#anyways I’m gonna skitter away to draw her now

[celestial-bell-drop]

DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I LOVE HER

[m4tcha-slush1e]

CHAPTER FOUR

They had to run. Sandy and Catrina both knew that if they ran, there was a slimmer chance of them getting caught by the Keepers. Being caught was the last on their minds, anyways. And so was being taken to the Backhouse.

They found an exhibit with a light blue monkey sawing the metal bars she and the other monkeys were in open. Upon realizing the saw was already dull, she managed to slip through the bars she had attempted to saw open.

As soon as she did so, a collar around her neck buzzed, giving her a shock. She shrieked in pain, but managed to unscrew the back and toss out the batteries. “Friggin’ Keepers…”, she muttered to herself. “Just had to lock me up in this godforsaken inescapable prison…”

Sandy and Catrina approached the monkey. “Hey, are you alright?”, Catrina asked. “Yeah, I’m fine.”, the monkey answered. “Name’s Mio, by the way. Nice meeting you. If I’m not mistaken, you’re looking for recruits, right?”. “We are.”, Sandy said. “We need someone to help us take down the Zoo.” Mio nodded. “Noted. By the looks of it, one of you is corrupted, right?” “I am.” Sandy answered. “Blame the Keepers. But don’t worry - we’re gonna make their sorry asses pay for locking us up in those cages.”

*LATER*

The trio set off to do their usual business - find any animals to help them along their quest for vengeance. But they had come across a disturbing sight - and that was the Backhouse.

Sandy froze in terror upon the sight. “Oh god…”, he cracked out. “No… this can’t be.”. But just then, a green zebra burst out of the Backhouse, bloodied and mangled. But just then, a Keeper came in, pulling him back in. “That's enough now,” the Keeper said, walking him to the Backhouse as he struggled.

He then looked at Sandy deviously. "We’ll get you taken care of next…” Sandy struggled as the Keeper pulled him into the Backhouse. “Let go of me, you son of a BITCH!”, he screamed. Mio and Catrina called out for him.

*Mio’s POV*

This couldn’t stand at all. We’re not letting those Keepers take our leader Sandy to that hellhole. We had to get him back somehow. My eyes switched to a dull grey and glowed purple. Monstrous tails broke out of my sides and I pounced on him.

“You let him go now.”, I demanded. The Keeper didn’t budge. “He fell out of line, little monkey.”, the Keeper said with a sinister smugness. “You shut up and give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you now.”, I threatened as claws shot out of my fingers, piercing his flesh, drawing some blood as my claws dug deep inside. The Keeper tried fighting back, but was thrown down.

I stepped closer, picking him up in midair, ripping him apart agonizingly as gore splattered everywhere. The zebra skittered away from the sight as the Keeper was mutilated. As we tried to approach him, he backed away.

[moon-ursidae]

SESSION #7

as always, SPOILERS for BOTH of the last of us games and the HBO series are below the cut!!

i… have not played this in quite a few weeks huh? i’ve just been so hyped up on joel and ellie, that i’ve been going through the first game for the 3rd time, and really taking in their relationship. then the show premiered and i’ve been losing my shit over that. with the lack of joel and ellie in the second game, i’ve been putting it off hella. i wanted to get in a little bit of time with it today though. so we’ll see how this goes lmao

total play time: somewhere between 11-12 hours!

NOTES:

so the last time i played some fuckin stalker skittered in the doorway and i shit my fuckin pants

so let’s see what this is about 🥲

that was literally fucking horrifying like they were literally peeking around corners JAVAKSVSK

S C A R Y

FUCK stalkers. all my homies HATE stalkers

oh shit they’re gonna be everywhere now huh?

omg with clickers??? OOF

THE FOOTSTEPS ABOVE??? FUCK OFF

ellie open the goddamn door

i chimed in ellie

open the goddamn door

brendon urie may have ruined panic! at the disco but that doesn’t mean you can’t open the goddamn door ellie

AHHHHHHH

OUT THE WINDOW??????

INTO THE RAPIDS????

this bitch WANTS me oh my god

that was awful

this is awful

“fuck seattle” LMAOOOOO

i’m glad that’s over

…it was not over

a fucking stalker jumpscared me from the wall lmao

ANYWAY

WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE SOUNDS???

i’m getting the F U C K outta this sewer

OUTSIDE!!

WOOOOO

this overgrown park is gorgeous

it’s not gorgeous anymore someone is hanging

oh fuck! the whistling! the seraphites do be near

yea they’re here ellie just took an arrow to the shoulder holy shit

THESE GUYS ARE SCARY BRO

THE BIG ONES???

running for my life

i have used more ammunition in the past few combat zones than i ever have playing tlou

“you better not have strung nora up.” ellliiieeeeeeeeee don’t let it take over

the lighting is fucking phenomenal

the glow that these fires are giving off blows me away everytime

and how the look in the fog?? F U C K

JOURNAL ENTRYYYYYY

i like her lil drawing of the big ones hehe

…back inside

I WANNA BE OUTSIDE DAMNIT

buildings scare me i don’t like them. never did

there are hella pigeons somewhere goddamn

CARD BABYYYYYYYYY

i feel like i’ve missed so many

LOOTING! MY FAVORITE >:)

awe this poor bastard got killed before he could get the meds to his wife :(

i think their letters have been scattered throughout? or i just haven’t played in a while LMAO

probably the latter

side note: i want ellie’s tattoo so goddamn fucking bad bro. like my life depends on it

more seraphites!!

stealthing in the grass is so fucking fun oh my god

EVEN MORE OF THEM??

i’m using so many of my resources fuuuuck

i have no way to upgrade my melee or make more molotovs…

MORE LOOTING >:)

ruston coffee is quite literally the starbucks of tlou universe

i feel like i’m gonna get ambushed in this merci building

i’m putting down mines in front of this door lmao i just have a gut feeling

it’s too quiet

HOLY SHIT THAT’S A BIG FUCKIN GUY

BUT HE DIDN’T EVEN HIT ME ONCE BC I PUT THE MINES DOWN WOOOOOOO

fuck yea

OH MY GOD BITS OF THIS GUY ARE FALLING OFF THE CEILING AHHHHHHHH

THIS GUY WAS CARRYING FUCKING STORMBREAKER HOLY FUCK WHAT IS THIS

i’m glad the rest of this building is clear bc holy fuck

OUTSIDE WOOOOOOO

i’m honestly really surprised there was no one on the roof

weston’s pharmacy seems really dicy…

i’m going in hahaha

WORTH IT! ANUTHA CARD BABYYYYYYY

i have never been so conflicted by choosing upgrades before

i have 92 parts but i W A N T that scope on my rifle but it’s 80 PARTS

fuck it.

SCOPE ACQUIRED

WATER STEALTH??? PLEASE???

OH SHIT IT’S THE GIRL W THE PS VITA

is that fuckin hotline miami…

HOLD ON

ellie’s kinda….

got me blushin a bit

BRO AND HER SHADOW ON THE WALL AS SHE’S STANDING OVER THIS WLF W HER KNIFE TO HER THROAT

OOOOOOOOOO

oh my god that IS hotline miami

jfc

oh my god are these all fucking bodies in these biohazard bags

jesuuus

STEALTH!

I’M USING SO MANY RESOURCES >:(

a note! WOOO

it’s just a supply list lmao

don’t go near the lower levels? i’m guessing i’m gonna end up there

IT WAS A GOOD DAY?? AYO???

whoever’s playing that send me ur playlist plz

ellie who cares if it’s nora? whoever it is they have great taste in music

just let the vibes wash over you ellie

INTO THE VENTS WE GO

she’s in the walls… SHE’S IN THE GODDAMN WALLS

hahaha

ANYWAY

ABBY WAS HERE???? IN A CELL??? THAT’S WHO THEY WERE TALKIN ABOUT EARLIER THEN

why was she in a cell tho???

OH SHIT MY HEART IS RAAACCCIIIINNNGGGGGGG THIS IS SO INTENSE

sometimes i think “is ellie really doing this for joel? or is it for her?” and most of the time the answer is that it’s more for her.

joel knows what happened to him was bc he did the same shit ellie has been doing this whole time

he killed a fuck ton of people to get her to safety. but was it always for her? no. joel couldn’t lose another child. so him protecting her, i feel like, was for him as well. so he could have that safety of knowing she was alive and breathing. so he could do what he didn’t with sarah. save her.

but then look where that got him. and now look at ellie. and where that’s gonna get her. it all comes full fuckin circle man. it’s so poetic

this shit is SO GOOD.

the way that ellie isn’t even shaking or wavering during this confrontation w nora.. JESUS

“you still hear his screams?” THEN she starts shaking

her gun was BARELY moving before then

ASHLEY JOHNSOOONNNNNNNN

“yeah, that little bitch got what he deserved.” OH HELLLLLLLLLL TO THE MUTHAFUCKIN NAHHHHHHHHH FOOL

YOU HAVE BALLS TO SAY THAT AT THE PERSON POINTING A GUN AT YOU THAT IS THERE BC YOU KILLED JOEL BRO

ellie you had the shot bro

oh hey! the lower levels!

OH MY GOD WAIT ELLIE IS SO SMART FOR THIS

THERE’S SPORES DOWN HERE SO NORA IS FUCKED EITHER WAY

pitting infected and other humans against each other is SICK

oh my god there’s so much fungal growth down here JESUS

hearing nora coughing in the distance oh my god

“hi nora.” AND THEN BLOCKING THE DOOR HOLY FUUUUCK ELLIE

HER VEINS HOLY SHIT

THE SHOT OVER ELLIE’A SHOULDER LOOKING DOWN ON NORA IS COOOOOLD

these graphics are fucking crazy like this looks like it didn’t go through any animation what-so-ever

goddamn.

i could talk about just this shot for so long.

holy shit

“i’m fucking dead anyway why would i tell you anything?” THE WAY ELLIE GETS CLOSER AND SQUATS DOWN WITH THE FUCKING PIPE OH MY GOD

“think about what he did” AND SHE GRIPS THE SHIT OUT OF THE LEAD PIPE AHHHH

THE FUCKING THRUMMING SOUNDS ARE SOOOOO GOOD

OH MY GOD IT’S MAKING ME PRESS THE BUTTON

FUUUUUUCK MAN

and nora groaning and coughing in pain in between JESUS CHRIST

AGAIN??? THE CRYING OH MY GOD

ellie’s face man. holy fuck.

uh oh, back to the theatre

her hand shaking holy fuuuuck man

“it’s me.” HER VOICE SHAKING :(

and she freezes at first when dina hugs her😭😭

STOP SHE’S SHAKING SO BAD😭

hoooooly shit. she’s cut and bruised the fuck up

ellie could not do this without dina. holy fuckin shit.

“i don’t wanna lose you.” 😭😭😭😭😭

OH NO. OH NO. SAINT MARY’S HOSPITAL???

OHHHH NO.

ONLY 2 YEARS??😭😭

pediatrics? uh oh.

this feels weird.

i don’t like this.

it’s fucking odd

THE MUSIC AHHHHHH

I DON’T WANNA LOOK FOR THINGS THAT WILL HURT THEIR RELATIONSHIP BUT ELLIE DESERVES TO KNOW THE TRUTH

“why’d you all leave?” joel. it was joel ellie.

oh no. it’s the tape.

sidebar: that’s ashley burch!

ANYWAY

i’m crying just seeing joel riding in on his horse.

HE CARES ABOUT HER SO MUCH OH MY GOD

oh my god plz the way he’s shifting his weight nervously after she told him to tell her what happened

(pedro does that in a lot of his roles) ANYWAYY

the pain in ellie’s eyes🥺

joel looks so hurt too UGH

the way he’s struggling to get it out bc he knows that she’s gonna be so fucking upset😭

HE’S NOT EVEN LOOKING AT HER AND HIS VOICE IS SO QUIET AND SHAKY AHHHHHHHHH😭😭😭😭

THE SADNESS IN HIS FUCKING EYES WHEN HE LOOKS AT HERRRRRRR

OH MY FUCKING GOD

THE WAY HE REACHES OUT TO COMFORT HERRRRRRRRRRR

HE LOOKS SO GUILTY AND SAD AND I-😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

THE WAY HE JUST STANDS THERE AFTERWARD LIKE I KNOW THAT MAN IS CRYING

FUCK

I’M CRYING

SO FOR 2 YEARS JOEL THOUGHT ELLIE FUCKING HATED HIM??

BUT THEY MUST HAVE BEEN WORKING ON IT RIGHT?? IF THEY WERE WATCHING MOVIES TOGETHER??

SO THEIR RELATIONSHIP WAS FUCKED UP FOR 2 YEARS??

AND JOEL THOUGHT ELLIE WOULDN’T EVER FORGIVE HIM??

I KNOW THAT ENDING PORCH SCENE BUT LIKE HOW LONG BEFORE THAT???

I NEED TO KNOW

MY BELOVEDS😭😭😭

SEATTLE DAY 3

woooo😭

“the war the merrier. hey look joel. it’s your favorite.” I’M A PUDDLE ON THE FUCKING FLOOR ARE YOU JOKING

i found a card at least haha

uh oh dina’s not doin too hot

OH I FUCKIN FORGOT JESSE DOESN’T KNOW ABOUT DINA

WELP. DOES NOW

jesse is soooooooo attractive goddamn

i fucking love jesse

“you’ll be leaving some of them alive.” HE WANTS TO MAKE DAMN SURE WHERE ELLIE’S HEAD IS AT

i need to see a miller again i’m sad

i miss tommy

and joel😭

i like that jesse is being very straightforward about what they’re doing

jesse is a fucking amazing guy

from the way he talks about dina you can tell that he still really cares about her

ANUTHA CARD WOOOOO

am i gonna regret spending all of my upgrade parts? yeaaaaaa. but that’s a problem for future me to figure out lmao

ellie’s entry about not telling dina and jesse what joel did UGGHHHH

“do i understand?” 😭😭😭

we’re getting pretty close to the aquarium i am scared

BREAKING UP THE MOSS IN THE WATER IS SO COOL

I AM BLINKING HEAVILY IN SUPERNATURAL

ARE YOU FUCKIN FOR REAL RN LMAOOOOO

I’M SO THROWN OFF RN

“go team jackson” “fuck these motherfuckers” HER LITTLE JUMP TO HIGH FIVE HIM SHUT THE FUCK UUUUUP

I. LOVE. JESSE.

“i’m not into your type.” “what? asians?” and ellie going along w it LMAO this is just witty banter between 2 friends and it’s really refreshing after being alone for so long

ANUTHA CARD BABYYYYY

this bookstore is giving me flashbacks to the first game

THE MUSHROOMS IN THE KIDS AREA💀

😭😭😭😭

THE NOTE ON THE BACK BETWEEN THE MOM AND KID TALKING ABOUT HOW THEY MISS SOMEONE SHUT UUUUP😭😭

it’s little things like this that can add SO MUCH to the environment i love them and adore them

the graphics are fucking insane

this all looks so real

the reflections in the water are B O N K E R S

so good

JESSE TALKING ABOUT DRINKING AND PLAYING BOARD GAMES WHEN THEY GET BACK😭😭😭😭😭😭

ya’ll this game is so gorgeous

and this storm comin in?? WOOOOOO it’s gonna get INTENSE

also according to the game i’ve played 21 hrs? which is kinda false bc i leave it paused for a long time whenever i go do something so that’s not entirely accurate but it’s still fairly close

SNIPER SPOTTED AT THE MARINA??? TOMMY????

“the best way to help tommy, is to go after abby.” THE WAY JESSE LOOKS AT HER LIKE “girl be fuckin for real”

ellie’s chompin at the bit bc she’s looking at a ticket for a straigh shot to the aquarium

but tommy is def more important atm

they are sending UNITS for ONE MAN

help your uncle ellie jesus

jesse looks pissed

“you do this, i’m not saving your ass again.” ELLIE WHEN DID YOU? JESSE came TO YOU in hillcrest??

elliiieeeeeeeeee abby can wait girl

jesse is not happy w her rn

WATER STEALTH WOOOOO

that was fun! i really like the silencer it’s a PHENOMENAL addition to the stealth gameplay

BOAT TIME

now who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to let ME drive a boat

naughty dog and i have a complicated history with water vehicles

YEA I’M LOOKIN AT YOU UNCHARTED 1

FUCK YOU AND YOUR JET SKI BULLSHIT

OH MY GOD THE ICE CREAM TRUCK😭

i like how ellie’s hair is really floppy now bc it’s fuckin soaked

ANUTHA CARD BABYYY

the thunder sounds so fuckin good the sound design for this game goes CRAZYY

NEW JOURNAL ENTRYYY WOOOO

“abby i begged you to stop. you brought this on yourself.” jesus ellie

SAFE COMBO WOOO

what the fuck does a bitch have to do to get fuckin tape around here jesus christ

A BITCH JUST FOUND SOME TAPE FUCK YEAAAAAA

oh my god. these letters to jules started back in the fucking subway where you fight a shambler for the first time

before the fucking theater… goddamn

he set out to find the seraphites and he sure fuckin did

holy shit

so if you are to be part of the seraphites, you shave your head, give yourself scars, and you’re given a new name.

holy fuckin shit this is CULTY

searching this derailed train is fuckin sick

another misha letter lmao

okay i am someone that HATES storms like i have so many bad memories and shit associated w storms

one too many close calls w a tornado will do that to you

so the level of tension is DOUBLED for me when going through these buildings on the boat and this music keeps crescendoing while this storm goes fuckin crazy

THAT’S A BLOATER

THAT’S A GODDAMN BLOATER

LONG TIME NO SEE

FUCK OFF PLEASE

THAT WAS SO FUCKIN SCARY

ANUTHA CARD BABYYYYYYY

oh my god

oh my god the ferris wheel is right fuckin there

I’M JUST GOING OUT INTO THE OCEAN???

SOME OF MY WORST FEARS ARE MIXING RN

THALASSOPHOBIA AND STORMS DO NOT MIX WELL

FUUUUUCK THE BOAT GOT SWEPT AWAY

EEWWWWWWWWW I HATE THIS

CLIMB ELLIE CLIMB

oh my god the fucking lightning behind the ferris wheel and ellie standing in the foreground, wind blowing her hair

IT’S RIGHT THERE

I’M SO SCARED

oh my god i’m at the doors to the fucking aquarium

THIS MUSIC IS SO INTENSE I’M GONNA THROW UP

THE FUCKING SHARK IN THE WINDOW JUMP SCARED ME ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME UUUUGH

i’m in…

i fucking HATE this

i literally am so fucking scared of the ocean all of these exhibits that i’m having to go through are making me wanna scream and run the other direction dude

into the vents…

THE DOG

I’M SORRY TO THIS DOG AND ALL THE OTHERS AHHHHHHHH I’M SORRY

OH SHIT THIS IS ALL THEIR SLEEPING BAGS

OWEN’S TAGS OHHHHHHH SHIT

ellie is breathing SO HEAVILY

to be fair i am too jfc

the atmosphere is insane

OH MY GOD IT’S OWEN AND MEL

MEL LOOKS SO SCARED SHE’S LITERALLT SHAKING

FUUUUCK MAN

OH MY GOD ELLIE’S USING THE MAP TACTIC LIKE JOEL AND TOMMY

oh no. ohhhh no.

fuuuck owen saying “she’s pregnant.”

fuuuuck.

oh shit it’s tommy! and jesse!

but also FUCK

THE MAAAAP.

THE MAP.

THE FUCKING MAP.

GODDAMNIT

ENDING THAT SCENE W MEL’S BLOOD POOLING TOWARD THE MAP AND THEN CUTTING TO DINA????

FUUUUCK MAN. THAT’S GOOD SHIT RIGHT THERE.

BUT ALSO, NO IT’S FUCKING NOT

the way ellie’s looking at her🥺

ELLIE MOVING AWAY WHILE DINA REACHES FOR HER 😭😭😭😭😭

FUCK AAWWWWFFFFFFFFF

awe dina took the sorority secrets book 🥹

WAIT. AM I ABOUT TO FIGHT ABBY?? WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT

I’M SCARED

WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT

LIKE THAT SCENE FROM THE PUNISHER THAT’S ME RN

NO TOMMY’S GOING TO GRAB SOMETHING FROM THE MAIN ENTRANCE

THIS IS DEFINITELY IT

OHHHHH FUCK

I’M SCARED TOMMY COME BACK I JUST GOT YOU BACK PLEASE DON’T LEAVE

“my friend’s problems are my problems” I LOVE HIMMMMMM

“my friends can’t get out of their own damn way” HE’S SO- AHHHHHHHH

I LOVE JESSE

FUUUUUCK THERE WERE THUDS AND NOW THEY’RE RUNNING

FUUUCK OFF

jesse’s gone.

F U C K.

FUCK

AGAIN. I AM PART OF THE LAURA BAILEY FAN CLUB WHICH LIAM O’BRIEN IS THE PRESIDENT OF

SHE’S GIVING A PHENOMENAL PERFORMANCE

WITHOUT SEEING ABBY’S SIDE OF THE STORY YET, I’M PISSED AT HER. I DON’T LIKE HER.

BUT I HAVEN’T GOTTEN TO KNOW HER YET

SO WE’LL SEE

BUT AS OF RIGHT NOW, I WANNA HIT HER REAL FUCKIN HARD

THIS IS WHEN IT SWITCHES TO HER GAMEPLAY???

HUH????

FUUUUUUUUCK BRO.

RIGHT AFTER JESSE? AFTER JOEL? AS SHE JUST KICKED THE SHIT OUT OF TOMMY?

FFFFUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKK

AGAIN, I LOVE AND ADORE LAURA BAILEY AND I WILL CONTINUE TO DO SO

okay listen i’m not doing this bc i’m mad at the story or anything

but i’m ending my session for the day haha

i started at fuckin 11:25am and it is now midnight LMAO

there were many breaks in there but i still played A LOT today and i have a fuckin migraine so i’m gonna go the fuck to sleep

i’ll play tomorrow maybe but we’ll see

this post was hella long so if you made it all the way down here, bless you. i love you. i hope you are staying safe.

new episode tomorrow!!

[intheticklecloset]

