#genuinely apologize this got long i just. *shakes fist at sky*

[sparring-spirals]

Man I keep wanting to think critically (lol) and analyze this last episode but every time I try and think about what happened I hear myself screaming like I did when Orym and Fearne went down and it’s like “oops too upsetting, try again later!”

GOD big fucking mood. Every time I start thinking deeply about the extent of it my brain makes threatening whirring noises. I've mostly been able to sideways approach the Orym and Fearne loss through the lens of other characters. Which is how I love interpreting scenes anyway, so thats fine. But yeah. yeah. :(

Anyway, as far as ~critical~ thinking and analysis go- there's SO much. But I'm also in a bit of a holding pattern, keeping in mind that there's still a lot that's unknown or in flux. So in that vein, most "analysis" I've been doing has been in reference to what specifically happened during the battle. What happens after, how folks react, who dies, who lives, who breaks- are all big ole looming question marks.

But we know for a FACT that Wow That Shit Sure Happened (in some sense) And Sucked Real Bad For Our Resident Heroes. And the tragedy of losing Orym, and Fearne, or even one and not the other- still hits hard, even if it all ends up being hypothetical. :(

sorry, tl:dr:

[image description: A little yellow bird on a branch, with its beak open in what appears to be a yell. The entire background of the photo consists of uppercase A's, giving off the impression of the bird yelling "AAAAAH". end id]

[the-original-skipps]

Omggg i really barely saw some mikey headcanons/scenarios here like i'm gonna cry 😭✨,,,, anyways is it okay if i request some scenario where reader is being bullied and harrassed but she don't tell mikey about it cause she don't want mikey to worry about her but then one day mikey saw it and he was furious?? like he saw reader's trembling body and she got hickeys made by her bullies? and everything is up to you just make angst and fluff ,,,, sorry it's longg 😭

Spoken Threats.

Warnings ⚠️: Bullying, violence, mentions of blood, sexual assault.

Word count: 1.5k

Note: Oh I've been waiting to write this and don't be sorry your request can be as long as you want. I've been thinking a couple days about this so here it goes! sorry for the grammar and spelling lol

"ーcchi"

"(Y/N)-cchi"

"(Y/N)"

You snap out of your daze, only to look up to see Mikey staring at you. His dark eyes locking straight onto yours, as if he’s trying to figure out your thoughts. He’s stopped walking and is awaiting for your answer. Only the light from the light post illuminating you both as Mikey walks you home. You sheepishly smile before apologizing, “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” holding the straps of your school bag tighter. Mikey remains silent for a moment before straight forward asking you. “Are you okay?” Even if his expression did not show it you could hear a hint of concern in his voice. “I-I’m fine, just tired from school.” You reply hoping he doesn’t hear the stutter laced within. Walking a few steps forward “Come on!” you call out to him, with a smile on your face. “I see…” He replies his lips forming a tiny smile before stepping forward till he’s walking by your side.

Eventually, you both stop at the front entrance of your house. “Thank you for walking me home.” You thank him with a genuine smile on your face. Mikey returns your smile with his hands in his pockets.

"Good night, (Y/N)-cchi.”

“Good night, Mikey.”

You walk towards the entrance of your house one hand on the door handle. “Bye bye!” You smile and wave, only when Mikey sees you enter your home does he step back. He waves with a grin before walking towards the opposite direction you both came from. You step inside your home and shut the front door. Once you were in the safely of your own home, do you fall to your knees, your school bag dropping carelessly onto the floor. You could feel your body uncontrollably shake, raising your two hands to stare at them. You couldn’t tell him, about what was happening. You bite your lip as tears pool in your eyes. You couldn’t tell him about them, Yui and her minion of guys. How she would corner you at the back of the school, pulling on your hair as you sat on your knees while she viciously insults you and assaults you. Her minions laughing along, what could you do? You couldn’t fight back against three guys, you tried and you were glad Mikey did not notice the bruises that had formed underneath your long sleeved uniform.

You dreaded going to school the next day, knowing what would be awaiting you. You sluggishly button your school uniform, while the mirror reflects back the horrible bruises that have littered your arms and stomach. You hand lightly brushes against your skin only for you to wince and pull your hand away. They were the painful reminders your mind refuses to think about as it only causes more fear within you.

Putting your shoes on, you step outside beginning your walk to school. You were silent as you walked, more students appearing the closer you approach your school. As you were putting on your indoor shoes, you jumped back in surprise at the sound of your friend calling out your name. Yui blinks confusingly at you before greeting you with a smile “good morning (Y/N)!” Her light brown curls bouncing along as she spoke. Your eyes widen and your breathing quickens, “g-good morning…” you managed to stutter out, your back pressed against the shoe lockers. None of the students paying any mind to the both of you. Yui smiles before leaning towards you, “come to the usual place after school, I’ll be waiting…” she whispers menacingly into your ear skipping away with a wave of her hand. Your hold on your bag tightens as panic flushes through your veins. Her words echoing repeatedly in your mind.

.

.

.

Classes passed by in agony as your mind continues to think about Yui's words. None of the teachers words registered in your head. What was she going to do to you this time. You only prayed that it didn’t take long.

Students scatter as class ends as you slowly put away your notebooks and books into your bag, hoping to delay the inevitable. It wasn’t long until all the students left leaving you alone in the classroom with a shaky breathe you prepare yourself as walk towards the back of the school.

.

.

.

“What took you so long bitch?”

Yui immediately corners you to the wall as her sharp eyes glare into yours. “I-I" before you could even form a response she grabs you by your hair forcing you to kneel down. Your hands immediately reaches out to hers hoping she would let go. “What a bad girl, you’ve kept them waiting you know?” Your eyes immediately widen as you see three tall figures loom over you. Your breath hitches in your throat as Yui's minions menacingly smile while their eyes rake over your body. “P-Please no…!” You manage to stutter out as panic flood your body. Yui's smile only widens before she kicks you to the ground, the dirt and dust clinging onto your clothes as you wince in pain.

“Have fun boys.”

Immediately, the guy in middle jumps on you-pinning your arms to the ground. You feel your back hit the ground as your breath gets knocked out of you. “N-No stop..!” Yui let’s out an estranged laugh before pulling her phone out to record you. “Smile for the camera (Y/N)!” The guy towering over you descends upon your neck, harshly biting onto your skin enough to draw blood. You scream as you struggle to get loose only for a hand to cover your mouth, if only if you had been stronger-strong like Mikey then this wouldn’t be happening. The image of your strong boyfriend flashes through your mind as tears cascade along your face as you continue to struggle.

 Mikey…

In a flash, the guy above you was kicked away his body skittering before finally stopping-only for blood to ooze out of his nose and mouth. His body didn’t move anymore, simply lying on the dirt ground. Immediately all heads snap to a figure who had recently just appeared. The black jacket he was wearing and his blonde hair fluttering in the wind, his leg still raised in a kicking position before he lowers it down.

“W-Who the hell are y-you?” One of the two remaining guys questioned with fear in their eyes. You blink your bleary eyes as more tears fall, “M-Mikey…” you stutter out. Mikey remains silent as kneels before you, his face devoid of any emotion. He carefully pulls you up into a sitting position before draping his jacket over your shoulders. “Get him!” Yui calls out which snaps the remaining two guys action, causing them to run blindly towards Mikey with their fists pulled back. Before you could even blink, Mikey already has the two guys knocked out on the ground. “What just happened?” You knew your boyfriend was strong but this was unbelievable. It all happened in a flash.

Yui noticing that she has been outnumbered begins to tremble as her eyes land on Mikey. Mikey casually steps on the fallen bodies and approaches Yui until her back meets the wall, her phone clenched tightly within her hands. “Pleasー” Before she could utter the word a fist lands beside her head. In shock, Yui drops her phone. Mikey slowly pulls his fist away from the wall, leaving a crater in its place, remnants of the wall crumbling. Then he stomps on the phone laying on the ground crushing it to bits. “You’re lucky that I don’t hit girls…” Mikey stares down menacingly, his eyes devoid of any light. Yui could only cower as she begins to cry, mumbling incoherent apologies.

“Mikey, s-stop!” You manage to utter out as you try to stand, wincing in pain. You never seen your boyfriend like this, it was as if he was a completely different person and that scared you. “Mikey please..” Your eyes once again welling up with tears as you limp towards him. Before wrapping your shaking arms around his waist, placing your head on his back.

“P-Please…”

After a few moments of silence, Mikey finally speaks to you his back still turned towards you. “I came to pick you up but I couldn't find you then I heard your scream. I'm sorry I couldn’t protect you (Y/N)….” You buried your face further into his back, your tears wetting his shirt. “T-Thank you, for saving me…” You pull away as Mikey turns around to face you, an unexplainable emotion within his eyes. “Thank you, for saving a weakling like me...” You gently smile your glistening eyes meeting his. “You’re not weak!” Mikey exclaims as he carefully takes your bruised hand with his bloodied hand. “Not to me...” With his other hand he wipes away the blood on the corner of your lips.

“Let’s go home (Y/N)-cchi.” You nod as you both pull away from each other. You walk ahead picking up your dirty school bag, noticing how dark the sky has gotten as Mikey follows behind you then abruptly stops making sure you’re away from earshot, his head turning back to face the forgotten crying girl behind him.

“Next time you ever think of hurting her, I'll kill you…”

[dynyamight]

For the interaction + action ask: “ You have the most beautiful eyes, I’ve ever seen. “ + attempts to pickpocket, but gropes instead

send me an interaction ask bonus + action

“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen." + attempts to pickpocket, but gropes instead

From the moment he landed on the feeble looking man, making his way down the cobblestone pathway, Bakugou knew that was his next target.

Dressed in an oversized robe, with only his soft, round face showing, the merchant strolled the empty street with a satchel, visibly filled with who knows what. But, Bakugou had a gut feeling that it had to be valuables and riches.

The green haired fool had his hands protectively around its shoulder strap; of course there had to be something worth selling.

Swiftly, Bakugou hightailed, right behind the merchant, making sure to keep a relatively natural distance between them. Fortunately for him, the night sky allowed his presence to be hidden better, with only the dim street lamps barely making light.

When the merchant makes a turn, around the corner of the next street, Bakugou allows himself a few seconds to slow down. Give his target some time to look back, and notice nothing.

After his small breather, Bakugou then makes the turn.

“Hi!” The merchant greets in his face.

Taken aback, Bakugou’s left stumbling backwards, barely catching himself in the process. “What the- Holy shit.”

“I deeply apologize, I didn’t mean to scare you so suddenly.” The merchant smiles feebly, his expression painted with worry. “I just noticed we were headed the same way, and I was wondering if you too are wanting to meet with Wizard Yagi?”

Wizard who?

Now, usually, Bakugou would have dropped the mission, head over and found a different person. There’s no point in trying to steal from someone who already knows your face, and has caught you in the act. It ruins the fun in thievery, and Bakugou simply just doesn’t enjoy lying, due to having to talk to the other person.

He prefers to do the least amount of talking possible.

However, today was a complete bust. Bakugou hasn’t been as lucky as he usually is, stealing empty bags, and pickpocketing fool’s gold and counterfeit goods. It’s just been the fucking worst, to say the least.

So, yeah, he’s desperate as fuck. And, this guy looks like he could barely hurt an ant, without bursting into fat welts.

“Sure am.” Bakugou lies, offering an open hand. “You must be Wizard Yagi’s apprentice?”

Green eyes light up, and quickly their hands are met into a firm handshake. “Why yes! How did you know?”

Lucky guess. “The whole town’s been hearing about you. Someone who had extremely, wondrous potential. A fucking prodigy, genius even.”

There’s a slight blush that forms over the merchant’s face. “O-Oh, I wouldn’t say that. The rumors are always so exaggerated these days.”

“Pfft, c’mon. You’re fucking well known.” Bakugou states easily, “I bet you’re the best at magic.”

“Um, I don’t actually use magic.” The merchant weakly admits.

“You don’t?” Shit.

“D-Don’t worry!” He reassures quickly, hands waving dismissively in the air, “It’s a common mistake the folks say.”

“Oh, that’s a fucking relief.” Bakugou genuinely breathes out.

“All is forgiven.” The merchant chuckles, finally gesturing to his satchel at his side. “You see, I gather bunches of resources from the forest, as well as pick up spices and herbals from different shops, and create healing potions. If I could use magic, I think it would have been Light magic.”

“You can’t possibly collect so much, without a couple of coins in your bag.” Bakugou suggests.

“A-Ah, well,” The merchant scratches the side of his cheek, donned with freckles, “I do have riches, in order to trade and purchase.”

It has Bakugou smiling bright. “No kidding.”

“Um, anyways,” The merchant instantly shifts the conversation, “Why don’t we walk together over to my master’s lodging? It can get a little dangerous around here.”

“My, how kind of you. You’d do that for someone like me?” Bakugou teases outright.

The merchant nods confidently. “Yeah, I can protect you, of course.”

What a fucking liar. “Lead the way, then.”

With his huge robe in the way, Bakugou has come to the terrible conclusion that while they walk, he can’t seem to grab the satchel. Hidden by the long cloth, it will continuously appear and disappear, with each step the young man took. It irritated Bakugou, to no end.

“I never got your name.” The merchant chimes from in front.

“It’s Bakugou.” He huffs, still eying at his side.

“My name is Midoriya!” The merchant chuckles airly, shaking his head. “Sorry, you probably knew that already. It’s a force of habit.”

Thank god, he would have never guessed. “Don’t sweat it. I do that shit all the time.”

Immediately, Midoriya halts in his steps. And, before Bakugou could ask, he turns to face him, a wide, joyous smile printed on his face. “Really? You do that, too?”

The satchel has now flung behind Midoriya, no longer at his side. For fuck’s sake.

Nothing comes easy to Bakugou. Hard life comes with hard, strifling times.

“Y-Yeah,” He barely grits out through his teeth, pressing down on the urge to tackle Midoriya, right here and now. “Forgetful ass motherfucker. That’s me.”

“While your language is a bit crass, I completely understand how you feel!” Midoriya states, eyes shining in delight. “It’s like I’ll go to the theater, and the ticket master will say ‘Enjoy the show!’, and I say ‘Thank you, you too!’ It’s absolutely dreadful, right?”

Bakugou has never said that stupid shit, in his entire life. Who even does that?

Apparently, this idiot.

“Absolutely dreadful.” He forces himself to agree.

“My, we have so much in common!” Midoriya laughs, bringing his hands together in a fold. “Perhaps we were bound to meet; you and I. Out here, on this fateful night!”

Sounds terribly romantic. Which then, just like a lightbulb, perfectly brings a brilliant idea in Bakugou’s mind. A way to make Midoriya stand still, and reach around his back for that damn bag.

“Say,” Bakugou begins, taking a step closer, inching his face near, “Did anyone ever tell you are a lovely sight to witness?”

Midoriya’s eyes widened, lips agape in shock. “I-I am?” He weakly breathes out.

“The damn sunset would grow jealous of your rare beauty. Trust me.” Bakugou brings his right hand up Midoriya’s face, gently cupping his cheek. “Believe me.”

He can feel the warmth hit his palm, before he sees the red hue flush across Midoriya’s face. “U-Um, thank you, Bakugou. That’s rather kind of you to say.”

“You know, if we had met under different circumstances,” Bakugou whispers, making sure to add a hint of sultry and sweet into his rough voice, “I know exactly what I would have said, to grab your attention.”

With his lingering left hand, Bakugou reaches around Midoriya’s side. He hovers just slightly over his waist, towards his backside.

At this point, now he was waiting for the right moment.

Despite his calculated movements, Midoriya still had no idea. “Wh-What would you have said, if you don’t mind me asking?” He mumbles quietly.

“I’d say,” Bakugou smirks, ‘Excuse me, sir. You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.”

And, with those emerald, pretty eyes staring back at him in awe, Bakugou finally grabs at the satchel with a tight grip.

There was no buckle. No riches he felt. No crunch from herbs or spices. There was literally nothing he felt in his hand.

Except a piece of firm ass.

And the hard fist that slammed into Bakugou’s face left him unconscious, out on the street.

[dokidokey]

trace in the raindrops

summary: your relationship with keigo has been rocky for the past few weeks and your mind hasn’t been quiet in so long. what the both of you would give to take some things back.

pairings: takami keigo / hawks x reader

bingo slot: never got to say goodbye

genre: angst

warning/s: swearing, insecurities, depression, blood, death

word count: 4,989

notes: sixth bingo piece yay! i needed to get this out i’m sorry ehe if you’re uncomfortable with the topics this story is going to discuss, please don’t read. my event masterlist can be found HERE.

Raindrops are pattering against the window as you trace the frazzled lines it makes from the other side, awed by the way a droplet hits the glass like an explosion, breaking apart into tinier little drops like frail branches. You force yourself to listen to the rain as it rages outside, blocking out the soft padding of Takami’s feet on the carpet. You don’t want to see him go with this hell of a storm going on.

“Hey,” his murmur battles with the harsh noises outside, and you tilt your head just the slightest to let him know you’re listening. “I’ll be back soon.”

You nod curtly, not bothering to say anything because you’ve been like this for the past two days, gazing back at the gray scenery on the other side of the window pane. You’re expecting he will at least go over to you to pat your head like he did before, or maybe kiss you if you are lucky, but no. The muffled click of your bedroom door closing, soon followed by the rattle of the front door, is the only thing you got.

There’s a drawn out exhale from you, the tips of your fingers leaving blurred lines as it cascades down the glass along with the rain, settling in a fist on the sill as the ache in your chest feels like it’s crumpling your heart. Cheers to his girl friend for specifically asking for him to pick her up in this weather, and cheers to your boyfriend for agreeing instantaneously with a laugh as he gently pried you off him earlier.

The universe just isn’t with you today, huh? At least the mad pelting of the water seems in time with your heart, beating erratically against your ribcage. How you wish it’s caused by Keigo’s blinding smile or his crazy jokes, but it isn’t. You don’t even remember the last time he did that. You don’t remember the last time he faced you with the brightest and most genuine smile.

At least you get a glimpse of it when he’s with his friends. Right? That’s enough, right? At least somewhere outside the walls of your home, Keigo has a place where he is happy and truly himself. Even if it is not with you anymore.

You don’t know when the prickling feeling of jealousy, or maybe it was envy? You aren’t sure, it feels more like a mixture of both － a heterogeneous one too, so that is why you can’t seem to drown out the feeling. Something heavy settled on the pits of your heart and it grew its roots there, becoming one with your veins. You aren’t sure when you started feeling that, but when you understood the fact that your Keigo isn’t the same Keigo to his friends, that was when you welcomed the feeling in your heart, letting it grow and bloom inside you.

You never told Takami though, too afraid that in the early haze of his love for you, he would drop his friends and stick by your side. You’d probably be happy, not until you drown yourself of the guilt that he chose you over them － over the people he’s a different kind of happy with. You’re willing to destroy yourself inside to keep that little something of real happiness for him.

It’s not that his friends intentionally hurt your feelings because when they pass you both together, they would smile at you or nod in your direction. But there are some though, who goes straight to clapping Keigo in the back without acknowledging your existence. It made you feel small. What’s worse and caused the prominent bitter taste in your mouth was that Keigo never bothered to introduce you. He’ll go on talking to his friend, or friends, and you’re left standing beside him awkwardly, not sure if you should look at them or not, or kindly excuse yourself away.

There’s a bright flash in your line of sight, electric roots crawling down the gray clouds to find a home on the ground, quickly followed by a giant clap of thunder that shakes the walls. It resonates in time with your hurting heart, the drizzling rain like the salty tears slowly painting a shiny streak on your cheek.

It scares you how aware you are of yourself. The self-destruction is just on the very tips of your fingers. Only a little more, you keep chanting in your mind like a broken cassette tape as you push yourself upright. The digital clock bleeds the numbers 03:18 AM in bright red, creating a crimson glow on the surface of your table.

You didn’t mind that there’s a pounding ache blossoming on the back of your head. It lessens your guilt somehow. To you, at least, it feels like the proper apology Keigo deserves. You’re not even sure anymore if you’re guilty because you refused to answer his questions earlier or because you let the same insecurities get to you again.

Class ended early and as always, Takami is waiting outside your classroom. It takes a lot of effort to pull your cheeks up to give him a tight-lipped smile. His hands are gentle as he pats your head, and your heart constricts at the action, because your mind has been plagued with thoughts that made Keigo cry when you opened up to him. The feel of his hands cradling your cheek that day still lingers, the ghost of a promise that seems to be fading as time passes by.

He takes your bag in his and slings an arm loosely around your shoulder, steering you clear of the swarm of bodies littering the hallway. You’re floating again as he leads you, your surroundings turning into a blur as you let your thoughts drown you away.

You learned nothing today. Your professor had called you twice on two different occasions, and the embarrassment of not being able to answer his questions just added to the monstrous pile of negativity lounging in your head. Your mind keeps flitting back to your boyfriend, who you very much love. You think about how disconnected you are to him sometimes, more so to the world, and it feels like you’re taking his love for granted because you don’t know how to return the same intensity of his feelings.

You’re uptight, too. He didn’t really say that, but you know he thinks you are, because you are. You’re not in the same level of fun as his friends. Hell, you know your fun and their fun aren’t synonymous. You’re so different from Takami and his friends. It is like, if you look at a chart depicting Keigo, everything is stellar except you. His standards drastically dropped when you came into the picture

It further proves just how much you don’t deserve Keigo.

You’re shaken awake when Takami’s hands abruptly leave yours, caused by the force of a body colliding with your boyfriend. It was the girl who asked him to pick her up in the middle of the sky’s wailing two weeks ago, and your heart is rolling down your body towards the ground as Keigo’s hands swiftly latch on her arms, steadying her.

“Oh! Sorry Kei!” She giggles, and if the sound is a thing, it’d be the blinding sunshine. It tinkles like a lone wind chime, the melody being carried by the wind like a frail dandelion. Her eyes are twinkling as she takes a step back, gaze fixed on Takami, the brightest smile you’ve ever seen adorning her beautiful face.

Kei. It’s a cute nickname, you will admit. You never had the privilege of calling him nicknames though. And the fact that she’s standing there in front of your boyfriend, with you, his girlfriend, by his side, and uttering that word is just. . . She’s so much more than you, and jealousy sinks its green claws into your heart like a fork to a toaster as the pain surges in your chest like high voltage.

You’re not existing in Keigo’s world once again. You stand at his side, panicking a little because what are you supposed to do? Look at them? Smile at his friend? Make yourself known? Definitely not.

When Keigo wraps an arm around you again, you’re startled. Your head bumps on his chin when you abruptly look up from your phone, and there’s a soft hiss of pain from him.

“Sorry,” you squeak, quickly pocketing the device on your hand and cradling his face. “Sorry, sorry. Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head and you notice how long his hair is now. The soft tuff of ash blonde is kissing the back of his neck and without thinking, your hand moves to feel his hair. There’s a melancholic look swimming in your eyes as you do.

Keigo kisses your forehead then, and suddenly, your heart is in your throat. It was enough to make you cry, but you tell yourself no, you can’t cry, because when you cry, Keigo will ask questions. Questions mean answers, and your answer is his friends. All of them. How the mere thought of his friends break your heart so bad. How even the sight of them makes you feel so worthless in comparison.

