained. It helps that Steve’s trousers are wet at strategically good places to set off his assets even better.

The snowstorm has not exactly hit unexpectedly but became much stronger than anticipated very quickly. Even that would not have been a problem had they been travelling with one of Tony’s cars. They would not have given out in the middle of nowhere like the shitty rental car Fury ordered them to take.

With no phone reception and no tools, they had no other choice but to make the slow trek back to the last village they passed while the sun was rapidly going down. There is a motel, at least, run-down and nothing Tony would have ever set foot in under better circumstances. Now, he is glad they do not have to hope for some random person’s sense of charity or sleep outside.  

The next time Fury asks Tony to go on a reconnaissance and stealth mission, he is not just going to laugh into their not-quite-boss’ one-eyed-face, but run as fast as he can. This has been an utter disaster from the very beginning.

He is Tony Stark, he does not do stealth, even when he is not flying around in a red-and-gold metal suit. At the very most, he pays other people to be subtle, and he usually does not even bother with that. It is often a good intimidation tactic to let people know he is coming, both in business and his superhero hobby.

Yet, here he is, sent by Fury to scope out some facility in the middle of nowhere with Steve at his side, ordered unmistakeably to no attract attention. SHIELD suspects a HYDRA base out here and the bastards are slippery enough to run at the first sign of trouble.

Quietly, Tony thinks that if they are stupid enough to not recognize Captain America, even in flannel shirts, a winter parka, and a woollen hat, and Tony Stark, seriously, his face is everywhere, they do not deserve the title of the bad guys at all. Not that Tony is particularly interested in being found out. This was supposed to be a quick in-and-out-again mission.

Then the storm hit. And the car broke down. And now they have to sleep in a mouldy motel in a random village instead of the four-star hotel he reserved rooms for at their destination and had thoroughly checked by some of his employees for its suitability.

Now that he thinks about it, the sight of Steve’s ass makes up for a lot but not nearly enough to dissipate his increasingly bad mood.

When they reach the top of the stairs, Steve turns down the dim hallway, leaving a trail of muddied snow behind. That, Tony thinks, is the clearest indicator that Steve is tired too. Normally, he would have insisted on taking off the shoes at the door downstairs to not make more work for the cleaning staff. This night, he might have still smiled and thanked the clerk for letting them in this late, but has then turned around abruptly, key clutched in his hand.

Their room is at the very end of the hall, and Tony is careful not to audibly sigh when they reach it. They have been driving for hours on end and then walked for another one. He is ready to fall into bed and never think about snow again.

Only that, when he wants to follow Steve into the room, he runs into a solid wall of tense muscles and a certain vibranium shield hidden in a backpack.

“What the –” Tony mutters before he realizes that Steve has stopped walking, right inside the door.

More as an experiment, Tony pushes lightly. His shoulder is smarting from where he hit it against the shield – although he guesses he should be glad it was not his nose.

“This is not happening,” Steve says, clipped and one wrong word away from snapping.

The dire tone has Tony expecting the worst, giant cockroaches or fungi-covered walls. When he nudges Steve to the side to enter the small room himself, he finds a dump – dark and narrow and slightly musty smelling – but not nearly as bad a dump as he has been expecting.

Sure, the wallpaper is a garish brown and white mix with something like swirling flowers on it, and the upholstery of the lone armchair looks like they might get some nasty disease just from stepping too close to it. At the first glance, it is clean, though, and they will not spend much time here anyway. They have to get going again early in the morning.

He glimpses up at Steve, registers the way he clenches his jaw and glares as if the intensity of his stare alone can change the room in front of them.

“It’s not that bad,” Tony offers. Distantly, he wonders how he has just now ended up being the voice of common sense. He feels like he should be the one complaining. This room is smaller than his very first dorm, smaller than his walk-in closet at home.

Steve turns to look at him, his glare getting harder. “There’s only one bed.”

That is true, but it is a fairly large bed. Even considering Steve’s size, they will have no problems fitting in it once they get rid of the horrible frilly pillows. It might get a bit cramped, but Tony can live with that. Whoever would say no to cuddling with Captain America?

“So?” Tony asks, drawing out the word as he tries to make sense of Steve’s sudden snobbishness. Surely, Steve has shared his sleeping space before, at the very least during his time in the army.

“You’re a millionaire,” Steve replies shortly, poking a finger at Tony’s chest, “which you never let us forget, so fix this.”

Still not quite catching up with what Steve is trying to tell him, Tony absentmindedly corrects, “Billionaire.”

Steve huffs. “Even better.” Turning back to the room, he makes a complicated gesture. “Do something.”

Tony is not sure what he is supposed to do. They are stuck here for the night and this is the only motel for miles around. Even with his billions in the bank, Tony has not much money on him – and no idea what he is supposed to do with it. Pay some poor family to let them into their house? Two strangers, both of which have an attitude and attract problems? He does not think so.

“It’s just for one night,” Tony says and makes a show of going farther into the room. There is not exactly much place to get away from Steve, but he steps up to the desk and lets his bag slide from his shoulder. Thanks to the Iron Man suitcase he has taken with him for emergencies, it is rather heavy.

Steve’s glare does not lessen a bit. “And I’m not going to spend it with you in one bed.”

With a start, Tony realizes what Steve’s problem is. It is not the room, not the smallness of the bed, but the fact that he has to share the place with Tony. He almost laughs at himself when he feels the sharp stabbing pain in his chest. This is nothing new. In some way or other, Tony is always the problem.

All geniality drains out of Tony’s demeanour. He, too, is tired and wants this stupid mission to be over.

“You’re very welcome to go back out into the fucking snow storm and find somewhere else,” Tony snaps, searching Steve’s face for some regret for what he said. When he does not find any, his voice becomes sharper, poised to cut. “Perhaps you can build yourself an igloo and cuddle with some hobo for warmth. I’m sure that’ll be better than having to suffer my presence for a whole night.”

He whirls around abruptly, not wanting to look at Steve for a moment longer. With shaking fingers, which he blames on the lingering coldness, he rips his bag open, searching for something dry to wear.

“It’s not that –” Steve says in his back, but Tony has heard enough.

“Stop lying, Rogers,” Tony sneers, “it doesn’t become you.”

Silence falls but Tony does not take any satisfaction from it. He has not wanted to argue with Steve. Things have been so good between them lately. Getting some alone time with Steve was actually one of the reasons he agreed to Fury’s mad scheme at all. A couple days on the road without any battle or training plans they need to argue over sounded nice. Right up until now. He did not think their truce would be broken over such a stupid thing.

A quiet sigh of moving air is the only warning Tony has before Steve appears at his side.

“It’s just that we have to be fit tomorrow and that won’t happen if we keep each other awake,” Steve explains in that patient but not quite reasonable tone of his that usually succeeds very quickly in driving Tony up the wall.

“Keep each other awake how?” he barks, full of disbelief that Steve is actually trying to rationalize his reaction away. He turns towards Steve and steps closer until there is barely any space between them left. “Is the mere thought of sharing space with a man too much? Are you afraid I’m going to molest you in the middle of the night?”

“No, but –” Steve swallows and takes a step back, enough to cross his arms in front of him. That, truly, is answer enough.

“Or is it just that it’s me you don’t want to spend any time with?” Tony chuckles, entirely without humour. He barely catches himself from stepping towards Steve again, but his tone is getting harsher anyway. “I’m sorry that Fury thought it wise to send the two of us to scope out that base. I’m sorry that we got snowed in in a place where the only motel has only one room with only one bed. I’m sorry that –”

“I have nightmares.”

Steve looks embarrassed, which registers with Tony long before the actual words do. It stops Tony’s tirade from spiralling further, leaving them to stare at each other. Or Tony stares while Steve looks somewhere at the wallpaper, doing his best to pretend he has not just admitted some very vital information.

“You have what?” Tony asks for clarification, even though they are both aware that he has understood Steve the first time.

The grip of Steve’s arms around himself tightens. Still not looking at Tony, he explains, “I don’t sleep well because of them and I don’t want to keep you up with it. You already drove most of the way. You must be exhausted.”

That, suddenly, has all remaining anger drain right out of Tony. Nightmares, it echoes in his mind. In a twisted sort of way, that makes sense. Steve is not the type to complain about inconveniences but rather suffers everything fate throws at him stoically. If sharing the bed with Tony was the main problem, he would have declared some ground rules and went to sleep with that stiff façade of his, keeping his face turned away from Tony and likely not sleeping a single minute just so he would not accidentally invade Tony’s side of the bed. He would not have drawn attention to his displeasure with such vehemence.

Coming to a decision, Tony abandons his bag and goes to push Steve towards the bed. Steve is kind enough – or tired enough – to let himself be manhandled, and soon they sit next to each other on the too hard mattress. Tony breathes slowly, in and out, trying to make sense of the chaos inside his head. He is not exactly surprised that he does not know about this, but he feels like he should have, since they are both part of the same team, and friends too.

“Why are you having nightmares?” Tony asks, then shakes his head at himself. “Wait, stupid question. Have you talked to someone about that?”

That should have been SHIELD’s first action after defrosting their newly found supersoldier instead of that farce of pretending it is still the forties. Shellshock had been something to keep quiet about back then, but PTSD is now slowly recognized for its importance. Every soldier coming home from war should get the chance to get help if it is needed. Especially one who might not know to look for help on his own and who has the added trauma of being all alone in the world – a world he does not know because it is not the one he almost died for.

Predictably, Steve gets up again and stalks back to the door. It is still open, showing the dark hallway. He does not step out, but he might as well have, considering how distant his answer is. “It’s no big deal.”

Tony rolls his eyes and makes no effort to hide it. Sometimes, people need to know when they are being stupid. “It apparently is if you think I’m not going to get any sleep if we share a room.”

“A bed,” Steve corrects tartly. Whatever fire has been in him for this short moment disappears just as quickly again. He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m not exactly loud, I think. But I lash out if startled.”

Steve is talking to a man who instinctively calls out for a fully weaponized metal suit even when still half-asleep to defend himself from imagined enemies. Supersoldier or not, Steve cannot pack more of a punch than the Iron Man armour.

“That’s no real difference to when you’re awake,” Tony quips, feeling the stress of needing to handle this correctly get the better of him. “Right, no time for jokes,” he mutters, then adds, louder, “I mean, Steve, this is big. It’s no shame to get help these days.”

And Steve, a true child of the olden age and stubborn to boot, shakes his head. “I don’t need to bother anyone with this.”

Just barely, Tony holds in a frustrated groan. He is not the right person to talk to about this. He, after all, has refused to go to a therapist, no matter that both Pepper and Rhodey threatened him with all they got. It is good for other people, though. For people with problems that are not of their own making. Steve, contrary to Tony, is a victim.

“You wouldn’t be a bother. It would clearly be a good idea to go to a professional, but all of us would be willing to listen,” Tony says firmly. A bit quieter, he adds, “All of us know a bit about nightmares.”

Steve looks up at him in surprise, which in turn confuses Tony. Not a single one of them can boast to be a well-adjusted individual, and it shows.

Still, Steve asks, “You – you have them too?”

Unable to remain sitting, Tony gets to his feet. He wants to deflect like he always does when this topic comes up, but that would immediately negate all the effort of getting Steve to listen in the first place.

“Did you miss the fact that I’ve been held in a cave by terrorists for three months?” Tony asks, keeping his voice open but hopes that his tone discourages further questions. “And Loki’s invasion was rather nightmarish too.” He opens and closes his mouth several times, wondering what more he could say without giving too much away. A glance at Steve’s face tells him that he might not have to. “Put your bag down,” he then says softly, “take a shower.”

Where Steve’s expression has just been open, it closes off now quickly. “But I –”

“I heard you concerns,” Tony cuts him off. “Consider me warned. But we’re not getting another room tonight.”

Time drags as they look at each other, neither willing to back down. Tony is feverishly trying to think of other things to say, because the only other thing they could do is for him to take the suit and fly out of the storm, which would defy the very definition of an undercover mission. Even in the storm, someone is bound to notice Iron Man.

Finally, Steve’s shoulders sag. Before Tony can celebrate his victory, though, Steve says, “I’ll sleep on the ground then.”

“Like hell you will.” Tony throws his arms up in frustration. They always take at least one step back for every step they take forward. He is not going to let Steve sleep on the floor after the day they had, after any day. “You’re not going to rob me of my chance to tell my grandchildren that I once slept with Captain America. I hope you’re still considered cool then.”

Tony is convinced this will not work. There is no good reason it should. Steve is afraid of his nightmares, and Tony making tasteless jokes will not make any of that better. Steve stares at the ground between them before looking back up at Tony. Finally, with a last desperate glance at the bed, Steve nods. It is a hesitant thing, as easy to take back as it is given, but Steve is not one to break his word thoughtlessly.

“I’ll even take the side facing the door,” Tony says quickly, desperate to use this door of opportunity before it closes again. “So I can flee more quickly if I get scared.”

“Stop joking,” Steve chides but Tony is sure that his lips twitch the slightest bit, before he turns serious again. “At the first sign of a nightmare, you get out of the bed and wake me with some distance between us.”

The rather inappropriate picture of Tony poking Steve with the curtain pole while shielding himself with the bathroom door pops up in his head. With some effort, Tony keeps his lips from smiling.

