#I will elaborate if prompted but for now I simply gesture vaguely.

[catermeow]

Posts that are for me and nobody else but cMartyn is so repressed dragonkin coded. it is entirely Fantasy SMP's fault that I came to this conclusion because I started drawing him and then went "wait a second this looks like me. hmmmm" but it all makes sense trust. especially life series!Martyn

[ohnopoe]

Just Because | Din Djarin

Ship: Din Djarin x Reader Summary: Snow was cold and wet and downright irritating, so why was Din going to a planet covered in the stuff when he didn’t have to? Word Count: 1.2k+ Author’s Note: This is for the incredible @dindjarindiaries​‘ second Dincember prompt ‘snowfall’. I may have missed the first prompt, and I’ll likely miss a few more, but one fic is better than none so here it is lol. Also y’all should be so proud of me, my first plan for this prompt was fucking shattering, and here I am writing something soft instead

Din had never felt certainty quite like he did in that exact moment.

He was confident in his abilities, determined in a fight… but this, this was different. This was you.

From the moment he met you, he had been wracked with uncertainty. It seemed to be a never ending churn in his stomach, and somehow it excited him just as much as it terrified him. You were something completely unique in this vast universe, and it wasn’t because of power or money or anything so many seemed to crave, it was because of you and the way you held his very heart in your unknowing hands.

A smile was all it took to lift his day, a look enough to have his heart stuttering nervously in his chest. It was dangerous, but you had a hold over him like no other, and yet you seemed completely unaware of how far he would go to keep you safe.

But he was used to that. Keeping you safe, you and the child… it was what he knew, what he did intrinsically. This was something completely different.

He hadn’t been certain, not like he was now. No, the entire damn time he’d been flying he’d been so conflicted that he almost changed route numerous times. Hell, even as he began his descent into landing, his hand still hovered over the controls, ready to fly away with some half assed excuse as to why you would be stuck in hyperspace for longer than intended.

But Kaspas had been mentioned, even if only vaguely. You knew it was your next port of call, even if you hadn’t heard of it before. Turning back would have meant questions, and if he couldn’t face his own plans, well, your questions would be completely out of reach.

So he had continued on, and Maker was he glad he had.

The look of awe that enraptured your features the moment the ramp began to descend was sure to remain in his mind forever. The way you clung to the extra layer of clothing that Din had handed you without a word only moments earlier, cold yet excited as you forced yourself to stay where you were… Yes, it had all been worth it.

Every step you took from the sleeping child’s crib towards the white wonderland outside seemed to take an eternity, as if you feared the next would lead you somewhere else, somewhere far from the sight before you.

Kaspas was not the safest of planets, nor was it particularly beautiful to most, but the way your eyes seemed to shine with adoration… It was as if the planet was made of happiness itself.

He could see the moment you shook yourself from your revelry, the way your jaw raised, your eyes taking one last sweeping glance over the white landscape before they focused on him through the black visor that contrasted harshly against such a pure backdrop. And yet, that look of wonder still remained there as you turned your attention to him. You must still be thinking about it, he determined, a delayed reaction that simply hadn’t shifted into a look of gentle care that you seemed to show to all.

There was a smile tempting the corners of your lips upwards as you spoke, a softness lingering on your every word despite the topic. “So, how long do you think it’ll take?”

He would have replied, should have replied, but he was lost. For all the thoughts and fears he had held in coming to such a place, he had somehow missed the crucial next step in the plan. Getting there was one thing, but what came next?

His head tilted, a silent question that brought a small hum of laughter to your lips.

“The bounty,” you elaborated, gesturing out into the cold as if it would help prompt his rare lapse in concentration. “How long till the kid and I start searching for you?”

“There’s no bounty,” he answered before he had a chance to consider the words, regret scrunching his features in a way that made him incredibly glad you couldn’t see his face. This was the next step, and if he had only considered it properly…

Your confusion was evident, brow furrowed, head tilted in a way that oddly matched his. When had you begun that? When had you started to tilt your head in silent question when words failed you?

“But, if we’re not here for a bounty…” you trailed off, gaze flittering back to the seemingly endless white that lay outside.

It was flat, for what you could see, flat and cold and desolate. But then, you couldn’t see far ahead at all. Smaller flecks of that pure white, brighter than you had ever seen before, danced before you hindering your view and glistening as they fell to join that which covered the ground.

A sparse landscape of cold yet pure white… lonely and beautiful, it filled you with awe even when you knew you should be more worried than you were.

“You’re not about to maroon me out there, right?” you offered with something akin to a laugh, wishing you felt as at ease as you sounded.

Din Djarin did not do anything without reason. From the moment you met him, everything in his life had a purpose, even if it took you a while to figure out just what it was.

But as beautiful as the sight before you was, you could see no purpose here.

His voice was soft when he finally answered, his gaze moving from you to the cold outside once more, and you could see the hesitance in his movement before you heard it in his words.

“You said you had never seen snow.”

Timid and shy were not words you would have ever thought to use to describe the beskar clad Mandalorian before you, yet as he stood to the side of the ramp, refusing to meet your gaze, it was the very definition of the man you saw before you.

This wasn’t the fighter who killed to protect, or the bounty hunter who tracked like no other. This wasn’t the Mandalorian strangers feared, or Mando who friends trusted. This was Din, the man who had travelled for days to show you something, simply because you had mentioned in conversation weeks ago that you hadn’t experienced it before.

Affection swelled within your heart, as it often did for the man.

Here he was, a man of practicality, a man who was always doing something, doing something kind just because.

Perhaps you weren’t the only one to have grown attached, perhaps it was simply an unexpected act of friendship. But it hardly mattered.

For the first time since you had joined him on the Razor Crest, there was quiet, there was peace.

You could pretend you didn’t notice the way he startled when you took his hand in yours, focusing instead on what followed. But he didn’t retract his hand, didn’t pull away. His fingers wrapped around your own, soft leather entwining his hand with yours as you gently pulled him towards the ramp.

It would be stupid to go out, you knew that. Even your warmest clothes wouldn’t keep you safe in the freezing temperatures of the snow. But you could sit, safe on the ramp as warmth billowed against your back from the ship. You could relax with Din sitting down at your side with a soft sigh, hand never leaving yours as he moved with surprising ease in his bulk of beskar.

You could have this moment, watching the snow fall before you, safe with a man who cared more than he would ever say.

[ink-and-flame]

Kinktober - Intensity Undone

Kinktober Day 3 Prompts: No Prompts

Fandom: Original

Tags: exophilia, angst, hurt/no comfort, relationship arrangements

Pairing:  Orc(M)/Human(F)| Darnok/Lia,

[Authors Note: Since the plans for Darnok and Lia had changed this is completely off script now and no longer following the outline. The way the rest of this goes is going to be as much of a surprise to me as it will be for everyone else. There are only a few more parts of this left for what I am considering book 1 of this overarching story. This is a bridge story that does not fit anywhere in the Kinktober prompt list. I felt it worked better as a stand alone as opposed to trying to cram kink into it or having 2 separate stories be one. ]

Lia had been ignoring her phone and email for days now, as she knew it was Darnok trying to contact her. Double checking her messages to make sure she didn’t miss something important for work, she sent everything to voice mail and ignored the rest. That last moment in the club played over and over in her head. The look of shock in Darnok’s eyes as she mentioned his engagement. Everything after was a blur and she wasn’t sure how she made it home.

Ember had been checking up on her every day, letting Lia know that Darnok was sending her messages trying to get any information he could on Lia. It was bothersome but Lia understood. She didn’t give him a chance to say anything, but she couldn’t. If she had risked it, she might have simply fallen back into his arms with whatever excuse he could come up with. 

A part of her mind argued that she should have let him speak, should answer him, because what if she was wrong. Though that was the part of her that loved him and wanted to be with him. Lia didn’t trust herself, and whatever reason or excuse he had it wouldn’t be enough. At the end of the day she wanted more than what he was willing to offer, and she had to do what was best for herself.

The phone calls and messages continued into the next week, a few times it was Lucien or Zane calling to check on her, making sure she was ok. Thankfully they had managed to keep all of this from spreading outside their little group to avoid any drama or make things more difficult for Lia when she chose to come back to the club. Lucien had urged her, gently, to talk to Darnok and make a clean break if that was what she truly wanted. 

Thankfully for Lia he had no idea where she lived so he couldn’t just randomly show up at her home without notice. Though she wasn’t sure if he remembered where she worked and hoped that he didn’t show up and cause a scene. There was a small part of her that did want to talk to him and she considered what Lucien said as the days kept ticking by. 

Lia was in the back at work on her break when her coworker walked up to her with the strangest expression, she looked nervous.

“Uh, there is a car outside for you. A really expensive car and the driver said he was here to pick you up?”

Lia sighed and rubbed her face. “I’m sorry, I will go out there and tell them to leave.”

Lia only had a few minutes left of her break and didn’t want to waste it on this, but she had no choice. Walking outside she told the driver she was working and that he needed to leave. Regardless of his insistence that she get in. Turning around she headed back in and tried to ignore the situation. The car stayed right where it was for the rest of her shift and she was tempted to sneak out the back and drive home, but she didn’t want to risk being followed. 

“Ok, my shift is over, clearly you aren’t leaving and I am certain that if I try to drive myself home you will follow me. Right?”

“I have been given instructions to pick you up, and where to take you, that is the limit of my instructions. But yes, I would follow you.”

Rubbing her face with a sigh, Lia felt she had no choice. Giving a vague gesture of acquiescence she waited for the door to be opened and reluctantly got into the car. She knew this was Darnok and not some elaborate abduction, though it certainly felt like one. Of course it did not make her any less angry and Lia held that anger close to her chest, she would need it to keep from falling into his arms the moment she saw him. Despite everything, she missed Darnok.

When the car finally stopped Lia took a deep breath in and waited. The door opened and she stepped out. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her. She was at the hotel her and Darnok would use on nights they stayed together after being at the club. She wasn’t sure how to feel about this choice, but it did make some measure of sense. 

The driver gave her  a key card and a slip of paper with instructions on it. Rolling her eyes she thanked the driver politely, none of this was really his fault, and headed into the hotel. Making her way past the desk and up to the room she was relieved to find that it was empty. It gave her a moment to prepare herself, take a few calming breaths, and sit down to relieve some tension. 

It wasn’t long before she heard another key card in the door and it opened. In walked Darnok, alone, and looking worried. Lia set her features as close to neutral as she could even though just the sight of him was enough to overwhelm her emotions. 

At first there was silence as Darnok stood somewhat awkwardly just inside the door. He stepped closer and cleared his throat. 

“Lia.”

Stopping him, Lia held up a hand. “Ms. Doran will be fine. If necessary I will allow you to call me by my full first name. Adalia. You have lost the privilege of calling me anything else.”

The startled look on his face followed by one of pain was all that kept Lia from breaking her facade. She did not feel anywhere near as confident as she sounded and knew that she would probably break before he did. 

“Of course Ms. Doran, I understand. Would it be ok if I sat at the table with you?”

Lia nodded and gestured to the chair furthest from her, waiting for Darnok to take a seat. She had not seen him in a bit, but he already looked different. It was hard to place exactly what was different, other than her perception of him, and perhaps that was all it was. 

“I know you are angry with me, upset, hurt, dozens of other things. I would just like an opportunity to explain everything to you. If you will allow it.”

Lia sighed and leveled him with an annoyed expression. “If at any point this starts to sound like excuses. I am shutting it down and leaving.”

“That is more than fair.” Darnok took a deep breath clasping his hands together on the table. 

“I should have told you of my arrangement the moment I started to consider you as my sub, that was entirely my own fault, I own all of that. All of this is my fault and I will never be able to apologize enough.” Dar held up a hand when he saw Lia open her mouth. “Please, just, let me get through this first part or I never will be able to. I will answer every question you have after.”

Lia nodded and gestured for him to continue. Though the word arrangement already had the wheels in her head turning and she was certain some of her initial suspicions about Darnok had actually been true. Maybe they wouldn’t be where they were if she had just asked questions the moment she became suspicious instead of holding it all inside out of fear of losing him.

“I am in an arranged marriage. It had been planned long before I met you, and I have spent much of my adult life trying to get out of it. Well, trying in ways that will not shame either family or get someone killed.” Clearing his throat again Darnok looked down at his hands. “It was obvious to my intended that I didn’t want this, and as a fae, she is indifferent to all of it herself. She does what her parents tell her and that is pretty much that. Though she did notice and eventually we sat down and had a discussion of what is and is not acceptable for our relationship and how we appear in public.” Dar paused and stood up. “I need a drink, do you want anything?”

“Water is fine.” Lia waited as he brought her water from the mini bar and a juice for himself. 

“Our agreement is that in public we appear a normal, happy, loving couple. Whatever it takes to convince the media, our peers, and our families that everything is working out. Privately I am allowed to indulge my sexual desires however I choose but there are rules I have to follow. I can’t be with anyone in our social circle, preferably I keep it out of the city entirely. I can’t fall in love or have feelings for my sexual partners. I cannot be seen publicly with them, and I can’t get anyone pregnant. There are a few smaller rules about visible markings and how I dress, but those are often overlooked.” Darnok took a swig of his juice before continuing.

“I did everything I could to stall the engagement or try to get out of it, but I can’t and my hand has been forced. Both families are pushing for us to be married by the end of next year.” He rubbed his face and looked sadly at Lia. “We have no love for each other, I honestly don’t even think she likes me. Our entire relationship is devoid of intimacy and even the barest shred of warmth. It is entirely a power move and my family was willing to sacrifice me as I am not the oldest son.” Pausing he shrugged. “You can ask questions now if you want. Or just leave, I honestly wouldn’t blame you. It is a fucked up situation that I made worse by not being honest with you.”

Lia sat for a moment, letting everything he said sink in. She toyed with the water bottle a bit as she thought of any questions she could ask. Really he laid it out pretty plainly. There wasn’t a whole lot of mystery, other than the whole arranged marriage part. She wasn’t even aware that was still a thing, but clearly it was. 

“I guess the only question I can think of is just why? Why weren’t you just honest with me from the beginning? It seems like such a simple thing, you could have brought it up that first night, or if not then, after the first month would have been appropriate.”

Darnok nodded, knowing Lia was absolutely right. He should have been honest from the very beginning. It could have avoided all of this. 

“It is a valid question and one I have no acceptable excuse for. The reason I didn’t in the beginning is because of privacy. I had gotten used to the arrangement and rarely had partners that I would do enough sessions with that it would be necessary to disclose it. After that though, I guess the reason was fear. I connected with you in ways I have never connected with anyone, I didn’t want to lose that. I kept telling myself you would move on, or I could just tell you the next month, but I always managed to find a reason to not say anything and it then became an issue of feeling too late.” Darnok looked down at his hands before continuing. “I guess part of me was living in this fantasy world where I could have both. I could keep the families happy, and I could have you which made me happy. I should have known it was impossible and I am so sorry for how much this hurt you.”

It was hard to stay in her seat, not run to him and throw her arms around him. She loved him, Lia knew that she loved him, but that love was poison to her heart. Even if he had been honest from the beginning, she knew she would have fallen in love with him anyway and it would have hurt just as much, but in a different way. 

“At least I understand now. I can’t say I envy your position, and you should be honest with your partners from day one going forward. Privacy or no, this is a cruel thing to do to a person and I would hate for it to happen to anyone else. I am fortunate I got my club membership on my own merits because I like the people I have met there and I don’t want to lose that too. I am sure we will see each other at the club, but I think it would be for the best if you kept your distance for now. Even though I understand your situation, I don’t think I can do any more scenes with you Darnok.”

Lia stood up. It was the most difficult thing she had ever done, but she had to let him go. Mostly for her own sake. He was never going to leave his fiance, he couldn’t, and she loved him too much to be his dirty secret. Maybe others could live with that, but she had grown far too attached and there was nothing to be done about it now. 

“So this is goodbye then?” Darnok asked, looking at her with sorrowful eyes. “You want a clean break, no friendship, no anything?”

“I can’t. I just, Darnok I can’t. Find someone else to be your sex toy. I am a sub, but I am still a person, and I refuse to let myself be used like that.” 

Turning away from him Lia headed towards the door, she could already feel the heat of the tears in her eyes threatening to fall and she did not want to cry again, not now. 

“Please wait!”

“NO! I am leaving and you are going to let me. This is on you. You broke everything Darnok, and you can’t fix this. There is nothing you can do to ever make this ok. Do not contact me again.”

Storming out of the room Lia all but ran to the elevator and stepped inside. She held it together long enough to make it down to the main floor and out the door. Of course she did not have her car, and while she did see the driver she avoided him and just began walking. The hotel wasn’t far from the club, she could see if Ember was there and get a ride back to work that way. As far as she was concerned Darnok no longer existed and she had to restart her life as best she could. 

Thankfully Ember was there, along with some of the others she knew. The walked helped to clear her head and kept her from looking overly disheveled as the tears had time to fall, but the cool air kept her face from going too red or splotchy. Ember called it a night early and headed out with Lia, driving her to her work and then following back to their building. 

Like a good friend Ember stayed with Lia all night, letting her friend rage and cry, doing whatever was needed to get it all out. It was necessary to heal, the wound had to be cleansed before the healing could begin. It was a shitty situation for certain, but Lia was strong and would eventually be able to move on. Until then, she had friends that would help her through all this. 

[iamanartichoke]

Congrats on the 1+k followers! I've only recently found you but I enjoy your opinions and the way you write <3

I was wondering if, for the prompt fic ideas, you would be interested in writing Sylvie and Loki exchanging magic lessons in an enchantment for enchantment kind of way.

I imagine them bickering each other with "Pff... That is too easy." and "Come on, that didn't take me so long to learn...", but they would also encourage with some "I know you can do it!". (oh god, now I picture them teaming in some prank against Thor... xD)

Thank you so much, @enabi-seira. Sorry this is a few days late, but it took me awhile to get going. Also my intention was to have something kinda cute and snarky but it ... didn't really end up that way, bc of who I am as a person. I hope you enjoy, regardless.

Summary: Sylvie gives Loki a lesson in enchantment Word Count: 2340 Author's notes: More or less inspired by the blanket scene, but with less awkward and more soul-bearing, bc well, why not.

*

It wasn’t until she let him into her mind that Loki saw himself in Sylvie.

At first, he thought it hadn’t worked, because all he felt was nothing. There was no sound, no air. But when he opened his eyes he found himself in what, at first glance, was Idunn’s orchard on Asgard. He stood at the center of the orchard, underneath the shade of one of the largest trees. In the distance, he could clearly see the golden spires of Valaskjalf and, looking up, Loki felt a twist of homesickness so strong it nearly knocked him off of his feet.

It took him a moment to get ahold of himself and, when he did and began to take a closer look, he realized that he wasn’t on Asgard at all. The orchard did not have enough trees and no golden apples swung from their branches. Valaskjalf’s spires did not glint in the sun; the gold was instead dull and flat. Everything, in fact, was much too dull and flat.

A chill broke out across Loki’s skin because while he was not on Asgard, he did know this place. He’d built it himself, had begun planting the trees and laying the foundations of deadened grass and dirt when he was still just a child. It was his in-between space, the pocket between dimensions into which he retreated when everything else was simply too much.

“How do you know this place?” he asked. His voice, rough with confusion, seemed far too loud with nothing to anchor it. “It’s mine.”

“It’s ours,” Sylvie corrected. Her voice came from somewhere to his left; Loki turned and saw her approaching, dressed not in the black and green attire he’d grown so familiar with but in a deep purple gown traditional of Asgardian formalwear. Her hair was longer, the top done up somewhat elaborately in several slim braids.

“I thought your enchantment would bring me to a memory,” he said.

“What makes you think this isn’t a memory?”

Loki opened his mouth and then closed it again, choosing instead to merely gesture at the void surrounding them. “Because this place isn’t real. I created it. As an -”

“An escape,” she finished for him. She’d been looking out over the orchard but now she turned her gaze on him, something sad and knowing behind her green eyes. She nodded. “So did I. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t real. It’s as real as you and I are, and I remember it.”

Goosebumps tickled his arms and the back of his neck. Loki looked away, turning in a half circle as he took in the sight of what he used to simply call the gray place, a place he’d thought had been lost; he’d not thought of it in years, could no longer remember quite where it was. The grey place had all but collapsed into the recesses of his mind, along with countless other memories he’d collected and subsequently lost along the way.

Loki looked up at the tree that still shaded them from the sun, although the sun itself was not very bright, nor warm. Everything was so still. Absently, Loki reached out and swiped his fingers along one of the lower branches. “No apples,” he said.

“Nothing grows here.”

“The space grows,” he countered. He plucked a few leaves from the branch and curled his fingers around them. “Grew. Each time I came here, it seemed bigger. It stopped being Asgard and grew into somewhere else.”

“It didn’t really, though, did it,” she said. She walked around him, circling the tree trunk. “Get bigger. It was only that we got lonelier.”

Loki looked at her sharply, but found he couldn’t refute her words. “You were much lonelier than I,” he said instead.

She shot him one of her Sylvie looks, her expression both indignant at what she perceived as a slight, and annoyed at his being right. She disliked when he figured things out about her, but he’d seen that expression more and more as the days passed, which meant that he was getting closer to her core.

Either that, or he was just annoying her more frequently.

“What makes you think so?” she challenged.

He gestured vaguely at the space around them. “Yours is farther along than mine was.” Now that he was getting used to this - both being inside of her head, and grounded firmly in the gray place - he could see the differences. There were more pathways in the orchard, fuller tree branches. In the distance, past the palace, he could make out the beginnings of a rainbow bridge. All things Loki had thought of bringing to the gray place, but adolescence grew into adulthood and Loki created new hiding places, buried deeper in the spaces between worlds.

Sylvie’s gray place felt like a place that had been visited often. Perhaps she even still visited, escaping through dimensions as easily as she slipped through apocalypses.

Her features looked pinched as she dug her fingers into the trunk’s bark, pulling at a loose layer. “When did you build yours?” she asked, instead of answering directly. “Start building it, I mean.”

Loki shrugged, leaning against the trunk. “I don’t know. I was young.”

“Tell me,” she pressed.

He glanced over at her and, despite himself, smirked. “Are we exploring your mind, or mine?”

Sylvie arched an eyebrow and then her features relaxed. “Beats me,” she admitted. “Seems they’re one and the same, doesn’t it?”

Loki’s nod was slow, thoughtful. He looked up, toward the endless gray sky. “I remember having nightmares as a child,” he said, and wasn’t sure if he was answering her question, or simply speaking in order to fill the silence. Her presence seemed to have that effect on him, regardless of whether they were together in the world or together in her (their?) mind.

“It was always cold in those dreams,” he went on. “Bitter, the kind of cold that gets under your skin. It was cold and it was dark, and there were never any monsters or dragons or - not the kinds of things children tend to have nightmares about. For me, it was that there was nothing. Just myself, and the cold, and the dark, and this intimate knowing that no matter what I did or how loudly I screamed, no one would ever hear me.”

She’d circled around the trunk again as he spoke, and now she leaned against it next to him, sliding down until she was settled on the grass at the base. “I don’t think I had nightmares, not like yours,” she said, “but I always had the sense of being wrong, somehow. When my parents told me the truth about what I was, and where I’d come from, I thought it would make the wrongness stop.”

“But it didn’t,” Loki guessed as he sat down on the ground beside her.

She looked over at him, meeting his gaze directly before she shook her head. “It’s in me still. At least now I know why.”

Loki didn’t say anything. They were sitting close enough together that he’d only have to lean in a bit and their shoulders would be touching, but Loki let the observation go without acting on it. Instead, he pulled at a few blades of grass, gaze settling out toward the far end of the orchard which, were this the real Asgard, would have led directly into Frigga’s gardens.

Instead of lingering on that thought, Loki turned his attention to the enchantment itself. It was very strange, the method she’d learned. Their bodies - their real bodies - were out there in the physical world, holding hands to establish the physical connection they’d needed for the enchantment to work, but they were also in here, and he could feel the ground beneath him and the the tree bark digging into his spine and the solidity of the space she took up beside him. He would have assumed that sliding into someone else’s mind would feel like a dream or a vision - not quite real.

“That’s when I began creating this place,” he said, realizing that he’d started telling her about his nightmares for a reason. “To escape after the dreams.” He’d chosen the warmest, safest place he knew then, which was the orchard, and he’d begun creating his duplicate.

“I don’t even really know where it was,” he admitted, with a short laugh. “All I had to do was think of it and, suddenly, I’d be there.”

It had started with the nightmares, but somewhere along the way it had become much more than that. Loki could remember disappearing into the gray place after arguments, or when he was frustrated and felt lost, or even just when all of the things inside of him - the dark things he’d never been able to firmly identify - became far too much and he felt like he would explode from the sheer force of them pressing against his skin from the inside, seeking a way out.

In Sylvie’s mind, all of the details were exact and clear, just as he remembered and more. Loki felt something hollow and cold in his core as it sank in - really sank in - that he and Sylvie were variants of the same person. The same soul, with the same dark things inside. What’s me is you, and what’s you is me.

