#exasperated beep noises

[d1sc0-1nfern0]

Y’all know that one post about a ghost following their undead body around after getting bitten by a zombie and turning? And getting really frustrated by it fumbling around like an idiot? Yeah it’s giving Midas and Icarus.

[solvisun]

010525 ♡ the ultimate cure to your sickness is simple: just listen to the sweet sound of tsukishima kei's voice. ( fluffy fluff. some swearing. not proofread. )

the world kind of flips upside down when sickness has fallen upon you.

your clothes don’t feel comfortable—they scratch your skin in a way you want to rip it off of you. food tastes bland and stale. your ears are sensitive to noise, even the slightest hum like your fan aren’t an exception. your runny nose makes you miss the feeling of breathing like a normal person. and you’re so exhausted even though all you’ve been doing is mope around lying in your bed and everything pisses you off.

you’re not in a fever; worse, you’ve caught a random flu which makes you feel like you’re running a fever.

you sniff and realise you’ve already went through four boxes of tissues right as you fished out the last one, groaning from frustration as you toss them into the bin. there’s nothing left—your box of tissues as well as your will.

it isn’t until it’s afternoon that you scurry off into taking your medicine because while you tried to get up moments ago, you couldn’t. or rather, you didn’t want to. (eh, same thing.) and then you unexpectedly dozed off while staring into the void of your ceiling.

you think you’ve calmed down after gulping through a whole glass of water, but as you feel more of the atmosphere chill crawl into your body even after being bundled up by your comforters and blankets, you’re forced to relent to the fact that you’re not going to get through this soon—especially not without someone’s help.

or at least, a company.

so you do your best not to feel ashamed as you pull out your phone, dialed that one specific contact and wait through the ringing instead of throwing your device out of the window and scream.

you didn’t even give tsukishima kei a heads up. he might not even answer straight away. or he might never answer at all. you can’t hear your phone beeping over your loud thoughts ready to consume you. and then you physically jumped when you suddenly hear a soft voice cutting through the static.

no, soft isn’t the right word. soothing, perhaps. despite the nonchalance, you had always found his voice attractive.

“hello?”

still, it catches you off guard.

you don’t respond right away, your throat tight and dry, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake. but then tsukishima speaks again, his tone dipping with faint exasperation.

“are you just going to sit there breathing into the phone, or…?”

“uh, hi,” you mumble, voice rough and embarrassingly hoarse. “sorry. i… didn’t mean to—”

“yeah, yeah, skip the apology. what do you want?” he interrupts, but there’s no real bite in his voice. if anything, he sounds calmer than usual. though you can’t quite place it.

you hesitate, clutching your phone a little tighter. “just… wanted to hear someone’s voice.”

the line goes quiet for a beat, and you wince internally. you’re convinced he’s about to hang up when he sighs.

“with the way you're talking, i can't tell if you're actually speaking words or just doing a live ASMR demo of a clogged drain,” he remarks flatly, and despite the jab, there’s a thread of concern laced through the words.

“what the fuck. i’m just sick,” you reply, rolling your eyes even though he can’t see.

“no shit. what happened to you?”

“i have no idea myself.”

“hold on.” there’s some shuffling on his end, followed by muffled voices. “yamaguchi says hi,” tsukishima adds, his tone noticeably lighter, though still tinged with his signature indifference.

“hi yams,” you drawl, feeling a tiny smile tug at your lips.

more rustling, and then yamaguchi’s distant voice comes through, says your name cheerful and clear: “get well soon!”

the faint sound of laughter in the background feels like sunlight breaking through your cloudy mood, and you can’t help but laugh softly, though followed by a cough.

“how was practice?”

“fine,” tsukishima answers shortly, as expected.

yamaguchi, however, fills in the silence. “it ended early today. coach wanted us to rest up for the match this weekend.”

there’s a brief exchange between the two before you hear yamaguchi say goodbye, his voice growing fainter as he walks away. then it’s just you and tsukishima.

“..hey,” you start after a while, growing awkward just hearing his footsteps and the wind.

“what?”

“how’s school?”

“do you really want me to talk?”

“yes. please.”

he sighs, “ms. nakajima called in sick too, so no surprise quiz, fortunately.”

“oh, yippee.”

you hear a suppressed snort on the other end of the line, but you don’t comment, opting instead to listen to the steady rhythm of his voice as he recounts his day.

it takes a bit of coaxing, but he eventually keeps going. you close your eyes, letting the cadence of his words wash over you like a soothing tide.

complaints about school, a snide comment about someone in his class, a dry recount of shoyo almost tripping over a volleyball during practice. the casualness of it all feels like a warm blanket, his dry quips bubbling a quiet chuckle from you every now and then. you catch yourself smiling, your cheeks heating—not just from the lingering flush of your illness, but maybe... maybe because of him.

the thought throws you off, and suddenly you feel warmer than you should.

his voice is just so… calming. like a large hand spreading over your shivering skin, the warmth seeping in slowly and gently, settles you all bundled up in ease. the way he talks to you is unhurried, deliberate, like there’s nothing pressing or wrong in the world at this moment—not with him here, not with you listening.

“are you even listening?” he suddenly asks, though it's rhetorical, softer.

you smile, eyes still closed, as if trying to commit this moment to memory. “mhm. keep talking. i like listening to you.”

the line goes silent for a moment. you can picture him adjusting his glasses, his jaw tightening as a faint blush creeps up his cheeks, though he’d deny it with every ounce of sarcasm in his body.

“you’re so weird,” he mutters, and you try not to snicker.

still, he doesn’t stop talking.

it stretches into more mundane things; —the weather, a stupid argument in class that yamaguchi tried to mediate, the latest book he’s reading. this, grounds you in a way that's therapeutic, something special and long-lasting—and makes your chest feel so much lighter. just hearing him makes the gnawing loneliness and irritability of your sickness fade into the backdrop, almost as if you forgot you were wallowing in misery minutes ago.

—oh wait, how long has it been exactly?

you glance at the clock, startled to see the time.

“wait,” you interrupt gently, your voice hoarse but amused. “didn’t you say practice ended early? shouldn’t you be home by now?”

there’s a brief pause on the line, and then you hear the faint sound of rustling, like a plastic bag shifting.

“i am,” he says simply.

you frown, confused. “then why haven’t you—”

“i'm here. open the door.”

you blink, his words sinking in like a slow ripple. “huh?”

"open. your. door-"

"i heard you the first time!"

your heart skips, and you bolt upright, clutching the phone as if that could steady the sudden rush of emotions. “you… you’re outside?”

“obviously.”

"what if i was greeted by a murderer and not you?"

"what if i was the murderer?"

you laugh. scrambling out of bed, you nearly trip over your comforter in your haste to reach the door. you hesitate for a moment, hand hovering over the knob, suddenly self-conscious of how disheveled you look. but the thought of him waiting, standing outside in the cold, pushes you to open it.

and there he is.

tsukishima kei, with a plastic bag in one hand and a familiar, unimpressed look on his face, though there’s something... inexplicable in his expression, more focused, tense.

“you didn’t have to.”

“yeah, well, maybe i did,” he brushes past you to step inside just enough to hand you the bag. “you’re hopeless. there’s some soup, medicine, and, uh…” he clears his throat, glancing away. “other stuff.”

you glance at the bag, heart swelling. “thank you,” you murmur, voice quiet and sincere.

he doesn’t reply right away, his gaze flicking back to you briefly before he reaches out to ruffle your hair, you think you've mistaken the gesture for a flick in the forehead, instinctively closing your eyes. when he doesn't, you feel dumbfounded by the sudden act.

his hand lingers for a moment longer than necessary, gaze quiet but solely on you. you feel—warm, and about to sneeze hard with how itchy your nose is. and as much as you'd like for him to be this close to you, your sickness is irritatingly getting in the way.

you swivel to the side, "ah-choo!" and again, he takes you by surprise when he carefully shoves a tissue on your face when you hear a breathless and poorly suppressed laugh.

"laughing at my suffering now?" you blow your nose, trying to act more sickly for dramatic effects.

"if you knew how cute you look right now.."

you're turning delirious. "i'm what now?"

"rest up," is what he replies. dismissive. like he's speaking to himself.

and just like that, his already at the doorway, hand on the doorknob. “don’t forget to eat. and sleep. properly.”

a nod is all you can muster, biting back a smile as you watch him retreat.

as the door clicks shut behind him, you’re left standing there, warmth lingering where his hand had been.

meanwhile, tsukishima curses under his breath as he walks away, his cheeks burning despite the cold air, the sky bruised in blood orange and bathing him in a mellow glow. “stupid,” he mutters, adjusting his scarf as if that could hide the rush of warmth in his chest, red on his cheeks.

“…i can’t get sick.” he thinks he is already, considering how flushed he is right now.

wrote this when i was sick last week, thought of him, wrote him while listening to mazzy star <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just the Two of Us: Helping Hand

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you meet someone you never expect at the grocery store.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You sway back and forth holding your few staples. You wait patiently for checkout, happy enough to do so as you avoid the typical awkward interaction of the checkout lane. Some might dread it, but you prefer self-checkout. It spares you the face-scalding small talk with the cashiers and you’re certain they don’t hate you for it either. 

The man at the machine just ahead of you hisses and tips his head back. He takes a deep breath and sets his chin straight, scratching his blond hair as the machine beeps at him. He seems frustrated by the scanner as he waves a jar of peanut butter back and forth over it. 

“Come on...” he mutters then stops to look around. The attendant is at another machine, helping a woman key in her produce. “...should just leave it...” 

You watch him as he turns back to the screen and taps it in exasperation. There’s something familiar about him. In a city this big, odds are you could see the same face a dozen time in the same day and not know it. 

“Um, excuse me,” your bag of sourdough rustles as you tiptoe slowly close, “do you want some help?” 

He turns to you and you’re stricken as you recognise him at once. It’s Steve Rogers. Captain America. The homegrown hero of New York! 

“I’m so sorry. I know I’m taking forever here,” he pushes his hair back. It’s a mess from his anguished scratching and combing. “I’m trying, I swear.” 

“Here, er, do you mind,” you balance your armful as you near. He steps back and shakes his head, “you got a better chance of figuring this dang thing out.” 

“Alright, no promises, but I used to work retail, so, I think I can,” you carefully set down your groceries at the edge of the small metal shelf of the self-checkout. “Peanut butter, please.” 

He looks down at the jar then hands it over. Your fingertips brush as you take it and find the barcode. You angle it down and the machine scans it right away. He groans and puts his palm to his forehead. 

“Of course,” he sniffs. “I promise I’m not a total disaster. I thought this would be faster.” 

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” you smile. “Least I can do for the First Avenger.” 

He visibly cringes, “right.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you shake your head. “I wasn’t... meaning to... do you need help with the rest?” 

He nods and looks down. Now you feel awful. You didn’t mean to embarrass him. You take his bunch of bananas and key in the number then weigh it. You put it aside and finish with his pulpy orange juice and a can of ovaltine... Ovaltine? 

“Right, I think that’s it,” you gather up your stuff. “You’re all set and there’s a machine free so I’ll get out of your hair.” 

He slips his fingers into his pocket and slides out his wallet, “thanks. Appreciate it.” 

You sidle away and claim the next machine. You scan through your bread, cans of salmon, six-pack of muffins, and the little odds and ends. You unfold your reusable bag and put each inside before you pay. 

“Ahem,” the deep noise draws you away from the pinpad. “Hey, uh, I’m sorry if I came of... rude. It’s not you. The dang machine just—got the best of me. It’s not you and I mean, you were just being nice. And helpful.” 

“Really, it’s no problem,” you smile as you keep your hand on the debit machine. 

“I know but I almost made it one.” 

“No, it’s nothing,” you turn back to finish before the machine times out. It thinks as he lingers close by. 

“You’re really nice. I don’t deserve that. Captain should know better,” he says. “But I do prefer Steve.” 

He holds out his hand as you swipe your card free and tuck it away. You shove it back in your purse and face him. You take his free hand and shake it as you offer your name. “Nice to meet you, Steve.” 

“You, too.” 

“Um,” you look behind him, “don’t wanna be in anyone’s way.” 

You quickly snatch up your bag and hurry out of the checkout area. He follows you with long but easy strides. As you pass through the door, he’s only a step behind. 

“Look, I’m sure you have somewhere to be,” he says as he catches up. “But, uh, could I carry your bag or something? I feel like I owe you.” 

“Oh, no, it’s not very empty,” you assure him. “But thanks!” 

“Hmm, well, how about...” he looks around, “coffee?” 

You follow his gaze across the street. You’re not really in a hurry but you didn’t plan to be sitting down at a cafe. Your leggings a loose sweatshirt aren’t exactly trendsetting. 

“I mean it, you know, it wasn’t anything at all.” You insist. 

“Yeah, but how many nice people do you meet around here, huh?” He asks. As if to make his point, he grabs your elbow and angles you away from the edge of the sidewalk as the man behind you nearly walks right over you. “Gotta admit, you’re the first friendly face I’ve met since I got out of the ice and that was a while ago.” 

“Uh, wow, that’s sweet. I suppose a coffee won’t hurt,” you say. “And I know what you mean, I’ve been here two months and I don’t know anyone. I thought a made a friend but she stole my shoes and never called me back.” 

“Really? Someone did that to you?” He flutters his lashes in disbelief. “That’s rotten.” 

“I suppose she really liked them. Besides, they weren’t very practical. Kind of uncomfortable so really, she did me a favour,” you laugh. “One thing I learned, the city moves fast and you gotta keep up with it. So, I just keep going. As best I can.” 

“Hm, well,” he turns with you as you reach the crosswalk. “I think we wear a different size so I promise, I won’t steal those.” 

You glance down at your knockoff Uggs in purple and snort, “oh, you think so?” You move your foot closer to his and compare the difference with his large leather shoes. “I think you could squeeze in.” 

He laughs, a rocky rumble that fills you with warmth. Or maybe you’re a bit starstruck. If you had any friends, you might just brag to them that you met the Captain. You guess you’ll just have to savour it to yourself. 

[mawofthemagnetar]

TFC’s Completely Normal Afternoon Where Nothing Goes Wrong And Nobody Dies Horribly

(shoutout to @lindentree for inspiring this silly fic!)

TFC sat in his little bachelor pad, coffee in hand, watching the steam rise out of his mug. 

It was a nice mug, all things considered. A gift from the other Hermits. A handmade blue thing, turned on a potter’s wheel, with an extra-large handle to give his old hands a break sometimes. Full of coffee from his ancient coffee machine, that gurgled and growled like a jackhammer being waterboarded.

TFC took a sip, and winced. Okay, so maybe it was time to leave the mine and get more coffee. He’d re-used the grounds for the fourth time, and now it was really starting to get properly bitter. 

He drummed his fingers on his glass-top table, listening to the echo against the cold stone walls of his little antechamber. Maybe he’d decorate the walls at some point soon. 

TFC shrugged, and opened his comm. Hopefully one of the other Hermits had some coffee beans. He wiped the stone dust off his screen, and held down the three buttons to switch it on. Yes, he kept his comm strapped to his arm like almost every other player with some semblance of sense. No, he refused to let the damn thing be awake for any longer than it needed to be. The Hermits were chatty folks, and when TFC was deep in his mines and deep in thought, the last thing he needed interrupting his musings was a million buzzing noises as Cleo and Jevin got into a slapfight in the general chat. 

TFC’s personal logo flashed across the screen (the three letters of his name in red, natch) and he took another slurp of his bitter coffee, wrinkling his nose. The comm beeped, and TFC opened the group chat and tapped out a quick message. 

<Tinfoilchef> anyone got any more coffee? I’m clean out. 

He put his comm down, and took another swig. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

TFC frowned. He was a patient man by nature. The same could not be said of the other Hermits, who were usually falling over themselves to help each other out. 

And he hadn’t gotten a reply yet. 

It had been a whole ninety seconds.

TFC scrolled up in chat, and he sighed, rubbing his face. He sank back in his chair in annoyance. 

Of course. 

He tabbed upwards, watching things spiral out of control… in reverse. 

<Renthedog was blanched to death> 

<Renthedog> THE PAIN! THE PAIN IS INDESCRIBABLE

<Vintagebeef was portaged to death> 

<Vintagebeef> RUN! THE BOATS! THE BOATS ARE COMING!

TFC rubbed his temples with his free hand, sighing in exasperation. ‘

“Guys, I dug up five stacks of diamonds, don’t make me do this…I don’t want to re-dig those tunnels…” TFC groaned. 

And of course the nonsense kept coming as he scrolled farther and farther back. Gee, that last message from Ren was about four hours ago, now...

<Iskall85 became part of the weft> 

<Iskall85> HELP GOD THE LOOM’S GROWN LEGS

“Does anyone on this server besides me even know HOW to weave?!” TFC growled, averting his gaze from his pile of unfinished weaving in the corner of the room. It didn’t exist. He couldn’t see it. His WIP’s couldn’t hurt him.

And on and on it went.

<Xisumavoid was hooked to death>

<Grian was torqued to death>

<Tango was unraveled to death> 

<Zombiecleo was racqueted to death>

“Right, I’ve seen enough.” TFC sighed, “On the bright side, at least I’ll have all the coffee I had a week ago, so there’s that…” 

He carefully tabbed through his various screens and menus until he arrived at the one bit of his comm that was set aside for admin functions. Now, TFC wasn’t a server admin. That much was true. But he had slight admin privileges, for one thing and one thing only: server rollbacks. 

While, say, Hypno would have had an extensive wall of options, showing his permissions and all sorts of bells and whistles, TFC’s admin console had a text box to input a date and a big red “GO” button. 

He looked mournfully at his ender chest, and, with a sigh, keyed in a date one week prior. 

And TFC jabbed his thumb on the big red button. 

The world flashed white, utterly blinding him, and a second later TFC was deep in the branch mine in a half-finished tunnel, the same spot he’d been exactly a week prior. 

Unfortunately, he was still in a comfortable sitting position, resting all his weight on a chair that suddenly wasn’t there, so he immediately toppled to the ground, landing on his ass in an undignified heap. 

“Ow.” TFC muttered, sitting up slowly and tapping through his messages. 

<Xisuma> oh, we rolled back. Is everyone alright!?

<Tango> Mumbo you are BANNED FROM TIME TRAVEL

<MumboJumbo> It wasn’t me this time! I mean it was. But blame Zedaph! 

<Zedaph> ME?! No! Blame Cub! Cub gave me the doodad! 

TFC rolled his eyes and typed out a message. 

<Tinfoilchef> Does anyone have any fresh coffee beans?

Silence. 

No messages. No new complaining. As all the hermits re-read TFC’s words and soaked them in. 

Finally, Cleo broke the silence. 

<Zombiecleo> TFC. How many times did you re-use your last filter of grounds. 

<TinfoilChef> eh, six? Seven?

<Zombiecleo> are you telling me we’d all still be in shuttlecock hell if you hadn’t gotten sick of the taste of reused coffee grinds?!

<TinfoilChef> Pretty much, yeah 

<TinfoilChef> anyway 

<TinfoilChef> does anyone have some fresh coffee? 

[bradleysass]

Holiday Music - @noblehouseofgay - word count: 457 - 25 Days of Jegumas

The scent of freshly baked gingerbread wafted through the cozy apartment as James Potter pranced around the living room in mismatched holiday socks, a Santa hat tilted precariously on his unruly hair. He twirled a candy cane like a baton, belting out Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” with gusto—off-key, but with unparalleled enthusiasm.

Regulus Black, seated on the couch with a steaming cup of cocoa in hand, watched the spectacle unfold. He’d been attempting to read a book, but James had once again hijacked the peaceful December evening with his never-ending energy and unrelenting affection for all things Christmas.

“Jamie,” Regulus said, trying to hide his smirk behind the rim of his mug, “you sound like a dying banshee.”

James spun dramatically, clutching his chest as though wounded. “How dare you insult my art! This is raw emotion, Reg. Soulful! Mariah would be proud.”

“She’d be horrified.”

James dropped to his knees in front of the coffee table, mock sobbing. “I’m trying to serenade you! Show some holiday spirit!”

Regulus rolled his eyes, though his lips betrayed a small smile. “You’re serenading me by assaulting my ears with your tragic excuse for singing?”

“Exactly!” James grinned, leaping up to grab Regulus’s free hand. “Come on, dance with me! It’s Christmas!”

“I don’t dance,” Regulus said firmly, though James was already pulling him to his feet.

“You do now!” James declared, spinning Regulus in a clumsy circle.

Despite his protests, Regulus found himself laughing as James twirled him around the living room, narrowly avoiding the precariously stacked pile of presents. James’s laughter was infectious, his joy a force of nature that even Regulus couldn’t resist.

As the song faded into a slower ballad, James pulled Regulus close, resting his chin on Regulus’s shoulder. The sudden quiet felt intimate, their movements slowing to a gentle sway.

“You’re ridiculous,” Regulus muttered, though his voice was soft, lacking any real annoyance.

James smiled against his neck. “And you love me for it.”

Regulus didn’t respond immediately, but he tightened his arms around James just slightly. The faint blush on his cheeks was enough confirmation.

The moment was interrupted by a loud crash from the kitchen, where the oven timer beeped insistently. James groaned, reluctantly stepping back. “I think the gingerbread men just declared war.”

“You probably burned them,” Regulus said dryly, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

James shrugged, already bounding toward the kitchen. “Burnt gingerbread is just extra crispy joy!”

Regulus shook his head, sitting back down with his cocoa and watching James with fond exasperation. The apartment was chaos, filled with noise and glitter and holiday cheer—all things Regulus had once thought he couldn’t stand.

But with James? It was perfect.

[homelanderbutbig]

A Quaint House With a White-Picket Fence (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1139 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You teach Homelander about Animal Crossing.

With a rare day off, you decided to spend your afternoon doing something you haven't been able to for a while, play Animal Crossing. Homelander has never played a video game before, and he has made it perfectly clear to you that he has zero interest in doing so. He is also not shy at showing his jealousy at how engrossed you get playing your silly games instead of paying attention to him. As a result, you usually only play for short periods of time when you're alone.

Today was different. You have been doing nothing all day except play Animal Crossing, just like you used to do before moving into the Tower. You don't even hear him storming into the penthouse, in one of his signature grumpy moods. Grumbling irritatedly seeing you lounging on the couch, he can't believe you aren't acknowledging him and inviting him over for a cuddle like you always do. It's not like he's easy to miss.

Homelander walks over in front of the couch, attempting to make a point with his purposefully loud footsteps. And yet, you still don't even look up as he looms over you. Rolling his eyes, he places his hands on his hips as he taps his fingers on his belt. He can feel his anger bubbling to the surface, with the annoying little beeps and boops coming from the game only serving to aggravate him further.

Finally, he's had enough at watching you ignore him. With a motion so fast you barely even register what is happening, he picks you up so he can lie down on the couch, keeping you on top of him. His arms are wrapped immovably around your waist while his big head is snuggled firmly on your shoulder. He lets out a deep huff from his nose, making certain that you know how exasperated you've made him.

You stay there for a moment of tense silence, waiting for him to say something first. You feel bad for not even noticing him, but you want to see where he is mentally before you make a move.

"What is this?" he eventually asks you, contempt dripping from his voice. If you won't stop playing this dumb thing, he may as well learn what it is.

"Animal Crossing," you tell him, laughing as you practically feel him rolling his eyes. Ah, he's in one of these moods.

"It's a game where you get to play in this cute village and just do whatever," you try to clarify. "You can fish, catch bugs, decorate your house, and make friends with your neighbours. It's relaxing."

"…Why?" he retorts. He is baffled at how doing things in this game that you could do in real-life would have you so fixated.

"I dunno, it's hard to explain," you respond. "There's no stress in this world, no time-limits or deadlines. It's like… an escape."

Homelander is hushed as he contemplates your answer. The appeal still doesn't make a lot of sense to him.

"What… are you playing as?" he enquires, brow furrowing slightly. Your tiny avatar appears to be a boy with slicked-back blonde hair, wearing a blue shirt with an eagle design.

"I tried making you," you answer honestly, with a brief giggle. You click a mysterious button on your gaming device, and suddenly this character is smiling wide back at him.

"You… made me?" he ponders, rubbing his head into the crook of your neck.

"Yeah, I normally just make myself but… I wanted to see how you'd look too," you smile, returning his nuzzle. "You turned out cute, right?"

He sighs, not dignifying you with a response. This facsimile is nowhere near his level of perfection, but at least you tried.

"What's that noise?" he mumbles. "It sounds like a bug."

"What direction is it coming from?" you respond. "It might be a mole cricket, I haven't caught one of those yet."

"To the left," he guides you, using his super hearing to easily discern the origin of the bug's droning call. "Under that rock."

Homelander watches as you pull out your shovel and hit the rock, causing a cricket to pop out which you swiftly catch with your net.

"Look at that! We caught a mole cricket!" you exclaim.

"…Now what?" he queries. He doesn't understand why you seem to excited over this, it's just a disgusting, insignificant insect.

"Now we take it to the museum, so Blathers can put it on display," you reply.

"And what, we get a reward for it?" he asks.

"No, it's just for fun!" you attempt to explain. "We can get a golden net if we catch all the different kinds of bugs though!"

Once again, he feels flabbergasted by your reasonings. This is just one of those weird human things of yours that he figures he will never understand, no matter how many questions he asks.

Homelander decides to stay quiet for a while, simply observing as you go about your activities. Seeing you run around this confined space, pointlessly catching more bugs and fish. Listening to you tell him which animal villagers are your favourites, showing him your house and how you decorated every room.

Strangely, the longer he watches you play, the more relaxed he starts to feel. It's weird, seeing your miniature caricature of him running around this fake town. He's just spending his days trapped in this virtual world, living in a quaint house with a white-picket fence, surrounded by friendly neighbours… without anybody staring at him like he's a freak… without a care in the world.

He's living the life Homelander always wished he could.

"Do you think we could ever live in a place like this?" he contemplates in a somber voice. The genuineness of his thought takes you by surprise.