You aren’t ready to tell him that, and you’re afraid you never will be.

During the car ride home, he keeps asking you if you’re okay. Are you sick? You don’t know. Maybe you are. Sick of his friends, sick of how they make you feel. Sick of this world. Sick, sick, sick. Sick in the fucking head for being like this. Why aren’t you like a normal person with a normal brain with normal feelings? Were those too much to ask? Was it that hard to give you that?

All you give Keigo are shrugs and shakes of your head and silent whispers of denial. Eventually, he grew tired of asking and of your worthless answers, releasing an annoyed huff and scrunching his eyebrows together in irritation.

There’s a bubbling guilt brewing in you from his reaction, and out of the blue, you wrap an arm around his and ask, “Are you mad?”

His expression doesn’t change as he shakes his head no, but the way he shrugs off your touch is enough answer for you. He is quiet for the rest of the day and his irritation sticks to him like a leech, seeming to suck him dry of his love for you as he didn’t even bother to bid you good night when he went to bed.

It all feels too fast, too much of a whirlwind. You feel like a candle nearing its end, your flame dangerously close to the other end of the wick.

The guilt of making Keigo feel bad is perched heavily on your shoulder. There’s an unbelievably massive emptiness inside you as you realize you’re just another version of Atlas, carrying the world alone. It’s insanely frightening that somehow, in some way, Keigo is your world. You’re carrying him and all his feelings and everything in your hands, and you can only take so much what with your thoughts piercing you like fire-tipped arrows.

So your way of forgiving yourself is this: depriving yourself of sleep. Maybe you won’t eat the whole day tomorrow too to make the guilt vanish like it’s never even there. Your hand is absolutely numb as you force yourself to move it. There’s only one last paragraph left of your homework and as you come to end it with a period, a relieved sigh bubbles out your lips and your head smack down harshly on the table, eyesight spinning.

By the time a hand is soothingly rubbing your back and another one is shaking you awake, your digital clock glares 04:02 AM to you. Keigo pushes stray hairs out of your face as you blink at him wearily.

“Come to bed,” he murmurs, and you revel in the softness of his words, the gentleness of his touch. There are tears brimming behind your closed eyelids as you lean in on his touch. When Keigo laces his fingers with yours to help you up, you oblige. When he tucks you in and wraps an arm around your waist, you smile, a lone tear trickling on your temple.

You’d sacrifice endless sleepless nights for this kind of affection again. If all this is caused by Keigo’s drowsy state, it’s okay, you won’t complain. At least like this, in the quiet of your home and the chaos in your head, you found a little solace, even just for the meantime.

Your spacing out during lectures is taking its toll. Yesterday, when your professor suddenly announced a pop quiz, the number and equations on your paper didn’t make any sense. You failed the quiz and, today in history, you fail another pop quiz. The nearing exams don't calm your frazzled state of mind. The constant fights with Keigo is only adding up to your stress and you’re not sure where to go anymore.

You find him unfair. In times like this that you and him aren’t on good terms, he has his friends to run to. You? What about you? You have nothing except him, and it’s sad to think that you can’t be honest of the one person closest to you. It’s heartbreaking that he’s also the cause of your constant sadness.

You appreciate Keigo’s efforts, really. There’s nothing like the way your heart swells whenever he approaches you to try and mend whatever it is that’s broken between you, but the swelling of your heart causes your throat to close up, and he’s left with choked breaths and stuttered out words. In the end, he let it be.

It’s a Saturday and the exams are over, and you sleep in just for today, trying to catch up on the consecutive all-nighters you pulled to study that didn’t help you out in the end, because most of your answers are just blank spaces on the paper. It’s late and sunny, the window to your right cresting slanted patterns on the wooden floorboards.

The bathroom door opens and comes out a freshly showered Takami, drying his hair with a towel and clad in denim. He halts as he sees you awake, but continues just as quick to pull out a shirt from his cabinet.

“We’re going out today, the guys and I,” he informs you in a cold voice, and it’s like being pricked by the sharpest icicle. He doesn’t bother looking at you as he puts his shirt on and grabs his spare keys for the front door. “I’ll be out late so keep the door locked while I’m gone.”

The heaviness in your chest is unmatched by Keigo’s ignorance and icy attitude as he lets himself out of your shared bedroom without another glance. You try to convince yourself that no, he just needs to get something outside and he’ll come back to bid you goodbye, maybe even kiss you or at least pat your head, but you can’t stomach the chilling sound of the door slamming shut in this eerily quiet house.

You didn’t bother getting up to eat, proceeding to just sleep and hoping your slumber would slowly dissipate the clawing jealousy and envy brooding in your chest. You wake up some time at night with the constant buzzing of your phone. You’re greeted by numerous texts from Rumi, a close friend of yours.

[rumi 08:17 pm] y/n i swear to fucking god is this your boyfriend

[rumi 08:17 pm] 927482.jpg

[rumi 08:17 pm] im going to break this mans neck y/n im telling you

[rumi 08:18 pm] RESPOND Y/N WHERE ARE YOU

[rumi 08:18 pm] it really IS your fucking boyfriend

[rumi 08:19 pm] whos that bitch on his lap

[rumi 08:19 pm] y/n if you dont respond asap im dragging these two by their necks outside

[rumi 08:20 pm] Y/N I SWESR WHERE ARE TOH RESPONS TI MY TEXTS FFS

Your heart is mad against your chest as it beats erratically, dainty fingers shaking as it taps on the attachment Rumi sent you. You have to increase your phone’s brightness because all you can see are the neon lights in the background but alas, after the settings panel lowered, there he is, with the same girl sitting on his lap.

“O-oh,” your breath stutters. You stare at the photo longer, hoping that it will magically transform into another man’s face because hell, that cannot be your Keigo. No. But it is him. That’s the same shirt he was wearing when you woke up. The way his eyes are shining and the quirky smile on his face is a clear giveaway that yes, it really is your boyfriend. You don’t miss the hand lazily draped over the small of her back.

That is the same hand that used to pat your head, rub your back, comb through your hair. That is the same hand that used to hold yours, although you can’t remember when was the last time.

Your chest physically aches at the thought of Keigo in there, with her, without you. He’s out there and you’re here after he left you with nothing. He has some audacity. And he’s going to come home to you in, say, three or four hours? For what?

But hey, who says he will come home tonight anyway?

The first thought finds it home inside your brain immediately, quickly followed by more as they try to take up the spaces in your head. What if Keigo doesn’t come home? Would he kiss her? Is he cheating? Does he love her? Is she better? What is wrong with you? What happens if Keigo doesn’t come back tonight? Does he tell her the same soft I love yous he tells you? What if they. . . ?

A wracking sob shakes your body heavily, fists tight against the comforter you’re slowly pulling up your knees, trying to shield yourself from what, you do not know. The betrayal feels like no other － like a bitter something that is slowly crawling down your throat and heart, sitting heavy in your stomach, ruining you inside.

The embers of your hate for his friends flares up, the flames licking at your chest as it aches. And no one even cares to remind him he has a girlfriend? That letting another girl sit on your lap while you’re in a relationship means you might as well break up? They know of your existence and stance in his life yet they let him anyway?

Keigo let her anyway.

Another sob tumbles out of your mouth, somehow it is the only comforting sound inside the tense silence in your room. What you’d give for Keigo to be home, wrap you in his arms, and assure you everything will be alright. What you’d give to take back all your confessions about the absolute chaos in your head, feeling like a fool for letting your defenses down and being vulnerable in front of him just to treat you like this.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there when the front door rattles open, and soon there’s a drenched Takami standing on your bedroom’s doorway. The rain is raging outside and you didn’t even notice.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, chest heaving, taking cautious steps toward your slumped form. You’re not sure why he’s saying sorry. Maybe Rumi did drag him and that girl out of the club.

You wipe the back of your hand to your cheek, erasing the evidence of your crying. You plast on a wobbly smile at him. “It’s okay,” you assure, despite the fact that you’re not assured. Pushing the comforter off you, you make a way for the pile of towels on the corner, and approach your boyfriend.

There’s a pained look on his face as you brought the cloth to his face, gently drying the rainwater dripping on his skin. Keigo sighs and angles his face away from you and grabs your wrist.

“Stop.”

You shake him off, the sides of your eyes burning, placing the towel on top of his head and drying his hair. It hurts to see him right now, but at least he’s home. Right? At least he’s here. With you. He came home.

“Y/N,” he stresses, hands gripping your arms hard like hot ice and shaking you adamantly. “For fuck’s sake, Y/N, I said I’m sorry.”

Keigo’s voice cracks.

You smile again, a little crooked, a little hurt. Your breath is hot against his cheek when you say, “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Keigo exhales, something dark looming on his face. He pushes your hand away, and a tear slips down your cheek, but you’re quick. Your hand swipes it away as fast as it fell down, and there’s only a shadow of the trail it left.

The man in front of you sighs in exhaustion as he runs a shaking hand through his hair, the sound heavy on his chest. He sounds so tired. Fed up. Done. Is this how he will break up with you? The thought alone breaks your heart, and there is another trickle of tear down your eyes, and a choked sob escapes you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Keigo murmurs in remorse as he slowly pulls you in his arms, and you immediately latch to him, uncaring of the voice inside your head saying this is the same man who has his hands on another girl. He came home. He’s here with you. That is all that matters. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry.”

There’s no stopping your tears as it soaks the neckline of his shirt. Your breath is hot against his neck, contrasting his skin that is cold from the rain. “I know Rumi told you. She talked to me,” he explains, lips grazing your temple in a way that hurts so good. “I’m sorry, baby, it’ll never happen again.”

You pull your head away from his neck, breathing in through your nose, voice croaky. “I－ I’ve never－ You don’t see me sitting like that on other men's lap, Keigo,” you lament, the image flashing before your eyes again. “I feel so cheated.”

His hands are caressing your back and the pressure is a nice reminder that you aren’t alone anymore. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

Though you know no amount of sorrys can mend that little piece of your broken heart, you let it slide. You let it go. You just relish in this moment you manage to steal away from his friends, snuggling against his neck despite the cold bite of his wet clothes on your skin.

When Keigo suggests both of you clean up now that you’re also drenched in rainwater, you oblige. The soft feeling of his hands rubbing your scalp and his whispers of countless I’m sorrys is kept behind the tiny area of your bathroom. When you’re cuddled up to him right before bed, you don’t understand the difference of I love you and I’m sorry anymore.

It’s raining again.

Keigo decided to take you out today, saying it has been so long since the last you did. There’s a bitter remark in the back of your head saying, that’s because you don’t pay attention. It’s always your friends over me. It’s always her over me. But you ignored it, too elated by your boyfriend’s proposals because finally, after so long, it’s you and him again.

You look up at your transparent umbrella, eyes transfixed on a raindrop that lazily glides over the curve of the plastic, rejoining the ones that had built up at the ends. It falls down the puddle at your feet, the echoes of its fall waving in the water. You smile and pull out your phone to call Keigo. He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago.

He picks up on the second ring. “Sorry,” comes his greeting, “I’m on my way, I promise.”

“It’s okay.” There’s nothing to be sorry for. You move the tips of your shoes to tap the puddle, and your reflection on the water dances. “I’ll be waiting here. Take care, okay? I lo－”

You don’t see it because you’re looking the other way, totally oblivious of the car reeling towards your direction. There was no beep or honk or anything. All there was was the screeching of tires on wet asphalt, but it’s too late.

You make eye contact with the wide-eyed man behind the wheel. Touya’s eyes look about to fall, and it would have pulled a good laugh out of you because this usually calm and collected friend of Keigo is panicking, but you know you can’t do that. Not anymore. Not ever.

The pain comes at full blow on your chest and your breath is knocked out of your lungs from the impact. You manage to register the fact that after that excruciating hit, your body is thrown back and hits the shed’s post. Something cracks through the happenings of it all.

Your phone is not in your hands anymore, your umbrella is gone. The rain is pattering against your face, mixing with the blood slowly pooling under your body. You barely understand Touya’s words as he runs off to you, lips moving in frenzy as he talks on his phone.

Keigo’s heart drops. What the fuck was that?

“Y/N,” he calls, dread sitting tight on his chest, “Y/N? Hello? Can you hear me?”

You don’t answer. He wants nothing than to get out of this fucking train and go to you. This seems too slow. Too slow.

Faintly, he hears it. A voice. His friend’s voice, to be exact. What the hell is Touya doing there with you? He picks up a few words, like accident and ambulance, and it feels like his heart is about to fall.

What happened to you? God, if anything bad happened to you, Keigo might lose his mind.

He’s out of the train when his phone rings again, and his heart skips with the thought that maybe it’s you, but when it displays Todoroki’s name, he almost throws the device away. “What?” He snaps, wiping the raindrops falling frantically on his face. His irritation and anxiety heightens. It’s like the raindrops are there to tell him to move faster, walk faster, get to you faster.

“Keigo, fuck, fuck, fuck,” comes Touya’s voice in Takami’s ear, and he abruptly stops at the distressed tone of his voice before moving again, mind wrapped around the thought of getting to you immediately.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Touya moans, “I’m so fucking sorry, I swear, I didn’t mean it, man.”

Keigo refuses to accept it. No. He ends the call and his rushed walk turns into a sprint, the soles of his shoes beating in time with the drops of rain. Maybe this is all a dream － a vivid one at that, because when he sees the familiar shed where you told him you’ll wait, it all feels too real.

His legs are straining from the effort he’s exerting to get to you faster, yet at the same time, he doesn’t want to. Seeing you will make it real. Keigo cannot accept that. He doesn’t want to accept that.

But there you were, eyes toward the sky and unseeing, arms splayed. Fuck. He skids to a stop next to your body, ignoring the bite of the concrete against his knees and Todoroki, who is looking at him wide-eyed.

“No, no, no, no,” Keigo rasps, hands hover over your body. The fear of touching you is sending alarms off inside his head. No. This cannot be true. This isn’t you.

But you’re wearing the necklace he gave you on your first anniversary, the gold lace hanging crooked on your neck.

He doesn’t mind the mix of blood and rain seeping into his clothes as he carefully, carefully places a hand over your forehead, and he wants nothing but to shake you awake but the dead look in your eyes is killing him.

“I’m so sorry, love,” he whispers, closing your eyelids and resting his forehead on yours, and he cries. Is this what he gets because he’s been neglecting you? Is this in exchange for the act he pulled yesterday night? Is this the universe taking back the greatest thing in his life because he didn’t appreciate it enough?

You didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Keigo has it etched on his mind － your little phrases over the phone whenever the call is nearing its end. Take care. I love you. Bye. With the last word drawn out, childlike and wondrous. You weren’t even able to say those things. One last time.

But Keigo is aware of all the times he did not bid you goodbye. Every instance is eating away at him every day, his pride too big for him. It feels as though he took your for granted, and yes, maybe he really did.

What Keigo would give to turn back time and love you the right way you deserved.

He doesn’t realize when the medics came. He didn’t respond when a voice asked him to step back, thrice, until arms were lifting him off his feet. He didn’t say anything when somebody asked his name. All he can see is your body, drenched in water and blood.

You always did love the rain, so maybe that is why he’s so transfixed with the webs of crimson slowly mingling with the water on your skin. He watches as it becomes one with the rain, dripping down the pavement, and he knows soon it will disappear, all evidence of how once upon a time, Takami Keigo lost the love of his life in this very place.

more notes: i don’t know why i do this to myself heh this was supposed to be way darker and sadder, but i changed it last minute jskdl hope you enjoyed!

[spvce-cowboy]

drivers license

francisco morales x f!reader - oneshot

rating: mature

3.1k words

warnings: drug/alcohol use, reader is a dealer, age gap, so much YEARNING!!!

summary: a surprise visit from an old friend

a/n: 100 follower celebration!! partially inspired by this post but also the fact that i have been sing-screaming “drivers license” for oh about four days straight now. thank you guys so so much for all the support so far ! 💕

**

A fist slamming against your front door wakes you from a dreamless sleep.

You push yourself off your mattress, blearily checking the time on your phone and cursing under your breath when you see that it’s almost 3am. You sit up all the way, blinking as you wait to see if what woke you up was something you’d imagined or if it were real.

It’s real. It starts again after a second, three sharp raps against the door, followed by some kind of muffled talking. Your heart rate picks up in your chest, you grab the baseball bat you have leaned against the wall as you reach your apartment door. Squeezing one eye shut, you look through the peephole.

The good thing is that it definitely isn’t the cops. You take a relieved breath, leaning away from the door.

The bad thing is that whoever is knocking is hunched on his knees, just outside of the peephole’s line of sight, so you have absolutely no idea who the fuck it is.

“Please open the door,” the man’s voice begs from the other side of the door. You’re about to yell at him to fuck off, but he interrupts you before you can even open your mouth. “Little flower, it’s me, please.”

The nickname makes your heart go to your throat. The bat in your hands falls to the floor.

You rub a hand over your eyes, huffing an exhale in a vague attempt to prevent your heart from ricocheting against your ribs. It doesn’t work. Because as soon as he says it, as soon as you realize who it is, it brings everything back with him.

A set of sturdy, tanned fingers cupped against the knuckles of your grandfather’s hand, the voice went low in a warm but respectful greeting. You didn’t realize how gnarled your old man’s hands had gotten until you had someone else’s to compare them to. You looked back down at the crumpled up dollar bills you’d just been handed, one of them still rolled. Turning to find your bag on the coatrack, you stuff the money in your back pocket.

“My little flower, this is a good one,” your grandfather told you with a small hum that signifies whatever he just said must be set in stone. You hear the sound of him heavily patting the hand cupped over his own in that way he does when he appreciates the presence of something. “He has a decent head on his shoulders, no?”

“Little flower?” You can hear the boyish smile in that all too familiar voice before you even turn back around. “That suits you well, I think. Florita. I like that.”

“Christ, Frankie, what are you doing here?” You rest your head against the doorframe, heart sinking in your chest. You don’t open the door, to protect him or yourself you don’t know.

“I need—”

“You’ve got a kid now, Frankie. I told you I’m not going to sell to you anymore.”

“Ever the moralist,” the bite to his words is so uncharacteristic you can’t help but flinch. He seems to realize this, too. His apology is nearly immediate. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You’re right. I… It’s not…”

You swallow, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around yourself for some bare semblance of comfort. “Please go,” your voice is so quiet you’re not sure he can hear you through the layer of wood separating the two of you. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

It’s quiet for a long time. Long enough that you nearly think he’s left. Long enough that you don’t know why you’re still standing at the door and not back in bed.

And Frankie says your name, voice cracking. Your actual name. It’s been so long since you’ve heard it come off his lips you can’t help sink into the door.

A held breath leaves you in a shuddering sigh. Your shaking hands open the door.

The man who spills onto the ground before you is a stranger, yet, heartbreakingly, just as he had been when you first met him. Messy hair, worn blue jeans, gray button-down stretching over the perfect expanse of his back. All that is missing this time around is that lazy smile, that easy, Hey, darling.

In a bar. Right when your grandfather started getting sick.

“Eighty,” you said without him having to continue his sentence beyond his syrupy greeting, eyes trained on the shelves of liquor in front of you instead of having to meet his gaze.

He copped an eighth, tucking the little baggie in a pocket on the inside of his jacket. You went back to your drink, angling your body away from him again and expecting him to return to his table of friends. But then the knuckles of his hand nudged the side of you elbow. He gestured to your beer, the neck of the bottle clasped between your thumb and the hook of your middle and index fingers.

“Lemme buy you your next one, yeah?” He had a hunched lean to his posture, in that way that men do when they want you to feel like you’re the only person in the room. You were mad that it worked. He extended a hand. “Frankie Morales.”

The truth of it was that the two of you became friends, after that. Nothing more. Regardless, it was too close for you to get to someone you dealt to, but you were so lonely at that point in your life—taking care of the old man by day, GED classes at night--that meeting Frankie was a small blessing. Nothing ever happened between you two but God you wish it did.

To describe what you felt towards him as a crush didn’t really cut it, but you were fine with friends. Being completely fair, he was definitely one to send mixed signals—Christ, your weekly tradition of driving to an overlook to split an order of fries and milkshakes on the hood of his truck just about screamed every romcom you were raised on. But despite the occasional prolonged touch, the hand he would place on the small of your back to move you out of the way or guide you forward, nothing happened.

You dealt with it. Tried to be supportive as possible when he met his girl. Frankie broke the news that she was pregnant. The two of you saw each other less and less frequently. Sometimes he would call to catch up. Eventually, you stopped answering when he did. Your grandfather died. You got into a local art school.

It was sad how quietly it all faded. You didn’t know it could, but it did.

And now here he is, literally crumpled at your feet.

Frankie messily pulls himself up off the ground and onto his knees. He reeks of booze and old cigarettes. You freeze as his hands wrap over your hips, as he presses his face into your stomach and murmurs an incoherent apology—for what, you’re not exactly sure.

And when you finally processing what’s happening, what you had begged the universe for years, you can’t help yourself. Your card your fingers through his hair, gritting your teeth and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Frankie,” it’s a warning. It’s a reminder. “You’re drunk. You need to go home. Your girlfriend--”

“She left a week ago,” he speaks into the fabric covering your belly. The words burst forwards as if not even he was expecting to say them. It’s a confession. His hands flex from where they hold onto you. “She’s gone.” Your heart drops to your gut, your chest aching. “I need… Just for the night I… Little flower, the house is so empty.”

You keep petting back his hair until his breathing quiets. He keeps holding onto you, even then. The two of you stay like that for a long time.

“Why don’t,” your voice comes out too shaky. Too unsure of itself. You clear your throat and try again. “Why don’t you take a shower, I’ll get you some water and we can sober you up a bit. Okay?”

He tilts his face up at you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in well over a year.

And he hasn’t changed. It’s all there—the soft mess of shaggy hair, dark but kind eyes, the beloved hook of his nose.

One sun-sick evening, you rode your bike to the beach just to get out of the apartment. You need somewhere to sit and think for a while, just until your head feels more clear. There’s enough of a chill in the air that you have to throw on a jacket, it’s nice. It’s like you can feel the wind moving through you. Past you.

When you arrived at the beach, you got off your bike, leaning it against your hip as you scoped out a spot to sit in the sand. You were about to wheel it over to the rack when--

Someone pinched your elbow in greeting. Their steps were so quiet you didn’t even register their approach. It, obviously, startled you, and your hand immediately flew to the keychain in your back pocket. The knife you had attached to it.

When you turned, and it was Frankie’s familiar face, his hands raised in joking surrender.

In that light, with the sun still flirting with the horizon, it rendered his face into shapes and shadows you had only previously seen in the old oil paintings of long-dead greats. You thought it was in the deep bourbon of his eyes, soft when illuminated by a tangerine sky. It was him. All of him. Slightly breathless, hair ruffled by the wind.

“Hey, hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he sounded genuinely apologetic. You released a relieved huff of air.

“Fucking Christ, Frankie. A little warning would be nice next time.”