The full weight of the realization should not have made him feel so lonely, but it did. For the first time since he’d met her, looking at Sylvie felt like looking in the mirror, the way one did when he was examining himself from every angle, identifying and hating every flaw he discovered.

“I know that look,” she said, and Loki blinked. He’d been staring at her, he realized, and felt his cheeks warm. “It’s hitting you, isn’t it? How we’re the same.”

Loki nodded. “It’s this place. I was remembering why I made it, and what drove me to disappear here. It must have been the same for you.”

“Let’s see.” Sylvie drew her knees up a little, adjusting her skirts so that they wouldn’t drag against the grass. “The wrongness of existing. Falling short, no matter how hard I tried. Always found wanting, compared to my brother. And, yes, loneliness.”

“Thor,” Loki said. His voice sounded so flat, even to his own ears, that Sylvie shot him a strange glance. He tugged at a few more blades of grass, pressing his lips together. He’d never asked her about her Thor, because he didn’t want to talk about his - the one who had ceased to exist when the TVA first arrested Loki in the desert and erased his reality, along with everyone he’d ever known and loved. Versions of them existed, of course - the ones who walked the sacred timeline, exactly where they were supposed to be, but those versions belonged to another Loki - a far away Loki.

He had his reasons for not bringing up Thor, but he didn’t know why Sylvie, likewise, had kept her Thor to herself. “Tell me about him,” he heard himself say, dropping the blades of grass from his hand. “Your Thor.”

“I don’t remember much of him, either,” Sylvie admitted. “More blips, like my parents. He’s more of a feeling than anything else - a presence. He took care of me; he pushed me to be better. I could never measure up to him, but I remember he wasn’t the one who was comparing. He loved me.”

“Yes.” Loki was hardly aware of speaking until he heard his own voice. “Mine, too.”

They exchanged a long look, and then Sylvie cleared her throat and turned her attention to the grass. “Could do with a bit more green,” she remarked. “It’s awfully dull, isn’t it?”

“I could -”

But she was already pressing her fingers into the dirt and, as Loki watched, the blades began to darken and bloom as lush grass sprouted outward, rolling from the palm of Sylvie’s hand to stretch in every direction until all of the dead grass had been made new again. Only then did Sylvie pull her hand back.

“Not bad, right?”

“Not bad,” he agreed. “Still feels very plain, though. I’d have added a little shading, a little variety. Perhaps a few more shrubs or rose bushes.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

The corners of Loki’s mouth tilted upward. He extended a closed fist, focusing, and then spread open his hand to reveal a tangled ball of colorful magic, blues and greens and yellows and reds all flickering and shimmering. Wordlessly, Loki tossed the ball; it landed several feet away and dissolved into tiny, colorful flowers, which spread swiftly over the grass.

Loki glanced at Sylvie, quickly enough that he caught the awe on her features before she realized he was looking; immediately, boredom swept over her face. She lifted one shoulder, carelessly. “Where are the rose bushes?”

“You are impossible,” Loki informed her.

“So you keep telling me. Come on.” She pushed herself to her feet and extended a hand, which Loki took without pause. “Lesson’s over for today.”

A split-second later, the gray place was gone entirely; once again, there was air to breathe and tiny sounds in the distance. Loki’s head throbbed; he opened his eyes and let go of Sylvie’s hand in order to press his against his temples. “Ow.”

“Yeah, return trip’s a little rough until you get used to it.” Slyvie - once again looking like Sylvie, draped in green and black - leaned back, watching with some amusement while Loki squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed his temples, and tried not to throw up. “Maybe next time we’ll journey into your mind. Probably’ll pack less of a punch for you.”

“I can handle pain,” Loki countered, finally letting go of his head. “My mind is off-limits. We’ve been over this.”

“For now,” Sylvie agreed.

“For always.” Loki arched his eyebrow at her. “Now. What lesson shall we tackle next?”

[runrundoyourstuff]

Seasons

(A Steven Universe Fic, 2632 words)

Written with love for a holiday exchange with the wonderful @mimik-u !

Prompt: Steven teaches one of the Diamonds about something beautifully mundane (a la Peridot learning about rain.)

--

It’s almost comical how the Dondai pales in size when compared to the Arm Ship—and the magnitude of the difference only grows as Steven descends the ridge. There are some items, both of human and Gem origin, that seemed larger when he was smaller—when he was younger—when everything mysterious in the world, every new thing he learned about himself, filled him with wonder. The Diamond ships, however, are not among these items. They’re as large now as they always seemed to him, if not quite as foreboding. As are the Diamonds themselves, and he is reminded of this, as Yellow disembarks from her spacecraft.

She doesn’t see him right away. Or if she does notice the car, she doesn’t have the frame of reference to recognize it as his, and even after he parks it beside the ship and gets out, it’s several moments before she turns around and acknowledges him standing there.

“Steven!”

“Hey, Yellow.”

“When I called, I hadn’t realized…” She sputters. “Your...your family returned my message to inform me that you were leaving on a conquest—”

“A conquest?”

“Yes, they said that you were going to travel—”

“Yeah, but not on a conquest!”

“Of course, of course, a scouting mission, then—”

“No! Nothing like that! Just a trip! I just...needed to hit the road for a while. Figure out what’s next.”

“I...right, of course. Your—I mean, the Pearl said that you would be taking a hiatus from your Diamond duties…”

At this, Steven chuckles. “Pearl wants me to.” But then he becomes serious. “I shouldn’t laugh. She’s trying to make sure that I take care of myself. She—all of them really, want to make sure I know that I don’t have to be involved in any Gem stuff if I don’t want to. That it’s my choice. And ya know, it’s true that I don’t want it to be my whole life, not like it was when I was a kid. And because there’s no hierarchy anymore, I do want to give other Gems a chance to manage things on Earth if they want to—to show them it doesn’t always have to be a Diamond, and I’m not a Diamond anyway—but I do want to be involved, ya know? Or at least know what’s going on! I put so much work into everything, and not all of it was bad. I was really proud of a lot of what we did, and the Gems are my family…” A pause. “Anyway, that’s all to say that I routed some of the messages from the Base to my phone.”

“I see. I…” She pauses. “I didn’t intend...You did not need to come. I merely called because I didn’t want to catch you off guard. Give your...our...Given my history, I thought if I showed up on your planet unannounced—”

“It’s not my planet.”

“No, of course not. I meant the planet on which you reside. I’ve already...I did not intend to make you feel that…that you needed to come fix—”

Steven raises a hand. “I know. I just happened to be in the area, so I thought I’d stop by. Say hi.”

“Ah. Alright.” The silence resounds. Yellow’s eyes flit away.

“So,” Steven says after a moment—looking for something, anything, to cut through the quiet. “Why Zona?”

“Is that what this place is called?” Yellow glances around. “I needed an area of the Earth where I would cause the least disruptions, where I could dig a sufficiently large hole such that I could access the Cluster. I initially planned on going to one of the Kindergartens, as we’d already irrevocably destroyed all hope of organic life thriving there—I thought I could minimize the destruction. But each already has a fairly extensive subterranean framework that makes it impossible for me to dig deep enough.” She sighs. “I realize this place isn’t perfect. My digging will certainly disrupt some of the plant life. But it appeared at least that there were few humans in the vicinity…”

“Mm.” Steven leads against the hood of his car. “I’m surprised you brought your ship out here and didn’t just Warp. We’re not that far from the Beta Kindergarten, and there’s a Warp there...”

“Those Warps weren’t built for us. We’re much too large.”

“I guess that’s true, but you could always shapeshift.”

“Hmm. I suppose. But there was also the equipment to bring.”

“Equipment?”

“Yes, I...There are...billions of shards in the Cluster. I figured...if I am going to dismantle it and reconstruct each of the Gems whose shards it conatiend, it would likely be easier for me to do it on Earth, rather than bringing all the Shards back to Homeworld. I don’t want to risk losing any of them or damaging any of them even further in transit…And while I may need to ultimately to transport some of them back to Homeworld to locate all the pieces, and though it may be disconcerting for the other Gems to reform on Earth...I…” She leaves the syllable hanging in the air, turns her head away. Steven can just barely make out her tense jaw as though she is gritting her teeth. Sparks radiate from her skin.

“Yellow? Are you...okay?”

“I’m fine!” But then she bows her head, inhales and releases, murmurs: “I apologize, Steven. I am not angry with you. I simply…It has been difficult enough for me to face each of the Gems I have reconstructed on Homeworld. Once they recover from the shock and the terror, they have each looked at me with such disdain. And those Fusion experiments, while they were certainly terrible, pale in comparison to the Cluster. I can only imagine what each of the Gem’s contained within it will feel. And I will deserve it. I hurt so many Gems in the service of the Empire.”

Steven opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Yellow continues, speaking ever rapidly, ever louder, as though desperate to expel the words. “Do not try to assuage my guilty conscience! That...is not your responsibility. I shouldn’t have just put you in a position to think that it was.”

Another tentative backpedaling, Steven thinks. A walking on eggshells moment, like he’s witnessed with the Gems and Dad over the past several months. And difficult though it is for him to sometimes believe, it’s not as though Yellow is wrong, at least not if he trusts his therapist. But there is a distant look in her eye, a panicked tension in her cheeks, which, when coupled with the fact that this is the first time he’s seen her since his breakdown, makes Steven wonder if she is remembering that day on the beach.

His own memories of it are fuzzy-to-nonexistant; he remembers the pain, and the panic, and the anger he’d held despite knowing that he shouldn't. Then, he has a vague impression of multiple embraces, of Connie kissing his forehead, of crying hot, cathartic tears...And then he’d woken up in the Cluster’s hand, with the eyes of most of the people he loved and almost everyone he’d ever fought all on him.

Despite his own lack of recollection, however, Connie assures him that she’d given everyone—the Diamonds included—something of a blunt talking to that day, a rallying speech, but she won’t elaborate on the specifics of what exactly she’d said. Might that—whatever its contents— be behind Yellow’s hasty assurances now?

“Okay,” Steven responds finally. “I won’t try to make you feel less guilty. But can I show you something?”

Yellow furrows her eyebrows. “Very well.”

“It’s just on the top of the canyon.”

They deliberate for a few moments on the details. Yellow offers to carry him, but even if she’s not White, Steven declines being held in a Diamond’s hand, and while she could shapeshift to fit in the passenger seat of the Dondai, she ultimately elects to simply follow behind the car as Steven slowly drives it up the cliff.

They reach the plateau just as the sun begins to dip in the horizon, casting a golden glow over the grass, over the Autumn leaves, just starting to paint themselves with the vibrant shades that return year after year.

Steven opens the door and steps out. “You never spent much time on Earth, did you?”

Yellow considers. “No.”

“Do you know what I think my mom fell in love with about this planet?”

“Organic life, of course. Humans.” She gestures to Steven. “Obviously.”

“Well, yeah, but not just them. Us. I think it was this stuff too.”

Yellow squints. “These weeds?! These...dying outgrowths?!”

“With things that change. Things that grow. There’s so much of it here.”

“Hm.”

Steven paces over to the grass, then sinks down onto it so that it brushes against his bare calves. It’s mostly soft on his skin but there are dryer patches too, scratchier places on the ground as some of the longer areas start to dry out for the season. The sun dips lower in the sky, and it leaks hues of pink and orange onto the daytime canvas of darkening blue. Yellow looms behind him.

“Feel this.” He pats the ground next to him, and tries not to wince as Yellow’s gargantuan hand settles down on the grass. “You might not be able to tell, but it’s growing. Even right now. By the time the snow—frozen water that falls from the sky—starts to cover it in a few months, it’ll probably be a few inches taller than it is right now. And then it’ll take a break for a while, but when Spring comes next year—when the weather gets warmer again—it’ll start again.

“The trees too. Look out there—they grow taller every year, and every year the leaves change into those beautiful colors you can see. And the shades are similar every year, but never exactly the same. Then the leaves fall off, and then bud again and come back. And the trees keep getting taller. And every time the leaves return, the whole tree is a little bit different too.”

Yellow hesitates. “These are familiar to me. Someone, I believe a Peridot—your Peridot—”

“She’s not my Peridot, but I know who you mean.”

“Yes...Well, she brought some of these...trees...from Earth to Homeworld, and determined how best to make them grow there. I’ve been gazing at them through the windows of the palace ever since, but I hadn’t realized how elaborate, how ever-present, their growth cycles were…”

“I’ve lived on Earth my whole life, and I only just started thinking about it recently. It’s easy to take for granted, but it’s really incredible when you stop to think about it.” He angles his head upward. “And it’s not just the plants. Look at the sky. It changes like this every day.” A pause. “Well, it’s really not the sky that’s changing—Connie told me that it’s an effect of how the planet moves around our sun. But from down here on Earth, it looks like it’s always changing. In a different way every day. I don’t think it’s like that on Homeworld.”

Yellow settles next to him at last, squatting, and then kneeling. “It isn’t. Things are constructed on Homeworld—not grown. We have a sun, but our sky does not transform like this.”

“Exactly. And I think that’s why my mom fell in love with the Earth so much. She was so in awe of how everything naturally grew and changed here.” Steven sighs, clenches him gemstone beneath his hand. “I’m still angry at her a lot of the time, but, like, I get it. She saw herself as this monster.” Here Steven pauses, glances away for a moment before finally letting the words return. “And she didn’t think that she was capable of growth or change. All she thought she could do was pretend to be someone else. And then she found herself on this planet where all anything did was grow for real, and she wanted to be a part of that even in some small way, so she made me.”

“Steven…”

“But the point is, she was wrong. She could have grown as herself. I think she did, even if she couldn’t see it. And she and I aren't the only Gems that grew. All of my friends and family have. None of us is the same as we were when I was a kid. Maybe it just took coming to Earth to see that, ya know? Gems can grow and change, just like the trees can, and the grass, and the sky.

“So yeah,” Steven continues. “White hurt you, and you hurt Mom, and Mom hurt Pearl and Garnet and Amethyst and Spinel and you, and everyone she hurt hurt me, and I hurt Jasper and Dad and a lot of people and could have hurt a lot more, and you hurt all the Gems who were corrupted, and who became the Fusion experiments and the Cluster...and that’s all true, and we all have to deal with that and make the things we did wrong right the best that we can. And it’s hard, and it sucks. But the ways we’ve been hurt and hurt other people aren’t all we are. We can grow and change too. As ourselves. I think the Earth is just one big reminder of that.”

Yellow’s brows are once again furrowed, her jaw agape. “I…”

“So, yeah, it’s going to be hard to face all the Gems in the Cluster as you put them all back together. But it’s the right thing to do. And if it ever becomes too much, you can always come up here, and watch the world change and grow to remind yourself that you’re growing too. You’re better than you were, and if you keep working at it, you’ll keep getting better.”

Then, without waiting for Yellow to respond, Steven stands, walks back over to the Dondai. “Now, I gotta hit the road. I want to get to Vegas by tomorrow. It was nice to see you, Yellow.”

“You as well, Steven.” Yellow rises to her feet.

“Good luck,” he calls out the window as he pulls away, and glancing in the rearview mirror, he sees Yellow’s arm raised in farewell, something like a small, apprehensive smile on her lips.

Six months later, after a sojourn up and down the West Coast, Steven returns to the ridge en route back to Beach City for a visit. He pulls up just as the sun is rising over the canyon, glinting off Yellow’s arm ship, and off of the chest and arms and backs of the little gaggle of Gems gathered next to the ship and the adjacent hole. Yellow is not among them, though. She stands on the crest of the cliff, gazing at the trees, at the little buds beginning to spring into being on each branch.

“Steven.” She turns to him in greeting as he gets out of the car.

“You’ve been busy!”

“Yes, we’re progressing nicely.”

“We?”

Yellow nods. “Some of the Gems I reconstructed from the Cluster decided to remain here to help. Then others in Little Homeworld—and even a few on Homeworld itself—learned about what we were doing, and traveled here to volunteer.” She pauses. “They’re here for the sake of the Gems inside the Cluster, not for me. Still, it is nice not to be alone.”

“Mm.”

Yellow turns from the trees to the canyon, in the direction of the rising sun. The growing orange light catches her Gemstone too, and it glimmers in it. “It’s a beautiful morning.”

“Yeah,” Steven says. “It is.”

[ao3]

[tmae3114]

IT MAY HAVE GONE MIDNIGHT MY TIME BUT IT’S STILL HERO APPRECIATION DAY IN SOME TIMEZONE AND THEREFORE YOU GET THIS FIC I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED AFTER WORKING ON IT FOR A WHILE ON THE BEST DAY FOR POSTING IT

The position of this in the Book 3 timeline is ~nebulous~ but it’s sometime after the hero sees Warlic again for the first and before Warlic and Alexander started working together

trust in me (and I’ll trust you too)

For a moment, the words refuse to make sense. He knows what everything she just said means individually but those words put together in that order don’t make a coherent concept. Only for a moment. All too soon, clarity crashes on him like icy water down his spine.

“…you’re here to invite me to a party?”

Or: a hero and a mage have a conversation, trauma sucks, and actual age differences mean nothing in the face of Big Sister Instincts™

[AO3]

-

There is, for some yet-to-be-determined reason, an adventurer asleep on his couch.

Warlic pauses mid-step to contemplate this fact for a few moments, then realises that the cup of tea he forgot in the kitchen is going to keep going cold if he doesn’t return to hurrying to fetch it.

One severe disappointment in the form of a stone cold cup of tea and the necessary subsequent brewing of a replacement later, there continues to be an adventurer asleep on his couch. In full armour, no less. Even after all these years, he is no closer to understanding how that can possibly be comfortable, for all it never seems to bother her.

He sips his tea contemplatively, then clears his throat pointedly.

That prompts a stirring. Ro blinks up at him, looking for all the world like there is no reason at all to question her napping on his couch. She yawns widely, her jaw audibly popping, and stretches languidly in a very catlike way.

Then, in a movement that is all seal, she twists and flops sideways off of the couch.

“Hi, Warlic,” she greets from the floor, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Hello, Ro,” he replies, taking another sip of his tea. “I assume that Cysero let you in?”

“Mmhmm.”

There is no elaboration on that. She seems perfectly content to simply lie on the floor and wait for him to say or do something else.

He drinks more of his tea.

She tilts her head slightly.

His sigh is fonder than he’d care to admit.

“Not that I’m unhappy to see you,” he says, arching his visible eyebrow “But are you here for a reason?”

She clicks her tongue and twists in a way that is probably supposed to help her get upright but more strongly resembles a seal in the banana pose than anything else.

“I needed a nap and your tower is always so nice and quiet,” she says, voice cheerful and dry.

In the distance, something – hopefully on Cysero’s side of the tower – explodes.

Ro giggle-snorts as she leverages herself upright using the arm of the couch she rolled off of.

“Aye, awright, point taken!” she calls in the general direction of the explosion.

“A social visit, then?” Warlic prompts, hiding his smile behind the rim of his teacup. “You usually give advance warning for those.”

“Ehhh,” Ro replies, making a wobbly see-saw motion with one hand, halfway sitting on the arm of the couch now “Social with a purpose?”

“Do tell.”

“Artix is wanting to dae a thing,” she says, twirling one hand in a circle as though to encompass the incredibly vague concept of ‘a thing’ “Away out at the keep? Hanging out and having a meal and stuff, ‘cept he doesnae know who’ll be up for it. I-” here, she makes an overly dramatic gesture to herself, the fingers of one hand splayed over her heart “-volunteered tae come see if you lot-” a wide sweeping gesture, clearly meant to encompass the tower and its inhabitants “-were free and when, seeing as I’m popping ‘round t’see Cysero aw the time anyways,”

For a moment, the words refuse to make sense. He knows what everything she just said means individually but those words put together in that order don’t make a coherent concept. Only for a moment. All too soon, clarity crashes on him like icy water down his spine.

“…you’re here to invite me to a party?”

“I mean…” Ro leans back, one arm braced against the back, one ankle loosely slung over the other, casual and so, so at ease “Less a party and more just dinner wi’ friends but aye, thereabouts.”

Are you mad?

The words stick in his throat. His stomach twists painfully. Just as he vaguely begins to hope that it isn’t showing outwardly, that he’ll be able to excuse himself quickly and without a fuss, his tea betrays him by sloshing loudly over the side of the cup.

Ro is by his side in an instant, one hand whisking the cup away from him and the other winding around his back to support him by the opposite elbow, gently but firmly steering him to the couch. He is vaguely aware of a quiet narrative litany – “Woah, ‘kay, c’mere, let’s just-” – accompanying these actions, then he blinks and is sitting with his hands clasped in his lap, knuckles white and chest tight. He blinks again, once, twice, staring down at his hands, then up to look at the adventurer sitting at his side. The way that she meets and holds eye contact with him for a few moments more than gives away the worry lurking underneath the calm on her face. His cup of tea is no longer in her hands. A quick glance reveals it to be set down on a coaster on a side table.

“So,” Ro says, pulling his attention back to her “That was a reaction.”

The noise he makes in response to that is somewhere between a snort and a gasp.

“Do you realise,” he asks, voice trembling despite his best efforts “how dangerous what you suggested is?”

She leans a bit closer and rests one of her hands over his clasped ones. The cool metal of her gauntlet is almost grounding.

“It’s not,” she says. Just like the way she guided him to sit, her voice is both gentle and firm. Kind but unyielding. It’s the voice she uses for Heroics.

“It is, how can you not-”

“Ah, of course, silly me,” she interrupts, voice now completely flat. “How could I not have foreseen the incredible danger inherent in you leaving this tower for a few hours to spend some time with your friends. You’re right, that’s an absolutely mental idea. Whatever was I thinking.”

His breath shudders. A distant part of him notes that she seems to have switched from the casual mix of Common and her native tongue she favours in the company of friends to the – as she puts it, with air quotes, rolled eyes, and disdain – “more proper” Greenguardian dialect of Common that she uses for everything from strangers to snotty nobles; the one she uses to ensure she’ll be understood, for better or for worse. She almost certainly doesn’t realise that she’s done it. That distant part of him aches.

He takes another hitching breath.

“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm.”

“You weren’t supposed to.”

She sighs and shifts to face him more fully, tucking one leg up underneath herself as she sits sideways, and moving her other hand so that both of hers are covering both of his. It helps stop the shaking, a little bit.

“You’re scared. I get it. You’ve told me it wasn’t safe for you to leave before and I believe you. But it’s been years now, Warlic, and if it’s safe for me to come here, why isn’t it safe for you to leave, just for a little bit?”

Because it’s different. Because he could lose control at any moment but maybe here it could be contained. Because it’s his fault, all of it, Alex and Jaania and the Rose and-

Because that monster was a part of him, is inside of him still, and what if I-

Because-

“-I’m dangerous.”

Ah.

Oops.

The look that she gives him somehow manages to be drier than the Sandsea and utterly sympathetic at the same time. He has a feeling that he knows what she’s going to say next, can practically already hear it – So am I. We’re all dangerous, it comes with the territory.

He can see it in her face, begins preparing his counterargument.

“You’re not a threat, Warlic.”

Crystallised disbelief is, apparently, a noise and his vocal cords are capable of making it.

“You’re not.” She squeezes his hands. “You’re in control. You’re not Wargoth-” He flinches at the name, the one he’s only heard in his own thoughts for some time now “-and you’re in control. You are exactly as dangerous as you choose to be and not a whit more and I think I know you well enough to say that that amount is minimal.”

“You didn’t see,” he replies, quietly, staring past her head to trace the grain of the wooden beams in the wall behind her with his eyes “What it was like in the early days. What I was like when I was only just recovering.”

It’s a statement, not an accusation. They both know she would have been there, given the remotest choice. They both know she couldn’t be there. They both know why and who is to blame for it.

She flinches anyways.

It’s the Wargoth in him, Warlic thinks, that makes him be so cruel to a friend who is only trying to help.

Ro breaths in, holds it for a few seconds, then breathes out. She flexes her fingers where they rest across his clasped hands. The motion draws his focus back from the wall just in time to see something in her eyes go firm.

“Right,” she says, with the air of a decision made. “Palms up, in your lap.”

Before he can respond to that non-sequitur, she has swiftly, methodically, somehow still gently, pried his interlocking fingers apart and arranged his hands so that they are resting in his lap, one arm to a leg, palms up. He twitches his fingers a little, wincing at the stiffness in his knuckles after clasping them so tightly for so long.

“Now, close your eyes.”

“Ro, I-”

“Wheesht and dae it, Warlic.”

He closes his eyes.

There are several long moments filled with the sound of rummaging and rustling. She grumbles under her breath a couple of times – at one point, he hears a distinct “why do I even have that?” – and then makes a distinctly satisfied rumble that would be much more suited to her seal vocal cords than her human ones.

A beat after that, something heavy and so very soft is settled into his arms.

“’kay, you can open your eyes now.”

He doesn’t want to. His heart is pounding so wildly he half wonders if it’s visible from the outside. A part of him is desperately hoping that she’s just handed him a blanket, some sentimental symbol of comfort she hopes to share, maybe even something with childhood importance. Something, anything, like that.

The rest of him knows better.

Definitely not a blanket.