“I don’t –” he protests out of habit, but does not come any farther.

“Your word, Tony,” Steve says firmly, brooking no further argument. “Or I will go and build that igloo instead.”

This time, Tony cannot help but laugh. He raises his hands in defeat. “All right, you win.” An idea strikes his mind and he gets his phone out of his picket. “I’ll have JARVIS monitor your sleep patterns, even if I don’t think you will be a danger to me. He’ll wake us up if there is something to worry about.”

He should have thought of that sooner. At home, JARVIS wakes him at the slightest sign of distress, which was the only way he even allowed himself to go to bed during the worst times, after Afghanistan or Obie ripping the arc reactor out of his chest or his little trip through Loki’s portal.

Steve looks hesitant, eyeing the phone in Tony’s hand with trepidation. It must still be strange to trust a piece of technology, not knowing how it works. In the end, he just shrugs, apparently trusting that Tony knows what he is doing.

A strange feeling wells up inside Tony’s stomach at that that he is not sure he wants to analyse. Instead, he does what he can do best and deflects with another joke.

“But, I warn you, don’t strangle me on purpose if I start cuddling you,” Tony says, not mentioning that this is a real possibility. “Pepper says I’m a cuddler.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

When Steve still looks uncertain despite having agreed already, Tony walks over to him, slowly but with intent. He thinks it is a good sign that Steve does not evade him. Reaching up, Tony pulls the strap of Steve’s bag over his shoulder and sets it down next to his own.

“Shower,” Tony orders gently and pushes Steve in the direction of the bathroom. “And then you can warm up the bed for us, I don’t know how you can still be so hot with all the snow outside.”

With a sigh, Steve searches his bag for his bedclothes and his toilet bag. Right before he vanishes into the bathroom, he says, “Don’t you dare take the side facing the window. If you’re asleep when I come back, I’ll push you out.”

Unable to help himself, Tony laughs. Most of that is due to relief at having averted what might have easily turned into a crisis. When he tells that story to his grandchildren, he will certainly edit out the parts where he had to convince Captain America with all his might that sharing the bed would not end in one Tony Stark-shaped corpse. A little subterfuge will make this far more interesting. Until then, though, he will do his best to enjoy their night together after all.

Maybe he will call ahead to their next hotel to make sure they only have rooms with one bed available too.

[amerope]

Strange Things Have Happened Here: The Door

I’m officially grounded, thanks to that stunt I pulled yesterday. Natalie instantly noticed how wet and muddy I was and didn’t hesitate to tell my father. When he grilled me about it, I admitted that I wandered around the grounds and tripped, but I kept the well part to myself. He’d never let me out of the house again if I told him. Now I’m stuck here for the day, watching the rain and  listening to my father talk to clients over the phone.

He groans. “Imbeciles.”

I sigh. “I thought the reason we moved here was to get away from the stress.”

“I still have a job to do, Adrien,” Father insists. “You know that.”

I do, but does he have to be in a bad mood all the time? He’s been like this ever since Mom disappeared, which was almost two years ago now. I’ve tried to help, but he won’t let me. This is the most we’ve had to say to each other since then.

“Don’t you still have unpacking to do?” Father inquires grumpily.

I sigh again, getting up from my seat. “I’ll take care of it now.”

Just as I make my way up the stairs, I hear a knock at the door. That’s weird. We just moved here, so no packages or anything like that should be coming our way yet. I shrug it off and head to the door. It could just be one of the neighbors. When I open the door though, no one is there. Seriously? Who would ding-dong-ditch someone in the middle of nowhere? But right before I close the door I notice a doll lying on the mat. Even though it’s a stuffed felt doll, it resembles me to a T down to the hoodie I wore yesterday. I pick it up. I have to admit, the craftsmanship is incredible; no noticeable seams, no uneven stitches, even the rounded button eyes were in perfect alignment. Honestly, it kinda creeps me out how accurate it is.

“Weird,” I comment, taking it into the house with me as I close the door.

I put the doll in my closet shelf so I don’t have to look at it (seriously, it feels like it’s staring at me), and get to unpacking. The furniture is already set up, so I don’t need to worry about that. I decide to tackle the clothing first since I know Father will want me to get back to photo shooting as soon as possible. All of them are on hangers so they won’t wrinkle, so I just hang them in the closet. 

Next up are my books from school and my homeschooled days. Honestly it was a miracle that I could get into school at all at our old place. Don’t get me wrong, I like Natalie, but having her as a teacher doesn’t work for either of us. Even if the subject is interesting, she tends to treat it like a checklist, something to just get over and done with.

Lastly are my more personal items, namely my action figures. The Power Players are pretty cool, but my favorites are Ladybug and Chat Noir. They’re an incredible team but completely oblivious about one another. Cartoons, right? But Mom loved that show to death which is the main reason I keep them. She said it reminded her of her and Father at that age. What I’d give to see that.

With that, my room is officially unpacked and it’s still an hour before lunchtime. May as well tackle a box or two in the sitting room. It’s not like anyone else is going to do it right now. Jumping down the flight of stairs, I head over to the room and open one of the smaller boxes. Father would kill me if he knew I went down the stairs like that, but I don’t really care at this point. He’s a downer about everything anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Anyway, the box I opened is full of snow globes my mom collected whenever she traveled. Venice, Rome, London, Paris; she went all over Europe. That used to be part of her job before she had me. I asked her why she stopped several times when I was little, and she always told me that I was her adventure and would always be for the rest of her life. I pause, holding a Cambridge globe. Why did she leave, or rather why didn’t come back? I shake my head. I can’t think about that right now, not here. I place the globe I was holding onto the fireplace mantle then start placing the rest one after the other. I take a step back to look at my handiwork. Not bad, but Natalie might rearrange them later. Just as I turn around to tackle the next box, something catches my eye; the doll I shoved into my closet is now on the floor beside a large box against the wall. 

“How did you get here?” I wonder aloud, picking the doll up. I’m positive I left it in that closet, this shouldn’t be possible. 

Before I can think about it too hard, I spot something behind the larger box. Behind a layer of the dull gray wallpaper is an outline of a door. Well, I say door but it’s about the size of one you’d find on a kitchen cabinet. Where there should be a doorknob is a skeletal keyhole. Strange. Why cover up something like this?

“Hey Natalie,” I call, an idea striking me, “where are the house keys?”

“Farthest drawer to the left,” she replies from the dining room.

“Thanks,” I say, heading to the kitchen. 

It isn’t hard to find, and despite how many keys are in there finding a skeletal key isn’t a problem at all. The grainy texture is a surprise though, as well as the design on the handle. It’s three quarters of an inch long with a horse’s profile on it. With it I cut around the outline of the door before inserting the key into its hole. I think it’s a dumb waiter or something like that, but instead it’s a literal brick wall. Probably got sealed when the house got divided. But unless it was a dog door at some point, why is the door this small, and why bother having a lock on it?

Ugh, dinner is torture. No, it’s not because the food is bad, but it’s because of the atmosphere here. Both my father and his assistant are with me, but are mostly just talking about work and don’t even bother to include me. I might as well not be here at all.

“I have scheduled a photo shoot for you tomorrow morning,” Father says, finally talking to me.

“Yes, Father.” I won’t even bother looking at him. We have this “talk” almost every single day, and it’s not like he’ll listen to me if I don’t want to do it.

“And I expect you to stay in the yard at least,” he continues. “We shouldn’t need to send a search party for you if we don’t have to.”

“Yes, Father,” I say again boredly.

None of us say anything after that as we ate. Actually, I’m not really eating anything. Why can’t Father give me the time of day, just once?

He gets up from his chair. “I must get back to work,” he says, grabbing his plate. “Do not disturb me.”

“Of course not, sir,” Natalie replies.

“Good,” Father says curtly as he leaves the room.

I sigh. It’s no good. Nothing is getting through to him, it’s always just work with me as the employee of the month. Five minutes pass, and now I can’t take it anymore. “I’m going to bed,” I tell Natalie, leaving the room. “Goodnight.”

“Adrien-” she calls, but I’ve already reached the top of the stairs.

Closing the door behind me, I quickly change into my pajama pants, not even bothering to take off my black shirt, and curl into my bed covers. The best I can hope for is that things will be better tomorrow.

[hnrywinchester]

French Press My Buttons

Pairing/Characters: Gabriel x Reader, Castiel

Warnings: Coffee Shop AU, Human!AU, one SHY boy, flirting, slow burn, bad coffee drink names/puns, from Gabe’s POV. It’s cliche and cheesy. You’re warned.

Words: 4.833

Beta’d by: @aquietuniverse

Castiel and Gabriel own a quaint coffee shop downtown. What’s Gabriel to do when one patron catches his eye? Nothing. The answer is nothing... until it’s something.

Wednesday 8:12 AM “Cas! Cas, Cas, Cas, can you work the counter? Please, just for like… ten minutes?” Gabriel fretted, dropping the metal frothing pitcher to the counter. “Uh… sure,” Castiel agreed, side eyeing his brother and longtime co-worker skeptically. It was 8:12 AM, on a Wednesday, which meant she was coming in anytime within the next five minutes. With her messy top knot, and one size too big jacket. She’d order the usual, plain coffee with cream and three sugars, go sit at the high top in the far corner, right in front of the window with a book and he’d hide behind the espresso machine until she left at 8:53 to catch the bus that would pull up right outside the doors. It was like clockwork, a perfectly calculated arrangement of avoidance and complete awkwardness. This had been going on for eight months now, every Tuesday through Saturday, between 8:13 and 8:17 AM. 