“Did you bike the whole way here? From the apartment?” He asked, there was a tinge of concern to his voice.

You shrugged, trying to hide your embarrassment by lowering your kickstand with the heel of you boot. “It’s not that far.”

“Don’t you have a car?”

“Can’t drive,” you wrinkle your nose. “Never needed to.”

He looked you for a moment, if you didn’t know any better you’d say critically.

“I was just about to get something to eat, if you wanna join me,” he tucked his hands in his pockets as he spoke. “There’s this overlook nearby that has a way better view of all of this.” He motions to the ocean with the tilt of his head. “I can drive us there.”

You regarded him as he spoke, cautiously looking him up and down. And you nodded, smiling slightly. He smiled back, it was big and crooked. It made something in the pit of your belly feel warm.

You step away, holding out your hand to help him to his feet. He complies, stumbling slightly and rubbing his hand over his face as he does so. He disappears down the hall without having to ask where the bathroom is.

Sighing, you go back into your room, pulling out a shirt and a pair of oversized sweatpants for him to change into. You knock on the bathroom door on your way to the kitchen. The apartment’s walls are so thin you can hear the hiss of the shower from all the way down the hall.

“Come in,” Frankie’s voice barely rises above the sound.

You crack the door open, keeping your eyes trained to the floor as you place the folded clothes on the sink’s counter.

“Here’s something for you to change into,” you tell him. He thanks you, the shower turning off right as you close the door behind you. You walk back down the hall and into the living room, making two glasses of water before settling on your couch.

Once, after a night out, the two of you were too drunk and too broke to afford separate taxis home. He proposed going back to his house, split the cost, grab a cab for you once it wasn’t so late and the rates went down.

You agreed, as you did anytime he extended the offer to spend time there. There was something about the quiet, tucked-in nature of the suburbs that was so novel to you. So calming.

The two of you settled on the couch. Feeling bold, you lay your head in his lap and kicked your socked feet up on the opposite armrest as you describe to him the gallery opening you’d snuck into. How you successfully schmoozed to the owner as well as one of the artists.

He asked you if you had heard back from any of the scholarships you’d applied to. You hadn’t, but you’d only just submitted the applications, so it would be at least a few months wait.

You tell him your dreams of becoming an artist. A real one. He already knew that, but you really tell him this time, all the details you usually keep to yourself, too special to you to have the courage to voice aloud. The fantasy of moving out into the mountains, getting a cabin just big enough for a hotplate and a bed and a studio. You’ve lived and breathed LA for your entire life and you were tired of the city. Tired of every street corner baked with the memories of high school and the listless years that followed, of the small humiliations you had to succumb to in order to survive.

Frankie listened and nodded enthusiastically at all the right parts. It was only then that you realized his hands smoothed over the top of your scalp as you talked. You let it continue, it felt too nice not to.

He told you that you should, and if you needed help finding the money he could always--

You cut him off before he could finish the thought, shaking your head. Responsibilities came first, you had people who needed you. A degree to finish. Savings to maintain. You asked him about the new girl he’d been seeing and he eagerly launches into a story about a different, wild night out. You smile and laugh throughout the whole thing, trying to ignore the pang it gives you when he describes the dress she was wearing. He fingers continued to brush over the crown of your head as he talked.

You fell asleep there, on his lap. You woke up before the sun rose, hot and sweaty and still a little drunk from the vodka Redbulls that never agreed well with your heart.

It took you a second to realize you were in Frankie’s bed, alone. When you padded back into the living room, he was passed out on the couch, a throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders, using his arm as a pillow.

You left after helping yourself to a shower, texting him a sarcastic good luck with that hangover. You’re about to call a taxi home but something stopped you. You thought it might be the way the sun was barely breaking over the cusp of the smoggy horizon, the sky reduced to pale shades of violet with the coming dawn.

The quiet neighborhood Frankie lived in is all the more beautiful, like this. Subdued, empty, houses in winding but even rows that scale up the mountainside like sets of bad teeth. You decided to walk, just until the sun got a little brighter. Until the people started to shake themselves awake for a new day.

You got a text from him as you were making breakfast, back at your apartment by then. Thanks. Hope you slept well, little flower. Something about the small missive kept you smiling the whole day after.

You mess with your phone until Frankie returns.

“I’m sorry, for showing up like this,” Frankie says as he hovers over the living room’s threshold. The clothes you leant him fit well enough, only slightly oversized on his frame as opposed to how they generously drape off of you. He holds his towel in his hands, looking down at it instead of you.  “I honestly don’t have an excuse and you… you shouldn’t accept any. But I thought I should still tell you.”

You look at him for an extended beat, knowing he’s being honest. You’re at a genuine loss as to how to handle the situation.

“We can deal with it later,” you settle with that. It sounds good enough to you, and when he finally meets your eyes again he looks a little relieved. You nod you head towards the glass of water you placed on the coffee table, he takes your lead and settles on the opposite side of the couch, leaning over to take his own glass.

“So um… how are you?” He asks you earnestly, angling his body towards you.

“Okay,” you take a sip of water, trying to keep it casual. “Cleaning up my act a bit, you know? Going to school, picking up jobs here and there. Trying to figure out what I want to do. Oh! I uh… I learned how to drive--impressive I know.”

“The city flower herself, operating a vehicle?” His face breaks into a familiar, goofy smile you can’t help but reciprocate. “I’ll add every pedestrian in LA to my prayers.”

“You should,” you shake your head as you laugh, leaning into your corner of the couch and pulling your knees up to your chest. You finally relax, giving yourself the small allowance of settling into the comfort that inevitably comes with his presence.

And it really is just as easy as it always has been between the two of you. The conversation naturally ebbs and flows, neither of you bother to broach the heavier stuff. For now, just this it’s enough.

It’s enough to see the spark in his eyes when he tells you about his daughter, how bright she is, how much trouble she gets into—just like her dad. It’s enough to hear about his friends, all those names and backstories that you still vividly remember. It’s enough to bask in the feeling of how he leans into you with laughter, a hand lingering on your knee for seconds longer than it probably should have, as he always tends to do.

It’s enough to see him grin when you tell him about the scholarships you got, how weird it felt being the oldest person in all your classes, even if it was only by a handful of years. He doesn’t ask how your grandfather is, the living room being cleared of all the heart monitors and breathing machines is enough to answer that question. You’re grateful he doesn’t. You’re not sure you’d be able to keep a brave face if he did.

You don’t want time to pass. You want to stay here, with him, like this, in that perpetual state of catching up, in that breathless deluge that has the not-so-subtle undercurrent of this is what has happened since you left. I wish you would have been there. But I am so happy you are here now.

When you can no longer stifle your yawns, you stand to refill your glass of water, speaking on your walk over to the sink.

“I’d love to keep talking but I honestly don’t think I can keep my eyes open much longer,” you tell him as you turn the tap off. “I can make up the couch for you, if you’d like.”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, you turn to look back at him. He’s staring at you from where he is seated, eyes dark with something that isn’t just from the low light of the living room.

“What?” You ask after a few more seconds of him not responding. He looks away from you, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

Your eyes search his for a moment, positive that that was not at all what he was turning over in his head during those few seconds of silence. You’re too tired to press, so you gather a spare set of sheets for him. He stands when you come back into the living room, holding out his arms to take them from you. You wave him away, setting up the pull-out bed yourself. You’d grown up sleeping on this thing, tucking the fitted sheet into the corners was always tricky, and he didn’t know where the bolts of the couch’s frame would cut the shit out of his hands if he wasn’t careful.

Throwing a pillow down, you turn back to Frankie. He’s standing closer to you, now. You have to tilt your head up slightly to meet his eyes.

“All set,” you tell him. He nods, eyes searching your face for a moment. Your brow furrows. “Frankie, you’re being weird. Stop it.”

His chuckle breaks the tension.

“Sorry—I’ve been saying that a lot tonight, haven’t I?” He takes a deep breath. You’re smiling again, about to agree with him, and without warning his hand is comes up to cup the side of your face. You still, lips parted in an unasked question. “Thank you, little flower,” his voice goes rough again, as it had when you were speaking to each other through the door. “I really mean it.”

Frankie’s hand drops when you nod, lips pressed together. He sits back down on the pull-out. You wish him goodnight quietly and return to your room.

Leaving your bedroom door cracked open, you climb back into bed. With everything in you, you hope he’s still there when you wake. He will be.

[ddarker-dreams]

I Got The Blues. Yan Bruno x Reader [COMM]

warnings: implied manipulation, isolation, some paranoia. word count: 5k.

This isn’t how you were expecting your evening to go. 

Flashing by you in a dreamlike world of blurred colors, the city of Naples at night is a picturesque sight to behold. Gone is the sun that kindly lavished the bustling streets in shades of amber and marigold, moonlight and twinkling stars taking its place. How a city can have a clear enough sky to spot stars is a miracle beyond your own knowledge, though the lights of streetlamps and buildings do dull it some; it’s not enough to diminish the greater beauty. 

Butterflies dance around in your stomach, threatening to send you careening in your leather seat. Your exposed skin gratefully takes in the cool of the air conditioning that you’ve found yourself fiddling with, in hopes of quelling your inner anxiety. Every now and again, you work up the courage to look over at your date for the night. When knowing, cobalt eyes flicker to meet your gaze, all of the valiance it took to look his way melts like ice. Your muscles go taut, fingers curling into a fist atop your bare thighs, rose colored lips set into an unsteady smile to dissipate the uneasy air of your own making. 

You haven’t even made it to the restaurant, and you’re already on the verge of boiling over with excitement. 

Bruno Bucciarati is nothing if not a stunningly handsome man, eyes smoldering and raven hair perfectly framing his sharp face. There are plenty of mysteries in this world, now you’re able to add one of your own design. Why is it that Bruno had asked you of all people, on a fanciful date? What he had seen in you up until this point to have extended this invitation to you is up for debate. It’s not that you think poorly of yourself -- far from it -- but that Bruno’s beauty is so ethereal, that it’s hard to fathom his interest in you. Today isn’t the first time he’s expressed it, and far from the last, but you mistook it for friendliness. 

“I promise I won’t bite, amore,” Bruno’s rich, velvety voice invades your ears, senses incapable of processing anything other than his presence beside you. “There’s no need to be so on edge.” 

Your heartbeat increases tenfold at his good-natured teasing, a nervous laugh leaving your lips. Having conversation fill the air provides you with some much needed reprieve, a playful response of your own bubbling to the surface. “You say you won’t, but I get the feeling you may go back on your word.”

He returns your laughter with equal fervor, the skin underneath his eyes crinkling in delight. “I have to admit, it’s a tempting proposition. But I’ll save that for another time, should you let me.” 

There’s no getting ahead of his game, he’s too suave and adept. You look out the window to hide how your cheeks flush, but from the pleased hum he lets out, you’re certain he knows anyways. The banter is an enjoyable aspect of your time with Bruno, though there’s an underlying factor of honesty to his words. All the compliments bestowed upon you come from a genuine place. Your mind wanders to the first time you had encountered him, a fated meeting that you won’t be forgetting anytime soon. 

You had been jet lagged, searching frantically for a place to meet up that your native friend suggested. Directions went into your head without making proper sense, and before you knew it, you were lost. Your concerns of meeting up with your friend were soon replaced by wondering if you’d ever pinpoint where you were, the foreign area making it increasingly difficult to do so. It’s in this pitiful stupor that a well spoken man in a fine pressed suit appeared before you, asking if something was the matter. 

He hadn’t looked down upon you for the admittedly embarrassing plight, instead, he said he knew the area and wouldn’t mind taking you there as it was on his way. From that point onwards, you couldn’t thank him enough, praises stumbling from your tongue. He introduced himself as Bruno Bucciarati, and the time you spent with him was enough to forget your earlier problems. The long walk to where your friend awaited was filled with pleasant conversation and humor, with some light flirting that you enjoyed a little too much. From afar he looked serious, but had a coquettish nature that drew you in like a moth to a flame.

While it would’ve normally sounded terrifying to follow a stranger to a destination in a land you weren’t familiar with, Bruno put your heart at ease. He kept an appropriate distance and observed the theoretical line in the sand, never crossing it and using adequate charm to steady your frayed nerves. Upon hearing that you were a fresh arrival to Naples, he gave a brief overview of some culture tidbits that you might find useful during your stay. What was going to be an awful afternoon turned into a memorable outing, full of adventure and discovery. To say that you were grateful would be an understatement. 

Upon reaching your destination, all your anxiety from before was a thing of the past. Bruno was glad to see you off, refusing any monetary payments you tried to offer as thanks for his altruism. Instead, he asked if he could see you again at some point, to which you readily agreed. Thus began your pleasant friendship, and led to where you are now. On an excursion to a restaurant that, when you looked it up, seemed to frequent politicians and celebrities. How he managed to score a reservation at such a fine place is beyond you, but you’ll make the best of it. 

Fidgeting with your purse, you consider reapplying a touch of blush to your cheeks. Your outfit choice for tonight, a simple yet form fitting black dress that ends above your knees, was the best your closet could produce for such an event. Bruno looked the part of someone who would fit into high society, and you hope the same can be said for you. From how he complimented you earlier, it induced enough confidence to make it this far. 

The chauffeur pulls in front of the grandiose restaurant, and you watch as men and women dressed in designer clothing worth more than months of your paycheck climb out of sports cars. This is a large jump from the picnics and gelato outings Bruno had taken you out on before. Up until today, where romantic intentions could clearly be sighted, you only thought your relationship with him was friendly. The bouquet of deep, crimson roses he presented to you when you answered the door earlier made sure there were no confusing his intentions. 

He gets out before you, coming over to your side and opening the door. Accepting the hand that he extends out, the two of you stay close together while walking towards the front of the restaurant. Up until now, it felt like another world entirely, until you heard the familiar sound of waves crashing against the shore. The inside is as luxurious as you could imagine, fine glass chandeliers hanging overhead and classical music being played live. Candlelight dots the tables, the glow setting a romantic atmosphere. 

Bruno speaks a few words to the hostess while you gape at the surroundings. It’s hard to believe that just this morning, you had been eating a ham sandwich to save money for bills. Now you stand in one of the grandest spots in Italy, surrounded by socialites. No one pays you any heed, much to your internal relief, instead showing the utmost respect to Bruno. He turns back to you, smiling, and the two of you are led to a private room overlooking the ocean. 

“If I’m being honest, I feel a bit out of my element here.” A nervous laugh leaves your lips as you take your seat, smoothing out the bottom half of your dress. The fresh water on the table is a welcome excuse to have something in your hands, and you take the opportunity to steady yourself. Gingerly picking up the glass by the rim, feeling the coolness against your fingertips as you do so.

“You look the part,” Bruno responds in kind, steepling his fingers together and setting his head atop them. “I apologize if the atmosphere feels stifling, signorina. It isn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.” 

Shaking your head, you place the cup down after a few sips. “Not at all. It’s beautiful, the view especially. I know I said it earlier, but… thank you for inviting me.” 

“It’s my pleasure. I’ve been wanting to take you out for an evening for some time now, but I’ve been preoccupied up until this point.” 

This catches your attention, an eyebrow raising in interest. Bruno has rarely spoken of his occupation, claiming the details would be a bore, but that must be what he’s referring to here. It was one of the few aspects of him that he didn’t delve into, and not wanting to seem invasive, you left it as is. Now seems like a prime opportunity to learn more about it, curiosity getting the better of you. You choose your words with care before proceeding.

“Is it a… busy season in your line of work?” You inquire with interest, hoping it doesn’t seem like you’re prying. The question is innocent enough, Bruno’s sought to learn more about your job, to which you readily answered him. His tone of voice and mannerisms, whether it be on purpose or not, always seems to command respect. It’s an aspect of him you and many others in his presence picked up on, always straightening their back in his presence and properly addressing him. Is he a politician or something…? 

“You could say that.” 

The opportunity is fleeting, a waiter coming over and paying great reverence to your dinner partner for the night. It’s a shame you won’t be able to push the topic further, having been interrupted and the conversation steering elsewhere. Bruno had asked beforehand if he could order in your stead. Seeing as he’s more familiar with the menu and charms of Nepotalian cuisine, you accepted, taking the opportunity to learn more about the food here. Some of the words he uses when placing an order for your antipasti you recognize, whereas others must be a dialect exclusive to this city. After the waiter hurriedly scribbles down and scurries off, Bruno’s attention is returned to you.

“So tell me, how are things with you? It’s been, what, a week or so since we last met in person?” 

You nod your head to confirm, nose scrunching while thinking back on your past experiences. Truth be told, it hasn’t been the best past couple of days. The other tenants in the apartments beside you have been obnoxiously loud at unholy hours into the morning, and no matter how politely you asked them to tone it down, it made no difference. Your landlord, to make matters worse, had been on about some special fee that you need to meet by the end of the month. When looking back on your agreement, you saw nothing of the sort. You wonder if he’s trying to take advantage of the fact you’re not a native Italian speaker, but finding a new place to live on such short notice would be a nightmare. This, and you’ve been having a difficult time aligning your schedules with your friends.

“It hasn’t been the easiest,” you confess with a sheepish smile, folding the napkin from the table onto your lap. That’s what you’ve seen in movies, so it seems like the right thing to do in this proper setting. “I actually wanted to talk to you about it, but it might not be the most proper dinner topic.” 

Bruno raises an eyebrow at this, before prompting you to continue. “Oh? I’d love to be of assistance to you.” 

The order comes out as you explain your sticky predicament. What appears to be octopus cooked alongside tomatoes and chili peppers, mixed into a leafy green salad with a zesty lemon dressing. The flavor bursts onto your tongue, spices complementing one another perfectly as you wrap up your woeful tale of adulthood. Bruno’s attention remains solely on you throughout, looking increasingly perplexed as you recount the problems, jaw tightening with agitation on your behalf.

“It might be in your best interest to end the lease then,” Bruno considers aloud with a sorrowful expression, shaking his head in dismay for your misfortunes. “The fee for doing so would still be less than having to pay that ridiculous sum every month.” 

It’s an option you considered with great displeasure. Shelling out all that money to end your lease early is a nightmare to think about, hundreds gone in the span of a second over an arbitrary bill, tacked on at the last second. The legality of it is up in the air, but your knowledge of the law surrounding tenants in Italy is… lacking, to say the least. Bruno’s affirmation of your idea serves to sour your mood, and you almost regret bringing up this grim subject on what’s meant to be a date night. Even though you planned to seek his guidance on it eventually, now may not have been the best time to do so.

Placing a forkful of steamed octopus into your mouth, you lament over the issue further. “I guess I should start looking for a new place. Everything else within range of my job is ridiculously expensive, though, so it looks like I’ll be walking a lot in the future.” 

The lighthearted joke does little to lift your downtrodden spirits, your gaze now facing downwards. How pathetic Bruno must think you are, incapable of properly navigating your finances despite being an adult. It’s embarrassing to think about, your cheeks burning in indignation. He never once chastises you, instead extending his hand over the table, resting it gingerly atop your own. A gentle action like this is enough to soothe your troubled mind, the coarse pad of his thumb rubbing reassuring circles into your skin.

“To think you’ve been through so much in this short amount of time… I’m sorry to hear about all of this,” Bruno’s words are soothing to your weary soul, maturity present in his visage. You feel better about talking to him already, sensing he has a great deal of life experience. “I’ve made up my mind. [First], why not live with me?” 

The sudden proposition sends your mind in a whirlwind, blinking rapidly while trying to gather your bearings. You’ve known Bruno for the time period of about three months, and while he’s been nothing but courteous towards you, there’s still a lot of secrecy surrounding him. You’d be pressed to say he isn’t charming, and that you don’t hold some form of affection toward him, but it feels so sudden. 

Sensing your apprehension, Bruno continues to explain in an attempt to smoothen other any concerns. “By all means, take time to think about the idea.” 

“I-It means a lot that you’d even extend the offer to me,” you stumble over your words truthfully, gulping to get a hold of yourself. “I’d feel awful to impose on you, especially on such short notice. You’ve been so considerate of me already…” 

“You could never impose. I hoped I’d made my feelings for you clear, [First]. Anything you need, I want to provide it. Please, allow me to do so.” 

He’s earnest, willing to overcome your apprehensions with thoughtfully crafted words and sentiments. Vacillating between two halves of yourself, you consider the options set before you. The romantic atmosphere from the restaurant is long forgotten, as you enter a reverie of contemplation. There isn’t a better option that you can think of, none of your friends living close enough or even open to the idea of a roommate. The time of splitting rent would be productive as well, letting you bolster your already deplenishing savings. Bruno has never given you reason to be alarmed, you trust the man before you. 

“In that case, I’ll continue thinking about it.” You answer after a moment’s deliberation, Bruno offering a nod of the head in acceptance. He retracts his hand from your own, and you can’t help but miss the warmth and reassurance it brought. Throughout your stay in Italy, you’ve felt like a stumbling mess at times. Sure, you’re capable enough, but wading through multiple decisions while balancing your job has been a lot to deal with. Bruno, on the other hand, feels so well put together. There’s never a moment in your interactions where he falters in his decisions, always full or resolve to see things through. He feels like a pillar of support in your life, a foundation that you cling to without even noticing it. This level of reliability is what you desperately need right now.

The air is silent for a moment, aside from the clattering of silverware against plates and muted chitchat from the other patrons. You look down to your lap, feeling the full weight of his stare set upon you. It feels like the evening has been getting away, running off in a direction you didn’t mean for it to go. After all the work he’s put into treating you to a nice night out, it feels impolite to ruin the mood any further. Putting on your best, brightest smile, you swiftly change the subject.

“I never realized seafood could taste so good,” you praise the meal before you, that’s been reduced to a shadow of its former self. Only a few crumbs remain in the bowl, a nice appetizer before the food to come. “A lot of the seafood I’ve had is either chewy, or just tastes strange. Whatever you picked out is amazing.” 

“A lot of it depends on the quality of the product itself. I grew up in a coastal town, so I know how to spot the difference. For octopus, the best method is the aroma. The same can be said for most seafood…” 

The remainder of the evening is spent in the throes of conversation ranging from lighthearted topics, to discussions about your plans for the future. Bruno revealed a bit more information about himself, but still not enough to sate your deeply rooted curiosity. His offer from before stays present in the back of your mind, but you do everything within your power to not think dwell on it. After having dessert from his behest, the two of you make your way to the entrance once more. You can’t fathom the bill after a dinner like that, but Bruno refutes any attempts to split it, following up his earlier offer of paying for it in full.

“Thank you for everything,” you express your gratitude while getting up from the chair, glancing out the window a final time. When you look back to Bruno, his attention is set solely on your presence, eyes softening considerably. It makes your heart flutter, how he looks at you. “I enjoyed my time with you.”

“And as for your offer…” 

There hasn’t been a great deal of time to think about it, but your chest feels light, like an invisible weight had been lifted. The man before you is an anchor that you never knew you needed, fastening you down in the wake of travesties. He’s well put together, offering you every courtesy known and making for delightful company. Whether what you feel is the beginning of love, or a platonic attachment, you’re uncertain. To discover things for yourself, and get a better bearing on your life, you’re ready to make a leap of your own. It reminds you of the time before moving here, this decision is minuscule in comparison to that… right? You’re not making a deal with the devil or anything. 

