#but . WHATEVER. -rueful and irritated smile-

[klausinamarink]

show me those pretty white jaws (what wounds you’ve got)

written for Day 13: “Please stay” of @steddieangstyaugust

Mature | 3.8k | Major Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, POV Eddie

also read on ao3

Eddie realizes there’s something wrong when Steve stops next to him and Dustin instead of following Nancy and Robin.

“Steve?” Dustin frowns, looking at Eddie as if he knows the answer.

Eddie doesn’t know. Not until he looks over to the girls and sees their determined expressions don’t even flicker into concern.

“You’ll know what to do when you get to Vecna.” Steve says, seemingly oblivious of his confused audience, “Radio us when you’re at the house, wait for the bats to fly out, then go in for the flambé.”

“No duh. I got the fire, Nancy’s got her shotgun. Boom, boom” Robin rolls her eyes. Her tone is light, but her face hardens as she says next, “Make sure you and the two twindledees get out when the bats are over your heads.”

“Wait-” Eddie says, realization dawning on him as fast as Sisyphus’s boulder rolling back to the bottom of the hill.

“You stay safe too.” Steve smiles, smiles like he had just changed the course of his plans. Like he hadn’t paved over the tiny words that’s been whispering to Eddie on the drive back to Hawkins. “Vecna might have traps in his house. I mean, he could have a demogorgon guard-”

“We can handle it, Steve.” Nancy says, chin up.

“Hold on!” Eddie shouts. It finally captures Steve’s attention. Despite the shadows underneath, his eyes hold such intensity that Eddie’s voice briefly dies in his throat.

For better or for worse, Dustin is the one who asks, “Steve, why aren’t you going with Nancy and Robin? That’s the plan.”

Steve closes his eyes for a few seconds. When they open, the spark of determination fades into something disquieting. A type of tiredness that Eddie sees in his uncle time to time when things get tough and all they can do is push through.

“I’m not going with them. I’m staying with you and Eddie to distract the bats.”

Dustin immediately shrieks with protest, “Why the hell not?! You’re the strongest, like the tank and shit! You can’t just watch our asses and pretend that Max is going to be fine-”

“Dusty,” Steve cuts through his ran with a low voice that doesn’t even sound threatening. But somehow, much to Eddie’s growing disbelief, that shuts the kid up.

“I don’t think I can really walk any further or even swing an ax. I’m feeling way too hot and uncomfortable right now. Robin says it’s definitely a fever coming.” Steve picks at his jacket, his face scrunching with discomfort with he moves his arms. There were rashes too, Eddie remembers. They were all worried about the deep bites on his sides that Eddie forgot that Steve had also received some kind of shredding on his arms and back after being dragged into the barren lake.

Eddie wants to kick himself for fucking overlooking them. They’ve must been neglected for so long that he can’t imagine how much irritation and agony is under

“So I’m staying,” Steve continues, looking between Eddie and Dustin. “It’s a last-minute change, yeah, you got a point, Henderson. But I fully believe in Nancy and Robin to take down Vecna without me. Best I could do anyway is carry the heaviest shit.” He makes a rueful smirk but drops it soon after.

Eddie just stares at Steve like an idiot. His mind is utterly blank, whether from more disbelief or admiration or whatever clouds his judgement whenever Steve Harrington looks at his direction without malice.

Steve turns to the girls and nods at them. They nod back, with Robin giving a meaningful glance at him, before the duo turn on their feee and stride across the park to the devil’s den.

When the girls disappear into the treeline, Dustin speaks with a half-defeated tone, “You can… Steve, you can still-”

But Steve claps his hands together at them. Brows furrowed, jaw carefully clenched, no weariness to be seen. Just serious business. “Come on, we’re losing daylight. Let’s set up and go.”

“But it’s already nighttime.” Eddie says and mentally kicks himself.

Steve simply nods, “Exactly. Can’t waste time with lives on the line.”

—

They get the trailer boarded up as much as possible. With extension cords plugged in from the Rightside Up, the amps are placed on the roof. After they get the cue from Erica, Eddie connects his guitar (he still can’t believe it exists in the Upside Down like it was destined for an interdimensional rock and roll concert) and shreds Master of Puppets.

He watches his two-man audience as he plays. Dustin is headbanging along with a big toothy grin. Steve keeps diverting his attention between the skies and Eddie. Whenever his eyes land on him, Eddie can see the sheer disbelief on Steve’s face before the man shakes his head like a disappointed father even though he too breaks out an awed smile.

It makes Eddie’s heart swell twice more than its regular size every time. He harkens that energy into his performance, playing louder and faster to match his heartbeat.

Maybe the power of one-sided queer love will kill Vecna from this distance. Guy’s from the fifties so surely he’s homophobic.

“The bats are here!” Steve cries out.

Eddie manages to get through the final chorus before he regretfully throws the guitar to the ground and jumps back inside, Steve and Dustin at his heels.

After locking themselves into temporary safety, the three of them share a brief moment of amazement. Eddie’s jumping up and down, Dustin screaming at his face about how awesome he was, and Steve has this goofy grin on his face with his hand clamped over Eddie’s shoulder.

“That was really amazing, Eds.” Steve tells him, hazel eyes crinkled at the edges.

It’s not the first time Steve is touching Eddie, but it makes his pulse quicken again. Especially with how Steve just called him Eds, like they were already friends for years and not even a week. But Steve is looking at him like Eddie just hung the stars for him.

He’s incredibly tempted to kiss Steve on the plump lips right here, the threat of the supernatural end times and a fifteen year old in their presence be damned.

But Eddie doesn’t follow his gut instinct. He is fully aware that Steve’s straight as a telephone pole and still manages to date around even after his social fall from grace. Even if Steve likes him, it’s only because they’ve managed to be compatible together instead of clashing.

Besides, even if he did kiss the other man, Eddie’s ninety-nine percent sure it would cost their teamwork and the rest of the mission.

There’s a sudden storm of bangs around the trailer. Everyone jumps back, steadying their positions with the makeshift spears in hand as they stand with their backs.

Eddie tries to keep his breathing under control as the banging intensify outside, now joined by a rustling of wings and shrieks. His eyes flick from one boarded window to another. Nothing was getting in yet.

We’re still safe. Eddie thinks.

But not even a few seconds later, the bats shriek en masse and start breaking in.

It doesn’t take as long before Steve yells, “We’re getting out now!”

Dustin climbs the rope through the gate first. Eddie brandishes his spear at the shuddering door across the hall, flinching back at every splinter of wood. Steve’s hand is on his shoulder again and the man himself is pushing Eddie to the rope, yelling him to climb.

His arms shake from the effort, but Eddie doesn’t let go until gravity shifts and he falls back to his most preferred reality.

Dustin helps him up but Eddie keeps his eyes on the gate on the ceiling. “Steve, hurry up!”

Steve stays on the ground in the Upside Down, not moving. His gaze is focused elsewhere, something in the Upside Down trailer.

For a moment, Eddie’s blood runs cold. He’s back to the night of Chrissy’s death when his entire world irreparably changed. Steve isn’t moving and Dustin is screaming for Steve to climb before the bats come-

Steve’s frozen pose breaks and Eddie almost sighs in relief.

Then Steve drops his hands on the rope and swings the spear across it, slicing it in half.

Eddie barely has time to react. The rope falls on his face so he scrambles to catch it, but his attention is diverted between the sounds of Dustin screaming again and the sight of Steve shoving the mattress away with his foot.

Steve looks up - down - at him. His mouth moves but Eddie can’t hear him because what the fuck are you thinking, Harrington is running through his head so much that it’s blocking out the sounds in his ears.

Then Steve vanishes within a blink.

It takes him a second, but Eddie reacts fast.

He forgets about the robe because he doesn’t want to waste half a minute climbing back into the stupid gate. Eddie just grabs for one of the chairs and moves it so the front faces him while perfectly positioned under the gate.

He takes a few steps back, counts down to three, and sprints towards the chair.

Eddie keeps running once his feet are on the chair. He pushes with all his weight upwards and just manages to grab onto the slimy edges of the gate. His head is upside down with his hair curtaining around his face, but the rest of his body is not, the sensation of it being still rightside up causing a new kind of vertigo that Eddie does not want to experience ever again.

“Eddie, what are you doing?” Dustin yells at him.

“Push me up!” Eddie yells back.

The kid pushes his feet up and it’s enough to fall back into the Upside Down. The re-entry is painful. Because of the missing mattress, Eddie blacks out momentarily when he lands on his back on the hardened carpet, the air knocked out of his lungs. He thinks he hears a crack somewhere in the back of his skull.

But Eddie is back on his feet, grabbing one of the discarded spears on the ground. He looks up at the gate where Dustin remains standing anxiously in the warmer light. He points at Dustin, firmly stating one word, “Stay.”

Dustin looks like he’s about to cry, “What-?”

“Stay. I’m getting Steve back.”

And he turns and dashes outside into the Upside Down again, ignoring Dustin’s cries.

Lightning greets him first, mottling the ever-present dark clouds and the too-empty grounds with its red spotlight like a diabolical lighthouse. Eddie doesn’t know where to go. He just picks a direction where he thinks Steve might’ve gone and runs that way.

He almost calls out Steve’s name. Bites down his tongue and relies on his sight instead, just in case the bats would hear Eddie and come after him.

But he doesn’t hear anything. There’s no assemble of screeches that are demanding human flesh.

Even when he glances towards the skies, Eddie just sees the clouds. Not even a mismatch that contains a hive of fleshy wings or noose of tails.

It fills his chest with dread.

He hurries his pace.

This time, Eddie calls out for Steve.

Eerie silence responds.

He turns into a road that leads out into an asphalt clearing and stops at the sight of numerous dark lumps on the ground.

For a second, Eddie freaks out and thinks that the vines are expanding, filling into the cracks and ready to burst out as a level ten trap. But when he looks down, he sees floppy wings and limp tails. There’s a few open mouths, but neither bat shrieks or pounce at Eddie’s face when he gingerly pokes one with his spear.

It’s dead.

Eddie looks around again, finally registering the scene as what appears to be every bat in Vecna’s army lay unmoving, scattered around the grounds like party confetti. They all look like they just dropped while flying.

If the bats are dead, then that means Vecna is also dead, right?

But the spark of victory fizzles out just as it’s been lit, now replaced with a heavy, horrible question.

Where is Steve?

“Steve!” Eddie’s cry echoes, cut off by another rumble of thunder that quakes the ground under his boots.

Eddie resumes his sprint, zipping his gaze around the area, careful not to step on the dead bats. The tiny bodies keep increasing, more and more in piles

He freezes in his tracks when he spots a significantly larger lump just ahead.

Jesus Christ, of course, there’s a papa bat.

But where there should be wings are instead a pair of arms with human-looking hands. Its head is too stocky, with a wave of dark hair. The skin too pale to even be-

Eddie drops his spear and he runs right over to the body.

“Steve!”

He drops right next to the other man, scraping his knees against the rough gravel, more than ready to help Steve up and drag him back to the trailer and get back home. Except-

“Eddie?” Steve slurs, sounding more like the typical jock to drink four beers and try to sleep it off, not like someone who isn’t currently spilling blood out of his mouth.

He even blinks up at Eddie with bafflement wiping across his face, even though his right eyelid is gone and viscera streams down from the corner of the ruined socket, mixing with the blood to form a horrible mimic of a teardrop.

Eddie takes a few deep breaths as his stomach clenches and rolls, threatening to dispose the remains of his last meal. After witnessing two people break their bones beyond logic in front of him, he should have gotten used to mutilated bodies by this point.

But Chrissy and Patrick were already dead when they dropped back to the ground. Steve is still fucking alive and breathing.

“What the fuck are you thinking, Harrington?” Eddie curses at him. He doesn’t want to look at Steve in the eyes but the rest of his face doesn’t look great either. One side of his face looks like it had been through a cheese grater. The scar around his throat seems to be splitting the skin with several threads clinging it together. A heavy chunk of his upper lip is torn, exposing some of his teeth and refreshing another stream of blood from the laceration when Steve smiles up at him. It looks so dark that it could’ve been mistaken for ink.

Eddie pretends that it is ink. For his own sake, it's just ink.

His brain immediately spits out a new scene: Steve Harrington taking a swig of some liquor, only for it to be an ink potion that tears out chunks of skin, and that's why he’s on the ground. Roll for damage and health check.

Eddie barks out a laugh. It sounds too high-pitched in his ears.

"What's so funny?" Steve's smile stretches further. It rips at his already-ruined cheek. The gushing eye socket looks like it's trying to stitch itself together when his eyes crinkle around the edges.

You're actually the worst person ever because nobody is sane enough to ask what’s funny after being eaten by demobats. Why of all people I had to fall for you?

“We’re getting you out of here.” Eddie says instead, shuffling his position so his hands are underneath Steve’s armpits. He lifts Steve up but the other man gives out a pained cry. Eddie almost sets him down but they have to get out of here now.

“Stop, stop-” Steve says as he gets dragged. It comes out gurgled and he coughs wetly. “Stop, it hurts-”

Eddie already can’t take it anymore. He drops back to the ground, careful not to jolt Steve to agitate his injuries. Fuck, he had to be bitten everywhere else. But everything is so dark that Eddie can’t tell which spots are dirt and sweat or blood.

He knows he has to search Steve’s body to find them. But Eddie’s hands are already shaking and he has this very bad feeling that if he lets go to do so, Steve is going to pass away in front of him.

So Eddie readjusts his hold on Steve. Wraps his arms around Steve’s chest while Eddie lets the other man lean against his chest, bracketing his legs at Steve’s side.

His front is already getting wet.

Eddie glares up to the rumbling sky. Part of him wants to pray for a god to come down and do the hard part for him. But Eddie hasn’t prayed since sixth grade and his vision is becoming watery.

“The bats were leaving.”

Eddie looks back down to Steve. He’s still breathing but he sounds too raw and harsh. Eddie loosens his hold but Steve suddenly grabs on his wrist. His hand is warm, but the tips of his fingertips are numb. There’s something wet on his palm, sinking into Eddie’s exposed skin.

“What?” Eddie asks, managing to hold his voice together. His stupid heart is racing again. His throat is closing up like he’s the one who’s suffering.

“They were leaving.” Steve gulps. The laceration spits out a more drops. “I knew- I knew they were… going back. Nancy and Bobby… they would-”

Eddie can’t hold it in anymore. He drops his head down, pressing his mouth onto Steve’s scalp. Uncaring how he tastes the grime and copper in his stupid hair that made him so famous since it does a decent coverup of the salty liquid intruding his mouth. Even as he breathes in more nasty air, Eddie can let it slide because it’s Steve Steve Steve.

“Eddie?” He hears Steve ask with clear concern. It just makes him sob harder. Because of course he would ask if Eddie’s okay like he’s not fucking bleeding.

“Why?” Eddie spits into the dirty locks.

Steve makes a confused sound. Like they’re sitting together in class and he doesn’t understand a teacher’s question. Like he’s perfectly normal despite Eddie feeling like his soul is about to rip in half, one of the latter wanting to conjoin with Steve’s like in that one myth about soulmates.

“Why did you go? Why couldn’t you-”

Eddie stops himself. He knows now that Steve is in dire need of hearing positive feedback and not to be blamed for every time. But he doesn’t get why Steve is falling into this hero persona that Dustin hypes about him so much.

Why he charges into the danger that literally tears from the limb instead of retreating into safety.

Steve gasps softly, his breaths sounding more wheezy, “I had to… protect them. Give them time. In case…”

“What happened to protecting me? Me and Dustin? Why didn’t you stay for us?”

“You…” Steve returns his gaze on Eddie, his eye wide and imploring, “…we’re already safe.”

Steve gives him what seems to be an assuring smile, but it turns into a wince. And then Steve shivers violently and all Eddie does is hold him tighter, wandering one hand around to press on whatever feels the most bloodiest.

“Nancy and Robin are coming back right now.” Eddie says, more to himself. More of a plea than a determined possibility. “They’ll find us and help get you to a hospital. You’re going to be okay.”

“No…”

“You’re going to be okay, Steve. I didn’t fall for your handsome ass just to have you die in a goddamn hell dimension.”

“…you love me?”

Eddie freezes, realizing what he’s just said. He almost expects Steve to immediately punch him. But Steve doesn’t do that because he’s fucking man down. Yet Eddie expects a colder silence or anything that Steve wants to do nothing with him as he bleeds.

When he really looks for his reaction, Steve is wide eyed. But not with fear or disgust.

He looks elevated. Like this was his birthday wish finally come true or something.

The sight loosens Eddie a bit. He sighs, “Yeah. Fuck, yeah, I do. Biggest gay crush ever since I was fourteen years old.”

“How?” Steve whispers, his tone unchanging.

Eddie shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter. You’ll get back with Nancy anyway.”

“Wha… I don’t…” Finally there’s the furrow in his brows as Steve shifts into confusion. He gives out a quick hacking cough before he says, “Don’t love her.”

“I saw you, man. You and her. You both deserve a second chance.”

“No. I don’t…” Steve swallows twice, coughs, then swallows again.

He looks back up at Eddie again, his lacerated smile growing wider with a weird glint in his eye, “Besides, I got my lover with me all along.”

Eddie stares at him while the words roll around his head. Then they screech into a halt before slamming into a wall.

He almost runs a hand over his face before remembering how stained his hands are. It doesn’t the stop exaggeration in Eddie’s voice as he mutters, “Jesus Christ, Steve. You’re telling me I should have just risk it and ask you out last summer when you still had that sailor uniform?”

“Fuckin’ hate that thing…” Steve mutters ruefully, but he’s laughing. Laughing like he’s going to live after all.

For a moment, they laugh softly together. Better to pretend they were on some cozy picnic date instead of going through one of the worst nightmares in Eddie’s life.

Steve’s skin regains just a teeny shade of color and it reignites the hope in Eddie’s chest.

Then he squeezes Steve’s hand with tight assurances. “We’re going back to the gate. Have to move you.”

“No, no, no no-” Steve moans, repeating the words as loudly as his poor throat can risk it. It breaks Eddie’s heart but he has to be committed this time. He can be the hero this time.

But when he stands up and lifts up Steve’s torso, he hears a visceral rip. It’s a small sound but when you’re one of only two humans in an empty land, it’s almost deafening.

And then Steve starts choking.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

He gets back on the ground, gently but quickly changing Steve’s position so he’s laying across Eddie’s lap, arms still wrapped around his shaking body. Eddie presses a hand on the gushing wounds on Steve’s face, but the choking dissolves into wet coughing. He feels every wheeze on his palm as Steve’s breathing weakens.

“Steve, look at me. Steve, hey, hey. Stay with me, okay. Please stay! Stay with-!”

Steve latches a hand around his wrist, pulling Eddie close enough to the growing metallic smell.

His lips are a splotchy dark. Eddie almost leans just to memorialize his first and last kiss with Steve Harrington, blood and all.

He doesn’t though.

Steve’s eye is wide, almost bulging out of his skull from the strain of his following words, “L-look- after the kids- R-Robin-”

Whatever else Steve wants to say never comes. His grip abruptly goes lax and slowly falls away. Eddie stares in horror as Steve’s eye glazes over and then there is nothing behind it at all.

Everything comes to a standstill.

An eternity passes before Eddie droops his weight onto Steve’s chest, hoping to catch any remains of his warmth.

It feels like he’s already clenching onto the dirt of a grave.

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH 14: Deepground Flashback, a big fight happens, Rosso collects a baby duck, special cameo appearance by everyone's favorite good, good boy.

RATING: mature for a non-explicit sex scene

WARNINGS: hojo, canon-typical violence, scarlet being a creep to sixteen-year-old Weiss

everyone's best friend Zack

“What did I tell you,” Hojo said smugly, to Lazard, who was looking understandably ill-at-ease.

“I don’t listen to half of the deranged shit you say,” Lazard answered irritably. He pressed the intercom button, that linked them to the training arena, where Weiss was pulling Genesis to his feet, after having thrashed him soundly, for the third time in a row. “Genesis. Report.”

Genesis tossed the camera a jaunty salute. “As you’ve certainly deduced, by now, I deem this candidate fit to participate in a sparring contest, with my fellow SOLDIER First Class, Sephiroth.”

“But how are you? Are you injured?” 

“You know what they say,” Genesis replied, with a rueful laugh. “Nothing bruised but my pride and internal organs.”

“Alright, then,” Lazard sighed. “It looks like you’ll have your fight, Hojo. I’ll give the green light to the Marketing Department, and set things rolling.”

“Stay close, when you fight him,” Genesis advised Weiss, back in the boys’ quarters. “He’s a skilled spellcaster, and you are best at close range, so don’t let him use his long-range advantage. He’s the most dangerous at mid-range, because of that huge sword, though, so hem him in tightly, if you can. Don’t give him room to use it effectively. Most importantly…keep your eyes open, little brother. I have an uneasy feeling about all of this.”

“I will,” Weiss nodded dutifully. 

“Good,” Genesis smiled, laying an affectionate hand on his cheek. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

“Will you be there, to see the fight?” Nero asked, tugging Genesis’ other hand. 

“I’m afraid not. I ship back out to the frontlines tomorrow. But I’ll be watching the live satellite feed. Unless there’s enemy activity, then I’ll have to watch the recording, later.”

“When will you come see us, again, big-brother?”

“I won’t make any promises as to when, because I can’t say what things will be like at the front, but it will be the soonest that I can. I’m going to look into our blood connection, too. Hopefully I’ll have some answers, by then.”

Nero’s crimson eyes were large and round, in his pale face, and he was still clinging to Genesis’ hand with both of his. Moved by his childlike earnestness, Genesis took the smaller boy in his arms and pressed kisses to his silky, black hair. 

“Worry not, little one. Though the morrow be barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return.” 

Within an hour of the famous SOLDIER’s departure, personnel were sent to restore and repair all of the destroyed surveillance equipment in Weiss and Nero’s room. This mattered very little to the two boys, who were indifferent to being observed, and communicated silently, anyway.

After all that, months passed, before anything progressed regarding the planned duel with Sephiroth. During that time, rumors began to reach Deepground that something big had happened, in SOLDIER. People were even saying that some top-level people had betrayed Shinra and defected. Nero couldn’t reach Genesis through the darkness link at a distance, like he could with Weiss, so they wouldn’t be able to ask him about it, till he visited again.

Meanwhile, they continued training and living pretty much as normal. Hojo went away to do whatever he did. The girls he’d brought for Weiss were still there, but one had broken away from the main pack and begun hanging around wherever Rosso was. Rosso responded much like Weiss had, when she started following him around, which was to ignore the girl and go about her business, but make no objection to her presence. 

As per their usual, Weiss and Nero didn’t care even a little bit, and so the new girl gradually became part of the Deepground group. She was always muttering to herself and making notes and sketches in her little notebook, but otherwise, she was generally inoffensive. 

At long last, Hojo called to say that the fight with Sephiroth had been scheduled, and was to take place a week hence. There was to be a huge live audience, including the entire Shinra board of directors. He assured Weiss that Sephiroth was aware of their purpose, and wouldn’t embarrass him.

Later that evening, Nero lay splayed out in the tumble of white sheets, black marks writhing and dancing all over his slender body, while Weiss’ hot tongue coaxed and teased him open, sometimes gentle and patient, sometimes urgent and demanding, but always an act of abject worship, a zealot before his god, demonstrating his fanatic devotion on his hands and knees.