Bean There Done That

“Bean There, Done That?” she inquired, walking up to the counter with a smile, “Coffee with Hazelnut and Coconut? I don’t know about that, Cas…” Her hair was down today. She never wore it down. Gabriel whipped around, turning his back to the register as he composed himself. This was unexpected. She was right, maybe coconut and hazelnut weren’t a good mix, what was he thinking? It sounded like a good idea at the time. He really needed to start trying things before offering them up, but last night was Monday, which meant he had to mentally prepare for another week of… this. He busied himself making her drink, not even noticing she had yet to order it. Their small talk went unnoticed by him as he measured out her sugar, not one grain too many, his heart hammering in his chest. He was going to have to turn and look at her in a second, get it together! Nope, he couldn’t do it. Keeping his eyes averted, he turned and slid the porcelain mug across the counter to her, her chiming laugh seeping into his head like a symphony. “Oh! I didn’t even order yet…” she mused and he could feel her eyes on him. Mentally kicking himself, he stammered his response, “This is for… um… me? I just, I’m putting it here, for… for later.” “Oh! Well, looks like we drink something pretty similar then.” “Ha, I’ll… what can we get you?” He’d managed eight months going under the radar, why did this have to happen today? Damn Cas and his babbling, throwing a wrench in the very strict routine. Did he not know there was a time and rhythm with this? No, he didn’t actually, but still. He shouldn’t be deviating from the course. If he thought his heart was hammering before, it was nothing compared to now. In the effort of good customer service, his gaze lifted from the counter and met with her own. He’d never seen her this up close, he’d been more of a marvel from afar kind of guy, very afar, as afar as he could get. “Just my usual,” she sang, putting exact change on the counter and sliding it over to Cas, her eyes however staying locked on Gabriel. “Uh, a coffee, three sugars and cream,” Cas rattled off, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. Yeah, he knew. Hey Mocha-Rena! It’d been three days since the unfortunate making-of-the-drink-before-the-order-was-placed incident, and he still hadn’t fully recovered. In fact, he didn’t even partially recover. Thankfully, today was Saturday, which meant he’d have two days of freedom to really compose himself and be ready for the next onslaught. “Oh… well I’ll give you credit, that one is pretty witty,” she complimented, reading over the chalkboard with the daily special on it, “Usual please, Cas.” He was waiting for the day that Cas threw him under the bus and told her that he had no part in making these ridiculous drinks, it was all Gabriel. His routine was making himself into wallpaper as soon as she walked in, hers was teasing the daily special. All in a day’s work. She liked today's, though, first time she’d ever even seemingly appreciated it. He’d have to try even harder on Tuesday. At least he had a few days to prepare. Café Au La-La Medium Roast was her favorite. He’d deduced this by months of testing just which blend he made her drink with. She never specified, but he knew that this particular bean was the one. She always took one sip from the mug before turning to walk to her spot, and after calculating tests, trial and error, medium roast made her eyes linger closed for just a second longer than others. She hated dark roast, too bitter, her jaw had twitched when he’d used that one, so he scratched it off immediately. Light roast was okay, but not lingering eyes closed good. Then, there were the more flavored blends—he’d tried them all, but plain, old medium roast was the one. Beyond that, he’d experimented with cream temperature (ice cold, right from the fridge. He always made sure he didn’t leave it lingering on the counter from the 7-8 AM rush), made it drinkable right away, and as much as she claimed she wanted three sugars, she really wanted two and a half. He considered for a moment this was a little weird, creepy perhaps, but baristas were supposed to know their customers, right? Of course, he didn’t know anyone else this well. Sure, Joe got a double shot and Rebecca got any special involving hazelnut, but he couldn’t have rattled off their favorite blends. Okay… maybe it was a little weird… “Cold out there today, gentlemen! Make it extra hot for me,” she shivered, rubbing her hands together as the wind blew in behind her, “Café Au La-La… hmm.” Okay, so that one was a bust. Extra hot? The cream was chilled, how was he supposed to make it extra hot? He couldn’t put it in the microwave, it’d burn off some of the flavor. Open a new one! Nope, those were all in the fridge in the back. Well, he could stall a bit and just turn the temp on the urn, it would take maybe… ten minutes? “Ten minutes,” Gabriel mumbled to Castiel, praying to God he heard him. “What?” Cas questioned, face contorted in confusion. “It’s gonna be ten minutes!” Well that came out all wrong. All bad. The words were too fast, the tone too harsh. He didn’t even want to look at her, and he wouldn’t. Nope. This coffee urn needed his complete, undivided attention, possibly forever. Kiss Me Under the Mistle-Joe Christmas time brought a whole new rush. All the shoppers stopping into the café really put a dent in routine. A routine Gabriel was very much set in, for at least five days a week. Why did people shop at 8:30 AM? It made no sense. This was coming from the person who had… one person to buy for. His brother, who was standing five feet away, talking to her, who was here right on time. Except now, she had to wait in a long line, which kept her in his vicinity for longer than he could handle. Was she staring at him? He swore he could feel eyes in the back of his head, but that could be anyone. “Gabriel! Hey!” Paula announced as she strode in. Bad timing. Really, really bad timing, “Always nice to see you. Happy Holidays!” “Hey,” he greeted curtly, flicking his eyes over quickly, “yeah, merry merry.” “Kiss Me Under the Mistle-Joe huh? That’s a good one!” Oh no. She was gonna know it was him. His cover was blown. Maybe she was too caught up in her conversation with Cas and didn’t hear it. No way. He had to brave it, he had to turn and look. Slowly, stirring the frothing pitcher for… Hannah’s cappuccino, he spun on his heels, peeking at her expression through his brow. Her eyes were focused on her phone, okay… potentially crisis averted. “You okay? You seem a little down,” Paula continued, no fault of hers, he was typically lively and upbeat, “busy?” “Yeah,” he replied, spinning back to normal Y/N-in-the-building position, “Holiday rush.” “Aw, well if you need help, my offer still stands.” Go away, Paula. It was not the time. ‘Coffee, three sugars and cream.’ He’d kept a small pitcher in the fridge, knowing in the busier weeks he’d forget to put the bottle back to keep it that perfect temperature. Medium roast was going, two and half scoops of sugar. Yes. Perfect. With the shop as busy as it was, however, there was a small snag. He had to call her name out. Typically he’d force the task on Cas, but he was busy. Of course. A gaggle of teenagers had come in and oh the charming, handsome coffee shop man mentality had hit them, making them babble and giggle. It was tiresome. He cleared his throat, hoping he’d have enough volume to be heard over the bustle, “uh… Y/N…” he stammered. No way she heard it. God, he was gonna have to do it again. Pausing, his gaze ticked over to where she stood, but she wasn’t there. “Thanks,” he heard her chime, his eyes darting up in shock. Her eyebrows lifted in a particularly charming way as she smiled at him, her lips a perfect shade of bright red as she smiled against the white of the mug. Lipstick today. That was new. His heart caught in his throat; she was perfect. Cocoa Chanel Christmas was over, everything was back to normal. She was currently nestled into her corner of the café, her fingers splayed across a very worn copy of ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’. He hadn’t taken her for a Hunter S. Thompson girl, but clearly that book had some mileage on it. He couldn’t help but stare. He’d mustered the courage to turn around and look at her, so he might as well get his bravery’s worth. She had a tattoo on her forearm, he could see it peeking out from the lace detailing on her top. It was something intricately lined,  and he wanted to trace every one with his fingertips… It was like she could feel his eyes. Her head lifted from the tattered pages and turned towards him, no doubt finding him gawking from a distance. His body went rigid for a moment before dropping to the floor, like a bomb was about to go off in a foxhole, hands covering his head and all as his chest pressed into the hardwood. “What… are you doing?” Castiel asked, not willing to entertain his brother’s nonsense. “I… dropped a spoon,” Gabriel lied, reaching his hand up onto the counter to grab one in a poor attempt to save face. Castiel, of course, saw it, and rolled his eyes, “Just… talk to her. She’s nice.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You’re hopeless.” May the Froth Be With You New year, new outlook. This was his time, he could feel it. It was freshly January, resolution in place. Talk to her. Now, he made sure to not put too high of an expectation on himself. Even if talking was simply a hello that didn’t make him want to run to the restroom and vomit, he’d check the box. “You guys should’ve saved that one for May 4th! Wasted opportunity,” she joked, slapping a hand down on the counter, “Cas, my man, as much as I told myself this year was for venturing out of my comfort zone, I won’t be starting today.” “So the usual then?” Cas chuckled, taking her exact change from her. “The usual. But, you know what, give me a croissant too. Not quite an adventure, but something new.” Gabriel’s stomach dropped. Change, he didn’t like it. Plus, what if it wasn’t up to her standards? He hadn’t put the right amount of care into making them this morning, they wouldn’t be up to par. He’d been up late, concocting yet another failed attempt at gaining a positive comment about his coffee names. There was no way around this, she could see them in the glass case to the left. He watched as Cas put the buttery, little roll in the warmer, his brain scrambling over just how to react when she complained how utterly awful it was. She’d taken her seat up before her food was ready and like some kind of evil clockwork, someone walked in and began ordering coffee for their entire platoon right as the toaster dinged. Which left Gabriel to deliver his terrible baked concoction to her. Awesome. Was garnishing it with a few fresh strawberries too far? It was probably too far. In the same thought, she’d never ordered one before, so would she even know it was an extra embellishment? Probably, she was here for half an hour every day and half the patrons ordered a damn croissant. The girl seemed like someone who would notice only hers had strawberries on the plate. Then he’d have to answer to it… not worth it. Letting out a shaky breath, he grabbed the plate, a small cup of butter placed on the side, and took off for the corner. Her attention was very much still on her book, she’d since moved on to ‘Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban’… a stark difference to her previous novel. He hoped he’d be able to slide it in beside her, bid a brief and fond farewell and then slink back off to his corner until that bus drove away at 8:56, but the universe had other plans. As his footsteps grew closer, her gaze lifted, falling to him, her mouth ticking up into a little smile. Why’d she have to smile so softly? It was a thing of dreams. He’d know, he’d dreamed about it. It sparkled up into her eyes, no one looked at him like this ever… it was all in his head, it had to be. This was a friendly smile that nice people gave to other people who were doing them a service. She was polite, she was kind… she was now covered in butter and crumbs as his feet tripped up, sending him stumbling and the plate he was carrying straight into her lap. “Oh god!” he gasped, eyes growing wide in fear, “I’m so sorry, oh my god…” His cheeks were burning, he felt a sweat breaking out in his underarms as his stomach knotted so tight he thought for sure he’d never be able to eat again. Why would he want to? This was mortifying, he was going to go hole up in a closet and never come out. “It’s fine,” she laughed, “it’s what I get for straying.” “I’ll… I’m gonna make you another one. And refund this one. And… your coffee, and, you can have coffee all week, on me…” “It’s fine, really! See?” With a few brushes of her hands, she looked as good as new, minus the oil stain from the glob butter. She’d even put the pastry and cup right back onto the plate, as if she’d still be eating this one. “It fell in my lap, I’m not above eating things that fall on me. I wash my clothes fairly regularly.” There was that smile again, and the lower lip bite. So much for new year, new outlook. This was going to be the worst. French Press My Buttons “What? No!” Gabriel cried into the phone, “What do you mean stuck?! It’s Tuesday!” “Yes… and there’s two feet of snow covering the roads.” Castiel had called at 4 AM that morning, stuck. He’d taken two days (conveniently a Sunday and Monday. Maybe not so convenient, maybe forced) and was now snowed in. He wouldn’t be able to drive home until at least that afternoon. It was Tuesday. Tuesday, and now Gabriel was going to be at that counter, alone. “It’s Tuesday,” Gabriel pointed out again, his voice exasperated as he did nothing to even attempt to hide his anxiety. “Yes. I am aware. I’ll be home tonight and ready to work tomorrow, which is Wednesday.” Groaning, Gabriel hung up his phone, running his hand through his hair. Ten months, it’d been ten months and he’d avoided this. First, croissant in the lap, now this. He was going to end up in the hospital by February. It was 8:16 AM, and she was almost late. The bell on the door jingled, alerting him to her arrival. He didn’t need to look up, he knew who it was. His head hung down to his chest, what was the fastest way to get his over with? Run, maybe? Go start over in a new city, he didn’t have any ties here, it’d be fine… Maybe Monte Carlo, they always needed new… talent.