The noise he makes isn’t so much a vocalisation of her name as it is a plaintive cry made of vaguely similar sounds. His eyes snap to her in panic and-

-she’s smiling. He can tell not just by the way the outer corners of her eyes have tilted up but by the way he can just barely see her teeth because her mask is pooled around her neck and she’s smiling and she looks absolutely, utterly at ease and-

-and her sealskin is in his hands.

“I trust you,” she says, as thought that isn’t a completely redundant thing to say, as though she hasn’t just made herself impossibly vulnerable, hasn’t just- “I trust you, Warlic. Even if you can’t trust yourself right now, can you trust me? Trust my faith in you?”

The sealskin in his lap is thick and soft and warm. He’s bunched his hands in it, pulled his arms in a bit to hold it closer, without even realising he was doing so and he can’t quite convince himself to let go. He’s never seen it close enough to realise just how much the white-on-blue markings look like clouds before.

His heart pounds and his mind races. There are a million and one things that a mage of his strength and knowledge could do with a selkie’s coat and almost none of them are good. I trust you she says but how can she be anything but terrified in this moment, this moment where she has all but put herself into the worst horror stories of her people, how could she just hand this to him-

Wargoth enslaved people. He’d stolen them from themselves, reached in to grab the fire in their souls and twisted to chain them to his will, to turn them into puppets in his hands-

-and his friend has just unhesitatingly handed him the power to do it again. To do it to her.

“Warlic, hey, Warlic, look at me.”

Her hand is on his shoulder now and he turns to look, a million repetitions of the same question on his tongue – how can you…- and then she stands up.

She stands up and takes one step backwards.

A second.

A third.

She stops there, three paces away, smiling all the while.

“I trust you,” she repeats for the third time.

As his vision first blurs, then swims, Warlic finds himself thinking it’s a good thing that selkies live in the sea, it would be incredibly rude of me to give her coat water stains after a gesture like that. He takes one breath, then two, and then lets go.

Warlic bawls like a baby.

Ro returns to the couch, sitting close enough that their legs are pressed together, and starts rubbing circles on his back, between his shoulder blades.

It should feel ridiculous, with how much younger than him she is. He remembers when she had to look up just to look him in the face while he tried to convince her to take a nap, assuring her that the world wouldn’t end when she wasn’t looking if she took some time to rest. She’s grown a lot since then, he knows, but the number of years is such a drop in the ocean of those he’s lived that it feels like she must have barely aged at all. And yet, somehow, the rhythm of her comforting him as though he’s the child in the room doesn’t feel out of place at all. It just feels…

…safe.

Inevitably, he runs out of tears to cry. Ro wordlessly passes him a tissue to blow his nose, then another to wipe his eyes. He has no idea where she got them from, as there aren’t any nearby. He can’t remember the last time he cried like that. It feels… good, in a way, to have let it out.

When his breathing settles into a more sedate pace, Ro pats him on the shoulder.

“It’s okay to be scared, Warlic,” she says, voice quiet “You know that I know what it’s like to be scared of yourself. I get it. Just… don’t go letting your fear control you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out “Yeah, okay.”

She shuffles aside a bit, giving him some space, but makes no movement to take her coat back. Not even an aborted grasp towards it, though he can see a line of tension beginning to form in her shoulders that she is clearly fighting.

…oh.

Oh. Of course. Trust. The whole point is trust.

He gathers her coat up in his arms, allowing himself just a moment to appreciate all that just being allowed to touch it would represent, let alone having the entire thing dropped in his lap, and passes it over to her.

“Thanks,” she says as she takes it from him, as though this is in any way a casual exchange. She slings it up and over her shoulders, settling it against her neck where the fur will rest against the few uncovered parts of her skin.

He nods, not entirely trusting his voice.

They sit in silence for a few moments and then she tilts her head to the side.

“So,” she says, drawing the vowel out, deliberately light-hearted, testing the waters “Artix’s thing?”

He thinks it over for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. Considers all of his reasons for saying no; considers the possibilities for saying yes. Thinks about keeping himself locked away where it’s safe; thinks about spending time with people again.

He takes a deep breath in, feels his lungs expand. He thinks about a time when, despite everything, he had trusted himself. Even if you can’t trust yourself right now, can you trust me? He breathes out.

He knows his answer.

“No,” he says, letting the syllable hang in the air for just a moment before turning to face Ro with a small smile “But tell him… maybe next time.”

[mimik-u]

Archive

Summary: As a part of the extensive process for documenting the war, Pearl and Blue Diamond prepare to have a conversation about Pink.

Prompt: One of the Diamonds interacts with a Pearl (either “our” Pearl, our “their” Pearl) post-CYM

Note: My gift to @runrundoyourstuff​ for our holiday gift exchange. Dani, your writing always inspires me—I’m always looking to it for your complex understanding of characters, your depth, and the beautiful way you have with words (always so thoughtful, even to the syllable). Thank you for all the wonderful conversations that we have. I’m so lucky to have you in my life!! And please check out her gift to me—Seasons! I’m so excited to read it, too!!!!

AO3 Link

—

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Steven reminds her for the fifteenth time since he woke up this morning and bounded down from the loft to interrupt her daily newspaper reading. He’s sitting on the corner of her desk in Little Homeschool now, one of his jacket sleeves scrunched up at the elbow and the other rolled down, leveling her a serious look beneath his bushy brow, mouth pressed into a thin line.

It strikes Pearl suddenly, and for no readily available reason, that her little boy has grown up somewhere in the space and span of two measly years.

Soon, if he keeps growing, he’ll be even taller than she is.

“Yes, you’ve made sure I’m aware of that,” she returns wryly, absently reshuffling her notes again. They’re half-English, half-gem glyph in a shorthand that only she understands, alternating languages from line to line depending on when glyphs were not sufficient enough to capture all those once-foreign concepts to gemkind: love, romance, the depths of sacrifice. Gems didn’t need symbols to encode for these complex sensations, even if they felt them, and perhaps especially if they did.

It was scary to love someone on Homeworld.

It was terrifying to love them so powerfully that you would risk your very gem for them.

Traitors were duly punished.

Survivors were rare in Era One.

(Garnet can attest to that.)

“I’m just sayin’,” he protests playfully, sounding rather like Amethyst, and even resembling her when he raises both of his palms in mock surrender. “I know this project is important and all, but it’s not as important as me knowing that you’re comfortable…”

Pearl places her papers down and straightens them neatly, all the while feeling the force of Steven’s expectant gaze.

The strength of his love.

It warms her all over.

It colors her pale face.

But when she finally glances up at him, even though her cheeks are assuredly pink, she keeps her voice and resolve firm.

(Though she’ll never say this to him, not now, not anymore—never again—he reminds her so much of his mother sometimes.)

(His kindness, his warmth, his goodness.)

(Because Rose wasn’t all bad—not really. Not to her, at least.)

“I’m fine, Steven,” she reassures him. “I promise. I wouldn’t have agreed in the first place if I wasn’t. This isn’t the first time I’ve done one of these recordings, and it won’t be the last either.”

“But never about… this, you know”—he makes a vague pointing gesture with his hand, struggling for the right words—“and never with a Diamond.”

He says the word Diamond nervously, like it’s one of the expletives that Amethyst has gotten more comfortable in dropping now that Steven is a bonafide teenager, and he’s simply waiting to see Pearl’s response, how she’ll react.

She certainly did give Amethyst one hell of a scolding the other day.

“This is history,” she returns quietly. “It’s painful history, yes… but that can’t be helped.”

“But it can!” He argues pointedly, his eyes wide and incredulous, his voice scratched around its strained edges. “You don’t have to share the things that have hurt you for the entire galaxy to see, Pearl. That isn’t what this is all about.”

“But I want to.” And there’s a sense of finality in her tone that closes a mouth that had already been half-wrenched open in preemptive protest. Pearl takes the opportunity to reach over then and place a hand on Steven’s jean-enclosed knee, smiling gently. “Of course, there are a couple of details I’ll keep to myself—keep between you and me—but for the most part, I’m ready to tell this part of the story. Indeed, I think it’s essential that I do.”

“For archival purposes?” Steven asks dryly, resignation in his voice, a little teenage petulance, too.

Pearl pats his knee once, laughs lightly, and then withdraws her hand.

“For closure,” she says simply, but then, because she knows it’s not enough for him, and she wants it to be enough for him, elaborates. Explains. (It isn’t quite justification, though.) “Two years ago, I was bound by your mother’s final command to never talk about what we did. And most of the time, I didn’t want to… I don’t think I could have forced myself to even if I tried. As you got older, though, as you learned more about your mother and all of her many… complexities…  as you began to have questions—so many important questions—I knew I needed to but couldn’t. And now…”

“You have a choice,” Steven finishes for her, realization washing across his face, unbending the protective sharpness in it.

“Exactly,” she nods approvingly, “and so I’ve thought about it… I’ve weighed everything out carefully… and I’ve come to the conclusion that this is what I want—to claim our history… even  though it’s painful, even if it still hurts. I’ve had trouble doing that before, even with secrets in my own volition, and I don’t want… I refuse to let that be me anymore, Steven. I don’t want to live with thousands-year old ghosts anymore.”

Though his brow remains furrowed, though there’s something in the dark of his eyes that remains a little unsure, Steven nonetheless blinks to show that he’s heard her and nods solemnly to indicate that he understands.

It’s a simple gesture.

It means a lot.

And she smiles at him in radiant, weary relief.

A few months ago, Homeworld and Little Homeschool scholars had a conference to determine how best to record, preserve, and proliferate the history of the war, and all the events that resulted in Era Three. There are extensive gaps in Homeworld’s own archives, which had been scrubbed free of mentions of it in obedience to Yellow Diamond’s commands, and Little Homeschool, of course, being relatively new, doesn’t have an archive so much as it has a file cabinet in Pearl’s office that’s at the very least meticulously alphabetized. And so, they decided upon creating a universally accessible Archive, a series of recordings and documents and interviews delivered by gems and humans from both sides of the war, giving accounts of all that has happened in six thousand elapsed years.

Most of the Crystal Gems have done several recordings.

Garnet, Bismuth, and Pearl did one just last week on the Battle of the Ziggurat.

Biggs and a few other defected Homeworld soldiers have covered some of the minor battles.

Yellow and Blue Pearl have recorded a few on what it was like to be in the palace during the war.

And even the Diamonds themselves have proffered their perspectives whenever they’ve had the time.

Because the scholars emphasized early on that it was essential for all sides of the story to be brought to the table in order for the universe to get the fullest canvas of what it meant that Pink Diamond started a war that her half-human son would one day finish.

The minutiae of Homeworld politics.

All of the many battles.

The rebellion.

The beauty of Earth.

The aching desolation of Homeworld after the faked shattering.

Gems’ encounters with humans.

Humans’ encounters with gems.

The casualties.

The grief.

And what that does to a gem—to hold her comrade’s shards in her hands.

What it does to people.

The various townies have given their accounts of what it was like to live through alien invasion after alien invasion, to see their beloved Beach City upended so many times, right before their eyes.

War.

“When does it start?” Steven asks in a would-be-casual voice, straightening up from her desk and stretching his arms over his head before pulling them back down again. With a meticulousness she fancies he inherited from her, he finally fixes his sleeves, dragging the cuff of his left arm to perfectly match the length of the other.

“In ten minutes,” she replies.

“Do you want me to stay?” Lines crease his eyes even as he offers it. “I can if you need me to.”

He glances at the still dormant Holo-Crystal on the desk and just as quickly glances away, finding her face.

Searching her own gaze, even at the very moment she searches his, the both of them looking for something to be concerned about and unfailingly finding love.

Pearl knows for a fact that he doesn’t want to listen, that he’d rather not hear the sordid story all over again.

He’s seen it.

Goodness, he’s half-lived it through the mire of her own head.

But she also knows that if she asked him to, he would do it.

Just for her.

He’s selfless like that.

He’s Steven.

“Go,” she smiles softly at him, leaning back in her chair. “Get out of here. If you and Amethyst will grab the stuff from the store, I’ll make cookies for dessert tonight.”

Steven returns the gesture crookedly, and the relief in his eyes is almost mistakable for excitement.

“Chocolate chip?” His voice young, almost childlike.

“Do you even need to ask?” Her voice fond, always motherly.

“Thanks, Pearl!” He chuckles. He half-skips. He snatches his car keys from the desk and all but slaps the door handle. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He winks his final goodbye, twists the knob and in a brief flash of golden sunlight, disappears into the day. The door clicks to a merry close behind the shuffle and haste of his heels.

And Pearl is left alone, hands templed delicately in her lap, staring at a deadened Holo-Crystal that’s lying almost forlornly on its side. 

Her smile slips away from her mouth like falling sand the moment she thinks she’s safe.

She shuffles her papers again.

She stares, very quietly, at the crystal.

She looks, just as pointedly, away.

Occupies herself by touching her notes again, raking her fingers over all the words that give a form to the one secret she had kept to herself for thousands upon thousands of years—not entirely out of her own will.

She wasn’t lying to Steven when she said that she wanted to do this.

She was lying about the fact that she was fine to do it.

Somehow, in the tangle of her own head, it makes sense to her that these sensations are not mutually exclusive. It’s perfectly compatible to want to do something that’s scary and still feel intensely scared about doing it.

Fear doesn’t stop at the threshold of a made decision. 

After all, if fear had ever stopped her from doing what she wanted, then she would have never loved Rose Quartz.

So she stares at the Holo-Crystal, and then she emphatically doesn’t.

Tries to distract herself.

(Eight minutes til…. seven.)

Fails. 

Abruptly gets out of her chair, a sudden restlessness in her lanky limbs, and begins to pace the floor, sunlight from the nearby window dusting her skin gold in square patches, in slivers. When only one minute remains, and the Holo-Crystal suddenly glows a bright, electric blue as a warning alert to a scheduled call, she throws herself back into the chair as forcibly as possible and tries to arrange her face into an expression that’s just as equally cool.

Focused.

Put together.

Fifty seconds…

She pushes a hand through her hair and hates herself for doing so; assuredly, she just ruffled it, and now her hair will be a rumpled mess on a hologram for time immemorial.

Thirty seconds…

What in stars’ name does she do with her hands? Arrange them on the desk? Temple them on her lap? Place them stiffly by her sides? She settles for some awkward combination of the three—templing them on the smooth surface of her desk with her elbows at stiff angles.

It’s highly uncomfortable.

Twenty seconds…

She could bail now, and Steven wouldn’t think the worse of her for it. She’d join him at the beach house after he returned from the grocery store, and he’d help her make the cookie dough and never say a word as to her cowardice. Perhaps he would even be relieved that she decided not to go through with her intentions in the first place. After all, they weren’t strictly necessary… that was one of his arguments even… someone else could do it… could tell her story… and it would all be the same.

Ten seconds…

But she wouldn’t be relieved.

She wouldn’t be proud of herself.

She could live with herself, yes, but she wouldn’t be able to forget that when the opportunity came to speak her truth freely, she refused to, denying a voice that had already been long denied.

So many times over.

From the very first moment she emerged into the world as a gem whose highest and only pleasure was to serve.

Five seconds… the Holo-Crystal begins to blink rapidly, throwing its frenetic hues in quick pulses across her desk.

And so she has to do this then.

Four seconds…

She wants to.

Three seconds…

It’s her narrative and no one else’s.

Two seconds…

Not even Rose’s.

One second…

Maybe especially not hers, even if she isn’t ready to admit that yet, to face that raw fact.

In a diamond shaped burst of energy, the Holo-Crystal throws its projection upwards with a series of gem glyphs that she reads with both trepidation and ease: ACCEPT FEED? YES OR NO?

Breaking the solemn temple of her fingers, swallowing her electric, jangling nerves, Pearl, against all her better judgment, presses yes, and the glyphs fall away, replaced by a live portrait of a gem who somehow looks exactly like Pearl feels. 

Arctic eyes wide.

Charcoaled beneath with thousands of years worth of shadows.

Brow furrowed with indecision.

With hesitancy.

With all the indelicate trappings of fear.

“Blue Diamond,” Pearl greets coolly, jerking her head in a stiff nod. Somewhere deep in her gem, an odd impulse to salute pulls at her facets.

“Pearl,” the Diamond returns softly, almost wonderingly—as though the name is unfamiliar on her tongue. In a way, it likely is. The Diamonds once viewed the Pearls as objects as opposed to gems and referred to them in such a way.

The Pearls.

Our Pearls.

They were interchangeable.

They were possessions.

In the Reef, they even came with accessories: staffs and wands and batons.

“Thank you for consenting to do this,” Pearl continues in that same clipped but professional tone. “I think this will be an important entry in the Archive.”

“Aye,” comes the quiet reply, thoughtful. “Yellow and White don’t quite understand it entirely yet, but there is rationality in this—in proffering the fullest account of our history for anyone to access it if they so choose. It’s about preserving her… all of our legacies—the good, the bad, and the ugly.”

Pearl is suddenly reminded that of the three remaining Diamonds, Blue was the one who upheld the human zoo, who perceived it as a relic and immortalized it as such.

Steven had told her about all of those bubbled Rose Quartzes.

Dozens of them.

Hundreds.

Made to cover the illusion of Rose’s identity.

Punished for a crime that they didn’t perpetrate. 

Perfectly preserved in stasis and purgatory for thousands of aching years.

“And so often the ugly,” Pearl emphasizes scathingly, and it’s a condemnation of them all—of Rose for making the Quartzes, of Pearl for being complicit, of Blue Diamond for imprisoning them and calling it mercy.

“Yes,” Blue agrees faintly, new lines forming beneath her eyes. “We did some terrible things…”

Her demureness and her honesty irritate Pearl for some reason—perhaps because she didn’t expect them, or perhaps because she very well did and still finds that they ring false, insincere, affected. How could they not in the face of millennia worth of cruelty and injustice? How can two years of positive growth overturn the effects of two hundred thousand?

Perhaps it’s simply that she believes in action as correctives and atonements.

Perhaps she doesn’t trust mere words, even though this is what this entire event is all about in the end—mere words. 

Perhaps she wants to see it in Blue Diamond’s eyes for herself—the change in them, the repentance.

And perhaps, at the very same time, she doesn’t want to look too closely in case she finds precisely what she’s looking for.

“Yes,” she repeats primly. “You did, and today is about looking backwards to that, about assessing all the things we did and didn’t do—on both sides of the war.”

Blue Diamond absorbs this all quietly, looking downwards, strands of silvery-blue hair falling from her neat parting and across her tall forehead.

“How exactly do we do that?” She asks. “Where do we even begin?”

Admittedly, they’re both excellent questions, and now it’s Pearl’s turn to glance down, to recognize the scrawl of all her neatly organized notes and suddenly realize that they feel insufficient for the task at hand, bare.

The word love crops up so many times, but nothing is said about the overwhelming force of that love—the all-consuming dimensions of it.

How Pearl would have been content to stay in Rose’s presence forever, and that alone would have been enough.

And how complicated that same love was.

How it was sometimes tangled in programming and servitude.

And how at other times, it was dangerous, bold, revolutionary, transcendent.

And how it hurt sometimes.

Perhaps even all the time.

Love so deep that it felt like pain.

Even English doesn’t have the capacity to describe those complexities of emotion.

Even language itself.

“Well,” she begins hesitantly, before she has all of her words in order, “when I press record… we simply have to… you know… talk about it, about everything that led up to the Corruption Song, sparing no detail.”

“Simple, is it?” Blue Diamond asks quietly, and there is slight admonishment in the question, ancient sadness in her geometric eyes, in all the lines and shadows beneath them.

“No,” Pearl replies, glancing away from the screen. “Not at all.”

Loving Pink Diamond was so many things.

It was not, in fact, simple.

“But it’s important,” she continues, her voice gaining strength, “maybe even necessary for us to at least try to tell our stories as fully as we can because she never felt like she could tell her own.”

“That must have been so lonely for her,” Blue whispers, anguished, the words half-caught in her throat.

Pearl forces herself to look at the diamond portrait again.

To search the other’s expression.

To acknowledge the truth in it.

The love.

The pain.

The love that feels so much like pain.

“It was, I think,” Pearl murmurs. “She wanted to be everyone else but herself—on that day. On all the days afterwards as we recovered the shards of our companions, as we had to fight their corrupted selves. Maybe even until the very end when she became Steven.”

And this, she thinks, is the fundamental truth of Rose Quartz above all, one she doesn’t think she’ll share with the rest of the universe, one she thinks will keep between herself and Steven and now… Blue Diamond.

Rose loved the entire world.

She was moved by it. Endlessly.

She loathed herself.

And seemingly the entire world—Pearl included—pedestalized her.

“We did that to her,” Blue says, and there’s venom in her voice, an air of admission. She brings her tall hands upwards and spiders them across her face. “We… I… never told her that she was good enough. I required her facets to be perfect and scolded her—punished her—every time she so much as toed our harsh lines.”

“You never told her that you loved her,” Pearl says, and there’s solemnity in her voice, an air of accusation. She clenches her own hands on top of the surface of her notes.

Glyphs interspersed with words.

Pain.

Love.

Grief.

“And when you finally showed that you did,” Pearl continues, closing her eyes at the memory of a world being swallowed in white light, of a sky being rent by the echoes of so many thousands of gems screaming to the same tune of the Diamonds’ feral, wailing song, “you destroyed nearly an entire population to do it… all of you… together.”

“Yes,” Blue Diamond can only utter between the gaps in her fingertips.

There is nothing else she can really say.

No defense against the indefensible.

“This is the story we have to tell,” Pearl finishes unsparingly, and yet, at the very moment she does, she leans backwards in her chair, suddenly exhausted, completely drained, as though she’s already done all the telling and the reckoning and the processing and the labor.

But she’s only scarcely begun.

They both have.

“Not only for this project… but for ourselves, too. We owe ourselves that, at least—the ability to claim everything that we’ve done.”

“Or”—Blue finally lets her hands fall away from her face, leaving only the carnage of overbright eyes behind—“that has been done to you.”

She’s talking about her own atrocities—this Pearl immediately intuits—but Pearl thinks about a different Diamond instead.

A covered mouth.

A hibiscus flower.

And command to never speak of this again.

Because no one can know.

“Yes,” Pearl can only utter.

There is nothing else she can really say.

No defense against the indefensible.

They lapse into silence then, the static from the hologram’s particles humming in the still air.

“It’s a tragic story,” Blue Diamond says, “but I believe you're correct… we have to tell it anyway. For that very reason—so other gems will know the truth… and remember it… remember her.”

Pearl slowly reaches forward to grab the Holo-Crystal, her fingers hovering just above the recording mechanism.

“It’s a story about love,” she quietly asserts, renegade defiance in her voice. “About all different kinds of it, really.”

“The good, the bad, and the ugly.”

And so often the ugly.

“It was complicated,” Pearl only says and presses record.

It’s not an admission here; she's already admitted to this fact—several times over.

To anyone who will listen.

(No one really does.)

Rather, it's a tiny kindness.

Maybe to Blue Diamond.

Maybe to herself.

And maybe even to the memory of the long dead ghost who sits in the space of the thousands of lightyears between them, hands beneath her chin, smiling gently at some beautiful thing that she just saw.

A flower, perhaps.

A human.

An infinite, changing sky.

A world where she could perhaps learn to love herself in the same way that she loved others.

Entirely.

[ruined-my-dramatic-entrance]

Hat’s Off to You

Platonic fluff, a bit silly or OOC but not a crackfic lol, 1659 words TW: S!Janus

“What’s going on here?” Patton asked as he popped up.

 After rolling his eyes and a moment of hesitation, Virgil replied, “Princey brought up some dumb idea about Janus having some weird secret hidden under his hat and now he and Logan are debating it.”

 “Well, what’s all hat about?” the moral side inquired further with a grin.

 Though Patton had expected Virgil to at least smirk at this, the latter instead protested, “Please, just get them to stop for now or something…”

 “Okay, kiddo. Sorry about Pat — uh, I mean that,” Patton corrected himself quickly before turning his attention to the other two.

 “I still think it’s probably something weird and evil, like some devil’s horns or — or pointed ears,” Roman insisted, gesturing to the vague areas that those body parts would be placed on himself.

 “If Janus were to be hiding something underneath his hat — which I still have very significant doubts about — then it would probably be a result of his half-snake composition, such as a lack of hair on that side of his head, covered by scales,” Logan chimed in with an even tone.

 “Well, yeah, maybe, but it still could be something… much more sinister that reveals how Thomas truly visualizes Deceit in his mind,” the prince suggested with a deep curiosity.

 “Wouldn’t that be you, Roman?” Patton asked with an innocent smile.

 “Wha—? No, I’m not a liar! I’m an actor but I am not Deceit,” Roman dismissed, clearly offended.

 “No, that’s not what I meant, and I was talking about Janus, not evil,” Patton said, subtly reminding Roman to be kinder about the side in question. “I meant that the way Thomas views Deceit as a concept would be your creativity, kiddo,” he explained.

 Roman paused for a moment. “I… suppose you’re right,” he agreed.

 “That would make sense, though it would still have the influence of how Thomas feels about the concept of Deceit in genera—” Logan tried to elaborate, but was cut off by Roman.

 “By Artemis’s beautiful bow, I think I know!” the creative side exclaimed with a wide gesture.

