#anyway counting down the days until the horror is dealt with

[miodiodavinci]

anyway i'm still thinking about it because it was quite literally this

lads i have shocked and frightened the specialist and become a part of their medical experience

[shadowed-vigil]

day 9: lend an ear

phrase of lend: to listen sympathetically or attentively.

characters: warrior of light, thancred waters; mentions of azem word count: 969 (nice) [spoilers for up to ew lvl 87 quests]

Thancred is the one to tug her aside, in the end. 

It’s for the best, really — since her return home from the First, it’s been hard to not be preoccupied. She’d done her duty — fought off the blasphemies upon her arrival, led survivors to safety, even dealt with Zenos, again. Technically. 

(Technically, she says, even though it was Alisaie who ultimately dealt with the situation. In the moment, Arcelia had almost wished they could have been left to their own devices, handled things his way. Later, on board the evacuation ships, sitting opposite of a man who won’t look her in the eye and another who can’t seem to stop studying her, Arcelia thinks she could have really used the distraction.) 

Regardless.

She does her duty. She relays the message — explains her trip to Elpis, her encounters with the unsundered, everything she learns of Hermes and his devotion and his ultimate undoing, in the end. Their new target: Meteion. Something tangible to seek out, to fight, once they manage to find her, thank the gods. 

And that’s it. 

That’s — 

Well.

She doesn’t so much as storm out of the meeting room of the Annex as she stumbles out of it, exhaustion scraping low in her bones, each step weighing heavier than the last. Then again, she doesn’t know what she expected out of the end of the world. To be a little more straightforward, perhaps. A little more to the point.

A little less torturous, she thinks grimly. 

It’s already hard enough, what with all the death and the dying, the fighting an enemy that isn’t quite corporeal, the dead men who weren’t quite dead after all cropping up right around the time she was ousted from her own body —

(Of course it’s Thancred who drags her aside, she thinks in retrospect. Matron knows he’s far better at conversation than Estinien would ever want to be.) 

He doesn’t quite intercept her at her door; instead, he finds her halfway down the hall, palm pressed to the wall to steady herself as she heaves for breath — when had she become so lightheaded? She doesn’t deny him, doesn’t try to hide anything when he places a steadying hand on her shoulder, coaxes her to look him in the eye properly. 

“Arcelia,” he says — firm, searching, “what didn’t you say in there?” 

It’s a good question. He’s always been good about reading her, infuriatingly so at times, even as far back as the beginning. It hadn’t mattered that he’d been absent during her stint in Ishgard; he’d known that there were pieces to pick up in the aftermath, and he’d done so with care, without prying beyond his means, without even knowing those who’d left her so undone. 

(Well. Until they came back, anyway. Part of her wonders if he’s more disappointed than anything, knowing what he knows of them now.) 

Her bottom lip quivers. She blinks, blinks again, his face blurring as that frenetic feeling rises up inside her again. It’d taken her hours to rise to her feet again from the floor of the Ocular; they can’t afford a repeat of the same. 

She swallows thickly. 

“Azem,” she whispers, shivers it out as much as she wishes she could spit it. “They thought — they thought I was something of Azem’s.” 

Trip to Elpis or no, it shouldn’t matter. They’ve been over this. She should know better, now; because, sure, she’d been distraught back when she first got her hands on the stone, when those memories had first crashed over her like some unwelcome wave. To her horror, Emet-Selch had told many truths. 

(He’d been deceptive, too — because they weren’t truths about her, but about who she was a fragment of, mere shadow to.)

“They recognized me,” she goes on, voice pitching, cracking, “but not as me, as a thing, a familiar —” 

“Because they didn’t know.” He’s got her by both shoulders now. “They couldn’t have known, Arcelia.” 

And she knows that, the implicit truth, but — 

Gods, she is so weary. It is easy to fall apart. 

(Another thing she can’t afford to do as she collects herself, palm to her mouth before she can shudder out the sound — as if Vanaspati hadn’t been a close enough call.) 

Her lip swells where her canines sink into it. 

“Did you meet her?” he chances carefully. 

Arcelia shakes her head, no — thank the gods. He must feel the same, some modicum of relief visible as tension ebbs from his shoulders. For the best, they both think.

(In truth, she’d been terrified of the possibility of running into her unsundered self during her time in Elpis. Perhaps not at first, still so inherently blindsided by being where she was at all, the sheer whiplash of being confronted by a version of Emet-Selch she did not recognize with her eyes but knew in her soul; of Hythlodaeus, as well, let alone Hermes, Venat — 

And of course Venat had been the previous Azem. It’s hardly a surprise as soon as she learns it.

Still — she’d made it through her odd expedition, escaped the influence of Kairos and returned to the First without so much as a brush with the wrong sort of fate. She’s not sure what she would have done had she had the misfortune of meeting her unsundered self. Probably something regrettable. Almost certainly violent.

Knowing what she does, Azem would have probably enjoyed that.) 

It doesn’t matter. She says this.

Well — 

Tries to.

It shouldn’t matter, she chokes instead. 

Thancred manages to get her in her room before anyone else can bear witness to her little meltdown, before she makes a further fool of herself. He tells her it’s okay, that it’s fine, and she knows, she does, it’s just —

(The shadow has little patience for her angst. It’s an irony in itself.)

[circusgoth-dotcom]

Hooky/First Kiss

Ship: Jack Torrance x Keaton Diamond (Childhood Friends AU)

Word Count: 1054

Summary: Keaton & Jack are around 15 in this story. When Keaton isn't seen at school, Jack skips part of school to check up on him. As a result, he gets his first kiss. Attempted to use some fun fifties slang since that would be when Jack was a teenager if we put the events of The Shining in 1980. CWs for mentions of abusive parents, Jack (kind of) breaking into Keaton's house (granted, he was given a key), and self-image issues.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife @rexscanonwife

When Jack didn’t see Keaton at school that day, he knew he had the perfect excuse to play hooky. Yeah, maybe his best friend was just sick, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant to go through the school day without him, either. At lunch, he slipped past the uncaring school secretary and began walking through the autumn-coloured neighbourhood and out to Keaton Diamond’s house. Jack and Keaton had been close friends ever since Keaton’s family had moved him out to Garden City, Long Island, and ever since the two confided in each other about their oppressive home lives.

Jack had to deal with his both verbally and physically aggressive father and his devoutly Catholic mother, while Keaton dealt with an emotionally unavailable father and a physically unavailable mother, along with the incessant calling from his overbearing grandparents… needless to say, confiding in each other was quite cathartic and came easily.

Rounding the corner, Jack scrambled over his neighbours’ fences until he ended up in Keaton’s backyard, gold and red leaves crunching beneath his worn boots as he approached the window that would open into Keaton’s bedroom. He knocked on the glass first in an attempt to be polite, but when the blackout curtains didn’t shift, he dug around in his coat pocket until he retrieved the key Keaton had snuck him so that they might be able to see each other without any adults noticing. Glancing over his shoulder, Jack unlocked Keaton’s window and pulled it open as quietly as physically possible before launching himself over the sill and struggling past the thick curtains. The room was completely dark, but Jack could hear Keaton scrambling to sit up in his bed.

The bedside lamp flicked on. “Jack! You can’t be here right now!” Keaton hissed. Jack looked toward him, still halfway through the window, but he was hiding beneath his sheet.

“Whaddya mean I can’t be here, Keats, your dad isn’t home, is he?” Jack asked, beginning to swing his legs into the room.

“You can’t be here because you’re supposed to be in school-- for Christ’s sake, at least take your boots off, I don’t need my dad asking about mud on the carpet…!”

Jack took off his boots and dropped them outside the window before planting his grey socks on the carpeted floor. “Fine, fine. Seeing you was more important than listening to Mr. Inbody drone on about algebra… so what’re you doing in bed, anyway, you don’t sound sick to me.”

Keaton’s form folded his arms subconsciously under his sheet. “I-it’s something you wouldn’t understand…”

Jack scoffed. “Oh yeah? Try me, Diamond.” He leaned over the baseboard of Keaton’s bed and snatched at the sheet, making Keaton bury himself further under his blankets.

“Jack, no! You can’t look at me…”

“Why not?” Still leaning over the baseboard, Jack looked around Keaton’s room. He had been there before, of course, but he always liked it much better than his own. At least Keaton got to have posters from his favourite sci-fi and horror flicks. The walls were painted a soothing navy blue while the carpet was an unoffensive cream colour. A cluttered desk sat in the corner opposite to the bed, where the duvet was a white background patterned with varying shades of blue birds.

“I’m all… broke-out…” Keaton murmured against his blankets.

“Broke-out??”

“Y’know. Red and spotty.”

Jack slowly wandered to the side of the bed and finally sunk down onto the mattress. “Why do you care that your face is red and spotty??”

“I told you you wouldn’t understand, it’s absolutely bogus! I scrubbed my face with soap and water until it bled and I think it just made it worse…”

Jack’s brow furrowed at this. “Keaton…” He felt around on top of the blankets in search of his friend’s hand, making him squirm and squeak when he accidentally grabbed at his side- “Sorry, sorry!” -before finally squeezing Keaton’s hand. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“It’s disgusting! And it hurts like a bitch on my nose…”

“Didn’t your daddy tell you anything about not having a dirty mouth, you little shit?” Jack grinned as Keaton feebly laughed. “C’mon, I wanna see that smile… spots and all.”

Slowly, Keaton’s dark hair appeared at the top of the sheets, followed by his forehead and bespectacled eyes.

“Well, it’s not looking too shabby so far,” Jack observed, playfully ruffling his hair.

“Oh, trust me, it gets worse…” The sheet slipped down to reveal his nose and cheeks, inflamed, shining, and pimply, followed by his lips and chin. He squeezed his eyes shut as he sat up, drawing his knees to his chest. “I feel like the surface of Mars.”

“Oh, Keaton… can I…?” Jack raised his hand, letting it hover over his cheek. Keaton opened one of his eyes to see what he was doing and hesitantly nodded. Willingly, Jack placed his hand on Keaton’s cheek. “I don’t think you’re disgusting.”

Keaton shuddered slightly, still with his eyes closed. “You don’t?”

“‘Course not. When have I ever cared about appearances?”

Keaton opened his eyes, glancing down at Jack’s outfit. “You can say that again.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Hey, I’m trying to make you feel better, could you do less ragging on my sense of fashion?”

“I don’t know, I think that is making me feel better,” Keaton hid his smile behind his hand. “No, no, I quite like the way you dress, actually… flannel looks real bad on you.”

Jack grinned. “Thanks.” He stroked Keaton’s cheek with his thumb, unbothered by the slick yet bumpy feeling of his skin. He cleared his throat as he admired Keaton, he was cute whether he was sporting clear skin or the worst acne flare-up of the year. “Would it be wrong for me to want to kiss you? Right now?”

Now Keaton’s face was flushed for a different reason. He bat his eyelashes. “I…” He found his hand trailing up Jack’s arm, past his neck, and up into his hair, almost of its own accord… “you… kiss me?”

“Yeah, caveman. I kiss you. Because you big cute. And Jack big handsome, so, only suitable, yeah?”

“Oh my God.”

And suddenly they were leaning in and kissing deeply, sweetly, eyes closed, hands on each other's bodies, and an autumn breeze flicking the curtains behind Jack’s back…

[burgundybmw]

Munson's Mixtape

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cunningham!Reader

Word Count: 4,295

Warnings: Angst (not all of it tho!).

Summary: Chrissy has been acting weird, and like a good big sister Y/N drives to Hawkins from Notre Dame to check in on her. Only to find out she has plans to meet up with Eddie Munson. Things take a turn for the worse and now Y/N gets wrapped in to the horrors of Hawkins. Hey, at least she has the company of the guitarist she was sweet on back in high school for comfort.

Author’s Note: Take a deep breath y'all.

Track Nineteen

It was finally time. Y/N had been dreading this moment all day, all week, ever since she found out who killed Chrissy. They were all going up against Vecna, armed to the teeth with makeshift weapons and a sawed off shotgun. Y/N had insisted on splurging for more protective gear, the vision she had of Eddie permanently branded behind her eyelids. Eddie told her not to waste her money on him, but she ignored his complaints. Then he tried to convince her to wear the gear herself, but she forced it on him anyway. They argued over it for most of the drive away from the army surplus store. That was until Nancy stepped in and yelled at him.

"Just put on the damn vest Eddie! Give her some peace of mind!" she shouted at him. Nancy could be scary when she wanted to, so he listened and put the vest on under his leather jacket. Y/N wasn't going to take any risks, not after learning about the demobats. The bite on Steve's stomach was eerily similar to what Vecna had showed her. If anyone was going to make it out of this, it would be Eddie. She was going to make sure of it.

"Okay. I wanna run through it one more time." They were all inside the Winnebago going over the plans to defeat Vecna. Nancy was at the head, she stood tall with the confidence of a decorated veteran as she relayed the draft for battle. "Phase One."

"We meet Erica and Dustin in the playground. They'll signal Max and Lucas when we're ready." Robin replied, voice calm and even. The complete opposite of Y/N in that moment. She may have only dealt with the horrors of the Upside Down for less than a year, but it felt as if she was lightyears ahead her.

"Phase Two."

"Max baits Vecna. He'll go after her which'll put him in his trance." Steve explained, and that segment made Y/N the most terrified. They were just kids. She was just a kid. Kids shouldn't have to fight wars, risk their young lives like they were about to do. Nobody should.

"Phase three?" It was Y/N's turn to speak. She could feel the words in her throat, but they wouldn't come out. They were all looking at her now. She could feel Eddie gently rubbing up and down her back, soothing her perpetual state of panic.

"Eddie and I will draw the bats away. We'll keep them away from you guys as long as we can." Dustin had wanted to be with Eddie at first, but Y/N insisted she go in his stead. The man himself wasn't thrilled with idea either, especially since she refused the tactical gear. Y/N had changed out of her cheer uniform, traded in her short skirt with camo pants and sweater for a slick black t-shirt she tied in a knot at her midriff. She insisted that she would be okay, but there was no guarantee she would be. There was no guarantee with any of this.

"Four."

"We head into Vecna's hopefully newly bat-free lair, and... flambé." Robin replied as she waved the Molotov cocktail in her hand.

"Nobody moves onto the next phase until we've all copied. Nobody deviates from the plan, no matter what. Got it?" It sounded so simple when Nancy said it. Like they all were about to play capture the flag instead of entering a terrifying alternate dimension. Y/N gathered every ounce of strength within her. It wasn't the time for panic, or fleeting bursts of rage, she needed to be calm. So, she buried her fear, deep inside of her, so that nothing would distract from the mission ahead.

"Got it."

As Y/N climbed the rope through to the Upside Down, she couldn't help but think of Chrissy. Would she be proud of her? Would she be afraid for her? Would she yell at her for doing something so stupid that it could possibly get her killed? All the above? She'd like to think that her sister was watching over her, her own personal guardian angel. Y/N needed that support, that faith that her sister would be there for her like she always was, even in spirit. She wasn't afraid of her own death. She was afraid for everyone else's.

Y/N had read many philosophers spouting about how human beings fear death above all things, but when she looked into Eddie's eyes as he pulled her up from the mattress, all she could think about was that those people never had any real loss. That's what they should fear, not death. Going on in life without seeing the one's they love most walking alongside them. That was the thing she feared above all else.

Y/N and Eddie had followed Steve, Robin, and Nancy out of the dilapidated trailer, seeing them off on their mission to slay Vecna. The Upside Down was just as awful as they had described it, cold, rotting, and lifeless. She prayed they took care of Vecna as soon as possible, the sooner he was dead the sooner she could leave that awful place. Before she could wish them luck, Steve turned around to talk to them one last time.

"Hey, listen," Steve began, "if things start to go south, I mean, at all, you abort. Okay? Draw the attention of the bats. Keep 'em busy for a minute or two. We'll take care of Vecna. Don't try to be cute, or be a hero or something."

"Yes, Steve. We play the decoys; you can go gallivanting into herodom." Y/N had zero intentions of doing anything reckless. She would stick the plan as if it were gospel.

"Absolutely, I mean look at us, we are not heroes." Y/N hoped Eddie meant that. The last thing she wanted was for him to play hero. She took solace in knowing he probably wouldn't. He had managed to escape trouble thus far; it wasn't in him to put himself in unnecessary danger. Steve had started to walk away, before Eddie stopped him.

"Hey Steve," he paused, taking a deep breath before he said: "make him pay." They both nodded to each other, a mutual understanding of the task at hand, before all three of them walked away. That left Eddie and Y/N alone together, it was time to begin their phase of the operation.

They worked in silence as they fortified the trailer, hammering wood and metal onto all its entrances. It wasn't Fort Knox, but it would have to do. Y/N couldn't help but think about what Eddie had told her earlier. They were alone now, he was supposed to tell her everything, and yet he remained silent. She didn't want to bring it up, pressure him into telling her, but it nearly drove her mad. Eddie was hammering the last nail into the board when he broke the silence.

"Do you remember that day I gave you the mixtape?" he asked. Y/N looked over to him, Eddie refused to meet her eye as he walked towards the door of the trailer.

"Yea... of course, why do you ask?" She followed his lead, walking through the heavily protected entrance. Eddie still wouldn't look at her, and it made her nervous. Where was he getting at? Eddie stopped in front of the bedroom door, his back facing her as he spoke.

"Do you remember what I said?" There was a lot of things he said that day. It was graduation day. There were some congratulations, an explanation on the beautiful calligraphy written on the wrapping paper, and what was on the tape itself.

"Yea, you knew I liked loved songs, so you put them on the tape. You also threw some of the stuff you liked on it too." She saw Eddie take a deep breath before he turned around to finally look at her.

"I lied." He began, "Well, partially. I did know you loved love songs, but that wasn't the reason I put them on the tape." Y/N could swear her heart was about to beat out of her chest. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She couldn't speak. She wouldn't dare interrupt him.

"I put those songs on the tape... fuck, this is a lot harder than I thought..." Eddie chuckled, she remained silent. "I put them on the tape because it was my way of telling you how I felt about you."

Y/N's world tilted on its axis. She wanted to believe it back then but convinced herself it wasn't true. She wouldn't allow herself to hope that Eddie loved her. Her eyes were wide with astonishment, but the words still wouldn't come out.

"I spent hours listening to the radio, going to the record store, buying shit I would normally never be caught dead with, just for the hope that they would sing the words I was too afraid to say to you. I wanted to tell you on graduation day, but I couldn't bring myself to do it." Eddie's eyes were locked onto hers, and he looked at her with such warmth it felt as if she would be set aflame.

"I was fully prepared to take this to the grave, but now that all of this shit is happening, I don't know how I could ever imagine myself lying six feet below the Earth without you knowing how much I love you." Eddie reached for Y/N's face, his hands holding her as if she was the most precious thing, he had ever had the privilege of touching.

"I loved you in 5th grade when you walked onto the playground and pushed Matthew Grayson to the ground when he first called me a freak. I loved you when you caught me crying in the school library the day after my parents kicked me out and hugged me until I calmed down. I loved you when you called Missy McClair a bitch for writing that fake valentine to me when we were 16. I loved you when you refused to give up on me all our last year of school together when everybody else already had. I loved you when I saw you walking through downtown Hawkins last Christmas catching snowflakes on your tongue. I loved you all this week when you stayed by my side, when you gave me the honor of truly getting to know you. I loved you when I fell asleep, and I loved you when I first opened my eyes in the morning, every day, every minute, every second for the past nine years. I was made for loving you Y/N Cunningham, and it scares the absolute shit out of me."

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't speak. She was in a complete state of shock. Eddie was in love with her. He loved her just as much as she loved him. Y/N desperately wanted to move, show him how much she loved him in return, but she was frozen where she stood. She finally gathered some nerve to speak, but Eddie interrupted her.

"Don't say anything, please." He begged her, "tell me later, after the plan is over. I can't... I can't be distracted either way. I just needed you to know that I love you, so fucking much." Eddie placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and turned to walk into his bedroom. Y/N followed mindlessly into the room, still stumbling from the confession she heard moments before. He was right, it wasn't time for distractions. They needed to follow through with the plan exactly. Her head was well aware of that, but it didn't stop her heart from pounding in her chest like a drum. She saw Eddie reach for his guitar, an exact replica of the one he loved so much above.

"So, what do you say sweetheart," he winked, "are you ready for the most metal concert in the history of the world?" Y/N felt the corner of her lips tug on her face, and she didn't hesitate to walk straight towards Eddie and plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Want me to throw my bra on stage, stud?" Even in the dark, Y/N could see the delicious blush bloom on his face.

"If you did that, I'd throw you over my shoulder and drag you right back inside this trailer. Psycho demon bats be damned." He said as he swung the strap of his guitar over his neck.

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

Eddie threw his head back, a groan barely escaping his throat. He mumbled something that sounded awfully like I'm so fucked under his breath, before he turned to look at her again.

"Let's go, my self control is dwindling fast, and we have a job to do." Eddie walked past her and out the door, Y/N giggled to herself and followed closely behind him as they made their way to their stage of the operation.

"Initiate phase three." Robin voiced over the walkie talkie.

"Copy that, initiating phase three." Y/N plugged in the amps and raised the volume up to max. It was show time. She looked over to Eddie, giving him the signal to start playing. He ripped off the guitar pick necklace he wore around his neck and walked over to the center of the roof.

"Cunningham sisters, this is for you."

Then Eddie began to play, and Y/N was seriously considering throwing her bra on the makeshift trailer park stage. Watching him perform was righteous. He slammed the opening chords of Master of Puppets, rivaling the skill of James Hetfield himself, she couldn't take her eyes off him.

The red flash of lightning struck down near feet away from the trailer, its light illuminating the metallic rings on Eddie's fingers. She watched as they danced across the strings of his guitar, dexterous, rhythmic, and firm. The heavy vibrations from the amp made her tremble, every inch of skin shrouded with goosebumps. Y/N had never seen him look so in his element. It was as if this wasn't show meant for a diversion, but rather a concert held within Madison Square Garden, filled to the brim with adoring fans.

"Go Eddie!" Y/N screamed. She might not be the crowd he deserved, but she sure as hell would cheer him on as if she was. Another bolt of lightning flashed, reflecting the light on her binoculars. It was then she remembered she was meant to keep an eye out for the bats. She didn't want to stop watching Eddie, but she knew she had to do her part. Y/N peered through the lenses, off to the distance she could see the swarm of bats flying towards them.

"Eddie!" She didn't need to get his attention, his eyes never wavered from her form when she first screamed his name. "We have to lockdown in 30 seconds tops!"

Eddie nodded in understanding; the beat of one her favorite Metallica songs remained steady as he continued to play. Y/N kept her eye on the bats, the massive colony was heading straight towards them just like they planned. She could feel her heart pounding with the rhythm of his guitar as the distance between them and the monsters in the sky became shorter and shorter.

"20 seconds!" Y/N watched from the corner of her eye as Eddie nailed Kirk's guitar solo. When all of this was over, she was going to demand him to play this again. No demobats, no Upside Down, no distractions. She'd get on her knees and beg if she had to.

"10 seconds!" The bats were closer now, she didn't need the binoculars to see them. The loud high-pitched squeals could be heard over the music.

"Five!" Almost there, they were almost there.

"One!" Eddie finished with the solo in the nick of time, he swung the guitar over his shoulder and raced towards Y/N. She grabbed his hand as they made their decent down to the trailer.

"Move, move, move. Let's go!" Eddie shouted as they ran towards the fortified entrance. He pushed Y/N through first and slammed the metal gate behind him. The demobats attempted to push through, but it held. For now.

"Come on Eddie! Get inside!" Y/N grabbed onto the back of his leather jacket and pulled him into the trailer. She latched the door tight, the deadbolt firm and secure within the metal walls. Eddie was panting against the wall of the trailer, the fingers that were once spread across the B.C. Rich fretboard were now resting on the bridge of his nose. Y/N watched his chest expand and deflate as he took in deep breaths of air. His head was thrown back against the vine covered wall, the thick veins on his neck glistened in the dim light of the Upside Down. He looked absolutely debauched.

"So, what did you think sweetheart?" Eddie asked as he slightly turned his head towards her, "Most metal concert ever, amirite?" The sounds of screeching bats were drowned out by the husky tone in his voice. A tempting smirk spread across his lips, and Y/N knew deep down in her soul that the time for resisting wicked temptation was over.

She took three steps toward him, each one filled with fiery determination. Eddie didn't have time to react, couldn't think a single thought before Y/N pressed herself against him and crashed their lips together. She was consumed with the need to touch him, taste him.

It took only a second of hesitation before Eddie switched their positions and pinned her against the wall, his lips moving in tandem with hers. He reached down to grab the back of her thighs and lifted her up, instinctively wrapping her legs tightly around his waist. She didn't want a single inch of space between them as he devoured her.

Eddie kissed her as if she were the elixir of life, filled with heady desperation and unrestrained want. She opened her lips to let out a small gasp, only to feel him thrust his tongue into her mouth. Y/N threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling the strands as she held on for dear life. She couldn't get enough of him. Her head was repeatedly screaming Eddie, yes, oh God. Nobody had have kissed her like this, and she never wanted to go without his touch ever again.

Eddie briefly pondered the thought that he died on top of that trailer. He must have, because the taste of Y/N Cunningham on his tongue was nothing short of heaven sent. There weren't enough words to describe the feeling of her body pressed against his own. Sublime?Awe inspiring? Hot as fuck? Nothing could compare to the reality. He could feel her heart pound against his chest, his own threatening to beat out of its cage of bone. He could feel every gasp, whine, and wanton moan that escaped her lips; he swallowed them all. It was nothing short of a miracle.

He didn't know how much time he spent kissing Y/N, could have minutes, could have been hours, he didn't care at all. Eddie was oblivious to the world outside of his trailer, the only thing that mattered was her, her, her. Vecna could be outside the door asking for half a cup of sugar, and he couldn't give less of a shit if he was. It had been nine endless years of yearning in silence, loving the girl wrapped around him from a distance. Y/N was loving, touching, squeezing him like she would never see the sun rise again. Deep within the Upside Down's realm of perdition, Eddie was graced with something holy. How could anyone ever accuse him of worshipping the Devil when he never felt closer to God?

Y/N briefly pushed away from him, he immediately chased after her. It couldn't be over, not yet. He could feel her smile against his lips, small and delicate. She held his head in her hands, tilting up away from her mouth. Eddie would have been embarrassed by the needy whine he let escape if he weren't so desperate to kiss her again.

"Eddie, I-" She was interrupted by a series of thumps on the roof of the trailer. They both looked up to see what the noise was, suddenly remembering they weren't alone. Y/N jumped down and grabbed the shield and spear she previously dropped, Eddie clumsily following suit. They followed the sound to a small vent in the ceiling, the holes between the fan's blades elicited a sobering realization, they missed a way in.

"They can't get in through there, right?" Eddie asked quietly. Before Y/N could reply, the head of one of Vecna's bats pierced through the vent, letting out a haunting shriek as it tried to worm its way in. Eddie and Y/N screamed as they both charged to stab the bat with their spears. More kept shoving their way through, the blades of their knives barely keeping them at bay.

Eddie stepped back from the bats, Y/N couldn't see what he was doing, too preoccupied with her frenzied stabbing.

"Eddie! I need you!" She screamed; she couldn't do this alone. They would get in, they would get through the gate to Hawkins, Hell would be unleashed.

"Get out of the way! Get out of the way!" Y/N could barely hear his shouts of protests as he shoved his way through. Eddie stood upon one the old kitchen chairs, the exact replica she used with Chrissy, to penetrate the nails through the ceiling walls. She could hear the bats bang against the metal, but the shield held true.

"Holy shit. Holy shit." Eddie panted, eyes wide and frantic.

"My hero!" Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, carefully dropping her weapons so she wouldn't hurt him. He wrapped his arms around her, snug and familiar, breathing into the top of her hair.

"That? Oh, that was nothing." Eddie tried to sound cool and composed, but his breath hadn't returned to him yet. It came off as gauche rather than debonair. They could both hear the bats screeching above them, obvious that they hadn't given up on finding their way inside.

"There aren't any more vents, right Eddie?"

"Oh, shit." Eddie ripped himself out of her arms and raced to his bedroom door. Y/N quickly chased after to him to find the swarm of bats bust through the vent in his floor. He pushed her back as he slammed the door shut, but the bats weren't deterred. They began bashing against the wood, their thick claws threatening to break it apart.

Eddie picked up the spear and shield she had abandoned as they backed away from the impending swarm.

"I don't think that’s gonna hold!" Y/N shouted.

"Let's go! Let's go!"

Y/N pulled on the bed sheet rope and began her ascent towards the gate. Her arms were sore and tired, but the adrenaline pumping in her veins forced her to keep moving. Keep climbing.

"Come on sweetheart, quickly quickly!" Y/N was inches from the gate's opening as Eddie guarded below. Within seconds gravity took over, and soon she fell flat on her back. Eddie's old mattress cushioning the blow.

"Eddie, come on! We have to go!" She shouted into the ceiling. Eddie began pulling himself up but paused halfway through. Y/N could see him stare at the door, the force of the bats attack against the rapidly deteriorating wood echoed throughout both trailers.

"Eddie?! Eddie baby come on, let’s go!" Y/N protests fell on deaf ears as she watched him stare at the cracking door. The all too familiar feeling of panic settled deep in her bones.

"Eddie, my love you're so close! Come on, come on, we have to leave!" She could only watch in horror as he jumped down to the mattress. Eddie looked up at her, his hands still gripping the rope. His eyes were wet with unshed tears, but he didn't look morose. There was anguish, heartbreak, yes, but mostly filled with determination.

"Eddie?"

"Eddie!"

"Eddie please! What are you doing?!" Y/N sobbed, but he refused to listen. Eddie rushed over to the spear and shield, yelling at the top of his lungs as he sliced the rope clean at the base of the gate. The fabric fell gracelessly to her feet, and suddenly she knew what he was doing.

"Eddie, stop! Please! Please! Please! Stop it right now!" She was begging, pleading for this all to be a nightmare.

"Stop, stop, stop, stop!" She was completely helpless as she watched Eddie remove the mattress from his side of the gate. The shield in one hand and spear in the other. It looked like he was charging headfirst into battle, and she knew that was exactly what he intended to do.

"Eddie! Come back to me! Please!" He looked up to her, one last time, before he made his final move.

"They're gonna break out. I'm buying some more time. I love you Y/N, never forget that." All she could do was watch as he rushed towards the door, right into the horrors of the Upside Down.

"No!" Y/N screamed, it felt as if her heart had been ripped right out of her chest. She was bleeding out, suffocating under the weight of what Eddie just did. Nothing felt real in that moment, tunnel vision clouding her eyes. It was dark. Everything was black, rotting, decaying. Just like it was when Chrissy died, some sick cosmic joke that it would happen again in the exact spot a week later.

It was then she realized that she never said it back.

He ran outside that trailer door not knowing that his feelings were returned.

Y/N never told Eddie that she loved him.

It would haunt her forever.

Author's Note 2: I'm sorry.

Tag list:

@imchangkyunned , @creativedogs , @nightless , @kik51199 , @thecraziestcrayon , @dabzzallday420 , @efvyqrs , @justanotherkpopstanlol , @secretsicanthideanymore , @heartandhead2018 , @piperd06 , @kellysimagines , @writing-fanics , @munchabunch , @ultradangerouspie , @givemeeverything , @mrs-billyrussooo , @mn2222222 , @mslunawinchester , @imnotsiriusyouare , @iwillduckyou-up , @coltonthekanima , @mcueveryday , @mvnsons-slvt , @esoltis280 , @bookworm3570 , @preciousbabypeter , @kikis-writing-world , @sweetpeapod , @cevans-winchester , @hopingforromanoff , @nativity-in-black , @esoltis280 , @celestialsxturn , @peaches-and-plums-motherfucker , @sighbuckybarnes , @magicmunson , @lqveharrington , @introvertedmouse , @science--hoes ,

[titularkilljoy]

sometimes and always

//a love story in five acts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: It's hard to resist falling into bed with a cute neighbour, but it turns out it's even harder to resist falling for him. (alternatively- Spencer Reid and the reader struggle to resolve their feelings but make valiant attempts to do so while lying horizontally in each other's beds.)