“Oh! No Cas today, huh?” she bubbled, and he could hear her smile. His mouth was dry, his chest was constricting and pounding all at the same time, “Good… good morning. What can I do for you- get for you today?” “Is this why you don’t work the counter?” She was giggling, he loved that laugh, he’d listen to it forever if he could. His eyes snapped shut in embarrassment, this was going to just as well as he’d planned, which was dismal. At least he hadn’t mentioned how perfectly her eyes glowed in the Edison lighting they had above the counter, he’d never experienced it before… “I’m just… better with the foam…” he improvised, he could hear his voice shaking, no chance she didn’t as well. “Uh huh. French Press My Buttons? Who comes up with these?” she teased, clicking her tongue. Another fail. “I uh… I do.” Why’d he admit that? He could have blamed… no one. He was literally the only one here, and it was common knowledge he and Cas owned this joint with no other help or corporations. He supposed he could have still blamed his brother, why didn’t he? Her eyes widened in regret, her bottom lip dragging between her teeth, but this one wasn’t like the other times. This one looked… nervous? “Oh,” she whispered, eyes falling away. “It’s okay, I know they’re lame…” he agreed, he didn’t like that look on her face. “No no, it’s cute…” An awkward silence settled between them. Great. So far this year he’d spilled butter and a croissant in her lap, and now upset her with his terrible attempt at puns and they were only two weeks in. He didn’t know what else to say. Consoling people was never his forte, and consoling someone that his brain couldn’t even function around was just an impossible task. “Tell you what, I’ll take your special,” she settled, looking back up with a little of her sparkle back. “You never get the-“ he began, cutting himself off. Now didn’t seem the time to divulge he was well aware of her ordering habits, and that he’d tweaked them to make her perfect cup of coffee. He’d already done enough damage. Silently, he rang her out, thanking his lucky stars she’d picked French Press day to order the special. He could still use the appropriate tweaks to make this one just as good as her usual. Of course, today with the change in order, her typical perfect change had turned to a twenty. Without peeling his eyes from the cash drawer, he handed her back sixteen dollars and seventy five cents. He was positive, he counted it three times. No way she didn’t think he was an idiot now. Stumbling over words, counting money multiple times, next time he looked at her he was half expecting her face to be covered in pity. French pressed, cream, two and half sugars. Half the battle was over, now it was just hand it over and wait until 8:56. He was so close. Cas would be back tomorrow and he’d return to his wallflower status. Forget that resolution, it was never going to happen. He was cursed to forever be stuck here, the awkward barista at the convenient coffee shop. He’d scare her away in another couple of months, no doubt. “Thanks, Gabriel,” she cooed, his name falling from her lips like poetry, her fingers gently grazing over his as she pulled the mug from his outstretched hand. His breath caught in his throat, audibly. It sounded like he was having an asthma attack, his throat closing in on itself as the mini shockwaves from her soft fingertips receded. “You okay?” she inquired, her voice hinted with concern. Not really, not at all, no. Damn you, Cas, and your stupid weekend trip. “Oh yeah,” he boasted, the confidence in his voice shocking him, his lips pursed out in forced bravery. When her lips parted along the clear, glass mug, he felt his body tense. Was she going to hate it? Probably. Her eyebrows lifted, and he couldn’t decipher if it was a good lift or a bad one. The corners of her mouth lifted as well and she tipped the mug back again. “This is good,” she complimented, “might have to try whatever you come up with tomorrow.” Tomorrow? Oh no, what he had planned for tomorrow wasn’t going to cut it. Not anymore. Suit and Chai Affair “You’re back!” she exclaimed as she spotted Cas back behind the counter. No doubt she was happy. No more terrible, awkward Gabriel to have to talk to just to get a coffee. “Relieving poor Gabriel of counter duty,” she continued, again making his insides flip-flop and cheek burns red as she spoke his name, “What’d you come up with for me today?” Was she talking to him? Cas stayed silent, a small smile tugging at his lips. He’d never tell his brother there certainly had not been two feet of snow on the roads yesterday, but that he was well aware of what— or should he say who— Tuesdays brought along. Gabriel turned, his guilt from yesterday still very prevalent. He couldn’t possibly keep her waiting on a response as he mustered the courage to speak; he just had to do it. “Uh… Suit and Chai Affair,” he began, “chai spices, in our… medium roast…” “Mhmm, I’ll take one,” she smirked, eyes squinting as her fingers fidgeted on the counter. Thankfully, he’d prepared for this. The spices were freshly set aside, coffee hot, and milk cold. Meticulously, he prepared it, probably taking too long, but better safe than sorry. She’d been ordering the same boring coffee for almost a year, so if she was venturing out he would be sure she enjoyed the journey. When he passed it over, he tried to suppress the hope that her fingers would brush against him again, but they didn’t. So now the challenge was keeping his face from falling in disappointment. “Did you trim your beard?” she asked, grinning, all teeth and sparkle. “I um… yes?” he choked. He truly didn’t think she was going to notice, he’d neatened it up in some weird, poor attempt to look better for her. “Looks good. I mean, it didn’t look bad before either.” “Your hair looks nice today.” The words fell from his mouth like rocks down a mountain, awkward and too fast to stop. Mentally, he slapped himself, what an idiotic thing to say. Even though it was true. He expected her face to twist into disgust, but instead, a skeptical snicker. That was better than a slap in the face… “Thank you. I haven’t washed it in three days and honestly I don’t even think I brushed it this morning, so I don’t know what you’re seeing, but I’ll take it.” There was no way he’d survive looking up at her now, so he kept his eyes on the counter. If he looked directly at that goofy little grin he could see through his lashes, he might combust, and when her bottom lip dragged through her teeth, it took all of his willpower to stay on his feet. There was no way he’d pulled that reaction from her. Not a chance. Green Tea and Ham It was Sunday. While he normally enjoyed his day of freedom from crippling infatuation, today he was missing the butterflies more than normal. All the Sunday regulars were in house, most stopping by after church, and while Gabriel tried to keep his lighthearted nature intact, it was difficult. “Bobby, you sly dog! Didn’t you just come from church?” he jested, watching as one of his favorite customers poured a little whiskey from a flask into his mug. “You know me, Gabe! The Lord wouldn’ta made whiskey if he didn’t want me to drink it on his day!” the old man yelled back, his boisterous laugh filling the small space. “Wow… never seen you so happy,” a familiar voice rang out from behind him and he froze, “didn’t think you had it in ya.” It was Sunday. She never came in on Sundays. The butterflies directed themselves right into hurricane formation and began swirling in his stomach. She was right. She’d never seen him this happy because he always seemed like he hated his life whenever she was around. “Have I… done something to you?” she questioned and his heart dropped, the sadness in her voice was apparent, even if she was trying to mask it, “Because if I have, I promise it was completely inadvertent…” “No!” he exclaimed, turning to face her, “no… you’ve never done anything.” How could she think that? That was preposterous. It was his own fault, and now she was blaming herself. This mess was only growing. “Okay, sorry then,” she sighed, turning back to the doors to leave. It was now or never. If she walked out that door he was certain she’d never come back, and that would be on him. He didn’t know where he found it, but courage surged through him for the first time in his life. “Wait!” he yelled after her, “Wait! Y/N!” His feet stumbled as he ran around the counter, hoping to catch her before she made it out the door. When she heard him calling for her she stopped, keeping her hand on the knob. Why was she here? She looked completely different, her hair curled and down, her clothes nicer than the usual ones she wore. This must be weekend her. “Look, I’m sorry,” he spluttered, “you just… you make me really nervous.” Well that was easier than he’d expected it to be. Granted it was only the beginning, but, at least it was a start. He rocked from heel to toe, waiting for her response. “Nervous?” she chortled, her laugh breathing through her nose, “Why’s that?” “You’re gorgeous.” If he’d ever once wished to have the ability to grab words and shove them back down his throat, it was nothing compared to what he was feeling right now. His eyes widened in horror as she turned to face him. “I’m sorry… that’s not appropriate,” he apologized, shaking his head. “No… it’s … it’s fine,” she stumbled, her own eyes nervously darting around the room “I mean, between you and me, you’re kinda nice to look at too.” His breath came out in a shaking whoosh. Was this real life? This couldn’t be real, he was still asleep. That was the only way any of this made sense. It was why she was even here on a Sunday. “You don’t have to… flatter me,” he chided. No way she thought he was in any way, shape or form attractive. “Why do you think I keep coming here? I mean, your coffee is great, but, it’s a little out of my way…” she trailed off. “But you catch the bus…” “Yeah… it’s three stops away from the closest one to me… that’s why I never get off here.” Now that she’d mentioned it, he never did see her get off the bus here, and damn if he didn’t try. He’d always just thought he missed her, or that she didn’t make it back before they closed. It was his turn to smile, turning his head up to look at her. Her lips were pursed in a nervous little pout. He’d never seen anything so endearing, her hands were in her jacket pockets, and she was rocking from heel to toe, just as he had been moments before. “Is it… cliché for me to ask you to have coffee sometime?” she proposed, looking at him hopefully. “I like cliché,” he shrugged. “Okay… well, I’m… I’m free tomorrow. If that’s not too eager.” “As long as you’re okay with… nervous rambling…” “Thanks for the warning. 8:14? I’ll take my usual, medium roast with cold cream and two and a half sugars.” He smiled. So she did know. “I’ll have it ready.”

A/N I do have a part two thought out, let me know if you liked this one and I’ll write it up soon! Beta requested a board of all the coffee names, so here it is XD.

[kylagabrielle22]

“Excruciating Reminiscence”

      On the morning of 27th of June, 2015; it was very gloomy and dull to start the day. I stepped outside to our backyard and viewed an aurora firmament that was the tincture of holocaust near the horizon. The ground was cracked underneath my feet and the breeze was humid; it had not rained in a month already. Dust stuck to my ultra-boost Adidas shoes as I made my way to our neighborhood to begin my usual morning jog.

      Everyone knew me as an ambitious woman, calling me names such as “Bridget Jones in-your-face” but I knew myself better that I was a sophisticated lady even if I was that aggressive when it comes to my aspirations. I was kind of lean, with dark, long, frizzy, and wavy auburn hair and my skin was tanned since I was young. I had squint lines at the corners of my hazel brown eyes gained by a memoir spent beneath the sun; at twenty-two, now and then I wonder whether I could decide and have the life in the metropolitan or in the bush I had chosen.

      The daytime was already becoming tepid and the sun was reflecting much light luminously. So, I twirled up the sleeves of my button-up, dry fit Adidas shirt. I wore my usual bluish and faded jogging pants which had grown cottony and cozy over the years. Actually, all of my outfits were just bought at the boutique near our house which was selling a lot of cheap, good, quality second-hand items. I glimpsed at my white G-shock watch and it was a little bit after 8 in the morning. I realized I had a long plenty of time ahead and I still need to do some tasks.

      I pulled the gate open then closed the gate again. When I got home, my family was not there already because my parents were at their work and my siblings had their own family now. Since I am the youngest, I still need to go to school and I better prepare myself already. I took my shower, brushed my teeth, put my well-ironed school uniform on, wore my black shoes with white socks and of course I did not forget to put my go-to make-up routine on my lovely face.

      I arrived at our school early always and I never had the chance to be late. I always got highest scores during examinations, written quizzes, oral recitations and even performance tasks. I always represented my section and my academy during competitions with confidence thus I never lose. My teachers always praised me and I was a favorite to most of the folks whom I knew but I cannot deny the fact that there were some people whose insecure about me and easily get jealous on my achievements in life.  

      “Six more months Bridget Jones in-your-face slash sophisticated Bridget lady, you are going to the metropolitan at last and achieve all your dreams there’, I said to myself as I was finally done writing my valedictory speech in my pocket-sized room. I got bored right after writing my speech; I got my android phone and listened to some songs on my hacked Spotify account with my favorite playlist on. I imagined things while listening to the songs; I formed a mental picture of my life in the metropolitan and how my life could be if I was already there. I knew for sure that I could live there peacefully and fabulously. I closed my eyes, felt the rhythm of the melody of the songs until I slept.  

      On the afternoon of 21st of September, 2017; the most awaited moment in my entire life happened. I was now travelling to my metropolitan dream. The first hundred country mile was on rutted gravel rocks pocked with potholes, first on the reserve, then winding past a number of subnormal villages. That partition would take up to the early afternoon, I was not fond of travelling but I allowed my mind to wander as I took in the world I called my dearest metropolitan. Until, I saw tall buildings and a lot of luxurious cars, I knew that I was already at the border of the metropolitan.

      Indeed, dreams do come true and sometime I was here at the metropolitan area. A big thanks to my former academy and to my Byzantine bloodline I was able to have a big opportunity to apply to some big companies here and I got the job immediately. My life here started well; I had a very nice house with silk-lined wallpaper and polished parquet flooring. The kitchen was about twice the size to our old kitchen, and the refrigerator, when I opened it, was always pretty full. I could say I got a pretty good salary.

      Time had become fragmented, headstrong, arriving and departing in chaotic array of hours. I got tired of my hectic schedule in this metropolitan life I had here. I got tired on my work and I did not have much appetite to begin my day. What was worse was that I did not have much time with myself. So, I gave my life a break. I explored the city life and went each night to clubs and bars. I even tried smoking weed and drinking whatsoever drinks they called.

      On the evening of 30th of December, 2018; I was dressed in faded blue Levis jeans, velvet red Channel sandals, and a yellow sleeveless Burberry blouse that dipped to a low V in front. With smooth, tanned skin and auburn hair framing high cheekbones, I drew my gape with irresistible force. My round eyes widened with some effusive enthusiasm when I eventually came to a breathless stop in front of a guy. He was wearing an all-black outfit and he was smiling above the cosmos with the full moon and dazzling stellar.  

      I have not felt this kind of feeling inside of me way back then. This emotion was unfamiliar to me and I do not know how to react. I was caught off by him and this might be cliche to think but I truly fell in love at first sight of him. Since I do not know what to that moment I turned my back on him and closed my eyes for about a minute. When suddenly, someone patted my shoulder. So I turned and faced the person, surprisingly it was the guy.

      He asked me if I was all alone tonight and if it was fine to me if I let him be my friend. I directly said, “Yes, of course. I’m Bridget Jones and you are?”. He replied, “Andrew Sterling my lady.” while shacking my hand. We went to a night club; we talked about our chaotic lives, we danced on the dance floor like we knew ourselves for so long already and we drank a bucket of alcoholic drinks.

      I was getting tipsy and when I am tipsy I cannot control myself already. I danced and drank one more bucket of beer while he was just watching me and was beaming all along perfectly. I was so exhausted and did not realized that it was already 31st of December which means it was New Year’s Eve. I slept with him in a motel close to the night club and all I could remember was that he said “I love you Bridget Jones.” and kissed me passionately.

      I woke up hearing the swishing sound of the wind and the noise of the cars passing. It seemed, oddly, and I slowly opened my eyes. I lay enthralling it, letting it crystallized, letting my cerebrum play catch-up, as I recognized each for what it was. I looked for my phone to see what time is it but I could not find it. I tried checking it on my bag but I also could not find my bag. “Fudge, darn it!’, I screamed loudly. All of my cards were there; my credit card, ATM card and even my debit card. I got nothing left with me but only my body.

      Then, I remembered what happened last night, I remembered the guy named “Andrew Sterling”, whom I fell in love at first sight with. I realized that I was just being tricked all that night. He just used his charm on me to take my bag; my cards and my phone. I was being swindled by a guy whom I fell in love with for the very first time. No one is completely predictable hence, we all have blindsiding bursts.

      It felt like a long time ago. Although, I could still recognize the lady I was then, I see nothing more than a congruity to the lady I am now. Life before with my mom and dad seems even complete than life without them and living all alone. I forgot my very own and had not paid attention to my parents’ life in the hinterland. I was too ambitious and I focused too much on my aspirations which resulted in a worst situation. I forgot that I was once the sophisticated lady even if they knew me as” Bridget Jones in-your-face.”.

      On the dawn of 1st of January, 2019; I was in the middle of nowhere, it was raining so hard and all I can hear was the tormenting sound of the thunder and the never-ending noise of the raindrops. My heart still wanted my metropolitan dream to be possible but the universe was not governed by wants or even needs. Some things do not work, no matter how much you want them to. I let my choices led me to the wrong path in life. The scary part, I thought to myself, was not the pain but the lasting existence. From now on, I must reckon on things that felt like they came from somewhere deeper than mere reminiscence.  

[eric-bogosian]

you should see me in a crown.

 Can you remember something that doesn’t exist?

Alec Wayland sometimes has flashbacks - of people he doesn't know, and places he's never seen. Living in small town New Jersey with his brother, Jace, and their father, Michael, the only thing Alec has to look forward to is graduation in three weeks.

Until a DNA test changes it all.

Because it proves that Alec isn't Alec Wayland. He's Alexander Gideon Lightwood, the lost prince of Idris. And if he doesn't learn how to properly rule a country soon, he could lose his title and the throne - for good.

read on ao3.

♕ chapter one ♕

The world around him is fuzzy, but familiar. That happens sometimes.

This dream.

It always comes to him when he’s least expecting it. Sometimes when he’s awake, too, he’ll see it. A passing car, the touch of the wind, a whisper; anything can trigger it. Almost like a memory.

But it can’t be. He’s never been here.

Can you remember something that doesn’t exist?

It always starts the same: he’s in a room, he knows that much. It’s wide, like it could stretch on forever. Sunlight streams down from high windows, but not enough of it. Like it’s rising. Or setting.

And he’s not alone. There is someone else, a child. They call out to him. They laugh. Their voice is high, and their face is fuzzy. Everything is fuzzy.

And then Alec shrinks to their size. And the more he shrinks, the further away the child is. And the fuzzier they are. And the darker it gets.