 “You’ve… decided on a guess?” Logan prompted, frowning slightly in curiosity and pushing his glasses backwards as he scanned Roman with his eyes.

 “Oh, brother, what is it now?” Virgil groaned, pulling his hood up over his head.

 “That’s the spirit! What do you think, Roman?” Patton encouraged excitedly.

 “Wolf ears,” Roman answered simply, as if the answer was obvious.

 “Uh… might’ve misheard you there, Kiddo,” Patton fretted, leaning in a bit closer in hopes of understanding Roman’s words better.

 “That… is an interesting guess. I suppose I could see some reasoning for this,” Logan mused, placing his knuckle against his lips in thought.

 “Please tell me you’re not actually considering this, dude,” Virgil pleaded, pulling his sleeves over his hands.

 “No, no, I’m serious!” Roman persisted, holding out his hands in a “wait” gesture. “From my best understanding of how Thomas views deception, he gets consistently stuck on the phrase ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’ and sometimes he imagines liars as having certain wolf traits,” he finally explained. “Though, he usually only does that past 3am,” he added with a slight shrug before looking towards the rest of the group for approval.

 “In addition to that, Janus does seem to... work alone, if you will, with his varying goals for Thomas — a lone wolf, perhaps,” Logan elaborated, “Wolves are also regarded for their intelligence and have very complicated social dynamics, maybe tying into Janus’s ability to use charisma to his advantage. Symbolically, wolves are also regarded as confident, which he definitely exhibits.”

 “Come on, you don’t actually think Janus would have something as… as stupid as that,” Virgil disagreed, rubbing the back of his neck. Logan narrowed his eyes at the way he stumbled over his words.

 “Virgil, I expected you to be less… concerned about this matter — furthermore, to mock him for it,” the logical side deduced, tilting his head slightly in confusion. “So… either you’re embarrassed about something similar or something is wrong here,” he declared, causing the room to fall silent for a few seconds.

 “What’s wrong with Virge, Logan? Don’t just leave it all… ominous like that! It’s scary,” Patton fretted, looking at the side in question with worry.

 At that moment, Virgil showed up, shoving aside the “Virgil” that had been there before, who was pushed into the wall and reverted back into his true form.

 “Did someone say ‘scary?’” Virgil asked nonchalantly, giving Patton a quick glance before returning to glaring at Janus.

 “Deceit!!” Logan yelled, pointing at Janus.

 “Yes, yes, we’ve noticed, Logan, no need to sound the alarm, especially not so loudly,” Janus remarked.

 “Virgil!” Patton and Roman exclaimed in unison with smiles.

 “What was he doing here? What did he say?” Virgil asked, voice serious and impatient.

 “Nothing much! Since I got here, he was just denying some of Roman and Logan’s theories about what’s under his hat,” Patton recounted.

 “Yes, padre is right; that’s all the snake has done, nothing particularly evil or sinister,” Roman confirmed with a slight nod as if his valiant watch had kept Janus in check, whereas in reality he hadn’t really noticed.

 Virgil snickered. “You mean ‘cause he’s insecure about this?” he asked with a mischievous smile as he managed to snatch Janus’s hat, revealing a pair of… dark wolf ears.

 “Hah! I knew it! I called it! That was me, I was right. Got it before Logan,” Roman announced proudly before clearing his throat awkwardly and growing quiet to listen.

 “Only because it was your interpretation of symbolism,” Logan muttered under his breath, petty.

 “Aww, you’re like a teddy bear!” Patton commented with a gasp, “Or a puppy! Why would you hide this? We wouldn’t make fun of you for something so cute and nonthreatening!” He paused suddenly, realizing that he had just spoken the exact reason. “Ohh…” He grimaced slightly in guilt.

 “Yes, well, isn’t this lovely. This is exactly what I wanted, Virgil, thank you,” Janus complained in annoyance, shooting the man in question a pointed look. “It’s obvious that this is totally a part of myself that I like and wanted to share with the group.”

 “Janus, we won’t make fun of you for it, especially if you’re so insecure about it,” Patton reassured, looking around the room for agreement and receiving nods from everyone… as well as muffled snickers from Roman and Virgil.

 “Grandma, what big ears you have,” Roman murmured quietly under his breath, unable to resist the temptation.

 “What does it matter anyway? It’s clear I’m viewed as but a beast or a — a monstrous creature. Why would words make that any different?” Janus retorted to Patton, both his eyes and his phrasing giving away his hidden sadness.

 “Well, Janus, you of all sides should understand the power that words can hold,” Logan reminded tersely.

 “Regardless, Thomas could have at least chosen something scarier rather than just… an amalgamation of different animal symbols out of confusion,” Janus griped, gesturing into the air in frustration.

 “Weird is better than scary if it’s constant. Trust me on this one,” Virgil insisted, though his expression turned to one of slight… sympathy?

 “Trust isn’t exactly my strong suit,” Deceit responded, casting an unpleasant glance across the rest of the room. “I wonder why?” he added sarcastically.

 “It’s not my department either but…” Virgil trailed off, sighing. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this to you of all people,” he muttered. “But… I know what it’s like to feel different and unnecessary and — and like you’re built to just be weird, to just be the outcast,” he admitted, avoiding looking into the half-snake’s eyes. “I know what it’s like but… it’s not like that here, not with them. Not with us,” he assured, fiddling with his sleeves.

 “I think we all owe Janus an apology,” Patton pointed out. “I’m sorry for not respecting your privacy,” he said, looking at the aforementioned man with empathy.

 “I apologize for my earlier behavior. I was curious but not considerate,” Logan chimed in concisely.

 “I… suppose I’m sorry too,” Roman agreed, though he opened his mouth to say something else and closed it a moment later.

 “I guess I shouldn’t have… done that,” Virgil mumbled, handing Janus his hat back. “But you shouldn’t have impersonated me either.”

 “Very well, very well… I’m sorry for taking your place and deceiving you,” Janus replied, “though it did take them quite a while to catch on…”

 “It is indeed odd that Janus’s impersonation of you is much more accurate than of me or Patton,” Logan commented, frowning again in contemplation.

 “And that Virgil already knew about Janus’s ears,” Roman added, looking at Virgil in confusion.

 “Well, I —” Virgil began nervously.

 “— The little brat has done this before, you see,” Janus excused as he interrupted the anxious side. “It was terribly irritating,” he recalled about the false event, examining his nails through his gloves. “And yes, I’m afraid that the emo is the simplest to mimic -- it’s dreadfully easy,” he mocked, though said emo looked up at him when he realized that Janus had just… covered for him and his past as a dark side. That was not anywhere near what Virgil had expected.

 “Ah, that would make sense,” Logan accepted with a slight nod.

 “I, for one, still can’t decide whether his fluffy little ears are scary or, uh, adorable,” Roman admitted.

 Janus scoffed and examined his nails through his glove. “If you’re disturbed by this, wait until you find out what Remus hides under his mustache,” he pointed out.

 After a beat of silence, every other side in the room turned to him in a mixture of surprise, fear, and disgust, all exclaiming some variation of “hold up,” “wait,” or “what?!” Except for Patton, who simply remarked, “Well, I suppose we must-ask him later” with a chuckle.

[starryknight09]

Hidden hurts

Febuwhump Day 13: hidden injury

Read on AO3. 

________________________________________________________

“We got it!” Sam announced over the comms.

“Great.  Now let’s get out of here.” Clint chimed in.

“You heard the man.  Everyone back to the Quinjet.  We got what we came for.” Steve said.

“Yes!” Peter celebrated, not over the comms, but to Mr. Stark, as he pumped his fist in the air.

“Come on kid, let’s skedaddle.” Mr. Stark said, and even though Peter couldn’t see his expression behind the Ironman mask, he could tell the man was amused by his antics.  There was an odd tension in his voice as well, but Peter ignored it.  He figured his mentor was just stressed.

“Aye aye.” He mocked saluted and turned around so they could start making their way back to the Quinjet and out of the weird ice fortress.  They hadn’t encountered any bad guys in the last ten minutes, so he was hoping they’d be able to slip back out the way they came without any resistance.  He was a little disappointed they hadn’t been the ones to find the stolen alien tech, but it was still cool to be on an Avengers mission.  His first official one.  If he wasn’t counting the whole Thanos thing when he followed Mr. Stark to Titan and then came back to fight the purple guy again, until Captain Marvel came from the sky and took the glove from Peter, snapped it, and ended everything once and for all.

“That was fast.” Peter said, trying to fill the silence.  “Don’t you think that was fast?  I mean, are missions always over this fast?  I thought we’d be here a lot longer.”

Mr. Stark hummed instead of answering.  Peter glanced over his shoulder to see that he’d fallen behind.  He stopped and waited.

“Am I going too fast for you?” He joked, but as he studied Mr. Stark he felt a twinge of worry.  Usually Ironman didn’t move so slow, and it almost looked like he was trying to mask a limp.

“Are you ok Mr. Stark?” He asked.

“Tony.” The man reminded him.  Right.  Ever since Peter had returned from the snap, Tony had insisted Peter call him by his first name instead of Mr. Stark.

“Are you ok Tony?” He asked again.

“I’m fine kid.” Tony answered, but the tension that’d been there throughout the mission remained, and now Peter was starting to see it in a different light.  Instead of being tense because Peter was there, maybe it was something else.  Peter looked the armor up and down and didn’t see any marks or damage over it, but it was nanotech, so even if something had happened, it would’ve fixed itself instantly.

“Ok.” He said but let his skepticism shine through.  When he went back to walking, he slowed his pace slightly, and when Tony didn’t call him out on it, his concern increased.

They continued through the ice tunnel in silence.  Peter could almost imagine they were in some kind of fancy glacial themed hotel instead of a Hydra subset hold out in except for all the fighting they’d had to do to get in here and all the unconscious or dead Hydra soldiers scattered about.  

“Hold up kid.” Tony said and Peter paused, watching as Ironman got down on one knee to pick up a blue glowy knife thing next to one of the fallen soldiers.  Peter had seen some of them carrying similar weapons but he hadn’t thought much of it.

“Collecting souvenirs?” He asked.

Tony grunted as he straightened and simply said, “Research.”

Peter didn’t ask any further because he got the sense that Tony didn’t want to elaborate on it at the moment.  The man had been oddly quiet, not that he was ever a motor mouth like Peter, but usually he talked more than this near silence.  It was odd because he’d been talkative enough on the Quinjet ride here, but at some point since they’d stormed the ice castle, he’d grown quiet.

“Lead the way Pete.” Tony prompted and Peter realized he’d been staring at him.

“Right.” Peter gave him a nod and continued on.  Tony was allowed to have an off day.  Peter didn't need to overanalyze it like he always did with everything.  

When they finally made it up the ramp and into the Quinjet, Peter noticed they were the last group to arrive.  All the other Avengers sat scattered around, besides Clint, who was in the pilot’s seat up front, ready to take off now that they were all accounted for.

“Hey guys.” Peter greeted them, pulling off his mask.

“Hey pipsqueak.” Sam said with a smirk.

He rolled his eyes at the teasing, but when he noticed Steve frowning at him, he frowned back, wondering what he’d done to put that look on Captain America’s face.  As uptight as Tony joked about Steve being, Peter didn’t think he’d have a problem with a little eye rolling.  But then he realized Steve wasn’t looking at him, but past him, to where Tony stood.

“Tony.” Steve said and Peter turned around, his own eyes widening at the sight.  Tony had retracted the nanotech of the helmet, so Peter saw his face for the first time since they’d started the mission, and he looked terrible.  He was white as a ghost and his hair stuck to his forehead with beads of sweat.

“Are you all right?” Steve asked, quickly crossing the distance between them so he was beside Tony in a few steps.

Rhodey perked up at that, turning from where he’d been talking to Scott to take in the scene, brow furrowing.  “Tones, you ok man?”

Rhodey started toward them and Tony waved him away, but the next second his knees buckled.  Steve grabbed his arms, easing him down to his knees so he didn’t hit the ground too hard.

“Tony?” Steve repeated, concern clear.  Rhodey rushed over, kneeling down on Tony’s other side.  

“What happened?” Rhodey asked, directing the question toward Peter.

Peter shook his head.  “I don’t-I don’t know.” He wished he did, but he had no clue.  Besides being slower and quieter than usual, Peter hadn’t noticed anything else different about Tony.  Certainly nothing to indicate there was something seriously wrong.  He hovered behind them, wanting to help, but not sure what to do or what kind of help was even needed.

“What’s going on back there?” Clint called from the front and Peter vaguely registered the feeling of the Quinjet taking off.

“Not sure yet.” Sam answered since Rhodey and Steve seemed otherwise occupied.

Tony still hadn’t answered any of their questions and now his breaths seemed to be coming in short little gasps.  

“Tony, take this off.” Rhodey ordered, tapping at the armor that still covered his body.  “Where are you hurt?”

Tony shook his head, not answering, but the nanotech started melting away anyway, revealing the flesh and bone underneath.  Nothing became immediately obvious once the suit disappeared, leaving Tony in his regular clothes.  Peter let out a silent breath of relief.  Whatever it was couldn’t be that bad then.

“Tony,” Steve said in his Captain America voice, “tell us what’s going on.”  

Peter watched as Steve put his hand on Tony’s back in a gesture of support only to pull away as if he’d been burned, holding his hand out to stare at it.

Steve’s hand was red.  Peter stared at it, seeing but not comprehending.

“Shit.” Rhodey swore the instant he noticed the blood painting Steve’s hand.  The two of them shared a look over Tony’s head and in the next second they were both moving quickly, in unison, turning him to examine his back.

And that’s when Peter saw it.  The entire left side of Tony’s shirt was soaked in blood.  The world around him seemed to tilt and twirl.  Nothing made sense and yet it all made an exact scary kind of sense.  The reason for why Tony had been acting the way he had been clicking into place.  He’d been hurt and hiding it from Peter. But when?  And how?

As soon as they saw the blood soaked shirt, Rhodey and Steve pulled it up, revealing a three inch gash over his left lower back.  No.  Not a gash.  A stab wound.

Rhodey swore again and before Peter could even blink, Steve had gathered Tony up in his arms, carrying him toward a bed surrounded by medical equipment in the back.

“Sam.” Steve beckoned the other man over, and they rolled Tony onto his side, Rhodey putting pressure on the wound as Sam and Steve worked to hook him up to machines.  

Peter watched, feet frozen to the ground, his entire body numb beside a weird tingling in his fingers.

“It’s ok.” Wanda said, suddenly at his side.  He’d been too distracted to even hear her come over.  “Let’s go sit down.” She nudged him toward a bench nearby and somehow his feet managed to unstick and make it over there, his eyes locked on Tony the entire time.

“Peter.” Wanda said as she crouched in front of him, breaking his sight line to Tony.  She squeezed his tingling hands.  “Can you breathe with me?”

It was only then that he noticed he was taking in short harsh staccato breaths like he couldn’t get enough air.  He didn’t even have the breath to answer her, so he nodded, trying to gain control.  He did his best to mimic her as she mimed breathing in deep, holding it and breathing out slowly.  Eventually, he managed to bring his breathing back under control, but he had no clue how long it’d taken.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, feeling embarrassed that he’d lost it so completely in front of an Avenger.

“It’s ok.” She smiled kindly at him.  “It’s not a weakness to care.”  Her eyes saddened after she said it, but Peter could see she meant it.

He nodded, sneaking a glance past her to Tony.  He had an oxygen mask on now and IV lines in place.  Peter couldn’t tell if he was conscious or not but at least he was alive.  For now.  It only brought him a small comfort because Peter knew better than anyone how tenuous a hold life had on a person.  A vision of Ben, sprawled out, bleeding on the ground intruded into his thoughts.

Wanda gave his hands a firm squeeze again, and he swung his gaze back toward her, trying to give her a thankful smile but failing.

How had this even happened?  And how Peter not noticed?  Tony had been in the armor.  He hadn’t taken it off.  How could he have gotten stabbed?  

Research.  

The word popped into Peter’s mind along with the image of Tony crouching down to pick up that weird knife. Where had it gone?  Peter searched the floor and noticed it over by the wall where Tony had been standing before everything had gone sideways.

The blue glow seemed to taunt him.  It all made an awful sort of sense.  The blade must’ve pierced the nanotech armor.

But how?

[audiblesmirking]

erratic heartbeats ~chapter 4: coffee jelly~

⚠Minor Swearing⚠

Legend: "English unless stated otherwise" --- 'Thoughts' --- "Telepathically speaking" --- [Authors' Note]

==========

'Kusuo-san's relationship with Kaidou-san and Nendou-san is quite a peculiar one.' Azumi thought, watching through the gates of the school. She stopped her walk when she heard the voices of Kaidou and Nendou from the commotion they were creating. The duo was like a hurricane of noise, with the unfortunate Saiki caught in their gusts. The amount of uninterest on Saiki made Azumi question how he became close with the two.

His expressions almost brought her to be sympathetic of him–if it weren't for the fact his distress was caused by two of the people who offered to be her friend. She just met them a few days ago, so she wasn't in the position to fully judge the males' characteristics. Azumi isn't one to jump into conclusions about one's personality.

Saiki looked up and met Azumi's gaze, prompting the latter to send a polite wave, not wishing to come off as rude. She opt to turn and leave as soon as she was caught staring, but Saiki speedwalked to catch up to the psychic girl, leaving behind Kaidou and Nendou to question his urgent leave. He decided to use Azumi as an excuse for his getaway.

The abandoned two dismissed their friend's leave, an act which they rarely do because of how persistent they are, and resumed their light banter.

Once Saiki was pacing in line with Azumi, an awkward silence hanged in their air. 'Not this again.' Azumi internally groaned and complained while her companion was unfazed by the dull ambience. The girl took a peek at Saiki's usual stoic expression, stuffing her hands in the sewn-in hidden pockets she altered. Strangely, she found some comfort in his ease–or atleast, in the ease she think he's radiating. The way he doesn't mind Azumi's staring, or the barking of a dog nearby, or the wind brought about by the car that just drove by... now that she thinks of it... 'How nice.' Azumi felt warm. She was touched by the little act Saiki was making, walking next to her in a position nearer to the road.

Azumi smiled, but as she over analyzed her reaction, it gradually dropped. 'Oh dear, I didn't think I'd be this starved of affection.' She let out a petty laugh, accidentally. Saiki looked over at the mildly flustered female, who had a hand over her mouth, curious of the reason behind her sudden laughter. He stared at her, as if asking 'what she found funny'.

Azumi shook her head to show her companion the matter was trivial, and thought to change the subject. She racked her brain as they continue to walk towards their neighbourhood for any ideas. Coincidentally, the modest building of a convenience store came in view. 'It sure lives up to its name.' Azumi hid her smile, turning to the boy beside her. "I, uh, guess I'll see you tomorrow." 'Elaborate, Azumi.' "I'll just... go and buy something... in that store over there." She pointed and inched away towards the convenience store.

Saiki stopped when Azumi did, and watched as she stuttered on her words. He looked at where she was shyly gesturing. It was nothing out of the ordinary, a moderate-looking 7/11, until he read a sign put up on the glass. 'New arrival... 50% off on coffee jelly?!' His eyes subtly lit up and he walked past a cofused Azumi.

"Um.... okay, I guess... Atleast we changed the subject" She mumbled to herself, shrugging before following Saiki in.

'Coffee jelly, huh?' She heard her companion's thoughts, and she was intrigued. 'I've never tried that before. Kusuo-san seems to like it so much' Azumi tailed behind Saiki, until she froze and redirected her route. She walked through the aisles until she saw the coolers for beverages and ice cream. After grabbing her item, she searched for Saiki and found him in front of a shelf that was almost empty, save for a handful number of what Azumi assumes is coffee jelly.

'Ah, there are only two left.' Saiki thought, grabbing both. Just as he withdrew his hands, Azumi stopped beside him. She watched curiously as he looked over the label, making sure it is, indeed, coffee jelly. Saiki took note of her expressions. 'Either she doesn't have a preference over coffee jelly, or she's never tried it. It's more likely she hasn't had a taste of this because of how naïve she is to most of what Kaidou is bringing, but I'm only assuming.' He let out a silent sigh, before offering the second coffee jelly cup to Azumi.

The ends of her lips stretched upward, taking the cup from his bent hand. 'How considerate of you. Despite how much you love your coffee jelly and how scarce the stock is right now, you'd give me one, thinking spot on that this might be my first time trying coffee jelly.' Azumi looked at Saiki, her smile evident on her face. "Thanks."

•°●•°●•°●

'Chin, up... posture, straight... walk, dainty... and smile, pretty.' Teruhashi thinks, giving occasional waves to a few people she walks past. 'Perfect, Kokomi. You're the most perfect pretty girl in Japan–no, in the whole world!' The thought made her smile wider. She saw the 7/11 store she heard from one of her classmates, well, partially heard, she was too distracted with her own thoughts. Teruhashi heard about a sale, and decided to stop by on the way home.

She saw the sign for coffee jelly, but her eyes refocused on the scene behind the glass. 'Saiki Kunio?!' She didn't expect to see the only boy who hasn't reacted to her beauty–yet–in the same store she was heading to. 'This is great! I can finally make him say 'Oh'!–wait... who is...?' Teruhashi rejoiced, before lightly squinted her eyes, making sure to verify the identity of the person next to Saiki before jumping into conclusions.

'K-Kanasawa-san?!' Her eyes widened at the sight of Azumi beside Saiki, smiling at him while taking the last cup of coffee jelly from his hand. 'What–What are they doing together?! Are they on a date?!' So much for not jumping into conclusions.

Teruhashi felt a foreign emotion within her, locating vaguely in her stomach–or was it in her heart...? 'What is this? Am I hungry? Jealous? Or am I having a heart attack?' She was confused, wanting to put a label on this feeling so she can go home and search for ways to relieve it. It feels... weird... weird in a way she doesn't like. It makes her feel insecure, something that she's heard of but never experienced before–or atleast, not from her prior knowledge. Insecurity, to her, feels heavy around her chest, hinting the source to be at the heart. 'I'm jealous.' Teruhashi concluded, looking up and eyes following Saiki and Azumi as they walk towards the cashier.

'I'm jealous of Azumi... I can't believe it... ' Teruhashi snapped out, she was beginning to drown from the negative emotion. She hurriedly entered the store and went to grab a random item from the shelves in the room.

•°●•°●•°●

"Good afternoon, ma'am. Is this everything today?" Azumi filled her lungs with an inhale, ready to say out the words she recited over and over in her mind. "Are you using any coupons for today?"

...

'That... wasn't in the script' The panic lagged longer than usual, dread taking its place within Azumi as it waits to catch up. 'What am I supposed to respond to that again?'

"hah hah, what coupons?" She whispered idiotically, her mouth running faster than her mind.

The cashier looked at the girl in front of them as if they were witnessing a proposal in a public bathroom, eyebrow quirking at an angle. "I'll take that as a 'yes' to the first and a 'no' to the second, ma'am." Despite that, the cashier seemed friendly–or maybe they were just composed because they were still on the job–to continue to put up their smile. 'Ah, another one of those shy teenagers. Makes me wonder about that group of introverts early this afternoon.'

Azumi is ashamed at herself, wanting to be gobbled up by the very floor she is stepping on. She felt the eyes of both the cashier and her companion, and possibly another customer. 'Oh dear, just get this over with. I wanna go home.' From the corner of her eye, she saw Saiki slowly inching away. Azumi felt her chest drop before hearing another set of thoughts near her. 'Oh, so it was Teruhashi-san.' She thought Saiki was avoiding her because she just embarrassed herself a moment ago.

"Oh wow, what a coincidence!" Azumi was too distracted with her thoughts to have heard Teruhashi's, so it came as a slight surprise to see the attention-attracting girl in the same store as her. "What are you doing here, Saiki-kun?" Teruhashi tilted her head a bit to the side, wanting to add pretty points to her interaction with the boy.

The cashier bagged everything and Azumi gave the exact amount of money needed to pay. She turned to her companion, who was looking at her instead of the person who was currently talking to him. 'Come on, I know you don't like her presence, but atleast just say something.' Azumi walked over to Saiki, who was now next to the exit by how much he was subtly walking to get away from any more interactions.

Teruhashi felt Azumi approaching, but was too disheartened at Saiki's reaction to care much–however, she masked her expressions well. Instead, she faced Azumi, giving her a forced smile. "You're here too, Kanasawa-san?" 'No 'Oh'?! I can't believe it! Am I losing my charm?! No, no, that's not possible. But just in case, I should try it on the cashier. Yes... it's because of Saiki-kun, not me.'

"It's a surprise to see you as well, Kokomi-san." Azumi mentally reprimanded Saiki for making her groupmate doubt herself. Teruhashi realized Azumi was talking, snapping out from her thoughts only to catch the words '–well, Kokomi-san'. In response, Teruhashi simply forced out a small laugh. "Anyway, we'll be going now. See you tomorrow." Azumi waved and left together with Saiki.

Teruhashi internally panicked and hurriedly went to the cashier.

...

"What was that about Kusuo-san?" Azumi waited until they were in quite a distance from the store. "You completely ignored her. That was rude, in case you didn't know."

