#I’d like to think I give off tall energy

[sodacowboy]

what pisses me off the most is that there’s tall genes in my family!!! The building blocks are right there!!!! AND YET

[lordprettyflackotara]

dollhouse || jeff the killer

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. PLEASE READ TW LIST: MURDER, YOU ARE A CREEP/MURDERER, blood kink? kinda?, choking, hate sex, enemies to prob lovers trope, orgasm denial, etc etc. yes there will be a part two ;) <3

part two

“God fucking dammit!”

The screech left your mouth involuntarily, your hand gripping the back door and slamming it shut. The sound echoed through out the kitchen, your vision borderline seeing red. You continued to mutter curses under your breath as you stormed into the living room. Ben nearly bent his neck backwards trying to look at you from the couch, “Uh, something wrong?”

Your eyes were shooting daggers as you looked at him. The blonde would’ve cowered in fear if he didn’t find you tragically attractive. (Considering you’ve made it very clear you are off limits from any mansion residents). “I got a fucking assignment like i’m a goddamn proxy,” You grumbled, stomping into the living room. Lazily you flopped down on the couch beside Ben, running your fingers through your hair.

Ben playfully elbowed you. “Oh cmon, that’s not that bad. Every creep has had to go on a mission for Slendy at one time or another,” He said cheerfully, resuming his button mashing on his xbox controller. You slumped in your seat, sighing as you propped up your head.

“Yeah, but not every creep has been paired with Jeffrey Woods.”

“Don’t flatter yourself sunshine, i’m not happy to be paired with you either,” Jeffs cold voice rang from the staircase. Ben looked back and forth between you to, pausing his game. “Oh and call me that again and i’ll slit your throat,” Jeff barked. He casually strolled down the stairs, parking himself in his usual chair by the window. You refrained from looking at him, his face making you physically sick. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about either. If I were you i’d be dropping my fucking panties and praising Slender,” Jeff continued. His rambling was growing tiresome, your patience becoming thinner.

You and Jeff were equally as aggressive, which led to many disputes and many more fist fights. Jeff never knew when to shut his mouth and you never knew when to stop throwing punches. “You single handedly have the best killer on your team and you’re still running your mouth. At this point it’s a mystery why your folks didn’t stitch it shut,” Jeff snickered. Your ears twitched visibly, your eyes widening at the sound of him mentioning your human family. Your human life.

In a swift motion you dug the (carefully thought out) emergency knife from the couch, throwing it at his head. You were known for your aim, your accuracy. The blade whisked past Jeff, digging into the wall. “You’re gonna break a window!” Ben screeched. Jeff frowned, glaring at the knife in the wall behind him. “You missed doll face,” He seethed. You grinned your petty scheme paying off.

“Did I?”

A warm liquid began trickling down Jeff’s ear, his fingers reaching to identify the source. Crimson red blood stained his fingertips, the lobe of his ear nipped by the launched blade. “You bitch i’ll kill you!” Jeff yelled, rising from his seat. You matched his energy, standing up immediately. Despite Jeff’s tall size you refused to let him intimate you, your gaze always burning with a sincere hatred. Ben was quick to hop around you, wedging himself in between you both.

“Guys let’s think about this, you know Slender’s rules,” The blonde suggested. Typically Ben didn’t give two shits about Creeps wrestling it out. Shit, last week he let Masky throw Toby into the coffee table. (Shattered it, by the way.) But he genuinely liked the both of you, considering you both his best friends. Your eyes flickered past Jeff for a moment, landing at the disney princess clock Sally had requested.

“Shit we’re late. Clean yourself up and let’s go.”

\/

One key thing was to be known about Slender missions: if you had any questions, you kept them to yourself. This is what you tried to convince yourself as you pulled on a set of scrubs. Cosplaying as a nurse was not on your bucket list, certainly not like this. “Could you be any slower?” Jeff huffed. You both stood in the back alley of the hospital, a keycard having been delivered to you to gain entry. Jeff stood on the other side of the car, facing the wall. You threatened to scoop his eyes out if he looked at you changing, the mere threat alone leading to half of his annoyance.

“Oh im sorry, maybe if your face didn’t look like it went through a meat grinder you could’ve been the doctor,” You spat, venom lacing your words. You shoved on your face mask, your key card pinned to your shirt. You rounded the car, shoving Jeff his sunglasses and blue face mask. “Do I look legit?” You asked. Jeff scowled as he shoved on the sunglasses, shoving his hood over his head. “I wouldn’t trust you with a walnut, nevertheless my life,” He snarled. You had learned long ago to discard anything Jeff said to you, no matter how hurtful or spiteful it seemed to be.

But he noticed your eyebrows briefly furrowing, your eyes flickering with concern you didn’t look nurse like enough to complete the mission. “But yeah I guess you look like a healthcare professional,” Jeff finished, shoving his face mask on. You locked the car, shoving the keys into your scrubs. Jeff’s part was to play a sick patient, one you were taking to the emergency wing. The same wing where they had a lab with copious amounts of blood bags. Again, you were never supposed to ask questions. But you couldn’t help but wonder what or who Slender would be feeding with these bags.

“Why did you make me wash my hoodie again? The blood on it could’ve looked like I was coughing it up,” Jeff asked. Jeff was notorious for not wanting to wash his hoodie. You figured it was an ego thing, pride always seeming to drip off of him when he paraded around in his victims blood. Grabbing your keycard you bypassed the pitiful security system, the door unlocking with a click. You grabbed him by his shoulder, assertively guiding him inside. “Yeah we would’ve wanted you to look like you were coughing up blood, not coming back from a murder scene,” You whispered. The bright hospital lights were borderline overstimulating, your vision narrowing as you struggled to remember instructions.

Jeff sensed this, fake coughing and jerking his head towards the sign. West wing. Great. You led Jeff through the busy hospital, nodding respectfully at any medical staff that made eye contact with you. No one seemed suspicious, just another human nursing a sick patient back to health, right? The journey felt longer than it was, your nerves gnawing at you. It wasn’t the fear of being identified necessarily. You and Jeff (if you managed to work together as a team) could certainly slaughter this entire hospital floor and get away. It’s not like many would try to fight you both off either.

Creeps were not to make spectacles of themselves by having their identifies revealed to humans. Camera systems were in place, people had cell phones, police were nowadays just one click away. If you both failed to remain secretive, you’d violate one of Slender’s rules. And if you cared to live another day with more than three brain cells in tact, you did not disobey Slender.

Finally reaching the west wing brought instant relief, both of you reaching your destination. You swiped your keycard, both of you pushing into the room. A middle aged man stood at the counter, turning around to see who had entered. He briefly turned back around, before realizing Jeff did not appear to be medical staff. You shoved a metal cart in front of the door, Jeff quick to take out the threat. “Go to sleep,” He snickered, slitting the man’s throat. You rolled your eyes, grabbing a trash bag from under the sink.

“gO tO sLeEp,” You muttered mockingly. You wondered when he’d retire the corny catchphrase. You threw your mask aside, tired of playing pretend. Jeff strolled over to the fridge, yanking open the door. Blood pooled on the floor beneath his shoes, staining them as he crouched down. Jeff wasn’t bothered in any capacity, reaching out to grab a trash bag. You both began shoving the bags into the bag, grabbing each and every type. “Wait did Slender want the different blood types in different bags?” Jeff asked. You sighed, ignoring him as he stopped and looked at you. He yanked off the mask and tossed aside the sunglasses, his obsidian eyes boring into yours. “He didn’t specify,” You shrug, grabbing another row of bags.

“He didn’t specify? So why wouldn’t you do it then?” Jeff asked. You rolled your eyes, dropping your hands. “What does it matter? We’re putting bags of blood into trash bags and delivering it like we’re in the twilight zone. We don’t even know what this is for,” You argued. You went to grab another bag, Jeff’s pale hand harshly grabbing your arm. “Exactly, we don’t know what it’s for. Meaning we should play it safe,” Jeff debated. You yanked your arm away from him, disgusted by his touch. Angrily you dropped the trash bag, standing up.

“You just want an excuse to argue. I knew you would fuck this mission up,” You growled. Jeff rose to his feet, towering over you as he did so. “I’m fucking up the mission? You’re the one who’s being sloppy,” He said, poking your chest. You shoved his shoulders, hating his touch. “You’re the sloppy one. Yeah Jeff get your shoes stained with the humans blood so they can look for it later. We’ll just have to burn it in the middle of nowhere,” You said, gesturing to his shoes. Jeff rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Them knowing my shoes, which by the way, are converse, which half of the planet owns, is not a big fucking deal,” He said mockingly.

You threw your arms up, exasperated. “Yes it is! Because then they’ll link it to any other crime they’ve captured with a stupid pale guy in converse and it’ll be all over the news, and you know how Slender hates the media-” You began, before the hallway light stopped your sentence for you. Two nurses shoved their way inside of the room, both of you freezing. Shit.

Jeff grabbed both of them by their scrubs, yanking them inside and slamming the door. He shoved his hand over the first one’s mouth, slamming her onto the cold floor. Your victim seemed dumbfounded, her eyes widening in the same fear that dripped off of every victim of yours. “Dont scream bitch, whatever you do, don’t scream,” You suggested. You didn’t look visibly armed, maybe she’d listen to you. As Jeff repeatedly stabbed her coworker in the chest, she changed her mind. A shallow gasp left her lips before you were on her like a wild animal, your pocket knives blade stabbing her from the underside of her chin.

Not your preferred method, gallons of her blood pouring down onto you and your scrubs. Her eyes went blank as the soul left her body, her life officially drained. Crimson paint coated your entire front side, the skin on your arms stained with the color. “There is no fucking way i’m going to be able to walk through the hospital like this,” You seethed. You turned to Jeff, tossing the nurses limp corpse aside. “You should’ve been keeping a lookout instead of picking an argument!” You exclaimed. Jeff rose to his feet above his own victim, her organs on full display as smashed lumps of meat.

“Nothings ever your fault, is it sunshine? Maybe take some responsibility for your fuckups instead of pinning it on me,” Jeff spat. You hated him. You hated him beyond belief. You also hated that he in one way or another, was right. You let him get in your head and distract you from the mission. In a fit of rage you shoved at his chest, the pale killer having enough of your hissy fit. He shoved you back, pushing you against the counter. Slipping on the blood beneath you, you instinctively grabbed handfuls of Jeff’s hoodie, dragging him with you.

His body smashed into yours as your back hit the counter, both of you breathing heavily. You glared up at him, his body not deserting yours. He licked his dry lips, observing you from above. Your chin and neck were coated in blood, along with the rest of you. When Jeff came to think of it, you didn’t look half bad when your mouth was shut and you were covered in his favorite liquid. Glaring up at him you noticed he was stained the same way, splatters of blood painting his face. “I hate you,” You seethed. Jeff leaned in closer to you, his face an inch away from yours.

“I hate you too sunshine. Don’t ever think for a moment I don’t,” He replied. You could feel your heart beginning to race, the close proximity making your stomach do back flips. “Why would I think you don’t?” You asked. Jeff hesitated, knowing what he was about to do would change everything. But fuck he could not resist a hot chick covered in blood. “Cause of this,” He huffed, smashing his lips into yours. You were surprised to find yourself kissing him back, clashes of teeth ensuing more than a traditional kiss. His large hands helped you onto the counter, the pale killer wedging himself between your legs.

You wrapped your arms around Jeff’s neck, bringing him closer. You both were willingly jeopardizing the mission, all for a sweet release. Because you both knew deep down that you both were the same, cut from the same cloth. Jeff’s hands slid up your thighs, reaching for the hem of your scrubs. Your lips refusing to stray from his, awkwardly lifting your hips to help him take them off. Jeff’s tongue slid into your mouth, the faint taste of a monster energy drink dancing across your tongue. Jeff was quick to pull down your pants and panties, leaving you completely exposed.

“We don’t have much time,” You panted into his lips, nibbling on his bottom lip. Your hands reached for his pants, fiddling with the belt. Jeff rubbed two fingers up and down your slick, sickly satisfied with how wet you were for him. “You’re fucking drenched. I knew your slutty ass wanted me,” He snickered. You glared up at him, wrapping your legs around his waist. Without thinking you raised an open hand, slapping Jeff across the cheek. The stinging electrified him, his cock throbbing with a more intense desire.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” He seethed, shoving two fingers inside of you. You let out a groan, your hand slithering down to your clit. “Who are you supposed to be pretending to be now? Ben?” You asked, relishing in the sight of his pale cheek turning pink. He curled his long fingers inside of you, your eyes fluttering shut as you moaned. “You greedy bitch, pay attention,” Jeff growled. His spare hand flew to your throat, harshly gripping at the sides. Your eyes burst open, meeting his dark orbs. “Thats it, look at me as I ruin you,” Jeff ordered.

You began drawing quick circles around your clit, biting your inner lip. “You gonna make me cum or just keep talking?” You huffed, grinning as his grip on your neck tightened. Jeff continued finger fucking you, your groans music to his ears. “You sick bitch. You like me choking you, huh?” He taunted. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your orgasm threatening to wash over you. Jeff could sense so too, releasing your throat and yanking away your hand from your clit. His fingers emerged from your cunt, just as you were teetering on the edge of cumming.

“You fucking asshole, fuck you,” You seethed. You spat in his face, your saliva coating the same cheek you slapped. Jeff picked you up off of the counter, slamming you against the closest wall. Aggressively he pulled down his pants and boxers, his lips meeting yours again. For such a prick he was intoxicating, his lips working wonders against yours. “Be patient for once you brat. You’re gonna cum on my cock like a good whore should,” Jeff grumbled, rubbing his shaft up and down your slick. He forcefully shoved himself inside of you, your body splitting in half as his dick bottomed out inside of you.

You gripped his blood stained hoodie, your palms covered in the liquid you could never escape. You swallowed as you screwed your eyes shut, attempting to adjust. Your body was tense and still, your breathing heavy. You expected Jeff to be a prick and move, ramming into you the way he wanted to. But he didn’t, his eyes watching you intently. Slowly and unsurely he grabbed your chin, forcing your head towards. His touch seemed too caring to be real, his lips working against yours again. Your body slowly relaxed, his lips bringing you ease.

Jeff hadn’t expected you to be overly experienced, your walls squeezing him like you were a virgin. An uneasy silence flooded between you to as you fully adjusted, your eyes fluttering open. “Jeff, move,” You ordered weakly, straying away from his heroin laced lips. The pale killer wanted to deny you, to make you beg for him. But as your victims blood pooled at his shoes once more, he knew he didn’t have time for that. He began moving quickly, his thrust rough and reckless. His cock abused your g spot just like his words abused your sanity.

“You’re bigger than I thought you’d be,” You huffed, unable to stop yourself from insulting the man who was providing you euphoric pleasure. Jeff laughed dryly, burying himself in the crook of your neck. “You’re tighter than I thought you’d be. I thought you’d be so desperate as to let EJ fuck you and stretch out this cunt of yours,” He rambled, jealousy ensuing. He hated how well you got along with EJ. He hated how seeing you laugh with him made him feel. He didn’t understand it. That nagging feeling. He couldn’t understand it. He didn’t want to understand it.

You licked your lips as you tried to contain your sinful noises, Jeffs name finally straying from your lips as he abused your cunt. “Thats it, moan my fucking name,” He praised, a sick satisfaction making his hips snap into you faster. His breath was hot against your neck, the twisted fucker licking the side of your neck. The taste of sweat and blood was intoxicating to him, the killer only more turned on by the taste. You could feel yourself finally close to the finish line, your hands combing into Jeff’s shaggy ash black hair.

“Fuck, right there. Please don’t stop,” You whined, unable to stop the plea from falling off of your lips. Who was Jeff to deny you of that? Your walls spasmed around him as you came, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Jeff came with a grunt, huffing into your neck as his warm seed flooded your cunt. You both were frozen for a moment, the realization of what had just happened washing over you. You shoved Jeff’s chest, pushing him away from you. The pale killer backed away, removing himself from your cunt.

He watched as you shoved your clothes back on, grabbing the trash bag.

“Get dressed bitch boy, we have a mission to finish.”

[adelheidvonschicksal]

⋆｡°✩ Do Roommates Sleep Together?

“We’d be roommates, much better than neighbors,” you manage to explain, proud when you hold firm, but the delicate foundation you built cracks when his laugh highlights the room. You could nearly melt. “Do roommates sleep together too?”

Synopsis: Your relationship with Xavier is unconventional, skipping and trampling on the many proper steps society deems appropriate. It should take months to form the trust needed to sleep together, and it should take years for you to ask him to move in with you.

Yet, here you are, with more courage to ask him to live with you than to tell him you’re in love with him.

Content Warning: fluff, suggestive dialogue, pining, literal sleeping together, a lot of internal exposition, mild angst, hurt/comfort, acquaintances to friends to lovers, implied soulmate tomfoolery to justify the fast burn, small references to chapter 4 main story, Heartstring Symphony, Nighttime Stroll, Shooting Stars Myth, and Unit 602's Representative Phone Call, Xavier sucks at following the non-interference policy (he tried his best), female reader, 6.5k words, safe for work

A/N: First section before Warm Wishes/Dreams within Reach tender moments and second section after Close Feelings tender moment to give a better timeframe. This is going to be two parts with the second part NSFW.

“Do you want to hang out at my place?” 

Your smile begins to flatten as Xavier stares at you from his doorway. There’s a listless energy radiating from him. It’s intimidating even if there’s no anger behind his hooded gaze, the kind of intimidation where you’re afraid he might not be listening to you or even wants to listen to you.

“This new scary movie came out. Tara was supposed to watch with me, but she had a last-minute thing to take care of,” you explain, watching as he yawns and wipes his eyes. “So, I thought that maybe you’d like to watch with me instead. Or, we can do something else. I got games. Monopoly, Phase 10, Kitty Cards.” 

Xavier rubs at the back of his neck, refusing to meet your eye. “Are you sure you want it to be just the two of us?” 

There are many things to be said about your relationship with Xavier. You’re work partners, neighbors in the same apartment complex, and you consider him your friend. It’s also true that your friendship is young despite the many hours at the arcade together and whatever stories your co-workers like to imagine, making your offer sound more like a date invitation than hanging out. It causes you to go tongue-tied as your innocent mistake blankets you.

“Oh, not in that way! I mean not that it would be a bad thing.” You start to lose your composure when you meet his gaze again. It’s not like you wouldn’t go on a date with him if given the opportunity. He’s tall, soft-spoken, and very handsome. It’s more surprising he doesn't have a girlfriend. “I was thinking it could be a good way to foster friendship between hunters. Yeah, that’s it!”

The truth was that you were looking for something to distract yourself ever since the incident at your grandmother’s house. Tara having to cancel bummed you out more than you wanted to admit, but you didn’t want him to agree because he felt sorry for you.

“I understand,” Xavier cuts in. “I’d be happy to join you…in an hour,” he finishes with another small yawn. 

“Great!” you cheer. “See you soon.”

When you make it back to the elevator, you’re taken aback about how happy you are that he agreed. You thought you were simply happy not to have to be alone on your day off, but this was a different kind of satisfaction than when you invited Tara. It was a little strange but you ignored the thought and clicked the button to your floor. 

When Xavier arrives, everything goes as planned. You spread out an array of snacks on the table in front of the sofa, which your selection seems to be approved by how quickly he opens the package of chips and hums to himself when he takes a bite. 

“This is supposed to be super scary! I read you won’t sleep for days after,” you tell him, grabbing the remote to play the movie. 

“For days? Sounds awful,” Xavier mentions between bites, making you chuckle. 

“If you get scared, you always have me to protect you.” 

“I’m more worried about you than me,” he mouths off. “You always look like a statue when I tell you scary stories.”

“Fake movies and stories based on real places are different!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he agrees on the surface. You’re not sure how you only make friends with people who love to tease you, but you make no mention of it as the movie finally reaches its opening sequence. 

It doesn’t take long for you to realize this movie’s fear factor was greatly over exaggerated. There were monsters, sure, but also one too many jump scares and dark scenes that made it hard to tell what was happening. Fighting wanderers for a living did leave you a bit desensitized as well, you guess. 

As you reach to fill in your boredom with more chips, you can’t help but notice how Xavier looks like he’s about to give out any second. His eyes are drooping and his head bobbing to the side. You lose count of how many times he forces his limp body straight and strains to watch the movie playing on the screen, one agonizingly slow blink at a time.

“I’m fine,” he says before you can bring up how tired he looks.

“It’s not a big deal, Xavier. This movie is pretty boring, so if you wanna call it a night, it wouldn’t hurt my feelings.” You don’t want him to leave yet but you don't want to keep him up either. Sighing, you’re frustrated the movie isn’t as exciting as you thought it would be, and it’s difficult to fight the disappointment from showing on your face. 

And, well, Xavier…

“It’s alright. It’s honestly not bad, so—”

Xavier doesn’t even finish his sentence before his head hangs over. In hindsight, you start to realize that you must have woken him up earlier, explaining his prior passiveness.

You always wondered what he did on the days he wasn’t working. It should’ve been apparent to you that he spends most of his free time sleeping. No wonder his apartment was always so quiet during the day. You’re thankful he wasn’t actually annoyed at you earlier but guilty for interrupting his rest and decide to grab him a blanket.

You don’t notice him tilting to the side before you have the chance to get up. It’s quick after that. Without warning, he falls into you, his head brushing the side of your shoulder before he collapses on top of your lap.

The situation takes you by surprise, and the world churns to a slow stop. The sounds from the television fade into the background in favor of your heartbeat becoming the thing you’re most aware of when it registers that Xavier, a man you recently can call a friend, has fallen asleep in your lap. You have no idea what to do in a situation like this. It isn’t on purpose, so there’s no need to blow up, but you can’t allow this to continue.

So, you choose to wake him up.

“Xavier,” you call and rock his shoulder. You call his name again, a third time, and finally give up when he doesn’t budge by the fourth. “Would it be too mean to roll him off?” you wonder, grimacing as you imagine him hitting the floor. It would definitely be too mean.

Sighing, you gaze at his face nuzzled too comfortably against your thighs. Xavier looks so incredibly soft like this, bundled in an oversized Blanchi hoodie. It isn’t anything you’re not used to seeing him in. However, this is different. With his hair strewn across his temple and his face so at ease, it reminds you of a big fluffy bunny flopped over for an evening nap. Just like a cuddly bunny, you can’t resist petting him, brushing your fingers across his bangs to fix them. Your heart flutters as you confirm his hair is incredibly soft and his pale eyelashes longer than you ever noticed.

Not able to restrain yourself, you gently poke his cheek, marveling when it’s much chubbier than you imagined. It causes him to moan, his eyes twitching from the intrusion.

“Mm…what?” he groans out.

Swiftly, you pull your hand away, frightened he might have caught you.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” you stammer out, not the best of excuses; but in your defense, he caught you off-guard by waking up from something so small. When he doesn’t respond again, you quickly realize he’s still asleep. “Oh, he sleep talks!”

A mischievous wave washes over you from the new piece of information you acquired. Teasingly, you poke his cheek again, giggling when he shifts to hide his eyes from the light.

“Xavier, I have a question to ask you.” You slide your fingertips along his bangs once more. “Be honest. Are you Lumiere?”

Patiently, you wait for a response. However, nothing comes after several seconds. Just when you’re about to give up hope, you hear him muttering. You lean your head closer, hoping to hear him better.

“Red…” he mumbles.

You repeat after him. “Red?”

“Red…extra spicy.”

You blink at him, knitting your brows. “Extra spicy?”

Oh. The hot pot restaurant.

“Dreaming about food? That tracks.” You shrug. It was worth a shot. “Fine, keep your secrets.”

Choosing to leave him be, you’re about to sit back and continue the movie except you are interrupted by him mumbling again. This time, he whispers your name quietly under his breath causing your undivided attention to fall on him.

“Yes?” you ask.

Xavier sighs softly, peacefully.

“Come home…with me…”

There must be a world record for how fast someone can heat up, and you must have broken it. It’s like someone threw you directly into boiling oil and left you to burn in it. There’s no way you heard him correctly.

Did Xavier really ask you to come home…with him? Is he dreaming about you? If so, in what kind of dream? And why?

These are the questions stumping you. Sure, you consider him your friend, but when did he start to see you as someone close to him?

The more important question is why aren’t you doing anything about it? You aren’t angry about him whispering your name in his sleep nor offended, and it didn’t feel out of place to be close to him, like this, with his head resting in your lap and your hand in his hair. The moment becomes nicer and nicer—treasured—the more times you run it through your head, familiar even, like déjà vu.

There are too many variables for your brain to piece it all together in such a short amount of time. Praying for the tempest battering your emotional insides to reside, you resign yourself to your fate, allowing him to have his peace while your mind completely focuses on the words slipping from his dreams.

When Xavier begins to stir hours later, your movie is long finished, credits rolling as some dramatic music plays in the background. His eyes tighten then relax before he finally opens them, greeting you with hazy blue. He lifts himself into a stretch then rubs his eyes with his wrist. When he finally adjusts to his surroundings, he looks at you with an apologetic sulk.

“Did I…fall asleep on you?” he asks, grogginess still riding his voice.

“Literally or figuratively?” you ask as a joke, but it doesn’t seem to comfort him. Shaking your head, you try to ease the tension—the one known by him and the tension inside of yourself—by laughing. “It was both.”

Xavier blinks a few times, turns his head to the screen to see the credits rolling, and snaps his eyes back on you questioningly. “And you let me for two hours?”

“You looked really tired,” you explain, ignoring how hot your cheeks start to get. You couldn’t tell him you got distracted by his cute face. “I didn’t want to move and wake you.”

“I don’t wake that easily,” he states, proudly even. You almost tell him how well everyone knows he can sleep through a typhoon, but it’s drowned underneath the softness of his smile. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

The look he gives you is so tender, like looking at a fond memory. It brings back the fluttering knots in your stomach from before as you imagine what could be the true reason behind that gaze. What could he possibly be thinking in his waking moments that would make him dream about you?

“Xavier, do you know you talk in your sleep?” The confused and panicked, deer caught in headlights expression, he gives causes you to fidget with your fingers and drop your gaze to your lap where they lay.

His face tinges slightly. “Nothing too embarrassing I hope.”

You bite your bottom lip as his face reddens. He looks so sweetly shy for once, and you’re starting to question if you’re overreacting by confronting him about something as silly as a dream, one that probably didn’t mean much.

“You tried to order food in your sleep!” you tell him with a small laugh, and his shyness melts away.

“I did? What did I get?”

“Red sauce. Extra Spicy.”

“Then, I guess that’s what I’ll get for dinner tonight,” he remarks. He doesn’t laugh but you can see the amusement reflected in blue eyes, which makes you return his happiness. Yet, the calm moment is short-lived as your mind becomes overwhelmed again by questions you were too nervous to ask; and a small piece of you, too afraid to know the answer.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, drawing you out of your rampant, clashing thoughts. “You look sick.”

“I do?”

He nods, his expression softening.

”Are you still thinking about everything?" he pauses, his worry becoming more visible as he looks at you. "It must be difficult.” Your head blanks at his words. You weren’t aware Xavier gave you enough attention to notice your mood was different. You thought you did okay coming to terms with everything at least while at work to where he wouldn’t notice. 

“It’s been a pretty rough week, weeks, actually. I haven’t been sleeping well either,” you agree, struggling to keep your mind anywhere else but there. You’re sure you must look exhausted though. Your under eyes have been darker, the days you could convince Jenna you didn’t need any more leave a bit sluggish, and even Zayne warned you not to lose yourself in grief. It’s easier said than done.

What you don’t expect is for Xavier to grab your wrist and pull you closer.

Xavier normally isn’t the one to draw you, or others for that matter, to him. You’re the one who's been taking the steps to get to know more about him. Offering to help him get his plushie, bargaining with him into becoming your partner, asking him to watch movies with you, while he always seems to keep you a little at arms length, not opening up as much as you wish when sharing stories even when sometimes he looks like he desperately wants to before deciding against it.

Your eyes widen when your nose hits the side of his chest. It's strange to have him be the one pulling, failing to keep his boundaries and also testing them. You don’t want to push him away though. You liked this. Maybe because he was handsome. You hear pretty people can get away with anything, but it feels like more than that. Tara might have been right. Maybe you do have a crush on him but you didn’t care the reason right now when it’s so comforting. You can feel his muscles underneath the thick, warm fabric of his hoodie, and the clothing smells so nice. You can’t help thinking he definitely feels like a bunny too.

“Sleeping is much better with someone.” 

“How do you know?” you mumble against him.

“Well, I just had the best sleep I’ve had in days thanks to you. So, allow me to return the favor. I’ll be your pillow this time,” he offers; and surprisingly, your eyes do feel oddly heavy when his soothing voice reaches you. “Relax. I promise not to move for at least two hours, but you can take more if you like.”

”How kind,” you say with a smile, and it feels genuine.

Once again, you get the same familiar sensation from before, that same odd suspicion this has happened once before—or rather it’s supposed to happen? You’re too tired to think about it. You close your eyes to the most blissful dreams you’ve had in weeks.

When you wake up again, it’s not by choice. Xavier is looking down at you, his arm gently wrapped around your shoulders as your head lays on his chest. Your mind is still trapped halfway between being awake and asleep when he begins to talk.

“Welcome back. Did you sleep well?”

You nod. “Real well actually."

Xavier says something else but your tired mind misses the majority of it aside from the fact it’s getting late.

“You can spend the night if you want,” you tell him, allowing sleep to win back over as you try to close your eyes again, but he lifts you away from him, your head swaying with the motion until you find a place to prop your forehead on his shoulder. Your mind echoes with the thought of how soft his hoodie is and how you need one like it as you try to drift back off. Xavier is right. Sleeping with someone else is better, and this closeness you’ve been missing since you lost your family makes you needy. 

“It probably wouldn’t be appropriate.”

For some reason, it hurts to think he's back to pushing you away. Even though, it shouldn't.

“But you didn’t get a chance to watch the movie,” you reply, looking for an excuse for him not to leave. “It’s a 48-hour rental, so we can try again.”

Xavier shakes his head, gently poking at your forehead to force your head back. “I’m sure it’ll be twice as boring for you the second time.”

“If we watch it together…”

He meets your foggy gaze apologetically. “I don’t think we’d get very far.” 

“We won’t know until we try,” you argue drowsily. 

“You don’t look like you’d make it another ten minutes. You belong in bed.”

“I can,” you whimper as the too-bright lights of the overhead fan hit you. 

“Doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result,” he murmurs softly, almost teasingly until his tone takes on a seriousness you’re too lethargic to grasp, “Isn’t that insanity?”

“I like to call it determination. Who knows? Maybe this will be the time it works,” you joke. Instead of the smile you expected the look on his face is pensive and a little sad, like you touched a delicate spot. The sudden remorse wakes you up almost immediately. “Xavier?”

When he realizes you’re watching him, the longing in his gaze melts into something you can’t describe, other than the fact it makes your heart climb in your throat. 

“Alright,” he agrees, much to your surprise and relief. “Let’s try again…but tomorrow.”

Frowning, you avert your gaze, which makes him pet your head. 

“Don’t pout. Tonight, I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, moving back to rest your head against his chest.

Maybe your grandma wouldn’t have liked you getting so close to a man you didn’t know much about so quickly. Caleb would at least have a few questions, but your intuition tells you that you’re making the right choice when his arm goes back around you. As you start to drift off, you can swear you hear Xavier laughing at you under his breath. “You’re as impossible to say no to as always.”

You’re not entirely sure what time Xavier went back to his apartment that night, but the next morning you wake in your bed, looking forward to seeing him again. You only hope the sweet and confusing fact that you’re in love with him, of the parts he shows you when you’re alone, stays in your dreams the next night and the many nights following that you share with him.

Over the months, as your relationship with Xavier grows stronger, you find it common to share many things with each other. You play online games, house sit for one another, grow strawberries, and usually go home together after your deepspace trials. Most interestingly, you two take naps together on your days off sometimes, nothing sexual about it despite what Tara and her Tarot cards believe. Sure, there might have been questionable situations, but it was all innocent in the end. It's often a short nap in the afternoon after running errands or having lunch together. It's one of those days that you finally build the courage to bring up what's been on your mind for a while now. 

It's late when it happens.

The skyscraper lights begin to glow through your balcony door, blinking out the gentle shimmering of distant stars that managed to cut through the trickling rain earlier in the evening. It’s a little disappointing to lose sight of the stars. They’d become a comfort for you in the time you’ve spent with your friend. You'd never given them much thought before then.

The downpour of rain splattering against the glass panels of the balcony makes the city lights milkier to your sight and the steady dripping of water returns some form of calmness when paired with your neighbor’s breathing next to you.

It’s deep and warm, ushering you towards the world of dreams. Everything about Xavier is like a white noise or a desperately needed hug, which is why you’re curled up at his side in this bed that’s too small for the both of you. You didn’t care, and you suspected Xavier didn’t either.

He didn’t mention the smallness of the bed when you offered to take a nap together nor when your head found the bulge of his bicep to use as your pillow. You didn’t give him time to respond when one of your hands slid across his lean chest, reaching for his always subtle pulse. You find the lazy pattering easy to count while the heat in the sheets become much more apparent when you feel the weight of his touch cradle that very same hand to his chest as if promising every beat to you.

Everything about the situation causes your eyes to flutter with tiredness, but you want to savor this moment a little longer. In case this is all an elaborate dream. You hope to death it’s not. So, you force your eyes to remain open, releasing a soft sigh instead as you cuddle into his arm.

Too soon, you feel Xavier slipping further away from you.

You don’t want him to go yet. More than ever, a force inside you needs him to stay tonight, and you lock your grip on the white knit shirt he wears. You tug him back over to you to close this unbearable distance he made. The few little inches he moved were more than enough to cause your heart to yearn.

“Not yet,” you want to plead but make it a soft demand. “I just found the perfect spot.” You muffle the neediness of your requests into his skin, though your head is afraid that somehow he’ll feel it.

“You always use that excuse.”

“And it’s always true. So, no moving,” you order.

Xavier gives in so wonderfully quickly. Your heart is rapidly firing when the corners of his lips turn into his usual waif-like smile. You fail at hiding your satisfaction at his surrender, pressing more of your weight against him, in a sure sign to him that you have no intention of letting him escape any time soon.

“I take this to mean you’re finally admitting it’s your fault we didn’t do our errands today?”

“I never said that,” you disagree half-heartedly. “And don't pretend like you weren't the one who kept saying he didn't feel like getting up earlier.”

“And now that I do, you won’t let me up. Am I right? Why’s that?”

There’s a beat skipping in your chest when he asks. His tone is light and open, easy to treat as a teasing joke but also firm enough to be taken seriously. That was always your trouble with him. You could never quite tell what he was thinking and when he was serious. Xavier is hard to understand sometimes, sometimes vague and sometimes very straightforward in his words; and lately, you think he’s consistently more hot than cold towards you ever since the first time you've slept together.

You like to think this development is a good thing. People who knew you always said you worked a little too hard, a little too observant, overly energetic despite your fragile heart; but with Xavier, you could relax. Moments like these: when his arm was around you and when his breath was at the side of your neck, the soft words he speaks in his sleep dancing in your mind, were the moments when patrolling for wanderers and every loss in your life from your family to your problematic heart dissipated into the back of your mind for a few hours.

It isn’t an exaggeration to believe his influence must have been the cause, at least when it comes to this. But your influence is seeping into him as well. Given his loner habits when you first met and his frequent disappearing acts, you never pictured him as one to be so sweet and considerate and adorably charming in a way.

However, you can’t tell him that you enjoy…sleeping with him. You have a strong feeling he already knows how much you like him. Or, you’d like to think he does with the way he constantly seems to hint at it. He can make you flustered with a few words and easily leave you guessing if you’re reading too much into his actions or if he’s really that good at baiting you. It could also be a little of column A and a little of column B, which somehow makes you more antsy around him. Like how you feel now when his eyes meet yours.

“It’s supposed to be cold tonight,” you whisper. It’s a poor excuse but the only one you can use to defend yourself. “They say the best way to fend off the chill is body heat. Who better for that task than you, dear partner?”

“Many things, I assume, a portable heater comes to mind,” he says, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s slyly teasing you behind that naive tone.

“Right, right, those things,” you grumble causing him to laugh as you hide your bashful face against him. “So loud, you know?”

“Are they? Alright, then five more minutes should be doable,” he says in the same low voice that makes your insides boil before his arm lowers to curl around your back. “Although, you’re too comfortable.”

His ears tinge in a lovely rose-colored blush, and you shudder when he finally fails to maintain eye contact and quickly scans your body. It’s slow enough for you to catch though. It makes your chest tight as you watch his quiet inhale and the murky flash of want dye his eyes shades darker before they fade back into clear pools of blue, big and pleading as he studies your face. 

“I might end up falling asleep here.”

It’s a warning, to make you think about the meaning of your actions, you think. However, this isn’t the first time this has happened nor the first time you spent a rainy day inside with each other; the kitchen counter lined with empty take-out trays, with his body heat radiating into you while a long-forgotten movie plays in the background.

It’ll continue like that until one of you is finally coherent enough after drowsy naps to try to piece together who fell asleep on whom first or who is making the other too hot. Neither of you wants to accept the fault without a lot of bickering; that’s if Xavier doesn’t fall back asleep mid-debate.

Even this time, you’re not sure who managed to drift off to sleep first earlier but neither of you tried to get up, let alone leave the house, until now. Ah, but it was your idea to use the bed this time, wasn’t it?

But it was his choice to agree.

Even now, he looks very peaceful nestled with you, and he still whispers your name in his sleep sometimes, which reminds you of the first time you slept together and he dreamt about wanting you to come home with him.

When you’re like this, you want the same thing. You want him to come home…with you.

“Xavier?” you ask quietly. You wonder if he’s fallen asleep already like he said. Carefully, you free your hand from his hold, slide it up his chest, and begin to draw smooth circles with your pointer finger once you reach his cheek. There’s a soft response from him, barely a moan but it’s enough to know he’s not out of it yet, at least not completely. “I’ve been thinking.”

The air is suddenly stifling when he engulfs the top of your hand with his own, holding it tighter as if he’s upset that you moved it out of his grasp in the first place, but it’s not the case as he affectionately seals your palm against his cheek.

“About what?”

The look he gives you makes it hard not to stumble over your thoughts like a schoolgirl despite being very much an adult.

“Wouldn’t…” You pause to steady your voice; you have to force yourself to not avoid his gaze, but each small movement makes your throat tighten. There’s no doubt you have his full attention now, at least what little remains of it. “Wouldn’t it be easier if we…move in together?”

You’re not sure where the courage to ask him a question like that comes from when you’re too unsure to even confess or to ask what the two of you even are but you didn’t have this fear of rejection until now.

“How would it be easier?”

“Well,” you start, unsure why you’re surprised that he’d want a reason. “We’re always visiting one another, and you made me your representative at the tenant meetings, so everyone already treats us like we’re a combined unit. It would also save me trips on watering your plants when you’re away or when you want to come over to eat. We could save money. Money that could be spent at the arcade or on more hot pot.”

There’s a quiet atmosphere that makes you too uneasy. The thrumming of rain grows louder in it along with the beating in your chest that’s telling you that this was stupid. Is it possible to be drunk on endorphins? Perhaps that’s what gave you the idea to ask something so foolish; you’d have to get Zayne to examine your empty head and tell you.

But then, Xavier smiles.

“Those are good reasons especially more hot pot, and I’m sure all the plushies would feel better if they shared a home again.”

Your anxiety lessens and you share in his smile. Luckily, you managed not to ruin everything it looks like.

“But.” Slowly, the inklings of self-doubt begin to return. A but. There’s always one of those. You should’ve expected as much. “If we move in together then we wouldn’t really be “neighbors” anymore.”

“Oh, um—” You become staggered by his observation, even more so when he interlocks your fingers. It’s another time when you’re not entirely sure if he’s being serious or not. His innocent puppy-eyed expression doesn’t help you differentiate either. It always makes your mind wander to more inappropriate topics—like the fact Xavier told you he didn’t believe that other neighbors acted like you two. The memory nearly makes you squirm. In this position, you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. “We’d be roommates, much better than neighbors,” you manage to explain, proud when you hold firm, but that delicate foundation cracks when his laugh highlights the room. You could nearly melt.

“Do roommates sleep together too?”

There’s a shine of amusement that makes his face glow and heat claw higher up your neck. You know the question should be taken literally but when he words it like that…with that warm implicative inflection to his voice, you’re unable to think properly, and you realize that maybe you made a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t have given him the benefit of the doubt this time.

“I’m sure some do,” you answer with some courage, “I’d imagine at least once a week.”

“I believe we’re up to twice a week now. So, if we become roommates, I think we have to do it at least that many times, otherwise I’m afraid I’m going to have to reject your offer.”

“Two times?” you repeat, silently begging the flapping of butterflies in your stomach to calm down at the suggestion, at the implication that he enjoys sleeping with you just as much as you do with him. It makes this strong emotion in your chest blossom even further. “I can manage that.”

“Additional proposal,” he interrupts suddenly. “Perhaps, three times? I can even throw in a pair of those fuzzy socks that I can never manage to find after you visit,” he adds coyly.

“Oh, I’m sure they’re around your apartment somewhere,” you quickly respond before releasing the buildup of nervous air in your lungs. You smile. “Proposal accepted. Shared naps three times a week minimum.”

“In that case,” he breathes in softly, and he slips his hand down releasing all your fingers except for your pinky that he wraps into his own. “I think I would like to be your roommate.”

Inside, there’s unadulterated joy beginning to flood you. You know that this agreement will require a more in-depth discussion that Xavier will probably try to gloss over but this is enough for you right now.

“We should take tonight to practice for our move.”

Confused, you raise your eyebrows. “Practice?”

He nods.

“Sleeping together overnight. We did a few times before, well, only twice in the same bed, once in yours and once in mine,” he explains. You definitely have the clearest memory of that time, of bandaging his wounds, of cluelessly pinning him down shirtless on his bed before he turned the tables on you, and then—you remind yourself to resist going over the details, not with him this close to you. Somehow, Xavier is the one who looks the most insecure between the two of you. Finally, he whispers, “I haven’t forgotten even if it was a long time ago.”

His eyes are half-lidded, cloudy with thought. Something about him looks restrained and longing but it disappears when you finally swallow your swelling emotions and call out his name. There’s a twinkle of adoration that blows away whatever doubt there as he focuses on you again.

“I think about it when I have a hard time sleeping on overnight missions.” Xavier turns and slides his arm from under your head, choosing to lay on his side to face you. “It makes it a lot easier to rest in the hunting zones when you have good memories like that. So, it's nice to have a chance to make more."

“I don’t think I could fall asleep at all if I thought of something like that,” you admit, as close to an admission of your love for him as you could muster without mountains of alcohol. “I’d just think about how much I’d rather be home with them.”

“And now? Are you having trouble sleeping?” he asks huskily, and you have to fight not to keep staring at his lips and the dire need to kiss them as you breathe each other in. You reach out, touching his bare collar then instinctively searching for his slow pulse, counting it to calm yourself from the rush of adrenaline building in you.

You’re not even sure when you breathed out the “yes” that echoes softly from your mouth. His lips are so close to yours that you’re sure he could catch it in his breath if he wanted.

“How about I tell you a story to help you fall asleep?” He sees your hesitation and laughs under his breath. “I promise it’ll be much better than the last one.”

Accepting his offer, you agree to listen to him.

Xavier nods and gently swoops the back of his hand against your forehead and then your cheek before cupping it. There’s a gentle squeeze, and you think you understand why he likes it so much when you do it.

“Once, there was a beautiful queen and a knight,” he begins. “They lived together in a palace far away.”

“And they fall in love and live happily ever after?” you question, too busy in the full and fuzzy sensations filling your being to hold back.

“No, they were separated from each other for a long time,” Xavier corrects but his expression softens at the trickling concern building on your face. “Don’t worry. They meet again and become neighbors.”

“And then?”

“They become roommates,” he states matter-of-factly, which causes you to chuckle at him. You can’t even be bothered to care that he’s poking fun at you.

“Then, happily ever after?”

“I don’t know yet,” he answers, causing you to frown and your face to wrinkle with a sullen expression. His head tilts further into the plush of the pillow. “But you can help me figure out the ending.”

Feeling exhausted from the cathartic flow of emotions from him to you, you wiggle into him and throw your arm across his waist. “There’d probably be a lot of naps and stargazing involved,” you mumble before a tiny yawn.

“Sounds like a happy ending to me. It's good to finally see it,” he agrees, and you sigh when you feel a strong squeeze around your waist. “Although, you forgot to mention the part where the queen promises to not get out of bed without waking him this time.”

You giggle. “She promises not to get up without her knight.”

Content, he hums. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep now?"

"I think so after a story like that," you confess, reaching out to brush his hair back so you can see his eyes more clearly. "Then again, I always sleep good with you."

"You’ll sleep best when we're close, right?"

You gasp when he shifts on top of you. His lips briefly brush your forehead, by accident or not, you can’t tell as he pins you between himself and the bed. With a stutter, you call out his name yet he pays no heed as he nuzzles his head into your hair.

“Good night, roommate.”

