#for me it was iced that flipped him from enemy to decent guy

[eddiestattoos]

I simply love Ecklie's evolution from guy everybody hates for many reasons to guy that earns their respect and has respect for the team (for the most part). There's still banter. There's still trouble. But the further away from the crime lab he gets the better the terms are

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter Two - Munson Magic

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

Chapter one: Cursed

Ao3 link

---

Chapter Two: Munson Magic

Rose

“It’s the most hellish day of your life,” the words trip off Eddie’s tongue with all the gravitas of a stage actor, his eyes peeping over the demon-painted dungeon master’s screen, boring into her soul. “You’ve been betrayed, abandoned, and left to face danger alone. You have one move remaining; a last gambit. What do you do, Rose? Do you take the potion of invisibility and hide from your enemies, or do you face the dragon Iymrith in its lair, ready to face your demise?”

Fight or flight. Be invisible, or show herself and take on her demons. This first Dungeons and Dragons campaign perfectly mirrored her first day at Hawkins High, and probably her whole life. There was something comfortable about being unnoticed, until you realised no one missed your presence at all. The irony of this choice was not lost on Rose.

She’d stumbled into the lair of Hellfire after school three hours ago, finding herself drawn into a campaign with six very intense, very passionate teenage boys in matching shirts. A party of adventurers, led by a manic, charismatic rocker. He could have been obnoxious with his loud personality, impassioned rants, and a decent-sized ego, but somehow he wasn’t. He was kind, with the prettiest eyes she had ever seen. God, no, she couldn’t be thinking about his eyes right now. Or his lips. Or the glimpse of tattoos on the skin of his forearms, or the ...shit . Compose yourself, McAllister.

Gareth and Mike were talking at a thousand miles an hour about hit points and odds of success as she pulled herself together. The guys were on the edge of their seats, waiting for her next move, each one of them already killed by the dragon; the hopes of the party lay upon her shoulders. Her skin prickled beneath the itchy wool of her mum’s cardigan, far too hot and stuffy for the warm September night. Be brave , she told herself. Take out the sword .

“I take the potion,” she said, defeated. “I drain the glass vial in one gulp, and seek refuge in the thick brambles of the forest. If the ice dragon can’t see me, it can’t kill me, right?”

Eddie gave her time to sweat, ignoring the debate of the Hellfire members in the background. “You sure, Lady Thorn?”

God, it really was warm in here. Rose’s hand toyed with the dice. “Yes, but...maybe...agh. I’m starting to worry that my big, completely unexpected entrance tonight has you thinking i’m brave and cool and capable of slaying a dragon. You’re probably thinking i’m Eowyn, Lady of Rohan, wielding swords and kicking arse, and about to punch the Witch-king of Angmar in the bollocks.”

Gareth, who had taken an ill-timed sip from his can of coke, sprayed it back over the table, choking and coughing until Jeff and Chris both slapped him on the back, just a little too hard.

Eddie didn’t even notice, he was staring like she was on fire, lips parted a little bit. “You read Tolkien?”

Rose didn’t hear him; she was mid-ramble, so hot and flushed she had to pull the cardigan off her head clumsily and scrunch it into a ball in her lap. “I’ve built myself up to be a shieldmaiden, but the truth is, i’m just a hobbit. I want to sit by the fire in Bag End, with a nice cup of tea and a book. So maybe I should just take the potion and run from Iymrith.”

“That didn’t work out so well for Frodo, did it?” Dustin finally broke his silence. “When he wore the One Ring he wasn’t exactly invisible, and it led to him being stabbed by the Morgul-knife, carried by the Witch-king of Angmar himself. You might wanna hide, Rose, but the fight has come to you.”

“Henderson speaks wisely,” Eddie admitted begrudgingly. “The time for self-doubt is over, sweetheart. Iymrith the dragon waits for no woman - be she shieldmaiden or hobbit. His wings beat overhead, stirring the canopy of leaves in the forest. He spies your fiery dark red hair in the tree cover, and takes aim.”

Rose panicked. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit...I prize Mike’s single-handed sword from his dead, cold grip and raise it toward the dragon.”

“ Yes , I knew you had it in you,” Gareth choked out, his voice still croaky. “Take the bastard down.”

“But it's madness!” Jeff was spiralling, hyperventilating and shaking his fist. “You can’t just wield a single-handed blade against a dragon with most of its hit points remaining.”

“Jeff’s right, the physics of it would never work,” Dustin agreed, wielding his pencil like a sword. “But we don’t traverse the Forgotten Realms to debate physics, my friends. We do it in the name of adventure. We do it to be heroes!”

The cluttered drama room was buzzing with cheers and applause; Rose lurched to her feet, clutching the edge of the wooden table with her hands. She had no idea what she was doing, but she felt like the moment demanded dramatics.

“I pull back my arm, and launch the sword into the air like a javelin, in the path of the dragon.”

She looked up expectantly at Eddie. He passed the d20, and they all held their breath as she rolled in onto the table. It bounced and clattered, settling on seventeen.

“That’s high, that’s a high number, really high” she babbled. “Did it work?”

“Hold on,” Mike added. “The chances of a random sword hitting the dragon and doing anything other than bouncing off or giving it a little cut is tiny . The DM would have set a ridiculously high target, like 19 or 20. It’s what I would have done.”

Their current DM looked down at a mass of paper and notes behind his demon-painted screen.  He let them sweat, face inscrutable, leaning back in his wooden carved throne. “Kid Wheeler is correct. I’m sorry, Lady Thorn, your sword swings in a parabola through the air, skittering off the dragon’s back.”

“Motherfucker,” Rose groaned and slapped the table, earning a slightly startled look from the younger guys. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jeff says, deflated. “Eddie’s campaigns are sadistic. It’s amazing you even made it to the end alone, especially playing as a nymph. They’re kind of useless, with no-”

“Hold on a minute, did I look like I was finished?” Eddie interrupted. “Cool it for a second. The sword glances off the dragon’s back, but as the blade strikes its scales something flickers...you see a disturbance, and instead of a leathery wing, a humanoid shape takes its place. A humanoid with tentacles coming from its head. Its skin is purple-grey, and covered in a film of mucus, from eating brains!”

“Aw, man, this can’t be happening,” Dustin panicked, pacing around his side of the table. “It’s a goddamned illusion. It wasn’t Iymrith after all.”

“What?” Rose cried out, way too loud.”

“I think Mike’s sword was spelled. It broke an illusion. But that means...” Gareth trailed off.

Dustin sighed heavily. “It’s a Mindflayer.”

“Fuck off!” Mike cried reflexively. “We cannot be doing this again, man. It’s been two months.”

Chris’ mouth gaped open. “Did you guys have a Mindflayer campaign over the summer, or something?”

“Or something alright,” Dustin said, serious as the grave.

Tension quietened the table. They looked at each other over the goblet and flickering candles, working out the consequences of this development. And Rose, as usual, had no bloody clue what was going on, only an instinct to let it play out naturally.

“Wait, this is good news, gentlemen - and lady.” Eddie added quickly. “The Mindflayer is working in your characters’ minds. All your characters are still alive, under the creature’s spell. If the odds are with you, you might just be able to break free and slay it. And thus, the baby-campaign continues next week.“

“Thank the gods,” Jeff sighed. “I’m too attached to my spellcaster to give him up.”

Eddie looked over at her, puppy dog eyes watching her every move, manic energy dialled right down, strangely vulnerable. “ So. That’s the whole Dungeons and Dragons thing. What did you...uh...was it good? I mean, did you enjoy it?”

She couldn’t keep the grin off her face. “Did I enjoy it? That was fucking brilliant. I know my nymph was essentially useless when we had to fight, but I did it...I stood up to the forces of evil; I wasn’t just a hobbit, I was a warrior like Eowyn. I just wished I had been better and actually slain the dragon. Not very impressive, am I...”

They rushed to correct her, all talking at once. “Hold on,” Gareth said loudest. “I saw you humiliate Carver and his letterman assholes within minutes of arriving at school, not just making fun of him personally but undermining the stupid masculine sports-thing, attacking the very pillar of his masculinity. You are totally impressive.”

The Hellfire members were laughing, looking at her in a new light.

“What?” Eddie blustered, head swivelling to look at them all. “What? Where? What? How the fuck did I miss that?”

Gareth shrugged. “This is what happens when you get detention in O’Donnell’s class for ranting about the rigidity of a reading list, man. You miss the best moment of the school year so far. I’ve never seen so many jocks scratch their heads at once.”

Rose snorted with laughter very inelegantly, and flushed red with embarrassment. “It was just like that gorilla impression Eddie did in the cafeteria today.”

Eddie gawped even wider. “You saw me, sweetheart? And here I thought the mouthbreathers juggling their big bouncy balls were the only spectators. Damn. Damn . I am speechless. Words have failed me. And there is never a moment when I don’t have something to say.”

“Clearly not that speechless. You’re still talking,” Jeff mumbed.

Eddie folded his arms over his chest, showing off tattoos, lit by the candles and spotlights. Bats. Intriguing.

“So you liked it?” He asked again. As she glanced at the others, she wondered how many new members they really took on. Six guys, most of whom seemed to know each other well. Admittedly not the type to sit at the top of the food chain in a school environment. Not a single girl amongst them.

“Liked it?” She put her hand to her chest. “I feel like I've just fought off the hordes of hell itself. My heart is racing.”

Eddie’s eyes dropped to her chest; her laughter died on her lips, as realised what she felt beneath the palm of her hand. Not the scratchy cardigan stolen from her mum this morning - that was dropped to the floor, forgotten in the throes of battle - but instead skin, with a ridge of twisted scar tissue snaking up the middle of her sternum, ending halfway to her collarbones. Shit .

She looked down, and picked up the cardigan, holding it up to her chest, but the nervous looks on their faces told her everything she’d needed to know. They’d already seen it.

“Hey,” Eddie said, soft as velvet. “You don’t need to...uh...hide yourself or anything. And I don’t just mean the badass scar, I mean... you , y’know? We’re the freaks, sweetheart. I was a little worried that this apparently perfect girl had stumbled in here, and we were gonna find out you were a preppy asshole, or something. Which you are not, by the way. Very cool. Very unique.”

Rose dipped her head, her face flushing hot. She dropped the cardigan, mustering up the courage to say something, anything. 

“This is totally unfair,” Dustin burst out, lighthearted and smiling. “Look at you, showing off your collarbones and everything. I don’t even have collarbones. Watch this...”

He flexed his shoulders forward, and they moved at an unnatural angle and almost met at his front, to the surprise of the older guys.

“Cleidocranial dysplasia,” he grinned, metal-clad teeth on display. “Had a few missing teeth, too, but these babies are new. Look out, sophomore year, Dustin Henderson is going to have a full set of teeth. I’ll be unstoppable.”

He did a little tiger-like roar, and it was the lamest, most brilliant thing Rose had ever heard in her life. She collapsed with laughter, holding her aching sides.

“I’ve seen this act more times than I can count,” Mike grumbled like an old man. “It gets old.”

Eddie was beaming at the head of the table at his little freak show. “That is metal, Henderson. Very metal. How about you, princess? How’d you get the battle scar?” His eyes widened and he made a goofy gesture with his arms. “You don’t have to talk about it, not if you don’t want to. Not an order, not that I even can order you, though i’d kinda like...i’d kinda like to shut up now.”

Rose’s head ducked down, and pulled a thread from the cardigan in her lap absentmindedly. “I was born with a congenital heart defect. Everything was fine until I was thirteen, then it wasn’t fine. I’d go blue in the lips and get breathless. They kept me in hospital for almost a year, told me I had a very small chance of survival because the deformity was so rare, they didn’t even have treatment for it yet. Between thirteen and sixteen I was in and out of hospital more than school.”

“That must have been tough,” Mike said quietly, his quiet demeanour and hidden empathy surprising for a boy of fourteen. “My girlfriend missed a lot of school too, for...uh...similar reasons. It was really hard for her to make friends.”

“You find out who your true friends are when things get really bad,” Rose admitted bitterly. “They dropped off one by one. When I was well enough to go to school they weren't mean or anything, but they weren’t really friends any more either. By the time I was sixteen the hospital had developed a very experimental surgery. Cracked me open like a lobster, gave me this beautiful scar, and - despite the bit in the middle where I died on the table - I woke up, and felt...normal. OK, I was shit for a few months, but then I was normal as any person with a heart condition can be. They fixed up the old ticker and sent me on my way.”

“Hold on...you DIED?” Eddie’s strangled voice echoed across the prop room. “Like, heart stopped? Clinically dead?”

“Yep. For quite a long time. It was a miracle that they resuscitated me, actually. I don’t remember anything. No alternate dimensions, no grey purgatory, no light at the end of a tunnel. Just a feeling of weightlessness, like I was floating in water, no sight or sound. Then I was coming around in the ward, off my head on morphine.”

“That is fucking intense, McAllister. That’s goes beyond metal, that’s...that’s fucking magical.”

“Doesn’t feel magical,” Rose glanced down at herself. The scar was the width and length of a pencil; two years had seen it fade from angry red to a pinkish silver, still standing out from the creamy pale skin. When she looked in the mirror it was all she could see, despite her mother’s words of encouragement, telling her to wear it with pride.

“Scars are fucking cool. Look, I pay to get stabbed with needles so I can have something half as cool as that. See?” Eddie dragged down the collar of his shirt; her eyes trailed down his neck - oh my god, his neck - to more ink scratched across his skin, a figure she couldn’t make out, obscured beneath a guitar pick necklace.

“Did they hurt?” She asked tentatively.

“These babies? Not really. More like a very intense tickle. Except when it went over bone, then I was crying like a little girl. Weeping, snotty, begging for mercy, the whole deal.”

Eddie was a lot . Leather chains at his wrist and on his jeans, demon on his shirt, attitude bordering on obnoxious when it came to the jocks in the cafeteria. Yet Rose could see that in the privacy of the drama room he was goofy, patient, utterly enthusiastic, and possibly even a little bit vulnerable. It was almost enough to give her whiplash.

“I thought a dungeon master would be made of sterner stuff.” She teased.

His grin was brighter than the stage lights in the background. “Oh yeah? You haven’t seen what a DM can really do, sweetheart. Next semester's next campaign is going to be mind blowing. My best yet. If you...uh...I haven’t had time to talk to the guys about this, but do you wanna stick around for it, maybe?”

Rose looked at her watch. It was nearly seven; hours had blown by, her mood totally transformed since the incident in the locker room almost four hours ago. “I don’t think I can, my mum is probably outside waiting for me.”

Eddie grabbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I kind of meant next time. We meet on Fridays, same time, same place. If you want to. No pressure; like Gareth said before, hanging out with Hellfire isn’t exactly a fast track to popularity or an easy life around here.”

“You want me to come back? Really?”

“Hellfire has had girls before, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jeff explained. “But not since Ronnie graduated in ‘84. I don’t mind.”

Gareth was also enthusiastic. “If you can voice the female characters we come across on our travels, I'm totally in. It’s not been the same since my voice dropped at the end of freshman year.”

“This is so exciting,” Dustin gushed. “We’re gonna have to create a character for you. We can run you through classes, alignments, preferred weaponry...the possibilities are endless! We could even meet at lunch or in the library or something, to flesh you out before next week’s session.”

Mike snapped his fingers. “As long as it brings balance to the party, right? I’m a paladin, that’s like a knight. Jeff’s a spellcaster, Chris a fighter, Dustin’s a bard...Lucas - you’ll meet him next week - is a ranger. We are really in need of a cleric, though. We haven’t had one since our friend Will the Wise moved to California.”

Rose was trying to piece it all together, but it was a lot of new information. “What do clerics do?”

“They heal,” Eddie said, fidgeting in his seat. “Clerics are conduits of otherworldly power. I can kind of see it, but it’s a little...predictable.”

“Predictable?”

Eddie kept her on edge, gaze sweeping over her, nodding to himself.  He leaned so close she could smell cigarettes, Old Spice, and something musky, uniquely man . Her throat went dry.

“You are anything but predictable, McAllister. You survived death; you’re probably told you should forget it, move on, pretend it didn’t happen. That shit stays with you, but you can take charge of it. Own it. You know, I can see you as a necromancer.”

It was like Eddie Munson, freak, dungeon master, could see right into her mess of a mind. Plucked out her greatest fear and twisted into a strength. 

Dustin took in a shocked breath. “Oooh, that is so perfect. You survived death, and now you raise others from the dead to do your bidding. Liches - or necromancers, same thing - are kinda evil though, and they are not usually part of the adventurers party. And I would have pegged you as chaotic good.”

“Chaotic neutral,” Eddie mused, holding onto his chin. “You’re good most of the time, but you can also be very bad if you want to be.”

He was trying to kill her, wasn't he? Finish off the job, heart beating overtime.

Her lips tugged upward into a reluctant smile. “I like it. I think I really like it. But my Tolkien metaphors are going to be completely confused. I’m a hobbit by nature, I want to be Eowyn of Rohan, but i’m really Sauron the Necromancer himself? Can I even play with you if I'm evil?”

“Eh, we’ll work on it.” Eddie breezed over it, chin propped up on his hands. “I am all powerful after all. Might have to make some adjustments to the upcoming campaign, but I think it's going to work out in the end.”

The clickety-clack of footsteps echoed down the distant hall. “Rose?” A very familiar voice called out. 

“Shit,” Rose launched out of her seat. “I have to go, that’s my mum.”

Eddie looked resigned. “I get it. Parentals will be scared of the princess hanging out with the freaky cultists, huh?”

Rose barked out a sharp laugh, scrambling over to the costume rack, looking for the leather satchel she threw dramatically into the corner on entering the room this afternoon. “That’s a low roll and a miss, dungeon master. She may look like an English librarian, but...you’re the Fellowship, she’s the Balrog.”

“Balrog,” Eddie echoed, leaping over to help Rose. “Scary, Flame of Udun, lurks beneath mountains. Got it.”

“Rosebud, are you here? Is everything alright? ” Her mother called out, voice drawing closer with each step.

Eddie popped up from the costume pile with a satchel in his hand and a curious look on his face. “Rosebud, huh? Cute.”

Oh wonderful, now he knew her humiliating childhood nickname. She snatched the bag from him, and paused, desperate to say something funny, something smooth, or at least something memorable before she left. Instead, she went beetroot red and mumbled incoherently. 

“Huh?” Eddie squinted.

Okay, charisma is lacking. Honesty might have to do.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, to Eddie and all the guys all watching behind him. “This could have been a really bad day, but thanks to you, it was bloody lovely.”

“Rose!”

“The Balrog calls,” she paused at the door, taking one last look at the Hellfire boys over her shoulder. “Wish me luck.”

---

Eddie

“Uh...gentlemen?” Eddie asked, hands running through his hair. “Did I concuss myself under that table, or did that whole session really just happen?”

The prop room was somehow smaller, darker now that she had gone. If it wasn’t for the extra chair squished to the right of his throne, and the incredibly unusual stillness of the six guys behind him, Eddie Munson would swear he just experienced a three-hour fever dream. 

“I like her,” Henderson’s first to break the silence, throwing out his chipper verdict on the freaking angel that just upended Hellfire. “She was neat.”

“ Neat ?” Eddie wheeled around, revved up, no outlet for his thousand-mile-an-hour thoughts. Crap, he needed to dial it down a notch. “Yeah, neat. A little raw, but a lot of potential.”

They were laser-focused on him, but he couldn’t afford to scare the freshmen off now, not when Hellfire had two, three if you counted Sinclair, recruits who were really fucking into the game. 

Worthy apprentices, at last. Kids who could carry Hellfire forward and make sure it didn’t die next year, with only Gareth left. Cause, goddamn it, Eddie had gone through his last first day at the monkey house that was Hawkins High. There was no fourth shot at senior year, not when he’d be turning twenty in the spring, and the school board wouldn’t allow an adult over twenty to re-enroll. Three strikes and you’re out, Munson. Off the bench, out of the team, and a dozen other tired sports metaphors his old man would have used if he were here.

Gareth, Jeff and Chris were being weird. Quiet. Still . Watching Eddie as he packed up the DM’s board and pieces, gathering up his story notes and scoring sheets with a gentle tap, tap, tap of all the papers, fitting them inside the box neatly. The maps were a little smudged from Gareth spitting out all that coke, but he could let them dry out by the overworked little space heater in the trailer tonight, and trace fresh new ones this weekend.

“Well?” He snapped. “Are you gonna help pack up, or sit there like a bunch of drooling cave trolls?”

The rest of the guys were waiting for something to happen, but it was Gareth who broke first. He raised a single mocking eyebrow. “So are you planning a spring wedding? Or wanna cut to the chase, and ask her to elope to Vegas? I can see you in an Elvis jumpsuit.”

Eddie fidgeted, rings tapping against the table, mouth twitching. Keep it together.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Gareth,” he denied casually, shrugging on his leather jacket and battle vest. Armour donned, shields up, ready to deny, deny, deny. “If you really don’t want her to join we can work something out, but I think she’s like us...I think she needs this.”

More raised eyebrows from the older guys. 

A girl called out; Eddie’s heart skipped, but it was merely Wheeler’s big sister, the prissy one who ran the paper. Dustin and Mike threw together their stuff in record time, completely whipped by the voice in the hall.

“That’s Nancy,” Mike explained. “See you guys on Monday.”

“Great campaign, Dungeon Master,” Dustin saluted him at the door, over his ‘Thinking Cap’ , before disappearing into the night.

They really were good kids. It had only been three weeks since he spotted Dustin roaming the cafeteria in his Weird Al shirt, scoping the tables and cliques who sat at them, searching for his own place in the school ecosystem. Eddie had offered them shelter at the freak table, sensing kindred spirits. There was something about Dustin and Mike, they completely owned their nerdiness, in a mature way freshman Eddie had definitely lacked. Lucas was different; sure, he was great at D&D and clearly had a tight friendship with the other freshies, but he was a little less comfortable owning it. He’d watch the jocks table with envy, wince every time someone threw a joke or an insult Hellfire’s way. 

Gareth, Jeff and Chris? They’d been playing together for years. Greatest friends he had in Hawkins, or at all , now that his childhood best friend Ronnie was in the Big Apple, her book smarts earning her a place at NYU after their first senior year. Her Granny Ecker still lived in the trailer behind Eddie and his Uncle Wayne’s. They were stuck together like magnets once, but now their polarity was reversed, distance growing with each phone call; Ronnie talking about law school and all the excitement of living in Brooklyn, Eddie chiming in every now and then with a new campaign plan, the latest class he was failing, the same old crap she had left behind a year and a half ago. Poles apart. Damn, he must have paid attention in Mr Kaminski’s physics class to remember that shit. Either that, or Henderson’s insanely smart brain was rubbing off after barely a month.

But Gareth, Jeff and Chris weren’t just Hellfire, they were Corroded Coffin too. Hours at Hellfire and even more hours practising in Gareth’s garage brought them pretty close, close enough for Eddie to know they were not going to let this go, not without giving him shit about it.

Chris shook his head. “ I couldn’t pull off what you just did in a hundred years. Talking to girls one on one is...kind of my kryptonite. How do you do it, man?”

“Do what, huh?” He fired back quickly. “Make a new potential member welcome to the group?”

Gareth chuckled mercilessly, dropping his voice to imitate Eddie. “You’re good most of the time, but you can also be very bad if you want to be... I don’t recall you saying that stuff to Wheeler or Henderson, or any of us when we joined. And you definitely didn’t call us fairer than the sunrise over the Greypeak mountains .”

Eddie placed the D&D box gently back on the table, and his composure broke. He collapsed forward onto his forearms, shaggy hair shielding him from his friends and their judgement. Hidden, he could give voice to the chaotic new thoughts swirling in his already-chaotic brain. 

“Shit. Jesus H. Christ. I came on too strong. I came on too strong, right? Did I just make myself out to be a grade-A asshole? I...uh...I know i’m lacking an off switch most of the time, but was it too much? Was I bad?”

Gareth wouldn’t let it lie. His face was smug - okay, Eddie couldn’t actually see his face, but he could feel it in his voice, in his friend's aura. “Bad at what ? Say it, Eds. Come on.”

Eddie burrowed deeper into the table, voice muffled beneath all that hair. “Perhaps, maybe, it could be possible that I like the fair maiden Rose. In a...more than platonic way.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Gareth said, matter-of-fact. “It was obvious.”

Eddie sighed like it was the end of the world. “Let me just crawl away and die. Better yet, put me out of my misery, crack me over the head with that goblet. Lights out, goodnight. Nice to have known you. Jeff, you can have my Warlock. Chris, I bequeath to you my tapes and posters. Gareth, you little shit, you get nothing, not even the dirty magazines under my bed. Bury me in my battle vest. Wayne will have to make peace with my untimely death.”

“This is dramatic, even for you,” Chris gave his verdict. “It’s just a girl. I’ve seen you talk to girls before, after gigs and stuff.”

Just a girl. Sure. Just a girl whose smile lit up the room like the fourth of fucking July, fireworks spinning in his head, fizzing in his ears. Who used Lord of the Rings analogies to adorably find her place in the world. A girl who laughed at Dustin’s goofy jokes, threw herself into D&D without judgement or hesitation, totally giving herself over to the adventure. A girl who wasn’t cheerleader-pretty, but timelessly beautiful, like she should be in a fancy laced-up gown on the cover of Granny Ecker’s historical romance novels, the ones that always seemed to have a shirtless guy wearing a kilt. 

He didn’t just have butterflies in his stomach, it was like a horde of winged demons were trying to claw their way out. Brain not yet caught up, body trying to give him a warning. Girls like that don’t wind up with Eddie the Freak, resident of Hawkins’ finest trailer park, the friendly neighbourhood drug dealer. 

Gareth turned to Chris. “So how lame was he, on a scale of one to ten?”

“I thought it was kind of suave,” Chris replied, shrugging on his own leather jacket. “Like James Bond.”

“Oh, come on! Double-oh-seven has a little less verbal diarrhoea than our DM. And far cooler cars and gadgets.”

They bickered back and forth as Eddie waded in his own misery, replaying the whole campaign and how she’d reacted to it. She was nervous, yeah, but she got into it. Great improv skills.

“She likes you back, by the way.” Jeff added nonchalantly. 

Eddie’s head snapped up. “Oh, right, cause you can read minds now.”

Jeff kicked Eddie under the table. “I have three sisters, so yeah, I have insider intel into the female species. She looked at you like Tara looks at Michael Jackson when Thriller comes on MTV.”

Chris’s mouth drops open. “Ew, like the werewolf part? I guess Eddie has a lot of hair.”

“No, dude,” Jeff replies. “The normal part with the girlfriend at the movies, before he turns. Okay, after he turns too. Women are a complicated species, Chris. They’re into all sorts of weird stuff.”

A switch had fried in Eddie’s brain. “Which means?”

“Weird stuff? Like vampires and-”

“No, Jeff!” Eddie launched out off the table and grabbed him by the shoulders. “The look your sister has for Michael Jackson. What does the look mean?!”

Jeff gritted his teeth, like it physically pained him to talk about his irritating older sister, who he heard just moved to college somewhere in Georgia. “It means Rose was all blushing and smiling, hung on your every word. I’m not saying she’s crushing on you, but she isn’t not crushing on you, if you know what i’m saying.”

She didn’t not like him. That’s only one step away from actually liking him. And liking him was just one step away from a hangout, a date, maybe even move in for a kiss - and now all he could picture was her lips. Seriously good lips. Full, cupid’s bow, beauty mark near the corner of her mouth. So pretty when she smiled. Hope flared his heart, like those electric paddle-thingys had just jolted him back to life.

“I knew it,” Eddie said.

Gareth wasn’t convinced. “Weren’t you just doubting yourself?”

“Munson magic,” Eddie ignored him, swooping round the table, Reeboks tapping on the linoleum, moving to the music in his own heart. “Eddie the Bard worked on his charisma for so long, it had to pay off eventually. Ability off the charts...I got it, man. I got the Munson magic.”

Jeff stepped out of his way and almost tripped, looking over at the costume rack in the corner. “There’s something i’ve got to tell you, but first you have to promise any of this isn’t going to make Hellfire weird.”

Eddie crossed his fingers over his heart. “I will not bring girl drama to Hellfire. I promise on my wicked, hellbound soul. Now tell me!”

Jeff tipped his chin toward something in the pink taffeta dress dominating the costume rack, a chunky silver rectangle, with a cord snaking out the top. “Cinderella left her slipper behind. You might wanna give it back to her on Monday, Prince Charming.”

Eddie gasped dramatically, hand slapped to his chest. “A walkman. Rose’s walkman.”

He was over there in a shot, tripping over the costumes, slamming onto his knees by the precious object. He picked it up gingerly; there was nothing remarkable about the lump of plastic, nothing to tell him more about its owner. But what lay inside tempted him beyond belief. He clicked the button, popped open the top of the cassette holder, and inspected its contents. There were no printed stickers on the black cassette tape, only the faint shadow of a permanent marker on the clear part: Study mix.

“Holy shit, it's a mixtape,” he half-squealed at the guys. He felt like a prospector striking gold, nuggets sparkling in his hands. Scraps of information, carefully chosen slices of her mind for him to study. An introduction to the music that makes her tick. And music was the heart of everything, a window into the mind.

“You know who gives out mixtapes? Boyfriends.” Gareth, that goddamn contrarian, said sarcastically.

Eddie pointed at him, skull ring sparking in the light of the now-stubby melting candles. “That’s it, you're out Emerson. Expelled from Hellfire.”

Gareth spread his arms wide, face scrunched up and ready for a fight. “What the fuck? You just said-”

“I’m kidding, i’m kidding,” Eddie interrupted quickly, “Besides, she’s just moved, she knows nobody. I don’t think it's a boyfriend. If she has one back in England...well that would suck, but long distance doesn’t exactly work out for most people, does it?”

“Real classy, Munson,” Gareth shot back.

“Cool it, Gareth. I just wanna talk to her some more, get to know her. No need to invent drama that doesn’t exist.”

“Whatever,” Gareth shrugged. “Are you still okay to give me a ride home?”

“Of course, man. Gotta pay you back for using your garage as our practice room. I need your opinion on some potential W.A.S.P covers for our next set at The Hideout, we can talk about it on the way home.”

That perked Gareth right up. Eddie might have new apprentices, but Gareth was the first freshman he’d sheltered under his tattooed, scrawny wing when Carver and his jock squad singled him out for a beating a couple of years ago. Hobbits have got to stick together, and when they fought together, there was nothing they couldn’t take on, be it a cave troll, Jason Carver, or the disdain and fear of the entire small-minded town.

Still, Eddie slipped the walkman into the pocket of his jacket, and every now and then he would slip his hand in and touch it, just to make sure it wasn’t a fever dream after all.

---

Forest Hills Trailer Park was never quiet, not even on a Friday night. Eddie’s van skittered into the makeshift parking space by the trailer he shared with Uncle Wayne; the whirring engine and glam metal notes of W.A.S.P disappeared as he cut off the engine, and the dusky September night was filled with dogs barking, a screaming match between the couple in the RV round the corner, and a dog chained up somewhere near the forest edge. God knows it wasn’t the finely manicured neighbourhood of Loch Nora, or even the more modest single storey ranch homes that made up most of Hawkins, but it was home.

Eddie launched up the steps and flapped open the door, humming Love Child under his breath and tapping it on his thigh. His battle vest and jacket were thrown onto the wall hook, and he made a quick sweep of the fridge; the remains of the tuna casserole Granny Ecker brought over on Monday were looking a little sad and dried, and Eddie could not be bothered to cook up the eggs and bacon. He grabbed a can of Miller Lite and an apple, and slammed the door shut.

“Now I know your momma didn’t raise you to be a savage, Eddie Munson. Softer next time, please.” A southern drawl came from the corner of the room.

“Holy fuck!” Eddie’s arms flailed about, catching the Miller Lite mid air and dropping the apple on the patterned carpet.

“She didn’t teach you to cuss, neither,” Uncle Wayne muttered from his recliner chair, peering over the paper, lit by a cosy lamp. The trailer was so busy with mugs and hats Wayne had picked up on the road in his truck driver days that he went unnoticed amongst the clutter.

“You’re scaring the life outta me, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie laughed nervously. “It’s Friday, shouldn’t you be at the plant?”

Wayne watched the apple roll across the floor, scooping down to pick it up when it got close. “I swapped shifts with Carl so he can see his granddaughter’s ballet recital next week. Taking a Tuesday shift instead. I was gonna head out to the country bar in Carterville with a couple of old buddies but they came down with the stomach flu, so you’ll have to put up with your old uncle tonight.”

“You’re...uh...you’re no trouble Uncle Wayne. It’s me that you’ve gotta put up with.” Eddie said glumly, catching sight of the pullout bed in the corner of the living room. “I can go out for a while if you want some peace.”

That pullout bed was a squishy, metal-framed reminder that his uncle had given up his bedroom and his freedom full time after the incident a couple of years ago that led to Eddie’s childhood home going up in flames, and his ex-con of a father - okay, definitely still a con - fleeing town. Even before then, when his dad was in the drunk tank or on a bender somewhere Eddie would be left alone for days or weeks, rescued by Uncle Wayne and taken back to the unlikely safe haven of the trailer park for a while. His uncle's unconditional love and endless patience got Eddie through a clusterfuck of a childhood. He’d never be able to thank him enough for it. Guilt remained, even after he started dealing to bring in some money to help keep the dilapidated home together, and ensure he could pay for his own clothes and van, lifting some of the burden of raising a kid you didn’t even ask for.

“Hey now,” Wayne dropped his paper on the side table and fixed Eddie with a serious look. “I ain’t trying to drive you out. Trailers’ not exactly a palace, but there’s enough room for the two of us. There somethin’ on your mind, son?”

Uncle Wayne motioned for Eddie to sit on the couch next to him, so he kicked off his Reeboks and collapsed in the seat, cracking open the Miller Lite and reclining in silence as he took the first foamy hit of it, yeasty and soothing on his tongue. His uncle lit up a Marlboro Red, tip flaring orange red in the dim trailer.

“Do you think i’m like Dad?” Eddie said, looking absentmindedly at the ceiling with its numerous water and tobacco stains.

He hummed thoughtfully. “What makes you ask?”

“I don’t know, I just...I’ve been thinking about him lately. The way he is with people. He’s an asshole, goes without saying. But he’s got that charm about him, something people are drawn to. I guess I think I had something similar, but I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to hurt people the way he does.”

“Ed,” Wayne says softly, leaning on the arm of his chair. “Al Munson might be able to charm the birds from the trees, but it's a shallow kind of charming. Scrubs off real quick, and by the time people realise what my brother’s truly like, he’s split town and left behind a trail of gambling debts and broken hearts. That included you and your momma more than once, bless her soul. You might have his charm, Eddie, but yours ain’t shallow. It runs deep,” Wayne smiled a crooked smile, etched deep into his weathered skin. “Plus, Al had a receding hairline, and you’ve got a hell of a head of hair. Needs a cut, though. Startin’ to look like a shaggy dog.”

Eddie bit back a smile, touched more than he could say. “Don’t mess with the hair. I’m like Samson, it holds all my power.”

“No, son. That’s all in here,” Wayne taps the space on his plaid-covered chest, right over his heart. 

Eddie dips his head. “Don’t go soft on me, old man.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He sipped his beer, sitting quiet and peaceful as Wayne put on some Western on the little TV by the door. Gunslingers chased each other across the desert, or ran after a runaway train, Eddie wasn’t really focused on movie detail, instead just basking in quiet, comfortable companionship. Wayne asked nothing of him, and that was what made him want to open up.

“There’s a girl,” Eddie ventured, twisting the metal can around in his hands. 

“Is that so?”

“It’s nothing. Stupid, really. But it’s got me thinking about dad, and life and repeating senior year, and...everything.”

“That’s heavy.”

“Yup,” Eddie agreed, draining the can in one last swig.

Wayne cleared his throat politely. “You gonna be bringing this girl around sometime?”

“Woah, hit the brakes, Uncle Wayne. I’ve only known her for about three hours. It was a good three hours though, you should have seen me. I was smooth. She said I made her first day in American high school bloody lovely. ”

Wayne twisted around to face Eddie. “Your girl. She new in town, moved over from England by any chance?”

“How’d you guess?”

A dark shadow passed over his uncle’s face, mouth pressed into a line, eyes narrowed. “Her stepdad is Jerry Gruber, we used to run around in the same group as kids. You’d remember him, he used to head up the engineering office for the plant, left back in ‘81 to work for the Department for Energy. Got himself a job in Europe after that, and a wife and stepdaughter too. Came back last month.”

Eddie’s brows creased; she’d spoken about a stepdad, but he didn’t clock the name at the time. “Yeah, that fits. She said as much.”

“Listen,” Wayne leaned in, voice deep and rumbling. “Jerry bought the old Creel house on Morehead. He’s more foolish than I ever thought...that place ain’t right, Eddie. The only thing that came outta the Creel place is pure evil, and Hawkins ain’t a normal town, no matter how everybody here turns a blind eye to things. I don’t care if you’re sweet on this girl, promise you won’t go there.”

Jesus H. Christ. That place was notorious in Hawkins, a genuine murder house boarded up for years after some gruesome shit went down when he was a little kid. Every middle schooler had been dared to go up to that place and face the ghosts inside, Eddie included. But all that demonic stuff was bullshit. Nothing there but empty rooms, broken glass, and a metric fuck ton of dust. He didn’t even know the place had been sold. He tried to imagine Rose living in a gothic murder mansion, and came up short.

“Have you found my stash, or something? You’re not making sense, unc-”

Wayne grabbed his wrist. “Promise me, son. Promise me you won’t go to that fuckin’ house.”

Wayne didn’t cuss, and he was not physical, not even when Eddie was at his worst. “Alright, Uncle Wayne. I won’t.”

“You mean it?” “I swear on my Warlock,” he added quickly, raising his free hand up, palm splayed wide. “That place is straight out of a slasher movie. No desire to go there.”

“Good,” Wayne gruffed, as he let go. “I’m sorry, son. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eddie rubbed his wrist. The man’s grip was surprisingly strong, but then he did manual labour at the plant, not some cosy office job. “Don’t sweat it.”

“And Eddie, don’t get caught up in your head with the girl. A bit of that Munson magic does a whole lotta good, son, when it's coming from you . Don’t let anybody tell you that you’re not good enough. Including yourself.”

Eddie scoffed and zoned back in on the TV, cogs whirring like overtime; his uncle had gone back to the paper, totally normal. That was weird...Wayne wasn’t superstitious. He’d probably watched a few too many horror movies. It was nearly that time of year; Halloween coming up, tacky plastic decorations in the window of Melvald’s General Store, leaves crispy and golden. Something in the air, maybe.

An orchestra swelled as the shootout in the western movie reached its peak. The rogue gunslinger got the bad guy, and something about the music clicked in his brain; he’d almost forgotten about the walkman tucked in his jacket. 

Eddie pushed to his feet and crushed the beer can, tossing it in the trash can with a clatter. He padded over to the coat hook, socked feet slipping on the kitchen lino, eager hands pulling the walkman out of the jacket pocket, tapping his fingers against the plastic.

“I gotta go study,” he explained to Wayne. 

His uncle’s face had never looked so confused. “Homework on a Friday night. Are you sick again, comin’ down with a fever? We ain’t got no tylenol, but I can go out to the seven-eleven and get some.”

“I’m sick alright. But the diagnosis is looking good, Uncle Wayne.”

Wayne gawped. “What the hell are you studying, biology?”

He grabbed another beer on the way to his room, shutting the refrigerator door softly this time, little headphones and walkman clutched tight to his chest. He gave his uncle a classic Eddie wild grin. “Music 101: Intro to Fair Maidens.”

[veonhagen]

tot boys as genshin impact players ( ft. me losing more and more of my composure as this post progresses )

this isn’t a request but i’m writing this as a desperate attempt to bait albedo and marius ssrs home

… artem wing

diluc main. i’m probably not taking this prompt seriously but i really do feel like artem would be a diluc main ! he probably rolled on the standard banner like three times and his pity got fucking terrified of him so they just . pushed diluc over to him on the fourth wish ( the thought of it is too funny but shh ).

he probably has never lost the 5O/5O, not even once. just like i said, mihoyo got too intimidated by him so they just flipped the switch whenever he wanted it to.

his main party would probably consist of diluc, keqing, ningguang, and zhongli. he also has venti but ( as painful as it is to say, ) he thinks that he gives him a headache at most times, so he keeps him benched.

surprisingly a f2p. he has all the money he could ever want as a senior attorney, yet he chooses to play as a f2p because he’d like to experience the trials and tribulations of having to grind endlessly for his characters.

highest dmg he ever dealt was probably 4k in the spiral abyss. he probably almost never levels up the artifacts his characters have.

overall, 9/1O would definitely want to steal artem’s account. hand it over.

… vyn richter

lisa main. he knows the best artifacts for her, has her ideal weapon maxed out, he basically has the most perfect build ever. the crit rolls are in his favour.

vyn’s main party most likely would consist of lisa, aether, fischl and xingqiu. he insists that he uses xingqiu a lot but he’s just there as a battery </3.

secretly cried a little when he lost the 5O/5O to kazuha. he got jean instead, but he is reluctant of using her because of how much painful thoughts of unluckiness it brings vyn whenever she appears in his party.

highest dmg dealt was a whole 7Ok when he fought the cryo regisvine. ( well damn vyn hand over your build rn )

f2p. vyn doesn’t see a valid reason as to why he should spend money on a game such as genshin impact. he claims it was purely a ‘small activity’ of his, not something he plans on taking further ( though he spent at least half an entire day building lisa …… ??? )

1OO/1O want his account, i’m taking his artifacts with me too.

… luke pearce

out of all four of them, i think luke’s the most relatable to most of us. 💀💀 cause he isn’t all that rich and yeah … overall the bennett of the group ( i am so sorry luke )

OKAY BUT BARBARA MAIN LUKE PEARCE. i feel like he’d be the type to main someone who is bubbly and kind, and you guess it, i’m placing my bet on our favourite deaconess to be his main dps in the game ( if you disagree with me you’re WRONG /lh )

his main party would consist of barbara, bennett, razor and xiao. xiao’s probably his only 5 star as of the moment so of course like would include him in the team.

always the first one to die whenever he fights domains or bosses in coop. he barely carries the group but hey, at least he’s there for the healing.

actually has a decent build ! sure, some of them are four star artifacts and not all of them have been fully leveled up, but he has the right stats and all that needed. so his highest dmg dealt to an enemy is probably 12k, and he struggles to get past that achievement.

light spender, only because he’s used his entire wallet on genshin so he has nothing else to spend. the most he bought from the game was probably two months of welkin but that’s kinda it.

overall i want his account like 7.5/1O because he has xiao and buff barbara yes

… marius von hagen

dear god if you guys think i’m going to treat this man nicely just because he’s my bf you’re wrong.

1OO% a kaeya main. partly because he finds kaeya similar to him in terms of personality, and also partly because he likes ice bridging with him, so he’d rather travel by water than going on land ( man’s confusing but you do you, mister von hagen )

A FUCKING WHALE. AN ABSOLUTE MENACE TO SOCIETY. THE REASON WHY I HAVE NIGHTMARES EVERY NIGHT. this man has a concerning amount of money ( well, it was expected because he’s the literal heir of the pax group. ) and of course he chooses to spend it on whaling for 5 star characters, etc. i bet he’s at ar 58 now at least.

his main party consists of kaeya, childe, zhongli and diluc. he finds the four characters extra cool so he added them to his party, though it sometimes gets rotational. he also apparently almost has every single 5 star in the game ?? this is why he’s a menace to this fandom. /j

biggest dmg marius has dealt using kaeya is ( surprise ) 1OOk while fighting a ruin guard. would also shamelessly flex about his damage but all he ever gets is an emoji in the coop chat LMAO.

13773637268162/1O want his genshin account i’m already omw to hack it

Ⓒ veonhagen, do not steal. 08/08/21.

[helenazbmrskai]

Bangtan Studios

Guess who’s writing fanfiction instead of studying? Yeah, it’s me. I really should study but this idea just couldn’t let me live until I wrote this down. I can’t believe I wrote a 10k long fic again when finals are so close. All the same please enjoy this baby that I wrote for two days straight!

Title ‹Bangtan Studios›

Pairing ‹Producer! Yoongi x Receptionist! OC›

Genre ‹non-idol but famous au, slice of life, like 7k of straight angst, smut, there’s some fluff, (kinda) enemies to lovers au›

Summary ‹As a temporary replacement at Bangtan Studios, you fulfil the position of the new receptionist and there’s always this one grumpy producer that you can’t seem to expel from taking over your thoughts.›

Warning(s) ‹breast play, making out against a wall, teasing, oral (f), fingering, quickie, they fuck at the studio at 2 am (but no one's around), unprotected sex, me trying to be funny, also Yoongi is kind of an asshole but you’re a masochist so it’s fine›

Word Count ‹10k›

Masterlist

”Don’t worry about me L, it might seem like a little step backwards but it’s not like I have the money to rent a room and the owner said that I can use one of the empty ones after my work hours to record.”

I switch the phone to my other ear, freeing my right hand with the motion as I flip through the guest book dotting down the date on the top left side of a new page. I hear L sighing from the other end of the call but relents knowing that it’s the best offer that I got in a while and I’m adamant to grab any chance that I could get. Bills won’t pay themselves unfortunately and the rat hole I’m renting is the lowest I’m willing to go.

It’s not a stressful job per se as I’ll manage the studio’s guest list and keep track of the whereabouts of the keys that I hand out to musicians mostly, my job description might occasionally entail filling out forms if something breaks or an electrical gadget goes haywire, pretty tame to let me be able to focus on my things. Who knows maybe if I do a good job Namjoon will give me a raise and with some savings, I could finally find a place in a nice neighbourhood.

The previous assistant left on short notice and I – happened to be looking for a temporary job. I’m lucky that Namjoon is a friend of a friend who’s close with a friend of mine so I could get the job without much of a hassle.

The owner Namjoon seemed to be a decent guy in my eyes when he gave me the keys to the doors this morning, perhaps a little bit clumsy as he collided with some cleaning supplies on his way to the front door. The image itself is enough to put a permanent smile on my face that is until someone taps my shoulder forcing me to end my conversation with a curt goodbye. Namjoon won’t be happy to know I ignored the person who came in on my first day of work so I prepare my best customer smile that I used a lot while I was working as a part-timer in an ice cream parlour.

”Good –” I start when he suddenly held up a hand. The man looks significantly taller than me as I look over his appearance with a slightly raised chin, a black hoodie is covering his head that seems to be much bigger than his actual size and if the high counter that you’re behind wouldn’t obscure your line of sight of his lower half you might have seen his hands buried inside two parallel pockets.

As you reach his eyes with your gaze your confusion falters, he looks quite pissed without any real reason, well, other than the dark circles that could be seen from the outer circle of the milky way. This guy is in serious need of some sleep.

”Where’s that lady who usually sits here?” This guy must not like small talk as he cuts to the chase right after he laid his eyes on me his gaze feels like a thousand knives just penetrated my skull, it almost looks like he’s here to murder me rather than rent a studio room. It takes a few minutes before I recover to give him an answer, I force my smile to stay on as I explain the situation to him.

”Her grandmother is sick so I’ll be the one to fill her place temporarily until she comes back, My name is Y/N. Can I ask for yours, Sir?”

Grabbing a pen from the holder I patiently wait for his name so I could do my duty and add him to today’s list just like Namjoon instructed. I remember he vaguely explained this morning that famous people in the music industry pay monthly to have a room here so they could work on their music in peace.

Namjoon also said that there’s one room, the one with the number 15 that’s regularly rented by his friend, he’s the only one who has a specific studio every time while others mix between rooms all the time depends on which one is occupied at the moment.

”Yoongi. Don’t ever call me Sir.” The man in front of me wears a sour expression as I try to keep my face nice and relaxed from frowning at him myself. This guy, even though all I do is be polite and make this as pleasant as possible, nothing seems to reach that cold heart of his. Working with people all my life trained me to ignore dimwits like him but it doesn’t mean I’m not itching to show him what real attitude is.

”Here.” I stretch out my hand with my palm facing him, the key to studio 5 in the middle of it. For now, I’ll just bite my tongue to stop any remarks and give him a key so I could cut this very awkward conversation short.

”That’s not my key.” He sighs after inhaling sharply, clearly irritated at my lack of knowledge and my eyebrows shoot up the minute I realise he’s supposed to be Namjoon’s friend who rents room 15. How could that friendly guy with cute little dimples be friends with a literal demon from hell?

”I’m sorry, here’s your key then.” That I would have given to you in the first place if you just, I don’t know, stopped being a dick for a moment and told me. I swallow down the last part though.

I need this job and I’m definitely not going to lose it just because Namjoon is friends with a guy who clearly has some anger management issues. Right, I need to focus on the good money this place can give me. I already messed up so I should try extra hard to be on his good side as he could potentially get me fired.

The others are fine. I even get to have a chat about music with a guy around my age, he introduced himself as Jungkook and even though at first glance he looked like a total creep with his overwhelming womanizer aura and poor attempts at flirting it turned out we share a lot in common regarding our music tastes.

After that encounter with Yoongi, the people I met throughout the day were pleasant to converse with and had actual manners. Everyone (or at least civilised people) know how to say ’thank you’ and ’please’ but apparently, this is not in this guy’s dictionary.

I wonder why he looks like someone just murdered his dog while he was sleeping (hoping that’s not the case though because that would be just sad and I want to curse him without feeling guilty about it).

Back to the topic, I don’t know what that man’s problem is but I hope he spills that coffee I saw in his hands during my lunch break all over himself by the end of this day. I don’t even know why I got so riled up by this random stranger being rude to me. Not that his opinion should matter, he’s a stranger just like I said.