Surprised at her sudden switch of casualty from before entering the store, Saiki took a second to respond. "It's nothing." Simple as that. Azumi shrugged, understanding that he doesn't want to talk about it, and decided to switch the topic, although being a bit skeptical at his relationship with the popular girl.

"You don't really like talking much, do you?" The girl added, having only remembered enough times she heard him talk to count with one hand. "A shame, you have a nice voice." Azumi paid no mind to her sudden compliment, having accidentally said out loud her thoughts.

"Saiki-kun, wait for me!" They heard the exclaim of Teruhashi from a few meters behind them, leaving no room for Saiki to comment on his companion's words. The two stopped walking, but only Azumi turned to see Teruhashi jogging towards them. "It was a real coincidence to have seen you back there" She attempted to initiate conversation, deciding to temporarily ignore Azumi in hopes of getting a response from Saiki.

He ignored her, again, and turned to continue walking. Azumi deadpanned at the male's response. She trailed behind him, encouraging Teruhashi to follow suit. "Yeah, we were just on our way home, when we decided to stop by that convenience store" Azumi said once the pretty girl caught up beside her.

Her words pierced through Teruhashi's mind. "You two live near each other?" She wanted a confirmation to the new information, to which she received a nod. Teruhashi gave a contemplating and slow nod in return.

Saiki glanced behind him to subtly observe Azumi while she talks to Teruhashi. 'If she has powers similar to mine like telepathy, that explains why I've never seen her get startled even once, because she can hear other people's thoughts... including mine...' He returned his gaze to the path in front of him, partially ignoring the conversation happening behind him. 'But if she could hear my thoughts this whole time, why doesn't she respond whenever I try to telepathically talk to her. She isn't someone to ignore people she knows–atleast, from my perspective. There's also the case of her parents, the whole reason why I got intrigued in the first place.'

'Maybe she doesn't want other people to know.'

'Ah, getting suspicious now, Kusuo-san? I guess it's fine, we are both psychics after all.' Azumi smiled when Teruhashi reacted gleefully at her joke, giggling with a hand over her mouth. 'I'd probably tell him in time...  when I don't forget, that is'

==========

It's the first week of summer break, and usually people would go out on a vacation or enjoy the sun outside. However, contrary to what is accustomed by ordinary people, Azumi is seen inside her room. Her fingers are skillfully maneuvering the buttons and joysticks of her controller, playing one of the many games she brought with her from London. Driven by adrenaline, she slowly stands up, eyes glued on the screen.

'Come on...' She was alone in her home, a common situation she has grown used to. Her father was attending to an important patient of his, and her mother was holding an interview for new employees under their new branch here in Japan. Azumi's brother missed her call when she tried a while ago, most likely completing his thesis, as he was on his last year of completing his masterals. 'And... done.'

She sighed, placing her controller down next to the monitor, and raising her fingers to comb her hair. The screen displayed the words, 'Level Complete' in big and bold letters, with confetti sprinkled across the screen to congratulate the player.

Azumi was stretching her arms and back when a bang erupted from within the neighborhood, specifically in direction of the Saiki household. She hadn't expected the noise, having turned on her power-limiter, so she jolted. "what the fuck" She said under her breath, drawing the curtains and looking down on the house next door. Azumi fiddled with her ear cuff, the interior of Saiki's house coming in view, just as she witnessed Kusuo threaten to flick his finger at his father in a sort of joking way–atleast, she hopes it is. 'There's no way Kusuo-san would lead to such murderous ways.'

She continued to watch Kuniharu demand and complain, and Kusuo work to please. Azumi stayed quiet, leaning in her hand as it was propped on her windowsill, letting them solve the problem on their own, until Kurumi found out they were working with the wrong room. 'I stand corrected, Kusuo-san may have already lead to murder when he was at his lowest.' Azumi commented when Kusuo gave such a scary expression, the first she's seen of it coming from him.

'He should take a break.' Kusuo fixed the wall and left the two to deal with the same situation before he was ordered around. Azumi turned around after fiddling with her earring, the sight of her television and controller giving her an idea. 'That's it...'

•°●•°●•°●

"This is my room. There's the shelf for my books and there's the shelf for my video games." Azumi gestured around her room, letting Saiki familiarize himself. She didn't bother showing him around the house except for the bathroom, becasue she thought he wasn't interested in a tour, after all, she invited him for a couple rounds of 2v2 games. 'Hold on... does Kusuo-san even like playing video games?' She faltered on her walk to her monitor, turning to her guest.

"Do you play?" Azumi motioned her head to her console. "I was hoping to refresh my multiplaying skills." She didn't wait for his response before moving to plug in a second controller, having already read his thoughts.

Saiki approached the shelf for games and pulled one from one of the rows. This grabbed Azumi's attention, as she turned to read the title of the game he picked. "You want us to play that?" She asked for confirmation, turning on the screen and consoles. Saiki nodded and handed the case to Azumi. "It's been a while since I last played this, so you just might have a chance to have a win on our first game." She smirked at her words, excited to play with her neighbor.

Her reactions brought a small smile to Saiki's face, he liked the aura she gives off, a change from the two chaotic ones that hang around him. "I guess we'll see" He sat next to Azumi and the opening screen shone from the television.

==========

'If I can get closer to Azumi-san, I can hang out more with Saiki-kun! Then, I can finally hear him say 'Oh' to me.' Teruhashi schemed, walking towards the Kanasawa estate. She held an umbrella, the same one she was using when she first approached Saiki on the sidewalk, to shield her fair skin from the sun.

'Okay, just ring the intercom, Kokomi...' She hesitated, and she wondered why. 'We've been through the plan, just push that button' Teruhashi huffed when her body won't move. She looked around her to see if anyone's watching, and jabbed the handle of her umbrella on the intercom as quickly as she could to avoid any more postponing.

"what the fuck, Teruhashi" Azumi saw everything from the hallway in front of her room, having been from the kitchen to grab one of the coffee jellies she prepared last night.

She loved her first taste of the dessert, so much so that she bought the recipe from the restaurant who used to sell the most delicious of them, having also hired the same chef who created it to tutor her in the making of the decadent dessert. It was one of the times she decided to revel in her parent's riches.

Azumi placed down her cup in her room, before teleporting behind the double doors leading outside. She creaked open one of them, before walking to the gates where she could see Teruhashi smiling through and at her.

Teruhashi waited until she opened the gate to talk. "Good afternoon, Azumi-san! Since I happened to pass by, I was thinking we could hang out today." She beamed, closing her eyes and already expecting what the answer to be.

'By that I guess you mean worrying outside the gate to the point of slamming your umbrella on the intercom'

"H-Huh, um-umbrella? What do you mean, Azumi-san?" Teruhashi nervously asked, a finger scratching her cheek as if it suddenly became itchy.

'Oops, I guess I said it out loud' Azumi resisted the urge to sigh, and to slam the gate and go back to her awaiting coffee jelly, but that's not the issue here. "I guess I kind of saw you in front of my house while I was walking to my room." She pointed at the right side of the highest floor of her house, where her room was generally located. "But it's okay to be nervous, it's natural–"

"I wasn't nervous!" Teruhashi accidentally cut Azumi's sentence, her hand raised to join the other in holding the handle of her umbrella. "I mean—! Azumi-san, you seem more snarky than usual, are you doing okay today?" It was quick of her to change the subject.

The psychic shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I'm sorry if I seem that way, Kokomi-san. I'm not really in the mood right now." Azumi furrowed her brows, feeling a little apologetic at Teruhashi's efforts, but she doesn't like her intentions at all. "Maybe next time I could accompany you somewhere." She waits for Teruhashi's response before she can close the gate.

"What if we were to go to a café in town?" Teruhashi knew she liked sweets, so she hoped the idea of cake would convince Azumi out of her home. "I know a nice place."

Azumi almost sighed out loud. 'Knowing Teruhashi-san, she won't stop until I hang out with her.'

...

She wishes to be alone in her room, wearing loose and baggy clothes while playing her video games. Instead, she was sitting in a booth, looking out the window while Teruhashi states their order to the waitress. 'It would have been fine if you invited me because you actually like my presence, and not because I'm standing in your way of wooing Kusuo-san.' Azumi knew it would be suspicious to voice out her complaints, so she made sure to keep her thoughts to herself this time.

Once the waitress left to go get their food, Teruhashi faced Azumi. "You look great today, Azumi-san!" She suddenly beamed, trying to start their conversation. When Azumi was about to thank her, Teruhashi continued. "Say, when did you move into your neighbourhood? You haven't talked about that to me yet."

'Might as well just go with it.' Azumi exhaled through her nose. "A few days before our first day of school, our new house renovation finished and we flew here from London after hearing the news." Teruhashi nodded, wanting to indicate that she was listening. "My parents hit it off with Kusuo-san's parents on the same day we moved in. I didn't know he'd be my classmate when school started. It was such a coincidence."

'She's already on first name basis...' Kokomi noted, and just as Azumi finished her talk, the waitress came in with their cake. 'I cant believe they're already this close.' The two of them thanked their server, before continuing. "I see... So, how's your summer break going? Have you gone to somewhere for vacation?"

At the sight of the cake, Azumi seemed to have blurred everything except for the sweet in front of her. She ate her first bite, then her second immediately after. For someone who has a sweet tooth, this is Azumi's first time to have a taste of strawberry shortcake. She was so indulged in her cake, that she hadn't heard of her companion's words.

'She looks kind of cute when she eats sweets...' Teruhashi mentally commented, before realizing her thoughts. 'What–What am I talking about?! She does not–' Azumi saw Kokomi's unmoving form, and grew conscious if her staring.

'Is there something on my face?' She subtly wiped the surroundings of her mouth, nervously smiling at her. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"A-Ah, it's nothing important." Teruhashi waved her hands to add emphasis, before grabbing her own fork. "I was just curious on how Kanasawa Azumi's life goes." She smiled down on her cake, poking a little before slicing.

Azumi looked at Teruhashi, mixed emotions bubbling within her at what to think of the pretty girl. 'She just needs someone to truly call a friend. She needs someone to help her discover new feelings and reactions, which is why she found it hard to cope with Kusuo-san's reaction.'

Azumi returned Kokomi's smile. 'And I guess that's where we are alike; our ignorance, specifically towards unfamiliar emotions and interactions.'

'And I hope we can help each other fix that.'

==========

"Haaah... not again."

Atsuhiro sighed, grabbing the attention of his friend. "Hmm? What's got you down so suddenly?" Kusuke shifted his gaze from one document to another, not bothering to turn and look at his companion.

The two young geniuses sat in swivel chairs in front of their respective desks that enables them to sit back to back. They had their own laboratory that serves as their office as well. Rich enough to afford their own spacious rooms, they decided to share one that is as wide as a whole floor of their building, because as they reason, 'to maximize intellectual cooperation and to minimize little mistakes'.

They may be friends, but their pursuit of technology and intelligence always goes first for them, which is why Kusuke asked 'what was wrong' in light of caution more than concern.

"I missed another one of Azumi's calls." The mention of the girl's name grabbed the attention of Kusuke, who placed down the papers in his hands and turned to watch his friend's reactions. "I guess she called while I was in the Botany department." Atsuhiro had his brows furrowed, guilty of having let down his sister again.

"I mean, she knows we're normally this busy. She's grown used to it by now." Kusuke is never one for sentiment, he lacks empathy for it, but he tried to to comfort his friend, nevertheless. "Azumi knows you're occupied with your research and thesis."

"I appreciate your efforts at consoling me, but this is more than a missed call for me." Atsuhiro placed his phone down, turning but not fully to face Kusuke. "I'm afraid she's gotten used to being alone." He was about to talk more, but stopped. The thought of oversharing plaguing his mind.

"Well, how about you hack into her monitor and talk to her there? You know she's likely to be playing."

Atsuhiro faced Kusuke, looking at him as if he has mutated to grow another head. "Are you crazy?!" Kusuke was about to open his mouth to speak when his friend shut him up. "Don't answer that." He glared. "She might kill me. You know how engrossed she becomes when playing video games."

Atsuhiro turned his back at Kusuke, attempting to get back to work. "You should worry about your own little psychic." He changed the topic. "Your design for his power limiter is horrible. Change it."

Kusuke laughed at this. "What, you don't like his antennas?"

"They were so hideous, he went as far as mind-controlling people to think it's normal."

"Oh well"

==========

"Ah, Kuu-chan. Azumi-chan stopped by a while ago and wanted me to give you this."

Kusuo walked towards his mother as she holds up a colorful paper bag. He furrowed his eyebrows lightly, taking it from his mother's hands. For some reason, he couldn't see through the material of the paper, but soon remembered it was from Azumi. "Thanks." He opened the bag after untying the ribbon.

'Hmm?' Kusuo's eyes widened, he raised the clear container than encased the most lavish-looking coffee jelly he has ever seen to make sure he wasn't imagining anything. The plastic had lightly fogged, most likely because the dessert was straight from a refrigerator. There were two more of the coffee jelly in the paper bag, together with a note. Kusuo placed the dessert he was holding down to read the letter.

'to make up for the coffee jelly you gave me last time...

not to brag or anything, but I made these myself B-)'

He appreciated her efforts greatly, smiling to himself as he scooped a spoonful of his coffee jelly, and Kusuo was in bliss.

'Delicious.'

----------

|A/N|

a long chapter after a long wait. however, if you want updates a day early, I draft my work at ao3, then follow-up with the rest of the platforms I post this story.

my humor cannot match up to the anime's because it's filled with angst and sadness, but I'll do my best :)))

discuss plot holes of "erratic heartbeats" with me! @ the link in my bio.

[loveotomization]

for that fic prompt list.... how about 7 + akekita??? *eyes emoji*

Prepare... for pain :)

“You never loved me, did you?”

Yusuke had grown accustomed to meeting with people over lunch. The local café wasn’t Leblanc, but nowhere else on Earth was, or ever could be. But for the purposes of discussing his next exhibition or gallery contribution, the place he had found down the block from his new apartment suited his needs well enough.

People-watching there could be hit or miss, however. While there could be a certain beauty to be found in mundanity, too much of it was akin to painting only in monochrome.

One face, however, stood out from the crowd.

“Ah, Goro,” Yusuke called out over the chatter from the surrounding tables, despite that fact that Akechi had clearly noticed him. His body had stiffened as he pretended to scan the other side of the room, perhaps attempting to locate the emergency exit. Pulling a fire alarm would have been far from his most grievous crime after all. And still, Yusuke’s chest flooded with a warmth that hadn’t come from his lukewarm cup of coffee.

“Kitagawa!” Turning around, Akechi flashed a manufactured smile as he made his way over to Yusuke’s table in the corner. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Quite a while,” Yusuke agreed. “May I buy you something to drink?”

For someone who had never refused a cup at Leblanc, Akechi nursed no beverage between his gloved hands now. Although, thinking back, Yusuke had never quite been able to ascertain whether Akechi ever truly had a taste for the stuff, or if it had simply been a part of the act.

Akechi shook his head in a bemused sort of refusal. “I’d really hate to take advantage of your kindness like that. I’m sure that times are still tough out there for an artist.”

“To the contrary!” Yusuke said, blinking in surprise at the assumption. “I have actually been doing reasonably well for myself as of late.”

“Oh?” Akechi hummed, leaning in with his chin resting on one fist in a measured act of casualness.

“Quite so,” Yusuke elaborated. He had never considered himself to be smug, however it was possible that the influence of his former teammates—Akira and Akechi alike—had rubbed off on. “Just six months ago, I had been signed on as a lead designer by a certain greeting card company.”

Akechi laughed incredulously. “Really? I thought that your greatest fear in life was becoming a sell-out.”

Yusuke couldn’t help a wry smile. He had missed these talks. Right from the start, Akechi had always challenged Yusuke in a way that nothing other than his art ever had.

“There was a time in which that was true perhaps,” Yusuke replied serenely, taking a sip from his paper cup. It had grown tepid. “However I soon learned that there are greater things to fear, and everything fell into a sort of perspective. Take, for instance, losing you.”

A nebulous expression came over Akechi’s face then. Probing, his eyes fell into Yusuke’s, as if he were taking a tour of the yet to exist artwork floating about in his skull at any given time. So much of it was occupied by the concept of light and dark, and the figure of a great black bird these past years. He had long since given up on capturing the duality of the face that had plagued his dreams up until the current moment.

“You never really loved me, did you?”

A river of ice coursed through Yusuke’s extremities, a powerlessness far different from the icy strength he had felt emanating from within during adventures in the Metaverse so long ago. As far as he could recall, Yusuke had only experienced this sensation once before, on the day he had learned the truth behind the Sayuri.

“Why would you say that?”

Akechi gestured vaguely in the still air between them. “Us dating back then. It was all a part of Kurusu’s little plan to dupe me, that’s all.”

Yusuke felt as if disembodied hands clutched at his throat. The coffee cup crumpled in his clenched fist, brown liquid bubbling upward from the lid opening. “That’s not true! I-“

“And who made you sole arbiter of truth, hmm, Yusuke?” Akechi demanded pleasantly, and for a brief moment, Yusuke could see the pain reflected in his eyes before the mask fell once more, an iron gate cutting him off from all kindness in the world. “Because from this side of the table, things look very different. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.”

Even over the chatter from neighboring tables, the sound of Akechi pushing his chair back over the tile was deafening. A woman two tables away craned her neck to get a view of the fuss before deciding that her over-priced cup of pumpkin spice was more worth her time.

Yusuke watched him as if Akechi were a character in a tv show, disbelief gluing him to his seat.

“Wait! Stop this.”

Akechi turned and Yusuke knew that whatever words he said in this moment couldn’t be taken back, following them both to the grave.

“Believe what you must, but know this: I have always loved you, Goro Akechi.”

[gagmebucky]

[biker!bucky. spanking. princess.]

He twists his hand in your hair and reels it back so his breath fans your profile; in your peripheral, you see his smug smile and scintillating orbs. “You walked around like you weren’t mine. But you are, aren’t you?” Before you can answer, he cracks down again. Another SLAP! delivered harder than before, extracting a higher sound from your throat. “Say that louder, princess; I don’t think the boys heard you.” 

in which biker!bucky spanks you. (includes biker!bucky x bartender!reader, implied voyeurism, dirty talk, spanking.) 

do not repost. 

—

He’s been watching you all night. 

As you flash simpering smiles, retorting half-hearted insults with a coquettish gleam in your eyes, and pass out drinks to the myriad of men lining your bar counter, he’s glowering between them and you. Seated in a corner booth, his jaw is ticking intermittently and his knee is bouncing.

A part of you rationalizes you’re only friends with benefits so you can be friendly, borderline flirty, with your patrons—it’s an important facet of your job, anyway, therefore he can’t be upset. Yet, every now and then, when your gazes connect, something otherwise tightens in your belly. 

It isn’t long before his buddies notice the thunder electrified in his blue eyes, feeling the glare burning into their backs as you laugh at one of their subpar jokes. Although most of them are, admittedly, not incongruous, they quickly deduce the correlation between their leader's mood and your interactions. 

His best friend, on the smarter side, decides to test this theory. With a lovable grin and a devious wholesomeness to his expression, Steve casts a side glance, then leans forward to speak in your ear. “You and Bucky, huh?” he whispers while you bite your lip, silence as an answer. “Not surprised, but you’re asking for trouble with all this, you know.” 

There’s no use in denying it, anymore. You laugh softly as your eyes clash against raging pools of the sea from across the room. Averting your gaze when Steve recoils, you nod with that mischievous, vaguely suggestive curve of your lips. 

“I knew I liked you, and it wasn’t just ‘cause you serve the drinks,” he says and winks. 

When you giggle, that’s his breaking point. He abruptly stands up to his broad, leather clad stature of six-foot, rakish features fixed in dark outrage, and slams his big hands on the counter. Pupils dilated, he narrows in on you and jerks his head in the direction of the back room—the same place where your first encounter unfolded. His voice is a growl when he demands, “Go, now.” 

“Barnes, you can't just talk to a lady like that!” a guy you recognize to be a newer member chastises before you can say anything. He turns to you and shakes his head, reaching out to grasp your wrist. “Sorry about him, sweetheart. Older guys don’t have the same politeness as us younger ones do.” 

In an instant, his hand is off your skin, and Bucky’s is wrapped around the back of his neck. “Touch her again, and I’ll break every bone in your fucking arm,” he hisses, seriousness concreted into his tone, and the guy’s eyes are widening with fear. 

Before he can make good on that violent promise, you’re darting around the counter and grabbing his shoulder. “James, it’s fine. Just c’mon—come on—” At your behest, he lets him go but in that same motion, his arms are cord around your waist and toss you over his shoulder. 

Other than a yelp as your abdomen drapes over his shoulder, secured in place by his arm across the back of your knees, you make no objections; neither does anyone, either intimidated or simply amused at the caveman-like display, but both reactions have your face flaming. 

Thankfully, you don’t have to see it for long because he’s hauling you into the back; doubling as the stock and break room, he brings you in and sets you on top of a circular table unceremoniously, looming over you with a deadly expression. 

You fight the quirk of your lips and blink dazedly up at him. “And what was that about?” you breathe like you’re oblivious to the game you were playing—of course, he knows better, and he isn’t laughing. 

His angular jaw locks and his eye twitches. “You think that was funny, princess?” He gestures to the bar with a perfunctory nod. 

It was but you still play the fool. “I don’t know what you mean,” you innocently answer, glancing past him at the partially door. “But I should go back out there. You know, you’re not supposed to bother me while I’m working. Especially when I’m the only one on duty!” Your hands curl around the table edge and prepare to hop off. “Speaking of which, I have to finish serving—”

You jump on your feet but before you can side-step him, he’s manhandling you. His hands spin you around by your hips, then one palms the small of your back and the other tangled into your hair; using the simultaneous holds, he bends you over the flat surface. 

You gasp as he tactfully positions his legs inside of yours, prising them wide, and presses his dark wash denim against your ass. His body above you cranes down until you can feel the outline of his defined muscles. He reigns over your senses in a flurry of old spice and clean leather. 

“What‘d you just say?” he growls rhetorically, arching your head up to speak in your ear, “you don’t know what I’m talking about?” He moves from your lower back to his jeans, buckle jiggling and clinking as he adroitly undoes it. “Then let me remind you, princess.” 

There’s a faint whipping sound when he pulls the belt free, and he wrenches both your arms back to encircle your wrists with the cool leather. Bound, his fist tightens in your soft locks while the other snakes underneath your skirt and harshly yanks it down so it pools around your ankles. 

“James!” you mean to admonish but how can you when he’s got your panties exposed and your face smushed against cold wood. Arousal pounds through your veins and liquefies in your center. “J - James—” Your attempt to speak stronger, a failed one at that, is abruptly cut off with a resounding cotton-on-flesh, SLAP! 

A muffled burning explodes through your left cheek as you cry out. It throbs and echoes in your clit, making you jolt against the fixture you’re flushed against. Your heart is already a kick drum but it somehow thumps faster, hitching your breath. 

He twists his hand in your hair and reels it back so his breath fans your profile; in your peripheral, you see his smug smile and scintillating orbs. “You walked around like you weren’t mine. But you are, aren’t you?” Before you can answer, he cracks down again. Another SLAP! delivered harder than before, extracting a higher sound from your throat. “Say that louder, princess; I don’t think the boys heard you.” 

That detail had evaded you until that moment, that the door is slightly ajar and you can be heard, and your eyes widen. Embarrassment coils in your gut, deepening the dampness in your panties despite yourself—which he takes the initiative to tear off.  “You are depraved—” SLAP! The skin-on-skin contract reverberates off the walls, intumescenting across your behind then radiating lower. “Fucking Christ, James!” 

“That’s right, princess. That’s exactly who owns you. Glad to see you’re remembering that. Seems you forgot it before.” His calloused palm caresses your asscheeks, soothing the glowing flesh with his fingers kneading into you. “I’ll make sure next time you won’t ‘cause you’ll remember this little lesson. Won’t you?”

You try to nod. “Y - yes,” you whimper, bucking into his touch to calm the sting beginning to drip down your thighs. “Will you please just. . .!” The words get stuck in your throat but he knows you, and he knows what you want.

The grip on your hair loosens to slide down your nape. “I’m depraved but you’re the one making a puddle on the ground, princess.” He traces down the cleft of your ass, a snail pace followed to your sticky slit. “You do know your place, don’t you? Y’just wanted me to mark up your pretty ass and get it that perfect shade of red, glowing with my handprint on your skin. You get off on it. Makes ya little pussy all wet and throbbing.”

His husky timbre is like a fireball scorching your nerves, and a shiver slithers down your spine as you gasp, “Y - yes!” Any attempt to careen into him is thwarted as his hand draws back with the wiggle of your ass. Another whimper works free from your throat. “Please touch me.” 

“If you deserve it. Tell everyone who you belong to.” 

“You,” you immediately breathe, and his caress returns, albeit lightly. The rough feel of his hand wedging between your thighs prompts you to elaborate with a, “Bucky Barnes!” His middle finger rasps over your folds, pad directed over your hooded clit from behind; another noise lulls out. “Please - please just stop teasing.”

