#T has kept me updated on everything important it’s fine

[wiser-girl]

Living up to my username tonight but since it’s our last shot at it ever <3 like to charge reblog to cast <3

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[manysmallhands]

Top 10 Albums of 2023!

This was all supposed to work out differently. As i recall from the now long distant past, my original plan was to do a countdown where i put up one post a day throughout December. However, I got Covid on December 1st and that plan immediately became lame and useless. After that, my assumption was basically that i wouldn't be able to do any of this, but i got better more quickly than i'd anticipated and found myself working on these reviews in bits as the month has gone on. So, having rushed through all the the song blurbs that i wanted to do, here i am on New Year's Eve with a more or less finished Top 10 albums to put up.

The only problem is that there are ten quite lengthy reviews here and the vibe is already pretty tl:dr. But tbh that's fine: there really is only my girlfriend who ever reads everything (and i believe her, trust is what love is all about after all) so for anyone looking at this and thinking blimey, that's a lot of text, my advice is: you don't have to read any of it. Just look at the albums, scan thru to see if it sounds like something you might like and give one or two of them a listen if that looks like the case. The words are really just to keep me occupied but i'd like to hope that someone likes some of the records.

I said yesterday that i would reveal what the best one is and so I am now delivering on that important promise. The best one is Scarlet by Doja Cat. Anyone who follows me on whatever platform already knows that the best one is Scarlet by Doja Cat. Don't make me say it again.

Barbie - The Album

Few people have seemed much interested in the Barbie soundtrack, other than the punters who kept it atop the compilations chart for four months. I, as ever, channel the spirit of the populous. The sound is basically 80s synth pop updated for a modern audience  - the likes of Haim and Ava Max slot in predictably well - but its the extra dimensions created by how the artists interact with the film that provide some of its more interesting aspects. Sam Smith’s Man I Am reflects a surprisingly LGBTQ Ken despite protestations (certainly its "I'm not gay bro, but..." T-shirt is prompting a lot of questions already answered by the shirt), while Billie Eilish dwelling on life as a manufactured product makes for interesting and uncomfortable parallels in What Was I Made For. Mark Ronson’s plasticky production suits its subject to a tee, further cementing the conceptual unity of the project.

Star turns abound throughout the album as A-listers like Dua Lipa and Lizzo bring their best games alongside some terrific and unlikely downcard cameos. What Was I Made For? and Dance The Night were both deserved #1s, but the pacey pop punk of GAYLE’s Butterflies and Dominic Fike’s breezy, hook laden Hey Blondie are as much highlights as any of the bigger names here. Special mention should be made for Ryan Gosling’s I’m Just Ken, a blockbuster 70s rock number that, whilst puncturing the wider stylistic template, is batshit and hilarious enough to more than justify its place as well as netting him a surprise hit too. The quality lapses once or twice (Tame Impala in particular are bloody awful) but by the time Ava fires the final laser I’m generally happy to go back and start all over again. With banger after banger here, my verdict is in: the Barbie soundtrack is *Charli voice* HOT!

Claire Rosinkranz - Just Because

While this has been a year that I’ve gotten more fully into pop, it took a while for me to find many new albums that I’ve been interested in. This may partly be to do with me clinging to an idea that LPs ought to be substantial beyond having good hooks and charm. In truth, all I needed to do was revert to my indiepop training, where bands have never knowingly been fussed about having any great weightiness. But even so, it took Just Because to make it clear to me that no, you really don’t need any grand vision at all: a high number of great if frothy pop songs will do just fine. It’s a record which bounces from banger to banger in an endearingly sunny style, with each tune so catchy that their lightness becomes a strength rather than a weakness.

Rosinkranz’s voice seems to mark her out as one of the many Billie clones who populate the current pop scene but her musical ambitions are both simpler and more instantly engaging. Not yet 20, her songs have an element of schoolyard whispers which add a welcome silliness here and there, but she also plays with the intensity of youthful emotions to make them a little heartrending even as she goofs off. Highlights include Dreamer, a break up song where the vocal makes it clear that she’s far from as done as she says she is, and Wes Anderson, which offers some sombre advice but packages it in a song so sweet that you’d never know. But in spite of all this it makes no end of year lists (well, maybe just the one), being merely a lovable set of songs that are very hard to forget. Need it be more? I don't believe so.

Doja Cat - Scarlet

Mired in discourse throughout the year, Doja Cat still found time to make a chart topping single (Paint The Town Red) that took the world by storm and a cracking album which, sadly, did not. Scarlet was in my opinion the better of the two: largely ditching the afrobeat pop of Planet Her, Doja staked her claim as an old skool rapper and brought it off pretty well, mixing hard rhyming with her more scattershot pop delivery and sounding entirely comfortable wherever she landed. While flitting musically between modern RnB and neo-soul grooves, her subject matter was largely taken up by how much she hated her fans, a bold strategy that found her shedding support even as blistering tracks like Fuck The Girls shaped up as some of my favourites of the year.

Whilst I’ve found myself uncomfortable with both the company that she keeps and the views which she may or may not subscribe to (i feel safe in saying that she's a right wing edgelord but i suspect that’s the least of it), Scarlet is such a good album that I’ve found myself, if not making excuses for her, then at least deftly navigating around my distaste in order to keep listening to it. While Agora Hills often reminded me how serious she is about her scumbag of a boyfriend, it’s still a song that can submerge me in its beauty entirely; while some of the complaints from her online audience are less easily dismissed than others, it’s more comfortable just to think about the morons calling her a devil worshiper, especially when she mocks them so wickedly on the elegant Skull And Bones. Am I the problem? Maybe I am: it’s a place I often find myself in with hip hop, where faves are frequently problematic and exceptions beg to be made. As such, I can not wholeheartedly recommend this record to people who might want to take a principled stand against some of her bullshit. I can only say that, as a musical talent, there was no one better all year.

Lana Del Rey - Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Boulevard?

After 2021’s fairly middling brace of albums, Did You Know That There’s A Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd always felt like it was going to be a return to form and this time the faithful were not disappointed. It was another epic and sprawling record which unfolded like a cross between The Bible and a 50s musical. While changeable in style, ranging from hammy country ballads to trap beats and beyond, the thing that springs to mind most often is the Great American Songbook, as Lana takes the melodramatic grandeur of those standards and soaks them in her own messy and complicated worldview. This draws in family, romance, the future, her relationship with religion and how it all scrappily fits together, ranging widely and wildly across 75 extraordinary minutes.

Much of the album feels like it’s being broadcast from a kind of dreamworld, although one that overlays with reality neatly enough. Lana’s dismissive “if you want some basic bitch go to the Beverly Centre and find her” line undercuts the mood on the otherwise lush and evocative Sweet but the impact is hilarious rather than jarring, a perfect marriage of the strange and mundane. In contrast, the brooding A&W initially brings that realism to a far more uncomfortable level, before goofing off wonderfully in the second half in a way that only Lana ever really dares to do. Much of the record feels like it's creating its own language, as key phrases (“let the light in”, “when you know, you know”) are repeated and musical themes come back around in strange modulations. All in all, while perhaps less satisfying as a pop record than Norman Fucking Rockwell, Did You Know… feels like her most complete statement on a personal level yet, whilst still working well within the broader world that she’s spent over a decade constructing.

Mitski - The Land Is Inhospitable And So Are We

Despite liking the odd song or two, I have until now been largely immune to Mitski over the full length of an album. But The Land Is Inhospitable And So Are We has a much more organic sound than I’m used to hearing from her, well adrift from the polished guitar rock of her big 10s records. Instead, it takes many of its cues from classic folk and country, occasionally lush and expansive, often determinedly sombre but always at a distance from the areas where she’s generally been at home. Opener Bug Like An Angel is a brooding scene setter, where Mitski unveils the terse and grumpy presence we will grow familiar with over the next half hour. The main elements of the album are already in place - the spare instrumentation; Mitski’s extraordinary voice, hard and intransigent but still full of yearning; the occasional, overwhelming interjections from the wings. It all creates a distinctive atmosphere, extremely intense but intimate too: we’re allowed into Mitski’s world but there’s a lot to take in.

Lyrically, the songs are both heavily allusive and extremely personal, like hearing ancient parables told by the characters from the story. Surprise hit My Love Mine All Mine seems to sit apart as a relatively standard love song but a closer listen reveals deeper layers; the placing of her love as something independent from its object makes it feel more of a piece with the album’s other enigmas. At a time where Mitski seemed to be cooling on being a rock star, The Land Is Inhospitable adds a new twist to her long musical journey, seemingly presenting a more intimate portrait while in fact retaining most of her essential mystery. As an album, it really is quite something: what that is I’m less certain of but I like it regardless.

Olivia Rodrigo - Guts

Tho I wouldn't have called myself a hater (I don’t think I would have been bothered enough), I don't really like Olivia’s all conquering debut Sour, which I thought a bit too one-note and overpopulated with slushy ballads. But by the time Guts came around I was open to listening again, drawn in by its excellent singles and primed for a different experience. Vampire, the best of them and more or less of this year, was a fantastic example of taking something that Olivia is clearly very accomplished at (the grand piano lament) and then, rather than running that into the ground, instead using it as a springboard for an entirely different idea. Get Him Back and Bad Idea Right hark back to earlier guitar based tracks like Brutal, but on Guts they form a much more substantive part of the album, cementing its brand of addictive pop grunge and working up a much goofier version of her messy teen persona.

Elsewhere, the ballads did in fact return. Some have speculated that this may have been a bad idea (right?) but for me they’ve been growers, particularly the likes of Lacy and The Grudge, where Olivia explores the bitterness of youth and uses it to tear holes in the people who’ve wronged her. But if I’m honest, it’s the rockers that I’m usually waiting for: whether the new wave pastiche of Love Is Embarrassing or autumnal Cure homage Pretty Isn’t Pretty, each one feels like a mini-revelation and it’s the style that I hope she leans on most in the future.

Palehound - Eye On The Bat 

Palehound have been around for a while now and every so often I’ve given their records a try and haven't really managed to connect with them properly. Eye on the Bat has been the first exception, though whether that's because it’s any better than the others or I just made more of an effort with it I don’t know. Its template is certainly well worn in the indie world - country rock with varying degrees of aggression or melodic sweetness - but there’s still a lot here that grabs my attention, especially in the charming indie pop of the title track and the heart-rending melancholy of Route 22.

But the thing that caught my ear the most was Ellen Kempner’s disarming honesty, with much of the album spent documenting what sounds like a deeply messy break up. Whether she’s bitterly picking through the fall out on Independence Day or remembering some hilariously embarrassing bedroom scene on opener Good Sex, Eye On The Bat's almost diaristic view is mesmerising throughout, making you warm to Kempner even as she works thru some of her own worst traits. And aside from anything else, her understanding of relationships underlines her strengths as a lyricist, as she dissects their complexities with wit, sympathy and occasional anger to capture all the stuff that transcends whatever we were hoping for in the first place.

Poppy - Zig

After the wild ride that commenced with 2020’s extraordinary pop/metal mash up I Disagree, Poppy has journeyed thru indie rock, goth and punk to wind up back where she started, only not quite. Zig may represent a return to pop - indeed it’s produced by Weeknd affiliate Ali Payami - but it’s one that’s filtered thru all of the places she stopped off along the way.

The crepuscular grind of Church Outfit and Knockoff sound like more danceable versions of the I Disagree sound, while the crunching title track suggests that she can still go as hard as ever. But there are nods to a lighter side here as well, particularly in the strong trio that wind up the album: The Attic recasts her sound in a euphoric drum n bass clatter whilst closer Prove It kicks up a remarkable blend of manic hyperpop and gentle electro-balladry, whilst still working in the rich emotional palette that she’s developed in recent years.

In one sense this is a huge departure from the frenetic punk of last year’s Stagger EP but the vibes here stake out territory that you’d still find oddly familiar. Some of the gothy ballads are less immediate than other songs but nothing on Zig is boring, just varying refinements on her ever evolving musical journey. The critics were split, occasionally rattled and sometimes just plain baffled, but that’s only to be expected by now. Poppy follows her own plan and rarely sticks to the same tune: in truth it’s a privilege just to be a witness to the chaos.

Sweeping Promises - Good Living Is Coming For You

One thing that I find missing in a lot of modern guitar based music is snappy songs with good catchy hooks. While Sweeping Promises appear to place their focus elsewhere - their high concept sound is best understood as someone broadcasting direct from 1979 through a wristwatch speaker - their second album still finds time to deliver fully on the tunes. Good Living Is Coming To You is steeped in bubblegum melodies and memorable choruses, with songs that become earworms before you’ve even registered how catchy they are. 

More than anything, it's dominated by Lira Mondal’s imperious vocals: whether it’s in the cascading harmonies of Throw Of The Dice, the fierce yells and hisses that close out the title track or her sweet voiced switch-outs on Ideal No, her character springs out of every song in a way that few singers ever really manage to impose. While you might think that the post punk era has been mined to death by now, Sweeping Promises drag new life into it by going back further: their sound may be heavily rooted in a specific moment but the elements of songcraft often have more in common with 60s girl group classics than gnarled art rockers. Ten bangers and no filler: Good Living Is Coming For You is everything I wanted from it and more.

Wednesday - Rat Saw God

While the queasy vibes of 2021’s Twin Plagues are still high in the mix here, it was the welcome injection of melody on Wednesday's third album that managed to alert the media. That lightness was more apparent in Karly Hartzman's lyrics than you might notice on a passing listen too: though often praised for her grimly amusing takes on middle American backwaters, the key to them was her deceptively soft touch, casting a sympathetic eye over grisly scenes even as she retained their gnarlier undertones.

Single Chosen To Deserve, with its crunching chorus and heartwarming romantic turnaround, feels like the designated big moment from the record but in reality Rat Saw God has an embarrassment of riches. Quarry in particular, with its Waterloo Sunset-esque signature and matter-of-fact dissection of grim local gossip, is an almost pop version of the most haunting aspects of Hartzman's craft, while the washed out bounce of closer TV in the Gas Pump pitches a lonelier scene in a similarly gorgeous manner.

This is not to forget that Wedneday can still rock extremely hard when they want to, especially on the brutal 8 minute Bull Believer, an ambitious multipart epic that ends with Hartzman screaming “FINISH HIM!!!” repeatedly over the chaotic finale. But while Rat Saw God brought this kind of sawtoothed sound back to widespread acclaim, its real trick was how it sugared the pill just enough to get it past even the most determinedly sweet tooth.

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Tony Stark’s stepkid

Tony Stark x Potts!child!reader

warnings: alcohol mention

a/n: i rushed these so bad i just wanted to post dhhshsnsna

prompt: y/n is pepper’s kiddo!

it was just you and your mom for a long time

pepper and y/n potts

she couldn’t keep up with you sometimes, too busy dealing with the manchild that was mister anthony edward stark

speaking of—

“uh, who’s this?” -tony, pointing at you

“mr. stark, i am so sorry, the school closed because some kid set fire to the science lab and i didn’t have time to find a sitter—”

“no, it’s fine, no need to apologize. hey, kid, you wanna sit in the boss’s chair? i’ll let you run the company for the day!” *cue you nodding* “sweet, would you mind that, ms. potts?”

“oh? no, not at all” *mouthing* “thank you”

“so, uh, what’s your name? no, don’t tell me: ketchup.”

*giggling* “y/n”

“no way! that was my second guess!”

tony wasn’t used to being around kids

he had no idea that he was actually kind of good around them

despite a few minor hiccups

“you sit in my chair and im gonna spin you around, sound like fun?”

he spun you around WAY too fast and you were diiiiizzy, also you fell off the chair

“don’t tell your mom that we did that. she may be my assistant, but she scares the shit out of me. also, don’t say ‘shit’”

dude he just thought you were a cool kid!!!

“hey, you know, ms. potts, you dont really need to hire a babysitter anymore. y/n’s doing just fine hanging out here”

“how am i not surprised you befriended an actual child?”

she still took him up on his offer, you seemed pretty happy

when your mom worked late, you passed out in tonys office

tony and you had your own little secrets (like falling off the spinning chair), tony showed you around stark tower, and you practically lived there

“i got you a happy meal from mcdonalds!” -tony every day after your school

in all honesty, you weren’t the “popular” kid at school...not even close

but tony made up for it

“y/n! i found this old racecar toy in a box of old stuff, you wanna hold onto it for me?”

you kind of grew up in stark tower tbh? it was pretty cool

and as you grew up, you started to notice more

“mr. tony, do you have a crush on my mom?”

“do i what? no, no, i do—who the hell am i kidding? you caught me”

“called it!”

after that you did everything to try and get them together

when your mom was talking to tony, you would stand behind her and wiggle your eyebrows and just taunt tony endlessly

no! tony cannot remember your mom’s birthday for the life of him! you are his calendar now

“dude, why dont you just ask JARVIS to remind you?”

“i may be a genius, but that doesn’t mean i have common sense”

“wise words, sir” -JARVIS

when tony disappeared for 3 months you were so sad???? like you were not okay at all

no

and when he came back, he literally exited the plane saying “WHERE’S ‘T-POTT??’”

(your wonderful nickname. ‘t’ for ‘tony jr.’ and ‘pott’ for ‘potts’)

“my mom missed you”

“oh, i bet she did”

“you turned my child into you, tony. i will never forgive you for this”

“well, at least y/n was here to fill in for me, huh?”

tony wanted to show you the arc reactor but he was actually afraid of scarring you lmfaoooo

but he did let you in on the iron man secret (he knew you wouldn’t snitch)

and just to make sure:

“if you dont tell anyone, i’ll buy you a car when you turn 16”

“man, that’s like, forever away”

“good, maybe you’ll forget by then”

ur mom kinda maybe sorta found out abt iron man :/ she told you that tony was a bad influence

“mom! no, tony’s cool! he’s like a superhero”

“no, sweetie, he’s a rich guy with issues. we’re leaving”

that didn’t last long

not long at all

and soon they FINALLY got together

“jeez, i thought you two would never stop pining after each other”

“couldnt have done it without my wingman” -tony *fistbump*

“as thanks can i have my own iron man suit?”

“yes.” *pepper glaring at him* “no.”

sooner or later your mom and you moved into tony’s house and you got a really big room!!!!

it was completely decked out

king sized bed, flatscreen tv, mini-fridge, microwave, computer, your own bathroom with a smaller tv, a poster of tony??? (you vandalized it and put it in his workshop), and more!!!

okay you were spoiled

“do you like it here? are you sure i made the right choice?” -pepper

“are you kidding, mom? this is awesome! plus, you’re happy, i’m happy, tony’s happy, i think JARVIS is even happy!”

“i am, mx. potts. simply ecstatic” -JARVIS

pepper was really happy!! it was a pretty cool family

you started giving your school tony’s number if you ever got in trouble, you knew he’d cover for you

“mr. potts, is it?”

“sure”

“your child, y/n, punched another student in the face today. we’re very disappointed in their behavior”

“why’d they punch the kid?”

“well, the other student punched y/n first”

“HAH! thank you for wasting my time. send y/n back to class and call me back if something important comes up”

he literally gave you a high five when you got home

“i gave him a black eye!”

“i couldn’t be more proud. i mean, i dont condone violence, but self defense is a whole other story”

a little help in the workshop, tony asks you to hold the flashlight

“why don’t you get one of your robots to hold this for you?”

“are you kidding me, you’re complaining? we’re having stepdad/stepkid bonding time! and dum-e can’t do anything right, i dont trust him”

youve had a few theme park trips as a family ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

also tony has 100% told you to wait in the car and then left you alone for 2+ hours

“i’m not like a regular dad, im a step-dad. want some beer? you can have a little sip. i’d rather you do it in the house”

your mother actually does love how he actually cares about you!

“y/n is 12% my responsibility” -tony

“tony, you are impossible” -pepper

no avengering for you! pepper said no!!!!!!

disappointed but not surprised

iron man 3: y/n potts is put through the wringer

Text Message to Mr. Tony: bro you better come get your girl, me and happy are watching this other guy flirting with her. he’s showing her pics of his ‘big brain’

Mr. Tony: HE WHAT

Text Message to Mr. Tony: Tony he looks creepy i don’t want him to be my new stepdad do something!!!

anyways ur house kinda blew up and ur mom and you kinda got kidnapped and u were right abt that guy being creepy and thankfully no experiments were done on you but like your mom kinda almost died and her and tony were fine!!! all good in the end

you met mr. col. james rhodes that day

“aw, you’re the kid ive heard so much about” -rhodey

“you mean the coolest kid in the world?check.”

“you cant tell me you aren’t tony’s biological child, good god”

you got to meet the avengers later on too! (you’d already met natasha tho, only briefly)

“i know it can be a little overwhelming, right? meeting all these heros, legends even—” -rhodey

“oh, my god, is that thor? thor!!” -you, leaving rhodey in the dust

literally why does pepper trust you around tony something always goes wrong there were literally robots attacking, you were only at avengers tower bc your mom was busy with the company and she thought you’d be safe with the avengers. the AVENGERS.

“please dont tell your mom that i created a bad robot that tried to kill us. the robot will be the least of our problems” -tony

he made happy pick you up and you had to miss out on FUN and it sucked a lot

“it’s okay, y/n! i’m fun, too!” -happy

then your mom and tony took a break and your life got mega-boring for a while, but they weren’t separated for that long. you try not to think about it. it was brutal

Mr. Tony: Does she miss me?

New Message to Mr. Tony: I think so. Either that or she’s crying and drinking wine in the dark for no reason.

Mr. Tony: Damn it, now I feel bad. I miss her a lot. Oh, also, the Avengers say ‘hi,’ I’m in Germany with some bad news, I’ll explain later if you don’t see it on TV first, and I found you the perfect friend! His name is Peter and I think you’d like the school he goes to, it’s in Midtown. Smart kid school.

New Message to Mr. Tony: I’ll look into it, thanks. Also, I don’t like how those all connect. Please update me asap

watching the news to see several avengers arrested, cap on the run, and more!

“maybe it was good i didn’t fall in with the avengers”

tony and pepper finally got back together and you actually transferred to midtown high! peter and his friend group accepted you quickly, it was great. you and flash unfortunately had the most in common

you’d literally text happy right next to peter and he’d immediately reply to you. it hurt peter’s feelings

Momma: Sweetie! I’m working in the office late, leftovers are in the fridge, hope you have a wonderful day at school! 💕

👉👈the vulture tried to kill you for being tony’s stepkid, tony made peter promise to protect you

“y/n, you gotta stay out of harm’s way. mr. stark gave me an actual mission and it’s terrifying, i have to make sure you stay safe”

legit why the fuck was this old man tryna kill you bro grow up

anyyyywayssss your mom and tony got engaged!!

“wow, i thought the day would never come!!” -you

ppl told you tony isnt your stepdad bc ur mom and him werent married but who tf asked

why is the earth always in fucking danger

you and peter were just vibing on the field trip bus and all the sudden: space donut

“go! i’ll cover for you...FRIDAY, call tony”

“...hi there, little one”

“what the fuck”

“oh, so you see the aliens, too? well, at least im not crazy”

tony stark has left the atmosphere

you and your mom were kinda......not chillin tho

she and you didn’t sleep for a few nights, then ppl just straight up disappeared

plot twist: you survived the snap and your family was lucky to be alive, you even got a little sister who became a big handful!

only bad thing was all your friends dusted and you were pretty lonely

but watching morgan grow up kept you busy

“ahhh, shes so big!”

happy times in bad times

bad times!!!!! bc after five years thanos came back as thanos from like ten years ago. outdated thanos. obsolete thanos.

but you made your first and only appearance in the suit tony actually designed for you many years ago

you should have just stayed home tho bc that fight didnt pass the vibe check

“please dont tell me he...no, no, no, no, no”

you and your mom latched onto each other in tears, tony was one of the best people in your life, he made you and your mom two of the happiest people on earth

best stepdad a kid could ever ask for

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedgiantfavs // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm // @ofthedewthesunlight //

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 11)

<<Previous part Masterlist   Next part>>

Warnings: Cookies and idiots. You might get diabetes.

N/A: I'm on a family trip right now so I'm being a little unactive but I'll do my best to be still updating on here. Thank you so much to everyone who reads and comments, you truly make me want to write twice as much.

The Dark Team: (Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @the-departed-potato, @jesuswasnotawhiteman, @idontknow296, @beksib, @spythoschei, @geekwritersworld, @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 @toe-vind-ek-jou @joscelyn02, @t00-pi )

“Are you sure that’s how you should be sending those?”. His nosy ass telling you how to do your job in your midgardian electronics was just amazing, truly. “It would be faster for them if you send it with that link instead of…”.

“Listen, Mischief”, you interrupted his unnecessary corrections “I don’t tell you how to levitate, what about you don’t tell me how to do this?”.

“I don’t levitate”.

“Not the point. This is my deal. Besides, since when and how do you know how to handle midgardian tech?”.

“I… I’m bored”.

“Do I look like an entertainment to you right now?”.

“What do you mean right now? Are you planning on entertaining me later?”.

“I will choke you if you keep doing that”.

“Do you promise?”.

"Yes, my dear".

"Can't wait, then", he smirked. You rolled your eyes, about to answer something snappy, but the work was more important at the moment.

Your phone beeped, pulling you out of the very one sided discussion. You went back to your work in silence, getting your full focus and concentration on it. If it weren’t for Loki, you would’ve already done a thousand more other things. But, as a bug on the lenses, he was stuck to your side. It seemed like you were babysitting him.

Peter was staring at the roof from the couch. A pile of homework laid by his side, untouched, and his unlocked phone seemed to be waiting for him to make a call he didn’t want to. Loki observed him, unsure if it was a good idea to ask. You looked at his uncertainty from over your shoulder, and watched him finally give up on the idea of socially interacting with the kid, sitting down by your side on the big, big (and, exaggeratingly pointing out, big; yet he sat in the nearest chair from you) table.

The compound certainly was a boring place when uninhabited, and the sun was already teasing with coming down, making the common room’s lights turn brighter and warmer. Maybe it was automatic, maybe it was Friday. You couldn’t care less, for you were too distracted by Loki’s gaze on your work.

“Loki, for fuck’s sake, would you stop staring, my dearest?”, you asked, imitating his tone of voice, hoping it’d make it less aggressive and a bit more fun. He rolled his eyes and smirked, understanding your intentions. You sounded as tired of him as you were.

“I’m...”.

“Bored, I know. What about you go entertain Pete? He looks equally, if not more, bored as you. And you’re interfering with my work, which I do not appreciate very much”.

“How am I supposed to entertain him? I’m not a clown”, he argued, slightly offended but just wanting to make time and conversation. You sighed.

“Then why do you act like one?”.

“What is that supposed to mean? Is that a midgardian insult I’m not aware of, pancake?”.

“Stop calling me that, it’s not derogative”.

“It wasn’t intended to be deroga…”.

“I’d kill for some pancakes”, interrupted Peter, trying to pull you two out of your quarrels. “Or something sweet”.

“Oh, the kid got peckish. This is perfect; you can go get him something sweet and leave my workspace alone”, you said, patting his back with an exhausted grin.

He rolled his eyes, but walked down to the kitchen looking for whatever could satiate Peter. There wasn’t anything. One would think that a billionaire would have the fridge full of chocolates, wouldn’t you?, he thought, exhausted by the idea of having to actually leave the compound to get him something. Last time he tried to buy something in Midgard, he accidentally paid three salaries to the workers in the name of Stark. He was so embarrassed, he said it was on purpose and called it an act of mischief. But it was, in fact, pure and raw unawareness of midgardian’s use of money.

“What about we bake something, Mr. Loki?”, proposed Peter, with a flaming interest in seeing what those magic hands could do with food. You chuckled, pretty sure they could do nothing; he had been a prince for over a thousand years, when could he have learnt to bake by himself?

Loki lowered his gaze, confronted with both thoughts of his companions, and their respective expectations. Truth was, you were right. But he couldn't disappoint the kid like that, he had to at least try. Peter's eyes shone brighter than ever, and you wondered if Loki was actually enjoying his company. They looked fine. And, finally, you had some space to work without distractions.

“In normal circumstances I’d reject you, spider boy, but since y/n seems to be about to hang me by the neck on the tip of the tower, might as well do this”, he said, stealing a glance at you and smirking.

“It’s an honor you decide to spend your last moments baking with me, Mr. Loki”.

“Sure, let’s go, child”.

“I’m not a child”.

“Alright”.

And just like that, they left the working area and moved to the kitchen. Both rooms were connected by a huge glassless window and a counter, so you were able to peep in and make sure they didn’t actually burn down the compound (which was the only rule Tony had) and work peacefully at the same time.

After what seemed like an eternity, they still couldn’t accept they were failing miserably, and kept stirring the mix in a bowl. Flour formed clouds around them as Peter sneezed it away, and Loki’s hair had some cream on his (now not so) impeccable hair. Peter laughed at Loki’s commentary and poor baking skills, and Loki playfully mocked how his stickiness wasn’t helpful at all.

“Have you ever baked before, Mr. Loki?”.

“I haven’t but I’ve seen people bake, I figured I could imitate them”.