And then he hears a voice; it belongs to a person that wasn’t there before. And the child stops playing. And Alec knows, in a moment, they will be gone for good.

The voice calls his name, and it sounds wrong. And dream Alec isn’t scared. But real Alec is. He’s frightened.

And then the voice speaks again. “I love you, my son.”

But it’s a lie. And that’s how Alec knows it’s not real.

And then he wakes up.

There’s only a moment’s worth of silence between Alec opening his eyes, and his alarm clock going off. He groans at the same time his brother, Jace, does, sticking out his hand to find the snooze button and knocking things off their shared nightstand in the process.

“Turn it off,” Jace whines from the next bed, turning over onto his stomach and burrowing further under the covers.

“’m trying,” Alec slurs before his fingers find the right switch, pressing it and settling the room into silence once again.

The numbers on the alarm read 6:00, and with barely open eyes, Alec wills them not to move again so he can go back to sleep. It’s still dark out; sunrise won’t be for almost another hour, and the room is chilly, though by noon, Alec knows he’ll be sweating. With only two more weeks until June, the weather in New Jersey was finally starting to cool off.

With a fleeting thought, Alec wonders if he’ll be able to go to the beach this year.

They move around a lot, Alec, Jace, and their dad. They never stay in one place for too long. Never long enough to settle down, never long enough to make friends. Never long enough to see the ocean.

Sometimes, when they’re moving again and their car is crossing a bridge, any bridge, Alec stares at the water and pictures himself swimming away. He’d go somewhere he could see the beach every day. Somewhere he could feel the water between his toes and taste the salt on his skin.

This year will be different, he thinks. Because this year, he’ll be free.

Alec hears the door to his father’s bedroom open across the hall, and he glances at the clock again. 6:07.

The pounding on their bedroom door makes Alec jump, though Jace just whines again.

“Alec, Jace, are you up?” their father calls, though Alec doesn’t respond. He thinks about when the day will come where he won’t have to. He’ll be somewhere warm, and sunny, where he won’t ever have to take orders from anyone ever again.

“Answer me, please,” their father says, and though his voice is quieter, his tone isn’t.

“We’re up,” Alec calls back, and Jace throws his covers off with a huff, his hair sticking up everywhere as he sits up, annoyed.

“Meet me downstairs for breakfast. I’m making waffles!” their father calls, and the stairs creak as he makes their way down them.

They’ve lived in houses as big as small mansions, and apartments so tiny it could barely fit the three of them in there altogether. This house is decent, compared to the rest. It’s old, and every move you make, it makes one back. There’s no way to sneak around, not without someone knowing.

They all share a bathroom, and Jace and Alec share a bedroom. The kitchen seats the three of them easily, and the living room has old floral couches and chairs from the thrift store, with a TV that only gets local channels. The dining room is their father’s office, and he’s the only one allowed in there.

Alec can hear the running water of the kitchen sink, the pipes rattling as it flows, and Jace walks by his bed with a lopsided grin.

“Up and at ‘em,” he says with a mimicking voice, slapping Alec on the leg as he heads for the bathroom.

Alec waits until Jace has closed the door before he gets up, stretching and walking over to the opposite wall. There’s a calendar hanging there above the dresser, and though it’s hard to see in the dark, Alec can just barely make out the red X’s marking off the days. He grabs his marker, pulling off the cap and marking off one more.

Twenty-two days until graduation. Twenty-two days until Alec can leave, for good.

He gets dressed in the dark. He still hasn’t told Jace he plans to leave; he doesn’t know how to. He wonders if Jace will go with him. He wants Jace to go with him, wherever he goes. Just not their father.

Jace flips on the light when he comes back in, making Alec wince. He shields his eyes and makes his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth quickly and combing his hair. Jace waits for him on the landing, and they head down the steps together.

There’s no family portraits of them hanging on the walls on their way down; there’s no photos of any of them at all. Just peeling wallpaper and a wobbly banister. The news is playing on the TV, the sound tinny, and Alec hears the weather as he passes. Foggy now, cloudy skies later for a breezy day. Their father stands in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room to listen, a spatula in his hand and the waffle maker humming on the counter behind him.

He cooks like this every day, with the news on. Alec can never tell if he’s listening for bad news, or good.

“Good morning, boys,” their father greets cheerfully as Jace plops down at the table, running his fingers through his hair.

“Milk, or orange juice?” Alec asks as he opens the fridge, grabbing three glasses from the cabinet overhead.

Their father hums thoughtfully. “Orange juice,” he says, and Alec pours him and Jace each a glass, grabbing some milk for himself.

Alec sets the table around Jace, who tries to put his head down and sleep on it. Other than their silverware and a couple of things that managed not to get broken over the years, most of their cups and dishes are plastic. Glass would break during all their moves, and besides, plastic was cheaper and easier to replace. Most of their things came from discount and dollar stores, not that Alec or Jace ever minded.

Their reasons for moving around always varies, and their father manages to never use the same excuse twice. The taxes are too high, the people are too rude, the schools aren’t good, the economy is bad, there’s not enough work. And more recently, bluntly: because their father said so.

Whenever Alec is told they’re moving again, he never asks why anymore. He stopped asking a long time ago.

“Sit up straight, please, Jace,” their father asks as he serves breakfast. There’s a small dish of butter and half a bottle of syrup to use. Alec finds a small handful of strawberries in the fridge and cuts them up, spreading them over his waffles.

They all eat in silence, the news continuing on in the background. Their father never asks them to hurry out loud, but the rule is always there. He can’t be late for work, and besides, they can’t be late for school, definitely not Alec. Especially not Alec.

Alec’s always been the smartest, though their father might disagree that it’s actually he who is, out of the three of them. Alec always keeps his grades up and his head down, like his father taught him. Well, the head down part he taught, at least. It’s always hard to be new, it’s even worse to be new and a distraction, his father would say.

And now, Alec is valedictorian. His father wasn’t exactly pleased with the news; it goes against his whole “head down” mantra. At least, that’s what Alec thinks. He also thinks there might be more to it, though he’d never say that at loud.

He doesn’t know what they’re running from, or who. His father would never admit that they were; he’d just use another one of his excuses.

After breakfast, Alec washes the dishes like he always does. There’s no dishwasher, and they all used to take turns cleaning up. Then his father didn’t want to anymore, and Jace would always swear it wasn’t his turn to do it, so Alec does it.

Their backpacks sit on the floor by the front door. They do their homework downstairs every night, and their father watches them, if he isn’t locked away in his study. He thinks it’s “good” to have structure.

Their cellphones always stay downstairs, too. Their father doesn’t believe in them, or computers, or social media. He says they’re distractions, and shouldn’t be in the bedroom, for anyone.

So every morning, Alec and Jace gather their backpacks, and their phones, and head out the door.

“I’ll pick you up from school, two-fifteen on the dot,” their father says as he locks the door behind them. He only locks two locks, though on the inside, there’s much more.

The bus could pick them up for school, they’re far enough out, but their father always says no. He always drives them, and he always picks them up.

Doveport is a small town in New Jersey. Most of the houses are old with good amounts of land, though there’s some modern developments scattered back farther by the school. Downtown consists mostly of mom-and-pop shops, a few chain grocery stores, and some small restaurants. Any big superstores, or anything fun, is out of town. They never do that kind of stuff, unless their father is with them.

The sun is finally starting to come up, and Alec stops to take a deep breath as their father unlocks the car. It’s a beat-up minivan, and they’ve all had to sleep in it more times than Alec can count. Weeds are popping up all over the lawn, and the grass needs cut. The sun reflects off the windows of the house behind them. It’s gray, with matching shingles falling off the roof, and moss growing up the side. The porch has cracks running through the cement, and every day, Alec thinks how unwelcoming it looks, that it’s no wonder no one comes to visit them.

“Alec, come on,” Jace says, climbing into the backseat of the car, and Alec turns to follow him. A dog yapping makes him look up as he’s about to close the door.

It’s Mrs. Creary, their neighbor. There’s a good amount of yard between her house and theirs, plenty of privacy. She’s old and lives alone, with no husband or kids, though she has a boyfriend that always comes to visit, and her Yorkie that she walks every morning, named King. She walks him to the end of her property line, then turns back and heads the other way. But she always makes mention to say hello. She lifts her hand in a wave now.

“Good morning, Alec!” she calls. “Good morning, Jace! Good morning, Michael!”

[kurokoros]

Black Eye Syndrome | Part 1 (eventual sweet pea x oc)

Title: Black Eye Syndrome

Rated: M | Warnings: violence, domestic abuse, language, alluded/mentioned rape (one of chapter)

Words: 5,588

Pairing: (eventual) Sweet Pea X OC (Rosie O’Malley); (initial) OC X OC

Summary: “And for a moment Rosie wonders when love began to sound like a sudden gush of vitriol and her favorite lamp shattering against the wall behind her head, when it started tasting like bourbon and blood in her mouth from where she bit her cheek. She wonders when loving Matt became a one-sided screaming match and bruises around her wrists, dark marks dotting her thighs from where fingers squeezed to wound, backhanded comments breathed against her collarbones. She wonders when love started to hurt.

More than that, she wonders when she started thinking that was okay.”

AN: I’m still nervous about posting this, because the topic. This story is about domestic violence. I’m open to feedback with this one because any advice for writing this is helpful. All warnings will be tagged at the beginning of the chapter, but please know what you’re getting into with this. It will get graphic at times. 

Leave me an ask/reply if you want to be in the tag list I’m making specifically for this fic.

Special thanks to @starryeyedauthor​, @sweetfogarty​, and @rosiethequeerlesbian​ for their encouragement! I really appreciate it and probably wouldn’t have finished this without your positivity!

It was her fault.

He just wanted to spend the day with her on her one day off this week, wanted to take her out on a proper date because they haven’t been on one in weeks. He wanted to surprise her, but all she wanted was to go to the Wyrm and see Toni and Fangs and Sweet Pea because it’s felt like months since she last saw any of them. And maybe it has been. She hasn’t been keeping track of time lately. Matt only wanted to spend some time with her and all she’d done was piss him off. And that was her fault.

He’s always had a temper, but that was nothing she ever worried about. Growing up on the Southside meant most people had a temper and knew how to use it, channeling their anger into their fists. She’s been best friends with Sweet Pea for as long as she can remember, and his anger is practically infamous around Riverdale, so no, a temper was never anything she worried about, though maybe it should have been.

Matt’s temper has always been different from Sweet Pea’s, or anyone else she knows from the Southside. Instead of righteous fists and a short fuse, Matt was a switch just waiting to be flipped. His temper came and went without warning, sometimes without provocation, and it would be the smallest things that set him off: she didn’t kiss him goodbye, she missed his phone call, her makeup was too dark around the eyes, her skirt too short.

She’s always had a knack for pushing all of the wrong buttons.

So really, it was her fault.

Rosie isn’t sure exactly how the fight started. Not the first one anyway. She’d made a comment about redecorating the old house, the one that used to belong to her grandmother. The wallpaper started peeling and the entire place wasn’t as homey as it used to be, feeling more tired than anything. Something in the house started feeling off and Rosie needed to fix it.

He didn’t like the color scheme she was thinking of using, and she refused to pull up the carpet, and it was normal banter, barbed, but harmless.

And then Matt made a grating comment about the lamp in the living room, asking if she was finally going to get rid of it, and it bothered her more than she’d care to admit, because he knew how much she loved that lamp. And really, she should have just let it go, but after a full week of work, she was tired and stressed, and something sarcastic had slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

The fight was over before it really started: a handful of snippy remarks and a bruising kiss that left her stomach in knots. That was it. It was nothing serious. Nothing they would remember by the end of the day, and that was fine.

The second fight was worse.

He was just trying to be sweet and she’d picked a fight over it. Rosie didn’t mean to act like a date night wasn’t important to her, hadn’t meant to make it seem like she was choosing her friends at the Wyrm over him, but she did.

She hadn’t meant to snap at him either, but after a long week, all she wanted was to find Toni and complain about long hours and shitty customers and horrible bosses. Matt never cared about those kinds of problems. He never wanted to listen to her whine about them. And that was okay. He didn’t have to, but she still needed to let the words spill out to someone.

Matt took it the wrong way when she told him that, asking if she thought he didn’t care about her. She tried to backtrack but it only made things worse.

He was trying to do something nice and she ruined it, just like she always does.

The shouting started before she knew what was happening, Matt hurling words at her, blaming her for the fight, accusing her of something she can hardly remember, and then the lamp was shattering into pieces beside her head, glass splintering into pieces and piling on the floor, nicking at her skin. She doesn’t remember trying to walk away, but she must have, a firm hand wrapping around her wrist and squeezing until it hurt. And maybe she told him to let go or maybe she didn’t, but when he leaned in to kiss, she’d turned away.

That way the wrong thing to do.

He let go just as quickly, storming out of the house without another word, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving her standing in the middle of the room unsure of what happened, the lamp broken on the floor and the sound of glass shattering ringing in her ears, her hands trembling at her sides, heart practically crawling in her mouth.

And Rosie cleaned up the glass.

That was hours ago, or maybe not. She hasn’t checked the time and the blinds have been drawn shut since Matt stormed out, Rosie unable to bring herself to stand from where she’s curled into the couch.

