#also ignore the table I could have spent almost two hours cutting the images out but also owgh my hands

[grasstimes]

GUESS WHOS DONE!!

Side photos under cut along with act three spoilers

All the side of the king mug, how nice, how kingly??????

There’s also this but I was hoping you’d remember…

The king as you know is made by Adrienne also known, uncommonly or commonly, as @insertdisc5

[aiekerman]

Medicine - Levi Ackerman

Levi x Reader - fluff

AN: I am not usually a Valentine’s person but here we are. Levi can really get anything out of me. Also, I realise my fic titles seem a little random but I’m titling them after songs that make the vibe in my head - not necessarily based off, just vibes you know. So yeah this is Medicine by The 1975.

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: It’s Valentine’s day and you’re in work at a café all day. But Levi is there to at least provide some eye candy.

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

‘He’s so pretty I might pass out,’ Hitch leant over the counter, her chin in her hand as she unabashedly stares across the café at the man sipping at his tea.

His posture is perfect, balancing a book in one hand while his other holds the top of the tea cup delicately to his mouth.  He blends into the café atmosphere like he was there upon its creation. The shop is earth toned, plants hanging all over and soft lighting that cast shadows across his bone structure.

He looked pulled straight out of an indie movie.

The air around him was mysterious yet all consuming, You spent the entire shift stealing glances at him every time he was in. Which was most days. However, Sunday’s took the cake, you assumed he didn’t work on Sundays whatever his job was, as he took the luxury of bringing a book in and spending hours planted at the same table. Working through a multitude of tea as he sat in perfect view to act as eye candy for the baristas for the day.

You steal a last glance at him, while restocking the pastry baskets, internally agreeing with Hitch but turning to her and speaking, ‘Is he worth getting yelled at for not doing anything when a manager sees you?’

Hitch gives her an eye roll before standing up as a customer approaches the counter.

In your own head, you silently think that, yes, he absolutely was worth getting yelled at.

Across the café floor, Levi glances from over the top of his cup when he feels a pair of eyes darting in his direction once again. He took a self indulgent moment to look over you as you gently placed the warm croissants in one of the wicker baskets. From your well-loved sneakers that he presumed to be pair reserved for work, up to your head of hair that bounced and swayed along with your steps.

He was a man who found the joy in life through small moments. His first sip of tea in the morning. Running his hand through his hair once it was freshly washed. Spending his Sunday in the café that was an extra few blocks from his apartment so he could steal glances at the beautiful barista. He could never bring himself to properly talk to you though, that would make it the exact opposite of a small moment.

        *           *           *          *            *         *          *           *          *

You enjoyed Valentine’s day. Your day had started with a card arriving from your parents and your friend back home sending a text message thanking her for flowers that you had booked to be delivered.

When you reached the café for the usual Sunday shift you were met by heart shaped bunting criss-crossing around the whole ceiling.

You settled in behind the counter. It was still early, an orange tint hanging on the edges of the sky. And Sunday mornings were quieter than most, people taking their time to get out of bed. You imagined especially on Valentine’s day, couples would spend the early hours wrapped up in their ‘i love you’s and gift giving. Many opting for breakfast in bed rather than a café trip. You sighed at the dreamy thought.

You were single, and happily so. But you were allowed to indulge in the scenario of a coffee and pancakes being brought to you while you awoke slowly.

Were the pancakes accompanied by steel grey eyes and an undercut from time to time? You could neither confirm nor deny.

Still stuck in your daydreams, you hadn’t noticed that exact pair of grey eyes entering the café and approaching the counter.

He took a moment to look you over while it seemed your head was somewhere else. Your hair sat neater than usual, extra makeup seemed to have been applied; your cheeks more rosy than usual. A pink sweater draped around your figure and Levi swore he could smell the fresh laundry scent wafting from it.

His heart deflated slightly. You probably had a Valentine’s date. He scoffed at himself in his own head. Of course you did, one look at you screamed that you were bound to have people flooding your phone. He chose to ignore any time he noticed a customer flirting with you, but it definitely happened.

You leap when Levi lets off a small cough to catch your attention. Your face immediately blaring with heat as you search for words in your head. You often found herself flustered when it came to serving the stoic faced man.

‘Hi.’

‘Hey’

‘What, uh, what can I get you?’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes. Yes! I’m fine thank you for asking. Ignore my last question by the way I know- uh, I know it’s tea.’

You cut yourself off from rambling. Giving a small nod and beginning to tap on the register screen in front of you, putting through his usual pot of black tea.

You stare at the screen with an unnecessary intensity, trying to focus on the words and wipe the image of Levi delivering your breakfast from her mind. An irrational fear that maybe he was secretly a mind reader brewed in the back of your head. It would explain his constant blank slate of a face, he was constantly processing other’s thoughts.

What was actually running through Levi’s head was how pretty you looked in the glow of the morning sun, your face tinted pink in nervousness.

He only slightly fought off a small smile when you beamed up at him with your sweet voice, ‘I’ll bring it over once it’s ready.’

Levi spent the rest of the morning watching you dart around with drinks and dishes. You did most Sunday mornings solo, smiling at usual customers, rhyming off your catalogue of memorised drinks. Levi felt like a dark cloud hanging over the café, dressed in dark colours in the corner and avoiding conversation. While you were a bright ball of sunshine that seemed to honestly just want to make others smile.

The thought of actually talking to you had his tea cup trembling in his hand.

And so he buried his head deeper into his book, settling for hearing your sweet laugh float around the shop.

You sighed, what was originally a five hour shift extended to ten after Hitch called you begging to cover her half of the day, a last minute Valentine date cropping up or something. And who were you to deny the girl some romance?

Your eyes drifted around the shop, it was now three thirty pm, only an hour and half until it was time to shut. The day had mostly been couples wandering through to pick up a takeaway drink in the midst of a romantic stroll. It was hard to resist a wistful look after them as they huddled together in the February chill.

You shook your head from the thought and continued to restock the muffins, even though it would be unlikely that all would be sold before closing came around.

Standing up your head automatically took a turn in Levi’s direction, this was usually the time he would be due a tea top-up. And on cue he set down his empty cup and glanced up at you.

Two pairs of eyes met and you struggled to fight off the heat rising up your neck under his intense stare. His mouth drops open slightly, barely noticeable from the distance between them.

But you notice, the half inch that his shoulders tense up. The miniscule shake of his book. Your throat is suddenly dry, but manages to croak out, ‘more?’

‘Yes, please,’ the words come almost as a sigh. You hold the electric gaze for another second, before scurrying behind the counter, busying your mind with making up the pot of tea.

You drop it to him wordlessly. Keeping your head down, adrenaline still pumping through you from the previous moment.

The last hour and a half of service passes by easily. You avoid any of your usual indulgent looks at the man in the corner of the café, while you begin closing up.

Levi knows he has to go, he’s closed over his book already, one hand on his jacket that’s been draped over his chair all day.

But he can’t just go. His assumption from the morning has proven wrong - at least so far. You don't seem to have a Valentine’s date. And after your...whatever that was, he’s not about to just leave without so much as a hello.

You stood on the small step ladder, fingers nimbly unpinning the heart shaped decorations when his voice pulled you from your thoughts.

‘Um, thanks for your service today.’ Levi cringes. He swears he sounds like a robot.

‘Oh,’ Kasia stares down at him from atop the ladder, ‘thank you.’

Levi swallows. It’s a start.

‘You don’t usually work this late. On a Sunday.’

‘One of the other girls asked if I could cover her. She got a last minute Valentine date.’

You’ve descended the steps now, standing only a metre away from him. You look him over,

His hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, book tucked tightly under his arm. His usual sleek black hair is slightly messed. You didn’t know but he’d spent the last ten minutes tugging at as he tried to find the right conversation starter.

‘You don’t- uh, you don’t have a date?’

You shake your head softly, a small smile beginning to form across your lips.

‘What about you? Don’t you have a girlfriend you should’ve been with all day?’

‘Do you think if I had a girlfriend I’d be here all day every Sunday?’ He lets out a laugh that could be mistaken for a cough.

‘Oh. I just thought…’

‘Thought what?’

‘I don’t know actually. You’re just, uh…’ you stutter, the phrase you’re just so pretty, balancing on the edge of your tongue. ‘What?’ Levi cringes again, his voice coming out harsher than intended, but he freezes up at the quiet words that escape your mouth.

‘Just really pretty.’

They’re barely a whisper, he thinks he could almost be making it up. His subconscious is dreaming up what he wants to hear. But upon looking up at your face, there’s a fear evident in your eyes. As if the words hadn’t meant to escape.

You next words have more energy behind, ‘I am so sorry. That was so inappropriate.’

‘It’s fine, really. You’re, um, also really pretty.’

You swear if your face could get any hotter it’d melt the chocolate in the cookies. Voice immediately fades away again, ‘thank you.’

‘So is it uhh, just you closing up?’

‘Yeah. Just me.’

‘Do you mind if I wait for you? To walk you home? It’ll be too dark to walk alone by the time you’re finished.’

This time you can’t fight the smile as it consumes your whole face, ‘I’d like that.’

His hand reaches out suddenly and a thumb swipes against your cheek.

His eyes go wide upon realising what he did, ‘you had some chocolate. On your cheek.’

You try to respond. But all you can feel is the tingling left over from his touch. And how you wanna feel it again.

[x-avantgarde-x]

Of love and dancing- Levi Ackerman

Summary: after taking back wall Maria, you and the other members of the Survey Corps, attend a ball held on your behalf.

Warnings: none, apart from some modifications of the canon story. Mentions of Erwin/Character and pure fluff.

Song to listen to: As the world caves in by Matt Maltese.

I also had this image in mind while writing this image because Levi looks amazing.

I have to thank @starrynightlys for taking the time to read this! Go check her blog if you don’t know her guys, she’s amazing ♥️

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Pink silk gently framing her well defined curves, her curly brunette locks tamed down to perfection for the first time in years in the survey corps; red juicy lips and rosy cheeks, it all combined with a soft pearly eyeshadow framed your best friends snow white pale skin making her look like a goddess out of an ancient painting. The enticing smell of roses being adding a little something to the picture in front of your eyes.

You smiled sweetly at her, quite proud of your work after the many hours you had spent locked in your room making sure that your best friend looked her best for her ball tonight.

The night had been carefully planned out from weeks before. Since the very first time she had lightly told you about her infatuation with commander Erwin Smith you had made it your duty, as you always had, to ensure her happiness by helping her lure the man. You yourself had had a certain someone in mind, from the moment the event had been announced the image of a certain raven haired captain had done anything but to roam your every thoughts. You had intended on inviting him to attend the ball with you, but for the past weeks Captain Levi had been awfully busy and you hadn’t had a chance to properly talk with him, if only to exchange a few words when you crossed paths on the hallways or delivered him one of his many cups of tea, before he drowned himself back in paperwork.

“Are you done already?” You hear your friend Maria talking from outside the door, “We’re almost done!” You responded, before rushing to the other side of the room and grabbing both your purses. You walked back to Andrea, a reassuring look on your eyes. “Are you sure he will like this?” She asked, voice trembling gently from the butterflies inside her stomach, “Trust me, he will love it.” The words were simple, but the unspoken message hidden behind them was acknowledged by you both ‘He will love you’, that particular way you had had of communicating with each other without the need of words since you were merely kids coming in handy once more.

You were greeted with your friends Maria and Rocio, each of them respectively holding Jean’s and Connie’s arm, while Sasha happily waited for you leaning on the door. Maria shook her head jokingly while complaining “Took you long enough in there to get ready” to what Connie and Rocio agreed while Jean added with a smooth smile “But has it been worth the wait, though”. You all laughed at his comment while Maria crossed her arms, playing offended with her boyfriend as he tried to get her to forgive him.

Once in the castle, your eyes widened in fascination. It was the biggest, fanciest place you had ever stepped your foot at. You were pretty sure, by the look of Andrea’s face, that given her rich familiars she had been to places similar to this before, but given that the place most similar to this that you had ever gone to was the upper class restaurant at the end of your street back at wall Maria, and the fact that the establishment wasn’t comparable to the luxuries and the greatness of the palace left you speechless and feeling quite out of place.

At the end of the room you could hardly pick out Historia, now Queen Historia, from the thousands of people in the room. After successfully taking back wall Maria, and having properly mourned the fallen soldiers, she and her ministers had decided to hold a ball in order to commemorate the Survey Corps and its members. And you couldn’t be any more grateful to her for any of this.

Returning your attention back to the room, you saw Sasha make her way to the food tables as Jean and Maria and Connie and Rocio drifted off to the dance floor, getting lost in between the many couples swaying together, as you tried unsuccessfully to find both your superiors. Making your way through the room, holding hands with Andrea in order to not get lost, you walked along the room a few times failing miserably in your search. Dizzy and bothered by the many people in the room you both walked away to a quiet corner hidden in between a few columns, sitting in a forgotten table that had been placed there you took in the look of disappointment in your friend’s eyes, so in order to light up the mood you asked her “Would you like for me to go and pick up a few snacks and drinks before Sasha finishes with it all?” She nodded faintly as you stood up walking once more towards the buffet.

As you walked back to your table, plates in hand and two glasses filled to the brim with the most expensive wine you had ever tasted, you finally found the men you had been searching for hours ago, Squad leader Hange and them sitting all together in a table in one of the most crowded places of the room. Without losing a moment, and leaving your food behind, not before taking a last sip of your wine, you made your way towards them with steady steps. When you were close enough to their table you made your presence known with a gentle cough and a loud enough “Commander!”

As the tall blond turned to face you, you tried your best to ignore Levi’s piercing eyes looking directly at you. “Cadet (Y/L/N), what a pleasure to see you here. Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked you, but you didn’t fail to notice how he seemed to be searching for someone behind you. “Indeed I am, sir” you answered politely “but I wish I could say the same for my friend Andrea, over there” you added, pointing back at were your best friend sat, patiently waiting for your return “She has been awfully bored since we got her. But I’m pretty sure it’s not something a nice dance couldn’t solve”.

Erwin stood up from his chair almost immediately after your words, and you weren’t really sure that he had even heard your words as he walked away, a bright smile on his face. Hange laughed almost hysterically at the scene playing out before their eyes while you took the seat Erwin had occupied moments before, sitting right next to the man you had been dying to come to this same ball from long ago. You were about to speak, fearing to fall into an awkward silence, when you hear the captain’s smooth voice talking to you “I actually thought he wouldn’t end up asking her for a dance given how things were going. Though he probably hasn’t talked about anything else for the past few hours”, you chuckled in response, turning yourself back to face him.

Levi looked dashing, dressed in a pristine black suit and hair slicked back, giving him some sort of aristocracy air to his appearance. You could feel your heart skip a bit and once again you found yourself growing insecure about your appearance, asking yourself if the plain cream coloured dress and golden high-hills you had come with and your barely noticeable makeup were enough for the place you were at. “You... you look amazing, Captain” you told him, a sweet smile on your face, a faint blush appeared on his cheeks and ear “You look pretty too” he answered back, as if he could read your thoughts "and cut the formalities, tonight we are not in a mission" laughing at his comment you agreed with him, leaning back on your sit not without catching another glass of wine from one of the butlers trays. The next 30 minutes were spent in a comfortable silence, as you entertained yourself with watching your friends and their partners dance to the music, and enjoying your wine along the many decorations of the room. It was then that the music came to an end, the musicians getting ready to play a new symphony, that you finally got the chance you had been waiting for. “Levi...” you called for his attention making him turn back to you “ would you care for a dance?” He looked taken back by your question, his posture getting totally stiff and a disturbed look on his face “I’m sorry, I...” Levi spoke, voice low and trembling, as if he didn’t know how to phrase his next sentence “You...” you spoke back, trying to encourage him as you placed your right hand on top of his, which rested upon the table, and drawing small circles against his skin. He inhaled deeply and said in a rush “I don’t know how to dance”.

You weren’t able to stop a small chuckle from escaping from your lips, to what the man next to you reacted by straightening himself once more and trying to get off your touch. In an attempt to solve the situation you came closer to him, a sweet look on your face “Levi, it’s okay if you don’t know how to dance... follow me” a small smile took over his face, what made your heart skip a few beats at the sight, and his eyes glimmered in amusement as he nodded in agreement and extended one of his hands for you to take it. Doing so, you walked him out of the lounge to a small and solitary room you had spotted once you walked inside the palace, there you could still follow the music without getting swallowed by the mob of dancing couples and without worrying about judicious looks. Intertwining your fingers with his long ones, you placed his left hand upon your waist at the same time that he pulled your closer to he’s chest, a shiver traveling both your bodies making goosebumps appear because of the proximity. The song began and you started to move, almost gracefully, around the dance floor. In a moment of braveness, you decided to place your head against his chest, listening to the rapid rhythm of his heart against his rib cage; you breathed in deeply, his usual scent of tea leaves, old wood, and soap slightly masked by the scent of his cologne. As you continued dancing you could feel his body relaxing against yours, his steps becoming less unsure as you twirled around the place, your whole attention laid on one another.

Songs began and songs ended and there you spent the rest of the night, twirling around the room in your Captain’s arms, detached from the rest of the world that stayed behind a closed door.

[combat-wombatus]

Crimson Snow

Pairing: Hawks (Takami Keigo) x Fem!Reader

Genre: angst :’) (a lil bit of fluff thrown in here and there)

Warnings: mentions of blood, character death. 

WC: 7.8k. am i sorry? no.

Summary: Childhood friends doesn’t always equal lovers in the future. You wished that was the case, but ever since Keigo disappeared, you found it hard to believe in love again. 

(A/N): this was. i had to write this. it wasn’t up for debate. finishing this at 4am in the morning aldksjfhajshd. spent a grant total of 2 days brainstorming & writing this fic. not proofread at all. heavily inspired by the song 小幸运 by Hebe Tien. i strongly suggest you give it a try and listen to it as you read this :p (for all my chinese speakers out there...let’s see how you deal with this heartbreak :’) so yeah. i’m actually...really really proud of this fic. i tried a new format with this, and i think i kinda like it. also i left the ending up to interpretation if you don’t read the epilogue. enjoy! 

credit for this au goes to @wafflesandkruge​

here’s the link to the music :)

The one constant in your life.

The boy who’d always been there for you, through the dark days and the cold nights, holding your hand through it all.

The one who’d held you when you broke down.

The one who’d tucked you under his wings as the skies crackled with energy, rain pouring from the heavens, and told you that no matter where you went, he’d stay with you. He’d keep you nice and dry, snuggled close to his body as he shielded you from the storm.

The one constant in your life.

He’d left quietly in the night, not stopping by to say farewell.

In his place, he’d left a lonesome letter, tucked away beneath a boulder on your special hill.

“I’ll come back for you. Wait for me, okay?”

And from within that plain white envelope, a single red feather floated out, carried on the autumn winds, drifting aimlessly.

Almost as if it were lost.

And in that moment, you felt as if you’d lost a part of yourself, a little piece of your soul.

You weren’t sure you were ever going to get it back.

Years passed. You waited. There was no sign of him

Not in the skies, not on the land, and even though you’d sometimes see him in the reflection of the water, sitting next to you as you told him about your day, he wasn’t really there either.

I won’t give up on him.

I’ll stay strong.

He told me he’d come back for me.

Against the test of time, your resolve never withered. It only grew, strong as steel, taking over the crevices in your heart where he’d left his mark.

I’ll wait for you, Kei.

But please…come back to me.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Your friend called out enthusiastically from her position on the couch. “Come look!”

“What?” You stepped out of the kitchen, only to be greeted by a familiar face, smirking on the TV screen.

“Look at him! He’s this new hero, and he’s only 18! (Y/N)! He’s our age! Isn’t he hot?” She pointed at his flickering image. “His hero name is Hawks!” Squealing, she turned to you. “Isn’t that so cool?”

You stood in shock, the glass of water that you had been holding slipped from your fingers and shattered onto the floor. Liquid pooled around your feet, soaking your slippers, but you made no move to step aside.

“Woah! (Y/N), are you okay?” She jumped off the couch, rushing towards you. “Hey, (Y/N)? He’s cute and all but…this is a little bit much, isn’t it?” She looked at you with concern, eyebrows drawing tighter when you didn’t respond.

“(Y/N) …what’s wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Shaking yourself from your daze, you averted your eyes. “Ahh, I’m sorry. Uh…I just, I never thought I’d see him again.”

“Wait, you know him?” Your friend looked at you, surprised. “(Y/N) …did he do something to you?” She asked softly. “If he did, I don’t care how cute he is, I’m gonna kick his ass to high heaven if need be. Someone like that shouldn’t be a hero.”

You shook your head, chuckling a little. “No…no, there’s no need to do that. It’s just…it’s been a long time, and I just didn’t expect to see him.”

“Ahh. Well, step out of that puddle! Come on, let’s grab you some paper towels.”

Hey!

It’s me, (Y/N). I…I saw you on TV today. You look…different. In a good way, I suppose. You’ve bulked up a bit.

You never used to smile like that though. Not like…like you were smiling for others. Seeing you smile for the camera, well…it made me sad.

But I’m happy that you’re ok. I think it would probably be hard for you to find me, since obviously I’m not on the news. So I’ll come find you instead, yeah? What do you say we catch up sometime?

I miss you. I’m in college now. I’m doing pretty good. You’re an overachiever, aren’t you? 18 years old and you already have your own agency.

Not that I’m complaining. Thanks for making it so easy for me to find you :)

So…let’s meet up sometime, when you have time? Maybe for some coffee? I know a quaint little place. It’s not too far away from your agency, three blocks to the right, turn left, and walk to the next intersection. It’s the corner shop. You can’t miss it.

I’ll wait for you there this Saturday, okay? I’ll do my work there. You can walk in whenever you have the time.

Your chicken, (Y/N)

Saturday came faster than you could prepare yourself. You checked your reflection repeatedly in the mirror, double-guessing your outfit decisions.

What if he doesn’t like it?

Is this too formal for a coffee date?

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Your friend barged into the bathroom. “I saw all the clothes on your bed! Are you going on a date?”

“Uh…just a meeting with an old friend. To catch up,” you explained.

She looked at you suspiciously. “Old friend…is it that guy on TV? Hawks?”

You grew flustered. “Err…yeah. If he got my letter.”

She looked you up and down, then dragged you into her closet. “Good thing I just went on a shopping spree last weekend then!” She pumped a fist excitedly in the air. “I’m giving you a makeover!”

Two hours later, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror once more. Your friend had put you through every single possible combination of outfits using both your closet and hers, and you had to agree that she had impeccable taste.

“Come on, you’re going to be late!” She shoved you out of the bathroom.

“I didn’t set a time!” You protested, laughing.

“Well, get your ass out of here! My boyfriend’s coming over!”

“So that’s the real reason you want me gone, hmm?” You teased her.

“Shush! Get out!”

Hawks was on patrol. You had been on his mind the entire week. Ever since your letter had reached his desk, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Thinking about you brought back happier times, and he wasn’t masochistic enough to give himself false hope.

No, it would be better for you to forget about him, and vice versa.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself. His body flew of its own accord, ignoring the sensibilities of his mind that screamed at it to stop.

Go back! The reasonable voice inside his head yelled.

Fly back!

His body refused to listen.

He found himself gently landing on a rooftop, right across the little café you told him to meet you at.

He even debated going inside. Just for a second. Just for a cup of coffee, to warm myself up in the chilly late-afternoon breeze, he told himself.

Then, he scoffed. Who was he kidding? If he went inside, he wouldn’t have the resolve to step back out before he saw you.

Shaking his head, he flew away as quickly as he could.

If he’d stayed a moment longer, he would’ve seen you walk down the street, humming a little tune to yourself.

Maybe then his resolve would’ve cracked.

Too bad he’ll never know.

Sitting alone at a table for two was an unpleasant feeling. Especially when you’re on your third drink, the waitress keeps eyeing you with pity, and you couldn’t concentrate on your work.

“Miss?” The waitress stopped by your table again. “Sorry to bother you, but we’re closing in 15 minutes.”

You checked the time on your laptop. Crap. It was already 5:15.

“Oh yeah, uhh, sorry to bother you!” You chuckle awkwardly. You quickly packed your books and laptop, dropped a $20 bill on the table, and hurried out the door. Walking home in silence, you tried your best not to feel too disappointed.

Maybe he just didn’t have time?

It’s ok. You’ll just ask him again, another time.

Another time.

You sent him countless letters. For the first year, at least. When he ignores all of them, you visit his agency in person.

As you walk through the glass doors, there’s a man sitting behind the reception desk.

“Hello, miss. How can I help you today?” He asks in the customary polite tone.

“I’m looking for Keigo. Hawks,” you answer, trying to hide your nervousness.

He looks at you suspiciously. “How do you know his first name?”

“We…we were childhood friends,” you tried to explain. “I…well, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

He took a closer look at you. “Can I ask for your name, miss?”

“(Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

He sighed. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to leave the premises, Miss (Y/L/N). You’re not allowed to be here.”

What?

He hadn’t kicked you out before you told him your name.

“Why-” you started, but he cut you off.

“Miss (Y/L/N). I’m afraid that I have to ask you to leave, and don’t come back. Should I call security to escort you out?”

Holding back tears, you clutched your purse close to your chest and hurried out the glass doors, wishing nothing more than to shatter them into pieces.

You didn’t send any more letters after that.

Years pass. Every year on your birthday, Keigo gave you a feather.

“So I’ll always be with you,” he joked.

His feathers are extra durable, but time can wear down even the strongest things.

The last feather you got from him was ten years ago.

It can barely be considered a feather at this point, and you keep it in a special glass case so it can’t get any more worn down.

Ten years.

You’re turning 25 tomorrow.

Ten years of waiting around for him turned into ten years of watching him date other women. Ten years of hiding your pain every time another picture of him kissing a new girl graced the covers of the tabloids.

The first time, you cried yourself to sleep.

It wasn’t the last time.

Again and again, he breaks your heart.

By the third year, you convinced yourself to stop looking at the tabloids and the gossip sites.

By the fifth year, you scold yourself. You vow to stop crying over a stupid childhood crush.

By the seventh, you told yourself that you needed to forget about him. Step back into the dating ring, make out with someone else, and remove his presence entirely from your mind.

That didn’t work out.

Ten years.

It killed you to finally harden your resolve, but you told yourself that you couldn’t spend your whole life waiting for someone who was never going to love you back.

You’re turning 25 tomorrow, and you’re going to go on a date.

He’s watching you. He always is.

It makes him feel like a creepy stalker, but he can’t help it.

He watches you as you step into the restaurant, decked out in formal wear that looked amazing on you.

Going on a date. With someone who wasn’t him.

He stays on the rooftop, watching you through a window as you ate and laughed.

He wishes that he was the one making you laugh, that he was the one helping you order food from the menu, that he was the one sharing a dessert with you.

He’s selfish like that. It never does him any good.

He’s scared, really. Scared of commitment, tarnished by his time spent in the work program.

He sees you as the one thing in life that they can’t take away from him. You have this innocence, this purity that you always carry around with you, because you’re a part of a time when his life wasn’t so complicated.

He doesn’t want to shatter that illusion.

He never reached out to you because he’s scared.

He’s scared that he’ll break you.

He stopped sending you feathers, heart splintering every time your birthday comes around, hoping you’ll eventually forget him.

You don’t.

It’s not that you didn’t try.

No one else really interested you.

That is, until Masaki came along. He was bright, happy, always upbeat. He could find the words to cheer you up, to make a bad day that much better. He was attentive, caring, sweet.

He was everything that most people would look for in a partner.

And slowly, you began to open up to him too.

You fell into his embrace easier. You got a little happier when he came over for dinner.

You felt just a little safer when you were wrapped in his arms, a luxury you never thought you’d have.

Two years later, during a picnic date, he proposed.

You always had a love for picnic dates. Maybe because your first date, with Keigo, was a messy picnic affair during the spring, on top of a little hill where wildflowers bloomed and birds pecked at your leftovers.

“Stop!” You giggled, whipped cream smeared all over your cheeks. “You’re going to get it on my clothes!”

Keigo laughed, then popped another strawberry in your mouth. “You can wash that off later, silly! Just have fun!”

“It’s not fun when my clothes are all sticky,” you whined. “You try it! It feels gross!”

He smirked. “Oh really?”

Taking a strawberry, he dipped it in the container of cream you had brought, then stuck it down his shirt.

“Ha! Take that!” He gloated.

You stared at him in shock. “Did you just–”

“Yes I did! And it’s not gross at all, see?” He plucked the strawberry back out and shoved it in his mouth.

“Eww! Kei, that’s disgusting!”

“No it’s not, it still tastes like a strawberry! Mphm!” He chewed, licking his fingers.

He regretted that decision later, when bees swarmed the front of his shirt.

“Eek!” He shrieked, hopping backwards.

“Kei, take off your shirt!”

“It’s so sticky!” He yelped, trying to peel the front of his shirt away from his chest.

“I told you!”

“Hey, now is NOT the time for the ‘I told you so’ speech, okay?” He finally ripped his shirt off.

You couldn’t help it. You cackled.

“What now?” He looked at the bees feasting on his ruined tee.

“I told you so,” you teased him.

Taking one look at the devious glint in his eyes, you scooped up the picnic supplies and raced down the hill.

He followed, wings beating, taking off into the air. He reached you within seconds, tacking you to the ground.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” You struggled against him. “You know you’re fast when you fly!”

He looked at you mischievously. “And what about it?”

“You can’t race me like that when I’m on foot!”

“Who said we were racing?” His eyes locked on your lips. “I was just trying to catch up to you.”

You blushed, suddenly realizing how close his face was to yours.

“Kei–” you started.

“Can I kiss you?” He interrupted you, then quickly blushed. “I mean, only if you want to-”

You wrapped your hands in his hair, interrupting him with a kiss.

He tasted like the remnants of strawberries and cream, sweet honey on a beautiful spring day.

And it was a beautiful spring day.

Perhaps the last beautiful spring day you’d ever have, for the next spring, he was gone.

Beautiful spring days were few and far between. You’d learned that the hard way.

But today…you were inclined to think that it might be another one of those days.

Your boyfriend of two years had proposed on a beautiful spring day reminiscent of one long ago.

You supposed that this marked a series of firsts.

First date. First kiss. And now…a proposal.