“Your mum, right? I used to bake with my aunt May a lot, but just now I realize maybe she was doing everything and I was eating the dough by her side”.

“That sounds more like it”, he chuckled. The mixing bowl trembled in his hand as he got distracted by the flying eggs coming at him, and it slipped out of him, smashing near half the mix onto the floor. “Oh, fuck”.

“It’s fine, we can use the one that’s left!”.

“Your positiveness astonishes me, spider boy”.

“Spider man”.

“Right, apologies”.

“We have already put in the flour, the sugar, the eggs, the milk… What else is in the recipe?”.

“I’m trying to remember, let me see”, he closed his eyes and muttered to himself “they used cinnamon, I think. And maybe butter? Yes, and chocolate chips”.

“Who?”.

“Ah, this recipe isn’t my mum’s. She didn’t bake either, you know, Queens don’t get their hands dirty” he laughed. “It was my companion’s”, he spat and suddenly realized what he had said. He lowered his head and sighed.

“Your companion?”, asked Peter. “As in partner? A spouse?”.

“Not spouse, just… you know, I’m just realizing I shouldn’t be talking to you about it”, he brushed it off, absolutely regretting it. Because Peter, unlike any other person, lacked filters.

So he would ask and ask and not realize where to stop. And at that point you could say Peter had become some sort of a weakness in Loki’s roughness. Peter was the softest, purest and better intentioned person he had ever met (or at least that’s how he saw him; of course, Loki had never seen him in action, fighting crime), and Loki was incapable of actually denying things to him. It didn’t matter how much Peter insisted on not being seen as a child, Loki was a thousand years older.

“No, please do. Now you’ve caught my attention”, he insisted, trying to clean some of the dough from the floor. Loki sighed, watching how the kid begged him to tell him more from his feet. “Please, Mr. Loki, I swear I won’t tell”.

“Well, my lover was the one who used to cook for us”, he explained as if he was telling someone else’s story. He clearly was trying to disengage his own emotions in order to tell them out loud. “And they’d usually bake some kick-ass cinnamon cookies”.

Peter had to grab the counter to steady himself from laughter, and you couldn’t help to snort at the conversation you were indiscreetly eavesdropping. Loki smiled.

“Then we have to replicate them, if they’re so kick-ass to make you say a midgardian expression”.

“We must, but I can’t remember quite well the next steps. It’s all sort of a blur now”.

“Can’t we ask them?”.

“No”, he said quickly. The air tensed, and untensed as fast as he realized. He especified again, trying to sound less affected by it “we can’t”.

“Oh”, Peter sounded so disappointed, Loki’s heart broke a little. “Are they dead?”.

“Oh my God, Pete, you can’t just ask…”, you intervened, trying to save Loki from further discomfort.

“It’s okay, they’re… well, they’re gone”, he said with a soft voice, raising his eyebrows as who tries to explain to a little kid why their fish is upside down, leaving to the imagination the typical trace of sadness that would follow. His eyes focused on the mixing bowl, reminiscing another time, another way. Eyes of someone who tries his best to never forget the little details from someone who’s not here anymore, because memories are all he has left. He immediately snapped out of his thoughts and tried to play it cool. “But guess who’s not gone? This dough on the floor. Let’s clean it up, kid”.

“Gone as in dead?”, insisted Peter, who had a very poor self control. You would’ve grabbed your face with eight hands if you could.

“Peter, don’t…”.

“Yes, they’re dead. Inside a coffin, rotting, getting eaten by worms. You know”, said Loki, this time jokingly, trying to scare off Peter. But it didn’t work, since Peter just kept asking about it. Loki was already too tired of having to take his brain yet again to places he didn’t want them to be.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Loki. Must be very painful”. The empathy in his eyes gave Loki the hint that he was not only being sincere, but curious about Loki's life. Interested, engaged. Not just morbidly curious, but wanting to get to know him better. Unfortunately, Loki couldn’t allow that. He would have to get the mission done, not make any friends, and go back to Asgard as alone as he came. It was the deal, the price he had to pay, the invisible handcuffs, the imaginary rope tying around his neck. Tightly, tightly, tighter.

“It’s alright, it was long ago”.

“Was they Asgardian, like you?”.

“I’m not actually Asgardian. I was raised there, but I’m from Jotunheim”.

Loki managed to move the conversation further than his lover (which he regretted highly to have brought the subject in the first place), and Peter got more and more interested in confirming how many of his mythology stories were true or not. The kitchen was the warmest place in the whole compound, and something started to smell like burnt sugar.

“So you did actually make Sif, Thor’s wife, bald? And did he make you go get her a wig in Svárthelfeim?”, he asked at the speed of light, and Loki laughed.

“Lady Sif’s not actually Thor’s betrothed. And no, I didn’t make her bald”, he said, and then muttered “she just happened to have a very low quality shampoo”.

“Ah, the cookies!”, Peter turned off the stove and took them out carefully, as to not get burned (again).

Loki peeped through the window to check on you. Your head, laying tiredly over your hands, seemed to be about to give up on you out of exhaustion. You haven’t slept properly since the mission started, and you couldn’t get your head off work for a moment. He approached you from behind and left a fresh cup of coffee and a couple of warm cookies by your side. You smiled at him gently and thanked him. If it wasn’t him you were talking about, you could’ve swore he blushed.

You have gotten so tranquil after one simple gesture, you hoped to get all your nerves down before going to sleep. Maybe it wasn’t that bad to have been stuck with them in the compound. They seemed to be having a good time, and Loki had nothing on his mind more than to have a rest after such hectic days.

“How long until you finish there?”, he asked with a low voice, a raspy, almost groany voice, that made you want to shut your computer down and throw it out of the window. You didn’t, instead, you checked your clock.

“Very soon, I’ll join you guys in a bit”.

[horansqueen]

Stuck With You - Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Move Along

🡪chapter 1  🡪chapter 2  🡪chapter 3  🡪chapter 4  🡪chapter 5  🡪chapter 6   🡪chapter 7  🡪chapter 8  🡪chapter 9  🡪chapter 10  🡪chapter 11 🡪chapter 12 🡪chapter 13 🡪chapter 14 🡪chapter 15 🡪chapter 16 🡪chapter 17 🡪chapter 18 🡪chapter 19 🡪chapter 20 🡪chapter 21 🡪chapter 22 🡪chapter 23

College Enemies To Lovers AU

characters // masterlist // instagrams // mood board

Speak to me When all you got to keep is strong Move along, move along like I know you do And even when your hope is gone Move along, move along just to make it through

Your hands are mine to hold

click here to be on the update list

NIALL

                                           At first, I wanted to argue, but the way she was looking at me was telling me she was serious. I was not the type to face the persons I had a problem with. I preferred to ignore them or avoid them, but when it came to the guy who broke Devon's heart, I had a different opinion. I knew it was not a solution to hit him but that didn't mean I was not fantasizing about it. He was the kind of guy who did whatever he wanted without consequences and it made me angrier than I thought it would, especially now that he was so close and I could actually see his face. Devon was humiliated, pointed out, and had to leave her college, but him? He just denied the whole thing and continued his life. Devon had to start over while going through a heartbreak, and although I was glad she was here now, it was still a horrible thing to go through.

I placed myself in front of her to shield her from his sight and moved closer, bending down slightly to reach for her hand. I was not expecting it but her fingers immediately squeezed mine and she closed her eyes. I pulled on her hand gently, bringing her with me as she kept her eyes closed, guiding her to my car before she leaned her back against the passenger's door. I stood in front of her, as close as possible without touching her, and let my eyes roam slowly on her face. She seemed sad and hurt and I didn't know how to make her feel better. I wanted to kiss her but I decided against it, telling myself that doing that right after she saw her ex boyfriend would probably not be the best idea. Weirdly, it was the first thing that came to my mind when I thought of a way to comfort her. I held my breath for a few seconds as my heart thumped hard in my chest and finally brought my hands to her face gently, cupping her cheeks.

"Devie, are you okay?" I whispered with concern. I knew she could hear how worried I was in my voice and her eye fluttered open.

She nodded slowly, sending me a soft smile as my thumbs brushed on her cheekbones, making her eyelids flutter again. It took me a while but eventually, I took a small step closer and wrapped my arms around her neck. I was no sure of what she would do but she slid her arms around me, pushing her face between my upper arm and my chest. It felt good to have her so close and I wondered if Devon was affectionate like that because of what had happened to her, or if she had always been like that. Did she need that type of love and asked for it or was it just something natural for her?

"I'll make a deal with you, okay?" I proposed gently, leaning my chin on her head. "We'll go to that conference and we'll ignore him if you want." I felt her try to pull away from me but I held her closer. "And then we'll grab our stuff and drive to my apartment. We'll miss a few days of school and just do things that you like so you can stop thinking about him."

She seemed to relax in my arms but her hands gripped my shirt in my back and I felt her rub her nose on my arm.

"Where do you live?" she asked low, turning her head slightly so make sure I understood what she was saying.

"A few hours away."

"You have too much money." she mumbled, making me laugh and shake my head.

"Maybe." I shrugged, loosening my embrace. It took her a few seconds to move back and she tilted her head. "Do you have anything important this week?"

"No, but I don't know If I should leave."

My eyes roamed on her face gently. "You told me to take you far away from here, yea?"

Her lips parted slowly and she nodded. "Okay."

"Okay." I repeated, bringing one of my hands to her shoulder. "Hey, we'll go there, stay close to the door, and ignore him." There was a short moment of silence and I breathed in. "Come on, let's eat."

"I'm not.. really hungry anymore." she admitted, glancing down and then looking back in my eyes. "I'll just go back to our room."

I knew what I was proposing to her was not ideal, but attendance was required for that conference and failing a class just because of his stupid ass would just make things worse. I wanted her safe and happy and I was really hoping she'd agree to spend some time away from here. I had to admit I wanted to stay far from him too, if only because I had no idea how I'd react if I was near him.

"You need to be alone?" I asked in a low tone,, raising my eyebrows. "It's okay, you know. But I'll bring you back something to eat. You have to eat something."

She rolled her eyes a bit but I saw a smile draw itself on her lips as she nodded. I wanted to walk her back to our room but that sounded a bit controlling and when she walked past me, I turned around and called her name. She stopped and turned to me too, making my lips part slightly. I didn't know why but as I stared at her at this exact moment, something inside me seemed to hatch, and an intense feeling spread all over my body. The girl standing in front of me was the person I loved the most in my life, and I was ready to do anything to ensure her happiness. This is what I wanted, and that was what I was going to aim for, from now on.

"Don't go there okay? Not without me. Please."

"Don't worry, Niall." she replied, shaking her head and sending me a sad smile. "I don't even want to go. But since I have to, there's no way I'm going there without you."

---

I walked back in our room about half an hour later, throwing my keys on my bed and placing the box with our food on my desk.

"Honey! I'm home!" I joked with a grin.

I turned around swiftly when the bathroom's door opened and my smile fell immediately when I saw her. She had changed into a dress, a different one than the one she wore that time I saw her at Lewis', and she had put make up on. My eyes fell on her red metallic lipstick and I don't think I ever wanted to kiss her more than at this exact moment.

"W-What do you think?" she asked a bit shyly, pressing her lips together as I took a step closer.

My eyebrows raised and I pushed the air out of my lungs, shaking my head slightly. My eyes traveled on her body and when it met hers again, I smiled.

"I think anyone who's ever broken up with you will regret it, and anyone who never dated you will wish they did."

She rolled her eyes and pushed gently on my chest with both her hands, making me smile even more. She walked to the food and checked. I saw her grab some whipped cream with her finger and suck on it before turning to me with a smile.

"Thanks for that." she let out. I didn't know if it was for the food or for the compliment but I decided not to ask. "We can eat on my bed if you want, I know how much you hate it when we eat on yours."

I nodded and we sat in silence, facing each other as we ate our pancakes slowly. I kept glancing at my watch and it made me realize that I was actually nervous for that stupid conference. I wanted everything to go well but I was scared she'd end up being hurt and it would sort-of be my fault since I was the one who insisted that she'd attend it. I was about to tell her we should just forget the conference and leave now but she took me out of my thoughts.

"I'm not doing that for him, you know?" she pointed out as I looked up at her. "The dress and all that," she shrugged, glancing down. She looked embarrassed and I was not sure why. "I'm doing it for me. I don't want him to regret me, I want him to know I'm totally fine without him. That he didn't break me. That I'm not hooked on him anymore, and that he didn't fuck me up."

I swallowed hard as I stared at her. I didn't know what to answer to that. She didn't need to justify the reason why she wanted to dress up to me, but the fact that she trusted me enough to tell me was important.

"Devie, you look amazing." I confessed cautiously. "But you always do. With or without make up. In a dress or in a pair of sweatpants. And he doesn't deserve you in a dress or in sweatpants. You're too good for him and I hope karma gets to him, someday."

Her lips curled a bit but she didn't answer and I smiled back at her. She seemed nervous but when we walked in the room, I could feel her tense next to me. We took a seat on the last row, near the exit and when he walked out, everyone stopped talking. I felt Devon's fingers grip my thigh tight and glanced down at her hand. Her knuckles had turned a white color and I cleared my throat, bringing my hand over hers to try and calm her. It was tough for me to listen to anything he had to say, even if the History of Art has always been a fascinating subject for me. All I could think about was Devon riding him, or how vulnerable she seemed to be earlier when we saw him for the first time. Both emotions seemed to fight in my brain and I had to force myself to get out of my thoughts a few times.

However, when his eyes fell on me, I squeezed Devon's fingers tighter. He stopped for a second as he stared at us and without thinking, I wrapped my free arm around Devon's shoulder. I was not sure if once again, I wanted to shield her from him, or if I did that to prove him something, but I knew I wanted to protect her, and that's all that mattered for now. I thought she'd tense again but the opposite happened. She seemed to relax against me and the grip of her fingers loosened a bit. He finally turned around and kept talking and I waited a few more seconds to turn my head slightly her way and lick my lips.

"You still okay Devie?"

She turned to me and I didn't expect it. I held my breath, my gaze falling on her lips again, but she was so close I could kiss her. I couldn't stop thinking about the taste of her lips with lipstick on and I stopped moving. I even stopped breathing. Her thin lips parted and so did mine, but it's only when I received something right in the cheek that I got out of my thoughts. Clearly, Devon and I were not alone and apparently, some people wanted to bring us back to reality. I looked down at the small ball of crumped paper on my lap and spread my thighs to let it fall in the ground. I looked up, trying to find out who had done this, but as my eyes roamed on the people around, I realized there were some whispers and glances sent our way. I had no idea why everyone was looking at us, especially since I believed we were well hidden in the back, but I  just crossed my legs and ignored everyone, pulling slightly on my arm to bring Devon in a quick hug from the side.

I got up very quickly when the conference was over and stretched a bit before leaving. Devon followed me, gripping my arm to make sure we wouldn't lose each other and when we got outside, I turned only to see her frowning at the screen of her phone.

"What's wrong?"

She looked up  at me, her eyebrows raised and her lips parted, but she just shrugged. It made me frown too but my phone beeped before I could ask her again. I grabbed it and when I saw the words written, I chuckled in surprise. The text message was from Lewis and the right corner of my lips raised up.

'Are you dating Devon now?'

"Why is Lewis asking me if we're dating?" I frowned more, looking at her. "He wasn't even here."

"No, but Daxia is." she explained, raising her nose up in a cute grimace. "She just texted me about the same thing."

I realized what she meant and I tilted my chin up while rolling my eyes. That was exactly how rumors started and I hated it. I was not in the mood to answer questions or to have people discuss my relationship with Devon together.

"What do we answer them, then?" I asked, shaking my head as she shrugged.

"Nothing."

I chuckled but my smile fell immediately when I saw him walk closer. I knew it was too late to leave and running away would be awkward and would generate a lot of questions. Instead, I cleared my throat and whispered very quickly.

"He's coming here."

Once again, she tensed and I took a step closer but I was not quick enough and when he touched her shoulder to get her attention, I wanted to hit him even more. She turned to him and forced a smile but I knew it was fake, even if it probably looked real to everyone else. She was good at hiding how she felt but I could always decipher her expressions and I had no idea why.

"Miss Eaton, it's been a while, how have you been?"

His light eyes roomed on her and she cracked a bigger smile before shrugging a shoulder. "Oh, uhm, great, thank you."

"You should introduce us." I let out a bit louder, making both of them turn my way.

"Oh yea, of course, Niall, this is Mister Henry Thompson." she let out, taking a step closer to me subtly. "He was one of my teachers at my old college."

"Nice to meet you, Niall." He reached his hand out to me but I just glanced at it and crossed my arms on my chest. There was no way I was going to shake hands with that guy.

"Good conference." I let out after he took his hand back. "But hey, you know what they say. Those who can, do; those who can't, teach."

His lips curled and he chuckled low. "Apparently."

"That must be why some teachers enjoy the... power they have, you know? On young minds, I mean." I kept going. "Oh but not you, right? You'd never abuse the power you've been given. I was talking in general."

I knew it felt very awkward between the three of us suddenly but I couldn't feel bad. It's only when Devon took an other step back that my heart seemed to skip a beat. I felt her back against my chest as a girl walked our way, her eyes glued to Henry who smiled back at her.

"Cammy?"

The pretty blonde girl turned around and when her eyes met Devon's, her face changed completely. She seemed uncomfortable and now this whole thing had just became a shit show.

"Dev, hi." the girl said, wrapping her arms around herself in an embarrassed way.

"Cammy used to be my best friend." Devon explained, her eyes never leaving the other girl.

"Oh, the traitor?"

Cammy's face suddenly changed but I couldn't get to feel bad about anything I had said in the past few minutes. They both deserved way worse than that and feeling bad and uncomfortable for a while didn't even come close to the pain they put Devon in. Perhaps, it was not my place to do that, but I didn't care.

"Devie, they're fucking, you realize that, right?"

Their faces changed but I noticed Devon's lips curl slightly. She was trying to hide her amusement but it made me smile too. I had no idea why we were still there, standing near them and trying to pretend we wanted to be there.

"You wanna leave?" I asked, raising my eyebrows before she nodded.

I smiled softly at her and extended my hand. She seemed to hesitate as she stared at my palm but when she looked up at me, her lips curled more. I felt her hand slide gently on mine and I squeezed her fingers. We walked away slowly and I brought our hands up, twisting them to make her twirl on herself. She giggled, her dress dancing around her and when she turned her head to look at me, I bent down closer to whisper.

"Don't look back okay? Don't give them this satisfaction."

---

We held hands until we got back into our room and when I closed the door behind us, Devon started laughing. We stared at each other but she wouldn't stop laughing, so hard that it made my lips curl and I chuckled too. She seemed happy and I was not sure why, but witnessing it was an incredible gift. I thought she'd be devastated but here she was, laughing while staring at me, her eyes sparkling with joy and softness, and I took it all in, letting her happy feelings invade me too.

Suddenly, she walked very quickly to me and got on her tiptoe. I only had time to hold my breath when her mouth crashed on mine. She didn't deepen the kiss and I didn't have the guts to either. It didn't feel like a passionate kiss, just a thank you kiss, but it was enough for me.

"Their faces, I swear!" she giggled some more as she took a step back.

I felt a shiver cross my back but I didn't know if it was because of the kiss or because now that her body was far from mine, I could feel the cool air from outside reach to me.

"I was stuck. I normally am quite good at talking back or being sassy but.. I just couldn't say anything." she admitted with a big grin on her face. "I thought I was just going to look like an idiot and spend days thinking of all the come backs I could have thrown at them but.. Niall, you were perfect. Thank you."

"You... You're welcome."

She tilted her chin up to look in my eyes and I looked down at her. She reached for one of my hands and tilted her head as a fond smile draw itself on her still red lips. It made me wonder if I had some stains of it on my own lips.

"I like you, Niall." she whispered, her eyes never leaving mine. "I really really like you. And If I hadn't sworn I'd never date anyone ever again..."

She didn't finish her sentence, she just sighed and closed her eyes for a few seconds.

"Okay," she nodded firmly, looking at me again. "Let's pack our stuff and leave."

[aquaquadrant]

the little things

Kenji’s mouth is dry. “Ben…?” he croaks out.

Ben swallows. “Oh,” he says, in a very small voice. “It’s you.”

~*~

Ben’s been reunited with the other campers, and seems to have come out the other end of his experience stronger than ever before. But as he slowly finds his place back within the group, a bigger picture starts to emerge, piece by piece.

Rated T for: mental illness, mild language, panic attacks, PTSD, anxiety, insomnia, eating disorder (not in a traditional sense, but definitely not a healthy relationship with food)

A/N: Hey Camp Cretaceous fandom, y’all mind if I uhhhh write six-thousand words about Ben’s trauma?? Basically, Netflix kept recommending the show to me so I watched the first ep out of curiosity and then ended up binging the whole thing in like two days, and now here I am.

(Dear sweet, patient, regular readers of mine: I’m so sorry my main fic’s been delayed but I promise it’s getting updated next week, I just had to get some feelings out about Sad Dino Boy)

Hope you enjoy, please reblog and leave a comment if you do! - Aqua

Click here to read on A03 (with more complete tags)

~*~

the little things

~*~ 

Ben Pincus has returned from the dead, and he’s never been better.

The other campers are amazed. What he’s been through must have been horrible. He thought he was the only one left, that there was no one to help him and no hope of rescue because he was presumed dead. It would’ve been enough to drive anyone into despair, or off of the deep end.

But Ben shows no signs of this.

They didn’t find him holed up somewhere, near starvation and waiting to die, like one might’ve expected. They didn’t find him at all, really. He found them, and by coming to their rescue, no less. And when he did, he wasn’t a trembling mess, he wasn’t a half-mad ball of paranoia, and he wasn’t a hollow-eyed skeleton fueled solely by desperation. 

He’s an all new and improved Ben, the best version of himself.

He hasn’t just survived, he’s flourished. He’s brave, he’s confident, he’s capable. He gives his opinions freely and without second-guessing himself, suggesting things the old Ben would’ve recoiled at. He fits seamlessly into the team like he never left. He faces problems head-on with determination and grit and not a trace of fear.

The turnaround is unbelievable. But even more important is that while he’s a new and improved Ben, he’s retained all the best parts of his old self.

Ben is easy smiles and meticulous organization of a leather waist bag and doting affection for a four-ton armored lizard. He’s sensitive and soft-spoken and accepts hugs from his friends gratefully. He still can’t quite pull off coolness, with a voice that sounds as gangly as his limbs look and an awkwardness he hasn’t grown out of.

And it’s perhaps because of this that no one thinks to look closer. This image is an easy thing to accept because it’s what they all want to believe, that Ben is okay- in fact, better than okay. But the truth is not always big and obvious upon first glance.

It’s the little things, as they soon find out.

~*~

That first evening after Ben’s return, after Mitch and Tiff and everything else, they don’t eat dinner.

They all ate their fill at the campsite and, after a month of scarcity, it was more than enough to sate their appetites. It’s Darius who thinks to ask Ben if he’s hungry, remembering that the boy hadn’t had the chance to eat with them. They have a good stockpile of food at the moment and he figures Ben must’ve been struggling.

But Ben shakes his head with an easy smile, and says, “Nah, I ate earlier.”

Darius leaves it at that, because there’s still so much catching up to do. They show Ben around their clubhouse, make plans for where to build a bunk for him (he insists he’d be just fine sleeping on the ground next to Bumpy, but they all veto that immediately). They talk well into the night about the day’s crazy events, filling each other in on their own sides of the story, and everything that’s happened since Ben got separated.

There are some more tears, some more hugs. But ultimately, the mood in the clubhouse is ecstatic. They never thought Ben had survived the fall so to have him back is better than a dream come true, it’s a miracle.

Darius thought he knew what it was to experience a miracle when they first saw that bonfire smoke on the horizon. But if he had to chose between the miracle of them finally leaving the island or the miracle of getting Ben back, it’s not even a competition.

Eventually the exhaustion catches up with everyone, and they turn in for the night. Bumpy parks herself underneath the clubhouse, her presence incredibly reassuring. Ben ends up sharing Kenji’s bunk because it’s bigger than Darius’s even when occupied by two, and the older teen had insisted in a very faux-casual way, to which Ben had rolled his eyes but nonetheless seemed touched by the gesture.

Darius takes the first night watch shift and gets to see all his friends sleeping peacefully. And even though Tiff sailed away with their only means for escaping, he feels a lot more hopeful than he has in a long time.

~*~

It’s canned peaches for breakfast.

A far cry from yesterday’s buffet. But no one’s complaining because the meticulous rationing of their food, courtesy of Darius, means they’re all starving by meal time and couldn’t care less what it tastes like. Darius is in the process of separating the food out into bowls, half a can for each of them, when he realizes Ben has yet to take a seat. He’s lingering at the edge of the room, watching.

“Hey,” Darius calls, “you coming or what?”

Ben shakes his head. “Thanks, but I already got my own breakfast.”

Before Darius can respond, Brooklynn shoots Ben a look. “What? Where?” she demands. “You holding out on us, jungle boy?”

Darius shoots her a look, but Ben just gives an easy smile and unzips the leather pouch that’s reclaimed its spot around his waist. He withdraws a small handful of bright red berries, no bigger than blueberries. It’s not even a fraction of the half-can of peaches the rest of them are settling for, and Darius sees his own unease reflected in the others’ eyes.

Brooklynn glances away. “Oh. Um, sorry. You don’t… you can have some of ours, you know?”

“I’m good.” Ben tosses a couple berries into his mouth. “You guys go ahead, I’m gonna go check on Bumpy.”

“O- oh, okay…” Sammy murmurs, watching Ben go with uncertain eyes. “If you’re sure…”

They’re silent for a moment.

Kenji inhales quietly through his teeth. “So… that’s weird, right?”

Yaz leans forward in her seat. “What do you think, Darius?” she asks lowly.

Darius bites his lip. Even though dinosaurs are his specific topic of interest, he’s gained a lot of second-hand knowledge about general biology and psychology. After all, he has to understand the processes behind behavior in order to identify patterns and deviations.

And right now, he has to admit that Ben is displaying a very concerning behavior.

“I’ll talk to him,” Darius decides.

There’s a collective sigh of relief around the table, and the others start eating. It takes Darius longer than usual to finish his serving.

~*~

“So, uh, bottom line is… you don’t need to feel bad about eating our food. You’re as much a part of this group as anyone else, and we’re happy to share.”

After a couple tense days, Darius is finally talking to Ben about the food situation. Or rather, talking at him. Because Ben’s not looking at Darius- his eyes are tracking the small spider that’s crawling along the railing next to them. Normally, Darius would take it as a sign of boredom and inattentiveness. But there’s an intensity in Ben’s eye that’s a little unsettling-

Quick as a flash, Ben shoots out an arm. He crushes the spider under his thumb and swipes it into his mouth. And then, untroubled as can be, he returns his focus to Darius as if nothing had happened.

Darius has overheard Kenji teasing Ben about eating bugs, and Ben has admitted as much in the stories of his time alone. Berries and grubs were what he lived on. Darius, for one, can’t imagine being hungry and desperate enough to snatch a bug off the ground and eat it.

But it’s even harder to imagine having access to real food, good food, and still choosing to eat bugs.

“Don’t worry so much,” Ben says lightly, patting Darius on the shoulder as he turns to go. “I can take care of myself.”

That does it. “You can’t keep living off berries and grubs!” Darius finally snaps.

Ben whirls around. “Says who?”

“Basic human biology!” Darius retorts.

Ben glares at him, but there’s something shaky behind it. “Darius, I told you it’s fine,” he says evenly, though he doesn’t fully meet Darius’s gaze. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Please? If I’m hungry, I’ll eat.”

Darius hesitates. “You promise?”

Ben breaks into an easy smile. “I promise.”

Darius sighs. It’ll have to be good enough, for now.

“Okay.”

~*~

Darius knows he isn’t the only one still concerned by Ben’s lack of appetite.

Right from the start, Ben was the scrawniest one among them, and it’s only gotten worse. But surely he’ll have to eat at some point, right? Basic survival instincts will win out over whatever stubborn mindset is holding him back. Plus, it’s clear that he’s got enough energy to run and climb and stuff with no problem.

Maybe it’s not as serious as Darius thinks. Maybe Ben just needs time.

~*~

Ben doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

He just- he can’t take their food! Why don’t they get that?

And it’s not because he’s stubborn, it’s not- no matter what Darius thinks. There’s nothing wrong with letting others help you (as long as you don’t let it make you soft, of course). After all, he relies on Bumpy. He just… when he looks at the food, and imagines eating it, he just knows it’ll sit in his stomach. Like a rock, weighing him down.

Plus, plus, if he gets used to eating like that, it’ll just- it’ll be harder to cope once it runs out. He’s already gotten used to roughing it and it was hard enough the first time, he can’t let himself slip back into complacency. And- and really, how long do they think it’s going to last? They’ve searched all the previously inhabited areas of the island and there’s no more food for them to scavenge.

Do they think they’ll be rescued before it runs out? No one is coming to save them. They know it as much as Ben does- they wouldn’t be bothering with rafts if they didn’t. Do they think they’ll escape, then? Sure, because their current attempts have been going so well.