“Xav-!” You pout when he instantly slumps against you. There’s no point trying to wake him up now that his five minutes of alertness have long expired.

Settling your chin against the top of his shoulder, you hook your arms under his to hug him against your chest. Your forearms settle at his mid-back as you hold him close so you can gently brush the ends of his hair.

When you ultimately decide to give in minutes after him, it’s to the warmth of his weight on top of you, the tickle of his hair against your forehead, and the increased pulsing of his heart. Xavier was right, this is too comfortable. Letting your eyes fall close, you wonder if three times a week would really be enough to satisfy this strangely familiar craving. You only wish that the two of you could meet in your dreams like he says, but it's enough knowing you'll have each other in the morning and then on.

“…Good night, Xavier. Sweet dreams,” you whisper before you too give into sleep’s spell.

[rootedinrevisions]

Cowboys & Angles (Kinktober 2024: Day 3)

SUMMARY: After years of playful flirting and a deep-rooted friendship, you and Tyler Owens find yourselves crossing the line between friends and lovers when he returns home for the fall. What starts as a fun, teasing night at the local bar quickly turns into something more when Tyler finally takes his shot. But as feelings are laid bare, both of you must confront what this means for your relationship—because for Tyler, you've always been more than just a friend, and he’s ready to prove it if you let him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: When I first decided to do Kinktober, I was planning on doing a bunch of drabbles (my goal is for them to be at or under 1k words). But kind of like with yesterday's, as I was writing this one it kind of just took off and I kept going and now here we are at over 5k words! So I think Kinktober is probably going to be a mix of both shorter drabbles and longer fics! I will also be mixing up characters/fandoms so Kinktober will have a mix of my Glen Powell characters as well as some WWE/Wrestling, and I may be introducing a few new characters I haven't written for yet too!

PROMPT: "I'm already dying to take you right now. Don't tempt me."

KINK: Cowboy Hat / Cowboy Hat Rule

WARNINGS: Teasing. 18+ SMUT. (P in V Sex.)

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87 I @fanficmom94 I @smoothdogsgirl I @djs8891 @saucy-sassy-sparkly  I  @alipap3  I  @dudinhastuff I  @lunatygerqueen  I  @hookslove1592

If you would like to be added to my Tag List please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

The bar was quieter than usual for a Saturday night. The usual hum of conversation was replaced by a few scattered groups of locals enjoying their drinks in the dim, amber glow of the overhead lights. You leaned on the counter, wiping down a glass as the front door swung open with a faint creak. The familiar sound made your heart jump before you even saw who it was.

Tyler Owens.

He strode in with that easy confidence, his tall frame filling the doorway for a second before he glanced around the room, spotting you instantly. A slow grin spread across his face, and he tipped his cream-colored Stetson in your direction before making his way toward the bar. You hadn’t seen him in months, not since he’d been off chasing storms across the country, but it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Well, if it isn’t Tyler Owens, the Tornado Wrangler himself,” you teased as he reached the bar.

“Back in town for a little while. Thought I’d drop by and see what kind of trouble you’ve been getting into.” His voice was smooth, that southern drawl rolling off his tongue like honey, and you couldn’t help but smile.

Amber, the other bartender, had been subtly hinting that she could use the extra tips if you wanted to take the rest of the night off for the last half hour. The bar wasn’t too busy, so you figured now was as good a time as any to give her the extra tips and catch up with Tyler. Setting the glass down, you unhooked your apron.

“Amber, you’re up. I’m clocking out,” you called over your shoulder. She practically beamed at you in response, already moving to take over.

Sliding onto the stool next to Tyler, you felt a familiar warmth wash over you—not from the two drinks you had in front of you, but from the easy energy that always existed between the two of you. You’d known Tyler since high school, and while your friendship had always teetered on the edge of something more, nothing had ever come of it. Flirting was just part of your dynamic.

“So, you’re back home, huh? Storm season finally winding down?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink.

“Yeah, things are quietin’ down. I thought I’d stick around town for a bit. Y appreciate the peace and quiet without me stirring things up?” He teased, nudging your shoulder with his.

“Oh, sure. It’s been so peaceful without you around,” you replied with a playful eye roll, though the truth was you’d missed him more than you wanted to admit.

After another round of drinks, your inhibitions softened but far from impaired, you reached out and plucked the Stetson right off Tyler’s head. The hat had always been his signature look, and you couldn’t resist the urge to mess with him a little. You placed it on your own head, adjusting it with a smirk.

He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You know there’s a rule about wearin’ a cowboy’s hat, don’t you?” His voice was low, but there was something underlying it now, a challenge.

You feigned innocence, leaning in slightly. “Oh? And what rule might that be?”

His eyes darkened ever so slightly, his gaze flicking to your lips for just a second before he leaned back in his chair, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“Never mind,” he said, his voice huskier now, “you wouldn’t be interested.”

But you couldn’t resist pushing him just a little further. You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper only he could hear. “Oh, I know the rule, Tyler. I just wanted to see what you’d do about it.”

There it was—the shift. His expression hardened ever so slightly, but that teasing smirk was still there, hanging on the edge of something more. He didn’t say anything, just gave you that look, the one that always sent a spark straight through you.

Without breaking eye contact, you stood and made your way toward the corner of the bar where the old mechanical bull sat. It hadn’t been used much recently, but it was still in working order. Tyler’s eyes followed you, curiosity piqued. You glanced over your shoulder, the Stetson still perched on your head as you grinned mischievously.

“Start her up,” you called to one of the other employees, hopping onto the mechanical bull. You adjusted your seat, settling in comfortably as the machine started to hum to life.

Tyler's gaze was locked on you now, his arms folded across his chest, leaning back in his chair as if to say, Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.

The bull started slow, rocking gently, but you handled it like a pro. With each buck, your eyes stayed locked on Tyler’s, never wavering. You could see the way his jaw tightened slightly, how his hands gripped the beer bottle in his hands every so tightly as the intensity of the ride increased. His hat sat firmly on your head, and you couldn’t help but grin as you imagined the thoughts running through his mind.

Finally, the bull jerked sharply, and you were thrown off, landing on your feet in a flurry of laughter and adrenaline. Without missing a beat, you sauntered back over to where Tyler sat, your steps light and confident.

“So,” you teased, pulling his hat off your head and spinning it around on your finger, “what was that rule again?”

Tyler’s eyes were darker now, his gaze intense as he reached out, plucking the hat from your hand and setting it back on his own head. He stood up slowly, towering over you, his voice a low growl as he leaned in, lips close to your ear.

“I’m already dyin’ to take you right now,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “Don’t tempt me.”

Your heart raced at his words, your playful bravado wavering for a split second as the tension between you thickened. But you couldn’t help yourself—you were never one to back down from a challenge. You met his gaze head-on, your lips curving into a daring smile.

“Well,” you whispered back, voice full of teasing confidence, “maybe I’m countin’ on that.”

The playful tension hung thick in the air, the space between you and Tyler charged with unspoken desire. His hat back on his head, Tyler’s eyes lingered on yours, darker than before, filled with something new—something inevitable. He stepped closer, and before you could say anything, his hand gently cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, the kiss firm yet unhurried, like he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than either of you cared to admit. Your body responded instinctively, leaning into him, one hand gripping the edge of his flannel shirt as the heat of the kiss spread through you. The years of playful back-and-forth, of near-misses and flirtatious glances, melted away into this one moment of pure, electric connection.

Around you, the few regulars left in the bar had noticed. A couple of whistles and cheers rang out, a playful acknowledgment of what everyone in your small town had suspected for years. But their noise faded into the background as you ignored them completely, lost in the feel of Tyler’s lips on yours.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his thumb still gently stroking your cheek. “You good?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper, eyes searching yours for confirmation.

You nodded, breathless but smiling. “More than good.”

He gave you that signature grin, the one that always made your heart skip a beat. Without another word, he grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the door. The cool night air hit you as you stepped outside, the warmth of the bar replaced by the crisp breeze of the fall evening. Tyler didn’t let go of your hand as he led you to his truck, parked just out front, the red Dodge pickup outfitted in storm-chasing gear that you’d ridden in countless times before. But this time felt different.

Tyler opened the passenger door, turning to you with an extended hand to help you up. His touch was gentle, but there was a quiet intensity in the way he guided you into the seat. Once you were settled, he made his way around the front of the truck, climbing into the driver’s side and turning the engine over with a low rumble.

As he shifted the truck into gear, he glanced over at you, his lips curving into a smirk. “So, where to? Your place, or mine?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yours.”

The smirk deepened into a grin. “Good choice.”

With that, he pulled out onto Main Street, the quiet stretch of road that ran through the heart of your small town. The familiar sights blurred past as the truck rumbled westward, toward the outskirts where Tyler’s place sat nestled among the trees. You leaned back in the seat, the thrill of the night coursing through you, heart racing as anticipation built with every passing mile.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable—if anything, it only made the air more electric. Tyler’s hand rested on the gearshift, his knuckles brushing yours every so often, the simple contact sending a rush of warmth through you. You glanced over at him, taking in the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his focus stayed steady on the road, but there was an undeniable tension in his posture, like he was holding himself back.

The drive out to Tyler’s place was familiar but felt brand new in the charged atmosphere. Every turn in the road, every familiar landmark, passed by in a blur until finally, the gravel road leading up to his house came into view. The soft crunch of tires on gravel filled the quiet as he slowed the truck, pulling up beside the small, rustic house you’d been to more times than you could count.

But tonight, everything felt different. Tonight, it felt like everything had been leading to this moment.

Tyler parked the truck and turned off the engine, the silence of the night settling in around you as he turned to face you. That smirk was back, but now, there was a fire behind it, his gaze locked on yours as if daring you to make the next move.

Without a word, he opened his door and came around to your side, opening it for you and offering his hand once again. You took it, heart pounding as you stepped down from the truck, feeling the solid ground beneath your feet but still floating on the rush of what was about to happen.

As the door closed behind you, Tyler tugged you gently toward him, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you close. His lips found yours again, this time slower, softer, like he was savoring the moment. You melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard in the stillness of the night. His voice was rough, barely more than a whisper, as he asked, “You ready?”

You nodded, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his flannel, your voice soft but steady. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Tyler’s lips brushed against yours one last time before he pulled back, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. You barely had a moment to wonder what he was up to before his hands slid down to your waist, fingers gripping with a possessive but playful strength. 

With a quick, effortless motion, he hoisted you up and over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing. A squeal of surprise escaped your lips as you suddenly found yourself looking at the world upside down, your hands instinctively grabbing onto the back of his flannel to steady yourself. 

“Tyler!” you protested, half-laughing, half-scolding as you kicked your feet, trying to wriggle free. “You’re going to fall if you keep carrying me like this!”

His deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating against your body as he tightened his hold on you. “You think I can’t handle it?” he teased, his voice laced with humor as he started up the stairs toward his bedroom, his stride steady and sure. “I’ve carried heavier stuff than you during storm season, sweetheart. You’re light work.”

You squirmed again, the sensation of being tossed over his shoulder making you feel both thrilled and embarrassed, but the grin on your face was impossible to hide. “You’re gonna regret it if you drop me!” you warned, trying to sound serious but failing miserably as laughter bubbled up from your chest.

“I’m not dropping you,” he assured, his tone dripping with confidence. “But keep squirming, and I might just have to remind you who’s in charge here.” Tyler just laughed, one arm hooked securely around your legs while his free hand swatted playfully at your ass.

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “Oh, please, Tyler. You think you’re so—”

Before you could finish the sentence, he gave your ass another playful smack, the sound echoing off the walls as he continued up the stairs. This one was a little harder than the first. 

“That’s for doubting me,” he quipped, his voice teasingly low, the heat between the two of you rising again despite the lighthearted moment.

You huffed, still trying to act indignant despite the butterflies swarming in your stomach. “Alright, alright! Just get me upstairs in one piece, cowboy.”

He chuckled again, finally reaching the top of the stairs and carrying you effortlessly down the hallway toward his bedroom. The door creaked as he pushed it open with his foot, the room bathed in the soft, dim light of a single lamp in the corner. 

Tyler walked straight to the bed, carefully lowering you down onto the mattress as if he were laying down something precious. Your heart was still racing, your skin flushed from the thrill of it all. You looked up at him, catching your breath as he stood there, grinning like the devil himself. 

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, though the playful glint never left his eyes.

You smiled back, your heart still pounding, but now for a different reason entirely. “Yeah,” you said, your voice quieter, more breathless. “I’m okay.”

Tyler leaned down, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his touch lingering against your skin for just a moment before he gave you a wink. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

The playful spark in Tyler’s eyes softened as he leaned over you, his hands resting gently on either side of your body, caging you in without making you feel trapped. His gaze locked onto yours, searching for any sign of hesitation, but all he found was anticipation. 

Slowly, he lowered his head, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that started soft but deepened with every passing second, the heat between you building once again.

His hands, large and warm, began a slow exploration. He started at your hips, his fingers tracing the curves of your waist before moving up to your sides, sending a shiver through your body. His hands stopped when they reached the bottom of your shirt.

He pulled away from the kiss for just a moment, his eyes meeting yours, a silent question lingering there. You knew what he was asking without him needing to say it. You nodded, giving him your permission with a soft smile.

Tyler’s lips twitched up in a small, relieved grin as his fingers grabbed the hem of your shirt, tugging it up gently. You lifted your arms to help him, your heartbeat racing as the fabric slid off and hit the floor. The cool air of the room brushed against your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat coming from Tyler’s body as he leaned back down, his hands now roaming over your bare skin, igniting every nerve he touched.

Your hands moved up to his chest, and with trembling fingers, you started to undo the buttons of his shirt. As you worked your way down, Tyler’s mouth found the delicate skin of your neck, pressing soft, teasing kisses along your throat. His lips were warm and gentle, but when he bit down lightly, your breath hitched, a small, involuntary sound escaping your lips.

That sound—small but full of need—seemed to drive Tyler wild. His grip on you tightened slightly, his lips continuing their assault on your neck, alternating between gentle kisses and playful bites. Each time his teeth grazed your skin, you couldn’t stop the soft moans that spilled from your mouth, your body arching slightly into him. 

His name escaped your lips in a breathless whisper, barely audible but enough to make him pause for just a second, his breath hot against your skin as he groaned softly.

“You keep making sounds like that, and I’m not gonna be able to control myself,” he murmured against your neck, his voice rough with need. 

His hands slid down your sides again, fingertips skimming the waistband of your jeans, but he paused, giving you time to stop him if you wanted to. When you didn’t, he met your eyes again, waiting for your nod before his fingers deftly began undoing the button and zipper, tugging the denim down over your hips.

You took a deep breath, your fingers still fumbling with the last few buttons of his shirt, finally getting it open enough to slide it off his shoulders. The moment his shirt hit the floor, your hands were on him, running over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your palms. Tyler groaned again, his hands continuing their exploration, mapping every inch of your body as if it were the first time.

His mouth was on your neck again, trailing lower now, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone and further down. Every touch, every kiss, sent a wave of electricity through you, building a tension in your core that made it hard to think straight. The intimacy between you felt more intense now, the playful teasing giving way to something deeper, something that made your heart race and your breath come faster.

Tyler pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands resting on your hips again. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low, concern flickering in his eyes despite the heat between you.

You nodded, your voice caught in your throat for a second before you managed to breathe out a soft, “Yeah... more than okay.”

His lips curved into that familiar grin, but there was something different in it now—something softer. He leaned back down, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one filled with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. 

As his hands continued their journey over your skin, you could feel the shift between you, the playfulness melting away into something intimate, something more raw and real.

Tyler’s lips were on yours again, soft but hungry, as his hands roamed over your skin, pulling you closer, deepening the intensity between you. There was a new urgency in the way he touched you, the last of your clothes falling away, leaving nothing between you but heat and desire. When you finally pulled back to look at him, you noticed that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes, tempered by something softer, almost reverent, as he took in the sight of you.

“Your turn,” you whispered, your voice shaky but steady enough to tug at the waistband of his jeans.

Tyler grinned, the playfulness returning for just a moment as he sat back, undoing the button and zipper with quick, fluid motions. You watched as he kicked off his boots and jeans, your eyes following the movements of his hands as he finally tugged off his boxers, leaving him completely bare before you. You couldn’t help but admire the way he moved—every flex of muscle, every shift in his body.

You moved toward him, but Tyler caught you by the waist before you could get too far, flipping the two of you gently so that he was the one lying on the bed beneath you. His grin was still there, but it softened as his hands rested on your hips, pulling you down on top of him.

"Now that’s a view," he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. He traced slow, deliberate circles on your skin as you straddled him, feeling the warmth of his body beneath you, your bare skin pressed against his.

For a moment, you just hovered there, the tension between you thick and electric. But then Tyler’s hand slid up your spine, his touch gentle yet firm, grounding you in the moment. 

“Before we go any further...” he murmured, his voice low but serious. His eyes met yours, searching. “We need to talk.”

You nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. The chemistry between you was undeniable, but that didn’t mean you were going to be reckless. 

"I’m clean," you said softly, feeling a little breathless as you admitted it. "I’ve been tested."

"Me too," Tyler replied, his voice steady but filled with the same tension that ran through your body. “But...” He gave you a sheepish grin as he reached out, fumbling in the drawer of his nightstand for a moment. His fingers finally closed around what he was looking for, and he pulled out a small foil packet, holding it up between the two of you with a little chuckle. “Just in case.”

You smiled at his awkward fumbling, appreciating the way he was handling this—respectful, but still maintaining that easy, familiar chemistry you had with him. 

“Good thinking,” you teased, watching as he ripped the packet open, his movements still a little clumsy in his eagerness. He rolled the condom onto himself, his eyes never leaving yours. His breath was heavy, and you could feel the tension building again, stronger now that you’d both cleared the air. 

You reached for his Stetson, which had somehow ended up on the bed, and with a grin, you placed it on your head, the brim casting a shadow over your eyes. Tyler’s gaze darkened as he watched you, his lips parting slightly as if he was about to say something, but no words came out.

Slowly, you positioned yourself over him, your legs straddling his hips. His hands came to rest on your thighs, his fingers squeezing lightly as you sank down onto him, a gasp escaping your lips at the sensation. The Stetson tilted slightly on your head, but you didn’t care. All that mattered at that moment was the connection between you and Tyler—the heat, the closeness, the way his hands gripped your hips like you were the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.

Tyler let out a groan, his grip tightening as you adjusted to him, your body leaning forward slightly, pressing your chest against his as you both took a moment to breathe. His hand slid up your back again, this time tracing your spine with slow, deliberate strokes that sent shivers through your body. He tilted his head up, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was slow as if he had all the time in the world to savor this moment.

"God, you look so damn good," he whispered against your lips, his voice rough, filled with that raw desire you’d only ever seen glimpses of before.

You smiled, breathless, your forehead resting against his. “Wearing your hat and nothing else?” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Mmhm.” Tyler’s hands slid back down to your hips, guiding you as you began to move slowly against him. “You have no idea what you do to me...”

Tyler’s breath hitched as you settled against him, your bodies moving in sync, slow and deliberate, as if the two of you were savoring every second. His hands never left your skin, sliding from your hips to your waist, then down your thighs, like he couldn’t get enough of the feel of you. Each movement sent a shiver up your spine, your body reacting to the way his fingers traced small circles, grounding you in the moment.

The slow rhythm between you grew more intense with every passing second, but Tyler kept his focus on you, his eyes locked on yours, the smirk on his face softened by the emotion behind it. He shifted slightly beneath you, a groan slipping from his lips as he tightened his grip on your hips, guiding you in your movements but still giving you control.

Your breath came in shallow gasps as the sensation built, but you didn’t rush. There was something almost sweet about the way you moved together, like you both understood that this wasn’t just about the physical connection. It was something deeper, something that had been simmering for years between flirty glances, teasing remarks, and late-night conversations.

Tyler leaned up, capturing your lips in another kiss—this one softer, more tender, as if he was trying to tell you something without words. His fingers threaded through your hair, gently tugging, tilting your head back just enough to expose your neck. He pressed his lips to your throat, kissing his way up the sensitive skin there, and you couldn’t help the small sounds that escaped your lips, your body responding to every little touch.

You felt his grip on your hips tighten again, pulling you closer, your bodies moving together with more urgency now. The feeling between you was electric, your heart pounding in your chest as his kisses grew more desperate, more hungry. But even in the midst of it, Tyler’s touch remained careful, measured, as if he was constantly checking to make sure you were okay.

You didn’t mean for it to happen but your orgasm hit you faster than you expected. You felt your walls squeezing around him as your thighs started to shake. You let out several moans into Tylers mouth as he bucked his hips up to work you through it.

When you finally broke away from his mouth, breathless, Tyler leaned his forehead against yours, his hands resting on your lower back, holding you close. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence between you—just the sound of your breathing and the steady beat of your hearts.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with concern as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “More than okay,” you whispered back, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

He exhaled, a relieved grin spreading across his face. “Good.” His hands slipped down to your waist again, his grip firm but gentle. “Because I’m not sure I can handle you looking like that in my hat and not lose my damn mind.”

You chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss him again, feeling the way his body responded to the smallest touch. The teasing from earlier was still there, but it was mingled with something else now—a deep sense of care and affection that had always been beneath the surface.

As the tension built between you again, Tyler’s movements became more urgent, more deliberate, and his grip on you tightened in response. His groans were low and quiet, but the sound of them sent a surge of heat through your body, making you move faster, more eagerly, craving every reaction you could pull from him.

Tyler’s hands roamed your back, sliding up your spine and then down again, before settling on your hips once more, guiding you, helping you keep the rhythm even when it became harder to focus as your second orgasm crept closer. His mouth found your neck again, biting down gently in a way that made you gasp, your body arching into him as the sensation overwhelmed you.

Every touch, every kiss felt electric, like the two of you had been waiting for this moment for years. And as the intensity reached its peak, you couldn’t help but feel the emotion behind it all—the unspoken bond you shared, the connection that had always been there, simmering just beneath the surface of your friendship.

Finally, as the tension broke and the two of you found your release together, Tyler pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you as you collapsed against him. His body was warm and solid beneath you, his heartbeat strong and steady as you both came down from the high of the moment. He held you there, his hands still tracing gentle patterns on your skin, like he was memorizing the feel of you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing as you lay in the quiet intimacy of the aftermath. Tyler shifted slightly, his hand sliding up to brush through your hair again, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“You okay?” he asked again, his voice soft and filled with that familiar concern.

You nodded against him, your body still tingling from the intensity of what had just happened. “Yeah... more than okay,” you murmured, echoing your earlier words.

Tyler chuckled quietly, his arms tightening around you as he pulled you closer. “Good,” he said, his voice warm and filled with affection. “That’s all I ever want... to take care of you.” His fingers trailed along your back in slow, soothing strokes as he held you there, the warmth of his body surrounding you like a cocoon of safety and comfort.

The warmth of Tyler’s body still enveloped you as you lay there, your head resting on his chest, his hand gently running through your hair. The room was quiet now, just the soft sounds of your breathing mixing with the faint creak of the old house settling around you. For a while, neither of you spoke, the weight of what had just happened hanging in the air. You could feel Tyler’s steady heartbeat beneath your cheek, and it grounded you, but there was something else—a nagging thought that you couldn’t quite shake.

You shifted slightly, lifting your head to look at him. “Tyler...” you began, your voice soft, but tinged with uncertainty.

He looked down at you, his brows furrowing just a little, concern immediately flashing in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “What... what does this mean for us?” you asked, the vulnerability in your voice surprising even you. “I mean, is this... was this just a one-time thing?”

Tyler’s expression softened instantly, and he reached up, cupping your cheek in his hand, his thumb gently brushing over your skin. 

“A one-time thing?” he repeated, his voice almost incredulous. “Are you kidding?”

You averted your gaze, feeling a little silly for even asking, but Tyler didn’t let you look away. He gently guided your chin back toward him, making sure your eyes met his.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were teenagers,” he said, his voice low but steady, like it was the most natural thing in the world to admit. “I just... I didn’t think I had a shot in hell with someone like you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his words sinking in slowly. “Someone like me?” you echoed, a small laugh escaping your lips despite the serious turn of the conversation. “Tyler, you make it sound like I’m some kind of angel.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb still brushing along your cheek. “Well, that’s what you are to me,” he said with a grin. “An angel. I mean, come on... a guy like me? A cowboy who’s been out chasing storms and kicking up dust for most of his life?” His eyes sparkled with humor, but there was something deeper behind them—something genuine. “I didn’t think I deserved a shot with someone as good as you.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart swelling at his words. “Cowboys and angels...” you teased, the playfulness returning to your voice. “Seems like a pretty good combination to me.”

Tyler laughed, the sound warm and rich, and he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go. “Yeah,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Turns out, they go real well together.”

For a moment, you both lay there in the quiet, the weight of his confession settling over you. It felt like everything had shifted between you, but in the best possible way. The years of friendship, the playful flirting, the unspoken connection—it had all led to this, to a moment that felt as natural as it was surprising.

You smiled up at him, the worry that had been gnawing at you now completely gone. “So... we’re doing this?” you asked softly, your hand resting over his heart.

Tyler grinned, his eyes full of warmth as he leaned in, kissing you tenderly. “Yeah,” he whispered against your lips. “We’re doing this.”

And with that, the uncertainty melted away, replaced by the deep, undeniable certainty that this was where you were meant to be—wrapped up in the arms of the man who had loved you all along, even when you hadn’t realized it. The cowboy and his angel, right where they belonged.

[millyh23]

Ties That Bind

Kyra Cooney-Cross x Russo!Reader

word count:

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The sun cast a warm glow over the Arsenal training ground, a familiar sight for Kyra. She loved the feeling of the crisp air against her skin and the sound of laughter echoing among the players. Today was no different, but there was an exciting buzz in the atmosphere that felt new.

As she jogged onto the pitch, stretching her legs, Kyra spotted her teammate, Alessia Russo, chatting animatedly with a girl Kyra had never seen before. The girl was tall with long hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a bright smile that seemed to light up the field. Intrigued, Kyra couldn’t help but walk over, curiosity piqued.

“Hey, Alessia! Who’s your friend?” Kyra asked, her tone light and friendly.

Alessia turned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “This is Y/N, my sister! She’s visiting today, and I thought it’d be fun for her to see the training session.”

“Nice to meet you!” Y/N exclaimed, extending her hand toward Kyra. There was an infectious energy about her that immediately put Kyra at ease.

“Likewise! So, are you a football fan?” Kyra asked, shaking Y/N’s hand.

“Absolutely! I used to play a bit back in school, but I never really stuck with it,” Y/N replied, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “I just love watching. There’s something so thrilling about the game.”

“Right? Nothing like the rush of a match!” Kyra agreed, feeling a spark of connection.

As the practice began, Kyra couldn’t help but glance over at Y/N from time to time. She watched Y/N cheer for her sister and the other players, a radiant smile on her face. It was hard to ignore how natural she seemed, her laughter ringing through the air, drawing the attention of others.

During a break, Kyra approached Y/N, her curiosity growing. “So, what do you do when you’re not here supporting Alessia?”

“Oh, I’m finishing up college right now,” Y/N replied, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “Studying psychology. I’m kind of obsessed with understanding how people think and feel, you know?”

“Nice! That sounds really interesting,” Kyra said, genuinely impressed. “You must have some good insights into all of us chaotic footballers, huh?”

Y/N chuckled, “Oh, definitely. You guys are like a soap opera half the time!”

Kyra laughed, feeling the tension ease as they continued to chat, sharing stories and playful banter. The more they talked, the more Kyra felt drawn to Y/N’s easy-going nature. She was funny, genuine, and refreshingly open—a stark contrast to the often intense atmosphere of training.

As practice wrapped up, Kyra’s heart raced as she thought about how much she enjoyed talking to Y/N. She felt a strange flutter in her chest but quickly brushed it off. Just a new friend, she reminded herself.

Alessia approached, her arm slung around Y/N’s shoulders, a habit they shared since childhood. The easy familiarity in their body language spoke volumes about their bond. “Did you see that last drill, Y/N? You’d be a great defender—watching those tackles, I almost forgot I was in training!” Alessia teased, her playful grin widening.

Y/N rolled her eyes, laughter bubbling up. “Please, I’d probably just trip over my own feet! You should see me at family gatherings; I’m more likely to be the one falling into the cake than scoring a goal!”

Kyra couldn’t help but smile at the easy banter between them, feeling a warmth in her chest. Alessia often spoke fondly of her sister, sharing stories of their childhood—how Y/N would cheer her on from the sidelines, even when she was just starting out. The way they looked out for each other made it clear how deep their connection ran.

“Seriously, though,” Alessia said, her tone shifting slightly more sincere, “I’m really glad you could come. You know you’re always welcome at the training sessions, right? Just don’t start giving me advice on how to tackle!”

Y/N smirked. “I’d never dream of it! I’d leave that to the pros.”

As they chatted, Kyra felt a flutter in her stomach, mixed with a tinge of anxiety.

What if they became closer?

The thought sent a rush of warmth through her, but alongside it came a pang of worry about how Alessia might react.

As they left the pitch, Y/N waved goodbye, her smile radiant. “It was awesome to meet you, Kyra! Let’s hang out again soon?”

“Definitely!” Kyra replied, her heart racing. As she walked away, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something she didn’t quite understand yet.

Alessia sidled up beside her, a knowing grin plastered on her face. “So, what do you think? Isn’t she great?”

“Yeah, she’s cool,” Kyra replied, trying to keep her voice casual. “Seems like she’d fit right in with us.”

“Right? You should hang out more!” Alessia nudged Kyra with her shoulder. “Just don’t get too attached, okay? I don’t want you to steal her from me.”

Kyra chuckled nervously, but the thought lingered in her mind.

A few days later, Y/N texted Kyra, inviting her for coffee after training. The sun peeked through the clouds as Kyra made her way to their favorite café, a quaint spot just around the corner from the training ground.

“Hey! You made it!” Y/N greeted, her smile bright as she waved from a corner table.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Kyra replied, settling into her seat. “I’m looking forward to this.”

They spent the next hour discussing their lives—Y/N shared stories of her college experiences, her passion for psychology, and her dream of helping people navigate their mental health. Kyra felt herself opening up as well, sharing her journey as a footballer, the highs and lows, and her determination to improve.

“I can’t imagine the pressure you must feel,” Y/N said, her voice sincere. “You have to be at your best all the time. That’s tough.”

“It is,” Kyra admitted, feeling a weight lift as she spoke. “But I love it. It’s my escape.”

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and playful teasing. Kyra found herself leaning in closer, captivated by Y/N’s passion. With each shared story, she felt a growing sense of connection, something deeper than mere friendship.

As they walked back to the training ground, the sky painted in hues of pink and orange, Kyra couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something special. But a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her of Alessia’s warning.

Don’t get too attached.

Match day arrived, and the Arsenal team buzzed with energy as they prepared for the game. Kyra was excited but also distracted, her thoughts frequently drifting to Y/N.

During warm-ups, Kyra spotted Y/N on the sidelines, cheering loudly for her sister. Y/N had brought a homemade sign, “Go, Alessia!” decorated with colorful markers, a testament to her support. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Kyra felt her heart race every time Y/N glanced her way.

As the match unfolded, Kyra played her heart out, but she found herself stealing glances at Y/N. Each smile Y/N threw her way sent a rush of warmth through her, heightening her confusion.

What am I feeling?

After the match, a win for Arsenal, Kyra sought out Y/N. She found her chatting animatedly with Alessia and a few other players, their laughter ringing out in the post-match excitement.

“Kyra! You were incredible out there!” Y/N exclaimed, rushing over to give her a hug. The warmth of Y/N’s embrace sent a jolt of electricity through Kyra, making her heart race even faster.

“Thanks! It was a good game,” Kyra replied, trying to maintain her composure despite the whirlwind of emotions.

Y/N smiled up at her, and Kyra’s breath caught in her throat.

Why do I feel this way?

The question haunted her as they talked more, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice it.

Alessia, noticing the chemistry, raised an eyebrow but kept her thoughts to herself. Instead, she leaned closer to Kyra. “We should celebrate! How about a dinner? Just us three?”

Kyra nodded, but inside, she felt a mix of excitement and dread.

What if things got complicated?

A few days later, they gathered for dinner at Alessia and Y/N’s home. The atmosphere was relaxed, filled with laughter and teasing as they prepared the meal together. Kyra found herself seated between the two sisters, the dynamic between them vibrant and playful.

“Just be warned, if you try to steal my food, I will not hesitate to tackle you,” Alessia joked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Kyra laughed, “Noted! I wouldn’t dare cross that line.”

Y/N leaned in, her voice conspiratorial. “She once tackled me just for a slice of cake. It was brutal.”

Alessia gasped, mock horror on her face. “That was one time! And I was hungry!”

As they enjoyed dinner, Kyra felt increasingly aware of Y/N’s presence beside her. The way Y/N animatedly spoke about her life made Kyra’s heart flutter.

She’s amazing.

Kyra thought, fighting the urge to reach out and touch Y/N’s hand.

When they finished eating, the three of them moved to the living room, where Alessia put on a movie. Kyra settled into the couch, trying to suppress the thrill coursing through her as Y/N sat next to her.

About halfway through the film, Kyra felt Y/N’s hand brush against hers, a light touch that sent shivers down her spine. She looked over to see Y/N blushing slightly, her eyes wide as if she hadn’t meant to touch her at all.

“Sorry!” Y/N stammered, pulling her hand away, but Kyra felt a sudden surge of courage.

“No, wait!” Kyra said, reaching for Y/N’s hand again. Their fingers intertwined, and an electric current surged between them.

Y/N’s eyes widened, surprise mingling with something deeper. “Kyra…”

Before either could say more, Alessia jumped up, oblivious to the tension. “Who wants dessert? I brought cookies!”

Kyra and Y/N pulled their hands apart, the moment shattered but not forgotten. As they turned their attention back to Alessia, Kyra felt a mix of disappointment and hope—

maybe there was something there.

In the days that followed, Kyra and Y/N found themselves growing closer, their moments filled with laughter and shared experiences. They began spending more time together outside of training, exploring the city and enjoying each other’s company.

One evening, while walking through a park, the sun setting behind them, Kyra felt a rush of emotions. “Y/N, can I ask you something?”

“Of course! What’s on your mind?” Y/N replied, her expression open and inviting.

“What do you think about… relationships?” Kyra hesitated, the weight of her feelings pressing down on her.

Y/N tilted her head, curiosity piqued. “Well, they can be complicated but also amazing. Why?”

“I… I think I might like you more than just friends,” Kyra confessed, her heart racing as she spoke the words.

Y/N’s eyes widened, her surprise palpable. “You do?”

“Yeah, and I know it might be weird since we’re friends and I’m friends with your sister, but—”

“It’s not weird,” Y/N interrupted, her voice steady. “I like you too, Kyra. I’ve felt this connection since we first met.”

Kyra’s heart soared. “Really? I thought I was being ridiculous!”

“No! Not at all!” Y/N said, her smile brightening. “I’ve been hoping you’d say something.”

As they stood there, the world around them faded away, and Kyra felt an overwhelming sense of relief wash over her. They leaned closer, sharing a tentative kiss, their lips brushing softly before deepening into something warm and sweet.

When they pulled back, Y/N’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling with joy. “Wow, that was nice.”

“Yeah, it was,” Kyra replied, her heart racing.

However, amidst the growing excitement of their relationship, Kyra couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety.

What would Alessia think?

One evening, while the three of them were watching a movie, Kyra felt the tension building inside her. “Alessia, can we talk?”

“Sure! What’s up?” Alessia replied, her brow furrowing slightly.

Kyra took a deep breath. “So, Y/N and I… we’re kind of seeing each other now.”

Alessia’s eyes widened in surprise, then softened with understanding. “Oh! Wow, I didn’t see that coming, but I’m happy for you both! Just be careful, okay?”

“Thanks, Alessia. I just didn’t want to hide it from you,” Kyra said, relief washing over her.

Y/N chimed in, “I’m glad we told you. I hope it doesn’t change anything between us.”

Alessia smiled warmly. “Not at all! Just don’t expect me to choose sides if you two get into an argument!”

As they laughed, Kyra felt a wave of happiness wash over her, feeling supported and accepted.

However, as the days turned into weeks, Kyra noticed a shift in Y/N’s mood. She seemed more reserved, and Kyra couldn’t help but worry. One evening, as they sat together, Kyra decided to address it.

“Y/N, is everything okay? You seem a bit off lately,” Kyra said, concern lacing her voice.

Y/N sighed, her eyes downcast. “I’m just worried about how this affects my relationship with Alessia. I don’t want to come between you two.”

“Y/N, you’re not coming between us,” Kyra reassured her, taking Y/N’s hands in hers. “Alessia supports us. This is something special, and it’s okay to embrace it.”

“I know, but it’s a lot to navigate. I don’t want to lose my sister or you,” Y/N admitted, her vulnerability shining through.

“You won’t lose either of us. We’ll figure this out together,” Kyra promised, squeezing Y/N’s hands tighter.

As they talked, Kyra felt a sense of determination to support Y/N. They would face the challenges together, no matter what.

Over the next few weeks, Kyra and Y/N worked on finding balance in their relationship. They supported each other in their individual pursuits, attending matches and helping each other through training challenges.

One day, after a particularly grueling training session, Y/N surprised Kyra with a picnic in the park. “I thought we could use a break,” Y/N said, spreading out a blanket under a tree.

“This is amazing!” Kyra exclaimed, her heart swelling with affection as they settled down.

As they enjoyed their meal, Y/N smiled shyly. “I’m really happy we’re doing this. I feel like I can be myself around you.”

“You can always be yourself with me,” Kyra replied, her tone earnest. “That’s what I love about us.”

Y/N looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked, “Do you ever worry about how this will affect your career?”

“I do sometimes, but I know what I want,” Kyra admitted, meeting Y/N’s gaze. “I want to support you and be there for you.”

Their conversation flowed seamlessly, filled with laughter and affection. But as the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the park, a weight settled over Kyra’s heart.

As the season progressed, Kyra’s performance on the pitch soared, but the pressure began to mount. The media was buzzing with rumors, and Kyra felt the weight of expectations bearing down on her.

One day, after a particularly difficult training session, Kyra found herself snapping at Y/N over a small mistake. “Can you just focus for once? This isn’t a game!” she blurted out, frustration boiling over.

Y/N’s expression fell, hurt flashing across her face. “I am focusing, Kyra! I’m here to support you, not to make things harder.”

Kyra immediately regretted her words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just stressed.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I get that, but I need you to communicate with me. I want to help, but you have to let me in.”

“Please don’t shut me out,” Kyra pleaded, her heart aching at the sight of Y/N’s hurt expression.

They stood in silence for a moment, the air thick with unspoken emotions. Finally, Y/N spoke softly, “I just want us to be okay.”

“We will be,” Kyra promised, pulling Y/N into a gentle embrace. “I’m sorry for taking my stress out on you.”

As time passed, Kyra and Y/N worked hard to communicate openly and honestly. Their bond deepened, filled with moments of vulnerability and understanding.

One night, after a successful match where Kyra scored the winning goal, they celebrated together. Y/N’s face lit up with pride as she hugged Kyra tightly. “I’m so proud of you! You were incredible out there!”

“Thanks! I couldn’t have done it without your support,” Kyra said, grinning from ear to ear.

They danced around the living room, lost in their joy and laughter. But as the excitement faded, a moment of stillness settled between them.

“Kyra, I’ve been thinking,” Y/N said, her expression serious. “What happens if things get tough again? We’ve been doing well, but I worry about the future.”

“Me too,” Kyra admitted, feeling the weight of Y/N’s concerns. “But we can face it together. I want to be with you, no matter what challenges come our way.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, a mixture of relief and gratitude flooding her features. “Okay. Together.”

As they shared a kiss, a sense of determination filled the air, a promise that they would continue to fight for each other, no matter what obstacles lay ahead.

However, just as they settled into a rhythm, a sudden twist sent their world spiraling. A rumor surfaced in the media about a potential transfer for Kyra, stirring uncertainty within their relationship.

Y/N confronted Kyra one evening,

her voice trembling. “Is it true? Are you thinking about leaving?”

Kyra felt her heart drop. “Y/N, it’s just a rumor. I don’t want to go anywhere. You mean too much to me.”

“But what if it’s not just a rumor? What if you get an offer and…?”

“Y/N, stop!” Kyra interrupted, frustration creeping in. “You’re letting your insecurities get the best of you. I’m not leaving you.”

“But what if you have to choose between your career and me?” Y/N challenged, her eyes filled with fear.

“Why do we have to make it a choice?” Kyra asked, desperation tinging her voice. “We can make this work, no matter where I go!”

Y/N shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t want to be the reason you miss out on your dreams.”

“Being with you is part of my dream, Y/N!” Kyra pleaded, reaching for Y/N’s hand. “Please believe that.”

But Y/N turned away, her heart heavy with uncertainty. “I need some space,” she whispered before walking out.

In the days that followed, the distance between them grew unbearable. Kyra threw herself into training, trying to drown out the pain of losing Y/N.

But every goal she scored felt hollow without Y/N by her side. One evening, after a particularly rough training session, she broke down, her teammates rallying around her.

“Kyra, you need to talk to Y/N,” Alessia urged, her voice firm. “You can’t let this distance linger.”

“I know, but I don’t want to push her away further,” Kyra replied, her voice cracking.

“You won’t know unless you try. Go find her,” Alessia encouraged, her eyes filled with determination.

With her heart pounding, Kyra made her way to Y/N’s apartment. She knocked hesitantly, fear coursing through her veins. When Y/N opened the door, Kyra’s breath caught in her throat.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” she began, her voice trembling. “I never meant to hurt you. Can we talk?”

Y/N stepped aside, allowing Kyra to enter. The silence hung heavy as they settled into the living room.

“I’ve missed you,” Kyra confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve missed you too, but I’ve been confused,” Y/N admitted, her gaze shifting to the floor. “I don’t want to hold you back.”

“You’re not holding me back,” Kyra replied, desperation lacing her words. “You’re my support, my everything. I don’t want to lose that.”

“But what if it becomes too complicated?” Y/N challenged, her voice shaky.

“Complications are part of relationships,” Kyra said earnestly. “But I believe we can work through anything together. I want you in my life, Y/N.”

Y/N looked up, her eyes glistening with emotion. “Really?”

“Yes! I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” Kyra vowed, stepping closer to Y/N.

Tears brimmed in Y/N’s eyes as she nodded slowly. “I want to believe you.”

“Then let me show you,” Kyra whispered, wrapping her arms around Y/N and pulling her into a tight embrace.

As they held each other, the warmth of their connection seeped back in, washing away the tension that had built between them.

“I’m sorry for pushing you away,” Y/N murmured against Kyra’s shoulder. “I was scared.”

“I understand, and I’m sorry for the rumors. But I want to face this together,” Kyra replied, pulling back to look Y/N in the eye. “You mean too much to me.”

Y/N smiled through her tears, her heart swelling with affection. “You really mean it?”

“Of course. I care about you more than anything,” Kyra affirmed, cupping Y/N’s face in her hands.

With a tentative smile, Y/N leaned in, their lips meeting in a soft kiss. As they pulled back, Kyra felt a sense of hope blooming inside her.

“Let’s take it one day at a time,” Y/N suggested, her voice filled with determination.

“I’m all in,” Kyra replied, a grin spreading across her face.

In the weeks that followed, Kyra and Y/N found their rhythm again. They communicated openly, sharing their fears and dreams without hesitation.

One evening, as they stargazed on a rooftop, Kyra turned to Y/N, a sense of contentment washing over her. “I’m so grateful for you.”

“Me too,” Y/N replied, resting her head on Kyra’s shoulder. “I never want to go through that distance again.”

“Neither do I,” Kyra agreed, wrapping her arm around Y/N protectively. “We’re stronger together.”

As they sat in silence, the weight of their struggles began to lift, replaced by a sense of clarity. They could face whatever challenges lay ahead, as long as they had each other.

And in that moment, under the vast expanse of the starry sky, Kyra realized that their love was worth fighting for.

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

The End

[haikyu-mp4]

heyy!!! Congratulations on the milestone! You deserve this and so much more! Each and every one of your fics is just so cute and sweet😁😁

Applying with Kageyama, I'm organised and driven.

hii! thank you so much, that warms my heart!! and thank you for the great application, you're hired<3

Vanilla latte

Kageyama is a customer and buys something just to talk to you, for the now hiring! event

word count; 742 – gn!reader

Kageyama would never understand how Hinata got so into coffee when he already seemed to have more energy than anyone else just by being himself, but here they were, hitting up a new coffee shop because his shorter friend wanted to bring a coffee to training with the Olympic team.

“Just because Iwa says it’s bad doesn’t mean it kills you,” Hinata insisted like he was at Takeda’s level of making everything sound like great wisdom.

“Dumbass!” he responded, as usual. “You know I don’t like coffee.” And just like that, the conversation ended and they got in line, Tobio standing halfway behind, halfway beside Hinata since he wouldn’t be getting anything. They had this conversation almost every morning this week, and Kageyama was sick of it. Why would he keep trying coffee for energy when he knew the bad effects of it and didn’t even like the taste?