To be honest, you don't have an answer for him. Vought has such a tight grip on every aspect of his life, you aren't sure if he'll ever be able to be free of their influence. He's never known what it's like to be 'normal', his entire existence has been dictated for him, his every opinion pre-calculated for what's best for the company.

"Hey, why don't we spend the weekend at your cabin?" you suggest, trying to pivot the heavy conversation away to something more tangible. You put your game down to caress his cheek, feeling him angle his head into your touch. "Just the two of us, no schedules or worries."

You can feel a little smile spread across your shoulder at your proposal. Homelander tightens his hold on you ever so slightly, cherishing the feeling of your small stature in his arms. He's glad you aren't able to see his face right now, letting him hide the fact that he's blinking away forming tears.

"Yeah," he whispers. "I'd like that".

[magiccath]

A Mind Full of Blissful Terrors

tenth doctor x GN!reader

Summary: In which the Doctor and reader investigate a strange spaceship

CW: horror elements, body gore, and one singular f-bomb

Word count: 7.4k

A/N: many, many drafts, and too many months later, I have finally finished this one. I really hope you guys like it.

You bounced into the TARDIS control room, more than excited for your next adventure with the Doctor. He could take you to a grocery store and you would probably enjoy it. 

“Where to today?” You asked with a smile. 

“I was thinking someplace relaxing, we’ve been running for the past couple of days,” the Doctor suggested, looking at you for approval. 

“Yes please!” you groaned, tilting your head back. 

The Doctor smiled to himself, pleased at his own ability to know when you needed a break. 

“Maybe we could head to Italy for some of that pasta you love?” he suggested, leaning back against the console. 

“I would love some pasta!” you cheered, moving over to him. The Doctor smiled at you, the kind of smile that overtook his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled and his eyebrows angled slightly upwards. 

“Allons-y!” He cheered, turning back towards the console. He started messing with it, flipping switches and pressing buttons. He did it all too fast for you to make sense of it. He was about ready to lift off when it started.

The TARDIS was beeping. The kind of sound a car makes when you forget to put your seatbelt on. The only issue was, the TARDIS doesn’t have seatbelts. You didn’t know the ship as well as he did, but you did know it wasn’t a normal sound. 

You looked about in confusion before shouting his name over the incessant noise. 

He looked back at you, just as confused as you were. That didn’t bode well with you.

The ship lurched forward aggressively, sending you tumbling across the room. You crashed into the railing, the impact making you wince. The Doctor stumbled too, tripping over himself in the process and crashing to the floor. 

“What happened to Italy?” You yelled, frustrated. You had flown to Italy before, and it was never this bumpy. 

“It’s not me!” The Doctor protested, getting up from the floor where he had landed. The ship rocked again, almost sending him back down. 

“Can you stop it?” 

“I’m not quite sure,” he grumbled, rushing about pressing buttons and pulling levers, all the while trying not to fall again. Unfortunately for him, centuries of experience meant little when your ship had a mind of its own. 

You gripped the railing for dear life, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes it would just stop.

“It’s a distress signal,” he explained after a while, squinting at the screen in front of him. 

“What?” You opened your eyes. It didn’t sound like a distress signal to you.

“Someone has patched through a distress signal, there’s nothing I can do about it,” he said, clutching the computer screen in front of him. 

You let out an exasperated sigh, letting go of the railing. This wasn’t entirely unusual. The TARDIS had a habit of hijacking your trips and taking you places you didn’t really want to be. It was no surprise that your vacation was being postponed by some “distress call.”

The ship landed with its signature thump, the impact sending you stumbling again, this time into the console. You quickly regained your balance, running your hands through your hair anxiously.

You could be anywhere just about now, and the thought made you slightly uneasy. The Doctor, on the other hand, seemed more than excited for the adventure at hand. He rushed to the door, eagerly throwing them open with reckless abandon. Warily, you followed him. 

You didn’t know what to expect, but this certainly wasn’t it. 

Before you was a seemingly endless hallway. There were no windows, only large expanses of steel paneled walls. There was an incessant beeping in the distance, but you couldn’t pinpoint the sound. It was hard to see too far in front of you, the hallway was completely dark. 

The Doctor rummaged around in his coat pocket, pulling out his sonic screwdriver and a small flashlight. He handed the latter to you and started off down the hall without explanation. You had no choice but to switch the light on and run after him. 

He walked around with curiosity, his eyebrows furrowed. You walked slowly behind him taking in the ominous surroundings. He led the way with his screwdriver, scanning just about everything. He stopped every down and then to frown at the readings.

The beam of your flashlight was small, leaving you mostly in the dark. From what you could see, the hallway was a mess. Rubbish lined the floor; empty food packets, ripped fabric, and various pieces of plastic and metal. You were sure you saw a few bones, but you scuttled away anxiously before continuing.

Distracted from your own surveillance, you walked straight into the Doctor’s back. 

“Sorry,” you winced. He shook his head, unbothered by the disturbance. 

“It doesn't make sense,” he mumbled to himself, continuing down the hallway. He didn’t say it with his usual childish enthusiasm, rather, he seemed to be harboring thinly veiled anxiety.

You sulked after him, the floors creaking incessantly underneath your feet. 

You continued to scan your surroundings. The ceiling was lined with large vents, a few of which were damaged. You didn’t get a solid look, but the hissing coming from them led you to believe they were air vents. Perhaps you were on a space base? Or, a ship?

“Doctor?” you whispered, an unease spreading through you. You couldn’t explain it, but something felt off.

“This way,” he instructed, tilting his head away from the noise. He could get like this. Distracted. In the moment, whatever danger lurked around the corner was paramount to everything else. 

An uneasy feeling that you were being followed crept up on you. You picked up your pace, practically running to catch up with the Doctor. Every now and then you would cast your gaze backward, nervously searching for the presence you sensed. You could have sworn you were seeing shadows, looming forms that sulked after you. It was likely just your brain playing tricks on you, right?

You still used your light to survey the hallways behind the Doctor. For the most part, you were just encountering various forms of rubbish. That was until you stumbled across a body. You gasped, jumping back from it. Your shoes left bloody tracks from the puddles of blood surrounding the corpse.

“What is it?” The Doctor asked worriedly, by your side in an instant. You pointed at the body in front of you, your eyes unable to move away from it. 

The sight was far from pretty. The person was a member of the ship’s crew, their work suit featuring a name patch and company logo. The Doctor moved closer, examining the branding. You scanned the name tag, unsure if knowing the identity of the deceased would make it better or worse. As much as you didn’t want to look at their face, it was hard not to. It was entirely blown open, the skull in cracked fragments from the damage. The flesh on the right side of the face peeled back, blooming like a fungus. On the other side, an eyeball hung from its socket, the optic nerve stopping it from falling to the ground. 

It was the kind of grotesque death that stuck with you, that popped up in your nightmares for months after seeing it. 

“There's not anything we can do for him,” The Doctor said, his voice close to your ear. You jumped, unaware that he had moved back to your side. You shook your head, forcing yourself to look away from the dead body. 

The Doctor offered his hand to you solemnly. You took it, clutching onto it like a tether. Maybe if you squeezed his hand tight enough you could forget that there was a dead body a few meters away from you. 

You stopped looking closely at the ship after that, focusing mostly on what was directly in front of you. If you investigated, you might risk finding more horrors. The Doctor didn’t seem any more comfortable than you, but he continued his scanning and searching of the hallways. 

As you reached the end of a corridor, you stopped with a sudden gasp. The Doctor whipped his head around, terrified that you had found something gruesome again. He relaxed when he saw where your eyes were trained. 

Before you stood a beautiful expanse of space, planets, and stars floating all around. A messy watercolor of shapes and colors, all colliding to create a perfect masterpiece. You had seen some of the masters at work, even posed for a painting with Leonardo Da Vinci. The most famous paintings didn’t compare to the sight in front of you. It was stunning. No, it was more than that.

“Wow,” you breathed, marveling at the sight before you. You could see a hundred galaxies and still find them mesmerizing. You shook your head, snapping yourself out of it. 

“Spaceship then?” you deduced, looking back at the Doctor. He nodded, his eyes already trained on you. A sky full of stars, and he was looking at you. 

“Suppose we should figure out where the crew is?” you suggested, trying to be of help.

“Right,” He said, his smile fading. “Where is the crew? A ship has got to have a crew, doesn't it?” 

You nodded solemnly as you followed him. Even if he didn't seem too keen on it, he was still going to investigate. 

He mumbled to himself as he walked, trying to work it all out in his head. He did this a lot, it was his way of thinking. Sometimes, he expected you to listen, but most of the time he was just lost in his own world. 

You approached an intersection and cleared your throat, pulling his attention back to you.

To the right was a hallway like all of the ones you had walked down before. Dark, ominous, and probably housing more dead bodies. You didn’t really want to investigate and find out.

To the left was a similarly eerie hallway, but you could make out a flashing red light at the end of it. The beeping alarm appeared to be coming from that direction as well. You pointed in that direction, surmising that you should go in that direction. 

“Oh, yes, we should probably go that way,” he agreed, but he didn’t move. 

“Doctor?” You asked, looking at him with concern. You offered your hand, trying to replicate the sense of comfort and unity that he had provided for you earlier. 

He smiled, still not his usual happy smile, and took your hand gently. He didn’t squeeze like you did, but you knew he still viewed the hand-holding as a tether. 

“Dark, scary, abandoned spaceship that makes weird noises,” the Doctor recapped as the two of you moved down the hallway. 

“What could go wrong?” you winced. 

The Doctor grimaced, “Don’t say that.” 

A thick, steel door loomed in front of you, bright red lights flashing from the other side. You weren’t quite sure if you were prepared for what lay beyond it. 

Without hesitation, the Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver to unlock the door. It looked like he was sticking to his usual MO: act first, think later. 

Hesitantly, you slipped in the door after him. You couldn’t say that you shared the same carefree demeanor as the Time Lord.

The first thing you noticed was the windows. The front of the room was covered with thick glass. The view was still beautiful, but you weren’t looking at it. At the moment you had more pressing matters, like the spider web-like fractures that sprinkled the surface of the glass. You tried not to dwell too much on the implications that might have.

Your eyes focused on the rest of the room, darting around to look at all of the damage. Taking in the technological panels around the room, you inferred that you were currently in the central control room of the ship.  

Wires poked out of their metal containers, a few of them shooting sparks into the air around them. Something had clearly made its way through the room, tearing up anything it could find in the process. The disheveled state of your surroundings did little to quell your anxieties. 

On top of it all, the alarms on the ship were more than overwhelming. The flashing lights were blinding, a deafening alarm heightening the pain in your head. 

You moved slowly into the room, your eyes still scanning everything. The Doctor wasn’t as observant as you, shuffling through the mess of wires in a desperate frenzy. He was anxious, and that didn’t help your own anxieties. 

Behind one of the main control panels lay another dead body, this one fully decapitated. You didn’t want to actively look for the head. Whatever had happened, you were too late to do anything about it, you knew that much. That kind of damage just wasn’t something that you could fix.

The Doctor mulled about the nearby screens, trying to get them to turn on. After some brute force accompanied by the sonic, he managed to get the system to boot up. He started by turning off the alarms, a service you were more than grateful for. 

“There’s security footage…” The Doctor mumbled, moving closer to the screen in front of him. He mumbled a few more things, but you didn’t listen. He was probably just talking to himself again. 

You moved about gingerly, taking in the entirety of the room. You examined the damaged control panels while the Doctor continued his fiddling with the working screens. 

Absentmindedly, you picked up an empty box. You dropped it almost immediately, terrified by what was directly behind it.  

In front of you laid a fragment of skull, gooey bits of brain seeping out of it. A singular, unfocused eye stared back at you relentlessly from its socket. 

You looked down at your hand in horror, noticing the small amount of blood from when you handled the box. The sight left you gasping for air, your hand shaking uncontrollably. 

“Doctor,” you cried. You wanted to turn away, wanted to forget the image of it. It was like a car crash, so terrible that you wanted to look away but you just couldn’t. 

You stumbled backward, tripping on another skull fragment. Your foot landed directly on it, sending a painfully loud crack through the room. You gasped in horror, lifting your foot gingerly. The damage from your shoe cracked the damaged bone further, creating a mess of small bone fragments, blood, and what you presumed was the deceased’s brain. The sight was so painfully unnatural, you felt your stomach muscles contracting in fear. You were terrified you might throw up.

“Doctor,” you cried again, feeling tears prick the back of your eyes. 

He ignored you, something he often did when he was in the zone. It wasn’t personal, he just tended to hyperfocus.

You repeated his name, urgency forcing its way into your voice. 

“There’s nothing we can do,” he said, looking over at you sadly. He really wished there was something he could do. If he had the ability, he would save everyone that ever existed. Unfortunately, it didn’t work that way.

You choked back a sob, eyes still not wanting to look away from the carnage in front of you or the gore on your hands. You knew there was nothing that could be done about the gruesome scene, but that didn’t make it any less scary. In all reality, who would feel comfortable in a room of dismembered body parts? 

The Doctor whispered your name, placing a hand on your arm gently, “Look at me.” 

You shook your head, terrified. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t look away. Your vision was blurring, distorting the bloody mess of your hand.

“Look at me!” he snapped, grasping your shoulders and effectively pulling you back to reality. The volume of his voice scared you, but you could tell from the tone he was doing it out of love. 

“We need to get to the TARDIS. Now,” He urged. His face was clouded and sad, neither of which eased your fear.

He tried to hold your gaze, tried to get you to look away from the horrors in front of you. He hated that he couldn’t protect you from this. 

“There is something on this ship, something dangerous,” he explained. “It’s probably still here, and we need to leave. Now.”

You blinked, fighting back tears. You didn’t want to be scared. You wanted to be useful and brave. You wanted to be someone the Doctor could admire, someone he could love. Standing in fear, on the verge of tears, was hardly something he found attractive. 

A distinctly alien clicking came from the other side of the room, sending the Doctor rigid. You stared up at him, your eyes practically bulging out of your head. He swallowed harshly, his throat bobbing aggressively. Slowly, he tilted his head in the direction of the door. 

“Slowly. Quietly.” He mouthed. You nodded and followed his lead, sneaking as carefully as you could to the door. 

You didn’t dare take your eyes off of him. You didn’t want to risk laying eyes on whatever else was in the room. If your attention remained on his face, it was almost as if everything was fine. Almost as if you were somewhere safe and comfortable. 

You let the Doctor lead you to the door, his hands placed firmly on your waist. His touch served as an anchor, keeping you tied to reality. 

You were almost halfway to the exit when it hit him. He’d left his sonic screwdriver on the main control panel. 

You saw the panic flash across his face. As much as he tried to hide it from you, you always notice when he’s upset. 

“The sonic,” he mouthed. 

You nodded slowly, letting him know it was okay to let go. You knew how important the sonic was, you’d need it sooner rather than later. 

He was hesitant. The Doctor didn’t like leaving you when it was safe - he dreaded leaving you when it was dangerous.

You nodded again, hoping that your eyes did the talking for you. The two of you weren’t getting too far without the sonic, especially not on a strange spaceship with some monster alien on it. He had to go back, even if that meant leaving you. 

Reluctantly, he started to slowly back away from you. He kept his eyes trained on you for as long as he could before he had to turn away to look where he was going. He moved as quietly as he could, taking extra care to not draw attention to himself. 

Eventually, he made his way back to the console and grabbed the sonic. In the process, he managed to fumble it a bit. He froze, holding his breath in the hope that he hadn’t just revealed your location. The room was silent for a few seconds, long enough for him to think the course was clear. He let out his breath, relieved. 

The clicking resumed from the corner of the room, now closer to you than to him. You saw the recognition flash across the Doctor’s face. You started to turn towards the noise but the Doctor shook his head. You froze, not daring to move. 

You heard the windows crack further, the sound of glass breaking unnaturally loud in the silent room. The shattering made your stomach drop, your breathing labored and tense.  

“Run!” The Doctor shouted, already making his way out of the room. You were on opposite ends of the room, it made no sense for either of you to wait for the other. 

Even still, it took a second for the Doctor’s words to register. Once they did, you set off running. 

You had to get as far away as you could. The blood rushing in your ears was enough to dull the sounds around you. The only thing that mattered was getting out. 

You could hear the monster moving and hissing behind you, the sound growing closer and closer. You looked behind you, panic coursing through your body. You couldn’t see anything, and you didn’t dare stop to get a good look. You could hear thumping in the vents, maybe that’s how the alien was getting around. You stopped running, turning your attention to the vents above you. Sure enough, that was the origin of the noise. The hissing was getting louder, the proximity of danger sending you into a frenzy. 

You didn’t know what to do. You were on a strange spaceship in the middle of nowhere with a potentially deadly alien coming after you. Even worse, you were separated from the Doctor. 

You turned around in circles, raking your brain for a way out of this. The more you thought about it, the more panic you felt. It was times like this that you wished your body went into fight mode rather than flight. Maybe then you could be useful. 

You hardly had time to react before the alien had dropped down from the vents and onto you. You let out a shout before it grabbed you, the force of it knocking you out. 

-

You woke up in your bed, your head feeling heavy and groggy. The memories came back to you slowly, the ship, the alien, the dead bodies. You shuddered, looking around the room anxiously. Your eyes landed on the Doctor and you let out a sigh. 

“You’re awake,” he smiled brightly. 

You smiled back at him, feeling a warmth spread across your body. 

He moved over to you, gathering you in a tight hug. You buried your nose in his neck, inhaling his signature scent. The calming mix of linen, peppermint, and strong tea. The smell was familiar and comforting, a welcome sensation after the anxiety you had just endured.

“I was terrified, I thought I lost you and t-that thing,” you choked, stumbling over your words. It didn’t really matter, you were with the Doctor now. The steady thumping of his duel hearts provided a baseline that calmed your frantic breathing, effectively quenching your panic.

You finally pulled away from the Doctor enough to look at him. Oftentimes, you found you could learn more from the Time Lord’s eyes than his words. 

“Are you ok?” he asked, his eyes riddled with worry. 

“I’m ok,” you shook your head, “I’m ok now.” 

You really were. It was silly to think that the Doctor could fix everything, but he sure could fix a lot of things. You felt safe with him, especially when he had saved you from random spaceships and homicidal aliens.  

“Thank you for getting me out of there,” you smiled. He hugged you again, and you relished in the comfort. You could stay like this forever, wrapped up in his arms.

The next thing he did shocked you. The Doctor kissed you. 

He held your face like it was his entire world and placed his lips against yours gently. You melted into the kiss, tangling your hands in his shirt. 

You felt tears slide down your face - from relief, from joy, and just pure pleasure. Kissing the Doctor was everything that you had ever wanted and more. 

He kissed you like you were his everything, like he couldn’t get enough of you. When he pulled away he looked into your eyes adoringly, a smile creeping across his face. 

He kissed the top of your head, the feeling comforting and familiar. 

“Stay with me?” you asked, holding onto him.

“Always,” he whispered into your hair.

-

The Doctor couldn’t find you, and he was starting to worry. 

You both had seen what the alien did to people firsthand. He didn’t want you to become its next victim. It could take your mind, and even worse, it could kill you.

A race he had previously believed to be extinct that possessed the power to show you your deepest desires. Lost in self-indulgence, the creature could feed off of your energy until you were drained. The sheer force of it usually caused your head to explode. The corpse with the blown-up face in the hallway should have clued him in. He ridiculed himself for not figuring it out sooner. 

Not knowing where you were or if you were still alive was sending the Doctor into a spiral. 

He ran through the endless halls, desperately searching for you. He couldn’t hear the alien moving around, and the silence was deafening. He didn’t know if it was on the other side of the ship, well away from you, or if it was busy feasting off of your brain. 

As he turned the corner, his fears became a reality. 

You were sprawled out on the floor, your shallow breathing the only sign of life coming from you. The alien clung to you, the contact enough to establish a psychic link. 

He had to be smart about this if he wanted to keep you alive. He needed to get the alien off of you as quickly as possible and pull you out of the dream-induced state before your mind turned into mush, or worse.

He flattened his back against the wall, his breath coming out in short pants. His mind raced, scenarios playing out one after another like a series of movies. He couldn’t mess up, not if he wanted to make it out of this in one piece. Not if he wanted to save you.

He peered around the corner, looking warily in your direction. The alien only had the capacity for one victim at a time. Considering it was latched onto you, he was mostly safe. That was unless there were multiple on the ship. 

He decided it was a risk worth taking and rushed to your side. He picked up your hand, holding it gently. You were breathing, but just barely. He needed to move fast. He said your name a few times, hoping it might rouse you, even if he knew it wouldn’t. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, allowing his fingers to travel towards your head. He hated invading your mind like this, especially without your permission. It was a direct violation, but he couldn’t think of much else to do. 

He didn’t know what he had expected to see, but images of your lips on his were certainly not on the list. He dropped the connection instantly, scampering away from your limp body. 

He shook his head. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. The alien had gotten in his head. That was the only explanation. 

He held his head in his hands, trying to get rid of the residual images of the two of you. He didn’t want to think about it too much. If he did, he might find himself falling deeper into the rabbit hole. He feared it was just the alien showing his own desires. 

“It’s just a dream,” he whispered to himself, trying to get ahold. It wasn’t real. It was just what he wanted to see.

Once he had settled his mind enough, he focused on establishing a physic block. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with saving you if he was fighting the alien himself.

-

You were happy and safe in the Doctor’s arms. He was holding you against his chest, and you could hear the steady beating of his hearts. The sound was comforting and familiar. 

You couldn’t think of a single place you would rather be. The Doctor felt like home to you.

He traced circular patterns onto your back. You were sure it was circular Gallifreyan, but you were too blissful to focus on it. 

Your peace was violently ruined as you jerked up in pain. Your head was suddenly filled with screaming. The pain shot through your head, causing you to pull away from the Doctor. 

You could see the concern on his face, could see his lips moving. He was probably asking if you were okay, but you couldn’t hear it. All you could hear was the noise. 

You collapsed to the floor, squeezing your eyes shut. Panic rushed through you, pushing tears from your eyes. You felt like you were dying. Maybe you were. 

You curled into a ball, clutching your head desperately. You gripped and pulled at your hair, anything to try and end this pain. It wouldn’t go away, no matter what you did. 

You screamed, the sound gruesome and raw. You didn’t know what else to do. 

After what seemed like hours, the noise grew to a painful crescendo that drowned out even your own voice. 

As suddenly as it all started, the noise ended. The change was shocking, enough to leave you extremely light-headed. The shift from everything to nothing was more torturous than relieving. 

You sprang upright, a gasp falling from your lips. 

Your eyes darted across the room anxiously. You were back in the TARDIS, but you couldn’t remember getting there. Next to you was the shriveled corpse of some alien. You gasped and shoved yourself away from it, fear coursing through your body.

“It’s ok,” the Doctor said, holding his hand out, “you’re ok.” 

“What the fuck just happened?” You gasped, leaning away from him too. Your eyes continued darting around the room in fear. You couldn’t remember much, just running from the monstrous hissing and clicking in the vents. You figured the dead thing next to you had been chasing you, but you couldn’t remember the Doctor being there with you.

“Take a deep breath,” the Doctor urged. 

You shook your head and repeated your question, “What just happened?” with a pant. 

“That alien,” he gestured to the corpse, “had you in a trance, I helped pull you out of it,” he explained, calmly. He was looking into your eyes with worry. 

“A what?” You asked, shaking your head again. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. 

“The alien on this ship,” he explained. You cut him off with a gasp, the horrors of the control room rushing back to you. The box, the bodies, the blood. You looked down at yourself with fear, half expecting yourself to be maimed. 

“It’s ok,” he urged again, “I got rid of it, you’re safe.” 

You shook your head, hoping it would all go away. 

“It’s gone.” 

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. 

“It’s over.” 

A tear slid down your face. You still didn’t know why you were crying. Relief? Fear? Happiness? 

The Doctor let you, he knew it was a lot. You had almost died after all. He moved over to you, offering a hand so you could stand up. You let him pull you upright until you were standing. 

“Is there anything I can do?” He asked, brushing your tears away gently. He was so gentle with you, even in your dreams. 

“A hug would be good,” you stuttered. The Doctor didn’t waste any time pulling you into his arms. He held you tightly, like he was afraid that you would slip out of his grip. 

Your face came to rest in the crook of his neck, the feeling and smell all too familiar. The tears came faster then, harder too. You couldn’t hold them back. 

The Doctor pulled away, looking at you with concern, “what’s wrong?”

“Why couldn’t it have been real?” you sobbed, fairly certain you were incoherent like this, “why can’t you love me?” 

You wanted to take it back the minute that you said it. Once you saw the words register with the Doctor you knew it was all over. 

You wiped your tears hurriedly, stepping back from him. 

“You don’t have to answer that - I don't know why I said that,” you laughed, even though you didn’t find it funny. You were embarrassed that you had shown your cards like that. Embarrassed that you had let the Doctor know how you really felt about him. But even more, you were mad at yourself for asking such a selfish question. For wanting something simply because it felt good to you. 

“But I do,” the Doctor whispered back, confused. How could you not see that?

“Yeah, as a friend,” you said, more to the floor than to his face. You were fiddling, moving farther and farther away from him. He felt like you were drifting away, and he wanted you to come back. 

“No,” he shook his head vigorously, his floppy hair flying across his forehead. 

“It’s ok,” you mumbled, the back of your legs hitting the TARDIS console. There was nowhere else for you to back up. 

“No, really. I cannot tell you how much I care for you,” he said, he desperately wanted to reach out to you. He didn’t know how to prove this to you, to show you just how much he truly loved you. He wasn’t good at being emotionally vulnerable, that much he knew. But that didn’t change the way he felt about you.

You shook your head again. “It’s not real”. You were dreaming again, you had to be. That was the only sensible explanation for all of this.

“It is,” the Doctor pleaded. He hated that this was happening, hated seeing you in pain. 

“I can show you,” he suggested, holding out his hands. He didn’t have the words to prove it to you, but he had the memories.