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, decidedly non-American spelling conventions

Author's Note: SO. This fic was originally part of a fic swap for the wickedly talented @imagining-in-the-margins, but it is now over six months too late. Thankfully, patience apparently springs eternal in her?? besides all the other amazing things?? Unfair, but good for me. So, Pom, this one is for you. Thanks for being the absolute best and putting up with my rants and not judging me for mocking everything and everyone all the time. Love, Perpetually Tardy.

(i)

This is how it happened the first time.

I was frowning at the pitiful stack of mail in my hands, wondering if the conspicuously missing letters and subscriptions would ever be returned to me. Ever since moving to my new apartment, I had been at the mercy of the Postal System and that was never a good situation to be in. I’d resigned myself to having to take an extra trip back to my old building and do some investigating, when the elevator dinged and I stepped in. Just as the doors slid closed, there was the frantic rumble of footsteps and a hand slipping into the narrowing gap.

The doors sprang apart to let in the harried owner of the appendage, who barely spared me a glance before turning to face the front, eyes briefly darting to the buttons. It took me a second to recognise him. It was the guy from the apartment opposite to mine, although so far that seemed to be only a nominal living arrangement; in my two weeks there, I’d seen him exactly once, merely in passing, and we had exchanged a sum total of zero words.

I followed his lead and stopped blatantly staring at him, though I continued studying him covertly through my peripheral vision. He looked—well, his jawline looked like it could cut glass effortlessly and he had the soft chestnut hair of a male model and I knew I was probably going to develop a very embarrassing crush on him at some point— but besides that, he looked browbeaten, his whole posture seeming to buckle under the invisible weight of the world.

There was an awkward moment when he realised we were both heading in the same direction, and I took it upon myself to break the ice.

“Hi,” I greeted, introducing myself, “I just moved in. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” I gave him my warmest smile.

His swift assessing glance would have escaped my notice if I hadn’t been paying such close attention; his expression was still shuttered off, but he offered an endearing little quirk of his lips and an introduction. “Spencer Reid. I’ve-uh, I’ve been away on a work thing.”

“Oh? What do you do?” I asked, beginning a leisurely walk down the hallway and fishing my keys out of my bag. I immediately regretted the query when, impossibly, his eyes became even more guarded.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

Well, that clipped admission would have given anyone pause. “Oh, wow. That’s really impressive, dude.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“So, you’re like a psychologist?”

“I catch serial killers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was brimming with my insecurities. The alcohol in my blood helped with that, though; the next words were out of my mouth before I even registered the thought.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, uh—”

He was going to say no.

“It’s just that you look like you could use some company. And I think it’s absolutely criminal that we haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

“It’s really late.”

But he was rocking forwards on his toes just the tiniest bit, leading me to believe that some part of him did want to take me up on my offer that night.

“So it is. Come on, Agent Reid. Be a good neighbour.”

“It’s Doctor, actually,” he corrected. “Doctor Reid. I have Ph.Ds. Three of them.”

My eyebrows had risen to my hairline and, sensing the change in the air, he hurried to put me at ease. “But you can just call me Spencer.”

“Huh. You don’t hear that every day.” I chuckled sheepishly. “Well, come on in, Doctor.”

There was a moment when his whole body leaned towards me and his face looked conflicted but slightly enthusiastic, and I was convinced I could turn the night into a very pleasant one for both of us. Then, with a loud clatter, my keys slipped from my hands, startling us. The moment was broken, and I sighed in resignation.

“Let me guess, you’ve decided I’m too drunk and we’re going to go our separate ways.”

At least he had the good grace to look apologetic. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” he told me slowly as he bent down to pick up my keys and pressed them securely into my outstretched hand, “It’s late and I’ve had a long day. I’ll...see you around?”

“Sure,” I managed to say with a regretful smile, “I’m holding you to that.”

*~*

That, however, turned out to be easier said than done, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the Herculean feat of unpacking and organising my new place with a mild hangover and a tinge of frustration over lost opportunities looming over me. Once that was dealt with, the bigger challenge turned out to be actually locating the man in question. I knocked on his door a few times, but when the responding silence continued to persist for over a week, I began to think he’d just been a drunken hallucination in the first place. And the longer I went without any follow-up interactions, the more intensely I started overthinking the slightly fuzzy memory of our brief conversation.

Of course I’d managed to make a fool of myself in front of a really cute guy. That was absolutely in character for me. Every time I passed by his door, I convinced myself a little more that I owed him a sincere apology for my poor, inconsiderate conduct.

Beyond the embarrassment, however, work didn’t leave me much time to think about it, and by the time I was trudging to my apartment the next Saturday, the whole encounter had been relegated firmly to the back burner. Naturally, that was when the faint glow of light under his door distracted me from the very passive-aggressive email I was composing. I hesitated.

The deep breaths I sucked in didn’t serve much more purpose than to make me somewhat lightheaded, but I forged on anyway. I knocked on the door, and waited.

There was silence, followed by the sound of reluctantly shuffling feet, and then, finally, I was face to face with Spencer Reid once again.

“Um,” I started, “hi.”

He stared at me wordlessly for a beat, during which I started to wonder if he’d actually forgotten me already.

“So, we met the other day, and I just want to apologise. I didn’t mean to come on to you so strongly, and I get that you weren’t int-”

“Do you want to come inside?”

“..What?”

“Do you want to come inside?” he repeated, enunciating clearly. That didn’t clear up my confusion, though.

“Um. Yes? Sure. I mean, no, shouldn’t we talk about this a bit?”

He let out a tired laugh. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Alright,” I said, biting my lip. I followed him inside, and pushed the door closed behind me; it emitted an innocuous little click as it fell shut.

There was something about the weariness behind his eyes and the careful set of his jaw that made me want to study him and understand what was going through his head, but all I could glean that night was that Spencer didn’t seem amenable to much time spent on documentation.

“So,” I began unsurely, shedding my jacket and scanning the contents of the room, the piles upon piles of books and the distinct lack of much else, “tell me about yourself.”

“Didn’t I already do that?”

“Hmm, that’s not the whole story,” I mumbled, running my fingers over a broken-spined, wrinkled copy of Paradise Lost laid open on a heavy wooden desk. A single smudge of blue ink stood out against the yellowing page, and beside it, the print read: This horror will grow mild, this darkness light. “You’re not just an FBI agent.”

“That’s all that’s important,” he asserted, taking a step towards me. He had one eye on my curiously wandering fingers and, sensing that it was making him more antsy than he needed to be, I tucked my hands into my back pockets, facing him with a grin of false bravado. I really wished I was drunk. That would have made things infinitely easier.

“Besides,” he continued, this time meeting my eyes directly, “I don’t know anything about you either.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, stepping closer to him.

His eyes didn’t leave mine, until my own strayed to the bobbing curve of his throat and the tantalising motion of his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. Not for the first time that week, I wondered how terrible of an idea it would be to try to kiss my attractive neighbour. I could see my own apprehensions mirrored in his stance, and I saw the exact moment when he identified the focus of my gaze.

I didn’t have to spend much time contemplating. He decided, just as I did, that any consequences of this impulsive decision could be dealt with later.. I lunged for him just as he closed the distance in one long stride, grasping my jaw in both his hands. Then we were firmly attached at the lips, and his arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me closer, seemingly intent on devouring my mouth. Gradually, our actions slowed a bit, the kiss turning softer and more exploratory, our tongues winding around each other gently, my lungs readily accepting his deep, nasal sigh.

His arms around my waist were a steadily spreading band of warmth, and I could feel the growing evidence of his arousal against my thigh. I found myself thinking I could be very happy with just kissing him like this, feeling his breaths tickle my face, letting my hands suffer minute pinpricks from the stubble littering his jaw. But then his grip shifted to my hips and tightened ever so slightly, and it was like I’d been doused with fuel and set alight. My fingers struggled to unbutton his shirt as he pressed distracting kisses along my neck, my soft whimpers breaking the relative silence of the room.

All of a sudden, the ground shifted and my stomach swooped, and it took a second or two before I realised I was now in his arms, being carried towards, presumably, his bedroom. Content, I got to work on undoing the last button and trying to slip the shirt down his arms entirely. He granted me a chuckle for my troubles before laying me down gently on our destination and taking it off himself.

He didn’t waste any time in sinking his knees into the soft mattress on either side of my legs, helping me out of my own clothes and methodically kissing every bit of newly exposed skin, until finally, I was clad only in flimsy cotton and he was nosing at my aching core. With two fingers, he deftly removed the last of my defences and pressed his mouth against me. I moaned, my hands flying to his hair and trying to keep from pulling too hard as he used his tongue to examine every inch of my arousal, evidently experimenting based on the sounds he managed to elicit from me.

“Oh, my God,” I babbled, hips bucking wildly under the iron grip holding them down.

“Tell me,” he demanded, pulling away slightly, “tell me how much you like it.”

“Spencer,” I breathed desperately, “Please. I need- I need more.”

He hummed leisurely against me, frustrating me to no end. My grip in his hair tightened at last, guiding him where I needed him most, and I swear I felt his lips stretch into a smile.

It went on for what felt like hours, but there was no earthly way I could have lasted that long. He took mercy on me eventually, plunging two long fingers deep inside me, closing his lips around the bundle of nerves that, predictably, sent me into a violent, shaking climax. He nursed me patiently through the aftershocks, waiting till my legs had stilled before rising to undo his belt and rid himself of his pants. I was already mourning the loss of his closeness, and I pulled him back on top of me the moment he was within reach.

“Come on, Doctor,” I taunted, “It’s time you made good on your promise and got to the main event.”

“I never promised anything,” he retorted, but the playful glint in his eyes excited me, and while he reached over beside us to the nightstand, I rose to the occasion.

“Oh? Well, if you don’t want to, I guess I’ll just head out, then,” I teased, going so far as to attempt to sit up from underneath him. I felt a low, threatening sound begin in his chest and make its way up his throat as his hands gripped my wrists and brought them down to my sides, pinning me in place.

It was my turn to chuckle at his eagerness, lifting my head to briefly peck him on his lips.

“Don’t worry, Spencer,” I cooed, “I’m not going anywhere. Now fuck me already.”

“With pleasure,” came the response, and while I wondered idly how a smirk could simultaneously be sinister and bashful, there was the sharp sound of crinkling foil, and then he cut off my thoughts by entering me in one fluid motion.

“Fuck!” I cried out, holding him around the shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer.

“That’s it,” he groaned in my ear, “let me hear you.”

He set a torturous rhythm, thrusting into me harshly before pulling out slowly, carefully, making me relish the sensation, anticipation building steadily in the pit of my stomach and spreading until it engulfed me. A ceaseless litany of moans and whimpers filled the air around us, the source of each barely discernible. At last, I could feel myself riding the very precipice, and his name began to fall from my lips like a prayer.

“Spencer,” I called, “Spenc-”

He swallowed the rest of my inconsequential cries, bringing his thumb to where we were joined to guide me over the edge, and as I convulsed around him soundlessly, he reached his own climax, blunt fingernails leaving crescent marks on my hips, his heavy panting breaths stuttering, once, against my clavicle, before calming and slowly evening out.

We stayed that way for a few minutes, my hand combing lightly through his hair, his closed-mouth kisses pressing against my neck like a balm. Eventually, though, we had to move, and it was he who did first. He pulled out and walked away from the bed without looking at me, tossing the tied-up condom in the trash. I sat up, cross-legged, watching him for a bit, pursing my lips when I noticed he was actively avoiding my gaze.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s your bathroom?”

He pointed in a general direction and mumbled something incoherent; sighing in disappointment, I stood up gingerly and went to clean myself up. When I returned, the room still smelled like sex, and Spencer was still evasive, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed now. He looked up when I entered, watching me pick up my clothes.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

I glanced over at him. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

Nodding, he watched me get dressed, then followed me into the living room and watched me drape my jacket over my arm. Then he watched me walk to the door, all the while not saying a word.

The cool steel of the doorknob in my hand, I looked over my shoulder one more time.

“Well, Spencer. You know where to find me, I guess,” I muttered, shaking my head slightly. Then I left his apartment, and despite the enormity of what had transpired during my visit, the click of the door closing sounded exactly the same.

.

(ii)

Of course, after that, I resolved it would never happen again. The man next door clearly had some issues with what we had done, and I couldn’t be bothered to solve them. It was, frankly, idiotic to jeopardise the prospect of good neighbours in favour of sex, however great it might have been.

It was embarrassing how quickly my resolution packed its bags and jumped out of my third-storey window.

I was awoken the next morning by three firm raps on my door. I think I knew, somehow, who was trying to get my attention, so I took my time, but the reveal of Spencer’s regretful face didn’t surprise me any less. I was wary as I stared at him wordlessly, cycling through all the possible reasons for his visit, and his eyes dropped to the way my arms tightly hugged my midsection. He winced then, meeting my eyes.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted,” he blurted, and it sounded so rehearsed that I had to stifle a guffaw. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that could have been frustration, but he powered through. “I’ve had a pretty terrible week at work and I think I was trying to get something out of my head. But I was awful to you, and it was completely my fault. I’m sorry if I offended you. I had...a great time.”

I’d been watching him carefully throughout his speech, and if he was faking the earnestness in those last couple of lines, he was an extraordinary actor. I concluded, as I studied the apologetic slump of his shoulders and the dark bags into which his eyes had sunken, that I didn’t need to worry about the veracity of his words.

“It’s okay,” I said hesitantly. “I mean, no, it’s not okay, it felt really awful, but thanks for explaining. I get it now.”

“Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking off to the side, “that’s great. Thank you.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Problem?” I was bemused.

“No!” He was looking back at me, now. “I- well, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it to be this easy. I thought I’d have to convince you.”

“Huh. Well, you can still convince me, Doctor. Give me a second to get ready. You’re buying me breakfast.”

I quite liked the shy smile that graced his face in response.

*~*

It kept happening. There was no way I could have stopped it, and there was no reason I would have wanted to.

We quickly grew into a familiar rhythm. Each time, it started with one of us having a particularly stressful day. Each time, it started with a knock on the door and some perfunctory shuffling around. Before wasn’t the time for talking. Each time, we’d stumble into whichever surface was closest, and every time it wasn’t the bed, Spencer would make some halfhearted protests about germs and hygiene, before I shut him up very effectively with a manicured hand on his dick. Each time, in the During, I marvelled at how well we fit together, how quickly we’d learned each other’s bodies, and each time, I saw more of him than I had the last.

And I loved every bit of it.

Spencer no longer retreated into his shell in the After. He’d try sometimes, but I knew how to coax him out, now. I’d slip my hand into his, ever so gently, and wait. Or I’d sling one arm around his waist until he returned the embrace. I was getting scarily good at reading him. It was like working on an intricate puzzle, and every new achievement was rewarded with a deeper, longer look into his mind.

I carefully stored away every casual anecdote about someone from work or his godson or his mother, and I loved to watch the life burn bright in his eyes. Of course, they were all happy stories. I could sense the bittersweet aftertaste they left in his mouth, but he never let me inspect it too closely. In turn, I regaled him with tales of my own, of my sister and my parents, of my cat that was perpetually falling asleep on top of me. I told him all the easy, palatable things, holding back just as much as he did, always careful to maintain the wall of superficiality.

But things did slip through the cracks every once in a while, from both of us-- they were bound to, what with the sheer amount of time we spent together in various states of undress. Things that made me burn with curiosity that couldn’t be sated without jeopardising the very foundation of our arrangement. So I turned a blind eye to the jagged scars on his thigh and neck when he failed to maneuver to hide them; in return, he kept mum when I walked into his apartment, on the day of my worst professional disaster, with runny makeup and bloodshot eyes, shivering all over.

If he noticed that I kissed the skin over his scars a little more tenderly, lavishing attention on him the first time I saw them, he didn’t show it. If he liked the way I always nuzzled my face into the one on his neck when we were done, he didn’t show it.

For my part, I tried very hard not to read into the slow, shallow thrusts or the almost reverent way he handled me when my tears still hadn’t dried. I definitely did not read into the arm over my shoulder or the slightly baffled crease in his brow while we sat on his couch with a random episode of The Office.

And if, maybe, the frequency of his visits increased as the months went by, who could blame him? He was an FBI agent. He probably had a lot of bad days.

Sometimes, though, I’d go over when I’d had a good day and I felt like celebrating. Sometimes, I’d knock on his door just because I was bored and I wanted to see him. It wasn’t as if he would know the difference. Our bodies knew how to be around each other, and that was all that mattered.

This was just stress relief, after all.

(“Have you ever been in love?” I asked him once, abruptly, my heart still pounding as the sweat cooled on our skins.

He glanced at me warily, but he must have detected only honest curiosity on my face, not lovesickness or anything else that would have had him running for the hills.

He chewed on his lip for a moment. “Once.”

“What happened?” My finger traced an aimless pattern on his chest.

“She loves me,” he said, “but she isn’t in love with me.”)

We never articulated any feelings we may or may not have about each other or our situation. We dodged sincere conversation like it would kill us. So all the pieces we owned of each other were ones that we had been remiss in guarding diligently. That only made them all the more precious.

But on the heels of every stolen glance, there was a moment where he looked right through me, where I felt blank and insubstantial, like I was a placeholder for something or someone, and that would be enough for the wall to be between us again, rigid and unrelenting.

It was a shame that I was stupid enough to hold on to the scraps that fell through anyway.

.

(iii)

I was an immensely stupid person.

That was the only explanation for why I was leaning against the outer wall of our apartment building at three in the morning, desperately shoving my hands into my coat pockets to brace against the cold.

“You don’t have to be here.”

Can he read minds now? I wondered sullenly. Spencer was sitting on the front steps, with his head in his hands. His hair was dishevelled, and his eyes were the picture of torment. I would have loved to console him, but every attempt so far had been firmly rebuffed.

He had knocked on my door an hour ago and silenced my greeting with a bruising kiss. Of course, I knew how to do that dance, but Spencer had been off his rhythm tonight. When I’d reached for his shirt, he’d pushed my arms away. When I had kissed his jaw, he'd flinched. When I’d finally retreated in concern to ask him what was wrong, he had huffed out that he was perfectly fine, before trying to lift my shirt over my head.

I’d pushed him onto the bed and tried to distract him, and he had responded by clenching the sheets in his fists instead of grabbing my hips. I’d whispered his name in his ear the way he usually loved, and he’d climbed out from under me, sitting up on the bed with his chest heaving. At that point, I’d given up. What had followed was an exercise in patience.

(“Spencer, what’s wrong?” I’d asked again, to no avail.

“It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” he’d gritted out, glaring at me.

I’d sighed. “Okay, which is it? Nothing, or that you don’t want to talk about it?”

Silence.

“Well something is clearly bothering you. Am I just supposed to ignore that?”

“We don’t need to talk about anything.” He’d tried to kiss me again. That time, I was the one who pushed him away.

“No, Spencer, this isn’t working. I don’t think we should do this tonight.”

The glare had intensified. “Fine.” He’d gotten up and tried to put his shirt back on, but his hands were shaking.

Cursing my investment in this man, I’d helped him while he stared daggers at me. When he’d hunted down his shoes and made his way out of my apartment, I’d pulled on my coat and followed, petting my cat briefly when he tried to follow us.)

So now we were outside, experiencing the most awkward silence ever known to man. Every time I attempted to put a hand on his shoulder or sit beside him, he would tense up yet again.

“Yes, Spencer,” I replied at length, “I do. You look like you might accidentally walk into traffic. I’m not leaving.”

“It’s not your problem.” The petulance was beginning to get on my nerves. I hadn’t signed up for sleepless weeknights.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I told him, shrugging.

I pulled out my phone to distract myself with the cute animals in my game. Spencer was still worryingly silent. But if he didn’t want to talk to me and he wouldn’t let me near him, there was little I could do but stand there.

Every now and then, his breathing would hitch, and I would study him out of the corner of my eye. Whether he fully registered my presence or not, I was unsure, but he seemed to be calming down. He looked less on edge, his eyes less wild, and I was about to approach him and try again, when a black car pulled up just ahead of us.

Both our heads jerked to attention, but the petite blonde who exited the car only had eyes for Spencer.

“Spence!” She rushed to him, pulling him into a hug that he slowly reciprocated. “Your phone is off. After what happened, I was so worried,” she murmured into his hair, her eyes shut in relief.

And Spencer-- Spencer’s face was something to behold. His eyes were tightly closed, his lips turned down unhappily, and his face was so naked and open that I almost looked away. Almost. The pain that shone there riveted me. I felt as if I could see every wound he had ever suffered, in that instant. He’d never shown me that before. And he still hadn’t-- this wasn’t for me. The embrace broke, but his face stayed the same while the woman fussed over him.

Something came back to me, a fragment of a memory. She loves me but she isn’t in love with me. Unbidden, a sound of realisation escaped my throat, drawing two pairs of eyes to the dark corner in which I had been so far obscured.

Spencer schooled his face back to some semblance of normalcy, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Uh, JJ, this is--”

“Leaving,” I blurted out, then cleared my throat. “I was just leaving. Work in the morning. Nice to meet you.” I tried to smile at her, but it felt more like a pained grimace.

I brushed past both of them, but hesitated on the top step. “Spencer…”

His gaze was inscrutable, and I was too tired to try to decipher it.

“Feel better,” I mumbled, and then I left them there.

*~*

I was not sulking.

I told myself this as I lounged on the couch in my most comfortable pyjamas, stuffing my face with junk food and watching Michael Scott lament his foot injury.

So what if Spencer was in love with a beautiful blonde while getting him to talk to me was like pulling teeth? It wasn’t like I’d been carrying a torch for him. We were just extremely compatible sexually. And in very close proximity to each other. That put us in the ideal position to hook up whenever we needed it. That was the extent of our relationship. For all I knew, he’d been sleeping with other people this whole time. I hardly had the right to protest it if he had. We hadn’t set up rules. We just fell into bed together as and when we liked.

It was a good, uncomplicated thing.

So I needed to make sense of whatever needless jealousy I was feeling, before I ruined it. I couldn’t sit around being pathetic. I had a life.

There was a knock on the door.

Sighing, I turned off the TV and put the snacks away. Spencer was quiet as I let him in. His eyes roamed the small living room as if he didn’t know his way around my place as well as he did his own. I perched on the arm of the couch and stared at him, hoping my face didn’t betray the rollercoaster of emotions I’d experienced over the last forty-eight hours.

“So,” I started, “you okay?”

He looked a bit startled, as if he hadn’t expected me to address it at all. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Yeah. I’m alright.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I prompted, “It was pretty intense.”

“It-uh, it was a work thing. JJ helped me out.”

Of course she did. “Great,” I said aloud.

We looked at each other for a beat. “She’s the one, isn’t she?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

“What?”

“The one you’re in love with?”

There was a telltale spot of red high on his cheeks, even as he sputtered. “That’s not-- I mean, yes, but that was--”

“It’s fine,” I said cheerily. “I was just curious.”

He frowned at me. “She’s my best friend, it’s not--”

“No, I get it.” My stomach was somewhere near my feet. “So, do you wanna fuck?”

Again, he seemed taken aback. “What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I directed my gaze at his meticulously polished shoes.

“No.” A pause. “I just wanted to say-- would you look at me for a second?”

I forced myself to comply.

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you. For staying with me the other night.” The sincerity in his eyes was a bit too much to bear at the moment.

I hadn’t done anything, and I told him as much.

“You didn’t have to. Just being there was more than enough.”

“Right,” I said hollowly. “So is that it?”

“Yeah.” He seemed very lost. “Um, are you okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re acting kind of strange.”

“That’s because there isn’t usually this much talking,” I snapped.

I longed to smooth out the lines on his face and make him feel at ease again. This was supposed to be the good, uncomplicated thing. He was apparently making an effort. I could return the favour.

“I’m sorry,” I said, letting out a deep breath and rubbing a hand over my face. “Can I get you something to drink? We can talk about it if you want. Or just hang out.” I tried to squash down the hope that bloomed in my chest.

“Oh. Sure, if that’s okay.” He was chewing on his lip again, and it was unfairly appealing.

And so he stayed. I got two mugs of coffee, and when I came back, he was on my couch reading a well-worn paperback, as if he belonged there. I had to agree with the thought. When he heard me enter the room, he looked up with a smile.

When he left three hours later, I couldn’t remember what we’d talked about or the name of the book he’d abandoned within minutes, but I remembered the way he’d leaned close to me while gesturing wildly with his hands, and I remembered that we hadn’t touched beyond accidental brushes of our fingers the entire time.

He still hadn’t revealed the source of his despair, and I knew there was someone he loved. I knew whatever this was, it would be temporary.

But the smile on my face as I closed the door was real.

.

(v)

Spencer kept coming over. I was never given the chance to initiate contact because it seemed like he was always at my place. Whenever he was in the city, he would be with me. I started to worry about his apartment gathering cobwebs from the disuse. But I couldn’t honestly complain about this new development.

Sometimes we had sex, and sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes he came in sore and tired, other times he was brimming with excitement with a playful grin. Sometimes he was angry at the world and I was allowed to coax him down from his rage. Those nights were in turn infuriating and thrilling.

(“What happened?”

“Work.”

“That’s really helpful, Spencer, care to elucidate?”

“No.”

“Okay, caveman.”

“Shut up and take off your clothes.”

I’d rolled my eyes and complied.)

I enjoyed every bit of him. I wanted to observe and chart every one of his moods and his little quirks. I loved the small pile of his books that had found their way onto the coffee table. I loved introducing him to pop culture that he approached with the same diligence as he would a textbook of quantum physics. He was an eager student, and I attempted to return the favour whenever he launched into his obscure tirades.

Some nights I would drowsily let him in and he would crawl into bed with me, fully clothed. The following mornings, I would wake up with a silly grin on my face, seeing him utterly relaxed and at peace. We’d have breakfast in my kitchen and slowly come awake together over our steaming mugs of coffee.

It was fun, learning him.

In the dead of night, as I was drifting off to sleep, he would tell me bits and pieces of horrible things he’d had to see. All I could offer him then was a tight, protective embrace and a steady gaze as the words clawed their way out of his reluctant throat. It felt like he was giving me some sort of twisted boon, these revelations of his pain. I collected them just as carefully as I did everything else. If it was a part of him that was freely given, I knew I wanted it.

At intervals, I would have to remind myself that he wasn’t truly emotionally available. It wasn’t hard. I only had to picture JJ’s relieved smile and the raw uncloaked expression on his face that I had never seen again. He mentioned her every now and then, and I’d discovered that his godson was her child. He never seemed upset, talking about her family, but he wasn’t the kind of man who would resent another’s happiness, even if it was at the expense of his own. I knew that now. I still remembered the way he would pull away from me and flinch at my touch, and I knew I was playing a losing game. There was no way out of this where I didn’t get hurt. All I could do was try to control it.

Three months after that night outside our building, I knew I’d fallen for him.

I was in trouble and I needed to do something about it, quickly. So I stopped preemptively cancelling plans with my friends and coworkers. I joined a book club. I called in a guy to loudly fix my bathroom sink the day I knew Spencer would be getting home. I even got a gym membership. I tried to be away from home as much as I could.

Whenever Spencer texted me, I would let him know I was unavailable. His texts got progressively more frustrated. Watching the excitement on his face dim when I turned him away at my door was painful. But it was necessary. I convinced myself that when Spencer and I stopped existing in this vacuum without other people, my feelings would weaken and I would be able to get him out of my head.

It didn’t work, of course, and I spent every day missing him. I tried to distract myself with work and my suddenly-full schedule, but the feelings were still there. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking of him every morning and every night, and every time I passed his door and every time I walked by a bookstore.

So when Neil from work asked me out a week later, I said yes.

I wore a nice dress and heels, and he picked me up. We went to a midscale restaurant and talked about boring first-date things, and I knew within the first fifteen minutes that I didn’t want to see him again. I went through the motions, smiled pleasantly at him, and told him I would take a cab home. When I walked dejectedly up to my apartment, it took me a second to realise what I was looking at. My heart leapt and I dropped my keys.

Spencer was sitting on the floor outside my door, and he looked tireder and older than I’d ever seen him. He had looked up at my approach. I froze.

“Spencer.” I hadn’t seen him in a month.

He looked me up and down, and there was an unhappy tilt to his mouth. I wanted to kiss it away. He reached for the keys and rose to his feet.

“Hi.” He held them out to me, and I wanted to laugh and the eerie reflection of our first meeting.

“Hi,” I echoed.

“Were you on a date?”

There was no point in lying to him. “Yes.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching.

Silently, I unlocked the door and held it open. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked in.

He paced the floor of my living room. I took off my shoes and put my keys on the table, waiting for him to speak. I felt out of sorts and unprepared for what was to come. Even when I heard him come to a halt, I didn’t lift my gaze to meet his.

“Why would you-- I thought we had something.” His tone was heavy with accusation.

I stared back at him in challenge. “Sure. We had something. But I didn’t want to fool myself into thinking it was more than it was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Us! You. You send me all these mixed signals, and I know you’re still hung up on someone else but I let myself get in too deep anyway. I had to protect myself.”

“I’m not hung up on someone else,” he shouted, raising his hands in frustration.

“Of course you are!” I matched his volume. “You told me so yourself.”

“When did I do that?” He sounded honestly bewildered.

“A few months ago. You said you were in love with someone but she didn’t love you back. And then I saw you with JJ that day. I know it’s her. It’s okay. You didn’t promise me anything.”

Feeling drained, I wrapped my hands around my middle. The tears were threatening to fall, but I tried to hold them at bay. This would be over soon. It all would.

“JJ--” he barked out a laugh, surprising me.

“What about this situation is funny to you?” I demanded.

“No, listen--”

“You’re hot and you’re cold. You kick me out right after our first time and then you’re sweet the next day. How do you want me to feel about that?”

“I’m sorry about-”

“Trying to talk to you is impossible! I want to help you. But you clearly don’t want to talk to me!”

“That’s not--”

“And then you’re over here all the time, and I get that it’s because you want to distract yourself, but you have to know how it would con--”

“God, would you just shut up and listen to me for once?”

I glared up at him. He was undeterred, a strange glint in his eyes.

“I love you,” he informed me, striking me dumb. “It took me a while to realise it, but it’s true. I love you.”

All I could do was gape at him as he walked closer to me and took my tightly clenched fists in his hands. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was holding back. I’m trying to be better. And I don’t know what you thought you saw between me and JJ,” he said very slowly, stroking his thumbs gently over my palms, “but all that’s there is a lot of trauma and shared experiences. Yes, I thought I loved her once, but that was a long time ago. We’ve never-- she’s not you.”

Traitorously, that tendril of hope began to coil around my heart again as I searched his face, looking for a trace of a lie.

I found none.

I surged forward, crashing my lips to his with no finesse and too much force, but he was ready for me, releasing my hands and cradling my waist instead. I gripped his hair, letting the tears spill at last, an overjoyed laugh bubbling out of my throat and into his mouth. I let my hands roam the hard plane of his body, the delicious ripple of wiry muscle beneath his shirt, the hidden softness that only I could feel.

“I love you,” I told him when we broke apart for air. “I’m glad I can tell you, I love you, I fucking love you.” Spencer grinned down at me, and the look was so fond I had to kiss him again.

The rest was a blur of hastily discarded clothes and the steadfastly ignored pain of knocking into furniture before we finally found my bed and tumbled into it.

(“All this time, I could have had you,” I groaned into his ear while he thrust his fingers into me, mouthing along my jaw.

“You have me,” he promised into my skin an eternity later, when he was inside me and my nails were scrambling for purchase along his back, my vision going white.)

That night, there were no painful confessions or taunting insecurities. There were just the two of us, blissfully entwined together, and the deepest of dreamless sleeps. Somewhere in the middle of falling out and falling back together, we had found our new rhythm.

.fin.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Begone, Bitch

Prompts: Hi ! I just wanted to say that i love your stories and the way you write the characters ! If you want, could you write about Virgil being comforted by the other sides, or him getting hurt while protecting the others ? - anon

I am beyond grateful for every fic you write, you are so good at pushing all the right emotional buttons to just make my entire day. I don't want to be greedy since you already make so much good content, but in 'Lie to Me' there was that little one off scene in the kitchen where Virgil pushes Janus behind him to 'protect ' him from Roman and I *cannot* stop thinking about it. I would die for a whole fic of Virgil protecting Janus(and the others, but mostly Janus, I like when people are sweet to the snake boy) from danger by physically shielding him with his body. Overprotective Virgil is my favorite. So this is a prompt/request but only if you really really want to <3 And thank you for writing such wonderful fic. - awitchbravestheverge

Ah yes more opportunities to write in Virgil's narration style.

