#do not ration do not worry about wasting them slap every single one of them all in a row YOU WILL NEED THEM ALL

[rohirric-hunter]

Okay, actually on a second run of the Well of Forgetting I did the first boss fight in one try, so maybe it's not so bad once you get a hold of the mechanics. I can't imagine soloing it on a melee character, though

[gaoau]

Saturday 10th — Explanations Overdue

The Girl Upstairs warnings — theres an anxiety attack (take this term with a grain of salt) ahead. based on my own experience, so dont worry if you dont find it familiar. take it easy, guys! stay safe! word count — 2.0k

prev. — next.

Composed, collected, level-headed, rational, patient, polite: words that described Akaashi down to his every atom. Human, too — human fit right in the same category. And much like every human, Akaashi knew when and where to draw the line.

To put things simply, he was fed-up. Volleyball practice had only gotten more intense — what with nationals looming closer — and [Name]'s cut-up feet occupied every single corner of his brain. Multiply one by the other, and Akaashi's patience was wearing thin.

He had waited, and he had given her space, and he had tried again and again to help her. But she refused any help. As much as he wanted, he would never be able to understand some things. One of them being why [Name] was so fucking adamant on slapping his helping hand away. It didn't make any sense, whichever way he tried to see it

It wasn't pride, it wasn't hubris, it wasn't like she would get in trouble for hanging out with him — she lived completely on her own, and didn't leave her apartment for anything other than school or grocery-shopping. It was her. [Name] was a problem to herself. [Name] didn't allow herself to break free from the merciless cold.

After a week of tiring afternoon and morning practice, and [Name]'s constant fidgeting as she left for school, Akaashi decided to put his foot down. If he had to poke his nose where it didn't belong just to get [Name] talking, then so be it. If he had to piss her off, annoy her, or even break her door down, then so be it. He didn't want any of her dodging his questions anymore.

Composed, collected, level-headed, rational, et cetera. Standing at [Name]'s doorstep, he might as well have called himself demanding and forceful. But he was getting his answers one way or another.

He knocked right below the number-plate with a little more force than intended. "[Name]-san? It's me, Akaashi. Are you there?" Announcing his name or not meant nothing — she didn't ever have any guests anyway, so he was the only idiot that would call for her in the middle of the night.

A restless minute passed before [Name] finally opened the door. Her appearance presented no surprises: jacket zipped-up to her chin, that teal scarf made out of wool, darkening bags under her irritated red eyes, sickly pale skin. He could have gone on, but he hadn't visited her to insult her. Despite his desire to jump straight into questioning, he bit his tongue and offered her a smile. [Name] averted her eyes to the floor in response. She remained silent, knowing full well Akaashi could do all the talking.

"I'm here to talk to you, [Name]-san. Hope you don't mind, but I needed to check up on you. Neighbors should look out for each other."

"Akaashi-san—" A sigh fell from her lips and her head dropped. Although it didn't shake, her voice barely held any volume. "…I told you not to worry about me."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. You've got cut-up feet and I'd like to know why. I understand I'm being too forward and shouldn't be pushing you to answer my questions, but I'm caring about you. Let's talk."

"You don't know anything, Akaashi-san. You don't understand."

"That's what I'm here for. Explain it to me so that I understand. Just like you explained quadratics. You did that just fine."

"You already knew quadratics. That was pointless. I only wasted your time."

"Then why did you stay?"

[Name] bit her lip, her knuckles progressively turning white around the doorknob. Her silence seemed endless.

"Could I come in, [Name]-san? Let's do the talking inside."

"No!" Both his and her eyes flew wide open; one in shock, and one in panic. [Name] bit her lower lip, shoulders raised and scrunched inwards. "I'm sorry. Just… Please, don't."

"Well, then. I won't pry on that yet. Let's head down to my apartment then. We'll talk over a cup of tea, if you'd like."

Akaashi awaited no confirmations and promptly turned on his heels. [Name]'s fretting voice halted him. "Hold on, wait a sec! I need to, um, do something first."

"No need." He locked eyes with her over his shoulder, catching her confused furrowed brows. "If you're planning on throwing some make-up on, don't bother. It'll be only us two, yeah? Come on." He gestured towards the elevator with a nod, and headed off. Behind him, [Name] sighed heavily before closing her door. Her faint footsteps told him she was following.

Akaashi had no idea a person could be so stubborn — and he dealt with childish people like Bokuto on a daily basis. She didn't accept tea or coffee or even a simple glass of water. She refused with every inch of her body to take a seat. She absolutely did not let him take her scarf and jacket. Akaashi was patient, but every person has a limit.

"[Name]-san, we'll be talking for a while, please, take a seat. It's already warm in here, so it's better if you take off at least your scarf. I'll go make some tea for the both of us. You can hang your stuff by the door."

He walked back into the room with two cups of green tea, quite pleased to see [Name] sitting quietly on the edge of his couch. Her scarf and jacket had been discarded and hung on the coat-hanger. She flinched when he lay her cup on the coffee table in front of her. She glared at it while Akaashi settled beside her.

"I sure hope you like green tea. I also added a bit of sugar."

[Name] hesitated before reaching for her cup. She sipped the beverage, swallowed, and then set it back down. "It's okay, doesn't matter. You shouldn't have bothered, though. I should just go."

"No, [Name]-san, take it easy. Tell me what's going on, please. I want to help you."

"I'm telling you not to get involved, Akaashi-san."

"Too late. You're already on my couch, and I think I've heard enough." His eyes shifted to her bare feet. He was surprised to see them wrapped in bandages. "At least I know I've seen enough."

[Name] caught onto his implication and pressed her feet to the base of the couch in an attempt to hide them. Her fists balled around the fabric of her sweatpants, her face hid behind strands of hair. "…Please…" Her voice broke with only one word, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. "Please, don't do this… It'll be harder for you in the end… Let's not do this…"

A lonely droplet fell on the back of her hand, slowly trailing down her forearm until it fell to the cushions. It disappeared into the fabric, leaving behind no trace of ever existing. But they continued one after the other, falling and falling and falling endlessly. On her skin and on her clothes and on his couch, as she gritted her teeth and sniffled in silence. She kept her face away from his field of vision, but her shoulders trembled and he understood she was crying.

A sigh fell from his lips. "[Name]-san, listen. I won't force explanations out of you, but just know that I'm worried about you. You're a really nice person, and it's fun to hang out with you, and honestly, I just want to help you. But I need to understand what's going on first."

"…I'm not nice, though…" [Name] sniffed, running her arm across her brimming eyes. "…I'm not nice at all… Look at me, I'm making you worry and I dragged you into all of this and saying I'm sorry isn't enough."

"What's so wrong about worrying? You're always saying that — to not worry, I mean."

"It's pointless. You're just wasting your time and effort. It's all pointless at the end of the day. Why would you worry about someone that'll— Someone that— Uh—"

"Someone that will what? What will you do? You can tell me."

"No, no, I can't. I'm talking too much and only dragging you deeper, I'm sorry."

"Well, drag me deeper."

"God, Akaashi-san, you don't know me. Stop this. Stop it, just stop it. It's pointless, just stop. You don't get it. You're too warm for this. You don't get it. You don't. You don't get it, stop it."

"[Name]-san—"

"Stop. Just stop. Stop this, just stop it. You don't— You can't— You won't understand. Just stop. Please, stop it. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Just stop. Stop it. Stop." [Name]'s fingers snaked around her scalp, sliding between her hair and grasping at fistfuls. Her body bent forwards, chin touching her knees. Her fists only grew tighter by the second.

Akaashi almost immediately slammed his teacup on the coffee table and pushed the furniture away to open some space. He dropped to his knees right next to [Name], hearing her nonsense mumbling and heavy breathing. "[Name]-san, it's okay, I'm here. Take it easy, you're fine. Breathe in and breathe out. Slowly. Give me your hands." With trembling hands and sweaty palms, Akaashi struggled to unlatch [Name]'s chilling fingers from around her hair. He succeeded, fortunately, and intertwined hers with his warm ones. "Let go, [Name]-san, relax. Follow me, yeah? In and out, in and out. Yeah, like that. You're fine, I'm here."

Akaashi took deep breaths, held them in, and calmly released them; [Name] followed him, trembling eyes locked onto his. Eventually, she managed to get the hang of it and her breathing returned to normal. She had recomposed herself. And as soon as she processed reality, she pried her hands away from Akaashi's. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I-I… Fuck, I told you…! I told you not to do this…! I tried to warn you…"

Akaashi blinked, flabbergasted. "Warn me…? [Name]-san, having these episodes is nothing bad. I'm actually very impressed that you handle them on your own. It must take a lot of courage and strength."

"No! I made them myself. It's my fault that they happen. I just— I— It's my fault."

"[Name]-san, please, stop refusing my help. You've shown me enough. Now I want to help you."

"But you can't! You shouldn't! You should just let me go, Akaashi-san. Just leave it be. It's all pointless. Let me go back upstairs and forget this ever happened. What do I have to do so that you'll understand?"

"Answer my questions."

[Name] groaned. Her palms slapped against her face as she growled into them.

"What happened to your feet?"

"…I cut them when I stepped on some glass…"

"Did you break the glass yourself?"

"…Yes…"

"Why?"

"You're not my therapist."

"Do you have a therapist?"

"…No…"

"Then I can be one for tonight. What happened to your neck?"

"Ah, shit, you saw that…"

"[Name]-san, tell me what's happening. Tell me what's going on inside your head."

[Name] pulled away from her hands, craning her bruised neck to pierce Akaashi's eyes with her own. He felt a shiver traveling down his spine. "I don't want this…" Her words morphed into a sigh. "There's nothing to it."

Much like her fingers and her eyes, her voice was deadly cold. It was the voice of a tired person crying for help. And Akaashi was willing to do exactly that. "Let me help you, then."

"…Alright… I prefer black tea, without sugar."

"On it."

[nbrook29]

robbe 1️⃣8️⃣

Warning: This is smutty, proceed with caution if it’s not your jam ;)

ao3

If anybody asked Robbe, bad weather in the summer should be illegal. Because what the hell? He needs sun rays and blue sky like he needs oxygen, he wants 30+ degrees temperatures and not a single cloud above, and he always welcomes it with all the small inconveniences it brings along, like clammy skin mere minutes after showering or freckles covering his nose and arms. So when it’s August and it’s raining, sorry, pouring buckets, sue him if he turns into a whiny mess for a bit. That’s just who he is.

Or, that’s who he was. Because right now, lying on a soft cloud-like throw blanket in a not-his t-shirt and sweatpants, head a mess of wild damp curls, fuzzy socks on his feet tangled with another pair, he’s feeling pretty good.

Even though the original scenario for his birthday was supposed to be different.

It all started at 12:00 am sharp with a dorky text from Sander because of course it did.

Sander: Hey there you sexy thing

Heard you're legal now 👅 

Robbe: Omg sander 🙈 

Sander: Yes, that's what you'll be screaming today during our own little celebration 😈

 Robbe almost spat out the water he was drinking, face burning hot as he tried to assess whether anybody was paying him any attention.

 Robbe: SHSHDHSHSJSJS STOP 

Sander: I'll do that thing you like 😏👅 

Robbe: IM WITH MY PARENTS DICKHEAD 

Sander: Am I bothering you cutie? 😏 

Robbe: Yessssss 😩 my face is all red they're gonna know what's up 

Sander: I think *I* know what is up 😏🍆 

Robbe: 🤣 GO COOL OFF 

Sander: Hehe

No but for real now

Happy birthday! 🥰🥳😘❤🎂

I love you SO much ❤❤❤💯 

Robbe: Thank youuuu baby 😊😘 

Sander: Can't believe you're an adult *wipes a tear*

You'll always be my baby tho ❤ 

Robbe: Haha yes ❤❤ 

Sander: I'll be waiting for you at 4 pm 

Robbe: But where?? 

Sander: ��� 

Robbe: Sanderrr tell me 

Sander: Nope 

Goodnight 😌

 Sander absolutely loves to tease him and keep him at the edge of the seat which is why he told him the place only half an hour before their meeting, for which Robbe intended to tell him off. That is until he actually got to Park Spoor Noord and saw his boyfriend lounging on grass, blanket underneath him, surrounded by Robbe’s favorite food and wearing the most charming smile as soon as their eyes met.

And he got him a sunflower. A sunflower. How cute is that?

Needless to say, there was no telling off, Robbe didn’t exactly find time for it between kisses and laughs and Sander feeding him croques and fries and cupcakes (which Sander baked and decorated himself, swearing for dear life the small thingies made from frosting on top were not dicks, but Robbe knows him too well to believe him).

And then all hell broke loose and the storm that had been loudly talked about in the media came to Antwerp and made a puddle out of the two of them.

They looked really miserable, but somehow Robbe couldn’t care less as they were running to Sander’s house holding hands, water in their shoes, the sunflower cradled carefully underneath his shirt, huge smiles on their faces as they finally got there, tripping in their haste to get inside.

The hot shower that followed next and Sander taking the lead oh so well will definitely rank in the top 5 moments of Robbe’s life. He’s very grateful Sander’s parents are on holiday in London because he’s not sure he’d ever be able to look them in the eyes otherwise.

Afterwards, Sander made them ice coffee and handed Robbe his real gift which turned out to be a long weekend in Paris a week from now, shutting him up with a kiss when Robbe was about to protest and complain about it being too expensive.

Since the concert they were supposed to go to was canceled due to poor weather conditions, they resorted to eating cake in Sander’s bed and watching the show Robbe had been talking about for weeks now. Sander, being the thoughtful and amazing boyfriend that he is, graciously agreed to Robbe’s birthday wish and sat him down between his legs, kissed the side of his face, brought his laptop closer and pressed play, as Robbe made himself comfy in his arms, the smile that originated at midnight not slipping off even for a second.

***

Another thunder strikes the night sky and Robbe jumps involuntarily, only a little, more from shock than actual fear, but it doesn’t stop Sander from tightening his arms around him, lips grazing delicately the lobe of his ear.

“Don’t worry, Robin, I will protect you,” he whispers with a teasing note in his voice, grunting when a well-aimed elbow meets his side.

“Shut up, I’m not scared.”

Sander’s only reply is a low chuckle and a kiss on that sweet spot under Robbe’s ear that never fails to send a shiver down his spine. Without barely having to move at all considering how close they are, he tilts his head and noses along Sander’s defined jaw, leaving a peck or two on his cheek.

“Now shush, I can’t focus.” He unceremoniously turns away from Sander’s searching lips, a sly grin on his face when he hears an affronted huff.

“Oh I see how it is, you-”

“Shhhh, Wille is talking.”

Robbe loves to be a little shit sometimes, especially if he wants to get a certain reaction from his huffy other half.

“Look how cute he is.” He has to press his lips hard to keep the giggle in when Sander whines in protest.

“Stoooop, why are you being mean to me.” He now has a full-blown pout on his face. “Jerk.”

The laughter finally comes out and Robbe pauses the show, cooing at Sander’s little frowny face and brushing the runaway strands away from his forehead, leaning up to press a kiss there too.

“It’s okay, I still think you’re the cutest prince in the entire kingdom.” He runs a thumb over his jutting lower lip, kissing it once, twice, three times, until the corners of Sander’s mouth pull up.

“Whatever. Simon is cuter than the other one anyway.”

Robbe grins cheekily. “You just think that because he has curly hair like me.” Sander’s jaw drops at that.

“Wow,” he exclaims, voice faux-scandalous as he shakes his head at Robbe. “Someone’s cocky today.” 

“It’s my birthday so it’s allowed.” Winking at him obnoxiously, he turns back to the screen, hands reaching for Sander’s arms to wrap them around himself again as he settles in his embrace with a content sigh before pressing play.

Sander’s quiet behind him for a second, and then his lips touch his ear again, tongue slightly peeking out to play and lick the shell of his ear with just the tip, hot air hitting Robbe’s skin turning his insides into mush, butchering his focus again just as Sander purrs, “I think it’s hot when you’re like that.”

There’s something important happening on screen, but Robbe can’t make any sense of the subtitles because Sander’s lips continue their path down the column of his throat, stopping for a second to suck a kiss in the middle, killing any rational thought Robbe might have had. His hand rushes to Sander’s head to keep him there without his permission, eyes closing as he sighs when the kiss turns into licks and nips to the thin skin.

“Do you think he could kiss you and touch you like that?”

The question breaks the fog in Robbe’s brain for a second, and he barks a laugh at the slight possessiveness in Sander’s voice that’s poorly hidden under a joking tone. 

“Like what?” He presses, excitement bubbling in his stomach when one of Sander’s hands sneaks underneath his t-shirt, fingers grazing the skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake as they finally reach the place Robbe needs them most. 

“Like that.” He flicks his nipple with those black-polish covered nails of his that make him look so hot Robbe’s head spins. “For starters.” He keeps it up, tugging and pinching unhurriedly, with a dirty smirk growing on his face that Robbe can just feel on his collarbone, and he pulls on his hair as he arches his back a little, seeking more of those skillful fingers.

With his hooded eyes, he can see Sander closing the laptop and putting it away quickly before his other hand joins in the fun, a featherlight touch to the growing bulge in his sweatpants, nothing more than teasing for now.