My Hero Academia Sentence Starters #71-80

A collection of the MHA sentence starters I’ve done, compiled for the sake of ease. These are all stand-alone stories.

~~~

71) Lee Deku, Ler Todoroki

“Ah – crap!”

Todoroki turned, bursting into laughter when he saw Deku struggling with his shirt, trying to pull it over his head but only managing to get himself stuck. “Were you trying to do that cool ‘take your shirt off in a sexy way’ thing?”

“Shut up!” Deku whined, still wiggling and failing to free himself from his cotton prison. “It’s not like you were looking, anyway.”

Todoroki chuckled. “Do you need help?”

“…yes.”

The peppermint-colored teen walked up to him and gently touched his shoulder to let him know where he was, then paused. Deku’s face was covered up by a dark-colored shirt. He couldn’t see, and his torso was wide open. Those embers that were always simmering within him suddenly became a flame, and Todoroki simply couldn’t resist. He scribbled his fingers over Deku’s ribs.

“Aiiee! S-Shoto, dohohohohohon’t! No fahahahahahair!”

“Hold still,” Todoroki teased, reaching around to grab both sets of ribs and knead his thumbs into the bottoms of them. “I’m helping.”

“No you’re nohohohohohot!” Deku whined, giggling helplessly and still struggling in his shirt, unable to see or move his arms to stop his boyfriend whatsoever. “Plehehehehehease! Dohohohohon’t tickle mehehehe!”

“Oh, baby, how could I resist?” Todoroki beamed at the reactions he pulled from his partner. He tried to resist the urge to go to his hips, but ultimately lost the battle and did so anyway, pressing deep into the hip bones and making Deku shriek and laugh so hard he toppled backward.

“NONONO SHOHOHOHOTO—!!”

Todoroki quickly caught him before he fell completely, holding him in a waltz dip, still scribbling over his hips and waistline with his free hand. “Aww, if you wanted to dance you could have just asked~”

Deku only seemed to laugh harder at that, now trying to get back on his feet – or just fall over and submit to the tickling; he didn’t really care which at this point. “GAHAHAHAHAHAD, SHOTO!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

With a chuckle, Todoroki let up on his tickly attack, helping Deku to his feet and out of his shirt at last. As soon as his head was free, the bi-colored boy kissed him with a smile.

*

72) Lee Jirou, Ler Kaminari

“Give it back!” Jirou snapped, reaching into the air to try and grab her sheet music back from Kaminari, who smirked easily down at her. It was nice to have a couple of inches on her in times like these. “You idiot, those aren’t for you to see yet!”

“Yet?” Kami teased, but he purposely began to lower his arm so she could reach her prize. “Aww, did you write a song for me, babe?”

“In your dreams,” she spat, leaping into the air to snatch them back. But just as she was about to storm off, he grabbed her around the waist and skittered his fingers across her belly and sides, and she immediately dissolved into giggles. “Dehehehehenki, nahahahahahahaha!”

“Not gonna lie,” he said into her ear, chuckling at her fruitless attempts to get away. “I baited you on purpose so I could do this to you. I wanted to hear you laugh. It’s been a while, you know?”

“It hahahahahahas not! You h-hehehehear me lahahahaugh all the time!” Jirou protested, gripping his arm with one hand and her sheet music with the other. It was almost so crumpled as to be unreadable at this point. He’d pay for that later, he knew, but it was worth it to hear her giggle like this. Because of him.

“Not like this,” he replied gently, squeezing her sides now. “Not so freely. Not so happily. You work yourself too hard sometimes, you know that, Kyoka?”

She flushed at the use of her first name, crumbling under his relentless but gentle attack. “Fihihihihihine, you wihihihihin! Plehehehease stop!”

Kaminari let her go, placing a kiss on her cheek. “Just remember to take breaks, babe. That’s all I ask.”

She let out a few leftover giggles and sank back into his chest with a contented sigh. “Yeah, okay.”

*

73) Lee Momo, Ler Jirou

“W-Wait, wait – Kyokahahahahaha!” Momo giggled, stopping her own ticklish attack to protect herself from her girlfriend, who had suddenly decided she wanted to fight back for once.

Jirou’s eyes widened with glee. “You’re ticklish, too? Oh my gosh!” She quickly sat up and dug softly into Momo’s sides, gradually pushing her to the ground and straddling her waist. “I never thought you were. This is great!”

“Plehehehehehease!” Momo gripped Jirou’s wrists and squirmed on the floor, her smile wide and nose scrunched up in the absolute cutest way possible. She arched when Jirou squeezed her sides, broke into a squeal when those nails scribbled over her belly. “Kyokahahahahaha! Stahahahahahap!”

“Oh, no way, babe.” Jirou smirked, sliding one hand under her girlfriend’s shirt to scratch teasingly at her navel. “This is gold.”

Momo whimpered cutely in the split second before Jirou finally wiggled her finger into her belly button, drawing a squeal and high-pitched, bubbly, unstoppable giggles from her lips. She dug her heels into the carpet, threw her head back in ticklish agony. “Nohohohohohoho not thehehehehehehere! Baby, plehehehehehease!”

Jirou’s ears went hot. She couldn’t stop smiling, either. “Sorry, lovely. You’re being way, way too cute for me to stop now. Tickle, tickle, tickle~”

Momo lay there giggling for a long, long time.

*

74) Lee Bakugou, Ler All Might

“Let me go!” Bakugou roared, wrestling in All Might’s grip. “Let me at him! I’ll teach that extra to disrespect me!”

All Might sighed. This wasn’t an unusual scenario for the angry blonde, but it certainly got tiring after a while. He held onto the back of the teen’s shirt, unwilling to let him go no matter how he yelled or fought back. “Calm down, young man.”

“Let go of me!”

“Calm down first.”

Bakugou let out a frustrated shout, whirling around to loosen All Might’s grip on him, then trying to take off at a sprint after the poor soul who had offended him. The former pro hero grabbed his arm and pulled him back harshly.

“You need to take a minute,” All Might said firmly, frowning at him. “I’m not joking around.”

“Neither am I!”

All Might rolled his eyes. He’d had just about enough of this attitude. He yanked Bakugou’s arm up above his head and used his free hand to dig into his ribs.

The change in tone and demeanor was instantaneous.

“NO!! NO DON’T DO THAHAHAHAT!!” Bakugou yelled, unable to help the laughter that slipped past him. He began a whole different kind of struggling, trying to reach across his chest to grab the hand tickling him but unable to reach it. “KNOHOHOCK IT OFF!!”

All Might smirked. He dug in a little harder, and finally the blonde twisted in such a way that the pro hero could see his wide, helpless smile. “Ah, much better. No more growling.”

Bakugou’s cheeks turned red. He wrenched his head away. “STOHOHOHOHOP!! ALL MIHIHIHIGHT!!”

“Are you calm?”

“YEHEHEHES NOW STAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

“Good enough.” All Might finally released him, and Bakugou hunched over in relief, rubbing his face as though trying to physically wipe the grin from it.

“That was a low blow,” he muttered.

“I’m afraid you deserved it, young Bakugou.”

*

75) Lee Todoroki, Ler Tokoyami

“Not gonna talk, pouty?” Tokoyami scoffed. “I know who will get you speaking.”

Todoroki glanced up when Dark Shadow appeared, quirking a brow in intrigued confusion. How was this creature going to make him spill anything? He got his answer a moment later when Dark Shadow lunged for him, grabbing his arms and pulling them above his head so that Tokoyami could sit in his lap and wiggle his fingers in his belly and sides.

“Gahk! Pffff – no – ahahahahahahahaha!” Todoroki squealed with giggles, trying to move his arms and legs but unable to budge even a little bit thanks to the heft of Tokoyami in his lap and the firm grip of the monster he controlled. “Nohohohohoho! Dohohohohohohon’t – thahahahat’s not fahahahair!”

“What’s wrong?” Tokoyami asked evenly, like he had at least twice before it came to this playful interrogation.

“Nohohohohohothing!”

“Liar.”

“Stohohohohop! I’m not lyihihihing – ah, no! Nohohohohoho! Not THEHEHEHEHEHERE!!” The half-and-half boy shrieked when Tokoyami’s fingers wiggled up into his underarms, making him laugh harder despite himself. The fact that he couldn’t even squirm only made it tickle more. “NO, TOKOYAHAHAHAMI, STAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

“Better talk.”

“THEHEHEHERE’S NOHOHOTHING TO SAHAHAHAHAHAY!!”

“Very well.” Tokoyami nodded to his partner in crime. “Dark Shadow?”

The creature left Todoroki’s arms and slithered down and around to his feet, dragging his claws up and down the helpless soles, and the peppermint-colored boy laughed so hard he could hardly breathe. It didn’t take long at all for him to start tapping on Tokoyami’s shoulders, signaling his submission.

“OKAY I’LL TAHAHAHAHAHALK JUST PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAHAP!!”

Tokoyami did stop, but he didn’t move, and neither did Dark Shadow. “Spill.”

After giggling for several more moments and catching his breath, Todoroki admitted, “I…I failed a test I studied really hard for. It just makes me upset because I put so much work into it.”

“Ah.” The bird boy finally climbed off, Dark Shadow going back to sleep within him. “I can understand your frustration. But being pouty won’t solve anything. Perhaps you should speak with Mr. Aizawa about it. I’m sure he could point you in the right direction for next time.”

Todoroki nodded. “You’re probably right. Thanks, Tokoyami – even if tickling it out of me was cheating.”

Tokoyami just smirked at him.

*

76) Lee Deku, Ler Shinsou

“Here come the itsy bitsy spiders~” Shinsou teased, touching down moments later on Deku’s ribs under his shirt and moving his fingers around like little spiders crawling all over him.

Deku squeaked and giggled, blushing red and tugging halfheartedly on his makeshift restraints. His hands were bound behind him with one necktie and another had been tied over his eyes as a blindfold, leaving him completely helpless to whatever tickling Shinsou threw his way. And Shinsou intended to throw a lotof tickling his way.

“Tickle, tickle,” the purple-haired boy teased, beaming at his increasingly flustered boyfriend. “What’s the matter, Zuku? Don’t you like the spiders?”

Deku shook his head, though his bright, happy giggles suggested otherwise.

“Oh, well that’s too bad. They sure like you!” Shinsou began spidering a little lower, closer to his waistline. “See? They’re looking for your most ticklish spot, babe~”

“Nohohohohoho,” the greenette whined playfully, squirming beneath the fingers poking and prodding into his belly. “Toshiehehehehehe…”

“Talk to the spiders, Zuku. They’re the ones about to tickle, tickle, tickle you silly~”

Deku sputtered around a burst of laughter when one of Shinsou’s fingers strayed a little further down, slipping under the waistband of his shorts to scribble lightly at the sensitive hollow there. Being blindfolded was making this tickle so much more – but it was also making it a lot more fun, too.

“Uh-oh~ I think they found it~” Shinsou scribbled wildly over Deku’s hips, enjoying the loud shriek he pulled from his boyfriend, followed by bouts of loud, helpless laughter. “Aw, coochie coo, baby~”

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE, STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Deku cried, flopping around on the bed like a fish out of water, throwing his torso back and forth in an attempt to lessen the sensations.

“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t do that, Zuku.” Shinsou settled himself even further on his thighs and went for broke, drilling his thumbs into the hollows, making Deku absolutely scream with hysterical laughter. “I suppose you’ll just have to take it~”

*

77) Lee Bakugou, Ler Todoroki

“The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can leave,” Todoroki sighed, standing in front of the door with his arms crossed. “Just put it on, you hothead.”

“I’m not putting on the stupid tie,” Bakugou growled, said necktie discarded at his feet. He thrust his hands in his pockets with a scowl. “Move your butt, icy-hot.”

“Not until you put that on.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“It’s a formal event. You have to wear a tie.”

“Like heck I do.”

Todoroki rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me make you put it on, Bakugou. That would just be embarrassing for the both of us.”

“You can’t make me do anything, Mr. Number One Hero’s son!”

That was the wrong thing to say. Todoroki lunged at him faster than the blonde could react, but to Bakugou’s surprise, he didn’t start throwing punches. Instead he found purchase on that spot just below his underarms and dug in relentlessly.

“GAH!! WHAHAHAHAHAT THE—?! NAHAHAHAHA YOU STUPID EXTRAHAHAHA!!” Bakugou screeched with laughter, trying and failing to push Todoroki off of him. “GET OHOHOHOFF!! GET OFF OF MEHEHEHEHEHE!!”

“Put the tie on.”

“NO WAHAHAHAHAHAY!!”

“I won’t stop until you put it on.”

The words sent a sharp shiver down Bakugou’s spine. He renewed his efforts to kick, punch, shove, roll over, or anything else he could do to get Todoroki to stop. But if there were two things he knew for sure, it was that 1) he wouldn’t be able to hold out for more than a minute as long as Todoroki didn’t let up on that spot and 2) Todoroki really, really loved tickling people until they couldn’t take any more.

“FIHIHIHIHIHINE!! FINE I’LL PUHUHUHUHUT IT ON!! TODOROKIEHEHEHEHE!!”

“Promise?”

“YEHEHEHEHEHES I PROHOHOHOHOMISE NOW STAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Todoroki let up, keeping his fingers wiggling threateningly the entire time Bakugou fumbled with his tie, finally putting it on properly with a huff of irritation. “There. Happy now?”

“I could take it or leave it,” Todoroki said, getting to his feet and leading the blonde out the door. “But I’m happy to tickle you into submission again whenever you want me to.”

*

78) Lee Bakugou, Ler Kirishima

“I didn’t know you had freckles there,” Kirishima remarked, surprised.

Bakugou grunted. “Where?”

“Here.” Kiri began tracing between the light dots on his knees, connecting them with invisible lines. “On your kneecaps.”

“Hrk!” Bakugou jerked his knee out of the redhead’s grip, cheeks pink. “Don’t do that.”

Kiri smiled, gently taking his knee back and sitting on his foot, keeping him pinned in place while he lightly traced on either side of the blonde’s kneecaps. “Why? Ticklish here?”

“Mhmhm!” The blonde pressed his lips together against the giggles, falling back on the bed and covering up his face, his free foot digging into the quilt, kicking now and then but never at Kiri.

“Aw, how cute~” Kirishima started kissing along the area, scribbling his fingers under the soft knee pits. “You have ticklish freckles, baby?”

“Stohohohohohop!”

“But you’re so cuuuute like this!”

“Nohohohohoho!” Bakugou grabbed the hem of his shirt and clutched with everything he had. He was honestly loving the soft, ticklish treatment, but it was driving him mad at the same time. He started pounding a fist into the mattress at his side. “Kiri, plehehehehehehease!”

Kirishima beamed, gently running his hand from the blonde’s ankle to his knee and further up, lightly skittering along the way, keeping him in giggles even as he repositioned them so he was straddling his boyfriend, gradually pinning his arms above his head and kissing his neck. “You’re adorable, Baku-babe.”

“I told you not to call me that – EEEP!!”

Kiri tweaked his ribs again and pressed his hand to Bakugou’s chest, feeling his racing heart and growing encouraged by how he was affecting his partner. “And I told you, you can’t stop me.”

Bakugou tried to sit up, but Kiri used his quirk to hold him firmly in place. The blonde gave an angry little pout. “Come on, Ei. Kiss me already.”

Kirishima giggled, then did just that.

*

79) Switches Mina and Kaminari

“You look so cute!” Denki teased as he held one of Mina’s arms above her head, scribbling into her armpit teasingly. “Look at that big smile!”

“Denkiehehehehehehe!” she whined, trying to twist around to fight him off, but he’d only move with her, keeping her in constant giggles and constantly unable to get him back. “Ehehehehehehehe!”

“Tickle, tickle, Mina~” he dragged his fingers down her ribs to her sides, then around to her belly, all while holding on to her arm. “Do the other guys know you’re this easy to take down?”

“Eheheheheheasy?!” she sputtered indignantly. “I’m lehehehehehetting you win!”

Denki smirked. “Sure you are.”

Suddenly Mina wrenched her arm free, catching him off-guard and whirling to grab onto his sides before he could process her escape, forcing bubbly giggles up out of him as well. Unfortunately for Denki, he was far more ticklish than she was.

“Nahahahahahaha!” The blonde fell unceremoniously to the ground, grabbing onto her arms and trying to push her away as he laughed. “No fahahahahahahahahair!”

“I told you I was letting you win,” she shot back, scribbling wildly over his belly and hips. “You look so cuuuute!”

“Shuhuhuhuhuhut up!”

“But you called me cute! Why can’t I call you cute?”

“It’s dihihihihifferent with yohohohou!”

“Because I’m a girl?” Mina reached behind her to squeeze his knees, enjoying the loud scream she got in response.

“NO NOT THAHAHAHAHAHAT!!” he cried, shaking his head desperately. “YOU’RE AHAHAHAHAHACTUALLY CUTE!! I’M NOHOHOHOHOHOT!!”

Mina gasped dramatically. “Take that back!”

“NEHEHEHEHEVER!!”

“Fine, then.” She leaned down to begin blowing raspberries on his belly, making Denki squeal with renewed hysterics. “I’ll just have to tickle you until you do.”

*

80) Lee Todoroki, Ler Bakugou

“Doesn’t this seem a little unnecessary?” Todoroki asked nervously as Bakugou lifted his arm above his head.

“You’re the one who decided to tackle me like an American football player out there.”

“I was pushing you out of harm’s way, hothead.”

“I never said I wasn’t thankful for that, brain freeze. Now hold still.” Bakugou gently ran his hand down the length of Todoroki’s side, from the middle of his ribs to the bottom, where he’d taken the most impact. The half-and-half hero twitched, making the blonde smile gently. “Ticklish? Or does it hurt?”

“No, j-just ticklish,” Todoroki admitted.

“You’ve got a pretty good bruise right here.” Bakugou ran his hand along his boyfriend’s bottommost rib, making him sputter out a giggle and jerk away. “Heh. What’s the matter, icy-hot? I’m just trying to make sure you didn’t break anything.”

“I’m fahahairly certain I dihihidn’t.” Todoroki tried to pull his arm back down, but Bakugou wouldn’t let him, and when their eyes met the peppermint boy suddenly grew flustered and giggly even before his boyfriend started to push him down onto the bed. “Nohohoho, I’m fihihihine, Katsuki!”

“Are you?”

“Yehehehehes!”

“Hmm.” Bakugou straddled him, holding both arms above his head now, smirking wickedly down at him. He could never get enough of how his presence could make Todoroki a blushing, giggling mess when he got playful like this. “I’d better kiss it to make sure you’ll heal properly.”

“No,” Todoroki whispered breathlessly, smiling wide. “Dohohon’t…”

“I think you want me to.” Bakugou leaned down and placed the gentlest of kisses to the affected area, making sure to take extra care with the dark bruise that had formed along his boyfriend’s bottom rib. Then he kissed his way up his chest to the crook of his neck, making Todoroki squeal and kick a leg into the air. “Don’t worry, Sho. You’ll get better quicker now that I’ve kissed you all over.”

“M-Mahahahagic kisses?” the icy-hot hero teased through his giggles.

Bakugou kissed his lips to shut him up. “Heck yeah, baby. Magic kisses.”

[crystalas]

Birthday Wish part 4

I had orignally planned to space out submission to every week and stay a chapter ahead so I can have time to edit and add stuff between work. However I got sick with a certain world famous bug and currently stuck in quaratine. So i have plenty of time to type between fever sweats and coughing up a lung...anywhere where was I?

Oh yeah, things have been going smoothly for the Glamrocks, Gregory, Dewdrop the baby and the Day Care Attendant [sips tea] I better change that...

Chapter four: Storm Day Tournament

The minis had been watching the meal time with interest, they rarely got far enough from the safety of the vents to be involved and when Freddy noticed them staring from afar, went and found some toy plates and food for them to feel included. So, while Gregory and Dewdrop ate and the baby food discussion had gone on the three took turns tapping plastic food to their face in pretence of partaking in the meal.  After Monty had recovered from the random question of ‘if you were a baby food what you be?’ he looked to the three spider bots.

“Hey little guys!” he called, the three stopped ‘sipping’ their teas to look at him “Monty Golf is free if you want, you got two hours alright?” the three spider bots dropped what they were doing bopped up and down trilling in glee as they did. Trios and Un dashed up the slide and away but Deux stopped in front of Dewdrop who watched him, he then skittered over to where the microphone had been put down and brought it over to her as a gesture of apology. Dewdrop took the microphone with a gurgle.

“Thank you for the apology, Deux” Sun said warmly, and with that the bot was gone.

“There’s only us here, no one is gonna see them” Gregory asked. “Why the time limit?”

“Less of a limit and more of a time stamp, that way I can go back later and the security feeds can have a ‘coincidental’ issue due to the storm and I don’t have to shift through hours of footage I can just go from now to then.” Monty explained. Gregory looked to Sun and about to ask about their cameras when Sun answered.

“Moon has been editing the footage as we’ve gone along, if anyone checks they will just be blips and glitches where the Minis were. I’m not sure how but Moon has the skill down to a T” they explained.

<Thank Vanny for that> Moon grumbled <Seems only fair I put what ‘skills’ that bitch taught me to good use.>

<Language!> Sun snapped.

“Anyway, kid wasn’t there something you wanted to show us?” Roxy asked which made the boy beam with excitement.

“Oh yeah, we got it set up yesterday!” he said wolfing down the last of his fruit salad, “It’s in the Super Star theatre!”

Robots and baby alike followed Gregory who had grabbed a bag and led them to the theatre, just as they were about to enter the gloom of the theatre Sun put Dewdrop down took a step inside and being the dimly lit room, they changed into Moon. Dewdrop found this hilarious, Moon knelt down and held out their arms jingling the bells on their wrists as they did. Dewdrop took the hint and crawled up to them so Moon could pick her up.

The theatre had a small projector on the stage along with a game console, Gregory brought it to life and the cinema screen was suddenly filled with the familiar jingle of a racing game. Dewdrop found this amazing as Gregory clambered onto the stage.

“Welcome bots and baby to the first Storm Day gaming tournament!” the boy announced dramatically. “The rules are simple! We will take turns racing in pairs cos we only got two controllers and the winners of that first race will get to compete to be champion who will get bragging rights till the next storm day!”

“Sound fun!” Chica smiled.

“He’s so proud of this idea” Freddy laughed.

“As he should be” Roxy said.

Using plushies Gregory had put in the bag he randomly chose who will be racing who, so the order was thus:

Chica Vs Gregory [he used the sun plushie to represent himself in the draw]. Chica had lost but Gregory couldn’t shake the feeling she let him win to be a good sport.

Monty Vs Freddy, to which Freddy lost as racing games weren’t his strength.

“Suck it Fazbear!” the gator oh so graciously declared.

Then it came to Roxy Vs Moon.

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle this?” Roxy asked sweetly.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just there aren’t many games that require actual skill in the Day care, Snakes and Ladders and Ludo seem more your speed”

“Gregory?” Moon growled without breaking eye contact with Roxy.

“Yeah?”

“Hold my baby” Moon announced coldly holding Dewdrop out to the boy. With baby now on his lap he watched the two bots glare at each other before sitting down to race. The race began and there was silence between the two as they were hyper focussed on the game, by the second lap Moon had over taken Roxy by use of short cuts he had found on the first lap. The third lap Roxy had caught up but there was still a big gap between the two.

“What was that about me not having skill?”

“What you have is beginner’s luck, skill is knowing what you have…and when to use it” Roxy purred and activated her weapon that she had picked up at the second lap. Moon only glanced over to her side of the spilt screen and gasped.

“Don’t you dare!”

“All fair in love and war” she said and let loose the blue shell.

Moon gave a strangled shriek as he tried to speed up to out run the oncoming death but he was too far ahead of anyone to let them overtake and take the blow… he could only watch in dismay as his cart was thrown into the air in an explosion and as his cart bounced back onto the road Roxy’s cart zoomed past and over the finish line.

Roxy leapt into the air punching the sky in victory. Moon sagged forward letting the controller slip between lose fingers, Gregory walked over to him with Dewdrop in his arms. The baby cooed and patted the Day Care Attendant’s hat in what look to be sympathy but she was probably after the bell on the end.

“I love you too starlight” Moon sighed and took her from Gregory.

“To be fair you would have won if she hadn’t got that power-up” Gregory said.

“But I did and that’s all that matters!” Roxy declared “Now who’s next to get their butts handed to them?”

“That would be me!” Monty declared “But if anyone is gonna get their butts kicked its gonna be you!”

“Bring it, you over grown hand-bag!” Roxy snarled.

“Should we be worried that to two most competitive animatronics are playing against each other?” Chica asked, Freddy and Moon didn’t respond but merely picked up their respective child and moved themselves to the row of seats further back. “Yeah, I thought so” Chica mused.

So, the first round of the finales was set to go; the carts had been chosen, diapers had been changed, the race track randomly set, snacks were made and now the wolf and gator sat down and there was tension in the air.

Ready. Set. GO!!

And they were off and at the first line of power-ups there was already dirty tricks as the two would try to blow or push the other off the course. As they played, they would growl and hiss at each other while they elbowed and shouldered each other roughly to try and distract them from play.

“Quit it!” Roxy snapped.

“Hey weren’t you who said ‘all fair in love and war’?” Monty chirped back.

“You did say that” Freddy exclaimed.

“Be quiet!” Roxy roared.

“She’s kind of cute when she’s like this” Chica smiled.

“You have weird tastes Chica” Gregory mused.

Second lap and they were neck and neck, trading first and second place for nearly every corner they turned. Using every power-up they came across; the track was strewn with traps already.

“Come on Monty!” Moon crowed “Kick her butt!”

“That’s the plan!” Monty declared.

“Do it for Dewdrop!” Gregory shouted.

“I’M DOING IT FOR YOU, DEWDROP!” Monty cried, Dewdrop was just finding the whole thing entertaining as heck with all the colours, bright light, snacks and everyone cheering and making funny noises this was as far as she was concerned the best day ever.

Third lap and they were still tied dodging blows and avoiding traps, they were turbo charging at every available opportunity and then the finish line came into view. In their haste they had used everything up so now it was just a mad dash for the end

“Come on come on!” Roxy growled under her breath.

“I’m gonna win! I’m gonna win!” Monty cried.

“Like heck you are!”

and then…

There was an ominous loud clap of thunder and the powers flickered out for a minute, the screen went black. There was a beat of silence in the theatre before the game console came back to life…at the main screen. Roxy quickly booted up the game to find that the last race had been lost to digital limbo.

“Hah!” Roxy declared “I win!”

“What you talking about girl? I won!” Monty shouted.

“Ladies, ladies” Gregory exclaimed standing up “we will just refer to our judge and they will decide who won” and then gestured to Dewdrop who was now chewing on a rusk.

“The baby?!”

“She looks to be a wise, unbiased person. I trust her judgement” Moon said sassily. Gregory held out the Roxy Plush and Monty Plush in front of her and she regarded both equally; with baited metaphoric breath the two awaited her decision.

She reached for Monty’s plushie and he roared in triumph before hoisting Dewdrop up and holding them aloft up like a trophy to which Dewdrop giggled in glee.

“THE BABY HAS SPOKEN!”

“Put my baby down!” Moon snapped before Monty could do a victory lap of the theatre with her.

“Yeah, you still need to beat me ya know!” Gregory declared angrily, but the lights began to flicker once again and the game reset itself once more.

“I think we might need to put it on hold until we can secure a proper power source…” Freddy answered. Gregory looked at Monty who despite having a somewhat static face had managed to look smug as hell.

“Fine we will set it up in Freddy’s room and we are finishing this!” Gregory declared.

“It will have to wait as Monty and I need to recharge” Freddy said softly to which Gregory gave a groan.

“Later then!”

 While the Tournament raged inside, outside there sat a van in the Pizza Plex loading bay as a plan was forming between three humans, the inside of the van was filled with numerous tools and electronics gear as well as what looked to be a work bench. A heavy gush of wind rocked the van like a boat in choppy waters.

“Right, so we’re clear on the plan?” a lady said, she wore glasses and kept her hair up in a tight bun to keep it out of her eyes. “I keep the bots distracted while you two secure the item and get it here where we…”

“I got a question” a short balding man declared holding up his hand.

“Yes?”

“Two actually, one why are we going by these goofy names? And why am I fucking Balloon Boy?”

“Cos you’re annoying and you steal my batteries” the woman who was going by the code name Ballora declared “I also like the irony of old characters stealing news one, as well they might be able to trace us if we use our real names. I will be able to get rid of video but audio might be an issue.”

“Okay second, we are breaking into this place. Why not snag one of the head liners? You telling me there ain’t a fazbear collector who wouldn’t sell their kidney for an authentic Freddy Fazbear?”

“He’s got a point” the second man said who was going by the code name ‘Bon Bon’. Ballora gave a heavy sigh and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“Okay first: the main four are allowed free roaming which means that we would have to search the entire plex for just one of them in the very limited time window that we have, whereas the target we are going for is kept to only one section making it easier and quicker to find.” Ballora began as she started to get ready putting her gear into a backpack and shouldering a second smaller bag for lighter tools.  

“Secondly, we try and sell a whole ass animatronic we’re going to have the police down our throats before we could even exchange PayPal details. Thirdly the target is literally bleeding edge tech it has enough processing power to host two A. Is and is made from tough metal alloy that allows it bounce around light as a feather and still lift a tonne. Even scrapped this thing will be worth millions!”

“When you put it like that” Bon Bon said looking at Balloon Boy who rolled his eyes and grabbed his gear. “Looks like we’re stealing a nanny-bot!”

 Roxy and Chica went off to chill in Roxy’s green room if nothing more than to sooth her ego at being bested in what should be her game. Monty and Freddy left to charge which left two children and a Day Care Attendant who headed back to the Day Care. Gregory pulled out some of his homework he promised Vanessa he would do while Sun kept Dewdrop entertained.

“Come on Starling” Sun cooed “say Sun! Suuunah! Suuuunah!”

The baby laughed and babbled.

“Can you say Mooonah? Moooon!”

Dewdrop looked up at Sun and with a face that glowed with the pride of learning declared loudly.

“Saaamooo!”

“Suunah” Sun tried to correct.

“Samooo!”

“Moon?”

“Sammooo! Sammooo!”

<Look its close enough, I’d take it as win> Moon declared. Gregory chuckled as he tackled his maths homework.

 The three thieves had broken in and made their way to the nearest security room, avoiding the sparce security drones that ambled about with their flash lights. Ballora sat down in front of the computer, placing her laptop in front of herself and plugged it into the system.

“I can give you guys as long as I can maybe an hour tops, when I give the signal get going!”

The two nodded and got ready, she started to tap away quickly and smirked. The power went out, if any police looked into it, they would assume the storm had knocked it out. As the back-up power for the security booted it back up, she accessed it and started up her own programme.

“Okay robots, who here has played FNaF 3?” and with a click of a button the sound of Balloon Boy’s laugh echoed throughout the room.

 As Gregory finished his math homework Sun had put Dewdrop down for a nap, Gregory was about to ask if there was any fizzy fazz when the power went out and Moon was forced to appear. He looked up and around as if he could hear something.

“Gregory” Freddy called on the fazwatch. “Gregory, can you hear me?”

“Yeah…the power went out, are you okay?”

“Yes, I was able to get enough of a charge, but that is not why I am calling”

“There’s been a security breach” Moon growled. “Time to play”

“Moon I must ask that you stay there” Freddy said which got Moon picking Gregory up so he could hold out his arm and yell into the fazwatch.

“What? But I’m security!”

“Yes, but you are also the Day Care Attendant and while normally I would be okay with guarding Gregory myself and leaving you to your duties…I’m afraid you and Sun are the only one programme and built to look after Dewdrop”

Moon gripped his face plate with his free hand before giving a growl of resignation, it was true while the Glamrocks were able to play instruments built for them they lacked the fine motor control skills to do delicate things like handle small squishy infants and other such duties.

“Fine!” Moon snapped.

“Should we be worried?” Gregory asked.

“It is probably a malfunction due to the power going out, we will locate the source of the problem and sort it as soon as we can. Please Gregory could you remain with Moon until I can come get you?”

“Sure Freddy!”

“See you soon” and with that Freddy hung up.

“Well, it’s too dark to do any homework so…” Gregory began but was silenced when Moon produced a night light strong enough to light the table.

“Nice try kiddo” Moon said.

[sabraeal]

Tenderness Like a Bruise

[Read on AO3]

Sequel to Creatures of a Brief Season; written in honor of @puffdragongirl‘s birthday! Robin requested anything that included Od Ana, and what would incur more Od Ana commentary than Bergatt (and potentiality Eisetsu) Arc?

They could spend a hundred years in this snow, a hundred lifetimes, and Od Ana knows: she’ll never get used to it.

You’re meant to be here, Obi would tease, trailing a gloved finger up her sternum, ruffling her feathers. They still hunt with birds like you up north, riding on horseback and snatching hares from the snow.

They’re real birds, she’d huff, snapping at that finger. I’m you, and you’re me, and we’re cold.

It makes her wings stiff, a heavy weight when she lifts them-- not something she needs when they’re already so big, so awkward unless she’s in the air. The wind cuts right through her feathers, ignoring the ribbed bulwark and clinging right to the skin. Obi always tells her to take a flap if she can’t stand it, but the higher up she goes, the crueler it is. Sure she might get some heat in her muscles, but that doesn’t do anything for the parts of her that aren’t involved with flight.

“How many of these are you gonna make?” Perkunas hops around Obi’s knees, big, clumsy paws raking at his trousers. Obi puts him off with a pat, sweeping a gloved finger up his muzzle to still him. It’s no longer like lightning when they touch, just a soft buzz, muted by leather and fur.

See, another reason to suffer down here, shivering-- if she spent all her time up in the air, she’d miss the show.

Shirayuki perches on the edge of a planter, raising her feet as Perkunas scuttles under them. He pokes his nose over her notes, skimming the page until he’s cross-eyed. That little meat bun might think himself bookish, but this is far from the first time he’s lurched from her lap, word-drunk; she spares him a small pat, laying her gloved hand carefully over the ridge of his muzzle. Right where Obi ran his finger, Od Ana can’t help but note.

She snaps her beak, chuffed. Her man’s mistress might play at being busy, too absorbed in her work to pay attention to the silliness surround her, but Od Ana has an eagle’s eyes. Whenever Obi’s all energy and no sense, Shirayuki’s got one eye on him. Not to keep watch, like she’s so keen on saying when she’s caught, but because she likes to turn two toward him if he bends over.

Even now her lips twitch, a smothering a smile before it can take flight-- Od Ana’s grateful for it. The last thing he needs now is encouragement.

Perkunas waddles back over when Obi squats, resting his chin on his knee. A glove reaches down, smoothing the fur between his ears before riffling it again, leaving thick globs of snow. “Until there’s one for all of us.”

That small head cocks, taking in the row of snowmen. Obi might be good with his hands, maybe might even be fine enough to put pen to page, but an artist he’s not-- all his attempts are round and squat, their snow daemons snuggled in beside them. Even Od Ana has to squint to make out which one is which.

“All of us?” Perkunas echoes, sitting back on his haunches. “I don’t know if there’s enough.”

“Sure there is.” Obi levers himself to his feet, one hand free to point. “That’s Master and Miss, Miss Kiki and Mister, and over here’s me...”

“That’s supposed to be Shirayuki?” Perkunas trots up to the smallest one, sniffing at the spherical snow daemon beside it. “Is this me?”

Obi nods, mouth quivering. “Mmhmm.”

Perkunsa snorts, skittering back. “I don’t look like that!”

“Sure you do!” Od Ana clacks her beak, drawing his glare. “Just a little snow sausage, waiting to be grilled up!”

“I’m not!” he squeals, rushing up to where she sits. It’s too far for his squat little legs to reach, paws flexing as they try to find purchase on the stone.

“Take it back!” he growls, hopping uselessly beneath her. “Take it back! Shirayuki, did you hear her? Make her take it back!”

It’s no use-- Shirayuki might keep one eye on Obi, but Perkunas’s plaintive whines are too commonplace to lure her attention away. He grunts and skitters, but Shirayuki sits with her heels hooked on the edge of a stone, unmoved. Od Ana can’t grin with this beak of her, but she can flap her wings, skipping along the stone with a screech that might fall on the more purposeful side of taunting. And like always, Perkunas rises to her bait.

He’s stretched as long as his elastic body can go, every strand of fur on his ringed tail standing on end--

And he tumbles, the way he always does. Just collapses into an uncontrolled roll, more sphere than sense, careening across the yard-- and right into one of Obi’s snow friends.

“Oh!” Perkunas leaps up all at once, shaking snow from his snub snout,  snuffling pitifully. “I’m so sorry, Obi! I didn’t mean to.”

Obi crouches down where he lays, gloved palm landing gently on his muzzle. “I know, little guy.” He casts an eye over the ruined mound, clucking his tongue. “Well, there goes Mister.”

“Eh?” Shirayuki wholly drags herself up from her work now, glancing from Obi’s back to the snow-covered Perkunas and then all the way up to where she perches. Her mouth settles in a knowing line, and when she says, “Have you been getting in to trouble?” Od Ana knows it’s for both of them.

It’s good a bird can’t look abashed, no matter how many feathers she has. Otherwise she might have to try.

“It’s Od Ana’s fault,” Perkunas rushes to tell her, the little liar.

She sniffs, cocking her beak haughtily. “I would never have expected Shirayuki’s daemon to be such a tattletale.”

Od Ana expects a glare, a harsh word, something to quell her, but Shirayuki’s mouth only twists wryly. “You should have known me as a child.”

I did. It’s Obi’s thought, but it dovetails with her own, unobtrusive for once. It doesn’t bear saying that she was neither as excitable or pestiferous as Perkunas can make himself; Obi’s agreement radiates deep in her breast. Their secret, locked in a cage of hollow bone.

“She called me fat,” Perkunas grouses, sitting back on his haunches. It makes him round, like a ball, and Od Ana’s half-tempted to see if she could get him to roll again with just a squawk.

“You are. There’s no reason to be ashamed of it.” Shirayuki tells him, all fondness as she comes to crouch beside him, knee brushing Obi’s as easily as her hand strokes her daemon’s skull. Od Ana can feel his shiver from here, her beak rattling quietly from the one it sends through her. “Oh, Obi-- I’m sorry. He’s undone all your hard work.”

“No worries, Miss.” Obi cradles what’s left of Mitsuhide’s head in his hands. “I’m sure it’s only a bad omen. Poor Mister.”

Shirayuki cocks her head, leaning in to glance at the ruined snow skull. Od Ana might tease Obi, might mock him for never being able to puzzle out how to bridge the gap between him and his mistress, but he certainly knows how to get her to hover in his orbit. Black and red nearly eclipse each other, and oh, what she wouldn’t give to knock the two of them together just to see the spark.

After a long moment, Shirayuki finally says, dubious, “That was supposed to be Mitsuhide?” 

“Yep.” Obi chucks his chin toward the oblong mound, resting beside the remains of the prince’s foremost aide. “See, Sigrun’s right there.”

Shirayuki pitches forward, squinting. “Eh?”

Od Ana clucks, amused. Sigrun’s even-tempered, just like her man, but even she would be insulted by the snow sausage standing in for her.

“It’s too warm for this anyway,” Shirayuki decides, lifting herself to standing. “No wonder Mitsuhide fell apart. He’s the biggest, after all. Couldn’t hold his own weight.”

“It was getting colder. I thought maybe we might get a snow this afternoon, and I’d get to shore them up.” He stands with a sigh, knees creaking in protest. “Doesn’t seem like that’ll be happening today, Miss.”

Shirayuki peers up at him-- further than Od Ana remembers her needing. Ah, so her boy’s grown another inch. He’ll be out of those soon, if the men around him are any stick to measure by. He’s tall enough now anyway, respectable. Doesn’t need to get cocky on top of it-- at least not any more than he already is.