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none, not really. Some creepy shadow shit from the Subconcious and Virgil gets a little hurt but nothing graphic

Pairings: platonic found family babey

Word Count: 4504

The Subconscious is a nasty piece of work. It’s not quite powerful enough to overtake the Mindscape by itself, Roman and Remus do too good of a job holding the barriers in the Imagination, but that doesn’t mean little shits don’t worm their way through every now and then. Guess who gets the fantastic job of being alert to each and every single one of them?

No fucking prizes for guessing who.

The Subconscious is a nasty piece of work. It’s not quite powerful enough to overtake the Mindscape by itself, Roman and Remus do too good of a job holding the barriers in the Imagination, but that doesn’t mean little shits don’t worm their way through every now and then. Guess who gets the fantastic job of being alert to each and every single one of them?

No fucking prizes for guessing who.

For the most part, Virgil’s able to work undetected. Or, well, no, the others will see him doing shit but they don’t know that’s what he’s doing. He just has to stand between them and whatever gross slimy black thing has crawled its way up from the depths of the Subconscious and it’ll get absorbed. Part of Thomas’s background anxiety until he can banish back to the hellhole from whence it came.

That doesn’t always mean it’s…painless.

Some of them are fine. Some of them are like little misty bits that just putter around where they’re not fucking supposed to be and Virgil can just pluck them out of the air and stuff them into the pockets of his hoodie and wait. These ones really like to bother Patton, for some reason.

Patton’s baking today, cinnamon sugar muffins. He’s humming to himself as he bustles about the kitchen with that weird boundless energy of his that makes everyone want to think about nothing but sunshine. Ruins the hell out of Virgil’s gloomy emo image but hey, fresh muffins. Sacrifices must be made somewhere.

“Did you want to help, Virgil, or are you fine with just sitting there?”

Virgil blinks, having zoned out after the third time watching one of the containers almost fall over. “Nah, I’m good.”

Patton shrugs. “If you change your mind…”

“I won’t, Pat, I’m good. You’re doing great.”

“Aw, thanks!”

Virgil opens his mouth to say something else when he sees a little grey thing twisting in the air next to Patton’s head. He suppresses a sigh and reaches out, careful to make sure Patton’s back is turned as he snags the pesky little thing and whips it away. He stuffs his hand in his pocket as soon as Patton turns around.

“What was that?”

“What was what,” Virgil asks, blinking innocently as he squeezes the icy thing in his pocket, “what’re you talking about?”

Ah, it’s the hands-on-the-hips dad pose today. “I saw you reach for something, mister, now what did you do?”

“Don’t worry about it.” The misty little shit shrivels and disappears, leaving an ice-cold sting on his hand out of sight. “It’s fine.”

“Show me your hands.”

“What?”

“Show me your hands, Virgil.”

Virgil sighs and pulls the unstung hand out of his pocket. “See,” he says, waving it for good measure, “nothing to see here.”

Patton just raises an eyebrow. “And what about the other one?”

“C’mon, Pat—“ he sighs when both of Patton’s eyebrows go up— “fine, here.”

Patton’s eyes widen when he sees the mark on Virgil’s palm. He rushes forward instantly, cradling the injured hand and reaching for a towel. Conveniently, he gets one that was quite near where the misty thing had been floating.

“You could’ve told me you were hurt,” he says softly, tending to the sting with such tenderness that Virgil almost believes it’s something to worry about, “I would’ve helped.”

“But it’s fine, Pat,” Virgil sighs, “I could’ve dealt with it.”

“I know, I know.” Patton gives the hand one last dab with the towel before pronouncing it good enough. “But it’s never a crime to let us help you, kiddo.”

The corner of Virgil’s mouth tugs up. “Thanks, Pat.”

“Oh, of course, kiddo. Now you sit tight, the muffins won’t be another ten minutes.”

“Can’t wait.”

2.

Sometimes the Subconscious decides it’s bored of letting just the little misty bastards out and lets out the fucking ooze.

Have you ever seen Venom? Know how the symbioses move and how weird it is to look at?

Yeah, it kinda looks like that, just without the gay domesticity and mutual pining.

Nah, this ooze is mindless, just wants to—well, it doesn’t want anything, it just gets fucking everywhere. Makes it real hard to think sometimes, messes everything up.

Really likes fucking with Logan. Which first off, is not allowed. Don’t fuck with Logan. Don’t fuck with any of them, Virgil can and will kick your ass, but especially don’t fuck with Logan. Remus will tear you apart and no one will stop him. Except for Logan. Maybe. ‘Cause he’s nice like that.

Anyway, Virgil gets a weird tingle between his shoulders when there’s an oozy bitch up and about. He’s sitting on the couch, minding his own damn business, but then there’s that itch between his shoulders and he perks his head up.

Logan sits in a chair, alternating between scrolling on his laptop and making notes in one of his many notebooks. Virgil frowns, looking around, seeing if there’s any goo to keep track of, only to come up with nothing. Huh.

“Virgil?”

“Yeah?”

Logan tilts his head, concerned. “Are you alright? You look worried.”

He shakes his head, still squinting around the room. “Weird feeling, that’s it.”

“Will you let me know if it gets unbearable?” Virgil nods. “Thank you. Well, I’m going to get some more coffee, would you like any?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, L, that’d be great.”

Logan nods and stands, going to the kitchen. Leaving his laptop unattended on the coffee table.

Virgil watches as a truly massive ooze slides out from between the couch cushions and toward the laptop.

Not today you slimy bastard.

Unfortunately, he’s just a second too slow as a tendril from the ooze touches the laptop and yanks, pulling the laptop off the coffee table and sending it hurtling toward the floor. Virgil bites back a curse and lunges. His hand grabs the ooze just as his arm catches the laptop.

“Get back here, you little shit,” he grunts, opening his hand and using his power to suck the frothing fucker into his arm where it can go the fuck back to the Subconscious.

“Virgil, you—“

Shit.

Virgil looks up, a little guilty, as Logan comes back around the corner holding two coffee mugs. He looks down and raises an eyebrow.

“You…saved my laptop?”

“It was falling,” Virgil mutters, setting the precious cargo back on the coffee table, “didn’t want it to.”

“Ah. Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” Logan sets one of the coffee mugs down and reaches out a hand to help him up. “Though I assure you it is not the first time that laptop has been dropped.”

“What do you do with your stuff, Lo, I swear you make more cryptic remarks about it than J.”

“It’s all part of the experiment.”

“See, there you go again!”

3.

And then, then sometimes the Subconscious decides oh, it wants to get inventive and spawn this horrific little ooze-demons. Goat head, four legs, runs about like a creepy little horror game creature, they’re fucking awful. They don’t all look the same but they’re always running and climbing about like some gross as hellcat gremlins. Their nails are so sharp.

These fuckers really like messing with Janus. He’s got too many fun things to pull on, too many heavy clothes for them to pull and make him trip, and they like scurrying up his staff too much. They’re absolute fucking nightmares.

The good news is they’re by far the most obvious of the obnoxious little shits that manage to slip through the barriers of the Subconscious. Virgil hears a weird skittering in his ears and knows that one of the little monsters is loose again. Given how they all flock to Janus like he’s some fucking homing beacon, it’s easy to find them.

Janus is pacing back and forth, yanking angrily at the end of his clothes like they’re about to snag on something, his staff clutched in his hand. His head is down, muttering to himself as Virgil walks up.

“J?”

His head whips around. “Oh. Virgil. Certainly expected to see you here.”

“That’s me, always turning up where I’m not wanted.”

“I didn’t say that,” Janus mumbles, resuming his pacing, “though I didn’t mean to summon you. You can go.”

“You didn’t summon me, J,” Virgil says, leaning against the wall and looking around for wherever the bastards are, “I’m here of my own free will.”

“Free will,” Janus scoffs, turning around, “what the hell even is that?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Virgil spots movement.

“It’s not like there’s some master document of humans where free will is written into it.”

Slowly, Virgil raises his hand toward the spot, not tearing his eyes off it.

“And the belief that animals don’t have it! Ha, some of them exhibit characteristics of choice much more than we do.”

The little fucker snaps at his fingers as he makes a grab for it. He snags it by the scruff of the beck and yanks.

“And what is this about it being provable? Show me one scientific theory that has space in it for free will. Do it, I dare you.”

Virgil bites back a curse as he wrests the pesky shit around the middle, ignoring the way it chomps and snarls at him.

“Just because you have or don’t have free will doesn’t make you exempt from the constraints of society. Even if you aren’t making your own choices that doesn’t mean you’re the exception to the consequences.”

The teeth that sink into the sleeve of his hoodie are the last to vanish as Virgil breathes out, watching the last of it fade as Janus turns around.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, tugging his hat and gloves, “haven’t been…”

“S’okay, J,” Virgil waves with the hoodie sleeve that isn’t ripped, “you’re good. Come on, let’s go eat something.”

“…pasta?”

“Sure thing, danger noodle.”

“Ugh, I take it back.”

“Whatever you say, hazard macaroni.”

“I’m taller than you!”

4.

It makes sense that the Subconscious decides to send the most insidious shit after the twins. They’re the reason the pieces of shit monsters can’t make it up to the rest of them. And for the most part, they know what to look for. They don’t have the same awareness of all the little idiosyncrasies that Virgil does, but they beat back a fair number of them on their own.

Which is why the ones they can’t are tricky.

Remus is Dark Creativity, he lives in the muck with the monsters. Thrives in it. Loves the way the gross and the unwanted and the sickening twist and turn about his realm, thrills in the horrified swoop in his stomach when something truly gruesome rears its ugly fuckin’ head.

What he can’t deal with is the fog.

The first time Virgil saw it, he honestly thought it was smoke. He thought Remus had set something on fire and panicked, reaching through to try and find the blaze, find Remus, find a goddamn fire extinguisher, but it was cold.

Like…really cold.

You know how when the air is really humid it feels like it has a weight to it? Like it hangs over you like a wet rag that you just can’t shake off?

Imagine that but cold.

Virgil shivers and reaches forward, trying to find Remus. He’s still never gotten used to it, even though he’s seen it so many times now. Remus doesn’t make it out of his room when the fog comes. He blames it on creative block but Janus always hisses gently when he says that.

“Remus? Remus,” Virgil calls using his tempest tongue, “where are you, buddy?”

He can’t see Remus yet, but the call did its work. The fog ripples in front of him, almost shying away from the sound waves as he moves. He keeps calling, keeps watching the fog almost flinch as it recedes from him. His voice grows louder, louder. The fog begins to retreat in earnest.

Finally, he sees Remus, curled up on his bed, staring at the wall. Virgil muffles a curse as he strides forward, crooning as softly as he can in tempest tongue while glaring furiously at the fog as it sheepishly retreats. As the last of it fizzles, Remus’s head comes to flop on Virgil’s shoulder.

“Hey, spider-ling,” he mumbles, “when’d you show up?”

“A few minutes ago.” Virgil brushes Remus’s hair off his forehead. “You looked upset, bud, wanted to come check on you.”

“Fucking fine,” comes the slur, signifying that Remus is anything but, “I’m fucking fine, babe.”

“You’re exhausted and cold.” Virgil scoops him up into his arms. “Come on. Let’s go find J. He’ll spoil you.”

Sure enough, as soon as Janus sees Remus lying in Virgil’s arms, he jumps up with a coo and takes the other side from him, lying him down on something warm and promising to get him something warm to drink. No, Remus, not engine fuel. Something safer, at least for right now.

Virgil stands at the door, waiting.

There’s an itch between his shoulders and another chill down his spine.

A cloud of fog emerges from down the hallway. From it, three shadow gremlins canter toward him.

He grits his teeth and braces.

The first one collides with his shoulder and he grabs it, squeezing until the shadow folds in on itself. The second hits his shin and he punts it into a wall, scooping the remnants and absorbing them. The third one vanishes in a quick shout of tempest tongue.

You’re not gonna get them, he thinks as he shouts the fog away, not on my goddamn watch.

5.

The worst part of the Subconscious is the shadows.

Because they all have shadows. They all do. That’s just the nature of being an opaque thing and existing in proximity near light sources. Shadows are a natural by-product of blocking light, that’s it.

Wow, he’s been spending more time with Logan than he thought. Sweet.

But the Subconscious shadows are different. There’s no such thing as dark. Only an absence of light. There is no substance known as ‘dark,’ sure there’s dark energy or dark matter if you go the physics route, but there isn’t a thing ‘dark’ the way there’s a thing ‘light.’

If you looked at the Subconscious shadows, you’d believe otherwise.

They look normal. They look just like normal shadows. Something resting against the wall casts a shadow. Something moving in front of a window casts a shadow. Something sitting on the edge of the desk casts a shadow.

But these shadows move.

You have to pay such close attention to even catch them. You have to know precisely what on your desk is casting what part of the shadow when—hold on, what is that? Is it the water bottle? No, you pick up the water bottle and the cylinder two spaces across move. So you pick up the lamp and no, that’s not it either. You move your hand—your hand’s shadow is easy to track—and you move it to where it should be overlapping with whatever’s casting that shadow. You look closer. But there’s nothing blocking the light where your hand is, nothing between the light and the wall.

You stare at the shadow.

And then it moves.

See? They’re fucking terrifying. Like some Peter Pan gone wrong shit. Creepy, sinister, innocuous-looking, you’ve got to be constantly on guard to catch them. You have to be smart. These ones, out of all the Subconscious monsters, feel the most spiteful. Like they’re doing this on purpose, to terrorize the Mindscape.

That’s probably why they go for Roman.

Roman holds the barriers the most. Remus pushes them to reinforce them, but Roman draws the lines in the sand. Roman is responsible for keeping Thomas safe from the barriers breaking, is largely responsible for Thomas being able to see the Sides at all.

So of course the Subconscious hates him.

Roman is the only one who will summon Virgil when he thinks there’s something wrong. Sure, it’s never been quite as simple as Virgil showing up and Roman telling him he’s scared, he thinks something just moved. They used to just throw barbs at each other until Roman was distracted enough for Virgil to suck up the shadow, or fight until Virgil pointed out where it was and Roman said it was just a test, but they’re better now.

Virgil appears in Roman’s room and immediately looks around. Roman sits on the bed, his hands folded primly over the sword in his lap, polishing the pommel with forced calm.

“There are at least three,” he says, his voice perfectly even, “I can’t keep track of them anymore.”

“It’s okay, Princey,” Virgil says softly, turning and turning to try and catch them, “I’m here now. You did a good thing calling me. Are you alright?”

“I’m here,” Roman says, forcing a little false cheer into it, “not the biggest fan of what’s happening, but I’m here.”

Virgil smiles at him briefly before he sees the flicker.

There.

“Roman,” he says calmly, “I need you to go stand by the window.”

Roman gets up and walks to the window, sitting under the sill and closing his eyes. Virgil grits his teeth and makes his shadow overlap with the one on the wall.

It burns as he starts to absorb it, writhing in protest and screeching silently for the others to come help. Sweat begins to bead on Virgil’s forehead as two move shadows race to enlarge his silhouette. Goddamn, they’re vicious tonight. What the hell would they have done to Roman if he hadn’t called?

Not on my goddamn watch.

He’s panting by the time they’re gone, but he’s alright. He’s good. They’re gone. Roman is safe. He turns and opens his arms, letting Roman come and bury his face in the crook of his neck.

“Thank you,” Roman murmurs quietly, “sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Princey, this is my job.” He claps Roman on the shoulder. “You did good too.”

Roman huffs. “I sat in the corner. That’s not much.”

“And you did great. Now come on, Pat’s making cookies.”

“Oh, right, is it Remus’s night to help?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmmm…maybe we should swing by and warn Logan first.”

“Good idea.”

+1.

Nothing’s happened in a while and Virgil is getting worried.

Normally the longest they go without an incident is a month, maybe, and then it’s normally back-to-back nonsense for like a week.

But it’s been three months. And nothing. No misty tendrils, no puddles of ooze, no snapping gremlins, no fog, no shadows. Virgil’s just about on the verge of running a round-the-clock patrol of the damn place just to make sure he doesn’t miss anything.

As it turns out, he needn’t have bothered.

Stupid, stupid. Idiot.

He fucking missed it. He fucking missed it.

All the other Sides had monsters that went after them specifically. Why should Virgil get left out?

The Subconscious hadn’t been stopping, or slowing down, no. It had been biding its fucking time.

And now…

Virgil scrambles backward, trying to keep himself between the door to the Imagination and the figure in front of him. They slash at him again and he dodges just in the nick of time. He winces, claps a hand to his chest, and literally feels his heart skip a beat as his hand passes right through.

He’s being absorbed.

The figure raises a dripping, shadowy arm and brings the weapon down again. Virgil can’t stop dodging long enough to get a good look at it. He only knows that it fucking hurts and that it’s draining him. Draining him back into the Subconscious.

If he can just keep it here, if he can just hold off long enough to figure out what to do—

Another slash comes down on his arm and he yells, tempest tongue dying in his throat. That one fucking hurt.

He throws a handful of dirt up just to see if maybe it will blind them or give them a moment’s pause but no. The dirt just sinks into it like some fucking nightmare vacuum. The next strike collides.

“Virgil? Virgil?”

“What the fuck is that thing?”

“It’s draining him, move!”

“Hang on, Virgil, we’re coming!”

“Don’t you fucking dare hit him again!”

The figure turns, only to jump out of the way when Remus’s Morningstar smashes into the ground where they had been standing. Remus growls, ripping it out of the soil and swinging again. The figure parries the blow only to let out an inhuman wail as Roman’s sword slices its arm.

“Get the fuck away from him,” Remus snarls.

“Back!” Roman swings again, driving them away from Virgil. “Back, foul beast!”

“Don’t insult them by comparing the beasts to whatever the fuck this is.”

Logan rushes up before Virgil can open his mouth to ask what the fuck is going on, dropping to his knees and pressing something warm to Virgil’s chest.

“Virge? Virge, stay with me,” he calls softly, “come on, it’s alright, we’re here now.”

“How—“ Virgil gasps as his chest starts to…resolidify? “How did you—what? How?”

“Oh, Virgil,” Logan murmurs, rubbing whatever the miracle thing on his chest is in small circles, “did you really think we never noticed that you were trying to fight them by yourself?”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“Shh,” he soothes, helping Virgil up into a seated position, “it’s okay. We’re not mad. Just worried. You’re hurt.”

“Fuck!”

“Just stab them, Ro.”

“I’m trying!”

Despite himself, Virgil huffs a laugh as he leans against Logan. “Are they—we should help.”

“You,” Logan says sternly, “will sit here and let me finish making sure you won’t be drained. The twins can handle themselves.”

Still, Virgil’s heart stays in his throat until he spies something else running up the hill. A shadow beast, a massive one.

“Logan, look out—”

Logan turns and—

Who the fuck gave Logan a gun?

The shadow beast has flopped over onto its side and dissipated, Logan already back to tending to Virgil’s wound but the time Virgil’s dizzy, half-drained brain figures out what just happened.

“You…you shot it.”

Logan quirks an eyebrow. “You sound surprised.”

“Remus!”

“Get back!”

“What the hell is it doing?”

“It’s growing, shit, Ro, we gotta fall back.”

“Guard Logan, check on Virgil, I’m right behind you!”

The twins rush up and form a guard around Logan and Virgil as the shadow figure swells. Virgil’s eyes widen as it growls, growing larger and larger and larger still until the shadows look strapped at the seams, fit to burst. It grows claws. It grows teeth. It grows more limbs than he can count.

It leers down at them and opens a gaping, black maw.

“Now!”

Roman crouches down to shield him as dirt flies up around them. Logan bends in too as something equally massive soars overhead. Virgil manages to peek between Roman and Remus to see a blur of green tackle the monster.

“Is that…is that Patton?”

“I believe it’s ‘Lily Pad-ton,’” Logan corrects wryly as the twins snicker, “but…yes.”

Judging by the roar of the monster, he’s doing something.

“Where’s Janus,” he hears Roman hiss, “he should’ve been here by now.”

“There!”

Remus points and Virgil spots a fucking enormous yellow snake unhinging its jaw. The monster howls as it starts to vanish down the snake’s gullet.

“Holy fuck.”

“I think Janny’s hungry.”

“Pissed off, more like.” Roman lays a hand protectively on Virgil’s shoulder, squeezing encouragingly as Virgil gasps at the contact. “Whatever that thing is hurt Virgil.”

Remus growls in assent.

The thing in Virgil’s chest starts to burn hotter. Logan shushes him gently as he whines in pain.

“It’s alright, Virgil, you’re almost done. We’re right here, just breathe.”

“You’re safe, sweetheart,” Roman murmurs as he starts to list side to side, “we’ve got you.”

“Nothing’s gonna fucking touch you,” he hears Remus snarl as he passes out, “promise.”

He comes to an indeterminate amount of time later, laid out on the couch, his head in Patton’s lap. He blinks.

“Hey, kiddo,” Patton murmurs, stroking his hair, “you feel any better?”

“Um, yeah,” he mumbles, turning a little and wincing at the pull in his chest, “what…what happened?”

“We won.” Roman pats his arm. “All safe now. You did great.”

“All I did was lie there.”

“Yeah, and you did great.” He winks.

Virgil’s gaze rolls around to catch Logan setting down a glass of water and crouching by his head.

“L?”

“You’re all better physically,” Logan says softly, “but it might take some time for you to feel like it. Just take it easy for a while.”

“And that means,” comes Remus’s voice from over the couch, “you gotta let us help defend you too.”

Virgil flushes. “But it’s not your job.”

“Are you insinuating that our job is not to take care of you?” Roman holds his hand to his chest in a mock gasp. “Because that is rude.”

Patton gives his hair a gentle tug. “We’re gonna look after you, kiddo, you deserve it.”

“I—um…” Virgil swallows heavily. “But if I dealt with it properly you wouldn’t have to.”

A soft hiss comes from the chair. Virgil looks and sees Janus sitting there, one leg crossed over the other. He smiles softly.

“You can let us help you, sweetie,” he murmurs, “rest for a little. Don’t try and take on the Subconscious by yourself.”

“…okay.” He squints. “Wait, why are you all the way over there?”

“Digesting,” Janus says, completely dignified.

Virgil snorts. “I’m just sad I missed it.”

“Oh, it was fucking epic.”

“Language, kiddo.”

“Oh, come on, you were great—“

Logan chuckles next to his head as Virgil drifts back off to sleep with a smile on his face.

…he is gonna ask who gave Logan a gun after he wakes up properly.

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[awesomerextyphoon]

I love your writing. May I have Loki x Reader? The reader is a sweet, delicate dreamer. Loki has come to conquer the world. He saw her and wants her to become his Queen of Midgard. He kidnapped her. She pleads with him to let her go while she is tied to the bed. He caresses her hair and says she will love him (he doesn't want to use the scepter on her).

***Can I have White Reader x Loki, please? Loki just escaped from the Helicarrier. He saw the reader who is a sweet and innocent creature. Loki doesn't want her dead when he will start battle. Loki kidnaps her and locks her up to keep her safe. When he wins, Loki tells her that she will become his queen.***

Hi! I decided to combine the prompts and make the reader plus-sized. I hope you enjoy! 

His Match

Pairing: Dark!Loki x Plus-Sized Female Reader 

Summary: You’ve tried to live by your grandmother’s rule  of being kind to others, even when the world gives you the middle finger. What if a Norse God decided reward you by becoming his Queen?

Word Count: 1,745

Rating: 18+/Mature

Warning: Kidnapping, Implied Dub/Non-Con, Angst, and some Violence

A/N: Thanks goes to the amazing @angrythingstarlight for beta reading this!

Loki was walking around New York City, scouting Stark Tower making sure the final preparations of his plan was perfect when something, or rather someone, caught his eye.

She walked out of what looked like a women’s clothing store with a forlorn smile. She was plumper than the average female Midgardian last time he frequented the realm. His eyes did not miss the enticing curves that lied beneath her clothes despite her efforts to ensconce herself into the background.

She was a vision.

Her eyes met his for the briefest of moments and it felt like time stopped. His heart quickened in his chest and a rush of blood surged to his groin.

He had to follow her. His Elskan.

“Barton, tell the others I’ll be out for a few more hours. Proceed as planned.”

–––––

He found you entering a rather destitute apartment complex. Its lights and foundation were a bit unsound and gave off a seedy ambience.

Loki grimaced at her living conditions. When he ruled Midgard, she would have only the best.

Casting a simple concealment spell, Loki entered her fairly small apartment. She began mixing ingredients together for what looked to be ‘chocolate chip cookies’. He smiled as he inhaled the sweet aroma knowingly; Asgard had only recently started consuming the sweet. She soon laid out a batch of thick, scrumptious cookies with a satisfied expression.

They reminded him of better times when he and Thor would sneak into the kitchens and swipe confections from under the baker’s nose. Loki chuckled at the memory; those were the days.

Not ten minutes after she placed the last cookie onto the cooling rack did her phone ring. It was her mother. Loki felt dread coming off his Elskan in waves.

Loki could only make out bits and pieces of the conversation, if you could call it that. Her mother constantly nagged her about her weight, life choices, and her ‘pathetic’ attempts to get over her ex-boyfriend. His heart broke as he saw tears begin to fall and the croaking of her voice as she bid the odious creature goodnight.

Several minutes after she cried herself to sleep, Loki entered his Elskan’s bedroom. He spied her diary on the nightstand and decided to read a few pages.

He was fuming within two minutes.

How dare that caustic pig sow treat his Elskan, her own daughter, in a such ghastly manner! Her ‘perfect’ sister always slighting and reminding her on how ‘she’ll never be good enough for anything’ and her father’s callous indifference to her cries for help and solace only added to his rage. Combined with the way her ex-boyfriend, the repugnant gnat, treated her (he cheated on her with someone who ‘wasn’t built like a blimp’ and ‘the only thing you thing you had going for you were your tits’) and he wanted to speed up the invasion just to watch the horror become engrained onto their faces.

And yet, she endeavored to treat everyone with kindness harkening back to your grandmother. She strived to be the one light in one’s otherwise miserable existence.

Well, she can be his light as his Elskan and Queen.

Loki took a deep, cleansing breath. He needed to stick to the plan. When he conquers Midgard, she will be their queen. She will grace the undeserving masses with her elegance and beauty and he will worship her every chance he got.

He just had to make her see it that way.

Gently, the light forest green glow of Loki's magic flowed from his hand to the crown of her head like a halo. He leaned in and kissed her cheek with a smile as he left.

He hated to leave her, but he had a realm to conquer. Though he hoped she’d enjoy the introductory gift.

––––––

You were in your grandmother’s living room; spacious yet comfy with all of her quirkiness and splendor included. It was odd since you haven’t been in her house since your parents sold after her death seven years ago. You tearfully smiled remembering all the good times you had with her, the only member of your family you gave you any true warmth or love.

Her piano was in the corner, barely aged a day with all the music sheets, pens, a light scratches you came to know and love. You took your seat and started to play the piano version of one of your favorite movie themes.

You were so engrossed in playing, you failed to notice someone materializing into your dreamscape.

“What a lovely tune! What is it called?” A smooth, honey-tinged voice broke your concentration.

You turned your head and saw what had to be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. He was tall (6’ 10” / 2.08m) easily towering over any man you’ve ever met. He had smooth alabaster skin, light rose undertones with a little blue-red just under his eyes. His cheekbones were immaculate, somehow looked sharp and soft at the same time. He had thin lips with a fair plumpness to the bottom one. His slicked-back, shoulder-length Ponzu/Shadow Purple hair kissed his lean, battle-hardened physique (if the way he’s filling out his outfit was anyway to go by). All of this deliciousness was clothed in a casual Palm Green suit with a Glossy Black tie and shoes.

It took you a full minute to stop ogling him, “Wha-What did you say?”

“I apologize for disturbing you, my lady. I asked what you were playing.” His voice had hints of mirth which was odd considering his appearance. Most people in his league would give you a thinly veiled sneer of disgust, but he seemed genuinely interested.

“Um, well, it’s called Merry-Go-Round of Life from the movie Howl’s Moving Castle. It’s a favorite of mine. I used to play it all the time until…” You trailed off, not wanting to revisit how your grandmother died.

“You do not have to tell me if it brings you such displeasure.”

“Thank you, um…”

“Loki. Please, call me Loki.”

“Loki,” he inwardly moaned at the way you said his name, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Please, continue playing.”

And you did for what felt like hours, all while your sexy dream companion asked about your hopes, dreams, anything he could think of really. You in turn asked him about his life and interests; you even laughed at a story of his brother having to dress like a bride to get his hammer back.

You soon became enamored with Loki. It was refreshing to be noticed with actual interest, not ridicule or pity. He seemed to taken with you as well, if his gentle caresses and not-so-subtle lustful glances he gave you were any indication.

You were glad this was just a dream. You didn’t want your heart to break like last time.

Loki was about to lean in for a kiss when everything faded to black.

–––––

You jolted up from the mattress and screamed once you realized you weren’t in your room.

No, this room was…spectacular for lack of better word. It had high ceilings, large windows, ornate chandeliers, and magnificent balcony. Luxurious dark greens, gold, and black covered the room in splendor. Extravagant pieces of furniture dripped with precious stones metal worthy of queens or royal mistresses of old.

“What is this place?”

You tried to leave but was forced back onto the bed by a force field. You tried to take calm breaths just like your therapist taught you in order to make an escape plan.

No sooner did you calm down than the door open to reveal-

“Loki!”

Only Loki was wearing radically different clothing; looked like he walked right out of a fantasy epic. And yet, his smile was enchanting.

“What am I doing here? I need to go back home.”

He tutted in response, “That would not be wise, Elskan Mín. This world is mine now and this is safest place to be.” He was right. His brother’s team of desperate souls were no match for his cunning and Chitauri Forces. Midgard’s pathetic leaders gave up in less than an hour once their beloved ‘heroes’ were defeated, broken, and laid bare before them.

“You can’t be serious, Loki. I need to leave.”

“And go where? Like I said, this realm is mine now. That rat poison of a dwelling is no more and I have dealt with your ‘family’ as needed.” Loki smirked at the memories. It gave him extreme joy squeezing the life out of that worthless pig of mother, breaking every bone in your father’s body one by one, and leaving your ‘perfect’ sister alive with partially rotten skin. Not even the scavengers or maggots would find or want the remains of the scurvy insect of an ex-boyfriend, though he was still alive..just barely.

Well, at least until he decided on how to destroy the blight of creature.

Though he did make sure to leave two of your real friend were treated well. You needed to have someone to talk to while he was away.

You gazed into his Spearmint colored eyes in one last attempt, “Please Loki! If you love me, you’ll let me go!”

For a split second, you could’ve sworn you saw hurt in his eyes and he glided across the room. You back hit the headboard in you sad efforts to get away from him.

“Elskan Mín, I promise to always love, cherish, and worship every part of your glorious body. You will become Midgard’s queen and my goddess. No. One. Will. Ever. Demean. Or. Slight. You. Again.” he punctuated each word of the last sentence with soft, open-mouthed kisses to your face, neck, shoulders, and collarbone.

You tried to fight him, but it felt so good. His touches sent shots of lightning to your core; plus his lips and fingers were cook to the touch provided excellent contrast to the spike in heat.

You started crying realizing how pathetic this was, to have the first person to profess such feelings be a kidnapper. You were actually contemplating whether or not he was telling the truth.

Loki sensed your sorrow and kissed your tears away. “I know this might be ‘difficult’ at first, but you will love me in time.” He hoped he did not have to use the scepter.

You thought about your dream and all of the effort he was putting into this. It was frightening, but it came from a place of love.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay.

–––––––

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[marauderundercover]

This Side of Normal Ch. 10

AO3

Prev

Marinette glances around the silent table, willing Jason to say something. Or do something. Or even Dick. She needed one of them to start a conversation, because Adrien hated awkward silences. And if this silence went on much longer, he was definitely going to say something and then she would regret it. Horribly. 

“These rolls are purr-fect.” Adrien says, out of nowhere. Marinette lets out a groan, of course he’d skip straight ahead to the cat puns. Of course that’s where his freaking mind was tonight. 

“Aren’t they? I’d say Alfred’s cooking is pretty claw-some, myself.” Dick speaks up, grinning at Adrien. Marinette looks at him, wide eyed. 

“That’s it. I’ll find a new trapeze partner and a new best friend. Both of you are out of my life.” She deadpans, ignoring Adrien’s offended gasp. 