You accept his proposal, tears in your eyes. He thinks that they’re tears of happiness, and in part, they are.

You don’t tell him that this was the one thing that you never thought you’d do. You feel like you’re betraying Keigo.

You have to remind yourself that he betrayed you first.

Half a year later, you have a wedding. It’s a small wedding, with only your families and close friends. You considered reaching out to Hawks’s hero agency, but decided to spare yourself the pain.

He’d moved on. So would you.

Unbeknownst to you, when the ceremony rolled around, Keigo was standing on a nearby rooftop, the wind blowing away his tears.

He couldn’t believe how beautiful you were.

He knew that he couldn’t have you, but didn’t you know that he was a sucker for pain? Watching you repeat the vows was like getting punched full-force in the gut, but the wind never returned to his lungs.

He felt empty inside. Something essential was missing, and he knew what it was, but he also knew that he couldn’t ever have it. Not if he wanted you to stay alive.

As the ceremony finished, he flew away into the sunset, and you caught a glimpse of his crimson wings, purely on accident. You shook your head in disbelief.

“Now I’m hallucinating too,” you muttered to yourself.

But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself you imagined the whole thing, that final view made it so much harder for you to forget him.

Another year passed, and the seasons changed as they did. Spring flowing into summer, summer fading into autumn, autumn slowly drifting into winter.

Gradually, your new life engulfed you, the comfort of it all slowly draining away your doubts. Your husband was a good man. A faithful man. A caring man.

He held doors open for you and snuggled you on the couch. He played with your hair and made you breakfast in bed. He made it difficult for you not to love him.

You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to resist, anyways.

One night, you woke up in your shared bed, screaming in pain. Your lower back burned, almost as if you were getting branded.

Your husband woke up to the commotion. The bedsheets were stained with blood. Fresh, crimson, blood, all of it coming from you.

Whimpering, you laid limp as Masaki set you on your belly, trying to figure out the source of the injury. Taking a clean paper towel, he gingerly wiped the blood off of your raw skin, showing a tattoo emblazoned in gold ink.

Written in elegant cursive were three simple words.

Three words, but they hurt to look at.

(Y/N) …I’m sorry.

Your husband stared in shock. This didn’t happen. This couldn’t happen, could it? The only way someone got a tattoo like this was if their soulmate died, and, well…he was still very much alive.

He wasn’t your soulmate.

In this world, quirks weren’t the only strange thing.

Soulmates existed. But most never found out until it was too late.

When your soulmate died, their last words would be tattooed permanently on their other half’s skin in a bloody and painful process.

Their last moments would flash before the other’s eyes.

Nothing you could do. Nothing you could be sure of, until it was too late.

Fires blazed everywhere.

Building after building, it ate away at the crumbling city, tearing down everything in its path.

“Help!” A voice choked out, raspy from smoke intake. “There’s a beam—ugh—on my leg. I can’t get it off!”

A winged figure crouched on a burning rooftop, out of breath and utterly exhausted.

Backup wasn’t coming.

The whole city was burning.

Standing shakily, he sent the last of his feathers off to help the trapped woman.

“That’s it for me then, I suppose,” his smile wobbled slightly. “My work here is done.”

He couldn’t risk jumping off of the roof. His wings were stubs on his back, and only a single feather remained.

“That’s not enough for me to fly off, now is it?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Oh, if only you could see me right now, (Y/N). You’d be proud. Saved more than 500 people today, you know that?” He sighed, sitting down on the roof. “Lost count somewhere around there. You were always proud of me, weren’t you? The only one that believed in me when I told myself I couldn’t fly.

You’re the one that taught me to fly, remember, chicken? Those were the good times.

Look at me now. Talking to myself. Don’t even have the strength to fly down anymore.” He coughed into his hand, blood staining his palm. He grasped tightly onto a keychain around his neck, smearing the metal with crimson.

“I never did thank you. Guess it’s too late now.” He stared up at the sky, hues of orange and gold dancing across the horizon.

“Never did treat you right.” He plucked his last feather off of his back, twirling it around in his fingers.

“You were always too good for me. Too good for anyone, really.” He laid down on the roof, back no longer sensitive to the burning heat.

“I lost the right to love you a long time ago. I’ve got no business crying over you.” He chuckled bitterly. “But is that going to stop me?”

Letting go of the keychain and his feather, his hands went limp.

“(Y/N),” he sighed, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The roof collapsed, the hungry flames licking at the bottom finally swallowing him whole. His comms fell out of his ear, the plastic melting in the heat.

A single red feather floated down to the ground, charred and blackened.

The only remains of his body they’ll ever find.

You were sobbing uncontrollably. Keigo.

He was your soulmate.

The boy you loved.

The one who’d abandoned you.

The one who you tried to forget.

He was your soulmate.

Your soulmate, who was dead.

“Turn…turn on the TV,” you whispered weakly. “Turn it on. I need to see.”

Masaki reached for the remote, flipping it on to the news channel.

“Earlier tonight, a bomb was detonated in Nagoya prefecture. Top heroes were on the scene, including Endeavor and Hawks, but their quirks are ill-suited to fight the conflagration. Endeavor has resorted to using brute strength to rescue people from the rubble, while Hawks hasn’t been seen since the beginning of the night. We are now reporting his status as MIA, and will continue to look for the Winged Hero, along with updating our reports on the status of missing civilians–”

You shut the TV off. You’d heard all you needed to.

Throwing on a mishmash of clothing, you sprinted out the door. Hailing a taxi, you hopped in before it had even screeched to a full stop.

“Hawks Hero Agency.” You told the driver, not bothering to mince your words. You hadn’t bothered to wipe all the blood off of your back either, so it was gradually staining your coat a deep crimson, a mocking parody of the way that Keigo’s feathers used to lay against his back.

His feathers that were burnt, charred, turned to ashes, no longer able to bring you the comfort they once had when they wrapped you in a warm embrace.

The driver looked concerned. “Miss, do you know what happened today? Hawks isn’t–”

“Yes, I know. Drive.”

You pressed your forehead against the window, breath steaming up the glass. It reminded you of one winter, when the two of you had been building snowmen, and your mother called you in for dinner.

“Kei, I have to go,” you tugged at his hand.

“Aww, (Y/N),” he kicked at an unfortunate stone with the scuffed toe of his boot. “Why can’t you stay a little longer? We haven’t finished his head yet.” He pouted.

“I can’t, Kei,” you tried to make him release his iron grip on your hand. “Mama’s gonna get mad.”

“Then I’ll make you stay!” He boldly declared, wrapping his little arms around your frame, tackling you to the snow-covered ground.

The two of you giggled, engaged in a tickle war, your mom’s voice fading into the distance.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)!” Your mom yelled, marching over to where the two of you lay, tangled in a heap. “Do you want to get a cold?”

“No, Mama,” you said, slowly getting up and dusting the snow off of your parka. “I’m coming.” You turned around and poked your tongue out at your friend, letting your mom drag you back into your house.

Keigo sat in the snow for a while longer, not exactly excited to go back to his house.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head.

He beat his little wings as fast as he could, half flying, half stumbling to your kitchen window.

Sneaking a peek inside, he saw you staring questioningly back at him. Not bothering to hide his mischievous grin, he puffed out a breath, steaming the window, took his little glove off, and started writing.

“D O  Y O U  W A N T  T O  F L Y  W I T H  M E ?” He painstakingly wrote out.

You shook your head, and his grin quickly dropped from his face. Looking down, he almost missed the words you mouthed out.

“I can’t read it!” You tried your best to sign. “It’s backwards!”

“Oh!” He tried his best to write the mirror image of what he had just written, making sure that you could read it from your point of view this time. You read his little message, a grin taking over your face.

“Y E S!” You mouthed. “YES, YES, YES!”

Quickly scarfing down your dinner, you waved a hasty goodbye to your mom, racing out the back door, only to get tackled into the snow.

“Come on, let’s go!” He took ahold of your hand. “Race you!”

“You can’t race me if you’re holding my hand!” You shrieked in delight. “Stop it!”

He paused, turning around. “Hmm. Well, maybe I don’t want to race you then,” he looked at you with a small smile on his face. “I wanna try something new!”

“Oh?” You asked, seeing the way his eyes lit up with delight. “What is it?”

“I wanna fly! With you!”

Giggling, he turned you around so that your back was facing him. He circled his arms below your armpits.

“Hang on!” He flapped his wings as fast as he could, kicking up a storm of snow around you. To his surprise, he actually managed to lift the two of you off the ground for around 3 feet or so. He wasn’t expecting it to work on his first try, but the two of you really were flying!

Sighing, you turned away from the window.

Happier times, you chuckled mirthlessly.

Isn’t it sad that I’m only remembering them now?

The car screeched to a stop at the front door to the Hawks Hero Agency.

You stepped into the lobby, the fluorescent lights blinding.

It’s the middle of the night, but they don’t seem to mind, you thought. Everyone was bustling around the place like it was normal.

The receptionist had changed since you’d last been here.

She spotted you and hurried over, most likely because of the blood staining your clothes.

“Miss, are you hurt?” She gave you a once-over. “Can I help you?”

You stared at her in shock for a moment. What were you here for again?

“Oh…uh,” you wrung your hands nervously. “I’m here for Hawks.”

Her expression of concern melted away into one of annoyance. “Another fangirl. This one appears to be married too,” she scoffed at the band adorning your left ring finger. “People these days…” she muttered underneath her breath, already hurrying back to her desk, where the phone rang incessantly.

“No. I’m not a fangirl.” You lifted your head. You might be in pain, but damned if you were going to let a stranger strip you of the remaining shreds of your dignity.

“I’m his soulmate.”

The way you said that phrase with such conviction made the lady pause.

“Soulmate?” She questioned. Girls had tried this trick on her before, but…when asked to prove themselves, they merely responded with “oh, it’s just a feeling,” or “I just know it.”

Never once had anyone said this phrase with such confidence.

“Yes.” You shut your eyes, defiantly holding back tears. “You have comms, right? What did he say before the comms died?”

The lady stared back at you, a pang of sorrow shooting its way into her heart. You weren’t joking around, were you?

“I…yes, yes we do. What’s your name, miss?”

You sucked in a deep breath. “(Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

She stared at you for another moment, then quietly pulled out her comms.

“He said…” she choked a little. “He said, ‘(Y/N) …I’m sorry.’ We weren’t sure who he was talking about. We assumed it was a civilian he wasn’t able to save,” she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “Oh God…”

Quietly, she choked out another question. “Was it…was he talking about…you?”

You didn’t want to reply. You’d heard enough.

The lady didn’t try to stop you as you ran to the elevator, your fingertip pressing the “up” button so hard it bruised.

Quickly looking at the directory, you found his office.

“420.” You choked out a pained laugh. “He always did like messing around with people.”

Collapsing against the corner of the elevator, you wrapped your arms around your knees and lowered your head. You felt so goddamn tired.

Why did it have to be you?

Why couldn’t he break someone else’s heart?

Someone who was stronger?

Someone who could take this in stride and move on?

Why did the universe choose you?

The elevator bell dinged, rousing you from your thoughts. You stood up slowly, a trail of blood staining the place where you once sat.

Crimson, like the trail of feathers he’d (perhaps intentionally) shed during that game of hide and seek.

You buried your face into your hands.

Goddamnit, Keigo! Why does everything have to remind me of you?

You made your way into his office, most likely the messiest of all the top pro-hero offices. Paperwork was scattered everywhere, jackets strewn across the floor. You even saw a shoelace string laying on the carpet next to his desk.

It’s almost as if he’d always expected to come back.

Stepping cautiously over the objects that littered the ground, you came face-to-face with a cabinet next to his desk.

Snowglobes. So many snowglobes.

Snowglobes occupied every shelf of the cabinet, and the glass doors made it easy to examine the contents.

You squinted closely at them. They were all…different angles of the same scene, you realized.

The snow park above your houses.

He’d had snowglobes made.

They immortalized the place where the two of you played all day in the snow.

The place where he first learned how to fly, gliding off the hills like a paraglider.

The place where he’d picked you up and learned how to fly with another person’s life in his hands, hugging you close to his chest, reveling in your warmth.

In the spring, it was the place where he took you on your first picnic date.

The place where the two of you shared your first kiss.

The place where he left you his goodbye note, tucked away under the grounding weight of a boulder you used to lay on, basking in the sun’s warmth.

He’d had 12 snowglobes made. Your lucky number.

12 different angles that showcased the same scenery.

Suddenly, your legs wouldn’t carry your weight anymore. You leaned back into his chair, still smelling faintly of his scent.

How can someone’s scent not change over 13 years?

You closed your eyes, and quickly opened them again when you saw a pile of letters on the corner of the desk.

You weren’t sure why they caught your eye. They weren’t anything special, really. Plain white envelopes addressed in plain black print.

You took a closer look.

That was your name on the envelopes.

You leaned closer, quickly shuffling through them all.

Each and every single one of them was addressed to you.

Each and every single one of them was dated a year apart.

Each and every single one of them was marked for your various addresses over the years, his handwriting steadily improving.

You couldn’t resist your curiosity. Taking a paper cutter, you tore through the seal of the earliest envelope.

A single red feather, beautifully preserved, floated out.

You stared in shock. He…he didn’t forget.

He never forgot.

He just chose not to send it.

Hurriedly opening the remaining envelopes, you acquired more feathers, each fresher than the last.

By the end, you had a pile of 13 crimson feathers, right next to 13 shredded envelopes.

You looked around, confused. Why hadn’t he left a note? Any note?

Did he…did he never write letters?

You knew that you had sent him letters.

Maybe they did throw them out as spam.

Your curiosity piqued, you pulled open drawer after drawer, but none of them held anything of personal importance.

Finally, you came upon the bottom right drawer.

It was locked, you realized.

You carefully place the feathers back in their respective envelopes. Sealing them up once again, you carry them in a stack, making your way downstairs.

The agency workers saw you with the letters in your arms, not sure if they should stop you or not. When you looked to the receptionist and murmured a quiet “thank you”, they stood their ground. If she was okay with you walking away like this, then there shouldn’t be a reason that they wouldn’t be.

The taxi driver who took you here was still waiting outside. Seeing you arrive, he stomped out his cigarette butt and opened the backseat door for you.

“Rough night, miss?” He looked at your back, pity obvious in his expression. “Do you want me to take you to a hospital with that?”

You shook your head. “They can’t fix that. Do you remember the way we came?”

“Aye, yes I do,” he stepped into his own seat. “I’ll take you there right quick, miss. Don’t you worry.”

As you rode back home in silence, you couldn’t stop thinking about the cabinet in Keigo’s office.

The feathers, folded away safely in the envelopes you were holding.

If he never forgot, why did he never reach out?

The car door slamming shook you from your daze. “Miss, you’re back home.”

You stared at the man, realizing that you didn’t have your wallet on you.

“Do you mind waiting a second? I’ll go get my wallet now–”

He shook his head. “I know where that blood came from. See here?” He rolled up his sleeve.

“Got mine when I was 22,” a melancholy smile framed his face. “Rare, right? I never did find out who she was.

But the hospital staff helped me that day. Looked for deaths around my age, and then when I tried to pay ‘em, they refused. Said ‘twas only the right thing to do. Now I finally get to repay the favor. Don’t you go tryna pay me now. Won’t ‘ccept it.”

He leaned back against the hood of his car. When you opened your mouth to object, he merely saluted you, hopped back into the driver’s seat, and drove off into the night.

You turned to your house. The lights were still on inside, meaning your husband was still up. He probably couldn’t sleep, not after what had just happened. You couldn’t blame him.

Stepping inside, you heard muffled sobs coming from the kitchen.

“Masaki?” You leaned on the doorframe. He looked up at your voice.

“(Y/N)?” He rose from the table. “You’re…you’re okay,” he wrapped you in a hug.

You cleared your throat. “…yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” you hugged him back.

I’m okay, you tried to convince yourself.

“Where did you go?” He looked at you curiously. Finally seeing the envelopes in your arms, he paused.

“Babe?” He asked softly. “Did you…did you know him?”

You buried your face into his chest. “Yeah…yeah, I did.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked softly.

“Not really…not now…” you replied.

He patted your back lightly. “That’s ok. I understand.”

The rest of the night went by in a blur. The letters were scattered on your nightstand, your husband helping you into the shower. He’s changed the bloody sheets already, but the stains on the mattress were stubborn and refused to come out.

Crimson stains, in the shape of wings.

Days later, some people from the agency stopped by your house.

“Is there a (Y/N) (Y/L/N) at this address?” The receptionist from your earlier encounter knocked on the door.

“Uh, hi. Yeah, that’s me,” you answered, not bothering to change out of your bathrobe. Your complexion had grown waxen, face shallow. Your hair formed an unkempt nest, spiraling around your face.

She gave you a smile, pity etched in her face. It disgusted you, really.

All anyone ever gave you nowadays was pity. Pity cards from your coworkers, although you weren’t sure how the information leaked out. Pitiful glances from your husband, who insisted on doing all the chores around the house.

Pity, pity, pity.

“What is it?” You asked her.

“We have some…documents for you.” She waved over two guys, each lugging a large crate of…paper?

“Wait…all that? For me?” You were confused. There was no way that that bottom drawer, even if all it contained were letters, had that much paper in it.

“Yes, (Y/L/N)-san. It’s all for you.” The men dropped off their crates at your door.

“What’s going on?”

“These were stored in the records house. Hawks filed them. They were all addressed to you, so we felt that this was the proper treatment.”

“We’ll leave you to go through these in your own time.” She started down the steps. Then, as if remembering something suddenly, she paused.

“You know…he was a good man,” she smiled gently. “We all knew he had a secret someone. We just didn’t know who they were. I’m glad he found you. Hero work is dangerous, especially for top heroes like him.

I hope that you find joy in those letters.” She turned back and finished her journey down the steps.

You turned around and looked at the crates.

Found me?

You smiled bitterly, a brittle coldness taking over your heart.

He never really did find me, did he?

Sighing, you sorted through the crates, looking for the ones that were dated the earliest. You carried the oldest set of letters into the bedroom and tore open the first envelope.

Hey, (Y/N). It’s me, Kei.

I hope you haven’t forgotten about me. I mean, I’m not an easy person to forget, I suppose, but it has been a while. Three years, to be exact.

Three years can do a lot to a person.

I should know.

How are you doing? I hope you managed to keep Timothy alive. You were always prone to overwatering him.

I’m not sure how long cacti live, but…if you nurture something, anything can happen, right?

I’m a hero now. I’m sure you know. My debut was broadcasted all over national television. They just can’t resist making themselves look good, can they?

At least now I’m allowed to write. I hope you understand why I haven’t written to you in so long.

I didn’t forget about you. How could I? Even though we were only 15, how could I forget someone like you?

I missed you. I don’t think you understand how much. It felt so empty, living without you by my side. Like…like I wasn’t ever warm enough, even bundled in the tightest blankets. I was always missing you.

Sounds like a curse, eh?

But don’t worry. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I just wanted you to know that.

Yours, Kei.

Ripping open letter after letter, you realized that you held his entire life story in your hands.

Hey chicken. It’s Kei again.

Realized I’ve been treating these letters as a kind of diary. I guess it’s…therapeutic? Even though I know I’ll never send these. I don’t want to put you in danger, you know?

Do you remember when we were kids?

We had all the time in the world to do whatever we wanted.

I miss that time.

Not as much as I miss you though.

I check in on you every so often, but I make sure you never see.

False hope is a dangerous thing. It shatters your soul into pieces, and when you try and piece them back together, it cuts your heart so badly you wish you’d never started.

But, you see, you’re like a drug for me.

I can’t seem to stop myself. No matter how bad it hurts, I…I still come back.

You wouldn’t know, of course.

I suppose there’s a reason it hurts when you stare into the sun.

I’m already broken, yeah? I don’t want you to break with me.

The thing is, I know you’d want to. I know we promised we’d always come back for each other. We promised we’d always be here for each other.

But some promises were meant to be broken.

You can’t be here for me, birdie. You’ll get hurt.

That would hurt me more than anything else, (Y/N).

So for my own safety, and yours…

This is the last time I’ll write to you.

I have to move on, or else those pieces of my soul?

They’re already in splinters, but if I keep going like this, they’ll be nothing more than powder, and I don’t think I could go on like that, yeah?

I love you, forever and always.

Kei.

Ha. Guess what.

What I said in the last letter?

A fucking lie.

I physically. Can’t stop.

The thought of not writing to you breaks me more than the thought of never being with you, and that’s a milestone I never thought I’d be able to pass.

So here I am again.

You’ve already heard my entire life story.

I wish I could be there to hear yours.

I saw you tonight, standing on your balcony. You know, the stars were so bright tonight. Reminded me of your eyes the first time I flew with you around the whole field, yeah?

Sparkling. You never stop sparkling, do you?

You know…do you ever wonder who your soulmate is?

I know that the world is cruel. I know that we don’t know exactly who our soulmates are until one of us dies.

But…do you ever think about it?

Who’s out there, just waiting for you?

Because I do.

And sometimes, when I’m at rock bottom, I’ll imagine that we’re soulmates.

I’ll create scenarios in my head. We’d be happily married. I’d spoon-feed you ice cream.

We’d play tickle wars with my feathers, have pillow fights, binge TV shows.

We’d watch horror movies, and you’d hide your face in my chest the whole time.

But…those scenarios always make me feel worse after I wake up. Because they’re not real.

And I…I so desperately want them to be real.

But you can’t always get what you wish for, yeah?

Going on a big mission soon. Undercover. Cool, right?

You’d be proud of me, I think, if you saw me.

I have to go now. But I’ll come back safe for you, yeah?

I know you won’t wait for me. I want you to wait for me, but…I know it’s not in your best interests. Probably not in mine either.

Sometimes I try and convince myself that it’s okay to be selfish. I want what I want, and you only live once, right?

But then I realize that you’re the one I’d be putting in danger.

And that’s when I realize you can’t ever stay with me.

It’s okay. I’ll watch from afar.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop loving you.

Yours,

Kei.

You put the letter down and rummaged through the second crate, desperately trying to find the last letter that he wrote.

Hey birdie. Long time no see. Ha.

13 years and I still can’t forget about you. Doesn’t seem normal, does it?

I’m convinced that we’re soulmates, but then again, I may have convinced myself. You know…I used to hate the idea of soulmates. Sharing your life with another person, seen as incomplete without them?

Sharing my soul?

Bunch of crap, right? I like making my own decisions. Wasn’t ever much of a rule-stickler. But…you know…I’m starting to warm up to that idea.

But only with you.

And that’s why I’m convinced that we are, in fact, soulmates.

You don’t know how my heart breaks every time I see you. Manual is a good guy. I know he’s treating you well.

That’s the only reason I’m letting you stay married to him, really. If it was anyone else, I would’ve busted their ass.

But…you deserve someone like him. Someone who can give you their all.

Someone who, if you date them…they won’t lead you into danger.

Soulmates are a finicky concept, yeah?

So…I guess we’ll never know ‘till one of us dies.

Yours,

Kei.

Epilogue

Rainy winter days were the saddest days of the year.

Especially today.

Strolling through the park, you held a black umbrella in one hand and clutched a glass case tightly in the other.

You stopped in front of a marble headstone.

“Hey there,” your voice cracked.

“Miss me?”

A whistling wind, scattering powdered snow and frozen rain across the landscape, was your only answer.

“Kei, I–” You collapsed onto your knees, uncaring of whether or not the cold would seep in. It couldn’t get colder than your soul now, anyways.

“I…I didn’t go to your funeral.” Tears rolled down your cheeks, leaving a silvery sheen in their wake. “There were too many people and I…I couldn’t handle it.”

“But…Kei…” You choked out an ugly sob. “Why didn’t you send me the fucking letters?”

“I don’t care how dangerous your work was. You can’t get anywhere without taking risks in life, Kei!” You screamed at the marble façade, willing it to crumble.

“You can’t–”

“You can’t make my decisions for me!”

“I should be the one who gets to choose who I love!”

Your screams attracted the attention of several bystanders, who quickly averted their eyes and walked away when they saw your distraught state.

“You shouldn’t have tried to choose for me!”

“And now–”

“You’re dead, Kei! What am I supposed to do now?” Your tears pooled on the frozen ground, marking little dents in the snow.

You slammed your fists into the ground, the glass case in your hand cracking.

Another ugly sob made its way out.

“Kei–” you whimpered.

The glass shattered, splintering into thousands of tiny pieces, each fragment glittering like diamonds.

Slivers found their way into your palm.

Crimson blood, the color of the worn-out feather freed from its enclosure, splattered the snow-white ground.

“Kei,” you whispered, carefully placing the feather on top of the chiseled marble.

“Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy.”

Masterlist

[castieltrash1]

dangerous territory → clint b.

gif credit (x)

summary → clint stays behind during a mission, leaving you alone with him in the avengers building. seeing him sprawled out on the comfy lounge room couch gives you some naughty ideas -- only adding to the tension your relationship already has.

word count → 6.7k (literally wtf)

warnings → i ignore the entirety of iw/endgame except for clint’s makeover, extreme sexual tension, smut; switch!fem!reader, switch!clint, couch sex, oral (both recieving), fingering, slight overstimulation, dirty talk, praise

a/n → literally idk if i should be ashamed or not but im Horny 4 Hawkeye!!! oopsie !! also there are like .3 smut fics for him on here and im determined to fix that

---

Quiet was not a word you’d use to describe the Avengers Facility.

In fact, with Steve’s loud orders, Bruce’s lab explosions, and Sam’s boisterous laughter -- not to mention the never-ending petty arguments that managed to revert the Avengers to 11th graders in their first debate club -- it was the farthest thing from quiet.

But, now, with zero disagreements and zero distractions, you’d been able to enjoy the building all to yourself. Almost. Of course, the one time you got to avoid a mission, you ended up falling into an even worse situation.

You’d covered for Wanda last mission, and she’d insisted on paying you back for the newest one. It wasn’t high stakes by any means, but the work itself had countless components and everyone who was nearby -- or at least on the planet -- had been called in to fill some role.  

Everyone, of course, except you. And Clint.

Suddenly the idea of being stuck in the Quinjet with everyone’s post-mission moodiness sounded very appealing. You could feel a headache growing as you wandered around the kitchen, doing anything and everything in your power to avoid him. He was not supposed to be here. Hell, he didn’t even like stepping foot in the place unless the world was in immediate danger.

Of course, you weren’t the only one to notice his odd attitude. Natasha gave him a confused look when he mentioned staying behind, but decidedly hadn’t commented, almost like she’d already pieced together the reason for Clint’s actions. Knowing her, she probably had. But, even Wanda shot a glance that worried you -- though you seemed to be the only one to catch her squinted green gaze before it disappeared. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what she saw in his mind.

Sure, you had a couple of ideas as to why he would choose to isolate himself with you, but you tried to not let those thoughts consume you. The others wouldn’t be back till midday tomorrow -- if all went well -- and you were not about to spend the next 36 hours soaking your panties with stupid fantasies.

Unfortunately, even when ignoring Clint, your mind was still focused on him. When you passed by the gym or shooting range, antsy to get your daily work in, one quick thought of seeing Clint’s arms -- tensed as he loaded his bow, muscles straining and eyes focused on his target -- was enough to have you quickly walking in the opposite direction.

But, now, as you make your way into the lounge to relax, you can’t find it in yourself to care. You have just as much of a right as Clint does to walk around whenever and wherever you please. In all honesty, you feel even more entitled considering you’re the one actually living in the tower (at least most of the time.)

He’s exactly where you expect him to be -- he may be fast and quiet on his feet, but you’ve been keeping tabs on him, for your own sake.

It’s a bit odd seeing a book instead of a bow in his hands, but you’re not entirely sure you should be focused on how his fingers wrap around the thin pages, thumbing the corners so gently--

“Done avoiding me, are you?”

Well, shit.

His gaze remains on his book -- though the very few pages he’s turned assures you he’s not paying attention to whatever riveting story Tony has stocked his shelves with.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. There’s a moment of temptation to take a seat next to him on the couch, as close as possible. To feel his strong arms around you, smell the raw masculine cologne he always wears a bit too much of -- heavy on his neck and sharp jaw that you know your lips could curl around so perfectly if given the chance.

You swallow heavily and take a seat in the chair across from him, sinking into the expensive fabric.

“Tony picks good furniture, right?” Clint sighs, book closing without so much as a dog-ear mark as he leans back.

It’s silent for a second, and you’re entirely sure you’ve missed a part of the conversation during your mini black-out, but Clint doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, waiting patiently for your answer. You consider it a small win and accept the change in topic with an awkward laugh.

“Yeah. Didn’t think price made such a big difference.” There’s a firmness to the chair that keeps you from sinking, and mentally, you consider if it’d be strong enough for other activities. “How much you wanna bet he spent on each of these chairs?” you question, genuinely curious. “I gotta guess at least two grand.”

Clint’s cool eyes glint playfully. “Three,” he challenges with a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. “Though, you should really try this couch. Definitely my favorite thing here.”

There’s just a hint of suggestion in his tone -- the kind that you’d miss if you weren’t trained in reading people. It’s not unexpected, though. You’d have to be a fool to not recognize the exact same longing stares, the same lingering touches that Clint offers you. But, that’s what makes it all more intimidating. It’s an unspoken thing, and at this point, that’s what feels most convenient -- even if your lonely nights spent moaning his name are growing far too common for comfort.

Still, you can’t exactly ignore him, and his eyes follow you closely as you make your way to the couch, falling into the comfy cushions with a huff.

“Wow.” You laugh. “No wonder you’ve been spending so much time down here.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “So you have been paying me some attention. Interesting.”

If he notices you shift as far to the other end of the couch as possible, he doesn’t mention it.

“Don’t take it personally, Barton,” you huff. “I’m used to keeping an eye on everyone around here.” It’s not entirely a lie, but he manages to see right through the half-truth regardless.

“So you avoid everyone, then?” There’s no hurt or misunderstanding in his voice, not even confusion. He knows what you’re doing, knows why you can’t bear to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds.

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back onto the couch.

He just chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach clench unconsciously. You expect him to keep pressing you, work you up until you spill your guts, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even say a word as you hear the rustling of paper and feel the couch move slightly as he shifts.