“Suzu told me it’s still too early for snow.” She casts a thoughtful glance at the sky. “Well, at least in the afternoon.”

Obi huffs, amused, eyebrows shooting toward his hairline. “Suzu said that?”

“Well,” Shirayuki wheedles. “Hermia did.”

“That sounds more reliable,” Obi grunts. Most daemons are, save for Perkunas. “Still, didn’t we have one just the other week?”

“Well, yes.” She sways on her feet, but it’s not from weakness or exhaustion-- it’s from energy that needs to be spent, like a child made to sit too long. Maybe Perkunas is more like her than any of them give him credit. “But it’ll be a few weeks before it’s cold enough for another. Lilias has to work itself into winter.”

Since when, Od Ana nearly says. Obi coughs; it barely covers his laugh.

“Ah, that reminds me. Mistress--” Obi turns, catching her eyes, and Od Ana uselessly wills him to close the space-- “the knights need me to help them with something starting tomorrow. You’ll have to look after yourself for a while.”

An idle threat, but Shirayuki takes it with a dutiful nod, just the way she expects. “Got it.” She hesitates before adding, “I hope it isn’t too serious.”

Obi casts one of his long looks over her, somehow both assessing and torn, before he looks away. A pity, since he doesn’t see how she looks back. “They’ve sent a few troops elsewhere for now, so they’re running a little thin at the checkpoint. I said I’d help out.”

“Ah, see.” Od Ana flutters down, perching on his shoulder. She’s too big for it to be comfortable, and he grunts as she knocks a wing against his head before folding them in. “What he means is that no one wants to do the paperwork. And Obi’s handwriting is so nice...”

He grimaces. “Something like that.” He flicks a coy smile towards Shirayuki, heedless of how it sticks. “If I get a cut, I’ll be sure to come to you and get myself bandaged up.”

“Oh.” Od Ana always likes Shirayuki’s sly smiles; Obi deserves to have someone who can make sure he gets as much as he gives. “I’ll be sure to tell Suzu to keep an eye out for you. He’s the best at bandages.”

Perkunas nods, oblivious to Obi’s scowl. “He always has them. A bunch!”

“Because he’s so accident prone himself,” Od Ana can’t help but add. Hermia has her work cut out for her, keeping that one alive.

“I don’t even carry any on me,” Shirayuki informs him loftily, the lie obvious on her lips.

Obi spares them both a thin look; it’s a good camouflage for how much he clearly want to kiss her. “Aw, at least let Little Ryuu do it, Miss.”

Her smile only curves more slyly. “I think that’s up to--”

“What was that about me?”

Ryuu appears out of the crowd, as sudden as Obi ever has; space empty one minute and the next filled with a boy about to hit his first growth, limbs all at odd lengths for his small body. Asasara noses out from beneath his collar, tongue darting out to taste the air before slithering back, settling against his skin. It’s nice to know that she’s not the only one who hates this weather.

“Little Ryuu!” Obi pivots sharply on his heel, unbalancing her enough to see her flapping back over to the wall. He grins wide, hooking his hands on his hips and he looks down at the boy. “Can you do me a favor and remind Miss to start bringing bandages around with her? I’d hate to go to anyone else if I’m wounded in honorable combat.”

“Eh?” He blinks, the blue of his eyes stark against the pale parchment of his skin. “Doesn’t she already?”

Shirayuki sends him a warning look, but it’s far, far too late for that. Obi’s already spun around, victory bright on his angular face. “So Miss does carry bandages.”

Her hands fly up as he looms, though it hardly seems she wants to ward him off. “Those are for emergencies, Obi. Not for paper--”

“Ah, Sir Obi!”

Od Ana cranes her neck, peering up the stairs that lead to the wall. There’s a guard there, waving like his limbs are too long for his body to control, eyes already round in limpid by the time they meet Obi’s. “Sir Obi, sir! I’m supposed to tell you-- His Highness’s messenger has arrived.”

She doesn’t need to look to know how Obi’s body has stiffened, how his breath has caught in chest and mind’s gone to static.

“Messenger?” Od Ana says quietly, stilted. “I thought that was you.”

A long breath hisses through his teeth. “So did I.”

[jennikkugoesoff]

Monster

((Hi! I did this drabble to start feeling out some character personalities!))

((cw: Descriptions of Gore/Cannibalism, don’t worry nobody gets hurt, Light Horror, Lemon Demon’s in this, take with that what you will.))

"Keep looking. They've gotta be around here somewhere." Well, this had gone about as well as he'd expected. They were gone. Why had he agreed to help babysit the two most mischievous kids in town, did he really want to see her that much? Then again, this did sort of snowball into something bigger than he'd have liked. BF rolls his eyes and deeply sighs as he closes the bottom cupboards of the abandoned kitchen of the abandoned house. "They aren't here! I don't know where they could've gone, they just up and vanished!" he complains, adjusting his now-askew cap.

"They could've maybe just gone home. They're fairly independent for their age after all, and it's not like we're far from Lila's." GF suggested, peering into the kitchen from the open doorway. "They do know the neighborhood fairly well--" "Oh don't remind me, about once a week they come up to my apartment asking for candy." BF complains as he strains up to try and reach the top cupboards, just a little too short to reach them. "I-I've, had to start buying crappy candy regularly just to get them to fuck off." he sighs with a grunt, stretching his arms to their limits. GF chuckles as she walks up beside him and opens the cabinets for him, peering into them with him. "See, that's the ticket to this. You have to think like they do. Think about being a little kid obsessed with Halloween, where would you be hiding? They're probably snickering somewhere because we aren't coming up with the 'brilliant' hiding spot they have." she proposes, closing the cabinet after taking a good, long look. BF groans and rolls his eyes again, running a hand through his hair as he leans up against the kitchen's counter. "This is stupid. Why did we come here." he complains. "I mean, it was your idea, and I told you it was a bad idea." GF mentions. "Well you- should've- I-" BF defends, getting red in the face, before huffing and relaxing harder against the counter. "...Hey, don't worry. I can tell you're just worried about the kids. I didn't mean to drill you or anything. It'll be ok, we'll find them, ok?" she assures. "I hope so. I just--" BF's sentence was cut off by a sudden scream as he lurches forwards and starts patting himself off frantically, shaking himself off to reveal a roach skittering away after he'd knocked it off of the back of his arm. GF held her breath, but sighed with relief once she had realized what was going on, and, she couldn't help but chuckle a little bit. BF got even redder in the face. "Don't LAUGH at me!" he shouted. "What if that had been you?!" he whined angrily, his voice pitching and cracking. GF only laughed a bit harder. "I-, I mean...." she managed to get out. "I--" she tried to get out again, giggling it off. "I'm sorry, just, with how you screamed, I would've thought you'd seen a monster, and just--" CRUNCH.

The two young adults pause, and look off towards the source of the sound. "What was that?" BF asked. "...It, sounded kinda like-" CRUNCH. By this time, the gentle rain outside had turned harsh, the wind blowing scraped the overgrown branches against the windows. "...U-uh, kids?..." BF called out into the hallway where the sound had come from. ... Only silence. "Welp. I've heard enough, let's go." BF said, walking away. "Hold it there, sag-pants. You're not going anywhere until we find the kids." GF declines, grabbing her boyfriend by the back of his shirt and pulling him back. "Did you not hear that fucking inhuman crunch just now? It's probably EATEN the kids already!" he complained. "That's probably what we're hearing, the critch-crunch of their bones! Now let's not be horror movie white people and let's GO!--" he protests, trying to walk away again. "And what are we gonna tell Lila?" GF asks. "Oh, sorry, we left the kids in an abandoned house because we heard crunchy sounds that may or may not be a stranger, Skid and Pump are probably dead but at least we're still here!" she mocks with a faux-deep voice. "That ain't no stranger! That's a fucking monster!" BF protests, pointing off towards the living room. "Ok, look. If you're gonna be this much of a pussy bitch about it, I'll go and find the kids. You stay here in the living room." GF bites back, in a stern tone as she walks off. "Wait!--" BF says, stepping out into the living room, but it was too late. She'd already left. BF sighs to himself as she leaves. Well, this was a disaster. He'd put kids in danger and made GF mad at him. Or at least, it seemed that way. He hung his shoulders and put his hand on his forehead. He'd gone from starting to regret this to full on just regretting it. They were gonna be so disappointed in him, and even worse, they may have just proven how irresponsible they really were by hurting someone else's kids. Well, actually, someone else's kid and also another someone else's kid, but in a way, that was even worse. Actually no, scratch that, it was worse. Maybe though, maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe they were just heated in the moment and everything would be ok. Maybe she'd come back with the kids in just a minute. ...Yeah! Maybe he could explain all this. Explain himself. It'd be the right thing to do after all. He owed her an apology anyway after all. That was sort of a shitty little bout he had just now-- drip. Something hits BF on the shoulder. It felt like a rain drop, but it was warm. Surely it was just the pipes, right? This... house was like a bajillion years old, please just let it be the pipes. BF looks up slowly, white in the face. ... That's not a pipe. BF's eyes meet with another pair. These are cetainly not human eyes though, instead, they were large, bulbous and shining in the dark, but had large, void-like pupils that stared right through the human. BF doesn't scream. He doesn't move, he's frozen to his spot, all that escaped him is a broken breath of fear. The pair of eyes, keeping focus on him, moves slowly and methodically to the nearest wall, before a black, clawed hand begins pulling the shape of the figure down the wall. The head the eyes were socketed into was elongated, wrinkled and bright yellow, like a lemon. ...Actually, it was a lemon. Another clawed hand revealed that the ghastly form was crawling down the wall, like a spider, a disgusting chittering sound coming from it as it moved, although it was unclear whether it was making the sound or just it moving was. BF just began to sweat more and more as more of this horrible thing came into view. It had a long, skeletal body, yet velvety, jet-black skin that just barely draped across it's form, it's joints audibly popping and cracking as it moved. "Whaaat the... fuu...." the human trails, as this thing stood up. Well, kind of. It was too tall to stand at it's full height in the room, so instead, it bent over where it reached the ceiling. Most disturbing of all though. It could speak. And it does, as it leers down at him, smiling wide to reveal a mouth full of large, slightly yellowed human teeth that sat crooked in it's dark maw. "Well, well, well, what have we got here?" it asks, in a gentle, uncomfortably soothing male voice. "You're a long ways from home, aren't you, little human?" he- it, said. "W-what-- who, are... you?..." BF stumbled, taking several steps back as this thing slinked up to him like a snake, pinning him back against the wall. "Me?" the figure asked, almost curiously. "I go by a few different ones." he explained, drawing away from him. "The thing that goes bump in the night, the monster underneath your bed, or in your closet, or under the stairs, the thing from which you run, the something wicked this way comes... but most people, you know what they call me?" he asks. "W-what?" Then, the creature lets out a very human scream. A scream of pain, a scream of death, and dread. Then, he chuckles. "It's an affectionate nickname, I think." he clarifies, the disparity between the horrible shrieking and his paradoxically comforting voice uncanny. "But, let's not worry about formalities, and let's get down to brass tax." "You're a human, and you're in my territory, and that means you're game." he explains. "Game?..." BF queries. "Game, to hunt." the creature clarifies, with a chuckle. "And it's such good timing too, I love humans, my favorite part is the skin, and how at just the right temperature, it so easily peels from your-" But ever-so abruptly, the creature's dialogue was interrupted by the sound of heels on wooden stairs. "Hey! BF! I just got a call from Lila, the kids did go home! Apparently they got distracted for a while and just, left? We can finally get out of this-" GF cuts in, as she stops about halfway down the stairs. "Oh. Great. It's you." she sighs, rolling her eyes. "I should've known you'd be here, you creep." she says, taking several paces down the stairs and walking around to their sides, pulling BF out of the corner and close to her. "Y-you know this thing?" BF asked, clutching his girlfriend close. "Unfortunately." she adds. "Ohh, ohohoho... Gwen, you didn't tell me you had a little boyfriend." the monster coos, as he reaches out and draws a finger underneath BF's chin, but the hand is quickly slapped away by GF. "Don't touch him." she warns. "You couldn't stop me, even if you wanted to." he brings up, looking sly, as he slinks away from the pair. "Oh what to do with you two..." he says. "I've always wanted a two course meal..." he almost, whispers, drooling as a huge, rancid slab of meat lolls from his mouth and he licks his lips, tracing across one of his bulbous eyes like a lizard. "Yeah, whatever, you ain't shit." GF fires back. "Don't tempt him..." BF frantically whispers back. "He's fine. He won't do anything, just keep him talking, it'll get his guard down. He thinks we're weaker than him. No matter what he says, just, don't be afraid, ok?" she whispers back. "'Ain't shit'?" the monster asks, almost offended, and holding his hand up to his mouth, before chuckling. "I think you'll find I'm quite the connoisseur of... heh, alternative cuisine." he says, bending down at the pair, his breath stinking of the same rancid meat that his tongue appeared to be... and vague hints of citrus. "Hm, what to do is the question though, I mean, your skulls would simply make lovely little soup bowls, from which to drink your blood..." he said. "Or.. hm, your bones would make excellent broth, wouldn't they?" he asks. "Light, sippable... although I must confess, your little boyfriend's torso would make an excellent roast, stuffed with your guts, left to steep in the oven for five hours... just, thinking about that smell.." he describes, drooling heavily. BF was shaking like a leaf, clutching his girlfriend tightly. "Aren't you scared?!" he hiss-whispers to her. "Watch this." she says, with a wink and a smile, as she urges him off of her, and she walks away. "Or, maybe I could put you both on different racks of the oven... serve you both up on silver platters, and turn your teeth into- wait, where are you going?" A couple seconds of awkward silence follows as GF walks back into the kitchen, and pulls something out of the drawer. "Hey, you know what you should serve up with a couple of golden-brown human roasts?" she asks. "A nice, ice-cold glass of... lemonade." she says, as she hold out her hand to reveal a hand-juicer. The monster's tune then changes completely, his huge eyes widen even more and his pupils shrink as he sharply gasps, scuttling into the corner of the living room, forcing himself into the corner, his disproportionate bones seeming to almost disjoint as he takes on some unnatural-looking positioning to mash himself further into the corner. "H-hey now! T-there's no need for that! I-... h-heh, heh, c-c'mon now, I was just kidding! H-he, he gets it, don'tcha?" the monster defends, gesturing to BF as he tries to cover his ass as he slinks back. "Ohh, but weren't you just saying you should turn us into roasts? C'mon, wouldn't a nice thick lemon-rum glaze go nice with that?" GF asks, stepping forwards. "N-no! No! It wouldn't! You've got the flavors all mixed up! Y-you animals! Stay back!" he warns, thick beads of light yellow sweat falling from his face as his wide smile contorts into a wide frown. "I-I I, taste terrible! I'm sour! I'll make your lips pucker!" he fires. BF, having been impressed by all this, decides to step in himself, walking up and taking the juicer. "Oh but it'd be so nice though! Perhaps afterwards we could use the leftovers to make some tasty lemon squares?... Or maybe some lemon meringue pie?" he suggested, smiling devilishly as he watched the monster's face get increasingly horrified. The now quivering-monster shrieks in despair. "Y-you better... p-put that thing down right now, y-you, you barbarians!" he threatens, his bloodshot eyes going completely red as he begins stalking up towards them, growling. "Oh it's so satisfying, the sound that a halved lemon makes... when you squeeze it." BF croons, pretending to juice a lemon, and stepping forward. That was it for the monster, he couldn't take it anymore, so off he went, quick as a flash, whimpering like a dog as he scuttles away, climbing up the wall, breaking one of the windows and crawling through it like a distressed house centipede. BF stands there, feeling quite pleased with himself as he drops the juicer. GF giggles and claps. "Nice job, Hannibal. Let's get out of here before he realizes he's several feet taller than us." she warns. "Yeah. I think I've had my fill of spooks for one day too." BF agrees, as they head toward the front door, hand-in-hand.

[honey-dewey]

We all Cope Somehow

Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 2,017

Warnings: Javier gets sad, Steve gets drunk, Javier is creepy for all of two seconds, Javier has a breakdown, talking about scars and injuries. 

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

The fight is hard, and at the end of the day, everyone has their coping mechanism. Steve drinks until he can’t remember why he opened a bottle. Javier gets lost with some corner girl who won’t remember his name or face. You cook and nurture your boys because no one else will. That’s just how life is, until Javier comes home late, unable to find his forgetfulness.

“Javi?” 

“What?” 

You shuffled slightly, the ache in your back ever persistent. “I made dinner. Are you staying?” 

Javier nodded, putting out his cigarette and coming in from the balcony, seeing Steve with his third drink at the table already. “What’s for dinner?” 

“Figured we could use a taste of home,” you said, putting a plate with a steak on it in front of Javier. “Texas, right?” 

Another nod from Javier, who wordlessly began to eat. Steve gulped down his drink and shakily picked up his knife. You immediately stepped in, taking the steak knife and cutting Steve’s food for him. 

“Thank you,” he slurred, and you smiled.

“Any time.” 

After dinner, you cut Steve off, giving him some water and bread and sitting him down on your couch. Javier scooped his jacket up and made to leave, turning back to look at you one last time before silently slipping out. 

You noticed Javier leaving, not bothering to say anything. Turning to face him walking out your door would be painful, seeing him and knowing he was going to bury himself in some stranger on the street, not looking for comfort but escape. Knowing those kind eyes would go dark with a feral, primal lust that couldn’t be stopped. You tucked a blanket around Steve, left him two painkillers, and went to go sleep yourself. 

Harsh knocking at your door hours later woke you. Steve groaned, and you immediately tugged a robe around yourself and ran to the door. 

“Go back to sleep Stevie,” you said softly, peering through the door’s peephole and seeing the back of Javier’s head. “It’s just Javi.” 

Steve fell back into the couch, disappearing into sleep once more. You tugged the door open quietly, shushing Javier as he went to talk. “Shh. Steve’s asleep.” 

Javier nodded, gesturing to your bedroom. You silently agreed, bare feet making almost no noise as you two headed towards the room. 

“What are you doing back here?” You asked, shutting your bedroom door and turning to Javier. “You never come back after you leave for the night and, Javi!” 

You shouted his name, shoving his hands off your body. In the dim bedroom lights, you could see his pupils blown wide with that lust he reserved for women who could handle it. But now, with no outlet and no other options, Javier was turning to the next available thing.

“C’mon,” he crooned softly, reaching out for you again. “You know you want me.” 

“Not like this!” You shouted, jumping away from his wandering hands. “Javi! Christ, get away from me! Javier!” 

That seemed to break Javier, his body crumpling as you shied away. You knew that no matter what state he was in, he would never hurt you. But this still wasn’t comforting. 

“Javi?” You asked softly, seeing him still. “Javi, honey, you okay? Are you in there?” 

Javier shook his head. Tiny, minuscule movements that made you scared. 

“Hey,” you said, reaching out but not touching. “Let’s go for a drive.” 

He followed you out, numbly climbing into the car and waiting for you to start it. Taking a midnight drive probably wasn’t advised, but it calmed Javier down and to see him smile again, you’d personally fight Escobar, no matter the odds. 

Taking a turn out of the neighborhood and finding your favorite winding road, you drove in relative silence, Javier gazing out the window as the lights grew smaller and smaller until they looked like bright stars in the sky, making messy bunches of constellations. The hum of the car and the rock of the road beneath you calmed him, easing his troubled mind until he finally began to cry. 

“Oh Javi, honey, it’s okay,” you mumbled, stopping the car in an abandoned parking lot and leaning over the console to hug Javier. “Hey, it’s okay honey. You weren’t right, and that’s just fine. It’s okay to not be okay, you hear me?” 

Javier nodded, burying himself in your arms and mumbling out soft, broken, apologies. 

You hummed, smoothing a hand over his heaving back. “Javi, I forgive you. I will always forgive you.” 

Another agonizing ten minutes passed, during which you held Javier as he shook and cried and let everything out. You simply rubbed his back and held him close, promising you would always be there. 

Finally, finally, Javier pulled away, still trembling. You held his hands, smoothing your thumbs over the scarred skin on the backs of his hands. “You never told me about this,” you realized, peering deeper at the pebbled scar that spanned the entire back of Javier’s left hand. 

Javier pulled in a breath. You couldn’t tell if he knew you were trying to distract him, but you needed to get his mind off his current pain. “My brother,” he said slowly, a horrible rasp to his voice. “we had a treadmill, and my hand got caught in it. My brother was running on top of it. It wasn’t his fault.” 

You smiled, examining his face. Pushing sweaty hair off his forehead, you traced another scar, barely an inch long, in the dead center of Javier’s forehead. “This one?” 

“I was six,” Javier remembered. “My sister threw a ball under a table, and I ran too fast to duck in time. Hit the stupid thing head on. Thirteen stitches.” 

Another kind smile, and this time you moved forward to press a warm kiss to the scar. “And that one on your elbow you refuse to tell Steve about?” 

That was able to draw a laugh out of Javier, even if it was skittering and faint. “My other sister, the oldest, let me have her old roller skates when she outgrew them.” As he talked, Javier’s words got steadier and steadier, the shake to his hands slowly fading. “We lived on a street with a cul-de-sac at the end, and there was a hill leading up to the circle. My sister showed me how to turn at the cul-de-sac, in a big loop. I started at the top of the hill to gain speed. But I fucked it up. I was going too fast and couldn’t control myself, so I ended up tripping, and skidded three feet. It’s a miracle I didn’t break something. My elbow was somehow the only casualty.” 

You giggled, rolling his sleeves up and lifting his right arm so you could kiss the quarter sized scar. “A daring injury,” you promised. “That one on your ankle I teased you about?” 

Javier shook his head, a small smile pulling at his lips. “A glass cup my sisters used to shave shattered in the shower. Cut me in two places. Why are you asking about the boring ones?” 

Shrugging, you traced a longer, more wicked scar on Javier’s left arm. “Because they’re fun scars. War stories are interesting, but they’re not you.” As you explained, you felt a knot in your chest grow, drawing the breath from your lungs. “Those little scars, they tell me who you are. You’re a dork, a family man, a brother, a lover, a truster. When I ask about the bad scars, all I see is a soldier.” 

Javier grabbed your arms, steadying you. “Tell me about this,” he said, poking a scar on your cheek that was often mistaken for a dimple. 

You nodded. “I was a toddler. Ran into a bannister in the hallway, and the sharp edge got my cheek. I needed two stitches.” 

Tracing down your arms, Javier turned your wrists over and thumbed over the identical lines that were burned into the crease of each wrist. “These?” 

“A common contact point for the blazingly hot pots and pans I cook with.” You shivered as Javier kissed each one. “I dunno if there’s much feeling in that bit of my skin.” 

Javier’s eyebrows knit, the worry plain in his face. “And you cook anyway?” 

“It’s my escape,” you said softly. “When I cook, I can imagine we’re not getting death threats, that we’re just a few close friends on a trip together and we didn’t want to go out for dinner. I can imagine I’m back home, cooking for my family or that we’re celebrating your birthday when I make a cake instead of us getting a huge lead. You find women who help you forget, I cook and bake to escape.” 

“Oh.” Javier smoothed a thumb over another small scar, half an inch long, on the delicate flesh between your finger and thumb. “Knife?” 

You nodded. “I got myself pretty good there when I was cutting veggies a few years back. No stitches, but I bled like crazy. My roommate thought I was super hurt.” 

Gently resting your captive hands on the wheel of the car, Javier ticked the radio up, letting soft music fill the space. “Thank you,” he said. “For driving me out here. For not hating me.” 

You shook your head. “I could never hate you Javi. You were just lost. I helped find you again.” 

That grin you’d worked so hard for finally returned, the one that he’d give you over dinner when you made something impressive and when he had to help you with your bulletproof vest. “Should we go home? Steve’s gonna wake up soon.” 

You nodded. “Sure. Poor thing’s gonna be so hungover today.” 

Sure enough, when you two got home, Steve was sitting up on the couch. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but you were DEA agents. You woke up before the day even started. 

“Where were you?” Steve said, standing and stumbling to the door. “I was so worried!” 

“We went for a drive,” you reassured, grabbing Steve’s arms to steady him. “Javi, darling, will you grab a pack of bacon from the fridge? I’m gonna make breakfast.” 

Javier grabbed the bacon while you steered Steve back to the couch. 

“You called me darling,” Javier noticed once you’d entered the kitchen, tossing on an apron and turning a small portable radio on. “Intentional?” 

You grabbed his shirt collar and kissed him. “Yeah. Intentional,” you said as you broke away, opening the bacon. “Start the coffee?” 

Javier swore softly, grabbing the coffee and three mugs. “I guess I should stop finding those corner girls to help me forget, huh?”

Taking out a pan, you shrugged. “I could always teach you to cook,” you said. “Or you could take up photography like Steve. Or, better yet, sewing. I know you can already do it.” 

“I cannot sew.” 

“Yes you can,” you countered, reaching around Javier to grab the eggs. “I watched you fix a shirt once.” 

Javier swore again. “I think I’ll try cooking,” he decided, standing behind you and loosely wrapping his arms around your middle. “Scrambled?” 

Nodding, you cracked six eggs into the pan. “Start making the toast please,” you said, and Javier did so, touching you every time he passed. Just soft touches, a comforting hand brushing your back or shoulder when he walked behind you. 

Over breakfast, you read the paper as best you could, occasionally asking Javier to translate. Steve had his head in his hand, the other hand holding his coffee cup. He listened halfheartedly, not making a sound as he took in the information. 

“Alright,” you said, folding the paper and standing, taking everyone’s empty plate. “Get ready for work. Today’s gonna be busy.” 

Steve left, heading upstairs to grab clothes. Javier went across the hall, finishing first and coming back, finding you already ready, adjusting your lipstick in the mirror. “Waiting on Steve?” 

“Waiting on Steve,” you confirmed, turning to Javier. “Well don’t you look good.” 

Javier smiled. He was wearing the red shirt you openly adored, the top few buttons popped open. 

“Lovebirds,” Steve said from your doorway, adjusting his own shirt. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late.” 

You laughed. “We could never. Not with how you drive.” 

Javier nodded his agreement and followed you out to the car. Steve looked back at the two of you, arm in arm. “So, what’s this?” 

“This, Steve,” you said, turning a finger and gesturing for him to look where he was going. “Is love.”

[wondernimbus]

quidditch world cup — seamus finnigan

pairing: seamus finnigan x female!reader

request: Would you write a Seamus Finnigan imagine during the Quidditch World Cup where his crush sits near them during the game and has a tent near the Finnigans (and Dean) and when the Death Eaters attack and he and his crush hide from the Death Eaters together?

a/n: i changed a few minor details about the original request but other than that, enjoy! 

A palpable buzz of excitement still hangs in the air after the match has officially ended. Some of those rooting for Bulgaria trudge out of the stands looking glum, but most, although the team they had been rooting for lost, are just as excited as the Irish—or perhaps not as excited, but close to it. On her way back to the tents, [Y/N] spots no less than five fans of Ireland weeping tears of joy.

"You'd think they won a thousand galleons with how they were acting," [Y/N] points out with a laugh after coming across an Irish fan pounding his fists on the ground and bawling loudly.

Beside her, Dean Thomas snickers. "I bet a thousand galleons Seamus is somewhere going bonkers—oh, there he is."

[Y/N], with much difficulty, tears her gaze away from the bawling man and looks up. Sure enough, Seamus Finnigan is standing a couple feet away from them in front of his tent, wildly brandishing a pole on which hangs the flag of Ireland.

She can't help but laugh at the sight. "How long do you think before he starts crying?"

Dean nudges her. "I assume you'll be wiping his tears away when he does?"

"Oh, shut up."

Seamus catches sight of them when they draw closer. He stops waving his flag around and grins at the pair, looking the happiest [Y/N] has ever seen him. "We won, lads!" he yells, bounding towards them.

"Lads?" [Y/N] wrinkles her nose, fighting back a laugh. Seamus looks like a five-year-old on Christmas day who just got the toy broomstick he wanted.

"Don't mind his vocabulary, [Y/N]. He's half out of his mind," Dean says in a mock sympathetic voice, clasping Seamus's shoulder with one hand. "You good, mate? Sure you don't need to sit down?"

"Never been better!" Seamus answers breathlessly, eyes wide with mirth as he bounces slightly on his toes. "Never had any doubt Ireland would win—poor Bulgaria never had a chance!"

"Don't start crying on us now, Seamus," Dean sniggers. "Or at least if you do, do it on [Y/N]—"

"Seamus!" [Y/N] exclaims, cutting Dean off with a sideways glare. "The painting on your, um, cheek—it's gone a little messy. Would you like me to fix it for you?"

It's not a lie. The large four-leaf clover painted on Seamus's right cheek has gone smudged and looks more like a big blob of green than what it's actually supposed to be. He absentmindedly drags his hand across his cheek, making it even worse.

Dean snorts. "Oh, now you're just doing it on purpose—"

"Can't say no to that, [Y/N]!" grins Seamus. "Gotta show my Ireland pride. I've got a brush or two in my tent. Come on, you two!"

Dean gives [Y/N] a look. She smacks him on the shoulder and rolls her eyes. "What?" she whispers as they follow Seamus into his tent.

"You seem an awful lot like you're up to something," Dean grins, not bothering to lower his tone.

"Who's up to something?" Seamus asks, rummaging in his bag presumably in search for a paintbrush.

"No one," [Y/N] assures him, glowering at Dean. And then, in a hushed voice, "I am not up to something—I'm his friend, I'm just being nice."

Dean raises his eyebrows at her, obviously not convinced. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she turns to Seamus, who has successfully located a small paintbrush and bottles of green and white paint. "Here you go, [Y/N]—Dean, where are you going?"

[Y/N] looks back at Dean only to see that he's halfway out of the tent flaps, back hunched as though he'd been tip-toeing. He straightens up, trying very hard to mask the devious grin on his face, and shrugs. "I just remembered I had to, uh, meet with Lee," [Y/N] gapes at him in disbelief. "I'll see you two later!"

And then, with no more than a final annoying smirk at [Y/N], Dean leaves the pair of them alone in the tent. [Y/N] lets out a quick breath of incredulous laughter, shaking her head as her gaze skitters back to Seamus, who looks just as perplexed as she does.

"Do you—um—" for some reason, some of the glee in Seamus's eyes dies out and is replaced by a touch of awkwardness; [Y/N] can see it in how his gaze darts away from hers. "Do you still wanna—" he gestures to the paintbrush and paint he holds in his hands.

[Y/N] has never hated Dean in her life more than she does now. "Of course," she sniffs, letting out a laugh in an attempt to ease the sudden burst of awkwardness now hanging between them.

Seamus hands her the paintbrush and paint, scratching the back of his head. "You don't have to do it really well, it's alright—I'm washing it off before I sleep anyway—"

[Y/N] lets out a genuine snort of laughter. "Are you sure?" she asks, eyebrows raised. "You seem like the type to show Irish pride wherever and whenever, even when you're asleep."

Seamus ducks his head in shame. "You've got that one right," he grins toothily. "Those blokes were amazing up there, don't you think? Never had any doubt they were gonna win—and Troy was bloody spectacular, did you see his goals?"

"They were hard to miss," [Y/N] agrees, amused as she pries the paintbrush and paint off of Seamus's hands and beckons for him to sit down on the couch, which he does, still rambling on about Troy—Ireland's best Chaser.

"Knew right off the bat he was gonna end up scoring the first goal—he's been training the longest out of all of them, see, he got signed right after he left Hogwarts and he's been under the Irish National Quidditch Team's wing for a decade!"

[Y/N] nods along, a smile playing on her lips as she dips the brush into green paint.

"And that was a bit of a daft move by Krum, don't you think, catching the snitch when Ireland was more than a hundred and fifty points up? Kinda' feel bad for the bloke, I bet his teammates are having a go at him right n—"

Seamus stops talking when she leans in close and places a hand on his cheek.

He swallows.

"Why'd you stop?" [Y/N] asks, pulling back momentarily and laughing.

Seamus swallows again, blinking rapidly. "You just. Uh, caught me by surprise."

She narrows her eyes at him playfully, smiling despite the blush coating her cheeks that she hopes to Merlin Seamus doesn't notice. "I'll be sure to give you a warning next time," she assures him, eyes twinkling. "You good?"

He nods, fidgeting around in his seat as he mumbles something about the Irish team.

[Y/N] leans in for a second time, hovering over him with one hand on his cheek to keep his head steady and the other fixing the painting of the four-leaf clover.

Seamus sits as still as he can, barely even breathing as he glues his eyes to a random spot beyond [Y/N]'s shoulder so he doesn't have to look her in the eye. In a lame attempt at conversation, he asks, trying not to move his lips too much, "Who—who were you rooting for?"

With her tongue darting out of her lips in concentration, she mutters, "Bulgaria."

Seamus's eyes widen almost comically. "You—what—" he blubbers, looking as though he wants to flail around in his seat. "Bulgaria?"

[Y/N] nods, jokingly scowling at him as she drags the brush across his cheek. "What, you don't want my filthy Bulgaria-loving hands on you?"

He opens and closes his mouth, looking at a complete loss for words. All he manages to get out is "Bulgaria?" in the same incredulous tone.

"Yes," [Y/N] laughs, drawing back to look at her creation. She places both hands on her hips as she tilts her head at him, eyes surveying the slightly better-looking four-leaf clover. "I think you're ready to go—unless you want to wash it off, since a Bulgaria fan drew it for you."

Seamus sits there, looking deeply offended at the notion of her supporting his favorite team's opponent. "I," he inhales, "am disappointed."

[Y/N] rolls her eyes, giggling in amusement as she sets down the paint and paintbrush on the table. "Cry me a river, Finnigan. Your team won, anyway—I don't see why you're so upset."

He rises to his feet, massaging his temples as though he's sporting a massive headache. "I'm very disappointed, [Y/N]," he admits, and she can't quite tell whether or not he's being serious. "You have everything—you're nice and you've got good humor and you're downright bloody gorgeous but you support Bulgaria?"

[Y/N] stares at him, the amused grin on her face slowly drooping as she registers his words.

"Bloody.. gorgeous?" she repeats, blinking.

Seamus's body turns rigid. He blinks rapidly, eyes wide like he's been caught in the act. "I didn't—"

Suddenly, a shrill, ear-deafening scream cuts through the air, louder than the celebratory hoots and whistles of the Irish. This one is filled with terror and fear and pain—the stuff of nightmares.

[Y/N] doesn't hesitate; she rushes to the tent entrance, dread blossoming in her stomach with every step she takes.

Everyone has stopped celebrating. The whole field seems to be at a standstill; smiles have fallen, the thrill of the Quidditch match forgotten as everyone stares up at the sky, where four people are being tossed about in mid-air.

"Are those—are those Muggles?" gasps [Y/N], horrified.

Another scream interrupts the deadly silence. And then another. And then another, until everyone starts screaming and running and the sounds of panic build up into a horrifying crescendo. Seamus tugs on [Y/N]'s arm—she hadn't realized she'd been frozen, transfixed at the horrendous sight above her.

"Come on, we gotta go—" Seamus is saying, dragging her by the arm. "[Y/N]!"

[Y/N] snaps herself out of her reverie. The tents are on fire. People are trampling over each other in desperation to flee to the forests. Her brain tells her to start running, so she does, Seamus clutching her hand beside her in a vice-like grip as witches and wizards alike push past them, shoulders ramming into theirs.

"Just keep running, we have to make it to the woods!" Seamus yells above the noise of panic; one of the Muggles in the air have started screaming—a woman—and loud, boisterous laughter ensues.

"Seamus, who are those people?" [Y/N] gasps, eyes catching onto the crowd of masked wizards standing beneath the Muggles. They're standing just several feet away from them, wands drawn as they march closer, huddled together in a pack. "Are those—"

"Don't look, [Y/N]—come on—"

Just before [Y/N] averts her shocked gaze, one of the wizards points his wand in her direction and a jet of green light rushes straight towards her—and it would have hit her right in the back if Seamus hadn't pulled her down at the last second.

Eyes wide with panic and her chest pumping with the adrenaline of nearly having been cursed, [Y/N] scrambles to her feet and lets Seamus drag her into a random nearby tent. "Stay quiet—don't move," he hisses once they've made it behind the tent flaps, crouching just behind the entrance.

"Seamus—were those—"

"Death Eaters, I think," he confirms her suspicions, gritting his teeth. "And they nearly damn cursed you."

[Y/N]'s grip on Seamus's hand tightens as she clamps her mouth shut, willing herself to stay as still and silent as possible. The woman's screaming intensifies and [Y/N]'s heart skips several beats when she hears it get closer and closer to where she and Seamus are hiding.

"Can't we just kill her already? Her screams disgust me almost as much as her blood does."

The voice is coming from right outside the tent. [Y/N]'s breathing gets quicker and she quickly covers her mouth with the hand that's not holding on to Seamus's.

"We are not here to kill—we are here to demonstrate," drawls another voice. "Let everyone see the powerlessness of these filthy, useless Muggles. It disappoints me how we have to resort to such means to prove an obvious point."

Seamus meets [Y/N]'s gaze; she sees her own fear reflected in his eyes. But even then, he gives her a reassuring smile, squeezing her hand in his as he mouths, "It's gonna be okay."

Slowly, she nods.

But then one of the wizards—one of the Death Eaters, her brain supplies not very helpfully—says, "Oi, do you see that?"

"See what?"

"That shadow. There's someone inside the tent—"

"Leave it. We are not here to harm magical blood."

"Shut up—who knows, we might get lucky and find ourselves a Mudblood!" Footsteps draw closer to their tent. Seamus and [Y/N] can do no more but crouch behind the entrance, eyes wide in mutual panic. "Come out, you!"

The tent flaps rustle. A hand pokes out—but then several screams cut through the air, and a sound like a powerful spell being cast echoes across the field.

"It's the Dark Mark!"

Several loud popping noises ensue. [Y/N] knows that sound; it's that of someone—or in this case, several people—apparating away. And then she hears four loud thuds outside, as though heavy bodies are dropping to the ground.

"I think they're gone," Seamus says, but his tone is still hushed.

[Y/N] doesn't pause to check. She unleashes her grasp from Seamus's and darts out of the tent, Seamus yelling behind her, and sure enough, the four Muggles who had been suspended in mid-air just moments before are now lying on the ground, eyes wide in terror except for the two young children who have fainted.