Matt only wanted to go on a date like they used to. It was the one night they both had off and they were in desperate need of a night out. And she’d picked two fights in exchange and made him storm out the door.

Obviously it was her fault.

So why is she the one curled up on the couch, sick to her stomach and shivering, alone and feeling like her bones are crumbling into dust inside her?

The click of the front door being unlocked makes Rosie’s head snap up, her pupils blown wide. She hugs her knees tight to her chest, tucking them beneath the sweater she must have stolen from Sweet Pea at one point, the loose fabric several sizes too large for her frame, practically swallowing her whole. Despite the fabric she’s drowning in, a desperate ache to make herself even smaller settles deep in Rosie’s bones, a sick feeling twisting at her insides. Her chest goes cold and for a tense moment she forgets how to breathe.

Rosie’s heart lodges in her throat as the door is edged open, old hinges creaking loudly, the soft squeal of the front door making her skin crawl. Matt keeps telling her to fix the hinge, keep the door from making so much noise, but she can’t bring herself to do it. The door hasn’t been fixed since she was a child and it was just her and her grandmother living in this house, one of the few on the Southside. The house is warm and cozy and creaks and squeaks and that’s not something that she wants to change.

It has nothing to do with Matt and the few seconds of warning it gives her when he comes home at three in the morning, piss drunk and looking for an argument.

“Rosie, you home?”

But it’s not Matt that comes through the door. It isn’t blond hair and blue eyes the same color as his letterman jacket. It isn’t stark white sneakers and a thin-lipped smile that cuts through her like a knife. It isn’t unblemished hands that grip too tight and pull too hard. No, it’s dark hair and eyes, a leather jacket with an angry snake twisted across the back, motorcycle boots and a crooked but all too familiar smile, calloused fingertips that have never been anything but gentle with her.

She doesn’t realize she was shaking until she stops, the reaction instantaneous. “What are you doing here, Sweets?” she murmurs from the couch, pulling at a loose thread in her sweater, the soft gray fabric making her red hair shine just a little bit brighter. The smile that pulls at her lips is small, a little sad but more genuine than it’s been in days.

Rosie practically lights up when she sees Sweet Pea standing in the doorway, even if it isn’t nearly as bright as it used to be.

He grins back at her, rolling his shoulders as he shuts the door behind him, that awful squeal splitting through the room. “A little bird told me it was your day off,” he jokes, eyes crinkling at the edges in good humor. “Said you might swing by the Wyrm.” He leaves the sentence hanging in the air, unfinished, but the implication glaringly obvious.

But she didn’t come by. And he hasn’t seen her in weeks. And he’s been worried about her. There’s no accusation in his eyes or his voice, but it still makes her curl tighter in on herself, Rosie’s stomach twisting into knots as Sweet Pea sends her a look so filled with open concern that she might suffocate under it, because Sweet Pea never looks at anyone like that.

Rosie practically shrinks under his gaze and something in his eyes flickers, but it’s there and gone before she can tell what it was. Before she can say anything, Sweet Pea continues, leaning sideways against the wall, expression soft but unreadable. “We’ve missed you down there. Some of the younger boys keep asking where you’ve been.” Again, there’s something unspoken in his words, his voice low and rough.

He hasn’t been able to give them an answer, which is something that hasn’t happened in years. They’ve always known where to find each other, ever since they were kids, but in the last few months things have shifted, just enough for things to seem off, wrong.

Rosie isn’t a Serpent. She never has been, probably never will, but she might as well be. They know her name and her face down at the Wyrm. They know she has a lilting voice like some kind of siren and a mean right hook for someone five foot nothing and how she’s the only one that can stop Sweet Pea when he goes looking for a fight. The Serpents know she’s as much Sweet Pea’s as he is hers, that she wears one of his rings on a chain around her neck and that he has a rose tattooed on the inside of his left arm where no one can see it.

The two of them are practically attached at the hip. It’s been that way since they were seven years old and Sweet Pea pulled at her curls, awestruck by her wild copper hair, and she retaliated by punching him square in the jaw. He lost a baby tooth and her knuckles bruised and it was in that moment that Sweet Pea knew he would do absolutely anything for her, to keep her safe.

She’s always been wildfire. Bright and raging and all-consuming, burning through people in the best ways.

And six months ago that fire was put out, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

That’s when things started to change. It was so gradual that she didn’t even recognize it was happening at first. It started slow, a few missed movie nights with Toni and the girls because Matt wanted to stay in, abandoning her late night talks with Fangs because Matt didn’t like it when they were alone together, not visiting the Wyrm as much because Matt didn’t like the crowd and didn’t want her going alone, not seeing Sweet Pea nearly as much because Matt said he didn’t like the way he looked at her. Matt’s grip turning bruising whenever Sweet Pea was mentioned, his smile thin and his eyes angry.

Rosie catches her lower lip between her teeth, biting down hard but being careful not to break the skin, aware of Sweet Pea watching her. She can practically feel his gaze washing over her, but where it would usually feel comforting all she can feel is an itch under her skin, her stomach in knots. “I didn’t feel like going out today,” she tells him, because it’s as close to the truth as she’s willing to give. After her fight with Matt she really didn’t want to leave the house. It would only make him more upset later. “Besides,” she continues, sending him what she hopes is an easy smile, “I’ve been busy. And so have you, from what I’ve heard.”

FP has been giving him more jobs lately, slowly passing the mantle to the younger generation. It kills her a little that she hasn’t been there for him, to patch up his bloody knuckles and tell him how damn proud of him she is, because the Serpents are going to do great things because of him.

Sweet Pea snorts, but his smile is fond as he finally pushes away from the wall, a familiar teasing glint in his eyes. “Your boyfriend steals all your time,” he tells her, kicking off his boots as he steps further into the house.

It’s meant to be a joke, the same kind of friendly ribbing they’ve always had, but it cuts deeper that it’s meant to. Rosie doesn’t mean to flinch but she does. And Sweet Pea catches the motion. He goes tense, straightening to his full height, on edge because she is.

Brushing her hair over her shoulder, Rosie stares down at her bare toes, avoiding his eyes. Her sweater slips lower on her shoulder with the motion, the newly bared skin going cold. “Yeah, well, that shouldn’t be a problem today,” she replies, somewhat strained, still not looking at him.

The air in the room grows cold, both of them silent for several heartbeats to long. Sweet Pea shifts from one leg to the other, his eyes narrowing just a tick. “You two get in a fight?” There’s something off about the way he says it, an edge to the question that she doesn’t want to think about.

Because it wasn’t that bad. Not really. And it was her fault anyway.

“Something like that,” she concedes, knowing she can’t tell him a blatant lie. “But it doesn’t matter.” She finally looks at him again, a small smile pulling at her lips. Sweet Pea’s stance doesn’t slacken, his gaze still sharper than a knife, and she unfurls herself from the sweater she’s drowning in, toes curling into the couch cushion. “It’ll blow over. Nothing major. You know how it is.”

He doesn’t. And she hopes he never does.

It takes a moment, but he softens, deflating just as quickly as he went still, the tension slipping from his shoulders. Sweet Pea takes a step towards her and Rosie looks down at her hands, her fingers curling around the sleeves of her sweater.

“Your lamp is gone,” Sweet Pea says suddenly, causing Rosie to jolt from her spot on the couch. Her gaze immediately flicks to the empty spot on the other end of the couch, the side table bare where the lamp was this morning. It’s almost as if it was never there at all.

There’s an edge to Sweet Pea’s voice that’s thicker and rougher than before and it makes her stomach twist sickly. The way he says it makes it seem like a bigger deal than it really is. And maybe it is a big deal.

She fought tooth and nail for that lamp. It was an ugly little thing, oddly-shaped and lumpy in all the wrong places, a putrid yellow color with a bulb that never gave off enough light for the lamp to be put to any use. It probably wasn’t worth half of what the thrift store was selling it for, but god did she love it. It looked exactly like the one her grandmother used to keep in her house. Maybe it was the same one, she doesn’t know. After seeing that thing in the window of the shop for months, she finally brought it home one winter night when she was sixteen.

It was an eyesore and her friends all teased her about it, but they were careful when it came to that lamp, as if it were a baby bird, because they knew how much it meant to her.

The side table where it sat looks bare without it, a thin layer of dust coating the surface around the lamp where she hasn’t cleaned it for a week. It looks wrong somehow without her lamp, out of place, and the way Sweet Pea stares at the naked space where it used to be unsettles her to her very core.

“Matt didn’t like it,” Rosie says breezily, shrugging, and Sweet Pea’s gaze snaps to her face, his eyes narrowing in a look she’s entirely familiar with, but she chooses to ignore it, curling in on herself and playing with the worn sleeves of her baggy sweater. He looks at her like he can see right through her, as if he can see the dip in the wall behind her where that lamp shattered inches from her head, as if he can see the shallow cut on her shoulder from where a shard nicked her skin or the way Matt grabbed her when she tried to walk away. And maybe Sweet Pea can.

Her breath catches in her throat, her hands beginning to tremble. She refuses to look him in the eyes, fiddling with a loose thread on her sweater. He’s always had a way of just knowing what’s going on in her head, even when she wished he couldn’t. There’s a certain vulnerability that comes with the way he looks at her, like he’s peeling back her skin and seeing all the little things that make her tick, and she can’t have that right now.

And it’s not a lie, not really. Matt really didn’t like the lamp. He never has. Hell, he practically hated it. He always said it was a bad color, that it was too bulky in the room and that it wasn’t worth keeping around. It was only a coincidence that it was the closest thing within reach at the time. Or maybe it wasn’t. She can never be quite sure. There have been so many accidents that she doesn’t know when exactly they started being on purpose.

“Besides,” she continues quickly, noticing the dark flicker in Sweet Pea’s eyes, “it was time for a change.” Her smile feels too bright, too forced, unnatural in the way it pulls at her lips, and she hopes he doesn’t notice it. “I’ve been thinking about redecorating,” Rosie tells him, “and it was hard to do with that lamp it here.” Her smile dampens into something a little sad, a little bitter. “It really was an ugly thing.”

He’s quiet for a long, tense moment, and then, “you love that lamp.”

“Yeah.” And that’s the end of it. She’s clammed up and Sweet Pea knows her well enough to know that’s all he’ll get out of her even if he doesn’t like it.

He hesitates, still halfway across the room, and Rosie thinks he might press the subject, but then Sweet Pea sighs, seeming to deflate entirely, the tension draining from him like water. His footsteps are loud against the floor, and as he gets closer she’s overtaken by the smell of gasoline and wood smoke and the cologne he always wears that she can’t remember the name of, but has branded in her memory regardless.

“All right, Sweetness,” he murmurs, voice low and softer than usual, “move over.”

Rosie’s head snaps up, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “What?” She barely gets the word out before he drops onto the couch next to her, nearly on top of her. Rosie shrieks softly in surprise, barely moving her feet out of the way in time to not be squished by him. “Sweet Pea!” He only grins in response and it startles a laugh out of her, Rosie’s shoulders shaking with the force of it.

He reaches out to ruffle her hair, making the curly strands an even bigger mess, and she swats him away playfully, leaning into the familiar contact and making him smile wider. Sweet Pea’s hand leaves her head, instead falling to her bare leg, his hand on her calf. “You still have your trashy musical stash?” he asks, giving her a gentle squeeze.

“They aren’t trashy,” she scoffs, nudging his thigh with her toes in a halfhearted kick that only makes him laugh.

Sweet Pea ignores her comment, giving her leg a pinch that’s more surprising than painful. Rosie jerks her leg away, shooting him a playfully sour look, the two of them falling back into a natural rhythm together, one that a few months of distance can’t break them from. “Go grab it,” he tells her, knocking his leg against hers and jerking his chin towards the stairs.

Her head cocks to the side, eyes narrowing in slight confusion. “Why? You don’t like musicals.” He never has, though he’s begrudgingly suffered through movie musical nights, outnumbered by Rosie, Toni, and Fangs.

The look he sends her is almost surprised. “You do,” he replies, as if it’s that simple. One of his shoulders tilts up in a half-shrug, his eyes locked with hers.

The easy answer cracks something inside of her.

The next few hours drift by, slow and warm and more at ease than she’s been in days. The two of them slip into a comfortable silence, a musical neither of them are really paying any attention to playing on the old TV. Sweet Pea has his gaze on the screen, the flickering lights casting shadows across his face, his eyes so much darker in the low light. He isn’t watching the movie though, and they both know it, but he pretends to be sucked into the characters on screen anyway.

And Rosalie pretends she isn’t glancing at the clock every few minutes, worried that Matt might come home and catch her wrapped up with Sweet Pea on the couch. It’s not that they’re doing anything inappropriate. They’re barely touching aside from her legs tossed across his lap and the fingers he has curled around her ankle, anchoring the two of them together with a loose grip, but Matt would pick a fight over it anyway. He’s always hated how close she is with Sweet Pea, how well he knows her and how easily the two of them fit together, slotting against each other like it’s right. And maybe they are too close, but he’s always been home to her. She couldn’t cut him from her life if she wanted to, not without losing herself in the process.

Sweet Pea’s thumb traces slow circles against her ankle as they watch the movie, and slowly, hesitantly, she relaxes against him, letting out a breath she’s been holding since Matt threw the lamp. She presses tighter against Sweet Pea’s side, just enough to curl her fingers around the sleeve of his jacket, the leather familiar beneath her fingertips. Maybe he doesn’t notice, or maybe he just pretends not to, but he doesn’t react to her movement, letting her do what she needs to.