When Sander’s teeth tug at his earring, Robbe lets out a frustrated whine because it’s too much and not enough at the same time, and his boyfriend reads him like a book because he pulls the t-shirt off him to gain full access, mouth latching on his neglected nipple just as his hand dives inside his pants. It doesn’t grant him any relief though, bypassing his dick completely and traveling lower, caressing the soft skin, one finger running back and forth without reaching any further, and Robbe grabs Sander’s thigh in desperation.

“Sander...”

“You didn’t answer me,” Sander whispers in a sweet sweet voice.

“Whaa?” It takes a second for Robbe to understand what he’s asking and he would laugh if his body wasn’t on fire, Sander playing him like a violin.

Also, this playful possessiveness is getting to him, whether he likes it or not.

He does though. Like it.

Oh fuck, he likes it so much.

“Tell me, baby,” Sander breathes into his mouth as he reaches for something Robbe doesn’t see, and he can hear in his voice how it affects him too, can feel him against his lower back, rubbing himself off with minuscule moves, clearly struggling to hold back. 

“You, just you-, fuuuuck,” Robbe’s cut off when two lubed fingers press inside him at the confession, back arching slightly, the feeling so intense he keens and searches blindly for Sander’s lips. Thankfully, Sander doesn’t waste any time and plunges his tongue inside his mouth, swallowing the little whines that escape them with each twist of his fingers.

The rocking behind him gets faster and this is not how Robbe wants this to end so he breaks the kiss, ignoring Sander’s protests as he pulls away from him, only to pull his pants off completely, green eyes following his every move like he’s ready to pounce, and the need inside Robbe’s stomach only grows. He tugs impatiently at Sander’s sweatpants, biting his lip when his hard cock slaps his abdomen, the smirk dancing on Sander’s lips at his reaction liquefying his insides and he crawls closer to him, needing his touch to ground him. 

“You’re still good to go?” He loves how even when it’s hot and heavy Sander still remembers to check in with him.

“Uh-huh,” is the only thing he can come up with now, especially when Sander’s hand settles on his hip bringing them so close there’s no space left between them, guiding his movements just like Robbe likes. He kisses his glistening neck, licking the sweat of his body as Robbe reaches behind to position his slick cock at his entrance, forehead resting against Sander’s as he sinks down fast.

He gasps at the feeling of fullness because it’s always a lot, but Sander’s hands are always there, brushing his sides in a comforting motion, even when his own body is probably screaming at him to move.

“Happy birthday to me,” Robbe lets out a shaky chuckle that ends up in a gasp when Sander laughs too and involuntarily moves inside him. He’s quick to lick into his lips and distract him from the momentary discomfort, and once he’s done with him, the overwhelming need is back double force. 

Sander notices right away, guiding Robbe’s hips to keep grinding for a while before planting his feet on the bed and holding them in place giving several hard jabs that make Robbe hide his face in his neck, cries leaving his mouth with each thrust.

“Like that?”

Robbe just nods helplessly, mouth leaving a wet trail on his skin, but Sander doesn’t seem to mind because he continues his pace, completely taking over once Robbe’s thighs give out and turning him into a mess.

“You’re so hot like this, fuck.” The strain in Sander’s voice tells him he’s getting close so he goes back to bouncing, meeting him in the middle, and it only takes a minute for things to become too much, Sander’s uncoordinated jerks when he’s coming triggering Robbe’s orgasm too.

They stay like that, cooling off while kissing lazily, tongues sliding against each other, but without a rush for now.

Sander pulls back first, their lips smacking when they disconnect. "I'm sorry today didn't work out." Scrunching up his face, he reaches to comb through Robbe's hair consolingly. He leans into the touch before cuddling even closer, seeking warmth when the cold air makes goosebumps appear on his heated skin.

"But I loved today, really. We can go to a concert another time." He kisses the underside of his jaw, sighing dreamily. "And I can't wait for Paris with you."

[pillage-and-lute]

The Courting Ways of Wolves (Part 3)

I’m back at it again. Hopeless boys.

Part 1, Part 2, (here) Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue  

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Geralt’s first attempt at courting (to kiss Jaskier’s hand) had seemed to only confuse his bard, so he decided to leave that one and try again later. 

A few days from Kaer Morhen, as Jaskier was trying to find dry firewood among the snowmelt, Geralt took out the very folded and much handled List. It looked very complicated. This courting stuff was hard. He selected the least intimidating item on the list.

Number Four it said. Kill things and bring them to him. This seemed logical to Geralt. He’d seen cats, which he loved although they seemed to avoid him, drop dead mice at their owners’ feet. It seemed like a sign of affection. Now, the owners generally were disgusted rather than endeared, but Geralt wasn’t too worried. He wasn’t going to bring Jaskier mice, after all. Nor would he, remembering Number Two: Mind your manners, drop them on his boots.

He went off into the woods. 

Rather a while later he came back to camp, a bit miffed. The spring was still early and not many animals were about. Too thin for food and of course it didn’t do to kill many in the mating season anyway. Jaskier had a fire going and Geralt brooded by it. 

How was he supposed to court Jaskier without killing things for him?

But Lambert had said that killing things showed that Geralt would protect Jaskier, and so Geralt was going to protect Jaskier so completely, and eventually he would kill something for him.

It occurred to Geralt that courting wasn’t really a one-step-at-a-time process, he had to do everything at once. Number Three was compliments.

“You built a nice fire,” he said, a little more gruffly than he’d intended. 

Jaskier had been tending to his lute, oiling the wood, but he looked up at that. 

“Thanks?” he said. “I always make them the same way, you know.”

“I know,” Geralt said, “But it is done well.” They lapsed into a silence that, although not awkward, was not as comfortable as might have been. Jaskier was giving him a look, but Geralt didn’t know what it meant.

It got colder as they prepared for the night. They were sharing a tent, and the body heat should keep them warm enough, especially in the small tent, but Jaskier crawled onto his bedroll and shivered.

A human wouldn’t have picked it up. The only light was the faint glow of the coals of their fire, filtered through the canvas, but Geralt’s eyes caught the movement. 

Protecting Jaskier didn’t just mean from monsters. 

He rose from the tent and walked over to Roach, whispering softly to her, wrapped under her own blanket. He took his cloak from where he’d tucked it into his saddle bag.

Back in the tent Jaskier was curled up facing towards the center of the tent. Geralt lay down, facing him, and draped his cloak around Jaskier, tucking it under at the edges so that the cold air couldn’t get in. Jaskier looked up at him with wide eyes, although he probably couldn’t see Geralt’s expression. Geralt gave him a pat on the shoulder.

He wanted more than anything to let his hand linger, to slide it down Jaskier’s back and pull him closer. He wanted to tuck Jaskier into his chest and wrap his arms around him and hear his heartbeat.

But that would mean breaking the rules of Number Two: mind your manners. And if he listened in the dark, between Jaskier’s deep, even breaths, he could hear his heartbeat, steady and faster than Geralt’s own. 

He listened to it slow further as Jaskier slipped into sleep.

You look beautiful when you sleep, Geralt thought as he drifted off. He didn’t say it though, waking your sleeping love seemed like a bad way to court. He dropped off too.

He woke to Jaskier turning over, arm falling and slapping Geralt across the face.

“Mmmhp?” Jaskier said, one eye half open. “What’d I h’t?”

Geralt picked Jaskier’s limp hand from his face. “Me.”

“Mmmh tha’s nice, G’mornin’ Geralt,” Jaskier said, and he started to drop back off to sleep.

Number One: kiss his hand.

“May I?” Geralt said.

“Yeah, sure g’a’head,” was the muzzy reply.

Geralt pressed a gentle kiss to the captured hand. Jaskier hummed happly and snuggled closer. That was a good sign.

Geralt kissed the back of the hand, then clumsily kissed the callouses on Jaskier’s ring and middle fingers. 

Another happy hum.

A single kiss to the center of the palm. Geralt pictured that hand, the freshly kissed palm caressing the side of his face.

Back in reality the hand drooped limply in Geralt’s hold. Geralt set it down.

Jaskier snored.

Smiling fondly, Geralt crawled out into the grey light of morning. Chilly dew had frozen on the grass, and under the new light the world had been set in silver. He had a momentary spike of indecision. Jaskier was sleeping soundly, but even Geralt could appreciate the beauty of the scene, it was probably poetic. Jaskier would probably be sad if he missed it. 

Protect Jaskier from sadness.

“Jaskier,” he whispered, crawling back into the tent, frost melting under his knees leaving uncomfortable, damp patches. “Jaskier wake up.”

Jaskier sat up, muzzy but wary.

“No danger,” Geralt said, taking his hand. “Just something you should see.” Jaskier crawled out towards the opening of the tent, Geralt backing out to give him room, but he paused. He crouched at the entrance of the tent, socked feet hesitant to step on cold grass, but not sure if he wanted to put his boots on. 

Inwardly, Geralt smiled. Jaskier was one of those people who needed a lot of sleep, and he was probably hoping he could go back to bed. He very carefully picked Jaskier up, cradling him as the bard sputtered in surprise. Geralt set him down on Roach’s horse blanket, which she’d shaken off in the night. 

Jaskier spread it out under him like a picnic blanket, never looking away from the glittering silver world around them. The silver reflected in his eyes, giving them a sparkle like pale gems. Geralt would have trapped the world and put it in a bottle if he could see the wonder on Jaskier’s face every day.

He took Jaskier’s little leather bound journal from the saddlebags, along with the smudgy pencil he used when he couldn’t be bothered with ink. Back in the tent, Geralt grabbed the cloak he’d wrapped Jaskier in last night. 

He wrapped it around Jaskier again, draping it over him and slipping pencil and journal into chilly fingers. He watched Jaskier flip almost to the back of his journal. He would need a new one soon. That would be a good gift. 

Geralt lit a small fire, behind Jaskier so as not to ruin his view, and wondered if this counted as a gift. He couldn’t package the dawn, but maybe it counted anyway. 

When water had boiled he joined Jaskier. They sat on the blanket, eating cold rations downed with hot tea, and watched the sun creep up the horizon, turning silver to gold and melting the frost.

They packed up and left shortly after full dawn. Jaskier was blinking sleepily, so Geralt, who had been leading Roach, paused. He lifted Jaskier, still swaddled in Geralt’s cloak, and sat him gently onto Roach. She nickered reproachfully. She didn’t like riders that weren’t Geralt, and if he hadn’t clearly been giving his permission she would have biten any rider who dared.

Not Jaskier, though, Geralt suspected. She loved him too, and the thought made his chest tight, like he’d swallowed a big bite of food without properly chewing. Jaskier leaned forward on Roach.

“Thank you, lovely lady, for letting me ride,” he said, brushing his fingers sleepily through her mane. She tossed her head, like a human shrugging. Think nothing of it, Geralt imagined her saying. 

Jaskier dozed, and Geralt walked them along, one ear listening for danger. Mostly he just thought. He thought about courting Jaskier, and all the time he’d wasted. 

He burned with shame as he thought of all the time he’d treated Jaskier like a nuisance. He hadn’t meant it that way, he’d treated Jaskier like one of his brothers, ribbing him, pushing at him, leaving him behind if he took too long getting ready.

It was the only form of solid companionship Geralt knew, but Jaskier didn’t understand that. He didn’t respond the way Geralt was used to because he didn’t know the game. And Geralt didn’t want to love Jaskier the way he loved his brothers, he wanted to love Jaskier the way Eist had loved Calanthe, without the hatred of elves.

The thought of course brought him back to Ciri. It had only been a few days and he missed her terribly. She would have loved the silver dawn, he could picture her sitting on that horse blanket next to Jaskier. Maybe he should get her her own journal to draw and write in, a gift for when he saw her again. 

If gifts meant he loved Jaskier, surely they would mean he loved his daughter too, and she had lit up when he’d given her the hair pin. Jaskier could teach her that lovely curly script he wrote in when he needed to be fancy. Geralt couldn’t read it, it made his eyes confuse the letters even worse than normal, but Ciri was still a princess, it seemed like the sort of thing she’d need someday.

Jaskier mumbled something in his sleep, slumped over Roach’s back. His hair was messy and one hand was visible, mittened fingers holding one edge. 

There was a feeling, seeing Jaskier bundled in his clothes. Geralt wished Eskel was there to help him, but he had plenty of time to parse it out on his own. 

Protective, maybe, Jaskier looked peaceful and he wanted to keep him that way. Proud that Jaskier felt safe enough to sleep like this. It also made Geralt want to hold Jaskier, wrapping himself around the bard instead of the cloak. There were other pieces to the emotion, but Geralt gave up and put it down to loved. 

Jaskier was slumped over, drooling a bit, wearing huge, knobbly woolen mittens. Geralt loved him entirely and wholeheartedly.

An hour later Jaskier began to snore like a walrus with a sinus issue, and Geralt loved him even more.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

@llamasdumpsterfire the next part is here! it kinda got away from me, but its cute

[all-about-seggs]

Naughty & Not Nice :

Rating : ❌ 18+, Explicit❌

Pairing : Timeskip! Bokuto Kotaro x female reader

Word count : 1.6K

Warnings : Shower sex, Semi-public sex, cunnilingus, ass eating? (If there is a word for it please let me know, I'm an idiot), unprotected vaginal sex, established relationship, everybody's horny.

A/n: Bokuto is usually babiee but not here. I'm gonna make up for the lack of filth with this one👍🏼

P.s. this fic made me realise I'm better at writing porn without plot because you'll be able to see how much I struggled with making this a meaningful story rather than just random fucking༎ຶ‿༎ຶ

It never failed you amaze you how much of a bigshot your himbo boyfriend had become. The high ceilings of the gym appeared never-ending just like the trail of volleyballs being smacked from side to side as you walked into the National team’s training area. Looking around one more time, you do a double check of the gigantic space to spot your hyperactive and simple minded fool. It wasn’t a difficult task to begin with considering his need to stand out no matter where he went but even with all the activities going around you the gym felt oddly quite without the usual chirping of Bokuto.

In the corner, you saw a deflated boyfriend, pouting as he yelled something about taking a shower to cool down. Having assessed the situation, you figured that if you wanted to have a happy evening together after so many weeks of hair on fire busy workdays, you had to come up with a way to lift his spirits. Luckily it was never a difficult task, especially for you.

Now that you managed to enter the private shower room, you thought rationally about your plan. Going in the shower stall to give Bokuto a naked surprise seemed hot and all but it had waaaay too many risks and it was totally reckless, your train of thought kept going in the negative slash realistic direction but your hands didn’t deter as you kept on undressing yourself in haste, shoving all your cloths in your bag and putting it aside in a corner.

The broad shoulders and well knit muscles of his body even made his silhouette ten times hotter than any other guys you’d ever seen, the steam coming off from the shower only added to the heat rising inside you. Steeling your nerves you enter the space already cramped by the herculean built of your boyfriend Not wasting another second you softly pressed your naked body on his, earning a questioning Yelp from the male.

“ WOAH- w- wait! I have a girlfr-“

“SUSHH -I AM your girlfriend idiot!”, Cutting him off you quickly turned him around to face you. All his protests died in his mouth when he saw your naked form on full display, even if it was his body that resembled some Greek god that you were too starstruck to remember the name of.

“I heard you wanted to cool down, but I suppose that won’t be happening now” turning the shower off, you stare at him. With a dazed look Bkuto raises one hand and touched your hips, feeling you up a little as if checking whether he’s dreaming or not.

“ Y/n! What are you- wait no- why are you here?! It’s the guys shower room!”, his hushed panic was adorable but what’s more amazing is his inability to take a hint until everything is spelled out.

“ Well I’m here so we can get a head start on our evening”, trailing one seductive finger down his defined abs, you give him your sexiest upturned eyes, punctuating your sentence with a firm squeeze of his balls. A few seconds pass, leaving you in wonder if he’s still gonna argue but the very next moment, his confused face takes on a look seriousness making his already sharp features seem downright animalistic.

Bokuto turns you around abruptly, bringing your warm face flush against the cool tiles of the wall, kneeling down, he gently parts your ass cheeks to give it’s hole a smooth lick all the way to your other sopping hole beneath. He gives your ass a few more licks before his hands starts fingering your aching pussy. Two long and thick digits enters you, the stretch making you moan as his fingers pushes in and out relentlessly while his mouth bite down your ass cheeks firmly. His teeth probably left marks by the time he finished sucking on the flesh, you bury your ass further down his face, wanting to feel more of his tongue on any one of your hole.

He finger fucks you while eating your ass at the same time humming softly like he’s devouring a five course meal. The uninhibited moans from falling from your mouth ricochets off of the bathroom walls only urged Bokuto to continue his ministrations. Knees shaking your first orgasm of the night washed over you until you’re shuddering, making it a necessity for your boyfriend to get up from his sitting position and take you in his strong muscular arms.

He lifts you, coming up face to face you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you out of the tiny shower room, this was the quietest you’ve ever seen him. Usually when the two of you are doing it, Bokuto is always the one praising you, asking you whether he’s making you feel good or not, his silence indicated that the next few hours are gonna be rough for your pussy but you’ll definitely enjoy every second of it. You let him carry you towards the small bench just outside the shower stall, the risk of being found out doubled but the heat inside your body was far from over.

Placing you on the low surface he pressed your thighs against your chest and settled himself in between them he gave your wet cunt a few hard sucks , with his palms holding your legs firmly in place he lapped at your juices for until you begged him to fill you up.