"Oh my God—"

"[Y/N]!" Someone—Seamus—catches her from behind as her knees buckle underneath her and her lungs seize up in her chest.

"Seamus—they—we have to help them—"

"[Y/N], calm down—"

She wrenches herself out of Seamus's hold and rushes to kneel down next to the Muggle woman, whose eyes have gone hazy, staring off into blank space. She doesn't even seem to have noticed [Y/N], who hovers over her, hands trembling, unsure of what to do.

Shaking, she takes the woman's hand in hers and squeezes, repeatedly saying something along the lines of "everything's fine, they're gone now" as Seamus stands back helplessly, wand in his hand as his eyes dart around the seemingly empty field of tents.

"[Y/N], we can't stay out here, they might come b—"

"What about them, Seamus?" [Y/N] cuts him off, gesturing wildly to the Muggles. "What are they going to do if the Death Eaters do come back? We can't just leave them here—"

Another loud, popping noise erupts through the air. All around them, familiar faces have appeared—ministry wizards. Seamus tugs on her arm and pulls her back to her feet, watching as the group of frazzled-looking wizards fuss over the Muggles.

"This is madness!" one of them exclaims, shaking his head in disbelief. Then his eyes meet Seamus and [Y/N]'s, and he immediately advances towards them, wand drawn.

"Calm down, Amos," another wizard says, stopping him in his tracks. "They're just children." And then, turning to the shaken pair, he nods. "Go back to your tents, you two. Everything's been taken care of."

"But—" [Y/N] begins, a thousand questions teetering just behind her lips, but Seamus mutters "let's go" next to her and tugs her along.

—

[Y/N] can't sleep at all that night.

She lies awake in her bed in her tent, the rest of her family already asleep. They'd been incredibly worried when she'd turned up outside of their tent after things had started to calm down. Seamus had insisted on walking her back, but [Y/N] had known that his mother must have been out of her mind with worry as well, so she'd told him it was okay.

Now, she stares up at the ceiling. Her hands haven't quite stopped shaking yet. Traces of the fear she'd felt before remain in her heart like an itch that just won't go away. She can't quite rid herself of it; the pure and utter terror she'd felt when she first saw the family of Muggles being tossed to-and-fro in mid-air.. the panic that tore at her heart when the Death Eater approached the tent she and Seamus had been hiding in..

She remembers being pulled to the ground as a curse hurtled through the air that had been aimed for her. She remembers the screaming. The vacant, unfocused looks on the Muggles' faces when the Death Eaters disappeared.

Suddenly, the tent feels too stuffy. She gets up out of bed and sneaks to the entrance, wanting to rid herself of the suffocating feeling in her chest with a bout of fresh air. She can't get out of there fast enough—she nearly trips over her own feet in desperation, and when she does tear past the tent flaps, she lets out a tiny scream.

"Seamus!"

Clutching her chest in surprise, she takes a step back.

Seamus is standing there, eyes wide like a deer in headlights before he drops his gaze bashfully and scratches the back of his head. "Hey," he says, raising a hand in greeting, but then he seems to remember that they're literally only three feet apart and drops his hand back to his side.

"Hey," [Y/N] says breathlessly. "What are you—what are you doing here?"

Seamus shoves one hand into his pocket, shifting a little on his feet. Quietly, he tells her, "I wanted to check if you were okay."

[Y/N] stares at him for a moment, unsure of what to say or how to react. The "I'm okay" rests on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't have the energy to lie, so she just shakes her head and hopes to leave it at that.

Slowly—hesitantly, Seamus moves his gaze back to hers. "I'm not, either," he admits with a painful grin, fidgeting where he stands. "Can't really sleep. Too much thinking. Death Eaters and Muggles being tortured and.."

He inhales sharply, shaking his head. "You almost got cursed," he says quietly. "If I hadn't been there—"

"Can I hug you, Seamus?" [Y/N] cuts him off, and her voice sounds oddly pained. Like she's holding herself back from crying.

Seamus blinks, surprised.

"I'm sorry, I just—"

"Sure," he exhales, letting out a long breath he didn't know he was holding. "Sure, [Y/N]. Of course."

[Y/N] doesn't wait; she walks forward and throws her arms around him, gripping much too tight. She needs this. She needs something to ground her back to reality—something to pull her away from the dark part of her brain teeming with thoughts of death and torture.

It takes him a few seconds, but Seamus hugs her back. He may not know it, but when he wraps his arms around her and pats her back albeit a little awkwardly, he's bringing her back from the nightmarish part of her head.

They stay like that for quite some time. When [Y/N] pulls away, she wipes at her cheeks hurriedly and steps away, clearing her throat. "Sorry," she winces, trying for a small laugh. "It's just.. been a little much, is all."

Seamus nods, pressing his lips together. "Bit weird how just a few hours ago we'd all been losing our heads over Ireland winning, innit?" and it's a measly attempt to cheer her up, but [Y/N] looks up at him and smiles anyway. It's a little sad—a little off—but it's a smile nonetheless.

"I'm pretty sure that was just you," she tells him quietly, that same tiny smile on her face.

"Yeah, well at least Ireland won," Seamus retorts defensively, the same passion he'd been sporting a few hours ago making itself known again. And then he seems to remember that this isn't the time to be arguing about Quidditch; "Nevermind. Sorry."

"It's fine," [Y/N] assures him, a genuine smile breaking out on her face. "It's fine, Seamus. While we're at it.. you didn't finish telling me about Troy earlier."

[Y/N] needs to stop thinking about everything that happened, and she knows Seamus does too.

What better way to do that than with Seamus's passionate opinions on Ireland?

He seems to consider this for a moment. And then he folds his arms over his chest and begins in a theatrical, haughty tone, "You wouldn't know since you're a Bulgaria fan yourself," he says with feigned spite (or what she hopes is feigned), "But Troy is one of the best Chasers the Quidditch League has ever seen—he learned to fly a broom before he could even walk!"

"Somehow I find that hard to believe."

"Yeah, well, believe it. Anyways, Troy—unlike Krum—is plenty talented.."

[pixxiesdust]

Crimson Snow (pt. 3) • Bakugou Katsuki

Summary • We all know the story of Little Red Riding Hood. But all stories, especially ones passed through spoken word, can change with time. This is the true story of a girl who wandered into the forest, wearing a cloak white as snow, and left on the back of a beast with a crimson cape trailing behind her.

Pairing • Shifter!Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Word Count • 6.8k

Tags and Warnings • Fairy tale AU, captivity, violence, blood, swearing, mentions of nudity, fluff, angst, eventual happy ending.

Note • This is the third part of a fic I originally wrote for @bnhabookclub​’s Provisional License Exam Event! Thanks to the lovely @unbreakableeiji​, @fanfic-me-up​, and @etegomanere​ for betaing! 

part 1 • part 2 • part 3 • part 4

–

“There,” Bakugou grunts as the shackle around his ankle pops open. It reveals a red ring of skin, rubbed raw and burned by the cuff, making you grimace in sympathy. A matching ring circles his other ankle, and you think there’s a set on his wrists too, but those are obscured by the bandages you wrapped around him in his wolf form.

“Your turn.” He flips the knife in the air and catches it by the flat of the blade, holding the handle out to you. “Get this shitty collar off me.”

You eye the knife wearily before taking it into your hand. “You want something sharp next to your neck?”

“You gonna try to kill me?”

Eyes widening, you shake your head rapidly.

“Then, I’ll be fine.”

“If you insist,” you say, then wait expectantly. 

He looks at you, frowning. “What’re you waiting around for?”

“I can’t move any further!” Shaking your left ankle, the chain rattles with the movement. “Come here.”

“Hey!” he snaps as he closes the distance between you, flinching at the pain from his ribs. “I’m a wolf shifter, not a dog!”

“Oh really?” you ask airily, sitting up on your knees to get a better look at the collar around his neck. “I couldn’t tell. You still came anyway.”

You hide a smile as an irritated growl ripples through Bakugou’s throat. 

One of your hands reaches out to cup his neck, keeping it steady as you carefully try to fit the tip of the knife into the opening in the collar. “How badly are you injured?” you ask quietly, knowing that he might not admit to anything willingly. He opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off with a quick shake of your head. “And don’t try to hide it—I heard a snap when Overhaul kicked you, and you winced when you moved.” 

But the most obvious sign is the large bruise that spans his ribs, a majority of it deep purple, with putrid yellow and green on the edges. He’s shirtless, but he managed to make some sort of covering for his lower half out of your cloak.

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, not wanting to admit his weakness. But when you stop working at the lock and sit back to stare at him expectantly, he snaps at you, red eyes flashing. “I’m fucking fine! I’m not some weak-ass who collapses after a couple of hits.”

“I’m not saying that you are,” you reply calmly. “But I need you to be in the best shape possible if we’re going to escape.”

He exhales slowly and nods. When he speaks this time, it’s with a lot less aggression. “I’ll be fine. Shifters heal quickly.” Bakugou unwraps the cloth bandages around his wrists, letting the fabric drop to the ground. 

“Wow,” you breathe, stroking the fingers of your free hand across his wrist. The skin is smooth, with no sign of the blood and irritation you had seen on his wolf form. You drop your gaze to his feet and find that his ankles are looking better than they were before.

Bakugou draws his hand back to his side, and you realize that you’ve been resting your fingertips against his wrist. Pulling your own hand back, you duck your head down for a moment in embarrassment before you start picking at the collar’s lock again.

“What does Overhaul put on the inside of these shackles?” you ask. Your brows furrow as the tip of the knife barely fits through the small opening for the key. Bakugou had gotten the shackles off in just a few minutes, and you’re even more astounded by his speed. But even though it isn’t working well, you persist, wiggling the knife this way and that. 

“Huh? Put something on them?”

“Your skin looked really irritated and was even bloody when you first took the shackles off. Even mine doesn’t hurt as much. Did Overhaul put some kind of poison on them?”

Bakugou is silent for a moment, then a tremor runs through his body that makes you jerk the knife away in fear of hurting him. He scoffs out a laugh, amused by your question. You look away from his neck and stare into his eyes, pouting. “You want me to hurt you or something? What’s so funny?”

His lips curl up at the corners before he starts speaking. “It’s not what he put on them, sweetheart, it’s what he made them out of.”

The term of endearment makes your face feel hot, but you don’t bring attention to it. Instead, you eye the pile of chains and shackles by Bakugou’s side. “Iron? Steel?” He shakes his head, and you guess again. “Silver?”

“Silver,” he confirms. “It’s a metal that can burn wolf shifters when it’s in contact with them. That wannabe Plague Doctor likes using them so much ‘cause they make me weak,” he hisses out the last word, contempt filling his voice.

“If this is you weak,” you say, “then I’d be terrified to face you at your strongest.”

“Whatever.” Bakugou turns his face away from yours and crosses his arms over his chest. “Now stop getting distracted! Get this thing off me, and let’s get the hell out.”

You put the tip of the knife to the keyhole of the collar and sigh. “The knife isn’t working well on this one.”

“Then you’re not doing it right,” Bakugou snaps.

“If I can’t fit the knife in the stupid keyhole, how the hell am I supposed to unlock it to get it off you?” your voice is raised by the end of it, and you duck your head down when you realize that you’ve basically yelled at him. “Sorry,” you say. “Though I don’t think I can work with the knife on this one.”

Bakugou is quiet, thinking hard. “I–” he starts, then stops and swallows. “Don’t apologize. You’re new to this–” he ignores your eye roll and your scoff of “clearly,” and continues, “–and I need to remember that.”

“Some apology,” you say, though your voice is softer now and is more amused. “So what do I do? We need something a lot thinner than the knife and– oh!”

“Oi!” he exclaims as you push the handle of the knife into his hands and scramble to your feet. Ignoring his shout, you limp to the wall and move as quickly as you can to the pile of glass you had deposited earlier.

“Where is it?” you mutter as you gingerly look under the larger pieces of glass. A glint of metal catches your eye, and you pick up the thin needle with care, pinching it between your thumb and forefinger. 

Now that you have what you’re looking for, you quickly return to Bakugou. His eyes widen at the sight of the needle in your hands, but he nods when he realizes what you plan on using it for. 

You kneel down in front of him. Before you start using the needle to pick at the lock, you wipe it down across the front of your dress, smearing a bit of dark red and light purple on the white cloth. You don’t want any more of the wolfsbane serum to get near him. Bakugou had said that it only was damaging if it actually entered his body, but you don’t want to take the chance.

“Alright, let’s get back to it.” One hand supports the other side of his neck while the other carefully brings the needle up to the keyhole. Slipping the point in smoothly, you wiggle and twist it, listening intently for any sounds. 

Click.

You push the needle to one side of the hole, brows furrowed as you get the collar to unlock. “There!” you breathe, pulling the needle out and tossing it back towards the corner you had gotten it from. 

Bakugou nearly rips the collar off with the force that he uses, sending it skittering across the dungeon floor until it hits a wall. A band of angry red rings his throat, skin peeling, and you wince in sympathy. 

“What?” he snaps as he moves around to your left foot, knife in hand.

You blink at him. “Nothing! Just can’t wait to get out of here.” 

He only responds with a grunt as he concentrates on the shackle around your ankle. He works on it for a couple seconds at most before his back stiffens, and he stops moving.

“Shit!” 

“What’s wrong?” you ask worriedly. Bakugou doesn’t reply. He only presses the handle of the knife into your hands and pushes himself to his feet in one fluid movement, running to where your chain is connected to the wall. 

He looks at where the last chain link is connected to a metal ring that is embedded into the stone wall at a height that is level with his head. You get to your feet and move closer to him, watching as Bakugou wraps your chain around his left arm once, before doing the same to his right. Both hands grip the chain tightly, and he presses one foot to the wall. With a grunt, he starts pulling on the chain with all his strength, muscles in his arms and back straining and flexing.

Nothing happens for a moment.

Then with an ear-piercing screech, the metal loop pops out of the stone, sending little fragments of rock flying. Bakugou stumbles back a step but easily regains his balance. Without taking a second glance at the hole in the wall, he bends down and starts gathering the chain in his arms until he nears you.

“Take this. We gotta go.” He dumps the chains into your waiting arms, and takes the knife out of your hand. His urgency can only mean one thing. 

Overhaul is coming.

Bakugou starts running for the doorway of the dungeon. You follow, grimacing as the chains rattle in your arms. You hug them tighter against your body in an attempt to keep them from moving around so much. 

Beyond the doorway, a hall stretches on either side, with other openings that likely lead to other dungeon rooms. A staircase lies right in front of you, leading upstairs.

But that’s where the footsteps are coming from.

Bakugou looks back at you, red eyes flashing as he jerks his head to the left before heading down that hallway. You stay right behind him. He ducks into the nearest doorway and presses against the wall, in a spot where he can peek into the hall without being seen. You do the same, chest heaving already, although it’s more from nerves than it is from physical exertion.

The footsteps grow louder and louder, until Bakugou catches sight of a figure crossing the hallway and into the dungeon where the two of you had just escaped from. The footsteps stop, and you can only imagine Overhaul taking in the empty room with his yellow eyes. 

Then the footsteps are louder, angrier, as Overhaul walks around in the dungeon. Neither you nor Bakugou can tell what he’s doing, but it can’t be good.

A shadow falls through the doorway, and Bakugou presses his head back against the wall, you mimicking him. Out of the corner of his eyes, Bakugou watches as Overhaul stalks out of the room, clutching two large knives in his gloved hands. They glint in the low light, and Bakugou recognizes them from the wall of torture devices in the room you two were kept in.

Overhaul looks up and down the hallway. Bakugou catches sight of slitted yellow eyes, and his heart skips a beat as he realizes that this could easily be the end for both of you if Overhaul decides to check the room you are in first. 

After another moment, Overhaul turns on his heel and walks into one of the other rooms further down the hall. A few seconds later, he exits, walking into the room beyond that. Bakugou exhales softly with relief.

As soon as Bakugou notices that Overhaul is systematically checking the rooms, he knows it’s only a matter of time before both of you are found if you remain here. So he watches and counts, keeping track of the seconds it takes for Overhaul to enter, look around, and exit each room. And once Bakugou knows the timing, feels it running through his mind and in his blood, he turns to you. 

He presses a finger against his lips, waits until you nod, and then scoops you into his arms, careful to angle the knife away from your body. You keep the chains tight against you to muffle any sounds. You don’t know what Bakugou is planning, but you can only trust him.

Bakugou looks again, watching as Overhaul exits another room. As soon as Overhaul disappears around the wall of the next room, Bakugou throws himself into action, sprinting out of the room and up the stairs, skipping three steps at a time with large leaps. He does not slow, not even with the weight of you and the chain in his arms.

He’s moving faster than what is normal, you realize, and when you look up at his face, his crimson eyes are glowing bright, and his lips are stretched back in a silent snarl, emphasizing his lengthened canines.

It’s the power of a wolf shifter.

He looks wild, ferocious, and untamed, but a shiver of something that isn’t fear runs through your body. Gratitude, perhaps, that he’s on your side. Excitement.

Bakugou reaches the top of the stairs and looks around, head swiveling back and forth as he takes in the room full of all types of weapons. He’s trying to figure out where to go next as you notice the windows that are set close to the ceiling. 

You whisper, “Up. We’re still partly below ground.”

He doesn’t have the time to confirm what you said, but he puts his trust in you and runs through the weapon storeroom and into the next room–

–and knocks over a set of pots on the ground. 

They’re sent flying, scattering across the kitchen floor with loud clangs and clatters. There’s a shout from the dungeon, and you look up at Bakugou with wide eyes.

“Fuck!” he hisses, and starts running again, leaping over the fallen pots to make it out of the kitchen. You bounce in his hold with every step, but he keeps you clutched tight against his chest. 

After exiting the kitchen, there’s a flight of stairs leading up, and Bakugou doesn’t hesitate to take them. The stairs end, and you find yourselves in a living room, with a couple of seats arranged around the fireplace. You shudder when you notice the animal heads mounted on the walls, and a low rumble starts in Bakugou’s chest. The animal heads are all stuffed and preserved, not a hair out of place, but their eyes are wide open and lifeless, staring into the air.

But you have no time to stop and take in the room, not when Bakugou can hear Overhaul knocking into one of the fallen pots in the kitchen downstairs. And he can hear footsteps from the floor above as well, coming from Chronostasis. 

He runs across the living room, which then leads into an elaborately furnished dining room. But finally, finally, he runs into a hallway with a staircase going up to a balcony, with a door in the wall opposite the stairs. When your breath hitches and your heartbeat speeds up in excitement, Bakugou knows that this must be the way out. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of this place,” he says and bends down, letting your legs slide out of his arm before letting go of your waist once you’re steady. He grips his knife in one hand and scoops half your chains up with his other and runs down the hall for the door. 

Once you get there, breathless from keeping up with Bakugou, you reach out with a hand to slide open the bolt like you had the first time when you tried to escape, but Bakugou dumps the chains back into your arms and pushes the knife into one of your hands. You fumble to take it, some of your chain escaping and slithering to the floor.

“Watch and learn, sweetheart.” With a smirk that makes your face go hot despite the circumstances, he turns to face the door and grasps the handle, pulling with all his might.

Then there’s a pop, and Bakugou stops straining, looking from his hand to you with wide eyes. Laughter bubbles out of you as you eye the empty space the door handle occupied moments before. 

“You just taught me exactly what not to do,” you tease.

He growls at you, eyebrows furrowed, red eyes flashing in an effort to intimidate you into silence, but it only makes you laugh again. 

Thump.

The sound is hauntingly familiar. It’s booted feet striking the floor after a tall drop. It will lead to panic and pain and a loss of consciousness. Blood freezing in your veins, you turn to look over your shoulder.

It’s not Overhaul. 

But it’s someone who wears a plague doctor mask just like Overhaul does, with white hair that reaches his chin. And his eyes are a cold grey, reminding you of steel and stone and a blade that was dragged across your collarbone–

Bakugou roars, the sound echoing off the walls and drawing your attention back to him. His muscles strain and flex as he faces the door, and you can’t tell what he’s doing until you hear the cracking of wood.

Your mouth falls open in shock.

The door comes out of the frame, wrenched entirely off its hinges. He readjusts his grip on the door, slipping his hand out of the hole where the handle had been to grasp the side of the door instead. 

He leans back, muscles in his arms and shoulders shifting, then launches the door into the air, straight toward Chronostasis. Bakugou doesn’t wait to see if it connects before he grabs your hand and tugs you outside into the night—the first time in two weeks that he’s been able to breathe in the earthy scent of forest and dirt.

You start to run, nearly flying with every step as Bakugou tugs you through the air. Each leap takes you further and further away from the place of captivity and torture.

But as your left foot hits the ground, it’s jerked out from under you. Your hand is ripped out of Bakugou’s hold, and you hit the ground hard, the air in your lungs being forced out at the impact.

You push yourself up with your hands and try to scramble to your feet, but you’re dragged along on the ground by your left ankle.

“Bakugou!” you scream, clawing for purchase in the dirt, but there’s nothing for you to grab onto, and the particles only slip out between your fingers. You manage to flip yourself onto your back, eyes locking onto Overhaul, who has the end of your chain in one gloved hand and is reeling you in like a fish. 

Then something passes above you, a shadow against the night sky, and Bakugou lands in front of you. He lets go of the knife in his hand and snatches up your chain. Muscles straining, he pulls hard on the chain to prevent Overhaul from moving you any further. 

“I got you,” he says through gritted teeth. And he digs his feet into the ground, keeping his weight low, leans back, and yanks the chain.

Overhaul is forced to let go. The iron flies out of his grip. 

Bakugou quickly reels the chain in, gathering the links into his arms. He turns to you and helps you up, and he passes you the chains. “Hold them tight,” he instructs, before bending down to pick up the knife–

–and an arrow pierces through his back, the tip of it coming out at his right shoulder. 

Crimson droplets scatter through the air. Some land on your dress and seep into the white fabric.

“Bakugou!” you shout, eyes wide with horror.

He grunts and looks down at the wound, eyeing the red that seeps down from his shoulder. “Fuck,” he hisses, then looks toward the mansion at Overhaul and Chronostasis, the latter having avoided the door and managed to pick up the long-range crossbow that he had shot Bakugou with.

The hunters start advancing. Overhaul flips the two long knives in his hands, blades gleaming as the full moon’s light shines on them. Chronostasis reloads his crossbow and aims it at Bakugou.

Bakugou bends down and picks up the knife. He turns and steps close to you, putting his whole body between yours and the hunters. His eyes gleam in the dark, two rubies that burn with the desire to fight—with the desire to protect.

He presses the knife into your hand. You accept it, gripping onto it tightly. 

“What are you waiting for?” Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound echoing in your ears. “We have to go!”

He rests a hand on your shoulder, the weight and warmth of it a comfort. “No. You have to go.”

You blink once before fully processing what Bakugou said, then open your mouth to protest. 

“Don’t,” he commands. “I am a shifter. My people will come to me.” He draws his hand back from your shoulder and moves it to pull the cloak off from around his waist. He’s completely bare now. But the situation is dire, and Bakugou keeps speaking, so you keep your eyes on his own as he shakes the cloak out and wraps it around your shoulders.

“But nobody knows that you’re here, so no one will come for you.” The words are harsh, and his voice turns deeper as he starts to change before your eyes, but you do not fear him. 

“So run! Go home!” He roars the last word, showing canines that have lengthened to impossibly sharp points. His hand pulls away from the clasp of your cloak, and his nails are now claws, long and deadly. And finally, he straightens up and steps away from you. He’s taller than before, muscles flexing with the movement. 

He’s ready to fight.

Looking at Bakugou now, in his half-shifted state, you know that he has always been designed to fight, to maim, to kill. 

But you are not afraid.

Your eyes are damp and you loathe to leave him, but you know that you’d only be a distraction. A weakness. And now, he cannot afford to be weak. Not if he plans on fighting two hunters, and leaving the victor.

So you do not show your sadness. You hide the cracks in your aching heart. You only smile at him, gazing into his crimson eyes.

“Don’t lose.”

Bakugou barks out a laugh, harsh and low. “As if I could.”

Then an arrow slices past Bakugou’s thigh, and another splash of blood stains your dress.

And you run.

–

You race into the forest, clutching the knife in one hand as you hold the chains tightly against you. It’s dark, and your eyes can only make out the vague shapes of branches and bushes that claw at your dress and cape. 

But the full moon is a blessing, and it scatters soft light on the forest floor whenever its beams can make it through the layers of leaves.

The sound of fighting—snarls, claws on metal, angry shouts—quickly disappear behind you as you push on. You pause for a moment, and look back in the direction that you came.

Bakugou had told you to return home. He’s strong, but you had left him to fight against two hunters that had captured him before. And he helped you when both of you were in the dungeon, just as much as you helped him. Could you really leave him like this?

But what can you do? The skill you have with the knife in your hand can never measure up to that of Overhaul. 

You look forward again at the dark branches that loom before your eyes. And you start running once more. But this time, you weep bitterly, letting tears slide off your cheeks and drip onto your dress, onto the chains, and onto the forest floor.

–

“Die!”

Blood races through Bakugou’s veins as he ducks under Overhaul’s silver knife. More blood flows out of the wounds on his body. Those injuries are barely closing, despite the quick healing that shifters have, because they were caused by weapons of silver.

But he fights on, slashing behind him with his claws to cut into Chronostasis’ side. He must keep fighting, even as Overhaul opens another cut on Bakugou’s arm, more crimson droplets soaking into the dirt.

He must fight. To win, so he can leave this place behind, though Bakugou knows in his heart that he cannot defeat both hunters when he is injured like this. Or to lose, but last long enough that he has given you time to get away and return to your village without the hunters chasing after you.

A burning pain erupts on his back; a new wound cuts through skin and flesh.

A sharp bite of silver on his thigh.

A sting on his neck, then his body seizes up and erupts with pain. Flames lick at every muscle, making them tremble and jerk, and Bakugou’s legs give out beneath him. He collapses to his knees, darkness closing in on his vision.

He hears Overhaul’s voice but can’t make out the words. Bakugou only thinks about you—hoping that you made it home—before a wave of pain sweeps over him and pulls him under, and he finally gives in to the darkness.

–

You’re lost.

You can’t recognize anything in the dark, and even if it were daytime, you aren’t familiar enough with the forest to know where you are and where you need to go.

But you don’t need to head home. 

No, you need to head further into the forest. Even though the trees grow thicker and the undergrowth scratches your legs and pokes at your feet through your thin slippers, you push on. You’re no longer running but keep going at as quick of a walk as you can manage. The wound on your right foot is stinging, and it likely has opened up once more. Your arms ache at holding the length of chain for so long, but you know if you drop it, the chain would only get caught on something and trip you.

Something rustles in the bushes nearby. It’s not the wind.

You whirl around in the direction the sound comes from, eyes straining to see in the dark. Nothing is there.

Something darts out from the bushes. You scream, but quickly cut off as the creature stands in a patch of moonlight, and you make out its features. It’s a chipmunk.

You blink at it. It cocks its head and blinks at you. You can see that the chipmunk’s fur is an odd color by the light of the full moon. It has more of a yellow tint than the usual brown, and it only has one dark stripe that runs up its back. It chatters its teeth and moves closer to you with bouncy steps. When it sits fearlessly at your feet, you study it more closely and feel something light and warm well in your chest. 

“Hey,” you say softly, keeping your body still, so you don’t scare it away before you finish talking. “You probably think I’m crazy, wandering through the forest at night and talking to an animal. But I know who you are. Or, more accurately, what you are.”

The chipmunk’s eyes are large and dark, and you think you see understanding pass across its face. “Bakugou told me that your kind is aware of everything that goes on in your animal form, so–”

The chipmunk suddenly scampers away, running up the nearest tree. You race to follow, shouting, “Hey! Wait! Please! I need– I need your help.” Your foot catches on a tree root, and it sends you sprawling on the ground, the chain and knife falling from your grasp. Tears fill your eyes from the pain and the loss of hope, and through your watery vision, you watch the chipmunk disappear into the branches of the tree. 

The chipmunk is gone, and the forest is still. You sniffle as you lay on the ground. Your whole body aches, and your limbs feel like they’ve been carrying weights, and you honestly want to give up and stay on the forest floor.

But you need to make sure Bakugou is okay. He never gave up on you. He never stopped helping you even when he could have gotten free without you slowing him down. So you need to make sure you can get to his friends and help them free Bakugou from the hunters.

You get back onto your feet and pick up the chains. This time, instead of carrying them in your arms, you wrap them around your shoulders, so you bear the weight of them on your back. You pick up the knife in your dominant hand, exhale loudly, and continue walking through the forest.

It’s not completely silent in the woods. Wind blows through the leaves, causing the spots of moonlight to dance around on the ground. An owl hoots from somewhere in the trees. Your feet kick up fallen leaves and break dry sticks with muted snaps as you trudge along.

Sleep pulls heavily at your eyelids, but you will not let yourself rest.

A dark shadow looms in front of you, shaped like an old tree that has been struck by lightning, the fire having burnt its bark smooth, though there’s something odd about it. You look at it for a moment before walking around it.

There’s movement in the corner of your eye. Before you can turn to look or raise up your knife, something heavy slams into you, knocking you onto the forest floor yet again.

Your head throbs, and your vision is blurry. But when it clears, you look up at whatever is pressing down on your stomach, and you go utterly still. 

It’s a bear.

Though you are still, your heart pounds rapidly in your chest. The bear holds you down with a massive paw, pressing hard enough that you cannot get up, but not so hard that it breaks your ribs. You stare up at it, but your vision is going fuzzy from your fear, and its black fur helps it blend in with the shadows of the night. 

But then, something moves onto the bear’s head and sits right between its ears. Your eyes manage to focus on it, taking a second to recognize the strangely yellow fur.

“Chipmunk,” you manage to wheeze.

The animal chatters its teeth at you from its position on top of the bear. The chipmunk is on the bear, and the bear hasn’t actually hurt you. You finally realize what this means, and your heart slows a bit.

“Oh!” you squeak out. “You both are shifters, then!”

A rumble comes from the bear, and you think it’s amusement. 

You look at the chipmunk. “That means you heard me. You know Bakugou?”

The chipmunk nods. Both it and the bear stare at you intently, listening carefully to every word that comes out of your mouth.

“I need your help. Bakugou and I were held captive by some hunters. We were escaping, and the hunters were chasing after us. They were about to get me, and Bakugou helped me but decided to stay behind, and I know he’s strong, but the hunters were doing terrible things to him, and I don’t know if he’ll make it out even though he promised–” You gasp, tears pricking your eyes, but you hold them back as the words keep spilling out of your mouth.

“Please help me! I’ll guide you back to the mansion and everything, but I can’t fight the hunters off myself. I won’t leave him behind, even though he told me to run. He saved me back there. I can’t– I can’t just go home and pretend that everything is fine!”

The bear lifts its paw off your stomach, and you get back onto your feet. You bend down to pick up your fallen knife, then look at the shifters.

“Well? Are we going to go back for him?”

The bear holds up a paw.

You tilt your head and look from it to the bear. “You want me to… stop?” Fury runs through you. “What the hell? I thought Bakugou is your friend!” 

But then the bear rapidly shakes his head and holds out his paw once more. You huff out a breath and try again. “If not stop, you want me to… slow down? Oh! You want me to wait!”

The bear and the chipmunk nod. As soon as you nod back and tell them that you won’t be going anywhere, they need to hurry back soon, the bear turns away from you and disappears into the forest, with the chipmunk riding on top of its head.

You sigh, sit down against a tree, and settle down to wait.

–

You must have dozed off while waiting, because you’re jolted awake when someone gently shakes your shoulder. Your eyes widen as you stare into a pair of unusual eyes; yellow irises that are surrounded by black.

“Hi! I’m Ashido Mina, but you can just call me Mina!” She stands up and steps back, clasping her hands in front of her as she rocks on her feet. “We’d love to get to know you, but Kirishima told us that we need to get going.”

You move the chains from your lap into your arms, pick up the knife, and get to your feet. “Kirishima?” you ask, then look beyond Mina at the three others that stand behind her. Your eyes widen as you take in a head of spiky hair that’s clearly a bright red even under the moonlight. “Shitty Hair!” you exclaim, then clap your hands over your mouth. That wasn’t exactly the most polite thing to say to a stranger—especially not a shifter.

Far from offended, the redhead grins at you, showing a mouthful of sharp teeth. “Looks like Bakubro told you about me! I’m Kirishima. I was the bear you met just a little while ago. Sorry if I scared ya, I didn’t mean to!” 

“Oh! You’re the bear? But your fur was black!” You point at the dark-haired male standing next to Kirishima. “I would have thought he was the bear.”

The shifter you’re pointing at grins and shakes his head. “Nah, not me. I’m a gecko! Kirishima here likes to dye his hair, but the dye doesn’t transfer over to his bear form. Oh, and call me Sero.”

“So if Kirisima’s a bear, Sero is a gecko, then you must be the chipmunk!” You look at the shifter on the other side of Sero. His hair is a darker blonde than Bakugou’s, and a black zigzag runs through it on one side.

“Wow, how’d you guess? I bet it was from our instant con-nut-ion.” He smirks at you and finger guns, throwing you a wink.

You blink at him. Then blink again. “I can’t even talk to you after such a bad pun.” You turn away from him and look at Mina, who snickers at your response. It’s only then that you really notice the color of her hair and her skin. The pink reminds you of the fancy ribbons sold at the market back home that many girls would save up to buy. 

“Oh, wow, you’re so pretty! What animal do you shift into? If- if you’re comfortable sharing, of course, I don’t know if there’s some sort of shifter policy–”

Mina squeals and bounds toward you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Aww, you’re so sweet! My animal form is a poison dart frog. But don’t worry, the poison isn’t an issue in this form!”

You smile at Mina, but are distracted as Kirishima starts moving. You look at him curiously and quickly shut your eyes when you see that he’s taking off his shirt. “What are you doing?”

Sero laughs at your obvious embarrassment. “He’s getting ready to shift. If the shifters with larger animal forms shifted with clothes on, they’d go through more than a set every day. It’s not that big of a deal for shifters to reveal skin.”

“Oh!” So that’s why Bakugou didn’t make a big deal out of being naked until you forced him to cover up with your cloak.

“Anyway,” Mina says, “we have to get these chains off you first. It won’t do you any good to fight the hunters with a pile of metal in your arms.”

“Exactly. It wouldn’t do for someone so flawless to get injured!” The chipmunk shifter winks at you.

You scowl at him before recognition flashes across your face. “Oh my gosh, you’re Dunce Face! Bakugou told me all about you.”

“Kaminari Denki, at your service. Did he tell you about my handsome face and witty charm?”

You smirk. “No, he told me about your bad puns and inability to get a girl.”

Kaminari’s jaw drops, and he clutches his chest dramatically. “Oh, the betrayal! The pain! The–”

He’s cut off by a sharp smack to the back of his head from Sero. “We don’t have time for you to badly flirt,” Sero tells him, then turns to you. “Kiri’s gonna help you get that chain off and then we can go and rescue Bakugou!”

Kirishima approaches you, grinning. He holds his hands out for the chain in your arms, and you pass it over to him, the metal links clinking together. “I’m going to shift to my in-between state, okay? That way, I’ll have enough power to pull the chain apart. I won’t be able to get the cuff off, but at least you won’t have to lug around the long bit!” He rattles the chain for emphasis and crouches down next to your left foot when you nod in agreement.

“Here I go!” The muscles in Kirishima’s back and arms visibly get larger, and a trail of dark hair covers his spine. He grasps onto the chain, one hand right next to the shackle on your foot, and the other just a couple of links down.

He starts to growl, the sound a deeper rumble than Bakugou’s. Then his muscles shift and strain, the metal links are pulled taut, and his growl grows in volume until a metal link finally gives out, breaking the chain.

Eyes wide, you watch Kirishima stand up with the broken chain in one hand. “I- You- Thank you!” you stammer. Shaking your left foot, it feels a lot lighter with the shackle and a couple of metal links dangling from it, instead of the whole chain.

Kirishima laughs, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “You don’t need to thank me! That was just the manly thing to do.”

“All right!” Mina claps her hands twice. “Since we finished with that, let’s get going. Kirishima! Shift!”

The bear shifter drops the chain in a pile underneath one of the trees. Then he reaches for the waistband of his pants, and you quickly turn around to face Mina as he takes them off. 

“So how are we going to get Bakugou out of the hunters’ mansion?” you ask her.

“We’re not sure yet!” She flashes you a blinding smile. “Bakugou’s the one that usually comes up with plans, it’s more our style to just wing it! If you come up with something along the way, definitely share it with us, though. Now get on!” 

Mina grabs your shoulders and spins you around, pushing you toward Kirishima, who crouches down in his large bear form.