You can feel him preen in pride as the tension thickens and shifts in sync with the blunt circles suddenly rubbing around your swollen bud. “Well, when you beg like that, how can I resist?”

[masterlist / feedback]

[httpbread]

Card Game Interruptions

Pairing: Hanako x reader

Words: 6666 (heh)

this wasn’t a request i just don’t have any vague sense of impulse control

?enjoy? i hope?

---

"Take that!"

(Y/n)’s eyes narrow down at the despicable crime he has thrown at her.

They then flicked up to meet those golden ones glittering at, full to the brim with mirth and mischief.

So pretty...

Such a shame she’d have to crush that smug look.

"Y’know, you don’t have to say that every time you put down a plus-four," she comments, keeping her voice carefully passive as she deposits her card, "Just watch me."

She’s silent after setting it atop the pile and so is he.

The (h/c) haired girl glances up at him under her lashes, fighting valiantly to keep the smile begging to tug at her lips under wraps as their gazes meet, his now frozen on the cards.

"Where... how..."

Now, she can’t even help but smirk as she chimes, oh so happy to remind him, "That’s eight cards in total, Hanako. Think you can handle it?"

The charcoal haired boy puffs up his cheek, lifting a hand to adjust it, "‘Course. It’s just a few. It’s practically nothing."

"What? Compared to my three-"

The aforementioned three cards fell, abandoned by the hands she jerked up to her chest as the door vibrated on its hinges, the slam ringing out throughout the bathroom nothing compared to the yell that followed it.

"(Y/n)!"

Her mitts rested over her jolted heart, gradually uncurling her tense fingers as her eyes caught sight of a familiar friend’s figure.

Nene stands, planted in the doorway as though she might be sucked out at any second, hand gripping either side and her feet apart, face reading pure determination.

While at first, the sight had calmed her, she quickly grew to worry again. 

Something about that demeaned made her stomach flip, right about at the same time it clicked to her that it was, in fact, her name echoing off the walls.

"Yes, Ne-chan?"

Almost out of place now, her voice is much softer in the room, even despite having risen a couple of octaves with panic.

"I need your help!" Her friend declares, marching forward with an unusual firmness, leaving no room for any reluctance she may have on her part.

(Y/n) arches a brow at her as she comes to stop before her, herself shifting in her seat to face Nene, dropping her hands to fold them in her lap, "What seems to be the problem?"

Nene crosses her arms, casting her fiery eyes away to gnaw on her lower lip in peace for the moment.

(Y/n) took the time to peer at Hanako, who coincidentally caught her gaze, sharing a bewildered look with her.

However, his furrowed brows and wide eyes were nearly enough to steal a snicker from her lips, warranting a hand pressing to her lips as Nene turned back to her.

"Well- It’s just... that."

She hurriedly turns away again, making (Y/n) squint.

"I- Uhm... this thing... you..."

"Ne-chan?" She utters, even more, confused now as she watched her friend begin to fiddle with her fingers, "Just spit it out. I’m sure it’s fine."

Nene looks over at her for a moment, expression teetering between frustrated and pleading, an odd look, but she supposed it was sort of fitting to her beloved friend.

(E/c) eyes grew round as the colorful haired girl’s face lit up, flickering down to watch as her hands near frenziedly began to paw at her dress.

"Yashiro, is everything-"

"Got it!" She interrupted Hanako’s inquiry without a batted lash, not allowing for any hesitation as she launched whatever it was she had fished from her pockets at (Y/n).

She juggles it for a moment before just barely grasping it between her fingers.

(Y/n) ogles the crumbles ball of paper.

"Well, unfold it!"

She flashes her friend a glance before doing as told, unraveling a little before setting it on her thighs, smoothing out the wrinkled paper atop them.

Before her became legible words as pictures and phrases galore, a brochure of sorts, she guessed.

However, one word stuck out in particular.

"Prom?" She reads, both brows raising in an instance, Nene still looking down at her intently.

"Yes!" Her rose color eyes light up, fists rising up through the air above her head, "And I need your help!"

(Y/n) bites back a smile, "With what, exactly? How am I supposed to know what you want with me just because there’s a prom?"

Nene’s cheeks puff up.

"You know, if you’re asking (Y/n) to prom, this is a terrible way to do it."

She looks over at Hanako curiously as his words register with the mischievous grin he’s giving Nene.

She then looks back at Nene, "Honestly, Ne-chan, he has a point. I didn’t even realize-"

Nene slaps her hands over her reddening face, "No! No! No! That’s not- This isn’t-"

"For shame, Yashiro. Doesn’t (Y/n) deserve better?" Hanako chirps, drawing her attention again as his arm slipped around her waist, pulling her to his side with no regard for their game of Uno, "At least make her a poster! Maybe throw in some chocolates. A flower. Don’t you think so?"

"I’m not asking (Y/n) to prom!"

(Y/n) pouts her lower lip at her, "Wow. Way to make a girl feel loved, Ne-chan."

Nene peers through her fingers, "I’m sorry, (N/n)-chan. Forgive me?"

"Forgiven!" She chimes, the smile returning quickly to her lips as she prompts, "Now, what’s this about prom? How can I help?"

Nene reaches up to scratch her cheek lightly, eyes chased away once more by the question, "W-Well... I was thinking... maybe you could help... find me... a date..."

It took her a second to even figure out what she was saying, due to the way her voice began to grow quieter and quieter with each pause.

"Oh?"

A date for Nene, huh?

"Why not Teru?"

The arm around her stiffens, and she remembers that, yes, Hanako is still draped around her.

"Minamoto-senpai?!" but she’s a little too preoccupied by the boy next to her.

He does not look too happy with her suggestion, giving her a pointed, silent look that says it all.

"Hey, he’s handsome, and Ne-chan has at least some connection to him," she argues lightly, easily reaching up to tap his nose, "Besides, this is about Ne-chan, not us."

He only huffs, looking away from her as well now.

Geez. Did her friends just think that when their eyes left her she just disappeared? Because if so, she had a shocking fun fact for them.

"Eheh, yeah, I- Uhm. I don’t think I can just... do that..." Nene’s muttering returns her to the problem at hand, "Besides, he’ll probably have tons of promposals bothering him. I don’t want to add to the list..."

(Y/n) hums, lifting a finger to tap against her lower lip, "Uhhh... then, what about..."

She brightens, "Kou-kun! I’m sure he’d be delighted."

Nene only stares at her, making (Y/n) stare back questioningly, before looking back at Hanako who shrugs, "It’s a better option than the last, at least."

She makes a face, lightly whacking his further shoulder, "I make great suggestions!"

"Kou-kun? Really?" Nene makes a gesture that (Y/n) really doesn’t understand, "But he’s so!"

She doesn’t continue.

She supposed the hand motion was meant to cover that.

(Y/n), knowing her lovely suggestion was futile, decides to pretend that she knew what was trying to be conveyed by nodding, "Oh, right, okay."

She promptly turns, dropping her hand on Hanako’s knee as she confides in him, "So? What about you? Any ideas, Mr. opinionated?"

His gaze dips down to her hand, probably in thought.

"I don’t remember asking Hanako for his input," Nene comments sourly, cracking a smile on (Y/n)’s lips.

"Ah, that’s ‘cause I just did. Don’t worry, Ne-chan. We’ve got this!" She chirps playfully, "You don’t want to be a team?"

"Not really..."

"Well, too bad, I’m out of suggestions!" She admits, placing her other hand on her cheek, "It’s come to my attention that I don’t know any other living students."

"Hah? That’s not true!" Hanako promptly sticks a finger in the air, "What about Glasses? He’s definitely single!"

(Y/n) shakes her head disapprovingly, "No, no, Akane-kun is no doubt going to ask that nice blue-haired girl."

Her own words light a bulb in her head, "Oh! Wait!"

She beams at Nene, "How about you go with your friend when she turns him down again?"

This makes Hanako scoff, "Geez, not even wishing him luck, are you?"

"Not if it leaves Ne-chan lonely!" She dismisses, waving her hand, "I’m loyal, unlike you, I suppose."

"I’m loyal to you!" Those golden eyes flare at her defensively.

They’re pretty, but wrong, making her giggle, "When? You tried to peek under Ne-chan’s dress just this morning!"

"(Y/n) has a fair point. I’m a little offended you even tried to make that statement."

(Y/n) nods appreciatively, but quickly guides the conversation back, "Ne-chan, what did you think about it, though?"

At the question look she receives, she elaborates, "If you can’t find a romantic date, I’ve heard friend dates can be just as fun."

“Mm, but I want to go with a boy!" She cries out, wrapping her arms around herself, wiggling dramatically, "It would be fun- but it could be so romantic! What if this is my one chance to fall in love?!"

She hums curiously, eyes falling to the ground as the prospect.

One chance to fall in love...

(Y/n) wondered if her chance had passed when she had.

She blinks, eyes quickly finding the hand that has found hers, the one she forgot about on her friend’s leg, "Well, it won’t be a chance at anything if you keep refusing our suggestions."

"Your guys’ suggestion suck," Nene’s comment draws her lips apart with a gasp.

"Ne-chan! We’re doing our best!" She claims, a pouty frown weighing on her lips.

"Yeah, Ne-chan, how about you start throwing some ideas out there too?" She doesn’t even need to look, as his voice is all she needs to picture that challenging smirk on his lips, "Let the council decided your fate."

She looked anyways, though, simply because she wanted to see the look on his handsome face.

(Y/n) was sure that was one of her favorite expressions of his. It never failed to make her heart skip a beat.

And usually... make her laugh.

Which it did now too, especially as Nene fumbled with her hands, at a loss for words.

---

"Now, look, I’m not saying it’s hopeless, I’m just saying maybe it’s time we ask Aoi-san."

After exactly three days of shenanigans, three days of trying to tangle boy after boy into a date with her beloved friend, three days of varyingly dramatic proposals... three days of failure...

(Y/n) was sure she was at her end.

"That way, there’s at least some kind of a backup plan, y’know?"

Her gaze flitters around, looking for another unsuspecting target, despite her words.

Surely, there had to be at least one boy in this insufferable school who would be over the moon to take her friend to prom!

"Ne-chan? Are you listening to me?"

She turns to flash her friend a sour glance but finds herself pausing at the sight.

The gloomy girl no longer looked so gloomy at all.

Instead, she was actually laughing a little as she looked up at a familiar energetic blonde boy who patted her shoulder lightly, frowning and looking around like he was about to step to someone.

(Y/n) blinks.

Before a gentle smile curves at her lips.

There was a boy who’d be overjoyed to have her as a date.

Now, if only she could get one of them to prompose...

(Y/n) wondered if she could trick them into it, but that little tricking part was more Hanako’s thing...

"Yeah, but your creative flare makes it work better."

She nods. It was true. Their plans usually did work better when they worked together, and so far, none of her plans had worked over the past three days.

(Y/n) stills.

Wait a damned second.

She tears her thoughtful gaze away to squint at the arms snakes around her torso below hers which sat crossed over her chest.

"Hanako?" She utters.

A chin on her shoulder confirms this belief, singing in her ear, "You were mumbling out loud again."

Her cheeks grow hot at this enlightenment, "Then don’t listen! My thoughts aren’t meant for your ears."

"True, but they always sound so nice, I can’t help but listen!" He defends, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

She looks away, scowling so that her lips wouldn’t betray her with a smile, "Okay, but what do you think?"

He only hums where he’s nested, arms giving her a little squeeze to show he was listening, not that she was talking. She wanted answers!

A little sharpness infects her tone due to lack of patience, "Do you think we could do it? Trick Ne-chan and Kou-kun into being prom dates, I mean."

"Why doesn’t one of them just ask each other...? Why do we have to do al the work?" He grumbles, muffled, "They’re getting way too much of your attention."

This makes her look down at him from the corner of her eye, curiosity and his silky locks tickling her neck.

"When is it going to be my turn again?"

She helps herself to lift his hat a little so she can slip her other hand under it, fixing his soft charcoal locks, "Oh hush, they’ll be at prom together at the end of this week."

He hums questioningly this time.

She sets his hat back down atop his head, straightening it, "Well, that means it’ll just be the two of us again. We can play cards or poke fun at the mokke... whatever your heart desires, yeah?"

His head is quick to pop up at this, moving back only a little, making sure she could get a good look at the big grin nearly breaking his bright face, "What-"

"It seems I’ve changed my mind," she turns away, faking a passive look, "I’ll be spending this weekend alone, cleaning my boundary."

"Just kidding!" He chimes, dragging her right back to him, burying her in his clingy arms, "We still have to finish our last game."

He mutters, "Even though I was clearly winning."

"Clearly?" She looks at him, (e/c) eyes narrowing, "Do you need glasses, number seven?"

"Ohoh," he smirks at her, getting closer with those shining gold eyes of his, nearly bumping their noses, "Are you getting catty with me, number eight? It’s no good to sass your superiors."

She smirks right back at him, "Mm. Not sure you can be considered superior if you can’t even beat me at Uno. Maybe I should rule the seven mysteries."

"Well-"

"Okay, I’m gonna ignore whatever weird PDA is going on here."

She blinks, looking out of the corner of her eye to find Nene standing before them with her arms crossed, Kou hovering over her side, shaking his head disappointedly.

The sight is more than enough to make her cheeks dust cherry.

"Ah- uh. Hey, Ne-chan. Got any more bright ideas?"

"No! But I claimed you today!"

She looks down when her friend snatched up her hand, quickly followed by herself, slipped right out of Hanako’s grasp.

"Quit trying to steal (Y/n) back! I need her right now!"

Hanako plants his hand on his hips, lips forming a firm line as he retorts, "Eh? Is there a waiting list now?"

(Y/n) doesn’t look, but the incredulous face that finds Hanako tells her Nene didn’t need a verbal response, "Hey! Wait, can’t I just have her for a little longer?"

He brings his hands up under his chin, leaning forward to bat his lashes at Nene, "Pretty please? We have to talk about supernatural things!"

She glances up to find Nene shaking her head with a harsh ‘no’, "(Y/n) is way too busy! First, she has to help me find a date, and now she has to help Kou-kun too!"

"Wait, what?" She utters instantly at the prospect of more work, looking hastily back up at them.

Kou offers her a sheepish smile, shrugging lightly.

She tears her gaze away, only for it to find Hanako again.

Who she’s a little surprised to find staring at her with an intense look of determination.

He speaks once their gazes meet, "Friday, you, me. We are playing Uno, and that’s final."

Oh?

So, they were going to go on with the plan...?

Well... the lack of planning... they’d plan it, then do it...

Oh wait, he was looking at her. She was supposed to respond.

She smiles, "O-"

"Do whatever! I don’t care. Just shoo! We’ve got important work to do!"

The grumpy look that falls on Hanako’s face makes her heart even fonder.

---

It was quite late when Nene and Kou finally left to go home.

Leaving her alone with a certain boy.

Sadly, there was no Uno happening tonight, as they had more pressing things to talk about.

"How about... we leave a dozen roses in her locker and write Kou-kun’s name on it...?"

"No, no. Too much of a chance he’ll back out and say they’re not from him," Hanako waves his hand dramatically.

She counters, raising a brow, "You really think Ne-chan would let him?"

He hums thoughtfully at this.

Before holding out a hand, "But, at that point, who’s to say we can’t trick the kid into a whole promposal...?"

She makes a face, not following this time.

He catches this with ease, delivering her an answer and a sly smile, "We make sure Yashiro and the boy are walking down the same hall, and when they’re close enough, shove a poster and some roses into his hands and run?"

She sticks up a finger at this, "Wait, wait, wait!"

Hanako deflates, poking out his lower lip at her interjection.

However, there’s a big grin on her lips, "Even better. We pay that Akane boy to stop time, that way we can frame it perfectly!"

Hanako’s face lights up instantly, "You beautiful genius! That’s it!"

Beautiful? Her grin grows a little bashful as she looks away.

"Now It’s foolproof. We just have to figure out a good promposal and how to pay glasses!"

She hums, nodding, "You can leave the payment to me..."

Her sudden reluctance does not go unnoticed, much to her dismay, "Hah? You don’t want to help with the promposal?"

She looks further away from the charming boy, lightly scratching her cheek, "No. I think I’m good. I’ll help when Akane stops time."

Only to quickly find a finger poking her other cheek, "Oooi, we’re a team, (Y/n). Are you really trying to get lazy now? Hm?"

Lazy? She was going to have to make a convoluted deal with Nene to get pictures of the blue-haired friend she had and then make a deal with Akane with them… What part of that was easy…?

She hastily brushes away his hand, turning to glare at his suddenly much closer face, "No! I just- I don’t- I-"

Geez, when had he gotten so close?

"Uhm. I’ve never... I’ve never made a promposal..."

Did he always have to look so handsome? Couldn’t he just look unattractive from one damned angle and give her heart a break?

"Hah? Why not?"

His question makes her brows draw. Why what?

She thinks for a moment.

Then goes red.

"O-Oh. I’ve never been to prom," she mutters, cursing her tongue, always so quick to betray her. Whether it was whispering her thoughts or being unable to even vaguely lie to this boy, it was always something against her!

Though, there are more pressing concerns as those big gold eyes blinked at her.

"Never?" He echoes, making her nod, brows drawing.

"You have?"

He shrugs, "I’ve at least gone to see what it was about."

She tries not to act too interested, "What was it like? Did you have a date? Were there balloons?"

She keeps her eyes away pointedly, even as he’s quiet.

"(Y/n), just who do you know that’s going around taking ghosts to prom?"

She glances over at him to find him fighting back against chuckle, making her fall stubborn, "You didn’t say you went after you died! How was I supposed to know?"

She reaches over, whacking his shoulder, "Oi! And how does being dead prevent you from telling me if there were balloons or not?"

He catches her hand in his, to her surprise, making her eyes find a questioning look on his face, "Wait, you haven’t even gone dead...?"

She blinks, uttering, "But I haven’t been invited?"

He blinks back.

Then closes his eyes, bringing his head down to rest against her limp hand, "(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n)..."

She presses her lips together indignantly but doesn’t respond.

At least for a moment.

Her words grow a little more tentative.

"Hanako... Can I have a penny for your thoughts on something?"

"That’s not the phrase," he tells her, "But sure."

She ignores this.

"Ne-chan said that prom could be her one chance at finding love."

She absently tugs at her lower lip.

"Do you think it’s true?"

He doesn’t look up, "What is?"

She mutters, "That people only have one chance to fall."

Hanako is silent at her inquiry.

So, she then asks, "Do you think I missed mine? Since I’m dead, I mean."

He squeezes her hand lightly, and she watches quietly as he lifts his head from it to gaze at her with those big puppy dog eyes of his, face unreadable.

She feels no real threat from it though, she feels quite calm, if not a little melancholy from her thoughts.

"I’d sure hope not."

She bats her lashes at this, curiosity nearly burning her, "What’s that supposed to mean?"

However, Hanako only smiles at her, a soft kindness showing on his face in the dim candlelight of the bathroom, "Don’t worry about it, okay?"

She raises a brow.

"Let’s just take things one step at a time."

She’s not very pleased with this answer, but sighed, nodding, "Yeah, yeah, let’s get this prom thing on its way."

"Atta girl."

---

The promposal went off without a hitch two days later.

The two fell for the scheme, hook, line, and sinker.

It was delightful seeing her friend’s blinding smile and her other friend’s tomato face, too stunned to even try to tell her differently.

Though her work was far from over, she found out very quickly.

"What about this one?"

"Too sparkly."

"You didn’t even look!"

"I don’t even need to. I can see the glitter from here."

Nene groans.

She was happy to help, she really was, but her heart just wasn’t in it.

She couldn't help the thoughts of loneliness from plaguing her each time she tried.

"How about this?"

This one, she at least glances at.

"Neon orange...? Where did you even find these dresses, Ne-chan?"

She slips off the counter, walking over to her offended friend, "My closet! And also Aoi-chan’s closet!"

(Y/n) hums, brushing the girl aside so she could get a good look at the options.

It hardly even took her but a second to find the right one.

She pulled it from the pile with ease, "Try this one on."

(Y/n) knew it was perfect though. She just didn’t want to make it look like she was so certain so quickly, otherwise, Nene would be suspicious.

However, the girl still eyes her for a moment.

"Red? Really?"

"It’s more of a pale rose color, but go off."

Nene groans, taking it from her regardless, "You better know what you’re doing."

As she disappears into the bathroom stall, (Y/n)’s eyes fall back to the dresses.

Maybe they were better than she gave them credit for.

She lifts a dark blue one up to the light, looking it over curiously. Shiny.

She sets it back into the pile, ready to just go sit back down and wait, but...

A thin (F/c) strap catches her eye.

She hooks her finger around it, drawing it from the pile.

It was quite thin, she notes, taking the other strap on her other hand to hold it up properly.

It was silk, so she guessed that was maybe a given.

It had spaghetti straps and a sweetheart neckline. Probably floor-length. Had a slit down the length of one side.

She squints at it, trying not to seem too interested.

However, she makes her way over to the floor-length mirror, unable to help her curiously as she holds it to her body, trying to picture what she’d look like in it.

Not that she would ever-

The stall behind her opens.

"(Y/n)! You were right! This is so-"

She meets Nene’s gaze in the mirror, frozen in her shoes.

A mischievous smile finds her lips, making (Y/n) wince, "Wow, and here I thought you were a lost cause!"

"Lost cause?" She echoes in disapproval.

However, two hands find her shoulders, and she finds herself forcibly changing places with the girl, "Come on! Try it on, (Y/n)! I’m sure it’ll look great! We can both play dress up!"

Her face flushed even deeper, "W-Wait- Ne-chan, I don’t-"

But the stall shuts behind her.

(Y/n) deflates, defeated.

Though, she was happy to see Nene in the dress she picked out.

Absently, she slips out of her blazer, stepping out of her skirt.

It was, as mentioned, a pale shade of rose, with thick off the shoulder straps that reminded her of some kind of princess dress, especially with the way the poofy bell surrounded her friend.

It had the shiny white gemstones Nene had liked too, a little belt of jewels separating the torso of the dress from the bell.

(Y/n) stepped out of her shoes, gaze flickering over to the (F/c) dress.

She was just glad Nene seemed to like it too, judging by the lack of complaints, and the ramble of praise she was hearing.

She picks up the dress she had only wanted to look at, finding herself studying it for another good moment, looking for some sort of entry.

Until she realized she simply had to skip it over her head.

No zippers. No buttons.

It’d been a while since she’d worn anything other than her old school uniform, hadn’t it?

Reluctantly, she pulls it over her head, slipping her arms through the thin straps.

Once it’s over, she pulls it down a little, adjusting how it sat on her hips and the way it hugged at her for a moment.

Before looking down, noticing the small pool of material.

Great. Now the dress was calling her short.

There was a knock at the door.

"I’ll get it!" Nene sings chipperly, not that (Y/n) had felt any need to jump at the wooden question.

She unlatches the door with ease when Kou’s voice greets her ears, "Senpai! Are you still busy picking out dresses?"

"Yup! (Y/n) helped me find the perfect one!" She listens offhandedly as she steps out of the stall, ignoring the cold tile on her feet as she made her way over to the mirror.

She did a simple once over.

She looked nice, she supposed.

Reaching up, she lightly tugged on one of her (h/l) soft (h/c) locks.

In truth, she really couldn’t even remember the last time she had worn a dress.

Two decades ago? Three decades ago?

She just looked the same always though, in her opinion.

Tired. Alone. A little bit like a Victorian woman suffering the beginnings of consumption.

"(Y-(Y-(Y/n)?"

The odd stutter of her friend makes her look over to find Nene staring at her owlishly, hands pulled up to her chest. She takes notice that she’s no longer in the fancy dress (Y/n) had picked out, making her feel like she’d been tricked somehow.

She quickly glances at the mirror, wait, she didn’t think she looked that bad! What was with that look of horror?

"What?" She asks simply, trying not to fiddle with her fingers, but failing.

"Y-You look..."

(Y/n) begins to feel a little fussy, noticing Kou’s round eyes look as well. All she wanted to do was look at the dress! She didn’t want to put it on in the first place. Couldn't they just lie to her and say it looked nice or something?

"Amazing."

She nearly jumped out of her skin, whipping to the side to find Hanako’s eyes hastily looking her over.

Her cheeks grow hot, "Hey! Who let you in here?"

Kou comments at this, "He’s a ghost, (Y/n)."

She shoots him a disapproving look.

But quickly finds her attention back on the raven-haired boy, or more adequately, his hands running up her sides, igniting a rose across her cheeks.

"You look beautiful," he tells her firmly, resting his chin on her bare shoulder, making her face grow warmer, with his hand resting on her hips.

She turned her eyes back to the mirror.

Gosh, this was much more embarrassing seeing him being clingy with her own eyes, especially with her in this dress.

But...

Maybe if Hanako thought so...

She gives the mirror a little smile, "I don’t know. It feels weird."

"You trust me, don’t you?" Those golden eyes find hers in the reflection, a smirk blooming on his lips.

"Sometimes," she admits with a little laugh, unable to hide her nerves.

"I can think of a couple of ways to show you how beautiful-"

"Alright!" Nene clapped her hands, "Nope, nope, nope, none of that!"