“I hope you’re ready y/n….. I can’t promise if I can be gentle today”, his growled out, stroking his erection in his palm. It already looked so hard, it was getting physically painful to have pussy empty when you had something so delicious right in front of you. It didn’t mattered if you tore you half, the lust took over your mind the moment you saw his toned body that practically spelled ‘fuck me’ in all caps at that.

“you don’t have to…… so please wreck me like you usually do”,with one final nod from you, Bokuto pushed his entire length inside you pussy with ease, the slick from your previous orgasm making it easier from his aching cock to slide in and out. His starting pace was brutal, balls slapping your ass along with the squelching sound of his member drilling into you filled the entire room. But the most erotic sounds? Those were coming from your boyfriend’s mouth as kept fucking you, the bench creaking with each powerful thrust from his hips.

Your already sensitive cunt reached its peak a lot sooner than you imagined but it wasn’t going to be your last either so you let yourself go, enjoying the euphoric feeling to the fullest while Bokuto railed you through it. Your now clenched pussy added more pressure on his cock, pulling him closer to the edge as well. You could feel the cum pooling right below your ass when the hot blooded male lifted you up in the heat of the moment. His throbbing cock still inside you he took your quivering body to the nearest wall, your body wrapped itself around him as he kept up with thrusts without stopping.

Cock twitching, it was obvious he was near, his long awaited orgasm made his entire body tense up as he cums inside your cunt. The warm thick fluid drips down from where you two are attached, but the blissful feeling of being so spent made the both of you blank out until it passed away. After the both of you caught your breaths Bokuto put you back on the ground,

“You okay y/n?”, his concerned tone made you heart melt, even though you did this on your own accord he always worries about being too rough.

“I’m okay Kou, don’t worry but I think we should clean up before anyone sees us with our asses hanging out”, with a few more reassuring words you both took an actual shower this time and hurriedly dressed up before getting out of the bathroom. Just as you were about to feel accomplished on successfully pulling your moody boyfriend out of his emo modes again his fidgety behaviour caused to ask him what’s wrong.

“ I can’t wait till we get home babe”, his confession spoken with a pout wasn’t that out of place but it was because you couldn’t wait that you had sex in the shower room in the first place. Who were you kidding though, it’s a given that there is no such thing as just a round 1 with the ball of energy that you were dating. Besides it’s not lie you weren’t carving him,

“Okay. Lets do it a lot when we get home!”, The matter of fact answer definitely did it’s job if your previous fucking didn’t.

“Then you need to conserve your energy,” exclaiming that Bokuto picked you up bridal style, eyes shining with a new light. Despite your protests he carried you out in his arms, only to find a grossed out and scowling Sakusa shooting daggers in your direction from across the gym.

Never one to talk a lot, the curly haired teammate’s expression made it clear you two ‘did’ got caught and by the worst person ever. It’d be understandable if he never went to that shower room again but your embarrassment was cut off when Bokuto started sprinting towards the door. To any bystanders your shenanigans would probably be annoying but as you exited the building all you could hear was the cheering and goodbyes of all the people who were used to it.

The wonderful friends who put up with your antics, the loving boyfriend who didn’t left a single opportunity to parade you around like the greatest treasure in the world and the growing darkness of the night that brought so many salacious promises were all that you needed to call this a good day.

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober 2020 Day 8

Abandoned | Isolation

Ao3

Warnings: Depression, Panic Attacks, Claustrophobia, blink and you'll miss it Suicidal Thoughts.

Dedicated to @ckbookish! Hope you don't mind me tagging you 👉👈

-o-o-o-o-

"That's great, Dami! I'm happy for you."

Dick held the phone between his ear and shoulder, listening to Damian ramble on about an advanced theater class he got into because the teacher felt the current intermediate class he was in was wasting his potential. He carefully scrubbed the sides of the bowl he had just finished eating about five servings of pudding out of and set it off to the side. He wiped his hands then leaned against the counter, smiling. 

"Thank you, Richard," Damian said. His voice was just as stiff and careful as it always was, but Dick could hear the excitement and gratitude sprinkled in there. The kid was opening up. Expressing himself more and more every day in ways the place he came from had never allowed him to. Dick couldn't remember the last time Damian genuinely threatened anyone with violence, let alone threatened Tim. In fact, last he heard, Tim and Damian were going to go to the Gotham Zoo together next weekend. There was no real reason for them to. It was just to attempt at hanging out and Dick couldn't be more proud. 

"When will you be switching to the new class?" Dick asked. While he did, he began to migrate from the kitchen counter towards his bedroom door, careful to not trip on anything that was laying on the floor. Not for the first time this day, week, month, or year, Dick made a mental note to finally deep clean the place. "Like, is this a tomorrow thing or…?"

"At the end of the term, actually," Damian answered, his voice dropping ever so slightly. Dick hummed in sympathy. He sounded very excited about it, it must be agonizing for him to find out he needed to wait another few months for the first term to come to a close. 

"Well, I'm sure you'll have fun being the best in your current class until then," Dick joked, finally reaching the door to his bedroom and placing his hand on the door handle. Damian scoffed over the phone.

"I am not the best, unfortunately." Damian didn't sound that torn up about it, which was good. Admitting someone was better than you was good character growth. It proved that Damian was letting himself start from the bottom of something instead of immediately being at the top. "There is another girl, her name is Abigail. She has been taking classes since she was a toddler because her mother runs a local theater group."

"So she's as good at theater and you are with a sword," Dick confirmed and Damian hummed. 

Dick opened his door, mentally planning out the least tedious way to get undressed, in bed, and asleep as quickly as possible. First he needed to end the phone call, as much as he didn't want to. He started a new job tomorrow, so he needed to be rested. There was a swimming pool downtown that was looking for an assistant coach for the children's gymnastics classes they held there. Dick took up the job the moment he saw it. Or well, the moment he was no longer swinging past it as Nightwing and was back in civilian clothes. There was a good chance that he could work his way up to being a head instructor with his own classes, considering the woman who hired him didn't really seem the type to enjoy children very much. Dick gave it two months tops before she began to just not show up, making it so he was promoted. 

"I suppose so," Damian said, "she won't be moving up with me however. She has… friends in the lower class that she doesn't want to-"

Dick missed out on the rest, because the moment he stepped into his bedroom and closed the door behind him, his feet were knocked out from under him and his phone flung from his hand. Decades of experience made it so he was immediately able to go from zero to a hundred, allowing him to scramble up from the floor and throw a punch at the closest shadow like clockwork.

His fists met air. With wide eyes, he spun around his room, heart in his throat as he tried to figure out what had shoved him to the floor. 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All he could see was his messy room, his unmade bed, his open closet, and his closed window.

Suddenly, Dick heard a noise sound across his room from where he threw his phone. Dick rushed across his room and searched for his phone like he had been jolted by a bolt of electricity. He hated how confused and worried Damian's muffled demands sounded. 

"Richard! What happened?!"

There! Dick bent down and reached out his hand to grab the phone-

And then his hand went through the phone. 

Dick stared down at his empty hand and the phone that sat unmoving on the ground, everything going deathly still as he tried to… process what happened. If it was actually real. 

Okay. His nerves were just shot. He tried again, this time a little more slower and careful. He watched with disbelieving eyes as his hand once again just… went through the phone. It just laid there, undisturbed, like Dick wasn't… even there. 

Damian's voice rose in volume and Dick kneeled down, noting now how he was fully grounded on the floor; his shirts and other various objects around him phased through him like holograms. Okay, okay so something was definitely wrong. "Damian?" Dick asked, but Damian didn't say anything, just continued to shout for Dick to answer. 

"Damian!" Dick yelled louder, but Damian didn't say anything that counted as a reply. 

"Richard, if you don't answer me, I will fetch father!"

"Bruce might be a good idea there, Dami," Dick breathed, falling back onto his rear end and watching how he simply went through everything. He brought his hand back to his phone and purposely stuck it through, his fingernail soundlessly tapped the hidden floor beneath. 

Curious, Dick knocked on the wood, and when no noise reached his ears he hit it harder. 

Nothing. He can't touch anything and apparently he couldn't be heard. 

And suddenly, Dick was filled with the crippling realization that he had… no idea what to do now. He just sat there, listening to Damian panic until he eventually hung up to fetch Bruce. Dick sat there, running his fingers through everything he couldn't touch around him until he knew the entire space around him by heart. Dick sat there, and it took him… awhile to work up the energy to stand up and figure this out. But when he did, he forced himself to not let the confusion, horror, and fear stop him. He walked around the room first, looking for something that must have made him like this. There were no sigils that he could see, and if one was hidden under the things he had left on the floor, he wouldn't know because no matter how hard he focused or how many times he tried, he couldn't get anything to move. He went to sit down on his bed to think this through, but then his hand went straight through the mattress and he barely caught himself in time to avoid landing on his rear.

Thoroughly freaked out now, he ran through his dresser, heart pounding to the upbeat rhythm of his phone as Bruce began to call him. Dick didn't pick up the phone, he knew he wouldn't be able to. 

He couldn't touch anything. He couldn't. Touch. Anything. His feet would hit the ground and have no volume. His hands would slap against the wall but nothing would sound. He tried not to panic, but when he went to go out his door, it didn't move. He tugged on the door handle. It didn’t budge. Not a single millimeter. 

And okay. Okay he was beginning to panic now. He sprinted to the window and slammed his elbows against it, but it was like the glass was replaced with a transparent sheet of solid steel. 

Was this some sort of hallucination? Had whatever knocked him down drugged him somehow? Did he hit his head?

He was hyperventilating—this he knew for sure but suddenly he didn't know how to stop it—and without thinking he ran back to his door, banging his silent fists against the wood and tugging on the frozen in place handle. 

Oh gods. This was really happening wasn't it? Somehow, he had found himself unable to move anything. Unable to go anywhere. Unable to- to-

His knees gave out, causing him to slide down against the door and press his forehead against the unmovable force before him. He couldn't- he couldn't breathe. Somewhere, at the back of his head, a voice told him that he could breathe. He could take breaths right now and calm down. He could count five things he could see, four things he could touch, three things he could hear, two things he could smell, and one thing he could taste. He could calm down and think rationally and explore his situation a bit more calmly. But the moment he opened his eyes after not realizing he had them closed in the first place and saw his leg phasing through his empty trash can he knew he couldn't go anywhere from there without having a full blown mental breakdown. 

So he closed his eyes, tried making noise on the door once again, and tried to keep his breakdown to a minimum. 

Just hyperventilating. Just fading. 

"Help!" He shouted before he could really consider what good that would do. He was at the top floor of his building and the neighbors across from him weren't home until early in the morning thanks to the graveyard shift. No one will hear him… even if he could be heard. 

His phone began to ring again and Dick stuck his fist into his mouth and bit down on his knuckles to keep from screaming. 

He sat there—trying and failing to breathe, trying and failing to not cry—and continued to sit there until eventually, he found himself leaning against the door with half lidded and tearful eyes, staring at how his body continued to not touch a single thing.

He let his eyes fall shut one final time and let the stress and anxiety and confusion whisk him away into a very troubled slumber.

-o-o-o-o-

When he woke up he was immediately made aware that his current situation was, in fact, not a nightmare. 

And so much worse than what he could even predict. 

He awoke to him falling backwards, a crick in his neck and spine suddenly becoming undone as the door he was leaning against suddenly opened, hitting his head with a disquietingly silent bonk on the floor of his living room. For a hopeful, blissful moment he thought whatever happened before he passed the fuck out was all fake and he had just imagined the entire thing, but then he opened his eyes and lifted his head…

Just to see a pair of legs sticking out from the middle of his  intangible chest.

His breath hitched, his eyes flicking up to see a worried Bruce literally standing inside of him. The threat of hyperventilating once again became a very real thing as Bruce stepped past him, into the room, and started calling his name. 

"Bruce!" Dick shouted, scrambling up from the floor and running back into the room that had previously been his impenetrable prison. He instinctively tried to grab his shoulder, but ended up flinching back violently when his hand simply went through Bruce. He couldn't feel Bruce at all. None of the course fibers of his winter coat brushed against his touch receptors. "Bruce! I'm here!" He tried again, but surprise surprise, it didn't work.

"Is he there?" A new voice said, and Dick just managed to turn around in time to watch Damian walk into the room with wrinkles between his brow and bags under his eyes, shining black against his olive skin. Dick jumped away from Damian's path as he approached their father and watched with a frown as Bruce bent down and picked up his discarded phone.

Then, Dick's phone suddenly began to ring, causing Bruce to scowl. Frightened, confused, and curious, Dick slowly approached to read his phone's screen. 

It was close to 6am. Bruce must have driven here as quickly as he could after Damian probably took a few hours to panic to himself and work up the courage to tell Bruce that he thought something was wrong. Though, Dick didn't ponder over why they were here so early for very long. The number calling belonged to his new boss.

He was supposed to be at work thirty minutes ago.

"Shit," Dick breathed, stepping back as Bruce clicked the answer button on the phone and held it to his ear.

Immediately, there was the sound of the lead coach’s nasally voice. Coach Shah. Short, lean, toned, full of freckles, and rocking curly red hair. The woman who was definitely a phenomenal gymnast, but probably shouldn't be allowed to work closely with kids with her grumpy attitude. She didn't sound entirely upset from the muffled tones on the other side of the speaker. Maybe she was saving the angry for later, letting the passive aggressiveness of her annoyance at him for being late to his first day of work steadily drip into her tone. 

Bruce finally opened his mouth. "I'm sorry, but I'm not Mr Grayson."

Dick winced at the sound of her confused squawk. Bruce proceeded to explain that he was Dick's father, and that he couldn't find Dick anywhere. Bruce's frown slowly began to deepen as Coach Shah began to probably explain that Dick was her newest assistant and that she hadn't seen him. Shockingly, the phone call didn't end with Dick being immediately fired. Just with Bruce clicking the screen off and looking down at Damian with barely contained worry. 

"You said he just shouted then stopped responding?" Bruce clarified.

Damian nodded, looking at the phone still in Bruce's hand like it had threatened him. 

"Okay," Bruce sighed, brushing his free hand over his jaw. "Okay. Let's look for signs of struggle."

And this was how you could immediately tell that the Wayne family was nowhere close to normal. Normal families would call the police. 

The batfamily searched on their own, then only called the police later to keep up the civilian facade. 

Dick stepped slowly back, then flinched forward when his shoulders met the walls solidly. The feeling of any walls touching him while his feet stood through the things on the floor almost made him want to bend over and vomit. But thinking about vomiting also made him stress about what would happen then and what the sick would touch or if it would make any noise at all. It was repulsive and horrible to think about, so he found a tiny place of clear flooring that wasn't near any walls and folded his arms across his chest.

He watched Bruce and Damian comb through his room, looking for any signs that his disappearance wasn't on his own power. Dick hoped they found something. A reason for why he was a ghost in his own room. 

A solid thirty minutes passed before Bruce deemed Dick's bedroom clean. Evidence wise. Not literally. Dick was pretty sure his room was in an even bigger mess than what it had been before. He jerked out of the way of Bruce as he walked ignorantly past Dick towards the living room. Damian followed along, dragging his feet. 

It was then Dick noticed Damian's hand wrap around the door’s handle. Pure terror shot through Dick's veins, which gave him just enough courage to quickly dart forward and purposely run through Damian into his living room before he was locked back in there again. He didn't know he was gasping and choking back horrified sobs until he felt the first tear tickle down his cheek and off his chin. 

And this all felt so real suddenly. Like not being able to touch Damian—one of the most important people in Dick's entire life—was what gave it the official stamp of reality.

Dick was a living, breathing, walking ghost. 

He couldn't touch anything. He couldn't be heard. He couldn't open doors or pick up phones or touch the shoulder of the man he had considered his father for longer than he had known his birth father. 

It was all he could do to stand and force himself to breath—but did he even need to keep doing that?—and let his tears silently fall. He watched Bruce and Damian sift through the rest of his apartment and finish empty handed. It was hours later when Bruce suggested going back to the cave and checking Dick's phone for any possible clues. So, after Bruce hid a few sensors around to warn them if Dick "came back", they went to the front door while Dick made sure to stick as close as he could without going through them. He wiped under his eyes as they approached Bruce's car, his heart stuttering when he realized he didn't even know if he could even sit in the car with them without phasing through the seats. He might have to walk back to Gotham. 

That would take… hours. 

And oh God, would he starve? Would he be slowly forced to thirst to death because he couldn't touch any of the substances he needed to live? 

Bruce opened the drivers door and Damian opened the passenger. Instead of thinking about the very real possibility that Dick probably had less than a few days left to live—if he was alive at all—Dick once again forced himself to go through Damian. 

Somehow, against all odds, Dick was able to touch the car. Except, when his knees went through Damian's lap to touch the cushioned chair and his hands shot through Bruce's shoulder to support himself jumping into the back of the car, the normally well padded leather was stony and unrecognizable to his touch. It didn't give under the pressure of his weight or grip. It didn't sink around his touch. It remained like cement. 

It felt like cement. 

Dick curled up in the back seat, his heart jumping madly when both the drivers and passenger doors closed. He suddenly felt like a trapped animal. He had no will here. He didn't even bother to try the door handle of the back seat, because he knew it wouldn't go anywhere. The doors wouldn't open for him. The walls wouldn't bend. He brought his knees up to his chest as Bruce drove onto the road and as Damian turned on the radio. 