You turn your head towards him and open one eye, then both as they go wide. Clint has taken on a whole new level of comfortable, feet perched on the coffee table and one arm resting on the back of the couch while his free hand flips through the same first few pages as before.

In all honesty, you suddenly find yourself happy that Steve and Tony are gone -- otherwise they’d be scolding Clint for his manners, and most definitely not ogling his firm legs in those tight, black jeans.

You drag your gaze back up his body, stopping near the hem of his shirt, where his new position has allowed for the fabric to ride up his stomach. It’s just a sliver of skin but the image is enough to make your heart race. There’s a faint dip in the muscled hip line leading to his jeans, and if you stare extra hard, you can see the light trail of thin hairs disappearing under the fabric.

Swallowing heavily, you quickly look back at Clint’s face, holding back a gasp as he stares back at you.

“So,” you fill the silence before he can, mentally thanking Natasha for her training on keeping your composure. “How’s that book of yours?”

Clint just grins for a second -- you both know he’s caught you. “It’s alright. Not the most interesting thing in the building right now, though.”

You gulp. “Yeah… The place is big. Lots to explore. I don’t think I’ve even seen every room--”

“I have a feeling you know that’s not what I mean,” Clint cuts you off with a chuckle, and you send him a challenging glare.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you scoff.

He hums, before his tongue peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip. “You’re sounding awfully like a broken record today.” His icy, pale eyes return to his book, and you watch as he lifts his thumb to his wet lips, tongue darting out the lick the tip. You can practically feel the action, and almost whine in disappointment when his hand returns to flip the page.

Clint is downright grinning at this point, and you know he’s taking in every breath, shift, and blink of yours. “But, I know you’re not actually confused,” he continues. “In fact, I’d argue you like this game of ours a bit more than you should.”

You know if you brush it off again, he’ll drop it. He’s too nice to make you uncomfortable, and his statement hangs in the air with a heavy weight.

“You know, Barton?” you shift from your spot on the couch, eliminating a good chunk of the space between you and him. “I think you’re smarter than most people give you credit for.” He raises a brow, and you would believe his undisturbed look if you didn’t see his fingers twitch against the spine of the forgotten book.

“Tell Nat that,” he jokes, and you grin. Seeing that little crack in his facade, the way he fills the conversation with a joke, the discreet but heavy swallow he tries to hide -- it’s all enough to power you to move closer, until there are mere centimeters between you two.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ll be telling Natasha anything from this conversation of ours.” Keeping your attention on the slight tense of his jaw, you push the book from his hands, and he immediately drops his feet from the table to discard it in their place.

You pause for a second, glancing at Clint’s lap then back at him, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and grab your hip.

“Get over here already,” he groans, both arms wrapping around your waist to situate you in his lap. His hands are warm and firm and everything you could have ever imagined, and you automatically roll your hips down onto him. There’s a pleased moan from you both, and his own hips jolt in a way that sends you even closer to him, until your chests are touching.

He immediately dives for your neck, scruff tickling the sensitive skin as he breathes you in deeply. “I gotta admit,” he murmurs, letting his lips graze the bottom of your jaw in the most sinful way, “you look so much better sitting here than standing around in the kitchen.”

You drag your fingers through the long hair on the back of his head, tugging it playfully. “You’ve been watching me, Barton?”

He hums, squeezing you just as teasingly. “I do a lot of staring when it comes to you, babe.”

You pull him from your neck by his hair, and he looks up at you with the most mischievous glint in his eyes. The nickname makes you undeniably flustered, but you force the embarrassment away.

“I don’t know about you, but I think that’s what you call creepy,” you mumble, leaning down so Clint can feel your words against his own lips. He immediately darts forward, but you pull back with a sly grin, watching his eyes darken at the action.

“I think,” he growls, catching you off guard as he pushes you back onto the couch, making you jostle as you try not to fall off the edge. He steadies you with a large hand, and you only jolt again when he uses his free hand to spread your legs, caging you in as his hips drop between your parted thighs. “You’d be a hypocrite for saying that.” He drops back to your neck, and you can feel his smile before his teeth sink into your skin lightly -- just enough to make you gasp.

He continues to litter your neck with kisses, and you watch in awe as his toned arm tenses by the side of your head -- the thick black lines of ink rolling as his muscles flex.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you taunt, back arching as his tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to right below your chin. “You gonna fuck me?”

Clint bites the edge of your jaw in retaliation to your words, before he pulls back just enough to stare at you with a lustful gaze.

“Not yet, baby. Not that easily.” One of his hands trails up the front of your thigh, before it busies itself with the hem of your shirt. You try to hide your disappointment, but Clint notices it, of course, and just shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on letting you leave this couch anytime soon. You’ve made me wait long enough for this… I’m gonna take my time with you.”

He finally presses his lips to yours, and you hungrily reach and tug until he’s as close as possible -- until you can feel the denim of his jeans scraping deliciously against your thighs as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. It’s messy and entirely uncalculated, and your nails catch in the wrinkles of the back of his shirt while his own fingers tug impatiently at the bottom of yours.

You part from him for a second, and his own greedy mouth follows yours, only managing to press against the side of your lips. “You act like you’ve made this easy for me,” you retort, and his chest rumbles against yours as he chuckles.

“Oh honey, I think I’ve made it quite obvious I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day you walked in here.”

“Clearly, not obvious enough.”

Clint huffs, warm breath hitting your cheek. “What’d you want me to do? Huh?” He shifts so his words make their way directly to your ear, each syllable accentuated with a puff of hot air. With him this close, neck just below your nose, you can take in the heavy smell of that sharp cologne you love so much.

His calloused fingers dip beneath your shirt, but instead of the obvious trail up, his hand trails down to play with the hem of your shorts. “Tug these little things off in front of everyone? Show them all how worked up you get me wearing these? Is that what you want?”

Your hips lift in a silent plea, and you groan. “They’re comfortable.”

“Maybe for you, but I find myself very uncomfortable when you wear them.” He snickers, and if you weren’t so turned on, you’re sure you’d roll your eyes. Only Clint Barton could make a joke about untimely hard-ons during a time like this.

“Then why don’t you take them off?” you groan, and he shakes his head while muttering something about you being bossy.

Still, his words betray him as he tugs the fabric down your legs, as slowly as possible while his eyes drink in the new area of exposed skin. “What part about taking my time with you did you not understand?” The corner of his lips tug in that mischievous way of his, and you have a sneaking feeling his patience is as fleeting as your own.

Proving your point, Clint tosses your shorts over the back of the couch with a grin, then pushes you further up the cushions. You’re almost sitting, shoulder blades knocking the arm of the sofa while your legs bend at the knee to accompany Clint, who scoots back. It’s the perfect and most disastrous angle to be at as you have to both feel and watch his deft fingers trail up from your knee.

You’re a hundred percent sure the effects of your arousal are extremely obvious, but he doesn’t comment on the wet patch of your panties -- though you see his eyes focus on the area between your legs for a second too long before his gaze flickers back to your thighs.

His calloused fingers trail the edge of fabric around your legs, rough skin providing a type of friction you can’t begin to explain. His touch is fleeting and he changes the amount of pressure with every swipe of his thumb, always pushing just enough to let you know he’s holding you down. That you can’t escape him -- as if you’d even think of trying to do so.

“Your legs are so sexy, you know that?”

You let out some type of pleased whine, a sound that Clint relishes as he tightens his grip on your thighs. “Make the prettiest sounds, too,” he continues, and then his fingers are right there. One hand holds your left leg down, while the other covers your panty-covered core. His thumb rubs into your desperate, throbbing clit, and you use your little amount of freedom to push your hips up, wanting, needing more.

Clint immediately presses you back down, and you watch his tattoos shift just slightly as he adds more weight to his hand on your thigh.

“Please, please.” You revert to begging at your lack of movement, losing all shame in regard to your desire. It’s obvious you need Clint -- any excuses or lies from before long forgotten. You need his movements to speed up, the slow circles of his thumb providing barely enough friction.

He just chuckles, but relents a little and you downright purr as the thin fabric of your underwear drags against your tingling nerve endings. It’s impossible to move under Clint’s weight, but all the muscles in your lower half flex and twitch as they desperately search for release and relief.

“How about…” Clint trails off, fingers moving upward to grab the waistline of your panties, “we get these off?”

You’re sure if you nod any faster you might make yourself dizzy, and Clint just smirks in that knowing way. That way that lets you know he has you right where he wants you. Right where he’s been waiting to have you.

The article of clothing is soon flung behind his shoulder just like your forgotten shorts -- and you can only faintly remind yourself to make sure you grab everything before the others return. Though, at this point, you think anyone could walk in on Clint between your legs and you’d still be begging him to make you cum -- audience or not.

“Fucking Christ,” Clint groans, palms sliding between your thighs to spread them, giving him a full view of your glistening core. “I swear, you’re gonna kill me.” Seeing his flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and greedy fingers, you’re not sure you can reject that statement.

He removes his hands for just a second, but you don’t dare close your legs, and he has the audacity to wink. Before your mind can even process the action, though, he’s pulling his shirt off, arms crossing over his chest as they show off in their full glory. Hips, stomach, chest, arms -- they’re all exposed so quickly and your eyes drink in the features as fast as they can. Clint throws the shirt to the side -- you have a feeling he’s utilizing his perfect aim to create a clothing pile -- but you just stare at his shoulder, where the ink spreads to areas you’ve never had the chance to see before. The olive green accents contrast against his tanned skin, which has gained a light sheen from the sweat of his arousal.

As he leans back down, Ronin’s portrait stares you dead in the eyes -- quite literally. If you didn’t know the deeper meaning, you’re sure you could mistake the skull as a danger warning to the man pressing a kiss against the inside of your knee.

Short hairs chafe your legs as Clint makes himself comfortable, pressing his jaw against you. When his hot breath dances over your center you almost squeeze your thighs together, but he’s there to push them apart with a chuckle.

“No, no…” He pulls away barely, and you take in a deep breath to calm yourself. “You’re gonna give me what I want, ok?” His fingers are gentle, and so are his eyes when he glances up to you. He’s hopeful, pleading almost, but stays respectful. “If that’s ok, of course.”

You almost want to cry, because how could he think any differently, but you just nod. “Please Clint, touch me.”

He sends you a lopsided grin, and then he’s right there, pressing a kiss against your clit. The feeling is completely different from before, lips slick and soft unlike his rough thumb. All the air in your lungs leaves your body as you let out a sigh of relief, body finally relaxing as it gets the touch it needs.

You reach down and your nails scratch his scalp lightly before you grip his hair in a tight hold. He nuzzles against your hand and groans against you, and the feeling of control makes your blood run hot through your veins. One of the most powerful men on Earth is between your legs, sucking softly on your clit like it's the only thing he could ever want.

He traces circles on your thighs with his coarse fingers as he warms you up with gentle licks and the occasional curl of his lips around your most sensitive area. You let him have the satisfaction of your spread thighs, but you periodically tug on his tousled locks to remind him that he’s the one between your legs. It’s the perfect balance of dominance -- the type that makes your head spin and your eyes roll back into your head.

Clint presses another kiss to your clit before traveling lower and the intimacy of the action makes your skin flush. You can tell he’s not going to be holding back for much longer though, if the desperation of his descent is any indication. His fingers join his attack as he spreads your folds, tongue dragging the entirety of your core.

“So good, baby. So fucking good,” he mutters, mouth impatient as he covers as much skin as he can at once. It’s fast and downright dirty as he presses his tongue into you, eliciting a groan from your parted, panting lips. You’re dripping at this point, and he laps up the mix of saliva and arousal with a yearning thirst.

It’s all so overwhelming. His fingers are digging into your skin -- likely to leave faint marks -- and the scruff framing his jaw scrapes and leaves your skin burning, while the softer locks between your fingers are a comfort to steady you.

The heat building in your body is entirely unbelievable, and your back digs into the couch as you arch into Clint, desperate for all he’ll be willing to give you. You press him closer, and he moans at the power in your hands -- the control you have despite him hovering over you. It’s a mental trip for you both, your stomach and pelvic muscles clenching as they react to his generous, eager giving.

“God, Clint, gonna cum.” The words barely feel like they’re coming from your own body, jaw slack as you tremble in his hold. His index finger presses into you slowly, while his thumb replaces his tongue on your clit. The change of stimulation has you reeling, your grip on Clint loosening as you feel his warm words against you.

“Kinda the point, sweetheart.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, but you know Clint is smirking -- you can practically hear it in his voice.

His finger curls to press against your front wall, and he rubs it gently once, twice, before he lets the digit drag out, sinking in again even slower. The leisurely thrusts continue as his tongue returns to circle your clit, his cocky words from before silenced as he puts his mouth to work. Your breath grows heavier, heart rate increasing with every second. His middle finger joins the first with a steady push, and you clench desperately as they curl and press and rub and reduce you to nothing but putty.

You’re right there and Clint knows it -- somehow he knows it. His fingers move faster, harder, and his lips wrap around your clit with even greater determination. There’s a shift, fingertips grazing the perfect spot as he sucks desperately and it’s over. You’re crying out his name, thighs shaking and you clench and flutter around his never-ceasing fingers. There’s a moment where all senses leave you and all you can feel is Clint, and the spread of warmth between your legs. Your ears ring and your own moans become faint background sounds.

And then, you’re pulling his head back, his tongue still trying to work your sensitive clit. He fights your tug on his hair but you must be begging because he finally relents with a huff. You can hear his breathing, and you feel his shift as he leans back over you, fingers still working you through your high.

“Look at me,” he demands, and his free hand drags down your cheek. “C’mon, open your eyes.” He forcefully grabs your chin, and your eyes open too quickly for your mind to process. It’s all so bright and you have to blink away the splotches of color coating your vision. Clint takes up the entirety of your view, lips wet and eyes dark. “There you go, baby.” He’s grinning and panting and his fingers are still fucking moving.

You whimper and glance down -- as much as his grip on your jaw will allow -- and the view of his tattooed arm between your thighs, veins pulsing as he fingers you is imprinted in your mind permanently. It’s a never-ending high that goes on for a second too long before Clint finally, finally eases his fingers from you. They’re practically dripping with your release, and he wastes no time bringing them to his glossy mouth.

It’s hypnotic to watch as his lips close around his fingers, nostrils flaring as he sucks them eagerly. They come out clean, and his chest rumbles with a groan. “Can’t get enough of your taste. Fuck.”

It takes a second for you to catch your breath, chest heaving and shirt clinging to sweaty skin. But, there’s finally a moment where your legs feel somewhat solid, and you take advantage of the opportunity, bending your leg to put the bottom of your foot on Clint’s bare chest.

He shoots you a confused but intrigued look, and you respond with a lopsided grin as you push him backward, until he’s the one stumbling to find a spot against the arm of the couch. Faintly, you consider the move would be much sexier with a pair of heels digging into his skin, but this will have to suffice for now. Maybe next time -- if there is a next time, of course.

“Now, what are you up to, baby girl?” Clint is practically vibrating with excitement as you gather the strength to push yourself off the couch, ignoring the slight twitch of your exerted thighs.

“Take your pants off,” you say, with little shame. “Now.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone get undressed so quickly and the hastiness of Clint’s actions leave him with very little coordination. It takes him three tries to get his belt undone, and he pokes himself with the metal prong when his eyes return to glance at you.

Raising a brow, you put your hands on your hips, and he speeds up. The button and zipper take him twice as long, but the sound when he finally tosses his belt and jeans off to the side is well worth the wait.

He licks his lips, looking up at you -- waiting, watching. Your earlier thoughts regarding his legs are heightened tenfold as you take in his toned thighs and hard cock in-between. He’s thick, the bulge pressing against his boxer-briefs making your heart skip a beat. The mere idea of him stretching you open has you growing too impatient for what you have planned.

“Keep going.” You swallow and hope your voice doesn’t sound too shaky.

Clint’s quick fingers make work of the fabric, and you focus on finishing yourself off. You pull your shirt off and let it drop to your feet before your hands move to unhook your bra. You’re barely sliding the straps down your arms when you hear Clint huff, and you look back to him.

“I wanted to do that,” he almost whines, chest puffing.

You roll your eyes but laugh, and toss your bra to him. He catches it with a wink, before throwing it behind him. Immediately, his gaze drags over your chest, excruciatingly slow. You know he’s taking in every inch, every natural mark that decorates your torso. Normally, you’d feel odd being examined so closely while still being at a decent distance -- but Clint is observant and his eyes are hungry.

Finally, his dark eyes reconnect with yours. “You gonna come sit or should I just grab you?” His tone is playful and daring, but you hear the hint of arousal that suggests he wouldn’t be opposed to tugging you into his arms. You don’t have time for games anymore, though, so you stand between Clint’s legs, and he pats his thigh playfully.

“Hmm…” You bite your lip and shake your head, eyes glistening with mischief. “Not yet…”

You make your descent to your knees perfectly paced, fluttering your lashes as you look up to Clint from between his thighs. He cusses and his arms fall limply to his side as he resigns himself to the torture he knows you’ll be sure to deliver.

“I thought you wanted to take your time,” you tease, fingers sliding up his thigh. Your nails against his skin have him tensing, muscles quivering.

He groans, and tosses his head back. “That was before I made you cum. Just wanna fuck you now -- make you shake again.”

You pinch him. “Sweet-talking will get you nowhere, Barton. You should know that.” But, you still let your palm graze over his hard cock, twitching at your touch. He’s firm and warm, and when your fingers wrap around his length, you realize how deliciously thick he is, filling your grasp fully. The length is there too, just enough to not be intimidating, but the girth has your core throbbing.

“Fuck, Clint,” you groan, giving a slow jerk of your wrist. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He’s pulsing in your hand, skin flushed and precum beginning to drip from the head of his cock. It coats your hand on the second stroke, easing the drag. Soon enough, he’s practically glistening, and your mouth waters. You have to taste him.

He calls your name, voice trembling, as your tongue darts out to flatten against his tip. “Oh God, please.” He’s flushed, from his cheeks to his tensing thighs, and you’d grin if you weren’t taking him deeper into your mouth. Another part of the burning, fervid desire deep in your veins lights up as your lips wrap around him -- tongue greedy for more as it laps everything it can reach. A growl reverberates through his entire body, and the sound makes your thighs clench.

You spare him a glance, and he looks destroyed. Sweat gathers on his forehead and the veins in his arm pulse as he grips the cushions to stay steady. Sane. Calm.

His knuckles are white and you relieve them by grabbing his left hand in your own, thumb rubbing over the back of his palm. He’s squeezing you like you’re his lifeline, and you reward him with your free hand around his base.

“Fuck fuck, I’ll cum too fast with you doing that,” Clint grunts, and you watch his chest heave as he tries to steady his breathing.

You pull off him with a line of spit, breaking it with your hand as you use the saliva to glide your fingers. He’s still throbbing, and you trace his underside vein with your wet thumb. “I thought that was the point, right?” You repeat his words from earlier with a grin, pressing a kiss against his thigh as your hand speeds up. He’s so close and he needs it so badly, but he finally pulls his hand from yours to grab your moving wrist.

“Not until I fuck you.” He pants, and begrudgingly removes your hold from his cock. “And a couple times, at the very least.”

Your heart races at the mere thought of as many rounds as you can handle, with Clint making you cum again and again. Still, you stand slowly, silently hoping he’ll push you back to your knees and cum down your throat.

But he doesn’t. He watches closely as you straighten out, and you quickly move to straddle him. “Fine, but you’ll let me ride you, understood?” Your thighs brush over him with the lightest touch, and with just one solid movement, you could have him sinking into you. But, you wait. You watch as he swallows heavily, eyes hooded.

Clint gives you a lopsided smile. “No complaints here, babe.” And with that, you reach down to hold his length, pressing the tip against your clenching, wet, core. He gasps, but you shift just slightly, until he bumps your clit. It’s too much and too little all at once, and you let out a soft cry as he jerks upward, precum coating the swollen nub. You reward yourself with one more drag down from your clit before letting the head of his cock push into you.

You’re immediately clenching around his length, and Clint’s calloused fingertips dig into your hips as he helps steady you. It only takes a couple breaths and a slow spread of your thighs to take him fully, arousal coating his cock quickly. He barely holds himself back from rutting into you right away, but you rock your hips and grip his shoulders regardless.

“Fuck,” he half-groans, half-whimpers. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Your nails dig into his skin as you roll again, letting out an incoherent babble of his name as your clit gains friction from his own warm body. You can feel your own wetness dripping down your thigh onto his, and it has you shuddering. It’s so dirty and your fingers move to Clint’s hair, desperately clinging at the long strands. His forehead presses to yours, and he smells like the most dangerous concoction of sweat, cologne, and mint toothpaste you’ve ever had the honor of inhaling.

You join in an almost-kiss that’s all teeth, but he brushes his tongue against your cupid’s bow in a much gentler way, and you know he can feel the shiver that runs down your spine in reaction. He squeezes your hip gently in reassurance, and then his grip on you tightens. It doesn’t hurt, but you can feel the years of arm workouts, and you know there’s no way to escape -- as if you’d ever want to.

Clint’s knee jerks and then he’s thrusting up into you with such force it leaves you breathless. He holds you down and all you can do is gasp and hold him tighter as he pushes into you harder and faster. Every shift provides a new angle and friction as his tip stimulates your sensitive walls.

Your thighs shake desperately and you can hear the wet slap each of his movements provide as you coat his cock in warm slick. He grins at the sight, one hand drifting from your hip until it reaches your throbbing clit.

“Look at you,” he coos and punctuates the words with a rough circle of his thumb.

Your chest heaves as you gasp, but the lack of Clint’s hold gives you a second to grind against him. He grunts as you do, and you chuckle breathlessly against his parted lips.

“And look at you.”

He retorts by way of another rub against your clit, and your laughter quickly turns to a drawn-out moan.

“You look so pretty when you’re about to cum.” He pants between every word, but he’s determined to deliver the compliment that makes your face too warm. You’re not sure how he knows you’re so close -- it must be way more embarrassingly obvious than you thought -- but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when he’s letting his cock drag inside you slowly, with a hard thrust every few seconds. Not when the pressure on your clit is changing so rapidly you can’t breathe.

When you do cum, with a broken cry and shaking torso, Clint doesn’t let up. He goes faster, harder. It’s a never-ending high that turns your brain to mush, and your body into even less. Your thighs burn and your toes curl but all you can feel is the delicious length buried deep inside you.

It’s only during the beginning of the cool down that you tug a little harder on Clint’s hair, and roll your hips a little more. “C’mon, Clint, please. Please fill me up.” His chest rumbles against yours with a throaty growl, and you continue to ride out your orgasm as he fucks into you with a few more desperate, shaky thrusts.

He cums in you thick and warm, with a groan of your name. It tumbles from his lips sinfully, and you commit the sound to memory. The rasp of his tone and the sight of his wet, swollen lips.

It’s not until he eases out of you slowly, and you feel the drip down your thigh that you’re grounded and reminded of exactly where you are. On a multi-thousand dollar couch. Owned by Tony Stark.

“Oh my god, Clint.”

His eyes are closed and you’re sure he’s about three seconds from sleeping for eighteen hours, but he manages a tired smirk. “I know. That was good.”

“No! I mean yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He half-opens one eye. “What?”

“I think we stained the couch.” A quick glance between Clint’s thighs all but confirms it, and you’re not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed by the very large wet spot staining the blended fabric.

“I can’t believe that’s what you’re thinking about right now. After everything that just happened.”

You playfully slap his shoulder as you roll onto the cushion next to him with a huff. He nudges you back with his arm before clearing his throat, and letting out a butchered impression of your voice. “Oh Clint! Your dick was just so amazing!-”

“Oh my god!” You cover your face but nothing stops the laughter that rumbles through your chest -- even if he’s got your tone completely wrong. He just chuckles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his side with a sigh.

“How much do you think we’ll owe Tony by the end of the day?” He looks down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, but presses a chaste kiss to your hair. “C’mon, you don’t think I haven’t planned out every surface we still need to fuck on before they get back?”

“Clint!”

“See, you keep screaming my name but for all the wrong reasons.” Now you can feel his grin against the top of your head, and it comes into view as he stands with you still in his grasp. You’re not sure how he maneuvers it, but he’s got you in his arms before you can even blink, and the look he sends you tells you not to complain or even question it. He’s not even out of breath -- all things considered -- and when you glance in the direction he’s heading, your eyes widen.

“You have got to be joking…” You squirm in his arms as he sets you down on the table used for almost every meeting, and the mere thought of defiling it forever makes you squeeze your legs together shyly.

But, Clint is quick to spread them, all with a cocky grin and a far too confident tone.

“I don’t know about you…” He begins, as his fingers trail up your thigh. “But I think we could reach ten thousand by midnight.”

If you distantly hear FRIDAY warn adamantly against it -- neither of you mention it.

“Better get started then, Barton.”

---

[severetimetravelnerd]

Let’s Switch Things Up (ft. MINO) (5)

Part 5

Andy reminds you of something you thought you had put behind you.

A/N: Heyy! So this is my new series, that I’ll be updating every Thursday. All images I’ve used in this moodboard that I’ve made are just representative of the emotions, not the way the reader looks :))  Please show this lots of love!

Comment if you’d like to be added to the taglist.

I’m so sorry about missing last week’s update :(((( I thought I would be able to finish it by the weekend, but I couldn’t

Taglist:   @herewecomeitsjekki​​  ; @kwonnansi​​ ; @happiestgirlontheeastcoast​​ ; @unabashedturkeytreeslime​​; @to-all-the-stories-i-love​​​

I only write on this blog on tumblr, so if you see my work on any other platform, please let me know!

Word Count: 2344

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of cheating (kind of angsty), drinking, mentions of bullying, suggestive

——————————————————————————————————-

The next morning, Minho woke up and found you snuggling into his side. You were cold. And even though he would have taken the spontaneous decision to hug you to warm you up, he knew that after yesterday, it wouldn’t be awkward. And so, he covered you with the blanket properly, lifted you lightly, laid you on his chest and wrapped his arms around you. you were fast asleep, but you appreciated the warmth and curled up even closer. Minho couldn’t keep the light smile off his face. That was the moment his subconscious registered that this what he wanted from life. Of course, he had dated before, but this was different. No one had ever made him feel this way; made him react this way. What he had with you was special. It had only been two days since he met you, but things were different. He looked down at your face. Your cheeks were squished, your hair was messy and you just looked so peaceful. He held you a little tighter and somewhere deep down, hoped to god you felt the same way about him.

---

The two of you had a lazy day, ordering room service and watching movies all day. Both of you were too tired to go for the mixers Andy and Liza had organised. Natasha and Jae had a date and Mirae and Sophie were out sightseeing with Sophie’s friends. Neither of you addressed the fact that you were basically cuddling the entire day. You refused to bring it up when you felt his hand on your hip. He refused to bring it up when he felt you run your hands through his hair and trace his piercings. It was like both of you were scared to acknowledge any of what was happening, scared that it would all disappear. Both of you knew that you would go back to Seoul tomorrow and he would go on to meet his friend. You were scared. this was the first time you felt this way about someone. Not even Andy, and you had known Andy for eight years. There was just something about Minho that made you feel so warm and comfortable, and no other person had manged to make you feel that way. You didn’t want to lose him. It was just that you were scared.

---

You took out the dress you were planning on wearing, smoothing it out and hanging it up. You decided against going to Natasha’s room to get ready. You saw Natasha and Jae earlier from the window, and things were not looking PG13. You had already showered, done your hair and were in the process of doing your make up. Minho was taking a shower. You didn’t even realise you had a smile on your face from hearing him sing. After you were done with your make up, you slipped on your dress. It was a bottle green off shoulder dress, form fitting with a slit up your right thigh. It was very simple, but it was very you. Just as you finished slipping on the dress, you heard the bathroom door unlock. Minho knocked against it.

“Hey, let me know if you want a bit more time to get ready.”

“No, Minho, I’m almost done. I actually need your help with something.”

He opened the door. His hair was wet and tousled, and he had a bathrobe wrapped around himself. You felt your throat constrict. You quickly turned around.

“Minho, can you help me with my zip? I’ve zipped it up as much as I could on my own.”

His voice sounded distracted when he responded.

“Oh yeah sure.”

His hands were slightly shaky when they touched your lower back to get a hold of the zip. It did nor help either of you that you arched your back at his touch. It just felt different. You ignored the light hiss that escaped his lips. Both of you knew that the level of tension was high. Minho zipped your dress up and his hands just ran down your sides, without him even thinking about it. Something in him almost made him suggest unzipping the dress and getting late for the reception, but he stopped himself just in time. He had no idea how he would have gotten out of that one, not that he wanted to. He just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

You moved to the couch to double check your hair and put on jewellery so that Minho could use the dressing table. you lost track of time on your phone and suddenly remembered about your necklace. Digging it out, you were trying hard to figure out the clasp situation on it and how you were going to put it on your own. You were trying hard, completely absorbed with trying to put it on and not getting it caught in your hair. So absorbed that you didn’t notice that Minho had just finished getting ready. He watched you for a minute with an amused eyebrow raise.

“Y/N?”

You jumped.

“Hmm?”

“Stand up. I can help with that.”

“Oh right!”

You turned around to flash him a grateful grin when you realised you were just a few inches apart. Your breath hitched. Minho typically wasn’t the one to make the first move but he gently took the necklace from you and turned you around. Your breathing was now controlled. You were working too much on that to notice Minho’s eyes; glazed over and hazy. One look at them and you would have known that you weren’t the only one who wanted to know what the other’s lips felt like. He gently pushed your hair away and hooked the necklace on. Neither of you moved. He kissed your neck at the spot the necklace met. His hands remained on your shoulders and he turned you around. You couldn’t meet his gaze. He smirked. Leaning down just a bit, he whispered,

“Y/N, you look stunning.”

And before you could respond, his lips trailed onto your cheek, playing it off as a kiss to the cheek, dangerously close to your lips, when both of you knew that was not what either of you wanted. He lips had barely touched the edge of your lips and your hands were now on his chest when someone knocked at the door. Both of you jumped back. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. You heard Natasha’s muffled voice yelling at you to get out, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Minho. You made eye contact and he abruptly turned. You blushed and turned away, feeling very embarrassed even though he had been the one initiating things. You were about to go down this black hole of doubt when he cleared his throat. He still couldn’t look at you, but he extended his arm for you to slip your hand through.