Nero bit deep into his brother’s neck, coiling his legs tightly around his waist, as he pushed himself inside. Their souls connected as their bodies moved together, slick with sweat, giving and receiving, fucking and being fucked, joined at the white-hot nexus of pleasure, merging deeper and deeper into one another.

The primary goal of their sexual unions was not orgasm, though they enjoyed that part, too, but rather the relief of the ache of emptiness, that would grow and grow, the longer they weren’t fully merged, until it became a howling void of agony and need. 

Their psychic connection provided some relief, and slowed the process, but eventually, they would have to be united again, or the pain would become maddening and unbearable, and much like the pain of a phantom limb, without any remedy, other than the re-attaching of the missing part. Fortunately, they were also a couple of hormonal teenagers, and so the necessity of merging their being accorded well with their biological drive to be constantly fucking.

“I’m sorry they won’t let you go with me,” Wiess sighed, when Nero lay in his arms, after their amorous activities. 

“We’ll be watching, here,” Nero said, nestling more securely into his brother’s broad chest. “If you need me, just use the darkness. I look forward to witnessing your victory.”

“Genesis doesn’t think I’ll win.”

“You only used half your strength to fight him. Of course he doesn’t.”

Weiss laughed and pressed a kiss to Nero’s forehead. “I couldn’t tip my hand to Lazard and Hojo. Besides, don’t you think he’ll be surprised, when he sees me kill Shinra’s big hero, on live television?”

“We don’t even know where he is. He might not be somewhere that he can watch it, live. If he doesn’t, he’ll certainly get word of what happened, before he sees it, and it’ll ruin your surprise.”

“I think he’ll still be surprised.”

On the morning of the fight, they transported Wiess like a max-security prisoner, in a fully closed capsule reminiscent of a coffin. Thus, when he stepped out into the massive stadium, from the locker-room staging area, it was the first time he had ever laid eyes upon the sky. 

What he could see of it, through the halfway open stadium roof, he found to be rather disappointing, overall. Just a dull, grey dome, not too unlike the ceiling in Deepground, only a lot bigger and higher up. 

Back in Deepground, everyone was gathered around different video screens, all watching the live broadcast. Nero was with Rosso, who was visibly anxious, and the other girl, who was doodling in her notebook. After a lot of unnecessary music and chatter from the presenters, the feed finally cut to Weiss, entering the stadium.

“He’s so beautiful,” Nero murmured, with an adoring sigh.

He did cut a rather imposing figure, both from afar, and on the huge screens, with his handsome face, wild, white hair, and tall, broad frame. The long, white jacket they’d given him billowed and blew in the wind, while he strode confidently out to his position, in the football-field sized ring. 

He wore no armor, so the sum total of his equipment, aside from the jacket, amounted to his usual white dojo pants, black boots, modeled after a samurai’s kegutsu, with a flexible, rubber shaft, and metal knee guard, and a pair of agile katanas. 

When he threw off the jacket to strap the katanas to his bare back, exposing his heavily muscled torso, there was scattered whistling and catcalling, amongst the gigantic crowd. He was a total unknown, however, here to challenge the greatest and most beloved hero in the world, so most of the positive reaction was drowned out by the voluble booing. 

“Why are they booing him?” Rosso demanded, indignantly. “He should slaughter all of them, for their impudence.”

A moment later, the crowd went absolutely roaring mad, further offending her, as Sephiroth dropped into the arena, from some concealed platform high above. He landed lightly on his feet, black coat and silver hair flowing majestically about him. His nearly seven-foot height made Weiss look less impressive, by comparison, especially bulked up as Sephiroth’s silhouette was, by those huge pauldrons.

“He is very big,” Rosso remarked, apprehensively. “Bigger even than Commander Weiss.”

“His size won’t matter,” Nero assured her. “Weiss is stronger. He’ll win.”

The presenters were making some effusive, overblown introduction of the great war hero, and gushing about his merits and achievements, but Weiss heard none of it. He was a hunting lion, that had sighted prey, and he neither heard nor saw anything but his opponent, from that moment on. 

They stepped forward and clasped hands, after the manner of warriors, then returned to their positions. There was a long and breathless moment, during which the crowd fell nearly silent, then the starting bell sounded and both men simply vanished. 

That is to say, they both moved faster than the human eye could perceive, and clashed like a burst of fireworks, sparks flying as swords collided, the ringing clangs as rapid and staccato as machinegun fire, their movements an incomprehensible blur, till they leapt apart. Gazes locked, they circled one another, like a pair of wolves. 

Weiss saw Sephiroth’s catlike pupil slits, rapidly dilating and contracting, as he reassessed his opponent, and laughed. “Hojo told you to go easy on me, right? Well, consider this a gentleman’s warning. You had better use your full strength to fight me. Because I am here to kill you.”

By way of reply, Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, and dropped into his fighting stance.

Blades sang as they clashed again, and this time, Weiss locked Masamune in a blocking hold, with his dual blades. His silver-blue eyes were alight with the joy of battle, and literally illuminated by the bright-gold rings that were beginning to glow faintly, around his pupils.

“What are you?” Sephiroth demanded, as they grappled.  

Weiss bared his teeth, in a savage grin. “I’m you, but better.”

Sephiroth gave a roar and threw him off, and they were back in the fray, flying around the arena, trading rapid bursts of blows, in blurred flashes of white and silver light, that could only be properly deciphered when they were instant-replayed in slow motion on the big screens, for the benefit of the spectators, and those watching at home.

Sephiroth’s usual expression of casual indifference had given way to a look of grim concentration, which was proof enough of how he was faring in this fight. Weiss, on the other hand, seemed to be growing more energetic and elated, his laughter rolling like thunder in the vast arena, as the two performed their bloodthirsty dance. 

Sephiroth did manage to put distance between them, a few times, and threw fire and thunder spells at Weiss, which slowed him down, as he had to block or evade them, but he always managed to close the distance again, too quickly for it to become a real issue.

“Range, he needs range. That is the sword’s major weakness,” Rosso’s little acolyte muttered to herself, as she hurriedly scribbled something in her notebook. Rosso and Nero ignored her.

The tension and excitement in the crowd was nearing its peak, as it became increasingly clear how closely matched the two opponents actually were. They collided once again, in an explosion of blows. The shriek of metal on metal rang out, where the blades met, sliding along each other, throwing off a shower of sparks, then a sudden spray of crimson, as both leapt back, landing on their feet many meters apart. 

When the cameras caught up, and their images reappeared on the big screens, the crowd gave a collective cry of dismay. Blood ran along the edge of a gleaming blade, held aloft for all to see. The blade in Weiss’ hand. 

To the horrified disbelief of the spectators, a corresponding bloody slash had appeared across Sephiroth’s chest, from which the crossed leather straps had been severed and now hung loose. Sephiroth! The greatest hero in the world! How could he be wounded? How strong must this other man be, to have wounded him? Many of them began to look at this interloper with new eyes.

“So you can bleed,” Weiss said, with a deranged smile.

In full view of the cameras, while his image was still up on the big screens, he drew his sword along his tongue, licking Sephiroth’s blood off the flat of the blade. The crowd rumbled disapprovingly and some of them booed about it, but Weiss had no interest in their opinions. He was here for one reason, and one reason, alone. 

“What’s the meaning of this, Hojo?” Heidegger demanded, from his seat behind President Shinra, in the executive box. “Have you set your boy up to be beaten?”

“I’m all for you embarrassing yourself in public,” Scarlet chimed in, “but it’s Shinra that loses face, if Sephiroth looks like a fool.”

“Is Sephiroth really hurt? Is he in danger?” asked Reeve, the only one who looked genuinely concerned for the young warrior.

“I’ve got a big bet riding on that boy, Hojo,” Palmer cut in angrily. “You’d better tell me if I’m about to take a bath!”

“I wonder, I wonder,” Hojo said, cackling gleefully to himself. 

It is important to note, however, that President Shinra neither joined the others in questioning the Director of his Science and Research Division, nor did he appear particularly perturbed by Sephiroth’s struggling in the fight.

Back in Deepground, Rosso was over the moon, and even Nero had a bloodthirsty smile on his face. It seemed that his brother’s victory and Sephiroth’s death were imminent. 

Out in the ring, Sephiroth ignored the crowd, the taunt from Weiss, and the wound on his chest, and readied Masamune again. Weiss knew that the time had come to press his advantage. If he hesitated now, he may never have another chance to kill Sephiroth. 

They locked blades again, and this time he forced Sephiroth backward, until he dug his heels in, and pushed back. Weiss pressed on, gritting his teeth, pushing Masamune closer and closer to Sephiroth’s face.

Suddenly, he felt a strange sensation of heat, at the base of his skull. At the same time, his arms went weak, like the blood had been drained out of them. His stance sagged, as he found himself having to exert many times the effort, to hold off Sephiroth’s blade. 

“What…what did you do to me! What’s happening to my body!” Weiss snarled, through his clenched teeth, his muscles shaking with the strain of resisting the now-advancing Sephiroth. 

Their blades ground together, faces so close they could have kissed. There was a look of eerie calm in Sephiroth’s brilliant green eyes, and a slight smile tugged up the corners of his lips. 

He spoke for his opponent’s ears only, far too softly for even the most sensitive microphones to pick up. “You may possess more brute strength, but all means of achieving victory are valid. Including deception and betrayal.”

Weiss lost the struggle and stumbled back, his legs heavy and clumsy, as if he was wading in wet concrete. With that, the fight became a rout, Sephiroth tossing Weiss around the arena, toying with him, as he strove desperately to fend off the relentless storm of attacks, with his suddenly lax and unresponsive body. 

He felt a surge of support come from the darkness, across the void. It comforted him, but had no effect on whatever was happening to his body. Weiss was still Weiss, however, and his mental fortitude hadn’t deserted him, with his physical strength. No matter what the odds, or how certain his death, so long as he had breath in his body, he would never give up. He would keep fighting, to the bitter end, despite knowing the contest was lost.

At long last, battered, bruised, and bleeding from the nose and mouth, as well as sword wounds all over his body, he collapsed, unable to even lift his arms, let alone get back to his feet. His swords, one broken off halfway down the blade, and one chipped and blunted, clattered to the ground, beside him.

The bell sounded, the match was called for Sephiroth, and the crowd went wild, whooping and cheering for their beloved hero, while many among them booed and taunted the arrogant upstart, who had dared think himself a worthy challenger to the great and mighty Sephiroth.

Sephiroth gave a low bow, in the direction of the Shinra executives’ box, then waved and smiled for the crowd, before he hauled Weiss to his feet, supporting him with Weiss’ arm hooked over his shoulders, as if they were friends. About a hundred camera drones swarmed them, clamoring for a statement. 

“My opponent fought well and honorably,” said the beautiful, silver-haired hero, who wasn’t sweating or disheveled, after the prolonged, energetic fight. “I believe Weiss is the most skilled fighter I have ever faced. I’ve learned a lot, from our match today, and I look forward to testing my skill against him again. But let’s not trouble him to make a statement, at the moment. I think he’s a little fatigued.”

The crowd roared with laughter, as if that were the cleverest joke they’d ever heard, and then burst into applause, moved by their hero’s generosity and humility in victory. 

Weiss couldn’t have spoken if his life depended on it. He was too stupefied to even be certain what was happening was real. His head lolled to the side, and his limbs had turned to stone. His eyes felt gritty, like they were full of sand, and his vision was blurred.

Sephiroth half-supported, half-carried him from the arena, through the heavily guarded doors, into what was essentially the backstage area. The moment the doors slid shut behind them, he let go of Weiss, who reeled to the side, staggered a few steps, then sat down hard on the floor, leaning heavily against the metal lockers.

“You fucking coward,” he sneered, struggling to focus his eyes on Sephiroth. “You have…you have no honor.”

“I am a soldier, not a dancing puppet!” Sephiroth exploded, shoving away the bottle of water someone was trying to hand him, and striding over to look down at Weiss, green cat-eyes ablaze with wrath. “I was called back from an active operation, to have this farce of a contest with you! That is enough of an insult to me, already! Was I also to lose the fight, and destroy the morale of all the hundreds of thousands of Shinra troops who look to me, for hope?”

“Fuck your false hope,” Weiss slurred out. “They all think you’re a god. They should know you’re just a f—a fucking cheater.”

“Warfare isn’t a game! Do you not understand that? On the battlefield, no one cares about honor! Honor doesn’t blunt blades or stop bullets! The only rule is do not let your opponent win, because if they win, you die! No one cares if you fought fairly, when you’re dead!”

“Sephiroth, stop!” a voice called out, as booted footsteps approached.

“Zack,” Sephiroth said, his demeanor instantly softening. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d gone, already.”

Another tall, blurry figure appeared, looming over Weiss. “Mission got delayed. Waiting on the Turks to get their shit together. Why don’t you come have lunch with me.”

“I’m not done, here,” Sephiroth said, turning back to Weiss.

“Come on, man,” Zack interposed. “You already beat the shit out of the kid, just leave it at that.” 

“Not a fucking kid,” Weiss protested, all inebriated indignation. “I’m sixt…sixteen.”

Sephiroth looked startled, then disgusted. “Hmph. I should’ve known. You may look like a grown man, but only a child would’ve fallen for a double-cross so simple. Here’s a piece of advice, that may aid you in the future: never try to beat an old snake at his own game. You’ll only wind up humiliated, or dead.”

“You’re wasting your breath,” Zack said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Can’t you see he’s completely out of it? Come on, let’s hit the road, before the execs catch up.”

Weiss was hazily aware of the two towering figures departing. Then there was some kind of commotion, and all the other blurry background figures scattered, scurrying out of the immediate area as fast as they could. He could hear lot of footsteps approaching. Heavy boot-treads, from a large group of guards, lighter taps, from men’s formal shoes, and even some clacks from high-heels.

Two soldier-colored blobs darted ahead of the approaching group and grabbed Weiss by the arms, intending to haul him to his feet, which, as it turned out, was quite ill-advised. Even in his severely weakened and half-conscious state, he swatted them away like flies, sending them sprawling across the slick, tile floor. 

“You call that under control?” a stocky, bearded blob thundered. “You said the President would be safe!”

“Oh, he’s perfectly safe,” Hojo’s weaselly voice replied, with a chuckle. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

A weird, all-black blob stepped out of the group blob, and Weiss felt that hot tingling on the back of his neck again. Immediately, his vision cleared and the heavy, drunken feeling dissipated. But as he leapt to his feet, the black-cloaked and helmeted figure barked, “Down, dog! Do not move or speak until you’re ordered to!”

To Weiss’ shock and revulsion, his body obeyed, dropping him to his knees, where he remained, red-eyed with rage, but unable to move or make a sound. 

“Ooh, now, that is interesting,” Scarlet crooned, sauntering over to look down at him, with unconcealed lust. “What an amusing toy he is. Make him strip, I want to see the rest.”

“Scarlet, what the hell are you doing?” Reeve exclaimed. “He’s a person, not a toy!”

“Oh, please, Reeve, get off your high-horse,” she scoffed, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He’s not a person, he’s a SOLDIER, which makes him a weapon. As Director of Advanced Weaponry, I want to inspect the product thoroughly, before I form a conclusive opinion.”

“Strip!” the black-cloaked figure barked at Weiss. 

Weiss strained against the compulsion with all his will, but that barely slowed his fingers, which were already unbuckling his knee guards and pulling off his boots. His chest was heaving with ragged breaths, from the effort he was making to resist, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, as his body got to his feet, and his hands went to his waist, to untie his belt.

“That’s enough,” President Shinra cut in. “I’m convinced.”

“Stop,” the black-clad man commanded. “Dress yourself and await orders.”

Weiss left off fighting, which he now knew was only a waste of energy, and let his body mechanically pull his boots back on, and refasten his knee guards. The sensation was bizarre and disturbing.

“As I promised, Mr. President, the perfect SOLDIER,” Hojo announced, with a grand flourish in Weiss’ direction. “Not only is he at least as strong as the successful S-type specimen, he is perfectly compliant and controllable. I imagine—especially in light of recent, embarrassing incidents—you would appreciate never having to doubt the obedience or loyalty of your SOLDIERs. With sufficient funding, I can create a whole army just like him, in Deepground. A second, superior SOLDIER unit, to report only to yourself, through the Restrictor, who is linked directly to the control chip, via—”

“Enough ballyhoo, Hojo, I said I was convinced,” President Shinra interrupted, impatiently. “Consider your project funded, at your discretion. Whatever you need, to get this up and running. But I want full functionality in six months.”

“Hm, hm, such a tight deadline,” Hojo said, pretending to deliberate. “But…if I’m not interfered with, I believe I can make that work.”

“Good. See that you do.”

While they talked, Scarlet had come over and was tracing her crimson-nailed fingertips over the flawlessly sculpted muscles of Weiss’ bare chest and abdomen. He couldn’t move to do anything about it, so he ignored her and focused on running some calculations in his head. 

“You know, he only looks like an adult,” Hojo said aridly, to Scarlet, who had hooked her finger into Weiss’ waistband, and pulled it out, to peer down inside. “He’s sixteen years old.”

“Sixteen is an adult. Or have you already forgotten the measures we pushed into law, so you and Heidegger could get younger conscripts.” Scarlet arched her eyebrow at the impressive view she’d treated herself to, before she let the waistband snap back into place. “I think I’ll come visit Deepground sometime, soon. Just to see how things are developing down there.”

Weiss had been engrossed in his thoughts, and aware of none of what was happening around him. He had analyzed the situation, and extrapolated all the potential results, but no matter how he approached it, he kept arriving at the same solution: Deepground was fucked. And it was his fault.

“Nero. I’m sorry,” he whispered to the darkness. “I’m so sorry. I ruined everything. Please, forgive me. ”

He felt Nero’s confusion and anguished worry, and also his comforting aura, reaching out to coil around him, across the void. 

“It will be alright, my love,” came the answer. “Whatever is coming, we can face it, together.”

prev. chapter

[thedevillionaire]

blessings in disguise

Little domestic vacation moment for the festive season? Apparently so. Cerberus and Kia, their holiday cabin in the woods, and his impeccable timing for this sort of thing.

---

It certainly isn’t the first sign, but it is without doubt the definitive one.

He pauses at the cabin’s front door longer than expected amid snow flurries windwhipped wild, the fall still light but steadily increasing, and crushes the latest sneeze as best he can into something approaching submission.

“HXTchu!”

Desperate times and desperate measures, as it were. And as Kia well knows, it never works.

She watches anticipant as the clear resurgence of need possesses him, the chill in the air spiking alongside an insistent, cresting compulsion he can do nothing about. Nothing, that is, save emphatic surrender.

“hh… hhuh-TSCHH-uu! Ahh-HEHTSCHuu!”

“Bless you, hon,” she offers again.

Cerberus, with a murmured thank you and sharp sniffle, gives the briefest shake of his head, apologetic, both irritated at and contemptuous of himself in defeat. He glances back at his bonded, sighs and sniffles again. “Forgive me,” he says, disappointment palpable.

This was not what he’d had in mind for the week’s vacation at all.

---

And the several hours that have passed since then have brought nothing but consolidation; a settling-in of symptomatic certainties that no amount of willpower can deny.

Not that any more denying was being done.His “It’s nothing” dismissals of yesterday have been thoroughly abandoned, and it’s become undeniably clear that neither the not-really-dusty-enough state of the cabin nor the infrequent, scattered groves of silver birch in the dense woodlands are to blame, no matter how wishful his thinking.

So now as evening falls and she’s bringing him another honeyed lemon tea, the steam curling vivid against the frostnipped windows, he’s all blanketwrapped bucolic gorgeousness, the depleted tissue box in his lap and the deepening hint of redness to his nose notwithstanding. And he’s actually wearing the cable knit sweater, as he’d promised her he would in a distracted moment of if you really wish it, love, I suppose so – in a true classic richest cream, no less, and good goddamn if it doesn’t work, ebony hair in contrast, emerald eyes in complement – embodying lord of the countryside retreat so beautifully it almost feels like this is the way things always are. She could lose herself in reverie for a small eternity, maybe already has; the refined grandeur of his usual aesthetic turned to the cosy, the commonplace, so different to his norm yet somehow so suited.

So different, that is, except for one thing: the vibrant hearthblaze crackles and roars, softwarm and familiar, its radiant heat, his essence reflected in every one of its dancing flames.

He sniffles as she sets the teacup on the side table, thanks her tiredly through settling congestion. Kia’s heart softens with a gentle smile and she starts to say something but she’s quickly pulled back from the abstract, her focus sharpened as his falls away and he turns from her in haste, sneezing heavily, unstoppably.

“HhhAAHTSSSCHuu! AHHETSCHUU!” An attempt at apology is hijacked by another hitch of breath,  rapidly abandoned to an itch that will not back down, and conquering need. “Hh-h… hhh… huhh-TSSCHH-uuh!”

She strokes his arm, adjusts the set of the blanket. “Bless you, sweetheart.”

“Goddamn it,” he mutters, rueful bitterness unmissable, and sighs again, Mindsending a thanks, love as he accepts the tissues she passes him. “I’m so sorry. The timing of this is just…utterly ridiculous, truly.”

Kia frowns in confusion. “No, what do you mean? Babe, no, the timing’s perfect!”

He looks at her as if she might have lost her mind.

She laughs, not unkindly, and curls an arm around him, runs her fingers through his hair. “Think about it. You have organised, actual time off. Which you, like, never do. For a week. A week! It’s just us, nobody’s going to visit or ask for stuff or whatever, there’s no pressures, it’s just us in this beautiful little place, and it’s all warm and private and there’s no official shit to be done, and we’re here in the middle of all these amazing trees and stuff, and I know you feel like shit but it’s okay, babe, really, it’s not that bad and I promise you will be the most spoilt you have ever been, alright, and it’s fine. Better than fine. It’s perfect. Hmm? Perfect.”

Cerberus chuckles softly, quietly touched and delighted in equal measure. “You’re some kind of genius, darkling, I’m sure of it,” he murmurs.

“You know it.” Kia grins, and Mindsends a teasing :Maybe I’ll even finally beat you at chess.:

“Now, now. I’ve not lost all my senses.”Cerberus, with a sly smile, resettles to rest his head against Kia’s shoulder as she gasps, laughs in faux incredulity, and delivers a light slap for his impudence.

He smiles again, and concedes with a brief nod as he sniffles and reaches for another tissue. “Well, either way, love, I had hoped to spend this time doing something other than sneezing.”

“Oh…” She nestles closer to him, touches her lips to his neck, drops her voice to a purr. “I might just have some ideas about that.”

---

[unfxllenone]

Who, What, Where? Scene 1

A bright lamp drops a cone of light over a roulette table set up at the center of the otherwise dark stage. Moze sits on a stool along one side of the board, expression hidden in the shadows of his hood as he studies the squares. The colorful chips stacked up on his right don't make much of a mountain anymore, but there's still enough. He doesn't seem particularly bothered by his losses, anyway, or maybe it's just the shadowed look of his face that lends him the appearance of steel-clad confidence. Whatever the case, he seems to be calculating odds with his arms crossed, until, finally, he takes all three remaining stacks of chips and pushes them onto a space in front of him.

"All on red," he says, deadpan, without any buildup or intrigue whatsoever. In fact, the furrow between his brows and the frown across his lips seem to say he doubts the move, or that he's not quite sure he put the chips where they needed to go, but a line's a line.