And he… simply watched out the window and tried not to make too much noise that no one would hear anyway. 

-o-o-o-o-

Getting out of the car door was more adrenaline inducing than standing toe to toe with Killer Croc. It was a good thing Dick was so flexible and had decades of experience with flipping his way through life. Thanks to that, he managed to jump out of the car just in the nick of time.

Seeing the manor like this hit differently. He was barely aware of Bruce and Damian walking past him towards the front doors until he saw Alfred open those aforementioned doors. Dick had to sprint to get inside, and he tried his best to not flinch as the door shut behind him. He didn't succeed. 

Not that anybody saw. 

"Master Dick?" Alfred asked, and more a heart stopping moment Dick almost thought Alfred was talking to him. 

But then Bruce shook his head and began to shed his jacket. 

"No sign of him. His apartment was locked and there was no sign of forced entry."

Alfred frowned and Damian shoved past them all, his body moving with less confidence than it normally did. Dick watched him go, desperately wanting nothing more than to race after him and gather him into the world's bestest hug, but Bruce was heading to the cave with Alfred trailing along. Dick had to help in whatever way he could to push Bruce into finding out what happened. Damian… could wait. He'll have to wait. It wasn't like Dick could do anything for him if he decided to follow after the clearly upset teen anyway. 

"It's almost like he just vanished, Alfred," Bruce continued, his voice oddly wet. Dick's heart tied itself in a knot. "Into thin air."

"No one simply disappears into thin air," Alfred sniffed. "You will find him."

"Yeah," Bruce agreed, sounding unsure but determined at the same time. They walked into the study and Dick carefully followed them both into the cave through the narrow passage of grandfather clock. 

Bruce quickly got to work and Dick stood back, careful to not touch anything. Bruce started the search as he always did, by sifting through traffic cams around the scene of the crime. And since it was Dick's apartment, he also had access to the normal security measures Dick had installed. 

Hours passed and Dick soon found himself sinking to sit on the floor of the cave, watching as Bruce found nothing after nothing after nothing. 

Dick could relate. He certainly felt like nothing.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick couldn't thirst or starve. He found that out on day three of this entire mess, slinking around from open door to open door, doing nothing but breathing and existing. Well, existing to no one but himself. He hadn't even realized he wasn't starving or dehydrated until Tim, Cass, Jason, and Duke showed up three nights later for a quick family dinner. Dick was touched that Bruce called them, and even more touched that they all came. But, as much as he was touched, he was also jealous of the meal Alfred provided. Frustrated that he didn't exist enough to join. 

Bruce filled them all in on what little they knew on the situation and then they all spent the night patrolling Blüdhaven for clues. Dick didn't get into the Batmobile in time to follow along, so he spent the entire night trapped in the cave with Alfred's silent company. 

He spent the nights wandering the hallways and avoiding everything he could walk through. He'd walk and walk and walk until he'd sit down in the middle of the dining room floor, where the carpet was short and didn't stab him like the shaggy carpet of bedrooms did. Where the animals were least likely to unknowingly fall asleep inside of him. 

On the fifth day, he thought Alfred the Cat was watching him. He cried for hours later when he found the cat was just watching a fly. 

Days ticked on. Dick was reported missing to the police. Damian talked less and less, smiled less and less. The others went back to their lives with "keep me updated" being mumbled before they went. 

Dick continued to not exist. 

When the second week passed by, Dick found himself sneaking outside when Alfred went to get the mail. He didn't know why. Maybe it was because it was raining and he was wondering if he'd be able to feel that. 

He didn't. It just went through him and he ended up being trapped in the cold air outside, exploring the wet grounds and not making a single splash, until night came and Damian let Titus and Ace out for a quick potty break. 

By the time the third week came around, things really started to change. It seemed Bruce was constantly talking to people. The police, the Justice League, Dick's friends, everyone who were trying to track him down… and it killed Dick to stand back and watch, clutching his stomach as nothing turned up and Bruce kept coming up with nothing. Dick wished he could leave some sort of message. A way to tell Bruce that he was right there. Just invisible and silenced. But there. 

Dick would love to tell Bruce that he was right there. But at this point, Dick really began to wonder if he was really there at all. 

What if he was dead? Living people didn't go for three weeks without eating or drinking and remain alive. Alive people don't walk through furniture or get trapped simply by closed doors. 

But he couldn't tell Bruce. Which was why when the third week came up and Bruce once again ran into a dead end, he wasn't really all surprised to watch Bruce angrily hurtle his phone across the room and collapse into his chair with his hands in his hair, dangerously close to ripping the fine strands from his scalp. 

The longer Bruce sat there, the more Dick was sure Bruce had finally given up. Batman couldn't find him. It was the waiting game now. Sit and wait and hope. 

Dick left the room shortly after, his mind racing, loneliness running like a poison through his veins. He went to find Damian, but when he found the kid cuddled in a giant beanbag in the library, Alfred the Cat on his shoulder watching him draw carefully, he knew there wouldn't be anything here to reassure him that he'll be found. He walked around Damian anyway, bending down to look at what he was drawing. 

His heart clenched. It was a portrait of Dick. Damian was carefully working on the details of his top lip, shading each little bump and pore with incredible accuracy. 

Dick didn't look more at it. He left the library and roamed the halls, looking for an open door that he can sneak into and get some alone time. Just to calm down. Just to reassure himself that there was no way his family would leave him like this forever. 

That they haven't truly given up on him. That the whispered words of maybe he's dead and he's not coming back, is he haven't actually been said. 

He finally found a room with an open door and he immediately squeezed inside. The room was smaller, which made his anxiety climb ever so slightly, but it was also close to empty with a clear enough space for him to sit down and meditate without touching and going through anything. The door must have been opened by Damian. The kid had been searching out silent places to be alone quite often recently, sometimes forcing Bruce to search the halls, calling his name loudly until Damian finally revealed himself. 

Dick sat down and breathed.

Of course, it couldn't be so easy. His brain immediately recalled back to Bruce looking defeated. To Damian painstakingly crafting every detail of Dick's face with a pencil like he was worried he'd someday forget what Dick looked like. To Jason not having been over in way too long; reports in Blüdhaven of Red Hood being spotted on multiple occasions. To Tim who accidentally referred to Dick in the past tense a couple days ago and looked sick with himself the moment he realized what he said. To Cass who would somehow stroll the same halls as him when she's over until they pass by his bedroom door and she would stop and frown and walk away. To Duke who looked at his portraits Bruce had on the walls and look like he desperately wanted to understand something that he'd never actually be able to now.

They've all given up. He knew it was only a matter of time before there was an empty casket funeral. 

He wondered if he could make that a reality. Death. He didn't need to eat or drink. What if he just… stopped breathing? What if he clawed out his own throat with his nails? What if the next time Alfred opened a window to air out an old, unused room on the highest floor he just jumped out? 

Or would the world be so cruel as to keep him like this for the rest of eternity? Forced to watch as he's given up on, buried, and forgotten? He didn't want to die. Not like this. Not in name before body. 

And not for the first time since Dick inexplicably became a ghost, he felt his throat choke on the beginnings of a sob. 

He curled up a bit, trying to staunch it because he had quickly become annoyed with the sound of his own voice. Why could he still hear it when no one else could? It was awful. Like his words and noises we're all just in his head and he was only hearing what he thought he should hear. 

He gasped wetly, wiping under his eyes and trying to stop this all from happening again. He had already cried enough these last few weeks. He couldn't keep crying every time he felt alone. 

He bent in on himself further, his arms curling around his stomach in such a way that if he imagined hard enough they belonged to someone else and he was in another's calming embrace. It didn't work though. He knew he was alone. He couldn't pretend. 

He was so deep in this attack of utter turmoil and unhappiness that he didn't notice approaching footsteps until he heard the sound of creaking door hinges followed quickly by a click of a door latch. 

Dick looked up with blurry, panicked eyes. 

The door. The door was closed. 

"No," Dick breathed. "No no-" he scrambled to his feet, all the blood rushed from his head and combined with the terrible spike of horror to make him perfectly lightheaded as he stumbled to the door and wrapped his hands around the knob. It didn't budge. "NO!"

He spun around, barely aware of his already panting breaths and frantically searched the room for a hopefully open window. 

The window was closed. He didn't know why he even looked. 

"Fuck," he gasped, grabbing his chest as it constricted tightly. More tightly than what he had felt in a long time. It felt so painful that it was all he could do to turn and bang a closed fist on the door. He wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. "HELP!"

He didn't know why he was calling out. Hitting the door like he thought it might make noise. 

No one would hear him. 

"ALFRED!" Dick screamed. "BR-" he was forced to stop mid-word on that one thanks to a heaving gasp that curled dangerously in-between his ribcage. He swallowed. Or tried to. "BRUCE!"

He kicked the door. Covered one hand over his mouth and tried to calm down. Tried to not think about the solid walls and the solid door and how he was powerless to leave this room. Why did he come in here in the first place?!

He couldn't calm down. All he could think about was how screwed he was. How hopeless everything was. He kept his hand on his mouth as his legs eventually gave out. He brought his knees to his chin and laid on his side atop the carpeted floor, babbling cries and names and pleas until his throat was raw and everything woozy. 

He didn't know how or when he finally passed out, only that he woke up to a still closed door and a still small room, and it took every ounce of his will power to not immediately cry again right then and there. He stayed curled up on the ground and closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around his stomach and tried to pretend that everything would work out. Eventually everything would be okay. 

He was wrong. 

It took two weeks for the door to open for Alfred's regular airing out of the rooms to reach the one he was trapped in. 

By then, he didn't even know if he should bother to stand up and walk out. 

Not when he was surely no longer alive. Not when he felt perfectly content just laying here being dead. 

But the thought of that door closing again and him having no power over it eventually managed to force him stumbling to his wobbly feet and walking out. 

He didn't know what to expect when he shuffled slowly deeper into the manor. More than a month has passed since his disappearance. Most people don't keep a whole lot of hope for a missing person to return after this long. By this time, people normally began to suggest funerals quietly between each other. 

It didn't take long to find the family. What shocked him though was that everyone was together in the living room, even Alfred who must have finished opening certain doors and windows to refresh the stale air inside the rooms they belong to and walked back quicker than Dick. A movie was playing, some Pixar movie Dick hadn't seen before because of his busy lifestyle. 

And for some reason, this hurt more than if he came in here to find them alone, mourning, depressed. 

They're all watching a movie together. Bruce on the recliner, Damian squeezed between him and the arm of the recliner even though there was more room in other places. Jason sprawled over the three cushioned sofa, his legs resting over Duke, Cass, and Tim like a makeshift blanket. Alfred had his own recliner to himself, reading a book to himself but occasionally glancing up towards the screen. Steph was there too, but she had made herself comfortable on the floor with the entity of the living room's decorative pillows.

They're all watching a movie together. 

Dick had been trying to get that to happen for months. And they're doing it now, when he's gone with no foreseeable way to get back. 

Dick slowly sank to the floor and watched them poke each other and whisper quips to each other and laugh at the funny bits with each other. 

Was this the life he was doomed to have for the rest of eternity? Chasing open doors and watching people move on from him? Do things simply in his memory? 

If he had tears left to cry, he would have shed them.

Instead, he just sat there and watched. 

-o-o-o-o-

Dick's funeral was four months later. The gossip channels and media said they have finally given up. Dick thought they held on for longer than most. 

He didn't attend his own funeral. He didn't want it to feel final. He didn't want the undeniable proof that they've stopped searching. He didn't want to see them cry for him. 

So he walked the manor grounds opposite of the family graveyard. He kicked his feet as he walked, pretending that his footsteps carried weight on the grass and that he was solid enough to disturb the smallest pebbles on the stone pathway. 

Maybe he was dead. Maybe this was hell. He didn't remember where he went, if he went anywhere, when Lex Luthor killed him, but maybe this was it. He didn't know what killed him or what happened to his body, but he was starting to become convinced that he really was simply a ghost, cursed to walk the world and watch people move on and live on without him. 

Half a year ago, that would have settled horribly into his gut. Now? He was numb. 

He continued to walk, to let his mind drift. Pretend he was alive for a little while longer before he returned to the manor and the services and dinners and receptions were over. Decide what to do now that his life was now officially over. 

He sighed and ignored the feeling that he's just as trapped out here in the manor grounds as he was in that room all those months ago. Ho continued to roam.

Though, the sound of a humming voice had him stopping in his tracks. 

No one should be over here. They all should be back at the funeral. Dick immediately focused on the noise, not even bothering to step carefully or approach cautiously. It wasn't like Dick could be seen or heard anyway. He just wanted to see who had snuck into these parts of the grounds while his literal funeral was going on. It was strange and horrible to think about, but come on? A little respect please? He hoped it wasn't some paparazzi. It meant that they'd somehow gotten through Bruce's security… which also meant that Bruce was more depressed about this than what Dick initially thought. He'd seen Bruce get low these past few months, but never low enough to sacrifice the safety of the people he provided shelter to. 

Dick walked towards the grove of trees that the humming was coming from and frowned when he eventually saw the back of a person strolling through the controlled nature. The man was taller than Dick—which wasn't a difficult achievement—and was wearing a simple brown-orange hoodie with dark blue jeans. His hair was dirty blonde and styled up like someone glued a giant ball of cotton to his scalp. Dick didn't recognize him, which instantly set off alarm bells inside his head. The open house reception should be over but the rest of the services were all reserved for close family and friends of Dick's. But this man… he couldn't be someone that was invited. 

Not for the first time, Dick felt the crippling weight of helplessness wash over him. This man could be dangerous, but Dick couldn't do a thing. He couldn't warn anyone. 

He could just watch it happen. 

Or… ignore it. 

He shook his head and sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the same pair of sweats he'd been wearing since that fateful night half a year ago. He almost began to approach further, because even though he was helpless to change anything or warn anyone, he was still curious… but then the man turned around and Dick was stopped in his tracks. 

He didn't... He didn't have a face. 

Dick gaped and watched as the bumps in the man's face that must be cheekbones rose ever so slightly. 

"Oh!" The man said, even though he had no mouth. Dick had absolutely no idea where the sound came from. "You are here!" 

Dick turned around behind him, and saw nobody. Something fluttered in his chest. A hope he didn't dare grasp at even though… even though… the man could only be talking to him. 

"We lost track of you after the convergence. Most people stick around where they disappear!" 

"Are you…" Dick tried, his voice barely recognizable even to himself, "are you talking to me?" 

The limited features of the man's blank face softened. "Yes I am, Dick Grayson. You've been lost a long time."

And Dick… didn't know what to do. This entire time he's had absolutely no contact with anything in the world. He couldn't move anything, couldn't touch anything, couldn't speak or make himself known. This scene before him, one where his voice was heard and he was answered… it was so foreign. Unreal. Dick almost reached down to pinch himself. 

"But luckily," the man continued, "after a long time searching for you at your home city, we figured you must have found a way to your family. That or began to aimlessly wonder like others like you sometimes do."

"Like… me?" 

"Yes," the man nodded then took a step closer. Dick stood his ground as his thoughts ran circles in his brain. What was going on? "You're trapped within the folds of reality, Dick Grayson. It's not something that commonly happens, but something that can be catastrophic if we cannot find you immediately." He paused. "You are Nightwing in this world, are you not? You must understand how the universes work in odd ways."

Dick wanted to nod. Laugh. Cry. Step forward and see if he could touch the man. But he didn't. He just stood there as the man continued. 

"You see," the man said, bringing a hand up to his featureless chin, "what happened was that this universe brushed sides with another one. One that's almost exactly the same in every aspect to yours. Normally, when universes brush, they're so different that they reject each other and go on their merry way down the time stream. The problem was, that because these two universes were so similar, reality as we knew it, well, it got a little confused. It tried to sort out what belonged to what. It gets it wrong sometimes, which is why you're like this. In the universe you brushed with, Dick Grayson was dead. Everything else was exactly the same, but because you were dead and alive the universe decided to make you both. This is why you're stuck here. The universe can't remember if you should be living or dead."

Dick never pretended to understand the multiverse. It always seemed the rules were constantly changing. Shifting to accommodate spontaneous things. It seemed the only one who truly had a grasp on the entirety of the universe was Bart Allen, but the kid was shockingly tight lipped about most secrets of reality despite his superhero name of Impulse. 

And really, Dick didn't care how he ended up like this. All he could really think was how this man could see him. Was looking for him. Something was finally going to change. Whether he was supposed to be fully dead or fully alive... He didn't really care.

He couldn't stand around, trapped in his own intangible body, and do nothing for much longer. 

"So… what does this mean?" Dick asked. "What happens now?"

The man's face squished oddly, and Dick couldn't figure out what he was thinking at all. "What happens now is that we make things right. Return you to the universe you're supposed to be dead in, and keep you in the universe you're supposed to be alive. It will be painful, but don't worry, neither of you will remember a thing."

"Neither-?" 

Dick's question didn't get much further, because in an impossible blink of an eye, the man was right in front of Dick, hand pressing against the side of his head with his thumb pressed above the bridge of Dick's nose. Lightning shot through him, and his vision whited out. Everything became too much and so little at the same time. Hot and cold. Loud and silent. He might have screamed or he might have sighed.