While they waited in line, he and Hinata kept bickering under their breaths, or Hinata would look at the menu boards while Kageyama looked at the display of cakes and bakery. That did look good, he should have some for his next cheat day. Wasn’t Tsukishima’s birthday coming up? Bet he’d have some strawberry shortcake.

And no matter how many thoughts he distracted himself with, they were all whisked away when Hinata got to the register and Tobio heard the softest voice asking what he wanted. So he looked up to discover possibly the prettiest person he had ever seen.

“Can you recommend a coffee without anything chocolate-y?” Hinata asked cheerily, making you hum in thought for a moment before nodding.

“Personally, I love a classic vanilla latte,” you suggested, and while Hinata agreed to get that, Kageyama also nodded as if you were talking to him. “And you?” you asked, turning your attention to him, who stood stiff as a tree beside Hinata.

Kageyama had never wanted a coffee more in his life. It's as if his brain totally forgot that you can order drinks without coffee in a café.

“He doesn’t want-”

“I’d like to have the same,” Kageyama said, effectively cutting Hinata off but also earning him a confused glare. “As him.”

“I thought you didn’t-”

“I’ll pay for both,” Kageyama added to hopefully bribe him into silence, giving his friend a strict side-eye. Please follow my lead, dumbass.

“Sounds good!” you said, not thinking too much about their dynamic. You were on the opening shift and talking to them helped keep you awake. “What’s your name?”

“Hinata and Kageyama…” he said, pointing to his friend and then himself. “What’s yours?” You looked up in surprise, accidentally smudging the little heart you drew behind his name. And if your cheeks flushed a light pink from the intensity of his stare, who could blame you?

You pointed to the little sign on your shirt. “Y/n,” you still said, about to turn away and start his order.

“Also uhh…” Kageyama put a hand up to stop you, happy when you looked up at him again expectantly but felt his cheeks copy your flush as he had no idea what he was trying to say. He looked around the café, looking for inspiration, and then back at you.

“Is there something else I could get you?” And now that he was stalling for time, you took a moment to relax your shoulders and take him in. He was a very handsome man, tall, dark-haired, very your type. You would be lying if you said his awkward front wasn’t charming as well.

Maybe he felt your eyes on him because he took to rubbing the back of his neck. “Something to eat?”

“Like bakery or a sandwich?” you suggested, not even noticing that Hinata had moved on and your coworker came over to man the other register.

“Bakery. What do you like?”

“Cinnamon rolls, they’re the best here, I swear,” you said, and your conviction made him finally crack a small smile.

“Two of those.”

“We should come back here tomorrow,” Kageyama said, making Hinata chuckle at the finality of it because even though Kageyama was taller than him, he could clearly see the flush that was still burning his ears. Wait until everyone hears about this!

“Are you going to eat those?” he asked, pointing at the paper bag in his hand. Kageyama groaned.

Shit, I was going to leave one of the cinnamon rolls as a gift. Better luck next time.

masterlist

[ghostybaby000]

After Hours | Part 2

Part 1 Part 3

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Summary: I recommend going back to the part one listed above to start this adventure of a read!

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: 18+, violent theme, guns, yelling, future smut

(Not fully edited, apologies for any inconsistencies!)

‘Just here to return this’ One of the other men had come up to the desk dangling a golf cart key just over the counter. You leave your palm out as he puts it in your hand, you take it as you force a small smile over your face. 

‘Have a good night you guys.’ A wave sending them off as they bid you a goodnight and made their way for the door. You looked under the desk to get the lock box for the keys and other items as you hear the door chime, they were gone. You took a long deep breath out as your manager made his way out the back door yelling something like- don’t forget the lights, although you couldn’t muster the energy to care. Your eyes began to swell again with tears and embarrassment as you grabbed the lock box and sat up in your chair. You practically drop the box when you see a tall man standing in front of you-silently. You scramble to grab the few things that had fallen out of the box, trying to regain your composure.

‘S-sorry I thought you guys had left, is there something I can get for you?’ You try to discreetly wipe away the tears that had been forming in your eyes as he stands there, now letting his posture relax. You had never interacted with just him before, it was always a team member that had spoken up or taken the lead.  

‘I’d like to practice some indoor shooting.’ He looked down at you and only his eyes were visible through his mask, his accented voice was gruff almost as if it were the first time he was speaking today. 

‘Oh well were about to clo-‘ You stop yourself, your hand on the lockbox with all the keys inside it to the facility. You were still upset from how your manager had treated you, upset in a way that made you feel embarrassed but also furious. You had worked here for so long without fail, and had in no way deserved to be spoken to like that. Thinking about it made your eyes sting as you shook your head to look back up at the man.

‘That’s right, you guys close earlier on the weekends.’ He tapped a hand on the desk as he spun to leave. 

‘N-no, that’s okay. I can open it up for a little.’ You would need time to finish cleaning everything up and locking all the doors, you never liked having a closing shift. The cameras had been clicked off, you were meant to turn them on before leaving as you stood to hopefully get him to stay.

He slowly turned around and made his way back over placing his card on the desk, looking at you for a moment and then walking off towards the door to the range. You reached to grab the keys and a set of ear muffs for yourself after ringing him up, then unlocking the door you both stepped inside. Stepping in with him handing him back his card, you felt a surge of guilt rush over you. You stuffed it down, where the rage had made you feel so hot and panicked that you wouldn’t let it out, not till you were gone or alone anyways.

He gives you a small thanks as he heads to grab a gun and ammunition that he had with him. His voice was less scratchy now that he had spoken and you felt good allowing yourself to get away from the work place, now you were just watching someone shoot. There was no harm in keeping the place open for a little while longer, and nobody else was here. On top of that, you had made money from him so your manager should have no reason to argue it, if he were to ever find out.

He sat in his station and began to load his pistol, the smaller gun of choice from the wall of AK’s and other various large guns. He loaded it calmly with precision beyond what you had seen from watching anyone else. He motioned a thumbs up to you, signaling that he was ready to shoot, as you moved up the thick paper person cut out. He flattens him hand in a motion to stop, the distance was quite far from him, you supposed he was trying to practice his long range. 

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

He dropped the gun to his side, looking at the small paper from where he was, very focused. After a moment, he gave you a look and a head turn as you brought the paper closer into view. He had five shots that would have easily killed, placed around the cutout’s skull, one of them being practically dead between the eyes. You couldn’t help but come closer for a better look, taking off one earmuff to hear him. 

‘Well, it looks like you know what you’re doing…’ You still looked dumbfounded at the paper cut out when he turned to you. 

‘Would you like to do another one?’ You mutter out, as he looked at you, his eyes bouncing between one or the other when he responded.

‘Sure, thanks.’ You both spent another twenty or so minutes, setting new targets to practice as you sat watching him shoot effortlessly. You were caught off guard when he spoke to you again.

‘You really haven’t shot before?’ He didn’t look at you as if he were mocking you, but as if he was genuinely curious. 

‘No, I didn’t really expect to land this job.’ You looked away sheepishly as you were embarrassed yet again, you could feel your cheeks getting flush. You sat up straight when you realized this meant he had heard the conversation your boss had been spitting at you, you felt the need to continue.

‘It’s not that I don’t want to, I just don’t have the money for a coach and don’t want to bother anyone on the range.’ You were fiddling with the buttons on the remote when he walked over to you and spoke.

‘You should know how to, even if it’s just for your own safety.’ His voice had taken a more stern tone as you looked up to him he went on. 

‘Working here, you never know who you could run into and how you may have to protect yourself.’ He headed towards the rack of guns to replace the AK he had been holding as he spoke. 

You decided that he was right- even if it was just to protect yourself you should know how to at least load and unload a gun. You had hardly ever held a gun, let alone properly and you didn’t know the stance or- your thoughts stopped as a gleaming gun was being held out to you. 

‘I can help you learn the basics.’ He looked at you with half lidded eyes as he motioned for you to grab the gun. All of a sudden you became nervous, he was far more knowledgeable about weaponry and you felt that you would be embarrassed by not really knowing anything. No. You wanted to learn, you needed to learn as well, for safety. Who would be a better teacher than him?

[spencerreidsreads]

I’d take 100 bad days for this

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Summary: A bad day turned good by a stranger giving you his sweater

Genre: Fluff!

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Spencer is probably slightly out of character. I’m still learning and this is my first time writing for him so please forgive me.

AN: Once again not proof read as I’m still too embarrassed to read my own works. Please let me know if there’s any mistakes.

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ♡꘎

With tears streaming down your face, you continue your walk through the streets. The barley there light flickering from the questionable lamppost above casts a slither of light to shine over your soaking wet form. Your tears mix with the raindrops to coat your skin and add to your already terrible mood.

Everything that could’ve gone wrong today, did. First of all, you’d had a terrible nights sleep. Coffee was the first thing on your mind when you woke up in the morning, but instead of starting your day with a warm vanilla latte like you had planned, you found yourself out of coffee. This was strike one.

Then, as you started your journey to work, hoping to stop off at your favourite coffee shop to try get your fix in, your favourite jacket that you had been wearing got caught on god knows what and ripped. The hole that now sat in the sleeve of your jacket mocked you as you lost the energy to detour for your morning caffeine.

Other small things continued to happen throughout the day to add to your sour mood. Someone shut the door on you as you were walking into the building, you realised you had forgotten your lunch and a colleague of yours spilled her coffee onto your recently completed paperwork.

The final straw, however, was when your boss called you into her office. This was never a good sign, you don’t get called into your bosses office unless it’s bad news. The eyes of the rest of your colleagues followed as you trudged into the room that was your idea of personal hell. As soon as you sat down opposite your boss, she explained that the design for a project you had presented had been turned down. They had gone with someone else’s.

This in particular broke your heart. You had been so passionate about it. So confident in your ability to make it work, so why did no one else see that? Add this to all the other small things that had happened that day, and it’s enough to open the floodgates.

As you exit your office and enter the street below ready to walk home, the sky matches your mood. Grey clouds and heavy rainfall are all you can see and hear. Well, you thought, at least it matches your mood.

You decide to take the train home, the quicker you get home the quicker you can drown your sorrows in ice cream. Once you get to the station with tears still spilling from your eyes, you’re happy to note the platform is completely empty. Except for one other individual, a tall man with longish hair, who looked just as soaked as you were. He stood, clutching onto the strap of his brown satchel as he looked around the platform.

His eyes locked onto you and he gave you an awkward smile. You reciprocated the smile and looked away. He didn’t look like the type of guy who would cause you any trouble, but you certainly weren’t in the mood to find out. Avoiding any more contact was the best option, you thought.

Though no matter how hard you avoided looking in his direction, you didn’t anticipate that he would initiate the contact with you.

“Excuse me?” you heard his voice. It sounded unsure and soft, yet friendly in it’s tone.

You turned to look back at the man with the satchel, your eyes asking the question you didn’t need to vocalise, “what?”

You look down and see he’s holding some sort of fabric in his hands.

“I just - uh, you looked cold and I have a spare sweater… if you’d like to put it on. Don’t think you have to! I just thought I would offer since you’re wet and well if you’re wet and cold for a prolonged period of time, it may negatively affect your immune system, making you more likely to get a cold” - he didn’t look in your eyes once whilst saying this - “so… yeah, I just wanted to offer”. You struggled to hold back your smirk, already feeling slightly better. He was a rambler for sure, you knew this much already. He also seemed terrified as he waited for your response. You got the idea he wasn’t the most confident guy in the world.

“Are you sure?” you asked the man. You were very aware of stranger danger and knew you most likely shouldn’t be taking this from him, but honestly you were absolutely freezing. The rain had completely soaked through your clothes at this point and had left your skin feeling the cold. Not to mention, the guy was cute and the idea of wearing his sweater made you feel slightly warmer already.

“Oh absolutely! I don’t need it, it’s just a spare I had in my bag. Actually you should probably take off your shirt before putting the sweater on. Wearing wet clothing in cold temperatures significantly increases the risk of hypothermia, as it rapidly removes heat from the body. The water in wet clothing quickly evaporates, taking heat away from the body therefore reducing the body's ability to maintain a normal temperature.”

You raise an eyebrow at his suggestion that you take off your shirt. He looked confused for a second before realising what he’d said. The man’s eyes widened in surprise and he began to stutter out an apology.

“N-no I didn’t mean that. Well, I did but not like that. I’m not asking you to take your shirt off. I- uh, I’m sure you’ll be totally fine if you keep your shirt on. In fact-“

You cut off his panic induced ramble with a laugh, he is absolutely adorable, you thought to yourself.

The stranger looked at you, his cheeks flushed, most likely out of embarrassment and slightly biting his lip. Like he wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. You decided you’d help him out.

“That’s certainly the most creative way a guys ever hit on me. Asking me to strip on a train platform is a new one for me” you said with a smirk.

The man’s eyes widened in horror. “No, no - that’s not.. I didn’t..”

You once again cut him off with a laugh, louder this time. “I’m just messing with you, I know you didn’t mean it like that. Thank you, for the sweater. I really appreciate it. And your concern for my well being too, that’s very sweet of you” you spoke as you slipped the sweater over your head. You couldn’t help but softly inhale the light smell on the sweater, it smelt clean with a hint of warmth.

“Oh, yeah you’re welcome” he replied, still not making eye contact with you. He didn’t say anything else so you decided to try and continue the conversation whilst you wait for your train.

“So, do I get to know the name of my knight in shining armour who protected me from freezing to death on the train platform?” you asked, you’d made the decision that this man didn’t want to hurt you, so you wanted to get to know him a bit better.

“Oh I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid” he replied, finally looking at you.

“Well Spencer, Spencer Reid. I’m (y/n), I assume you’re waiting for this train?” and you pointed to the empty tracks where your train should be showing up within the next few minutes.

“Yeah, just heading home for the day” Spencer told you. “I’ve been out of town for the past couple of days so I’m excited to just get home and relax with a book”

At the mention of his idea of relaxing being a book, your eyes lit up. You’ve always loved reading, ever since you were a child. Anything you could get your hands on and you were grateful. Fantasy, romance, thriller, historical fiction - anything. You were an absolute bookworm at heart.

“What book are you planning on reading?” you asked.

“I haven’t decided yet. Though I’ll probably go for some light reading since it’s late, I have a few chemistry textbooks I’ve been meaning to read so maybe I’ll get started on those”

You laughed at his mention of chemistry textbooks being light reading, so he’s pretty and funny, you thought.

Until you looked at his face and he seemed utterly confused as to why you were laughing. Was he serious when he said that?

You halted your laughter and decided to get back on track with the conversation. “Well that sounds interesting, I tend to read romance or fantasy books when I’m feeling tired. They keep me engaged enough that I don’t fall asleep straight away. Though I’m currently rereading A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Housseini. I haven’t read it in years but came across it in the library recently and decided I wanted to read it again. It’s just as good and moving a second time”

Just as you finished saying this, your train started to pull up. The both of you moved together and approached the doors that were waiting to open. Once they did, Spencer signalled for you to enter first, thanking him you stepped onto the train and headed to find a seat. One sat, you saw Spencer who looked unsure. You guessed he wasn’t sure if you’d want him sitting with you, but just in the short conversation you’d had, he already decided he wanted to talk to you more.

Luckily you sensed his worry and patted the chair next to you; inviting him to sit. Spencer slowly approached and dropped down next to you, taking his satchel off of his shoulders and placing it on his lap. He turned to you and continued your previous conversation.

“You like to read?” he asked “that’s great, I love reading, I can actually read twenty thousand words per minute so I get through book’s extremely fast so I’d love to hear any recommendations if you have any”

Since he again, looked completely serious when he said this, you assumed he maybe wasn’t joking. A guy who can read 20,000 words per minute and enjoys chemistry textbooks in his spare time, what is he some sort of genius?

“Wow” you blinked. “ I’m lucky if I get through one book per month, I get distracted too easily. No matter how much I love a book I just can’t get through it in one go” you admit. Though not out of shame, you read for pleasure and getting through one book a month is working just fine for you.

Spencer smiled slightly at your words,

“but I’d love if we could trade book recommendations” you add on. “Though I’d prefer if you didn’t recommend anything to do with chemistry. Or biology for that matter, or physics. You know what, anything science based is just not my cup of tea.”

He laughed slightly at your request. “Deal” he said. “Are you more of a fiction fan?”

“Absolutely” you responded, “I’m good with any genre but it has to be fiction”

“Ok. I can do that, I’ve read plenty of fiction” he smiled through his words.

“I bet you have Mr twenty thousand words per minute” you giggled.

Spencer laughed along with you, he could tell you weren’t teasing him, it actually almost felt flirty. If he knew for sure Spencer might flirt back, or attempt to at least. But he doesn’t want to have got the wrong impression and make a fool out of himself. He was currently fighting an internal battle with himself.

Either act like this is just a normal, totally none flirtatious conversation and leave the train with a few book recommendations for books he’s probably already read and nothing else. Or, be brave and ask you out. Not only had the conversation you had been fun to him, but Spencer couldn’t deny, you were absolutely beautiful. Even soaking wet from the rain, your hair in ringlets and makeup smudged slightly on your face, Spencer thought you looked breathtaking.

Unfortunately for him, he would have to hurry up and make his decision. Because whilst he was in his own head, he hadn’t realised the train was slowing down.

“Well” you said as you begin to stand, “this is my stop”. You hadn’t even had the chance to exchange book recommendations. You were seriously hoping he would ask for your number. It was almost like your bad day hadn’t happened at all when you spoke with Spencer. He made you smile for the first time since yesterday and you really would love to see him again.

And Spencer was thinking the same thing. It wasn’t often he had to chance to have normal conversation like this. Especially about books. He mainly spoke with his team about serial murders and cases they were working on. It felt nice to leave work behind for a while and have a conversation about an interest of his.

Once he saw you stepping towards the doors of the train, he jumped out of his seat after you.

“Wait, uh (y/n)” he seemed nervous again. “We didn’t get to recommend books to each other.”

He seemed genuinely upset about this.

“You’re right” you replied. It seemed he may need a little push to say what he wanted to say. So you decided to help him again, you couldn’t wait all day, you needed to get off the train any minute now. “I wonder what we could do about that?” you posed like a question, giving Spencer the option to offer a solution.

And in an act of courage that he didn’t normally have around women, he offered one.

“Would you like to get a coffee sometime? With me, I mean”. You could almost hear his heart pounding with how nervous he seemed.

“You mean like a date?” You asked.

“If you’d like, I’d love to take you on a date. We can discuss books and drink coffee and hopefully we’ll be more dry and comfortable than we are now” he reminded you that you both were still currently soaked from the rain.

Your face showed a small smile, but on the inside you were ecstatic. You couldn’t believe after your terrible day that this gorgeous, sweet man was asking YOU on a date.

“I’d love that Spencer” you said earnestly.

You noticed the train doors were about to open, you needed to be quick as you had no way of contacting each other but you needed to get off if you wanted to get home any time soon.

“Uh, do you have a pen? Or your phone. I need to give you my number” you began to panic that you wouldn’t have time to exchange numbers. The doors had just opened.

“Just tell me it.” He stated.

“What?” You responded.

“Trust me” he replied, “I’ll remember it”

How could he remember a full phone number that quickly, after just hearing it once. But you didn’t have time to question it, you quickly relayed your number to him and went to step off the train.

“(Y/n)!” Spencer called your name.

Now on the platform, you turned to look at him, he stood there, looking at you with a smile on his face.

“I’ll call you. It was-“

Spencer was cut off my the doors of the train closing. You watched as the train pulled away, taking the handsome man with it. He awkwardly waved at you as he left.

You felt like a fool, of course he wouldn’t remember your number. Was he just playing you this whole time? Why did he ask you out if he had no intentions of actually wanting to do it?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing. This was just a coincidence. It was probably someone wanting to give you more bad news to finish off your day. You signed and started to walk whilst pulling your phone out of your purse.

“Hello?” You said into the phone, not even looking at who called.

“So when are you free for coffee? I can’t wait to hear those recommendations.”

You had to pause your steps you were so surprised. It was actually him, you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face.

You looked down at the sweater hugging your fame, the sweater that belonged to him. The man who was taking you on a date.

You’d take a hundred bad days, if it meant your evenings would end like this. Softly conversing with a gorgeous man on the phone, wearing his sweater and discussing when you were going to see each other again.

“Ah, Mr twenty thousand words per minute, it’s so nice to hear from you…”

Maybe your day wasn’t so bad after all.

[writerblue275]

Heartsteel Ranking: “Scary boyfriend privilege”

(AKA how intimidating they are to people who don’t know them.)

Inspiration: I’ll be honest this is a bit of a random ranking but I thought it would be fun to do and it was!

Champions: Heartsteel

Genre: Ranking

Type: Fluff? This is meant in a funny way.

Tw: Small mention of alcohol (drink responsibly y’all), and swearing (because I do, in fact, have the mouth of a damn sailor.)

List goes least intimidating to most intimidating.

LEAST

Ezreal (One of these days I will do a ranking that doesn’t put him at the bottom! I swear it’s not intentional! 😂)

Let’s be honest no one is shocked he’s here, right? Where else was Ez going to go on this list?? This isn’t a bad thing though! He just gives off such golden retriever energy and it’s amazing and I love him. I want to be at least best friends with HS Ezreal.

Despite the usual happy golden retriever energy, he’s definitely not afraid to tell people off/protect you though. (I feel like he secretly has quite a temper. He’s a Sagittarius after all [love my fellow 🔥 signs WOOT WOOT]. Usually he’s very good about keeping it under control…but if someone [besides you, he absolutely adores you] pushes him too far [ex: by making you uncomfortable]…just see what happens.)

Aphelios

You absolutely have scary boyfriend privilege with Aphelios, but I just can’t rank him higher than any of the other members below. He definitely has that “brooding silent type” down pat, and when he’s wearing his mask, that’s doubled. That air of mystery, baby, he’s got that in SPADES.

We also know he’s tall. Like not Sett, K’Sante, or Yone tall, but he’s got some height on him (unconfirmed 6’). Physically, he’s definitely more intimidating than Ez. Like imagine Phel silently staring daggers at someone. Lmao I’d hate to be whoever pissed him off.

K’Sante

Most of this comes from his height (unconfirmed 6’4”) and the fact he’s one of the gym bros. Like general vibe/personality-wise, I think Phel could be more-intimidating than K’Sante (or even Sett), but have you seen how just MASSIVE K’Sante is? HE CAN CANONICALLY BENCH SETT. Like 😮😮😮

Not to mention I feel like he’d always stick close to you in public, so no one would even dream of trying to do anything to you. (Unless they’re a whole dumbass.) K’Sante genuinely gives me very kind vibes, but he definitely protects those he loves very fiercely.

Sett

Sett is (unconfirmed) 6’7” (at least confirmed the tallest in the group), and JACKED AS HELL. Not to mention “allergic” to sleeves so those arms are out most of the time lmao. Only a fucking moron (or someone who is incredibly drunk) would look at Settrigh and go “oh yeah I am absolutely going to mess with this guy.” RIP that idiot.

He also doesn’t fuck around about the safety of the people he loves. Sett genuinely seems like the sweetest guy (I love this giant, ripped, sewing himbo so fucking much oh my fucking god) but he can/will be intentionally intimidating if it’s necessary to keep you or Ma safe (the two most important figures in his life 🥺). Will walk you home/keep you close to him in crowded situations. He always wants you to feel safe when you’re with him (you absolutely do like how could you not?).

Kayn

So this is based on both appearance and reputation. Obviously Kayn has quite the reputation from his last band (as well as being kicked out of it.) Appearance-wise, he’s not super tall, but he’s tall enough. Not to mention the piercings, tattoos, the fact he’s also in excellent shape (I mean we all saw those abs 😏), has vibrant dyed hair, a very bright red eye, and he is a total metal head. He can also, um, travel through WALLS. (Small detail lol.)

DO I EVEN HAVE TO MENTION RHAAST (even as his stage alter ego)???? Kayn can be pretty impulsive and sometimes acts first, thinks later. (He’s currently working on that with Yone, it’s fine.) Someone would be a damn fool to fuck with him or you. He just gives me very loyal guard dog vibes. (I mean he did wear the damn leash in the mv so….😝)

Yone

There is no one (let me repeat: NO ONE) I’d want to fuck with less than Yone. This man has quintessential resting bitch face (RBF), is like 6’ 2-3” (unconfirmed), in very good shaped (based on the lovely titty window of his outfit. Thank you, Riot designers) and is able to (mostly) wrangle the rest of the group. Also (hella obvious but) HE’S AN INTROVERT (INFJ specifically). People are NOT his thing (fucking MOOD).

Yone is the one who gives the most similar vibes to the TikToks I’ve seen that show cosplayers at Cons with their scarier-dressed friends/partners following behind them keeping them safe. (For Yone, it’s the RBF/air of mystery that really sets the tone.) He gives me such mature gentleman vibes as well. He’s always going to walk you home especially at night, or he’ll stay by your side in a crowd and you are just going to feel really safe with him. Top-tier scary boyfriend privilege right there.

Most

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Ok so the least and most intimidating were extremely obvious to me. It was everyone else in between that made things difficult. This was really fun to write though, even if the concept is a bit silly! 😂

[hoodreader]

nerd astrology — jujutsu kaisen (001)

hey y’all! i wanna give my personal opinions on what my favorite characters from my favorite video games, mangas/animes, & comics would be astrologically. today, i’m starting off with the students of jujutsu kaisen!!! [spoiler warning]. 💗 ima discuss some canon events of JJK. not giving away too much plot though, but just so ya know.

YUJI ITADORI — “i like a tall woman… with a nice big ass — just sayin’.”

gemini sun. pisces moon. sagittarius rising.

he’s so sociable, kind, and friendly. very concerned with others & their wellness, thus the seventh house sun. his fixation on “proper deaths” & ensuring justice. it seems like a blend of seventh house and jovial energy. he super go with the flow and adaptable. and he’s very powerful. i think he also love to laugh. even when aoi todo was beating the fuck out of him, he still humored his question when asked. he can be really philosophical / thoughtful. especially with others. he likes to think, and that’s a quality gemini, pisces, and sagittarius all share. i do also see scorpio, but maybe his mars.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO — “i don’t have a preference. as long as she has unshakable character, i won’t ask for more.”

scorpio sun & moon. capricorn rising.

that resting bitch face say earth. the capricorn rising in particular is because he had to grow up wayyy too fast. his pappy was incompetent. but he very aloof & calculated (calculation is ruled by capricorn!). i was thinking he could be a virgo rising, but he lack the neuroticness of a mutable. allat scorpio & capricorn would make sense considering his technique is shadows, though. he is very compassionate & concerned with “the right thing” as well though, which explains the sun conj moon in the eleventh house.

NOBARA KUGISAKI — “if hell froze over and danced the lambada, still no.”

sagittarius sun. aries moon. taurus rising.

loud, brush, aggressive, etc. i find this quality is most people who have a combination of aries & taurus in their charts. the impulsive aries & stubborn taurus create someone with a mixture of that head-butting energy. her personality is big too. can be a bit blunt, as i notice with a lot of sagittarius placements. but the girl can fight. that’s for sure. and she’s pretty smart / calculated.

MAKI ZENIN — “if i stayed there [at the bottom], i would’ve hated myself.”

scorpio sun. capricorn moon. aquarius rising.

i feel she is so saturnian in how her family rejected her. a lot of saturnians are forced into independence at a young age. that detriment moon does a lot in her family ostracizing her. still, she’s insanely disciplined. she had no cursed energy (energy is solar in nature, & saturn is the sun’s detriment) but she compensates for that just how raw she is with practical combat. i think her tenth house scorpio sun would make sense also in how she presents herself — kinda hard and unapproachable, but really she’s just complicated.

TOGE INUMAKI — “fish flakes…”

pisces sun & moon. capricorn rising.

he so weird, & that’s why i luv his character sm. anyways. that calm presence he got in social situations… i feel could be a saturnian ascendant. i could see aquarius, but i couldn’t see a third house in aries for him. which is why i opted for capricorn. instead, he would have a saturnian second house & a jovial third house, which can show his restricted speech but the large impact of his words. i could also see pisces ascendant but i’m not sure about a first house sun, i’d guess first house moon before that. he’s not aggressive, but he gon do what he got to for his friends. giving third house moon. also. the fact that he chooses to communicate with food ingredients is the most third house moon thing ever, and the fact nobody (aside from his circle) understands is the most piscean third house thing ever.

PANDA — “the answer’s obviously pandas!”

taurus sun. pisces moon. libra rising.

a sweetheart and a voice of reason. he’s really laid back & chill, which is super venutian to me. i think there’s a major focus on harmony for him. but again, just ‘cuz he venutian don’t mean he bitchmade. the way he fucked mechamaru up was insane. i chalk it up to his eighth house taurus sun. i think people forget that taurus (the bull) can be aggressive if they want to. other than that though, he’s adaptable and really just wanna avoid unnecessary fall out. he will take it there if y’all want to though.

some of these i have mixed feelings about. but whatever. i’m gonna start reading the manga soon, so as i get better acquainted with the characters, my opinion might change.

thanks for reading!

[shintaru]

Yeah, it's you (oh, it's you)

m.list ♡ taglist

Warnings: Wooin, drug use, high on adrenaline, orgasm denial, over stimulation, unprotected sex, fem receiving, cream pie, caught, public sex, not proof read, amateur smut writer

You warm up and stretch preparing for your race. You double check your bike making sure it’s in good condition to race. The teams racing are monster, ghost, & sabbath crew. It won’t be an easy match. After all sabbath crew plays dirty. Monster told you to sit this race out due to sabbath crews game play but you decided against it not wanting to be treated differently because you’re a girl.

Besides you just have to speed past them and you won’t get hurt right? You think trying to reassure yourself. Pulling your hair into a bun showing off the monster crew logo on your back. You put your helmet in and head to the race track.

Somehow you managed to be in between Wooin and his tall friend Joker. "shit" you think to yourself anyone who rides beside Joker falls off their bike, you're just a little relieved that you're no where near Hyuk Kwon aka grim reaper. You get chills just thinking about the way he rides.

The loud guy with colorful hair shouts the rules of the match to all the viewers. “Hey, why don’t we have some fun just the two of us when we win the race?” Wooin says giving you a big grin. You roll your eyes adjusting your helmet. “What makes you think I’d go anywhere alone with you, and we’re winning not you” you reply. “Is monster crew always like this?” Wooin says under his breath but loud enough for you to hear him.

A blaring sound goes off letting you know the race has begun. You stay behind monster trying not to exhaust your energy before you sprint the last stretch. Joker and Wooin speed up right beside you looking over at Joker you can see he’s getting ready to crash into you. He hits his bike against yours and pushes you causing you to lean too far to the side landing on Wooin.

“Can’t stay off of me already” Wooin says smirking “shut up” you reply “I’ll take off first” you tell monster, he nods his head speeding up himself. Slowing down as you come towards the curve you get behind Wooin and speed around him on the other side trying to avoid joker drifting around the curve you crash into Wooin almost knocking you both off bikes.

You’ve passed sabbath crew but you can feel them right behind you. You glance behind you widening your eyes when you see Wooin right behind you with his forked tongue hanging out his mouth. “Where do you think you’re going” he says. “He’s on something” you think to yourself referring to the red capsule you saw him pour into his drink before the race. You try losing him at the next curve but you can’t shake him off. Trying to think of a way to get him off your tail Hwangyeon Choi crashes into you trying to knock Wooin off his bike.

You really think you’re going to fall now but once again you end up leaning against Wooin’s shoulder. “What are you playing at?” You ask him. “I told you already, I want us to have some fun together after the race” he replies. You roll your eyes leaning off his shoulder once you got your balance back. Joker comes out of no where in front of you two keeping Hwangyeon Choi in check. Following him Hyuk kwon does his signature jack knife trick hitting Hwangyeon in the nose sending him flying off his bike.

Seeing as they are distracted making sure Hwangyeons crew isn’t hit on their heels you speed past sabbath crew trying to get as far away as possible from Hyuk Kwon. “Definitely don’t want to race against that lunatic” you think to yourself. You sprint the last stretch with you and Monster coming in first and second place either Joker and Wooin in third and fourth.

Hyuk Kwon got disqualified for his jack knife trick. He isn’t allowed to race in the next race as penalty. You can see Wooin is pissed. “Told you we’d win” you tell him laughing as you walk past him heading to the locker rooms. The rest of your crew stayed back to take pictures and monster started doing squats…“That workout maniac” you say shaking your head in disbelief at his determination before turning around and entering the locker rooms.

You take your suit off leaving your slight sweaty body somewhat exposed you had under shorts and a bra under your suit but you don’t like wearing anything else underneath it gets too hot. Taking your hair down you open your crews locker just for it to slam in your face.

Turning around you’re met Wooin’s piercing gaze. “You think this is funny?” he yells startling you a little. “Well isn’t i?” You ask taking a step closer to him placing your hand on his chest pushing him back a little. “Get out so I can change” you tell him. You turn around to open your locker once again. Before you can put in the code Wooin has turned you around slamming you into the locker making you gasp as the cold metal touches your sweat drenched skin.

Wrapping his tattooed hand around your throat and pulling your face close to his “you don’t understand how angry and turned on i am right now” he says. You’re a little scared with how aggressive he is being with you. His eyes shift from your eyes to your lips and back up to your eyes. Dragging his thumb over your bottom lip dragging it down he says “let me taste you” you swallow nodding your head in response realizing that’s as close as you’ll get to him asking for your consent.

He wastes no time attaching his lips to yours. He drags his forked tongue across your bottom lip making you moan, he takes the opportunity to stick his tongue in your mouth tasting you. Pulling away from the kiss you’re both still attached to one another by a string of your mixed saliva that lingers on the both of your lips.

His sticks his fingers in your mouth telling you to suck on them you do as your told. Pulling his fingers out your mouth he slides them into the hem your shorts straight into your underwear. You stop his wrist saying “Wait someone might see us!” He gets closer to your ear and says with a smirk “Isn’t that the fun of it, love?” Sliding two fingers between your folds pushing them into you stretching you out with a scissoring motion.

“Wooin” you moan out gripping onto his forearms for support. He lifts your right leg over his hip holding it there to have better access to you. He rests his forehead on yours still thrusting his fingers in and out of you. “You’re squeezing my fingers so tightly” he says “I’m gonna come” you moan.

Wooin grabs the bottom of your jaw holding it open “You don’t get to come until I say so got it?” He says while spitting in your mouth, pulling his fingers out of you he sticks them in your mouth swirling your juices and his spit on your tongue you moan and suck on his fingers.

You don’t know how you got here but you’re completely naked with your back propped up against the lockers legs wrapped around Wooin’s waist as he thrusts in and out of you with a savage pace. You’re sure your back will have bruises with how hard you’re hitting the locker with each thrust.

Tears stream down your face from the pain. “Slow down it’s too much, it hurts” you plea. “You don’t get to give me orders” He says while licking your tears from your face. He continues fucking you with his rough pace.

"you can take it like the slut you are, right?" Wooin says. You nod your head letting him know you’ll behave. You needed to come so badly so you listened to him.

He stops thrusting in you and carries you over to the bench laying you down. Walking over to sabbath crew’s locker he grabs his clothes from their duffle bag and puts them under your hips. “What are you doing?” You ask “making it easier, what does it look like I’m doing?” You may back on the bench as he pulls your hips to meet his thrusting into them. “Mhm, Wooin” you moan loudly at how deep he’s reaching into you from the new position.

“Someone is going to hear us” you say “If you don’t want them to hear, stop moaning my name so loud” he replies

“I see the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching just switch to sabbath crew” he says. Before you can reply Monster walks in “shit I’m screwed” you think but you feel too good to care right now.

“What’s taking you so long to get changed? We are supposed to train” Monster says walking in on you and Wooin.

He has one hand around your throat and the other fondling with your breast. Removing his tongue from inside your mouth “She’s busy” Wooin replies making eye contact with Monster continuing to thrust into you. Monster exits the locker room pissed at Wooin leaving you trembling beneath the sabbath crew member.

“Damn, I finally got to him” he says laughing. “Cum on my cock” he demands you cum with Wooin. His thrusts don’t stop after he cums making you shudder beneath him you can’t take much more. “Not stopping until I get another one out of you” he says. Your second orgasm comes much faster with Wooin following immediately after. His thrusts slow and come to a stop as he pulls out looking at his cum spilling out of you and says “what a pretty mess we made, told you we’d have fun just the two of us”

You roll your eyes “I’m probably getting kicked off monster crew” you say earning a laugh from wooin. “Looks like we’ll have more time together like this now that you won’t be busy with them” he says.

“Next time I’m riding you” you say pulling him into a kiss. He smirks into the kiss pulling you closer to him by your hips. “Deal” he says breaking from the kiss taking your phone he texts Monster telling him you’ll be switching to sabbath crew. You can’t deny you’ve always had an attraction to the sabbath crew member but you could never act on it. Monster crew being with sabbath? They wouldn’t have allowed it.

Dedicated to @cozyunderworld I hope this was how you pictured it when you requested it

Credits to the owner of the divider posts! I didn’t make them I saved them a while back and unfortunately I don’t remember who made them 😭😭

[knightmareaceblue]

A picture is a moment in time captured forever - A reminder of the key events in your life, preserved for eternity. As you gaze into the past, you might even feel like you can reach through the frame and pull those feelings, those events, those people back into the present.

Thanks to The Second Coming, this feeling becomes reality for Mango, giving him a second change he'd never thought possible. Together with Purple and his past self, he may be able to change fate and have his whole family together. Of course, things are never that easy. Especially when the sins of the past still hang heavy over his head.

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

With a single click, the moment was captured forever.

Mango’s kid, his shimmering Gold, grinned brightly at the lens from her spot on top of the podium, arms stretched up to triumphantly display her silver trophy. She’d been disappointed to have lost the final round of the tournament, of course, but the young stick had always rebounded quickly. She’d wiped her eyes, offered a handshake to the kindly Ruby kid who’d won, and accepted her place on the second highest podium with victorious pride.

The picture Mango took was glorious; not quite as precious as the real sight of his child’s accomplishment, but it would serve as a fond reminder. A window back on this precious day for years to come, even long after his child was grown and far from his side. A wistfulness grew in the tall stick’s chest at the thought. The day he’d be without his child was still a long ways away, but he knew he’d never be prepared for Gold’s inevitable departure from the nest and into the greater world. He couldn’t even begin to imagine a life without her.

“Woohoo!” The excited proclamation broke the older stick from his thoughts, looking down at his child just in time to see Gold kick open the front door of their abode. A broad, excited grin stretched from cheek to cheek across her face, illuminating the room like the little ray of sunshine she was. The trophy in her hands was thrust up into the air above her head as Gold continued to cheer, exclaiming wordlessly in her zealous excitement.

Mango took a moment to chuckle at his child’s antics before switching into dad mode to parent her out of this sudden hyperactive state, setting his camera aside for the moment to focus entirely on the present Gold. “Easy there, honey.” He gently scolded, taking the trophy into his own arms. It wasn’t particularly large, only about as long as Mango’s forearm, but it was more than heavy enough to break something if Gold got overexcited and began swinging it around. “Let’s put this somewhere we can show it off, eh?”

As he spoke, Mango hoisted the trophy onto the nearby bookshelf, where the sunlight from the window caused the metal to sparkle. It stood tall and proud, glittering silver standing out against the more earthy tones of their living room.

“Okay, okay!” The young stick agreed, a bubbly laugh mixed in with her words. She bounced on her heels as she gazed up at the silver trophy. “But I’m not stopping here! Next tournament’s in six months, and this time-” Her first pumped excitedly in the air, “-Gold’s going for the gold! You’re gonna be so proud!”

“I’m already proud!” Mango insisted joyfully, delighting in Gold’s squeal as he scooped his kid into a firm embrace and spun them around, “You worked so hard for this, I’d be proud even if you got last place!”

Gold’s only response to Mango’s praise was to continue to laugh, pretending to struggle in his hold while reveling in the twirling motions. He brought them down slowly, gently, only releasing her when her feet touched the ground. She bolted from his hold as soon as she could, little firecracker that she was. How Gold could still have so much energy after a fifteen-round tournament was beyond Mango’s comprehension. Just watching that final round had made Mango tired.

But still, he kept his chin up as he informed the younger stick, “After all that hard work today, I think it’s only fair that I let you choose dinner tonight. You can have anything you want-”

“Secret ingredient pie!” Gold cheered, throwing her arms up in celebration.

Mango frowned, annoyed for more reasons than that he’d have to throw together the family-famous, overly complicated secret ingredient pie. “-Anything you want that’s an actual dinner food.” He amended. “I’ll make the pie for dessert later, but you need to eat real food too, honey.”

“Aww.” Gold groaned, momentarily put out, before springing right back up. “Tacos, then?”

“Tacos sound good.” Agreed Mango, already compiling a list of ingredients in his head. “I’ll need to grab a few things from the store, but that shouldn’t take too long-”

“Wait!”

Mango had not taken but three steps towards the door when his child’s call caused him to spin around. She barreled towards him, the discarded camera clutched in her hands, and her skid to a stop came a few seconds too late, resulting in Mango having to reach out and steady her before she bowled him over. Gold didn’t miss a beat, immediately hopping back and holding out the camera for her father to take.

“We gotta take one more picture!” The younger stick insisted, “You took like a million pictures of me at the tournament, but we don’t have any of us together!”

Taking the camera, Mango briefly flicked through the photos and found that Gold was right: though he had taken plenty of her preparing for the tournament, at least one from each match, and had those perfect, precious shots of Gold’s triumphant smile at the podiums, there were none of the two together. Of course there weren’t. This was Gold’s special moment, Gold’s time to shine, and the fact that her only complaint of the day (besides no pie for dinner, which was just typical kid nonsense) was that her dad wasn’t sharing in this victory with her was… just so Gold.

How a stick like him ended up with a kid like her he’d never know.

“So we don’t!” Mango agreed lightheartedly, playfully tussling the kid’s hair. “Go get your trophy, we’ll take one real quick before I head out.”

While she did just that, Mango took the time to adjust the settings on the camera so the indoor photos wouldn’t be too dark to see. Mango heard her thundering footsteps approach before he was ready to look up. Gold, the little rascal that she was, pressed the cold metal of her trophy into the side of Mango’s face as she whined at him to hurry it up. Mango chuckled at her, chiding her gently even as he obeyed her request.

His arm outstretched to put some space between them and the camera, Mango alerted his child he was ready with a simple, “Say cheese!”

Trophy held high above her head, Gold cheekily replied, “Mascarpone!”

A click, a flash, and the moment was captured forever.

Gold snatched the camera out of Mango’s hand before he could move it back, trophy quickly discarded on the ground, and the older stick could only shake his head in response to her overeager antics. Her bright smile shined brilliantly as she gazed down at the photo, but in the span of a few seconds it grew duller and duller, until her smile transformed into a confused frown and her eyes reflected apprehension.

As a father, Mango was well aware that he had a weakness for his child’s frown. Logically he knew that he couldn’t just magically make everything in her life all sunshine and rainbows all the time. That just wasn’t realistic. But knowing this didn’t stop the curdling in his stomach at the thought that something in her life just wasn’t perfect, or the urge to fix it, no matter what it took.

“Honey?” He asked gently, “What’s the matter? Did the photo not come out right?” He leaned over her shoulder to take a look himself.

Gold didn’t resist, tilting the camera so her father could see the picture. “There’s something else in the background. I thought it might be a smudge, but… it has eyes…”

Mango didn’t need his child to point out the problem with the picture – he could easily see it for himself. At first glance it did indeed look like a bit of grime had gotten on the camera’s lens, but a closer look indicated that this wasn’t the case. The top of the figure looked like a stick, with a hollowed out head and brilliant emerald eyes, but the bottom half was more distorted, like a number of monstrous limbs sprouting out from their body in distorted blobs of flesh. Locking eyes with the figure caused Mango’s entire body to stiffen.

It was like it was… staring at him through the camera.

Unease stole the breath from Mango’s lungs, leaving him unable to vocalize his confusion. There was nothing like that… thing in their home. He was certain there wasn’t, even before he whipped his head around to stare at the spot in their kitchen where the figure would have been. Of course there was nothing there, just the scratched up kitchen table standing where it always did.

Now Mango’s expression matched his child’s confusion, “What is that-?

A strange noise, like the distorted buzzing of television static, drew the tall stick’s attention back to the photo. Mango’s breath stilled again, for an entirely different reason this time. The figure had moved. Its arm was stretched out towards them, hand open as if inviting the two sticks to take it, to pull them into that picturesque world with it and remain in that moment of time.

A chill ran down Mango’s spine. “Delete the picture. Now.”

The sudden command – or maybe the unnaturally stern tone in which it fell from Mango’s lips – caused Gold to jump, briefly fumbling with the camera as her little fingers search desperately for the delete button. When Mango’s eyes connected again with the picture, he could feel his heart stop as the ghostly image’s eyes seemed to glow brighter, its hand extending to grab rather than invite. Gold’s fingers found the delete button, but one tap did nothing. The second tap did nothing. Third, fourth, fifth… Gold mashed the button repeatedly, but the picture remained, the figure remained, the emerald illumination of its eyes growing brighter and brighter, closer and closer-

“It’s not working!” Gold’s obvious panic jolted Mango’s brain back into place and jump-started his fight-or-flight instinct. He snatched the camera out of her hand, noting how the glow of those eyes seemed to have reached the other side of the camera’s screen, threatening to melt through the frozen image and into reality. The only thing Mango could think to do was hurl the camera as far as he could and put himself between that ghoul and his kid, holding her close so that every inch of her was protected from the green light that had finally broken free of its glass prison. The emerald beam engulfed them both, expanding to completely swallow the father-child duo without even a second for them to move out of its way.