I leave around 8 pm that day with a sour mood and a growling stomach to match it. There’s only one key missing but Namjoon called me this afternoon to fill me in that Yoongi stays over time, like, all the time so I can just go home as soon as my shift ends and Yoongi will put back his key on the rack by the wall when he heads home.

It was fine by me. I’m not that fond of him to want to see him more than it’s absolutely necessary. I know Namjoon could hear the edge in my voice when his name came up and he wasn’t too surprised, at least now I know he’s like this with everyone.

The shifts are long and even if my sole purpose is to hand out keys and make sure that no one sneaks in to bother the artists it’s pretty boring but none the less tiring. Maybe I should pack a book or something for tomorrow to entertain me.

Jungkook did show up to bother me when he declared it’s time for his well-deserved break from recording and that’s when he shared this interesting piece of information that he’s working together with Yoongi on a song. It piqued my interest as the chance presented itself to learn a little more about the grumpy man so I asked if Yoongi is a singer like Jungkook but all I got was an almost passed out musician as he couldn’t stop laughing. He enlightened me between snorts and suppressed giggling that Yoongi is a producer and can’t sing for shit – not my words, his.

Seeing Yoongi’s grim expression first thing in the morning as soon as I arrive at work is not how I would normally like to start my day – or any day for that matter but I keep reminding myself that the money worths more than this tiny inconvenience that is called Min Yoongi. Knowing this time what to expect I choose to go with a half-smile not too enthusiastic but not too rude either as the goal was a somewhat natural expression.

He wears a different hoodie today but the dark circles under his eyes are the same, it’s still black (like his soul probably) the only way I can tell it’s different that this piece of clothing has a print on the front that awfully looks like an anime character with a basketball in one hand. I’m not a huge fan of sports in general so I have no idea who’s smiling at the front. I’m itching to ask about it because I love animes but I refrain, he’ll just dismiss my interest as if I intentionally want to crawl under his skin.

To strategically avoid making the same mistake as yesterday. I hastily jot down his name next to the date now that I’m more familiar with what I’m supposed to do. I successfully hand him his key to studio 15 before he could fully open his mouth and ruin my mood with a single word – I have no doubts that he’s capable of doing such a thing. I’m all in for small wins as today he didn’t even have time to halt my ’good morning’ before I finished. Yoongi took the key silently and walked away, just how I like it.

”Y/N we’re going for an early lunch would you like to come with us?” I look up from the page I’m currently at placing the bookmark in the middle to meet Jungkook’s sparkly eyes and then look over his shoulder to witness a more reserved Yoongi who is clearly not happy about the idea of me joining. He couldn’t say no when Jungkook didn’t ask for his opinion in the first place before he stormed up to the front desk to grab my attention.

I take a look at my phone screen to scan the time and win some more time to create a believable excuse why I can’t join, it’s too early for me to have my lunch break anyway not that I would like to lengthen this slow day by sitting next Yoongi while I try to shove food down my throat and make awkward small talk. Yoongi hates small talk so it would be a futile attempt to dissolve the awkward tension that settled over us.

Our interactions are bare and I would like to keep it this way. I give Jungkook an apologetic smile hinting at what I’m about to say when my phone rings, saving my ass as I’m sure Jungkook would have tried to persuade me if it weren’t for the sudden call. ”Go without me I have to take this call.”

This time my apology is genuine as I see Jungkook’s lips form a pout (I know he wants us to get along that’s why he tries to make us talk) but doesn’t push the matters further as he nods. Jungkook now turns to Yoongi who is already a few steps ahead of him one foot already on the other side of the door, ready to leave the building.

”Hi it’s Namjoon, sorry to interrupt you while you’re at work but I would like to ask for a favour if it’s alright with you.”

I can’t say I’m not surprised to hear that but if there’s anyone who I’d want to help it’s him. He has been treating me very kindly ever since I started working here so I obviously didn’t want to say no.

I learned that he’s a very thoughtful person. He always makes sure to ask about work even if it’s just about small things like how I’m feeling or if I need something I shouldn’t hesitate to contact him. He’s a sweetheart and I started to consider him as one of my friends as well. I would like to be his friend even if I’m no longer his employee.  

”Of course. Is everything alright Namjoon?” I stand up from my chair ready to do anything to help him.

”Oh don’t worry Y/N, it’s just a small favour. My brother is on his way can you give him the keys to studio 11? I broke the mouse the other day so I sent him to replace it with a new one.” I nod curtly as the woman who used studio 5 placed the key down onto the counter before focusing back on the conversation. She smiled in return as if she doesn’t want to interrupt my call and waved goodbye.

”You didn’t have to say it with such a dramatic pause. I thought something bad happened to you.” Plopping down against the chair I chuckle lightly, relaxing now that I know it’s not serious.

Namjoon’s brother shows up at the same time when Jungkook and Yoongi decide to come back from their lunch around two. Both boys greet him, seemingly well acquainted with him and then I remember that Namjoon told me previously that he lets a few of his friends use his rooms with discounts.

I knew that Yoongi is considered to be Namjoon’s friend but I didn’t know that Jungkook is close with him too – in a way it makes sense. I’m not here long enough to tell who is whose’s friend yet.

”You must be Y/N. Namjoonie said he’ll call you about the broken mouse.” I accept his outstretched hand and he shakes it gently. I nod with a gentle smile on my face, searching between keys to find the right one that opens studio 11.

”What did he break this time?” Jungkook joins the conversation with ease, resting gently his head on his hands.

They share a laugh as they try to list everything that Namjoon broke with his destructive powers going as far as mentioning why the male bathroom misses a glass window (before this I had no idea why he buys coffee from the vending machine that’s down the hall but it turned out he needs to use almost half of the money he earns to replace things). I let an amused smile find its way up my face as I give him the keys.

I’ve only been here for a few weeks but this place is better than any of the previous workplaces I had. The patrons are nice, the only thing that could serve as a complaint is that the work hours are long for a receptionist desk job but it pays really well so there’s really nothing wrong. I have to admit that if Nana’s grandmother eventually gets better and she comes back to work I would really miss coming here. Not that I don’t want her grandma to get better of course. It’s just that this place grew on me.

Even Yoongi’s irritated grunts in the morning when he tries to mimic my ’Good morning’ became a routine of my life. We’re by no means close like I’m with Jungkook or Namjoon but let’s just say he’s a constant. Even though we don’t talk about ourselves – I unintentionally picked up some things about him.

I know he hates changes that’s why he demanded to know where the lady who’s always behind the desk is when it was just my first day here. Now he expects me to be behind the desk just like I always know when he’ll show up as he always comes at the same time each day. He likes his routines and hates when things don’t go the way he wants them. He mostly keeps to himself but I know he has a few good friends.

He especially looks grumpy one morning when he gets caught up in the rain on his way to the studio. I always keep a hand towel in my bag to have something to burrito my umbrella in but I luckily got here before it started raining so I offered him to dry himself.

”Stupid weather forecast, it said there’s only a 15% chance that it’ll rain today.” The boy murmurs under his breath, he snatched it from between my fingers (even if a thank you would have been nice to hear I don’t say anything since he’s in a bad mood I decided to keep my mouth shut) and started angrily dabbing his hair with the fluffy towel.

I passed him the key to his studio and he soon disappeared behind one of the doors taking my towel with him. I sigh once he’s out of my sight, accepting the fact that I’ll never see that towel again, it was one of my favourites too.

I had a lot of time in my hands so I mopped the floor when things were slow, wanting to make sure no one will slip because of the puddle of water that Yoongi smeared everywhere after his grand entrance. Now that I think about it, he looked really drenched, he didn’t even go home to change into something dry and stormed off to lock himself inside his studio like he always does.

He’ll catch a cold. I hope at least he turned on the portable heater inside. I shake my head to dismiss the thought. I try to remind myself it’s none of my concern if he’ll get sick or not. Because of the rain, he probably didn’t stop by the coffee shop he frequents, I don’t remember seeing a cup in his hands when he arrived. Taking my umbrella out of my bag I use my lunch break to get some take out and get two large coffee from the corner shop on my way back to the studio.

I anxiously gnaw on my lips, this is so stupid.

Yoongi will never accept these (especially if it’s coming from me). I pace around, moving in circles in front of Yoongi’s studio for the past ten minutes or so thinking hard about how to get a better outcome that doesn’t end up with Yoongi taking off my head because I interrupted him during work. I’m undecided if I want to take the risk of getting yelled at. Just on cue like someone heard my prayers I catch sight of Jungkook as he exits his room and I get a good idea.

Yoongi and Jungkook are friends, he’ll not question him if he decides to surprise him with food and coffee.

Knowing Yoongi and his tendencies to drink so much coffee that could power him for a week I doubt he’ll tell him to get lost. I also got him his usual as I remembered Jungkook mentioned it once that he likes his coffee black – just like his soul.

I can 100% believe that. Jungkook looked baffled when I approached him to give him Yoongi’s coffee and Chinese take out but only let him go and execute our plan when he finally promised me that he’ll never tell him it’s from me. I’ll never live it down if someone sniffs out I’m worried about him.

My plan didn’t seem to work. Yoongi didn’t come to the studio the next day. Jungkook told me later that he’s sick and bedridden with a nasty flu, not that you’re surprised. You’re only surprised when Jungkook slips a little paper to you over lunch break. The tiny note tells you an address – Min Yoongi’s address precisely.

”Why are you giving me this?” I ask cluelessly which makes Jungkook coo at my cuteness but I still don’t understand.

”I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.” My chin drops down to the floor at the ridiculous declaration – this is officially the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard. Happy my ass. He’d be happy to kick me out as soon as he sees me. I don’t know what Jungkook is scheming but I’m not buying it.

”I know what you might think but Yoongi doesn’t hate your guts as much as you think he does and you clearly don’t hate him because you wouldn’t have gone out of your way to get him food and coffee when there was a fucking storm outside. Wait let me finish.”

He could sense my disbelief that’s why he adds the last part quickly. I nod my head silently, even though there’s a sarcastic remark on the tip of my tongue I’ll try to keep it to myself for now.

”I think you already know this but Yoongi is not a huge fan of changes in his life. He’s an ass sometimes I won’t argue with that but with you Y/N, he keeps showing you his worst self, I don’t think that he’s even aware that he tries to scare you away. He likes you a lot that’s why he keeps acting like an asshole. It had been always him and his passion for music but now he wants to have something else. Someone else. You.”

”I appreciate the poetic approach but I don’t think Yoongi likes me. If you ever decide to write a book I’ll definitely buy it though because this sounds like straight out of romance novel. Maybe you should explore this side of you more.��� I pat his cheek with a tight-lipped smile. Phew, I almost thought for a moment that he’s serious.

I might have a tiny beany crush on him – strictly when he’s not talking – he’s a very handsome man so it’s logical that a single girl feels a little attraction. However, it always vanishes when he opens his mouth to spit out his usual nonsense so I’m sure it’s nothing more than that. I also admit that I might pay a little more attention to him than to others but it could be because he could potentially fire me through Namjoon (which is a lie because Jungkook is Namjoon’s friend too but I hardly pay any attention to him, sorry Kook).

Well, maybe it’s a little more than just a tiny crush but my point still stands that – there’s no way in hell that Yoongi likes me (too) he’s painfully indifferent towards me if he’s not irritated then he’s grumpy. He always has something to complain about even if it’s not my fault and there’s nothing I could do about it.

I think the only reason he talks to me is to prolong my torment like we’re in the eighth circle of hell – he’s literally a demon without the wings and stuff.  Living just to leech onto my lifeforce and use me as his personal stress ball.

I don’t know why I let him convince me to still go and check up on Yoongi despite my better judgement that tells me he doesn’t feel the same way.

I wouldn’t dare say that I’m in love with him because we don’t know each other to that extent but I feel more than sheer irritation when I see him – how Yoongi feels about me is the question here. Jungkook said though that if he’s wrong about the older boy he’ll buy me lunch for a whole month and I’m not financially stable enough to reject such an offer so here I am, literally in front of his door – that probably leads me to hell.

Even if it sounded like one of his previous flirting tactics and I would gladly ditch those lunches if it only meant that Yoongi likes me (too). I don’t want to get my hopes up but Jungkook’s words did give me some confidence to actually show up at his doorstep.

On the other hand, Yoongi’s definitely the more financially stable one out of the two of us considering how he lives in a nice neighbourhood and his house is pretty decent from the outside.

His apartment is at one of the complexes that are quite new around here too I remember seeing an advertisement when I was house hunting a few months ago but it was too expensive for me so I didn’t even contact the owner to see the interior and moved on to a less pricey side of Seoul. But damn, he must be a hell of a good producer that he can afford living here all by himself. I’m so lost in admiring my surroundings that I didn’t realise someone is standing next to me until a middle-aged woman places a hand on my shoulder to get my attention. She has her hands full of grocery bags but a smile immediately adorns her face as soon as I make eye contact.

”Are you one of Yoongi’s friends dear?” Gaping like a fish out of water I contemplate if I should just agree or tell some lie that I’m lost or something, she must see the panic in my eyes that she softens up even more that makes me discard the idea of lying to her immediately. She looks like a saint only a halo is missing from above her head, I don’t want to make a fool out of myself by lying to this nice lady.

”I, uh, my name is Y/N. I sometimes see him at work.” I offer this at least. Her face lits up with recognition after hearing my name that momentarily catches me off guard. Why would this nice lady know my name?

”Oh so you’re Y/N. I heard a lot about you from my son, please come in.” Her smile stretches as wide as the door in front of us, the lovely gesture makes the skin around her eyes crinkle with age but she’s nonetheless beautiful.

Lord send me help, I don’t even want to know what he had told about me to his mother to get a reaction like this, he probably went on a rant about how bad of a receptionist I am and now she tries to be polite.

I might have messed up some keys in the beginning sometimes but I’m still better than Namjoon, at least I don’t do permanent damage and go around breaking the equipment all the time.

What the actual fuck is happening. Yoongi’s mother is a literal angel descended from the heavens, how is it possible that he looks like the devil himself when he has such a beautiful and nice guardian? No offence to her mother but his son is a demon in disguise. Beckoning me inside once she sees I’m still rooted to my spot by the door, I take a look around the house to get out of my daze. It’s spotless, it almost looks unused.

The only indication that someone lives in here is the shoes neatly placed on the rack and coats hanging by the entrance, considering the amount of time he spends at the studio I wouldn’t be too surprised to learn he only crashes here at night. Eat, sleep and work – that’s all he does if you can trust Jungkook’s words and by the worried look in his mother’s eyes it’s probably true.

”I have to leave in a bit so I’m glad I found you here. I’ll make some vegetable soup can you make sure he eats it?”

She looks up when I hesitate to say yes. I could feel my palm getting sweaty with each passing minute Yoongi’s mother prepares the food and hums a soft tune, her smile is gentle as he slices some carrots with a kitchen knife. I’m not sure he would like to see me at his house, maybe I should call one of his friends to take care of him? I want to help, I really do, but what if he doesn’t want me to be here? Seeing as doubt fills my eyes she leaves the food to take my hand in hers.

”Knowing my son’s personality he probably didn’t make things easy for you dear. It might not seem like it but he’s very fond of you. I don’t think he ever talked about a woman with such adoration in his voice before. Yoongi likes to stick to the things that he has control over but he can’t control his emotions and that scares him. I know he’s not the easiest person to deal with but I would be happy if you’d give him another chance.”

I give her hand a reassuring squeeze back. ”I like him too. He’s temperamental and grumpy but I guess he’s not so bad after all. I. H-He just always argues with me so I’m not sure what to do.”

It feels good to tell someone what has been on my mind lately. He’s not always unbearable but he keeps sending me mixed signals that I’m not sure what to think of. Sometimes we chat about our favourite artists, he asks for my opinion on things and it makes me think we’re getting somewhere (I love how he can talk about music so passionately) but then the next minute he has something to complain about and makes me feel like his lack of inspiration is somehow my fault.

”Things will always work out in the end.” She leaves with these last words and an encouraging bear hug. The soup is still hot when I spoon some into a bowl taking deep breaths I feel nervous all of a sudden now that his mother left it’s eerily quiet it almost seems like no one’s home. She showed me before she left where I can find his room and even though I’m really nervous to face Yoongi I scoop up all my (non-existent) confidence and knock.

I wait a bit before I open the door thinking that he’s probably passed out from the fever I tiptoe into the room. It’s messier than I thought but the interior is very Yoongi like in the sense that musical instruments are all over the place. He really is just a big workaholic who lives for his job.

I carefully put the food down to check his temperature I find it concerning when my hands meet his skin and it feels like he’s burning up. I explore the house to locate all the things I need to bring his fever down and fortunately, I find a basin under the sink to fill it with cold water and borrowed a washcloth from the bathroom as well.

He remains unconscious until his fever is fully gone as I kneel beside his bed my previous nervous fidgeting is long forgotten as worry takes over, his condition is worse than I initially thought.

I don’t know where he stores his painkillers so I look into every cabinet before I find what I’m looking for (at this rate I’m becoming more familiar with all the things that he has in his apartment). Now that some light from the afternoon sun peeks through his curtains Yoongi looks even paler than he normally is.

”Get better soon so you can yell at me when I misplace your key. Even if we argue all day it’s better than seeing you this sick.” I ran my hands through his sweaty hair as I replace the towel on his forehead.

He’s really sick, I can’t picture him letting me touch his hair like this if he wouldn’t be unconscious. He looks so peaceful while sleeping, now that he’s not scowling it’s easy to see how handsome he is. If only he would take better care of himself. It’s getting late outside but I don’t want to leave him until I know his fever went down permanently so I close my eyes for a second, I’ll just rest for a few minutes.

I didn’t realise I was this tired until I couldn’t open them again as they felt heavy and the warmth from Yoongi’s body lulled me to sleep.

Well fuck me, the few minutes turned out to be hours later, the sun is already up but fortunately, Yoongi isn’t.

I’m glad that he didn’t witness my ungraceful awakening. Everything hurts when I stand, I fell asleep on the floor next to Yoongi’s bed totally forgot about the basin next to it as I stepped straight into the cold water – it’s a miracle that Yoongi didn’t wake up when I yelped in surprise.

While waiting for Yoongi to finally wake up I finished cleaning the dishes, cleaned his living room and filled his washing machine with a bunch of clothes since there’s not even a single clean shirt inside his closet.

At first, I felt a bit guilty as I keep doing chores in someone else’s apartment when the owner is unaware that I’m there but his mother did tell me to look after him so he can’t be that angry later that I didn’t ask for his permission to touch things. If anything he should be thankful. I don’t think this house looked this clean ever since he bought it.

The next time I check if he’s still asleep he has his back facing the door so I can’t tell his eyes are closed or open. I stroll closer trying to make my steps light, without thinking I card my fingers through his messy hair away from his forehead to make sure he’s not having another fever.

Yoongi suddenly turns to lay on his back eyes glazing over my features. His eyelids are laying heavily barely open but I know he recognises me when it widens just a tiny bit, the blush that takes over his entire face could easily come from the aftermath of his fever or the embarrassment that I got to see him in such a vulnerable state. I bet he has no idea that I’m here since yesterday.

I think it’s cute that he tries to hide his reddening face behind his large palms, this is not the reaction I was expecting. I thought he’ll demand an answer of why I’m here or how did I get in. This is way better than that. I can’t help but think that I want to see more of this side, shy Yoongi is just so cute. I can’t believe I have the urge to call him cute after declaring he’s the devil in my head all this time.

”How are you feeling?” I ask gently.

I want to make him more flustered while I still have this opportunity in front of me. I start to run my hands through his hair like before, he averts his eyes immediately but otherwise doesn’t tell me to stop so I continue to comb his hair trying to get the knots out that formed from all the tossing and turning around.

”Water.” He croaks out. I let go of his hair to get a glass from the kitchen, he’s sitting up by the time I come back with a glass of water, he takes a long sip but before he could drain all of the remaining liquid I place a painkiller into his palm for him to take.

It’s more awkward now that he’s awake but the silence is not as bad as it was before. Maybe it’s because I heard those encouraging words from his mother and Jungkook that I feel lighter, knowing that he doesn’t hate me is nice. Makes it easier to let the silence envelop us and remain lost in our thoughts instead. I excuse myself to reheat the soup his mother made and I’m relieved that he feels good enough to eat it.

”I hope you don’t mind, your mother let me in. You were really sick last night so I stayed over to make sure your fever went down.” I carefully watch as he eats. Searching for a comfortable spot I sit down near the end of his bed while I tell him the reason I’m here. The boy nods acknowledging my words but he seems a bit out of it.

”You can go now, I’m feeling better.” Yoongi avoids making eye contact, he looks at his empty bowl like it would magically refill itself, I can’t hide my disappointment after hearing his slightly cold words. I know that things won’t change in a split second but I was hoping that he’ll be nicer after I took care of him. His mother and his close friend both think Yoongi likes me but it doesn’t seem like that to me.

”Alright.” That’s all I say before I grab my jacket that I previously discarded onto the sofa’s armrest and made my way over to the entrance, thinking that maybe it was a mistake to come here. He doesn’t say anything else before I hear the click indicating that the door closed behind me. Yoongi didn’t even try to stop me or say goodbye and the hope that filled my heart before simply started to fade away.

The encounter leaves me in bad mood all day even though Jungkook tries to brighten me up at work his words just keep repeating inside my head making it impossible to focus on my tasks. He wasn’t necessarily rude or anything it’s just looked like he doesn’t really care that I was worried which makes me look stupid for even doing that.

What worse is that he shows up the next day acting like none of it happened. It felt like we’re more of strangers to each other than before when we were bickering. We barely look each other in the eye as of late.

I thought that I’ll be sadder knowing that I have to leave this place as soon as Nana comes back but now, it’s a relief. I can’t move on if I see Yoongi daily and work will serve as a great distraction as I’ll start at my new workplace next week. Namjoon helped me find another receptionist job at his friend Seokjin’s place.

There’s this feeling rooted in my heart that I regret not talking to him more, we never get close enough but I guess some things are just aren’t meant to be. Yoongi’s married to his work, he wouldn’t have time to go on dates in the first place.

On my last day, I told Jungkook that I’ll no longer be here since Nana’s grandmother now is in better shape (I wanted to tell the news to Yoongi too but he disappeared as soon as I placed his key down on the counter). Jungkook looked almost devastated, it felt nice to know someone will miss me and I promised we’ll keep in contact just like I promised Joon that I’ll make sure to give him a call if I need anything.

It felt nice but it made things more apparent how insignificant my presence is meant to Yoongi. I’ll always remain just ’the girl behind the desk’ – nothing more, nothing less. Maybe he’ll ask Nana where’s the girl who’s always behind the desk just like he asked me on my first day or he could just get his key and disappear behind his studio’s door. It’s not like he didn’t know I’m just a temporary replacement.

”What’s gotten into you. You look like you’re somewhere far away in your head. Did something happen?” I shake my head dismissingly. This time I manage to refocus on the reality around me, Lori sits on the chair across from mine and sips her diet coke loudly, making everyone around us glare in our direction inside the crowded fast-food restaurant. I still have the weekends to rest so I easily agreed to meet up on my last day at work, I left earlier than usual as my shift normally tends to end around eight or nine but Namjoon said it’s ok for me to leave and have the rest of my day off.

I have my things in my friend’s car she helped me carry the boxes out when we decided to eat something before we head back to her place to watch a movie and unwind with facemasks and paint our nails.

At first, I thought it would be a good idea to do something other than drowning myself in the depressing thoughts that I’m having lately. It’s stupid that I’m this bothered over the fact that Yoongi isn’t interested in me romantically (not that I have the right to be angry, he’s not responsible for the things I feel) he’s just a boy who is merely an acquaintance than anything he never indicated before that I have a chance. I don’t even know how these feelings evolved without me catching on until it was too late.

Maybe I’m a masochist. I saw every ugly part of Yoongi and I still found ways to like him. Even though I constantly called him a demon and said how unbearable he can be – I did this only to cover the attraction that I felt towards him. It wasn’t the best first expression that I’ve ever seen from a stranger so it somehow felt justified to think that way. However, his sharp exterior is not the only thing that makes Min Yoongi unapologetically himself.

It makes me smile when I think about the coffee he placed rather harshly down onto my counter and said something along the lines that ’they messed up my order at the coffee shop, drink it or throw it out.” Or when he said ’it looks like nowadays even scrumbags like you could be musicians, I suggest you leave the girl alone before I decide I want to break your nose instead of records” when that guy couldn’t accept the fact that I didn’t want to give him my number or go out with him, he looked like a human equivalent that screamed ’scam’ as he talked about how much money he earns.

”Ok. Spit it out already. Does it have to do with a certain Min Yoongi who you used to cuss out daily? If anything you should be happy that you don’t need to hear him complain about mundane things.”

”He wasn’t that bad.” I murmur the words under my nose in hopes that she won’t catch it due to the other costumer’s conversations around us but she does and her eyebrows raise in question.

”You said he’s the bane of your existence. The splinter in your toenail, the devil from the depth of hell, the Voldemort to your Harry Potter. I can recall more, there are at least ten more synonyms that you used to tell me how much you despise him.” I internally cringe after hearing those words.

”You know that I have the tendency to exaggerate things.” I try to shrug, making it seem like that it’s not what bothers me at all even though she truly hit the nail on its head, just like always she knows when I’m lying. This is why I don’t like discussing my feelings with her, she calls me out even if she knows I would rather not hear things sometimes.

”Holy shit, don’t tell me that you actually like him?!” I groan this time out loud, this is exactly what I wanted to avoid.

”Can we not talk about him? I just want to spend some time with my best friend who I haven’t seen in a while and have some fun.”

I’m glad she relents – changing the topic to something else but knowing her this conversation is far from over.

It has been already two weeks that I last saw Yoongi. A part of me hoped that somehow we’ll run into each other. I went out to have drinks with Jungkook and had lunches with Namjoon but he was never nearby. Every time that I caught myself wanting to ask how he’s doing I had to stop the words from coming out by biting down hard on my tongue. I’ll never get over this phase if I don’t try to stop myself from thinking about him and the best way is to achieve that if I don’t know how he’s doing.

I don’t know what I’d want to hear, to be honest. Probably that he feels as shitty as I am. The possibility that my absence didn’t have any effect on him is more likely. Maybe it’s best that I don’t know the answer to that.

There’s a melody that recently got stuck in my head. It feels like it was forever ago that I wrote something on a music sheet.

Lately, I’ve been so lost in my own thoughts that I totally forgot about Namjoon’s offer that I could use one of his rooms to record my things if I want. I feel the urge to go and get this out of my head but the likelihood that I’ll find Yoongi there is what makes me hesitate. There’s a low chance that he could choose the exact time to call it a day when I step foot into the building.

I collect my things and decide it’s worth the risk, Seokjin lets me leave earlier so I can make my way over to Namjoon’s studio. I feel my heartbeat in my throat as I walk past the entrance looking around the empty hallway before snitching the key for studio 1, it’s the farthest away from studio 15, the perfect choice. I only let out a troubled sigh when I know I’m safe behind the studio’s white walls.

It feels like I’ll go mad if I don’t get this song out of my system. My first step is to turn on the computer and get ready by tossing my bag onto the couch and make myself comfortable on the leather seat. I’m not familiar with the program they use here but after some time I have some sense of where to find things.

I get my music sheets out and start recording. The song is incomplete no matter how much time I spend on it, it’s around 2 am that I hear noises coming from the corridor’s direction and then a confident knock shakes me awake.

Rubbing my eyes to get rid of the lingering sleepiness I realise that the song was left on repeat while I was dozing off. Normally there’s no one besides Yoongi who’s crazy enough to stay so late.

I remain still, hoping that he’ll go away if no one answers the door but I don’t have such luck when the doorknob turns only one heartbeat later and I find myself face to face with a surprised-looking Yoongi.

”Y/N.”

It’s been too long that I heard him call my name. I don’t know what to do or say so I stay in my seat.

”Uh, Yoongi. I. I thought that you went home.” Fuck, this is not what I wanted to say at all. What should I do now? Should I make a run for it? I grab the strap of my bag and start to force a bunch of music sheets inside not caring how crumpled they will become. It’s hard to find the strength in my legs as I was sitting on that chair for so long – but I have a feeling that there’s an entirely different reason behind that.

”Y/N, wait.” Yoongi stops me from leaving the room by standing in the way, making my escape impossible. There’s something different about the way he looks at me this time. ”Hear me out first.” Tilting my head to the side I wait for him to elaborate on that. What is left there for us to discuss? Just because sometimes we talked about music and knew each other’s names doesn’t mean that we were friends.

The minutes continue to tick by the silence stretches on as he still doesn’t say a word. I start to run out of patience.

”Look if you don’t have something to say just let me ... hmp” The sudden kiss redeems me speechless. My eyes stay wide open in shock as he presses his lips to mine, his hands are cold on my heated cheeks and I can’t help but shudder from the feeling. He pulls away too soon I couldn’t even get myself to close my eyes before it ended just as absurdly as it started. My mouth opens and closes as I try to find my words but I can’t seem to think of something to say.

My tired mind can’t comprehend what just happened. These last few weeks that I spent in my room laying on my bed restlessly each night with my head filled with thoughts of Yoongi. I’ve never in my wildest dreams thought there’ll be a day that Min Yoongi kisses me on the lips even if it was more like a peck.

After the daze wears off I pull him back to connect our mouths in a real kiss, my hands are fisted in his hoodie as I close the distance between our bodies and his back collides with the wall.

He lets out a painful groan but keeps going, I use this opportunity to slide my tongue into his mouth to deepen the kiss and I relish in the way he explores my mouth with perfect skills. The air around us grows hot quickly as our bodies are firmly pressed against each other inside the dimly lit studio.

There’s no one else here except us so I don’t shy away from pushing my hands under his hoodie and t-shirt to find his flat stomach. Yoongi shudders when I start caressing his sides, feeling brave after realising my willingness to continue he starts his own exploration under my shirt and cups my breasts over my bra.

My sigh is lost inside his mouth as he kisses me with more passion behind each stroke of his tongue getting high on the taste of each other, there’s a couple of seconds we have to separate so he can get rid of my shirt before he continues to kiss down my throat. His hands go to the clasp of my bra to remove the last barrier that covers my upper body. Yoongi soaks in the sight of my bare chest, letting out a deep growl as he leaves kisses on my sternum and shoulders, his cold hands find my erect nipples to gently tug on the sensitive nubs. A moan escapes from the sensation as I blush deeply after hearing the sound in the otherwise silent room. Yoongi keeps teasing as he uses licks and his teeth to get my reaction.

”Please Yoongi.” It’s embarrassing how affected my voice is, my chest heaves as he keeps licking over the sensitive skin on the underside of my breasts. I want him to lick somewhere else but he continues to tease me with his focus remaining on my chest, desperate for some friction I rub my thighs together. It helps me relieve some of the tension but Yoongi catches the motion quickly and spreads my legs with his knee between my thighs. I try to rub against the material of his jeans but he pins my hips to the wall.

”Don’t tease me Yoongi. I won’t let you fuck me if you don’t do s-something this instant.” My voice cracks in the middle as he flexes his thigh against my core, the tiny motion enough to make me moan, all I can think about is that I need more. I want his fingers to fill me up first before I get to sit down on his cock for the main course, all of this is just the appetizer. I want to see the face he makes while I suck him off and make him cum. I want it so badly. Yoongi undoes my jeans and slips them down my legs leaving me to stand only in my underwear while he’s still fully clothed.

”Spread your legs for me baby.” The pet name makes my pussy throb with desire as he lowers himself to the ground, on his knees before my aching centre he separates my folds with two of his fingers. It doesn’t go unnoticed how his gaze is fixed on my glistening core the final blow is when he licks his lips and looks up to catch me staring at him. One hand snakes up my inner thigh and places it on his shoulder getting into a good position to start.

”You’re so beautiful Y/N.” The sweet words that are whispered into my skin make my heart skip an excited beat I never thought getting a compliment from Min Yoongi will be while he’s on his knees ready to eat me out. Not that I’m complaining when he finally licks a long line up from my entrance and ends up with his lips wrapped around my clit to suck gently. My fingers curl into his hair as he buries his face into the juncture between my thighs, his tongue is skilled as he spreads my lubricant all over my pink clit.

I almost bang my head into the wall behind me when he slips two of his fingers past my entrance and sucks harshly, making the blissful feeling dot my vision with white hot pleasure. I can’t help but squirm under his tongue’s strong licks and slender fingers, he learns fast what makes my moan sound higher in pitch. My grip tightens on his dark locks but he pays no mind to the slightest pain that comes from his scalp and doubles his efforts.

His two fingers turn to three as they easily slip in, the wet noises and wanton moans that fill the stuffy air fuels his desire to make me cum around his long fingers before he gets to repeat the same thrusting motions with his cock, can’t wait to finally fill me up. I can’t say I never imagined his fingers in this exact position or around his cock on lonely nights while he pleasures himself with his legs prettily spread on his bed. His thicker fingers can easily make me taste the beginning of my fast approaching orgasm.

I let the feeling wash over me as his digits slow down enough to prolong the high but not overwhelm my senses. Yoongi licks each finger that was inside of me clean and smirks when his eyes find mine looking at him with my pupils dilated and heavy with the remains of the orgasm.

I drag his hoodie and shirt over his head and make quick work on his belt desperate to finally feel him I want to get these clothes off as soon as possible. Yoongi only laughs when I let out a frustrated groan as his pants don’t seem to want to cooperate with me, I give him a warning glare and pull him over to the leather seat. It makes him shut up once I get on my knees in front of him, he lets out a barely audible ’fuck’ and his adam’s apple bobs with the gulp before he grabs my arm and pulls me to sit on his lap instead.

”Later. I don’t think I can go another second while I’m not buried inside this heavenly cunt of yours.” I place my hands on his shoulders to find leverage and nod, I watch him as he positions his cock to rest the wide head right in front of my entrance and I slowly lower my hips to feel his tip stretch my walls open. I take his length slowly but once he’s firmly nestled I give his member a squeeze, making sure that I take all of him I roll my hips and moan when I feel him so firm and thick, it feels so good that I can’t help but squeeze my inner walls again around him that earns a low moan right next to my ears.

”Fuck. I won’t last long. It’s been too long since I was with someone.” Yoongi’s head rests against my shoulder his warm pants are reaching my exposed skin with each syllable. I almost didn’t catch his words as I slowly raised my hip and slammed it down to feel him part my walls and give me the pleasure with a delicious single fast thrust, it gets more euphoric as I continue to bounce on his lap take him in all the way to the hilt.

It’s dirty and fast as our hips meet in the middle of each thrust. Both of our moans are getting louder as it starts to overpower the sounds of skin slapping and the wet noises while the remains of my previous orgasm coat his thick cock every time it slips out, pushing out more of my cum with his powerful thrusts. Yoongi has one goal in mind as he takes control over the motions and grabs my hips to see me cum one more time before he gives in to his own needs and paints my walls with his sticky cum.

I stay firmly seated on his dick even after the high fades away from both of our eyes, suddenly everything goes back to the previous silence but I don’t let things continue in the same fashion as before. This time when I close the distance between us and take his lower lip between my teeth the kiss remains slow and sensual. There’s no more urgency behind each caress as Yoongi tangles his fingers into my hair and guides the angle to perfectly slot our lips together. It’s sweet. Full of emotion as I taste the longing and happiness on his tongue.

Here in Bangtan studios, I found my passion for music again and something even better than that. My true love who’s grumpy even after his morning coffee and can go days without showering when he’s really engrossed in his work. He might not be the best boyfriend material out there but there’s no need to make everything in our lives perfect.

What I realised at the end of this special story of mine is this: turns out it was not a figment of everyone's imagination that Min Yoongi in fact, likes me (too). While we can consider the last dots as the ending, our story will continue to grow and bloom under careful fingers and beautiful songs.

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet ugly prompts, 20 seems like it'd make a good ot4 nsfw..

Here you go!

20: you’re the town’s super villain and you take me hostage because you saw the super hero talking to me but I’m new in town and was asking them for directions

“I do not see what is so difficult about this.” Indrid leans against the console in his hideout, “simply agree that you will not, under any circumstances, go after Ursa Major, and I will let you go.”

“For the last time” the villain (oh, excuse him, the ‘writer who is new in town’) strapped to his chair stares him down with convincing confusion in his blue eyes, “I just needed directions, and he was the nearest person. I’m not a super villain, I swear. I don’t even know where you’re getting this idea.”

Indrid taps his temple, though the answer is really his SmartGlasses, “When I scanned you, the information was minimal, the kind of life that suggests you appear as mundane as possible to avoid detection. More importantly” he leans into “Josephs” space, ice in his grin and menace on his tongue, “I saw instances of you and him in combat, both costumed.”

His captive raises an eyebrow, but Indrid gives him nothing; he’s not about to just tell some upstart the crux of his powers.

Joseph sighs, “Alright, I think I understand. I’m really not a super villain.” He flashes a movie star grin, “but I am a superhero.”

The chair tips backwards, smashing when it hits the ground. Indrid curses, lunges at him and narrowly avoids an elbow to the chest.

“That changes th--ohno” he braces as his feet leave the ground without his permission and he flies backwards, slamming into a wall. He’s up before his enemy can ready another attack, hurls a destabilizer at him as he makes for the door. It catches his neck and he shudders, stumbling as he turns the nod.

“I’ll see myself out, Emperor Moth. Ugh” he holds his head, rips the device from his neck, “nasty stuff.”

“Thank you.” Indrid grins, “and don’t bother putting that little monitor strip on my door. I’ll be vacating this hide-out immediately.”

Joseph frowns, still having trouble with balance as he steps outside.

“I did tell you not to underestimate me.” Indrid waves, slams the door, and initiates the scrubbing sequence.

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

“It is just humiliating. I was so concerned with keeping him away from Duck, I didn’t bother to check why he might be interested in him.” Indrid grumbles, then hisses when Barclay touches the back of his head.

“It doesn’t sound like he was. I mean, maybe they’ll team up eventually, but if he’s so new none of us knew there was another hero in town, he probably needed directions.” The other villain finishes checking the bruise Indrid got when Joseph launched him into the console, “and hey, thanks to you we got an even earlier warning about him than we might have otherwise.”

Indrid stares at the floor, still wrongfooted by errors being met with kindness instead of punishment, “I should never have let that bear become so valued a nemesis. It is making me weak.”

Barclay bends, kissing the top of his head, “It’s okay, baby, you’re not the first villain to get territorial.”

“You never do.”

“Guess I just haven’t met the right hero.”

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

“Got a decent arm on you, blue eyes.” Barclay cracks his neck, standing from the crumple dumpster Joseph (AKA Roswell) punched him into when the trashcan he launched with telekinesis missed it’s mark.

“Same to you, but given your name I’m not surprised. Now hand over that remote and come quietly.”

“Not a chance.” He grabs Joseph when he swipes at the remote, Barclay strong enough to keep a hold on it even when Joseph tugs with his powers. Up close, he can see what Indrid meant when he said the hero had a face it would be a shame to damage.

Joseph flashes him a stunning smile as the remote begins getting hot. Fuck. Time for a new plan.

“You wanna know why they call me Bigfoot?”

“Wh--SHIT!” Joseph fights to free himself as Barclay shifts into his other form and hoists him over his head.

By the time Joseph pulls himself out of the dumpster, he’s no more than a disgruntled image in Barclay’s rearview mirror.

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

“Thanks for helpin me out, Joe.” Duck scans the Capitol Square for signs of trouble.

“Any time.” Joe studies the readouts on his communicator in case something elsewhere needs their attention.

Duck, like the rest of the Pine Guard, was skeptical when a new hero by the name of Roswell approached them and asked if they wanted his help protecting Kepopolis. Ned pointed out the distinct air of government about him, and Duck wondered why he’d chosen a city with a solid population of supers. But he’s helped them enough times in the last two months that Duck considers him an honorary member. Even more so since he started training with them.

Fuck, the guy’s got abs, looks so good doing his practice circuits that Duck has to face the other way to avoid whacking himself in the face with his whips. No one’s held his attention since…

No. No thinking of Emperor Moth that way. He promised himself that after the last jerk-off session about the villain. And the one before that. And the one before that one.

Even Joe’s backstory is hot; rule-following government man, stationed at a secret desert base, refuses to to help his fellow agents use confiscated, alien tech for weapons research. In the process of smuggling it out, it goes off. Everyone thinks he’s dead, but instead he receives heightened reflexes, increases intelligence, and telekinesis. How is Duck supposed to resist that?

“Um, Ursa? Is that who I think it is at your two? Right by the churro cart at the farmer’s market.”

“Holy fuck. Yep, that’s Indrid and Barclay all right. Huh. Guess even villains like local produce.”

“And Sunday dates. Look” Joe, now shoulder to shoulder with him, gently tugs his chin a little lower so he sees where the pair are holding hands.

“I’ll be damned.” Duck murmurs. Indrid is the same; same silvery hair, same wide smile, same face of enchanting angles and lithe, wiry limbs. He just looks lighter. Softer.

Happier.

Barclay holds out a doughnut and Indrid bites it, powdered sugar dusting his face. The bearded villain laughs, and kisses a spot of sweetness away. Duck’s confusion over why he’s glad Indrid has someone to do that for him is dwarfed only by his bafflement at why he wishes it were him.

Better to distract from those disastrous daydreams with doable ones.

“Hey, uh, Joe? You ever use your powers for more than restrainin’ villains?”

“Sometimes.” Joe turns so they’re chest to chest, smile downright mischievous, “are you hoping for a demonstration?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Then when we’re off the clock, I say we go back to my place for a drink and some, um, hands on illustrations of what I can do.”

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

“What are they playing at?” Indrid peers from the rooftop into the Fun Center.

“I think they’re literally just bowling.” His boyfriend’s voice comes through his earpiece from where he’s stationed at their shared base

“But we could be plotting, be about to wreck havoc, and they’d never know.”

“Are you dropping hints?” Barclay sounds perplexed.

“No. I just do not understand why my hero wishes to waste time with yours.”

“He’s not mine.” Barclay mumbles, but Indrid can hear his blush.

“Wait, they have finished their game.” He watches Duck and Joseph stroll to the latters car. Before he can open the door, Duck taps him so he’ll turn. When he does, the shorter hero shoves him against the black vehicle, kissing him ferociously. Indrid stabs the bubble of jealousy in his chest before it even inflates, finds it unhelpfully replaced by the wish to be in the car, close enough to hear whatever Duck is whispering against Joseph’s neck. Close enough that instead of driving off to finish their tryst in private, they crowd into the back seat with him and render him speechless.

“Shall I come home early?” He murmurs, knowing full Barclay is seeing through his glasses.

Barclay’s response is a promising growl, “yeah, little moth, think you’d better.”

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

“Give it up, moth, you know damn well I’m strongerOWow, fuck” Duck grits his teeth as Indrid claws his face. He could deploy the knife in the palm of the right glove, but most futures show him escaping without that.

“Yes, but you lack imagination, my ursine nemesis. Now get off of me so I can collect my prize and go home.”

“No can doFUCK.” Duck curses again as Indrid flips them, making it the heroes turn to slam his back into the concrete floor of the Reconcore Warehouse.

“Ta-taAH! Release me at once!” Indrid writhes as the SmarWhip tightens across his back, knowing his InstaPicks are trapped between their bodies. He’s not about to meet the humiliation of defeat while literally wrapped up with his enemy. There’s only one thing for it.

He means to headbutt the hero, he swears it, would do so even under the worst tortures of his past. But instead he brings their lips together with enough force to crack the teeth of a non-super. He pulls back a beat later, so surprised at himself he can’t track the futures.

Duck licks his lips, “About fuckin time.”

Indrid rolls to his side without a fight, the whips going slack and clattering on the concrete as Duck holds tight to the front of his suit, sucking his bottom lip as the villain flails his legs to wrap around sturdy thighs. He wiggles his hips in a plea he doesn’t trust his mouth to form, and Duck slots his knee between them.

“That’s it sugar, c’mon” Duck kisses him messily as he weaves his fingers into dark hair, “this why you’re always runnin around and makin me chase you? So needy you’ll give it up on the goddamn floor.”

“Yes, yesyes.” Indrid groans as kisses find his throat.

“Don’t bother me none. Think it’s kinda cute, and real fuckin flatterin.”

“Duck” he holds tighter; Barclay tends to take things slow, so he hasn’t cum this fast in months, “Duck please.”

“S’okay, sugar, you can cum.” The kiss is softer this time, “been wonderin’ what you look like when you do.”

Indrid gasps as pleasure spikes through his system. He doesn’t want to think of what comes next, what happens when he raises his head and sees Duck’s face return to its usual determined set.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go.” Duck hastily stands, then kneels and kisses him once on the forehead. He’s gone before Indrid can even offer to return the favor.

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

It’s supposed to be a minor mission, the two of them scrambling the city’s traffic grid from the office near Kepler Dam.

“Oh no.” Indrid bursts from the car he entered a moment before, sprinting back towards the device they planted at one of the power boxes, “ohnohnono.”

“What-”

“Someone remotely tampered with my device!” He rips off the back, “and they still are! If, if it goes how they have programmed it to, it will take out the dam, it, it will, so many people-”

“Can we break it manually?”

“You could switch each command wire to the color that precedes it on the spectrum, but that would still make an explosion large enough to kill anyone within fifty feet, with no time to run. All, all those people, all my fault, again, I cannot, not again, I have to-”

Barclay understands two things; he won’t let Indrid live with any more disasters on his conscience. He didn’t throw off his past for that. And he can’t bear the thought of Indrid dying.

He sets a hand on each narrow shoulder, “Fly home, little moth.”

“No, I, you cannot do this-”

“We always promised each other that if it came down to it, we’d save ourselves and not the other.”

“Yes, which you are expressly contradicting!”

Barclay kisses him one last time, “I love you, Indrid.”

Then he hits the emergency autopilot button on Indrid’s suit, his wings carrying him up and away before he has a chance to protest.

Re-ordering the wires is fast and easy; as the explosion hits the air, he hopes dying will be the same.

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

“How is he?” Duck pokes his head into the med room; because Joseph lacked a formal base during his travels, he has a procedure for adapting wherever he lives to superhero needs. Thank the lord for that, because when they found Barclay, singed and barely alive at the sight of an explosion, he knew he wasn’t handing him off to anyone else.

It took them five hours to get him stable, and Joseph’s heart twists every time he looks at his battered face; Barclay is careful and Indrid’s engineering is impeccable. What went wrong? Was Indrid there in the smoke and rubble and they didn’t see him?

One of his windows--his triple reinforced, alarmed, bullet-proof windows--shatters in the other room. He and Duck hit the living room at the same instant to find Indrid in his full villain apparel, nightsticks drawn.

“Where is he?” The villain demands, unyielding ice in every word.

“He’s in my med room. You can’t see him yet, he’s still in very bad shape-”

“I am taking him back with me.”

“Nuh uh, you move him now he’s liable to die.” Duck steps forward and Indrid hisses.

“Liars. You will keep him here, hand him over to the police when he is well. I am not going to lose him.”

“Indrid, we’re not going to do that, I swear.” Joseph’s never seen Indrid look this way, hardened and dangerous. Like he could kill them.

“Get out of my way.”

“No.”

Indrid attacks him, is knocked off course mid-way there as Duck tackles him to the couch.

“‘Drid, for fuck’s” Duck holds the villain down, wincing as he slams his shoulders with his weapons, “we ain’t gonna hurt him or turn him in. You know I can’t lie, so calm the fuck down.”

“I, I will not, if I lose him I, I do not know what I will do with myself, he always takes care of me, I cannot fail him again, cannot leave him without care.”

“You ain’t” Duck’s voice is so gentle Joseph could melt. Indrid does, going limp as Duck eases them into a sitting position, “he’s bein cared for here, I give you my goddamn word.”

“If that’s not enough” Joseph steps behind the couch, setting his hands on the recently vacuumed cushions, “you can stay here while he recovers. To make sure we take care of him the right way.”

A strange, high noise fills the air. It’s only when Indrid hides his face in Duck’s shoulder that he understands it’s coming from the villain.

“Shhh, s’okay ‘Drid, he’s okay. We’ll look after you.”

“I, hic, I do , hic, not need-”

“We both know that ain’t true.” Duck hugs him. When Joseph strokes his hair, Indrid sobs harder. In the dark living room, he wonders when was the last time Indrid allowed himself such emotions. It must have been with Barclay; he might be a villain by name, but Joseph sees the gentleness within the giant.

“I’m going to go check on him; I need to monitor his vitals and make a few adjustments so he’s comfortable.”

Indrid simply nods. Duck lifts Joseph’s hand and kisses it, “I got this one.”

As he checks the villain over, cleans dirt from his cheeks and combs his hair, he understands how Indrid must feel. He confessed to his crush on his nemesis the night Duck came home, radiating guilty arousal, and told him what happened in the warehouse. Joseph never held it against him; for starters, Indrid is quite the catch himself. More importantly, his territorialism around Duck long ago crossed from keeping other villains from his target to simply saving Duck’s life.

By the time he returns to the living room, Indrid is asleep atop Duck on the couch. Joseph slips onto the far end, and guides Duck’s head into his lap, petting his hair until he too drops into dreaming.

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

“Thought the whole ‘writer’ thing was just cover.” Barclay says softly. He’s still bedridden, which is why Joseph moved his work station into the med room.

“No, I’ve always wanted to write about the paranormal.”

“Any favorite cryptids?”

“Bigfoot, of course.” Joseph winks just to watch Barclay blush. It’s a new sight, one he’ll never tire of. Truthfully, having Barclay in his house is something he never wants to end; his recovery gives them ample time to talk, rather than banter, and lord help him is Barclay his type. The two of them are locked in a game of romantic chicken. Which is very different from-

“Sugar, I gotta go to work.”

“Nonsense, call them at once and tell them you are needed here. For...spring cleaning?” Indrid hangs off Duck, glasses slipping down his nose as he nuzzles him.