Either way, the sensation didn't last for long. 

Soon he wasn't feeling anything at all.

-o-o-o-o-

Damian hated this. He knew death and sorrow unlike most others. He had seen men and women fall in so many ways it was impossible to list them all. He had seen the way a corpse would slowly rot, and stink, and collapse. He had seen bodies feasted upon by wolves and flies alike. 

He knew death. Yet, for a number of reasons, he just couldn't comprehend this one. 

Because Richard couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. He was simply missing. Nowhere to be found. 

He wasn't dead. 

Damian didn't understand why everyone else insisted on believing otherwise. Father had said that he's searched, and for some reason that meant if Batman couldn't find him then he must not be able to be found. No one besides Damian argued with him. Even Timothy didn't believe him.

He at least had the decency to look ashamed when Damian called him out on it. 

However, it seemed Damian's thoughts and feelings on the matter didn't, well, matter. Even though he was the last one to speak to Richard. Even though he knew for sure that Richard was somewhere alive out there, doing everything he could to get home. Damian swore he would continue to believe in that. No matter what. Even if these months turned into years. Even if Damian no longer remembered every detail of his face by thought alone. 

Father wouldn't let him skip out on the fake funeral though. 

Which was horrible for a massive amount of reasons. All of Richard's friends were here, sobbing and blabbering like children. The empty casket sat above a deep hole with flowers piled on top, and one by one someone would approach, say something emotional out loud or under their breath, then leave the flower in the mockery of Richard's life. 

Damian was glad that his immediate family went first. That way he could slink to the back of the crowd and hold Titus by the leash. Watch from afar. Plan for the millionth time on how he was going to fix this. 

That speedster… Wally West was in the middle of breaking down on top of the casket with large tears cascading down his cheeks when Damian felt a tug on the leash. Damian frowned and looked down at his normally perfectly behaved dog to see the animal trying to tug Damian towards the unoccupied grounds of the manor. Damian tugged Titus gently back, tutting at him under his breath. 

Except, Titus didn't stay at Damian's side for long. The animal took one wide eyed look at Damian before turning tail and sprinting. The leash was yanked out from Damian's hand, and it was all Damian could do to not shout in surprise or outrage. 

He nervously shot a look at the casket, where Donna Troy was now saying her goodbyes while West leaned onto her for support, making sure no one was watching him, then turned to chase after his disrespectful dog. 

It might be a fake funeral, but it was a funeral nonetheless. 

Damian ran after Titus, jumping over shrubbery and flowers like they were the gaps between rooftops, diving for the trailing leash whenever he got close enough. 

He never got close enough. 

Out of breath and covered in grass stains and twigs, Damian watched with glaring eyes as Titus took refuge in a carefully planned grove of trees. Thankfully, Damian saw the dog halt on the other side of a bush, bending his neck down to sniff at something. Probably a wild animal. Even though Damian could have sworn he trained Titus better than to chase rabbits or squirrels. 

Damian stuffed his hands in his suit pockets and began to stomp his way over. 

"Titus! Quit this misbehaving!" 

Titus looked up from what he was sniffing, whined, then bent back down. Completely ignoring Damian. 

What was going on with that dog? 

Damian walked around the clump of bushes and between the trees, extremely curious as to what was so important that Titus would disregard orders for it.

When Damian saw what Titus was bent over, Damian felt every single molecule of air leave his body like he had been sucker-punched in the stomach. 

"Richard?" Damian breathed. Double took. "Richard!" 

He sprinted forward and Titus quickly jumped out of the way. Horrified and terrified and shaking, Damian grabbed Richard's shoulders and turned him around, for he was laying face down on the ground. 

Richard groaned, but didn't open his eyes. Blood trickled down the corners of his lips and nose. His clothes were filthy. He looked like death. 

But he was alive.

Damian turned to his good, good dog. "Go! Get father! Hurry!"

Titus didn't have to be told twice. He barked then sprinted back to the forest. 

Damian turned back to Richard, running his hands across his body, taking in the loss of weight, the eye bags, the stains of mud all over his clothes. He shook his shoulders, trying to wake him up, but Richard remained asleep to the world. 

It took a second to realize he was crying. 

Thankfully, he was able to wipe them away when a confused and worried Bruce Wayne busted into the grove of trees along with the rest of the family and even a few of Richard's friends. Gasps and shouts filled the air, and Damian soon found himself pushed back as Dick was rushed to by the adults. 

The ambulance was called not long after. 

The drive to the hospital seemed like a dream. 

The wait felt like it took years, but Richard only took about three hours to wake up, severely starved and dehydrated and not a single memory of the past five months.

And somehow, everything went back to normal. Richard was released from the hospital a few days later with a strict meal plan and physical therapy schedule. His memories didn't return, but sometimes Damian noticed things had changed in Richard since then.

Like his new and strange fear of small spaces and closed doors.

It didn't matter though. Damian was just… overjoyed that he was right and that Richard was still living a breathing, even if it seemed he had simply vanished and reappeared from thin air, with no trace of anything in-between. 

All that mattered was that the family was whole again. Richard was on the road of a full recovery. 

No one could ask for more. 

[luisjuanmilton]

ohhh, can you write number 4 with sewis? :))))

I love writing Sewis so much thank you for this (I also got really carried away sorry about that 🌚)

Sewis + “a hug after not seeing someone for a long time”

Send me a pairing and a prompt if you want :)

Sebastian was bouncing his knee up and down in a rapid motion, knowing that he was coming increasingly closer to have Britta snap at him but finding himself unable to stop.

The start of the bloody pandemic coincided with one of his visits to Maranello, and no matter how hard he tried to find a way out of Italy there was nothing he could do about it. He did have a house there so that part wasn’t the problem.

No, the problem was that he had left his husband back at their Switzerland home, and it had been almost four months since he had last seen him.

Obviously, they had been Face Timing literally everyday (even if it had taken a while for Sebastian to get the hang of it, since he was famously opposed to technology), but it wasn’t nearly the same as actually being in the same room as him.

Today was the first time they’d be seeing each other after spending so much time apart, and Seb literally felt like he would die if he had to spend even another hour away from him.

“Sebastian, I know you miss Lewis very much and I know how excited you are to see him, but please remember what we talked about”

He scowled at Britta’s words, not keen at all to follow the protocol she had told him about. Sebastian adored Britta, he really did, but right now he really didn’t want to do as she said.

“Sebastian”

“Yes, yes I remember. I’m not allowed to even shake my husband’s hand”

Britta rolled her eyes “It’s not like that and you know it. Most people don’t know about your relationship, so you have to keep socially distanced from him in front of the cameras”

Sebastian only scowled harder, and Britta let out a long-suffering sigh. Sometimes, she thought, he still acted like the twenty-year-old gremlin she’d started working with years ago.

Their car pulled up at the Red Bull Ring after what must have been 20 minutes at most but still felt like hours to Sebastian, and he was the first to get out of it as soon as they parked.

He ignored Britta’s voice as he quickly made his way further into the paddock, pursing his lips under his mask as he had to stop and get his temperature checked and slather antibacterial gel on his hands.

The rational part of him knew that all those safety measures were very necessary, but he was past being rational.

As soon as he was given the go-ahead, he continued to jog towards where he knew the Mercedes garage was, and he couldn’t even bring himself to feel bad about how he was literally ignoring everyone who tried to stop him and say hi.

When he finally reached the silver and blue garage he started to madly look around for his husband, and just as he was about to break about thirteen FIA rules and make a mad dash into another team’s facilities, he heard a very familiar voice calling his name.

“Sebastian!”

Seb turned around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, and as he caught sight of Lewis standing just a few feet away from him, looking as beautiful as he ever did even while a mask covered half his face, he felt tears brimming in his eyes.

“Lewis!” he called back, wasting no more time before running towards his husband and all but launching himself into his arms.

Lewis caught him with the ease of someone who’d being doing that very same thing for more than five years, burying his hands in Sebastian’s blonde hair, and letting out a shaky breath.

The German truly felt like his heart was going to implode by how fast it was beating, and he couldn’t help himself from running his hands all over Lewis’s back before moving to his shoulders, his neck and finally his hair, almost as if he wanted to make sure that he was actually there.

“God, I missed you so much” Lewis breathed out, the pained tone of his voice making Sebastian’s heart clench as he tightened his arms around him even harder.

“I missed you more my love”

After that Sebastian leaned backwards slightly, just enough so that he could see right into those brown eyes he loved so dearly.

Lewis brought a hand up to cradle Sebastian’s face, and the German sighed contently as he felt the coldness of his golden wedding ring even through the mask.

“I want to kiss you so badly, you have no idea”

And well, Sebastian had to use every ounce of self-control he had not to rip off both their masks and kiss him right then and there.

“Don’t worry darling, as soon as we’re alone I’ll make up for all the time we spent apart”

Before Lewis could answer a loud clearing of throat snapped them out of their little bubble, and when Sebastian turned his head to the right he gulped as he came face to face with a very angry looking Britta.

The couple smiled innocently out of force of habit, even if the woman wasn’t able to see it.

“Hey Britta” Lewis greeted sheepishly, dropping his hand from Sebastian’s face as he looked around them and noticed how every single camera was pointed towards them and how even many drivers had stopped on their tracks at their very dramatic reunion (he could make out Daniel exaggeratedly waggling his eyebrows all the way over at the Renault garage).

“Hey Lewis” Britta said after letting out a long-suffering sigh, and only then did Seb notice that Angela was standing a few feet behind her with her face resting on her palm.

“Just how much trouble are we in?” Sebastian asked, thinking it was better to rip it off like a band aid.

“I’ll have you two signing merch until your fingers cramp”

The two winced, knowing that she really wasn’t kidding.

But another look at Lewis’s face was enough for him to forget all about their imminent punishment, and he shamelessly linked their hands together, his stomach flipping around happily because of how right it felt to be able to do that again.

“Worth it” he declared cheekily, yelping as Britta slapped him across the head with the stack of papers she was carrying.

Even then, the sound of Lewis’s laughter made any pain he could have felt go away entirely. 

[fandom-necromancer]

601. If you kill them, you’d better kill me too, because otherwise I’m going to kill you.

This was prompted by the awesome @smolandangry001! Thank you so much for the prompt, this has gotten a bit longer than the normal stories but it actually has story, not just fluff or angst XD Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: Undercover mission gone wrong, kidnapping, violence, offscreen mentioned torture)

‘Nines! Anderson! Connor!’ RK900 looked up from his screen towards Fowlers office. What could possibly have happened for him to be called up there? And why him and the others? The only times Fowler had called him it was because and together with Gavin, something that was impossible now. The man had been on an undercover mission for three months now and one would have thought he had adjusted to him missing in the workplace and in their flat. But no, the void space opposite to him and at home felt weird and even hurt sometimes. He missed his partner dearly. He missed the man’s rare moments of cuteness, the little sweet things he did for him and the habits Nines had developed to return them. He missed their fights, their snarky comments and most of all he missed someone having his back and someone to care for. Sure, he had their cats at home and whenever it was safe, Gavin contacted him via a special chat-program, Nines had written and installed on his phone. They still were in contact relatively regular, but it just wasn’t the same.

The android got up from his seat and followed Connor and Hank into the office. Fowler stood up as soon as he entered, coming around his desk and laid a hand on his upper arm. This wasn’t good and immediately Nines tensed and felt his LED glowing red in his temple. ‘Nines, I… This isn’t good, okay, but I need you to stay calm. We will take action. We will do everything we can. But we have to plan beforehand to make it work.’ Yeah, this wasn’t good at all. ‘What is it?’ Nines forced himself to not let it show how panicked he was. This was something about Gavin, it had to be. But, oh, how he wished it wasn’t. The Captain leaned back to turn his screen and immediately Nines’ analysis-software went haywire.

The screen showed a paused video. Some figure sat slumped down on a chair, held up only by ropes around legs, chest, arms and throat. It was a bit blurry, but the clothing matched Gavin’s. Still, there was a 0.2% chance they were just wearing similar clothing and it all was just coincidence. He held onto that calculation. Fowler sighed and hit the spacebar letting the video continue.

“Hello, fellow boys in blue out there!” The voice was distorted heavily, but Nines was already trying to restore it. “Didn’t think we would find your man, huh?” There was laughing and Nines immediately knew he hated the idiot behind the mic more than anyone else he had ever met. “Well, maybe next time find someone who has less qualms and a more polite mouth.” The words were emphasized by a clangourous slap across the chained man’s face, that let their head bounce back, so the camera could get a good picture. Nines had been about to step forward in an useless attempt to stop the person who hurt the man. The 0.2% quickly dropped to zero. This was Gavin. This was his partner, his friend, his- Gavin woke up from whatever it was that had him hang in the ropes and shifted with a painful grimace. ‘No.’ Nines had whispered it, but the room was dead silent. “I don’t know what to do with him yet, so maybe you could help me? I could kill your friend here, but I think he could be useful still. We demand a school bus. And a safe passage out of this state. Once we left, you get your idiot back, how does that sound, huh?” Only as his artificial skin retracted Nines realised how hard he had pressed his hands into fists. Everything in him screamed to run, to help, to do anything. “Two am. Monday. Location is attached. No tricks. I won’t hesitate to play with him a little, so if you want him alive and in one piece, better do as we said.”

The video stopped and restarted as they watched it again and again, Nines fixed on his love in that chair, wincing every time they hit Gavin. It was Hank, who reached over and stopped it, speaking slowly and low. ‘I think that’s enough. What do we do?’ Nines was still staring at the screen, at the clearly visible bruises and the ropes that dug into his skin, and his combat profile rose up. What do we do? We run. We find Gavin, we free Gavin, we kill anyone who stand in our way. That was what the soldier said. And that was what he wanted.

‘Connor!’ As Fowler cried out the order, Nines was already flying out of the door and down the bullpen, before the other RK unit could throw himself at him and stop him. ‘Nines, stop! Don’t do this!’ ‘They have Gavin!’, Nines hissed against the floor he was laying on and pressed against the weight of the other android on top of him. ‘What would you do would they have the Lieutenant?’ ‘I know. But you can’t just run out there without a plan. We will do our best to safe him.’ ‘Your best is not enough, Connor. You are an obsolete model saved by deviancy. Your careful planning and rational actions will get him killed!’ He didn’t want to be so cruel, but he had to go, he had to help his partner! ‘Nines, I agree. That’s why we need your power on the team, not wasted!’

Nines went lax. Still everything told him to follow his prime directive and the soldier wasn’t about to back down. But he knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t fight against his brother. As he was sure Nines wouldn’t try anything, he let go. ‘Okay, calm down. You will get him back faster than you can think. I promise. Concentrate on the case at hand, okay?’ ‘Okay.’ ‘Good. First of all we have to find out where he is.’ ‘I already know that.’ Nines was still bouncing to let this spiel fall and run. ‘What? How?’ ‘I sort of programmed a form of a pseudo-android-network on his phone. Until three hours ago I know exactly where his phone was. And if they demand a bus, I don’t think they want to leave now.’ ‘Good. Where?’ ‘A house in the suburbs. Still marked as vacant since a family left during the revolution.’ ‘Do you have a building plan?’ ‘Of course I have, Connor, I would be far quicker had I just already gone!’ ‘But do you know how many there are? What weapons? No. I figured. Stay here. It won’t help Gavin when you are killed trying to save him.’ ‘Fine.’

 Nines played along precisely long enough for his shift to end. ‘I’m off, Connor. See you tomorrow.’ ‘Nines. Where are you going?’ ‘Home. The cats need to be fed.’ ‘Are you sure? Don’t lie to me.’ ‘This isn’t a lie.’ ‘Good. Then stay safe.’

It wasn’t a lie. He did drive home and fed the cats. Even cuddled a bit, just in case. But then he left. There was no way he was sitting around doing nothing, when Gavin was hurt and in possible danger. Who knew what these criminals would do to a police officer. Maybe they would stay true to their promise and care enough to let him stay alive. But that didn’t equal unharmed.

He was quick to be back outside again and stopped in his tracks as he found Connor leaned against Gavin’s car. He sighed. ‘I hope you are not here to stop me.’ ‘I don’t think I would be able to if I tried. I got you by surprise, but I am no match for you being the obsolete one.’ ‘I’m sorry, Connor, I really am. But I’m worried. If something happened to him… I- I wouldn’t-‘ ‘Don’t. I know what you feel. I would do the same for Hank. That’s why I came.’ ‘You won’t stop me.’ ‘I didn’t come to stop you. I want to help you. It’s the least I can do for my brother.’ ‘Thank you. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’ Connor already entered the passenger side. ‘Try not to kill anyone, that would be enough.’

Nines speeded across town on the fastest route there was. ‘What do we tell the precinct once we have him?’, Nines asked. ‘I wanted to take you somewhere to keep you from running to Gavin’s rescue. Then we happened to come across some illegal activity and coincidentally this was the house Gavin is kept captive in.’ ‘They won’t believe that.’ ‘They can’t prove it either.’ ‘Anderson knows of this?’ ‘I left him a note. He’ll understand.’