“Get on? On Kirishima?”

“He’ll take us to the mansion pretty quickly! Also, you look like you could use the rest. It seems like those hunters weren’t the nicest toward you. Now, let’s go!”

You settle on Kirishima’s back, hands sinking into the dark fur, with Mina right behind you. She holds onto the clothes Kirishima, Sero, and Kaminari had thrown off when they shifted.

You tell Kirishima the direction you came from, and he sets off. With Mina behind you, Kirishima’s warmth beneath you, and Sero and Kaminari sitting between Kirishima’s ears, you feel a lot less alone and afraid than you were when you ran away from the hunters.

Biting your lip, your mind races as you try to figure out a plan for when you all get to the mansion. 

You’re going to get Bakugou back if it’s the last thing you do.

–

Series Tags • @steggy4ever​ @tspice283​ @wesparklebitch​

Other Tags • @simplybakugou​ @knifeewifee​ @gallickingun​ (thank you all for being so kind and encouraging while you sprinted with me!) 

[eirabach]

Starcrossed [1/1]

My contribution to @pen-and-ink-week-2020 day one, prompts: camping / steady.

Gordon’s got mud in his hair and splinters in his knees and a blood blister on his palm from a mallet he had absolutely no idea how to use and Virgil -- Virgil needs to wipe that look off his face right this damn second.

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.”

Virgil, the bastard, is grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, you asked for my advice and my advice was to do something different and memorable. Not go bury your excrement in the woods memorable. That’s on you, kid.”

Gordon drops back onto the crinkly nylon nest he’s fashioned from their sleeping bags, and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Oh this is a disaster. This is such a disaster. I need evac. A new name. Safe house. The works.”

Virgil sighs, and taps his tiny holographic foot against the painfully out of place pink leather overnight bag that’s jammed up against the tentpole.

“You’re being over dramatic. She hasn’t actually left.” He pauses, craning his head as though he can’t already see the entirety of the two man tent from the comm’s spot at Gordon’s feet. “Has she?”

“I have sent,” Gordon hisses between clenched teeth, “a member of the aristocracy to fetch firewood.”

“Sounds fair to me, she wants to eat right?” Virgil’s grin is so big it must physically pain him. Gordon hopes so. “Vive la revolution!”

“Vir--gil.”

“Gor-don.”

Beyond the gentle rustling of the wind through the redwoods and the sound of his own internal mental breakdown, comes a high pitched and familiar yelp. Gordon scrambles upright as best he can, clutching the comm to his chest with unsteady hands.

“Oh god, she’s coming back.”

“Yeah, that was the plan right? Gordon --” Virgil’s not grinning quite as big anymore and his voice turns gentle. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s Penelope. And you. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Gordon grimaces, peeling back the tent’s zipper far enough to see her, her hair tucked up under a worn IR branded bobble hat, her back to him as she drops an armful of kindling into the centre of the clearing. “Yeah, I mean, she could realise. And run. Yeah, that’s pretty much what I’m worried about.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Gordon --”

“Gordon!”

Virgil squarks unhappily as Gordon tosses the comm over his shoulder.

“Hey! Hi, yes. Hello.”

The tip of Penelope’s nose is pink from the autumn chill, and when she smiles it scrunches up tight as the band that seems to have appeared around his chest..

“You sound surprised to see me.” She moves to peer around him and into the tent proper. ”What are you up to in there?”

“Nothing?”

“Really?” She steps back, gesturing to the woodpile. “Well, since you’re a gentleman of leisure, does this meet with your approval?”

Gordon winces, and begins struggling to extradite himself from the really very much too small tent. Yet another plan that had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

“I didn’t mean like, nothing nothing.”

“Oh of course.” Penelope nods sagely. “The other sort of nothing.”

“Yeah exactl -- Bertie!” A tiny flash of cream and black comes barrelling into him as he tries to untangle the zip, sending Gordon flying back into the tent in a cacophony of tearing fabric. He scrambles back up and stares at the tent door, which is now hanging morosely in raggedy strips. “This is -- kinda a disaster isn’t it?”

Penelope pops her hands on her hips, and smiles down at him fondly. 

“Oh I don’t know, I can’t see any Thunderbirds swooping down to save the day.”

Gordon groans. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh come along, darling. Fresh air, nature, what’s not to love?” She steps forward, and drops to her knees in the leaf mulch before him. “You’re not getting spoiled by your tropical island lifestyle are you?”

“Uh, this was my idea?”

“So I recall. Sold to me on the promise of ‘smores and cuddling and really darling --” she taps her watch. “I seem to be suffering from a distinct lack of either.”

Gordon slaps at the remains of the tent doorway and clambers out, pulling Penelope to her feet as he does so. Behind them Bertie is busy tugging a tartan blanket free, his tail wagging frantically as he wraps himself up in it.

“Sorry,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist and swaying slightly as she leans back to place her own arms around his neck. “That’s very remiss of me.”

“Very,” she says, and goes to rest her cheek on his shoulder. “Is there something wrong, Gordon?”

The leaves crunch under their feet and Gordon buries his nose in the soft wool of the ugly hat. It smells like her perfume and ozone and island heat and he’d wondered where she’d gone and got it from and huh, now he knows.

“You stole my hat.”

“I borrowed it.”

“That’s a crime, Penelope.”

“Are you trying to change the subject?”

“Are you trying to get away with stealing my hat?”

Penelope draws back, soft smile replaced by a line between her brows that makes Gordon’s chest hurt. “You can have it back, you know.”

“No -- god no. You look way better in it than I ever did anyway,” he smiles a little brighter for her, and kisses the line until it melts away. “Sorry if I’m being weird. I kinda -- I don’t know. Nervous, I guess.”

And then she’s smiling again, and the world rights itself slightly. “I am threateningly attractive in this hat.”

“Oh, very.”

“And you do have to prove your manliness to me.”

“Oh?” The world tilts again, but for very different reasons as Penny pushes her body against his. “I think I can probably --”

And then she’s gone, practically prancing across the clearing to the pile of wood. She holds two pieces up, her lip between her teeth, and wriggles her eyebrows at him.

“You promised me ‘smores.”

---

He proves his manly worth eventually, and the campfire he coaxed and wheedled into existence burns bright as the full moon rises overhead. 

He’d brought camp chairs, but they sit abandoned where he’d dumped them, and the two of them lie side by side on the blanket Bertie had liberated, cooling cups of tea at their sides, their breathing steady and rhythmic under a spinning, starbright sky.

“It rather puts everything into perspective, don’t you think?”

“Hmm?”

Penelope waves a hand up at the sky. “All -- all of everything. Sometimes it all can feel a little overwhelming, and then I think -- well.” She drops her hand, wriggles a little closer into his side. “I think that sometimes it’s all too easy to forget that this whole planet of ours -- every one on it -- we are so terribly tiny aren’t we?”

“Jesus, Pen.” He pinches her side slightly, squeezing his arm underneath her as she jumps and pulling her as tight against him as he can manage. “I get enough short jokes at home.”

“Oh ha ha, I don’t mean that in a bad way --”

“That I’m short?”

She smacks at his belly, and her laugh rings through the trees and out into the universe. “Gordon!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Penny shakes her head slightly. She’s lost the hat at some point during the evening, and her hair catches on the rough blanket, tickles his nose. “I just -- sometimes I need reminding that I’m allowed this, that’s all. That we have a place.”

“Tell me about it.” It’s hardly more than a breath, hardly out loud at all, but Penny’s hand settles on his where it lies at her waist and her fingers twist tight between his own.

The moonlight forms a silvery halo around her upturned face, her soft breaths forming little puffs of cloud that float and fizzle away in the chill night air, and it’s just the two of them, the rest of the world banished from the circle of the campfire’s light. It’s -- it’s a moment.

Gordon’s other hand settles in the pocket of his jacket, and he grips the velveteen box tightly as he tries to steady his nerves. Imagines Virgil, the way he’d rolled his eyes and said, what’s the worst that could happen?

And Gordon looks at Penelope and Penelope looks at the stars and he thinks forever.

I could lose this forever.

And he thinks -- he thinks -- he can’t.

He uncurls his fingers from the box, slips his hand free to thumb at a chocolatey smear on her cheek. Penelope turns her face into the palm of his hand and sighs.

“Thank you,” she says. “I needed this.” 

Gordon goes to scoff, but then she’s dipping her head to drop a kiss to his wrist and his heartbeat skitters and skips under her lips.

“Take me to bed?”

She doesn’t have to ask twice.

---

Morning has brought a bright autumnal dawn, perfect yellow light pouring through the poorly pinned doorway to settle on the dew damp curls at Penelope’s temples, freckles burnished gold against her cheeks.

He’s seen a lot of beautiful things in his life. Beautiful places. Corals, neon pink and orange in a turquoise sea, otherworldly sunsets, cave systems that glow lilac with phosphorescence, the way a mother’s face twists when he places their lost baby back in their arms.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as beautiful as this.

Penny’s all twisted up in the sleeping bags, the zips long abandoned, her hair wild with static, her arm thrown over her head. There’s a pug snoring between her knees, her elbow’s half an inch from his nose, her lips are chapped from the chill air, and he loves her. God, but he loves her.

And Gordon -- Gordon can’t help it. He leans over, kisses the tip of her cold nose and whispers;

“Marry me.”

Blue eyes snap open shrewd and bright, so bright, that the part of Gordon that’s not currently freaking the fuck out wonders, briefly, if her perfect peaceful sleep was just a bit too perfect. “Pardon?”

Oh, oh this is not the way this is meant to happen. No. No way. He wriggles away from her as best he can, backs himself right up until the tent is sticking to his back and Penny -- Penny is staring at him as though he’s actually lost the plot.

He’s totally lost the plot.

She’s worrying her lip between her teeth, that furrow back between her brows and oh god he’s fucking this up isn’t he. He knew he would. He knew it. “Gordon, did you --”

“No! No, not -- not no -- just hang on -- hang on I was meant to do this -- stand up.” He gestures, a tad wildly, and Penelope blinks at him. Maybe she had actually been sleeping after all. Maybe he can convince her this is some sort of terrible nightmare.

“I -- excuse me?”

He takes an unsteady breath, attempts to gather whatever wits he possesses, and scuffles around for his discarded jacket. His fingers finally close around the box, and he squeezes his eyes shut. At least he’s already on his knees. “You gotta -- you gotta stand up.”

“I don’t think -- “ she starts, but then he’s pulling the box out of his pocket and even though he literally would rather okay face a tsunami naked than open his eyes, he can still hear her sharp intake of breath. Oh god. 

“Okay -- okay darling, look at me all right?” He opens one eye, risks a glance upward to see her bent almost double, the cross pole of the tent across her shoulders. “There now, better?”

“Penelope --”

Maybe he feels the tension, or maybe he is just a tiny little asshole, but this, this moment, is the very moment Bertie chooses to rouse from his slumber and leap up at Penelope’s legs.

He launches himself with such force that the slippery nylon that makes up their bed shifts, and Penelope, already off balance and folded like a half shut knife, jumps in shock. The cross pole shudders and -- oh, shit.

Penelope lands in a heap, and the tent follows her collapsing on top of them like one of grandma’s souffles. Bertie whimpers unhappily, wriggling his way free of a sea of wet nylon to force himself bodily between them. He laps at Gordon’s shaking hand, then looks up at Penny with huge, innocent eyes.

Bertie, Gordon decides, has been spending far too much time with Parker. 

He goes to tell Penny as much, but to his horror he sees big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, her eyes red and rimmed black with yesterday’s mascara. He scans her for wounds, protruding tent poles, anything that might explain the funny little gasping sounds she’s making, as though she can’t quite catch her breath.

“Are you hurt? What -- did you sprain something? Tell me where it hurts.”

Penelope shakes her head fiercely. “No, no I’m not hurt.”

She half laughs, a strained, breathless little thing, and moves to hover her hand over the little box. 

Gordon looks down. Penelope might be not quite touching it, but Bertie is resting his nose against the golden clasp holding it closed and looking up at Gordon like -- 

Like even the dog can’t quite believe the mess he’s making of this. 

“Oh don’t -- I’m sorry Penny, I’m sorry-- don’t cry. Oh wow, this has gone even worse than I expected.”

She laughs again, he can feel it against the crown of his head as he tries very hard to curl up into himself and disappear entirely. “Gordon Tracy, you are the most ridiculous man --”

“Don’t rub it in Pen, jeez.”

“Will you let me finish?” Her voice is sharp, and he snaps his head up. She’s smiling all the same, even though her cheeks are still streaked with tears “Thank you.” He just nods, lost for words, lost entirely and just waiting for her next words to set him back up. To show him where to go. They’re close enough in the wreckage of the tent for her to rest her forehead against his, her words quite as a whisper but all the clearer for them. “You asked me once if you were my favourite.”

Gordon swallows hard. “Yeah. I remember.”

She smiles, and their noses knock together. “Ask me again.”

“Am I your favourite?”

A huff of breath against his mouth. Irritable, but so close, so much closer than he’d ever thought he deserved. “Not that.”

“Wh--” And she pulls back, just enough. Just enough that he can see himself reflected in her pupils, blown wide and dark and waiting. “Oh.”

“Oh. And I’m not getting up.”

He spares a glance around them, the tent now more a cocoon than anything else. “Don’t think either of us are.”

“Gordon.” She reaches for the box with shaking hands, opens it, pulls out the ring and presses it into his hand. Rose gold. Pink, of course. Pretty and delicate and set with a stone that has outlived its last owner by some twenty years. There’s a scar across its surface, avalanche blue, but he kinda likes that. The promise of outlasting whatever the universe throws at them. Penelope’s breath catches, as she withdraws her right hand to scrub at flushed cheeks, leaves her left in his. “Ask me again.”

“Oh. Right.” There’s that. The asking. He takes another deep breath. Steadier. Certain. “Penelope,” he says, and man she’s still crying but she’s nodding and that -- that seems positive, right? He powers on. There’d been a speech. He’d practiced it on Alan, who’d swooned very beautifully right off the balcony and into the pool. He doesn’t bother with it now. Sticks to the basics. “I am an idiot.”

“Yes you are,” she agrees, and her smile, her smile is brighter than the sunshine, brighter than anything. It’s the only light he needs, the only hope.

“Do you think you could maybe marry me anyway?”

She kisses him, hot and open, tears salty on her lips and a plea on her tongue and together --

Together they taste like yes.

[m4st4rd]

the sugar bowl

author’s note: hello friends! the wonderful @guaxinimraccoon has let me use their equally wonderful characters, Brad, Toby, and Siri, to write a fic! please go check them out-- their art is super awesome. i ended up writing a lot more than i expected, but i still love it! this was super fun to make and i’m excited to see what you guys think :). enjoy!

warnings: mild panic & mild swearing but that’s about it

word count: 2.4k

part one | part two 

 “TOBY? ARE YOU READY?”

   After a fitful sleep, Tobias could barely stand to listen to the noise around him. It wasn’t much: the water rushing through the pipes, the skitter of the mice outside his home in the walls. And now, Siri tugging on his leg as he struggled to relax on his hacky-sack chair. 

   “C’mon, man,” she said, huffing a laugh. “You promised you’d grab some more paper and bread like, yesterday. And that you would get sugar.” Toby didn’t know why she even had the time to pick up a hobby as boring as drawing. There wasn’t much to draw in their little home. He’d rather just try and continue his eventful dream instead of getting dressed just for some scraps.

   But he had to. It was his duty as a borrower and as Siri’s best friend. 

   “Alright, alright.” He got to his feet and ran his hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “But this means you’re making dinner tonight, right?” Before she could protest, he added, “Better start cooking that soup now.”

   Siri put on a pouty glare, but her pointed ears twitched with amusement. “Yeah. Whatever,” she mumbled. But she couldn’t keep her face up long. Soon, it disappeared into a grin. He wasn’t prepared when she threw her arms around his neck in an excited hug. “You’re the best, Toby.”

   Tobias couldn’t stop himself from smiling, too. “Yeah. I know.”

   She waved as he disappeared down the corridor. Neither of them could’ve known what was waiting for him.

***

   Ever since Brad moved out of his parents’ place, he knew only one thing: solitary. Not that he necessarily minded — he wasn’t the most extroverted person. Even in college, he would stay in his dorm with a pizza and Netflix while his roommate hit frat parties. In the two years they lived together, they must’ve only spoken a total of eleven words to each other. 

   But what he did mind was the endless, repetitive schedule. Wake up, check his phone. Have breakfast, take a shower, brush his teeth, pop an aspirin for his morning headache. Head to work and return to boxed mac-n-cheese dinner (or, if he was feeling adventurous, spaghetti). He wanted something exciting, even if excitement, for him, meant taking a different route to work. But he was too afraid of change.

   What he found on Saturday evening really threw a wrench into the gears of his brain.

   He got home to an empty apartment. Nothing special: a hand-me-down couch next in front of a 90s TV. He contemplated just napping on the couch for a bit before dinner, but he never did that. So instead, Brad took off his shoes, hung up his coat, and headed to the kitchen. There was some leftover tuna salad that he could munch on if he didn’t feel like cooking.

   Nothing special. 

   That is, until he stood up. 

   He probably wouldn’t have heard it if he was distracted, but it was real and oh-so-soft. A rustle from deep inside his cabinet. Brad could feel his heart stop. Did he have mice? No, that couldn’t be. He cleaned out his cupboard pretty frequently. Bugs? That would be even worse. 

   Shff. There it was again. It sounded too… heavy to be a roach. Whatever the little thing was, it rattled his cereal boxes. And then, the telltale clatter of the sugar bowl top falling onto the shelf. 

   Wait, what? Okay. That was weird. Brad took a deep breath. His interest had piqued. He had to see what this thing was.

   With a silent prayer, he opened the cabinet. 

***

   Paper? Check. Bread? Check. Toby was still dusting his knees off as he remembered that he was still missing something: sugar. With a groan, he got to his feet and shuffled over to his hook. “Damn Siri and her sweet tooth,” he muttered (though he’d never admit to her that he enjoyed something sweet every now and then).

   He didn’t notice the front door open and the giant enter. He was distracted by the looming jar in front of him. It was difficult getting the lid off, but with a sharp tug and a grunt, it fell to the floor of the cabinet and he prepared to dive in to get a cube. 

   But before he could get very far, the cabinet door swung open, and light invaded. 

   And Toby was face-to-face with the human of the apartment.

   Brad wasn’t sure what he was looking at. A little man…? A four-inch-tall person, not much bigger than his finger, was standing by his sugar bowl. Pointed ears, wild, electric blue hair, and even wilder eyes stared him down. A patchy bag sat at his feet, and patchy clothing hung off of his thin frame. Was he drunk? High? Did someone roofie his coffee?

   Whatever composure Brad had left him. “Wow,” he whispered. Just a breath seemed like enough to knock the little guy over. “Hey, there, du—”

   Toby didn’t hesitate to whip his needle out. “Back!” he tried to snap, though it was more like a squeak. God, he must’ve looked pathetic. His legs were jelly. Every bit of him trembled. “St-stay back!”

   The giant blinked. He shook his head of shaggy black hair, rubbed his eyes with unfathomably huge fists. Toby did his best to suppress a lame whimper when those hands appeared. “So I’m not dreaming,” he said, more to himself than to Toby. It took every ounce of courage not to cry. 

   The bean, however, seemed to notice his fear. “Wait, little dude, hey…” He eyed the needle warily. “You don’t hafta be afraid.” Toby didn’t believe him for a second. 

   The borrower looked suspicious. “Back up,” the little guy growled, and surprisingly, Brad obliged. He took a step away so he didn’t tower over him (and so he didn’t suffer the wrath of his needle). 

   How did Brad look right now? He wasn’t the biggest person around, but he certainly wasn’t the smallest in his family. Even so, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He couldn’t even bring himself to squish spiders. He’d always trap them in a cup and usher them onto the balcony. This little person, though, didn’t know that. He held his needle-sword up high, his toothpick arms shaking all the while. It practically broke Brad’s heart.

   What’s this guy doing? Toby thought. Nothing was stopping him from snatching him up in a fist and stuffing him in a jar or a shoebox. Was he luring him into a false sense of safety just so his experiments would hurt more? Was he p—

   “Hey, man, you okay?” The bean’s thick brows were knit together with concern. “You’re looking a little pale.”

   “Wouldn’t y-you be?” Toby scoffed before he could stop himself. Man, I’m so dead. “I-I-I mean, someone as big as you is a little Goddamn terrifying! God knows what the hell you’re gonna do to me! ” He snapped his mouth shut. He’s gonna fucking kill me for real now. 

   “What I’m gonna d— No, buddy, I swear I’m n—”

   “Stay. Back.” Holy fuck, what am I doing?! Toby thought. The most he could do was poke the bean’s finger with his needle, but that would only make him angry. He contemplated running, but his thought dissipated when he realized the giant would have plenty of time to stop him.

   Brad’s jaw went slack. For such a little guy, he sure was brave. But after a beat, his words finally sunk in. “Wait. C’mon, man. I’m not— I’m not gonna do anything to you. I’m just. I’m just surprised. I mean, it’s not every day you find a little man in your cabinet.” With a chuckle, he asked, “So are you gonna start paying me rent, or what?” It didn’t immediately dawn on him that this tiny person probably didn’t know what rent even was.

   Toby frowned. What the hell is this guy talking about? More to the point, what game is he playing? 

   With a frown, Brad took another small step back so he didn’t smother the little guy and held up his palms. “Okay, okay, look. I promise I’m not gonna hurt you. Cool?” He didn’t respond, but his shaking arm did lower the needle a bit. That’s a start. 

   Brad heaved a sigh that ruffled Toby’s wild hair. “Right. Uhm. I’m… I’m sorry for scaring you, dude. I didn’t mean it. I swear.” He fiddled with his thumbs. A shy look crept over his face. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Brad. What’s your name?”

   For a moment, Brad was afraid that the guy was too terrified to answer. But then came the timid voice, so quiet compared to the man’s earlier jab. “Toby.” 

   Just play it cool, Toby thought. Do what he wants and maybe he’ll let you live.

   “Toby. That’s a cool name.” A set of teeth that could snap Toby in half without a second thought were bared at him in a wide smile. Toby could barely hold his ground without flinching. “Wait… You were here for food, right?” 

   Toby’s heart skipped a beat. “You… You’re not mad, a-are you?”

   “No!” Brad said, maybe a little too quickly, because the little guy— Toby — flinched. “I promise I’m not mad,” he added. “Y’know, I was, uh. I was gonna have dinner, anyway. How ‘bout you eat with me? You look like you could use a hot meal.”

   “Oh,” Toby said lamely. His head was going a million miles an hour. Was this Brad guy serious? He just found a tiny creature going through his food, and he’s offering him dinner? It’s gotta be a joke, right? Some weird, fucked-up joke. But instead, what came out of his mouth was, “Uh. S-sure.” 

   Brad couldn’t stop a grin from crossing his face. “Cool. Cool, cool cool. How does pasta sound?”

   “P-pasta sounds great.” My God, Siri’s gonna kill me if this guy doesn’t.

   “Awesome. Wait here.” The bean ducked out of sight, his footsteps rattling Toby’s entire world. 

   Is this a trick? Is he gonna put something in the pasta? Why, why did I say yes?! God, Toby, you fuckin’— It took him a while, but Toby finally came to his senses: the giant was gone. 

   The giant was gone!

   He’d left him to his own devices. Never, in all of his years, had Toby heard of a human who would do that. His parents had always told him that humans were malevolent giants that wouldn’t let you go the minute they got their hands on you. Clearly, they were wrong. At least Brad wasn’t like that.

   In spite of that, Toby was scared shitless. Every cell in his body begged him to leave, but his feet were rooted to the spot. But did he want to leave? After all, the giant did just offer him a free meal. And he was nice. He didn’t grab Toby, or even talk too loud. And he listened. 

   One thought trumped all of that: Siri. God, she was probably terrified, wondering where her friend was. On the other hand, she might’ve been ready to jump him when he returned after a talk with a human. Should he go home, or risk it all for some pasta and the chance that he might not die?

   Toby was at a crossroads.

***

   Brad was over-the-moon. Who would’ve thought that he’d be making dinner for a little, blue-haired guy? An unknown roommate, a potential friend? This was the kind of change he needed.

   With a triumphant hiss, he pulled exactly what he needed from his desk drawer: a spool of stiff art wire from his more creative days. He could bend together a little set of utensils so the guy didn’t have to eat with his hands. 

   “Alright, buddy!” he called as he returned to his kitchen. “It won’t be much, but I promise it’ll be ta— Oh.” 

   The cupboard was empty. All that was left was the tiny patchwork bag near the sugar bowl. Somewhere, deep inside his chest, Brad’s heart broke just a little bit. Why am I feeling like this? For some tiny dude I met ten minutes ago?

   He let out a defeated sigh. Not that he could blame him. Brad couldn’t imagine how terrifying he must’ve seemed to a four inch tall man. Toby wasn’t even the size of his hand. It’s not your fault. With that in mind, he grabbed a pot from under the sink and started boiling water for his dinner. A pasta dinner just for him. Not for two.

   At least he knew he wasn’t dreaming.

***

   Toby was out of breath when he finally reached his door. 

   It was late, but Siri was definitely still up and waiting impatiently. How was he going to explain his borrowing run to her? If he told her he was spotted, they would without a doubt have to pack up and leave, which was tedious. That, and they probably would have to live with a human that didn’t have good snacks.

   He took a deep breath. He would be honest. Yeah, honest. Brad wasn’t murderous or enraged when he found Toby looting for sugar. He was good, and nice. Siri would understand. He pushed the door aside and entered his home. 

   Sure enough, Siri was waiting on his hacky-sack chair. But when she spotted him, she looked relieved, not angry. “Good grief!” she cried, charging into him. Her hands shook from where they rested on his arms. “Shit, Toby, were you gone a long time. I thought you were dead!” Toby didn’t have the energy to respond as she looked him up and down. “Where’s your bag?”

   Fuck. My bag. He must’ve left it by the sugar bowl in his desperation to leave. “Rats,” he said blankly. What happened to being honest?  “I ran into a couple of extra territorial ones on my way back. I gave them my bag to distract them so I could get away.” He feigned an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Siri. I’ll go again tomorrow. Promise.” 

   He prayed and prayed that Siri would believe him. With a sigh, she shook her head.

   “No, Toby, it’s okay.” His friend patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve had quite a day already. Go on and sit down, I’ll fix you a bowl.” As she turned away, every muscle in his body relaxed. He could’ve died twice today and still he managed to come out unhurt.

   Still. He flopped down in his hacky-sack chair and blew his bangs out of his face. There was something missing, and it wasn’t his borrowing bag.

   Why did he feel so bad?

[lalikaa]

“Gravitate”

A fic I wrote for the @yamakagezine years ago and forgot to post, whoops haha. Hope you enjoy!!

~*~

It was a crisp Sunday in March; the kind of day where you’re not sure  whether you need a coat or not. The sakura trees had yet to bloom, and the  frost of February still lingered. This was one of Tadashi’s favorite times of  the year; he liked the chill before everything bloomed. 

However, Tadashi was not enjoying the cool weather at the moment, as  he was currently inside, piling bread onto a plastic tray. 

“It feels like just yesterday we were nervous about our first practice  match against Seijou, and here we are,” Tadashi began to lament. 

“...We’re in a cafe, Tadashi.” 

“You know what I mean!” Tadashi said with a huff. He was almost  tempted to say his boyfriend was being snarky, but in reality, it was just Tobio being… Tobio. 

When Tobio titled his head to the side slightly in a way that made it look like a giant question mark was floating over his head, Tadashi could not find it in himself to be exasperated. 

“Y’know, as in we’re here as third years, about ready to graduate and move on with our lives, that kinda thing.” 

The giant question mark dissipated over Tobio’s head (quite a feat, since  it was invisible to begin with), but was quickly replaced by an equally invisible exclamation mark. 

“I was never nervous about the match against Oik- Seijou,” Tobio retorted to Tadashi’s previous remark.  

“Well, you’re never nervous about anything.” 

Tobio didn’t respond to this, as they got to the cashier. Tadashi set a chocolate cornet and a red bean roll, which he had gotten for himself, and  Tobio’s melon bread and taro bun on the counter while Tobio ordered their usual drinks; a hazelnut latte for Tadashi and a matcha latte for himself.  

They scoped out their usual table by the second window to the right, and once they sat down Tobio said; “Well, some things make me nervous.” 

“Yeah? Like what?” 

“Like… passing tests, not being able to play volleyball, possibilities of  injuries… askingyouout.” The last few words were mumbled, but Tadashi  caught them anyway,  

“Awww, really? Asking me out made you nervous? But you didn’t even-” 

“I know I didn’t! Because I was nervous!” 

“There was no way you were more nervous than I was! Wait, then is  that why Shouyou-” 

“Yeah,” Tobio interjected. “Because I couldn’t do it.” 

“That-- this makes more sense now. Though, y’know, it’s not like I could’ve either.” 

Tadashi unwrapped his cornet and took a bite, now thinking back  to when their relationship had begun. If he were being honest, their  relationship definitely had an unusual start.  

Tadashi was pulled back to almost three years ago, when he’d first  joined Karasuno’s volleyball team, to when he’d first met the briskly terrifying force of nature that was Kageyama Tobio. 

~*~

Tadashi hadn’t been the only one blown away by Kageyama, but he felt like he was being affected more strongly. His heartbeat skittered whenever he was around him, something that he hadn’t experienced before. At first Tadashi was concerned that perhaps he was showing premature signs for cardiovascular disease, but when he confided this to Tsukki, he’d been met with a scoff and an eyeroll.  

“This is why feelings are stupid,” Tsukki had said. 

Whatever the hell he’d meant by that. 

After a few weeks (and a few hours on WebMD), Tadashi came to the  conclusion he wasn’t at risk of heart disease. He poured his anxiety into volleyball, and found relief in striving to be the best player he could be, drawing heavy inspiration from a certain setter.  

With every successful jump serve he made, the thought that often crossed his mind was-- 

I hope he notices. 

Months passed though, and Kageyama didn’t seem to pay any more  attention to Tadashi than he did anyone else. Tadashi tried not to take it personally.  

~*~

“He’s just so cool,” Tadashi said wistfully one day in autumn as he and Hinata sat on the steps outside the gym before practice. Tadashi was  eating a convenience store onigiri and sipping apple juice while Hinata was  bouncing a volleyball on his arms, focus sharp. 

“Yeah, he is, you should ask him out,” Hinata replied, still bouncing the  volleyball. 

Tadashi promptly spat out his juice. “I can’t do that!” 

“Why not? You’re just as cool!” 

“I’m… I’m really not. Thanks, though,” Tadashi said sheepishly. 

“Why do you think you’re not cool?” Hinata asked, catching the volleyball as he looked at Tadashi. 

Tadashi couldn’t find the words to articulate that he felt like he was floating in space when he was around Kageyama; he was a scattered  meteor, helpless to the gravitational pull of Planet Tobio.  

...That sounded kind of odd, but still.  

Tadashi sighed. There was no way he could tell Hinata all that, so instead he just said; “I don’t know.” 

“Well, I think you’re cool! You work really hard, you know? Plus you’re super nice, even though people wouldn’t think that ‘cause you hang out with Tsukishima so much.” 

Tadashi snickered. Hinata just said whatever was on his mind. 

Maybe he should, too.  

~*~

About a week after Shouyou had suggested that Yamaguchi should ask  Kageyama out, he found none other than Kageyama by his side as they were cleaning up after practice. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi had finished  folding the nets early, leaving Hinata and Kageyama to sweep the floors.  “I feel… weird,” Tobio started, which made Shouyou jump a little because Kageyama hardly ever initiated the conversation.  

“You’re always weird, Bakayama-kun,” Shouyou replied. 

When no volleyball came hurtling at his head in response, Shouyou  knew something was wrong.  

“I think I like someone as much as I like volleyball,” Kageyama  muttered. 

Shouyou stopped mid-sweep. 

Kageyama? Talking about his feelings?  

This had to be serious. 

“So… who’s your someone?”  

“No one,” Kageyama said, immediately backing out. 

“It’s gotta be someone,” Shouyou insisted, trying not to bounce in excitement. 

“Nevermind,” Kageyama grumbled.  

“Is it me?” Shouyou teased. “Kageyama, please, I’m too dedicated to volleyball to be in a relationship.” 

“It’s not you!” Kageyama snapped. 

“Ouch,” Shouyou said, pretending to be hurt.  

Then, it came to him. 

“Is it Yamaguchi?”  

“No,” Kageyama said too quickly, turning bright red. 

Aha. 

Now Shouyou just had to find the right time to ask. 

~*~

The right time came a couple months later, after the intense training camp hosted at Shiratorizawa. Hinata and Yamaguchi were eating lunch together at Hinata’s desk while Tsukshima was listening to music in his and  Yamaguchi’s classroom. Meanwhile, Yachi was tutoring Kageyama in her classroom. 

“So how was the training camp, Hinata? Tsukki said it was lame and that you were annoying.” 

“Ugh, not as annoying as he is! He put in such minimal effort, you wouldn’t believe-” 

“I think I get the idea.” Yamaguchi laughed.  

“Anyway! Are you free this Saturday afternoon after practice?” 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Awesome! You’re gonna go on a date with Kageyama at Aki Cafe in Sendai! I booked your train tickets already, you’re welcome!”

“Oh ok, thanks-- wait, WHAT.” 

Shouyou grinned as Yamaguchi proceeded to panic, giving himself a  mental pat on the back. Man, was he the most awesome friend, or what! 

On the day of the date, Tadashi had to remind himself that ‘this is fine’ approximately 19 billion times.  

But what if Kageyama didn’t actually like him? I mean, why would he?  What the hell had Hinata been thinking?! 

~*~

The train ride was as awkward as he’d expected, honestly. Kageyama  wasn’t the most social of butterflies, but as soon as Tadashi brought up  their latest practice match against Datekou, one thing led to another and  soon they were talking about various ways they could demolish Datekou’s  Iron Wall. Tadashi loved when Kageyama talked about volleyball; he was  so passionate. Tadashi envied him a little, as he felt as though his passion  for anything could never match Kageyama’s. It was just another aspect of  him that drew Tadashi in.  

Tobio was surprised at how easily he could talk to Yamaguchi. He was  used to people not wanting to talk to him, ever, so this was an unusual, but  appreciated, change of pace.  

The train bumped along as they traveled towards their destination. Tobio didn’t have the faintest clue why Hinata had bought them both train tickets and given instructions on getting to a particular cafe, and he had  definitely considered declining when Hinata brought it up… until Hinata  mentioned that his travel partner would be Yamaguchi. 

Partner was a word reserved for someone you could completely trust, and Kageyama hadn’t felt a true connection like that until he’d met Hinata.  But then, how he felt about Hinata was vastly different from how he felt  about Yamaguchi. While he wanted Hinata to spike his tosses, he wanted Yamaguchi to hold his hand... or something. It was weird.  

They got lost on their way to the cafe Hinata had suggested. “We could just go to another one,” Tobio said as they took what was likely their eighth wrong turn. 

“But Hinata went through all the trouble of finding one, so we should  go!” Yamaguchi insisted. 

Tobio shrugged. As long as he was home in time for his 8 o’clock run  he was fine. It was only 1 o’clock now, so he should be good. He tried not  to think about spending seven hours with Yamaguchi. Surely it wouldn’t be  that long…? If it was, Tobio was in trouble. He might get the urge to do  something drastically romantic, like pat Yamaguchi on the shoulder.  

Tobio snapped out of his thoughts when Yamaguchi said suddenly;  “Oh, here it is!” 

Aki Cafe was a small building, nestled between a hair salon and an  ice cream parlor. The two walked in and were greeted by the smell of  cinnamon, vanilla, coffee, and at least nine other different scents. They  studied the menu together in silence, then picked up their bread and made  their order; they each got savory crepes. 

As they waited on their food at a table by the second window to the  right, they fell into awkward silence. The waitress brought them a pitcher  of water and glasses, which was a welcome distraction. They both then  sipped their water, with Tobio doing his best not to stare too much. He’d  never realized how many freckles Yamaguchi had. They were kind of cool.  Tobio began to wonder how many there were and oh god what was wrong  with him? 

Thankfully, Yamaguchi broke the silence by bringing up a homework  assignment that he’d recently struggled on, and they came to an agreement that math was indeed the Worst, and should be banned from school. The waitress came with their crepes. They thanked her, and began to eat. 

~*~

Think of something else to say, think of something else to say oh my god why  are you so awkward this is why no one really ever wants to hang out with you,  you don’t deserve- 

“You’ve- you’ve gotten really good at jump float serves,” Kageyama said  abruptly. 

Tadashi tried not to gape at him. Kageyama, the king of serves, was  complimenting him on his serves!? No way. 

“Uh, thank you,” Tadashi said. He was still pretty bad at taking  compliments. “You’re really amazing at serves too!”  

Kageyama seemed to be just as bad at taking compliments, but not in  an awkward way like Tadashi—more in a blunt, yet endearing sort of way.  “I still have a lot to improve on,” he said seriously. 

“Me too,” Tadashi said. “Maybe you could- maybe you could help me  practice sometime?” He winced, fully expecting Kageyama to decline. “Yeah, sure,” Kageyama said. 

Tadashi suddenly felt overwhelmed. Because extra practice with  Kageyama obviously meant spending more time with him, which meant  that Tadashi’s life would become far more complicated. He wasn’t sure how  much his heart - and his nerves - could take. 

“I’d really like that!” Tadashi responded, a little too loudly. “Me, too,” Kageyama said, giving a rare smile.  

To Tadashi, it felt special, somehow. Kageyama was smiling because  of him, and only to him- it felt intimate in a way. Tadashi grinned back,  feeling his heartstrings loosen and his nerves settle down. Maybe he could  handle more time with Kageyama after all. 

~*~

After they finished their crepes, Tobio suggested getting ice cream at  the parlor next door. He was still hungry, and anything milk-based was always a good thing. The parlor was really cool—various pictures hung on the walls, and the shiny tiled floor made it look like the shop was brand  new. The counter had a large display of at least 30 flavors of ice cream  on display behind clear glass. The signs above the counter showed that  the parlor also served soft serve, sundaes, and milkshakes. The friendly worker greeted them, and after some deliberation, both boys decided on  milkshakes- chocolate for Tobio, strawberry for Yamaguchi.  

They found a table near the corner of the parlor, milkshakes in hand.  As they sipped their milkshakes, Tobio couldn’t help but think; God, he’s pretty. 

Was “pretty” the right word, though? Maybe it should be handsome.  Either way, Tobio wanted to look at Yamaguchi more than he looked at a  volleyball. 

Something was really wrong with him.  