“But Bugaboo, who else would give you a hand with your crazy schemes?” Adrien asks, and Marinette turns to him, narrowing her eyes. 

“I swear to god if you take your arm off right now you will never find it again.” She threatens, pointing her fork at him from across the table. 

“But Mari, that joke needs the arm. It doesn’t work without it.” He pouts, she rolls her eyes and turns to Damian. 

“I apologize for him. He thinks he’s funny.” She says, turning her glance back at Adrien. “He’s wrong.” 

“Tt. I’m unbothered by his sense of humor. I have lived with Grayson for eight years. His humor is nothing compared to those horrors.” Damian quips, and Marinette swears his lips almost quirk into a smile. She snorts. 

“Guess I made the right choice in throwing Dick to the curb, huh?” She teases, ignoring Dick’s gasp and Adrien’s reassurance to the man. Honestly, who was the adult here? 

“It was for the best, Dupain-Cheng.” Damian says and Marinette winces slightly. The only person who called her by her last name (in regular conversation, anyway) was Chloe. And while the girl had long since given up full on bullying her, she still wasn’t Marinette’s best friend in the world. 

“You can call me Marinette, my last name is kind of a mouthful.” She says, trying to be nonchalant about it. She’d heard him refer to everyone else as their last name the entire evening. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but him calling her Dupain-Cheng was going to make her uncomfortable in the long run. 

“Very well.” He says, and though he doesn’t say her name, she still counts it as a win. A throat clearing catches her attention and she glances at Jason who was glaring at Damian. 

“What’s up, Jay?” She asks, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Nothing Pixie Pop. Just thinking about the time you kicked the ass of that would be mugger.” He says, and Marinette frowns. Mugger? “You know, the one that was obsessed with you?” He clarifies, and she understands. Copycat had been reakumatized during Jason’s stay in Paris. And he had wanted nothing more than a date with Ladybug. Though, she couldn’t understand why he was bringing it up now. 

“I am so lost.” She admits, shaking her head at her pseudo-brother. He grins. 

“That’s fine, just sharing that you can kick ass with the table. In case someone wants to try something.” He says pointedly. Oh. He definitely caught the heart eyes she sent Damian back in the gym. Can he blame her, though? Her weakness was green eyes. And Damian’s were the greenest. 

“I did walk in on you hogtied, Todd. I assumed she was a reputable fighter after that.” Damian says, and Marinette blushes furiously. 

“I’m sorry, what happened?” Mr. Wayne asks, his vapid (and fake) smile replaced with a faux look of bewilderment. She briefly wondered if it was exhausting, putting on a constant act, until she remembered how tired she was throughout collège, before she started lycée and decided she didn’t really care. Yeah, acting constantly was tiring. But why did he do it? Jason nudges her lightly and she blinks, focusing back on the conversation. 

“Oh, Jason and I sparred. He apparently had forgotten that I use my surroundings to my advantage and that Adrien is always on my side.” She explains, shooting Jason a smug smile. Jason huffs. 

“Not always.” He says, and Marinette raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms and giving him a challenging look. 

“Oh really? Name one time that Adrien took your side instead of mine.” She challenges. She grins as Jason starts to think, obviously wracking his brain. 

“Earlier today!” Adrien pipes up, and she immediately turns to him, glaring. 

“What?” She asks, confused. What had- oh. Of fucking course. “That doesn’t count!” She protests, narrowing her eyes. 

“Why not?” Adrien asks, raising an eyebrow in a challenge. She scoffs. 

“Because it wasn’t a fight or argument or anything. It was a joke.” She says. 

“Are you talking about the adoption shit, cause that was definitely not a joke. All the kids B adopts definitely have trauma and certain features.” Jason cuts in, and Marinette sighs. Of course he would clue in. 

“But- no. No. That was a fluke. A glitch in the matrix, obviously. You literally cannot name a singular other time. And technically, ya big jerk, you didn’t even name this time. Adrien did.” Marinette points out, glaring at Jason. 

“I’m sorry, how long have you three known each other?” Mr. Wayne cuts in again, and this time- this time- she sees that some of the confusion on his face is real. But it looks odd, like he wasn’t used to expressing a real emotion. She really needed to remind herself to talk to Jason about this later. She didn’t necessarily want to make it a habit to stick billionaire fathers with asshole tendencies in jail, but she would. She’d do it for her boys. Any day of the week. She hums in thought, adding up the time. The anniversary of Gabriel’s defeat had been a few weeks ago, which meant-

“We’ve known Jason for just over a year.” She says, before glancing at Adrien and grinning. “But I’ve been stuck with this goof for four years.”

“You know you love me.” Adrien says with a wide grin. She rolls her eyes. 

“How exactly did you meet Jason?” Mr. Wayne asks, and she kind of wants to throw her fork at him. What was it, interrogate the random kids at dinner night? Though, to be fair, they were random kids in his house. But she refused to like the man until she’d talked to Jason about the potential assholeish tendencies. 

“He helped me learn some self defence after I got caught up in an akuma attack.” Marinette lies smoothly. Well, it was technically a half truth. But the Waynes didn’t need to know that she was always caught up in akuma attacks. 

“Akuma?” Mr. Wayne asks, and Marinette glances at Jason with a frown. Had he not told his father about anything? Not even the basics? 

“Wait, is that what the thing that flooded Paris is called?” Dick asks suddenly and Marinette nearly flinches from the memory. That was one of the akumas that still gave her nightmares. One of the ones that was burned in the back of her eyelids when all she wanted was to sleep. And not think about bloated corpses and dead classmates for one goddamn minute. She lets out a steadying breath, glancing at Jason whose face had changed from annoyance to concern. She resists the urge to roll her eyes. She could talk about akumas. It was the past. Sure, she had refused all of the therapy options her parents gave her and Adrien, but she didn’t need it. She was fine. 

“Yeah. Technically, her akumatized name was Siren. But, the general term for those attacks was ‘akuma’.” She says, gripping her fork a little tighter than necessary, grounding herself with Tikki’s reassuring nudges from inside her purse. 

“There were more?” Dick asks, his eyes wide. Marinette glances at Jason and raises an eyebrow. Why had he not said anything? He’d been there for an entire month of Hawkmoth’s reign. He’d seen dozens of akuma attacks. Jason shrugs. Thank Jay. Super helpful. 

“When you get down to it, there were probably hundreds if not thousands more. Some people, like Siren, were turned into the same akuma several times. Some people became a different akuma when they were akumatized again. I think it just depended on the person or their issue.” Marinette explains, hating how dry her mouth felt all of a sudden. She could talk about this. She could. So why was everything a little too bright? Why was the sound of forks against plates a little too loud? 

“Did the Justice League stop it?” Damian asks, though by his tone, he seems to already know the answer. Odd. 

“No, the local heroes did. Ladybug and Chat Noir.” Marinette says, ignoring the constricting feeling in her chest. 

“Why-” Mr. Wayne starts, but Jason clears his throat. Everyone glances at him, and Marinette is unsurprised to see the flicker of anger in his eyes. Especially after she glances at Adrien and sees how pale he’s gotten. She kicks him lightly under the table to get his attention, frowning at him in a silent question. He nods, slightly. She purses her lips, not believing for a second that he was actually okay. But they could talk later. Away from eager ears. 

“I’m sure you remember what Dick said about my phone call from when I first arrived in Paris. Marinette and Adrien dealt with attacks like that interrupting their day to day lives from thirteen to sixteen. I get that you’re not the best at knowing when to drop the damn topic, but I really think you should drop the damn topic.” Jason says, and though he’s smiling, Marinette can see the danger behind it. The warning. ‘Drop it, or I’ll make you’. 

“My apologies, it was just so interesting.” Mr. Wayne says and this time Marinette winces at the falseness in his voice. And the smile on his face. God, this man could not have lasted a day in Hawkmoth’s Paris. 

---

Finally, finally, dinner was over. After the akuma talk ceased, it was extremely awkward. Mr. Wayne looked like he would rather be anywhere else. And Marinette couldn’t blame him, wanting nothing more than to get back to her hotel room and away from the constant lack of real emotion on the eldest Wayne’s face. It was tiresome, just watching him. 

“Thanks again, for having us.” Marinette says, mostly directing her comment to Dick and Alfred. Alfred just nods. 

“Of course! Come back any time. Really soon, actually, so we can work more on the trapeze. I can’t lose my new trapeze buddy.” Dick says with a wide smile. Marinette holds back a sigh, nodding instead. She liked Dick, she did. But she’d definitely have to make sure that Mr. Wayne wouldn’t be around. She still wasn’t sure what to think of him. 

“You should also spar with me, some time.” Damian speaks up and Marinette blinks in surprise. 

“Spar. With...you?” She says, tilting her head in confusion. That came out of nowhere. 

“Yes. You took down Todd easily, and I am far superior. You would actually have a challenge if we sparred.” He says. She smirks, and suddenly, with a burst of confidence she didn’t know she had, says:

“Sure thing, Pretty boy.” Before turning and walking straight out the door. The second she’s outside, she drops her head into her hands. “I can’t believe I just said that.” She mumbles under her breath. 

“Pretty boy?” Adrien says with a smirk, she glares at him and moves down the front steps. 

“Fuck you.” She says, no real venom in her voice. The boy knew how she got around crushes. He’d seen it firsthand. With him. With Luka. With Kagami. With the girl with bright green eyes who worked at the coffee shop across the street from the bakery. She was an absolute disaster. He was worse, but still. He wasn’t the one with the quickly developing crush on the youngest Wayne. 

“Pretty boy?” Jason asks, a scowl on his face as he catches up to the two. 

“Not another word, Jason.” She scowls at him, crossing her arms defiantly. He holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Sure.” He says. Her mind rushes suddenly to her previous thought. Youngest Wayne. Damian Wayne. Hadn’t Lila- she snorts, before erupting into uncontrollable laughter, ignoring the worried looks from Adrien. 

“I- oh my god, Jay.” She manages to say, straightening up and following Jason to the car he was borrowing to drive them back to the hotel.

“I’m completely lost.” He says.

“Join the club.” Adrien adds, and Marinette just laughs again. 

“Your little brother is Damian Wayne.” She says, as if it should be obvious. Jason doesn’t get it, and neither does Adrien. But after a moment-

“Oh my god, that’s hilarious!” Adrien cries, letting out a chuckle. Jason huffs as the trio get into the car. 

“Care to share with the class?” He asks, and Marinette snorts. 

“Absolutely not, I dislike the majority of those people.” She says, referring to the group who was hopefully already in their rooms and not in the lobby of the hotel. “Now it’s funny that your brother is Damian Wayne because Lila made us come to Gotham instead of New York and London, because she’s dating him.” She explains and Jason scoffs. 

“Yeah right.” 

“Obviously she’s not actually dating him, Jay. But it’s freaking hilarious that she thinks she’s gonna get away with it. He definitely goes to Gotham Academy, and people are definitely going to call her out.” She says, not even trying to hide the absolute glee she’s feeling. If there was ever a time for all of Lila’s lies to come crashing down around her, now would be good. When she can’t just run away and claim Marinette set it up. If people Marinette didn’t even know called Lila out, well, that would be irrefutable evidence, right? 

“Her regime is gonna topple and I’m gonna take you guys out for ice cream to celebrate.” Jason declares and Marinette laughs again. She was so against the idea of Gotham originally, but now, with Jason at their sides again, she’d decided that it wasn’t so bad. Suddenly remembering what had been on her mind most of the night, she turns to Jason. 

“Jay, I have a serious question. And I know it’s a little hard to talk about but just know that we’re here for you to support you, and that we’ll figure out a way to make sure you and your brothers are safe and-” 

“Whoa, Pix, calm down kiddo. You’re rambling again.” He says gently, furrowing his eyebrows. He pulls the car over to the side of the road and turns to put his full attention on the two. “What’s bothering you?” He asks. 

“Is Mr. Wayne abusive?” She asks and Jason blinks. “I saw how hesitant you were to call him your father, and you were tense around him a lot of the night. And I don’t think the man had one legitimate expression all night. He was acting the whole time.” Marinette says, looking at him worriedly. “Look, Jay, I don’t necessarily want to make a habit of putting billionaires in jail, but I’d do it for you.” 

“Is he- you would-” Jason stops and lets out a breath, obviously trying to compose himself. “No, kiddo, he’s not.” He finally says. Marinette frowns. 

“Really?” She asks, and he sighs. 

“Yeah, look. Our relationship has been...rough, for a couple years. We had a sort of falling out when I was a teenager and I stopped talking to him for several years. We reconnected a while ago, but it’s still rocky at times. I don’t usually call him dad or father or anything. He’s just Bruce, or B, to me.” Jason explains and Marinette nods, letting out a small sigh of relief. 

“I was worried, Jay.” She admits, and Jason grins at her before pulling away from the curb again. 

“I didn’t even catch on.” Adrien says with a frown. Marinette rolls her eyes, smiling at him with fondness. 

“Course you didn’t Kitty. Reading people isn’t really your strong suit.” She says with a small smile. He huffs, but nods in agreement. 

“True.” He says and Marinette laughs. She could officially take Bruce Wayne off her ‘threat to be dealt with immediately’ list and move him to ‘possible future annoyance’ list. A big improvement for the man, and it would mean she wouldn’t be as tense around him the next time she saw him.

Next

Tag list: @toodaloo-kangaroo @laurcad123 @kittenmywaythrulife @lost-in-the-world-of-maribat @queenz-z @daminette-56

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Research

Ririka Momobami x She/Her Reader (feat. Kirari being a nuisance)

A/N: Ririka’s relationship leaves Kirari feeling a bit envious and curious. Never a good combination. I think Kakegurui Kari ruined me from ever characterizing Kirari in a proper way. Anyway, hope y’all enjoy! Word Count: 3,456 (what are the odds?!)

“Ririka, how is it that you and (Y/n) are already in the hand holding stage of your relationship?” Kirari had asked out of the blue at dinner whilst swirling her drink, watching the liquid spin around.

Ririka recognized that look in her sister’s eyes. It was a dangerous one, boredom. And if there was one thing the older twin knew about how her sister dealt with boredom, it was to stand back as far as possible and disappear into the background. She couldn’t not answer Kirari though, that would just pique her interest even further. So, Ririka assumed the best disinterested face she could muster and answered her sister’s odd query.

“(Y/n) brushed her hand against mine one day when we were walking in the school forest. We looked at each other and we just sort of gravitated towards each other. Now it’s just something we do.” Ririka shrugged before savoring the last bite of her meal. Unfortunately her answer did not yield the desired effect as Kirari leaned forward a bit in her chair, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“So you’ve communicated your intentions telepathically. How does one go about achieving that in a relationship?”

Ririka swallowed, wishing she could have chewed just a bit longer on the delicious morsel. “Not at all. We just... read each other’s cues.”

“So it’s like gambling?” Kirari asked, intrigued.

“In a way, I suppose.” Ririka said. She didn’t think so, but if there was one thing her fish brained sister understood, it was gambling. It was just about the only reference she understood besides those related to outer space, baseball and the ocean so naturally, she applied it to everything.

“Hmm, I see.”

Ririka had a moment when she thought Kirari was satisfied and was about to excuse herself to her room. Unfortunately, Kirari wasn’t quite done with her yet.

“So will you use the same method when you share your first kiss as well?”

Ririka fumbled with the silverware before she could place it back on the table. A fatal mistake in the presence of her twin.

“You’ve already kissed then? My, Ririka, you’ve only been together a couple of months. Aren’t you moving a little too fast?” Kirari asked, an amused and all knowing smile pulled at her blue stained lips.

“I assure you my relationship is moving at a normal pace. (Y/n) has been wonderful and hasn’t pushed me into anything before I was ready.”

“Is (Y/n) often the one to make the first move then?”

“If you must know, she is. She has more experience than me when it comes to these things.” Ririka answered, eyeing the grand clock none too discreetly. She hoped Kirari would lose interest soon.

“I see, more experience then.” Kirari nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Ririka sighed, “If you won’t be needing anything else, then I’m going to my room.”

“There was one thing.” Kirari spoke, pausing Ririka in her tracks. “I will be needing the mask for tomorrow. There is something I must observe.”

“Very well.” Ririka answered plainly. She knew if she turned the questions back on her sister she’d be met with riddles and she was too tired to decipher them tonight. Ririka leaned over the large table and set her mask in front of her sister. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Kirari grinned, pulling the mask up to her face just enough to cover her chilling smile. It was an action that was completely performative, that much Ririka knew. If only she could understand just what her sister was up to.

Ririka simply continued on her way, getting ready for bed in her en-suite bathroom before falling into bed and wrapping herself up like a burrito. She reached her arm out for her phone and pulled it into her cocoon, smiling as she read (Y/n)’s goodnight text. She sent one of her own and was about to put her phone back on her charger when she remembered she wasn’t going to be herself tomorrow and frowned. She messaged (Y/n) again to fill her in on the switch as she usually did when they came up. It was something she really felt compelled to do after she and (Y/n) started dating. The last thing Ririka needed was for Kirari to upset (Y/n) while masquerading around as herself. With her message sent, Ririka put her phone back on her nightstand and curled further into her burrow of blankets.

***

(Y/n) walked through the main gates of Haykkaou Academy the next morning, breezing right past the students loitering around, not quite ready to enter the property for one reason or another. Usually Ririka would be waiting nearby, but sadly this was not going to be one of those days.

(Y/n) decided she’d head right into the school and do some work at her desk or maybe gamble with her classmates if they were paying something that caught her interest. She had just finished switching her shoes at her cubby when another pair of feet stopped right beside her.

Craning her head, (Y/n) was very surprised to see a familiar theatre mask smiling down at her. A sight that she had grown used to over the past couple months she had been dating Ririka. (Y/n) stood up, confused but no less delighted by her girlfriend’s sudden appearance.

“Hey! I thought you said you were busy today.” (Y/n) said.

“...” Only a small crackle of static as Ririka took a breath reached (Y/n)’s ears.

“What’s up, is your sister driving you crazy again this morning? Is that why you’re here and not in the council room?” (Y/n) asked, closing her shoe cubby. She knew Ririka wasn’t much of a conversationalist so she wasn’t particularly bothered by the silence, but a, ‘good morning’ would be nice at the very least.

She did not receive a greeting, just a blank stare through the black holes of the mask.

“Well, I was going to go to our classroom and hang out until class started, but if you’d rather go somewhere more quiet we can do that too, what do you think?” (Y/n) asked.

“Let’s do what we normally do together in the morning.” The distorted voice replied. Not that (Y/n) could know for sure, but it almost sounded commanding.

“...Okay then. I’ll just have to change my shoes again real quick.”

(Y/n) changed her shoes and started walking back to the courtyard, pausing momentarily to give Ririka a questioning look as the masked girl watched her move.

“Ririka, are you doing alright?” (Y/n) asked. She felt like she was playing twenty questions without getting any hints.

Ririka tilted her head just slightly before falling into step beside (Y/n). Her knuckles brushed (Y/n)’s hand and made the other girl stare at her oddly from her peripheral but other than that, they continued through the students coming into the school as they left. Ririka was intermittently bumping hands with (Y/n)’s in the process until she surprised (Y/n) by taking her hand completely.

Ririka hardly ever was the first to initiate contact, much less when other students were around to witness it. Even when the president had happened upon them, Ririka would get flustered and shrink away. Now here they were in front of the school’s main entrance surrounded by students, and Ririka had scooped up her hand and laced their fingers like it was nothing. Her hand wasn’t even clammy or shaking at all. Needless to say (Y/n) felt that something was off with Ririka today. In fact, she would bet big money that the person holding her hand right now wasn’t Ririka at all!

(Y/n) knew about the twins tendency to switch off whenever Kirari deemed it necessary, but never had the president bothered with (Y/n) while pretending to be Ririka. Just what was the president doing? (Y/n) decided she’d play along for now, to hold her cards close to her chest until she figured out Kirari’s game. (Y/n) doubled down, curling her fingers over the incessant imposter’s hand.

Once they arrived at their destination, a secluded part of the school forest away from the noisy courtyard, (Y/n) assumed her usual position sitting with her back against a grand old tree. Testing Kirari, she patted the free space between her legs, intending for the president to sit with her back to (Y/n)’s front. Then they could listen to the songs of the forest as (Y/n) normally would with Ririka. Speaking of which, (Y/n) was going to have to apologize for showing Kirari their secret spot. Honestly, Ririka would probably not be too pleased about any of this situation but (Y/n) just had to find out why the president was doing this.

The masked figure loomed above (Y/n) for a moment before beginning her decent, but to (Y/n)’s shock, the other girl took the cue as a signal to straddle her so they were both facing each other. Years of gambling helped (Y/n) hide her horror well, as she smiled the fakest smile to ever exist. Just who the hell did the president think she was? Well, she was trying to be Ririka, but was failing miserably.

Swallowing her urge to lash out at the younger of the Momobami twins, (Y/n) continued to pretend nothing was wrong and continued her reconnaissance, resting her hands over Kirari’s thighs.

“Anything on your mind, Ri? Do you need something?” (Y/n) asked, feeling proud of how smooth and unassuming her voice sounded.

Another crackle of air and a tilt of the head was the only reply (Y/n) received. Really, it was like Kirari didn’t know how to be Ririka at all beyond the mysterious vice president. When Ririka took on Kirari’s role, she did so extremely well. It kind of scared (Y/n) how well Ririka could impersonate her twin. The same could not be said for Kirari. She didn’t seem to know how to act like Ririka at all. At least, not in this instance.

It was a bit infuriating really, to think Kirari actually thought she was getting away with her little charade while putting in so little effort. (Y/n) was about to tell Kirari to get off of her when a hand reached up between them and pulled at the mask, slowly lowering it to hover just above the president’s nose.

Perhaps she wasn’t too bad after all. Downcast eyes, timid yet deliberate movements, even the faint flush of her cheeks seemed legitimate and for a second (Y/n) almost believed her. Almost. But the amusement that seemed to be ever present in the younger twin’s eyes could only hide so deep in crystal blue irises.

“I need you. Show me, show me how you take charge.” The twin’s voice whispered, taking in the cadence of her sister with frightening precision. Yes, the tone was good but the words were so wrong. Ririka would sooner shoot herself in the foot than say something she would consider so embarrassing.

Just what the hell was this girl after? What was she gaining from this torment? Was this some kind of gamble and depending on (Y/n)’s reaction, could be someone’s undoing? What was the right move to make?

“(Y/n), please. Kiss me like we’re doing it for the first time again.”

“What the hell?” (Y/n) couldn’t keep it in anymore, if someone was losing a bet right now she was sorry, but she could only handle so much ridiculousness. “What game are you playing, president?”

(Y/n) tried to wiggle out from underneath Kirari but she held firm, the facade she had put up melted quickly as she allowed the mask to drop on the ground beside them and pushed (Y/n)’s back firmly against the tree trunk with one hand as she grinned down at her fellow classmate. The effect wasn’t quite the same without the striking blue lipstick but it was still enough to make (Y/n) shiver.

“So you did figure it out. I was wondering why you would be holding out on me. I was beginning to think my dear sister was wrong about you.” Kirari mused, eyes glinting. “The only other person that can tell us apart is Sayaka, what gave me away?”

“First, get off of me.” (Y/n) said, making a shooing motion between them that made Kirari giggle as she stood up. “Second, you have to tell me what your goal was in all of this.”

“My goal hmm?” Kirari tapped her chin thoughtfully as (Y/n) got up from the ground as well. “Well, quite simply it was for research.”

“Research about what?”

“About your relationship with my sister.” Kirari answered.

Like that made anything any clearer. (Y/n) pressed a hand over her forehead, the other a firm fist against her hip, “but why?” She asked.

“I think I’m entitled to having my curiosity sated now.” Kirari said instead, looking over her plain, pale nails.

(Y/n) pushed an audible huff of air through her nose, choosing to cross her arms tightly over her chest instead and even going as far as to tap her shoe against ground. Kirari actually rolled her eyes at the display, an action the president wouldn’t give the general masses the pleasure of seeing lest she appear too human.

“I just don’t understand how you and Ririka have only been together for three months and you’re already holding hands and kissing when I’ve been with Sayaka for nearly two years and we have done neither. Ririka said you were the more experienced one, I thought I could learn something from observing you.”

“Wait, you and Igarashi are actually together?” (Y/n) couldn’t believe her ears. Igarashi obviously worshipped the ground Kirari walked on but (Y/n) had always found it hard to understand if Kirari was just stringing her along or not.

“Of course we are. I didn’t build that tower for just anyone.”

Ah yes, Ririka had told (Y/n) about the tower. What lunacy. She would be surprised if Igarashi truly understood what Kirari was going for there.

“Did you actually ask Igarashi to date you point blank or did you just imply it? You should know how her mind works by now.”

“But I don’t. That’s what makes her so spectacular.” Kirari sighed pleasantly.

“Well trust me, if you make your intentions absolutely clear I’m sure you’ll see some changes in your dynamic. Tell you what, let’s go to the student council room and sort this all out now before classes start.”

“Are you hoping for a seat on the council? Is that why you want to get involved?” Kirari smirked.

“I’m just trying to help my girlfriend’s sister so she doesn’t pretend to be her in my presence ever again.” (Y/n) shook her head and started to walk back to the school. She took out her phone and texted Ririka to let her know they were en route, “and I knew it was you because Ririka doesn’t act like that with me. I will not elaborate because the last thing I need is for you to get anymore funny ideas.”

Kirari hummed with amusement before placing the mask back over her face and together they made their way back to the school and up to the council room. Thankfully Ririka must have been able to end the meeting early because only she and Sayaka were left in the room.

“Oh thank god,” (Y/n) sighed walking over to Ririka’s side to rest her forehead against the older twin’s shoulder, making her blush and ruining the carefully crafted persona of her younger sister.

“What are you doing?” Sayaka said indignantly. “You can’t just come in here whenever you wish. Anyone with council business could come in and think you were involved with the president instead of the vice president!”

“Sit down Igarashi, I’m about to do you the biggest favor of your life.” (Y/n) said, lifting her head from Ririka’s shoulder to point at Kirari as she removed the theatre mask and placed in on the table. “Kirari wants to date you.”

Sayaka blinked, processing the words before her skin turned beet red, equal parts embarrassed and angry.

“That’s not funny, Senpai!”

“It’s not a joke! C’mon Kirari, tell her.” (Y/n) said before cupping Ririka’s ear to whisper, “If this doesn’t work out, I’m gonna scream.”

“It’s true Sayaka, though (Y/n)’s approach seems dull and predictable, it has come to my attention that you may not understand that I wish to be with you,” Kirari glided forward, her hair flowing behind her like a curtain, her hand outstretched to Sayaka, “so, hold my hand Say-a-ka, and be mine.”

“Uh oh.” (Y/n) and Ririka muttered in unison as Sayaka babbled, her head moving jerkily between Kirari’s face and her outstretched hand before her knees buckled. She almost hit the ground but Kirari caught her just in time, grinning down at her secretary.

“I told her to sit down.” (Y/n) said, shaking her head.

“It appears that Sayaka needs a nap. You two can head to class, I’ll watch over her.” Kirari said, placing the unconscious secretary on the couch.

“Sure, you just want an excuse to stay out of class.” (Y/n) turned her attention back to Ririka, still in her sister’s make up, braids and annoying ruffled shirt. “Come on Ririka, let me help you get changed real quick.”

“Okay.”

Ririka grabbed her mask from the table and together they headed to one of the side rooms off of the main council room where the twins kept their spare uniforms. While (Y/n) helped Ririka gather her belongings and remove the fresh blue nail polish and smooth out her hair, she told Ririka all about Kirari’s invasive behavior.

“So yeah, it was super weird but I guess it was worth it if it means she’ll be too busy with Sayaka to be too interested in what we’re doing.” (Y/n) explained, brushing Ririka’s hair into place. On the last stroke, she reached in front of Ririka to put the brush back on the table and as she went to withdraw, her wrist was gently encased in Ririka’s hand.

“Ri?”

Ririka tugged on (Y/n)’s arm until she sat down on the bench beside her. It took (Y/n) everything she had not to giggle once she registered the sweet pout the older twin was sporting.

“You held hands with my sister,” Ririka grumped, “you held hands with my sister and let her sit in your lap.”

“Yes, very begrudgingly I did. Only because I wanted to know what she was trying to do, but I promise it’ll never happen again.” (Y/n) spoke seriously.

“Good.” Ririka sighed, resting her head on (Y/n)’s chest, making her laugh.

“We can’t stay here all day. We have about fifteen minutes before we have to get to our classroom and you still haven’t changed your blazer and shirt.”

Ririka whined quietly before tilting her head up to look at (Y/n). “May we, first could you,” Ririka bashfully tapped her lips, still stained with blue, “you know.”

“Happy to,” (Y/n) tucked a strand of Ririka’s hair behind her ear, “let me just wipe that lipstick off first.”

Softly but thoroughly, (Y/n) ran the cleansing wipe across Ririka’s lips a few times until all that remained was muted pink. Then she dabbed at them with a wet washcloth so no trace of the bitter tasting makeup remover remained. As soon as she removed the cloth she leaned in, meeting Ririka lips with her own.

(Y/n) pulled away after a moment, a smile splitting her lips upon witnessing the relaxed and dreamy look on Ririka’s face, her cheeks dusted in a pleasant pink color that complimented her bare lips.

“I’ll wait for you to finish changing and we’ll walk to class together, okay?” (Y/n) said softly.

“One more first, please.” Ririka asked, pulling (Y/n)’s blazer to bring the girl closer.

“Of course.”

Another kiss and the fifteen minute buffer before class became eight minutes and they had three floors worth of stairs to climb. (Y/n) waited for Ririka to finish changing in the hall. She would have waited in the main area of the council room, but Kirari was sitting on the council room couch with that little smirk on her face. Her calculating eyes watching (Y/n) move across the room as the president patted Sayaka’s hair while the secretary remained unconscious with her head in Kirari’s lap.

When Ririka emerged, mask set into place, (Y/n) looked down both ends of the empty hall. When she was satisfied that no one was around, she pulled the mask to the side, surprising Ririka and making the vice president’s breath hitch.

“What?” Ririka asked.

“Just making sure.” (Y/n) replied, kissing Ririka’s nose before covering Ririka’s glowing face with the mask once more.

(Y/n) took Ririka’s hand and they jogged up the stairs, managing to slide into the classroom moments before the teacher.

[t0wnspersonb]

The Sun (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: SMUT, rough sex, mentions of spanking, slight mentions of trauma (PTSD kinda), bad language, my shit writing

Summary: Missions can take their toll on anyone, especially in the Survey Corps. It’s not just Levi that needs a distraction from the horrors that he’s seen beyond the wall. You guys have always taken care of each other, for years now. This time was no different than any other time you two have comforted each other. If anything, this time solidified the relationship between the two of you.  

~~~~

GUYS. I’m so sorry for the lack of content recently. I’ve just gotten so busy with life and it’s been kind of crazy. School starts up soon too, so I’ve been attempting to relax before break is over. I’m doing a terrible job at it lmao. ANYWAY. I hope you guys like this one! This is the first time I’ve ever written anything for AOT, so please let me know what you think!:) 

As always I adore you guys so much and I hope you have a fantastic week!

~~~~

Levi didn’t know what was more cruel; the fact that this particular mission was a complete failure, that the amount of casualties this time was far more staggering than past failed missions, or the fact that he was taking it out on your body.

 It was like his vision was under water, he couldn’t even begin to register the influx of emotions coursing through his body. 

 Anger.

 Sorrow.

 Relief.

 Pleasure.

 He grunted loudly, the firm grip he had in your hair tightened, shoving your face harder into the mattress. His other bruised and battered hand gripped at your hip harshly, the flesh turning pale and then red once he released his hold; only to crack down against your already red and welted ass. 

 He could still hear your delicate yelp and cries of pain even though your face was buried against the mattress. Levi only thrusted harder into your swollen cunt. His eyes fluttering shut at the way your walls tightened around his shaft.

 But he could see the bodies, and the blood, and the looming shadows of those fucking monsters that took away far too many of his soldiers. His teeth clenched together tightly, eyes snapping open to gaze down at your body being pressed down into the bed. Your skin was beginning to bloom with dark bruises; angry red welts lingered on the delicate swell of your ass. Levi knew he was being rough; he knew that he was being cruel when usually he was a gentle lover. 

 His frustration, his anger, welled up inside of his body even more at what he knew he was doing to you, at the fact his cock was incredibly hard, and because of the immense amount of pleasure your body was giving him. 