“Nice try.” Duck kisses him, slips free and kisses Joseph too, “I gotta patrol after work, so I’ll be in kinda late.”

“Be safe.” Joseph kisses him one more time, squeezes his ass when he turns around. Is it his fault his boyfriend has the nicest ass in the state?

Indrid waves goodbye as Duck leaves the room, then begins making his usual nest in the beanbag chair he brought from his own home a week ago.

“Y’know, I’m glad he came to you guys. And that he and Duck are kinda working things out.” Barclay opens his mouth as Joseph feeds him the nicest pudding that he’s also able to keep down. When Barclay first woke up, Indrid alternated between being livid at him for sacrificing himself (“I am far worse than you, the world needs you more you horrible, brave man”) and cuddling him as much as his recovery allowed.

“Me too.”

“He uh, he pretty much never talks about his past, but it doesn’t take super smarts to work out it was fucked up. Showing weakness, accepting affection...it’s hard for him. Which made things rough for us early on, because all I wanna do is take care of him. Got no idea how he’s gonna react to having two more people who want to look after him.”

The answers include: sleep in Duck’s arms, read with his head in Joseph's lap, kiss Barclay whenever he can, and generally seek out any kind of touches the others will give him.

“You wanna order lunch later today?”

“Is this just an excuse to show off how good you are at picking food for each of us?”

Barclay blushes again, “Maybe.”

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

“I see your evil plot now, Emperor Moth; you suggested we do a movie night so you could steal all my body heat with your fuckin icicle fingers.”

“Nonsense, I am not just stealing your body heat. I am also stealing Joseph’s body heat.” Indrid preens.

“Hmm, how shall we deal with such a cunning villain?”

“I got a few ideas.” Duck drags Indrid into a kiss while Joseph loops his arms around his waist to tease his inner thighs.

“Got a few myself.” A soft voice rumbles from behind them. Indrid sits straight, all his attention on Barclay.

“On your knees, little moth.”

Indrid drops to the floor, blanket tangled around him. Joseph and Duck trade an intrigued look; Indrid leans towards the submissive, but this is a new form of it.

“Head in Duck’s lap.”

Indrid obeys. Duck strokes his cheek, “good boy.”

Barclay circles the couch as Duck pulls down his sweatpants. Indrid licks his lips, then looks up at the hero.

“You can touch, sugar. Suck too, if you want.”

“So very much. Oh” he sighs as Barclay cups the back of his head, “h-hello dearest.”

“Hey, baby. C’mon, show Duck just how good at this you are.” He nudges Indrid’s head forward, keeping his hold on it until Indrid hims and Duck makes a deeply undignified noise.

“Fuuuuck, thanks for sharin man.”

“Any time” Barclay strokes Indrid’s head, “my baby deserves to suck whoever’s dick he wants.”

Barclay steps back, Duck’s hand instantly sliding to replace it, holding Indrid tenderly in place while he blows him. Barclay eases himself onto Joseph’s right side as the hero contemplates whether he should start jerking off now or wait to see where this goes.

“Joseph?” Barclay suddenly sounds shy, “Can I, uh, can I kiss you?”

He climbs into his lap in reply, beard scratching his palms as Barclay moans down his throat.

“Took you two long enough.”

“Agreed” Indrid kisses Duck’s belly before returning to his task.

“Hey, we don’t all get lucky and get our wires crossed in a fight in a good way.” Barclay busies himself making beard-burn on Joseph’s neck.

“But you do get lucky enough to recover ahead of schedule.” Joseph nips the corner of his mouth.

“Uh, not sure I’m all the way there. But I felt good enough to get up and wander around. Glad I did.”

“Me too. Although, I’m not sure how much you should exert yourself.”

“I’m pretty tough, babe.”

“I know. Just to be safe…” Joseph kisses his nose, “is this position comfortable?”

“Very. Oh, oh fuck” brown eyes widen beautifully as he finds he can’t move, “fucking-A that’s so hot, Joseph, babe, shoulda asked you to use these one me like this the first time we met.”

“Would that have kept me out of the dumpster?”

“....Okay maybe not. Point is, please use your fucking powers on me whenever you want from now on.”

“You like being put in your place, big guy?” Joseph slowly grinds on him as he undoes Barclay’s bathrobe.

“By you? Yeah, I really fucking do.”

“Good. Stay there while I slip into something more comfortable.”

“Cornball” Duck chuckles fondly, then moans as Indrid slips a hand down to join his mouth.

Barclay’s eyes darken as Joseph strips down. By the time he’s naked, the other man is growling and his teeth and fingers are sharper than they were.

“No shifting tonight; I’m not sure how it will interact with your recovery.”

“The, the futures suggest it could reopen some wounds.” Indrid grins, “but you should try it at a later date; it is very fun to ride him in that form.”

“Someone better start riding me now or I’m gonna rip the couch in half--uh, wait. I, do we need-”

“The accident made me infertile and unable to catch all known illnesses.”

“Nice.” Barclay grabs his hips and yanks him down, the two of them moaning together as he sinks onto his cock. He rolls and rocks, Barclay grunting in time with his movements, mouth going slack after only a few bounces.

“Sensitive, big guy?”

“Uh huh, fuck, Joseph” his hold is terrifyingly strong and Joseph loves it, “babe, you feel so good.”

“Look it too.” Duck blows him a kiss. Indrid gives a little “mmhmm” and bobs his head.

“Fuck, I’m, fuck this is gonna be really embarassing, fuck, you’re so fucking good, feel so good.” He yips, pleased, when Joseph bears down harder. A sharp “fuck” bursts from beside them; he turns to watch Duck cumming on Indrid’s face. The villain doesn’t miss a beat, scrambling into his lap to kiss him before turning his red eyes on Barclay.

“The next time I pick things up from the hideout, I shall get your cockring.”

“A cockcage might be better for this, nnhff, beast.”

“Yes” Barclay growls, holding him down so hard he can’t get free. He gives him back the use of his hips and he bucks up violently, “yes, yes, put me in one, make me wear it all day, but you better put that one in one too, you, fuck, you’ve seen how he gets.”

“Nah.” Duck kisses Indrid slowly, “think I’ll tie him up and wring as many orgasms outta him as I can.”

Indrid gives a high, trilling moan and dives in for another kiss.

“Good plan.” Joseph can see it now; he even knows which rope Duck will likely use. Then he can’t see anything at all, his vision blurry as Barclay bounces him on his cock. There’s a howlgrowlpurr and then he’s cumming, growling even louder when Joseph clenches around him for fun.

“Fuck that was hot.” Barclay plants kisses down his brow, “how, how do you wanna get off, babe?”

“May I suggest sitting on my face?” Indrid says hopefully.

“Like mike cum so much you’ll lick it outta someone else, little moth?”

“No. Well, yes, but my offer comes from both a desire to know the feeling of blowing each of you, and because the position allows Duck to use his fingers on me while you, dearest, work my cock.”

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin smart sugar.” Duck hops up to retrieve the lube while the other two join Indrid on the floor. Joseph settles into position and immediately learns why Duck was being so loud.

“Lordalmighty, Indrid, you’re incredible.”

“‘Ank ‘ou.” Indrid closes his lips around his dick, humming until his toes curl. Barclay kisses him lazily, snickering when Indrid occasionally turns his head to lap at his softening cock.

“This is the best part.” Barclay murmurs as Duck pushes Indrid’s legs apart.

A muffled moan signals the other hero working his fingers in, Indrid twitching and whimpering as he fucks him. Joseph glances back to see Duck thoroughly entranced by the sight of his fingers opening that very cute ass up.

“You’re right, big guy, he sucks cock better when he’s screaming.”

“Learned that by putting a vibrating ring on his dick and making him cockwarm me.”

“Holy fuck.” Duck groans, “add that to the fuckin to-do list.”

Joseph lets himself be drawn into another kiss, stays there for a long, long time as Indrid’s cries coax his orgasm closer.

“Tell me when you’re close. Don’t want him cumming until you’re done.” Barclay whispers. Below them, Indrid whines. Barclay wipes cum from his boyfriend’s cheek, “you want to cum soon, better get Joseph off.”

“Shit” Joseph braces his hands on the floor, grinding his hips and dragging slick across Indrid’s chin, “shit, that’s it.”

“MMPPPHHHHH” Indrid thrashes as Barclay begins rapidly jerking him off. The villain even bends to lick the head once or twice, and Duck does his best to thrust harder whenever he does.

“Cannot fuckin wait to see you cum again, sugar. You looked so fuckin perfect last time.”

Cum splatters Joseph’s lower back, his own climax buzzing through his veins and bursting across his neurons, more intoxicating and invigorating than the neon green shock all those years ago.

He climbs off Indrid, flops back into what turn out to be Duck’s arms. Indrid shifts onto his side, curling his arms around Ducks leg and bumping Barclays knee with his thigh, “We are going to need a bigger house.”

Joseph believes in prudence and caution, in not rushing into relationships (especially with men who were once your enemies). But as he takes in the scene around him, the love flooding his chest, he knows Indrid is right.

He start researching listings in the morning.

[love-and-monsters]

Vampire Transformation

M monster X GN reader, 3045 words.

You’ve been experiencing some strange changes in your behavior recently. Can this strange man really make sense of it for you?

You opened your eyes and stared up at the ceiling. For the past few nights, you had been completely unable to sleep.

Nothing had worked. You’d never had any problems with insomnia before. If anything, you’d had the opposite problem; getting out of bed in the morning had been a nightmare. You’d blacked out almost the instant your head had hit the pillow and you’d stayed that way until your alarm went off in the morning.

But in the past week, you’d grown restless the instant the sun vanished from the sky. It was like the sun going down flipped a switch in your body and you were wired. Not only were you not tired, but you were borderline restless. Lying in bed was tantamount to torture- minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness and the energy buzzing inside you made it feel like your skin was crawling.

Every night, the restless feelings got worse until, driven by some odd instinct, you left the house and headed out into the night.

Luckily, you lived in a fairly large city, and in a decent part of it. People wandered the streets at all hours of the night and day, which mean that you were completely inconspicuous. Driven by some odd instinct, you just meandered through the streets, waiting until morning so you could actually collapse.

“Good hunting.” You whirled around. A man was standing uncomfortably close to you. How he’d gotten there without you noticing, you had no idea. But he was there and he fell into step next to you as if you’d invited him to do so. “Didn’t realize there were any others on this turf. You’ll want to stake your claim if you don’t want anyone encroaching.”

You stared at him. Was he in a gang? He was wearing a white button-down and black dress pants with a dark jacket slung over his shoulder, which wasn’t what you considered gang style. He was also incredibly pale, almost glowing in the dark, and quite slender. Nothing about him struck you as a gangbanger. But you couldn’t think about anything else he could be referring to.

“I think you have the wrong person,” you said as carefully as you could manage. The man lifted an eyebrow at you, clearly disbelieving. He seemed to be waiting for you to suddenly go ‘Just kidding!’ When you didn’t, and the silence stretched on, the faint smile he’d been sporting slipped from his face and he gave you a more piercing look.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” he said. His voice was softer, and there was a note in it that vacillated between amused and horrified.

“Uh. No,” you said. “Look, I think you have the wrong person. I-”

The man burst out into deep, chesty laughter, even throwing his head back. “I do not,” he said. “But I think I may be a little premature in my questioning. I’ll have to wait a little bit. Until I see you again.”

He didn’t so much vanish as he simply melted away into the night. One moment he was there, the next he’d just simply faded into the shadows and he was gone.

You blinked and swung your gaze back and forth, wondering if he would suddenly pop out of the shadows again. He didn’t return after a few minutes and the buzzing energy inside you prompted you to keep moving. You trotted along the streets.

The instant the sky started to lighten, the switch inside you that had been driving you to move an be outside flipped back the other way. You’d already wandered back to the area your apartment was in, but you still had to practically drag yourself up the stairs and into your bed. The instant your head struck the pillow, you were out.

You were out for nearly two hours before you managed to claw your way back to wakefulness. You only just managed to write out an email to your professor, telling her you weren’t going to be in class that day, before sleep sucked you back down.

You knew it was night when you woke up because your mind was sharp, no longer fogged with sleep. Not only were you focused, but you were hungry. Not a normal hunger, but something that was sharp and painful. It felt like there were shards of glass inside you cutting your stomach to shreds. It was the worst hunger pangs you’d ever experienced.

For a few minutes, you fumbled through your refrigerator, but there was nothing inside that appealed to you. You tried a few bites of your usual favorites, even digging up the pint of ice cream you’d been saving from your freezer. None of it was appealing. Your stomach, ravaged by hunger as it was, turned when you tried to eat a carrot.

The energy of the night was burning through you again and you staggered outside. The urgent need to move, to patrol, blazed in you almost stronger than your hunger.Something was wrong with your head. It was getting harder and harder to focus. It felt like the moments before you fell asleep- your consciousness blinking in and out. You weren’t going unconscious, but it was like your higher thinking was just fading away for a moment, so you were only a bundle of instincts.

You were so hungry. You were starving. Drool welled in your mouth. Food. Eat.

Something delicious wafted near you on the air. It was rich and savory and wonderful. Your conscious mind flickered for one moment, then blinked out. Instinct ruled your mind. You half vanished into the shadows of an alleyway and crouched.

The scent passed by you and you lunged. Your hands landed around his throat and closed with almost crushing strength. He couldn’t make a sound as you pulled him back, slammed him to the ground and plunged your teeth into him.

Thick, coppery liquid welled in your mouth. It was delicious, like biting into the best steak you’d ever had. It filled and soothed the awful pain in your stomach. Little whimpers welled in your throat as you drank and drank.

“I did think I’d find you here.” Someone tapped your shoulder with a foot. “Come on, let him go. You’ve terrified the poor man.”

You released him, spinning to snarl at the intruder. Some distant part of your mind recognized him as the person who had spoken to you the night before. The rest of you recognized him as an enemy. You bared your teeth and a terrible snarl rippled out through your chest.

The man chuckled. “Ooh, scary. Come on, get up.” He tapped you again with the toe of his shoe. You twisted back to look at the enemy and your prey scrambled out from underneath you. “Sorry about her. She’s a newbie, you know. Always hard training the new recruits, you know?”

The man made a motion to bolt out of the alley, managed to get to his feet, then swayed and collapsed. “Blood loss. Poor guy. He’ll be fine, probably. As for you…” The man rounded on you. You gave another deep snarl, making it as threatening as you could. “Look, you’re not as threatening as you’re trying to be by half. Chill.”

He crouched in front of you. His eyes roved over you for a moment. “You’re only about halfway through this, and it’ll get worse before it gets better. Calm down.”

There was a sensation like your mind was being turned inside out and you were suddenly very aware that you were crouched in an alleyway, human blood dribbling down your chin, the collapsed body of a human you’d tried to eat lying behind you.

“Oh my god.” Your voice was high and thin, almost on the edge of breaking. “Oh my god. What the fuck is happening to me?”

“There you go!” The man clapped a hand on your shoulder. “You’re back. Now let’s get the hell out of here. That guy’s gonna wake up and we’re not going to want to be around when he does.”

You were in such a state of shock that you simply allowed him to pull you to your feet and tug you down the street. Blood was still sticky on your chin, but the way he swept his arms around you and held a hand up close to your mouth made it look like he was trying to protect a bleeding cut. It at least seemed to quell any suspicions.

The man hauled you off to a small apartment tucked into a little alcove. It was shabby on the inside, full of the musty smell of dust and with moth-eaten furniture. The man seated you on a couch and fetched a damp cloth. “Wipe your face off. When you eat in the future, don’t dribble it all over your chin. It’s wasteful and really gross.”

You mopped at your face, wiping away the sticky trails of blood. You couldn’t stop shaking. “What is happening to me?”

The man grinned, revealing long, slightly curved fangs that nearly touched his lower lip. “You’ve becoming a vampire. Didn’t you guess that already?”

“I can’t be,” you said flatly. “I’ve never been attacked.”

“Misconception.” The man turned and started to rummage in his small refrigerator. “I mean, not a total misconception. It’s kind of right. Most humans that are turned are bitten. Just not all of them.” He emerged from the refrigerator holding a bottle, the sort people used at the gym for carrying protein shakes. It was full of a thick, pinkish liquid. He thrust it at you.

“What is that?” you asked. You took it cautiously and sniffed at it. It smelled sweet. “Is it blood?”

The man rolled his eyes. “No. It’s a smoothie.” You gave him a skeptical look. Was that sarcasm or something? “I’m not kidding. Just drink.”

You took a sip. It was incredibly thick and berry flavored, though you couldn’t make out any individual fruits. Something about the sugar cleared the remaining clouds in your head. “Vampires drink smoothies?”

The man gave a short, sharp bark of laughter. “No. Not exactly. You’re not really a vampire yet. I don’t know why, but fruit smoothies can soothe the edge of the bloodlust for a little bit. Something about the sugar content or something, I don’t know. Milkshakes are pretty good too.”

“I’m not a vampire? But you just said I was,” you said uncertainly. The man shrugged.

“I said you were turning into a vampire, not that you’re one right now. Name’s Marcus, by the way. I, if you haven’t already guessed, am a full vampire.”

You took another slurp of your smoothie. “But I didn’t get bit by anyone?”

“No. See, vampires don’t just reproduce by biting. We can also reproduce. And sometimes, we reproduce with humans. Usually, it’s not a big deal. Have a little half vampire, usually they grow into a big full vampire and join their parent as a creature of the night. But sometimes, little half vampire looses their vampire traits when they get older. Instead of going with their vampire parent, they grow up as a human. Probably marry a human and have a bunch of little human kids. And then those little human kids grow up and have more human kids, so on and so forth. But the vampire DNA keeps getting passed on and sometimes, if there’s enough of a push, the vampire traits can emerge.”

You pulled the pieces together. “I have a vampire in my family tree?”

“More than one, probably. It’s more common to have that side emerge if there’s a push from both sides of the family. It’s a genetic hiccup, or a throwback. For whatever reason, you have enough vampire in you for that bit to assert itself. By the end of the week, you’ll be a full vampire.”

You stared at him, swallowing hard. “In a week.”

“Yes. Roughly.” Marcus sat forward a little in his seat and gave you a smile. It was clearly intended to be friendly, but the enormous canines just didn’t allow it. “And I am going to help you.”

You weren’t entirely sure how it happened, but within two days, you were patrolling the city with Marcus. The smoothies were no longer taking the edge off your bloodlust and Marcus, after teaching you as much vampire lore as you could stand, decided that practical learning was also important.

“This is my territory,” he said, trotting down a street. “It covers five city blocks, which isn’t the biggest territory, but there’s a lot of competition in the city. But at least it has enough humans in it.”

You looked around. Marcus had kept insisting that all vampires could sense where their territory ended and another’s began, but you couldn’t sense anything. All you were really aware of was that everyone who passed you smelled really good and the electric lights were piercingly bright.

“All right?” Marcus asked. You squinted up at him. The streetlight behind him haloed his strong facial features in a shimmering light.

“It’s bright,” you complained.

“The lights? Your eyes will get a little more used to it when the changing settles down. For now, I have a pair of sunglasses somewhere.” He patted the pockets of his long coat. It swooshed around him when he moved and looked appropriately vampire-esque.

Your gums itched and prickled and mild aches suffused your body. You slumped against a wall, grimacing. There was an unsettling feeling in the pit of yours stomach, and you were pretty sure that wasn’t just nerves. Something in you was changing.

“Here you go!” Marcus slid the glasses onto your face, somehow managing not to poke you in the eye. You readjusted them carefully. They were easy to see through, even at night. “Are you okay?”

You realized that, over the last few minutes, you had been leaning more and more heavily on the wall for support. Your knees felt a little like jelly. “Um. I don’t feel very well.” Your gums were pulsing and waves of alternating hot and cold flooded your body.

Marcus took hold of your shoulder and gently pushed you into an alleyway. “Sit here for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

He bolted off and you placed your head between your knees. Things seemed to be squirming under your skin. You were flushed, but chills worked their way over your body. It felt like you’d come over with a sudden and terrible bout of the flu.

Something thumped to the ground in front of you. A delicious smell wafted up to you and the pulsing in your gums sharpened to a painful throbbing.

“Drink,” Marcus said. One of his hands slid down your back and he lifted the body he’d dropped in front of you to your mouth. You lunged forward, biting into the soft flesh and gulping the blood that spilled forth.

You were much neater this time, gulping down almost every drop. After only a few delicious mouthfuls, Marcus detached you. “You’re shivering,” he said. You were, and the squirming of your innards was only getting worse.

Marcus leaned you back against the wall. “Hey, I was slightly off in my timing,” he said. His voice was pitched oddly, like he was trying to be soothing, but he was barely suppressing panic himself. “You’re making the full shift to vampire now.”

Your eyes popped open and you stared wildly at him. “What?”

Marcus ignored your obvious panic and hauled you up into his arms. Carefully, he swung you around and onto his back. “Hold on tight,” he said.

It was not easy to hold onto the back of a vampire going at full speed. Motion sickness made your head spin and you squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face into the back of his neck. His smell was stronger than you’d ever smelled it before, sort of earthy and pleasant. You found yourself breathing deeply.

With a jerk, Marcus dug his feet into the ground and came to a stop. You clung to him, startled, until his hands worked your fingers loose from around his neck.

You in the middle of a sparsely forested area. Still in the city, from what you could hear. A park, then. Marcus offered you his coat and you slipped it on. “Wanted to get you away from people, somewhere relatively quiet. You’ll be disoriented for a moment when you wake up. It’s better to be somewhere like this.”

“Wake up?” Your voice was slurred.

“You’re going to pass out. But it’ll be all right. I’ll be right here.”

You felt like you were falling asleep rapidly. A tingling numbness crept up through your legs, then your arms, crawling toward your neck. Your eyes opened once, to see Marcus smiling gently down at you. Then they fell shut and you fell into darkness.

The first thing you were aware of was the smell. It invaded your senses, permeated your brain. There were unpleasant scents far away, some appealing ones that made your mouth water, and, close by, the earthy smell of dirt and wood and, closest of all, a pleasant, slightly earthy, slightly spiced scent.

You opened your eyes. It was bright. Really bright, almost daytime bright. But you could see, beyond the trees, that the moon was still out. You ran your tongue along your teeth. Your canines were extended and they itched a little.

“Feeling okay?” You turned your head. Marcus was leaning over you, a slight grin on his face. The moonlight seemed to make his skin glow and there was something mesmerizing in his eyes. “Woah,” you said. Marcus grinned.

“I could say something similar,” he said. “Hungry?”

Your stomach twisted and you nodded. “Starving.” Marcus tugged you to your feet.

As he led you out of the park, you became more aware of the territory boundaries. You could sense them, somehow, like glowing lines along the ground. It made you a little unsettled.

“You’re not kicking me out, are you?” you asked. Marcus grinned, canines glinting.

“No. I like you too much for that,” he said. “Now, let’s go. We’ve got some hunting to do.”

Together, you ran off into the night.

[kinglarrykoopadx]

Ranking the bosses of Origami King

I have stated many many MANY times that Origami King is my favorite Paper Mario, hell, one of my favorite games of all time. And if some lunatic waltzes into my house and gives me a choice of either liking TTYD or die, I’d rather be dead. But what’s the worst and best boss in the game? Today, we’re gonna rank all the bosses in Origami King. Also, it is recommended that you finish the game to view this post, cause this is a spoiler zone.

17. The Shifty Sticker, Tape

The most annoying and unfun boss to cap off a great tribute to Wind Waker fans, all the positives Tape got was having a bopping as hell music and a really great 1st phase. But that’s where the positives end, cause the 2nd phase is where it all goes downhill. Tape glues parts of the ring meaning you can’t slide panels and some parts of the rings are connected together. And when a lot of tapes are in the ring at once, it’s pretty annoying. And this may just be me, but when there’s too much tape in the arena, Tape straight up gobbles up the tape in the arena to restore HP and it is annoying as fudge. Oh and did I mention that to damage this boss, you’re forced to use the 1000 fold arms? And did I mention that any other form of offense is next to useless? Needless to say, this is one of the worst bosses I’ve had the pain to endure.

16. The Freezing Finisher, Ice Vellumental

The first phase of Snowy The Bear over here is surrounded by an icy forcefield and you must use the Fire Vellumental to melt down his barrier which is, pretty alright for a first phase (I mean your sliding is not locked this time so that’s a plus), but then, there’s Ice Maze to make up for all that fun. For those of you unknowing fools out there, Ice Maze is an ability of this guy where large parts of the arena are covered in ice, and the only way to get through it is find a way to the Action Panel or an active Fire Vellumental Magic Circle without being frozen so you (kinda) won’t have to endure his greatest attack, Ice Age. Problem is, that even for me, who has a strong memory, I can’t seem to solve it. Why this is less dreaded than Tape for me despite the monotony is that you can kinda cheese it without Fire Vellumental. By collecting coins, you can stock on Shiny Fire Flowers and basically fireball this boss to death (and they said coins are useless). Even so fuck this fight man.

15. The Blazing Bird, Fire Vellumental

This phoenix right here is possibly the smartest of the Vellumentals. Why is that, you ask? Easy. He lets you damage yourself. Using his special move, Hot Wings, he basically spreads his own wings (which takes a chunk of his health) and lets you damage yourself until you reach an Action Panel. Once you’re in the Action Panel, use your Iron Boots and jump the shit outta him until his feathers are all/almost gone. Then, use Water Vellumental to shower it to its doom, and lastly, for the coup de grace, pull off his hair and humiliate him in front of a bunch of Toads. The only reason this chicken wing is higher is because jumping him with Iron Boots is as fun, if not more fun than using the Fireballs to cheese the Ice Vellumental.

14. The Apocalyptic Abomination, Paper Mistake Buzzy Beetle

By far the most gruesome thing in Paper Mario franchise, it starts off with you hammering the Dry Bone heads it spews out using Kamek’s magic. Then, after enough heads were smashed, Kamek reveals himself and you have to pull him outta the beetle’s nose which is more satisfying than it should be. And then after that, you smash him in the gut 4 times to win. Needless to say, it had its moments.

13. The Elastic Entertainer, Rubber Band

4 numbers later and we are back to the Legion Of Stationary. This time, it’s Rubber Band. While I can see why people like this boss, keep in mind I’m doing all these on a no Game Over run, which makes the boss less fun for me. The Bumper Bands are a mere nuisance, but get caught in Rubber Bind and kiss your health goodbye. Solo Snapback isn’t much better either, for that attack, pray you have a 1 Up left or at the very least can endure that attack or say goodbye to your health. However, despite doing this on a no Game Over run is hell, why is it this high though? you may ask, well, simply put, the Rubber Bands are better projectiles than the Hot Wings, Icicles, and Tape combined.

12. The Chaotic Cactus, Mega Paper Macho Pokey

Tower Power Pokey is back, but this time, he’s made some changes to the battlefield. Now, instead of fighting in some egyptian temple, you fight him inside of a tornado. This segmented spiky monstrosity has 3 attacks. Creating tornadoes, stalking you from underground, and trying to squash you with its body. This time, to defeat him, instead of using some Baseball Bat sticker bullshit, you must wait until his glow fades and approach him with the Boot Car so you can deliver the smackdown. And, pro tip : if I were you, I wouldn’t get caught in the twisters.

11. The Groundshaking Gut-Slammer, Earth Vellumental

God to all Koopas, the Earth Vellumental is pretty fun for a tutorial boss. You use your hammers to smash its limbs till eventually you hit its tender tail, and it’s more fun than it had any right to be. Once the tail is pounded to perfection, flip it with your 1000 fold arms and smack the living daylights out of it.

10. The Trial Of Toughness, Scuffle Island Boss Rush

An optional boss accessible in Chapter 4, the Scuffle Island Boss Rush is fun for a miniboss rush. You get 7 tough Paper Macho opponents ; Goomba, Shy Guy, Koopa, Boo, Paratroopa, Stone Spike, and Buzzy Beetle, each bearing 2 more hitpoints than the ordinary Paper Macho enemies and having a large attack boost. It’s a test of learning the patterns of the Paper Machos and is way more fun than it has any right to be. Although the Paratroopa did gave me some troubles, like, seriously, if you beat this guy’s 1st phase without a guide, you’re a pro.

9. The Stormy Guardian, Boss Sumo Bro

A clever reference to NSMBU and Super Mario World, Boss Sumo Bro stands on his mighty thundercloud at first, until you take out his goonies. Then, once you’re done with his goons, he’ll charge up his unblockable Mega Thunder attack and to stop it, you must use the Fire Vellumental to take him down. It’s admittedly pretty fun.

8. The Missile Maestro, Colored Pencils

One of the most fun tutorial bosses, Colored Pencils has a simple but really fun 1st phase. You have to close its lid to pull off a Fire Vellumental, and on the 2nd phase, it gets better. You have to use his Rainbow Roll against him and smack the living daylights out of him. It’s a great boss, buut problem is, it’s a tutorial boss. It had not much of a chance to make it to the top 5. 

7. The Final Destination, Paper Plane Strike Force

This game consists of you shooting a bunch of Bob Ombs to pave the way to the final level of the game Origami Castle, which is, much sadder than it may seem. It’s fun as heck shooting down the paper planes, and the Squadron where you have to shoot like a million Bob Ombs to its face is by far personally the most fun part of the game. Why it’s this low is that it’s one of the 2 non-rematchable bosses. Once you’ve gotten to Origami Castle, this minigame won’t be accessible anymore.

6. The Submarine Sinker, Water Vellumental

This overhydrated water dragon is one of the more strategic bosses. You must take note of the water twisters and prevent them from getting in your way of making it to the Action panel to jump him and hit him with the hammer. And then, once he’s gonna blow, make your way to the Earth Vellumental Magic Circle to dodge his Mega Wave attack, which is pretty powerful. It’s personally one of the more fun bosses this game had to offer. It’s not in the top 5 since the water twisters can be pretty annoying though I never had a problem with them personally.

5. The Disco Devil, Hole Punch

The groovy lobotomiser’s 1st phase is pretty annoying, you have to find his tender spot to deal decent damage to him, while having a reduction in health,  but slamming the ever loving shit outta him when he tried to pull off his special attack is fun as hell. It makes up for the horrid 1st phase. And pulling off the rubber case as the finisher is waaayyy more fun than it needs to be. Also the music is a freaking jam.

4. The Tentacley Terror, Paper Macho Gooper Blooper

This Mario Sunshine nostalgia fest is hella fun. The 1st phase has you hammering his tentacles which is way more fun than it should be, and the 2nd phase has you hammering his eye, which is, again, way more fun than it should be. This boss is just really, REALLY fun.

3. The Dual Bladed Duelist, Scissors

One of the harder and more intense bosses, Scissors’ first phase is putting on a case for his blades for the sake of a fair fight, but once that’s done, it’s all intense, bloodpumping action from here. Scissors will use his unblockable special attack, Final Cut, and you must time your jumps to prevent an instant KO. I felt a strong urge of satisfaction when jumping over Scissors’ special attack countless times, it’s not even a laughing matter.

2. The Roshamboa, Handaconda

The first phase has you hammering him to get Olivia out of its grasp, and then, the 2nd phase is where the true fun begins. The Magic Circles are swapped with panels with images of Rock, Paper and Scissors and you must observe his hand patterns to get a chance to rush attack him with the 1000 fold arms. It feels so satisfying when you beat him in Roshambo and smash the living daylights out of him.

1. The Royal Rebel, King Olly

One of the best final bosses of all time, Olly is a culmination of what you have learned throughout your journey. The 1st phase consist of you retracing the weaknesses of the Vellumentals and using it against them, the 2nd phase consists of you slamming the ground to give Origami Bowser a helping hand in dealing the semi finishing blow towards Duraludon Olly, and the final phase has you fixing a jumbled up Giant Magic Circle while Olly bombards you with attacks that lead to quicktime events that are way more fun and dramatic than they had any right to be. Needless to say, Olly is the best boss in the Origami King.

[thetreeturnedoff]

alright! hyperfocus was on my side tonight so i compiled a list of all the caretakers from @hetalia-caretakers for them since people were asking for a list and one hadn’t been made yet (also side note y’all should totally go check out that blog, it’s amazing). i’m planning on updating this list as more people are added, too, and if anyone spots any mistakes here please let me know so i can fix them!

first, here’s the list of the caretakers with names and pronouns:

america - jerry (he/him), madeline/maddie (she/her)

china - zhang huijiong (they/them)

cuba - maria elena (that’s just a first name) (she/her)

england - bruce (he/him), alicia (she/her)

finland - adelaide (she/her)

france - michel (they/them)

germany & prussia - edith (she/her)

iceland - gabriel (he/him)

japan - naomi (she/her), hotaru (she/her)

latvia - agnese (she/her), twins aivars (he/him) and anita (she/her)

liechtenstein - ana (she/her)

n. italy - dante (he/him)

norway - eleanor (she/her)

romania - alina (she/her)

russia - maeve/maeves (she/her), irene (she/her)

sealand - harold (he/him)

s. italy - juno (she/her)

s. korea - jin ae (she/her)

spain - santiago (he/him)

switzerland - leila (she/her)

next, countries with unnamed caretakers:

all the micronations - (he/him)

belarus

denmark

greece - (she/her)

greece & turkey - (they/them)

sweden - (he/him)

ukraine

and for fun, some honorable mentions:

alina’s dog - anghel (she/her)

bruce’s mom who sends bruce off with cookies to give to england

jin’s cat - gilmack (he/him)

jerry’s cat - sugar (she/her)

below this i’m also putting the appearance and personality descriptions that we have because i’ve seen people talk about that before. i’m really just taking quotes and sometimes rephrasing them to make more sense here, but i’m also providing a link to the post it’s coming from so you can see the original context. because this is coming from multiple anon messages, it’s entirely possible that i’ve gotten things wrong, so if anyone (especially the creators) find anything i did get wrong i’d appreciate being corrected.

first, appearances:

adelaide (finland)

taller than finland, standing at around 5′8; hair is shoulder length and curly, and brown with blonde highlights; eyes are hazel [x]

eleanor (norway)

much shorter than norway [x]

5′9; dirty blonde hair and brown eyes [x]

gabriel (iceland)

around the same height as iceland, give or take an inch or two [x]

roughly 5′4; brunette hair and hazel eyes [x]

gilmack (jin)

fattest boy [x]

harold (sealand)

a “middle aged dude” [x]

redheaded with a relatively short style; average height, around 5′9; brown eyes; wears glasses even with decent vision to prevent his vision from deteriorating; a bit thin and lanky, but with a little muscle; visible signs of not sleeping [x]

jerry (america)

5′7.5, or roughly 172cm [x]

argentinian, but born and raised in new york; has brown eyes, black hair, and tan skin; wears glasses and has a “typical cute, tired nerd look”; very skinny and pretty underweight, but he’s just naturally like that, it has nothing to do with him not eating [x] [x]

jin ae (south korea)

short and brunette [x]

maddie (america)

young and 5′ [x]

filipino [x]

maeve (russia)

“has a death glare that makes flowers wilt” [x]

somewhere around 4′11 [x]

sugar (jerry)

grey with green eyes [x]

drawings of caretakers:

jerry

maeve, michel, jeremy, naomi, irene, and maddie

jerry and maddie (and alfred)

michel

maeve and irene

maeve and maddie

and now personalities (and some other facts):

adelaide (finland)

probably scared of finland because he sleepwalks with a gun or something [x]

"helps Finny with his Santa job every year and loves it" [x]

agnese (latvia)

started out sweet and outgoing, and now she and latvia are drinking buddies; keeps trying to keep up with drinking with latvia, despite him being immortal [x]

alina (romania)

"absolutely the snarkiest person you will ever meet"; "will absolutely bully romania into behaving, too varying degrees of effectiveness" [x]

ana (liechtenstein)

"[liechtenstein's] easy to lose due to both of them being easily distracted, so Ana's life is a constant game of hide and seek" [x]

anghel (alina)

"[alina's] main method of tracking romania" [x]

belarus’ unnamed caretaker

"flips between "oh you're angry don't worry I'll leave you alone for a bit" & "drop the knife belarus, don't play that shit with me"" [x]

denmark’s unnamed caretaker

“just as chaotic as Denmark himself” [x]

edith (germany and prussia)

super lax, and lets germany and prussia do whatever; gets into frequent trouble for not doing her job [x]

while supposedly watching prussia, she plays on her phone the whole time, loses track of him, or “helps him with whatever crime he’s trying to commit”; is definitely addicted to candy crush [x]

eleanor (norway)

"carry a spray bottle of water for when [norway] gets sassy with her"; "essentially “screw the rules you’re gonna do it no matter what I say”" [x]

gabriel (iceland)

he and eleanor are enemies because she feels like he’s too strict with iceland; he refuses to relax the rules he has for iceland [x]

"has threatened to quit because of how whiny Ice gets" [x]

has a long list of rules from both iceland’s government and norway that he enforces with iceland [x]

gilmack (jin)

laziest boy; “lives up to his name [name means roadblock]”; “will always be in front of your feet, or in the way, or be a bed hog” [x]

hotaru (japan)

actually enjoys her job, for the most part; “internally screams” around other nations because she only knows how to handle japan [x]

irene (russia)

“just rather confused” [x]

jerry (america)

probably has ptsd [x] [x]

has hit a point where he just kinda goes along with everything [x]

is aroace; is good at playing classical piano; "anxiety is through the roof, as are his caffeine levels"; "most unlucky guy in the world" [x]

gets random instances of super strength on occasion [x]

jin ae (south korea)

headstrong; “will thwap South Korea with a newspaper if he acts out“ [x]

leila (switzerland)

"sort of a pushover, but can be an amazing older sister figure when [switzerland] needs one" [x]

“not the interrupting type” [x]

maddie (america)

"made [america] back down with a single glance" [x]

is probably a black belt [x]

maeve (russia)

russia is the one scared of her; she doesn’t take russia’s shit [x]

“terrifying” [x]

“would just generally do questionable things, such as eating red red meat at 3 am with all the lights off”; actually volunteered for the job [x]

“small feral woman [who] can and will climb onto everything to get what she needs” [x]

maria elena (cuba)

"super chill, but super strong"; "Whenever Cuba and America get into a fight, she's usually the one to hold back America"; "She's a combo of the mom friend and the wine aunt" [x]

naomi (japan)

seems lazy or like she doesn’t care but actually just constantly gets lost; is always losing track of japan or getting turned around or distracted; probably pretty anxious too [x]

santiago (spain)

“stressed 24/7″; can’t really be upset with spain though [x]

really relaxed with spain as long as he’s alone, but things can get out of hand when he’s with portugal [x]

sugar (jerry)

mean to everyone but jerry; anything but sweet; also basically jerry’s emotional support animal [x]

sweden’s unnamed caretaker

can find sweden in ikea when sweden’s in there [x]

ukraine’s unnamed caretaker

just as emotional as ukraine is [x]

[hanscom]

reddie enemies to lovers

(I keep trying to convince myself to finish this, but it hasn’t happened yet and it’s been over a year since I started it. So here, have some hockey enemies to friends nonsense.

Fair warning: this is the same game as we all know and love, but the ins and outs of professional hockey detailed here are made up. I don’t know the specifics about what goes on off the ice, okay? Correct me if you must, but I highly encourage you to just embrace the fact that I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.

Also, I love you all, still and forever. Thanks for following me even after all this time.)

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak Rating: T Word count: 2,948

It’s cold in the arena.

It’s worse, down on the ice. The air is sharp and stinging on his face, in his lungs. His skates are steady under his feet. The lights are blazing overhead. He can’t smell much except the sweaty inside of his helmet, but he imagines it smells like popcorn and hoppy beer. It smells like game day. It smells like home.

Richie doesn’t think there could be anything better than this.

He’s skating backwards around the rink, gliding fast across the freshly buffed ice, content in the knowledge that no one is going to run into him. His team has gotten pretty good at working around him. They’re starting to become a pretty effortless unit, for the most part. It’s something Richie is pretty fucking proud of.

He whooshes past Ben and around one of the rookies, shouting joyful nonsense that echoes off the ice. They yell back at him, but he can’t make out the words over the sound of his skates and the blood rushing in his ears.

And then Stan skates out from the tunnel and into his way. Richie twists fast to the side, digging down, slowing to a quick stop. Ice sprays up under his blades. Stan, unimpressed as always, doesn’t move. “Are you done showing off?” he asks, his mouthguard hanging from his helmet. The only time he ever takes it out on the ice is to give Richie a hard time.

“What’s that?” Richie says. “I can’t hear you from down there.”

Stan is the smallest guy on the team. He’s almost a solid foot shorter than Richie, and he’s constantly sore as fuck about it. Richie doesn’t get it. If Stan were any bigger, any less quick on his feet, he wouldn’t be half the player he is. Stan’s a winger. His entire hockey career revolves around being fast. And, anyway, Richie’s kind of big for a centerman, but you don’t hear him bitching about it.

They’re close to the goal. Mike is standing there in the crease, suited up, his hulking equipment making him look massive. “Are we really doing this again?” he calls, but he’s laughing about it.

Richie digs his skates in, gliding an easy circle around the goal. “We sure are,” he says, grinning. “You know Stan plays a better game when he’s pissed off.”

“I could play a better game than you in a coma,” Stan shouts. His face is red, some combination of cold air and actual anger. Stan’s normally a pretty level-headed guy, but Richie gets under his skin, shakes him up, makes him mad. His game has gotten a thousand times more aggressive since they met. Bill sometimes jokes about putting him on defense, but he never will. Stan as Richie’s left wing is pretty much the only reason the Portland Pioneers ever score.

It’s not that their right wing is bad, exactly. He’s just… not good. Richie can say that. He’s not the captain, like Bill. He’s not even an alternate, like Stan and Ben. He doesn’t have to be diplomatic. He doesn’t have to play nice. Hockey’s not a nice sport. Hockey’s about being fast and smart and violent. Right winger Patrick Hockstetter might be mean as hell, but he’s also slow as fuck and dumb as a box of rocks. Richie can work with a lot of things, but he can’t fix stupid.

But Richie’s trying not to think about it. He doesn’t need to go into the game expecting Patrick to fuck it up for them (again). It’s bad luck. And Albany’s a good team. Richie has to focus if he’s going to pull this one out.

—

The Pioneers lose in overtime, which is devastating. Losing always sucks, but it’s even worse, watching Albany celebrate on their ice.

Afterward, the locker room is quiet for a long time, aside from the five minutes Coach spends yelling at them for their admittedly awful performance. When he retreats back to his office, the team slowly strips out of their equipment, made sluggish by defeat. They’re all tired. Richie is already starting to ache, his body finally registering all the time he spent up against the boards. Bill and Ben are in even worse shape. Both of them already have bruises blooming across their ribs, across their backs. Albany played rough. The Pioneers haven’t had to fight that dirty in a long time. It makes the loss feel even worse, somehow.

Richie has just finished dragging on his street clothes when Bill finally speaks up. He has changed into the full three-piece suit he wears to impress the media circus waiting outside for him, and his hair is still damp from the shower. He looks sort of ridiculous, standing there in full monkey costume in front of the team, who are all in various states of undress. But he’s still the captain, so when Bill tells them to listen up, they do.

“You guys played really hard tonight,” he says. He’s trying to sound light-hearted, uplifting, but Richie has known him for a long time now. He’s just as crushed by the loss as everyone else — probably more so. There’s a small waver in his voice that says it all. “I know this isn’t the outcome we wanted, but that doesn’t change how well you all played.”

Richie looks down. It’s sort of worse, knowing they did well but lost anyway. They gave it their all, but it wasn’t good enough. It fucking sucks. Richie sort of wants to punch something. He sort of wants to sleep for a few days straight.

He really, really, really wants a right winger who can shoot a decent shot.

It’s not a very charitable thought. Patrick has played worse games than this one. But Richie’s too tired to play nice, and he can’t stop replaying all the shots they missed, all the times he was open and so was the goal but the puck was nowhere to be found and neither was Patrick.

Richie thinks, without meaning to, about Albany’s right winger. Thinks about the way he had sped across the ice, faster than Richie, faster even than Stan. He’d played a good game. A damn good game. Richie sort of really hates him for it, which isn’t fair. It’s not that guy’s fault Richie doesn’t have a solid line. But he is most of the reason Albany scored and scored and scored again, so Richie reserves the right to hate him, just a little.

Stan and Mike ask him out for a drink, but he declines. He wouldn’t be good company, and besides, he’s beat. So he bids them goodbye and leaves out the back, ball cap pulled low over his eyes to hopefully deter anyone from recognizing him. It works. He gets home without incident, makes himself a late dinner, and flips on the TV to watch a few highlights, because he’s an obsessive masochist. Pittsburgh beats Chicago, then Nashville loses to Dallas, and then he’s watching himself skate furiously down the length of the Pioneers’ rink. He groans, but doesn’t fumble for the remote. Helplessly, hopelessly, he watches Patrick lag behind. He watches Albany’s defense wrestle the puck away without much of a fight. He watches that tiny fucking demon of a right winger swoop in, taking control of the puck with an ease Richie can’t help but admire. God, the guy’s good.

The announcers call him Eddie Kaspbrak. The name sounds familiar, in the way that all good players sound familiar. Richie can only watch so many highlights in a night without picking up on a few things, and this is clearly not the first beautiful pass Kaspbrak has ever made. Richie makes a face and finally shuts the television off. He doesn’t need to relive Kaspbrak’s seamless pass to center, that perfect shot down the crease, the way Mike’s knee guards slapped to the ice a split-second too late. It was hard enough to watch in real time.

One day, he’s going to have a right wing like Kaspbrak, who can keep up and knows how to bank a shot. But today isn’t that day, so he gives up and goes to bed, upset and pissed off and stoking his quiet, irrational grudge against Eddie Kaspbrak.

—

Trade negotiations roll around. Richie tries not to worry about it, but he does. Everyone does.

In the end, it’s Patrick. Which isn’t surprising, exactly, but feels so much like everything Richie has ever wanted that it scares him. He finds himself waiting for the other shoe to drop.

In late February, two weeks before the trade deadline, it does. Bill makes the announcement after a rough, sweaty afternoon practice. Richie is tired as fuck, still breathing heavy, but all the air jams up in his throat when Bill breaks the news.

The Portland Pioneers have acquired Eddie Kaspbrak.

—

Kaspbrak, in person and without all his gear, is even smaller than he looks on the ice.

He’s younger-looking than Richie expects. They’re the same age, but Richie has taken a few good hits over the years that have knocked his face a little out of whack. He has a crooked nose, twisted teeth. The entire left side of his jaw had to be painstakingly rebuilt three years ago when he took a puck to the face, which left his smile sort of lopsided.

Eddie doesn’t look like he’s ever taken a hit. He has a smooth, even face. Nice teeth. He’s good-looking, is all Richie’s saying. Richie didn’t expect it. He’s not sure why it catches him off-guard.

They meet for the first time off the ice the day the Pioneers are scheduled to play Carolina. Morning skate is optional, but Richie drags himself in anyway because Bill expects him to, and Richie’s a sucker who doesn’t want to disappoint his captain, even after all this time. It’s not even that early when he stumbles in but he feels bleary and sluggish, pulling on his gear without participating much in the locker talk. Stan tries to rile him up a few times, but gives up fast when Richie refuses to take the bait. Mike nudges him when he walks past. “Rough night?” he asks, grinning like he knows the answer. Richie spent his night with a microwaved pizza and the highlights reel, but that’s nobody’s damn business, so he shrugs.

And then Bill comes out of Coach’s office. The team doesn’t exactly snap to attention whenever he’s around, but the chatter dies down to a dull murmur. Especially when someone follows him out.

Kaspbrak is wearing street clothes — sneakers, jeans, a fucking polo shirt. Richie wonders if that’s the sort of thing he always wears or if he dressed up for them. He looks more comfortable than he probably should, standing in front of a group of strangers who, up until this point, have only known him as an opponent. He’s smiling. He is just — really good-looking. Richie is sort of hung up on it.

“This,” Bill announces, “is Eddie. He’s going to practice with us this morning.”

The season hasn’t even officially ended. Patrick got pulled from the roster when the trade was announced, but he’s still around. His locker’s not even empty. Richie doesn’t like the guy or anything, but that has to be a tough pill to swallow. Richie can’t even imagine what being replaced like that would feel like.

On the other hand, he really, really wants to get out on the ice with Kaspbrak. He wants to see what the guy can do, up close and personal.

It’s a tough thing, being both impressed and annoyed by the sight of someone. It’s made worse by the way Bill stares him down until he manages to force a smile in Eddie’s direction. Kaspbrak grins back at him, easy. His teeth are stupidly perfect. None of them are chipped or anything. Richie can’t remember the last time he met a hockey player with a perfect face. Something about it freaks him out.

Bill claps Eddie on the shoulder. “Welcome to the team,” he says. Most of the guys echo the sentiment. Richie mumbles something that sounds close enough and finishes lacing up his skates.

He doesn’t have to play nice with Kaspbrak. He just has to play well with Kaspbrak. There’s a big difference, and Richie is clinging stubbornly to it.

—

The thing is, Kaspbrak is really fucking good.

Richie knew. Of course he knew. He hardly ever lets the losses get to him, because God knows there have been too many to remember them all over the years, but he’s been hung up on the Albany game for months now. He’s watched the playback more than once, and has most of Albany’s season saved to his DVR.

But it’s different in person. Kaspbrak is so fast. So steady on his feet. Richie hasn’t been impressed by something as simple as skating since he was a kid, but the way Kaspbrak does it shakes him up. The guy skates like a dream. Richie is so jealous, and so impressed, and so fucking confused. He’s spent the better part of the season hating this guy, and now he’s here, gliding around Richie in wide circles, lapping Bill and Ben and even Stan, looking like maybe he’s not even making much of an effort.