They parked the car a few blocks away and got out. Nines dropped his Cyberlife jacket in the car. It was already dark, so he would blend in with his black turtleneck and trousers. ‘I can make out three persons in the front, you see anything else?’ ‘Three in the front. There is a laptop I could try hacking. Not sure if they would notice.’ ‘What about the phone? You said you built an android network?’ Nines nodded. It basically felt like an extended part of him now. ‘I’ll try to access it.’ His LED spun yellow for a few seconds. ‘front camera is dark, back camera shows a lamp on a ceiling.’ ‘All the lights upstairs are off. A cellar?’ ‘Yes. There is one. No outdoor access, there is a stair down.’

They came nearer and hid in the neighbour’s bushes. ‘There is a window’, Connor pointed out and Nines zoomed in on it. ‘Possible entrance. But they might notice. It’s closed.’ Connor smiled. ‘But it is a digital log. I can hack it. The whole house is connected to a central processing AI. I could try and hack it, while you scout around the place. You get in, get Gavin and come back, I’ll distract them. Sounds like a plan?’ Nines nodded. He crawled out of the bush, while Connor’s eyes started to flutter. Not much more time passed, and the window opened silently. Nines stuck his head into the space and scanned the place. The window led into some empty broom closet. He signed Connor an okay and squeezed himself through. He barely hadn’t made it as his frame was designed broader than most humans. But he made it and pulled up the floorplan in his HUD. Outside the door was a narrow hallway leading to a single room intended for storage. Most likely the place they kept Gavin in. He fetched some duct tape from a shelf and ripped off a piece to cover his LED, then made way for the door. From the heat signatures, there are two persons outside, Connor sent him over their wireless connection. I’ll create a distraction upstairs. Maybe that will get them out. Nines waited, until he heard a scream from upstairs. What did you do?, Nines asked. Someone was dumb enough to sit on the stove. Nines grinned. Weren’t you the one who said no person harmed? No person killed, was his answer.

Nines waited some more. Any movement on our two guards? Can you see Gavin? Still there. And yes, he is in the next room. I’ll try something else. Nines saw the flicker of light under the door. Soon enough footsteps. Nines pressed himself against the door until the person was right in front of it, then he opened it and put his whole strength into the blow. The door smashed into the man’s face, Nines took him by the collar and yanked him inside the closet, closing the door again and making sure the idiot was unconscious. Then he used his duct tape to gag and handcuff him and let him drop to the floor. One out, he reported. One left. She has heard the commotion. Is coming towards the door. There is an 87% chance she’ll open it. Nines nodded although Connor couldn’t see him and pressed himself to the adjacent wall. There were footsteps again. Then there was light, as the door opened. Nines waited until the woman entered, then grabbed her back and throwed her against the wall and preparing her just like the other guard. Now the way was free. Gavin was nearly safe!

Nines jumped out, ready to run towards his partner. Nines, stop, there is another heat signature there is- He saw him. Standing behind Gavin, smiling devilishly at him, was a well-dressed man, holding a gun to his head. ‘I told you no tricks. I knew you would come. And I’ll tell you what you’ll do now: Go back out and maybe I won’t kill him.’ ‘If you kill him, you’d better kill me too, because otherwise I’m going to kill you’, Nines growled low. ‘Please, no one has to die here. Just go, get your boss to get us that bus and no one will be harmed.’ ‘Oh, but maybe I want to see you harmed?’, Nines hissed. ‘I’m not sure you know my model, but you would either be fast enough to kill him or to save yourself by shooting me. If you kill him, you are dead. If you let him live, there is no need for me to kill you. So, what is more important to you? Proving a point or continue to live?’ Switch off the lights, Connor!

In pitch darkness there was a shot. Then a clatter. Back on!

Nines was on top of the asshole that had threatened his partner, who was holding his bloodied, cleanly shot through hand. Nines didn’t hesitate to punch the man over and over again, until he was unconscious. And then, for good measure, again. After that, there were more important things.

Gavin had been gagged since the video and was barely awake. There was blood on his face, bruises all over and red marks from the ropes around his throat. Nines couldn’t be fast enough to untie him and catch him as he fell towards the ground. ‘Gavin! Gavin, I’m here! You hear me? All is good, we are going home. You are safe!’ Are we safe? This was Fowlers plan. They arrived a few minutes after you entered as backup and are now cleaning up the upper storeys. I needed distractions after the stove. Stay there. Ambulance on its way.

Nines exhaled heavily and pressed Gavin to his chest. He was safe and with him and nothing else mattered.

[hannie-dul-set]

things you can't hide. [boo seungkwan]

@bloatedboo asked: this was rlly hard to choose but seungkwan, sports!au (volleyball), fake dating, and #5~ take ur time love !

SUMARRY | seungkwan decides that you’re his best bet to get his annoying friends to finally fuck off PAIRING | boo seungkwan x reader GENRE/PROMPTS | fluff, college! au, sports! au (volleyball) + fake dating! au + "you have the emotional capacity of a brick" WARNINGS | swearing WORD COUNT | 2.1k

a/n: ksjqqkk i highly apologize for the lack of volleyball in this hhuhuhu i have zero (0) knowledge about sports but i hope you still like it!! editing allexandra: this is very old and very terrible please read at your own discretion JSHFJSDH

“stop worrying too much, it’s gonna be fine! everything’s gonna go exactly as planned,” seungkwan reassured while the both of you made your way towards the court.

“you’re the one who’s worrying, kwan,” you rolled your eyes, “i can’t believe i even agreed to this.”

around a week ago, the male hadgracefully interrupted your peaceful shift at the school’s cafe. apparently, his friends in the volleyball team (mainly kim mingyu) have been egging him about ‘finally removing the shackles of being single.’

“it’s not like i can’t get a girlfriend,” he scoffed, glaring at the iced americano before him. “it’s more like i just can’t be bothered. but lately, they’ve been the ones bothering me.”

you questioned the male as to why exactly he’s telling you these things. it’s not like the both of you were close, anyways. a few “hello’s” were shared in the hallway but besides that, nothing much.

“you see, dear y/n,” seungkwan slowly placed down his drink while letting out a sigh, his face practically screaming 'a weekend in hell would seem more tolerable’. “i don’t think i can fucking handle any more of their bullshit and pestering and you seem to be the perfect solution that i have.”

he went on about his 'ingenious’ plan of finally getting his friends off his tail— which basically just consisted of you pretending to be his fake girlfriend.

upon hearing this, you sternly declined. “im sorry, seungkwan. im afraid i wouldn’t be to help you in fooling your friends.”

“wait—!”

before you even managed to stand up, seungkwan slammed both of his hands on the woods table— deliberately catching the attention of not only you, but also the handful of students that were occupying the café, as well.

he stifled out a cough and went back to his seat, “let me finish.”

you sighed, “this better not be a waste of time,” seungkwan gave you a look of offense to which you rolled your eyes, “hurry up.”

the male pressed both of his palms together, letting out a deep exhale through his nose. he mumbled a low 'i hope i don’t fucking regret this’ before looking you sternly. (he hoped you hadn’t heard him, but guess what: you did.)

“be my fake girlfriend. in exchange, i’ll treat you to brunch every single day during our fake relationship. deal?”

is this guy really that desperate? you though to yourself. you spend a few moments of pondering silence until seungkwan interrupted.

“oh come on! you get to have free foodand commit a good deed— how hard is it to decide?”

a long sign escaped from your lips. it’s either the rational part of your brain decided to temporarily shut down, or he just seemed really pitiful. whatever it is, you agreed to help him. if that was the correct choice, you don’t know.

“oh my god, thank you so much, y/n! i swear, you just saved ten years of my lifespan.” you rolled your eyes, standing up with the male following behind you.

before you returned back to the staff room, you decided to ask seungkwan a question.

“one last thing, seungkwan,” he raised a brow, waiting for you to continue, “out of all the people, why’d you ask me to help you?”

he stayed silent for a while, formulating a proper response.

“y/n,” your eyes met his. you could feel your cheeks starting to heat up as he looked at you with such intensity. your breath hitching in your throat, anticipating on what he has to say.

“from the handful of conversations we’ve had before, i could conclude that you literally have the emotional capacity of a brick. therefore if we don’t seem convincing, we can blame in on your incapability to express human emotions! aren’t i a genius?”

you nearly slapped the man, but nevertheless you relented.

so that’s where the both of you are now— walking hand in hand to the volleyball court where his friends await your arrival.

“oh shush, we’re already almost there. no room for backing out, now,” you shot a glare at him, earning a smug smile from the male. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous; acting isn’t exactly your strong suit.

you felt seungkwan squeeze your hand, “you don’t have to be afraid to tell me if you’re nervous. your face might not say it, but your incessant shaking does.”

“sorry,” you breathed, “i’ll be fine.”

“'fine’ my ass,” seungkwan scoffed, “it’s completely normal to show at least the tiniest bit of emotion sometimes, you know.”

“excuse you, i am more that capable of showing emotions— you just don’t deserve it.” you snide, the male chortling in response.

“seems like i do; i’ve never seen you this annoyed before,” he snickers. you could only groan as the both of you enter the court’s premises.

from afar, you could see five figures sitting around the benches. you can only recognize one of them; a kid name lee chan— whom you share sociology with. you assumed these guys are his friends.

seungkwan dragged you to a corner before you head to the group. he grabbed both of your shoulders, letting out a long breath, “alright, don’t forget— we met at a bookstore in town and found out that we both share the same school. we decided to hang out quite often and eventually grew feelings for each other—”

“then you asked me out four months ago at the same bookstore where we first met. i know, seungkwan. don’t worry, i’ve memorized all of it,” he let out a sigh of relief.

“good, good. if anything wrong happens—” a flash of fear shrouds seungkwan’s face, “let’s just hope not, yeah? i’d rather not think about the immense torment i’d end up having to go through if this fails,” he shuddered.

the both of you finally decided to make your way towards his friends. you could see the male’s nervous expression at the corner of your eyes. seeing that didn’t exactly make you feel any better.

“seungkwan!” you see the tallest of the bunch waving at the man beside you.

an exasperated sigh escaped seungkwan’s lips as you quickened your pace towards the group. you could sense the curious looks that each of the boys are giving you as you neared and it didn’t exactly make you feel comfortable. you bit the inside of your cheek when you finally reached them.

“y/n? i wasn’t aware you and seungkwan were close,” chan chin pointed at the male beside you, earning an offended look from him. “i also wasn’t aware that you were interested in volleyball. much less any sport, to be honest,” he shrugged.

you opened your mouth to give a response, but seungkwan beat you to it, “she’s just here to watch practice.” you could feel the nervousness in his voice and silently praying that the boys don’t notice it, as well.

“doesn’t answer anything, though—”

“were dating,” you deadpan.

it was silent. too silent for your liking. a surge of anxiousness started to creep into your brain and you started to have a meltdown. wait fuck was i not supposed to say that? you looked at the male beside you for assurance, but he didn’t seem to be faring any better.

yep, we’re fucked. definitely, absolutely, utterly—

“holy shit, kwannie, congratulations!”

wait what.

“man, i really thought you were gonna stay single for the rest of your life, kwan,” one of the boys (to which you later learned was seungcheol) proclaimed, trapping seungkwan in his arms. you could practically see his soul slowly descending back into his body.

you let out a sigh of relief. thank lord jesus, i didn’t fuck up.

after learning their names, the boys suddenly attacked the both of you with a torrent of questions— mostly consisting about your apparent relationship. (the one named jeonghan asked if you two have fucked yet, which earned him a bruise on his arm.)

thanks to seungkwan’s constant surprise quizzes, you managed to answer all of them. they all seemed to be convinced that you and seungkwan are indeed dating— except for one, that is.

“didn’t you say you were too busy for a relationship literally just a month ago?” jihoon, who had been quiet since you’ve arrived, asked.

“i— i wasn’t ready to tell you guys yet,” seungkwan responded, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. the shorter male only narrowed his eyes at him.

“don’t worry about it, seungkwan. i understand,” jeonghan leans back on the bench, “i wouldn’t want to tell this guy i have a girlfriend either, who knows what he’ll do,” he accusingly points at mingyu, who was innocently using his phone.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he furrowed his brows and pocketed the device. the two started to bicker and eventually, the rest of the boys joined in.

“you literally hooked up with minhee last time— who, in fact, has a boyfriend.”

"that was one time! and i didn’t even know that, she never told me!”

amidst the chaos, you felt someone tug on the sleeve of your shirt. you turn your head and see seungkwan giving you a small smile, “thanks a lot for agreeing to this. sorry that you have to witness their bullshit and i’ll apologize in advance since i’m pretty sure that there’ll be more to come.”

“it’s fine,” you muse, “they’re quite the entertainment, actually.”

“oh? is that a smile i see?” seungkwan teases. your cheeks flush a light pink, turning away from the male.

he gives you a playful smack, “hey, that’s not fair! let me see—”

before seungkwan could tease you any further, seungcheol decided to interrupt, “alright, kids, stop messing around. let’s head to practice— we’ve wasted enough time, already.”

a series of groans and whines erupted, but nevertheless, they all followed. the boys began to make their way to the center of the court while you stayed behind at the benches. you sat down and closed your eyes, letting out a long sigh. these guys were nice and all but they we’re pretty draining; you weren’t sure if you could keep up with them the next time seungkwan decides to bring you along.

in the middle of your peace and quiet, you could hear a pair of footsteps making their way towards you. you opened your eyes and saw seungkwan in front of you.

you raised a brow, “aren’t you supposed to start practice?”

“seungcheol can’t find his water bottle,” he takes a seat beside you, “i wonder why.”

you elbowed the male, eliciting a yelp from him, “ow! what was that for? if you’re thinking that i hid it then you’re wrong— it was jeonghan!”

the male gave you a pout and you stuck your tongue out in response.

“wow, you’re getting better at the whole emotions thing,” again, you elbowed him, “stop that! this is domestic abuse, i could sue you, you know!”

you could see seungcheol gesturing seungkwan to come back. it seems like he finally found his water bottle. seungkwan groaned as he begrudgingly stood up. before he left, he decided to tell you one more thing.

“hey, y/n. i know this whole relationship thing is fake but i really hope we like, enjoy each other’s company, y'know? i don’t want you to do this if you don’t want to.” he said.

“i wouldn’t have agreed in the first place if i wasn’t okay with it,” you explain, “i mean yeah, i was hesitant at first and mainly did it for the free food. but as we went along i um—”

seungkwan looked at you expectantly, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. you bit your lip and averted your eyes from him.

“i—i kind of like being with you,” a coat of red covers your cheeks as you uttered out each word. seungkwan couldn’t help but break out into a huge grin upon hearing you.

“no need to be shy, yn. the feeling’s mutual,” the male pats your head, causing you to glare at him, “yikes, we could work on your expressions though. you don’t glare at the guy you like being with.”

you tried to kick his foot but he managed to dodge. he let out a laugh at your failed attempt. lucky for him, seungcheol yelled at him to get back before you could try to abuse him any further.

“boo seungkwan! get your ass over here before i do it myself. you could hang out with your girlfriend later.”

“yes dad, i’m coming!”

you could hear a chorus of laughter coming from the rest of the boys. he gave you one last look before finally taking his leave.

“don't forget we have brunch tomorrow.” he said.

you look at him, lips forming into a smile.

“i won't.”

[blancheludis]

Fandom: Marvel, Iron Man Rating: G Characters: Tony Stark, Howard Stark, Edwin Jarvis

Summary: “I’m sorry,” Tony whispers as quietly as he can. It is perhaps ironic, to apologize for talking too much by talking, but he does not know any other way and he needs to get this out now. Tony is sure he can remain silent all his life if Jarvis just keeps being his friend.

- When Tony is allowed to come into Howard's workshop, he is beyond ecstatic, intent on not messing this up. He does not mean to get blood on his father's workbench. He does not mean to cry. He does not mean to be a failure. Again. Luckily, Jarvis is there to pick him up.

A/N: @iron-man-bingo

The engine is heavy. It is only a part of it, of course, for Tony could not possibly carry all the parts at once. Even so, his arms tremble as he takes one careful step after the other. He might be able to put the engine down earlier if he walked faster, but too many things litter the floor. If he stumbled and fell – well, the engine is too priceless to even consider.

Tony is halfway to where his father is working on the parts that Tony has already carried over, when he needs to take a break. He needs to be quick about it but being tardy is better than clumsiness, although neither will be tolerated. Tony is six years old already, after all, he knows better.

“Where are you, boy?” Howard calls, tapping the wrench he is holding against the surface of the workbench.

Trembling or not, Tony’s arms reach automatically for his heavy load again. He cannot mess this up. The last time he was allowed in here was a disaster. It is a wonder that Howard took him in again at all.

He walks faster than he should but he reaches his father without incident. An apology is already on his lips but he hesitates. Starks do not apologize, Howard often says, although he likes to make an exception for Tony apologizing to him. It is never quite clear when Tony is expected to do what. He guesses he is still too young – or too stupid – to understand.

“What took you so long?” Howard grunts but does not pay Tony any further attention. He all but rips the part out of Tony’s hands and gets back to working.

Tony rolls back on his heels, content to watch his father build. It is fascinating to him to see what older and cleverer fingers than his can create. He hopes that, one day, he will be as good as his father. If only he would be allowed to practice.

“What next?” Tony asks after several long minutes, trying not to sound too eager. Were it up to him, he could stand here for hours, simply watching. He is used by now to soothing the itching in his hands to keep them to himself. Howard does not like laziness, though, so if Tony wants to see anything at all, he should make himself useful.