“I can develop a telepathic link, I can let you into my mind. I can’t lie to you in there,” he offered. You frowned at his outstretched hands, your brain still processing his words.

“You can say no,” he added, “after what happened today I wouldn’t blame you.” 

You thought about it for a moment. You really wanted to believe the Doctor, so you nodded. 

The Doctor moved towards you gently, still giving you plenty of chances to recoil from his touch. His fingers landed feather light against your temple. His eyes fluttered closed, and you followed suit. 

It was like being pulled through space. There was no warning or preparation, just a sudden feeling of vertigo crashing in on you. 

Before you knew it you were inside the Time Lord’s mind. It felt like literally walking around his brain, digging in the creases that he never let anyone see. It wasn’t the kind of experience that you could explain to someone, even if you had wanted to. 

For the first time, you saw what you looked like from his eyes. Images of your smile flashed in front of you, the speed of it making your eyes hurt. It was weird to see yourself like this - from someone else's point of view. It was like looking at someone else entirely. 

You had only ever seen yourself in a mirror, or pictures. Your face seemed backward to you, and it took a second for it to register that it was. So this is how people see me? You thought, looking at yourself with a newfound sense of scrutiny. 

You didn’t get to dwindle on it for too long before the memories started playing. It was like a mental backlog of home videos, and you wondered how the doctor could remember this much of you. Surely he had more important things in his brain than you? 

It started in the early days, back when he had first met you. You couldn’t help but notice how young you looked. 

“I have room for one more,” the Doctor had offered, leaning against his mysterious blue box casually.

“I don’t know,” you had said, tilting your head, “that ship looks a little small.”

The Doctor grinned at you and opened the door, beckoning you inside. This was always his favorite part.

“It’s… smaller on the outside,” you gasped. The Doctor looked at you shocked, no one had ever said that to him before. The typical response was somewhere along the lines of “It’s bigger on the inside!” followed by complete shock at the defiance of the laws of space. Instead, you looked at the ship with unmistakable wonder, adoration, and curiosity. Your hands danced across the cool metal of the ship, fascinated by everything around you. You had the wonder and inquisitiveness of a child, fascinated by even the simplest of things around you. 

“It’s beautiful,” you smiled at the Doctor, the grin taking over your whole face. The Doctor couldn’t help but be amazed at you, at the wonder you had for the world around you. It was beautiful, and he couldn’t look away.

The scene faded, a new one taking its place.

In the new memory, you ran into the TARDIS control room, a giant smile plastered on your face. This memory was later, you could tell not only by your face but by the clear comfort you had with the ship. By now, you were more than comfortable calling it home.

“Doctor!” you laughed, plopping down next to him happily.

“Yes?” The Doctor asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Guess what I found?” you asked, an eyebrow quirking upwards. You remembered this day. You had spent hours trying to figure out the organizational system in the TARDIS library. You eventually figured out that there wasn’t really one and gave up. However, in the process, you stumbled across a book. 

In the Doctor’s memory, you held up a dusty book ceremoniously. 

“A book?” he asked with a laugh. 

You shook your head, your smile unfaltering. 

“It’s your favorite book,” you laughed, shoving the book into the Doctor’s chest. 

“How do you know that?” He asked, thumbing the pages fondly. 

“You told me once,” you shrugged, a scarlet flush creeping across your face. 

“I did?” He asked, setting the book off to the side. 

“When you took me to see Jane Austen,” you explained, leaning against the console comfortably. 

“I asked what your favorite book was, and you told me it was this one,” you put your hand on top of the old hardback, fingers brushing across the worn cover. In your memory, you had been looking at the book, too scared to meet the Doctor’s eye. From his perspective, the focus was on your face. The slight smile that tugged at your lips, the way that your hair fell into your face. There was no mistaking the way that the Doctor looked at you at that moment. You had seen it a hundred times on television. You felt a heat flush to your cheeks. Not in the memory, but in the current moment. 

The Doctor’s memory moved on, the moment fleeting. 

In this scene, he was hunched over the TARDIS console. He hung his head in a way that conveyed distress, his spiky hair falling over cloudy eyes.

“You alright?” you asked, placing your hand on his shoulder gently. 

He looked over at you, almost surprised to see you. 

The Time Lord’s eyes were always so expressive, and you didn’t like what you saw in them. You couldn’t recall a time you had ever seen them this sad. There was a darkness in them, the kind that worried you. 

“I’m always alright,” he said tightly, forcing a sad smile. 

“No, no you’re not,” you said, tracing your hand down his arm. You let your fingers interlace with his, and his eyes trained themselves on the connection. 

“Why do you stay with me?” He choked, clearly fighting tears.

You frowned, confused by the question. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“The things I’ve done…” he trailed off, lost in his own dark thoughts, “They’re unforgivable.” 

“You’re not your past,” you assured, rubbing calming circles on the back of his hand with your thumb. 

“I keep doing them. Horrible things,” he shook his head. “I’m a monster.” 

“Don’t say that,” you ridiculed. He laughed sadly, turning away from you. 

“Hey.” you guided his face back in your direction gently, your touch comforting. “You are a good man.” Your eyes darted between his, taking in anguish laden in them. 

“You’re the Doctor,” you stated with a laugh. Your hands traveled down to his chest, resting over his hearts. They thumped a steady rhythm, the beat comforting and familiar to you.

“You have the biggest hearts of anyone I know,” you said, still holding his eye. Your hands moved back up to his face, holding it gently. He closed his eyes, a single tear rolling down his freckled cheek. Your thumb swiped it away without a second thought. 

“You are so good,” you reassured. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he cried, the tears more frequent now.

“Well, you’re stuck with me,” you chuckled, the slight humor of it bringing a small smile to his face.

“Seriously,” you added. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly. 

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair.

The scene melted away again, a new one taking its place.

“It’s your name,” the Doctor explained as you thumbed a pendant. It was small, hardly bigger than a coin. Engraved on the surface was a series of intertwining circles, a pattern you easily recognized as circular Galliyfreyan. 

“How did you?” You asked, your sentence trailing off as you looked up at him in wonder. 

“I had it specially made,” he shrugged like it meant nothing. 

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed, looking down at the necklace in adoration. There was a twinkle in your eyes that you had never picked up on before. 

“Can you put it on for me?” You asked holding the necklace out to the Doctor. He nodded meekly, taking the chain from your hands. 

His hands lingered on your skin as he fastened the chain around your neck. You could feel the electricity in his touch, the way that he didn't want to let go. 

You turned around with a smile on your face, your hand ghosting around the pendant. 

“How do I look?” You asked.

The Doctor smiled to himself, taking the moment to memorize your face. The distinct lines of your expression, the shine in your eyes, the joy on your face. All of it was captivating. You were captivating. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered, and he meant it. 

The scene moved on. You weren’t in the next one, the area unfamiliar to you. 

The Doctor was sitting in the console room, his head bowed. Donna stood above him, her arms crossed. The sight of the redhead made you sad, you missed her. You missed your best friend. 

“You’re acting like I don’t already know this?” She laughed, the sound painstakingly familiar. 

The Doctor looked up at her like a wounded puppy. 

“I’ve seen the way you look at them,” she continued, “like they’re the only person in the whole wide world that matters.” 

“That’s dramatic,” the Doctor groaned. 

“It’s true,” she glared at him. He didn’t argue. 

“Are you going to tell them?” She asked, her gaze softening. 

The Doctor shook his head, “I can’t.” 

“Why?” Donna glared. 

“Have you ever heard the saying ‘Is it better to have had a good thing and lost it than to have never had it?’?” He asked her, pain in his eyes. 

“That feels contradictory.” 

“I mean, I would rather have them as I do than not have them at all,” he explained. Donna sighed and sat next to him, looking at him sympathetically. 

“I don't think I could live without them,” he sighed, burying his head in his hands. 

The scene faded, and you were left with the Doctor’s face looking at you worriedly. You hadn’t realized you were crying until he wiped the tears from your face. 

“Are you ok?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed with concern. He hadn’t wanted to upset you further. That was the opposite of his intentions.

You smiled at him. You weren't crying from sadness, or even anxiety like before. No, these were happy tears. Happy that it was real, that the Doctor really loved you. It was everything you had ever wanted.

You threw your arms around the doctor, holding tightly onto him. 

“I love you,” you whispered into his ear. You felt it was about time you said it. 

“I love you too,” the Doctor sighed like it was a breath he had been holding in. 

“So, so much,” he shook his head, wrapping his arms around your waist. He lifted you off the ground ceremoniously, swinging you back and forth gently. 

You laughed lightly, pulling back to look at his face. 

“Say it again,” you smiled, relishing in the feeling of his words.

“I love you,” he smiled back, and you knew he meant it. 

[darkmxgician]

Promises Break- Part 1

LMK your opinions, I've never posted my writing before, so I'm very nervous

pairing: fem!reader x noah. tags: drinking, mild violence, trauma/PTSD

word count: around 2300

story song: the death of peace of mind (we are fury mix)

taglist: @sorrowsofsilence @angelsdevils @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

18+ below the cut

The pounding music and flashing lights continue to overwhelm my senses. I normally hate clubs like this, it’s loud and I don’t enjoy losing my inhibitions outside of my designated safe spaces. My two roommates are out of town, and usually I would stay with my twin brother, but he's back in England. And so I was trapped inside my house, the silence threatening to tear me apart. I haven’t slept in 2 days, the nightmares plaguing me were beginning to seep into my consciousness, and I was losing my grip on reality. My friend Hayley invited me out for drinks, the excuse being a girls night with two of her close friends, I accepted just so I could escape the walls that were closing in on me. I don’t cope well with being alone, and when I can feel my sanity slipping I tend to be reckless and impulsive. Which is why I am now several drinks deep and swaying along to whatever dance music is blasting.

My phone starts to vibrate in my bag, I frown and try to pull it out, Hayley intercepts, grabbing it from me easily, since I’m inebriated and can barely stay upright.“Noooo, don’t answer” I slur at her, too late, “who is Noah?” she squeals at me over the music, holding the phone against one ear. I sigh internally, my brother probably asked his guard dog to keep an eye on me since everyone else is out of town. My feeble attempts to grab my phone back fail and I stumble into her as someone pushes past me from behind. The mass of bodies around us making it difficult to navigate the packed dancefloor. “Sorry y/n isn’t here right now, she’s busy, please leave a message after the tone” I can’t help but laugh at the audacity my friend has, if she saw who she was speaking to she would not be dismissing him like this. She makes an absurd beeping noise and hangs up, both of us falling into a fits of giggles, likely induced by the tequila we’ve been drinking all night. We carry on dancing like nothing happened, my drunk brain letting the details slip away with the music, not letting the anxiety set in like it usually would when Noah is involved. 

I was enjoying the music, arms wrapped around Hayley and her two friends dancing around us, when I felt the energy change, like it was charged, in anticipation for something about to break. I look around, suddenly feeling nervous, wanting to protect the mood and the fun we were having, it’s rare I let myself lose control like this, and I want to keep my buzz going. I can’t shake the feeling of being watched, like prey about to fall into a trap. I turn around again, trying to catch whatever threat is lurking, when my eyes clash with hazel ones. Noah. I blink, not quite sure if I’m hallucinating, and he’s gone. Shaking my head I scan the crowd again, seeing nobody I recognise.  turning back to my group, I signal that I’m going to the bar. Moving through the crowd is an effort, I’m almost at the bar, the liquor beckoning me, when I run into someone’s chest. I look up, straight into those deep brown eyes. Noah. I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves. I realise I’m leaning against him, my hands flat against his chest, and try to back up but he grabs me. Leaning down to my level, he almost growls “you’re coming with me”. His breath is hot against my ear as I try to struggle against his grip but it’s no good. His large frame dwarfs me and his punishing grip lets him easily drag me next to him, weaving through the bodies in the packed nightclub. 

We reach the exit and I try to stop him, words failing me I just point at the cloakroom, my ticket in hand. Exasperation clear on his face, he sighs and snatches it from my hand, pushing me ahead of him I end up blocked between him and the counter. I can feel the hard muscles of his chest against my bare back, the fabric of his t-shirt rubbing against my suddenly too-sensitive skin. I lean back and look up at him, his eyes are dark and he refuses to pay any attention to me, I sigh and look back down, his hands are gripping the counter at either side of my waist, the tattoos are so dark they seem to swallow up the light around them. He takes my leather jacket from the attendant and holds it out, waiting for me to push my arms into the sleeves. I don’t know what it is about him, but every muscle seems to lock up, I feel my anxiety rising, each breath coming quicker than the last. He grabs me and roughly puts my jacket on, and starts pulling me along with an arm around my waist. I completely lose ability to breathe and start hyperventilating, we reach the exit, the cool air hitting me like a slap to the face. Noah drags me to one side and pushes me against the wall of the club, he’s frowning at me like I’m an insolent child he’s trying to manage. His piercing stare only makes my anxiety peak, I start feeling lightheaded and lean my head back against the rough brick wall. “y/n, I need you to breathe, I’m not going to let anything happen to you”, the rich timbre of his voice distracts me from my approaching panic attack. “Why are you here?” I ask, my voice light and breathless. “You weren’t at home, and when I called to check on you, your drunk friend answered”, his eyes start drilling holes in my head. How did he know my location? Did my brother do something to my phone to let his asshole friend stalk me whilst he was at home with our family? Like flicking a switch my anxiety turned to anger. I balled my fists and used all my strength to push him out of my personal space, “how the fuck would you know where I am?” I yell hoarsely. He doesn’t budge, one hand flexing on the brick next to my head he smirks down at me, “well apparently you need a babysitter, I was unlucky enough to end up with the task”. I see red, I aim to start hitting his chest to get him away from me, but he easily grabs my wrists in one hand and tuts at me. “You can either walk nicely to my car y/n, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you”. I stop my pathetic attempt at freeing myself and feel the nausea rise. He was going to take me home, back to my empty, silent house. Back to the nightmares that haunt even my waking moments. “Please, don’t make me go back there” I whisper, my eyes going wide, pleading. Surprise flickers across his features, gone before I can even register it, he leans in even further, our breath mingling as he assesses me with those rich brown eyes. “Why wouldn’t you want to go home, little one?”. I whimper, trying to suppress the sob that threatened to escape, “I can’t stand it anymore, I can’t sleep, I haven’t slept in days” I admit, tears starting to fill my eyes. Why was I telling him this? I can barely admit it to myself. He nods, like he understands exactly what is plaguing me. He moves to pull me into his side again. I decide this is where I make my final stand and elbow him in the ribs, he grunts and spins around, throwing me back against the wall, his enormous hands digging into my shoulders. I wince at the impact and he leans down again, his mouth inches from mine, “I’m not going to make you go home alone y/n, I told your brother I would take care of you, so please, get in the fucking car”.

This has to be the longest I’ve spent with my brother's best friend one on one. I’ve spent time with him in group settings before, and we happily ignore each other's presence. I can’t stop fidgeting in the passenger seat, music is playing softly, I can just make out heavy guitars over the sound of the engine. I bounce my leg up and down, unable to stop myself, I pull against the seatbelt he strapped across my chest, and try to control my breathing, the lights of the city passing by in a blur. We pull up at a set of traffic lights and his large hand grabs my thigh in a tight grip, “what is wrong with you? can’t you stay still?”. He doesn’t shout, but the annoyance in his voice is clear and I can’t stop the tears that start to fill my eyes. I try to turn to look out of the window but the hand he had on my leg grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. Time slows, he opens his mouth to say something after what feels like an eternity, but the car behind us sounds its horn, causing him to swear and set off driving instead. Noah lets go of my face and grabs my leg again, keeping me from fidgeting. I rest my head against the seat and let the tears spill, who cares if he sees anyway, he already hates me.

I jolt awake when my foot hits something, it takes me too long to understand my surroundings, I groan at the headache starting to form, pressure building and pushing against my skull. I let my head fall back to where it was. My eyes flutter open when I hit muscle and smell his cologne, the ground is moving beneath me. Noah is carrying me, his strong arms hooked under my knees and back, I grab onto his t-shirt, suddenly feeling unbalanced, eliciting a chuckle from him. The sound is foreign to me, I squint up at him, his short hair falling in his face as he navigates his way through my home, like he knows his way around, I’m sure he’s never set foot in my house before. He rounds the corner to my bedroom and kicks open the door, walking in sideways so my feet don’t hit the doorframe again. He adjusts my weight in his arms like it’s nothing and gently puts me down on my bed, another surprise. I have no words in my head, between my trauma, nightmares, lack of sleep and amount of alcohol I’d consumed my brain is not ready to take in any new information. I feel myself begin to slip into the catatonic state that is starting to become my norm. My body starts to become rigid. Noah kneels down on the floor by my bed and pulls my ankles toward him, causing me to twist and nearly fall off the bed. He frowns up at me before he starts to undo the buckles on my heels. The callouses on his fingers feel harsh against my smooth skin. I let him take my shoes off, then my bag and coat, shock and exhaustion weighing on me. “Where do you keep your pyjamas?” His voice startles me, but my body is too stiff to react, I manage to lift my eyes to his and concern flashes across his features. I point towards my wardrobe, my arm feels so heavy it just flops back down to my side. I can’t stay upright anymore, and lie back on my bed, feet still dangling over the edge. I just need to close my eyes for a second. 

Rough hands on my skin jolt me awake once again. Noah is pulling a pair of shorts up my bare legs, his eyes trailing up as he pushes them under my dress. I bolt upright, nearly head butting him, “what the fuck are you doing?” I shout, my voice cracking, the volume of my voice making my head pound. “You don’t really seem capable of getting yourself ready for bed, do you little one?” His voice was low, a tone I’ve never heard from him before, his eyes darker than usual and pinned on mine. I swallow, unsure how to respond, he always looks at me with animosity or annoyance, but I can’t figure out the emotions on his face. He cocks his head to one side, “do you want to take that dress off, or shall I do the honours?”, a ghost of a smile hovers over his mouth. When I fail to answer he pulls me upright, one hand on my waist, steadying me. When he’s satisfied I’m not going to fall over, he starts untangling the mass of straps on the back of my dress, I chose an open backed one to show off the new tattoo adorning my spine. I couldn’t think, I could barely breathe, with his hands on my bare skin, goosebumps flow down my arms and my mouth dries out. My dress is becoming looser with each movement of his large hands and I have to grab on to stop it from falling down and exposing my bare chest. With the straps undone, he spins me around, his eyes dropping to where I’m gripping the fabric. His nostrils flare and his grip on my hip tightens ever so slightly. Slowly he raises his eyes to mine, and where his hazel eyes are normally flat, they’re churning, almost black against his dilated pupils. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, his eyes tracking the movement, and I instantly feel like an animal caught in a trap. 

Part 2 - Part 3

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Checkmate: Book 3 of 3 BTR Series: a Jhea fanfic.

Chapter 10: Cal..

Flashback: June 7th, 2025. 8:16 AM.

Jey was sprawled across the California king bed, his body heavy with exhaustion. After a grueling travel schedule, he’d finally landed in Stamford at 4 AM, too tired to do much more than drop his bags by the door, kick off his shoes, and collapse into bed beside Rhea. His deep, unshakable sleep was interrupted by the high-pitched beep-beep-beep of a construction truck backing up.

Jey groaned, instinctively grabbing a pillow and pressing it over his ears. The noise persisted, accompanied by the rumble of a machine digging into the earth. The muffled cacophony only grew louder, vibrating through the walls, and Jey sat up abruptly with a frustrated huff.

He rubbed his eyes, still half-asleep, as he swung his legs off the bed. The room was dim, the curtains drawn tightly shut, but even in the low light, the dogs, Barry and Bella, and the cat, Storm, were watching him curiously. They tilted their heads in unison, their expressions mirroring his annoyance.

“Y’all hearin’ this too?” Jey muttered, scratching the back of his head.

He shuffled downstairs, his bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor. As he turned the corner into the kitchen, there was Rhea, her very pregnant form leaning casually against the counter. She was sipping a bottle of water, flipping through a magazine as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Her oversized Beats headphones were perched snugly over her ears, blasting music so loud he could faintly hear it from across the room.

Jey stared at her, incredulous. How was she so unbothered?

He snapped his fingers in front of her face, startling her. Rhea frowned, pulling her headphones down around her neck. “Ugh, rude much?” she muttered, giving him a pointed look.

Jey threw his hands up in exasperation. “Baby? The sounds?! Hello!” He gestured toward the window, where the construction noise was still going strong.

Rhea raised an eyebrow, her expression calm and unamused. “You knew the guys would be here today, building the foundation for the pool,” she said matter-of-factly, taking another sip of water.

Jey blinked, his tired brain struggling to catch up. “The pool? Baby, I just got in at four this morning! I barely got any sleep, and now there’s jackhammers and trucks and God-knows-what else out there!”

Rhea smirked, setting her magazine down and leaning toward him. “You’re the one who wanted a pool, baby,” she teased. “I told you it could wait, but nooo, you wanted it done before the baby comes.”

Jey ran a hand over his face, groaning. “Yeah, well, I didn’t think they’d start construction at the crack of dawn!”

Rhea chuckled softly, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “C’mon, Uce. It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Jey echoed, his voice raising slightly. He pointed at the window again. “It sounds like they’re tearing the whole house down!”

Rhea rolled her eyes, pulling her Beats back over her ears. “You’ll survive. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going back to my music.”

Jey stared at her, completely dumbfounded, as she turned her attention back to her magazine. The noise outside continued unabated, and he could feel his blood pressure rising. But as he looked at Rhea—her calm, unbothered demeanor, her hand casually resting on her belly—his irritation began to ebb.

He sighed heavily, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, turning toward the coffee machine.

Rhea smirked, her voice muffled slightly by the headphones. “I know,” she said, her tone smug.

As Jey brewed himself a cup of decaf coffee, the sounds of construction rumbled on. But somehow, with Rhea there, it didn’t seem quite as unbearable.

Jey leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping his decaf coffee with a scowl. “How long is this gonna take?” he asked, the weariness evident in his tone.

Rhea sighed and pulled her headphones down again. “About six weeks.”

Jey choked on his coffee. “Six weeks?! Baby, six weeks?”

Rhea placed a hand on her hip, looking at him calmly. “Babe, I wanted a Texas-type pool. You know, big, luxurious, deep—everything we talked about.”

Jey groaned, setting his mug down a little too hard. “Baby, this is gonna mess up my vacation for the Fourth!”

Rhea raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. “Babe… you forgot already?” she teased. “We’ve got the villa booked for the whole week of the Fourth of July. No construction, no noise, just you, me and our big family.”

Jey sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Baby, I gotta deal with this racket for six weeks?!”

Rhea couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “Babe,” she said, walking closer to him, “me and the kids are dealing with this. You’re literally leaving Monday morning for work! This is my everyday, not yours.”

Jey’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Baby, I just want some sleep.”

Rhea softened at his words, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed him gently, her lips soft against his. “You’re such a big baby,” she murmured against his lips.

Jey groaned, pulling her closer. “Ugh, I missed your kisses,” he muttered before trailing his lips down her neck.

Rhea laughed, her fingers brushing through his hair. “How about this, baby?” she said, pulling back slightly. “Do you wanna use my noise-cancelling earplugs?”

Jey perked up immediately. “You have an extra pair?”

Rhea grinned, brushing a stray piece of hair from his face. “In my drawer upstairs. Go grab ’em.”

Jey kissed her one more time before stepping back, a bit of his irritation already melting away. “You’re the best, Mami,” he said with a wink before turning and making his way up the stairs.

Rhea stood there for a moment, shaking her head with a small smile. “He’s lucky he’s cute,” she murmured to herself before picking up her magazine again. The faint sounds of construction hummed in the background as she slipped her headphones back on.

—

Jey woke up slowly, blinking as he adjusted to the dim light filtering through the curtains. He checked the clock on his phone—3:51 PM. Stretching his arms above his head, he let out a contented sigh. Pulling out the noise-canceling earplugs, he grinned to himself, thankful for the uninterrupted sleep.

He got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. Stripping out of his clothes, he stepped into the shower, the hot water relaxing his muscles as he stood under the steady stream. After he finished, he dried off, brushed his teeth, and walked into the spacious walk-in closet he shared with Rhea.

His eyes scanned the neatly arranged clothes until they landed on a vintage Right Hand Man-era t-shirt. Smirking to himself at the nostalgic find, he threw it on. He paired it with black basketball shorts and matching Nike socks, completing his laid-back look.

As he descended the stairs, the scent of freshly baked bread and deli meats hit him. Jey rounded the corner into the kitchen and saw Rhea standing at the counter, focused on assembling a massive sub sandwich.

Without looking up, she said, “Would you like one, baby?”

Jey grinned, sliding onto one of the bar stools at the counter. “Yes, please, love.”

Rhea glanced at him and smiled, sliding the finished sandwich across the counter toward him. “Here, you can have mine.”

Jey’s grin widened as he accepted the plate. “You’re too good to me, baby.”

Rhea chuckled and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “I know,” she teased, leaning over to kiss the top of his head before grabbing another roll to make herself a new sandwich.

Jey took a big bite of the sandwich and hummed in satisfaction. “You put your foot in this one, baby. This is hittin’.”

Rhea laughed as she worked on her sandwich. “I always do.”

Jey nodded, still chewing. “You’re right. My bad for even doubting it.”

They shared a quiet moment of comfortable domesticity, the sounds of construction outside blending with their soft conversation.

By 5 PM sharp, the construction crew wrapped up for the day, leaving behind the faint hum of silence that Rhea and Jey had craved all morning. With the house blissfully quiet and the chaos of the day temporarily at bay, they decided to unwind in their cozy living room.

Jey’s sons, Jeyce and Jaciyah, were spending the weekend with their mom, Takecia, which meant for this growing family, the house was entirely theirs. Jey had just finished feeding Bartholomew, their guinea pig, carefully setting the little guy back in his cage before joining Rhea on the plush sectional couch.