“I think… I think I’m going to accept.”

- - -

Anytime moving is involved, it’s a stressful endeavor. You know this firsthand, having come to Italy with a few things of luggage and starting off a new life with it. Much to your surprise, everything went far smoother than you imagined. Unlike your arrival, you had help in moving your boxes of belongings to Bruno’s villa, leaving you with little to do aside offering plenty of thanks. It felt like the start of an exciting new adventure, turning over a new leaf after a string of misfortunes. Leaving behind your old apartment building felt strange, but oddly right. Working through the manner of cutting your lease short was as awful as it sounds, but Bruno was by your side for all of it. 

What you can’t get off your mind, is how different your landlord acted in Bruno’s presence. When it had just been the two of you, you were treated with a complete lack of care, like your existence itself as a nuisance. There was a complete shift in demeanor upon walking into his office with Bruno by your side, like you were speaking to a different man. It reminded you of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, how he retained the same physical characteristics but adopted polite mannerisms. The whole exchange had been so jarring that you couldn’t help but ask Bruno about it, to which he offered a lackluster explanation. This haunting occurrence made you have more questions about his cryptic line of work, that you’re only fed spoonfuls of information at a time.

The two of them knew one another, but you don’t get the full spectrum of their relationship. It’s a gut feeling that it has to do with Bruno’s occupation, that he carefully skates around whenever brought up. 

Mostly settled in for the evening, you’ve been lounging on the balcony of Bruno’s home. It’s a quaint house, in the suburbs of Naples, further confirming that he’s well off to some extent. The ocean is within view, the house sitting in a gated community near the water. In the distance, you hear seagulls mixed with traffic over people coming home from their jobs. You hug your knees to your chest, staring down at your phone with a frown. It’s a mild summer day, the breeze from the ocean tickling your face, but not lifting your spirit. You had texted a few friends before your move in hopes of getting their assistance, only for none of them to return your calls or messages. 

It feels lonely. You feel lonely. 

If it hadn’t been for Bruno’s quick thinking and connections, it would’ve been the two of you moving boxes on your lonesome. This cold shoulder behavior hurts, and you can’t help but wonder if you did something wrong without knowing it. Had there been some sort of cultural aspect you were unaware of, that offended them? Is that why they’ve been ghosting you? It’s one thing if they were busy, but you see your friend group posting regularly on social media. A sigh leaves your lips, weariness from the week’s events getting to you. It won’t do any good to dwell on these things, but insecurities haunt you like a persistent cloud. 

“Is there something on your mind?” 

Your head whips around at the voice behind you, settling down when you recognize Bruno. He’s in lounge wear, and you flush at the domestic sight. He’s a sight to behold, lithe frame pressed against the door and awaiting your response. It almost feels like you two are a married couple, being this casual with one another. The thought serves to fluster you further, so you push it away. 

After all he’s done to assist you, it’d feel wrong to add friend troubles to the ever growing list. “N-not really, no.” 

Bruno frowns at this, coming out to join you on the balcony. He takes the seat closest to you, leaning forward and gazing deep into your eyes. A hand is pressed to your bare thigh, though it stops before it can travel up in a lascivious way. Feeling his cold hand against your skin sends shivers down your spine, his knowing eyes making you shrink back into your seat. Guilt seeps into you for the lie. He seems in tune with people’s feelings, you’re no different. Instead of calling you out point blank on the falsehood, he offers reassurance.

“Remember what I said,” his tone is almost chastising, face scrunched up in displeasure. “I care about you greatly, [First]. You don’t have to carry your burdens alone.” 

It comes before you can register. Tears sting the corner of your glassy eyes, silent sniffles leaving your person. As you think back to the images of your friends from last night, hanging out in one of your favorite spots with you, your lower lip trembles. Why is it that all this is happening? That you finally found a group of people that share your interests and passions, only to be left behind without an explanation? You despise how your throat clenches, each breath you take becoming more labored than the last. Bruno takes the opportunity to sit beside you, wrapping a reassuring arm around your shoulder and cooing into your ear.

All of it comes out like the floodgates of a dam, your head resting on his chest at his prompting. He holds you close, grounding you in reality, alternating between offering words of encouragement and peppering kisses onto your head. Your hands bunch up the fabric of his shirt, tears streaming down your face. No longer does shame occur to you, a forgotten thing of the past. You smell his rich cologne, that mixes in with the scent of the ocean. He’s been so good to you, too good. When the world has fallen apart, Bruno picks up the shards, placing them back together with tender care. Where would you be without his support? The thought is enough to bring a fresh set of sobs, self deprecating thoughts a mantra within your tattered mind. 

His warm breath fans across your face, soft lips making contact with the shell of your ear. “Amore mio, what is it that brought this on? Tell me, so that I can take care of it all.” 

“I have no one…! I don’t understand, none of it makes any sense,” you sniffle into his chest, voice muffled and waning. “My friends, even my coworkers! They act like I don’t… like I don’t even exist.” 

Large, reassuring hands cup either side of your damp cheeks, pulling you to look him in the eyes. His thumbs wipe away your tears, unblinking sapphire eyes steadying you. The world stops around you, nothing else registering other than his existence. How his skin feels against your own, the way his hair brushes against your face, how wonderfully close he is. He hasn’t left you, he’s still by your side. Your lips tremble, and you curse your wretched existence. A moment of clarity comes, and with it, your sobbing subsides. The two of you stay still, your face in his hands, until your hiccups are reduced to occasional sniffles. Even that fades with time, much to your relief.

You take a shaky, deep breath, hoping to gain better control of your fluctuating emotions. In the blink of an eye, Bruno leans forward, pressing his lips against yours in a chaste kiss. A noise of surprise leaves you, but before you can think to return it or move away, he pulls back. Looking up at you through heavily lidded eyes, dark eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. The predetermined movement seems to have a physical effect on you, your face erupting into a blush. It’s been a rollercoaster of emotions that Bruno brings with him.

“You’re wrong on a single account,” he murmurs, his voice sweeter than honey, ensnaring you in a web of his own making. “You have me, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

It’s strange, you think. How like two sides of the same coin, so much can go wrong, but an equal amount can go right. For every loss, Bruno has almost made up for it in some other way, an equilibrium being maintained. Will one side tip over, ruining the delicate balance, and sending you into chaos? There’s no way of knowing, yet you can’t help but wonder. Your life is interconnected to his now, for better or for worse. No longer do you care for the innate selfishness of seeking out his warmth, canting your head into his hand and closing your eyes.

“Thank you, Bruno. You’re right… I do have you.” 

He seems content with your realization, a gradual smile spreading across his face. The sun has begun to set, warm colors dancing across his tanned skin. After a moment’s deliberation, he leaves your side, standing and looking towards the glass doors that lead inside.

“Let’s head inside for a cup of tea. It’s been a long day, so you shouldn’t stay up much later.” 

You nod your head lazily at his suggestion, using the back of your hand to wipe away at the wetness that remains on your face. A nice warm drink sounds wonderful just about now, even in the middle of the summer. Having a task to distract yourself with is an added benefit, so you get up, following after him to the kitchen. The brisk air conditioning feels like a welcome wake up call, and you look around at the tastefully decorated surroundings. Your new home, for the time being. Life is unpredictable, if anything.

It has been an exhausting day. Or more like an exhausting past few weeks, you think. For now, your attention remains solely on the person who walks in front of you. A bashful idea pops into your head, and you catch up to Bruno and walk by his side. He looks over at you with potent curiosity, and the opportunity is present to offer a confession. “I, um… I wanted to say that you have me too. I mean it.” 

Little did you know, there was never a time he believed otherwise.

[some-dr-writings]

Gundham and Kokichi get Hanahaki

Gundham Tanaka:

·       Gundham stared down in disbelief at what he had coughed into his hands. No longer was it flower petals but full, pink, camellia blossoms… longing. His loyal generals scurried about in panic. “Hmm, so the curse you sensed on me. Is this it? … not just Hanahaki but these blossoms... their meaning…” He wanted to keep denying it like he had been for the past month but no longer could he.

·       He had heard of Hanahaki before, but he thought it was but a rumor. He knew of the only three cures, death, a surgery that removes that wretched plant at the price of the feelings it bloomed from, or confessing… He bitterly chuckled which swiftly morphed into that booming laughter. “So the world now seeks to end me by any means necessary. Whether it be by my body, or my spirit…” Clenching his fist he crushed those soft pink petals. “Fine! Let it try, for all those efforts will be in vain. I’ll carry on these emotions and live! I shall not sacrifice my life in this world nor lose my spirit in doing so.” Immediately after that hacking started up again as he felt that irritable scratching crawl through his throat and lunges. Concerned, his generals cuddled up to him, wanting to help him in some way.

·       As he was lacing up his boots that winter morning, he heard a knock, knock, knocking from his door. “I’ll be but a moment my Emperor!” He called out, hopping on one foot towards the door, making that last knot. Swinging the door open he was happily greeted by your pale smile. “Running a little late I see.” “My apologies should I have kept you waiting for long.” “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just used to you being ready before me. Like, seriously, how do you get all that makeup done every day and be ready before me?” He smirked seeing your genuine curiosity. “Ibuki helps Gundham get ready on date day!” “Ibuki!” The girl merrily slipped past you and Gundham. “He always goes on and on about ‘not keeping his beloved waiting’ how ‘on the days of courting rituals he must be as presentable as possible as to-” “ENOUGH IBUKI!” His face was absolutely flushed as he began to chase after her. She dashed away wishing he and you well. “I-ignore those words. They were but nothing!” You had your arms crossed, a sharp smirk creasing your lips. “Suuuuuuuure. Absolutely nothing. Heh.” “E-enough! We must get our ritual started.” Still chuckling you took his bandaged hand and lead the way. How was it that even thinking of your laugh send his heart a flight.

·       He strolled down that path, getting absorbed in the light sound of his footfalls against the stone. It was a particularly hot and muggy day, not helped by there not being a single cloud in the sky, allowing the sun’s harsh rays to beam down in it’s full glory. Sighing, he loosened the scarf around his neck. Holding up his hand to shade his eyes just a bit from those rays, his gaze lingered on the dull red and black bandana tied around his wrist.

·       “Are you sure you’re feeling well enough to wander around like this?” “I’m fine! Don’t worry so much! I got permission from the doctors and everything!” You trotted on ahead down the trail, spinning around loving the fresh air. You had been cooped up there for far too long under observation. It was good to see you out and so lively at that. All too quickly you got winded and started to collapse. Gundham dashed to you, cradling you against his chest. “My Emperor don’t be so demanding on your body right away. You’ve yet to be released fully. This is but a day to get fresh air.” “I know, but… I want to enjoy being out… even if it hurts a little. But I won’t do anything stupid!” Snow gently fluttered down and Gundham pulled you closer. “All I ask is you be careful.”

·       Sitting under a lone tree he felt that awful sweltering heat suffocating him. He felt his heart beating just a little faster than usual. He looked out to the lake, the blue sky reflected on it’s surface. Mindlessly he fiddled with the ends of that bandana.

·       “… Gundham.” “Yes?” “What do you think it means to survive?” He looked to you, raising a brow at the question. He was intrigued why you’d ask such a thing, but his own questions could be saved for later. He looked out to the horizon to ponder, though an answer had already sprung to mind. “To survive is to do anything and everything in your power to stay in this realm. To survive in some cases may even mean to allow your own life to extinguish so the majority may live on and prosper even in your absence.” “… Is there a difference between surviving and living?” “Surviving and living you say… Hmm.” He shivered as the cold wind rolled past. “… Living is making the most of each moment you have. Even if it’s something small like being awake in a dream or merely being near a cherished one. Living is appreciating the moment.” “So… can you live and survive?” “… That depends on the circumstances.” “If you had to choose one, which would it be.” “Me?... I’d choose survival.” “I thought so.” “And you?” “… Don’t know. I… I think it depends on the circumstances.”

·       Survival…

·       Placing a hand on his propped-up knee, he tried pushing himself onto his feet. Even merely standing up caught his breath in his throat, those accursed blooms clogging his windpipe. He desperately tried repressing those blooms, keeping it all in, even covering his mouth with his hands. He couldn’t let them out. Not just yet.

·       “Hey, there’s a street market! Let’s go check it out.” As the two of you entered you were immediately hit by the wafting sent of fried food and incense. Hand in hand the two of you wandered from stall to stall, admiring the unique items. In one such stall as Gundham was looking at some plain furin bells you approached him. “Hey, I got you something!” “Oh? What sort of charm have you procured?” “Hold up your not bandaged hand.” Obediently he did as told. “I thought this’d look good on you!” You then tied the bright red and black bandana around his wrist. “Hmm, you have a good eye. I can already feel the power you transferred into it, radiating brilliantly!”

·       Sitting at one of the stalls Gundham ate a tin box of jam and powdered sugar covered aebleskivers with a small paper bag of newly bought items. He watched as the thinning crowd almost dissipated entirely as the midday heat made being outside too unbearable. He watched as the wind rustled the leaves of the trees. Unable to take it anymore he took off his scarf and instead tied it around his waist. He reached for his wrist, flinching, feeling the fabric. He felt that cough seemingly puncture his throat.

·       As he walked, he slowly came to a stop. For a moment, he looked to the hospital that stood just across the street. He continued to walk. Down the street, down the sidewalk, up the hill, across the road, past the temple and into the large, lush green forest. The wind seemed to howl the deeper he went. The cool air and shade complimented the calm of the forest. His eyes wandered from the treetops to the moss-covered stone walls. Off in the distance he heard, assumedly a monk, playing a tibetan bowl. The stone pathway was neatly cleaned, hardly even any dirt on it, clearly well cared for. Down the stone stairs he had but needed to take a left to arrive at his destination. As he offered incense, he couldn’t keep it in anymore coughing and hacking up pink, bloodied camellia blossoms between raspy gasps for air.

·       Shaking he fell to his knees before the snow-covered stone.

·       He clutched a hand on his chest that prickling pain seemingly wanting to burst through and break his rib-cage. He managed to force himself up, ladle out water on the grave from a wooden tub.

·       His eyes blurred only seeing a haze of gray and white when he poured the water.

·       He placed a hand on the grave.

·       He…

·       “It’s not winter, but summer.” Looking to the dates he sighed, only for that coughing to start up again. Taking a deep breath, he put his hands flat together in prayer. “It’s been a year and a half since you’ve passed on my Emperor.” His scratchy voice began to crack. “I… I’ve come to you today to apologize. I wish to live, but more so to survive. I can no longer confess my love for you, for your everything over and over as I once had done when you were beside me in this world. Even if I continue to do so in my dreams this curse won’t leave me be… so… it seems…” His breath trembled just as his body did, tears streaking down his cheeks. “My… my Y/N… I thank you, for spending your time with me when you were here. I… I love you so much, even now that you’re gone and can no longer love me back, I love you… And… goodbye… for… forev-…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish that last word. Hiccups, raw sobbing, gasps, and coughing got in the way.

·       On unsteady feet he dragged himself away. He couldn’t be late.

·       As snow drifted down past the window, entering the room he saw how longingly you looked to him. “Gundham… I… don’t worry about me, please.” “How dare you say that! I always shall!” “No, Gundham. Look at me. I’m withering away here. All this stuff is just prolonging the inevitable. No cure is just going to suddenly appear! It’ll be at least ten if not more years before there’s even anything close to a cure. I don’t want to just sit here and wait to die!” “… W-what are you saying?” He clutched you hand tightly, interlacing your fingers. “I was told that I can give my body to research, but… I… won’t be here…” His eyes widened, staring at you in abject horror. “no. NO! Y/N YOU CAN’T! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” Tears cascaded from his eyes as he hugged you. “Y/N I… You… please…” He sobbed even harder feeling you hug him back, hearing your own cries. “I… I understand why, but… my Emperor, Y/N…”

·       Taking a deep breath, he wiped the tears from his eyes before entering the hospital. That oppressive summer heat seemingly choking him.

·       The surgery was successful with no complications, so he was able to leave right away. After collecting his belonging, he swiftly left, wanting to make sure his creatures were properly cared for in his absence.

·       Without a second thought he tossed his bag of items onto his bed to be placed away later. He needed to care for his creatures.

·       It was late into the night when he finally got the chance to put the bag of items away. His zodiac generals scurried up to him, bucking the bag and nuzzling into him.

·       The last item he had taken out was a worn out red and black bandana…

·       He hated this.

·       This was ridiculous. His vision blurred, and he hurt. He hurt knowing looking at the cloth no longer hurt him so deeply. It meant nothing to him now… that’s why it hurt so much… because he still knew it used to mean something to him… but not anymore.

   Kokichi Oma:

·       The moment he felt that tingling in his throat and he coughed up petals Kokichi already knew what had befallen him.

·       Hanahaki.

·       This… was a very cruel thing to pull on him, especially considering his situation. He thought it stupid that the universe or his own body or whatever made Hanahaki happen decided to set this into motion. He was content, even happy with the way things were and he didn’t care that you didn’t love him, as long as you were happy, he was fine. So, though he was fine with this, something he thought most people would not be, whatever made this happen forced him into the position of dying or getting rid of his feelings all together!? Those were the only options, he never even considered confessing to you. At heart, Kokichi was a clown, all he wanted was joy and laughter, confessing would only hurt you, so it was not an option to him.

·       Immediately he set to researching what accursed plant was entangling and clogging up his lungs and throat.

·       Scilla meaning loyalty and constancy… Truly the irony was palpable with this flower choice.

·       Sighing he flopped onto his bed, letting the sketchpad, papers, crayons, and colored pencils momentarily hopped up. “So… what am I to do now… Die, or throw away my feelings?” He stared up at the ceiling before gleefully hopping off of his bed. “I’ll make a game out of this!”

·       Having bought his bouquet, he skipped out of the flower shop. He mindlessly hummed to himself plucking the petals of one of the flowers. Then the next. Then the next. And the next, and so on. That was till he was down to the last flower. “… Die, live, die, live, die, live, die, live, die, live, die, live, die, live, die, live, die, live, die, live… I guess I’ll live. Maybe. No I will!” Dumping the stems and wrapping in a garbage can, Kokichi smiled, reminding himself that when lying to anyone you must be confident! No room for doubt.

·       Well, if he were going to live, he was going to have to get the surgery, to entirely remove his feelings for you… You were his best friend. He was not sure if his friendship with you was entirely removed from his more romantic feelings for you. If he were to remove his feelings, would you two still be best friends, or friends at all? You were very observant, it was one of the many things he loved about you, because of that, you’d likely notice he was acting differently. Maybe your friendship would end up breaking apart… He might end up hurting you because of that. he couldn’t bear that thought. So… by removing his feelings he decided to end your friendship while he still loved you. He wouldn’t actually end the friendship though, just make some excuse as to why he would be far away for the rest of his life and how you and he could only have very minimal contact. Yeah, something like that. You wouldn’t get hurt that way, the worst of it would be missing him, but nothing more.

·       Now that he had finally come to a decision, he had some planning to do!

·       He gathered all of D.I.C.E. at their headquarters in order to plan this out. He needed this to be perfect. They spent hours and hours on end planning, only taking short tea breaks for rest.

·       Kokichi was surprised at how quickly his condition had worsened in only a week. What had been single petals had already evolved into closed blossoms. He needed to hurry.

·       He had boiled down everything to two plans.

·       Plan A. Make you hate him so you wouldn’t care about him. There were… several problems with this plan. Even the mere thought of actively hurting you, to the point of getting you to loath and detest him, to not caring he no longer was your friend… He’d have to hurt you, but at least if you weren’t friends, you’d never miss him… But he was a clown. Even the mere though of this plan sent him into an awful wheezing, coughing fit. Tears would percolate in the corners of his eyes from all of the pain. He knew he’d act on instinct and rush to your side and make a fool of himself. He’d do anything to make you laugh and smile…

·       To hear that beautiful bubbly laugh that sent his heart a flight with fantasies of always being by your side, of no matter come what may, being there to make you happy after you indulged in the pain accepting whatever happened.

·       … He could never hurt you.

·       So all he could do was go for the other plan.

·       Plan B. Make a giant show for you. Endless pranks for an entire day and by the end tell you he was moving very far away, maybe to Prague or something he still hadn’t decided where he was going yet, and tell you all these pranks were to make up for all the lost future time together. You’d likely hurt from missing him, but it wouldn’t be anything major…

·       Maybe even after a while you’d forget about him. Then you wouldn’t care at all. You wouldn’t get hurt… Maybe… Maybe that would be for the best. Even if it made him feel sick, terrified even… maybe it would be what was best for you.

·       He just wanted you to be happy. He was determined to conceal you in a kind happy lie, surely it was better than a painful truth.

·       Reading over his plans his vision began to blur. That awful scratching pain clawed up his throat, erupting into that hacking and coughing. He shut his eyes, clutching a hand to his chest. Keeling over he gasped for breath. This was certainly the worst fit by far. Slowly opening his eyes his vision cleared. There were the full blue blossoms, red dripping from them and dyeing the pages beneath. “Already? I thought I had more time…” he then noticed which page got covered in red. Plan A. “Heh, plan B it is. Guess I’ll have to put this plan into action tomorrow.”

·       All through the night he made calls and plans with D.I.C.E. to have everything prepared for endless pranks. He needed this goodbye to be perfect. It was the last time you’d be seeing one another after all, and he wanted his last memory of you to be happy, smiling, and laughing. As long as you were happy, he’d be okay, no matter what.

·       Till the early morning hours, he and D.I.C.E. was running about preparing pranks in any and all locations you frequented and could possibly even go to, even if it meant breaking into your bank and some other places. It was no big deal, it was for very good reason after all, the best goodbye ever!

·       As he and two other D.I.C.E. members were trying to break into a rather stubborn vending machine, he got a call from another member saying you had left your place, awfully smiley in the way you only were when Kokichi pranked you. “Yes! Keep an eye on them! We need to know where they’re going!”

·       Dashing after you, he managed to catch up rather quickly. You were sitting at a park bench. He was about to run up and tackle you when he suddenly stopped himself and instead hid in a tree. You promptly stood up, running to your partner, hugging them… He desperately tried repressing that coughing. It hurt. It hurt so much. Just everything. The one thing that made you even happier than being surprised by Kokichi’s mischief or seeing him playing the fool or him telling you an off-hand joke was your partner. Your partner was the light of your life, what Kokichi wished he was. You were always so undeniably happy with them, you didn’t want anyone else.

·       … This was fine, this just meant he’d get to see more of your smiles on this last day together. He just had to pull back on the pranks as to not be overbearing and annoy you and your partner.

·       Kokichi’s plan had now changed slightly. There were still pranks through the whole day but now he and D.I.C.E. decided to help out the date.