Yamaguchi was cool in a lot of ways, so maybe his line of thinking  was acceptable then…? In all honesty, Tobio had no clue. He was already subpar at best with friendships, never mind actual romantic relationships.  

He hadn’t even considered being in a relationship like that until, well…  when had he considered it first? Maybe when Yamaguchi made his first  successful jump float serve in practice?  

He didn’t know for sure, but he was certainly happy to be where he was  now. Yamaguchi looked a little anxious, but Tobio couldn’t be sure. He  gave a small, nervous smile, in hopes it would… do something. Maybe he was reading the situation wrong…? 

When Yamaguchi smiled back, though, he felt his heartbeat quicken, like he’d just run several sprints.  Tobio wasn’t sure if he would get used to this feeling, but his instincts told  him it was a feeling that would last.  

~*~

Tobio and Tadashi finished their bread at Aki Cafe, a sense of nostalgia still hovering between them. Tadashi thought maybe they were too young  to feel nostalgic about a relationship that was only a little over two years, but  the pull he felt on his heartstrings and the maybe-maybe-not tear in his eye felt differently. Tadashi tried to think of something to say as they started walking out of the cafe. This time, though, it was Tobio who initiated their conversation. 

“It’ll be… hard not seeing you every day,” Tobio admitted.  

“Nothing is ever hard for you, Tobio,” Tadashi assured him. 

“Except for not seeing you every day.” 

Tadashi really loved how straightforward Tobio was. He never left Tadashi guessing; he was always honest. 

The sun started setting as they meandered along the sidewalks of  Sendai, glowing red-orange in the cloudless sky. 

“I promise to come to all of your matches,” Tadashi said as they turned  a street corner.  

“I’d rather you promise to play.” 

“We’ll see.” 

“I’ll see you on the court, then,” Tobio said firmly. 

It was comforting how much Tobio believed in him. So, Tadashi  responded by laughing as he took Tobio’s hand, the two walking side by side, with no real destination in mind in the two hours they had before  their train home. It really didn’t matter where they went though; they  would always gravitate back to each other in the end.

[lotusfartstwice]

(late) Tenten week day 1: Courage

Title: Fine Line Between Brave and Stupid

Fandom: Naruto

Word Count: 1563

Rating: T (for swears I guess)

Warnings: giant spiders and uh harry potter au

Summary: She did not have a deathwish nor was she interested in expulsion. In fact her knees felt shaky and she felt rather panicky as she continued to walk down her path. She wouldn’t say it outloud but she was grateful she wasn’t alone.

Notes: They're about 12 or 13 here? and I hope it all makes sense. Part of the same universe as this fic (if anyone's interested). == Why on earth is Forbidden Forest so accessible? Tenten thought to herself.

The young witch sighed as she walked through the Forbidden Forest. It’s not like she had planned it but what were you going to do? In the back of her head she can hear the headmistress’ warnings of the forest. Students weren’t allowed to enter unless accompanied by a professor or other staff member. It was too dangerous, especially deeper into the forest.

She did not have a deathwish nor was she interested in expulsion. In fact her knees felt shaky and she felt rather panicky as she continued to walk down her path. She wouldn’t say it outloud but she was grateful she wasn’t alone.

On her left was a Ravenclaw boy known as Neji Hyugga. He was a prickly guy, who never smiled just kinda smirked. Magic came easy to the boy but he really shined at Defense Against the Dark Arts. So despite feeling nervous she felt a little better knowing he had come along. She could trust that the Hyugga would draw his wand first and ask questions later.

“What if we get expelled?” She had asked him.

“We won’t.” He sighed looking put-upon that she even asked. “Besides, they can’t have gotten far.”

That had been half an hour ago.

“Where the hell are they?”

“Ah, Tenten do not worry! They must be resting somewhere nearby.”

On her right was Rock Lee, a boy from Slytherin house. He was the opposite of Neji as one could usually find him smiling or overall being a friendly person (once you got past the resting bitch face, anyway). He wasn’t what you expected from a Slytherin at all. He had been equally worried as her for their fourth group member and had readily agreed to help look for them. As far as she knew he was mostly good at theory work but, hey, better knowledgeable than totally unprepared.

“They better be because I’m about ready to head back!” She didn’t mean it of course. She just wanted to find the Hufflepuff and head back to the castle. She gripped her wand as they continued on.

They had been assigned into a group for Care of Magical Creatures class when things had gone wrong. A prank that involved startling the magical salamanders they had been studying had caused quite the commotion. Her group’s member from Hufflepuff house had vanished, running panicked into the woods. Professor Umino had been busy trying to calm the chaos that had erupted. Students were trying their best to put out fires that Salamanders had started. It had been easy to slip away.

“Help! Someone! Help!”

“That’s-”

“They must be-”

Tenten bolted into the direction of the cries only to skid to a stop.

“Tenten! Help me!”

When Neji arrived he tensed before taking a step back. When Lee caught up he stopped and stared. “Oh, this is not good.”

“That is a big ass spider,” is all Tenten can say.

Lee swallowed. “It certainly is.”

The poor Hufflepuff had been backed up against a large tree. A spider as big as a horse stood over them, legs poised high as it hissed. Their classmate whimpered, trying to bury themself further into the tree bark. “P-Please help me!”

Tenten glanced at Neji, frowning as the boy hardly reacted except to stare stiffly at the creature before them.

Great, so much for my defense against the dark arts expert.

“It is probably waiting for the rest of its colony,” Lee said. “It looks to be an adolescent.”

“Um great?” Tenten hoped Lee was going to make a point soon.

The Slytherin drew his wand, though he looked less than enthused to be holding it.

“You know what spell to use to kill it?”

“Well, a fire spell ought to help scare it away but uh,” the boy’s face fell. “I am not confident in it.”

“What?!”

Lee gave her an apologetic look. “I am not good at performing spells!”

“What kind of wizard are you?!”

“Guys! Please! I dropped my wand!” The wayward Hufflepuff cried.

That explained the whole getting cornered thing.

Tenten took in a deep breath. “Okay, I have a plan.”

“Plan?” that seemed to snap Neji out of whatever trance he had fallen in.

“Yes, a plan!” she hissed. “I’m going to distract the spider while you two grab our teammate and their wand then run.”

Lee frowned. “But what about you?”

“I have an escape plan, don't worry about me.” “Forgive me but-”

“Shhh!” Tenten was out of patience as she interrupted the Hyuga. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins, her limbs felt oddly disconnected to her body but she ignored it.. “Follow the plan!” Her legs began moving before she could fully comprehend what she was doing.

Defense Against the Dark Arts and Theory of Magic had places in Tenten’s interest in magic. Her speciality however was always charms. She liked dissecting them, figuring out how to make them work but she also enjoyed expanding upon them. Her magic was a bit rough around the edges as she experimented but according to Professor Yuuhi she was quite proficient.

Jinxes were always fun too.

Tenten let out a yell as she stood to face the spider’s side. “Flipendo!”

The creature was knocked back a foot or two, a bit shocked, which was enough for Tenten to grab her teammate so she could push them towards the other two. “GET GOING NOW!”

The Ravenclaw and the Slytherin looked reluctant but when the Hufflepuff nearly barreled past them they quickly followed.

The spider wasn’t distracted long, clearly upset it had lost its potential meal it began to eye Tenten as its new target.

Oh god too many eyes and legs oh god.

Tenten wanted to cry but she gripped her wand tighter. “That’s right ugly! Whatcha gonna do now?”

The spider hissed which made the witch back up in reflex. She just needed to time this right. The others needed enough distance from this thing so she could escape. “Well, let’s do this.”

It was repetitive but it seemed to work as she used the knockback jinx over and over again. The spider didn’t seem to understand as she continued to send it back. Her arm was straining. The damn thing was way too heavy.

“I think...that’s far enough.” She all but panted.

Her eyes widened as the spider was back on its feet, nearly leaping before it skittered towards her.

“Oh shit.” Escape time. Definitely escape time.

Her other hand blindly reached into her robe pocket. “C’mon! C’mon! C’mon!” When her hand finally wraps around the familiar material of wood she all but sighs in relief. She pulls the broomstick out of her pocket in a rushed ungraceful manner but it doesn’t matter. She hikes her leg over it and she’s off the ground, above the trees and out of damn Forbidden Forest.

--

She nearly crashes to the ground as a landing but hey, not bad for a slapdash plan. She shakily stands up, the adrenaline definitely sapping her of her strength. She gripped her broomstick to steady her.

“Tenten!”

“You did it!”

She gave her classmates a shaky grin. “Toldja I had an escape plan.”

Neji blinked before smirking at her while Lee looked at her with big eyes shining full of admiration.

“You certainly did.”

“Tenten!” Professor Umino looks positively relieved at the sight of her but then angry. “What- you-”

“I told you Professor! She saved me!” The Hufflepuff yelled behind him.

“She was amazing!” Lee added. “She used a knockback jinx on the-”

Their teacher put an arm out to stop them. “I- you shouldn’t- I was-”

“Professor, may Lee and I escort our classmates to the medical wing?” Neji interrupted.

Iruka Umino’s shoulders sagged. “Yes. Fine. I will speak with all of you later in my office, understood?”

“Yes, sir of course!”

Tenten blinked as Neji and Lee were by her side. “Need us to help you?”

“Please and thank you.” She considered riding her broom but she figured she was already in enough trouble.

The four of them began their walk to the medical wing.

“Where were you keeping that broom anyway?”

“Oh, that’s cuz I’ve enchanted my pockets to be deeper than they are.” She demonstrated by putting the broom away, tucked into her pocket like a pen.

Her classmates stared at her. “That’s advanced magic.”

“Ehh it’s easy once you figure out how it works.”

Lee smiled wistfully. “I am surprised you are not in Ravenclaw house.”

“Or Hufflepuff.” Their fourth member spoke up. “You didn’t have to look for me. You should’ve just waited for Professor Umino.”

Tenten shrugged. “I’m a Gryffindor. It’s what we do.”

Neji snorted.

“What?”

“Courage and foolishness often go hand in hand, don’t they?”

“Oh zip it.” She nudged the boy. “Besides, you came along too! What does that make you?”

Lee shook his head with a laugh, eyes facing forward. “It is courage to venture into something despite fear.” He glanced at Tenten. “You knew it was foolish but you went along anyway. That is brave.”

“Well, it definitely helped that I wasn’t alone.” She smiled at the two at her sides. “Thanks.”

Neji smiled. “Let’s skip the spiders next time.”

“Oh! I agree!”

“God yes.” She might be brave, a little foolish but she wasn’t that stupid.

[weakzen]

No Take Backs

Her offer affords him some fun advantages, Mason supposes.

pairing: female detective/mason rating: m series: part 1 of 7

AO3 version

also submitted for @otomefandomevents​ wayhaven week 2020 ♥ day 1 – dawn/dusk

Mason leans over the walkway railing and takes a long drag from his third cigarette.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the familiar and all-too-brief sting that burns down his throat and explodes across his lungs. Smoke chokes him with overpowering and comforting acridness, blanketing his face in soft heat when he finally exhales.

But it's still not enough to cover the sickly sweetness of fresh-cut grass blasting through the air to coat his tongue.

Or to shield him from the scorching light melting his clothes into his skin. Or muffle the unrelenting, jumbled blare of air conditioners, lawnmowers, TVs, radios, and every other goddamned electronic object in the vicinity.

A piercing shriek from one of the kids playing nearby stabs into his ear and he flinches slightly.

Or that too.

Mason groans as a headache begins to rumble at his temples. He sucks down another long, deep drag and steadies himself against it the best he can. The fatigue makes it difficult. Annoyingly more difficult. Exhaustion weighs on him, subtle yet heavy, trapping his mind and his every little movement beneath a sense of sluggishness.

Though—at least it's starting to lessen somewhat, now that the sun is finally fucking setting.

He ashes his cigarette over the balcony with a flick of his thumb.

And at least it's not as boiling hot as it was earlier, he supposes. And summer's almost over, too.

Thank fuck.

But it'd be better if that storm would finally roll in to cool everything off.

He squints up at the cloudless and faintly hazy sky. Far above the town, the wind continues to whip in from the west. And every time it shifts to slice closer to the ground, he catches the scent of rain.

Sure is taking its fucking time getting here, though.

With a final drag, Mason pushes off the railing to crush his cigarette into the ashtray she'd placed on the windowsill by her door. The one she insisted he use if he 'absolutely had to smoke here.' The one that she grinned over, then told him he needed to stop being a butthead, right before she snorted herself into a cackle at her own stupid pun while he stared at her and wondered why exactly he found her so attractive.

Shaking his head at the memory, Mason lights another cigarette and resumes his perch.

As he waits, the sun slinks closer to the trees. The kids scream endlessly. His headache builds and his cigarette burns shorter.

Obnoxious cawing bursts from somewhere behind the apartments too, joining the rest of the noise crushing in around him. Probably those birds she's always feeding.

Mason rolls his eyes and huffs out another cloud of smoke.

His eyes scan over to the parking lot, to that gleaming silver shitheap of hers, the low sun highlighting every scratch and painting every pockmarked dent in deep shadow.

Where the hell was she, anyway?

Frowning slightly, he glances back at her building, to the grassy courtyard below, the cracked sidewalk, the concrete stairs leading up to the second story, the chipped white railings that bend along the exterior walkways in front of a wall of red brick and a row of doors and windows. His gaze slows as it passes one window in particular.

That nosy fucker is watching him again through a slit in the blinds. He glares hard and directly into the eyes widening behind the glass.

The gap immediately snaps shut.

Mason chuckles a little as the fucker's heartbeat spikes.

Then his chuckle breaks into a loud laugh when he hears the panicked sound of a body crashing into a table.

He takes another drag on his cigarette, smirking as he shakes his head.

But… his amusement doesn't last. And when it finally fades, it just leaves him with a scowl and even more irritation than he felt before.

Where the fuck was she?

…And why was he even waiting for her?

If she couldn't be bothered to show up on time, then fuck it. Her loss. He isn't sticking around. Mason grabs his jacket from the railing, whips it over his shoulder, and strides toward the stairs.

He makes it halfway down them before the realization slams into him that something might have happened to her.

That could explain why she's late today.

His hand snaps out to catch the railing, jerking his movement to a sudden halt at the bottom of the steps. Annoyance twists uncomfortably in his chest, drawing his brow into a furrow when it briefly claws up into his throat.

And if something did happen to her, then it would be entirely on him.

Adam would never let him hear the end of it, just stern glares and disappointed frowns forever—and Mason doesn't even want to think about what Agent Black would do.

And… he doesn't want anything to happen to her, either.

She is one of them after all.

Annoyance still coiling inside him, Mason exhales deeply and almost flicks his cigarette away into the grass.

Then he groans even more deeply and runs back up the stairs to smash it into the ashtray before he takes off.

–o–

He traces her usual route home back to the station, but only finds the night shift volunteer at their desk and Officer Bobblehead in front of the copy machine, singing to herself while she dances to the rhythm of spewing paper.

Scoffing in disgust, he tries the Square next, staying only long enough to guarantee she isn't there before he immediately veers away from the nauseating confection, greasy food, and overwhelming wave of people. He lands at her boxing club after, where there's nothing but stale sweat, grunts, and the echoing cracks of fists hitting bags.

And when he sends her a text to ask where the hell she is, he receives no response.

Mason frowns heavily, annoyance clawing at his throat again as he runs his hand through his hair.

Then he pushes out of town, into the woods, up to the trail that she likes to run by the lake.

Branches whip by him in a blur of green. His feet trample ferns and bounce off moss-covered logs. The rich aroma of damp earth and organic decay invades his lungs as he opens his senses fully to the rustle of every leaf, animal, and insect. The forest howls with life, tearing into him with such a vicious, primal resonance that his body trembles beneath the sheer force of it.

But he pushes on. He cuts through the roar with focus sharpened for one thing only.

Until he finally catches it at the very edge of his hearing, soft and quiet beneath the screaming.

A familiar heartbeat that makes his own jolt in recognition.

Immediately, he turns and streaks toward it. It's calmer than its usual tense tempo, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything good.

He spurs on faster.

Blazing through gaps in the timber and sunken banks of mist.

Over tangled deadfall, slick boulders, and the wide creek he clears easily in a single bound.

Light begins to flicker between the trees. And Mason bursts through the edge of the forest, his momentum carrying him forward—but something even stronger slamming him back, forcing him to skid to a halt, one hand scraping a long trail through the dirt behind him.

Sunset bathes the lake in brilliant red as thousands of sparkles glitter across the water. A felled tree rests on the shore, its trunk worn smooth by time. And in the middle of it, she sits with her back to him, her arms spread out to her sides while her hair ignites like a flame in the light.

Something catches in his throat then.

Smoke, maybe. From that fire up north.

He clears it away and pushes himself up, wiping his hand on his pants. Then he folds his arms, a slow smile spreading across his face.

If there's one good thing about summer at-fucking-all, it's the sleeveless shirts and cropped tops.

His eyes draw over the muscled slope of her bare shoulders and arms, down the curve of her side, briefly dipping into the band of exposed skin above her jeans before sliding back out and around the swell of her ass, only to repeat the journey up the other side. Her hat ruins the effect somewhat, a big black circle silhouetted atop her head that blocks part of his view.

But, all in all…

Mason bites his lip. The image is almost enough to make him forget about how goddamn annoyed she's made him.

Almost.

He kicks a branch out of his way and strides towards her.

“Finally,” he barks out as he nears. “Could've let me know you were gonna be late tonight. Or texted me back.”

She gives him a lazy glance from over her shoulder, followed by an even lazier smile. Oversized sunglasses conceal her eyes.

“Turned my phone off,” she replies, then shrugs slightly. “And I didn't realize we were meeting, sunshine.”

Mason scoffs and stalks across the shifting jumble of rocks and splintered wood that pass for a beach. He tosses his jacket down and plops onto the log beside her, facing the other direction.

“Yeah, not like I don't come over every night to tuck you in when it's my turn to babysit,” he says, glaring at her from over his shoulder. “Some of us have a schedule to keep, sweetheart. Try to be a little more considerate.”

She only laughs, her head falling back with the motion while her tits bounce enticingly. Mason presses his lips together as he watches, his irritation crumbling away.

Just a bit.

“Oh, of course. I'm so sorry,” she says a moment later, her voice even huskier than normal with amusement. She rolls her head to the side to glance at him again, her smile broadening as she tugs her sunglasses down slightly, just enough to meet his eye. “I completely forgot all that smoking and brooding aren't gonna take care of themselves. Next time, I'll be sure to send a text.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs again, turning away as his own smile pulls at the corner of his lips. “Apology accepted.”

She chuckles and bumps her shoulder into his.

As she pulls away, he follows, spreading his arms out behind himself too, until their shoulders press faintly together and his hand nearly touches her thigh. Heat rolls off her body—and excitement too, a skittering little thrill that prickles electrically across his skin to bury itself in his stomach. She gives no outward indication of it though, other than the smallest hitch in her breath and the gentle sigh that escapes her lips.

Mason smirks slowly, temptation urging him to lean even closer and draw his finger up her leg to put a deeper crack in that facade, but…

He finds himself more content to just leave her undisturbed, to let her keep relaxing into the moment.

…And to enjoy it himself.

Cool moisture drifts off the water behind him, but it flows over his back pleasantly, softened by the sunlight and her warmth. A lazy breeze presses through the air, brushing against his cheeks and ruffling his hair. He briefly catches the tang of rain on it again, before it disappears beneath her scent and the pines and the distant smoke of wildfires.

The forest rustles around them, and his gaze passes over it appreciatively before ambling up the mountains that cradle the lake. The craggy, purple behemoths tower into the sky above, their snow-capped peaks bathed molten orange in the sunset.

He closes his eyes to a vision of their afterimage.

Waves lap against the shore. Birdsong slows in the trees. Her heart beats in a steady, soothing rhythm with her breath.

And that's all he hears.

Even at the very edge of his senses, he can't detect any other people.

He sags slightly as tension he hadn't even realized he was carrying uncoils from around him.

For a long moment, there's just… peace.

And the world isn't scraping him raw.

–o–

He doesn't open his eyes again until some time later.

When she shivers against him and the pink glow of twilight surrounds them both, the first smattering of stars visible overhead.

Mason leans over to let his breath tickle hot along her neck. “Need me to warm you up?” he asks, teasing his lips against her ear.

Another shiver ripples across her body, and she turns to smirk at him.

“Eventually.”

She looks at him for a moment longer, her smirk softening into a quiet little smile, but he can't see anything more of it behind the sunglasses.

“Should probably get home before it gets too dark,” she adds, pushing up from the log.

He grunts in reluctant agreement.

As she stands, she raises her arms above her head to stretch, her joints cracking from the effort. His eyes follow her movement, roaming appreciatively once more along the lean lines of her body, slowly tracing around her familiar curves as he bites his lip. She picks up her ratty denim jacket from where she was sitting on it, shakes it out a few times, and slips it on.

Mason almost groans.

Then she slings her backpack over her shoulder and glances down at him. With a sigh, he pushes himself up to put on his own jacket and join her.

They walk alongside each other in silence, rocks crunching beneath their feet as they follow the dusty, packed trail that hugs the curve of the lake. Frogs croak from the water, joined by the chirp of crickets and the sharp chittering of bats overhead. A sliver of moon hangs in the darkening sky with them, while the air rapidly begins to cool below.

She pulls her jacket tighter and folds her arms.

Without looking, he lazily throws his arm over her shoulder and tugs her closer. A moment later, her arm circles around his waist, her hand slipping beneath his jacket to curl hot against his side.

His lips quirk in a faint smile as she shifts into him, her body heat bleeding through his clothes and into his skin. Her touch always pleases him, of course, but right now he's more grateful for the shared warmth.

Already, the cold slices him deeper. Sounds grow louder. His vision stretches further, into even sharper detail, while his limbs glide with powerful fluidity. And within it all, he feels far more alert and awake than he has all day, his body thrumming as nightfall gradually returns his strength and draws his senses to a heightened pitch.

…Which only makes it even worse when they finally reach the fork in the trail that breaks away towards the trees.

The little wooded path that cuts back into town.

A frown catches on Mason's lips. At least her apartment isn't far from there.

They turn to take it, eventually emerging onto an empty, dead end street.

The springy dirt of the forest floor blends into a blanket of windblown pine needles before yielding to crumbling asphalt that makes their footsteps snap echoes against the buildings. Electricity crackles in the power lines above, surging down to spool in the streetlights with a shrill whine, readying them to spill their ugly orange light everywhere. In the distance, dogs bark, children shriek, sprinklers sputter and hiss, and the din of heartbeats pound against each other, rising in volume, tangling around the tinny blare of electronics, fragmented conversations, grating laughter, shouting, arguments, screeching music and more abrasive noise than he can clearly identify until it all becomes a jagged and overwhelming roar that tears into him painfully.

Mason inhales and tenses against it reflexively, his jaw tightening—

But then Alex shifts closer into him, stroking his side with her hand briefly before giving him a soft squeeze, and all of it just… fades away.

Disappears beneath her touch and her quiet presence and her calming heartbeat.

His brow furrows deeply as something swells in his chest. Something strange and light and somewhat uncomfortable, if only because of its sudden appearance and unfamiliarity, but... it's not entirely unpleasant.

It's not unpleasant at all.

Frowning, Mason drags his hand back through his hair and exhales a quiet sigh.

The weird sensation lingers for a while, floating gently inside him as he uneasily enjoys it—until she suddenly turns sharply, and he nearly stumbles to keep in step with her. Annoyance jolts through him, a reprimand snapping hot and immediate to his tongue, but… then he realizes they've only arrived at her building.

And all she's done is lead them up the walkway toward it.

He frowns, his irritation fading as he blows out a breath.

Then his frown pulls even harder as she disentangles from him.

She shifts her backpack around to unzip the front pouch. And as she does, a black shape swoops down from the trees to land on the wire that stretches between the apartment and the utility poles.

The crow caws down at her.

She chuckles and holds her hands up, fingers extended and empty. “Don't have anything for you right now, bud.”

It caws obnoxiously a few more times, seeming to understand. Then it flies away with a piercing screech and an annoyed flap of wings.

Chuckling again, she shakes her head and pulls out her key ring. “Yeah, you're welcome, you little bastard.”

“Why the hell do you feed those things anyway?” he asks, glancing at her from the corner of his eye as they continue up the sidewalk.

She shrugs. “Because they're smart and a little ridiculous? I dunno, they're fun to watch. I like them,” she says, then purses her lips. “Except for when they're cawing right outside my bedroom window at five in the morning, but… well, even that's a little funny too.”

His lip curls. “Ugh, if you say so.”

They head up the stairs to her door. She stops outside of it for a moment, then turns around to face him.

“You know… I do have something for you, though.”

Mason immediately smirks.

“Yeah? I have something for you too, sweetheart.” He slides his hands over her hips, thumbs brushing over her bare skin, before he hooks his fingers into her belt loops and tugs her closer. “You want it in there—” he asks, his voice rumbling low as he skims his lips along the length of her neck to press a few quick kisses to her mouth “—or out here?”

Her heart beats faster as her lips move to keep kissing him, but then she just smiles against his mouth and breathes out a quiet little chuckle. “Probably in there,” she says, resting her hand on his arm, “but… let's take care of my thing first.”

He shrugs and gives her a parting kiss before he leans away, letting his fingers flick free of her belt loops. “If that's what you want.”

She glances at him for a moment longer, then inhales deeply and shifts her bag around to unzip the front pouch again. Her hand slips inside and returns with an unexpected object that she holds up between two fingers.

He raises an eyebrow.

“A key?”

“Yep.”

“To what?”

“My apartment.”

Mason tenses slightly, shifting his weight.

“Why the hell would I want that?”

“So you can let yourself in.”

He scoffs and glances away, running his hand back through his hair. “I don't need a key to do that, sweetheart.”

“Probably not,” she agrees, and he can hear the faint grin in her tone, “but it would help me out if you did. You're scaring the shit out of the neighbors with all of your skulking and your scowling and your glaring and your general… you-ness.”

A laugh bursts from him and he glances back to her. “I don't see how that's a problem.”

“Well, maybe not for you, but some of us still have to live here.” She huffs a stray hair out of her face and leans against the door, resting her foot against it too as she lets her bag slide to the ground. Then she folds her arms. “You know, I still can't believe no one has complained to the landlady about all of the smoking… and the noise.”

He smirks and chuckles again. “Sounds like I should keep scaring them so they don't.”

She cocks her head and fixes him with a look that not even her sunglasses can hide. His smirk widens.

“I like this building. I don't want to move. And I'm tired of you banging on the door every time it's locked until I come and answer.”

Mason angles himself towards her, licking his lips as he brings his arm up to rest on the door above her head. “Yet you still let me in every, single, time,” he drawls, his voice low and teasing as he grins at her.

She stares up at him. “Do it again and I won't.”

The telltale combination of reactions ping loudly and immediately against him—the nearly imperceptible crack in her voice, the subtle shift of tension in her stance, the faint and brief spike of her pulse.

He leans down toward her, his grin sharpening. She inhales slightly as he approaches, but holds her ground and his gaze. Pressing his face in close, he teases his lips up her neck again, to her ear, her head tilting to the side to allow it.

“You should know better than to lie to me of all people, sweetheart,” he whispers against her, his words brushing hot across her skin.

She inhales again, more sharply this time, as a shiver ripples down her body. Heat prickles across her face quickly after, and he lingers for a moment to savor it before pulling away to enjoy the view of her flushed cheeks.

“Yeah, well…” she begins, then huffs in that usual way she does whenever she rolls her eyes. “If I didn't answer, then you'd probably just creep around behind the building and start pounding on my bedroom window instead.”

“Probably,” he agrees. “That does sound like more fun, now that you mention it. Less of a walk for both of us, too.”

She groans a loud noise of exasperation, but the smile playing at the corner of her mouth undercuts it slightly.

Then, with a shake of her head, she pushes away from the door and holds the key up to him by the tip.  

“Well—do you want it or not, sunshine?”

They stare at each other for a moment. But even with his vision, the only thing Mason can see clearly on her face is the faint movement of her eyelashes brushing against the twin reflections of him and the hand she's extending towards him.

He glances down at the key, and back up to her face.

“I don't need it.”

Her breathing stills for a moment and her lips press together slightly. Something rolls quietly through her chest to bump something uncomfortable into his.

But she inhales deeply and it's gone.

Then she simply shrugs.

“Okay,” she says, her voice unusually flat. And she slips the key into the front pocket of her jeans.

Alex turns away from him—

But his hands snap out to spin her back toward him.

Then they're pushing her hat from her head and her sunglasses up into her hair and curling around the back of her neck and her waist as he leans in to kiss her hard.

His mouth muffles the sound of her surprise, but not the way it reverberates against his skin—and not the heated rush of arousal that quickly follows as she kisses him back.

A moment later, her arms loop around his neck and he yanks her tighter against himself in response. He deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue into her mouth while his fingers tangle into the soft hair at the nape of her neck. Her arms circle him tighter, squeezing, as she presses into him fully, standing up on the tips of her toes to reach him better, and he slides his palm across her lower back and down to her ass, where he squeezes too, lifting her slightly in encouragement.

She moans into his mouth—and he can't help but do the same in return as her desire crashes into his electrically and bursts pleasure across his body.

Fuck, he wants her.

Mason pushes her against the door, her tits crushing to his chest, his cock grinding into her hips, and he presses his thigh between hers, dragging it upward to the sound of her gasping moan. He captures her lips again immediately, unrelenting, and kisses her deeply while he glides his hand over her bare stomach, across the hot and silky expanse of her skin, before he teases his fingers down the front of her pants.

He slides them in past her jeans, past the band of her underwear, until his fingertips and knuckles brush into soft, warm hair and press on a little further still. She sucks in a breath, her stomach rolling exquisitely beneath his touch as her hips rock forward to match it, grinding pleasure from his leg. He smiles against her mouth briefly before kissing her again, rolling his hips in time with her movement while his thumb dances circles around the button on her jeans. He lets her anticipation spiral with it, winding it tighter inside of her until she's ready to spring.

And when she is, he clutches the front of her jeans and pulls them up into her instead.

She arches against him, a moan tearing from her lips, her pleasure crackling white-hot between them and surging straight into his cock.

He inhales deeply in excitement, breathing hard against her lips, anticipation making his own limbs tremble faintly—but despite it, despite the alluring scent of her arousal on his tongue and how much he wants to stay, how much he fucking wants to push his fingers down even further and slide them back up inside of her, he forces them out of her pants instead, to leave her even more wanting. He teases them away across her waistband as she shakes with breathy, groaning laughter against him.

And then he clenches them hard around her hip when she catches his lip between her teeth and nips down

Pain and pleasure singe fire across his body, burning free a guttural snarl that rips past his own teeth. He smirks sharply against her.

Then goes for the throat.

To that spot of hers they both enjoy so much.

As he moves his mouth mercilessly against her, as she moans and shudders beneath his teeth, as they grind together, her pleasure arcing into him on waves that amplify his own throbbing need, his fingers play against her stomach, teasing along her waistband once more.

Then he carefully slides two of them into her pocket.

And pulls out the key.

Mason doesn't understand why.

But he knows immediately what to do next.

He glides his hand down from her hair, his palm pressed flat and wide, fingers trailing over the bumps of her spine, past her thrumming heartbeat, dipping in to the curve of her back before finally settling on her ass. Once there, he grabs her again, groaning as he squeezes a firm handful of her, partially for pleasure, but mostly to shift her weight as he urges her hips forward. Chills ripple across her body as he continues kissing her neck, grazing her with his teeth, dragging his tongue across her pounding pulse and the intoxicating taste of her skin, until her nipples harden and dig into his chest wonderfully, and her fingers claw into his shoulders, and her thighs clench around his, and she moans so deeply into his ear that he knows she's focusing on nothing but him and the pleasure he's giving her in the moment.

Then—in one quick motion—he slips the key into the lock, turns it, and throws the door open.

A gasp tears from her lips as she falls backwards.

Her pulse spikes, surprise flashing with it as her hands scramble at his shoulders to keep hold. Her foot kicks up off the ground as she plummets, her body almost parallel to the floor before he snaps forward in a flash and whips his arms around her to catch her.

She stares up into his eyes as she jerks to a halt, gaze wide, cheeks flushed, arms clinging to him desperation while she breathes heavily and her heartbeat thunders against his chest.

He just smiles.

And holds her there for a long, enjoyable moment, taking in the stunning view of her knocked off balance in more than one way.

Then he pulls her back upright and against him.

She takes a deep, steadying breath, her hands sliding downward from around his neck to rest on his chest—right before her eyes suddenly snap to the door. He chuckles slightly, and reaches around her to tug the key from the lock, her gaze following his movement closely as he holds it up in front of her between two fingers.

“I guess it could come in handy for some things,” he says, smirking.

She raises an eyebrow and huffs a loose hair out of her face. “Guess so.”

Mason slips the key into the front pocket of his jeans.

Her eyebrow shoots up even further.

Still smirking, he bends to grab her things from the ground, then flings that hat of hers over the top of her head into the living room like a frisbee. She watches it fly by and immediately gives him a look that only makes him chuckle in response.

When he swings her backpack behind himself like he's about to do the same, she sighs deeply.

Then she grabs him by the front of his pants and yanks him inside.

Mason slams the door shut behind them, grinning widely as he tosses her bag away with a heavy thunk and presses himself against her again. Her jacket quickly follows the bag, and he groans appreciatively as he runs his hands over the soft and bare skin of her arms and sides. He grabs her waist, squeezing her slightly as he leans down to start kissing her again—but she only lets their lips brush together before she weaves her head away to fix him with another look, raising a pointed finger between them.

“One rule,” she says, pushing her fingertip firmly up against the bottom of his chin. “You better not smoke in here.”

He smirks and pulls her finger away.

“Can't make any promises, sweetheart.”

Her eyes narrow with dangerous intent—but a gleam of playfulness flickers in them too.

“Then give it back, asshole.”

“Make me,” he replies, his smirk slowly widening. “If you think you can.”

They stare at each other for a moment, amusement twitching at the corner of her mouth as tension builds between them.

“But I have some doubts about your capability,” he adds.

Her heartbeat spikes as her eyes flash wonderfully.

Then her hand whips toward his pocket, but he catches it and spins her around instead. He pins her wrists together against her stomach with one hand as he hooks his chin over her shoulder and holds her body tightly against his.

“Nope,” he growls into her ear, bending them both forward so he can grind his cock against her ass. “It's mine now.”

A frustrated noise rumbles low from her chest, vibrating into his. He chuckles deeply and starts kissing down her neck.

“Fuck you, sunshine,” she says, hissing her words through a laugh as she tilts her head to encourage him. “Give it back.”

“No,” he replies, smiling briefly against her before continuing his kisses. As he does, he roams his free hand down the front of her body, stopping along the way to grope her tits before moving onward to pry her fingers from around her keys. He tosses them away with a jangling clink. “And don't worry—” he murmurs, his voice dipping into a low and rich tone as he slides his hand down to cup the heat between her legs “—you'll be fucking me soon enough.”

Mason rolls his palm against her firmly, excitement swelling between them both as she sucks in a breath through her teeth.

“I promise,” he adds, then nips down sharply on her neck.

She yelps out a surprised moan and arches into him, her thrill of pleasure crackling hot across his skin to buzz euphorically inside of him. He inhales deeply and groans, her scent filling him too, as anticipation and sheer, overwhelming want for her jolt straight into his cock.

He quickly scrambles his hand downward to tear at the laces tying their boots. Another one of her rules. Shoes off by the door.

The last fucking things keeping them here.

As he rips the knots free, as he reaches to peel his boots off and kick them away, she laughs quietly against him, shaking his body with her own while she squirms beneath him in less of less of a struggle and more of a sly, calculated grind. Her movement stokes pleasure as much as it puts him on guard—but not nearly as much as it pulls a broad smile across his face.

For a brief moment, that strange sensation returns, spreading softly across his chest.

And distracting him just enough for her to twist free from his grasp.

She bolts upright and her hand races toward his pocket again—but he recovers faster, swerving his hips so she lands somewhere much better. In a flash, he grabs her by the ass and crushes her against him, trapping her hand between them both directly on top of his cock.

Mason smirks deeply.

“Find what you're looking for?”