Morning skate is easy, most of the time. Everyone wants to be at their best for that night’s game, and half the team didn’t even show. But Eddie throws the dynamic off, makes them all a little hot and hungry for some actual play, and before Richie knows it, Mike and his rookie are guarding opposing nets and Richie’s facing off with Bill, staring at him through the grate of his helmet, his mouthguard clenched between his teeth. It’s not a real scrimmage. They don’t have enough players to run a real game. But Richie doesn’t care, because Stan volunteered as Bill’s winger, which left Kaspbrak all for Richie. Richie can feel him, on his right, just outside the face-off circle. Richie has this weird, sudden urge to look back at him, but then the puck is on the ground and there’s no time.

Bill is a vicious center. He’s not as fast as Richie, but he’s stronger. There’s a reason he plays defense. His body is one solid line of muscle, and he’s not afraid of using it. He shoulder-checks Richie, almost knocks him off balance with the force of it, but Richie bares his teeth and refuses to give up ground. Bill is probably a better player than Richie is in the long run, but Richie is the best center the team has ever had. He wrestles the puck out of Bill’s reach and bears down on the ice, shooting across the rink. Eddie is ahead of him. Richie hasn’t had a winger faster than him in so long he almost forgets to make the pass.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate. He moves like a blur, so fast it’s hard to keep track of his stick against the puck, driving it effortlessly forward. Mike is braced in the crease, his big body held wide, but he’s just not quick enough. Eddie comes at him from the side, bent down, stick jumping from one side of the puck to the other. And then it’s over. One second, he’s barreling down the rink, and the next, the puck is in the net — a perfect backhand shot.

It’s just practice. There’s no cheering, no booming announcement, no music. But Richie feels the same way he always does, his pulse loud in his ears, his heart tight in his chest.

“Kaspbrak!” he roars. “You son of a bitch!”

Eddie has the kind of smile that could melt the ice. He looks so pleased, so proud. Richie skates to him and throws an arm around his shoulder, smacking his helmet.

“We went easy on you!” Stan shouts, because he’s a sore loser.

“You kidding?” Richie yells back. “You couldn’t have caught him if you tried!”

Eddie’s shoulders shake. Richie leans into him, grinning, thrilled beyond measure. They drift a little on the ice, aimless, anchored together.

“It won’t happen again,” Bill says. He’s a competitive motherfucker, which makes him a great player and an even better captain. It won’t be easy, getting the puck away from him again.

Eddie grins up at Richie like maybe he’s up for the challenge.

—

Eddie scores two more times. He insists that they don’t call it a hat trick, considering it’s just practice and he’s scared of jinxing it. Richie doesn’t care what they call it. All he knows is Eddie scored three fucking times, and he assisted all of them. He doesn’t even mind that he wasn’t the one to make the shots. It’s better, almost, watching Eddie do it.

Bill lets morning skate go longer than normal, probably hoping to pull out a single goal, but after awhile he finally calls them off the ice. Richie is dripping with sweat when he peels himself out of his equipment. He didn’t realize how hard he’d been working. It hadn’t felt like much, being out there on the ice, falling into Eddie’s rhythm, into his gravity.

Eddie hangs back while everyone files out, looking around like maybe he’s still taking everything in. His hair is wet from the shower and his face is flushed. Richie nudges him on his way out. “Sure you can’t play with us tonight?” he asks. It’s not possible, but it makes Eddie beam.

“Won’t be long,” Eddie assures him.

Richie doesn’t say so, but he can’t fucking wait.

[chyrstis]

I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you) 1/10

I’ve held out for a while now, thinking it’d be silly to post this here after finishing edits to this on AO3 back in February (and having an older version of this already up at the FC5 Holiday Exchange), but I think the only thing that was being silly was me. Because extra edits were badly needed, I’d love to add this to my FC5 masterlist, and to anyone that read the original and powered through the whole thing in one go back in December? Kudos to you, because it was always meant to be posted chapter by chapter here instead.

So, without further adieu, here’s Ch. 1 of 10 of the romantic comedy I didn’t plan on writing for them, but am very glad I did. ...Just with 100% more accidental arson and singing fish involved.

And also, many, many thanks to @finefeatheredgamer​ for being the lovely person to prompt this over at the Exchange to begin with. <3

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed Rating: E (but only for Ch. 10, the rest are a solid T) Word Count: 4.1K 

Link to AO3!

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10

---

Sharky steals a boat. It just happens to be John’s boat, and when it’s damaged along with his boathouse, John proceeds to lay out a means of having Sharky pay him back. [No Cult AU]

-----------

Hurk was his bro. His blood. One hell of a stand up guy, and the person Sharky knew would have his back no matter what.

The one he could depend on no matter what for damn near anything, and the only one right now that he could say to, with his whole heart, “I love you, man, but you can piss up a fucking rope” for getting him into his mess to begin with.

And okay, maybe he was being a bit harsh about it. And maybe he’d wanted the excuse to do it to begin with, but Hurk had dangled the opportunity so perfectly in front of him. Framed it so beautifully, there was no way he was going to say no to it, no matter what.

Especially not with both drinks and two smoking hot women involved. He’d hit a real dry spell, and the temptation to get lucky hit hard.

So, when beers at the Spread Eagle turned into beers down by the river, Sharky had agreed immediately. And when beers at the river turned into the possibility of beers on the river, he’d agreed to that too.

But he didn’t have a boat. Hurk didn’t either.

Maybe they could’ve winged it by borrowing one from the Marina. They would’ve been skinned alive the next morning after his aunt found out about it, but after mulling it over for a few, Hurk had a better idea.

In his words, a better, sexier idea. 'Cause nothing said sexy like a little speedboat ride and some roguish repatriation. Also Hurk’s words, though Sharky was sure on some level that wasn’t supposed to be pronounced like that either.

John had a boat.

John Seed had both a boat and a boathouse. Rich assholes like that always wanted to flash their cash in the most high-profile ways possible, and for whatever reason having his own personal goddamn plane wasn’t enough. He had to have a boat too.

Surely he wouldn’t miss it for a night. And Hurk’s promise to slip him two-hundred bucks on top of that? Really just made the idea all the sweeter.

Things sped up after that. Blurred and blended into the kinds of things he’d see in an action movie, what with him being the sexy hero going behind enemy lines as a means of infiltrating it – and he’d even streaked some mud across his face to seal it.

But somewhere between snagging the fancy speedboat, riding it out, and getting not one but two kisses of gratitude, he’d let himself get sloppy. And on the way back afterwards, with more beers under his belt, and a decent hard on from some over the clothes action, he’d misjudged a few things.

Not the least of which involved just how close of a fit it was to park and settle the boat. It was a square peg meant for a square hole, but he couldn’t see it that way. Not right now, especially not while belting out words to what he’d think a collab between ABBA and the Bee Gees would sound like.

That’s where things blurred again. Grew unclear and muddied as he tried to keep the boat steady. His head pounded as he misjudged the distance - or was it speed? Both were likely - of his approach, as he leapt into action again, this time wondering if his call to Willis his way out was the right one.

Cold water rushed up to meet him, knocking sense into him just long enough to start paddling, but he bobbed down low. Felt things go black, as like an idiot he gulped down a lung and a half full of water as he fought against it.

That’s when he felt hands grab him. A force dragging him up and out of the cold only for the ground to rush up and smack him in the face.

Hacking it out, he blinked down at the pebbles underneath his hands, his face all but numb at this point as water continued to dribble out of his mouth. That had been close. All too close, he’d realized, still sloshed, but aware enough of the person crouching next to him.

So, he babbled out what he hoped was thanks. Followed it up with more thanks after that, and when he flipped over to maybe even throw a hug or a hearty handshake their way, he froze.

Because he wasn’t ready for the kind of cold fury waiting for him. He also wasn’t ready for John Seed to be the one wearing it either; the kind that he was sure meant he was about to be murdered on the spot.

In that moment, not even two-hundred dollars richer for it, he knew he’d fucked up, but as to how much? He couldn’t say. That was for the morning to tell him, provided he’d make it there.

And right now his odds weren’t looking all that great.

---

Pounding. Endless pounding went off, shaking him out of the comfortable space he’d settled into.

The sound echoed again, making him shift around to muffle it. Pulling the blanket around him, he sighed at the silence only to tense when it was broken again.

“Motherfucking balls, man,” Sharky groaned.

So, he wasn’t dead, just felt like it. That he wasn’t, was a relief as he pried his eyes open. The pulsing, pounding pressure building in his head, not so much. Crawling over to the bed’s edge, he pushed himself up and nearly tumbled to the floor.

Knocking. That’s what the sound was.

Leaving his room, he dragged his feet as he walked over to the door, and jumped when his foot came into contact with something ice cold. Not bothering to check, he shook it off, swearing loudly only to notice it was a pair of jeans. Damp, and just as wet as the hoodie draped over the kitchen table.

When had he- Pointing at it, then at the jeans, he scratched at his head as he stood in the kitchen. Skinny dipping gone wrong, maybe? Gone right? He’d have company if that were the case, but it didn’t stop him from hoping.

He raised an eyebrow, only to start when the knocking began again. “Hold your fucking horses! Seriously, I’m coming.”

Dragging on a nearby pair of pants, he popped his head up in front of the peephole and took a look.

It was John.

John Seed.

That couldn’t have been right. He rubbed at his eyes and peered through again. “The fuck?”

Nope, John was still there, arms crossed as he waited, and he checked his watch before going for the door. Knocking with a heavy hand, the door was almost rattling, and Sharky stepped back.

Something was up. Something that he couldn’t remember right off the bat, and if it put John of all people on his doorstep, it had to be serious.

But he hadn’t pissed off anyone bad enough to put a lawyer on his porch. Or had he? Maybe the F.A.N.G. Center was finally sick of taking his calls and decided to slap him for it. Or hell, his Moonflower disco party never had that many admirers. That could’ve gone south too.

Not remembering sucked, but it was a Tuesday. Probably found a way to piss off somebody in the county without even trying that much.

Yanking the door open, he regarded the man waiting on the other side with a bleary look. It was bright outside, the clear blue of the sky hurting his eyes as he blinked against it, and felt his headache start to pulse as he narrowed his eyes into a squint.

“Charlemagne Victor Boshaw.” The smile John wore was cold as he stared him down. “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

He scratched his head, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he waited for John to continue. When he didn’t, and was actually seeming to want some kind of feedback from him, he grunted out a short, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Well, I was afraid of that. Considering how impaired you were late last night, and considering the great lengths I had to go to keep you from drowning on my property, it seems it’s up to me to enlighten you on what exactly happened.”

Drowning?

He did remember water. Coughing out enough to make him feel a little sick on recalling it. The part before that, when he was whooping it up, and kissing the hell out of his date, was a lot nicer to focus on, and he let his eyes slip shut as he leaned against the doorframe.

Yeah, that was much better. Better than the light searing into his eyes, and better than the asshole camped out on his doorstep.

“Boshaw.”

He cracked open an eye. Squinted right at John’s pinched, irritated face, and considered closing the door on him. “What?”

“You don’t understand the true extent of any of this, do you?”

“Nah, that’s what the whole enlightening thing’s for. Shit, Johnson, where the hell have you been?” he threw out, hating how the pounding in his head was only intensifying. “So if you could get the hell on with it, I could go back to spending my day how I want to. In bed, curled up and doing nothing, not out here listening to you tell me how I…” Sharky let the words trail off. “How I what now?”

“How you owe me,” John hissed, baring his teeth as the temperature in his tone dropped ten degrees and counting. “You. Owe. Me. For a boat. For a boathouse, and for an assortment of damages all tying back to your little alcohol-soaked ride through my property.”

Saying each word through clenched teeth, John paused, drew in a breath through his nose as he closed his eyes, then settled back into the same smile he’d initially greeted him with.

“Then when caught, you panicked, confessed, and forged an agreement with me to fix it. Is that ringing any bells now?”

-

“Look, look, look, I get it. This looks bad, right?” Sharky held up his hands, still coughing out leftover traces of water, and tried backing away from him. “Just let me say my piece, okay? Let me say it, and get it out there, and we can go back to-“

“Back to what?” John asked, his voice smooth as he stayed on him. “Back to the smoke? The fire? The wreck I bothered to drag you out of?”

“Yeah, yeah, all of that.”

“Oh, good. Because I’m still waiting. Still wondering why of all things, you haven’t given me a single reason at all not to do what anyone else would’ve already done in my position. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Tell me.”

“I, uh, I don’t know about-“

He snarled as he crossed the distance between them. “Tell me!”

-

Sharky paled.

Some of it was coming back in batches, none of it painting a good picture at all. And the longer he focused in on that period of time, the more he felt inclined to drop everything and book it towards the woods. At least then he’d have some kind of a fighting chance. John didn’t look like a runner, but if he did head after him he’d make sure to wing him with a branch or two along the way.

He wet his lips, and let out a long breath. “Okay, so say I did.”

“You did.”

“Okay, so…say I did all of it.”

“You did!” John repeated, his voice rising. “How can I make this any clearer to you? We are here to talk recompense. What you rightfully owe me for, and more importantly, what you’ve promised given the alternative. Or should I repeat myself, yet again, but this time using language that you’re guaranteed to understand?”

Now, Sharky had tried to ignore it before. Maybe even give him the benefit of the doubt, but he’d put up with his fair share of people talking down to him like an idiot, and like hell was John going to get in a shot as well.

“Yo, I was trying to be civil here. Civil and about as respectful as I can get seeing as I’m here, wearing actual pants, and listening to you spouting nothing but shit at me. And I get it! Something was broken that shouldn’t have been taken to begin with, but you’re talking deals that I don’t remember agreeing to, and I don’t like being told I’m a fucking moron on top of that!”

“Fine.” John pursed his lips, losing some of his anger, but not all of it. “You’ve made your point, and…maybe I did speak out of line.”

”You did. No maybes there, dude.”

“But that still doesn’t settle any of the business between us. So, here’s my offer. What I outlined to you last night, and to which you enthusiastically agreed to.”

Sharky bit back the knee-jerk response that he wanted to give, and crossed his arms. “So? Spit it out.”

“You will repair it. Rebuild the damaged boathouse with materials I will supply you with, and under my supervision. This will ensure that the work will be completed, done to my standards and specifications, and to also ensure no further damage will be done.”

“Your standards?”

“That’s correct,” John said, with a glint in his eye. “If it’s not to the quality I ask for, you will tear it down and start over. From scratch.”

“Hey, now. You back it the fuck up, 'cause last time I checked you’re not the fucking boss of me.”

“On the contrary. Yes, I am,” John replied, holding up his cell phone. “And If you don’t want any of this getting back to the local authorities, you will take this deal. Now listen closely, because there will be no second offer, and I’m already being generous.”

Keeping as calm as he possibly could, the voice on the phone outlined this in painstaking detail. Too much detail for a drunk man to take in and consider, but just enough for it to be played back to him while sober.

Including the last detail. One that had John’s expression settle into that of pure satisfaction.

“And you agree to do this? To-“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll do it. Whatever you want, building this shit up, building another big-ass boat to cart both you and your bullshit to fucking Aruba, I’ll do it. Just don’t send me to jail, man. Me and the po-po just don’t mix, and…shit, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything,” John repeated, ending the recording. “And looking at the damages done, the cost to avoid a sentence can be upwards of fifty-thousand dollars. That’s no small fee to have to shoulder, and unless you have that to give me, I think you’re better off taking this.”

He was fucked. Fucked beyond question, all because he’d had the piss-poor sense to believe Hurk’s boast that Sharky could commit Grand Theft Boat while sloshed just past his maximum.

Leading to the current dilemma.

Not wanting to go to jail was always at the top of his list. So was having the ability to light shit on fire. Going to jail interfered with both of those things directly, and as much as he could fight or run from it, John had two big things going for him.

One, he was a lawyer.

Two, he had money.

If he wanted to sink him, he’d send him straight down to the bottom of the ocean’s largest, deepest trench without any hesitation.

Clenching his teeth, then unclenching them, the smile he gave him was more of a grimace. “Uh, so…about that whole helping shit.”

“Let’s establish some ground rules, shall we?”

John raised his chin as he gestured towards the door, and Sharky groaned. Stepping to the side to let him in, John stalked on past, and he nearly fell off the front step.

He was going to need a cigarette.

Lots of them.

---

“This should be simple. Straightforward,” John told him as Sharky sat across from him with a cigarette and a roaring headache.

He was to be on the property two times a week.

Each time he would text him in advance making sure that John was available first, then once the time was agreed on, would expect him there promptly.

No work would be done alone. He would pick John up, then take him down to the boathouse to supervise. From there, he would work – some bare minimum that John rattled off, and he half-tuned out – and would drive John back up before heading out for the day.

And then would repeat it again, and again, and again until John was satisfied.

“So, as I said, simple. Easy enough for anyone to follow,” John stated, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

Already on cigarette number two, Sharky let his head sink into his hand. Passed on enough of a response to satisfy John for now, and had to agree to an actual starting date to even get him out of the door.

He was on cigarette number five when he called up Hurk. Spent a good ten minutes trying to get some kind of answers out of him about the rest of the night while also yelling about the shit he’d royally stepped in by messing with John to begin with.

But Hurk talked him down. Helped him to see this for what it was.

One, not a jail sentence. He could still get out of this, even if it looked like John had all but boxed him into doing a shit-ton of labor for free.

Two, he’d done enough odd jobs to be able to swing this. Had built and burnt down a million sheds in his lifetime, so what was building another one going to hurt?

And three, if all else failed, Hurk was set and ready to see about lighting up another part of John’s place just to give him a means of escape. What was a bro if not the kind ready to throw himself into the line of danger so his cousin could exit stage left?

He could give him that. Even if more fire wasn’t the solution to the problem for once. Much as he needed it, and loved it, it wasn’t going to get him out of this.

Sighing heavily, he let Hurk go and went back to bed.

The next day, however, he pulled his shit together and readied himself for what was going to be the beginning of a very long and painful process.

John’s specific list of guidelines chafed bad, like a pair of jeans that were just the wrong side of too tight, but he couldn’t take them off or return them. He just had to deal, and hope that sitting down or bending over wouldn’t lead to the kind of blowout he’d get run out or yelled at over.

So, he played by the rules. Hated every second of it as he jabbed at his phone and gave John the shortest messages he could manage. Then picked him up and tried to grin and bear it as John tapped at his watch while giving his ride the hairy eyeball, and Sharky proceeded to take them both down to the boathouse.

Seeing it during the day painted the whole thing in a different light. From what he’d relayed to Hurk in a delirious call the night of the accident there had been a whole hell of a lot of smoke and fire. Boatloads - pun intended - as he took in the charred shell of the building.

Guess that extra fuel Hurk told him he’d jacked but didn’t toss did more harm than good. Who knew what he’d planned on using it for, but he was lucky he hadn’t been toast himself.

That did mean his work was cut out for him, however. Tearing the whole thing down and rebuilding it was going to be a pain, and John guided him over to the picnic table nearby to go over the blueprints he’d brought from his house.

Spread out, he followed the dimensions outlined, and where he would need to start once the foundation was set. Saw it broken down into smaller pieces, smaller sections, and having it all stripped down like this helped him see it for what it was. Doable, and not even half as complicated as he thought it’d be. Yeah, it was going to be intense, but wouldn’t be impossible.

Now, his version of things allowed for some leeway. That would help to speed things up along the way, but that was where John came in. He said that there would be no ‘cutting corners’ and ‘eyeballing it’ like he was sure Sharky might do.

“This requires care. Precision. Delicacy.”

John kept on going, rattling off a few more things he was in need of here, and Sharky barely held off from pretending to jerk off in the middle of it. But John eventually cut him loose, telling him to get a feel for the area, and pointed him towards the boathouse.

It had been calling to him, in a way, and he let curiosity finally guide him there.

Walking inside, Sharky let out a low whistle.

He’d done a real number on it. Sidestepping the remains of the support beam overhead, he peeked up at the blue sky above him, and took in the blackened wood and ruined equipment. Trying to play guess who with the burned odds and ends was looking to be a game for another day, but while some parts of the building were well past trashed, other items were surprisingly okay.

Like the photographs hanging on the walls.

Both focused on nature – and he liked nature shit; skulls, antlers, pictures, the whole nine yards – but the fish on display didn’t look like they’d been caught. Not by John, or by any of his family, and they felt more out of place than anything else.

At least that’s what he thought until he turned, and saw it. Saw the big, beautiful, borderline majestic fish hanging on the wall, and burst out laughing.

He was still laughing when John finally joined him. “What could be so-“ John’s voice trailed off, and the resigned groan that followed only made him laugh harder.

Swiping at his eyes to wipe the tears away, Sharky framed the singing fish with his hands. “Big Mouth Billy is hanging right on your wall. Here. On your wall.”

“And?”

“And? Dude, that’s like the best shit ever! I haven’t seen one of these since I was like, this tall,” Sharky said, holding his hand to his knee. “Like, I thought they’d stopped selling them.”

“They should’ve.”

“But they didn’t, and that’s pretty damn great if I may say so myself. You’ve gotta tell me who gave you this to begin with. Broseph?”

John sighed, his mouth twisting as he remained silent.

“Ol’ Jake-n-bake then? Dude’s pretty serious, but maybe he gave you this to be nice. Or funny. Shit, maybe both.”

“You had it right the first time,” he admitted, eyeing first him, then it with distaste.

Joseph Seed’s doing? The thought of that made a wide grin break out on his face. “Well, shit. Guess I need to thank him then. Otherwise, I think it’d get pretty lonely out here.”

“What?”

“Well, you’re not gonna sit there and talk my ear off the whole time, so I was thinking I’d need to start talking to myself just to make shit interesting, but Bill here’ll be a fucking hoot once you get him started.”

The offended look that crossed John’s face shifted straight to horror when Sharky waved his hand in front of the fish’s sensor. To his delight, it sprang to life, singing enthusiastically, and when Sharky joined in, John visibly clenched his teeth.

“Still works too! Come on, it’s catchy.”

Picking up on the tune only to mangle it further, John kept on staring at him the entire time. Through one full cycle of it as Sharky snapped his fingers, through a few of his claps, and through at least one hop.

Still, nothing. “Seriously? Feeling none of the magic of that little guy?” Sharky shook his head, giving him a disappointed glance. “Shit, better go one more round to be sure. Maybe that’ll help, and you can join in whenever you like.”

John turned on his heel and promptly left.

Eyeing the bass, he gave one of its fins a small fistbump, only to nearly knock it off of the wall.

Maybe he’d be able to get through this after all.

[randomguywithwords]

As The Dust Settles: Chapter 8 (Dabi X Geten Slowburn)

Previous Chapters: 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

“Hey.” Dabi slammed the door behind him. Apocrypha didn’t turn around. 

“You have 10 seconds to leave my room.” Was her soft greeting. It wasn’t a growl nor a hiss, more of a polite threat, and that signified something Dabi couldn’t pinpoint. 

Dabi bit back a retort. If he hadn’t just talked with Dabi, he would have shot back with, “Or?” He leaned against the door. “Look, since we’re commanding this squad as equals,” He said, resisting a snort on the last word, “can we put a pause on this?” 

“I don’t believe in ceasefires. They only lead to betrayal.”

“I’m telling you, I’m not going to. Even if I wanted to, Shigaraki wouldn’t let me.” 

“Really?” She replied with sardonicism. “You mean to say your leader would favour me, an enemy-turned-ally, over you, one of his allies from before the merger?”

Ugh, when you put it like that...Dabi pulled his face with a groan. “He’s our –” He forced out the next word sourly. “Leader now.”

“Hm.” She turned around. “I find that hard to believe.”

“He’s still in the council room, if you need proof. Go ask him yourself.” Dabi jerked a thumb at the door. 

“I don’t want anything to do with your leader.”

Dear god. Dabi closed his eyes and took a breath. “Fine, all I came here is to tell you that I’m going to be looking through our squad. I have their information here. Would you like to join me or keep staring at the window?” 

“Do it here then. And you only need to tell me their Meta Abilities. I will know them.” 

“If you say so. I’m gonna sit down.” 

Receiving no reply, he muttered, “I’ll take that as a yes.” Plopping himself down on the sofa, he took out the papers in his pockets and read out, feeling quite stupid, but at least she wasn’t trying to impale him. 

“There’s only three we need to care about. The rest are cannon fodder. First up, some guy with a quirk called Ethershark.” 

“Charioteer,” Geten responded immediately. He’s decent, but he’s useless if his husk is attacked while he’s activating his quirk. Otherwise, he’s ideal for causing chaos and providing a distraction.” 

“Uh huh…” Dabi scanned the information on him. “So he summons a ghost shark and his body can’t move.” He whistled. “Sounds cool.” 

He heard Geten scoff, drawing his attention. She still was staring out the window. “Do you judge the efficacy of meta abilities based on how flashy they are? That’s a poor criteria.” 

“Lighten up, will you?” Dabi said, a flicker of anger passing over his expression. “Anyway, the second guy’s quirk is Gasoline.”

Geten made a noise — a noise so foreign and unnatural Dabi’s head shot up in alarm. It took him a brief moment, a click in his head, to realise that she was laughing. 

“Him? He’s one of the strongest ones in our squad?” She said, guffawing, bringing a hand to her mouth to stifle it, to little effect. “The standards have really fallen, haven’t they?” 

“It synergizes with my quirk very well. Maybe that’s why Shigaraki put him under me.” Dabi said the last sentence more to himself. Damn, he actually planned this decently. 

“I hope so,” She snorted, and it amazed Dabi that for once, she wasn’t the target of her disdain and hatred. “Otherwise, all he can do is make people slip, or if he actually managed to use one of his lit matches. Either way, I could easily defeat him.” 

“I’m sure you could,” Dabi humoured. 

“Stop with your sarcasm. It’s infuriating,” Geten shot with that emotionless voice of hers. 

“Stop with your hypocrisy. It’s infuriating,” Dabi replied, met with silence. Shit, is she going to –

“Whatever.” Was her dismissal. Dabi blinked. Is she really like this now? 

Then it hit him. Their fight. She thought she had lost. She thought he had fire left in him. She had no idea he had been equally powerless then. That means...hmm...

“Anyway,” He continued, trying to keep his voice passive as a smile crept over his face. “The last guy, his is called Beatdown.” 

“What?”

“What, what?”

“What’s his quirk?” She sounded bewildered.

“Beatdown. He has enhanced stamina and muscle strength. His nerves become more resistant to damage as he becomes more – Hey!” Dabi said indignantly as his paper was snatched from Geten, who scanned through it with wild eyes. 

“Is he one of yours? Another criminal?” She interrogated.

“No, he’s from your army. What’s the big deal?” Dabi leaned back on the sofa, annoyed. “Not like you guys aren’t always trying to hook new people in.” 

“This man. I don’t know him. I should. I know everyone.”

“What? All hundred thousand of you guys?” 

“Only the strong ones. It narrows the list by quite a bit. And this man, whoever he is, his ability is strong. I would have noticed it. Someone’s been hiding him, and...maybe more.” Geten ended the sentence mumbling to herself, her eyes gradually unfocusing. She dropped the paper onto his lap, heading towards the door. 

“Should I ask where you’re going?” Dabi said.

“No.” 

The door slams behind her, leaving Dabi alone in her room. He frowned, picking up the information sheet on the Beatdown guy. 

“Why’s she freaking out about that guy? Jeez…” Dabi studied his quirk for a while before deciding that it was an admittedly powerful quirk. 

He looked around the empty hotel room. Geten had been holed up here since the night after their victory over the Liberation Army, and while it was tidied up slightly, it was still messy. Her bed was a mattress on the floor, and Dabi thought about the room he had in Re-destro’s mansion. It was filthy with wealth, but if he got to exploit it, he wasn’t complaining. He wondered why Geten still stayed here. 

He stood up, surveying the room. He saw what looked like a notebook on the desk and snatched it. Flipping through the pages yellowed from age, he saw the first few pages filled with handwriting exercises. Messy scrawls that slowly straightened out into neat repetitive words meant for practices. Then, it was someone’s journal. Hers? Possibly. 

He sat down on the chair next to the desk and began to read. 

4/2/01 Thursday

Very tired. I spent the whole day training. I can separate an ice cube into two now. The Grand Commander said he wanted me to be able to split one into five by the end of the week. Hope I can do it. 

7/2/01 Sunday 

I disappointed the Grand Commander. He did that thing again. It hurts, but he told me he would stop once I could split an ice cube into 5 pieces. I can’t disappoint him again. I’ll make him proud. 

I tried to put some ice on the bruises and make them stay as cold as possible. Maybe this is also part of my training. 

Dabi slammed the journal on the table with shaking hands, and then slowly backed away. 

I’ll make you proud, father. I’ll make ice, and fire.

“Fuck,” He murmured. He repeated that word to himself over and over again as he left the room. Why’d you read it? Bad idea, very bad idea.

He scrambled to the bathroom. He plunged his hands into the sink and began to wash them. He wasn’t sure what he was scrubbing off. He gasped as the familiar pain latched onto his arms and bit. It was milder than usual, but it still hurt. 

Looking into the mirror once more, he saw more than himself now. He saw Touya Todoroki as a boy, a boy emboldened with a purpose to be the strongest Todoroki. At the same time, he saw a poor girl forced to do Re-destro’s bidding, till she...Dear god.

This sick, twisted army. 

Dabi hated them now more than ever.

–––––

Btw, I’ve been cross-posting these to other sites, and they’re technically edited versions although I haven’t been actually doing that. But the edited versions are there, sort of. Every chapter here is the first draft.

My Ao3, Wattpad and FF.net are all under the same username: CompletelyAnonymous.

Story-wise, I really hope I didn’t make this reveal too early. Might regret this decision later on, but it’s a scene I’ve been wanting to write for a while because it’s a turning point in how Dabi views Geten. Also, uh, I’m no good at writing child abuse and it’s a touchy subject. Very sorry to those who take offense if the portrayal is not proper, and I’ll be willing to do the necessary further research and revisions. 

[fc5holidayexchange]

FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE 2019 FIC

I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you)

Sharky Boshaw/John Seed, Hurk Drubman Jr., Jacob Seed

Sharky steals a boat. It just happens to be John’s boat, and when it’s damaged along with his boathouse, John proceeds to lay out a means of having Sharky pay him back. [No Cult AU]

@finefeatheredfarcryplayer​

As someone that loves your Wholesome Shorts, I was excited to get you here, and to also have a chance to tackle a Sharky/John idea that’s a hell of a lot longer than intended, and sort of on the wholesome side itself (minus the NSFW parts towards the end, but close enough). So, if this puts a smile on your face at any point? Mission accomplished. Happy holidays/Happy New Year, and I hope you enjoy it!

Also, many thanks to those that helped beta read this, because without any of you this giant thing would’ve been completely incomprehensible otherwise.

Tags: Sharky Boshaw/John Seed, Sharky Boshaw, John Seed, nsfw, slow burn, no cult AU, tw: abuse mention

_______________

Hurk was his bro. His blood. One hell of a stand up guy, and the person Sharky knew would have his back no matter what.

The one he could depend on no matter what, for damn near anything, and the only one right now that he could say to, with his whole heart, “I love you, man, but you can piss up a fucking rope” for getting him into his mess to begin with.

And okay, maybe he was being a bit harsh about it. And maybe he’d wanted the excuse to do it to begin with, but Hurk had dangled the opportunity so perfectly in front of him. Framed it so beautifully, there was no way he was going to say no to it, no matter what.

Especially not with both drinks and two smoking hot women involved. He’d hit a real dry spell, and the temptation to get lucky hit hard.

So, when beers at the Spread Eagle turned into beers down by the river, Sharky had agreed immediately. And when beers at the river turned into the possibility of beers on the river, he’d agreed to that too.

But he didn’t have a boat. Hurk didn’t either.

Maybe they could’ve winged it by borrowing one from the Marina. They would’ve been skinned alive the next morning after his aunt found out about it, but after mulling it over for a few, Hurk had a better idea.

In his words, a better, sexier idea. Cause nothing said sexy like a little speedboat ride and some roguish repatriation. Also Hurk’s words, though Sharky was sure on some level that wasn’t supposed to be pronounced like that either.

John had a boat.

John Seed had both a boat and a boathouse. Rich assholes like that always wanted to flash their cash in the most high-profile ways possible, and for whatever reason having his own personal goddamn plane wasn’t enough. He had to have a boat too.

Surely he wouldn’t miss it for a night. And Hurk’s promise to slip him two-hundred bucks on top of that? Really just made the idea all the sweeter.

Things sped up after that. Blurred and blended into the kinds of things he’d see in an action movie, what with him being the sexy hero going behind enemy lines as a means of infiltrating it – and he’d even streaked some mud across his face to seal it.

But somewhere between snagging the fancy speedboat, riding it out, and getting not one but two kisses of gratitude, he’d let himself get sloppy. And on the way back afterwards, with more beers under his belt, and a decent hard on from some over the clothes action, he’d misjudged a few things.

Not the least of which involved just how close of a fit it was to park and settle the boat. It was a square peg meant for a square hole, but he couldn’t see it that way. Not right now, especially not while belting out words to what he’d think a collab between ABBA and the Bee Gees would sound like.

That’s where things blurred again. Grew unclear and muddied as he tried to keep the boat steady. His head pounded as he misjudged the distance - or was it speed? Both were likely - of his approach, as he leapt into action again, this time wondering if his call to Willis his way out was the right one.

Cold water rushed up to meet him, knocking sense into him just long enough to start paddling, but he bobbed down low. Felt things go black, as like an idiot he gulped down a lung and a half full of water as he fought against it.

That’s when he felt hands grab him. A force dragging him up and out of the cold only for the ground to rush up and smack him in the face. 

Hacking it out, he blinked down at the pebbles underneath his hands, his face all but numb at this point as water continued to dribble out of his mouth. That had been close. All too close, he’d realized, still sloshed, but aware enough of the person crouching next to him.

So, he babbled out what he hoped was thanks. Followed it up with more thanks after that, and when he flipped over to maybe even throw a hug or a hearty handshake their way, he froze.

Because he wasn’t ready for the kind of cold fury waiting for him. He also wasn’t ready for John Seed to be the one wearing it either; the kind that he was sure meant he was about to be murdered on the spot.

In that moment, not even two-hundred dollars richer for it, he knew he’d fucked up, but as to how much? He couldn’t say. That was for the morning to tell him, provided he’d make it there.

And right now his odds weren’t looking all that great.

—

Pounding. Endless pounding went off, shaking him out of the comfortable space he’d settled into.

The sound echoed again, making him shift around to muffle it. Pulling the blanket around him, he sighed at the silence only to tense when it was broken again.

“Motherfucking balls, man,” Sharky groaned.

So, he wasn’t dead, just felt like it. That he wasn’t, was a relief as he pried his eyes open. The pulsing, pounding pressure building in his head, not so much.  Crawling over to the bed’s edge, he pushed himself up and nearly tumbled to the floor.

Knocking. That’s what the sound was.

Leaving his room, he dragged his feet as he walked over to the door, and jumped when his foot came into contact with something ice cold. Not bothering to check, he shook it off, swearing loudly only to notice it was a pair of jeans. Damp, and just as wet as the hoodie draped over the kitchen table.

When had he- Pointing at it, then at the jeans, he scratched at his head as he stood in the kitchen. Skinny dipping gone wrong, maybe? Gone right? He’d have company if that were the case, but it didn’t stop him from hoping.

He raised an eyebrow, only to start when the knocking began again. “Hold your fucking horses! Seriously, I’m coming.”

Dragging on a nearby pair of pants, he popped his head up in front of the peephole and took a look.

It was John. 

John Seed.

That couldn’t have been right. He rubbed at his eyes and peered through again. “The fuck?”

Nope, John was still there, arms crossed as he waited, and he checked his watch before going for the door. Knocking with a heavy hand, the door was almost rattling, and Sharky stepped back.

Something was up. Something that he couldn’t remember right off the bat, and if it put John of all people on his doorstep, it had to be serious.

But he hadn’t pissed off anyone bad enough to put a lawyer on his porch. Or had he? Maybe the F.A.N.G. Center was finally sick of taking his calls and decided to slap him for it. Or hell, his Moonflower disco party never had that many admirers. That could’ve gone south too.

Not remembering sucked, but it was a Tuesday. Probably found a way to piss off somebody in the county without even trying that much.

Yanking the door open, he regarded the man waiting on the other side with a bleary look. It was bright outside, the clear blue of the sky hurting his eyes as he blinked against it, and felt his headache start to pulse as he narrowed his eyes into a squint.

“Charlemagne Victor Boshaw.” The smile John wore was cold as he stared him down. “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

He scratched his head, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he waited for John to continue. When he didn’t and actually seeming to want some kind of feedback from him, he grunted out a short, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Well, I was afraid of that. Considering how impaired you were late last night, and considering the great lengths I had to go to keep you from drowning on my property, it seems it’s up to me to enlighten you on what exactly happened.”

Drowning?

He did remember water. Coughing out enough to make him feel a little sick on recalling it. The part before that, when he was whooping it up, and kissing the hell out of his date, was a lot nicer to focus on and he let his eyes slip shut as he leaned against the doorframe.

Yeah, that was much better. Better than the light searing into his eyes, and better than the asshole camped out on his doorstep.

“Boshaw.”

He cracked open an eye. Squinted right at John’s pinched, irritated face, and considered closing the door on him. “What?”

“You don’t understand the true extent of any of this, do you?”

“Nah, that’s what the whole enlightening thing’s for. Shit, Johnson, where the hell have you been?” he threw out, hating how the pounding in his head was only intensifying. “So if you could get the hell on with it, I could go back to spending my day how I want to. In bed, curled up and doing nothing, not out here listening to you tell me how I…” Sharky let the words trail off. “How I what now?”

“How you owe me,” John hissed, baring his teeth as the temperature in his tone dropped ten degrees and counting. “You. Owe. Me. For a boat. For a boathouse, and for an assortment of damages all tying back to your little alcohol-soaked ride through my property.” 

Saying each word through clenched teeth, John paused, drew in a breath through his nose as he closed his eyes, then settled back into the same smile he’d initially greeted him with. “Then when caught, you panicked, confessed, and forged an agreement with me to fix it. Is that ringing any bells now?”

“Look, look, look, I get it. This looks bad, right?” Sharky held up his hands, still coughing out leftover traces of water, and tried backing away from him. “Just let me say my piece, okay? Let me say it, and get it out there, and we can go back to-“

“Back to what?” John asked, his voice smooth as he stayed on him. “Back to the smoke? The fire? The wreck I bothered to drag you out of?”

“Yeah, yeah, all of that.”

“Oh, good. Because I’m still waiting. Still wondering why of all things, you haven’t given me a single reason at all not to do what anyone else would’ve already done in my position. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Tell me.”

“I, uh, I don’t know about-“

He snarled as he crossed the distance between them. “Tell me!”

Sharky paled.

Some of it was coming back in batches, none of it painting a good picture at all. And the longer he focused in on that period of time, the more he felt inclined to drop everything and book it towards the woods. At least then he’d have some kind of a fighting chance. John didn’t look like a runner, but if he did head after him he’d make sure to wing him with a branch or two along the way.

He wet his lips, and let out a long breath. “Okay, so say I did.”

“You did.”

“Okay, so…say I did all of it.”

“You did!” John repeated, his voice rising. “How can I make this any clearer to you? We are here to talk recompense. What you rightfully owe me for, and more importantly, what you’ve promised given the alternative. Or should I repeat myself, yet again, but this time using language that you’re guaranteed to understand?”

Now, Sharky had tried to ignore it before. Maybe even give him the benefit of the doubt, but he’d put up with his fair share of people talking down to him like an idiot, and like hell was John going to get in a shot as well.

“Yo, I was trying to be civil here. Civil and about as respectful as I can get seeing as I’m here, wearing actual pants, and listening to you spouting nothing but shit at me. And I get it! Something was broken that shouldn’t have been taken to begin with, but you’re talking deals that I don’t remember agreeing to, and I don’t like being told I’m a fucking moron on top of that!”

“Fine.” John pursed his lips, losing some of his anger, but not all of it. “You’ve made your point, and…maybe I did speak out of line.”

”You did. No maybes there, dude.”

“But that still doesn’t settle any of the business between us. So, here’s my offer. What I outlined to you last night, and to which you enthusiastically agreed to.”

Sharky bit back the knee-jerk response that he wanted to give, and crossed his arms. “So? Spit it out.”

“You will repair it. Rebuild the damaged boathouse with materials I will supply you with, and under my supervision. This will ensure that the work will be completed, done to my standards and specifications, and to also ensure no further damage will be done.”

“Your standards?”

“That’s correct,” John said, with a glint in his eye. “If it’s not to the quality I ask for, you will tear it down and start over. From scratch.”

“Hey, now. You back it the fuck up, cause last time I checked you’re not the fucking boss of me.”

“On the contrary. Yes, I am,” John replied, holding up his cell phone. “And If you don’t want any of this getting back to the local authorities, you will take this deal. Now listen closely, because there will be no second offer, and I’m already being generous.”

Keeping as calm as he possibly could, the voice on the phone outlined this in painstaking detail. Too much detail for a drunk man to take in and consider, but just enough for it to be played back to him while sober.

Including the last detail. One that had John’s expression settle into that of pure satisfaction.

“And you agree to do this? To-“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll do it. Whatever you want, building this shit up, building another big-ass boat to cart both you and your bullshit to fucking Aruba, I’ll do it. Just don’t send me to jail, man. Me and the po-po just don’t mix, and…shit, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything,” John repeated, ending the recording. “And looking at the damages done, the cost to avoid a sentence can be upwards of fifty-thousand dollars. That’s no small fee to have to shoulder, and unless you have that to give me, I think you’re better off taking this.”

He was fucked. Fucked beyond question, all because he’d had the piss-poor sense to believe Hurk’s boast that Sharky could commit Grand Theft Boat while sloshed just past his maximum.

Leading to the current dilemma.

Not wanting to go to jail was always at the top of his list. So was having the ability to light shit on fire. Going to jail interfered with both of those things directly, and as much as he could fight or run from it, John had two big things going for him.

One, he was a lawyer.

Two, he had money.

If he wanted to sink him, he’d send him straight down to the bottom of the ocean’s largest, deepest trench without any hesitation.  

Clenching his teeth, then unclenching them, the smile he gave him was more of a grimace. “Uh, so…about that whole helping shit.”

“Let’s establish some ground rules, shall we?”

He raised his chin as he gestured towards the door, and Sharky groaned. Stepping to the side to let him in, John stalked on past, and he nearly fell off the front step.

He was going to need a cigarette. 

Lots of them.

—

“This should be simple. Straightforward,” John told him as Sharky sat across from him with a cigarette and a roaring headache.

He was to be on the property two times a week.

Each time he would text him in advance making sure that John was available first, then once the time was agreed on, would expect him there promptly.

No work would be done alone. He would pick John up, then take him down to the boathouse to supervise. From there, he would work – some bare minimum that John rattled off, and he half-tuned out – and would drive John back up before heading out for the day.

And then would repeat it again, and again, and again until John was satisfied.

“So, as I said, simple. Easy enough for anyone to follow,” John stated, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

Already on cigarette number two, Sharky let his head sink into his hand. Passed on enough of a response to satisfy John for now, and had to agree to an actual starting date to even get him out of the door.

He was on cigarette number five when he called up Hurk. Spent a good ten minutes trying to get some kind of answers out of him about the rest of the night while also yelling about the shit he’d royally stepped in by messing with John to begin with.

But Hurk talked him down. Helped him to see this for what it was.

One, not a jail sentence. He could still get out of this, even if it looked like John had all but boxed him into doing a shit-ton of labor for free.

Two, he’d done enough odd jobs to be able to swing this. Had built and burnt down a million sheds in his lifetime, so what was building another one going to hurt?

And three, if all else failed, Hurk was set and ready to see about lighting up another part of John’s place just to give him a means of escape. What was a bro if not the kind ready to throw himself into the line of danger so his cousin could exit stage left?

He could give him that. Even if more fire wasn’t the solution to the problem for once. Much as he needed it, loved it, it wasn’t going to get him out of this.

Sighing heavily, he let Hurk go and went back to bed.

The next day, however, he pulled his shit together and readied himself for what was going to be the beginning of a very long and painful process.

John’s specific list of guidelines chafed, bad, like a pair of jeans that were just the wrong side of too tight, but he couldn’t take them off or return them. He just had to deal, and hope that sitting down or bending over wouldn’t lead to the kind of blowout he’d get run out or yelled at over.

So, he played by the rules. Hated every second of it as he jabbed at his phone and gave John the shortest messages he could manage. Then picked him up and tried to grin and bear it as John tapped at his watch while giving his ride the hairy eyeball, and Sharky proceeded to take them both down to the boathouse.

Seeing it during the day painted the whole thing in a different light. From what he’d relayed to Hurk in a delirious call the night of the accident there had been a whole hell of a lot of smoke and fire. Boatloads - pun intended - as he took in the charred shell of the building.

Guess that extra fuel Hurk told him he’d jacked but didn’t toss did more harm than good. Who knew what he’d planned on using it for, but he was lucky he hadn’t been toast himself.

That did mean his work was cut out for him, however. Tearing the whole thing down and rebuilding it was going to be a pain, and John guided him over to the picnic table nearby to go over the blueprints he’d brought from his house.

Spread out, he followed the dimensions outlined, and where he would need to start once the foundation was set. It didn’t seem that complicated. Yeah, it was going to be intense, but wouldn’t be impossible.

Now, his version of things allowed for some leeway. That would help to speed things up along the way, but that was where John came in. He said that there would be no ‘cutting corners’ and ‘eyeballing it’ like he was sure Sharky might do.

“This requires care. Precision. Delicacy.”

John kept on going, rattling off a few more things he was in need of here, and Sharky barely held off from pretending to jerk off in the middle of it. But John eventually cut him loose, telling him to get a feel for the area, and pointed him towards the boathouse.

It had been calling to him, in a way, and he let curiosity finally guide him there.

Walking inside, Sharky let out a low whistle.

He’d done a real number on it. Sidestepping the remains of the support beam overhead, he peeked up at the blue sky above him, and took in the blackened wood and ruined equipment. Trying to play guess who with the burned odds and ends was looking to be a game for another day, but while some parts of the building were well past trashed, other items were surprisingly okay.

Like the photographs hanging on the walls.

Both focused on nature – and he liked nature shit; skulls, antlers, pictures, the whole nine yards – but the fish on display didn’t look like they’d been caught. Not by John, or by any of his family, and they felt more out of place than anything else.

At least that’s what he thought until he turned, and saw it. Saw the big, beautiful, borderline majestic fish hanging on the wall, and burst out laughing.

He was still laughing when John finally joined him. “What could be so-“ John’s voice trailed off, and the resigned groan that followed only made him laugh harder.

Swiping at his eyes to wipe the tears away, Sharky framed the singing fish with his hands. “Big Mouth Billy is hanging right on your wall. Here. On your wall.”

“And?”

“And? Dude, that’s like the best shit ever! I haven’t seen one of these since I was like this tall,” Sharky said, holding his hand to his knee. “Like, I thought they’d stopped selling them.”

“They should’ve.”

“But they didn’t, and that’s pretty damn great if I may say so myself. You’ve gotta tell me who gave you this to begin with. Broseph?”

John sighed, his mouth twisting as he remained silent.

“Ol’ Jake-n-bake then? Dude’s pretty serious, but maybe he gave you this to be nice. Or funny. Shit, maybe both.”

“You had it right the first time,” he admitted, eyeing first him, then it with distaste.

Joseph Seed’s doing? The thought of that made a wide grin break out on his face. “Well, shit. Guess I need to thank him then. Otherwise, I think it’d get pretty lonely out here.”

“What?”

“Well, you’re not gonna sit there and talk my ear off the whole time, so I was thinking I’d need to start talking to myself just to make shit interesting, but Bill here’ll be a fucking hoot once you get him started.”

The offended look that crossed John’s face shifted straight to horror when Sharky waved his hand in front of the fish’s sensor. To his delight, it sprang to life, singing enthusiastically, and when Sharky joined in, John visibly clenched his teeth.

“Still works too! Come on, it’s catchy.”

Picking up on the tune only to mangle it further, John kept on staring at him the entire time. Through one full cycle of it as Sharky snapped his fingers, through a few of his claps, and through at least one hop.

Still, nothing. “Seriously? Feeling none of the magic of that little guy?” Sharky shook his head, giving him a disappointed glance. “Shit, better go one more round to be sure. Maybe that’ll help, and you can join in whenever you like.”

John turned on his heel and promptly left.

Eyeing the bass, he gave one of its fins a small fistbump, only to nearly knock it off of the wall.

Maybe he’d be able to get through this after all.

—

It took two and a half days to tear the old boathouse down.

John hadn’t lied when he mentioned wanting him to get in there and take it apart piece by piece, and hovered over him the entire time.

The whole monitoring bit was easily the part that annoyed him the most. Like he was waiting for him to screw up. To somehow find a way to take the already burnt building and set it on fire again through force of will alone. Which, while badass, was well out of his means. All that wishing and praying to monkey Jesus aside.

But that didn’t stop John from acting like he had the ability. Riding him further during smoke breaks, or keep him from barking order after order from the sidelines.

Every other word out of his mouth was a correction. To tell him to go back to read the blueprints again. To check his measurements. To put out that cigarette, pry out that misplaced nail, and to use some of that delicacy he kept on going back to, making Sharky’s eyes want to roll back into his head.

And music? The one time he’d tried to bring any levity to the situation with the soothing sounds of disco, John put an end to it immediately. Really just made it clear how much of a drag he wanted to be, and only wanted to push the point home.

Seeing as John was some big-shot lawyer, he really expected him to have more to do than nitpick and lord this whole thing over him. Like he’d stick around for a few weeks, use the time to get off on whatever power trip he was having over this, and then go back to bugging the department, the local businesses, Nick, shit, anyone.

But John Seed was also petty as fuck.