·       When things were getting dull they’d add in a prank. When things were getting romantic, they start playing a beautiful song adding to the mood. They’d separate you from crowds so you could more easily steal a kiss. They’d dim the lights around you and place spot lights on you. They made sure you always had something fun to do. And with each time they intervened you’d catch a glimpse of Kokichi somewhere smiling that toothy grin, giving you a thumbs up. Little did you know that the moment your gaze shifted back to your partner, when they were the center of our world, capturing all of your attention Kokichi hid away, the pain of those cuts slicing deeper and deeper into his heart, lungs and throat came bursting out of his mouth as bloodied flowers, tears streaming down his cheeks as he clutched his chest. Yet moments later even with the red staining his lips and petals clinging to his chin he smiled, knowing he was helping to make this day great. After all, he was a clown. Clowns make others happy at their own expense, even if it hurt them. As long as others were happy, if you were happy, he was happy too. Perhaps, that was the one solid truth he had never lied about in any capacity to others or himself. One could lie just about anything, but that was the one undeniable truth that could never be obscured no matter how he tried, even if he wanted too.

·       And thus, the day went on, joyously, as it should have. Till you heard it. From his hiding spot under the bridge where he and D.I.C.E. set off fireworks for you, you heard that horrendous hacking. Kokichi crumpling over clamped his hands over his mouth. Just a little longer he had to keep it all in. But… he couldn’t breathe, no matter how he gasped, he couldn’t get anything. His vision was darkening and blurring. Everything was suddenly so cold. Even his hearing was muffled as if he were underwater. “Kokichi!” Suddenly he was in your arms, cuddled against you… You were crying. You… you had said something else but he could only clearly hear his name, everything else was a blur, like how only you were clear and everything was a haze. “s-sorry… I… want to… to leave you with… a smile… n-not this.” This was the first and only time he truly broke down before anyone, not trying to hide or obscure anything at all. All the pain and heart break was etched into his every feature. You screamed something… he thought… it was hard to even think.

·       … Even in the end he was a liar. He had to lie to himself to do this. He was a clown, it was in his nature to only make you smile, but… this was his only choice. He was loyal to himself and you alone. He would never throw away his feelings for you. It was simply not even an option he truly considered, even if he lied to himself saying he would. “hey… it’s… okay… you shou… laugh… i… want you too… it’s what I do… you’re alright… live happily… that’s… all I ask… and… that’s…… not…… a……… lie”

[merakiaes]

Home Is In Your Arms - Reg Slivko

Pairing: Reg Slivko x reader 

Requested: By @socialambivert​

Prompts: None. 

Warnings/notes: Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes. I was really unfocused when writing this so it might be a mess, but I hope you like it. Let me know what you think xx

Wordcount: 8019

Summary: When continuously being put in life-threatening situations, hidden feelings are bound to be confessed as it might very well be your last moment together. 

You first met Reg Slivko when you arrived at training camp together, both of you having signed up for the Vietnam war fresh out of high school.

He had set his eye on you pretty much instantly, seeing as you were the closest to each other’s ages and you also happened to be the only girl, and the first thing you had thought when first seeing those soft, brown eyes and that wide, silly smile of his, was how cute he was.

Oh lord, he was cute. He was dimmer than a broken lightbulb, but he was cute. 

Unfortunately, however, it was not the time nor place to get romantic or sexual, even though a lot of the soldiers in training with you turned gay-for-the-stay, so you kept your relationship on a friendly level.

If constant flirting, teasing and lingering touches, along with the occasional grope here and there, was what was considered to be ‘friendly’, that is.

On a more real note, though, everyone knew you were more than friends, but you kept insisting to everyone pointing out your closeness that you were nothing more than best pals. You insisted on it so much, in fact, that eventually, you kind of started believing it too.

But when you were a part of Preston Packard’s Sky Devils team, you didn’t get much time to think about it.

There was always work to be done, and when there wasn’t, the boys were never up to any good, running circles around you and nagging your ears off.

And this afternoon would be no different, you knew, as you stepped into the canteen of the ship you had boarded not long ago, wasting no time in walking up to your fellow soldiers when you spotted them at their table.

“What’s up, rat bastards?” You asked with a grin, holding your arms out to present yourself as you approached them.

All of them greeted you and Cole and Jack made room for you between them, where you effortlessly sat down on the bench.

Reg’s eyes were instantly set on you, but before him, or anyone else for that matter, could say anything, they watched as you brought your hand up to your face to slowly tilt your sunglasses down, setting your eyes on something across the room.

“Oh, yes please.” You spoke in a murmur, and their eyes instantly followed your line of sight, landing on the tall, muscular man standing at the other side of the room, conversing with a blonde woman.

Jack chuckled, slapping Cole’s back, who in turn slapped Mills, all of them joining in on the silent laughter and hooting. “Oh, look out. (Y/L/N)’s on the prowl.” Jack teased, and while you joined in on the laughter, Reg’s face pulled into a scowl.

“No, she’s not.” He spoke, maybe a little too quickly, causing you all to turn to him with raised eyebrows.

When seeing all eyes on him, he neutralized his facial expression and shrugged, slumping in his seat and averting his eyes to the food in front of him. “I mean, he’s like forty years old. He’s basically an old man.”

He looked up again to meet your eyes, and you smirked at him, eyes squinting with playfulness. 

Without breaking your stare, you stood back up and stepped out of the bench again, took off your sunglasses and leaned forward to give him a devilish grin.

“Maybe that’s how I like them.” You whispered, and then you stood up straight, slapped your own ass to tease him further, and walked away, smiling to yourself as you had successfully sent them all into a laughing fit.

You obviously didn’t care for the man you were now walking in the direction of, no matter how nice he was to look at. But Reg didn’t have to know the truth because where would the fun be in that?

In reality, you were more interested in the woman, whom you had been told, judged by the description of her appearance that you had gotten, that you would be bunking with during the trip to the island.

When you reached them, the two greeted you politely, introducing themselves as Captain James Conrad and Mason Weaver, and after a moment of conversing, you were all called in for a briefing during which the scientists and Jack told you why you were there and how you were going to go about the mission.

After that, you showed Mason where your room was, as she had arrived later than you and therefore hadn’t gotten the chance to find it yet, and when she excused herself to do… well, whatever it was she was going to do, you moved outside to sit with your fellow soldiers.

You joked around like you always did, until it started getting late and you started feeling tired.

Your room and Reg’s room were on complete opposite sides of the ship but still, he was right there by your side, walking through the corridor on your ship-side, banging his fist against the wall as you went.

You were used to his spastic antics at this point so you barely even paid any mind to it. You were so used to it, in fact, that you would’ve been more surprised if he didn’t make any noise.

But other than the sound of his knuckles knocking against the metal walls, both of you had been walking in silence this far, the only other sound behind heard being your dog tags clinking against your chests.

But then he threw his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side and asking. “So, what’s our plan for tonight?”

Again, you were barely fazed, simply raising your hand to grab a hold of his where it hung of your shoulder. “We do not have a plan.” You replied, turning your head to look at him to see his eyebrows raise.

“Well, let’s make one.” He said, mimicking your tone.

In response, you plastered on a sarcastic, playful smile, nudging his side. “I have my own plans, that doesn’t include you.” You said, and his face instantly pulled into a deeply, genuinely offended expression.

“I thought we were a team!” He exclaimed, stopping in his tracks and removing his arm from around your shoulders.

“We are.” You just raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on your lips. “Which is exactly why I need a break.”

“You need a break? From me?” He scoffed, raising a hand to his chest. “I’m seriously wounded. Like, worse than the time you accidentally shot me in the shoulder at camp.”

You chuckled at the memory, leaning back against the wall and looking up at him when he stood in front of you, a hand placed at the side of your face. “Yes, so I’ll still like you in the morning.” You answered the first question, ignoring the last part.

At that, he couldn’t keep up his offended act anymore, his lips lighting up in a smile and a chuckle leaving his lips. “Wow, I’m that bad, huh?” He asked.

“Oh, the worst.” You said, frowning in a feign-serious expression.

“Well, that’s too bad.” He replied. “Because I was just gonna go take a shower. Thought you could join me, save water.”

He shrugged, a goofy smile lighting up his entire face, and you could only laugh, your head falling back against the wall. “That has got to be the lamest pick-up line in existence.”

“Don’t worry.” He smirked. “That’s just Plan A.”

“What’s plan B?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

He backed you further into the wall, and you had to really strain yourself to keep your smile at bay when he leaned in closer to your head.

“To take you hostage.” He continued after a moment of suspenseful silence, an evil grin overtaking his features, and the look he was giving you was enough to cause your entire stomach to flutter.

But you pushed the feeling down, raising a hand to his chest, trying not to think too hard about the sturdy muscle under your fingers and giving him a push to put some distance between the two of you.

He did nothing to fight it, keeping the smile on his face, as did you as you replied. “I already am. A hostage in this friendship.”

He simply chuckled, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me, though? Last offer.”

“Pass.” You chuckled back.

He held his hands up in surrender, taking a step back from you. “Alright, your loss.” He said, and you shook your head at his antics, your smile now wider than ever.

“Bye, Reggie.” You sang, and turned around to enter your room, that you only now noticed that you had conveniently stopped in front of.

You pushed the handle down and pushed the door open, but before you could enter, you felt a finger being jabbed into your side, causing you to jump right back around with a squeal.

Out of pure instinct, your hand shot out to slap Reg’s arm, watching as he shrunk back into himself and raised his hands for protection.

“Get out of here!” You lightheartedly scolded him, and with one last look, he disappeared down the hallway without another word, laughing at himself.

You could only shake your head, looking after him until he turned a corner and disappeared from your field of view, only then backing into the room and closing the door behind you.

“He’s charming.” Mason’s voice reached your ears the second you stepped inside, and you raised your eyebrows playfully, looking over to her where she was sitting in her bed.

“He might seem like it but he loses a great deal of that charm when you get to know him better.” You told her, causing her to chuckle.

“If you say so.” She mused, and then looked back down into the book in her lap without as much as another word.

You didn’t say anything else either, going straight to your bed. You quickly got undressed down to your underwear and slid under the covers, falling asleep in no time with only one person on your mind; just like every other night.

The next morning, you were up and at it bright and early; significantly earlier than Mason who was still snoring away by the time you left your room. 

It was only seven o’clock so you supposed you couldn’t blame her, you were just used to being up at dawn from your military days.

You were in a good mood, excited to get some food into your stomach, but it became evident the second you entered the canteen that your fellow soldiers weren’t as excited as you were to be up that early.

They were the only ones in there, and you wasted no time in grabbing some breakfast and walking up to them.

“Good morning, shitheads!” You exclaimed as you got closer, and Mills visibly flinched at the volume of your voice.

“Stop that.” He said, leaning his head against the table. “It’s too early for you to be in such a good mood.”

You could only chuckle at his dismay, and all of their bad moods, plopping down beside Jack who looked to be a bit less miserable than the rest of them. 

“I take it you had a good night.” You said, and Mills brought his head up at that, heaving a heavy sigh.

“It was fun while it lasted. Not so fun now.”

Jack hummed, chuckling as he ate. “At least we’re not Cole.” He said, and your eyebrows rose, your interest instantly piqued.

“What about Cole?” You asked, and this time it was Mills’ turn to chuckle.

“He drank himself under the table last night.” He said. “Almost stumbled overboard.”

“Why am I not surprised?” You shook your head, laughing and looking around while you prepared your cereal. “Where is the idiot, anyway?” You asked, and right then, Reg came up to your table and wasted no time in sliding in beside you.

“I’m right here.” He replied chirpily, the only one besides yourself who wasn’t hungover.

You chuckled at him, dumping your plastic spoon into the cereal and getting ready to eat it. “Surprisingly enough, I’m not talking about you this time.” You answered, and before anyone could say anything else, Cole, the man you were talking about, approached the table too, raising his fist into the air.

“Right here.” He muttered, sliding into the seat next to Mills across from you and wasting no time in leaning his head into his palm and closing his eyes.

“Well then, if everyone’s accounted for, let’s eat.” You said simply, turning your attention back to your tray and picking up the sandwich laying on it, holding it out for Cole to take.

He took it without a word, unwrapping it and silently starting to eat it, and the rest of you took his silence as a hint to keep the conversation on a down low to allow him, and everyone else too, to wake up properly.

By lunchtime, everyone, including Cole, was feeling as good as new, and the entire canteen was filled with chatter; more so from your table than anyone else’s.

For this meal, Mason had asked to join you and of course, you couldn’t turn her down, bringing her with you. She didn’t say much, but she clearly wasn’t bothered by the loud conversation going on at the table, laughing along as you joked around.

“Hey, (Y/N).” Reg’s voice reached your ears from right beside you when you were all coming down from one of many laughing fits, and you turned to him, still chuckling lightly.

“What?” You asked, and he smirked at you.

“Close your eyes.”

“What?” You asked again, raising an eyebrow, suspicion filling you. “Why?”

“Just trust me.” He said, and you narrowed your eyes accusingly at him.

“The last time you said that you always burned my hair off.” You told him flatly, your face pulling into one of annoyance.

But his smile didn’t falter. “Well, yeah, but you didn’t die.” He pointed out, and again, you narrowed your eyes.

“That’s so not the point, Reg.”

“Come on, please. For me.” He whined, sticking his lower lip out in a pout and widening his brown eyes, making them look even softer and prettier than usual.

You kept your glare on him for a moment longer, but the longer you looked into his puppy dog eyes, the harder it got. So soon enough, the scowl fell from your face, a sigh leaving your lips. “Fine.”

He silently cheered, and you closed your eyes with another sigh.

“Open your mouth.” He said then, and you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, growing more and more suspicious.

“Slivko…” Jack warned, but the younger soldier only hushed him.

You were about to open your eyes again, and call whatever it was he was going to do off, but before you could, something incredibly sour was shoved into your mouth, and you instantly stared spluttering at the bitter taste overtaking your taste buds, opening your eyes again.

Your nose scrunched up and your eyes hardened. Spitting the lime out on the plate in front of you, you turned and glared at your best friend, violently slapping his chest.

“For fuck’s sake, Reggie!” You exclaimed. “Are you clinically insane or just incredibly annoying?”

“Probably both.” Cole wasted no time in answering for him.

Everyone was laughing, including Slivko, which only made you more agitated, causing you to slap him again, only with more force this time.

His smile fell at that, his hands coming up in front of him to protect himself from the hits that just kept coming. “Stop hitting me! Why are you so mean?!” He yelled, and you finally stopped hitting him.

“I don’t know. I think it’s just my factory setting.” You glared. “Or maybe it’s because you’re such an incredibly big pain in my ass!”

The smile returned to his face, his lips pulling into a shit-eating grin. “Come on, you know you love me. Give me a smile.”

He brought his hands out and pulled at the corner of your lips with his finger, and in return, you hardened your glare, crossing your arms over your chest. “No.”

“Fine.” He said, giving up. “I’ll just smile then.”

“Please, don’t.” You replied, but he was already holding the corners of his own lips up.

“Smiles are contagious.” He spoke through his teeth to his best ability as his lips were stretched up so hard.

He looked absolutely ridiculous, and even though you wanted to throw back some kind of insult, you found yourself unable to, your lips quivering as you fought to hold back the smile.

But he noticed it, letting go of his lips and pointing a finger at you excitedly. “See! See! What did I tell you?” He said, and you laughed.

“I hate you.” You said. “You are the worst human being on the face of the planet.”

“Aw, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He said, bringing his hand up to his heart.

Mason watched the two of you with a light smile on her lips. “You seem like really close friends.” She spoke up, for the first time since sitting down. “Did you know each other before the war?”

The sound of her voice attracted everyone’s attention, and Slivko instantly shook his head, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“We’re not friends.” He stated flatly, wiping his face free of emotion. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“Intimately close. Seduce your enemies.” You joined in, grabbing his hand that was hanging down above your collarbone.

Reg nodded in agreement, reaching out to grab your boob to prove your point. 

Without ever looking away from Mason, you delivered a slap to his wrist, causing him to pull back, but he wasn’t fazed, continuing. 

“Marry your enemies and poison the wedding cake. Boom.” He made an explosive gesture with his fist, and you turned to him with a glare. 

“I’m not marrying you if you’re going to bring the wedding cake into it, that’s just unnecessary.” You said.

In turn, he looked down at you, nodding his head with a regretful gaze. “I agree. I went too far. I apologize.”

While you kept looking at each other, Mason’s eyes flickered between the two of you from the other side of the table, her eyebrows raised in both confusion and amusement.

Seeing her questioning stare, Cole took it upon himself to explain, briefly looking up from his food to wave a hand in your direction. “They met in training, and we’ve had to put up with this shit every day since.”

Mason slowly nodded, a chuckle leaving her lips. “Sounds fun.” She said, and when you turned your head back to look at her again, she asked you. “What are you gonna do when you get back?”

You heaved a heavy sigh at the question, shaking your head. “I don’t even know, I haven’t really thought about it.”

“She’s gonna get herself a man. Pop out a few kids.” Jack joined in on the conversation, pointing at you with his fork.

To this, you raised an amused eyebrow, but before you could say anything, Mills let out a loud laugh from his seat. “You’re telling me you can actually see (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N), being a housewife?” He asked, and you shook your head in agreement.

“Yeah, no. I’m way too picky.” You admitted, turning your attention back to the food in front of you. “And either way, men aren’t very appreciative of women with strong minds and opinions.” You added, looking up at them while shoving a forkful of rice into your mouth.

Jack’s lips turned up in agreement and he dropped the subject, but Reg had other plans, scooting closer to you and leaning his head closer to yours. “I’m single and I don’t mind.” He tried, and you spared him a sideways glance.

“Dream on, lover boy.” You said, bringing your hand up to shove his head away from yours.

The boys, once again, broke into laughter, and Mills offered the discouraged boy a slap on his back. “It was worth a shot, my friend.” He said, and the smile was back on his face just as quickly as it had fallen.

Later that day, the boys were all out on deck in the nice, warm afternoon sun, mentally preparing for the mission that would officially start the next day.

When you had gone to join them, Packard had stopped you and presented you with a box of cake mix, telling you he had pulled some strings to get you into the kitchen if you wanted to treat yourself and the boys to something sweet your last night on the ship.

And how could you refuse?

It wasn’t the fanciest cake. You had to make do with the few decorative ingredients that you could find, but for a cake baked on a ship, it turned out pretty well.

It was around five o’clock in the afternoon when you finally stepped outside with the cake and a stack of plastic plates and forks on a tray, your eyes instantly rolling in amusement when you caught sight of a shirtless Reg posing in front of Mason’s camera.

Cole was sitting off to the side, as somber as ever, getting his hair cut while the others joked around with Reg in the sunlight.

Cole was the first one to spot you coming over, the others being too busy to even notice you. 

He was the only one who had known that you were going to make a cake, having walked into the kitchen while it was still in the progress to get one of his many snacks.

He wasted no time in sitting up straight in his seat when he saw you coming, waving his hand out to alert the others of your arrival.

When they turned to look at you, you held the tray up for them to see. “Behold. From chaos, order. From ugliness, beauty. From basic ingredients and an oven, cake.” You dramatically presented you work of art.

Reg instantly lit up in a large smile. “Nice!” He exclaimed, while Jack’s face pulled into one of disbelief. 

“Did you make that? By yourself?” He asked, helping you clear the empty beer bottles off the makeshift table they had made out of a wooden crate so that you could put the tray down.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s the first time we have an actual kitchen and get to eat food that isn’t coming from a can. It was either go big or go home, and the latter isn’t really an option seeing as we’re in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.”

“A woman who can fight in a war and bake a cake?” Mills said. “Where the hell do I get one?”

All of them pulled their chairs up around the crate, Mason sitting down on one side of you, and Reg sliding in on your other side, wasting no time in reaching for a plate and then for the cake.

You instantly slapped his hand away, snatching the plate from his hand. “I promised the first piece to Cole.”

“What?” His head whipped around to face you, his eyes widening. “I’m your best friend, the first piece should be mine!”

You gave him a narrow-eyed look. “My cake, my rules. Cole gets the first serve.” You said and held the plate out for Cole to take without breaking eye-contact with Reg.

“That’s right. Suckers.” Cole said, wasting no time in grabbing it from you and serving himself a piece, the size of it causing everyone to look at him strangely.

“You gonna eat all that yourself, man?” Mills asked him, and before Cole could reply, you did so for him.

“The more you weight the harder you are to kidnap. Stay safe, eat cake.” You said with your eyebrows raised at him, all while grabbing a plate and fork of your own.

Cole nodded, his head already stuffed full of chocolate. “What she said.” He agreed, and you turned to him.

“Right on.” You said, clinking your fork to his before moving to serve yourself a piece of your own, the others following suit.

No surprise with Cole there, the cake was gone in what seemed like just a second, and all of you spent the rest of the evening out on the platform together, listening to music and fooling around.

Mason slipped off without any of you noticing, and eventually, you went your separate ways too, Reg walking you to your room just like he had done the night before.

Come next morning, you were up and packing everything into the choppers bright and early, ready to head straight into the big, never-ending storm.

“Ready to do this?” Reg asked you, standing beside you and working on packing the record player into its briefcase while you packed a rucksack full off necessities.

“Yup. Today’s just a light recon day.” You answered in a breath without looking at him.

“Then why are you packing five pounds of explosives?” He chuckled, and only then did you turn to look at him, just as you finished packing said explosives into the leather bag.

“I want to be prepared.” You told him, pulling the zipper up. “I don’t trust those shady scientists.”

He raised an eyebrow, brown eyes sparkling with amusement. Before he could say anything else, however, you were joined by another person.

“That makes two of us.” Packard muttered as he came up between you, looking down at your bag and giving it a nod of approval. “Good call, (Y/L/N).”

You gave him a curt nod, followed by a playful smile. “I got you, sir.”

He nodded at you with a small smile of his own playing on his lips, and before you knew it, you were on your way.

You were in a chopper of your own with one of the scientists, struggling to keep the flying vessel straight with the way the strong weather was pulling on the controls in your hands. 

But in the end, you persevered, with a little help from Packard’s motivating speech.

The sight you were met with once you passed through the last of the storm clouds was the most beautiful sight you’d ever laid eyes on, but the moment of admiration was cut short for all of you when you began dropping the bombs and shortly after, were hit out of the sky one by one by a giant gorilla.

Everyone was screaming over the comms, but you kept going for as long as you could, opening fire at the gorilla like the rest of the choppers until you, too, were hit to the ground.

Reg yelled your name as he saw your chopper going down, and only a second later a body came flying into his windshield, his chopper crashing, too.

You didn’t know how long you were out for, but when you woke up again, there were no more choppers in the sky, and the radio in yours was dead, along with the scientist who had been with you, oh so gracefully having been impaled by a piece of metal.

It was horrible, but you were used to seeing death and weren’t too affected, just lucky that the bag of explosives hadn’t exploded in the crash.

You had no choice but to go on and venture into the forest on your own, hoping to come across someone else before dark fell.

Your peaceful walk took a turn for the worse rather quickly though and soon enough, you were being chased by some monstrous skull-lizard.

You weren’t stupid. You realized immediately that your chances were pretty slim, but you couldn’t let that stop you. It was escape or death, and you weren’t ready to die. 

You had to see Reg again, but it was going to be easier said than done, and just when you thought your life was gone for, you lost your footing and rolled down a hill, landing right at the feet of a bearded man.