He laid down next to her, draping an arm over her waist as his hand instinctively found her swollen belly. His fingers began to trace soft, lazy circles over her stretched skin. Rhea was engrossed in a copy of I Loved You In Another Life, her lips moving slightly as she read silently to herself.

Jey watched her for a moment before his deep voice broke the silence. “Read to me.”

Rhea’s eyes lifted from the book, a playful frown on her face. “Hmm?”

“Read to me. And to Jeyson.” He poked her belly with his finger, his grin widening when he felt a subtle kick in response. “See? He’s awake. He wants to hear it too.”

Rhea chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jey replied, shifting closer to her. “Go on, baby. Read.”

She smiled, rolling her eyes affectionately before flipping back a couple of pages to the beginning of the chapter. Clearing her throat dramatically, she began to read aloud, her Australian accent giving the prose a melodic cadence.

Jey closed his eyes, letting her voice wash over him as his hand continued to rub her belly. Every now and then, he’d murmur, “Keep goin’,” or offer a soft chuckle at a particularly witty line.

As Rhea read, Jey felt the weight of everything lift—work, travel, even the noise earlier in the day. It was just them, their growing family, and the calm rhythm of her voice filling the room.

—

Jey stirred awake to the faint sound of something squeaking rhythmically. He blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the dimming light in the living room. The subtle noise persisted, soft and consistent.

Turning his head, he saw Rhea sitting on a large, bright blue pregnancy ball, bouncing gently up and down. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and she was wearing one of his oversized shirts with a pair of black maternity leggings.

The dogs, Barry and Bella, sat a few feet away, their heads tilting in unison with every bounce. Their expressions were a mixture of curiosity and confusion, as if trying to figure out if this was some kind of new game. Storm sat perched on the coffee table, the cat’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, tail flicking every so often.

Jey propped himself up on his elbow, his voice groggy but amused. “Uh, babe… what exactly are you doin’ over there?”

Rhea looked over at him, her lips twitching into a small grin. “What does it look like? I’m bouncing.”

Jey rubbed his face and sat up fully, leaning back against the armrest of the couch. “At seven o’clock at night?”

Rhea shrugged, continuing to bounce. “It helps my hips. And it’s good for Jeyson to, you know, get into the right position.”

Jey raised an eyebrow, glancing at the dogs, who were now lying down but still staring at her with their heads resting on their paws. “Well, you’ve got an audience. Even the pets think you’re wildin’ right now.”

Rhea let out a laugh, reaching down to scratch behind Barry’s ear. “They’re just jealous they don’t have a ball like this. Isn’t that right, Barry?”

Jey chuckled, stretching his arms overhead. “Man, you’re somethin’ else, Mamba.” He stood up, walking over to her and placing his hands on her hips to stop her bouncing. “C’mon now, I know you’re tryin’ to be all productive and stuff, but you need to chill. You’ve been on your feet all day.”

Rhea tilted her head at him, her grin widening. “Says the guy who woke up from his second nap today.”

“Exactly,” Jey said with a smirk. “I’m setting an example. Relaxin’ is an art form, baby. You need to follow my lead.”

Rhea rolled her eyes playfully, but she let him help her off the ball. “Fine, fine. But only if you rub my back later.”

Jey leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Deal. Now, let’s get you off this thing before Barry decides he wants a turn.”

Barry wagged his tail at the mention of his name, and Rhea laughed as Jey guided her back toward the couch. Storm meowed, hopping off the table as if to reclaim his spot next to them.

“Guess we’re all chillin’ tonight,” Jey said, settling back onto the couch and pulling Rhea into his arms.

Rhea shook her head, smirking at Jey. “No chillin’. What about dinner?”

Jey leaned back, stretching his arms casually across the back of the couch. “Is Mama Bear hungry?”

Rhea raised her eyebrows, placing a hand on her belly. “Mama Bear has been hungry since you fell asleep.”

Jey laughed, sitting up and nudging her shoulder with his. “Alright, alright. What do you want?”

Rhea’s face lit up. “I want McDonald’s!”

Jey shook his head, grinning. “Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

The two of them got up, and Jey grabbed the car keys from the kitchen counter. They made their way to the garage, where Rhea’s plum-colored Tahoe was parked. Jey opened the passenger door for her, helping her in before hopping into the driver’s seat.

The automatic garage door hummed as it opened, and Jey backed the Tahoe out of the driveway. Rhea reached over to press the button to close the gate behind them, securing their property as they drove off toward the nearest McDonald’s.

A few minutes later, Jey pulled into the drive-thru, slowing the car to a stop as they approached the menu board. Rhea reached over toward the speaker, her excitement evident. Jey rested his hand casually over her backside, chuckling to himself as she leaned forward.

Rhea spoke confidently into the speaker. “Hi, can I get two triple cheeseburgers plain and dry, two spicy McChickens with Big Mac sauce instead of mayo, a 20-piece chicken nugget, a large fry, and a large chocolate shake.”

There was a pause before the worker on the other end said, “Uh… our ice cream machine is down.”

Rhea groaned, her head falling back dramatically. “Fine. Then just sub it for a large Hi-C Orange.”

Jey smiled at her reaction, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Patience, Mama Bear.”

Rhea turned to him, and the kiss quickly deepened. Jey cupped her face as they lost themselves in the moment, his other hand gently holding her belly so it won’t squish. Jey broke the kiss and he attacked her neck with kisses, the Tahoe idling in the drive-thru. Jey brought his lips up to Rhea’s again and connected once more, his tongue slipping into her mouth and battling hers, this was what he missed everyday on the road, her.

The speaker crackled to life again. “Ugh… anything else?”

Rhea pulled back, laughing as she slid back into her seat, her cheeks flushed. “Nope, that’s it for me.”

Jey smirked, turning back to the speaker. “Yeah, can I get a Big Mac meal? Large fries, large Coke.”

“That’ll be $36.42 at the first window,” the worker replied, her tone flat.

Jey reached into his wallet as they pulled forward. Rhea couldn’t stop laughing, leaning against him as he handed over his card. “We’re gonna get banned from the drive-thru one of these days,” she joked.

“Long as I’ve got you with me, I don’t care,” Jey replied, his voice warm as he placed a hand on her belly.

The cashier handed Jey and Rhea their food, and Jey offered a quick “thank you” as he drove off. The smell of fresh fries and nuggets filled the car, and Rhea, grinning mischievously, snatched a nugget from the bag. Jey shook his head with a chuckle.

They pulled up to their property, and Jey leaned out the window to punch in the gate code. As the gate slowly opened, Rhea glanced out, her lips pursed thoughtfully.

“I think we should get our wrestling logos on a new gate,” she said suddenly.

Jey glanced at her, amused. “That’d be cool, but babe… just ’cause you inherited $950 million doesn’t mean you gotta spend it all at once.”

Rhea rolled her eyes as Jey pulled the car into the garage and parked. “I know that, Mr. Frugal. That’s why I’ve done some big things this week.”

Jey raised an eyebrow as he turned off the engine. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Rhea grinned, stepping out of the Tahoe and smoothing her shirt over her belly. “Well, I may have invested in TKO.”

Jey froze halfway through grabbing the food bags, staring at her. “Wait—what? You a board member now or something?”

Rhea leaned against the car door, smirking. “Same level as Dwayne.”

Jey let out a low whistle, impressed. “Damn, baby. Look at you making moves. What else?”

Rhea started walking toward the house with a bounce in her step, her hand resting on her belly. “I also signed the papers to get an office for my charity foundation.”

Jey followed behind her, locking the car. “You did all this in the week I was gone?”

Rhea shrugged, unlocking the door. “I wanted to keep myself busy, you know. It’s hard not having you around.”

Jey shut the door behind them, setting the food on the kitchen counter. “So, what’s the charity about? Who does it help? And how come I’m just now finding out about this?”

Rhea hesitated for a moment, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the countertop. “I’ve established a nonprofit for victims of sexual assault, displaced children, and victims of sex trafficking,” she said quietly. Her voice softened as she continued, “It’s called the Demi Fatu Foundation for Troubled Youth. I just barely got it up and running. I was waiting for permits to come in, babes.”

Jey’s expression softened, his gaze locked on her. “That’s… incredible, baby. I mean, wow. That’s huge.”

Rhea nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I wanted it to be something I could do, you know? My own thing. Something that makes a real difference.”

Jey stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You’re doing something amazing, Demi. I’m proud of you. Really.”

Rhea leaned into his embrace, her hand resting on his chest. “Thanks, baby. It means a lot.”

Jey kissed the top of her head, holding her close. “So what’s the first step? How are you planning to get it out there?”

Rhea’s smile brightened. “I’ve already got a few events planned to start raising awareness. I want it to grow into something that actually changes lives, you know?”

Jey nodded, his hand gently rubbing her back. “You’re gonna do that, baby. I already know.”

Rhea smiled up at him, her eyes glistening with emotion. “You always know what to say.”

Jey grinned, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And you always know how to make me proud.”

They stood there for a moment, holding each other, the smell of their McDonald’s dinner forgotten as they celebrated Rhea’s newest accomplishment.

Sometime after finishing their late-night dinner, the quiet hum of the TV filled the room as Rhea settled back onto the pregnancy ball, bouncing gently. She shifted her attention to the screen, her mind wandering between the show and the many thoughts racing through her head.

Jey, who had been lingering in the kitchen cleaning up their plates, glanced over at her, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “You know what?”

Rhea looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

Jey smirked as he leaned against the doorframe, watching her. “You never used to bounce like that in the bedroom.”

Rhea’s eyes widened in playful surprise, and she stopped bouncing for a moment, looking at him with a laugh. “Really, babe?”

Jey pushed off the doorframe, making his way over to her, his hands coming around her waist as he hugged her from behind. “I mean… I have something better for you to bounce on,” he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

Rhea rolled her eyes, laughing as she shook her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

She tried to shift her focus back to the TV, but Jey wasn’t letting go of her just yet. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent as he spoke softly. “I mean it, Rhea.”

She turned her head slightly, narrowing her eyes at him. “I’m, like, about to pop. And you still think I’m attractive?”

Jey smiled down at her, his fingers softly caressing her belly. “You are way more beautiful than you’ve ever been, Rhea. I love you, girl. You’re my wife.”

Rhea’s heart melted at his words. She had known Jey for so long, but his love for her, even now when she felt swollen and heavy with their son, always made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

She leaned back into him, resting her head on his chest. “I love you too, baby.”

Jey pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “You don’t even know how lucky I am, Rhea. I’m so proud of you. Of everything you’ve done.”

She smiled softly, her hand resting on his as he caressed her belly. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

Jey gently squeezed her waist, his lips brushing against her ear. “You’ve always had the strength inside you. I’m just here to remind you of it when you forget.”

Rhea let out a content sigh, closing her eyes for a moment as she enjoyed the warmth of his embrace. She knew that no matter what came next, they would face it together. And that thought alone was all she needed.

—

November 29th, 2025 – Phoenix, Arizona – 2:21 PM

Jey stepped out of the taxi, clutching the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. The heat of the Arizona sun pressed down on him, but it was nothing compared to the weight in his chest. His fingers tightened around the note—Ken’s words still echoing in his mind.

“I’ve personally tried going over there but nothing works… maybe you could try, his name is Cal. He lives on 6363 South Fresno Street.”

His gaze lifted to the house in front of him. It was beautiful, with a Mediterranean-style exterior, red-tiled roofing, and tall cypress trees lining the front yard. The large red doors stood out against the beige stucco, and for a moment, Jey hesitated.

Then, inhaling deeply, he walked up the stone pathway and knocked firmly.

A few moments passed before the door creaked open, revealing an older woman with silver-streaked dark hair and a knowing expression.

“Hello?” she greeted, her voice warm yet cautious.

Jey cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how exhausted he felt. “Sorry for my intrusion,” he began. “My name is Joshua Fatu. I’m looking for Cal… I’m a friend of Mamba.”

The moment the name left his lips, the woman’s face softened. Her eyes gleamed with recognition, and a slow smile spread across her lips.

“Mamba,” she repeated, almost like she was recalling a fond memory. She stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

Jey hesitated only a second before stepping over the threshold. The house smelled like aged wood, something citrusy, and a hint of cigar smoke. The inside was just as beautiful as the exterior—rich wooden floors, deep-colored rugs, and shelves lined with books and old trinkets.

As he followed the woman through the hallway, his gaze caught on something that made him stop in his tracks.

A series of framed photographs lined the wall, but one, in particular, seized his attention.

Rhea.

She stood in the center of the frame, dressed in white overalls and a black t-shirt. Her hair was slightly longer than he was used to, messily tied back, with a grease stain smudged across her cheek. But what struck him most was her smile—it was wide, genuine, filled with something Jey hadn’t seen in a long time. Happiness.

She wasn’t alone. Two older men stood on either side of her, both sharing similar features. One had his arm slung over her shoulder, while the other stood with a proud, fatherly expression.

Judging by her hair and the way she carried herself, Jey realized this had to be from around 2022.

The woman, noticing his sudden stop, approached him with a soft look.

“That’s Charles,” she said, pointing to the man on the left. “And that’s Cal.”

Jey’s brows furrowed. “They’re—?”

“Twins.”

The woman gave Jey a reassuring glance before motioning for him to follow. “Come along now,” she said gently. “I’m sure my husband would love to see you.”

Jey forced himself to tear his gaze away from the photograph, his mind still racing with unanswered questions. He followed her down a dimly lit hallway, the faint scent of cigar smoke growing stronger with each step.

She stopped at a door, rapped her knuckles against the wood, and then pushed it open without waiting for a response.

The office was a different compared to the rest of the house—dark wooden paneling lined the walls, and the scent of aged books and leather mixed with the thick aroma of tobacco. Seated behind a large desk was Cal, an older man with silver at his temples, casually leaning back in his chair with a lit cigar between his fingers. His eyes, sharp and assessing, were focused on something across the room.

Jey followed his line of sight—and immediately wished he hadn’t.

His breath caught as he saw a large, glass-enclosed cage filled with snakes. But not just any snakes. His stomach twisted as he recognized the sleek, ominous form of a Black Mamba, its jet-black scales catching the dim light as it slithered through the enclosure.

Jey felt a cold sweat prick at the back of his neck. He didn’t do snakes.

Cal finally tore his gaze from the cage and met Jey’s eyes. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke before speaking.

“Brenda, give me a moment.”

Brenda smiled at her husband before turning to Jey with a nod. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything, dear.”

Jey barely acknowledged her as she shut the door behind her, leaving him alone with Cal—and the damn snake.

Cal studied Jey for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice rough with age and authority, he asked,

“What are you doing here?”

“I need to figure out who took my wife and why,” Jey repeated, his voice now quieter but still filled with urgency.

Cal didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he gestured toward the cage, his eyes watching the snake with a calmness that unnerved Jey.

“No one could truly take a Black Mamba,” Cal said cryptically, standing and walking toward the cage.

Jey clenched his jaw, frustration building as Cal continued. “Not even a cage can’t stop a Black Mamba.”

Jey had reached his breaking point. He was done with the cryptic words, the veiled statements. “I’m so sick and tired of everyone talking in code!” he snapped. “CAN’T YOU JUST FUCKING TELL ME WHY RHEA WAS KIDNAPPED?!”

The air grew tense as Cal turned to face him. There was a coldness in his eyes, but something else too—a strange sort of respect. Cal didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he opened the door to the cage with a steady hand, reaching in.

Without warning, Cal grabbed the Black Mamba and hurled it at Jey. The snake flew toward him with terrifying speed.

Jey’s instincts kicked in, and he caught the serpent midair, the weight of it landing in his hands with a heavy thud. His breath caught in his throat as the snake quickly wrapped around his arm, its sleek body tightening around his skin.

Jey froze, fear gripping him, but strangely, the snake didn’t attack. Instead, it lingered, its dark eyes studying him as it coiled around his arm. The tension was almost suffocating, the weight of the moment heavy with something Jey couldn’t quite name.

He accepted it. If this was his end, if the snake’s venom would end his life right now… he would be okay. He had nothing left to lose.

But then, something unexpected happened.

The Black Mamba, after what felt like an eternity, uncoiled itself. Slowly, deliberately, it slithered away from his arm, retreating back into its cage.

Jey’s pulse thudded in his ears as he watched the snake disappear into the shadows of the enclosure. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his body trembling with a mix of fear and awe.

“Well I’ll be damned…” Cal muttered, his voice almost impressed. “The true Snake Charmer.”

Jey swallowed hard, trying to ground himself. He was still shaken, but now he needed answers more than ever. “Can you please explain to me why the fuck you just did that?” he demanded, his voice hoarse.

Cal laughed softly, a sound that held both amusement and something darker. He took a step closer, his gaze intense.

“My brother… taught them how to fight,” Cal said. “I taught them how to use their minds.”

Jey felt the weight of Cal’s words, but it wasn’t enough. He knew more, and he needed to know everything. “I know about Demetri killing your brother,” Jey said, his voice steady but forceful.

Cal’s demeanor shifted in an instant. He moved so quickly that Jey didn’t have time to react before Cal was right in front of him. In a swift motion, Cal grabbed Jey by the collar, his fingers digging into the fabric with a vice-like grip.

“Don’t you ever mention that name in my house,” Cal snarled, his voice low and dangerous. The air crackled with tension as Jey met his stare, unwavering.

Jey’s pulse raced, but he held Cal’s gaze, his heart pounding against his chest. This wasn’t just about the kidnapping anymore. This was personal.

Jey’s chest tightened as he tried to catch his breath, the gravity of the situation pressing down on him. He nodded slowly, his anger and frustration still simmering beneath the surface. “I’m sorry,” Jey muttered, his voice low, as he met Cal’s eyes, trying to defuse the moment.

Cal’s expression softened just slightly, his grip loosening on Jey’s collar. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling a heavy sigh as if the tension had finally broken. “Sit,” Cal said, motioning toward the chair across from him. “We need to talk.”

Jey’s legs felt heavy as he lowered himself into the seat, his mind racing with a thousand questions, but still, he said nothing. He just wanted answers.

Cal’s voice was steady but tinged with something Jey couldn’t quite place. “She isn’t here.”

Jey’s heart sank. He had known this was a possibility, but hearing the words spoken aloud made it all too real. He looked down, the defeat heavy in his chest. Every step he’d taken, every lead he’d followed, had brought him here, but now, it felt like he was further from the truth than ever.

“The person who took her,” Cal continued, leaning forward, “had people working underneath him. They’re connected to the same person that killed my brother.”

Jey’s stomach dropped. His grip on his own thoughts was slipping as the pieces started to fit, but he needed to know more. His voice was almost a whisper, but it held the weight of desperation. “Do you know who it is?”

Cal leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing with the weight of the knowledge he was about to reveal. “I had a theory,” he said, his gaze darkening. “And I tested it… Come here.”

Jey’s instincts kicked in. He stood up, following Cal’s every move. The tension in the air thickened as Cal led him through a hidden entryway. Jey’s mind raced with possibilities, the scent of secrecy and danger hanging heavily around them as they walked down the narrow corridor.

They passed through a door, and Jey’s gaze shifted to the large, imposing figure sitting by the door. The man’s presence was enough to make Jey instinctively tense, but Cal’s calm demeanor reassured him to some extent. They continued deeper into the room.

Inside, two figures sat side by side, their hands bound. Cal motioned to them with a quiet nod. “This is Brent Villanueva, code name Ball Python.”

Jey’s eyes flicked over to the man sitting in front of him. His mind churned, trying to place the name. But nothing clicked. He shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t recognize him.”

“He is one of the men who raped Rhea.”

[aisiedaisie]

Mon Cher

Summary: Vampire! Sirius is looking for his next meal after his only in to the local blood bank ghosts him. Thankfully, it’s spooky season, and what better disguise than his own skin? With parties filled with costume wearing people, blending in has never been easier. But soon after walking into this one random college party, Sirius finds something far, more tempting than a blood bag.

Pairings: Wolfstar

Tags: Vampire AU, immortal Sirius Black, mentions of blood, alcohol, smoking and the like, definitely not proofread-

Notes: This idea has been plaguing my mind since I woke up the other morning.

Word count: 4.8k

"Fuck." The curse slipped from Sirius’s lips, sharp and venomous, just as his battered phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a dull thud. The noise was loud enough to rattle the thin walls, sending his downstairs neighbors into a fit of retaliation—fists pounding against the ceiling, muffled shouts of "Shut the fuck up!" and "Be quiet!" slithering through the cracks. But Sirius hardly registered their irritation.

His mind was in a frenzy—racing yet stalling, stuck in an endless loop of buffering, trying to wrap his head around why the number he dialed led only to the grating beeps of disconnection.

He was furious. 

Rightfully so. 

Peter had vanished, seemingly evaporating into thin air. His calls went unanswered, the line dead, leaving Sirius stranded in his frustration and confusion. Peter, a dhampir, worked at the local blood bank—his only reliable supplier in this dreary town.

A groan tore from his throat, edging dangerously close to a whine, as his fingers raked through his dark curls in frustration. The stress clawed at his thoughts, dragging them under.

He needed to feed. Soon. Though, thanks to his pureblooded lineage, Sirius could stave off the hunger for longer than most. But it had been two weeks now—two long weeks since his last meal.

And he was hungry.

With Peter gone, though, this was going to get complicated. He could try feeding on animals again, but he'd sworn off the habit centuries ago—too much guilt over draining the neighbors’ pets. Besides, this town was so urbanized there wasn’t a park in sight, let alone a forest to skulk around in.

That left one last option.

Feeding on a human.

There were a few reasons why this was his last resort, rather than the first. The main one being that, as a pureblood vampire, if Sirius wasn’t careful, he could accidentally turn his victim into a low-level vampire—a consequence he had no patience for.

Another exasperated groan tore from his lips as he let his head knock itself against the wall. He needed to figure out how he was going to find a willing... a willing human.

He grimaced. 

“Damnit, Peter. If you're not already dead, I’ll kill you myself,” Sirius spat, his gaze drifting toward his abandoned, battered phone. The screen was a mess of cracks, more than there’d been a few minutes ago. 

It was still lit, showing a fractured image of him and his brother, Regulus, standing in front of Count Orlok's Nightmare Gallery. The photo had been taken a few years back during the few months he had moved to Salem for a bit before returning to Europe.

He was this close to calling and waking his brother up to bitch about his unfortunate circumstances  when something caught his eye.

The date.

His stormy grey eyes widened as he read it again: October 30th.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

“This could work,” he muttered, pushing himself off the hard, uncomfortable floor. His gaze shifted from his poor phone to his closet, and without hesitation, he crossed the room yanking the door open.

 All he needed now was something suitable for the night.

The brisk night air nipped at Sirius’s exposed collarbone, his alabaster skin glimmering faintly under the waning moonlight and the dim street lamps lining the bustling college town. He wore a stereotypical frilly white peasant top, untied at the collar, paired with sleek black pants. His fangs, usually concealed, were on full display—his thirst making it impossible to hide them. 

Thankfully, he didn’t stand out too much.

The streets were flooded with people, all draped in costumes. Some stuck to classics: pirates, bar maidens, the Scooby-Doo gang. Others wore more niche outfits—like the dozens of men dressed in black with stark white spikey hair and sunglasses obscuring their eyes. 

Sirius didn’t quite get the reference, but he wasn’t one to judge.

The crowd seemingly moved as one, heading toward the massive house at the end of the street. Muffled music and rainbow lights spilled from the open door and garage. The house was fully decked out for Halloween—giant spider webs stretched from the roof to the ground, melting into the thick white mist pouring from fog machines which snaked across the lawn and spilled out onto the pavement.

As Sirius followed the flow of people, snippets of conversation reached his ears. “James always goes all out for Halloween,” a redheaded woman just ahead of him said fondly. She was draped in emerald velvet, shimmering green fairy wings attached to her back.

The woman next to her nodded in agreement, humming softly. She wore a similar costume, but hers was made of glittering tulle the color of topaz, perfectly complementing her short, dark curls and the fluttering golden butterfly clips that were nestled in her hair.

Sirius hummed quietly to himself as he followed the stream of partygoers into the crowded house. The moment he crossed the threshold, he was hit by a wall of deafening music, mingled with the drunken chatter of people shouting over the bass-heavy track. 

Deciding to grab a beer from one of the many half-filled ice chests, he made his way to the wall, leaning against it as it thumped in time with the pulsing rhythm. His eyes scanned the room, hoping—praying—that someone might catch his interest.

A honey blond man, dressed as Prince Charming from Shrek, sauntered up next to him, a fake coy expression plastered on his face.

“What’s got a handsome man like you pushed into a corner like a scared little kitten?” he purred, his voice too saccharine to be sincere.

Sirius tried his best to keep his expression neutral, barely sparing the man a glance, even as the so-called ‘Prince Charming’ pressed his body up against his side. Internally, Sirius grimaced. ‘His blood has to taste like garbage-’, he thought, taking a swig of his beer to avoid an otherwise unavoidable eye roll.

“I’m Gil. What’s your name, kitten?”

Sirius couldn’t handle it any longer. He turned his gaze to the blond, giving him a slow, measured onceover. “I’m more of a dog person actually,” he replied, flashing a brief but unmistakable glimpse of his fangs as he offered him a sarcastic smirk. With that, he pushed off the wall and away from the blond.

He navigated through the sea of drunken partygoers, but as he tried to slip past the dance floor, someone grabbed his hands and pulled him in. The pounding music matched the rhythm of his heartbeat, hammering in his chest as he let go of his reservations and allowed himself to be swept across the floor. Laughter bubbled up from deep within him, genuine and unexpected, as he was spun around and grinded on by strangers. 

Before long, his beer was drained, and with a soft promise to the girl he’d been dancing with, he excused himself.

That’s when he caught a glimpse of something—a flash of red and brown. A hurried figure darted toward what looked like the backyard. Sirius hesitated for only a moment before setting his empty bottle on the nearest counter and following them outside.

The fresh air was a welcome relief, biting and cool against his skin after the stifling heat of the dance floor. He inhaled deeply, eyes scanning the almost empty backyard as he stepped out into the open night.