No, they just aren’t thinking long term. Ben is.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

~*~

It’s the sixth day in a row where Ben eats nothing but berries.

He wants to search around some more, see if there’s anything more substantial. That would require him to leave Bumpy, though. And he can’t leave Bumpy. But the hunger is excruciating. It gnaws at him every waking moment, keeps him up at night. He’s never felt such hunger in his life, not even close. He can’t keep going like this, can he?

But there’s nothing else.

Except… something’s crawling up his arm. Something small, and leggy. Ben turns his head, squinting to focus his eyes in the dark. It’s some kind of beetle, with a shiny shell that catches stray shafts of moonlight poking through the roof of his lean-to.

Ben stares at it for a moment. Then, before he can think, he snatches it up and pops it into his mouth. He barely registers any taste, mostly just the crunchy texture. And even though it wasn’t any bigger than a quarter, after he swallows, he feels… fuller. Even if it’s purely imagined, it’s a comfort.

Berries and grubs. It’ll have to be enough.

There’s nothing else.

~*~

Ben continues to decline their offers of food.

~*~

A few weeks after the reunion, Kenji is starting to get antsy.

As the self-designated ‘pro-fun police’ (a clever play on ‘no-fun police,’ if Kenji does say so himself), he’s made it his responsibility to make sure none of his friends just keel over and die from stress one day. That means it’s his job- no, his duty- to lighten the mood with copious amounts of joking, goofing off, and, of course, pranking.

Jumping out to scare his friends while they’re trapped on a dino-infested island might, on paper, sound like a bad idea. But it keeps everyone on their toes, and the relief of realizing they aren’t facing a dino attack, just Kenji pulling a prank, helps keep any real anger at bay. It’s typically an exasperated annoyance, which Kenji will gladly take. His main targets are Brooklynn and Darius, because he can’t fathom doing that to Sammy, and Yaz is- while perhaps in the most need of lightening up- super freaking scary.

But now that Ben’s back, Kenji knows what he has to do.

Before, back when they were just campers and not survivors, Ben was easily the most frightened of them. The kid was scared of dirt. And his over-the-top hysterics always managed to, somehow, put everyone else at ease. Because if Ben was scared of something, that didn’t really mean anything. Again; scared of dirt.

(Now, if Yaz is scared of something, that’s a different story).

Since Ben’s, uh… departure, they’ve been sorely lacking that energy in the group. Kenji would wager he’s not the only one who misses it. He used to have so much fun riling Ben up with just a couple words (none of the others are so easily baited). And whenever Ben would freak out and instantly cling to him, like some kind of scrawny spider monkey, it made Kenji feel… capable, in a way.

Like, if Ben was trusting Kenji to protect him, maybe he wasn’t so useless after all (which was becoming an all too frequent feeling as the others continued to adapt and grow, leaving Kenji struggling to keep up).

Problem is, Ben’s really hard to scare now.

It’s not always obvious, like when he’s bragging about taking down Toro or itching to blow things up. Sometimes it’s the little things. Whenever they’re out in a group, foraging or gathering supplies, and there’s a sound in the distance that makes them all freeze, Ben’s frozen in readiness, not fear. He looks more like Yaz, tense and waiting with his fists up and eyes narrowed.

Sometimes, when they aren’t occupied by any particular task or imminent threat, and have the chance to enjoy some downtime, Ben drifts off to the side and just… watches, all tense, silent, and anxious. He’ll watch the tree line, or Bumpy on the ground below, or even just the rest of them as they go about their business. Kenji is sure he’s not the only one who’s noticed but none of them bring it up.

It’s… unsettling, seeing Ben like this. Kenji figured he just needed a couple weeks to fall back into the rhythm of the group, to see that he didn’t have to be this loner Rambo type of guy anymore. But even though he talks with them easy enough, seems to enjoy their company, and has a good handle on teamwork, it’s like there’s a part of him that can’t fully shake that mentality.

At least, not without help.

~*~

 Kenji’s plan is- in his humble opinion- pretty dang brilliant.

He waits for a time when it’s just him and Ben in the main level of the clubhouse (Yaz is running laps around their perimeter, Darius is in his bunk writing in his nerd book, Brooklynn and Sammy are upstairs going over inventory) and then announces he’s going for a shower. His daily showers are common knowledge at this point, so Ben just nods in acknowledgement and goes back to leaning against the railing, watching Bumpy graze down below in that tense-silent-anxious way of his.

Kenji sets up the shower and lets it run (he’ll go down to the river later and get more water to make up for the waste, because even though he tries to avoid manual labor whenever possible, it’s totally worth it in this case). And then, being more careful and silent than he’s ever been (except maybe in cases where he’s being hunted by dinos), he slowly creeps up behind Ben before leaping forward with a shriek, grabbing him by the shoulders.

Ben doesn’t just jump and scream. He jumps, screams, then spins around and swings a fist into Kenji’s jaw in one smooth motion.

Kenji’s laughing even as he staggers back, his jaw stinging (because at the end of the day, even though Ben’s kind of a badass now, he’s still Ben and his arms are pretty much chicken wings so there’s no real harm done, just a bruise at most). Plus that’s a valid reaction, considering everything, and he can’t say he didn’t deserve it.

“Oh man, I totally got you!” Kenji says anyways, to rub it in. “You should see your… face...”

And Kenji trails off because now he’s seeing Ben’s face.

What Kenji expected is this:

Once Ben realized it was just him pulling a prank, he would get mad. In that totally non-threatening dorky Ben way, where he scrunches his nose and puffs out his cheeks, his little fists clenched at his side like an irate toddler. Maybe he’d stomp off but it’d be worth it because being mad is better than being tense-silent-anxious and it’d give him the chance to be annoyed with Kenji. And maybe Ben being annoyed with Kenji would help everything feel a little more normal, a little more like before.

What Kenji gets is this:

Once Ben realizes it was just him pulling a prank, he doesn’t get mad. He starts shaking. Violently, uncontrollably. Like he’s suddenly come down with hypothermia despite being in a tropical jungle, staring at Kenji all the while and not saying a word. His chest rises and falls rapidly in little panicky breaths and the kind of fear in his eyes isn’t the kind that’s funny. It’s glassy-eyed with shrunken pupils that dart around Kenji’s face, frightened and searching, as if he isn’t fully seeing it.

Kenji’s mouth is dry. “Ben…?” he croaks out.

Ben swallows. “Oh,” he says, in a very small voice. “It’s you.”

Kenji hasn’t heard Ben’s voice sound that small since before, and it doesn’t feel like a victory.

By now, of course, the others have noticed the commotion and it doesn’t take more than a second for them to piece together what happened. Yaz rounds on Kenji with a furious snarl and whisper-screams a lecture about how stupid and irresponsible he is. Darius is immediately trying to mediate the situation while Sammy frantically asks Ben if he’s okay, to which he doesn’t respond. Brooklynn steps in, citing an unboxing video about dealing with shock, and when she goes to put a hand on Ben’s shoulder, he lets her.

And now Kenji realizes where he miscalculated. Ben never showed discomfort with physical contact before because he’d never been surprised by it before (because Ben has gotten scary good at being alert, always keeping an eye and an ear out on his surroundings even in the middle of a conversation). And when it came to his friends, it wasn’t unexpected for Sammy to rush in with a hug or Darius to pat his shoulder or Brooklynn to playfully knock elbows.

But Kenji snuck up on him, so Ben’s first thought wasn’t that it was a friend. It was that he was going to have to run for his life, like he has countless times since being stranded on this island.

Kenji apologizes over and over again as Darius gently leads him away by the elbow and Brooklynn talks to Ben in low tones while Sammy squeezes his hand and Yaz takes up a lookout position because they can’t afford for all of them to be distracted even though she occasionally cuts a glare at Kenji out of the corner of her eye so it’s really debatable how vigilant she’s actually being.

Throughout it all, Ben doesn’t get mad, but he doesn’t stop shaking.

 ~*~

 Darius explains it, later.

“The sudden fear reaction signaled a bunch of adrenaline to be released into his bloodstream, to give him the energy needed for running. And then, when he didn’t, there was nowhere for that energy to go. It’s like, even though his mind knew there wasn’t any danger, his body wasn’t convinced.” Then, a sympathetic look. “You didn’t know, man.”

Kenji only nods. But knowing doesn’t make it better because even though Ben’s stopped shaking he doesn’t turn his back on Kenji anymore and somehow that’s a million times worse than if he’d gotten mad.

 ~*~

 There are claws wrapped around Ben’s shoulders and shrieks in his ears.

Wind whips his face and his stomach lurches as he’s carried through the air, weightless, at the mercy of the Pteranodon. He’s never felt so small and utterly helpless before, not once in his life. Even his screams aren’t big enough to carry, snatched away by the wind and deafened by the roars of the terror-birds fighting over the right to tear him limb from limb.

And then he’s falling and has other things to worry about.

 ~*~

 Ben stops sharing Kenji’s bunk.

 ~*~

 In a rare moment of downtime, Yasmina is curled up with Darius’s field guide, adding a few more illustrations, when she feels Ben staring at her.

It’s not the first time she’s felt him staring at her. It is the first time, however, that she decides to stare back.

She means it to be playful, at first. She meets his eyes, one brow quirked as if to say, ‘What, is there something on my face?’ But instead of glancing away in sheepish embarrassment or jolting out of a daze, Ben just stares back. There’s no emotion in his expression at all except intense focus.

The faint smile drops from Yasmina’s face as she stares back in surprise. Then, with ever-growing confusion and a fair amount of alarm, she realizes that Ben’s shoulders are rising, tense and hunched like he’s trying to make himself look bigger.

Like an animal.

Yasmina knows what it is to stare down a wild animal. She’s felt predatory eyes on her before and either bolted or turned to face the challenge. And that’s what it is, for some of the dinos- a challenge. Sometimes they’re testing your mettle, and standing your ground is enough to make them back off.

Ben must’ve learned that, too. And for whatever reason, he’s slipping into that behavior now.

It’s a ridiculous thought. This is Ben, her friend. Her very scrawny friend who can’t weigh more than ninety pounds soaking wet, and prefers a diet of berries and grubs. And yet, here he is, staring her down like she’s a particularly bold pack of Compies that’s decided to threaten him.

Yasmina gives a slow, deliberate blink. “Ben?” she calls. “What’s up?”

Just like that, the spell is broken. Ben gives a violent start, blinking and shaking his head. Yasmina sees confusion flash across his face, and then realization. And now the embarrassment comes, but it’s darkened by something like horror.

Without a word, Ben turns and darts away, scrambling down the ladder to the alcove underneath the house where Bumpy’s napping.

Yasmina lets him go, too baffled and unsettled to form words.

 ~*~

 Eventually, Yasmina tells Darius about it.

His expression is troubled as she runs through the incident. But in the end, there’s nothing more he can tell her than what she’s already worked out on her own. It’s just another side effect of the mindset Ben has adopted throughout his isolation. Those habits were what he relied on to survive, and it’ll take time for him to realize he doesn’t have to constantly be on edge now that he’s got a team to look out for him.

Though privately, Yasmina wonders if maybe the rest of them should take a page out of Ben’s book. Seems like he’s got a better handle on survival than they do.

(And then she thinks how Sammy would react, if Yasmina started acting like a wary animal around her, and she realizes Ben’s methods come with a price.)

 ~*~

 After Ben runs the Compies off for the first time, staring becomes a defense tactic.

It’s not always the Compies, who are slowly but surely learning not to mess with him. Sometimes it’s the Parasaurolophus in the river, or the lone Pteranodon perched in a tree, or the group of Edmontosauruses grazing on the hilltop. As soon as he feels their eyes on him, he knows his best chance is to stare back, to show that he’s willing to put up a fight, that chasing him wouldn’t be worth it.

Obviously, there are some dinosaurs that doesn’t work on. But if Ben can drastically cut down the amount of time spent running for his life by standing his ground, then he’ll take it.

All he has to do is not back down.

 ~*~

 Ben avoids Yasmina for the next few days.

 ~*~

 Brooklynn wakes up in the middle of the night with an unshakeable feeling that something is wrong.

Her bad feeling is confirmed when she gets a look at the moon. Based on its position in the sky, she should’ve been woken up by Ben to take her night watch shift at least an hour ago. This practice, established by Darius months ago who insisted they should always have at least one person awake, has already become routine within the group. Brooklynn couldn’t sleep fully through the night if she tried.

Ben’s only just recently become a part of the routine. Immediately after his return, Darius thought it best just to let Ben settle in and get as much rest as he could, now that he had the security to do so, and everyone agreed. Ben had insisted he didn’t mind, but Darius stood firm, so it’s only been within the last few days that Ben took part.

But this is the first time he hasn’t woken Brooklynn up and her heart is in her throat as she rushes to the lookout point-

Only to find Ben sitting right where he’s supposed to be, looking out over their compound as a small candle burns next to him.

As soon as Brooklynn’s relief passes, it’s replaced with anger. “What are you doing?” she whispers furiously.

Ben, not at all surprised by her presence, gives her a sidelong look. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You were supposed to wake me up, so I could do night watch.” Brooklynn struggles to keep her voice low, so as not to alert the others. “What gives?”

Ben shrugs. “I knew I wasn’t gonna sleep tonight, so I figured I’d just take the whole watch myself.”

“That’s not how this works,” Brooklynn hisses, crossing her arms. “Even if you can’t fall asleep- and I’ve totally been there- you have to lay down and close your eyes and rest. You need to rest.”

Ben breaks into an easy smile, but Brooklynn can see the annoyed creases at his eyes. “Hey, it’s fine. I can-”

“Take care of yourself, I know,” Brooklynn interrupts, hating how frustrated she sounds but unable to help it. “But you don’t have to. We’re a team. We can take care of you too, alright?”

Ben stares at her for a moment. “I know that,” he says, sounding uncertain.

Brooklynn softens. When she reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, he lets her. “Then… why?”

“I don’t know,” Ben admits. The muscles beneath Brooklynn’s hand are so tense, it feels like they’re going to snap. “I don’t know.”

They finish the night watch together.

 ~*~

 Brooklynn almost hates to bring it up to Darius.

Dude’s stressing almost nonstop about everything, all the time. And it really isn’t fair for him to be responsible for the rest of them, including Ben. But Darius is the only one who seems to have the… what’s it called, emotional intelligence, she supposes, to weigh in on the situation.

(Sammy is a close second, but her brand of caring is a little more touchy-feely, and this doesn’t seem like the right time for that.)

Darius is immediately worried, pointing out that Ben might accidentally fall asleep on watch if he keeps this up (something Brooklynn hadn’t even thought about). He promises to talk to Ben about it, and that’s that.

Brooklynn is only slightly relieved because she knows if Darius had a real fix for the problem, he would’ve said so. And if Darius doesn’t have a fix for it, maybe there isn’t one.

 ~*~

 Those first several nights, Ben doesn’t sleep at all.

And it’s not for lack of trying. But how can he sleep, when it’s pitch black and the jungle is full of unfamiliar sounds and he’s got no one but a baby Ankylosaurus by his side? He soon finds it’s even worse without Bumpy, though, because at least he trusted that Bumpy would wake up if there was any danger, as her senses are more powerful than his.

On his own, there’s no one to wake him up. So he has to stay up, and settle for catching short scattered naps throughout the day (if he can find a tree to hide up in).

It’s hard, but he’d rather be tired than dead.

 ~*~

 Ben is taken off night watch, but still ends up awake more often than not.

 ~*~

 Pyromaniac is a word no one ever expected to become synonymous with Ben, and yet here they are.

It’s one of the first things he always suggests as an answer to a problem; blow something up. Darius has a million reasons for them not to do that; they could get hurt, they could start a wildfire and burn the jungle down, they could attract unwanted attention from predators.

But that doesn’t stop Ben from cataloguing everything on the island that can be used as an explosive, memorizing their locations or creating hidden stashes. It doesn’t stop him from using the candles that came with the scavenged emergency kits. He’ll light them for no reason, just to watch the small flame flicker back and forth.

(Someday, months later, they’ll encounter a horrific hybrid dinosaur that is drawn to flames, and they’ll all think about how unsettling it is that Ben shares this trait, but none of them will say it.)

 ~*~

 It’s been one week since Bumpy left, and Ben is starting a fire.

Just a small one. It rained all day and he’s soaked to the bone, which normally wouldn’t be a huge problem considering the jungle climate. But now that it’s nighttime, there’s a chill in the air and he can’t afford to get sick. It’s risky, because at night he knows the light could draw attention to him, but his teeth are starting to chatter so there’s no helping it.

When a Stegosaurus stumbles upon him, baying low and angry at finding another creature in its territory, it’s the fire that makes it balk. Rumbling displeasure, it retreats back into the dark jungle. Ben quickly adds torches to his arsenal, using the rest of his shirt as tinder.

Fire is safety.

 ~*~

 Ben lights his candles in silence.

 ~*~

 “You can’t just run off like that,” Kenji says, deadly serious.

Ben scoffs. “I think you’re forgetting who defeated Toro,” he says with an easy smile.

“You’re not invincible, Ben!” Kenji snaps. The anger churning inside him is deceptively hollow, like it’s masking something else. “And I can’t lose you again.”

Ben isn’t smiling anymore. “You won’t,” he mutters, pushing past Kenji. “I can take care of myself, now. I don’t need you to play the hero and protect me.”

Kenji wants to protest that’s not what this is about, and that’s never been what this is about, but Ben is already gone.

 ~*~

 Ben still lives off berries and grubs.

 ~*~

 “… and so I was thinking, berries have seeds in them, right? So if we plant some, we’ll have our own berry bushes at the clubhouse. It’ll cut down our foraging time in the mornings for sure, and-”

“Uh, who are you talking to, Ben?”

Ben blinks at Yasmina’s voice, the girl having only just entered the room.

“Um, Bumpy?” he says, as if this should be obvious.

Yasmina glances out at the compound, where Bumpy is fast asleep and well out of earshot.

“… right.”

 ~*~

 Ben can’t sleep, even when he’s actually trying.

 ~*~

 “Alright,” Darius says, “so we need to get the T-Rex out of Main Street so we can do another sweep for supplies. Any ideas?”

Ben’s hand goes up.

“For the hundredth time, Ben, we aren’t going to feed the T-Rex to the Mosasaurus.”

Ben’s hand goes down.

 ~*~

 Ben feels more at home with Bumpy than the other campers.

 ~*~

 “You know we didn’t mean to leave you, right? We would’ve come back for you if we’d known…”

 ~*~

 Ben never talks about getting off the island.

 ~*~

 “You have to tell us where you’re going, Ben, you can’t just disappear-”

 ~*~

 Ben keeps slipping away.

 ~*~

“Blowing stuff up isn’t the answer to everything!”

~*~

 Ben keeps saying he’s okay.

 ~*~

 “We’re a team, we have to work together-”

 ~*~

 Ben keeps smiling.

 ~*~

 “Don’t you trust us to protect you?”

 ~*~

 Ben doesn’t know.

 ~*~

 Sammy finds Ben sitting on the roof of the clubhouse one day.

Her footsteps are loud and obvious as she approaches him. No chance of sneaking up. She knows he’s noticed her, from the subtle shift in his body. He doesn’t acknowledge her, though, continuing to stare off over the jungle and into the horizon, his skinny legs slotted through the railing and dangling over the edge.

The sun’s about to set, a few stars already twinkling in the purple edges of the sky. Sammy can remember another night, months ago, where Ben wasn’t here but everyone else was and they spotted bonfire smoke in the distance. She remembers the way her heart raced, the overwhelming joy and relief flooding through her. And yet, there had been undeniable heartache, because the realization that they’d made it out only meant it was more unfair that Ben hadn’t.

Sammy breaks the silence after a few moments.

“Are you okay?”

Ben doesn’t look at her, but she can see the easy smile that slants across his face, dying sunlight reflected in his eyes.

“Yeah.”

Sammy sees the lie for what it is. None of them are okay. No one who’s been through what they have would be. But there’s a certain danger that comes with not being willing to admit it, and an even greater danger that comes with not being able to see it.

“Y’know, it’d be fine if you weren’t.”

Ben doesn’t answer.

Sammy sits with him until the sky turns dark.

 ~*~

 It’s the way he struggles to eat anything he hasn’t obtained by himself.

It’s the way he sometimes goes off on his own without telling anyone.

It’s the way he talks to himself when he thinks no one else is around.

It’s the way he takes any concern for his safety as a personal attack.

It’s the way he leaps at the chance to blow something up.

It’s the way he can stare silently for hours.

It’s the way he smiles a little too easily.

 ~*~

 It’s not jumping at every unexpected movement, or screaming awake from night terrors, or flinching away from the slightest touch. It’s not loud meltdowns or hysterical sobbing or uncontrollable fits of rage.

(Even though those will come, someday, when the island is just a memory.)

It’s the little things, that- once you notice them- keep piling up.

And suddenly, they don’t seem so little anymore.

 ~*~

[yikesharringrove]

Hi! I love your blog and i check daily for updates because your fics/drabbles make my days! I wanted to request (if you're up to it) something with steve going deaf after the concussion in s2? Thank you so much! I hope you feel better soon and have a great day❤

So, I’ve broken my eardrums several times and that causes temporary hearing loss, so I based what Steve experiences on that as well as some stuff I read written by folks that lost their hearing.

I also wanna rec this fic, which has a similar idea, but Steve begins the story hard of hearing, so I tried to make them different!

Read on Ao3

-

Billy doesn’t know what happened when the kids drugged him and left him there.

All he knows is that he was startled awake by the sounds of Maxine driving his own car and the kids fucking screaming.

Something about Harrington being bitten?

And they dragged Steve out of his car, and he was bloody, and unconscious, and had a big gash in the back of his head.

Billy helped them bring him to the couch, using Steve’s jacket to pillow his head, trying to staunch the bleeding from the wound there.

“Why the fuck didn’t you take him to the hospital?”

Everyone was quiet as Steve groaned, shifting slightly.

His eyes fluttered open.

They were hazy and unfocused, looking slowly around the room.

“Hey, buddy. How are ya feeling?” Steve stared blankly at Dustin.

“I, what?”

Steve felt like he was underwater.

The world was moving too slowly around him, everything was hazy and muffled and he didn’t know which way was up, which part of his body hurt more.

He barely remembers being in those tunnels, the ‘dogs rushing them, getting tossed against the cave wall.

And then, nothing.

Nothing but blue eyes and rough hands.

And Dustin asked him something, but he was too far away, or maybe he was being quiet for once in his life, but Steve just heard ay-u are-a ee.

And then Billy said something, and Steve could pick up osital before Billy was picking him up like he weighed nothing and putting him back in that car.

And Steve could sort of make out the sound of the engine through his underwater brain.

But it didn’t sound anything like it did that first day when Billy roared into the high school parking lot, didn’t even sound like when Max was driving earlier.

And Billy fucking knew something was wrong.

Every time he spoke, Steve didn’t acknowledge him. And he would chalk it up to Steve just fucking hating him, but he figured he’d get some kind of response, even if it was just a glare.

He took him to the emergency room, helping him out of the car.

“My friend hit his head. He’s bleeding and he’s really spaced out.”

-

Steve let the nurses and the doctors examine him.

He felt like he was only going deeper under water.

“I’m sorry, I can’t, I can’t hear you.”

He couldn’t even hear his own voice.

The nurse’s smile slid right off her face.

And then there was another doctor, and he was wheeled into a new room, and had to lay very still in a large cream colored tube.

-

“Harrington?”

Billy hadn’t been allowed to accompany Steve back. No familial relation, and all that.

But he was getting regular updates as they performed new tests.

Last he heard, Steve was being taken for a scan, which Billy didn’t like the sound of.

“Our imaging has presented us with the cause of his loss of hearing. It appears that-”

“Sorry, loss of hearing?” And it made sense, it really did, but it also sent a fucking chill down Billy’s spine. Moreso than the unexplained animal bite that was oozing blood and puss from Steve’s leg.

“Yes, it appears Mr. Harrington has suffered a severe enough concussion we have classified it as a traumatic brain injury. Due to the location of the blow, his auditory processing has been affected. We believe he has lost approximately 90% of his hearing.”

“But this is like, just temporary, right? He’ll be fine?”

“It’s rare to lose hearing due to damage to the brainstem, so unfortunately, we don’t know.”

“You don’t, you don’t know? He could be fucking deaf forever, and you don’t know?” She gave him an unimpressed look, stared him down until he deflated, mumbled a sorry.

“Look, his injury is uncommon, not unprecedented. We hope for a full recovery, but at this point, it’s unlikely.” She gave him a half smile as he thanked her, and turned on her heel.

-

They gave Steve a notepad.

He didn’t like talking.

Felt like he sounded stupid.

Couldn’t hear himself to know otherwise.

And of course, he didn’t know sign language. Never had put much thought into learning it.

The nurses would give him pitying smiles, would write down their questions for him. They mostly kept to yes or no’s, allowing him to nod or shake his head.

Does it still hurt? Has your hearing improved? Do you need more pain killers?

He slept through the rest of the night, but he chalks that up to the morphine they pumped him with, the adrenaline draining from his body.

The next morning he woke up to a sweet looking nurse, writing him a note that he had visitors, and he was welcome to tell them no.

He sighed, and nodded, giving a vague come in gesture.

It was Joyce and Hop.

And Steve realized he was relieved the kids weren’t there.

Joyce scribbled something on his pad.

They told us everything. I’m so sorry, Honey.

And Steve stared crying. Started sobbing, because Joyce’s hugs were warm but her soft voice was gone.

-

Billy had never left the emergency room.

He had curled in one of the uncomfortable chairs, and dozed off until morning, when the Police Chief rolled in with the gaggle of kids and a short woman that gave him a shockingly tight hug, and thanked him for taking care of Steve.

“He’s deaf.” Billy’s throat felt raw. “They told me last night. Scanned his brain and the injury was real bad. They don’t know if he’ll ever hear again.”

“But they, there’s nothing they can do?” Dustin was pale.

“Not really. They said, it’s rare for how he was injured to result in hearing loss, so they just don’t know.”

The chief took that woman back to see Steve, told the kids they didn’t know if he was up for visitors just yet.

Dustin had an odd look on his face.

He set his jaw, rolled his shoulders back, planted himself in front of Billy.

“Take me to the library.” Billy raised an eyebrow.

“Not a chance.”

“Take me to the library.”

“Kid, no.”

“Yes! I need to do research! If I learn sign language, I can help Steve so we can communicate!” Lucas stood behind him.

“Take us to the library.” When Maxine stood as well, Billy sighed.

“Fine. Get in the car.”

-

Apparently Nancy and Jonathan broke into his house.

Nancy still remembered where he kept the spare key.

She had an odd look on her face as she passed Steve some sweats, a clean shirt. Jonathan scribbled a note and gestured to the bag he placed on one of the chairs.

We brought more clothes, didn’t know how long you’re staying.

He didn’t know either.

He told them thanks. One word was easy enough, and he’s pretty sure he saw Nancy’s eyes go a little teary at the sound of his voice.

-

Billy ushered the kids into the building, going over to chat with the librarian.

He had spent a decent amount of time here since moving to Hawkins. They had a decent selection, and plenty of the classics he liked to read.

He was too tired to flirt, but kept polite conversation as the kids rushed around.

“We need all the books you have on American Sign Language, deafness, and anything else on the subject.” She gave Dustin a pointed look.

“Mr. Henderson, you have five books checked out, as well as five you stole-”

“I’ll bring those back. This is urgent.” Billy put on his best tragic look.

“Marissa, the kid’s best friend has a, well he’s just gone deaf. Had a terrible accident. They just wanna be there for him, you know?” She looked at him. Her resolve was slipping. “You know, use my card for ‘em. You know I’m reliable.”

He checked out very few books, opted to read them in the library instead.

She sighed.

“I’ll show you what we’ve got.” And she grumbled all the way to the stack.

-

Steve was staring out the window when he received a note about more visitors.

He knew he’d have to face the kids at some point, he was just hoping to put it off.

He smiled as warmly as he could when they came in, his eyes going wide when Billy trailed in behind them.

He looked like shit.

Dustin scribbled something on the notepad.

Billy took us to the library and we got books on sign language and we’re all going to learn together so that we can all still communicate.

He wrote like he talked, run on sentences with rushed, sloppy, handwriting.

Everyone was staring at him weird, and he realized he had laughed. He took notepad scribbling on it quickly.

Thank you guys. Means a lot. Dustin smiled at him, nodding. He cast a glance over to Billy, leaning against the wall, staring out the window. Dustin took the pad.

He hasn’t left since he brought you here he slept out in the waiting room and took us to the library to get all the books AND let us check them out on his library card.

Steve nodded, clearing his throat. Billy’s jaw tightened at the sound.

“Billy.” His head whipped around, his eyes wide at Steve’s voice. Not too loud. He held up what Dustin had written down. “Thank you.” Billy just nodded at him.

-

The kids were picked up one by one, giving Steve tight hugs before they left.

Until it was Max asleep in a chair, Billy sitting in the other.