Local gossip hadn’t painted the guy as a kind or forgiving figure, and while the Seeds as a whole were alright at best and fucking weird at worst, over the past couple of years John had picked up a rep as a colossal asshole all on his own.

Tickets? Contested. Special orders down at the store or for parts? Made with specific instructions that needed to be followed to the letter? He’d demand and get his money back, damning everyone with the fine print others would skim over.

Hell, Sid, one of the guys that worked down at the cattle ranch, had traded paint with him once. He’d done so while stopping at the general store, and hadn’t paid much mind to the fancy car parked in the lot, getting just close enough to leave a small scuff on the rear bumper.

In those cases a person would trade numbers, or see what they could buff off before moving on, cause insurance claims were a pain in the ass, and half of the cars in the county were a little late on renewing registrations anyway. Shit, he was coming up on a year, and hoping to see how much longer he could go before any of the Deps cottoned on to it.

But no, the minute John caught on, Sid recalled the glint he got in his eye. Then told him he’d slap him with the largest fine possible for both the damage and the late reg.  All over trading paint. Not major damage, not even a busted tire.

Just paint.

Sid was still spitting mad about it, months after the fact.

He’d even pulled a fast one when it came to setting up big bro Joe’s compound. Digging up some obscure property laws all but guaranteeing the land could be sold to them.

No, no one earned the title of mega-dick by being sweet and accommodating. His bro had smoothed over a lot of ruffled feathers by being pretty okay after that, even with all of the converts chilling the fuck out on his property, but John was still John.

And now he personally had that shit to deal with. Today, two days from now, and who knew how many weeks or months after that.

So much for those chicks wanting and keeping his number too. They’d placed it into his phone on the way back to the launch, but when he’d tried to call them back the other day he got no answer. Ghosted him like it was nothing, and he guessed he deserved that.

What with getting himself caught and left to doing whatever the hell John wanted for as long as John wanted.

“As per our agreement,” John would remind him, whenever he felt the point needed pushing.

And he pushed.

Whenever Sharky would drop something, whenever he let his feet drag, whenever he cut something and John was ready to whip out his tape measure.

He pushed, and Sharky shot another prayer up to monkey Jesus, hoping that maybe this would be the day to go Human Torch on the situation. Or at the very least a little Cyclops.

Not today, but he’d try again tomorrow.

But on the days when Sharky was working, it wasn’t always just the two of them. He’d full on expected this whole thing to go on in its own little pocket, with Hurk eventually crashing the party due to a need to bust him out or worse.

The day that Joseph first showed up stood out, for one.  

Joseph Seed was kind of like Pastor Jerome. Not his first pick to hang out with, considering they were both on opposite sides here. Of the whole preaching and managing earthly temptations, while not super indulging in the kind of shit that he knew he wanted in his life, period.

It came with the territory, being religious leaders and all that, but when Joseph rolled in to the county, he’d brought his people with him.

And they were an interesting bunch. The People of Eden’s Gate, some kind of holistic commune where it was pretty hunky dory roughly ninety percent of the time. The other ten percent was wondering just what to do about the men and women that wanted the simple life. Living humbly while offering help wherever needed.

While their hearts were in the right place, it was pretty boring stuff otherwise, Sharky decided. He’d even considered joining up for the hell of it only until Hurk reminded him that there wasn’t much fucking to be found there. Pretty women, sure, but the kind more focused on spirituality, and less on how many ways they could Clutch Nixon-ify their daily lives.

But Joseph on his own was a different story.

Watching John go from calmly sipping his drink, doubling-down on just how refreshing it was when Sharky happened to push the wheelbarrow past him, to spitting half of it out when Joseph materialized next to him was fucking priceless.

Greeting him warmly, Joseph pulled a sputtering John into a kind-of half-hug gesture, but John’s cool had already been lost, and in front of his entourage too.

Joe’s wife was with him, plus kiddo number one of a baker’s dozen, carrying them up and on her hip as they talked. With them was also a woman dressed in the modest clothes the Peggies stuck to. She wasn’t trying to stand out, but he didn’t need sharp eyes to see how damn pretty she was.

It had to have been a brother thing, Sharky gathered. Embarrassing the shit out of younger siblings seemed almost natural to Joseph, and it might’ve been petty of him too, but watching John try to get his shit back in line in front of all of them was like hitting the jackpot.

So, Sharky kept on working, sneaking looks over at the group every now and then, and at one point gave an awkward wave back whenever they tried acknowledging him. But whenever John glanced his way, Sharky didn’t hide his shit-eating grin. No, it stayed put for the rest of the day.

The next time Joseph came over, however, he didn’t stop by just to say hi.  He approached  Sharky, ignoring John’s loud protests, and insisted on helping.

He’d get water, and help with any items that needed anchoring, stepping in whenever it looked like Sharky needed another hand. It was the most contact he’d had with the guy outside of the times he’d tried preaching at the Eagle, and outside of that? He was actually pretty okay to be around.

Well, he personally didn’t have a problem with Joe, at least. John’s irritation skyrocketed with every suggestion, especially when Joe did the impossible. Told him that with a three-person job, you needed three people, and John? John was capable.

“You sure are,” Sharky added, giving him a wicked grin, and John looked mad enough to spit. 

But he didn’t say no. Didn’t even try, or attempt it.

Did more than his fair share under the loving supervision of his older bro, and come nightfall, Sharky realized he’d had a damn good day. It was the lightest he’d felt in weeks, and wasn’t about to turn that down. Not when it helped him jump back into things with some extra pep, and the progress was a boost too.

With the actual frame up and the panels and exterior being added piece by piece, Sharky was starting to feel pretty accomplished. Proud even, because he built this. Yeah, he was being needled at every step of it, but he used his own two hands to get this set up, no one else’s, and at the end of the day could actually see more of this coming together.

If he kept this up, he’d also have some extra skills to add to his repertoire. Might even get a chance to twist Hurk’s arm into trying out that whole ‘building and flipping’ thing that seemed to be hot at the moment, provided he wasn’t here for the next ten years.

But goals. He had goals to build to and something to show for it, and it was pretty damn nice in the grand scheme of things.

Today, however, John had a guest again. The same Peggie woman as before, holding a basket, flanked by a few other converts.

Full on expecting to see Joe with her, Sharky wondered if he was waiting out in the woods again. Hell, even John was checking the path back up to his house, looking past her every now and then to see if he’d catch him.

But as the minutes ticked by, and Sharky kept on working, nothing happened. And long after the others had traveled back up towards the house, the two kept on talking, having what seemed to be a hell of a time going off of the signals they were giving off.

Smiling, laughing. Facing each other directly as they spoke, Sharky had John’s back to him almost completely, which had his eyebrows climbing up.

And judging by the way she was reacting to John in turn, he had to have been turning on the charm. Smiling shyly, twirling her hair around her finger, hell, he’d put money on her being a two-word question away from dropping everything to get a piece of that.

It was annoying as fuck, really. Dry spell or not, watching John pull it off with minimal effort sucked.

Sure, he had a lot of things working for him. The guy was loaded, for one. Had more than enough money to net himself a fancy car, his large-ass ranch, and a plane. He’d also had a boat up until Sharky had wrecked it, but that was beside the point. Man had more money than sense, and worked the slick lawyer angle for all it was worth. He’d listened in on enough convos to know just how many women in the county dug it. Shit, men too.

Plus the whole property on the water was a real panty dropper. At least going off of what his Auntie had said shortly after John had first bought it, gossiping with Sharky about the costs and expenses that came with it.

Then promptly turned the talk on its head by launching directly into talking about John’s ass instead. His drink hadn’t stayed in his mouth for long, and she’d dropped her forlorn sighing long enough to tell him not to stain the carpet.

That he had to hear and think about John’s ass at all wasn’t fucking fair, especially since he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t that much of a draw to begin with. He’d checked.

Whenever his back was turned, he’d sneak a look to see what the deal was only to be disappointed. Better asses were walking around Hope County right this moment, his included, but good luck trying to argue that with her. Or even get three words in edgewise before wanting to slap some sense into himself.

Besides, John’s eyes were better. Hands down, Sharky knew they’d been his ticket to pound town on more than one occasion, needing only to flash them and say a few fancy words to seal any kind of deal.

Dropping the wood onto the ground, he crouched down low. Stared at the wood grain of the plank to clear his mind a little before shifting his attention back towards John.

Shit, were they still talking?

He rolled his eyes. Whatever John was saying couldn’t have been that good, and any joke? Nowhere near funny enough to get a giggle like that.

At that time, John turned, giving him a look over his shoulder as Sharky became well aware of two sets of eyes on him. The woman for one, and the pretty boy lawyer that had been eating up every last shred of her attention until now.

A cross between smug and expectant, John gestured towards him.

Well?

Sharky knew three ways to tell someone to get fucked, but picked the least subtle one just in case.

Shocked for a second, John closed his mouth. But soon after, he pressed a hand to his chest, looking hurt. It was pretty convincing, making Sharky feel for a moment that he’d done something shitty like kicked a puppy.

Shame it didn’t reach his eyes. Or match the sharp smile that crept in.

“Smug-ass, smirking fuckface,” Sharky muttered, throwing the wooden plank to the side.

But not even that stuck around either. No, he flashed his pearly whites at the woman with him too, making her melt right in front of them.

Salt in the motherfucking wound. That’s what it all was, but lucky for him he only had a few more hours left to go. Then he could go home, get in a kickass shower and see what Hurk was doing.

Standing up, he wiped his face down with his handkerchief. If this had been anytime during the summer he would’ve been dying, but at least the weather was working in his favor. The breeze took the edge off just enough, and he closed his eyes for a few seconds to soak it all in.

“Oh, Charlemagne?”

Grating right on his ears, the pitch John used never failed to make him want to grind his teeth together. That, and saying his name. Kept on doing that well after being told he could call him Sharky. Shit, even his grandma used it sparingly.

“What?”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing over there-“ John froze, and all smugness vanished.

That put him on edge. “Yo, you wanna expand on that, amigo?”

Slowly turning around, Sharky caught the small creature on the ground and felt every hair on him stand on end. Black and white, and assuming the posture any pissed off animal would, it stood tall for its small size with its tail up, ready and aiming right at him.

Skunks, though, had never liked him. Guess he’d earned that after the whole kissing one bit. So, staring down what he was sure had to be some distant relative out for revenge, he did what came naturally.

Yelled. Loudly, and might’ve sealed his fate right then and there.

Hit, but not in the eyes – thank Hurk’s monkey Jesus for that – he sprinted down towards the river and dove right in.

Grabbing his cap, he kept it in hand as he bobbed back up to the surface. The smell hit as he gulped down air, and he furiously paddled away from the shore when he realized he’d been followed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

This was fucking bonkers, and it was only getting worse.

Could skunks swim? Did they have a sense for it, or was he getting played by the only one able to? Was this the moment some poor guy was going to have to act out in the movie about his life? Swimming out, smelling to high heaven as a rich asshole laughed it up from the shore?

Fuck, he hoped to hell not, cause he’d lived an okay life up ‘til now. And having that be the moment he’d be known for immortalized up on the silver screen was just lousy at best.

Looking back, he watched as the skunk gave him the evil eye for a minute, pacing back and forth as it thought about shooting at him again. Little fucker wasn’t done yet, but couldn’t fire another round off from where it was.  

John on the other hand, was watching the whole thing develop from a distance. He hadn’t taken off, but wasn’t laughing like he thought he would either. If anything, his gaze was sharp as he aimed it over at the skunk camping him out, and kept it set in place as he approached the boathouse.

Whatever the hell he had in mind, Sharky hoped he’d do it, and do it fast.

Shit, if he ended up zapped too, that’d also make his week, but for now he needed to keep swimming, and tried to see if he could make his way back towards land. His arms and legs weren’t tired, but the water wasn’t getting any warmer, and this was more of a workout than he’d planned for.

The skunk did not let up, following his drift.

“Seriously? Don’t you got something better to get up to?”

No, it didn’t, and he paddled harder hoping to get some kind of a lead on it. Kicked enough with the intent of making a break for it as soon as he hit land.

Maybe he could shimmy up a tree? Nah, he’d be a sitting duck, worse off there than here. Get back to his car on the way? His keys were swimming in his pocket right now, along with-

Aw, dammit. There went that phone. Sputtering into the water, he coughed around the word that would’ve come out otherwise, then gave it up to keep on swimming.

On the edge of the shore, he dragged himself up and out and booked it. Didn’t see anything waiting for him, but didn’t waste time either. Just hit the nearest patch of tall bushes and stayed low.

Waiting was the worst part. Waiting, listening, and trying not to make too much noise on his end. Every branch, twig, and leaf was the enemy now, and he wasn’t about to let that skunk get the drop on him again.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

Loud squeaking sounded off in the distance, and he poked his head out from the bush.

Scanning left and right, Sharky checked for black and white. That and movement. When neither seemed to be present, he pushed his way forward and stepped out into the open.

Letting out a slow breath, he shook his hat out and slipped it back on. Then took in a tentative sniff as he raised his arm. The smell hung around him like a cloud, and getting a bigger whiff of it only made him want to gag.

Peeling the shirt off, he wrung it out, and gave it a smell as well. Now that made his eyes water. With his luck his jeans were just as bad, and he didn’t bother checking. Just pulled them off to get some of the water out of them too, and resigned himself to drip drying the rest of the day outdoors.

“Charlemagne? You can come out now!”

John. Guess he’d found a way to deal with it after all.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Ugh, fucker. Took him long enough.” Groaning to himself, he slung his wet clothes over his shoulder and started heading towards the clearing. 

“Well, there you…are?” John gave him a quick once over as he walked past, and pursed his lips. “Hmm.”

The woman with him didn’t even try to make eye contact. Just kept her attention directed elsewhere, her cheeks tinted red.

Great. Not that he was trying, but his odds of getting even a pity look in passing had all but tanked. “Yo, I don’t wanna know what you did, but after that? My bullshit meter’s maxed, so fuck off.”

Prying his keys out of his pocket, Sharky unlocked the truck of his car and threw the clothes into the back of it. Between the gas cans and propane tanks he’d thrown back there often enough, skunk wasn’t going to add much to the smell in there.

“Fuck off? That’s not very kind all things considering.”

The trunk dropped, and he might’ve used more force than necessary. “Kind?”

“Not even a thank you?” John eyed him from a distance, smug, but only for a second. “After chasing off your little tormentor? Such a shame, really.”

“That I ain’t feeling, what? Warm gratitude towards you right now? Like happy and fuzzy shit?”

John scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Cause you’re making a whole lot of noise for nothing, and I wouldn’t be out here busting my ass at all without you to begin with.”

“Oh, my dear Charlemagne.” He watched as John withdrew a blue handkerchief from his jean pocket, and held it up to his face to cover his nose. “I’m hardly the one at fault here.”

His patience snapped like a brittle twig. Rattling off words as fast as they came to him, he scraped for the bottom, tried actively to come up with the most out of bounds targeted insults he could conjure up just to see if he could wipe what he was sure was a smirk right off of John’s face.

Then nearly crashed into the woman who had stepped into his path. Making full-on eye contact now, she gave him a hesitant, but soft smile. “I think this might help.”

In her hands was a towel. A nice, fluffy one, and she held it out towards him.

The anger drained out of him as he stared at her. Almost as if someone took an ice bucket and dumped it right over his shoulders.

Gingerly taking it, he let it dangle in the air between them. “Uh, thanks?”

“Of course. For anyone in need, and you certainly seemed to be. Considering your lack of…clothing in general right now.”

Still had the underwear on, at least. Blushing five different shades of red, he quickly wrapped the towel around himself.  “Yeah, um, thank you again miss.”

She nodded, and headed back towards John. “We’ll be heading out, but can we expect you at mass later tonight?”

John lowered the handkerchief just enough for Sharky to catch the frown. “If work allows it. There’s still a lot left to do here, but you can let Joseph know I’ll try.”

Sharky pulled up a corner of the towel to wipe his face, no longer able to hear much of what was traded between them. Lady hadn’t even flinched at the smell up close, and the towel was a nice one. Nicer than any of the kind he had at home, and must’ve been in the basket she had with her.

Yeah, got that pity look after all. Great.

Staring down at his feet, he removed his cap to run a hand through his hair. The hushed voices behind him eventually stopped, and by the time John walked over he’d switched to looking out over the water.

“That was interesting.”

“Sure,” Sharky said, tired of arguing with John.

“And there went our progress for the afternoon. At least the morning wasn’t a complete waste, but our guest derailed us thoroughly. And I don’t believe you have a change of clothes, do you?”

Sharky rubbed his shoulder, and felt it twinge in response as he moved it. He badly needed a cigarette, and was desperate enough to see how many times it’d take for a wet one to actually light.

“Do you?”

“Look, I get what you’re asking. And no, I’d have-“ John raised the handkerchief again, and the words died in his mouth. “You know what? Forget it. And if you’re looking to avoid this shit, don’t stand downwind of it. Basic Scouting 101 right there.”

Sharky whipped the towel off and threw it at him. 

John snatched it out of the air, keeping it from smacking him in the face. “Leaving?”

Not bothering to check behind him as he approached his car, Sharky flashed him the finger.

“You can take this with you, you know.”

That John didn’t take the bait, or fight him on it, only irritated him further. He also seemed to be following him, and Sharky scowled at him. “Don’t need it.”

John sighed, and put away the cloth. “Charlemagne, it’s a towel, and you’re still soaking wet.”

“And maybe I want the draft to help dry the swamp ass brewing here, okay?” he shot, climbing in behind the wheel. “And if you wanna give me shit for cutting out early, tack on more hours as a penalty, whatever, I’ll deal with that next time. The time after, hell, as long as it doesn’t mean I’m still standing here talking any of this shit with you. That work?”

The thin line John had pressed his lips into told him otherwise, but he said nothing. Just crossed his arms before holding out the towel to him one last time.

Sharky hit the gas and didn’t look back.

—

It hadn’t been his best moment.

Drenched, nearly buck-ass naked behind the wheel, and feeling his underwear starting to chafe, he knew he hadn’t made the best choice. Maybe it’d been the fumes, maybe it’d been the embarrassment, but he’d had it, and he needed to clear out fast.

Luckily he always had a spare set of underwear on hand– seriously, an extra pair was not a thing to overlook in an emergency– but that philosophy had never extended towards actual clothes, leaving him in a dicier spot than normal.

Because heading home, pissed off, and speeding didn’t do him any favors. Especially not when one of the Deputies pulled him over only to ask what the hell he was doing. Deputy Rook hadn’t really busted his chops too many times before, but he didn’t have high hopes heading into it.

Full-on expecting a public indecency charge, he’d launched right into the story only for her to catch some of the eau de skunk he was still wearing. Wrinkling her nose, she’d waved him off, told him to get right back to fixing that problem, and she’d see about forgetting this ever happened.

Not that he’d flashed her or anything, but she kept her eyes on his face the entire time and refused to lower them.

And when she let him drive off, he doubled down on that pledge to at least pack a spare pair of jeans.

When tomorrow hit, he reset everything. Decided to take on this new day and start from scratch all while scrubbing himself off furiously, because the previous one blew from hell and back, and he wasn’t going to finish any of this without a clear head.

And much as he didn’t like to admit it, John hadn’t gone out of his way to make things worse for him. Not directly, so he let part of the mental grudge he’d been nursing go.

With Hurk’s help he snagged a replacement phone, pulling strings Sharky didn’t need to know the finer details of, and when his next time out was due, he went back, ready to dive into the old routine again.

Not bullshit-free, but at the very least skunk-free.

And the bullshit-free end of things was tested almost immediately when John all but threw him into the waiting arms of Joseph’s people. He’d volunteered to help too, but didn’t ask, simply relayed this to him all while being guided towards a set of trucks. Filled with the ‘essentials’ they were to be taken to the compound, off-loaded, then brought back.

While any danger sense he had would’ve gone off in any other situation than this, he hadn’t been too pissed about it. Joseph hadn’t hesitated to help him before, and he wasn’t about to forget what the woman from last time had done for him, and kicked himself repeatedly for not managing to get her name. Yeah, he’d been embarrassed as fuck, covered in skunk funk, and standing in his underwear, but he’d dropped the ball on that one, and hoped he’d have a chance to meet her again later on.

As morning turned into the afternoon, and more items were hefted onto the trucks to move, he lost track of time, focusing only on what he could grab, pass, and carry. He’d even lost track of John, seeing no sign of blue anywhere in the tide of white and beige, figuring he’d find him when he needed him, and was eventually proven right when he’d stepped out for a small break.

Tapping him twice on the shoulder, John gestured back towards the cars out front, signaling he was free to go, he gladly took it. And when John mentioned staying behind to finish up, he blinked at him for a good minute before double-timing it out of there. Opportunities like this weren’t to be passed up, and he left before John decided to change his mind after all.

Winded, but not really feeling it yet, he figured he still had a good half a day to go before really needing to tap out, and could burn off the rest while getting more of the boathouse’s roof down.

But when he reached the spot down there, taking a decent drag of his cigarette as he relaxed, he took the moment for what it was. A break. A moment where he didn’t have a microscope on him for once, and the tension bled right out.

Suddenly beat, he sat himself down on the ground by the boathouse. Flopped down onto his back as soon as he’d finished off his cigarette, and looked up into the sky. Clear and blue, it was about as gorgeous of a day as it could get for early fall around there, and he tugged his cap down to cover his eyes.

Just for a sec. He’d earned it.

The water helped drag him along towards it. To that peaceful place where he didn’t have to worry about much for once.  

Delightful, isn’t it?

He smiled as the breeze blew by, feeling it pull him that much closer to sleep.

Isn’t it just so? Too peaceful, almost. Calm. Quiet, the voice from the dream said, pleasant to listen to itself. A shame, really.

He frowned. Why?

Because wouldn’t it be better spent on the river? On the water? On a boat?

“Yeah. Hell, yeah,” he murmured.  

Speeding along. Leaning into the wind as it whips around you. Just…perfect.

Perfect.

I’m glad you agree. But it wouldn’t be on just any boat. No, but the rather expensive one that you so happened to smash directly into my boathouse.

Sharky tensed.

“Which you should be working on right this very instant, if memory serves me right.”

Slapping the brim of his hat in his panic, it flew up and off of his head. John was crouched down next to him, blue sunglasses down over his eyes, and wearing a smile that showed too many teeth to be friendly. 

Frozen in place, both stared the other down as the seconds ticked by, and Sharky couldn’t kick his brain in the ass enough to get it to respond. No, it seemed set on adding its own running commentary to this, all of which he was worried would spill out the moment he opened his mouth.

“Uh, yo.”

“Yo,” John replied, dropping the smile altogether. “Enjoying the break?”

“Well, I was. Actually.” John’s eyes narrowed, and Sharky swallowed hard. Felt his head bob as he tried to get past the haze the nap had put him in. “Got a little tired, and figured I’d rest some of it off, but…”

“But what?”

Sharky watched John’s teeth come out again in that odd non-smile of his, and forced his attention back up to his eyes instead. “Uhh…”

Blue on blue, the lenses of his sunglasses covered his eyes but didn’t conceal them completely.

That left Sharky wondering how the hell he’d managed to get the shade that close to begin with. It wasn’t a perfect match, but no one was going to split hairs over a color pretty as that being a compromise. At least he wouldn’t, but he wasn’t John, or trying to color match like John, and different strokes for different folks, he guessed, but there was no need to be so damn-

John cleared his throat. “Well?”

Shit. Losing it twice in less than five minutes? Maybe he really did need the shut-eye after all.

“Ah, fuck. But I guess it’s over now,” Sharky said, shaking the last of the haze off, “and I don’t see any reason to keep on dragging this shit out any longer than I have to, so…”

He clambered up, breathing in deep as he did, and swiped a hand at his forehead. It hadn’t been a quick hop and a skip up, but the weird floating feeling that came with it, didn’t help much.

Not bothering to look back at John as he shadowed him, he grabbed for one of the boards sitting on the grass, and dragged it up. Setting it on his shoulder, it bobbed like an off-balance seesaw until he was able to steady it enough to walk with.

After that, it was only a matter of taking it over to the ladder and carrying it up. Simple.

“Are you sure you have a handle on this?”

Tossing the board on the ground, he reached for the ladder. “What? Johnny Law’s worried for once?” He was on the second rung before he glanced back, and whistled at the strength of John’s glare. “Damn. That bad, huh? Guess I’d better start praying then. Maybe ol’ Joe could give me a few pointers. Give me some of that higher learning you all love so- fuck!”

The next step should’ve connected. In some ways he was glad it didn’t, because any higher and he would’ve been nursing a broken neck and not what he was thinking was shaping up to be a broken ass. 

Groaning into the grass, he heard rushed footsteps as John ran over to him. “Tell Joe I’m sorry,” he wheezed. “I take it all back. Just in case he’s got some way of putting the holy god-fearing evil eye on me, cause I did not like that one bit.”

John was definitely worried now, looking a lot more concerned than he would’ve given him credit for as he crouched down next to him. “I’ll let you do that yourself. Provided you can get back up from this.”

Placing a hand on his shoulder, he examined him closely. Narrowed his eyes as he checked for whatever the hell kind of injury he was expecting, and Sharky cleared his throat.

“What?” John snapped.

“Yo, uh. Don’t think you’re going to see much up topside. Cause in case you were wondering, I’m clenching the thing that’s smarting the most.”

Following his thread, John checked. Actually looked over at where his hands had moved to, both resting right over his ass, and he almost couldn’t believe it. So, he did what any other guy in his position would do. Took the shot.

Curling his hand into okay sign, he moved it close enough to his balls to count, and struggled not to go into a coughing fit. “Made you look.”

It took a second to click, but the dawning realization of what John was looking at exactly was priceless. Spinning back on him, he didn’t waste time on being irritated. Just went straight to pissed and didn’t look back.

“What the hell were you thinking?” John asked through clenched teeth.

“That I had this? Put one foot up, then two.” Pushing himself up so he could sit, Sharky sucked in a breath. “Least I thought I did.”

“Oh, did you? Get up.” He reached for his arm, and pulled him bodily to his feet.

The pain faded to a dull throbbing, telling him he was okay enough to move around at least, but balance? He found his mostly shot as he rocked, leaning on John only long enough to take a tentative step towards the picnic table nearby.

Feeling John’s eyes burning a hole into his back, Sharky kept on going. Didn’t think John was going to let him get far without saying anything else, but as he hobbled over to the spot he had to check over his shoulder. To see what exactly his deal was if he wasn’t going to keep on yelling at him, only to find him watching closely.

“Yo, don’t make it weird.”

John’s eyes flicked up to his. “You would be the one doing that.”

“Not that I’m not…I mean, that shot to my moneymaker was pretty bad, but it ain’t broke, so I don’t think it’ll need any fixing.” Considering it briefly, he shrugged. “Not that I guess I mind you looking much, seeing as it’s-“

“I wasn’t,” John replied, unamused. Crossing his arms, he glanced skyward and sighed. “But maybe you had the right idea to begin with.”

“Right idea with what?”

“The resting part. Not…whatever this is supposed to be.” John eyed him skeptically as he walked up next to him, and held out his hand. “Let me see your keys.”

“Why?”

“You’re exhausted. More than you’re willing to admit to after helping Joseph and working down here. So, I propose a break. Not down here, but up at the ranch instead. There’s water, better seats available, and if you do end up needing some form of treatment, an actual first aid kit.”

“Like I said, it’s not exactly busted. And I really don’t think you wanna-”

“And alcohol.”

Sharky’s eyes lit up. “For real?” John nodded, and Sharky immediately started fishing for his keys.  

“Ah, ah,” John said, wagging his finger at him. “Only if you hand them over first. I’d rather not add loss of life or limb to the things you would need to compensate me for if we end up crashing, so I don’t want you anywhere near the wheel.“

“Dude, if I’m dead I can’t pay you back for shit. Hell, if we’re both dead, that debt’s pretty much kaput.”

“Exactly,” John stated, “and precisely why I should be the one driving us there, not you, so if you could?”

Staring down at his open palm, Sharky frowned. Checked the keys clenched in his fist, and weighed his options.

Sighing again, John gave him a look. “Sometime today.”

The beer won out. “Eh, fuck it.”

He placed the keys in John’s hand, and in exchange earned something he didn’t expect. A smile.  

—

It actually didn’t bother him all that much. Being chauffeured around by John was an idea he wouldn’t have come up with in a thousand years, but watching him struggle to get into his car and figure it out was funny enough on its own before he even got around to starting it.

His seat cover was a blanket, and there was a hole worn into the cushion just from age and use which John made a face at soon after sinking into it, but after cramming more of the blanket into the spot to get comfortable – a move he often did himself – he started the car.

The motor let out a loud whine. Wrinkling his nose, John threw a critical look Sharky’s way as he shrugged a shoulder back at him. Turning the key again, this time the car kicked to life, and John, to his credit, didn’t stall it when he pulled out.

The rest of the ride up wasn’t eventful, even when John skidded over the dirt due to the worn tires. Just corrected for it, tensing behind the wheel as Sharky casually talked him through it, and spent the last stretch of the trip telling him how the last time he’d done that the tire had blown.

“Seriously! Popped. Got me spinning and I nearly threw up by the time I stopped. It was pretty fucking awesome.”

John, however, didn’t seem to agree. Not by the way he’d gripped the wheel, and not with the look he shot him shortly after saying that.

So, when they pulled up to the hangar, he’d all but jumped out of the car. Stifling a laugh, Sharky followed, and couldn’t help but rub his hands together at the kind of stash John had to have waiting out here. Probably high-proof aged shit, the kind of stuff that was usually too rich for his blood and would’ve been charged just for looking at it.

But first? Those chairs set off to the side were calling his name, and he headed straight for them.

Setting himself down gently, Sharky didn’t care if he was half hanging out of it as he oozed down and adjusted. There was nothing left to do but focus on chilling, and he let his eyes slip closed as he did just that.

He heard humming. It wasn’t anything he recognized, but John kept up with it as he rummaged around nearby. Light little notes that were strange coming from him, but not bad to listen to.  

The sound drifted closer, becoming whistling, and Sharky glanced over at him from under the brim of his hat.

John pulled up the chair next to him and handed him a bottle. The rest of the six-pack he set down in the space between them. “I was going to give it to you on the way out, but it seems a waste to keep on waiting when now’s the perfect time.”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he said, cracking the beer open.

It wasn’t anything that he was familiar with, however, and after taking a drink of it, eyed the label. Smooth and with a coffee-taste chasing it, it wasn’t his usual combo by any means.

He took another drink, rolling it around in his mouth, and noticed John was watching him. His eyebrows had drawn together as he studied him, and Sharky tried not to choke down the rest of the mouthful before clearing his throat. “You, uh, wanna tell me what that means?”

“Hmm?” John tilted his head as the look intensified, but his eyes widened. “That wasn’t- it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. I was checking to see if you liked it, and clearly there’s something lacking.”

Fuck. Now he’d done it. “What? Nah, it’s all good, man. I’d never look a gift horse in the mouth, especially not with beer and shit, it’s just not what I’d buy. Not down at the Eagle when I’m three beers in and looking to get blasted fast, at least.”

John considered this for a few seconds and nodded. “I see.”

“And don’t go thinking I’m being ungrateful or nothing. Cause after a day like this, you want something to take the edge off right. This works. Well, that and, er, just…”

He didn’t think blurting out, ‘Man, just really getting fucked,’ was something worth sharing. Not with John at least, no matter how true it would’ve been. So, he let the sentence stay unfinished for a few while he tried to come up with another way to end it.

It wasn’t easy, and as Sharky idly scratched his goatee, he mostly gave up the fight. “You know. Just burning that shit off. Constructively.“

That got an eyebrow raise. “Constructively?”

“Yeah, constructively. Least that’s how I like my fucking to go.” John blinked at him, clearly waiting for him to explain further, and Sharky made his go-to gesture a little more suggestive just to mess around a bit. “Teamwork makes the dream work, am I right?”

That was a look he’d never think he’d get out of John. Ever. And ranking the others he’d been able to score so far that day, it shot straight to number one. “Ah.”

“But failing that, drinking works. And if you want one too, go right ahead. Sucks drinking alone anyway. Never been a fan of it before, and you won’t find me liking it now.”

He grabbed one of the bottles, holding it out to John directly.

Left blinking slowly at him, Sharky had to wiggle the bottle at him to break him out of the daze he’d settled into, but once he did, he held his hand up.

“No, that’s…I don’t drink. Not often at least. Not anymore.”

“No?” Sharky frowned, taking it back. “Not liking it? Needed a break from it? Like no judging or anything, you do you. Just curious is all.”

John thought it over, tapping his fingers against his thigh as he sat back in the chair. It almost seemed like he was going to drop it all together, but eventually broke the silence.

“Let’s say that drinking to excess was a habit that came easily to me when I was younger. It wasn’t easy to work my way back from it. Or even to cut it down to a level that was manageable, but I had help. And without that, there’s no telling what state I would be in right now.”

“But this…me drinking in front of you, that’s not bothering you any?”

He shook his head. “In limited numbers and in limited company I find no problem with it. Bars can make it complicated, but with the right people even that can be tuned out as well. I can focus on them and what they’re saying. Enjoying what they’re sharing with me instead of thinking about how fine the whiskey at the table nearby must be.”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, and tapped a finger against his lips.

“A shame, really. But it’s for the best.”

“Huh.” Sharky gave the label another once-over, and held it up. “Who picked this out then?”

“Why, I did. It was a gift. Handing that off to someone else, especially to either of my brothers, though I love them dearly, would’ve been unacceptable. Joseph has zero interest in alcohol, and Jacob is…straightforward with what he likes. There’s little nuance to it, and I suspect anything would do given the opportunity. So, lucky for you,” he said, smirking, “though I haven’t tried it, I still have an eye for taste.”

Sharky scrunched up his face mid-drink, showing John exactly what he thought of that.

John took one look at him, his puffed up cheeks rounding out a scowl, and laughed.

The sound made Sharky go into a coughing fit, pounding on his chest to clear it all out. All while John continued, holding a hand over his mouth as it tapered off into a soft chuckle.

“Not cool, man. Not fucking cool,” Sharky rasped, downing more liquid to help soothe his throat.

“Me? I’m not the one at fault here. In fact, I think you were about to disagree with me.”

“Whatever. So, how’d you get it?”

He raised the bottle in the direction of the plane. From what he could see of it under the edge of the tarp, it was pretty slick, like something out of an old World War II movie, and John’s eyes followed him to it.

“Affirmation?”

“Affirm-what?” Sharky gave him a look. “Seriously? You into the power of positive thinking, or something?”

“…The name does have importance to me, yes,” John said, quickly following up the statement with, “but the story’s a little long-winded. And I don’t think you want to hear me talk on and on, for the sake of talking, to begin with.”

He looked uncomfortable. More so than Sharky’d seen him yet, and Sharky got the impression it was a touchy subject.

“I don’t know. Could be some pretty neat shit. The plane, that is. Better if it’s an older one too, cause it might’ve been in some real dogfights. …But that’s the kind of thing that gets you ghosts, and hauntings, and all sorts of weird events like the kind they document only to leave a bunch of VHS tapes behind. Which I’m down for any of that, but you need a camcorder and I roasted mine the last time Hurk and I tried-“

“It’s not haunted.”

Sharky gave him a skeptical look. “Like, you sure? Cause sometimes this shit don’t start until years after you get it.”

“It’s not, and I’ve had no such ‘events’ since acquiring it. But it does have history.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees before aiming an amused look Sharky’s way. “And since you’ve twisted my arm into it, I suppose I’ll just have to tell it.”

Not that he twisted it too hard, or at all. Sharky almost told him so too, choosing to down the rest of his beer instead.

But over the next hour John told him everything he knew about it. Where the original planes were first built, when they were used, and how many were made at the time. How this model had seen light use decades back, was now in need of serious repairs to bring it back into working shape, and had been about to be junked. John had caught word of it due to hanging in those circles - plus making way too many model planes as a kid - and shoved a wad of cash in the collector’s face before any no’s could be thrown around.

Because John had fallen in love with the thing on sight. Known he’d wanted that plane to be his, but had to get behind the controls to be sure.

And when he was in the air?

“Perfection,” he said, his tone soft. “Nothing compared to it. To the rush that came from rising high above the world below. Losing yourself in it. Completely.”

A faraway look fell over him after that.

It hung around long enough for Sharky to realize he’d been holding his breath and waiting for him to continue. But John shrugged it off, going back to the animated way he’d been talking before. If he’d thought the humming was weird earlier, this was right in the same ballpark.

Because John was John. A grade-A asshole inside and out.

This? This wasn’t John.  

This John kept on talking. Didn’t drop the conversation as they crossed from planes to history, but Sharky found he didn’t want to stop him either. Just let him go on, using his hands to show off various flying techniques, or to draw out in the air what was running through his head as he described it. Those same motions drew his attention to the tattoos lining the inside of his wrist. 

The inked planes resting below John’s watch stood out, and it reminded him of the flames running up his own forearm. How much of an impact that alone had on him as a whole, and he wondered how far that love of flying ran.

It was always cool to listen to someone that was really into what they were talking about. Like seriously digging it to the point that they’d perk up whenever asked, and you could read it clear as day.

John was no exception to this, content to keep on talking however long Sharky would allow him to. He just didn’t expect any of that to be shared with him. Ever.

When Sharky eventually stopped the conversation to mention heading back, John almost looked disappointed. Sighing dejectedly, John admitted that maybe he’d taken up more of his time than intended, but there was no need to worry about the boathouse after that.

Stunned, Sharky waited for the correction. Some sign that John was pulling his leg or fucking with him, but none came. And calling him on that hadn’t earned the reaction he’d expected either. Only a repeat of what John had told him before.

“You’re free to go. Today’s work is done, and after indulging me for as long as you have, I thought you’d be happy to leave.”

“Uh, yeah. Fuck yeah, but…this is kind of like one of those moments where you’re wondering if there’s like some kinda hidden catch to it.”

“Catch? You’ve helped not only me, but Joseph as well, so I believe today’s portion of your debt has been paid in full. And don’t worry; there’s no fine print you’re missing here, not this time,” he said, growing more amused by the second. “But if you’re so set on staying, I’m sure I can come up with plenty of other things for you to tend to.“

“Nah, I’m just-I’m going.”

“And as for the beer, you’re more than welcome to leave the rest-“

Sharky grabbed for it as well, and he could’ve sworn John looked pleased he did. “Gift beers, you don’t leave. You know, like horses. ‘Cause you know with gift horses, mouths, and shit like that, it’s just fucking rude not to appreciate it.”

“Mouths and horses notwithstanding, of course.”

Setting his chin on top of his hand, John watched him fumble for another minute through an attempt to peace out before finally shooing him away instead. The added push was all Sharky needed, and he left.

He walked all the way to his car - clutching a six-pack that he pledged to polish off before the day was out - and the minute the door was closed behind him, slapped his cheek. Did so at least two more times to make sure he was still sitting in that seat, beer in hand, and not sleeping it off somewhere.

Nope. He was there. The beer - cold by his side - and this time around, more refreshing on the second go.

Horses and mouths indeed.

—

“So, where is it? Where’s all of the shit-talking I used to look forward to? Like, by now I was getting ready for the good stuff, but it’s running out.”

Sharky paused, dropping the tire back down into the back of Hurk’s truck. “About what?”

“Really?” Hurk asked, gaping at him. “You know, the asshat that’s been blackmailing you into doing his dirty work for the last month and a half. Thinking he’s slicker than a greased pig, and he might be because who the hell knows what he uses to keep his hair like that. And palms. You grease those too, not just for jerking, and cuz, you’re killing me here.”

“It’s…I’m not gonna lie, he’s really wigging me out at times. Acting like it’s good to have me around to help and shit. ‘Cause I don’t always work on the boathouse. I’ve helped Joe, I’ve helped move stuff around on the airstrip, I’ve run stuff down to the Peggies’ church. And yeah, being told ‘you’re going to do this today’ instead of doing what I was planning on doing sucks, but the Peggies are kinda nice.”

He wasn’t paying attention while Hurk reached for the firehose running out front. Jerry-rigged outside, it was usually his last-ditch effort when any of the fires outgrew their boundaries.

So, it was easy enough to grab. Easy enough to aim, and - in Hurk’s case - easy enough to point and shoot, especially while he kept his mouth running, none the wiser.

“And John’s all right, too. I know it’s kind of-whoa, whoa, what the-“ A wave of freezing cold water hit his chest, and Sharky sputtered as he threw his hands up. “What the fuck, man? Jesus, just cool it! Cool it!”

Hurk aimed it up and away, and jabbed a finger at him. 

“Straight talk. You point me to the spot in the woods where my fave cuz’s tied up and waiting to be beamed up, and I swear I’ll let you go. ‘Til then, you better talk faster, because I don’t even know where to go with ‘Oh, John and the Peggies? Yeah, they’re all right.’”

Teeth chattering, Sharky shrugged.

“I don’t know what to tell you, man. It’s better. Like he’s decided it’s okay to be a person for once.”

This time he was hit in the face, and he threw both middle fingers Hurk’s way before finally wrangling the hose away from him.

“That’s up my nose now,” he grumbled, feeling it burn as he forced air through it. “Up my nose, which is one of the top ten worst feelings to deal with. Hope you’re proud of yourself.”

The spray mid-apology was kind of a jerk move, but Hurk had earned it. That and the noogie as he wrangled Hurk under his arm. If he was going to be forced to drip-dry out here, he wasn’t dealing with that shit alone.

The roar of an engine overhead made him loosen his grip, however. Both of them glanced up, their attention won by the plane soaring by.

Usually Sharky would catch one every once in a blue moon out over here. With the steep hills, it wasn’t always best if you needed to land the plane in an emergency, but that didn’t stop anyone from taking them as high as the pilot wanted it.

This one wasn’t too high in the sky, though. Painted a darker color, it cut a fine line through the air above as it climbed. Spinning in a smooth arc, it curved - rounding back - and Hurk let out a low whistle.

“Look at that, huh? Bet Nick gets up to all kinds of fancy shit up there when he’s off the ground.”

“Yeah. Should ask him if he’d take us up sometime.”

Watching the plane loop back, the pull was almost strong enough to make him want to book it to Nick’s right now. He’d always been curious about the high that came with getting off of the ground; how that ramped up during a dive, or even on a sharp turn.

Something about this plane bugged him, though. Like there was something he was missing that should’ve hit, but wasn’t.

“Uh, I don’t know. I’ve been up in a bunch of choppers, man, and it’s real sketchy once the cross-winds hit. Gets my lunch swirling, and even hits when I’m in Tulip.”

“Why? Your ma’s damn good at what she does.”

“It’s always squirrely, feeling the entire thing rock back and forth, back and…” Hurk paused, and slapped at Sharky’s waving arm. “What’re you doing? He can’t see us from down here.”

“And why not? Yeah, he’s – or she, could be one badass babe up there - not skimming the ground, but they’re low enough to see what’s down here if they angle it right.”

Almost as if listening, the plane came back over; the roar of the engine echoing in the air as it came closer. Getting a better look at it now, he could see more of the slick paint job; the dark grey really reminding him of a color he’d seen recently.

As in, within-the-last-couple-of-weeks-or-so recent. Like in a hangar, half-hidden under a tarp.

Finally slapping those last missing puzzle pieces into place, it all clicked this time, and Sharky’s eyes widened. 

“Uh, I think that’s John.”

“Say what?”

Hurk’s surprise wasn’t too far off from his own. 

“Dude, that’s his plane. I don’t think anyone else around here’s got a ride like that.”

Or even in that style, period. It stood out in the sky, and Sharky almost laughed to himself. He would want that attention, and showing off while he was at it? Seemed like a standard thing he’d try for, if given the shot - and right now? He looked set on taking it.

Diving down, his breath caught as the plane soared in a set line towards the ground. Daring to get as close as possible - cutting it a lot closer than he would’ve if given the chance - only to shoot back up above the trees, spinning on the exit.

Yeah, that was John.

Whistling loudly, Sharky whooped before punching Hurk in the shoulder. 

“Oh, come on. That was pretty fucking neat.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Hurk cracked soon after, smiling. “Okay, it was pretty rad, but if that is him, and he ever gets us talking about it, we ain’t saying shit. Not a single word set on complimenting, talking nice, or doing any of that. Period.”

The plane didn’t come back this time, heading out over the fields as it faded from view.

“Nope,” Sharky said absently, as he kept his eyes skyward. “Not a single fucking word.”

—

That night when he messaged John to tell him he was heading in, he didn’t get his usual answer.

Busy in the hangar. Stop by there, will you?

The doors were open as he pulled up outside, and he couldn’t see John when he stepped out. His plane was front and center, one of the side panels open with a tool cart rolled up next to it, and he walked up to get a closer look.

“Tempting as it is, try not to stick your hand in there.”

Sharky held both up, and quickly stepped back. “I didn’t do it.”

“I didn’t say you did anything.” John walked up from behind, wiping his hands down with a towel, smirking all the while. “Just wouldn’t want to lose a finger now. That would be a surefire way to ruin an evening.”

Against all odds, he hadn’t lost one yet. Not to any of his homemade whizzlers, not to any of the cherry bombs, and not to that one incident with the paper cutter in school. Now, really would be a lame time to do it, and in front of John? He’d never live it down.

Flexing his fingers - all ten of them - he shoved both hands into his pockets, and turned towards him.

Dressed in his version of casual, the shirt John was wearing was still too pricey to be anywhere near oil or heavy machinery, but that didn’t faze him. His hands were dirty and he was doing the work. Actually getting in there and taking care of it, instead of shoving it onto someone else, and Sharky could respect that.

But the moves he pulled in the air earlier? Thinking back on them made a whistle want to slip out. John could fly. There was no fucking doubt about it, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to catch him up in the air again at some point.

“So, uh…you take her out today?”

“I might’ve had to check to see how things were running,” John said with a shrug.

“You fly out over towards the Henbane?”

John raised his head, eying him curiously. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”

“See, I was out with my cousin Hurk. Just unloading some tires to use for um, crafting purposes.”

“Crafting. I never took you for the type.”

“Not like the kind with paper, glue, and scissors. Like tire sculptures, or just taking the shit apart to see what we can get out of it, ‘cause there’s at least twenty things you can do with a worn-out tire. We’ve honed it down to an art, man.”

John said nothing further, only examined his hands as he wiped off more of the dirt. He looked up to catch Sharky’s eye while he worked, reminding him that he’d been telling a story before he’d trailed off. Sharky cleared his throat. Loudly.  

“Uh, anyway. You, flying.”

John redirected his attention to his hands, but Sharky didn’t miss the way his lips had curved up.

 “I thought it was you, working?”

“Me, working, distracted by you, flying, and I know I got twisted around in the middle of that, but I saw you earlier. Your plane flying over my house. Now you’re the only guy around here with anything coming close to having one of those warplanes they’d call you in to borrow for re-enactments, movie deals - or, hell - for admiring and shit, so don’t go denying it. And don’t go fucking with me either, ‘cause I know what I saw.”

“Good eye. Sharper than I expected.” John set the towel down on the cart, and walked over to the plane. “Perhaps you can put that eye for detail to good use tonight.”

“What?”

“Affirmation does need some tuning. I was hoping to have it finished before you came by, but…” John frowned, eyeing the engine with distaste. “As you can see here, I’m not quite done yet.”

“Ah, I get that. Shit never works out how you plan it, not with cars, bikes, and I guess planes fit in there too. You wanna get that oil changed before the sun’s up? Should take twenty to thirty minutes max. Well, why not check the tires too? And if you’re looking at that, might as well try the brakes.”

He watched John roll over the tool cart, giving him a glance over his shoulder as he did so. Taking the gesture as a signal to keep on going, Sharky took a place just behind him by the cart, and settled in to watch him work.

“…And that weird leak you forgot about two weeks ago? Kiss your afternoon goodbye, cause your radiator’s busted and might’ve been roasting your car from the inside out.”

“Sounds like someone’s speaking from experience.”

“Man, you don’t even know how many times I’ve had my shitbox crater on me. And I take care of it. Maybe not using the stuff that’ll keep the mechanic off of my back if I need to bring it in, but it runs. And I can keep it going on nothing but lint, duct tape, and quarters if I have to.”

“And somehow, in spite of that, it hasn’t exploded or found a way to catch on fire?”

“It did catch on fire. Once.”

John’s eyebrows flew up. “With you in it?”

“Sort of. I might’ve hopped out right after the smoke started coming, ‘cause that crisped-up burnt smell ain’t normal even with a busted heater, but I handled it. Drove it right on down to the Spread Eagle just in time for Happy Hour, too.”

Blinking at him, John slowly turned back to the engine. 

“Is that the same car you’ve been bringing here?”

“Yep.”

John paused again. “The one that I’ve ridden in?”

“Same one. Drove it, too.”

A few emotions crossed John’s face then. Disbelief held on the longest, as he slowly turned to look right at Sharky.

“What? Like I said, it runs. Long as it does that, I don’t need anything fancier than that to get around. And, hey. If that shit ever does go up and someone needs to handle it, you know I’m damn near certified by this point.”

“Knowing that the county’s resident pyromaniac should be able to put out the fire he also started is not as reassuring as it should be.”

Sharky frowned. “Yo, you really wanna say that? Seeing as you’re someone that keeps talking shit, all while needing people to call you, confide in you, and hire you for the whole defending-them-in-court thing? Not doing great on the being-anything-but-a-dick part. Just saying.”

John narrowed his eyes, but didn’t fight the point. Just went back to work, and Sharky wasn’t sure what to do with the victory.

Shaking it off, he crossed his arms and tried not to fidget as he watched him. Doing nothing at all was the real challenge, having no choice but to be patient and keep an eye on John instead.

But he hadn’t kicked him out, or told him to go where he was needed most. He was sure he would’ve told him to head down to the boathouse by now - or hell, that he would’ve gone on his own - but he didn’t feel like leaving yet. Not even after the dig. Curiosity won this fight, and he’d let it do its thing for a little while longer.