A large, pear shaped pool sat in the middle of the yard, its still waters reflecting the flickering lights of the house. A round table was set just off to the side, and a fire pit glowed toward the back, surrounded by a handful of partygoers. 

Some lingered near the doors, catching their breath before heading back inside, while others lounged in crimson and gold bean bags around the fire, the warm glow dancing off their faces. Both spots were inviting, but Sirius’s attention was drawn elsewhere.

Sitting alone at the table was a lanky man with sandy blonde hair. A loosely tied red paisley bandana hung around his neck, and a worn cowboy hat rested against his back. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the end glowing faintly in the dark.

Sirius didn’t hesitate. His feet carried him toward the table, as if on their own accord.

“Mind if I nick one off you?” he asked, gesturing toward the man’s cigarette.

The cowboy’s hazel eyes lifted, meeting Sirius’s stormy grey gaze. With a casual shrug, he pulled out the pack and offered him one.

Sirius nodded his thanks, taking a seat next to the cowboy. He placed the fresh cigarette between his lips. His gaze dropped as he leaned in, lighting his cigarette with the tip of the cowboy’s already burning one. The pristine paper gradually turned a warm orange, glowing softly alongside the other’s own cigarette.

His grey gaze slid upward, sultry and deliberate, as he eyed the cowboy through dark lashes. “Thanks, cowboy,” he murmured, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

The cowboy quickly looked away, his freckled, scarred hand rising to cover most of his face as he took a long drag from his own cigarette. “Not a problem,” he muttered, clearing his throat.

The two sat in soft silence—well, as quiet as they could with the occasional cheers and laughter from the firepit nearby, and the distant hum of music drifting into the backyard, far quieter than what Sirius had endured on the dance floor.

Sirius’s gaze couldn’t help but wander over the cowboy’s form as he relaxed into the stiff poolside chair. The cigarette he held was little more than a nub between his fingers now. He wore a loose fitting white T-shirt, paired with dark brown pants. Sirius had to admit—he looked good.

Before he could stop himself, Sirius asked, “What’s your name, cowboy?”

“Remus,” came the quick response, as the blond turned, raising a questioning brow. “And you?”

“Sirius.” He offered a smile, this one far more genuine than the sarcastic smirk he’d given ‘Gil’ earlier.

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “Named after a star, huh? That’s gotta be a tough name to live up to.”

“And Remus isn’t?” Sirius shot back with a smirk, leaning forward to put out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray between them. “For your sake, I really hope you don’t have a brother.”

Remus let out a full laugh, the sound rich and infectious. The action made a sense of pride bloom in Sirius’s chest. His laugh was lovely.

“I don’t, thankfully,” Remus replied, snuffing out his own cigarette.

Sirius nodded. “Good, can’t have such a handsome cowboy fall victim to fratricide.”

Remus’s cheeks flushed, and he quickly averted his gaze, muttering a hurried, “Shut up,” which only made Sirius more aware of the effect he was having on the poor male.

Sirius leaned in, his smirk playful. “Oh, what’s this?” he teased, shifting slightly to the side to catch another glimpse of Remus’s flushed face.

Remus groaned, his head falling back against the brim of his cowboy hat as he gazed up at the cloudy night sky. “Leave me alone,” he muttered, the words tinged with a hint of exasperation but not at all angry sounding.

Sirius only snickered, leaning in closer as his hand settled gently on Remus’s knee. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of his pants. “I don’t think you actually want that,” Sirius whispered, his voice low, the teasing edge unmistakable.

Remus’s gaze shifted, locking with Sirius’s once again. His freckled, scarred cheeks were flushed with warmth, a soft pink spreading across his skin. The sight was almost sinful, and Sirius’s pulse quickened at the thought.

Then there was his scent—God, his scent. Remus’s natural aroma was intoxicating, something Sirius wanted to capture, to bottle, so he could breathe it in whenever he pleased. It was warm, inviting, perfect.

It made his mouth water.

“Maybe I don’t,” Remus agreed, though there was a reluctant note to his voice as his gaze shifted away again. Yet, he made no move to remove Sirius’s hand from his knee.

Sirius’s smirk softened into a gentle smile. “Wanna bounce?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop himself. Remus was beautiful… and God, was he thirsty.

“Damn, not even offering me dinner first?” Remus teased, though the embarrassment was clear in his tone. His hand moved to cover most of his face, leaving only the tops of his flushed cheeks and those stunning hazel eyes visible.

Sirius arched a dark brow, playing along.

“Who said anything about skipping dinner?” He shook his head with mock exasperation. “There’s a diner near my flat that makes amazing waffles and crepes.” He pulled his hand from Remus’s knee, rising to his feet before offering his hand, extending it toward him, an invitation.

Remus considered his options. His nose wrinkled in thought for a good minute.

Just as Sirius was about to let his hand drop and assure him there was no pressure, Remus took it, standing up beside him.

“If the food sucks, I’m never going out with you again,” Remus warned.

Sirius turned to him, a shit eating grin spreading across his face. “Already thinking of a second date? I must’ve really swept you off your feet,” he teased, his voice light as he guided them back toward the throng of costumed dancers.

Remus didn’t answer but his hand tightened around Sirius’s as they wove through the crowd, clearly not wanting to lose him in the chaos.

Sirius’s pale hand gripped back confidently, navigating them swiftly through the sea of people until they emerged onto the quieter street outside.

The food had been a pleasant surprise, much to both Remus’s and Sirius’s delight. The waffles were some of the fluffiest Remus had ever tasted, and Sirius couldn't help but smirk at the way the cowboy raved about them. It wouldn’t have shocked Sirius if Remus started frequenting the diner on his own after tonight.

Over dinner, Remus also discovered that Sirius spoke fluent French, and it had been almost distracting how divine the language sounded falling from his lips as he exchanged words with the older French woman who took their order.

Now, they were walking back to Sirius’s flat, the night settling comfortably between them.

Remus, in typical form, broke the peaceful silence with a teasing question. “I’m not going to end up on the next episode of a true crime investigation podcast, right?” His hazel eyes sparkled with amusement as he glanced over at Sirius.

Sirius let out an unexpected guffaw, not having anticipated that. “Not if you’re good,” he teased back, though his palms were growing sweaty, and he could only hope Remus would attribute it to nerves.

Which, in a way, wasn’t entirely wrong.

Behind his playful demeanor, Sirius was struggling. It was getting harder to keep his vampiric urges in check, and the fact that he genuinely enjoyed Remus’s company only complicated things. Feeding on him and leaving him in some alley didn’t feel right. It felt wrong, on so many levels.

A soft groan slipped from his lips as they rounded the corner into his apartment complex. Remus must have noticed, his grip tightening in reassurance.

“It’ll be fine,” Remus said, his voice soft but confident. “This isn’t your first time with a guy, rig—?”

Sirius shook his head quickly, cutting him off. “No, I—” He hesitated, his voice dropping.

“That’s not what I’m nervous about.” He pulled his keys from his pocket with his free hand, unlocking the door and holding it open for Remus to step inside first.

Remus’s brows furrowed in brief confusion, but he let out a hum, stepping into the flat. The interior was modest, much like a college student's dorm room. Movie and sports posters covered the walls, and a pile of clothes sat abandoned on a chair near the closet.

Sirius shut the door behind them, his gaze flickering briefly toward Remus. “Want some water?” he asked, already moving toward the kitchenette and grabbing two bottles of sparkling water.

Remus was beckoned toward a small coffee table, Sirius gesturing gently toward the white chair across from him. With a small sigh, Remus sat down, reaching behind his neck to remove his cowboy hat and hang it on the chair’s back knob. He couldn’t hold back the question that had been burning at him for a while. “Why are you so nervous?”

Sirius grimaced, knowing his anxiety had been showing despite his efforts to hide it. “I have something to tell you… and it might be hard to believe—“

“NO WAY YOU’RE A VIRGI—“

“NO!” Sirius groaned, cutting him off with a roll of his eyes. “It’s not that… it’s... just promise me you’ll hear me out, okay?” His expression softened, dark brows pitched upwards looking almost like a kicked dog.

Remus sighed, then nodded, though his confusion was still clear. “Okay.”

Sirius nodded, bracing himself. “I—I’m not human,” he blurted out.

Remus’s hazel eyes widened in surprise before narrowing skeptically. His face carried the unmistakable look of someone thinking, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

Before Remus could respond, Sirius raised his hand to stop him. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s the truth.”

Letting out a soft scoff, Remus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “What are you, then? A merman? A fairy? A werewolf?” His tone was dripping with sarcasm as he gestured to Sirius with a dismissive wave.

“I’m a vampire,” Sirius said, his voice steady.

“Liar.”

Without hesitation, Sirius gently took one of Remus’s hands. “I’m serious. I’m telling the truth.” He opened his mouth, revealing his fangs. They were long, far too long to belong to any normal human.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Sirius…”

“Touch them,” Sirius urged, his stormy gray eyes filled with a mix of desperation and sincerity. “They’re real. They’re not like those cheap, fake ones from Halloween stores.”

With a sigh, Remus leaned forward. His free hand reached up, gingerly taking one of Sirius’s fangs between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a light tug, expecting it to pop off.

But it didn’t.

“Fuck…” Remus whispered, his amazement quickly blending into concern. He withdrew his hand from Sirius’s mouth, a look of disbelief overtaking his features. “I really am going to end up on a true crime podcast, aren’t I?”

Sirius squeezed the hand he was still holding, a soft and reassuring touch. “No, Remus… no.” His voice was gentle but firm, the weight of his sincerity evident. He could never hurt anyone—especially not the man sitting across from him.

Remus sat back, staring at Sirius, processing the revelation. After a long pause, he muttered, “I need another cigarette.”

Sirius couldn’t help but laugh softly. Of course, Remus would want a cigarette after that revelation. He hung his head, dark curls falling into his eyes, and let out a gentle huff of amusement. “That was better reaction than I expected.”

“You’re buying me a pack,” Remus groaned, letting his head fall with a soft thud onto the coffee table. “Make that two.”

Sirius smiled, a warmth spreading in his chest. “I can do that,” he assured, his voice lightening the atmosphere.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, hands still clasped atop the wooden table, neither wanting to break the connection. It felt too precious, too fragile.

“So if you’re not planning on killing me,” Remus began, lifting his head to meet Sirius’s serious gaze, “what do you plan on doing?”

Sirius sighed softly, his stormy gray-blue eyes steady and sincere. “I won’t deny I was looking for someone to feed on… I normally don’t have to resort to this, but my blood dealer—”

“A blood dealer?” Remus interrupted, unable to suppress a laugh. The sound cut through the tension, making Sirius relax a bit.

He nodded, frustration etched on his face. “He just up and disappeared—”

Remus hummed, nodding slowly as he processed the information. “I get it,” he replied, his voice empathetic.

Sirius took a deep breath, glancing away as he spoke. “I just… I don’t know why, but I felt like you would understand.” His gaze drifted toward the window above his bed, lost in thought. “I mean, it’s not something I usually do. I’ve always managed to find my blood without needing to, well, resort to this.”

Remus’s expression softened, a mix of curiosity and understanding in his hazel eyes. “And you thought I’d be okay with being your… meal?” He leaned back slightly, studying Sirius. “That’s a lot to put on someone you barely know.”

“I know it is,” Sirius admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But there’s something about you. You feel… different. Like you wouldn’t judge me for it.”

Remus opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, pondering Sirius’s words. “Okay, but you can’t just expect me to say yes without some kind of… agreement here,” he finally said, a playful glint in his eye. “I need to know you’re not going to, I don’t know, turn me into a vampire next.”

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. “I promise, I’m not looking to turn you. Just… to feed. That’s all.”

“Okay, then. Let’s start with that,” Remus said, his voice steadying. “But you owe me a pack of cigarettes for this, okay?”

“Deal,” Sirius grinned, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. The connection between them felt like it had deepened.

After some careful explanation and repeated reassurance that there was no chance Sirius would ever turn him into a vampire, he led Remus to the bed, their hands still intertwined.

“You might want to sit, or maybe lie down,” Sirius murmured, his voice low as he gestured for Remus to get comfortable. “Some people get a little lightheaded when they lose blood.” His eyes flickered with concern, though his tone remained gentle.

Remus raised a brow, a teasing glint in his hazel eyes. “You sound like you've done this before.”

Sirius couldn't help but chuckle softly, though his hand trembled slightly as he reached out to brush his fingertips along Remus's jaw. “I have,” he admitted, his voice growing quieter, “but it’s been a while.”

“How long?” Remus’s voice was soft, but curious.

Sirius’s smile faltered, a shadow passing over his face as the memories surfaced. “Since I was a stupid teenager,” he confessed, his tone heavy with regret. It was the same moment he'd sworn off feeding from humans, the same day he decided wild animals were less complicated, and blood bags even less so—though both were harder to come by now.

Remus exhaled slowly, his fingers covering Sirius's trembling hand. “It’ll be fine,” he whispered, though Sirius wasn’t sure if Remus was comforting him or trying to steel his own nerves.

Sirius gave a small nod, moving his hand from Remus’s jaw and letting his fingers slide down the column of his neck. The freckled skin felt warm beneath his touch, soft and inviting.

Sirius’s fingers found the knot of the red paisley bandana which was still loosely draped around Remus’s neck, tugging gently at it until it unraveled.

Remus's breath hitched, the faintest tremor in his body as Sirius’s skilled hands loosened the fabric and let it fall away. “If it hurts, you’ll stop, right?” he asked, his voice barely more than a breath.

Sirius immediately nodded, leaning back just enough to meet Remus’s worried gaze. “I promise.”

Remus closed his eyes, nodding as if giving himself over to the moment, his trust in Sirius both beautiful and heartbreaking to witness.

Sirius felt his chest tighten, both flattered and pained that Remus could trust him this much—even with a vampire’s hunger hanging between them. A part of him wondered how things would have played out if they had met under different circumstances—when he wasn’t starving, when his mind wasn’t so clouded with want.

Sirius leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing lightly against Remus’s neck, the words he wanted to say dissolving as Remus’s scent flooded his senses. God, the smell was intoxicating—warm and rich, the kind of scent that called to every primal instinct he had.

A low, desperate groan slipped past Sirius's lips as he nuzzled against Remus’s skin. “Fuck, you smell so good, Rem,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire, sounding almost like a plea.

Sirius could feel his pulse drumming in his ears, overpowering even the quiet sounds of the room. He tried to steady his breath, but every inhale brought more of Remus’s scent, and his self-control was stretched to the limit. He let out a shaky breath as he hovered near Remus’s neck, words spilling out in a low murmur before he could catch them.

When Remus tightened his grip on the bed sheets, Sirius felt a pang of guilt mixing with the hunger inside him, making the moment feel so fragile he thought he might break it. "You say that like it’s a bad thing," Remus whispered, his voice a blend of nerves and a faint, playful challenge. Sirius let out a quiet chuckle at that, a bit surprised he could still laugh, given the way his chest felt like it was tied in knots.

“It’s not,” he managed, his voice rough and deeper than he intended. 

He couldn’t resist brushing his lips lightly over Remus’s skin, testing, savoring, reassuring. He tried to hold back, to keep his cool, but the scent of him—warm, earthy, undeniably inviting—only made his restraint feel flimsy.

Remus’s breath hitched, sending a surge of anticipation through Sirius. When Remus whispered, “You… you can go ahead,” Sirius felt something unfurl in his chest, a mixture of gratitude and pure, aching need. With careful deliberation, he pressed his lips to the spot on Remus’s neck, feeling his fluttering  pulse thrum against his lips, a rhythm that seemed to call to him. “I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, barely a breath, before he allowed his fangs to sink in.

The taste of Remus’s blood was a rush, sweet and filling, warm in a way that made Sirius’s whole body tingle with the unexpectedness of it. He was half-afraid he’d lose himself in it, but he fought to stay grounded, to be as gentle as he’d promised. He’d forgotten what it was like to feed this way—close, deeply connected to the one he fed from.

He felt Remus’s sharp intake of breath, the tension, and then the slow, softening relaxation as the discomfort gave way to something else. Sirius gently eased back, his tongue brushing over the bite marks, soothing the skin and tasting the lingering warmth there.

Sirius pulled back just enough to meet Remus’s gaze. His chest tightened as he took in the hazy, dazed look in Remus’s eyes, relief melting the last of his worry. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice a little rougher, barely holding back the concern and care that spilled out.

Remus let out a slow breath, a flicker of a smile softening his features. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, his voice tired but clear. Sirius could feel his own shoulders relax, the relief flooding through him like a balm. “That… wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

A small smile tugged at Sirius’s lips, the weight of his relief finally loosening. “Told you I’d be gentle.”

Remus let out a weak chuckle, his exhaustion starting to set in as he slumped back a bit. “You did… but I think I might need to lie down for a bit.”

Sirius nodded, guiding him to recline on the bed, his hand lingering in Remus’s hair, brushing away a few stray strands from his face. “Thank you… for trusting me.”

Remus’s eyes were half-lidded, his face softened by drowsiness, but he managed a faint smirk. “Just… don’t forget those cigarettes,” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he surrendered to the pull of sleep.

Sirius stayed there for a long moment, watching over him, his hunger finally sated, but something else—something warmer and deeper—settled inside him. As he sat by Remus’s side, Sirius felt a strange peace that had eluded him for so long, and for the first time, he didn’t feel entirely alone.

"Of course, mon cher—I'll buy you as many packs as you want," Sirius whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. The words were gentle, almost reverent, as he leaned down and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Remus's exposed forehead.

The touch was light, fleeting, but the intimacy of it lingered in the quiet space between them. Sirius watched Remus’s peaceful face, the tension that had been there before now smoothed away as he slept. For a moment, Sirius allowed himself to just breathe him in, feeling an odd sense of contentment— something he hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime.

With a quiet sigh, he pulled back, settling himself beside Remus, content just to watch over him as the night deepened around them.

[tatooineknights]

Day Six: Not Realizing They're Injured

Luke Skywalker cursed under his breath as a plasma canon shot through the side of his X-wing, sending the ship on a spiraling downturn. This was just supposed to be an ordinary patrol – Imperial presence was supposed to be their main concern, so of course, the area happened to be a hotbed for pirates and mercenaries instead. “We’ve got to stabilize! Artoo, see what you can do, I’ll try to keep us in one piece!” He shouted, trying to compensate for the incredible turbulence as the ship spun out of control.

“This is Red Five, I’ve been hit,” he stammered, feeling the shockwave of an explosion behind him. The shower of sparks illuminated his cockpit, forcing him to look back with a gasp. Luke let out an exhale when he realized it was the ship that had attacked him, and not one of his own. Artoo beeped and whistled tirelessly from above, causing Luke to look down at the communicator. “The moon? Artoo, that isn’t an option, I can’t land in this condition! I don’t care if it is habitable, see what else you can—”

But the inertia of the moon’s gravity began to sink the X-wing down into the atmosphere, causing the damaged ship to zoom straight down by the nose. Guess we’re doing this, Luke thought to himself, licking his lips as he tried to maneuver the ship upwards to the best of his ability.

“I know, Artoo! I know! Let me concentrate!”

Luke braced for impact as he saw the chalky grey texture of the wasteland below, hoping that he could save the two of them from an imminent explosion. Keep pulling up; pull up! Don’t let the nose go straight down! Just as the ship began to recover, the damaged wing struck the side of a large rock formation, separating it from the cockpit, and spinning it horizontally instead of vertically.

The force of the impact was so great that Luke’s head slammed into the side panel of the cockpit; the helmet took the brunt of the hit, shattering the glass of his vizor, slightly cutting into the area below his eye. Luke’s vision glazed as he rocked back, a loud white noise filling his ears as he uselessly watched the X-wing dwindle down to the surface, unable to react as the other wing was soon torn to shreds – if it weren’t for the constant ringing in his ears, Luke would have noticed the loud wind that he was now exposed to as the hull began to shutter, as well as the exasperated cries of Artoo.

Images of his own death flashed before his eyes, his blue eyes staring straight ahead in a stupor, blinking autonomously. This was it; this was how Luke Skywalker, the last of the Jedi, would end. As he took one last breath, he found himself ejected from the cockpit, tearing into a dislodged panel, and flying out into open air. A stabilizing pack strapped to his uniform allowed him to avoid death, looking up as Artoo flew into the air himself; the droid must have saved them both.

As Luke raised his hand to his friend, looking on with a smile at their miraculous survival, his head crashed into the side of a rock, where everything soon went dark.

Beep.

Oh, his head.

Beep, boop-boop. Beep?

What… where was he? What happened? Luke grimaced as his eyes opened, looking up at his companion right at his side, rocking back and forth in jubilation. “I’m alright, Artoo,” he said, wiping off some dried blood from where the glass met his face earlier. “I think so, anyways.”

Everything around him felt so blurred, almost unreal. Cold and warm, equally, as his vision slowly came back to him. “I feel like I’m not even here,” he said to the droid, though almost as much to himself. The smoke of his former ship rose in the atmosphere, the husk of it’s remains ablaze across the ashen wasteland. “Good thing it was a spare and not our usual one, huh, buddy?”

Artoo whistled as Luke sat up.

“You alright? Yeah? That’s good. Next time, let’s try something other than landing on a moon,” Luke said with a sarcastic edge, though obviously thankful at his small friend for saving their lives. He nodded to Artoo, putting a hand on his chassis, as he used the weight to hoist himself up and—

“Aah!”

A blinding pain in his leg shot out from nowhere, sending him falling back down and bumping his head against the same rock. His friend worriedly beeped and whistled at his response, shaking over to his side. Biting down on his lip, Luke looked down at his leg: kriff, was all he could muster inside that head of his.

A piece of the panel had cut through the orange flightsuit and into the upper part of his thigh. The tanned pink of his skin and the white fabric of his underclothes were stained with a crimson red, adorned by a narrow line of a wound that made it difficult to walk. “I didn’t even notice,” Luke said, exasperated as that mixture of warm and cold seemed to seep all around him. “I don’t think I can stand.”

The wounded Jedi unzipped the top of his flight suit, taking out a small knife from one of the pouches of his belt. He sliced through it and tore a few strands off the sleeve, wrapping them in a circle over the wound. “That’ll help,” Luke winced, his heartbeat erratic and all over the place. “Did they get our message, Artoo? When we got hit? Did they see us coming down?”

The droid comfortingly let out a low chirp, easing his fears, before going as close to Luke’s side as he could. Luke’s hand clung to him, an incredulous smile on his face. Another X-wing began to form through the clouds of the moon’s atmosphere, causing Luke to let out an exhale of relief.

“I owe you one, buddy,” Luke said, looking at his small friend, patting him as he tried to fight off the pain. The ship was heading downward now, a beacon in the barren landscape. The duo would live to see another day; funny how such an ordinary patrol could end in such an extraordinary way.

[spacequokka]

cr.

Pairing: Yugyeom x Reader Genre: Smut/PWP, Fluff Rating: MA Summary: Song-related request where my single brain cell latched onto "eat my pu$$y" Word Count: 0.9k, Request Warnings: facesitting, oral (fem. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex

Requested by anon here. Thanks to K-Vanity's Emme for finding the pic I used to make the banner and encouraging me to get this done.

Love, deep and passionate, was an incendiary force. A wildfire that sparked and spread through the air. Frantic kisses. Limbs tangled in a wild embrace. Middle finger to the disgusted looks from the passersby. A beep and click, into a hallway illuminated only by the neon lights of the Las Vegas Strip.

There was no need for light. Every touch, every sound, everything done by feel. Yugyeom’s hands on your body, your hands on his. You stumbled over something soft, tumbling over with Yugyeom in tow, and he let out a yelp of surprise that quickly turned into a giggle. He pulled you closer, and you reached up to find his lips but instead found his neck. You bit there, then suckled, until soft moans escaped his lips.

"Fuck." He reached for your ass and palmed it before pulling you on top of him. "Please." His voice was husky in your ear. "More."

The heat of the moment had enveloped you. You straddled his hips, rocking against his erection a few times until his grip on your thighs bordered on painful and went back in. He was a vocal little thing, squirming underneath you while you licked and bit your way across his throat. The skin of his stomach burned your fingertips as you pulled his shirt up, searching for more ways to pull those sweet noises from him.

"Oh, fuck. Your hands. They feel so—" He pulled you down against him. "Wanna feel more of you." He sat up, knocking your hands away to pull you close for another soul-consuming kiss. He bit your bottom lip and held it between his teeth. "Please?"

You pulled away. "Please what?"

"I dunno." He sounded exasperated. "I just want—need as much of you as I can get." He flopped back on the bed. "Sit on my face. Ride my dick. Something. Anything other than just kissing."

You chuckled and pushed off him. It was a struggle to get to your feet without falling on your ass but you did it. "Are you gonna undress?" you asked shimmying out of your skirt and panties. He was quick to kick off his shoes and pants, but needed help getting his boxers off. As soon as you flung them into the darkness, he pulled you back down, situating you over his face. You really underestimated him. That first brush of his lips against your wet folds had you doubling over, one hand holding you up with the other in his hair. He was even louder than before, moaning loud enough to vibrate your core and give you the shakes. "Oh, shit."

Kitten licks turned into deeper strokes and soon enough he was encouraging you to rock your hips, ride his tongue as he held you tight against his mouth by your thighs. His eyes were closed, eyes shut tight with concentration whenever he switched his attention to your clit and sucked until you pulled on his hair. You bit your lip, trying to stifle your cries, and he took offense to that. He gave one good suck then shook his head, setting every nerve in your body on fire. It forced you to sit up, cover his hands with your own as your body tensed up with an orgasm. "Yug—" You choked on his name, mindlessly rolling your hips in tune with the waves of pleasure until you were boneless and lost your balance. You fell backwards, but he was ready, following you as he sat up and had your feet in the air, still licking and fucking you aggressively with his tongue. It wasn't until you started babbling and pushing at his head and hands that he pulled away with a proud smile.

"Was that good?"