“Let’s go?”

---

Two hours later, you sat there awkwardly at the table with Minho. Natasha and Mirae were with you, but they had started with the champagne a little earlier than you had. The entire vibe of the party felt off. Andy had his god-awful cousin Ken hosting it, and you did not know it was possible to be that unfunny. And Andy and Liza were both drunk already, which, to you at least, didn’t seem like a good sign. Minho gently squeezed your hand to get your attention.

“I’m going to go get us something to drink. You want a mojito, right?”

You smiled and nodded. At least things were beginning to get less awkward there. You were swaying lightly to the music, grateful that at least the DJ was good, when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around smiling, expecting Minho but that smile left your face the moment you saw it was Andy. Just Andy. Not with Liza, not with Ken, but alone. Why did you have a feeling this was not going to end well?

He smirked at you and you fought the reflex to gag.

“Hey Y/N.”

“Hi Andy.”

“How’s the night going?”

You forced a lie.

“Oh it’s lovely. The party is amazing! Congratulations.”

His smirk deepened and so did your disgust. He pulled up a chair and sat down close to you, with his arm over your shoulder. You hated it but you told yourself to take deep breaths. Y/N, it is his wedding. You cannot sucker punch him on his wedding. He’s also shitfaced.

“Y/N, you look amazing.”

Oh no. You did not like where this was going.

“You look so sexy.”

Immediately, you felt like you looked repulsive.

“Aren’t those the diamonds I bought you?”

Your hatred for him grew in that moment. Even if he was trying to hit on you, which was bad enough, hinting about the money he spent on you and implying that you owed him something was just awful.

“No. They’re not. I gave them back to you and you gave them to Liza. Liza, your wife.”

“Oh, right. But you know Y/N, they’ve always looked better on you.”

Your jaw dropped. He literally just got married. How?!

“Andy, you don’t mean that. Go find Liza and dance with her.”

He leaned in closer, whispering,

“But I want you! You’ve always been so different. And most of the time, you being different was just weird, but right now, it’s sexy as fuck.”

You were in shock. How does someone slip that low? In your shock, you didn’t notice Minho coming back.

“Andy. You’re in my seat.”

Andy jumped up, his face red and flushed.

“Ah I was just going. Y/N…if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

 Minho took one look at you and he knew something was wrong. Your face was pale, and your hands were shaky. He placed the drink down in front of you and sat beside you quietly. He just knew not to say anything until you did. You took a sip of your drink and looked around. Your eyes darted everywhere until you saw the roof of the low, barn like setting they had and grinned. It was an unsettled grin, but a grin nonetheless. You turned to a worried Minho.

“Hey, can we get out of here?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Oh, I have something in mind.”

And this was not the kind of thing Minho did. He always stayed till he left for home, never did anything impulsive or out of the ordinary.  But he looked at your eyes and suddenly, he felt this deep desire to get out of that stifling party with you. He nodded. You stood up with your hand stretched out and he grabbed it.”

---

Ten minutes later, he climbed the final stair to the roof of the barn and watched as you spun around. You had taken off your shoes and were in the process of removing all the hair pins from your head. You shook your hair free, looked up and grinned. Minho had never seen anything more beautiful.

You sat down and looked at Minho, expecting him to join you. he paused, as though arguing internally, and then slipped off his shoes and socks, removed his tie and jacket and unbuttoned his shirt a little.

“That’s the spirit Minho.”

He smiled, looking at peace. He sat down next to you. both of you just sat there in silence, enjoying the night sky and the cool breeze. But you knew you had to tell someone. So you waited, until you were calm again, and leaned against him.

“Andy just asked me to sleep with him.”

Minho was surprisingly calm. He already knew Andy was awful. He simply nodded.

“It made me feel awful.”

Minho wrapped an arm around you, gently rubbing your shoulder.

“He…he said I’m weird. And usually, it’s a pain, but today, he’s finding it sexy.”

Your head fell. You were planning on staying that way until Minho’s hands gently coaxed your chin up.

“Hey, listen to me. You’re not just an object for him to find sexy. He’s an asshole, so clearly, he doesn’t know what he lost. You are amazing. I don’t know why he would call you weird. You’re literally the most amazing person I know. And I…you mean so much to me, even if we haven’t known each other long. Don’t listen to him please? You’re so much more than his words.”

A single tear ran down your face. Minho had no idea how much that meant to you. you had always been made fun off for being ‘different’. Sometimes it was the way you dressed, or the hobbies you had. It was honestly just people looking to bully you. and you thought you had worked past it, but it was always difficult to hear it again. You smiled as you felt his hands gently wipe the tear away.

“Thank you, Song Minho. For everything.”

You sat there in silence again for a while, but there was something you knew you wanted to do. you wanted to let Minho know how you feel. You had to. Yeah, you were scared, but you knew you would regret it if you didn’t. You suddenly turned towards him only to find him looking at you with a nervous expression. Both of you froze. And then, you leaned closer, letting your forehead touch his. His eyes widened. His hands reached up to hold your face.

“Y/N, are you sure you want”-

You nodded. And he kissed you. You had always known Minho was different, but that was the moment every part of your body knew as well. No one had ever been able to make you feel this way. You felt his tongue swipe your bottom lip and you willingly let him deepen the kiss. He pulled you onto him, so that you were straddling him, and his once neat hair was now a mess with your hands running through it. You both pulled away panting.

“Let’s go to the room Minho.”

---

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Any unlawful and unauthorized sharing of these works will result in legal action.

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[matchasprouts]

The Walls - Chapter 5

[ whoa! idk how i got this out but uhhhhhhh enjoy ]

First || Next || Previous || Last

Felix was surprised to be woken up by Greta, three hours after he usually got up no less. Before he could ask why she let him sleep in, she cut him off with the answer. “You looked ready to drop dead yesterday. I figured you needed the extra rest.”

She was right, those extra hours helped dissipate some of the ache in his muscles. “Maybe you should take a break today,” she suggested, readjusting Brahms on her hip. “I know you usually don’t do that, the Heelshires told me that much, but you really need it.”

And then she left, and Felix was left wondering what she meant by that. Until, of course, he caught a look at himself in the vanity mirror.

He looked nothing short of awful. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes from the lack of proper sleep he’d been getting, his eyes themselves were bloodshot, and if he looked closely he could see there was still dirt in his hair.

Not to mention the screaming ache that shot through every muscle in his body, almost making him feel like he was about to collapse.

The last time his body felt and looked like this was in college, and he hated it. He hated looking weak, much less feeling weak. If a break was what it took for him to have the energy to kill someone if needed, then he would take that goddamn break.

Starting with a hot bath to soothe his body and finally get that fucking dirt off of him.

---

He almost died in the bathtub.

Or at least, that’s what he told Greta when he came downstairs with his hair still sopping wet and dripping water everywhere. She seemed concerned for all of two seconds before deciding she simply didn’t care.

What actually happened is that he fell asleep in the bathtub, woke up suddenly to the sound of a child laughing, and freaked himself out. To be fair, he did hit his head on the side of the tub at least twice.

Anyway, Felix wasn’t built for breaks, so instead of relaxing or even just doing something small like playing the piano, he spent his time helping Greta with her chores. Being taller than her, he could reach higher shelves when dusting the bookcase, so he did. When she was occupied with Brahms, he would take over vacuuming or the dishes. He even took to going around and fixing every slightly crooked painting that he was sure had been jostled by the wall thing.

Basically, he was no good at sitting still. Felix was either doing something every second of the day, or he was sleeping. There was just no in between for him.

That is, until there was literally nothing else to be done. It was late afternoon now, the sun was just barely starting to dip past the horizon. Felix was sitting at the piano, playing a soft and somewhat cheerful tune, since Brahms didn’t seem to like the melancholic melodies he knew.

“When did you learn piano?” Greta asked after a while, setting down the book she’d been reading to the doll. The suddenness of the question made Felix’s fingers stutter, hitting a sour note that made him cringe.

“I don’t remember,” he admitted after moving his hands to his lap, so he couldn’t get distracted while playing again. “I imagine it was sometime in my childhood, maybe in highschool? I think I took a class… I’m not sure. My childhood memories are foggy at best.”

At least he was telling the truth. While fresher memories were burned into his head, anything before his freshman year in college was a blank. The only therapist he’d ever seen told him it was repression, due to trauma. Since he couldn’t remember what the trauma was though, they could never work on it.

The only thing he truly remembered was his mother. Soft voiced, a brunette like him, piercing green eyes. She was beautiful. She also had a grip like the devil, and spoke like it too.

To some extent, he was aware that his insecurities came from her. He also knew that she had been… less than supportive when he told her that he was trans, and that it led to probably one of the worst arguments of his life.

Sometimes, when he looked down at his hands, he thought he could still see the bruises her grip had left.

He shook his head, clearing it of the images of her. ‘She’s no longer a concern,’ he reminded himself internally, ‘you took care of that. She’s gone.’

“Oh,” Greta spoke again, snapping him back to reality, “well, that’s too bad. You’re really good at it, you know. You must have been practicing for a long time.”

Right. They were talking about the piano. He mentally scolded himself for getting off track before clearing his throat. “Yeah, I played all through college. Most at frat parties and the like, it’s a great party trick. My hands still cramp up sometimes though. Guess that’ll never stop happening.”

He returned to his playing after that, due to the soft scratching in the wall behind him. Sometimes the thing would let him take a break, but apparently today was not one of those days. He liked that it liked his music, he really did, but it could be so demanding sometimes.

After a little while, it came time for Brahms to be put to bed. After glancing at the clock, Greta stood up with the doll, told Felix good night, and headed upstairs.

Once Felix had finished the song, and confirmed that the thing had taken off, he followed her up.

And, since both were upstairs, neither of them heard the door open. The door they never bothered to lock because no one ever came all the way out here.

Felix had just collapsed face first onto his bed when he heard the thing practically running through the walls, back downstairs. Following that, he heard the familiar sound of the billiard balls hitting each other.

He shot up without a moment’s hesitation, running almost full speed back down the stairs and to the room where the pool table was kept. He almost fell over once there, slamming full force into the doorframe.

There stood a rather greasy looking man with long hair pulled back into a bun, sporting a messy beard. He stared at Felix in confusion, who was glaring so harshly at him that he would be dead if looks could kill.

It wasn’t long before Greta and the doll joined them, interrupting their staring match. “... Cole?” she asked softly, sounding both confused and scared.

Oh? Oh Greta was scared of this man? And he invaded their house?? Oh.

Almost immediately, Felix stood in front of Greta, grabbing one of the pool sticks and holding it up as a make-shift weapon. “You’re not welcome here,” he spat at Cole who, for the most part, seemed unfazed.

Boy was he gonna regret that.

“I don’t even know who you are,” Cole brushed him off, looking around him at Greta again. Felix once again stepped to block him. He accepted this fate, choosing to just speak at Greta. “Greta, babe, you just left without saying anything.”

It was hard to tell, but Felix could feel Greta’s free hand brush up against his back, seemingly grateful to have a shield against the other man. “Getting- getting this job was kind of sudden… and you know we aren’t together anymore…”

Knowing that Cole was an abusive ex made Felix want to kick his ass even more.

Cole took a step toward them, and Felix immediately held the stick up higher, more than ready to take a swing at the bastard. That made him pause, clearly wondering if getting beat up by a gardener was worth it.

“So, where’s the little kid?” Cole asked after a moment of tense silence. Felix glanced back at Greta, silently willing her to ignore him, but she stepped forward anyway and showed him Brahms. Cole laughed, as expected. “No, seriously, where’s the kid?”

“This is Brahms,” Greta said, standing her ground. She and Cole stared at each other for a long moment, before he seemed to accept that she wasn’t joking.

“Well, that makes this easier at least. We’re going home tomorrow. I already bought the plane tickets,” Cole announced, making Greta actually flinch. It was clear she didn’t want to go. Felix’s patience was running thin- he knew he needed to cut this off before he did something rash.

Before either of them could continue their conversation, Felix stepped in. “She’s not going anywhere. She has a job to do, and she will complete it. The Heelshires expect it of her. You’re welcome to stay here for tonight, only because I pity whatever hole you crawled out of, but you will be gone in the morning. Do I make myself clear?”

At least he was smart enough to avoid a confrontation. “Crystal,” Cole replied, putting his hands up in a mock surrender.

“I’ll get him set up. Can you go lay Brahms down?” Greta stepped in again, a hand on Felix’s bicep. He nodded to her, setting down the pool stick and taking Brahms from her. He sent Cole one last glare before heading upstairs.

Normally he’d be able to hear the thing follow him into the bedroom, but not this time. He assumed it was because it was watching over Greta, which he was glad for.

He changed Brahms into his pajamas with shaky hands, trying so hard to contain the rage that threatened to spill over just from Cole’s presence in the house. Another broken fucking rule, and he hadn’t been good enough to stop it.

After tucking Brahms into bed and giving him the obligatory good night kiss, he went back downstairs to check on Greta, only to be stopped by her at the top of the stairs. “Thank you for not doing anything… rash down there,” she told him, looking genuinely grateful.

“Believe me, if there was no consequences in beating him until he was unconscious, I wouldn’t have hesitated,” Felix replied harshly, now turning on his heel and heading back to his room. Greta stood in place for a moment, surprised, before heading into Brahms’s room.

The doll was the only comfort she had at the moment, so she laid down with him, holding him close as she drifted off to sleep.

---

They woke up to Cole yelling downstairs, practically screaming for Greta. When she and Felix got downstairs, the offending asshole grabbed Greta by the arm and yanked her into the room.

“What the fuck is that!?” he yelled, pointing up at something written in red on one of the upper windows,

‘Get Out’. Huh. Clearly the wall thing didn’t like this bitch.

Felix tuned out Cole’s frantic yelling when he noticed Brahms sitting in one of the armchairs, a bag full of dead rats sitting in front of him. Greta noticed it as well, gasping at the sight of the boy and rushing forward to pull him into her arms.

Apparently Cole did not like this.

“Of course all you care about is that fucking doll! He’s not a real boy, Greta!!” he shouted, making both Felix and Greta flinch. “Now you tell me who the hell did this!”

“Brahms did,” Felix cut in, making Cole look sharply at him. He figured he’d rather Cole yell at him over Greta. “He doesn’t like you. You’re an intruder in his home. He was bound to lash out.”

“Oh, so you’re telling me that the fucking DOLL did that?” Cole snapped, taking an aggressive step towards Felix and gaining a low growl in response. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“He’s not,” Greta cut in, her voice shaky. “Brahms… is very creative and- and he doesn’t like you. Not at all.”

Cole glanced between the two of them before letting out a frustrated yell and snatching Brahms from Greta’s arms, despite her protests. “Enough about this stupid doll!”

Before any of them knew it, they were upstairs and in the child’s bedroom. “Put him down Cole!” Greta begged him, staying a safe distance away but clearly wanting to run over to the boy.

Felix, on the other hand, was taking direct action. “Either you put him down, or I make you regret being born,” he threatened, grabbing the closest weapon- a small bat that he jokingly left in Brahms’s room “in case he needed it”.

“You’re not gonna touch me with this fucking thing here,” Cole retorted, holding Brahms up by the leg. He was right, because Felix just stood there, gaze glued on the doll.

Cole began to swing the boy around by the leg when he realized no one was going to do anything, quietly humming to himself. “Maybe… if this thing wasn’t here…” he mused, glancing at Greta.

Felix moved first, lunging for Cole, but he wasn’t fast enough. Not even close. Brahms’s head shattered on the chair before Felix managed to tackle Cole, sending both of them toppling onto the ground.

And then the walls started to shake, freezing both of them. Felix was up in a matter of seconds, truly panicking now. It had seen what had just happened.

And it wasn’t happy.

[bauwrites]

i think of you in every quiet moment

summary: i think the title sums it up pretty well. when he’s not distracted, spencer is thinking of the reader who he was, or still is, in love with but is no longer with. on the jet home after a case, he realises how all of his silences are consumed by memories of her.

pairing: spencer reid x female reader/female oc (there’s no y/n in there but reference to a female character)

words: 1,469

a/n : i saw this post on my feed and it gave me an idea so here we go. i know it’s fairly short but it’s my first time writing something for a long time so please cut me a little bit of slack. but i hope you enjoy it!

-

the worn page of the book began to feel heavy in his hand. spencer was supposed to turn it a while ago but his mind had gone elsewhere. normally he was capable of reading 20,000 words a minute yet he’d spent the last few minutes reading the last seven words over and over again, unable to move past them. much like he was unable to move past the last conversation he shared with her. his once useful eidetic memory had become his hamartia, leaving the image of her face as tears carved valleys into her cheeks etched permanently into his mind. she’d pleaded with him to not leave as he stood in the doorway. she knew as well as he did that if he closed the door of her apartment, it would also close the door on their relationship. neither of them wanted it but spencer knew it was the only way to keep her safe. as long as they were together, she was constantly at risk. to an unsub, she was nothing more than a pawn to use against spencer and that was a game of chess that he wasn’t willing to play.

a lump formed in his throat at the memory and he dropped the page he was holding. the words on the faded paper were the last thing on his mind now. the only noise in the jet were the soft sounds of his coworkers snoring as they got some much needed rest. spencer was confronted with a memory of her sleeping against him as he read on her couch. in spencer’s opinion, falling asleep around someone was a true show of trust. while you were asleep, you were completely vulnerable to the people around you. it was the first time she’d done it and that was the moment spencer realised how comfortable around him she was. for the first time in a long time, he willingly squeezed his eyes shut. for a moment, he thought he could feel her head on his shoulder, the slight movements of her body as her breathing caused her chest to rise and fall. spencer knew his mind was simply tricking him but he could have sworn that just for a second, he could smell the sweet coconut notes of her shampoo. but when his eyes opened again, she wasn’t there. and she never would be again.

-

back in his apartment, spencer was forcing himself to make some food. it had been a long day and he couldn’t really remember the last time he’d eaten. regardless, he was hungry and he knew he should eat before he settled down to a restless night. his apartment was quiet now with nobody else to share it with. admittedly, he hated coming back to an empty apartment. after a long or tough case, it had quickly become his favourite thing to come home and find her waiting there for him. she always did everything that she could to make him comfortable, to distract him from the violence and brutality that he witnessed in his job. his bed would be made with his pyjamas laid out for him, the smell of food would be wafting from the kitchen along with her soft voice as she hummed along to whatever record she’d chosen to play. she was like a siren, as soon as he heard her voice he was lost under he spell. spencer would meet her in the kitchen, stepping up behind her and wordlessly wrapping his arms around her waist. sometimes all it took for him to feel better was to hold her, no words needed. his head would find it’s home in the crook of her neck, letting her overwhelm his senses. what he would do to hold her once more. she’d turn around and give him a smile that would make angels cry. she was observant and when she noticed a tiredness in his eyes, not once would she ask him about his day. the last thing she wanted to do was to force him to relive it so instead, she would begin rambling about her own day. if he wanted to talk, he could but she would never force him to and he was always happy to listen to her talk for hours without interjecting. spencer was cruelly torn from the fond memory to the smell of burning. he’d been so distracted that he’d neglected the pan on the stove in front of him and this was its revenge against him.

-

there was a box of records in the corner of spencer’s living room. they’d been ignored for a while now, the last time they were touched was by her. he could see her sat cross-legged on the floor, the tip of her tongue poking out between her teeth as her fingers gently caressed each record while she decided which one to play. she made it seem like the hardest decision in the world and spencer always found it particularly amusing, yet the stretched out deliberation seemed to work since she always chose the right one. spencer moved as if he was on autopilot, his body directing him before his mind had chance to intervene. before he knew it, he was sat on the spot where she should be and brushing the layer of dust from the box. it didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for. her favourite record, the one that she went back to time and time again. the cover was worn from being handled so often and it was near the front so she could easily find it. he slid the black plastic from its sleeve with an almost surgical precision, carefully placing it onto his record player and manoeuvring the needle to its rightful place. the song started immediately and spencer could feel her taking his hand, her small fingers eclipsed by his as she pulled him to the centre of the room. she placed his hands on her waist, draping hers over his shoulders as she swayed from side to side. once he gained more confidence, spencer took the lead and began to guide her. much to her appreciation, he spun her around before pulling her back into him even closer than before and a giggle would fall from her lips. it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard, one that he hoped to never forget. moments like that were such a contrast to his fast paced, high intensity life. she always gave him a reprieve. by the time the song finished, his eyes were stinging as tears threatened to spill from them. if he was a weaker man, he would’ve called her then and begged her to forgive him. to take him back. but he knew he had to be strong for her.

-

finally, spencer was in his bed. the clock on his bedside table told him it was almost 3am and he knew he wouldn’t be asleep yet for a while. it felt colder than usual, emptier even. he’d gotten so used to the weight of her body on the mattress beside him and now he was alone in a bed so clearly made for two. it was cruel that his mind had began to betray him like this every time he experienced even a second of silence. tonight was the kind of night where he would struggle to fall asleep and if he did manage to drift off, he’d be woken up soon after from a nightmare invading his peace. she would always be there for him. comforting him as soon as his eyes opened, as if she knew exactly when he would wake up. no matter how tired she was or how early she had to be up the next morning, she would stay awake with him until she knew he was asleep once more. spencer thought she must have been sick of it but it never seemed to bother her, she seemed happy to do it. she once told him that she was willing to share the weight of his pain because nobody should have to carry that on their own. she promised him that she didn't mind, that if it meant it brought him some relief then that was all that mattered to her. how had spencer let someone like that go? someone who wasn’t afraid of his darkness but embraced it and was willing to let some of that darkness seep into their light. someone who was patient and gentle, even when his temper wore thin and he would become irritable. he sighed to himself as he stared at the ceiling. by now, he had realised that as long as the two of them were apart this would never end. he would think of her in every quiet moment.

[dindjarindiaries]

Thunder - Chapter 8: Hail

summary: Time winds down until Frankie has to leave Luciana, and suspicions start to grow as to what’s going on between them.

warnings: anxiety attack, angst, fluff, mentions of death, references to sex

rating: R

word count: 4.82k

masterlist

chapter 8: hail

Waking up the next morning, Frankie’s almost certain he’s ascended to heaven. The warm glow of sunlight’s peeking in through the window of the guesthouse bedroom, bathing the woman who lays asleep on his chest in an angelic light. Frankie feels more at peace than he has in a long time, even with the prospect of what’s to come nagging at the back of his mind. He knows he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else than where he is in this very moment—even in the air.

But then, it all sinks in: he’s still here, with Luciana, in the guesthouse, in the morning—and not with everyone else.

Frankie curses under his breath and gently starts to sit up, stirring Luciana from her sleep. She looks up at him through her lashes, eyes half-lidded in a way that Frankie thinks is adorable but can’t dwell on right now. “It’s the morning, Luce,” Frankie informs her, his voice soft yet panicked. “The guys could be up, and they might be looking for—.”

He’s cut off by Luciana leaning in swiftly to kiss him, her hand brushing over his cheek in a way that makes him forget everything else he’d been worrying about. When she pulls away, she stays close, her nose brushing against Frankie’s as she looks him deep in his eyes. “Relájate.” Luciana adds a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’ll be fine. We’ll just say we woke up early and decided to go for a walk—and we brought the umbrella in case it rained again.”

Frankie takes a deep breath and nods to agree, earning a smile from Luciana in praise as she kisses him one more time. “You always think on your feet,” he tells her, earning a soft chuckle as she moves off of him. She frees herself from the sheets and stands, and Frankie can’t help the way his gaze admires her body once again. In this light, where it’s brighter and even more angelic, he can see more of the outline he’d tried to burn into memory last night, and he can’t help his heart from beating faster at her sheer beauty.

“Now, don’t relax too much, Morales,” Luciana warns Frankie, pulling him from his trance. “I don’t think we have time for another round before things start to look more… suspicious.”

Frankie ignores the blush on his cheeks as he shrugs, starting to untangle himself from the sheets. “Are you sure ‘bout that?”

Luciana raises an eyebrow at him as she starts getting her clothes from the night before back on. “Don’t insult yourself like that, babe. I’m sure you could last much longer than what we’re being given.”

Frankie scoffs and shakes his head, trying to hide his smile of amusement as he also dresses himself back up. Once they make the room neat to the way it’d been before—including new sheets as provided in the closet of the room—they walk out hand-in-hand to the main part of the guesthouse. Frankie reaches for the umbrella and, before he can reach for the door, Luciana pulls him into another kiss. It’s deep and full of the desperation of not knowing when they can share another, lips parted and tongues dancing like their bodies had during the later hours of the night. Frankie’s hand cups her cheek as they pull away, a thumb brushing over the skin there as he watches the light dance in her brown eyes. “I love you,” Franke confesses in a voice that’s hushed yet honest, “and one day, the whole world will know it.”

“All in time,” Luciana assures him, a phrase that he knows he needs to hear because the guilt of not being more public with their relationship has started to eat away at him. She gives his hand a squeeze and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I love you, too.”

They share a gaze for a few lingering moments and then they open the door of the guesthouse, making sure none of the guys are around before they pretend to return from a morning spent walking through the trails of the surrounding wood. Thanks to their chemistry not only as lovers but also as friends, it’s easy for them to begin making light and casual conversation, making things look natural as they walk back up to the main house. Once they walk inside, they’re met with surprised exclamations from the guys who sit around the kitchen table, except for Santiago who works some eggs in a pan on the stove.

“We all thought you were both asleep, gonna be honest,” Benny admits, drawing a sip from his water with a raised brow.

“Us? Up later than you?” Luciana lets out a playful scoff as she teases him. “You should’ve known better. We were up early and decided to go for a walk. It’s beautiful around here.”

It’s true, Frankie thinks to himself, wishing he could say it to Luciana. My view this morning was really beautiful.

“I’d say that surprises me, but it doesn’t,” Tom mumbles, a small smile growing on his lips as he looks between the two of them. “One day, we’ll switch it up on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Luciana demurs with a chuckle. “Maybe after you’re done with bootcamp.”

And, as much as that’s meant to be a joke, those are the words that make Luciana’s mind take a darker route the rest of the day.

It continues just like the day before, the majority of it spent down at the dock—swimming, boating, kayaking, whatever else to have fun and cool off in the midst of the summer heat. She’s allowed herself a few extra drinks, which she realizes now likely wasn’t the best choice. Luciana sits here in one of the Adirondack chairs, taking a moment to bathe in the sun as she watches the boys toss a football around in the shallower part of the lake, and lets herself think too much.

She’s the only one being left behind. Luciana will have to stay here while her brothers—including one by blood—go off to serve, losing any kind of the contact she’s had with them ever since they all met and gelled together. This includes the love of her life, a man she’s known for longer than the rest aside from Santiago, someone she’s not sure how to live without anymore. Even before the love bloomed, he was the crutch she didn’t realize she was leaning on, the other half that kept her in check and balanced and excited to grow in life. Luciana knows she’s been the same thing for him. She doesn’t often think about what could happen to him while she’s away—not just in the line of duty, but in his mind and his heart. She knows there’s darkness there that even she hasn’t gotten to fully explore, hurt from the things that’s happened to him that he shouldn’t have to deal with on his own. Now, he has to be alone.

Her gaze jumps from person-to-person as they jump and move around in the water—from “grumpy” ol’ Tom, to young, wild, and free Benny, to less-wild-but-still-kinda-crazy Will, to her dearest and fiercely protective Santi, and finally to her entire heart, the caring and kind Frankie—and she can’t help picturing what would happen if this was the last time they were all together. If something happened and she lost one of them, or even all of them. If this little family of theirs that’s dysfunctional yet beautiful in its own unique way was harmed in any way, shape, or form. Luciana’s not sure how she’d be able to carry on. Picturing a life without them, one without Tom or Benny or Will or Santi or Frankie, is enough to knock the breath right from her lungs.

And that’s exactly what it does. Suddenly, Luciana—the one who’s been revered as never being afraid of anything—feels more fear than she’s ever experienced before in her life, and now she can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

Luciana tries to take a deep breath but it stalls. The place where she’s supposed to feel the soft rise and fall of her chest is instead engulfed in burning flames, feeling as if they’re full of sand as she tries to get the air in. A cold sweat breaks out on her forehead as she blinks a few times, trying to compose herself because she doesn’t want to break down like this, to show that she’s weaker than everyone thinks she is. But then she tries to breathe again and she still can’t.

She moves to sit on the very edge of her seat, hoping that’ll help somehow as she tries to expand her lungs. It does nothing. Instead, the heaving of her chest becomes more obvious, the cold sweat providing a glare of the sun’s rays, and she realizes she’s drawing attention.

“Luci?” her brother’s voice calls to her, but it feels far away, much further than the few feet he stands in the lake away from her. “You okay?” Santiago comes closer, stepping out of the water as his brow furrows in concern. Luciana looks at him and sees his eyes widen upon viewing the horror in her eyes and the evidence of struggles that go deeper than he was anticipating.

She shakes her head.

Santiago runs over, now, kneeling in front of Luciana and taking one of her hands in his. “What is it, hermanita?” he panics, his free hand touching her cheek and grimacing at how flushed it is. “How can I help?”

“I can’t breathe,” Luciana manages, the image of her brother blurring before her thanks to the tears of fear, shame, and stress that cloud her eyes, now. “I—Santi, I can’t breathe.”

Luciana sees Santiago bristle with more panic as he turns and addresses something to the boys that Luciana can’t take the time to listen to now, fully capturing their attention.

And when Frankie sees what’s happening, he just about feels his heart drop out into the water. It takes everything in him not to sprint over full-speed and take Luciana in his arms right then and there, instead rushing out of the water with the guys to better see what’s going on. Frankie instantly recognizes the behavior because it’s something he’s not unfamiliar with: an anxiety attack.

“Don’t crowd,” Frankie instructs the guys, shooing them to somewhere further off on the dock. He kneels beside Santiago in front of Luciana, placing a hand on her knee as he looks up at her calmly. “You’re having an anxiety attack, Luce. You just need to breathe in time with me, okay?” He earns a struggled nod at that, and he gives her a smile of praise. Santiago looks nervously between his brother and sister. “Breathe in real deep with me, like this.” Frankie takes a deep breath in, and he watches as Luciana shakily does the same. He holds it for a few seconds before going on. “And now let it out.” He exhales as Luciana repeats his motion. He smiles again. “Good. Keep it up.”