Then, in a flash, the green light vanished. All that remained of the Ochre family was a camera, cracked and abandoned on the floor of their small home.

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

“-And we’ll finish this off with some fresh basil on top. Then, voila! The perfect lasagna!” Mango concluded, sprinkling the green leaves atop the lasagna with a touch of dramatic flair. Purple, predictably, was enraptured by the showmanship, their eyes alight with enchantment as they clung to his every word. It was always like this with them, though – whether it be cooking or fishing or whatever hobby of the week Purple had picked up, the kid would drag him through all of it with those same warm eyes, like the ‘Old Man’, as they oh so affectionately called him, could do no wrong. It melted Mango’s heart, and he’d often wonder if Purple was doing this to him on purpose.

He wasn’t the same stick he’d been on the day he’d lost his child, and he’d never be again, but slowly, surely, Purple was helping Mango grow into somebody new. That was a debt he’d never be able to repay.

Purple hummed over the meal, inspecting it exaggerated scrutiny. “Not bad, not bad…” They agreed, nodding in approval, “But it’s missing a little something…”

“Oh?” Mango cocked a brow at the younger stick. Knowing Purple, this could be a pleasant surprise worthy of a Michelin star restaurant, or the grossest thing he’d ever put in his mouth. Never in his life did Mango think he’d become a gambling man, and yet, here he was.

“Yeah, I think it could use a little…” Purple quickly whipped a white bottle from behind their back. A wild grin spread across their face as they held it precariously over tonight’s dinner, “MAYONNAISE!”

“NO!” Mango yelled back. He reached out to snatch the squeeze bottle, moving just slow enough for Purple to yoink it back with ease.

Vicious cackles fell from Purple’s lips. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” They assured him between chortles. The kid laughed like a jackal, far louder and scratchier than Gold’s delicate giggles, but Mango still found it charming all the same. So much so that it took actual effort to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching upward.

“You’d better be.” Mango warned with faux gruffness in his tone. “You’re enough of a heathen as it is. There’s only so much blasphemy one stick can take in his own home.”

“Hmph.” Purple huffed dismissively at him, the effect somewhat diminished by the wide grin they couldn’t keep off their face. “If you ask me, you don’t blaspheme enough. Still,” A subtle change in Purple’s demeanor signaled the end of the game. Mango let himself relax and lean against the counter, confident that Purple wouldn’t destroy their dinner now that they’ve had their fun, “we haven’t even put this in the oven yet, and it looks incredible! I didn’t realize cooking was so much fun!”

Honestly, neither had Mango, before Gold’s presence had forced him to make the jump from an all-instant food diet to cooking from scratch. “It’s quite relaxing.” Mango agreed. “If you’re interested, I can teach you to make all sorts of new stuff.”

“Oh?” Purple glanced at him from the corner of their eye before looking down and beginning to play with the hem of their shirt, which Mango had quickly come to learn was something the kid did when they were nervous. It happened more or less whenever they tried to ask him for something, which just about broke Mango’s heart. “Then maybe… maybe you could teach me how to make your secret ingredient pie?”

Mango tried not to wince, but couldn’t help the sudden stiffening of his shoulders. Subconsciously, his gaze drifted from Purple to the picture hung beside them; The day of his last tournament, with the luster of Gold’s second place trophy being completely out-shined by her smile as she playfully pushed the trophy into her father’s face.

There were more differences between Purple and Gold than Mango could possibly count, but every day he seemed to find just as many similarities. One of which was their shared love for that confounded secret ingredient pie. It was… fine, as far as pies went. Sweet and soft, with a hint of tartness. Nothing you couldn’t get from any bakery standard fruit pie, and certainly not good enough to warrant the ridiculously complicated recipe that had been passed down through the generations of the Ochre family. And yet, somehow Mango had managed to end up with not one, but two kids who absolutely adored the taste of the stupid treat.

For every special occasion, little Gold would trail at his father’s heels and tug at his pants, begging to lick the spoon or mix the filling. With age Gold’s interest in the pie hadn’t wavered, begging time after time for her dad to teach him the recipe. But it was always such a pain, so Mango put it off. Not right now, he’d say. I’ll do it later. Maybe next time, again and again, and then…

And then Gold was gone. There would be no more ‘next time’.

Some part of Mango recognized that this was a chance to make up for his mistake, to knock away one of the many regrets he carried on his shoulders, and yet…

“Well, it’s… a bit much for your first time baking.” Mango waved away Purple’s request with a too wide smile. His cheeks hurt from forcing his grin so large. “Why don’t we start with something simpler… like cupcakes?”

Purple deflated a little, but much like Gold before them, they bounced back quickly, matching his fake smile with a sincere, if mildly sad one. “I do like cupcakes…” They brought their eyes up to meet Mango’s, and the sheer affection reflected back at him, even after being denied, was almost too much for his heart.

“Then we can make cupcakes tonight.” Mango compromised, talking over the twisted wrenching of his heart. He then gestured over to the pile of dishes from their dinnertime prep work that laid in the sink. “AFTER you finish cleaning the kitchen, of course.”

“Aww, what?!” Purple whined.

“Well, I warned you, didn’t I?” Mango laughed off the complete horror on Purple’s face at the prospect of doing their daily chores. “I told you, ‘it’s your turn to clean the kitchen, so think carefully about what we cook’, and you still chose lasagna for dinner.”

An adorable pout was the only response Purple had for Mango’s proclamation, crossing their arms and glaring menacingly at the pile of prep dishes soaking in the sink. After a moment of the dishes not being intimidated into cleaning themselves, Purple spun around towards Mango and fluttered their lashes, sidling up to Mango and staring up at him with big, watery eyes. “Old man~!”

“No.” Mango responded coolly, slipping and letting his smile show at Purple’s aghast expression.

“But- but- we both made the mess, so we should both clean it up!” They argued back.

Already the older stick was shaking his head. “Nope. We already agreed on a chore schedule, and I’ve done all my chores for today, including cleaning up many of your messes. You can’t change the rules now just because they don’t suit you anymore.”

With that the oven timer dinged, and Mango redirected his attention back to tonight’s dinner. He slipped on a pair of oven mitts and delivered the lasagna to the oven, all the while Purple was muttering agitatedly behind him. “So not fair.”

“Life’s not fair, kiddo.” Mango replied back, slamming the door to the oven shut. “Get used to it.”

The kitchen then went silent, save for Purple’s irritated muttering, which in itself was slowly petering out. Mango liked to think that Purple was maybe going to accept their lot and just do the stupid dishes, but he knew that it was far more likely the kid had only shut up to try and scheme their way out of their chores. There were only so many ways one could escape the ever-present threat of dirty dishes, however, and Mango was confident enough in his counter-strategies to not pay Purple any mind, instead directing his attention to setting the table.

Peace reigned for only a short time in their home, however, before a cacophony of shouts and blur of colours tore through Mango’s kitchen like a tornado, sucking Purple in as the colourful gang that made up Purple’s friend group trampled through his kitchen. The five sticks emerged in waves; first Green and Red, leading the pack with enthusiasm and gusto as they embraced Purple eagerly. Following suit was the Yellow one, the bright kid to whom Mango had entrusted that stupid staff he’d made, easily slipping behind the others to startle Purple with a poke to their back. Blue was next, a little slower but with no less fervor that her friends as she pulled Purple into a headlock to grace them with a playful noogie. Finally, there was Second. They hung back a little from their friends at first, only approaching the group once everyone had calmed down to throw their arm around Purple’s shoulders in greeting.

Now, Mango didn’t necessarily dislike the kids. He honestly thought their positive and forgiving nature was a good influence on Purple. That said… “How the hell did you all get into my house?” He demanded flatly.

Yellow grinned back at him, using Purple as an armrest to prop herself up. “You left the front window unlocked.” She informed him breezily, entirely too calm.

“I did not.” Mango crossed his arms as he retorted, subconsciously bristling as five of the six kids began to snicker at him. The last one, Second, merely twiddled their thumbs in the back of the party, focused entirely on their fingers even as their entire body stood tensed behind the others.

“Not the bottom front window.” Blue chimed in, pointing to the clerestory window just above the front entrance. Sure enough, the thing was open, but Mango was absolutely certain he’d have heard the kids come in through that thing. They were many things, Purple’s friends. Subtle was not one of them.

Sharp squealing cut the conversation short, and before Mango could find its source Purple suddenly yelped and fell to the floor. Mango’s heart jumped into his throat, suffocating him for a prolonged, painful second before playful laughter restored his breath. In the middle of all that commotion, nobody had noticed the friend group’s infamous pig until it had tackled Purple to the ground to shower the young stick in licks and snuggles. Purple responded in kind, petting the pig atop its head with a little chuckle.

“Whoops!” Red ran forward to scoop his precious pet up. “Sorry Purple! Reuben hasn’t seen you in a while, so he got a little too excited, didn’t you boy?” Red’s voice went high-pitched and cooing as he praised his pig. “Yes, you did! Yes you did, you silly little man!” Purple could only laugh at the tone of Red’s voice and continue to scratch the top of the pig’s head.

As precious as the moment was, Mango couldn’t even bring himself to savour it before reality caught up with him. “Oh no,” He interrupted, pushing himself to the center of the crowd. “No, you all know the rules: No Minecraft stuff on the main floor! Keep it in the basement, or take it home!”

Red gasped, holding the pig close. “Reuben’s not a stuff! He’s a member of the family, aren’t you boy?” Red scratched under the pig’s head as Purple scratched its ears, utterly lavishing it in attention.

“I don’t care if its your twin!” Interrupted Mango. “I’m not getting arrested for video game smuggling because of you chuckleheads!” Back during the ‘Plan’, Mango hadn’t really cared about taking such risks, but now he had something to lose if he went to jail. He was willing to make exceptions for Purple – this was Purple’s home too, after all, and he could trust the kid to be careful with their elytra. The rest of the gang? Not so much. “It stays in the basement, or it goes home. Pick one.”

Red made a show of his reluctant acceptance, sighing theatrically as he picked up his pet. “I’m so sorry, Reuben.” Sobbed the sorrowful stick, clutching the pig close as if this were a eulogy and not just sticking it in the basement. “You’re just too much pure goodness for this… sinful world!”

The display had even Purple, monarch of melodrama themselves, rolling their eyes. “We’ll go down and spend some quality time with him later.” They promised, “We can… uh, play catch?” They suddenly looked a little lost, “Do pigs like catch?”

This seemed to be enough to placate Red, for now. As they walked towards the basement, Mango turned to Yellow. “And you-”

“Staff’s already down there.” Yellow promised, briefly flicking through her inventory to demonstrate its emptiness. “Teleported it when we got here, don’t worry.”

That suited Mango perfectly fine. In addition to the whole not being arrested thing, he’d rather not have to handle that staff again. It was a brilliant feat of engineering, a masterful display of game code. It was also the catalyst to a near apocalypse Mango himself had caused for the sake of punishing everyone – anyone – for Gold’s fate. By the time he’d realized what he’d done, Mango had nearly lost a second child, and almost killed Notch knows how many innocents.

So, needless to say, he’d prefer to not have to look at that thing.

By this point Red and Purple had returned, sans pig. Green’s elbow into his side and whisper into his ear caused Red to suddenly perk up, dour expression brightening exponentially as if suddenly reminded of something. Blue and Yellow, on the other side of Purple, exchanged a knowing look as they smirked at each other. And Second, who’d taken advantage of Red’s scene to withdraw to the shadows behind the group, was suddenly pulled back to the forefront with the others.

Alarm bells once again rang in Mango’s head. “Did you kids, uh… want to stay for dinner?” A whole lasagna was probably enough to feed all seven of them. Though he’d hoped to have leftovers for the next few days, Mango supposed he could make the sacrifice. For Purple’s sake. “We’re having lasagna.”

Blue’s eyes immediately lit up in interest. “Ooh~! Lasagna! That’s a recipe I don’t have yet!” As if by magic, a pencil and paper appeared in Blue’s hands. “I’ve been meaning to try recreating a dish from taste alone. I bet I can identify all the ingredients-”

“The food can wait!” Unable to contain the excitement he’d clearly been holding this entire time, Green finally let loose, cutting Blue off at the pass as his patience ran dry. He jumped on his heels before rushing towards Purple, taking the startled stick’s hand to pull them forward. “We came here because we have big news! Huge news! GIGANTIC news! And you’ll never guess what it is!”

Purple squirmed back and forth in the other’s hold. “Uhh…” They leaned away from Green’s entirely too close face, and Mango took that as his cue to intervene before the kid exploded from embarrassment or something.

“Go on, guess!” Insisted the green stick, his hold on Purple not loosening until Mango’s firm grip pulled Purple out of the smog of excitement to get some calming fresh air.

Once he was certain Purple had gotten a gulp or two of tranquil space, Mango set the young stick down and directed his attention back to Green. “Just get to the point.” Mango insisted for all of their sakes.

The denial didn’t do anything to diminish Green’s excitement, or the enthusiasm of the four fighters as they worked together to push Second into the limelight. Being thrust into the center of attention only caused the already nervous stick to grow ever more anxious, their entire body going stiff at the sudden sensation of eyes trained on them from every direction. Now, Mango didn’t know know these kids quite as well as Purple did, but he’d squared off against Second more than once in his quest to destroy Minecraft, and the orange stick never showed fear like this, even when things were at there most dire. So what could be causing them such distress…? Combined with the excitement of the other four sticks, Mango could hear the alarm bells getting louder.

Oblivious to their friend’s blatant discomfort, Green blurted out, “We just found out… that Sec has super powers!”

Mango could feel his eyebrows skyrocket up as he stared at the excited group of children, mouth agape. At his side, he could hear Purple exclaim, “Yo, what?!” Followed by the sound of excited arm flapping.

Second scratched at the skin on their arm, holding themselves with all the rigid attention of a child at the principle’s office. “Yeah, heh. Surprise…”

“Whoa, that’s so cool!” Purple’s proclamation only brought Second more discomfort, and Mango reached over to take hold of the kid and force them to calm down, lest the downcast and blushing Second keel over and die on the spot, but Purple slipped away before he could make contact. In a blink of the eye Purple was in Second’s face, bouncing energetically on their toes as they eagerly questioned, “What kind of powers? What can you do?”

“Oh, you know, just the typical stuff…” Second trailed off, their eyes focusing on a spot on the ceiling instead of Purple’s wide, bright expression. “Flying, telekinesis, healing, electricity… uh, eye lasers…”

Each item added to the list only caused Purple’s smile to grow and grow, until a wide grin was stretched across their face. In any other circumstance such a look would cause Mango’s heart to melt, but at this moment it only caused an electric tingle along his spine to signify incoming danger. Flapping their arms again, Purple demanded, “You HAVE to show them off!”

A cacophony of agreements came from the rest of Second’s friends. They were all varying levels of excited; Green seemed most eager, strongly encouraging Second by lightly shaking their shoulder. Red squealed in open excitement, and Blue immediately started pleading with wide puppy-dog eyes. Only Yellow kept some modicum of self-control, but curiosity and excitement still lit up her eyes. Despite the discovery being fairly recent, it seemed none of these kids had any experience with Second’s powers, and that caused a pit of dread to form in Mango’s stomach. This was a recipe for disaster.

Hurriedly, he tried to speak up, “I don’t think-”

Mango’s attempt to interrupt was completely bowled over by Purple in their excitement. “What should we have you do?” They wondered aloud. “Maybe we can set up some targets for you to shoot down?” The other kids seemed eager, nodding along to that idea. “Or you can race me flying with my elytra! Or-!” Purple suddenly gasped, hands covering their mouth as they smiled wider, “Or you can use your powers to clean up our entire kitchen!”

For a brief moment, annoyance trounced Mango’s anxiety, “Purple, that’s your chore for the day. You can’t just use your friends to do your chores for you.”

Purple only paused to give Mango a smug, satisfied look, before completely disregarding his words. If anything, Mango was certain his disapproval had only prompted Purple to go ahead with the request. “Please, won’t you clean the kitchen? Pretty, pretty please?”

The fluttering lashes and puppy dog eyes worked better on Second than Mango himself, but not quite enough to completely convince them. Conflict clear on their face, Second shrunk in on themselves and dug their nails into their arms. None the wiser to Second’s inner turmoil, each of their friends began pilling into them, begging incessantly.

“Come on, please~!” Red whined, pulling on Second’s arm.

“I’ll make you all the cookies!” Blue promised from their other side, pushing her head into the crook of their neck. “Like, so many cookies!”

“With that much stuff? It’ll be epic to see if flying all around!” Yellow mused. “I bet with enough practice you could pull off a ‘Wizard’s Apprentice’!” Her arms flapped at the thought, “Ooh, man! That would be the coolest!”

“You gotta show Purple what you can do!” Green pleaded, giving Second a sorrowful pout that would put even Purple’s best acting to shame. “Please! Please! Please! PLEASE!”

The kid demonstrated an iron will as they shook off their friend’s clutching hands and pleading eyes to put some distance between them. “Guys, I dunno…” Second kept their eyes away from their friends, focusing instead on a spot on the wall. “I’m still pretty new at this… and I don’t want to mess anything up…”

Despite their clear reluctance, Second’s friends kept egging them on, and Mango stepped forward to put a hand on Second’s shoulder. “I agree.” He stated, giving the kids a glare when they started to protest. “These powers sound like they’re still new, and using them so haphazardly would be blatantly irresponsible, especially for chores. You kids could stand to be a bit more thoughtful about this.”

Mango looked down, prepared to reassure Second that they were indeed doing the right thing, only to find Second staring up at him. Their lips were pressed thin as they pierced him with a burning, non-laser glare for a long, long moment, as if trying to see into his very soul. After a moment, the orange stick turned back to their friends. “On second thought, let’s do it.”

“What?!” Mango shouted in disbelief, his exclamation drowned out by the cheers and hollers of the others. The rainbow whirlwind sucked Second back in and absconded to the center of the kitchen, their voices blending into a single tangle of noise as they discussed the upcoming show. The sudden change in Second caused Mango to freeze in place, staring stupidly after the group. This… well, if Mango was being honest, this was far more like the Second he knew from their previous encounters than the skittish stick that had stepped into their home only a few minutes prior. But the fact that Second had even been that nervous to begin with…

Well, there was nothing else Mango could do but swallow his apprehension, make a silent vow to try reverse psychology on the rebellious brats next time, and trail after them.

By the time Mango had rejoined the group, the others had forcibly propped Second up onto the table Mango had just set like, not even ten minutes ago. Though clearly still wracked with nerves, they took a moment to gain their balance atop the structure, knees a little wobbly.

Despite the resistance he’d faced previously, Mango tried one more time to talk sense into Purple’s friends. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Mango was surprised to see that Green was the first to turn to him, a fierce glare aimed directly at the protesting adult. Everyone else seemed to have varying levels of exasperation and confusion at Mango’s interference. After a moment of silence, Second responded. “Yeah, I know. But it’s fine. I can do this.” Second looked down at their own hands, gaze unfocused. “I can do this.”

Second’s eyes fell shut, and when they opened again, their natural green colour had sharpened into a bright, illuminating emerald shine. Electricity crackled and zapped as it crawled over their form, stretching away from Second’s body to spread across Mango’s kitchen. The faint scent of ozone began to permeate the air. Mango could feel static run across his exposed joints, causing him to shiver. After a moment of just this, Second’s body lifted off the table, hovering in the air a few meters above the floor. Soon enough, other things in the kitchen began to lift up as well – the clean dishes on the dining table, the table itself, the chairs. In the span of maybe thirty seconds, everything in the kitchen lighter than the microwave was hovering weightlessly in the air, as though being touched by Second’s sparking power had turned off the gravity.

In spite of his early complaints, Mango couldn’t help the awe that washed over him as he took in the display of power. There was a pattern to the movement of the objects, to the flowing of electricity, that was nothing short of graceful. To his side, Mango could hear Red oohing and awwing over the display, drowning out Yellow’s mumbling as she thought aloud to herself. There was buzzing on Mango’s other side as well; whispers between Blue and Purple as they observed the show. When he glanced over at the kids, Mango found Green also present at Purple’s side, watching Second with a painfully familiar expression. One Mango saw every time he looked at a picture of himself and his Gold: Pure, unadulterated pride.

Second’s power soon brought order to the chaos they’d made of Mango’s kitchen, conducting the flying dishware in a delicate ballet. Every single item bobbed and weaved around each other to the rhythm of an intricate melody nobody but the Second Coming could hear. The swishing and swirling of water drew everyone’s attention to the sink, where a stream of water began to bend and twist upward to form rings between the layers of dancing cutlery.

“Hydrokinesis!” Yellow gasped. “That’s a new one!”

The scratching sound of pencil meeting paper was only barely audible over Blue’s inquiry, “Is it really hydrokinesis, though?” She scratched her chin, “Or just… telekinesis used on water?”

“Is there a difference?” Red asked.

All three of them were immediately hushed by Green, “Let them do their thing.’ He scolded roughly. Mango hadn’t considered that there was a second in command among the group of friends, but given how everyone immediately shut up at Green’s order, it seemed the most melodious stick took that role when Second was out of commission.

Once everyone had quieted down, Mango returned his attention back to Second’s show. Along with the ring of water, globs of what Mango assumed was soap had joined in the choreography. The tempo and melody of Second’s inaudible song changed, transforming the ballet into something more of a waltz. The dishes flowed from water to soap to water, two steps forward, one step back, before the clean dishes were added to an entirely new ring of floating tableware to dry. On and off flickered the ceiling lamp as Second’s power crawled across it, and combined with the jade sparks of lightning that flowed freely through the room, it completely transformed Mango’s kitchen into a much larger, more ominous space. Mango’s fingers twitched, itching with sudden nerves, and to sooth them he reached around Blue to take one of Purple’s hands. Though he couldn’t see Purple’s face, Mango could feel the kid squeeze his hand back, and for a moment all fear was erased from his mind.

Then a plate broke.

Its shattering echoed loudly through the entire house, trampling over any thought Mango could have formed and forcing all attention on it. Throughout the entire performance, Second’s face had been one of pure concentration, serenely focused on the energy surging about, but the sound had utterly destroyed any illusion of control Second had beforehand. Panic flittered in their illuminated eyes as they stared down at the shards of ceramic littering the kitchen floor, no longer affected by Second’s power.

“Ahh!” They cried out, startled by the mistake. Immediately Second’s body language changed, shrinking in on themselves as they focused their attention on the broken plate. Their power forced the shattered remains into the air once again. “Uhh, d-don’t worry, I can fix it!”

The change of attitude caught them all off guard, and Mango’s dread returned tenfold, churning his stomach. Green was the first to speak up, stepping forward with arms held out in an attempt to placate Second. “Hey, dude, it’s okay-”

Unfortunately for Green, his attempt at reassurances only startled Second further, and a glass cup exploded into millions of tiny shards against a wall. Mango subconsciously pulled Purple closer at the sound, heart beating a mile a minute in his chest. Second themselves squealed frightfully, their attention redirecting again. The once meticulous dance had grown discordant in response to their distress, the dishware weaving and bobbing in random, quickening movements around the kitchen. Second’s uneven breathing could be heard over the sharpening crackle of lightning and thunder that was slowly growing louder and larger as the kid lost control. One of the larger bowls hit the corner of a chair, chipping it and causing more distress to the stick in the center of the chaos.

“Sec! Stop!” Red cried out. It was unclear if Second had even heard him; they were hunched over in the center of the room, practically hyperventilating as all their focus centered on the broken objects. More things began to break in the chaos; A cracked cup here, a bent fork there. The longer their panic continued, the faster the rings of crockery spun until the kitchen had become a veritable tornado. At this point even the appliances had begun to join in the anarchy.

Purple, still firmly clutching Mango’s hand, stepped forward. Not enough to be caught in the tornado, but enough that Mango could see fear in their eyes, and it only made him hold on all the tighter. “Dude!” Purple called over the noise. At this point the chaos had created a cacophony so loud Mango could barely hear the kid over it. “You need to calm down! You’re gonna destroy the entire house at this rate!”

The loud hiss of, “Purple!” From Mango came too late. The idea was already out there, and it only increased the sense of panic from every stick present. A pathetic whine signaled an increase in the speed of the spinning kitchenware. Green surged forward the instant he heard it, with Yellow barely being able to pull him back before he could get clocked in the head by a flying food processor.

“H-hey!” Blue worked her way in front of the group, hands held out placatingly in front of her. “Second, try and focus on me, okay? It’s going to be alright. I’m going to approach now – slowly.” True to her word, Blue made small, cautious steps forward. The wild winds whipped her hair violently, but she showed no signs of distress against their might, “I’m going to make my way to you, and you’re going to calm down, and nobody’s going to get hurt. We’re going to be fine.”

And, for a brief moment, it seemed like she was right. Second’s eyes were glued to her approaching form, and the sight of her smile eased the tension from their body.

“Look out!” Red shouted suddenly, then tackled poor Blue just moments before a spinning plate shot through the air where her head once was. Instead the dish continued to whirl through the kitchen, straight over the ceramic shards of another broken plate and right towards… towards the photo on the wall-!

Mango’s heart leapt into his throat. Without thought he started forward, maybe to throw himself between the flying dishware and one of his last memories of Gold, but by the time he’d released Purple’s hand and made the first step it was already too late. Though it took only a second in real time, to Mango it felt like it was playing out in slow-motion. The plate shattered against the frame, shards of ceramic and glass flying in every direction, and the frame fell to the ground. Wood splintered apart with a deafening crack as it finally hit the linoleum. The picture fell, face down, on the ground.

Around him, Mango could barely hear the sound of audible gasps and whispered exclamations over the ringing in his ears. The tips of his fingers felt cold and numb. For just that moment in time, nothing existed but him and the broken remains of Gold’s memory.

Green sparks crawled over the pictures, shaking Mango from his stupor and forcing him to tune back into reality. From the center of the kitchen he could hear a tangle of jumbled words and accelerated breathing, “No, no, this is okay, I can fix it, it’ll all be fine, I can fix it… I-I can fix it…!” Once the picture was levitated up, a miracle was revealed to Mango; though the frame was broken beyond repair, the picture itself appeared mostly in tact.

“Kid, hold up-” Mango tried to call out, turning to look at Second. Sharp emerald lights met his eyes in return, freezing the tallest stick in place for a bone-chilling instant.

“I can fix it, I can fix it, I can fix it…!” The haphazard promises fell from Second’s lips along with their labored breaths. Then they clutched their head and screamed, “I CAN FIX IT-!”

An explosion of emerald light knocked everyone back. Mango’s body tumbled maybe a meter or so before coming to a grinding halt. Mango winced at the burning sensation on his limbs, but the second he was able to move he immediately crawled over to the kids in order to put himself between them and the violent storm Second had made of his kitchen. The green energy had formed an opaque tornado, completely hiding The Second Coming from view. Through the chaos Mango could see shattered remains of plates, randomly bent cutlery, and even full-on appliances that had been forced airborne by Second’s power poke out of the squall before being sucked back in.

Mango barely had a minute to take in the catastrophe that Second’s show had become before the kids’ chatter redirected his attention. “Okay, let’s not panic!” Yellow instructed, pushing her glasses up as she picked herself off the ground. “We can- uh, we got this! If we just ground the lightning-”

“Ground it with what?!” Red snapped back, gesturing wildly at the mess in front of them. “Sec’s power isn’t like normal lightning, that wouldn’t work!”

“And you have any better ideas?!” Purple demanded. Thankfully for Mango’s poor heart, the kid stayed down close to the ground, even as they joined in the argument.“We can’t just do nothing!”

Blue joined Yellow’s side quickly, fidgeting with her fingers. “It-It’s just because Sec’s panicking! We just need to wait for them to calm down, and-”

“And what, just leave them like this until then?!” Yellow questioned sharply, causing Blue to flinch back. If Yellow noticed, it didn’t show on her face. “I am not going to abandon them! Not after everything, I can’t-!”

Everyone seemed to wince in response to Yellow’s outcry, and the following tense silence was quickly filled with a pitiful, mournful wailing from the kitchen. The sound seemed to echo in Mango’s head, plucking at the strings of his heart painfully. And he barely knew Second; he couldn’t imagine how this must feel to the kids, who had known The Second Coming for their entire life.

A hitched breath drew Mango’s attention behind himself; Green had gotten a little lost in the chaos, overshadowed by the others yelling over themselves in an attempt to find a solution. That cry, however, had him marching ahead of everyone until he was standing directly in front of the entryway, his green form seeming to glow in the luminescence of the emerald lightning that surged along the tornado. Green’s fists were shaking, but if the expression on his face was anything to go by, it was not fear that caused him to tremble, but sheer determination.

After a moment of simply staring ahead, Green finally spoke aloud. “Screw it,” He said, and that was the only warning any of them had before he charged forward. “Hang on, Sec! I’m coming!”

Everyone watched him disappear into the chaos in stunned silence, before Yellow gritted her teeth and shouted, “Don’t worry, we’re on our way!” as she followed suit.

Blue and Red spared a moment to glance at each other, nodding as they each reached the same conclusion. Though they both jumped up at the same time, Red was on his feet first, running directly into the tornado with a battle cry.

Trailing directly after the others, Blue cried out, “It’s going to be okay, Second! We’re on our way!” as she barreled ahead.

Movement at his side jolted Mango’s attention as Purple stood up against the winds of the storm. Though their body was rigid in fear, conviction was strong on their face as they, too, began to run forward. Everything seemed to slow in that instant. Tension squeezed Mango’s lungs in his chest. All air escaped him in one startled gasp. Purple’s body seemed to transform, going from violet to deep yellow. The green light threatening to engulf them turned to black corruption. Red lights flashed at the corners of his vision. A fatal error has occurred, this connection is terminated.

“No!” Mango managed to force out, leaping to grasp Purple’s hand once again. His hold on them was tight like a vice. Though he could hear his own heavy breathing, his lungs burned with a craving for oxygen.

Though startled, Purple quickly began to struggle against Mango’s hold. “What are you doing?!” They asked, voice laden with desperation and fear in equal measure, and it only made Mango hold on all the tighter. “We- I have to get in there! Sec needs us- needs me!”

“I need you!” Mango forced out in a single, painful gasp. “I- I can’t lose another…! I’m not going to let you run to your death!”

Though the slip up made Purple’s expression soften some, they still held firm. “If we do nothing, then Sec’ll, like, I don’t know, explode or something! Then we’ll all die!” Instead of trying to get away, Purple clasped Mango’s hand with their other, meeting the taller stick's gaze with fire alight in their eyes. “I can do this! I promise, nothing will happen to me!”

Mango glanced down at their intertwined hands, Purple’s fingers gently rubbing soothing circles into his skin. Subconsciously his breathing began to follow the rhythm of the motions, and the burning fire in Mango’s chest was extinguished. With a deep breath and one final look into those pleading eyes, Mango relented. “Okay,” He said, but refused to release Purple’s hands. Instead he pulled the both of them up to a standing position. “Then we’ll go together.”

After a serious nod, Purple broke the tension with a playful wink. “Try to keep up, Old Man.” They teased, and something in Mango felt lighter, even in the face of oncoming danger.

With his hold firm on Purple, Mango began walking against the fierce winds of Second’s maelstrom. The gales of the tornado roared louder and louder the closer and closer they got, until its rumbling was all Mango could hear ringing in his ears. The sharp cold of it stung at his face, but Mango kept firm, doing his best to stay in front and shield Purple from the worst of it. One of Purple’s hands slipped from Mango, and a near heart attack was mitigated when he looked back to see Purple pulling Red down from where he’d been sent flying back. Looking around, Mango could make out the three other friends scattered in various directions, struggling to walk against the wind only to be pushed aside by a particularly strong gust or forced to jump away from a large piece of debris haphazardly flying around.

“We can’t get close!” Red yelled over the rushing tempest. “We keep getting knocked back by all the stuff flying around!”

As if to demonstrate, a chair flew straight at them, only visible once it was moments away from hitting them. King quickly moved to pull Purple and Red down to the floor, covering their heads with his arm in order to protect them.

Purple was the first to lift themselves up, gritting their teeth. “Then how are we supposed to get through…?”

Yellow’s shout, barely audible above the roaring winds, drew Mango’s attention up and towards the irritated stick as she charged forward. She got close to the eye, a mere arms length away from the goal, before Green yanked her out of the way of a swarm of flying knives set to impale her in five different ways. His heroic efforts were rewarded by Blue being tossed into him and Yellow, knocking all three back to where Mango, Red, and Purple were hunkered down.

Not even a second after being tossed back, Blue was already back on her feet. She went to charge forth one more time, but was stopped by Green grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back. “This isn’t working!” He scolded, sounding angrier in his attempt to yell over the hurricane. “We have to try something else!”

“Well, what else can we do?!” Blue asked tearfully. In lieu of an answer he couldn’t give, Green instead took hold of her hand.

The gears in Mango’s head began to turn. They couldn’t get anywhere near the center of the storm; the winds were too strong, blowing so hard that it was impossible to make it to the center before being hit by the dangerous debris flying haphazardly around. A stick alone wouldn’t be able to breach the maelstrom without getting blown away, but there was no way a group could move through without getting hit by one of the large appliances or pieces of furniture caught in the tornado. Not without a shield to guard them.

Mango knew what he had to do. With a shaky breath he picked himself up, bracing his knees to stand against the storm. Purple made a concerned noise as Mango’s hand slipped away from theirs, but in spite of that Mango instead focused on his surroundings, on every little sliver of glass or lump of wood flying around that could hurt them. As he focused, Mango called back to the kids, “I have an idea!” Everyone looked up at him, all of the young sticks suffering various degrees of battery from their attempts to reach Second. “All five of you, huddle together and move in tandem! If you keep a firm hold of each other and work as a unit, you’ll be able to stand against the wind!”

“But what about all the stuff flying around?!” Red asked, even as he and the others moved to take hold of each other. Red was at one end, Blue next to him, then Green in the middle, with Purple at his side and Yellow on the opposite end.

Mango took a deep breath, focusing on the rapidly approaching microwave as it flew closer and closer. Once it was within range, Mango demonstrated exactly what would happen with all the stuff flying around. He braced himself against the floor and was only pushed back a few centimeters as he gripped onto the heavy appliance. Though taking the force and weight of the microwave made his arms ache, Mango spun around and tossed the now useless contraption to the side.

“I’ll take care of that.” He assured the children as he turned to them, forcing down the anxiety and pressure he felt and forcing up an encouraging grin. “You all just focus on getting Second out of there.”

Purple swallowed down their nerves before matching Mango’s smile. “Just be careful, Old Man. I’m not taking care of you if you throw your back out.”

Snorting, Mango turned away from the kids to focus on his job. “If you’re my nurse, I think I’ll take my chances with the lightning.” His voice then dropped, turning serious. “Now get moving!”

All of Mango’s attention then focused on the winds around him. He played the role of guard for the children as they inched along, using each other as support against the harsh gales. The friend group moved together in near perfect harmony. Purple’s inexperience, in comparison, was obvious. They stumbled where the others stepped smoothly, needing to glance at their feet or their friends while everyone else seemed to simply trust that the others would step where they needed to. Even with the handicap of Purple’s inexperience, however, they made surprisingly quick progress through the raging storm. Mango moved as quickly as he could to knock back any debris, any heavy machine, any sharp piece of glass or ceramic that could harm the kids. They were encouraging each other behind him, counting down the steps until they reached their goal.

“Just a little closer!” Purple cried out as Mango wrangled a cabinet door away from the group. Their voice was almost entirely lost in the wind that surrounded Second. “Just… a little…!”

And then the five disappeared into the heart of the storm. Mango breathed a sigh of relief, switching up his focus to dodge the hazardous kitchenware instead of blocking it head on. Nothing in the tornado ventured any closer to the eye than where the children had just entered, so Mango could be certain they’d be fine from then on. A bone-deep ache made itself known as Mango let himself relax a touch, but he didn’t fall back. Instead Mango rooted himself firmly nearby, alert for any kind of disturbance in the maelstrom; any sign that the kids were distressed or injured.

That was all he could do for now, besides put his trust in them.

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

Second could barely hear the sound of the winds whipping about over their own heart pounding in their ears. Every part of them burned; their throat, their lungs, their arms, their eyes. Shaking fingers yanked at their long, flowing hair. The cyclone’s violent winds pressed down on them harder with every haggard breath they took, stealing the air from their lungs as they slowly suffocated in their gale storm of despair.

The storm had started as a seed of panic within them, planted as the sound of shattering ceramics itched at their skin. With very new mistake, every blatant screw up, every near miss on their dearest friends’ lives, the seedling began to sprout, bringing with it a harsh, ashy wind that left a bitter sensation on their skin. The photograph’s destruction had been like bone-meal, escalating the growth of the squall until it swallowed Second whole. The winds raced at the same rate as their heart as it pounded within them, fighting to escape the cage of Second’s body. With each forced beat the ache inside of them grew and spread. They were dying, Second’s thoughts screamed at them from within their fuzzy brain.

They were going to die here.

They were doing to die here.

And it was all… their… fault…

This wasn’t the first time Second had ruined everything. Every new experience they brought to their friends was marred by pain and death in some form. The darkest corner of their mind swirled with memories of their torn-apart, dying bodies slowly fading into distorted code, or disappearing in a puff of gray smoke as their programs were ended without a second thought. Their own hands tingled with the memory of a cold steel blade pierced through Green’s body, or violet bruises ringing on their fists as they looked down at Red’s frightened face. At every step, through carelessness or powerlessness or their own unhinged actions, Second was always forced to watch the most important parts of their life suffer and agonize and absolutely languish in pain.

Why had they thought they could fixthis? Second knew they’d lose control, knew that this power would poison what they’d built, but they’d made the mistake of giving in, and now they were going to die.

They were going… to die…

All alone… after ruining everything…

They… they were… going to…

“Sec!” A sharp voice cut through the cyclone, jolting Second out of their thoughts with a wave of prickles along their body. Before they could even register the origins of the sound, a pair of arms encircled their waist. The touch was soft and sweet, causing the burning of Second’s body to ease just a little bit; just enough that they could make themselves look down to lock eyes with Green. He smiled up at them, not so much as flinching against the blazing heat of Second’s shining emerald gaze. “I’m here! I’ve got you!”

Stunned, Second couldn’t even bring themselves to return the embrace before another pair of arms forcibly wrapped around them. “Don’t worry, Sec!” Red assured through a large, vibrant grin. “It’s just a little thunder, nothing we can’t handle!”

Another jolt to their side signaled Yellow’s entrance, squeezing them so hard that rough burning churning within them was squeezed out, to be replaced a soft, bittersweet pressure. “Told ya, didn’t I?” Yellow asked, never once letting her hold loosen. “I’m not letting anything tear us apart.”

Next to join in the group hug was Blue, her shimmering eyes taking in the fierce, violent green of the lightning and reflecting back only a soft, gentle aura of emerald. “I know you must feel so scared right now,” She consoled, her voice feather-light on their skin, “But you’re not alone – everyone’s here! We’re all here with you!”

Last but not least, Purple forced themselves into the hug by worming their way between the others to snake their arms around Second’s middle. “Pfft, if you’re trying to get rid of me,” They scolded jokingly, “It’s gonna be a lot harder than that, Sec.”

Though the storm raged on, Second found themselves unable to tear their focus away from their friends. The many arms around them were velvety smooth, sweet on their skin with a tang of desperate heat. Their voices caressed Second with gentle softness as they whispered fluffy comforts for the winds to carry to their ears. Warmth flooded over Second’s entire body, forcing out the various aches from all over. Second’s shoulders relaxed as they took in a deep breath. Oxygen hit their lungs for the first time since the picture broke. Second’s eyes fluttered shut as they let themselves relax.

What had they been so worried about? Despite the accidents, the threatening villains, the near-death experiences, they always came through it together on the other side. Mistakes were forgiven, wounds were healed, and no matter what came their way, Second could stand against it, firm in the knowledge that their loved ones were at their side, supporting them all the way.

As long as Second had them, they’d be okay. They could fix anything.

Second opened their eyes. Beyond the twister they found a pair of silhouettes, a tall one and a short one. Second couldn’t make out their faces, but the tension in their limbs betrayed their obvious fear. The emerald eyes of the super-powered stick remained trained on the nervous figures,

It’s okay, Second tried to tell them, to reassure the clearly frightened figures, but all that escaped their mouth was a staticky noise that made their friends hug them all the tighter. Upon realizing that their voice was turned off for the time being, Second instead reached out to the pair, to try and show them that it would be alright, that they weren’t alone, that help was right there and ready for them.

The strangers grew more panicked, and Second stretched their arm further to reach for them. All of Second’s attention was hyper-focused on the two upset figures, to the point where everything beyond them and the arms around Second’s waist disappeared from their mind. All they wanted was to give the two strangers a little taste of the comfort that everyone’s presence granted them. To fix the pain they could sense on the pair and stop the fear that was clearly growing stronger and stronger within them as they fiddled anxiously with something in the smaller one’s hand. Second felt something deep inside them urging them to keep extending their arm, to keep pulling at the two figures. To fix the distress on their face and bring them home.

All they had to do was reach a little further… further… just a bit more…

And then everything disappeared in an explosion of brilliant emerald light.

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

Between the ringing in his ears and the throbbing in his head, Green was certain he’d be in for a world of hurt the moment he opened his eyes. Despite this, the distant murmurs of fear and horror from his friends had Green forcing his eyelids up, inviting a piercing beam of light and agony into his brain. Seconds stretched into years as Green waited for the discomfort to fade enough for him to focus his eyes and look out over what was once the Ochre family’s kitchen. Now the room was in absolute shambles; everything, from the smallest plate to the gigantic refrigerator, was damaged in some way. The linoleum floor, cool on Green’s aching legs, was positively littered with shards of glass and ceramic. A food processor was stuck in the wall, its cord dangling uselessly over a crack in the tile beneath it. Water formed small pools throughout the room, one dangerously close to an electrical outlet on the opposite wall. The only electronic in the room that still functioned a little bit was the ceiling light, which flickered on and off rapidly enough to compound Green’s growing headache.

Green forced down a swallow as he took in the wreckage. The memory of Sec’s pleading, of the fear on their face, played in his mind like a broken record, and then his eyes began to burn anew. Just a few minutes ago they’d all been having fun, and Second had finally begun to relax. He’d thought that maybe, just maybe, they were finally starting to accept themselves… and then everything exploded. The thought of how Second must be feeling was like his heart was sinking to the bottom of his stomach, swirling its contents into bile.

Still, there was much to be done, so despite the nausea and tears threatening to break through Green pulled himself into a sitting position, wincing as the pounding in his head compounded. He fought through the fuzz at the edges of his vision and the painfully loud ringing in his ears to focus on his friends, to try and ascertain their current condition. Mango was the first one he was able to pinpoint, and naturally the taller stick had rushed to Purple’s side. Other than a few bumps and bruises, neither of the two looked too badly injured. Red appeared to be fine too, sitting next to Yellow and speaking unintelligible words to her. Yellow’s one leg was splayed out in front of them, and when Red made contact with her ankle she winced. Green couldn’t see how badly it was swollen, or if there was any sign of a break, but the fact that she was injured at all nearly brought Green to tears again. He forced it down and left Yellow’s care to Red, scanning across the room until he found Blue, also mostly unharmed, hovering anxiously over Second’s body with her hand on their neck.

The sight of his motionless friend caused Green’s breath to catch in his throat. No… were they… did he cause his best friend to…?

Mere moments later Blue’s shoulders relaxed and she visibly exhaled, a small smile forming under her tired eyes. Green echoed her relieved sigh. Second was… alive, at the very least.

In the little time between awakening and checking on his friends, the ringing in Green’s ears had died down. Not completely gone, but low enough that he could now hear the others chattering amongst themselves. Their voices blended together into a cacophony of noises, and Green found himself unable to tell his friends apart. He could catch the occasional word, but without context they made virtually no sense.

Mango unexpectedly stood up at the other end of the room, his shoulders stiff with tension as he immediately stood to put himself between Purple and… something. Because they hadn’t moved Green had initially overlooked them, but following Mango’s gaze Green could see… someone in the corner of the room. An extra person- no, two extra people, lying unconscious on the floor nearby. Green struggled to focus entirely on them and Mango, who made a hush motion in response to Purple opening their mouth to say something, before steadily approaching the two new entities. His face was set with grim determination as he approached the figures, but as he got closer, it gradually shifted. Mango’s eyes widened, beginning to bulge out of his head, and Green forced everything into focusing on the older stick as he inched over to that dark corner, truly taking their new guests.

And then he started laughing.

A loud, humourless cackle that reminded Green more of the mad king who’d almost killed them all than Purple’s sarcastic guardian. Green continued to push through the fuzz in his brain as Purple picked themselves up and raced over to the old man. They paused once they reached him, staring in shock at the source of Mango’s distress.

