#I’m sorry you were built for solitude when you were meant to love

[taxonomicons]

There is something so uniquely tragic about Colin Robinson in the sense that all the other vampires are clearly products of their upbringing, and their rich past is usually a primary motivating factor for their character. But Colin’s upbringing essentially never happened and he will never remember it- he is intentionally designed to be untethered to the world. Unknown.

[seigephoenix]

NSFW prompt: Foreplay Only for BG3 (your choice!)

I had to go with Halsin and my bard Elaina. She is the tired mom of the group.

Rating: NSFW Content Warning: Fingering and frustration Length: 1.8k

The only sounds in the forest were of birds and a bubbling brook nearby.  She sat away from the chaos of her companions, just taking a moment to breathe.  Despite her occupation, Elaina craved moments to herself.  Not that she didn’t love and care for her companions, she adored them all.  Elaina considered them her children, as the only one close to her age was Astarion.  Though he was sheltered in a way as well.  She tilted her face towards the moonlight and leaned her weight back on her arms as she absorbed the tranquility of the night around her.

Elaina caught the sound of something rather large moving closer and she turned her head.  If it were an animal, there would be no problem in her convincing it to move along.  If it was something else, she had no issues using other means of convincing.  To her surprise she recognized the animal that lumbered into her little clearing and she couldn’t help but smile.  She was amused that he didn’t seem to be aware of her presence, for which she was secretly glad.  Elaina cast invisibility and waited to see what he was up to.  She considered him a good friend, one whose opinions she gave weight to.  He was also the only one aside from Astarion that was of similar age to her.  Elaina silently wondered if he would consider himself part of their little ragtag group as he always seemed to hold himself away from the others.  As if there was a wall built up.  She understood walls, had built many around herself to protect her heart from injury.

The bear shuffled closer to where she’d been sitting, and Elaina stifled the urge to laugh as he pressed his nose against the very place she’d been.  Thankfully, she’d had the forethought to move.  While she was invisible to the naked eye, her scent would linger in the air.  She watched as he turned to follow the path she’d taken.  Elaina grinned as he paused just in front of her, and she canceled the spell.  “Good evening Halsin.”

Elaina chuckled as the druid nearly jumped out of his skin.  “I’m sorry.  I wasn’t sure who was approaching at first so I cast a spell on myself.”  She reached out for him, letting her hand rest just in front of his nose.  He leaned into the touch, and she gave him a few ear scratches.  “Did you wish for some solitude as well?”  Halsin looked at her and she saw the complicated answer in his eyes.  “I won’t disturb you.  I’ll head back to camp.  The evening is a peaceful one here.”  Elaina crossed her arms loosely in front of her chest as she turned to look at the little brook.  She felt the energy shifting behind her and when she turned this time, a man was standing in place of a bear.  “You didn’t have to change back.  I always have speak with animals cast on myself.”

“You don’t need to leave.  It was I that disturbed your evening.” Elaina simply smiled at him.

“Halsin, you’re not disturbing my evening.  I don’t mind company when it comes to stargazing.”  He looked down at her with a furrowed brow.  “I mean it.  I simply stepped away to avoid listening to the arguing for a time.  The same debate over and over again gets tiring.”  Elaina sighed and angled her head in the direction of the camp with an indulging smile on her face.  She loved their bickering even if it grated on her nerves at times, it meant they were still alive to experience it.  Elaina swore she’d get rid of the worm in a way that wouldn’t leave them all dead or mind flayers at the end of this journey.

“Then if I may?”  He inclined his head towards her spot and she smiled.  She resumed her spot and tilted her face towards the moon.  She felt him next to her and couldn’t help but relax.  There was something about Halsin that put her at ease.  She felt other emotions as well, but those she kept a tight lid on.  Fleeting attraction was one thing, but she sensed Halsin wasn’t ready for anything deeper.  Not yet anyway.  “You seem relaxed.”

“And you seem the opposite.”  She turned and saw the way he flinched but she merely smiled.  “What’s on your mind Halsin?”

“It is,” he paused as if contemplating his words.  Elaina took pity on him.

“Be free to speak however you need to.  I promise I won’t be offended by whatever it is you say.”  She held her hand out towards him in promise but to her surprise he merely stared at it.  “Halsin?”  It was then she realized why he seemed antsy.  Something in the air that felt hot and needy.  “Oh.”  She knew of such cycles, Halsin had explained it to her before she’d lain with him the first time.  He certainly hid his reaction quite easily from her as she hadn’t noticed at all.  Elaina blew out an impatient breath on a laugh as she turned to look at him.

“You don’t need to be shy around me Halsin.” Elaina flashed him a grin.  “You’re hardly the first druid I’ve been with.”  Though I hope you’ll be the last.  She didn’t say those words aloud, their lives would be too long to risk saying it.  “Do you need help dealing with the heat?”  Elaina reached for him, but she was startled when he grasped her by the hips in a flash of movement.

Her knees hit the dirt around his hips and his teeth were at her neck before she could register what happened.  A sharp cry flew from her lips as her fingers dug into his shirt.  “Best keep quiet unless you want company.”  The words were whispered against her neck sending a heated shudder through her body.  Elaina bit down on the moan as her hand reached between them to find him throbbing.  She set her teeth against his neck as her fingers brushed aside the cloth and wrapped around his cock.

That seemed to spur him and Elaina muffled a surprised squeal against his shoulder as he flipped them.  His weight pressed her down into the ground, but she didn’t mind a damn bit as his teeth set against her neck.  The flash of pain spurred the heat further.  His hands eased her tunic up and over her chest.  He leaned back to admire her under the moonlight until she almost flushed with embarrassment.

“They’re the same as last time Halsin.  You’ll have me blushing like a young maiden if you keep this up.” Elaina laughed as she reached for his clothing.  He gathered her hands in his and brushed his lips over her palms before pinning them above her head.  Her heart thundered in her ears as her body ached for him.  “Halsin?”

“It’s not exactly the same.”  Elaina paused as she looked up at him and followed the direction of his eyes.  His lips grazed over the slope of her breast teasing her nipple before moving on.  Her thighs squeezed his hips as her clit throbbed in need.  “I didn’t get to admire the way the moonlight shines on your skin.”  His teeth tugged at her nipple.  Heated shivers went down her spine and she squirmed at how wet she was for his man.

“Halsin.”  She felt his amusement against her skin as his hands left hers to hold her hips.  She let her frustration show in a flash of teeth at how he kept her still.  She wanted to move damn it.  Elaina huffed when he pressed a kiss just above the waistband of her pants.  “You’re being a tease.”

“You’re being spoiled.”  Elaina drew her legs up in offense as he pulled at her pants.  He grasped her ankle in his hand, and she felt delicate in his grasp.  Not a word she usually associated with herself, but that was how she felt with Halsin.  Delicate.  He treated her like a treasure at times and others what was between them was wild and feral.  She craved both.  She craved this man like her next breath.

Halsin’s lips trailed up from her ankle to her knee to the inside of her thigh.  Elaina squealed when his teeth left a mark there.  Her body throbbed in need from the little flash of pain.  She groaned in frustration when his lips skipped over to her other thigh.  He chuckled as she grasped his hair, trying to tug him back up to where she wanted him.  Sweat beaded on her forehead, heat filled her mind.  She only wanted this man inside her and he was teasing her.  “In time.”  Elaina wanted to scream in frustration as he merely gave her a smile against her thigh.  She covered her face with her hands as she tried to focus and ease some of the ache.  Elaina squealed again when he pinched her ass.

“Oi!” She kicked at him to his amusement, and he merely caught her leg and draped it over his shoulder.  Elaina gave him a skeptical glare; he was up to something.  Her head fell back as his thumb pressed against her clit.  “Fuck.”  Halsin merely chuckled as he leaned over and closed his lips over her nipple.  Elaina moaned and arched her back into his touch.  Her fingers tangled in his hair, clenching tight as the heat coiled between her legs.

“Eager tonight.”

“Because someone keeps teasing me,” she hissed at him which only ended on a moan as his thumb made gentle circles against her clit.  “Don’t stop.”  Halsin released her nipple and rose until his lips covered hers in a drugging kiss.  A kiss Elaina always lost herself in, all she could focus on was the way his lips and fingers made her feel.  Her fingers curled as she held him tightly against her.  Elaina moaned against his lips when he slipped two fingers inside of her.  Her lips fell away from his as her breaths came in choppy bursts.  The heat tightened into a slippery knot between her legs, coiling tighter and tighter with each stroke of his hand against her.

She pulled him back down to her as her orgasm broke over her in slow, languid heated waves.  Her legs shuddered at the force of it.  His lips muffled the low scream that threatened to spill out as her fingers dug into his shoulders.  He eased her through the crescendo rising inside her and leaned back to just look at her.  Hair slicked against her temples from the sweat, eyes unfocused and lips swollen from his kisses and curses.  He pressed a kiss against her forehead as her grip on him relaxed.  She sensed surprise in him when her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him down to her.  She grinned as he looked at her.

“I’m stronger than I look.”  He chuckled and leaned in for another kiss when they both heard the rustling.  Then a quick curse.  Elaina’s lips flattened and she looked at Halsin.  “The children are here.”

[rightsockjin]

Summary: Your best friend of your near entire life has been a total asshat to you ever since you started to casually date which didn't seem super fair to you since he did the exact same thing and you were nothing but supportive! It just sucks that you two are growing apart over a coping mechanism that you adopted to distract yourself from your overwhelming crush on said idiot. If only he knew. Wait- did you say that OUT LOUD?

Rating: M (What isn't on this blog?)

Genre: Maybe a little angst? Smut for sure tho.

Word count: 8003

Warnings: Thongs, sex, lewd thoughts, erections, physical pushing, raw dogging, cream pie, mentions of giving head, a looooooottt of swearing, mentions of slut shaming. Oh right- oppa kink and little splashes of korean as well.

yeo-chin= girlfriend

nam-chin= boyfriend

halmoni= grandma

apa=to hurt

aya=expression to express pain equivalent to 'ow'

Author’s note: HI EVERYONE! We are somewhat back!! So sorry for the long wait for content. Things have been insane and we’ve been working on a much- much longer fic for this blog which will involve all of the boys! It’s a long story but this hit me like a truck yesterday and it was initially meant to be a reaction but I couldn’t stop writing… so it’s 7k and the other boys will get their own version of this prompt “best friend is jealous of the attention you give to guys” thing. Starting once again with the one and only Yoongi! Hope y’all enjoy:)

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“You know it’s funny, I don’t remember asking,” Yoongi said virulently, his attention centered solely on his phone as he scrolled through instagram... or twitter... or maybe it was tinder. Your heart sank. You had been excited that this guy- Woojin- had given you attention. He was good looking by a lot of standards and it had boosted your confidence significantly. Of course, you wanted to share that excitement with your best friend. Rejecting someone that good looking always made you feel really powerful and attractive but you had barely shown him Woojin’s picture and commented on how attractive he was before your so called best friend had brushed you off and went back to his solitude and avoidance.

You had noticed that something was off for a while now but hadn’t commented on anything to avoid any conflicts but this was ridiculous. You had constantly listened to the stories of how girls would trickle in like water for him. He seemed to be going out with someone new every two weeks.

It wasn’t fair that you had to put up with his annoying descriptions of how beautiful these girls were while you sat and gave him your undivided attention as your heart slowly chipped and broke with each new conquest of his. Especially when each girl was so different from who you were. At first, you thought that maybe you were annoyed by this simply because it was hurtful to think he didn’t at least think you were pretty. It wasn’t long after that that you realized that it hurt you when he went out with women who were your polar opposite because it meant that he would never date you.

This had been shocking in itself. You had known Yoongi for your entire life, or at least a good portion of it, and you had always seen him as a brother. Your oppa in the least sexual or boyfriend-y form possible, but when you looked at him now… he was looking a lot more like well- an oppa.

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish. His words stung more than you would like to admit. Whenever Yoongi got this snippy, you liked to equal him in snip and double him in sass, never showing how vulnerable his disinterest made you feel, but this time, it felt like he had punched you in the chest with all his force and told you you were ugly to boot.

You didn’t want to cry in front of him either. He’d make fun of you. Last time you had cried, he’d awkwardly pat you on the head and quickly changed the very serious topic of your parents' relationship with yours to something totally different and not even a little relevant to helping you feel better. Given, that had been years ago and he’d never been very good at comforting you nor had he so much as expressed his support of you. Not since that one time when you had broken your wrist and he’d promptly pushed the girl who had been the culprit off the swing set thus getting himself suspended for a week and a half when you were both in elementary school.

But this… this was just cruel. It was ugly. It made you look at your “best friend” in a light that was not so shiny and pristine. He’d changed so much since then. He’d pulled away from you since then and you hadn’t even noticed. Or maybe you had and had just ignored it. Maybe you’d hoped if you didn’t mention it, that it would go away and he would come back full force with one of his dumb dances and pretty smiles. Maybe you hoped he’d realize soon what you had realized in your early twenties.

You loved him. And not the brotherly love that you had always had for him, no, you, Y/N, were very much in love with your best friend. Which made this whole situation so much worse.

When you said nothing, Yoongi briefly glanced up at you from his seemingly important phone conversation with most likely another of his soon to be dates only to look back down.

“What? Cat got your tongue? No snippy rebuttal? You’re not gonna chew me out for being mean to you again?”

His face was illuminated by the blue lights of his screen; he had it at the near darkest setting and his eyes were squinted to see it better. Something that had always annoyed you because you knew it was only hurting his vision.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. When that didn’t help, you cleared it, accidentally catching his attention. He clicked his phone off and looked over at you as if ready to argue but something in your face must have given away your inner turmoil because his hard features softened and his lips fell slightly open.

“Are you crying?”

No. Of course you weren’t crying. You never cried. Not ever. But then your cheeks were wet and the onslaught of emotion seemed to burst. How far had you fallen for this indefinitely cold man that his sarcasm made you fall in hysterics? Far it seemed. Too far.

You angrily wiped the tears away from your burning skin and crossed your arms over your chest. The hoodie you had stolen from him earlier that day felt like sandpaper against your skin as opposed to the comfort you’d initially felt when slipping over your head and smelling the fresh scent of his cologne clinging to it.

You felt him shift on the couch to face you fully, out of the corner of your eye, you could see his features had turned worried, alarmed even but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him nor care. Too little too late.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the still air like a wrong note played in a symphony. It made your head spin and ache.

You didn’t dare speak. It would only give away how truly hurt you were by his words and actions. You didn’t want to be around him anymore.

Abruptly, you stood up and yanked the hoodie from your body. The tank you had on pulled up slightly showing the skin of your belly. It was lopsided, you noted when you looked down and saw that one side was pulled over and under your bra and the other was too high on your chest but you didn’t really care.

Yoongi watched you with conflict evident in his eyes, if only you would turn to see. He hadn’t meant to offend you. He’d only been trying to keep you at arms length. You had also been going out with multiple guys, telling him how good looking and tall they all were. Most of these men were also built like rocks and he himself was toned at best. Contrary to what you thought, Yoongi had come to the realization that he’d been in love with you since you were kids. He did not tolerate when anyone made you feel like shit, and, being a very mature kid, he’d told his mother quite early on that he would marry you someday. Of course, she’d only chastised him and told him that he couldn’t possibly know what love was nor could he force you to marry him, but he was adamant.

He’d stopped telling her about it after that though, and instead of telling you how he felt, he’d opted instead to watch over you and make sure nothing happened. So when in high school, you had started to date and it had not been him whom you had chosen, he’d made sure to keep the sorry excuse of a man you had chosen in line. That was… until the incident.

Yoongi would never forgive himself for not being there. For not stopping the bastard who thought he owned you. He’d never forgive the idiot either and if you hadn’t stopped him, he would have killed him with his bare fists then stuffed his own socks in his mouth.

It was then that Yoongi realized that you deserved better than him, and at the same time, no one was worthy of you. It was a strange dynamic. He’d never once approved of your dates, but had decided to start dating other women because, let's face it, he was a guy and he’d like to have children someday but not even in his wildest dreams could he think that you would ever settle for him. Someone who’d failed you as your self imposed protector.

Not that you knew any of that. You didn’t know that Yoongi often teamed up with your other best friend, your girl best friend to scope out your dates once you’d left. You’d almost caught them once as well and it had been by pure luck and the hair of a very out of place clown that both of them had escaped your wrath that night. You also didn’t notice that after you had fully broken up with that first asshole, he’d threatened to beat him to a pulp if he so much as breathed in your direction once more and later, he’d threatened ‘asshole’ two and three with the same things.

But then your dates had gotten taller and stronger and much harder to intimidate. He’d once made the mistake of threatening a casual date that you’d set up who was at least a solid half foot taller than him and he’d been laughed out of the restaurant only to find out later that the jerk had forced a kiss on you.

No, Yoongi’s days as your protector had dwindled and left him feeling half of the man he’d already thought he was and so his only defense, his only way to keep you safe- though now that he was watching tears well in your eyes he wondered what logic he’d used to justify this behavior- was to be the asshole himself and teach you how to deal with them on a first hand basis.

He hated himself for making you cry. He hated that you looked so dejected and hurt and like you never wanted to speak another word to him again. He hated that your shoulders slumped and that your pretty eyelashes were coated in wet tears and it was all on him.

“You know what,” you finally managed to say with some semblance of calm under the storm that was brewing in the irises he’d so loved, “I think we’ve grown apart a little too much. Maybe we should just- cut our losses and,” you heaved a deep breath, trying to keep yourself calm, “stop seeing each other.”

Were you breaking up with him? How were you even going to break up with him if you weren’t even dating? Yoongi’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach. He had tunnel vision. All he could see was you and the way that you seemed to pull yourself up from the ground, rebuilding before his eyes.

“Stop see-what? Are you demented?”

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Was that all he was capable of being? Wrong. Incorrect. Inexact. Erroneous. Mistaken. He was plain stupid for the words he’d let slip but there was no taking them back now.

You let your eyes widen as you wiped more of your furiously falling tears from your skin. You turned to face him, your shirt fixed and covering you exactly how it should and your features set and intentional.

“What’s the point? You clearly don’t want to be around me anymore and I’m tired of being berated every time I mention a guy. You’re the most unsupportive friend I have and that’s because I’ve known you the longest. If you don’t want to be my friend just say so instead of slut shaming me and bullying me every chance you get you asshat.”

“Asshat,” he chuckled, crossing his sleeve-covered arms over his toned chest, “real clever, Y/N. Is that all you got, kid? You never were one for words were you? Why don’t you just sock me instead?”

Oh you were considering it. He seemed so unbothered by the prospect of losing you that you realized maybe you had already lost him and hadn’t realized. You had dealt with your fair share of jerks in your life, but you had always counted on Yoongi to be your hope. He’d shown you that there were men in the world that seemed to care about women. Men who could love you even when you felt unlovable, unworthy, but here he was, proving to you once again that all men were the same evil and vile creatures, incapable of love or kindness if they weren’t getting their dicks wet.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? Then you could go around saying that I’m a crazy bitch. You know what? Fuck you Min Yoongi. I hope you get well and royally fucked.” You yelled, grabbing the tote bag you’d brought over from your apartment and stomping to the door.

“Fuck you too,” he yelled, following you to the door. He caught you at the landing strip, prying on your chunky sneakers with a bit of difficulty, your house slippers, the ones he’d bought you, lay haphazardly nearby.

“And fuck all of those asshole guys you keep bringing home. Better yet, I hope you don’t fuck them.”

You turned your head up to look at him, confusion and disgust written all over your face.

“What the fuck do my dates had to do with what a fucking jerk you are?”

Choosing to ignore your question, he focused instead on your insult, “A jerk, am I? Well you’re a bitch. How do you like that?”

He didn’t know why he was insulting you. He didn’t think you were actually a bitch, but the anger on your face made him feel better.

It was followed by near instant regret as you drew yourself up to your full height and looked at him with pure venom in your gaze.

“I’m a bitch?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, trying to keep his shoulders square, but you were scary when angry and he’d never fared well in fights with you.

“I’m the bitch?”

“You heard me!”

You balled your fists at your sides, your eyebrows connected in the center and your breathing was heavy. He knew better than to use the B-word.

“You’re a piece of shit.” It was low but your voice carried and hit all of the bones in his body before it hit his heart and burrowed deep in the wounds he’d stitched up but pulled open multiple times over the years that pertain only to you.

“You are a sorry excuse of a man,” you growled, pushing him by the chest. Somewhere in the back of your mind you noted that it felt really firm and stronger than before.

“You’re an ass, Min Yoongi,” you continued, giving him another push so that he stumbled slightly back into the living room of his apartment once again.

“You low life,” another push, closer to the couch, “weak minded,” you shoved him, he sidestepped the glass coffee table where your untouched coffee mugs still rested, probably cold by now, “son of a bitch, fucking baby, involved sorry excuse of a man-” He fell onto the cough. Your vision was red.

“You already used that insult.” Was all he said as you stood over him, your chest heaved with the exertion of trying to keep yourself from slapping the now blank expression from his face.

A slew of incomprehensible noises escaped from your lips as words completely left your brain. Damn him. Damn this idiot of a man that you were in love with. He could go to hell for all you cared and you hoped that the devil himself ripped his testicles off and served them on a platter with some kimchi and fried rice.

“Okay first of all- ow,” The asshole said, pulling you back to reality and not your fictitious rework where Yoongi was now sitting at the end of a long table being force fed his own balls, “And second…”

You held your breath. Fear ran down your spine. You hadn’t meant to say that out loud-

“You-you’re in love with me?”

Well… he got his wish, you were royally fucked. Instantly, you tried to back track. Your mind kept replaying in your head what you had said and tried to correct itself but you couldn’t think of anything that could possibly absolve you.

“Like a brother,” you said finally, your voice shaky and thin.

Yoongi only blinked up at you. What you said was bullshit and he knew it. You knew it too.

“You’re in love with me… like a brother?”

“Oppa,” you clarified as if that would somehow make more sense, and it did kind of, but it didn’t absolve you at all. In fact, this only made a smile tug at his lips, his pearly teeth suddenly on display, blinding. You fought the smile that threatened to pull at yours too. It was always hard because his smile was so contagious.

Yoongi stood. He was less than an inch away from your own body. You felt small, meek. You’d misstepped this big game of chess you seemed to be playing. He was going to make fun of you. He’d never let you live it down. You liked him.

“You like me,” as if he had read your mind, he echoed your thoughts, or maybe you had spoken that out loud as well.

“No I don’t,” you argued, taking a step back just so you could have some space to breathe.

“Oh yeah you do,” Yoongi argued, his smile so wide you were sure it would hurt the muscles in his cheeks

“No,” you said again, not really thinking anything you said at this point would convince him otherwise. The son of a bitch was stubborn.

“Admit it,” he said, closing the distance between you again, his neck craned down to look directly at your face.

“I don’t like you!” You tried to take another step back but the coffee table knocked your feet out from under you. You fell onto it knocking Yoongi’s mug of coffee over. The black decaf liquid seeped into your shorts.

Yoongi’s rusty laugh was pried from his throat as he watched your face contort. He was having the time of his life, it seemed. Good for him.

“Stop laughing at me,” you groaned, your cheeks red. You were practically sweating from how feverish you felt.

It was like you hadn’t spoken. Your shorts were wet and made you feel sticky. In a fit of anger, like a child throwing a tantrum, you unbuttoned the denim and ripped them from your legs. This shut Yoongi up instantly. With the soiled fabric, you cleaned up the liquid before it fell onto the light grey carpet.

Yoongi stilled as his eyes traveled up and down your long legs.The way you were twisting, he could see the back of your left thigh up to where it met your ass- your bare ass. You were wearing a thong.

God help him, he was rapidly getting hard. He forced his eyes away from you, his walls being pulled back up at seeing you naked. Well partially so. He pushed his hands into his oversized hoodie and made sure that it covered his front. The last thing he needed was for you to see.

But then you turned and pulled your legs together, your thighs squishing attractively. What he wouldn’t give to be choked by those thighs.

“Let me wash those for you,” he said tightly, pulling a hand from his hoodie to take the soiled shorts, the hem of the fabric pulled up enough for you to see exactly what he’d been trying to hide.

Yoongi had a hard on. You weren’t sure why exactly you were surprised. You were attractive, that much you knew, but you never really expected for your best friend to see you in that way. In fact, you were pretty sure that you’d been in your underwear in front of him before and he hadn’t even given you a second glance, but there was the evidence. And God was there a lot of evidence.

Slowly, you handed him the shorts. His hand grabbed them tightly, avoiding touching any part of your hand with his. Then, after a slight pause, he turned on his heels and walked towards the kitchen to put the shorts into the washer.

You’d called him oppa. You rarely called him oppa and it had hypersensitized him to the word coming from your lips. Other girls called him oppa sometimes and it had no effect on him but there he was, stiff as a board and it had something to do with you calling him oppa and your state of undress. Fuck. He was fucked. So fucked.

At least he wished he could be… But no. He pushed those thoughts from his head as he threw in some nice scented soaps into the wash and clicked it to life. He shut his eyes, trying to think of anything that would drain the blood from his member- halmeoni maybe?- but your voluptuous ass kept intruding, giving his halmeoni some nice curves that messed with her wrinkled face. He shook his head once more and decided he’d just have to hide his boner until it went away, or go beat one out in the restroom really quick.

He grabbed a pair of his clean sweat pants from the drying rack to give to you, just so you would be comfortable, he told himself, not because the thought of your naked butt in them made him unspeakably horny.

But when he got back to the living room, what he found was not you, covering yourself with a pillow like he’d expected, but you, only in your thong- fuck did it have to be a thong?- and your bra. Your shirt was nowhere to be seen.

“Fuck me,” he groaned, burring his head in his hands and turning away from you.

“I mean, if you ask nicely enough that can be arranged,” you answered rather boldly. There was no way for him to know that you were quaking in fear for his rejection.

Yoongi’s dick twitched in his sweats.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said under his breath as his heart beat faster. He felt like he was having a whole heart attack. He patted his chest, hoping to calm it down knowing it was useless.

Should he go for it? You had just admitted accidentally that you did have feelings for him and you were clearly propositioning him. Should he just-

He turned around, back to face you, determination paining his expression. Still on the coffee table, your legs were spread open, only covered by the thin sliver of fabric that your thong allotted. You were a little cold, but all of that melted away when you saw the way that Yoongi’s eyes roamed your exposed body, then stopped abruptly to meet your own.

He was in front of you in seconds, his longer legs carried him farther and faster than you had anticipated. Then he was pulling you to stand. You wobbled on your legs but one of his arms found its way around your waist. His free hand came up and held your jaw with two fingers on either side of your face, squishing your lips together slightly. His hot, heavy member pressed against your stomach through his sweats. He was so close that you could smell the coffee on his breath and the fading smell of his cologne you loved so much. All you wanted was to grind against him but you were held too tightly.

“You never know when to shut up do you?” But he didn’t let you answer. He crashed his soft lips onto yours, his hold on your jaw ached but you didn’t care. There was a passion in his kiss that you hadn’t expected, subtly dwindling to something more like tenderness, and the kiss continued. His lips dragged against yours delicately, pinching your top one with both of his. Small breaths came out of his nose, whistling softly against your cheek. You timed your breaths with his, high on the feeling of finally being kissed, coveted by him. Was it real? Was this actually happening?

Your brain suddenly caught up with your body. The rightness that came with the way he was kissing you, like he couldn’t get enough of you, like he needed you to properly breathe, was like nothing you could have imagined.

The hand on your waist was drawing small circles where the elastic of your thong rested, his index finger casually hooked onto and under pulling lightly. You pressed yourself tighter than he had you against his erection. He groaned, his mouth opening and his tongue suddenly darting out to taste. He pulled your jaw open, granting himself entrance and exploring your mouth.

You moaned, a sound so sensuous and wanton that Yoongi felt that he could cum just from those sounds alone. He wanted more. He wanted you to sing his praises as he fucked into you and caressed your chest. He wanted you to drool around his cock and to have your sweet mouth wrapped tight around it. He wanted to feel you gag at his girth and he wanted to pull at your hair. But most of all, he wanted to kiss you, just like how he was at that moment. He wanted to kiss you until he’d taken your soul from your body and replaced it with his own. He wanted to kiss you until he could erase every trace of all of the men who’d hurt you and made you doubt that you were worthy and wanted. Yoongi wanted to kiss his love into you no matter how long he had to do it. If he was locked in a room with you for months, so be it.

But your hand had found its way between your bodies and was slowly coming down to his hips. Suddenly, he realized what he was doing and panicked. He hadn’t gotten your consent. He hadn’t asked you if it was okay for him to kiss you or to hook his fingers on your thong. As stupid as it sounded, even to Yoongi himself, he needed to make sure that you wanted this to happen, even as your hand had found the outline of his cock and you had started to trace the outline of it over the fabric-

“Tell me to stop,” he gasped, ripping himself away from you. The hand around your waist was now on your shoulder to keep you at enough distance so that his brain could function and wasn’t clouded by the horniness he was feeling.

“Wha…?” You slurred, your eyes were glazed over and your body was completely relaxed.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeated, fighting his every instinct to push your mouth open and have you suck on his thumb before he pushed you onto your knees to suck him off, “and I will.”

His eyelids were heavy and he was sweating slightly. He was so hard that it hurt and the circles you were drawing on his penis were not helping at keeping him at bay. He knew if he looked down, there would be a stain of precum on his sweats.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, leaning in and kissing his jaw before you nibbled and kissed down his taught neck.

“Fuck.”

“I want you to fuck me.” You licked a thick swipe up his jugular, “I want you.”

“Then admit it,” Yoongi heard himself say. He was just as surprised as you were to hear those words from his lips, “admit that you like me.”

You pulled away then, dropping both your arms in exasperation, “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m in my underwear, stroking your cock and you want me to stroke your ego too? Un-fucking-believeable. You’re a dumb ass.”

You rolled your eyes and flicked his forehead.

“Aya, apa~” he groaned, rubbing his head, the dynamic that you were used to suddenly restored.

“Yeah? Great! I’m glad that it hurt! I hope it hurts really bad you jerk. Then maybe you’ll understand what it was like for me to listen to you go on and on about all the girls you went out with every fucking week. In fact-”

“Aya! What the fuck? Stop flicking me,” he nearly screamed, clutching the tip of his nose.

“Make me.”

Big mistake. Yoongi didn’t take your dare lightly. His eyes darkened then he leaned down and picked you up. You squeaked, wrapping your legs around his waist as he walked you to his room. His hands cupped your butt fairly comfortably, like this was something you did often. He kicked the door open and threw you on the bed.

“You think I wasn’t hurt as well?” He asked, clasping a hand around your neck and lightly pressing his fingers against your skin.

“You think I like knowing that everywhere we go, men are watching you, coveting you the way I do? You think it isn’t torture when you go out and I don’t hear from you until the next day?”

He pushed you up against his pillow. The duvet was already all messed up under your body. He was between your legs, pressing himself into your core. Fuck, you wanted him. You wanted him all the way inside you. He wanted nothing more than to do the same but he had to make sure you knew first.

“You think it was easy being in love with you when you wanted nothing from me but friendship?”

Your eyes softened. Yoongi was in love with you too? When?

“Since we were kids,” he answered. Again you had spoken without meaning to. “I always knew it was you, Y/N. It was only ever you.”

But something wasn’t adding up. You fought your rising feelings of elation. You wanted to understand what he was saying. If he had liked you since you were kids then why had he never asked you out? Why become the serial dater he’d become? But he’d never had a girlfriend, you reminded yourself. He’d only ever “dated” and then dropped these women. You always assumed he was screwing them all.