Steve watched as Billy took off his jacket, draping it over Max like a blanket.

He gave Steve a tight smile. Steve picked up the pad.

Why have you stayed? You didn’t have to.

Billy shrugged. Worried about you.

Steve flushed.

I’m okay.

Billy gave him a look.

Well, I will be. Billy gave him a little half smile. You really took them to the library?

The little mouthy one bullied me into it.

Steve laughed. Billy tried to stifle his own smile.

Love the image of Dustin bullying you into doing something.

Yeah well, it was humiliating. Steve smiled at him again.

So, are you learning sign language too?

Just the important shit. Princess, Pretty Boy, pain in my ass. The three P’s. Steve laughed again.

Right. Important shit. Remind me to learn asshole and piece of trash.

Steve had never really taken much notice to the way Billy laughed. But now that he couldn’t hear it, he studied Billy’s face. His eyes scrunched up, and had his teeth always been that white, and that straight? His Adam’s apple bobbed when he laughed and Steve didn’t even think, reached out and pressed his fingers softly against his throat, his palm flat on his chest.

Billy went still. Steve recoiled.

Sorry. Wanted to see if I could feel your laugh. Billy smiled sheepishly at him, taking his hand and bringing it back to his throat.

Steve could feel the vibrations in his throat, the way the air made his neck shift, his Adam’s apple moving.

He didn’t know what Billy was saying, just liked the way his lips moved, the way he could feel the words in his fingertips.

-

Steve’s face was soft as Billy spoke, his eyes big, his fingers soft against Billy’s throat.

“I guess I can say this now. Since you’re not ever gonna hear me say it, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I said to you, did to you. You just, you scare the shit outta me, Pretty Boy. I’m not, not allowed to feel this way about you. About, about any boy. Neil’s made that really fucking clear. But I saw you, and I wanted to be near you, to hear you laugh, be the, the cause of all your damn smiles, and I’ve made you laugh twice today. And that’s the best damn feelin’ in the world.”

Steve’s eyes flicked up to his face when he couldn’t feel words anymore, and those soft fingers retreated again.

Steve took the notepad.

Billy liked his handwriting.

I like the way it feels when you talk. He smiled all bright and Steve Harrington pretty. Never thought about feeling someone speaking like that before. And then Billy’s heart sank. What did you say.

Talkin’ shit on you.

That’s rude. I’m a deaf person now. That’s bigamy.

I’m going to assume you meant bigotry. Steve flushed.

Yeah, whatever.  Steve was all huffy. It was adorable.

Sorry, I’ll only talk shit in sign once we all earn it.

Thank you. I appreciate it. Steve reached out, slapping playfully at Billy’s chest. Billy had the overwhelming urge to take his hand, kiss his knuckles.

He was too scared.

When do you get out of here? I got an idea.

-

Billy was there to pick him and take him home.

Steve had been in the hospital for over two weeks, as they wanted to monitor the injury.

He had completely lost his hearing, and had given up hope of it returning.

But Billy had been by everyday, usually bringing Dustin and some of the library books, and they had all mastered the sign language alphabet, and had all learned a few words.

Steve had a few bags of things people had brought to him, everything fitting nicely in the trunk of the Camaro.

Billy had offered to drive him own, wanted to see something.

He made a beeline to the quarry, finding a spot overlooking the water.

He took the pad from Steve’s lap, writing I have an idea, tell me when you can feel it.

He rifled through the cardboard box in the backseat, holding up the tape for Steve to see.

It was KISS, Dynasty.

Steve made a face.

Billy rolled his eyes, pushing the tape in. He turned up the bass, cranking the volume.

The first song, I Was Made For Lovin’ You, had one of Billy’s favorite bass lines ever.

He turned up the bass some more, until his speakers sounded like shit, the song completely distorted.

But Steve’s eyes were wide, his hand on his chest. Billy stole the pad.

At concerts, sometimes you can feel the bass in your body. I thought that might work for you. Can still listen to music. I got a lot of bass heavy stuff.

Steve’s bottom lip trembled.

He sniffed, wiping at his eyes.

Billy doesn’t know what he had done wrong, if maybe it was insensitive, this whole music thing.

He went to turn down the music, but Steve grabbed his wrist. He took the notepad.

Thank you, Billy. You’re really nice. Not listening to music anymore was really making me sad. This was a good idea.

Steve smiled at him, his eyes still wide and gooey wet.

Billy didn’t think about.

Just put one hand on the back of Steve’s neck, and pulled him forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Steve was stiff against him, and Billy was about to pull back, scribble an apology on the pad, put then Steve sighed, and melted against Billy.

They pulled away from one another, and Steve was biting his lip, made Billy kiss him again.

Been wanting to do that for a while. Billy had tossed the pad onto his lap. Steve scoffed at it.

Why didn’t you?

Too scared. Steve just looked at him. The song clicked to the next, the steady kick drum of 2,000 Man made Steve’s hand flutter back to his chest. You like this one?

This album is good. Now that I can’t actually hear it. Billy shoved him. Steve huffed a little laugh.

Dick.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

northern bound trains

(or: i didn't write anything for valentine's day so i'm reposting my safehouse fic in honor of the holiday lol)

jonmartin fic, set post 159, complete with angsty pining with a happy ending. this can also be found here at ao3.

Martin rides with Jon to the train station. It isn’t as if Basira is going to see him off, not with everything that has happened with Daisy and the police… someone has to stay back and explain. And, well, Martin insisted. Said he shouldn’t have to go there alone. “Nothing worse than leaving on a trip with no one to send you off,” he’d said. Jon had nodded, gratefully, and swallowed back the burning lump of what he wanted to say— Come with me, come to Scotland, I don’t want to leave you alone again. He kept hearing Martin’s words in his head: I really loved you . And he couldn’t ask Martin to do that, to leave his whole life and everything behind to become a fugitive, cower in Scotland and throw his whole life away. It’s too much. And Martin has already sacrificed so much for him.

He’ll be content with Martin seeing him off. That can be enough. That will be enough.

Jon keeps ahold of his hand in the back of the cab, the whole way there. He doesn’t want to let go. Call him a coward, or selfish, and you'd probably be right, but he came so close to losing Martin forever, and he has to leave again in a few minutes. He held Martin's hand the whole way out of the Lonely, his fingers icy between Jon's. And Martin didn't let go. They came out in the tunnels and Martin leaned into him like he was tired, his forehead tipped against Jon's shoulder. They didn't let go until Basira found them there. He doesn't want to leave Martin alone. He doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't know if he can do that. And then he's holding onto Martin's hand tighter, holding it in both of his, and Martin's looking towards him with concern and saying, "Everything all right?"

Jon pushes the thought from his head, steels his shoulders and says, "Yes, of course." Basira will take care of Martin and Martin will take care of Basira, and they'll both be fine without him. Better, even, like Melanie and Georgie. He tells himself that as he takes one hand away, and he tries to move the other, but Martin doesn't let go when he does, and Jon pretends he isn't grateful. 

They make the station within twenty minutes of the next train's departing time and have to more or less run to make it. A bit of a haul with the bag Jon packed from the things he had at the Institute, but they make it in time. "Oh, good," Martin says, panting a bit, when they stop at the platform and the train is still there. "I… was worried you wouldn't make it." 

There's an odd sort of tone in his voice that Jon can't read—maybe he wants Jon to leave, is looking forward to it? But then he remembers Martin's face in the Lonely, when he broke through, how tightly he'd hugged Jon back, and Jon pushes the thought away. Not positive thinking. Georgie would tell him to have a better outlook on things if she was still talking to him. "Well," he says quietly, setting the suitcase by his feet, "here we are."

"Here we are," Martin says quietly. He's still got Jon's hand; he tugs it towards him insistently. "Stay safe, all right? Don't do anything reckless on the way up there. That'd be just your luck—run into a Darkness monster or something." 

"That would be my luck," Jon says dryly, and Martin laughs a little. He laughs, too, clears his throat and adds (because it feels important), "I hate leaving you all behind here. If something happens…"

"You don't need to worry about that," says Martin. "All you need to worry about is getting to safety, all right?"

"But after everything with… with Elias, and t-the Hunters… it doesn't feel right to leave you and Basira in the thick of this." 

"Jon, c'mon, we've been over this. Basira told you to go. It's the best thing for you to do. You're not allowed to feel guilty about this, all right? I'm serious." 

Martin looks stern in an unserious sort of way, and something aches deep in Jon's chest. He squeezes Martin's hand so he won't do something more, like ask to kiss him or ask him to come along. "All right," he says. "But you… you've got to tell me if something happens. Promise me that, at least. I don't want anything like this to happen to you again." The past few days have passed in such a rush that it feels like no time has really passed at all, and he can still remember the sick panic that seized him when he heard the tape of Lukas telling Martin he wouldn't be coming back. Of finding Martin gone because Lukas had taken him, the period when he thought he wouldn't be able to get him back. He won't let that happen again, not to Martin or to any of them. 

Martin takes a shaky breath, and for a moment, Jon worries he might cry. But all he says is, "Okay. I promise," and that is enough.  

Jon swallows hard, nods. Checks his watch and relaxes a bit when he sees seven minutes before departure. He'd hoped for more time; seven minutes is enough time to talk for a bit more, even if it doesn't feel like any time at all. But Martin sees him do it and says, "Oh, uh, I—y-you should get onto the train now. So you don't miss it." 

Jon swallows hard and says, "Right." Damn it. He isn't ready to get on, isn't ready to walk away and leave Martin alone again. The words bubble up in his throat— Come with me, please —but he still can't say them. He'd asked Martin to run away with him before, and Martin had said no; he has to respect that. 

Martin will be fine. He will be. Martin is strong and resilient, a million times stronger than Jon ever has been. He doesn't need Jon. Jon has to believe that he'll be all right. 

"Jon," Martin says quietly, and his voice is strange again. "I don't… I don't know how to thank you. For… coming for me. For getting me out of there."

There's things Jon should stay here. Of course I'd come for you, or I wouldn't have left you alone there or You don't need to thank me. But all he can manage is, "Martin." And then they're pushing towards each other, Jon's arms folding tight around him, the two of them clinging together on this train platform surrounded by dozens of people. He's not sure how long they stand there like that; he doesn't want to let go. 

Finally, Martin says, "You… you should catch your train, Jon," in a choked up voice. "Don't want to miss it."

Jon takes a deep breath, counts to five in his head before saying, "Right," and slipping his arms out from around Martin. 

Martin shoves up his glasses to rub briefly at his eyes; he must be exhausted. "I'll… write to you," he says. "Or call with updates, or… both, I dunno. Always thought it was nice to get letters."

"I'll write to you, too," Jon says. Next best thing to actually having Martin there, as long as he gets to talk to him. As long as there's something beside this long silence over all these months. Maybe he could write some poetry of his own—but no, that's ridiculous, he's never written poetry a day in his life, and Martin wouldn't want that anyway. Doesn't think of him like that. 

"Oh. All right." Martin rubs at his eyes again with his sleeve, as if they itch or something. Jon looks at the train, then back at Martin. He doesn't want to go. But Martin says, "Off you go, then," in a thick voice, and Jon nods, and then he's climbing onto the train. He convinces himself not to look back. 

He waits until he's seated, in a seat by the window, to look back. He doesn't Look—he wouldn't do that, he swore he wouldn't Look for his friends unless they were in danger, he doesn't want to invade Martin's privacy, and he won't do it. He looks out the window instead, like regular people do, fully expecting to not see Martin there. But Martin is still there, on the platform, wringing his hands as he looks at the train. Seeing him off, as it were. Literally, even. 

Jon has to wipe his own eyes, then, pretend he isn't crying a bit. He swallows hard and leans his head against the window and watches Martin through the glass until the train pulls away from the station. 

---

Martin stands at the platform for too long after Jon's train leaves, watching the empty tracks. About as pathetic as you can get. His hands are freezing, so he keeps them in his pockets, and he watches for fog and listens for the churn of the ocean, but there's nothing there. Just the pressing crowd of the train platforms. Other trains come and go, but of course, Jon's train doesn't come back. 

He's safe, he tells himself, over and over again. He's safe, and that's all that matters, isn't it? That's why you did what you did with Peter. You did it, you saved him. And he couldn't have gone with Jon, anyway. 

Three trains come before Martin stands up from the platform and walks towards the cab stand. To go home, he supposes, or go back to the Institute. Basira could probably use the company, too, after Daisy. (Except he and Basira have never really been that close, and Melanie has gotten away, and his mum is gone, and Jon's gone too, now, and here he is, alone again…) 

Martin takes a sharp breath and shakes his head. He won't let that happen again, he won't, it's not going to happen again. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, desperate for something to fill the empty spaces in his head. His first instinct, looking at his phone screen, is to call Jon. Looking at the seventeen missed calls from Jon, from when he was gone with Lukas. But he can't—Jon just left, that's ridiculous. So he calls Basira instead, just to check in. Just to hear someone's voice. 

She picks up sounding frantic, with that hard edge Basira usually has in her voice. "Martin? What's wrong?"

"N-nothing's wrong," Martin says quickly, pushing up his glasses to wipe his eyes again. He's sick of the crying, it's leaving his glasses all fogged and blotchy. Probably sounds like something is wrong. "Just… wanted to check in. Are you all right?"

Basira sighs. "I… yeah. Fine. I've been… I've been looking for Daisy." She sighs again, sharply, and says, "Jon's off, then?"

"Yes. Yes, he left about… forty minutes ago." Martin checks his watch uselessly; he knows how long it's been. How long he spent on that platform imagining himself chasing after the train like he's in some movie—ridiculous. How long he sat there wishing he'd just gone along. "Everything seemed all right. Nothing… nothing off about it."

"Good," says Basira. "And… you? What are you going to do, Martin?"

Martin knows what he should say. Things like I'm going to go and get some sleep, or I'll come and help search for Daisy , or I'm going to find Elias, I'm going to end this before it goes any further, before he hurts any of us ever again. But he doesn't say any of that.  He says what he wants to say, without even thinking about it, the words tumbling out of his mouth almost involuntarily. His fingers tighten around the phone, like it is the only thing that is holding him up, and he blurts, "I'm going with him."

Silence on the other end. "What?" Basira says, finally. "I thought… You said he was already gone."

"He is. I'll—I'll get the next train, I'll figure it out. I… I have to do this, Basira." 

He says this in a rush, like he's defending himself. Like he's expecting Basira to argue. But all she does is sigh again and say, "All right. Sure. I should've known something like this would happen, with you two."

Martin searches for the words for a moment, turning back towards the station, towards the place where Jon left. He could be there in just a few moments, headed for Jon, going after him. "You… you won't need me here?"

"No. No, Martin, we've done well enough without you these past few months." 

Martin flinches, fingers tightening around the phone, and he's ready to say something in response—maybe in apology, maybe in defense of himself, he isn't sure—but before he can, Basira says, "Shit. Just—forget I said that. I know why you did what you did, Jon told me. Just… just go on, all right? Do what you need to do. I'll… I'll just be looking for Daisy. I can call when I have news, about the… the police and everything."

Martin takes a shaky breath, bending nearly in half. "Okay," he says. "Okay." The reality of what he's doing is solidifying, somewhere by the lump in his throat. He doesn't want to be alone again. And he doesn't think he'd be alone if he stayed; if nothing else, he has Basira, and maybe Melanie if she'll talk to him. But it's not just that. It's not just about being with anyone. He wants to be with Jon. Right now, he wants to be with Jon. 

"Go get a train or… whatever. Keep Jon from doing anything stupid, when you get there," Basira says sternly. 

"Okay," Martin says again. "I… thank you, Basira." 

"Don't thank me. You do what you need to do." There's a bit of a silence again, before Basira finishes with, "Stay safe." And then she hangs up. Martin hears the beep in his ear. 

He slides the phone in his pocket and takes a few deep breaths. Walks to the ticket booth and gets a ticket on the next train to Inverness. 

No time to go home and pack, so Martin goes back and sits on the same bench to wait for the train, huddling up in his coat. It's nearly as cold here as the Lonely. He'll have to stop and buy some things; he doesn't think any of Jon's things will fit him. He tries to picture what Daisy's house must look like. Jon says it's near the ocean; he hopes it isn't like the Lonely. He doesn't think it will be, especially not with Jon there. 

Martin rests his head against a concrete post and resists the urge to let his eyes slide shut. He takes out his phone again to call Jon, just to let him know. Doesn't want to just show up on Jon's doorstep with no warning, especially if Jon would rather him not be there at all. (He doesn't think Jon will be opposed to him coming—well, he can't be sure, but he guesses not. Jon did follow him into the Lonely, after all, pulled him out and held his hand, and if nothing else, Martin thinks they could both use a friend. And if Jon doesn't want him to come, if his voice is full of stiff politeness that masks any conflicting feelings he might have, well, Martin will get a cab home before he's actually en route there. It's as simple as that.)

He listens to the phone ring and ring, but Jon doesn't pick up. Maybe his phone is dead. Or maybe it's too soon to call. Or maybe Jon is avoiding him…

Martin sighs and ends the call. No use lingering over that. Basira has texted him Daisy's address, so he'll be able to find the house either way. He saves the text and turns off the phone to save the battery, and boards the train as soon as it arrives, thinking only of arriving in Scotland and of finding his way to Jon. Jon found him, followed him into a lonely hell and saved him, and now it's Martin's turn to search for him, even if it's just in Scotland. He can keep Jon safe, keep him company; they can take care of each other. Be there for each other. That's all Martin really wants. 

---

Jon wakes up several hours into the journey and finds his phone dead. He Knows, then, exactly where his charger is, curled up on his cot beside his pillow, and he feels stupid for not thinking to bring it. There goes any chance he has of talking to Martin or Basira on the trip up. He'll have to get a new charger in Inverness. 

There's very little to do on the train, and lucky him, he's also forgotten any books to read. Or any statements. He isn't hungry or anything yet—Peter Lukas's statement might keep him going for a while now—but that might prove to be a problem later. (Jon wonders, briefly, if this is an excuse to ask Martin to come down here with him—but no, that's ridiculous, Martin shouldn't have to trek all the way to Scotland to deliver statements.) So, nothing to do. He spends some time watching out the window, and the scenery is nice, but even that gets tedious after a while. 

He tries to write a letter to Martin—it seems like it's too soon, but he's got nothing better to do, and he can mail it in Inverness if he sends it now. (And besides that, he misses Martin, even now. Saved him and went right back to missing him.) But everything he writes is all wrong, things he couldn't possibly send. Dear Martin, I miss you. Dear Martin, There's so much I want to tell you about, so much I wanted to tell you when you were gone. I should have told you everything while you were still there to tell. Dear Martin, I am so sorry I treated you so badly for such a long time. Dear Martin, I'm so sorry I didn't come for you sooner. Martin, come to Scotland. Martin, I still want to run away with you. I never stopped wanting that. He folds more than one letter up and shoves it away in his suitcase so he won't have to look at them. (A part of him can't really bear to throw them away.)

Jon goes back to watching out the window. There's a fog settling over the rolling green hills outside that instinctively makes him think of the Lonely. (Martin's hands had been freezing when Jon pulled him out of the fog. He spent half the walk out trying to rub warmth back into them.) He Knows it isn't the same, though; it's just normal fog, it's a rainy day. It's chilling and beautiful all at once. It makes Jon think of walking down a cold beach shouting Martin's name, Martin turning away in the fog, and he has to look away.

He starts composing another letter in his head without even thinking about it. Dear Martin, It's chilly here, but the scenery is beautiful. I think you'd like all the hills and the trees and the fields of flowers, all that green. You don't see that in London. It feels like something you might write poetry about, if you still write poetry. I wish you were here to see it, too. I wish you were here with me.

---

Martin doesn't sleep on the train for a long time. He's too anxious, knees rattling against the seat in front of him until the man inhabiting it gives him a dirty look. He's brought nothing with him, nothing to do, so he's left with more or less digging through his pockets to see what he has besides his wallet and phone. There's a couple pens; he kept carrying pens even after he fell out of the habit of jotting things or turns of phrase he liked down. He finds some crumpled statements Peter wanted him to read deep in one coat pocket and is instantly relieved; he figures Jon will need statements, and he's never read these far as Martin can tell. It's not a long term solution, there's only three of them crumpled all to bits, they'll have to figure something else out, but Martin realized twenty minutes after Jon left that they hadn't sent Jon with anything for sustenance, and this seemed like it was better than nothing. He should've asked Basira to send some; he'll ask the next time he talks to her. And in the meantime, at the very least, if Jon doesn't want to see him and sends him off, Martin will be able to deliver some statements so Jon doesn't starve to death. 

Martin doesn't think Jon will send him away. It doesn't make any sense that he would, not after he pulled Martin out of the Lonely. They're friends; Martin is sure of that. It doesn't make sense for Jon to save him and then turn him away. But Martin can't break the anxiety that leaves him worried that Jon won't want him there. That he'll have traveled all that way for nothing. It's entirely possible; if anything, Jon has earned some peace and quiet, some solitude. He doesn't need Martin's problems mucking it all up. But maybe… maybe he'll want a friend. Maybe he won't want to be alone either. He… he did ask Martin to come with him, after all, both of them blind themselves and leave the Institute and go live a happy life. And Martin had said no. 

Martin tries not to think about it. He spends some time looking out the window, watching the countryside flit by. There's fog gathering up on the hill, floating down towards the train, and Martin has to look away after a while. He keeps reliving the moment when Peter yanked him into the Lonely, how blank and trudging everything was until Jon found him. He never wants to feel that empty again. 

Eventually he does fall asleep, hands knotted in his lap, head against the window. His dreams are full of fog and salt-air and the endless gray ocean. The ocean's never looked like that when he's been in real life. 

When he wakes up, he feels cold all over, shivering in his seat. He reaches for the memory of Jon in the Lonely, embracing him at the shoreline, until he feels warm again. 

---

It's mid-afternoon when Jon's train arrives in Inverness. He's got about an hour and a half drive to Daisy's house, a bit of a haul after the hours he's spent traveling. He doesn't have the energy to shop before he drives out there; there's a village closer to the house where he can buy things, anyway. Jon doesn't want to do any of it; he just wants to get to the house and crawl into the bed and sleep so that he doesn't have to think about any of this. Doesn't have to relive the attack on the Institute, Basira and Daisy disappearing behind him, Martin being lost, Georgie turning away from him, Lukas ripping apart in the Lonely. Martin coming back to himself, the two of them hugging on the shoreline. Martin standing on the platform while Jon's train pulls away. 

Jon doesn't want to think about it, and so he buys a phone charger from one of the stores in the train station and plans to call and check in tomorrow. Call Basira for practicality; call Martin just to talk. He wants to talk to Martin; he hopes Martin will want to talk to him. He goes and rents a small car that won't take too much petrol, and he puts his one small bag in the boot, and he starts the long drive out to Daisy's. He Knows the way without having to check. The route isn't far from the sea; he can look out over the ocean sometimes. Remind himself of childhood, of the better moments in childhood. He hopes it will remind him of the moment when Martin came back to himself, not the moment when he left Martin behind. 

Hours later, over half a day later, and Jon still can't believe that he's left Martin behind. It was the best decision, it was the right thing to do, it seemed like the right thing to do. He was in danger and he shouldn't hang that all on Martin. Shouldn't press Martin into following him when there was nothing to gain and maybe everything to lose. But Martin was alone before this, left behind when Tim died and Sasha died and his mother died and Jon sort-of died. Alone and willing to throw everything away to keep them all safe. Willing to make himself even more alone. And Jon had followed him, Jon had brought him back. And now he's just going to leave? Leave Martin behind, alone again, like nothing's happened. After Jon's spent months wanting Martin to be there. After Jon asked Martin to leave with him. This was their chance, and Jon was too much of a coward to take it. Didn't want to ask Martin because Martin didn't love him anymore, but even if Martin didn't love him like that, they were still friends, and Martin still went into the Lonely for him, and Jon went in after him, and then Jon left him again. It's horrible, it's cowardly and horrible and Martin deserves better. Martin deserves so much better. 

And that's when Jon decides: he's going back. He's going back to get Martin, even if it is dangerous, he doesn't care if it puts him in danger if it saves Martin. If it keeps him from being Lonely. He'll go back and get Martin and ask him to come to Scotland, and if Martin says yes, they can come back together, hide out here and experience peace for the first time in years, maybe, or face whatever comes together. Basira can come too, if she wants, if it's safer in Scotland than London, and if neither of them want to come, then Jon will come back on his own, he'll do that, it's fine. If he's lucky, though, Martin will want to come back with him, and they'll be here to keep each other company. It's a good plan, a good one. Worse comes to worse, Martin won't want to come and Jon will have made a ridiculous round trip for nothing,  but it seems like a risk worth taking. Not like he's got much better to do. 

Jon turns the car around, right then. Right then. He'll go and catch a train right now, ride all the way back, no use in waiting. It's not as if anyone is waiting at Daisy's. No time like the present, and besides that, he doesn't want to wait any longer. He wants to see Martin. He wants to see him so badly—even though it has been less than a day since they saw each other, even then, he still misses Martin as badly as he has all these months. Like air. 

Jon drives too fast the whole way back to the station.

---

Jon won't be at the station when Martin's train arrives. Martin knows this. He does. But a small part of him is still disappointed that no one will be there when he gets off the train. He used to take the train up to visit his grandmother for the summer when he was little, at his mother's insistence ( I can certainly get help around the house, Martin, don't be ridiculous, the quiet will do us both good ), and he'd always enjoyed the summers, but the rides home would be awful, knowing when he got back he'd take a cab home alone and his mother would say, simply, So you're back then, when he walked in the house. He used to daydream about having someone meet him at the train station someday, but he grew up and got jobs and stopped visiting his grandmother, and then he stopped taking trains anywhere. 

He knows that won't happen today; Jon doesn't even know he's coming, and how could he know? Martin knows Jon is trying not to Know; he told Martin that while they were waiting for the cab to the train station, and Martin's grateful for that. He doesn't expect that. He'll get a car or something out to Daisy's, and hope that Jon doesn't want him to leave, and that will be enough. It will be. All that matters is that he's come here, and he's going to see Jon in a few hours, even if it's brief.

The train arrives, and Martin gets caught up in the press of people trying to get off the train, fumbling with his suitcase. It's crowded and a bit choking; the people pressing in on either side of Martin is some of the more direct human contact he's had in months. It takes a moment for him to steady his breathing, pushing his way off the train and to a spot where he can stand alone. He wipes sweaty palms against his jumper and tries to breathe deeply, reminds himself that he is out of the Lonely, that he isn't alone anymore. Relives all the little moments where he's been touched since he got out of the Lonely, mostly by Jon. He'll see Jon in a few hours. He's here and it's all going to be fine. 

There's voices all around him, talking in that way that all sort of blurs together to a long buzz, and Martin doesn't bother trying to listen. No one looking for him, after all. But then, over the din of the people on the platform, Martin suddenly hears it: the rising sound of someone calling his name. " Martin? " the voice says, familiar, achingly familiar and incredulous, and then again, louder: " Martin! " 

Martin whirls around, searching for the source of the voice, calling out in disbelief, " Jon? "

There he is, pushing his way through the crowd, and he must spot Martin because his face does something funny, and then he's moving towards Martin, and tears are burning in Martin's eyes, and he shouts, "Jon!" right back. And then Jon's there, and he's throwing his arms around Martin, crashing into him so hard that Martin stumbles back a step or two. 

Martin doesn't mind. He embraces Jon right back, knots his hands in the back of Jon's shirt and presses his face into Jon's hair. "Martin," Jon says muffledly, mouth moving somewhere against Martin's collarbone. "Martin, you're—you're here ." He sounds like he can't believe it, even with his face mashed against the front of Martin's jumper. "I didn't think—" he starts, and then seems to change his mind mid-sentence and says, again, "You're here ." 

Martin nods. His glasses are fogging up, shoved up on his forehead, and he's probably holding Jon too hard, but that doesn't seem possible because Jon is holding him just as tightly, a hand tangled in his hair. "I didn't…" he starts, and then changes his mind mid-sentence. "I missed you," he says instead. "I wanted to come. I missed you, Jon." 

Jon takes a sharp breath. His head tilts abruptly so he and Martin are nose to nose, his hand suddenly warm on Martin's cheek. Martin's crying; he thinks Jon is crying, too. And then Jon is kissing him, tentative at first, deep and messy and sweet, in a way that Martin can't remember having been kissed before in his life. 

Martin's breath catches in his throat and he tugs Jon forward by the hem of his jumper, even though there's barely any space between them anyway. Kisses Jon like he's wanted to for years. He's thinking, absently, of the moment where he heard that Jon had woken up, and he'd had to go and lock himself in the bathroom and cry, hands over his mouth so Peter wouldn't hear. Thinking only of going to the hospital to hold Jon's hand, to hug him and tell him how happy he was that Jon was all right. He's thinking of when Jon asked him to leave with him, and Martin had said no and it had felt right, but the gap had opened up as soon as Jon had left and he'd wanted to go after him, run after Jon and say of course he'd go with him, he'd follow him anywhere. Go after him and kiss him like this. It's been so long. He never quite thought they'd get here. 