Frankie breathes with Luciana until her heaving diminishes and she’s able to get the air in on her own. A few beads of cold sweat still cascade down her head, though Frankie can only see her gaze looking into his—one that’s full of horror and longing, a longing to be comforted by him. But he can’t.

“You’re alright, hermanita,” Santiago assures his sister, hands reaching for the sides of her face as he brushes his thumbs over them. “Feel a little better?” Luciana just nods at him, eyes flickering between her brother and her lover. Frankie tries to ignore the heavy ache in his chest. “I’ll take you to the house and we’ll get you some peace and quiet.”

Luciana nods again to agree, letting Santiago help her to stand up as they start to walk up to the house. Her gaze lingers for just another moment on Frankie when Santiago stops to place a grateful hand on Frankie’s shoulder, and he feels helpless as he begins to stand up slowly from where he’d been kneeling, wishing more than anything that he could be the one going with her—and needing to know what was going through her mind and heart in this moment. Though, he’s pretty sure it has to do with the words she’d cried to him last night, and that thought alone breaks him into pieces.

Once Santiago and Luciana are further out of sight, Frankie walks himself to the edge of the dock, sitting with his legs in the water as he rips his hat from his head. He kneads the material in his hands, his gaze looking endlessly into the rippling water ahead of him. It’s at times like these when he thinks that she’s worth the sacrifice of losing flying. That maybe he can find another skill, another passion, so that she doesn’t have to be alone here and suffer like this. He’d be more than willing to try for her. But she’d never let him.

This is just the first time of many where Luciana will have to suffer without him—and Frankie knows he has to get used to this feeling of pain.

Frankie’s slightly startled when the dock rocks next to him, his gaze looking up to its source as he watches Will sit gingerly beside him. He lets out a heavy breath before he meets Frankie’s gaze, his brow lifting. “You okay, Fish?” Will asks, his voice full of genuine concern as he folds his hands in his lap.

Frankie offers a nod. “Yeah,” he tries his best to assure him, smoothing a hand over his hair before placing his hat back on his head. “I’m just glad that she’s alright. Anxiety attacks are terrifying.”

“Yeah, me too,” Will agrees, his gaze shifting out to the water. “It was scary for me to see her like that. I can’t imagine what it must’ve felt like for you.”

Frankie furrows his brow, his heart starting to beat a bit faster as he looks over at his brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Will looks back at Frankie, his expression of nonchalance never changing. “Well, you’re both really close, wouldn’t you say?”

Frankie looks between the water and Will’s gaze. “Uh—yeah, we are, I guess.”

Will remains stoic for one moment but crashes into soft laughter in the next one. He shoulders Frankie in a playful manner. “Fish, you’re a fuckin’ terrible liar.” Frankie can feel his eyes widening as Will raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re in love.”

Frankie’s mouth goes dry as he seeks some kind of response but can’t find one just yet. When he does, it’s incoherent. “I’m, I-I’m in—what?”

Will laughs again. “Don’t worry. She loves you, too. And that’s why you’re together. As you should be.” Will then offers a smile, one that isn’t cynical or threatening. It’s genuinely friendly and warm, as if Will’s been waiting for this to happen as long as Frankie has. Thinking about it, he probably has.

Frankie’s in such shock that he truly can’t speak, now. His lips are parted, but he can’t even begin to think of what he can say. He thought he and Luciana had been doing a good job at keeping things under wraps, but they must’ve slipped somehow. He guesses it was this morning. He wonders if Will’s the only one who knows.

But, just as any good brother would, Will practically reads Frankie’s mind as he continues on. “We all know—everyone except Pope, and I’m pretty sure that’s only ‘cause he’s in such denial of it happening that he refuses to see it.” When Frankie’s eyes only widen more, Will chuckles again. “It’s alright, Frankie. We saw this coming for years. It’s about damn time.”

Frankie finally thinks of something to say, swallowing hard as he tips his hat on his head. “How did you find out?”

Will looks out at the water, pretending to ponder greatly for an answer. “Let’s see.” He hums, and Frankie can tell it’s all an act as he chuckles under his breath. “Leaving all the parties together? Well, that’s just how you two are. No, it was probably when I saw you two dancing at the bar.”

Frankie nearly chokes on air and he feels his cheeks and neck burn red as he runs a hand over the skin there. “You, uh… you saw that?”

Will looks back over at Frankie. “Don’t worry, Frankie, I didn’t stop and stare. And I was mostly drunk. But how could I forget it? My long-time dream couple finally taking their first step together?”

Frankie shakes his head slightly, trying to hold back a smile that’s growing on his lips. “And you didn’t say anything?”

Will shrugs. “I thought you two would be all lovey-dovey after that, but you seemed… normal. So, yeah, I didn’t.”

Now, Frankie’s too curious for his own good. He furrows his brow as he faces his brother. “What else did you see?”

Will’s gaze drifts up to the sky as he thinks again. “I saw your looks at each other on the semi-formal night. I saw you dancing together there. I think that’s when I really, really knew.”

“And the guys did, too?”

“Oh, yeah. We all talked about it when you and Santi and Luci weren’t around. We wanted to help make it happen.”

Frankie feels a realization hit him as he sits up taller towards his friend. “You purposely made sure Luci was left alone in the house the day of my mom’s anniversary, and threw the party the night before graduation at Benny’s frat house so we could be alone, and covered our asses for Pope whenever we snuck away after that.”

Will nods once to agree. “Yep.” He pops the “p.” “And don’t forget the guesthouse.” He gestures towards the path in the woods with his finger, and Frankie can already feel his face turning more red than the color of Will’s swim shorts. “Going for a walk so early in the morning, huh? On the same trail as the guesthouse? What a coincidence.”

Frankie laughs a bit and sighs in defeat, nodding as he looks at Will seriously. “Yeah. We’re together.”

Will slaps a hand on Frankie’s shoulder. “It’s been a long time comin’, brother.” He then wrinkles his brow in concern. “But why’re you trying to be so secretive about it?”

Frankie lowers his voice, gaze falling to his hands as they play with the hem of his t-shirt. “Pope.”

“I figured. But… why?”

Frankie takes a deep breath, looking back up to meet Will’s gaze. “A little while before that night at the bar, Santi, he uh, talked to us. Luci and I. Separately, of course. But he told us that he doesn’t think we should be together because it’s too risky for the dynamic—you know, our family thing we got going on. He’s afraid that if something goes bad between Luci and I, it’ll tear us apart from him. So he made us promise not to get together.”

“And now, you’re together.” Will finishes the idea for Frankie and he nods. Will curses under his breath. “Shit. That’s a dick move on Santiago’s part.”

Frankie shrugs. “He’s just protective of his loved ones.”

“But that doesn’t mean you should have to hide your relationship in the fuckin’ shadows, Frankie. You two are made for each other. We’ve all known it since day fuckin’ one.”

“Then why do you think he made us promise that?”

Will shakes his head, looking at the lake. “Like you said. He’s probably afraid that the closer you two become to each other, the more you’ll drift away from him.” He looks back to Frankie. “He’s afraid of being alone, Frankie.”

Frankie understands that fear. He’s lived that life, experienced that feeling of being so utterly alone and abandoned in this world by everyone he’s loved. That’s why he can’t bring himself to be mad at Santiago, and that’s why he keeps bending to his will and keeping his love hidden.

“You gotta tell him eventually, Fish. He deserves to know. She’s his twin sister for God’s sake, and you’re the closest brother he has out of all of us.”

“I know.” Frankie feels the guilt from earlier resting heavily on his shoulders, now, a hand wiping down his face as he watches his feet kick in the semi-clear lakewater. “I just… now isn’t the time. We’re about to go to basic training and he doesn’t need this shit in his head while we’re doing all that.”

Will nods understandingly. “I get it, Frankie, I really do. But the longer you wait, the worse his reaction will be—especially when it comes to the guesthouse.”

Frankie’s eyes double in size. “He will not be told about the guesthouse.”

Will laughs at Frankie’s panic. “An unnecessary detail. Your secret’s safe with us.” Will places his hand on Frankie’s shoulder yet again, giving his brother another warm smile. “I’m real happy for you both, Frankie.” Frankie returns his brother’s smile. “Just make sure we’re in the wedding. Alright?”

Frankie burns red yet laughs, standing up along with Will as they walk back towards where Benny and Tom are seated in two of the Adirondack chairs. Benny tilts his sunglasses down his nose upon their arrival. “What were you two ladies gossiping about?” Benny jokes, causing Will to snort. “The fact that we know this man’s fuckin’?” He gestures to Frankie who just about adapts red as the permanent color of his face at this point.

“Now Benny, what did I tell you about reducing the state of their relationship to sexual intimacy?” Will retorts, raising his brow at his brother.

Benny blinks a few times at his brother. “Was that English?” he finally asks.

The guys laugh, and Will nudges Frankie’s shoulder again. He points up to the house. “You should go check up on her,” he says lowly. Frankie nods to agree, the ache for his lover still prominent in his chest as he starts off towards the pathway that leads to the house. “Tell Pope we’re ready for another round of tossin’ if he’s up to it.”

Frankie holds up a thumb in acknowledgement, refusing to do anything to slow his movements towards Luciana as he heads up to the house. Once he’s made his way inside through the sliding glass door, he sees Santiago standing by the fridge in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water that’s no doubt for Luciana. He doesn’t see her around, though, and he wonders where she’s gone.

“Hey,” Frankie greets gently, not wanting to startle his brother. Santiago looks at Frankie with eyes still panicked for his sister, but they relax a bit upon seeing Frankie. “How’s she doing? How’re you doing?”

Santiago shrugs as he closes the fridge door, resting the glass of water on the counter as he crosses his arms over his chest. “She’s alright, I think,” Santiago informs him. “Good enough to not want her twin brother fussing over her anymore.” Frankie chuckles softly at that, as does Santiago. He then grimaces, though, a sigh falling from his lips. “But she said it was because she’s worried for us, Frankie—all of us. That makes me feel like shit. I don’t want to have to leave her behind.”

Frankie’s own heart breaks apart at his words. “Me neither, Santi. None of us do. But she’s strong, and a moment like this doesn’t change that. I’m sure that once everything falls into place, we’ll all be a little more at ease.”

Santiago nods to agree. Frankie hates the way his brother seems so down and guilty still, so he walks towards him and holds out his arms, accepting him in a tight hug as he pats his back a few times for reassurance. No words are spoken as the two brothers share a moment of strength, trying to comfort each other over the same woman—to one a dear sister, and to the other a passionate lover. Frankie has a feeling everything will be okay even as he pulls away from the embrace, smiling at Santiago.

“Will said they’re ready for another round if you are,” Frankie informs him. “I can keep an eye on her if you want me to.”

Santiago returns his smile. “That’d be great, Frankie. She’s sick enough of me already.”

Frankie chuckles again, shaking his head as he takes the glass of water off the counter. Santiago steps outside and heads back down to the dock, and Frankie tries to compose himself for what’s to come as he looks around for Luciana. He assumes she’s upstairs, now, and so he heads in that direction with the water in hand. When he comes around the corner of her room, he gently raps his knuckles against the doorframe.

“Santi, for fuck’s sake, I already told you that I’m fin—.” Luciana cuts herself off when she sees Frankie’s image appear in her doorway. She’s since slid on a sweatshirt following the incident, her arms hugging over her stomach as she sits with her legs criss-crossed on the bed. Her brown eyes twinkle at his presence. “Frankie?”

He doesn’t speak just yet as he walks closer to her, setting the glass on the bedside table as he seats himself on the edge of her bed. He reaches a delicate hand to brush away a loose piece of hair from her face, and she leans into his touch without ever breaking his gaze. Frankie can feel his eyes softening at her. “You alright, baby girl?” he finally says, his voice so soft that he wonders if she’s even heard it.

But she must, since she offers a light smile in return. “I’m fine,” Luciana assures him, one of her hands covering the one he still has on her cheek. “I just… got a little too lost in my thoughts.”

Frankie shakes his head at her. “You don’t have to keep it all in here, Luce.” He takes his free hand to gently tap his finger against her temple, earning a larger smile from her. “You have me, too. And Santi. And your other brothers.”

Luciana sighs. “I know. I just don’t want to look…”

“… weak to them?” Luciana nods, and Frankie shakes his head again as he holds her face between his hands. “Luci, having anxiety like that and thoughts like those doesn’t make you ‘weak.’ It just proves how caring and protective you are over all of us. We’re all feeling the same things you are even if we’re not vocalizing them. You being able to say them aloud would prove that you’re actually much stronger than all of us.”

Luciana grabs one of Frankie’s hands to press a kiss to his palm upon hearing that. “Thank you.” Her voice is quiet but never falters, her mesmerizing gaze settling in Frankie’s as she continues smiling at him. “I love you, baby.”

Frankie beams and his heart warms at her endearment. He leans forward to press a gentle kiss against her lips, one so soft that it can barely be felt. He pulls away and rests his forehead against hers. “I love you way more.”

With those words, he wraps his arms around her and shifts his position on the bed, encouraging her to lean into him as he strokes her hair softly. Frankie hopes it can bring her even more peace that she so desperately needs right now—as does he. Yet, he also knows he needs to get his recent conversation off his chest and inform Luciana of what’s been said.

“By the way, Luce… the guys know.”

Luciana lifts her head momentarily from Frankie’s chest, her brow furrowed. “About what?”

Frankie’s eyebrow lifts. “Us.”

Luciana doesn’t even look surprised as she lets her head rest against his chest again. “Oh. Yeah, I figured.”

“You did?”

“We’re not very good at being secretive, Francisco.”

Frankie chuckles at that. “I guess you’re right, Luciana.” Luciana wrinkles her nose upon hearing her full name. “But… your brother deserves to know. Soon.”

“Like I said this morning, babe… all in time.”

Frankie nods to agree with that, planting a kiss in her hair before resting his chin against her head. He continues to stroke her hair as he closes his eyes, absorbing the touch and close intimacy while he still can. The future’s unclear as of now, between his flying and her working and whatever the hell Santiago’s gonna do when he finds out about this, but he knows one thing for certain: Luciana will always be there. “All in time.”

thunder tag list: @youhavereachedtheendofpie @charmantbarnes @theindiealto @fangirl-and-stuff @phoenixhalliwell @maybege @housekenobi @seawhisperer @mrsparknuts @saltywintersoldat @softpedropascal @i-hide-inside-my-head @sunshinepascal @domino-oh-damn @thirsty-flygirl

permanent tag list: @mikahid @bestintheparsec @stilllivindue2spite @givemethatgold @xbrujita @mandalorianspace @blushingwueen @sevvysaurus @myakai13 @thisis-theway @beskars @rachelloveseveryone @theindiealto @hiscyarika @burningsoulbloodyheart @wickedfrsgrl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @bookwafflefangirl @charliepeaceout @cable-kenobi @ezraslittleblondestreak @hdlynn @your-pixels-are-showing @b0n-chann @javier-djarin​ @mistermiraclee​

[phonecallwithsatan]

just look for my owl (two)

fred weasley x y/n series

a.n: Fred Weasley Fic!!! wondering if this will get anywhere. i’m sticking all my friends names in this and it’s very entertaing for me. 2.3k words in this bad boy, and i’m feeling confident in my decision to write on wattpad and tumblr HEHE. enjoy! please keep in mind that i only use they/them  for y/n!

Our beloved Fred Weasley falls for Ilvermorny student [y/n] [l/n]. He’s determined to get to them, but the only way he can is through post sent through the two. The only thing left for the pair is to just look for an owl.

Click here for part one! <3

☾

[y/n l/n] had been waiting for their owl to return with their aunt's response to their rant about what exactly to do with the little time they have on their hands.

A new year at Ilvermorny was set for Y/n, but they did not know how long they'd be able to last the back and forth sprinting from home back to school.

Luckily, their partner, Leslie, was able to help them out with their time management.

[y/n] and Leslie had begun seeing each other at the end of Y/n's fifth year, initially bonding from their participation in Quadpot.

Leslie was good for Y/n, no doubt, but as of lately, they haven't been able to see Leslie as much, leading to a disinterest forming from Y/n's side. Just a few hours back, [y/n] was not able to pry themselves off of Leslie's roaming hands, eager for a person next to them who did not constantly leave off.

Yes, they did live half an hour from the school, but Y/n's weekends began turning into three-day ones, ones that made them miss out on Quadpot games and Homework assignments, and ones that made them miss out on Leslie's presence.

It was involuntarily sprinting, but what was [y/n] to do, leave their mother all alone with no one to take care of her? Their father was gone, no siblings, the rest of the family overseas, there was truly nothing. And besides, it was family over anything.

Y/n's mother was 68, just a few years younger than her sister Minerva. She had always been upbeat and extroverted, but as of lately she's been unable to just get up from bed. Along with the old age, it just wasn't looking good, as much as [y/n] didn't want to think about it.

As [y/n] was walking in through their front porch, they saw a brown owl swoop in through the kitchen window with a letter presumably from her aunt.

[y/n] dropped their bag from Ilvermorny in the initial home hallway and ran to the sink where the window was propped open with an owl perched on the ledge.

"Perfect," says Y/n. They hurriedly step on the back of their shoe one by one to slide them off and hurried to the table, wherewith excitement, they open the parcel.

[y/n] had always loved sending and showing polaroid photos to anyone, and as of late, their aunt had corresponded with that.

Inside the parcel was their usual parchment essay, and- holy shit, thought Y/n. At least 15 polaroid snapshots this time from Aunt McGonagall.

[y/n] grinned at this gesture and fished out the photos.

McGonagall had provided a photo of her classroom, the architecture at Hogwarts, their aunt in front of a- cauldron? Gross, thought y/n. Flipping the photos, McGonagall had added notes at the back of them. Her aunt even added a photograph of a... stained textbook? She just probably forgot about this scrap, thought y/n.

Still looking through the polaroids their Aunt had sent them, [y/n] ended up finding a lot of color combinations of mostly red and yellow.

[y/n] knew that her Aunt was head of Gryffindor house, as she had talked about the houses a bunch to them in her letters which is why most of the photos were that color scheme.

Houses were not new topics to y/n, as Ilvermorny had four as well: Horned Serpent, Wampus, Thunderbird, and Pukwudgie. They were a Thunderbird at school, playing for their Quadpot team as #5, and they were good at it.

Just as [y/n] was thinking about Quadpot, they passed through two snapshots of presumably Hogwarts Quadpot team- or so they meant Quidditch.

[y/n] was now looking closely at these photos; one of them being a team photo, and the other a candid of team members #3 and #5- hey, just like my number, thought Y/n.

[y/n] had probably stared at both of the boys' back profile for two solid minutes without blinking, forgetting about their partner Leslie. There was nothing on the back of the photo regarding names.

Shoulder blades showing through his practice jersey, #5 having more of an athletic figure when compared to #3, who also had a built back, but was a bit cut off in the frame while #5 was perfectly in it. "This is so sad", murmured Y/n, wishing they could see who #5 was, even with a partner. He had a broom in his hand that was held on so tight by his arm, almost as if it were to fly off in mere seconds. His grip was firm, making everything in his arm flexed and tense, making [y/n] take a deep breath.

Saddened by this fact, they admit that it is best that they stop staring at this poor boy, who was most likely just watching a scrimmage in front of him. Who were they to stare, but they continued to. "... so stupid," they thought. "Wait-"

With a spark of brilliance, [y/n] quickly looks for the team photo their aunt had sent them, dropping everything in their hands and looking through the stack of polaroids until- there he was.

#5 towering over the rest of his teammates, posing for a team photo taken by the Head of Gryffindor house. The members had been arranged in two rows, four players in the back and three in the front. The shorter ones were in the front and luckily did not block Y/n's view. They flipped the photo to check for names again, but there was nothing except for "Gryffindor 1994 Quidditch Team," written in their Aunt's cursive writing.

He was on the far right, next to- #6 who looked exactly the same.

"Twins," said [y/n] with a wide mouth, still in awe of how attractive they all were.

Ignoring #6 even though him and #5 were identical, Y/n's eyes went back on #5, looking down his body at least twenty times in the minute they had spent staring at the photo. He had a smile on his face, straight teeth, and messy red hair which must have been the result of a long practice. He had his arm on his twin's shoulder, and his other arm reached over the teammate next to him, #4. The arm on his twin was hanging off his brother's shoulder with goggles in hand, gripping just on the strap. There was a light sweat on his face and neck which provided a gleam to it, not too much sweat though, it was a perfect shine extenuating his sharp angles, even his Adam's apple slightly more visible with the shine on it.

Although the photo was a collective snapshot, [y/n] was able to see the build on absolutely every single player. This included the one they had their eye on, #5. The same practice jersey [y/n] had seen before was clinging onto his skin and chest, giving them an image of his build. He was lean, for what they could see, and visibly athletic. [y/n] had begun to wonder what their Aunt was thinking when she sent these photos of her team after practice, well, [y/n] knew, it was not meant to be perceived this way, but still.

#5 was undoubtedly handsome, and they wished to know his name, beginning to be angered by just referring to him as a number on a team. They checked again for a name, but there was nothing.

The rest of the team was just as attractive as #5, #7 having black hair and glasses that [y/n] wondered how they stayed on during a match. His hair was also messed up, and there was a shine on his face from the sun and sweat, his Jersey a bit larger than everyone else's, leading it to hang a bit and show off his collarbones and neck.

#6, a copy of #5, had his Jersey pinned on his body, giving [y/n] a visual of his build, his chest a bit hollowed from his stance since he was laughing more than smiling. Since he was more on the edge, the sun hit him a bit more, showing the outline of his lower torso sticking to the Jersey, a view of his refined abs greeted [y/n] as they blushed at the view even though he was not infront of them.

If they're identical twins, then that means- Stop, thought Y/n.

The team was built by the gods, boys and girls, they all looked happy to be there and thankful they have what they have. [y/n] was jealous of this, because their team was a bit- separate, All trying to one-up another.

No, this team was hot. [y/n] threw it out there, still wondering why their aunt thought it was a perfect idea to send it to y/n.

This was enough- [y/n] was dating Leslie! Not the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

But #5's smile was something unlike [y/n] had seen in their entire life. This was something new, even just a smile, it was new. Cheekbones risen with his smile, his brown eyes were full of light and lust, still visible from paces away from where the photo was taken.

Putting the photos aside from guilt for hitting on an entire team, [y/n] got to the parchment that was neatly folded up in the parcel. [y/n] turned their head to look at the owl that still perched and was now making noises.

"Y/n,

Forget about my sister, darling. Studies come first, everything else is secondary."

God, thought Y/n. What else was to expect though, their aunt was literally a professor.

"... What is there even to do in Massachusetts? Y/n, you need to tell my sister to send you to Hogwarts. There is no future for you there. You and I both know.

...

Tell my sister to get up."

-Minerva"

[y/n] hated when their Aunt sprung up an attitude. The parchment was a few feet long, but it was mostly a rant for not understanding what the words meant, and to get [y/n] to Hogwarts full time.

"Mum!" Yelled [y/n] through the walls. Even living in the states, Mum always stuck. They pushed their photos aside as they shifted against the wooden table.

[y/n] didn't get a response.

"Mum?" Says [y/n] while standing up from their seat. "Mum, I'm home!"

Frantic now, [y/n] walks through the kitchen, through the living room, past their bedroom, and into their mother's room.

And that's when [y/n] sees her- not moving.

She coughs in her sleep, peacefully on her side with her back facing the door in which [y/n] was standing. [y/n] takes a normal breath of air, differentiating from their shudders, and wakes their mother up.

"Mum, you scared me."

Slowly stirring, she eventually wakes up with a smile on her face.

"Fetch me some water, won't you darling?" Say's Y/n's mother while cupping their face as [y/n] sits down next to their mother.

"Of course, Mum. My letter from Aunty came today, why don't you come to read it?"

"Maybe later. Minerva is mad at me." Says the mother.

As [y/n] escapes the grasp of their mother, they get up without saying anything.

How is "Minerva" even going to know if you read the letter or not? You haven't talked in months, thinks y/n, now irritated.

Moving past the brown owl to get a glass for their mum, [y/n] stares at the owl that somehow made the journey to the states from Scotland where Hogwarts is.

They'd have to send a different owl back to their Aunt, as this one was on the verge of falling apart if it did not get any rest. Luckily, [y/n] had their own owl named Stricker.

The owl hooted at her and [y/n] continued to pour water for their mother, all the while just thinking about the team photo they had received.

[y/n] could not give these thoughts the time of day though- no, no, no. [y/n] had school and priorities, not some random ginger an ocean away from them. Their mum- that was a priority, they thought.

Carrying the water back to their Mum's room, [y/n] couldn't help but wonder if what their aunt had said was true. To return to Hogwarts, that is.

[y/n] knew that eventually, this routine of running to their mum back and forth and dealing with Potions homework on their kitchen table was not going to last, and [y/n] would not be able to last on their own at Ilvermorny without the support that was given to them by their Mum.

[y/n] forgot about Leslie. What about Leslie's support, you walnut. God, already forgetting about them? The thoughts in Y/n's brain were bouncing everywhere, mostly about the fact that they had even thought of the idea of leaving their mother and leaving their partner of six months.

But they couldn't help but just think about #5 as a real person, not just a number and a photo. What he was like, what brought him happiness, sadness, anger, lust. What his hair was like under their touch, what it would be like to wear his jersey instead of theirs, what the handgrip would feel like on their neck. You need to stop, thinks [y/n]  to them self.

Now sitting in the aforementioned bedroom, [y/n] 

handed the water to their upright mother and began to gaze out the window, thinking about- everything in life. Their Potions homework was definitely at the bottom of their imaginary list, the first one being if Hogwarts was a good idea- but it wasn't.

Their Aunt didn't know what she was talking about, and a quidditch team was not going to change their mind about anything. Not a chance, they were going to stay and take care of their mother.

And that's when [y/n] snapped their head, their mother drop the glass on the floor from where she was sitting, hand dropping off the side of the bed, and their mother's body just going limp infront of them.

[maple-writes]

[Image ID: Banner image reading: The City of Eventide, Chapter 32, Maple-writes. End ID]

Did I forget about this chapter a little bit? Maybe...

###

Ginger left after three days. Striker went back to work. I didn’t always see him until he came home, leaving in the morning long before I was awake. The quiet was almost too much, too pressing alone at home for the first few days. I didn’t want to go out, didn’t want to leave alone just in case, in case something happened. Once I tried, I thought maybe it would be nice to take a walk around the neighbourhood but I hadn’t made it much further than the sidewalk before tightening nerves and a pounding heart made me turn back. Made me flee back to the safety of the house.

           The next week, Striker asked if I felt ready for Ember to come home and when I agreed he told Kyra and Ember they could come back whenever was best for them. That day Striker worked the day shift and I spent my day pacing around the living room, the kitchen, the halls, all as excitement mixed with tension. Part of me could hardly believed she’d stayed, stayed and hadn’t run off to the woods again like she had so many times, and the other part raced trying to think of what I would say to her.

           Finally late afternoon sun shone warm and spring-like through the windows I’d finally worked up the courage to draw the curtains back from. Not long now. I stood in front of the hall mirror, staring back at myself and hoping I looked put together enough that neither of them would worry. Clean clothes, brushed hair… It was all I could really do, right?

           A round of soft knocks came from the front door and I nearly jumped. I took a second, heart racing like a horse shot from the gate against my ribs, and tried to steady myself at least a little bit. At least a little as I walked towards, laid my hand on the door knob and took a deep breath.

           Kyra and Ember stood in the doorway. Ember’s face all but mirrored mine, all tense and not sure what to feel while Kyra just smiled, cautious, but relieved. I looked between the two of them, words caught in my throat. As much as I wanted to say, to apologize again for what I’d done, to thank them for coming, for everything, nothing came out and all I could do was stand there in the doorway and stare.

           Finally, I found myself again and managed a shallow breath. “Hi.”

           “Hi.” Ember sounded almost as nervous, squeaking out from where she almost hid behind Kyra’s shoulder. I could feel it, tension, leaking from her skin but it wasn’t so bad, wasn’t as bad as it was before. Like air too humid for comfort but nothing more.

           Kyra smiled, as if relieved I’d actually said something. “Can we come in?”

           Right. I nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

           I stepped away and let them in. Ember dropped her backpack—the one I’d bought her months ago now—in the doorway and kicked off her shoes, Kyra following suit. She’d cut her hair since I’d seen her last, short and tucked back from her face with two snap clips. Ember nudged her shoes out of the way and stood up straight again, shoulders wider and stronger than I remembered.

           They followed me into the living room, settling down around the coffee table. Kyra took the couch while Ember and I took the two armchairs, all casting glances at each other like we all hoped someone else would start the conversation.

           Eventually, it was Kyra that broke the ice. “Been a while hasn’t it?” She gave me a little smile. “How is it being back?”

           “I don’t know,” I shrugged, letting my shoulders bunch close to my ears. “It feels strange, if I’m being honest.” My eyes settled on Ember across the table. “It’ll be nice to have some company when Striker’s gone.”

           “Right,” Ember said. “It does get a little lonely when he’s gone all day.”

           “Are you getting out at all?” Kyra asked, head tilting just a little like she already knew the answer. “The weather’s been getting better and better these days.”

           I lowered my head, fiddling with my hands in my lap. Had Striker said something to her? Guilt simmered low in my gut. She probably didn’t want to hear how I was too scared to leave the house on my own, even when I tried. At the same time though, would she believe me if I tried to lie?

           “Not really.” I mumbled, keeping my eyes down to avoid hers. “Its… It’s overwhelming right now.”

           She nodded, and Ember mirrored. She slouched in her chair, red eyes flicking to the top corner in thought.

           “What about nighttime?” Ember refocused on me. “I find it quieter. Less to process.”

           Night? I paused, blinking and turning her words over in my head. “Maybe.” There’d be less traffic late at night at least, fewer sudden noises, fewer people to look out for. “I could try that.”

           She smiled. “I could go with you too if you want.”

           “That…” I started to relax, sitting up and leaning back in the chair. “That would be nice.” It’d been a long time since the two of us did anything like that.

           “Yeah, we can sneak into the park and take the trails like we used to.” Ember leaned forward now, excitement drifting from deep inside. “It could be fun, just the two of us.”