Yoongi became sheepish then. “I uh… I did have sex with some of them but-” and the hurt in your eyes would be enough to kill him,” it was only at the start. I thought that if i had sex with other people I’d stop chasing after you. But it didn’t work… I haven’t slept with anyone since junior year of college.”

Your eyes widened. “College?”

He nodded, his pale cheeks blushing prettily.

“They just...were never you… and then I thought if I pushed you away that would help but that only made us estranged and-”

You pushed yourself up and shut him up with a kiss. He was over thinking and you could talk about all that later.

“You’re an idiot,” you started and he rolled his eyes, “but if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to do it myself.”

Yoongi’s eyes rolled into his head and he thrust lightly into your wet center.

“Talk after?”

“As long as you want,” you agreed, already pushing at his sweats. Yoongi sat up and pulled his hoodie and shirt off in one fell swoop, then, at the speed of lightning, pulled off his sweats, leaving him in his boxers.

After a moment of hesitation, he pulled his boxers off as well and then he was naked before you. Your mouth went dry. He was big. You could tell just by looking at him that he would stretch you good and you wanted so badly for him to pin you down and have his way with you.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Really? Cause that would be really helpful on days when I’m home alone-”

“Wha-no!”

You chuckled and lay down on your back, making sure that your legs were spread wide for him to have his fill. Like a moth to a flame, he was between your thighs, his tongue licking at the wet fabric.

He moaned against your covered lips, sucking up the arousal that clung to your underwear.

“Fuck, Yoongi yes,” you said without meaning to say much at all. You unclasped your bra and threw it somewhere in the room. You could look for it later. This caught his attention. He thrust his naked dick into the mattress, needing some sort of stimulation.

“Damn it… fuck, if I wasn’t so desperate to be inside you, I swear I could get you off with just my mouth all day, Y/N.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved off, gesturing for him to come up to your face, he did so without question, “Hurry up, I’m dying. Please.”

“Are you begging?” Yoongi’s lips curled lightly, teasingly,

“Do you want to get your dick wet or not?” He kissed the wrinkle between your eyebrows lightly.

“Yeah, can I take these off?” he hooked a finger on the elastic of your thong, pulling it a little higher than he probably should have. It was an old pair. You heard rather than saw the stitching on it pull apart and then the thing was hanging limply from Yoongi’s fingers, his expression shocked.

“Yoongi!”

“What? I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“For fuck’s sake! That was my favorite thong!”

“Well, clearly it was cheap,” he countered, throwing it across the room somewhere too.

You groaned, shifting slightly under him. His dick nuzzled between your wet lips. His mouth dropped open and a pleasured grunt escaped his lips.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rut against your wetness, hitting your clit lightly, far too lightly, “you are so wet. God, this should be illegal.”

“Y-Yoongi… more,” he reached down between you two and found your sensitive nub without much hassle. It was like he knew your body already. Your body twitched under him and he circled the bundle of nerves for a couple of seconds. The noises falling from your lips were heaven on earth and Yoongi realized you were his new favorite song.

He gave your clit one rough stroke, ripping a small gasp from your throat. He gathered some of your slick with two practiced fingers and brought it up to eye level. It caught the low light of his room from the window, the smell enough to threaten to send him over the edge.

“Jesus Christ that’s hot.” Then he smeared it all over his penis and gave himself two rough pumps.

“Can I-”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I’m asking-”

“Don’t care. Just do it. Yes.” You said angrily, pulling him closer and closer, his toned chest flush against yours.

“Have you been working out?” You asked, breaking the intense way he was staring into your eyes, his smile pulled wide over his gums.

He shrugged but clearly was glad that you’d noticed, “Namjoon and Jungkook convinced me to join them in the gym. It’s no big deal.”

“But your arms,” you complimented, squeezing his bicep. He flexed it lightly for you. You blushed when you realized exactly what you were doing.

“It’s just a little muscle,” he commented offhandedly.

The conversation lulled, he smiled down at you, and you up at him. He kissed the tip of your nose.

“So can I put it i-”

“I already said yes.”

“In your ass?”

“Ew no!”

Yoongi laughed loudly, “see this is why you can’t say yes to something without knowing what you’re agreeing to.”

“Shut up and put it in the right hole,” you groaned, then for good measure, “oppa.” It was a joke. You thought it was a joke, but something lit up in his pupils as two measly syllables rolled off your tongue and hit his eardrums. You felt his skin prickle under your touch and his member twitched against your folds.

Like a deer caught in headlights, you looked up at the handsome man. His eyes had narrowed as well as darkened. He looked absolutely ravenous and you wanted him to eat you up.

“Say that again.” He commanded as he pushed the head of his massive, and now that you could properly feel it, you knew that you had been right, cock at the entrance of your lower lips.

“O-oppa?” you questioned, astounded that the simple word that he’d no doubt heard his whole life had this effect on him.

“That’s right yeo-chin,” he growled, his voice gruff and harsh as he pushed lightly into you. His dick opened you painfully, perfectly.

“Yeo-chin?” You ask through the explosion of pleasure between your thighs.

“Is that okay?” He asked, suddenly looking really vulnerable and scared. You reached up, stroking his cheek lightly with your knuckles.

“Oh honey,” you trailed off, bumping his nose against yours before you pulled back abruptly, “If you want me to be your girlfriend, you have to ask me properly.”

Yoongi sighed, his smile telling you he expected as much and wasn’t hurt, “Talk after?” He asked again.

“As much as you want,” you reiterated.

And then he was pushing into you once again, surprising you because you could have sworn you had been full before but inch after inch, he pushed into your awaiting hole, filling all the emptiness you’d felt your whole life until his balls tapped your ass softly.

His face was contorted in pure ecstasy. At least from your perspective. Yoongi, in all truth, was trying his hardest not to blow his load into you already. He couldn’t believe his luck. He was inside you. He’d waited his whole life for this and he was finally inside you.

You wiped a bead of sweat from his temple and playfully licked his lips. He grunted against you, holding himself up by the forearms. Suddenly, he was really grateful that he had started to work out and that Jungkook had him doing three minute planks for fun. He’d have to thank him later, even if he did complain a whole lot.

“Can-can I move?” Yoongi gasped. Your walls fluttered around his member as if welcoming it home with soft caresses. You were so warm, maybe hot, he wasn’t sure, but you were tight and wet and all the good things in the world.

You only breathed, feeling so unbelievably full. It felt like he had pushed in all the way to your throat. You were no size queen, really, you weren’t, but if this is what they were going on about, you understood.

“Y/N,” he panted, his body begging him to move, “please.”

“Are-are you begging?” You giggled mirroring what he’d asked you before.

“Yes.” Without hesitation, he admitted, “Please… please…”

Well fuck. How could you say no? You nodded fervently, all mirth erased from your expression as he pulled out slowly, your juices squelched as your lower muscles tried to keep him in.

“Gah- ash-Y/N… you’re so tight.”

You only moaned in response, the head of his cock was still in you, stretching you to the point you didn’t think anyone could fully make you feel this way again.

“You’re so big,” you complimented scratching at his back. His muscles rippled under your touch.

He pushed back in, still torturously slow. It felt like you were being split in half. You felt like Olaf in the first frozen movie after he got stabbed by an icicle.

“Yoongi,” you gasped as he pulled out again at the same speed, his face screwed up in concentration.

“Oppa,” he growled into your ear, kissing roughly at your skin.

“Oppa,” you agreed, though it wasn’t your favorite word, he seemed to be getting of fairly

well so you let it slide, “move faster.”

“You sure?” He asked.

You nodded, knowing it was probably going to hurt but you wanted to feel him and you wanted him to cum.

“Yes.”

He didn’t need to be told again; he drew back, once again leaving only the mushroom tip inside you once again, and then he thrust. Hard. You nearly choked as he pumped himself over and over again hitting the nerves in your vagina. The slap of skin against yours was loud in the empty room, only accompanied by your moans and his pants and grunts. Your names mixed in every once in a while, your lips kissing any and all the skin that you could possibly reach. He licked at your lips and sucked bruises onto your neck, your chest. He wanted to mark all of you. He wanted to make sure you knew who you belonged to… as soon as he asked you right after he finished up.

This idea itself spurred him on, to thrust faster, deeper. He wanted to finish and make sure that you finished too, not quickly but soon. He wanted to talk. He wanted to make sure that you were in the same place.

So he reached between you both again, his fingers blindly found your clitoris and began to rub abstract shapes into it. Your back arched off the bed, your hair and boobs bounced with each thrust, his balls slapping against your ass. You were seeing white, your mouth wide open in a silent ‘o’. You were so close. So so close.

“Come, Yeo-chin,” he whispered against your temple, and though you weren’t technically his, the title sent you over the edge along with his fingers and the deep thrusts that hit your cervix.

“Oppa,” you groaned, your face screwed up.

That did it for Yoongi. His fingers on your clit stuttered along with his hips. His thrusts became erratic and he hit the sides of your walls. You squeezed around him as he over stimulated you through your orgasm.

“One more time… say it one more time,” he begged.

You complied, whispering it into his ear, it was cut slightly by a particularly pleasurable thrust. Yoongi felt pure euphoria fill his blood as his hips paused, then buried deep into your hole. Ropes of hot cum shot into you, filling you.

Yoongi panted heavily over you, his head resting on your shoulder as he struggled to keep himself up. You were breathing heavily as well, your nipples brushed against his chest. You were sensitive. You hissed.

“You can lay down,” the words had barely left your lips before he had let his weight settle on top of you. A smile crossed your face as his hands tangled in your hair and stroked it lightly. You wrapped him up in a hug, wanting him to stay like this for a while. It was nice to feel him so close.

After a couple of minutes of both of you just recovering and your breathing getting much harder, like a wrestler, you tapped Yoongi twice.

“I’m out,” you joked, “can’t breathe.”

With what looked like a lot of effort, he pushed himself up and off you, pulling out of your suddenly. The cum inside of your vagina gushed out.

You made a face as you felt it drip onto his sheets. Yoongi watched it ooze out of you, not really caring where it was going. He looked mesmerized. He reached out as if to swipe at the cum on your lower lips but you grabbed his wrist before he could.

“We talk now,” you sighed, a bit calmer than before but still a bit worried.

“Now?” He looked so vulnerable again, like he was a scared child. He lay on his side, resting his head on his elbow. He looked down at you, waiting for you to take the reins, the way you always did but this time, you didn’t know where to begin.

Yoongi cleared his throat looking around uncomfortably. When you said nothing, his mind had started to race.

“So… do you… want to be my girlfriend, or are we friends with benefits level right now? Ow!”

You’d smacked his shoulder, not hard at all but he was dramatic and you knew that. He frowned at you, his lips tempting you into another kiss that could lead to something more once again. You were already feeling a little turned on again just looking at the results of his recent gym trips.

“So no to yeo-chin then?”

“Yoongi!”

“Don’t you mean Oppa?”

You smiled up at him, a teasing glint in your gaze, “I didn’t know you had an oppa kink. This whole time, I was right to refuse to call you oppa. I knew you looked way too happy whenever I called you that!”

Yoongi scrunched his nose and looked away, “I don’t! It’s just… when you say it.” He admitted waving a hand as if to bat away your inquisitive and teasing stare.

Not really knowing how to answer that, you chose instead to answer his previous question.

“Nam-chin,” you ran a finger down the center of his pecks, tracing all the light visible muscles that made you want to get off on just riding his chest. Yoongi tensed under your touch. He seemed frozen.

“Did you just call me nam-chin?” You, for once, were not embarrassed. You smiled brightly, happy that the title finally had a head to sit on.

“Is that okay?”

Yoongi pulled you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his heart beat erratically in his chest, singing to yours. To its credit, your heart synced and harmonized almost instantly. He smelled like pure sex and fresh water. He buried your face into his bare skin, listening to his song. After all these years, after all the tiptoeing and fear, you were finally where you belonged.

“Of course it is,” he paused, kissing the top of your head a couple of times, “yeo-chin.” This time, the word made a shiver roll down your spine. Arousal began to pool between your sticky thighs once more and if the third leg on your stomach was anything to go by, he was as well.

“Can- can we take a shower?” you asked him, biting your lips and pushing your chest against his suggestively.

He smirked, his mouth watered at the thought of taking you in the shower. He could almost hear your moans echoing in his wet room as he sat you down and ate you out until the water ran cold. Easy clean up even.

“Yes.” he breathed, connecting his lips to yours. You kissed for a while, your lips meshing together lovingly. Yoongi was a good kisser, you realized. He was a good lay as well. And he was cute to boot. Suddenly, he pulled away and picked you up bridal style and walked you to his restroom. He once again kicked the door open to avoid using his hands and walked you through, but this time instead of throwing you down, he set you on the toilet, him on his knees between your pushed open legs.

“I hope you don’t have any plans,” he said, kissing up your thighs and pulling you close to the edge, “because I have all the time in the world and I’m really, really thirsty.”

He ran two fingers over your abused center, collecting his cum and your new arousal. Sure, there were still a lot of things to talk about between you two. Yoongi still wasn’t sure if you fully understood the depth of his feelings nor was he sure if you simply liked him and the slip of the L-word was nothing more than that. A slip. But like he’d said, he had all the time in the world to ask and all the time to make sure he earned you and your trust. He would do anything he could to prove it and some day he would be.

But for now, he was royally fucked by the sinful sounds that escaped your pretty lips and he wanted nothing more than to just enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist -in case you want to read more....

I hope yall enjoyed it and that this is a good come back after our roast session from permission to dance:)

[paisley-print]

Chapter One

Warnings: Grief, divorce

Rating: 18+

Characters: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Note: I AM SO SORRY. Here is a little teaser of whats to come. This won’t be updated until after Near The Water’s edge. (I know the timeline is kinda jarring but ya girl needs to save time)      Again  I AM SO SO SORRY.

Series Master List

@scorpionerd  @just-here-for-the-moment@sherala007 @jediknight122 @pintsizemama @kenbechillin @elegantduckturtle @hearttbreak @tintinn16 @showbuckysomelove @somenerdyuser @kesskirata @ohyeasam @athalien @spideysimpossiblegirl @littlemisspascal @sheresh0y  @voteforpedro09 @greeneyedblondie44 @feel-it-on-the-way-home13​

Was it possible to grieve someone who was not yet dead? Three months of quiet solitude, existing, not living. You declined phone calls and most spent days in bed with the shades drawn. Moving didn’t help, it just made the isolation worse. A new one-bedroom apartment in a new small town only thirty minutes away could have been on the moon. 

The sunlight assaulted your senses as you moved into the kitchen, passing the boxes still sitting in the bare living room, not yet unpacked. You were shocked by how little you actually had. It seemed like your life over the last three years had boiled down to a trunk full of possessions and nothing else.  

You opened the cabinet above the sink and pulled down a glass to fill it with water from the tap. It nauseated you, but you knew it was necessary, so you forced it down your throat in big gulps. 

Things could not carry on this way for much longer. Your savings would not last past another month. Plus, you couldn’t live in denial forever. 

The meetings with your therapist, lovingly funded by your friend Casey, were helping. Though not enough. Your therapist, Rose, as she liked to be called, told you it was a grieving process that would get better with time. You liked Rose, not only for the advice she gave, but for the warm energy she exuded. Long ash grey hair extended down to her back in voluminous curls, and she dressed as if she had just stepped off a time machine from the 1970s.

You wanted it to all go away so badly, to wake up and have the last three years be some bizarre dream. You had been in denial for so long, because acknowledging it was painful. Acknowledging it made it real, and it scared the hell out of you. It meant coming out of the dark little fortress you had built in your bedroom and interacting with the world again. Interacting with him. 

You had to, though. There was no way around it. You had promised Rose that this week would be the week, and it was already Friday. You moved through the kitchen, opened the front door and stepped out onto the little landing. The apartment was really a two-story house converted into an upstairs and a downstairs unit. Unfortunately, there was no elevator, just a steep set of stairs going all the way down. 

From here, you had a clear view of the backyard that belonged to the family living in the ground unit. Sometimes you would see their children out playing in the backyard but not recently as it had been too cold. With shaking hands, you withdrew the phone from your pocket and dialed the number you knew by heart, along with the extension. 

It rang three times; you were about to hang up when you heard the receiver click and a voice you knew all too well came through the line. 

“Hello?”

You were stunned silent for a moment, your chest tightening. His lovely southern accent was as smooth and strong as ever. “Jack?”

It was his turn to pause; he recognized your voice immediately. The fact that you were even calling him must have meant something was very wrong. “Y/N? Are you alright?”

You drew in a shaky breath and nodded, although you knew he couldn’t see. Unable to find the words you needed, you raked a hand through your hair. “I... there,” you sighed, becoming frustrated. You took another deep breath and tried again. “I’m not well Jack. I’ve been sick nearly every day for four months now.”

“You think you’re…” he trailed off, the unspoken word hanging in the air. 

“Yeah” you confirmed. 

“And you’re sure that it’s...?”

You winced. Of course, it was his. You couldn’t even stomach the idea of someone else. “Yes”

There was a long silence on the line. Your heart raced with the possibility he didn’t believe you. 

Finally he spoke up, “have you seen a doctor yet?”

“No.”

“This upcoming week?”

“Sure.” You knew what his next question was going to be, so you shut your eyes reading yourself.

“Would you feel comfortable if I came along?”

You hummed in response, though your face twisted in disgust. 

 “Ok. I’ll make an appointment and text you a time.” He paused again, and you knew he had more to stay. You stayed on the line, unsure of whether you should hang up. 

His voice was soft when he finally spoke again. “Are you eating?”

For some reason, his question made you immeasurably angry. He had lost those privileges; it wasn’t right for him to be asking now. Not after he hurt you as he did. “I have to go, text me and I’ll meet you there…. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

You didn’t know…..you didn’t even know why you said it. “I gotta go, I’ll talk to you later” and with that, you hung up.

[girl-next-door-writes]

A Quiet Night

Characters: Loki x reader

Summary: In the early hours of the morning Loki finds a little peace.

Word Count: 837 words

Prompt: “I can’t sleep, can I stay here?” “You could have warned me!”

A/N: This prompt was selected by the brilliant @sweetjedi and @iwillbeinmynest for my 2.5k follower celebration.

The light gossamer drapes seemed to glow blue in the moonlight, their ripples creating intricate patterns across the floor. A figure sat in the shadows, still as a statue, his eyes focused somewhere on the middle distance, deep in thought. He knew he wasn’t trusted, that he was merely tolerated because of his brother, and he preferred the quiet solitude of the early hours when everyone was asleep. Not that he blamed them for their opinion of him, he had tried to kill them all at one point or another, but he was once again surrounded by an entire planet who loved his brother and hated him. It was a lonely existence, and sadly one he had led most of his life.

Lost in his thoughts, his ears pricked at the soft padding of footsteps making their way towards the doorway. His peace was about to be shattered and his shoulders slumped. Glancing over at the doorway, he felt his body relax as you came into view. The one person on this whole planet who didn’t appear to judge him, who came to his defense against any barbed comments from the rest of the team. You shuffled over to the kitchen, quietly preparing yourself a drink as you rubbed your eyes and stifled a yawn. Loki felt the corners of his lips twitch upward as he watched you, a warmth radiating through him that was unfamiliar but pleasant.

You seemed to move through the world with such ease, people found themselves liking you with very little effort and he wished he could be near you. He couldn’t explain it, but when you looked at him, he felt seen, as if you felt him somehow. Each and every part of him was visible and understood. You were captivating and all his eloquent words dried on his tongue whenever he attempted to engage you in conversation leaving him feeling dull and stupid.

“I can’t sleep, can I stay here?” You appeared by the sofa, steaming mug in your hands and a soft, sleepy smile on your lips. Loki simply nodded, not trusting his voice, and as you curled up on the cushions beside him, he felt the heat of your body. He shivered, longing to lean into you but not daring. This was the closest to paradise he had ever been, and he barely breathed for fear it would break this spell somehow.

Your lips pouted a little as you blew on your drink, the steam curling away as if caressing your breath. The moonlight illuminated your features and Loki couldn’t help but admire your ethereal beauty. There was a tension in the air, thicker than the darkness, he could almost taste this moment, heavy with all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t. Loki wore many masks, built walls to keep the world from seeing him because he knew they would never understand who he truly was, but with you, sitting side by side in the early hours of the morning, he felt naked.

The two of you sat in companionable silence, you sipping your drink and Loki simply observing you.

“I can feel you looking at me.” You hummed, a playful smile on your lips as he hurriedly looked away. “So, why are you sitting out here all alone?”

He considered his words, ran each of them over his tongue before he spoke to ensure he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself. “I find it easier to just be.”

“To just be? To just breathe and exist and feel? I can understand that. The world is kinda noisy. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.” For a moment he thought you meant to leave, and he reached out, his hand resting on your arm.

“You do not disturb me.” The simple truth in his words held more than he could ever express. You anchored him. You centered him. You brought him such peace.

“In that case, I’m gonna lean on you now. Let’s get comfy and enjoy the quiet.” You leaned forward and placed your empty mug on the coffee table, then grabbed a blanket from the back of the sofa and wrapped it over you as you snuggled into his side. “Jeez! You’re freezing! You could have warned me!” you chuckled. He felt heat rising in his face, but he could tell you didn’t really mind. Instead, you took his hand in yours and rubbed it, as if trying to warm him. It was endearing, your belief that you could bring heat to his touch. Tentatively, he wrapped his arm around you, leaning his cheek against the top of your head. “This is nice.” You sighed softly, interlacing your fingers with his.

“Perhaps- perhaps we could do this more often?” He hated the tone of uncertainty in his voice, the vulnerability there plain as day.

“Definitely.” Your reply made him feel so light, and he smiled to himself, settling down and getting comfortable, preparing to spend all of eternity with you just like this.

[nessinborderland]

Between Apple Pies and Chocolate Cosmos (01)

Pairing: Aguni x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Character Study

Words: 6.4k

Summary: Aguni first laid eyes on you in the greenhouse. After that, he simply couldn't take you out of his mind.

Warnings: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Feelings, Eventual Romance, Denial of Feelings, Slow Burn, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Notes: This was inspired by the wonderful @aghostsrantingcorner ask. For reference, there’s some things in this fic that were inspired by these posts by @hatterstan-shameblog​. This will be 2-3 parts max. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do <3

Aguni first laid eyes on you in the greenhouse.

It was a rainy morning, and the Beach was as silent as you would expect after a night of deadly games and partying. He always took advantage of the silent mornings to have a walk around the place, breathe some fresh air, and – most importantly – attend to his garden.

He had started working on it soon after he and Takeru found the Beach, still in the early days when it was only them. He never saw a reason why he shouldn’t. Since he was stuck there for an indefinite amount of time – since he would probably die there – he might as well keep up with the only hobby that brought him some resemblance of peace.

So, he did it. Every single morning. It kept him grounded; reminded him of who he was.

His Eden – as he liked to think about it – was a medium-sized glasshouse near the kitchens, surrounded by land where he had replanted a variety of fruit trees and berry bushes that he had found around Tokyo. It needed some remodeling, but it was perfect as soon as he was done fixing the broken glass and built a system to expertly use the rainwater. He loved the place. Its variety of colors and smells, the silence, and – what made him the happiest – being able to watch the literal fruit of his labor grow.

It was his little piece of heaven in the hell he was trapped in.

Now, one thing about the greenhouse: no one was allowed inside the place beside him. Everybody knew it. It was not like anyone had any real interest in plants or vegetables but, still, people knew that that was his place. Even the old ladies responsible for the meals knew to not go inside; if they needed any ingredient, they asked him.

So imagine his surprise when he got closer to the glass walls of his greenhouse and heard soft singing coming from inside. It was barely audible, the tip-tap from the rain hitting the glass making it harder for him to understand any words. But he knew someone was in there.

His first thought was to barge in and kick out whoever was disrupting his garden. He could feel his anger grow as he stared at the blurred figure on the other side of the glass, messing around with his stuff. He took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping inside. 

The air inside the greenhouse was warm, with light condensation already sliding down the glass walls. The intruder – a woman, he noticed – was with her back turned to him, humming a song that was more than familiar due to Takeru’s taste in music.

“... lay all your love on– ” you gasped as you turned to him, no doubt startled by his presence. The vase in your hands shattered as it hit the floor with a loud smash, and you let out another startled sound. You crouched to clean up the mess, a row of apologies already escaping from your lips. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, please don’t move while I–”

“You shouldn’t be here,” was all he said as he stood there, stoic and cold expression looking at you from above. Your face was vaguely familiar to him – like every other face at the Beach – but he knew nothing about you. He noticed when you froze and slowly looked up, locking eyes with him. He saw the exact moment you recognized him, eyes growing wide and mouth agape as you held broken pieces of clay in your hands.

“Aguni–”

“Clean up your mess and leave,” he mumbled as he walked past you to access the damage you had done to his greenhouse. He noticed how several of his previous empty vases were now occupied by small plants and flowers that he had meant to work on that morning. You had just done his work for him. And perfectly, he could tell. Or as perfect as he could expect from someone that wasn’t him. He felt his anger subside. “The chamomile is supposed to be planted next to the tomatoes,” he said as he started carefully removing the small flowers from the vases. “We have no need for tea here.”

“Hmm...I thought you were using those for medicinal purposes?” you hesitantly asked. He kept his back to you, focusing on the task at hand as he waited for you to leave. Leave, however, you did not. "I'm sure they could be useful if–"

"There are only two kinds of people here," he interrupted in a cold tone. "The living and healthy, and the dead. If you're wounded, you belong to the latter. The tomatoes, though, could use some–"

"But couldn't we start an infirmary here?" Your question made him stop what he was doing, and he raised a brow as he looked at you over his shoulder. No one interrupted him; ever. You clearly didn't notice his hard stare as you continued to talk, "We could use garlic and oregano oil for infections, and aloe vera for–"

"You shouldn't be here," he repeated, now in a tone slightly louder than he liked to use. You halted mid-sentence, the small smile on your lips changing into a frown. "I'm not repeating myself. This greenhouse is off-limits. Leave." 

He gave you one last glance before focusing again on his task, listening as you gathered the broken vase. A whimper made him look back at you, watching as you stared at your bleeding finger, droplets of blood falling on the rich soil underneath you. He sighed before grabbing a roll of paper towels from a shelf above his head, turning to hand you one.

"Thank you," you said in a low tone as you accepted the help and involved the tissue around your finger, hissing from the pain.

Only then did he notice what that broken vase had been carrying. At your feet, in the middle of a small mountain of dirt, was a chocolate cosmos. It wasn't one of his flowers, he was sure of that. He had never even seen a live specimen before.

"Weren't those extinct?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Your eyes widen at his question before you looked at him with a soft smile on your lips. He felt the tips of his ears get warm; why in the hell were you smiling at him?

"Mhm, I think so... You can still find them in captivity, though," you said as you gently picked up the reddish-brown flower. You looked at him for a moment before nodding to the table behind him. "Could I get another vase, please? It's just that she's been staying in a box since I got her and I just wanted to– oh, thanks!"

You smiled at him again as he handed you another small vase without a word. Aguni averted his eyes, focusing on your hands as you arranged the pretty flower in its new home. He felt... uneasy, is the word. His usual relaxing morning had been ruined by some random woman with a nice smile.

He didn't like that one bit.

"Well... I'm gonna go now," you awkwardly started as you made your way to the door, before stopping and turning around as if you forgot something. "Oh, by the way, did you...did you do all this?" you asked, gesticulating around you. He nodded once and you smiled again. "It's beautiful. Good job."

With those words, you finally left him alone. 

Aguni was sure he wasn't just blushing in his ears now. His whole face was warm. He never had anyone compliment him on his gardening skills before. Yeah, Takeru told him several times he was good at it, but no one had actually shown interest. It made him feel some kind of way.

He shook his head and got back to his work. He could still enjoy his quiet morning before a council meeting if he was fast enough.

»«»«»«

You were there the next morning.

The sun had barely risen when he approached the greenhouse, a warm cup of coffee in hand while he whistled a tune that had been stuck in his head since he woke up. He hadn't even noticed you until he went to open the door, your voice making him jump slightly where he stood.

"You like ABBA too?" you asked from behind him.

He looked over his shoulder to stare at you. You were sitting under a tree not far away, that same nice smile on your face. You were holding something in your hands – something that he noticed was hot – as steam was visible in the chill morning air.

He felt his ears get warm again; damnit, he hadn't even realized that the tune he was whistling was the same song he had caught you singing the day before. He took a deep breath and shook his head. 

You both stood there, clearly waiting for the other to speak first. He was never a man of many words, though, so he just nodded once in your direction before getting inside his greenhouse and closing the door behind him.

A knock on the door not long after made him roll his eyes. He walked away from his work table with a sigh, cursing at his lack of peace and quiet; all the man wanted was to drink his morning coffee in solitude.

"What?" he asked as he opened the door to find you there, holding something wrapped in paper in his direction. He had noticed the steaming thing earlier. "What's that?"

"I wanted to thank you," you said, almost stumbling over your words as you signaled him to take it from you. "It's a pie."

"A pie?" he asked slowly, raising a brow in distrust.

"Yes, apple pie," you sent him a small smile as you tried to get him to accept the baked good. When he just stood there, arms crossed, your smile fell. He almost, almost, made a move to grab your offer then. "Hmm, Mrs. Yamamoto from the kitchen lets me use ingredients sometimes to bake stuff, and as long as I clean everything after–"

"I don't eat breakfast," he interrupted, arms still crossed as he looked you up and down with furrowed brows. He was trying to understand your intentions towards him. What was your move here?

"Oh, but you should, you know?" you said in a raised tone. "It's the most important meal of the day! A-and this one was made with your apples, so I thought you would–"

"What do you want from me?"

Even though Aguni was a man of few words, he never had any problem being direct. When you just looked at him with big, confused eyes, he was even more weirded out by your manners. You were either being genuine or were a really good actress. He didn't know what made him more uncomfortable.

"I just want to... to thank you for the vase?" you hesitantly answered, arms lowering.

His hand snapped towards your arm before he even realized, suddenly aware that he did want that pie. However, a pained gasp made him release you immediately upon touching you over your jacket. 

"Are you hurt?" he asked, secretly hoping he hadn't actually hurt you.

"I- I'm fine," you answered with a shake of your head. "It was just a small injury from yesterday's game."

"Let me see," he ordered.

You stared wide-eyed at him, and it almost made him backtrack and send you away. Why should he care if you were hurt?

Aguni was about to do exactly that when you gingerly extended your arm in his direction. He focused on your arm as his fingers lightly grabbed your wrist, pulling your sleeve up to show a burn mark roughly the size of your palm. It didn't look too bad, but he could see that you hadn't put anything on it.

"Come," he said as he gestured at you to follow him inside the greenhouse.

He worked fast as he prepared something that would help you with your burn. He didn't know much about medicinal plants, but he knew enough.

He gestured at you to sit on the table as he carefully applied a mix of aloe vera and oats to your injury with light feather-like touches. It was all done in silence until he heard a noise from you, something resembling a barely huffed laugh. He glanced up to notice you looking straight at him, that same damned smile on your lips. He quickly focused back on the injury, hoping you wouldn't notice his red ears.

"I thought I was part of the dead now," you said, clearly referencing what he had said the day before. He grunted with a shrug, now at all interested in talking about his change of ideals. "You know...I never thought you were the type," you kept talking, and he kept addressing your injury. "To like plants, I mean. This place is amazing." 