Jon pulls away slowly, breathing a little unsteadily, whispers, "Is this… is this all right?" Martin says, "Yes, god, yes," and kisses him again. Softer this time, slower, the kind you can really melt into. They have time now. They have time. 

When Jon pulls back again, it's not all the way; he rocks his forehead forward against Martin, warm together, and they don't move for a long moment. Martin reaches between them for Jon's hand and Jon takes it, holding on tight. Martin blinks back tears, keeps his eyes shut, lost in the thick of it, so it takes him a minute to realize that Jon is speaking. Saying, "I'm so sorry," in a thick voice. "I'm so sorry, Martin."

"Don't apologize, " Martin says, his voice breaking, and he pulls Jon's hand up to kiss the back of it. Jon's face screws up, full of some emotion Martin isn't sure of, and he shakes his head. "Don't apologize," Martin says again, almost worriedly. "I don't—why are you…"

"I should have asked you to come," says Jon. "I… wanted to ask you to come. So badly. I wanted to… I was afraid you wouldn't want to. Or that I would be overstepping. And I'm sorry."

Martin chuckles, stunned and self-deprecating and maybe even in disbelief. Tugs Jon closer to wrap his arms around him tighter. "I wanted to come," he says softly. "Pictured myself… chasing after your train or some ridiculous shit like that. I wanted to. I should have… said something." He chuckles again, slowly. "I'm an idiot."

Jon laughs, too, and the sound is almost surprising. He squeezes Martin's hand. "I think we've both been idiots, Martin," he says quietly. "At least a little bit."

"A bit, yes," Martin whispers, kissing Jon's fingers again. Jon shivers a little, tugs Martin to the side. They end up on another bench, at another train station, leaning into each other like they're going to fall over. Looking out over the train tracks. Another train arrives and leaves. Neither of them are on it. Martin is glad. He doesn't want to be anywhere else. 

"You… came to get me," says Martin, after a long moment. Jon's got Martin's hand in both of his, their fingers a jumbled mess on Jon's knees, and he only seems to hold it tighter at that. Martin clears his throat, a little awkward, leans his head against Jon's. "Did you… Know I was coming?"

"No, I didn't," says Jon, apology thick in his tone. "I didn't want to… I try not to Look for anyone anymore. I told you that. And… my phone is dead. I didn't get your calls. I didn't… I came back to—to get a train for myself. Back to London. To… to ask you to come back with me."

Martin makes a shocked sound, muffled by his free hand. "You… you were coming to London? To get me?" he says, the words squashed under his hand and the disbelief. "You'd taken the train all this way and you were coming back? "

"Yes. Well, I." Jon sounds almost embarrassed, pressing his face into Martin's shoulder. "It seemed like the thing to do. And I… I wanted to see you. I… I've missed you so much, Martin."

Martin laughs, shaky and teary. "I'm not… I'm not making fun. Much. Since we both had the same exact farfetched, ridiculous idea. I just… can't believe you would do that."

"I'm not known for wise decisions, Martin. It just… it occurred to me and I knew I had to do it. I know it's ridiculous." Jon's voice goes suddenly soft around the edges, quiet, as he adds, "And anyways, yours… yours, at least, was romantic. Mine was just poorly thought out."

"Oh, Christ, Jon, don't be telling me yours wasn't," says Martin, his stomach twisting at the word romantic. (Not a bad twisting. Not at all.) "I can't believe you would… you've already done so much for me."

"I'd do it all again," Jon says, earnestly, squeezing Martin's hand again. "Every bit of it. I would." He must learn forward a bit, his head falls against Martin's again. He says, "I-I'm so glad you're here, Martin."

Martin takes an unsteady breath, scrubs at his eyes with his free hand and shuts them again. Tries to stifle a wobbly smile until he can't anymore. "I-I'm here," he says shakily. "I am. And I'm not planning on leaving anytime soon."

Jon must be crying, too; Martin can hear him sniffling. He shifts a little on the bench, sits up and turns towards Martin, keeping ahold of Martin's hand and wiping his own eyes with his other hand. "Th-there's only one bed at the house, Martin," he says quietly. "Just the one. Is… is that all right?" 

Martin takes a sharp breath, looking at Jon, whole and alive and in front of him with nothing to tear them apart, at least not anytime soon. He's thinking of white starch sheets and hospital rooms and Jon's cold hands, moaning coffins and the smell of dirt, late nights in the office before the Unknowing and the surprising softness in Jon's eyes when they'd talk sometimes, the stunned hurt in Jon's eyes when Martin had to turn away from him in the halls or close the doors, or say no to running away, escaping with him. He's thinking of early mornings and warm comforters and cool sheets and tea, first thing, of holding Jon's hand under the covers, of going to bed together at night and turning out the light and not having to be alone. Neither of them being alone again. 

"Yes," Martin says, and this time, he doesn't bother to hold back the smile. Jon smiles, too, uncertain like he isn't sure how to do it. But it's as real as anything Martin's ever seen. "Yes, that's all right."

[67impalaandwhisky]

Destiny Is Heaven Sent

Summary: Knowing Dean Winchester since you were fifteen, you’ve always been pulled in his direction. Always wanting to open up the rattled and broken cage your heart lives in. But when the child you’ve been raising together dies, you find yourself closing up the cage of your heart again. And if destiny has one thing for you, it’s to break you down before bringing you back up.

Characters: Dean x You, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, OFC’s, OMC’s, (Ongoing)

This Series Is Set Through Seasons 1-6 With Knowledge That The Bunker Exists

Rating: 18+

Warnings (Ongoing and Will Be Updated): Grieving, Mentions of Rape and Defilement (As Per A Case), Show Level Violence, Swearing, Smut, Impreg Kink, Blood, Fighting, Drinking, Dean Being Dean, Fluff, Angst, Dom!Dean, Sub!Reader

Warnings For This Chapter: Show Level Violence, Drinking, Swearing

Chapter 7.

It's an odd sensation to have your best friend's hands all over you. It's difficult to get anything done during your morning routine with Dean constantly behind you. 

"De." You murmur as his lips trail over your jawline. His hands squeeze tighter at your sides as he presses his chest to your back while you fix your hair in the mirror of the bathroom.

"Hmm?" He hums quizzically as he presses you closer to his body.

You can smell faint notes of cologne and whisky from his attire and it brings you a sense of calm as you turn to him.

"We have to go gank this ghost." You tell him.

You can hear Sam's feet shuffling impatiently outside of the bathroom as you look up at Dean's handsome face.

His eyes are lighter than usual today, the pretty moss colored flecks in his irises seem to pull you in as he smirks.

"I know we do. I just...I've never had my hands on you like this before. I've never been so close to you. It feels good." He whispers as his hand cups your cheek.

The rough skin of his hand makes your eyes flutter shut and you wish you could just take this day to be with him. Just to talk or to spend time with him but work comes first.

"It does feel good." You agree and his head bows down so his lips can meet yours.

Your lips move together, the kiss passionate and something close to longing as he runs his hands below your t-shirt. 

"Fuck." He whispers against your lips. 

Sam's hand slams on the bathroom door and you're both ripped out of your lustful gaze within seconds.

"Are you guys done fucking?" Sam asks loudly and you snort shoving his older brother away.

Rolling his eyes, Dean fixes his flannel shirt before opening the door.

"Relax Sammy. Not everything is about fucking." Dean says as he hoists the bag of guns onto his shoulder.

Sam stops moving, his head slowly lifts to look at his brother before it tilts.

"E-Excuse me? Not everything is about fucking?" Not a sentence you think would come out of Dean Winchester's mouth.

"You heard me. Candy girl, let's get a move on. I got ghosts to kill!" Dean calls to you and you emerge from the bathroom as you fix your shirt.

He stares at you for a second, the corner of his mouth flickers upwards before he gives a gentle chuckle.

"I want this bastard flamed and burned within the next hour." Dean says to Sammy as he heads for the door.

"Why such a rush?" Sam asks as he scrambles to grab his coffee and follow his brother.

"Because," Dean turns to him from the doorway before meeting your eyes, "He attacked my woman."

The ride in the car to the home of the nefarious ghost was silent. Which you were perfectly fine with. It gave you time to glance at your now boyfriend that you've been in love with since you were just a teenager.

It's so odd. He's pushed you away for so long and you know you have so much that needs to get said between the both of you but you wonder if Dean would be willing to talk about it.

He's so closed off from the world most times that you find yourself thinking that it would be hard for him to open up and tell you any semblance of the truth.

He's kept so much away from you for years. 

You can tell he's in a happy mood by the way his fingers drum against the steering wheel as he listens to his cassette tape. 

The autumn sun hangs high above the car, every so often peppering Dean's face in it's rays. The sun does a glorious job highlighting all of his handsome features. His nose is so perfectly straight, his lips so perfectly shaped and even from the right side of the back seat you begin to count the freckles you can see as always. 

The small smile lines around the corners of his eyes just add to his handsomeness. He looks at your through the rear view mirror and his eyes linger as he stops at a red light. You seemingly become mesmerized by the deep green of his irises likening them to the forest before he sends a wink your way that has your gut fluttering and twitching like a mad man.

"So are you guys dating now?" Sam asks as he rolls down his window.

Dean clears his throat as he focuses on the tar lined road before him. 

You don't want to reply, you want him to. 

Sam looks at you through his mirror and you roll your eyes as he begins to give a devilish smirk.

"Yeah. We are." Dean mumbles and if you weren't in the confines of the car, you probably wouldn't have been able to hear his gentle voice.

"Good. About time." Sam says before sticking his tongue out at you.

"Bitch." Dean says with a chuckle only to hear the natural reply.

"Jerk." Your younger best friend says with a laugh.

With a giggle, you arrive in front of the haunted office of Morley Rosmund.

"Are you okay to go in?" Dean asks as he shuts off the car.

You can't help the chill that runs through your spine as you stare at the decrepit building.

"Yeah. I'll be alright." You reply, mustering up all of your strength.

Last night was a little more frightening than you guess you noticed. He was one angry son of a bitch and you just weren't ready for the sheer amount of anger he was radiating.

He ripped your dress clean off and was stronger than you could have imagined. 

"Just stay with me. Okay?" Dean asks as he opens up his door.

Nodding to him, you open up your door as well before taking in a deep breath. 

Sam wraps his arm around you as you round the back of the car.

"We got your back. You know that." He says in your ear as Dean begins to pull out shotguns.

"I still haven't kicked your ass for leaving me on my own yesterday. Don't tempt me." You tease as you take the sawed off shotgun from your boyfriend's hand and begin to load salt rounds into it.

Sam chuckles as he grabs his own and your eyes drift over to the building once more before swallowing thickly.

Dean swings the door open first. He casually glances behind him to make sure you're okay before stepping over the strewn, decomposing bodies that lay on the floor much like last night. With a grimace, you pick your shirt up to cover your nose before scowling at the dead women on the floor.

"This son of a bitch is disgusting." You hear Dean grunt angrily before he kicks open the office door with his foot.

"I wish we could just burn the building down. Make sure he's outta here for good." Sam mutters as he puts his large hand to the small of your back goading you into the office before him.

You spot your ripped dress on the floor from last night as you step into the office and you shiver at the sight.

Dean notices within a fraction of a second and he's by your side as he kicks the fabric out of sight. 

"Come on, Candy girl." He whispers before pressing his soft lips to your temple and stepping out of the way to explore the shambled office.

Anything of any importance was being piled up in the middle of the room. Anything that was old and leathery. Anything that had a dull shine like a pocket watch Sam found in one of the top drawers of the desk you were forced to sit on last night. Even scraps of different cloth were all in the center of the office.

"What about pictures?" Sam asks as he leans in to look at an old painting.

"What, you think this dead pervert had a hard on for the arts?" Dean asks as he drops a leather briefcase onto the ground beside the pile.

"I don't know. Maybe. Just want to make sure we get everything." Sam mumbles as he continues to search.

"Yeah. I bet he really loved the ducks in a pond painting." Dean says before smashing the glass of the picture frame open.

Your eyes catch something sparkle beneath the woman that lays limp on the desk. It was a whirlwind last night but you managed to remember some things of Morley Rosmund's attire. Like the jewelled beetle that was on the lapel of his trench coat that is now situated beneath the woman's body.

"De. Help me grab this." You instruct him as you point to the pin below the dead woman.

"Oh God." He grumbles as he uses the barrel of his salt gun to lift her up just long enough for you to grab it.

You throw the pin into the pile on the floor before grabbing a hat off of the rack by the door that you remember the ghost was wearing.

Ghosts can be in multiple items and it's better to just get them all to be safe.

Suddenly as your boyfriend pulls open the safe in the corner of the office, your begin to see your breath in the small confines of the room.

"He's coming!" You say quickly as you pull back the hammer of your gun.

Dean holds up what looks to be a deed for the office before throwing it into the pile. 

"Y/N!" Sam yells and you whip around just long enough to see Morley Rosmund behind you.

He gives a gentle smile before you're being thrown over the desk.

You groan loudly as you fall onto your back, your body shivering with dull pain as you lay your head back to the floor.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean curses as he throws gasoline over the contents on the floor.

"You little trollope." The ghost sneers as he wraps his hand around your throat.

You cough loudly, sputtering and whining as you claw at his hand. He picks up off of the floor slowly and you shakily lift your gun before shooting the rock salt into him, earning wisps of his body left behind.

Landing back down on the floor, you cough once more as Sam strikes the matchbook on fire and tosses it into the pile.

As the objects begin to catch fire, your body is thrown back to the wall as Morley reappears screaming furiously with red hot anger.

"Y/N!" Dean yells as he rushes towards you.

With a sharp yelp, you press your head back to the wall before the ghost's body begins to catch fire. 

Being swept up into Dean's arms, you're instantly checked on. His hands press to your face, checking to make sure the ghost didn't inflict too much damage before he disappeared into thin air.

"You okay?" He asks gruffly as you gingerly press your fingers to your throat.

Your eyes flicker over to the burning pile of personal possessions before you nod.

"Yeah. I'm good." You whisper before standing up straight and fixing your jacket.

"That's my girl." He mumbles as he presses his lips to your forehead.

"I need a drink and food. Pronto." You say as Sam grabs the duffel bag full of guns and paraphernalia. 

"A drink? It's like three o'clock?" Sam says as you step over bodies towards the front door.

"A woman after my own heart." Dean calls back to him and you giggle as he opens the door for you.

Knowing the job is done brings a huge weight off of your shoulders. It's not often you can appreciate everything around you when so many monsters and evil live in this world. But now, as you sit with your two favorite boys in this run down bar, the world feels lighter somehow. If only for a few hours, you're okay with that.

Dean has been so tried and true throughout the years and now finally you can call him yours. 

Sam has always been your home. He's always seen to reason and has been a comfort in your hard times. You can always count on him to listen.

So when the food comes and you all dig in, there's something so peaceful with listening to the both laugh as Dean plants his hand on your knee. 

You can take a few hours of comfort and calm before you're thrust back into the monster wielding world.

"Gotta hit the head." Dean says.

He plants a kiss to your hairline before he's up and walking towards the bathroom door.

"It's cute y'know. I'm really happy for you guys. Finally." Sam says before finishing off his beer.

You give him a gentle smile as he lifts his beer bottle.

"I'll go get us another round." He says, scraping his chair back loudly.

You pick at your food in the meantime while being alone. You're achy and albeit a bit sore from the attack but you'll heal in no time.

You can't wait to get back to the bunker and just relax for a few days. Wash your car, read up on things in the vast library.

"Hey there." The foreign voice draws you out of your calm daze. Looking up at the owner of the voice, you tilt your head at his handsome features.

"Noticed you with those two Backstreet Boy wannabes." The man says, taking Dean's seat.

You snort gently before shifting your chair away from him as he smirks. 

"Those wannabes are my best friend and boyfriend." You say as you pick up your beer.

It feels weird to call Dean your boyfriend. A good weird. Like it was always meant to be.

"Wanna see what a real man can do?" The absolute gall of this lanky man is impressive.

You give a gentle laugh as you roll your eyes. 

"Nah. I'm good. Thanks." Your voice is short with him and it seems to ruffle his feathers a bit too quickly.

"Come on, baby. I can show you what a real man's cock looks like." You blanch at his words and try to push your chair back uncomfortably as he catches you by your calf with his hand.

"I said no. Jesus. Fuck off." You bark at him.

His grip gets tighter and you sigh loudly before hearing a loud gruff voice that quakes your chest.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Dean yells from across the bar.

Flinching, you give a quick smile to the man as your boyfriend approaches. 

He is so dead meat.

Destiny Is Heaven Sent Taglist: @roonyxx​, @deans-baby-momma​, @supernatural-love14​, @winchest09​, @flamencodiva, @indecisive20something, @that-one-gay-girl​

Forever Dean Tags: @akshi8278​

Forever Tags: @mariaenchanted​

[apples-r-rubbish]

Institute (13th doctor x reader) Part 3

Summary:  The Doctor decides to drop in a few times to check up on you Word Count: 2.1k AN:  This is mainly filler, I need to edit part 4 and Because I feel nice (and to make up for this) it’s coming out within the next hour or so :) -L x Warnings: death mention Tags: @startrekkingaroundasgard @penguinwithitsarseonfire

(PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 4) (PART 5) (PART 6) (PART 7) (PART 8) MASTERLIST

It had been months since The Doctor had seen you. After having a particularly awful encounter with a dalek in late December, she decided she had to visit you, to give you some updated information. When she exited you were sitting in your chair, legs pulled up to your chest, silent tears slipping from your eyes.

“How do you manage to get it in the same spot every time? Is it something you’ve practiced or is it coincidence?” You asked, not giving her time to say hello. You were wearing jeans a crumpled t-shirt, you had clearly been here a while, and it was late, wine was on the desk a half drunk bottle on the desk

“My expert flight skills and mainly luck. What’s up? What’s wrong?” She asked anxiety clear in her face as she rushed to you, cautiously wrapping her arms around you

“My girlfriend and I split up. She’d been cheating on me,” You explained. A small pang of jealousy hit the doctor. 

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend- or well did- sorry timelines again,”

“Future you met her once, I mean it doesn’t really matter now. Where are we now?” You said stopping the conversation abruptly pulling out a notebook from your desk, “you’ve visited me after 40s India, and modern day Norway,” You frowned staring at your notes

“Done all that, got a few more on your end however, but you’ll soon find out. You keep notes?”

“Of course. River basically threw a notebook at me and told me it was best. If we’re out of sync we have to compare.” You replied scribbling down something. 

“What’s the date? I realise I never ask,” 

“New years eve, 2019 at quarter to midnight if you must know,” You frowned checking your watch “and I‘m sat in my office crying, wine drunk about a girl who really doesn’t care about me,”  You laughed bitterly taking another sip from the wine bottle. She frowned and snatched the bottle from your hands 

“That’s quite enough of that,” she remarked “It’s new years eve, you’re not sitting around feeling sorry for yourself. C’mon we’re watching fireworks,” she dragged you out of the chair by your hands to one of the many floor to ceiling windows in your office. Her hand was warm, not overly smooth but not rough either.  Most of London was visible from your windows

“Me liked the view, she liked London and she knew that she’d be handing the position to myself most of the time so, I was allowed to design the office,” you smiled at the memory 

“How long have you worked here?” she asked as if the question had been on her mind for months

“5 years, put straight in this position, Me found me, insisted I was necessary to the plan, important enough to be involved. We’re a skeleton staff, less than 100 people- 1 institute,” you explained 

“You are important. You’re important to me,” she insisted, remembering her hand was in yours “you’re my friend and I care about you and your feelings,” 

You laughed at that, “Why do you put up with us all? I never understand it,”

“I like you all, you’re kind and funny and passionate. You all want to achieve so much, you aspire to be better,” she looked away from you, her eyes lighting up as she spoke. As you opened your mouth to say something the ominous looking counter flashed up on big ben. You whispered the numbers, as the seconds drew nearer.  She pressed a hand against your face, “3...2…” you were cut off by the feeling of lips on yours. You stayed that way quietly for a moment, breathing heavily, as the celebratory fireworks went off behind you.

She pulled away, “Sorry if I crossed a line, I just know it’s a thing humans do,” She gave a small sweet smile, as if she’d known exactly what she’d done. 

“You didn’t cross a line it’s ok,” You said and then hesitated “But I know you, you do this, you’ll get in that blue box and fly away. But it means next time we might sync so can I get in that box with you.”

There was a comforting silence between you both, “we’re running in different directions, and at some point we might get on track,” You said,

She pecked your lips again, “Soon, I’m sorry.”

“I know, I’ll hold you to that,” You said with a wink as she backed into the TARDIS.

It had been a handful of weeks since the doctor had seen you, she was returning on an adventure with the fam “Sorry fam, got to drop that off at the institute,” referring to the alien tech, they’d taken from a recent adventure. 

“You want an excuse to see her don’t you? See if your timelines are aligned yet,” Yaz sighed at the doctor, she tried to deny it  but both Ryan and Graham nodded at the other woman, 

“Fine, i want to see her, especially after new years, just want to check in on her,” She explained with a slight annoyance to her voice. She flipped a few switches before landing, in your office as she usually did, same spot as always. You were laughing with your girlfriend, or in her timeline, former girlfriend. The other woman was sat on your desk, pressing a kiss to your lips when the doctor strolled out of her TARDIS, “So exciting thing, we found some alien tech that we think- sorry am I interrupting something-” She rambled turning her head, a edge to her voice that was unexpected, the others filled out the ship after her making similar awkward expressions. 

“Christ, can you give us a warning? Have you learnt to do that through our complex timeline?” You laughed, a heavy blush evident on your cheeks “This is my girlfriend. Babe, this is the Doctor,” You smiled, waving your hands between the two of them, she cringed at the nickname. Your girlfriend went to introduce herself, the doctor shot her a sharp glare remembering new years eve, before turning to you, “where are we up to?”

“Uh, you’ve just told me about 17th century witch trials,” You said trying to remember off the top of your head

“Good, that was a fun one,” She smiled at the memory, before, placing the alien tech in your hand, her hand lingering on yours for a bit too long, “Get one of the archive staff to lock that away, you might need it at some point. Maybe, depends, better to have it just incase, it’ll keep you safe, if I can’t be there,” 

“Ok thanks, we’ll get someone on that right now,” You replied, professionalism clear in your voice and face. You felt colder to her, she had forgotten what you were like in the early days. She nodded at you, before turning on her heel, restraining herself from wrapping her arms around you.  She extended a hand to your girlfriend, to which she accepted. The Doctor leant in and whispered “I know what you’re doing, cheaters get what’s coming to them,” She then plastered a fake smile before turning into the TARDIS after giving you a genuine smile. Team TARDIS followed behind her, giving small goodbyes and polite waves to you and your future ex partner. 

“Well that could have gone literally miles and miles better,” Graham frowned, after the ship had taken off

“Yeah, doc, you should have seen your face it was fun- wasn’t funny actually- Ow,” Ryan said between Yaz hitting him on the shoulder trying to help the situation

“Look, she doesn’t even know about new years because it hasn’t happened yet so it’s not like she can help it and saying that to her ex probably wasn’t the best route,” 

“She also kisses me when the institute gets attacked, which is about a month after new years, which is two months after this,” She turned to Yaz anger heavy in her voice “What would you have done in that situation? Hm? What would any of you have done? Exactly. Don’t criticise me when you have not been in situations like that, because it has happened to me far too many times for me to take advice from any of you!” she shouted her final words anger bubbling over the surface finally, as she scraped her hands down the console, in another attempt to knock something nonvital off of it. A pin could have dropped in the TARDIS and everyone would have heard it, “Look, I’m sorry, I keep thinking about her on that planet and I think it’s my fault, and I can’t stop it. I’m just worried, I care about her, and I don’t want to see her with anyone else and I don’t want to see whatever is coming, not on that planet especially,” 

“You never said, what planet it was,” Ryan said unexpectedly 

“It doesn’t matter, it isn’t important.” She frowned quickly “Look, new adventure, got a planet picked out and everything,” 

The familiar wheezes filled your office. You pulled out a handgun you kept in your desk drawer and pointed it at the doors unflinchingly, the doctor stepped out cautiously, “Tell me what I said to you, in this office when the cyberman attacked the institute!” You shouted at the woman

“(Y/N)-”

“Tell me!” You snarled locking the gun, not blinking

“You- You said you should keep wine in your desk, for when we synced again, and you said we should go on a date,” She stammered out. You lowered the gun and out it back on your desk

“Sorry, issues with the Zygons again. Bonnie and Oswald stepped up and helped though, helps to be cautious considering we didn’t have some of their new abilities on file. Gun was fake anyway before you shout at me, just needed to be sure,”  You said kicking your feet onto the desk

“What are we up to on your terms?” She asked avoiding your previous statements 

“The cyber incident was the last time I saw you and that was about 5 months ago. You?”

“Dropping tech off, saw your ex, a month ago for me,” She said taking the seat opposite 

“So we’re even then? Finally, nothing sneaky, just us in my office,” 

“I think so. Unless one of us is lying but we both know better than that,”

“Good,” You replied pulling out a bottle of wine from your desk drawer “5 months, that’s been in there, just incase,” 

“Yeah, well I’d prefer the date,” 

“Are you flirting?” 

“Maybe,” She smirked

“Watch it old man. Don’t want you having a heart attack trying to keep up,” You laughed,as you stood and grabbed your jacket, “I believe we promised each other a date.”

London was warm unsurprisingly, given the time of year. The bar was empty given the fact it was a Tuesday, you ordered a drink for yourself and some juice for the doctor, “I guessed and said apple because I figured you did not want alcohol,” you said taking a seat at the table she had picked. 

“I could love it, you never know,” She replied,  you proceeded to offer her your drink, she took a sip and made an odd face “Ok nevermind then, I take it back,”

“In my defence, your new face might have liked it, not my fault I didn’t know,”

“Definitely not for me,” She stuck her tongue out after her comment. You talked for hours despite the glares of the slightly annoyed bar staff, telling stories of space travel and times long gone, or the times yet to come

“I’ve never visited victorian england, I imagine it would be nice. Those were always assigned to someone else,” You said suddenly 

“We could go if you’d like, another date, sightsee and do a bunch of touristy things, meet the queen, I’m sure she wouldn’t recognise me with this face,”

“I feel like it’s somewhere I'd like to go to before I die, like I’d save it for a bucket list, a sort of time bucket list,” You rambled. That was a sobering reminder for the doctor, the way you looked at her, a bittersweet happiness in your eyes and a knowing smile, a different version of you compared to the one in front of her.

“Travel with me, please.” You gave her a look “I know what you said, but we’re finally synced up again, what’s the worst that could happen. I doubt they’d notice you gone, you essentially just sit in your office and try to avoid boredom all day, you might as well travel.” 

“Fine, you aren’t going to drop it until I agree so yes, I’ll travel with you,” You said finishing what was left of your drink, she had already stood up a giddy smile clear on her face. The Doctor pulled you to your feet, “c’mon, need to do some maintenance on the TARDIS and we’ll meet up with the others and go somewhere.”

[nissakii]

Scent. a Haikyu!! Fanfiction pt.15

[want to read all chapters right now? Our fanfictions get updated every monday on our blog, click here to continue reading!]