Without looking up, he continues lifelessly as if reading straight from the script: "Confidently. The gambler believes his luck will change."

Those are the notes, Moze.

Who, What, Where! Scene 1 You’re security at a casino, and need to gently break the news that an unlucky gambler needs to go home.

There's a slight pause by the dealer, if only to observe the man before him, before he falls right back into his line. The spinning roulette clatters loudly, and Lumine takes that as her cue to enter.

She glances around the room, much like the observant patrol she ought to be playing (apparently, allegedly, according to the card she'd been given), but there's a pause when she spots the hooded figure at the end of the table. Pointed -- expression flickering from an amicable neutral to that of finding an undesired surprise. It colors quickly thereafter with irritation, brows furrowed and lips tugged to a gentle frown, and yet her character says nothing just yet, drifting along the background like a ghost.

( Pretending she's caught Paimon sneaking bites off her plate is a great baseline, she's found! )

Click, click, click, the rapid tap of marble to metal, from a brisk stampede to a casual meander; it rolls around the roulette for a long, tense moment, testing tentatively between numbers -- the kameras zoom in, collecting the nail-biting shot -- before finding a roost in --

"10 black!"

Her eyes fall shut at the sound of victorious cries around the table -- save for him -- and her sigh is exaggerated even in its silence. The sound of chips being exchanged masks her footsteps on the careful tread over (does filming always require so many cords? it's a blessing she doesn't trip).

"I do apologize, Monsieur, but.." The croupier, who's giving an awfully impressive performance -- eyes filled with smugness despite his apologetic tone -- presents a rueful smile to the poor unfortunate soul as he not-so-subtly slides the entirety of the stack away from Moze. "if you'd like to pursue this venture further, perhaps we can take you to seek out a marker from our lovely credit desk? It's quite a while before you'd have to pay us back -- surely, by then--"

"So thoughtful, Gattineo!" Lumine intervenes, offering a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Disappointed to see the familiar face --eager to drag him out lest he add to the mountain of mora already weighing on his back. "Though you surely know the monsieur is familiar with such procedures."

She turns to Moze then, offering the same tepid smile -- actually, has it become chillier? Disappointed, Lumine reminds herself, not chiding.

"Lovely to see you as always, Monsieur Renaud -- what a shame I've only caught you at the end of your play." Her brows furrow, like she's actually sad about it -- though it's no more earnest than the other 'employee' across from her. There's a beat, and the croupier clears his throat, like he's supposed to be noticed; she glances at him.

The next line, what is it again? Something like --

"It is the end of your play, right?" Tension, a warning, challenging him without overstepping. She's still an 'employee', after all. That's probably right. Her hand raises, gesturing towards the 'exit' of the casino. Make the right choice, her character is supposed to imply. That probably works.. she hopes.

[aelfgiure]

The insistent tapping on my window was the thing that woke me up. In my defense, it was before coffee, so I wasn't at my best or most civil.

"Would you just fuck OOOOFFFF, suicidal bird, stop it!" I threw open the curtains, flapping at the window with a pillowcase. "You're gonna break your fool neck, ya feathery dork!"

"Hrmpf. While I wasn't expecting much, this level of discourteous behavior is shocking."

The voice was musical, cultured. Also coming from right outside my bedroom window which was on the second floor.

"Aaaaaah! Um, sorry, the robins have been fighting their reflections, and..." my voice trailed off as my brain finally switched on. I stared at the being standing on the tree branch, as casually as the average person stands at a bus stop.

When they saw that I had registered their presence, they grinned at me, and bowed with a grace that made my heart ache. "I'm here to collect you. May I come in?"

Their grin was sharp, their expression calculating. They expected me to just accept that statement at face value, and let whatever they had in mind to just HAPPEN. Their expression shifted to mild irritation as I stood there, cudgeling my brain into waking up and being useful.

I bowed to them, as formally as I could in my summer nightgown. "Forgive me, Noble Elder. You startled me out of a sound sleep, or I would have given you the respect and courtesy that is your due.

"Forgive me, Eldest, I don't recall making an agreement to go away with you?"

Their expression mellowed into amusement. "You're correct, little one. You did not make the arrangements." They paused, and the grin became feral, almost threatening. "Your parents, however, gave their first born child to me in exchange for certain acts of assistance. Those acts have been fulfilled, so now, I'm here to collect."

Welp. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck, this wasn't how I'd expected my weekend to go. "Huh. Don't you usually collect your tributes when they're much younger?"

His chuckle was rueful. "Indeed, and your parents played me false with their bargain. I cannot force my way into your home, somehow, or we would be having this conversation Elsewhere."

Now it was my turn to smile in a way that made them draw back. "I see. Well then, I'd be honored to host you in my humble abode, and offer you guest-right and protection."

They whisked away, and I threw on real clothes, managing to comb my hair tidy before they knocked on my door. I opened it to them, all smiles, greeting them with "be you welcome as a good guest, in perfect love and perfect trust."

They snorted a laugh at that, nodding in appreciation. "Oh, well spake, child. Thank you."

I noticed the shiver as they crossed the threshold and kept my grin off my face. They looked around, nodding in unconscious approval of my decor, the overall order and cleanliness of the place.

"Please, Noble Guest, be comfortable. I was about to make myself coffee, would you like some? I do have tea, or wine, or other refreshments as you prefer."

I flipped the switch on the electric kettle to start the water heating, bringing down the siphon pot, never turning my back to them. They watched the process in fascination while I loaded the glass chamber and tightened the seals before lighting the spirit lamp underneath the reservoir.

While they were distracted I dipped into the kitchen and put together a decent small breakfast of fruits, cheeses, scones, and bread, breathing a prayer of thanks to Hestia that I'd gone shopping and finished my baking the day before. I set them out and brought out jam and butter, and poured cream into the stoneware pitcher that matched the sugar bowl.

By this time the siphon had worked it's magic, and They were laughing with delight at the futzy apparatus. "Oh, this is a delightful thing! How clever! How fun!"

"I enjoy it, when I have a guest who deserves only the finest of things," I couldn't help smiling at them. "Would you like a cup?"

They looked over the table, and were surprised that it was set and spread, and their utensils were pewter, wood, or horn. Their expression softened into genuine gratitude.

"There's no iron here," they remarked, and offered a hand to me. "Child. This is delightful. Unexpected, but welcome, and yes. Pleasing to me in ways hard to describe to a mortal."

Their hand was cool, and felt strange to my touch, like silk made from solid electricity. I bowed again, and touched my forehead to the back of their hand. "I'm glad my hospitality pleases you, Noble One. It's been my goal to make my home a place where all are welcome and safe."

They looked into my eyes for a moment, a lifetime, I couldn't tell. They released me with a squeeze of their hand, something passing between us that I couldn't quite parse at the moment, but could tell it was non-threatening.

"Gentle Hostess, come, sit with me. Let us discuss the bargain made without your knowledge nor consent."

"Thank you, Noble Guest." I served them coffee, and made sure they had all the best that I had to offer. And we talked. Oh, we talked and talked, and they grew thundercloud grim when I described my childhood, and the many, many reasons I had no contact with the parents.

When they rose from the table, I did as well. "Is there anything else you wish of me, Noble Guest?"

"Show me your tools, child. I'll not touch them, but I wish to see them."

Oof. That was a big ask, but they were a guest, and had been courteous so far. "Of course. This way, in my office."

They exclaimed over my herb collection, and the crystals, and the other accoutrements of the Arte . They appreciated the books, the incense, and asked about my practices - and I told them in general, not specifics. They were thoughtful, almost pensive at that point.

"Child. This has been educational, and entirely pleasant. Your parents -" their lip curled in contempt - "thought to cheat me and harm you, all at the same time. This is reprehensible, and I have thought of a solution, if you would accept it."

"Noble Guest, do tell." I smiled at them, almost as feral a smile as theirs. "I wish to hear this."

"You are a good hostess. A cunning woman. A competent witch." The three truths sparkled in the air, swirling on strange currents of meaning. "Despite being betrayed by those who ought to protect and cherish you, you were polite, and gracious, and even more than that, you've been kind. You did not seek to trap me nor cause me hurt, and that is rare.

"Therefore, gentle hostess, I offer this: accept me as your liege lord, with all the obligations and protections that affords. If you refuse, due to prior oaths that would interfere, I understand and will not hold it against you, and we will part as friends. What say you?"

My lack of good judgment and impulse control will be the death of me someday. I took a knee.

"I say that I will strive to be worthy of this great and unlooked for honour, my Lord and Liege."

He held my hands and had me repeat the Oath, then helped me to my feet. I could see him clearly now, terrible and beautiful and fae. His smile gleamed, bright as stars. "What do you ask of me as your welcome gift, good hostess?"

That was easy. "My Lord, if I could have a single strand of your hair, that would be gift enough. Plus I can use it to make my wards permeable to you, and ONLY you, so you may come and go freely."

"The thing you ask for is a gift to me as well. Yes, my hostess." He combed his fingers through his hair and placed a single, shining strand into my hands. "Thank you, my dear. For everything."

He bent, and I felt his lips press to my forehead. The next thing I knew, I was in the kitchen, slightly befuddled at the change in location. A bouquet of flowers was on the table, ones I'd never seen before, with a note attached.

It was one word, one that made me chuckle and start planning how to recast my protections.

In a fine, elegant script that delighted the eye, all it said was "soon."

your parents just sold you as their firstborn to a fey. problem is you’re already an adult.

[weretoad-writer]

Terminal Velocity

Summary: A conversation between Adaryc and the Watcher in the aftermath of the events at Cayron’s Scar.

Note: In this timeline the White March (both parts) takes place after the events of the main quest, so the Watcher is on his own and the Iron Flail plays a much larger role. Also, for context, Elan technically has cipher abilities, but has been suppressing them for a long time, so he only gets involuntary reads on people when the thoughts/emotions are very loud.

Content Advisory: swearing, brief description of drowning

**************************************

Elan sat on his bedroll in the infirmary tent taking stock. He wasn’t dead; that was a surprise. Not a particularly pleasant one given how damn much it hurt just to breathe. He had already made the mistake of coughing and nearly passed out. Broken ribs, then. And whatever the fuck two lungs full of icewater had done to his insides. His clothes and armor were gone. But someone had mercifully left his weapons beside his bedroll. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious; the last thing he remembered there had been daylight, and now it was full night.  

He shut his eyes, and he was back under the ice, in the dark and the cold, as the pressure crushed his insides and water filled his lungs. In his head he was still drowning. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d never made it out. 

His eyes flinched open. Someone was standing before him, an Orlan, their bloodstained apron and harried expression marking them as the medic. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Elan’s voice came out in a hoarse croak. “Where’s the commander?”

“How the Hel should I know?” they snapped, ears slanting backwards in irritation. “He’s supposed to be here, but does he listen to me? No!” They fixed Elan with a glare as though all of this was somehow his doing. He supposed, in a sense, it was. Breaking into the Battery was what had started this mess after all. “There’s not much I can do for cracked ribs, I’m afraid,” they added, relenting at last with a small huff. “Seida – our priest – might be able to speed things along, but that will have to wait.” They cracked a rueful smile. “Triage is a bitch.”

Elan nodded; he didn’t care about any of that. Adaryc had made it. He hadn’t just hallucinated that part. “Any chance of getting my clothes back?”

The medic’s eyes narrowed. “Why? You planning on wandering off too?”

“No, just cold.” It was only half a lie.

They looked unconvinced but nonetheless waved him towards the far end of the tent where washed bandages and items of clothing hung drying over a brazier.  

Dressing with cracked ribs was an ordeal, but it was hardly his first time. The clothes were mostly dry at least, save for his boots, but there was nothing he could do about that. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders as an extra layer against the cold and, when no one was looking, slipped out of the tent. 

He found Adaryc on the wall, spelling one of the sentries who had gone to join their fellows around the fires. The commander half stood, half slumped against the paling, exhaustion written in every line of his body, but at the crunch of snow underfoot he straightened sharply. 

“Elan –” He sounded surprised, but any trace of it was quickly replaced with earnest concern. “It’s good to see you back on your feet.”

“Just barely,” Elan admitted with a weary smile. 

“Does Marwyd know you’re out here?”

One of Elan’s brows twitched upwards and he cast a pointed glance at Adaryc’s bandaged head and the sling cradling his arm. “I could ask you the same question,” 

The corner of Adaryc’s mouth quirked. “I won’t tell them, if you don’t.”

They stood there for a moment in companionable silence, the low rumbling of a storm rolling up from the valley below. Behind them in the camp, the surviving members of the company not confined to the infirmary were celebrating their victory, the boisterous clamor muddling together in a comforting buzz, until a sudden outcry startled Elan back to alertness. He turned – they both did – hands reaching for weapons, the cold specter of the Eyeless – of that first night – brutally fresh in both their minds. But there was no threat, no looming shadow. The uproar crested and broke in a cascade of laughter. All was still well.  

He heard the quiet exhale of relief from Adaryc and smiled, “Sounds like they’re enjoying themselves.”

Adaryc’s gaze lingered on the chaotic scene, his face in that moment unguarded, watching the revelers with fierce affection. “They’ve earned it.”

“You’re not taking part?”

“I did, briefly. But I try to keep it short, give them their space.” He nodded towards the commotion, smile going crooked. “Particularly when non-regulation alcohol is involved. Not that I’d know anything about that, officially.” He shook his head.  “You should join them. They’d welcome it.”

Elan considered this briefly; he couldn’t deny the appeal of drinking himself numb after everything that had happened, but instead he found himself shrugging a little deeper into his makeshift cloak.  “I think I’ll stay out here a little longer, if that’s alright.” Adaryc looked at him in surprise, but quickly recovered. “Of course.” 

The conversation trailed off, but after a short while quietly watching the treeline, he asked, “What will you do now? Now that it’s over, I mean.”

Elan blinked. Over. It was over. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear someone else say it out loud. He breathed out a curse, his voice soft with amazement. “Hadn’t really thought this far ahead, if I’m honest. Wasn’t expecting to walk away from this one.” His brows knit as he considered the question. “Back to the Dyrwood, I suppose? See if Caed Nua’s still standing.”

“Your keep?”

Elan winced. “I, ah… It’s not really a keep. And it’s not mine. Just a ruin. And that’s not me being modest, it truly is a falling down pile of old stones. A very tall one, I’ll admit, but a ruin all the same. After…. after the whole mess with the Leaden Key, everyone went their separate ways. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so…. I started camping in one of the abandoned outbuildings. Some refugees from Defiance Bay turned up one day and decided to camp there too. Then a few more. Pretty soon they were patching up a couple of the outbuildings into proper shelters. Now they’re talking about tearing up the old overgrown hedge maze and planting, ah… something? Potatoes? Fuck knows. We’re all city folk down to our bones, so it’s bound to end in disaster.” He glanced at Adaryc, “What about you?”

Adaryc drew himself up a little straighter, a small, unconscious movement as if he were bracing himself. “Once the wounded are well enough to travel, we’ll return to Readceras. We’ll give the dead a proper burial. And – and their families need to be notified. And – ” He faltered, and for a moment he was not the Iron Flail Commander, he was just a man, exhausted beyond endurance, marking time in the bodies of friends whose deaths he had not yet had time to process let alone grieve. “And the Council will want a report,” he finished heavily, ramrod posture going slack. “Gods only know what they’ll make of all this. They think I’m half mad already.” There was a short, mirthless laugh and he shook his head. “I keep thinking that if I can just put it into words, that it will make sense, that the words will, I don’t know…..contain it somehow? But – ”

“But it just makes it worse?” Adaryc looked up sharply, his hollow eyes fixing Elan with a sudden intensity. It was the same despair, the same fractured sense of reality Elan had felt after Sun In Shadow and the realization felt like being kicked in the chest. The knowledge that someone else understood jarring against the knowledge that no one else should have to. 

“I don’t know,” Adaryc shook his head, dropping his gaze once more to his hands. “Is that blasphemy? Trying to confine the divine to mortal terms?”

Fatigue made every emotion feel like a struck match. There was no slow build, no moderation, just a dizzy binary of all or nothing. Elan’s face felt hot, anger flaring, not at Adaryc, but at the blinkered acceptance that was now expected of them after everything they had just been through. “Fuck the divine!”

Shock and hurt flashed across Adaryc’s face. “Elan – “

“It wasn’t the divine bleeding out on the ice today! How many people died just because Ondra didn’t want the world to see the giant damn skeleton in her closet? What kind of god is motivated by fear? They’re supposed to be better than us! Or else what’s the fucking point?”

“That’s not –” Adaryc broke off, his expression strained as if he were being pulled in a dozen directions at once. “I can’t pretend that I’m not – that what happened isn’t…. difficult … to come to terms with, but this can’t be – It’s a single example out of –”

“How many examples do you need?”

“How can you act like it’s so simple?” Adaryc fired back. “Our lives are a narrow window, a razor thin slit  through which we glimpse infinity. How can you possibly believe that there is nothing beyond your own experience?

“Are you calling me arrogant?”

“Is there another word for it?”

Elan bristled, voice rising in consternation, “How can you just accept it? How does it not make you angry?”

“Do not presume to tell me my own mind!” Adaryc snarled, raw emotions splashing across Elan like splatter from a wound. Shame, hurt, anger, confusion, the sense of smothering, the impression of a door slamming shut and a body braced against it, the partitioning of self. It left him reeling like a sharp backhand. 

Silence fell between them, the sudden contrast dousing both of them like a bucket of cold water,  leaving them flustered and shamefaced, and neither could quite meet the other’s eyes.

Elan shifted uncomfortably; he opened his mouth to say something, but it was Adaryc who spoke first. “I’m sorry. That was -”

“No. Don’t apologize.” Elan sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. “You were right. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“It wasn’t fair to you either. I – I don’t think  you’re arrogant.”

“Well, let’s not be hasty.”

The little huff of breath could almost have been a laugh. 

“Differences aside, I –” Adaryc hesitated, all his prickly awkwardness receding for a moment. He seemed strangely naked without it. “I envy your certainty.” 

The painful earnestness with which he said it caught Elan off guard. It felt like a confession, an admission of guilt, and he frowned, concern and confusion creasing his brow.

“Certainty has its flaws.” He had meant it as reassurance, but something in the words struck a nerve and Adaryc bristled, all sharp edges once more. 

“The lack of it is hardly a virtue!” he snapped, “Doubt is a sickness! A rot that must be cut out before it infects everything around us!”

“And certainty leads to assumptions,” Elan retorted, feeling is own temper flare again. “You know damn well how dangerous that can be in a fight!”

Adaryc flinched, his face flushing crimson. There were several heartbeats of uncomfortable silence and then, all at once, the fight seemed to go out of him. “I was certain about this mission,” he conceded bitterly. “Or at least… I performed certainty.” His hand twitched towards his belt where his sword hung – a different weapon from the one he’d carried that first night –  his expression pained. “I think the doubt was always there. But my men believed me. And I lead them into a fight we were utterly unprepared for. I imprisoned civilians – I risked starting the war I was supposed to be protecting us from!”

“Only because that Ondrite cultist escalated the – “

“Don’t!” Adaryc cut him off. “You do me no kindness by excusing my mistakes. I acted out of fear. There is no excuse for that.”

“But you were right!” Elan spluttered, “Alright, sure –  you fucked up with Stalwart, you made a mistake. But you were right about the vision, you were right about the attack, you were right about where it would happen. You were where you needed to be when you needed to be there, and you held the fucking line. Stalwart is still standing because you were here! You just got the details wrong because, shock of shocks, the goddess of secrets is a a cryptic fucking asshole!” 

Adaryc stared at him wide-eyed, for once too startled to argue, and then, to Elan’s surprise, he laughed – not a real laugh, there was no mirth in it, just overtaxed nerves and tension spilling over, but the rigid set of his shoulders relaxed the barest bit. 

There was another rumble from the storm in the valley, closer this time and Adaryc glanced at him, the tired shadow of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“I think she heard you.”

Elan’s face split into a grin.  “You worried she’ll smite the wrong Watcher?” 

“That’s not–”

But Elan was already taking a step back, face tilted skyward. Gods, he felt strange. He felt drunk, with exhaustion and pain and relief and the dizzy sense of connection to another person. “Ondra! Hey!” He shouted up at the night sky, ignoring the sharp stab of pain, and spread his good arm wide. “Take your best shot! I know we probably all look alike to you, so remember to aim for the mouthy Aedyran heretic, yeah?”

“What in Hel is wrong with you?” Adaryc yanked his arm down in alarm, pulling him off balance, and Elan stumbled into him laughing. 

The laughter hurt like hel, but he could handle the pain until the coughing set in. His body hunched, one arm curling around his ribs trying desperately to brace as each spasm sent agony knifing through his chest. Dark spots flickered in front of his eyes, and then his vision blacked out. His knees buckled, but he didn’t fall. 

“Fuck.” The word hissed between his teeth as the fit passed. He leaned into whatever it was that was keeping him from falling, drawing in shaky, shallow breaths. 

After a moment, his support shifted – carefully – and Adaryc’s face swam into focus, his brow furrowed with concern. “Elan?” 

“M’fine.” Effigy’s eyes, everything hurt. 

Adaryc’s eyes flicked upwards in exasperation. “You’re not one of my men, I can’t order you to go to the infirmary tent.”

“Probably for the best,” Elan croaked with a smile that was still half grimace, “Never been much good at taking orders.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

Adaryc released his arm, but neither of them made any attempt to move apart, only shifting to face outward towards the perimeter again, close enough to brush shoulders. They were quiet for a time after that, watching the dark silhouette of the tree line and listening to the offkey singing and laughter from the fort behind them. 

The minutes crept by and after a while Adaryc asked, “If not the gods, what do you have faith in?”

Elan’s shoulders tensed and he looked up, but there was no challenge in Adaryc’s face, only genuine and slightly puzzled curiosity. 

He didn’t answer right away. He had to fight down the urge to simply brush the question off; sincerity was vulnerability and vulnerability would get you killed, at the bare minimum it was an invitation for abuse. But….. 

But. 

“I don’t know.” He paused, frowning down at his hands. “I don’t say that to mean I’m above it, only that….. Well….” His mouth opened and shut several times. His hand brushed the sword at his side, nervously fingering its hilt like a talisman. “You saw enough of my soul to know that I’m no saint. I’ve made mistakes. A lot of them. Sometimes because I couldn’t see any right choices, and sometimes because I was running headlong towards the wrong ones. Faith and – and belief…. they can be a lot of things, I think. You could probably give me some real nice examples. And I’m not saying you’d be wrong. But they can be bad things too. A blindfold, a leash….puppet strings. In the wrong hands. And the choices I’ve made….Let’s just say there weren’t many kind hands around.” 

Elan drew in a shallow breath, shrugging – half-shrugging – uncomfortably. “I don’t know. Fire’s real pretty, but you can only get burned so many times, you know? Suppose there’s always this.” He glanced down at his hand still fidgeting with the hilt of his sword. “Always been able to count on a sharp piece of steel in my hand. Maybe that’s faith of a sort.” He hesitated, but the silence was worse than two back-to-back coughing fits. “Do you think that’s pathetic?” 