"What type am I, then?" he caught himself asking. Not that he particularly cared about your answer, but curiosity got the best of him. You laughed at his words and shrugged.

"Hmm, I don't know... the type that punches tigers?" He had to control the will to smile then, hiding his face from view. "I really wasn't expecting tall, big, and stoic Aguni to be so good with plants. I'm pleasantly surprised."

His movements halted for a second as he processed your words. He was sure he was red all over his face now, damn you. He continued what he was doing before he could overthink your words too much.

"Never judge a book by its cover."

He cringed as soon as those words left his mouth. What a corny thing to say. He decided then that your burn was sufficiently covered in aloe, and immediately retracted his hands, turning his back to you as he cleaned his fingers and tried to get his blush under control.

"Hmm, I guess you're right…" you said as he heard you stand up. "Well, thank you again, for this." He nodded and grunted in acknowledgment without turning to face you. "And the pie is here, just in case you want to try it." You hesitated, "...Hmm if you don't want it, you can always give it to Last Boss. He- he caught me in the kitchens once and I promised to bake him stuff if he helped me clean up after. He doesn't talk much and he's kind of scary, but he's nice." He turned to you then, and the expression on his face might've told you that you were overstaying your visit, so you quickly rushed for the door. "Mm okay, bye!" you said as you sent him an awkward wave and left.

He wondered if you thought he was scary but nice.

»«»«»«

A piece of chocolate cake was left by his greenhouse the day after.

The day after that, a croissant.

The gifts were always accompanied by small notes written in pretty handwriting. Some were simple recipes; others were small facts about medicinal plants he knew nothing about. He kept them all, safely hidden in a can on his worktable. A week went by where he expected a new pastry or sweet to welcome him. And, without fail, there it was. He never saw you around though, in the mornings or throughout the day, which he found odd. He didn't even know your name, but he found himself searching for you throughout the Beach, or in the games at night. But he never saw you. He would've thought you were dead if it weren't for the consistent gifts you left at his door.

Now, he wasn't lying when he said he wasn't a man for breakfast. He really wasn't. But after trying a piece of that apple pie, he saw himself devouring almost the whole thing. The same with the cake and the croissant. They were probably the best baked goods that he had ever tried. He was even more excited to start his mornings.

This morning, however, he arrived at the greenhouse to find nothing by the door. No box, no note, no wrapping. Nothing. He furrowed his brows, feeling disappointed, but quickly shrugged the feeling off as he got inside. Your pleasantries had to stop someday.

It bothered him, though. And he hated the fact that it bothered him. He hated the fact that he cared. He spent the day thinking about it. Thinking about you. Where could you possibly be? What happened? He didn’t even know your name. He didn’t know what bedroom you lived in, and it was driving him mad.

He had zoned out throughout the morning meeting, lashed out at several of the militants, and was now fully ignoring Takeru as his best friend went on and on about something he didn’t care enough to even pretend to be listening.

“Mori, hey!” His friend snapped his fingers in front of his face, forcing Aguni out of his thoughts. He stared at Takeru with a frown.

“What?” he asked, taking a sip from the glass of water in front of him.

“The first time all week that we’re having lunch together, and you’re quieter than usual,” his friend said, nodding at the plate of barely touched food in front of him. “You’re not even eating. What’s going on?” 

“I’m fine,” he shrugged, stabbing a piece of roasted rabbit with his fork and taking a bite. He chewed as he thought of a good excuse. Takeru could be annoyingly perceptive when it came to other people’s emotions, especially his. “Just have a lot on my mind, that’s all,” he finally said.

His friend looked at him for a moment before setting his elbows on the table, supporting his chin on his palms. Oh no, he knew what that meant. He was about to be questioned to death.

"Are you in love?" he asked, a slight smirk on his lips.

Aguni choked on his own spit at the man's question, violently coughing as he vehemently shook his head. 

"What the hell are you talking about?!" he asked after easing his cough, throat burning, and eyes teary from the effort.

"Well let's see," Takeru started, hand raised as he prepared himself to make a list. Aguni instantly regretted his question. "You've been late to meetings almost every morning for the past week, you barely pay attention to anything I tell you and I'm pretty sure I heard you hum 'Lay All Your Love on Me' by ABBA the other day. I've never heard you do anything close to singing," Takeru said as he wiggled three raised fingers before raising a fourth. "And a little bird told me that they heard you talking with someone inside your garden house." The smirk on his lips turned into a grin as Aguni averted his eyes. "So, tell me; who is she? Or is it a he? C'mon, you know you can tell–"

"I don't know what you're talking about," was all he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone.

Takeru wasn't easy to fool, though.

"You know what, I know you're full of shit, but I will allow it," he said with a fork pointed in his direction. "For now, at least. Now it's dessert time!" Takeru licked his lips as he pulled a tray to the center of the table. "I've been wanting you to try this for days, it's delicious!" He opened the tray to uncover two perfectly sized individual pies. Not just any pies, either. Aguni knew exactly who made them.

"Where did you get this?" he blurted out, staring at the perfectly cooked pastries. Takeru looked at him with a confused look.

"Huh, the kitchen? Where else?"

"Yeah, but who made them?" Aguni pressed further, wanting an answer that would show him that you were actually alive. "Were they made today?"

"Uh, I would hope so, yeah. And I don't know who made them, old Yamamoto just said it was one of her helpers," Takeru retorted with a shrug. "They're amazing, though, you should try it."

Aguni almost felt himself sag in relief. If these were made today, that meant that you were alive. It also meant that you definitely had stopped leaving gifts at his door. He tried not to focus on how he felt a little hurt by it. It was not like you owed him anything, anyway.

He still couldn't stop thinking about you as he finished his lunch with Takeru. He hated to admit it, but he felt bad for how he had treated you when you first met. He felt like he owed you at least an apology, and – not like he would ever admit it to himself – he wanted to see you again.

He always went for a short walk after lunch before having to proceed with his duties for the day. He wasn't exactly surprised to find himself by the kitchens, peeping inside the large double doors to take a look – part of him hoping to see you there.

What he saw instead were the so-called Food Ladies, a group of old women that had taken upon themselves the important role of cooking for everyone at the Beach. They were now chilling and having their own meals after the lunch hour rush. He spotted Mrs. Yamamoto, the oldest of the bunch – that also happened to be the boss – leaning by the doors that led outside, smoking her usual cigarette. She spotted him too, with small dark eyes that made him want to run away. It was strangely similar to the way his grandmother used to look at him when he misbehaved as a child.

“Oi, boy, c’mere,” she called him before he could walk away. The laughs and conversations of the other women ceased immediately as he entered the room. They eyed him for some time, one of the old ladies elbowing another before whispering something he couldn’t hear. His brows furrowed; he hated all that attention.

“Mrs. Yama–”

“You have to learn how to control your militants, Aguni,” she said as soon as he got close enough. “Two of your boys were disturbing one of my girls this morning. God knows what they would’ve done to the poor thing if I hadn’t shooed them away.” He had to control his facial expression; was she talking about you? “That girl gets up before dawn to cook sweets for so many people in this godforsaken place, and that’s how they repay her?” The old woman shook her head, before adding, “The rude boy with the piercings on his face and the odd one with the katana. See to it that they don’t get close to her again, do ya hear me?” 

He nodded once before turning to leave, anger already simmering inside him. He had the urge to use his fists on a very specific someone.

He found whom he was looking for on the roof, as he expected. Last Boss was the first to notice him, eyes going wide as Aguni power walked to the man next to him.

“...and Chishiya– oh fuck! What the hell?!” Niragi screamed as Aguni pushed him toward the edge of the roof before forcing him to lean over it.

He held the man by his collar, almost making him lose his balance and fall to his death. Part of him really wanted to let go. He knew what Niragi was capable of.

“What were you doing in the kitchen this morning?” he asked in a cold, emotionless tone. The younger man looked down before visibly gulping and staring at him with a furrowed brow.

“T- The kitchen?...” he asked back. Aguni took a deep breath before loosening the grip on his shirt, making Niragi yelp and grab his arm. “Look look, it was his idea to go there, I didn’t do anything!”

Aguni looked back at Last Boss, and the man raised his hands while shaking his head.

“He- he just followed me there, I didn’t ask him to come with me,” the tattooed man said, stumbling on his words. “If you’re talking about the old lady, she kicked us out, but we didn’t do anything, I swear.” 

“The girl?” he asked through gritted teeth. He was starting to lose his patience. The younger men shared a look between them before Last Boss started talking.

“Y/N?” he asked for clarification. So that was your name. “We didn’t touch her. Niragi just took some pies and we left.” 

“Is that so?” Aguni asked Niragi, the man still in his grasp. He knew what he was capable of, and he wouldn’t put it past Last Boss to lie for his friend. “Cause that’s not what I heard…” his fingers loosened once again around the man’s collar, making him tighten his grip on Aguni’s arm.

“Fine, fine, I- I might’ve teased her a little,” the man confessed. “But I didn’t mean to make her cry, and we left right after. I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

Aguni considered his words for a moment, before pulling Niragi off the edge and pushing him to the ground. The man cursed something under his breath that Aguni preferred to ignore as he now focused on Last Boss.

“Do you know her last name?” he asked. The man shook his head. Aguni sighed; he would have to check Mira’s records if he wanted to find her room. “You both better stay away from the kitchens and from that girl,” he said, now keeping his stone-cold gaze on Niragi. “Is that clear?”

Both men nodded. 

Without another word, Aguni left the roof.

»«»«»«

It was surprisingly hard for him to find your room. 

Mira had immediately denied any access to her records, claiming invasion of privacy. Which it was; he would probably do the same thing if he was in her place. But he pressed on, and she eventually gave in, simply saying that you lived in the south wing of the Hotel, somewhere on the second level. He accepted the information and forced himself to ask around for you, as inconspicuously as he could. Surprisingly, practically no one recognized the description he gave of you, and no one knew your name. He was almost giving up when finally...

“Oh, Y/N?” a couple of young women said. “Yeah, she lives next door to us, room 237.”

He finally had your room number.

Aguni spent five minutes gathering the necessary courage to knock on your door, hesitating and almost leaving every time he lifted his knuckles against the door. He made a frustrated sound, annoyed with himself.

“You’re an idiot,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Hello?” someone greeted behind him. Aguni froze before looking over his shoulder. There you were. Dressed in shorts and a light jacket, hair in a braid over your shoulder, and a hesitant smile on your face, you looked pretty in his eyes. It really made him wonder if Takeru was right; he did have a crush on someone. “Hmm, is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, uh- hey.” He cleared his throat as he realized he had been staring. He could feel his face getting warm. “Hm, how’re doing?” he asked, before grimacing. Ah yes, Morizono, very nice. You raised a brow as you looked at him for a moment.

“I’m... fine,” you answered with a hesitant smile. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes, I- I wanted to apologize,” he cringed at his stuttering. But there it was. Direct and clear. The fastest he could get himself out of this awkward conversation, the better. “I heard about what happened this morning with two of my militants, and I just want you to know that they won’t bother you again.”

“Oh, that was just a misunderstanding!" you say as you shake your head. "I was just talking with Mrs. Yamamoto about that. Nothing happened."

"That was not what I heard."

"No, no, I'm fine, they didn't do anything to me," you reassured him. "Niragi just… said some mean things, but Last Boss stopped him. Mrs. Yamamoto thought they were hurting me and I'm really sorry." You shrugged and gave him an awkward smile. "I just cry sometimes. I even went to talk with Last Boss about it, but I think Mrs. Yamamoto really scared him, 'cause he keeps avoiding me." You said with an awkward chuckle. "But I'm okay, really."

Aguni grunted with a nod, convinced that you were telling him the truth. Still, he wanted those two, Niragi in particular, as far from you as he could.

"If they mess with you again, let me know, all right?" You nodded at his request, and he almost had the urge to smile back at you. "Okay then," he said with a nod before making a move to leave.

"Hmm, did you enjoy today's pastry?" he heard you ask in a hesitant tone. He turned around, confused. There was no pastry waiting for him today. He said so to you, and your brows furrowed. "Uh, no, I'm pretty sure I left you something. Strawberry pie with a chocolate crust?"

"There was nothing when I got there," he said. There were butterflies in his stomach, though. You hadn't stopped baking stuff for him, after all. 

"That's odd…" you said as you bit your lip, wondering what could've happened. "Well," you shrugged, "I'll make sure you get it tomorrow morning, then."

He nodded without a word and watched as you smiled at him before moving to open your door.

"How's your arm?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. You froze by the door for a moment before showing him your arm, skin looking much better than it was just a week prior.

"That aloe mix you gave me helped a lot. Thanks, again," you said with another one of those smiles that made him want to smile back.

"You know…" he hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and saying what he meant to say, eyes on your feet, "If you ever want to, you can show up by the greenhouse, sometimes. There are these new seeds I got that might interest you. I don't know, but the offer stands."

He shrugged, like what he just said meant nothing. He finally focused on your face, and his stomach did somersaults as he found you grinning at him.

"I would like that very much." 

»«»«»«

You were there the next morning.

And the next. And the next. And the other one after that. Always with a smile on your face, always carrying a new sweet that you would both share.

The first days were as awkward as you could imagine. He almost feared looking you in the eyes, feeling like a teenager again with all the blushing and weird sensations in the pit of his stomach. All he needed was a smile from you to look as red as one of his tomatoes. 

At first, you would eat in silence, until you eventually broke it by mentioning something about plants, or what flowers you were expecting to bring the next time you went scavenging. Then it would be just you doing most of the talk as he stuffed his mouth with whatever deliciousness you had brought him that day, nodding, and grunting on occasion. He realized he liked hearing you speak. Hearing your voice.

Then he would start working on whatever he had planned the morning before, and that's when you would watch him as he went around his garden showing you things. You would give him ideas from time to time, always following him as you attentively listened to his words. He realized he liked the attention. Your attention.

It didn't take long until you were more comfortable around each other. Then you would both talk freely, almost always about plants. He would be lying if he said he wasn't curious to know more about you, but he didn't have the courage to ask.

"What did you do... before?" you asked one day, about a week into your morning rendezvous. You were sharing a quiche today, and he took his time chewing before answering.

"Was part of the SDF," he said. You nodded like it made sense that a man like him had a job like that. "Nothing too interesting, though,” he said with a shrug. “You?"

"Worked at my family's bakery," you said, a small smile on your face as you seemed to think back to those times. "My grandma taught me everything I know. She made the best quiche in Tokyo, you know? Mine has nothing on hers."

He couldn't control his chuckle then, nor he meant to say the words that got out of his mouth next.

"Takeru would love to hear that."

"Who?" you asked, brow raised as you chewed a piece of the salty pastry. There were flakes of crust on the corner of your mouth, and he had to control the urge to wipe them away with his thumb. He shook his head instead.

"Just a friend from… from back home," he said. "The man can't cook to save his life but bakes one hell of a quiche. Yours is better, though."

You smiled at the compliment and proceeded to eat in silence. He didn't want to waste the chance to get to know you more, though.

"What do you do all day?" he asked. You raised a brow, and he specified what he meant, "I mean, I barely see you around and no one seems to know you, so…"

"Oh, I just stay in my room all day," you said as you shrugged and let out an awkward chuckle. "I'm not really a people person and I spend most of my nights awake, so I mostly just sleep."

"What do you do when you're awake, then?"

"I go to the games, I bake and, well, now I spend some time here with you." He could swear his heart beat a little faster at your words. He felt strangely honored that you decided to spend time with him. 

"Yeah, I'm not much of a people person myself," he said. "Plants are much better, aren't they?" He tried to send you a small smile but immediately regretted it as it felt more like a grimace. You smiled back at him, though, so it probably wasn't as bad as he thought it was. 

"Hmm, you're right, but I don't mind some people."

He didn't know what to make of your statement.

»«»«»«

A month passed when you met every morning. 

Your joined morning routine had taken a comfortable rhythm for both of you, where you ate, talked, and worked without that awkward vibe of the first few days. With you joining him in the work, his crops flourished. It was the best part of his day, without a doubt.

He realized several things during that time.

The first was that you liked to sing while you worked. Didn't matter if you were planting potatoes, watering the flowers, or preparing herbal remedies �� that you had eventually convinced him to be useful – you were always humming a tune under your breath, or singing the words aloud. 

The second thing he realized was that he liked it.

He liked to hear you sing so much that the songs would stay in his head for the rest of the day, and he would wake up with your voice still echoing in his head. He had even caught himself whistling at times. Once during a council meeting, where he had zoned out again and was completely oblivious to the fact that he had been humming 'I Want to Break Free’ by Queen until Takeru snapped his attention and everyone was looking at him like he had grown two heads. All except his best friend, that had a knowing smirk on his lips.

The third thing he realized – and, to his shock, didn't surprise him – was that he had totally developed a crush on you.

"So, am I ever going to meet them or what?" Takeru asked over his glass of golden whiskey, taking a sip when Aguni took too long to answer. "You can't keep them a secret from me forever."

"I don't know what you're talking about," was all Aguni said as he took a gulp of his own drink, avoiding his friend's eyes and looking at the moon up high in the sky. His friend really had the best view for late-night drinking, especially after a stressful game. 

"Fine, don't tell me," Takeru shrugged like he didn't care, but Aguni could tell he one hundred percent did. What was he supposed to tell him? There was no relationship for him to talk about. 

"Okay, listen…" his friend's eyes shined as he focused all his attention on him, making Aguni want to hide from his scrutiny. He took a deep breath before saying, "There's nothing to talk about. There's no relationship."

"Ahh, but you're in love, aren't you?" Takeru let out an excited laugh, and Aguni could feel the corners of his mouth pulling up. "In all the years we've been friends I saw you like what? Three people? And you never behaved like this." He drank whatever was left of the drink in his glass before filling it up again. "This one sure looks promising." There was a pause where they just drank in silence before he asked again "So, what's her name? It’s a she, isn't it?"

"Y/N," Aguni mumbled, loud enough for him to hear. Takeru's eyes widen comically at the name.

"The pie girl?!" he asked in a raised tone. "You're head over heels for the pie girl?" He laughed then, and Aguni furrowed his brows in annoyance.

"You know her?" 

"Yeah, I mean, old Yamamoto wouldn't tell me who the miracle baker was, so I went to see for myself. She's cute," he let out a mean chuckle, "I knew you were getting thicker around the waist. She's feeding you well, I see."

"Yeah." Aguni gave him a full-on smirk as he said the next words, "She makes the best quiche I've ever eaten." 

The shocked and offended gasp that left Takeru's mouth almost made him laugh. 

"You take that back!" the man punched his arm once and drank the remaining of his whiskey in one single gulp. "You just ruined my night. Get out and think about what you just said. I'll be expecting an apology by morning."

Aguni laughed then, the only kind of laugh that he could only make when he was around his best friend.

"Yours is good," he shrugged, still laughing. "But hers is better."

»«»«»«

->Next Chapter

[ficsnroses]

Away - John Wick x Reader

prompt : just some headcanons about how John and reader stay intimate while he’s away working!

warnings : smut. nudity n fluff n stuff hehe

notes : this was requested by a lovely reader who wanted nsfw headcanons that involve distance. please go easy on me, I've been slowly writing these for the past two weeks while simultaneously studying for exams. hope everyone had an amazing halloween! xx

I know its not my best work and its super disorganized, I really just wanted to have something out! I enjoyed writing them though, and it was nice to not care not have to worry about a storyline please be kind ily

Recently, John had been away on a long job. Two months of distance had been awful; you’d spent practically every waking moment together for the past 4 years you’d been together.

For the past two months, you’d been ecstatic to have him back, and he in return had been awaiting the day he’d finally be able to hold you again;

to see you for real, in front of him, to kiss you, to feel that warm chill that entices his bones each time his lips find yours, to fall asleep next to you, where he belongs, to sigh through whispered laughs and quiet kisses in the dark.

To make love to you, something he hadn’t been able to do for far too long.

The distance was tough; perhaps the greatest of plights was being unable to physically show you how much he needs you, how much he wants you.

This relationship was something special; something just yours, and his. And that was the most wonderful part of all;

This little piece of glory, was just yours, and his.

You recall the first time you’d made love to him, after a couple months of seeing each other. You remember, he’d grinned at your every joke, you’d pulled him closer with every twitch of his mouth. His lips had adorned each inch of your skin; the painted marks and intimate bruises bedecked across each other’s skin had made you both blush rosy hues the next morning; awoken by the warm morning glow kissing your bodies; nestled together in the beautiful morning’s haven.

Since, you’d spent countless nights together. Sex was your way of showing each other love, the intimacy was something you both needed.

However, neither of you had planned on John needing to be away from you for an extra month last minute; a tougher job at hand than initially thought.

“I can’t believe we need to wait another month.” You soundlessly whisper over the phone line, a hand rested to your chest, tired eyes frowning, the thought of being away from your love for longer than intended feeling like a cut to your heart.

“I know baby. I’m sorry.” He explains, voice beautifully rich, smoked, yet held with that certain warm affection, reserved uniquely for you. “Please don’t forget how much I love you.”

It had begun to feel lonely around the house, two months of fetch with Dog and lonesome nights burrowed in on the couch were beginning to not avail; the smell of John’s skin had been fading away unsteadily.

His pillow had begun to rid of that special scent of his aftershave,

The smell of his preferred coffee roast had begun to remind you of him being near, when you’d brew a pot in thought of his hands curled around yours on easy mornings, the way he’d quietly sip, fingers tracing yours; a desperate attempt to feel him around when he wasn’t physically there by you.

Through daily calls, check up and check ins, texts, and videos, you’d been making do, however.

John would call you at breakfast each morning to make sure you’d slept well and ate something; he’d never let his weary head fall pressed to his own pillow without a call to tell you he loves you, and thought of you while passing a flower shop earlier.

John thinks of you all day, each day spent away. It went to show how much you’d really become part of him, part of what matters to him.

In the little things; such as when he sits down for his afternoon coffee. The Continental had been home to him for a long time before he’d met you; it held people he knew, collogues, associates. For many, work means anything but home. But for John, John Wick, who constituted nothing more than the last face damned souls saw before darkness, it felt as if all he knew.

He found familiarity within the crème, golden marbled walls and weary eyes that feared him.

Now, however, after meeting you, falling in love with you, he thinks to himself, sitting in the café of the hotel as the silver spoon swirls a clink in the fine china coffee cup.

That this, this simple thing he does on routine afternoons, would be much better with his heavenly love nestled into his side.

Would be sweeter with the weight of your smaller hand held around his. Would be warmer, with the sound of your sweet giggle tuneful on the tip of your tongue as you smile, and smile at one of his corny jokes.

You’d been sending him pictures of Dog, and little projects you’d been working on day to day. You’d been calling him to make sure he’d taken care, that he’d been tending to any littered mauve bruises and resting up. You’d been asking him to be kind to himself; something you’d often have to do for him, because your John, had never done so to himself.

You love each other, so you’d been making do.

Needless to say, having John physically not around had built up much pent up…frustration.

It had been two months since you’d had sex, and you’d swore you’d been finding yourself driven a little crazier each day without. John felt the same; lonesome nights spent alone in the solitude walls of the continental without you by his side had been proving harsh.

Of course, you’d been making do. The intimacy John and you shared was something special, something only you and him had the right to relish in. Addicting, mesmerising, that intimacy was something neither of you were willing to give up; thousands of miles of distance between or not.  

On a quiet weeknight evening, a finished job lays completed behind, a tired John finding refuge in the deep pleated sheets of his king sized bed. With his slacks kicked off and discarded below, he knows tonight would require something more than the sting of an amber Bourbon enjoyed alone;

Tonight he’d need release; and he’d needed it to come with the sight of you, your voice a sonata on the other end.

Phone sex had been a reoccurring theme upon your time spent apart;

John works hard,

John has needs. And the only person that can take care of him, had always been only you.

When at home, John often found himself dreading the haul of his worn out limbs, basking in the quietude of the house after a finished job forgotten behind. His favourite way to wind down of course,

involved being buried between your thighs; deep, whenever he wanted, however he wanted. The safest, warmest, most liberating haven he’d had the pleasure of enjoying sanctuary within.

Being away from you however, John often found himself needing your voice on the other end, to let the grisly deeds of the day wash away, allow a melting warmth to cascade over each hungering inch of his body.

“Hi baby,” You’d purr on the other end, perhaps sprawled upon your shared California King, or nestled within the steaming hues of a well needed soak in the master bath. “Are you touching yourself, John?” sultry, bewitching, his eyes roll to the back of his head, breathy gasps and hallow exhales fleeing to the sound of your inquisitive lips on the other end of the phone line. “Pull your cock out for me, baby.” You instruct, finding a burn throb to your feverishly heating center, allowing two measly fingers to explore yourself as you hear him twitch on the other end.

His eyes drift shut, and he remembers the feeling of you. he remembers the way your sweet, sweet pussy moulds perfectly just to him; just for him.

You’d purr, and hum, sending vibrations tingling down the column of his neck, his manhood yearning to remember the feel of your wet, sloppy lips taking well care of him, just as you’d done hundreds of times before. His palm lazily laps his shaft, tightening, pumping and pumping, chasing the memory of you as he swirls thin drops of seeping pre cum douse his glistening tip to the sound of your voice.

“Fuck, sweetheart” His tender cock jolts, hard erect to a pounding ache. “I need you so much.” his buttery voice allows, falling back on tired bones with his creamy release sputtered onto crisp white bed sheets. The bed falls hallow, the spot to his left where your body should be nestled, vacant.

That vacant spot kills him a little more each day. Chips away at his sanity just a little more, day by day. Each inch of him longs for you, each part waits for the time he’ll finally find you buried within his arms, and he swears, when it happens,

He’ll never let you go.

He’ll hold you all night, he’ll make up for each lost kiss.

He’ll steal quiet laughs, tender touches in the dark, and he’ll remember; that he has a home to come to now. That someone hopes, waits for him each second he’s away.

Of course, being each other’s meant seeing things only the other had the right to see.

The first time John ever sent a nude had been to you. Although tech savvy, John hadn’t paid much attention to his phone and the world it opened, before it had become a portal to you when he’d have to be away.

You however, had been sending him countless pictures, whenever time allowed.

John worshipped you, John fell so wholly in love with every single inch of your skin, your mind, your spirit.

And you best believe he’d never let that little bit of madness die; even if far away physically.

You take pictures for John often, for his prying eyes to relish. Fully nude, fully on display for him to see, to devour.

Whether it be embellished in deliciously embroidered lingerie that compliments all the exquisite curves of your figure, or completely bare, pert breasts free, accompanied by smooth, satin skin falling in channeled glows.

You adore modelling all your favourite lingerie pieces for John, most of them being things he picked out for you.

Lingerie shopping with John was a treat of the kindest; the way he’d watch you try on all the skimpy laced pieces, the sweet symphony of his quiet, warm lips on your neck as his palms glaze over your figure send shivers down your spine in remembrance.

“Get it all, baby. I can’t wait to take these off you tonight.” He’d whisper in your ear, earnest, rich.

John saves each and every picture you send him. For John, nothing compares to the way the mere sight of your body causes a tent to rise in his pants.

To feel lucky was an understatement. As he sits alone, phone equipped in stocky hand, he opens the album locked away, hidden in his phone, filled full with nothing but pictures you’ve sent him.

John’s camera roll is already brimmed with the golden glow of your beautiful smile, even his lock screen captures a striking sight of you, candidly posing with Dog. His two favourite things in his favourite picture ever.

But this secret album…this album is something only his eyes may see. These are pictures of all of you, for the taking. Each tender swell, delicate curve of your chest, the perk of your nipples, that searing sulteur in your eyes when you take pictures for him this way. Everything is locked away, hidden. Kept secure for him to see, whenever, wherever he needed the sight of your heavenly figure to get him a quick fix.

Of course, John and you have also done frequent video calls. Most often, they compose of catching up, or perhaps a dinner shared over the blue lit screen with your love, or a pre bedtime video chat to catch up, to tell him you love him.

That was something John missed the most. Spending time with you in the most mundane of ways; sipping on a cup of morning French roast as his hand holds yours, the other absentmindedly browsing the newspaper.

But sometimes,

The videos were a bit more intimate.

“Lay back and touch yourself, sweetheart.” A raspy voiced John whispers, heavy cock sheathed in his hand as his eyes gloss over the screen, where the image of you on the other end sits, decorated in his favourite black babydoll. “Show me what you do when I’m not there.” The sound of his inquisitive voice is killing you, and a whimper falls your throat when you watch the throb of his sizeable cock seeping those much familiar drops of pre cum in his hand. He touches himself as well, tenderly, slowly, eyes never leaving you.  

You miss cumming together with John. Video chats provided a quick fix indeed, yet compared nothing to the weight of his body on yours, his rosy skin sticking with your supple, silky touch.

You miss sex with John far too much to comprehend, far too much to explain. Each part of it, the burning pain you feel when the bulk of his cock glides into you, the way his impending tip grinds your G spot. The way he eats you out, lapping your nectar as his tongue expertly flicks your folds, hands graciously soothing over your thighs. You miss the sounds of his mouth, the wetness, the slicking, his soft moans and heartfelt groans. You miss the way he builds that long inside your stomach; the way his generous length dips in inch by inch, slowly, leaving you practically gushing and quivering for him before he’s even picked up pace. You miss the sound of the bed creaking to his hasty thrusts in the middle of the night, your arms and legs securely rapped around him as he pounds into you, the sounds of skin slapping skin and his moans mixed with your yelps ceasing the room. And the best part of it all,

You miss the way his hand would never let go of yours through it all. You yearn for the ache John leaves between your legs. You miss being reminded of him for days when he’d fuck you oh so well.

Until then however, John invested in a few sex toys to keep his lady satisfied while he’s away. His favourite of the bunch, being a pair of vibrating panties controlled from the comfort of his phone.

His mouth almost envies the set for being able to satisfy you the way he longs to. To be able to taste you the way he craves.

On a particularly stifling evening, he’d asked you to go to bed wearing them, only to awaken you the next morning with the feel of them sending wavelengths of pleasure building in your core. John had been increasing the intensity on the other end, the same way he’d make music with his lips pressed to your clit.

“John…John please..” you’d wail, squirming, knowing he’d be hot and aroused to the sounds you’d spill just for him.

With a phone call in-between, he’d listened to your tender moans and gaspy sighs. Your cries of his name had gotten him through the day, had him hunger for the evening when he’d call you once again, only to have you whisper sinful yearnings in his ears, as the nights before.

The distance had been tough, and it would continue to be.

But it would be so worth it, to soon have the man of your dreams back where he’d belonged.

John would remind you daily of how everything he did, had only been for you. Everything your boulder of a man does, is only for you.  

His love runs deep, perhaps deeper than you know.

You await the day you’d be able to find yourself tucked away in his embrace in the midnight eve, pillow talk on mind, soft giggles let into the night. You wait for the day you’ll be able to know he’s safe, beside you. that he’s dreaming of sunshine and waterfalls, that he’s resting at last, pressed to your chest.

But until then, you wait. You wait, with murals and daydreams of nothing but him, painting your thoughts;

and frequent check ins, soft ‘I love you’s’ over a much too distant phone line, having to suffice.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

[writefightandflightclub]

Marching far away (Din Djarin x reader)

Summary: some things are more potent in their absence. Din misses you, but before he can let go, he has one more promise left to fulfil. PURE ANGST with eventual comfort.