“Okay, Asami truth or dare” The green bottle turned its head towards the beta and she groaned, because the person who just asked her was no other than Mikoto. “oooh”, Shiro exclaimed with a tone that insinuated incoming trouble. The beta adjusted her face scrub and winced as she almost dropped some on the floor they were sitting on. “Truth I guess”, she mumbled and Mikoto let out a villainous laugh. “You will regret that”, Shirochimed and Asami gave her a half-hearted smack. The three of them were sitting in Shiro’s dorm with the led lights set on a calming light purple. All of them were wearing some sort of pajamas with old baggy t-shirts and skin care items displayed all around them. Wiggling around on her spot, the omega pressed her hands together in thought until she snickered again. “Do you have a crush on someone?” Exasperated, the beat huffed out a long breath before she answered, “you know the answer to that question” Mikoto giggled again while Shiro only looked appalled, “Hey! What crush? I don’t know about no crush?”, and Asami looked at her in disbelief. “Oh, that crush”, Shiro made a face and grinned while the beta started to shift around uncomfortably. Mikoto looked at her for a second, catching her unease, “Okay then~” she clapped her hands a couple of times to bring both sets of eyes towards her. “If you would choose any other guy”, and she wiggled her fingers, “who would it be?” “oof”, Shiro choked out. Asami on the other hands didn’t even have to think about it that much before she spat out a name. “Osamu” “What?!”, Shiro gasped and Asami just shrugged. “We’re talking about hypotheticals right? He’s quiet, cute and can cook. Solid ain’t he?” “Oh Asami, I didn’t expect you to have such a quick answer on you”, Mikoto mused with a grin. “Well what about you then?” “Me?”, Mikoto asked herself and placed her head onto her palm. “I don’t need men, they disappoint me”, she brought up with a poker face until all of the girls suddenly started laughing. Heaving in breaths as they slowly started to lose themselves in the continuous laugh cycle it took them a while before they stopped and calmed themselves. Their heads were spinning, a short moment in which they could just detach themselves from the stress of university and just be girls. “Shiro?” “Huh”, Shiro whipped her head around to find Asami and Mikoto looking at her with the same knowing face, and she instantly looked disgusted, “why are you looking at me like that?” “Come on~ Tell us!”, Mikoto chimed and slowly moved towards the sigma. Asami lightly shoved the arm of the youngest, to which her annoyance only grew until she groaned and relented. “Fine! I don’t really have a crush though”, she muttered. “Yeah whatever, but who do you find cute?”, Asami sipped a little from her drink and Mikoto nodded to encourage her. “Cute? Uhm, no. Not cute, but if we’re talking about built”, and she flexed her arms which made both o f the girls giggle, “the guy that runs the council or whatever”. Asami almost spat out her soda, coughing and choking while Mikoto only looked at the youngest with a gaping mouth. “Ushijima?”, the omega rasped out and Asami aggressively sipped more on her drink to stop choking. “Yeah that dude!”, Shiro nodded to herself. “I don’t know what’s worse”, Asami placed down the cup and leaned over to look at the sigma, “the fact that you find that guy attractive, or the fact that you didn’t even know his name!” “ I don’t remember the name, only the fit”, she concluded with a grin on her face. “Wow”, Asami said and gave Mikoto a look. The omega looked back at her with confusion displayed on her features. “What”, she spat out and Asami just kept staring at her with pursed lips. “I think I got dirt on you too”, she whispered while moving around weirdly, her arms flailing. “What do you mean?”, and Mikoto turned cautious, her head tilting to the side. The beta took that as an opportunity to continue and she put her head on top of her palms. “I told you guys how I met Osamu last week, and you told me how you met

Atsumu right?” “Yeah, and you already have a crush on Osamu, so?”, Mikoto retorted and Asami shook her head while stifling a grin. “Don’t distract me now! You know that’s not true!”, the beta composed herself and looked a bit more serious as she continued, “I told you both that I met him on campus at a tour guide right?” “And where is your point?”, Mikoto asked with a smile that looked a little intimidating. “So tell us the story of how you met Atsumu!” “I did?”, the omega tilted her head back and looked in between the two girls. “Well, you just said that Osamu seemingly has a brother, and that you met him. That was it. I feel like normally you would tell us more about your impression on him”, Asami thought aloud and her gaze trailed across the room, “feels like you don’t wanna tell us something”. “Oh oh”, Shiro chimed while Mikoto could only scoff. “It’s nothing important”, the omega concluded but Asami didn’t let off. “I’m not saying it was! Just maybe, might be leaving something interesting out?” A staring contest began between Mikoto and Asami, while the beta was visibly uncomfortable she tried to start the conversation differently. “Okay look, when I met Osamu last week he told me that he had just moved here, that he was a culinary arts major, he was also very like”, Asami moved her fingers around the air as if she was trying to feel something invisible, “quiet and aloof? Still very nice though, and cute!” “You’re repeating yourself. Do you even have a crush on-” “AND”, Asami shouted to overrule Mikoto’s thrown in comments before she could continue. The beta cleared her throat. “What I’m saying is, I met the guy last week and I immediately told you about him, to which you said and I quote”, she placed air quotations with her hands, “Oh, I think he has a brother because I met someone called Miya Atsumu a couple of days before”. “So I did tell you about him!”, Mikoto shot back her hand outstretched and close enough for Asami to grab onto. “Yes, but that was it! Did he say nothing? Do nothing? I need observations! Details!” Mikoto slapped away her hand and hummed lowly, “For someone who can’t stop stuttering in front of strangers you really keep tabs on all the men around us hm?” Playfully nudging the beta she hoped the comment wasn’t too harsh, as her friend frequently got things misunderstood, but Asami merely chuckled darkly. “The more you keep straying away from the topic by insulting me, the more I think you’re hiding something. Out with it!” Shiro sat next to the girls with one hand in a bag of chips and the other tapping away at her phone, she looked up at both of the other girls and grinned to herself before snickering a little bit. “I don’t know why you’re making a big deal out of it you drama queen”, and Asami waved her off and motioned to continue, until Mikoto sighed, ”Fine. Atsumu is trying out for varsity. I met him because he was talking to Oikawa before we had our lecture together”. Asami scoffed, but when Mikoto raised her shoulders the beta started pouting. “Is that everything? No small-talk? Not even a talk about the weather?” “No! No small-talk!”, she groaned. “Impossible for someone like you”, Asami babbled on and let herself flop onto her side, while she looked at the snacks and faking whimpers, “I thought something interesting might happen. Mikoto kept looking at the moping beta, her eyebrows scrunching in annoyance. “Fine”, she sighed out. “Hm?” “I think he’s a philosophy major, I saw him walk out of a seminar once where I wanted to meet a colleague”, Mikoto shifted into another position,”He seemed to be nice, pretty childish”. “Oh see! There’s the details!”, Asami shot back up again, grabbing the bag of crisps and munched on the snacks with a nod. “He also sniffed my neck”. Dead silence fell across the room after Asami dropped the chips bag and some of them fell on the carpet. Shiro threw her phone onto the bed and leaned forwards, her face displaying absolute shock but contrary to the beta, she was grinning. “He what?”, Asami grunted out, suddenly feeling

very awake and responsive, her scent drawing out and clouding the room with the scent of rose water. “See, you’re being dramatic. Nothing happened! It was his first time meeting an omega and he was curious about my scent”, Mikoto drew out and Asami couldn’t seem to fully relax. “Did he touch you?”, Shiro asked after coming down from the initial shock and Mikoto shook her head heavily. “No. And Oikawa was there too it was all fine, but he was so giddy and excited I really didn’t mind”, and with that sentence even the beta relaxed back into her original state, but not before she drew her arm out and ruffled through the omega’s hair. “Did you just scent mark me?”, Mikoto asked with slight irritation. “Yep!”, the beta let herself fall back onto some pillows that were scattered on the floor, “so what do you think of him?” “Uh, honestly he was hard to read. I saw him talk with Oikawa as they approached me and he was like more serious?” “So?”, Shiro pushed for more information. “So, when he talked to me he was all skittish, he didn’t think that caramel was possible as a scent it was interesting”, Mikoto finished with a somber look on her features, slightly unfocused while thinking. “Well, I guess you guys have similar taste”, Shiro grumbled while still on her phone. “I didn’t say I liked him!”, Asami retorted. “Yeah, I just said his reaction was interesting!”, Mikoto backed her up. The sigma only shook her head and showed the other girls her display. It was an instagram post, with two men standing next to each other. “Oh yeah that’s him”, Mikoto mused. “Yeah, Osamu is the one with the-”, Asami stopped for a second. “They’re twins?!”

Previous Next

[logical-little-lies]

His Original Caregiver- Agere!Sides AU (pt.35)

a/n: okay so this was supposed to be a filler BUTTT I accidentally introduced a smaller plot line that will be resolved soon. Kinda iffy about it but Janus gets a tiny side plot!! so yeah. Also this is for the anon that asked for little virgil

--

Everyone knew now. All the sides knew about each others littlespaces.

Of course, in "everyone", they weren't including the neutral sides. They barely knew the neutral sides, like at all. But that wasn't the point.

Explaining everything to Remus was surprisingly easy. He made a few dark jokes, but that was just him. He understood and accepted it pretty quickly, which everyone found odd. They really needed to update Thomas on this whole situation. Because to his knowledge, the dark and core sides still hated each other, and the dark sides knew nothing about their littlespaces.

"I got a baby as a present today!" Roman announced in the most dorky and extra way he could, entering the core side commons with Virgil. The baby in question was holding his hand, wearing an oversized purple t-shirt, and a pair of black pajama shorts. A pastel purple adult pacifier hung loosely in his mouth.

"Hello, Baby Bat," Patton greeted him, causing the boy to lightly wave.

"Remus and Janus were supposed to be coming over today, do you want me to call that off?" Logan asked from the couch, where he was reading a book and drinking some coffee.

Virgil bounced in place excitedly, "No! Wan dem to come! Pleaseee?" he looked up at Roman, his words muffled by his pacifier. "Pwease?" he repeated.

"I mean, I wouldn't mind my brother coming over...." Roman looked over to Patton and Logan.

"As long as he promises not to make those not-so-appropriate jokes in front of the child," Patton intervened.

They all agreed to let the dark sides come over regardless of Virgil's regression. Virgil wasn't in babyspace, but he hadn't regressed in a while, so it was a deep littlespace. He got excited easily, and he was very talkative. While they waited for Janus and Remus to arrive, Roman made Virgil breakfast.

Virgil sat on the counter (chairs are still useless and for the weak), swinging his legs lightly while Roman filled his sippy cup with juice. "You're so cute, you know that, right? I haven't had to take care of Little Vee in a bit," He twisted the lid onto the black sippy cup, handing it to him.

"Haven't been lil," Virgil nodded, pulling his pacifier out of his mouth. Roman took it and let Virgil drink from his sippy cup. He decided to summon a pacifier clip, busying himself with connecting the pacifier to the clip and clipping it to his shirt.

"Boop!" Roman tapped the button of Virgil's nose when he was done. Virgil giggled around the sippy cup nipple, scrunching his nose a bit. Janus and Remus were supposed to be here any minute, so they were now waiting. Remus knew that they were all regressors, that they took care of each other and such. He also knew that Thomas knew about all of this put only partially.

"C'mon, time to get off the counter, " Roman instructed. Virgil pouted a little, but didn't fight it, taking his hand and jumping down from the counter. He landed on his feet safely. Virgil bounced on his feet when he heard knocking at the door. He squealed a little, and Roman gave him a look. Not a bad look, more like a curious "you've never done that before" look, but Virgil stood still and looked down, as if guilty for being happy and energetic.

"No, no, no! You're allowed to be excited, baby! You just don't do that a lot, it's very cute, though," Roman assured. Virgil nodded softly, getting distracted when he heard the voices of Remus and Janus, conversing with Logan, who was probably explaining that Virgil was regressed at the moment. Virgil seemed to be rethinking his excitement, coming closer to Roman and attempting to hide behind him.

"Oh, come on, Vee. No need to be shy," Roman stepped aside, urging Virgil forward until he was forced out of the kitchen. "Vivi! It's so good to see you, Little One!" Janus greeted, cheery and soft, just like he used to be when he was Virgil's primary caretaker. Virgil giggled, waving a bit.

"Hello!" he squeaked.

"Do you want a hug?" Janus offered, hesitantly. He knew that sometimes, Virgil didn't want affection, and he wasn't gonna push him. But he did know, that while Virgil was little, he usually did. Virgil nodded, coming closer to him. The moment he was in Janus's embrace, he melted into it, happy in the moment.

When he pulled away, he looked at Remus, who seemed to not know what to make of the situation. "Hello, kid?" Remus looked at the others, Logan shaking his head in a slightly disappointed way, "I don't know how to interact with a toddler! Be thankful I'm using a filter around him."

"Hi, Ree!" Virgil smiled. Remus noticed the pacifier attached by a pacifier clip to his shirt, only making a confused face for a second. He didn't know Virgil used them too. Remus settled on patting his head, not really knowing what he was supposed to do.

Eventually, once the slightly awkward greetings were over with, Logan disappeared into his room to read a book, while Patton was in the kitchen making cookies for everyone.

"But dada, I wanna help with da cookies!" Virgil was playing with his stuffed animals, looking up at Roman, who sat on the couch at a higher level than him. Janus sat next to him, and Remus sat in an arm chair.

"You made a mess last time we tried that," Roman shook his head, not wanting to be responsible for helping Patton cleanse the kitchen.

"Won't do that 'gain! Promise," Virgil pouted. Roman looked away from his pouty face and thought for a moment.

"Maybe I'll let you help Patton mix everything together, if he wants help." Roman offered. Patton responded from the kitchen.

"Fine with me, kiddo! I'll be done measuring everything in a few minutes."

Virgil cheered a bit. He went back to showing Janus all of his stuffed animals. The floor was a mess, covered in every stuffed toy Virgil has collected. They comforted him, and this collection didn't hurt anyone, so it didn't matter much. Janus would ask the animal's name and pronouns, and shake their hand as if meeting someone very, very important. Of course, in Virgil's eyes, he was.

"Dis is Snuggles!" Virgil held up a light gray stuffed elephant.

"And their pronouns are?"

"Uh...All of them?" Virgil giggled, shrugging a bit. Janus gave him an endearing look, smiling a bit before reaching out to the stuffed animal.

"Well, hello there. Mx. Snuggles!" Virgil held up the paw of the stuffed animal, letting Janus shake it lightly. Janus knew how much the small things mattered. Even though he probably wasn't gonna remember the names and preferred pronouns of each and every stuffie Virgil owned, Virgil was gonna remember how Janus played a long and 'met' each one of them.

"They like da color blue, and cookies!"

While Virgil kept going on about his stuffed animals, Remus tapped Roman's shoulder.

"I was kinda hoping we'd get to hang out? Do something in the imagination, or play video games?" he asked. Roman seemed like he was gonna agree, but he looked towards Virgil.

"I-" Remus cut Roman off.

"You have to take care of him, I get it. I shouldn't of asked," Remus sat back in his seat, returning back to just being quiet. Roman felt bad, not knowing how to respond to his comment. Janus cut in while Virgil was picking another stuffed animal to show him.

"If you wanna go somewhere for a little while, I don't mind taking over for this one," he offered. Remus looked between them hopefully. He didn't like this filter, much at all, he felt like he just had to sit there or he'd say something wrong, and upset the little. And he hated being quiet.

"Are you sure?" Roman asked. Janus nodded.

"Just make sure you're hope for dinner, we'll save some cookies for you two!" Patton promised from the kitchen. Roman nodded slowly.

"We can go to the arcade I made near the Vineyard Village!" Roman said, looking at Remus excitedly. Remus was excited now, too. Roman paused, looking down at Virgil, who seemed confused.

"Hey, baby. Would you be okay if dada left for a little bit?" He spoke softly.

"B-but...why?" Virgil obviously hadn't been listening. "You leaving me?"

Roman's heart could be heard breaking. "No, I'm not leaving because of you. I just wanna hang out with my brother. Janus will be staying with you?" The last part seemed to be was made Virgil agree.

Virgil was called into the kitchen to help Patton with the cookies, and hung out with Remus and Roman as they got ready to leave. "I-i don't know, last time I left with alone with Logan while little, it didn't end well." Roman seemed to be hesitating now, as they were getting ready to walk out the door.

"Well, is there anything important I should know?" Janus asked.

"If you have to scold him, be soft but affirming, and very affectionate. Reward and praise him, even if its for something like telling you he was upset about something. He had a hard time with that sometimes...." Roman kept rambling about his little boy, even though Janus already knew a lot of the stuff. By the time they finally did get out the door, Janus could've sworn it had been a million years.

Shocker, everything was absolutely fine. Janus helped Virgil clean the inevitable mess me managed to make after 'helping' with the cookies. Which was really just knocking things over and apologizing for it, only to continue on to knock something else over.  But Patton told him that he couldn't of made such amazing cookies without him.

"I'm sorry," Virgil apologized to the two of them.

"It's alright, Bat," Patton assured, putting away the ingredients as he spoke.

"I-i told Roro dat I wouldn't make a mess, n' I did..." he looked down, and Janus knew this was a case of him feeling overly guilty over something small.

"On accident. I promise you, you're fine," Janus ruffled his hair, distracting him. "Lolo! Hello!" Virgil greeted Logan, who entered the kitchen and leaned against he door frame.

"Hi, Vee." he greeted softly, looking up at Patton now. "Did the twins leave or something?"

Patton explained, and Logan nodded. "There's a list of Virgil's rules, punishments, and rewards on the fridge. I'm assuming you're caring for him, correct?" Logan looked towards Janus. He gave a light nod.

"I was his original caregiver, so..." Janus's tone went bitter. The attitude came out of no where, and so did the response.

"Woah! Hey, Logan was just asking a question," Patton defended.

"And I was just stating a fact," Janus snapped back at him. Virgil back away from Janus, closer to Patton now.

"No need to argue, while his tone wasn't the kindest, he's right. Just leave it at that, hmm?" Logan didn't want to have to deal with a fight. Patton didn't even seem mad, just hurt by Janus snapping at him. Janus's face softened, and he took a breath before talking.

"I-...I'm sorry, Patton. I didn't mean to snap at you, and I'm sorry I reacted that way, Logan." He apologized to both of them, seemingly shaking off the weird tone he had before.

"Yeah that's whatever, but are you okay, Janus? You seem to be jealous of Ro-" Patton was cut off by Janus.

"Don't worry about it. Let's drop this for now, hmm?" Janus reach out for Virgil's hand. Virgil took it, allowing the deceitful trait to lead him into the commons. Logan and Patton left him alone, allowing him to watch Virgil like he had wanted. For the moment, Logan and Patton would save their concern for another day, but that issue would eventually come again.

Roman loved Virgil, romantically, and he loved taking care of Virgil. Janus was his best friend, and yes, they were building that relationship back up, but it was still unsettling how the core sides took his place. And the one thing about their relationship that was sacred, originally just a thing between the two of them? Even he was replaced in that aspect, as Virgil's caregiver.

So, yeah. It hurt a little. A lot, actually.

Janus was just happy he got to be in Virgil's life again. But when he finally does come back, he feels jealousy. He feels bad for the jealousy. This is something that he'd deal with later.

For now, he'd take care of Virgil. Just as he'd promised Roman.

[khiphop-stories]

Getting Off The Wrong Foot

[Christian Yu | Chapter X]

Warning: This chapter is quite long, consider it a double update, since I suck at posting regularly lol. A lot of things happening in this chapter, I hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated!  Stay safe and healthy guys!

Previous Chapters:

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V | Chapter VI | Chapter VII | Chapter VIII | Chapter IX

”So…what’s up Jay?” You mustered his face through narrowed eyes as your suspicion grew. It would be a lie to said you didn’t think this was weird. Jay had just appeared at your office without prior announcement and insisted on having lunch with you, so now here you two were — sitting across from each other and finishing the last bites of your meal, pretending like you didn’t just have a huge argument the other day. You talked about all kinds of topics like you always used to with the exception of one. But it was only a matter of time until one of you had to address it in order to sort it out. 

“I-I haven’t been a very good friend to you lately…I guess I’m trying to make up for it,” Jay stuttered as he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. He was never really a big talker. That’s why a lot of people always described him as cold and distant, sometimes they would go as far as call him rude. He found it incredibly hard to express his feelings or show his emotions, but he always tried his best with you. You saw his efforts, even just the slightest attempt was good enough for you.

“It’s ok,” you reassured him with a warm smile. 

“It’s really not. I was a little bit selfish,“ he let out a long sigh followed by silence. “What do you mean?” You titled your head, blinking your eyes at him confused.

“Honestly? I really wanted Kiseok and you to get back together. I wanted for all of us to hang out like we used to do. I missed having you around. That’s why I pushed you into forgiving him.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive him, Jay.”

“I know,“ he nodded his head. “You don’t have to. He hurt you. You have every right to be mad at him. I’m not gonna meddle in your relationships anymore.”

“Relationships? Plural?” You cocked up a brow at him. Jay had always been a rather nosy person, especially regarding your relationships. He always gave you dating tips and it was Jay who played cupid, when both Kiseok and you were too shy and cautious to make the first step, even though it was painfully obvious to anyone around you that you had feelings for each other. Jay hesitated a moment before answering.

“You and Christian…” 

“There’s no me and Christian,” you let out a brief chuckle in disbelief, rolling your eyes at him. Considering what had occurred in the past between them, you understood why Jay bore a grudge against Christian, but there wasn’t anything going on between the two of you. It was merely sex. “I’ve told you it’s not like that.” “I know, but what I’m trying to say is…I wouldn’t mind…even if it were like that.” “Thanks, but that’s not gonna happen,” you denied it without hesitation. You let out a brief laugh. Whatever Jay was insinuating was so unlikely that it sounded ridiculous to you. Christian had showed no interest in you and he made it clear that he wasn’t looking for something serious whereas you were still struggling to get over your ex.

“I saw him looking after you at the launching party.”

“So?” “Live was about to perform. There were some issues backstage.” “So?” You repeated even more impatient than before, not understanding what he was trying to get at. “He should have fixed the issue himself or at least waited for them to get fixed. He’s part of their crew after all, but instead he went after you. Because in that moment you were more important to him than the performance.”

“You’re reading way too much into it, Jay,” you laughed, gently shaking your head at him. 

There must have been a simple explanation for this, you thought. Christian probably went looking for me to help fix whatever issues they were having and then got entangled in a conversation with me and he simply forgot his initial intention - and there it was again and this time you even caught yourself doing it. Yet again you expected the worst of him. You treated him like a person who was unable to care and show affection. 

“Whatever, that’s not the point,” Jay chirped in. “I’m just saying…don’t hold back because of me. If you like him, just go for—.”

“I don’t like him…not like that” you cut him off immediately. 

“I’m saying, if.” “There’s no if,” you strongly denied again. 

“Ok fine,” Jay laughed at your insistence. “Then let’s just say, whatever you…want to do, I’ll have your back.”

~*~

[Time Leap]

Out of everything that had happened the other day at the Nike launching party, it were Christian’s words that lingered on your mind. No matter what you were doing, the things he has said to you just kept following you like a shadow. The worst thing of it all was the he was right and you caught yourself doing exactly what he had accused you of. The moment you had met him, you expected the worst from him. He could have been the kindest and most caring guy in the world, yet at the back of your head he would still be the heartless womanizer. He never did anything that would justify why you thought so badly of him. But you let the past you thought you knew about him define him. You let the rumors you had heard about him shape the picture you had of him. None of it was fair to him.

“Hey.”  

The surprise was written across his face, his eyes and mouth were frozen wide open. It took a second or two for him process what was right in front of him. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” his eyes softened at you and the corners of his mouth curled upwards into a small smile.

“I-I came to return your jacket.” You lifted the brown paper bag in your hands up, before handing it to him. He pushed himself up from his chair and took it back into his possession.

“Thanks.” His eyes never left yours. He didn’t even break the eye contact to check the content of the bag. 

“You were right…I judged you.” You paused for him to say something, but he didn’t so an awkward silenced took over. He didn’t give off the impression that he wanted to break it, so you continued speaking.

“I guess it would be a lot easier for me if you were the guy from the rumors.”

“Why?” He furrowed his brows at you, the tone of his voice reflecting the confusion that was on his face.

“Then I wouldn’t get attached to you,” you told him honestly and it felt like you were stripping down naked. You had never showed yourself so vulnerable in front of anyone, not even Kiseok. You had always keep your pride and dignity with him, but standing here in front of Christian you tossed all of that away. 

“I don’t mind if you do.”

You cocked up a brow and eyed him with disbelief as a quiet chuckle left your lips.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“You think I’ll leave? Well, I’m not. Whether we fuck or not.”

“So, if I were to say that I…wanted to stop sleeping with you—“

“I’d still listen to you whine about Kiseok,” he added playfully, a smile played on his lips. 

“Why?” “Believe it or not, I care about you and by the way Minhee, you already ended it.”

“When did I do such thing?” You furrowed your eyebrows, pretending not to know what he was talking about. “When you were trying to be considerate towards Jay’s feelings.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” you shrugged your shoulders indifferently. Of course you remembered, after all you had replayed the conversation with him inside of your head again and again. However, despite what you had said, you weren’t ready to give up on your only escape from reality. Right now Christian was one of the few things that you looked forward to and kept you sane. You weren’t ready to deal with your feelings and broken heart yet, running away from your problems was way more appealing to you. “I guess you’re taking it back then?” Christian nodded his head knowingly as a teasing grin spread across his face. 

He took a step towards you, shortening the distance between the two of you. He stared deep into your eyes. He cupped your cheek that was slowly turning red. “Does that mean I’m still allowed to do this…” He grinned at you before slowly leaning into you. You shut your eyes in anticipation, allowing him to do whatever he was going to do next. His soft lips brushed against yours, gently and slowly. Like a tease he pulled away, before you could lose yourself in that kiss. You whimpered at the loss of contact and opened your eyes again.

“Damn you, Christian,” you cursed at him as you realized he was just teasing you to begin with. “The guys are gonna be back in couple minutes,” he confessed, knowing if he gave in to his desires now, the guys would probably walk in on you. Although he pulled back, his eyes were telling you that he wanted you, right then, right there. “That’s my cue.” “Can I come over later?”

You both felt the tension. Your insides craved his touch. You craved his touch. You nodded once, a slight barely noticeable nod as you didn’t want to seem too eager.  With a grin on his lips he gave you a quick peck before releasing your from his grip.

~*~

[Time leap]

Christian’s gaze cruised your figure which he had done before - multiple times even - and you got pretty much used to his unrelenting stare, but this time the look in his eyes was different. He wasn’t admiring you, it appeared as though he was in disbelief mixed with a little bit of confusion.

“Don’t get me wrong, Min, you look lovely as always…but what the hell are you wearing?” With a chuckle he shook his head at you while he was still mustering you with his eyes.

Your eyes trailed down your own body. You really liked the outfit you were wearing. It was simple and casual. You wore your favorite t-shirt combined with a skirt. Then your eyes darted to him, scanning him from head to toe. “Why are you so dressed up?” 

He was dressed in a white t-shirt - nothing out of the ordinary - but the black suit jacket, black pants, and dress shoes made it seem like he was starring in a James Bond movie. “I told you my aunt’s a little bit extra.”

You blinked at him confused still not understanding what he was getting at. 

“It’s a formal party, didn’t I tell you?” “Nope.” you shook your head. Even your makeup was kept minimal, reserved to a sweep of mascara. You thought it was going to be a casual party as most of the guests were either family members or people who were coming as a plus one.

“Sorry, my bad. Can you change?”

~*~

You changed into a simple black dress which was much more suitable for this kind of occasion and Christian seemed to approve as well. He stared at you, unconsciously biting down on his lips. 

You walked to the table where you had your makeup sprawled. It was probably not that good of idea to change into the dress before putting on your makeup, but you didn’t have the time to worry about that now. You didn’t want to be the reason Christian arrived late to his aunt’s birthday celebration. You never used foundation because lucky enough you were blessed with even skin. But you did put on some concealer to hide away blemishes. Then you applied brown-reddish eye shadows and black eyeliner. Since you had already layered on some mascara you skipped that step and finished with a deep velvety shade on your lips. Earrings were fastened to your ears, before you clapped your hands together in content. 

“Ready!” You exclaimed enthusiastically, but you received no response from Christian so you turned around to check what he was doing. You saw him sprawled on your bed, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. When you stepped closer you noticed that his eyes were closed. It didn’t even take you that long to get ready, maybe a good fifteen minutes, yet he had already fallen asleep. He must have really had overworked himself the past few days. You gently shook him by his shoulders to wake him up. 

Christian jerked awake to see your grinning face. He immediately squinted his eyes as he was still getting used to the light.

“Shit, how long was I out?” He asked you, panic spreading across his face.

“Not long, but if we don’t wanna be late, we should go now”

He was still staring at you, his breaths becoming heavy and irregular. He pushed himself up by his elbow and got on his feet. Then he wrapped his arm around your body and swiftly turned you around. Before you could even process what was happening you felt his soft lips pressed against yours. You melted into the kiss, allowing him to deepen it. But you quickly snapped back and jerked away.

“What the hell are you doing? We’re gonna get late,” you reminded him of the time, but he didn’t seem to care that much.

“What if we do?” He hummed against your skin and left a trail of kisses along your neck.

“I don’t half ass things, Ian. If I’m gonna pretend to be your girlfriend, I’m gonna be the perfect fake girlfriend.”

“I’ll be quick,” he negotiated. He had already unzipped your dress by now and he was about to tear it off your body. “Christian Yu,” you warned him sharply. “Zip it up right now!” “Fine,” he gave in defeated, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. He turned you around and brushed your hair to the side, so it wouldn���t get caught in the zipper. The fabric of your dress tightened around your body again, but he didn’t stop there. You suddenly felt his soft lips brushing against your shoulder blades as he left a trail of wet kisses. His hand that was holding your hair earlier travelled down to your breasts, giving them a little squeeze before he pushed his lower body against yours grinding on you. “Christian Yu!” You shouted at him in disbelief. “Sorry, got carried away,” he quickly let go of you holdings his hands up in the air. “But we are going to continue this later, right?” “Depends on how you behave,” you stuck out your tongue at him and gave him a wink.

~*~

During the ride, Christian prepared you for the meeting with his family. He gave you a brief summary of everything you needed to know. He told you to definitely avoid his aunt if possible, because she was the hardest person to fool. She was known to have successfully set up some of his cousins, so she knew at first sight if there was some chemistry or not. He warned you not to talk to her without him being present to guide the direction of the conversation and help you out if you were in a sticky situation. You also made him promise that he wouldn’t leave your side. A promise as it later turned out, he wasn’t able to keep.

“Let’s get out stories straight. We worked on a project together. I was attracted to you and asked you out on a date. That’s how we started going out.”