Looking up, Howard’s face takes on a distinctly irritated expression. He does not like being interrupted either. There are so many rules Tony needs to keep track of, he keeps messing up more often than not.

“Take that apart,” Howard says, pushing some complicated looking part towards him. It has Tony immediately excited, eager to find out how it works. “Not even you should be able to fuck that up.”

Nodding in agreement, Tony picks up his treasure and sits down on the ground a good few feet away. Howard’s tools are too big for him, but Howard took away the smaller ones Jarvis got him, telling Tony that work is not playtime and he should not waste time on using tools he will soon outgrow.

For a while, they work in almost harmonic silence. Every now and then, Howard mutters something under his breath or takes a sip from the bottle that is never far from his side, but he does not throw anything or has to remind Tony how to do the most basic steps of working with engines again. It is nice. Maybe things are getting better, Tony thinks, maybe he is getting better.

A sharp pain rips him out of his musings. The pleasant feeling in Tony’s chest vanishes abruptly when he looks down at his hand and sees blood welling up from a large cut. Stupid, he curses himself. He should not have gotten distracted. It turns out he is not getting better. He is just as clumsy and useless as he has always been, and likely always will be.

Tony bites his tongue as he contemplates what to do. His father gave him a task but now there is blood dripping to the floor. It hurts, too, more the longer Tony stares at the cut. He should not be a sissy but –

Before he can think it completely through, Tony’s legs are moving.

“Dad?” he tries cautiously, hoping his father will have time.

“What now? Didn’t I give you something to do?” Howard asks, barely looking up from what he is doing.

Like an offering, Tony raises his hand, holds it out between them, all the while trying to swallow the whimper rising in his throat. He realizes that he has not succeeded the moment that Howard whips up his head, lips already curled into a snarl.

Howard does not say anything at first, however, but merely stares, taking in the cut and the way Tony stands. A drop of blood falls between them, splashing on the grey surface of the table. Almost faster than Tony can see, Howard moves and slaps Tony’s injured hand away.

“Don’t make a mess,” he shouts, but Tony cannot listen.

He is cradling his hand to his stomach, his eyes burning at the aggravated pain. A sob falls from his lips but he is too far gone to care.

“It hurts, Dad,” Tony whispers. Rationally, he knows that admission will not do anything but make his father angry but all other thoughts are struck from his mind.

“Then take it like a man,” Howard says coldly. “I didn’t raise a girl.”

Tony is not old enough to be a man yet, though. He is not big or strong or tough enough, and he does not know how to make himself grow faster. Unable to stop it, Tony feels a tear run down his cheeks. He ducks his head, but he knows Howard has already seen it.

“Starks don’t cry,” Howard bellows, leaning down so that his breath whips Tony’s cheek. Alcohol burns in Tony’s nose.

More sobs come that Tony is not able to keep back. He tries to straighten, but Howard is close enough that Tony takes a step backwards. He stumbles over something and falls to the ground. All of him hurts.

“Shut up, boy,” Howard orders, and Tony wishes he could comply.

The day began so wonderfully. He thought everything would turn out well if only he could prove to his father that he could be of some help in the workshop, that he is not useless after all. Now, though, he proved Howard right all over again.

“But,” Tony says and clamps his lips shut too late. The most important rule is to never argue with Howard. He cannot even do that right.

“You’ve never had anything to cry about in your life, boy,” Howard says, coming closer until he looms over Tony, making him feel smaller than ever. “So you better stop before I give you something real to cry about.”

Immediately, all air leaves Tony’s lungs, taking all sound with it. He remembers the last time he ignored a warning like that, and the pain in Tony’s hand pales in remembrance of what happened then.

“Well, you’re not completely hopeless, at least,” Howard says with more scorn than approval, but at least he has lowered his voice. “Now get out of my sight. And I better not hear a single sound from you for the rest of the day.”

Howard barely waits until Tony frantically nods his head before he turns back to his work. With an expression of disgust, he wipes the drop of Tony’s blood away with some oil-stained rag.

Still holding onto his injured hand, Tony climbs slowly to his feet, trying to be as quiet as possible. Again he is too slow.

“What are you still doing here, boy?” Howard asks, tethering on the edge of losing his patience.

That is a tone Tony knows too well. Holding his breath as to not accidentally make a sound, he flees.

Jarvis finds him while he is trying to bandage his hand. The worry on his face is soothing in its own way, and not only because it is the clearest indicator that Howard is not around. Appearances are important, or so Jarvis has taught Tony, so they cannot behave like friends when Howard is around.

“What happened, young sir?” Jarvis asks, hurrying closer.

He takes Tony’s hand in his own, turns it to get a better look. The cut has stopped bleeding. It does not even look so bad anymore, probably does not even need stitches.

Tony wants to tell Jarvis that, but when he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. It should be all right, Howard is down in the workshop and cannot hear him, but he does not want to risk it. His father is always annoyed when Tony talks. It only occurs to Tony now that others might think the same.

His mum is not around often enough to know just how much Tony can be. Poor Jarvis, however, has to bear Tony all day long.

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispers as quietly as he can. It is perhaps ironic, to apologize for talking too much by talking, but he does not know any other way and he needs to get this out now. Tony is sure he can remain silent all his life if Jarvis just keeps being his friend.

“What for?” Jarvis asks, frowning. He is still holding gently onto Tony’s hand.

There is so much to choose from that Tony would barely know where to start even if he could speak freely. For staining his shirt, for starters. For upsetting Howard. For making more work for Jarvis. For being clumsy and needy and too loud. For being himself.

Tony shrugs but keeps looking at Jarvis, hoping that he will understand that Tony knows, he just cannot say it.

“Does your throat hurt?” Jarvis asks, full of patience. When Tony shakes his head, he adds, “Did something happen at the workshop with your father?”

Well, it happened because Tony is no good at what he was doing, because he let himself be distracted by how nice the future could be instead of concentrating on building it. Still, he nods weakly. It is not Howard’s task to make sure that Tony does not harm himself by being stupid, after all. Starks should be better than that.

“Did your father forbid you to speak?”

Tony almost shakes his head. He is not supposed to make any noise at all, but he barely knows how to do that. Every breath he takes is deafening in his own ears, every heartbeat thundering. As usual, he is already failing at the simplest of tasks. Shame burns in his cheeks, but since he is too afraid to admit that, Tony nods again.

“All right,” Jarvis sighs but does not sound angry with Tony. He never is. “Let’s clean this up and then we’ll go to your room. Nobody will hear us there, even if we dragged your mother’s piano there and let monkeys jump up and down on it.”

The picture is so hilariously impossible that a giggle escapes Tony’s lips, if only for a second until Tony remembers himself and cuts it off. Jarvis never stops smiling, though, so Tony guesses he is still safe.

Tony makes no sound while Jarvis cleans the cut first with water then antiseptic, although it hurts. He holds still when Jarvis wraps a bandage around his wrist, although he knows he should take it off again for dinner, for his father will surely see it as a sign of weakness, and Tony is trying to be better.

Then they are done and Jarvis offers Tony his hand. Together they go to hide in Tony’s room. Only when the door is safely closed behind them does Tony allow himself to breathe normally again.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Jarvis asks as they sit down on the bed next to each other.

“I messed up,” Tony admits quietly, picking at his bandage. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot sound unaffected. He ruined a good day, just like he always does.

Piece by piece, the whole story stumbles out, and while Tony tries to keep his voice low, it still echoes in his head, so he carefully watches Jarvis’ face for any sign of annoyance. It never comes. Then again, Howard never looks mad when they are in public either, even though he starts shouting the moment they return home.

Jarvis has never hurt him, though. Even at six, Tony knows that is not the most glowing of assessments. Jarvis is so much more. Tony knows a lot of words, but he has not yet found a word worthy of describing Jarvis.

“I think we should do something loud,” Jarvis says when Tony is done talking. There is no judgement in his tone for what either Tony or Howard have done. He never judges. Otherwise, Tony is sure, they would not be friends.

“But I can’t,” Tony protests, glancing nervously at the door, even though his father is down in the basement. “Dad said he doesn’t want to hear a single sound from me.”

Jarvis nods but never loses his gentle smile. “And we established that he won’t be able to hear us up here.”

Somehow, Howard always knows when Tony has done something wrong, however. Sometimes he knows even before Tony does something. It must be a superpower. Or Tony is simply bad all the time.

“I should probably practice being quiet,” Tony says, upset that he has to turn Jarvis down. He is trying so hard, though, and one day Howard will have to see that.

“Do you want to be quiet?” Jarvis counters, as if what Tony wants is really an option. He is still too young to know what is good for and expected of him, after all.

Tony shrugs. “I want Dad to stop being mad at me,” he finally says. That is not a no, but it is not quite a yes either.

“You can’t be quiet all the time, though,” Jarvis points out.

That is true. Sometimes Tony needs to solve equations for his father, sometimes Obie wants him to explain some blueprints. Sometimes the press is asking him questions and he needs to answer them the way he has been told to.

Still, Tony says, “Dad says I should.” Perhaps Howard means that Tony should only be quiet when he is around, when he is working or eating or lecturing Tony. That would make sense. Perhaps the ‘no sound’ rule is only a temporary thing. Almost excited, he remembers something else Howard told him once. “He said I should only talk when I have something important to say.”

Jarvis nods as if Tony has just solved a difficult puzzle. If there is something sad to the curve of his lips, Tony thinks he must imagine it. “Well, I think everything you say is important.”

Instinctively, Tony shrinks back, glancing at the door. He knows it is wrong to go against what Howard says, and Jarvis has just called him all but a liar. At the same time, he wants to desperately believe that Jarvis is right, wants his own words not to be insignificant, the sounds he makes not to be a bother.

“But Dad –” Tony says, out of habit. He stops willingly when Jarvis interrupts him.

“Isn’t here.” Jarvis’ face becomes almost mischievous, which is enough to intrigue Tony. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” Reaching behind himself, Jarvis picks up one of Tony’s pillows and pushes it into Tony’s arms, then gets another one for himself.

“Hold your pillow like this.” Jarvis raises it up to his head, then pressed his face into it, burying himself almost completely in it for a moment. “And then scream as loud as you can.”

Tony, who has been following Jarvis’ instructions up until that point, lets his arms and the pillow fall limply back into his lap, staring incredulously and quite a bit afraid at Jarvis.

“What if somebody hears?” he asks, wondering whether doubt will cause Jarvis to get to his feet and give up on Tony, although he has never done so before.

“They won’t. That’s what the pillow is for,” Jarvis reassures him easily. “But you will hear. It will help you find your voice again.”

That is a silly thing to say. Tony has never lost his voice after all, he has just been told to use it sparingly – or better not at all. He knows how he sounds, he knows how to speak. It would likely help more to learn how to interact with the world without talking. He does not say that, however, because Jarvis is likely trying to teach him something here, and Tony does not want to disappoint him, no matter that Jarvis’ effort is likely wasted on Tony.

Very slowly, he raises the pillow back up. It is uncomfortable to press his face against it so hard, but he does not want to risk too much sound escaping. Once he is sure the pillow is secure, when he can barely breathe anymore, Tony screams. It ends up more of a drawn out syllable, slightly above speaking volume.

“Like this?” Tony asks, both eager to be done with this and to have done well. He does not feel like he has found his voice again yet.

“Almost,” Jarvis says. “Just a bit louder. Let me show you.”

And then Jarvis, impeccable, always collected Jarvis, takes a deep breath and buries his face in his pillow and screams into it, loud enough that Tony feels the trembles of his body right to his own core. So loud that Tony looks at the door again, fearing that Howard will storm through it any moment now.

Then again, for how forceful Jarvis must have screamed, it was not very loud at all. With as small a body as Tony has, he cannot possibly be as loud as Jarvis, so it should be all right, even if he poured all his strength into it.

Once Jarvis emerges from the pillow, looking strangely satisfied, Tony is eager to try again. Without further ado, he presses his face back against the pillow. It takes only a little bit courage to open his mouth this time and just scream.

His whole body loosens into the movement, leaning forward, following the sound. He comes up too quickly, needing air, but then he remembers Jarvis taking a deep breath before he screamed, and tries again. This time, he is even louder and the scream lasts longer.

It feels good, weirdly so. He is doing something forbidden and gives it his best. He is letting go, just like that.

This time when he takes down the pillow, Tony is smiling widely, feeling only happier when Jarvis smiles back.

“Very good,” he congratulates, and Tony can only nod in agreement. “And now we’re going to go down to the kitchen and you will tell me something about everything you see.”

Just like that, tension creeps back in as Tony’s smile slides off slowly. Screaming up in the safety of his own room is one thing, but openly defying Howard’s order out in the open is another altogether. Anyone could be walking in on them. Howard usually does not come into the kitchen, but he has the habit of not doing what Tony expects – not when he is hoping for the best at least. They should not risk it.

“Why?” Tony asks. Jarvis only wants what is best for him, after all, so he will have his reasons.

Jarvis shifts his position until they face each other and Tony cannot easily look away. “Because you have a bright mind, Master Tony, and you deserve to be heard, even if Sir isn’t ready to listen,” Jarvis says like there is no doubt in his mind, like Tony does not disappoint everybody he meets. “One day he will be ready, and I don’t want you to forget how to make yourself heard by then.”

Tony does not know what to say to that, whether to call Jarvis out on lying to make Tony feel better about himself, or to simply nod and accept it like he does when Howard talks. Howard does not usually have anything nice to say about Tony, of course.

Looking down at the pillow in his lap, Tony makes a decision. Jarvis has never failed him before, so it would be madness not to trust him. So Tony nods his acquiescence, but asks, “Can I scream into my pillow again before we go?”

When Jarvis’ face brightens, Tony knows he has done the right thing. “As often as you need to,” Jarvis says, sounding proud. Then he raises his own pillow. “Together?”

And together they shout Howard’s words away.

[chertailor-blog]

Dearest Reader, part 2

Dearest reader, permit me to enthrall you with what happened next in the tale that began with Iceland, and ended with those terrible beings, tall and rough-hewn, pulling themselves from the ash of the Breyanvik caldera, and the mad dash I had made with a handful of like-minded expedients.

Surely this was a nightmare, some fell dream caused by a vulcan miasma, or perhaps by an undercooked ration from our ship’s own galley. I slapped my cheeks awake, but discovered none but my own frantic sobriety.

Each tent was bare, save for a dark, reeking stain whose material I could hardly speculate. There was no time to waste, I could barely see the glowing crags upon the bodies of the caldera beasts, more obvious now, in the dark. They wandered in loose lines, like soldier ants. I saw flashes, heard the distance-delayed reports of firearms. I trekked south as my feet could take me, knowing I could naught but slow them down had I had waited up for those behind me.  Surely they would catch up to me, surely.

I know not how long I wandered, as the hours of night seemed endless. I collapsed into a ditch, spending my last conscious thought praying that I would awake after a few hours of respite--or at least, perhaps, that I die in the cold, rather than by the things from the caldera. I would rather confront the arm-thing again than spend another minute walking through the snow.

I remember awakening, ever slowly, to the feeling of heat. My mind raced, my body shook. In my delirious state I had nearly struck my savior in the face. 

“Hold on there, big guy,” he asserted, but the words fell through my ears. I groped blurrily around, finding a solid wall on my right, and a nightstand to the left. I tried to speak, but found myself coughing instead. The man waited for me to complete my fit.

“Where…” I coughed, “Where is my party? The Going Merry, the crew…”

“Going Merry?” he asked. 

“The steamship, steel on the sides, smoke from the top…”

“That could be any kind of steamship.”

I paused, realizing the obtuseness of my description. “She has a red-striped bow, her crew came in a few days ago. I need to find the others--” I tried to stand, but a stinging pain ran up my leg, which appeared to be deftly banaged.

“Only one steamship came into these parts,” he said, “I’d say a night or two ago.”

He paused, “we found you out on the ice, my friend. You were lucky a passing trader saw you, passed out in a ditch. You were a little banged up. I’m Gunnar, by the way.”

I was still sweating despite the cool air of the cabin, thinking about the thunderous feet of the upright monsters with fiery sinews. I asked Gunnar if he knew of the Going Merry’s expedition, but he could do little to balm my worries. 

The expedition team, the porters, the cook, none had been seen yet, or none that we had asked. It was just me, found by the wayside of some road near town. Worse than anything was the timetable. The innkeeper said he had seen me just yesterday, which would be impossible. I had been out in the hills for no less than two days, plus that time I spent wandering aimlessly back to town. I calmed my nerves with something fermented and collected my thoughts, wondering what to tell the crew that had stayed behind.

I’ve heard that after a good night’s rest, yesterday’s harsh reality can feel like a bad dream, and that felt all too true as I told the captain my tale, which he gladly watered down, assuming that I’d lost my marbles in the midnight sun. He did his best to twist my story, that I must have been left behind during one of the camp’s movements, and that I had merely decided to shamefully abandon the adventure and blame it upon northern lights and midnight madness. I felt so embarrassed I crept to the inn and felt like waiting there, all night if I had to, to have my story corroborated by any other survivors. 

Gunnar, in his generosity, had booked me two more nights at the inn while I waited for anyone, a single soul to return from the north. The third morning, the Captain himself was at my door. My stomach turned. Surely I’d be abandoned on this icy shore for shirking my duties as a porter. But no, he looked upon me with solemn, almost empathetic eyes.