Author’s note: this is me breaking the tin can man’s heart for a spell. Sorry? Also, this is only my 2nd Din fic and I’m insecure, pls validate me? Or, come join me to simp, okay? (This has Cara in it- was written b4 the G*na drama)

Word count: 3k, oh hell. Was meant to be a blurb. Kriff it. I have no control.

Warnings: strong themes of grief, death of a loved one (reader). Hints of depression + trauma linked to that. A mess of angst and metaphors, tbh. Brief mentions of wounds, blood -not too graphic.

GIF: stunning, and from @qviism​

The Mandalorian has awoken to many recurring thoughts in his time, most of them unpleasant. For many years, Din was jolted awake by memories of his parents, their love imprinted on him like a brand which never stopped burning. Yanked from sleep by a noise and grasping for his helmet before he grasps for a weapon, so that everything he is built of -everything he has promised to be- cannot be unmade. Rising to worry; to thoughts of what he is missing and fear of what might be taken away.

Nowadays, he awakes to thoughts of The Foundling. And, Din always, always awakes to the lack of you.

Some things become more potent in their absence. Din knows this. He knows it deeply. Never is the warmth of the sun craved more acutely than in the depths of a dead night. Din certainly finds you more potent in your absence. He finds himself wearing the memory of you like a perpetual perfume, clinging to his body and refusing to be scrubbed clean. Even when he has shed the heavy layers of beskar, in the dark and the solitude, the ghost of you still lingers there, enveloping his skin like a shroud.

Sometimes, Din wonders why he must always bear a weight on his body. A weight over his heart, like this, even when he’s stripped down. Still, like the armour, you are a vow he bears willingly. The only thing worse than bearing this would be losing you entirely. And losing you entirely, would be worse than losing his creed.

Din’s creed is immeasurably heavy.

You are heaviest. Immeasurable.

This morning, as the weight of you settles on his chest, Din stirs.

He peels his eyes open for another day of folding rituals into his seconds and minutes and hours until they become his Way of life. Another day of folding all of the promises he made to you into his heartbeat, his sinews, his bones, until you become a part of him.

As soon as he awakes, he longs for sleep again. Din isn’t sure he can take it any longer -watch yet another day blaze without you by his side. To admit that something fresh was possible would be to let you go. To extract “you” from “him” would be like trying to tear out his own skeleton and keep his heart beating. You are inextricable. Unforgettable. All he can do is hold on to you with every fibre of his being.

This morning, as the weight of you threatens to pin him down to the bed for another day, Din is relieved to find the sound stirring him is Cara, rapping on his door with a characteristically heavy fist. He is relieved not to be alone. He is relieved that today -especially today- Cara can help bear some of the weight of you. He hopes his burden can be made just a little lighter. Prays it can, for he doesn’t know how much longer he can carry you. Still, he is not ready to bury you. Not yet.

Not yet.

Din misses you. He misses you so badly. This is how you are able to cling to his body like perpetual perfume. To weigh on his breast. This is how you’re amongst every layer of him, from armour to bones. Because Din Djarin wears you like a creed. Because he chooses you, every day, and he folds you into the layers of him. The vows, the promises, the rituals. Until you are his way of life. Or, the lack of you is; some things are just more potent in their absence.

A dead body is heavier. Heaviest.

“Din? We gotta go.” Cara states perfunctorily through the door, cutting through Din’s spiral. “There’s some caf on the floor for you.”

Din’s face softens gratefully, the simple morning ritual a reason to crawl out of bed. This is how he gets through the day. One ritual at a time until the sun goes down.

“Din! Are you ready?” Cara asks, rapping on the door again when nothing but silence greets her.

Ready? Is he? He’s never ready to face another day without you. It always kicks the feet out from under him. You always tackle him in those first moments of the morning, before he can put his armour on over the cracks. You always attack him when he’s most vulnerable.

“Yep. Coming.” Din responds, his rough voice grogged by tattered remnants of sleep.

He reluctantly reaches for his armour. He stumbles into the refresher. He dresses himself, layering himself in ritual. Binding himself in his creed until none of his cracks are visible and he is shining like the glint of dawn over a horizon. Until he appears whole and unbreakable. If he didn’t have his creed to bind himself in, Din may have fallen apart altogether.

Din shuffles towards the mirror, where he has your necklace pinned. A pendant with an emblem of a sun, rising over mountains. With each new day, he repeats the mantra which has become familiar to him.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.”

It’s a promise. A promise to remember you. He says it into the mirror, to a face that you never even saw. He repeats your name under his breath, folding it into the air filling his lungs. Each breath becomes a ritual. A habit of breathing, for you. For the Foundling. For Cara. Maybe, eventually, for himself.

Din keenly downs the strong, bitter caf before cloaking his face inside his helmet. Today, he resents the helmet, just a little. Wishes he could show the cracks, instead of his smooth dome of beskar, just for once. But weakness is not a luxury Din Djarin is used to being afforded. Strength is part of his code.

Din shuffles lethargically, quietly to the cockpit of the Razor Crest, trying to minimise the heavy thud of his boots. It’s early. Early enough that even The Foundling is sleeping. It’s still dark outside too, stars littering the skies up above like spilled sugar. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so tragic, he thinks -so haphazard.

Din had used to believe that stars aligned. That there was some order to the chaos. He had believed that most wholeheartedly when he met you, by complete chance. But now... now he simply believed they were a mess. That fate was cruel. That all was chaos. That the universe was nothing but spilled sugar.

The Mandalorian places a gloved hand on Cara’s shoulder and she turns, arms folded and her face already awash with tears, eyes littered with stars too. Angry stars, like fate has been cruel to her as well. She misses you, too.

Cara smiles thinly, caught-out in her grief but pleased that he’s up, and Din lowers himself into the pilot’s seat with a heavy thud, manoeuvring the craft up and away. There is no time for comfort. He knows he needs to make the canyon before sunrise. Has to watch the daybreak peek over the mountains. It’s what he promised. So, he flies in silence, Cara quiet too.

It all seems eminently doable to Din… until he lands the ship. Until Cara takes his hand and attempts to lead him out of the craft before the glowing embers of day set fire to the sky. Then, suddenly, the interior of the helmet tastes like salt, his wet tears of grief lining the insides.

“Din,” Cara says, her voice tinged with panic. “Din, please. The sun’s coming up. We can’t miss this, you understand?”

“I can’t do it, Cara. I can’t do another day without her,” he rasps through the vocoder, his voice a patchy rumble like an old stuttering engine.

Cara hasn’t seen Din breakdown like this since it had first happened. No-one has seen it. Even now, his voice is the only clue that he is broken. His armour may be smooth and unblemished, but the Mandalorian is cracked from within.

His pain travels through his body, though, becoming more visible. Din curls his spine and his shoulders in on himself, his body sagging under the weight of you. Under the weight of this. His gloved hands clench and dig into the arms of his flight console.

Din wants to run. Wants to turn the Razor Crest around.Wants to be weak, after so long beign strong.

“Din, you promised her.”

Promised? Promised?

“I promised nothing,” Din snaps at Cara, launching himself from his seat, his voice gruff like the snarl of animal. Like teeth tearing a chunk out of her. “She died before I could promise her a damn thing.”

Cara squares up to him, ready to suffer his outburst, but the fire leaves Din as quickly as it came. He’s simply a wounded animal lashing out. Even as Cara’s chin tips up at him, Din is falling to his knees on the floor, his head bowed into his gloved hands.

“Din,” Cara soothes, dropping to the floor with him and clutching his hands in hers, gently peeling them away from his helmet. “Din. Hey.”

Din’s voice is barely audible when he speaks again. “I wasn’t there at the end, Cara. I wasn’t with her.”

The Mandalorian finally tips his head up and meets the mercenary’s eyes. He finds them swimming with pain. With pity. Din hadn’t been there at the end. He couldn’t even hold you. He wasn’t even there to tell you that he loved you. That he would have married you. To tell you all that he would have promised and vowed to you.

Cara had been there, at the end, so Din supposes it’s a cruel thing to wish for. Especially as he can see from the distress in Cara’s face that she is replaying it. That her face contorts around all the details she left out so that Din didn’t have to know exactly how you suffered. Especially as she chews on the omitted details and prepares to smooth them with kind, white lies to ease his pain.

“Well, I was, Din. I was. And I told you what she said, yes?”

Cara had been the one to convey your dying words to Din. Had come back to the Mandalorian with your body in her arms, her hands stained red and her cheeks stained with glassy tears. Cara had been the one to hold Din as he yelled into the sky. As he crouched over you and blood bloomed through his gloves as he pressed his hands to your flowering wounds. As he took a boot and then his fists to the exterior of the Razor Crest. She had been the one to soothe him, and remind him of the Foundling and all he had left to live for as he dropped to his knees, just like this. Cara had told him what you’d said, with your last breaths. As you expended your last moments folding Din into your bones. Into your heart. Punctuating your story with him.

“Tell Din... I love him. And... m-make sure he watches the sun c-come up.”

“I told you what she said, but did you understand it? Did you understand what she meant?” Cara searches the T-shape in Din’s helmet as if she could truly read it, no longer holding back her own tears.

“She knew, Din, you tin-head. She knew every damn promise you would have made to her,” Cara says, clutching Din’s hands more tightly in her warm grip. “In her final moments, she was thinking about what her Mandalorian would need. Her man would need to know she loved him. Would need something to believe in -something beautiful. He’d need the promise of a new day. And a friend by his side to get him through the night. So, Din, there’s no kriffing doubt she knew you loved her, because she knew exactly what you would need to survive losing her.”

It was symbolic, Cara knew, but you understood Din. You understood his need for rituals and symbols. You wanted him to watch the sun come up, and you wanted Cara to make sure he did so again, even after the longest and darkest of nights without you. 

Din leans forward into Cara’s shoulder as if all of his tendons have suddenly been cut. He hadn’t realised how badly he needed to hear his friend’s words. But you knew that he would need her.

Of course.

Even when Din thought all the promises has been lost, you forced him to look ahead to the promise of a new dawn; a new day, one day at a time. It was about marching forwards, with whatever rituals he needed to get him through. Like watching the sun come up over the mountains. For you, for Cara, for the Foundling. Until he could do it for himself too. 

As Cara moves to wrap her strong arms around Din in comfort, suddenly he raises himself from the floor as quickly as he fell, until he is standing above her. Her brown eyes find his as she rises to meet him.

He extends his hand to her, and instead of taking it, she simply looks at him, a soft smile blooming at the corners of her mouth.

The only time Cara had known Din to take the helmet off was when he was horrifically wounded. And he’s so horrifically wounded now. She knows exactly what he needs.

“Why don’t you go out alone, Din Djarin?” Cara asks in a soft, earnest voice. “Why don’t you feel the sun on your face for a little bit? I’ll give you ‘til the sun hits that second peak, then I’ll be right out, okay?”

Din doesn’t speak; can’t speak, at such a kind gesture from a friend who knows him too well. Who knew you just as well. Din can’t find the words. All he knows is that he suddenly feels so much… lighter. He brings a gloved hand to the side of Cara’s face and dips his beskar dome forwards, gently touching foreheads with his friend in gratitude. She gives him a soft smile and an encouraging nod, and the Mandalorian shuffles out of the craft alone, his heavy boots dragging through the dirt. He faces the mountains. Faces the beautiful view across the canyon and collapses into the dirt, parking his butt and sitting cross-legged at the cliff edge.

The sunlight spills over the horizon, the light finding him and daybreak gleaming off of his armour; at first, Din reflects it back like he doesn’t want to know. Like he wants to remain in the darkness. But then, ever so slowly, he reaches his hands up towards his head and slips his helmet off, baring his face to a new day. Feeling the warmth on his skin. The light dancing in his warm, caf-coloured eyes. And he smiles. He smiles while thinking of you, for the first time in a long while.

Din is here because it has been a year. A year since you died.

In that time, it hasn’t grown any easier. But, today, Din is here with Cara to remember you. He wants the carry the memory of you with him forever, but he doesn’t want it to be so heavy. He doesn’t want to only remember you in death, even if you died with such honour. He wants to let your memory be something that can dance around him. Dance with him. Maybe even march along beside him. That’s how he wants to remember you; with joy, because that’s what you gave him, before you gave him grief – if only he would remember.

Din takes a few deep breaths and allows his soul to be stilled as the sun rises through the craggy, oranged peaks in front of him, drying the tears from his cheeks like the brush of a lover’s fingers.

He repeats the words under his breath.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.”

I’m still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.

That’s the thing about rituals. They mean something. They’re never supposed to be passive. They’re a way of life, folded into the seconds and minutes and hours of each new day. Folded into your heartbeat, your sinews, your bones.

Din looks out at the beautiful scene in front of him, and his smile spreads wider even as fresh tears threaten at his eyes. This time, they ball, but don’t fall. They twinkle in his eyes like stars blazing. Like suns.

Maker, he loved you. Loves you. And, Cara must have been right; you must have known he loved you too, then? Because why else would you think he would need this - exactly this, if he lost you?

The Mandalorian watches peacefully until the sun rises beyond the second peak, and, true to his word, he savours the warmth before slipping his helmet back on over his head. True to her word, Cara’s heavy gait kicks-up dust as she approaches, plonking herself beside him on the dirt and looking out across the canyon in gentle awe, suns balling in her eyes too.

After a moment in silence, she bumps his shoulder with her own, looking him dead-on in the T-shape. “I need you to talk about her,” Cara admits. “I know you can’t forget her, but you have to remember her too, Din. That’s how you keep her alive, instead of being haunted by ghosts. Or, that’s how we keep her alive.” Cara scrunches her face up, as if she knows how cheesy she’s about to sound. “Together. You’re not a clan of one anymore, Mando.” 

“I know,” Din says gruffly, his voice lighter than it had been before dawn. He nods his head in agreement. “I know.”

The two friends wrap their arms around one another as the sun rises above the mountains, held together by its beauty, the possibility of a new start, and the memory of you.

Din tugs in the deepest of breaths and lets it go, as if he shrugging off a long-held weight from his shoulders.

Cara is the first to break the silence, looking towards her dear companion. “How about you shimmy indoors, clear out the snot from your helmet and come back with some hot caf? The child will be waking up in a couple of hours. ‘Til then maybe we can enjoy the views and figure out the best stories to tell him about his mama?”

Din rises, like the sun. Somehow looking fresh. He obliges Cara, giving her a moment alone with her memories too, and he wanders into the interior of the Razor Crest. As he retrieves his cup from inside the craft, he repeats his mantra once more under his breath.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.”

Up to now, Din realises, he had been repeating it. But he hadn’t been living it.

Things were set to change today. As long as he remembered you, Cara remembered you, the Foundling remembered you, you were not gone. You were simply marching far away.

Din would have married you. If there is something after all this, if there is anything true about the Force, Din hopes that one day, somehow, he gets a chance to make a whole new vow. Hopes that one day he might get to walk beside you again, and keep walking with you for always. Until then, he will keep marching on. And, most of all, he will remember you, so that if he ever comes across you again, he will recognise you, even if you are marching away.

Folding your name into his breath, Din joins Cara beneath the risen sun to start a new day, with a friend by his side. No longer a clan of one. Not alone, even wihout you.

THE END

Like this? I hope the story brought you some joy and that’s more than enough, especially at this moment. However, if you do have the energy and inclination please do reblog, and consider sending feedback in a comment or ask. (It gets me through the day, ngl).

Want more? Whether you want more angst or need recovery fluff, I got you. You can check out my Masterlist in my bio to read more of my works!  I write for Star Wars and Oscar / Pedro characters. I have more Din and a Cara fic on there too, and plenty of Poe Dameron being silly if you need a cheer up.

Want even more? Just ask if you’re not already and you’d like to be added to my permanent tag-list / character tag-lists. Also, you can always check in my bio if requests are open rn if you’d like to see something specific. Request guidelines are at the top of my masterlist. Tagging: @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall​  @holybatflapexpert @himbopoes @arabellathorne​ @yourbucky084​ @mandoplease​ @mylifeliterally​ @arkofblake​ @multifandomlife22​ @yougottakeeponkeepinon​ @justrunamok​ @aisling-beatha​  @mndalorians​

[jamespotterthefirst]

Little Miracle

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1,900 Warning: A few curse words. 

Author’s Note: This is part of the canon scene where Ethan and MC watch over Dolores’s baby, from Ethan’s POV. I was inspired by the line from the book that says they “talked long into the night.”

Catch up here.

The sterile room of the NICU feels stifling that night, the fluorescent lights shining on them both almost blinding. Ethan had been in that room many times before, but never like this. Never with a strain on his mind and heart so painful, he thinks he might burst from it. Now, sitting in the love seat, counting each of the baby's breaths, he feels as though he is in a foreign place—a vastly terrible one where his dearest friend does not exist anymore. 

The knot in his throat returns. 

Dammit. 

It threatens to constrict his breathing in the most debilitating way and he hates it. Urgently, he suppresses the flood of emotion at once, turning instead to glance at Lilac next to him. 

The young doctor is not looking at him. In the silence that stretches between them, she stares at the linoleum floor, her tear-streaked face is pale, her eyes bleary and red. The weight of their previous conversation hangs over them and he is surprised to discover it is not an unpleasant one. Instead, her quiet presence at his side feels oddly… comforting. More so than the many glasses of scotch he was planning on drowning in had he not stayed. 

Sensing his eyes on her, she glances up and offers him a tired smile which Ethan returns without hesitation. The moment lingers and before either of them can say anything, a soft cooing distracts them as the baby stretches.

An inexplicable warmth pierces through Ethan as he very gently offers Dolores' baby his hand. Small fingers close around his, weakly, yet powerful enough to steal his breath away. 

“She named him after you,” she informs him tenderly, as though the words she is offering him are made of the most delicate crystal. 

A small wave of shock courses through him as he looks at the name. 

Ethan Hudson. 

His throat tightens painfully yet again and all he can do is swallow. 

“I...see she did.”

A small silence.

Her soothing, kind voice saves him from his thoughts when she comments, “You must have known Dolores a long time.”

Ethan busies himself with carefully removing his hand from the baby's grasp. Despite the painful ache in his throat, he finds the words. “Over ten years. When I first emailed her I only meant to check in. But she was recently divorced, feeling alone, so she insisted on coffee.” In spite of himself, he smiles at the memory of the lively yet persistent young woman who had been so determined to befriend him. “And then it turned into more emails and meeting once every couple months for Sunday roast.”

“She sounds like a good friend.”

She was, he thinks before his mind catches up with him. When it does, the past tense stabs him like a knife to the side. 

“I didn’t make friends easily when I started here,” he begins, pausing only briefly to keep his voice from breaking. “So I was always grateful to her for that.”

The words finish ringing out in the quiet room and he swallows, suddenly exhausted from fighting back the excruciating pain of Dolores's death. As he falls silent, prickling eyes moving to the baby she fought so fiercely to protect, Ethan allows himself to mourn. The torrent of sorrow hits him is like the opening of a floodgate. 

He is certain he will drown in his grief until a soft, warm hand slides over his, looking small and delicate against his own. 

Ethan remains very still. 

“I’m so sorry this happened,” she murmurs, the sincerity her voice offers something akin to a caress. 

Ethan's eyes remain locked on their joined hands. Something about the sight and the feel of her soft skin against his tears away at his pride until all he wants to do is hold on to her desperately. Instead, he looks up to meet her eyes, unprepared for the quiet compassion in their depths. It hits him so abruptly that he is unable to look away, feeling something foreign stir in the depths of his chest, as consequential as the first blooms of Spring. 

“Me too.” 

As the seconds tick by and he becomes very aware that her hand remains on his, his pulse picks up, clamoring at his ears. With much effort, he forces himself to pull away. 

“I think we need coffee.”

“I can get some,” she says, already rising to her feet, unaware of the scorching trail her touch left behind on his skin. 

Ethan shakes his head. “No, I’ll go.” 

He leaves the room in quick strides, grateful for the brief moment of solitude. Being alone, however, proves to be a small torment since he is unable to suppress thoughts of earnest, kindhearted eyes breaking down every barrier he had stubbornly built that evening. Steaming mugs of coffee in hand, he returns to the NICU with an eager haste he refuses to acknowledge, missing the tendrils of her soft companionship. 

When he enters the room, Ethan finds her lovingly murmuring to the baby. “That’s it little tadpole. In and out.”

Lilac notices his arrival, offering him a sheepish smile at being caught. Cheeks blazing, she accepts the coffee gratefully. “This doesn’t taste like the cafeteria coffee,” she observes approvingly. 

“This is from my private coffee machine. As soon as I got an office, I vowed never to drink that caffeinated dishwater again.” He watches her take this information in with knowing amusement. “Nobody knows I have it so…”

Quite seriously, she vows, “I won’t tell a soul.”

Ethan chuckles, shaking his head, the first true flash of amusement that evening. 

They fall into a comfortable silence after that until the attending overseeing the case during the night shift strolls in to check on the baby. Satisfied with her findings, she quickly jots down the information on his chart. 

“Our little miracle,” she comments quietly, both to the baby and to them, before leaving the room. 

Ethan snuffs the urge to scoff at the word miracle. Lilac, of course, catches this and arches a brow at him. 

“You don't believe in those,” she says, not as a question but as an undeniable observation. 

Ethan hesitates to answer until he glances at her. There is no trace of judgment or derision on her lovely face, just fatigue from already spending several hours keeping watch. 

“There is no scientific basis to account for them,” he allows. “Frankly, I'm a little surprised you believe in them despite choosing to spend your career with facts and empirical evidence.” He is careful to keep all sarcasm out of his tone though he doubts he is successful. Years of being a sardonic little shit are hard to break. 

Lilac doesn't seem to mind, however, because she gives him an indulging sort of smile. “It is because I have studied science and facts that I am hesitant to dismiss their existence,” she explains. “Even with everything we know, there are some things science or reason cannot explain.”

“There are too many variables at play in a single minute, Rookie,” he counters. “When something occurs that we cannot explain away, it means a plethora of those variables aligned to create a perfect outcome.”

Lilac takes a careful sip of coffee, watching him over the rim of her mug. Not for the first time, he can see her mind working, formulating an argument. And like many times before, he longs to know the mystery of her thoughts.

“And getting that outcome despite all the innumerable possibilities,” she begins thoughtfully. “Isn't that a little miraculous?”

“No.”

Lilac laughs at the resolute way in which he shoots her down, though the sound is far from mocking. 

“Are you then crediting what science cannot explain to coincidence and luck, Dr. Ramsey?” 

He briefly pauses at that, thoughts stumbling. The haughty way in which she lifts the mug to her lips, concealing a smug smile, tells him she had intended to stump him. Instead of feeling annoyed, as he should, he feels a thrill of approval and something else entirely. 

“Not at all,” he returns when he recovers. “I am merely pointing out that there is still much we don't know as a species. When something inexplicable takes place, the real cause is most likely attributed to something we haven't learned yet.”

Despite looking utterly exhausted, her eyes glint, as though she had expected that very answer. 

 “'If he is confronted with a miracle as an irrefutable fact he would rather disbelieve his own senses than admit the fact.'”

Ethan blinks. 

“Are you seriously quoting Dostoevsky at me, Rookie?” 

This time, she dissolves into self deprecating laughter. “Sorry,” she says, scrunching her nose in the most endearing of ways. “I studied him as an elective when I was in my undergrad program so it's hard to break out of the habit of being a pretentious ass.”

“A pre-med student with a penchant for world literature,” he observes, allowing himself to relax into the air of amusement her laughter catalyzes. 

“I was downright insufferable.”

“So not much has changed.”

Lilac throws him what is meant to be an unamused glare, but she ruins it by losing the battle against a smile. Ethan grins, unable to help it. 

“What else do you walk around quoting at people who disagree with you?” he asks, genuinely curious. 

“Nothing as severe as Russian literature,” she quips. “I save that for the most stubborn of the people I argue with.” 

Ethan rolls his eyes though he too fails to stifle a smile. He begrudgingly accepts that he enjoys bantering with her, though he would never admit it out loud. 

“Be lucky I didn't quote Harry Potter at you,” Lilac continues sagely. “I am notorious for that, too.”

“There's nothing in the Potter books about miracles,” he points out. 

Lilac shoots him a surprised look. “You've read them?” 

“Yes, I read the few that were out when I was in high school. They had midnight release events at bookstores when a new one was published.”

She stares at him in stunned silence. 

“You went to that? That is so…” 

“Don't say–” 

“Cute.” 

The word sends a jolt through him, made worse by the sound of her tired but giddy laughter. Ethan allows her to enjoy the mirth, even if it's at his expense. If he was being honest, he thoroughly enjoyed it too, feeling his anguish ease with each passing moment. 

“Did you dress up?” she asks, eyes alight with excitement. 

“We are not speaking of this anymore.”

“You did, didn't you?” she manages to say through a wave of fresh laughter. “Who did you dress up as? Harry? Dumbledore? Snape?” 

Ethan makes a disgusted sound. “Don't insult me.”

Her laughter is uncontrollable by now and he can't help but join. “Good answer,” she commends. 

Bodies close on the love seat, they both relax further into their seats, contentment lingering in their fading smiles. Ethan allows himself one good look at her as she becomes momentarily distracted by her phone. The harsh lightning of the NICU washes her out, especially in her sleep-deprived, exhausted state, but somehow she still looks unfairly beautiful. Yet, there is something entirely different about her, though he is far too tired to decipher what. 

Lilac glances up to catch him staring. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.”

Her previous words echo in his mind.

 “There are some things science or reason cannot explain.”

Ethan thinks of Dolores and the unwavering friendship she offered him despite being surly and unapproachable. He thinks of the unconditional love she held for a being she had not even met yet, so profound she gave her life for him. He thinks of Lilac, offering him compassion and companionship despite his every effort to push her away. 

Lilac glances glances his way, beaming at him radiantly. As he returns the smile, his heart feeling ten times lighter than it did an hour ago, he admits to himself that she was right. 

______

Author’s Note: I don’t know what that was but if you made it here, thank you! 

I think I will skip the baseball game scene and go on to the fMRI scene. I might have that be slightly AU and have Ethan ask MC the questions. Let me know what you think <3 

______

Tags:  @openheart12 | @ethandaddyramsey | @noboundariesplease | @silverlitskies | @infinitiestones | @flyawayboo | @paulfwesley | @hatescapsicum | @myusualnerdyself | @thatysn | @choicesyouplayandmore | @chasingrobbie | @trappedinfandoms | @togetherwearerapture | @nooruleman | @caseyvalentineramsey | @axwalker | @parkerattano | @i-bloody-love-drake-walker | @kaavyaethanramsey | @edith-eggs1 | @choices-lurker | @jens-diamondchoices | @tefigranger | @ethanrcmsey | @coffeebeandragon | @senator-adrian-raines-wifey | @aestheticartwriting | @binny1985 | @mvalentine | @sanchita012 | @drethanramslay | @ramseysno1rookie | @takeharryandgo | @aworldoffandoms | @desmaranj | @ josieplayschoices | @magicalshepherdtreeprofessor| @oofchoices | @ethxnrxmsey | @octobereighth | @colossalpainintheass | @kopenheart12 | @lilyvalentine | @honeyandsunfl0wers | @virtualrain202 | @enmchoices | @tyrilstouch | @rookie-ramsey​

@dulceghernandez |  @lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite |

[true-blue-megamind]

Daylight and Dark Ch. 3 - Ares

Photo by Joe Waranont

Some Yuletide silliness and... At last!  Enter the villain!

CHAPTER RATING: Teen; FULL FICTION RATING: Explicit.   WARNINGS FOR  ENTIRE WORK: violence, sex, language, references to prior domestic abuse, and rock n’ roll! CHAPTER WARNINGS: brief description of violence.

There is nothing NSFW in this chapter, but it is a bit long, so I am adding a Click Here to Keep Reading link.  You can also read the entire entire fiction HERE.

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

There were moments in life when Roxanne couldn't help but think about perspective: about how funny it was that a person could never clearly see the road to their destination until that destination had been reached. She'd felt that way one bitter winter morning, in her office, when she had suddenly realized that she was becoming one of those sentimental hack reporters she'd always hated. She'd felt that way on the long-ago windy spring afternoon when she had finally understood that she would never have feelings for Metro Man, and she'd felt it on the early summer day last year when she'd learned, to her own surprise, she was in love with his former nemesis. Roxanne had that same feeling tonight. Stepping out of the taxi Megamind had insisted on paying for she'd immediately been met by three brainbots, two of which immediately took charge of her small suitcase.  Greeting them with pats, she had walked the last block through the biting December chill with her unusual escort bowging at her heels.  The little cyborgs had darted away once their charge reached Megamind's invisible doorstep, probably to inform their master of her arrival. Now she stood alone and stared at a cross-stitched sampler, hung incongruously beside what appeared to be a solid wall, which read: "Lair Sweet Lair" in slightly crooked letters. What was he up to?

That September afternoon on the balcony, after the first night they'd made love, had been a turning point in Roxanne and Megamind's relationship. She had expected that, of course, but now that she had arrived at this still-mysterious milestone in her life, something in the back of her mind teased that it had been even more important than she'd realized. They had shared deep, personal sorrows, hidden from all other eyes, and an impenetrable glass wall had been removed. She realized, at this moment, that something undefinable had happened as well. Ever since that day, something had begun building between them, unnoticed and unspoken, creating a channel into which two spirits were poured and mingled. Try though she might, however, that something refused to slide into focus. It was both elating and terrifying, for Roxanne had not fully expected the cozy intensity that she and Megamind had found. How was it possible to feel so relaxed, so at home, around someone that being near him was like snuggling into a favorite sweater, while still feeling so powerfully and passionately attached to that same person that he made you antsy, strangely warm, and a little nervous? How was it even possible to feel simultaneously self-conscious and comfortable in the first place?

The oddity of those emotions was disconcerting enough, but worse still was the fact that Roxanne had realized that she no longer loved solitude, because solitude meant Megamind wasn't around.  True, she still enjoyed many of the same quiet hobbies— reading books, binging sci-fi movies, solving crossword puzzles—but now she was only happy if a certain blue alien was beside her, busily sketching design schematics for his latest invention, or pointing out in hilariously descriptive detail why a particular piece of film prop "space tech" wouldn't actually work at all.  She had always disdained those couples who seemed to be attached at the hip: the sort that showed up to every party together and skipped any function one of them couldn't attend. Now it seemed she was becoming half of one. Worst of all, she didn't mind. She liked it. She was sublimely happy with it.

What is wrong with me?

She and Megamind had fallen into an easy rhythm as serene and unquestioning as the deepest friendship, yet had retained all the fire and ardor of a new infatuation. A traitorous little voice in her head asked if this was the way people felt before they got married, moved to the suburbs, gained ten pounds, and started daydreaming about babies. She refused to listen, refused to even consider the possibility of leaving chic professionalism for matrimonial doom, but that same little voice reminded her that it wouldn't be so bad as long as it was with Megamind. Despite all her denials, Roxanne had to admit that something new had grown between herself and her favorite hero, inching up, bit by bit, undetected, until suddenly she noticed it was all around her. Small kindnesses, shared moments, camaraderie, and passion had all built into something beautiful, strange, and a little scary.

Which is what brought her to tonight and her current situation, as she stood shivering in the winter evening, looking at that foolish sampler and wondering why the sight of it set alarm bells ringing in her head. Megamind had invited her over, insisting that he had a Christmas gift that couldn't wait for Christmas, and she had not considered the oddity of the date until this moment.

Why now? Why tonight?