He’s always known when she’s needed words and when she doesn’t, and right now Rosie is content to just sit here with him, to not be alone.

She doesn’t notice when her sleeve rides up, her wrist dark where Matt grabbed her earlier. Sweet Pea does.

He goes still against her side, inhaling sharply through his nose. The sudden sound draws her attention, and she glances at him, only to find his gaze drawn lower, his eyes wide with a confusing mix of emotion. “Rosie, what the hell happened to your arm?”

She doesn’t flinch. Barely breathes. Tries not to let her hands tremble. “It was an accident.” It tastes like a lie on her tongue, and her throat grows tight, but she swallows it back, not wanting to worry him. “I must have bumped into something.”

He doesn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing further. “And you didn’t notice?” He snorts softly, shaking his head, and lifts her wrist closer to his face, his hand gentle as he cradles her wrist in his much larger palm. “You don’t bruise that easy,” Sweet Pea mumbles, more to himself than her, and for a horrifying moment she thinks he might recognize the faint lines around her wrist as being from fingers, but he only smooths his thumb across the bruises that decorate her skin like an ugly bracelet, attached so neatly to her skin that she can’t rip them out.

“Maybe I need more iron in my diet,” she jokes, shrugging. Gently, she tugs her wrist free from Sweet Pea’s loose grip, letting her hand drop back into her lap.

His brows furrow, his thumb still tracing circles against her ankle. “I keep telling you that kale isn’t a meal.”

Rosie huffs a laugh. “Sorry I don’t eat three burgers in one sitting like you do.” She nudges his ribs with her knee, poking at his soft spot and making him jerk away from her. She’s watched him put away more food at once than she would ever know what to do with, and she’s never sure if she should be impressed or disgusted by it.

Sweet Pea snorts, fingers squeezing around her ankle just enough so that she can feel it. “Oh please,” he scoffs back at her, rolling his eyes in amusement. “I’ve seen you put away enough fries to put Jughead to shame.” He bumps his shoulder against hers, eyes bright with amusement. “You only started eating like a lady when you started dating The Northsider.”

She prods at his side again, squirming against his lap and making him release his grip on her ankle. “I’ve always been a lady, Sweet Pea,” she argues, clicking her tongue at him and shaking her head, unable to hide the smile growing on her face.

“You keep telling yourself that, Sweetness,” he says, patting her leg to placate her, “but I’ve seen you make grown men cry before.”

“If they cried they deserved it.”

Rosie can feel his laughter echo through her bones.

She wakes up to a heavy hand shaking her shoulder roughly, the smell of whiskey thick in the air, and Matt’s voice low in her ear. “Rose,” he slurs, shaking her again. “Rosalie. Wake up, Baby.” The hand on her arm is incessant, grip too tight as she’s dragged out of sleep.

“Matt?” she murmurs back to him, shifting on the couch until she’s facing him. “What time is it?” Dimly, Rosie is aware of Sweet Pea leaving at some point after the sun had gone down, the sky black and the house quiet as he shut off the television. The entire room was dark, a thin sliver of moonlight creeping in through the blinds, just enough for her to catch the outline of Sweet Pea’s body as he slide out from underneath her, laying her legs down gently against the couch. She was only half awake, exhausted by the days events, and a part of her wanted to ask him to stay with her, not wanting to be alone in the house, but her thoughts were slow, her tongue heavy in her mouth.

Sweet Pea mumbled something she didn’t catch, brushing the hair from her face with a gentle hand, his fingers lingering against her cheek for a heartbeat too long. Something warm and heavy was draped over her frame, covering her like a blanket. Then he was gone, slipping out of the house without waking her.

She can’t help but be relieved that he left before Matt came home.

“Hey, Baby,” Matt repeats, tugging her around to face him. “I’m sorry it’s so late, but I didn’t want to leave this until morning,” he tells her. There are roses on the table, a dozen of them, and she never has liked roses much. Matt continues before she can say anything, forcing her to sit up as he speaks. Something slips from her lap onto the couch, but she doesn’t pay it any attention. “I shouldn’t have broken the lamp. I shouldn’t have thrown it at you, but god, Rosie, you just make me so damn angry sometimes,” he tells her, and something about the words makes her sick, but she’s caught in his blue gaze and it paralyzes her. “I never mean to hurt you, Baby,” he continues, practically cooing. His hands come up to cup her face.

She sends him the best smile she can manage, nodding her head. “I know,” she whispers, allowing him to pull her to her feet, her mind still foggy with sleep, everything slow.

He continues, but she’s only half listening, already knowing what he’s saying. That’s he’s sorry. That it won’t happen again. That it was her fault. That if she would just stop making him mad, they wouldn’t have to fight. “I just… what the fuck is that.” The break from the routine makes her jump, Matt more angry than she’s ever heard him before. He sucks in an angry break, his hand on her chin gripping tight enough to leave a mark. She thinks she asks what’s wrong, but she can’t be sure if her mouth forms the words with the way he’s squeezing her jaw. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he sneers, “what the fuck is this, Rosalie?”

She’s confused until he forces her head around so quickly she hears a crack in her neck, the leather jacket resting on the couch the only thing that could be out of place.

Rosie lets out a breath, not understanding the severity of it when she’s only just beginning to wake up. “Matt, it’s just a jacket,” she mumbles back to him. She stiffens as soon as she says it, snapping awake as she realizes what’s wrong, realizes that Sweet Pea left his jacket behind, either on purpose or not.

The angry green snake patch glares back at the two of them, and Rosie wishes it would leap off the fabric and swallow her whole.

Matt jerks her back around to look at him, blue eyes a hurricane as he glares down at her, a storm swirling in his eyes that promises nothing good. “You screwing a serpent now, Rosie?” he sneers in her face, breath thick with alcohol. He’s drunk.

“No,” she gasps back. “No! God, Matt, it’s Sweet Pea’s!” She realizes it’s the wrong thing to say just a moment later.

Matt goes still, so still she’s not even sure if he’s breathing anymore. His grip on her goes slack and she stumbles backwards away from him, nearly tripping on the edge of the couch as she backs up against the wall. Matt only stares down at the leather jacket on the couch, expression blank. “Sweet Pea was here.” It isn’t a question and they both know it.

Rosie wets her lips, arms curling tight around herself. She bunches her sweater in her hands, trying to keep her fingers from shaking. “He stopped by earlier,” she whispers, unable to look Matt in the eye. Maybe it’s because he’s drunk or maybe it’s because he isn’t yelling anymore, but there’s something unnerving about him, like a single word would set him off.

Something that isn’t quite a laugh spills from his lips. “What,” he mumbles, “so we get in one fight and you…” he doesn’t finish the thought, but the implication is there.

“We’re friends, Matt,” she spits back, straightening and forcing herself to look at him, all wildfire. Something about Sweet Pea being here earlier makes her feel braver than she should. “He’s allowed to come to my house.”

Matt’s eyes snap to hers, his gaze just as intense as hers. He straightens to his full height, barely six feet tall, but still towering over her. He doesn’t say a word, barely blinks, and then suddenly she’s shoved back against the wall and his mouth is on hers in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, lips practically bruising against hers. He lifts her straight off the ground, forcing her legs to lock around his hips, and his hands are everywhere: her thighs, her hips, around her throat and squeezing. And maybe she tries to push him away once, but when he doesn’t budge she relents, and then her hands are being held above her head and she’s too lost in the sensations to think that something isn’t right.

The sex that follows is bruising, less make-up and more make-a-point. His hands are careless and bruising, containing none of the soft wandering as usual, and he practically hisses in her ear: possessive things, humiliating things, snarls of “do you think Sweet Pea could make you moan like this?”. And in the morning he’ll chalk it up to rough sex, like always. And he’ll give her a look that would make her feel stupid and small for even mentioning it, because she always had liked it rough, hadn’t she? And she’ll never be able to find the words to address the satisfaction that would flash in his eyes whenever she’d wince in pain, like he wants to hurt her.

And for a moment Rosie wonders when love began to sound like a sudden gush of vitriol and her favorite lamp shattering against the wall behind her head, when it started tasting like bourbon and blood in her mouth from where she bit her cheek. She wonders when loving Matt became a one-sided screaming match and bruises around her wrists, dark marks dotting her thighs from where fingers squeezed to wound, backhanded comments breathed against her collarbones. She wonders when love started to hurt.

More than that, she wonders when she started thinking that was okay.

[barpurplewrites]

St Ives - Chapter 6

STORY SO FAR (HERE)

-x-x-x-

Belle had crawled after Minty without thinking of the sight she would be presenting to Mr Gold. It was habit to follow after her cat on all fours. Gaston had frequently said that her bum was to big, never stopped him slapping or groping it. Mr Gold struck her as having such good manners he wouldn’t even ogle her. She crawled further around the closet door and smiled at the sight of Minty settling the little grey kitten into the cat bed. Mr Gold had got all out, Belle had been eyeing that particular model for months, but the brand was very expensive.

“Oh fuck it!”

She jumped at the sudden shout, that was not the sort of language she’d expected from Mr Gold. As quickly as she could she crawled back into the closet to find Mr Gold pulling at his trouser leg and his tea cup on the floor. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to work out what had happened.

“We need to get you out of those trousers now!”

Mr Gold made the oddest choking noise. Belle winced at her clumsy wording, what a thing to say to a man she’d just met, while she was kneeling on his closet floor. She stood up taking the broken cup with her; “I’ll wait out here while you change.”

“Thank you.”

She backed out and felt Minty brush by her ankle. If Minty was intent on moving the kittens right now then Belle couldn’t close the closet door completely, she pushed it to, leaving a cat size gap and moved to sit by the cat bed. With her back to the wall she didn’t have a view of the closet, just in case Minty decided to push the door all the way open. Smokey was fussing about being left along.

“Oh hush, Mama will be right back.”

On cue Minty slipped out of the closet with one of the calico kittens. Belle tried to focus on their little mews, but she could still hear the soft rustle of fabric and the heavier breathing as Mr Gold changed his trousers. This is not how she had expected her day to turn out when she woke up this morning. She stroked Minty’s back as she padded by to get the last kitten, at least something had gone right today. There was so much she needed to do; organize a truck and collect her stuff from the apartment; call Mrs Legume an let her know the wedding was off, and probably get fired at the same time; find storage for her stuff; look for a new job, and apartment.

Belle groaned to herself. She’d need to break that list down into smaller tasks or she was going to curl up on the floor in a sobbing ball and never move. Maybe Mr Gold would buy her a cat bed as well. The ridiculousness of her thoughts at least brought a smile to her face as Minty settled the last kitten next to its siblings. Belle thought she’d snuggle in with the kittens, but she went back into the closet again.

“What are you after Minty?”

A soft chuckle came from the closet and Mr Gold appeared holding one of his sweaters. Minty was winding around his ankles meowing.

“She wants this.”

He’d changed his trousers for a pair that looked identical to Belle’s eye, but he’d not replaced his shoes. She couldn’t help but smile at the bright polka dots on his socks. She schooled her face into a mock-frown and wagged a finger at Minty.

“You’re being spoiled rotten and you’re still making demands.”

He limped over to the cat bed, slowly because Minty was still weaving around his feet. Belle caught herself tensing, waiting for him to nudge her out of the way with his foot. The nudge never came, he just avoided her as if he’d been dodging around cats forever. He dropped the sweater on the edge of the cat bed.

“I’ll let you arrange it Mama Minty.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned his cane against the wall. Belle noticed a small scuff on the wallpaper, as if the cane had leaned in that spot many, many times. She dragged her eyes away from the cane and her musings on how long he had used it.

“No damage done?”

Her nod towards his leg explained what she was asking about; “No burns, I’m fine.”

“That’s good. You faired better than your cup. It’s a little chipped.”

Rather than risk him leaning forward and maybe falling from his perch on the bed Belle rose up on her knees to close the distance between them. Their fingers brushed as she handed him the cup and a tiny spark of static leapt between them. Belle shifted back to lean against the wall again.

“Sorry, side effect of crawling around on the floor.”

Mr Gold waved her apology away; “Tis no matter. And if I can find the chip, this can be repaired.”

His whiskey eyes almost looked gold as he smiled at her. For the first time she noticed how tired he looked. She wondered what could be troubling his sleep. He appeared to be more than comfortable financially, but even money couldn’t but peace of mind, and restful nights.

“Are you going to be alright with Minty and the kittens sleeping in here?”

He smiled at the cats; “Oh I expect so. Would you mind having a look at the items I purchased for them? You know Mama, sorry Minty’s preferences. I’d hate to upset her by offering her the wrong type of food.”

Minty’s ears perked up at the mention of food. Belle stroked her head to let her know it wasn’t meal time just yet.

“Honestly, she’d not all that fussy, so if she tries to act like a prima donna let me know and I’ll have words with her.”

They sat in an easy silence for a while until Mr Gold sighed and grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed.

“I’m missing out on cat fuss up here. Do you mind if I join you?”