“No. I don’t,” Adaryc answered, his manner so earnestly serious it might have been comical under any other circumstance, but when Elan gathered the nerve to look up, he saw an echo of his own uncertainty in his face. “Do you think I’m naive?” “No.” Elan shook his head. “I know we don’t exactly see eye to eye on the gods, but… I don’t think that makes you naive. I just think you deserve better. And –” He broke off, fumbling awkwardly for the right words. “And your faith in your men, in what you’re doing, protecting your people…. I think I could believe in that.”

There were several beats of thoughtful silence. 

“I don’t suppose you’re looking to get back into mercenary work?” Adaryc ventured.

Elan looked up in surprise. “You really want to recruit the foreign heretic with authority issues?” he teased, “I’d be a thorn in your side and you know it. That’s not to say I take it lightly,” he added, smile faltering, “I – I don’t. No one’s, ah …. No one’s ever asked me to stay before.”

Adaryc was quiet for a moment, his hollow, fever bright eyes searching Elan’s face. “During the war, my first company…” he began, his gaze shifting to trace patterns in the snow at his feet. He spoke slowly and deliberately. “That was the first time in my life that I felt like I had a place anywhere. It’s part of why we formed the Iron Flail; when we got back home – the few of us who made it back –  we didn’t…. didn’t fit anymore. Except together.” He looked up then, meeting Elan’s eyes. “Consider it a standing offer.”

[bokettochild]

Day 5: I've Got Red In My Ledger

Whumptober Day 5: Betrayal/Misunderstanding/Broken Nose

So, I ended up using all three options, and 'm honestly not sure if this counts as Warriors Whump, Four Whump or both.

I will excuse Legend's presence as being because I just wrote a Four and Legend one-shot and was still in Split Heroes mode.

Hope you read, enjoy, and don't hate me for what I've done, because I don't regret it :)

Warriors keeps staring at them.

The captain’s piercing royal blue eyes have been boring a hole into their back for ages and the ridiculous part of them worries that if they don’t keep moving that stare will bore a hole right through them. Thanks Red.

What? It’s a valid concern!

Red, when has having someone stare a hole through you ever been a valid concern?

Wild’s guardians.

Alright, but Wars isn’t a guardian, he’s-

He helped to build them. Red murmurs softly. Plus, he’s the Captain, I wouldn’t put it past him to be able to do something crazy after spending so much time jumping across worlds and learning stuff from the people there.

Red, we all jump through portals and learn things from across time. I think we’ll be okay.

“Four?” Legend’s voice is the one that breaks through to him as the vet stops in front of him, two bowls in hand and one offered to them as the vet cocks a brow. “Y’all okay?”

They smile at the vet, despite the itch of someone’s eyes fixed on them, and take the offered food. “I’m good, just thinking is all.”

“About what?” Legend presses, sitting next to them with curious cock of his brows as he begins to eat, violet eyes staring them down, piercing, but not as pointedly so as Warriors’ gaze. Legend’s eyes are gentle for once, and the vet seems to relax slightly as he eats, seated at their side and calmer than he’s been in days.

Four wishes they could feel the same.

They don’t regret sharing their secret with the vet (even if it wasn’t on purpose) and it’s nice to have someone to feel safe with, but no matter how warmly Legend might smile at them, a secretive wink or knowing smirk being shot their way, they’re still on edge.

“Nothing much, just...thoughts, you know?”

“No.” Legend deadpans.

They chuckle nervously. “Thinking about our different worlds and how we learn so much by hopping across them, you know? Like, Wild learning the recipes from your time or Wind getting to learn to ride horseback in Twilight’s world.” Th vet nods wordlessly, sucking on his spoon as they turn their attention to the meal Wild has so lovingly prepared.

Warriors still hasn’t looked away.

He’s been doing this for days, and usually, Four wouldn’t be worried, but it hadn’t started until after Shadow had helped them trip up an enemy in battle, and though the action probably saved the captain’s life, Wars hasn’t stopped watching them and it’s beginning to remind them of that time that Ezlo and them had been cornered by a cat in Pita’s Bakery. They still have the scar from that incident, and it’s something they guard the secret behind fiercely, if only out of shame of their own weakness and foolishness in that particular situation. Ezlo had warned them not to try darting away, to stay hidden in the sacks until the cat had been gone, but they’d rushed forwards and barely survived being made mincemeat.

Ezlo had needed stitches.

They had needed a minish healer and a bath in red potion. And even if they cover the worst of the scars beneath their tunic, the ragged tip of their left ear is a reminder. It’s why they chose to wear their earring, to remember to listen when the minish or the little voice in their head -or voices now- tell them to be careful. That voice, all four of them, is screaming at them to shield themselves.

And really, they should have listened.

Legend is on his feet in a moment, sword out to catch the second blow that falls their way as their ambusher grunts out an irritated oink.

“Ambush!” Wind shouts as the others pull themselves to their feet and grab hold of their weapons. They’d left their sword beside their seat, and from their place lying on the ground they can’t reach, but Shadow, Hylia bless him, sneakily pushes it close enough that they can wrap their fingers around the hilt and jump in to join the battle with their brothers.

It’s not a large group of monsters, and it doesn’t take much work between nine heroes and a sneaky shadow to fell them all, and they’re just turning to offer Wind a high five as the kid kicks the final lizalfoes off his sword when the cold of a blade presses against their throat.

“Warriors, what the bloody heck!” Legend shouts, jumping back up from where he’d been knelt to help Sky begin relighting their ruined campfire.

“Drop your sword.” The captain’s voice grates out behind them, cold and commanding in a way that sends shivers down their spine.

What’s going on?

The captain’s gone bonkers is what! Green, what’s the plan?

There’s only silence from their leader as the other deviants wait impatiently for an answer.

Green, we need a plan, War is-

Their sword clatters to the earth as the other colors begin to swear and panic, but Green has forced their hand, literally, and the stare they send their weapon is both resigned and horrified, one eye flickering various colors as the other remains solidly green.

Across camp, Legend’s own eyes are bugging out of his head, panic clear in his gaze as the vet’s hand closes on his sword hilt.

“Stay your hand, Legend.” Warriors rumbles, firm but not cruel. “No need for weapons-”

“Says the one holding a sword to Four’s throat!”

The captain doesn’t even shift, and their mind spins as they try and decipher what it is that the other man is doing or thinking, Red and Blue still screaming inside their mind as Vio murmurs various schemes about what they can do while Green sits in stony silence.

What were you thinking!

Green! We- what if- Red is nearly sobbing. Green, please! What are you doing?

Calm down. Of Green had his own body he’d be shooting them a rueful but reassuring look, and they can all feel it. This is a mistake or misunderstanding. If we listen and don’t make it worse, it can be cleared up faster.

Brilliant, might want to fill the vet and Old Man in on your plan though, and maybe Sky too, guys about to blow up.

They shoot a wary glance towards the Chosen Hero, careful not to move their head lest they press against the blade at their throat. Sky’s eyes are wide, but he’s still as a board and already falling into his ‘king stance’ as Legend calls it, shoulders back and jaw set with a grace and power behind his gaze that makes them shiver even more than the cool steel at their neck.

Or wait, that metal isn’t all cold, there's a bit of warm sticky stuff brushing their jaw and they nearly shiver again as they realize that Wars hadn’t even cleaned the monster blood off of his blade before trapping them.

“The smithy’s been lying to us.” Warriors grates out, cold and harsh and angry as the blade presses closer to their throat. They have to inch back a bit to avoid being cut, only to find themselves stumbling against the captain’s chest. “He may be a hero chosen by the goddesses, but he’s chosen his own path.”

“What do you mean?” Time’s voice is emotionless, stance unreadable and face carefully blank and it’s unsettling in the extreme, making the other young heroes draw back with wary looks as they glance from one to another of the adults, only Legend standing firm and furious as he glares across at the captain.

“Four’s working with the shadow.” The captain spits out, blade again pressing close to their neck. “I’ve been watching him, he’s either learned it's powers or the beast is here itself, but I know what I saw, he’s got a shadow helping him.”

The vet twitches. “Duh. Have you never read the Legend of the Four Sword?”

There are a few confused sounds from the others, but Four can’t bother to figure out what the others are all saying and doing as the steel presses sharp against his throat, leaving him pressed against Warriors’ armor-clad chest with no way to escape as something warm bubbles against the blade and crimson leaks down from the line the blade presses against him.

“Let him go!” Legend shrieks, hands already on his own blade as he darts across the camp, but Warriors, only draws Four closer, voice unbearable gentle and pained as he addresses Legend. “Vet, you’re not yourself. He’s messed with your mind, can’t you see?  It’s why you two have been so close all of a sudden, he’s put a dark spell n you, don’t give into it.”

“I’ll do what I bloody well want!” Legend screams in return, chest heaving as the tempered sword comes unsheathed, tip inches from Warriors’ face as Legend’s body begins to tremble. “Let him go, Captain.” The title is spat out like a curse, and Four can nearly feel Warriors’ shoulders sag as the man winces, but Legend doesn’t lower his blade even as Wars gently urges him to calm.

The others have started moving closer too, doubt on a few faces that makes their heart sink in their chest. Sky’s gaze is firm though as the Chosen Hero settles a hand on Legend’s shoulder. “Let him go, wars. If there’s a problem that needs addressing, we’ll address it like civil adults.” The words make hope flutter in their chest, but Warriors is only pressing closer, his blade digging in and making them whimper as blood dribbles into the collar of their tunic.

“Not a chance, Sky, he’ll get away, shadows are sneaky like that! They-” The captain is cut off suddenly, breath catching as the man wheezes behind them, his hand on the sword at their throat loosening its grip and giving them room enough to breathe again.

Legend takes the opening, whatever it is that caused it, to dart forwards, dropping his own sword and pulling at the captain’s sword arm hard enough that Sky can scoop them up into his strong arms and duck away, holding them close to his chest and giving them a full view of the shadowy hands that have wrapped around Warriors’ throat.

“I’d watch who you messed with if I were you, Captain.” Shadow hisses in the man’s ear before releasing him, zipping over to where they lay in Sky’s arms, startling both the Skyloftain and the vet, who’s already reaching for his weapon again as the shade stops to float over them. “Four, oh gosh Rainbow, are you okay?”

Good old Shadow.

Vi, we almost died, now’s not the time.

“All good.” They wheeze with a shaky smile, eyes darting up to Sky’s wary ones and then down to Legend’s steely indigo ones. Neither hero has made a move though, and for that Four is grateful.

A few paces away, Warriors is rubbing at his throat and staring in shock and horror at the shade that hovers over the trio of heroes who crossed him. They wince, this is not going to be easy.

“You’re bleeding.” Shadow hisses, nearly growls as his fangs glint in the glow of faded embers. “He- Oh Lolia no, this ain’t going down like this, not on my watch!”

Well Shadow’s managed to accidentally calm Legend at least, as the vet loosens slightly at the name of the Lolian Goddesses name, even if Sky still hold them tight like he thinks he’s going to have to run.

The shade looks up, away from them for a moment and salutes Sky with a knowing nod, all cockiness gone as from his demeanor as he addresses the Chosen Hero. “Thanks for sticking up for my idiot, feathers, watch him for a second while I handle this freak, yeah?” And Sky doesn’t even have time to speak or agree or even blink before Shadow has whizzed across the cam and sent one clawed fist slamming into Warriors’ face, a sickening crunch breaking the silence as Warriors stumbles, hand reaching for his face as Shadow wrings out his hand. “Thats for hurting my friend, you asshole!”

“Shadow.” Red’s wrested control as they flop against Sky’s chest. “That is not helping! You hurt Warriors!”

“He hurt you first!” The protective shade shouts back, crossing his arms and giving Wars his scary eyes before darting back to hover at Sky’s shoulder, much to the poor man’s surprise. “Racist jerk, what am I evil just because I’m a shadow? Never heard of shadow puppets as a kid? Or shadow dancing? Hey, guess what, you don’t need to think every freaking dark thing that moves is evil!”

Sky frowns, eyes straining as he stares at the being leaning on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Four’s shadow, resident dragon master, smithy wrangler and protector of one stupid hero who thinks surrendering and keeping the peace is more important than keeping their hide in one piece.” Shadow pokes their shoulder pointedly at that, making them wince as Blue grumbles something about sharp claws.

“So, you are real.” Legend cocks his head, chest still heaving and cheeks still flushed as the vet visibly tries to force himself back under control. “Huh.”

Shadow turns, hovering mid-air and giving Legend a once over. The shade offers a strained grin, forced and brittle as he tries to distract them. “Rabbit huh? Nice. Rainbow’s always liked rodents. You the younger or older brother here?”

And even though all eyes are fixed on them, Warriors glaring and the others staring in disbelief, Four find themselves bursting into laughter because, of all things, of course Legend would apparently also have a shadow form, and the fact that it’s a rabbit is only making it worse. To their surprise, Sky’s laughter joins their own, and across camp, Twilight huffs a strained chuckle as Legend glares up at the floating shade.

“I told you!” Warriors wheezes, blood spilling down his face as he pulls himself up. “It's a shadow! Four’s working with Dark Link!”

Shadow hisses. “That nutcase? Are you kidding? I’d rather die again, thank you!”

And really, now is as good a time as any for them to explain. “He’s just a normal shadow, Wars. Yeah, Ganon and Vaati brought him to life, but he’s been helping me protect Hyrule since we freed him form their control. He’s on our side, he was just nervous about showing himself around all of you guys because we heard you all talking about your own shadows.” Their eyes are flickering violet as they stare at the captain, and they know it. “He’s not a monster, and he’s only a threat if you make him one, same as any of us.”

The captain moves to protest, only to have Hyrule clear his throat from the edge of camp, all eyes swiveling to the traveler as Hyrule nods slowly. “He’s telling the truth, the Legends of the Four Sword all say that the hero befriended and helped his shadow, and the shadow reformed and sacrificed himself to save Hyrule.”

“Exactly.” Legend squeak growls. “The only threat in this camp is someone who’s more willing to draw a blade on their comrade than to approach them with their concerns.” The words make Wars flinch, maybe more than the blow Shadow had landed to his face, and though the captain makes to speak, he's cut off once again by Legend’s harsh voice. “Don’t want to hear it, Captain. I’ve got my brother to help heal up after what you did to him.”

It’s like the mirror shattering all over again, the silence in the air as two parties are separated by a line none can see as Legend and Sky settle on the opposite side of the camp from the others, Shadow hovering over the vet’s shoulder as Legend turns his back on Warriors, dabbing gently at the cut on Four's throat with a cloth damp with red potions.

The captain stiffens, standing and turning on his heel to march towards the other end of camp.

Blue eyes never leave them as their three protectors hover and fuss over them.

[sunjaesol]

“The simple act of being in love with you is enough for me.”

jiara | post-s2 | pining idiots | title: quote by Pacey from Dawson's Creek

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“Kie.”

“Hm?” The girl’s mop of curls obscured her face as she mumbled out some vowels, clearly still buzzed from the night before. An amused smile ticked up his lips and slapped her calf again. She sighed. “What?”

“Leggo,” he pushed, “we gotta get to Pope’s place.”

“Why?”

Even if everyone else would deny it, JJ swore Kie was as bad as he was: slow and fucking lethargic before eleven in the morning. Sure, she had better grades in school, but he wasn’t gonna give her more credit than that. Speaking of, “Helping him with that new scholarship, remember?”

The girl groaned and rolled over to face him, droopy eyes cracking open to scowl at him. She slept where he used to crash whenever his dad’s place became too much, but since the old man fucked off to Yucatán, he found peace in the quiet walls and cracked windows. Regardless, it was weird seeing her sprawled on this mattress, the boy almost able to envision himself beside her. A dangerous fantasy to linger on, so he pushed it aside and kept on trucking.

“C’mon, Kie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered and sat upright. “How did you even get in the Château?”

JJ grinned and snagged a key chain from his shorts. “Spare key. Duh.”

She rolled her eyes, uttering, “John B’s stupid,” and then pushed him out the guest room, telling him she’d get ready. His mouth opened to make the joke if he couldn’t stay and watch, but the door slammed in his face and that was that.

Having a crush on Kiara was the freakiest thing ever. First of all, JJ and emotions didn’t mesh well — it only led to trouble, a perfect example being his dad and him with the most fucked up dynamic to boot. He preferred to not even think about the man, though one glance in the mirror often betrayed his mind and brought a rush of memories to the forefront, whether it was a shiner against his eye, or the fact that he resembled his father when he was young.

So yeah, he didn’t like anything ‘love’ related. It was stupid. It was more reckless than buying a jacuzzi or trying to steal a golden cross from a boat with dozens of armed men. Friendship, however, was easy. He told the Pogues just that: they were ‘it’ for him, he’d go through fire for them, through hell and fucking back.

But he didn’t think he’d actually die for them, which almost happened when he tried saving Kie on the Coastal Venture — to which she ended up saving him. (A vision illuminated by a golden sun, hovering over him. He’d never forget it.)

While he inspected the contents of the fridge, embarrassingly filled with only beer, eggs, milk and junk food, the door creaked open and revealed a dressed and less-wrecked Kiara. His gaze flicked up and down her frame, quick, and then averted it back to the fridge.

“You got no food, man.”

She chuckled. “I know. It’s not exactly The Wreck type of food…”

“You haven’t gone back?”

“Nope,” she replied, curt, and moved past him to shove a container of sausages aside to grab a bottle of almond milk. Even if she wasn’t with her parents, she still somehow kept up her ‘no dairy’ principles.

Also, Kiara was hella beautiful. He hadn’t let it register when she walked in, but it was true. Her soft-looking, shiny skin, sporting the prettiest smile in all of the OBX, and she was just hot. Especially when she propped herself on the kitchen counter, to which he settled beside her to not look at her legs.

“How many scholarships are there?” she asked. “Like, I’m obviously proud of him, but…”

“He told us last night,” JJ laughed. “You were that fucking high?”

She giggled, “Yeah! You were there, I was just on my ass.” And then, quieter, “And… I don’t know, I guess I’ve been kind of distracted.”

He perked up, surprised. Though the Pogues were family, openly talking about emotions when it wasn’t prompted by anything, remained rare. They were better at talking shit and smoking and napping on boats. Whatever, he took the bait.

“Why?”

She shook her head. “It’s stupid, JJ.”

“Kie, you’re talking to me,” he nudged her shoulder, “throw me a bone here. Is it Pope? You got the hots for our favourite nerd again?”

Taking a sip from the bottle, her brow quirked up as though that was the stupidest thing he ever said, and retorted with, “Why’re you always doing that?”

His hands raised instantly, defensive. “Doing what?”

“You’re always digging, like, when I was with Pope you got all weird.”

“I don’t dig.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. Kie, what’s up?” He kept it moving before she found the core of his problem, and bounced back to the original issue. “Before I start saying shit to Pope.”

She scoffed. “You're full of shit.”

“Oh, Kie,” he drawled with a smirk. “You can do better than that.”

Silence fell. He waited, fiddling with his fingers, and quietly hoped Pope wouldn't be too annoyed when they arrived late — then again, they were begrudgingly coined 'tortoise and tortoise' by the group anyway.

She placed the bottle back in the fridge and sent him a rueful smile, one he often saw her showing Sarah before they went aside and had a private talk. Their eyes locked and she finally spoke.

“Sometimes, I… I miss my parents. And it's like, I don't get how they don't just accept that I'm a Pogue, that I'm friends with you guys, you know? But I still miss them.” She looked down at her feet, crossing at the ankles like a little girl waiting to be reprimanded by the teacher. “I miss my dad's hugs.”

Instantly, his arm swung around her for a gentle side hug, a grateful smile pulling on her lips as she leaned into him. Both knew they should savour a moment like this, as hugging with a twitchy JJ and often irritated Kie happened once every blue moon.

Ignoring the guilty look in her eye — yeah, he didn't understand missing a paternal embrace, rather used to a blow in the stomach or a crude remark, but that didn't mean he lacked empathy — he resisted the urge to encourage her to reconnect with them. Knowing her, she'd just close up and glare at him for the rest of the day.

So no, he wasn't going to ask her. And no, she shouldn't feel guilty. P4L 'til the end, baby.

“Thanks, JJ,” she whispered.

He snickered and pushed her off. “You can't tell the guys I'm becoming soft, dude. Theyʼll give me so much shit for it.”

“They know you're soft,” she teased, “don't even try.”

“I'm tough,” he tried.

“Like Play-Doh.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled and motioned at the kitchen door. “Let's go, Carrera. Before John B and Sarah come back and act all married.”

Now that was fucking annoying. After John B and Sarah faked their death, they got married by a bandana strip and hadn't let that notion go after returning. Sure, there was that small blip when they were fighting the crazy religious chick, but that was old news.

John B made him swear he wouldn't tell a soul, but the guy waxed poetry about Sarah whenever they were drunk and alone. It was hilariously sad. Another man lost to a girl.

(“She wants a beach wedding,” JB sighed a couple nights ago. “Nice, right?”

“I– yeah, I really don't care about this, man.”)

JJ knew that when he got a girlfriend (Kiara unintentionally but also very intentionally crossed his mind), he'd act normal. No mushy shit. No poetry. Definitely no creepy Romeo and Juliet references thrown in as if that shouldn't freak the Pogues out. Their behaviour better not be infectious.

Expectedly, Pope's scowl reached them all the way from the car, Kie and JJ sharing a sheepish look before stepping out.

“Gee, guys,” the boy deadpanned, “thanks for making haste. Really appreciate it.”

JJ's wide grin hoped to salvage it. Slapping his friend on the shoulder, he pushed past him and yelled, “Kie was dead, dude!”

Pope grimaced. “Don't joke about that.”

He watched as Kie stopped beside Pope with an apologetic expression, telling him she overslept and was sorry and that he knew how JJ was — “Always joking.”

His chapped lips pursed, a familiar punch hitting his chest with him then pretending it didn't hurt. She always did this. Even if she claimed she didn't, she always took Pope's side. Relationship or not. JJ knew she didn't owe him her 'side', but it'd be a nice change of pace either way.

Whatever. This wasn't the JJ Pining For Kiara Show. Pope needed their help.

A state-wide scholarship competition gave Pope another shot at winning a huge chunk of money (no gold type of rich though) and getting his ass out of OBX, hopefully launching himself into some fancy college when he revealed to be of Denmark Tanny's lineage. Those hibrow assholes loved a good sob story.

All Pope had to do was score hella high on some test — easy — and impress the panel — not so easy — and he'd be the luckiest Pogue of all.

But that did mean Kie and him had to sit on his creaky bed with a freaky amount of flashcards while a stressed out Pope paced around his room. He was pretty sure the floor was eroding.

Also, he had no fucking clue what any of the flashcards meant. Did Pope's smarts really attracted Kie that much? Was it the brain? Brain over brawl? But where was the fun in that? JJ loved Pope to death, but the guy had to be fully medicated or high before his brain shut off and he acted carefree.

“Pope, do you even know what this all means?” Kie bemoaned, flipping the cards around.

“You got a dictionary somewhere?” added JJ, squinting at the word aberration. It sounded like some weird disease. He showed him the word.

Pope dismissed it. “It means: different from the norm.”

“Dude, why not write that then?”

“Because they want aberration.”

He didn't get it. “No one uses it though.”

“JJ, that's just the way it is,” Pope pressed.

“Guys, stop,” Kiara interrupted. “But honestly Pope, it's so, like, elitist. None of these questions are important to the world, or the well-being of the people.”

“Sorry, Kiara, but unfortunately not everyone cares that much,” he sighed. JJ could tell they were starting to annoy their friend, their tortoise bullshit bleeding through.