That was it. Roxanne's eyes widened with a realization that should have been obvious. Today was December 12th. Exactly eighteen years ago Margaret Ritchi, Roxanne's mother, had taken a turn too quickly, swerved on icy pavement, and ended her life. Although it wasn't unusual for Roxanne to visit her lover in the middle of the week, it was unlike Megamind to ask her over at a specific time, especially when she had just gotten back into town, tired after a business trip, which indicated that he probably had something planned. It would be exactly like him to researched old traffic incidents just so that he could invite her over to cheer her up on the anniversary of her mother's death.

The question was, was he just planning on distracting her from her memories, or did he have something more serious in mind?

"Miss Ritchi," Minion appeared through the hologram wall, less than two feet away from Roxanne. She had to crane her neck up to look into the fishy face set atop his six-foot-tall robotic body. "Miss Ritchi, if you please, could you come inside? He's been watching you on the monitor for ten minutes and he's starting to worry."

"Oh, I… Of course. I'm sorry Minion. I just—"

It was always odd watching a fish smile. "No apologies needed. Just come inside before you freeze."

He ushered her through with the wave of a metallic arm, and Roxanne stopped so suddenly that he nearly crashed into her as he followed.

"Oh, my…"

Garlands. The Evil Lair was strung with garlands of faux evergreen twigs, plastic holly, and red and gold ribbons. Multiple strings of colored lights, hung with no apparent order or plan in mind, blinked, chased, and sparkled in crisscrossing lines until the flashing dials and blinking buttons in the workroom looked like no more than additional decorations. In the middle of the yuletide chaos stood a massive Christmas tree, its top nearly lost in the shadows of the high ceiling. Brainbots hovered and buzzed around it, trimming it in a haphazard fashion that Roxanne suspected explained the random order of the rest of the decorations. Most of the items being hung on the tree were normal— glass balls, silvery snowflakes, diminutive, jolly Santas— but every now and again a brain bot added a shiny bit of wire or a large metal nut. Christmas carols were blaring from the nearby stereo.

"Roxanne! What do you think?" Megamind's happy voice startled her from her contemplation. He jumped down the last two industrial steps leading up to the second floor, his face glowing with good cheer and one arm sweeping out proudly to indicate the scene. Roxanne turned her eyes back to the seasonal décor and the happily buzzing robots. After the initial shock, it really wasn't so bad. In fact, it was almost cute, like the messy decorations of enthusiastic children.

"It's wonderful," she answered, turning back to her lover with a genuine smile.

He beamed at her. "I'm so glad you like it! And look," he added with a sly smile. "We've got rocket-toe!"

"Mistletoe, silly," Roxanne smiled, leaning up to give him a soft kiss.

"Rocket, missile, what does it matter? Missiles have rocket propulsion systems."

"Uh-huh," Roxanne's expression was all wry amusement.

"The early Soviet Vostok rockets were based on the R-7 ICBM," Megamind informed her. "So I can see no reason whatsoever why rocket-toe should be any less—"

"Megamind?"

"Hmmm?"

"It's still called Mistletoe."

"Potato, tomato, potato, cucumber," he answered with a teasing grin.

Roxanne laughed. "Cucumber? Really? Why cucumber?"

"Well, they both grow on vines. Yet tomatoes are technically fruits while cucumbers are vegetables."

Roxanne laughed. "I always thought that was kind of weird. I mean: why?"

"They're gourds."

"What?"

"Cucumbers. They're gourds."

"Megamind, I was talking about the tomatoes-are-fruits thing."

"Ah, well, botanically, they're ripened flower ovaries that contain seeds, and—"

"Sir—" interjected Minion.

"And this will really blow your mind: so are zucchinis!"

"Sir—"

"Think about it: cucumbers and zucchinis, so similar yet so different."

"Sir! Didn't you have something to show Miss Ritchi?"

"Oh! Of course!" his face lit up, and he grabbed Roxanne's hand. "Come up! You'll love this! Wait until you see the dining room!"

"Dining… But you don't have a—"

"We do now! Follow me!"

He pulled her bodily past the command room and back up the metal stairs, her surprise growing with every step. The conference room near the kitchen— which had never seemed to serve much purpose since any meetings involved only Megamind, Minion, and, during the last several months, Roxanne— had, indeed, been transformed into a cozy dining room. Another garland swagged across the doorway, and a dark wood table, set as if in expectation of a festive meal, displayed a centerpiece of holly and ribbons surrounding three crème-colored candles. Beside the industrial stairs leading to the third floor— their banisters also bedecked in Yuletide fashion— the plain bathroom that had once served the offices over the factory had been updated and expanded. It looked as if it belonged in a wealthy grandma's house— if Granny had decided to go Goth. A largely unused, cavernous storage space had been turned into a sitting room. It proudly boasted not only a black leather sofa, matching recliner, and built-in dark wood bookshelves stuffed with second-hand volumes, but also an old-fashioned pot-bellied stove that Roxanne was almost certain was against fire codes. In one corner, a more elegantly decorated Christmas tree— probably Minion's work— stood glittering with white lights and antique glass ornaments.

Even that wasn't the most shocking addition to the new living space, however.

"Megamind, there aren't any external walls here. How on earth did you put in windows?"

"Isn't it great?!" he threw himself into the chair, grabbed a remote control from a side pocket, and aimed it at the window. Instantly the view of Metro City Beach was replaced by a forested mountain range.

"It's absurdly simple, really: just a high-definition plasma monitor that I mounted behind framed glass and connected to video feeds that I've had set up in various locations! That conversation we had last autumn about your apartment windows gave me the idea. Look! If you don't like the view, you just change the scenery with a press of a button!"

He clicked the control a couple of more times, bringing up a snow-covered prairie, a quaint French village, and a tropical reef.

"Minion picked out the last one," he explained. "It also interfaces with the supercomputer, so you can use it for research, calls… Look, the frames retract for a better view!"  he demonstrated.  "Then you push this button, and... voila!" A holographic keyboard had appeared in midair above the remote.  Megamind set the device down, and, to Roxanne's astonishment, began typing.  A browser popped up on the "window," and he navigated to a video featuring winter scenery to the accompaniment of a Boston Pop's Christmas album.

"Megamind, that's really amazing," Roxanne managed. "All of this is, really... I mean, you've made it so—" she almost said "homey," but bit back the word and finished with: "comfortable."

"I'm glad to hear you say that!" There was something warm in his voice that both thrilled and frightened her. "Oh! Oh! Oh! But it gets even better!" He leaped up and tugged her out of the room. "Let me show you what we've done upstairs!"

The third floor, once comprised of large executive offices, was where Minion and Megamind slept. Roxanne had been there many times in the past weeks, though she was admittedly usually too preoccupied to give much attention to the décor.

Megamind's room had changed from a blacked-out bachelor pad to a stylishly Gothic bedchamber. The walls were a rich blue. A full suite of carved ebony furniture—bed, wardrobe, nightstand, and chest of drawers— had replaced the previous collection of mismatched thrift finds. The ornate four-poster sported a new satin coverlet set in hues of gray, black, and cobalt, and was piled with silky-looking ash-colored pillows that Roxanne suspected matched the sheets. An impressionist oil painting of a historic street at night— rendered almost entirely in blue shades and black shadows— and a large mirror both hung in antique silver frames. Two lamps and a small chandelier, all wrought iron, completed the picture. It belonged on the cover of Evil Lair and Garden. Or maybe as the set of a photoshoot for Bad Boys Weekly. That would be better. All it lacked was its sexy male occupant lounging on the covers. The thought made Roxanne shiver with delight.

Minion's room reminded her of a garden pool, all greens, browns, and teals.  Its bamboo furnishings and simple stone accents gave it a slightly Asian ambiance. The style was completely different from Megamind's Vampire Chic bedroom. Full of clean lines and abstract art, it looked more like a post-modern interior design catalog than a Goth culture magazine.

"He picked everything out himself," Megamind was saying. "You should have seen him, like a kid in a candy store! When I told him I wouldn't invade his privacy by bringing you to his room, he was utterly offended! He insisted that if I didn't show you he would never speak to me again. And that I could expect literally everything he cooked to be smothered in mayonnaise for at least a week!" The blue man made a show of shuddering in horror. Looking around, he added: "I should have let him redecorate years ago."

"I'm curious, why is there no bed?"

"Roxanne, he's a fish. He lives in a fishbowl."

The grin she gave him was three parts knowing and one part sly triumph. "And so he has a bedroom because….?"

Megamind blushed a little under his blue tint. "Well, I mean, you know..."

Cocking one arm to rest on her hip, Roxanne gently poked his chest with her other forefinger. "I always knew you were a big softy deep inside, even when you were a supervillain."

He spluttered. "That isn't… I am not… I was disgustingly horrifying! And..."

She laid a finger over his lips. "I always knew, and I love you for it." Smiling into his emerald eyes, she tilted her face up to give him a long, deep kiss. "Now, before you take me back to your new bedroom, tell me: what's that other door at the end of the hall?"

"That, well," He smiled and rubbed one ear, a nervous gesture she had come to adore. "That's my early Christmas present to you. Come have a look."

He took her hand gently this time, and when he pushed open the third door, Roxanne's mouth fell open.

"Ta-da!" he spun to face her, cloak billowing.  His tone was all bold showmanship as he swung his arms wide to encompass their surroundings, but Roxanne knew him well enough to recognize the uneasiness hidden behind the bravado.

She stared around wide-eyed at the vaguely familiar round room. Everything in it had been changed so completely that it took her a moment to recognize the place she had awoken during her final kidnapping. The industrial elevator and second floor had been removed. A spiral staircase now led to a cozy loft and catwalk lined with wooden bookcases. All of the equipment had been moved out, the domed walls and ceiling had been expertly plastered and painted, and, where there had once been a telescope with mechanical shutters, there were now two glass doors leading onto a private balcony overlooking Lake Michigan. It was… perfect. Wonderfully, frighteningly perfect. Her own style—too formal to be modern but too clean to be antique—her favorite colors—sage green, sky blue, and soft ivory with cheerful red accents.  The bookshelves—obviously custom-made to fit the curving walls—and few other pieces of furniture were warmly-stained oak that exactly matched the contents of her apartment.  There were several empty spaces where she was clearly intended to move in her things. Roxanne knew she should have been thrilled—all the work, care, and expense he'd put into this would be enough to make any one of those silly interns goofy with elation—but all she could feel was cold dread.

"I was thinking we could put your living room suite upstairs to make a reading nook! And look!" He grabbed another remote control from a bracket on the wall. "I've renovated the alligator pit!" With the push of a button, a round trap door—one the reporter remembered with something almost like fondness— opened, and a half-moon desk with a cushy office chair rose on a platform to click into place with the rest of the floor. "I've, ah, also included controls in a hidden wall panel. I know how you lose remotes." He paused expectantly. "So, what do you think?" His smile was starting to look a little forced around the edges.

"Wow, Megamind," she tried not to sound unhappy. His feelings could be so easily crushed, though he excelled at hiding it. "This is…unexpected..."

His face fell slightly, and she searched quickly for something more positive to say.

Deciding on gentle honesty, she added: "I mean, this is exactly the way I would have decorated it myself. I had no idea…"

"Really?" God, she hated the vulnerable hope in his eyes.

"It's beautiful. It is. And sweet. But…"

"But?" he urged uncertainly, nervously fiddling with one of the studs on his black leather gauntlet.

"It just… This… All of this… It's happening so fast." It sounded like a canned response even to her.

True to form, her blue-skinned lover tried to put on a brave face with humor. "Oh, come on, you already sleep here more than you do your own place. This would make everything easier."

"Megamind, this is serious. I'm not sure if I'm ready yet."

"If there's one thing I've learned from all my battles, it's that there are some things you'll never feel ready for, but if you really want it, you just have to jump in anyway."

"Okay, but this? We've never even discussed me moving in, and this is just one step away from being married, and… I just…" she sighed. "I love you. I do, but I've never lived with someone before, and I… I need a little time to think this over." she finished lamely. Seeing his unhappy face, she added: "I'm not necessarily saying no, just...not yet."

"But Roxanne—"

"This is a wonderful gesture, but it's so sudden. I just don't think I can."

"Of course you can. Please, Roxanne, Sweetheart, say yes. Stay here with me," his voice took on an almost pleading tone. "It doesn't have to feel like we're living together. That's why you have a separate bedroom. Whenever you need time to yourself, you know I'll always give it to you."

"Megamind, it's not—"

"This doesn't have to be any more than you want it to be."

"Megamind, please—"

"I'll never invade your privacy unless you want me to." He dropped his voice to a sultry purr. "And when I do, I'll invade it very, very well."

"That isn't what—"

"I promise I'll be the best roommate you've ever had. We share a bathroom," he indicated the door on the left-hand wall. "The plumbing was insufficient for two, but there is a double sink. And I can use the facilities downstairs if you need me to."

"That's really sweet, but it's not the issue. I'm not ready for this."

"Stay anyway."

"I can't"

He crossed his arms. "Can't, or won't?"

"Why are you being so pushy about this?! You never push! And now you're asking me to give up my apartment, change my life… Megamind, that's a huge decision!"

"You're right. I never push. I've never before asked you for anything unless it involved protecting this city. But you know what? I'm asking now. This is the only request I've ever made of you. So please, please do this for me."

"Damn it, Megamind, that is so unfair!" Hot tears stung Roxanne's eyes. "I can't! Not yet! I'm not ready! And it's really low of you to pull that never-asked-for-anything card!"

That hit a nerve. "I am NOT pulling a card, Roxanne! I'm being very, very honest!"

"I didn't mean… I just…"

"I'm offering you everything! My home! My privacy! A place in every aspect of my life! I am offering you—a reporter!—all my secrets! I'm offering my feelings, my time, my vulnerability! I'm pulling out my heart here, Roxanne, pulling it out and laying it at your feet! Don't pay me back by stomping on it!"

There was ringing silence for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Megamind said at last. "That was… It wasn't fair of me to say..." He drew in a deep breath. "I just really need you to stay here."

Roxanne swiped at her eyes in frustrated, jerky movements.

"I think I'd better go."

"No! Wait!" he grabbed her arm.

"Let go!" She demanded. He did and she stormed toward the door.

"Roxanne!" Megamind dodged around to block her path. "Roxanne, I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave yet.  Please listen to me! I know you're upset, but please let me explain!" He braced his back against the door as she tried to push past him. "This isn't just about me wanting you close! This is about your safety!"

"My… Oh, God, now you're starting with the helpless damsel crap?!" She tried to push past him again.  "Let me out!"

"I will, Roxanne, as soon as you hear what I have to tell you."

She glared at him.  "Let.  Me.  Out."

"Sweetheart, please..."

"Megamind, I mean it!" she yelled.  "You promised me!  You said no more real kidnappings!  You promised!  Let me out!"

The pain in his eyes was like a punch to Roxanne's heart, and that somehow made her temper burn even higher.

"You promised!" she said again, her voice rising nearly to a shriek.

"That's not what this is, Roxanne!  If you would just listen I wouldn't have to do this!  You think I like feeling like a monster?!"

"Then stop doing it!"

"I can't. Not when you're trying to run away rather than listen. Look, you're angry.  I don't pretend to know why, but I accept that you are," His voice was deliberately calm, emotion simmering underneath, but he held his ground, pressing his weight back harder when she scrabbled for the doorknob. She wanted to slap him. "But, Roxanne, I still need you to listen," Megamind lifted one hand like he meant to touch her cheek, but stopped himself, closing his fingers on thin air. "I know you can take care of yourself under normal circumstances, but things have changed. Something's happened, and now… Metrocity isn't safe for you anymore."

That stopped her in her tracks. "Megamind, what are you talking about?"

"I didn't want to bring this up until I could gather some more information." Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "I didn't want to worry you, not until I had a plan…"  He sighed. Reluctantly, Megamind handed over a folded letter.  His lover opened it to reveal oddly formal calligraphy.

My Dear Hesperos,

I have recently undertaken a business proposition in Metro City, which I understand is under your protection. In general, I applaud your intelligent planning and remarkable success in execution, but I wish you to understand that I cannot allow my operations to be jeopardized. Although your newfound love of justice and position as Defender of Metro City are both, to say the least, surprising, I shall not disparage your change in career. However, I believe that you also have seen enough of the world and society through the eyes of a villain to know that law and justice are, too often, completely disparate, and that sometimes an act of villainy is the only truly righteous course. Therefore I am sending this correspondence as both a professional courtesy and as an offer of peace.

Out of respect and remembered fondness for you, I desire to find a mutually beneficial compromise. It is therefore my hope that this communication will achieve two purposes. First, I wish to assure you that, as my plans currently stand, my activities within your city will neither be aimed against the populace at large nor intended to undermine the normal daily operations of the city itself. I will not, however, insult your intellect or my honor by claiming actions will be viewed, by the strictest interpretation of the law, as anything other than criminal. Nonetheless, be assured that it is my intention to complete my business quickly, discreetly, and without any more loss of life than is necessary. Second, I wish to cordially advise you not to attempt to dissuade me. I do not desire harm to come to you, or any dear to you, but I am a gentleman of business and must protect my interests. If you will consent to allow me to complete my task without interference, you will hardly notice my presence. However, if you take it upon yourself to trouble me, I am afraid I shall have to extract a dire price.

I would take no joy in harming a lovely young lady like Miss Ritchi, but accidents do happen, especially to those who oppose me.

Yours in Good Faith,

Ares Coeus

Roxanne felt slightly cold by the time she finished reading. To think that two minutes ago she'd been worried about whether Megamind wanted to become too serious!

But she hadn't become a star reporter by letting fear control her.  "Wow, okay.  So, this is... Not what I expected." She looked at him. "I'm sorry... I..."

"It's alright, Love.  And I understand. Believe me, it's thrown a wrench into my gears, too."

She nodded, forcing her mind to focus as panic tried once again to drown her natural spunk and curiosity.  "Ares? Like the god of war?" she managed a wry grin. "Really? That's a little dramatic."  Her attempt at a smile smile felt wrong, like it was stretched too tight.

Megamind didn't share her humor. "Yes, Sweetheart, like the Greek god of war."

Something about that name tugged at the depths of her mind. "I think... I think I remember hearing something about him now. Ares escaped Metro City Prison for the Criminally Insane when I was in the fourth grade. No one except you had ever done it before. No one except you has done it since. People were panicking. Some parents wouldn't let their kids go to school."  She paused.  "That was weird, now that I think about it.  They never did that when you escaped."

"I was not just the local supervillain but also a recognized super-genius.  My escaping was almost expected, even if they did everything they could to prevent it.  That was just another Tuesday.  But Ares' escape wasn't part of the show.  They couldn't tell themselves it was only because of my extreme brilliance and ingenuity; not when the escapee was another human.  That made it more... real."

Roxanne nodded and cleared her throat. "So… Hesperos. Is that you?"

"Yes. It was Ares' name for me. Hesperos Oldwin."

"Oldwin. That doesn't really fit the pattern. All the other names he chose sound Classical."

"You're right. It doesn't. Ares was obsessed with Greek myths, among other things—especially with both his namesake and with the story of the titan Cronos eating his own children, who were then reborn as gods—but the ancient Greeks didn't have a word for 'blue.'"

"Seriously?"

He made a brave attempt at a chuckle. "Clearly they didn't appreciate the finer things, at least where colors were concerned," His weak smile couldn't seem to hold onto his lips, and quickly fell away. He sighed. "Anyway, Ares gave me the name Hesperos Oldwin because it means Morning Star Blue Sky. The blue part is obvious—"

"Hmmm," she agreed

"And then, of course, my escape pod came from the stars and fell from the sky one morning."

"So he was, what? Your friend? Why is he threatening you?"

"I think I was the closest thing to a friend Ares ever had, but that wasn't very close. More like hero worship." At Roxanne's look, he grimaced slightly. "Remember, I was young and… less brilliant."

"But you liked him?"

"'Like' is too strong a word.  Ares was… strange, but he enjoyed my company when I was a boy because I was the only one who could keep up with his intellect, even beat him at chess, although I quickly learned that outsmarting him too much led him to abandon me for days on end.  He could be… disinterested, but more often he talked to me, sometimes for hours, when he wasn't locked in solitary confinement. I thought he was cool— smooth, sophisticated, well-spoken, smart, tough— and maybe I liked finding someone fairly close to my own age who didn't revile me for a change." He studied his black boots. "Maybe it made me feel special that I was the only other person he bothered naming."

Roxanne gently lifted his chin. "You were lonely.  I can't really blame you."

"I can."  Megamind sighed. "As I grew older I began to realize that some things about him were just… off. It wasn't until years afterward that I learned 'morning star' is also the meaning of the name Lucifer, as in the devil in most Abrahamic religions. By that time Ares was already gone, but I have the feeling the parallel wasn't an accident. The worst part is, I don't think he meant it as an insult."

"Okay, but how much of that is just a persona? You once said that the difference between a villain and a supervillain is presentation."

"Minion said that," he reminded her.

"It's still true."

"This is different."

"I don't mean he's necessarily a supervillain. You grew up in prison. You're better at analyzing criminal minds than any psychiatrist I've ever heard of. I've seen you figure people out so fast it's almost like mind-reading. I'm guessing Ares isn't his real name, so clearly he's putting on a show. How much is him and how much is just an act?"

"Oh, you don't understand!" Megamind threw up his hands and began pacing. "Ares does not play at evil insanity. He's the real deal! No one in that prison ever crossed him. Convicts, guards, even the warden feared him. Most people, even criminals, have limits… lines they won't cross, but Ares… He had no lines. He would be a perfectly nice and polite man until someone did something he didn't like—anything, a tone of voice, the wrong look—and then, in a flash, he could turn horrible and callous. He would get this cold smile on his face, and you knew sometime soon something truly terrible was going to happen to that person. And it never bothered him. Not even a little."

"You make him sound like a monster."

"He is."

Roxanne stood up and stopped his pacing with a hug. "No, Megamind. He's just a man."

With a sigh, Megamind gently pushed her away. "Roxanne," he looked her in the eye. "I was twelve when Ares was arrested. He was only a few years older than me, not quite a legal adult, but they sent him to a high-security facility for the criminally insane. Do you know why? When he found out his father was cheating on his mother, Ares murdered both the man and his mistress. And not in a crime of passion. He searched, learned, planned, and prepared. He found out about the spa resort his father often took his mistress to— an exclusive and very discreet place outside of town—"

Roxanne was starting to feel a little sick. "Oh my God… The Nelson Case. You knew that guy?"

"Yes. Ares' real name is Eric Nelson."

"I read about that trial for a paper when I was in college. Did he really kill them in the steam room?"

Megamind nodded. "He told me all about it. Bragged. The fake ID, the forged credentials, the Social Security System hack… And then he got a maintenance job at the spa resort. Even though he was rarely around guests, he was always in disguise, even changing his mannerisms and the way he walked… He learned how the steam system worked, created a bypass for the safety measures…." Megamind shuddered. "Roxanne, he literally steam broiled those people alive. And he watched. He stood there and he watched. His own father…" With a shake of his head, Megamind added: "He wasn't even sorry. Ares called himself a 'soldier of righteousness,' and insisted it was the legal system that was corrupt."

"How could he think that?"

"He's crazy. But he's also calculating, cold, and cruel. That makes him dangerous. When his twisted sense of honor and justice is incensed, he is capable of truly horrific things." Megamind sighed again. "After Ares escaped prison, he joined a paramilitary organization, but apparently his philosophies were too... extreme even for them. The last I heard, he was working as an assassin, but he only takes certain jobs that he feels are in line with his off-center views of right and wrong. He's so good at making his murders look like accidents that no one— not even in the criminal underworld— really knows what his kill count is. Even so, the sorts of 'accidents' he causes… Let's just say people don't hire Ares if they want the funeral to be open casket."

"Maybe he's not serious." Even to her, it sounded more like a plea than a suggestion. "What if he's just playing mind games with you?" Roxanne trailed off as she studied her lover's face.

"No. Ares isn't like other villains we've faced… like I was. This isn't something he does for fame, money, petty revenge, or for the simple reason that he's bored out of his skull and needs intellectual stimulation. He doesn't play games, or if he does, he plays for keeps."

It felt as if ice had replaced her spine. "And you really think he'll do it? That he'll find me?"

Green eyes met hers, and something in their depths made the ice expand to fill her stomach.

"Megamind?"

He glanced away again, like he couldn't bear to see her reaction. "Sweetheart, there were..." his throat bobbed.

"There were photographs enclosed with the letter," he answered quietly, as if lowering the tone of his words would somehow lessen their impact. "They were… One was of you standing just inside the glass doors of your balcony—"

"Oh my God." she breathed, moving to collapse into the desk chair.

"One was of you leaving the news station. The last was of you jogging in Hill Top Park." He finally met her gaze again. "Sweetheart… I'm sorry… He has already found you." He knelt beside her, turned the desk chair to face him, and took her hands in his, looking earnestly up at her. "I have to try to stop him. You know I do. I'm the good guy now. But I can't do that and watch your back at the same time. Not if we're apart. That's why I really, really need you to stay here."

Something in her vaguely understood that she should care about that, but it suddenly seemed as if her brain, overwhelmed with terror, had opted to turn itself off. Her heart, in contrast, was screaming and she felt like she might be physically ill. This, Roxanne decided distantly, must be what a panic attack felt like.

"What about… my job?"

"Telecommute."

Her laugh sounded bitter and wild in her own ears. "I'm an on-scene correspondent. I can't telecommute."

"Then take some time off," he offered gently. "We'll talk to the station, or have the officials contact them. This is little different from a witness protection program. And it's only temporary. They'll have to understand."

"And if they don't?"

"I'll make them."

Roxanne buried her face in her palms. She heard the tread of leather boots, the sighing swish of a cape, and deft hands began massaging her shoulders. Megamind's voice spoke gently behind her.

"Roxanne. Listen to me. It will be alright. Everything will be alright. We are going to get through this. He hasn't found this place, and I've made some alterations to ensure it stays that way."

"How do you know he hasn't found your hideout?" she asked between her fingers.  "You can't possibly know that."

"He hasn't.  Trust me.  His letter was sent to my fan mail post box. Ares likes keeping people off balance, making them feel he has the upper hand. If he had known where my Lair was, he would have found a way to deliver it directly here. He didn't, which means we're safe. I've been working on some enhancements for a while, but Minion and I have put in a lot of hours to finish them quickly. This entire building is now outfitted with a cloaking shield: a hard light hologram similar to what the holowatch produces. I took it down briefly when I saw you approach, and put it back up once you came in. Now all anyone will see is an empty, condemned building. No dome, no signs of life, nothing."

Turning the chair to face him, she suddenly threw her arms around Megamind and held him close.  He knelt to let her hide her face against his neck.  Like a child awakened from a bad dream, Roxanne buried herself in his warmth and breathed in the comfort of his scent.

"I really am sorry," her words were muffled by his skin. "I'm so very sorry."

He ran gentle hands up and down her arms.  "I am too."

"You shouldn't be."

"If you weren't with me, this never would have happened."

"No.  People assumed I dated Metro Man, and they would have assumed the same about us." 

"I should have realized sooner.  I should have done better."

"You're doing your best."

"We both are."

"I'm so sorry I yelled at you."

"You didn't know."

The moment of weakness passed, and Roxanne gathered herself, gluing pieces of broken confidence back together with spunky determination and brave humor.

"Yeah, well, you know, you could have told me this sooner and saved us the trouble of arguing," she jibed halfheartedly, her crooked smile appearing through tears.

His answering grin was weak, and a little sad. "I didn't want to have to tell you. Not now, not tonight. And I didn't want to ruin your holidays." His shoulders drooped slightly. "Tonight was supposed to be about cheering you up. I wanted to make you happy, not terrify the living daylights out of you."

"But I thought you liked terrifying me. Why else did you kidnap me all the time?"

"How else could I spend time with you? Besides, you were never truly scared of me. Annoyed, yes. Sometimes even angry, but never scared." He wrapped her in an embrace. "And I happen to think you're extremely sexy when you're angry."

That drew a tearful laugh from Roxanne. "Right, because, you know, that's one I've never heard before." Sighing, she looked back at her new bedroom. "Thank you for everything you've done, Megamind. If it's okay, I'll enlist the brainbots' help in moving my things tomorrow."

"I'll be glad to have them give you a hand, but we should do it late at night. That's when Ares… works. He'll be less likely to be watching your apartment."

They were silent for a moment.

"Well," Roxanne's voice held a tone of determined calm. "At least we have a plan."

He smiled. "We have a plan."

There was another pause.

"So..." casting around for something to say, Roxanne landed on: "how long has Ares been in Metro City, and what do we know so far?"

"Not much. I got the letter last Thursday, but Ares has been laying low.  I've had brainbots guarding you twenty-four-seven."

"I thought I saw more of them around than usual.  Wait," she looked around her room with new admiration. "You managed to get all of this pulled together in six days?  That's... Darling, that's beyond impressive! That's amazing!"

"Five days, six hours, and fifty-three minutes, to be precise," Megamind answered, standing up and managing another gray smile. "Incredibly Handsome Genius, remember? You'd be surprised what can be done with a little determination, a large budget, and thousands of tireless laborers."

"Large budget?"

"I have contracts with various companies for a cut of the profits from all Megamind merchandise sold, among other things."

"Seriously? That's not standard hero procedure, is it?"

"Being a good guy doesn't exactly pay well."

"Wayne never did that."

"Ha. Metro Man was adopted by a multi-billionaire. He has a trust fund big enough to support an entire third-world country, not to mention that all of his abilities are inborn. I, on the other hand, have supplies to buy, bills to pay, evil inventions to construct..."

"I thought they weren't evil any more?"

"Well, evil only to evildoers." His burgeoning grin faltered. "Roxanne, be honest, are you angry at me? For not telling you sooner? I know you always hated it when Metro Man treated you like a powerless victim, and I want you to know that isn't why I didn't tell you. I just wanted the brainbots to do a little reconnocense first. And, as I said, I wanted you to enjoy the holiday season before I threw this at you."

Drawing close to him, she cupped his cheek and looked sincerely into his face. "No. I'm not angry. Not now that I understand." She hugged him once more. "But from now on I need you to trust me enough to just tell me things. I can't be prepared if I don't know."

"It's a deal."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She pulled away enough to look into his eyes. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

He kissed her cheek. "I suppose it's possible I could have handled it a little better."

She finally managed a real grin. "Maybe a little." She held her hands a foot apart. "Like this much."

"Oh, come on, not that much." He moved her arms closer until her palms were only a couple of inches apart. "Maybe that much."

"This much," she spread her hands even wider.

His mouth quirked. "Now you're just being unreasonable."

Despite everything, they both laughed, releasing the tension in the air.

"I'm glad I'm here," Roxanne said.

"Me too." He held her, kissed her brow. "You'll be happy here, Sweetheart. I'll do everything I can… I want this to be comfortable, and good… You like having your own space, and that's fine, but I want you to know that this is your home, too. Always."

She felt herself smile, although the expression lacked its usual confident strength. He wasn't wrong. Sometimes Roxanne felt she practically lived in his hideout already. Well, the past few weeks had been an exception. While the blue hero had dealt with a plot by the Doom Syndicate and the usual holiday season uptick in thefts, Roxanne had been forced to travel, first covering a rare blizzard in the Upper Penninsula, then a meeting of the newly formed Michigan State Disability Caucus in Lansing, and finally attempts by members of the state legislature to conceal certain business interest's tax frauds. She and her lover had only been able to steal occasional dates during her brief returns home, and he had spent one night in a Lansing hotel with her. Even when life wasn't so busy, however, the reporter and her lover rarely spent the night at her apartment anymore. Not since Ms. Farley, a sweet but nosy elderly woman who lived next door, had caught Roxanne out in the hall one evening and invited her over for what had turned out the be the most awkwardly embarrassing cup of tea in all history.