She gave him a nod. He carefully eased himself onto the floor so he could lean back against the bed. The pillow went under his right knee. Belle was curious as to what condition or injury caused him such pain, but she wasn’t going to ask. They were not friendly enough to ask such personal questions, he hadn’t even offered her his first name. Well, there was nothing to stop her getting the ball rolling on that one.

“Since we are cat-parents you can call me Belle, if you’d like.”

His hair fell into his face as he stretched to stroke one of the kittens; “Ah this is always awkward. I, erm, I can’t stand my given name, most people just call me Gold.”

She gave him a warm smile; “Gold it is then, if that’s okay?”

The smile he gave her was hesitant, as if he was expecting her to push more on his name. Many people probably had, but he’d said he didn’t like it and that was all she needed to know.

“That’s okay, Belle.”

“Speaking of names, have you any ideas what to call the kittens.”

Gold looked genuinely surprised to be asked; “To be honest I was planning on waiting until they were up and about, get a better idea of their personalities.”

He had no experience with cats at all. Belle had suspected as much considering the way he’d gone over the top with purchasing supplies. The way he’d managed to walk around Minty had thrown her off, but a man with a cane would be used to being careful where he placed his feet.

“We’ll be calling them ‘How did you get in there’, ‘Get down’ and ‘You’ve just been fed’ then.”

Gold gave her a look of mock horror; “Are you suggesting these wee balls of fluff are going to be troublemakers?”

“Oh yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

His grin belied the serious tone of his words, and suddenly they were both giggling. A rap at the bedroom door interrupted them.

“Yes Mrs Potts?”

“Sorry to interrupt. Miss French your bag is ringing.”

She had brought Belle’s handbag up from the study. Belle scrambled to her feet and thanked her as she took her bag. While she was searching for her phone, she was aware of a silent communication going on between employer and housekeeper, which ended when Gold said; “Thank you Mrs Potts.”

The housekeeper huffed as she left. Belle frowned at her phone. Six missed calls, fourteen texts and three emails. She couldn’t avoid the fallout from her break-up anymore.

“Gold, I have to go, I’ve got,” – she held her phone up and shrugged, - “things to deal with.”

With practiced movements he rose from the floor and reached for his cane; “I understand.”

Minty mewled. Belle leaned down and stroked her ears; “Don’t worry Minty. I’ll see you…”

She trailed off, not wanting to invite herself back to visit her cat. Gold gave an easy shrug; “Tomorrow lunchtime? I have to work until one, but after that you are very welcome to join me for lunch and visit with Mama Minty.”

“I’d like that, thank you.”

Gold led her downstairs and asked her to wait a moment at the front door. He ducked into his study and came back with a business card.

“Just in case you need to contact me.”

As she took it from him her phone started ringing again; “I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow at one?”

“Take care Belle.”

“You too Gold.”

[lafeae]

Prompt: Hostage Video for @uglifish

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!

Characters: Kaiba Seto, Yami Yugi/Atem, Yugi Mutou

For: @badthingshappenbingo

Warnings: Torture, Blood

Read on AO3

“It really shouldn’t take Seto three days to respond,” Atem sighed.

Yugi frowned to his partner, and finished wiping down the glass display case. “He’s always busy. He told us he’d be hard to reach....just relax.”

A small, noncommittal whine escaped Atem.

It broke Yugi’s heart to see him upset. Atem been staring at his phone at his phone for the last two days or so, checking every message with renewed enthusiasm, only to be let down time and again. It was the same sort of upset that Yugi was trying to power through and ignore with reason and logic.

“I miss him too, but that doesn’t unpack inventory,” Yugi said.

Grumbling, Atem swung his legs off the chair and heaved up, stalking over to a tower of taped up delivery boxes. He sighed hard and heavy, as if the weight of the was world pressed against his shoulders.

Yugi rolled his eyes and handed Atem a box cutter. “It’s fine, Atem.”

“It’s not.”

“He does this all the time.”

“Not to me.”

Yugi swatted Atem’s arm. “You’re exaggerating. What did he say he’d do?”

Atem sucked in a breath before biting his lip and shaking his head.

“Atem...”

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Atem said. Yugi pursed his lips and arranged the new board game as Atem handed it to him. They sizzled in silence for several minutes, until the box was empty, before Atem said, “Nothing bad. Or...inclusive.”

“Uh-huh. But...?”

Atem’s cheeks darkened in blush. He tucked a lock of bang behind his ear. “...but I...I can’t talk about it.”

“Atem.”

“No!” Atem hissed. He sheared another box open and began to empty card packs from it. Yugi could tell he was jittery just by the way he was throwing the packs his way. “Just trust me, alright? It’s not bad. It’s for Valentine’s Day. And that’s all I’m telling you.”

“You guys planned Valentine’s without me!”

“No!” Atem shouted, though he was immediately taken aback by Yugi’s pouting and his chin hitting his chest. “We...we planned it for you. NOW I’m not telling you anything else. You won’t get another word out of me.”

But with an innocent glint from Yugi’s purple eyes, and Atem’s sudden interest in the wallpaper, Yugi knew that yes, if he pressed just hard enough, Atem would cave. And Yugi knew it would work. It took the right words and the right actions, such as sidling up beside Atem and leaning his head on the taller man’s shoulder before wrapping his arms around Atem’s waist. It was ignored for two nanoseconds before Atem’s arm set on Yugi’s lower back and pushed them hip to hip to rock them back and forth in a makeshift dance. Unpacking the box wasn’t happening, even if Atem tried.

It was moments like these that Atem wished would last forever. The feeling of Yugi pressed against him, swaying in sync to the inaudible music shared between then and only them. A song about love, probably, with a quick tempo.

Atem twirled Yugi out. Were Seto with them, he would catch Yugi and take over the dance, moving them into a waltz. Not that Yugi ever remembered how to do it, but Seto seemed content to show him every time.

It was all about the touch. The rhythm. The balance.

Yugi never thought he’d crawl into a bed where his hands touched one person while his feet touched another, but it was disquieting when one body was missing. He’d become surrounded by lovers, but more importantly, friends, and it was always worrisome when one was gone. The balance was off.

The song in their heads stopped. The pair looked at one another and smiled, before Yugi chuckled. “C’mon, we still got to unpack all this.”

“But it’s Valentine’s.”

“Mmhm. And we have to work.”

“That shouldn’t be allowed,” Atem protested, though he passed over more card packs. “Why have it be a holiday and not give people the day off? There’s so much more we could be doing right now. Might as well shut down the shop and do it.”

Yugi snickered as he imagined them turning the sign to closed, clicking the lock, and scurrying upstairs, hand-in-hand. He shook the thought away. “If we leave Kaiba out, he’ll be annoyed.”

“Mm. But he’s fun annoyed.”

“True.”

“Could send him some pictures,” Atem suggested. A few more booster packs were handed over as Yugi considered it.

“Like...what kind of pictures?” Yugi asked. Atem hummed dreamily and looked to the ceiling. “We can’t do those kind of photos here! Stop being naughty.”

“I didn’t go there...!”

“You were thinking it.”

“I was?” Atem asked, innocent. “Stop reading my mind! What am I thinking now?”

“That anything is better than unpacking boxes. C’mon,” Yugi shoved another box Atem’s way, topping it off with a kiss on the nose. “Help me and we can figure out some fun stuff for later. Maybe he’ll send us something back.”

And Yugi saw Atem melt. Strong Atem, headstrong Atem, defiant Atem...melting over little kisses, or hand-holding, or dancing. Though he knew that as soon as a customer walked in he would hold his head high and put on a face of congeniality and poise.

“Y-yes, of course. He will,” Atem said, completely positive.

In the moment, Atem’s phone chimed. He eagerly fished it out of his pocket and opened up the text message, his smile ear to ear.

“What is it?” Yugi asked.

“He must’ve heard us talking. He sent us a video. Look.”

Atem laid his phone down and showed the message:

Seto <3

Open immediately

Beneath it was a blurry video file that quickly downloaded. In the single frame was Seto’s shoulder, his locket dancing forward.

The pair glanced at each other and back to the phone again. The room was scanned, no customers in sight or even coming near the store. Without hesitation, Atem tapped the screen.

“This is the gift, I bet,” Atem said. “If he does it right, that is.”

Yugi didn’t know why, but his heart was throbbing. Something about the video seemed strange. The lighting, the angle, the pose. Maybe he was paranoid, or a little shy to the idea of what they might see from their boyfriend on Valentine’s Day.

The camera was shaky, lifting up and giving them a better view of Seto’s collarbones, his chin, his face.

Atem softly purred and laid his cheek in his hand. Yugi chuckled nervously, but leaned in closer to get a better look at the details of the ‘gift’ mentally hoping to see Seto take his shirt off just so he could mentally run his fingers over the taut muscles.

Seto’s face came into view, and all sense left Yugi. His hand clapped over his mouth, and “Oh, God...” slipped between his fingers.

Motley bruises bloomed up and down Seto’s jaw, and a large split in his lower lips left blood smeared and crusted around his lip. The further up the video went, the more the pair released that Seto was colourless, drenched in a sweat, and frantic to follow the camera as it traced up and over his head.

“Don’t you dare....” Seto muttered. A gloved hand smacked him across the face before caressing it.

“Shh! Not yet,” a hushed voice chided.

The camera deliberately and agonisingly backed away. bringing more details into view. Seto knelt on a twin-sized bed with off-pink sheets, a blanket haphazardly thrown across his thighs, though Yugi saw where his bare feet poked out of from the side, his toes violently squeezing closed

Slowly, the blanket was pulled back to reveal where Seto was completely naked from his waist down, thin legs shivering. As far as Yugi could tell, Seto’s arms were pinned behind his back. But what about his legs?

“Seto? What....?” Atem asked.

Yugi’s raw voice couldn’t muster a voice. His eyes heated up, threatening tears.

“I’m sure you’re curious what I’m doing with your boyfriend. Don’t worry....It’s nothing too traumatic. Yet. But he is quite a catch. I hope I....followed all the instructions on what he should do for the photo shoot. Though...I may have added some steps....”

Atem’s head ducked down.

Seto’s teeth clenched. “Shut up you absolute...!”

The hand grasped Seto’s chin, and the executive bucked around, leveraging his weight backwards to try and pull his captor into the frame. Instead, he was thrown against the wall with a loud ‘thud’.

“He’s not been very cooperate. Maybe I should chain him to the bed? What do you think...?” The voice teased. Seto’s teeth clenched, and he used his shoulders to push himself off the wall, scooting as forward as he could with his knees. “It would be fun. I could have so much fun with him—“

“You don’t want fun, you sick fuck. You want money.” Seto turned to the camera. “Don’t listen. Don’t engage. This is under control...!”

“He thinks so. Aren’t you so cute?” The hand ran down Seto’s face, and he lunged forward, chomping at the fingers. Again, he was thrown back. “He’s not wrong. I want money; makes the world go round, you know? And KaibaCorp. has some to spare. I think...oh, I don’t know, is 10 million rich enough for you? Are you worth that much, you filthy moneywhore?”

Seto grimaced, softly whining as he tried to prop himself up with his shoulder.

“Or maybe...20. Might as well, hm? I’m sure that shouldn’t be so hard. I could ask for a billion, it really wouldn’t matter, but I don’t want to be greedy. Because I do really, really want my hostage to have a little fun. I’ll make it worth his while.”

Tears streamed down Yugi’s face, and went he looked over to Atem, he wasn’t sure if was even paying attention. His crimson eyes were foggy and unfocused; his breaths short; his nails dug deep into his palms.

“If you want him to be....undefiled, I want...let’s do 30 million, hm?”

“Don’t listen—!” Seto shouted.

“It’ll be 40 if you keep talking.”

“Fuck you,” Seto threatened. “I eat idiots like you for breakfast.”

“He’s made it 40. I want 40 mil at 7 PM, tonight. Only you two—I hope you’re both watching—will drop it off. I will text you the location. If you bring anyone else with you...well...” A serrated knife came into view for half a second, the tip touching Seto’s chin.

Yugi buried his face into Atem’s shoulder and sobbed, but he couldn’t turn away. He focused only on Seto’s face. The resolve burning in his eyes. The fervour in his bruised cheeks. Seto was strong, he would be strong. And they would be strong for him. They would do this.

“Anymore words for them, Kaiba? I think I’m running you’re running out of time.”

The knife was nudged a little harder. Blood tricked down his chin.

Kaiba’s tongue licked his lips, and for a second, Yugi saw vulnerability flash in his eyes. He was weak. Scared. Full of trepidation.

“Don’t come, understand?” Seto began after regaining his composure. “Neither of you. Don’t play hero...I love you both, so don’t you fucking play hero. This is handled! This is—,”

The video cut off, ending with the ‘play’ button popping up over it. No more words, no laughter. No doubling up on the threats like the normal movie hostage video that Yugi had seen in thrillers. Just Kaiba begging them, pleading them to stay away.

A text came through.

Seto <3

Here’s the address: (link)

Kaiba says Happy Valentine’s Day. (heart)

See you at 7

Yugi and Atem stood in silence for several long minutes, both swallowing thickly and staring at the blurry video. Atem’s nail hovered over it, tempting to touch it again, before his fingers curled into his fist.

Yugi set a hand over Atem’s, stroking his knuckles. Neither has to speak to know that they weren’t going to be listening to Seto, no matter what he said. But it took them both

They just needed a plan first.