“Son,” he said, “I looked through every scrap of paper I had, and not a single person left a definitive note on where your expedition was headed. They booked passage for Iceland, and that’s it. Did any of them mention their destination?”

I thought hard, looking through the hasty journal I had written after I awoke at Gunnar’s cabin. “Breyanvik, sir. At least, that’s how I think they said it.”

“A town to the north?”

“No, sir,” I replied, “a shield volcano, two days north at least. Red as a campfire from miles away.”

The captain sighed. “I’ve asked the locals,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “the only thing north of here is a long road and a trading post.”

He paused. “There is a volcano, but it’s been dormant for generations.”

“Then what burned me, captain? My wound is still weeping…”

“Firstly, I think you know little of the world, and even less about hellfire what runs beneath the earth,” the captain said tersely, “Secondly, perhaps you tripped over a campfire… However, if you’re looking to be a man of honor, I expect you to stay here a few more days until the expedition returns, as I do expect to get the back half of our pay from those wanderers.”

I nodded, seeing little other options. That night I rested best I could, a book and a roll of bandages as my only company. My leg interrupted my focus as I shifted in bed, and I knew it was best if I redressed the wound. 

In the dim light of a candle, I unwrapped my misadventured right calf which stung defiantly. The burn was not flat, like those I saw upon the coal-shovelers on the Going Merry, those who had the misfortune of touching the hot pipes. It was uneven. A thin, ragged line, like the bite of a dog.

[ejm513]

MY PROUD CORZÓN PT. 1  CHAPTER ONE

~MY PROUD CORZÓN~

~PART ONE~

~COME WHAT MAY~

~CHAPTER ONE~

HECTOR

NOVEMBER, 2004

I love my job…

I love my job…

Sure I was struggling to get many students. Sure the ones I did get were not… promising to put it gently. The brown haired boy sitting in front of me had been dragged in by his tense mama. At least the he had put in something that looked like effort. His green eyes stared duly at the small guitar in his lap. His thin, little hands desperately tried to reach around the finger board. No matter how hard he tried the boy couldn’t do anything but make the most horrendous chords I had ever heard.

Well… I at least I knew why he had thrown such a fit earlier.

I had asked him to practice Ode to Joy-the easiest piece of music known to mankind. I thought it wasn’t too much to ask; spend fifteen minutes a day on that simple piece.

What I heard was a series of clashing chord after clashing chord that made my ears want to bleed.

“Stop Stop Stop!” The boy halted, staring at me with massive, very confused eyes.

“What?

“Did you practice Tom?” Tom’s back straightened, his eyes narrowed in anger. He crossed his arms over his chest, taking on a defensive stance.

I could only hope he wasn’t as much like his mother as I feared he was.

“What do you mean ‘Did I practice?’”

“I mean I asked you to practice easy piece for fifteen minutes and you’re not playing it right… at all.” I said, trying to keep my composure. Tom’s defensive stance and hostile glare became worse, making my blood begin to boil.

This was going to be a long lesson.

“You can’t accuse me of not practicing! You don’t know me! You don’t know what I do outside of this stupid lesson!!”

I could only breathe in deeply through my nose and pray for God to give the patience I so desperately needed.

“Chamaco”

“Don’t talk to me in that alien tongue!!”

My calm expression faded. I could feel my blood boiling so hot that my skin felt hot to the touch. I placed my hands together like I was saying a prayer and pointed them at the defensive, entitled boy.

“I know you didn’t practice Tom, because your fingering is wrong and your chords are somehow worse.” I explained, my voice as tense as my body. Tom, being who he was, thrusted the guitar in my arms and shot up to his feet.

“You know what screw you!!” His squeaky voice bounced off the thin walls, filling the entirety of the small practice room.

My eyebrows raised to my hairline, my mouth dropping to the floor. I could not believe the words coming of the child’s mouth. I couldn’t seem to find my voice until he pulled out his phone and stormed towards the door.

“Hey! Get back here!! You can’t talk to me like that or use that language! You’re only 11!” I cried, placing the small guitar gently on the ground and dashed after him. Tom stopped and spun on his heels. His face was a red as a tomato. His nostrils were flaring like an angry bull. I almost took a step back, floured by the furry filled expression that looked so much like his demon mother.

The thought crept into my mind that I was not getting paid enough to deal with these kids.

“You can’t tell me what to do! You’re just a stupid music teacher! You’re probably here illegally anyway and I’m going to tell my mom and she’s going to get you deported!” My jaw once again became unhinged as he marched out the door and slammed it behind him. My eyes didn’t move. All I could do was gawk at blink. Tom’s words bounced around in my head, making my heart begin to sink in my stomach. The rational part of me knew not to believe the threats of a rotten child. I had been legal since I was 21 and had every single scrap of paper to prove it.

On the other hand… the utterly irrational part of me screamed in terror at the idea of what an angry middle aged woman could do.

Yup… I definitely did not get paid enough.

Still shocked by the hot headed child, I turned around and walked back towards my chair. I sat, picked up the child size guitar and just stared at it.

I couldn’t tell you exactly what I had expected when I left Mexico-but teaching these pequeños mocosos was definitely part of the plan. When I was 17 and made the admittedly impulsive decision to leave Mexico, it had been for same vague notion of glory and fame. I could still remember sitting on the roof of my home, gazing at the stars, unable to escape Ernesto’s voice. Ernesto-my closest friend on this Earth-was the one who had put those tales of glory in my head. He would go on and on and on and on about the fortune that was waiting for us in the tall buildings and bright lights of New York. Had it been up to him we would have just packed out guitars and worried about the logistics later.

Now I may have been an impulsive idiot, but I wasn’t stupid. If I was going to make my name in America I would do it the right way (or as Ernesto called it the stupid way). I would go to school there, work to become a citizen and take advantage of the opportunities America held. It turned out there were far more than I could wrap my head around.

Maybe that was part of my problem.

I let out a sigh and ran my fingers through my hair. Ernesto’s deep, soaring voice flooded from the room next store. He too had been forced to teach lessons. While I taught guitar and music theory, Ernesto taught voice. We had been lucky enough to be hired by a small music school that was so desperate for teachers they would have taken anyone who breathed. Like myself, this had not been a part of Ernesto’s plan at all. He despised it as much as I did on my worse days. In fact I wouldn’t be surprise if he hated it more than me. His hatred had nothing to do with a displeasure of working with children or even the idea of helping others improve their craft. I knew deep down he felt as he if was wasting his time. While I was entranced by the idea of fame, it was what kept Ernesto motivated and smiling. It was what kept Ernesto alive.

But of course, so did food, and dreams aren’t always the best at providing food.

With nothing else to do I stood up and went to put the guitar away. Tom was blessedly the last lesson of the day. That meant I had a few hours until Ernesto and I played another gig in a never-ending stream of gigs. Though I knew Ernesto was going to find it aggravating, I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for him. I threw on my coat and typed out a quick message to my partner.

Hector: Tom stormed out… again. I’m going to go home and get ready to the show. I’ll meet you at the bar.”

With a small smile on my face I put on my ear buds and walked out the small studio. A blast of frigid air smacked me in the face, taking my breath away and stinging my cheeks. I pulled my coat up to my face and began the brisk walk home.

I didn’t know if I would ever be used to this force New York called weather. I could still remember my days in Santa Cecilia, when November required nothing more than a sweatshirt at most. I wouldn’t dare try such a stupid thing in New York. It was already far colder than my home town, creating a chill that was somewhat alien to me. To add to my misery this city had to be an island, making it exceptionally windy. The sprawling, tall buildings only seemed to act like a funnel to make the frigid win even stronger and icier.

This lead to my long nose and thin face growing red and a pair of screaming lungs. It was days like this that I wanted to go back to my 17 year old self and slap him silly until America was nothing but a legend meant to terrify children.

No matter. I would just put on some music and everything would be

PARA BILAR LA BAMBA!

PARA BILAR LA BAMBA SE NECESSITA

I looked down at my pocket, feeling my phone vibrate against my leg. I groaned in agitation, convinced it was Ernesto wondering where I had gone. I took out one ear bud and put the phone to my ear.

“Ernesto please I know you hate it when I do this but”

“This isn’t Ernesto.”

It certainly wasn’t Ernesto. Aside from the fact the voice belonged to a woman, it didn’t sound like the grating, nasally accent I had been surrounded by or my wife’s familiar Mexican accent. It was as smooth and rich a mole. It was hauntingly and eerily melodic in a way New York accents simply weren’t.

It also wasn’t a voice I had heard in two years.

I froze, aggravating the sea of people around me. They knocked into my shoulders, some giving me a dirty look. One man in a handsome suit even cried

“Move it pal!”

But I couldn’t. The shock was so great I couldn’t speak, let alone move. I thought I would never hear that distinct southern drawl again. It sent a chill through me that went far deeper than the cold ever could.

There was a silence on the other end. She was obviously waiting for me to speak.

“You’re holdn’ everyone up buddy!” With that cry my legs finally began to work. A smooth chuckle filled my head as I remained silent, threatening to paralyze me once more.

“Hector I know you didn’t forget how to speak English. Are you not goin’ to talk to me?”

I swallowed hard and prayed my voice wouldn’t sound like it did in the throws of puberty.

“Regina why are you calling me? How did you even get my phone number?” I asked, thankful my voice had somehow managed not to crack. I heard Reginia let out a huge puff of her. She was most likely smoking. It was a nasty habit she had when we met, despite being a trained soprano. I could still see her thin lips puffing out the smoke.

“Oh please. If you’re so concerned about people findn’ your number, maybe don’t make it the way your students contact you.” She chuckled. My face twisted at those words as she took another drag of her cigarette- or at least I thought she did anyway.

“I may be back in Mississippi, but I do my best to keep tabs on what’s gon’ on up there. If you must know, a singer friend of mine gave me your number when I asked if she knew what happened to you. She told me you were back in New York teaching lessons and found it in the yellow pages. It’s a small world Hector, and the classical music world is even smaller.”

Damn those pinchie yellow pages.

“So when she did slink back to New York?” She asked.

“About a year and a half ago.” I had no idea why I was telling her this, and why I had not just hung up on her. The words just slipped out of my mouth. Hearing this Reginia let out two loud “Ha’s”, her melodic voice taking on the form of a cackling witch..

“Oh the fuckin’ irony.” She sighed, growing quiet once more. I rolled my eyes and let out a huge huff, my thumb itching to hit the end call button.

“Regina if you don’t tell what’s going on I am hanging up.” I declared, my thumb inching closer to the desired button.

“Oh I’ll tell you what’s goin’ on. When you took your sorry self back to Mexico? Well as it turned out I found out I was pregnant not long after you left.”

I halted on the side walk once more. My entire body seemed to shut down. I didn’t even notice the wind picking up, slapping my face again. Everything around me began to go black as my body refused to function. Everything might have gone completely black if someone hadn’t crashed into me. I fell hard to the concrete, my phone flying out of my hand and crashing down to the ground. I scrambled towards it, snatched and put it back to me ear. Not knowing what else to do I kept on walking. My knees and hands burned but I still kept moving.

“You. Were. What?!” I hissed. My gut was screaming not to believe a word that came out of her dainty mouth. Regina always had a tendency to say anything to get a reaction or to become the center of attention. It was one of the reasons I wanted to end out brief and very physical relationship. I knew there was a high chance she was lying, and I would not let myself become entangled in her mierda again.

“Pregnant” She said, her voice low and flat.

“Reginia please stop this… uh… how do you say…”

“Bullshit.”

“¡SÍ! Stop your bullshit!” I exclaimed, drawing a weary glance from a few bystanders.

“Oh but darlin’ this ain’t bullshit. You have an eighteen mouth old daughter named Martha. She was born on May 4th of last year and has your dark hair and eyes.” Reginia spoke with the air of reading a grocery list; sounding utterly aloof and uninterested. Each detail she gave struck me like a knife in my heart. I somehow managed to keep taking long strides, some unknown force controlling my body. My breath came out in erratic silver puffs. My eyes were bulging out of my head and my heart was pounding far too quickly.

The information she gave me was far too specific to not hold some truth. The more Regina’s words sank in, my panic began to fade away. It was replaced by cold, unbearable numbness and bitter acceptance. There was a chance she was telling the truth, and I did have a child. My stomach lurched at the thought. My eyes began to sting and it wasn’t from the frosty air.

“You’re sure she’s… mine?” I asked, my voice weak. It was moments like this I was grateful for the tendency of New Yorkers to mind their own business.

“Whatever you may think of me Hector I was always faithful, even after you left. Martha is yours. She looks white but like I said she’s got your hair, your eyes and I think your smile” She said. She took another drag from her cigarette while I shook my head in disbelief.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I demanded, my voice far too fragile for its own good.

“What I did or didn’t do doesn’t matter.”

“Oh yes it”

“I’m not callin’ to talk about any of that. I’m callin’ you because I need you to take her.” She stated.

I lost my footing yet again, though thankfully I managed to not crash on the side walk. My mouth became completely unhinged. I began shaking from a strange combination of exasperation, terror and rage.

“You want me to WHAT?!” My voice rose above the symphony of horns, voices and distant construction. A few people jumped in shock. There were more pairs of eyes on me than I felt comfortable with. I looked down and avoided the prying gazes. I could only imagine how deranged I must have looked.

“Did you have to yell?” Regina whined, probably scowling like a child.

“Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait! You call me out of no where, tell me I have a child I didn’t know about and in the next minute you tell me you want me to take her?” She remained silent, not even taking another puff of smoke. She was stubbornly and annoyingly quiet, which only managed to fuel my concoction of emotions.

“You. Can’t. Do That.” I hissed.

“I can’t take care of her anymore, things aren’t good at the moment. You need to take her.” Reginia explained. I heard the click of a lighter, and what small thread was holding me together snapped. I held the phone in an iron grip, my expression twisted in anger and my nostrils began to flare.

“You want me to take a child… can you even prove she’s mine?” I demanded. Reginia sighed loudly and I could just see her rolling her eyes to the back of her head.

“Her birthday is May 4th, 2003. We last saw each other at the beginnin of August year before and I found out I was pregnant a few weeks later. It couldn’t have been anyone else.” She paused and I heard her inhail more smoke.

“But if you don’t believe me than you came come down to Mississippi and take a paternity test, but it’ll take a while.” She said, her lips probably curling into a devilish grin. I ran my free hand down my face, fighting the urge to scream. Maybe the timing made it impossible for the child to be anyone else’s.

Or maybe this was some horrible fever dream and I was just stuck until someone woke me up.

“I can’t drop everything and go to Mississippi! I have a lot of work and my wife”

“Your WIFE?!” Regina’s voice inched higher, and I could see her light brown eye brows rise up her forehead. I stopped for a moment, regretting letting the word slip out of my mouth. I hissed as Regina let out an astonished laugh that made my stomach churn.

“Well that happened fast. Now is it just you or are all men unrepentant pigs? Let me guess” She began, her voice becoming hard and thin. “You two are happily married and either have a kid or are expecting one, so little Martha doesn’t matter.”

That was it. I took the phone away from my ear and held it close to my mouth-which I was surprised wasn’t foaming at this point.

“I don’t have other children Regina.” I stated, breathing deeply to try and stay as calm as possible.

“You… can’t spring this one someone. I… give me a chance to understand all this and figure out what to do.” I said, my voice tight and low. Regina grew quiet, hopefully considering my words. I wished I could have seen her have so I had a prayer of knowing what was going through her head.

“Fine-you have a week to figure it all out-and if you don’t get your shit together or don’t to come get her I will put her in the system. It’s up to you.”

My eyes felt as if they would pop out of my head, my thoughts spiraling in disbelief.

“A week?! A week?!” I cried, my heart racing and pounding so hard I could hear it in my head. I opened my mouth once more to plead to her to let me have more than a week. Instead I heard the click of Reginia hanging up the phone. I stared down at my own, small black cellphone, trying to piece together what on Earth had just happened. I breathed in the brisk air and began to think.

My day had gone from the daily grind of teaching, figuring ways to attacking more students and dealing with one explosive Thomas Andrews, to finding out I had a child. My head throbbed and my stomach lurched and twisted.

None of this could be real. Reginia had always spewed lies and fantastical story after fantastical story. It had been an incident involving this strange behavior that had ultimately driven me to run away.

And yet… something inside of me knew this time she was not lying. Not only were the details far to concrete and grounded, her stories and lies were usually flimsy attempts for attention. They always lacked substance. More to the point her lies had never been on such a large scale. The worst I could think of was a sob story about her hard, down trodden life in slums on Jackson. She had in fact grown up surrounded by cotton money and as far as I knew still had access to it.

Annoying-yes. Did it make it hard to trust her- yes. But as far as I knew she would never stoop to lying about a baby.

Everything around me seemed far away, lost in a fog of confusion and uncertainty. The buildings and streets seemed unusual and exotic. I couldn’t think in English or Spanish. My mind was a white, blank slate. The roar of the city faded away to hot white noise. I felt as if I were floating instead of slowing walking on cold stone.

I had no idea what was real or what to believe. The world around me felt even more uncertain than when I felt for America. I closed my eyes and stuck my hands into my pockets.

At the moment there were only two things that made sense.

One: There was a strong possibility I had a child I didn’t know about for almost two years.

Two: I was going to be in a lot of trouble when I got home.