Cheeks flushed, she flashes him an answering smirk before giving him a good, long, and very generous squeeze.

“Maybe.”

He can't help the groan that rumbles low in his throat, or the way his eyes shutter closed and his hips roll forward into the heat of her touch.

He also can't wait until his jeans are finally fucking gone and there's no goddamn awful barrier between them.

She takes in his reaction through half-lidded eyes, a smile growing slowly on her lips. “I'll get it back eventually, you know.”

“I wouldn't count on it, sweetheart.”

And with enough said, he curls his hands under her ass and picks her up.

Her arms and legs wrap around him immediately, her lips finding his just as quickly too. She barely manages to pull her boots off with her feet, kicking them away to clatter down the hallway before they're both at the bed and he's leaning over to drop her onto the edge of the mattress. He takes only the time to rip free of his jacket before he presses himself against her again, kissing her deeply as her arms and legs lock around him once more. He remains halfway on the floor as their mouths move together, her tongue gliding hot against his, and his hands sliding across every part of her body he can reach, completely unwilling to move or break away from her at all, even as she fumbles at the hem of his shirt and tries to pull it off him.

Eventually, she succeeds.

And eventually, he moves away from her lips to kiss down her neck, down her chest, her stomach, groping his way along the entire time, until he guides his fingers to finally unfasten the button on her jeans. When he tugs her zipper down after, an idle question rolls across his mind.

One that asks if he can keep her waiting on the edge for as long as he waited outside her door earlier.

Mason smirks into her skin—and yanks her pants and underwear down in one smooth motion.

Then he skims his mouth up her inner thigh, determined to find out.

–o–

Mason returns to the Warehouse around dawn the next morning, his patrol complete.

Shoulders hunched, he swipes his key card at the hidden door before he jams his hand back into his jeans and stalks inside. His other hand remains curled in his pocket, absently fiddling with the key nestled in his palm, spinning it slowly as his fingertips trace idle laps along the bumpy ridges and smooth metal warmed by his touch.

As he passes by the living room on his way to bed, he makes the mistake of glancing inside.

Felix catches his eye and immediately flips backwards off the sofa from his upside down perch. In a flash, he appears in the doorway, swaying off the frame under his own halted momentum.

“What exactly are you so pleased about?” he asks, grinning.

Mason pauses by the door, then shoots him a smirk.

“It was my turn to babysit. What do you think?”

Felix's eyes narrow as a wide and sly smile unfurls across his face. “I think there's more to it than just that.”

Mason rolls his eyes. “Think whatever you want.”

“Oh, I absolutely will,” he replies, his amber eyes gleaming.

Shaking his head, Mason continues down the hallway toward his room while Felix's gaze drills a hole in his back.

“Night,” he calls over his shoulder without looking, raising a hand to wave.

But not the one holding the key.

[ronniesshoes]

Keep Yourself Alive

Previous / read it on ao3

A note: There’s a brief mention of J.K. Rowling, and I just want to make it clear that the tweet Freddie talks about is made up and in no way refers to her recent transphobic tweets. That part of the fic was written almost a year ago, and the fic itself takes place in 2018. If any of my trans and nonbinary readers want me to delete it I will, no questions asked. 

Another, less important note: I had to post this in a rush so I might go back and edit a few things once I have time to read through it. No major changes, I promise!

Massive thanks to my wonderful friend @theseasofrhye for always cheering me on. Love you to pieces!

“What?” 

Freddie looks up from his idle sketching at the sound of Brian’s voice. It doesn’t sound like him at all, his voice weak and stuffed with a choked up sort of disbelief. Freddie tries to catch his eye, but Brian is staring into space, listening intently. 

“How—” Brian tries. Clears his throat. “How long have you known?”

His nostrils flare, and his jaw is tight, but he doesn’t look angry. 

“Right,” Brian says tersely. Freddie wishes he knew what they were talking about. “I have to go now. No, I—. I’ll talk to you later, okay? I love you, too.”

Brian puts his phone down at the table, staring at it for a long while until he finally looks at Freddie. His eyes are glazed over with tears, and there’s a tell-tale twitch to his lips. Freddie rushes to his side.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling in front of Brian when he drops his gaze to the floor. Brian’s eyes land briefly on his before they skitter away again. Freddie puts his hands on Brian’s knees. 

Brian is silent for a long while. His eyes seem to have fixed on a point behind Freddie’s left shoulder, and his jaw works hard to prevent tears from falling. Freddie gives him the space he needs, worried but aware Brian will clam up if forced to speak. 

Finally, Brian opens his mouth. Closes it again and swallows. Freddie rubs a soothing hand up and down his leg. 

“Dad—” He lets out a shaking breath. “My dad has cancer.”

The words hit Freddie like a punch in the gut, and he feels his throat close up. “Oh honey.”

He wordlessly squeezes Brian’s leg. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to help. It’s not fair that this is happening to Brian of all people, Brian who works so hard and has already been through so much.

“It’s his lungs,” Brian says, voice suddenly stripped off emotion, “they reckon it’s caused by his smoking. Among other things.”

“How are they treating it?” Freddie asks, and his voice comes out deceptively calm.

Brian shrugs. “They don’t know yet. Chemo probably. Might operate.”

Brian’s trouser leg is rough against his palm, and Freddie feels helpless and inadequate. He knows it’s not about him, that whatever he says won’t make the pain go away, but he cannot stand seeing Brian hurt like this. 

“How do you feel?” His voice is gone now, reduced to a whisper. 

“Angry,” Brian says. “Helpless.”

“Wh—” 

“He’s always lived like this,” Brian interrupts, jaw working. “Mum’s tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t hear. Continued to smoke, continued to eat like shit. And now we’re paying the price.”

“Brian …”

“Why’s he doing this? Why—” The front door bangs open, and Brian’s mouth snaps shut. 

“Do you want me to tell them?” Freddie asks quietly as he moves to stand.

Brian shrugs.

There’s the clunk of boots hitting the ground, a rustle of fabric, then a voice, unmistakably Roger’s, “aha! Told you they were here.”

Freddie glances at Brian, but he’s picking at his nails, mind elsewhere. 

John and Roger enter then, both wearing equally big grins. Their presence seems loud and jarring. 

“Missed us?” Roger asks, looping his arms around Brian from behind and pressing a loud kiss to his cheek. “Hi.”

Freddie tries to suppress a wince, but John’s sharp eyes pick up on it immediately. He looks at Brian, then back at Freddie.

“Hi,” Brian says, voice strange. Freddie’s heart races. It’s like watching a cat crossing the road about to be run over—he knows the blow is going to be fatal, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

Roger frowns and removes his arms. “Are you alright?”

Brian nods but doesn’t answer. He gets up to pull open one of the cupboard doors.  

Roger looks after him, eyebrows drawn together. Then he relaxes. “Forgot my cigarettes, I’m just gonna go out and have one. I’m dying for a smoke.”

Brian visibly tenses. Freddie is half out of his chair before he realises there’s nothing he can do. Roger and John send him equally alarmed looks.

“I think Iʼm gonna go for a walk,” Brian says, voice hoarse and very much not looking at any of them.

"Of course dear," Freddie says, wanting so badly to go with him, but recognising his need for being alone. "We'll be here when you get back."

Brian nods stiffly and crosses the living room floor. Freddie listens for the swish of his coat, the stomp of boots. Soon after, the door closes.

Roger and John turn towards him simultaneously. "What's wrong with him?"

Freddie takes a deep breath, looks into their concerned faces. His nails bite into the palm of his hand. "He just got a call from his parents," he says, heart clenching. "His dad has cancer"

Roger's eyebrows draw down in obvious distress, and he’s grabbing the back of Brian’s vacated chair. A flicker of emotion shows on John's face. 

“How bad is it?” Roger asks at last. His voice is a hoarse whisper.

"I don't know," Freddie says, matching his volume, "they were still looking into treatment. I don't know if Brian was told which stage it was in."

A long, uncomfortable silence permeates the flat as they process. Freddie feels sick with worry. 

"Fuck," Roger says, dumping himself into the chair, and the breaking of the silence works like magic.

"I don't know what he needs," Freddie says, feeling small under the weight of his concerns, "I'm afraid he'll shut us out, that he’ll do something stupid."

"I don't think he will," John says. "We've all dealt with grief. He'll come around soon enough."

"What about the tour?" Freddie asks, hating himself as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

"Let's give him some time, he'll decide what's best for him. Worst case we find someone to fill in, but let's not worry unnecessarily. I’m sure we’ll know more once he’s had time to process."

Roger scrapes his chair back. 

"Where are you going?" Freddie asks, reaching to pull him back by his shirt.

John grabs him by the wrist and shakes his head mutely. His hand finds the back of Freddie’s neck, fingers moving in a gentle caress.

The door slams, and Freddie slumps back. John's touch is comforting, and now that they're alone, he feels tears well up in his eyes. Unable to stop them, and knowing John doesn't care, he lets them fall.

"It's so unfair," he whispers, and John pulls a chair over and sits down. Freddie leans against him, and John wraps his arms around him.

"I know," John says. 

"Does it hurt you?" The words come out strangled, but he suppresses his urge to hide his face in John's shoulder and instead looks at him, needing to know. John hesitates. 

"It feels strange," he says, "numbing, in a way. Am I supposed to help him because I’ve been through the same thing? Even if I wanted to, I can't offer words of comfort because my own situation is an example of how it can end in spite of all hope and prospects."

Freddie tightens his hold around John's waist. "It’s not your fault,” he whispers, fingers curling in the fabric of his jumper, “if anything you're a perfect example of how life goes on. There's comfort in that, too."

John drops a kiss to his hair. "We'll have to see how he's feeling when he comes back."

"I wish it hadn't happened," Freddie says, "it's not fair."

John makes a noise at the back of his throat. "No, it's not."

"He  looked so happy just half an hour ago,” Freddie says, heart aching. “He and Roger seem to have made up finally."

John hums. "It’s a good thing he has Roger to talk to. I think it’ll make it easier."

“I love Roger, but he’s not exactly the nurturing type, is he?" Freddie says, listening to the steady beat of John’s heart.

John lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "He can be alright. I think he dislikes feeling useless."

"He and me both," Freddie sighs, rubbing at the drying trail of tears on his cheeks. "When did life get this complicated?"

John smiles. "When we grew up and discovered that our parents have their own struggles and can’t protect us. But life has become more interesting since then, don't you think?"

"I suppose.” 

“You suppose,” John repeats, teasing, “don’t give me that. You love it when life is complicated. And if it isn’t, you’ll make it that way.”

“That feels decidedly backhanded,” Freddie says, grabbing John by the knee and shaking it.

John laughs. “You know what I mean. You love a good challenge.”

“I don’t love it when my best friend’s father has cancer,” Freddie says, feeling tired and fragile.

“That’s not the greatest news to receive, I’ll admit,” John says, “but it’s gonna be alright, don’t you think? We’ll be alright.”

“Hm,” Freddie says, decidedly unconvinced.

John is silent for a while. Freddie looks up, searching the familiar features. John meets his eyes. “Do you have any paper at hand?”

♛ ♛ ♛ 

“Alright, what’s next?” Freddie asks, pushing his finished drawing aside.

"Draw Roger wearing a top hat and a cape made of kittens," John says, giggling as he surveys the drawing.

"Made of?"

John laughs harder. "Not like a fur cape. I want actual, live kittens."

"How is that even gonna work?" Freddie demands. John's laughter is infectious. 

"I thought that maybe if they all held paws they could stay together? Or tails?"

Freddie leans forward, elbows on the table. "There's no way Roger could get kittens to do that."

"No, really it's their shot, they're just using him as a prop. They've dreamt of this, Freddie, dreamt of it for ages. They just want to be famous. Like we do."

"I'm not sure your story is plausible," Freddie says, but he picks up his pen anyway. "Alright, how long have I got for this one?"

"It's always funnier the longer you spend on it because you just mess it up even more," John says, “five minutes?”

"I think maybe it’s your turn," Freddie says, lightly kicking John’s ankle under the table.

"Alright," John says, picking up a sheet of paper and reaching for a pen. "What do you want me to draw?"

Freddie purses his lips, looking to the ceiling in thought. He smiles. "I want you to draw Brian in space,” he says, “but make it gay."

"Brian and Roger in space, then?"

"John!" he says, "it's not official yet, we have to pretend we don't know anything."

"Right. Because they’re here right now."

"We don't know anything before they decide to tell us," Freddie says firmly. He’s certain it won’t be long—he and Brian have a wine night planned in a few days. "And anyway, I was thinking more along the lines of burlesque."

"What?"

"Brian," Freddie says, doodling a mop of hair on a previous drawing. 

"Brian doing burlesque in space?"

"Yes," Freddie says, looking into John’s skeptic eyes. "I'm sure that's gonna be just wonderful."

John raises his eyebrows but doesn’t argue. "Right. How will I know you're not peeking if we're doing it at the same time?"

"Hm," Freddie says, looking around. He notices a scarf draped over Rogers' vacated chair and reaches for it. "Blindfolds!"

"One of those days, eh?" 

Freddie laughs. "If you don't trust me without ..."

"Oh, I definitely don't,” John says, eyes on the scarf as Freddie runs it through his hands. “We need another one though."

"The tea towel?"

"It's dirty," John says.

"I can use it," Freddie says, even though he doesn't really want to. Anything that’s been that close to the sink probably shouldn’t come anywhere near his respiratory system.

"I think Brian's got a scarf in the hall," John says, pushing his chair back. A moment later he reappears with the ugliest scarf Freddie has ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes upon.

He makes a face. "Is that—?"

"I know,” John says, throwing Freddie the scarf, “think his mum made it."

“That explains so much,” Freddie says, “still, you’re supposed to go against your parents’ weird tendencies and beliefs, not adopt them.”

John makes a noise of amusement, sitting down opposite of Freddie.

Freddie holds up the scarf. “Do you—?”

John grins. "I think you'd look just lovely."

"Well, you won't be able to see me anyway," Freddie says, throwing John the other scarf. “I should divorce myself on the spot if I could see myself now.”

“You talk so funny sometimes,” John says, eyes crinkling.

“It’s called expressiveness, darling.”

“It’s called drama,” John says, folding his scarf with quick hands.

“Unimportant,” Freddie tells him, securing his scarf over his eyes and picking up a pen. "How long?"

"Two minutes," John says, and Freddie puts his pen to the sheet of paper in front of him. "But wait, we need to set a timer."

Freddie pauses. "Alright, you ready?"

"I can't put the timer on with a scarf over my eyes,” John says. Freddie can hear him move about.

"Then set the timer and tell me when you're ready.”.

"Alright," John says a moment later, "timer's on, blindfold's ... almost on. Right, I'm ready. Go!"

At the word, Freddie starts sketching. He's not entirely sure how he'll deal with the kittens yet, but John did say it was their moment, so they should probably be in the spotlight. He outlines Roger’s silhouette with light lines, doesn’t forget the top hate, then starts from where he thinks he sketched Roger’s feet, working his way up, stacking kittens on top of each other until the timer rings.

He takes off his blindfold and loses a snort.

There are kittens everywhere.

He thinks he's done a decent job of sketching a vaguely human-shaped figure, but in no way does it resemble Roger, not even when he tilts his head and squints. The top hat is pretty good but on his shoulder rather than his neck, and the furry blobs he's pretty sure are supposed to be kittens are everywhere—some are on the figure’s head, others on him, and the cape is at least four centimeters too far to the left. Disturbingly enough, his crotch is also covered by a kitten, if the whiskers and almond-shaped eyes are anything to go by. Speaking of eyes, for some reason, Roger's only got one.

"I like it," John says, leaning over the table to look at Freddie’s drawing. "Very Picasso. Wanna see mine?"

At Freddie’s nod, John slides the drawing towards him, picking up Freddie’s own to inspect it at a closer range. 

Freddie looks at the drawing. The hair he got right, but there's neither burlesque or space unless he counts the dots and short lines which Freddie guesses are supposed to be stars. The legs are long and consist only of one line each, and the nose takes up most of his face. The resemblance is uncanny.

"Well, where’s your drawing?" Freddie asks, "this is just a picture of Brian in space dancing. Where'd you get it?"

John laughs. "I think they’d both be even better if they got some colour. Have you got any markers?"

"Have I got markers?" Freddie says, offended by the very question, "I haven't spent hundreds of pounds worth of markers for you to have the audacity to ask me if I've got any! The nerve!"

"Sorry," John says, giggling. "Can we use your markers then? I'm very sorry."

"You better be," Freddie says, and pushes his chair back. "I'll give you markers."

In his room, he empties his drawers, collects every single marker he owns and gathers them in his arms, walks back into the living room and spills them all on the table in front of John just to make a point.

"That's a lot of markers," John says. 

"Of course it is," Freddie says, sitting down opposite him again.

John sends him a smile. "Wanna switch?"

"What?"

"The drawings."

Freddie reclaims his drawing. "Oh yes."

♛ ♛ ♛ 

Freddie is not sure how long they've been colouring, but he's almost done when the sound of the front door makes him look up. A moment later, Brian and Roger appear together, Roger looking serious, Brian drained and washed out but managing a smile in their direction as they pass them. They disappear into Freddie's room, the door clicking shut behind them, and Freddie instantly feels sick. He didn't mean to forget, didn’t mean to have fun while Brian is most like going through hell and back again, but he hadn't spared him a thought while he was with John. 

John's foot brushes against his own underneath the table, and he looks up. 

"Don't feel bad," John whispers, "Roger's taking care of it."

Freddie knows that, knows that Roger is handling it just fine despite his earlier comment, but the feeling that he should be helping won't leave him. 

“Wanna switch?” John asks carefully, gesturing to his drawing, “I’ll do the background.”

"I'm not really in the mood for this anymore," he admits.

"That's fine," John says, "we'll clean up. Do you want to be alone?"

Freddie shakes his head vigorously. "Please no."

Freddie looks at him for a moment. It scares him to put words to his feelings. He's always relied on sex to distract himself from his own emotions, and moreso when his partner started asking questions he couldn't answer.

"I just want to lie with you," he says.

John brushes his fingers over his arm. "We'll do that. Want to go to my room?"

“Hm,” he replies, fisting a hand in John’s jumper. He breathes deeply, tries to make his own heartbeat match that of John’s. “Have you made your bed?” He thinks he needs to lie down and be coddled.

He can hear John smile by the way air leaves his nose in an exhale. “You know, I woke up today and I was just about to, but then I thought, better wait, you never know when an unmade bed might come in handy.”

Freddie smiles tiredly and lets himself be pulled out of the chair and into John’s bedroom. 

The mess seems worse than usual and it irks him, makes him feel jittery, almost. 

When he doesn’t settle against the wall as he usually does, John looks at him, surprised. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t look at the mess. Just, you go in, I’ll have my back to it.”

“I can clean it, it shouldn’t take 10 minutes.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Freddie says, even though it does. He feels worn out and confused like he’s just woken up from an accidental nap.

John picks up his huge Lord of the Rings book from his nightstand and holds it out for Freddie. “Here,” he says, “to keep you entertained.”

Freddie looks at the book, suspecting it weighs about the third of his own body weight.

“I’m not getting into bed with that,” he says, “what if it lands on me, it could kill me.”

“How would it land on you?” John asks, a note of amusement in his voice.

“Surprise attack?” Freddie replies, sitting down on the bed.

“Alright, suit yourself,” John says, putting the book back on his nightstand to start collecting the clothes strewn across the floor.

Freddie lies down and buries his face in John’s pillow. It doesn’t smell wrong exactly, but it also definitely doesn’t smell like someone who’s been sleeping alone. “Why do your sheets always smell of Roger?”

“I’ll let you figure that one out yourself,” John says, dumping his armful of clothes in his hamper.

“He takes up quite a lot of space, doesn’t he?” Freddie says, thinking back on the time they briefly lived together. Unless Roger had company, he would more often than not come creeping somewhere around midnight when Freddie woke up to use the loo. At 5.30, when Freddie’s alarm went off, Roger would be draped all over the bed or wrapped around him, and Freddie would leave him to his sleepy mumbles and duvet hogging, knowing it would be another three or four hours before he resurfaced.

John hums. Freddie wonders if he will ever be able to give back all the love and support he receives, or if John eventually will leave in search of something better.

Then he feels bad. Two years of working on himself and thoughts like these still turn up and make him feel utterly worthless. He closes his eyes, feels his heartbeat and listens to the comforting sounds of John moving about. Resolves to do better. For John and for himself.

The mattress dips, and there’s a warm hand on the small of his back. Freddie turns over and opens his arms for John.

Bile rises in his throat but he swallows it down. "I'm so glad you're here," he croaks, pouring his sadness and his love and the guilt that’s been building for the past week into those words. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

John looks quietly taken aback. He brushes the fringe out of Freddie’s eyes. "You'd do just fine. You always will."

"I'm trying to be romantic," Freddie whispers, feeling sick by his own words, shivering when John’s arms close around his waist, "this is a declaration of love and you're ruining it."

John's eyes crinkle with pleasure. "I know," he says, "I feel very lucky, too."

Freddie allows a smile, forces himself to believe the words. "Good. You're not getting rid of me."

John tightens his hold around him. "Good."

♛ ♛ ♛ 

The thrum of nerves are still running through him when he wakes up the next morning. He hates it when his friends and family are sad or angry and there's nothing he can do about it. Roger hasn’t returned to his bed during the night, and Freddie breathes and tells himself Brian is alright.

They all eat breakfast together, a rare occurrence due to their very different wakeup times, and while it’s nice, it also serves to accentuate the fact that something is very wrong. Halfway through his toast, Brian’s phone rings, and Brian goes quiet for a moment, then excuses himself and disappears into his room. Freddie watches him anxiously. 

"He's going to be fine, Fred," Roger says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Just give him some time."

Freddie wants to argue that that's not necessarily true, that the last thing Brian needs right now is his father dying on him, that he definitely won’t be fine and that if Brian’s not fine then the rest of them won’t be fine, either, but then John catches his eye, and he forces himself to relax.

“Did any of you see the comment that was left on our Facebook page?” Roger asks, putting down his spoon with a clatter in favour of picking up his phone, “they called us wanna-be rockers and Bowie imitators.”

“Imitators,” Freddie says, outraged, “Bowie wishes he had half my charisma!”

“That’s easy for you to say,” John says, eyes crinkling when he smiles, “he’s not here to argue.”

“He wouldn’t argue,” Freddie says loftily. Roger lets out a snort.

From inside their room, Freddie can hear Brian's frustrated voice. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and listens.

"No, dad, a vegan diet is not—" Brian says, "I don't care about that! This is not me forcing—no. It does matter, and it does help! Just try it out at least. For me. I—"

John's calf brushes against his own under the table, and Freddie sends him a weak smile.

The door opens, and Brian comes stalking out, phone to his ear and a hand rubbing over his face. "Yes, two months. I know, I'll send pictures. Love you."

Ending the call, Brian sits down heavily, looking thoroughly harassed. 

"Are you alright?" Freddie asks softly, reaching out to rub a comforting hand over his arm. 

"Yeah," Brian says, "he's just so difficult. Doesn't he want to get better?"

"Of course he does," Freddie says, "but change is scary. His current diet might be the only normal thing in his life right now."

Brian breathes out through his nose. "I know. It's just frustrating."

Roger and John don't say anything so Freddie presses on, masking his own unease. "Is there anything you need, love?"

"I want to work on the tour," Brian says, "I want to start practising tonight."

"Okay," Freddie says, sitting back in surprise. "Let's do that."

Roger glances at Brian, then catches Freddie's eye. 

Freddie looks down, toys with his bracelet. It's unlike Brian to be so decisive, especially in voicing his own needs. Then again, Freddie can understand the need to distract himself. Some days, it feels like it's all he can do to keep his head above the water.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

"No," Brian snaps, "it doesn't go like that."

They have been playing for just over an hour, and Brian has been relentless in the pursuit of the vision in his head. Roger has kept his mouth shut for the most part, but Freddie can feel John getting increasingly irritated.

"Fine," John says, holding up his hands in mock surrender, "let's do it your way."

Brian narrows his eyes. "This is not my way, John. This is how it was written and how we're gonna play it."

"And I assume you'd like to play bass yourself, then," John says with frightening calm. Freddie attempts to telepathise shut up, shut up, but it doesn’t appear to be working.

"Don't be so bloody sensitive," Brian snarls, "can’t you just trust me on this for once?"

"You're being irrational," John says, and Freddie’s gaze flits around the room, eventually catching Roger’s eyes. He breathes in an attempt to steady himself. 

"Oh, I'm being irrational? Do you have any idea what I'm going—"

John raises an eyebrow, managing to look frighteningly disapproving, and Brian falters. 

"Fine," he snaps, "I'm being irrational.”

John exhales messily. "Brian, I understand you're going through a lot right now, but that doesn't excuse being an outright prick."

"John," Roger says sharply.

"He is," John insists, "and it's not okay."

Brian has gone suspiciously quiet, and when Freddie chances a look at him, he's blinking furiously. Freddie looks away.

"I know," Roger says, scrubbing at his hair, "but—"

"Oh, that's nice," Brian interrupts, voice strange. It makes Freddie's insides twist. "You're on his side."

"Let's take a break," Freddie says loudly, eager to stop the discussion before it escalates further. "Let's come back in five minutes."

"No, I think I'm done for today," Brian says cooly, putting his guitar down. "You can continue without me."

Roger groans. "Brian, come on,” he says, but Brian is already leaving and doesn’t answer. The door to their shared bedroom slams. “Was that entirely necessary, John?"

John folds his arms over his chest and leans back against the wall. "Yes."

"I know he's a bit …” Roger settles for a vague hand gesture, “but he's processing a lot at the moment."

John lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Don't you think it's better that he cries it out rather than bottling up and being a pain in our collective arses?"

Roger opens his mouth and closes it again.

"Maybe you should talk to him instead," Freddie gently advises, "I'm sure it would do him good to cry but let's not push him so far we force a breakdown."

John's shoulders draw up. "He needs to cry it out."

“He will.”

“It’ll haunt him,” John says.

“I really think you should talk to him, Deaks,” Roger says softly.

John looks at them both for a long moment. Freddie holds his breath. “Fine,” he says, putting his bass down, “I will.”

“Don’t be mean,” Roger calls after him. The door clicks shut, and Roger stretches. “So that went well.”

Freddie groans. “It did not go well. God, what a mess. I need a drink”

“Say no more,” Roger says, reaching behind his kit to grab a can of beer. Freddie catches it.

“Thanks,” he sighs and pops it open. “We might camp out here for a while.”

♛ ♛ ♛  

He’s just adding the final touches—this including giving the backside of one Neville Longbottom a decidedly rosy tint—when a door opens, and Roger appears in tiny briefs and two-day greasy hair, phone in his hand. 

“Morning, love,” Freddie greets him. “Slept well?”

Roger grunts in reply and dumps himself in the chair next to Freddie’s, putting his phone on the table alarmingly close to the edge. 

Freddie puts down his pen, rotates his wrists a few times, and picks it up again. 

Roger leans against him to get a closer look at the screen of his iPad, his bare skin warm against Freddie’s arm. “Are you drawing Harry Potter porn again?” 

“It’s not porn,” Freddie says coolly. 

It isn’t. 

“For someone who gave up after the first book, you’re a very dedicated fan.” 

Freddie can hear the amusement in Roger’s voice, but doesn’t take the bait.

“Everyone knows the books are horribly passé.”

“I think you’ll find quite a few people disagree,” Roger says and sits back. Freddie can see him eyeing his cup of tea, and moves it out of reach.

“You obviously haven’t seen dear Joanne’s latest tweet.”

Roger rests his head in his hand and smiles. “Can’t say I have.”

The door to John and Roger’s bedroom opens again, but its second occupant heads straight for the loo without a glance in their direction. 

Seconds later, the ugly sound of retching reaches them through the half-open door. 

“Migraine,” Roger explains. 

“Oh, poor dear,” Freddie says, “again?”

Roger yawns and stretches. He slumps down for a moment, scratching his chest, then moves his chair back and saunters into the kitchen, switching off the light as he goes.

“Need a refill?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Freddie says and picks up his cup to sip at his rapidly cooling tea. He turns in his seat to watch as Roger picks out the tallest glass and fills it to the brim with water. He digs through the cupboard and retrieves John’s meds, fills and clicks on the kettle, and leans against the counter. 

Freddie feels the overwhelming urge to hug him.

“What?” Roger demands when he notices his stare.

“What?” Freddie echoes innocently.

“You’re looking at me funny.”

“I assure you I’m not,” Freddie says, “you’re always so suspicious of me, darling.”

Roger sends him a look, then turns his attention to something behind him. “Alright, Deaks?”

What sounds suspiciously like a whimper is the only reply, and Freddie turns in his seat to find a sorry-looking John standing in the doorway. His heart clenches painfully. 

Roger pushes himself away from his recline against the worktop, thrusting water and meds into John’s hands, telling him, “just call if you need me to find something heavy to hit you in the head!”

Freddie follows John with anxious eyes, but he’s not spared a single glance. He forces himself to focus on Roger. “So,” he says, dragging out the word, “I heard you and Brian got on pretty well last week. Do we need to revoke your straight badge?”

“I don’t think you’re the right person to revoke anything straight related,” Roger says, reclaiming his earlier seat. He’s quiet for a moment, then flashes Freddie a smile. “Didn’t know Brian was such a gossip.”

Freddie waves a dismissive hand. “Like he’d voluntarily tell me anything. I made him tell me, of course. Don’t have much of a sex life myself, gotta find that thrill elsewhere.”

Roger’s eyebrows immediately draw down.

“Oh, come off it, dear. Anybody would think you’re that boy’s mum. I’m not complaining,” Freddie says, “it’s nothing new that I take interest in your sex lives. Now tell me all about it, Brian is so secretive.”

“There’s not much to say,” Roger says, picking up the spoon from the sugar bowl to play with, “I fucked him, it was … it was good.”

“That can’t be right,” Freddie says, not believing him for a second. “You are the laziest person I’ve ever known.”

Roger lets out an exhale that sounds a bit like a laugh. “Well, alright. He rode me. Happy?”

“Very,” Freddie says, flashing him a grin. Roger rolls his eyes and smiles.

“Listen,” Freddie says, reaching out to pat his arm, “I know Brian is always dying to take it up the ass, but you must demand he top sometime, it feels simply divine.”

“Freddie …” Roger says, burying his face in his hands but peeking out through his fingers. 

Freddie laughs. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on,” he says, pushing his chair back and patting Roger on the shoulder as he rises. “I’ll just check on Deaky.”

Not waiting for Roger to reply, he leaves him to himself and knocks softly on John’s bedroom door. When there’s no answer, he pushes it open. The room is dark, but not so much that he can’t make out the shape of John, curled up in a ball of misery on his bed.

"No," John groans. "Go away."

"What's wrong, honey? I won't talk."

"No, you're wearing something, cologne or something like that. It makes me sick."

"Oh." Freddie's not sure what to do, but John decides for him. 

"Please leave. I'll come find you later."

"Do you need anything?" He knows he's lingering, but he can't stand the thought of leaving John to suffer on his own.

"No!"

At John's harsh tone, he leaves the room, shutting the door with a soft click. 

Roger looks up, Freddie’s cup of tea cradled in his hands. "You look miserable.”

"Yeah, well," Freddie says, “my cologne smells bad, apparently."

Roger snorts. "You know he's sensitive to smells when he's sick. I like it, if it makes you feel better."

"I know you do," Freddie snipes, "don't think I haven't noticed you using it every time you're going somewhere."

Roger shrugs. 

Freddie sits down on a chair, head in his hand. "I don't know what to do," he says.

"Don't do anything," Roger says, "how many times has this happened? You know it'll pass."

Freddie knows it will. He also knows that it’s just not the same anymore. "I suppose it will," he says anyway. Shakes himself. "And what are you to do on this fine day?" 

Roger lights up. “I've actually written a song," he says, "thought I'd jam away on the keyboard for a bit."

Freddie picks up a sugar granule and inspects in on his finger. "Sounds ... riveting."

Roger sends him an exasperated look. "I'm sure Brian wants to mope with you if you're looking for company."

"No, thanks," Freddie says, "means I'll have to come to terms with the fact that I don't have any actual problems."

"Worth a shot." 

“There’s nothing to do,” Freddie says, “it’s 10.30 and I’m bored already.”

Roger tips half the sugar bowl into his cup of tea. "Go for a walk, I don't know."

"I hate walking," Freddie says, wrinkling his nose as Roger drains the remains of tea, the sugar granules crunching between his teeth.

"You're extremely ungrateful, you know."

"I know," Freddie says, "that's the problem. I want this day to pass."

"There's Tim's party to look forward to. You can call him."

"I suppose I could," Freddie says, but he doesn't move. He doesn't want to talk to Tim when he's seeing him in a few days. 

He reaches for an orange in the fruit bowl. Peeling oranges have always had a calming effect on him, and the scent always seems to clear his mind. He's silent while he peels it, making a noise of satisfaction when he manages to get the peel off in one piece, then spends a minute carefully removing the white stuff from each slice.

"What's this called?" he wonders aloud. Roger glances up from his phone.

"Pith," he says, and resumes his texting. 

Freddie makes a noise of surprise. What an unusual word. 

He splits the orange in half and offers one half to Roger.

"Thanks," Roger says and puts a slice in his mouth. Freddie lets out a sigh and puts his head on his shoulder, relishes the warmth from his naked skin. Boy never seems to get cold.

The door to his bedroom opens a few minutes later, and Brian comes striding in, phone in hand. “Good, you’re here. I need to talk to you. Where’s John?”

“In bed with a migraine,” Freddie says, “you don’t want to go in there.”

Brian ignores him. A moment later he comes back all in one piece, pace still brisk and face unusually business-like. “Right, I’ll be back in a few hours and then there’s house meeting. Could either of you do the washing up?”

“Of course, darling.”

“You’re being very, you know,” Roger says, making a vague hand motion. “Are you alright?”

“Splendid,” Brian says in that same brisk tone, but Freddie doesn’t miss the brief hand on Roger’s shoulder before he’s out the door, leaving the two alone again.

They glance at each other. Roger tips his chair back.

“So this is gonna be interesting.”

♛ ♛ ♛ 

A few hours later, Brian returns and assembles them all in the living room, even John who’s wearing sunglasses and instantly curls up on the couch. Roger settles in the armchair, and Freddie finds his usual spot on the floor, throwing glances between John and Brian.

Brian looks at them for a long moment. Freddie shifts in his seat. 

"I've decided," he starts, pausing to take a fortifying breath. He glances at Roger, who sends him a small, encouraging smile. Brian exhales slowly. "I'm going to Tenerife."

Freddie's heart speeds up. He waits.

"As you know, I've been thinking about it for a very long time, but now that dad has gotten ill, it just made me realise that all this time-" His voice breaks, and Freddie wants to jump up and hug him. "All this time I've been trying to make everyone around me happy, so much that I have no idea what I want for myself. Everyone wants something from me, everyone thinks they know how I should best live my life. The only one who doesn't know is myself, and my head is so filled with everyone's concerns and opinions and it's exhausting, feeling like I never do anything for myself. Because even when I try, I can never be sure if what I do is really my decision or if I'm trying to please someone. And I don't want that anymore. 

"These past months have been really stressful for various reasons." He glances at Roger, "and I don't want to go through that again. You don't deserve that. I don't deserve it either. I don't know if dad will make it but I do know he's looking at lengthy treatment, and I've been thinking about what I really want, and - and as much as I want to make sure he's alright, and as much as I love the band and you guys, and I do, I love you so much, this trip is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I deserve to do that for myself." His voice wobbles, and he blinks back tears. "I deserve that."

For a moment, they are all quiet as they process Brian's words. Then they get up as one and envelop him in tight hugs. 

"Of course you're going," Freddie says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His eyes sting ridiculously. "We'll be waiting right here, cheering you on. You go look at some pretty stars."

Brian laughs, his body shaking inside Freddie's arms. Freddie catches John's eyes over Brian's shoulder, and the soft smile that greets him makes him finally burst into tears. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Brian tell anyone exactly how he feels. A few glasses of wine usually loosen him up enough to talk about his sex life, but to see him vulnerable like this, drunk on nothing but passion and the desire to better himself—it releases something in Freddie, a tight little knot of worry with Brian’s name on it that has been living inside his chest every since Brian offered the first heartbreaking tale of his adolescence over wine a month into their friendship.

He hugs them all tighter. “I love you so much.”

♛ ♛ ♛ 

A welcoming calm settles over the flat after their talk. Brian seems lighter, more relaxed than Freddie can ever remember seeing him. There are moments where he seems hyper-focused and moments where he's distant, but the weariness that seems to have weighed him down for months has lifted from his shoulders. 

When he disappears into his room, they know to leave him alone, but sometimes, Roger will come with him, and despite the slight ache in his heart, Freddie knows that helps, too. 

Other times, Freddie will wake up in the middle of the night and he'll crawl into Brian's bed to hold him until his crying subsides, or they'll stay up late and Brian will open up in a way he almost never does. Freddie treasures these moments, keeps them to himself, and while he thinks it helps Brian, he finds that an unhealed part of himself attempts to stitch itself back together each time. It makes him want to talk about Jim, and he does, sometimes, but mostly he lets Brian do the talking. A nagging feeling tells him that Brian is not the one whom he should be talking to about that anyway, and a deep-seated, thrumming nausea takes residence in his body, grows a little each day. 

He knows he needs to tell John the truth, but he can't bear to go through the trauma all over again, can't bear even the thought of a shame so deep it makes him dizzy.

On Thursday, Mary calls him.