Her nose scrunched up, peeved. “Right. Because there's a planet B just waiting to be used by us. Duh.”

“Ooh,” JJ drawled, nudging her arm. “Are there donkeys shitting money?”

Kie laughed. “Yes. All beaches, clean air, no Kooks, and money-shitting donkeys.”

“Nah, I want it to be hella Kooky,” he joked, gesturing wildly. “I want a yacht and tell people someone else does my laundry, or something.”

“You don't even do your laundry anyway,” she bounced back with a roll of the eye. “I know you force John B.”

“He's already playing House with Sarah, might as well wash my underwear, too.”

Oh, man. He could do this all day. Talking shit with Kiara went as smooth as fishing for him. Each time he thought he one-upped her, she threw more on top and kept it going 'til neither knew what the point even was anymore. Sarah dubbed it as 'banter' which he believed was a rich way of saying 'talking smack.'

“I don't believe you even know how to do it,” she challenged.

JJ huffed and crossed his arms. “I can do it.”

A smirk bloomed on her lips as she kept jabbing. “It's kinda cute, how you need John B to be your mom.”

“I don't.”

“You literally said it five seconds ago.”

“Guys,” Pope groaned, followed by an exhausted sigh eerily similar to Heyward. “Can we get back to the flashcards?”

Kie and JJ were too far into their discussion though, jabbing at each other at rapid speed. Then she threw her cards at him and all bets were off. He yelled she should make a goal with her hands, to which he folded up a flashcard and shot it straight between her fingers.

And that was when Pope kicked them out. JJ presumed it was a victory they lasted as long as they did. Kie kept apologising over her shoulder, prompting Pope to ask Cleo for help instead.

For a beat, they were silent stepping out of his place and back into the car. JJ felt a stab of guilt for fucking up Pope's study time, but it was hard to dial his brain to school when his friends surrounded him. Just when he wanted to ask if she felt bad too, she went off about the climate — as usual.

“It's so dumb how there were no questions about the environment or human rights or, or anything like that! It's all science and lit, like, there's more to life than fucking chemistry formulas!”

“I skipped those cards. Didn't get them.”

“It's so fucked,” she hummed. “And I'm obviously glad that you drove to the Château to wake me up and all—”

“Yeah?”

“—but I really wish those questions would matter. We almost died, JJ!”

“No, shit,” he grumbled, quickly starting to lose his patience with the ranting girl. She didn't even realise what the fuck she was saying anymore — what she did to his heart, skipping like some elemtary school girl on the playground, when she slipped some nice words in.

“Died!” she pressed. “Why even care about stuff like that?”

“Fucks sake, Kie—”

“And I didn't want to say it, but did you see how many flashcards there were? How many trees were cut for that? It's like, hello, Quizlet exists!”

“Kie, shut up!” he yelled.

Her mouth fell slack, gobsmacked, gawking at him like his interruption was a slap in the face.

Gesturing wildly with one hand, he exclaimed, “You know, you can just go on and on and I hear you talking and it's like, yeah, we get it, Mother Earth needs to be saved, we're fucked, you don't gotta repeat it twenty-four seven.”

“What the hell, JJ!”

“You have an opinion about everything! A man gets tired!”

“A man?” She scoffed. “You're not even eighteen.”

“Point is you don't gotta act all preachy all the time.” He turned the corner, hands tightening around the steering wheel.

Kie scowled. “Where is this coming from? I'm not preachy, I'm educating you.”

Now that was just fucking with his head. Incredulous, he exclaimed, “You think I don't listen? Kie, I'm the only one that does. JB is on Planet Sarah all the damn time and Pope only did shit 'cause—"

"That!” she yelled, throwing her hands up with frustration. “That's what I mean! You're doing it again! You dig!”

“What?!”

“Every time you mention Pope and I, you dig. You needle!” Twisting in her seat, his gaze flickered to catch her disgruntled expression. “Why do you do that? It's so… sus.”

JJ laughed. “Sus?”

“You don't ask John B about Sarah.”

“'Cause they're fucking obvious.”

“Still,” she pressed. “Did I do something to piss you off? Is that it? Is it me constantly asking you to recycle and yet — shocker! — you never do?!”

“Fucking God,” he grumbled under his breath.

With frazzled thoughts and shaking hands, adrenaline coursed through him as he swerved to the side of the road and stopped the car. If he fought with Kie any longer to this degree of fuckery, they were gonna crash.

She frowned. “What're you doing?”

“You, Carrera, are driving me insane,” he deadpanned, matter-of-fact. Then he slammed the door open and stepped out, desperate to catch his breath.

In the back of his mind, he had an inkling as to why he was so keyed up. Kiara would call him a Neandethal, but fuck it, here was the truth: Kiara was hot as hell when she argued with him.

Following his lead, she got out, her sneakers stomping against the asphalt. The sun steeped low on the horizon, the light hitting the hood and reflecting onto her face; her curls shifting from dark brown to gold. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was so fucked. He almost missed the start of her spiel, too enthralled.

“I'm driving you insane? I'm always getting you out of trouble, because you never think things through! You never see the bigger picture!”

He rolled his eyes. “Bigger picture? The only thing I see, Kie, is you going on about nature. That easy.” And then, before he could stop himself, he spewed out, “And you don't have to do that.”

“What?”

“Getting me out of trouble,” he said, pursing his lips. “That's not your responsibility.”

“Right. Duh. Because after everything we've been through, I can't care about you,” she exclaimed, face twisting up in pure fury. She got in his space, shoving his shoulder, but when he didn't budge, it only seemed to anger her more.

JJ didn't know what was going on anymore. Why was she so mad? Even if she didn't want to admit it, he was telling the truth. Of course all the Pogues had each other's back, but Kiara doted over him more than was necessary. The constant checking of injuries, limiting his day drinking, all that. Like he was some child!

He leaned in and mumbled, “I can take care of myself.”

Kie smirked. “Then do your own laundry.”

It happened naturally. One second he stared at her furious eyes and thought about how much he loved arguing with her despite the bullshit, the next his fingers curled into her hair and pulled her in a fierce kiss.

At first, her hands laid frozen on his shoulders, surprised, but the moment he realised his impulsive decision was a mistake, they slid around his neck and kept him close.

JJ sighed in relief and deepened the kiss he'd been craving ever since they were fourteen and Kie went from gangly to statuesque. Her lips were warm and soft and her hands were soft and she hadn't let go and holy shit — he was kissing Kiara Carrera.

The kiss lessened when her mouth quirked into a smile, their grins pressing flush together, and JJ shivered from delight. Oh, man. He was gone.

“You drive me damn crazy, Kie,” he murmured, voice dropped to an undeniably soft tone.

She bit back her silly grin and whispered, “Good.”

Taking a deep breath, he tried focusing up, but all he could do was stare at her face. A shy hand grabbed hers.

He had to get it out of the way now, or else he'd kick himself later. “I'm… really into you. I'm– oh, fuck, uh–”

“Maybe we can talk about it not on the side of the road?” she suggested, amused.

JJ grinned, elated (What was the word he saw on the flashcards? Exalted!), and kissed her again, because he could.

On the ride back to the Château, he confessed to seeing her in a different light for years, while she couldn't really pinpoint a time or moment, that it just happened. It didn't matter, though he was in utter disbelief that he and Kie were having this conversation. No jokes, no BS, all seriousness. Tomorrow, he'd wake up and it wouldn't be some sick dream. Kie liked him back.

JJ was sure he'd doubt himself or overthink it in the future, but today, he'd bask in the certainty and the major ego boost.

“Okay, but did you ever legit like Pope then?”

A sheepish smile crawled up her cheeks as her gaze averted to the window. “I thought I did. But we have, like, no chemistry, so…” She shook her head. “I was confused.”

“That's okay,” he uttered. He couldn't give her shit for it. Even if he did torture himself with their short-lived relationship, he understood.

How would he react though? John B and Sarah wouldn't care, or Cleo, but Pope? He didn't want one of his brothers hating him. Being iced out by the guy fucking sucked, as it meant he was truly hurt and therefore meant JJ truly fucked up. He couldn't handle disappointing him.

Kie read his mind. “He'll be fine with it.”

“I dunno, man…”

“He will,” she repeated. “We're Pogues. We've all narrowly survived death. And besides…” She turned back to him with a secretive grin. “I think he has a thing for Cleo.”

Whoa. He did not see that coming. His brows shot up to his hairline, mentally kicking himself for being so focused on Kie that he didn't even notice the shift of interest between Pope and Cleo. They made sense, too. Know-it-all's, but well-meaning, and only speaking when needed.

If the idea didn't relief him of worries, he'd be concerned as to why they were all seamlessly coupled up like in some 90s sitcom Big John had on VHS.

“What a player,” he joked.

“Tell me about it.”

They arrived at the house, the Twinkie and Sarah's bike sprawled on the overgrown front lawn. JJ frowned. He had hoped to have some alone time with Kie, not to jump her bones and fulfill a regular dream of his, but to talk. To figure it out. He wanted to do this right. Because after everything, they deserved to have good things, to start on a high note — he deserved it.

Kie noticed it, too. Puckering her lips on contemplation, her gaze trailed from him to the rest of the property, ending on the trusty ol' hammock. She jabbed her thumb at it.

“Let's sit there.”

Normally, they laid on opposite ends on the hammock, if they even shared one to begin with. But now, she pressed herself right beside him and he felt like heaven dropped down on them in the best way possible. He suddenly understood what John B was lamenting about — the company, intimacy, the ease. Nerves rippled through his body like a summer storm, but he figured that was what it cost to lose one's mind over a girl.

He didn't know what to say, so Kiara spoke instead.

“I don't want us, the way we are around each other, to change, you know?” she said. “Like, I don't want you to think you have to act like some mellow ass boyfriend all of a sudden.”

He smirked. “Who said anything about boyfriend?”

“Bye.”

“Hey, wait,” he grinned, latching onto her arm before she pushed herself out. “C'mon, Kie.”

Her nose scrunched up. “I don't do this usually, okay?”

“You think I do?” he asked. His hand softly slid down to wrap around hers, to which she hooked their fingers together. Okay. Wow. It felt so damn nice that it propelled him to say, “I wanna be your boyfriend, Kie.”

The girl smiled and then surprised him by leaning in herself, pressing a gentle kiss on his chapped lips. It was overwhelming having her instigate it, his gut twisting up in excitement like when he was about to backflip from a boat, or cliff dive, or something similar like that.

He let go of her hand to cup her cheeks, only to whisper, “That's a yes, yeah? Gotta get a yes.”

“Yes, JJ,” she uttered back. “Here's to not fucking this up.”

“Cheers, baby.”

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[awkwardcourage]

Frenchie soothes his irritation with a rueful smile and a ridiculous leap in logic. He can never stay mad at Frenchie, not for too long. He's too earnest, too sweet, too funny; his mon fleur. "I don't think that's how onion fumes or juices or whatever works," he points out with a snort. "Don't worry. I'm just... bitching, that's all."

Hughie laughs at Frenchie's suggestion. He takes cooking seriously and he doesn't doubt that Frenchie will absolutely prove him wrong. "Hey, if you say we need them, we need them. We can still do that though, if you wanna say 'I told you so'?" He leans over and presses his lips against Frenchie's. "Hey, you're doing the hard work. I'm just the... sous chef? Is that the guy who preps everything or is that the soup guy?"

Maybe next time Frenchie will give Hughie his goggles for onion cutting. No body likes to cut them and start leaking from their face. Frenchie had, of course, asked Hughie to do it specifically because he hates it himself. He offers a sheepish smile. "I thought maybe with you being very tall it would not be so bad. Desole." And he was sorry. Especially now.

He gave Hughie a lopsided smile. "Alors, I will make you some without and some with. And you will tell me why we don't need them, hmn?" Just to make a point. A lot of effort. For complex flavors. Frenchie will make a believer out of Hughie yet. "Merci for your hard work, Petit Hughie~"

[nanaminokanojo]

BLOOM | Sukuna X You | Part 2/3

CHARACTERS: Sukuna X You | Gojo Satoru | Geto Suguru | Shoko Ieiri | Maki | Fushiguro Toji | Baby Megumi | Megumi's Mom (OC) CHAPTER COUNT: 2/3 WORD COUNT: 8600+ GENRE: romance | fluff | slight angst | (eventual) smut | ooc sukuna | female reader | modern au CHAPTER TRIGGER WARNING: profanity/strong language | alcohol use | age gap | some mentions of death | mild sexual content SPOILERS: N/A

collection masterlist

one two three | Bloom Masterlist

You got up really early despite staying up late and only getting five hours of sleep max, but once you woke up, you knew you wouldn’t be able to get back to bed so you prepared for the day, waiting for Sukuna’s call. You went to the patio which faced the backyard, carried a small blanket and brought your battered copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s prose collection with you.

A few hour later, you heard stirring in the house and it wasn’t long before Satoru found you. He sat on the lounge chair opposite yours and just stared at you through sleepy eyes. He looked all disheveled, eyes bloodshot and yawning several times. He really couldn’t handle his alcohol and when he wakes up after drinking more than he could take, he always ends up befuddled and unable to make sense of his surroundings, not to mention irritable.

When he just sat there without saying anything and staring at you, you snapped your book close. “What is it?”

He snapped out of a seeming trance. “Oh. You have a guest.”

“Huh?”

“Ieiri said it’s Howard.” He yawned again, stretching his arms.

“Sukuna?”

“Yes, him.”

You scrambled off the lounge chair, nearly knocking it to the side with your weight as you half crawled, half-ran towards the door, suddenly remembering your agreement the previous night. You were mentally slapping yourself as you made your way into the hallway, planning to go up to your room to have a change of clothes. You weren’t sure what he wanted to do because he did not exactly specify that bit.

However, your plans did not come into fruition when you passed by the lattice wood and glass partition between the kitchen and the hallway and saw him.

“Y/N!” Ieiri pretty much yelled your name out, calling your attention and making you jump, startled. “Howard’s here.”

Sukuna glanced at her momentarily, probably catching the name she referred to him with.

The protest died in your throat when you saw Sukuna standing by the counter, looking so out of place in such a domestic setting although he was dressed casually in a black tee with a wide collar that exposed his collarbones for the world to see and faded jeans, similar to the one he wore that time he came to your school.

You grimaced at the realization that you were just standing there like an oaf, checking him out. It was evident in the way his smile morphed into a shy one as he bit his lower lip while Ieiri and Suguru grinned evilly at you. Feigning ignorance to their reactions, you entered the kitchen, brows knit together, shooting Ieiri an inquisitorial look after nodding at Sukuna’s direction. It was a dumb way of greeting people, but that was about what you could manage with the way your brain was being fried at the mere sight of him.

“I didn’t know we received guests in the kitchen now,” you commented, noticing the number of grocery bags on the counter. “You did the shopping?”

“I did,” Sukuna answered you. “I told you I was going to do something for you.”

“'You' being the technical term,” you said with a smirk when you realized what he was planning. “So you’re gonna cook for me?”

“Yes.”

You eyed your two friends who were eyeing Sukuna in anticipation. “Just me?”

“Stingy,” Ieiri commented, pouting.

Woman, you thought, eyeing her sternly in case she had plans to say something embarrassing. You spoke before she could say more, approaching Sukuna who was suddenly just looking at you, your eyes in particular. Out of a sudden, he reached out and touched the spot just under your left eye, making you step back at the sudden contact. He was touchy, you knew that, but you weren’t expecting him to be so candid in front of your friends on such a setting.

“Your eyes are swollen. Is something the matter?”

You smiled at him then, shaking your head. “I didn’t sleep enough last night.” You busied yourself by checking the things he bought. “So…” You looked at his pretty hands then at him. “The Spring God can cook?”

He gave you a funny look at the nickname you gave him. “Watch the Kitchen God work!” He chuckled then turned his attention to Ieiri. “I was just asking Ieiri if I could borrow the kitchen.”

“It’s more Suguru’s kitchen than hers,” you sniped at her who was now sitting on the counter, chin on the heel of her palm as she looked at the pair of you as if she was watching a really cheesy romance drama.

“Then it’s settled. I have to cook for them, too.” He ruffled your hair then. “Mind helping me?”

“I’ll leave you kids then,” she said sounding like a mom, leaving the kitchen and blocking Satoru’s progress when he was about to enter, leading him out into the living room much to the latter’s annoyance.

You shook your head, snickering. You really couldn’t wrap yourself around the fact that Sukuna could cook. “Should I get you an apron, chef?” you asked, meaning to taunt him, but then he took out a rolled-out piece of black cloth from a black case he brought along with the groceries and said, “I brought my own.”

Knowing that you can’t say anything else to annoy him about cooking, you started sorting out the things he brought, taking them out of the bags and fixing them in an organized way on the counter while he proceeded to take the foodstuff to the sink. All the while, you were watching him as he cleaned everything, his dexterous hands moving with precision and unmistakable expertise.

After fixing everything and putting away the bags, you stood beside him on the sink. “You do this a lot?”

“Pretty much.”

It was fascinating to watch him work so you didn’t say anything else until he took the case again and produced a professional-looking set of knives with customized handles. “Okay, now I’m scared.” You arched a brow at him. “Why the hell do you have a knife set?”

“I love to cook,” he answered, laughing slightly without taking his eyes from what he was doing.

“I figured, but I thought, you know just cooking at home, following online recipes and stuff like that.”

At that, he laughed. “Those recipes don’t work half the time.”

“Oh, okay,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes at his sentiment but then you saw how he was cutting the ingredients on the chopping board like a pro. “I’ll be damned.”

“What?”

“Now I mind assisting you. I refuse.” You felt a bit miffed about his mad skills in the kitchen, and you knew it would be foolish to even question how his dish, or dishes rather, was going to turn out. It got you thinking about every other thing he can possibly do, and you found yourself falling deeper. “I’m shit in the kitchen. You can have Suguru to help you.”

“But I already asked him for help yesterday to plan all this.”

“Did you now?” Your eyes flicked over to the counter that divided the kitchen and the living room and glared at your friend, remembering your conversation with him. He threw you a rueful smile.

Sukuna pouted. “You can’t take it back. Surely, you can chop onions.”

“I guess.” You took out a knife from the rack and grabbed an onion. “How do you like it?”

“Minced.”

“Okay.” You started chopping the thing rather slowly, trying to be precise, but since you were taking too long, your eyes started watering before you could even get it halfway done. “Ah, shit!” you grumbled, putting the knife down rather harshly.

Sukuna laughed, turning you around so you were facing him. “Are you okay?” he asked in between laughter, wiping your tears away with some paper towels. “You were too slow.”

You screwed your eyes shut, still feeling the sting behind your eyelids. “Well, I don’t cook.” When you opened your eyes, you almost stopped breathing when you saw those dark orbs of his directly in front of you.

“Oh no, sweetheart, you’re crying,” he cooed.

“Onion…” You took the paper towel from him and started wiping your eyes yourself, turning away from him when you saw the teasing beam on his face. “Shut up.”

“You’re cute.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “You’re so annoying.”

“I’m cooking for you, and I’m annoying? Let’s see how that opinion changes once you taste this masterpiece.”

You did not say anything about the matter anymore and instead watched him work, handing him this and that and doing as he tells you. Sukuna was kinda scary to work with since he obviously had a fixed process about how things should be done, but at the same time, you found yourself mesmerized by his fluidity as he moved around as if he had been in the kitchen his whole life.

“What are you making anyway?” you asked as you were putting away the things he didn’t need anymore.

He looked over his shoulder as he stirred whatever he was making. “That’s a secret.”

You shrugged, looking into the pot. “Just tell me already.”

He placed his free arm around your waist, pulling you to his side, seemingly oblivious to the three pairs of eyes which looked towards the direction of the kitchen every so often, spying on the two of you. “Patience, sweetheart. You’re gonna spoil the surprise.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you whined.

He planted a quick kiss on your forehead. “You’ll see.”

By the time Sukuna was done, your dining room looked more like a five-star restaurant than that of one owned by four university students. Well, the table did. You weren’t really familiar with the dishes he prepared since he won’t tell you what they were. You only recognized the lobster thermidor, but all the others were a mystery.

Your friends were thrilled when they saw the table and you were just stunned. You pretty much just watched Sukuna, but he didn’t let you see what he was doing in the dining room, making you promise to sit down in the pantry while he prepared. He went overboard, but you loved it, too.

“I feel like I’m going to pay with all the contents of my bank account after this meal,” Suguru said as he sat down at the edge of the table, making Sukuna laugh.

You sat to his left while the chef sat beside you, explaining the dishes to you and the three other people with you with such technical terms, half of which you didn’t really understand. Suguru did though. Sukuna plated the first dish and offered it to them.

“I hope you would find them to your liking,” he said.

“Y/N’s grandpa would be super impressed if he was here to see this,” Ieiri asked.

You snorted. “Oh my god, Ieri, what are you being such a pain for?” You turned to Sukuna then who looked at you questioningly, but you pretended not to notice. “And you, chill and eat. They can get their own food.” He grinned at you but instead of serving food for himself, he started putting food on your plate. You watched him pointedly. “I can do that myself. Eat!”

“In a bit.” He finished by placing sauce on the lobster then smiled your way before getting food for himself.

“This is phenomenal cooking, man,” Satoru commented delightedly at the first bite, seemingly forgetting about his headache, and Suguru made a sound of approval, eating with gusto. “Will you cook for us every day?”

“Suguru!” you protested.

Sukuna laughed at that. “Maybe not every day.”

You shot him an annoyed look but ate as well. They were right. His cooking was beyond good. “On second thoughts, I don’t mind you cooking for us every day, too. This is totally great!”

“Told you.”

The meal was rather pleasant with your pals engaging Sukuna, obviously taken by him. The deal was sealed where he was concerned. You knew it had nothing to do with the food. They just liked him. He mostly conversed with them while you just pitched in once in a while, too busy eating. Besides, you wanted them to get to know him, too, and you were more than glad that Sukuna was making the effort to be acquainted to them.

After lunch, Suguru and Satoru volunteered to do the dishes, in a very good mood after the magical meal while Ieiri tidied up, leaving you and Sukuna alone. You decided to tour him around the house although there was nothing much to see, leading him into the upstairs hallways. Your house was quite big for only the four of you, but not stately or anything. It was just a normal house with too few inhabitants and too many rooms.

You walked towards the west hall. “Those are all guest rooms and those at the end of the hallway are Satoru and Suguru’s rooms.”

“Where’s yours?” he asked.

You cocked your head towards the east hallway, beckoning him to follow you as you led the way to said room, pointing out the other rooms you passed by, just three of them until you reached the last door. You pushed the door open and gestured for him to enter.

“Huge space,” he commented as he looked appraisingly around, his feet leading him to the large, framed posters of your favorite book-based films and games. “You are a nerd.”

You just watched him, leaning against one of your bookshelves as he ran a finger over your "Harry Potter" movie poster. “Guilty.”

Sukuna then went look at your book collection. “It’s not bad.”

“I’m a literature major. I think it makes sense.”

“Books and more books. How many of these have you actually read?” he asked, taking your volume of "Twelfth Night."

“All of them.”

He eyed you, evidently impressed. “Shakespeare?”

“Yeah. That’s basic in my field.”

“You’re amazing, Y/N.” He reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “Beautiful, cultured and smart. I like it.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Shut up.”