“It’s finally happened!” Mango declared between laughs, his eyes completely glazing over with a sheen of distress. “I’ve finally gone insane!”

Purple, eyes wide, stepped in front of Mango with their arms stretched out in an attempt to placate him. “No, no!” They assured him, words rushed in their panic. “You’re not crazy, I promise, I see them too! P-please stop laughing-!”

“-I’m fine! I’m not the one who, exploded, you need to go help Blue-!”

Green winced, struggling to stay focused as everyone else’s voices began to pick up volume, fighting each other for his attention.

“Okay, c’mon, wake up-!”

“You can’t walk on that, are you nuts-!”

The voices pounded in Green’s ears to the rhythm of his racing heart.

“H-hey, come on, take some deep breaths-!”

“Seriously, let go-!”

“Please, Sec, please-!”

He groaned as he held his throbbing skull. Every noise was blending together; the voices of his friends, the dripping of water from the sink, the buzz of the malfunctioning light as it flickered on and off, on and off, on and off, poking at his brain through his pupils. The bile in his stomach churned again, fighting to rise up his esophagus.

“I- This isn’t real. There’s no way this is real, this has to be-!”

“C-come on, Old Man, focus-!”

“Yellow, will stop trying to-!”

“Get off of me-!”

“Come on, Blue, think-!”

“Will you all just SHUT UP?!” Green shouted over all of them. Every single stick in the room went totally silent, finally relieving a little bit of the pressure in his skull. After taking a moment to catch his breath, Green used the wall to help himself stand. Though his limbs ached, the worst of the pain was in head, allowing Green to stand without opposition. Looking out over the chaos, Green felt something well in him at the scared, desperate looks his dearest friends were giving him; Guilt and determination and sorrow. It fueled the flame within him, and Green took charge, immediately pushing past the pain to issue commands. “Yellow, let Red help you to the living room.”

“I’m fine-!” The injured stick tried to object.

Green immediately shut that down. “No, you’re not. If you were, you would have walked away from Red by now.” Green sighed. “Look, I don’t want to be mean, but if you try to walk on that ankle you’re going to make it worse. And the last thing we need right now is for things to get worse. It’ll only take a few moments for Red to help you walk to the armchair. Let him do that, and we won’t have to worry anymore, alright?”

Any protests died on Yellow’s lips as she absorbed Green’s argument. Though she may not have been happy about it, the logic won her over, and she huffed in irritation even as she hooked an arm around Red’s shoulders. The two began to stand in order to limp out of the room, and Green shifted his focus.

Mango’s breakdown had been halted by Green’s sudden cry, too stunned to continue, and Green used this opportunity to make his way over to him and Purple. The violet stick quickly moved to the side to let Green through, and for the first time Green was able to get a clear look at the new sticks summoned by Second’s power. His eyes immediately went wide as he absorbed the sight before him.

The first of the two newcomers, the taller one, looked nearly identical to Mango. The very few differences were entirely cosmetic; his hair was a little shorter, his clothes a little neater. There were no bags under his eyes or scars on his body from the fight for Minecraft. Small though the differences may be, they made a huge impact, making this version of Mango look ten years younger than the reformed tyrant Green knew. Curled under his arm, as though shielded from the entire world, was the second, smaller stick. Their body was a deep gold, and despite not knowing anything about this stick, Green was immediately struck with a sense of deja vu. It felt like he’d seen them somewhere before, but the context entirely escaped him.

Green was not, however, stupid. Given how the other Mango was curled protectively around this new stick, and the real Mango had a mental breakdown at the mere sight of them, Green was certain this new stick was someone of great importance to Mango. A few theories were already cooking in Green’s brain, but there were more important things to focus on at the moment.

“Once Red’s done helping Yellow,” Green informed the two, drawing their attention to him. Though Mango was no longer laughing like a madman, his eyes were almost entirely blank. Purple was more present, holding themselves anxiously as they focused entirely on Green. “He’ll help you guys get these two somewhere more comfortable. Should we put them in Mango’s room?”

A moment of silence fell over the two. Purple suddenly couldn’t meet Green’s eye, glancing awkwardly to the side, while Mango seemed to take a moment to process the question. Eventually, the old man answered, “We can put them in Gold’s room. It’s a little dusty, but it should be fine, I guess.”

Green cocked a brow at the taller stick. “Wait, Gold’s room…?” That answered some of Green’s questions and raised so many more, but for the moment Green restricted himself to the most important one. “There are only two bedrooms in this house. Where does Purple sleep?”

“I gave them my old room,” Mango answered without hesitation. Purple seemed to flinch at the confession, something like shame crossing their face. “These days I’m usually not sleeping through the whole night anyways, so I’m good with just the couch.”

Well, at least Purple had a real bedroom. Still, something about this revelation left a sour taste in Green’s mouth. It would have to be dealt with at some point. Not now, though. Now, Red had returned, and Green flagged him over to assist, flinching a little as Red’s fast movements caused his head to spin.

“Uh, Red and I can handle, um, the old man- the other version of you, I mean.” Purple muttered, stumbling over their words. “You can take Gold- i-if you’re okay with that, that is.”

It took Mango a moment to recognize what Purple was saying, eyes glazed over as he stared vacantly at this Gold character. Upon realizing what was being asked of him, Mango’s breath hitched. His fingers twitched as he approached the two with heavy, slow steps. Gingerly he pulled back his other self’s arm to expose Gold, who stirred slightly but did not awaken. Mango’s hand lingered above them, hesitant to touch them. Slowly it lowered, flinching away from them several times in the process. Eventually, his hand met their face, and Mango’s eyes welled with tears when their body held solid against his touch. From there things moved quicker, Mango taking the younger stick into his arms with delicate care. Cradling them like a baby, Mango took long, careful steps out of the kitchen.

Purple watched after him until the two were gone, twiddling their thumbs. It took a gentle tap from Red to bring Purple back to reality, the other jumping a little at the touch. “Um, sorry.” Red scratched his head, a little awkward in the face of current tensions. “But, err, I don’t know where the bedrooms are, so I was thinking you could take the feet and direct us, and I’ll grab the head. You good with that?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Purple agreed. Green watched as the two set about lifting the taller stick up and out of the room. His aching head was absolutely throbbing, pounding in rhythm to the flickering light on the ceiling. But he couldn’t slow down now. Not when he hadn’t even dealt with the worst of the damage he’d caused yet.

Taking only a moment for a calming breath, Green slowly waltzed over to Blue. She held Second’s head in her lap, whispering soothing words and little pleas to awaken as she ran her hands through their long mane of hair. Though he knew Sec was alive, the sight of them shocked Green; their eyes had dark shadows under them, their limbs weak and limp. Second looked worse than Green had seen them since the day they had-

Green shook his head, ignoring another wave of nausea that rolled over him. “How are they?” He asked instead.

“Well, I can’t find any serious injuries,” Blue updated as she continued to stroke the fluffy mess of bedhead, “But they may have internal injuries? It’s hard to tell- I’m equipped to deal with minor wounds and Minecraft ailments. Not… this.”

“Wouldn’t their healing powers take care of that?” Green asked, kneeling down next to Blue to take their dear friend’s hand in his own. It was cold and clammy against Green’s skin, which made him clutch all the tighter, willing some of his warmth into it.

As if to answer, Blue pointed out a number of bruises on their body. “It hasn’t kicked in yet. Maybe they’re too tired to do it? Or maybe it’s a good sign!” Blue forced herself to perk up at the thought. “Every time Second’s used their healing powers it’s because someone got seriously hurt. Maybe they’re not hurt bad enough for it to activate on its own.”

“Maybe,” Green agreed, even though that didn’t really sound right to him. Since Sec had become aware of their powers, they’d shown the greatest connection to their healing. It was one of the strongest abilities. “Still, I don’t think they’d be too comfortable sleeping on the floor. Is it safe to move them?”

“Oh! Uh,” Blue thought for a moment, her eyes scanning over Sec uneasily. Moments passed into minutes before she answered, “I- I think so. As long as we’re careful.”

Green nodded, already standing to take hold of Second’s legs. “Okay, I’ll walk backwards with their legs, you take their head.” Blue nodded, taking a firm hold of Second as she slowly stood up. Between the two of them the limp stick weighed almost nothing, and Green carefully walked backwards into the living room. He could see Yellow resting in Mango’s giant armchair, leg propped up on the coffee table with a pillow. Her eyes followed their movements like a hawk as Green and Blue, working in perfect harmony, brought their unconscious friend to Mango’s couch and slowly, gently, set them down. Second didn’t so much as stir during the transfer, which only made Green all the more worried. What he wouldn’t give to have his best friend suddenly sit up and throw a pillow at him for disturbing their rest…

For now, Green once again took hold of Second’s hand and watched their drained, pale face as they slept. He didn’t know where he’d even begin to apologize for this.

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

While Purple had snuck into this room to learn more about the illusive Gold in the past, this was the first time they’d been allowed to enter Gold’s bedroom, and it made their heart beat a thousand miles per second. The Old Man stood to the side, cradling his kid as he allowed Red and Purple to maneuver the… er, other Old Man into the twin-sized bed. He was barely able to fit, but once they set him on the mattress some sense of familiarity must have kicked in, causing him to curl in on himself to fit a little more comfortably. Once he was set down, Mango waltzed over and slowly, reluctantly, put his child to rest next to the bizarro world Mango. Immediately Gold curled around his father, her arms wrapping around him in search of comfort, and even unconscious the handsome version of Mango immediately returned the embrace.

Something sour slithered in Purple’s gut at the sight, a bitterness that immediately made them disgusted with themselves. As much as they coveted the same kind of love so easily given to Gold when they were feeling off, to feel this kind of jealously towards a dead kid… well, it wasn’t like they hadn’t known they were a bad person, but still. Not cool, Purple.

They were a little lost in thought, so Mango suddenly lugging himself up to the bed’s side to stare at the two intertwined sticks startled them. Though he was looking directly at them, the Old Man seemed to not see the two, instead staring at something far, far away.

“Uh…” Red’s awkward voice reached Purple’s ear, and they turned to look at the stronger stick as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. The old man didn’t seem to hear him. “So, I’m gonna go, uh, check on the others… yeah… we’ll be in the living room if you need us… uh, sorry again about your kitchen.”

Purple watched as Red sidled towards the door, staring at them with wide, unblinking eyes, as if expecting them to come at him. When nothing happened, he turned around and hastily walked back to the living room. That left Purple alone in the house’s forbidden room with an Old Man, an unconscious Old Man, and a ghost.

Swallowing past their nerves, Purple approached Mango and reached across the sudden chasm between them to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” They addressed softly. Mango didn’t so much as twitch at their touch. “Are you feeling okay?”

It took a moment for Mango to respond. “Sweetheart, I’m feeling a lot of things right now,” He droned, not taking his eyes off of the two sticks curled up on the bed, “and none of them are okay.”

Purple winced. Sweetheart only tended to come out when one of them was feeling particularly bad. Usually Purple themselves. Still, they pressed onward, “Yeah, that’s fair,” They agreed. Then, with a little hesitation, they asked, “How… how do you think Second… brought them here?”

Mango sighed, bring his hand up to hold his forehead. “I dunno. Cloning, maybe? They have art powers or something, right?” He stumbled back, and, thinking quickly, Purple pulled the chair from the nearby desk and got it to Mango just in time for the Old Man to collapse into it. Once he was seated, Mango nodded his thanks to Purple and leaned over the two bedridden sticks. “I’m not exactly in a state to think too hard about that.”

Okay, fair. Purple tried to think of something else – anything else – that they could do in order to make Mango feel better. After fumbling over their words for a moment, they eventually asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I think…” Mango’s breath hitched. “I think I just some time alone, kiddo.”

Something deep inside Purple shattered at the request. Still, they nodded obediently. “Okay, I’ll go check on the others, then. We’ll… be in the living room.”

Purple knew if they turned back to look at Mango, whatever they’d see on his face would push them to tears, so instead they kept their eyes trained on the floor as they walked out the door and shut it behind them. Despite their proclamation, Purple lingered for a few moments, just long enough to hear soft sobs come from the other side of the door. Their heart ached, urging them to go back in, to let him know that it would all be okay, but that single, weak request kept Purple’s twitching fingers at their sides. With great effort they forced themselves to trail back from the bedrooms, leaving the Ochre family alone to process the events of that day.

Once back in the living room, Purple was met with another tense scene. Each member of the gang was idling around in total silence. Green was sat by Second’s side on the couch, holding their hand and petting their hair as he watched them warily. Blue also hovered over their orange friend, fretting over them as she searched for any change in their condition. Red stood in place in between the armchair and the couch, tapping his foot impatiently. Yellow was the only one who was entirely still, slouched uncomfortably in the armchair with her foot propped on the coffee table. Her eyes were trained firmly on the wall opposite the couch. The air was thick with tension and nerves.

Steeling their nerves, Purple asked, “How’s everyone doing?”

“Okay,” Green murmured, briefly looking up to meet purple’s gaze.

“I’m good!” Red assured, plastering on a huge smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” Blue assured gently, tapping her fingers on Second’s arm as she checked their pulse again.

“Peachy,” Yellow spat sarcastically, glaring at the ground.

Then, after a pregnant pause, all four turned towards Second’s unresponsive form. The tension returned tenfold.

Red finally spoke up, cutting off the pressure as he smiled awkwardly at the group, “You know, if Sec were awake, they’d probably say something like, ‘At least they let me sleep in for once’.” The turn of phrase was made in a terrible impression of Second’s voice, followed by a nervous laugh that quickly petered out, “Hehe, hehe, he…”

More silence.

“They’ll be okay… right?” Blue asked softly.

“Of course they will!” Cut off Green, looking mildly insulted at even the suggestion that they wouldn’t be. “They’re Sec! They’re always okay!”

Yellow’s already haggard face wrinkled, making her look far more tired than just a few moments prior. Her eyes reflected the ghosts of memories past as she once again cast her gaze away to avoid looking at Second. “Yeah,” She agreed absently, though she sounded like her mind was somewhere far, far away. “They’re always okay…”

Immediately Purple got the sense that they were missing a few pieces of the puzzle. Like, maybe half of the pieces. And the box. And it was was one of those obnoxious white puzzles, so it was hard to put together in the first place.

Desperate to escape the pressure of the moment, Purple’s eyes scanned over the group, and soon came to rest on Yellow’s ankle. Though mildly swollen, it didn’t look broken, so Purple hazard a guess that it only needed rest and icing. They piped up, “Um, why don’t I get you some ice, Yellow?” The query broke through whatever spell Yellow was under, dragging her mind back into the present.

Before she could respond Blue let out a sharp gasp, immediately turning to Yellow and waving her hands in a placating way. “Oh my gosh, Yellow, I am so sorry! I didn’t even think about that- I was so focused on Second that I forgot- I can’t believe I-!”

“Hey, hey,” Yellow consoled, sitting up straight for the first time, “It’s alright. We all know the rules: The one who’s hurt worst gets priority treatment. And it’s just a little sprain, it’s not like it’s broken or anything.”

“But still…” Blue kept her eyes trained on Yellow’s propped up foot, swallowing audibly past a lump in her throat.

Purple winced, mind racing as they searched for a way to cut through the tension, but Red beat them to it with a cheery, upbeat proclamation: “Personally, I blame Green.”

“What?” Green snapped back, looking vaguely offended by the accusation.

“You have two working legs,” He explained in a matter-of-fact manner, “You could’ve gotten up up at any time to take care of Yellow, but nooo…”

Purple snickered openly at the look on Green’s face, which only got louder when he turned his glare at them. Yellow, snorting, chimed in, “Yeah, Green, aren’t you supposed to be the responsible one?”

“Oh, we all know there’s no ‘responsible’ one!” Green put strong finger quotes around the word responsible, causing a wave of roaring laughter to engulf the living room. And just like that, the atmosphere grew lighter.

While the others fell into their normal banter, Purple used this opportunity to slip into the remains of Mango’s kitchen. The place certainly looked like a tornado hit it, with every object damaged in some way or another. Purple stepped around cracks in the ground and puddles of water splattered around on their way through, taking note of the damage as they went. Literally all of their cutlery and tableware was in pieces. The food processor was firmly embedded into the wall, its glass cracked and its cord swinging sadly in air. Purple stepped over the dented door of the microwave, and had to glance around for a moment to find the rest of it crunched up and tossed to the side.

Convincing insurance that a super-powered stick created a twister in the middle of their kitchen would be a pain in the rear, Purple mused as they sidled over to one of the cabinet drawers that had been forced out of its place. There they found a cloth rag, which they quickly grabbed before heading towards the tipped over, broken refrigerator. If they wanted a payout good enough to rebuild their kitchen to its former glory, they’d have to come up with a good story. The damage was too extensive to be explained by a burglary turned fight, so they doubted that would pass the smell test. A bear attack, maybe? Were there even bears in this area…? Honestly, the best thing Purple could come up with was an explosion. The microwave was relatively new, and still under warranty, so with a little ingenuity Purple was certain they could alter the scene of the crime to fit that narrative. Perhaps they’d even get a bit of a payout from the company that made the microwave.

Nodding in satisfaction, Purple paused in front of the fridge. They’d have to go over the story with Mango later to smooth over any mistakes, but they were certain they could get a full remodel covered with ease. The satisfaction the thought put on their face disappeared when they opened the freezer door a bit too roughly, resulting in it falling off its hinges and dangling from Purple’s hold. Gingerly they set it to the side and dug out a few pieces of melting ice to wrap in the cloth before finally making their way out of the kitchen to return to the others.

“-and so I said, ‘That’s positively blue-tiful!’” Red recited, and Yellow groaned lightly while Green and Blue cracked up. Somehow Purple got the feeling that they were laughing more at Yellow’s misery than whatever joke Red had set up.

Purple suppressed a smile as they approached, holding up the makeshift ice bag as if to explain their absence. “Thanks,” Yellow grumbled with a pout. She winced as the ice was set on her swollen ankle. “You got anything for the headache Red’s puns are causing?”

“Come on, Red’s just trying to make you feel better.” Purple scolded playfully, “It isn’t very ice of you complain.”

They almost cracked at the complete and total betrayal that befell Yellow’s face. “Purple,” She gasped in horror, “I trusted you.” Green, Blue, and Red all howled with laughter, Red even doubling over and clutching his side.

“That was your first mistake,” Purple informed her ominously, their grave tone in contrast to the wide grin stretched across their face.

A sudden, deep voice broke through the merriment. “I see you’re all doing well,” Mango noted, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. Purple could tell that his eyes had a hint of redness to them, but that was the only sign that there had been anything amiss. If anything, he was… too composed, which made Purple’s gut curl in on itself. How many times had the Old Man cried in secret, hiding his pain from Purple? How often had they stumbled across Mango post-crying session and bombarded him with their pointless complaints, completely oblivious to his suffering?

Their self-deprecating musing were ground to a halt when Mango made his way across the living room to Second’s side, taking a look at them himself. “How bad is it?” He asked.

“N-not that bad… no serious wounds or anything, I think they’re just drained,” Blue filled him in. She again checked Second’s pulse.

Mango hummed aloud, “Still, I’d rather be safe than sorry. We should get them to a hospital or something.”

“A hospital?” Green questioned, suddenly looking uneasy. It quickly spread to Blue and Red.

“Um,” Yellow interrupted, “Look, the details are too… complicated to get into right now, but that would be a really bad idea. Especially if they decided to isolate Sec.”

Red and Green both went pale. Blue looked close to tearing up. The argument Mango was clearly about to get into died on his lips at the sight, but he still didn’t look quite ready to let this go. Knowing how the old man worried and figuring that it wouldn’t be the greatest idea in the world to give a vulnerable super-powered stick to the government, Purple decided to step in. They moved from Yellow’s side to place a comforting hand on Mango’s arm, redirecting his attention back to them.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” They confirmed, “Sec’s got super healing powers, so they’ll be able to patch everyone up once they’re rested up.”

Still Mango looked unconvinced. "I don’t know…”

“Trust me,” Purple pleaded, and they were pleased to see a little crack in the old man’s armour.

After a moment of hemming and hawing, he sighed, “Alright, fine, for now,” Mango agreed. The others slumped in clear relief at his resignation, “But if they’re not up by sundown, we’re taking them to the nearest doctor.”

“They will be,” Green stated with unyielding confidence.

Mango nodded, then glanced over at Yellow. “Your ankle isn’t broken?” He asked.

“Sprained,” She confirmed, “Just need to ice it and keep it elevated. I’ll be fine.”

Satisfied with that, Mango nodded affirmatively. He looked a little more at ease than he had been back in the kitchen. “That just leaves one more. Green,” Said stick flinched at being called out, “Hold still for a moment. You hit your head pretty hard back there. I want to make sure you’re not concussed.”

Purple winced. Come to think of it, they had heard a pretty hard thump after Second had exploded. Had that been Green’s head hitting the wall? There had been so much going on they’d barely taken note of it.

Nearby, Purple heard Blue whisper under her breath, “I didn’t even notice…” They didn’t respond to her, but placed a gentle, consoling hand on her shoulder.

Some simple questions were exchanged between Mango and Green, each one Green answered with ease and clarity. Finally, Mango asked Green how he felt, “I was nauseous and dizzy at first,” The musical stick explained, “But after I sat down and relaxed a little it went away. Now I just have a raging migraine.”

“Hmm,” Mango scratched his chin, “Well, try to take it easy, just to be safe. Head injuries are no joke. I’ll ask you again later, but so far you seem fine.”

Some relief returned to the room at Mango’s unofficial diagnosis. Red and Yellow tossed some concussion related jabs at Green while Blue smiled warmly down at him. Laughter returned to the living room, and it felt like their friends were finally at peace – save one glaring omission to the group.

They hoped Second would wake up soon.

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

Line after line, form after form, their art came to life.

Through careful craft of masterful strokes, an animation came to be. Tiny little paws made contact with an invisible floor as a kitten was gently coaxed into existence. Nose pointed straight, tail upturned in the air. Little bits of fuzz were represented by stroke after stroke of line. The small kitten stood proud, ready to make the step forward, and The Second Coming looked down at her with pride. Then they clicked to the next frame, and began the process again. Frames of the same drawing were gradually altered, until the little kitten made her way across the ground in order to explore the brand new world she was brought into.

The Second Coming nodded at her, turned to save her existence, and came face to face with the Second Coming.

A reflection stared back at them, eyes aglow with soft emerald light. No words were exchanged – they were seldom needed when the Second Coming faced themselves. The quiet contained no tension, no fear. Only a sense of peace. Some moments passed, and then the mirror turned and walked away. The Second Coming tried to follow after them, as they were usually expected to, but a hand held up in a universal ‘stop’ motion kept them in place.

Carefully maneuvering down beneath them, The Second Coming waltzed through the timeline of the kitten’s animation without concern. Their gaze remained focused and forward until, quite suddenly, they stopped at the very first key frame of the animation. It held firm in place as they pulled at it, harder and harder, until a perfect copy was pulled free, along with a brief flash of a fresh, entirely blank timeline. Seeing the timeline empty of their creation caused a moment of panic in the Second Coming, which quickly quieted when they looked back to see the kitten sitting there, unharmed, licking her paws with perfect grace and serenity.

Quick as they’d made their way across the timeline the Second Coming returned, carrying the key frame with the same care as though it was the kitten herself. A hand gesture beckoned the Second Coming over, and the Second Coming joined themselves at the precipice of the timeline and the canvas. They looked at themselves, and their self looked down at the key frame. Gently their hand stroked the top of it, before it took hold and began to stretch it larger, and larger. The Second Coming leaned forward to get a closer look, and was rewarded with a kitten jumping into their arms.

The kitten stared up at them, mild confusion on her face. She also stared at them from across the canvas, hackles raised as she noticed her other self’s presence. In response the version of her in Second’s arms hopped down, carefully skirting around herself as kitten and kitten inspected each other.

For a while the Second Coming and the Second Coming watched as the two kittens came to terms with each other and began playing. Though they were the same kitten, they may as well have been simple litter-mates with how easily they came together. A tap on the shoulder drew the Second Coming’s attention over to their other self, who gazed at them with strong, unblinking eyes. They held up the key frame, then gestured to the kittens. The Second Coming followed their movements.

From the key frame…

To the kittens…

To the key frame…

To the kittens…

And the Second Coming understood.

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

Second shot up from their resting position, crying out, “Holy heck I broke space time-!”

Just as they’d made it into a sitting position they froze. Pure, unadulterated agony spread across their entire body. Burning tears built up in their eyes, and Second desperately blinked them back even as their breath hitched. It was like every single one of their muscles were trying to pull away from their bones, burning as they struggled to break free.

“Ah…” They winced, and tried to ease back into a laying position. This only caused another flare of horrible pain from every muscle that was forced to move. “Ow, ow, ow…”

“Easy, Sec!” Blue consoled, the gentle heart being by their side in an instant. She carefully positioned her hands on their back and chest to help them back down. “Take slow, deep breaths… there you go, you’re almost there…”

Slow and steady, Second pushed past the pulses of torment to lie on their back. The worst of the pain faded, though uncomfortable aches still wracked their entire body. Following Blue’s advice, Second began to take in deep breaths, holding them for a short time before exhaling. Breathing clearly made it easier to relax their muscles, which in turn made the pain… not disappear, but lessen just a tad.

Blue was suddenly shoved to the side, and Red’s face appeared in her place. “Sec! Oh man dude, you had us so worried!” Out of the corner of their eye, Second could see Purple nod in agreement.

“Hey, give them some space!” Green scolded as he pulled Red back.

Yellow snickered, and Second tilted their head as much as the pain would allow to glance at her. She was sat in Mango’s ridiculously large armchair, her leg propped up on the coffee table before her with an ice bag on top. Looking over their friends, Second found that they were all sporting various bruises, cuts, and lumps. Even Mango, the least harmed of the sticks, had clearly irritated eyes and dark purple spots on his forearms.

They did this, Second realized. After everything, they’d hurt the people they cared about most. Again.

“Are you alright?” Mango’s voice, unusually kind, cut through the self-loathing that was starting to dominate Second’s thoughts. He towered over Blue as he gazed down at them. “I know you have healing powers, but it might be best to let a doctor look you over. I can get you to the hospital in less than ten minutes.”

“Hospital…?” Second repeated, swallowing down a fresh lump of nerves. A hospital meant doctors – scientists, men in coats, isolated in tiny space, don’t move, it’s for your own good… “N-no, I’m okay. I’ll heal myself once I’ve got a little more energy.”

“You’re sure?” Asked Mango. When Second made a small sound of affirmation, he relented, albeit a little reluctantly. “Alright, I’ll let it go for now… but I’d like to change the topic, if you don’t mind.” Mango took a spot on the couch, careful not to touch Second in any way. “What did you mean when you said you ‘broke space time’?”

There was a glint in Mango’s eyes that brought an entirely new sense of discomfort to Second, but they ignored it and did their best to explain, “It’s like I said,” Their throat was already beginning to ache from just this amount of talking, but it was easy enough for Second to ignore, “I- my powers used the picture as a sort of key frame, like in animation. You can jump between key frames to get to dynamic moments in the piece, to- to plan the pacing of-” Judging from the look on Mango’s face, Second guessed that they were getting a little off-topic and tried to steer themselves back on track, “Er, anyway, the key frame created a portal back to the moment it was created and- and basically made a ‘split’, to bring them back here.”

“A split?” Yellow asked, stroking her chin curiously. “So, does that mean they’re copies?”

Second shook their head instinctively, then winced at the resulting ache. “Not quite… it’s more like, I split the timeline? Since everyone’s memories of Purple and Mango are in tact and history clearly didn’t change, it’s likely I created an alternate worldline where those two sticks mysteriously vanished one day. You know, because I pulled them into the future.”

“Um…” Red looked completely lost, “Okay, can you explain that again, but in a way that makes sense?”

Thank goodness Yellow took point, because Second’s head was already aching, their thoughts spinning as they tried to come up with another way to put it. Instead they laid back and listened as Yellow explained, “It’s basically just alternate universes.” She stated smoothly. “Like, instead of the timeline exploding or all of our memories altering to account for Mango mysteriously being brought into the future, instead there’s another world entirely identical to this one, except that Mango and that other stick don’t exist there, because they’re here.”

“I’m still confused,” Red said.

“For now, just know that these are past versions of Mango and Gold Ochre.” Purple summarized, “But, man… that’s incredible. We knew you were strong, dude, but…”

Every pair of eyes was on Second, pinning them with a sudden pressure on their chest. More little murmurs broke out between Second’s friends, whispered words that they couldn’t quite make out, and Second forced their eyes shut. Unable to hear their friends’ conversations, Second’s traitorous brain filled in the blanks, shouting at them about how different they were, how dangerous they were. How they no longer belonged with these amazing, wonderful sticks. Second groaned and tried to drown out the chattering both in and out of their head, but it only made the voices louder.

Why did they have to be cursed like this? Why couldn’t they just go back to being normal?

“All that aside,” Green suddenly said, drawing attention back to him and away from Second. Freedom from the burden of being the center of attention muted the voices in their head, at least for now, “I think we’ve waited long enough, so I wanna know. Who the heck is Gold?”

Mango suddenly went rigid. He frowned coldly, glaring at nothing in particular, while Purple immediately moved to hover anxiously at his side. They reached to comfort him, but didn’t make contact before withdrawing and instead offering gentle reassurances. “It’s okay. I can explain if you-”

“She’s my kid,” Mango finally revealed. Everything went quiet as the news echoed in their thoughts. “He… died a few months before I met Purple.” Mango’s eyes suddenly darted up, meeting Second’s head on. “And you brought her back.”

An awkward feeling settled over Second, as though they were taking credit for something they didn’t do. “I hadn’t exactly planned that,” They reminded him, “I just wanted to fix what I broke.”

“Fix what’s broken…” Mango echoed, then huffed out a gentle laugh, “Well, you certainly fixed something. I don’t think I can ever repay this.” Some sort of weight fell off of Mango’s shoulders, and he gratefully smiled down at them. The weight of his appreciation sat heavy on their chest. It didn’t feel like they’d done anything but mess things up, and yet… they’d saved a life? The duality of their feelings clashed within Second, leaving them unable to vocalize their thoughts. Oblivious, Mango continued on, “Now it’s just a matter of… explaining this whole mess to them,” He visibly winced, “That’s gonna be ugly.”

Second, sensing the discord in his tone, immediately volunteered. “I can do it,” They proclaimed, ‘I’m the one who brought them here, so it only makes sense…”

“Appreciate the thought, kid,” Despite his words, the disapproval was clear through Mango’s tone, “but this is kind of a family matter. I wouldn’t feel right about having you do my job. Besides,” He tossed a side eye to Red, Blue, and Green, all of whom, Second noted uneasily, were watching them with very intense expressions, “I think if you try to get up off that couch, your friends are going to duct tape you to it.”

Unable to deny that, Second agreed, “Okay, fair enough,” Then they chuckled, “Heh, at least they’re letting me sleep for once.”

For some reason, Red burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

Meanwhile Purple stood up, eagerly rushing to Mango’s side. “I’ll come help!” They offered.

“That’s not a good idea either,” Mango told them, and if he noticed how their entire form seemed to slump, he didn’t comment on it, “If I know myself as well as I think I do, then I know exactly how my past self will react to the news that Gold’s dead, and…” A haunted shadow fell over the old man’s eyes, “I don’t think you need to see that side of me again. In the meantime, hold down the fort here. I’m officially putting you in charge.”

“Wait, why’s Purple in charge?” Yellow complained.

Mango side-eyed the lot of them, as though they were the ones who’d almost blown up an entire video game world, “Because they’re the only ones I’m certain won’t try and get themselves killed the moment I’ve left.” Mango stood up and walked towards the bedroom hallway, paused for just a moment, and then picked something off of his bookshelf. A dusty relic, shimmering bronze in a painfully familiar circlet. A crown.

Probably Purple’s, though Mango didn’t seem to have any reservations about borrowing it. He waltzed out with only a wave backwards, which Purple echoed with drained melancholy.

Once Mango was gone, Red took his place sitting next to Second, plopping down with a raspberry. “So, what, we just wait around for them to wake up?”

Purple shrugged. “I guess-” They were cut off by a loud roar, fierce and angry like a lion, and Purple’s face started glow bright pink.

Yellow couldn’t help but poke fun at the suffering stick, “Aw, is someone a little hungy~?” She cooed.

“Agh, will you shut up?!” Snapped the mess of a stick, “I didn’t exactly get the change to eat after you guys showed up. We did make a lasagna, but…” Purple’s voice trailed off, and without further explanation they disappeared.

Oh yeah. In addition to all the other problems they’d caused, Second had ruined Purple and Mango’s dinner. It wasn’t much of an offense, in comparison to all the other events of that day, but it felt like the sour cherry on top of the melted garbage sundae.

Soon enough Purple returned, oven mitts covering their hands and a casserole dish carefully carried along with them. The look on their face was uncertain and vaguely disturbed as they presented what was supposed to be their dinner to the group. A perfectly normal, if underdone, lasagna, with the added twist that it glowed a sickly green.

“Uhh…” Second couldn’t tear their eyes off of the abomination. “Whoops.”

Red twisted away from the cursed creation, staring at it as though expecting it to attack. Green and Blue each approached to investigate themselves. Green’s nose wrinkled as he got closer. Uneasy silence covered the room as they all wondered just what Second’s power had done to the poor thing.

Then, at last, Blue shrugged and pulled a knife and fork out of nowhere. “Meh, I’ll still eat it.”

Everyone’s horrified expressions shifted from the monstrous creation to the monstrous stick. Green looked vaguely ill. “Dude,” He stared in disbelief, “That thing’s like, three different kinds of radioactive.”

“I’ve put worse things in my mouth.”

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

Soft sunlight poured through the window, gently caressing Mango’s face with unseasonable warmth. His eyes fluttered open, his blurred vision gradually clearing to reveal the familiar sight of his child’s bedroom ceiling. Spending nights here wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, especially when Gold was younger and afraid of what might be hiding in the room’s darkest corners, but what bugged Mango were the holes in his memory. He and Gold had just returned from a tournament, that he recalled. They’d celebrated and begun planning dinner, and then… nothing. Just a deep-rooted sense of unease and a blinding green light assaulting his eyes.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Mango’s attention was immediately drawn to the divot in the mattress right next to him, where Gold was curled up at his side. She was unharmed – which thank goodness, but why would he think she was hurt? - and slumbering as soundly as she always did, her breath escaping in sweet little whistles.

“Gold?” He grabbed her by the shoulder and gave her a rousing shake.

Like the deep log-sawer she was, Gold grumbled and groaned at his prodding. Her face pinched as she resisted the toll of the living world, grumbling and groaning at Mango’s attempts to awaken her. “Five more minuteees…” She whined, pulling her pillow around her ears in an adorable fluff sandwich.

Though he couldn’t shake the nerves wracking his entire body, Mango found himself smiling at the adorable sight. “C’mon, honey, get up,” He nudged her a few more times, and she complied with a ridiculous amount of effort, picking herself up like she had suddenly doubled in weight. She let out a cute little kitten yawn, stretching up so high he was sure she’d reach the ceiling. Turing, who gave this kid permission to get so big? Mango would have to have words with them.

Once she got her bearings, Gold looked around and immediately put on a puzzled frown, “Mm, dad?” He asked, his voice shifting in a subtle way, “When did we go to bed…?”

“Still putting that together, hun,” Mango answered. There was an itching at the back of his neck, a nagging sense of forgetting something important, but whatever it was kept escaping his grasp every time he reached for it.The oncoming migraine was already clawing at his skull.

The sound of someone clearing their throat cut through the air, forcing every thought in Mango’s head to a grinding halt. Instinct had him throwing an arm up to push Gold behind him, only barely registering the kid’s gasp, before he turned to glare firmly at this intruder. Then his glare dropped in shock as he found himself face to face with… himself.

Or, at least, a man who looked nearly identical to him. Instead of neatly tying back his hair he let it hang haphazardly off his shoulders, with bangs and curls jutting in every direction. Dark shadows lined hie sunken eyes, with little hints of redness indicating a level of exhaustion Mango hadn’t felt since Gold was an infant. Even his clothes were a wreck; ever since Gold became old enough to start doing his own laundry Mango had made a point of keeping his own clothing as neat and pressed as he could, if only to set an example. So while the wrinkled, stained clothes didn’t turn him off as much as it would other sticks, it was certainly startling to see.

“Nice to see you’re both awake,” He commented coolly, not yet addressing the blatant elephant in the room. His voice was like a recording of Mango’s own, altered mildly to add some huskiness.

“Wait, dad? But you’re… and you…?” Gold’s head spun back and forth as he looked between his father and his father’s perfect doppelganger. The poor dear seemed so lost. Finally, he pulled his head over Mango’s still extended arm to whisper a little too loudly, “Dad, do you have a secret twin you never told me about?”

Before Mango could respond, Mango- the other Mango, ah heck, that was gonna get confusing – answered in his place. “Not exactly, honey. It’s a bit more complicated than that, but…” He stepped a little closer, and smiled a tiny, broken smile, “It’s so good to see you.”

A sinking weight began to form in Mango’s gut at the sound of his voice. There was sincere, unadulterated joy there, and while Mango would never be unhappy to see his kid, there was something under the happiness that was far more desperate than he was comfortable hearing in his own voice. His eyes, though darkened by the shadows of exhaustion, were shimmering as unshed tears reflected the sunlight.

“I understand why you might be confused. I’ll explain everything in a moment, but I’d like to begin by re-introducing myself.” To that end, his other self sauntered across the floor with surprising confidence for someone who was clearly such a mess, grabbing Gold’s nearby desk chair and spinning it around to sit backwards in it, in exactly the same way he’d always scolded Gold for, and placed some cheap looking prop crown atop his messy mane. “You may call me ‘King’. At least for now, so people can tell us apart.”

Gold blinked dumbly at his father’s doppelganger for a moment, then a bright, wide grin stretched across his face, “Whoa!” He cried out, pure excitement dancing in his eyes, “You look so cool!”

“You look ridiculous,” Mango informed him matter-of-factly.

“I know,” King stated, dramatically tossing his hair back with one hand. He didn’t specify who he was agreeing with, “But to get back to the subject at hand…” For a moment this King guy hesitated, slumping and folding his hands in his lap before eventually proceeding, “There’s no real way to ease you into it, so I’m just going to come out and say it: You’re in the future. About two years in the future.”

Mango could feel his eyes widen. Gold’s fingers dug into his arm as he gasped, “The future…?”

“Indeed,” Confirmed King, and his eyes crinkled in amusement.

This new knowledge had Mango looking over their surroundings with fresh eyes. Something about Gold’s room was different. Not in the sense that it had been rearranged or had needed repaired in some way, but that it felt… uncanny. It had a level of order that was very unlike Gold. There were no books left out, no school supplies haphazardly thrown around, no broken boards from Gold’s attempts to learn some new move. Everything was arranged like some sort of display room; too nicely, too neatly, contradicted only by the scent of dust lingering in the air.

King’s broken smile as he looked upon Gold came back to mind, and the knot in Mango’s gut tightened.

“Whoa, that’s- that’s crazy!” Gold pushed past Mango’s arms to crawl closer to King, totally enraptured by the infinite possibilities the future might bright. “Do you call yourself King because you rule the world? Has there been some kind of crazy apocalypse and you’re leading the survivors? Has the Internet ended!?”

Before Gold could take his hyperactive, overly imaginative questioning any further, Mango took the reigns and pulled Gold back by his collar, “Easy, Hon,” Mango scolded lightly, “Remember, it’s only been about two years. I don’t think the world would’ve ended in that time.” Much less Mango becoming some sort of monarch, but that thought was so ridiculous it didn’t need to be said. What idiot would make Mango a king?

King stood surprisingly rigidly, looking… too uncomfortable at questions he should’ve very well expected from his kid, “A lot can happen in two years.” He informed them both without any further elaboration.

“Still!” Gold pumped his arms up in excitement, his sunny smile shining so bright that even dull, downtrodden King seemed to lighten up, “You’ve gotta have so many crazy stories! Like that big fair coming up this summer,” That made King visibly flinch, raising so many more alarm bells in Mango’s head, “or-!” Gold gasped, “The next tournament! You gotta tell me how I’ll do! Do I win?! Did I screw it up?! How many people did I beat?!”

The look on King’s face was visibly pained, and the weight in Mango’s stomach became a black hole. It sucked in everything – his feelings, his attention, his damned air – as a terrible puzzle began to put itself together in his head. The dust on everything. The longing in King’s eyes. The exhaustion that encumbered every inch of his form.

No. No, I’m just imagining things. There’s no way-

A sigh, and King sunk in on himself, looking every bit like a monarch burdened with the weight of the world. “There are… some things you need to know. Don’t get up, this is going to be a long story…”

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

Of all the things Purple had thought they’d be doing with tonight’s dinner, playing some odd combination of keep away and football was not what they expected.

The ball, also known as the ‘radioactive lasagna abomination’, was held high above Purple’s head as Blue stretched herself to try and steal it from them. It was all in good fun; Blue wasn’t seriously trying to fight Purple, and Green had decided it was safe enough to not risk worsening his potential concussion. Instead he sat off to the side, offering wayward advice and vague warnings to help keep the lasagna out of Blue’s clutches. Red was cheering over in vaguely the direction of the couch, more on the side of chaos than either of his friends. Meanwhile Second and Yellow, while initially entertaining themselves by watching, had quickly grown tired of the antics and were quietly talking amongst themselves about quantum… something? Purple wasn’t smart enough to be able to figure out what they were talking about from just the little snippets they could overhear. Not when they had to focus entirely on Blue.

The thing about Blue was that she was ever so slightly taller than Purple, tall enough that Purple had to lean back to keep the lasagna away from her. This inevitably lead to them losing their balance and falling flat on their face, nose inches away from the glowing casserole. Its smell smacked Purple with a repugnant odor, like the food was three weeks out of date, and they gagged involuntarily. How could Blue even want to put this disgusting thing in her mouth?

When they’d fallen Blue had landed on top of Purple, and it took almost no time for her to begin scrambling forth to get at the lasagna. Purple sharply butted her chin with their head and slipped out from under her to take hold of the dish once again. They were only up on their feet for a moment before Blue charged after them.

Panicked, Purple began frantically scanning all around the room, from table to window to houseplant, looking for somewhere, anywhere, to get rid of this radioactive time bomb before Blue could make the mistake of eating it. Finally they caught sight of the open window on top of the door, the same one Yellow had jokingly implied the group had entered through earlier, and without a moment’s hesitation they got into form and began to spin, building up momentum, all the while aware of Blue’s heavy footsteps stomping closer and closer. Just moments before Blue could grab them they tossed the lasagna like a discus, sending it flying over the door, out the window, and into Mango’s front yard.

Everyone froze. Silence fell over them all before slowly, gingerly, three sticks made their way towards the door. Green first, getting up off his chair to inspect the damage, then Purple, then Blue sheepishly trailing behind. The sun was starting to go down, but there was still plenty of summer sun warming their faces as they stepped outside. It took a moment to find the lasagna – the thing had flown roughly thirty meters once it exited the house, landing food side down in one of the neighbor’s flowering bushes.

...There was smoke coming from the hydrangeas. The entire plant withered in double speed; its leaves going black and stems drooping down. The delicate pink petals shriveled up and fell off. Soon enough those poor flowers were dead, a single wilted shrub amongst the rainbow that decorated the neighbor’s front lawn.

Silence reigned for a heavy second. Then Blue made a sound like a small ‘meep’, her hands flying up to stroke her jaw, as if verifying that it was indeed still in tact.

“...And this is why we don’t like it when you put random things you find on the ground in your mouth.” Green scolded, sounding more tired than genuinely angry. His fingers were massaging his temples in a vain attempt to stave off what was no doubt a resurgence of his earlier migraine.

Blue anxiously tapped her fingers as she murmured in acknowledgment, “Yeah, I’m gonna go try and get that pan back before someone notices… Sorry, Purple…”

With that Blue trudged out into the big stick world all on her own, tiptoe and tumbling across the lawn as though avoiding the gaze of some non-existent sentry. Nobody was present, of course – after moving in Purple began keeping meticulous track of the neighbors comings and goings, mostly for safety reasons but also for their own amusement, and knew none of the neighbors who would care would be home for several hours. Everyone else knew how to mind their own business, so Purple gave Green a casual shrug and made their way back inside.

If there had been any tension inside from the Great Lasagna Toss, it had completely dissipated by the time Purple had returned. Second and Yellow had roped Red into joining whatever conversation they were having, and though Red looked to be developing a migraine on par with Green’s, he seemed to at least be beginning to understand what they were talking about.

“So a ‘fixed timeline’ means that nothing you can do will altar the past and change the future, even if you tried to directly?” Red asked.

Yellow nodded, seemingly satisfied with how Red’s slap-dash time travel education was coming along, “Exactly. The most common reason for this is the single timeline theory. If you time travel, you will always have time traveled, and so the time travel was a canonical event from the beginning. But there are versions of this theory that say the universe will altar itself in order to course correct. Things can only go one way, and there’s no changing fate,” She hummed, stroking her chin, “That’s actually one of my primary concerns with the current situation. Maybe we can stop Gold from dying, but in doing so we may be condemning them to an even worse death later.”