 He wanted to slow down, he wanted to be gentle, he wanted to give you the pleasure and the release he always did when he fucked you. But he couldn’t bring himself to do any of that. 

 His slim fingers reached down between your legs, pressing down hard against your clit and rubbing fast. 

 A low whine escaped your lips, and your body automatically attempted to wiggle away from his rough touches. 

 His hand that was tangled in your hair slid down, grabbing at the back of your neck and shoving your face further into the bed, his other hand was now painfully gripping at your hip again. 

 “Don’t fucking move.” He panted, eyes narrowing as his speed increased again, he was ramming himself into you now. “Endure it.”

 It didn’t take long before Levi was reaching his end, his rough thrusts suddenly coming to a halt before he tore himself out of you, spilling his warmth against the skin of your ass and lower back. 

 He panted softly, his eyes coming into a focus at the image before him. His stomach turned unpleasantly, and every instinct to clean you up, to press his mouth against every inch of your skin, to cradle you against his chest; was replaced with the instinct to run in shame. 

 You were slumped against the bed, body twitching softly as you sucked in a watery breath. 

 He’s never hated himself more than in this moment. 

 “Levi?” your voice was soft and tender, dripping with sweetness as you called out to him. But before you could even muster up the strength to turn to look at him, he was already tucking himself back into his pants and slamming the door loudly on his way out. 

 ****

 It had only been a couple of days since that night. Levi hadn’t seen you, or rather, he was actively going out of his way to avoid you. 

 He hated what he had done. He knew he shouldn’t have taken his emotions out on you, but he did anyway. You always had the ability to quell the rising hysteria that tried to break through his body; and he was grateful for that. He was grateful that you had stayed by his side for all those years, he was grateful for your never-ending gentleness and love. 

 Levi knew that a man like himself, did not deserve a woman like you. You were too kind, too soft and gentle to be in a place like this. 

 The Survey Corps was no place for a tenderhearted person, this world was no place for it. The world was hell, and you… you were a fucking angel that seemed to take hold of his life. 

 He had always wondered how you still held those hopeful doe-like eyes, how you still managed to smile so tenderly at people, even after seeing the worst in the world, you were still just… so kind. 

 You seemed to have made it a point to glue yourself to his side when he joined the Corps, and originally, he had fucking hated it. Despised how seemingly delicate you were, despised your sunny disposition in this fucked up world. 

 Levi could have sworn that you were a sadist, it was the only thing that made sense. But when he had gotten to know you… when he saw your strength and dedication to humanity… he didn’t mind you being by his side. 

 He wasn’t quite sure when he started loving you. 

 No that was a complete lie. He knew exactly when he did, when he fell in love with you. 

 It was when you had asked about his backstory. You guys were beyond the wall, taking the first watch together as everyone else slept. It was a quiet night, peaceful almost. You and Levi were talking softly with one another when that topic had come up. Levi didn’t think much of it when he had answered, reflecting back on his past with a tone that was entirely nonchalant. 

 To him it was, Levi didn’t care much to make a sob story of his past, he would rather move on with his life. But to you… it was something he had never predicted happening. 

 You had started crying. 

 You cried for him.

 You had started whispering gentle apologizes about what had happened as if you had dealt a hand in what he had gone through. 

 It was a reaction he didn’t expect you to have. But it was a reaction that started everything that has happened between the two of you. 

 It was a reaction that led to his confession, while Levi never verbally said that he loved you, he had kissed you that night instead. 

 After that, he had sought you out every time; craving your attention, wanting your affection. 

 To Levi, you were like the sun; a delicate warmth that he had never felt until he left the underground. When he had first seen the sun, it was a treasured beauty; but the sun itself was nothing compared to you. You were warm and bright, absolutely lovely in every aspect. 

 And you were his. 

 It was an unclaimed relationship, even after being together for years, it was never verbally stated. Everyone knew though; everyone knew that Levi was your person, and that you were his. Everyone knew that it went beyond just being your Captain’s second. It was never questioned, it was never brought up, but people just knew; and if they didn’t know, they found out eventually.

 So, Levi wondered why no one fucking told him that you were assigned a solo mission. You had left earlier this morning apparently; it was the evening, and he was barely hearing about it now. 

 “She’ll be fine Levi. Erwin assigned this mission specifically to her. She has five other soldiers with her too. She’s more than capable.” Hange said easily, dismissing the irritated stare that the dark-haired male was giving her.

 If anything, Levi was more upset about the fact that no one told him. 

 “Are you two fighting?” Hange asked. 

 “Why do you ask?” Levi grunted out, lips wrapped around the rim of his cup, slowly drinking.

 “Because she’s usually always with you. Moblit’s room is across from Y/n, he said the past couple of days she’s actually been sleeping in her room, and not yours.” She said easily.

 Levi released an annoyed noise from the back of his throat, signaling that he no longer wanted to talk about this.

 No, you guys weren’t fighting. It was more so that Levi couldn’t meet your eyes just yet, not after what he had done. 

 He didn’t… he didn’t want you to hate him. He couldn’t bear to see your sweet eyes look at him with disdain. You probably did hate him now, which was why you hadn’t come to him about the mission. 

 He fucked up. He knew that, and now he was going to suffer the consequences of his actions. 

 But… as long as you were alive, that’s all that mattered to him. You could hate him as much as you wanted, but Levi knew that he would continue to love you regardless of if you no longer loved him.

 ****

 You were gone for weeks. Levi thought he was going to lose his fucking mind. There was no way of knowing if you were still alive, if you had gotten eaten, he had no idea. 

 It drove him mad. 

 It was pure fucking torture. 

 “Captain,” Levi’s eyes flickered up from his desk, glancing briefly at the soldier that was standing by the door.

 “What is it?” he asked, gazing back down at his paperwork, his movements never stopping as he continued to work. 

 “Y/n is back, she’ll be entering through the gates soon.” 

 The tightness in Levi’s chest loosened at the mention of your name. The anxiety he felt in his heart all but disappeared. 

 You were alive, and now… you would be home. That’s all that mattered.

 “We need to take him to the infirmary. Quickly now, let’s grab him.” A small group of soldiers had surrounded you, carefully pulling down the injured man that you held on the back of your horse. 

 Levi stood back, watching as the injured soldier was carried off before his eyes flickered to you. You looked exhausted, blood and dirt clung to your clothes and exposed skin. From what he could see, there were no serious injuries, much to his relief. 

 But it wasn’t the filth or the small cuts and bruises that worried him, it was the fact that your eyes held an emptiness that he wasn’t used to seeing.

 “Y/n.” he couldn’t help himself; he ran away the last time you two were together, he wanted to take care of you this time. 

 His expression softened when your eyes met his, a delicate flicker of adoration passed through but was replaced again with that sad emptiness that made his heart ache.

 Your usual bright and hopeful self was incredibly dim. Levi wasn’t used to seeing this side of you, or rather, it was something that rarely happened. Which meant that this mission was entirely taxing on you. 

 The fact that you had left with five others and came back with only one was a clear sign in itself.

 You lost people you were responsible for; it was never easy. Levi knew that feeling firsthand, and the fact that you had to experience that feeling all alone… he had to take care of you.

 “My room, after you’ve reported back to Erwin.” He said evenly. 

 “I need to get cleaned up Levi -”

 “Straight to my room after your report. No detours.” Levi interrupted, his tone was final, no room for any argument to occur.

 Only he was talking to you, someone that never hesitated to talk back. It was annoying, but it was also something that proved your strength. If you could talk back to Captain Levi with no fear in your voice, well, you could do just about anything. 

 “But I’m filthy, I don’t -”

 “That wasn’t a request. That was an order from your Captain, Y/n.” He said sharply, silencing your protest immediately.

 Levi said nothing else as he walked away, he would take care of you tonight.

 ****

 “Come in.” Levi said quietly after the delicate knock that echoed in his room. His eyes never left his book until he heard the door open and then close. You stood hesitantly in the middle of his room; unsure almost, like you felt like you didn’t belong here.

 Levi took in your form once more, pleased that you had actually listened to him and came straight to his room after your report. 

 “Come here.” he murmured, walking towards the table that housed the hot bowl of water and the many other supplies he would use to clean you up. 

 “I-I’m dirty… I don’t want to ruin your room…” You said softly, your teeth biting into your lower lip. 

 Levi said nothing else as he walked towards you. His slim fingers reached towards you and began tugging at your jacket, easily sliding it off of your shoulders, allowing it to fall on the floor before he began unbuckling the strap that laid across your chest. 

 “Stop moving.” He said, eyes narrowing slightly as you tried wiggling away from him. Levi gently squeezed the tops of your shoulders before sliding down towards the button of your shirt, skilled fingers easily undoing each one. 

 “Levi, I’m filthy I don’t want to get you dirty…” you knew about his aversion to filth, you didn’t want him touching you when you were this gross, this dirty.

 He ignored you completely, eyes trailing down the exposed skin of your upper body before he carefully knelt down. His fingers gently trailing against the soft skin of your stomach, stopping at the leather sash that laid over your hips. He carefully unclasped everything, the material falling to the floor with a soft thud. Levi couldn’t help touching you as he undressed you, fingers gliding over your legs as he undid each brown strap that was secured over the tops of your thighs. His hands gently reach around cupping your bottom before softly squeezing at the covered flesh before sliding back towards your calves, carefully sliding the zipper of your boots down. 

 “Levi, I don’t… I don’t want you touching me when I’m like this… I don’t -” he could hear the soft catch of your breath. A clear sign that you were holding back tears.

 “Stop it.” he said evenly, gray eyes smoldering as he stared up at you. He could see it then, the rising hysteria. It had finally hit you, or you finally couldn’t suppress your emotions any longer. 

 This mission took its toll on you. He knew, he could tell. Which was why he wanted to make sure you were okay, that you weren’t alone tonight, that you were taken care of. 

 “If you hate me now, then hate me. If you need to scream, then scream, if you need to hit me, then hit me. But I’m not going anywhere. Let me take care of you, brat. Go ahead and cry, I’m right here.” he said, his eyes never wavering from your face before he turned his attention back to undressing you. 

 “Why would I hate you?” you whispered, the tears that you were holding back finally spilling down your cheeks. 

 “Because I hurt you, and then I just left you.” he said simply, gently grabbing hold of your hand to rest on his shoulder while he tugged your boots off of your feet, tossing them behind him with a loud thunk. 

 “I’m sorry about that,” he continued. “I let my emotions get the best of me. I took it out on you. I’m sorry for that.” he said, tugging your pants down your legs. 

 “I’m not.” you whispered quietly. 

 Levi looked up at you curiously, hands resting carefully on your hips before he stood up. You were dressed down now, completely bare and exposed to his eyes.  Absolutely beautiful, he thought.

  Levi waited patiently for you to elaborate, taking his time to roll up his sleeves and to soak the rag in the hot water. The only sound in the room was the soft trickle of water as he wrung out the rag. 

 He carefully started wiping away the filth that covered your beautiful skin; his eyes and hands getting reacquainted with the body he loved the most. 

 “Even after all these years, you never talk to me about how you feel after missions. Not really at least, not without me prying for it.” you said quietly. “But you… you needed me that night. I… I was just glad that I could do something for you, be what you needed that night…”

 “You’re always what I need.” he said simply. “I shouldn’t have been so rough. You didn’t deserve treatment like that.” 

 He was almost done cleaning you up, pleased with the fact that there were only bruises and small cuts on you. 

 “I want to be what you need when you get like that too.” he said, tossing the rag over the bowl of water. His hands rested gently against your hips, thumbs rubbing softly against your skin. 

 “You are.” you said immediately. “You take care of me too, Levi. You always have.”

 There it was. That sweet, bright expression in your eyes was back, filling the emptiness, vanishing the darkness. It was wonderful. 

 “Good. Now, if you ever go on a mission alone again - without telling me - I’ll punish you.” he murmured, eyes flashing as he tangled his fingers into the back of your hair, forehead pressing against yours. 

 “Yes Captain.” you whispered sweetly. 

 Levi’s nostrils flared, his grip tightening for a moment before he leaned forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. 

 This kiss was full of love and passion, it was all teeth and tongue as you fought for dominance, only for Levi to easily overpower you, his tongue invading your mouth, hot and wet as he searched every inch. 

 His hands were everywhere, grabbing and kneading the soft flesh of your ass; pulling you closer to grind his hard member against you. Levi began trailing wet kisses along your jaw, down your throat, sucking and biting at every inch of skin he could taste. 

 The moans and gasps that were spilling from your mouth was music to his ears, he’s never heard a sound so sweet before. He wanted, no, he needed more of it. He needed all of it, all of you, every single inch. 

His skilled fingers found their way to your soaking folds, gently parting them before sliding softly against the length of your slit, gathering up your slick easily before pressing against the top. 

 Levi circled your clit gently, his movement slow and careful. He would give you pleasure, every ounce of it. 

 “Levi.” you gasped; eyes fluttering shut as one of his fingers slid into your weeping cunt. 

 “You’re so wet.” he breathed. “You filthy girl, you like my fingers that much?” he slid another finger into you, his thumb carefully pressing against your clit as he began thrusting in and out of you, fingers curling to reach that devastating spot within you. 

 “Answer me brat.” he murmured, his lips were near your ear, his breath coming out in hot, wet pants, his tongue flicking out to drag against your lobe. 

 “Yes.” you trembled, feeling your release beginning to build. 

 “You made a mess.” he groaned, pulling his fingers away abruptly. “Clean it up.” 

 You could see your slick coating his digits before he held them up to your lips. “Clean up your mess.” he demanded, groaning when your hot mouth wrapped around his fingers. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as he watched you lick and suck his fingers clean.

 “You like how you taste?” he breathed, pressing his mouth against yours, his lips prying yours open so that he could taste you on your tongue. 

 “Yes.” you gasped as he pulled away. 

 “Dirty girl.” he murmured, but then Levi’s whole demeanor changed. He cupped your face tenderly, gazed at you with gentle eyes despite how dark and lust filled they were. 

 “You’re mine.” he said quietly, carefully tugging you towards his bed, gently pressing you down into the mattress. 

 He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, you were just so beautiful. So perfect in the soft glow of the candles. 

 “I love you.” you whispered tenderly.

 His lips twitched into a gentle smile. 

 Just like the world couldn’t live without the sun, Levi couldn’t live without you. 

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter twelve - “it’s hovercraft time, bucky barnes”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: neither bucky nor y/n can sleep... until they do. and the next day brings them an unexpected, but pleasant surprise.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

It was four in the morning when the psychologist and the super soldier got in their respective beds after the nightmare. Y/N laid on her side in the bunk across from Bucky, facing away from him and staring at the wall. Her body wanted to sleep but her mind kept whirring on and on, worrying about him.

It wouldn't be that bad if she could just ignore it. It wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't wide awake also thinking about how it would be utterly impossible for him to have any eye color other than blue.

She sighed. Christ almighty, just go to sleep.

About twenty minutes passed before she heard it.

"Why are you still up?" he mumbled.

She turned over to her other side, dramatically, staring at his silhouette in the dark.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"I'm a trained assassin," he said, as a matter of fact. "I can recognize breath patterns."

"Yeah, well I know for a fact that you aren't even trying to fall back asleep."

"How could you possibly know that?" he repeated her question.

"I just do," she stated before turning on her back and staring straight up.

He scoffed playfully.

"What?" she asked.

Her tone wasn't as playful. It wasn't angry or annoyed; she could never be with him. But, it was void of emotion and her usual sarcastic cadence. She didn't enjoy people reading her like that. She knew he wasn't, but it felt like she was being called out for caring so much. She wanted to rein in her own compassion, but she couldn't help the way he softened her.

"That's just code for 'I'm a trained psychologist and I know how you're gonna react to nightmares.'"

She replied with silence, desperately trying to end the conversation so she could try to sleep and leave this night behind.

"Sorry, did I- did I say something?" he asked.

"No, you're good."

Part of her felt bad for being short with him, but she needed it to be over. She needed to somehow distance herself from her own feelings.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up with the nightmare and messed with you being able to fall back asleep. I know it's... a lot."

He's sorry. He's sorry?

"Don't you dare apologize. It's not your fault, and it's not even why I can't fall back asleep."

"What's the problem then?"

"It's nothing. Just try and get some sleep."

"Yeah... about that..."

"Will you have another?"

"Not  sure. I don't wanna find out."

"I know. And I'm sorry. Sleep shouldn't be this menacing, but you should still try anyway. Your body needs it."

"So does yours."

Y/N let out an exasperated sigh. There she went caring again and he kept deflecting. Her frustrations about her own emotions came out in stubborn defiance.

"I'm not sleeping until you do."

"Guess we're both stayin' up then."

"Bucky," she gently admonished.

"Y/N I can't- that... was the worst one I've had in a while."

That was it. Any and all aggravation faded to nothing, and her cheeks were hot with guilt. To hell with it; she refused to leave him to pain. She then got out of her bunk. Carefully, she maneuvered out and kneeled on the floor, facing him. She felt bad; she didn't mean to push him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, I should know better."

He mirrored her actions, slipping out of his own bunk and kneeling on the floor in front of her

"It's okay," he didn't miss a beat. His voice was as soft of hers. "Thank you."

He was closer now, so she could see a more detailed outline of him. She never really noticed just how large he was. Just his arm looked as big as her head. He was supposed to look frightening, but... she just couldn't see it.

"If you don't wanna sleep that's okay. I'll stay up with you so you don't have to be alone."

"Y/N..."

"I'm already up, I don't mind," she countered. "Seriously. I'm wide awake now. Honestly, I don't even know if I could fall back asleep if I tried."

"I can't ask you to stay up and babysit just 'cause you feel bad."

She scooted forward, determined not to lose to deflection again. Babysit? and Cause you feel bad? How could he truly think so little of himself?

"I am definitely not babysitting. I just happened to be awake at the same time you are... and not because I feel bad."

He scooted forward a couple inches, squinting, trying to decipher her facial expressions. "I can't tell if you're joking or not just from your tone of voice."

In the very back of her head it returned: that hazy enchantment feeling that swelled from her lungs through her brain stem every time she was this close to him. It is important to note - it was in the very back of her brain, and if you ignore something long enough, you can convince yourself it's not there.

"James Buchanan, I am awake and there's not a thing you can do about it."

"Alright," he sighed. "I don't know if you're expecting some kind of entertainment, but I can't really juggle with one arm..."

"I can't juggle with two."

"Ever been to the circus?"

"No."

He laughed. "Oh man, you're missin' out."

"No, I got the clown right here."

"Wow, is that how it is?"

"Depends. You got face paint and a rainbow wig?"

"Smartass."

The air was quiet after their breathy laughs fizzled out. A few moments of awkwardness quietly passed, both unsure of what to say next.

"You know when you're in the dark, your pupils dilate to take in as much light as they can in order to see better?" Y/N asked.

"I think I knew that? I'm not sure, I might've heard it somewhere. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I can't see your face super well, so it made me think of it. I can barely even see your eyes."

"Maybe that's better," he chuckled. "I don't know if they're still blood shot from earlier."

"Like I'd care."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"What?"

"Why wouldn't you care? I feel like seeing someone's puffy face and post-cry eyes would be kinda gross."

"You really think I care if your eyes are red or puffy?" she questioned. "Buck, I know I'm probably not supposed to say this because technically I'm your doctor, but I honestly consider you a really good friend. I'd be more worried to see that you've been crying than be aversive to it."

He scoffed in honest disbelief.

"What?"

"I just can't wrap my head around the fact that you think that way about me..."

"What do you mean?"

"...the person I am, the things I've done, the..." he shook his head, "the horrors I've committed..."

"The horrors you've committed are not who you are. I know you see yourself in a lot of different ways because it's hard to un-learn what other people have decided you are: a monster, a ghost, an asset, a machine, an assassin, a weapon, whatever. But have you ever considered that you're just human after all? You're a man who got dealt a shit hand in life. But there is still light in him... light that never left, no matter how hard they tried to beat it out of you. You're a survivor, Buck."

Bucky took a deep breath in, contemplating, before turning and laying on his back. They both remained on the floor, Y/N kneeling a few inches away from the side of Bucky's supine figure. He stared straight up at the ceiling.

"Sometimes I think I'm a better 'ghost' than I am a human being. My mind's a mess, and even though I'm trying, I still can't help but feel like I've lost who I am."

"You haven't lost who you are. You're just different now, and that's okay."

He looked up at her. "How do you always know what to say?"

"I know everything."

Y/N smiled, following Bucky's laugh, allowing the somber atmosphere to lighten up a bit. They so easily slipped in and out of the therapy dynamic, but now it seemed more like a heartfelt conversation between friends rather than treatment between doctor and patient.

"I consider you a really good friend too by the way - closest one I've had since Steve."

"Wow, really? That's an honor."

"Not really," he chuckled. "Steve's a punk."

And there she went laughing again. In one way or another she always found herself laughing around him.

However, she found it more confusing than funny when she woke up the following morning to find herself sitting on the floor, leaning against one of the beds with Bucky's head in her lap. She found her hands resting on his head protectively, fingers slightly carded through his long hair. She woke up before him... That's a first.

Y/N looked down at him. He was fast asleep; he looked peaceful and so relaxed. It was such a rare state to see him in, so she gave herself a few more seconds to study how his face looked when it was completely tranquil before she smoothed her hand along the back of his head and replaced her lap with a pillow.

-

"Hey," a raspy voice called out.

Y/N turned around from her seat at the table, hands still wrapped around the cup of tea she made herself a few minutes prior.

Bucky was awake, sitting up, but still in his previous spot on the floor.

"Hey. You want some tea?"

He stood up, nodding and stretching his back. "Did I fall back asleep?"

"You did," she smiled. "I'm pleased. I told you you needed the rest."

He seemed pleasantly surprised. "And on the floor too. Very classy."

She raised her mug to him, as if to make a toast. "Classiest man I know."

He laughed before grabbing the kettle and realizing it was empty.

"Shoot. We're outta water."

"It's alright. We know where to find the waterfall. You want to go get more?"

"Mm hm."

"Alright, I'll just finish my tea and go out in a few minutes."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm coming too."

"You sure? You just woke up. You can take some time to just relax if you want."

"No. I'm going."

"Stubborn. I can go myself, you know. I know the way."

"Would you let me go by myself?"

Y/N was silent for a moment before sighing.

"Get your shoes."

-

"You know, there was really no reason to almost push me into the water," Bucky commented as they were making their way back to the shelter after restocking their water supply.

"I wasn't actually going to!"

"You might as well have! My life flashed before my eyes!"

"Bet that took forever. You wanna backtrack? I can do it for real this time."

"I'm throwin' you in next time."

"You couldn't throw me," she challenged.

"Like a football," he countered, smirking.

"I don't wanna test that theory."

Their banter continued as they continued walking, making sure they were in the tree line and not out in the open. Bucky was always cautious. He was able to laugh with her while still making sure they were safe. That was until his arm was suddenly around the front of her shoulders, and holding her against his chest as his back was flush against a tree, effectively hiding them both from sight. She just stared forward, barely registering how fast he swiveled both of them around.

"There's someone at the bunker. I'm sorry- didn't want us to be seen."

He removed his arm, but her feet were stuck. She had never been close to him like this before; she didn't know what to think of it. She stepped forward a bit, breaking the contact but still facing away from him. She was hyperaware of their proximity but that quickly dissipated as she registered what he said.

"What did you see?"

"There were a couple people, but I didn't get a great look 'cause I moved out of sight fast. One woman, two men? I think."

His tone and demeanor reminded her of that day Shuri told them they had to go in hiding. He was so calm and collected. She forgot situations like these were practically muscle memory to him.

"Do you think someone found us? What were they doing?"

"I only saw 'em for a second, I'm not sure. Stay still, I'm gonna look."

As soon as his head peaked around the tree, so did Y/N's, ignoring his order.

"Wait, I think that's Shuri."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. I don't know if I'd bet my life on it."

"What's that other thing?"

"The hovercraft?"

"Hovercraft? God, I love this place."

"Wait, see the crest on the hovercraft - that's the one only Shuri can unlock."

"Alright, just... stay behind me. Okay?"

"Okay."

The two slowly made their way towards the three Wakandans. Y/N actually listened this time and stayed behind Bucky. As soon as they were in sight, Shuri came running up to them.

"Y/N!" she exclaimed, immediately throwing herself into the psychologist, embracing her.

She was startled at first, arms awkwardly hanging by her sides before her brain finally caught up to her and she brought her arms up lightly, returning the hug.

"Shuri! What happened?"

"We won!" Shuri grinned. "It's a long and complicated story, but the rightful King never died. My brother has reclaimed his place on the throne. Wakanda is ours once again!"

A monumental weight was lifted from Y/N's shoulders. She sighed in relief, knowing she was no longer in danger, knowing Bucky was no longer in danger.

"That's incredible. I'm so glad everything's okay, and I'm so glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you too, my partner," Shuri hugged her once more before addressing Bucky. "Sergeant Barnes. I'm sorry for all the trouble. I hope everything was alright?"

"We've been getting along just fine," he nodded. "Thank you."

Shuri called over the two other men - royal guards that came with her - before turning back to Y/N and Bucky.

"You've been camped out here in hiding long enough. Let us go home."

As they walked behind the Wakandan princess, Y/N nudged Bucky with her elbow.

"It's hovercraft time, Bucky Barnes," she managed to say through a face numbing smile.

delicate taglist: @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie @strivingforelegance

[theladybarnes]

▸▸ CAPTAINS ( CHAPTER FIVE )

“You don't get it do you? Society nods its head at any horror the American teenager can think upon itself. Nobody is going to care about exact handwriting.”

▸ summary: words can bear many consequences. innocent or not ▸ pairings: peter x reader, bucky x reader ▸ word count: 6,022 ▸ warnings: cursing, violence (school fights), slight manipulation   ▸ series masterlist

You’d never felt such a cloud loom over yourself before. Even when you got in trouble in your last school for that cherry bomb in the boy’s bathroom. The way people stared at you as you were escorted off school that day didn’t feel as judgmental as the halls of Westerburg did.

Every step, every breath, every movement  was watched by students and teachers as you made your way down the hall. The murmurs didn’t seem to stop even as you made your way into the school’s main office. 

“Watch out, she’s a killer.” Voices whispered around you. Unfortunately, they were all right. 

Some even went as far to call you a Black Widow. That nickname seemed to make Natasha pleased when she passed by you on the way to the office. Insisting that it gave your cool persona a more badass rep. You reminded her that being labeled a murder and a killer spider was not something you were into currently. 

The tired, erratic, and very irritated school office staff gave you looks of displeasure as you moved to make your way over towards the seats outside the Principal's office. He made the phone call the morning after Steve’s funeral to call you in for school. Wanting to get down to the truth over the message that was displayed on the school’s forum.

The two secretaries were too busy talking about your personal record that they held in their hands when Peter walked in. The expression on his face was unreadable as he made his way over to you. After reading the website, you pretty much locked yourself in your room until your Father called you upstairs. Relaying to you the message from Mr. Fury about what happened. So you never got the chance to really reach Peter back.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you out front. I was sort of trying to gather up any information that could be useful.” Peter muttered, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead before he sat beside you. The two of you had been kind of at an awkward stance since the cover up, leaving you wondering just where your relationship was at now.

“It’s okay. I figure you didn’t need to join me in the walk of shame.” He sighed at your reply, reaching out to grab your hand into his. The tips of his fingers were rough and calloused, sort of out unusual for someone who only wrote in the paper. But you were happy to have the kind gesture anyway. 

“We’re gonna figure out who posted that message, Blue. I promise.”

 “Funny, Mr. Parker. I was about to say the same thing.”

The tall and very intimidating Principal Nick Fury had been somewhat someone you wanted to avoid. The last time you dealt with him, he was biting your head off and threatening to expel you from the school. “Now, if you could join me in my office, please.” The two of you immediately stood up, filing in behind him to not make the man more irritated. 

“Now, I spoke with your father earlier this morning, seeing as he is your representative as well. I wanted to ask you a couple of questions.” You sank down into the chair, watching Peter do the same. He was more fidgety in here than you were. Almost like he was in trouble. 

“We just wanna know a couple of things and then you’re free to head out for the day.” Nodding your head, you watch as he pulls a pen and notepad out from his desk. Before he starts he glanced over to Peter. Barely noticing that he had joined the two of you. “Is there a particular reason Mr. Parker is joining us today?”

You’re about to speak up and sort of ask the same thing when Peter waved around his notebook. “I’m actually here on behalf of the newspaper and Blue. Mr. Lang, whom you know is the teacher in charge of the newspaper, insists that we ensure not only are we shown to be in support of Blue but to help clear up any mistakes the school made on the website. Considering what happened with Steve…well, you know.” 

Peter’s face turned into a grimace as he looked down at his lap. Instinctively, you reached out to place your hand on top of his. Of course this led to Fury getting flustered, mumbling about how much of a crackhead Scott Lang is. He reached down in his bag for something causing Peter’s facade to drop as he gave you an eye roll.

Weird.

You removed your hand to rest back on your lap again.

“I’ll allow you to sit in on this and report the clear up, but please refrain from answering any questions please.”

Nodding his head, Peter clicked the tip of his head and opened up the spiral notebook, ready to write down anything he deemed worthy to be written up. Fury, turning back to you, pulled up a paper of questions that you figured must have been approved by your father. 

“Now, where was I..Oh! Where were you the evening after the funeral?”

Gulping, you glanced between the two before speaking up finally. “After paying my respects to the family, I was about to head home for the day when Natasha Romanoff invited me to join her and her friends for dinner.”

“Who was at this dinner?”

For some reason you felt nervous to speak the truth. As if saying so would cause your friend beside you to become upset. “Uh, it was Me, Nat, Sam, and Bucky..” Peter stiffened beside you. When you glanced at him, he was already jotting down something in his notes. Underling something roughly. 

“We checked in and a couple of people say that you didn’t stay at the diner long. There’s two Internet cafes down in town. Who’s to say you didn’t make a trip there and make the post on our site yourself?”

You glared over at the man, confused why anyone would think this was something you’d want to post at all. Shaking your head you leaned forward, fidgeting with your sweater. “I left early, but I wasn’t alone. In fact, I was with them until midnight that day.” Peter’s eyes were on you, something you didn’t even have to check to know. 

“And they can attest that they were with you?” 

“Yes. Because we went home together right after.” 

Both men became silent. Not sure how to take in that answer. Noticing how that came out you groaned a bit. “I meant that we went home together because we’re neighbors.” A part of you felt guilty about revealing what you were doing with Bucky that night, mostly because it was you comforting the man and didn’t want to expose him like that. But in this case, you needed to speak up. “Bucky and I just spent the night outside talking. That’s all.”

“So Mr. Barnes was with you? All night?” 

Peter clicks at his pen again, writing quickly onto his pad. “Yes. I was trying to cheer him up. He just lost his best friend and I wanted to help him feel better.” The pen dropped suddenly, tapping lightly at your foot. Peter muttered an apology before he reached forward to grab it beside you. He makes brief eye contact with you.

There’s a mixture of fire and pain behind his eyes, almost like you betrayed him. Forcing yourself to look away you turned back to focus on the man behind the desk. He seemed calm as he took note of everything. “Okay, so after I check with Mr. Barnes I can clear you up on this. But since there was still the reason for the post, I have to ask a few more.”

Nodding your head, you hoped that these two wouldn’t be as hard to answer this time. 

“Is there any reason why someone would make a post like that in the first place?”

Peter shifted in his seat, almost reminding you that he was still here. You try and think about how to be as truthful as you can. “I had a small fight with Steve the night before he..umm, you know.” Fury nodded, jotting down more before he pointed at you to continue. “Well, some kids must have seen or heard that it was a lot bigger than it was. I ran off that night. Peter was with me after that.”

Hearing his name being brought back in caused the boy to smile meekly nodding his head in agreement. “As for the black widow part, I think it’s just someone trying to make me look bad.”

“Is there anyone you’d think would want to do that?”

The question stumped you a bit. You hadn’t even been at the school for that long. Surely there couldn’t be anyone that hated you that much that would make you come off that villainous. Right?

“Mr. Fury. I know you said not to join in but I do have my own assumptions about that.” 

You both turned to face Peter again. Fury was about to probably tell him otherwise when you reached out for your friend again. “Who do you think it is?” You asked softly, hoping that he had any sort of idea about this. 