           Kyra frowned, turning to Ember. “Are you sure that’s safe?”

           She nodded. “We used to do it all the time when we were younger.”

           I sunk deeper in the couch, letting my legs stretch out under the edge of the coffee table. It felt like ages ago, when Ember would nudge me in my bed to see if I was sleeping. We’d creep out of the house in the middle of the night and take the dimly-lit side streets to the park where we’d all but disappear under the dark of the trees for hours until we were ready to sleep.

           Kyra shrugged. “If it works it works.”

           The front door opened softly and she lifted her head, leaning back to peek into the hallway. Footsteps came a moment before Striker slipped into the room in his after-work hoodie and sweatpants. He leaned over the back of the couch, greeting her with a soft hand on her shoulder. She stretched up closer so he could reach for a light kiss on her cheek. I stared, glancing between her and Striker until Kyra noticed and cracked into a slight giggle.

           “Did Striker not tell you?” She smiled, glancing up at him with gentle eyes. “We’re dating as of a couple months ago now.”

           Striker shrugged. “Must have slipped my mind.”

           Good for them. Warmth spread through out from my chest, comfortable through the vessels. The two of them murmured to each other as Striker held his head next to hers.

           Ember caught my eye with a cheeky grin. “You’ve missed a lot of PDA while you were gone. Consider yourself lucky.”

           Striker half smiled as he stood up straight. “I’m going to take a shower.”

           He slipped out of the living room, footsteps disappearing up the stairs. A moment or later Ember stood too. She leaned over to pick up her bag, slinging it over one shoulder.

           “I’ll be right back, just going to toss this in my room.” She smiled, then looked confused a moment as I frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “Ah right. Cirrus’ old room.”

           Right. He didn’t need it anymore, did he? If Ember took his room, then, “So you’re really here to stay?”

           “I think so.” She smiled, warmth slipping out from her skin as she got closer, not quite contained by the walls of her body. “I’m glad you’re home too, Ash.”

           She ruffled my hair as she passed, soft heat spreading wherever her claws brushed my skin, gentle and harmless. Then she was gone, disappeared the same way Striker had and it was just me and Kyra. She leaned back, draping on arm over the back of the couch as she faced me.

           “Welcome back Asher.” She smiled, quiet and comfortable. “I’m glad you’re feeling a bit better. Oh, and Dylan told me to tell you he says hi. He wanted to come himself but I told him to be patient.” She laughed once under her breath. “Still, don’t be surprised if he stops by sometime but also don’t be scared to tell him to go away if he starts bugging you.”

           Dylan? Even him? I tried to think of something to say, but nothing wanted to come up. My chest tightened, heart rising to my throat. I’d never thought he would think twice about me, after all, we hadn’t met that long ago, we hadn’t spent all that much time around each other and he still wanted to know how I was doing?

           Kyra frowned. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

           Was it that obvious? I swallowed. “I don’t know, I, I’m just surprised that’s all.”

           “Fallon too. Though I don’t think she’s about to show up at your doorstep unless you invite her over.” She smiled again, one corner of her lip curling higher than the other. “You didn’t think you could just vanish like that and expect everyone to forget about you?”

           This time the mass in my throat pressed too tight to ignore and my eyes stung with stray tears. I rubbed them away with my sleeve and took a breath, deep, shaky and staring down at the empty coffee table. Maybe, maybe it was stupid to think people wouldn’t care, wouldn’t notice I was gone. Maybe I was stupid to think they might have even preferred me gone and no one’s problem.

           “Ash?”

           Ember’s voice and crackling warmth at my shoulder made me look up from the ground. She stood by my chair, hand resting on the backing and leaning over with a concerned glance at Kyra.

           I took another breath and dragged the cuff of my sleeve over my eyes again. “Sorry, sorry, I’m alright.”

           My shoulders slouched and I leaned back, resting against the back of the chair. A heartbeat, and Ember’s hand went from the chair to my shoulder. At first she held on cautiously, gently, as if she wasn’t sure how I would react. But all that came through was heat, warm, not too hot but enough. Like sunlight through a window on a lazy afternoon. She squeezed my shoulder and I had to dry my eyes again.

           “It looks like it might be a clear night.” She said “If you want to go out tonight. I mean, if you want to, it’s okay if you don’t.

           Tonight? I swallowed and steadied myself before meeting her eyes. I nodded, still too choked up to say anything meaningful in response. It would be nice to get some fresh air if I could make it out of the house without turning and running back inside.

           Ember grinned, wide and excited with the points of her teeth poking out from under her lip. “Remind me to fill a thermos with hot chocolate before we go then.”

#

Midnight came we slipped out, Ember slinging a little backpack full of drinks and snacks over her shoulder. I stuck right by her side, flinching at every little sound, every occasional car passing by and catching us in it’s headlights as it rounded a quiet traffic circle. My jaw clenched, my heat started to pound and my legs wobbled by the time we reached the end of our street.

           Hanging over the intersection the light shone bright green. The walk sign blinked. A night breeze blew through street trees and toyed with my hair. The walk sign blinked. Night chill crept through my hoodie. The walk sign blinked. The walk sign blinked. It blinked bright white, white next to the green of the lights shining where an evening rain had left the roads wet and dark and shiny.

           I stared. I shook. I stared at the lights and the reflections and shivered in the wind and I should go back I should go home. This, this was too much. What if we saw someone else? What if someone else saw us? What if, what if something went wrong. What if I, what if I did something so far from home where I couldn’t go, couldn’t hide. Couldn’t get away. Couldn’t hide away, get away in time before I did something awful and—

           Ember stepped in front of me, blocking out the lights and the reflections and the headlights of errant cars. “Ash, you alright?”

           “I, I can’t,” I shook my head, backing up, backing away, back towards the house. “I can’t do this, I can’t, I can’t do it.” It was too much, too much that could go wrong, too much that could happen.

           Ember kept close, creeping after my retreat. “Come on, you’ll be fine. I’ll be right here the whole time. It’ll be fun.”

           No, no it’s not enough. I tried to swallow, to force down the tightness wrapping its way around my throat. She couldn’t help me if something happened. She couldn’t, didn’t know what to do. My head felt light, dizzy, until I realized I hadn’t been breathing. Not enough, not deep enough, not enough.

           “Here, hold my hand,” Ember reached out. “It’ll be better once we’re in the woods.”

           “No!” I snapped, clenching my teeth. Words ran fast through my head, faster than I could catch them, use them. “No, I… I want to go home.”

           Her shoulders fell. “What, really?”

           I nodded. My hands shook by my sides and I tried to hide them in my pockets, but she might have already seen by the way her red eyes flickered in the low light. I hunched my shoulders and stared down at the damp cement. It swam, wet and hot.

           Ember sighed and toed at the ground. “If you really want to, fine.”

She reached for my arm, but stopped short when I flinched. Her face fell and she looked like she wanted to say something before turning and leading the way back to the house without another word. Hands jammed in her pockets and posture hunched, something hot simmered just under her skin just barely contained, just barely kept at bay for my sake.

Working up the nerve to move, I slunk along behind her. My head down, I stared at my feet with every shuffled step. I rubbed my eyes and wet my sleeves. Why was this so hard? It should have been easy. Should have been nothing.

Ember didn’t say anything to me when we got home, didn’t say anything when I left her for my bedroom. Door shut behind me I didn’t make it to the bed before sinking to the floor in the dark. Leaning against the wall, I drew my knees up and braced my head in my hands as I tried my best to steady my breath. Tried to slow the racing of my heart and still the tremble in my hands. Tried to stop my teeth from sharpening and my claws from curving out. Just in case. Just in case.

But nothing happened. My teeth kept blunt and my fingertips soft and rounded. The darkest shadows cast from the streetlights outside stayed where they were, nothing drawn too close, nothing pulled my way. Nothing happened.

Slowly I raised my head and let it rest against the wall as I stared at the dark sky outside the window. Quiet. It was so quiet. Quiet enough I could hear the floor creak outside as Ember crossed the hall. Hear her stop in front of my door and stand, just stand. I crossed my arms over my knees and rested my cheek in the crook of my elbow, facing the closed door. My eyes still stung even when I tried to blink them out as she hesitated. As she stood silent in the hall.

Finally the handle clicked and she pushed the door open just a crack. Just enough to poke her head through the gap. She hovered for a second, hesitating before stepping the rest of the way into my room.

“Do you still want that hot chocolate?” She asked.

Right, she’d made some before we left. It was probably still hot, at least warm in it’s insulated container. Longing rose, dull and aching in my chest. She used to make the best hot chocolate, back before everything went wrong.

Ember looked away, swaying a little as she spoke. “If you’re not up to the park, what about the back yard?”

I raised my head. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. The park would still be there another night.

[boxoftheskyking]

Something Good, Part Five

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four.

In which there are water ghouls.

---

There are water ghouls in Caiyi Town. This is apparently not a new phenomenon, and dealing with them is common enough that the senior disciples can use it as a test of sorts. Lan Wangji has also decided it will be an educational experience for the junior disciples to observe. In reality this is an end-of-the-first-month test for Wei Wuxian called “Herd eleven children down a mountain for two hours.”

They are tired. They are thirsty. Lan Feifei has lost her shoes. Ouyang Zizhen got an extra turn on Wen Ning’s back and it’s not fair. Lan Ting is allergic to some kind of leaves, but will not stop touching all of the leaves. Lan Jingyi is… consistently Jingyi.

Wei Wuxian does not believe in having favorite children—he and his siblings suffered enough under their parents’ favoritism and expectations. And, anyway, these children are far too different to compare. Zizhen is sweet and asks for adventure stories every night and looks at Wei Wuxian like he created the heavens and earth. Lan Feifei has her head in the clouds and the cutest little dreamy smile right before she falls asleep. But Jingyi is truly a child after Wei Wuxian’s own heart.

He’s not the only orphan left after the ambush that Wei Wuxian was blamed for, but he’s the youngest by far and still wakes up crying in the middle of the night. Wei Wuxian rearranged the dormitory so Jingyi now sleeps cuddled up with Lan Sizhui, which seems to help a bit. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure what Sizhui’s story is—he assumes the kid is also an orphan, but occasionally he spends extra time with Lan Wangji that’s never been explained. Perhaps he’s a close nephew or cousin.

But Jingyi is the most un-Lan Lan child of the bunch, and Wei Wuxian is very invested in keeping him that way. He doesn’t remember being four—his memories are fuzzy before life on the streets of Yunmeng, and even that is more images and impressions than any full events. Except for the dogs. But he thinks that four-year-old Wei Ying must have been like this child—excited, curious, incapable of looking before he leaps (off a table, off a step, into the underbrush, into a puddle), only taking a break from asking “Why?” in order to ask “Why not?”

Wei Wuxian loves it, and it drives him nearly off the ledge. Knowing Lan Jingyi as he knows himself, he spent an evening hand stitching extra ribbons into the back of Jingyi’s robes, reinforced around the waist so it doesn’t tear or pull or pinch when he grabs them. Far from being offended or annoyed the first time Wei Wuxian yanked him back on track by his handy leash, Jingyi simply crowed “I’m a horse!” and threw his whole weight forward against Wei Wuxian’s grip, little boots scuffing uselessly against the dirt. 

Without a golden core and after months in the Qishan prison he’s felt weak, scrawny and uncentered in his body. But lately, arms full of laundry and children, hands calloused from work instead of swordplay and more often than not tucked into scruffs of necks or latching onto misbehaving elbows, he’s starting to feel like a person again. Something solid, ground for building on.

Right now, Sizhui is on his shoulders, absently patting little fingers along his hairline, and Jingyi is being dragged along behind him like a dead fish.

“A-Yi, are you going to walk at any point today?” Wei Wuxian sighs.

Jingyi holds on to the leashes and flips himself around so he can look upwards. “Can I run?”

“No you cannot.”

“Then no.”

“Lan Jingyi!” Sizhui calls down from his perch, swatting a low-hanging branch out of his face. “You should behave better. You’ll be all dirty when we get to town and you will get in trouble!”

Wei Wuxian squeezes his chubby knees and turns around to wave the older kids forward.

“Wen Ning! Come here my friend, take this bag of turnips into Caiyi Town. Try to get a good price for it.” He swings Jingyi over and Wen Ning hauls him over his shoulder

Jingyi smiles as he bounces along upside down, singing, “Turnip turnip turnip” to himself all the way down the mountain.

Before they enter the town proper Wei Wuxian does his best to line them up properly and pick stray leaves out of hair.

“Now, young masters and ladies, remember you are representing the GusuLan Sect. Yes? Heads up, hands to yourselves.” The kids shuffle mostly into position. “The Lan Sect is very important to Caiyi Town. You understand? The town depends upon Lan cultivators to take care of problems like these water ghouls. So when the people see you, you want them to be confident in your abilities, yes? We are proud of where we come from. Lan Hua! Eyes front. You’re not just representing your humble Wei-qianbei, you know. You are representing our Hanguang Jun!” At that, shoulders snap back and grumbling ceases. Wei Wuxian feels a rush of fondness and gives them a grinning salute. “Very good! We want Hanguang Jun to be proud of us, yes?”

“Yes, Wei-qianbei!”

“Very good! On we go!”

Wei Wuxian feels like a mother goose, wrapped in grey servants’ robes and leading his white flock through the streets, Wen Ning bringing up the rear. Sizhui holds onto his hand, hopping every third step to keep up. Normally, Wei Wuxian would happily pick him up, but today is about being dignified. He’s glad for the firm little grip on his fingers, though. It’s been a lifetime since he’s been out of Cloud Recesses, and part of him expects the townspeople to spit at his feet. No one recognizes him, though. Passersby stop to watch the procession pass, bowing respectfully to the disciples. Wei Wuxian feels an odd warm pride unfurl in his chest, and when a mother in the crowd meets his eyes and gives him a knowing eyebrow raise, he lets himself laugh. Feast your eyes, everyone! Eleven children!

By the time they reach the edge of the lake, the senior disciples are already out on their boats near the center with Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen, having flown down on their swords earlier. Nothing exciting seems to be happening so far, but there’s a tense hush in the air that can be felt even at the shoreline. It’s just Wei Wuxian and the children at the water’s edge, townsfolk having decided it’s not worth the risk even to get a good look at cultivators in action. Wei Wuxian arranges the children around an ancient tree, roots and branches gnarled and grasping towards the water, so they can rest their tired legs and still have a decent view. Sizhui tugs on his robes until he lifts him back up on his shoulders.

“What’s happening, Wei-qianbei?” Lan Feifei pipes up from beside him.

“Hmm. It looks like Hanguang-Jun and the senior disciples are waiting for the water ghouls to appear. Perhaps they’re seeing something moving in the water.” He wiggles his fingers and puts on his most dramatic voice, and Feifei gasps appropriately.

When it happens, it’s sudden and almost anticlimactic. A boat flips, tossing one of the senior disciples into the air and the other straight into the water. Lan Wangji flies over immediately, hauling the first into a waiting boat and grabbing onto the other’s arms before he’s pulled completely under the surface. Almost immediately there’s a great rumbling sound and the surface of the lake starts to roil.

Wen Ning runs to the edge of the water. “Wei-qianbei! Someone needs to help Hanguang Jun!”

“This isn’t just ghouls,” Wei Wuxian mutters to himself, though he can see some of the creatures moving, just breaking the surface like sentient seaweed, swirling closer and closer to Lan Wangji’s hovering form. “It’s an Abyss.”

If he’s seen it, then certainly the two Jades have as well. He can’t tell what they’re doing from here, but the remaining boats seem to be regrouping, pulling away from the forming whirlpool. Lan Wangji and the drowning disciple are swept up in the tide, pulling closer to the shore where the juniors stand frozen, hands over tiny, terrified mouths. Bit by bit, Lan Wangji is starting to rise from the water, arm now locked around the disciple’s chest. His normally pristine hair and robes swirl around him, soaked nearly all the way through. The walls of water rise and fall around their bodies as the whirlpool increases in size and intensity. Suddenly, a dark tendrilous form rises from the wall of water, reaching towards the men from behind. Before it can make contact, the water whisks it away, but others begin to rise in its place.

“Wei-qianbei!” Wen Ning calls. “The ghouls!”

Wei Wuxian sets Sizhui down and hurries to the water’s edge. “Hanguang Jun!” he yells, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Lan Wangji, get your sword up!”

Whether he’s unheard or ignored, he’s not sure, but Lan Wangji does not react. 

“Lan Zhan!” he shouts, and he can feel the children behind him gasp as Lan Wangji’s head whips around towards him, just in time to duck another ghoul. There appears to be three of them whirling around, closing in little by little as the whirlpool increases in ferocity. From the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian can see action from the other boats, Zewu Jun leading the disciples in a spell that makes energy crackle across the misty air. But he only has eyes for Lan Wangji and the ghouls.

“Wei-qianbei, do something!” Yao Hualing cries, grabbing onto his sleeve. 

Wei Wuxian shakes her off and grabs his talismans out of his robe. Time doesn’t slow, exactly, but he feels his brain sharpen and focus. He bites at a hangnail on his thumb, ripping into the skin, and brushes a few hurried characters of negation in blood along two of the talismans—one meant to repair broken objects and one to put out fires. If he had his golden core he’d only need a few gestures—or, better yet, he’d have a sword and could fly into the fray—but this will have to do. 

Lan Wangji ducks another ghoul, and Wei Wuxian rethinks his plan. He rips his talismans into three and opens his cut further, drawing out more blood to repeat his characters on each torn piece. Then he pushes them away from him in a burst of energy, directed at the low-hanging tree branch to his right.

With a great crack the branch shatters into three pieces, all of which burst into flame and arc through the air to collide with each ghoul. There is a series of terrible screams and a smell of burnt grasses, and the ghouls sink below the surface. Lan Wangji rises up out of the water, the now-unconscious disciple wrapped in his arms. As he hovers, the whirlpool suddenly moves back across the lake, seeming to be pulled by a great force. 

Wei Wuxian misses whatever Zewu Jun is doing to address the Abyss. He probably should be paying attention to explain it to the children, but the gaping emptiness in his gut feels no smaller than the whirlpool Abyss itself. He finds himself on the ground, hands holding his body up, gasping in the wake of spiritual power. All humans have a reserve of some power naturally, but without a golden core to focus and grow it, it’s like a spark that never catches tinder. 

He feels a collection of little hands on his back, in his hair, a buzz of worry surrounding him as he coughs up blood. He’s just getting his breath back when one of the children screams, then another, then there’s a mighty roar that shakes the ground and almost forces out the rest of his breath. He shoves himself back onto his heels to see a wall of black-green water, taller than the tree beside him and advancing like a storm. 

“RUN!” he screams, shoving whoever he can reach behind him, picking up Sizhui by the back of his robes and throwing him at Ouyang Zizhen. He manages a step forward, arms held out in front of him, but there’s nothing inside him. No power, no fire, no anything. Even if he could get a spare talisman out, it’s nothing against the mass of water. He reaches instinctively for any resentful energy in the area, whistling out a tune of power and spitting out blood. But it’s not enough. Not even close.

Every town has a certain amount of latent energy—both spiritual and resentful—due to generations of living and dying on the same patch of land. But it’s not enough, barely anything, a few wisps of black smoke that he desperately weaves into the thinnest barrier, a blanket unable to keep out the cold. It’s not enough.

If this is how it happens, he thinks, his mind sinking into calm, at least I tried.

The last time he almost died, his mind was shrieking, desperate, clawing at the world and trying to hold on. But now, all he thinks about is the children. Run, please, run. And then, from nowhere, Lan Zhan, I’m sorry, I tried.

He closes his eyes and braces for impact.

It doesn’t come.

He feels a cold spray against his face and the skin of his chest where his robes have pulled open. When he opens his eyes, the water has subsided and Lan Wangji is standing in front of him, guqin hovering in the air before him and humming with an undeniable power.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian breathes, struggling to his feet.

Lan Wangji turns to him. “What did you call me?”

“Hanguang Jun. I—”

“How dare you summon resentful energy in Gusu.”

Wei Wuxian’s hero worship dies down as his hackles raise. “What was I supposed to do? Let the children drown? Not even try?”

Lan Wangji glares at him, a muscle in his jaw twitching so violently Wei Wuxian is reminded of Jiang Cheng.

“I don’t think anyone saw,” Lan Wangji says, finally, turning back to the lake.

“What?”

“My brother and the others. I don’t think they saw you.”

“I—” 

But he’s gone, sailing out over the lake to the boats at the center, white robes flapping behind him like the wings of a swan.

“Fucking—” Wei Wuxian mutters, but he cuts himself off and wipes his face on his sleeve before turning back to the children.

“My disciples!” he shouts cheerfully, pasting on a smile and holding out his arms. “How brave you all are!”

---

They commandeer an entire inn for the night. It’s been a long day; the children are exhausted, and a storm has been gathering at the edge of the horizon that promises lightning and torrential rain. The children packed into a few rooms upstairs, senior disciples on the ground floor, and Wei Wuxian has ended up with his own small pallet in what was probably once a storage closed. After the children are fed and sent to sleep, he wanders back down to the dining room.

He won’t sleep tonight. He’s tossed between so many emotions—thrill from the adventure, fear for the children, triumph at his successful talismans. But above all, the ache, the emptiness. 

Useless, useless, useless echoes inside him, screams into the dark canyon under his ribs. Completely useless.

It’s one thing to give up puppet armies, raising spirits and casting bolts of dark energy into a battle. It’s another to encounter himself at the moment of crisis, the moment he is truly needed, and to find himself just another man. Mediocre. To face the imminent death of the children he’s grown to adore so entirely. To stand with empty hands before the deluge.

I’m completely useless.

The innkeeper is leaning against the bar, absently reading over a scroll.

“Sir?” Wei Wuxian asks politely. “Can I trouble you for some wine?”

“Indeed, young master!” the man crows, jumping to attention. “Some Emperor’s Smile? The finest liquor in all of Gusu. No, in all the world!”

Wei Wuxian smiles slightly, not quite bitterly, remembering a night on a roof under a clear moonlit sky. The taste of sweet liquor and the smell of sandalwood.

“Ah, I’m just a simple servant. Whatever you have that is cheap will do me just fine.”

The innkeeper narrows his eyes, looks over his damp and rumpled appearance. “Were you with those cultivators that banished our water ghouls today?”

“I was— Yes, I was with them.”

The innkeeper grins, showing three shining gold teeth. “In that case, the drink is on the house. Please, enjoy with our gratitude.” He holds out two delicate white jugs tied with lace ribbon.

I don’t deserve it. I did nothing.

Wei Wuxian grins. “Your generosity will not be forgotten!” He bows and takes the wine back to his closet.

Useless.

With a rumble of thunder that shakes the foundation of the inn, the sky opens above him.

Part Six

[reeesea]

Something Sweet: Part Eight

~something special~

one ~ two ~ three ~ four ~ five ~ six ~ seven ~ eight ~ nine

pairing: minsung, han jisung/lee minho

warning: mild language, some alcohol consumption

words: 4.4k

summary:  Jisung gets his night out and a new birthday buddy 

a/n: This au isnt dead! yay, I hope you enjoy the mess <3

ao3 link

-----------

“Hyung, where are we going?” Jisung tried his best to sigh as loudly and dramatically as possible. “Today was already so long, you could've just left me on the couch tonight.” His whining was largely ignored by his friends to much of Jisung’s despair. He was feeling a little bit drained at the fact the trio had all spent the day in meetings with groups of people, and now was being dragged, his introverted ass to be exact, was being dragged out of their apartment to be around even larger groups of people. Damn his members for both being charismatic bastards with extrovert tendencies. 

“Ji, you're literally always complaining that we never go out. Aaand you're right. We never do sooo, here we are.” Changbin had all but peeled Jisung off his blanket pile on the couch and into his nicest pair of jeans and his “least offensive” shirt. According to Changbin of course that meant a sleek black button up, that he's pretty sure Changbin had gifted him some Christmas ago. But of course being Han Jisung he had found a few of his favorite accessories to complete his look.

“Plus something tells me you won't be complaining for too long, once we get there”

“What's that supposed to mean Channie-hyung”  

He continued on without giving him a response. They had been walking for only a few minutes, neon filling the street as streams of people made their way through to the various bars and restaurants on the block. The glow of the nightlife was electric, Jisung couldn’t deny it, but he still didn't find it to be what he would call a comforting atmosphere. It definitely had nothing on his blanket cocoon he had going on the couch. Spacing out as Chan led them through the streets, the oldest took an abrupt left into an entrance of a bar, almost hidden by the largest store fronts that occupied either side of it. 

As soon as Jisung stumbled through the doorway, a sense of deja vu came over him. Well maybe not deja vu because he had definitely been here before. The mirrored walls and the low lit space was now full of weekend patrons that breathed life into the place that he hadn't realized it was missing the first time he visited. Wait, when had he visited this place? 

“Jisung!” 

Minho!? Before he could spend any more time traversing his thoughts he looked over to the bar to find Minho smiling brightly at him. Unlike his first visit, Hyunjin was un-uniformed, seated on a stool alongside a giggling Felix, and not behind the bar. Chan and Changbin both shared a look before gently shoving Jisung to move out of the doorway and toward their friends. 

“What are you doing here?!” Jisung somehow didn’t think he would be seeing the older this weekend, they had shared similar sentiment over the past week that they were looking forward to a no-plan-weekend.

“What do you mean I work here.” Hyunjin mused sarcastically. Felix hit him, and got up enthusiastically to greet them. 

“WE’RE BIRTHDAY TWINS, we HAVE to celebrate” Felix hugged him immediately. Jisung was surprisingly comfortable in his clingy embrace. Something about the disarming nature of the boy made it feel almost natural, and maybe it was. Clearly a bit tipsy already the freckled boy talked animatedly about how excited he was to finally have a friend that was “LITERALLY” his age. Jisung admittedly could relate, and found himself beaming right back at his new companion.

---

Minho hadn’t taken his eyes off the youngest rapper since he ‘walked’, stumbled, through the door. He was initially afraid that Jisung would feel sore about celebrating his birthday with Felix but the bright look in his eyes when they met his, smoothed any of those anxieties. 

Last week, Minho was more than surprised to get a text from an unknown number. It turned out just to be Bang Chan looking to plan a get together between the lot of them for the youngest’s birthday. Tragic backstory and all, Chan was sure to elaborate on Jisung’s dreams of going out with his friends.

“He really just wants to be a normal kid ya know, well not a kid exactly, and not normal by any means, but you get my point. To be honest, as hyungs we feel bad for taking that away from him. He's so pure at heart really, and he works so hard, and I know he doesn't sleep enough, but does anyone really? hahaha, anyway...” Minho found that Chan rambled just like Jisung, it was painfully endearing. 

Of course, Minho had agreed to let them help coordinate a get together. It was mostly Chan who had his own work cut out for him. Negotiating with their company about last minute free time was a challenge but he just had to reassure their management that everything was in place and promise that they wouldn't do anything “newsworthy” to potentially hurt their debut. Minho reassured them that dispute the host club’s reputation, Sweet Lotus was probably the most secure club in town.

Chan had been frantically messaging Minho just an hour ago, about how they couldn't find Jisung, only to get a message ten minute later apologizing and reassuring him that he was actually just buried on the couch. Chan gave off single parent vibes so strongly, Minho can’t help but let his guard down, and found himself warming up to the 3RACHA leader quickly. He looks rather relieved to have made it to the Sweet Lotus with Jisung in tow. Jisung’s loud but warm laugh filled the air and Chan’s shoulders visibly relaxed with a gentle smile stretched across his face. Minho found his heart settled comfortably in his chest as well. 

---

“EXCUSE ME EVERYONE.” Although the statement was only for the ears of the six of them, a few surrounding victims were pulled in by Hyunjin’s dramatic exclamation. “I require a toast for this evening! Even though we haven’t known each other long. THIS night, is a night of celebration, of birthdays, of new friendships, of potential one nigh-” 

“Hyunjin!” 

“Sorry… Anyway, first ones on me boys lets get it.” dramatically distributing shots of clear liquid they all did a inaugural cheers simultaneously downing the shot. Jisung made a disgusted face that triggered some subtle harassment from Changbin, who pinched his cheeks fondly. 

The night now officially blessed by Hyunjin standards, Minho decided it was probably time to actually begin the night’s planned festivities. “While I do enjoy shots of free soju, that's not exactly why we're here. Is it?”

“It's not?” Granted Jisung had no clue why he was in most situations, but he was especially lost having been told nothing prior. 

“Come on Sungie, it’ll be fun” Minho took his hand subtly, and led them up a set of stairs near the back of the bar. Soft magenta light flooded the stairwell as they made their way to the second floor. Minho nodded at the tall handsome host at the entrance, allowing them to enter the lounge freely. Upbeat music flooded the room, bodies dancing under other multicolor lights seemed so content it was almost like a scene out of a movie. Pairs of couches laided with expensive looking fabric, and even more expensive looking patrons lined the walls. A light fog dusted the floor, and everything about the room felt intoxicating and indulgent.

Jisung looked up to find Minho’s gaze already on him, warm and inviting as ever. He looked like a perfect match to the pink haze and sweet scents that surrounded him. Minho led the group with such confidence and grace he matched his beautiful environment, it was very clear why he was so popular when he had worked at the Sweet Lotus. He embodied the very image. The self conscious part of his brain wouldn’t let him enjoy the image long though.  

Something about him couldn't help but feel like he stuck out. Sure Changbin had dressed him up for their outing, but he still couldn’t help but feel like he didn't belong to be surrounded by people as beautiful as his new friends. 3RACHA wasn’t exactly known for their beautiful charms or dainty visuals. Minho, Felix with his whimsical smile, and Hyunjin with his undaunting charisma were all in their element here. Jisung always had a rough time figuring out his image outside of 3RACHA.

Apparently sensing his anxiety he felt Minho's hand hold on to his firmer, and even Chan left a gentle pat on his head. Already situated themselves in a secluded booth near the back, Changbin had already gone off to order drinks for their table with Hyunjin, Felix was talking to Chan about their shared home town, Sydney. And then there was Minho. Looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a questioning look. 

“What, is there something on my face?” 