(Y/n) realizes his words, quickly lightly her face aflame again, happy to have her friend peeling him off her and pushing him away.

Only to find herself enveloped in her arms.

"You look so gorgeous, (Y/n)! Thank you so much for trying it on!" Nene’s beaming smile was infectious, even though (Y/n)’s was much smaller, "Honestly, who would’ve known a school mystery could clean up so nicely?"

She laughs, "Ne-chan! I can look a little nicer than this. All I did was change clothes."

"Well, I think you should keep it."

The words confuse her, making her turn to look at her friend.

Nene lightly tugs at the strap on the left shoulder, "The dress, silly."

(Y/n) gasps, hastily shaking her head, "No! No! I-"

"Yes, yes! I bought it a long time ago," Nene chides, "I didn’t like how my legs looked in it. At least giving it you I know my money was spent well."

(Y/n) frowns warily, "I won’t ever wear it though..."

"And I would?"

She scratches her cheek, looking up at her with her last resort, "I’m dead?"

"(Y/n)!" Nene gives her a light ‘whap’ atop the head, "Just take the dress and smile more!"

She can’t help the giggle that leaves her lips, "Okay! Okay! Quit fussing at me!"

However, Nene’s smile lingers, "Plus, who’s to say you won’t ever wear it?"

She thinks for a moment.

Then she smiles back, "Oh right. I can wear it to your graduation!"

Nene’s look of dissatisfaction tells her a different story, however.

A story she frankly doesn’t understand that her friend won’t spell out for her.

---

(Y/n) squinted down at the silk dress that she found herself in, once again.

This time, Nene has convinced her to get dressed up with her while (Y/n) was helping her get ready for prom.

The agreement was that if Nene let (Y/n) do her makeup, she had to do her own too, which (Y/n) really didn’t understand.

The only reason she agreed was the stubborn pout on the girl’s face when she said it. Had (Y/n) disagreed, she was sure the girl would make herself late.

So, here she was, dressed up all nicely.

For the first time in a good three, maybe even four decades!

She really needed to get a calendar... or ten...

She quickly looks up at Nene exits the bathroom stall, "Opinions? How cute am I?"

"Cute?" She smiles, admitting, "You look gorgeous, Ne-chan."

"Says you!" She then gets a grin on her face, "I guess you could say you look drop-dead gorgeous."

(Y/n) offers her a flat look.

"I’m sorry."

She turns away, unable to hide her dorky smile, "Okay, what else do you need to get ready? Or are you finally done?"

"Mmm... just waiting on a text from Kou, that’s all."

(Y/n) finds herself suspicious again, "Oh? So the first five hundred didn’t count?"

"He’s nervous!" Nene waves her off.

She doesn’t miss the chance to tease, "Geez, now you’re even worrying about him? I thought you two decided to call it a friend date."

Nene glares at her, cheeks tinging pink,  "I am no longer accepting opinions from you."

(Y/n) sticks out her tongue at the girl, "Wasn’t really an opinion, but okay."

Nene pointedly gives her another glare.

"Okay, okay, I’ll lay off," she sighs dramatically, fanning her face playfully.

Only to then card her fingers through her (h/l) (h/c) locks, "Okay, but is he going to show up or not? You guys are going to be late and it’s starting to make me nervous."

"Depends," Nene raises a brow at her, "How many more times are you going to say ‘okay’?"

(Y/n) makes a sour face at her, "Did you miss the part where I said I was getting nervous?"

Nene smiles at her warmly, "I know, I know, just a little longer and I’ll be out of your hair."

She plays dumb, tapping her cheek, "You’re really adamant about your card game with Hanako-kun, aren’t you?"

Her face flushes, "Wh- No! But I have to wash all of this stuff off before then, and I don’t want to make him wait..."

"I see. That’s all?"

She scratches her cheek, "Well, I mean..."

She looks away, smiling a little, "This week has been so crazy, I haven’t gotten to see him as much as usual..."

(Y/n) glances up at her friend, backtracking, "Plus, I need to beat him. He needs to know I’m better at cards."

Nene raises a brow at this, fond look fading.

"I let him win last time because he gave me the puppy dog eyes and he’s been way too cocky ever since,” she says bluntly, seriously, “I need to put him back in place.”

“Yeah...” Nene laughs softly, “Not too sure about that. I think you’re both going to be winners tonight.”

(Y/n) crosses her arms, “Over my cold dead body! I’m gonna win. Have a little faith, yeah?”

Nene shakes her head with a smile.

Until her phone suddenly chimed.

Leaving (Y/n) to watch, dumbfounded, as she frenziedly pats the small handbag before just about ripping open the zipper, slamming her fingers into its depths.

“Is that-“

Nene is texting back with such an intensity that (Y/n) goes immediately quiet, not wanting to interfere in the slightest.

“Alright, (Y/n), it’s go time!” She slips her phone back into her handbag, expertly zipping it up.

She plasters on a big smile despite her sudden unease, “Go time? Kou is here to pick you up?”

“Mhm!” Yashiro tucks the bag under her arm, hands finding... (Y/n)’s shoulders... spinning her around on her flats...

Pushing her...

Towards the door...

“Ne-chan? Shouldn’t you answer? Wait- he hasn’t even knocked. Shouldn’t-“

“Hush! Quit worrying so much!”

“You make it kind of hard being so ominous!”

Nene reaches past her with a red heel, slamming the door before them open, making (Y/n) jerk her hands up to hide her face defensively.

Nene’s hands only hold her shoulders now, silence finding the space around them.

But the door doesn’t hit her.

Slowly, she peers through her fingers.

Only to meet a familiar pair of golden eyes, rounder than usual.

Her eyes then flicker to his smile, framed by pink dusted cheeks.

Was Hanako blushing?

“Stop looking at Hanako-kun and use your eyes, please,” Nene huffs, knowing her all too well.

(Y/n)’s face grows hot as she pries her hands away, praying her makeup hides her embarrassment.

However, it’s then that she notices the very jarring sign the handsome boy is holding.

A big poster board with big red glittery letters and pictures of... donuts. Interesting.

It’s then that the words hit her like a train.

‘I donut want to go to prom without you’.

She stares, trying to get the situation to process.

She glances at Nene who makes a face at her, “No, he’s asking you. I’m going with Kou-kun.”

The words of her friend really settle, making her gasp, hastily looking back up at Hanako who’s stubbornly looking away, trying to hide his rose-colored face.

“H-Hanako, you’re not messing with me, are you?”

He quickly looks up at this, eyes widening, “N-No, of course-”

However, Kou’s voice finds her, “He better not be! It took us all day to make these.”

(Y/n)’s eyes flicker over curiously to find a plate of donuts held in the blond’s hand, “He wouldn’t keep his hands off it so I could make them, but he can’t cook to save his life.”

They return to Hanako who is now profusely avoiding her gaze, his own trained on the floor as he wrings out his hands, the poster now tucked behind him, like he was trying to hide it.

She can’t help the delighted grin that finds her lips, hidden by her hands.

Gosh, he was all dressed up too!

He looked like everything she had ever dreamed of and more in a fancy tux, he wasn’t even wearing his hat for once, his hair all neat and combed as much as the fluffiness would allow. He was always handsome, but now she was sure he’d upgraded to devilishly handsome!

Though… Her heart leads her eyes back to his exposed hair.

He looked up at her in surprise just as her fingers combed through his soft ebony mop, “Oh, Hanako...”

She smiles at him so warmly, she feels like her heart might just shatter when their gazes lock.

“I’d be over the moon to go with you.”

An adorable grin marks his lips.

“I heard there’s gonna be balloons,” he comments, trying to act casual as she slips her arms around his neck.

“Oh?” She smirks up at him, leaning in close, “Well, I heard two of the coolest school mysteries are going to be there too.”

He breathes a soft chuckle, leaning down ever so slightly as she tilts her head to meet him.

“Well, I heard they both got exorcised for making us late and didn’t make it!”

Nene’s cry kills what was supposed to be the perfect kiss, stealing a laugh from (Y/n)’s lips as Hanako stubbornly tightened his arms around her waist.

She draws her hands to rest on his cheeks, looking at him oh so lovingly.

“You ready to go?”

“I guess so...” he mutters.

She smiles, stepping away from him, not surprised as one of his arms stayed around her hips.

As they began walking towards what would soon become her first dance, she rested her hand atop the one settled on her hip, remembering his words.

If this was her once chance to fall in love...

Well, who was she kidding?

She grins up at him, admiring the glitter in his golden eyes as he gazes back down at her just as adoringly.

(Y/n) was already so, so head over heels.

And she’d fall harder for this boy smiling back at her every chance she got.

[noneatnonedotcom]

Wait did we just become friends? (third part in the accidental villain jaune au)

@weatherman667 hey would you mind letting me know what you think of jaune’s philosophy in this? i tried to keep it to his cannon philosophy as much as possible (people should be judged on their choices etc) but stated in the most villainous way possible. also body language is a think and i’m trying to learn how to use it lmao  

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Ozpin had seen it all by this point, it wasn’t all that surprising given his age but the image of the relaxed boy in front of him, reclining comfortably on his chair vaguely amused smirk on his face. As if he was humoring ozpin more than getting an audience from the headmaster of Beacon.

Well, it wasn’t new, but something about this just felt different.

“Thank you for coming Mr. Arc,” he said trying to gauge the boy’s reaction to his sudden speech in the previously quiet room. That was typically the point when they flinched. And their facade broke down leaving the nervous child in their place.

Not Mr. Arc, it seemed, the boy barely acknowledged him. Instead eyes moving around the room in an almost lazy fashion. Like he was mildly curious but ultimately disappointed with the space. An interesting turn of events to say the least.

Ozpin leaned forward, it was about time to figure out whose piece the boy was.

“A question if I may Mr. Arc”

A quirk of the boys eyebrows, and a smirk as if he’d just heard a joke. Though not a particularly funny one. “I’ll allow it”

Ozpin let the insult slide he’d been at this too long to actually let a boy like jaune get under his skin. No instead ozpin was more curious about what made the boy act this way. His reports from qrow stated that he was very doting towards ruby and yang. Not to mention the lengths he’d go to for his sister. This was a front, a character he was playing.

Or perhaps not?

Maybe he’d need more than one question

“To start our discussion, perhaps you’ll explain your previous arguments?” said ozpin, keeping carefully neutral in his tone and manners. He was a placid pond. A perfect way to know what jaune truly was, was to let the boy himself show him.

“You’ll have to be specific, old man,” he said with a smirk “I’ve said many things after all, much of it has stuck out in the minds of the public”

“Indeed it has, then let us begin with your arguments with the white fang recruiters, the ones who tried to move into patch. Their arguments stated that you were racist against the faunas since they were the ones who were mainly working in your cannery.”

Jaune narrowed his eyes “yes I remember the trash” he growled, “I dispensed with their flawed reasonings, what more is there to say?”

“Your argument against being racist was that you were equally disappointed in humanity,” ozpin said with a small smile and a raised brow “I was hoping you might elaborate on that to start off with”

He paused for a moment, perhaps weighing in his mind if the conversation was worth the effort. Ultimately deciding it was, the boy sat up his back strait. “Very well I’ll answer your question”

“My thanks,” said ozpin with a roll of his eyes

“Your welcome,” said jaune with the utmost seriousness “the answer is simple, 90% of everything is trash. Food, clothes, faunas, and humans. It makes no difference what the trash is made out of. Trash is trash.”

“Perhaps a bit more?” prompted ozpin

A raised eyebrow from the boy and a long pause as he considered and then “people are only people when they choose. When they are an individual. Collectivism, though many call it racism, is the ideology of losers. Trash too weak and unimportant to make their own way in the world and so they define themselves not as a person, but as a race. Or perhaps a sexuality. It makes no difference to me.”

Jaune narrowed his eyes “something too weak-willed and lazy to develop a personality can’t be called a person now can they?  At that point their trash, they still have a purpose but I instead focus on the ten percent that rises above.”

Jaune smiled sweeping his arms wide “what can I say?” he said with a smirk “I’m a people person”

“And so you’re argument against racism is that everyone disappoints you, the race of an individual is not a factor” finished ozpin

“Exactly right,” said jaune with a satisfied air about him “racism is an excuse the trash made up to avoid being a person, and those who use it are utterly unworthy of my time”

“So then, you’ve said that ninety percent of everyone is trash, then what’s the mark of a person?”

“Choice” replied the boy waving off the answer as if it wasn’t worth his time. Reclining once again in his seat. Eyes moving around the room

Ozpin hummed at his answer “then perhaps a final question?”

“Ask, perhaps I’ll deign to answer” replied the boy lazily waving his hand through the air.

"it's been said Mr. Arc, that any government must be asked the question, from whom do they derive authority," said ozpin sitting in his office chair the steady tick-tock of the clock like room keeping time as he and his... guest studied each other.

"a philosophical question then?" there was a pause and for the duration those blue eyes of his settled on him, looking through him. It was a novel experience all things considered. "hmm, well before I give you my answer, perhaps you'd indulge me with your own? from whom do you derive your authority?"

ozpin's mind flashed with images of the brother gods before he forced them down to smile "I serve at the pleasure of the valeian council"

"but from whom do you derive your authority?" asked the blonde not missing a beat "answer me true old man or I won't know how to do it," he said with a smirk

"from the laws of the land," said ozpin deciding on the safer answer, reclining back in his own chair trying to reassert control over the conversation through posture and overall projecting an air of calm

"so from science?" asked the boy, suddenly more interested in the conversation once more, and ozpin thought on that for a moment

"yes, insofar as the law might be considered a science"

"so you believe that the world has a set of concrete answers?"

again the gods flashed through his mind "yes"

"do you know what philosophy is?" asked jaune sitting in up in his chair, apparently ozpin had done something to get the boys attention but he hadn't the foggiest what that could have been

"do you want the definition or..."

"it was a rhetorical question, mainly used to set up my own answer but priming you to think about it yourself," the blonde said with a chuckle

"clever"

"thank you" a nod, hmm perhaps he’d caught the boys respect?

"so your answer then?"

"philosophy is the search for answers that don't exist in the metaphorical and hypothetical. as opposed to science who looks for them in the natural laws" said jaune with a smile "questions along the line of who created me? what is my purpose? what is a life?" waves of his hand accentuated the questions. The gestures giving the impression that the boy didn’t think much of the questions at all.

ozpin leaned back in his chair. just what was the boy driving at?

"so then what is the intersection between science and philosophy?" asked jaune voice getting a little firmer as he talked about something that had caught his interest, ozpin still couldn’t help but think that there was something being held back still. Like this wasn’t the true jaune. Still it was nice to hear the boy so engaged.

"I'm sure you'll tell me" replied ozpin with something like amusement

"religion, religion is the process of giving reasons why to the philosophical questions. who created me? the gods. what is my purpose? to make up for the failings of other humans apparently. if you follow the church of the brothers that is. what is a life? an existence with a soul. Grimm being excluded from it. you could also argue anything created by the god of light." said the Arc gesturing lazily with his hand as he reclined once more in his chair.

"your point Mr. Arc" said ozpin with a dry tone

"ancient kings argued that their authority came from the gods, a religious answer," he said simply in response

"hmm, concrete but still based on the unknowable," said ozpin leaning forward "after all, there was no real way to prove that they did have the decree of the brothers to rule"

"as opposed to you who works in the realm of science, of laws"

"and which realm does your authority derive from then? philosophy?"

"my answer does at the very least," said jaune with a smirk "philosophy has taught me that those questions are important but the answers ultimately meaningless." there was a shift in the room as jaune’s eye’s focused on him, the boy posture straightening up and his tone… lowering, slowing down. This was a statement of fact "my life isn't defined by value or purpose" he was in an audience with a king now, not a boy, "you ask from whom my authority derives?" they locked eyes "from choice, my choice" he stood then and ozpin did as well, calling up his experience as a ruler and hero to resist the need to bow his head or look away from him. He locked eyes with the would-be ruler, he wouldn't let himself be cowed by a boy "I give myself authority ozpin" he said with a finality, with a certainty and a narrowing of his eyes as if he was challenging him to dispute it.

the room was silent for a long while, the steady tick-tock of the clock like room marking the seconds the tension rising and rising before both men suddenly smiled and laughed. or at least chuckled the tense moment passing away at the sounds

ozpin felt a little ridiculous about getting so worked up over the philosophical ramblings of a boy, interesting though they may be.

"Did I answer your question Headmaster?" asked jaune suddenly a boy again. down to the boyish grin on his face like they were sharing a joke

"Indeed you did, Mr. Arc. and left me with something very interesting to think about." said ozpin taking a sip from his coffee mug "but unfortunately I do have a school to run and I can't spend all day philosophizing" he finished with a wry grin "another time perhaps? when I'm not about to be chewed out by Glynda for avoiding my work"

"of course headmaster, it was pretty enjoyable for me too, thank you for your time," said jaune with a smile as he turned to walk into the elevator

ozpin spoke up as jaune hit the button to go down "Mr.Arc" he called out making the boy look up "I'll be very interested in how your answer plays out, best of luck with it" and the doors closed and ozpin played with a knight piece on the table

before placing it down and picking up the king

"yes Mr. Arc, very interested indeed"

so yeah ozpin and jaune become friends and maybe are planning to take over the world together? hard to tell with those two honestly. 

GIVE ME THE REVIEWS I SO DESPERATELY CRAVE!

uh i mean let me know what you think.

[gundamthey17]

Find What Fits

This is prompt 2 / 2 for the @transwizardtournament! Thanks to @lifetoanother for commissioning me (again!) This one is a les mis/marauders crossover.

Read on AO3

The Gryffindor fifth year boys’ dormitory was filled nearly to capacity as thirteen students sat laughing, talking, and drinking butterbeer and contraband firewhiskey. (In fact, it was entirely possible that the room had been filled to capacity, and then had simply expanded to accommodate more people as they entered. Remus was reasonably sure that he had never seen at least one of those chairs before.)  It was a Friday night, and the Beauxbatons exchange students would be heading back to France that Sunday.  The fifth years were making the most of what little time they had left together, now that winter break was starting and they had no assignments to complete.  

Bahorel, James, Sirius, and Peter were playing a drinking game. Remus wasn’t sure who had started it, but he suspected all four of them would be spending some quality time in the bathroom before the night was out. Marius and Cosette were laughing with Dorcas and Marlene; Lily, Enjolras, and Combeferre were engaged in an intense-sounding discussion of Wizard-Muggle relations in France. That left Remus sitting at the edge of the room alone, nursing his firewhiskey, but he was quite content with that arrangement. He was still recovering from the full moon earlier in the week, and he would likely find himself dozing off soon.  Suddenly, the room’s final occupant appeared at his side.

“May I sit with you?” Jehan asked. They had been flitting from conversation to conversation for the majority of the night.

“Of course,” Remus replied, moving over to make room on the small couch.

Jehan settled back with a sigh and took a delicate sip from their half full glass of firewhiskey. Their long auburn hair was coming out of its braid, and it spilled over the back of the couch. Their inquisitive hazel eyes roamed the room for a moment before coming to land on Remus’ face. “Hard to believe the semester is over already,” they said, with just a trace of a French accent.

“Yeah,” Remus replied. “It’s been great getting to know you all. We’re going to miss you.”

“Will you write?”

“Sure.”

“All of you,” Jehan clarified. “I am trusting in you to remind the others if they forget.”

Remus smiled. “Lily won’t forget. She’s fascinated by wizard politics. I’ll give the others some gentle reminders now and then. Or not so gentle.”

“Good. Enjolras and Combeferre seem to have met their match in Lily. I honestly did not think it could happen. And everyone else has been wonderful too.” They paused, and seemed to choose their next words carefully. “I wish the rest of our friends could have come as well. They would have liked to meet you.” Remus hummed in response. Jehan continued, “I should put you in touch with our friend Feuilly. You and he have… some things in common.”

“Oh? Is he in your year?”

“Not exactly. There were certain… factors… that prevented him from becoming a student. Our headmaster is perhaps not so accepting as yours.”

Remus turned his head sharply, more curious than offended. His eyes flicked about the room warily, but everyone was intent on their own conversations. “Your friend… you’re saying he’s got a similar… problem? Like mine?”

“I do not want to assume anything about you. But there are certain similarities. I wonder if you two can perhaps encourage one another. He has never encountered anyone whose case is quite the same as his. I could put you in touch with him. If you want, that is.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’m sure Feuilly will appreciate it. And Bahorel too. He and Feuilly are together.”

“That must be hard. I can’t imagine what it would be like for Sirius and me if we – “ Remus cut himself off quickly, realizing what he had said. The fact that he and Sirius were – whatever they were – was not common knowledge. But Jehan merely nodded.

“You would find a way, I am sure. My… what is the word? Significant other? He does not attend Beauxbatons. For reasons mostly of his own choosing, unlike Feuilly.”

Remus couldn’t help but admire the way Jehan spoke about themself and Bahorel having boyfriends. “Is it easier in France?” he asked suddenly.

“Is what easier?”

“Being… you know…” he gestured vaguely.

“Gay?”

Remus let out a startled laugh. “Yes, I guess that’s what I mean. Or – or bisexual, or – any of it.”

Jehan sighed pensively. “Some things, perhaps yes. Others less so. Being entirely yourself will always take courage, no matter the setting.”

“Sirius is always telling me to be myself. But I’m not even sure I know who I am. Or… or what I am.” He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly saying all of these things out loud. Jehan was easy to talk to, and it was entirely possible that the firewhiskey was helping as well.

“That is all right. It takes time. And it’s different for everyone. Sirius may know who he is and be comfortable with that, but you are not him.”

“How did you know that you were…?” Remus trailed off, realizing he actually wasn’t sure how Jehan identified. He finally settled on, “That you wanted to be called they, instead of he or she.”

“Ah,” Jehan nodded. “In some ways, this is easier in English. In French, everything has a gender, he or she.  There is very little room for someone who is a different gender, or many genders, or no gender.” Remus listened attentively. Jehan gave a knowing smile.  “But this is not what you asked.”

“No, I guess it’s not.”

“How did I know that I am non binaire? Well, how is it that I know anything else? Let us look at you, for example. Would you say that you are gay?”

“I’m – I’m bisexual, actually.”

“And how do you know this?”

Remus paused, a furrow appearing between his brows as he considered the question.  “I knew I liked Sirius,” he said slowly, “so I thought at first that I was gay.  But that… I don’t know, it didn’t seem quite right. I think that I like some girls as well. Or I could. Bisexual seemed to fit better.”

Jehan’s face lit up.  “Yes, this is it exactly! Gender is the same. You try something for a while, and maybe it does not fit. Then you try another thing. It is okay to keep trying until you find what fits.”

Remus took a long sip of his drink and nodded.

Jehan laid a hand on his shoulder.  “I can see I have given you much to think about, my friend. I will go and make sure the others are not drinking themselves to death. Thank you for your questions. It is nice to be able to speak openly about such things.”

“Thank you for your answers,” Remus replied earnestly.

 It was well past midnight by the time the last of the guests left the dormitory. Peter and James were both snoring loudly on James’s bed. Remus had taken a seat by the window and was watching the stars. Sirius came up and nudged him from behind.

“You coming to bed?”

“Hm?” Remus said, startled out of his reverie. “Oh. Yes, I’m coming.”

“I know that look.” Sirius took a seat across from him, the expression on his face not quite a grin, but carrying a playful air. “What are you thinking about?”

“Something Jehan said.”  They were both silent as Remus considered whether or not to elaborate. His eyes drifted from Sirius’s face back out the window. “Would you still like me if I wasn’t…”

“Wasn’t what?”

“Wasn’t a boy,” Remus finished softly. “I’m not saying that I’m not! Or that I’m a girl. I’m just not sure… that I’m either.”

Sirius took Remus’s hands in his own. “Rem.  I like you for who you are. How you identify isn’t going to change that. And it’s okay if you don’t know yet. We can find out together. Keep trying different things until something sticks.”

Remus ducked his head and smiled.  “That sounds like what Jehan said.”

“Then you have it on good authority that I know what I’m talking about.”

“That, or you were eavesdropping on me earlier.”

Sirius clasped a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I would never! You impugn my honor, good sir!”            Remus grinned. “I didn’t realize you had any to begin with.”

“How dare you! I demand you cease this chatter at once!” Sirius rose and, in one fluid motion, swept Remus out of his seat and carried him across the room, depositing him onto his bed. Remus tried and failed to suppress his laughter, but James and Peter were sound asleep and did not stir.

Sirius leaned down and pressed a kiss to Remus’s temple.  “Good night, Remus Lupin.”

“Good night, Sirius Black.”

[kiruuuuu]

More BB/Goyo in which Goyo is slowly going mad. On several accounts. (Rating E, fluff/humour/resolved sexual tension + smut, ~5.2k words) - written for @kiruuuuu​ seeing as she continued obsessing about these two after this piece.

.

Blackbeard is slowly but surely driving him insane.