“Well,” Peter started, crossing his legs. “On her first day here, Blue sort of made herself quite known.” You frowned a bit, wondering where he was getting at. “She wouldn’t have ever been noticed by anyone really had she not embarrassed John Walker and Brock Rumlow in front of the student body.”

 Wait a minute.. 

“Are you saying you think they did this?”

“I’m saying that there’s only two people who haven’t stopped talking badly about her since that day. Not only were they not at the funeral but they also were at the party that night.”

 Fury’s eyes narrowed over at the boy, setting his pen down so he could lean forward on his desk. “That’s a serious sort of accusation Mr. Parker. Are you sure that’s one you wish to make official?” Peter nodded his head without question, glancing at you with a small smile.  

“My friend has been involved in a vicious attack on her character. We just lost someone, my brother, to a suicide. Don’t you think something like this is serious enough to cause harm? What if she was suicidal?”

Two things stood out most to you in his whole statement. The first being that he put you as suicidal almost in Fury’s eyes. The second, he referred to Steve as his brother. Any other time it was always corrected. Acting almost insulted when you implied they were family. Why the sudden change?

“We’ll definitely be looking into that then.” Glancing back at his notes. He reads through everything before his eyes are on you once more. “Is there anything else you’d like for me to know, Miss?” Both men were watching you now. Fury, expecting more from you. And Peter, seemingly wanting you to wrap things up. 

“No, that’s..everything.”

Having nothing else he can legally ask you, Fury finally dismissed you both. Leaving you and Peter now to stand in the hall. His focus has been put back into the notebook in his hands, writing away furiously into the paper at what it is he wanted to write. Every time you tried to peek over, he’d pull it closer to himself. 

“So you hung out with, Barnes.” 

Shit. Here we go.

“Yes. Like I said, Natasha sort of asked me to.”

“Did she ask you to stay with him till midnight too?”

“Peter..”

“I thought we hated Bucky. Wasn’t that why you chose to not talk to him that day?”

You sighed, running your fingers through your hair as you contemplated your answer. Of course Peter would be a little bit taken back considering how mad you were the night of the party. But he didn’t know Bucky. He didn’t understand that behind whatever persona Peter might know him as, he was actually a nice guy.  At least thats how he was with you. 

“What did she say to convince you, hmm?” Peter interjected before you could respond. “That he likes you or that she thinks you two would hit it off?” He’s stopped writing now, looking up from his notes with the similar glare on his face. The one you were honestly scared you were seeing too much of. 

“Is it so wrong to help a sad man? No wait, not sad man. A man that was in pain.” Growing frustrated, you shook your head. Peter didn’t see what you saw coming home that week. “Look, all Natasha said was she thought hanging out with a girl he was cool with would be a nice thing on the day he said goodbye to his friend.”

Peter reached out and gripped your arm. Pulling you closer to him. “The friend you put there.” He reminded you, making the turning of your stomach begin. “Bucky Barnes is pathetic and if you honestly think for a second he’s this great guy, then you’re pathetic too.”

His harsh words physically made you gasp. Releasing yourself from his grip as you staggered back. At this point you knew that neither boy seemed to like each other. For some reason that neither seemed to want to tell you about. But still, it wasn’t till now that Peter really insulted you like this. What was worse was he didn't the least bit regretful. He just closed his eyes and sighed. Almost impatiently. “Blue, at some point you’ll see things from my way.” 

“I’m beginning to think that’s the only way you want me to see things.” 

A dark laugh emits from his throat. He didn’t seem to like that answer at all as he carefully put away the items in his hand. “I only want you to see the truth, little Blue bird.”  

The nickname echoed in your mind, wondering just where did you hear that before?

Peter leaned over to you and pressed a kiss against your mouth. Slightly rough for your taste. “I have to head over to the paper and type this up. I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch.” And with that he left you slightly stunned in the hall, wondering what was next on Peter’s agenda. 

The next morning seemed to be even more disastrous. But for once, the focus was not on you this time. 

Students lined up in front of the school’s mini newsstand, grabbing as much of the school’s paper as they could. When that ran out, you noticed most ended up sharing at one point. It was something you usually didn’t read at all, not really into any of the school gossip at this point. But after a few students read it and glanced in your direction you figured at this point you had to read it. 

Wanda fortunately, had the same sentiments.

“So, I know it comes from a good place at heart. But did you really mean what you said?” 

You were sitting at the back steps that led to the courtyard, waiting for Peter to come find you when the brunette stood in front of you. Her sharp green eyes still held that gentle look. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not so sure I know what you mean.” 

Unfolding her paper, she sat down beside you and opened it up to the headlining page. 

 SCHOOL APOLOGY TO INNOCENT STUDENT 

Wincing a bit at the reminder, you look over to where Wanda’s finger is at. Peter’s column had the usual apology garbage that most newspapers wrote. But as it went on, he seemed to add what he must have thought as giving you good press. 

 [ We at the Westerburg Journal, would like to remind everyone that during even the hardest of times, people can display all acts of kindness. Especially during a time of loss. 

 Blue, as her friends refer to her as, stood her ground to Principal Fury. Explaining to him all the events that surrounded her the day of the accusation. The fault that lingers still over the school’s website (which the WJ would like to remind is NOT affiliated with). The Senior had been innocently consoling her friend throughout the day of the funeral when the incident occurred. 

 “I was trying to cheer him (Bucky Barnes) up. He just lost his best friend and I wanted to help him feel better. - is it so wrong to help a sad man?” 

The staff behind the paper would like to take note and admire the tenacity of Westerburg’s Blue Bird. Giving a shoulder to cry on for one of our finest. We should all take an example and spread out a bit of love to our current Center (and possibly new QB). ]

Your hands gripped tightly onto the paper. Furious at how Peter had managed to take your words and use them for a taunting narrative. Looking over at Wanda you shake your head, unsure how to deal with this. “I didn’t mean just that. I even corrected myself. I don’t see him as that..fuck.” 

Wanda sympathetically leaned in to hug you a bit. “Maybe you should ask Peter to retract the whole thing? I’m sure he didn’t mean to put it like that anyway..” You were finding that a little hard to believe at the moment. 

“I think I might be too late.” 

The girl opens her mouth to respond when the doors behind you burst open. Natasha, looking slightly frazzled, scanned her eyes over till she found you. “I need your help.” She urged. 

The three of you run down the hall towards the familiar cafeteria doors. Even behind the closed doors you could hear the chants of students from inside. 

“FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT.”

In the center of the room where the pristine prized table usually sat was shoved aside. Making room for the three men to fight in the middle of it. They all looked like a red coated mess as fists were thrown, legs kicked, and various yelling occurred. 

 It isn’t till you stepped closer that you noticed just who was in the mini brawl. 

Bucky, whom you haven’t been able to talk to since the weekend, was currently underneath John Walker’s knee as Brock Rumlow attempted to punch at his face. His elbows being the only saving grace from the blunt hits. Everyone around seemed pretty damn okay with the unmatched fight. A blinding anger took over.

“Hey asshole!“ you yelled before charging at John, knocking his weight off Bucky. The blonde stared up at you incredulously before he gripped at your arms, preventing your punches from landing on his face. 

Natasha and Wanda are both attempting to reach out and grab you but you can’t help but keep trying to land any kind of attack onto John. One glance to your side and you’re glad to see Bucky has gotten up. Finally getting some blows back to Brock.

“You need your little shit bag slut to fight your battles for you, Barnes? Are you too sad?” Taunted Brock. His lip was bleeding, causing his words to spit out with blood. Meanwhile John is still attempting to get you off him without actually hitting you. 

“I can tell you like this position, eh newbie?” He smirked looking down at how you’re about straddled on his lap. He makes a post to thrust his hips up, nearly knocking you back, and almost vomiting from his insinuation. “Guess little spider is picking me next?”

Bucky beside you lets out a rage induced yell at the comment before he’s scrambling over to you, grabbing John’s collar in his fists. “You don’t talk to her like that!” Two pairs of hands grab at you, pulling you up from the fight on the ground. 

“Are you looking to get in trouble!?” Wanda scolded, pushing your hair away from your face. 

“It’s an unfair fight!” You hissed, feeling a slight pain in your wrists. They were a little red from the blonde’s grip. By now you were wondering why the school’s damn security was taking so long. Brock is back up, wiping at his mouth before he reaches to pull Bucky off of John. The blonde looked just as similar as his friend’s bloody state. 

Bucky is pushed back, landing with a loud thud on the floor, hitting his left elbow. A small groan fell past his lips as he moved to gripped the joint. Glaring, you brush off the hands holding you back to push over at Brock. Moving to stand in front of Bucky so they couldn’t hurt him more while he was down. 

“Move out the way, bitch. This is between us and Barnes.”

When you didn’t move, Brock reached out to grab you, holding onto your elbow tightly before he pushed you aside. Knocking you against a nearby table. Students seemed to gasp around all of you. Stunned apparently that Brock wasn’t afraid to hurt a girl. What you didn’t notice was the cut that had formed at your eyebrow.

“What kind of pathetic guy hurts a girl half his size?” Natasha yelled, moving to your side now. Murmurs of voices began to echo as Wanda and Natasha took charge in helping you and Bucky up from the ground. The chanting seemed to die down, and instead the students that had been surrounding were now backing up.

“They were asking for it!” John barked, hoping his tone would give him assertive confidence.

“Really? Weren’t you two the ones we came in to see fighting Bucky? Two on one really shows how fair you guys play.” Wanda retorted, setting Bucky down on a chair. The boy looked over at you three girls with a hard look on his face. It’s when he caught your gaze that he seemed to turn more dejected. 

Before you can reach out to check if he’s okay. The students began to disperse allowing Sam and Principal Fury to come into view. “What the hell is going on here?!“ yelled the older man. Kids had begun to file out of the room not wanting to stick around for the rest of the show now that Fury was there. It gave room for the security to step in place and space out the boys (and you) away from each other. 

“Brock and John decided to attack Bucky. They even manage to hit Blue!“ Wanda piped up, glaring at the two gobsmacked boys. No one really ever snitched on each other in fights. It was kind of a secret rule in schools. But seeing how angry the brunette girl was, no one was going to tell her otherwise. 

“Yeah! Well Blue wasn’t even in the fight! She just jumped like rabid dog to protect the school’s little sad boy.” He jeered, not caring how he came off.” It’s not our fault she got hurt!” The defeat in his voice slowly coming in.

“You two were dog piling him in an unfair fight, dickwad!” Natasha countered. 

“Is this true?” Fury turned, checking over with Bucky first before you. The two of you looked slightly more messy than the other guys, making the case look pretty well for your side. Nodding your head, you catch eyes with Bucky again to see his glare has returned. 

“Mr. Barnes, go and check with Nurse Cho for that arm. Maybe your friend can continue to be your aid and take you there.” Fury sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “And might I add Miss Blue, this is strike two.”

The both of you got up without another word, not wanting to risk the wrath that Fury was about to release onto the two other students as you left the cafeteria. 

The halls were practically empty as students had most likely gone to their next class. Which you were thankful for, since you didn’t want more eyes to witness you’re distressed state. Groaning a bit at how sore you felt, you turned to the direction of the nurse’s office, hoping to sneak in a word with Bucky about all this when you noticed he had gone off. 

“Hey!” You hissed, trying to go after him. “Cho is that way!” Catching up to his long strides, you reached out for his good arm, stopping before he could open the school’s front door. He barely turned to face you before he yanked his arm away, making you recoil from his anger. 

“Why did you say all that?” He spat. “Why would you tell so many people how pathetic you see me?” The usual warmth he had in his eyes was completely gone.

“Bucky, wait. I don’t see you as pathetic at all.” Again, you reached out for his arm more gently. Thankfully, he allows you to hold onto him, using a quieter approach to pull him closer. “My words,” you sighed, really hating that paper now. “They were taken slightly out of context.”

“Yeah? How?”

“Well for starters, I didn’t even know anything of what I said would be on the record. Let alone be something featured for the school to read.” He moved his arm from your grip so he could cup the side of your face, using his thumb to rub gently against your cheek. 

“But you still said what you said?” The idea that he wanted to console you while he was the one who was hurt tugged at something in your chest.

Nodding your head, you placed your hand gently at his chest. Feeling the soft material of his shirt underneath your fingertips. “I said a lot but those were only just a small part of what I was trying to explain. I just.., I’m sorry.” Pulling away from his warm touch, you stepped back to look at the ground. You didn’t deserve Bucky’s forgiveness or kindness.

“I’ve been nothing but a problem for you.” 

He didn’t say anything, his brows furrowed together as he took another step to you. “Blue?” Shaking your head you hold your hands up, keeping him from coming closer. “I would just stay away from me, Buck. I’m not really good at being your friend.” you laughed sadly. 

“Hey, don’t say that..”

“Look, maybe we should keep our distance. I think you need time to heal from all this and don’t really need me coming in and messing up your life.”

More than I already have. 

The look on his face turned from confused to deflated. “That’s not fair. We’ve both messed up. Don’t you think we get the chance to make it up to each other?”

What surprises you is how much this felt more like a break up than two friends fighting. You’re convinced it’s because you care about him. He had you wrapped around his finger and all you did was cause him grief. Literally.

The more you’re lost in your thoughts, the more you notice how upset Bucky seemed to get. Not truly understanding the turmoil that was going through your mind. Even when you’re attempting to do the right thing, he ends up getting more hurt. 

“There’s making up for something and making things worse. That’s all I do to you, Bucky.”

Time seems to pause around the two of you. Making it harder for you guys grasp what’s happening. Knowing that someone like him wouldn’t give up this fight, you decide you’re the one that has to walk away front his. So, you step back again, looking away from his downcast eyes and towards the hall again. “I’m sorry. I don’t think we can be friends.”

Not wanting to give him a chance to change your mind, you quickly turn away from him. Letting your legs lead the way. This was the better way. Even if Bucky wanted a friendship with you after all the mess with the paper, it still wouldn’t change the fact that you still were the reason for his current pain.

After school you’d figure how to fix all this, right now, you for once wanted to go to class and forget about this mess. But just as you were about to attempt to enter inside the room, a hand stopped you from reaching the door handle. 

“Blue, there’s something you have to hear.”

Peter, whom you haven’t spoken with since the other day at the school’s office, didn’t wait for you to respond before he took you away from the door. You were still so upset about this mess that he caused. The last thing you needed was to hear more crap from him today.

“Pete, what the hell?” You grumbled, releasing your hand from his grip. He let that go after he noticed you kept following him. “What do you want?”

“I want you to hear what I just found out.”

He’s led you into the school’s newspaper room. The spacious work place was empty due to the school hours. Well almost empty. Sat at the front desk with his head in his hands was a very upset Ned Leeds. The boy you remember from the infamous party. 

Glaring over at Peter, you stopped in place, not wanting to step forward without further explanation. This caused the boy to frown slightly, placing  a hand on his shoulder while the other inspected the cut that was above your brow. “I know you and I aren’t tight right now, and I really need you to get over the newspaper thing if that’s the case.” 

You opened your mouth to argue about that before he placed his fingers to close your lips. “Yell at me about it all you want, but first, you gotta listen to what Ned here confessed to me before lunch. It’s something you’ll definitely be interested in.”

Ned picked his head up at the call of his name. Showing you the new bruise that had formed on his eye. He looked pretty shaken up but glanced at Peter, seeking approval before he weakly nodded his head as he hopped off the desk. He approach the two of you timidly. 

“H-hi, Blue.” He stuttered. “Well, I guess there’s no easy way to put this..I was the one who wrote about you on the school’s forum.” He held his hands up, expecting you to attack him. Which you almost wanted to. But considering how much he seemed to be shaken up, you stood in place. “Not by choice.” Peter reached out to pat roughly on his shoulder. Nodding his head to his friend for confirmation.

“Go on, Ned. We can trust her.” 

The shorter boy looked almost scared at Peter. Like what he was about to say was something he couldn’t speak about. And after a few seconds of him staring doe eyed at you, Peter seemed to become impatient. Pushing his friend on the shoulder now to invoke some spirit into him. “C’mon, Ned. Just tell her like how you told me.”

“Look, if he’s scared to speak out it’s okay..I’m not exactly in trouble.”

You look over at him sympathetically, kind of perturbed by how Ned was acting now. Besides, at this point whatever he had to say wouldn’t change anything. Everyone and their parents saw that post. The only solution would be to move on from it. Turning to leave the room, you ignore Peter calling out your name.

There’s a slapping sound in the room followed by a yelp before Ned rushes over to close the door before you. “Brock and John both threatened to beat me up if I didn’t write that post about you! They wanted to get back at you still and said this would be the perfect kind of revenge!”  

“Well I guess it makes sense they were behind it.” You shrugged. “Besides, Fury is gonna look into it with them. After today something will surely happen.” You reached out to grab the door knob when Peter put a hand on your shoulder. Looking at you calmly before he reached to push your hair behind your ear. 

“I thought so too. Except Ned has one more thing to add.” 

The boy visibly gulped, rubbing at his arms before he nodded his head slowly. He looked at you apologetically, brimmed with tears in his eyes.“They also told me they’d beat the shit out of me if I didn’t get you into Steve’s room at the party.”

Your blood went cold. Anxiety and fear seeping back into your body like it did the night of the party. “What did you say?” You whispered, staggering a bit at the confession. Peter held onto you now, moving his arm to wrap at your waist so that your body could fall against his for a moment. 

“I’m so sorry Blue. I saw them giving Steve so much to drink too but I didn’t think…God, I’m just sorry! Please forgive me!” 

You can’t even look at either boy. It isn’t till you feel a pair of warm lips press against cheek that you’re brought back to reality. “Blue, they can’t get away with this…I have an idea.” Peter started, trying to coax you stay in his grasp. Instead of replying back you push away from his touch, ignoring the hurt look on his face as you exit the room. The school bell rings thankfully. Creating a wave of students passing through between you and Peter. 

Right now you needed to get out of there. Have time to collect your thoughts. Students passing by still murmur at your figure. Having a new story to spread around. But even as you ignored the people watching, you could still feel a pair of brown eyes burning at the back of your head.

  By the time you arrived at home, you were completely unaware of the hour of day. School most likely was still going on. Reminding you again how much you’d been failing at not only life but school as well. It was almost comical at this point with your sad attempts to get work done. 

Honestly, with how you felt inside, the anger that coursed through you, a lot of things would just have to go unnoticed. Right now, all you could think about were the boys in your life. Your father, who didn’t even really truly seem to care what was going on with you, the two boys who both seemed to like you but also seemed to be wrong for you, and the last two who wanted to make your life a living hell.

To find out that John and Brock could be the masterminds to one of the most traumatic events in your life, all because of ONE joke. It was insane. They didn’t even know you but they wanted a heinous act to be put upon you. It was the universe’s own sick joke really. 

Entering inside the house, you instantly go towards your father’s liquor cabinet. Needing something to help bring you some numbing pain. At least that’s what you’d hope drinking would bring. Grabbing his cheapest whiskey, you pop open the lid and retreat upstairs to your room. A good sulking for the day would surely help. It isn’t till you pass by your window that you’re given a somber sight. 

Back at his usual sun chair, was Bucky, drink in hand, looking right at your window.

The two of you stare stoically at each other. Neither knowing how to react to the sight of each other. It isn’t till he holds his bottle towards you, giving you a two finger salute that you backed away from the frame. The all too familiar guilt returning to your stomach again. You really did make things worse.

Closing the blinds, you cut off his view of your depleting mental state and go to lie down in bed. As soon as your head hits the pillow the phone decided to go off. Filling the room up with its shrill screaming. 

You already know who it is, he’s always been persistent at this point. So you walk over, picking up the blue hand held and press it to your ear. 

“Please let me help you.” 

“Alright, Peter. What’s your idea this time?” 

A/N: idk about you guys but i really want to hug poor Bucky. Also, sorry if this is sort of fillery. More drama next chapter. Plus we get to meet a familiar face~

tag requests: @edgycatx​

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Alone at the Edge of a Universe - Komaeda x Reader

Summary: You were in an accident before everything went to hell. You don't remeber how it all started. Now you live in a small apartment with a strange man who seems to be trying his best to look after you, but doesnt know how to take care of himself.

AKA: oh my god they were roommates.....Despair Edition TM

Word count: 7169 Contains: fem reader, no pronouns usage, explict sexual content, unsafe sex, very mild blood/injury, panic attacks, despair era Read on AO3 ミ☆ Please send me a DM or an ask if you’d like me to write something for you!

There’s an explosion outside your window, and something huge tumbles to the ground. Everything in the apartment is shaking, Knick-knacks wobble and fall off the mantle, smashing on the floor, the bed frame shakes and lurches underneath you. Your fingers are digging tight into the quilt, trying to find purchase somewhere in the quake.

It is not your first collapsing building, and you fear it will not be your last. The world outside the apartment is dangerous and frightening, layers upon layers of horror folded together into the culmination of true despair. You don’t remember how it happened. It was some time ago (weeks? Months? Years?) that you woke up in a hospital, weak and emancipated, barely able to walk. You had been in some sort of accident, whatever happened to the world, started while you were still comatose and all the doctors were long gone when you finally came to. The fact that your life support was even still running was a stroke of luck.

There’s another thundering outside, but this one doesn’t make the house shake. Another building? You can't be sure, it was too far away to be of any danger to you so there is no reason to think about it. Instead you pull yourself up from the bed, bringing one foot down on the floor and being absolutely sure that there won't be any aftershocks before standing up properly. There are little broken pieces of glass and china all over the wooden floorboards, you cross the room on your tip-toes, careful to avoid any of the more dangerous looking shards. It is as you feared, your favorite knick-knack had also broken. You drop into a crouch, trying your best to gather the shattered pieces of what had once been a small glass jar full of little keepsakes.

Your housemate (if you could call him that) frequently brings back little presents from his adventures out into the fractured city. But this had been your favorite, a blue jar with a cork stopper, full of buttons, beads, marbles. Any pretty trinkets he could find for you. The shattering of this particular gift hurts something terrible, because you know it took him a very long time to collect it all. You manage to find a sturdier jar that survived the quake (it was once holding three stems of lavender, long since dead) and scoop as many of the shards and trinkets that you can inside. It isn't as pretty, but it will do for now.

He’s been gone for a week now, and you are hoping he will be back today.  

When he first brought you to the apartment, you couldn't even stand. Confused and scared about what had happened to the world during your coma, and having trouble remembering what your life was like before either. The apartment was a mess when he first found it, but there was a bed and clean sheets in a closet, so it was fine. He sat with you for hours, barely moving, just watching as you slipped in and out of consciousness, as the world finally came into focus. At first you were afraid of him, of his dishevelled appearance, trembling limbs and wide watery eyes. He never made any move to touch you, he sat there and would answer questions if you asked them, but otherwise just watched.

Once you were able to move on your own, he started heading outside for longer stretches of time. He used to just leave for a few hours each week to bring you back enough food until his next trip, but now he is often gone for days at a time. You wonder how long it will be before you can go outside with him. He is strange, but given the state of the world outside, you can’t imagine anyone else is faring much better.

You manage to salvage a decent amount of the broken trinkets and either pour them into a vacant jar or the trash and are in the middle of sweeping away any remaining shards when you hear a shaky knock on the door. He has a key, but he always knocks anyway. You let the broom drop to the ground and dash over to the door to let him in.

“Hey…” you say, pulling the door open. His red striped sweater has more holes in it than it did last you saw him, his hair curled and messy, more grey than white. His disheveled appearance means little, you are thrilled to see him, “Welcome home.”

His eyes are desperate as he looks you over, crossing the threshold of the apartment and closing the door behind him, “The quake...are you okay?”

“I stayed in bed the whole time, I’m fine.” You attempt to take his rucksack from him, to help him carry it to the kitchen. He pulls it away from you and carries it on his own, “A bunch of the gifts you brought me fell off the mantle, though. I should have been keeping them somewhere safer, I’m sorry.”

He wheezes, giggling under his breath as he starts pulling food out from the rucksack and onto the bench, “Don’t waste such sweet apologies on me. I can find more gifts if you want them.”

With you standing in the sitting room, and him unloading groceries in the kitchen. In a different time, this may have been domestic. Your heart warms at the thought, “No, it’s okay. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“Trouble?” He doubles over with laughter, the sound is scratchy in his throat, “You could never cause me any trouble.”

He doesn’t look like he belongs in the nice clean apartment. He stands in the middle of the room, all shaking limbs and wheezy breaths, clutching his own arms like it’s the only thing still keeping him together, but you can tell he is trying, he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable around him.

“Are you okay?” You ask, “you were outside when it happened”

He giggles breathlessly, gnawing on the cuff of his sleeve, “you are worried about me?” His knees shake like they're about to give out and he buzzes with manic energy, “Aha! the extent of your hope, it’s incomparable!”

You suddenly notice a line of blood running down from his forehead, curling down past his eyebrow and over his cheekbone. You rush over to him and take his face in your hands. His skin is pallid and sickly, his lips chapped and bleeding. You push his mess of dirty hair away from his forehead and gasp, “you’re really hurt, why didn't you tell me?”

He doesn’t say anything, he’s just staring at you with wet unblinking eyes as a wide smile tugs at his lips. Shuddering under the soft grip of your hands. The gash on his forehead is shallow, but blood is gushing out of it quite quickly and you aren’t really sure what to do. As you look closer at the wound, his eyes flutter shut and you feel him leaning into your palm. Your heart thunders in your chest, he’s cute under all the dirt and grime.

He cares for you a great deal, you aren't sure why. He won't even tell you his name.

“I’ll wash it out for you. Okay?” You say, taking one of his hands in yours and tugging him towards the bathroom. The one gentle tug on his hand is enough that he almost topples over, but he rights himself quickly. His hand is quivering in yours.

“Oh! You don't need to do that!” he protests, but continues obediently following after you, “I’ve dealt with much worse, aha! Don't bother dirtying your hands to fix something that will only break again.”

You grab him by the shoulders and lower him down onto the toilet seat. His big eyes peer up at you from behind the mass of hair now tumbling down over his face, he watches you with a pointed devotion that might make you uncomfortable if you weren't already used to it. He brings his sleeve up to his mouth to chew on it again, you take his hand in yours and lower it before he gets the chance, “I’ll be gentle. Don’t worry.”

His nails dig into the meat of his thighs and he is shivering again. You can feel his legs bouncing as you lean forward to take a better look at the gash on his forehead, he whines when he feels your fingers brush his hair away from his face. You sigh at him, “You know this will get infected if you don't clean it, don't you?”

He whimpers, practically rattling as his tremors get worse, “How kind of you to notice! But I have more important matters to attend to of course.” another bout of laughter boils through him, shaking his bony shoulders,“like you, for instance!”

You drop to a crouch so you can meet his eyes, resting one hand on his shoulder and holding his hair back with the other, “You can't look after me if you’re dead.”

“Oh I won't die.” He breathes, the depths of his eyes shining with a shocking lucidity, “Not yet.”

He really believes that. You can see it on his face, “Either way. I’m going to clean it. Sit tight.”

Sitting tight is not possible. To his credit, he doesn't move on purpose, but he is still shaking intensely as he waits for you. His protruding knees knocking as his legs bounce up and down. You purse your lips and wet a cloth in the sink, the water is a little brown, but all of the water is a little brown so there isn't much you can do about it.

“Okay.” You say, turning back to him and lifting the cloth to his forehead, “Let me know if it stings too much, alright?”

He nods, smiling up at you pleasantly as you bring the cloth down on the gash. There is a lot of blood, the coppery smell is overwhelming but you try your best to seem like it isn't affecting you. If there is any pain, it doesn't seem to be bothering him, his eyes are closed again and he is leaning gently into your touch. Your heart warms for him, and the hand you are using to hold his hair out of his face starts gently scratching his scalp. You hear him gasp, but he makes no move to stop you. His hair is soft, you can feel the grit of dirt and smoke caught up in it, but under that...he is so soft. The blood running down his face is well clean by now, but you don't stop. The washcloth falls from your hand with a splat and his eyes snap open. One of your hands is buried in his hair, combing the mess through your gentle fingers, the other traces the sharp line of his jaw, all the way up to and then down his cheekbone.

“What are you doing?” He asks, you are dimly aware that his shaking has stopped. At least for now.

Your pointer finger runs up the bridge of his nose and over his right eyebrow, now you are the one shaking, “I...don’t know.”

“You’re touching me.” He breathes

Your voice is barely a whisper when you reply, “I am.” you let your hand drop, “I’m sorry. I don't know why i did that.”

He reaches out and takes your hand in his, pressing it firmly to his cheek. His eyes are wild, “You can do whatever you want to me! I don't mind!”

His suggestion raises an unwarranted heat to your cheeks. You gently tug your hand from his grasp, “There’s some vodka in the cupboard. Give me a moment to disinfect you.”

You pick the cloth up off the ground and leave it on the side of the sink as you walk over to the kitchen. All of the food he brought back with him is still strewn about on the countertop, abandoned when you realised how badly hurt he was. You worry about him. Constantly. He was the one who found you half crawling, half stumbling through the desolate remains of the city mere hours after you woke up in the crumbling shell of the hospital. Since then he has been so careful of you, making sure you are well fed, bringing you gifts or clothes, anything he can find out there. He clearly doesn't extend the same olive branch to himself. You stand up on your toes to grab the alcohol from the top shelf, it was already here when he first found the apartment. Half empty. You hope whoever lived here before you had enjoyed it.

“This is going to hurt.” You warn as you step back into the bathroom. He nods loosely and you wring the cloth out as best you can before dousing it in the vodka, “Are you ready?”

“Pain or pleasure,” he starts, looking up at you with a loopy smile, “anything I feel by your hand is exhilarating.”

Oh. You liked that . It made something in the pit of your stomach twist.

You clear your throat and crouch down in front of him, pushing his hair out of the way. His eyes are half lidded, and you can tell he is uncomfortably lucid. He intimidates you a little like this, there is a sharp intellect behind his big green eyes that feels like he is dissecting you with his stare alone. Even though he has stilled quite a bit, his hands are still jittering at his sides. You gently press the alcohol soaked rag to the gash in his forehead, he hisses through his smiling teeth, but the sound teeters dangerously close to being a moan. You swallow, continuing your ministrations.

“Did you get hurt anywhere else?” You ask, purposely focussing on cleaning his wound so you don't have to meet his eyes.

“No.” He says. It doesn't sound like he’s lying.

“Okay.” You reply, “I trust you, but you can't hide these things from me. I have a duty to keep you safe, too.”

A shudder runs through him at your words and his eyes flutter shut. Like he is savoring it, “You are too generous, truly.” his voice is so breathy, and your positioning makes it sound like he is whispering in your ear. You bite your lip.

“It is not generosity.” You laugh a little, your fingers tangling in his hair again, “It’s selfishness. You are all I have and I don't want to lose you.”

He is shaking again, his long fingers grasping at nothing. Like he desperately wants to hold you but knows he can't . His arms wrap around himself instead, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket as he rocks back and forth, “Aha! A regular Pylades you are, looking after trash like me!”

You have long since abandoned any pretense. Not even pretending to be tending to his wound anymore, your fingers brush through his hair unhindered, “Pylades?” you ask, twisting a lock of pale hair around your index finger. Surprised with how much classic literature he’s managed to remember through all this tragedy, this is not the first time he has quoted one such piece to you.

“From Euripides!” he’s grinning now, lips curled almost painfully wide, “You need me to jog your memory, hm?” He asks, leaning forward. He is very close to you now, and your hand freezes in his hair, “Orestes says ‘it’s rotten work’ and Pylades replies-”  

Oh. You do know this one.

“Not to me.” You breathe, heart thumping in your chest and mouth going dry. Your hand slides down from his hair to cup his cheek, you can feel his pulsepoint racing like a hummingbird under your thumb. He is so close now, you can see flecks of gold in his eyes. You can count his eyelashes. You are shaking, “Not if it’s you.”

For a moment, you think you are going to kiss him. For a moment, you want to kiss him. Instead you let your hand drop from his cheek and stand back up, “It’s um...it’s as clean as im going to get it. Might need stitches, but i dont have the means or the skill to do that for you.”

He brings his arms up in a shrug, “No matter. So long as you’re satisfied.”