Purple’s heart jolted in their chest. They jumped over to Yellow, startling the bright stick as she scrambled a little in response to their sudden closeness. “Hey, hi. Maybe don’t say that in front of the Old Man? Like, ever?” Without giving her a chance to respond, Purple continued, “I think he’s had enough mental breakdowns for one day.”

“Ngh…” Second groaned from where they were still laying on the couch. There had been some positive progress, in that they could now turn their head and make tiny movements without crying from pain, but they still couldn’t pull themselves up into a sitting position, “The more I think about this, the more I feel like I should be in there with him. I mean, I’m the one who brought them here, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” Yellow agreed, though her eyebrow was quirked up at the sickly stick.

Second continued to ramble to all the sticks presence, barely paying mind to Green when he joined them, having apparently gotten bored of watching Blue stealth across the front lawn, “He doesn’t even know about string theory, or multiple worldlines, or- or the risks of tearing a hole in space-time? Like, what if there’s some sort of backlash from using that much energy at once?” Second’s face grew more and more tense as their rambles continued, “Or what if there’s actually still a microscopic black-hole in the kitchen, and it could tear open and swallow everything at any time?! Or-or-” Seconds eyes seemed to lose focus as they gazed up at nothingness. Their voice got hoarser, their breathing harder, their speaking faster, “W-what if we were wrong about the multiple timelines thing, and the paradox of having past versions of two people here is slowly tearing the universe apart, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but the cold, endless void-?!”

“Whoa there, buddy, reel it back a little bit,” Red was the first to break free of the stunned stupor Second’s stream of madness caused, but once he did he moved to Second’s side to place his hands on their shoulders. Judging by how Second didn’t so much as twitch at the contact, his touch must have been unusually gentle, “You’re doing the thing again.”

Second’s eyes were bulging out of their face, but in a strange way their confusion seemed to ground them, forcing Second to focus on Red, “W-what thing?”

“You know, the thing,” Red leaned over Second to make sure they could see him as he continued, “That spiraling thing you do, where your train of thought hits, like, this tiny little pebble of random danger and goes flying off the rails into this insane paranoia tornado, until it goes crashing back down into the central station of common sense,” A grin fit for a clown spread wide across Red’s face as he described this phenomenon, “You know, that thing?”

Whatever the intention of Red’s comment, it at least got Second to calm down, even if it was only by making them more annoyed than worried, “I do not do that,” They insisted.

Green’s snickering laugh only increased the level of petty pout that Second was putting on, “You totally do, dude!”

“Majority rules,” Yellow added, smugly pushing her glasses up her nose.

In desperation, Second tilted their head towards Purple, “I don’t do that, right Purple?”

“I may not be a quantum physicist like you and Yellow,” The violet stick crossed their arms and leaned back, “but I am not stupid enough to get in the middle of this.”

Howling laughter erupted from the other three sticks, and Second sighed melodramatically, head slumping back on the couch, “I hate you all,” They declared in a weary sigh.

“Aw,” Red cooed, moving his hands to cautiously squish second’s face, “Is da wittle cwybaby feewing gwumpy?”

Second’s face lit up in a bright green blush, “What did I do to deserve this?”

Purple felt lighter as they laughed along with everyone. They hadn’t realized just how rigidly they’d been holding themselves until all that tension was forced out of them by a little dose of joy. That was the nice things about these guys; no matter how bad the circumstances, no matter what horrors life put them through, they always managed to come out the other side whole and together. What was it that got them through the tough times? Was it one anchor that held them together, like Second’s protective attachment, or Green’s compassion? Was it all of their good traits coming together, making something greater than the sum of their parts? Or maybe they just loved each other that much, that they could manifest happy endings for themselves by believing hard enough?

Envy scratched at Purple’s insides, just the same as it did every time they saw the colourful group together, but its insistent scratching got softer and quieter every time they got together. Though their earlier thoughts about Gold proved Purple was still a terrible person, they felt like being around the others was slowly, surely, making them better. At least, they really hoped so.

The merriment of the moment was interrupted by a loud, angry, “You son of a bitch!”, followed by a thump that seemed to shake the house.

Second was first to react, immediately trying to sit up, but Red vetoed that idea by pushing down on their shoulders roughly enough that Second winced. “Stay down, ya masochist!” He scolded, “We got this! Come on, guys!”

The prompting shook Purple out of their momentary shock to follow Red out of the room, heart racing. Heavy footsteps behind them indicated that Green was following as well, racing along in tandem through the side hallway where the bedrooms were. They filed past Mango’s Purple’s door to reach Gold’s, and Red yanked it open to exactly the sight Purple had been afraid of. The younger Mango had knocked down the older one, pinning him with his weight and attempting to punch his lights out. Old Man Mango was barely blocking his blows with his already bruised forearms, wincing visibly with every hit. Purple’s crown, once proudly displayed in the living room along with one of Gold’s trophies, had been knocked to the ground in the middle of the chaos.

Purple’s breath hitched.

“D-dad, please-!” Gold was crying, visible tears running down his face. Her entire body was shaking, “Please, c-calm down!”

“How could you?!” Younger Mango seemed deaf to everything, even his own child, at that moment, “How could you let this happen?!”

All Old Man Mango did in response was grunt as he was hit again.

Nobody was moving forward to stop this mess; Red and Green were utterly petrified, and Gold was clearly not in any state to do anything. So without further thought Purple leapt into action, barreling into the forbidden space and grabbing onto the younger Mango’s arm. The sudden touch had him turning his tearful, angry glare at Purple. Ice spread through Purple’s veins as their eyes made contact, freezing them in place for the entire half-second it took for Mango’s fist to connect with their face.

Pain exploded across their cheek and traveled through their entire head, and for a moment Purple felt so much younger, so much smaller. A tall stick, the same colour as the sunset the night sky towered above them, looking down at his their child with wild, frightened eyes. You need to get up, Purple! Their voice echoed through Purple’s ears, ringing heavily with each throb of pain, You need to fight, Purple! I can’t protect you forever, Purple-!

“Purple!”

Jolting back into reality, Purple blinked away their blurred vision and found warm orange replacing cold navy. The Old Man Mango had finally stopped letting himself be used as a punching bag and was hovering anxiously over them, hands reaching out but seemingly unable to bridge the gap between them. Beyond the clear horror, Mango wore guilt plain on his face, looking close to tears yet again. Over… Purple? Or scaring Gold, maybe?

Whatever it was, the hysteria of his current mood remained in the old man’s voice when he called out again, “Purple! Are you alright?!”

The throbbing pain lingering in their jaw, but at that moment all Purple wanted was for the Old Man to stop looking at them like they were some kicked puppy. The way his eyes bore into them, with lingering tears and intense focus, was making their heart clench painfully tight and their chest fill with a strange warmth. So Purple playfully smacked away his stalling hands and smiled their biggest, brightest smile, “Pfft, I’m fine. I’ve taken hits twice that hard when I was half this size.”

Mango retreated a little at Purple’s words, no longer bordering on the edge of hysteria but still looking very uncomfortable, “I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but that’s actually doing the opposite.”

Not even bothering to hide their rolling eyes, Purple quickly surveyed the room again. Poor Gold was the first thing they noticed; their eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets as they covered their gaping mouth, horrified at what their father had just done. On the opposite side of the room, Green was being held back by Red. He glared daggers at the younger Old Man, who in turn was staring at Purple themselves with shock and… something else, something dark, that made Purple’s insides squirm in familiar fear.

Why? What did they do besides get punched out?

Some sort of accord seemed to have been reached between Red and Green, the two briefly nodding at each other in the corner of Purple’s vision before separating. Red lazily jogged along the outer edges of the room while Green approached the younger Mango and grabbed his arm roughly, “Well, since you two are clearly going to behave like children,” Green scolded as he dragged Young Mango over to Old Mango, only to do the same to him, “Then we’re going to have to treat you like children. Red!”

A sharp squeaking noise flooded the room, signaling that Red had yanked opened the closet door, and without further notice Green pushed both adults inside. Red slammed the closet door closed immediately once the two were inside, and Purple was joining in on their mutiny before their brain could fully comprehend what was happening, grabbing the knocked over chair from Gold’s desk and using it to prop the door shut. With the chair wedged firmly in place, the thumps from within the sealed room had no hope of breaking free.

“Hey!” One of the two old men called out from within, beating on the door with such force Purple could swear they could see it shaking, “Let us out of here, you damned brats!” The pounding of their fists against it matched the pounding of Purple’s heart as they realized Holy Heck they just locked their guardian in the closet-!

Red leaned against the door with a smug aura. From the safety of the outside he taunted, “Nope~! Naughty adults have to be punished in the time out zone~!”

“Listen, you little-!”

“Don’t bother,” A more tired version of the same voice reasoned with the angry one, “They won’t listen to you anyways.”

Maybe it was how calm the Mango he’d always known sounded in the midst of all this chaos, or maybe the shock of the situation was finally starting to wear off, but Purple suddenly found themselves grinning at this ridiculous situation, “C’mon, Old Man,” They teased, hearing a bristling repetition of the nickname from who they were sure was the younger of the two, “You know you can’t really come out of the closet until you truly accept yourself.”

Who the heavy sigh that followed came from didn’t even need clarification, nor did the mumbling of, “Purple, I swear to Turing-”

As Green and Red went over the security on the door to be sure the two fighting adults couldn’t just bust their way out, Purple found themselves turning back to Gold, who had been watching the entire circus play out with utter shock. Purple had guessed from pictures that they and Gold were around the same height, but the way he curled in on himself made them look so much smaller, so much more fragile. It wasn’t easy seeing a parent lose themselves to their own madness, Purple sympathized. Especially when learning about your own death was the catalyst.

So Purple approached and, making sure not to startle her by speaking too loudly, asked, “Hey, how are you doing?”

Gold jumped a little at suddenly being addressed, anxiously twiddling his fingers as he answered, “Uh, fine, I’m fine, I’m… sorry, I should’ve done something to stop them, or help, but-”

“I think we can excuse you for being a little… out of it today,” Consoled Purple. They felt like they should do comfort them – rub the kid’s shoulder, hug her, something – but the full weight of the situation kept them standing awkwardly still. Eventually, Purple managed to break the silence, “I’m Purple, by the way. I usually go by they/them.”

They held out their hand, and after a moment of silent staring Gold took it, “Uh, Gold. I’m- I’m a guy, at least for now. That’ll probably change, but I’ll let you know when it does.” Despite his clear discomfort, Gold forced a familiar smile onto his face. The family resemblance between father and son was so strong it would’ve been impossible not to see the Old Man in Gold.

“Thanks!” Red chimed in, sliding up to them from the side, “I’m Red, and that’s Green. We’re guys too! Mostly!”

Green rolled his eyes as he sauntered up behind Red. “Chill out, dude. C’mon, we should leave Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dork to their suffering and introduce Gold to the others.”

“Others? There are more of you guys?” Gold asked, too stunned to protest as Red and Green practically pushed him out of the room, “D-did my dad start an orphanage or something after I died?”

Purple couldn’t hold back their snorting laughter, “Nah, I’m the only one who lives here. Everyone else is just freeloading until further notice.”

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

SO. Today hadn’t been going exactly like Gold planned.

He thought he’d be winning the tournament today, taking home a trophy just as golden and shiny as his colouring, but managed to flub it up at the last moment. Then, before Gold could even start to lick his wounds, he and his father were thrust years – literal years – into the future, where Gold was dead and his dad looked halfway to it. They’d gotten as far as the incident at the fair before his other father completely lost his marbles and began trying to beat himself to death, only for some poor other kid to suffer the consequences.

Now he was standing awkwardly in his own living room, so familiar yet so different, where a rainbow of strangers were hanging around with a variety of injuries.

“Blue’s not back?” Green asked as they all entered and wait, this wasn’t all of them???

One of them, a yellow stick with glasses, shook their head, “Probably still stealthing her way back. I’m sure she’ll-”

The front door exploded open with enough force that Gold was certain the old bat next door heard (if she was still alive after two years, dear programmers it’d been two years-), and a bright blue stick with a cheeky grin and one of dad’s new two year old casserole dishes held over her head triumphantly. “Behold! I have retrieved the evidence!” She looked around the room, stopped her gaze at Gold, and blinked owlishly for a long moment, “Uh, I feel like I missed something.”

Green openly snorted, “A few things.” He agreed, waltzing past Gold without concern to plop down next to the messed of a stick laying on the couch. Without even looking he took this stick’s hand and continued conversing with the blue stick, poking some eating related jab at them. Looking past them, Gold did a double take as he finally caught sight of the kitchen and holy heck what happened to the kitchen?!

A violet hand on his shoulder made Gold jump momentarily, glancing back to see Purple smiling kindly despite the fresh bruise on their face. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of Purple; they’d been so nice, even after Gold’s dad straight up punched them in the face. A part of Gold felt like they were taking advantage of Purple’s hospitality after what dad had done, but an even bigger part was grateful for something – anything – to cling on to in the middle of this insanity.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout the mess,” Purple gestured vaguely to the ruined room, shrugging, “As it turns out, time travel has some wicked side effects. Including literally exploding.”

The stick on the couch, who Gold had assumed was asleep (or maybe in a coma), mumbled an exhausted, “Sorry…” before rolling a little to better face the others.

“Ah, right, let me introduce everyone!” Purple leapt out from behind Gold to take center stage. It was obvious to Gold how they reveled in the spotlight, every gesture made being grand and graceful, “Firstly, presenting the perilous potion pilferer, the gluttonous god of the grill, the mighty Miss Blue!” The blue stick had seated herself on the arm part of Dad’s armchair, snickering at Purple’s introduction, “Sitting next to her, measuring up at a whopping 1500 grams of brains and 50 grams of muscles-”

“Hey,” The Yellow stick warned, not bothering to wipe the amused smile from their face. Gold brought a hand up to his mouth to help hold in his giggling.

“-Her sassiness, the Unyielding Miss Yellow!” Purple spun around the armchair to stand between it and the couch, “Now, you’ve already been introduced to the Wrathful Red,” Purple presented Red who, despite his title, was grinning like he’d just won the lottery as he posed, “And Green the Guileless!” Green rolled his eyes playfully, “But be prepared, for our last friend is certainly not our least. They are the world’s deadliest mom friend, a hot-headed herald of hibernation…” Purple presented the stick on the couch with jazz hands, “The Second Coming~!”

The others let out a round of whoops and hollers that didn’t seem particularly appreciated by this Second Coming character, who waved everyone off with a grumpy frown. “You can just call me Second,” They informed Gold in a mumble. While they weren’t as visibly injured as everyone around them, they made up for that by looking deathly ill. Their eyes were practically swallowed by dark circles, and their exposed flesh was clammy and pale.

Dropping the act, Purple seemed a little more serious as they informed him, “Second’s the one who brought you here with their super powers. It kinda drained them.”

Gold’s mouth was open before he could even fully take in the information, “Oh, so that’s why they look like a drowned cat.”

Immediately his eyes bulged out of their sockets, and howling laughter flooded the air from the other sticks. Why did he say that?! What in the Outernet made him say that to the stick who SAVED HIS LIFE?!?!

Second looked like they were suppressing a grimace, “Gee, thanks.”

Waving his hands frantically, Gold immediately tried to eat his words, swallow them, anything to take them back and redo his introduction, “I am SO sorry! I-I don’t even know why I said that, that was SO stupid-!”

“Hey, hey,” Second awkwardly consoled, slowly lifting themselves up into a sitting position. Everyone who could stand immediately stood at attention, watching their change of position with hyper-vigilance, “It’s okay, let’s just… start over,” They lifted their arm with shaking effort, managing a grin for Gold, “Hi, I’m Second.”

Feeling a little relief wash over him, Gold reached over and carefully took his hand, giving it a light shake, “I’m Gold. It’s nice to meet you.”

Second’s eyes remained trained on Gold’s face the entire time, watching him as if looking for something, and Gold’s muscles locked up as he struggled not to look away. It felt like those emerald eyes were trying to pierce through his very soul. After a moment, a wide smile spread across Second’s face, “What’s wrong? You look like a cat that’s about to be drowned.”

Everyone laughed even longer and louder than before as Gold’s jaw dropped. Once his brain caught up with the present, Gold found himself joining in on the merriment, “Okay, okay, that’s fair.” He agreed. Green’s arm slung around his shoulder, and Gold found himself feeling surprisingly warm. Despite how crazy his life was right now, even with his dad locked in the closet for actual assault, Gold found himself feeling genuinely relaxed. He felt like… things would be okay.

A pained stomach grumbling out interrupted Gold’s thoughts, and everyone turned to Purple with various levels of amusement. “Geez, you still haven’t shut that thing up?” Green teased, his arm still around Gold’s shoulders.

“With what?!” Purple asked, “In case you haven’t noticed, the kitchen’s still wrecked!”

Gold perked up a little. All this time he had been allowing himself to be drawn along by the chaos, going along with everyone else and allowing himself to be comforted by the generosity. But this was Gold’s house too, and a little nagging voice in the back of his head reminded him that Gold had the power to give back, at least a little, for everything they’d done for him. Like giving him comfort and taking his mind off things and saving his damn life.

“Ooh! I can handle that!” Gold informed the others triumphantly, before pulling away to sprint towards the living room’s bookshelf. Once it had been neatly arranged; there had been a separate shelf for dad’s manuals, dad’s novels, Gold’s novels, and Gold’s comic books, but now books of various genres and owners were mixed up. There were also books about flower meanings and game guides mixed in, as well as novels from medieval fantasies that Gold assumed were Purple’s, on account of this being a genre neither Gold nor his father were into. But pressed against the very same spot as it was two years ago was One Hundred and One Ways To Pick Up Sticks. Dad had told Gold it had been a tasteless gift after a bad breakup, but it did have its uses. Like, for example, being ridiculously large and thick for the type of book it was.

Gold opened the hollowed out book and took a wad of the large amount of cash – not as much as two years ago, he noted, but still plenty – before turning around to wave the fistful of bills for the others to see. Yellow’s eyes lit up as she squealed, and everyone else seemed to freeze in place at the sight of real money.

Purple’s mouth fell open in shock, “Wait, he had a secret stash this whole time?!” They scowled, “That cheap Old Man…”

“Nice!” Blue recovered first, grinning wickedly. She rubbed her hands together and licked her lip. On the opposite side of Yellow, Green and Red exchanged a high-five, grinning wickedly.

Only Second seemed to hold some reluctance, “Uh, is it really okay for us to use that?”

“Geez, you really are the mom friend,” Purple rolled their eyes, plopping down on the couch near Second’s feet.

Still, the worried look on their face was making Gold’s stomach squirm, so he held up a finger and declared, “Well, why don’t we ask him?” Turning towards where his bedroom was in the house, Gold raised his voice and shouted, “Hey, Dad! We’re gonna use some of the emergency fund to order out! If that’s not okay, say something!” Gold held a hand up his ear to amplify his hearing, and waited.

And waited.

And waited…

After a few more seconds of nothingness, Gold shrugged, “Guess it’s okay.”

Second weakly smiled in response, “Heh, alright then.” Their eyes fluttered a little, trying and failing to resist the siren song of slumber.

“Pizza cool with everyone?” Purple asked, already pulling out a cellular device. It was sleek and dark, with a protective jacket covered in adorable stickers. After receiving a round of affirmations, they nodded and began dialing.

“Oh, make sure no meat for me!” Red suddenly piped up.

Blue nodded thoughtfully, “I’ve never gone full vegetarian with a pizza. That actually sounds pretty good!” She licked her lips, no doubt imagining the taste of red sauce and vegetables on her tongue.

“I’m good with whatever,” Green piped up, “But make sure to get something simple for Sec. They tend to like the more traditional pizzas, and they’re already not feeling well, so…” His hand found its way to Second’s head, gently petting through the long orange tangle of hair, and Second subconsciously pushed back into his touch.

Purple nodded along to their requests, taking clear note, “Okay, so we’ll get three pizzas. One classic pepperoni, one veggie…” Gold perked up, and quickly leapt to interrupt Purple and get his own favourite pizza added on.

“Oh! Oh! Could the last one be Hawaiian?”

“-And the last will be Hawaiian, obviously.”

The two sentences, spoken in perfect harmony, echoed through the living room as Purple and Gold’s eyes met. Silence lingered in the air between them; It held no awkwardness or tension, only a strange sense of warmth and understanding. Somewhere deep inside of him, Gold could feel the spark of a new bond ignite.

Purple smiled, sauntered over to Gold’s side, and tossed an arm over his shoulder, “Goldie,” The violet stick smiled as they cheerfully proclaimed, “I think you and I are gonna get along juuust fine.”

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

Thump.

“Arg… come on!”

Thump.

“Why won’t this stupid thing-”

Thump.

“Open?!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Behind Mango, the so-called King sighed from the spot on the ground where he’d made himself comfortable, “Give it a rest. Those kid’s aren’t going to make it so easy for us to get out of here.”

Spinning around on his heels, Mango glared furiously at this pathetic future version of himself. How could he just sit there, all poised and collected like their his child wasn’t out there, alone, grappling with the knowledge of his incoming death and stuck with a bunch of strangers. If anything he seemed… detached, staring at the wall in front of him without an ounce of concern for what was going on. The expression on his face was completely and utterly devoid of emotion.

His blood began to boil.

“Maybe it’d be a little easier,” Mango sneered out under his breath, “if you did anything other than just sit there, you useless piece of-”

King cut him off, “Oh, shut up. You’re giving me a migraine.” As if to emphasize this point, King began digging his fingers into the temples of his skull, “Take it from someone who’s been there: You don’t want to fly off the handle at any little thing. Trust me, you’ll end up regretting it.”

Spinning on his heels, Mango leveled a glare at King. “This isn’t any little thing!” His fists twitched at his side, begging Mango to let them fly forth, to punish, to hurt. He held off for now, “This is my baby! My Gold! Dying! How could you not be furious?!” Just the thought of Gold’s suffering constricted Mango’s lungs in his chest, making each inhale of air a fight, “How could you just let this go?! He’s the only good thing in this cursors damned world, and he’s gone!” Turmoil churned in Mango’s gut, making him vaguely nauseous. He pushed through the pain, spitting it all back out at King, “He was pulled into some game attraction, glitched out of existence, and you just sat back and watched! YOU LET HIM DIE!”

He could see it now. Gold, pushing back against the pull of that accursed game, desperately reaching out to him, Dad! Dad, help me! I’m scared! Before his body would be overwhelmed by the errors, horror and pain spreading across his face as he was eaten alive-

Struggling to speak against his own heaving lungs, Mango’s volume lowered as he growled, “I don’t care what you say, I am not you. I would never sit back and do nothing while my child was murdered.”

Throughout the tirade, King didn’t once speak up. Didn’t so much as twitch. He kept his gaze level and even on the wall opposite of him. “You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already told myself,” He responded coolly, far too coolly, once Mango was done. His vacant, uncaring eyes wouldn’t meet Mango’s, which boiled his blood hotter, “But I’ve been where you are. I know exactly how you’re feeling, and I know that giving into that anger will just make things so much worse. If you don’t cool off, you’ll end up doing something you regret.”

“Regret more than letting my kid die?” The idea was almost laughable, if it wasn’t so painfully stupid.

Finally King got off his lazy butt, standing and at last meeting Mango’s eyes. They were as cold and empty as King himself. “Earlier, when that kid tried to stop us from fighting, you swung your fists without even looking,” The phantom pressure of that child’s face danced across Mango’s knuckles, causing him to flex his fingers on impulse. He supposed the kid had been innocent in all this, but it was hard to feel bad when he’d caught the look on his future self’s face; how could he have so much concern for this random bystander when his dead baby was right there? Oblivious, King continued, “Did it ever occur to you that it could have easily been Gold who’d tried to stop us instead?”

Now that made Mango’s blood run cold, because he was certain his future self was right. If those kids hadn’t run in to interfere, Gold would’ve tried to stop him as soon as the shock wore off. That was the kind of kid Gold was; sweet and selfless. And then he would’ve punched his own child.

Pushing that thought of his head, Mango immediately redirected, “Are you sure it’s Gold you’re worried about? Because you seemed awfully concerned about that other kid… Purple, was it?” King’s brow furrowed in irritation, and Mango felt a small bit of pleasure in finally getting a reaction out of him, even if it confirmed his worst suspicions, “Who are they, anyways?”

“They’re…” King tripped over his tongue, looking away from Mango as he no doubt realized what Mango had, “It’s complicated…”

“Doesn’t seem too complicated to me,” Mango stepped into the other’s space, backing him into the wall. For a so-called King, he didn’t seem to have any of the qualities of a king: the decisiveness, the bravery, the poise. He was just a cowardly old man, with fear in his heart and sweat on his brow. “It seems like you just picked up some random kid off the street to fill the hole in your life,” King seemed to bristle at that, which only spurred Mango on, “You disgusting, pathetic bastard. What kind of father are you, to just forget your child and replace them with-”

That was as far as Mango got before he was thrust against the opposite wall, a bruised arm threatening to crush his windpipe. The King’s eyes had gone wide and wild, like a feral dog’s, and Mango reveled the fury, “Purple is NOT a replacement for Gold,” He growled, voice low and dangerous, “No one could EVER replace Gold.”

Despite the pressure on his throat, Mango gave the other his biggest, smuggest grin, “What was it you said about giving into anger?”

The single sentence caused King to remember himself, and he quickly retreated, leaving a vacuum of tension between them. He sighed, and attempted to wipe the anger from his eyes, and didn’t quite succeed, “I know how you feel because I’ve been there,” King grumbled, “Do not presume to know how I feel in return. Purple is not Gold. They will never be Gold, and I don’t expect them to be Gold. I was going to tell the full story before you lost your shit, but to make it short, after Gold died, I… hurt people. A lot of people,” As he spoke, King’s eyes lost focus, staring at the wall in front of him without seeing anything, “I was going to kill them. I was going to kill myself. And I failed because of Purple. They saved me. I owe them my life- No. My life isn’t valuable enough. I owe them so much more than that.”

A ghost of a smile formed on King’s face. Mango’s stomach turned. How could this… sick monster smile while his baby was dead?

“I’ve already been angry about Gold’s death,” Continued King. He sounded less angry with every sentence, which began eating away at Mango’s limited patience yet again, “I know what that feels like, what it does to me. But this isn’t a time to be angry. Thanks to this… miracle, I have a chance to change fate. I’m elated,” King’s hand reached up to brush his too long hair out of his face, smiling softly, “I can save my child.”

“My child,” Mango interrupted insistently. Owlish blinking was what he got in response, and he sharpened his glare as he elaborated, “Your child, if you’ll remember, is dead. Gold is my kid, and I’m not going to become you. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

King pressed his lips together thinly and stared at Mango, but did not protest. “Fine. Whatever,” He brushed off, “That’s not what’s important. The only thing that matters right now is Gold,” For once, the King was speaking sense, “I won’t try to make you like me, or pretend that’s even possible. But for Gold’s sake…” An empty hand reached out, an olive branch of peace, “We’ll need to work together.”

There was no need to elaborate further. This King was his and Gold’s only connection in this world. It was still unclear if there was a way for the two to return to the past. They’d need a safe place to say, and while this had once been Mango’s home, it now belonged to King. Two years was not a terribly long time, but it was more than enough to rock their worlds upside down. They’d need to rebuild everything from scratch, and as much as he loathed this carefree version of himself, this King who as good as murdered his own child when he turned his back on Gold, they needed the safety and security he could provide. Furious as Mango was, he at least maintained enough pragmatism to see that.

So Mango stared the Usurper of his home in the eyes, and took the offered hand, “Fine. For now. But the second I’m on my feet, I’m taking MY kid and we’re leaving.”

“As long as Gold’s safe and happy,” The King smiled a weary smile as he shook his hand, “That’s all that matters.”

Once the truce was firmly established, Mango pulled his hand from King’s grip and wiped it on his shirt. King took this opportunity to gently shove his way in front of Mango to inspect the sealed door. He first tried the knob, then knelled down and began banging at the door in random spots. “If you’re trying to break through, you’re going to need more force than that,” Mango advised, folding his arms, “I figured if we both hit it in tandem-”

“We’ll break down the door,” King put a single finger up, shushing Mango like a child, and then he beckoned with his hand to his seething younger self, “but before we resort to destruction of property, hand me one of those hangers, will you? I want to try something.”

Automatically, Mango reached up and took hold of one of the wire hangers. Letting this bastard boss him around was far from Mango’s idea of a good time, but at this point he just wanted out of the stupid closet.

King spun the wire hanger and began to methodically deconstruct it. Even the weakest of sticks were more than strong enough to bend the metal without use of any special equipment, so it was only a matter of seconds before King had untwisted the hanger out of shape. He then carefully bent the top into a hook-shape and slipped it through the crack on the side of the door. Mango leaned against the wall and simply watched. He was more than capable of putting together the plan, but wondered if it would really work, or how long it would take for Mango to take hold of the chair. If the wire metal would even have enough hold to pull the chair down with breaking or bending out of shape.

It did, in the end, but it took long enough that Mango had begun to nod off while leaning against the wall. The crash of the chair meeting the floor had been what startled him back into the world of the waking. Once his eyes were open, Mango’s eyes met King’s, and it was only then that he’d realized that his response had been to jump at the sound. There was an unpleasant crinkle of amusement around the foolish King’s eyes as he stepped out, took back his crown, and mockingly bowed.

Smug bastard.

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

Madame Marrone’s Pizzeria wasn’t the best pizzeria Purple had ever eaten at. Heck, it wasn’t even the best one in delivery range, but it was fast and cheap and good for what it was, so it was Madame Marrone’s chocolate brown visage on their pizza boxes when they’d finally arrived. Everyone was eager to dig in, and despite the initial scramble for the best, hottest slices, everyone worked in tandem to best serve each other. Green poured soft drinks with showmanship and flair, and Blue took care of Yellow and Second, so that they could get their fair share despite not being able to stand.

The Hawaiian pizza, which everyone else had stupidly left untouched, was shared equally between Gold and Purple. The Old Man had stared a hole through Purple’s head the first time they’d ordered pineapple pizza, looking like he’d just seen a ghost. And now that they knew the reason, Purple could barely contain their laughter. Who’d have known that the crotchety Old Man would have such an amazing kid?

Because he did. Have an amazing kid, that is.

Over pizza, it became obvious to Purple why Gold’s loss had hurt the Old Man so deeply. It wasn’t just that Gold was his kid – it was because Gold was a one in a million child, especially kind and especially sweet. They had only known the gang for a few minutes, but they already fit in far faster than Purple had. It was like they’d always been one of them, joining in the jokes and ribbing as if it was second nature. Watching them interact made Purple feel cold and lonely.

They were a bad person.

Gold told them all what the Old Man had shared, and it had quickly become apparent that they’d only gotten partway through the tale before the Old Man who would be known as Mango assaulted the Old Man who would be known as King. The fact that Gold had no idea who any of them had been should have been Purple’s first clue, but in their defense they’d had more important things to focus on at the time. They’d only managed to get to the point of Gold’s demise before the chaos had broken out.

Red had winced, hearing the details of Gold’s passing. “I’m sorry, man,” He sympathized, “Minecraft glitches are rough.” Though the Booth Thirty incident and the ‘Herobrine’ incident were two very different circumstances, it was likely the closest any of them could ever come to understanding what Gold went through.

“It’s not like I actually experienced that,” Gold shrugged off the show of empathy. They’d all rearranged themselves after the pizza had arrived, and Gold had taken over the arm of the Old Man’s armchair, right next to Yellow. “But it’s so weird to think about. I mean, I knew death was a thing, obviously, but I’ve never even lost someone before. I’ve never thought seriously about what happens after death. Have you guys?”

Nobody seemed to be in a rush to answer that question, only exchanging nervous looks amongst themselves. Yellow stared directly at Second, while Blue and Red leaned in closer to them and Green took their hand. The group had all had their near death experiences in the past, but this didn’t feel like that. It felt like earlier, when the idea of taking Second to a hospital was brought up. Like they were keeping something from them.

Ignoring the tightening knot in their chest, Purple spoke up to finally respond to Gold. “I have,” They confessed. It was hard to avoid that topic, when your last remaining family was slowly fading away in front of your eyes, “They say when data’s deleted from a hard drive, it’s never really completely gone. That some trace of it always remains. I don’t know if that’s true, but I want to believe it is.”

Because it meant, in some way, that Purple’s mother had remained with them after her death. That Purple hadn’t been entirely alone. It was a cold comfort in the darkest of nights, when Purple had no company but the chilling moonlight, but a comfort nonetheless.

“I… hope that’s true, too,” Gold agreed.

It occurred to Purple that they could tell the rest of the story right then and there. The details they’d been missing from the Booth Thirty Incident had been covered by Gold’s retelling of the event, and everything else they’d been present for. But the look on the Old Man’s face when he left to finally speak with Gold, that utterance of ‘This is a family matter’, muted their voice. It wouldn’t be right for Purple to tell Gold what they’d done. That was- that was King’s job. From family to family, no room for anyone else.

...Purple was a really bad person.

“Well, personally, I don’t,” Yellow declared, “I can barely handle one Green. The army that would arise from his many, many foolish Minecraft deaths? No thank you.”

Green scoffed at Yellow’s complaints, “You’re just jealous. You couldn’t possibly compete with an army that awesome.”

“H-hey…” Second’s mumbling broke through their ribbing, “Can we maybe change the subject? I’m not really up for talking about this right now…”

A round of worried looks passed around the room. While Purple lacked context for many of the group’s misadventures, they knew Second well enough to know that the fact that they were asking so pleasantly was more of a red flag than anything else they could’ve done. The group instead decided to tell Gold a story from their shared history. It seemed subconsciously unanimous that they not share the memory of their first meeting, what with Purple leaving Blue and Green to drop down a pit and then getting their first home in years burnt down. That could come later, when there was a little less tension to go around.

So instead they told some tales from League of Legends, a place renowned for its lack of sportsmanship but where, ironically, Purple and their friends had some of their most pleasant memories. Purple themselves took the limelight, being the experienced storyteller that they were, and weaved a tale of swords and sorcery to enrapture the bright golden stick. Green hopped up and joined as co-host, abandoning his second slice of pepperoni at his spot, while the others chimed in at timely moments. Red interrupted with humorously over-embellished assertions. Yellow added a dash of sarcasm to every mistake any of them made. Blue would defuse the little tension that popped up with expert ease. Even Second, as exhausted as they were, acted as the straight man for their comedic shenanigans. Between the six of them, it was all too easy to make Gold bust a gut.

This was the state the two Old Men found them in, when they finally escaped their imprisonment. The one who Gold told them would keep the name Mango was first, crossing the room in long, quick strides before anyone could even register that he was there. The second he was able to he took Gold in his arms, peppering his face and curls with sweet, soft little kisses. Gold giggled and laughed and proclaimed his embarrassment, but Mango didn’t relent, only holding on all the tighter.

…Purple was a really, really bad person.

The Old Man who would be King emerged afterwards, staring at the embrace between father and child with a wistful wanting that made Purple’s stomach turn. It was so obvious how much he yearned to be his other self, to be able to hold his real kid tight and never let them go. Then, in the blink of an eye, the mask of a calm, collected king slid onto his face. He adjusted his crown, pushed back his bangs, and began marching straight towards Purple.

“’Bout time you broke out,” Purple said in lieu of a proper greeting.

The backhanded remark was barely acknowledged. Instead Old Man King tenderly took Purple’s face into his grip and inspected the still sore side where the punch had landed. A strange tingling sensation drew Purple’s gaze over the old man’s shoulder to the other old man, glaring daggers at them from over Gold’s fuzzy curls, and they couldn’t help the flinch in response.

Whether or not King could feel it too was unclear, but he shifted positions to block Mango’s view of Purple, and they allowed themselves to relax a little.

“It’s not as bad as I’d feared,” King spoke in clear relief, though his small smile was dampened by clear hints of guilt, “How do you feel?”

Eager to clear that remaining fog of regret from the Old Man, Purple scoffed and tossed their hair back, preening dramatically, “Alas, despite Mango’s best efforts, the curse remains in full effect. I’m still tragically beautiful.”

King snorted, “At least your ego’s still in tact,” He then glanced down at the plate of pineapple and ham pizza sat nearby. It was Purple’s third slice, which they had no shame about. It wasn’t like they’d have to share with anyone but Gold (and maybe Blue, though she seemed content with her veggie pizza), “Ah, you ordered out?”

“Yup!” Purple chirped, breaking away easily from the Old Man’s fragile hold to take their food, “We tried to salvage the lasagna, but…”

“It killed a bush,” Blue blurted out, a haunted look in her eye as she recalled just how close she’d come to swallowing the rancid thing.

Both Mango and King wore comically identical expressions of shock at the news. King, more used to their mayhem than his younger self, broke free of his stupor first. He sighed and buried his face in his palm, “Of course. Of course it did. If the neighbors ever sue me because of you brats, I’m dragging you all down with me.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time!” Red chirped, like he was referring to casual criminal mischief and not that time King nearly killed them all. Purple couldn’t help laughing along with the others as they all cracked up. Nearly dying hadn’t been funny at the time, obviously, but among the many lessons these chaotic gremlins had taught Purple was that it was important to be able to look back at your pain and find the joy in it. It hurt, but it also gave Purple everything they had today, so it was hard to see it as all bad.

Someday, they mused, looking up at King’s grimacing face, they’d manage to convince the Old Man of the same.

For Gold, however, all the vague reference and laughter caused was confusion. “What do you mean?”

It had been so easy to forget, in the wake of all the revelry, that Gold still wasn’t aware of everything that had gone down. Purple could see the Old Man tense and pale as he realized what was coming, and without thinking Purple immediately took his hand, folded behind his back where nobody could see. They squeezed it tight, pouring all their care into their grip, letting the Old Man know, in their own way, that they were here, right here, and that it would all be okay. He wasn’t alone anymore. Their reward was seeing King slowly relax, his shoulders slouching and his breathing smoothing into an even, pleasant rhythm.

After a moment of drinking in each other’s comforting presence, King released Purple’s hand and exhaled, “I’ve brought this up to… your father before,” There was a strange intonation to those words, your father, and the implications made Purple frown, but they didn’t interrupt, “But there was more to the story I was telling you earlier. Things that happened after you died. You… deserve to know.”

Mango looked to the side. It wasn’t clear how much King had revealed to him, but it was enough for him to avoid his child’s confused eyes searching him for answers.

“Oh boy,” Yellow sighed, pushing back into the armchair and making herself comfortable, “Green, pass me another drink. This is gonna be a long one.” Green did so, and everyone made themselves comfortable on the couch. With tender care Second was shifted over to make enough of a spot for Purple to take a seat on the couch, which they did with a grateful smile. King grabbed the desk chair and took over Purple’s spot at the center of attention. Unlike Purple’s showmanship and jolly energy, however, he held himself solemnly, like a man trudging along to the guillotine.

It took them a moment to settle down enough for King’s satisfaction, and once they did he sighed and began, “When you… died,” The light in King’s eyes completely left him, “I lost everything I had. My hopes, my dreams, my faith in this world… it was all gone. How could I hold on to any of that when my baby was dead…?” Unrestrained tears fell from the Old Man’s eyes, and Purple’s fingers itched with the desire to reach out, to take his hand yet again. But the eyes around them, the burning anger in Mango’s face, the repetition in their head of ‘this is a family matter’ kept them frozen in place.

Gold, however, had no such restraints, and even Mango’s hold couldn’t stop the bright stick from slipping out of his grasp and over to King. His arms wrapped around the Old Man’s neck, grounding him with the pleasant weight of warm sunshine. Purple’s fingers dug into he fabric of their pants, wondering why couldn’t they just be happy to see that? Why did it hurt so bad? Why couldn’t they just be a good person?

“I’m so sorry, Dad…” Gold cooed, and King’s breath hitched, “I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.”

“Oh, honey,” Even through the tears, King managed to smile for Gold, “You never hurt me. Losing you was painful, but that was not your fault,” Purple turned to glance at Mango, and found him frowning in open displeasure at the sight before him. Well, at least Purple wasn’t the only bad person. King allowed Gold to hold him for a moment longer before gently, reluctantly, pushing him back, “but… please go sit down. I need to finish telling the story.”

With a great amount of effort, Gold broke away, sitting down next to where Mango was standing. The second he was within arm’s reach, Mango had him back in his embrace, holding him tight so he wouldn’t disappear again. His worried eyes stayed glued to King the entire time.

“Nothing mattered anymore. All I could think about was that moment, that terrible moment where I’d lost everything… I saw it every time I closed my eyes, every time there was a red light or a blaring alarm, every time I saw that cursed game symbol. It was all could think about. Every day and every night for… who knows how long. I was hurting, and I wanted to hurt the monster that took you from me.”

Silence fell over the room. While the friend group had known, in a general sense, that King had undergone some sort of trauma and went mad, this was the first time they’d truly realized why King had done what he did. Gold’s eyes widened, and Mango’s narrowed.

“But I’d already beaten the game’s technicians to a pulp,” That had Gold openly gaping, and Purple winced as a phantom pain echoed across their cheek. If King had gone that hard against the techs who’d been trying to run the game, they’d certainly felt it for days, “And the company had me sign a waiver. It’d been foolish of me not to read it, I know, but I couldn’t undo it. There was no legal recourse for me. I could’ve gone vigilante with it, but I didn’t have the resources or know-how to do such a thing without getting caught. And besides…” King’s eyes darkened, “My attention had focused… somewhere else.”

“On the game itself…” Green realized aloud. Red and Blue exchanged a look over Second’s head.

Gold still looked confused, but now there was a hint to alarm in his eyes, as though he was beginning to suspect what was going on, “I… don’t understand…”

“From my perspective,” King began to explain, “it had been Minecraft that had ripped you from me. The game was an unstable, volatile mess that promised you happiness and fun and instead robbed you of everything. I know now I wasn’t being rational, but at the time, it felt like the monster that had taken you from me was Minecraft itself. And I swore to myself that I was going to destroy it,” A mad gleam fell across King’s eyes, “No matter what it took.”

Mango’s posture had stiffened, looking over at his other self in something like astonishment, “...huh,” He muttered, “You weren’t kidding…”

“But- but-” Gold sputtered, confused and grieved and horrified by what he was hearing, “But it’s a game! An entire world filled with monsters, and npcs, and other players, and- and- innocent people!” Gold’s hand flew to his head, holding it high while Mango immediately reached to comfort him. How much comfort he could offer when he was the mirror image of the one who was upsetting Gold, however, was up for debate, “It wasn’t the game’s fault the fair booth was glitched up! You can’t punish innocents for something that wasn’t their fault!”

King sat silently, unable to meet Gold’s haunted eyes.

The utter anguish on Gold’s face struck Purple to their core. They still remembered the pain of being walked out on, and left behind, and having a back turned to their pleading hand. Being betrayed was rough. Being betrayed by a parent… well, nothing cut quite so deeply. Eager to push that pain out of Gold’s fragile heart, Purple intervened, drawing the spotlight to themselves, “But we beat him~!” They spoiled, hoping that knowing King lost would mitigate at least a bit of the heartache, “And we undid all the damage King and I did! No sticks were harmed in the making of this final showdown!”

“Uh, yes, sticks were harmed in the making of this showdown,” Yellow interrupted incredulously, “MANY sticks were harmed in the making of this showdown, actually.”

“Quiet, peg-leg,” Purple hissed back.

“Back up for a moment,” Mango suddenly interrupted, standing rigidly straight, “You said ‘all the damage King and I did’.” Purple winced. Yeah, they had let that slip, hadn’t they? “What do you mean by that?”

This was where King regained control of the narrative, taking back the spotlight from Purple to spare them the interrogation. “In order to destroy Minecraft, I needed an immense amount of power. Something strong enough to destroy the game down to its very base coding. Something from the game itself… to that end, I created a staff capable of harnessing the full power of any game item that I could acquire. I spent my life savings on illegal game smuggling, trying to get an item capable of what I’d envisioned, but nothing I acquired was strong enough. They could break things, sure, but they weren’t able to break down the game in the way I really needed. Then, during my research, I uncovered the secret of the Icon; an in-game item that enabled complete and total creative freedom over the world. You were invincible, able to place any item at whim, and had total control over the game. The only problem was nobody knew where to find it.

“I didn’t give up, though. Finding this thing, and using it to destroy the game that took my baby from me was all I could think about. I didn’t sleep, I barely ate. I wandered the city aimlessly, asking anyone who’d give me a second of time, ‘Have you seen this icon? Do you have any information? Please, anything, I’d give anything…” King’s voice cracked, which signaled him to take a moment, take a breath, before continuing, “Then, I finally found it. Through a YouTube video, of all things.”

A chorus of groans came from the couch and the armchair. Second buried their face in their hands. Green sighed and muttered, “That’s how you found us? Cursors damn it, Alan…”

“We’re gonna need to have another long talk about this,” Blue moaned, “Ugh, as if the last one hadn’t been bad enough.”

“Alan’s the human you all live with, right?” Purple asked, receiving some half-hearted confirmations in response.