“It’s true.” He returned the book on its place. “So, apart from literature, what else are you interested in?” He glanced at the glass case at the opposite end of the room where your scale-model figures and rows upon rows of console games were. “Well, apart from action figures and video games.”

“Hmm.” You pretended to be brooding over it. “Well, recently, I’ve just been interested in one thing.”

“And what is that?”

“You.”

He chuckled, pulling you towards him, the warmth of his hands burning through the fabric of your shirt, making you all giddy. “Alright, sweetheart. Your brutal frankness is really scaring me.”

“Door’s wide open. You can run.”

“You won’t chase after me?” he asked.

“You’re gonna wanna see me after anyway, so no.”

“Hey, that’s mean!” But then, he seemed to have thought of something. “Why does Ieiri call me ‘Howard’?”

You retreated from him and slumped down one of the beanbags while he sat on your swivel chair, turning it a hundred and eighty degrees repeatedly. “You caught that, huh?” You couldn’t suppress the laughter that bubbled from your throat at his question. “I didn’t know your name the night we met but Satoru told them about you and I kinda just used the name to refer to you. You know, from the book I was reading at Maki’s.”

“The architect.”

“That one.”

“I see. I don’t mind then since you told me you’re in love with the character.” He winked at you. “But yeah, I was wondering if you enjoyed the meal at all. You haven’t said anything.”

“That speaks volumes of how much I enjoyed it.”

“I’m not really good at this whole impressing anybody thing, but I wanted to make the effort for you and your friends.” Sukuna sighed in relief. “I’ve only ever had one girlfriend after all, and I didn’t really do much in the relationship. And I never really went out with other women after that either save for some casual dates.” He smiled sheepishly at you, but he was confused at your reaction.

You just stared at him quizzically and in disbelief. There was no way you will ever believe that he only dated steadily once and didn’t go out that much to paint the town red. It was inconceivable for the obvious fact that he was so beautiful it was inhuman along with that great personality he has. Women will be lining up for him for sure.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true.”

You shook your head, looking dubiously at him. “You’re pulling my leg.”

“Nope.” He shook his head as if to punctuate his statement.

“Everywhere we go, girls look at you and you expect me to believe that crap?” Hell, you wanted to pounce on him more often than not.

His expressions turned smug. “You care enough to notice, I see.”

It was unbelievable but you had to take his word for it. “You don’t sleep around either?”

“No. It just isn’t my thing.”

You just stared at him, your lower lip jutting out, not in disbelief anymore but in wonder. He’s a sensitive soul, you’ve figured that out, but you didn’t know it ran deeper than what you’ve seen so far.

“Don’t look so sad there.”

“I’m not. I really just don’t see it happening.”

“Should I be flattered?” he asked, but before you could answer, he said, “How about you?”

You swallowed hard, suddenly thinking hard about what you’re going to say to him. You didn’t really have a good track record where dating seriously was concerned. It was just not your cup of tea. “I’ve never had an exclusive relationship...” you began, eyeing him cautiously, “…ever.”

“Never?” He seemed to be having difficulty processing that.

You shook your head, your gaze guarded as you tried to gauge his reaction to your revelation. Somehow, you did not expect him to ask about the matter, and when he did, you didn’t really have a clue as to how you would address it. You realized just how different you were from him on that department. He seemed to value the emotions that come with engaging in physical intimacy while you just didn’t care enough for anyone to notice it.

“Now you’re shitting me.”

“I’m telling you the truth.” You frowned. “I think I mentioned this to you in passing the second time we met. I don’t date, at least not steadily.”

Sukuna obviously couldn’t wrap his head around the thought. “So you haven’t had a steady commitment with anyone?”

Again with the negative response. “Uh-uh.”

“Is it a matter of choice or is it a matter incapability, this I-don’t-date thing?”

“Both?” You shrugged, trying to think of a way to explain it to him. “I don’t for the reason that I don’t want to make a steady commitment. I just don’t see myself being invested with such intensity in anyone in a romantic way.”

“And why can’t you?”

“I get sick of people I’m involved with. In that manner, at least.” You chuckled humorlessly. “So…yeah.”

“But you’ve dated, right?”

You nodded. “Openly, yes, but I don’t stay long enough to really get into the whole relationship thing.” Talking about it was excruciating. It wasn’t something you discussed even with your friends. Suguru thought of it as you playing the field, but really, you had issues with the prospect of staying in an established bond with one person for a long period of time. You didn’t really know what to do with the information although you understood the mechanics.

He frowned then, looking deeply troubled. “So, you don’t date?”

“I did not date.” You made sure to emphasize on the past tense, knowing well what he would be assuming. “'Did not' being the operative term.”

“And now?” he asked, standing up when you did, too.

You stepped towards him. “What do you want it to be? It doesn’t just depend on me.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he said patiently, coming to meet you halfway and cupping your face as he tilted his head down to look at you squarely in the eyes. “But I do want you for the long run.”

“For now, it’s just that you’re slowly changing my views about it,” you returned. “But I like you, Sukuna. And I care about you. A hell lot. Does that answer your question?”

He nodded.

You reached up, touching his face, running your finger over his jawline. “Can we work with that?”

He pressed his lips onto your forehead, wrapping his arms around you. “Count on it.”

***

"How do I look?" you asked as you walked into the living room in the black, long-sleeved, backless, lace mini cocktail dress that Ieiri chose for you, your pencil heels of the same color clacking on the tiled flooring. You found your three friends lined up on the couch like expectant parents who were sending off their daughter to her first dance, making you laugh.

"Stunning!" Satoru complimented without hesitation, jumping up the couch to make his way to you. "Our daughter's grown up, Suguru."

"Last time I checked, I'm the only one who was raising her," the other male replied.

"You did a good job."

"I did a good job," Ieiri chimed in.

You shook your head, checking the contents of your clutch. It was hopeless trying to get a proper answer from them, but you needed their output since you were new to the whole dressing-up for dinner thing because you never really allowed anyone to wine-and-dine you; never wasted time and resources on anybody you knew you weren’t exactly interested in for the long run. Still, you were more than happy to say yes to Sukuna when he said he'll be taking you to dinner after your exams.

He's been hanging around you almost every day since he cooked lunch at your place, making good on his words to you where the status of your relationship was involved. He would either come see you in the morning before he went to work or meet you at night for a quick drink at Maki's pub. At times, he'd be dropping by at your school during his breaks. And on the previous weekend, he came over, satisfying himself by sitting quietly on the couch with you leaning against his chest while you studied, even going through lengths of helping you out. At some point, you gave up cause he was distracting you, telling you about his plans while playing with your hair.

"You're gonna cook for me," you assumed.

"No. I'm taking you to that fancy restaurant in town."

You agreed without protests even when he refused after you suggested to split the bill knowing how expensive the place could be. You didn’t want him to think you were mooching off him just because he was older and you’re a broke university student. He seemed excited about the whole thing, so you didn't argue further.

Just then, you heard the sound of a car stopping in front of the house, and you made your way to the door despite Ieiri's tirade about you supposedly making the man walk to your door and ringing the bell, probably make him wait, too. Knowing Sukuna, he'll do just that but you didn't want them to pull their antics while that cliché scene by the doorstep unfolded. But she beat you to it, running a lot faster than you to open the door when you were halfway through the short hallway. Just as you were afraid of, Satoru and Suguru were also standing at the other end of the hallway.

"Guys!" you growled.

"We just wanna see you off," Suguru whined just as Ieiri said, "Hi, Howard."

"Hi," Sukuna returned the greeting, even waving at the boys behind you, looking debonair in a smart-casual charcoal grey ensemble over black, collarless button-downs.

Your annoyance died down at the sight of him and you felt yourself melting when your eyes finally met and he beamed brightly as he took in your appearance, looking like he was seeing color for the first time.

"Ready?" he asked and you nodded, stepping around Ieiri. "We're going" you told your friends, shooting them all warning looks before breaking into a nervous smile anyway as Sukuna led you away.

He opened the door to the passenger side of his... "Where's your Jeep?" you asked him, noticing the matte black sports car for the first time.

"At home," he told you. "I thought I'd switch it up for the occasion."

You shook your head as you climbed in, not really expecting him to go to that extent. You appreciated it but you weren't really high maintenance nor did you want the finer things. "So you just happened to have a Porsche 911 lying around?" you asked him when he finally made it to the driver's seat.

He nodded innocently. "I got it on a whim last year, but I decided it's too flashy so I had it stored at an exclusive garage and only took it out whenever I felt like it. I think this is a good time to take it for a spin."

"You didn't have to."

"I wanted to." He reached out to caress your cheek. "You're a vision, by the way."

You felt heat suffuse your cheeks at his gentle touch, but you held his hand in place as you faced him. "I could say the same for you."

"I always wear suits though," he said.

"Well, you're much too impatient with your blazers and you get rid of them when we meet," you began, "And you don't wear those for me."

He flashed you a cheeky grin. "Oh, so you want your men to dress for you?"

"Man, Sukuna. Singular."

It was his turn to blush. "I'm the only one, huh?"

You tilted your head to the side, smirking. "You wanna add someone else into the mix? I didn’t know you were into that."

He was flustered. "No?"

"If you have an exact replica, I wouldn't mind."

Sukuna burst out laughing. "You're crazy."

"It's your fault for hijacking my brain all the time."

Dinner had been great with the both of you pretty much making fun of the numerous silverware before you and making up stories of the haughty guests who came into the same fancy restaurant, some of whom were looking towards your direction.

"That one's a trophy wife," you told him, furtively glancing at the couple that entered. "She's all iced up but look at how her husband is interacting with the waitress."

"You can tell just by that?" he asked.

"I'm guessing they're regulars here and the waitress is one of those he is having an extramarital affair with just judging by the way she looked at him and how she's being all cozy with him." You chuckled. "Ah, now Mrs. X is unhappy. Pretty and bejeweled but very unhappy."

"What about that man there?" He mimicked the way you looked at the couple earlier, this time referring to that one by the glass walls at the corner.

"Oh that one? He's that demanding type who only wants to sit on his usual spot. He's hypochondriac. He's been wiping all the silverware."

Sukuna was obviously amused. "You observe people like this all the time?"

"I aspire to be a novelist if not a literature professor. I watch people to come up with stories, so it doesn't always mean what I'm saying about them is true. I just make it up as I go." You laughed. "But Suguru is a better writer than I am."

"Is he now?"

You nodded, eyes scanning the area. "That old lady is a rich widow who is keeping tradition alive."

He followed your line of vision. "Because she's wearing traditional garb?"

You shook your head. "Because she is alone with that sorrowful look on her face, and she has an extra serving of a meal across her which had been untouched since she ordered in. She's on a date with her dead husband. The empty seat is for him. It's their anniversary." You cocked your head towards the empty chair. "She placed that blazer on the backrest which is obviously not hers, and she just opened a wrapped-up present and made a show of presenting it to whoever should be seated there. Looked like men’s watch to me."

That same old woman stood by your table later in the evening to say, "You are a lovely couple. Cherish each other." And she also paid for a bottle of expensive wine which Sukuna asked to be wrapped for the two of you to take home.

"Looks like you're right about that one," he said as he drove you back to his place.

You nodded, smiling to yourself. "She was right, too," you murmured.

He blinked then looked at you. "Did you say something?"

"Nope."

If you were impressed with the Porsche, his place was even more amazing. The whole place was in scales of black, white and gray but nothing was monotonous about the space. He toured you around the house and it looked uninhabited if it weren't for the signs of life around. But what caught your eye was the shelf full of music, all in vinyl with his gramophone plugged in to a modern sound system. He liked old stuff, his collection ranging from 1903s music to more modern ones here and there.

His living room was strategically placed by the glass walls, providing a view of the cityscape where you found yourself standing, in awe of the sights before you. Just then, the familiar bars of Ben E. King's "Stand by Me" started playing in the background.

You were about to whirl around, but you felt him behind you, wrapping his arm around you as he made you face him. He extended a hand towards you then. You took it without hesitation although you didn't know what he was up to, surprised when he placed your arms on his shoulder while he held onto your waist.

"Dance with me," he said in a low tone as he pulled you closer.

You giggled at that, letting him slowly sway you to the beat while you just looked up at him, drowning in his eyes, his warmth and everything that was him. "I love this song."

He arched a brow at you. "You know Ben E. King?"

"I grew up listening to old music," you told him, nodding as you smiled fondly. "The perks of being a grandpa's girl. You get exposed to great music."

"The movie is my favorite, too."

Your eyes widened. "Really?"

He threw his head back in mock annoyance. "Let me guess. It's your favorite, too?"

"Yes!" you squealed excitedly.

Sukuna clucked his tongue. "You make it hard for me to resist you when you have great music and movie tastes, too."

You looked away, swearing you were beet red now. You playfully smacked him on the chest. "Don't say things like that with a straight face."

His laughter reverberated on his chest when you leaned your forehead against it, hiding your face from him. "Now, you're getting all shy around me?" he teased.

"Shut up," you mumbled, pouting at him but having a hard time as you fought the smile that played at the corners of your mouth.

"Seriously though, Y/N, you don't run out of surprises for me." He leaned his forehead against yours. "Every time, you put something new on the list of things I like about you."

"You have a list?"

He nodded. "It's getting hard to keep up with how long it has become."

"Where does it begin?" you asked out of curiosity.

He raised a hand, his finger tracing the point between your eyebrows. "Your brows furrow just around here when you're concentrating. Just like that time I met you at Maki's."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "It's impressive how you're caught in a world of your own even in such a busy, crowded place."

"I’m just good at ignoring people. But stopped reading the moment you sat beside me." You snickered. "You make it hard to focus, it's an insult to the author when her characters are all beyond just interesting."

"How was I even distracting you? You weren’t even looking at me."

"That's what you thought." You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "It's your hair at first, but then you also smelled too good to be true. That did it for me. And before I knew it, every word on the page I was reading became Cyrillic or something."

You didn't even realize that you've both come to a standstill, chuckling as you met his gaze again, only to feel his hand sliding behind your head, his fingers tangling with your hair as he dipped down and seized your lips, tilting his head slightly. It was a gentle kiss, his skilled lips light on yours, introducing his rhythm and flavor of mint mixed with the faint flavor of the wine you've both been drinking as you moved in sync with him.

It drove you crazy how his scent and taste filled every crevice of your being, desensitizing you while also pushing your senses on overdrive at the same time. The feel of his large hands as they secured you to him while his mouth did all the magic made your blood grow hot, the rush you felt inside consuming you. You visibly wobbled when he let go of you, making him look at you in amusement.

"Stay the night?" he asked, breaking into a grin. "I have a copy of our favorite movie. We can finish the wine that kind old lady gave us, and I'll make you pizza."

"You had me at our favorite movie," you said, still a bit dazed and drunk from the taste of him. "I'll stay."

**

Sukuna stood at the foot of his bed as he neatly placed everything you might need on it, running out of his unit to get stuff for you at the nearby convenience store. He glanced over at the door of the adjoining shower, smiling when he heard you humming. Well, he couldn't stop smiling all night seeing how beautiful you were in that black dress. He marveled at how you managed to be even more gorgeous when you were already driving him insane even when you wore sweats to school.

He found beauty in every little thing you did, feeling himself being overwhelmed with amazement even when you were just sitting there reading to how you spoke eloquently about things you were passionate about, the way you told the stories you made up despite how they leaned towards sad things. He found it attractive how you lacked complications and always gave him your honest opinions, how you tell him what was going on inside your mind without bars held.

He loved how kind and loving you are to your friends. It wasn't outward affection but he did notice the small things you did. How one word – "breathe" – would calm Satoru down, how one reassuring squeeze of the hand would pacify Ieiri and how a single look would convey your thoughts to Suguru. He would be jealous of it given any other circumstances, but you did so much more for him by just smiling and cheering him up when you sensed how tired he was from work which was often.

You were sensitive like that, appeared stronger and more resilient than you looked, but he and your friends couldn't help it but dote on you. It was kinda funny how they all referred to you as their daughter at first but when he found out they were doing that because they're the only family you had, he understood why. He understood why you tended to look at things the way you did. It only strengthened his urge to take care of you and protect you at all costs.

“Don’t give me that look,” you’ve told him then when he found out your grandfather, your only guardian and family, passed away three years ago, and you’ve only been living on the small fortune he bequeathed to you upon his death. Your parents were long dead, too, and you were basically alone in life.

He found it amazing that you could talk about the matter without being uncomfortable when he couldn’t even imagine how his life would be if he lost his mother at his age. He understood your independent nature, how you would give him funny looks whenever he volunteered to do something for you and why you were always so insistent on splitting the bill when you went out.

Still, when you said you didn't date steadily, it got him worried. Apart from the possibility that you might not stay with him for as long as he imagined – which made him afraid to breathe at times – he thought you might have issues from being alone too much; that maybe, the reason why you didn’t want to commit was because you didn’t want to open up only to be left alone again when things don’t work out. The way you spoke about the old woman at the restaurant and the way sadness crossed your features as you told him the story you’ve just made up sort of solidified his notions.

That’s exactly the reason why he was happy you weren’t pushing him away or refusing to stay with him. When you said you’ll stay the night, although he found joy in all the times you’ve been around him, he still felt unbelievably happy. Perhaps you were giving him a chance, giving whatever it is that’s between you the opportunity to blossom and just going with wherever and whatever it brings you. He liked that thought.

You came out of his room just as he was taking out the pizza he made, dressed in that oversized, white shirt he brought out for you, the collar askew on your shoulders. You walked into the kitchen running a towel on your hair, leaning on the counter. He almost dropped the pizza when he saw that you’ve forgone the sweats he’d given you, your legs bare from halfway down your thighs.

“I gave you pants, you know.”

You laughed at his words. “They’re too big for me. I returned them in your closet.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Go wait in the living room. I’ll be finished here in a bit.”

You did as you were told, much to his relief but still went to the extent of getting you a blanket in case you wanted to cover up, not that he minded looking at your legs. Nevertheless, he preferred not to with all the thoughts running amok in his head. He wanted to take things slow with you even if you were proving to be his kryptonite. You thanked him for it, happily munching on the pizza he made as the movie started.

“I can’t believe that woman gave us this expensive wine,” you said as you took a sip from your glass.

“I can’t believe we’re having pizza with it,” he said as he sat at the other end of the couch. The two of you laughed at that, but then he stopped when you did, noticing how you were looking at him with a confused look on your face. “What is it?”

“Why are sitting so far away from me?” you demanded, but instead of him moving towards you, you crawled on the sofa closer to him.

Sukuna reveled in how naturally you took his arm and placed it on your shoulder, leaning against him before adjusting your position and covering the two of you with the blanket. He was glad your guard was down where he was concerned, the fact that you smelled like his shampoo and were wearing his clothes making him all warm and fuzzy inside. He pulled you closer to him, eyes trained on his massive flat screen.

“Sukuna…” you said a few moments later.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You’re too stiff.” You looked up at him, snickering. “I won’t steal your virtue if that’s what you’re scared of.”

He just laughed but it was taking everything he had in him not to do anything when you were tempting him in the most sinful ways, but he forgot all about that when your head lolled against his chest and found you sound asleep. You looked so serene that instead of taking you to bed, he sat there, cradling your form until the movie finished, his fingers playing with your hair.

Sukuna looked down at you, feeling like his chest was about to explode as he breathed in, realizing the depth of how much he felt for you, and although you couldn’t hear it, he said, “I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

***

The crisp morning air blew past the open balcony doors, into the bedroom, rustling the white sheets on his bed that momentarily served as the sanctuary of a tangle of limbs and blankets, cradled by the softness of the mattress and feather-filled pillows. Even breaths rose and fell in sync, filling the wide room. Languid fingers twined with the silkiness of long locks of hair and smooth, bare skin. The bed creaks and Sukuna’s eyes open to the brightness of daylight.

He took in his surroundings, and the first thing he noticed was the pressure on his leg, his left arm just by his shoulder and his chest along with the warmth that was coming from his side. His eyes wandered down to his body to the sheets barely reaching his waist, until finally he found the source of it all.

On his left side was none other than you, pressed to his side with no quantifiable distance separating your bodies but the measly fabric of the shirt you wore. Your hair fell on the pillows and his shoulder which was cushioning your head, your leg crooked across his thighs while your hand lay on his chest in a stagnant caress that suddenly made his whole body burn from the inside. Peering down, he noticed how your brows knit together in an unconscious frown while your thick lashes cast shadows below your closed eyes. Your long, lean legs were exposed to him up to your milky thighs as his shirt which you were wearing rode up, and he could only pray that you won’t move that limb any further or else…

Cursing at himself, he diverted his gaze and realized how his left hand had been running up and down your back. The feel of your warmth against the pads of his fingers sent him to the edge while your scent intoxicated him until he felt sweat beading on his forehead. He knew he was being shallow, but he couldn’t help it either. He was still human. Still, a smile made its way across his mouth. He was only able to think of the moment and how he wished to wake up to it every single morning of his existence. He decided to stay still and hold onto it while it lasted.

“Why are you so pretty?” he whispered, then pulled you closer while he closed his eyes, meaning to go back to sleep, but it wasn’t long before he felt you stir against him, your leg moving upwards. In the process, said limb swept higher, touching that particular spot between his legs. The weight of your leg didn’t help with the carnal thoughts that were already running amok in his mind.

You suddenly moved, groaning as you shifted, the drawn-out sound doing things to him.

Sukuna’s eyes remained shut, fearing what might come next after you discover the compromising position you were in, but it didn’t come. Instead, you just very slightly distanced yourself from him, remaining within reach, but he was startled when he suddenly felt cold fingers brush across the skin just below his lower lip.

“If I were an artists, I would have painted you,” you said quietly while your fingers travelled lower. “Just look at that jaw line.”

Sukuna felt himself shiver when your other hand began working its way from his collarbones, going all the way down to where his chiseled stomach was. The titillating sensation filled his brain and before he knew it, his eyes were half open while his hand had already grabbed you by the wrist. His other arm worked to topple you over, back to the comfort of the pillows, while he rolled on top of you, staying still while completely rendering you motionless by pinning your arm down.

The reverberation of your chest against his whilst you chuckled albeit his weight sent him to the edge, almost falling off, but he held still and stopped himself from doing anything.

“Ryomen Sukuna,” you whispered, tapping his back slightly.

He wondered whether you liked being there with him, too, or what. “L/N Y/N…What’s with the formality?” What, indeed? The two of you were in a very intimate position and yet he addressed you that way, sounding agonized even to himself. “Don’t do that.”

You scoffed good-naturedly. “Am I giving you strange feelings?” you questioned, ridiculing him early in the morning. “I knew you were pretending to be asleep. Men just can’t say no to a woman’s touch, huh?”

He supported his weight with his arm and drew himself up, the rest of his weight pushing down lower against you. He smirked then. “So you were also awake.”

“Yeah.”

“And you let me hold you anyway?” he murmured, his face almost closing in on yours.

You ignored the tone in which he spoke and its implications. “I was just too lazy to move. Besides, I thought you were a pillow. You’re so warm.”

“That sounds fishy, Y/N.”

“And what’s fishy about that?”

He broke into that crooked grin, feeling his evil streak resurfacing. “Hmm. The fact that you’re liking this as much as I am.”

You removed your hand from his grip and lightly slid it down his inked rib, going lower as you traced the patterns of his tattoo, your eyes remaining on him, a sultry smile swathed across your lips.