"I can barely feel my legs." You swung at him half-heartedly, playfully trying to get him to stop laughing. He dodged with ease and shifted until he hovered over you.

"I wanna be inside you now," he said, his tone all serious again. He pleaded with his eyes, and you couldn't resist. You nodded and scooted down further on the bed so that he could get into position between your legs.

He kissed your neck as he slowly entered you inch by inch, then paused when he got all the way in. His breath was warm against your ear as he whispered, "You feel incredible." You let out a deep sigh of satisfaction and shifted your hips, giving him permission to start moving. He started off slow and gentle, relishing in the feeling of being balls deep and wrapped up tightly in your warmth. As your breathing sped up and the intensity increased, so did his thrusts until they reached a crescendo and suddenly everything else ceased to matter.

You closed your eyes tight as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, taking all rational thought away until the only thing left was pure bliss radiating from every nerve in your body. When it eventually subsided enough for you two to actually move again, he pulled out with a satisfied moan before collapsing onto the bed next to you with a content smile on his face. He looked into your eyes with love shining through them before asking again, "You know what we should do next?"

"If you say sky dive—"

Yugyeom cut you off with a familiar song and a goofy grin. "It's a beautiful night. We're looking for something dumb to do…"

[espithewarlock]

A few days ago I posted a Kittierre fic on AO3! HUGE thanks to @chaesonghwas, @your-littlesecret, @boxboxbrioche, and @lydia-petze for leaving me GORGEOUS comments on AO3 and for continuing to go insane about it in the CC Server! 😘

Enjoy this little continuation! (Which will not make sense if you have not read the fic linked above!)

☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

Beep

…

Beep

….

Beep

…

Pierre was woken up by a faint beeping noise coming from further down the bed. The sunlight filtering through the window of Charles’ apartment window was just starting to hit his face and he buried his head in the pillow in annoyance.

He was doubly annoyed to find that his boyfriend was no longer lying next to him so Pierre couldn’t cuddle up and doze for a few more minutes of blissful sleep. Instead, there was a weight next to his left leg and he could feel the combination of the lack of a bedsheet and the air conditioning making the hairs on his leg stand on end.

…

Beep

…

Beep

….

Beep

…

“What are you doing, Cha?” Pierre grumbled into the pillow as the beeping noise continued.

Strangely, he felt the bed violently shake and the man sitting by his leg quickly move off the bed.

“Nothing,” Charles professed, his voice way too nervous to be telling the truth.

That made Pierre crack an eye open and glance over to where Charles was definitely trying to put something away in his bedside drawer without Pierre noticing. It was small, handheld, and Pierre definitely did not recognize it at first glance.

“Cha,” he said in a warning tone. Pierre knew that he didn’t have to elaborate on the demand. He lifted himself up enough to grab Charles’ arm and tug him back into bed.

Thankfully, Charles didn’t fight him and got back into the bed so the two of them could lay on their sides and look at each other. Pierre used the hand he had pinned to prop up his head and his free arm to rest on Charles’ hip. He looked at his boyfriend expectantly while rubbing small circles with his thumb in encouragement.

Charles sighed and blushed a faint, light pink. “It’s stupid,” he muttered.

“Cha,” Pierre said in exasperation. After months of actually dating, now that he was no longer a cat, he didn’t need more than a single exhalation of Charles’ nickname to convey that he never thought that Charles was being stupid.

“I was checking to see if you still had a chip,” Charles mumbled and ducked his head.

That made Pierre pause and furrow his eyebrows. “Huh?” he asked, prompting Charles to elaborate.

“You know,” Charles waved his hand around vaguely, “when I took you to the vet. You got vaccines…and you also got a microchip.”

Pierre’s eyes widened as he remembered what Charles was talking about. When he was stuck as a cat, Charles had taken him to the vet for a series of vaccinations that would allow him to travel with Charles, and the vet had also put a microchip in his leg with Charles’ contact information.

“And you got a scanner to check?” Pierre asked rhetorically. It was actually rather sweet and it piqued his curiosity too.

Charles’ blush turned a darker shade as he nodded his head. Pierre laughed and shuffled closer to his boyfriend to give him a sweet, soft kiss.

“Go get it,” Pierre requested, “I want to know if I still have it too.”

His statement made Charles look at him in surprise, then he twisted around to grab it from his bedside drawer. Pierre obligingly held still as Charles moved it slowly over both of his legs. Once they reached the meat of his upper right thigh, the beep became more of a be-boop and Charles lifted it away from his leg in interest.

When he read what was on the screen, his face turned so red that the tips of his ears changed the same color. 

Pierre tried to grab it, but Charles lifted it out of his reach. He smirked, tackled Charles to the bed, and proceeded to pepper him with a mixture of kisses and tickles until Charles was laughing too hard to remember that he was trying to keep something out of Pierre’s hands. He was able to snag the scanning device out of Charles’ grasp and held it up victoriously.

It didn’t look particularly complicated since there was only one button and a fairly small screen no larger than his watch. Pierre held it up to his right thigh, clicked the button, heard the be-boop, and brought it up to his face. (All while kneeling on top of Charles to keep him pinned to the bed.)

“Property of Charles Marc Leclerc,” Pierre read out loud with a smirk, “if found, return to Monaco Veterinary Center. Why, Cha! I never knew you cared so much!”

“I hate you,” Charles mumbled.

“No, you don’t,” Pierre retorted. He threw the device further down the bed and leaned down so he was hovering directly over Charles and could see the embarrassment and amusement in his eyes. Charles was clearly fighting back a smile and Pierre returned it in kind. 

“I like it,” Pierre murmured, then proceeded to show his boyfriend exactly what the Property of Charles Marc Leclerc liked to do with his tongue.

— — — — — — — — — —

It became something of a game. More than once, Charles asked if Pierre wanted to get it removed. Every time, Pierre told him absolutely not. He liked the feeling of being, well, not owned but claimed by Charles. The reminder that he belonged to Charles in a private way that nobody else would be able to tell.

So, Pierre did the very logical thing and downloaded an app to his phone that would allow him to change the message that appeared when it was scanned. It was idiot-proof enough to figure out on the first try and he tested his success with the scanning device.

Pierre was almost disappointed that it took Charles a couple of days to notice. Of course, he didn’t have a reason to check the chip, but he hadn’t gotten rid of the device either. That was why Pierre put a sticky note on the back of the device and simply waited for Charles to find it.

He did when they were both getting dressed to head over to Charles’ maman’s place for dinner. They were doing their typical scramble-because-they-are-about-to-be-late dance and Charles pulled the scanner out while he was checking for something in his bedside drawer.

When he lifted the scanner, Pierre tried to hide the smug look that threatened to cross his face when Charles looked befuddled and felt the crinkle of paper under his fingers. Pierre watched him flip the scanner over to read the short message on the sticky note.

Use Me ;)

Charles caught his eye in the mirror and held it up with a questioning look. Pierre shrugged in a casual, innocent way that would definitively tell Charles that he was up to no good.

His boyfriend sighed, rolled his eyes, and walked over to Pierre. “What are you up to, you menace?” Charles asked as he waved the scanner over Pierre’s right thigh until he got the be-boop.

As soon as it made the noise, Pierre grinned. He didn’t need to respond to the rhetorical question.

When you read this, I’m giving you a blowjob. Immediately.

Charles very clearly read the message, his breath caught in his throat, and he whipped his head up to once again meet Pierre’s eyes in the mirror. His face had the strangest mixture of excitement and despair as he noticed Pierre’s killer smile.

“We’re already going to be late,” Charles protested, even as Pierre spun around and pushed Charles to the bed.

“Better come fast then, Cha,” Pierre warned him, sank to his knees, and started working open the button of Charles’ jeans.

He didn’t hear much of a complaint after that.

— — — — — — — — — —

After that, Charles started checking the chip more regularly. Sometimes, he did it when Pierre was asleep, but most of the time he waited until Pierre was awake.

Pierre didn’t change the message every day. Whenever Charles did find the message, Pierre always changed it back to Property of Charles Marc Leclerc just to see the slightly embarrassed yet pleased smile on his face whenever that was the message on the chip.

Other times, Pierre liked to change it up. Sometimes it would be filthy promises which Pierre would gladly fulfill whenever he promised within the message. Sometimes it was just sweet messages like I love you so much mon amour that made Charles melt into his arms with affection. Sometimes, in the mornings before a race, he would put well-wishes. Good luck today Mr. Pole Position!

Regardless, it was fun. It added a little bit of levity to their developing and growing relationship. Pierre didn’t even have to allude to Charles using the scanner since he would fairly reliably check it every single day that they were together.

Almost a year to the day after Pierre returned to his human body, he knew that he was fully committed to the relationship. There were still some days that he questioned what his sexuality was, but his commitment to Charles was never in doubt. Nobody else would be able to fill Pierre’s life like Charles did and he needed to make their connection permanent.

So, he changed the message, stole the scanner so that his surprise wouldn’t be ruined, and brought it with him when they went out on Charles’ yacht. They spent the day in the sun and the water, just the two of them, and had a simple dinner that they fed to each other while they watched the sunset off of the coast of Monaco.

“I’ll be right back, mon amour,” Pierre promised with a quick kiss to Charles’ cheek. He waved him off with a laugh and settled back in his seat.

Pierre quickly retrieved the scanner and slid a small box into the pocket of his swim trunks. He swiftly made his way back to Charles’ left side, pressed their thighs together, and eased the scanner into Charles’ hands.

When Charles looked down, he sighed. “Should I be worried?” Charles asked in resignation, but with his eyes sparkling in amusement.

“It depends,” Pierre said coyly, “do you trust me?”

That made Charles give a show of rolling his eyes, then gamely pressed the button on the scanner next to Pierre’s thigh until he got the be-boop noise.

He looked at Pierre pointedly, then dropped his gaze down to the screen. As soon as he did, Pierre thought he actually stopped breathing for a moment.

I love you, mon amour. Marry me?

Charles’ eyes flashed over to Pierre and he eased his way onto one knee as he pulled out the small box. He opened it carefully to reveal the simple, silver band that would easily blend in with the other rings that Charles liked to wear. The only difference was that this one had an engraving – 10 ♡ 16 – on the inside. 

“Well,” Pierre said after a moment, “what do you say, Cha?”

“Yes,” Charles professed and surged forward to kiss him deeply and thoroughly, “yes, of course, yes, yes, yes! I love you, Pierre. So much. Yes, always yes.”

Pierre couldn’t help the delighted laughter that escaped his lips and made sure to not fumble the box or the ring in between all of the kisses that Charles was putting on his lips.

Eventually, he managed to slide the ring onto Charles’ finger and his fiancé looked mesmerized at the simple band. “I love you, mon amour,” Pierre repeated the message from the chip and it was the simple, honest truth.

— — — — — — — — — —

Their wedding day was nothing short of magical. Pierre woke up tangled in Charles’ arms in a hotel suite that was way too far from home with all their families and friends ready to watch the two of them make a lifetime commitment to each other.

The day passed in a blur – getting groomed and ready, making sure someone else had all the last minute details covered, and trying his best to actually show up to the ceremony on time.

All day, Charles was giving him little glances of anticipation (since they didn’t bother with staying separated ahead of the ceremony) and Pierre knew that there was more to the look than eagerness to say their vows to each other.

Pierre had, of course, changed the message on the chip and Charles was waiting on him to give him the scanner to reveal it. But he didn’t.

Seeing Charles across from him at the altar was a vision from his dreams. Charles was dressed in an impeccable tuxedo and looked devastatingly handsome. He had to hold himself back through all the declarations and vows and exchanging much fancier rings with each other, and then he was allowed to kiss his husband.

It was an incredible feeling and Pierre was going to savor it for the rest of his life. 

They made it through cocktail hour, dinner, and speeches, then they danced and drank and laughed late into the night. (And, if Pierre pulled Charles into a private bathroom to give him a blowjob, well, nobody commented on how messed up his hair was when they returned.)

When they finally collapsed into bed together at an absurdly early hour of the morning, Charles had a small, red bow wrapped around the scanner waiting for him on the bedside table. Pierre saw him grin, grab the scanner, and hold it up to Pierre’s thigh expectantly.

Pierre waited for the familiar be-boop of the small device and watched as Charles eagerly brought it up to his face, then completely melted into a smile that was pure, unreserved happiness.

He tossed the device to the side and climbed on top of Pierre. All former tiredness was completely gone as Charles leaned down to devour him.

Property of Charles Marc Gasly-Leclerc.

[solaneceae]

float like a feather, sting like sharp talons

Philza drops by Étoiles' brand new dojo for a friendly sparring session, and ends up getting quite a lot more. Namely existential dread, the thrill of a good hunt, and the comfort of shared trust. @apthotiosis this is a commissioned fic! read on ao3

He whistles, eyes lingering along the thick, wooden support beams and rice paper walls surrounding him. It’s a surprising sight, tucked away in a corner of what he can only describe as a mess of a base, mostly empty, the walls still a rough (and frankly ugly) mix of dirt and cobblestone that hasn’t been cleared out even after six months. “So. That is your dojo.”

Étoiles nods at his side, a big stupid grin on his face. “Do you like it, Phil?” he asks, eager as a pup as little Pomme zooms around the cave in an improv game of tag with Tallulah — ever mindful of how her lag (sorry, asthma) sometimes stalls her in her tracks. He glances at them fondly, silly, eggs, babies. “I do,” he hums, because it is pretty. Especially if you ignore the rest of the cave outside because God, it’s fugly as shit and Étoiles knows it. The plant hybrid smiles, all teeth and gums, and squints with star-filled eyes that always seem to glow despite not working like they used to. Phil still doesn’t get why what was originally a completely harmless veggie plant has evolved to bear such predatory teeth, but he can’t say it doesn’t suit his friend. “He likes it! Let’s gooo, big win for me, big win. I can die happy now.”

“Oh my god, stop. Kristin’s married, you know.”

Étoiles gives him a mock-shove that is more of a real one, because Étoiles never holds back, especially not with Phil. “Oh! Oh, so I can’t be nice to Lady Death? I can’t just visit her because she’s cool and she likes me also? I am married to the grind, Phil, you know me!”

Phil shakes his head, exasperated and fond. “You’re a nerd is what you are. Did you know she calls you her tech support?” Étoiles makes a confused noise. Tallulah peeps in the background, mimicked by Pomme, a chorus of play and yesyes, because all the eggs have picked up on that one by now. (Mimicry is a powerful thing, and the eggs are highly social creatures who thrive on it.)

Phil elaborates, circling the build to assess its structure better. “Because of the sweeping edge bug thing, and Richas’ cancelled death last week. You find the kinks and loopholes in death mechanics better than anyone she knows.”

Étoile beams at that. “That’s so cool. I’m Death tech support!”

“You certainly are. Do you think it’s because you picked Death? In the entity rooms?”

The green-skinned man shrugs, then gasps and takes off running after Pomme to stop her from setting up waterframes everywhere to display obscure anime edits for Tallulah because her internet, her lag Pomme, you’re going to make her void! Phil glances at them (safe, no danger, good) then back at the dojo, running his palm down a beam to feel its grain. It’s smooth, recently stripped of its bark. “Huh,” he says.

He doesn’t understand why his friend chose to build this underground when dojos are usually suited for wind-swept plains or mysterious forests. Then again, Étoiles has never been much for coherent aesthetics. That, and he probably thought it would be more mysterious to hide it under the ground, knowing him. “It’s. Well, very dojo-like,” he walks through dark support beams and onto clean, recently-oiled planks, coming to poke at one of the wooden sticks idly rotating above an altar to send it spinning in the opposite direction. Étoiles trots back to him with an egg under each arm (Play, dad, Pomme warbles. Play, silly, Tallulah beeps from within her cracked shell.) and lets out a guttural noise, visibly bothered by the sticks being out of sync, and it makes Phil snort. Silly. Silly. “Did you build it all by yourself?”

“Yeeaaaah.”

“You’re lying.”

A dramatic gasp. The warrior puts both eggs down to throw his hands in the air. “I’m not lying! Pomme, ma légende, dis-lui.”

Bomp. [me and richas did it. papa helped, very much :DDD]

Étoiles comes to brush his fingers against the red sign, letting the device tucked into his ear translate the written words into spoken ones. He whines, puts a hand over his heart as his ears droop. “Ahhh, trahison. Disgrâce. Tu m’détestes en fait Pomme, c’est ça ? You want me to dig down to bedrock and die forever? Or it’s because I can’t see, so you think I’m shit?”

Bomp. [papa…] Bomp. [t’a pas besoin d’être aveugle pour avoir des goûts douteux en déco :X]

“Okay, okay. I go die in fire then, goodnight.” Then Étoiles pours lava into the cobble floor and stands in it with a huge smile. His body catches on fire immediately, skin quickly shrivelling up and blackening under the heat. Pomme peeps at him loudly and hits him with her scythe, then douses him in water and healing potions — which immediately prompts Étoiles into sparring mode, laughing and hyping his egg up with a string of ‘oh she knows, she knows the play’ and ‘strafing, comboing, keep at it’ as his body heals up. Philza watches the display for a few seconds before getting bored, choosing to walk past the layer of light wood circling the dojo to take a look inside.

It’s even prettier than the outside, with all the paper lanterns and little fountains and bamboo shoots. His geta clack against the wood, then go silent on the woven straw flooring at the center. “Why’re all the posters in Japanese?” he remarks when his friend comes back from his little mock-tantrum with his daughter in tow, squinting at a crude montage explaining the belts system. Philza can gather that it’s based on how much HP the dojo master has left after a duel, because Étoiles has been yapping about making a dojo with that exact system for months now. (Is that a jar of mayo at the top? The hell?) Guess the eggs returning has been the push in motivation he needed to actually commit to that build, despite his insistence that he is very much a builder now, thank you very much, look at all the wool I have.

Étoiles perks up, grins in a way that lets Phil know he’s about to do a bit. “Oh, you don’t know? You don’t know that I’m literally Japanese, Philza?” he chirps, picking up one of the sticks on display before running circles around the other man, poking at his legs playfully. His boots are off, Phil notices. “Speaking of! Shoes off Phil, come on, come on!”

“You literally told me you grew in a field, mate,” Phil laughs, airy and wheezy and light as he evades the attacks. “The little legume who could! In rural France! Where does Japan come into play here?”

“Aaaah, Philza, Philza,” the warrior shakes his head, hitting the other on the shoulder to push him back out and onto the cold cobble floor. “Shoes off I said, it’s a rule. I don’t want shit on my tatami, I already had to clean it up sooo many times with the whole server fucking around in it yesterday. And Japan lives in my warrior’s soul. It’s all that matters.”

“F’course it does,” Phil complies regardless, shimming out of his geta before walking to the little shoe rack in the corner to tuck them inside. “There. Happy?”

“Very. Also, trivia time, culture time: did you know that cucumbers aren’t legumes? They are fruits, Phil! And vegetables don’t actually exist, they’re all either fruits or roots or leaves or flowers...”

Phil stares at him. “...You don’t get to stand there and tell me my avocados are fruits, Étoiles. What the fuck.”

“Umm, they are berries, actually—”

“Oh fuck off and come kill me already.”

“With pleasure, my bro.”

 

Armors come off next, quickly magicked back into inventories. Phil walks up to the altars to pick up his own stick (unenchanted, as plain as it gets) and spots Étoiles off to the side, rolling up his sleeve to check on his insulin levels before rolling it back down. “We eat one gapple each, yes? My sugar is low,” he explains as they both get into position on both ends of the tatami.

“Sounds good. You got yours?”

Étoiles laughs, summoning a golden fruit from his inventory and spinning it over his finger like the insufferable showoff he is. “Always. Autofeed off Phil, no cheating.”

“Alright, you little shit,” Phil summons his own gapple and bites into it with purpose, feeling the warm tingle of magic-saturation in his stomach as the rest of the apple vanishes into thin air with a few golden sparkles. He turns to the eggs, settled on top of diamond blocks they’ve just placed. “Tallulah, do a countdown for us please?”

Signs are placed, one by one, as Pomme hypes them up with Megalovania, perfectly timed with the Pigstep now blasting out of a music box. Bomp, three. Bomp, two. Bomp, one…

Bomp. [GO PAPA PHIL :D]

Étoiles shoots off towards him as soon as the letters show up on the wood, jumping up and swinging his stick down for a crit. Phil dashes to the side, the blow just grazing his shoulder. “Nice cock, Phil!” Étoiles gasps, all sharp teeth and waggling eyebrows, and it takes the avian back enough for the other to get a few hits in. “Motherfucker!” Phil laughs, breaking the combo and pushing the cucumber back with a few crits of his own, adrenaline starting to flood his brain and paint the world in sharp edges and colors. “You little shit! Stop doing that!”

“Do what, Philza? I’m just bantering, just chilling.”

Étoiles’ combat style hasn’t changed despite the blindness, Phil finds — he’s insanely precise and quick on his feet, which is a problem. He decides he won’t be able to outrun or out-speed him, so he elects to block most of his strikes with his own stick instead, relying more on instinct than observation. “He’s blocking, he’s blocking,” the warrior’s voice chants through the flurry of swings and the clack of wood against wood. “Strafing, strafing, he’s the best, he’s the GOAT. Hit me, Phil! Don’t just defend, hit me!”

And dammit, Phil tries pretty hard — but Étoiles is insane and he’s just a little too fast even without speedbridging, just a little too smart with his feints. Phil goes down after two minutes, the last hit clocking him across the temple and sending him to the (thankfully a little soft) floor, ears ringing and white stars dancing across his darkening vision. He wonders if it’s a little like how Étoiles sees the world now. Probably not. “Four hearts, Phil,” Étoiles announces, laying his hands on Phil’s side — the pain fades, the world comes back into focus, and his brain rattles with the doom-doom of revival. He hears fireworks going off, probably Pomme’s. “That’s good, very good. That’s a brown belt! I think you can kill me soon, easy. Again?” the cucumber chirps, offering his hand, and Phil thinks that if Étoiles had his tail it would probably be wagging right now.

He groans in agreement, grasps his friend’s hand and is pulled back on his feet. “Yes. Again.”

Round two goes similarly. “Again.” So does round three. “One more.” After his fourth consequential victory, Étoiles looks pensive, and Phil is getting a tad frustrated — he’s muted his comm for this, as he often does, but he can usher a guess at what Global chat looks like, spammed with his half-death messages and maybe a brief bout of concern from whoever else is online at the moment. “Fuck, man,” he rubs at his neck where a particularly vicious strike has left the skin an angry red, molted with purple. He’ll feel that in the morning, if he doesn’t get a respawn. “I don’t think I can do it. No black belt for me.”

“No, no, you can,” Étoiles insists, circling him — dull, greyed out eyes scanning for something. “I think…”

“Looking for something, king? How’s nebula-me looking?”

“Like the GOAT, you know that. But since you ask, you’re more blue today. With some red.”

“Cool. Wish I could see like you do, for a day.”

“You don’t. It’s pretty, but annoying. It’s harder to make out details inside the, ah…” he mumbles something in barely-legible French. “Je sais pas comment on dit. Les contours. The lines at the limits of a drawing.”

“Outlines?”

“Yes. I see the outlines well, but everything inside is messy. To me everything is just, shapes. And the bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it. Eggs are easy, because they are small and simple. People are harder.” He waves towards Phil. “Like, I can’t know if you’re smiling or frowning, I have to listen to how your voice sounds.”

“Huh. That’s interesting.”

Étoiles hums, stops at his side. Cocks his head like an attentive dog. “Ah. You should take your backpack off, Phil. It’s slowing you down.”

Oh. Philza shifts, hesitant. “I wear it all the time, it doesn’t nerf me that much.”

“No, I think it can make a difference. Let’s try it?”

Mh. He hadn’t planned on doing this today. Showing his kids had felt right, natural. Showing Fit had required a few deep breaths, but not much else. Étoiles… is a trickier case.

He does want to show him — the french warrior is one of his most trusted friends, and someone he knows he can rely on in a pinch. The guy is loyal to a fault, always looking at Phil like all it would take for him to lay down his life before him was a single word. It’s a bit scary, in a way, and always makes his hindbrain buzz pleasantly. But Phil held things like mutual trust in high regard, and Étoiles had broken that on the first day of Purgatory.

They had talked since then, and it’s clear to Phil now that it had been an honest mistake, a temporary lapse in judgement. Plus, it’s not as if Phil hadn’t lost his own mind within the first twenty-four hours in that red hellscape. Still, even though he has forgiven Étoiles, the cracks don’t feel completely healed just yet. “I don’t know, mate,” he pulls at one of the straps of his backpack self-consciously, feeling its weight pressing his wings tightly against his back. “I can’t get you under four hearts, I doubt taking it off will give me that much more.”

“Phil. Phiiiiil. Trust me?”

Tall order, Phil almost jokes, but refrains. “I do trust you.”

“Then trust what I’m saying. I know my shit, you’re being slowed down, you can’t spin as fast or jump as high with this thing, it’s basic physics. I want you to have all the chance on your side.”

Philza purses his lips, glances to where Tallulah sits off to the side. She jumps to her little feet and places down a sign, while Pomme rummages through her backpack next to her. He can’t help but coo when the bright ‘<3’ shows up in stark white against the magenta wood. “Right. Okay.”

Étoiles can’t see, not normally. So maybe he won’t be able to make them out, bound tightly against his back as they are. And if he does, then that is fine. No need to make a fuss of it. So Philza walks up to Tallulah and drops the black pack next to her, giving her a little headpat in passing. “Watch over that for me, okay?” he smiles at her, and she peeps at him with purpose, jumping on top of it and doing the egg equivalent of puffing up her chest. Pomme is in her own red backpack now, little legs kicking the air as she reaches as deep as she can. silly, egg, baby, egg, he croons. “I’ll be right back. Got a green ass to kick.”