One big part is the physical aspect, Goyo isn’t denying it – and if it were only that, he’d be as far from complaining as he could be. If his biggest problem was Blackbeard's attractiveness, he’d live in an almost ideal world with most of his dreams coming true, but as it is, the deep-seated desire burning low and slow in his groin merely ensures Goyo doesn’t forcibly eject Blackbeard from his life again due to all the other reasons the American is personally raising Goyo’s blood pressure. He should’ve expected this outcome and largely did, yet imagining having to combat vague incompatibilities while cruising high on happiness hormones which are released in laughable quantities every time he receives a friendly text over the holidays was somehow decidedly easier to stomach than dealing with actual issues face-to-face.

Goyo knows himself, as does Amaru, which is why he doesn’t disagree with her suggestion of meeting in public the first few times. He’s always been weakest right at the beginning of a fancy, daydreaming of scenarios that leave him short of breath and having to adjust his trousers, hoping they don’t betray him if he happens to be in a public space. Despite knowing better, he’s dived head first into physical relationships and paid the price for it, and after having slept with a married man once (without his knowledge, though the blame of hastiness lay upon him regardless), he vowed to improve. Besides, he suspects Blackbeard hasn’t dated a lot of men, so he should take it slow anyway.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t prepared for the change in wardrobe following a throwaway comment about camouflage patterns because not only did Blackbeard take him seriously and dressed differently for their dates from then on (which is a turn on already), his shirts are also very tight. Not unacceptably so, but entirely too tight for someone with pecs this pronounced. In moments when it was hard to deal with Blackbeard's personality, Goyo reminded himself as to why he was still around by eyeing up Blackbeard's chest and Christ. He would love to grope him for hours. Maybe suckle on those puppies. God.

It doesn’t help that he’s changed his aftershave as well. Goyo felt genuinely bad complaining about so much right away, even if it was done through careful euphemisms and half-jokes he practised beforehand, and promised himself to compliment Blackbeard elaborately should he act on it – but never did he expect for Blackbeard to dip into the nearest shop with him to try and find a fragrance Goyo liked. He claimed he was tired of his old one but hadn’t found an excuse to switch so far, and offered his own opinions additionally to Goyo’s, meaning the entire thing felt organic and constructive instead of passive-aggressive or, worse, blindly compliant. As a result, Goyo stands that tiny bit closer whenever he can. Prolongs their hugs. Inhales consciously whenever they kiss. He loves a good-smelling man, and Blackbeard has turned from handsome to painfully sexy.

He makes sure Blackbeard knows, too. He might be picky and demanding, but he would like to think of himself as appreciative, so whenever he notices the American looking or smelling exceptionally good, he remarks on it. And the delighted expressions he reaps are worth feeding this inflated ego. He doesn’t think the other man has been complimented on his appearance much, certainly not by fellow guys.

.

The very first thing they fight about is punctuality. As inevitable as death. It turns into a recurring theme as they simply can’t agree on anything and Goyo’s laid-back attitude towards time sparks nothing but disbelief in Blackbeard – he does learn by setting their meeting half an hour before he actually arrives, but whenever he’s meant to pick Goyo up by car, he shows up on the dot and paces impatiently around the flat without taking his shoes off while Goyo finishes whichever task held him up. Blackbeard calls him rude, Goyo waves him off, and the whole drama repeats the next time. They even have a long talk about it, with Goyo stressing the importance of enjoying life at one’s own personal pace, and Blackbeard calling on politeness and prioritising others over tasks such as washing the dishes.

Related to this, Blackbeard always requires an exact plan while Goyo prefers adapting vague ideas to actual circumstances. There’s no spontaneity in most of Blackbeard's actions, he’s rigid and inflexible and it drives Goyo absolutely nuts. After having agreed on watching a film that night, they walk past a fantastic-looking restaurant Goyo instantly wants to try out, and Blackbeard flat out refuses. Just says no. Claims their original plan was superior simply because it was made earlier, and when Goyo points out that literally nothing is stopping them from having dinner together instead of sitting at the cinema for a few hours, Blackbeard is having none of it. He’s hungry, he agrees with Goyo’s assessment that the place looks inviting, and yet he won’t budge. How did he get to where he is now with this attitude?

Also, Blackbeard is loud. And by this, he’s not even referring to his deafening voice – he’s a pitchman manqué – but rather his behaviour as a whole. Nigh everyone can tell his country of origin due to him constantly approaching perfect strangers, which Goyo finds exceedingly rude. People just want to mind their own business, as does he, and he wouldn’t appreciate being accosted by some random dude on the street. Blackbeard has the gall to call him rude as a result and defends himself by pointing out he leaves the grumpy ones alone and has a lovely chat with the rest who seems to enjoy their talk. Blackbeard has no qualms cursing in public and calling out unacceptable behaviour, and Goyo preferred the ground to swallow him whenever his companion starts an argument with a line skipper or someone parking like an idiot.

What, am I supposed to just tut and walk away?, Blackbeard scoffs, his tone making clear what he thinks of the British nation as a whole.

There are countless other details: Blackbeard's apartment is messy. He can’t cook for the life of him, yet is an utter baking snob. He leaves the toilet seat up. He loves the worst kind of cheesy patriotic action films and accepts no criticism on this. The music in his car leaves Goyo’s ears ringing for the rest of the evening. He seems to think kissing is the only worthwhile public display of affection. He’s ignorant about most other cultures yet fancies himself open-minded because his best friend is Korean – this only means he compares anything and everything either to the States or Korea. Getting him to eat anything he hasn’t tried before is an uphill struggle. Except if it’s Korean.

Vigil seems to get a pass on nearly everything, and Goyo is beginning to think Blackbeard either had or still has a crush on the man. He’s empathetic and understanding as can be with Vigil, and almost seems to enjoy arguing with Goyo. It’s getting old fast.

.

And then there are those other moments. The ones so sharp and vivid they linger in Goyo’s mind long after the fact, bright and warm like a sip of good alcohol, and almost as intoxicating too. They end up eating in the restaurant after all, and Goyo is mentally preparing for the backlash if it turns out to be rubbish – not that he thinks it will be, but he’d rather outline his defence already. In the back of his mind, he’s wondering whether he’s the stubborn one in this case, with his insistence to get his way showcasing his own inflexibility. His mother taught him to be kind whenever he can afford it, yet past experiences and an underlying pessimism usually convince him he can’t. He knows she’d be disappointed with how often he chooses the less compassionate path.

“I’m not good at this”, Blackbeard announces out of the blue, throwing Goyo off once more. This happens regularly, him spiralling and conducting a whole other conversation in his mind, and Blackbeard interrupting his thoughts with something outlandish. Most of the time, Goyo is relieved about it. He tends to get lost and is glad whenever he’s brought back to the present.

Since there’s no indication as to what he means, Goyo needs him to clarify. “At what?”

“Just… this.” And Blackbeard gestures somewhere between them. “Compromising. Letting someone else into my life. Listening.”

I know someone else who’s terrible at all three of those, Goyo thinks and doesn’t say.

“But I like you. And I want to get better. So please be patient with me and talk to me. Okay?”

Blackbeard likes him.

Idiotically, hearing it out loud makes him giddy as if this was a new revelation, but then his brain latches on to the much more important implication of Blackbeard wanting to communicate, being willing to work on himself and on the both of them, admitting faults. It’s a beacon of hope and one he didn’t expect – Blackbeard has never struck him as particularly introspective, not with how he values arbitrary rules above creative thinking, yet it seems he underestimated him. He’ll have to correct his mental image and allow Blackbeard to improve.

“Yes. That sounds good”, he replies after mulling over Blackbeard's words for a bit, prompting a sigh of relief. And, to throw him a bone: “You’re doing good.”

A scoff. “Am I though?”

“You are. Why else would I say it?”

“I don’t know. You just…” Blackbeard lowers his gaze, searching for the right thing to say. “I’m nervous around you.”

Goyo laughs. Can’t help it, he bursts out with a brief laugh turning into a hearty chuckle because – Blackbeard gets nervous? He dreaded being in the same room as the American early on and never managed to settle down in his presence, and now he’s learning it was reciprocal? Had he known he could’ve scared him away, he might’ve confronted Blackbeard earlier, returned the sass, threw his weight around a little. Instead, they were watching each other like hawks for ultimately only marginally different reasons. Nothing about Blackbeard is adorable, but this is the closest thing to it: him being bashful, admitting his crush, relinquishing power and inviting himself to be mocked. Goyo is delighted.

“You don’t need to be”, he reassures and runs his fingertips over the back of Blackbeard's hand, a gentle gesture he seems to appreciate.

There are these moments which remind Goyo why he gave Blackbeard a chance in the first place, and they are what keep him going whenever Blackbeard starts arguing in favour of one of his ‘life principles’.

.

“I made a mistake”, Goyo states, not bothering to hide his fatalistic tone of voice.

Amaru is instantly entertained. Her optimistic and easygoing attitude is part of the reason why she got along so swimmingly with Goyo’s mother, and also why he’s endlessly grateful for her presence in his life: she helped him get past failures whenever his mum wasn’t available, and provided encouragement and support whenever he needed it. It’s also why he keeps bothering her with his problems. “Does it have anything to do with your new relationship?”

She watched from a distance as he made his first few questionable choices in his dating career, ready to pick him up and dust him off whenever he’d fallen down. He learned to accept and value her advice once he realised she was never wrong, so he’s hoping she can assist him with his current predicament. “How did you guess?”, he sighs, not requiring an answer. “They’re showing a documentary I’m interested in on TV this evening, and I mentioned it to Craig.”

“So now he wants to watch it with you?”, his aunt surmises, making him nod. “Which means you’d have to spend the evening with him without falling victim to his manly wiles.” He nods again, looking pained. “And you want me to give you the go-ahead for making up an excuse so you don’t have a bad conscience when you cancel on him.”

Well. Maybe she was the wrong person to approach about this. “When you put it like that, it sounds… bad.”

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Don Goyo, you’re old enough to not need my approval. Which you’re not going to get anyway, before you ask.”

“I have a feeling I know what you’re about to say to me.”

“Just tell him. If you’re not ready, he needs to know. He deserves to know, César.”

It’s not that he isn’t ready. If it was for him, they’d have fucked in the nearest public stall on their second date, he’s been dreaming about strong arms and an insistent tongue for almost the entire month that they’ve been dating. He’s overripe, and still – it doesn’t feel right somehow. Like he should wait a little longer. They’ve gotten to know each other much better, anticipating each other’s moods, making small gifts here and there and texting daily. Even so, there’s just something.

“Don’t brood. Go and talk to him. Either he respects your boundaries and everything’s good, or he refuses and you can launch him into outer space. No matter the outcome, you’ll be off better than before.”

She must sense his hesitation as she tries to instil her wisdom a few more times before giving up and wishing him a pleasant night. He leaves, conflicted – he doesn’t want to hurt Blackbeard's feelings by rejecting him before even anything happens, and at the same time he’s not comfortable actually reaching below the belt yet.

He’s hoping Blackbeard simply doesn’t try anything. It’s the best case scenario.

.

About eight hours later, all Goyo can think between different versions of God this feels so fucking good is: this didn’t go to plan at all. Blackbeard is buried up to the hilt and Goyo is grateful for being momentarily distracted so he has an excuse not to think critically about what’s happening right then.

And it started out so well.

Goyo arrives only fifteen minutes late, which he thinks is more than reasonable even if Blackbeard doesn’t comment on it, and takes note of the slightly less messy flat – it’s not even that bad normally, some dirty dishes scattered around and pieces of clothing, but at least they give the otherwise relatively barren apartment some character. They kiss as a greeting, briefly, as Blackbeard is busy heating up something to eat, and then sit on the couch with plates on their laps, chatting about their day while waiting for the program to start.

It’s domestic. It should be relaxing and pleasant, not nerve-wracking, but after sitting next to Blackbeard for ten minutes of serious introduction and noticing how his sweatpants don’t really do a good job at hiding anything, Goyo knows he won’t do anything to stop him should he make a move. In a way, it’d be a relief: get it over and done with, don’t dwell on it, move on. The anticipation is putting him on edge, keeps his hairs standing up and his breaths measured. He’s hyper-aware of his knee brushing against Blackbeard's, the broad chest next to him rising and falling, the thumping of his own heart.

He can’t concentrate. Images flash on the screen, a soothing narrator recounts past horrors in a deep voice and historical photographs take turns. He’d actually been looking forward to watching this programme, and should’ve known doing it together with Blackbeard would end in disaster, yet wasn’t prepared for himself being the culprit. Blackbeard has beautiful arms, oozing latent strength and tanned nicely, the dark hairs making them even more appealing. Maybe he doesn’t shave his chest. He probably doesn’t, would consider it unmanly, and with how lush and full his beard is -

“Can I get you a beer?”

Goyo blinks. It’s a commercial break, he hadn’t even noticed. “No”, he says, and thinks: and I’d rather you didn’t have one either. The taste of it is revolting to him.

“I’ll just get one for myself then”, Blackbeard replies, already risen from the sofa, and makes the mistake of leaning down for a quick, once again domestic kiss. It’s reciprocated just a tad too enthusiastically, so Blackbeard pushes back and after a few more seconds they’re tongue wrestling with an uncomfortable height difference between them. The angle is awkward but the feel of it amazing – and this is something Goyo has openly admitted numerous times: he loves the way Blackbeard kisses. Adores it. Can’t get enough of it. It’s intense and deep and wet and leaves him panting every time, with this being no exception.

He drags the other man in, forcing him to steady himself with one knee on the couch, one knee right between Goyo’s legs and both hands cupping his face. This, too, is shockingly sexy, the way Blackbeard keeps him in place to take him apart. Goyo reaches out and runs his fingers over Blackbeard's body and dear God his thighs are like stone, and his back muscles pronounced, and his abs too. He’s tilted far back now, the bear hovering over him, solid and threatening and like a rock set in motion. Soul-crushing. Inevitable.

They kiss until the break is over, until at least one of them is making these embarrassing little noises, until Goyo’s lips feel swollen and his cock is harder than it’s ever been in his life, until Blackbeard breaks off, flushed, sweating and dishevelled, and Goyo wants to suck his dick or he’ll die. Making out has always been Goyo’s weakspot, and making out like this is guaranteed to leave him weeping and ruining his underwear, and he knew Blackbeard was gonna try something. He just knew. They wouldn’t have snogged like this without purpose, without an ulterior motive, without the intention of moving on to more sinful things now.

“We should”, Blackbeard starts and has trouble focusing his gaze, “let’s – I mean -” His sweatpants really don’t let him get away with anything. Unbelievably, he disengages and plops down next to Goyo. Apparently he wants to keep watching, which is the sensible thing to do.

Yes. A good idea. Getting caught up in the moment isn’t what Goyo wants anyway.

Blackbeard is radiating heat. His confident persona has crumbled, revealing a passionate yet considerate lover, a man torn between doing the right thing and doing what feels right. Right now, his upper brain seems to be winning, or maybe he figures if he behaves, Goyo will reward him regardless, or he’s hoping Goyo will stay the night and they can fuck later, or he’s playing hard-to-get. The last option would be hilarious, since Goyo isn’t interested in buying what Blackbeard is selling for now. They should really go back to watching TV, and when it’s over, they can talk a little, and then Goyo’s going home.

Two minutes later, he’s straddling Blackbeard's lap while shoving his tongue so far down the other man’s throat it’s a miracle he’s not choking, and nearly coming in his own pants from the bit of friction he manages to get between his dick and Blackbeard's taut stomach. He’s a fucking magnet and an oven with how hot he is, mewling into the kiss like someone who’s desperate for any kind of attention, like a starving or drowning or poisoned man, like – like Goyo. His beard is soft and smells good, and when Goyo’s hands stray below fabric, he finds more hair on a broad chest and buries his fingers in it. The rugged edge Blackbeard visibly sports continues where the normal gaze doesn’t penetrate, Goyo is relieved to discover, and he can finally feel up these gorgeous tits. Get his hands on them and massage them however he likes.

His nipples are delightfully sensitive and Goyo spends too much time teasing them while sucking deep purple bruises just below Blackbeard's collar until he’s worried about Blackbeard exploding under his merciless ministrations. Frotting has been knocked down in priority now that he can twist strangled moans out of the hard body beneath him, but when his cock throbs almost painfully at a gasp, he knows they can’t go on like this.

“Please give me a moment”, Blackbeard gasps out, cheeks rosy and eyes unfocused.

Again, a reasonable request. He should listen.

“Bedroom”, he snaps and it’s not even a suggestion. He can feel his hole pulsing with the irresistible desire of getting plowed and when Blackbeard, after a second of disbelief, picks him up to carry him through the flat, Goyo is thankful for his foresight to bring condoms and lube regardless of his intentions. He had a hunch Blackbeard would try something.

They only shed what’s necessary (and the shapely legs are somehow only improved with socks on, but Goyo has been told before that it’s a sock fetish at this point) and preparation is an unceremonious affair except for the fact that Goyo sucks on Blackbeard's nipples until they’re raw and too sensitive while fingering himself open. The American has a great body, he has to admit, well-developed muscles, some scars here and there, coarse black hair adorning tanned skin and an upward curved cock beautiful enough to have Goyo’s mouth water, so sitting down on it feels predictably mind-blowing.

He does most of the work, which is fortunate as he can experiment with angles until he’s found one that actually makes him go cross-eyed, and once Blackbeard draws the connection between his blissful groans and whatever’s happening between their legs, he starts thrusting up and dear Lord.

This isn’t what Goyo had in mind when coming over, and yet he can’t find the brain capacity to regret or even care right now, not with how urgent his lust is tugging on his nerve endings, forcing him to ride towards exhaustion and cramps and an impressive muscle hangover the next day. Being able to steady himself on Blackbeard's torso is surprisingly sexy and the sheer barrage of pleasure bursting through him every time he slams down his hips keeps him from touching himself, effectively prolonging his sweet suffering.

Moving in unison has never felt this good and for once, they’re on the same wavelength, exchanging devoted gazes and trading the odd kiss. It’s akin to a reunion instead of a first time, like they’ve rehearsed this song and dance to perfection in the past and, despite a certain rustiness, are quickly finding back into their old routine.

When Goyo comes, his vision goes colourful with how tight he’s squeezing his eyelids shut. He shakes violently while balanced on Blackbeard's hips and gasps for air, overwhelmed by the elation accompanying his release and shooting his sperm all over Blackbeard's mangled chest, over the lovebites and the red marks his hands left behind from carrying his weight. His relief is crushing, and so he slumps down bonelessly, allowing the other man to pump into him a few more times before announcing his own climax with a low moan. Instinctively, it seems, Blackbeard’s palms travel over the back of his sweaty t-shirt, petting him reassuringly.

Goyo doesn’t like it. It feels like too much, like overstimulation after a long, satisfying session even though his was hardly long but certainly satisfying. He shakes the hands off and climbs down, trying to catch his breath. Next to him, blue eyes snap to his face, too attentive. Blackbeard looks like he’s not sure what to say. Goyo could lighten the situation, compliment him, make a joke, or be sincere about how much he enjoyed himself. Because he did.

Even with the afterglow fading fast.

“I’ll go shower first”, he announces and leaves with a quick kiss that seems unsubstantial. He’s gone before Blackbeard has even taken the condom off, and the sensation of dirtiness clinging to his skin seems to go beyond bodily fluids. Scrubbing himself with the only loofah (and isn’t that a surprise) wouldn’t be right, so he uses his own fingers to wipe off the odd feeling.

Blackbeard is sitting on the edge of the bed when he returns, and now he can finally place the source of the awkwardness between them: he’s not babbling. Normally, he’d have commented on Goyo’s stamina, maybe how great his arse looked, recounted an anecdote of some sorts, or even attempted a lame joke, yet all he’s doing is watching. He looks a little lost. Silvery droplets are caught in his chest hair and when they kiss again, Goyo deflects a hug with the excuse of wanting to remain clean, demands that Blackbeard go shower as well.

The bed is large and tidier than the rest of the room, as if Blackbeard had anticipated them ending up here. Despite the general lack of colour in the apartment, the duvet is beautiful with a dark turquoise pattern. The cushions look fluffy, but not too soft. It looks inviting. Goyo did bring a spare pair of underwear, knowing their shoe and therefore sock size is the same, and he briefly pictures waking Blackbeard up by sucking him off. It’s unlikely to happen, with how different their morning routines are – what little he knows anyway – and still, the image is most tempting.

He gets caught in the hallway with one shoe on his foot already, the other in his hands.

His stomach drops and speech evades him out of shame as Blackbeard leans against the door frame, tight briefs highlighting all his best assets. Oddly enough, he doesn’t seem disappointed or hurt, which does nothing to quell the burning feeling of being a disgrace eating away at Goyo’s insides.

“What are you doing?”, he asks, no reproach in his voice. Patience is one of his virtues and one he displays right now – if there was ever a moment when Goyo expected an outburst, an indignant rant, it’d be now. Instead, he picks up on a hesitant disquiet, an uneasy curiosity. Blackbeard doesn’t know what’s going on, but he knows it’s important, therefore he treats it with the same mindfulness he does any serious issue.

Goyo owes him this. If there’s anything he owes this man, it’s an attempt at an explanation. Since he’s formulated it before, talked it through with past partners, he’s not unprepared yet dreads bringing it up nonetheless. “I have… commitment issues”, he replies softly.

The answering silence is one of racing thoughts, he can read it on Blackbeard's open expression. “Do you want to talk about it?”, he eventually wants to know. For a guy with no idea of how to deal with this, he’s faring remarkably well.

“I am talking about it.” Defensive. He inhales deeply before continuing. “I have trouble opening up to others. I prefer keeping most of me to myself. I can’t trust easily.”

A nod. It hurts; it means Blackbeard has noticed but didn’t dare bring it up. Always the same thing. Goyo fights down a pang of annoyance – part of his mind tries to convince him they don’t deserve him: either they mention it, which makes them whiny complainers not ready to give him time, or they don’t, which means they don’t care enough. It’s bullshit and pops up in the back of his head every time. “Am I suffocating you?”

He almost laughs at the ridiculousness of the notion. Blackbeard, who maybe suggests a quarter of their dates, who never complains about Goyo taking some time to reply to messages, who always accepts when Goyo wants to go home, seriously thinks he’s clingy. If anything, Goyo would like for him to be more overbearing, insert himself into Goyo’s life more aggressively. “No. You’re giving me all the space I need.” Too much, at times.

“Am I doing anything wrong?”

Well. What isn’t he doing wrong. Goyo’s heart melts a little over this brute trying to figure out why his lover is sneaking out on him, when it’s nothing but Goyo’s ugly side finally showing. He’s being unfair. “I didn’t want to sleep with you”, he says and knows instantly it was the worst possible thing he could’ve said, with how Blackbeard gains a look of horror, paling immediately, arms dropping by his side, slack, mouth working out an apology before the meaning has even reached his brain. Bad with words. This one he can’t really chalk up to bad timing. “No, that’s not what I meant. I wanted it and I liked it. I really did.” He’s flustered, flailing now, in unfamiliar territory, allowing the first thought to drop out of his mouth without scrutinising it first, and feels like it only gets worse. “But I – I had myself convinced I didn’t want it. Because, I don’t know. I’m -” Scared, he can’t bring himself to say. He knows it’d tear a wound which might not heal so easily. “Look. I’ll go. You don’t have to deal with this.”

No one should have to deal with him like this, sputtering and ashamed to the core, cheeks hot and composure non-existent. He wants to go home and hide for the next century and if Blackbeard told him now he’s not worth the trouble he’s causing, he wouldn’t even object.

“Don’t.” A plea. Heartfelt, for what it’s worth, but any other way and Goyo would already be putting on his second shoe. “I don’t know what to do, or what to say. I don’t know what you’d like me to do or say.”

Neither does Goyo. That’s the whole problem.

Blackbeard must be cold, nearly naked and standing in the faint draft coming in from under the door. He shifts his weight uncomfortably as they stare at each other. Please, Goyo thinks, unsure of what he even means by that. But when the next words hit his ears, he knows it’s what he’s been hoping for: “Just… come back to bed. Okay?”

The shoe hits the ground with a sharp sound cutting through the tense atmosphere between them.

.

Unsurprisingly, Blackbeard prefers being the big spoon. They fight over the blanket since Goyo needs it to sleep whereas Blackbeard insists it’s entirely too warm, and the familiar back-and-forth calms his racing heart. As does the gentle hand rubbing vague circles into his chest while they cuddle. After a few soothing moments, he asks the dreaded question of when Blackbeard's first alarm will go off, resulting in even more bickering.

“I really wanted to watch that documentary”, Goyo mumbles regretfully against the arm he’s cradling like a stuffed toy, partly because it’s wonderfully warm and partly because the skin-on-skin contact does funny things to his stomach. Being pressed against the length of Blackbeard's body is magical. He hasn’t felt this safe in a long while.

“Don’t worry, I recorded it.”

The reply, half lost in his hair, gives Goyo pause. If they could actually see anything in the impenetrable darkness Blackbeard requires to sleep peacefully, he’d turn around in indignation. “So you expected something like this to happen?”

He can feel the smile against his scalp. “Call it wishful thinking. Doing nothing but kissing did take its toll.”

Huh. Seems like he was right.

Blackbeard really did plan on trying something.