A moan nearly escaped his parted mouth, but he wasn’t able to hold back the sudden closing of his eyes and slight parting of his mouth as your hand reached halfway down. “S-stop…”

Your hand stopped where his pelvis was, but your fingers continued to draw circles on his skin. “Are you sure you want me to stop?”

Sukuna panted and nodded at you feeling his hot blood rushing southward.

“Yeah?” You laughed softly, your eyes widening a bit in amusement while your leg kicked faintly underneath him, feeling something stiffen against your thigh. “Something else tells me you don’t,” you purred into his ear.

Sukuna bit his lower lip, peeking at you through half-lidded eyes. He knew you felt that and he was getting embarrassed with every second he stayed there. He knew your effect on him and you were more than just aware of it. You were even going to the extent of toying with him, making him feel like a goddamn teenager with raging hormones.

“You’re baiting me,” he played along, brushing your hair off of your neck and twirling the strands with his finger.

You smirked. “Am I?” you said slowly, hand sliding on the garter of his sweats. You withdrew your hand and rolled the two of you over despite his weight, turning tables on him. You touched the tip of his nose, taking in the disappointed look on his face all to your amusement before getting off.

“You’re funny, Sukuna.”

Your leg wasn’t even halfway off of him from where you were sitting astride his torso when Sukuna decided he was going to take his chances with making you succumb to him somehow and he finalized that by stopping you. Grabbing your waist, he rolled you over once more and without second thoughts, dipped his mouth against your, just pecking you on the mouth at first to see what you would do.

Too stunned to react, you were only able to stare at him, but Sukuna didn’t just stop there. He pressed his mouth against your sensuous lips in numerous fleeting touches until he felt you respond to it in the same gentle manner. Those small gestures, along with the closing of your eyes, ignited the fire that had been coursing through him until he thought he would explode if he didn’t comfort himself with the feel of you against him.

Unable to hold back anymore, he crashed your lips together in an urgent, scorching and passionate kiss, nibbling on your lower lip. You responded in kind, possessively holding onto his taut shoulders as he lifted you both in a sitting position so you were kneeling astride his lap. Sukuna pushed his fingers into your hair, holding you against him while his mouth moved downwards to your neck, seductively biting on your collarbone, marking his trail of fire up the columns of your throat before returning to your mouth.

Opposite to his aim to escalate the heat and passion, you placed both of your hands on either side of his head, cupping his cheeks with gentle hands and pulled away slightly, still with your foreheads against each other, hands intact on his shoulders and your waist, both panting for air.

You flashed him an apologetic smile, swallowing hard as you pulled back and sat down on the bed, looking down at your hands which you were wringing. Silence fell over the room and when you came to your senses again, you met his gaze.

His eyes rounded at the realization of what he just did. “I’m sorry, I don’t what came over me.”

“It’s fine. Don’t apologize.” You shook your head. “Sukuna, I…I shouldn’t have…”

He smiled at you then and pulled you close, giving you a soft peck on the forehead, eventually taking you into his arms, soothing your back as he embraced you. “That’s not it, sweetheart. I can’t keep my hands to myself even when you’re not doing anything.”

“I’m sorry…”

He looked at you at arm’s length. “Don’t be.” You diverted your gaze, but Sukuna lifted your head with a finger, making you look at him, holding you in his gaze “I’m willing to take it slow if that’s what makes you comfortable.”

“Look, I just want to be sure about how I feel. I don’t want to be doing this half-baked because I don’t want to hurt you –”

He placed a finger against your lips, still raw from his kisses. He didn’t want to hear what you had to say just yet but he smiled slowly at you. “I’m willing to give you time, and for now, I just want us to stay like this. Is that okay?”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

You found yourselves lying in bed until the sun was high in the sky and it was just too warm to stay there. Endless talks led to teasing which eventually led to laughter. He was glad that you were back to your carefree self again, even happier that you were considering his feelings.

“Should we get something to eat?” you suggested to him.

“Are you hungry?” Sukuna asked.

“Yeah. Aren’t you?”

Sukuna chuckled. “Starving.” He stood up first and pulled you with him, leading you out of the room with a happy grin on his face. “Let’s make breakfast together?”

“Sure…” You beamed at him. “I’d like that.”

-end of part 2-

Additional notes are available in the masterlist, particularly on the reasons why I wrote some things the way I did.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20210623]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART SOURCES FULLY CREDITED TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[thisissirius]

66 angst/Fluff list.

i tried to post this last night and tumblr decided my blog was illegal so it’s your fault :P

anyway. have some softness and love :) (with angst because i am me, after all)

(un)certain [ao3 link] eddie/buck, getting together

Buck closes the door to his apartment and leans against it. 

There’s no sound from within and Buck hopes that means Albert’s out for the night. He’s not sure he can handle dealing with Veronica adjacent drama tonight. His plans hadn’t even included being home at all. He’s supposed to be at Eddie’s, watching movies with him and Chris, and then sleeping on the couch. 

That’s changed thanks to Buck’s big mouth. 

“Why me?”

Buck frowns. “What do you mean why you?”

Eddie glares, and Buck thinks the worst possible outcome is actually a reality. “Why me?”

The look on Eddie’s face is still bouncing around inside of his head. 

Now that he’s home, able to process their fight-and Buck doesn’t even want to call it that when he fled to save Eddie the chance of rejecting him-Buck realises maybe he’s made a mistake. 

Not about confessing; he won’t ever be sorry for finally lifting that weight from his shoulders. 

The mistake is in running. Buck’s so fucking tired of running. Fumbling for his phone out of his pocket, Buck thumbs through to Eddie’s number and hits call. It rings through to voicemail and Buck curses under his breath, tapping the phone against his free hand. 

Eddie’s not the most emotional person. The opposite, in fact, and Buck hates himself for not factoring that in. The why me makes Buck’s heart hurt on Eddie’s behalf and not for the first time, he wants to punch everyone who’s ever given Eddie cause to think he’s not amazing. 

Buck wants to call again but Eddie doesn’t like being bothered and he sighs, wondering if he can wait until their shift in two days time to clear the air. They don’t fight. He can’t remember the last time anything between them had been bad. Since the supermarket anyway, and that was more about their mutual abandonment and Buck shakes his head. 

He should have known; Eddie only ever lashes out when he can’t handle what he’s feeling. In the supermarket it had been his perceived abandonment at Buck’s hands. Now, it’s the fact that Buck’s decided to spring hey, I think I love you, how great!!! on him. 

Except it’s Eddie. 

For all that Buck knows Eddie, sometimes he forgets Eddie’s kneejerk reaction to emotion is to get it the fuck away from him.

Hey, he texts instead. I know you probably don’t wanna talk- 

A knock at the door interrupts and he bites back a curse. “Albert, if you forgot your key-”

“You’re giving him keys now?” Eddie stands on the threshold looking uncertain, which Buck won’t stand for. 

Stepping back, Buck heads towards the kitchen, rolling his eyes. “I can’t make him wait outside for me to get home when we work 24 hour shifts, Eddie.”

Eddie snorts, standing next to the counter, hands by his sides. He looks-small, uncertain of his place. Buck wishes he knew what to say to make it go away. 

“You left,” Eddie says. He’s looking at Buck. Well, he’s looking at the clock behind Buck’s left shoulder. 

“I know.” Buck keeps his words soft. He leans against the counter, gives Eddie a rueful smile. “You’re not the only one that runs from his emotions.”

Eddie hesitates. “You want to?” He looks irritated with himself. “Run from your feelings, I mean.”

Buck knows he’s gotta tread carefully; there’s a part of him that’s hopeful, that if he and Eddie talk, maybe they can meet somewhere in the middle and be happy. The louder voice is telling him not to be an idiot, that he never wins that way, especially not with the way Eddie’s looking anywhere but at Buck. “You asked why you.”

“Buck-”

“You asked why and I should have told you.” Buck watches Eddie’s mouth close and finally, his eyes lift to Buck’s. “It’s you because there’s nobody else, Eddie. There’s never been anyone else, not really. Since Ali,” he amends, at the expression on Eddie’s face. 

“Okay,” Eddie says slowly. “But you could have-”

“If you say anyone, I’ll punch you.” Buck sighs, pushing off of the counter and stepping closer to Eddie. “You’re a great father.”

Eddie flushes, turns away. Buck closes the rest of the distance between them, puts his fingers on Eddie’s chin. Eddie lets him turn his head and then Buck rubs a thumb over Eddie’s jaw. Casual intimacy has never been their problem and Eddie accepts it easily, lifts a hand to Buck’s hip. 

“You are. Chris is amazing and I know that’s thanks to Shannon, but it’s also thanks to you. You’ve been his sole parent for such a long time, and you always make sure he’s protected, cared for, that he knows he’s loved.”

“You help,” Eddie says, and his voice is hoarse. 

Buck nods, because that’s never something he doubts. “I know. But you let me. Because you’re also cautious, but careful. You’re funny, even when you don’t mean to be, and I know you care about every single person in your life, even when you’re hurting.”

There’s a heaviness to Eddie’s expression, to the way his fingers tighten on Buck’s hip. It’s hard for him to hear, Buck knows, but maybe he’s also desperate to hear it, to know someone feels that way. 

“You understand me without me saying a word.” Buck tips Eddie’s head back and Eddie takes a deep breath. “I love you. Because of you. You don’t have to do anything to earn it, or be anything other than who you are.”

“Sometimes I don’t know who that is,” Eddie admits quietly.

Buck smiles, slides his hand up to Eddie’s cheek, thumb against the soft skin beneath Eddie’s left eye. “That’s okay. I’ll still be there, loving you no matter what.” Grinning, Buck raises his eyebrows. “It also doesn’t hurt that you’re hot as fuck.”

Eddie laughs, surprised, and drops his head to Buck’s chest. Buck runs a hand through his hair, waits for the inevitable questions. 

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” Eddie says. Maybe he’s thinking of Shannon. Buck doesn’t say anything, lets Eddie work it out. “But if I do, I want it to be with you. Whatever that means.”

“It can mean whatever you want it to.” Buck desperately wants to kiss Eddie so he does, soft and quick. Then, when Eddie breathes a little shaky, flexes his fingers on Buck’s hip, he ducks in again. This time he takes his time, a slow press of lips, a slow slide of tongue, a soft moan in the back of Eddie’s throat. 

Eddie stares at him when they part. “Okay, we can definitely do that again.”

Buck smiles, but he wants to be clear about one thing. “Loving you is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Eddie smiles and then it shifts into a smirk, heat in his face and oh yeah, finally Buck feels settled, like they’ve hit the same mark. “Until you do me.”

“Oh my god,” Buck laughs, burying his face in Eddie’s hair. He can feel Eddie’s body shaking with his own laughter. “You’re an idiot.”

“Probably,” Eddie agrees. “But you’re stuck with me.”

“Always,” Buck promises. 

There’s still a touch of disbelief to Eddie that Buck knows he’ll spend a lifetime trying to get rid of, but what a lifetime it’ll be. 

“Okay,” Eddie says, and it feels like a promise of his own.

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @elsie-writes, sorry it took me a hot minute

Find the Word Tag

My words: old, beautiful, key, purple

(Pulled from Honor's Outcasts book 1)

Your words: flutter, accent, pass, sweat

.

Panting out a humid breath, Izjik plopped down on the roof-in-progress. It was a little after noon, by her reckoning. So, she calculated, counting on her fingers, that means I've been working for almost six hours now.

"Damn it!"

This was the third time she'd accidentally worked overtime for Ms. Lun while fixing her barn roof! Sepo always told her she should just ask for extra pay, that they could use the goods, but it wasn’t like the old farmer had asked her to get so carried away!

.

Sepo calmed his breathing. He hadn't realized how worked up he'd gotten wandering the wilds of his thoughts. No wonder Izjik hated meditation; those human priests were masochists. He gave a rueful sliver of a smile. Memories were like broken glass, he figured, smooth and beautiful to look at, but vicious if you plunged your hands into the shards.

.

Conveniently and annoyingly swinging from Tyche’s belt was a steel key on a leather loop. Twenari could probably snatch it off with little difficulty if she could get close enough. However, therein lay the issue. The girl had seen Tyche draw her crossbow as swiftly as if it were a child's toy. There would be no wild break for it that didn't end with a bolt in Twenari’s leg or shoulder. Somewhere nice and nonlethal so Tyche could still sell her at full price.

After a few moments spent considering her options, Twenari decided it was time for a little acting. What joy.

"Ahhh, my leg!" the girl screamed, collapsing to the sewer floor as she did. She held her ankle in what she hoped was a believable pantomime of agony.

"Huh?" Tyche started. To Twenari’s dismay, the Ekektan seemed far more confused than worried.

Twenari kept going. "My leg! Oh gods, it hurts so bad! My foot got caught in a crack and I heard a pop when I stepped forward! I think my ankle is dislocated!"

The little sorcerer did her best to summon pained tears. It didn't quite work. Tyche’s confusion seemed to edge into irritation at the continued display.

"Get up! I don't have time for this shit!" she spat, already turning away. With one tug, the woman pulled Twenari into a sprawl that she didn't have to pretend was painful.

"Please," the girl moaned. "I don't want to go."

"You're going to your mother whether you like it or not!" Tyche shouted, now falling squarely into the irritated category and edging towards angry.

"You can't make me move!" Twenari shrieked petulantly.

"I can do whatever the fuck I want!" Tyche scowled. To prove this point, she stomped back and hoisted the vaguely struggling girl over her shoulder like a sack of flour.

.

In time, after more steps than she knew numbers for, they reached a comparatively small office. It was still massive and dominated solely by a central, crescent-shaped desk made of honey-colored wood. The desk, in turn, was dominated by the most flamboyant-looking human Izjik had ever seen.

Predictably, he was huge. Not quite as tall as Sepo, but nearly three times the width of the lanky siren. The bottom half of his face was covered in one of those strange human hair patches. A mustache, maybe? Or was that the other one? Izjik didn't think purple was a natural hair color, but maybe facial hair was different. The hue was complimented by the sapphire and silver of his robe, which---while matching the robes of his assistants in color---was exponentially fancier.

.

I'll tag @deanwax @smudged-red-ink @cat-esper @finickyfelix @nofuckingideawhatsgoingon and anyone else who'd like to play :)

Find the Word Game

Thank you @kaylinalexanderbooks for the tag! I once again need to work on my WIP more, I’m just getting awkwardly stuck on the next scene.

Rules: find the words in your WIP, then give the next people some new words!

My words are: familiar, equal, pierce, door

I’ve only got two of them this time so let’s try this:

Familiar:

Belladonna continued speaking as though she hadn’t even noticed Cassie’s discomfort, which was probably for the best. She certainly didn’t want to answer questions about that. “This is Cassiopeia, the head of Sixth Station. And this-” she indicated the other image, one Cassie hadn’t even noticed, one of a pale man with short, untidy blonde hair and purple eyes- “is Stellaris, her younger brother.”

Cassie had never met Stellaris, but the face that stared back at her was hauntingly familiar. She’d known many, many people with that face, and she’d seen all of them die to Cassiopeia and Stellaris’s cruel machinations.

“She’s… distinctive,” said Cassie, trying her best to keep her voice calm.

Door:

Nobles. It was time to not fuck this up. She took a deep breath and stepped through the sliding door into the room.

It was a small room with a divan and a long desk, with a few chairs. Sitting facing away from her were a man and a woman with dark hair and skin – presumably the Lord and Lady of the station. But what drew Cassie’s attention was the woman sitting across from them – dark-skinned, with long dark hair and a thin face. Cassie realized two things about her almost immediately.

First, this was most definitely the noble she was set up to guard. Second, despite being a noble and most definitely out to kill her, she was unfairly hot.

I hope y’all like them! This novel needs more content lol

Anyway, offering a tag to @elsie-writes @bargainbincheese @modernwritercraft - your words are: eat, desire, lost, sunshine

[thedevillionaire]

Where The Heart Is

So first there was this lovely scenario by @stealthy-sneezing and then I received this insanely flattering prompt from @you-dont-look-so-good and only, uh...three weeks later (LOL, speedy turnaround is an unreliable thing in these parts, I'm afraid) here's my attempt at a little fic based around it. --- Kia doesn’t greet him with her usual kiss good morning as she joins him in the kitchen; she does not, in fact, acknowledge him at all as she passes by. What sleep she’d managed to get had been restless and broken, for a start, and she’s still more than a little out of sorts over last night’s…

Fight?

She’s reluctant to use the term, even to herself. But there had nevertheless been some tensely exchanged differences of opinion, whatever term she gives it. They hardly ever argue and it weighs on her heavily, disproportionately.

She busies herself with breakfast-preparing activities, pointedly avoiding the dining bench where her bonded sits wrapped in a plush burgundy dressing robe and an almost tangible aura of bleariness which suggests that he didn’t sleep particularly well, either.

And there’s no question that he’s…not sounding his best.

Cerberus takes a sip of his steaming coffee, sniffles sharply and rubs his nose with firm frustration against the itch that’s been bothering him since waking, flicking his gaze momentarily across to Kia in a cursory attempt to ascertain her mood.

She very deliberately looks away.

Maybe, she thinks with more than a touch of snippiness as he sniffles again,you should have come home when you said you would. It’s totally possible to delegate sometimes, you know. Like, just once, even, maybe? And while she doesn’t Mindsend him her thoughts, she certainly wills them into the aether. Just a touch.

It’s not even about being late, though, she continues internally, making her point to herself with conviction as she peers into a second cupboard for the blackberry spread she can’t seem to find, I don’t care if you’re late, really, it’s about promising me for the third time this week that you wouldn…

The hitch in his breath severs her sentence momentarily but she doesn’t intend to…

“Huh-TSCHH-uu!”

Kia’s own breath catches a little, too, although she keeps her focus resolutely fixed on the cupboard’s interior; she does not want to engage right now and she’s not going to…

“Hh-TSCHH-uu! Ah-TSSCHHhuu! hh-hhH… Hh-AAHTSCH-uu!” Rapid and forceful, urgent, an increasing desperation evident, and she chances a peripheral glance at Cerberus, her ability to concentrate on anything else hijacked into a weighted anticipation almost as singular as his, despite her not wanting to…

A deep inhalation scissored and insistent, a frozen expectant moment and he gives in again to the maddening itch twice over. “Hhh… hh-TSSCHH-uu! Ah-hh-TSSCHH-uu!” Several sharp sniffles follow; he excuses himself reflexively, habitually, another sniffle following in short order, accompanied by a faintly exasperated sigh and snarlwhispered fuck’s sake.

“Bless you,” Kia says quietly, downplaying her usual heartwarm tone a touch but she doesn’t have it within herself to not acknowledge him. And she can’t help the twinge of concern she feels – or indeed any…other sort of interest – but she doesn’t want her resolve to weaken any further. Not yet, at least.

I’m still mad at you. Stop it.

He nods a perfunctory thankyou for the blessing; she hasn’t turned around so doesn’t notice.

The blackberry spread seems determined to remain unfound and she decides that muscat will do, or whatever’s in this jar, she thinks it’s muscat, it’s not important, really, whatever, does she even want toast, she just needs to…

The sound of a hurriedly claimed fresh succession of tissues being pulled from the box, and her focus dissolves anew.

“Hh-TSCHH-uu!”

And she can sense the expectation of recurrence in his shaky not-quite recovery, his breath unsettled, irregular, and god getting breakfast should really not take this much effort, maybe she’ll just have a cup of tea, this is ridiculous, and from the urgency of gasped inhalation she knows doubtless that he’s going to…

“Huh-AHSSCHuu! Ah-TSSCH-uu! Goddamn it, what the hell is…” Another series of sniffles follows and Cerberus blows his nose, wetly and ineffectively, and with no pause save for a suddensharp gasp, stifles a further sneeze immediately thereafter. “HXTchu! Ugh…” He groans and coughs convulsively from the effort, pushes disarrayed midnight from watering eyes, and growls an undertone of vexation. As if this morning wasn’t uncomfortable enough already.

He coughs again and clears his throat. “Excuse me,” he murmurs, wipes his nose several times, and sniffles again.

“Bless you,” Kia says again, only this time the words come true, sincere, empathic. There’s a resignation in her bonded’s voice that she’s unable to ignore, and her brow creases – something is clearly wrong, and her residual anger over yesterday’s events begins to fall aside in the face of genuine concern, and now she turns to face him.

He sighs heavily as his eyes meet hers. “I, um… *snf!* I don’t mean to disturb you.”

“You’re not disturbing me.” Well, you are, but… She closes the cupboard door, leans back against it, any remaining thoughts of breakfast forgotten. “What’s going on?”

“I have n…” His breath catches, but with controlled if shaky exhalation he manages to fight off the urge and stay on course. “I have no idea. Just can’t seem to… *snf!* Can’t seem to stop.” He looks at her with an expression somewhere between irritated chagrin and cautious detachment. “It’s alright. You don’t need t…to… hpt-XCH!” A quiet groan as Kia blesses him again and gently tells him not to stifle; he nods in agreement with her point as he returns to his own. “You don’t need to worry,” he finishes tiredly, taking another handful of tissues and blowing his nose again.

“Huh. You know,” Kia says, “I was actually trying not to, but… I don’t know, you’re not exactly making it easy or something.” She sighs quietly, not unkindly, and crosses the distance between them. “Okay, though, for real. What’s going on?”

:Karmic debt, perhaps?: Cerberus Mindsends, and offers her a darkly rueful smile as he vaporises the latest clutch of used tissues. “You didn’t secretly burn birchbark in here as revenge for last night, did you?” The sniffle following is intentionally pathetic; he runs an index finger along the underside of his nose and glances at his bonded with eyebrow arched in enquiry.

“Oooh.” Kia shakes her head, narrows her eyes at him as if in consideration, and smiles wryly. “You sure you want to give me ideas like that today?”

Cerberus manages a brief chuckle before his focus dissolves unstoppably stolen, relentless urgency returning and he capitulates to cresting need posthaste and absolute – powerful, emphatic, desperate. “Huh-hhAHTSSCHhuu! Ah-TSSCHH-uu! Gods! *snff!*” With a deep sigh, he pushes ebony heaviness from his eyes again, looks up to meet his bonded’s gaze in dishevelled and somewhat hazy self-deprecation. “And thus my brilliant plan to be as unobtrusive as possible this morning continues its wild run of success,” he remarks dryly, claiming a new couple of tissues with purposeful emphatic flourish and another sniffle.

And the last of Kia’s resistance falls away, her heart melting, any remnant vestiges of irritation and indignance cracking, fading, and none of it is important anymore. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, gentle, kind. “You know, I do still love you even when you’re totally wrong about stuff and it’s all your fault,” she adds playfully, then rolls her eyes with a light scoff and affected exasperation. “Wow, I really did mean to be mad at you for a bit longer than this, though.”

She smiles at her bonded, open and affectionate, and Mindsends him a tenderwarm :Bastard.:

Cerberus laughs quietly, sardonically, and wipes his nose. “Well, I’m certain I’ll not be coming home late tonight, in any case.”

Moving to stand behind him, Kia strokes a gentle hand through his hair, touches a kiss to the top of his head as he leans back into her embrace with an enervated soft hum of pleasure.

“Maybe just…maybe just stay home today, sweetheart.”

---

[meltingheartsandcores]

I’m tired, I should be studying, instead I wrote this little ficlet that should probably be the prologue to an actual fic that I might get around to writing (fingers crossed).