Gold seemed confused by the mere concept, “You all live with a human?” He arched his eyebrow at them. Though his haggard eyes indicated King’s actions were still haunting him, Gold was able to put that aside for the moment to indulge a subject many city sticks knew little about: humanity, “I thought all humans were violent, stick-killing psychopaths.”

That wasn’t so uncommon a belief in a city run by Rocket Corp: everyone knew the tragic tale of its recently deceased leader, how they’d been created for the sole purpose of suffering and dying, how they’d manage to drag themselves from the Recycling Bin and rose to power, creating a safe haven where humans couldn’t touch them. Many older sticks had some human related trauma, from negligence to downright abuse, and though the younger generations were spared the direct trauma of human interaction, the horror stories remained.

“That’s not… always true…” Second protested, but it sounded weak and shaky for reasons beyond Second’s physical state.

The tension returned with a vengeance.

“...actually, that kinda proves King’s even dumber than we thought,” Red suddenly piped up, mockingly oblivious to the bristling of the Old Man. He picked the perfect insult; most things unrelated to Gold (or, occasionally, Purple themselves) rolled off King’s back, but one of the few insults he couldn’t stand was one to his intellect. It was, to put it in King’s own words, one of the few things he hadn’t lost that day, “I mean, you saw Alan’s videos of our adventures and you still thought it was a good idea to threaten and steal from us? Talk about moronic.”

Seething, King spoke through grinding teeth as he responded, “Well, I hadn’t exactly planned on fighting you kids…”

“You shouldn’t be fighting anyone,” Gold scolded, and though his glare bore into King, Purple didn’t miss his side-eye at Mango as well, “Or stealing anything.”

Thoroughly scolded, King winced and looked away, “Right, sorry. But, to continue, I used what I learned to seek out the sticks who had the Icon. That’s what lead me to Purple. Or, rather, them to me. I… wasn’t exactly honest with them.”

Purple snorted. “That’s putting it lightly. The guy framed the entire thing as a game. More extreme than I was used to, sure, but the end goal was to get complete and total control of Minecraft. With the staff and the full power of the Icon, we could rule together with an iron fist!” Purple pumped their first up, as though in example, “...Of course, I didn’t know what the staff was really capable of, or what the Old Man intended to do with it. If I had, I don’t think I’d have gone along with it.”

Or at least Purple would like to think they wouldn’t have. They didn’t want to ponder too hard on it – given Purple’s thirst for power and how nice the Old Man had been when Purple was obedient, Purple wasn’t sure they’d like the answer they’d come to.

“So, the Old Man and I conquered a fortress in the game… even without the Icon, the staff was ridiculously powerful, it was so easy. Then we set about following his plan. I’d go find the others and lure them into a trap, then I’d get the Icon for King and we’d conquer the world,” Purple looked over at their friends, and felt a familiar kick in their gut, “Again, I am so sorry about that. I had my reasons, but…”

“We know,” Green consoled, patting Purple on the shoulder, “We’ve already forgiven you.”

“You know what they say about trusting people,” Blue chimed in, grinning cheekily, “Third time’s the charm!”

“Don’t think that’s about trust…” Second rebuffed jokingly from the comfortable cushion of Blue’s shoulder.

Warmth flooded into Purple’s cheeks. They couldn’t say what miracle allowed their friends to forgive them after all the garbage they’d pulled, but Purple would never take it for granted. Er, this time.

Red had taken over story-time in the meanwhile, “So, we ran into Purple after an already pretty long day,” Purple could hear Blue mumbling under her breath. They couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but it made Second chuckle, “And they lured us into this parkour course. It was pretty fun at first! But, then I won, and I realized the others weren’t coming, and the guards wouldn’t let me leave…”

“We were trapped,” Green summarized, “Stuck there so King wouldn’t have worry about us while he stole our Icon… hey,” Green’s brow furrowed, “Were you just going to keep us there? While you blew up Minecraft? Did you at least have some way to get Purple out?”

This question made Purple look away from the Old Man’s face for the first time throughout the entire story. It was done and over with. They didn’t need to know. They didn’t want to know. King’s mistakes, however painful, were done and over with. They were happy now. Questions like these shouldn’t be haunting Purple. They shouldn’t.

“There were plans in place for that, to get you all back to your PC before everything went down. I may have been cruel, but I hadn’t planned to sacrifice anyone else to Minecraft,” King answered, and Purple let out a breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding, “Things got… out of hand after you all broke out, though.”

“Seems they were out of hand for a long time before that,” Green quipped dryly.

Gold nodded along, staring blankly ahead of him, “Yeah, no kidding…”

The dismissive scoffing from Gold seemed to stun both King and Mango, but nonetheless King continued on, “When the kids realized what I was planning, they tried to stop me. We fought. I… didn’t hold back. Purple had succeeded in getting me the Icon, and after that I stopped caring about anything but reaching my goal. And… I succeeded.”

“Wait, what?!” Gold jumped up, alarmed, “No, but… no! Everyone here’s fine, that means you- did you actually destroy a whole…?”

Taking in shallow, rapid breaths, Gold backed away from King and held his head in his hands. Mango’s hands rubbing his back and voice speaking soothing comforts did little to ease his panic. Purple glanced back at King and felt their heart ache in what was surely only an echo of the pain the Old Man felt. Though he clearly longed to reach out, to close the gap and squeeze all the pain out of his child, something held him firmly in place. His hand, though outstretched, couldn’t seem to bridge the gap between them.

Well, if King couldn’t bring himself to comfort his child, then Purple would have to take up his job for him. They reached across the chasm between themselves and Gold and gently prodded his shoulder, forcing him to look up at Purple, “Hey,” They put on their biggest, most confident smile for Gold, “Remember what I said earlier? I turned on King, and the good guys won. Minecraft’s still in one piece. King screwed up, but nobody died, I promise.”

Too distressed to respond verbally, Gold just swallowed and nodded. His father drew Gold closer and hugged him tight, and though Gold’s hands gripped at Mango’s arms, he didn’t look any more at ease.

King’s longing eyes clung fast to Gold’s anxious form, but after a moment he continued, “With the Icon’s power, the staff was able to create a beam of destructive force that would erase the entire world of Minecraft line by line. And if anyone dared to try to stop me, all I had to do was point the beam at them and wait for them to be erased or give up,” Gold’s hands flew up to cover his mouth in shock, “But Purple… didn’t give up. Even when the beam was pointed right at them and their body was disintegrating…” The Old Man’s voice shook as he remember. Purple winced, rubbing at their arm to soothe an ache that wasn’t there, “They kept pushing forward, and… and by the time I’d realized what I was doing to them… they were almost…” The Old Man’s eyes, pained and sorrowful, redirected towards Purple. The sheer intensity of emotions forced them to look away. It was so hard to breath when he looked at them like that, so full of regret and guilt and something else, something warm that made Purple feel very, very small, “I… will never be able to apologize enough for that.”

For once, the natural snark Purple tended to depend on caught in their throat. All they could bring themselves to do was nod. Eyes bored into them from every side, but Purple kept their gaze glued to the ground and ignored them all.

“...So you almost killed Purple?” Gold spat. Purple pried their gaze from the flooring to where the other kid was staring, “It wasn’t enough for you to try and wipe out an entire world, you had to hurt the only person who was trying to help you, too?!”

King didn’t have a response. He didn’t even try to defend himself, merely hanging his head in shame.

Mango, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate to reassure his child, “Don’t worry, Honey,” He tried to console, unaware that his soothing words made Gold grit his teeth all the harder, “This isn’t going to be our future. I’ll make sure of it-”

“Right, because you’re not going to do anything like that!” Gold snapped, pulling away from Mango’s attempts at comfort, “It’s not like you just started throwing punches at literally everyone the second you heard something you didn’t like!”

The poor Old Man couldn’t have looked any more hurt if Gold had punched him.

Scrambling to do damage control, Purple hopped up fully out of their comfortable seat on the couch to stand in front of Gold, arms held up placatingly. “Hey! Hey! It’s okay, it’s all gonna be-”

“It’s not okay!” Gold screamed at Purple, his tear-stricken face a near-perfect mirror of Mango’s. Unlike Mango, however, Gold immediately retreated when he saw Purple flinch away, “Sorry, ‘m sorry, I didn’t mean that, I just…. I don’t understand,” His head fell into his hands again, tears flowing free and unashamed down his face as he repeated, “I don’t understand… he hurt you. He almost killed you,” Purple idly rubbed at their arm, unsure of what to say, “How can you forgive that?” Gold looked past Purple, to the many sticks sitting at attention on the couch, “How can any of you forgive that?”

For a long, long moment, nobody spoke. The silence rang heavy in the air, a blaring siren of tension and pain. Then, with a rigid inhale, Second handed their single slice of barely touched pepperoni to Blue, who gave it a long glance before setting it aside, and sat up straight with visibly pained effort. Their voice was soft as they answered, “I can’t speak for the others, but now that I know, I can kind of understand why Mango- King did what he did.

“When you lose someone… or even think you’re going to lose someone… it’s like there’s a vice grip on your heart. You feel so many things, all at once, and they all make you feel small, and vulnerable, and helpless,” Second took a brief break to cough before diving right back into it, “but, one of those things you feel is anger, and anger is different. It… tricks you, because even though it's just as bad as the other stuff, it feels constructive. Like, even though everything’s breaking down around you, there’s something you can do. Some power you can take back. And by the time you realize it was lying to you…” Second’s eyes fell, clouded by dark thoughts, “You’ve already hurt the people you wanted to protect.”

Without exchanging words, Red reached over and took Second’s hand into his own, squeezing it tightly. Green’s arm wrapped around Second to pull them in close, allowing their head to rest against his pulse. Surrounded by the comfort of their friends, their tense body relaxed completely.

Gold frowned at the group, “But that doesn��t make it okay.”

“No,” King agreed, quietly surprising Purple. With how heavily his sins were weighing down on him, Purple hadn’t expected the Old Man to speak up again, “It doesn’t.”

Silence lingered in the air as Gold struggled to find a proper response. And evidently failed, as after a moment he looked to the others and asked, “How did you beat him?”

“It was all Sec, baby!” Green cheered, proudly displaying his orange friend.

Second rolled their eyes at him, “It was a team effort, actually. I realized we could reset the game if we got the Icon back to our PC, so we ran back as fast as we could and just BARELY made it!” After that proclamation, Second sunk further into Green, somehow looking even more tired, “For real, though, I wouldn’t have gotten close without you guys.”

“What would you do without us?” Yellow teased, a smug grin settling on her face. The friends shared a round of chuckles amongst themselves. Gold didn’t partake, only staring blankly at the wall behind the group. He only broke out of this trance when Yellow’s gentle touch on his arm caused him to jump, “Hey, I get it. You only just learned that you were going to die in less than two years,” Yellow spoke those words so casually, but the ripples of pain they caused through the room were all too palpable, “and then we dumped all this on you. It’d be a lot for anyone. You should take a break and get some rest. Looks like it’s getting pretty late, anyways.”

Purple glanced past their friends towards the window and, sure enough, the sun had set along the horizon, leaving the outside world blanketed in a canvas of shadows. Even if Second and Yellow weren’t injured, they’d likely be staying the night anyways. It was simply too dangerous to traverse through the Minecraft world at this time of night.

“Okay…” Gold acknowledged, hugging himself. Mango once again attempted to reach out to him and was once again rebuffed, “I’m… I’m going to go get cleaned up.”

And without another word, Gold disappeared around the corner of the bedroom hallway.

From there, everything began to unwind. There was an initial awkwardness that had been broken by Second yawning, which prompted everyone to clean down and get ready for the night. Green and Red went to the closet where King had stored extra bed supplies, Red grumbling all the while about how they couldn’t even compete for the spot on the couch. Green teased back easily, carrying probably too much for a guy with a suspected concussion. After dinner clean-up had fallen to Blue, who asked Second numerous times if they were done before carefully wrapping up the single pizza slice they’d been nibbling on for later. She carried stuff to the basement while Yellow, still stuck in her armchair, made herself useful by holding a trash bag, albeit begrudgingly. Mango had, of course, immediately jumped up to trail after his child, and disappeared into the hallway after him.

In the midst of all the chaos, King sat rigidly still, glossed over eyes staring dead ahead at nothing in particular. He didn’t so much as twitch as the flurry of activity picked up around him.

Taking a calming breath, Purple approached, resting a hand on his shoulder. The Old Man remained stationary, “Hey,” They broke the silence hesitantly, “You doing okay?”

For a moment, it was like King hadn’t even heard Purple. They were about to repeat themselves when he finally responded, “I did the right thing, didn’t I?” He asked.

“Yup.” Immediately responded Purple.

That, at last, broke the mask King wore, making a small smile appear, “No hesitation, huh?”

“Look,” Purple leaned their full weight on the Old Man, “I may not be an expert on ‘healthy family dynamics’,” They punctuated their words with air quotes, “but I’ve seen a lot of sitcoms in my time, and every time someone hides a big secret, it always comes out in the worst way possible. If you hadn’t told him yourself now, then he’d find out from someone else later, and that would have been far worse.”

Just the thought of that put a visible wince on King’s face, the poor Old Man nodding, “That’s true. I just wish I didn’t have to make him hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” They reassured, carefully watching King’s face to make sure he wasn’t getting too upset, “He’s scared, and hurt, and really overwhelmed. Give him some time. I’m sure he’ll come around.”

Well, Purple couldn’t really say that for sure. They weren’t in Gold’s head, after all. But speaking from their own personal experience, hating a parent was hard. So much harder than it had any right to be. Even now, in the midst of the happiest time of their life, Purple couldn’t stop their mind from wandering to dangerous what ifs, could have beens, and impossible futures where they had three loving, happy, healthy adults in their life.

Fragile hope sparked in the Old Man’s eyes, “You think so?”

“I know so,” Purple, master of ‘fake it ‘til you make it’, proclaimed.

Their reward was a pair of arms wrapping tightly around them, so quickly Purple couldn’t help the instinctual flinch in reaction, but once they recovered they immediately moved to return the embrace. Hugs weren’t uncommon between the two, per say, but there was something bittersweet about this one. After all, King had his own child back. This… may be the last hug Purple would get for a while. So they held fast for far longer than King was normally comfortable with, soaking in the warmth of his arms around them.

Purple would be okay with this. For King’s sake, they’d be a good person, just this once.

“Ahem,” A voice broke shattered the moment, ending the embrace and leaving Purple to retreat into their own cold loneliness. Mango stood there beside them, arms crossed, looking around at everything but Purple, “Sorry to interrupt,” He actually looked anything but sorry, but Purple wasn’t about to call him out and get punched again, “but I looked around, and I couldn’t help but notice that I no longer have a bedroom.”

Right… Purple had also taken over the Old Man’s room. King had presented it to Purple as a spare room, and he rarely slept through the whole night anyways, so it had taken Purple a while to piece together that the room next door had been Gold’s, not the Old Man’s. A part of them felt guilty for not even offering the room back to King, but they selfishly felt kind of glad that he was willing to make such a big sacrifice for Purple. Even so, it was clear in hindsight that Purple should have insisted they make themselves a room in the basement. And now they looked like a selfish prick in front of King’s kid and past self.

“That’s right,” King acknowledged, surprising Purple by taking one of their hands into his own, “Purple needed a space of their own, and I don’t sleep much anymore, anyways. Normally when I need to sleep I’ll catch a nap on the couch, but…” He glanced over to said couch, where Green was fluffing a pillow for Second, “I suppose that’s not an option tonight.”

Purple’s posture straightened immediately. They could sleep in the living room with the others – all five were used to bed sharing, it wouldn’t be too weird. That way Mango could get his old room back. It was only fair, since it was his room to begin with. And maybe they could start mending bridges with the younger Old Man, or at least get him to look them in the eye without glaring. They opened their mouth to make the offer-

“You can sleep on the floor in my room.”

-And Gold beat them to it. He’d appeared from behind the corner of the bedroom hallway, looking just as drained as he had when he’d disappeared.

Both King and Mango appeared startled by the invitation. “Both of us?” King asked incredulously, and his brow only furrowed further when Gold nodded, “Are you sure?”

“If I didn’t offer, you’d both just be up all night worrying about me anyways,” Gold huffed. It was clear from his guarded body language and low voice that nothing was forgiven quite yet – but for him to make this offer, Purple must have been right on the money with their earlier reassurances, “So, yeah. You can both sleep in my room with me if you promise not to fight.”

The two versions of Gold’s dad eagerly agreed, and Purple fell back, swallowing the unmade offer, where it lodged in their throat and weighed unbidden on their lungs. They’re fine, they told themselves, watching Gold walk away to grab what little linen remained in the closet after the friend group had taken what they’d needed. They were fine with this. The Old Man could be really, truly happy.

And if Purple felt anything other than pure joy at the thought? Well, that was just them being selfish again. They’d get over it.

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

Mango had always been a light sleeper.

Even before Gold had come along, sleeping just wasn’t something that came naturally to Mango. He’d stay up late, awaken multiple times throughout the night, and be up and out of bed at what his old roommates called ‘the unholy hours of the morning’. Having a fussy baby around had only solidified this for him. As a small child Gold would often be up and out of bed for a late night glass of water or trip to the restroom, or to climb into Mango’s bed after a bad dream. He was used to his daily alarm being the sound of the hardwood floor creaking and groaning as Gold tried and failed to sneak into his room.

So when Mango’s fretful slumber was interrupted by the all too familiar rasping of old flooring, he was up before his brain could even catch up with his current situation. “Gold…?” He mumbled, pushing up from the surprisingly hard mattress he was sleeping on.

His full memory only came back to him when another hand, the same colour as his own, rested on his shoulder, reminding him that he’d been sleeping on the ground next to his own lookalike. “No, Gold’s still in bed,” King confirmed, tossing his head in the direction of the bed, where Gold slept with his back to the two, “That’s probably Purple. ‘M gonna go check on them… be right back.”

Without waiting for a response, King picked himself up and hobbled silently out of the room. Mango took a long, slow breath in, steadying his mind to recall everything that had happened. Right, he was in the future. King, who claimed to be him, was a failed terrorist, his kid was… dead… and then there was Purple.

Thinking of Purple made Mango scowl and roll back over. It wasn’t the kid’s fault his evil doppelganger had used them as a replacement for his dead baby, but it was hard to separate that reality from the sour taste King’s blatant affection left in his mouth. The tyrant didn’t hesitate to shower Purple with praise, or shield Purple from Mango with dagger-like glares. And because of… what? Gratitude to the kid for stopping him from destroying an entire world? Guilt for almost killing them? Why had Purple even come to King in the first place?

You know, there’s an easy way to find out…

Mango turned under his blankets to look away from the door. No. No, he wasn’t going out there. He couldn’t leave Gold alone after everything, and Purple wasn’t his problem. It was just a passing curiosity. Nothing more.

And where’s their real parents? Their real home? Who ARE they, anyways?

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

Why were they so content to play therapist to a stick who almost killed them?

It… didn’t matter…

The way they cowered when you hit them… were they…?

Mango forced himself up. It wasn’t like he was going back to sleep, anyways.

Instead, he slipped out of Gold’s room, trailing far enough behind King that he wouldn’t take note of Mango’s presence. They both knew which of the floorboards would creak if they were stepped on, and which ones could be traversed safely, so following after King was a simple affair, even in the dead of night. They both cautiously stepped over the gaggle of sticks sleeping like babies in the living room, carefully maneuvered through the completely destroyed kitchen, and Mango watched King slip out the back door before creeping next to it. The wood of the door, while splintered, was one of the more undamaged parts of the room. While the air carried a mildly humid heat, the door was pleasantly cold against Mango’s face as he pressed his ear against it to listen in to the two on the other side.

“Hey,” King began with a greeting, and Mango could hear someone scrambling on the other side of the door.

“Ack! H-hey, don’t scare me like that,” Purple’s scolding voice responded.

Laughter followed, deep but playful, “Sorry, sorry.”

“What are you even doing out here? Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Huffed the younger stick.

This was followed by an exaggerated groan of complaint as King audibly ruffled Purple’s hair, “I barely sleep on the best of days, and today’s been… a lot.” Purple mumbled something that sounded like agreement, “So I was already awake when I heard you leave your room. So, you want to tell me what’s up?”

A long, silent moment, filled with only the distant sound of crickets in the night, passed before Purple eventually responded, “I- It’s nothing, really. Sorry to drag you out here-”

“Don’t give me that,” Chided King, “C’mon, tell me what’s going on. The King demands it.”

Purple snorted in laughter, though it wasn’t a particularly jolly sound. Rather, it sounded… tired, “It’s not important,” They tried to downplay, “Just… a bad dream. I’ll be fine.”

“Ah,” Another moment of silence passed, followed by a simple question, “Pink or Blue?”

“Why do you think it always comes back to…?” There was another pause, in which Mango could imagine King giving Purple the same look Mango would give Gold when his child would come home with unauthorized candy. Purple sighed, “Pink.”

“That makes sense, given that we’ve seen the dead come back to life today,” King shuffled over on the stoop; closer to Purple, maybe, “Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Not really much to talk about,” Purple proclaimed, before elaborating anyways, “Mama and Pops and I were up at the beach, north of the city. Do you know it? It’s at the lake with the little island in the middle.”

“Never been, but I’ve heard good things,” Confirmed King, “Is it nice?”

“It’s beautiful,” Purple sighed, their voice tinged with melancholy and nostalgia, “We’d go every year, and we were always there until super late at night. Pops would carry me on their shoulders into the deep water, and Mama would take me to see where all the pretty fish gathered… then, when it got late, we’d have ice cream and watch the sun set together. No matter what else was going on, we were always happy there.”

Were. Mango’s mind clung to that word, brow furrowing. He knew now that Purple had parents at some point, but the family they came from seemed to be in just as much ruin as King’s own. That answered some questions, and raised so many more.

“We’ll have to go up there sometime,” King responded, speaking to Purple like one might speak to a skittish kitten.

“Yeah…” Despite the affirmation, Purple didn’t sound particularly enthused at the idea, “but, normally when I dream of the beach, it’s a happy dream. So I was surprised when a storm rolled in and my Pops… disappeared. Then I heard screaming, and I saw my Mama out in the water, where it was really deep. There was something clinging to her. Some kind of… monster. I couldn’t make it out really well, but it had really big, really sharp teeth.

“It dragged Mama down into the water. She kicked and screamed, and started coughing really bad, but she couldn’t get away from it. At first I just sat there and watched like a total idiot,” Mango couldn’t help wincing at the raw bitterness in Purple’s voice, all directed inward, “but as soon as I was able to move I dove down after her. I swam as fast as I could, but it was like there was some sort of upward current. I couldn’t break free of it, no matter how hard I kicked, and she just got dragged down further, and further, and then… then I couldn’t see her anymore,” Purple’s voice shook a little, “I… once I lost sight of her, I froze. All I could think was that I wasn’t strong enough to save her, wasn’t good enough to save her, and it hurt so bad. I didn’t even realize I was drowning too until I woke up gasping.”

King and Mango both took a tense moment to absorb Purple’s story. The guilt Mango had been suppressing redoubled in his chest, creating an uncomfortable bubble of pressure within him. Despite the way their voice shook and warbled as they recounted their dream, Purple wasn’t crying. Was it because they didn’t want to burden anyone with their grief? Were they too used to the pain to cry? Mango couldn’t say for sure, but the idea of a child pushing their pain down so deeply, when they were being used as a narcotic to drug away someone else’s…

“I’m… so sorry,” King cooed softly, his voice a careful orchestra of concern and restraint. “You know… once Second recovers, we can ask them to do what they did for Gold for your mom. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

“...No.” Purple’s answer was sad, but resolute, “No, that wouldn’t be a good idea. What happened to Gold was a tragic accident. Mama’s death was… not. She died of a long, incurable, painful illness, and we don’t know if Sec’s healing powers work on diseases like that. If we brought her to the future, no matter how far back we went, I’d just have to watch her die again. Not only that, she’s so nice, all my friends would love her, and then they’d have to lose her too. It just wouldn’t be fair to anyone involved.”

Mango felt a stupor fall over him as he mulled over Purple’s answer. When he’d learned about Gold’s death, he could only process two things: the fury he felt at the monster who’d allowed his baby to die, and the urge to protect Gold, no matter what it took. The effects on other people, on the world around him… he’d never even considered such things. How could he even think of anything but his child? The amount of thought Purple was able to put into the consequences of their actions was… utterly baffling.

“That’s an incredibly mature decision,” Spoke the King, “and I’m so sorry you had to make it, sweetheart.”

“Eh, those were more like excuses not to ask, really.” Purple sighed, far more world-weary than any kid their age should sound, “Even if the others didn’t kill me for asking after Sec almost died, it wouldn’t be right to make them risk their life again just for me,” They paused, then added, “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, though.”

“I know,” Consoled the adult. Mango could hear him gently patting Purple on the back, presumably, and without thinking Mango clasped his own hands together. “I’ve heard being in a more comfortable space can help with nightmares. You said you wanted a hammock bed, right? That shouldn’t be too hard to install.”

There was a brief pause before Purple answered, “You… don’t mind me modifying your room like that?”

“Your room,” King corrected without hesitation. “It’s your space now, Purple. I’d like some heads up if you want to, you know, knock down walls or anything, but you can change it up however you like. You deserve to feel at home here.”

“Heh,” A little more cheer was evident in Purple’s voice as they absorbed King’s words. They seemed more confident, somehow, “Yeah, thanks. Hey, maybe we can take that trip up to the beach. You know, if you don’t bring any drama.”

Now that Purple’s mood was on the upswing, King’s own voice took on a more jovial tone as well, “Excuse you. I’ll have you know that I had absolutely zero flair for the dramatic before you entered my life.”

Mango couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. Um, no. Even he had to call bull on that one.

“You’re welcome~!” Purple teased back, “But, seriously, the beach is kind of my happy place. So we can only go together if you promise to keep it a happy place.”

Context made King respond a bit more seriously, “I promise. Nothing but happy memories at the beach!” Then he hummed in thought, “It might be a while before we get to go, then. ‘Drama’ has kind of taken over our lives right now.”

“When hasn’t it?” Purple joked back, “But, until then, maybe we can go somewhere else? And we can even bring Gold and your evil twin.” Mango scowled as King snorted. How did he, the one who wasn’t a terrorist, end up with the title of evil twin? “Like, we can check out the amusement park! Or I can show Gold my tree house-”

“Gonna have to veto that one, bud,” Interrupted King, “I know it wasn’t the game’s fault, just some malfunctioning tech, but I’m not sure if I’m ever going to be comfortable with Gold going into Minecraft after what happened… I’m only barely able to handle you going in there alone.”

Mango flinched away from the door for a moment. The game that killed his kid… Purple played it? And King let them? What was wrong with this guy?

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Purple agreed casually, as if they weren’t talking about a stick-killing murder simulation, “then I guess we can do something else. Maybe the park?”

“Yeah, the park…” King sighed dreamily. Which park they were referring to was easy to guess; it had been his and Gold’s go-to place for after school playtime since the kid was a kid. His child was a hyperactive angel of destruction, and the park was a perfect place to let out all that excess energy in a healthy manner. Mango smiled at the memory of scrapes on his arms and legs from sword dueling with branches. He could practically feel Gold’s weight in his hands as he helped the child across the monkey bars. If Mango had to pick a happy place of his own, that would probably be it. “That sounds lovely. Gold could show you all his favourite spots, I could use myself as a punching bag to teach you both proper dueling,” Mango rolled his eyes as Purple let out a snorting laugh, “We could get corn dogs.”

“I hate corn dogs.” Purple answered. He’d suspected it after noting their taste in pizza, but this confirmed it for Mango: Purple was an absolute heathen.

King took this betrayal in stride, “Then the princess can get themselves a pretzel.” Purple tried to complain, but King cut them off by ruffling their hair. He chuckled fondly at them, all sweet and loving and… how could he not feel any guilt, showing them this kind of affection, when all he’d done was use Purple to fill the hole in his life? “How are you feeling now?”

“Mm…” Purple took a moment to mull it over before answering, “Tired, actually. I think I’m ready to head back in.”

The two were already standing by the time Mango processed what that meant. He scrambled to separate himself, jumping away like it was on fire and hopping across the sprawled out bodies of Purple’s friends like they were hurdles on a track. The echoing creak of the door opening hit Mango’s ears just as he darted out of sight, throwing himself behind a wall to avoid being seen. Purple and King were murmuring softly between themselves as they slowly and carefully walked through the living room to avoid waking Purple’s friends.

That slowness would be Mango’s saving grace. He turned and began creeping through the hallway towards Gold’s bedroom at the end. In his haste to escape, he forgot himself, and placed a foot down without thought.

Creeeaaaak

...Damn it. Mango winced. It was doubtful that Purple heard that, given how new they were to the house, but there was no way any version of himself would mistake the sound of the door outside his old room creaking. Not with how many times he’d been woken up in the middle of the night by a restless little golden angel knocking at his door.

“...Purple, hold up a second,” King’s voice quietly called out. Purple’s questioning noise turned to one of shock, “You’ve got something on your cheek. Here, let me-”

“Ew, Old Man, no-!”

Oh. King was giving him a chance to get away without being busted by Purple. Mango didn’t take the time to question his motives; he quickly walked, paying more mind to avoid the squeaky boards on the floor, and cautiously, quietly, pulled the bedroom door open. It made a slight squeaking noise, but there wasn’t really any hiding that, so Mango hurried inside and shut the door as quietly as he could manage.

Gold, thankfully, was still in bed, turned away from where King and Mango had set up their blankets for the night. Even in his sleep today’s events were clearly weighing on him, and Mango’s heart ached at the sight.

At least the poor kid was able to get some rest.

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

Gold hadn’t been able to get any rest that night.

How could he? The joy and excitement of preparing for the tournament this morning felt like a far off, distant dream. All he could think about was that shameful confession his father – his Dad – had poured out to him. All the people he’d hurt, the world he’d almost destroyed for Gold, over an incident that was almost completely separate from the game itself.

Both Dad Mango and Dad King had gotten up at some point, but Gold hadn’t even bothered to roll over and check on them. Were they fighting again? It shouldn’t have mattered, but another knife of betrayal stabbed into Gold anyways. He’d asked them to do one thing, one thing! And they couldn’t even manage that.

As he laid there, Gold’s mind flickered through the day’s events like he was mindless clicking through programs on the television. Purple had tried to hide it, or downplay it, or whatever, but Gold knew that his dad had hurt everyone in the living room, including Purple themselves. Whenever he tried to close his eyelids, his imagination conjured movies of the others fighting for their lives, of Dad glaring them down with a maniacal grin on his face, of Purple pushing against the pain of whatever hell Dad had summoned, begging him to stop, glitches and errors threatening to pull them apart pixel by pixel just like they had King Dad’s Gold…

Tears burned at his eyes, and Gold sniffed and hastily wiped them away. He’d always known his Dad had a temper, but… but he’d thought his Dad was a good person…

Eventually one of the Dads came back, a near inaudible creak in the otherwise dead silent night signaling his return. Gold didn’t bother to turn over to check which one, or if it was both of them. The idea of talking to his own Dad made him feel worn down – the bad kind of worn down, where your entire body was sore and you could feel the strings of sanity snapping in your mind. Gold held as still as he could and hoped Dad wouldn’t approach to check on him.

Several moments passed, and Gold felt a sense of guilty relief when he heard the rustling sound of sheets as Dad got back under the covers.

He was followed soon enough by the door opening again, and other Dad entered. The door clicked shut behind him, only audible in the silence of night, and then the air was painfully still. The lack of noise caused Gold’s heart to beat louder in his ears. Anticipation stole his breath.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop, you know.”

Gold gulped down his nerves. Shoot.

Thankfully, before he could make the mistake of speaking up, the other version of his Dad, the one who’d entered first, responded from where he laid on the floor, “...Sorry.” The voice was soft, and lacked the hostility he had in previous conversations with himself.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” The Dad not laying down answered, “Tomorrow you’ll be telling Purple, and saying a proper ‘sorry’,” His tone was firm, and Gold realized that the one standing by the door was, most likely, King.

“I will,” Mango replied. He didn’t put up a fight at all, which somehow made Gold more nervous and suspicious than he would’ve been if he’d fought the demand. He paused for a brief second, then asked, “...Purple’s mom is dead?”

Gold’s breath caught in his throat. Purple was… was that why Purple went along with everything Dad had wanted? Because they didn’t have anyone else?

King sighed out a long, tired sigh before responding, “Yeah. She’s been dead longer than Gold. Some glitch in her core coding… I haven’t exactly pressed Purple for details, and they weren’t keen on giving them.”

“And their other parent?” Mango asked gingerly. Gold was reminded of an incident from when he was younger, when he’d broken a window with a baseball, and Dad was asking about the damages owed. The dread was tangible.

For a long moment King didn’t respond, and Gold was almost starting to think he wouldn’t when he finally answered, “That’s not my story to tell,” King’s voice was tinged with quiet rage, making Gold shiver. Is that what the others heard, when his Dad tried to destroy a world? Or was Gold’s father louder in his villainy? “And if I tried, I’d genuinely get too angry to sleep. Just know that if I had my way, that stick would NEVER get anywhere near Purple again.”

“So my hunch was correct,” Mango’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible, “The kid’s an abuse victim.”

Oh, and it just got worse.

“Like I said, Purple’s story isn’t mine to tell.” King spoke through gritted teeth, “If you want the details, you can ask them like the adult you’re supposed to be. But I’m not saying anything else about it. I don’t even think Purple knows how much I know about their previous home.”

Mango scoffed, “No wonder the kid’s so attached. How can you not feel guilty?”

“Guilty?” King echoed.

“For using that kid like you are? For taking in some sad, pitiable orphan just to make them replace your dead child?”

That- that wasn’t true, Gold forced himself to think. There was no way that Gold’s Dad would do that to some poor kid, right? But… there was no way Gold’s Dad would commit attempted murder, or destroy an entire world, either. He searched himself for some sign, any sign, that his Dad wouldn’t do that to Purple, and was met only with a clawing emptiness in his chest.

At this point, Gold didn’t know what to think of his own father.

“I’ve already told you,” Anger crept into King’s voice, though he kept the volume low, “Purple is not a replacement for Gold. They’re not some pet project, or some band-aid solution I’ll abandon now that Gold’s back.”

“...Well, it’s not like it’s my business,” Mango dismissed. Gold could hear rustling as he turned away from King, “Once I have the money, Gold and I are out of here. After that? You and your sad orphan can play happy house all you like.”

Bile churned in Gold’s stomach. How could his dad talk like that about Purple? After what they’d done for Gold? After what he’d learned about them?

Was his Dad always a bad person, and Gold had just been too stupid to see it?

The argument may have continued, but Gold was beyond caring. Bitter resentment and sour guilt pooled in his stomach to create a nauseating mixture. He couldn’t understand; how could his Dad claim to love him while using his death as an excuse to treat the people around him like trash? And poor Purple, caught in the middle. King’s emotional support and Mango’s target of resentment, allowing themselves to take on the Ochre family’s burdens so the rest of them could be happy. It felt to Gold like someone should take on Purple’s burdens, for once.

And if his father wasn’t up to the task? Well, then Gold would have to do it instead.

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

(Inhale) So.

I've been itching to put this story down for a while. My original idea was to make it a comic, but after some thought I decided to make it a fanfic instead. I just didn't expected it to be so LONG. Seriously, this is a multichapter fic and this is chapter ONE. Oh boy.

Feel free to let me know what you think so far, or if you come across any typos or anything. I did my best to edit, but this ended up being a lot longer than I'd expected. There were just so many little moments I'd wanted to include, I couldn't bring myself to cut anything.

I'm not sure how often I'm going to update this fic. It took like a month of work to write and draw everything, and I do have other things I want to do. But I'll do my best, I promise.

[bri-izhere]

-> when your bestfreind ditched you at a halloween party and a no good player offers you a lift home<-

otoya x reader

warnings -> slight nsfw, alchohol , player otoya,

( if anyone wants a part 2 lmk cz im down to make one)

The Halloween party pulsed with energy, the barley lit room alive with laughter and the thumping bass of the music. Y/N felt out of place in her Playboy bunny costume, the small black dress hugging her figure while her long hair ran down her back. She’d thought it would be a fun night with her best friend, Harima, but as always she ditched her for some gross guy.

“Where did she go?” Y/N muttered to herself, scanning the crowd for her friend. Harima had promised they’d stick together, but now shewas surrounded by strangers, the room swirling with faces she didn’t recognize.

Harima: So sorry, but I met this guy. I’ll be back later!

Y/N sighed, disappointment flooded her again. I mean how did her bestfreind always end up ditching her! She took a deep breath, trying to shake off her frustration.

As she turned to leave, she bumped into a tall figure. Otoya. Otoya eita had a reputation known for his charm, good looks, and a trail of broken hearts, oh and you can’t forget those crazy soft and guitar skills either. She had always found him insufferable, a player who thrived on the attention of girls like her bestfreind Harima. The last person she wanted to deal with right now.

“Hey there, Bunny,” he said with that smirk, the stupid cocky one for no reason.“Heading out already?”

“Hi, Otoya.,” she replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yes i am leaving, i’m not in the mood for your games tonight .”

“Games? Come on, we both know you’re just mad that Harima ditched you, again.” He leaned against the wall, his presence dominating the space. “You shouldn’t let her get to you. How about I give you a ride home?”

Y/N hesitated, the idea of being trapped in a car with him making her skin crawl. But then again, walking home alone didn’t sound appealing either. “Why would you even offer? You’ve got a reputation, you know.”

Otoya shrugged, unfazed. “Maybe I’m feeling generous. Or maybe I just don’t want to see a pretty girl like you stranded.” He flashed that signature shit eating grin, and despite her better judgment, she felt the need to say yes.

“Fine,” she relented, annoyance bubbling beneath the surface. “But don’t think this means anything. I’m not one of your conquests.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “Let’s get you home, Bunny.”

The drive was charged with an awkward tension as they navigated the streets. Y/N kept her gaze fixed outside, replaying the night’s events in her head. Why had she let Harima talk her into coming? And why was she even accepting a ride from someone like Otoya?

“Not much of a party girl, huh?” Otoya broke the silence.

“Not when i get ditched, and am all alone.” she shot back, crossing her arms defensively.

He chuckled, an annoying, confident sound that grated on her nerves. “But you weren’t alone you had me, but anyway you’re missing out on a great night.”

“I’d rather miss out than deal with guys like you,” she replied sharply.

“Guys like me?” He glanced at her, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You mean charming and good-looking?”

“More like arrogant and self-serving,” she retorted, feeling her frustrating begin to bubble.

Otoya raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Touché. But you know, deep down, you want me”

“Not even a little,” Y/N shot back, trying to ignore the way her heart raced.

As they pulled up to her apartment building, she felt a mixture of relief and annoyance. “Thanks for the ride, I guess. Just don’t expect a thank you note or anything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he echoed, his smirk still firmly in place.

Y/N opened the door, ready to escape the car and this ridiculous night. But as she turned back to him, she caught a glimpse of something behind the bravado—an unreadable expression that momentarily softened his features.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, his voice serious for the first time. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Before she could respond, she stepped out, the cool night air hitting her like a wave. She walked toward the entrance, the sound of his engine revving behind her fading into the distance. Although y/n vowed to dislike otoya to the day she died for his “behavior” she had to admit, he was really cute for a no good player.

The next day at school, Y/N trudged through the halls, her thoughts still lingering on the awkward ride home with Otoya. She had hoped to shake off the encounter, but the memory of his teasing smile and confident demeanor haunted her.

As she entered her science classroom, the familiar chaos of students settling in greeted her.

“Alright, everyone!” Mr. Takahashi called, his voice booming above the chatter. “Today, we’re starting a new lab project. You’ll be partnering up, and I want you to choose wisely. This will count for a significant portion of your grade.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing the usual shuffle for partners would soon ensue. She had hoped to team up with someone reliable, but as she scanned the room, her heart sank at the thought of being stuck with one of the less motivated students. Her parents would kill her if she get less than an A!

“Let’s get started!” Mr. Takahashi said, clapping his hands together. “Find a partner!”

Just as she turned to her classmate, ready to make a desperate plea for partnership, a voice interrupted her. “Mind if I join you, Bunny?”

Otoya. Of course. Her gut twisted at the thought of being paired with him for an entire week. “Do we have a choice?” she shot back, trying to keep her tone light, though irritation simmered beneath the surface.

“Come on, we’ll make a great team. I’m good at this stuff,” he said, flashing that infuriating smile. “And it’ll be fun. Just think of it as another opportunity to get to know each other better.”

“Right, because I’m just dying to know the inner workings of your mind,” Y/N replied, sarcasm lacing her words. But with a resigned sigh, she nodded. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

As they gathered their materials and started discussing the lab assignment, Y/N quickly realized that Otoya was, in fact, pretty knowledgeable. They worked through the first steps of their experiment, and surprisingly, she found herself caught up in the flow of the project. Otoya’s playful banter lightened the mood, and despite her best efforts, she began to relax a little.

“See? Not so bad, right?” Otoya grinned as they finished setting up their experiment.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Y/N replied, trying to maintain her defensive stance. “This doesn’t mean I like you or anything.”

He laughed, the sound brightening the room. “Noted. But I think I’m starting to change your mind.”

As they wrapped up their first session, Otoya leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “Hey, I’m throwing a party at my place tonight. You should come.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, the familiar mix of annoyance and intrigue rising within her. “Why would I want to go to your party? Your just gunna get drunk off your ass and make out with girls.”

“Sure, but you’ll be there to keep me grounded,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “And who knows? You might actually have fun.”

“Pass,” she replied quickly, crossing her arms. “I’ve had enough of your parties and your crowd.”

“Come on, Y/N! It’ll be a chance for you to unwind,” Otoya urged, leaning closer as if trying to coax her into submission. “And think about it—this lab project could use some extra inspiration. You might find it helpful.”

“Helpful?” She raised an eyebrow, fighting the tug of curiosity. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” he said, his tone suddenly serious, “that sometimes the best ideas come when you’re not stressing over schoolwork.”

Y/N hesitated, torn between her disdain for his charm and the allure of stepping outside her comfort zone. She had seen his parties before—chaotic, loud, and filled with energy—but there was something tempting about the idea of just letting go for one night.

“Okay, but just for a little while,” she said reluctantly, surprising herself with her own words.

“Perfect! I’ll text you the details,” Otoya replied, his smile widening as if he’d just won a victory. “And trust me, you won’t regret it.”

As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Y/N gathered her things, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and dread. What had she just agreed to? She shot a quick glance at Otoya, who was already typing something on his phone, completely unfazed by her inner turmoil.

As she left the classroom, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that this decision might lead her into deeper complications. But perhaps it was time to embrace a little chaos, if only for a night. She just hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite her.

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her outfit for what felt like the hundredth time. She had chosen a simple black tank top and low rise jean shorts, paired with simple white forces. The excitement from earlier had worn off, and now anxiety churned in her stomach. Would she regret coming? She really really hated parties.

“Are you ready yet?” Harima called from the living room, her voice laced with impatience. She was dressed in a bodysuit and jordan’s.“Im so hyped! This is gunna be so much fun!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” Y/N shouted back, taking one last look at her reflection. She plastered on a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, pushing away the lingering doubts. This was about supporting her friend and having a bit of fun, right?

As they arrived at Otoya’s house, the bass from the music vibrated through the walls, and a crowd of students spilled out into the yard. Y/N didn’t feel to good about this. I mean how did Otoya even know all these people!

“Let’s go!” Harima exclaimed, grabbing Y/N’s hand and dragging her toward the door.

Inside, the atmosphere was electric. Colorful lights danced across the room, illuminating groups of students laughing, dancing, and mingling. Y/N tried to keep her head low, navigating through the crowd while Harima pulled her toward the kitchen.

“Let’s grab drinks!” Harima said, her excitement infectious. Y/N forced herself to smile as they filled their cups with beer, and took one shot each.

But just as they turned to explore, Otoya appeared, weaving through the throng with his trademark swagger. “Look who finally made it!” he called out, a teasing grin plastered across his face. “My favorite bunny!”

“Yeah, yeah, the party’s here,” Y/N said back, trying to maintain her composure as he approached.

“Are you having fun?”

“Fun?” she echoed, glancing around at the chaotic scene. “It’s still early, but I’m sure I’ll be entertained by your bull soon enough”

“Oh, come on! You know you love it.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Just let loose for one night. I promise I won’t bite”. Y/n felt shivers run down her spine. “Unless you want me to.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Insufferably charming,” he corrected, winking at her. She rolled her eyes, trying to suppress the grin that threatened to break through.

Harima nudged her, eyes sparkling. “Let’s dance!” she exclaimed, dragging Y/N into the throng of moving bodies. They lost themselves in the music, laughter spilling from their lips as they jumped up and down to whatever song was playing.

But even as Y/N partied, she couldn’t shake the feeling of Otoya’s eyes on her. She glanced over her shoulder and caught him watching, a smug smile on his face as he leaned against the wall. The spark of irritation ignited again, and she turned away, focusing on the rhythm of the music.

After a while, she needed a break. “I’m going to get some fresh air,” Y/N shouted over the music, waving to Harima.