It wasn’t that much of a lie. You did work with him on a project and he did feel attracted to you physically, you just never developed feelings for the other. Christian believed the more he stuck to the truth the easier it would be to fool his relatives. You didn’t have to remember too many lies and you could also improvise if needed. “That simple?” You cocked up a brow. “Why? You wanna add something?” “It sounds so…not romantic at all,” you said playfully as a chuckle left your lips.

“Then…how about…I fell in love with you at first sight and knew straight away you were the one,” he came up with a different scenario on the spot. “Now that just sounds unbelievable. Let’s just stick to the first one,” you laughed. “Do I need to know something about you?”

“My family knows me as a family man, so try not be too surprised.” “You?” You raised your brows at him in disbelief, trying to picture it inside your head.He didn’t give off the impression of a family man at all. He seemed rather independent and distant. 

“And they don’t know that-“

“You sleep around?” You finished the sentence for him. “Yeah,” he nodded his head with an awkward laugh. “And they call me Rome. You should probably call be by that name too.”  “Why?” “People close to me always call me that.” People in his private circle all called him Rome. Christian was the name he used at work. 

“Anything else, Rome?” “That’s it.” ~*~

“Ok, here we go,” he took a deep breath, before he lifted his arm and pressed the bell. His hand was trembling a bit. You hadn’t seen him this tensed before. “Why are you so nervous?” You mustered his face. As though his nervousness was contagious you suddenly began to feel anxious too. “If you knew my family, you’d be nervous too,” he chuckled drily. His eyes flickered around the place and he couldn’t stand still. He rhythmically tapped his foot on the ground as you waited for someone to answer the door. Suddenly he passed the present he was holding from one hand to the other and held out his freed hand, looking at you expectantly. It took you a moment to understand what he wanted from you and it made you burst out into laughter. “Are you serious? You’re so stiff, it looks unnatural.” You said in between laughter. 

“Why? Real couples hold hands, don’t they?”

“You look like you are being held at gunpoint. Just act natural!”

“If you were my girlfriend, I would hold your hand.” “You’re sweating!”

As you were bickering back and forth the door suddenly opened, revealing an elder woman. Her skin looked youthful, it was obvious that she must have put a lot of effort on keeping her skin looking so smooth. If you had to guess you would say she was in her late forties, but she probably looked younger than her actual age. Some of her facial features looked similar to Christian’s. Considering those similarities it wasn’t hard to guess her identity. “Hi mum,” Christian greeted her brightly. She was ecstatic to see her son, the corners of her lips rose upwards into a big smile. Without further hesitation she pulled her son into her arms, embracing him with her warmth. He took his face into her hands, inspecting him closely. “You’re overworking yourself again, aren’t you?” She nagged worriedly as she saw the big bags under his eyes and he looked visibly more exhausted than the last time she had seen him. But that was partly due to him being sick last week. He hadn’t fully recovered from his cold yet.

“And you must be Minhee,” her eyes wandered to you. She gave you a smile that just seemed so genuinely sweet that an unexpected warmth rushed through you. You immediately felt comfortable around her. “Rome has told me so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

You glanced at Christian with a raised brow, wondering what he had told her. This wasn’t even a real relationship, why would he talk about you with his mother?

You were about to introduce yourself politely with a handshake as you were taught by your parents, but she was quicker. She pulled you into a hug, gently patting your back. 

“Come in, come in,” she invited you into the house. She linked her arms with yours and pulled you along while Christian was walking next to you. Your eyes travelled around the house and now you knew why Christian described his aunt as extra. The house wasn’t that big, but the interior made you feel like a princess in a castle. It was beautifully decorated with attention to every little detail. In the living room, where the live of the party was at, you could see caterers walking around in their black and white uniform serving finger food and drinks. There was a huge buffet on the table which was almost twice the size of Christian’s car. Next to it were piles of presents. Christian walked to the pile and left his own present on top of another, before he returned to you. 

His mother began introducing you to a few family members and you also met his aunt briefly, though she had to disappear shortly after to take care of a few things. You didn’t know how you got here as everything happened so fast. But along the way you somehow got separated from Christian and now you were surrounded by his too curious female cousins and their friends who were peppering with questions about your supposed relationship with Christian.

“We all wondered what kind of girl he would bring this time,” one of them said and if you were being honest, you didn’t remember her name. There were just too many to remember. “The last time he introduced a girl two us was over two years ago,” another girl said. She pulled you closer and pretended to whisper into your ear, but she spoke so loudly that anyone around you could hear. “And between us, we didn’t like her that much.”

You furrowed your brows unconsciously as you recalled something he had said to you when you ran into each other in the club. He had told you about a girl who was obsessive and controlling. You wondered whether it was the same girl his cousin was talking about.

“She was a total gold digger. I’m so glad he’s not with her anymore,” they all agreed in unison. 

“She bled him dry.”

At some point during your conversation one of the girls pulled you to the side. You remembered her introducing herself as Christian’s maternal cousin. She was a bit older than you and judging from the golden jewellery decorating her ring finger she was probably also married. She lowered her voice as she talked to you. “You know, Christian’s like a little brother to me. I’ve known him since he was a little baby. He might be a little reckless and dim at times, but he’s a good guy. He’s got his heart broken really badly the last time. Please take care of him.”

You nodded your head and promised to treat him well. You did feel bad for lying straight to her face when she had asked you for a favor in confidence, but since you had already agreed to do this for him you had no choice but to keep the act up.

“Tell me, is he good in bed?” One of the girls asked you out of the blue. 

Hearing that question almost made you choke on the juice you were drinking. You coughed out loud to prevent the liquid from entering your lungs. “Excuse me?” You looked at her appalled by her blunt manner. You had figured she wasn’t one of his cousins and was probably a family friend, but you still didn’t expect such a straightforward question about your sex life.

“Don’t mind her. She’s had a huge crush on Rome since forever. She still fantasizes about him sometimes,” her best friend excused her brazen behavior.

“Whenever I see him I get dirty thoughts. I can’t help it,” she shrugged her shoulders unapologetically. Her eyes were still resting on you as if she was still expecting an answer to her question. “The sex is good, thanks,” you replied shortly. A memory of Christian’s exposed body flashed in front of your eyes, you felt the blood rush to your cheeks, blushing uncontrollably. Shaking your head, you attempted to rid yourself of any dirty thoughts that were crossing your mind. “That good, huh?” She smirked at you content with the answer your body had given her.

This conversation was getting more and uncomfortable by the second. You nervously glanced around the room, hoping to find Christian somewhere so you could escape from this interrogation. You needed to get out of this situation. If they continued asking you that many questions, to most you didn’t know the answer to, your little act might get exposed. You found him sitting at the table with his uncles who were having a drink with him. He quickly caught your eyes that were desperately screaming for help. He signalled you that he was coming over, before he turned his attention back to the table, probably excusing himself. Knowing he would be coming to save you, you felt relieved. 

“Sorry, ladies. I’m afraid I have to steal my girlfriend back,” he apologised to the females in front of him as he held you by your waist. He pulled you close to him and led you away from them. 

“You’re family is quite nosy,” you told him playfully as you let him guide you to an empty table. He pulled out the chair for you and waited for you to take a seat, before he sat down himself. As always he behaved like  gentleman.

“I know, I know. Sorry for dragging you into this. They won’t ever let me live. That’s why I don’t bring girls home.”

“Except for one.”

His eyes wandered to you, the subtle surprise spread across his face. In that moment he seemed almost vulnerable. “How do you know?” His gaze lingered on you. The expression on his face appeared rather blank as though he wanted to hide his feelings from you. It was pretty obvious by now that this particular girl must have hurt him deeply.

“Your cousins talk a lot,” you chuckled lightly. Christian’s eyes travelled around the room without aim, avoiding your gaze. He was reluctant to reply. As you noticed how uncomfortable this topic was making him feel, you decided not to probe any further. It was none of your business anyway.

“I told you about the over-controlling girlfriend, didn’t I?” He then said much to your surprise. You nodded your head slowly.

“She tried to dictate my life and to some extent I let her. I thought the feelings were mutual so I tried my best to make her happy and be the person she wanted me to be. I later found out she only used me for clout. She wanted my connections to the industry, not me.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled under your breath as you didn’t know what else to respond to this. You couldn’t have guessed from his exterior and the way he was carrying himself. But it was self-centered of you to think you were the only one whose trust was betrayed, the only one who had been hurt. He was no exception to it. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he chuckled affectionately. “How am I looking at you?”

“Like you’re about to cry.”

“I’m not!” You made a grimace giving him a punch for that stupid remark.

“How did you get over her?” “Sex. A lot of it.” “Of course,” you rolled your eyes at him with a laugh. “So you’re playing with people’s heart because you got your own broken?” “Nah, I don’t play them. I’m just having fun. I’m honest with them from the start. I make things clear from the get go. It’s not really my fault if they end up expecting more.” “Well, you’re charming, kind and you treat them well. You can’t be surprised they actually fall for you and want more, can you?” Christian anchored his attention on your face, his eyes unmoving lingering on you. He let the silence take over as if he was waiting for you to say something else. “What? Do I have something on my face?” You blinked at him confused, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze. “What about you?” “What about me?” “Are you falling for me too?“ He asked, his eyes locked with yours. [To be continued...]

What do you guys think Minhee’s answer will be? Are they developing feelings for each other? Please let me know! Looking forward to reading your thoughts! 

[athina-blaine]

MoMM Update! - What to heck?

Hello, everyone! Unfortunately, Chapter 2 is still under works– the hiatus we mentioned back in our first update post has arrived and MoMM has to take a bit of a backseat for now. I was definitely overzealous in flinging around posting dates the way I did, and I apologize for that; I’d hate to have inflicted any unnecessary disappointment. I promise to practice more reservation in the future!

In the meantime, I’ve decided to go ahead and post the first half of the chapter under this cut– 6k words, 17 pages, I got it all right here for ya. [pats top of post]

Enjoy!

THE MONSTER OF MAGNUS MANOR

CHAPTER 2

THE ESTATE

(Chapter 1 here!)

Martin’s dreams were murky things, cut to the clop of fading hoofbeats and a pair of frightened eyes– eyes that kept locking with his own as the world faded in and out. At some point they’d manifested fully into a man– he was saying something, a string of urgent, unintelligible words that blistered the air around them.

“–tay with me, don’t– no, no, no, no–”

Martin’s vision greyed out before he could make out the rest.

When he resurfaced,  he was lying in a … a bed? Was … this the castle infirmary–? No, he didn’t think even Lord Barclay’s mattress was this comfortable. And the rock slab cots lining the servants’ infirmary didn’t have four poster canopies, either …

Strange dream. Everything wobbled, and grew dark again.

And then he was blinking awake. The bed and its canopy were still there, as lavish as they’d been in his dream. 

“Are you awake properly, this time?”

The unfamiliar voice had Martin lurching upright. Pain zinged through his skull; he groaned, pressing a hand to one eye.

“I don’t know,” he breathed. “I-I guess so?”

The man sitting beside him let out a slow breath, some of the stiffness unwinding from his posture. “You’ve had a few false starts,” he explained. “Understandable, given your head injury.”

Head injury. The events from earlier came rushing back to him– Martin’s vision was still swimming, but he recognised this man, or the colour of his eyes, at least. They were the same shade of brown as the mysterious figure from the fog. He’d since pulled back the hood of his cloak, revealing dark skin marred with pockmarks on one side of his fine-boned face. His hair had been tied up in a silvering bird’s nest of a bun, and a few thin strands had fallen to brush the shoulders of a richly embroidered vest.

Martin tallied it all up: posh manner, fine clothes, the thin, borderline regal cut of his face. Despite the incongruity of his scars and disheveled hair, the facts pointed to one thing– this had to be the lord of that mysterious estate.

A mysterious estate he was now inside, with an injury that had stars dancing before his eyes. “How–” Martin started, then paused to steady his breathing. “How long was I out?”

“Not long.” The man pulled an ornate pocket watch from his vest pocket, squinting. “It’s about five o’clock.”

“In the afternoon?”

“Does it look like five o’clock in the morning to you?” the man demanded, gesturing to the window. He was right; a weak orange sunset had begun staining the sky, casting dark shadows from the treeline over the estate’s grounds.

“No.” The word had been torn from Martin’s mouth with a burst of horror. He scrambled for the sheets, startling a noise from his host.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

Martin wasn’t listening; the image of Lord Barclay’s cold eyes as he told him, in unequivocal terms, that he was sacked had sent a low, buzzing static through his ears. “I’m sorry, thank you for taking me in, but I need t– I need to–” He had to get back– for his mum, if nothing else. Oh, God, if he lost this job now …

“What you need is to lie back down.” Martin’s bare foot had scarcely touched the floor before the man rose to his feet, thrusting a hand against his chest. “Didn’t you hear what I said? You’ve been concussed.”

Martin was unceremoniously shoved back down. He could’ve fought back– the stranger’s wrists were stick-thin where they stuck out past the sleeves of his tunic, and Martin wasn’t exactly small– but the sudden motion sent a wave of dizziness crashing over him, and Martin couldn’t summon the strength for it.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” the man said, eyes fierce. “In your current state, you’ll collapse before you ever make it out of this forest. Is that what you want?”

The words hung in the air between them. Martin swallowed, shaking his head.

“Then lie down.”

Cowed, Martin sank back into the mattress. Once it was clear he wasn’t struggling, the man relaxed, withdrawing his hand from Martin’s chest.

“Thank you,” he said, sitting back down. Then his shoulders sagged. “I … apologise. I’m sure you have somewhere important to be, and you’ve been hurt as a direct result of my actions. Please believe me when I say this was not my intention.”

A heavy note of guilt rang through his voice, and Martin’s chest panged with instinctive sympathy. “I-it’s fine. It was just an accident.”

If anything, the grim set of his host’s mouth worsened. “I should also warn you– your horse ran off. I tried looking for her after bringing you here, but she doesn’t appear to be in the area.”

Oh God, Phillipa. “… she’s resourceful,” Martin said, but it was much weaker this time. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s found her way back home already.“ 

The stranger kept his gaze trained on his hands. “ … I– yes, of course. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.” Abruptly, he stood once more. “I assume you’re hungry? Now that you’re awake, I can bring you something to eat.”

Martin jumped. “Oh, uh.” It would have been a full day since he’d last eaten, by now. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep anything down. Based on the strange intensity in the man’s eyes, though, only one correct answer existed. “Y-yes, I– um, thank you. Actually some– some tea would be nice?”

A single, sharp nod was his only response; the man turned on his heel, making a beeline for the door. 

Martin held out a hand before he could stop himself. “Wait– wait.”

The man turned, arching one brow, and heat washed over Martin’s face. He hadn’t actually had anything important to say, but they hadn’t even exchanged names.

“Sorry, I just … wanted to thank you. For– for taking me in.” He cleared his throat. “My name is Martin, by the way. Martin Blackwood.”

“A … pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Blackwood.”

Martin flushed. "Oh– just Martin is fine. Um … c-can I ask for your name?” 

Silence stretched taffy-thin between them as his host studied him, expression unreadable. Martin’s breath stilled in his lungs– was he being measured up? Found wanting somehow? He’d only asked for a name–

“Jon.”

Martin stiffened, but with a snap of his cloak, the man vanished, closing the door behind him.

Jon.

Martin wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been that. Jon. It was so … common. Approachable, for such an unapproachable man. Perhaps it was a family name.

Musings about Jon’s name could only distract him for so long, however, with his worst case scenario waiting for him back in the real world. Barclay would make him beg if he wanted to continue working in the castle, especially after last night’s disaster. 

Martin dropped his head in his hands. He was as good as sacked.

Distraction. He needed a good distraction. Anything to take his mind off agonising– not like he could fix anything confined to a bed by a stranger.

Lifting his head, he took a moment to peer around the room. It was bigger than the servants’ dormitory he shared with the others back at Barclay’s castle. To his right was an old, carved wardrobe; the desk and chair beside it had been made out of smooth mahogany. Paintings, their colours dulled by time, were hanging lopsided on some of the walls– a stark contrast to the faded wallpaper beneath them. Settled over it all was a fine layer of dust; only the chair, and the bed Martin was lying in, had been cleared of it.

Obvious disuse aside, even Lord Barclay’s accommodations weren’t this opulent. An unexpected twinge of guilt shot through Martin’s chest, as if he was doing something wrong. Stealing comfort that didn’t belong to him.

By the time Jon came back, the sunset had shifted from orange to a slow-burning red that dappled the sky. Tucked in the crook of his elbow was an unidentifiable bolt of cloth, and in his hands, a dinner tray. A silver dinner tray. “I apologise for the simplicity of the meal,” Jon said. “It’s … been some time since I’ve had the opportunity to cook.”

Had … was Jon implying that he, the lord of this house, had cooked for Martin? Martin swallowed, tearing his gaze from Jon back to the tray. Why wouldn’t the kitchen staff be making his meals?

Jon didn’t hand him the tray so much as he slid it into Martin’s lap; on it was a bowl of boiled vegetables, and next to that, a steaming cup of tea. Simple, yes, but Martin was grateful nonetheless.

“Thank you, really,” said Martin, entirely too genuine. Under the attentive eyes of his host, he shovelled a spoonful of turnip and carrot into his mouth, and started to chew. He stopped.

Jon leaned forward, poised. “How i– er, that is, I hope it’s to your satisfaction.”

Martin steeled himself and kept chewing, scrambling for a neutral expression. While the outside of the vegetables were soggy, their insides crunched against his molars, sending shudders down his spine. Underboiled, his mind supplied helpfully.

It was, perhaps, one of the worst meals he’d eaten in his life.

“It’s great,” he lied, smiling past the curdling in his stomach. Jon had made this himself, and Martin was going to die before he willingly insulted a lord to his face.

Jon released a quiet breath. “That’s … good.” He unwound the cloth draped over his forearm; it was a nightshirt and cap, made of fabric that could’ve been water for how it piled onto the sheets. “These are for you to wear to bed. You can find something to change into tomorrow in the wardrobe. Please inform me if there are any that don’t fit.” He winced. “And you’ll have to excuse me if you find anything that’s been chewed through. It’s impossible, keeping the moths out this time of year.”

“Tha– thank you?”

“You, ah,” Jon hesitated, before clearing his throat. “Seeing you’re here because of me, you’re welcome to stay until you’ve made a full recovery.” His voice grew guarded. “My only stipulation is that you remain in your rooms at night.”

Martin paused.

It wasn’t that unusual of a request– Martin was a stranger, of course Jon didn’t want him wandering about at night. No, what snagged Martin’s attention was the faint, nervous hitch of his shoulders as he said it.

“O-of course.” Martin’s throat bobbed. “Is it– can I ask why?”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Oh, hell. “Sorry, sorry, you’re right. I-it’s just, I don’t know …” kind of strange? But the impatient twist of Jon’s mouth stopped him cold.

The silence dragged, then Jon crossed his arms. “I have a dog.”

“A … dog?”

“Yes. Big, vicious thing. He … patrols the manor at night– and he’s not partial to strangers.”

Oh. Well, that … that made sense, didn’t it? Still odd, though– Barclay had a whole team of hunting dogs, and none of them were allowed to wander the grounds without supervision. They weren’t pets, and they certainly weren’t guards. It appeared this one was, though.

“What’s his name?” Martin asked, before he could think better of it.

“What?”

“The dog.” Martin held up his hands in apology. “Sorry, it’s just, I love dogs. My neighbors had one when I was a kid. Ol’ Frankie.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed even further. “John.”

 “… John.”

“Yes.”

“John … the dog?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“You named the dog after yourself?”

The look Jon shot him was equal parts baffled and incredulous, as if he were ludicrous for asking. “I came into possession of the dog after it received its name. And, besides, it’s John, spelled with an H.”

“I … see.” Martin didn’t see. “Obviously.” It had not been obvious.

Jon glowered, daring him to continue, then reached into his pocket. “One last thing. I noticed … well, here.” With an oddly stiff motion, he held out a small glass jar of salve. “For your hands. It would be irresponsible of me, as your host, to let them ulcerate unchecked.”

Startled, Martin glanced down at his hands– they were still covered in blisters from scrubbing last night’s mountain of dishes. He’d forgotten about them in all the chaos.

“Th-thanks,” he said, accepting the jar.

Clearing his throat, Jon stepped back. “I’ll let you finish your meal. You can expect me tomorrow morning with breakfast.” One hand on the door, he hesitated, then added in a soft undertone, “Get some rest.”

Jon was gone before Martin could answer. He was alone once again.

Unscrewing the lid of the jar, Martin gave the ointment an experimental sniff– honey and almonds. He scooped out a dollop and rubbed it into the damaged skin of his hands, sighing as it cooled the sting of his blisters. Astonishing, that Jon had noticed at all– Martin was so used to it, he would have left them to rot on his own.

He finished his dinner, half out of pragmaticism, half because he didn’t want to risk insulting his host. At least the tea was good.

Tray set aside, Martin began unbuttoning his dress shirt. What an unusual sight he must have made, passed out on the ground in formal wear. The clothes Jon had provided were silky against his skin, marred only by the must of disuse– still a luxury for a person with Martin’s background.

It wasn’t enough to distract him from the cold knot of trepidation that twisted inside his stomach. But Jon had been right; even if he had known the way, he would never make it back in his current state, especially without Phillipa. 

At the very least, things couldn’t get much worse. There was solace in that. 

Martin settled back against the pillows. With so many thoughts racing through his head, sleep should’ve been impossible– but the moment he closed his eyes, the rest of the world slipped away.

-

“Here you are!” Martin’s eyes flew open as Charles dropped the tray into his arms. Its contents had been obscured by a covering; Martin couldn’t make heads or tails of what was inside, but whatever it was, it was heavy enough that he buckled under its weight. 

Charles winked. “Better you than me, right?”

“R-right.”

“Well, go on then. He’s hungry!”

Pulse pounding in his ears, Martin scurried into the dark hallway. None of the candles had been lit, but he knew the way by heart. His arm shook under the weight of the tray– carrying it with both hands would’ve been easier, but that wasn’t proper. And Lord Barclay was so particular about being proper …

The grand door leading into the dining hall drew closer, and a coil of apprehension burrowed into Martin’s gut. An unusual smell had started emitting from the platter– sweet and gamey, meat mixed with sugar glaze. His feet moved, relentless, and with every step, that sinking pit of dread at the core of him grew heavier.

He opened the door. The dining hall was empty, save for where Barclay sat at the head of the table. A single lit candle shone down on the dozens of empty plates surrounding him. Barclay wiped his mouth with a pristine napkin, and waved Martin forward.

Martin’s hands were trembling. He placed the tray on the table in front of Barclay, in between the scattered, stained plates. At his Lord’s signal, he removed the covering with as much flourish as he could.

It was empty.

The hairs on the back of Martin’s neck stood on end. Run, his instincts screamed. Get away, now! 

Barclay looked up at him, green eyes glittering dangerously. “Well?”

Martin started– at some point he’d been lowered into a chair. In ginger increments, he leaned over until his head was resting against the cool metal plate, each shuddering breath fogging its silver coating. Barclay reached for his utensils; Martin squeezed his eyes shut, praying that, for once, Barclay wouldn’t start with–

“Eyes open.”

Swallowing, Martin obediently pried them back open. The fork hovered out-of-focus, brushing his eyelashes. 

Somewhere beyond Barclay’s hall, a voice brushed against the edges of his hearing. 

“–Hello?”

The fork plunged down–

-

Martin jolted awake, his hair drenched in sweat. Sunlight was pouring in through the window, illuminating swathes of dust motes floating through each beam. It must have been around mid-morning. Reflexive panic welled in the back of his throat (late, oh God, he was so incredibly late) before the events of yesterday came back to him. The panic slipped away, dulled with leaden resignation.

Sleeping in was nice, at least; when was the last time he’d been this indulgent? Giving in to the mattress’ siren’s call was tempting– he could have slept longer, waited until Jon came to wake him up. But while the dreams’ contents had slipped away faster than he could recall, their weight sat heavy on the back of his tongue. He wasn’t particularly interested in returning.

Taking a chance, he tossed aside his blanket and slid onto his feet. His heart lifted– had he recovered enough to make it back to the castle?

The world spun on its axis, and Martin caught himself against the wooden bed poster before he collapsed. 

Ah. As if he could be so lucky.

With one hand against the wall for support, Martin shuffled his way over to the wardrobe. The hinges creaked as he opened it– Lord, everything here needed a good cleaning. He’d have been tanned for letting a room fall into this much disrepair on Griffiths’ watch. Hopefully, the clothes would be in better–

Martin’s mind blanked. The clothes were indeed in better shape, but the options inside were … far more expensive than he was used to wearing. Was Jon not worried about Martin ruining them? Although they must’ve belonged to someone else– these were all too big for Jon. Whoever they belonged to, Martin prayed they wouldn’t mind him wearing their clothes.

He selected the plainest tunic and trousers he could find among the ornate, embroidered lot. None of them had moth holes, at least; Jon would be happy to hear that.

Speaking of his mysterious host …

As soon as he was confident he could walk without falling over, Martin opened the door to the hallway, glancing out into the hall. No dog; that was a good sign. Jon had mentioned bringing breakfast– the smartest idea was for Martin to wait inside his room, but his curiosity was burning. What did the estate of such an eccentric lord look like, anyway?

Surely he could risk a quick look around before Jon arrived.

Martin closed the door behind him with a gentle click, eyes roving over the hallway.

It appeared that the estate of a lord like Jon looked incredibly dusty.

Martin dragged an experimental finger over the surface of a nearby windowpane; it came back smeared with grime. Griffiths would’ve died on the spot– what on earth was Jon’s staff doing? Taking advantage of Jon’s generosity and shirking their responsibilities?

He picked a direction at random and began to walk, keeping one eye peeled for someone who could point him in a useful direction. This section of the manor appeared to have been functionally abandoned, though; perhaps Jon had wanted to ensure Martin’s privacy, although that seemed like an unnecessary effort.

By the time he reached what must have been the grand staircase of a foyer, he still hadn’t encountered another living being. Martin faltered, eyes grazing over the crusted windows, before dipping to linger on an old, broken gramophone at the bottom floor.

Where was everybody?

He continued trailing through the manor, more apprehensive now. Each step brought with it the sense he was a misplaced ghost; alone and drifting, untethered from reality. The layout of the hallways had a labyrinthian element to their design– a wise man would have turned back at risk of becoming lost, but … 

It was as if someone had wrapped a string around his joints, tugging his feet forward. Martin couldn’t have turned back even if he’d wanted to.

His footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, crescendoing until they threatened to drive knives into his eardrums. No other noise penetrated the corridors; even the milky light filtering through the manor’s windows couldn’t reach him. The outside world had been choked off, as effectively as it had in the fog.

Panic swelled inside his lungs. Was there really nobody here? In a desperate bid, Martin threw open the first door to his left, hoping someone, anyone, would be on the other side.

Instead, he found the library. 

Stumbling backwards, his jaw went slack.

Martin had only seen two libraries in his life: the small, tattered bookshelf in the back of his mother’s church, and Lord Barclay’s personal collection– although the servants couldn’t make any selections for themselves. An entire room full of books, Martin had assumed it was among the largest collections of its kind.

He’d been wrong.

What stood before of him now were two stories worth of wall-to-wall bookshelves, brimming with texts and tomes in exquisite leather bindings. The scent of old parchment tickled Martin’s nose, sending him back to that dusty corner of the church, escaping through tattered parables and hymns.

Entranced, Martin stepped into the enormous room, leaving the door hanging open behind him. Giddy compulsion had him plucking out the first book he laid eyes on. A cookbook; although the language inside was unfamiliar, every page had been filled with mouthwatering illustrations. He selected another book at random: this time, a book of astronomy. And after that, a love story. Martin fought the urge to laugh, breathless. Just how many different books did Jon have?

Tucking all three in the crook of his arm, he continued down the aisle, reverent fingers brushing over each spine as he passed. A vast majority of them had been left untouched; preserved, perhaps, to maintain the appearance of esteem. That was the only reason Barclay ever added to his works. But occasionally, he’d come across a book with frayed pages, its spine threadbare.

Not mishandled, though. None of the pages had been dogeared, or the bindings broken. No, these carried the air of a book well-loved, read so many times over the years they’d been worn down to the glue. Martin took those with him as well, adding them to the growing collection in his arms.

When the first throbs of a sharp ache began pulsing at the back of his head, Martin ignored it. He couldn’t just leave, not with so much begging for his attention. When would he ever come across an opportunity to browse through a collection like this again? No, he had to make the most of it, while he still could.

But as Martin reached the far corner of the library, he slowed. A door was tucked away here, in a corner where no sunlight reached. It was nondescript, out of place in its simplicity– and yet, something about it drew Martin closer. Cool air seeped from between the door’s cracks, beckoning his curiosity.

His fingers grazed the brass handle–

“Don’t touch that.”

Martin yelped, books crashing to the ground.