“This isn't about my satisfaction.” You say, crossing your arms, “You need to take better care of yourself out there. Look, maybe next time i should come with you and-”

He shoots upright, suddenly towering above you, all quivering limbs and sweaty palms, “Nonononono. You have to-” he sucks in a wheezy breath and shakes his head, “-you have to stay in here. For you to be tainted by the world outside, the despair it would-” a breathy laugh escapes his lips, growing and growing in volume, his hands tanging his hair pulling strands out at the roots, “-It would be glorious .” He growls, shaking and panting as he starts hitting himself in the head with his fist and a crescendo of, “nononononononono” is erupting from the cavern of his mouth.

It is frightening, but you are used to it. He gets in these fits sometimes, but has never attempted to hurt you, it’s more like he’s fighting himself. You wrap both your hands around his wrist, holding his arm still so he can’t use it to hit himself anymore before slowly bringing it back down to his side. He is still shaking with a mania that seeps out through every pore, but at least he isn't hurting himself. His mouth runs a mile a minute, arguing with both himself and people you have never met. He talks to them a lot, these other people, you don't want to ask him about them.

“Hey.” you whisper, “I’m here. It’s okay.”

His big eyes turn to you, but he doesn't calm. He is still muttering and shaking, but this is okay. You start slowly rubbing your hands up and down the length of his forearms, “You’re doing fine, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

He whines and brings one of his sleeves up to his mouth to gnaw on it. You don't stop him, when he gets like this it’s one of his less destructive habits. It's preferable to scratching. You keep rubbing his free arm, your other hand curled around his hip. His eyes are slowly growing less wild, drool is dripping down his chin, “Alright. We’re going to move to the couch. Nice and slow.”

You loop his arm over your shoulders and tuck your other hand into his back pocket, slowly walking him over to the couch. This is the main reason you haven't left the apartment, the door unlocks from the inside so if you really wanted to, you could leave at any time. You’re scared though, both of what is waiting out in the city, and of what will happen to him if he comes back one day to find you gone. He is finally starting to calm when you lower him down onto the couch, still chewing absently on his sleeve, but his breathing has slowed a little. A soft smile tugs at your lips, and you tuck some of his hair behind his ear.

“Why do you worry about me so much?” You ask, more to yourself than to him. Stroking his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb, “I am no one to you.”

He is tired now after his episode, his arm is slow and shaky as he reaches out to you, resting his hand in the dip of your waist. The warmth of his skin seeps in through your shirt, your heart climbs up into your throat when he squeezes , “You are hope. You are everything to me.” his eyes are half lidded, and his smile is soft, “The corruption, the despair it...haahaa...it tainted us all, but you-” he takes a deep, shuddering breath, “-you slept right through it. You’re still hopeful...still perfect…”

“And if I hadn't. What would I be to you then?”

“Dead, most likely.” He sighs and it rattles through his chest, “Is there even a point to talking about what might have been? In my experience it has never helped any.”

He’s right. You hate the idea of a reality where you never meet him. This realisation makes your stomach turn. Familiarity breeds comfort, but when what is familiar is a man who is (under dirt and grime and sweat)  incredibly beautiful, you find that it breeds something else as well. You give the hand on your waist a pat, and he lets you go.

“The sun is setting.” You say, trying to distract yourself from how much you want his hand against you again, “I’m going to light some candles before it gets dark.”

“Oh! Before you do.” He manages to pull himself up from the couch and stumbles over to his rucksack, bending over and rummaging through it some, “I hm...i found something for you.”

You stand in the middle of the room, the last dregs of daylight are casting an orange light over his shaking form. He comes back over to you, holding out his offering, for a moment you're not even sure what it is.

“Oh my god…” You whisper, turning it over in your hands. It’s a polaroid camera, a little banged up but it looks like it will still work, “thank you.” you smile up at him, heart melting to nothing in your chest, “thank you so much.”

He laughs a little, shaking as he passes another two objects over to you, “I only found two film cartridges, but i can look for more!”

“No! This is perfect, I'm amazed you even managed to find two.”

“My luck may not be worth much.” He says with a sad smile, “but if i’m able to bring you some happiness with it, then i'm glad!”

“Here, just...give me a second.” Your hands are shaking as you fumble with the first cartridge, popping open the back of the camera and clicking it in. Before he has a chance to protest (because you know he will) you lift the camera up to your eye and snap a photo. For a moment he is dazzled by the flash, but then immediately starts wheezing.

“Wha....What?” His knees are wobbling again, his eyes are wide and unblinking.

The photo slides out of the camera and you grab it between your index finger and thumb, giving it a light shake, “I took a photo of you.”

“Why would you do that?” He’s laughing, but it sounds more confused than it does manic, “You only have two cartridges of film and you would waste a photo on garbage like me?”

“I don't think it was a waste.” The photo has just about finished developing, the light from the flash doesnt do his already pale skin any favors, but you smile all the same, “Sometimes you’re gone for a long time, and if i can't come with you then...i dunno, it’ll be nice to have.”

“You...miss me?”

You see no reason to lie, “I miss you.”

He is just staring at you now, eyes slowly examining every inch of your face. Your heart is racing. He takes a slow, shaky step towards you, practically vibrating with nervous energy.

“I shouldn't.” He says, even as his trembling hand rests on your hip, the pads of his fingers slipping up under your shirt to stroke your skin, “I’m disgusting for even thinking about all that I want to do with you.” His grip on your hip grows tighter, and you feel a warmth in your stomach, “If you knew...eheh...if you could see what i was thinking right now.” his breathing has quickened, and the hand on your hip is trembling. So are your legs, “you’d kick me out of this apartment like the...the...haahhaa...the perverted trash that i am.”

Any thoughts within you about resisting or denying him have long dissipated. You do not even hesitate as you loop an arm behind his head, digging your fingers into the back of his hair, “I wouldn't.”

He doesn't say anything, he’s just looking at you and trembling. A whiny moan escaping his lips.

“The things you want to do to me…” You start, fingers slipping under his striped sweater, just enough to feel his skin, “Show me.”

His hand joins its brother on your hips, and he tugs you towards him. Your lips colliding in a desperate kiss, all tangled tongues and nipping teeth. You moan into his open mouth, your fingers tangling even tighter in the mess of hair on the back of his head, he groans when you tug a little harder, slipping one of his hands up the front of your shirt and palming you over your bra. You cling to each other like two lost sailors adrift in the sea, attempting to find purchase in a world long gone. Your kisses open mouthed, wet and sloppy, desperate and needy. He is moaning and shaking, his long fingers tightly squeezing your breast as his other arm wraps around your waist and somehow tugs you even closer. He is so thin, pressed up against him like this you can feel his bones shifting under his skin. You bite his neck so hard you taste copper on your tongue and a moan explodes from his lips.

“Yes... yes! ” He stammers, drooling and shaking. His mouth pulled in such a wide smile that his lips tear and bleed, “hurt me...hng-hahAHA... destroy me !”

Your hands become frantic, grabbing his jacket and tugging it down his arms. His sweatshirt soon follows, ripped up over his head with a tenacity you didn't even know you had. You want to feel his skin, to suck, to bite, to bury your nails in it. Desperation is building inside you, almost ready to overflow. His skin is salty with sweat when you run your tongue over the length of his collarbone, fingers on your left hand running over each jutting rib as you slip your hand down to grasp his hip. The bone is sharp under the soft skin of your palm. Despite all his sweating and panting, his flesh is still cold under your hand, you want to warm him up. You tug your own shirt up over your head, chucking it behind you and unclasping your bra.

A wheezing laugh escapes him, he pushes his hair away from his face but it immediately falls back down again, “You...you’re…” his breath hitches, his pointer finger traces the underside of breast, shaky and cold, “you’re so soft...so warm .” he moans, licking his lips, “my goddess...would you permit me to pleasure you with my mouth?” he purrs. His eyes are swirling with arousal, his hand creeping up to massage your breast in his palm. It feels so good, he feels so good. He looks at you with this endless devotion, like you are something precious to be protected and loved .

“My guardian angel.” you whisper, tucking a wisp of hair behind his ear, “Whatever you want to do to me. Do it.”

His ghostly green eyes are blown wide, and he is wheezing again, “You just...what did you just call me?”

“I would have died out there on my own. You know that right?” You say, leaning in close enough that the tips of your breasts brush against his bare chest and cupping his cheek in your palm, “You saved my life. You are my guardian angel.”

“You are too kind to me, truly.” He whispers, his cold hands moving to your shoulders as he guides you backwards, “I am little more than garbage after all.” the back of your knees hit the couch and you collapse onto it, “Just a bug under the heel of an ultimate’s shoe...but you...hm…” he drops to his knees in front of you, his grin is all sharp teeth and drool. Some people might have been afraid of him, you thought he was the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever seen, “you deserve to be worshipped .” he breathes against your skin, leaning in and wrapping his lips around one of your nipples. His mouth is warm and wet, you throw your head back in a wail, digging your fingers into the mess of hair on his head.

His hand slides up the side of your ribcage, thumb rubbing small practiced circles around your other nipple. A needy moan escapes your lips, and your legs drop open almost instinctively. He scrambles forward to nestle himself between them, the sharp angles of his torso dig into the soft flesh of your thighs and his free arm wraps around your waist to tug to two of you even closer together. A strangled cry rips through you as the bare skin of his chest presses firmly against your sex, hips bucking against him almost involentarily, overcome with a desire to just feel him . He laughs against your breast, sinking his teeth into your flesh as his tongue continues lathing across your pert nipple.

“Mm...you’re so soft…” He whispers, resting his cheek on the plump skin of your breast, “your skin is so smooth…” His other hand is still toying with your nipple, rolling it in between the calloused pads of his thumb and forefinger, “haaAAH...I’m so lucky. You permitting scum like me to pleasure you? Your kindness is...hm, how could I put it?” his tongue darts out to give your nipple a lick, you shiver, “It is inexorable ”

“Wrong again.”, You laugh breathily, carting your fingers through his unruly hair, “This is no kindness. This is desire, unflinching. I want you so badly, selfishly .”

A raspy giggle escapes him, shaking his shoulders as he pulls his arms from you to wrap them around himself instead, “Someone like you getting so riled up over someone like me...eheh…” His hands are shaking when he brings them back down to your waist, gripping the elastic waistband of your sweatpants, “The ideas I have - the things I want to do with my fingers,” he starts pulling your pants down. You lift yourself up a little to help him pull them over your hips, warmth blooming in your cheeks, he moans at the mere sight of your panties, “f-fuck…” he whines, all drool and sweat, “i want to finger you until i die . Oh... oh god… ” he’s kneeling lower down now, you can feel him shaking between your thighs, “you smell so good...i want to eat you until there's nothing left. Like you’re my last meal…” his hands come up and grip your thighs tight, he leans in closer to your center and you can barely hold in a moan when you feel his nose bump against the wet spot on your panties. You don't hold in the moan when you feel his tongue. You aren't sure you could if you tried, it tears out of you, the one swipe of his tongue over your soaked panties is like a bolt of lightning to your cunt.

He continues like this for a while, moaning and shaking as he drags his tongue up and down your panties. Occassionally suckling your clit through the fabric. His bony fingers dig so tight in the soft flesh of your thighs that you swear you’ll have bruises tomorrow morning. After one particularly brutal suck, all you can do is sob, pulling his hair so tight that his lips are torn away from your centre.

“Something wrong?” He asks, playing innocent, but the look in his eye is cool and intelligent.

You heave a shaky breath, staring down at him, “Take them off. Please! ”

You swear you see his hips twitch at your demand. Eyes glazing over and tongue lolling out of his mouth as he hooks his fingers through the legs of your panties and tugs them down, leaving them to dangle off your left ankle. A whimper escapes you at the feeling of his breath against your wetness, his hands are hovering above you, shaking in the air like he isn't sure what to do with them. He wants to touch everything, he just can't decide where to start.

In the end, his left hand comes to rest at your hip, while his right middle and ring fingers push their way inside you. Your head lolls backward and your mouth drops open with a long moan at the feeling. His fingers are longer than yours are. A lot longer.

“I can feel you... twitching around me.” he makes a strangled noise, half a laugh, half a moan and pistons his fingers slowly in and out of you. The sound it makes is obscene , but it seems to only encourage him further. He leans in, and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking gently and occasionally flicking it with his tongue. Your hips buck reflexively, trying to get closer to his mouth.

“Ahh - ah! You taste so sweet...” he whispers against you, his breath cold on your burning flesh, “I - mmph...i feel like adam biting the apple...or persephone swallowing the pomegranate seeds...haah…” he removes his fingers, and his tongue slips inside you, swirling around before he returns his attention to your clit, “But which do you think it will be, hm? Will i be forced to leave you, or will i be bound to you for all eternity?” his eyes meet yours, boiling with passion and desire. He looks godlike between your thighs, grinning up at you with sharp teeth and the sheen of your own slick all over his chin. All you can do is shake and moan, quivering for want of him, “Care to try your luck answering the million dollar question, my goddess?”

“Never leave me…” you say, chest heaving. You reach down and cup his face in your hand, “I will never ask you to leave me.”

“Never?” he asks, his smile growing manic and his nails digging into your thighs. You hiss at the pain, “A dangerous promise.” His tongue enters you again and he moans sinfully against your skin, slowly thrusting the wet muscle in and out of you. His hands slip down under you and he lifts you up by you ass, pulling your sex even closer to his face. You whimper and moan and grind against him. Fingers tangled in the mess of his hair as he tongue fucks you into oblivion.

He’s whining and groaning, devouring you like a man starved, and when you feel the couch lurch, you realise he is also desperately grinding his cock into the front of it. You tug on his hair again, weaker than last time as the wobbly feeling of pleasure has overtaken you. He slowly draws back from your sex, licking his lips and staring up at you with his intimidating eyes, “Mm?”

A shaky breath rattles through your lungs and you lean forward to kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips, “I want you inside of me. Would that be okay?”

“I was already inside you.” He says, smirking and sticking out his tongue as a reminder.

“You know what i mean.” Your eyes flit down to the tent in his jeans, making what you really want even more obvious than it already is.

“You spoil me.” He breathes, pressing a wet kiss to your jawline, “You couldn’t possibly know how desperately I want to sink myself inside you...but I- haaahh ...I am not worthy of such an intimate act.” His fingers reach out, and slowly begin circling your clit, you choke on a moan, “I am more than happy to pleasure you like this...no need to worry about my satisfaction.”

“But I want to see you come undone.” You hiss as his index finger circles you entrance, “I want you on top of me, inside of me. I-“ his finger pushes inside and your breath catches, “-I want you to fuck me. Please .”

A giggle bursts from his lips that quickly grows into a cackle. His shoulders shaking with its intensity, a line of drool dripping down his chin, he throws his arms wide and shoots you a manic grin. All teeth and gums, “If that is what you truly desire, then it would be pointless to deny you any further!” He clambors up from the floor, stumbling a little as he struggles to remove his jeans, “After all, I want you as well.” He purrs, his jeans and boxers dropping to the floor, “More than that…” he breathes, lowering you by your shoulders until you are lying back on the couch and nestling himself in between your open legs. Your heart is racing, he is hovering over you now. His lips barely a breath from yours, and the head of his cock brushing against your sex. He groans, “My goddess, I hunger for you.”

He hisses a breath in through his teeth as he starts pushing himself into you. Hips shaking as he resists the urge to shove himself in with one long stroke, his eyes roll back into his head and he moans. The feeling of him slowly entering you, combined with watching the strangled ecstasy on his face, it’s the most aroused you’ve ever been. You can feel yourself clenching around him, your own hips quivering as he finally bottoms out inside of you with a raspy groan, “So wet…” he hisses, “You feel so good around me…” he slips one of his hands down between the both of you, rubbing gentle circles around you clit. You keen loudly at the feeling and his hips stutter into yours, “Y-you like that, huh? I felt you tighten around me…”

You nod loosely, struggling to speak through your moans, “Please...move…”

He visibly shudders at your request, slowly inching his hips backward, and then forward again at full force. A moan that shifts to laugh halfway through escapes his lips, and he finally sets his rhythm. His hips snap against yours with a desperate fervor, he whines and mewls above you, his hair bouncing delicately with the movement. Eyes half lidded and drool slowly dripping down his chin. You look up at him in absolute awe, he looks and sounds like an angel . Covered in grime, twisted and tangled, but an angel all the same. His fingers return to your clit and you moan again, digging your nails into the skin of his back, tracing the protruding vertebrae with your fingertips.

A particularly deep thrust causes a choked sob to break forth from his lips, his head lolls forward and he nuzzles into the join between your shoulder and neck, “You’re perfect .” he breathes, hips still pumping, “I’m throbbing...can you feel it? Can you feel what you are doing to me?”

You can . You can feel the warmth of his cock pulsing inside of you. His arms are trembling and his breath is a rapid staccato, he’s trying to maintain his composure, “You feel so good, sweetheart.” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. He breath hitches when you call him sweetheart .

“You are so kind to me…” He wheezes, his breath warm against the column of your throat. You shiver, a strangled moan escaping you as his dexterous fingers circle your clit even faster. Your thighs tighten around his narrow waist, hips grinding against the meat of his palm and deeper onto his cock. All you can do is shake and moan, the muscles in your stomach tight and only growing tighter. He looks at your face, visibly euphoric, “are you close?”

You nod and he drags his tongue up the shell of your ear, “Jeez...I can’t believe trash like me is going to make you cum.” His eyes are wide when they meet yours, lips pulled tight in a grin, “You’re going to cum for me!” His hips move against yours at a frantic pace, his hands groping any part of you he can reach, a laugh in his chest building to a crescendo as he hits deeper and deeper inside of you, “You’re going to cum around me and I’m going to feel it...I-haaaaHAAAAA-“ he can’t speak any more, he’s laughing and moaning and fucking into you with an unbridled desperation.

“You need to...cum...Ah~ I want you to cum too…” you swallow, words catching in your throat when his fingers start working your clit again, “Cum inside me, angel. Please .”

“In-Inside?” He stutters, breath heaving and teeth clenched as he grows closer and closer to climax, “You would permit me to soil your insides with my filthy seed?”

“I don’t just permit you. I’m begging you! ” Your hips are canting up to meet his, wanting to feel him as deep inside you as possible. Drawing yourself tantalisingly close to orgasm, “I want to see you, to feel you. Come undone for me, please.”

His breath hitches, and his eyes grow dark. His fingers begin circling your clit at a brutal pace, his mouth collides with yours in a desperate kiss, all tongue and clicking teeth. You moan loudly into his open mouth, legs twitching underneath his frantic ministrations. His fingers on your clit, his cock pumping in and out of you, his tongue tangled with yours. The heat in the pit of your stomach is boiling, your breath is coming in gasps. It feels so good.

“You’re mine.” He whispers against your lips, and you swear you hear a sob catching in his throat, “accept me, please. Cum for me, my love.”

With those words, he kisses you firmly, thrusting deep and slow inside of you, and the coil in your stomach finally snaps as you cum with a strangled moan. Dragging your nails down his spine and curling your toes, warmth settles through your entire body and it feels like a perfect finality. He whines against your lips, grinding and writhing as you walls clench around him, then his eyes flutter closed and his mouth drops open in the most beautiful moan you’ve ever heard, and he cums .

His face softens in that moment, and for just a second, he looks normal. Like someone you might pass on the street or sit next to in class. You see him , and your heart turns to butter. You love him. Slowly, the speed of his thrusts peter out and he heaves a breath, eyes half lidded, giving you satisfied (albeit sleepy) smile. You return it, brushing your fingers down his cheekbone.

“Thank you.” He whispers, eyes moist with what will soon be tears.

You curl your hand around the back of his head and tug his forehead down to your lips. His skin tastes like sweat, “No. Thank you .”

*

He leaves the next morning. Unlike all the other times before, he never comes back.

[ibijau]

Futures Past pt8 / On AO3

Meng Yao's future is dealt with.

To say that Lan Qiren was disappointed in his nephew for helping Nie Huaisang escape into Yunping City would have been an understatement. It was made quite clear to Lan Xichen that he would face punishment of his own for this misbehaviour. Real punishment, too, not just copying texts as had become standards for small infractions. Still, Lan Qiren listened to that tale of a corrupt merchant scamming people with fake manuals, which greatly irritated him, and thus forced sect leader Huang to care as well and deal with it immediately.

It was wrong to think maliciously of anyone without proof, and even more so if the person was an elder. Yet as they all walked toward the market Lan Xichen couldn’t shake the feeling that had he been alone when news of that crooked merchant reached him, Huang Quiling might not have cared enough to do anything about it. After all, he hadn’t asked Lan Xichen for any details about this business, and instead appeared intent on continuing his conversation with Jiang Fengmian about borders and trade.

Lives were on the line, Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao’s futures depended on this day, and nobody cared. 

They didn't care because they couldn't know, of course, but logic wasn't helping Lan Xichen's ever growing anxiety. He only calmed down when they all reached the place where the others were waiting, and found that everyone of any importance was still where he had left them. 

While Lan Xichen was gone, things had changed a little in the market. Most of the earlier crowd had dispersed, tired of waiting for more entertainment, and the market street was almost back to normal. Those few curious folks who remained were trying to inconspicuously listen in as Nie Huaisang chatted with, or rather at poor Meng Shi. The unfortunate woman looked deeply uncomfortable, but didn't dare openly disrespect the young master who had confirmed her son's potential for cultivation by walking away.

She couldn't leave yet, anyway, not until she'd gotten her money back for those fake cultivation manuals. From what Lan Xichen could see, Jiang Cheng and Meng Yao were taking care of that, the two of them counting money with that crooked merchant. Here and there Meng Yao would glance at Nie Huaisang, as if something he said attracted his attention, but each time Jiang Cheng brought his attention back to the task at hand.

When Lan Xichen and his elders came close enough to hear, the distress made sense: Nie Huaisang, after all this time, was still discussing the many failings of Jin Guangshan. Lan Xichen wished he were surprised, but there really was that much gossip going around about that man. Most people just didn't usually discuss all of it at once out of respect for a sect leader.

“And then, da-ge said that Jin zongzhu brought in dancers,” Nie Huaisang was saying to a rapt audience, insensitive to the discomfort of Meng Shi next to him. “Da-ge said it was getting embarrassing to watch when Jin Furen arrived, and she made such a scene because apparently her husband had promised to consult her about all the entertainments at the banquet but he brought the dancers without tell her. So then, she… oh, already?”

Nie Huaisang, so cheerful while telling his story, turned a little pale at the sight of Lan Qiren. He looked around for something to hide him from his teacher’s angry glare, and had to settle for slipping behind poor Meng Shi. Lan Xichen refrained from rolling his eyes, and directed his elders' attention where it was actually needed. 

“Here is the man,” Lan Xichen announced, motioning toward the merchant. “He has been selling fake cultivation manuals to people.”

“Fake talismans as well,” Jiang Cheng said, lifting a few before crumbling them in his hand. “And he has been doing this for a while. How long, did you say?”

“We started buying from him last year,” Meng Yao explained with a polite bow toward the older cultivators. “But he started coming to the market the year before that, and already offered the same wares. We assumed he had received permission to sell those items, since...”

Meng Yao trailed off, glancing toward sect leader Huang before bowing deeper as if in apology.

Strictly speaking, no sect could be expected to be aware of and to deal with every crook that operated in their territory, so Huang Quiling couldn't be blamed for that situation. At the same time, it would be considered shameful for any sect to have someone selling fakes in its own hometown of all places, and for so long. It spoke of unreliability on their part if people would rather go to a nobody on the market, or else it meant that they priced their services much too high for common people. It also meant they didn't care about commoners, who surely had to have complained about that merchant before. Either way, it wasn't a good look for Huang Quiling, and he would have to act properly to clean this stain on his reputation.

But instead of scolding the merchant or threatening him, Huang Quiling only had eyes for Meng Shi, who was glaring at him defiantly.

“So it's you again,” sect leader Huang muttered. “Meng Shi! Haven’t I told you to stop bothering cultivators?” he turned to the other two sect leaders and gave a small apologetic bow. “I’m sorry that your boys got caught up in this. Meng Shi is just a local whore who’s convinced herself that her bastard has what it takes to be a cultivator. Completely delusional, the boy will never amount to anything. You can't judge that merchant's wares just because the bastard of a whore didn't become an immortal from reading it. I'm unsure the boy can even read.”

Meng Shi, proud as a queen until then, went pale. Lan Xichen felt her shock and horror as if they were his own. He turned to glance at his uncle, worried he might side with Huang Quiling, but to his relief Lan Qiren instead appeared annoyed at the sect leader. It was probably only the coarse language that he disapproved of, and the public nature of this confrontation which he must feel stained all their reputations, yet Lan Xichen felt emboldened anyway.

“Huang zongzhu, have you tested Meng gongzi?” he asked. “We checked on him, and found he has potential.”

“What would mere boys know about these things?” Huang Quiling snapped at him. “Which one of you tested him?”

Lan Xichen hesitated, and glanced at the other boys. He hadn’t come anywhere near Meng Yao yet, and couldn’t lie about that. But if he said it was Nie Huaisang who had checked on Meng Yao, and after his horrible performance at the Night Hunt the day before, it wouldn’t be much of an endorsement. Lan Xichen himself only trusted Nie Huaisang’s assessment because he knew from that other future what sort of cultivation genius Meng Yao was.

“I’m the one who checked on him,” Jiang Cheng boldly lied. Or perhaps he really had checked, dubious as well of Nie Huaisang's assessment, because he continued: “For someone not born from gentry, his potential is not to be dismissed. It might be on par with Yunmeng Jiang's first disciple, if he were just taught properly.”

Huang Quiling, so disdainful a moment before, lost all of his confidence. He glanced at Jiang Fengmian whose face showed no particular expression, except perhaps mild curiosity now that Wei Wuxian had been mentioned. Lan Xichen wasn't sure what to make of that. He hadn’t often been near Jiang Fengmian except at the occasional discussion conference, and of course in the other future they had never gotten to work together as sect leaders. According to gossip, Jiang Fengmian was something of a pushover, who loved quiet and peace more than he cared about justice, but on occasion he could show strength of character if the mood hit him.

"What does his skill matter, with a mother like that?" Huang Quiling claimed, refusing to admit defeat. "No self respecting sect would knowingly take in the son of a whore. It'd be like teaching a pig to walk on two legs, dressing it in silk, and calling it human."

"People ought to be judged on their actions rather than their origins," Lan Xichen retorted, which caused sect leader Huang to glare at him with bulging eyes, his face dark with a rage so strong it robbed him of his words. Even without looking, Lan Xichen knew that his uncle too had to be shocked, that there would be hell to pay for this later. But then, if he was going to be punished, he might as well go all the way. "Just because you don't have the talent to teach someone,” he said, “don't assume a skilled teacher can't do it either."

Huang Quiling looked on the verge of having a Qi deviation, gaping and frothing at the mere boy who dared to insult him so openly. He wasn't the only one to stare, either. Nie Huaisang, the Jiangs, the Mengs, and above all Lan Qiren were looking at Lan Xichen as if he'd suddenly grown a second head.

A very rude second head, at that.

Lan Xichen just couldn't help it. Back in that awful future, the man he would have become had also been enraged and saddened at the unfairness of the world, particularly with regards to Meng Yao. If people hadn't judged him so harshly for something he had no control over, if instead they had taken notice of his skill, of his hard working personality, of his determination…

In that future, Lan Xichen had never dared to speak up, believing in the virtues of inaction and of leading by example, the way he'd been taught to behave. So far in this current life his attempts at being more active hadn't really worked so well, only ensuring that Nie Huaisang made a terrible friend in Su She and started hating Lan Xichen much earlier, but maybe this time, just maybe...

“Lan-xiansheng, your nephew is rather opinionated for a boy his age,” Huang Quiling complained. “I have heard a great deal how well behaved the young heir to Gusu Lan is, but it appears some reputations are undeserved.”

“My nephew will be dealt with,” Lan Qiren calmly replied, which dampened Lan Xichen's moment of rebellion more than anger could have. “And he will present excuses to you. Right now, Xichen.”

“But Lan gongzi's right!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, coming out from his hiding place being Meng Shi. Under Lan Qiren's glare he shivered, but didn't give up. “I mean, he's right at least to ask if Meng gongzi was tested,” he mumbled. “And he's right to say it's not fair if nobody will teach him just because of his family! I've read our histories, you know. I know people didn't want to teach some butcher any cultivation because it's unclean work, and now we're a big sect. Isn't it the same? And it's not just us, right?”

His eyes darted toward Jiang Fengmian, who smiled at the unsaid accusation.

The official history said that Yunmeng Jiang had been founded by a group of rogue cultivators. They had tired of wandering, and established themselves in a small port which soon thrived thanks to their presence and influence. As far as founding stories went, it was a very respectable one.

The less official story was that their founder had been the leader of a band of thieves who had picked up a trick or two and figured that cultivation paid better than robbery. Lan Xichen had never been interested enough in the subject to do any research, but he had a cousin with a taste for history who swore that annals from that period corroborated the second version more than the first. If so, it wasn't much better than being descended from a prostitute, though enough time had passed that it didn't matter so much anymore.

“I see my nephew won't be the only one who needs to be dealt with,” Lan Qiren remarked in an icy voice. Nie Huaisang, having used up all of his courage in standing up to his teacher, hid again behind Meng Shi, trying to make himself small.

“Boys must stand for something, it's what youth is for,” Jiang Fengmian replied with good humour, before gesturing toward Meng Yao. “Come here, boy. Let's see what all the fuss is about.”

“Jiang zongzhu, you're not serious!” Huang Quiling exploded. “That boy is just...”

“I'm only curious. If his proximity is intolerable, then perhaps you might help my son check those manuals to see if they are real or fake. Jiang Cheng, help Huang zongzhu while we deal with this side of the problem.”

Huang Quiling went pale from rage at being ordered around in that manner, but with Yunmeng Jiang the larger and more respectable sect, he still obeyed. He stomped toward the merchant's stall in a manner Lan Xichen found lacking in the dignity to be expected of a sect leader. Meng Yao, for his part, hesitated to obey Jiang Fengmian's order until Jiang Cheng pushed him forward. Huang Quiling radiated hatred when Meng Yao passed by him on his way to the other sect leaders. He looked as if he might have tried something, or said some other insults, but Meng Yao wisely made sure to leave as much space as possible between the two of them, which wasn't easy in a crowded market street.

“Come closer, child,” Jiang Fengmian requested when Meng Yao hesitantly stopped a few steps away from him. “I am going to put my hand on you to check your meridians. It might feel a little odd... but if my son tested you, you know that already, hm?”

Meng Yao nervously nodded glancing back toward his mother who smiled encouragingly. He only shivered a little when Jiang Fengmian put one hand over his heart, and even less so when Lan Qiren did the same after being invited to do so by Jiang Fengmian.

“I suppose the children have a point,” Lan Qiren conceded, his expression turning somewhat warmer. “How old are you, boy?”

“I'm sixteen, Lan-xiansheng.”

Instantly, Lan Qiren's expression darkened again.

“Too old then. If you'd been two or three years younger... and even then it would have been difficult. It's best to start young.”

Meng Yao's shoulders slumped down at the news, while all of Lan Xichen's hopes were crushed. He knew that his sect preferred younger disciples, though he suspected it had less to do with actual cultivation, and more with the fact that children took to discipline better than teenagers. Still, he had hoped that Meng Yao, with his potential... but Lan Qiren's word was final in these matters, with only their sect leader having a right to contradict him. Meng Yao couldn't be brought into Gusu Lan.

Which meant another option would have to be considered.

With dread curling in his guts and a choking sensation tightening his throat, Lan Xichen looked at Nie Huaisang still half hidden behind Meng Shi, and found the other boy staring right back at him. Nie Huaisang no longer appeared as furious at him as he had been before, but that might have been because he was preparing his own move, ready to ruin all of Lan Xichen's efforts. Nie Huaisang opened his mouth, surely to offer again that Meng Yao be sent to Qinghe, but missed his chance to speak.

“Yunmeng Jiang has never looked down on older disciples,” Jiang Fengmian said with a pleasant smile. “It can be a challenge to learn cultivation with a late start, but anyone who cannot take a challenge has no place teaching in the Lotus Pier. Sixteen... it could be worse. One of my own shidi was in his thirties when he joined us, and still did well enough for himself.”

Lan Xichen shivered, his body tensing further at this proposition.