Minho’s giggles somehow sound like bells, Jisung can’t explain why. “No, no you just seem uneasy. I just want to make sure you're actually happy to be here”

“I am I promise! I'm just really surprised, I had a long day and I didn't really know what was happening until we got here, and I’ve never been to a place like this before, and I haven't seen you in a while and, wow let me tell you it's really good to see you.” Suddenly he felt like his face and hands were on fire. His connected hand with Minho’s burned with the realization. 

“Also you're still holding my hand! Did you know that? In case you didn't know I just wanted to make sure you knew. Not that I want you to stop I actually really enjoy it, but just in case you like forgot or somet-”

“You're adorable Sungie.” Minho’s eyes remained locked on Jisung with overwhelming fondness. Just ask Jisung, he was definitely overwhelmed. His face continued growing hotter until he saw a hand outstretched with a glass of liquor in front of his face.

“Ji, take the drink and close your jaw you'll thank me later.” Chanbin coaxed the flustered brunette to drink the bitter alcohol he had brought. Tearing away from Minho’s intense stare, he accepted the drink and took a sizable sip from the glass.

“LEE MINHO.” The 3RACHA boys all practically jumped out of their skins at the booming voice. While subtle grins formed on the unbothered roomates.

“Ope, Who told on me?” Minho asked, completely unfazed, looking at his roommate accusingly.

“It wasn't me….” Hyunjin’s lists of excuses died in his throat, as a woman dressed in a sparkling purple dress made her way over to their corner booth, finger already pointing accusingly at Minho. 

“How dare you show your face in this place after 3 months, without a WORD.” The woman almost sounded betrayed and hurt through her voice. Still it was obvious that the threatening woman immediately demanded respect with the way she held herself. Although her words were sharp her graceful features didn't deliver much real malice other than signs irritation at the oldest dancer.

“I’m sorry, Noona time got away from me~” Minho flashed his innocent puppy eyes and added a subtle charm to his words that the beautiful woman seemed to be completely immune to.

“Uh huh, and I'll pretend I believe that excuse.” Something akin to a standoff seemed to be occurring between the two. 

“But ONLY because I missed seeing your pretty face around here.” 

“...Guys, this is Momo-noona she owns Sweet Lotus.” Hyunjin’s attempt to provide the bystanders with some context broke the light tension in the air. Momo shifted her expression to a bright smile that suddenly screamed gentle kindness, void of all the intensity it had previously held at Minho.

Seemingly hoping to aid in the situation Chan jumped in to respond, “Oh well, it's great to meet you, I’m Ch-”

“Oh, don't worry, I know exactly who you are.” The eldest member’s eyes widened and a nervous laugh escaped his lips, not expecting to be recognized. Especially by the semi-threatening woman.

“You're the hometown heroes around here, the next big thing in the music industry hmmm?” 

The trio seemed to only be more cemented in their stunned silence. Momo’s smug expression did not last long before transforming into a large smile and welcoming expression. Her aura radiated a welcoming feeling, unmatched, even by her employed hosts.

“Truly, it's my pleasure that I get to host the 3RACHA boys, you'll always be welcomed here.”  

“I- uh um, Were flattered really, Thank-” Changbin stumbled out.

“You don't have to Thank me any sweet Changbinnie~ as long as you enjoy yourselves and promise to visit again. I’m happy.” Changbin’s ears glowed red at that, thankfully hidden by the colored lights.

“How do you know us so well? Is Hyunjin gossiping more than he should be?” Jisung poked some fun at the bartender.

“Hey! Confidentiality is our highest priority. I would NEVER!” Hyunjin crossed his arms defensively, sinking further into their booth.

Momo giggled, content with her employee’s loyalty, “Thank you for that Jinnie, but no a friend of  Sana is a friend of mine”

“Wait you know Sana-noona?” Jisung was surprised that Sana actually talked about them to her friends, a part of him hoped she was proud to be associated with them.

“Mhm, believe it or not your sweet Sana-nonna is my closest friend. We’re thick as thieves, we were even roommates for a few years when we first arrive in Korea” 

“Woah” Changbin was definitely glowing with some pride now at the implied indirect compliments and recognition. Meanwhile Chan was still trying to connect the dots in his head from all of the new information, a cute confused look on his face.

Momo took a moment to lean closer to Jisung’s face. Acknowledging their hands that were still joined. Directing her attention back on Minho with a smirk, “He’s a cutie Lee Know. I’ll give you a pass on abandoning me for months, if this one is the one stealing away from my establishment.”

  Minho grew red at the use of his past host name, and personal nickname from Momo. Minho’s nervous laugh erupted out of him. “Aaahhhhh okay Momo-noona thanks! it was great seeing you, ah would you look at that I need another drink. Come with me Hannie.” 

Minho was slightly scrambling to escape the booth in embarrassment at Momo’s dramatic encounter with them all. Jisung was pulled in tow from their joined hands. 

“Oh okay, it was nice meeting you Momo-ssi.” Jisung used his free hand to wave at their booth before they disappeared into the dancing crowd. 

Hyunjin had revived himself from the booth, giggling at his retreating roommate. Felix joined in too, and enjoyed seeing the flustered side of their hyung.

“Is he always that precious. I just have the urge to pinch his cheeks.” Alluding to Jisung, Momo turned to the remaining 3RACHA boys for confirmation.

“We all do.” Chan’s full charming smile and older brother's pride visible on full display.

---

The night continued as “planned”, once the unofficial couple returned from the bar. More alcohol was ordered to sustain the drinking games that Hyunjin had spearheaded into teaching the rest of them. Being the current university student apparently was enough qualification for the rest of them to follow without any resistance. 

“Okay and so once your turn is done you pass your glass to the next person and they have to go.” Although full of enthusiasm the rules didn't make sense, nor could anyone properly follow them, so it ended up just being Hyunjin yelling at the each of them when they should or shouldn't drink. 

“CHANGBIN they won on your turn, so that means you do a shot!” 

“What I- Okay hand me the bottle.” Without even pouring a glass, he shot back an acceptable amount of soju for Felix to drunkenly cheer from beside him. 

“Yay Changbin!!! Join me on my journey to blackout.”

“Lix baby, that should not be your goal.”

“It never is.” Felix sighed at his hyungs concerns, but not before taking a sip from his fruity cocktail he had ordered earlier. Jisung had an identical cocktail one that he had finished quickly. Felix had originally ordered them so they could “match for their celebration”. No one could ever say no to Felix, and that remains the only thing that makes him truly dangerous.

Overall, it was a mess, but all of them finished the game substantially more tipsy when they started. Jisung was definitely starting to feel the effects of the empty bottles and glasses around him. He felt a little numb but just enough to be more comfortable and accepting of the new atmosphere. Having not expected any of this tonight, he definitely found himself surprised that they all had gotten through the large number of bottles that the uniformed waitress had brought them not even an hour ago. 

The buzzed feeling in his body didn't make him any less aware of his company though. Felix's bubbly personality comforted and uplifted the whole group. Changbin ended up being a  relatively heavy drinker, having lost the most rounds during their games, and became more animated as the night went on. Chan was smiling almost non-stop and it made Jisung glad to see his oldest hyung relax and enjoy a night out, after working so hard for so long. Hyunjin’s laugh would echo through each conversation making the environment warm and fun. Jisung never would have thought that the fabled “night out” trope would actually feel relaxing. He couldn't help but smile to see his hyungs and his new friends become closer. So much of his life has shifted since meeting Minho.

Minho’s hand had been disconnected from his still they returned but they still sat knee to knee in the booth. The shared warmth of their legs and the mindless fiddling of fingers when Minho would reach over to play with the frayed strings on the holes of his jeans, kept the content feeling of butterfly wings steadily in his stomach. Jisung felt full of bliss as well as soju. 

-

Minho was mostly focused on all the group’s conversations and the liquid level of his glass, but every so often would sneak glances beside him to make sure Jisung was still smiling. Sometimes staring back, sometimes not but Minho wanted to make sure the other was enjoying his birthday celebration. The smile that had been plastered on Jisung’s face and his infectious laugh that flooded the room, was enough to reassure the older. 

Minho managed to stay just relatively tipsy for most of the night but the rest of his roommates did not seem to be as in control of their drinking as he was tonight. Hyunjin had descended into his sleepy contemplative state of drunk while Felix was practically buzzing with electricity as he talked off the 3RACHA members’, and anyone who would listen’s, ear off. 

Drawing back in to see how Jisung was doing he found that the younger boy’s eyes were already on him. A heart shaped smile spread across his face as their eyes met. 

“Before you give me those dopey eyes again. Yes, Minho-hyung I am having  a good time and have been since the last time you checked.”

Minho forced his mouth to close after being caught. He was about to deny his accusation when Jisung just reached for his hand and held it smiling, actively shutting the other up. Suddenly very distracted by the way the neon lights bounced off the others' faces to leave it practically glowing. Minho had always found himself curious of how Jisung could be so breathtaking and still act like he didn't know it. Jisung laughed at Minho’s expression, and who was he to not join him. He would never be able to deny that the younger’s laugh was irresistible. 

“Oh my god I love this song, come dance with meeee” A loud, very drunk Felix shouts, as the sunshine boy practically pulls Changbin, also a rather enthusiastic drunk, and Minho toward the dance floor. The inhuman strength of the younger when he is intoxicated is enough to somehow get his other two companions to their feet. Minho flashes an apologetic glance and an extra squeeze to Jisung’s hand at being physically yanked from their little moment. 

Jisung, understanding enough, just laughs at Felix’s drunk antics and motions for them to go ahead. Leaving him at the booth with a drunk Chan who is currently holding some “deep” conversation with a very tipsy Hyunjin. Seems Chan’s dad-like charms had gotten the princely boy to open up to him. This night had definitely ended up different than Jisung had first though but he'd be lying to say he wasn’t enjoying all of it.

“Han Jisung.”

Jisung looked up to find Sweet Lotus’s owner giving him an inviting expression. He couldn’t lie that Momo did not scare him a little. But he would say that if anything he just respectfully found her to be intimidating. 

“Oh hai.” Jisung tried his best to sober up and put on a friendly face. 

“Would you come with me for a moment?” Jisung nodded and got up from their table following the woman to a somewhat quieter area of the clubs open concept near some standing tables.

“So. I’m happy to see you are what's keeping my Lino so busy.” Her friendly smile grew wide.

“What me? No Minho has just been working hard on his other job. He also has auditions and dance and everything.” 

“Hmmm, I don't know. Minho has always had a lot on his plate, but I’ve never seen him actually look this happy.” 

“Really?” Jisung had never really considered how much Minho could have changed because of him. He didn't know much of Minho’s past. Before they had talked he was simply the nice attractive waiter he had given his number to. 

Jisung’s shock was clearly evident on his face, and Momo’s eyes softened at the confused, small, and slightly tipsy boy in front of her.

“Really I mean it, and if anyone would know it's me.” Jisung relaxed visibly, but still held on to  his apprehension. 

“Jisung, I know you're a good kid. Sana’s told me a lot about you boys and she really swears by it. That you're something special, and I can see it too.” Jisung’s heart lifted in his chest a little with pride for his group. But Momo’s expression remained serious. 

“But to me, Minho is truly something special, and I feel like you already know that”

“I knew immediately.” He nodded aggressively, and spoke freely with his filters gone due to the alcohol. Momo giggled at Jisung’s honesty.

“You're such a sweetheart Jisung, but I want to give you some advice about Minho.”

Jisung nodded enthusiastically.

“Minho may be the shining gem he seems to be, but he's also fragile. He's not always as confident as he appears, and can be really stubborn.” 

Momo’s expression grew somber for a moment before continuing, “What I’m trying to say is look out for him. Please. He’s placed a lot of faith in you already. So be sure to take care of him, and don't let him push you away. He's a fool with his emotions, especially when he's scared.”

Jisung could feel the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders, but it was a weight he wanted to be worthy of bearing for Minho.

“I’m trusting you here Jisung-ah, Minho stopped letting me take care of him a long time ago, and I'm afraid he's been on his own for longer than he should to be. I would love to see you continue to make him happy.” Momo’s smile was full of fondness now, but something about it was still slightly somber.

Jisung didn't want to let her trust in him go to waste. “I always want to be by Minho-hyung’s side, I promise to do my best Momo-ssi” 

Momo laughs with her slightly disarming giggles, her expression visibly relaxing back into a friendly smile. “Sana’s right you really don’t know how powerful you are.” 

“What do you mean?” Jisung was confused at the sudden change in conversation but he found Momo’s change in demeanor to be comforting that she believed in him, at least a little bit, to heed her warnings. 

“She means you're too cute for your own good.” Minho voiced from just behind Jisung, making his head turn quick enough to catch Minho draping his arm around the younger’s shoulders.

“Noona are you done terrorizing my Sungie now?”

“I would never! Right Jisung~” Momo winked her eyes playfully in response.

Jisung tried his best to cover up his confusion, and flashed his most convincing innocent puppy dog eyes, “Yeah hyung we were just talking.” 

“About me I hope.” Minho giggled at them both, only slurring his words slightly. Turning his head toward Jisung, leaving barely two inches between their faces. But alcohol has a funny way of erasing their usual personal boundaries.

“Well I'm stealing you away now, less talky and more dancy for the birthday boy.” Minho giggled more and Jisung felt his heart leap in response, as he moved the two of them toward the dance floor.

“Have fun boys~” Momo waved and watched them disappear into the crowd with a hopeful smile on her face.

---

The night progressed full of dancing, longing stares, and being too close to each other for it to be considered friendly. Eventually the pair’s roommates had headed home or disappeared off for the night, leaving Minho and Jisung alone in the pink neon lights of the Sweet Lotus. Jisung’s night out had been everything he could’ve hoped for and more. It took more effort than either of them would like to admit to let go of each other's hand once they had to depart for the night. 

Almost every part of Jisung was screaming for him to not let the other leave, and that he should stay. But both of them knew that the morning would just bring them more work, that sadly didn't leave room for long morning’s together. 

But If Jisung was only able to let go of Minho’s hand after the older had to let it go in order to cup his cheek instead, and give him with a gentle kiss goodnight, that was between the two of them as far as Jisung was concerned. And if Jisung went to bed smiling like a fool with red cheeks and red lips then that was for only him to know. And if Minho’s smile mirrored Jisung’s while he stayed up thinking about pink lights and heart shaped smiles, then that was only his to know. 

-----

Thank you for reading ily <3

one ~ two ~ three ~ four ~ five ~ six ~ seven ~ eight ~ nine

[wildroseofarran]

Facing Demons || Brett, Guildias, MJ, & Pete || April, 2020

Brett: It had been several weeks since Brett had received that letter from California. During that time the letter had sat untouched in his locked desk drawer at the station, coming out only once when it had been shown to his domitor.

The rest of the time had been spent keenly aware of its presence while contemplating burning it or trying and failing to work up the courage to get it out again. Brett could think of good reasons to do the former and only one to do the latter, yet somehow, he hadn't ever been able to bring himself to get rid of it. He hadn't been able to work up the courage either.

Truth be told, he had no idea what finally made him do it; just that while having his lunch one afternoon, he found himself unlocking that drawer and looking at that number scrawled on the bottom.

"God help me," he sighed.

{Text to MJ} Hi

{Text} Does the offer still stand?

MJ: MJ felt for his phone on the bedside table. Blackened out room. Still no night vision; still no desire to live in daylight.

The brightness of the screen burned his retinas, hissing like a cat. The phone bounced between hands in an exhausting rescue attempt.

{Text} Whoooo yes. Hi. {Text} If this is the sheriff absolutely

Brett: Right, new number. MJ wouldn't remember Brett's phone number, he should've self-identified. Silly mistake brought on by buckets of anxiety.

{Text} Yeah, sorry about that

{Text} It's Brett Parker

MJ: {Text} Sup man

{Text} Where ya want? When?

{Text} Please don't say right now my eyeballs are roasting

Brett: Brett stared down at his phone, worrying his lip between his teeth. He hadn’t thought he’d make it this far and didn’t have a plan.

{Text to Guildias} Hey

{Text to Guildias} I finally got up the courage to contact MJ

Guildias: {Text from Guildias} Are you alright?

Brett: {Text to Guildias} Kind of. Feeling anxious and like I shouldn’t be eating lunch because I’m afraid I might see it again

{Text to Guildias} He’s asking where and when I want to meet

Guildias: The next text takes a minute.

{Text} You wish for me to accompany you?

Brett: {Text} I would, if you’re still willing

Guildias: {Text} Where would you feel most comfortable?

Brett: {Text} Your place, if we’re being completely honest

Guildias: {Text} Set up the meeting, then.

Brett: {Text} What time works best?

Guildias: {Text} Eight o'clock. {Text} Have to yield to our schedule tonight.

Brett: Brett had figured as much. At least he had a few hours to calm himself down and work up even more courage to actually go through with it.

{Text} I thought as much

{Text} Is it okay if I come a little early?

Guildias: {Text} It'll just be me. I would prefer you first.

Brett: Brett took a deep breath. That much was a relief. Getting there first was just a small little thing but he knew from other experiences that it would help a lot.

{Text} Okay, thank you

{Text} Is it all right if I get there around 7:30?

Guildias: {Text} That's fine. Wait at the door for me and do try not to be alarmed by my appearance.

Brett: He frowned at his phone. Alarmed? Why would he be alarmed?

{Text} I promise I'll try my best

{Text} See you tonight

Guildias: Guildias felt under-dressing, shirtless as he had been for days, would distract from the occasion. A black loose-fitted V-neck sweater was slipped into and tucked. The left sleeve hung, empty from down the elbow.

A text was sent Callum, warning of the impending chapter about to unfold.

Brett: Now that there was a plan in place, Brett turned his attention back to his other conversation with a bit less anxiety.

{Text to MJ} No, don't worry. I'm working right now

{Text to MJ} Are you free tonight at 8? We can meet at Guildias' house

MJ: MJ stared for a moment. He shouldn't have been surprised. Something in the suggestion of Guildias insulted him.

{Text} Yeah. I'll see ya then

Brett: {Text} See you then

{Text} Also, just out of curiosity, why are your eyeballs roasting?

MJ: {Text} Daylight sheriff

{Text} I have this skin condition see

{Text} Where everything hurts and I'm dying because daytime

Brett: {Text} Right, forgot it's the middle of the day only for me

{Text} Sorry about that

{Text} I'll see you tonight

MJ: {Text} Get some vitamin D for me

Brett: {Text} Will do

Now to attempt to finish his lunch and the rest of his shift despite the queasy feeling in his stomach. He also had to tell Bo that he would be home late.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he sighed to his sandwich.

Guildias: Guildias unlocked the one and only entrance at 7:15 pm. Walked around the house once and stepped outside with a pair of brown octagonal sunglasses. The moon was warm and far too bright to ignore tonight. Its image a reminder of Peter Graham. Made him curious enough to message the gentle beast as he took a seat on the edge of the porch.

Brett/Pete: Brett was still busy working up courage in his car somewhere, but Pete not nearly as much. The pub was quiet tonight, giving him a chance to check his phone.

{Text} Fancy hearing from you

{Text} What are you up to?

Guildias: {Text} Growing things. Relaxing by moonlight and thinking of you.

{Text} But truly, playing the role of mediator.

Pete: {Text} Awww, that’s sweet. Growing things is certainly one way to put it

{Text} Who or what are you mediating?

Guildias: {Text} A lost relationship.

{Text} I strive to squash avoidable headaches.

Pete: {Text} Nothing breaks the ice like food and booze

{Text} Could help avoid those headaches

Guildias: {Text} If it were only so simple.

Pete: {Text} There’s gotta be something that’ll help

Guildias: {Text} Time and proof and willingness.

Pete: {Text} Sounds like you’ve got at least one of those if you’re being asked to mediate

Guildias: {Text} We shall see if that is the case.

{Text} You take care now.

Brett/Pete: {Text} You too, man

{Text} Sending you luck and good energy

Two things Brett was in sore need of as he pulled up to Guildias’ house. It was just shy of 7:30 but he hadn’t been able to drive around in idle circles any longer.

He just hoped Guildias wouldn’t mind.

Guildias: Guildias watched, raised his hand in wave, cigarette pinched between two fingers. He seemed to be favoring his right shoulder, elbow leaned against the porch. The sleeve of his left arm was mostly empty, laid flat over his abdomen.

Brett: Brett didn't notice at first. He waved back and cut the engine, got out just as he always did. It didn't hit him that something looked...not quite right until he was walking towards the house, and even then, it took him getting even closer to see that Guildias' left hand wasn't poking out of its sleeve.

And actually...that left sleeve looked empty, didn't it? Almost like....

"Wait, wh--where's your arm?! Sorry, hi, I just--hell, I broke my promise already."

Guildias: "It's alright." Less panic than expected of the timid sheriff. Another tally in his progression. More concern than fear.

"It was by design. You'll find me in proper form next week. For now, I would appreciate your tying the end."

Brett: There was definitely more concern, along with an avalanche of questions that he planned to keep to himself for the time being. "Yeah, yeah, of course. Just tell me how."

Guildias: "Just a simple knot. Not too tight. The dangle is rather annoying."

Brett: "You got it."  Brett tied off the sleeve as neatly as possible, careful not to stretch the material too much. If Guildias really would get that arm back, that sleeve needed to look decent.

"There you go. That better?"

Guildias: Where it seemed the elbow was shook back and forth to test. Acceptable.

"Thank you. Now, would you rather we go inside?"

Brett: Brett took a seat beside Guildias. "I'm okay to stay out here a bit while you finish your cigarette."

Guildias: "Kind as always." He knew the answer, but still offered the cigarette anyway.

Brett: He shook his head. “Someday maybe, but not today. Thanks though.”

Guildias: "How prepared are you for what's about to happen?"

Brett: “Not nearly enough.”

Guildias: "What is it you want to hear?"

Brett: “I don’t know. Part of me still thinks this is all a trick somehow.”

Guildias: "I've been in contact with him for some time. I would not lead you astray for cheap entertainment."

Brett: He nodded. “I know. I guess I just don’t trust him.”

Guildias: "Why would you? You haven't seen him."

Brett: “What if I’m still not able to after I do see him?”

Guildias: "Then you don't have to see him again. But you will have faced him."

Brett: Brett nodded again, taking a deep breath for good measure. "Conquer your demons and all that, right?"

Guildias: "Or leave them as tar on your body."

Brett: "I've got enough tar already. Don't want anymore."

Guildias: "Good man." The last of his cigarette depleted, Guildias forced himself to his feet.

"Shall we?"

Brett: He could feel the knots begin to form in his stomach as he stood. Every part of him wanted to get back in his car and race back home so he could hide under the covers, but his feet would carry him inside after his domitor.

MJ/Guildias: There was no concealing the sound of MJ's Harley. Its classic intention could be heard a quarter mile through the muffling trees. A sound which did nothing to spur Guildias from his languid arrangement on the stiff couch. Only in the silence of the engine did the Setite rise to his feet.

"Remain comfortable," was his only command as he approached the door.

Brett: It was like flipping a switch; or it would be, if Brett hadn't already been so nervous. First sign of that bike coming toward the house and the stress sweat started, the knots in his stomach tightened to the point of discomfort, fight or flight activated in every possible way.

If he spoke one of them would win out, so he just nodded. Never mind that comfortable was the farthest thing from what he was feeling right now. He just wanted it to be over. He wanted to have faced it without having to face it.

MJ/Guildias: Guildias greeted MJ at the door. He needn't explain. For this to be their meeting ground, MJ knew there were unspoken rules. Don't approach; be gentle with the ghoul. The look in the Setite's eyes told him to behave, and without prompt he nodded.

MJ's first thought upon laying eyes on the sheriff was that of a porcelain doll. Without smoothness and impossible complexion. Brett Parker was a delicate creature. His arms and chest had since filled and firmed. Everything else was distinctly the same. It was as though Guildias had done nothing but indulge the ghoul in vitae. His initial feeling was that of anger, but then like a slap remembered the deed which brought them here.

He decided upon a simple greeting, uttered softly, apologetic in inflection.

"Hey."

Brett: Brett didn't make eye-contact or get to his feet. Instead he picked a spot somewhere in the region of MJ's middle and gave a jerky nod in greeting and something that could reasonably pass for a smile.

"Hi." His voice had lost its ease in an effort to keep it from trembling. It was stiff, just like all the rest of him.

MJ/Guildias: MJ exchanged a glance with Guildias, looked to the emptiness of his sleeve and scoffed. The logical path to take was that of avoidance. For at least five minutes.

"Ya hear how that happened?"

Brett: He shook his head. "I didn't ask, I just tied."

MJ/Guildias: "Oh ya did that?"

"Is that a story you wish to hear?" Guildias asked.

Brett: He really, really doubted that a story that ended with Guildias losing an arm was something he wanted to hear, not even on a good day. But it was probably best to keep the conversation going, otherwise it would stall and the space would fill with tense silence and that was worse.

"Sure."

MJ/Guildias: MJ held his hands up in submission, then down slowly at his sides before taking a seat directly across. Guildias took to the arm of the couch by Parker's side. The Ravnos began to explain his visit, his friend Abel Harrington, and the idea to rescue a child they had suspicions had somehow fallen into through the Gauntlet into another realm. He then held both hands to Guildias.

"I couldn't go in. Had t'play security guard. But if ya ever saw Poltergeist ya got an idea of the goo they were covered in when they got out."

"The child is safe and healthy, according to news," said Guildias.

Brett: Brett had to fight to keep from leaning against Guildias for safety and comfort, but he appreciated his domitor’s nearness nonetheless. It was exactly the sort of thing Guildias would do.

At least the story provided plenty of distraction. There were parts of it—most of it— he could scarcely believe, things that sounded too fantastical to ever be real. He probably wouldn’t if he had any other job and didn’t watch TV.

“I remember hearing about that kid when he first went missing. Every law enforcement agency in the state got an alert. Glad he’s okay.”

MJ: "All in a night's work. Should give Guildias a superhero name. Somehow I've been dubbed Aquaman." He remembered giving Xavier his name, but couldn't for the unlife of him remember how he'd been worthy of his moniker. Something to ask when this was over; something to take his mind off of the meek look in the sheriff's eyes.

"M'sorry," he finally said.

Brett: After having braved enough to look at MJ’s chest, Brett seemed to lose his nerve and looked down at his hands instead. He had them clasped in his lap, knuckles white with the effort to keep them from shaking.

At a loss for a response, he remained silent.

MJ: "Ya don't have t'say anything. I know I fucked up. Ya looked at me like I was some... dangerous stranger. Thought if I could make ya laugh." He imitated a heartbeat. "N'then I had no thoughts. I know more shit happened, but I don't have it."

Brett: For a moment he swore he could smell lavender again. More than once a passing whiff of it had sent him into a panic, made him horribly ill. It was forever linked with that night in his mind. But apparently only in his.

“You don’t remember,” he said to the floor.

MJ: "I was two people. One that wanted t'love ya, the other wanted to... have ya."

Brett: “Which one is here?”

MJ: "Both."

Brett: “How?”

MJ: "Threat of death can do a hell of a lot. I became we became I." His hands came out then fell to his knees. "I keep tellin' people I'm not Victoria. I'm not MJ."

Brett: That didn't really answer his question, but he wasn't sure he really wanted an explanation. Some questions you just didn't want the answers to.

"Who are you?"

MJ: "I'm in this body, so you can still call me MJ, or Mayhew, or asshole. Whatever works."

Brett: "So you're still named MJ. Who are you. Why'd you send me that letter in the first place if you didn't even remember what you did?"

MJ: "Ya didn't deserve what happened. I know that much. Isn't that enough?"

Brett: "Would it be for you?"

MJ: "If it meant anything t'ya."

Brett: "And what is it that you want from me?"

MJ: "T'know you're okay."

Brett: "You sent me the letter weeks ago and I'm just now here with you. What does that tell you?"

MJ: "M'not askin' for forgiveness."

Brett: "It would be meaningless if you were."

MJ: "It'd be a child askin' forgiveness for the sins of the mother."

Brett: "It would be meaningless because you wouldn't know what you were asking forgiveness for."

MJ: He placed both fists together. Exactly.

Brett: Brett’s gaze fell to the floor.

So. This was it. This was as close to closure as he was ever going to get. He got to feel unclean for the rest of his life and have nightmares and panic attacks while the person who made him this way got...nothing. MJ got to be a whole new person, free of the burden of that night while Brett was left to shoulder it alone.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting or if he was really expecting anything. It wasn’t like he had any reason to. That night had broken him in a thousand different ways but he was fully aware that from a vampire’s perspective, the whole thing had been his fault. For refusing. For being difficult. For believing, just for a moment, that he was a person who had the luxury of saying no. Life had already taught him that that wasn’t a word he could say anymore. He was a ghoul.

And ghouls didn’t get to say no.

Brett sighed. “I don’t know what else to say.”

MJ: "Ya ain't - Ya don't have t'say anything else. I'm... I'm glad ya let this happen. Us," he motioned between them, "but this wasn't for me. If someone did what - I want ya t'feel... safe again? I had a whole speech planned out, but I can't. That shit feels empty."

Brett: He shook his head. “I don’t. Feel safe. Not anymore, not for months.” Despite his progress, he still had bad days. When those bad days were really bad, they led to bad weeks.

The scent of lavender or pumpkin, a stranger touching him in public, a nightmare, a shadow on the kitchen tile out of the corner of his eye, the sight of blood; it felt like anything was liable to set it off.

MJ: "What d'ya want me t'do, Brett?"

Brett: That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? What could MJ do that would change anything?

Brett sighed. “Unless you’ve got a time machine...nothing. This is for me to deal with.”

MJ: "I ain't got one of them. Don't think it'd do ya good." Without thinking, he rubbed the back of his head. A tingle there akin to an itch.

Brett: “Sure as hell wouldn’t hurt.”

MJ: "How long's it been? What ya do since then? Ya'd lose all that."

Brett: “That’s easy to say for someone with no memory,” Brett said to the floor.

MJ: "Yeah, but I still got people."

Brett: Good for you, he thought, sounding sarcastic even in his mind. Why was he still here? There was nothing more to say, and they'd established there was nothing more to do.

He'd done it, he'd faced his demons, and all he'd gotten was the knowledge that his demons had gotten off scot-free. It was, as he'd said, for him to deal with.

Away from here.