We have Immortals, modern sects, and porn. Not entirely sure how else to explain it except none of those are explicit, lol.

Hope you enjoy the product of my mildly sleep deprieved brain!

Being invited to have tea with Zewu-Jun was a high honor, despite the immortal seemingly trying to downplay it as much as he possibly could. However, Nie Mingjue isn’t entirely sure what he’s done to earn the honor. It’s been a long time since either Twin Jade was the Sect Leader, Nie Mingjue has spoken with the current Sect Leader Lan Tengfei infrequently over the years when their sect business intermingled or there was a conference, but he wasn’t particularly close to the Lan Sect. And the Twin Jades enjoy their privacy. Enough so that there’s not a single photograph of either of them out there.

So it was very startingly to get the invitation.

Zewu-Jun treating him like an equal and friend is equally startling.

Somehow, not the most startling thing to happen on the trip. No, that would be the portrait of Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang’s husband. He thinks. Nie Mingjue isn’t actually sure if they’re married or just act like it. Although, knowing them, that’s how they want everyone to think.

Still, the clearly very old portrait of Wei Wuxian was a little disturbing. Especially with the name below being Wei Wuxian’s, correct characters and all. Even more so after Zewu-Jun noticed him staring at it and decides to give him some utterly terrible information.

“My brother’s husband, from his first life.” Oh. It was that Wei Wuxian. Yiling Lazou Wei Wuxian.

How is this getting worse?

“Oh?” Because screaming was undignified and not something to be done in front of immortals. Later. In his car. And then he’s calling Nie Huaisang to yell at him because of course his brother just had to shake up with the immortals husband. Maybe. Maybe it’s just a massive coincidence. (Nie Mingjue’s luck is never good enough for coincidences.)

“Yes, after the resurrection his core was never strong enough to cultivate immortality. When Wangji realized it, he tried to stop his own cultivation, but it was too late. Wuxian lasted nearly two hundred years, and not a day goes by that Wangji doesn’t miss him.” Oh, Zewu-Jun was sad. Nothing Nie Mingjue can say will make him not sad. In fact, he’s pretty sure anything close to the truth of what Wei Wuxian is doing now will just upset him. “The juniors find it, romantic, that he’s decided to wait for Wuxian to be reincarnated.”

Well. It does sound romantic.

But Zewu-Jun’s face, he’s irritated and upset, so clearly he doesn’t agree with the juniors. It sounds romantic, but the reality, “He must be very lonely.” Nie Mingjue guesses.

Zewu-Jun nods, “We have each other, but we were the only ones from our generation to cultivate immortality. There are many people we miss, and as time seperates us further from the present, it’s harder to connect with the new disciples.” Zewu-Jun admits. Nie Mingjue nods, he’s never considered that. How isolating it must be to have lived so long. The Nie clan, doesn’t really get immortals. Honestly, they’re lucky if they hit a hundred. Most top out at eighty due to their cultivation style.

“How would he know, that he’s been reincarnated? I mean, I think Huaisang’s said some things about faces getting reused due to limited genetics and the growing population.” Actually Wei Wuxian said that. Something to that effect at least. Nie Huaisang was better with people and manipulating situations. He does really well running the business side of the Nie Sect. Even if he refuses to accept any credit.

Zewu-Jun smiles a little sadly, “Well, I suppose we’ll know when we see him. Pictures work well enough, as we’re learning. We’ve found a few people who we knew in our first lives reincarnated.”

Nie Mingjue nods, he should tell Zewu-Jun. He really should. Maybe it’s just a look alike. Unlikely. Nie Mingjue’s never that lucky. Nie Mingjue’s started to pull his phone out of his pocket before remembering his manners and asking while holding it in front of himself, “Uh, do you mind if I?” Zewu-Jun furrows his brow but gestures for him to continue. Nie Mingjue nods and opens his phone, scrolling through the pictures Nie Huaisang had sent him. Not for the first time, he really wished Nie Huaisang wouldn’t send so many half-naked or fully-naked pictures of Wei Wuxian to him. Thankfully, it was not all Nie Huaisang sent to him, so he did come across a picture of a fully dressed Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang was also there, but they weren’t doing anything. Nie Huaisang had snapped it while they were out walking and Nie Mingjue had wanted to know where the fuck Nie Huaisang had gone at one am. “Just, uh, he seemed familiar.” Nie Mingjue explains, turning the phone around to show Zewu-Jun.

Zewu-Jun blinks then reaches out, hesitating a moment before taking Nie Mingjue’s phone. “That. Is definitely Wei Wuxian.” Zewu-Jun states, and then he starts touching the screen, which makes Nie Mingjue very nervous and uncomfortable. Because Nie Huaisang sends him very questionable pictures. Nie Mingjue is happy his brother is comfortable with his body, he just wishes he wouldn’t text him explicit pictures of his maybe-boyfriend that sometimes also have him naked in them. Nie Huaisang has always like pushing Nie Mingjue’s boundaries, and honestly, Nie Mingjue would rather he be pushing this one than certain other ones. Still. It makes him nervous when Zewu-Jun taps his phone and his eyes blow wide.

Yeah. That’s not good.

Zewu-Jun blinks and regains his composure, handing the phone back, “May I ask how you know him?”

“...How honest do you want me to be?” Nie Mingjue asks, shutting off his phone and pocketing it without looking at whatever Zewu-Jun saw. He’d like to be able to keep looking Zewu-Jun in the eye for this conversation.

Zewu-Jun raises an eyebrow, almost admonishingly, “As honest as possible. You don’t seem to type to beat around the bush.”

He wasn’t. He just really didn’t want to tell Zewu-Jun what Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian get up to.

“He works with my brother.” Nie Mingjue states vaguely, earning another raised eyebrow from Zewu-Jun.

“Is he a cultivator?”

“Used to be. He had a big falling out with the Jiang a few years back and kind of stopped.” Nie Mingjue shrugs, “He doesn’t talk about it.” All he knew about it was rumour. And the Lans don’t do rumours.

“Ah. So what work does he do with Huaisang?”

...Did he tell Zewu-Jun his brothers name? Nie Huaisang is almost as unknown to the world as the Twin Jades. Purposefully so. The Nie have always been rather private with their members, but when Nie Huaisang was old enough to have an opinion on a public presence and vehemently deny having one, nothing about him was released to the public. Not even other cultivation sects as Nie Huaisang wasn’t a practicing cultivator. He trained. As he was supposed to. But he didn’t do any night hunts. He had no connection to Nie Mingjue on the business end of the Sect either.

So, what?

“How do you know his name?” Nie Mingjue asks, making Zewu-Jun blink in plain confusion. “Huaisang’s name isn’t known to anyone outside the Nie sect. Not in connection to me.” Nie Mingjue states, now a little angry. Did someone tell Zewu-Jun? Who? How? Why would he even care about Huaisang?

“He’s in your phone.” Zewu-Jun states simply.

And that’d be a fine answer.

If Nie Huaisang was ‘Huaisang’ in his phone.

But he wasn’t.

He was Reuben. Courtesy of Wei Wuxian. (Wei Wuxian was ‘Stitch’, no Nie Mingjue didn’t understand the names and he didn’t really want to. He’s mostly worried it’s a weird sex thing and he prefers to be as ignorant as possible in that aspect.)

“I thought Lan’s don’t lie.” Although, Zewu-Jun wasn’t, technically, lying.

But he doesn’t deny it. “Could we sit?” Zewu-Jun suggests, gesturing to the table that had been set up for them. Nie Mingjue nods and sits opposite to Zewu-Jun, pouring them some tea. “I apologize for the deception, however I’ve never actually done this before.” He better not be suggesting what Nie Mingjue thinks he’s suggesting. “In the recent past, when we’ve discovered our reincarnated friends, we’ve more or less left them alone.” Oh. Good. He’s not being propositioned.

Wait.

What?

Nie Mingjue blinks, now thoroughly caught off guard, “Um. What.”

Zewu-Jun smiles gently, understandingly, “Due to certain aspects of your previous life, I felt the need to check in on you, make sure you were doing well. I, well, I assumed your family was the same. Hence, why I know Huaisang’s name despite you keeping him rather off the grid.”

“He’s not off the grid. He just has no public connection to me.” Nie Huaisang was almost constantly online. Especially with his ‘job’.

“Ah. So, what work does he and Wei Wuxian do?” Zewu-Jun asks before taking a drink of his tea.

Nie Mingjue considers what he knows about the Lan, and then realizes he really doesn’t want to have this conversation. Luckily for him (or unluckily most of the time), he can just show Zewu-Jun on his phone. “Um, you might want to put that down.” Nie Mingjue suggests, pulling out his phone and turning it on, quickly going to the app Nie Huaisang downloaded on his phone that he never goes on, and opens it up to Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian’s account. Sliding it across the table as Zewu-Jun dubiously puts down his teacup.

Zewu-Jun blinks, then sighs, “I can’t say, I’m particularly surprised with Wei Wuxian’s career choice.”

“...Seriously.”

“You did not hear them. I’m aware of the publics perception of us, particularly Wangji, but trust me. He’s not nearly as prudish as people seem to think.” Zewu-Jun states, sliding the phone back with a rueful smile and a familiar look.

Nie Mingjue exits out of the app before shutting off and pocketing his phone. He knew that look. The look of an elder brother who really didn’t need to know so much about their younger brother’s sex life. He knew that look well. “Right. Speaking of Hanguang-Jun, how would he react?”

Zewu-Jun purses his lips. “I can’t say he’ll be particularly favourable. Wangji’s always been quite, possessive.”

“Wei Wuxian is persuasive. I’m kind of curious as to who would falter first.” Nie Mingjue snorts, picking up his own cup of tea. It was good tea.

Zewu-Jun’s eyebrows were furrowed, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Wuxian’s not going give up his livelyhood. He enjoys it. Even if he falls back in love with Hanguang-Jun, I’m not sure he’ll quit it.” Nie Mingjue states, shaking his head. It was an understatement. Wei Wuxian loves his job. As he so often gushes. Nie Mingjue’s honestly just happy Wei Wuxian doesn’t give him details.

Zewu-Jun slowly nods, understanding dawning, “You think Wei-gongzi will convince Wangji to do porn.” Zewu-Jun winces, “I, hate that I cannot say it’s out of the realm of possibilities.”

Nie Mingjue snorts and then smirks, “Ah, Zewu-Jun, how about a friendly bet?”

Zewu-Jun’s brows pinch slightly, eye narrowing, before he smirks, “Only if you call me Lan Xichen.”

Ohhhkay. Zewu-Jun had said to at the beginning of their meeting, but Nie Mingjue had honestly kind of ignored it. Immortals are a big deal. But then again. He was about to gamble with one. “Ok, Lan Xichen, why don’t we make a bet in favour of our, brothers.” Nie Mingjue isn’t entirely sure what else to refer to them as. If Nie Huaisang was married, then technically Wei Wuxian would be his brother. If they’re not, he might as well be at this point either way.

“Are Huaisang and Wuxian married?” Lan Xichen cuts in, confused.

“I’m not entirely sure. Maybe. Not important.” Nie Mingjue shakes his head, “If Hanguang-Jun manages to convince Wei Wuxian to quit his work, you win, and if Wei Wuxian manages to convince Hanguang-Jun to do porn, I win.”

Lan Xichen nods, smiling with interest, “And what are we betting?”

Nie Mingjue smirks, this was going to be fun.

[daisylore-au]

RED DREAMS EVENT: PART TWO (3)

for the first time we came to a tie in the votes, which means i pick whichever option was sent in first, which was: run to the stranger !! you guys sure are making interesting choices today :D

warnings: injury, dereality

You know you don't have much of a choice. Passing over a loose rock, you make your move: you smash your handcuffs against it, hissing in pain, and by the time Helga whirls around to see what you're doing, you've slipped the cuffs and are running towards the stranger in black. The ground barely seems to move - you feel like you're running through water, until the stranger lowers his hand, tucking both of them into his pockets, and suddenly the air lightens again. You reach the stranger, breathless and harried, and spin back to look for Helga and James. Explosions are still going off everywhere, and-

And your kids are nowhere to be seen. It's like they'd never been there.

Something isn't right. Your skin crawls. When you turn back to the man, he's smiling quite casually, and offers you a cigarette that you decline. His smile turns rueful.

"You're a different Alex Quackity from the one I know," he muses, chucking the cigarette towards a distant explosion and watching as it swallows the small stick completely. "Then again, I suppose you really are different. None of this has actually happened for you yet, has it?"

You hesitate. Why do you recognise this man? "Do I know you?"

The man looks offended briefly. "Does he know me, he asks," he says, tucking his hands behind his back, "haven't heard that one before, Chat. Looks like you're making some wacky choices tonight. Or today. Or whatever time it is for you in your respective time zone."

"Look," you say firmly, standing your ground and crossing your arms, "I have no fucking idea what's going on, I don't understand shit, buddy. You're gonna have to dial this whole thing back. Who the hell are you? What's happening? What-"

You look behind you, swallowing thickly. The explosions have stopped, but Helga and James still aren't there. You have no fucking clue where they went.

"What happened to the kids back then?"

The man makes a disapproving noise, beginning to walk off, his long coat billowing behind him. "You still talk a lot," he informs you, "one question at a time, please. There's only so many choices, after all."

Prime, this guy is irritating. Scowling, following him for lack of a better option and half wishing you'd stayed with Helga and James, you deliberate your first question.

fifteen minutes again !! and tommy's delayed his stream which means more time here for me >:) pick your question!

1. "WHY DO HELGA AND JAMES HATE ME?"

2. "WHO ARE YOU?"

3. "WHAT HAPPENED HERE?"

4. "WHAT DOES DAISY HAVE TO DO WITH ALL THIS?"

[princekunge]

Can’t Stand the Rain | Seungcheol 

Seungcheol x Reader | Genre: Angst, Robot AU

A/N: So I had this idea last year when someone asked if I would ever write a robot au and I suddenly started writing it last night and it turned out even better than I hoped. It’s definitely a departure from the themes and way I usually write

It was raining the day your world changed forever. It had been raining for hours already and would be raining well into the night according to the forecast. You didn’t pay it much mind, the sound was nice on the roof and it made for a cozy atmosphere as you and your boyfriend Seungcheol snuggled up in bed that morning, both resisting the need to get out of bed and face the day. You buried your head into Seungcheol’s chest as he lazily rubbed his hand up your back under your sleep shirt. It was relaxing enough that you could almost fall back asleep, almost.

Eventually however you had to get up and make a pot of coffee and face the responsibilities that were calling you. You had your latest robotics project waiting for you in your basement and Seungcheol had dance practice with the guys. It had felt like any other day, the coffee was hot in your mug, Seungcheol was complaining about his friends dragging him away from you on such a perfect day to stay home, and the rain pitter pattered against the window adding to the illusion of comfort. You had given your boyfriend a rueful smile and chaste kiss on the cheek, telling him that he needed to go otherwise you’d be getting a very passive aggressive phone call from Soonyoung.

You wish you had told him to stay.

You were downstairs in your home robotics lab working on a project for your company when the call came.

“Can you please stop hogging Cheol, I know you guys are madly in love or whatever, but we really need to practice today,” The irritated voice of Soonyoung came from the other end when you finally picked up.

You frowned as you juggled to put down the screwdrivers you were holding. “What do you mean? Cheol left thirty minutes ago,” You said looking up at the clock on the wall. “He should’ve been there by now.”

As hard as you try you can’t remember the rest of the phone call, you don’t remember putting on your shoes and raincoat and walking out in the rain and you don’t remember the feel of the rain soaking your face and hair when you found Seungcheol. You don’t remember screaming or the first responders you pushed past as you fought to get to your boyfriend.

What you can’t forget; however, no matter how hard you try, was the way he looked laying in the street, his limbs at awkward and unnatural positions, or the way the blood mixed with the puddles in the road and pooled around him. You fell on your knees next to his body, sobs wracking your body. You couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it, you wanted him to stand up and give you that smile you loved so much that made you fall in love with him. He didn’t move.

Someone attempted to pull you away from him, and you thrashed wildly at their attempts. They called your name, but you wanted to ignore them. You couldn’t look away from Seungcheol. They called your name again and you felt hands grab your face and tear your gaze away. It took you a moment to register who it was fighting you, but eventually you recognized the rain drenched blonde hair of Soonyoung. You hadn’t stopped crying, but the sobs rolled over you in fresh force as he pulled you in for a tight hug, trying to shield you from the scene, but it was already too late. Seungcheol was dead and there was no way to bring him back. 

~~~~~~~~

Seungcheol is dead and there’s no way to bring him back. You repeat this to yourself as you lay alone in a bed too big for you. You repeat this to yourself as you grip a hot coffee mug alone in your kitchen. You repeat this to yourself whenever Soonyoung or Jihoon drop by to check on you over the next few months. You know they must be hurting too, but at least the guys have each other to look after them. You have no one. You float through life no more present than a ghost.

Staying in your house is painful with every room holding a memory that haunts you. The living room where you and Seungcheol would argue over which movie to watch on movie night. The dining room where Seungcheol had forced down your terrible first attempt at a pizza claiming the burnt crust really added to the flavor. The kitchen where Seungcheol had spilled an entire bag of flour all over you and the room in an attempt to make a birthday cake for Chan. Your lab where Seungcheol would sneak down in the middle of the night and carry you to bed when you had fallen asleep working. Your bedroom where you and Seungcheol had mapped every inch of each other in the moonlight so that you knew every touch, every taste, every sound of him.

It hurt to exist in those spaces so filled with remnants of him. His shoes still sat waiting for him in the entry hall, his clothes still hung in the closet, his toothbrush and toothpaste still sat next to yours. You wore his hoodies to bed as if they could wrap around you like his arms once did, you used his shampoo so his scent still clung to you. Some mornings it was enough to fool you into thinking it was all a bad dream as you slowly resurface from sleep, but as soon as you open your eyes the truth digs into your heart without any remorse.

Seungcheol is dead and there’s no way to bring him back. The empty bed screams at you. 

~~~~~~

You’re sitting in your lab absentmindedly staring at a project you should have finished weeks ago when the thought comes to you. Maybe there is a way to bring him back. It’s crazy, it's insane, and you shake your head as if to be rid of the thought, but it stays there in the back of your mind like a whisper. 

You leave your lab hoping to distance yourself from the idea blooming in your mind, but it's rooted there and as much as you think it’s crazy the loneliness is driving you crazier still.

You don’t tell anyone your plan. Soonyoung and Dokyeom force you out of the house once a week to have dinner with them and the guys. You appreciate their effort, but you feel as if you’re wasting away without Seungcheol and it’s only a matter of time before you’re nothing but dust.  You feign improvement in front of them, but stepping back into your empty house the mask falls. 

It’s crazy. It’s insane. Seungcheol is dead, but maybe there’s a way to bring him back.

~~~~~~~

Getting the equipment necessary for your plan was no problem. Your company provided more than enough for you to begin under the guise it was for a different project. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. It took you months before you were anywhere near close to being finished. You struggled with the finer details and programming, but you kept telling yourself it would all be worth it. No matter the cost, it was all going to be worth it. You would do anything to have him back. 

The day you inserted the final piece of the programming, of the puzzle, you stepped back in awe as you looked at your creation. Your hands shook as you gently traced the lines of his face and ran your fingers through his hair. He was perfect.

With a few lines of code you activated his programming and before your very eyes you watched as Seungcheol came to life once again. The robot blinked as he looked at you, processing the information in front of him. “Babe, why are you crying?” He asked, and you let out a sob as you heard Seungcheol’s voice for the first time in a very long time. The robot rose from his seated position and carefully approached you, his arms, Seungcheol’s arms, wrapping around you in that embrace you had missed so much. 

Seungcheol is dead but you brought him back to life. 

You were basking in this embrace when your doorbell rang. Smiling at the robot version of your dead boyfriend you lead him up to the living room where you tell him to wait as you answer the door. 

Soonyoung and Jihoon stand there on the other side. “Hey you haven’t been answering our calls for a while so we wanted to come and check on you to make-” Jihoon slowly let his words die off as his gaze fixates on something behind you.

“Oh hey guys what’s up,” Seungcheol says from behind you. 

“Holy shit,” Soonyoung breathes out before looking at you. “What the fuck did you do?” 

A slightly unhinged smile pulls at your lips as you look at two of your friends. “I brought him back, I couldn’t- I couldn’t go on without him so I found a way to bring him back.” 

Jihoon stares, mouth slightly agape at the image of Seungcheol before him. You look back at the robot and smile. 

Soonyoung calls your name bringing your attention back to him. “This… this isn’t okay,” He says and your smile falls. “This is wrong, you can’t just... Seungcheol is dead!”

You take a step back and frown, “No he isn’t,” you say. “He’s right here.” You feel Seungcheol’s hand rest on your shoulder and you grip the edge of the door.

“No, he isn’t. This isn’t Seungcheol, you can’t just… rebuild him,” Soonyoung insists.

“Yes I can, and I did. This is Seungcheol. I don’t care what you all say.” You slam the door in their faces before they can say anything else. 

“What’s up with those two?” Seungcheol asks, looking down at you. 

You smile up at him, “Oh them? It’s nothing. They’re just in denial.” The robot Seungcheol nods and gives you a small kiss on the cheek as you close your eyes and sigh. This is perfect. 

Seungcheol isn’t dead, you brought him back to life.

~~~~~~

You shut everyone else out of your life from that point onward. You quit your job and disconnect your phone. Soonyoung and the rest stop trying to come by after weeks of ignoring them at the door. Most days you spend lying in bed memorizing the way Seungcheol feels against your body, the way his lips drag across your skin, and the way he says your name. You never want him to stop saying your name.

One day while you’re still half asleep, Seungcheol lightly kisses the top of your head and tells you that he has to run out. He’s late for practice and Soonyoung is going to be mad at him if he misses. You hum in acknowledgement, but barely stir. As you lay in bed you hear the sound of rain hitting the window and you sigh as you snuggle into your pillow. Your eyes snap open as what your hearing and what Seungcheol had said registers in your brain. You tumble out of bed to look at the calendar. You let out a strangled cry when you see what day it is and struggle to put on pants. You don’t even bother with shoes as you run out the front door in the rain. 

The scene is scarily familiar when you arrive. Seungcheol is on the ground, there’s no blood, but you see wires and electricity sparking in the rain as his head and feet twitch in their odd position. 

“I didn’t even see him, he just ran out in the road in front of me!” A driver explains to a police officer nearby. 

Medical responders look on in confusion as they come to realize that the man they were trying to save is not actually a man at all. But you don’t care, you ignore them all as you fall to your knees next to the broken body of the man you had rebuilt. “No, no, no, nO, NO, NO, NO, NO!” You scream as you grab him by the shoulders. “GIVE HIM BACK! YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME AGAIN GIVE HIM BACK!” You hear your name called and a hand is placed gently on your shoulder. You scream and cry and beat upon the robots chest, until arms pull you away and into a familiar chest. It’s all too familiar. 

“You need to let him go, he’s gone.” Soonyoung says into your hair as he gently pets your head in the rain. Droplets falling from his hair on to the top of your own. 

“It’s not fair, it’s not fair. He can’t leave me again, I just got him back,” You cried.

Soonyoung just held you tightly in the rain as the robot body of your dead boyfriend finally stopped twitching. 

Seungcheol was dead and even playing God you couldn’t bring him back to life.