Perhaps it was because he knew already, but the resemblance between Meng Yao and his father, between him and his half-brother also, was quite striking to him. It was possible that Jiang Fengmian hadn’t noticed, but unlikely when he often dealt with Jin Guangshan. Even if he really saw nothing, his wife was well known to be a very close friend to Madam Jin. There was no way Madam Yu wouldn’t notice that their newest disciple resembled Jin Guangshan, and since she was said to be a tyrant and the true ruler of Yunmeng Jiang…

“Are you sure this is wise?” Lan Qiren asked. “Even if that boy can be taught, his family…”

“His mother taught him well enough that he would take the defence of a stranger even in a fight he couldn’t win,” Jiang Fengmian said. “Or so your nephew said before. A good heart is what matters.”

“But half of Yunping City could be his father,” Huang Quiling argued, who'd paid more attention to their conversation than to the cultivation manuals he was meant to inspect. “From the lowest beggar to any drunk merchant with too much money to waste.”

“His father is a cultivator,” Meng Shi said, striding to come at her son's side. “He said he would return for A-Yao, but…” She glanced at Nie Huaisang who had followed her to hide again behind her. He had shared so much gossip earlier, it would have been hard for her to keep her hopes up. She sighed. “I only want for my son to live up to his potential. If he can be a cultivator, then that’s... good enough.”

“Is your son under any contractual obligation?” Jiang Fengmian asked.

“He's not,” Meng Shi vehemently decried. “He's free.”

“That will make things easier. If that is fine with you, I will accompany you two to your place of residence. We can talk about certain details while your son packs, and then he will come to Yunmeng with me. Would that satisfy you?”

Meng Shi, speechless, could only bow deeply before her son's new master. Meng Yao did the same a few times, before hugging his mother, both of them too stunned by this good fortune to even smile. As they held each other's hands tightly, Jiang Fengmian gave his son a few things to do while he was busy.

Huang Quiling too appeared quite stunned by this turn of events, and a good deal less pleased than the Mengs, but he wisely kept quiet about it. Lan Qiren's refusal to teach Meng Yao on account of his age would save Huang Quiling some face, since he could now pretend he had the same issue, but it wouldn't surprise Lan Xichen is the relationship because Yunmeng Jiang and Yunping Huang remained tense for a while.

Lan Xichen couldn't quite feel sorry for it. He didn't like people who thought they were allowed to be rude to their inferiors, and hoped that sect leader Huang would learn something from this experience.

Then, having given his son instructions, Jiang Fengmian walked back to Lan Qiren to bid him goodbye, explaining he expected his schedule for the day to be so changed that they might as well separate for good right then. Lan Qiren agreed, but frowned as he glanced toward Meng Yao.

“That boy's father, with his looks...” he said in a voice low enough the Mengs might not hear, but still clear enough for a cultivator's ears.

Eavesdropping was forbidden, but Lan Xichen found he couldn't help himself. Neither could Nie Huaisang, who leaned toward the two men to hear better.

“Probably. I'll have his mother confirm it,” Jiang Fengmian said in a similar tone. “but it won't change things. Even if my wife doesn't like it, I would be a fool to pass a chance to teach a boy of such potential. And Jin zongzhu would never admit any relation, so it'll all be fine.”

Lan Xichen let out a deep breath, relieved that things had worked out so well after all. He would have preferred to have Meng Yao in the Cloud Recesses, where he could have watched him closely and made sure he didn't go again down the same path as before, but the Lotus Pier wasn't an awful option either. They'd managed to turn someone like Wei Wuxian into an honest enough man, so they might know how to deal with Meng Yao as well.

Even when Lan Qiren reminded his nephew and Nie Huaisang that they would both be harshly punished for their bad behaviour, Lan Xichen found that he didn't mind, not when there was a good chance they had saved Nie Mingjue's life.

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

a sound like goodbye

ao3

It begins rather innocently.

Beckett and her three best friends are one of the teams chosen for the initial away mission-which apparently, according to the briefing that she skipped and Boimler had relayed to her later with no small amount of annoyance, entailed scooping out a deserted starship for survivors while the Cerritos solved the mystery behind the situation.

Turns out, there wasn’t much mystery behind it besides some cloning project gone wrong.

“I mean, it makes sense,” Tendi mutters, frowning at her tricorder. “There’s a reason cloning isn’t exactly sanctioned by Starfleet.”

“So, what, the clones turned on everyone and-”

“Started eating them?” Rutherford wrinkles his nose at the weird puddle of suspicious goo his shoe is stuck in. “Seems pretty standard for a Cerritos mission.”

Boimler snorts from where he’s peering over Tendi’s shoulder at her tricorder. “Clones eating people? Isn’t that just... people eating people?”

“Oh it gets worse,” Tendi says cheerfully. “Whatever’s in the air here-”

“Ion cloud-”

“Ion cloud,” Tendi corrects, rolling her eyes, “whatever’s going on here, it seems to be destabilizing the clones' molecular makeup.”

“Which made them go crazy?” Rutherford suggests.

“No, which made them start eating people to absorb the electrons that would otherwise make them...people.”

Beckett and Boimler exchanged a grossed out expression.

“Usually I would think that’s cool-” she begins.

“Wait, how do we know we’re not the clones!” Rutherford interrupts, panicked. “I mean, how would you even know , you would have the same memories, the same-”

“You wouldn’t have your implant,” Beckett cuts in, before he can work himself into too much of a panic. “Or, at least, you would have that exact one that’s programmed to your specific brainwaves.”

“The rest of us could be clones though,” Tendi adds.

Boimler twitches.

Beckett frowns. “Can’t you just run a scan on us and-”

Tendi points her tricorder at Beckett. It makes a little blipping noise. “Yep. One hundred percent Beckett Mariner.”

“Unless you’re also a clone and that’s what your clone brain wants you to think-”

Boimler slaps a hand over his eyes. “That’s not how clones work, Rutherford!”

Tendi turns her tricorder to him, raising an eyebrow when it makes another blipping noise, this time twice in a row.

“Oh, and you’re the clone expert?”

“He did get cloned like three months ago,” Tendi says, distractedly frowning at her tricorder. “Huh.”

Boimler gives her a sharp look .

“Well, good thing the clone isn’t here, or we’d be in trouble,” Beckett mutters, already turning toward the terminal showcasing their location. They’re not too far from the engineering decks of the starship, which is fortunate since that’s where they need to go. It seems to be the starting point of today’s misadventure.

“Actually, no,” Tendi says, ignoring Boimler’s glaring. “While Boimler’s clone would likely destabilize due to the air pressure, he’d be less likely to be inclined toward-”

“Cannibalism?” Rutherford grimances.

Tendi shrugs. “Clone’s been around for three months. He’s had time to adjust.”

“Unlike the fuckheads here,” Beckett sighs, as she steps in a puddle of... god knows what . “I don’t like this mission anymore, I want to go home.”

On cue, something rams against the steel-locked turbolift doors. Loudly.

All four of them exchange uneasy glances.

“Engineering deck, right?” Rutherford offers.

Beckett sighs.

____

Engineering’s a bust.

Whatever chemical compound was making the clones has long since been eradicated, leaving the four with an ominous empathy engineering deck. What’s worse, they get a call about five minutes later from the other away team, who are being picked off, one by one, by the remaining living clones.

“How did anyone think this is a good idea?” Tendi groans.

Rutherford and Boimler exchange grimances.

“I think our best bet is to head back to the shuttlebay,” Boimler offers hesitantly.

Beckett’s not sure how she planned on responding to that, because just as the words are out of his mouth, the red alert system goes off.

“I thought no one was left on the ship?” Tendi shouts, over the noise.

“Unless one of our crewmembers turned it on, in which case-”

“We need to get out of here,” Beckett finishes Boimler’s sentence.

A sound splits through the air. Metal clashing against metal. Like the center of the ship is falling apart.

“You don’t think…” Tendi’s eyes widen.

“Yeeaah, who wants to be the clones are taking a kamikaze approach to their limited lifespan?” Rutherford says.

“They’re attacking the Cerritos ,” Beckett groans, because of fucking course they are. She starts herding her friends toward the turbolift. “We need to get out of here before the Cerritos is forced to fire on us.”

____

They get split up, because of course they do. The place is still, apparently, crawling with dying, mutated clones and there hadn’t been a way to keep their group together without someone falling behind.

Beckett supposes she can count herself lucky that they get paired off in usual formation--Tendi and Rutherford and then Brad and herself. It’s usually a successful team up whenever that happens. Tendi and Rutherford are both geniuses so they’ll most likely find a nonviolent way to get through the ship.

Meanwhile she and Boimler can take their usual approach of Beckett doing dangerous shit while he freaks out in the background.

“Is this really necessary?” he shrieks from somewhere behind her, as she sets off another explosion. “Where did you even get -”

“No time for stupid questions,” she replies airily, grabbing him by the upperarm and dragging him down a couple of halls.

“What’s going on with you anyway?” she asks, when they have a moment to catch their breath. She tries to inject enough casualness into her voice that he can’t detect her worry. “You’ve been-” she gestures vaguely with one hand. “Spacey.”

He shrugs, avoiding her gaze. “I mean...clones, you know?”

“Mutant clones,” she counters. “Which is barely any weirder than anything else we’ve dealt with.”

He sighs. “It’s nothing, Mariner. I just don’t like being trapped on a deathship full of things that want to kill us.”

“That’s literally what happens to us every day .”

Something crashing into a nearby door makes them both jump.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Boimler grits out, eyes darting wildly around them. “Can we just get out of here?”

____

They do eventually collide with Tendi and Rutherford, both of which have already implemented 80% of a plan to get them safely back to the Cerritos , all limbs intact, and with a counterplan to take out the rest of the mutant clones.

Tendi grabs Boimler by the arm and drags him a few feet away to rapidly explain her technobabble infused idea that Beckett can barely track, while Rutherford and her work on barricading the medbay door.

“This is gonna work, right?” she asks.

“Yeah, I mean, we should be able to make our way to our shuttle after Tendi uploads the code to the network.” Rutherford’s voice is nervous.

The door suddenly splits in two, a clawed grey hand peeking through the destroyed metal.

“ Shit ! Okay, new plan,” Tendi shrieks, “let’s just get the fuck out of here.”

“But what about-”

“No time, we’ll come up with a new plan!”

The trek through the hallways has Beckett somewhere between elated and terrified. The clones are mutating at a frequency that is, frankly, scary and they nearly get Rutherford at least twice. The guy just can’t seem to catch a break between one of the clone’s nabbing him in the shoulder and another one getting a good few swipes in on his face.

It’s just his luck that he suddenly gets grabbed by one of them and yanked into one of the deserted conference rooms, much to everyone else’s horror.

“ Fu -” Tendi’s shout is bitten off as another clone makes a wild dash for her that she narrowly avoids.

Beckett turns to shout something to Boimler and-

He’s not there.

She comes to a stop so quickly that Tendi slams into her back, almost toppling her over.

“Wha-”

“Where’s Boimler?” She attempts to sound calm, but can hear the thread of panic in her voice.

Tendi spins around. “Oh- oh fuck .” A look of realization dawns across her face as her eyes widen. “He didn’t,” she breathes.

Beckett pushes her down the hall. “Get Rutherford, I’ll-”

“Mariner, he might not-”

“He’s fine , at least until I get my hands on him,” she snaps. “I’ll meet you in the shuttlebay.”

____

She does not, in fact, meet Tendi in the shuttlebay.

No, about five minutes after she splits up with the perky orion, she comes across her--the Orion having beaten her to finding Boimler, who she’s loudly arguing with. Rutherford, surprisingly, is there too, covered in scrapes and bruises and watching worriedly.

Beckett can’t for the life of her figure out how they managed to fight off a pack of deranged mutated clones, double back to find Boimler and start a fight with him in the time that Beckett had come across them, but she supposes it makes sense. Rutherford and Tendi are just built that way.

“You can’t just-” Tendi is sputtering, fists clenched.

“There isn’t time and besides-”

“Mariner is going to kill you -”

“Damn straight I am!” Beckett cuts in, voice raised over the noise of the starship literally being destroyed. “We’re on a timecrunch here, guys, what the fuck are you three doing ?”

Boimler sighs. “Marin-”

“We think we may have found a way to neutralize the clones,” Tendi blurts out. “I synthesized a noxious gas that’ll run through the airvents and take them out before they destroy the Cerritos -”

“Good! Great! So go ahead and release it so we can-”

The lights turn off.

“Someone has to upload the program that will release it shipwide to the network-” Boimler begins.

Beckett glares at him in the dim light. “If you’re suggesting what I think you are-” She grabs her best friend by the shoulder, attempting to drag him away from the console. With surprising strength, he brushes her off.

“Mariner I-” His face twists into something pained--a usual expression on him, but certainly unwanted at the present moment. “The Cerritos is already on red alert and we have less than ten minutes to-”

Beckett growls, making to grab at him again.

“Right, we have less than five minutes to get to the escape shuttle-”

“Yeaaah, that's kinda the problem?” Tendi cuts in, wilting back at Beckett’s furious glare. “We can’t do it from the shuttle. Someone has to stay behind and manually do it.”

Beckett stops.

“Oh fuck no,” she snarls, glaring at each of her friends. “No one is staying behind-- no , not even you, “she adds, pointing to Boimler, who’d opened his mouth to protest.

“Look-”

“No.”

“Just hear me out! The Cerritos doesn’t stand a chance against--”

“We’ll find a different way--a way that doesn’t include any of my best friends serving themselves up to be eaten by mutants!”

“This is the only way!” Boimler throws his hands up in frustration. “We don’t have time to come up with a new idea and I can upload Tendi’s code to the-!”

“Wha-no, why does it have to be you that stays behin-”

“Because the real Boimler is on the Titan !” he bursts out.

Beckett freezes.

She hears Rutherford exhale and can feel Tendi go still. All eyes snap to Boimler in an instant, who wilts under the combined force of their surprise.

“It took me a while to realize it,” Boimler-- Brad admits, “but when Tendi ran that test and I-”

“Boimler,” Tendi whispers. “You don’t have to-I should’ve told you-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rutherford interrupts, shifting nervously. His eyes cut to the ceiling as another squeal of the haul cracking splits through the air. “-clone or no clone, you’re still our friend and we-”

“And someone needs to stay behind and take out the clones or-”

“Which is why I’m going to do it,” Beckett snaps.

“Wha-how is that any different -”

“Mariner, you can’t just-”

“Why do you two have to make killing yourselves a competition?” Rutherford slaps a hand over his eyes and winces when his implant glitches. “How about we all leave and-”

Brad groans. “Someone has to detonate the-”

“We’re not just leaving you-” Beckett all but shrieks.

“You don’t have a choice-”

“Like hell I don’t, if you think I’m just gonna leave you here-”

“There’s another me out there!” Brad shouts, above the noise of the starship being blown apart. His eyes narrow in on Beckett’s, completely ignoring the protests and annoyed mutterings of their two friends.

“Look,” he says, voice quieting so only she can hear him. “I’m a Boimler, but not. Not yours.”

Beckett’s breath catches in her chest. She lets her gaze flick over him--from his meticulously pressed uniform, to the dirt smudges on the side of his face, to the dumb anime hair that surprisingly works for him. His eyes--a light hazel that tricks you into thinking they’re green in the sunlight or brown in the darkness--stare back into hers helplessly.

“You need someone to stay behind and detonate the gas,” he says, after a moment of quiet--save for the countdown being droned out by the AI. “So just please-”

“And you’re a better candidate for staying behind because-because there’s another you? That’s bullshit, Bradward,” she snarls, grabbing his collar and hauling him close.

“There’s two of me and only one of you!” he shouts back, throwing his hands up in the air, but losing the effect the gesture would usually have by slumping in her grip. “And as it stands I’m not even the real-”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!” She lets go of him, throwing her own hands up in the air in a mirror image of him. “Of course you’re the real you! Just because you weren’t here first doesn’t make you not a person-”

“I’m not your me, though,” he cuts in, “And it doesn’t matter anyway, because other me would be doing this whether or not he was the clone so-” He turns back to the terminal, brow furrowed. “Just-just get in the stupid shuttle and-”

“Not without you!”

“Then you’ll die here!”

“ So ?”

Brad types in a series of commands and then shuts the screen down. He turns on his heel and grabs Beckett’s wrist. “Fine,” he grits out, “let’s go.”

____

Surprised at the sudden change in whatever-the-fuck that was, Beckett allows herself to be tugged through the shattering starship--Tendi and Rutherford on their heels. Tendi exchanges a couple of glances with Brad, something passing between them that Beckett-much to her annoyance-can’t read.

The dash to the shuttle bay is hectic, but Beckett barely notices. Her attention keeps being stolen by the furtive glances Brad gives her when he thinks she isn’t looking. Or the warmth of his hand around her wrist that releases whenever she has to do some badass shit to get them out of there, but always comes back when they’re in the clear.

Finally, they’re in the shuttle bay.

“Uh, I’ll get it up and running,” Rutherford says, ducking inside the beaten up shuttle that they’d come in on.

Tendi and Brad look at each other for a moment.

Then, she tosses him her datapadd.

“I also synthesized a memory saver for the clones, because I’m a genius. It might not work,” she says, carefully, ignoring Beckett’s confused sputtering.“None of them deserve to die, so I did my best to give us an option where they don’t... completely . There’s a possibility that your consciousness will upload to the network, but it’s not guaranteed.”

Brad smiles at her, shaky but grateful.

Tendi goes on. “So if it doesn’t, I just want you to know-”

“Yeah,” his grin is more of a grimace now. “I know.”

She nods once, eyes quickly darting over him, before turning and disappearing into the shuttle.

Just Beckett and Brad left.

“Brad-”

“Mari- Beckett -”

“If you think for one second -”

“Someone has to stay!”

“But why you?” she says, crossing her arms and trying to ignore the tears pricking in the corners of her eyes. “All you’ve ever wanted to do is-is explore deep space and nerd out over dumb shit. Not die in the middle of a fucking warzone.”

Brad grabs one of her wrists, pulling her out of her defensive position and sliding his hand into hers. Both of his hands into hers.

His palms are warm and surprisingly soft. She wonders for a second if he moisturizes and then immediately knows the answer is yes because she’s seen the amount of lotion he carries in that dumb manpurse of his on shoreleave.

“I didn’t stabilize right,” he says, voice pitched soft. “That’s why when Tendi ran the tests she-well. I wouldn’t have lasted anyway so-” he sighs, shoulders drooping. “Just let me do this one thing for you guys. Let me make it all count.”

Beckett doesn’t realize she’s full on-crying until a sob heaves out of her. “I can’t leave you.” She shakes her head, trying to get control of herself. Something in her chest is twisting tightly, cutting off her airway. “I can’t.”

Something in Brad's face shifts. He lets go of her hands, much to her dismay, and she’s reaching out, reaching to grab some part of him to keep him from running off, from doing something stupid, something permanent , something that will take this version of him away from her forever-

One hand suddenly cups her neck, thumb tilting her chin upward.

Everything in her world comes to a standstill.

The sound of the base coming down around them, Rutherford and Tendi tersely barking orders to each other and across their comms to the Cerritos , the red alert blaring above them. Even the sparks shooting off around them from broken wiring and the lights wildly flicking on and off seem to slow.

Brad barely leans in before she grabs him by the collar with both hands and drags him down.

It’s desperate. Almost uncomfortably so. For the first few seconds their teeth click against each other and Beckett’s nose is smooshed against his cheek, but then she pulls back a centimeter, breathes in the space between them and dives back in, tilting her head to get the angle right this time.

It’s awful. His lips drag against hers and one hand moves to the small of her back and suddenly he’s pressed up against her, warm and real . One of her own hands makes its way into his stupidly coiffed hair, devastatingly delighted at the fact that he doesn’t upset at her messing it for once.

It’s all consuming and it’s burning and it’s searing and it’s awful , not because it isn’t good. No, it’s awful because Beckett knows what it means.

She knows it’s goodbye.

When she finally lets him pull away, they’re both panting. He rests his forehead on hers for a moment, eyes half lidded.

“You have to tell him,” he finally rasps. “Because he won’t-he’ll never, if you don’t first.”

Beckett squeezes her eyes shut tightly and then quickly opens them again, not wanting to miss a moment of their stolen time. “Brad-”

He shakes his head, pulling away from her. “Tell him.”

“It’s not too late,” she says. “You can still come with us.”

Brad gives her a lopsided grin. “What, one of me isn’t enough for you?”

The AI blaring the countdown hits the last minute. Brad’s face sets. Resigned.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, as he gently--but swiftly--begins herding her toward the shuttle, “I- he -is sorry. About everything. So, when you see him next, just give him a chance, okay?”

She’s inside the shuttle, one hand braced on the side of the door, trying to keep him from shutting it. He puts a hand on her shoulder to keep her from jumping out.

“Brad-” her voice is shaking.

“I know.” He looks over her shoulder, probably at Rutherford or Tendi. Nods to them once. “Just make sure he knows too.”

He pushes her.

She stumbles onto the shuttle floor as the door slams shut with a hiss.

____

Carol gets the report before she hears it from her kid.

The situation hadn’t been ideal from the start. When they’d originally intercepted the distress call, Ransom had muttered something about requesting backup that Carol had strongly considered. Ultimately, they would’ve been unprepared either way.

Either way, two thirds of the teams she sent onto that ship would have died, including her daughter’s best friend.

“Where is she?” she snaps at the ensign that seems to hang around Beckett and her friend group. He’s in medbay, nursing a broken collar bone, but snaps to attention the minute she enters.

“Uh…”

“Storage closet on Deck C,” an Orion, a few beds down, offers tentatively. Carol thinks she recognizes the girl as one of Beckett’s friends, but can’t be sure.

“Tendi!” the other ensign hisses.

“What, it’s her mom !” the Orion--Ensign Tendi--shoots back, but Carol isn’t listening. She’s already halfway out the door, despite the fact that a storage closet on Deck C didn’t narrow her search down by much.

It takes her almost an hour to find her.

The storage closet she’s camping out in is small--mostly likely used for medical supplies, judging by the sharp smell of antestic and alcohol that’s coming from-

Beckett has one hand tightly gripped around a bottle of vodka. She blinks up at her for a moment, comm lying open in her hand.

“Hey kid,” Carol says, trying to go gentle, but it comes across as tentative.

Beckett scowls. “What do you want?” she mumbles, fingers gripping her comm tightly. There are tear tracks staining her cheeks that make Carol’s heart ache.

Carol glances around the storage closet, grimacing at the empty bottles laying scattered around Beckett and the strong smell emitting from them. “Just to talk. Think you come out of here for a minute?”

Beckett raises her comm to her mouth again, muttering something indistinct into it before snapping it closed. She makes to stand up, but can’t quite make it. She seems off-balanced, teetering off the edge of sobriety.

Carol gently grabs Beckett’s wrist and pulls her to her feet. She sways slightly, still very obviously under the influence. With a sigh, Carol tugs her forward.

“Oh kiddo,” she says, when Beckett buries her face in her shoulder and begins crying in earnest.

____

Brad collapsed on his bed, equal parts weary and riding an adrenaline high.

The mission--now completed and never to be brought up again except in his n̸̜͘ḯ̷̹g̸̥̎h̵̬͛ẗ̷̬m̴̦͗a̸͈͂r̶̡͝e̶̢͘s̸̤̒ --was barely notable compared to the previous twelve he’s been dragged on, but he still is riding the high of almost dying . It’s, tragically, becoming his new normal.

And not in a fun Mariner did something cool that almost got us all killed but it’s totally cool because she looked hot while doing it kind of way. It was more of a holy shit I just almost died I didn’t join Starfleet for this what the hell am I doing existential crisis sort of way that has him regretting a lot of things.

Mostly Mariner related things, if he’s being honest.

(He doesn’t regret leaving. He doesn’t)

(He absolutely does.)

So here he is, a few months older, but certainly not wiser, lying in his lonely room, wondering what Mariner’s getting up to these days.

Almost on cue, his padd pings him a voicemail.

3 missed calls from Beckett Mariner.

Brad frowns. It’s been a while--a very very long while--since he’s heard from Mariner. Not that he’s blaming her, because he knows, he knows that he pulled a dick move transferring without telling her and then ghosting her calls.

He just doesn’t know what to say to her.

“Hey dumbass,” the voicemail opens with. It’s what most of them have, but this one has Brad pausing. There’s something monotone--something deadened about the inflection of her voice. It has his breath catching in his chest.

This voicemail is going to be different.

“Just calling to check in, I guess,'' her voice continues.

There’s a pause. So long that Brad wonders if Mariner had forgotten she’d called him. Then, “I don’t know if Tendi or Rutherford have called you yet, but I...look, can you just-”

Static, like she’s pressing her comm against her shoulder. There’s some indistinct murmuring, a deeper voice filtering through that he hesitantly assigns as Captain Freeman’s.

“I gotta go, but.” A shaky breath. “Call me.”

Brad swallows.

“Please.”

The voicemail ends with a click, leaving Brad in the silence of his empty room.

____

It’s been three weeks.

Three weeks since every emotion Beckett was capable of feeling had been shattered into a thousand pieces and dropped into a flaming dumpster fire. Her mom, after dragging her to her ready room and spending the entire day plying her with hot chocolate and hugs--which was weird coming from the woman who once told Beckett to walk a compound fracture off--seemingly decides to give her some space.

Which apparently includes giving her an undetermined amount of leave to deal with her shit.

Beckett doesn’t know what to do with that. What’s she supposed to do, take a vacation right now? Have fun ?

She spends the entire time either holed up in her bunk or exploring whatever dumb planets their missions take them too.

It all comes to a head far too soon.

And by head, Beckett, of course, means that her mom decides to interfere--like she always does--and drag Beckett kicking and screaming into a situation that she 100% would have avoided otherwise.

“Captain wants you in her ready room,” Tendi says, voice tentative in a way that is pissing Beckett off.

She doesn’t need to be tiptoed around goddammit.

The walk to her mom’s ready room is brisk and uninterrupted. Everyone’s giving her a wide berth these days. She’s not sure if it’s because they know or if she just looks unusually scary these days.

Her eyes are red rimmed and her uniform is beyond wrinkled and her hair is unwashed, falling around her shoulders in messy tangles. It’s probably not the latter.

She storms into her mom’s ready room, prepared to pick a fight just to feel something when-

Beckett stops breathing.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Carol says, giving Brad a pat on the shoulder as she passes him.

He’s in the stupid Titan uniform, which look unfairly good on him, Beckett distantly--begrudgingly--thinks. His hair is still in that stupid anime upsweep and his back is ramrod straight as always.

His eyes though are pinched in worry. Lips pulled into a frown.

“Hey.”

Beckett can barely look at him, but taking her eyes off him means she can’t see him and that’s an unacceptable option. She takes a step forward. And then another one. And then another one, until she has to look up every so slightly--because he has that goddam half inch on her--to maintain eye contact.

When she presses a hand to his chest, slightly to the left, just over his heart, he feels warm .

His pulse drums under her fingers, beat picking up rapidly the longer she keeps them there.

“Hey,” she says back. Her voice is cracked to all hell, rubbed raw from equal parts disuse and shouting whenever she’s in a particular mood.

The worried look on his face increases tenfold at the sound of her voice.

One hand reaches up to encircle her wrist. It squeezes tightly for a second before he lets go and takes a step back, putting space between them.

He’ll never, if you don’t first , Brad’s own voice sounds in her mind.

Beckett takes a breath and steps forward, closing the distance once again. She smiles faintly at how his eyes widen, pupils dilating slightly at their close proximity.

“Can we talk?”

____

[microsuedemouse]

I know I said I was done for tonight, but sorry, I’m still thinking about the conversation where Nicky and Joe tell Nile how old they are–

“Nicky and I met in the Crusades.”

“The Crusades?”

“The love of my life was one of the people I’d been taught to hate.”

“We… we killed each other.”

“Many times.”

(Transcription approximate.)

God. I can’t stop thinking about this.

At first I was imagining something honestly kind of comical – like, these two guys on the frontlines of a battle, running each other through in an act of what they both assume to be mutually-assured destruction… and then, ten minutes later, they both suddenly just. wake up. And they stare at each other for a second, like, “holy shit, he survived that – holy shit, I survived that” and then they go for the kill again. And this goes on repeatedly for way too long, and the sun is going down, and eventually they stop and stare at each other like… okay, obviously this isn’t working. Maybe it’s time to take a break. And they might not even speak the same language but they manage to agree to a truce somehow and they sit down away from the fighting and things go from there.

But then I was thinking about it some more, and I realised… if they were both fighting in the Crusades, there’s a very high chance that they were not one another’s first brush with death. They had quite possibly already survived a lot by the time they faced one another. Maybe they choose not to think about how dead they should be by now simply because it’s terrifying, or maybe they think of themselves as God’s own soldiers, or maybe they simply don’t understand but decide to continue fighting anyway because what else is there to do – and then, eventually, they come up against one another.

And in that moment, they don’t see anything different in the man they’re facing from every other fighter they’ve already gone up against. They just continue to plough forward, reckless in battle because they know they can’t truly be defeated. And maybe the battle around them is chaotic enough that they don’t even notice, immediately, that the other man gets back up when he shouldn’t. But one way or another they come face-to-face again and they each have a moment of fuck, I thought I dealt with him, and one or the other deals another killing blow.

But before long, they both realise: he’s not just tough, or lucky, or stubborn. He’s like me. He doesn’t stay down. And they each thought they were alone in this, thought they were the only one, but they’re not, and it rocks their foundations. And somehow in the midst of this battle, this fight that puts them at one another’s throats, they get close enough to see one another in detail – Joe sees the colour of Nicky’s eyes, Nicky sees the curl of Joe’s hair against his neck, Joe sees the insignia on Nicky’s armour, Nicky sees the colour of Joe’s shirt beneath his chestplate – and then they realise.

In a strange and terrifying moment, each of them recognises the man he’s fighting as the same man he’s been seeing in his dreams. He thought they were nightmares, these flashing visions of an indistinct soldier cut through by half-second images of two women slicing down their opponents like so much grain to be harvested. He thought they were just horrors brought on by too many nights spent trying to sleep mere paces away from where only hours ago he lived and killed and died over and over in battle. And maybe he sees this recognition in his opponent’s eyes, as well, and realises that whatever’s happening it’s even bigger than he’d already believed.

And this probably doesn’t stop anything. Confused and afraid and still full to the brim with the adrenaline of battle, they probably don’t stop fighting in that moment. They continue to kill each other as the war rages on around them. Any allies coming to either man’s aid are dealt with quickly, and they stay dead. So eventually it’s just the two of them left here, surrounded by bodies, no one left nearby to see them or intervene or distract them, and they fight until the exhaustion is simply too great to carry on. Coated in sweat and dirt and one another’s blood, they collapse to the ground, with no idea what’s going on or why or how to respond to it.

Neither man knows what this means. If I’m God’s soldier, he thinks, what does that make him? If their power comes from on high, why do they both have it? And what does this mean for the war they’re fighting? And… can I walk away from the only man I’ve ever met who’s like me?

Somehow, they manage to call a truce. Somehow, they see in one another’s eyes all the doubts and fears and questions, and somehow, they agree to walk away. There’s too much they need to know, too much they don’t understand, and the war loses so much meaning with their faith shaken. So they hide, take shelter, allow themselves to be counted among the fallen. And they run. They lose themselves amongst the refugees, never returning to battle.

They don’t trust each other. Not yet. They can’t even speak to each other. But they’ve got all the time in the world and nothing to do except keep the Crusades behind them and one eye on this strange man who doesn’t appear in their dreams any more.

So eventually, they learn to communicate. And as they do, they learn one another’s stories. They tell each other about the first time that death didn’t stick, about the nightmares, about the visions of strangers they’d taken to be figments of their own imaginations until they met. They learn that they share the dreams of a distant pair of women so savage that no warrior can oppose them.

And over time, they develop a theory. They stopped dreaming about each other when they met – so perhaps these others they dream of are like them, too. Perhaps they aren’t alone in all the world. There aren’t many of them, but that’s not the same as being completely alone.

It takes a long time for them to learn to trust one another, because they’ve been taught since birth to hate each other, to believe the other something less than human. But they also understand each other to be allies now, as decided by some power far greater than themselves. And they begin to see each other as men, as equals. Perhaps they both leap to the defense of a group of refugees when the soldiers come; perhaps they protect one another when faced with a different kind of danger altogether. No matter how it happens, time goes on and they learn to see each other as partners. Companions. They’re in this together. Because the alternative is to once again be alone.

And a day comes when they realise they’ve gone from allies to friends, and another comes when they find they’re something more than that, as well. And eternity looks so much more bearable than it ever has before.