 

“He is back,” Étoiles whoops when he steps onto the tatami. “Oh, he is ready, so ready. Are you full hearts?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. We go on three, one, two, th—”

Phil takes off at the first syllable, and oh, yeah, the lack of weight on his back means he can lean forward more without gravity winning, and that means he reaches Étoiles right as he reaches the end of his three. He thrusts his stick forward, the blunt tip digging itself right into the other’s abdomen with enough force to make him stumble back, winded and sputtering. “Argh—”

Phil doesn’t let him recover, getting a few good hits in before his opponent parries and attempts an upward swing that he barely evades by sending his body backwards, dangerously far. The weapon grazes his chin, and his wings try to open to regain balance but they’re still bound against him. “Shit—” he steps back quickly, arms pinwheeling, and it looks a little silly but it works, and he does not crash onto his back like an idiot.

Étoiles stares at him from the other side, breathing hard, eyes wide, a palm against his diaphragm. Then he smiles. “Oh. Ohohooo. Okay, now we’re talking. Let’s go.”

Moving more freely doesn’t make the fight easier, not by a long shot, because Étoiles adapts quickly — but it does make it more fun, and that’s already an improvement in Phil’s eyes. He gets less crits in, because jumping up leaves him too exposed to revenge strikes, but he gets more light hits in between sidesteps and mad dashes. “He is so fast!” Étoiles cheers, ducking to dodge a vicious strike to the head. “Oh, he is so good, go Phil go!”

Run, dodge, strike, strafe, dash. Every muscle in Phil’s body strains to keep up as he pushes it past its limits, arm aching from the repeated shocks against the stick, but he barely feels it thanks to the adrenaline flooding his system. A hit to the back of his knee makes him stumble, but he recovers into a roll and trips Étoiles with his stick in retaliation. The cucumber groans, scrambles to get up, and Phil sees an opening right there on his foes’ unprotected throat. He zeroes in on it, takes the first step, raises his weapon and—

 

There’s a jagged shape in his peripheral vision.

 

He falters. Tries not to look at it, tries to keep his eyes on target, target that’s about to get back up, quick, quick, do it. 

 

There’s a purple shape in his peripheral vision.

 

He fails. Sharp angles and eerie glow, that shade he’s come to dread. The amethyst crystals hum out their ethereal song, taunting him. He doesn’t see Étoiles anymore, and his world is drowning in high-pitched static.

 

Purple. Purple everywhere. The room is too dark, too dark, darker yet darker.

Time slows down. No. The edges of his vision are fraying, dark tendrils creeping in. He feels himself falter, adrenaline making way for cortisol and making his hindbrain, no, fly, fly, run, nonono. He’s losing his footing, his grip around the stick growing slack, palms getting clammy. No, no, not now, please. His breathing picks up, faster than it’s been at any point of this duel. The amethysts glow an eerie violet, jagged shapes growing out of the thick, wooden beams around him, and he swears the room has gotten even darker. “Tallu—” He doesn’t make it to the end of the name, because then something smacks him in the back with unrestrained force.

Right on his left ulnare, the wingbone left exposed with no fat or muscle to cushion the blow.

Pain explodes throughout his left wing, the shock propagating all the way into his back and making him yell out, a gasp-screech that is very not human. Tallulah peeps loudly somewhere at the edge of his awareness, papa, no, bad! as he falls to his hands and knees, panic spiking, bad, bad, hurts, getoutgetout—

“Oh merde! Phil, ça va ?” He hears glass breaking, smells melon and gunpowder and something both earthy and spicy — Nether wart. Étoiles is healing him, putting a stop to their duel, and the realisation drags him out of that weird fugue state. “You never made that sound before, I think it’s bad. Are you okay?”

“Amethyst,” the older man growls between clenched teeth, letting the potion effects refill his health bar — fuck. Pain signals were always limited during PvP, but this had somehow broken through the server’s capping function. Étoiles makes a noise of incomprehension, his hands just hovering over Phil’s shoulder, not quite touching. “What?” he says, and Phil hears the patter of little feet rapidly coming closer. Pomme and Lullah.

“Please, just... Can you see the amethyst?”

He doesn’t know why he’s asking, of course his friend can’t see it, because that shit isn’t real. Or at least not to anyone but him. Through the haze he can feel Tallulah’s warm shell bump against his arm, hear her little worried chitters. He doesn’t trust himself to tell her he’s fine.

But then, Étoiles raises an eyebrow and turns his head towards the wall, blinks. A frustrated noise. “Euuuh Pomme, je t’adore hein, mais ça va pas trop avec le reste en fait. Tu peux les retirer steuplait ?” Pomme crouches, one-two, then summons a pickaxe and walks towards the crystals, and proceeds to casually break all of them.

Oh. Her backpack, all her rummaging. She’d been trying to decorate the dojo while they were busy sparring. 

Philza lets out an uneven breath, runs a hand through his hair — his forehead is damp with cold sweat, and it sucks. Okay. Okay. Real, then. Just a really, really bad coincidence. Bad timing. Bad everything. He lets out a breath, the tight coil in his chest slowly loosening. “I’m sorry Pomme,” he gives the little egg a smile that he hopes to the Gods isn’t shaky. “Got distracted by the shiny, you know how it goes. Crow brain go brrrrr.”

Pomme falls dramatically on the floor at that, places a red sign that reads [sorry ;_;] “You’re good, you’re good, don’t worry.” Tallulah places a flower next to Pomme, bomp, [RIP manzanita]. Phil chuckles at their antics, heartbeat slowing down to a more normal pace. Jesus Christ. “You like shiny things, Phil?” Étoiles asks. “Did not know that.” He looks around, scans the dojo for any stray shine. “Mmmh. All good, I think. Sorry about Pomme, she likes amethyst stuff.” Then, quieter, “I think it reminds her of Baghera. She has an amethyst farm in her castle.”

Oh. Phil glances at Pomme, who thankfully seems fully absorbed in a sign-based conversation with Tallulah. “That makes sense. She must miss her a lot.”

(Dad, are you proud of me? I just killed a silverfish.)

“Can I see your wings, Phil?”

And, there it is. The other shoe. Phil lets out a heavy sigh, wincing when the movement makes his joint twinge in lingering pain — he’s pretty sure nothing’s actually broken or sprained, at least not any worse than before, but it still hurts. “So you saw them.”

“No no, I can’t. But I know they are there, somewhere. I’m sorry I hit them, I can’t tell where they are if you don’t have them out. Told you it was annoying.”

Ah. That makes more sense. He doubts Étoiles would voluntarily target them. Still… “How do you know about them? And, why?

“Philza, you need to understand something. And the thing is, I’m really dumb. I want to see them because maybe I can help, if I hurt them. I fix.”

“No you’re not, stop that. And you didn’t do any permanent damage, you’re fine.”

“No, wait. I’m stupid with lore, but I have eyes and ears. Jaiden showed she had wings, pretty sure Baghera has some but she hides them, I assumed you were the same.” Ah. Fair enough. Phil hasn’t been as subtle lately, and the crow jokes could only go for so long before people started to pick up on how literal they were. “Also, Kristin told me.”

Wait, what. “Wait, what?”

“Ye ye. First day of Purgatory, I died a lot.  She said she wanted to exchange fofoca, so I told her about things, and she told me about you because she likes me. Did you know, I asked her if I could get wings too? It made her laugh. I guess tech support is not a high enough position to get flying benefits, sad times for me.”

Mother fucker. It’s hard to be upset when everything that spews out of Étoiles’ chattermouth is so consistently funny. “Well. I would’ve told you sooner than later, anyway. S’fine.”

“So you let me help.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll let you take a look, if that’ll make you feel better about it.”

“Let’s goooo, we got trust. Sit down please?”

Phil snorts and complies. He spots Tallulah running back towards him to climb onto his lap with a quiet warbe. good? Phil warbles back, good, yesyes, and rests his chin on top of his egg’s soft locks of hair. He hears Pomme hitting her dad behind him. “Ouais Pomme ?” Bomp, a short silence. “Badboy est là ? Ah ouaaais. Il veut encore t’exploiter pour ses boutons de l’enfer là ? POV, tu aides le fou du QSMP avec son escape game pour pas qu’il te tue.” More hits, Pomme’s little click-chirps. Étoiles laughs. “Okay, okay, t’inquiètes. Va l’aider, moi et Phil on va parler de trucs chiants de toute façon. Je te vois plus tard ?” The sound of a warpstone going off. “Saluuut.”

“Is Pomme leaving?”

“Yeah, she wants to build stuff with Badboy.”

“Oh god. Please tell me it’s not another find-the-button map.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna spend ten hours finding those fucking things again soon, let’s gooooo. So your wings, who else knows? I bet Fit knows. And your eggs.” Tallulah nods in Phil’s hold.

Étoiles’ lack of big reaction feels nice, but he supposes he should have expected it — the guy never makes a big deal out of anything. Except when it’s about banned materials. Or the Nether. And finding buttons, new trigger unlocked. “Add in pretty much everyone in the original Bolas, king,” he huffs as Étoiles settles behind him. His unseen presence makes a brief shiver of danger, danger go up Phil’s spine. It’s fine. It’s fine, he soothes himself, idly rubbing at the scar at the center of his chest through his robe. “I lost my shit with them around. Stopped caring as much. They saw them on day one.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? Half the people on this shit island are like, creatures. Not humans. Nobody cares. I’m literally a fruit, Phil.”

Phil chokes on his own spit. “Jesus Christ, you have no idea how funny what you just said was.” Tallulah chirps and wiggles in his hold, places a sign. [*side-eyes u*] it says, and that’s somehow even funnier than if she had actual eyes to side-eye people with instead of the blank expanse of her brown-spotted shell.

Étoiles blinks. He cocks his head to the side, in that specific way he does whenever he’s listening to what he calls the ‘voices of the stars’. (Something akin to his crows, from what the older man has been able to gather.) “Oooh. Oh, is it a gay joke Phil? That doesn’t work man, we are on Gay Island, everyone is gay here, or they don’t date at all. And you are incorrect, because I am in the second group, héhé.”

“Didn’t Antoine call you his boyfriend once?”

“He calls me a lot of things.” Étoiles shrugs. ”He’s also an asshole and my DJ partner and my friend and I love him very much, but no, it’s not like that. And I am married to dark metal and dungeons anyway. Now I’m going to unbind your wings and move them around, okay?”

“Mh. Go for it, king.”

To his credit, Étoiles is methodic in his approach — unknotting the binds and carefully tracing the upper edges of his left wing while the other spreads out with difficulty, a few black feathers coming loose. Étoiles lets out a surprised oh, gently grabs the other to help it unfurl, and Phil feels him poking at the bottom of his regrowing primaries — right where the white ones, usually hidden beneath the outer layer unless he spreads them wide, grow in diamond-like spots. “I know this pattern, right there. You have Elytrian code too, Phil? I thought it was just crow.”

“Ah, so Kristin didn’t tell you everything then.”

“No. And she didn’t like, out you, you know. She only told me because she knew I knew, she only confirmed it. People with wings have like, a way they move? I can’t explain it, I just see it.”

“Body language expert Étoiles, ey? Have you known a lot of avians before?”

Étoiles stays quiet for a second. When he speaks again, he sounds perplexed. “Huh. I don’t know. I guess I knew Baghera? Memory stuff, it’s annoying.”

Phil frowns. Right. “You told me a little about your childhood, though. The village, the farmers?”

“Yeah, that’s a thing that came back quickly after the crash. But everything after that, I don’t remember.”

“Man, fuck this island. I’m sorry.”

Étoiles hums. His fingers start combing through his bottom feathers, lingering among the white ones. “I think. I think I went to the End before, Phil.” His voice has gone softer, airy, like he’s not quite anchored in the present. “I think… maybe, I’ve seen Elytrians before.”

“You have?”

“Mmh. I think I killed one. Yeah. And I took its elytra. It was a good fight.”

The revelation doesn’t shock him — Elytrian hunting is a common activity for those who reach the End, and elytras are a highly sought-after item in most worlds. (Philza would know.) “Were you a hunter? Before the island.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t like hunters.” And Phil can’t see Étoile’s face from his position on the floor, but his words are dripping with contempt. “Hunting for yourself is one thing. Making money off it, it feels wrong. And they don’t even fight, they make traps. I don’t like that. If you’re too shit at fighting to win fairly against something, you don’t deserve the loot. Bâtards de merde.”

And Phil laughs, because this he understands. “Ever the honorable warrior, aren’t you Étoiles.”

“Dude, I have so much honor. I told you, I’m literally Japanese.”

“Right.”

“And like I said, I am your arms. I am your sword, Philza Minecraft.”

Phil’s wings fluff up slightly, a croon of ownership-claim threatening to spill out of his chest. Mine. “Étoiles…”

“I am, it’s not a bad thing! Purgatory sucked. I didn’t like it. But it was better at the end, when you were telling me what to do. Who to kill for you.”

Phil croons, leaning back into Étoiles’ careful hands. “I see. You never called me dad though.”

“Fuck that!” Étoiles laughs, bark-like and airy. “That cult leader shit was weird. You’re Philza.” And there’s a quality to the way he says it, something that feels both casual and reverent. “First of his name, GOAT of PvP, Avoider of Lore, greatest man alive—”

“Woah there—”

“—husband and Angel of Lady Death, and father of dragon eggs. You’re not my dad. Why everyone has daddy issues on this shit island?”

Phil snorts. “I don’t know, mate. But I won’t judge. I think it’s fine if seeing me as a father figure brought them comfort. It was literally hell out there.”

Étoiles hums. “Maybe. Also, you didn’t answer my question.” Phil lets out a confused huh. “Earlier, when I asked why you were hiding that you had wings.”

…Shit. Curse Étoiles’ one-track mind, his deflection tactic had been foiled. “It’s not— shit like prejudice I was afraid of, Étoiles,” he admits, quiet and somber. The other man stops his ministrations, fingers dug deep in his primary coverts. “I know this island is a goddamn circus show. Mousey screams she’s a demon to whoever will listen and nobody gives two shits, I don’t know why Bad even bothers pretending he’s not. That’s not the problem. It’s just…” He sighs. ”The Federation has eyes everywhere, man. I feel like if I show them off too much, they’ll fuck them up again. Maybe even worse than last time.”

Étoiles is silent. His motions resume, slower, more careful and deliberate. “The first time, you say,” he eventually hums. There’s something dangerous in his voice. “So it’s because of them, that they are like this? Your wings.”

“Pretty much. Woke up on the train, boom, clipped. No more flying for me. I don’t know why they didn’t do the same to Jaiden, she said she didn’t want to fly, or didn’t know how? I can’t remember too well, but maybe that’s why. Less of a threat. Honestly, I’m just glad they didn’t do it to her. She’s family now.” Even though her loyalties are a point of concern, he couldn’t help it. She is Bolas, she is flock. And he had held her as she screamed out the temporary loss of her shiny blue wings, that first night in Purgatory. “No avian deserves that shit.”

“You don’t either, Phil.”

“I know that.”

“I’m just saying it because you have the voice! The one you use when you think bad things.”

A wry smile. “How dare you call yourself dumb, man. How fucking dare you.”

“It’s what I do! I kill things, I see people’s true souls, and I shit on myself.”

They stay quiet after that. Étoiles stretches out his wings, flexing the joints one at a time, muttering quick apologies when Phil hisses a little too loud. “Sorry, sorry.”

“You’re good. Keep going.” So he does, until Phil no longer feels the pins and needles of blood flooding back into his wings, until the joints no longer feel like rusted cogs. He even gets a little preening in, dislodging matted down and crooked secondaries, and it feels nice. Tallulah is dozing off in his hold, warm and safe. His egg, his baby, his hatchling. “Thanks mate,” Phil hums, a little out of it by the end, hindbrain thrumming pleasantly. Flock, good, yesyes. “You’ve done that before, I can tell.”

“If I have, I don’t remember. Okay, now stand— sorry Tallulah, were you sleeping? Sorry, your dad has to stand so we can see. Yes, nice. Now try them.”

Phil chitters quietly, furling and unfurling his wings experimentally — the constant pain is still there, but minimal, very bearable, and they do feel less stuffy. Lighter. “It actually does, yeah.” Tallulah does a little dance at his side, twirling and playing a few cheery notes on her flute. “Good job, seriously.”

“No probleeeem, Phil, my bro. Last round?”

This guy, I swear. “I’m a little tired,” Phil groans, cracking his neck as he stands, stretches his wings out as far as he can — it still aches, but feels miles better. “But okay. I’m going to put Tallulah to bed real quick, she’s eepy.” Tallulah nods in confirmation, takes out her warpstone right as her papa does. “Then let’s fight, one more time. After that I’m going home and conking the fuck out.”

Étoiles makes a sound that probably means something like ‘holy shit say less king’. “Okay!”

Five minutes later, and he’s warping back to Étoiles’ cave like a man on a mission. And in a way, he is. “Welcome back, worthy challenger,” the cucumber greets him, crossed-legged in the middle of the dojo, and Phil snorts because the music box is blasting Smash Bros music now. “You’re such a fucking nerd, oh my God.”

“It gives me strength, Phil. It’s my final form.” Étoiles gets up, stick already in hand, bouncing on his heels with anticipation. “Autofeed still off?”

“Yup. How’s your sugar?” Étoiles checks his monitor quickly, gives a thumbs up. “Good. No holding back?”

“I never hold back, Phil. Let’s go.”

There is no countdown this time — both opponents slip into quiet assessment, circling each other slowly, slowly. Étoiles does a strange head-tilt, ears flicking to track Phil’s footsteps, the sounds of feathers ruffling. Phil’s eyes do not stray from him, hardened and focused, picking up on the change in the air. Étoiles wants him to go all out. So he will. And he has a plan.

(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)

Time to put that to the test, then.

Étoiles charges first this time, quick-footed, swerving at random moments to keep himself a hard-to-track target. Phil almost bursts into incredulous laughter because holy shit, he’s Naruto-running, what the fuck— but manages to keep his focus, waiting until the very last moment to thrust his wings downward with enough force to send him soaring abovehis opponent. Then, right as his feet touch the tatami and right as Étoiles screeches to a stop to spin back towards him

he spreads his wings

wide, wider

casting huge shadows on the four walls of the dojo

and lets his powers roll off of him like a dark mist, sparking with magic and wither-decay.

(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)

It’s a gamble, a costly one that saps his Feds-capped magic like crazy — but it pays off, because Étoiles staggers back, confusion etched across his features. His head subtly snaps in all directions, like he doesn’t know where to look, his ears swivelling to try and pinpoint him. Bingo. Phil has made his nebula-self big, toobig for Étoiles, rendering the warrior effectively blind. Well, double-blind.

Phil doesn’t wait for the other to find a counter to this, curls his wings forward then snaps them back — they launch him forward at breakneck speed and create a gust of wind that makes the paper lanterns swing on their hooks, and then Phil is slamming into Étoiles like a literal hurricane.

The plant hybrid gasps, fingers slackening from the sheer strength of the impact — his weapon slips out of his grasp to clatter against the ground and roll out of bounds. His body describes a perfect curve and hits the wooden floor with a loud thud. He barely has the time to blink the dizziness away before something presses against the side of his neck, and he freezes completely. “Gotcha,” Phil preens, looming above him. The end of his stick is right against Étoiles’ pulse point, the threat crystal clear, and he’s a writhing mass of burning stars and cosmic fury.

The energy rolling off of him washes over Étoiles in waves, makes his skin tingle, and he recognizes it as withering. Withering coming from Philza himself, whose outlines are impossible to pinpoint, lost in the cloud of magic and giant Angel wings.

...Okay, this is sick as hell, Étoiles thinks, and he can feel somethingwithin him grow, a presence rejoicing in the back of his mind. Ink bleeds into his eyes, then under it, twin lines of darkness going down his cheeks and neck. (Flashes of a white spiral on a dark expanse, of whispers and stolen Time.) He feels cold, but he feels good about it, and he’s not scared at all — this is fine, more than fine. Withering is harmless for Death-touched things. Things like him and Phil. He laughs, loud and ecstatic, this is fun, so fun! “Aaah. Clever bird, clever Phil, I like. Okay.”

Then something wraps around Phil’s ankle and pulls it forward, breaking his balance and making him hit the ground ass-first with a startled caw. He grits his teeth, shoots a glare towards his leg to see—

—blinks at the sight of a green vine wrapped around his ankle. His eyes trace along its length. He’s seen this before, but only once, months ago. Right after harvesting a freshly-regrown Étoiles out of the ground, a week after his Code-related demise. “Oh,” Philza says, and Étoiles smirks in return.

His tail is long, as long as he is tall, and covered in large, healthy green leaves. It swishes against the tatami in a serpentine motion, the leaves rustling quietly, and Phil notices a half-star-shaped kink at the end of it. It’s... well, it’s pretty adorable actually, but something tells him Étoiles wouldn’t like that descriptor. “You kept it,” he says instead, fight-darkened eyes sparkling with something like kinship-euphoria. “You grew it out.”

“I did, I listened to you. I keep it wrapped around my waist, it works.”

“Told you it could come in handy.”

“You did. You’re always right about things, Philza.” Étoiles steps into a fighting stance, hands curled into fists, tail lashing left and right like a whip. Phil understands, lets out a quiet chuckle as he sends his own weapon flying out of the arena. So they’re doing it this way, huh. More than fine with him. “Nothing’s off the table then,” he hums, hands curling like claws at his sides, sharpening talons glinting ominously in the light of paper lanterns. His friend hums approvingly, and it’s all Phil needs to pounce.

They no longer try to evade, instead crashing into each other to cause as much damage as quickly as possible. Étoiles throws a jab, Phil retaliates with a smack of his wing to destabilise the other before slashing at his chest, tearing at his shirt and drawing the first blood. Because yes, Étoiles bleeds, deep cuts marring his dark green skin, chlorophyll sticking to Phil’s hands. Étoiles hisses, gets behind him and wraps his tail around Phil’s throat to choke him. Phil gasps, coughs, briefly flails before smacking the other with his wings until the tail goes slack. Phil rips it off him and whirls around to pull at it sharply — Étoiles falls, but not before grabbing onto Phil’s robes to pull him down with him.

Things get messy after that — a flurry of feathers and leaves and punches and kicks, one that clocks Phil in the jaw and makes him taste blood, one at the side of his head that makes him see stars. He hisses, screeches, swipes, again and again, and Étoiles blocks some of them with his arms, arms that gain more and more tiger-stripe cuts, but many go through and eat at his health, heart after heart. The warrior retaliates with a headbutt that makes the Angel’s world darken for a second, burning blood getting into his eyes and half-blinding him. Maybe it’s more fair this way, not that it slows him down at all.

They punch, claw, snap their teeth at each other like rabid dogs — chipping at each other’s health with no care, no limits. Dark red and greenish white smear against the straw tatami, but that’s fine, that’s okay, they are playing, they are having fun, and Philza feels alive, alive, alive!

(The whole time, Étoiles never touches his wings. Which goes against the whole ‘nothing off the table’ thing, yet Philza is grateful for it. He’s also grateful none of the eggs are here to see this.)

Philza has no idea how long this lasts, lost in the thrill of a fight the likes of which he hasn’t experienced in decades. But eventually the doom of someone getting downed makes every muscle in his body lock up, and he’s still standing. Or, kneeling over Étoiles with his talons right above his jugular, the other hand pinning the warrior’s hands above his head to keep him from hitting back. Semantics.

Étoiles has gone limp, heaving, his body a canvas of bruises and bloody cuts. “I win,” Phil realizes, wings quivering, all fluffed up in a show of victory. “I… won.”

“Well played, well played,” his warrior wheezes out in response, and Phil’s never seen anyone so happy about getting their shit kicked. Except maybe one person. But he won, Phil won, Étoiles is down and he himself still has… yes, two hearts to spare. He has won. They can stop. Right here. Right now.

But then. Étoiles, stupid and crazy and wonderful Étoiles, tilts his head back to offer him his throat, his binary-scarred face twisted in a feral grin. Philza gasps and leans back a little, eyes wide “Take your win, my bro,” he chirps, happy as can be, tail thumping against the tatami like an overpet cat. Tap, tap, tap, the countdown to his demise if Phil doesn’t up him soon. “Do it. You won’t. No balls, no bolas.”

And those words are the last push Phil needs for his Elytrian code to take over. He bares his teeth, eyes darkening to a pitch black that eats up his entire sclera, until the white of Étoiles’ teeth gets reflected back at him — not that he can see it. 

Phil’s wings spread out behind him, huge and dark and awe-inspiring even in their frayed state, and the withering aura that exudes from them paints Étoiles’ eternal night in bursts of star-speckled purples and reds and blues.

It’s beautiful. And it’s terrifying. Étoiles is about to get killed by an Angel of Death, and he’s never been so goddamn scared and excited in his life.

 

Phil feels insane. He’s going feral, going sicko mode, or whatever other colloquialism that means his mind is drowning in the thrill of hunt, hunt, prey, yesyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Étoiles scared before, but there’s no mistaking those too-wide eyes, that subtle tremor in his friend’s wrists as Phil’s hand tightens around them. He can smell it too, like cut grass left to decay in the hot sun, and it’s making the End’s superpredator in him go zoomies inside his skull.

He growls, low and bone-deep and dangerous, his talons pushing harder against the paling, sweat-damp skin of Étoiles’ neck. prey? flock. prey. prey? kill, eat, yesyes. Étoiles isn’t human, but he has something close to a heart, and he bleeds like one — greenish white chlorophyll that smells strong and tastes awful, bitter.

(Phil knows that, because Purgatory happened. More specifically, Bolas happened, gas masks and ritual sacrifices and fresh blood always lingering at the corner of their mouths. He misses his flock — misses all the ones that are still gone, carving cookie-cutter negative shapes in his heart — everything else about that hellscape, not so much anymore. Maybe he’s healing, just a little.)

 

His talons are just a hair away from perforating Étoiles’ jugular, so close to making not-quite-blood pour out like a fountain. But then he freezes, going silent, because the part of him that is still sane recognizes that this is a terrible idea.