Outside, the cool night air hit her like a wave, clearing her mind. She leaned against the porch railing, trying to catch her breath when Otoya stepped outside, a drink in hand.

“Taking a breather?” he asked, his tone casual as he joined her.

“More like escaping the chaos,” she replied, crossing her arms. “What’s your deal with always throwing these massive parties? Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

He shrugged, leaning against the railing beside her. “Not really. It’s fun to let loose and see who can handle it. Plus, it’s a great way to meet new people.”

Y/N shook her head, frustrated. “And break hearts in the process? You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“Hey, I can’t help it if people get too attached,” he said with a laugh. “Besides, you’re not one to talk. You could let loose a little too.”

“Not interested in your games,” she retorted, feeling the heat of their banter simmer between them.

But then, in a surprising move, Otoya stepped closer, a playful glint in his eyes. “Maybe you just need someone to show you how much fun it can be.”

Before she could respond, he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. It was unexpected, but she found herself caught off guard by the rush of emotion that followed. The kiss deepened, sending sparks of electricity through her, igniting something she had been trying to deny.

Y/N pushed him away, breathless, her heart racing. “What the hell was that?”

“I told you,” Otoya said, his voice low and teasing. “Just a little fun.”

Her heart raced with confusion, anger, and an undeniable thrill. “You think this is funny? You can’t just kiss someone and expect everything to be okay!”

“Why not? We’re both here, right? Why not enjoy the moment?” he challenged, his expression shifting to something more serious.

Y/N’s pulse quickened, her mind spinning. She hated how he could pull her in so easily, how the chemistry between them was undeniable. “This is a mistake,” she insisted, stepping back, trying to regain her composure.

“Is it?” Otoya asked, a smirk playing on his lips. “Because it felt pretty right to me.”

Before she could formulate a response, the music inside shifted to something slower, and Otoya took a step closer again. “What if we just forget about the games for one night? Just you and me?”

Y/N felt a conflict raging within her. She wanted to reject him, to remind herself of all the reasons she disliked him, but the pull was too strong. The excitement, the allure—it was all too tempting.

“Fine,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “But this doesn’t mean anything.”

“Whatever you say, Bunny,” Otoya replied, his grin widening as he stepped closer, closing the distance between them once more.

As they lost themselves in the music and the moment, Y/N knew she was stepping into uncharted territory, but a part of her was willing to embrace the chaos—at least for tonight.

“let’s go to my room, yeah?”

“Okay, Otoya”

..

As soon as they entered his room Otoya leaned in, capturing her lips in a heated kiss. It ignited something deep within her—a mix of longing and exhilaration that sent shivers down her spine. Their lips moved together, each kiss growing more urgent, more desperate, as if they were trying to bridge an unspoken gap.

Otoya’s hands found their way to her waist, fingers digging gently into the soft skin on her hips as he pulled her onto his lap, as he was seated on his bed. Y/N responded instinctively, melting against him as the kiss deepened, their mouths moving in perfect harmony. It was intoxicating, each press of his lips igniting a fire that spread throughout her body.

“Bunny” he breathed between kisses, his breath warm against her mouth. “You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.”

Her pulse quickened at his words, and she felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks. “I think I might have an idea,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Otoya grinned, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned in again, capturing her lips with a fervor that took her breath away. They kissed as if the world outside had vanished, losing themselves in the heat and intensity of the moment.

His kisses grew more insistent, and Y/N felt her heart race as he pulled her closer, their bodies fitting together perfectly. She tangled her fingers in his hair, deepening their connection, feeling every kiss resonate through her.

“I want you Eita Otoya” Y/n said as she slowly started to grind on him while not stopping the kisses”

“That seemed to ignite something primal in him. Otoya leaned back in, his kisses becoming more aggressive, each one more demanding than the last. His hands started to roam, one on the fat plump of her ass, and the other on the soft of her chest. Y/N lost herself in the moment, surrendering to the sensations that coursed through her.

“God, you’re amazing,” he murmured against her lips, his hands gripping her waist tighter, pulling her flush against him.

Y/N felt a wave of exhilaration wash over her, her heart racing as she reveled in his praise. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teased back, her voice breathy as their mouths crashed together once more.

Otoya’s kisses became more fervent, his lips trailing down her neck, eliciting soft gasps from her as he explored. Every touch felt electric, and Y/N couldn’t help but arch into him, craving more.

Y/N nodded, her head spinning with desire. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as they tumbled back onto the bed, their kisses growing more intense, more passionate. His hands starting to roam under her dress. She felt so good, and they’ve barley done anything yet.

Sadly all good moments come to an end. This moment happens to be when Harima bursts in the door saying cops are here and the party was shut.

…..

Let me know if you guys want a part 2 or anything i’m not to sure how i feel about and it would be nice if people could leave some tips on how to improve my writing

i’m still a little confused on how this app works lol so sorry if this is bad

[flamingo-writes]

Pillow Talk — Hobie x Fem!Reader

Summary: set in the 70’s. After having a bad day, your best friend Hobie attempts and succeeds at turning your day around.

A/N: not proof read. This started as a vent fic bcs I was feeling ignored by the world. This turned out longer than expected. Fem!Reader, the only mention about the reader’s appearance, except at some point I mention the reader’s shirts fit Hobie, however, Hobie is a very tall dude, but he’s also very thin. I wrote this keeping an average sized reader in mind (my bf is as tall as Hobie, not as skinny, and my medium sized shirts fit him very short, so the reader could be even be larger than average sized)

Genre: fluff, plotless fluff!! Friends to lovers expect the lovers part didn’t make it to the fic. I might write a sequel, but I also might not. I need ideas and inspiration.

Warnings: not proof read, idk if I wrote curse words or not…other than that I’d say anxiety and

Word count: 2.9K

The tapping of that rain on the glass was a good company to your music. Slow lullabies, that fitted your current mood, matching the weather outside. As you lied on your bed, your face towards the wall besides your bed as you wished for the day to be over.

It was one of those days, in which the world seemed too loud, too overwhelming. It was almost as if you were invisible that day. No one listened to anything you had to say, everyone seemed to actively ignore you, even one of your friends snapped at you over what you considered to be nothing and kept blaming yourself for that even when it wasn’t something that serious to begin with. Today was a very busy day at the coffee bar, you were truly exhausted and wanted nothing but to go to sleep and wait for the day to end. Although falling asleep had resulted to be an impossible task.

So you listened to music instead. The rain helping set the mood. You wanted to stop existing for a while and even stop thinking. Ignoring the phone ringing a couple of times. Even ignoring the loud growl of your stomach as you had absolutely no energy to do anything.

You heard the window sliding open, immediately knowing who it was. You lived on the 8th floor of a rather stinky flat building. And only one person insisted on using windows rather than the normal main door.

“Shite, tryna give me a heart attack?” He said at once. “Thanks for picking up by the way,” He said sarcastically as he took off his boots and started pacing around your room like it was his, making himself to the bathroom where the first aid kit was as he kept on rambling.

“Thought you were either still at work or out with friends or whatever, you know, after you very kindly didn’t pick up your phone, ey?” He said. “Came ‘ere to patch myself up, after I tried calling thinking there wasn’t anyone home. You’ve got the nice gauzes, tell your mother thanks for me one of these days, for being a nurse and letting you sneak this things out of the hospital for ya,”

The entire time he was talking there was no reply. No sassy comeback to his sarcasm. No playfully following along his comments. Nothing. Just silence.

But you were awake.

Hobie knew you were awake. He’d heard your breathing and heart rate when you slept countless times before, and from your current breathing and heartbeat now, he knew you were awake. You’d be known to fall asleep with loud punk music on, but even then, you’d were awake.

“Did you hear me?” He asked frowning softly as he knew something by was up.

“Arrived from work a couple of hours ago. No, I didn’t pick up the phone. Yea they are nice gauzes. Yes I’ll say thanks to my mom, especially for not asking questions when I ask her if I can take gauzes and sutures and occasional antibiotics,” you replied dryly, dragging your tongue the way you usually do when you’re either tired or stressed.

“You a’ight?” He said walking towards your bed, reluctant to sit on it as he would’ve liked. As his trousers were a mess and he wasn’t sure if his wound was still bleeding or not.

“No,” You sighed.

“What happened?”

“Eh,” He saw you shrug, even amidst the dark room consumed by night, only the streetlights filtering through your window.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asked, his voice softening.

You were usually the annoyingly optimistic one. You were usually the one begging him to open up and to let things off his chest when something was bothering him.

“No, not really…” You sighed. “Perhaps later…Tomorrow even…”

“Is this usually how it’s like to deal with me when I’m in a mood? You’re not exactly helping me here,” He joked.

He felt some relief when he heard a single chuckle escape your chest. At least you still had your sense of humour there.

“No, not really. You’re more sarcastic when you’re mad, and it’s your sarcasm what usually helps me figure out what happened…”

“Then this is inherently harder…” He pointed out.

“Sorry about that,”

“Can I help you somehow?”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t know…” You sighed. “How do you deal with feeling invisible?”

That was the most he’d gotten out of you, and he raised an eyebrow.

“You feel invisible?” He asked softly.

“All day today I’ve felt invisible. No one listens to me, or cares for what I have to say. I’ve been trying to talk and people just cut me off mid sentence to say something completely unrelated…I think I broke up with Mark…”

That last bit took him by surprise. One thing was that you were just having a bad day, and then you mentioned an actual event, and a big one for that matter.

One that he’d been waiting to happen, but he always envisioned you to be raging when you did. Mark was…well, he was a man, for starters. Hobie insisted men ain’t shit —“even myself, luv, I don’t know why you let me be your friend in the first place” he’d say— the amount of self awareness Hobie had came from a rough childhood growing up homeless for the most part of his youth. Something Mark had the good luck not to experience. He was your usual entitled, misogynistic, stuck up wanker. He could afford you gifts and romantic dates every so often. But the times Hobie had seen you mad because of something Mark did outnumbered the amount of times you actually seemed happy to be with Mark.

And he couldn’t believe someone as sweet and smart as you could be with someone like him. Maybe Mark needed someone with a good amount of patience, because otherwise, Hobie couldn’t see how would someone keep up with his shit.

But you weren’t like anyone else he knew. You were perhaps the biggest softy he’d met, which was hilarious because you also called yourself a punk. And you helped him plan out his subversive actions, you helped him with his art pieces, you helped him a lot with indirect work. You never really took a stand and walked into the dangerous situations, but you were always there helping Hobie backstage, remaining anonymous and safe.

Hobie found endearing how sweet and gentle and patient you were for a punk. You took a lot of shit for yourself, but went absolutely insane when someone you cared for received the slightest unfair treatment. He found your fear of getting in trouble adorable, yet understandable. Things had been changing a lot for women recently, but things were still pretty much unfair.

Hobie could understand and respect that. He knew the disadvantage, and was well aware of the privileges that came with being a man. Sure, he was black, but he was still a man. He still had privileges women didn’t have. And not even from a legal standpoint. Even with his skin colour, society tended to respect him more than a woman regardless of her colour.

“Whoa, luv, hold up. What about Mark?” Hobie said.

“I think I’m going to break up with him next time I see him…” You sighed. “At some point I was feeling very bad at work, and I wanted some sort of comfort…During my break I called him…” You sighed softly as your eyes teared up, and Hobie could hear your voice break slightly.

“What did he say?” Hobie sighed, growing annoyed.

“At first he was being helpful. Actually listening. But then…I don’t know, I don’t know if I said something or how I said it, but I heard him sigh and say that he was sorry I was having a bad day but he was dealing with problems much bigger than mine and made some very passive aggressive comments about how he has a real job while I work at a coffee bar…And I hung up on him…” You said, swallowing the lump in your throat, as Hobie felt his own chest squeeze painfully.

“The only worse thing than being ignored, is being shamed for who you are…” You sighed, shutting your eyes closed to keep tears from falling. “I was having a bad day, the last thing I needed was to be scolded, you know?”

Hobie leaned over your bed, and kissed your head while running one of his large hands across your hair. “I’m so sorry, luv…” He whispered. “But good for you. Mark isn’t half the person you are, you deserve someone much better. Although, that might be a tad impossible because you deserve the entire world, and I don’t think there’s someone in the world actually worthy of you…” He said, his voice gentle and sweet, one of the very few instances in which Hobie wasn’t his usual self-satirical-theatrical punk he liked to be. He was capable of being very gentle and sweet.

You chuckled, keeping your eyes closed as you felt his lips burning through your skull in the nicest of ways.

“Hey, I’m all covered in blood and sweat and all those nice things,” He joked. “I’ll go take a quick shower and I’ll be right back with you, okay?”

“Yeah…Thanks, Hobie,”

“Just doing what I must, sweet’eart, don’t sweat it. Are you hungry by the way?” He said standing back up as he headed to your wardrobe.

He grabbed some sweatpants Mark had around, thinking Mark wouldn’t be needing them anymore. Plus, Hobie knew Mark wasn’t exactly fond of how close friends you two were. And Hobie usually wore some of the clothes Mark left at your place, knowing it would piss Mark off when his clothing smelled like your punk bestie rather than your normie boyfriend.

However, he took one of your shirts. His slim thin body actually allowed him to wear your shirts and fit him just perfectly. Perhaps a bit short on his long torso, but for that matter, rarely any shirt that fit his shoulders and chest fit his torso. And any shirt that fit his lengthy body was huge on his shoulders making him look ridiculous.

He took your Patti Smith shirt from the concert you’d gone to just a few months back. He’d gone with you and had actually fallen in love with her and her work. He’d listened to a few of Patti’s tracks, and he considered himself a casual enjoyer and it wasn’t until you dragged him with you to the concert that he became a big fan.

“A bit, actually…” You lied, feeling the pit of your stomach threatening to digest itself if you didn’t eat anything soon.

“Okay, how about this,” He began confidently. “After I shower, we’re gonna go to the new place that opened just around the corner…” He suggested. “Dinner’s on me. And I’ll make up for the bad day you’ve been having, how about that?” He asked as he walked back towards your bed and ruffled your hair playfully.

“I want to be a little ball of suffering and tears,” You whined, chilling softly.

“That’s a bunch of shite and you know it. Come on, wash that pretty little face of yours and get ready, we’re leaving as soon as I’m done,” He said and walked back to your wardrobe, grabbing a towel and heading to the bathroom.

You chuckled and sat up on the bed, watching him close the bathroom door as you sighed deeply and stood up, heading to the kitchen, taking a large glass of water.

At times like this you were absolutely grateful for having someone like Hobie. No, not someone like him. But having Hobie as your best friend. He was the absolute best friend someone could have. The amount of times he looked out for her more than anyone else, really. More than Mark, more than your friends, more than your own parents.

You washed your face on the kitchen sink and by the time Hobie was out of the shower. Smelling like your body lotion and even your shampoo, his scent was still predominantly there. However to Hobie, all he could smell was that comforting and familiar scent of home.

As you heard him walk out, you headed to the living room where you found him pacing around in black sweats and your Patti Smith shirt.

"Hey, that’s mine," you whined playfully as you walked up to him and tugged on the shirt gently.

"Was" he corrected.

"No, fuck off!” You complained with a gentle laugh as you gently pinched his tummy. "You have your own Patti shirt! This is mine!” I complained like a little kid.

"If you want me to undress you just have to say so," he chuckled as he gave you a cheeky smirk and you pinched his tummy again. "Ow!” He giggled softly and rubbed his stomach where your fingers had been. "C’mon, let’s go get food, I’m famished,"

After dinner and getting back to your apartment, the two of you decided to "watch" movies. You weren’t really watching, you were talking back and forth, sometimes about the movie, sometimes about other things.

You were snuggled right besides him. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, keeping you close to him. His tough keeping you warm, fat more than the blanket over both your laps.

You eventually fell asleep on the couch. His arms around you and you comfortably nuzzling your face against his chest. Despite the couch being too small, you slept comfortably at least until well into the night. You woke up softly sometime after 3 am. Groggy and still in a sleepy haze.

“Hobie?” You murmured.

“Hm?” He replied deeply asleep.

“We fell asleep on the couch…” You yawned.

“Hm,”

“C’mon, we’re going to be more comfortable in bed…” you murmured and tugged on his arm as you clumsily got up and turned off the tv.

“Hm…”

Still somewhat asleep, he stood up and followed you into your room, holding on to your hand as you guided him towards the bed.

As he collapsed on the bed, you followed him and lied down besides him. As soon as you lied down besides him, Hobie pulled you into his embrace. Too asleep to realise what he was doing. You giggled.

“You’re pretty cuddly when you’re sleepy…”

“It’s a you effect…” He mumbled, dragging his tongue as he was mostly asleep. “You make me all mushy…”

Your cheeks blushed as you looked at him. His eyes closed and face relaxed, as you thought perhaps he wasn't going to remember this conversation tomorrow.

“How come?” You asked curiously as your heart raced and suddenly you weren’t sleepy whatsoever.

He shrugged. “You’re the nicest, cutest, bestest person I know, how could I not?” He mumbled.

“Hobie?”

“Hm?”

“Do you have feelings for me?”

“You just noticed?” He scoffed softly as he flashed you a confident smile, his eyes still closed.

“I…yes…”

“Huh,” He chuckled softly. “You’re so cute…”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because we’re friends and I’ve always been scared to—“ his tongue started dragging more and more, as his words soon became incomprehensible and soon he was deeply asleep.

It took you a long while to fall back asleep. Hobie’s sleepy love confession kept you awake as you kept going on and on inside your thoughts as suddenly his gentle and over protective nature towards you made sense.

He was naturally protective of those he cared for. He assumed the role of older brother. But with you it was different. While Hobie hated to be told what to do, and he always made a point to remind people about it. Not you. He always made some joke, but never complained.

Hobie wasn’t a morning person. I’m fact, he hated them. You on the other hand, always woke up at a decent time. Never after nine, but never before eight. A reasonable hour. You killed time reading, waiting for Hobie to wake up. For no particular reason, you simply felt like waiting for him to wake up. Besides, your shift at the coffee bar didn’t start until five that afternoon.

“Hey…” Hobie murmured, catching you off guard as you put down your book and looked at Hobie.

“Morning, you…”

“Morning, luv…”

You looked at him with a sweet and tender smile, remembering the conversation you two had last night. A conversation you knew he had no recollection of. It felt like having a secret between you two, a secret Hobie ignored, but still one you two shared.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He purred.

“No reason…” You chuckled and snuggled against him, hugging him.

Hobie’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes widened. He wondered what exactly was going on, but knew better than to question it and hugged you back.

“You’re weird sometimes…” He chuckled and pressed a sweet kiss on the top of your head.

“But you like me this way…” You murmured, taking in a big breath, feeling your lungs fill with his scent.

“Perhaps,” He chuckled and rested his cheek on your head.

[fourthwingfan]

Madness - Chapter 17

Hi, guys. Enjoy the new chapter :)

It is therefore only natural that the more powerful the dragon, the more powerful the signet its rider manifests. One should beware of a strong rider who bonds a smaller dragon, but even warier of the unbonded cadet, who will stop at nothing to seize a chance to bond.

—Major Afendra’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant

(Unauthorized Edition)

After sleeping in the crowded barracks for the last two months, it’s weird, and oddly decadent, to have my own room. I’ll never take the luxury of privacy for granted again.

I close my door behind me as I step into the hallway.

Violet’s door is to the right of mine and I see her limping towards me.

“Hi, there rider.” I greet her with a smile. “How is your leg?”

“Hi, Aelin.” She smiles back. “It’s not that bad. I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

“Good morning, neighbours.” I feel an arm around my shoulder.

“Hi, Liam.” I look up at him. His room is the one left of mine, and Ethan’s next to him. We are the only first-years who survived Threshing in our squad.

“Hi.” I hear Vi whispers and I can see a small blush? on her face.

Oh, my god. I love it!

“Are you okay, Vi? You’re face is a little red.” I say with a sly smile.

“Yes.” She glares at me and turns around when Rhiannon’s door, across the small hall from us, opens and we see Sawyer’s tall, lean frame come out. He runs his fingers through his hair, and when he sees us, his eyebrows rise and he freezes—his cheeks almost as red as his freckles.

“Good morning.” I grin.

“Guys.” He forces an awkward smile and walks off, headed toward the main hallway of the first-year dormitory.

Rhiannon walks out of her room and smiles as soon as she sees us. “No more breakfast duty?” She turns to Violet.

“I was told last night that all the less desirable duties were being handed off to the unbonded so our energy can be redirected for flight lessons.”

„One more reason for the unbonded to hate us,” Rhiannon mutters.

“It doesn’t matter. I think our dragons existence are already pisses them off.” I shrug.

„So, Sawyer, huh, Rhi?” Vi asks as we start down our hallway, passing a few other rooms before meeting up with the main corridor that leads to the rotunda. Have to say, the first-year rooms aren’t as spacious as the second-years’, but at least we all got ones with windows.

A grin curves her lips. “I felt like celebrating.” She darts a quick side-eye at her. “And why have I not heard of you celebrating?”

We melt into the crowd moving toward the gathering hall. “Haven’t found anyone I want to celebrate with.”

“Really? Because I heard that you and a certain squad leader had a moment last night.”

She nearly stumbles over her feet.

“Come on, Vi. The entire quadrant was out there, and you don’t think someone saw you?” I roll my eyes.

„Who gives a shit if it’s frowned upon to be in a relationship with a superior officer? There’s no regulation, and it’s not like any of us is guaranteed to live through the day.” Rhiannon says.

“Solid points,” she admit. “But it’s…” she shakes her head, searching for the right words. “It’s not like that with us. I’d always hoped it would be, but when he kissed me—there was nothing there. Like. Nothing.”

“Well, that’s shitty to hear.” She hooks her arm through hers. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” She sighs.

“I’m not.” I glance at them. “I never liked him. And he doesn’t support you, Vi. You deserve someone who sees you. Because you’re awesome.” I squeeze Vi’s hand.

“Thanks, I think.” She smiles at me with gratitude.

„Good morning, ladies. And Liam.” Ridoc forces his way through the crowd and slings an arm around Rhiannon and Vi’s shoulders as we enter the rotunda. “Or should I say, riders?”

“I like the sound of riders,” Rhiannon replies, shooting a smile in his direction.

“It has a certain ring to it,” Ridoc agrees.

“It’s definitely better than dead. Where’s your relic?” Vi asks Ridoc as we pass through the columns of carved dragons and take the steps into commons.

“Right here.” His arm falls off her shoulders, and he shoves the sleeve of his tunic up to reveal the brown mark of a dragon silhouette on his upper arm. “You?”

“Can’t see it. It’s on my back.”

“That will keep you safer if you’re ever separated from that massive dragon of yours.” His eyes dance. “I swear, I thought I was going to shit myself when I saw him on the field. What about yours, Rhi?”

“Somewhere you’ll never see,” she responds.

“You wound me.” He slaps his hand over his heart.

“I highly doubt that,” she retorts, but there’s a smile on her face.

“And you Aelin? If it’s somewhere private than I’d like to volunteer to check it out. Just you, and me.” He winks at me.

“Nice try.” I laugh at him. “But I’ll pass.”

“Are you waiting for someone else?” Liam whispers in my ear.

“Shut up.” I elbow him in the ribs while I feel myself flush.

Before anyone can ask another question we move through commons and into the gathering hall, then make our way through the line for breakfast.

“Asshole,” Ridoc mutters in front of  me. “I still can’t believe they tried to kill you.” He says to Violet.

“Who?” I ask and look toward the counter. There’s a man behind it and he glares at Violet with hatred in his eyes. “Oh wow. What did you do to him?”

“I beat him during the challanges.” Vi turns to me. „And before Threshing he said that I better watch my back.”

“Hm. He really holds a grudge.” I say while we collect our breakfast. „But don’t worry, now you’re a rider with a badass dragon. Still… I can’t believe he’s this petty.”

„I’m the weakest link, right? Unfortunately for me, that means people are bound to try and take me out for the good of the wing.” Vi says.

“You’re not!” I say firmly.

We head toward the Fourth Wing section and find a table with extra seats.

“Mind if we—” Ridoc starts.

“Absolutely! It’s yours!” A couple of guys from Tail Section scurry off the bench.

“Sorry, Sorrengail!” the other says over his shoulder as they find another table, leaving this one empty.

What the hell?

“Well, that was really fucking weird.” I say as Rhiannon rounds the other side of the table, and I follow, putting our backs to the wall as we step over the bench and sit, setting our trays in front of us.

“Even weirder?” Liam remarks, gesturing across the hall toward First Wing.

Following his line of sight, my eyebrows lift. Jack Barlowe is being squeezed out of his table. He’s forced to stand as others take his seat.

“What the hell is going on?” Rhiannon bites into a pear and chews.

Jack moves to another table—whose occupants won’t make room for him—and then finds a place two tables down.

“How the mighty have fallen, Ridoc notes, watching the same show I am, but there’s no satisfaction in watching Jack struggle. Feral dogs bite harder when they’re cornered.

“Hey, Sorrengail,” the stocky girl from First Wing says with a tight smile as she walks past our table.

“Hi.” She wave awkwardly as she walks away, then turn to whisper to us. “She hasn’t spoken to me since I took one of her daggers in that challenge.”

“It’s because you bonded Tairn.” Imogen blows her pink hair out of her face and throws her leg over the bench across from us to sit, pushing up the sleeves of her tunic and revealing her rebellion relic. “The morning after Threshing is always a clusterfuck. Power balance shifts, and you, little Sorrengail, are now about to be the most powerful rider in the quadrant. Anyone with common sense is going to be scared of you.”

I blink, is that what’s going on? I look around the hall and take note. Social groups have split up, and some of the cadets I would have considered threats are no longer sitting where they usually do.

“Which is why you’re now sitting with us?” Rhiannon arches a brow at the second-year. “Because I can count on one hand the number of nice words you’ve said to any of us.” She holds up a fist with zero fingers raised.

Quinn—the tall second-year—takes a seat next to Imogen, and Sawyer arrives, sitting on Rhiannon’s other side. Quinn tucks her blond curls behind her ears and brushes her bangs out of her eyes, her round cheeks rising as she smiles at something Imogen says. Have to admit, the hooped piercings that line the shells of both her ears are pretty awesome, and among her half dozen patches, it’s the dark-green one—the same color as her eyes—with two silhouettes that’s most intriguing. I should have studied up on what all the patches mean, but according to what I’ve heard, they change every year.

I’m personally a fan of the first ones we’ve been given. I had to sew the tail-shaped patch with the emblem for Fourth Wing and the centered number two with great care, being sure to only stitch the fabric of my corseted armor, since it’s not like any needle is going to penetrate the scales.

„You weren’t interesting enough to sit with before,” Imogen responds, then bites into a muffin.

“I usually sit with my girlfriend in Claw Section. Besides, no use getting to know you when most of you die,” Quinn adds, tucking her curls away again, just to have them spring forward. “No offense.”

“None taken?” Vi says.

Then Heaton and Emery, the only third-years in their squad, flank Imogen and Quinn on the bench across from us.

“Wow. Is it a squad meeting?” I ask while munching on an apple. “Liam, I think we stand out too much.”

“You’re right. Why don’t you sit with your own squad?” Imogen asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Because they like us more than you. Even though you are their squadmate.” I smile at her coldly. “We have every right to be here. If you have a problem with it then the challanges we’ll start over soon.”

She swallows and looks at her plate.

“Is it just me or is anyone else surprised that Barlowe bonded?” Ridoc questions. “Though from what I’ve heard, his Orange Scorpiontail is on the smaller side.”

“She is,” Quinn confirms. “Which is why he’s struggling this morning.”

“Don’t worry—I’m sure he’ll make up for his lack of social standing in other ways,” Rhiannon mutters, her gaze narrowing. “You have to have some protein, Vi. You can’t just survive on fruit.”

“It’s the only food I can be sure isn’t tampered with, especially with that guy behind the counter.” she peels an orange.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Imogen scrapes three pieces of sausage onto her plate. “She’s right. You’re going to need all your strength to ride, especially with a dragon as big as Tairn.”

I stare at the sausage. Imogen hates her just as much as me. Hell, she’s the one who broke her arm and ripped out her shoulder on assessment day.

“You can trust her,” Aon says, and I startle, almost dropping the apple.

“She hates us.”

“But she has changed.” He says and I can feel him pulling back.

No other explanation? Fine.

Vi starts to eat, and I focus on the conversation at the table again.

“What’s your signet?” Rhiannon asks Emery.

Air rushes down the table, rattling the glasses. Air manipulation. Got it.

“That’s epic.” Ridoc’s eyes widen. “How much air can you move?”

“None of your business.” He barely spares him a glance.

“Sorrengail, after class is out today, you’re mine,” Imogen says.

“I’m sorry?” She asks in surprise.

Her pale green eyes lock on her. “Meet me in the sparring gym.”

“I’m already working with her on sparring—” Rhiannon starts.

“Good. We can’t afford her to lose any challenges,” Imogen retorts. “But I’m going to help you with weights. We need to strengthen the muscles around your joints before challenges resume. That’s the only way you’ll survive.”

The hairs rise on the back of my neck. “And since when do you care about her survival?” This isn’t a squad thing. It can’t be. Not when she didn’t give a shit before.

“Since now,” she says, gripping her fork in her fist, but it’s the lightning-fast glance toward the dais at the end of the hall that gives her away. Her concern isn’t coming from the goodness of her heart. Something tells me it’s an order. “Squads are about to be condensed at morning formation. We’ll be down to two in every section,” she continues. “Aetos kept the highest number of his first-years alive—hence the patch—so he’ll be allowed to retain his squad, but we’ll probably gain a few when they strip the squads from those who weren’t as successful.” She glances at Liam and I.

As discreetly as I can, I look to my right, past the other Fourth Wing tables and to the dais where Xaden sits with his executive officer and the section leaders, including Garrick, whose shoulders look like they should take up at least two seats. It’s Garrick who looks my way first, his forehead lining with… What is that? Worry? Then he looks away. The only reason he’d be remotely worried—he knows something.

Imogen helping Violet. Violet bonded to Tairn. Ohh shit.

“Aon? Is Tairn and Sgaeyl are mates?”

“Yes. They have a bond.” He answers.

“Then Violet and Xaden are somehow connected too?” I have my suspicions.

“Yes. They have a bond through their dragons.” He answers. “But it’s not an emotional one, little one.” He adds silently.

Then it means Garrick knows Violet’s fate is tethered to Xaden’s.

My gaze snaps to Xaden, and my chest tightens. So. Freaking. Beautiful. Apparently my body doesn’t care that he’s as dangerous as they come in the quadrant, because heat rushes through my veins, flushing my skin.

He’s using a dagger to peel an apple, removing the rind in one long curl, and the blade continues its path as his eyes lift, locking with mine.

My whole head tingles.

Gods, is there any part of my body that doesn’t physically react to the sight of him?

He glances toward Imogen and back to me, and that’s all it takes for me to know for certain. He’s ordered her to help train Violet. Xaden Riorson is now in the business of keeping his mortal enemy alive.

…

A few hours later, after the squads are rearranged and the death roll is read, all the first-year riders in Fourth Wing stand in our newly issued flight leathers, waiting in front of our dragons on the flight field.

We were the smallest squad, it was logical to disband us. I don’t know why, but fortunately Liam, Ethan and I was assigned to Fourth Wing, Flame Section, Second squad. It’s Violet’s squad. Our squad’s second- and third-years went into the same squad too. I don’t complain. I’m glad that we’re still together. So now it’s our first flight lesson as a member of a new squad.

The uniform is thicker than our usual one, with a full jacket I’ve buttoned over my dragon-scale armor. And unlike our regular uniforms, whatever we choose them to be, flight leathers bear no insignia besides our rank at our shoulder and any leadership designation. No names. No patches. Nothing that could give us away if we’re separated from our dragons behind enemy lines. Just a lot of sheaths for weapons.

I try not to think about possibly fighting in the war effort one day and focus on the organized chaos evolving on the flight field this morning. I can’t miss the way the other cadets look at Tairn or the wide berth the other dragons give him. Honestly, if I had those teeth bared at me, I’d back away, too.

„No you wouldn’t, because you didn’t. You stayed and defended your friend.” Aon’s voice fills my head as he stands next to Tairn, and I can tell from his tone there are places he’d rather be.

“Only because there was a lot going on at the moment,” I respond.

“I don’t think so. Now pay attention!” He ends the discussion.

I roll my eyes but focus on what Kaori is saying from the center of the field. His hand is up, using common lesser magic to project his voice so we can all hear.

God help us when Ridoc figures out how to do that. I bite back a smile, knowing he’ll find some way to annoy the shit out of every rider in the quadrant, not just his squad.

“…and at only ninety-two riders, you are our smallest class to date.”

My shoulders dip. “I thought a hundred and one were willing to bond, plus you and Tairn?”

“Willing doesn’t mean they found worthy riders,” Aon answers. “You’re worthy. At least I think you are, but you apparently don’t pay attention in class.” He chuffs and a warm puff of steam blasts the back of my neck.

“There are forty-one unbonded riders who would kill to be standing where you are,” Kaori continues. “And your dragons know that your bond is at its weakest point right now, so if you fall, if you fail, there’s a good chance your dragon might let you if it thinks the unbonded will be a better choice.”

“Comforting,” I mutter.

Aon makes a noise that reminds me of a scoff.

“Now, we’re going to mount, then follow a series of specific maneuvers your dragons already know. Your orders are simple today. Stay in your seat,” Kaori finishes. Then he turns and breaks into a sprint, racing the dozen feet toward his dragon’s foreleg and making the vertical climb to mount.

Just like the last obstacle on the Gauntlet.

I sprint up the same way and I navigate Aon’s spikes to find the seat. My tighs ache a little from yesterday, but it’s bearable. I grip the pommel. Okay, I’m ready.

Kaori’s dragon launches into the sky.

“Hold tight.”

I feel as Aon crouches a millisecond before he hurls us skyward. The wind tears at my eyes as my stomach falls away, and I risk holding on with one hand to lower my flight goggles. Immediate relief.

“We had to go third?” I ask Aon as we fly out of the canyon and higher into the mountain range. I get it now, why I didn’t see the dragons training often even though I’ve basically grown up at Basgiath. The only people around us are other riders.

“I only agreed to follow Smachd because his rider is your instructor. Tairn should be the first.”

“So you’re an in-front kind of guy. Good to know. Remind me to spend some time at temple so I can make multiple appeals to Dunne.” I keep my focus on Kaori, watching for when the maneuvers will start.

“The goddess of strength and war?” Aon clearly scoffs this time.

“What, dragons don’t think we need the gods on our side?” Shit, it’s cold up here. My gloved hands tighten on the pommel.

“Dragons pay no heed to your puny gods.”

Kaori banks right, and Aon follows suit, leading us into a steep dive down the face of one of the peaks. I clench with my legs to remain in the seat.

We go into another climb and even a near-spiral of a turn, and I can’t help but notice that he’s taking everything Kaori is doing and making it harder. The same as Tairn.

“Why did you make it harder?” I ask. “It’s our first flight lesson, I don’t want to fall off.”

“You won’t. I chose you, now trust me. Unless you’d rather be scraped off the glacier below like Gleann’s rider back there?”

I whip my head around to look, but all I see is Aon’s tail swinging, his massive spikes blocking the view.

“Don’t look.”

“We already lost a rider?” My throat knots.

“Gleann chose poorly. He never bonds strongly anyway.”

At least I can hold my seat. It’s not that bad.

As soon as I think this, I see Violet as he falls off from Tairn.

“Violet!” I shout without thinking.

“Don’t worry. Tairn will catch her.” Aon says.

“What? But I thought the dragons never catch the newly bonded riders.”

Then I see Tairn’s claws catch her. He climbs high, then tosses her again, his back rises to meet her falling bottom. I sigh with relief as she takes her seat. She’s safe.

“Worry about yourself, little one. You have a lot to learn. Leave your friend to Tairn.”

I try to concentrate, but I can’t help and notice as Violet falls again.

And again.

And again.

Shit. We have to figure something out.

[romancingdaffodils]

Drunken Monologues

Certified Mind Blower

remus lupin x gender neutral!magical!reader

fluff fluff pure fluff with a tiny sprinkle of Remus being silly about his furry little problem.

Remus Lupin is the cutest cutie that ever did cute!

You fell asleep at his house, in his bed, beside him. Despite what your ‘drunken’ self may have wanted Remus just put you to sleep. Then, you wake up to the sound of his voice and to the scent of something sweet. Oh, and a splitting headache.

haii did you miss me i bet you did (lots of love lilac)

ps i think this picture is super cute because my best friend taught me how to play backgammon and i’m shit at it but it makes me happy :333 matt hitt is so cute

Remus Lupin has been and always will be unbearably pretty. So, when you woke up in his bed, it was a bit of a shock. However, that shock was soon overcome by the consequences of your previous actions. ‘Ow, my head.’ you thought, groaning once again. You were certain you hadn’t been that drunk, but maybe you were in denial. Not being that drunk should not warrant this awful headache. Suddenly, it dawned on you. You were alone in the bed. Surely Remus wasn’t the type to fuck off from his own house just because he wasn’t interested in you, right? Right? Sitting up, another sensation other than the splitting headache hit you. The smell of pancakes and the sound of Remus’s voice. Yum (for both). He’s talking, was he on the phone? You wanted to groan again, feeling like it was too much energy to move to the lounge. However, for more of Remus, you’d do anything.

“I’d say sorry Pads,” Sirius from last night, you remind yourself “But, I’m not sorry at all. They’re lovely, absolutely perfect.” he said, his voice muffled slightly by the walls. You can’t hear Sirius’s voice but you imagine he said something along the lines of ‘Honestly Moony, never expected that from you,’. As you had this thought, it set in he was talking about you. Fuck. Your face flushed and every single thing you’d said last night popped into your head. Late night slideshows of embarrassment now had enough fuel to last a life time. Padding out of the bedroom, you stood in the doorway to the lounge.

“Dunno why you’re so bothered, heard you went home with someone else anyway, Mckinnon was it? Or perhaps the bartender guy, who couldn’t leave you alone?” Remus said, chuckling down the phone. You were glad Sirius wasn’t bothered by your infatuation with his friend, seeing as he’d gone home with someone else. In front of him, two plates of pancakes were being coated in strawberries and chocolate spread. Sirius shouted so loud down the phone that you actually heard it this time.

“‘Cause it was a fucking betrayal Remus!” he whined and you couldn’t help but giggle at his remark. Immediately, the tall boys head whipped round and he flashed you a smile.

“Good bye Sirius.” he replied, hanging up instantly. “Made breakfast, how long have you been awake?” he asked, still grinning at you; you smiled back.

“Not long, thanks for breakfast. Looks good.” you said, trying desperately hard not to fumble over your words. Your cheeks were still flushed and your brain was still mush.

“You alright, love? Y’look- quite red. How’s your head?” he questioned, as though he could read your mind. The statement ‘you look quite red’ was obviously a teasing one. So, when you frowned up at him, his grin only grew. Stomach twisting, you tried desperately hard not to give him a reaction to his pet name.

“I’m fine, thanks. Plus, you’re completely and utterly awful.” you complained, still frowning up at him.

“I made you breakfast and I’m awful. You were a lot braver last night.” he teased, picking up the two plates and placing them down on the breakfast bar.

“I remember you being a lot less mean last night.” you complained, still scowling at him. Your false anger didn’t last long as you sat down and gave a big smile. “Thank you.” you added, tilting your head.

“ ‘m incredible, dunno what you’re talking about. And, you’re welcome. How’d you sleep?” he replied, sitting down next to you and stretching out his legs. He was so unbelievably pretty, even with messy hair and too big pyjamas - which consisted of a band shirt and joggers.

“Really, really well actually. You? Oh, by the way. Sorry about, you know, everything I said last night. I’m not normally like that.” you mumbled in between bites of freakishly good pancakes. Chocolate spread and strawberries were an unmatched combo (only lemon juice and sugar could beat it).

“Slept well too. Plus, quite enjoyed you telling me how, ahh what was it? Fucking gorgeous you think I am. But, seriously, no worries.” Remus teased, but his tone deepened at his last sentence.

“I feel like I forced my way into your home.” you giggled, smiling over at him sheepishly.

“I’m not complaining. Y’lovely. I know you heard me say that to Sirius, by the way. You don’t really have the whole poker face nailed, do you?”.

“No, no not really.” you mumbled, becoming flustered once again. Watching Remus, you admired his every move as he finished off the pancakes. Similarly, he couldn’t take his eyes away from you. “Let me help, like do the washing up or something.” you said, standing up as soon as you finished the food “I feel bad, you’ve been so nice.”.

“You really don’t have to, but, if you want to you can.” he stated, smiling over at you as you took the plate away. Quickly, you got to work on washing the plates. He laughed lightly as he watched you, shaking his head.

“Are you laughing at me?” you asked, feigning offence. Approaching you, Remus placed his arms on either side of you. You turned around, having finished with the washing up. His face was only a few inches away from your own.

“Would never.” he defended, looking down at you. Remus Lupin was ridiculously tall, pretty and charismatic. He dressed like a loser, but was in fact - in your eyes - quite the opposite. Right now, he was all you had ever wanted.

“Hi.” your mind was at a complete blank and the fact you had even formed a word was impressive. Your body felt like it was on fire.

“Hello, dove.” he purred, trying hard not to laugh at the look on your face. As calm as Remus presented himself, he had a dead giveaway. A tell. White knuckles. He was gripping the sink so tightly his knuckles had altered into a pale, almost translucent white.

“You didn’t kiss me yesterday.” you stated, feeling it rather appropriate for the situation. He smiled. You swallowed, hard.

“No, I didn’t. You were quite drunk. However, it would be awful of me to not kiss you today.” he murmured in response, leaning closer in. Your mind was filled with a repetitive sequence of two words. Kiss me. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. His teasing was criminal. He was driving you insane within the first day of knowing him and you couldn’t imagine the solace his kiss would bring.

“So awful,”. You had to bite your tongue to avoid begging him to kiss you.

Moving even closer towards you, Remus’s tight grip on the sink never once faltered. And, finally, sweet relief. He kissed you like you’d never been kissed before. Soft, sweet and somehow it held a passion that sent your brain into a wicked frenzy. When he pulls away, you pant.

It was good. Too good. Far too good.

“You’re so pretty, ‘s unfair.” he cooed, releasing the sink and running his hand through your hair. Tenderly, he tucked the majority of your unbrushed hair behind your ears. Remus didn’t really seem to mind the mess.

“Ha-ha. Haha.” you said. Yes, you spoke the sounds “Ha-ha.” Sounding somewhat like a maniac, all you could do was look up at him with pure adoration.

“Are you okay?” he asked, tilting his head. Once again, he was trying desperately hard not to laugh.

“Perfectly- Um, perfectly fine.” you confirmed, nodding your head as you spoke. Once again, the broken record spinning that was in your mind began its maniacal chant. ‘Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.’ you begged, silently.

“Still not got a poker face, dove.” he observed, leaning back in. Connection. Morning breath and all. Connection. You were praying you wouldn’t collapse of the sensation of it all. Your hands shakily found their way into Remus’s hair. Carelessly, his hands moved to your waist and pulled you closer.

In books it’s common for the writer to describe the characters emotions whilst kissing; it emphasises how good the sensation truly is. However, right now, you were going against all laws of literature. All you could think, feel or live was Remus. One day was all it took for you to be whipped. Truly, taken. One day.

With your head tilted upwards and your body pressed flush against the brown haired man’s, you could’ve died. Unfortunately, he pulled away. Taking in slow deep breaths, he peered down at you. The look in his eyes was different. He had attraction and affection, sure. But, there was something else there. His expression changed, now matching the look in his eyes. It looked like he was fighting some sort of battle with himself.

And, honestly? Remus was fighting a battle. He liked you, from what he could tell anyway. He liked you a lot. However, Remus Lupin was burdened with a curse he wouldn’t dare admit to anyone bar his closest friends. His so called furry little problem actually turned out to be a rather large problem. Especially when it came to people like you.

Famously, he was promiscuous. God knows the number of people he’d been with. But, those hookups could be reduced to a number. Someone like you couldn’t be inconsequential. In fact, he was of the firm belief you were going to be quite consequential in deed. Reducing you to another quick affection fix would be doing you a great disservice, so Remus thought anyway. So here he was, in his own kitchen, desperately pleading with his own brain to let him take you out. You kissed like some sort of God and you begged like a desperate follower; his body couldn’t decide which part of you he liked the most. In turn, that was what led to the ultimate decision to ask you out. Reminding himself of James, Sirius and Pete’s never ending pep talks, the lanky man understood his lycanthropy did not make him any less worthy of what he wanted. However, trying to act on that was an unbelievably difficult task for Remus. The typical excuse of chronic pain won’t cut it in a serious relationship, when he disappears for days. And, he felt a pang of guilt already fiddling with his intestines for any pain it would bring you. Making his mind up was proving to be far more difficult than he would’ve liked.

His heart won the fight, for once. Foolishly, he had put his logic driven brain aside and let his heart do the talking. (He’d soon come to realise it wasn’t foolish at all).

“Do you wanna go out, this week sometime?” he asked, continuously taking the lead. Grateful, you smiled up at him.

“Yeah, actually. I’d really, really like that.” you affirmed, once again nodding your head like a babbling idiot.