Jon was standing at the end of the aisle with eyes like chips of ice. Heat bloomed across Martin’s face. This hadn’t been how he’d planned to encounter his host again: caught like a child sneaking sweets from the pantry.

“Sorry,” he stammered, scrambling to scoop up the fallen books. God, he’d dropped them. “I-I wasn’t– I didn’t mean to–”

“How many times do I have to say the word concussed before it sinks in?” With a sigh, Jon bent over to pick up the remaining books, depositing them on a random bookshelf before swiping the rest from Martin’s hands. Martin flinched, and the lines around Jon’s mouth deepened. "You’re in no condition to be wandering, let alone nosing around into places you shouldn’t.”

“I– I wasn’t trying to, to snoop or anything–”

“Really.” Jon shot a cool, pointed glance at the door. The flush crawled down to Martin’s neck, prickling in time with his erratic pulse. 

“Sorry,” he said again, lamely. “I really didn’t mean to– I-I was just … curious.”

“Curious. Of course.” With a sigh, Jon dropped the remaining books into another untidy stack, clapping dust off his hands. “I’ll show you back to your rooms– breakfast is waiting for you.”

Jon shouldered his way back out of the aisle, leaving Martin no choice but to follow. He was too embarrassed to protest even if he wanted to, but– his eyes lingered on the stack of books as they passed, mournful. It would have been nice to read at least one.

Jon urged him back into bed as soon as they reached Martin’s rooms, then turned to the breakfast tray he’d left on the desk. Martin fought down the growing dread at what Jon could have possibly prepared for this morning– but when Jon placed the tray on the bed, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Bread, butter, and a bowl of chestnuts. Absolutely no risk of anything overboiled here. And the bread was fresh, too– delicate wisps of steam rose to curl in the dusty air. Had Jon made this himself as well? It had come out better than the first meal, that was certain.

“Thank you,” Martin mumbled, picking up the bread knife to smear butter over a slice. 

Jon’s frosty expression didn’t change. "Why in the world did– I can’t imagine what possessed you to roam around this morning. Do you have any idea what I experienced when I found you gone?”

A spasm of guilt tangled in Martin’s gut. “S-sorry. I just … wanted to look around, a little.”

“There’s nothing worth looking at. This place may as well be a mausoleum.” 

Martin’s head whipped up. "You can’t mean that.”

A wry silence.

“Seriously? But your– your library is amazing! I’ve honestly never seen anything like it.”

“Th– the library?” Some of the severity in Jon’s expression vanished; he blinked, opening and closing his mouth. “ … Oh. Well, thank you, I suppose. But I’m, ah … I’m not the owner of that collection.” A shy, almost pleased note crept into his voice. “I did help retrieve a few of the rarer tomes, however. ” 

Slice of bread halfway to his mouth, Martin paused. “You … but I thought …?” 

One arched brow crept toward Jon’s hairline. “You thought … ?” 

“I’m sorry, but– aren’t you the lord of this place?” 

“No.”

Martin took a moment to process this sudden collapse of his mental image for Jon. “But then who … why are you …?”

For someone so young, Jon had far too much stress lining his face. “It’s … complicated. You could say I inherited this place from its previous owner.” 

“Your father?”

“No,” Jon said, blanching. Then, without warning, he pitched forward. “I’ve been wondering if you’ll entertain a question from me.” 

Martin jolted, taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation. “Y-yes?” 

Jon smoothed a hand over one of his cuffs. “You were dressed too nicely to be working in someplace like a smithy. But your hands … I assume you’re a labourer of some kind?” 

“Oh.” Flustered, Martin set down the piece of bread. Why would Jon want to know a mundane thing like that? “I’m, um, I’m a server in Lord Barclay’s estate, actually.” 

“Barclay?”  

“Yes, Lord Barclay. Lord Frederick Barclay?” Jon was still frowning. “Your Lord. Your Lord, if you live in this region.”

“You really expect me to know the name of every noble that goes parading themselves around these parts like an arsehole?”

“I-I … suppose not?” Martin didn’t understand how Jon couldn’t know, though. What about his taxes? “H-how about you?” 

“Pardon?” 

“Well, you said the library wasn’t yours, right? And … you said you’re not the lord of the estate, yeah?” 

“In a legal sense, no.” 

Well that was an interesting answer, but Martin was learning not to ask for elaboration. “So, what do you … do?” 

Jon scowled. “I don’t see why it matters.”

“S-sorry.” 

“You apologise a great deal, you’re aware of this?”

“S–” Martin bit it back just in time, and Jon blew out a haggard, long-suffering sigh. 

“But I suppose it’s only a fair trade. If you really must know, I was – am, I suppose – the Head Archivist of this estate.”

Martin’s brows flew up– Head Archivist? That had to be rather prestigious. Did Barclay have a similar role anywhere present in his staff? The only thing Martin could think of that compared was … “So, like a librarian?”

“Not like a librarian.” But Jon’s mouth twitched. “I suppose there is some overlap. It was more than just filing books and keeping things tidy, though. We were also researchers.”

Martin perked up. “We?”

“… Yes. I … I did have a team working alongside me, previously. We researched unusual encounters, on behalf of our patron.”

“What kind of unusual encounters?” Fascinated, Martin leaned forward. “You mean like, like love affairs?”

“Nothing as salacious as that.” A slight smile broke out across his lips. “Although there– there was one time … ”

He stilled, trailing off. The fragile warmth that had been growing behind his eyes shuttered.

“Although … ?” Martin prompted after a beat.

Jon’s expression could’ve been carved from stone. He said nothing, shoulders hunched under some unseen burden.

A suspicion had been brewing in the back of Martin’s mind since his crawl through the manor’s hallways, and now, with Jon coiled tense as a spring in front of him, it came roaring back full force. Well, if there was ever a time for inquiries … “Can I ask you something?”

Jon huffed, and Martin winced. 

“Right. Um. I guess I just wanted to ask–” oh, how to phrase it …? “–is … is there anyone else … here?” 

Jon’s eyes lowered to rest on his hands. “No,” he said. “It’s just me. And now you, I suppose.”

And all at once, the pieces fell into place. Jon’s cooking, his nonchalance about the borrowed clothes, the dust that had settled in a thick carpet over everything Martin, or Jon himself, hadn’t touched. For the second time today Martin was left staring, dumbfounded. “… I don’t understand.”

“What’s there to understand?”

“This place is gigantic. Don’t you …” Martin glanced down at his lap, thumbing a loose thread in the duvet. “There’s really no one here?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Jon’s eyes flashed. “I don’t need your pity. Why else would I be here if I didn’t prefer it this way?”

Martin opened his mouth, but Jon stood before he could reply, stormclouds thundering in his eyes. “This has been more than enough excitement for one day– I’ll let you get some rest.”

He’d already made it to the door when Martin regained control of his voice. “Thank you for the ointment.”

Jon stopped, one hand frozen on the door’s handle. “Pardon?”

“The hand cream. It, uh, it helped. Thank you for noticing. And … and I’m sorry for … everything, I guess.”

Jon stared at him for a long moment, then lifted his chin. “Glad I could be of some service.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Martin counted his footsteps until even their echoes faded down the hall entirely. 

It was probably for the best that he followed Jon’s instructions and got some rest. He had the gnawing sense that he was wearing out his welcome, fast.

He’d already nestled back into the mattress when a flash outside his window made him shoot back up.

Snow. Fluttering snowflakes were dancing on an invisible wind just beyond the glass. Martin rubbed his eyes– once, twice– but they were still there.

A trick of the light– it had to be. Some … half-asleep hallucination. He still had a ways to go before he was recovered, after all. Imagine– snow, at this time of year.

Putting it out of his mind, Martin pulled the duvet over him, and, with very little effort, drifted away again.

-

“–Hello?”

Martin stumbled to a halt, dinner tray in hand. What the hell was he doing? He didn’t have time to stop– there was still so much of the hallway left to go. But …

There. A door had appeared in the hall. Or had it always been there? For the life of him he couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t he remember …?

“You’re going to be late,” Charles said, somewhere off in the distance.

Late. Yes: Barclay’s dinner. He … he needed to leave. He was going to get everybody in trouble–

“–go.”

There it was again. Martin’s legs were stone; unable to move to the door, unable to move down the hallway. They had said go, right? He had to deliver Barclay’s dinner. But …

“You’re going to be late,” Mum said. Her eyes were hazy, unclear. What a wretched son he was; couldn’t even recall the colour of his own mother’s eyes …

“I’m sorry,” he said, but even he couldn’t tell who it was for.

-

Martin woke with aching arms and gummed eyes. Sunbeams were once again pouring in through his window, and this time, the accompanying disorientation faded faster.

Was it already morning? He must’ve slept right through dinner– this bloody mattress made it too easy.

And for once he was actually hungry. Properly hungry, too, without the accompanying nausea or weakness he’d grown accustomed to during his morning routine at the castle.

Today the silver tray was waiting for him on the desk– Jon had already come through this morning, likely an effort to keep him from waking, or wandering off again.

It was only as Martin was reaching for the tray that he noticed the books. Three of them, stacked on top of each other. Next to them were several pieces of folded parchment.

Martin, the letter started, with graceful, cursive handwriting, and something in Martin’s chest swooped low.

Here are some collections from the library, should you find yourself in need of entertainment. I had some difficulty choosing a recommendation, but I feel that these three have fairly universal appeal. Please take your injury into consideration, but I trust you to do what feels right for yourself.

Kinsey’s Survival on the Front Lines, especially, I find quite compelling. It’s a collection of memoirs from Kinsey’s time in war, and while a few have criticised his writing style as a bit dry, I find the contrast between his straightforwardness against the reality of war is how he’s able to make his point so clearly …

Martin read slowly, eyebrows climbing higher and higher with each word. 

The letter was five pages total, front and back. All detailing Jon’s reasoning for the selections he’d made, from their historical relevance, to his opinion on their style of prose. Was there anything in Martin’s life that he could talk about for so long? That he was so passionate about? Maybe his poetry, mediocre as it was, but not with half as much eloquence.

Buried in the text, tucked between hesitant, tentative platitudes, were Jon’s personal reasons for enjoying each book, such as I would often find myself returning to this text during my apprenticeship, and Some might consider Williamson’s humour a bit crude, but I still found it enjoyable.

Martin lingered longest on these, drinking in each tidbit with the avidity of a book-starved scholar.

The letter concluded with,

By now I’ve realised I needn’t have gone on for so long, but I’ve already spent two hours writing this, and it seems a wasted effort if I just tossed it, so … there you are. If you made it this far, anyway. Admirable, if you have.

If the choice between the three books still proves to be too much, I would suggest Sutherland’s Mythos of the Ages as a start. It’s simple, but, as I’ve mentioned, the illustrative work is astounding, and although it’s rather sentimental, I find the tales of some comfort to me. 

Jon

Martin traced the elegant swoop of the J, heart ballooning in his chest until he might burst.

Oh.

–

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 @itspandaatsume123​ @thesmallestzita​

[flcwerborne-a]

“ i… i would’ve liked for mr. hartley to be the one to walk me down the aisle, but he’s— he’s gone, of course. “    her gaze lowers to her phone as she grips it tightly in her lap. her knuckles are white. she didn’t know who else to ask. well, except for her dad. his name reads in big bold letters on the screen. she feels maren’s hand rubbing her back soothingly.

“ i know, songbird. i know he would’ve been happy to walk you down the aisle and see you get married. “

the little fae can picture it, the smile on his face, the tears of happiness pricking the corners of his eyes. the tight, warm hug he would’ve given her before taking a seat in the front pew. she can’t say she believes for sure in any sort of afterlife, but maybe he would be somewhere looking down at her, smiling, happy for her. melody hopes so. she wants to call her dad, too, at least to tell him that she’s getting married. she would of course be happy to bring him here to norway, money isn’t an issue, it’s just… what if she can’t even look at him? her lower jaw trembles. she hasn’t spoken to him since… well, since she moved out when she had enough money to do so. she was twenty-one then, now twenty-five. four years… it’s a long time to not even speak to someone, isn’t it? especially family, but they parted on such bad terms that melody didn’t even want to speak to him, much less see him again.

she felt that her father should know about his only daughter’s marriage to the woman she loves and plans to spend the rest of her life with, even if… even if he doesn’t want to come. he would still at least know and melody would be okay with that.

from the corner of her vision, she can see maren lean down to look at her wife. there’s a gentle, reassuring smile on her face.    “ you don’t have to call him if you don’t want to, mel. we could always walk down the aisle together. “

actually… melody would like that. she’d like a lot. it would be enough for her father to be in attendance, right? right there in the front with her mother. yeah, that would be good.    “ i— i think i’d like that. “    she says and looks up to maren, a smile forming on her own lips. her gaze returns to her phone.    “ even if he doesn’t walk me down the aisle, it’s enough for him to be there, right? “

“ whatever you want, songbird. “

she had hoped for something a little more sure, a yes or a no, but in the end, it’s all up to her. melody taps her phone screen and her dad’s name pops up again. although maren and melody changed phone numbers after their move to norway, she had kept his number for… what? she supposes maybe she would’ve gotten the urge to call him at some point. before now, she has, but still felt too hurt to follow through and actually call him. for a while, melody hated herself for wanting to call him, to update him on her life. i’ve made many friends. i own a flower shop now. i fell in love and i know in my heart that she’s the one. we adopted a little girl together, her name is ariel and i know you and mom would adore her. you always hoped for grandkids, y’know?

but she would always chicken out and wouldn’t call him. still, she kept his number in her contacts list.

melody’s thumb hovers over the call button. finally, as she presses it, she reaches for maren’s hand and holds it tight. she feels her wife give it a squeeze of acknowledgement and she looks up at her, lips pressed in a thin, worried smile. it rings a few times. static. a voice.

“ hello? “

recognizing her father’s voice, her heart drops into the pit of her stomach. she doesn’t speak immediately.

“ hello? is anyone there? “    his voice is as gruff and gravelly as she remembers. her hold on her wife’s hand tightens.    “ look, if this is a prank, i— “

“ dad? it’s— it’s me. it’s melody. “

there’s silence on the other end and for a moment the little fae worries he’ll hang up. he doesn’t want to talk to her, of course he doesn’t. he certainly doesn’t want to see her. why should he? they left on such bad terms and—

“ mel? is that— is it really you? “    in the background, she can hear her mother gasp and call her name. is that melody? she hears her father whisper almost shakily, yeah. melody chews the inside of her cheek, her heart pounding hard against her ribs.    “ your phone number, i didn’t recognize it at first. i would’ve… i didn’t mean to sound short. “

“ n-no, it’s— it’s fine. i had to change my number a while back, but i— i-i never— “     she takes a deep breath, soothed by the feeling of maren’s hand still on her back, rubbing soothing circles over it. nonetheless, tears well in her eyes. she quickly puts the conversation on speaker so maren can listen too.    “ yeah, it’s really me, dad. there’s, um, something important i have to tell you. “

she hears her mother’s voice again. her dad put melody’s voice on speaker.    “ is everything okay? are you hurt? “

“ hi mom. no, everything is… is great. in fact, i’m… i’m getting married, and i want you to be there. both of you. “

“ married? oh, honey i’m so proud of you. if only you could see your father’s face now. he’s beaming with pride. “

a small laugh leaves melody and she can’t help but smile.    “ really? “

her dad answers this time.    “ yeah, i’m real proud of you, mel. are you happy, does she make you happy? “

melody looks up at maren. her smile grows and she nods.    “ she does, yeah. we’re very happy. i’d love for you to meet her. it’s okay if you can’t afford to fly here, we’d be happy to cover the costs. “    she wants to mention ariel to them, but melody also wants to surprise them with her, too. it would be nice to see the looks on their faces when she introduces their daughter to her parents.

“ well, of course we’d love to attend! we wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world. just— call us again when you’re prepared to have us there, okay? “

“ okay, mom. i promise. “    melody pauses, her smile growing more.    “ i really can’t wait for you to meet my fiancée. i know you’ll love her. “

“ we look forward to meeting her and seeing you again, honey. “    and then the little fae hears her mother whispering to her father, urging him to say… something, she doesn’t catch what. her mother says goodbye, that she has something important to do. and the there’s silence for a little while.

“ dad? “    she calls softly, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“ i wanted to call you after… after you left, but i didn’t think you wanted to speak to me for a while or, well, ever again. so i didn’t. i beat myself up over it. whenever you called your mother, i wanted to ask you how you were doing, but i— i didn’t think you wanted to talk to me. “    he heaves a sigh. she hears the chair he sits in creak as his weight in it shifts.

“ we parted ways pretty badly, didn’t we? “    melody asks, voice quiet.

“ we did, but it was my fault. i thought— i thought i was protecting you. i didn’t want anyone to learn about your true nature because i didn’t want anything bad to happen to you. i didn’t want anyone to take advantage of your powers or for you to be shunned because of them. and, at the time, i didn’t think… i didn’t see how much you really loved what you were doing. i didn’t understand. i didn’t think you would really be happy being a florist for the rest of your life. at the time, it just seemed like a waste. “

“ dad, it’s— “

“ melody, please, i need to get this off of my chest. “

she gives a small nod.    “ okay, go on. “

“ over the years and all the phonecalls to and from your mother, she told me how happy you were with your life and that you even own a shop of your own now. she keeps saying how well you’ve done with your business and i— i couldn’t be more proud of you, melody. i’m so happy for you. i just— i hope you can forgive me for how i treated you and put you down for your dream. i’m so, so sorry, melody. “

tears spill down her cheeks and her hands tremble. she feels maren give her hand a squeeze and bring it up to her lips, pressing kisses to her knuckles. how long had she hoped he would apologize? how long had she felt bitter for what he did? it still hurts, but it hurts a little less. the sincerity of her father’s apology lifts another weight from her shoulders. she feels lighter again.

“ melody, are you still there? “

“ sorry, yeah, i-i'm still here. “    the little fae sniffles and wipes the tears from her cheeks and eyes. forgiveness. that’s a step, though a difficult one, toward healing, right? how does one forgive? do they just say it? i forgive you. or is there more to it? how does one actively forgive someone for the pain they caused? melody doesn’t know. no therapist could explain it to her. still, it’s important, right? it’s important to repairing their relationship.    “ i forgive you, dad. “

silence. she hears sniffling on the other end, then crying. she can’t help it when tears stream down her cheeks again. melody never could help herself when someone she loves cries around her.    “ oh, melody, i’ve waited so long to hear you say that. i’m so happy that you can forgive me. i’m so happy you called me. “

“ i-i— i’m glad you picked up the phone, dad. i… i’d like to do this again soon. but, y’know, t-talk more. “

“ i’d love to do that. just call, okay? any time for any reason. “

wiping the tears from her cheeks, she smiles again and nods.    “ of course. a-and the same goes for you, too. you have my number again, so— so just call when you want. “

“ hey, mel? i love you. “

“ i love you, too, dad. “

[crystxlclear]

sudden desire

chapter three: so, maybe i’m not okay

part four of sudden desire

prologue / one / two / masterlist

in which two best friends won’t admit they’re in love so decide to have a baby together instead.

pairing: marcus pike x original female character

word count: 2.5k (short lil chapter today!)

warnings: mentions of illness? other than that, none that i can think of? maybe the tiniest smidge of angst if you squint

Coraline has always been close to her father. One of her very first memories involved her perched on his shoulders at a Fleetwood Mac gig. He'd managed to sneak Cora, her brother, Daniel, and her heavily pregnant mom side-stage — the perks of him managing the venue at the time, in between jobs — and he'd cried when he'd heard her singing along to his favourite band. The show was all she'd talked about for a solid two weeks. Sure, the memories were a little grainy and probably warped by a crackly VHS tape of her mother's that she used to watch almost every day, but they were memories she held onto it as tightly as she could.

It was her father who took her first (dreadful) headshots, and him who she'd turned to when her sister died, and him who'd persuaded her that leaving everything and everyone she knew and loved back in Michigan to settle down in California (and then, later, D.C.) was a good idea. She owes her dad a lot, which is why the phone call has been playing on her mind all day.

The call came at 3am. She'd only fallen asleep two hours earlier, after Loren had arrived to pick up Maisie an hour late, hair a mess and rushing to apologise. Marcus had left a little while later and she'd practically collapsed into bed a few minutes later. She'd been woken by the low humming of her phone vibrating against her bedside table as it shot light through her dimly lit bedroom. She'd groaned uncomfortably and reached for it, cheek wedged awkwardly between her pillows and the mattress and legs tangled wildly in the sheets (Scott had always said she wriggled a lot in her sleep, but she'd always assumed he was exaggerating, until she slept alone).

She'd scowled when she'd seen it was her dad; he knew her schedule, and she'd told him she was up early when they'd spoken earlier that day. He never rings her late and it takes a moment for the frustration of being woken early by her phone to bleed away into worry and concern.

"Hello?" She'd croaked our groggily. "Are you okay? Is mom okay?"

She'd been met with a chuckle. His voice was low and gruff when it came, unusually thick and strangled. "Hey, Corrie." There was shuffling on the other end, hushed voices floating in and out of focus, until the phone went silent enough to think that maybe he'd hung up and hadn't meant to disturb her at all.

She'd scowled but her phone assured her he was still on the line. "Dad?" She'd called out to him. The panic had begun to rise when it wasn't his voice that replied.

"Coraline," her mother's soft voice breathed out. It was like a sigh of relief. "Sorry to bother you." Her French accent tipped the corner of her words. It always got stronger when she was upset or worried or scared, and it was especially thick now.

"What's wrong?"

Another pause. "Your father is in the hospital."

"What?" She’s suddenly holy upright, fear turning her blood to ice.

"He's fine, don't worry." She'd assured her. "He’s had some problems with his breathing again. They're doing some tests."

She'd almost booked a flight back to Michigan, almost abandoned filming and ran back home to make sure her dad was okay. The last time he'd been in hospital, it had been touch and go, and they'd spent an entire day huddled at his bedside in fear, just in case he'd stopped breathing. It was touch and go, and she couldn't live with herself if the worst happened and she never got to say goodbye to the man she owed so much to. She'd been in the process of scanning over the next flights on her laptop when her dad had taken the phone back from her mom and practically demanded that she stay in D.C.

Eventually, she'd relented. He'd promised to update her and she'd told them she loved them both before hanging up. But the phone call had sent her entire day into a tailspin.

She’d tried to sleep the extra hour and a half before she had to haul herself to work but her mind was running too wild for that. Even despite the reassurances, worry was plaguing her thoughts and panic was forcing her eyes open. Everything was just too much.

The last time it had happened, she'd had Scott. It was back when things were good, and he'd held her as she'd finally fallen asleep, curled up against him in an uncomfortable hospital chair.

But, now, he’s gone. Now, then, she was stood on set alone, trying her best to bite back a yawn and the tears, with so much concealer hiding the dark circles under her eyes that she can feel it clinging desperately to her skin. And, of course, life had picked the day when they had the most action scenes to film to deprive her of sleep.

Her entire body ached. She isn't sure how she's still standing after the first hour of work, with her legs protesting with every movement. Two hours of sleep and the running and the jumping and the endless stunts had sapped every last scrap of energy from her bones. She'd carried on stoically for most of the morning but she's truly never been more grateful for a lunch hour before, when she finds herself curled up against the couch in her trailer, passing out even despite the panic still swelling in her chest. She'd been surprised when she hadn't cried — maybe she was just too exhausted and her body simply couldn't muster the tears — but she's grateful she manages to keep the tears in because she doesn't want to haul herself back to set with mascara tears on her cheeks.

She’s even more grateful when she makes it home after a day that feels like five rolled into one and the scattered couch cushions look far too inviting for her to ignore.

It's an uncomfortable sleep and she wakes with the beginnings of a headache thrumming through her skull and a stiffness in her spine that she can't seem to straighten out. She's not sure how long she's managed to sleep — barely half an hour, she assumes — because she's woken by a soft knock on the door instead of the alarm she'd set on her phone. It wakes her with a jolt and she can't help but groan at the aching protests her limbs give when she stands. She shuffles across the apartment to the door and Marcus is stood there, smiling, his suit jacket and tie draped across his arm.

She's half dressed too - only he looks a damn sight better than she does, because his hair isn't dishevelled and messy and his shirt isn't twisted half way around his torso. She shouldn't have slept in her clothes but at least she had the hindsight to take off the stiff jeans. Except, now, she’s startlingly aware she’s standing before Marcus in nothing but her underwear and an unforgivably tight tank top.

"Good evening, Sunshine." He grins, that smile that makes her think that maybe he should be the one she called 'Sunshine'. "I brought you coffee." An odd offering at nine on a Wednesday evening but she’d been complaining, via text, about the lack of quality caffeine all day. Marcus offers her a polystyrene takeout cup as he steps inside.

"Lifesaver," she mumbles as she grabs it by the flimsy top and shuffles towards the kitchen to pour it into her unused Death Cab for Cutie mug — the mug her brother bought her three birthdays ago — and sips on the coffee. It's far too hot but she doesn't care; she needs the caffeine just to keep her eyes open. She grabs the blanket that she’s been sleeping under and wraps it around her waist, hyper-aware that she’s still wandering around in her underwear. She’s almost too tired to care.

"Are you okay?" It’s almost like he can tell. Though, she’s sure it probably has something to do with the dark bags beneath her eyes. She’s sure it probably looks like she’s been punched square in the face.

She shrugs. "I'll be fine. 'm just tired," She hums. Coraline slumps back against the couch cushions, pulls a thick blanket back over her body and lets her eyes flutter shut again. She groans and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Bad night sleep?" There’s bags and piles of fresh laundry piled on the chair he usually sits on, a product of Coraline’s half-hearted attempt at productivity. Instead, he resigns and sits down beside her at the opposite end of the couch, lifting her legs absentmindedly to rest in his lap, sipping on his own drink, and smiling at her sympathetically as she stifles a yawn against the back of her hand.

Her eyes drag towards him when she opens them again. They rest on his face, studying everything from the softness of his brow and the curve of his prominent nose, to the scattering of facial hair that dances across his jaw, small patches of grey poking through at the edges. She’s glad he kept it after whatever undercover work he’d been assigned to before they’d even met. "If I tell you it was the worst night sleep I'd ever had, in my entire life, would that make me sound dramatic?"

"You? Dramatic?" Marcus scoffs and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. His free hand rests on her leg; he draws patterns against her skin but she’s not even sure he realises he’s doing it. "Never."

“Shut up.” Coraline glares at him but smiles, regardless. "Well, I think I'm allowed a pass today."

His face falls at her words. "What happened?"

She sighs and takes a hand through her hair. "My dad-" She eyes him as he watches her intently, brown eyes soft and comforting. "-he's ill again."

Cora had told him about her dad's illness, about how she worried he'd wind up back there again, in the hospital, that things would be worse this time. He'd listened to her like what he was saying was the most important thing in the world and she'd almost cried when he'd held her in a hug a little longer than usual. It was that night that she’d tried to ask him about his past; she wasn’t sure if he was trying to avoid telling her because he didn’t trust her or because it held things he didn’t want to relive. She half-hoped it was the latter, but she hated to think that he might be bottling things up, things he didn’t want her to know or didn’t feel comfortable sharing.

She wishes he’d tell her things. She’ll understand, no matter what it was. She’ll listen, like he does to her, for as long as he needs, as long as he wants.

It’s almost comical how different they are in that sense. Marcus is reserved, closed off, but in way that doesn’t suit him. It’s like whatever exists there, whatever memories lingered, had been withered by sadness, by something or someone, until there’s a barrier guarding his secrets and story that he hasn’t meant to build. She sees the softness in his eyes when she tells him her stories or shares her fears, like his heart is aching to spill the details of his past. Like he can’t let it out. It works for his job — undercover work, secrets, classified information — but somehow it doesn’t suit the smile and the softness of his words as he illuminates Coraline’s darkness.

Coraline, on the other hand, finds her words spilling from her chest before she can even hold them back. She’s not sure if it’s just him — the reassuring smiles, the soft brush of a hand, the gentle voice — but they pour from her at an almost embarrassing speed, like a waterfall of words cascading at regrettable speed. She’s not even entirely sure that she won’t spill her secrets to the next stranger in the street who offers her a smile. But that works for her job; people prying, picking her apart like vultures, scavengers of information found tucked away out of reach. It’s the worst part of the job description, to expect someone to know every detail of your private life, but she often thinks she’s open enough to sate them, until they leave her alone at last.

On paper, they make no sense. Jobs, the polar opposite, necessary privacy mixed with relentless publicity. Open and closed doors. But Coraline thinks, perhaps, that’s why they work. It balances them both out.

Marcus reaches over and catches her hand in his. There's barely any space between them because of the way they’re sat, with her feet prodding at his knees. "I'm sorry, Cora," he whispers, his thumb running over her knuckles softly.

After a shaky smile, gazes locked for maybe a little too long, Coraline stands up and smooths out her shirt. As much as she appreciates it, and appreciates him, she doesn't want to cry. Not today. "It'll be okay." She scrapes her thumb under her eyes, brushing away the black smudges that she's sure have formed underneath her eyes, and finishes the last of her coffee. "Everything will be okay."

Cora isn't entirely sure she believes that.