Glancing over at him, John gave it a second and gestured towards the cart. 

“Can you hand me that wrench?”

Sharky followed his line of sight towards it. Taking it, he handed it over and couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. 

“So, you do all of this on your own?”

“It’s important to be able to identify problems as they appear. I could hire someone to do that for me. Easily leave this to them, but having that knowledge beforehand - especially if I do end up having to land - is crucial. And I refuse to let willful ignorance prevent me from fixing anything well within my power and ability. That, and laziness.”

“Laziness?”

“What’s my problem becomes someone else’s to fix. To mend. Affirmation is my responsibility. Shouldn’t I be well aware of how it’s operating before I take off? That kind of carelessness can be prevented.”

“Makes sense.”

“I hope so. Any pilot would do the same if they had any degree of pride in their skills.”

Sharky rubbed at his neck. “Yeah, guess Nick goes through the same checks too. And if I had one, guess I’d have to break out the old toolbox and get into it.”

“Treated better than your car, I would hope?”

“Uh, still fucking rude for one, and two, hell yeah I would. Shit, the closest I’ve come to flying, period, was through honoring Clutch Nixon a few years back – rest his badass, no-longer-beating heart – and I was airborne long enough to love it. If I had a plane, I’d treat her right.”

Sitting up, John gave him a long look.

“That doesn’t count.”

“What don’t count?”

“Stunt driving isn’t close.”

“So you say, but you haven’t taken a motherfucking dive off of a cliff, amigo.”

“It’s not-” John pressed his fingers to his temple and sighed. “There are measures taken.”

“Yeah, and I know you gotta do more than mess around with your joystick up there, but the fall’s real. The pounding in your heart as it just-” He clenched his fist, and let out a breath - “Fuck, man, you feel alive coming back from that. And get one hell of a massive boner while you’re at it.”

Lowering his hand, John leveled a flat stare at him.

“Yeah, had to give that last one a solid seven point five out of ten. Hell, maybe an eight.”

Still clenching his fist, Sharky held the eye contact, grinning awkwardly all the while. At least until he noticed the marks on John’s face. Three small dark dots, all of which came from his equally stained fingers.

The snicker slipped out before he could help it. “You, uh, got a little something on you.”

Gesturing towards his face, John reached up and nearly added another before glancing down at his fingers. 

“Shit.”

“Yeah, dude. Might be able to connect the dots at the rate you’re going.”

“Let me just…where did that get to?”

He sorted through the items on the cart before finding the discarded towel, and checked it before swiping at his face.

“Might wanna go to the left.” John shifted it, the spot turning into a streak, and Sharky grimaced. “Uh, maybe to the right?” Streaked again. “Huh. Think you might wanna go back to what you were doing the first time.”

“You aren’t helping,” John said, slapping down the towel to search through the tools set. “So, how about you go occupy yourself over there, and we’ll get back to this when I’m certain I’m not covered in dirt.”

John had pointed towards the refrigerators, and Sharky gave him a passing glance before skipping over towards it.

 “Could be worse, man. Not like it’s a sharpied dick, or anything.”

Prying the doors open, Sharky didn’t know what he was looking for at first. He knew John had hidden the mystery beer here last time, but that wasn’t what he spotted. No, on the shelves was a pack of his old faithful, and he felt a tear come to his eye.

“Is that acceptable?”

Sharky reached in and held up the six pack, and sighed dreamily as he hugged it to his face. 

“Amigo, I think you’re my new best friend now.”

He heard John scoff somewhere behind him, and turned to see him parked in front of a small handheld mirror. One of the streaks was a bonafide line traveling up the side of his face now, and smeared more when John swiped a finger through it. Tossing the mirror back onto the cart, he clenched his jaw, and went right back to the plane without even waiting for him to come back.

“So, John,” he started, popping the cap off of the beer, “you want me to stick with you up here, dude? ‘Cause I was going to head on down to the river at some point. Just looked like you needed me more up here than there at the time, and…”

“There’s no need.” John spun on his seat to face him. “You’ve been making significant progress lately down at the boathouse. Anything else would put you ahead. And after staying up here as long as you have, you’ve earned the time to yourself, if you want it.”

Free to go? Again?

That had him scratching his head as he polished off the beer fast.

 “Uh, okay. Like, I can do whatever the hell I want?”

“Whatever you want.”

That was music to his ears. At least it would’ve been every other week leading up to this one.

Thinking it over for a while, he tried to think of anything he would’ve done with the time. Anything he’d set aside to come out here, but couldn’t find a thing. No, nothing stood out, and when he looked back over towards the plane, he aimed the bottle in his hand towards it.

“You still need someone up here?”

John looked surprised.

“What?” Sharky said. “I’ve got the rest of the day to myself, and usually that’s spent doing jack and shit when work’s not coming in, so…if you need it, I’m here. Not that it’s really that big of a deal anyway, you know?”

That got him a smile. One that John held onto long after Sharky expected him to drop it, and chuckled. 

“I suppose not.”

“This’ll be the highlight of my day, and I’d like to stick around. Unless you want me out.”

He thought it over, but not for longer than a minute. “If I did, I would’ve told you so.”

“So, back to work?” Sharky said, starting to smile himself.

Saying nothing, John stepped back and held out a hand towards the plane. 

“Back to work.”

—

So, maybe the work schedule wasn’t as ironclad a thing as it used to be.

John liked routine, sure, and had been real anal about it when he’d first started out, but there was a flexibility to it now. It was no longer always about when, so long as it was done, and he could work with that.

Took a morning when he needed it. Took on a few more jobs around town for anyone willing to let him shoulder it, and if there was any overlap, all it took was one message to clear it up. John was willing to work with him now, and…And if some nights lead to more chances to hang with John, he didn’t complain. Got more time around John’s plane, and even got to pitch in when it came to working on his car too.

The real shocker for him, though, had been the fresh boards and nails set. The signs that someone else had been working down there when he hadn’t. When he’d asked, John didn’t confirm it. He didn’t deny it either, but after ten minutes of standing around and talking with him, he grabbed a nearby hammer and took a spot right next to him. Went right to work, without even batting an eye, and Sharky couldn’t believe it. Grinned brightly at him as he punched him in the shoulder, and found he wanted John there for once.

This was starting to feel a whole lot like he’d made a friend.

One that was cagey in a whole lot of ways still, and one he couldn’t exactly pop down on the couch with for a weekend of pizza, beer, and porn to sort through, but close. And thinking it over, he didn’t find himself minding the change all too much either.

But some nights John needed to shift things around, and when he woke up that morning nursing a hangover, he had a message waiting for him.

Family, John mentioned, the text sent at an hour that made Sharky’s head pound harder. Have to reschedule. Sorry.

No big deal, he sent back. Holler if you need me later. No plans.

Then went right back to sleep. With the day open, he spent the morning seeing how long he could go without pants before anyone else dropped by.  

Quiet after that, he’d nearly gone stir crazy when Hurk called, wanting his expertise on a special job. One that was better suited to two heads rather than his one. Or better yet, four hands; each for holding a stick of their brand of high explosive. That’s how they fished, and sure, it stirred up every other critter in the area, but as long as they weren’t ambushed by bears or cougars, it was a risk worth taking.

Mid-throw was when his phone went off. Just a message, not a call, but it made his pipe bomb go wide, and he’d nearly made the two of them go for a dunk themselves.

Change in plans. Come over.

No further clarification, no explanation; just those words. Not that John went off on long tangents through text, but it was the quickest turnaround he’d seen yet, and he actually pulled out his phone to call.

Holding a finger to his eardrum, Sharky waited. Heard the echo of an explosion in one ear, and ringing in the other only to get nothing.

“Hey, I’m going to have to cut out on this.”

“Now?” Hurk asked, with a stick of dynamite in each hand. “Just when I was thinking of getting ol’ Sally out?”

He never held up well in the face of his cousin’s disappointment, especially when he pulled out that tone of voice, but held strong. 

“Yeah, sorry. It’s…I’ve got this weird message to check out, and you can never tell if it’s gonna be the good kind or the weird kind until it’s hitting you in the face, and there’s not a whole lot to go on here.”

“Fine, get on out; go, go, go. I’ll be here for a while, but if I catch something cool you’ll be sad you missed out.”

—

Pulling up to John’s place, he still hadn’t pinned down what the problem was. The boathouse catching fire wasn’t likely. He’d put out any cigarettes over by the picnic table, ‘cause he’d made too much progress there to blow it now.

Ticking off other options on his fingers, he counted through them, narrowing them down as he made his way to the front, and he was still down to two when he hit the doorbell.

The door swung open, but John wasn’t the one waiting on the other side.

It was Jacob Seed.

Ex-military. Private. Rocked the rowdiest set of scars he’d ever seen on a person. At least, judging from the ones he could see on his face. Probably hunted guys in the woods for sport. Or at least thought about it. Had the training to do it if he had to.

Sharky could count on his fingers the number of times he’d run into the guy outside of the odd job in the mountains, but he knew he wasn’t the kind, friendly, approachable type. No; standing taller than most, Jacob didn’t trade more than a handful of words with anyone outside of Eli Palmer, and maybe the local hunters up north.

And if he thought John was bad, Jacob’s stare was a full-blown weapon. It made Sharky squirm on the spot. 

“Uh, yo.”

“Boshaw.”

“How’s it going?” he asked, smiling a little too wide to keep it casual.

Jacob shrugged. “It’s going. You?”

“Kinda. Something’s always going; it’s just not going much right now if you get what I’m-what I’m getting at.”

Get what I’m getting at? What the hell was that?

The longer Jacob kept him there, the more he was going to try and fidget his way out of there, and he knew he was being read. Maybe even being messed with at this point, but he didn’t cut and run. Not yet.

“Is John around?”

“You here for something?”

“Yeah it’s…you know about the whole working-with-your-younger-bro thing, right? How I’m down by the river, putting shit up, and trying to make that entire area pretty again? Well, he got a hold of me. Mentioned wanting to work, and thinks he can snap his fingers and I’ll jump or something.”

Jacob’s glance took on an amused bend. “Does he? How high?”

“Uh, I can jump up to three, maybe four, but that’s not…it isn’t-” That was it. That was it in a nutshell, and joking about it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. “So, you see him around, or…?”

Jacob moved his head, motioning behind him, and stepped aside. 

“He’s upstairs.”

With the path now open, Sharky took it a little faster than needed, not wanting to hang back too much or stay close to Jake. But that left him standing in the middle of John’s ranch house - and seeing the whole thing in full for the first time was a lot to take in at once.

Because when he’d mentioned loving nature shit, this was that on steroids. Like someone had told John this was what a cabin should’ve looked like instead of what one actually was. The antlers, the chandelier, the fucking bear skin rug? All surrounding one giant fireplace?

That had him chuckling as Jacob took a few steps towards him. 

“Something funny?”

Jolting slightly, Sharky shoved his hands into his pockets.  

“I, uh…no. Okay, a little. You see a lot of those Hallmark movies? The ones set at Christmas?”

Jacob craned his head towards him. 

“Y’know; the kind where two people are snowed in, having to wait it out and huddle for warmth and shit?”

“No.”

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t seen too many either, but he’d seen the one. That covered most of the bases needed. 

“Well, uh, the place looks like that. Like, John’s staging it for something along those lines. Just for cuddling, huddling, and uh…yeah. Holiday stuff.”

“Stuff.”

“Stuff and things, yeah.” 

That actually got a snort out of Jacob, and Sharky gave himself a mental pat on the back. 

“I’m serious. Like that couch is primed for mistletoe and some uh, ho ho-holy shit, I’ll stop now.”

There was the sound of a door being slammed, and Sharky jumped. Seconds after, he caught John on the upper level as he strode towards the stairs, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Sharky called up to him. “Yo, man. Thought I’d need to-“

That’s when he caught the dark look crossing John’s face for the first time. That, and the actual speed with which he was walking. Asking was a mistake, but it was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Uh, John? You okay, amigo? You want me to come back another-“

John grabbed his arm as he passed by, and dragged Sharky along with him. Right past a concerned Jake, right past the front door, leading him down towards the dirt road.

“Whoa, hey, wait!” Nothing clicked, not his words and not the way he tried to pull away. John was a man possessed, focused only on a single point, and that didn’t sit well with him at all. “Seriously, dude, stop!”

Sharky planted his feet, and yanked his arm out of the grip. That brought John to a stop, and Sharky watched him slowly turn towards him. Breathing harder than he should’ve been, Sharky took off his cap and brushed a hand through his hair. 

“What the fuck, man?”

Tense, and with his jaw locked, John didn’t even bother giving him a response. Just a stare that would’ve killed any other person dead if he’d had the ability. Still, he wasn’t chasing him off, or leaving, and that made Sharky keep on trying.

“You wanna talk or something? You really look like…”

“What I want,” John bit out as he approached him, “is to get as far away from that fucking house as possible. I don’t care where as long as it’s not here.”

Sharky sucked in a breath, not prepared for that level of venom or John’s sudden proximity, and let it out. 

“Uh, okay. Shit, let’s…let’s go then. Not like I was in the mood to work anyway.”

Shuffling around him, Sharky started back towards his car, and waved for John to follow.  The heat of his stare wasn’t as bad from this distance, but it didn’t let up until John dropped it to climb into the passenger side of the vehicle. He fired the car up after that, hoping the damn thing wouldn’t stall, and the two sped out of there before anyone could come calling.

“Now I know what works for me whenever shit like that gets me down.”

Sharky turned on the radio only for John to flip it off. Balking at him again, Sharky noted that this time the road was the one having to deal with John glaring at it, and he tried to keep as light a tone as he could manage.

“Anyway, you need an outlet. Something to kick all that negative shit in the balls hard enough to make three family lines regret it. So you can get up and go back to living life like you want to. Maybe this won’t be your thing, but I think you might like this.”

“…Like what?”

“Well, I’d explain it to you, but this is one of those things where it’s better just to give it a try. Not to spoil any of the surprise as we head on out, but it rhymes with…shit. What rhymes with burn?”

Urn. Turn. Learn. Yearn. That was a good one. Not that he needed it for anything, but it was good to know. Fuck. Did he say burn out loud too?

Swearing under his breath, he shook his head. 

“Anyway, a little ‘Burn, Baby, Burn’ never hurt anyone. Least, not anyone worth knowing.”

John said nothing, leaving Sharky to listen to the sound of the road as it crunched underneath the car’s tires, but right as he’d started tapping out an uneven rhythm on the steering wheel just to break it up, he heard him sigh.

“Hey, I promise it won’t be lame. Yeah, it’s not for everybody, but…”

He stopped talking when he saw John place his head in his hand. Covering his eyes, Sharky heard the catch in his breathing, and wished like hell he had the right words for him.

Unable to offer anything else, Sharky shifted his eyes back to the road. 

“Yeah.”

—

“Now it ain’t fancy,” Sharky said after pulling up to his house, “but I’ve got a place to sleep. A rocking sound system, and when I need it, lots and lots of storage space for…stuff. Like real fun stuff, but not the illegal kind, ‘cause I don’t want you thinking that. Well, not a lot of it, just…some.”

John was looking around now, taking in the area as he and Sharky got out, and Sharky led him out across the lawn.

“My house is your house, so settle on in and pull up a chair. The show’ll start soon as I can get this all together, and make it a show worth waiting for.“

He shoved some wood into the area designated for his bonfires, and patted himself down before heading over to where he kept his propane. Rooting through the items, he picked up the bottle of lighter fluid – he’d start small, no need to have a full blow-out right off the bat – and glanced over his shoulder to see what John was doing.

He had approached the firepit while Sharky was busy; still silent, but looking closely at it.

“You doing good there, amigo?”

John’s head angled towards him. “Well enough.”

That he’d said anything at all was an improvement, but Sharky didn’t believe it for a second. Not with his back towards him, as he walked back towards the pit.

John watched closely as Sharky sprayed the wood liberally with the lighter fluid. Then added more after, and when he tipped it over to slap at the bottom of it to get the last few drops out, John finally spoke up. 

“You’re not serious.”

“Can’t have a decent barbeque without flames, man.”

“That many?”

The wry look he gave him stopped Sharky in his tracks. Or maybe it was the way the corner of John’s mouth was inching up. In spite of everything, he’d managed that at least, and Sharky felt his mouth go dry.  

“Uh, yeah.” He held out a matchbook to him, and hoped he could keep it steady. His voice was a lost cause, but his next few words were better in line. “Kinda disappointing if you light it up only to have it fizzle out. Can’t get any kinda perks out of that.”

“And this was your plan all along?” John’s odd semi-smile stayed in place, and only seemed to grow. “To invite me here to burn it off? Literally?”

He wasn’t wrong, but seeing as this was his usual go-to and yet not, Sharky didn’t want to really get into the nitty-gritty of it all. Not now, at least.

“You wanted out, and no other place in the county’s better prepped for this, so a quick ride to Boshaw Manor made sense. I know when shit’s gone south and there’s no hope of me shaking that feeling, this works, and I try to foster an environment here that’s all about letting loose when you need it. Pants-free preferred and encouraged, but by no means required.”

“Good to know,” John teased.

He hoped like hell John couldn’t clearly see what was happening with his face right now, but at this distance it was impossible not to.

“But you, uh… You seriously looked ready to rip a bear’s fucking head off, so I thought it’d help. So, here. Light it, and after we pop one off, maybe we can get more going. Kinda sad as is right now.”

Waving the matchbook in the air, he grumbled to himself as he dropped his eyes. But he felt John take the matches, and looked up again in time to see him light one.

John watched the flame dance in front of him for a few seconds, shielding it from the breeze with his hand. Leaning over to peek at it, Sharky nearly brushed shoulders with him, and wondered how long he was willing to hold onto it.

Pretty long at this rate, as the flames licked the wood and traveled up towards his fingers.

“You gonna drop that?”

“In time.”

“‘Cause that’s going to get you if you let it stick around any longer.”

Not that he hadn’t let himself get distracted by the warmth of it before. How it flickered as it moved, wanting it to move all that much closer as it climbed its way down towards him.

“Surely you don’t think I’m not paying attention to it.” Irritation was creeping into John’s voice, but he still wasn’t dropping it.

“Seriously, man, I can treat a rowdy-ass burn if I have to, but that shit’s going to bite.“

“Charlemagne, I have it handled-“ John flicked his hand fast as he yelped in pain.

The match went out, leaving the two standing there in front of the neglected pit. Sharky tried not to, but there was no way he could keep the laugh from slipping out. John’s sharp look shut him up a second later, only breaking eye contact to keep on waving his hand.

“Yo, you okay?”

“Fuck,” John muttered, blowing on his fingers. “Everything’s fine.”

Sharky didn’t nudge him with his shoulder, but was tempted to as he watched John continue to try and sooth the burn. 

“Sure about that? I can be back in two shakes of a jackrabbit’s tail if you want.”

John didn’t waste time lighting the next match. “I’m fine.”

His hands went up, backing off completely. But at that point he had something else to focus on. The fire was dancing in the wind again, and when John let the match fall into the pit, Sharky didn’t take his eyes off of it for a second.

The warm glow took, then grew. Rising slowly but surely as the fire found its footing, and he let out the breath he was holding. There it was. The feeling that washed over him, one that sank down deep into his bones.

Like coming home, in a way. Every time.

Sighing in contentment, he gave John a quick once-over. His attention was on the fire too, locked onto it as he slowly rubbed his fingers together. No one ever seemed to respond to it like he did, but the focus was there, his eyebrows drawn together as he kept on studying it.

John still kept on rubbing at his fingers, though. Sharky had to bother the singed one, even if he was too stubborn to bring it up again.

He stepped back, and gave John a light tap to the shoulder. 

“Be right back. Gotta grab something.”

Jogging over to his house, he pushed open the door and made a beeline straight for his bathroom. Anything he had for first aid was scattered across the property if not left outside, so one minute became two, then became five as he rooted around the place.

Fishing the tube of burn cream out, he sighed in relief.

It had taken the edge off of some of his worst ones - the scars on his sides and back tingling as he subconsciously recalled them. Considering how often he tangoed with fire at all, he’d all but accepted it at this point, and was glad that John wasn’t rocking anything worse than what would be a light blister.

Band-aids were down to slim pickings, however. There were only five left, but he picked the best fit and made his way back out to the pit, taking a short stop by the fridge for beer and one hastily-filled glass of tap water.

Water was the last thing on his mind most nights, but John needed something out there, and Sharky tried not to stress over it too much as he rushed back out.

John started when he handed it over. 

“What’s this?” He took the glass, and eyed its contents.

“Water. You know, for drinking?” A sheepish grin inched across Sharky’s face as he made the motion with his hand. “Didn’t want to leave you hanging without anything, and my fridge’s full up with beer, so…”

“Ah. Thank you,” he said, losing the suspicious tone immediately. He took a light sip of it and Sharky didn’t miss the way he wrinkled his nose. Probably better used to the fancy stuff they’d filter before bottling, but John still held onto it. Doing that instead of spitting it out onto the ground earned him a point or two on the ‘Don’t be an asshole’ scoreboard, but Sharky would never admit it to him.

“And those?” John asked.

“I know you said you were fine, but here.” Sharky handed the items to him, and John set his glass down. “Best stuff for burns around. Slap some of this on, and in a day you won’t even feel it.”

“Are those…dinosaurs?” John held the bandage up, flashing the green tyrannosaurus rex at him.  

“Yeah, man. Dinosaurs are badass. I don’t know if Jurassic Park was your thing or not, but I had that on repeat for a good three months after it came out. Solid gold right there, and great for hand-holding or grabbing during any tense shit.” He held his hand up as he leaned in, and waggled his eyebrows. “Guaranteed. Like sixty to seventy-five percent chance of getting some action too.”

John furrowed his brows, and kept the band-aid pinched between his fingers. Both unimpressed and unconvinced, which disappointed Sharky a little, but didn’t surprise him much either.

“Anyway, that was the first one I grabbed, but I think there’s another in there if you’re more of a triceratops fan. Or raptors?”

John slowly shook his head. “I’ve-I don’t have a preference.”

“Well, there you go. And I know you like blue and all, but green’s clearly the superior color here. Just saying.” 

He clapped him on the back, and John gave him a withering glance before putting it on.

Dragging over a couple of chairs, Sharky popped them close to the pit - but not close enough to catch any sparks - and settled in. He kicked back and wished he could’ve propped his feet up, but with the other chair in use he had to make do, and leaned as far back as the worn fabric would let him - hoping he wasn’t about to bust a hole in it.

“…How did this start?”

Glancing over at John, Sharky sat up when he realized he’d asked him a question. 

“What?”

“How, or when did you start doing this? The fires? Or, whatever this ritual is.”

“Ritual? This ain’t anything fancy like that.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Sharky let out a long whistle. “But fuck, how many years has it been now?”

Well over twenty. Since that day when he’d had skating on his mind - that and Wendy. He’d had such high hopes going into the day only to find a whole other thing worth keeping on for.

“Would you believe my first time was at a skating rink? That old place that used to be down by Fall’s End. Neon lights, tricked out wallpapers, and all the oldies you could ask for?”

“Concerning you? Yes.”

John sounded so sure of it. Like he could see the memory just as clearly as Sharky did. That got a warm laugh out of him.

“Imagining that sticky carpet, the flat soda, and those tunes? Real nice, right? It was the highlight of my month. Getting invited out there, pulling off some of my finest moves out on the floor. But I had to set the mood before heading in, and had a roll of quarters ready and everything.”

A grin settled in, almost fond as he recalled the start of it. The promise had been there, all right. He’d finally get a chance to say something. Do something, instead of dreaming about it. Funny how he’d dive into so many other things without thinking, but this? This he’d thought about. Over and over. Wanted it right.

“So?” John’s voice cut through again, shaking him out of it. “What happened?”

“I really wanted to ask this girl Wendy out. Had some good one-liners going. Had watched plenty of movies beforehand that I knew she liked. Wanted to really wow her, and show her what’s what.”

That had been the first pass of the plan. It seemed foolproof. Then he’d reached the rink he’d after crammed one too many quarters in the jukebox. Took one good look at her as he skated up, and…

John’s growing frown mirrored his own. Maybe even too well.

“It, uh-it didn’t go like I wanted. Went with my gut once I saw her, and thought I’d just -my hands started going everywhere.”

Confused, John thought over his words, and Sharky hoped he wouldn’t have to spell it out.

 “You grabbed her?”

“I…might’ve grabbed something.”

Realization hit John hard. 

“You groped her?”

“Like I said, it could’ve gone a lot better! Instincts being bad and all.” Dodging his eyes, Sharky held up his hands and faced the fire. “Look, it was a dumbass move, and I got a skate to the balls for it. Still, really wish I’d tried dancing instead. No way she would’ve turned down a date with a dude pulling off a solid moonwalk. On wheels.”

“Surely,” John huffed.

Flipping him off, Sharky sighed before continuing. 

“So, I head out back. Figure I could light up a cig or something. Take the edge off. Well, figured I’d light a trash can on fire too. See if I liked it, and soon the whole damn back-alley’s on fire. Like burning high with no hope of stopping. It spread, took half of the place out in the process, and yeah, it sucked. But it sucked a whole lot less after seeing that.”

“That was…not the story I was expecting it to be.”

“Lot of people say that after hearing it. And that’s all of like, three people that even bothered listening while I was telling it, but it is what it is. Sucks that it took out that place, though. Seriously, had a great sound system there and everything.”

John raised a hand to his mouth, eyes on the fire instead of on him, and smiled. 

“Thank you. You didn’t need to share that with me.”

“Eh, it’s nothing. You asked, and I told you what’s what.”

“Not everyone’s as comfortable doing that. And certainly not even half as honest.” John folded his hands on his lap, and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. “It was Joseph. Tonight, back at my ranch. Wanted to talk. This typically isn’t a problem, but he decided to do what all older brothers believe is their right, I suppose.”  

“What, like go over some fantasy football stats? Or more like rite-of-passage-type stuff, ‘cept the holy kind. ‘Cause he’s not gonna take you to a cathouse, or nothing.”

“Please never say that again,” John said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Uh, which part? The football, or the…er, the part where he’s trying to help you get laid, except not?”

“That one. You see, he wanted to talk expectations. My role in the family overall, and how he wants me to rise to them.”

“That’s uh, kinda harsh. Assuming he said some pretty rowdy shit to you.”

“Not all of it,” John admitted, “but it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Usually when talking about regrets and hopes for the future, not all parties will be on the same page. He was on one, and I the other, and…I didn’t handle it as gracefully as I would’ve liked.”

“But did you think he was right?”

“I don’t know. It’s too soon to say, and I’m still not inclined to agree considering how he presented it to me.”

“But you know why he did that, right?”

John’s eyes were on the fire, but caught his when he turned away from it. 

“Do you have any siblings?

Sharky shook his head. “Uh, no. Parents never planned for any of that, and they sure as hell weren’t planning on me. I’m one of those miracle babies. The kind that defy expectation, if you will. They swore up and down they’d used the pill, bagged that shit, and tried damn near everything to keep from throwing a bun in that oven. Still, nine months and some change later I popped out. Was as meant to be as my Grandmama swore I was, and…it’s weird in a way. Knowing that, and still knowing the other end of it too.”

“That you weren’t wanted?”

John was looking at him differently now. Catching something he wasn’t sure Sharky would see even after checking five times in the mirror, and didn’t seem as cagey as before.

“I had someone that did want me. Wasn’t the one that had me to begin with, but that’s alright. Family’s not always blood - not directly. I got Hurk, I got my Auntie. Maybe even Xander, if she plans on keeping him around, but they give a shit about what happens to me. Let me know at least once a week too if they ain’t too busy to stop by, so it’s gotta be nice in some ways. Having brothers. Having that, at least.”

Taking in a deep breath, Sharky didn’t know how to tackle this next part. Knew he was probably going to be like a bull in a china shop, but he’d try. He had to.

“Now I don’t know enough about you all to really say much, so tell me to fuck right off if you need me to, but…they seem like the caring kind. Even though Joe’s got his whole family unit going on - his weird, not-a-cult but kind-of-a-cult aside. And Jake’ll always give me the creeps, but I feel like you’d also warn me if he was setting me up to head out into the woods and fight me - mano a mano, ‘Most Dangerous Game’ style - so I think we’d be all right.”

“He’s not, and they’re not,” John replied. “And maybe it isn’t your place to say.”

That shut his mouth. 

“…Sorry.”

“But I think you’re right.” Shifting his gaze to the ground, his next few words were softer, almost too quiet to hear. “Both of my brothers are all I have in this life. The ones that I would do anything for, and for years we truly thought we’d lost each other. There was no finding our way back after being separated and sent to different families. Different homes.

John flexed his fingers, stretching them out before tightening them into a fist.

“I…was not fortunate in that regard. While I now had many opportunities open to me, I would’ve traded them in a heartbeat. Because there was evil in that house, and it was regularly visited upon me. And to cope, I needed an outlet. A way to take away what I couldn’t fix. What I couldn’t change, or stop, and make it all disappear.

“So, I turned to other sources. Went well out of my way to open myself up to new experiences. Things to excite, to make me feel…something. Anything, and no price was too great. I couldn’t see it for what it was, and was content to let it all eat me from the inside out. Because that was what gave me relief, and if they hadn’t found me when I needed them most…” John shrugged a shoulder. “I would’ve let it.”

“Fuck, I-uh, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I didn’t share that to make you feel sorry for me, or to let it be an excuse. It was a little…honesty given, for honesty gained, if that makes any sense.”

Blowing out a breath, Sharky nodded. 

“Kinda. Think I get what you mean there.”

“And tonight, you were right. I needed an outlet, and you… You reached out to me without even thinking twice about it.” There was a sincerity there that surprised him. No dancing around it, no downplaying it. “You had no reason to open up your home to me, or do anything at all to help me, but you did.”

“No reason not to.”

“Charlemagne. I haven’t given you much reason to do any of this, considering why we’re speaking at all to begin with.”

John had a point. One he wasn’t going to argue, but he’d clearly overlooked a lot of the things he’d done to keep them on speaking terms. Or hell, even get friendly. Because they were straddling that line, and had been ever since he’d stuck around to help him with the plane.

Sharky didn’t mind it. Not like he used to, and he’d accepted that.

“Okay, so you did show up here on my doorstep. Used some strong words to get me to do some shit for you, and generally acted like a mega-dick. Admitting that’s the first step towards fixing it. ‘Cause my guess’s you wanna fix that, right?”

John pursed his lips, but said nothing. Just stared at him while his jaw tensed.

That had Sharky raising his eyebrows.

 “Dude, you seriously aren’t even gonna pretend to say yes to that? Not even try it?”

Glancing away, John closed his eyes. Took in a deep breath, and held onto it before sighing loudly.

“What the fuck?” Sharky muttered, watching him reach for his back pocket. “There’re like baby steps, and then you come in with this whole twelve step thing you’ve gotta work through, like it’s just that hard not to be a colossal d-”

“Done.”

Sharky paused as he took in what John held up. It was his phone.

Rolling his eyes at his confused look, John handed it over to him and pointed at the screen. 

“It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?” He flipped through the folder John had pulled up, not sure what he was looking for. “Like the porn you knew I was gonna search for after taking this?”

“No, not that,” John replied, grinding his teeth. “The recording.”

“The…” Holy shit. “You got rid of it. Like, no back up, no nothing?”

“That was the only one.”

Gone. That weight - what was left of it - gone.

Sharky laughed. Laughed as relief settled deep into him, and it was the sweetest thing.

Sure, John could’ve been lying to him. Could’ve had three different places where he was stashing the video for a rainy day, but he found he believed him. He wanted to take his word for it, and found he didn’t have to jump through too many hoops for it.

“That’s-that’s uh, thanks.”

“Thank you. For proving me wrong in a lot of ways.”

Proud motherfucker that he was, that statement nearly bowled Sharky over. But he seemed to mean it too, and he flashed him a bashful grin.

“So, uh going back to before. You need to be cool to others. Treat ‘em nice, especially if you know they’re in the middle of a rough patch, and you count too. You needed something to take the edge off, and with drinking out, there were only two options left. Sex, and burning shit, and seeing as I don’t even know what your type is, I went for the easy one.”

Giving him a curious look, John leaned towards him. 

“But what is my type?”

“You want me to guess?”

“I want you to try.”

That was a tougher question than it should’ve been, and all the answers Sharky thought he had promptly left the building.

“Uh…fuck. The ladies in the catalogs. Victoria’s Secret models. Sports Illustrated, but the swimsuit issue. Porn stars. Top dollar escorts,” he said, spit-balling for whatever a rich lawyer might like. Or Bruce Wayne. Same difference. “But the kind with nice shoes, and those big-ass fur coats.”

Or was he going more for what he’d like if he had boatloads of cash to blow? And a music video to make? Maybe. Judging by the look John was giving him, though, he didn’t agree.

“Jesus, I don’t know. You asked! So I guessed. Thought I’d get something close if I kept on going.”

“Well, you weren’t.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sharky took a drink of his beer, and couldn’t help but grumble his next few words into it. “And you’re telling me you wouldn’t be dicking down every woman in the valley if they asked? I know I would.”

“You’d what?”

He coughed, beer going right down his windpipe. That was the kind of shit that should’ve slipped out when he was buzzed, and he wasn’t even there yet.  

“Aw, fuck. Uh, sorry. Didn’t…didn’t mean anything weird by it. Just that you’ve got a lot of women looking - er, wanting - some real one-on-one time with you, that’s all. And if I were you, I’d take them up on it.”

John snorted.  

“Is that so?”

“I’m serious!” Sharky insisted, flashing an awkward grin. “Not to do any ego-jerking or anything, but you’re a good-looking guy, dude. Who’d blame ‘em for trying?”

He’d meant to look away after that, but John held his stare. Gave him a look that was like a Rubik’s Cube, and the more Sharky tried to pin down exactly what it was, the more he kept on scrambling anything and everything just to match up a single side.

“I see.” John wet his lips, dropping his eyes to his bandaged finger as he rubbed it together with his thumb. “I’d hate to keep them waiting any longer than I already have. Or to disappoint them, but a few may need to wait their turn.”

“Why’d you say that?”

“Because surely their male counterparts deserve a turn as well? Seems only fair.”

John lowered his lashes as he looked over at him this time around, and Sharky must’ve blinked at him fifty times before his words registered.

“Oh. Oh,” he said, watching John nod his head along with him. “Well, it’s uh, I’m a…I don’t think I got anything right there, huh?”

Face burning hot, he crossed his arms and felt like kicking himself. Mostly for the whole conversation leading up to this, but now was a close second.

“Hard to be right about something you didn’t know.”

“Saying weird-ass shit to you’s not cool to begin with. Expecting a pity pass for it’s worse, and then there’s whatever the fuck this is, so…I’m sorry. It’s lame as fuck, but I’ve gotta get an apology out at least. And it’s probably the last thing you wanna hear or talk about, but you do whatever the hell makes you happy, long as no one’s getting hurt or nothing,” he said, struggling to get the words out, even if they weren’t neat. “And, we uh, we can talk about something else now.”

John laughed, the sound lighter than he expected. 

“Uncomfortable?”

“No. Kinda. Just…I’m not a talker. If you need someone to head on up, make a speech using all of the right words - making it pretty and all - you don’t go busting down my door. ‘Cause there’s ways of saying things, so it’s all meaningful and nice with no hurt feelings involved. Shit, you’ve made a whole career out of it.”

Sharky tapped the bottle against his shin, and sighed.

“When I open my mouth, people usually start throwing stuff at me instead of listening. Beer, shoes, lawn ornaments, darts, you name it. I’ve dodged it. Or had someone try to hit me in the junk for it, so thanks for not doing that. And sorry again. Probably say that a couple more times before the night’s out.”

“…Hitting you would be the last thing on my mind. I promise you that.”

Dead serious, he wasn’t sure what to make of John’s tone, or the way he was looking at him.

So, after downing the rest of his beer, Sharky went for the next best thing. Nervous laughter, and more blushing like an idiot. He’d never stop at this rate.

Rubbing his hands together, he hopped up out of his seat after that. Too intense to stare down for long, he put some distance between them and hunted down the first major firework of the evening.

“Okay, so this one I usually save for the festies,” he began, carrying it over in his hands. “It’s my own personal formula. Ran through it a few times trying to see if I could get the right amount of fizz, bang, and pop that everybody loves without losing a finger, an eye, or most of my hair again.”

“Did you now?” John snorted. “It’s a miracle it grew back.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I need to keep this around,” Sharky replied, framing his jaw with his hand. The wink was extra, but that didn’t stop him. “Chicks dig guys with a little scruff to ‘em. The look’s ‘sexy renegade’, but the kind that’ll still treat you right.”

“No doubt.” Looking him over, John tilted his head as he considered him. Let his attention focus in on him closely, until Sharky was on the verge of snapping his fingers in front of him to break the spell he’d somehow cast. “It suits you.”

John could’ve slapped him, and it would’ve been less of a surprise than that.

“Say what?”

“It suits you. Keep it to that, though. Any more and I think you’re guaranteed to lose more than an eyebrow the next time any of this backfires.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure?”

In the back of his mind he registered John’s statement – an actual compliment which only confused him further – but didn’t get much further than that. That’s when he caught the smile John was now wearing. This one he’d earned for sure, and didn’t want to risk losing.  

Kicking his brain back into gear, Sharky blew out a breath. “So, uh…let’s see. Lighting this up, so we can have one kick-ass party. Just getting right on that shit.”

The red rocket was stabbed into the ground to the left of the pit, and Sharky handed off his lighter to John. He still had the matches from earlier, but this way was easier.

When all he did was give him a questioning glance, Sharky flicked his eyes towards the rocket. 

“Yo, you know this whole thing’s for you, right?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. So, you kick it off. I’ve got a firework in every color, though you might want to aim them all over yonder. Nearly lit the field up straight ahead of here last time, and my PO and I ain’t gonna see eye to eye on this if another starts. Cool?”

Dropping his attention to the lighter, John reached for it. Turned it over in his hands as the corners of his mouth curved up, and eventually aimed some of that glance his way.

“Cool.”

—

“Red, huh? Not bothering to change that up?”

“I had my heart set on red. Before I hadn’t thought much of it, but…maybe I was a little more fond of it, than I thought.”

“You could change that now if you want.” Sharky pried open the paint can with a spare screwdriver, and handed it off. “Go for something different, but still memorable. Like orange, or yellow.”

John’s lip curled. “Yellow?”

“Yeah. Banana yellow, or shit, bright purple.”

“I was taking your opinion on this seriously, you know. Up until the word ‘banana’ slipped out.”

“Heh, slipped.” John’s flat look only made Sharky snicker more. “But can you name five things, like well-known landmarks that are yellow?” John opened his mouth, but Sharky didn’t let him finish. “And green’s my go-to, ride-or-die color, but yellow? Two thumbs up.”

“So you say.”

“It’s just the kind of thing that’ll net you a bunch of admirers. Numbers ripe for the picking. ‘Cause it’s, you know. Oozing all of that appeal. Like peel, as in a banana.”

John let out an exasperated groan, and Sharky might’ve punched the air. Maybe harder than intended.

“You did not.”

“I did. Don’t think I won’t find a way to do it again. It’s the Boshaw way,” Sharky replied with a wink.

Rolling his eyes, John huffed. “I hate you.”

The two dipped the paint rollers into his chosen red and started spreading it. Painting wide red lines over the wood as they took them up the sides from top to bottom. The patches weren’t going to be done in a single coat, but each one streaked. Made Sharky’s job harder for him as he laid the paint on thick, only for John to try and correct him.

His pointed betrayal when the next five strokes didn’t come out just perfect as he claimed they would, had Sharky cracking up on the spot. 

“Nobody’s perfect,” he offered, but John kept on trying over and over until he was able to make it work.

It was hot for a late-fall day, though. Or maybe it was just the combination of the sun and the work, but he was sweating. Needing some other way to cool off than the water stashed in the cooler with them, Sharky stepped back, only to catch a view of the river.

Now that was a source guaranteed to cool him off fast.

Taking his shirt off, Sharky mopped his face with it, eyeing the water. Stared at it just long enough for the internal battle in him to be fought and won, and he made his choice.

Balling his shirt up, he took a shot for the table nearby, and missed it completely. Missed it with his hat afterwards too, but the wind threw him off there; whipped under the hat only to send it flying off elsewhere and Sharky watched it tumble onto the grass.

John raised an eyebrow. 

“What are you doing?”

“Going for a swim.” Undoing his belt, Sharky slid it off and tossed it to the side. “Seriously, the water at this time of year’s gotta be perfect. Just cold enough to shock the system, but not enough to send you straight to the hospital.”

That had John shaking his head at him.

“Guess we’ll agree to disagree here, compadre, but you tell me that ain’t looking the slightest bit nice.”

His pants came off right after, and to John’s credit his eyes didn’t leave his face. 

“It might.”

“Well, between you and me? Might’ll do just fine,” Sharky said, smirking at him.

Shedding his shoes, he went right for it. Didn’t think anything at all of how cold it was looking to be, and dove into the water. The sharp temperature difference hit almost immediately, making his teeth chatter once he surfaced; the chill of it washing right over him.

But the longer he was out there, the less it bothered him - taking the edge off in just the way he hoped. It was a great feeling, and he kept paddling around close to the pier before noticing that John hadn’t taken his word for it. Not that he’d expected him to, but that didn’t mean some friendly peer pressure was out.

Sharky reached up to snag the end of the pier and hoisted himself up. Resting on his forearms as John walked to the end to join him, he tapped a fist against the wood.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Hell yeah,” he replied, grinning up at him. “Seriously. You wanna cool off quick? This does it.”

John tapped his fingers on his thigh as he stood there, and actually looked like he was considering it. He crouched down to better talk to him, still more than a few feet higher overall.

 “I’ll take your word for it, but I have a feeling you’re just trying to give me a nasty shock.”

“Why’d you say that?”

“Because I can hear your teeth chattering from here.”

Snapping his mouth shut, Sharky rubbed at his lips and tossed a glare John’s way. Then an idea hit. One that had him trying not to grin behind his fingers, and dropped the smile before lowering it.

“Fine, it’s like ten degrees colder than I’d like, but still doable. Just not for longer than like, five minutes at a time. Got a hand for me?” He reached up to John, and he didn’t hesitate to take it. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

Keeping his fingers clasped around his forearm, John tried to help him up, but he stayed put. 

“What are you…?”

Shock flashed across John’s face as Sharky pulled hard, yanking him right off the dock and into the water.

The water closed over John’s head. Cut him off from both sound and light, leaving him only to the sound of his breath. His thoughts too, but those never really left him. Not for long, at least.

It was hard to see with what he’d kicked up, but something glinted as it floated down. Something metal, and Sharky snatched up the discarded set of sunglasses before they vanished from sight.

Dropping low, he pushed back up and broke the surface just as a sputtering John did. Coughing, and half-blinded by his hair, John bobbed in place dipping low only when tried swiping his hair back, and Sharky whooped.

“Badass right? But you know what they say? Ain’t no time like-”

The sharp look John’s eyes shut him up instantly. Swimming past him, he went straight for shore, and Sharky hesitated only long enough to realize he should’ve been following. He hit land right on John’s heels and watched as he swiped his hair back, drenched to the bone.

“Yo, John, I uh. I’m really sorry. I didn’t think it’d be anything bad or nothing. Just wanted to share a, uh…fuck.”

Turning towards him, John’s expression was perfectly schooled. Calmer than he’d been out on the water, but his eyes didn’t let up, and Sharky was frozen to the spot. He tilted his head, and the motion brought a strip of hair down, moving it out of place only for it to slap him on the nose.

John flinched. Reached up slowly to glance down at what was held between his fingers, only for his mouth to split into a brilliant grin. Covering it with his hand, he started to laugh, continuing until his entire body was shaking.

“You didn’t think through that at all, did you?”

Sharky watched him carefully. Still not sure if it was safer for him to join in or run. “I, uh. Think through what now?”

“You wanted to share a what with me?”

“Share a…like, share a good idea.”

Tutting him, John’s grin quickly became a smirk. 

“I distinctly recall hearing you say something a little more suggestive.”

“Share a good idea, not like share a…oh.” Oh, he was not serious. “Th-that’s you thinking that!” Sharky replied, his voice strained, “I just…remember how I said you were a talker? And how I can put both feet in my mouth and keep on running? Well, yeah. That’s what that was. Me, running. ‘Cept it was my mouth doing it.”

“But that may not have been the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Still scrambled, Sharky wasn’t sure at all what thread they were following now. “Uh, wait, what?”

“The swim.” John straightened his posture, all while trying to brush his hair back into place, and his smirk only grew. “Almost too refreshing in a way, and well worth the cost of doing so.”

Reaching into his pocket, John held up his phone. His very expensive, and now very dead phone, and déjà vu hit Sharky all over again.

“Don’t,” John said, interrupting the rush of thoughts early, “I needed to replace it anyway. Those, however. I’d prefer not to.”

Looking down, Sharky took in the sunglasses clenched in his hand. John’s fancy blue-lensed sunglasses, that had only survived due to a miracle alone.

John gestured towards the sunglasses, and curved a finger to guide him forward. “I’ll take them back now.”

The idea hit before he’d even taken the first step.

Sharky held them out only to slip them on, blinking against the sudden wave of blue. “This pair’s mighty nice. Might’ve been eying a new pair of glasses myself.”

John narrowed his eyes. “Those are five-hundred dollar custom made specialty sunglasses.”

“Guess you want them back bad then, don’t you?” Sliding a hand behind his ear, Sharky flicked the sunglasses up and down a few times over his eyes, and didn’t bother hiding the smirk crossing his face, “‘Fraid I’ll mess ‘em up, Johnny boy?”

The nickname got the reaction he’d hoped for. John sharpened the glare until it was made of nothing but intent. That sent a thrill through him; one he was going to ride for all it was worth.

He spread his hands wide, and motioned towards himself as he stepped back, “Well? You waiting for an invite or something?”

Then Sharky promptly cheezed it towards the woods.

Running through the brush wasn’t the best choice. Doing it without his sneakers wasn’t a great option either, but he’d already dedicated himself to seeing this through, and judging from the sound behind him, John was too.

Good. He’d almost be disappointed if he got away.

Ducking into spot by a nearby bush, Sharky glanced around, the shades throwing him off enough to shove them up onto his head, and knew John had the advantage here. He had shoes, could see clearly, and was too stubborn to quit.

It didn’t matter that he was though. So was he, and there was no way he’d give up now with John so close.

Sneaking, though, had never been his forte, and crashing through this, he’d left a good trail to follow. Breaking and snapping everything he could’ve collided with or trudged through along the way, had generated all sorts of noise. Shit, feeling less and less like the Predator and more like one of the guys about to be skinned by it, he settled in and barely held back from slapping dirt onto himself for any form of camo.

Though, wait. Maybe he did have the right idea there. Just grab some mud and branches, tuck in real nice and close to one of these trees with his back to it, facing out so he could see into the forest as a whole. Maybe throw some leaves into it-

Popping up behind him, John’s grin went devious in a snap. 

“What have we here?”

“Oh, fuck!“

He jumped up only to feel a weight slam into him. John really wasn’t messing around, and he swore to himself as he tried to wriggle out of his hold and crawl away. John’s hands slipped due to his wet skin and his lack of clothes period, but he wasn’t budging. No, he stayed on him, and Sharky mentally upgraded him from stubborn as hell to stubborn as fuck.

He was also busy trying not to think about just how okay he was wrestling a guy in his underwear like this. John was warm up against his back, but that had nothing on the way he was practically panting into his ear. It sent a shiver straight through him and he hoped like hell this wouldn’t be the time he’d decide to pop a boner.

Because one, awkward. Two, his tighty-whiteys weren’t going to hide shit. And three, John.

John wasn’t supposed to be in the same category as those chicks from the music videos he loved watching, those two ladies that he really wished he’d sealed the deal with a month back, Grace snapping off a shot during Nick’s 4th of July bash, or Mary May.

But here he was, thinking about it, and couldn’t find a solid reason to shoot it down. Well, not as solid a reason as he’d thought, apparently. Cause him not being that into dudes was supposed to cover that, but not even that held as much water as it used to. Not anymore.

Fuck. Fuck his luck.  

“Now, now,” John hissed. “It doesn’t do either of us any good if what we’re both seeking ends up breaking. Especially now. Don’t you agree?”

He threw his hands up. “Okay, fine! Fine! Uncle, just…let me flip over so I don’t end up eating dirt while I’m at it.”

The glasses had fallen down over his eyes in the struggle, and when John backed off enough for him to turn over, he found himself staring up at him. Blue on blue, the lenses really didn’t do his eyes justice. Not one bit.

“Do you yield?”

Sharky flipped him off with both hands.

“Now Charlemagne, be reasonable. I don’t think you’re in a position to argue.”

“Look, I could find a position for any occasion,” And under John looked to be one of them, but he bit his tongue on that, “but uh, we gonna parley this?”

“Parley?” John laughed, “I don’t think there’s much to negotiate here, but if you simply hand them over, perhaps I could be convinced to be merciful.”

He really wished John would shut his mouth. Or say something other than his usual spiel, because suddenly finding that hot was becoming a problem. Fast.

Grumbling, he reached for the sunglasses and held them up.

“Whatever. Just take ‘em.”

John snapped them up, holding them high before sliding them back onto his head. Like a small crown as a triumphant smile slid onto his face.

“Ah, reunited at last.”

“Yeah, yeah. You won, whatever.”

Setting his hand back down to the right of Sharky’s head, John sighed. 

“You, my friend, never know when to quit.”

“Hey, you’re the one that ran a half-naked dude through the woods, and tackled his ass to the ground over a pair of sunglasses. Classic case of the pot calling the kettle black, yo.”

“Please,” John rolled his eyes, but was smiling warmly, “this was encouraged. Don’t deny it.”