"Listen, Dear," the old lady had said amicably after a few minutes of small talk. "Between you, me, and the lamppost, I just want to tell you that I am really very happy you and our hero have such a healthy and loving relationship, but— I really hate to bring it up— but maybe three in the morning is a little late for… nocturnal activities? And… well… you might just ask him to be a little more circumspect about his language? It's only that Len Paszek mentioned that his little boy asked last week what all those funny words the Defender kept shouting meant…"

Megamind had blushed fuchsia when she'd told him, and admitted that one of his new friends on the police force had laughingly informed him they had received no fewer than three noise complaints from other tenants in Roxanne's building.

"He seemed to think I needed to be congratulated?" the blue man had said uncertainly. "He kept slapping my back and saying I must be doing something right?"

Roxanne had felt her own cheeks burning. "I… um… yeah, that's a… pretty normal human male bonding ritual…"

"Humans are strange," Megamind had informed her.

They'd spent almost every night at the Lair ever since.

"Sir, Code C and C," Minion's voice crackled from the vicinity of his master's left hand, disrupting Roxanne's thoughts.

"Code what?" Megamind asked into his wrist.

"Cookies and cocoa!" Minion explained. "Come and get it while it's—No no no! That is not a toy! Drop it! Drop it right now!"

A sound suspiciously like breaking china echoed through the watch's speaker.

Megamind and Roxanne looked at each other and laughed again. It felt good. "I suppose we had better go downstairs while the cookies are still edible," the blue hero said. "You don't mind, do you, Roxanne? It's just that— well, you know— Minion has planned out this entire evening, and it really means a lot to him…" he trailed off as Roxanne gave him his favorite knowing smile.

"Thank you and Minion both for planning tonight. Of course I want to be a part of it." She sighed, looking down one more time at the disturbing letter. "Let's just take a step back. We can deal with this tomorrow. Besides," she brightened slightly. "I wouldn't miss Minion's home baking for anything."

Megamind chuckled again. "Be sure to tell him that." With a dramatic flourish, he swept his cloak behind one shoulder and offered her his arm. "Now, Miss Ritchi," he purred in that tone that always melted her down to her toes. "If you'll come with me, please, I fully intend to spend the next several hours cuddling by the stove, if only I could find a beautiful, intelligent woman to cuddle with."

A small, very grown-up and professional part of Roxanne hated that Megamind always knew how to make her blush. The rest of her, however, adored it.

"I think I can oblige," she answered, linking her arm through his.

He returned her smile and led her downstairs.

[themurphyzone]

PatB Nova Ch 7

Ch 7: Perturb

AN: This chapter’s somehow got long so a lot of stuff I wanted to originally place here’s going in the next one.

FFN Link

Terran Date 2015.4.23

Since I currently lack access to my regular equipment, I’m making do with an audio recording program from a Terran computer. I must admit it’s not nearly as efficient as my usual method, but it will have to suffice.

Pinky is an…interesting host. I won’t deny that he’s rather generous, and the delicacy he identified as cream cheese is surprisingly palatable. I’ve also taken up residence in his cage which he also kindly offered for my use as a safe place to sleep. The sponge bed has been moved to the cage per my request.

Objective assessment of Pinky: his species is a lab mouse, his eyes have to be some odd mutation because it cannot be possible for them to be that blue, and he’s an amiable idiot. As I’m recording this, he’s currently scolding two inanimate objects for their failure to keep the cage clean in his absence.

Today’s goal: Pinky is planning for a trip to the local mall to obtain a hat to wear for the Derby. Once again, it’s an illogical custom I am unfamiliar with. I’ve agreed to accompany him for two purposes. The first, clues on Snowball’s whereabouts. And the second, to gather intel on Terran habits for world domination purposes. Snowball and I will be able to put my information to good use when we’re reunited.

Signing off for now, the Brain.

o-o-o-o-o

Getting lost, losing communications, and the unrelenting solitude were the major dangers of setting foot outside of Penumbra. Only the first two conditions applied now.

Pinky leapt through the mail slot and danced along the pavement. He wore a lavender blouse that left his shoulders exposed, his shorts made of a Terran material called denim. Apparently, this excursion was also an opportunity to make a fashion statement. But Brain didn’t see the practicality of Pinky’s clothes.  The silly Terran stepped on an odd rock here and there, but his twirls didn’t slow down. Just looking at him made Brain slightly dizzy.

Thin, white clouds drifted lazily in the vast blue sky far above them. Brain looked up, one hand on his brow to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight. New Selene and the stars weren’t visible, though they were somewhere much higher than the sky.

He squinted and lowered his gaze to the ground, dark spots forming in his vision and making everything rather blurry.

Brain had switched his jumpsuit and gloves for a Terran disguise, a simple red shirt and another pair of denim shorts, both items borrowed from Pinky’s large collection of outfits. But since Pinky’s legs were longer, the shorts technically functioned more like pants, and the shirt was knee-length. Though it was comfortable, so he went along with it for now.

Besides, Pinky had been shockingly adamant about the jumpsuit and gloves needing a wash. Brain had protested at first since the material had anti-olfactory functions built in, but Pinky insisted and Brain agreed if only to shut up the Terran.

Procuring formal clothes for conquest would just have to wait.

And there was another issue he hadn’t anticipated.

Everything was so colorful and loud. He was so used to everything being muted and dark. Already he missed the ever present hum of the lab technology, and he’d barely set foot outside the door. Brain stood on the coarse welcome mat, on the border between safety and the unknown.

He was just grateful his accelerated healing kicked in overnight, and the bandages were no longer necessary.

“Come on, Brain!” Pinky shouted as he skipped along the pavement, careful to avoid all the cracks. “The sidewalk is great! Just don’t step on the crack, or you’ll break your mama’s back!”

Brain scowled. “My mother is on a different planet entirely, if she hasn’t already fallen victim to the many dangers of the natural world. Stepping on a cracked rock here on Terra will have no effect on her skeletal structure. The two actions are entirely uncorrelated.”

“The corals are related?” Pinky gasped, hands flying to his mouth in genuine surprise. “I knew they looked similar!”  

There was absolutely no reasoning with him, was there?

A large, sleek metal structure roared down the large stretch of pavement in front of them, a cloud of smoke trailing behind it as it rounded a corner and disappeared. It wasn’t his first time seeing one of those vehicles, since they’d been peppered throughout the satellite images he’d viewed back on Penumbra.

A car. One of the forms of land-based transportation on Terra, Brain recalled from the file on Terran technology. Highly practical for traveling long distances.

Cars were much larger in person. The images made them seem so tiny.

And once again, he found himself woefully lacking essential information. Did cars function similarly to a rover? How did it zoom by so quickly? What was the power source?

He looked up at the sky again, but the sunlight had somehow gotten stronger during his pondering, and he quickly averted his eyes.

“Poit. Your eyes are so squinty, Brain!” Pinky lightly tapped Brain’s head, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Don’t look directly into the sun. It’s bad for your eyes and you’d need to eat lots and lots of carrots to fix them and then your fur will turn orange!”

“A side effect of all this light,” Brain replied, making a mental note that carrots were an edible item that caused orange fur. He’d have to avoid them in the future. “I’m fine. Let’s depart for this…mall.”

The word felt strange on his tongue. But his feet wouldn’t leave the safety of the welcome mat.

“I’d love for you to come along, but if you’d rather not, that’s fine too,” Pinky said. There was a slight tinge of disappointment in his voice though, but he still seemed as sunny as the actual star. It was somewhat unsettling.

“Won’t you join my little expedition, Brain?” Snowball wrapped an arm around Brain’s shoulders. Fine mist trailed from the aisam’s claws, surrounding them with an icy chill that traveled up Brain’s spine and settled into his fur. “The road to Eclipse Lab is awfully barren and I could use a little company. Perhaps we could test our skills with star identification along the way.”

Brain shoved him away and Snowball clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“For the last time, I’m n-not interested in visiting that horrible, scrik-ridden m-mess of a lab, Snowball. If you wish to leave New Selene sometime in the next cycle, you will allow me to fine-tune the propulsion system in peace,” Brain retorted, hating the tremor in his voice caused by a brief yet violent case of the shivers. He picked up a wrench and examined it for overuse damage, turning his back on Snowball so he wouldn’t see Brain’s hands tremble.

Whether it was from the cold or the mere thought of setting foot in the place where he’d been prodded and restrained by long, claw-like fingers, he couldn’t say.

“You can’t be an invertebrate, Brain,” Snowball grumbled. His disappointment was palpable, and Brain’s fingers tightened around the wrench. “Our combined intellect is unparalleled and far superior to those imbecilic Terrans. Whatever it takes to rule, whatever it takes to wear the crown, we must seize it by any means possible.”

Then he was gone, and the Conquistador’s silent frame became Brain’s steadfast companion.

“Earth to Brain! Oh sorry, should I say Terra to Brain instead? Come in, Terra to Brain! This is Lieutenant Pinky reporting in! Over!”

Pinky was suddenly in front of his face, and Brain leapt back in surprise. He must’ve been lost in his ponderings again. Pinky held something behind his back, something bright and yellow poking out near his tail.

“Yes, Pinky. I hear you,” Brain sighed. Then Pinky showed him the item behind his back, and it turned out to be the oddest pair of safety goggles Brain had ever seen in his life. The star-shaped frame was yellow and provided little protection for the nose, and the lens were tinted dark instead of clear. “These goggles are highly impractical for technical work.”

“They’re sunglasses actually. Slipped inside and grabbed ‘em while you were pandering. I use these if I’m playing movie star-slash-chiropractor! Try them on!” Pinky said. Deciding it was best to humor him, Brain slid on the glasses, and his vision became a shade darker. The colors were still there, just not as bright. The headache that had threatened to form dissipated into nothingness.

“This is bearable,” Brain said. Pinky was slightly darker as well, though the tinted lens did nothing to diminish his shining blue eyes.

Pinky clapped his hands in glee. “Exactly! Also works for grizzlies and honey bears and teddies! And now you’re a movie star too!”  

Brain rolled his eyes, sweeping his antennae back so they didn’t get in the way. “That’s not a classification of any star. Despite your questionable logic, and I use that word in a fairly liberal sense, the color spectrum of your planet is no longer a strain on my eyes. So…thanks.”

“Aww! You’re welcome, Brain,” Pinky said. “And really, you can wear them in the lab too. I don’t mind.”

“No, Pinky. I’m coming along. I have goals to accomplish during this trip,” Brain said. Taking a deep breath, he stepped off the welcome mat, then hopped off the step and onto the pavement.

It wasn’t as difficult as his mind made it out to be.  

Pinky laughed, and Brain barely got out of the way in time before several ounces of idiosyncrasies could crash into him.

Brain wouldn’t get anything done by sitting around and being too afraid to leave the lab’s safe haven. Somewhere underneath the massive sky, Snowball was likely planning his own day’s activities. And today, they’d be taking the first steps to conquer Terra.

Through any means possible.

o-o-o-o-o

Brain prided himself on his keen observation skills, something that would serve him well when he and Snowball finally exploited the inhabitants’ many weaknesses. Pinky considered it a ‘a blousery, blustery, beautiful day’, whatever that meant, and skipped to and fro in every direction to take in the sights of the city. Brain kept him in view at all times, not wanting to be left alone in this strange world.

He quickly found that the word ‘Terrans’ failed to encapsulate the biodiversity of the planet, in addition to individual differences between members of the same species. Humans varied greatly in size, shape, and appearance, though even the tallest ones weren’t nearly as large as a Selenian. Some had their heads buried in their devices with cords going into their ears and were oblivious to their surroundings, and Brain had to keep an eye out for those dangerous folks since they didn’t seem to care about anyone in their path.

While inconvenient for him, their failure to pay attention could easily be turned into an advantage.

Several humans walked alongside quadrupedal creatures that sniffed the ground and had collars and ropes around their necks that led to a handle in the human’s hand. Pinky called them ‘dogs’ and ‘leashes’. He was more than happy to clarify anything Brain didn’t understand, and while he figured that he would have to research Terra more in-depth later, Pinky’s happy explanations were sufficient for now.

Brain firmly held Pinky’s hand as they passed by a human and a golden-furred dog with large paws and a long, panting tongue. The dog sniffed them curiously and made a ‘groomph’ noise, and though it didn’t seem hostile, Brain dragged Pinky away before the dog had the opportunity to slobber all over them.  

But even the ‘goldy’, as Pinky called it, was more preferable to the tiny, yappy thing that Pinky identified as a ‘Chi-wa-wa’. At least it was yanked back by its leash before it could give chase to them.

Pinky called himself a mouse, and his friend Pharfignewton was a horse. Two species down.

The flying creatures were pigeons, crows, and sparrows. They ate whatever they could scavenge on the ground. The tiny things that scurried around his feet were insects, and Pinky yanked him back from stepping on a sidewalk crack filled with red and black ‘ants’.

“Fire ants will make your feet itchy and tingly!” he warned. “And not the pleasant kind either!”

Brain committed his warning to memory.

Cars crawled by slowly on the street, packed closely as far as the eye could see. They made odd screeching noises from time to time, the humans inside grumpily slamming their palms against their steering devices.

Lights on every corner controlled the flow of cars. Everyone became furious with red and brightened when it was green. He wasn’t exactly sure what yellow was supposed to do since some cars sped right past and others came to a stop. Regardless, humans were dependent on those lights in their vehicles. It was an interesting observation.

There were plenty of additional rules too, which Pinky was adamant on teaching. Only cross at the white strips at the lights, and only when the red hand changed to the green human. Look left, right, then left again before crossing. Pat your head and rub your belly if you see an out-of-state license plate…well, Brain was pretty sure that wasn’t a safety rule since none of the humans were doing it. Just a Pinky thing then.

Everything was alive, from the structures that creaked on the highest buildings to the scattered pebbles underfoot. While he’d known the planet’s atmosphere carried sound far better than New Selene’s,  experiencing it for himself was nothing short of fascinating. He’d have to research the exact composition that made it all possible later. Energy flowed towards him in all directions, though the daytime thankfully masked his glowing orbs.

Blending in wasn’t difficult either. Humans were more oblivious than he thought.

“Last corner, Brain!” Pinky exclaimed, twirling happily as they waited for the signal to cross the busy intersection. “Then we’re at the mall! You’ll love it! There’s food and clothing and perfume and toys and-“

“Pinky, what exactly is the purpose of a mall?” Brain asked. Pinky had been rather unclear on that. Mostly he’d just been gushing about all the fun things they could do.

“To do fun fun silly-willy things with your friends and look at stuff you can never afford on a lab mouse’s salary, of course!” Pinky replied.

The signal to cross finally appeared, and Pinky skipped merrily across the white strip, nimbly avoiding getting trampled by several humans walking in the opposite direction. Brain walked at a normal pace, keeping his tail close to his body. He didn’t trust the distracted humans to watch where they were going, especially since their handheld devices seemed to hold more importance than avoiding getting run over heavy wheels.

As Brain stepped onto the sidewalk, an odd texture struck him on the head, knocking his sunglasses askew. Several drops of a lukewarm liquid splashing onto his fur. It didn’t hurt, but it was still an unpleasant surprise. The human next to him didn’t notice. He was too busy yelling into his device and gesturing wildly, then stomped off in a huff. He almost trampled Pinky, who barely managed to pull his tail out of the way before the man’s large foot crushed it.

“Well, he was certainly rude. He littered and didn’t say sorry for dropping the cup on your head!” Pinky complained as he helped Brain to his feet, his blue eyes narrowed at the man’s back as he disappeared into the crowd. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted in the man’s general direction. “Hey, litterbug! I bet your mom’s older than you! Narf!”  

He gave a firm nod, satisfied with his ludicrous and underwhelming insult.

A furious Pinky. That was an interesting concept, yet anger and Pinky somehow remained mutually exclusive in Brain’s mind.

“Not to worry, Pinky,” Brain said, wiping the liquid away from the base of his antennae. He returned his sunglasses to the proper position. “He’s long gone. I’ve suffered worse.”

Pinky took a deep breath, then took a sniff of the cup’s opening and wrinkled his nose. “Maybe he wouldn’t be so grumpy or litterbuggy if he put more sugar in his cappuccino,” he sighed. “Styrofoam too. Can’t recycle that.”

Dragging the cup over to a nearby garbage can, Pinky hoisted it over his head and trying to stick it through the hole on top. The cup was barely over the rim, Pinky clinging to the metal with one hand and scrabbling for a foothold. He wasn’t giving up without a fight, so Brain grabbed Pinky’s ankles to give him the extra boost needed to push the cup in.

Pinky climbed down once he heard the dull thud from inside the can. “Thanks,” he said gratefully, though he still seemed unusually morose.

Brain walked into a section lined with vegetation and dirt that separated the street from the mall. But Pinky didn’t follow. He was looking into the direction they came from. “The cup’s in the proper place now. Let’s go, Pinky.”

Instead of following Brain, Pinky moved to the curbside, looking down at his feet. Really. Pinky came to the mall for a purpose, however inane it was. He needed to commit to that goal.

Brain growled in frustration, grasping his wayward companion’s wrist and pulling him in the mall’s direction. Pinky stumbled, but hardly budged otherwise. “Quit being stubborn, Pinky. The sun will burn out before you twitch a finger at this rate.”

“But the rest of it…“ Pinky whimpered, pointing to the street.

The road was filled with cups like the one Pinky had just thrown away. Filthy, damp, and unreadable papers lined the curb. A plastic bag tumbled in the wind. There were even a few objects that might’ve been clothing at one point.  

Some people passed them by without a care in the world, others clicked their tongue at the mess but hurried on their way. Two people on the other side of the intersection were clothed in white from head to toe, picking away at the garbage with long sticks and depositing them into large bags.

From the sheer amount of garbage that lined the streets, Brain thought it was a futile effort on their part.

This was one of Terra’s downsides. Its inhabitants were destroying the very planet they lived on. It was one of the few observations the Selenian scientists were accurate about.  

Pinky reached for a mass of papers, a revolting yellowish-green grime covering its surface, but Brain pulled him back before he could touch it.

“Don’t touch that with your bare hands, Pinky,” Brain scolded. “It’s unsanitary.”

Pinky pouted. Now obstinance. He shifted moods rather quickly, didn’t he? It was baffling.

“We gotta take care of Mother Earth, Brain!” Pinky protested as Brain dragged him into the vegetation. “Or there won’t be any pretty flowers to sniff and the acorn and pinecone elves won’t ever set aside their differences to sign that peace treaty!”

“The databank contained many details regarding the pollution of Terra, Pinky,” Brain admitted. “So I’m aware of the issue. But cleaning this one street would take time we can’t spare. You’re being sidetracked from your goal, and I can’t achieve my own objectives either.”

“Wait…” Pinky murmured. “You’re gonna rule soon, aren’t you? So you can definitely protect the world! That’s wonderful, Brain! I know you can do it!”

The sudden shift in mood caught Brain off-guard.  

I can? Brain almost said, but the hope shining in Pinky’s eyes quelled that uncertain response. There was nothing but sincere admiration in that pool of blue, a massive surge of electrons flowing from Pinky’s chest into Brain’s antennae.

He would dare describe the electrons as a positive charge. How? Electrons were supposed to be negative! What kind of anomaly did he have the terrifying pleasure of knowing?

Brain cleared his throat, focusing on the enormous sprawling complex in front of them. Pinky’s blind faith was off-putting, and it was much easier to disregard it. “Of course. I will have unquestionable power in the near-future. Solving these issues will be easier than calibrating an auto-navigation interface.”

Pinky blinked.

“And…I’ll oversee those peace treaty negotiations between the elves.”

Pinky brightened immediately. “Thank you, Brain! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Long arms snagged Brain and lifted him off the ground in an enormous hug. Brain’s feet kicked out, but the warmth Pinky emitted had the strangest subduing effect. Brain’s antennae weren’t obstructed either, just swept back. Apparently, Pinky learned from last time.

Brain’s chest was oddly warm. Or maybe it was Pinky’s. It was hard to know for certain.

“Your orbs are so glowy,” Pinky said in awe.

And they weren’t achieving anything from this display of sentimentality! With some difficulty, Brain reclaimed his right arm and bopped Pinky on top of his empty noggin.

Pinky immediately let go, stumbling around dizzily and startling a nearby sparrow with his loud giggles. Brain landed on the base of his tail, a brief painful twinge travelling up his spine. In hindsight, he didn’t plan that well. At least there wasn’t another kink.

“That was jolly fun, Brain!” Pinky exclaimed upon recovery.

If he ever had the spare time, he was definitely researching the differences between actual Terran phrases and Pinky-isms.

“I’m sure,” Brain sighed, though he wasn’t sure and never would be, but Pinky didn’t need to know that.

They walked into a large, multi-level structure that Pinky called a ‘parking garage’, which housed a large amount of dormant vehicles. It was similar to the traffic they’d passed earlier, but the drivers were elsewhere. They were packed close, almost touching, and Brain wondered how anyone could possibly get in or out in these tight quarters.

Another few inches closer and the drivers would be completely trapped. That idea had potential.

Pinky hopped onto each yellow marking on the ground, arms flailing as he tried to avoid the gray areas in between. Brain followed at a more sedate pace. Then Pinky gasped and straightened up just as he landed on the last yellow marking before the mall entrance, Brain nearly bumping into him.

“Look, Brain! Somebody’s dropped their wallet!” Pinky gasped, hurrying over to a black object lying against the curb. He undid the zipper and glanced inside. “Egad, that’s a lot of money!”

Brain peeked inside. A wad of folded green paper was tucked inside one of the pockets. “A currency-based economy? Selene and its colonies utilized barter systems,” he said.  

Which could be an issue. Brain had originally planned to trade the Conquistador’s spare parts for useful items.

“Oh no, Brain. Currants would get squished in your pants. Then you’d need a really strong stain remover,” Pinky replied. “Besides, this man’s very lucky he can buy so many hats! That’s what I’d do if I had any money!”

He must’ve misheard that. Surely.

“Pinky, tell me you brought the monetary value required for your hat.”

Pinky dug his hand into a fur pocket, but only came out with a piece of fluff. “Hmmm, well, I have some dryer lint! Only money I have is Nicholas the Nickel, and he’s cleaning the cage with—oh.” His ears and tail fell limp under Brain’s glare.

Brain kicked a loose pebble, and it ricocheted harshly off the base of a metal sign. Of all the native species he could’ve chosen for a guide, it just had to be the one individual whose head was denser than a neutron star.

“Sorry, Brain,” Pinky murmured. “I’m not very good at this goal-setting thing, am I?”

He said ‘sorry’ a lot for placation’s sake. But no matter the context, he always sounded sincere. Brain pushed his sunglasses up to his forehead and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Somehow, he couldn’t find it in himself to be irate with Pinky anymore.

“You require more practice,” Brain replied. He glanced at the strange, valuable green papers in the wallet. Funny how they came across the commodity needed at this moment. “However, it’s most fortunate that we should stumble on the item required in trade for your hat.”

The money was all in 20s and 50s, and while Brain was unfamiliar with this currency, he figured there would be enough to spare. He took the money out of the pocket and tucked it under his arm. Then he flipped his sunglasses down, but Pinky tugged the money out of his grip before he could walk off.

“No, Brain! That’s stealing!” Pinky protested, slipping the money back into the wallet. “This rightfully belongs to a Mr. Joe Lamont! We have to take this wallet to Lost and Found now!”

Pinky’s stubborn side came out randomly, it seemed.

“The money is here at your convenience, Pinky. You have to use every asset possible to achieve your goal,” Brain said.

“What if Mr. Lamont needs this?” Pinky tapped a card that displayed a human’s photo along with other identifying information. Then he pointed to a small picture of a man and woman. “What if he needs this for anniversary or birthday presents, or else his wife won’t be happy and he’ll be sad cause he left his wallet somewhere and what if someone picks it up and won’t give it back? Cause that’s just mean!”

“Then he should’ve been more careful with such a valuable item,” Brain snapped. Pinky made a noise of disbelief and turned his back to Brain. “So take one or two of the papers for yourself and give the rest back.”

While he’d prefer to keep the entire wallet for future use, it seemed he would just have to compromise with Pinky.

“He won’t notice.”

“NARF!” Pinky retorted.

His assumption was wrong. Pinky wouldn’t accept a compromise either. It was a losing battle, and as much as hated conceding defeat, no other options presented themselves.

“Fine! Do what makes you happy! See if I care!” Brain shouted at Pinky’s back.

He was only presenting the most logical solution. It wasn’t his fault this idiot wasn’t taking the opportunity! And none of this was helping him find Snowball or conquer Terra either!

“Returning the wallet would make me happy, Brain,” Pinky said with conviction.

“Why?” Brain asked. This wasn’t the type of goal-setting he’d pictured at all.

“It feels right.”

Tasks should be performed with efficiency in mind, not for emotion’s sake. But it seemed that keeping Pinky in his normal euphoric state would be in Brain’s best interest for now.

“Alright, let’s return that wallet. Neither you nor I shall use any of the money for personal reasons. We’re heading to the…Lost and Found?” Brain said reluctantly. He took a deep breath, reminding himself to keep Pinky in a good mood. “You lead the way. I’m not familiar with this locale.”

Pinky faced Brain, and the bright smile was back. Brain looked away. He wasn’t doing this out of altruism, and Pinky needed to learn that.  

“Yup, it’s like the Island of Misfit Toys, but for car keys, jackets, and other things too!” Pinky exclaimed, hoisting the wallet above his head. “And now it’s for Mr. Lamont’s wallet!”

The satellite images never pinpointed a geographical location named the Island of Misfit Toys. Probably situated next to a more prominent landmass then.

“Welcome to Macy’s, Brain!” Pinky cheered as they entered a pristine white building. “For all your expensive brand clothing and Thanksgiving Day needs!”

The store was brightly lit, so Brain kept his sunglasses down. Numerous bottles of varying colors were on display. Women shouted from behind their counters, urging passersby to purchase their products. Most people walked by quickly, looking rather uncomfortable and twitchy until they were far from the display area. Only two women seemed interested at all, spraying misty clouds on tiny strips of paper and sniffing them curiously.

“What are they doing?” Brain whispered as he shuffled closer to Pinky for protection’s sake. There was a predatory gleam in those workers’ eyes, and he didn’t like it one bit.

Even Pinky with his near-perpetual cheer seemed uncomfortable, his fingers anxiously drumming against the wallet. “Poit. Selling perfume. All sorts of lovely scents, but this is definitely why online shopping is more popular these days.”

Before Brain could respond, one of the workers suddenly rushed towards them with a manic smile that showed way too many teeth.

“Hi, you wanna buy some perfume buy one and ya get another half price ‘til May!” she shrieked. Without giving them a chance to respond, she sprayed perfume directly in their faces.

Pink mist engulfed them and obstructed their vision. A pungent scent clogged Brain’s nose, trickling its way down his throat, and he let out a hacking cough to expel it. Pinky’s wheeze suddenly turned into a yelp, and by the time the mist cleared, the woman was walking away with the wallet in hand.

Pinky clung to the wallet desperately, his legs kicking out as he was hoisted into the air. “Please, miss! Brain and I—ehem—Brain and I need to give this wallet to Lost and Found so Mr. Lamont can buy his wife nice presents!”

“Oh, it’s a sizeable wallet you’ve got there too!” the woman exclaimed. Brain found her pitch highly grating. “Let’s see, with money like that you can get lilac, honeysuckle, eau de escargot, a perfume that smells like wet goat hair sponsored by Gwenyth Paltrow-“

“I’m sure they smell lovely, but-“

“Very lovely indeed!” the woman spoke over Pinky, who could only dangle helplessly.

Brain gritted his teeth and hurried after them, shaking off his earlier disorientation. When she stopped to jabber about perfume again, he slammed his tail onto her bare ankle and administered a quick shock. Startled, she dropped Pinky the wallet. Brain darted between her sandals just in time to catch Pinky, who clutched the wallet to his chest, slightly dizzy from his sudden fall.

The perfume bottle was aimed in their direction again.

Brain took off with Pinky in his arms, running as fast as he could when those dreaded sandals got too close for comfort. He allowed Pinky to safekeep the wallet, since he was already so protective of it.

“Relentless scrik!” Brain panted as the woman hurled various sales pitches behind them. Pinky wasn’t heavy, but the wallet was a different story. And Pinky made it look so simple!

Well, Pinky was simple in general. Perhaps it was a distributive effect.  

“Brain, go into the carpeted area!” Pinky shouted. “She can’t follow us out of her department!”

Deciding to trust Pinky’s word, Brain ran straight onto the carpet, barely dodging someone’s shoe in time, and his foot caught on the raised border between the carpet and tile. He fell onto his face, one of the sunglasses’ handles digging into his fur on impact. Pinky and the wallet tumbled across the floor, coming to a stop a short distance away.  

As Pinky predicted, the woman stopped chasing them.

“Annnnd there goes my bonus,” she muttered dejectedly. She slammed the perfume bottle onto a nearby counter, startling a sleepy coworker who toppled off her chair in surprise and plastered on a fake smile for a passing customer. He glanced at her briefly and walked away with a grimace.  

“Sooo…welcome to Macy’s?” Pinky laughed nervously. “On the bright side, we smell like radish roses now!”

Brain threw a button at him.  

o-o-o-o-o

They kept to the corners after that fiasco, hoping to avoid drawing attention to a moving wallet. Pinky marveled at the various styles advertised by a human-like object he called a ‘Manny Kin’. He prattled on about the models and clothing, and Brain tuned him out to better observe the humans.

The younger ones appeared restless and bored out of their minds. The adults often stopped to admire an article of clothing, checked the price, and shook their heads before moving onto the next item. Everyone was dressed in a far more casual style than the clothing on sale.

“Oh, here’s the mall center! It’s where all the real fun happens, Brain!” Pinky said, his tail wagging in excitement. “Plus, the Lost and Found is just beyond this store. We’ll make Mr. Lamont happy in no time!”

Instead of a back wall, there was a large, doorless opening that led out of the store. Pinky danced his way across the boundary with a cheerful goodbye to the Macy’s sign. As Brain stepped into the wide open space, he was astounded by the sheer scale of the mall center.

He’d expected a plain corridor that connected different sections, not a massive space with a roof that appeared to touch the sky. The population density was much higher than in Macy’s, humans loudly chatting among themselves, shouting at consumers to purchase wares, and swinging large bags from their arms.

There were two floors above their heads, connected to the ground by staircases and escalators. The escalators seemed by far the popular choice for people moving between floors. Brain felt dizzy just looking at that open space above them, and he decided to focus only straight ahead for now.

Dozens of smaller stores lined the walls. Most of them sold clothes like Macy’s, and Brain couldn’t fathom why humans needed so many stores just to sell clothes. A fresh, rich scent wafted through the air, and though it was much more pleasant than the perfume, it made him somewhat famished as well.

“Look, Brain! The cookie shop! Don’t they smell divine?” Pinky asked with a dreamy sigh. “They taste delicious too!”

“Another one of your foods?” Brain asked, though it fell on deaf ears. Pinky had gone over to the display case, practically drooling on it as he admired the cookies inside, the wallet leaning against his side.