It’s a terrible idea because Étoiles is bad at knowing when to stop, bad at spotting the line between what challenges him and what hurts him. And Philza understands that this, this is a bad. The cucumber hybrid is a creature of instants — fugue moments, rash decisions, the kind you would look back on later and go oh, yeah, that was dumb and maybe not worth it. Hence Philza has to be the responsible one, has to ignore his base instincts screeching at him to hunt, kill, kill, lest this ends badly. Like Étoiles getting mauled to death by what is supposed to be his most trusted friend. Again. (They don’t talk about that time. Just like they don’t talk about Étoiles’ betrayal, neither want to reminisce over Phil’s teeth tearing his throat out in the middle of a Hunger disaster. Not-so-fun fact: Étoiles doesn’t taste like cucumber at all.)

“Enabler,” the avian warbles, talons slowly lifting off the hollow of Étoiles’ throat. “M’not killing you.” And Étoiles, like the little shit that he is, has the gallto pout at him. “Why not?”

“Because then I’ll have to regrow your ass in my potato field for a week, you twat.” Also I think it’s not good for you, and my sanity is at an all-time low so I don’t need cold-blooded murder to push me over the edge, he adds in petto.

Étoiles blinks. Huffs out a laugh, something a little unhinged, but also a little relieved. “Ah, yeah! I forgot, because I respawned normally in Purgatory. Okay, you win.” The warrior’s smile softens to something more like him,  and just like that, the tension vanishes, the buzz of fear and aggression replaced by something light and playful. Étoiles baps his hands against his chest, grabbing at his robe to tug him down into a hug.

And Philza’s hindbrain floods the rest of him with happy, happy, yesyes, because Étoiles isn’t really a touchy-feely person and neither is Phil, but this feels right. “GGs,” the crow says back, warbling and chirping like crazy, the black in his eyes receding. yesyes, mine, mine, yesyes, yesyes! And to his surprise, Étoiles responds, not with a crude imitation of his own bird sounds, but with something… different. And Phil’s not sure any word in his vocab could ever describe it accurately — but something deep within him knows that if starlight was a sound, this would certainly be it. “Oh, oh, he is so good. The GOAT, the actual GOAT, best man on the planet Philza Minecraft,” Étoiles mock-sobs against him. “He wakes up in the morning casually being the best, and he takes care of two eggs and says fuck to the president’s office from the wall, and he finally beats me. My legend, Felipe, Felipe!”

Phil shakes from the force of his hilarity — a regular occurrence whenever he hangs around his favourite pickle man for long enough. silly, he warbles between fits of belly-aching, hiccup-inducing laughter, and he leans down to nuzzle against his friend’s mess of dark green hair (leaves?). silly. silly. flock. “I do see Forever wave at me from his office sometimes,” he hums, once he’s calmed down enough to speak again. “He makes kissy faces at me through the glass, so I flip him off.”

Étoiles hums in acceptance, finally pushes Phil back to shimmy out from under him with a small héhé to lay on his back, starfish-style. Phil rolls onto his own back, and they both stare at the interlacing wooden beams of the dojo roof for a little while, basking in the fuzz of a fading adrenaline rush.

(Phil hasn’t seen his favourite Brazilian as much lately. Silly, sun, friend-protector. He probably has his hands full, what with returning to his political duties after so long. Still, Philza worries — he thinks of black tar clinging to sun-kissed skin and tired sienna eyes, above a smile that just doesn’t shine as bright as it used to.) “I kinda like it, though. It’s like our good morning. Never tell him I said that.”

“I wooooon’t, I promise.”

“Thank you. For the fights.” Philza closes his eyes. He is here, he is real, everything about this moment is so real. It’s comforting, a balm on his fraying psyche. “It was fun.”

“It was so fun. Please fight with me again like this sometime, no sticks, yes? You have to come back so I give you your black belt anyway.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

“I can hear you smiling, Phil. You want to, I knowww.”

“M’not smiling at all, dumbass.”

Étoiles does that high-pitched hum of his that means he’s not buying it, reaches towards his friend — his leader, his wielder, his death-touched Angel. Cool fingers, untouched by code, playfully trace over each of Philza’s features, feeling out the dimples and the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes — pun very much intended. “You’re so bad at lying, Philza,” he sing-songs, playful and content. “I know you too well. Maybe I can’t see you, but I can see you.”

And goddammit, Philza actually does feel seen in this moment, anxieties melting away for now. How does he do it. How does this reckless, thrill-seeking cucumber man with a limited (albeit pretty good, and improving) grasp on English so consistently drop the most gut-punching lines in this entire server. Étoiles is something else. “...Yeah. I see you too, mate,” Phil breathes out, and the rough texture of the tatami is starting to dig criss-cross patterns into his back, but he wants to stay like this. Just a little longer.

 

(Philza is damaged goods. But so is Étoiles, and so is everyone he knows. But maybe they can both pretend, for a little while.)

[blueberrybladelemonade]

Confess or Freeze

(Aka Confessions in the Fridge)

Summary: After you dipped out of the plan your friends made to get you and Peppino together, it's time for them to take more extreme options. Option B.

Contains: You both did NOT get together after Noise and Noisette made an elaborate plan and it's annoyed all of your friends now. Calculated back up plan, Get in the freezer and stay there until you start dating.  

Note: I've had this idea in my head for a while  but @some-person-named-c mentioned what if Peppino and Y/N got locked in the freezer from one of Noise, Noisette, and Gustavo's back up plans if the dinner plan failed 😂. I love "what if...?" and alternate scenarios and this was a great kick to get me to start up writing again. 

I'd recommend, if you didn't read Confessions in the Dark, to read that fic first, as this one references a few things from there and the why and how you've gotten into THIS situation in the first place. 

Linked below!

***Saturday 9:04 p.m***

"He shows up and we're still down idiot number two!" The door slams shut as Noise throws his hands up, looking at Noisette in exasperation. 

"Y/N hasn't answered any of my messages either..." she drawled, somewhat concerned. "You don't think something happened, do you"?

He rolled his eyes. "Tch, doubt it. Y/N only wanted to go to ogle -" Noise paused his rant, a realization dawning across his features before flashing with annoyance at Noisette.

"Why didn't you confirm Y/N was still goIN-FUCK!" Noise yelled, staggering as his foot slammed into the corner of the wall. Noisette shot him a glare, placing her hands on her hips, "Why didn't you? I set up our reservations and outlined our plans for hours!" She snapped, brows knit together as she watched her boyfriend hobble towards the couch. Serves him right for trying to blame her. 

In a less than graceful motion Noise whips out his phone and searches through his contacts before flopping onto the couch. Reading your name earned a scowl as he began to type sonething. 

Silence, aside from the tapping of his fingers on the screen, filled the air. Noisette quirked an eyebrow at the length, then squinted in an attempt to read Noise's text as it continued to grow. To make out what he was typing Noisette stepped over towards the couch to hover over his shoulder. She let out a short gasp. 

"Theo! That's a little too harsh".

He glares up at her with a huff. "No babe, what's harsh is watching two dumbasses avoid one another even if they want to jump each other on the spot and make out sloppy style!" He spat. 

Noisette's lips curled downward, face wrinkling in disgust. 

"I didn't need that visual." She replied flatly.

Immediately after Noise tapped send he tossed his phone onto the floor with a huff. Noisette made her way around the couch, picked up the phone, and dropped it onto her boyfriends chest, earning an indignant "oof"!

"Go text Gustavo". 

***Saturday 9:21 P.M.***

Gustavo groaned, sinking lower into the sofa. Maybe if he sunk down deep enough the cushions would swallow him up, out of this world. Unfortunately he would have no such luck as his phone would likely continue buzzing until he answered it. 

Across the room his phone had been chiming away, blowing up with what he knew were texts. From his peripheral he watched Brick prop himself up against the end table, his claws clinking against the wood. The rat tilted his head curiously, sniffing at the phone as it continued to beep and vibrate.

Without even opening his phone he knew their plan to get you both together had failed. 

Damn it. 

Gustavo could only assume you hadn't shown up. His eyes flicked back to the phone, which had fell silent. Before he could get halfway to the table Gustavo recoiled, the phone once again buzzing to life. The words "Noise (Theo)" flashed obnoxiously as the man called again. 

With an irritated groan he cleared his throat and answered. 

"Hello"?

*** Saturday 10:03 p.m. ***

You stared up at the ceiling, the clock illuminating your otherwise dim room. Peppino told you he wasn't going and it's not like you wanted to go to dinner without him there. You didn't dislike everyone else that was probably at this get together, but if Peppino wasn't going to be there you weren't in the mood. It would've been the perfect excuse to be around him without outright saying it. 

Instead, you ran a hot bath, made a warm drink, and curled up in bed. Now left alone to let your mind wander, you thought back to this morning.

Peppino's responses earlier towards you had been uncharacteristic. He responded dryly, almost aloof, with anything you said. You thought further back, trying to recall if you had said or did anything days beforehand that could've irritated him, but came up with nothing. 

After your bath you finally checked your phone and instantly regret it. A pit in your stomach began to form as your screen flashed with multiple notifications. 

Nine missed calls and dozens of texts from Noisette and her boyfriend The Noise. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you skimmed through the messages from Noisette first. 

You spent what little energy you had for her wall of texts simply saying you felt drained and tired and just decided you wanted to stay home. You typed out another message asking if you could make it up to her. 

As you close out of her messages, you roll your eyes to tap Noise's contact to read what he had sent you. No doubt it was going to contain multiple expletives and at least one threat. You give an exasperated sigh as you read through his tirade of insults before setting your phone back onto the nightstand. Yep. He was predictable. 

You toss your head to the side with a frown. If Peppino went out anyways despite telling you he wasn't going, was it because he hadn't wanted you to be there? What Noisette texted you contradicted that however. Did Peppino actually feel disappointed that you didn't come out?

As you tossed and turned in bed your eyes focused on the letter sitting on your desk. You cringe. That was confession number thirty-two if you weren't mistaken. No matter how many letters you tried to write, the next day you'd always reread it back to yourself and immediately become dissatisfied with it. 

Telling Peppino with words you liked him was too daunting of a task, so writing was the next best option. 

If only you could find the right words.

*** Saturday 11:12 P.M.***

Peppino shifted to lay on his side. A pang of guilt picked his brain. On the other hand, maybe it was a good thing you stayed home tonight. The get together had been a total bust, Peppino had been stuck with Noise and Noisette the entire time, as no one else showed up. Despite being their usual raucous behavior there was an air of unease as they waited for you to arrive. When you never did, the pair became more hushed as they ate their food. Peppino noticed The Noise's expression flashed with a look he couldn't quite place before they both decided to excuse themselves to leave for the night. 

Peppino lifted his head to flip his pillow, letting out a soft sigh at the pleasant coolness of the fabric. 

Was it his fault you didn't show up? His plan to distance himself from you and treat you like every other customer hurt. He knew it upset you with every flat response he gave this morning, your expression alone told him that. It hurt him too, but he couldn't continue with the daydreams he has so often about you. Not when they'd never actually happen. His redeeming qualities were lacking; being an anxious and overweight wreck of a man. Peppino had accepted years ago that he was passed his prime for what one would consider "dating material". 

Despite this, Peppino found himself imagining what if you both had showed up tonight. What would've you wore? What would've you ordered to eat? He rarely got to be around you when he wasn't at work. Being more relaxed and talking with you without the threat of time or burning something. He wondered what you both could've talked about.

One step at a time, he told himself, shutting his eyes. Distance would hurt at first but it was necessary. He just wished each step was easier to take. 

***Monday 6:21 a.m.***

"Today's the daaaay!" Noise sang, draping an arm around Gustavo's shoulder. Noisette smiled brightly, sandwiching the gnome between them. She laced her arm around Noise's as the trio made their way to the Pizzeria. Gustavo swallowed thickly, his grip tightening around the blanket he had in his arms. 

The couple chattered excitedly, rehearsing their plan, Gustavo nodding along with his role and instructions. 

"Can you hold this?" Gustavo asked, not waiting for a reply before shoving the blanket into Noise's hands. He wanted to hurry just in case Peppino showed up early despite their discussion yesterday.

To help with the plan, Gustavo had called Peppino, saying he that would open today if Peppino could go to the store instead. Peppino grumbled over the phone in protest, which Gustavo pointed out that he would get to sleep in - which if anyone needed more rest between the two, it was Peppino. 

After a short exchange Peppino relented, though not without reiterating what ingredients needed to be defrosted and to make sure Gustavo set the fresh dough out for the day. Gustavo jot down those instructions along with a few others he needed to do to open for the day. 

Gustavo hurriedly fished the key to the pizzeria from his pocket and unlocked the door. As the doors swung open he watched as the couple excitedly bounded inside, making a beeline to the kitchen. The swing doors to the back room squeaked to a close again as they disappeared through them.

Doing his best to ignore the two Gustavo flicked on the lights and begun to busy himself with preparing to open for the day. A small frown tugged at his lips as he felt in his pocket for the checklist. He shrugged, the list wasn't particularly long, Gustavo would just have to do what he could from memory. 

As the overhead fans whirred to life the phone on the wall caught his eye. Was this too early? He thought, pulling out his phone. Noisette assured him earlier that you were probably waking up by now. Probably. 

"Hey Y/N? Oh, I'm sorry! I thought you would be awake by now. I didn't realize it wasn't even seven yet". Gustavo watched as Noise set a container on top of the counter, Noisette towing close behind as the former pulled out the storage closet key.

"Would you be able to come over here in about thirty to forty five minutes"?

The pair dragged a heavy floor mat across the tiled dining room, back into the kitchen, and again disappeared. "It's a short notice -and I meant to call you yesterday - but we're hosting an event at the pizzeria". 

What was that loud clang? Gustavo craned his neck to peer into the window. Noisette looked to be standing off to the side and Noise had a step ladder. 

"I'll see you then, sorry again for waking you up so early." As Gustavo finished his call with you and hung up he rushed through the door.

"What are you doing?" he gawked up at Noise who was holding a large metal sheet pan, with another one on the floor. "I'm getting the pan out to defrost this shit." He gestured down to the sink where a few ingredients sat. On the counter beside him was a crumpled piece of paper which was very familiar. 

Huh. Gustavo quirked an eyebrow. That's surprisingly helpful for The Noise. Before Gustavo could turn and leave, another idea formed. A 'just in case' idea.

"Can you put the sausage back into the fridge? Preferably towards the back?" He pursed his lips in thought, "And hide the step ladder when you're done, grazie".

***Monday 7:43 a.m.***

"Let me out!" You howl, clawing at the door. "Nuh-uh." Noisette smiles sweetly at you before pressing her hand into your face, shoving you backwards. You stop yourself from bowling over, lunging back towards the door desperately. "Let me out damn it"!

A heavy clang resounded in the freezer, your stomach tightened at the sound. She would let you out in a minute, right? You shivered, rubbing your arms in a poor attempt to stay warm. It was then that something dark in the corner caught your eye.

How long were you going to be locked in here?  

You stare over at the thick mat on the floor, complete with a pillow and heavy blanket. Now that you got a better look at it, wasn't this Gustavo's? Why was that here? Regardless, you pull and drape the fabric around yourself to stay warm.

You slump to your knees on the mat with a groan, clutching the blanket tightly around you. Currently, the thermostat said 31 degrees and was dropping now that the door was shut.  

*** Monday 8:24 a.m ***

"Hey Pep, can you go get the sausage? I forgot to take it out this morning". 

Peppino huffed, "Mio dio that was supposed to be defrosted by now"!

Gustavo gave him a less than apologetic shrug. Earning him a scowl. "I couldn't reach it and our stepladder is missing." He replied, following closely after Peppino as he made his way towards the walk-in fridge. 

"Hiya Italian man!" Noise flashed him a wolfish grin, Peppino drew back with a yelp at the yellow blur that appeared out of thin air. Noisette appeared beside him, hand on the door to the walk in fridge. "Hi Mr. Spaghetti! Surprise"!

"Vaffanculo!" By the time Peppino had registered what was happening, he swears he hears Gustavo utter what could've been an apology, before being blasted with icy air. His "best friend" helping The Noise shove him inside the fridge. "Goodbye Italian man!" Noise cackles. 

Peppino let out a sharp gasp, bracing against the door to prevent it from sealing shut. What ever prank this was, he wasn't in the mood and was going to wring all of their necks when he got out.  

A voice shrieked from behind him, making him flinch. "No! Don't let it shut"! Peppino's weight against the door faltered, stumbling inside and losing his grip as you lunge passed him, violently pounding against the metal door. You clawed at the door desperately, hearing muffled laughter from the other side. 

"Hazel let me out right now!" you howled, wincing at your own voice as it bounced off the walls. 

"What the hell-a is going on? Y/N?" Peppino's voice pulls your attention to him, white puffs of air coming out in short pants.

"I don't know! Noisette locked me in here and left but now you're in here too"! Peppino watched as you grabbed the nearby rack, wobbling before he caught you, preventing you from trying to climb. You let out an unintelligible noise in frustration before pressing your forehead into the wall. You flinch briefly at the frozen metal against your face. 

Peppino remained rooted to the ground motionless, still processing what was going on. The sound of your breathing and the fans filled the air. As the adrenaline wore off a shiver went up Peppino's spine and down his arms. 

After another moment he watched as you pulled away from the wall and scanned the various containers lining the racks. 

"So you went to the dinner after all." You stated, finding a particular interest in the shredded cheese bin. It was less of a question and more of an observation. 

"No one else was-a there besides those two. He made a face. "I don't-a recommend it".

"Why didn't you want to go?" you gingerly lift the lid, pulling out a pinch of cheese and pop it into your mouth. 

At this Peppino fell silent and averted his gaze. How exactly was he supposed to explain if you were there he wouldn't be able to distance himself from you? That if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to get you out of his head, much less his daydreaming. He carefully considered his choice of words. He needed ones that were vague enough to not give away the truth but not so vague you'd pry further. 

"So..." you trailed off, head turned, studying him tentatively. "Did you just not want me there?"

Peppino recoiled, "Yes-No! that's not what I-agh." he stammered, mentally clawing for the right choice of words. "I wasn't going-a to go. I didn't want to go. Noise threatened me until I said-a yes"!

You fell silent, eyes drifting back to the back wall and made your way over to the mat. 

"I thought it would've been nice to see you outside of work." Your hand rubbed the back of your neck, "I kinda wanted to spend more time with you." You chuckled nervously, no real mirth behind it, before your teeth chattered together.  

Peppino glanced over to the corner you were in. Noticing your uncomfortable state; huddled in the corner with your knees to your chest, you were underneath the blanket but your skin was still paler than usual. You looked pitiful, and not just from the cold.

He took a seat beside you, staring blankly across the room, at a loss on what to say. Peppino didn’t spend a lot of alone time with you, if any. It had always been at work or at get togethers that were far and few between. He had wanted to spend more time with you, too, but didn't think you would've felt the same. 

"Why-a would you want to hang out with-a me"? 

A blush lightly dusted your cheeks at how close he was to you. Though hopefully it was too cold to notice. 

"Because I like being with you". 

Peppino shivered, eyes trained onto the tile floor contemplating your words. Silently, you move one corner of the blanket off of yourself and drape the end around his shoulder. He glances over to you and is greeted by a soft smile. 

You was so kind and perfect to him. You always would stop by the pizzeria just to talk. To him specifically. You gave him something to look forward to as he worked. Even as Peppino busied himself with preparing and making pizzas, he clung to every detail you shared and you always listened to him contently. 

Now with how close you both were, it left him with butterflies in his stomach. Just his arm brushing against yours sent a pleasant warmth through him to the back of his neck. Peppino wished he had more to talk about, but with how close you both were had him too nervous to say anything.  

"Why did they lock you in here too?" you muttered after another shiver wracked your body. "I thought Noisette did it to me to get revenge for not going out Saturday". 

Peppino said nothing to you, offering a small shrug. He had a sneaking suspicion on the "Why" at this point. As if The Noise hadn't alluded to that enough when he confronted Peppino, threatening him to show up for that get together.

As he felt you shudder again, an idea popped into his head, but he hesitated, uncertain if it was a good idea. You were both freezing, you especially however. Scooting closer to you, Peppino gave you an awkward smile. “If you-a want, we can share the blanket and I can-a keep you warm"?

You peered at him, unsure you heard Peppino correctly. As seconds dragged on his expression wavered to a slightly more anxious one. Before he could move away you tugged at his arm to stop him. You drew back the blanket, letting it fall over your waist and legs before pressing yourself against his side. Peppino tossed his arm around your shoulders and brought you as close as he could.

You sighed, snuggling deeper into his arms, your own arm coming to lay across his stomach as you tried to cling to and absorb the warmth. Moving the blanket so it covered you both, Peppino wrapped his arms around you. “Better?” he asked quietly.

You gave a content hum as you pressed your head in the crook of his neck. He smelled nice -fresh- as if he had just gotten out of the shower, with a hint of his familiar scent too. 

“You’re warm,” you mumbled, letting your head rest against his shoulder. 

Without thinking, Peppino drew one hand up to caress your face. You melted into his touch and the warmth of his hand. Encouraged by your response, Peppino drew his other hand up to your face as well. 

As your eyes focused on his, you suddenly became aware of how close Peppino was, to where your foreheads were almost touching. You offered him a small smile. 

He leaned foward and closed the distance. Your breath caught in your throat, tensing for just a moment before easing against him, your eyes fluttering shut. It was a soft lingering kiss. 

His lips gently moved against yours. "I-a like you Y/N." He whispered against your lips, pressing them together once again as you smiled against him. In a silent reply you wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss.

* * * * 

Noisette smiled from the other side of the door, a deranged smile spread across her face as she turned to look at Noise. He quirked an eyebrow, looking at her across  before gesturing her to stay quiet. He flinched as the kitchen door creaked open, Gustavo's head poking through. "How's it going?" He asked in a hushed tone. Noisette nodded excitedly before giving him a thumbs up. 

"Come on, let's give them more privacy. We'll unlock the fridge in like ten minutes". Noise rose to his feet, motioning for Noisette to follow. "Or we just forget about them, I don't care".

"Oh you do too Theo." Noisette elbowed him in the ribs, earning a squeak followed by a glare from the man as the group left the back room. The warm air greeted them as they returned to the dining room. Noisette turned her attention to Gustavo with a smile. 

 "Hey Gus, can we have more garlic bread"?

"Mio dios, how much can you eat?" Gustavo muttered before ducking back into the kitchen. As he piled another plate with bread he looked back to the swing door thoughtfully. 

He'd unlock the door after he gave the pair their food. Hopefully you and Peppino wouldn't be too angry when he let you both out. If it weren't for locking you both in the freezer you'd both still be pretending you didn't have feelings for each other. Now neither of you would have to pretend anymore. 

💜 I LIVE!!! 💜

🍋🫐Thank you everyone for your continued patience with me as I've staggered out of writers block! Here's hoping there will be a few new fics out in the future in the upcoming weeks 🫐🍋

Humanish Cae Art by Coffee/Kam (C0fFe3_BeAn) on Twitter💜

[koffeesfancy]

How Mikayla reacts to your time of the month

A/N: I was dismayed at the lack of Koffee content on here and decided to do something about it. Feedback appreciated.

You spent the night a few weeks ago and never left. What initially felt like a sleepover, became a beautiful routine of domesticity.

You awoke next to each other with smiles and light wrestling. You'd catch each other's gazes in the mirror while brushing your teeth and laugh. She'd stare as you attempted to style your hair before asking to try and having fun brushing it in different directions.

You'd make her your momma's pancake recipe and she'd put on a kettle for tea. Your legs would be glued to each other's under the table while you ate. You'd wash dishes together, giggling at the silly remixes of songs you'd freestyle.

You'd hug very tightly at the door, making sure Mikayla didn't leave anything behind. You'd sit on the couch, looking out at the hilly view of Kingston before pulling out your laptop for school work.

Normally, you'd be watching Netflix or in the kitchen starting dinner when Mikayla would make it home in the evening, yet today you were nowhere to be found.

"Mama," she called out, depositing her shoes on the rack and keys at the counter. "Gyal, yuh a leave me?" She shuffled around the apartment, opening doors, heartbeat rising thinking you'd left without a word. Almost accepting the sinking feeling of being jilted, she reached for her phone to call you before hearing a noise from the bedroom.

Mikayla opened the closet door to find you in a fortress of pillows and blankets watching a Netflix show on your tablet with headphones. Your eyes squinted and your neck craned up at the bright intrusion of the door being opened.

"Uh-uh Mama, what yuh fi do in here?" she exasperated, climbing into the mess of pillows. A look of relief and amusement enveloped her face.

"Hi, sorry, I didn't hear you come in," you groaned, worming your way deeper into the corner. Mikayla reached over with a frown, checking your forehead with her hand.

"Oh Mama, you're hotting up, we need fi give yuh some medicine," she arose, "and yuh haffi catch yuh bed and sleep," You groaned at that.

"I'm fine, I get like this every month," you say, rolling over onto your side. You heard Mikayla sigh. "Why yuh nuh tell me nuttin, gyal?" she whispered, hands finding your back to give a few rubs.

At your behest, she pulled you free of the blankets and assisted you onto the bed. She left you in the room with a forehead kiss and after a few minutes of clanging cabinets and beeping appliances, returned with an armful of things.

She set them on the nightstand and lifted the bottom of your shirt with a comforting smile. She grabbed a warm towel from the stash and lay it snug over your abdomen.

"Better now?" she asked, a look of endearment reaching her eyes. You blinked and shook your head in affirmation, enjoying the comfort spreading through your aches.

Next, she handed you a steaming cup of tea and rubbed your messy hair as you drank. You sighed in content, earning a laugh from Mikayla. She presented you with the remote and a few snacks before returning to the closet to collect the remnants of your nest.

She returned and stood on the bed, reaching over you to stretch a blanket across the back of the headboard. You looked up with wide eyes to admire the cozy fortress. She chuckled at your amazement and slid next to you to enjoy whatever show you put on the TV. You naturally fell into her side, head resting on her shoulder. Your hands found each others' and locked. This became your favorite time of the month.