Sharky returned it, liking how it took the edge off of him. It always did, but he usually let it fade fast. Like he’d blink and miss it, and wouldn’t have had any clue he’d done it to begin with.

Not this time. John kept that smile, aiming it right at him, and he couldn’t look away if he tried.

“Who said I was?” Sharky replied, his voice deeper. Rougher.

Opening his mouth to respond, John paused. Let his smile curve into something different as it took on an edge he liked, and waited. Watched him back just as closely now.

Sharky heard the leaves move as John shifted, leaning down. But, he tuned it all out. Focused only on John as he came within a breath of him, hovering in place as he took in every last detail on his face. 

“Prove me wrong then,” John whispered.

So, Sharky did exactly what his gut told him to do. No mind paid at all to the voice in the back of his head, or how hard his heart was pounding in his chest.

Leaning up, he touched his lips to John’s.

They were cool. Cool and soft as he held the kiss, not wanting to break it.

Nothing happened at first. Above him, John stayed in place, frozen. But he didn’t withdraw. That’s when it clicked. The actual act sinking in, and John’s eyelids fluttered shut.

Angling his head, his mouth moved against his. Applied more pressure bit by bit, as Sharky breathed in through his nose. It was slow. Careful as neither drew back, or wanted air between them.

Sharky reached up for him, placing a hand on his side as John let more of his weight shift onto him. Pulled him closer, focusing on how warm he felt, even through his wet clothes.

And the brush of John’s fingertips along his jaw, got the first real sound out of him. A low moan, almost lost, but not ignored. Not when he felt John’s tongue run along his lips, and opened his mouth to him right after.

“-ohn? Brother John?”

John’s sharp inhale cut through the fog. Going still, he drew back, blue eyes wide open and staring directly at him.

There was a laugh in the distance. It joined the other voices as they called out, one more familiar than the others, and all asked for one person. John.

Staring up at him, up at John, he swallowed hard.

John was off of him soon after. The sunglasses hit the leaves by him, forgotten, and Sharky sat up as John paced a short track away from him.

Scrubbing his hair back, John let out a rough breath. “I have to- Joseph needs me to…” His voice trailed off as he turned towards him. But when their eyes met, there was no mistaking it. The pained look that crossed him, holding fast.  “I’m sorry.”

He turned and left, heading off.

Stunned, Sharky sat there for a good five minutes, unmoving. Grabbing the glasses, he considered them for a second, staring off in the direction John went as his stomach twisted. The feeling brewing there digging at him, both hurt and frustrated.

Because he’d known what he’d wanted to happen there. What he’d let himself hope for as John drew close enough to touch, and he’d later drink himself stupid that night by the firepit trying to drown it all out.

He’d always been full of ideas. Both good and bad, with most leaning towards the latter.

So, maybe it wasn’t a surprise at all that he’d wanted to kiss him. It was easily his worst idea yet.

—

The first time Sharky worked up the nerve to kiss someone, he figured his luck was golden. Kristi, middle school, cool even with the braces, he’d impressed her with a few spare action figures and some of the extra snacks from his lunch. Talked her ear off more than once, and even had her respond with more than a nod, and an ‘uh huh’ or ‘okay’ to it too.

He had the moment planned out from the start, working up his nerve to pull it off only to get half a sandwich tossed at him mid-go. That, and some applesauce, and having to sit through the rest of the day with stained and sticky clothes  had been the cherry on top of the shit sundae he’d made.

He’d thought the situation had been read right. Thought she’d been into him even if he was just a dumbass kid in bad need of a word (or five) breaking down why assuming that was bad – makes you less of an ass that way – and tried not to feel too broken up about it at the time. He could always pick himself back up and try again later.

Now, was no exception.

Because of course he’d want to see just what it’d take to get another smile from John, no matter how much he kept his mouth running to do so. To have John seek him out to talk, not just because he was there, but because he wanted to. To share more about himself, what he liked, what he loved. What mattered.

He wanted those things; liked earning them, knowing he’d been the one to make him smile like that. Laugh like that. Wanted to tap into the warm feeling he’d finally linked to, flowing through him again and again.  

So maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him when the other urge hit, saying to kiss the hell out of him. To do it as many times as John would let him, just to hear him react to it.

To earn that. To know he had.

That was an idea he could be okay with. He might’ve even let himself think he’d earned it that day too, long enough to see what it tasted like.

And yeah. He did like it. He liked it a whole hell of a lot.

Liked it, and John, and was full-on content to keep on kissing him even with the twig under him jabbing him in the ass.

But it wasn’t his call to make. Not alone, and when John pulled back he’d known on some level he’d fucked up.

Enough to know a sad 2 AM text wasn’t going to cut it, but he still sent it. Still tried calling at least once even if stammering out an apology wasn’t much better, but he got nothing. No response, no real acknowledgment, just radio silence.

Maybe he’d earned that too. 

That, and the news that Joseph had slapped him with when he decided to head over and work anyway.

Two weeks.

John was going to be gone for two weeks - he had to fly out for work, and they’d needed him there for a few meetings that couldn’t be handled otherwise.

Joe wasn’t rude about it, even welcomed him warmly once he got through the whole shuffling and awkward rambling on the doorstep bit, half launching into a speech that he was able to cut off before it got too personal too fast.

But Joe still had to tell him at least two more times for it to finally sink in, and the reassuring tone he used didn’t help one bit.

Because he knew what it was like to be avoided, to know that his piss-poor attempts at apologies really had to have fallen flat for John to cut out without any notice like that. And maybe he’d had a delay in replacing his phone – another thing of his he’d managed to wreck – but there were other ways he could’ve reached out to him.

With nothing to go off of, Sharky could’ve picked anything, or everything that he’d messed up, knowing him. So with his thoughts pinging back and forth with a vengeance he did the only thing he could do at the moment.

Work. 

Pitching the schedule completely, he came by when he wanted, aware that the days were passing, but trying not to consciously tick them down while doing so. He worked his ass off and blared enough disco into his eardrums to ensure nothing else could get through.  

That’s how he started off this particular day, at least. Singing along loudly, throwing more paint up in lines that would’ve had John complaining next to him and pointing out what to do as he ‘helped’, and the pang he felt from it wasn’t funny at all.

Because it meant he missed that shit too, and that? That was bad.

“This fucking sucks,” he muttered, and brought the roller down only to squeeze his eyes shut before the splatter hit, “fucking sucks.”

Lowering his headphones, he grabbed for the rag hanging out of his back pocket, and tried to wipe the paint off of his face.  It was during this that he caught movement in the distance. Coming down the path, the sunlight shone off of the spotless paint of the car, not a single scratch or dent on it in sight, and his heart jumped straight into his throat.

Scrubbing at the paint on him harder, he stashed the rag and wasn’t sure what the hell he was going for as he shuffled in place, but settled for staring thoughtfully at the wall in front of him. Wiped his hands on his shirt as he heard the door to the car open and close, and had no idea what the first word out of his mouth was going to be.

As it turns out, he didn’t say a thing. Just looked over at John as he walked up, dressed like a damn model himself, suit on with nowhere to go, and felt his face go a full three shades darker in color.

“Hmm,” John studied the building carefully, and tapped a finger on his chin, “you’ve been busy.”

“Uh, yeah,” that came out a little breathier than he would’ve liked, so Sharky cleared his throat and tried again, “yeah, dude. You’ve been gone for what, two weeks now? What did you think I was gonna do during that? Take a holiday?”

“Maybe,” John replied, “I’d have considered it. No responsibilities, no oversight. Not a care in the world.”

He hadn’t looked his way yet, focusing on the boathouse instead. Sharky folded his arms just to keep his hands still, and rocked back and forth on his feet, all while the music kept on playing by his ear. He also tried not to read too much into the whole ‘lack of oversight’ part, but failed.

John did turn after a few more minutes, his examination finally over, and walked up to him. His face neutral, everything perfectly in place, and Sharky couldn’t help but stare at him. 

“That settles it then,” John said.

“Settles what?”

“You’re done,” he replied coolly. “With the work you’ve put in, and the progress you’ve made, I believe your debt to me has been repaid.”

Everything screeched to a halt. His thoughts, the tapping he’d settled into, and his breath as he held it. 

“I don’t…you wanna say that again, amigo?”

John didn’t even bat an eye, “You’re free to go. Your help is no longer needed.”

That wasn’t right. The roof still needed work done, the paint was barely starting to dry, and he knew for a fact that this wasn’t finished; he’d stared at all of this with him long enough to know he had maybe a week and a half left, max.

But fine. Maybe he wanted him in another area. To switch to another project, and he latched right onto it.

“Well, you uh, you got anything else that you need help with? Think I told Joe I was going to-”

“No. I can manage it from here.”

That idea hadn’t even lasted a minute before John shot it dead.

And there it was, the hurt that dug right into his chest, and he let out a shaky breath as he worked around it.

He knew he wasn’t necessarily always going to be around here, but being cut loose like this hadn’t been a possibility he’d considered. Having John all but throw him out mid-job, due to screwing up along the line? Yes. Hell, he would’ve added time due to piss-poor performance, and all that talk of standards months back.

But having him pull this now? After working so well, for so long?

It stunned him bad enough to keep him from arguing it. He dragged his feet as he gathered up his things, loading them all into the trunk one by one as his disappointment started to hang over him like a cloud.

Sharky shut the trunk and gave John a tentative glance. He didn’t know if he should’ve been looking his way at all, but did it in the hopes he’d get something out of him.

But John wasn’t fazed. Didn’t react, or say anything as he watched him go about his business, somehow even colder than when they’d first started working together. Not angry, annoyed, happy, or anything.

Just…nothing.

Rounding the car, Sharky tugged down on the brim of his hat and hoped it’d stay there. 

“Guess I’ll see you around?”

“Perhaps. Provided you don’t torch another portion of my property.”

He stopped. Felt the comment dig in a little more than it should’ve, and turned to look at John. He saw the hint of a smirk that lingered there only for it to drop completely.

It hadn’t been a kind thing for John to say, but that John realized it only after looking right at him hurt even more.

Sharky couldn’t hold his tongue any longer at that.

“You know, people talk around here. Have been for years, and will keep on doing that come tomorrow, next week, next year, whenever. I know you’ve heard more than half of what goes on about you here. What they say, and just how they feel about you. Hell, I’ve talked shit plenty about you. Had no real reason to think you weren’t the county’s largest asshole based on the like, ten things we’ve said to each other before the last couple of months.

“But in some ways you’re an okay guy. Maybe even a great one once you get past the bullshit, and I, uh, like you. Didn’t think I’d ever say that and mean it. Probably tell the person claiming it they had a screw loose or something, but I do. And I don’t…”

Sharky bit the last part of the sentence off, because he knew what he did. He knew exactly what he’d done, and hated that this was the result.

“I, uh, don’t think it really matters what I say at this point, huh?” he muttered, looking John’s way, “not anymore, at least.”

John’s jaw had tensed sometime in the last minute or so, but he held his tongue. Said nothing, and Sharky let himself ramble on in spite of it.  Had to do anything to cover up whatever else he’d try.

Since this really was it, wasn’t it? The last time he was going to be here, talking to him, and he was wasting his time talking about anything other than the way he’d made him feel that day.

He’d never had the best of luck with shit like this anyway.

Giving John a grin, one that he wanted to muster up and mean, he held out his hand to him. 

“Guess this is where we part ways, amigo, and uh, don’t worry. Don’t think I’ll be taking a joyride in your boat twice.”

Not dropping his stare for a second, John shifted towards him and took his hand. Squeezed it as he shook it, and Sharky felt his grin finally wane as he forced himself to let go.

With one last slap to John’s shoulder, he headed towards his car.

“Charlemagne,” John called after him, but he didn’t slow down, “Charle-Sharky, wait.”

Fuck, not even that sounded right coming from him. Not after hearing his actual name for so long, and he couldn’t do it any longer. Let himself snap, and threw all of his frustration John’s way.

“Just save it, okay? Don’t bother with the names, the pleading, or whatever this is you’re trying. Persuading me? Now? The fuck’s up with that? Not like you wanted me here to begin with, but it is what it is. I wrecked your shit, I came here to fix it, thinking that was going to be all of it, but this?” he said, gesturing between them, and let too much show on his face while saying it. “This on top of everything else? Fucking blows, man. It fucking blows.”

Seeing John’s calm crack wasn’t satisfying. Having to force it to begin with even less so.

“So just…let it go, huh? Save us both more trouble in the long run.”

He turned, and his feet carried him to his car, and he left.

On autopilot, he hit the gas, not thinking about where the road was winding to. He followed it, revved more than the car liked, but found himself pulling in to one of the gas stations. He idled by the pump, loosened his grip on the steering wheel, and turned the keys.

That’s when the blue caught his eye.

Right on the dash sat the sunglasses. Blue, almost as blue as his eyes.

Hitting the steering wheel, Sharky swallowed the rest of his feelings down and got out.

—

Fall ended, and with the beginning of winter the first hint of snow rolled in. One to two inches of snow to start, blanketing everything in a fine layer of white as the temperatures dropped.

Nothing that would bury his place outright, but that still didn’t stop him from giving half of it a good ol’ scorch with his flamethrower. He had a yearly thing going, adjusting it each time just to get the right stream of flame flowing, so he wouldn’t burn much under the snow. But thankfully, this wasn’t one where he was on the verge of getting caught for it.

Not yet at least, as Sharky took the jet of fire and gave it another sweep across where the snow was coating the road. He’d get at least two to three more passes before hitting the pavement, and needed to be sure to stop it at any sign of the fire spreading.

Now was not the time to get cozy up at the jail either, no matter how well they decked the halls over there.

Hurk let him know early on that he was set to do their usual thing this time of year. He’d pull up a chair with him as they had their holiday bonfire, before heading out to Aunt Addie’s. Those were the best times, and the ones where he really had all he could’ve ever wanted.

Sometimes there were odd years. The ones where Hurk was gone after all, being one hell of a kick ass super spy, and Sharky found it harder to get in on the holiday fun with his aunt. Felt a little too much like an outsider, and thought his time was better spent down at the Eagle drinking himself stupid before trying and failing to write a dirty phrase into the snow.

This year was set up to be one of the good ones, though. He had Hurk, they had their usual plans set up, and tonight they’d even decided to get in a little pre-holiday drink-a-thon. He’d supply the venue and grab half of the alcohol, while Hurk would cover the rest. Snag them more booze, maybe even a few movies, and he’d try to see how fast he could beat him at his own self-declared shot-taking record.

But first, he needed the beer. Smokes too, since he’d gone through most of his current pack, and snapped up what he could down at the general store.

They only had one six pack of the beers he and Hurk liked, though, and when he went fishing for cash he wasn’t able to cover for another, so he cut his losses. He paid for the beer plus one pack of cigs, and knew Hurk would have his back on the rest.

Not breaking his usual habit, he pried off one of the beers and popped the top as soon as he was out the door. Hit by the cold, he shivered but shrugged it off as he tilted the beer back. It wasn’t far to his car, so he could double-time it there before anyone could say two words about it.

“Strange.”

He paused, and nearly coughed the drink up. John was standing not even three feet away, dressed in a long dark coat. A blue scarf was wrapped around his neck, and between harsh coughs Sharky might’ve been able to pick out the light smile he wore. Almost friendly.

The air escaped John in a puff as he chuckled. 

“You would think something warm would be better for this weather.”

“It…uh, that’s what the whiskey at home’s for,” Sharky rasped, “or fireball. Usually a winner.”

“Ah.”

John raised a gloved hand to hold his coat closed, clearly cold, but he didn’t drop his eyes or move on. Just held the look he was set on aiming at him, and Sharky knew his mouth was in danger of running off on him.

Once he could get it going again. Funny how John always had a way of doing that to him.

“You, er, need anything from here? You never-“ I never see you down here, “didn’t think there was a thing you’d ever run out of.”

“Yes, I… There were a few things I did find I needed.” The smile faded. “Matches.”

“Oh. Yeah, you might need some of those,” he took another drink of the beer, hoping it would cover the way his mouth was twisting. And didn’t like the way his lighter suddenly burned a hole in his pocket, “for heat?”

“Heat. Mostly.” John shrugged, and tried another smile. “Haven’t decided to take a page out of your book just yet. But it’s tempting.”

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Pressed against the back of his teeth as he felt his grip on the beer tighten. “So, uh…”

“It’s good to see you.”

“Good luck with that.”

He’d blurted it out just as John spoke, not expecting anything along those lines.

Something flashed in John’s eyes. It was hard to tell out here in the dark at first, but those blue eyes of his managed to catch the light. What little there was brought them out, and he didn’t know what to do with the hurt he’d let him see.

But it was too late now. He couldn’t take it back no matter how hard he tried. 

“Fuck, I uh-this isn’t, look I-“

“You’re busy,” Smoothing out the front of his coat, John looked down as he did so, studying his leather gloves closely, “clearly I’ve interrupted something, and you need to get back to it.”

Chug-a-lugging a beer out in public wasn’t something. Lighting another cigarette only to stub it out before finishing it in the ashtray of his car wasn’t something. Missing him wasn’t-

Sharky swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Think you’re right about that.”

This was his cue to leave. He had been out here long enough, stared over at him long enough, and he didn’t at all trust his ability to hide any of it at this point. Still, he let himself look at John again, just for a moment longer, because what was one more second? He’d dug the hole deep enough to start, he’d keep on going until he had a whole damn trench.

“See you around, man,” he threw out over his shoulder as he turned to leave, “oh, and happy holidays and all that shit.”

The snow crunched under his feet as he trudged over to his car, ready to throw the door open and hop in fast. But this time around John didn’t call out to him. He put the last of the beer down from behind the driver’s seat, waiting for it, listening, only for his phone to give him a notification instead.

Slipping it out, he opened up the message waiting for him.

Happy holidays. Take care.

—

“Holy shit, Sharky. Thought they were out of this. Though, looks like they would’ve been if you’d put any more of a dent into it.”

Hurk snagged one of the beers on the table – one of three remaining, which wasn’t that bad – and got to work on it quicker than he had. Then took the other next to it right after. 

Stifling a laugh, Sharky flicked a loose bottlecap at him from the couch. 

“You trying to say something? After I head on down there and nearly freeze my ass off hunting for that shit?”

“Whoa, no. Cause that’s just hella rude turning my nose up at any free alcohol being offered, but this ain’t enough for two. Hell, it’s barely enough for one.”

And with their shindig consisting of one beer, the remains of another six-pack in his fridge, plus the line of spirits they’d taken a crack at already, it was looking a little on the sad side. Hurk hadn’t even been able to snag a keg, not this time around, because he’d shown up to his house, emptied his pockets, and didn’t even have a movie or three to share.

“And not a single call back,” Hurk sighed, “I’m hurting, cuz. Thought we’d be able to cozy up to some fine-ass ladies tonight, but no takers.”

“Eh, it happens.”

Disappointing as it was, he was hard-pressed to care. At least until Hurk threw a handful of bottle caps back at him, and he dove to the other end of the couch to dodge them.

“Well, you’re in a funk still. Don’t think I’m not noticing that!”

“Look, it’s late. We’re short on shit. Any lady walking in through that door would walk back out again after seeing half of this. And that’s not even covering the porn mag left on the table.”

“Hey, I marked a spot. Thought you’d appreciate it since you’re blue, and needed a little something to make you smile.” Hurk walked over and held it up, thumbing through a few more pages before turning it around to show it to him. 

“Come on, you love this chick.”

“Yeah, I know,” He sat back down, and folded an arm under his head. Gave what he was holding a passing glance, before leaning back, “It’s nothing. Just some of that seasonal shit.”

“Well, I think I know how to get this party going again. We exit stage left, head on down to see Miss Mary May, and work our way up from there, eh?” He grunted in response, and Hurk sighed, “Duderino, you’re killing me here. I’ve gotta find a way to get you back to bouncing off the walls, or we’re both done.”

The magazine was tossed back down, and Sharky heard a gasp.

“Oh, shit. That’s pretty fucking sharp there, cuz.”

“Hmm? What is?”

“These sunglasses. Where’d the hell you manage to get them?”

Sharky shot up in his seat. Hurk had them on, in the middle of shooting off a set of finger guns, and paused only to push them further up the bridge of his nose. “Oh, this is pretty damn cool. Don’t know about all the blue, though, you think these little guys come in a little red, white, and blue instead?”

Sharky scrambled up and off of the couch, and wrangled them away from Hurk. 

“Careful with that shit, okay? You’ll fucking break them if you bend them the wrong way.”

“Whoa, whoa there, man! Easy, easy!” Hurk held up his hands, and gave Sharky a wary look as he examined the pair, “It’s a set of sunglasses, bud. No big deal, not that I was gonna actually break ‘em.”

“They’re five-hundred bucks, man.”

Hurk changed his tune immediately, “Well, fuck a duck. And you’re holding onto them? Who the hell do you know spending that much dinero on a set of glasses?”

It didn’t take long for him to narrow that down either, and Sharky’s grimace in response only sent the unspoken point home.

“Wait. Are those John’s?”

“He dropped them. We were working one day, he had to run off to do something with his bro, and I…grabbed them. Wasn’t thinking much at the time, like I know he could’ve come back to grab them later, but I thought they’d get smashed out there. Figured I’d have a chance to give ‘em back, except later never really came, and I, uh. Held onto them.”

“Well, it’s his fault for doing you dirty like that. Stealing and keeping his shit seems like fair game to me.”

Glancing down at them, Sharky sighed, “Nah, not really. Not like you think it would.”

Hurk got quiet, saying nothing as he went and gently placed the sunglasses back down on the dining room table.

The low whistle Sharky got after that though, had him trying to force himself not to bolt.  “Fuck me running, dude. You weren’t kidding before, were you?”

“During what? The whole him not being a douche thing, or the part where I kind of liked him?”

“Man, both. Both are pretty much the same thing. Sorta.”

“Oh. Well, it-it’s fucking bad, man,” Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sharky swiped his cap off to run a hand through his hair, “It’s a whole lot of bullshit, cause I was busting my ass there. Wanted to get it all over and done with so we could go back to acting like nothing had happened. Then I didn’t mind it as much. Kinda thought we were friends or heading towards it, and…I might’ve blown that too.”

Dropping his arm, he sniffed, and tried to look anywhere but Hurk’s way.

“Cause you don’t wanna kiss your friends or try to. Muddies things a whole hell of a lot, and it’s…it didn’t work out. And I don’t know why, but I still wanna see him. Know how he’s doing even if he doesn’t give two shits about me, and when I had that chance today grabbing that,” he said pointing over towards the beer, “I blew it again.”

“What about you, cuz? Takes two loving and willing adults to do the ol’ sideways shuffle,” Hurk paused, scrunching up his face as he considered it, “wait, that’s a bad way of saying it, cause we’re not talking fucking, we’re talking feelings. Point still stands, though. You gotta have a say in some of this here. Especially if you like this guy – and fucking John, man, but I ain’t judging. Much.”

Hurk’s hands went up again as Sharky gave as much of a glare as he could muster. But when Hurk walked over and gave him a hug, he didn’t pull back.

“You’ll always be cool to me, man. Sorry for giving you shit over something you can’t really control, and if he’s being weird about it? He’s the one missing out.”

After a few pats on the back, Sharky let out a sigh. Felt some of the weight start to lift after letting that out into the open, and felt a little better too. Not completely, not even by a long shot, but he’d work his way there.

“You know what’ll help? Not all of it, but at least for now?”

“A round of shots?”

“Round of the best alcohol we can handle, and tonight I’ve got us covered. Do that for a while, then finish off the night watching ol’ Vinny being a total badass.”

Thinking it over, Sharky felt a smile start to creep in, “Maybe throw in some other shit too. Like, maybe one round of the holiday fireplace or something. The crackling’s nice.”

“Anything you like, bud. Anything you like.”

—

Nights at the Spread Eagle during winter weren’t much different than during the rest of the year. Sure there was a draft, but the place was just as busy as any other. The drinks flowed, the regulars had their winter gear on, and everyone was set on having a good a time as possible.

Hurk made good on his promise shortly after they got there, toasting him before the two got cracking on their first round of shots.

He didn’t want to get blasted, but the warmth that set in was welcome, and with every story that Hurk dove into he found it that much easier to let loose and laugh.  

Heading up for the next round, Sharky kept his beer close as he hit the counter up front, passed their order on to the always lovely Mary May, and set in for a short wait. Resting both arms on the counter he took a look around, he noticed there was no line at the jukebox. With quarters rustling around in his pocket, he had change to spare.

“Waiting on something?”

Shifting, he tried to make space for the person next to him, “Shit, yeah. Let me just-“

Then felt the rest of the response die as he glanced up at Jacob. Dude was still as tall and imposing as he remembered, but wasn’t eyeing him with the intent to kill. Or anything other than what he guessed was friendly for him.

“Yo, how’s it…how’s it going?”

“It’s going.” Jacob took the spot next to him by the bar, and Sharky tapped his fingers on it a little faster. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“No shit.”

“You two aren’t talking much anymore?”

“I, uh, don’t think that’s the way I’d put it. Cause if you know two things about it, and I know you guys are all close and shit, it’s…not great.”

“Yeah. You used to be all he ever talked about.”

That made him spit his next drink out. Getting one hell of a dirty look from Mary May, he grabbed as many napkins as he could to sop it up, wiping the counter down, and felt his face burn the entire time.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

Jacob simply kept on tending to his drink. Drained it completely as he stood there next to him, and sighed when done. 

“Heard about you enough to wonder if he’d ever shut up about you. Charlemagne this. Boshaw that. Got real unlucky with that skunk business too.”

Groaning, Sharky set his face in his hands, “Yeah, it was. It was pretty bad.”

“Can’t dodge those easy.”

“I didn’t,” Sharky sat up, and eyed him, “so, I get it. You’ve heard some shit.”

Jacob set the empty bottle down, and motioned for another, “Plenty. More than I know you want to hear. Until he stopped. Stopped saying much of anything about you at all, and didn’t look none too pleased about it either.”

“Well, you wanna know more? Talk to him about it.”

“I did,” Mary May slid him a beer, and he redirected it towards Sharky, “Which is why I told him to talk to you.”

“Why would you…why’d you do that?” Sharky asked, any irritation at this bleeding away.

“John’s not easy to deal with. Then if he goes and fucks something up along the way? He’s ten times worse. And if he makes a mistake, not many are going to push back, or correct him on it.”

“You think he made a mistake?”

“He did,” The piercing look Jacob aimed at him made him sit up a little straighter, “he liked having you around. Why throw that away?”

That punched him up and down all at once, and he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Not again.

“Look. I get it, you’re being a bro. Trying to look out for him and shit, and I respect that. It means a lot, but you want me to talk to him? Like sit down, link arms, and work any of this out?”

Sharky pulled out his phone and didn’t even wait for Jacob to prompt him. Just called John, and hit speakerphone so that they could hear it as it dialed.

“Dude won’t answer. Hasn’t yet, and won’t now.”

Jacob crossed his arms, set to wait with him, and Sharky listened for those telltale words of John’s. The same few words he’d been hit with when he first tried this months back.

“Hello?”

Sharky stared down at it, at the seconds as they ticked by on the screen, and felt his mouth go dry.

“Charle- …-nyone there?”

Slapping the phone against his ear, he turned off the speakerphone and talked fast, “Hey, uh, you…you’re not supposed to pick up.”

“I’m not?”

“No, you’re…” He stopped his leg when he felt it start bouncing into overdrive, “It’s, uh, sorry. Sorry about earlier. Wanted to get that out first, cause I didn’t know I was gonna see you and really had to run off. Might’ve also thought this would’ve gone straight to voicemail, so I could you know. Actually kinda work my way through this. Make it sound good, not…”

“No, it’s…it’s fine,” John cleared his throat, and his next few words were warmer, “I wasn’t expecting a call at all, so even this is welcome.”

“Oh, er, well. Cool.” Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

“And…you don’t need to apologize for that. I didn’t handle it as well as I should’ve. It’s hard to hear you over the line, but if you want to talk more I’d be glad to. About that, or anything else.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

His heart was hammering in place, and his eyes skimmed the entire bar. Jumping from item to item, needing a topic or an excuse to keep things going until they stopped on the white snowflakes decorating one of the other guests’ sweaters. It was an ugly sweater to be loud and proud of, and the shovel emblazoned on the front was the showpiece of the entire thing.

“Shovel.”

“Shovel?”

Shifting on his chair, Sharky swore under his breath. Put it in a sentence. Words, verbs, and some of those phrases like that Wheel of Fortune shit. That’s how you do this.

“You er, need any shoveling done? Like you’re dealing with a ton of snow coming down, or about to? Cause I’ve gone some ways of fixing that. Got more than a few, might even give you a method or two provided you want a uh, demo. Or a guarantee any of it’ll work, and I can cover it. Give you a sneak preview or something.”

John went silent, the sounds of the bar rising enough to cover him, and Sharky didn’t bother stopping his leg this time. Just felt it vibrate enough to make his voice uneven.

“Hey, John? You still with me there, amigo?”

“I’m still here,” he said, and Sharky couldn’t hold back his relief.

“So, what do you say? You dig any of that?”

“Yes,” It was faint, but he might’ve heard a laugh, “I think you’re right. I could use someone here after all.”

—

Every shovel Sharky owned he threw in the trunk. Packed them all, and didn’t care if they all bumped into each other as he took every corner faster than he should’ve.

That shouldn’t have worked. Hell, that shouldn’t have registered or been anything close to a winning proposition, but he said yes. He picked up, he heard him say yes, and that was all it took for him to throw everything aside for it. Just the chance to put a pin in any of this, and he was willing to dive in headfirst just to get an answer.

And to see him, but he’d known that for a while now.

The white that covered everything as he pulled up was beautiful. Almost too pretty to mess with, but the wheels of his car drew jagged lines through it, and after getting out he had to hold back on the urge to drop down and see how good of a snow angel he could pull off.

Grabbing one of the shovels, Sharky trudged over to the front door, and stood there. Stared at the doorbell like it was going to jump out at him until he jabbed at it. Then hit it one more time just to make sure it worked.

After that came the waiting. That was what sucked, and after a few seconds of it, he started fumbling for a cigarette. Searching both pockets, however, gave him nothing. Not a loose one, not pocket lint, but he did find some stray matches.

Taking one out, he twisted it between his fingers as he kept on patting himself down, and dropped it when the door opened and he caught John looking out at him.

Pulling himself up, Sharky grabbed for the shovel and held it up. Almost like one would a spear, and he cleared his throat, “Yo, so snow. You got a lot of it here.”

On the other side, John nodded slightly, “It appears to be so.”

“And I know you want that shit out, and fast. Now I’ve got a few ways of doing that. Got the traditional way, the express way, and the uh, Boshaw Barbeque way. Not gonna just limit you to one, I figured you’d want the full set of things to pick from.”

The look of interest in John’s eyes grew, and he raised an eyebrow, “I remember you mentioning a few. Any recommendations?”

“Well, namesake’s kinda a no-brainer. Cause usually that means I can go a round or two outside with my flamethrower. Torch the shit out of it and clear it out without thinking too much,” Stopping to rub at his neck as he thought it over, he made a face, “think that might be the express way too.”

“So, two out of the three ways involve…fire?”

“Uh, yeah. Kinda my go-to for most things, but I figured you might wanna limit that.”

John’s reply came fast, “Agreed.”

“But the others are still open. If you change your mind, I’ve got her loaded up back there. Takes nothing to just whip it out on a second’s notice, and get the job done,” setting the shovel down, Sharky cleared his throat, “so, ready to work with Boshaw and er…well, it’s just one Boshaw, but I like the idea of having a name for it, so it’s coming together. Just slowly.”

“You do have name recognition on your side right now,” John raised a hand to rub at his lips, considering him as he stood there, “or would that be more notoriety?”

“Hey, being known for something’s not all bad. Being known for the kind of thing that you’ll be using? Guarantees you’ll make it work. And here? Still offering up a service, and fire or not it’s getting done. So, fuck it. Tell me where to start, and I’ll get right on that.”

Barely hiding a smile behind his hand, John gestured indoors, “Let me get my coat.”

—

This was going well. The kind of well that had him hoping there wasn’t something awful waiting just behind the scenes to strike, because his hopes were at an all-time high, and Sharky wasn’t ready to let them crash back down to earth.  

John took another shovel, with the reasoning behind it being that one man couldn’t possibly put a dent into any of this alone. Not quickly. It was his fault for having a fucking mansion for starters, but the minute he started chipping in, Sharky couldn’t quite keep the grin off of his face.

“More snow’s coming in tonight,” John said, not breathing hard yet, but each one left his mouth in a white puff, “not heavy, but enough to make it a problem.”

“See, we could get all of this taken care of, but I know my method’s off the table. Just offering that again, in case you’re looking for something quick and easy.”

“And I appreciate the offer, but I fail to see how that would make it easier.”

“Just point, work the trigger a little to see how you like it, then gently sweep the stream back and forth,” making the motion with his hands, he rocked back and forth, putting his hips into it too, and only stopped when he noticed the wry way John was looking at him, “hey, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. That shit works wonders when you’ve got twenty feet of snow and only one buckaroo around to move it all.”

John set his hands on top of the shovel, “Namely yourself.”

“Yeah, though Hurk’s had my back ever since we were little. He’s been there for me for anything and everything, and if I asked right now he’d be at my house in ten with a sled and a shovel. To skid down those slopes first, before throwing in with me to cart that shit out. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better. Just sucks he’s out of town often as he is.I couldn’t have asked for anyone better. Just sucks he’s out of town often as he is. Seen some real strange shit too, going off of what he’s brought up.”

“Well, maybe you won’t have to handle it alone this time.”

Sharky paused mid-shovel. “Say what?”

“You could…ask.”

“Ask you?”

John tilted his head to the side, glancing down briefly before making eye contact again, “I understand I’m not going to bring a lot of firepower to it, but it’s another set of hands.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Having two heads and four sets of hands to use? It sure is,” he said, and gave him a broad smile, “maybe clear all that snow up before that tingly sensation kicks in, you know that kind where you lose the feeling in your fingers? What a thing that’d be. Thanks, man.”

John waved him off, but let his attention linger on him even after going back to shoveling. That might’ve made him put his back into a little more, when he wasn’t trying to look at him himself.

Pink started to tint John’s face, mainly his cheeks, which reminded him of one of those old Christmas figurines he had a bad habit of knocking over at his grandma’s. Rosy-cheeked, possibly haunted, going off of some of their weirder bumps in the night that happened during the holidays, but smiling and happy.

John wasn’t smiling directly, but every time their eyes met, he caught something there. Not even ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ this time, but there. Made that warm feeling run through his chest again, and he felt his mouth moving before he could stop it.

“You know, uh…you can come by again. Anytime. Just to shoot the shit, hang, dodge Broseph or Jake if they’re getting at you. Or shit, bring ‘em. We can all rock the firepit, I’ll set up some music and just chill.”

Sharky cleared his throat, focused right on the pile of snow that kept on growing, and kept on talking.

“Or we could hop in Hurk’s truck, go do some ice fishing, but by giving it the ol’ Sharky one-two fer. You know, cause Hurkie and I came up with it, and if we wanna trademark that it’d take a while, but you’re a lawyer. We could probably sit down, you could slap on a suit, crack open that briefcase of yours, and set us up while you’re throwing around all of the shit they say on Law and Order, and oh, fuck,” he stopped and crunched enough numbers to sweat, “that whole talking bit’s got a price tag too, huh? Shit, think you could uh, swing a bit of a first time customer satisfaction guaranteed deal for-“

He turned as John reached his side, and yelped as he yanked him forward by the front of his coat. Kissed him in full, his lips cold, but his breath warm. So warm, and so much closer than he had been not even a minute before.

The shovel hit the snow, falling right out of his hands. Trying not to trip over it, Sharky moved forward, grabbing for him as John slid a hand up behind his head. Kissed him back. Just like he’d wanted to. Weeks back. Days back. Today, soon after seeing him at his front door.

Like he could right now, even as words kept on trying to bubble up and spill out. But he’s here. John’s on him, kissing him, moaning into his mouth, and he can’t believe it. Can’t believe it even as it’s happening.

Breaking away, Sharky pulled back. Blinked and held his eyes shut for a few seconds just to see if he could ground himself. But John was still there when he opened them. Still there, still holding onto him, and nearly pinched himself just to be sure.

And Sharky laughed. 

“Fuck, man. You just…you like throwing me off balance, don’t you?”

“Me? That’s you,” John said, stroking his cheek, “has been you from the very first day I met you. Officially, at least. This fool that thought it’d be a fine idea to borrow a boat - while intoxicated at that - and trusted he would be able to return it.”

“Hey, I only failed step four. Nearly had profit too, but…uh, yeah,” leaning into John’s touch, Sharky let his eyes fall shut, “better than I didn’t. Hindsight being twenty-forty and all that.”

“Twenty-twenty.”

“Whatever. But-“ But why? The thought crept in, and his smile grew brittle, “you change your mind, or….?”

John’s eyebrows drew together, “About what?”

“You didn’t… I didn’t think you-“

A shaky breath slipped out, and Sharky couldn’t help it. Took two steps back to get some distance between them.

“I’d run through this before. Thought this shit over, and you weren’t interested. And that’s cool. Not everyone is. Shit, I didn’t even think I was until it fucking laid me out. Cause when I said I liked you, I liked you. Like, enough to put up with damn near anything just to get a few more minutes with you.”

John let out a breath, and pressed a hand to his eyes. Murmured something softly to himself that Sharky couldn’t quite catch, only for John to repeat it soon after. 

“It wasn’t you.”

“Wasn’t what?”

When he lowered his hand, Sharky didn’t need to guess the expression crossing John for once. Regret came through clear as day, “‘You’ that made a mistake. I did. And letting you think that for as long as I did wasn’t fair. Not to you.

“I don’t have friends. For a long time it wasn’t wise to, and the ones that I did make quickly showed me it was only for what they could get out of me. Others took it further than that, and…I did the same in turn. Took people that would’ve been friends, used them for what I could get out of them, and ruined what could’ve been something wonderful.”

John pursed his lips together, and gave him a rueful look.

“I knew what this was building towards. Ignored it. Then let myself want it. Where was the harm? But there’s always a catch to wanting. Wanting something. Someone. Was I doing it again? Being selfish? Taking that, twisting it just enough to make it into something that would hurt more than harm?”

Searching his eyes, John held out a hand to him before drawing it back.

“Did you even want me? As a friend or anything else? I thought I saw the first there. And gave little thought before trying to see what was beyond that.”

“Like, I kissed you,” Sharky said, frowning slightly, “that’s…that wasn’t crossing any wires there.”

“But I put you in that position. When we stopped-”

“John, I was…I was full on set to keep on going, man. Like, I wanted it. Thought you’d stopped, realized what the fuck was going on and decided to slam on the brakes once you’d got some sense back. And sure, I needed to cool it and think it over, but that was just…” Sharky paused, and drew in a deep breath, “just to come to realize how much I liked being around you. Okay, getting hit with that whole ‘shit, guess I’m bi too’ didn’t hurt, but I wanted to be there. Wanted to finish all of this, and maybe see where it’d go after that. And you, uh…”

“I came home. I told you we were done, and forced you off of my property.”

“Yeah,” he replied, looking away, “yeah, it pretty much went like that.”

“It was…I thought I was making a wise choice. To put that distance back where it should’ve been the entire time, because I was making the same mistakes all over again. And I didn’t trust myself with that. Or you.”

“And I wanna respect that. You’ve gotta do right by you, and you didn’t wanna fuck me up, but…maybe it’s not always gonna lead straight to a bad end, you know?” John kept his eyes on Sharky as he took a few steps closer, on edge, but not backing away from him, and Sharky continued, “I mean, I’ve heard you like having me around. Is that right?”

That, John didn’t hesitate to answer. “I do.”

It brought a smile out, and Sharky didn’t hide it, “Already told you how I feel. Unless…you want me to go over that a little again. Break it down some more.”

John raised his chin, “I might.”

“Okay, let’s see,” Sharky said, rubbing his hands together, “I like you. Like hanging with you, shooting the shit. Like working on your plane. Car’s also good, and I like looking at you too, though uh, that’s not the sentimental shit we’re going for right now.”

John chuckled, “No, not quite.”

“But it was nice being here. Being wanted. Knowing you wanted me here at all, even if it was only to fix shit up at first. And to get sprayed the hell out of, but that was a bad moment. Got the drop on me, and I wasn’t super slick when it came to getting out of it. But I handled it. And later on, I had some other cool moments.”

“True. We can’t forget that.”

“And I uh, mentioned the talking right?”

“You did, but as nice as that was, maybe I liked looking at you too.”

Sharky blushed, laughing at it only to grow quiet when John stepped closer. Almost enough to cross back into his space, and felt his breath catch.

“Just like right now.”

“Well, uh, shit,” Sharky sputtered, as John ran a hand up the front of his coat, right along the zipper. He toyed with that enough for Sharky to drop his eyes only to park them right on John’s lips, “Um. That right?”

“Yes. I believe so.”

“And I might’ve missed one last thing here. Really meant to bring it up.”

“What?”

“The whole kissing part,” leaning forward, John tugged him down the rest of the way, “liked that a whole hell of a lot too.”

Kissing him this time wasn’t a problem. No, it was all too easy as he wrapped his arms around John, and held him as close as possible. John’s fingers ran through his hair, knocking his winter cap off onto the snow, and he shivered. More from the cold than the gesture, but John seemed set on giving it a run for its money anyway.

He also seemed set on finding a way to slip those gloves under his coat, and Sharky barely held off from giving him added access. Cause stripping was totally cool. Stripping outside in this weather was a dumbass stunt, and he held off.

Soon though, John broke the kiss to whisper something into his ear. Distracted by the feeling of his lips on his neck after, Sharky leaned into him, and felt him laugh as he repeated what he said.  

“Much as I like this,” John said, his breath warm against him, “standing out here with you, I think it’d be a lot more pleasant inside. Where it’s warmer for one, and maybe we can also find a few other ways to keep it that way. Do you agree?”

Sharky swallowed hard at the suggestion, nervous, but eager, “Yeah, let’s…let’s do it.”

Grabbing John’s hand, he squeezed it tight. And when he felt himself being guided towards the house, he stayed close behind.

—

Turns out the bedroom was too far to go.

It also didn’t have a sweet couch and a roaring fireplace, something John mentioned as a selling point. Not that he needed any convincing, but John kept up with it, describing it in perfect detail by his ear all while helping him to shimmy out of his clothes.

Sharky was usually pretty quick on his own. He’d timed himself once to see how fast he could whip his pants off, and was proud of the record even though he’d almost busted his ass on the floor. Here and now, with another set of hands on him, it should’ve taken zero effort to shed what he was wearing, and he’d left his coat, shirt, and hat on the trail to the living room.

Now, doing so while trying not to break the kiss he was engaged in was harder.

Struggling to keep any sense with John’s tongue in his mouth, Sharky bumped into the doorway, nearly tripped over one of those little foot-cushions, and almost took a table corner to the kidney, all while helping John wrestle his sweater over his head.

Sharky couldn’t help but jump at the first brush of John’s hands, cold against his sides and lower back. They warmed fast as they traveled over him, though, one skimming down the front of his pants before going for his belt. Getting past that, then the zipper, John’s palm ground down, pressing against him over his underwear, and Sharky couldn’t keep from moaning at the contact.

A cold hand on his dick wasn’t the most pleasant thing to consider, but he’d forgive him. Shit, he’d forgive him for damn near anything as long as he kept up with that slow, steady pace as he hardened quick under it.

However, it was John that also nearly made him pitch over the back of the couch when pressed against it. His mouth hot against his, then along and down his throat, Sharky held onto him tight only to nearly lose it by leaning back and slipping on the leather.

“Whoa, wait, wait-fuck!” Sharky yelped, breathing hard as John steadied him, one hand on the couch, and the other digging into his hip.

Trading a look, the two held it for a few seconds before John’s concern gave way to exasperation, “Is there anything in here that you haven’t tried to maim yourself with?”

“Yeah. You, for one,” Sharky said, then broke away and worked his pants down, tugging at them as he hopped on one leg, “jury’s still out on if that’ll change, though.”

John almost looked offended, “That’s hardly fair to say.”

The pant leg snagged on Sharky’s foot, and he glanced down to see what the deal was. 

“Dude, you know my blood’s been running south to my dick for the last ten to fifteen, right? You wanna add to that?” He yanked at it to free it, struggling, “Shit, all you’d have to do is fucking offer to-“

“Offer to do what?” John drew his belt out, and tossed it onto the coffee table, “Because I’d like you to be a little more specific.”

“Just…” With no other helpful suggestions on his end, he felt himself grasping for straws.

He glanced over his shoulder, trying not to keep on hopping, but once John removed the last of his clothes, he suddenly knew just how far those tattoos of his went. The answer? Pretty damn far, and he didn’t want to stop looking at him.

“Just, you know. If you wanna finish the job, find some way to blow my mind, I guess.”

“Or I could just blow you,” John all but purred at him.

Did he just purr at me? Wait a sec, did he also just…? Hopping in a slight turn, he skidded, the world pitching sideways. Stumbling, his shoulder took the brunt of the impact as he hit the floor.

His foot was freed, but his pride? Just as bruised as he’d be come tomorrow.

“Charlemagne?”

“It’s fine! I’m cool,” he wheezed, feeling his face burn as John started over towards him. One very naked, and worried John judging from the way his eyebrows kept on drawing together, “just give me a sec.”

Shucking off his pants and underwear at last, he stood up, and huffed out a breath. So much for that record. And so much for John not finding a way to, as he put it, maim him.

“Right. I’m sitting down now.”

John guided him over to the couch, resting a hand on his lower back, “A wise choice. The wisest I’ve heard yet.”

And when he’d settled down onto the leather seat, the material cool against his skin, he took in the scene in front of him. Like some weird parody of what he’d catch in a holiday movie. The room was warmly lit, the fireplace just the kind of cozy he’d like to stretch in front of and watch for hours.

It was the kind of thing that belonged on a postcard. Not what he’d be met with back at his house, even with the small tree he’d cobbled together year after year to bring some cheer into his place.

“Shit, that’s pretty.”

John gave him an amused look as he followed his gaze to the fire, “I thought you might like that.”

“So’s you,” Sharky murmured, looking up at him, “just in case you were wondering.”

John had opened his mouth to say something else, but let it fall shut. Backlit by the fireplace, he faced him, and in that moment it really hit him. Just how bright, and seriously, fucking beautiful his eyes were as they focused on him. 

“Am I now?”

Resting a hand on the back of the couch, he leaned forward and Sharky met him halfway.

Sinking back against the cushions, he pulled John with him, and felt him slide a hand along his jaw before it sank into the hair behind his head, helping him to angle it up towards him. There he could keep on kissing him, feeling his lips tease at his, followed by his tongue.

Resting a knee next to him on the couch, John kept himself propped up and over him, able to hold himself in place as his other hand moved down between them.

John’s mouth traveled over to his ear, “Still with me?”

His teeth tugged at Sharky’s earlobe, the sensation sharp. But that had nothing on the way he sucked hard on his skin after that. And when John wrapped his fingers around his cock and squeezed, Sharky couldn’t stop his hips from bucking into his grip.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah. Fuck yeah,” Sharky gasped, grabbing for him. Doing all of the moving for him, he wanted that slide, and didn’t let up.

“Good. Seeing you this eager’s not making me want to be patient at all.”

John tried to steady his hips, to ease him back into a slower rhythm, and that’s when he felt him start exploring. Trailing and tracing his fingers all over him, and Sharky nearly jumped when the touch tickled.

But the slower pace, the longer strokes still had him moving with John’s hand before long. Not slick enough by far, but one lick to his palm would’ve fixed that quick. Not that he was going to, but he thought about it. Thought pretty damn hard about it as he started bucking into John’s hand harder again, and swore under his breath.

“But don’t spend too much time watching the fire, like I know you want to,” John said, pulling back.

That snapped him out of it; he’d let his attention drift towards it, focusing on the cracking of the wood, but he managed to shift back to John. 

“Why?”

“I’d prefer if you watched me instead.”

Right now Sharky couldn’t look away if he tried. Having John kiss him hard, only for him to slide down his body and press another directly to his cock, he forced his eyes to stay open. He wasn’t fucking missing this. Not for a second, though he knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

“Jesus Christ, man,” every long lick of John’s tongue made him want to tilt his head back and enjoy the ride, “this ain’t gonna last long. Not that I don’t-“ John’s hand joined in, stroking him slowly as his lips closed around the tip, and Sharky’s groan was ragged, “n-not that I ain’t loving this, it’d just suck to bust one this fast, just when…”

“We’ve only begun to get started?”

John took him completely into his mouth after that, and Sharky swore loudly. The chuckle didn’t help, not when he could feel every last vibration, and he clenched both of his hands into tightly balled fists.

He wanted to touch John. Wasn’t sure where he could, as John’s fingers gripped his thighs, nudging his legs further apart to accommodate him.

His hair? Not that he needed to encourage him much, feeling him take him in deeper and deeper while his tongue kept on moving. But it looked like the kind he’d enjoy running his fingers through, and maybe he’d be into that? Wouldn’t hurt to try either way.

But his shoulders were an option too, Sharky noticed, watching his muscles flex as he moved. So were his arms. Not bad runner ups at all, if he was being honest.

Shit, there was a hell of a lot he needed to be honest with concerning himself, John, and what this was shaping up to be, but this was a start.

And on his list of regrets for the night, he’d only chalked up one thing. Not the fall. Making an ass of himself he could deal with easy.

No, it was the sloppy way he’d tried kissing him outside. Not waiting or thinking about anything other than how good he looked, he’d gone for it. Done what his gut and heart had agreed on this time around, because this was his shot and passing this up would’ve hurt ten times worse.