"You've got to come," she says, easily interrupting his excuses, "we haven't seen each other in forever!"

"I'm just really busy," he lies, bouncing his leg, "can't we do it another day?"

"You're not busy," Mary says, "classes don't start for another six weeks. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says, gazing out the window. The wind makes the trees outside sway dangerously, and rain beats against his window. "I'm just not really in the mood to go out."

"You don't have to do anything," Mary tells him, "just get over here, I'll make tea and we'll wrap you in blankets. You don't have to talk. I really miss you." 

Freddie hesitates. The mere thought tires him, but on the other hand, he doesn't think he can stand staying at home either. "Okay," he says, "I'll come. But I might not stay long."

"That's fine," Mary assures him, "just shoot me a text when you're on your way!"

Freddie promises her to do just that and doesn't remove the phone from his ear after she's hung up.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

"Tea's almost ready," Mary tells him as she opens the door and pulls him in for a hug. "Where's your umbrella? You're all wet."

"It broke on the way," Freddie says. He's just glad it was a plain black one and not his own. "The wind is awful."

"Do you want to borrow some clothes? You'll get sick."

"Please," Freddie says, bending down to untie his shoelaces. "Can I hang my jacket in your bathroom?"

"Of course," Mary says, disappearing into her flat, "I'll just get you some dry clothes."

Freddie pushes his shoes off. Even the toes of his socks are wet, so he picks up both shoes and jacket and walks into the living room.

“Here, let me take those,” Mary says, trading him for a jumper and a pair of sweats. “Oh, I don’t think I have any socks your size. Hold on, Patrick might have a pair.”

He watches as she disappears into the bathroom. After a moment, he pulls out a kitchen chair.

They’re fine now, John and him, but he can’t stop thinking about how John didn’t want anywhere near him when he was sick. And Freddie should have known, of course he should, and he does, but he didn’t remember, didn’t have anything to offer, made it worse. 

And there’s Roger, who for all his faults acts like it’s like second nature with his meds and his water and his care, and Freddie loves him so much but he can’t help but compare himself to that, and for the first time, it makes him feel small. 

“Here you go,” Mary says, and Freddie accepts the proffered socks with a small smile. “Do you need a blanket? We can move to the couch. Here, do you need some help?” 

“It was a little rain,” Freddie says, shaking her hand off his shoulder, “you treat me like you dug me out of a snowdrift.”

“Well,” Mary says, crossing her arms, “you look really miserable.”

“Thanks,” Freddie says drily.

Mary lets out an exasperated sound and turns on her heel. Freddie turns around to watch her.

“Do you need any help?” he asks, watching her pull out cups from her kitchen cupboards. 

“No, thanks, I’ve got it.” She doesn’t sound annoyed, but Freddie gets up anyway, helps her gather sugar and milk and put it on the flowery tray Mary has picked out.

"So, how's the new year going?" she asks him as they sit down.

Freddie hesitates, not sure where to even begin. "Different," he says eventually. Not in the way he'd thought, certainly—he'd been sure he would be able to feel change in the air as soon as the clock struck midnight, would be able to feel that this year, 2018—how promising it sounds—would be their year, the year they got signed, the year that would finally be it. 

He didn't think he'd be dealing with a grieving friend, his two best friends getting together, and Brian’s decision to leave after all, all within the first few weeks of the new years. And if it feels overwhelming for Freddie, he can't even begin to imagine how Brian must feel.

"A good kind of different?" Mary looks at him over her tea.

Freddie shakes his head, throat closing up. “Brian’s dad has been diagnosed with cancer.”

“Oh my God,” Mary says, leaning forward in her seat. 

Freddie nods vigorously, nostrils flaring as he tries to soothe the sting in his nose as tears fill his eyes.

“When—How’s he—? Is he gonna be okay?”

"I don’t know,” Freddie says, “they’re looking into treatment, but I don’t think they know much yet, they only just found out.”

“Poor Brian,” Mary says with feeling, tapping her nails against her cup. 

“I don’t know how to help him,” Freddie says, taking a gulp of his tea and letting it warm his insides. He hesitates. “I feel so useless all the time.”

Mary opens her mouth to speak, then closes it a second later. Freddie shifts in his seat.

“I have nothing to offer,” he elaborates, “I hate even saying it, but he’s got Roger now, hasn’t he? He’s the first one he’ll go to. And John, John has gone through practically the same thing, he can offer perspective and share his personal experience. What do I have to offer? And I’m so scared for John, what if it pulls at old wounds, what if he starts hurting? But he’s pushing me away.” He pauses to catch his breath, feeling sick at his own words. It’s not about him. “Or not pushing me away, but he’s—he had a migraine a few days ago and he didn’t even want to talk to me and I know it doesn’t have anything to do with me, but then there’s Roger, and he knows exactly what John needs, and I just, I can’t keep up! And I don’t know what to do, and maybe I shouldn’t even—

“Freddie, calm down,” Mary says, putting a hand on his knee. “What’s all this you’re saying? Of course you have something to offer. It’s not about personal experience or being better at comforting someone because you’re in a relationship with them. You know that. And you’re great at comforting people, everyone who knows you says so.”

“I’m really not,” Freddie says, “I never know what to do, I just make it up on the spot.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone does that,” Mary says. 

Freddie looks into the familiar face. “Nobody needs me as much as I need them.”

He hates his own words, thought he had gotten rid of those thoughts long ago. Still, he can’t help but notice a pattern—he never expected to be as close with John as John is with Roger, but now that Brian and Roger are dating, he’ll inevitably come second, and Roger … Roger is his best friend, but Roger doesn’t play favourites, and Freddie knows that, didn’t think he would ever want or need it to be any other way.

Didn’t think he would ever feel this lonely again.

“Freddie, that’s not true,” Mary says, “is this—I didn’t know you were having these kinds of thoughts again. 

Freddie shrugs. Feels the hot flush of humiliation at admitting a weakness he was supposed to have gotten over. “Only the past week,” he says. “It’s nothing, it’s not—” He takes a deep breath, fixes Mary with his most convincing gaze. “I’m fine.”

He almost believes it, too.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

Hours later, he’s lying in bed with John, chest tight. He rubs his thumb over John’s calloused fingertips. 

“Promise we’ll never be like Roger and Brian,” he whispers. “Fighting all the time.”

John presses a kiss to his forehead. “We won’t,” he says. Pauses. “Their core values are so different.”

“Ours aren't?” 

John seems to consider the question for a while. "They view the world in entirely different ways. That's what makes them such a great team, at least creatively speaking. We're all very different people, but if anyone can create a spark it's those two. They need to butt heads to better themselves and each other, it's their way to get feedback. Us, we don't need that. We're more like each other, we know what we want and we're lucky enough that we both know how to work for it."

Freddie smiles. It feels a little wobbly. “That’s a nice way to put it.”

They're so close it feels a little scary. “John,” he says, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I'm afraid I'll get jealous.” John’s gaze is steady and calm. It feels like being wrapped in a warm blanket. “You have to know it has nothing to do with you, but I'm such a mess when it comes to people I care about. I don't want any of that to happen.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” John says, calm and confident, “I know you’ll never intentionally hurt me. trust you with my life.”

John’s words feel like a boulder on Freddie’s chest. Trust is a scary thing, especially when Freddie has an entire back catalogue of ways to break it.

There are so many things John doesn’t know yet, and Freddie is afraid it’ll drive him away if he finds out. He knows he has to spill his biggest secret at some point, but in this calm, safe space, it seems impossible. He can’t do it. Not yet.

John wipes the tear spilling from his eye away with his thumb. “What’s all this? Do you want me to sing Chiquitita again?” 

Freddie lets out a snort in spite of himself. “It’s alright.”

His eyes drop to John’s smiling mouth. John leans in to kiss him sweetly. “What made you think of all this suddenly?”

Freddie shrugs. “I miss Jim.” The lie weighs heavy on his tongue, the tightness in his chest so uncomfortable he squirms. Still, he’ll take the discomfort over the truth any day.

John’s smile falters, and something cold drops in Freddie’s stomach. He watches John’s mouth open, then close, and fear pushes more tears out of his eyes. John inhales quietly. “I don’t mean to pressure you,” he begins, and Freddie squeezes his eyes shut, “but I think we should talk about it. It can’t be easy for you.”

“I can’t,” Freddie whispers, forcing the words out from his tight, aching throat. “You’ll leave me.”

John is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is calm and kind. “Of course I won’t. I want to make sure you’re alright, that’s all.”

Freddie shakes his head, presses his wet face into the pillow. 

“Freddie.” John’s voice is soft and kind. “Something’s the matter. I’m worried about you.”

Freddie’s chest hurts. “I’m so messed up,” he whispers, “I should never have made you fall in love with me. I don’t deserve you.”

John is silent for so long it makes Freddie unstick his face from his pillow and look up at him. “Why are you saying these things? Are you keeping something from me?”

The tone of his voice makes Freddie’s stomach drop unpleasantly. He’s had disturbingly similar questions directed at him before. 

“No,” he says. It sounds more like a whimper. “I’m sorry.”

“Please tell me what’s wrong, Freddie.”

Freddie closes his eyes, feeling exhaustion wash over him. “Can we wait until tomorrow? Or after Tim’s party? I promise I’ll tell you. I’m so tired.”

John looks at him for a long time. Freddie stares back in mute appeal. 

“Okay,” John says at last, and Freddie feels weak with relief. 

“I’m sorry,” Freddie says again. “I should go back to bed.”

“Yeah,” John says, closing his eyes. “Goodnight.”

Freddie’s heart sinks. He crawls out of John’s bed, shivering when he’s subjected to the cold air of the room, and whispers a soft “goodnight” before he leaves John alone. 

Roger and Brian are still in the living room, and he bids them goodnight as he passes, closing the door behind him. As he creeps under his own freezing covers, he feels sick with fear. He knows it’s inevitable that he’ll ruin this relationship, but if John is taken away from him, he doesn't know what he'll do. He doesn't think he can bear it a second time.

He holds John tighter.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

The next evening, he leaves yoga class a little later than intended. Tim’s housewarming party is in less than two hours and he hasn’t eaten dinner yet, but while he looks forward to the distraction, part of him doesn’t want to go. There hadn’t been time to talk before John went to work this morning, and Freddie was on his way to class before he returned home. He knows there is no way they’ll talk before going tonight, but there’s an itch under the surface of his skin, and he can’t stand it much longer. He just wants to get it over with.

The flat smells of fried food when he lets himself in, and when he enters the living room, Brian, Roger, and John are all sitting around the kitchen table, faces turned towards him.

"Anything left?" he asks, sniffing the air. 

"Sorry," Brian says, "we didn't know when you'd be home."

Freddie opens and surveys the fridge, pulls out a few carrots and runs them under the tap. He hoists himself up on the worktop and watches the three of them.

"Buzzed for tonight?" he asks. Various noises of disagreement meet him. "Come on, we deserve a bit of fun!"

"You didn't get only three hours of sleep because someone kicked you out of bed," John says, glaring at Roger.

"It's so small," Roger says, "and anyway, I didn't mean to. I apologised already."

"Apologise to the giant bruise on my bum."

"Why don't you just push your beds together, get it over with," Freddie suggests.

"Because then they'd have to come to terms with the fact that they need each other like a toddler needs their plush toys to sleep."

"And we're not ready for that yet," Roger says, stealing a lone fry off Brian's plate.

"It would also ruin the laundry mountain," John adds. 

Freddie shudders. "Is there a particular reason why it's still there?"

"We're being efficient," Roger says, "why go through all the trouble of taking it from the hamper to the washing machine to the laundry basket to the closet to the hamper again when you can put in on the floor and be done with it?"

"Because it's gross?" Brian offers.

"Our floors are very clean," Roger says.

"Cleaned it only last week," John continues.

"Sprinkling water on the floor and mopping it up with a t-shirt does not constitute as cleaning," Freddie says, exasperated. He's positive he wouldn't survive rooming with either of them more than a day. At least Brian is somewhat tidy.

Roger shrugs. "You don't have to be in our room."

"Sometimes that's necessary when Brian doesn't allow PDA in the living room."

"It's not that I don't allow it," Brian says, "just not when I'm eating, please."

"It's not like we're having sex," Freddie says, amused by Brian's insistence that all displays of kissing are kept to the bedroom. "If anyone needs to be careful it's me."

"Shut up," Brian says, at the same time Roger says, "you know it!"

Freddie lets out a snort. "Alright, once you've finished the washing up—

"That's gonna be John and Rog."

"—come to our room and we'll make sure everyone looks fabulous for tonight."

"Must we dress up in glitter every time?" Brian asks, sharing a look with John.

"Of course," Freddie cries, "we've an image to uphold, darling!"

“Right.”

Roger slings an arm around Brian’s shoulders and presses a loud kiss to his cheek. “You can borrow some of mine, babe.”

John catches his eye and slides out of his seat, tilting his head towards Freddie’s room. Freddie grins and follows him, leaving the washing up for the other two.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

They leave an hour earlier, boots clattering down the stairs and Brian's arm easily slung around Freddie's shoulders. He seems to be in high spirits, doesn't even attempt to shush Roger and John's impromptu duet of S.O.S as they wait for their Uber. 

Freddie joins them half-heartedly but is ultimately more concerned about the cold, and is glad of Brian's arm around him. He might look fabulous, but his jacket really isn't suited for these kinds of temperatures. 

“God, it’s freezing,” he says. Brian laughs and pulls him in for a hug.

Tim's new flat is minimalistic and artsy, exactly how Freddie expected it to be, but what he didn’t expect was for it to be filled to the brim with people. 

“That is dedication right there,” Roger says, gesturing to the tinfoil covered walls. In the living room, a projector runs footage from The Factory on loop.

After a moment's search, they manage to find Tim in the throng of people. "There you are!" he says, pulling them into a hug one after one. "How'd you like The Factory?"

"Impressive," Freddie says, "you've really outdone yourself, dear."

"Gay and classy," Roger says.

Rolling his eyes, Freddie lets Roger be, exchanges hugs with everyone he knows and some people he doesn't, and is quick to find a visually appealing bottle to dip into at the makeshift bar.

It's been ages since he's been to a theme party, and he relishes the opportunity to dress up, even if most people are dressed in black turtlenecks and smoking with a drink in their hand. He wrinkles his nose at a couple of girls in skinny jeans and smokey eyes, feeling slightly offended on Tim's behalf. He looks around the cramped flat but can spot anyone he knows. His flatmates all seem to have disappeared, and he weaves through the people until he spots John on the couch, squeezed in between Roger and a girl who's lighting his cigarette. He watches them as he sips his drink, interested to see how they interact. It's rare that he gets to observe John like this—usually they're at their flat, and while he knows John has friends outside of the three of them, it's odd to see him engage with other people. He seems to enjoy it, if his relaxed posture and easy smile are anything to go by. 

When the woman excuses herself a minute later, Freddie slides into her abandoned seat. 

"Hi," he says.

John blows out a cloud of smoke, upwards away from him, and smiles before offering the cigarette to Freddie.

"It's bad for you," Freddie says before accepting the cigarette. He's not drunk enough that he can pretend not to mind the taste, and he quickly passes it to John again. John relaxes back in his seat.

"What do you think of that?" Freddie asks, pointing to a couple dressed in lurid pink. 

Something about John's ease and confidence makes him feel a little uncertain, but he forces down the feeling, knowing now is not the time.

The skin around John's eyes crinkles when he smiles. "Very stylish."

Freddie smiles and tries to relax, but his mouth feels annoyingly dry, even when he drains his glass in one go. John waves to someone Freddie vaguely recognises, and he's suddenly struck by the irrational fear that maybe John doesn't need him.

He hasn't even realised how much he's grown—in the first year they knew each other, John was so shy and reserved Freddie would have to introduce him to everyone they knew, to hold his hand through it all. It made him feel useful, and as John seemed to grow more confident, for each time John approached someone on his own, Freddie felt warm and accomplished. Now he feels uncharacteristically out of place. 

He watches John out of the corner of his eye until John catches him staring. He extinguishes his cigarette in a silver ashtray. "You look thoughtful," he says. 

Freddie shakes himself. 

"Just thinking about tomorrow," he lies, "we should do something nice." He touches John's hand.

"What do you have in mind?" John asks, and it's like everything is back to normal. Freddie's not sure where it even came from, this pang of insecurity, but he reckons he really should have a chat with John tomorrow, no matter how unpleasant it might be. Not now, though. Now they're at a party.

"Whatever you want," Freddie says. He wants to drag him into the loos and kiss him until the worry disappears, until he feels whole again. 

"Lord of the Rings marathon?"

Freddie loses a laugh, rolling his eyes affectionately. "Not promising anything."

"That's good enough for me," John says, draining the rest of his glass. "Refill?"

"Please," Freddie says, determined to have fun tonight. He deserves it. They all do.

While John is gone, he looks over the guests, half of which he recognises from uni. Roger and Brian are standing together, talking to someone Freddie thinks he recognises from Brian's course, and Freddie is pleased to see that they seem to finally, finally find comfort and peace in each other's company.

When John hasn't returned after a few minutes, Freddie pushes himself off the couch and makes his way to the kitchen in search for both drinks and his boyfriend. Whichever comes first.

Tim is alone in the kitchen, replacing empty bottles with new ones. Freddie beams.

"Fabulous party, darling," he says, dipping into a bottle of vodka. The alcohol and the earlier proximity to John has made him feel pleasantly buzzed, and the thought of going home later to sleep off their hangover together makes him feel warm all over.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Tim says, putting his drink on the worktop, “it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

“It really has,” Freddie says. He pokes Tim in the chest, “we’re still waiting on those photographs, dear. Are they fantastic?”

Tim smiles briefly. “I think you’ll enjoy them,” he says, voice low. Freddie strains to hear him over the music and loud chatter coming from the living room. “There’s glitter in this,” Tim says, reaching out as if to touch his eyeliner. His fingers graze his cheekbone, and Freddie stills.

“Not quite Edie Sedgwick,” Freddie says, swallowing, “but I couldn’t go without glitter.”

Tim looks at him for a long moment, fingers not moving. Then he leans in and kisses him.

Struck by panic, Freddie freezes; Tim’s lips are moving clumsily against his own, tacky-sweet from his drink, and his hand cups the side of Freddie’s face. Everything in Freddie’s body tells him to stop, to push Tim away, but he can’t move, lets himself be kissed for what feels like a small eternity.

“Tim? You out here?”

The sound of Roger’s voice kicks Freddie’s limbs into gears and he pushes Tim away, backing up against the wall just as Roger steps into the kitchen.

“Oh, Fred, hi. John’s looking for you,” Roger says. He turns to Tim, claps a heavy hand on his shoulder. Freddie thinks he might throw up. “Tim, my man. We gotta talk. Important stuff to be discussed.”

Tim shoots him a look as Roger drags him away, but Freddie closes his eyes, tries to make the room stop spinning. After a moment, he sticks two fingers down his throat and throws up in the sink.

Before joining the others in the living room, he picks up a bottle of vodka and drinks until the alcohol has numbed the taste of sick and the feeling of Tim’s lips on his own.

For the rest of the evening, the bottle doesn’t leave his hand.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

His sheets smell wrong. It’s not a scent he recognises, and he wonders if Roger has accidentally bought a different laundry detergent. His shoulders and feet are freezing, and he pulls both feet and duvet closer, unsticking his sore eyelids. 

He doesn’t immediately recognise the wall he’s facing, but his head feels fuzzy, and as his body seems to sink deeper into the mattress, he can't bring himself to care.

The sheet is soft against his naked skin, but it’s the wrong kind of soft, and the duvet feels sticky and heavy despite the low temperature in the room. If he slides his palm outside the duvet to rest on the cool sheet, he thinks he can steady the nausea that rolls in his stomach. His throat is dry and scratchy, and he swallows repeatedly to soothe it, breathing deeply to relieve the pressure in his head. There's a reason he keeps drinking to a minimum—the last time he'd gotten blackout drunk had ended in the hospital, Roger and Brian watching him like hawks for weeks afterwards. 

Despite his best intentions, a groan escapes him as he rolls onto his back and opens one bleary eye. There are no curtains, but the overcast sky affords little light. With some effort, he gets up on his elbows to look around. There's an untidy mattress on the floor, and he wrinkles his nose. One-night stands are just not worth it, he decides, and then freezes when he remembers. 

He doesn't do one-night stands anymore.

Pulse thrumming and nausea rising and spreading even faster in his stomach, he gets to his feet and stumbles out of bed as remnants of last night pierce the muddied waters of his mind. The party, Tim's confession, the kiss, John and that girl talking. 

Heart racing painfully, he breathes deeply, tries to calm himself down. He's naked, yes, but that in and of itself is not unusual, despite Brian's protests. And while he doesn't think he's ever undressed for anything other than sex in another person's bed, he was drunk when he went to sleep. Surely that must count for something.

If only he could remember. It feels like electricity runs under the surface of his skin, and with a sinking feeling, he realises he was right. He was bound to fuck this up as well. He's going to lose John just like he lost Jim. Kill another person with his selfishness. 

A crinkle of plastic sounds as he steps on something on the floor. His head hurts when he bends down to pick it up, and with a shaking hand, his fingers close around an open condom wrapper.

Something drops cold and heavy in his stomach, the force of it so strong it offsets a sudden burst of panic. Freddie attempts to breathe deep, but his throat is closing up, and his breath comes in short, shallow bursts.

Something is wrong. He feels hot all over, and there’s blood, so much blood, wetting his cheeks, and there’s Jim’s lifeless body and he’s done it again.

He can’t breathe. Something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong. He’s going to die here, palms pressed against the floor, and he didn’t realise he’s no longer standing; he’s going to die in Tim’s bedroom, and he’s going to be naked when they find him, and then they’ll all know he’s done it again.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to regain control over his breathing, but his body feels heavy and sore when the low hum of voices from the living room swims into his consciousness. Breathing quietly, he picks himself off the floor and gathers his clothes, dressing quickly. He needs to get out of here.

Before rationale can catch up with him, he's opening the window and climbing into the windowsill, the January air cooling his flushed skin. His shirt catches as he slides onto the ground, and the sound of tearing fabric makes his eyes well up again and a sad little hiccup leaves his throat. 

Feet stinging against the cold pavement, he walks briskly towards the bus stop, fingers closed tight around the phone in his trouser pocket. As he rounds the corner and spots the bus stop, he realises with a start that his wallet is still at Tim's, safely buried in his jacket pocket. 

Eyes stinging, he pulls his phone out, carefully avoiding missed calls and texts with John's name on them and instead speed dialing Roger's number.

After two rings, it goes to voicemail. He calls again. 

Three rings, a faint rustle, then Roger's morning groggy voice. "It's nine in the morning," he says, "why are you calling?"

Freddie's throat tightens. His feet burn. 

Don't hang up, he silently pleads. He attempts to clear his throat but to no avail.

"Freddie?" Roger's voice is softer now, and Freddie misses him so much it hurts.

"Please come pick me up," he whispers, voice rough from underuse, "I'm sorry I woke you up, I'm sorry, I don't know how to get home."

"Where's Tim? I don't have the van yet."

"I left," Freddie says, feeling sick at the mention of Tim's name, "I haven't got my jacket or my shoes, else I would've taken the bus. Please can you come?" 

Roger is quiet for a long time. Freddie knows he's going to say yes, of course he is, but for a moment he fears he might not. If Roger discovers what he's done, he's not sure he'll ever forgive him. And he would be right not to.

"I'll catch the next bus," Roger says, "keep your phone open, yeah?"

"I don't have much battery left," Freddie says, heart clenching in relief, "but I'll wait by the bus shelter."

"Good," Roger says, "I'll see you soon."

"Roger?" Freddie rushes out before he can hang up.

"Yes?"

Freddie swallows repeatedly. "Thank you."

Roger lets out a long breath. "I'll be there soon." 

When the bus pulls up next to his stop 22 minutes later, Freddie is freezing to the bone. A few people send him wary glances as he sits on the bench with his knees drawn up, but so far, they’ve left him alone. He almost wishes for the distraction—the thoughts that poke his blistered mind leave him restless and exhausted, and even his numb skin and shaking bones offer no relief.

It’s happened again. The one thing he promised himself to never, ever do again. He’s cheated on John because he’s irresponsible and mentally unstable and throws away everything good in his life, and there’s no way to excuse it. The thought of having to tell him makes him nauseous, but Freddie figures he owes him that much.

He thinks about how much his life can change in less than a day, and an odd calm settles over him. He’ll lose his friends, the band, their cosy little flat, John—but maybe it’s for the best. At least he will be free from worries then. Nothing more he can fuck up.

And still, there’s a supernova of burning disappointment lodged in his chest. He’ll take their anger and their unforgiveness, but nothing weights him down like the heavy disappointment in himself. He really thought he was doing better.

"There you are," Roger says, mouth smiling but eyes uncharacteristically serious. He's carrying Freddie's fur coat and a pair of boots which are not his but look wonderfully warm even though they definitely don't match his jacket. "What are you doing out here, you silly sod?"

Freddie avoids his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Roger hands him the coat and sits down next to him, boots in hand. Freddie slips the coat on, shivering when the soft, warm fabric slides over his body. 

“Want to go to the other bus stop? There's a bus leaving in 5 minutes."

Freddie nods mutely, accepting the boots from Roger. "My feet are too cold," he complains, as his attempt to put on the boots has him hissing in pain.

"You're such a fool," Roger scolds softly, pulling his feet into his lap, "running around outside with no shoes on. What if you end up with frost-bites?"

"I'll be fine," he grumbles, hissing softly as Roger attempts to massage life into them with gloved hands, "I sat on them."

Roger looks at him. "Freddie, why did you leave Tim’s house?”

Freddie freezes. He swallows. “I panicked.”

Roger doesn’t pause his massage, but Freddie catches a flicker of emotion on his face. “Why didn’t you tell Tim? He could’ve helped.”

Freddie shakes his head until the skin of his face itches. “I couldn’t.”

“Freddie, you'll tell me, right? Later."

Caught off guard, Freddie looks into sincere blue eyes. Nodding weakly, he looks away.

"We shouldn't have left without you," Roger says, "but you kept insisting. I should've known something was not right."

"I don't remember," Freddie whispers. He doesn’t know why he wanted to stay at the time, but he knows himself well enough to know that he has probably been a right bitch until they left. 

"Is it because you're involved with John?" 

Freddie looks up, startled by his perceptiveness. 

Roger looks embarrassed almost. "I wondered if something like this might happen. That you'd start feeling guilty."

Freddie grabs onto the half-truth with relief. He lifts his shoulder in a shrug. "Hard not to when there’s death involved, don’t you think?"

Roger lets go of his feet, and Freddie wriggles his toes. He puts on the boots, tucks the coat tighter around himself. 

"I know it's not easy for you," Roger says, "please take it easy. I worry about you."

"I know," Freddie says, but he’s not sure Roger hears him because then the bus turns up at the stop on the other side of the road, and they run to catch it.

Take it easy. He wishes it were that simple.

When they get to their flat, Freddie heads straight for the bathroom. Roger, thankfully, had let him be on the bus, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before he has to tell them. Hours, maybe, before John knows—open, honest John, who says things like I trust you with my life and I know you’d never intentionally hurt me, words Freddie have to live with for the rest of his damned days. He doesn't think he can bear it. 

Eyes stinging with unshed tears, Freddie steps into the shower, turns the water scalding hot to get some feeling back into his body even though it burns and stings. 

The tears don’t fall. He tries to, he really does, even forces up memories he’s tried to repress for years. Maybe this is his punishment. He’ll walk around a lifeless shell until he’s made his confession. Then he’ll be thrown to the dogs and maybe he will feel again.

He stands under the spray for no more than 10 minutes. Then he dries his sore body, flushed from the heat. He knows it's no use to hide out here. He just hopes he can get to his room before anyone tries to get a hold of him. 

Wrapping the towel around himself, he opens the door and makes a line for his bedroom, keeping his head down. He thinks he sees John out of the corner of his eye, but soon he's in the sanction of his bedroom, and he closes the door. 

He finds the biggest, ugliest tee he owns, then discards it as he realises it's John. After a moment's thought, he picks it up again. It might be the only thing he'll have left from him by the end of the day so he might as well wear it. The thought makes him feel sick. He curls up in bed, ignores the knocks on the door.

"Freddie?" It's John's voice, muffled through the door but so clearly his that Freddie feels sick. He doesn't answer, hopes that John will go away, will leave him to his own misery.

He doesn't.

The door opens, and Freddie curls in on himself, curls into a tight ball.

The door is softly clicked shut, and a moment later, the mattress dips, and there's a warm hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, Freddie?"

He can't bring himself to answer.

"Freddie. Tell me what's wrong."

"I can't," he says, "you'll hate me."

There's silence for a long moment. "Freddie," he says again, carefully neutral this time. Freddie's heart races. "What have you done?"

"Don't make me say it," he begs. He scrubs at his wet, prickling face.

The hand on his shoulder tightens, forces him to turn around. Freddie hides his head in his hands.

"Freddie, you're scaring me."

Freddie. Freddie. Freddie. His name sounds wrong in John’s mouth, wrapped in love and in care, and he can't seem to stop crying now that the prospect of telling him is so near. 

At last he gets the words out. "I think I cheated on you."

“What?”

The word is barely out of John’s mouth before the door opens, and Roger pokes his head in.

“Go away,” John snaps, and the door closes again. 

“I’m so sorry,” Freddie hiccups, “you must know I didn’t mean to, I’ve never wanted to have sex with Tim, I don’t even remember.” His cheek itches from the salty trail of tears, but his hands stay fisted around the duvet. “Please don’t be mad, please forgive me, don’t go.”

John stares at him for what feels like a lifetime. Freddie thinks he’s going to faint. 

“I’m not mad.” He doesn’t look it, either. The words are slow to leave his mouth, and Freddie can’t read his face. Another wave of nausea crashes over him. “Why are you so upset?”

The words take him by surprise. He clears his throat in an effort to buy time for his brain to catch up. “Why aren’t you?”

John’s face is inscrutable as always. “I don’t have all the facts yet.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to answer my question.”

“I’m afraid you’ll leave.” The words sting his raw insides, and he suppresses a tremor.

John reaches out to touch his arm. A fresh stream of tears runs down Freddie’s cheeks. “You’re shaking.”

“Don’t touch me,” Freddie whispers, “please.”

John’s arm drops to his side. There’s an air of uncertainty around him, and for some reason, that scares Freddie even more. “Roger told me you had a panic attack.”

His eyes snap to John’s before he hastily lowers his gaze.

“Freddie.”

He stares hard at his hands, forces his blunt nails into the skin of his palm until it stings. The words are lodged in his throat. He wishes he had told John earlier, wishes he could get up and leave, but he stays nailed to the bed, unable to move. 

“I cheated on Jim,” he says at last, and it hurts to hear the words leave his mouth, “I cheated, he left, ran into a group of guys who’d seen us together. Cracked his head open on the pavement. And I promised—” An ugly sound escapes his throat, and he hides his face in his hands, gasping through tears and the piercing pain in his chest.

“Oh, Freddie.” His skin prickles all over and he continues to cry, hyper-aware of John through the million thoughts running through his brain. “Can I hug you?”

Freddie nods vigorously, not trusting his voice, and is surprised by the swiftness and strength with which John pulls him into his arms. 

“I’m so sorry,” John says, “I didn’t know. It’s not your fault. It’s an awful, awful accident, but it has nothing to do with you.”

It’s a lie, of course, but Freddie can’t find the energy to argue. His eyes burn and itch.

It’s another minute before he forces himself to calm down. John is stroking his arm, and the touch feels intense, almost painful. The position he’s in is uncomfortable, and he really needs to blow his nose, so he ducks out of John’s hold and opens his bedside drawer, carefully avoiding eye contact. 

He can feel John’s eyes on him, and he braces himself for another uncomfortable question. Outside the rain has started again.

“Do you remember what made you do it?” John asks, “with Tim.”

Freddie winces. “John …”

“I know it’s uncomfortable to talk about, but we’re gonna make this work,” John says, “you owe me some answers.”

The hardness in his voice shocks Freddie a little. “I know,” he whispers, “but I don’t know why.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Freddie bites down on his lower lip, hard. When he releases it, there’s a dent on the inside, and his tongue soothes it while he thinks. 

The problem is, he doesn’t remember anything of what happened, doesn’t remember anything past the kiss and feeling trapped in his own body, the burn of alcohol down his throat. It’s been a while since he’s been blackout drunk, not since they moved in, and should he ever need further proof that it never ends well, he’s sure the consequences of this will make him think twice for years to come. If he survives that long. 

“Tim asked me if I was down for a shag,” Freddie lies, “said he’d wanted to for a while.”

John’s face remains blank. “And did you want to shag him?”

“No!”

“You have no problem rejecting people usually,” John says, “why was this different?”

“Because he’s my friend,” Freddie says, relaxing a little as he gets comfortable with the lie. 

“So’s Brian,” John presses, “you don’t shag him.”

Freddie can’t help himself. “He hasn’t asked yet.”

John looks at him with serious grey eyes. “Is this a game to you?”

“I don’t know,” he snaps, “why are we sitting here discussing my sex life?”

“Because you come home and tell me you’ve cheated on me,” John says, eyes hard, “what’d you think would happen?”

“Perhaps I hoped you’d leave,” Freddie says, chin lifted. 

The expression in John’s eyes is a slap in the face.

“Fine,” he says, and does just that.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

Freddie waits exactly 27 minutes before he leaves his foetal position on the bed and goes to find John. 

The living room is quiet and empty save for somebody’s half-eaten lunch on the kitchen table. The door to John and Roger’s room is closed, and Freddie counts five breaths before he lifts his hand to knock. 

There’s silence for a moment, then Roger’s voice sounds. “Come in!”

He pushes down the handle and slowly pushes the door open.

Roger is sitting in bed with his laptop, slumped against the wall in a way that makes Freddie’s back ache in sympathy, and John is reading and very much not looking in his direction. 

Roger looks up.

“Can I talk to John for a moment?”

“Sure,” Roger says, looking back at his screen, “go ahead.”

“In private?”

Roger looks at John, who still hasn’t acknowledged his presence, then back at Freddie. “Sure,” he repeats, this time much less convincingly. He closes his laptop, then spends an inordinate amount of time searching for a pair of trousers until Freddie loses patience and throws a pair from the open closet at him.

Once Roger has left the room, Freddie inches closer until he’s standing next to John’s bed.

“Tim kissed me.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” John says tonelessly.

“I’m sorry,” Freddie says, “really, I am. I know you don’t want—

“Why do you keep punishing yourself?” John interrupts.

“What? I don’t—

“You said it yourself, you hoped I would leave.”

“I didn’t mean—

“Well, that’s what you said.” 

Freddie really wishes John would stop interrupting so he could get his thoughts in order. 

“I’m sorry,” he says lamely.

“Freddie, you can’t just come and tell me you’ve cheated on me, you’ve got to give me more than that.”

“I know,” Freddie says, “I panicked, I’m sorry, whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.”

John looks at him for a long time. “Tell me what happened.”

“Tim kissed me, then Roger walked in, I panicked, I drank too much, I woke up alone in his bed,” Freddie says, “I don’t remember anything from that evening, I don’t even remember you leaving.”

John shifts slightly. “So what makes you think you had sex?”

“There was a condom wrapper on the floor.”

“Could belong to anyone.”

Freddie closes his eyes. “I was naked.”

John is silent for a while. Then he takes a deep breath. “Even if you agreed to it at the time, you can’t consent when drunk.”

“Tim was drunk, too.”

“But if you don’t want to fuck him while sober …”

“Not really how it works, John.” 

John falls silent again. Freddie forces his nails deep into the palm of his hand. “I know you didn’t do it to hurt me. And I don’t think you’d consciously do anything to hurt our relationship. But I need to think this through.”

“Of course,” Freddie says, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He almost can't say the words. "Do you want me to leave?"

John hesitates a second too long. "I don't think so."

"Oh."

John lies down again, but this time, there's space enough for Freddie. "I'm gonna read for a bit," he announces, and reaches over Freddie to get hands on his huge Lord of the Rings volume.

"Alright," Freddie whispers. He knows he deserves this, knows John is allowed all the time he needs, but it makes him feel sick. He doesn't think he's allowed to touch, but tries to tell himself that the fact that he hasn't been thrown out yet is a good thing. He can't bear the thought of being asked questions he doesn't know the answers to, but he knows he owes it to John. He will do anything to keep John in his life. 

“I love you,” he whispers.

John tenses. “Freddie …”

“Don’t you love me?” The words feel heavy, wrong, but at the same time he needs to know or he thinks he might die.

“Of course I do,” John says, and Freddie doesn’t feel relieved like he thought he would. “But I didn’t think you’d use it to ask for my forgiveness.”

John reads a long time, and Freddie keeps quiet, not inclined to disturb him. There's a crack in the ceiling, he notices, and they haven't done their laundry again. He startles when he feels John's leg press against his own, but relaxes when it doesn't move away. If he focuses on the warmth and weight of that leg, he almost believes it to be a promise.

Hours later, Freddie wakes up to washed-out colours of a dying sunset on the wall. John shuffles closer and wraps his arms around him. Freddie cries himself to sleep.