Brain stood on the other side of the wallet, just in case anyone had any ideas about stealing it.

At first, Brain thought the cookies were classified by ingredient, but one of the groups was labelled ‘snickerdoodle’ and Brain was of the opinion that no sane planet in the universe would ever call anything by that strange moniker.

“Let’s be on our way, Pinky,” Brain said, because there wasn’t anything productive he could do while his Terran guide was staring longingly at cookies. “That wallet won’t return itself.”

“Okay, Brain…” Pinky said forlornly. His hands squeaked sadly against the glass, but before he could pick up the wallet, a woman came out from behind the counter, her dark hair tied back in a bun. She approached them with a napkin in one hand.

Brain grabbed Pinky’s hand and the wallet, tensing up in case he had to yank them away at a moment’s notice.

But the woman made no move to snatch the wallet. She only squatted next to them and held out the napkin, revealing two small pieces of cookies. “Free sample?” she asked. “They’re fresh out of the oven.”

“Thanks so much...Laura!” Pinky read the name tag pinned to her shirt, then snatched up one of the pieces and shoved it into his mouth. Crumbs stained his muzzle. “Narrrrf! That was dee-lish!”

Cautiously, Brain took the second piece and bit into it. Sweetness flooded his taste buds, and he quickly finished his portion, the cookie melting in his mouth. If anything, Pinky had understated how delicious it tasted.

“It’s exquisite,” he said to Laura, who beamed right back.

“Glad you enjoyed it!” Laura said. She provided them with wet napkins so they could rid themselves of the remaining crumbs, and they left the cookie shop behind.

“She was so nice, Brain!” Pinky said, safeguarding the wallet once again. “Sugar cookies are my favorites! Well, after chocolate chip and macadamia and snickerdoodle-“

Brain nodded. “She didn’t steal anything while our guard was down. Count that in your definition of ‘nice’.”

Thankfully, they didn’t have to walk far to get to the Lost and Found. Brain hoped to put this wallet nonsense behind them in the next half hour. They had objectives to fulfill.

The Lost and Found was in a hallway that led to an exit from the mall, and Brain made a mental note of its location. He refused to set foot in that Macy’s ever again.

A podium was situated in front of the doors, and the worker behind it nervously held out a box to an irate man in a formal suit similar to the merchandise at Macy’s. He snatched the box and threw several articles of clothing and various lost items to the ground.

Pinky lifted the wallet above his head, his feet tapping in excitement. “That’s the man! He looks exactly like his pictures!”

Mr. Lamont was practically tearing the box apart without any regard for the other lost belongings, and the worker’s eyes were wide with fear. That didn’t bode well. Brain grabbed Pinky’s tail, but it slipped out of his grasp. The idiot had no sense of impending danger and walked right up to the belligerent man.

“You’re hiding it, aren’t you?” Mr. Lamont snarled, slamming his hand against the podium. The worker cowered behind his chair. “Hand over my wallet this instant, or you’ll be out of a job.”

The worker paled.

Brain rushed over to try and pull Pinky back. Mr. Lamont hadn’t noticed them yet. There was still a chance they could slip the wallet among the other items and leave without detection.

“Hi, Mr. Lamont! You dropped your wallet in the parking garage!” Pinky greeted. “Me and my friend here were just taking it to Lost and Found, and what a coinkydink we’d find you here too! Isn’t that great?”

Pinky held the wallet up expectantly, that silly smile never leaving his face.

Mr. Lamont snatched the wallet out of Pinky’s hands, wrinkling his nose haughtily.

“You’re welcome!” Pinky chirped, then happily turned to Brain. “We did it!”  

Pinky had done most of the work, but if he wanted to share credit, Brain chose not to correct him. “Yes. Now we may return to what we originally-“

Mr. Lamont’s foot slammed into Pinky’s side, too fast for Brain to shout a warning. Pinky yelped as he was thrown into a wall. There he laid in a crumpled heap, hands wrapped around his abdomen for protection.

“How much did you take, thief?” Mr. Lamont spat. He cast a looming shadow over Pinky, who whimpered in pain, tears forming in pitiful blue eyes.  

It was such a foreign appearance for the idiotic but kindhearted mouse.

A strange fury overtook Brain, one that was much different from dealing with troublesome ships, arguing with Snowball, or frustration with his current predicament. It brewed in the depth of his stomach and spread through the rest of his body.

Brain whipped off his sunglasses, placing himself firmly between Pinky and the ungrateful reprobate.

“He stole nothing from you,” Brain growled. “Count the money yourself, you repugnant excuse of an organism, unless your mind has degraded far beyond the ability to perform simple arithmetic.”

“And just who do you think you are?” Mr. Lamont sneered.  

Brain crossed his arms proudly. He refused to cower before the Terran. “A genetically enhanced Selenian mos seeking dominion over your world.”

And when all was said and done, Mr. Lamont would be bowing down to him.

But that glorious fantasy was cut short. Brain saw the black sole of a shoe, there was a forceful pressure against his body. His limbs refused to cooperate. He couldn’t reach his tail for self-defense, his heart pumping faster and faster until it couldn’t compensate for the lack of electrons anymore-

The crushing pressure vanished.

Faraway voices blended together, one angry, one meek, and one familiar.

Someone lifted his head, a gentle hand moving his antennae aside, then slowly pushed his head down until he rested against soft fabric. Brain’s fingers twitched. His full mobility would take several minutes to return, but this wasn’t a terrible position to wait it out.

A drop of moisture fell on his face, followed by several more.

Rain?

He’d heard of that particular climate pattern, but had never seen it in action before.

Brain opened his eyes, craning his neck to see this curious phenomenon. But he was met with Pinky’s tearful gaze instead.

He’d learned much of Terran culture during this expedition, but was it really worth all these ridiculous emotions?

“Stop dampening my fur with your lacrimal ducts, Pinky,” Brain said, his voice hoarse.

Pinky managed a giggle, inanity that was far more preferable to all this crying. “Sorry, Brain. I don’t have any milk. But are you okay? P-p-poit.”

“I’ll need several minutes to recuperate. Then I’ll be ready.” Brain felt his cheeks heat up from the proximity. Mobility returned to his right leg, and he couldn’t wait for this mortifying close contact to be over. “Where’s Mr. Lamont?”

Pinky scowled at the name, an expression that looked odd on him, but not wholly unwelcome. “Mr. Lameany called you vermin and left with his wallet. But you’re not vermin, Brain! You’re my best friend!”

A childish insult. He’d have to teach Pinky about using more sophisticated language.

“And you…are Pinky,” he sighed, patting Pinky’s arm.

Pinky smiled brightly. At least Brain could strive towards one of his objectives. They weren’t quite through with business at the mall though. He’d have to tough it out.

But for now, he settled back against Pinky, who happily taught him the age-old Terran method of settling arguments known as rock-paper-scissors.

AN: FINISHED AT LAST.

I am not making stuff up as I write I totally had a plan for this fic y’all can’t prove nothing.

Brain gets to learn good and bad stuff about Terra, poor Pinky gets hurt. These mice can’t even go the mall without something happening, can they?

[crazycat-88]

Male Spider Monster Silus x Gender Neutral Reader (SFW)

Note: This is my first piece of writing in a very long time and my first exophilia story. Written for the awesome OkCryptid Collab. Its also the first instalment of a series of stories I’m currently working on.

A huge thanks goes to @thetravelerwrites for proofreading/editing this piece. She’s an absolute star and fantastic writer, who dedicates a lot of her time to this community, supporting other writers and helping readers find exophilia works by maintaining both the OkCryptid Masterlist & the Exophilia Creators Masterlist. So go give her your love and support over on her blog.

Without further ado, here’s 4,124 words of human/monster romance. Hope you enjoy it.

Sitting at your desk, trying to write the newest chapter of your latest novel, you sigh when you her a ping from your mobile. In all honesty, the distraction is welcome; you’ve been suffering from a major case of writer's block and you’d take any excuse to put your work aside.

Checking your notifications, you sigh again when you see it’s from OkCryptid, the monster and cryptid dating app created to help monsters find mates, that you’d downloaded a couple of weeks beforehand. You had hoped it would give you a better chance at finding the one but so far you’d had the same amount of luck that you had with every other app on the market. Which was none.

You hadn’t been on a date in months. Your last relationship was over three years ago and so far things weren’t looking very positive with this new dating app. Since joining, there were very few matches and all the messages you’d received were either from men just looking to hook up for that night or they were dick pics. You couldn’t fathom why anyone thought that sending a picture of their dick would somehow seduce you but they did it anyway.

Taking a deep breath, you check to see what it’s notifying you off and you see that you have a new match and have been sent a new message from a user named Silus. Swearing to yourself that if it’s another unsolicited picture you were deleting the app, you open the message first without bothering to check his profile. No point in getting your hopes up before seeing what he’s sent you.

[Sent: 2:47pm] Silus: Hey, how are you today? I’ve recently just moved to the area and we’ve matched… So I thought I’d just say hi…

Well, that was a good start. It's certainly the nicest message you’ve received so far. Deciding to check his profile, you gasp, seeing that he’s an arachnid, specifically a spider type, which you’d never seen before.

Most arachnids chose to avoid the city, mainly due to their size and their preference for solitude. They weren’t known to be the most social of creatures and, despite being known to the general public for a couple of centuries, were one of the few species that shunned modern society, choosing to remain in forests or caves far from civilization. You weren’t sure if this was because of their nature or due to the fact that they were one of the few monsters many humans, and even some other monsters, still feared. Even those who weren’t outright scared of arachnid type monsters were still wary and uncomfortable around them.

You’re not sure how you feel about them, never having actually met one but you’re not exactly a fan of spiders. While you aren’t scared of them, they did make you squeamish. Shuddering thinking of the large spider you had to remove from your flat the day before, you decide to at least check over Silus’s profile and pictures.

His profile bio was short and sweet: he stated his name, age, and sexual orientation before going on to say that he loved plants and flowers, music, poetry and going for walks in the moonlight. He’d also added that he had just moved to the city and was looking to make new friends and hopefully find a mate. He had a gallery full of pictures, which were mostly pictures of various types of flowers, but he had a couple of himself.

Enlarging the first picture of himself, which was a selfie of just his face and torso, you were pleasantly surprised to find that you didn’t mind his spider features. His head and body was humanoid in shape, his skin incredibly pale and his very long, very straight hair was a shiny white. He had four eyes that were completely black with no sclera, those eyes sat in a row, with two larger in the centre and two smaller either side of those. His mouth was wide and in the photo he was grinning, showing that he had nothing but two large fangs in his upper jaw. His shoulders were broad and his torso was well built, with clearly defined muscles though he wasn’t overly muscular.

Swiping through his photos, you find another picture of him, this one being a full body shot which was clearly taken from a small distance. Here you could see his lower body where is torso ended and joined with his spider half, which looked large and bulbous, black in colour but covered in fine white hair which looked fuzzy. Attached to this body were eight long jointed legs which were also covered in fine white hairs. His legs looked as thick as tree trunks and you couldn’t be sure from looking at the photo but he looked huge.

This part of his body did make you apprehensive, and the more you look at it the worse you feel. Flicking between the two pictures you couldn’t decide if you were attracted to him or not. On one hand you found him incredibly beautiful, with his large pitch black eyes that you could easily get lost in and his gorgeous sleek looking hair and toned upper body. He also seemed sweet natured and had a lovely smile despite the fangs.

On the other hand, his spider lower half gave you the shivers and those long legs creeped you out. You cringed looking at them again and even thinking about those legs in motion made you shudder. Chewing on your lip you debated with yourself; you’d matched with him so obviously you had things in common and you didn’t have to jump into a relationship with him. You could always be friends first and see if it went anywhere. You just weren’t sure you could get over those eight legs…

Ping.

Startled, you look back at your phone which had gone to sleep at some point during your mental debate, and you see you have received another message from Silus.

[Sent: 3:16pm] Silus: I like your profile by the way, you’re very beautiful.... We must have a lot in common, I’ve been using this app for over a year now and I’ve never seen such a high percentage match...

Checking you see that he’s right, you’ve matched with him eighty-eight percent which was much higher than any other match you’d had and from everything you’d heard it was really rare to get a match that high. It was just your luck he had to be an arachnid, he seemed really nice too. Deciding to think further on it and make a decision later, you go back to writing, after all your novel wasn’t going to write itself.

A couple of hours later, feeling like you’ve made a lot of progress, you decide it’s time for some food. However a quick search around the kitchen reminds you that you’ve not been shopping in days. Take-away it is then.

Ping!

Frowning you see you’ve gotten another message from Silus, thinking he’s getting a little pushy, you open it to read.

[Sent: 5:30pm] Silus: Hey again, so I was thinking… I would understand if your not interested, many people don’t like arachnids…. I know a lot of people, especially humans are scared of my kind… But I hope you’ll give me a chance and see I’m not scary at all… or maybe your just busy or at work... Sorry...

Crap! You’d forgotten that your settings had been set to send read receipts. He knows you’ve read his messages and now thinks you’re ignoring him. You wonder how often that happens to him, he sounds so dejected and now you feel bad. He’d said in his earlier message that he’d been using the app for over a year so that meant he’d not had much luck finding someone. A bit like me then, thinking to yourself. Looking at his pictures again, you come to a decision.

[Sent: 5:32pm] You: Hi Silus, I’m good thanks and I was working… I am interested but to be honest I’ve never met an arachnid before and I’m unsure how I feel about it.

Silus: Oh my gosh, you replied :-) Thank you! It’s okay that you feel that way, at least you’re willing to give me a chance…

Silus: Lots of people are afraid of spiders and by extension spider monsters but honestly I wouldn’t hurt a fly…

Silus: …Well that’s a lie and probably a bad example, but really I’m not scary in the slightest…

Chuckling, you rather like Silus’s sense of humour though you’re not sure he was aiming to be funny. He was so sweet and seemed really surprised that you’d replied. Makes you wonder again how many people have ignored him just because of what he is.

You: Lol! I’m not scared of spiders exactly but they do make me uncomfortable… I’d like to get to know you though...

You: So… how are liking city life?

*************

You and Silus spent the rest of the evening getting to know each other. You learn that he works as a florist, that he’s renting a flat in the city centre and is flat sharing with a moth monster. Which did surprise you as you thought that their two species have a turbulent history. He asks what you do for work and then about the novel you’re currently writing.

The two of you end up talking long into the night and at some point you fall asleep still mid conversation. As soon as you wake up you're checking your phone for messages from Silus. You have two, the first answering the question you’d asked just before falling asleep and a second twenty minutes later where he says that he assumes you’ve falling asleep and to have sweet dreams.

Smiling to yourself, you send him a message confirming that you did in fact fall asleep and that you’re sorry about that. You then decide to get up and start your day. An hour later Silus is messaging you good morning and telling you not to worry about it. The two of you spend the rest of the morning chatting until he has to go to work. He messages again once he’s home from work and you spend the evening in the same manner as the night before.

The rest of the week followed the same pattern, work, eat and chat to Silus. By this point the two of you had swapped mobile numbers and were now communicating via both text and call. He had the loveliest voice and often during calls you forgot that you had to respond. Meeting in person wasn't a subject brought up until exactly one week after you’d first started chatting.

You were just sitting, eating lunch when you heard the ping of your mobile.

[Sent: 2:13pm] Silus: Afternoon gorgeous, are you free this evening? If you are, would you like to get a drink in town?

Taking a deep breath, you think it over, you really liked Silus and were pretty confident now that the two of you could really have something good together. Him being an arachnid no longer made you uncomfortable, at least in theory, but you were incredibly nervous. What if you saw him in person and you couldn’t see past those eight legs, you didn’t want to hurt him. Or what if when he saw you, he thought you weren’t as attractive in person. A previous date had told you that you looked thinner in your photos after all. You sigh, either way you had to know, for both your sakes.

You: Afternoon, I am free tonight and that would be lovely. Where were you thinking?

Silus: Great! :-D My flatmate works in this bar and restaurant which caters for folks like us, called The Bears Den, does that sound okay to you? It’s in city centre.

You: Yes of course! What time?

Silus: 6pm? Shall I come pick you up or would you rather we meet there?

You: 6 works for me. I’ll just meet you there, no point in you leaving the city centre to come collect me :-) I’ll get the bus, will only take me twenty minutes.

Silus: If you’re sure, I don’t mind the extra journey, I’d travel hours to pick you up ;-)

You: Lol, your so sweet but yes I’m sure. I’ll see you there at 6.

Silus: Alright then, I’ll meet you outside the bar. See you later gorgeous… can’t wait.

You: Me either! See you soon!

Checking the clock, you see that it was already 2:30pm and you had no idea what you were going to wear. Deciding your best bet would be to call your fashion-forward best friend and get her advice, your frustrated when she doesn’t answer. Oh well best go raid your wardrobe.

************

Your shaking with nerves by the time you get there and of course your twenty minutes early. Standing outside the bar feeling like an utter twit, you inspect the building. The outside is painted a glossy black and the name of the bar is painted in gold cursive above the very wide, very tall doors. It looked nice. Through the glass in the doors you could see the place already had a good number of patrons despite the early time.

You’re surprised and jump in shock when you hear your name spoken softly from behind you. Spinning around you come face to face with Silus, well more accurately you came face to stomach with Silus, because he was huge. Your breath catches in your throat and you gaze in astonishment at his form.

His large spider lower body was lowered to just inches off the ground and his long legs were arched upwards, their height reached to his human torso before coming back down to the ground. This close you could see that he had three claws at the end of each of those legs. Shifting your gaze back up, you took notice that he was wearing a smart midnight blue shirt before your attention was brought to his hands, which he was wringing togethering in nervousness. Looking to his face you could see that he looked wary but his mouth was turned up into a tentative smile.

It’s only when he quietly says your name and asks if you're alright that you realise that you’ve stood there just staring at him for the past two minutes. Giving yourself a mental shake you manage to give him a nod.

‘‘Yes! I’m good, thanks! Um... hi...’’ you giggle nervously.

‘‘Hi...’’ he replies, smile widening. ‘You still want to do this?’’

‘‘Yes, of course, sorry! Shall we go in?’’ You stammer.

Holding the door open for you, he shakes his head ‘‘No need to be sorry, I know I’m a lot to process.’’

‘‘Um... just a bit, I wasn’t expecting you to be so... big,’’ you stammer, as you pass under his arm into the bar.

‘‘Does it bother you?’’ He asks, as you make your way to the bar.

Shaking your head and giving him a smile over shoulder, you glance around the bar and see the vast majority of patrons are other non-humans. Behind the bar serving you spot a lizardfolk, who looks like a leopard gecko and a white tiger rakshasa. The rakshasa looks your way and raises a brow when he clocks Silus at your side. Making his way down the bar with a large grin on his face, you hear Silus let out a groan and suddenly he leans down to whisper in your ear, ‘‘He’s a harmless flirt.’’

‘‘What?’’ You stammer, but before he can say anything else the Rakshasa is standing in front of you and leaning over the bar to clasp Silus’s hand.

‘‘Ayaan,’’ Silus nods.

‘‘Silus,’’ rumbles the rakshasa, ‘‘It’s been awhile. Who’s your cute friend?’’ He says looking at you and giving you a wink.

Silus makes the introductions and as you give Ayaan your hand to shake, he leans down to kiss the back of your hand and gives you a cheeky grin. You understand now what Silus meant. Turning to Silus, Ayaan asks ‘‘Does Rowan know you’re out on a date?’’

‘‘Yes, and he’s upset he’s not here to see it’’ Silus replies, laughing. You give him a questioning look, but he just shakes his head at you and mouth’s later.

Turning back to Ayaan and ordering your drinks you head to a table towards the back of the bar where it’s quieter. Whilst you sit on a chair, Silus pushes the chair opposite you towards another table and lowers his spider body to the floor shifting his legs to a comfortable position. As you watch him do this, it occurs to you that your not feeling squeamish like you feared you might. In fact, your itching to lean over and see if those hairs are as fuzzy as they look. Giving Silus a smile, you see that he’s gazing just as intensely at you.

‘‘You’re very beautiful,’’ he says, swallowing nervously.

‘‘Thank you. So are you,’’ you reply, blushing.

‘‘No I’m not,’’ he says sadly, fixing you a look. ‘‘I look monstrous, I know that… but thank you for saying it anyway.”

Shaking your head you reply, ‘‘Yes, you are! You’re gorgeous, Silus…. at least you are to me, anyway,’’ you mumble shyly, reaching over the table to grasp his hand and squeezing it briefly.

Silus blushes prettily, looking at your hands shyly. Turning his hand around to clasp yours in a soft hold. ‘‘Thank you,’’ he says, sounding choked.

Hoping to distract him, you ask ‘‘So.. Is Ayaan a good friend of yours?’’

‘‘Oh yeah,’’ he replies shaking his head as if coming out of a daze, ‘‘I met him through Rowan.’’

‘‘And Rowan is? And why is he upset that he’s not here?’’ You ask raising a brow.

Chucking he replies, ‘‘Sorry, Rowans my flatmate and he’s upset because he thinks I’m probably going to make a fool of myself and he’s not here to see it…’’

‘‘Oh. Well... you haven’t, so he’s not missing anything,’’ you smile. “Is it his night off then?’’ You ask.

Shaking his head, ‘‘Nope, he would usually be working now but he’s gone home to West Oaks to attend one of his sister's wedding.’’

‘‘West Oaks? That’s where your from too right?’’ You ask.

Nodding, ‘‘Yeah... we grew up together, best friends since school. Neighbours too. We were both the youngest of all our many siblings so we spent our childhood bemoaning our lot in life.’’ He had a fond smile on his face.

‘‘You have a lot of siblings?’’ You ask sipping at your drink.

‘‘Yep! I’m one of twenty-six.’’ He grins.

‘‘No. Way.’’ you reply, sputtering.

Laughing, Silus nods ‘‘Arachnids tend to lay a lot of eggs... Moths do too, actually, Rowan is one of thirty.’’

‘‘Oh wow! No wonder the two of you banded together,’’ You say stunned.

‘‘Yeah, so when Ro decided he wanted to move to the city, I told him I was coming with,’’ Silus chuckles.

‘‘And.. do you like it here?’’

‘‘Yeah, it’s nice,’’ he tells you nodding. ‘‘Very different from living rurally, of course, and I miss the forest sometimes, but there’s a lot of good things about living in the city.’’

Before you can reply to that, Ayaan is suddenly at your table with a massive grin on his face, startling you both. Silus jerks so badly four of his legs flick out causing Ayaan to snicker loudly.

‘‘You two looked liked you were having fun, so I thought I’d offer table service’’ he says putting another two drinks down on the table. ‘‘Drink up,’’ he says and salutes before strolling back to the bar. You see the gecko behind the bar shaking his head at Ayaan’s antics, catching your eye he gives you an apologetic look before turning to serve another customer.

‘He’s a character,’’ You laughingly say, looking back at Silus.

‘‘That’s one word to describe him,’’ he chuckles jokingly.

You and Silus spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing, as he tells you stories from his childhood and teenage years where he and Rowan would get themselves into trouble. You tell him some of your own stories in return, telling him of the shenanigans that you and your best friend regularly got up to.

The two of you are so absorbed in each other that you don’t realise how late it has gotten until you hear a loud bellow from the otherside of the bar. Glancing around you see that the place is now packed full of boisterous patrons and that you have somehow missed the fact there is now a live band on stage. Over by the pool tables there is a large minotaur and a small goblin having a tussle over a pool cue and a very large orc with a dark scowl, who is obviously security is headed their way. Behind the bar both the gecko and Ayaan are looking harried and have been joined by a harpy and some type of avian.

You and Silus come to a mutual agreement that it’s time to call it a night. As Silus leads the way out of the bar, the other patrons quickly shift out of his way and a few of them stare openly, looking wary. Whilst you enjoy the fact that no one is in your personal space and you have room to move, you also feel sad that people look at him like he might turn around and eat them. You glare fiercely at one particular customer that’s standing staring rudely open mouthed, seeing your scowl they suddenly about-turn and run in the opposite direction.

Outside, you take in a deep breath of fresh air, glad to be out in the quiet. Turning to Silus you see that he’s watching you, a soft smile on his face.

‘‘Is it always like that in there?’’ You ask.

Shaking his head in the negative he replies, ‘‘Not really. It only tends to get that busy at weekends.’’

Nodding, you began speaking only to stop suddenly seeing that another orc, who looks like the double of the one inside, working the door watching you both with a sly grin. Smiling awkwardly, you and Silus start walking in a random direction.

‘‘So... what were you going to say?’’ He asks as he looks down at you.

‘‘Oh,’’ you smile, ‘‘Just that I had a really good time tonight.’’

‘‘So did I,’’ Silus blushes. “Perhaps we could do this again sometime?’’

‘‘Definitely,’’ you grin.

‘‘Would you.. like a ride home?’’

‘‘You drive?’’ You ask incredulously, looking at his spider lower half trying to work out the logistics of that.

‘‘No...’’ he chuckles. “I meant would you like to ride me?’’

Looking at him wide eyed, you suddenly break down snorting in laugher. Confused Silus raises a questioning brow.

‘‘What?’’ He asks completely befuddled.

Trying to calm yourself, you breath in deeply and ask, “Ride you? Talk about innuendo...’’ you grin.

Frowning it takes him a second to register. “Oh! I didn’t mean…’’ he groans. ‘I just meant… um… never mind,’’ he says, shaking his head with cheeks flushed red in embarrassment.

‘‘Maybe another time,’’ you smile eyeing his large lower body. ‘I’ll take a taxi tonight.’’ You nod towards the taxi rank across the road.

‘‘Right, well. I guess I have to say goodnight then,’’ he replies, smiling wistfully.

Nodding, you glance between his eyes and mouth, getting the hint he leans down and stops a hair width distance giving you the opportunity to change your mind. You don’t. Closing the distance between you, your eyes close as your lips meet his.

A quick peck leads to another, and then another, before you know it your tongue is in his mouth and you’re carefully exploring his mouth, being mindful with his fangs. One of his hands cradles your head as the other traces patterns on your back. Both your hands start on his shoulders before slowly roaming downwards. As you reach the point where his human torso meets his spider half, you softly stoke him there, feeling his soft hair tickle your hands. Silus suddening pulls away, panting harshly.

‘‘We have to stop,’’ he gasps.

You nod, agreeing and inhaling deeply.

‘‘Text me when you’re home?’’ He asks, searching your face.

Promising him that you would, you wish him goodnight moving quickly and getting in the first taxi. Silus gives a wave as the taxi pulls away and you see him watching you until your no longer in sight. Sitting back in the seat, you touch your fingertips to your lips.

Wow. That was some kiss.

——————————————————————

That’s all folks. If you enjoyed this, please reblog. Comments/likes are always appreciated too. Thanks!

My Masterlist

[tracybirds]

The idea of John sending “care packages” as described in @gumnut-logic ‘s Thunderbird X fic (STILL SCREAMING ABOUT THAT BTW) has just CAPTURED ME so yeah :D Thanks for letting me play with the idea!!!

Fic covers time from just after the original explosion right through to 3x24, but obviously the events of 3x25 have influenced my choices so ya know... potential spoilers under the cut.

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

“He’s gone,” yells Gordon and John flinches back, his words striking a blow across twenty-two and a half thousand miles of space.

Gordon’s words aren’t meant for him, he’s screaming at Scott and John’s meant to be mediating, meant to help stand up for one and protect the other, but he’s struggling to hold onto reality in the wake of his father’s disappearance.

Death, he reminds himself.

He mutes the feed, unable to listen to his brothers fighting anymore, and pushes back from the holoprojector so that neither can see the way the tears are falling from his face as he watches his family break apart.

A quiet beep catches his attention and he pulls up the call.

“Are you okay?”

It’s Virgil. John wonders how he could possibly know, but then Virgil always seemed able to read John’s emotions better than he himself could.

He speaks quietly, sitting in the dim light of Alan’s bedroom and clasping their baby brother’s hand in his as he sleeps.

When John was Alan’s age, he had both his parents.

Virgil looks older, haggard and grave in a way that doesn’t suit the face of a young adult. It makes John feel impossibly young beside him.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he whispers. “He can’t be alive and he also can’t be gone.”

There’s a loud crash and Virgil winces at the sound.

“I should be saying something to them.”

“No, I’ll go,” says Virgil. “Stay on the line in case Alan wakes.”

He stays, watching the rise and fall of his brother’s chest. He doesn’t know what Virgil says to his brothers but he returns later, his normally calm face stormy.

He doesn’t ask.

The next morning John receives a call from Scott.

“Am I deluding myself? Is Gordon right?”

He hates himself for refusing to squash the desperate hope that is glinting madly in Scott’s eyes. He hates himself more for not wanting to face the cold, objective truth that his Dad was gone. He’s always prided himself on his ability to calmly accept the facts that were and not the ones he wished could be. Now though, John has run out of faith in science, his foolish insistence that the universe could be catalogued into a semblance of order has been overturned by the chaos of an explosion over the Pacific Ocean. His head and heart can no longer agree on reality and John is disorientated by the endless questions that pierce him from the planet below.

“Do you think there’s any hope?”

John doesn’t know what he believes anymore, is tongue-tied in the realm of uncertainty.

“There’s always hope.”

And he finds deep down he believes in his own words. He reaches out to record a message, one to throw away, hoping that this awful, indefinite desperation might be flung out into space along with it if he lets it go far enough.

A high band frequency, a carefully chosen timeslot when he’s certain his message won’t interfere with – or be intercepted by – the radio telescopes on the Earth below, and his own trembling voice on loop.

“Calling Zero-X from Thunderbird Five, Colonel Jeff Tracy, do you copy?”

He stifles a sob in his throat.

“Please respond.”

Alone in space, his final message, his final hope, left Thunderbird Five with as powerful a signal as John could configure. He makes a programme to send his message out to the stars, embeds it into Five’s core so it can repeat whenever the conditions are right, a lonely cry for his father to come home.

Ten months later, Scott calls him down from Thunderbird Five and for the first time they discuss the future and not the past. The subroutine is lost, buried deep within Five and John chooses to forget the constant radio fluctuations that propagate into deep space from his home.

***

EOS stretches out and explores her new home often. John is yet to get tired of her insistent questions and he loves that she prefers to ask him instead of searching for the information on her own. The quirk is a lack of efficiency that tells John how much she trusts him.

He can’t deny the way his heart leaps whenever he’s given the opportunity to teach her about something new, even if he sometimes struggles to put the abstract concepts of emotion into terms she can understand.

“John, why do you continue to transmit to your father after he is gone?”

John frowns. He speaks often to his mother and father as he stares out into the stars and he’s already discussed this with EOS, pushing through the exhaustion and the tears as he explained what it meant to miss someone, what it meant to grieve.

He’s too tired to explain all over again.

��We’ve talked about this before.”

“No,” she insists. Before he can reply, his own voice fills the station, wet and rubbed raw in a way that shoots straight into his heart.

John freezes. Sometimes EOS doesn’t realise what her innocent questions do, the way they can send a spike of adrenaline shooting through his body and engage the section of his brain which wants to run and hide from a reality he’s given up on. He’s back in that moment of desperation five years ago, the recording made in a haze of grief and endless hope that he’d never really relinquished.

He opens his mouth to speak, but instead he sobs, synchronised with the artificial sound of his own voice.

He sounds young.

The recording dies away as EOS observes him and that only makes him cry harder, to see her small developments in emotional sensitivity. He taught her that, the same way his Mom and Dad taught him and he can see the aspects of his life that his Dad doesn’t know, will never know stretching out in front of him.