But somehow it worked out. For once in his life, he hadn’t fucked a good thing up by going with his gut. Thinking he’d read all of the right signs when he’d missed every one, and still wondered on some level if he was sleeping off one hell of a bender somewhere.

Not that having a wet dream about John would’ve been a bad thing, but considering he was living out the alternative? Sitting here with the real deal, taking in a sight like this? John, on his knees in front of him, determined to see how far he could deepthroat him before he’d pop?

Sweet, tap-dancing Jesus, he could get used to this. Yes, he damn well could, he muttered between heavy breaths as he finally broke, gripping John’s shoulders tight.

“You…oh, fuck. You, you just…” He was struggling. Genuinely struggling now with the new pace. Lips tight, John’s hand stroking him, as he tried not to buck his hips up. Harsh and deep. 

“John. Fucking, fuck, John.”

And then, Sharky felt it - felt him moan around him, and that nearly did it right there. And having John climb up to kiss him at that point, hurried and sloppy, and with his taste on his tongue, was hot as hell.

“This…this shit ain’t lasting,” he tried to get out between kisses, “so, y-you want this?”

That hadn’t been meant to get a response. But at the “yes,” John gave him, breathless and strained, Sharky might’ve been rougher when he kissed him. Liked it when John’s teeth caught on his lips, no longer careful, but desperate.

He’d half-dragged him onto his lap, only for John to press up against him. Climbed on as he kept on touching him. Got him gasping just as hard, and didn’t stop. Didn’t want to, and only did when the last few harsh strokes pushed him there.  

The sound that came out of him after that he’d rather not describe, or admit to anyone. But he let it out, and somehow his eyes didn’t roll back into his head.

Curled against him, John eased him down. Used softer strokes to coax him through the last few tremors, and let go only when he heard his breathing even out.

“It’s…it’s gonna suck to clean this, isn’t it?” Most of the mess was between him and John at the moment, but it wasn’t going to stay there. Not at this rate.

John sighed, “Possibly. But that’s a worry for tomorrow. Right now, I think there’s more important things for us to think about.”

Still aware of just how hard John was against him, Sharky was inclined to agree. 

“Yeah. Think you’re right there. I…also, I…I haven’t really done much of this shit before,” Sharky blurted out the next few words fast, knowing it was late by this point, but couldn’t hold onto them any longer, “now this I know, but anything else? It’s…um.”

“We’ll go slow,” John lightly touched his chin, making sure he was looking right at him, “sticking to anything you’re comfortable with.”

“Not that I’m not…not that I wouldn’t mind anything else, just-“

“Be gentle?”

“Yeah,” Sharky breathed, and leaned into the kiss waiting for him, “let’s go with that.”

—

There was a voice speaking. Low, and almost too hard to hear, but it was the first thing he noticed when he shifted. Moved to stretch. That, and the sheets that were almost too damn soft to touch under him.

Sharky opened his eyes, confused for a few seconds until he caught the figure sitting only a few feet away from him. John’s back was to him as he sat at the bed’s edge, his phone up to his ear.

Still with him, not leaving an empty space on his all too large bed. That was a shock. One that pushed up a whole lot of shit that he didn’t want to feel. Not right now, not here.

But his mind always had a habit of dragging it all up when he least wanted it. Watching John helped, though. Seeing someone there, even if he was focused on the conversation. Added more to the whole ‘the last eight to twelve hours weren’t a lie’ thing, and he needed it.

When John ended the call, he closed his eyes. Waited, not sure at all what to do or say, but figured this would give him time to decide.

He felt the bed shift. Nerves running on overdrive, Sharky took in a deep breath, and cracked his eyes open, “Hey, just so you know-”

Partway to him, John paused, startled.

Sharky blinked up at him, and lost his train of thought completely. Because it looked a hell of a lot like he was going for a kiss.

So, he tugged him down. Felt John respond immediately, as he rolled onto his back, and focused on kissing him. Hard at first, then softer. Each lazy kiss holding on just long enough for him to need air right after.

And he hadn’t done it yet. Hadn’t kicked him out. Wanted him out, like a whole lot of his morning afters usually went. Funny how that was the hardest thing to believe yet.

John trailed his fingers along his jaw, everything about it gentle, and Sharky let out a nervous laugh.

“Sorry, I, uh, I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

He took in a slow breath, and wet his lips, “…Neither did I. But it’s morning, and whoever this person is that I’ve found in my bed, I’d like to see more of them.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. One and the same,” John murmured, grazing his lips with his, “maybe even keep him there, if possible.”

“I…think he’d like that. Shit, I know I would. But you know what sounds good right now?”

“What?” John asked, gentle still.

“Breakfast. Never really got to that step before,” he gave him a sheepish grin, and chuckled. “Always wanted to, though. Got eggs and toast? Or…shit, I can try pancakes.”

Watching him still, John gave him a slow smile, and it was the prettiest one he’d earned yet. 

“Promising to keep any and all fires to a minimum?” John asked.

“Hey, I’m certified remember? For fire-starting and stopping. Guaranteed.”

“Very well then,” John replied, leaning in for another kiss. “Breakfast it is.”

[carryonmyswansong]

[All page dividers are created by me. If you’d like to use any of them, please message me. I make these to sell and offer sets of two for $3.]

On  Oct 4th, 2018, I received the following ask, at my old blog:

This is my answer:

First of all you need to know some things about me. I am plus size as well as chronically ill. The other things about me is that I do lots and lots of research, when I answer these questions. I try to base my answers on what I’ve observed in the movies, what I know or find out from the comics, as well as any gaps that are filled in via interviews, tweets, and articles. I write MCU fanfic but most of my characterizations come from a mix of the comics as well as the movies. I also google stuff to make sure I am -historically- accurate… or as historically accurate as I can be.

That being said:

Steven Grant Rogers:

Steve Rogers is the son of poor Irish immigrants. He grew up in Brooklyn. He grew up very very ill. In fact, he spent more of his life ill than not, not counting the time he was in the ice, after crashing the plane. SO growing up in that part of town, he had some exposure to plus size women. Whether they were plus size by the 20/30/40s standards or our own, big women are not new to him, and being who he is, I have no doubts that Steve saw beauty where ever it was. His mama taught him right, is what I’m saying.

Steve even says in the moves that he hates bullies. He’s always been bullied. Always ignored. Never taken seriously. Even as Captain America, before he went on real missions… he felt like a performing monkey. He hated it. That’s not what he signed up for. He didn’t want to be a performing monkey in a fancy suit. He wanted to be a real solider, helping other real soldiers, to fight the enemy.

Steve has like zero experience with women. He didn’t get very far with Peggy and he didn’t like her because she was thin. He liked her because she saw past the sick body and saw him for who he was… and Sharon… Don’t even get me fucking started on that disaster of a relationship… I mean come on. The great niece of the only woman you ever loved? Come on Steve. Do better, buddy.

Captain America is sure of himself. Confident. Strong. Seemingly emotionally stable. Steven Grant Rogers? Probably still thinks of himself as that gangly sickly little man who everyone ignores… and is often baffled when pretty women look at him and flirt with him. He is a super soldier. But he hasn’t been one for very long. Not actively.

Look at it this way: when someone who is overweight looses weight, a switch doesn’t flip in their brain and they automatically have good self esteem or a good relationship with their body. Same with someone who is very sick for a long time and finally gets treatment and a cure. These things take their toll on someone’s mind and Steve is no different. He spent so long being unnoticeable that even tho his body is hard and doesn’t get sick, and probably doesn’t age.. and probably has a bigger dick… doesn’t mean he SEES that as who he is.

And another thing. Steve doesn’t work out because he has to. The serum maintains his metabolism and stamina. Steve works out because now he CAN. I keep mentioning him being chronically ill. Because it is VERY important. He was sick for more years than not (again, NOT counting the time he was in the ice)…. So now he can -just be- and not have to worry about passing out or having an asthma attack or having a heart attack because of his blood pressure… he can run in the winter and not have to worry about catching a cold, of all things… Him working out is his way of celebrating that he CAN do those things now, when he couldn’t before… This doesn’t change how he sees himself though. You can celebrate the better you, while still seeing yourself as the not-so-better-you and still have self esteem issues all the same. Those don’t just go away automatically. That’s not how human brains work.

He’d rather live in Brooklyn, where he grew up, then live in The Tower. He’d also rather do his morning runs through the city, then work out in the gym that Tony build, so he can watch his city come alive (Both of these are canon and easily searchable on google)… I only mention this because it speak to the kind of man Steve is. He loves people. And he loves watching people’s lives unfold… It makes him feel attached in a way that he normally can’t because he spent so long on ice that there’s a big disconnect in how he relates to people

He isn’t gonna care if his girl can “keep up”. No one, except Bucky, and maybe comic!Natasha, can keep up with him. He doesn’t want another super soldier or spy as a partner. He wants someone he can hang up the mantle of Captain America, and just be Steve Rogers, from Brooklyn, with. Period. Someone who will love him for who he is, not his serum, or celebrity status, or paycheck. None of that. He would want someone who SEES him for who he is. Not what he can give them. And Steve isn’t fucking shallow and to assume otherwise is really insulting to the man who grew up almost too disabled to live as long as he did. But somehow his will to live, got him far enough that now he is a super soldier and is Captain America.

Steve is also an artist and sees beauty absolutely everywhere, and yes, even the fat girl he passes on the street who stares at her shoes because she’s afraid to take up space but can’t help it. Steve understands, probably better than most, that bodies come in all shapes and sizes and growing up, he wished people saw him instead of ignoring him. So fat girls? Are not off his radar. And they ain’t gotta be conventionally or “acceptably” pretty, in order for him to notice them.

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes:

Ok, so if you think Bucky is shallow, just cuz he’s fit… then you don’t know the man at all.

He grew up with Steve as his best friend (at least in the MCU, anyways)… They were practically brothers, and since Bucky lost his mom at a very early age, guess who helped raise him before she passed? Yup, Mama Rogers.

Sure, Bucky is often considered a womanizer, in the MCU… But people are so afraid to portray good looking men with fat women because its often presented as a joke… because fat bodies are not seen as good bodies so why would a fit man want to be with a fat body?

Thing is tho, a lot of fit men are with women (and men and other genders) who have fat bodies. And not for fetish reasons either. Its because they are decent people who SEE their partner and not just the fat or the lack of fat or whatever else.

You also need to understand something about Bucky. Bucky of the 30/40s might have been a little full of himself, but he wasn’t shallow. If he was, he wouldn’t have been Steve’s friend. He wouldn’t have interacted with him in public. He wouldn’t have admitted to even knowing the scrawny chronically ill man who insisted on picking fights with men who were much much bigger than him, simply because he saw an injustice that needed tending to. By all rights, Steve was embarrassing. But Bucky is better than that. And loved and accepted Steve for who he is. Period.

So of course he’d be that way with women. He might not have committed to them, but Bucky loves women. And women come in all shapes and sizes. Why wouldn’t he like fat women, too?

Fast forward to Bucky with the metal arm. You know, the arm he needs and if he didn’t have he’d only have ONE ARM WHICH MEANS HE IS DISABLED, NO MATTER HOW ADVANCED THE DAMN ARM IS???????

Bucky ain’t a shallow man. And fit or not, he hates who Hydra made him into. Who cares about the chiseled abs or the ability to run side by side with Steve or the ability to accurately shoot a target in his peripheral vision. They stole his life. They took everything from him. But what they didn’t take from him was the teaching of one Mama Rogers, and the life lessons that come from being best friends with a disabled man. It might have taken him a bit to remember both of those things, but Bucky? Bucky loves women and that will never change. No matter fat or thin.

And have you seen Bucky’s thighs? If that man wasn’t built to bone fat chicks against walls, then I don’t know what even the point of those thighs even are… But he’s better than that. With who he is now? He isn’t just a one night stand kind of guy. He’s in it for the long haul and he isn’t gonna let a little thing like someone’s weight, deter him from seeing the beauty in them.

Steve and Bucky’s fit status and raging metabolism aren’t going to suddenly make them into shallow people who will only love or bone women who are of “acceptable” size. When both men could literally easily carry an overweight girl, over their shoulder, like she is a 5lb sack of potatoes. Because of both of their life experiences, as both disabled or friends with someone disabled, and all that stuff that came with their lives… I really don’t see them ignoring a woman just because she’s not fit or just because she’s got a big belly or can’t run a mile in under a certain time.

You would also do well to remember that people can be healthy at any size and someone’s weight doesn’t determine their health. Just like there are unhealthy fat people, there are also unhealthy thin people… and both can be unhealthy in the exact same way. And both Bucky and Steve are going to know this.

Send me an Ask! | Lets discuss stuff!

[Once i get more of my blog settled, I will be transferring over all of my asks. But until then, you can find them HERE.]

[charlesthedeathwiz]

4:27 am thoughts

so i was playing on my life character and he is almost at level 88 and we all know the level 88 spells are badass and are arguably the coolest spells in the game (in my opinion at least), and it got me thinking... what are the best spells in wizard 101?

soo, i thought that it would be cool to rank spells (based on my opinions) based on 4 categories: coolest animations, most useful, most used, and my favorites. so, here we go!

*** (i am only talking about damage/healing spells here!) ***

coolest animations: my top 5

5) celestial calendar: this spell is super cool, and the animation is awesome. the one regret of mine is that i didn't make a myth character and i’m unable to use this spell (unless i feel like buying/spending hours farming for a mastery amulet). when it comes up from the ground it looks, for lack of another word, badass, and then it zooms into all the worlds and alsdffkja i just think its so cool wow

4) lord of winter: this spell is one of my favorite spells in the entire game. there’s just something beautiful about the pyramid that the lord of winter stands on and its just sick how it smashes the enemy with ice, idk it just is a really cool animation in my opinion

3) scion of balance (when 6 charms are present): the double damage version of the scion of balance is really cool, and i was really surprised when i saw it because tbh, all the rest of the scion spell animations are really boring, and this one is super fun and really creative compared to them!

2) climaclysm: this ice spell is iconic! it’s so underrated too. i just think that its such an interesting concept considering it is the mirage themed spell for ice wizards. the freezing of the desert followed by a tempest style mauling of your enemies. A+

1) qismah’s curse: ever since i got this spell on my death wizard i was taken aback by the animation. qismah is a certifiable bad bitch™️ and this spell only adds to the reasons for this. she’s essentially unleashing the plague onto your enemies, what else could you ask for. 100/10

most useful: my top 5

5) forest lord: for life wizards, this spell is THE most useful spell. lets face it, there are times where we all have to quest alone, and this is the only spell life wizards have (until you get wings of fate, but does that even really help?) that makes it easy for them to kill mobs in the streets. we love you fluffy!

4) meteor strike: this spell is the tempest of fire wizards, and it is honestly really useful. it is also pretty powerful if you have the right gear, so there’s really nothing negative about it. also, you get it relatively early in the game, so thanks KI! (wish you could do the same for life wizards!!!!!!!!!!!!)

3) earthquake: while this is the worst thing that could ever happen to a wizard when a myth monster uses it, if you flip it around and someone on your side uses it, its actually pretty useful, especially if the opponent is stacked with shields/blades. the damage isn’t great, but at least it gets rid of all the blades/shields on every wizard!

2) call of khrulhu: this spell saved every death wizard ever. the only hit all spell that they had before was scarecrow, and lets face it, by the time you’re in khrysalis, scarecrow just doesn’t cut it anymore. this spell does op damage and it also heals the wizard???? i’m not seeing any negatives here!

1) tempest: i mean, obviously. every storm wizard has at least 8000 of these in their decks, and if they say they don't, they’re lying. i can’t even get mad about it though, the spell is super useful and does a LOT of damage. we love an annoying fave!

most used: my top 5 (i won't repeat those that were in the most useful list, but tempest, call of khrulhu, and meteor strike are definitely all used very very much)

5) rebirth: this spell is flawless! it heals everyone a decent amount, it costs 7 pips (which isn't too bad), and gives an absorb to everyone! on my life character, its always in my deck!

4) raging bull: ever since this spell came out, i have never been in a duel with a fire wizard (at or past level 108) that doesn’t have this in their deck. its a really op spell, so i don’t blame them, but it definitely does get old. 

3) ra: besides the fact that belloq is obsessed with this spell (he uses it all four times we fight him!!!!!), it is the best spell for balance wizards to use when fighting monsters (until they get nested fury). i even keep it in my deck on my balance and i have nested fury. its a spell that is an essential part of the balance repertoire, so it had to be included on my list!

2) scarecrow: this spell, as mentioned before, is the backbone of any good death wizard. its the only death spell available that hits everyone until level 100, and you’ll never meet a death wizard under level 100 that does not include scarecrow in their deck. (tbh, i’m a max death wizard and i still have it in mine). this spell is definitely one of the most used spells in the game. 

1) glowbug squall: i mean, what else could it be. storm wizards are obsessed with this spell (personally, i prefer sirens, but hey, whatever floats your boat). you’ll never find a storm wizard past level 100 that doesn't spam this spell, and i mean its a great spell, but seeing those tiny, whining bugs zap monsters over and over can be frustrating. it is, though, undeniable, that this spell is one of, if not the most used spell in wizard101. 

my favorite spells: my top 5

5) avenging fossil: this spell is so so so cool guys. like its a giant death dino but i can’t help but love and support him?????? he’s doing his best!!! also this spell is just really powerful and a great addition to any death wizard’s deck.

4) rain of fire: i love this spell. it may not be the most powerful fire spell, but it has the potential to do serious damage. i prefer it to fire dragon and meteor strike any day. i really can’t pinpoint exactly why, but maybe it is because the damage over time can sometimes be better, so that if a monster happens to cast a shield that round, it doesn't matter too much.

3) snow angel: this spell is so fun. again, the damage over time can be really helpful in a situation where a shield could be cast. it also is just very underrated and i think it deserves more attention and praise. i sound crazy but i do think that this spell is very powerful when used correctly, and i find it to be a great addition to my ice wizard’s deck!

2) power nova: really a random spell. but there’s something about it that i’ve always loved. maybe it is just because the animation is a lot quicker than ra so i liked to use it instead so that battles would be over quicker. i’m not exactly sure, it just is one of my favorites and i have a max level balance character and it is still always in my deck!

honorable mentions: climaclysm, spinysaur, sirens, winged sorrow

1) sun serpent: i truly love this spell. its a combination of how op it is and it also just looks cool. it has not left my deck since i got it on my fire wizard, and i don't think that it will ever leave! this spell is amazing and i have always loved it (the idea of having sun serpent is the only reason- and no i’m not joking or exaggerating- that i created a fire wizard). its just such a badass spell and i can never get enough of it!

if you read all of this, props to you! please let me know how you feel about my opinions or let me know what yours are!! send me asks, messages, or just reply to this post! :)

❄️💀⚖️🌩🔥🍃

[tywriteskpop]

Nice To Fall For You (Young K Imagine)

I originally wrote this for a post on DAY6 Amino. I hope you enjoy!

Genre: Fluff

“Y/N! Come downstairs and help me with the groceries!”

“Yes!” you called back to your grandmother from your upstairs bedroom.

Putting your pencil down in the book you were studying, you crawled off your bed clumsily and walked out of your room. The cool breeze of the air conditioner made your bare legs tingle, making you wish you wore long pants instead of your pajama shorts. But you were a classic lazy teenager and if you could get away with wearing pajamas all day, you’ll take advantage. But you soon became aware of how unappealing you looked.

As you were putting away the groceries your grandmother already brought inside, you looked out the back door towards her car. She was coming back with more groceries in her arms. Behind her was a boy carrying the last of the bags.

You let out a small squeak and ducked down to hide behind the island counter. You pushed yourself against it as much as you could, almost inside the open cabinet underneath, in order to hide yourself better. You felt mortified at the thought of him seeing you looking like a slob. The cute guy from next door that was popular at school, Kang Younghyun.

When it came to school cliques, you were right in the middle. You weren’t popular, but you weren’t the lowest on the totem pole. You were a clumsy, quiet girl with a few friends who mostly kept to herself. You liked your space and you were invested in your studies.

As for him, he was a level just above you. Younghyun wasn’t overly popular, but everyone liked him and wanted to be his friend. He didn’t make enemies, and he had a decent amount of friends. You knew going into high school with your cute neighbor would have all the girls fawning over him. Therefore the crush you developed on him became a fantasy, and the boy of your fantasy became an unreachable dream.

The back door clicked open as footsteps tapped on the tiled floor. “Thank you for your help, Younghyun. It was very kind of you,” your grandmother said. “I wonder where Y/N disappeared to.”

“Is she studying?” he asked. “Whenever I see her at school, she usually has her head in a book.”

“Knowing Y/N she’s probably just using her textbook as a cover to hide those romance novels she always reads.”

You rolled your eyes as hard as you could, wanting nothing more than to smack your grandmother. You felt embarrassed hearing him laugh at her words. You nearly gave away your hiding place when your foot slipped, making a small scuffling sound on the floor.

Unbeknownst to you, Younghyun heard the small sound and tilted his head over the island counter. A smirk full of amusement graced his lips when he saw your blue fuzzy socks.

“I should get going,” he said, and you quietly sighed in relief.

“Okay, dear. Thank you again.” Your grandmother followed him to the door to see him out. “It was good seeing you.”

You heard the door close and the heels of your grandmother’s flats came back into the kitchen. “You can come out now. He’s gone.”

You went to crawl out from under the counter, but you stood up too fast and hit your head on the underside. You cursed quietly under your breath and held the impacted spot with both hands.

“Goodness, child.” Your grandmother sighed and turned to take an ice pack out of the freezer. “I’m not sure where you got your clumsiness from but it sure wasn’t my side of the family.”

You groaned and sat on a bar stool, holding the ice pack to your head to stop the swelling. “Why am I like this?”

Years later you still lived in the same neighborhood, taking care of your grandmother. Despite her old age, she was still a spitfire and never missed a chance to tease you or spend time with you. But with her strength deteriorating, you committed yourself to caring for the woman who raised you.

You were taking classes at the nearby university. It allowed you easy transportation between home and school. You were always on the move, never finding much interest in socializing or dating. You’d rather spend time with your best friend, your grandmother.

You sat in the living room, once again studying for an upcoming test. Your grandmother sat in her chair, flipping through channels until she settled on an action film. You rolled your eyes, finding amusement at how childish the old woman seemed sometimes.

“Y/N, why don’t you ever leave the house?” She flicked a piece of popcorn at you.

When the small piece of food hit your head, you sighed and looked up. You gave her a lazy look, your head resting against your hand. “I do. I go to school and I go to the store.”

“I mean go out and have fun, you little nerd.” Your grandmother laughed, indicating she was just teasing you. “Honestly, Y/N, I would like to see you enjoy yourself from time to time. Go meet a handsome man. Oh! That nice boy just moved back home from school. He’s gotten really cute.”

“Grandma, you’re talking about a guy who is way less than half your age.” You cringed before it dawned on you. “Wait, Younghyun is back in town?”

You mentally panicked. After high school graduation, Younghyun had moved away for his schooling. Aside from the occasional visits he made home to stay a few days with his family, you haven’t seen him for a few years. You’d be lying if you said you still didn’t have a small crush on him. But if you barely knew him before, you definitely didn’t know him now.

Your grandmother nodded. “His mother told me he’s going to finish his schooling here. Apparently he was feeling homesick.”

“Oh. Well, good for him, I guess?” You stood up and walked into the kitchen. You opened the fridge and grumbled at the lack of food. “I guess I need to go to the store.”

You headed upstairs to change and grab your things. On your way out, you grabbed the grocery list your grandmother handed you and left out the house. The sun was out, but there were dark clouds moving past. Judging by the puddles on the ground, it had just stopped raining.

You put in your headphones and started walking towards town. While looking at your phone, you saw someone walking towards you in your peripheral vision. You tried to politely step to the side to let the person pass you. But you stepped off the walk path and tripped.

You let out a squeak and closed your eyes, almost sure you were going to fall flat on your face. You braced for the pain, but gasped when a pair of arms wrapped around you to catch your fall. When you opened your eyes in shock, you were met with a shining gaze full of curiosity and surprise.

He pulled you to your feet and you couldn’t help but stare at him for a moment. He looked so familiar to you, but you could not place his face.

The boy smirked. “Falling for me already?”

You snapped out of your daze and blinked. “Does that line always work? I only tripped. I’m clumsy.” You shut your eyes and silently berated yourself. “Sorry. Ignore me.” Holding your hand out, you said, “Hi. I’m awkward. I mean, Y/N. I’m Y/N. Please stop me from talking.”

He laughed and shook your hand. “Hey, Y/N. I’m Younghyun. Nice to see you again.”

[wunderlass]

Winter

Winter hits early this year, and it hits hard. Darcy doesn't mind the snow, but not everyone agrees.

For F*ckYeahWinterShock's Winter Wonderland Ball. A patchwork of many prompts.

I wrote this all in one today and haven't even given it a read through so my bad if it's full of errors. I had to get it up before the end of December and I won't have time on New Year's Day (which it now is, since it's 2.30am). Forgive me if it shows.

Prompts at the end to avoid potential spoilers.

This is slightly Civil War AU in that everybody made up at the end and are living together in Stark Tower, like it's 2012 again or something.

Winter hits early this year, and it hits hard.

Darcy’s not about to complain: it’s her favorite season. She can do without black ice, but she’d rather be bundled up in tons of layers than sweating her ass off in the worst of summer, especially in the humidity of New York. New Mexico was a dry heat; Manhattan just soaks up all that warmth in its concrete and glass and reduces Darcy to one big glob of sweat. Air conditioning is the best invention ever, but it doesn’t exist outside where the asphalt reflects the heat back at her, or on the subway when she’s riding around in other people’s perspiration. If anybody ever questions the validity of climate change in her presence, she’s going to drown them in the puddle between her boobs.

So yeah. Darcy digs winter. She can swaddle herself in big cozy sweaters and watch the snow drift from the sky, wrapping her hands around a big mug of hot chocolate. It almost makes the move to New York worth it.

There are a few other things on that very short list of positive things. Darcy likes the city as a place to visit, but she’s not thrilled about living here. Too many people nd not enough manners. She’d have happily stayed in London (even if the Underground was a sweat-box all year round) except Jane was running out of funding and shadowy government agencies were circling. Stark Industries had offered her a secure place to continue research and a measure of protection, with a cast-iron guarantee that she’d retain ownership, and that none of her work would be used for building weapons. Darcy came along for the ride, with an actual salary this time.

The free rent, courtesy of one Tony Stark (via one Pepper Potts) is on the list of good things, especially because that free rent comes in the form of a pretty sweet apartment in Stark Tower and not a shoe box on the furthest stop on the subway.

Another is that she gets to see a lot of Bucky Barnes around the tower.

Darcy has a type, which she likes to summarize as “strong and silent”. Surprisingly few men make the cut and she’d resigned herself to it only being a movie archetype. That was, until Barnes turned up in the lab one day, to quietly sit and observe what they were doing. He likes to do that, between what Pepper makes sound like some pretty hardcore therapy sessions. He doesn’t ask questions and the other scientists confirmed it’s a common thing to see him mutely trespassing, though he will move heavy equipment around without complaint. His presence should be unnerving but he usually looks so forlorn that it’s like having a sad puppy watching you work.

When Darcy sees him around the tower—never in the midst of a group—he’s usually hunched over a book. Science is his preferred topic: A Brief History of Time or some Neil DeGrasse Tyson, so Jane starts leaving out her favorites on the end of benches in case he comes by.

So Barnes is both strong and silent, but also astonishingly pretty beneath all the hair and the beard. It’s a combination Darcy can’t resist. She has it bad.

He doesn’t seem to know she exists.

She can live with that. It’s enough to admire him from afar, since she’s sure the aforementioned hardcore therapy doesn’t make him the best prospect for romance. The guy’s been through a lot and Darcy’s not sure she’s looking for anything heavy. Besides, she’d prefer to stay on the fringes of the superhero world, which looks like one big mess from where she’s standing. There’s a lot of adventure involved, sure, but there also seems to be a whole lot of PTSD.

She greets the winter, and the first snow, with open delight, beaming at the first flakes through the window as they waft downward. They’re too far up for her to see if they settle and stick to the ground, but it’s unlikely to happen. Instead they’ll be driven over and churned up underfoot until there’s nothing left but dirty slush. She doesn’t have to see that, only the prettier side close to the sky.

It’s how Steve Rogers finds her in Tony’s workshop, where she’s been sent to fetch some notes Jane lent to him and gets distracted by the snowfall. He clears his throat to attract her attention, and she nearly jumps out of her skin when she notices who it is.

“Is Tony around?” he asks, politely pretending not to notice her reaction.

“No?” she replies, more question of her own than answer. She tries again. “He’s supposed to be, but I don’t know where he is.”

Steve follows her gaze to the falling white flecks outside. “It’s early in the year for snow.”

“Climate change,” she says with feigned authority, and he nods along with her. “I think Tony might have a plan to fix that, though.”

There’s movement behind him, and a familiar figure shuffles into the lab, sticking to the perimeter of the room while he takes in who’s in it.

“Hi, Bucky,” she greets, like she always does, and he doesn’t respond, as ever, beyond a tilt of his head which might be acknowledgment. “I think you wanna be in our room today, Jane’s about to turn on the new spectrometer. Plus she might need you to give it a whack of it’s misbehaving.”

He takes her at her word and disappears.

“You work here?” Steve asks.

“Ah yeah, I’m Jane Foster’s assistant.”

His face breaks into a grin. “So you must be Darcy!”

She gives him a confused smile in return. “Correct. How’d you know?”

“Bucky’s mentioned you.”

That earns him an eyebrow raised. She’s amazed Bucky knows her name, never mind paid enough attention to mention it to Steve. It does mean he isn’t entirely silent though, which is a good sign. The second part of her perfect man equation is not meant to be taken entirely literally.

“I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Dude, I know who you are. The whole world does.”

He’s bashful in response, and Darcy decides then and there she will treat him like she’d treat anyone else. If their paths ever cross again, of course, which isn’t all that likely.

“You want to come watch the potential fireworks in Jane’s lab?”

“No, I really do have to find Tony. And science was always more Bucky’s thing than mine. See you around?”

“Sure. So long as I don’t find out you’re the asshole who’s been stealing Pop Tarts from the lab kitchen!”

He laughs as he walks away, and since there’s no sign of Tony she returns to doing some actual work.

Turns out she sees Steve much sooner than she expected. Wherever Tony was earlier, he’s obviously in the tower, as a couple of hours later there’s a summons sent via FRIDAY for all lab staff to head to the terrace at the very top of the tower.

“This sounds ominous,” Jane murmurs, and Darcy can only agree as they summon an elevator to take them all the way up, wrapping up in coats and scarves. Bucky joins them, and the tension in his body in the small space suggests he’s expecting shit to have gone sideways too.

Tony wearing a manic smile when they reach the terrace. It’s got a decent layer of snow on it—only a foot deep, but untrodden.

“Compulsory snowman building for all lab staff!” he announces. Jane mutters something under her breath, but Darcy’s thrilled to be out of the lab for a little while.

Bucky turns right around and gets back into the elevator, disappearing before Tony can argue with him.

“Did he not hear the word compulsory?” Tony asks.

“He doesn’t work in the labs,” Darcy reminds him, already staking out a good spot to start and sculpt her snowman.

It doesn’t take long for them to be joined by people from other areas of the tower—some vaguely familiar to Darcy though she tries not to gawp openly at the superheroes—and Steve is among them, instantly volunteering to help Jane and Darcy with their work of art.

When they’re done, fingers numbed in the cold, he invites them to whatever kitchen he tends to use, for grilled cheese and coffee.

“There’s not many people around at the moment,” he says, “I could do with the company.”

So they follow him and even Jane appears a little star-struck in his presence. And she was banging a god on the regular.

Steve’s right, there’s hardly anyone around—only one familiar head of dark hair and beard. She waves at Bucky this time rather than greeting him with words, and he does that twitch with his eyebrows that might mean “hello” or might mean “go away”.

“Missed you upstairs, Buck,” Steve says. “How come you didn’t join in?”

“Snow.” The word is little more than a grunt and carries a ton of meaning behind it.

Darcy can’t help herself. "You really hate the snow that much?"

Bucky looks at her, really looks at her for the first time, and it’s the kind of intense stare that probably makes his enemies cry for their mothers on the battlefield, but only makes her breath catch and her stomach flip.

“I hate the cold whatever form it comes in,” he says gruffly. “New York’s home but I’d rather be on a desert island. Had my fill of winter.”

It’s the most she’s ever heard him say, and she finds herself nodding along. Mostly because she put her foot in it, and is worried that if she responds with actual words she will need surgery to remove said appendage from her mouth. Of course the guy who famously spent decades in ice hates the cold.

“Looks like we might be in for months of it,” Steve says, as he turns on the grill and fetches ingredients from the refrigerator, “so unless you’re moving to that desert island, having a little fun with it isn’t such a bad thing.”

Bucky doesn’t say another word, silently demolishing three grilled cheeses of his own, but Steve proves to be good company, asking Jane about her work and regretting it, before moving onto a scathing review of the most hipster parts of Brooklyn.

Darcy says goodbye to Bucky when they leave, but it turns out he crept away without anyone noticing.

Steve turns up a lot over the next few weeks. Most of the time he’s looking for Tony, and when Stark can’t be found, he drops by Jane’s lab instead. Bucky is usually here—he’s almost a permanent fixture now—and though Steve doesn’t linger much, his company is easy. Darcy thinks he really is hurting for company, until she notices the way his gaze keeps returning to Jane’s face.

Now Darcy’s paying attention, she realizes Jane keeps glancing at Steve too.

Huh.

It makes sense though. Jane does seem to like them big and blond.

Darcy’s happy to play matchmaker for her friend, sliding away from conversations to give them privacy. She thinks she’s subtle, but one time she catches Bucky raising an eyebrow her way, shaking his head a little.

“What?” she mouths, but he seems to realized they’re making eye contact, and ducks his head to return his attention to his book. It’s one of Jane’s recommendations. The guy might be quiet and brooding, but he must be smart to follow it: Darcy tends to use them as sleep aids.

It seems Steve isn’t oblivious either. He tracks her down to the lab kitchen one afternoon under the pretense of borrowing some milk, but really it’s to sound out how Jane might feel about dinner.

“I’m not really sure how things stand with Thor…”

“Oh, that’s over,” Darcy reassures him. “In a friendly way, but it was all spark and no substance. Plus interspecies relationships are hard enough without adding in intergalactic travel.”

“Good. That’s good. I was wondering if—”

“There’s this Japanese place in the Financial District she’s been trying to get a table at forever, but apparently a Nobel Prize doesn’t open as many doors as you’d think. If, say, Pepper could get a booking for two, I know Jane would jump at the chance to go.”

“I can do that.”

“Let me find you their details,” Darcy replies, already loading the search function on her Starkphone.

“While we’re sort of on the subject—I know Bucky doesn’t say much, and he’d kill me for talking about this, but he’s sweet on someone too.”

She frowns down at her phone and refuses to look up at Steve. If he’s about to ask her on how to help his friend to hook up with his crush, she’s going to have to politely decline. That’s a level of masochism she’s not willing to sink to.

“Uh huh,” is all she manages. “You got somewhere to note this down?”

“Darcy,” Steve says softly, “it’s you.”

That makes her look up, if only in confusion. “What’s me? If I tell you the name of this place, I suppose you can work out how to find it yourself.”

“You’re the girl Bucky’s sweet on.”

She blinks a few times. “So, uh, maybe you could just write the name on your hand?”

Steve sighs. “Why do you think he’s spending so much time in Jane’s lab?”

“He likes science.”

“He does,” Steve agrees. “But not as much as he likes you. Because you’re all he talks about.”

“Oh.” Actually, this explains how Steve knew her name when they first met. “Huh.”

“And you like him.”

“Well, he’s nice to look at. He’s pretty taciturn though.”

Steve gives her a stern look which has a glimmer of amusement behind it. “I know you like him more than that.”

Darcy tries to deflect. “So what has Bucky actually said about me? How do I know you’re not jumping to conclusions?”

“I’ve been his best friend since the 1920s. I know what it looks like when he’s carrying a torch for a girl.”

“Okay, so why are you telling me this?”

“Because he won’t do anything about it.”

“You want me to make the first move,” she says blandly.

“Or you could give him an encouraging sign? He’s still learning how to function as a person again, and I think you’d be great for him. He just needs a little help getting there. Right now, he’s too wrapped up in seventy years of misery.”

“I don’t know. If he thinks he’s not ready to start dating again, I don’t want to push him.” She also doesn’t want to put herself out there in a way which is going to get her heart stomped on.

“Just continue making him feel comfortable in the lab, like you do for me. Talk to him, even if he doesn’t talk back. Treat him like a person.”

Darcy chews her lip but finally relents with a nod. “I better not end up regretting this,” she warns Steve.

“You won’t,” he promises with a soft smile, and dashes away to see Pepper about getting a table booked.

December arrives with a lot of darkness but not much in the way of snow. There’s a ton of rain and Darcy’s okay with that so long as she doesn’t have to leave the tower to go out into it.

Overnight the tower is transformed, dripping with decorations in every corridor and every room. Not all of them are Christmas decorations, either, as Stark Industries seems to have made an effort to incorporate most of the main religious festivals: Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Yule, even Festivus.

Darcy has to explain that one to Steve and Bucky.

She’s done as Steve asked, openly talking to Bucky when he’s in the lab, but she still gets little response from him beyond a grunt or two. Undeterred, she’s taken to sitting at his preferred table when she’s typing up Jane’s notes, or doing a little knitting when Jane is lost in her own brain and hasn’t given Darcy anything to do.

It’s the latter which finally coaxed something out of Bucky.

“People still do that?” he asks, nodding at the motion of her needles. “Thought you could buy everything nowadays.”

“It’s soothing,” she replies. “Besides, sure you can buy scarves and sweaters, but if I knit something, it’s unique.”

That seems to be the end of it, but she resolves to make him a nice chunky scarf and glove set. If he hates the cold, she can help him keep warm. That project she only works on in the secrecy of her apartment, but she’s got plenty of time to knit in the lab, because Bucky’s taken over the task of transcribing Jane’s notes. He’s a slow typist but he reads Jane’s notes faster than Darcy does, and once she recommends an online typing course he picks up speed.

She leaves his gift on top of the latest pile of books Jane leaves out, and makes sure she’s away from the table when he arrives, poking around with a screwdriver at a malfunctioning circuit board.

He freezes when he sees the pile of gifts, then reaches out to touch them with his right arm. His hand doesn’t quite make it—he snatches it away as if it might get burned—and he looks across the lab at her with wide eyes and a visible swallow.

She meets his gaze and smiles at him.

“To keep you warm,” she says, then returns her attention to the circuit board.

If Steve wanted her to give Bucky a sign, she thinks she’s done what was asked. The ball is now firmly in Bucky’s court. And when she takes the knitted set as well as the books when he leaves the lab, she counts it as a victory.

One of the downsides to all of the festive decorations is that there is mistletoe every-frigging-where. Worse, it seems to move overnight, as if FRIDAY is trying to catch people out through complacency. She probably is, on Tony’s orders. Darcy’s already exchanged five pecks with Jane as they come and go from the lab, and she’s even had to give Steve a few cheek kisses. It’s more tedious than titillating at this point.

That she might meet Bucky under one of the sprigs doesn’t even cross her mind: he slinks to and from the lab at unpredictable times, never crossing paths with anyone else.  

Yet now she finds herself staring up at the ceiling with her hands on her hips, ready to tear FRIDAY a new one. The sprig definitely wasn’t there this morning. She’s pretty sure it wasn’t even there five minutes ago, but when Bucky walks over to pick up Jane’s newest notes from Darcy’s station, his head is brushed by green tendrils. Both of them look up to find mistletoe dangling above them.

Her mouth goes dry at the thought. She can see Bucky’s breathing deepen, his chest rising and falling, and when she glances away his hand twitches around the notes.

She licks her lips. It’s involuntary, and she doesn’t want to call it anticipatory, even as she can feel his stare on her mouth as she does it. She has to flick her own gaze up to meet his, and for a moment it feels like they’re falling towards each other, drawn together by an invisible force that wants their lips to connect.

Except it must be her imagination. She lets her eyes drifts shut, feels something brush her cheek—silky and scratchy at the same time—and when she opens her eyes again she’s alone in the lab.

Bucky’s gone.

He doesn’t return to the lab before she goes home for Hanukkah, and it’s making it weird. If he’d come back that day, or the next, Darcy could have brushed off the mistletoe incident. She was all prepared to make jokes about it being nice not having to kiss Jane again, but the longer she goes without seeing him, the more it feels like something fundamental has changed. She worries he might not come back at all.

In the meantime, it feels like her cheeks been branded where he kissed it. She figures that’s what she felt, his beard against her skin, and now it feels like she’s constantly having flashbacks to the sensation. Like phantom beard syndrome.

Jane’s as frustrated by Bucky’s absence as Darcy is, even if she’s oblivious to the reason why. Darcy doesn’t catch Jane’s notation errors like Bucky apparently sometimes managed to so Jane’s had to go back to checking over the typed-up work to make sure it’s all correct. But Darcy can’t explain away his absence, not without admitting more to Jane than she wants to right now. The only saving grace is upcoming vacation time.

Another of the perks of working for Stark Industries is the overly generous vacation allowance. Darcy gets to spend two whole weeks with her family back in Ohio, and she’s ready for a break from the city. It’s only when she gets to JFK that she realizes her love of winter is going to bite her in the ass.

There’s a snowstorm. Blizzard seems a little melodramatic, but the amount of white stuff pouring from the sky is enough to get all flights out canceled for the next couple of days. The line for a cab is a mile long, and isn’t moving because few cabs are actually turning up. She breaks a lifelong vow and downloads the Uber app, only to discover all their drivers aren’t coming out into the snow either. Even the AirTrain has ground to a standstill.

She rings up the tower to beg for a lift from somebody. Jane’s already left for Hanukkah in London with her mother, so Darcy’s left ringing around other lab assistants and finally leaves a pleading message with FRIDAY.

Her Starkphone beeps a moment later. Someone will be with you as soon as possible, Miss Lewis, the AI confirms.

She trudges her way to the pick-up point, lurking inside until another bleep on her phone notifies her that her ride has arrived. She shuffles out to find an SUV waiting—one of the Stark fleet—with the plates FRIDAY has confirmed, and the driver rushes out to help her with her luggage. He’s all bundled up in black, the hood of his coat shielding his face , and she thinks nothing of it until she’s settled in the passenger seat, holding her hands up to the heating vents.

“I hope this passes quickly,” she says to the driver as he climbs back in, trying to spark a conversation “I can get a later flight out to my family, but I don’t want to miss another Hanukkah—I already spent the last few overseas.”

He makes a noncommittal sound in his throat, and the hood drops away to reveal Bucky. The beard’s been reduced to a scattering of stubble, which is why it wasn’t so obvious to her outside.

“Oh. Hi.” She belatedly pastes a smile onto her face. “How come you got lumbered with picking me up?”

“Nobody else was available.”

She’s not sure if he means it as bluntly as she says it. All she can manage is another “oh”, then she turns to face the window, watching the world pass in churned up snow and more falling flakes.

He’s a careful driver, or has the skill to keep the car on terra firma even when she can see conditions aren’t the best. She wasn’t expecting much in the way of conversation from him anyway, but she can forgive him for his silence tonight if he’s concentrating.

Only when they pull into the underground garage below Stark Tower does the pressure return for her to speak. They’re left in momentary darkness as he kills the engine, and she can hear her own breath hitch in the ensuing silence. Then the external lights are turned on by FRIDAY, and they’re sitting in shadows within the car.

She expects him to bolt again, but instead neither of them makes a move. She studies his face, even as he does not look at her, and she can’t read him at all. The shadows does wonderful things for him: highlighting his cheekbones, and the sharpness of his jaw, and the plushness of his mouth.

She’s staring at his mouth again.

“Thanks for picking me up,” she mumbles. Then, because she might not get another opportunity to say it, “You shouldn’t avoid the labs just because of a little bit of greenery. Jane misses you.” She takes a deep breath. “I miss you. And I think you enjoyed helping us, so it’s a silly thing to avoid us over.”

“S’more than that.” He speaks so quietly that if they weren’t in the complete silence of the garage, she doesn’t think she’d be able to hear him. And he does, eventually, look at her. “You know why.”

His eyes are black in the half-light, and there’s more of her reflected in them than anything else. But he’s being honest with her, so she needs to return the favor.

“I do. But you know it’s reciprocal, don’t you?”

Like that, he’s shuttered once more, gaze back on the steering wheel. “It’s more complicated than that. I’m too complicated.”

She doesn’t know how to go about unpacking that. She squelches the urge to be flippant, because he deserves more than that. “Most people are,” she says quietly. “But maybe I’m not looking for some heavy, intense deal. Maybe I’m just looking to connect with another person.  Get to know them, see if we click, see if we’re good at keeping each other company. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You won’t until you try.”

He doesn’t respond to that. She straightens herself, steeling to leave. “Here’s the deal. Stark’s holding his usual New Year shindig up in the penthouse. I’ll be back for that. I doubt you were planning on going, but if you want to give this thing a chance, you can meet me on the terrace at five to midnight. If you don’t turn up, I won’t hold it against you. Hell, I’ll even send Steve to drag you back into the labs if you keep avoiding us. But the offer’s there.”

She’s out of the car before he can say anything else.

The party’s a little tame by Tony’s standards. It’s probably because he’s not drinking and Pepper’s the one in charge, so it’s all very tasteful. Darcy mingles, at first with Jane, then splitting off when Steve arrives and the pair start making goo-goo eyes at each other.

Their dinner date went well. Better than well. Darcy thinks Jane might be trying to decide what baby names go best with “Foster-Rogers”.

On her part, Darcy switches between soda and champagne, trying to keep a clear head by scoffing plenty of the hors d’oeuvres circulating the room. She knows Bucky isn’t here and if he does come, it won’t be before the time she’d stated. It doesn’t make her any less aware of every corner of the room, even as she’s trying to make polite conversation with Zane from Accounts.

Outside, the sky has decided to grace them with even more snow.

Then, terrifyingly, Darcy ends up surrounded by Avengers. She gets dragged over by Jane when she’s distracted—“Come and meet everyone, Darce!”—and before she knows it, she’s wedged on a sofa between people she’s seen doing terrifying, wonderful things on TV. Sure, she already knows Steve and Tony (and Thor, but he’s not here), but it’s dizzying to be introduced to people under the unassuming names of “Clint”, “Wanda”, “Nat”, and “Sam”.

Truthfully, it’s the women who terrify her. Natasha Romanoff is more interested in Darcy than she should be, all wolfish smiles and pertinent questions, which triggers a faint reminder that she has history with Bucky. Meanwhile, Wanda Maximoff looks through her as much as she looks at her, and though Darcy can’t feel her rummaging around in her head, she’s slightly worried it’s happening anyway.

Then the two women share smiles and it’s like Darcy’s passed a test. After that, they keep her wrapped up in conversation, plying her with bite-sized desserts and fancy soda.

It’s only when Tony sends out the call at ten minutes to midnight—“You’d all better have a glass ready!”—that she makes excuses to visit the bathroom and sneaks out. Nobody’s gone out on the terrace despite the door being unlocked because it’s just so damn cold, but Darcy retrieves her coat from the cloakroom and slips out anyway.

She finds a quiet corner away from the main windows, knowing Bucky won’t like being overlooked if he does turn up. It’s not like she wants an audience either. She’s shivering even as she shoves her hands into her pockets, and it’s from nerves as much as anything.

She stands facing out to the city, letting the snow settle over her, enjoying the way it blankets everything in a little measure of hush that’s so rare. At midnight, she’ll be alone, but at least she’ll have a good view of the fireworks.

Then she hears a breath behind her—no footsteps, not even crunching in the snow, only a soft sigh. Darcy turns, and Bucky’s there, the softness reflected in his entire being. She’s never seen him not be tense, but tonight he’s free of it, almost on the verge of smiling.

“I thought you weren’t going to come,” she whispers. “The snow—”

“It’s not so bad,” he replies, and the corner of his mouth does crook upwards. “Might even be worth it.”

She holds her own breath, waiting for him to go on, imploring and impatient.

“A chance, you said.” His voice is low, hesitant. He reaches out and takes one of her hands, rubbing it between his own to generate a little warmth. He’s wearing the gloves she made for him. And the scarf. If she weren’t so cold, she’d melt at his feet. “Some company. A connection. I think I can do that. I think I can try.”

She’s nodding at him encouragingly, and that force she’d felt before, under the mistletoe, is back. Drawing them together, toe to toe, so close she can feel the heat from his body. He smiles at her, fully smiles, and she’s so taken aback she has to sway into him for support. Doesn’t matter; he’s ready to catch her, drawing an arm around her waist to keep her close, pressing their foreheads together.

Behind her, fireworks begin to signal the new year. Darcy has something to say, but then Bucky’s mouth is on hers, ringing in the new year in the best way possible.

Talking can wait. There are other ways to make a connection.

The prompts are:

What about Avengers Tower AU (my fav fannon for how it should all be, all dem bois in the tower and everything iS FINE O k) and a snowy New York, and I have a dialogue prompt to go with it: "You really hate the snow that much?" (In my head its Darcy asking Bucky, but you could do it the other way around, too!) - @coffin-dust

Oooh! How about someone taking up knitting? (bonus points if it's Bucky) - @librarian-amy

I heard a rumor you want prompts!! For winter weather, all my little Aussie soul gets around here is fog, but I do remember snow from my childhood in Tasmania, so maybe snowfall?? - @ibelieveinturtles

Darcy and Bucky caught under the mistletoe. She's for it but he bolts. - anon

Darcy's flight home got canceled because of a snow storm and she doesn't have a car to go back to the tower so she asks Jarvis to send someone to get her. Everyone already had plans and Bucky's the only one available. - anon