You put your guard up immediately, shifting back on your hands and feet and fumbling for your rifle, raising it right to his head in all of your panicked glory.

He wasted no time in taking a step back and raising his hands in his defense, eyes widening. 

“Easy, easy. I’m a friend!” He exclaimed, and even though it went against your better judgment to trust a man you just met, you lowered your gun and dropped to your back on the forest floor, bringing your hands up to your face as you caught your breath.

A few minutes later, you were walking side by side with Marlow, which the man’s name had turned out to be, the two of you conversing.

Although, he was doing most of the talking, going on and on about how excited he was that “you had finally come for him”.

You, on the other hand, were still traumatized from the “Skull Crawler” you had been chased by just a few minutes prior, constantly on your guard with your rifle in the fear that it would jump out at you.

Eventually, you were joined by island natives that he introduced to you as the Iwi. Their faces were painted and they didn’t say much, a nice change from the man you had been walking beside up until then, who never seemed to shut up.

The sun was just beginning to set and you were just nearing some stone ruins, when the Iwi suddenly picked up on something and ran ahead.

You exchanged a look with Marlow, before the two of you sprinted off after them.

Marlow entered the ruins first, holding his hands up to calm the situation down, whatever it was, and when you entered after him, you instantly realized what was going on, and you had never been so happy to see the face of Reg as you were then.

His eyes found yours and he wasted no time in lowering his rifle, his face falling in disbelief. 

The Iwi all had their spears pointed at him and the people he was with, but the second they lowered their weapons, he came rushing forward to take you into his arms.

“Oh my God, (Y/N).” He breathed into your ear, and you closed your eyes tightly, taking in the feeling of his arms around you. “I thought you were dead. We found your chopper and-  Shit, your head.” He cursed, taking note of your bloody forehead when you came back apart.

He met your eyes again, holding you by your arms. “Are you okay?” He asked, and you put on a feign confused expression.

“I- Who are you?” You asked, and you watched as his face immediately fell.

“I-“ He struggled to find the words, and you held his sad stare for another moment, before the laughter bubbled up in your throat, your head throwing back and your hands coming to grab your stomach.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face!” You laughed, and his face instantly pulled into one of enragement.

“That’s not fucking funny!” He roared at you.

The tone in his voice and the look on his face was unlike anything you had ever seen with him before; he hadn’t even reacted like that when you had shot him in the shoulder.

Because of that, your laughter quickly died down, a confused look overcoming your features. “What? It was just a joke.” You said, chuckling. “Why are you getting so mad?”

The scowl on his face only deepened at that. “Because, because I-“

“Because you?” You raised an eyebrow, and watched with amusement as he threw his arms out.

“Because it’s just not funny! Okay?!” He said and you raised your hands in surrender, nodding your head.

“Okay, Mr. Serious.” You said, flashing him an amused smile.

You moved back to Marlow, who was now talking to Conrad, and when introductions were out of the way, you were on your way again, reaching the Iwi’s village not long after.

During your stay in the village, you tried spending some time with Reg, but for some unknown reason, he was still mad at you for pretending you couldn’t remember him and pretty much gave you the cold shoulder, instead busying himself with fixing the engine of the boat.

After getting the boat to work, you finally got in contact with Packard. He set on a flare to give away their location, and you wasted no time in heading in that direction, trekking through the jungle in silence, staying on your guard.

It was so silent, in fact, that when Reg let out a loud scream from beside you, you couldn’t help but almost jump out of your own skin.

But when seeing why he had screamed like he did, you instantly broke out into laughter, going up to him.

“Calm down, you big baby. It’s just a chameleon.” You told him, reaching up to carefully grab the body of the reptile that he was trying to slap away from his shoulder. After putting it down on a branch in passing, you gave him a smug smirk. “You scream like a girl, by the way. I’m embarrassed to be your acquaintance.”

Your teasing wasn’t as appreciated as it usually was, much to your dismay, only getting a scoff and a sour look in return before he sped up and walked ahead, leaving you to walk by yourself.

Smile falling off your face again, you sighed, keeping silent the rest of the way, until James stopped by a small stream of water.

“We’ll stop here. They should be close.” He said, turning around in your direction. “Rest up, fill up your bottles.”

Everyone did as told, sitting down wherever they could find a comfortable spot, Reg included who sat down on a log right by the water.

Meanwhile, you stayed behind by a tree, leaning your back against the trunk as you watched him from a distance.

You knew that he could feel you looking with the way he was doing everything with unnecessarily aggressive movements, but not once did he spare you a look, causing your eyes to narrow with annoyance.

He might be cute, but he was also petty as hell, something you had never been on the receiving end of up until now.

A few minutes later, all of you turned to face the forest at the sound of rustling  in the bushes, and before you knew it, Packard, Cole, Mills, Reles and Randa appeared, walking into the clearing where you were currently waiting.

Reg was the first one up on his feet, rushing over to greet his friends and fellow soldiers, and you weren’t far behind, greeting Cole, Mills and Reles with tight, brotherly hugs, and Packard with a firm handshake.

“Good to see you alive, (Y/L/N).” He said with a smile, and you nodded curtly, returning his smile with one of your own.

“You too, sir.”

Not long later, you were all, once again, running for your lives, having walked right into the graveyard of Kong’s family on Packard’s orders, which also happened to be somewhat of a Skull Crawler lair.

The memory of being chased down by the giant reptile-like monsters only a few days prior was still fresh in your mind, and having to relive it now was stressing you the fuck out.

But you kept going, running in zigzags through the giant skulls of Kong’s parents with your rifle held closely to your chest, trying your hardest to see through the mustard-yellow fumes.

You were all passing each other several times, focusing on yourselves and shooting at the Skull Crawler whenever it came too close to any of you.

A while into the fight that, at this point, seemed completely unwinnable, Reg ran up to you with his rifle raised just like yours, running by your side and yelling out over the loud gunshots. “Before we die, there’s something I need to tell you!”

Without looking at him, the two of you turning a corner, you hardened your face. “We're not gonna die, stop saying that!” You yelled back.

“I still need to tell you!” He kept fighting, and you growled under your breath in annoyance.

“Can it wait?! I’m kind of busy trying not to die!”

“No! It can’t wait!”

Right after he said that, a loud screech reached your ears, and you instantly recognized the thundering rocking of the ground under your feet, throwing a look over your shoulder to see that you were now the main targets of the Skull Crawler.

Turning your eyes back forward, you cursed, picking up your pace. “You’ve been ignoring me for well over two days, you can wait another!” You yelled, and just as you were about to be swallowed whole, you grabbed Reg’s arm and tugged him to side, the two of you sliding into one of the Kong skulls.

You were protected by the thick bones, but the Skull Crawler kept snapping at you, trying to get through, and you wasted no time in backing up and firing at it.

“I love you!” Came Reg’s voice then, and you widened your eyes, your head whipping around to face him.

“What?!” You exclaimed, your face briefly falling in disbelief, but when you realized he wasn’t shooting, but rather just staring dumbly at you, the disbelief turned into a hard glare. “What the hell are you doing?! Shoot, you idiot!”

He seemed to snap back to his senses when hearing your words, shuffling back and starting to shoot at the Skull Crawler that was still snapping at you, until it spotted something somewhere else and left.

Once it was gone, you allowed yourself to take a breather, but you barely even got the time to do that, your face being grabbed in Reg’s hands a second later.

“I love you!” He repeated shaking your head lightly. “I am absolutely, definitely, positively, unquestionably, no strings attached, beyond any doubt, unconditionally, in love with you. I want to grow old with you and love you, make you smile and hear you laugh, every single day for the rest of my life. I get butterflies every time you look at me, every time you touch me, like some freaking teenage girl. I know it may not make any sense but when I look at you, I can feel it. I look at you, and I’m home, and if you stay with me I promise to make you smile everyday with my weird jokes, I promise to share my food with you, give you good massages and laugh at your stupid jokes. I like you so much I don’t know what to do with it.  My heart beats so fast when I know I’m going to see you again. And then, when you look at me the way you do, I feel like the luckiest guy in the world. I don’t want to go a single day in my life without you. I love you. I knew it the minute I met you, and I’m sorry it took so long for me to catch up. I just got stuck. But I- I need to know, if we’re going to die, if you feel the same way, bec-“

Without any warning, you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into you in one single, rough movement, pressing your lips to his in a kiss so forceful your teeth clashed together.

He let out a soft “hmpf” at the force, but wasted no time in pulling you closer, the two of you kissing each other with such desperation, hadn’t you been in the situation you were currently in, your clothes would’ve been on the floor in a second.

But this was neither the time nor place, so you pulled apart way too quickly for your liking, meeting each other’s equally as wide eyes, both of you completely breathless.

“Does this mean-?”

“Yes.” You interrupted him. “You’re a fucking idiot and I’m going to be mad at you for a while for giving me the cold shoulder and then choosing literally the worst possible time to confess your love for me, but I love you too.”

His eyes, still wide, widened even more at that. “Whatever possessed you to do that should possess you more often.” He breathed out, and you gave him a stern look.

“It can possess me more later, but right now, our main concern should be getting out of here alive. Okay?” You asked, and he nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” You repeated in a breath, pressing another quick peck to his lips before grabbing your rifle and running back out of the skull, leaving him to watch after you with literal heart eyes, the poor boy now more in love than ever.

Once you had made it out of there with your lives intact thanks to Mason throwing a lighter into the fumes and causing an explosion, you wasted no time in getting out of the graveyard.

Reg had a close call back there and you had never felt a panic as intense at the one you felt then, rushing to his aid once James had pulled him into safety to check on his hurt leg.

You were a loyal soldier, loyal to your brothers and your superior. The only thing you were more loyal to was your own morals, and when Packard, even after what you had just been through, still insisted that Kong was the enemy, you had no choice but to go against him, much to Reg’s dismay.

The look on his face when you moved to follow James, Mason, Brooks and San was one out of pure betrayal, but you knew he would get over it, if the two of you made it out alive.

Just like you, he was a loyal soldier. But while you were more loyal to your morals, he was more loyal to you.

One look into your eyes was all it took for him to, with a trembling lip, turn his rifle onto Packard, the others following suit, more loyal to their brothers than their superior, who was clearly losing his mind.

Still adamant on killing Kong, he got what he had coming to him while the rest of you fled for your lives, running all the way until the dark lifted and the sun was coming up.

When you reached the edge of the island, Mason was sent up on the rocks with the flare gun to attempt to signal Brooks and San who were at the boat, and while she did that, Reg dragged you along by your hand toward the water; away from the loud screeches following you, which were only coming closer.

It didn’t take long for the Alpha Skull Crawler to catch up with you, and while the rest of you kept running, Cole came to a stop turning to look at the giant creature while slowly reaching for a grenade in his vest.

Mills and yourself were the ones to notice it first, stopping to call after him, and when he didn’t acknowledge you, you set off into a sprint in his direction without a second thought.

“No, (Y/N)!” Reg called after you, trying to catch your wrist to stop you.

But you were too quick, running up to Cole and starting to pull at him. As a response, he began pulling back, and you glared.

“Don’t be an idiot, Cole. Come on.” You scolded him simply, and before he could protest, you ripped the grenade out of his hand, pulled the spring out and launched it straight into the open jaws of the Skull Crawler, hurrying to throw your bag full of explosives in the same direction and pulling Cole away just as it all blew up.

The huge explosion caused the two of you to be sent flying forward, and although it didn’t kill the Skull Crawler, you were sure it weakened it, along with giving you the chance to get away.

Slivko was at your side in an instant, yelling at you for being stupid, before pulling you into his arms. 

Everything happened so quickly after that and hadn’t it been for Kong, you would’ve all died.

But he was there, giving you all a second chance at life and getting you all out of there with your lives intact.

The only thing you could hear as you drove away from the island was the sound of the boat’s engine and the wind howling in your ears.

No one had spoken a word since you got out of there, all of you just letting reality of what you had been through sink in.

You were convinced that no one would say anything the entire ride, but of course, Cole would be the one to break the silence, in the most inconvenient of ways.

“I could die for a smoothie right about now.” He spoke, breaking the silence and causing all of you to look at him with various expressions.

While most people looked at him with either disbelief or annoyance, you could only chuckle in amusement.

“After everything we’ve just gone through, you really think that’s an appropriate metaphor?” You asked him, and he just spared you a glance, shrugging his shoulders before looking back into the floor.

You shook your head at him, before pushing yourself out of your seat with an exhausted sigh, moving out from underneath the roof and climbing on top where Reg was laying flat on his back, hands clasped together on his stomach and eyes staring into the sky.

You said nothing as you stepped over him and sat down beside him, making sure you weren’t too close to the edge before laying down on your back at his side.

The second you were situated, his hands unclasped, one of them moving out to seek after yours, and you met him halfway, your fingers intertwining.

You laid there in silence for a moment, just taking everything in, before he spoke up quietly from beside you.

“On a scale from one to ten, how bad of an idea do you think it would be if we got married?”

At the sound of his words, you turned your head in his direction, raising a doubtful eyebrow. “You just confessed your love to me yesterday and you’re already proposing?” You asked, and watched as he turned to look at you.

“You’re an idiot, I’m an idiot. We’re co-presidents of Club Idiot. I can’t think of a better match.” He shrugged. “So how ‘bout it? Would it really be that bad?”

A chuckle left your lips at his poor proposal. “It would be off the charts.” You replied, your lips pulling into a gentle smile and your eyes staring into his. “Let’s do it.”

He matched your smile with one of his own, sparing you one last look before wrapping his arm around you and pulling you into his side, your head resting on top of his chest.

“I’ll take care of you.” He promised, and you closed your eyes and smiled, letting out a content sigh. 

“I know.”

Cole, Mills and Reles all looked at you from below, watching as you cuddled close.

They had all known that you had liked each other long before either of you had spoken those feelings aloud. Maybe even before you had realized it, yourselves.

They could see it in Reg’s eyes, the way he looked at you. As if you were the sun, and he was a child seeing it set for the very first time, and then the way your eyes sparkled right back whenever you looked at him.

Being able to find someone you clicked with so naturally was the best feeling ever. You felt like you had been best friends your whole life, and you were so comfortable with each other.

Maybe that’s what a soulmate really was. Not someone who shared every single thing in common with you, but someone who made you feel like you were coming home, which was exactly what you felt like when he wrapped his arms around you.

No matter where in the world you found yourselves, as long as he was there by your side, you would be home.

Tagged: @marvelously-flawed​

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[no6secretsanta]

Impermanence

to: @aowyn

from: @crowmunculus

Happy new year! I’m still the world’s slowest writer but I hope you enjoy this canonverse angst-with-a-happy-ending fic!

.

The other day there was a sparrow trapped in the grocery store; it beat itself to death against a skylight, thinking it was freedom. Nezumi tried to see the metaphor in it, but mostly what he saw was the tiny body crumpled against dirty linoleum, black bead doll’s-eyes squinted shut, little feet curled into fists against its downy breast. 

He understood the feeling at the time, and he understands it now, somehow more claustrophobic in Shion’s sparsely-furnished studio apartment than he had ever been in the clutter of the underground room. And it’s not just that the apartment is in No. 6, it’s that Shion is in it, older than before with that unerring ability to see through Nezumi’s shit only sharpened with time.

When the two of them were at each other’s throats in the West Block, one of them, usually Nezumi, would leave until the red haze of rage had settled. You can’t avoid your roommate that well when the only other room is the only bathroom. It’s awkward, stuck in the same space as someone palpably angry at him, but it’s the bitter cold of early January outside, and Nezumi is afraid that if he leaves now he’lll never come back. Which would defeat the whole purpose of returning to begin with, really. 

So this is how they’re spending their shared day off: in opposite corners of the room, not speaking. Shion had always been skilled at making his silences loud and his tenure as a politician had honed that skill into an instrument of torture. It sets Nezumi on edge, that tense feeling of possibility, the static in the air before a lightning strike. He wanted that silence to break and worried he’d be the one to break it just to hear it break.

It’s not you, it’s me, flits inanely across his thoughts before Nezumi can shoot it down with prejudice. That would make it sound like Nezumi wanted to end whatever it was between them, and that was also part of the problem, wasn’t it, that Nezumi had been living with Shion in No. 6 for months without either of them putting a name to their relationship. 

For Shion the reason is likely something stupid and romantic, like not needing the reassurance of a label to know how he felt. For Nezumi, it’s fear, simple fear. The same fear he’d traveled the world to escape or to discard in pieces out in the wasteland. Fear was what had held his tongue from speaking the truth last night when Shion suddenly said, apropos of nothing, “We should buy a house.” 

They’d been watching old prewar Christmas movies together from bed, Nezumi only half-awake with his head resting in Shion’s lap over the covers, Shion’s fingers reverent while he combed them through Nezumi’s long hair. “We?” he said weakly, a mistake that opened the floodgates of Shion babbling excited words like water. 

“I can cover most of the down payment for the houses I’ve been looking at, I’ve had more time to build up my savings and I don’t want to deplete yours like that, but I’ve been looking into it and with my credit rating we could get a good interest rate on a mortgage, and if we’re careful with our spending we might even be able to pay it off early within ten years -” Ten years echoed in Nezumi’s head before the rest of Shion’s words were drowned out by a rush of ringing white noise in his ears so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. 

There was something inside Nezumi, something old and cruel, that took over in his moments of weakness, especially - especially around Shion. His lips moved without any conscious thought behind the action and what came out was “Would your credit rating be enough of a draw for a prospective seller to overlook the fact that I legally did not exist until two years ago?” 

He felt the muscles in Shion’s legs go tense beneath him and that same cruel impulse lifted his head and moved him away until their bodies no longer touched. He clenched his hands shut into fists to keep them from shaking. 

“Plenty of people from the West Block have citizenship paperwork only made after the wall fell,” Shion said calmly, if rigidly. “You know that.” 

Nezumi did know that. He knew because Shion had reassured him as much when Shion helped him navigate the paperwork for his new state-funded health insurance, something he’d never before had or imagined he ever would have. He also knew that the new streamlined pathway to citizenship for West Block residents lacking formal paperwork was one of Shion’s crowning achievements on the Reconstruction Committee. He knew this, and because of what he was he used that knowledge as a blade. 

“I know it was awfully presumptuous of you to go ahead and make mine for me when I wasn’t here,” Nezumi said, staring at the wall behind Shion’s left shoulder as if the ugly popcorn drywall fascinated him instead of simple, stupid fear keeping him from looking Shion in the eye. 

“You promised you’d come back,” Shion said, “Whether or not you would ever choose to use the documentation was up to you, but I at least wanted to give you the option.” His voice was clipped, icy in a way Nezumi did not know how to decode, another reminder that for all Nezumi had grown and changed in their years apart, Shion had too, in ways Nezumi may never be allowed to know. “If I was being presumptuous, it was in presuming you wanted to come back.” 

With that, he sat up and walked to the bathroom, closing the door softly behind himself. He had moved slowly enough that Nezumi could have responded in time, grabbed his hand and asked Shion to wait, to let him explain, but Nezumi could not explain to even himself, so instead he let him go. 

He laid back down on the bed, the blankets still warm from Shion’s body heat, and listened to the dialogue of It’s A Wonderful Life muffled through the awful ringing still in his ears, the words warped by the noise into nothing but meaningless sounds. Mercifully, he fell asleep before Shion returned.

But Shion was of course there in bed with him when Nezumi woke the next morning, because where else was he supposed to sleep? Shion had slept curled on his side faced away, his back to Nezumi’s back. Seeing Shion so vulnerable always made Nezumi feel vulnerable too. Before Nezumi got out of bed, he pulled the covers up higher and smoothed them out, carefully layered back on top of Shion and tucked in around him. 

Then he brewed a pot of coffee and fixed up a cup for Shion first. He set it on the nightstand expecting the smell to eventually wake Shion up, but then saw that Shion was already awake. “G’morning,” Shion mumbled, and that had been the only thing Shion had said to him all day. 

Nezumi knows what Shion expects of him but he doesn’t know if it’s something he knows how to give, even if he wants to. And he does want to, he wants to wake up every day at Shion’s side even if they’d gone to bed angry, wants to commit to this, all of this, even the parts that scare him speechless.

Shion, as always, ends up being the brave one. He speaks first and says, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that last night.” Nezumi dares to lift his head from his book and is captured in Shion’s gaze, held hostage by the honesty and warmth in his eyes.

He means it. Shion really thinks he’s the one who should be apologizing, and Nezumi has to choke back a surge of incredulous anger. It’s not fair to Shion that Nezumi keeps lashing out against him when the one he’s really angry at is himself. “Don’t apologize,” Nezumi says, but it’s sharp and sounds like an accusation. He closes his eyes, forces himself to just breathe, slowly in and out, and continues, softer, “I shouldn’t have said what I did. It wasn’t right to belittle how hard you’ve worked to fix this place.” And make it somewhere I could live. “There was no reason for it except to piss you off.” When Nezumi chances a look, Shion doesn’t look convinced, still with that concerned, horribly earnest expression on his face. 

“You’re always sarcastic, I shouldn’t have taken it so personally -”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be,” Nezumi cuts him off, and his ears are ringing again, “I shouldn’t be sarcastic about things that actually matter. I didn’t mean it. I only said it because - because…” His tongue sticks to the roof of his dry mouth. He still can’t explain it to Shion, even now. He was supposed to be better than this by the time he returned. 

He doesn’t hear Shion crossing the room to reach him and flinches on instinct when Shion touches his wrist, but catches himself in time to grab Shion’s hand in his own before he can finish pulling away. 

“It’s okay, Nezumi,” Shion says, gently squeezing his hand. He’s kneeled on the wooden floor in front of Nezumi’s chair, Nezumi’s hand now cradled in both of his, the contact both a manacle and a comfort. “I brought it up too suddenly. I don’t want to pressure you or make you feel uncomfortable. We don’t have to talk about it now.” He’s as genuine as he always is, but it’s also an excuse for Nezumi’s sake, it’s Shion giving him an easy out. 

Nezumi looks past Shion to the window on the far wall, the blue sky beyond it, thinks about a broken neck and broken wings and how desperate a creature would have to be to die that way.  

“In the West Block. Before you were there with me,” Nezumi says, haltingly, “The one thing, the only thing I could rely on staying the same day in and out was…” He stalls out again, and Shion brings Nezumi’s hand to his lips, kisses his knuckles like a knight pledging fealty. “…The only constant was that everyone who had ever cared about me would still be dead. And it was a relief that they were still dead because that meant I couldn’t lose them again.”

Hope, in Nezumi’s experience, hurt more than grief. Death was permanent, inarguable; hope is a chronic ache. It hurts to even look at Shion sometimes. 

Shion’s soft, even breaths tingle against Nezumi’s skin. He focuses on that, the rhythm of it, the barely-there whisper of sound, and the roaring in his head ebbs away as Shion replaces it. “I’ll still want you in ten years,” Shion says with the weight of an oath. “Whether we’re living here or in a house - that’s not what matters to me.”

“I know,” Nezumi says, and he does know. Shion could be happy living in a cardboard box beneath an overpass so long as Nezumi was there with him. “I wouldn’t object to a larger floor plan, though.” 