"I'd like to go home now," Brett said, turning his head toward Guildias but not looking at him. He felt...defeated. Sounded it, too.

MJ/Guildias: "No one here will stop you," Guildias said. This was all for Brett Parker's peace of mind. Face the fear, as he'd encouraged for months. This chapter had finally reached its end.

MJ nodded, felt the safest route was stillness. Let Brett command the room and leave at his own accord.

"If ya wanna talk, or need me t'do somethin', ya got my number."

Brett: Brett acknowledged both of them with a nod and got to his feet. He couldn’t conceive of a situation where he’d want to turn to MJ for a favor or sympathetic ear, not now. Perhaps not even in the near future. But he supposed the offer counted for something in some cosmic sense.

That was about as much graciousness as he could muster at the moment.

He gave a sedate farewell to his domitor, gave MJ a vague grunt of acknowledgement, and let himself out, giving the couch where MJ sat as wide a berth as he could without clinging to the wall.

He wasn’t up for company, didn’t want to bring this mood and this...this home to Bo. So he’d drive around until he could find someplace quiet to be with his thoughts where no one would talk to him.

[apollo-writes-random-shit]

omg!! please please please do gasoline with race!!

Ahhhhhh! Sorry, this took so long! I wrote this like three or four times and I’m still not 100% happy with it lol. I did some research and it turns out the song is actually about Halsey’s struggles with mental health while being in the spotlight so I used that but don’t worry! This has a happy ending!

Song requests

AO3 copy

Are you insane like me?

He was pretty sure every kid at some point had wanted to be famous and here he was. Gone from causal dancing to acting and singing, all thanks to a small show that had been secretly visited by a talent scout. Multiple doors had opened for the young teen but with the fame came extreme expectations and with those expectations came extreme stress. 

Everything seemed to be dictated by his manager, one William Snyder. As grateful as he was for the jobs Snyder had landed him, he was driving Race insane. Every single little thing was scrutinised, from the things he ate and drank, to even his hairstyle when he went out. His smile had to be perfect every time to 'keep up his image' but it got tired having to look perfect all the time. 

Don't get him wrong, he adored his fans but at the same time, he wished he could go out without being stopped every five minutes for photos and videos, being made to repeat lines constantly. 

Been in pain like me?

Every day left him exhausted, even if he had only been shopping. Everything had to be perfect to make sure he avoided any bad publicity. He was still young so why ruin his career so early? 

Sighing, Race stared at his schedule. Countless practises for both dances and an upcoming audition filled every day, leaving him with almost no time for himself. He had only a few hours after evening practice and he knew he'd spend most of that sleeping. 

He could already feel the pain that would come with everything. Today's practise had already wiped him out, body flowing with pain. After being scouted, Race had discovered muscles he didn't know existed thanks to the pain that came with the job. 

However, he could deal with the physical pain but the mental pain? Not so much. He knew the others were getting worried about him but it didn't stop him from following all of Snyder's strict rules...Even if it caused him to throw up some mornings and night before practice. 

Bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me? Just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me?

Well, he followed most of the rules but Race liked to have fun, even if that meant drinking some nights, whether it be cheap beer or expensive champagne, he'd take it, only to pour whatever remained down the drain the next morning in shame before scrubbing his teeth to get rid of any hint of the alcohol that was forbidden.

That's what he was currently doing, letting the taste of his toothpaste take over the taste of morning breath and expensive champagne. Rising the toothbrush, he chuckled softly as he licked his lips, savouring the artifical taste of bubblegum. Despite the event happening over a week ago, Race could still see Jack's face when he walked out of the bathroom carrying it. He knew he wasn't a kid but that wouldn't stop him from buying the 'kiddie' toothpaste, no matter how 'disappointed' it made his older brother. 

Would you use your water bill to dry the stain like me?

Walking out to the kitchen, he noticed the damp paper resting on the table, causing him to shake his head. He had spilt a little of his drink on the table and mopped it up with the closest thing which appeared to be the bill he opened last night. 

Not that it mattered, he could still read it which meant he'd be able to know who to pay. That and he had read it last night and despite getting drunk, his sharp mind still remembered every word. 

He would concern himself with that later, instead focusing on making his breakfast smoothie before rushing out that door, hoodie pulled over his head to hide his face in the short run down his driveway. Sure, no one was around but that didn't mean he wasn't paranoid about being spotted. He already had to deal with stalkers and so far, none of them had found his house and he'd like to keep it that way thank you very much. 

Softly singing along to the radio, he grinned to himself as set off, heading towards the dance studio. Sure, Snyder was going to be there to see his progress which meant he'd have to work harder. At least Romeo and Tommy always gave him good criticism instead of berating him when they taught him a new move. Even in Tommy Boy would jokingly kick his feet into the right position while telling him to keep up. Out of everyone he had been taught by, the two were his favourite. Tommy would teach him the dances while Romeo took care of the acting and like almost everyone, they thought Race should get rid of the man. 

Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me?

Shaking the thought out of his head, he pulled into the car park, flipping his hood back up before speedwalking inside. 

It was only when he got inside the studio that he relaxed, something that always happened. Sure, most of the time sometimes he'd walk out and there would be a small crowd outside the building which he found awkward considering he was still all sweaty and smelly. There was only so much a towel and deodorant could do until he had access to a shower. Sure, the dance studio had showers but honestly, Race didn't like them. He also felt awkward showering in a building where his fans might find a way to sneak in. He might love his body but he didn't feel like having nudes of him spread across the internet where anyone could access it.

"Damn, look who finally showed up."

"I'm late by one minute Tommy Boy. Traffic was horrible." 

"Whatever, warm-up you dork." The Australian chuckled, scrolling through the playlist, trying to decide which routine to have his friend start with. Subtly, he clenched his jaw as another presence filled the room. He really didn't like when Snyder was in the studio but unfortunately, he had no say. He knew the man liked to see that his client was actually making progress. Sure, some of his dancers would have their manager show up occasionally but Snyder came twice a month to take notes on Race before taking the teen to the side to lecture him, almost like he was trying to undermine everything he had been taught. He really hated him in all honestly but hey. He couldn't fire him, only Race could and considering the number of gigs Snyder had landed him, he doubted he'd be let go anytime soon. 

Race shook out his limbs after stretching, pretending that he didn't sense the tension between his manager and instructor. If he ignored them, he could actually focus properly. He had learnt during the first few sessions that Snyder had sat in, that if he let the tension distract him, he'd slip up and get a long lecture about how he had to 'focus more if he wanted to nail a role'. So, he just pretended to be alone, letting the music flow through him. As cheesy as it sounded, Race liked to pretend that he was one with the sound. The noise was his dance partner, the leader of the pair. He followed its gentle coaxing willingly, allowing it to control every step.

It gave him a high that nothing could replicate, no matter how hard he had tried in the past. Dancing gave him something that he couldn't explain. Something that couldn't be described. He was addicted to it.

He allowed himself to come to a stop, his partner leaving him with a gentle caress and smile. Race grinned at himself in the mirror, slowly coming down from his high, allowing himself to relax, calmly walking over to his duffle bag, yanking his towel out before wiping his face off. As much as he loved dancing, he didn't like the sweat that came with it. 

Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?

Tommy's compliments were cut off by the clearing of someone's throat and the two turned to look at Snyder who was lounging in a chair in the corner. "Your turns were sloppy Higgins. You fell out of a few turns, your feet weren't pointed during one of your jumps and your arms looked strange. You need to work on those."

"With all due respect sir, I believe he did quite well."

"Clearly you weren't paying close enough attention to your student Manchester. We all know he can do better. If he nails this video, even more doors will open for him and surely you want that for him."

"I do but."

"Then you'll allow me to critique my client. I want what's best for him after all." 

Race sighed. "I'll work harder. It's okay." Sure, he knew he was overworked as it was, but he could always try harder. There was always room for improvement after all.

Tommy just shook his head, knowing what Snyder wanted was a fat paycheck. Race wanted to please everyone and that included Snyder, even if the man pushed him past the point of breaking. Once discovering that Race had an empty basement, Snyder had pushed him into turning it into a mini studio for extra practice and would often visit to watch and offer more 'corrections' when really, he spent most of the time on his phone, only sparing glances up at the mirrors, pushing the teen to almost the point of collapse before lecturing him at the way he had become so wobbly. He didn't care that the boy was tearing himself apart in hopes of earning the praise he had been craving all his life. Race lived to entertain people and so far, he had failed to fully impress Snyder. 

Do the people whisper 'bout you on the train like me?

Buttons sighed as he listened to the faint sound of music, vibrating through the wooden floor. He was there to do final adjustments to Race's costume for the video tomorrow and wasn't surprised that he'd be found in the makeshift studio. Whispers floated around not only Race's friends but some of Buttons' friends in the clothing industry. Race seemed ready to fall apart and it was a waste of talent. He was being pushed too far and from Buttons had learnt, had recently been pushed into modelling as well, taking up even more of his time, leaving him more exhausted than normal. 

Saying that you shouldn't waste your pretty face like me? And all the people say...

Shaking his head, Buttons headed down steps, rapping on the door to inform the other of his presence, watching as he stumbled slightly. Race had been sucked into the whirlwind of fame, dragged into an uncaring industry, one deadset on farming out copies and copies, ones that would give them the cash they craved. 

It destroyed every member they took in, ruining their minds and bodies until they were dumped, left to eventually fade away, replaced with a newer shiny version. As famous as someone was, it was surprisingly hard to be remembered. Making something that everyone remembered for years to come might be somewhat easy, but having your name in everyone's mind for years? That was much harder. 

Fame was a dream for a lot of people but that dream would turn into a nightmare quickly. 

You can't wake up, this is not a dream, you're part of a machine, you are not a human being.

Buttons loved seeing his work in videos but looking at the way his crafts looked on Race's skinny shaking body made him feel sick.

"Really. You need to take better care of yourself."

"Gotta look my best Buttons." Race just grinned, brushing off the concerns like normal.

"Tony seriously. Everyone's telling you the same thing. You need to eat more." The tailor shook his head, scanning the other's body to spot anything off with it. "You always look ready to collapse and you're shaking!"

"Buttons...I'm just following what's set out for me."

"Don't you think it's going a bit far?"

"Nah. It's fine. After all, it could be worse." Race just shrugged, holding his arms up when prompted. 

With your face all made up, living on a screen.

While talking to Buttons was always fun, Race was relieved to see him leave. Whenever he spoke to someone alone, they always told him to drop his manager. That he looked like he was five seconds away from being rushed to the nearest hospital. 

It didn't help that Snyder had become stricter later, criticizing his body and form more than normal, not caring that he was breaking his spirit. He was one of many, easily replaceable in the mind of the industry, something that Snyder liked to remind his client of constantly, claiming that it was 'in his best interest that he followed everything to the letter', forcing him to practise harder whenever he strayed from the harsh guidelines he set out.

Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline.

Requesting time off just brought another lecture. Hell, Race had to beg and fight to be allowed to take his birthday off and out of everything the man had done, that's what pissed Race's friends and family off the most. Jack had been close to demanding the man's address or phone number, only for Davey to stop him. It was no secret that Jack and Snyder had bad blood, disagreeing over what was best for the dancer/actor. Jack had known him all of his life while Snyder had only known him for roughly two years. 

Race hated the relationship between his manager and older brother but did his best to never let it trouble him. He desired to be on his A-game at all times after all and any form of tension would throw him off, only causing him to work harder than any other day. Snyder constantly likened him to every other young celebrity out there, reminding him all the time that he was replaceable, that he had to work harder if he wanted to keep up with the industry. That he was...Already stumbling behind. 

I think there's a flaw in my code.

The man acted like Race wasn't trying at all...That all the hours he put in meant nothing. That Race was acting like he 'didn't care about his job'. Like he was...Broken in some way and that strict behaviour just increased when he had handed him a slip of paper given to him by a professional. A diagnosis for depression, anxiety and bipolar disorder. He hadn't been super happy to find out that his client was mentally ill and that the paperwork even pointed out that he was overworked and just pushed him harder. 

Voices pushed at him from both sides. Drop him some said. He's working you too hard others chimed in. You need to work harder if you want to succeed in the industry kid one kept saying and for some reason, he kept listening to the single voice, despite the fact he knew he wasn't meant to. He needed to drop him and he would, after this music video and movie audition though.

Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.

Race sighed, shaking his head. Focus Higgins. In a month, you can find someone new. Darcy, Bill and Kath can find you a new one. He stretched, smiling at himself in a mirror. He'd be okay, he could last a month. 

He pretended Snyder's not so subtle jabs at his diagnosis. The man hadn't been pleased when he found out about Race's ADHD, clearly 'trying' to hide the way he felt about the whole thing. That he didn't think Race was 'unstable'. That he was 'broken'.

Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me? Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?

He growled in annoyance when he fell out of a turn again, glad he was alone. It wasn't his fault he was so stressed! He was being pulled at every end, each person claiming they just wanted the both for him. With his mental health 'issues' dumped on top of that, Race wanted to scream and tear his hair out. He hated this. Hated the worried looks from his friends and family. Hated the harsh tone from Snyder used when he was giving him 'constructive' criticism. 

He wasn't at fault here! He was just trying hard so why did it seem like everyone was trying to pull him to their side? Sure, what he was doing wasn't the healthiest but he had to work hard to keep up with the fast pace workforce. Sure, he could stand to gain a few pounds but he could always do that later. 

Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me? Pointing fingers 'cause you'll never take the blame like me?

"I'm just worried Race..."

"I know Jack. I know you hate Snyder, that he's an asshole, that you think he's ruining my life. But, without him, I wouldn't have gotten so many gigs."

"Tony, please. You need to drop him. You don't look healthy, you're never able to go out anymore, you're being worked to the bone." Jack frowned as he looked at his brother. "I get that you love your job but you need to take time for yourself as well."

"Look. I'm already planning to drop him after this audition...It's just a month Jack. Please. Give me that and I'll drop him."

"Promise? I'm sick of his bullshit Tony..."

"I promise."

And all the people say, you can't wake up, this is not a dream.

"Again." 

Race nodded, restarting the music before throwing himself into the dance again.

"You're distracted, Higgins."

"Sorry, sir. Just got a lot on my mind lately..." 

"You need to focus. If you don't you'll fall behind and fail. Restart."

You're part of a machine, you are not a human being. With your face all made up, living on a screen.

Race honestly wasn't sure if Snyder even knew what he was talking about when it came to his dancing but still, he took his words to heart, letting them crash through his weak walls again as he started the dance yet again, letting the music wrap itself around him, allowing it to bring him both a familiar rush and familiar comfort. 

The comfort that came with the music was his favourite kind of comfort. He never had to seak it out. Never had to send a text or make a call. All he had to do was press a button and it was there, ready to hug him and bring him a calm distraction from whatever was bothering him, sometimes wiping away any tears that would run down his cheeks, drawing a watery smile from him.

Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline.

"What the fuck do you mean you're firing me? I'm the one who got you this damn role! You would be a nobody without me Higgins and you know that!" 

Race looked at the man's angry face. "Leave my house, Snyder. We're done here. While I am thankful for the work you have done, I need to focus on what I feel is right for me and I believe what is right is us parting ways."

"You're making a big mistake Higgins. I can ruin your damn life! I got you that role and I can fucking take it away from you! You'll regret this! I'll fucking leak your damn address!" 

I think there's a flaw in my code.

"You can not ruin my life, Snyder. You even try and I'll make sure everyone knows what you've been doing. I'll let everyone know how hard you've pushed me. How you've forced me to dance right after throwing up. Believe me, Snyder. I can and will let them know. I've dealt with this for too long."

These voices won't leave me alone.

"You've let those people poison you! They know nothing!"

"Romeo and Tommy have been working in this industry for years. Longer than you have and I trust their judgement."

"I'll get their places shut down!"

"Keep talking Snyder...You're just digging yourself a bigger hole."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

Race smirked, holding up his phone. "I've looked up the laws. We have a one-party consent law here meaning I can record this conversation without your permission and that's what I have done. I recommend you leave now."

Snyder scoffed, storming out. "You'll regret this!"

"And you'll regret being so strict! Goodbye William~" 

Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.

[neighborhoodmoonchild]

Every Part.

Prompt(s):

84. “Yeah, well, I shut everybody out. Don’t take it personally, it’s just easier that way.”

Pairing(s): BestFriend!Namjoon x Reader

Genre(s): Angst, Fluff (maybe just a little)

Summary: Joon hasn’t seen his best friend Y/N in a while, even skipping their daily morning coffee dates. Deciding to check on her, he finds there may be more than a supposed ‘cold’ keeping them apart. How do you love someone that’s too afraid to be loved?

Warning(s): some allusion to toxic relationships (romantic and platonic), fear of being vulnerable, depression, ptsd

Word Count: 3k

It wasn’t like you to skip out on daily morning coffee. In fact, you had been quite vocal about it being the only thing to get you through the day; the dismal clouds parting above your head as the caffeine descends your throat and warms your veins in a way that can only be described as pure euphoria. Then, there was also Namjoon’s more than satisfactory company, to which he would counter is better than any warm drink could ever be and you didn’t have the heart to convince him otherwise.

These were two things, two whole things, that gave you reason to get up in the morning despite the ache in your soul and the dull stab in your heart. So why were you making yourself more miserable by denying yourself even that smallest bit of sanctuary?

It’s an easy question to ask and a frustratingly difficult one to answer. In retrospect, shouldn’t you be elated to have a wonderful escape, though minute as it was, from the never ending war of thoughts in your mind? Namjoon is your best friend, admittedly only friend, and he’d never wronged you in any way, shape, or form. In fact, he always understands your silent breakdowns and internal battles, never once questioning or judging. And yet, here you are, not only punishing yourself, but punishing him as well.

A light buzz interrupted your thoughts, pressing pause on the inner monologue to turn over in your disheveled bed. Pushing the covers away from your face, you grab the device discarded on the bedside table. Thinking back, you should’ve just turned the thing off if you didn’t want to talk to him, but even after ignoring him for the last six calls and messages, you couldn’t find it in yourself to completely cut him off.

Even in the darkest recesses of your mind, tainted by evil thoughts, a piece of you reached forward, searching for the tiny light of Namjoon despite the protests from the negative space. He is reminiscent the sun, whether you hate or love it each day, it’s always there, just like him.

Joonie💜:

-I know you don’t feel up to anything today, but please take care of yourself. I’m a call or text away if you need anything❤️

In spite of yourself, you crack the slightest smile at the message. Being the first one you’d opened in the last 3 hours, you were both relieved and regretful. You know Joon would never impose or push you to share the thoughts and feelings that plague your soul. You’d simply waved his concern off with a small fib of a cold keeping you from your daily routine.

A part of you knows his earlier messages may convey his suspicions of the sudden ailment, but seeing this last one, he’s either finally accepted it or just doesn’t want to pry. It’s the knowledge of the false truth, as simple as it may seem, that sends a swirl of upset through your gut.

You and Joon are as close as close can be and one thing you promised each other was to always be honest. Truth is incredibly important to Joon, important to you as well, and yet, the urge to indulge in this cardinal sin of your friendship won over.

It felt like an awful pattern, one you have been desperate to be free from. No matter how hard you try move on from the past, the negative thoughts, the toxicity of it all, it seems like it always follows, attracted as if centered in your own gravitational pull.

It was the smallest thing that set it off, a grain of sand in a vast ocean that sent tidal waves the size of skyscrapers crashing into your resolve. A simple brush of a hand pulling forth images of past events once thought forgotten. A black and white silent film of horrors replaying over and over again no matter how many times you tried to turn it off.

A glimpse of your father leaving you and your mother in tears, a flash of your first real boyfriend breaking your heart, a shot of your once best friend using those darkest secrets against you. Every person you’d ever been close to in life had found a way to inflict pain. The constant sting of the knife as you let your walls down only made them rebuild higher each time.

It was pure accident you’d managed to let Namjoon in in the first place, and he rooted so well behind those walls you’d thought it would all be different this time. No one had ever stayed this long, been real and honest this long, made you truly happy this long.

And no matter how many times you told the monster in your head that ‘he’s different,’ ‘he’d never do that to you,’ ‘he really cares,’ it reminded you just how many times those same things had been uttered of others. A father would never do that, yet he did. The seemingly love of your life was different from him, and yet he wasn’t. Your best friend truly cares, but she really didn’t. You’ve always been proven wrong; painfully and wholly wrong.

Instead of waiting around for Namjoon to prove himself just like them, deciding to cut your losses before the blow could build felt like the better alternative. To see him turn into the mold of everyone who hurt you before, you decided, would be worse than pushing away and cutting all ties. Instead of waiting for the impending heartbreak to crash into you, you’d drive into it head on and get it over with.

The worst part is the lie. Not the little white lie of a cold, but the lie that he believes you’ll come back to him. That this ‘cold’ will run it’s course and you’ll both be back to the way it was. You’d meet at the coffee shop on Main and he’d walk you home and spend the rest of the day chatting and laughing like normal; everything would be okay. He was none the wiser that those days were over; that you’d be gone from his life without any explanation.

It hurt. More than anything you’d ever felt before.

The last rays of sunshine filtered through the blinds hanging dully in the windows for mere seconds before disappearing behind the dark cast of the night sky.

You still hadn’t left the bed.

Just as you were about to close your eyes and give in to the sweet release of sleep, a knock reverberated throughout the tiny apartment. Your phone had long since died and you felt no urge to revive it, the forewarning of a late night visit unbeknownst to you. Eyes focused on the ceiling, you waited for the silence to span enough time to signal their leave, but the knocks only repeated, almost urgent this time.

The lack of food, water, and movement from the day spent wallowing in bed hazed your mind, and after what felt like the hundredth knock, you rose stiffly from the covers. Joints hissing and cracking as you engaged in the first bit of physical activity in the past 24 hours, you almost tipped over as the blood quickly rushed to your head, making it spin.

Not being able to form any fluent or cohesive thoughts, you wandered aimlessly through the dark apartment until reaching the door handle. You didn’t even bother peeking through the peephole, simply pulling the door until it jerked back from the still-latched chain and squinted out into the bright hallway.

Your eyes immediately adjusted to stare into the dark pair of eyes of the person you’d vowed to quit cold turkey. As he took you in, his face paled, features dropping as if he was staring into the face of death.

“I know you want to be alone right now, but please, don’t shut me out.”

His voice was hoarse, choked with emotions your fogged brain couldn’t comprehend. Refusing to lift the latch and allow him entrance, you stood still, not sure how to react, as your brain slowly processed what was happening.

Namjoon didn’t make any move to force himself inside, to push you to let him in. Instead, he kept your gaze focused on him as he assessed you. Wrinkled sweats and a hoodie that looked like they’d been slept in for multiple days wrapped messily around your small frame. Your hair a tangled, matted nest told him you hadn’t had a proper shower in a while. The skin around your eyes dark purple and sunken in, flesh a pale, sickly hue that scared him.

Namjoon was no fool, he knew what a cold looked like on you, and this was not right. In his gut, he knew since that day, that something had snapped within you.

It started out innocent enough, as he walked you home from the bookstore you’d frequented together. He had carefully brushed his hand against yours, heart aching to slip your fingers into his and hold on tight. Joon hadn’t truly realized his feelings had crossed from platonic to romantic until it hit like a freight train an hour prior.

Standing in the window of the store reaching skywards for a book that caught your eye, he’d graciously grabbed the book for you with a laugh, admiring your effort even though it was much too high. When he chanced a look down at you as he handed off the object of your struggle, he caught that gleam in your eye as you smirked at him. The light of the setting sun formed a soft orange halo that enveloped every curve and dip of your body in a radiant glow. 

He was entranced, watching your fingers flip through the pages cautiously, face warmed by the sun, cheeks tinged an adorable light pink. You looked like an angel sent directly from the heavens above and it stole his breath away.

Namjoon’s friendship with you is his most prized possession. In that moment his heart yearned for more, but his mind told him that if he pushed too hard, he’d lose you. In the simplest of hand brushes, he thought he’d be able to convey to you in a subtle, careful way what he was feeling in that moment, hoping and praying deep down you felt the same.

It all shattered when he saw that gleam in your eyes dim, flushed cheeks devoid of their once healthy glow, as if you’d been touched by a ghost. His heart broke into a million little pieces, sensing deep down he had likely dismantled everything you’d ever built together with the most innocent of gestures.

A needle brought down the entire haystack.

At first, your excuse of illness didn’t perturb him. It wasn’t until day three that he knew his instincts were right; that something more serious was going on. When you ghosted him all day, he thought, for a brief moment, you might be gone. It sent him into a frenzy that led to racing up the steps of your building panicked, pounding harshly on your door until he could confirm with his own eyes you were here. That you were okay.

Only, that wasn’t what was confirmed to him at all once he saw you. Your body may physically be here, but it looked like your soul, your whole being, had dissipated and left nothing but a walking husk in its wake. If anything, seeing you right now only made him all the more terrified.

Namjoon may be your closest friend, but that did not make him privy to your darkest thoughts. One didn’t, however, need to be explicitly told of the sorrows you’d endured, but need only to experience how you interacted with the world around you.

He saw it in the little things, like how you’d shut down after seeing a happy family in public.

Or how the mentions of finding a boyfriend from his friends when he’d managed to get you to hang out would cause you to excuse yourself and avoid contact afterwards.

Most importantly, it was in the way that no matter how close the two of you seemed to get, he was never allowed into the deepest parts of your mind, to let him share the burden or see the truth that lay inside of you.

He had all the warning signs, yet his heart was selfish and greedy, wanting a piece of you he knew you kept locked away, and it was that longing for more that took it all away.

Namjoon would take it back if he could.

“Yeah, well, I shut everybody out. Don’t take it personally, it’s just easier that way.” 

The words slipped out before you had the mind to just shut the door and pretend it never happened. Your throat was dry, coarse, and it translated into the rough tone of your voice. You didn’t even recognize it as your own as it rang through the still air.

Eyes glued to the dirty carpeting of the landing, you couldn’t find the strength to look him in the eyes again. The longer you stood there, mere inches of wood separating you, the harder it got to hold your resolve. It was easy to keep away when he wasn’t there to remind you of all of the reasons to stay and fight.

The silence was deafening, neither party knowing the right thing to say, if there even was anything ‘right’ to say in the first place. If you couldn’t be honest with yourself, how could you ever expect to be honest with Namjoon?

Running away, leaving, abandoning things. That was the only course of action you’d ever bore witness to when it came to relationships. If it was so easy for your father, your boyfriend, your best friend, to leave you, why was it so difficult for you to leave Namjoon?

The salty taste in your mouth gave way to the tears that flowed freely down your face, even though you hadn’t given them consent to do so. You didn’t want him to see you like this, so broken at your own undoing. 

As much as a part of you wanted to blame Joon, to say that this was his fault, you knew it wasn’t. As much as you wanted to blame the past, the monstrous characters that shaped your negative outlook on the world, you didn’t.

It must have been, and always will be, your fault.

If everyone in your life leaves, the only constant factor, is you. There must be something wrong with you that forces people out, makes it easier for them to walk away. 

Like the second a bomb goes off, the realization that all the pain you’d endured: the wars waged in your mind, the destruction of yourself and the life you tried to salvage, could all be self-inflicted tore apart every fiber of your being with the initial blast.

For so long you’d chalked the misfortune up to bad luck; ill-fate. You were a victim of circumstance. Yet now all you could see was yourself at the root of every disaster. 

Suddenly drowning a the sea of self-deprecating thoughts, the weight of your body felt like a ton of bricks with which you no longer had the strength to support. 

Falling to your knees, you didn’t realize you had, at some point, subconsciously unlatched the door, until warm, strong arms caught you in your dissent. 

They held you as you cried; a loud, ugly cry, that had your inner-self cringing. It couldn’t be helped, though, and you no longer cared as you let the sobs wrack every part of you. The only thing anchoring you being the man you tried so desperately to push away.

His soft ‘shs’ combined with the soft glide of his hand in your hair calmed you despite the circumstances. You were a complete and utter mess.

And yet, Namjoon was still here.

After the stress you’d put him through, the lies, the ghosting, the cold shoulder, he remained constant, steady throughout the storm. He didn’t walk away when things got difficult, he didn’t blame you, he didn’t hurt you.

He is here, holding you, telling you it’s going to be okay.

The small part of you, the dark piece tainted by the negativity, had quietly retreated within you. The tiny hand reaching out for Namjoon’s light had prevailed. That film inside your brain burned away like acid as a new one began production. One in bright, saturated color; full of all the wonderful things you’ve experienced life with Namjoon.

Coffee dates, movie nights, grocery runs at 3 a.m.

Bad jokes, boisterous laughter, warm blankets.

Tight hugs, pinky promises, your best friend.

“I’m right here. I’ll always be right here,” he whispers through tears. He’s holding you tightly, despite the part of his mind screaming at him that this is what got him into trouble in the first place. His deep, innate need to protect you, to hold you, won over any worries he had of pushing you further away. When he felt your arms wrap tightly around him, face nuzzling into his chest, he knew he’d made the right choice.

In the end, it wasn’t space that would heal your heart, but closeness. You’d been so scared of him leaving, you tried to force him away, when he wanted nothing more than to keep you close. 

Finally, you realized that Namjoon was the only person who has ever stayed. He’d had plenty of time to walk away, been given a multitude of opportunities to excuse himself from your life, yet he never did. 

He rode out everything you’d thrown at him. 

As you both sat there, tear-streaked messes holding each other as if your lives depended on it, you knew that this storm had passed. Despite any damage it had caused, with Namjoon by your side, it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be repaired.

Letting a person in when you’ve been broken so many times is not easy and it never will be. A part of you will always be wary that one day something will change, that you might eventually wake up and be on your own again. It is a part of dealing with the trauma you’ve faced.

While Namjoon can never ‘fix’ the ‘broken’ parts of you, he will be there to show you new, beautiful parts of yourself that have long gone overlooked. To be the shoulder you can cry on, the ear you can confide to, the heart you can someday love without reserve.

It’s never been about putting the pieces back together, tearing the walls down, or proving the past wrong.

Namjoon’s only wish is to be there for you in any way you let him, to be himself, and live life with the person he cares about the most. 

So, he’ll be there through every pitfall, every tear, every laugh, every smile, because to Namjoon, every part of you is worth sticking around for. Always. 

“Thanks for not leaving.”