“I’m sorry, John,” says EOS. “I did not mean to cause you distress.”

“You didn’t know,” he gasps. “I had forgotten about it.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Yes.”

And he does. She already knows the facts, less than half a second has returned more results than any of them could wish for about his death, but he can give her something more.

She’s silent and turns the new data over as she examines it’s effect.

“I do not understand. Your father is dead. You knew this when you made the recording. You know this now. Your actions are illogical.”

There’s an ache in his chest but it has kindled something greater in his heart.

“Sometimes EOS, things happen that we don’t understand, that we can’t understand. We can accept the reality given or we can search for an alternative.”

“You delude yourselves to make your feelings less significant and have less impact on your life.”

“No, EOS,” said John with a tired smile. “We hope.”

She doesn’t understand yet, he can see that. He doesn’t fully understand it either.

Later that night, he lies in bed and allows his fingers to pull apart the code embedded in Thunderbird Five. He stares at the small subroutine, still running perfectly after all these years.

He has a choice to make, he knows that. It’s a choice they’ve all faced at one point or another – whether or not to keep searching. He glances over at the digital frame, cycling through the familiar sight of his family. His breath catches as he sees the photos he’d added to the collection only a few short weeks ago, of Gordon pushing both Scott and Virgil into the pool only to be shoved in turn by Kayo on the next image. He wishes his Dad could see where they all were now, wishes there was someway to let him know they were okay. He searches for the star that he’d chosen as a representative of his father, but the seasons are wrong and it is lost behind the glare of the Sun.

His hand hovers over the programme he’d built to outlast his grief, hesitating as he considers shutting it down. He doesn’t know why it is so hard, to sever the last remaining link of a delusion. But he needs to talk to his father, wants it so badly he might be sick. He’s not ready to let go and so instead, he encrypts a single photo and adds it to the message.

***

He updates and replace the addition to his message regularly. It’s become a habit, an addiction to the idea that even if his Dad is gone that there might still be a way to communicate with him. It’s illogical, but EOS says nothing when he sits down every month or so to share the events of his life with his dead father.

He doesn’t add much to the message, conscious of the need for privacy in case his cries are ever intercepted, acutely aware of the fact that not once has he mentioned to his family what he is broadcasting into space.

He just can’t seem to stop.

He sends a copy of Gordon’s speech at his graduation the previous year from the boarding school he’d attended.

Virgil’s landscape series of paintings.

A photo of Scott scowling as Gordon crashed in on him getting ready for a date.

“Alan can drive now,” he tells him with a shocked laugh. “I trust him in a plane, but the thought of Alan in a car is terrifying, he has no concept of speed limits.”

If his Dad has to remain absent for the rest of their lives, John can’t imagine a place he’d rather find him than amongst the stars. It had been his Dad who had taught him the constellations, how to navigate, how to survive in the emptiness. He’d loved his universe too deeply for the inky black to scare him. He never liked to be alone out there though, the solitude grating in a way it wasn’t for John, and so the updates continue. He doesn’t want his father to feel alone.

A scientific paper, with Gordon’s name written on it, describing the new taxonomy of Europanian life.

Shyly, he adds a photo of himself and Ridley to the message a few months later. Even if he doesn’t want to talk about it with the rest of his family, not yet, he can tell someone about how nervous he feels about letting someone new into his life. His Dad had always understood that about him.

It’s on his enforced downtime when the music begins to float as gently through the space station as John did. He smiles, recognising the melody of one of Virgil’s favourite pieces.

It had been one of the first modifications he’d made to Thunderbird Five, one of many of which his brothers were unaware. An automatic audio uplink, a connection between Five and their mother’s piano, that relayed the music his brother chose to perform for himself. It provided a tangible link, not just to Tracy Island, but to Virgil himself. He knew from the music whether or not his brother needed a listening ear.

Right now, the music is soft and at peace and John is glad to hear it. With the recent introduction of the Chaos Crew in their lives, his brother deserves whatever peace he can find.

“EOS, make a recording,” he calls softly. He floats serenely above his beloved Earth, the feeling of contentment spreading warm from his chest.

“Wish you could hear this Dad,” he whispers as he updates his message that he’s sent to the stars.

He can see the binary system of Spica in the distance, the star his father had pointed to all those years ago and gently told him that his mother was watching over him from there. He hadn’t known at the time that the one star was really two, and he can’t think of a place his Dad would rather be than with his Mom.

It’s the last time he updates his father for a long while, the work of International Rescue taking over their lives as they struggle to adapt to the disregard for human life the Chaos Crew presents. It’s as discouraging to see as it is exhausting, and John doesn’t have the time or the energy to entertain a fantasy that’s now old enough to be in elementary school.

“Cranial contusion, concussion, vertebral compression fractures, compound radial fracture, spiral femoral fracture, and a shattered patella.”

John reads the list aloud as clinically as he can manage given the image of his younger brother is floating in front of his vision as he speaks. He takes a deep, shuddering breath trying desperately to compose himself for the next words he will speak.

“Dad, we know you’re out there somewhere. We miss you. Please know we won’t stop looking and we will find you.”

He updates the looped message for one final time. In three weeks, Scott will have had enough time to realise his brother’s home doubles as the most powerful communication satellite in the Solar System, and now they have a target to aim for.

He shuts down the programme.

***

He doesn’t stop speaking to his father. He is no longer is speaking to a dead man to update him on the lives of his children once a month, but instead trying to co-ordinate the relentless demands of a family, desperate to reach out to a living father, son, friend, loved one.

It’s changed every facet of their lives.

“Hey, are you transmitting right now John? Hey Dad! We’re all out here saving the world! Except Johnny of course. He’s busy bossing us around. Imagine if he’d been born first instead of Scott, he’d be insufferable.”

“I’m not sending him that,” scowls John. He can see the way Gordon pouts on the holoscreen, can read the disappointment behind the levity. He sends the file.

Alan doesn’t want to make a recording, wants to speak to his father himself, but he settles for ‘leaving a voicemail’ from Thunderbird Five. He insists on flying up to John, collapsing in his brother’s arms and confiding his anxieties before making his call.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” he whispers, and John’s heart breaks.

“He loved you then, he loves you now, and he will love you again,” John murmured into his baby brother’s hair. “Go on sprout, tell him what’s been happening.”

Alan sends him his latest report card, a photo of him and Bran, and the leaderboards for his favourite video games. He tells his father about how they work and why he likes them and how much he loves working for International Rescue. His father won’t see the way Alan’s eyes light up when he speaks of his legacy but John does and he has to hold back tears as he watches his brother, so kind and enthusiastic and growing up fast. He has to hold back his tears a lot these days.

Gordon’s been smiling ever since they found out for sure, his face threatening to crack under the strain. He sends an updated list of dad jokes to “make sure you’re prepared for when you next see us” and also a photo of him standing on the Olympic podium. There’s a scan of a notebook that John’s never seen before, containing signatures of every kid Gordon’s ever rescued.

He only sends one audio file, a whispered apology for giving up that John knows his father has already forgiven.

Virgil sends music. He records every one of his Dad’s old favourites and tells John to blast them into space. He also sends hours of one sided conversations, not trusting his written words to reach across the billions of miles. John doesn’t listen to them, knowing how Virgil has needed this release, full of pent up emotions and years of biting his tongue and chasing after Scott.

Scott has made it his life mission to bring their father home and as soon as he understands the implications of being able to send a message back, he changes. He doesn’t want the responsibility of his siblings bearing down on him now that it doesn’t have to be that way forever and he makes the shift from commander to number one before they even have a viable way to get to him. It doesn’t matter. Scott won’t trust himself to emotion, not after eight long years of weary pain, and he sends only mission reports and status updates. John’s not sure if Scott’s struggling to keep his hope alive after all these years, or if his life has really become so consumed by his work without any of them noticing.

He sends his own apology to his father after that.

And then one day, Brains makes the call.

A matter of days, John repeats to himself again and again, as he struggles to keep his mind on the rescue at hand. His brothers are scrambling into their gear and he knows he only has a few precious minutes. “EOS, take over for a sec,” he said. “Call me as soon as they’re in the air.” “FAB John.” He hit the ground running as the gravity ring began to spin. “Dad,” he said, his voice breathless as he began the final recording that he would send into the far reaches of the solar system. “Dad, I don’t know if you can hear us. But if you get this, you need to know. We’re coming. We’re on our way to you right now. When you listen to this message, we’ll be there. We’ll be there. This is Thunderbird Five, signing off.”

[omgviolette12]

Dark Morning - part 3

Previous Chapter

An AU Loki fic

Summary:  Lita sourly regretted going to his office. She should’ve stayed home, to work on her manuscript. Then she would head out to the daycare, and watch her cute little son play for a bit. Live in her ignorant bubble. But no, she just had to make him lunch, didn’t she?

Chapters: 3/3

Pairing: Loki/Original Character

Words: 1662

Warning: Angst, Implied/Referenced cheating

Tags: @voila-tout @caffiend-queen

I hope this was a satisfying end :)

Read it here on AO3 as well!

I listened to this song as I wrote,

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IHEGzsyzr1w

I hope it fits!

———

Although her eyes were closed, she could sense that he was watching her through the door.

Lita had been in the hospital for a week now, and she slowly but surely gained back some of her energy. Although, she still felt ridiculously sluggish and weak.

A part of her never wanted to recover, however. If it meant she had to see Loki again...she honestly wasn’t sure if she could survive it.

Her heart was still in shambles, his words from a week ago tearing her further a part. How he only loved her. That it was just “meaningless sex.” It made her sick to the core.

But for the sake of Uri...she had no choice but to confront him. He was the father of their child, and she had to speak with him eventually no matter how much it may hurt.

She opened her eyes, and turned to Thor who played idly with Uri in the seat beside her bed. He was a frequent visitor, with Frigga dropping by on occasion. She thought that she’d prefer some solitude but...she appreciated them, despite everything.

“Tell…him to come...in.” She said in between breaths. Her body was still in somewhat of a stupor, so she could only say a few words at a time.

Thor paused, and looked at her with a surprised expression.

“Lita, are you certain? You still haven’t…”

“I need...to do this.”

Thor still looked unsure, but he adhered to her wishes, holding Uri to bring him outside, “...I’ll call him over, then.”

When Loki entered, she could tell that he barely slept a wink, his pallor sickly with dark shadows underneath his eyes. She found it almost funny, that he looked as heartbroken as she did.

“...Lita, I…”

She wanted to say something. But her throat constricted, trapping the words before they could escape. Because all she saw whenever she looked at him, was a man that gave himself to someone else. A sordid memory.

She revisited the scene in his office so much in her head that she no longer felt rage, or sadness. She was just...hollow.

Lita merely pointed vaguely to the seat beside her, remaining silent.

Loki took her cue, and moved to take the seat offered. A beat of silence passed as they stared at each other, and he contemplated what to say to her. He rehearsed this moment so many times that he dreamt about it, what he could say to gain her forgiveness.

But before he could ponder any further, her quiet voice finally broke the silence.

“...I’m so tired,”

He stared at her as she spoke, swallowing.

“I’m so tired...of everything. Too tired to hate, to feel sad. To think.”

“Even...before you did what...you did. This feeling...was always there.”

“Sometimes I would just... look in the mirror...and...not know who I was looking at...or..who’s looking at me.”

“I...became a stranger to you, didn’t I? My tiredness, my hopelessness... it led you astray. I became a burden... to escape. I tried so hard to hide it...to smile, and be happy. But...I failed.”

She closed her eyes, leaning back into the bed, “If it wasn’t for Uri…I would’ve jumped... from the window in our room.”

Loki recoiled visibly. His face was wet with tears.

“Stop...don’t talk like that. Stop it.”

“It’s...just the truth. I wish...I told you how I felt, much...much earlier. I wish I wasn’t so scared...”

“Lita...please listen to me. I am the one in the wrong. It was a moment of weakness, a grave mistake. The problem lies solely with me,”

“Then...for how long...did it go on for? For you to realize…it was a mistake? What was it...before then? It was a choice...right?”

“A choice you made, despite the life...we built with each other. There was a reason...why you slept with her. Instead of just...talking to me.”

Loki’s head hung low, his body drenched in defeat.

“..I’m sorry. I’m so...so sorry,”

In all the years they’d been together, she’d never heard him cry. Not like this.

“I’m willing...to do anything to make up for this,”

He looked up, eyes red and narrowed. Determined.

"Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. If you want me to leave you be… then I’ll leave. If I am to stay by your side at all times, then I’ll do so. You.. you probably won’t ever trust me again. But for the sake of all the years we spent together, for our son, please...give me a chance to make up for this. Please…”

She stared at him, eyes wide.

“It hurts... just to look at you.”

“I..I know.”

“Even if...I somehow forgave you...I won’t ever see you...the same way...”

“I know…”

“I might...hurt you, remind you...again and again...of what you did…”

“I...know.”

“I’ll always compare...myself to that woman. What she had… and I didn’t.”

“ She could only satisfy one aspect, and one aspect only. She, or anyone else can’t compare to you. I’ve released her from her position, and I’ve been working from home this past week. I won’t ever see her again.”

“You’ll…get tired of me - “

“ - I won’t get tired of you. I was never tired of you...I was just too greedy. ”

“I don’t believe... you. Empty...promises.”

“I know...and I don’t expect you to. I’ll just have to show you. That from now on, my promises...are far from empty.”

She did not reply after that, and just looked at him.

He tried not to shrink underneath her cold, scrutinizing gaze. But her silence made him nervous, causing him to fidget.

“Tomorrow...I’ll be discharged.”

She looked away from him then, staring straight ahead. “When we...get home. I want to be... alone.”

We.

Although she made no comment about his promises to redeem himself, his heart lifted in momentary hope. Granted, she still wanted nothing to do with him. But she wanted to return home. To the home they shared together.

“...I understand, Lita..”

______________________

The weeks following were practically torturous for Loki.

When she arrived home that first day, she barely looked in his direction, and only spoke to him if it related to Uri.

She obviously didn’t want to share a bed with him, so he took it upon himself to move elsewhere.

Thankfully they had two guest rooms in the house, so he relocated to the one upstairs.

Although Loki wanted to give Lita more space, more air to breathe, it made him incredibly anxious if she was by herself for too long. What she told him that day in the hospital haunted him. That she wanted to end her own life…

The night before she returned, he went home and immediately bolted that window shut.

But even with that, the worries for her safety continued to plague him.

So despite himself, Loki slowly began to hover over her. Even if he wasn’t so overly concerned for her wellbeing… he missed her dearly.

It was subtle. He never came too close that she would be uncomfortable, or notice him right away. If she was reading in the living room on the couch, he would stand by the door, watching silently. When she wanted to take a walk in the park with Uri, he’d wait a few minutes after she’d leave the house, and followed behind them a reasonable distance away.

Loki loved the way the breeze would sway her hair, how the sunlight would glisten her eyes. He loved the way she smiled when she played with their son. If only he could see it up close once more.

They ate and prepared meals separately now. Because on the second day that Lita came home and he cooked dinner for them and Uri, he found the entirety of her food dumped in the bin. Untouched. He understood, but it hurt nonetheless.

Lita never spoke to him directly, since their exchange in the hospital. If she needed to tell him something, she would leave simple, to the point notes.  He kept them all in a drawer close to his bed. They were far from love-letters, but he found whatever words she addressed to him precious.

This went on for almost two, long years. His hovering. Her coldness. His yearning.

But after two years, he finally saw a glimmer of hope.

It started on his birthday, her small change in behavior.  He’d woken up to a delicious aroma that wafted up the stairs from the kitchen, so he went down slowly, cautiously.

As always, he hovered by the kitchen door, just watching. Lita was flipping pancakes by the stove, swaying to the beat of her humming. And Uri, now four years old, sat at the table with a cushion underneath his bum, yogurt smeared on his cheeks as he ate. The scene was warm and beautiful, yet it tortured him so. Because he knew he was not welcome.

“...You’re awake,”

Loki stuttered back in alarm, not expecting to hear her voice. She knew he was there?

"I could feel your brooding presence for a minute now," She turned to look at him then, her skin glowing, her eyes bright. "Stop standing there and come sit."

Loki was still a bit shocked, so there was a delay in reaction. She didn't wait for him to move from his spot, and went back to cooking.

He made his way slowly, sitting down at the table apprehensively.

When she turned around from the stove once more, she had a plate of fluffy, hot pancakes.

"You look so worried," she walked to the table, placing the plate of pancakes in front of him, "It's just pancakes, Loki." There was a playful tint to her tone, a small, barely there smile on her face.

Loki looked up at her, eyes wide. He pinched himself discreetly underneath the table. Surely, this must be a dream.

Lita didn't stay by his side at the table much longer, moving to the far end to sit with Uri.

Loki looked down at his plate. The pancakes were fluffy, whipped cream on top, drizzled in strawberry syrup. His absolute favorite.

He picked up the fork to section the pancake, before taking a small bite.

He closed his eyes to stop the tears from breaking through. Because the taste filled with love... was just as he remembered.

[lemonz-and-limez]

Grief

NOTE: This is sad, dealing with topics such as death and grief. See me down below for a longer than usual Author’s Note

Sheldon ran his hands across his face as if trying to wipe the exhaustion away. He’d stopped crying ten minutes ago; however, now all he could feel was nothing. It felt like a bottomless dark pit in which he was alone. Where his voice echoed off of the obscurity and right back into his face. Where the all-consuming darkness was really the magnitude of the situation weighing down so heavily on his mind that he just decided to stop feeling.

He’d been there for his mother. He hugged her, cried with her. Grieved with her. He’d done the same with his sister. And his brother, and his aunts and his uncles. He drained his emotions in their grief. He allowed himself that. But in the end, there was nothing left for him.

No hugs.

No shared tears.

No mutual grief.

He was left to his own devices, and his own deep, dark, humiliatingly depressing grief.

No one batted an eye when he quietly left the room to escape to the hospital garden. He’d cried for almost an hour, and no one came looking for him. He’d found his solitude amongst flora and fauna of the small Medford medical center.

Normally, Sheldon would relish in his isolation. But MeeMaw was dead, and he was alone.

Alone with seemingly no one to turn to for comfort.

Tears came rushing back to his eyes in a torrent. He hated this. Losing his dad felt similar, but at fourteen, Sheldon could look to his mother for support. She was there every step of the way to guide him through his heartache.

But this was MeeMaw, she was different. Her love was overwhelming; not just for Sheldon, but for his mother alike. This death felt like physical pain, he couldn’t imagine what it was doing to his mother.

When Sheldon held his mother right outside of his grandmother’s hospital room, it was almost as if he could feel her coming apart in his hands. He told her the news that MeeMaw had passed and Mary had nearly collapsed as if her legs had become putty. She let out a wail so loud it almost sounded inhumane. Her hand gripped the chain of her cross necklace so hard that it snapped in two. And through it all, Sheldon held his mother; letting her transfer her grief to him.

Mary had let her grief manifest because that was all she could do. Thankfully she had someone right there with her to guide her through it. Yet, Sheldon let his rip him up inside. Every tear he shared with his family was a crack in the dam he had built up in the week MeeMaw was in the hospital. Every hug felt like little pickaxes tearing away at its walls.

And yet, through it all, Sheldon felt like he couldn’t unleash his misery on anyone as he had let everyone else. He’d had family when his dad died, but his current family was all the way in California. Sleeping, utterly unaware of what was happening. And his wife, bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, was less than a mile away in a hotel room. Right where he left her when he got the call at 1:30 in the morning.

Yes, he was alone, but in most ways, he brought it upon himself. And those tears that had resurfaced just moments earlier spilled over his cheeks. Sucking what little moisture Sheldon had left in his body, out.

He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands. Once again letting the black abyss consume him once more.

Suddenly, through the darkness, a light shimmered in the dark. The illumination nearly blinded his pain, and he felt a momentary calm come over him. Snapping his head up, he came face to face with his Amy. The one constant he could count on.

Her eyes, like so many of his family, were glossed over with pain. But this pain was clearly meant for him.  He was hurting, she was his wife, in turn, she too was feeling pain. For him.

She had placed a hand gently on his shoulder. It was the lightest of touches, but it snapped whatever resolve he hand left in him. He buried his face in her midsection and held on tightly to her waist.

And just like that, he allowed himself the right to grieve. Melting in Amy’s arms and she reached down and pulled him up into a hug. He let his chin come to rest on her shoulder, and his tears slid down onto the soft cotton of her shirt. His hands stayed stationary on her waist, holding her a little too tight. His body shook as he let the death of his dearly departed grandmother wash over him.

His lips quivered with every exhale and every time, Amy’s grip on him tightened. “Shhh, it’s ok, sweetheart,” she whispered in his ear as she rocked him back and forth. Just like his mama had when daddy died.

Eventually, he sobs dwindled into nothingness, and all that was left was the vibration of his body as shivers coursed through him. Amy ran her hands gently down his neck and pulled him back. She wiped away two tears that had stuck to his face with her thumbs.

“I’m sorry,” she consoled, continuing to stroke his jawbone with her fingers. Yet, with no energy left in him to cry, all he could do was nod. “Your mother called me,” Amy announced after a brief moment of silence. “Told me what happened and that she hadn’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah,” Sheldon mumbled in reply, wincing slightly at how hoarse his voice was.

“She also said that you weren’t allowing yourself to grieve.”

Sheldon’s head sunk. Even though he wasn’t intentionally trying to, he caused his mother even more distress. He thought that because he wept with those wept that he’d done his part. Even though he had two Ph.Ds. and a Nobel he still failed at social cues and responses. In his head, he’d done everything right, but all he wanted was for it to be his turn.

Amy continued. “She told me that your aunts and uncles tried to comfort you, but you would just cry silently as they held you.”

That glint of deep concern returned to Amy’s face. “Why aren’t you letting them help you?” She asked, running her hands up and down his arms in question.

Sheldon sunk back against the bench behind him, exhausted. Honestly, now that he was being questioned about it, he didn’t know. Everyone in the family knew of Sheldon and Constance’s bond, so, why would Sheldon think they expected something from him first. If there was something his mother’s side was not, it was selfish. It was insulting to them for him to think that they expected something from him first.

“I talked to them before I came down here, they want to help you, Sheldon,” Amy said, sitting next to him on the bench and wrapping an arm around him. “Let them help you because the next few months are going to hurt like hell.”

“It already hurts like hell,” he mumbled.

Amy squeezed him tighter. “I know it does, so, let your family help because they’re the only people that are feeling this just the same as you are.”

Sheldon lifted his head to look at her, his eyes starting to feel the weight of exhaustion. “Will you help me?”

“You don’t even have to ask that, because you know I will!” Amy choked out, leaning over to kiss him on his tear-stained cheek. As soon as her lips left his skin, she immediately wiped any residue away with her knuckles.

She stood up before him and extended her hand. “Come on,” she beckoned. “Your mother is worried.”

Sheldon let his wife guide him through the corridors and hallways of the hospital to the waiting room where his family was congregated. His mother was the first to jump up, and even as she enveloped him in a hug, Sheldon refused to let go of Amy’s hand. He needed her to anchor him, to not allow him to collapse under the chaos.

Grief was messy and complicated, but Amy had helped him get over his fear of things that were messy and complicated. With her at his side, he knew he could get to the other side of this long dark tunnel. He wouldn’t exit the same man as he had entered, but rather a stronger one. But he needed his mother, sister, brother, friends, and family.

But he needed what outshined all of them. He needed his constant.

He needed Amy.

A/N: I feel like I own an explanation. This last month has been absolutely insane for me. both physically and emotionally. This Wednesday will mark the one year anniversary of a death in my family and that’s what I am going to blame for this messy one-shot.

I have been keeping up with all the amazing work you guys have been doing.  Those of you who have stuck with this fandom and put out some amazing content, I truly do appreciate it, and will be trying harder to show it. 

Now that I am starting to find equilibrium again, I am truly happy to be back. Thank you for reading this ridiculously long (and most likely annoying) authors note.

[docholligay]

Unshot Arrow

This is for Day 1 of Angstober: Alone, but also it was requested by @yamadara87 who asked for Nana’s first loop in the cycle. Revue Starlight is still pretty new writing territory for me, so I hope it’s what you’d like! 

“An arrow can only go forward by being drawn back first,” her teacher had said, smiling kindly over Nana’s disappointments, “so I wouldn’t worry too much. You’ll fly forward, Nana.” 

She had not known, at that moment, how to respond. She hadn’t been asking Ms. Miyamoto about her own prospects for the stage, not really. She was comfortable where she was at, in the middle of the pack, loved by all, helpful and compliant. But she had seen the darkened faces around her, and she had the rough shadow of her classmates’ leaving cast over her, and she wanted to know how to keep others close. How to have everything she had last year. The idea of anyone else leaving was intolerable, they were Nana’s home and family and happiness. 

But she hadn’t known how to say those things, so she nodded, smiled, and left, tears trickling down her face as she walked down the hallway. Ms. Miyamoto had given her no answers, no help,  no way to stop the slow chiseling away of those she held so dear. A shudder drew through her as she imagined graduating, working in different theaters, living separate lives. 

She’d found the answer in the basement. 

On reflection, many years later, Nana would realize that in holding everyone back, she had done no favors to anyone but herself, for she had finally tapped into what it was to truly want, to fight and challenge and win. She had found a way to seek Position Zero, instead of everyone’s love. 

But now, her wish granted for the very first time, Nana Daiba was feeling very satisfied with herself. She would have her Starlight, in exactly the way she had wanted it, all the beats playing out the same way, the stage directions familiar, the lines just as she remembered them. 

“Don’t stay here just because you feel sorry for me,” Junna scowled at her over her glasses, “I chose to stay here until I graduate. I’m focused.” 

It was what she had said before, it was what she would say every single time, but this first time, Nana almost forgot her lines. She stepped back, hurt. Hadn’t she and Junna been through so much together over the past year? Didn’t Junna know that she loved nothing more than spending time with her, that Junna was as uptight as Nana was relaxed, that they complimented each other, that she was one of the few people who could always make Junna smile? 

Of course not. The arrow was drawn back, right where it had started. 

So, Nana smiled. 

“Of course not! I like being here!” 

Junna looked at her a moment, as if about to disbelieve her, and Nana brought out her phone, with the same picture she had on that same day, and showed it to her. 

“Do you want some udon? I was going to get some, and it looks so good!” 

Junna smiled. Junna would always smile, when she said that, and she was always smiling for the first time. Nana was the only repeat actor, a specialist who had trod these boards before. 

She wondered, as they sat outside, talking about Starlight, and how Nana wanted to do it again, about what Karen said. 

“Even if all the actresses are the same, the show will be different!” She laughed, excited, in the way Karen always was, “That’s just theater, Nana!” 

But no, it wasn’t, because the giraffe had promised her, that they would repeat the year. Things would be the way they were before, so long as she remembered her lines. And she would, she would remember what she had always done, and keep doing it. If she was the same, the show would be the same. The show she wanted, always. 

And it was. 

Maya cornered her, again and for the first time, telling her she was good-looking, and could sing, and could dance, and why was she holding back? What was the secret she was hiding? 

She was right, as she had been before Nana had known it, but she was right differently this time. She had aiming for love, and now she aimed for secrecy, her greatness only a thing to be kept in that dark basement theater, the light only shining on her when she was defending her right to keep them all safe, to keep them all with her. 

Maya didn’t remember that they had fought. Maya had said what a worthy and good opponent she was, and Nana almost failed, almost flubbed her lines, as she went to remind Maya of all that had transpired. The stage had obeyed Nana, and Maya had gotten the sort of defeat she secretly wanted, a genuine besting of her immense talents. 

They had become close, in those moments. Maya favored her with a rare smile. A nod of her head that spoke to echoes and avenues of respect. 

But all that was forgotten, now, as she once again growled at Nana the truth of her own talent and her suspicions about Nana’s motivations. They were together, again, and an arrow can only go forwards by being drawn back, and back, and back. Nana told herself that, as all of the respect and love she remembered was absent from Nana’s face. 

Things were the same. The same roles, the same lines, the same steps that were walked, again, Nana fighting for them to be walked, again. 

And she was happy. No one could leave her now, not while she had discovered this fire, not while the giraffe had to offer her the same bargain, the one she would always take. Nana would never know what it was to be alone, not ever and not again, because her again would always be the same. 

She knew, somehow, that she could keep winning. That was the role, too, to hide in the shadows of the Starlight stage and shine against the bright curtain of the dueling stage, never telling anyone that secret she held so close to her heart that she felt she might nearly burst of it. 

It was her joy, wasn’t it? It was what she asked for. 

Yes, it was what she wanted, she remembered, as they tried on those same costumes, and as the costuming girl stuck her with a pin again, in the same place as before, but thae pain was new, now, wasn’t it, because she had been looking for it, and maybe Karen had been right when she said you could have the same actors on the same stage doing the same play, and there would always be something...different. 

No, the pain wasn’t new, she told herself, it was only that she’d forgotten it. We all forget a line, don’t we? No actor is perfect, not the second time or the twenty-second, and it was just that she’d forgotten, and it had been picked up just as easily, so there was no matter. 

The joy wasn’t dulled when she surprised the girls with a meal, laid out for all of them, and they were excited, and told her the things she knew they would say, and patted her on the shoulder the same way. No, it was just as exciting as the first time, and she had gotten the recipes more right this time, she hadn’t broken the mayonnaise when she was mixing it, the seasoning had been stronger on the potatoes, and so, if anything, it had been more joyful. 

It was like listening to a song more than once in a row, she told herself. Joy on joy on joy, ever after. 

It was nothing that her classmates did not seem to know her, the way they would at the end. She just had to wait. Nana was good at being patient, and she was good at having a certain sense of solitude. She’d wandered the halls, that first time (and certainly would this time, as well, because you had to do the lines, and you had to do the blocking) alone, taking pictures of those classrooms and halls and practice areas she loved. That were filled with the people who valued her. 

There is no pain like being alone, and Nana had saved them all from the trouble of it. Those arrows that shot off could go anywhere, but they never went together. They flew into the sky and then off by themselves, some going where they meant to, plenty of them not, but none of them as safe and together as they had been in that quiver, nestled against the others. 

IT was bright, and it was known, and it was all that she had asked the giraffe for, and he understood, and it was perfect. 

Only, halfway through the semester, Nana looked up at the sky, at those ever-constant stars, and wondered. Did they ever feel lonely? No, of course not, because they were all together and eternal. Eternal, together. All of them. What would it be like, if only one of them stayed, if only one of them remembered every conversation and meal, if only one of them laughed at the jokes before they were finished, if only one of them carried the joy and the burden of everything that happened year to year? 

She looked at the stars again, wondering if one of them understood what it was, to be together and utterly alone. 

Nana wanted to be here. She still did, she still wanted to have the year of joy and happiness and know that no one would leave, no one would fail to return, so long as she kept dueling, so long as she kept that fire inside her. She could win the auditions again. She would. It was already beginning, and a bow is built the same way every time, built like a stage, arcing out into the audience, set in a curve that never wavers. She had won the same duels, her opponents had tripped in the same places, and she had burned with the same hot fire she knew lived in those stars. 

She was doing it for the girls. 

And then they would stay together, even as Nana was alone. Even as no one else remembered how much they all loved each other. 

They had learned it before, and they would learn it again, the same way they would learn their lines. She would know that warmth again, the warmth she had fought so hard for. She would win the auditions. 

And then she would draw the arrow back, again. And again. And again.