Shion’s responding smile is bright as to be blinding. Helpless to him in the best way, Nezumi smiles back, pulls him in closer, and gives in, for the moment, to hope.

[sleepychai-fics]

Road to Salvation ~ Chapter 4 - The Proposition

Inform me if I need to put in any warnings for this chapter. ALSO I'd like to apologise for the long break between chapters, life has been hectic and things got out of hand for a bit. Hopefully it wont happen a second time.

Word count: 5,472

Pronouns - Female

ALSO SHOUTOUT TO @doughnuts-5ever​ FOR BETA READING THIS ENTIRE SERIES. I KEEP FORGETTING TO ADD THIS SHOUTOUT CAUSE I POST THESE CHAPTERS AT 1 AM LIKE THE NIGHT OWL I AM. SO BIIIIIIG THANK YOU TO YOU BB, YOU MAKE THIS STORY MAKE SENSE WHEN MY BRAIN DONT

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in BNHA. However, there are many OC’s in this fic that I’ve created. These OC’s belong to me and are specifically created for this fic. 

However, Hajime Shinsou is NOT my oc. He is an oc created by Keiid, who used to have tumblr but now uses twitter. Please keep that in mind.

Feedback is appreciated!

Want to be part of the taglist? DM me or reply to this chapter!

“What do we know about this girl?” Tsukauchi flips open the folder full of papers in front of him, eyes darting across the pages briefly taking in the information.

Aizawa sighs, lifting up one of the papers and reading off of it. “She’s been seen as a vigilante on the streets for a little over two years now. How long she’s been on the streets in general is unknown. Her quirk involves moving objects through shadows. It’s believed she has other accomplices, however we don’t know for sure.” He ends by tossing the paper back in the folder.

Tsukauchi hums. “Is she the one we’re looking for?”

“I hope so.”

“What about her suspected accomplices?”

Aizawa takes out another piece of paper from a different folder. “Our informant tells us she lives with many other people on the streets. Rumors say that the group is the line between villains and heroes.” His tired eyes look over to the police officer. “We’re not sure how to interpret that.”

A groan leaves the officers lips as he leans back in his chair. “We’ll interview her once she wakes up. We can negotiate living conditions with her. Offer her the placement and training in exchange for her compliance and any requests she may ask.”

With a yawn, Aizawa nods. “What do you suspect she’ll ask for?”

“Not too sure. Despite what we have on her, she’s still unknown to us. Our data banks have nothing on her. It’d be your job to get to know her.”

Aizawa groans. “I know that. But I think Hisashi is more up to that task.”

Tsukauchi smiles. “I appreciate you doing this.”

“It was part of the deal. Whisper held up her end, now I need to hold up mine.”

“It’s a big task to hold up.”

Aizawa hums in agreeance. “That’s why I offered a trial period. If she proves worthy to be a hero, then I’ll make it a permanent deal.”

“Whisper has offered to ensure a steady supply of information on other underground personnel if you were to make it a full time deal.” Tsukauchi reminds him.

Aizawa nods. “Are you sure-”

An alarm blares loudly through the speakers, interrupting the two men and instantly raising them on high alert. The conference room doors slam open, a security guard standing at the entrance.

“I apologise for the interruption but she’s escaped her room!”

Aizawa stands up from his chair, almost knocking it over. “Do you know where she’s headed?”

“They report she’s just entering the cafeteria, possibly towards Ward E.”

The two men race out the door, following the guard as he races towards your direction.

~*~

Your senses come back slowly. First, it’s touch. Whatever room you’re in, it’s got a cold atmosphere to it. If you were conscious enough, you’d be clutching to your thin jacket. As the thought crosses your mind, you take note of the feeling of the fabric, definitely not the same kind of material as your jacket. But despite its foreignness, it holds you in strange comfort. However, the feeling doesn’t last long as your hearing starts to kick in.

Two voices - one feminine and the other masculine, speaking in a soft tone. Along with the voices, you hear a steady beeping sound. A heart monitor? You hear it pick up as the rest of your senses come to life. The pungent smell of sanitising chemicals invades your nostrils and has you scrunching your nose in response. One of the voices gasps and speaks to the other. Your eyes are heavy and your body urges you to return to the land of peaceful slumber, but with a strong will, you open your eyelids.

Everything is blurry. Patches of colours hover over your vision before flicking to a mixture of white shades. You hear things shuffle around and clang against metal, only making you work harder at your vision. In an attempt to clear your vision, you rapidly blink your eyes. However, a bright light shines into your eye and forces you to squint. In a burst of panicked adrenaline, you lash out.

From what you can comprehend, you throw out your fist, hitting the figure above you. Ignoring the scream of pain, you jump up out of what you suspect to be a bed and scamper across the floor. You trip into a wall and turn your body around to face the mess you seemed to have caused.

You shake your head and rub at your eyes in another attempt to clear your vision. As it begins to clear, the masculine voice speaks.

“Hey! Let’s calm down. There’s no need to be scared.” You focus on the person closest to you. His hair is a terrible mess of purple. A white coat lays over a blue shirt and brown pants. As your vision clears by the second, you recognise more of his facial features and you can’t help but feel a sense of familiarity. His dark eyes stare at you earnestly, but it’s his eyebags that strike you with an eerie recognition.

You notice his hand cast behind him and you follow it to a woman in similar attire to him, laying on the ground. She has one hand propping her upper body up off the floor, while her other hand covers her lower face, blood seeping in between her fingers.

You return your sight to the man and attempt to speak, however it comes out raspy. After clearing your throat, you try again. “Who are you?”

The doctor responds calmly, making slow movements with his hands as he speaks. “My name is Hajime Shinsou. I know that this seems scary at the moment, but you need to trust that I won’t hurt you.” Shinsou attempts to take a step closer but retracts it as you push your body further against the wall. “You might recognise me, more so my son but let's face it, he’s practically a carbon copy of me.”

Your vision finally starts to clear, enough for you to make out specific features that you’ve definitely seen before. But he’s way too tall from what you can remember. “Why would I recognise you? Your son?”

The slight upturn of his lips doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “A couple days ago, you saved my son from a group of gang members. It was by a karaoke restaurant. He has purple hair, just like me. He even has the same eyebags as me.” As Shinsou goes through his explanation, your memory begins to jog.

“The… the gang. They uhm... they attacked a restaurant and took a kid hostage.” Shinsou nods. “I stopped them and saved the kid.”

“Yes. My son appreciates you. I do too.”

Alarming questions begin to spew in your mind. “How did you know it was me? Where am I? Why am I here?!” Each question grows more desperate as your (e/c) scan the entirety of the room. Thankfully you chose the wall close to the door.

“It’s okay. No one intends to harm you here.”

“Bullshit. Where am I?!” You argue back, glaring at him with irritation.

Shinsou continues to remain calm, despite the growing panic radiating off of you. “You’re in a hospital in northeast Tokyo.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as your eyes widen in shock. “Northeast?!”

With a nod, he responds carefully. “Yes. I understand you may be in shock. But I promise you that I don’t mean you any harm-”

“I want to leave.”

He sighs heavily. “I know, but I’m sorry to say I can’t allow-”

“I want to leave. NOW!” You scream this time, eyes brimming with tears you fight to extinguish. “I can’t be here, I have to leave this place.”

“Why don’t we just sit down and have a calm cha-”

“No! I can’t stay here! I have to leave!” You throw your hands out, intent on using your quirk to push back the doctor. But when that doesn’t work, you falter. “Wha… Why? What happened to my quirk?” A few stray tears slither down your face despite your best efforts. “What did you do to my quirk?!”

“We’ve injected you with quirk suppressants. It was protocol. I’m sorry.” You can hear his genuine apology, but you ignore it through your own raging emotions.

“I’m leaving.”

Hajime nods, knowing there’s nothing else he can do. “I understand. But you have to know I can’t let you go without calling it in.”

You shake your head. “I don’t care.” You leave him no breath to reply, walking towards the door. Before you leave, you snatch a spare white coat from a nearby hook and throw it over yourself.

As the door clicks behind you, you take a moment to assess your surroundings. A window down the hall shows an orange hued sky, although it's difficult to determine whether it’s dusk or dawn. A couple of doctors scatter the large hall, but they’re too busy looking down at clipboards to notice you. You waste no second more before walking down the hall, head tilted down to avoid arousal of your presence.

It’s so foreign, so clean and pristine. Tears are prepared to fall at any moment, but you fight against them. It’s exhausting and horrifying, it’s taking all of you not to bolt out the nearest window.

Every turn you take, every corridor you look down leads you to the belief that you're stuck in a labyrinth. It all looks the same. The room placements, the nurses, the machines littered here and there. Everything is almost the exact same and it scares the living shit out of you.

Finally, after what seems like hours of endless wandering, you come across two double doors. They appear to lead to another part of the hospital. You take a second to glance around you. There’s no other way to go besides through these doors, at least no other way you’ve been able to discover anyway. Without another second to hesitate, you go through the doors.

It’s similar to the place you just came from, except there are fewer private rooms and more public beds. They’re all aligned against the wall and separated by at least a couple of meters. Curtains hang between them, offering visual privacy. More nurses and doctors operate within the space, working with patients and running to various desks.

As you take in the scenery from the doors, you hear a voice call out from your left.

“Hey, are you-?”

You turn to look at the voice, and your heart drops. Realisation dawns on your face the second you notice the security badge. Unfortunately, the guard comes to his own realisation.

The guard opens his mouth wide, probably to yell out, but you don’t give him the chance to. With adrenaline behind your muscles, you push at his chest, forcing him to back into a moving cart. The noise alerts the entire area and within seconds it turns to chaos.

You take off in a sprint down the hall, leaving the sounds of screams and yells behind you. Each turn you come upon, you run to the wall and push yourself off of it, maintaining momentum in your run. As you take another turn, you throw a glance behind you. Security guards are close behind you, as well as a few men dressed in white coats, seemingly doctors aiding in the chase.

An alarm blares loudly throughout the hospital, red lights blinking slowly at every corner. You ignore them all, focused on improvising an escape plan.

As you turn another corner, you're faced with a set of double doors. With no other choice, apart from the army of men behind you, you barge through the doors.

You thank the high being that it's an open spaced cafeteria. More space to run, more visualisation, more shit to throw, and most importantly, fewer hallways to get lost in.

People scream and scatter out of their chairs as you vault over tables. Every chance you get, you flick trays and food behind you in an attempt to slow down those behind you. You make the quick and random decisions to leap over tables to either side of you, making it even harder for the chasers to predict your direction.

However, more men come from the opposite direction and appear a few tables before you. Without thinking, you pick up a tray of food and throw it at them. They throw their arms up to deflect the tray and in turn lose sight of you for just a second.

You take the opportunity to take a sharp turn in the other direction. Unfortunately for you, the only direction left for you to go is through another set of doors that no doubt leads to another maze of hallways.

The second you go through the doors, you duck down, avoiding the few crackling electricity sticks that jab towards you. You slip underneath one, tripping the guy in the process and creating a roadblock of a few seconds.

You bolt to the left, tossing things nearby onto the ground, leaving a maze of objects behind you. Every cart you pass by gets toppled onto the ground and earns you the precious seconds you desire.

You’re so focused on the people around you that you don’t notice thin white cloth wrapping around you. It snaps tight around you before you can even think. Your arms are pinned to your side and your legs are immobilised, causing you to fall flat to the ground.

As soon as you land on the ground, grunting from impact, electricity violently courses throughout you as multiple electrical batons prod at you. You blackout in seconds.

~*~

Your senses return much quicker the second time around. As soon as the bright light enters your eye, you jolt up, scrambling off of the cold metal table.

Pain is the only thing you feel. Pain pumping through your veins and making you shiver from movement. You back yourself against a wall, your hand instinctively curling around your stomach as nausea arises.

Before you are the purple haired Doctor Shinsou and the recognisable dark dressed man with a large scarf hiding his neck. He has a hand on his scarf and knees bent whilst Shinsou has his hands up in a surrendering manner.

“It’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you.” He says.

You glare at him in disbelief. “Oh really now?” You grimace as you speak, sharp pain erupts from the side of your neck, just below your jaw. When you touch it, you can feel raised, jarred skin.

“You were shocked by 4 electrical batons. That one on your neck is the most severe one because of the skin contact.” Shinsou informs as he watches your hand shake above the wound.

“So much for not harming me.” You scoff.

“Those guys were from a different department.” The unknown man speaks up. “They run on different protocols.”

You spend a few seconds staring at him, watching as he lowers his hands by his side. Recognition prods your mind. “You were the one to capture me.”

The guy breathes in. “For now call me Eraserhead. We’d like for you to join us in the conference room down the hall. We’ll discuss everything there.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more than the three of us here?”

Shinsou, having put his hands down to his sides, answers you. “There’s only one more person and he’s waiting at the conference room. No more harm will come to you. Promise.”

You scrutinise his expression. The genuineness of his statement. Despite the short time you’ve talked with him, he seems genuine and reliable. So, on the little info you have, and with the foreign situation you are in, you decide your best bet for now is to trust him.

Shinsou walks out first, gesturing to you with a soft smile. Slowly, you stand up straight and start walking. You suppress the grimace as your leg shudders beneath you, most likely another wound area. With a deep breath, you push through the pain and limp out of the room. Eraserhead follows you closely.

The hallway is quiet, save for a few people here and there whispering to each other. Their eyes drift to you as you walk past them. You can feel their anger towards you and their disgust, you’re thankful the walk through the hallway is a short one.

Shinsou pushes open a door and steps aside to let you in. As soon as you set foot in the room, you analyse the room. It’s completely bare, save for the large oval table and the dozen-plus chairs surrounding it. Seated on one end of the table is a police officer. He has a brown coat thrown over his uniform. A matching brown hat sits on the table in front of him. His black hair is practically melded with his scalp, barely any strands sticking out. Your first impression of him isn’t the greatest and you decide to remain overly cautious.

“Hello.” He greets you as you walk in, almost like he was expecting you at that very second. It unnerves you. He gestures to the chair beside him. “Take a seat.”

You carefully step towards him. “I’d rather stand.” The scratchiness of your voice is still present, but you opt to ignore it.

He nods in understanding. “You can call me Tsukauchi.” You nod once, eyes glaring into his. “I’m sure you have questions.”

“I’m sure you have answers.” You fire back at him with a monotonous voice.

“I do. First I’d like to clear up the situation you're in at the moment. You are in a hospital north-”

“I already know that.” You nod towards Shinsou. “He explained that to me. I’m in northeast Tokyo. I wanna know why I’m here. And how I got here.”

Tsukauchi nods. “We’ve been keeping a close eye on you for a few weeks now. You’re known as the vigilante Shadow, aren't you? You’ve been in and out of activity for years.” Every word that he speaks increases your concern, but you fight to keep your expression neutral. “You’ve taken down thugs and criminals, but you’ve also stolen from civilians off the street.”

“Ok, imma stop you right there. I didn’t just steal from civilians, I also stole from those criminals.”

“You still stole from them.”

“Because I had to.” Your voice grows louder.

“Why?”

“Because-!” You stop yourself. You almost told him about the mall. Taking a deep breath, you start again. “I had to survive.”

It aggravates you the way he nods, as if he understands. “Like I said, we’ve been watching you. We apprehended you because we decided it would be best to approach you.”

“And you didn't try talking first?”

“We tried that. But as you can tell, that didn’t go well.”

Your mouth opens to speak, but you close it, realising he’s right. But another question surges through you. “Ok, then why were an army of police on standby in the area if you just wanted to talk?”

“We predicted your behaviour.” Throughout the entire chat, he’s remained calm and it irritates you to no end.

You scoff and shake your head. “Is there a point to this talk?”

Tsukauchi bends down to pull out a folder. “We believe you have potential.”

Worry sets in. “Potential for what?”

He slides the folder over to you. “Potential to become a hero.”

The room is silent. You stare at him in disbelief, despite your best efforts to keep a neutral face. The silence only lasts a couple of seconds however, as you burst into laughter.

“I’m sorry? Potential to become a hero?! What the actual fuck?! Haha! Weren’t you berating me as a vigilante fucking two minutes ago?” You double both in pain and laughter wheezing and gasping between breaths.

“Yes. Amongst everyone else, I see potential in you.” Tsukauchi waits a few seconds for you to catch your breath. “You’ve shown initiative in criminal activity. You are quick to rush in and protect civilians.”

“That’s because no one else is willing to, and there’s no police around to help them so I choose to step in.”

“Exactly.”

For a few seconds, you’re in deep thought about his words. He’s right. You have shown initiative, but does that really categorise you as a hero? If that's the case, then can’t everyone be a hero?

You look down at the folder on the table. Tentatively, you take a seat next to Tsukauchi, and open the folder.

Concealed inside is a small stack of papers. A small paragraph is printed on each page, addressing you and claiming that you agree to the terms and conditions that follow. On the bottom is a line with your name underneath. As you skin through each page, you come across to a highly detailed table chart.

“By signing these forms, you agree to a temporary deal in which you will live with Eraserhead and follow his rules.” You snap your attention to Tsukauchi, eyes bulging from distress. With a glance towards Eraserhead, who confirms with a nod, you sink further into the seat.

Tsukauchi continues. “You must agree to no vigilante activity whilst in his care. You’ll be monitored every minute of every day as long as you're in his care.”

“That chart in your hands,” Eraserhead speaks up, gesturing to the detailed chart in your hands. You take another look at it, noticing the times lined against each row and the days lined above each column. “It’s a timetable which I’ve set out for you to follow. You do exactly what it says to, and you won’t get charged for any of your vigilante crimes.”

“I’m getting charged?!” You stand up with shock and rage. Tsukauchi and Eraserhead jump to a stand as well. “So you’re saying that I either take up this so-called ‘opportunity’, or I get sent to prison for however long you deem fit? Sounds like a fucking threat if you ask me!”

“Hey, it’s alright. I pro-”

“It’s not alright!” You turn to Shinsou, fighting to keep back the tears building up behind your eyes. “None of this is okay! I’m being stripped of my freedom, all for what? To keep an eye on my behaviour?!” You turn to Tsukauchi, staring him down with a firm expression. “I have responsibilities to uphold.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure they can be put on hold for a while.” He says.

“They can’t!”

Minutes pass by, the tension in the air running thick. You run your hand through your hair, sighing with frustration and surrender before fixing your posture. “What I’m about to say, does not leave this room.”

“If you agree to the contract-”

You snap your gaze to Eraserhead. “If I agree to this contract I will keep up my end. But you have to keep up yours.”

He stares at you for a few seconds before nodding, allowing you to continue.

Your heart thunders in your chest with nerves and irritation. Tears threaten to fall but you remain stubborn as ever. With a deep breath, you let it out. “There is an abandoned mall on the outskirts of Tokyo. It’s where I and a ton of other homeless people stay. We're like a family. We protect each other and help where necessary. There are some people like me who’ve rescued kids from all sorts of situations, and those kids form a bond with us. A bond that acts like a lifeline. It’s their emotional lifeline.” Without noticing, a tear falls from your eye. After furiously rubbing at your eyes, you continue. “It’s impossible for me to leave them. Not while their emotional stability is still fragile. I’m sure you know enough of psychology to understand that.”

The room is silent as the three males ponder your revelation. They look between each other, wondering what to say, what to do with the new information. Sure, there were rumors of more people like you, but to hear the information come from you was different; it was no longer a rumor.

“This timetable isn’t possible for me to follow. I need some time with the mall. I need to let the kids know that I’m still there for them.”

Tsukauchi looks to Eraserhead. “It’s your call.”

Eraserhead sighs deeply as all eyes turn on him expectantly. “I’ll allow a one hour visit two days a week.”

“Three days.” You interject.

Dark eyes glare at you, but you remain stubborn and strong against his eyes. The sigh he lets go of borders on a growl. “One hour visits, three days a week. With supervision.” He enunciated the last sentence, indicating there would be no objections.

Despite your desire to argue, you know it’ll be useless. So, putting on a tough persona, you pick up the contract folder and practically shove it under his nose. “I want that in writing.”

The man remains still, half-lidded eyes staring at you for what seems like hours. It feels as if he’s stabbing you with just his gaze alone. Finally, he snatches the folder out of your hands and slaps it down on the table. He then takes a nearby pen and begins to furiously write on one of the papers. Once scribbling his signature, he steps back, allowing you to inspect his writing.

You do so, ensuring each word says as it's supposed to. Eraserhead holds out the pen to you. After some hesitance, you take the pen and lean down. The pen hovers over the paper. Your heart beats hard, you can feel it in your throat as if it's ready to spew out at any moment. You take a few steady breaths, your hand shaking the pen slightly. One more deep breath, and you put the pen to the paper.

Each letter written feels wrong, incriminating and abandoning. It feels exactly how you expected it; like your freedom was slipping away with each pen stroke.

As soon as you write the last letter, you stand up, the pen falling from your limp fingers.

Tsukauchi takes the folder and pockets it into his briefcase below the table. “I believe Dr. Shinsou wanted to do a last check-up. He’ll also be the one that will be attaching the ankle monitor. We’ll be using that to monitor you.”

You simply nod, the will to argue no longer there. You follow Shinsou out the room, head tilted down in both shame and surrender.

Your mind is numb, barely registering anything said to you. As Shinsou gestures for you to sit atop the examination table, you take notice of the nurse. The same nurse as before, this time with a bandage across her nose.

She appears reluctant to be near you, you can see her hands shake as they reach out to apply the blood pressure strap.

“I’m sorry.” Your apology is quiet but startles the woman. However, a smile eases on her face.

“It’s ok.” She replies, voice slightly hitched due to the bandage. “I would’ve done the same thing.”

The conversation is left at that. Shinsou and the nurse, who said her name was Sakura, do the basics, heart, lungs, eyes, ears. After completing them, Shinsou appears with a steel bracelet with a small box attached to it.

He doesn't get the chance to speak as you lift up your ankle. He peers into your eyes, taking note of the dread-filled gaze that appears to stare at nothing. With a sigh, he carefully clips the bracelet into place.

“Is it too tight?” His only response is a light shrug. He can’t help but feel bad for you. He proceeds to press and hold a button. The device turns on at the action, a small light on the box flicks on as two small beeps sound. As soon as that's done, Shinsou guides you out of the room.

When you step out, you are approached by a long blonde haired male, a gloved hand sticking out towards you.

“Hello listener!” His voice is loud and overly excited, but you barely pay any mind to him. He observes your mute behaviour and turns to his husband. Eraserhead simply shakes his head.

“This is my husband Yamada. You can call me Aizawa.” He says as he walks away.

You follow him without delay, mindlessly pocketing the info.

The drive is silent and tense. You stare out the window the entire trip, watching as the environment passes by. There’s no thoughts running through your mind, nothing to think about but the dread and disappointment of letting the mall down.

You barely register you’ve stopped, so induced in your negativity that you don’t notice that Aizawa is before you, waiting for you to step out.

The house is two stories tall, a small wood fence outlining the property. It’s a fairly modern-looking house, a front porch stretching a metre out the front yard. It’s decently sized, looking to fit a modern family of five.

Entering the house, you register a lounge room and kitchen across from each other from the front house, then straight ahead are stairs leading up to the second floor. Beside that is a hallway which you are told leads to a bathroom and laundry.

Your gaze wanders to the kitchen, where you find a black cat sitting on the bench, staring at you with yellow eyes.

“Oh, that’s Jelly. We have another cat named Muffin, she’s nicer than Jelly, he likes to scratch.” The Yamada explains. His smile drops however as your gaze falls to the floor. “How about I show you to your room?” He gestures upstairs.

You shrug, allowing him to lead you upstairs. He turns down the hall to a room at the end. “Here it is!” He opens the door, his green eyes shining with delight.

You peer into the room, gazing at the layout. A double bed is pressed up against a wall, a small table on each side. A desk lays opposite the bed, small and bare. Sliding doors in the wall indicate a wardrobe. It’s bare of anything and feels completely unnatural to you.

“It used to be a spare room, but now that you’re here it’s all yours! Don’t worry we have another.”

You ignore him and walk into the room, taking a seat on the bed.

“Hey,” His voice is significantly dialled down in both tone and volume as he approaches you. “I know this may seem scary, but we’re here to help you. Aizawa may seem like a blunt and harsh guy, but he’ll come around. Eventually.” He then kneels down before you, a soft smile on his face, his glasses on the tip of his nose. “Technically my name is Aizawa-Yamada but that’s for legal purposes. We’re teachers and figured it’d be easier for the students to separate us. That and Aizawa doesn’t like our relationship to be public information. If you’d like, you can call me by my first name, Hisashi.”

You nod, numbly tucking away the information. You jolt slightly as Hisashi places a hand on your knee.

“Why don’t you get some rest? The drugs from the hospital are probably still in effect.”

With a gentle squeeze, he stands up and exits the room, closing the door behind him. In the end, he was right. You take the time to realise how foggy your mind is and how exhausted your limbs feel.

Having no choice in the matter, you lay down on the bed.

You stare at the ceiling, the silence of the room overcoming your senses. It’s then that everything seems to properly set in your mind. Tears cascade down the side of your face, and you do what you can to silence your sobs.

You told them everything you didn’t want to. Although it gave you something, you still risked the safety of everyone. You may have just caused their demise. All for what? What was the purpose of all this? To become a hero?

Did you want to be a hero? Is it worth all this?

What would everyone think when you visited them? Aizawa would no doubt be supervising you. And if he wasn’t, the device on your ankle would surely broadcast your position.

What else was the device for? Could it hear you? Could it see what you were doing? Could it harm you?

Your mind whirls with unanswered questions, each question that rises allows another tear to fall from your eyes. Sleep comes quickly, haunting you with all of the day's events.

When you wake with a jolt, you wish for it all to be just that. A simple nightmare, something that Dabi could soothe away. But that wish shatters as you look around. The room was too spacious, the view was too pretty, the walls were too new, and the device around your ankle was still annoyingly present.

[crqstalite]

crossroad.

a majority of this was done during a writing sprint (edit, half of it was) but i couldn’t just let it fade away! so instead, because i’m still upset about anders [and i miss bethany + fem!hawke], here’s a post!da2 work for you and me.

word count: 6,083.

-

“are you afraid? of what lays after all of...this?” bethany’s voice. reyna tries not to jump, but inevitably, she does. her sister is no longer in her circle robes, instead dressed down with her hair tied back, “the gallows are gone, the circle is gone, meredith is dead, orsinio is dead...”

“please, bethany. for the love of andraste do not panic.” reyna tries not to snap at her, but she does it anyway, picking through what things she can fit in her pack. the red scarf she’s donned around her neck comes undone, and she pulls it away roughly before shoving another shirt away, “donnic and aveline are staying here, and you’re staying with them. you’ll be perfectly safe, there’s no reason to be afraid.”

“i-” bethany hesitates, then resigns to sitting on the bed, picking at her sleeve, “i asked if you were afraid, not what i was going to do after all of this.”

“you know what i intend to do,” reyna yanks the suitcase out from under the bed roughly, the latches clicking open as she flicks a bandaged hand over one.

“running away from kirkwall into the night isn’t a plan, rey.” bethany responds in a nagging tone tinged with genuine concern, folding her legs on the bed, “it’s an escape route.”

“and that’s exactly what i need, whether you like it or not,” reyna responds, folding a shirt away into the bag at her side. she’s avoiding bethany’s deep brown eyes, the same ones that she knows will be crying out to keep her from leaving, or to force her to leave sooner. but reyna has made her decision, she can’t come back from this, “the templars will sniff me out soon enough. and because they can’t use me as some example of a mage gone rogue with the chantry’s brand, they’ll kill me for this.”

bethany doesn’t answer after that, and they sit in silence.  she feels bad about talking to her like that, but she has to. bethany is twenty five now, she isn’t a child like when they first arrived in kirkwall. she can handle herself, should anyone give her trouble and aveline isn’t around to protect her. 

it wasn’t an option she liked, but she trusted aveline with her life -- no matter how much they squabbled before over morals and reyna’s own questionable actions towards the templars as of recently. bethany would be safer here under the protection of the guard captain than with her on the road.

“you’ve been here for two days, and you said you’d leave earlier this week.” bethany’s voice is quiet when she speaks up again, the jangle of keys in her hand when she gives them to her, “what are you waiting for?”

reyna bitterly chuckles, “are you trying to get rid of me too, dear sister?” she asks, remembering how aveline had advised the same thing to her. kirkwall was still reeling after she’d hidden out with the vallens for a bit to let it blow over long enough to trek home without suspicion. the others...they’d be safe. they couldn’t go after fenris, they wouldn’t know of his involvement and merrill and isabela would be out of town within the month on isabela’s ship. and varric?

varric always had a way out. she didn’t know how this time, everyone knew he was involved with her, but he assured her he’d find a way.

she still sat up, waiting for the cellar door to open those two nights she spent in her own home since then. and yet...it doesn’t. it remains closed, and locked.

did he wear it that night?

“no! no of course not, reyna if i could go with you--” bethany cuts herself off, a frown on her face when reyna rises from her knees, pushing the half empty case back under the bed, “you know that i would. i just...don’t want you caught. everything is so...crazy right now. why are you staying so long?”

“it doesn’t matter. i’m leaving tonight, less templars out and the guards will be able to get me out of the city before knight-captain rutherford even knows i was back in hightown.” reyna shrugs, retying the scarf around her neck. the sun was due to go down in just a bit, the sky still playing with colors of a deep pink and the black encroaching upon it. the guards would switch into their night shift soon.

“that’s...not it.” bethany follows after her as reyna throws the pack on over her shoulder, “you know that’s not what it is.”

“why are you so desperate to know?” reyna quips back, biting her lip to keep from yelling. she knows why, she knows exactly why she’s still here and not heading for the hanged man to sail with isabela. and yet..it’s still stupid to admit out loud. it’s beyond foolish, and the same thing that got her mother in trouble before she was born, “surely you don’t intend to gossip with isabela.”

“reyna...” bethany gives her a look that’s reminiscent of leandra’s, and she cringes back from it. she knows bethany is only concerned from her safety, concerned about her, but she’s more concerned about her’s. and that hurts. reyna was the reason they even had to be careful, the reason bethany had to change her name and cut her hair. and yet, here she was, still caring about her foolish older sister after it all.

it infuriated and wounded her at the exact same time. bethany’s hand brushes her shoulder as she pauses at the door frame, and reyna tenses at the touch against her bicep. why why why had she done all of this? she could’ve just let meredith go on her tirade, turned a blind eye. they had such a nice cushy house here in hightown, and now the amell estate would surely be passed over to some other templar allied noble once everything was in order. they would’ve won and lost their mother’s childhood home within a decade. 

but no. she’d let her own interests blind her to the real goal. she couldn’t stay incognito long enough to let herself even enjoy it.

“reyna, please. just tell me, that way i can help. that way i can find whatever it is you’re looking for.” another beat of silence, “i know you don’t like talking about what bothers you, or makes you angry for my sake and everyone elses’ sake but sometimes people genuinely want to help you. i want to help you.”

“like how meredith helped the mages?” she asks coldly, and bethany’s eyes are startled and hurt but the words keep pouring out of her mouth, “like how orsinio  helped the mages? like how i -- how i helped anders? you can’t help me, bethany.”

her sister freezes, a grimace on her young face as reyna tries not to look over her shoulder before turning on her, “like how i put everything aside to stand behind him when he needed me? and i cost kirkwall their circle, their knight enchanter and their knight-commander? like how i helped kirkwall?”

“you did help!” bethany argues, reaching out to take her hand. reyna snaps it back, “you helped so many people while you were here!”

“at what cost! at what cost did i help everyone back in ‘34, and then lose mother to a blood mage? at what cost did i help by keeping you out of the deep roads, and then losing you to the gallows? at what cost did i help anders, and then lose the chantry because i was so goddamn blind?!”

“you weren’t blind! you wanted to help us, and you did. you can’t apologize for that reyna-”

“i’m not apologizing! i’ll never sodding apologize for what i believe in, but riddle me this bethany -- do you think the chantry would be a smoking crater if i had said no? if i’d denied the idea that i could split anders and justice? do you think we’d have to leave if i didn’t want to help the mages so goddamn bad that i costed us our place in kirkwall?”

“that’s not your fault. you stood up for what you believed in, you stood up for me!” bethany cries, “that’s not your fault. none of it is. it’s-it’s...”

“it’s anders’. that’s what everyone says, right?” reyna runs a hand through her hair, feeling her hands begin to shake the way they do when she doesn’t feel okay, when she doesn’t feel right. her mother had always been able to calm her down but now she can barely speak.

“no. no it isn’t.” bethany avoids her gaze, “you said you believed in him. believed in what he said. believed in what was right.”

reyna throws out her hands around them, “is this what is right, bethany? templars hunting me down, everyone forced to leave because of me and him? was it right that i let what made me happy blind me to what was the truth?”

“i-”

“no! it wasn’t! i can’t defend my actions, i can’t defend his. i can’t defend how i hunted templars down and then pretended to figuratively wash my hands of the blood that was spilled when the chantry came down!” she’s breathing hard, her chest tight, “i can’t defend anyone’s actions -- there was no compromise, but was any of it worth it just so i could have one more day with him!?”

she doesn’t know where her words have gone. but they’re not there anymore. none to pull on. nothing else to say lest she reveal why she’s still here, nothing left to say that she hasn’t already said twenty times over, nor anything she can say that won’t sound like she’s complaining about the mess she got herself into. 

bethany’s eyes glimmer with sad understanding, once she is no longer taken aback by her outburst, “you’re waiting for him. you still think he’ll come back.”

reyna is silent. she knows if she denies it, bethany will pick her apart until she falls apart.

her sister shouldn’t have to listen to her like this. shouldn’t have to pay for her mistakes.

“you believed in him at some point, you cared about him and you were happy, i know you were. and you didn’t want to stay in kirkwall even before all of this. i think the words you used were even ‘these four walls can’t hold me anymore’ the last time you visited.” bethany’s demeanor is soft compared to her own, gently pulling her gloves on, “you...i’ll stay here with you if i have to. reyna if you still love-”

“no! i don’t!” a fire burns inside her as her hands tighten into fists at her side, anger climbing up her throat to choke the words out of her, “i don’t! do you really think that-”

“would you still be here if you didn’t?”

that gives reyna pause long enough to keep from punching the wall next to her. there are holes in her room from earlier, days before bethany had managed to make it out of the shithole of the gallows through varric’s assistance. scars are still just barely healing on her knuckles, and they’re splitting open again from just how hard she’s folded her hands into balls at her side.

“no. you wouldn’t, because you care. you would’ve skipped town already if you didn’t.”

“he used me, bethany. he knew what he was doing and he still did it! would someone who loved someone else really do something like that, without their conscience betraying them?” reyna walks further away from her sister, making to descend down the stairs, “would he still give me all that goddamn praise for what i was doing for the mages in the circle if he really loved me?”

“reyna, you’re not even thinking anymore. of course he loved you-”

“how would you know!” at the bottom of the stairs, reyna whirls on her sister, a fearful look in her matching pair of dark eyes before she even registers it, “how would you know bethany? nobody knew, absolutely no one knew not even me! i’m supposed to be the bloody champion of kirkwall and instead i kept an apostate in my home for upwards of three years, and assisted with destroying the chantry at the same time! all because i thought he cared about me, and i just ignored all the warning signs! i should’ve known, i should’ve said something -- said anything and yet i didn’t because i couldn’t! i was weak and i’m paying the price for it now!”

her eyes sting with unshed tears, frustration taking precedent and building up in her tightening throat, “if he really cared about me, he would’ve told me! that’s what we did, that’s what we always did! i was willing to risk my neck for karl, i was willing to help get a group of apostates out for him, ‘oh hawke is always ready to help’, sodding irresponsibly stupid old me, right?”

“you’re not stupid, you’re not stupid reyna.” bethany bypasses the near shove she gives her sister and instead wraps her arms around her waist, holding tight, “you loved him. you did. i know what losing carver and losing mother did to you. and i know i couldn’t be here for you. i wish i could’ve been. to help you through all of it but i couldn’t. i trusted anders to stay with you, i trusted him to keep you grounded. you weren’t weak. you were stronger than any of us.”

reyna is shaking, her hands stuck at her sides as bethany buries her head in her shoulder. she’s hurt, she’s very hurt by all of this, feeling like she’s been stabbed twenty times over with her own blades when anders had admitted to the crime with a resigned tone of voice, sitting hunched over away from her. expecting death, surprised she did not grant it even at the cost of fenris’ trust. she was aware nothing would change if they didn’t do anything drastic, she’s not wounded by that. she’s destroyed on the inside because he didn’t tell her. 

she trusted him with every part of her. told him things that no one would ever hear come from her lips. things she hadn’t even told herself before. they had each other’s backs for years, and that was where the line of trust snapped.

where did she go wrong? 

was this her fault? because she’d come off as too much? would he have told her if she pressed him for why his demeanor had changed instead of dealing with everyone else’s problems?

she thought she’d meant everything to him. neither of them had anyone left but each other. he’d been there when her mother died, had consoled her to the best of his ability when bethany had been taken. 

and yet?

and yet that still wasn’t enough. it wasn’t enough to trust her. it wasn’t enough to let her say ‘i trust you, and i’m with you’.

love is a strong word for someone who immediately lost all claim on it regarding her. 

but?

she would lie if she said there was nothing left for him to possibly reclaim someday. a long time from now, maybe a lifetime.

but not never.

“he did one shitty job of it.” she chuckles darkly, resigning to put her arms around her sister. knowing that this will be one of the few times she even gets the chance in the next few days, weeks, months and maybe even years, carefully as she chokes out her name, “bethany.”

“yes, sister?” 

“i don’t...i don’t think he’s coming home.” that breaks a part of her inside, blinking a few times up at the dark ceiling to keep herself from falling apart completely -- why was her sister even still here? she had bigger things to worry about than her washed up older sister, the ex-champion of kirkwall, “as much as i might wish it, i don’t think he will be.” 

“he told you he loved him in the gallows, right before orsinio went mad, you know. he was terrified, he was focused exclusively on keeping you alive when we fought meredith. i don’t think i ever caught him with his eyes off of you.” bethany says, gently untangling herself, “maybe it’s not worth atonement in your eyes. i’m not sure. but...” her eyes dart to where the hall ends and the cellar begins a turn later, “maybe he will come back to you.”

does he deserve her forgiveness for that? at all? just because he still loved her before then? because he’d looked her in the eyes, the corners of them crinkling with a look of adoration, of sadness, and had promised her a world where it wouldn’t matter if they were together? how undeniably warm his hands had felt in her’s when their fingers curled together shortly before the ensuing fight against the templars?

she doesn’t know.

she’s so angry that she genuinely wants to hit something. wants to yell at someone, anything. sit someone down and explain why there is a wildfire burning her soul from the inside out, why she so desperately just wants this all to end. wake up from the nightmare that has plagued her for days. will most likely haunt her for the rest of her life.

but she’s also hurt. so makerdamned hurt. where did the trust even go, did it run off or was it never there to begin with? was it worth destroying herself again, on the run with surely thedas’ most wanted mage only because she thought he cared for her?

is that what she wants? or was that decision already made for her?

was it foolish? was it foolish to wait and wait and wait even though she knows the chances of him coming back are slim?

she’d understood -- had said that she knew they’d never be like any normal couple. that she’d have to run, because apostates would never be free. and yet, she’d taken the plunge. had accepted her fate.

all reyna can say is, “i don’t know.”

bethany nods, playing with the deep black curls their mother had given her, before stepping past her, “it’s dark out now. i can’t stay here any longer, sister. donnic will get worried and come out looking for me.”

“i-i know.” reyna responds, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking out the limp curls in her hair from the braid she’d worn earlier, bethany padding closer to the door and pulling her heavy cloak off of the hook, “bethany--be careful.”

“i will. i promise.” bethany says, “as long as you do as well. they will not be friendly to you on the road. anders may not have a phylactery but-”

“they know what he looks like. i know that. that’s to say he even comes by later, though,” reyna takes a breath, trying not to antagonize her sister, “but i will.”

bethany waves, a sad smile on her face before the large door closes, the sound reverberating through the foyer. her calming presence is gone, and reyna feels the cold beginning to seep in her. now that bethany has left, she doesn’t have to pretend she’s okay to keep her sister from worrying more than she already has done. she sadly chuckles, bethany had gotten that from their mother -- a worried hen for all her chicks.

that was supposed to be reyna, watching over her sister. keeping her safe from the templars, keeping her alive. bethany wasn’t supposed to have to come to the estate just to check on her. but she’d been so busy trying to change something that had weathered the pattern of time that she’d neglected everything else. her friends, her family.

herself.

the fire warms her bones to the best of it’s meager ability, her hands regaining feeling. it was a cold night out, she’d have to wear one of her thicker cloaks when she finally left.

this wasn’t how it was supposed to end. and yet here she was, spending the last night in her family home. she says an apology to her mother under her breath, an apology to gamlen even, an apology to her grandparents, an apology to bethany, to carver, to her father. 

she’d failed every single one of them.

reyna doesn’t break down. she knows if she does, she won’t ever leave. she’ll just stay here and be sad and cry about the things she can’t control. and she doesn’t have time for that.

she’s supposed to be the strong one. she can’t be that if she’s bawling like a baby.

inevitably, she spends another two hours in the estate, bordering three and eyes barely open while she stokes the fire every few go arounds. she’s ready to leave, bag over her shoulders and conscience weighing down on her like a brick. but she wanders the house instead, listlessly and without a true purpose.

admiring everything they’d earned after so many years. brushing a hand against her mother’s portrait when she stops in the main hall just outside the room that has been locked since her death. the same brown eyes they all shared staring back at her, a small smile that reyna wants to see again. there’s a smaller one of carver she’d had commissioned years ago with her first allowance from the expedition, and it sits next to her’s. she was supposed to have bethany, father and herself done at some point. a family of portraits once they’d properly settled into the estate.

and then she’d gotten busy, and never finished the task.

she hates to say that she used to wonder if she’d get anders done as well, if they ever solidified what they used to have. she pulls her eyes away from the younger leandra, descending the steps again and making sure all the doors are locked. donnic and aveline are the only two with keys to the estate besides anders and bethany. she would not let the templars have her home if she still had any say about it.

she’s near the front door, cloak donned dutifully around her shoulders and gloves donned, daggers hidden in sheathes on her thighs when she hears the distant sound of a door open and close. her whole body freezes, fearful that it’s an intruder. a templar maybe, they’d found the secret entrance to the cellar under the house. it wouldn’t be the first time, and she should’ve known it wouldn’t be the last. of course it would be the day that she intends to leave.

seizing, she pulls her daggers out, gripping the handles with shaky hands before pushing herself up against the wall leading down the hall. she’d left the door open, what a foolish mistake.

boots. the sound of boots against the carpet. quiet, soft. they aren’t trying to announce their presence, but she doesn’t want to take the risk to look over her shoulder into the inky darkness. she recognizes everyone’s footfalls. she had to, that was part of her training while she lived in lothering and it had saved her life more than a few times since she’d moved to kirkwall.

and terrifyingly-

-she recognizes these. the ones that accompany a long night in the clinic, ones that accompany a proper hunt in the city for mages to help escape.

a quiet voice.

a tired voice.

a resigned voice, calling out for her in a way that shatters her before he steps into the light of the fire, “hawke?”

after a moment, she falls apart. tears bubbling up in her eyes as she turns the corner from where she’d pressed herself up against the wall in preparation.

a staff that isn’t quite regulation, and the black robes she was sure were still stained with blood from a week prior.

the amber eyes she couldn’t say no to, hands that had been tangled with her’s only weeks ago.

“anders.”

he doesn’t look well. not at all. exhausted, eye bags looking darker than they had since he’d moved in with her. hair tied back hurriedly, his own robes barely tied properly.

but, there’s a cloak around his shoulders, straps from a pack as well. dark black to surely hide himself from the templars that are swarming darktown like flies on fruit. she doesn’t ignore that it’s the same one she’d given him two years ago in the dead of winter, worn, but she still recognizes the hawke crest over his heart. clear as day, and worn proudly.

or it had been, when it had been given when he’d first moved in and leandra had suggested the gift, as they and bethany both owned one. her mother had even bothered her to get his name stitched in beneath the crest, though she didn’t. 

she’s glad, she’s not sure if she could take that. not now.

“you’re here,” she responds, biting her tongue not to launch into something she’ll regret, “then you still have the key.”

“you gave me it. i would not simply lose something so important,” that grits against her nerves in a way she can’t explain, though he hesitates to step forward towards her, “you are free to have it back, as i suppose you’re leaving the city according to varric.”

“is this not also your home?” she asks bitterly, forgoing the fact she’d said not to tell anders when she was leaving, “or did you forget somehow in the last few months?”

reyna feels childish when she notes he doesn’t even seem angered by the accusation, just...sad. not the sort of sad where he’s begging for forgiveness at her feet and trying to guilt trip him, but the kind of sad one can only have when they’ve reached rock bottom.

“what do you want me to say, re-hawke?” and yet again, there is no anger behind the words. no deep seated frustration. reyna doesn’t know how to respond to someone who isn’t yelling at her for some reason or the other. she can deal with anger, she can yell at anger rightfully. apologetic...she doesn’t know what to do with apologetic, “if you wish for me to go, then i will. i won’t force myself where i am not wanted.”

she can’t bite them back fast enough, “you betrayed my trust, anders. you took away my right to choose when you lied to me for why you needed all of those ingredients.”

“i know.” is all he offers.

“i know?” she parrots back to him, “if you knew, if you bloody well knew then why even bother? why even accept that sodding key, why stay here? you can’t hide behind the excuse that you knew you would hurt me in the end. there must have been a part of you that knew this wouldn’t end well for you, for us.

“was there ever an us, anders?”

“yes!” something in him snaps before he pulls himself back together, “there always was, reyna. there always was, and that was never in question.”

the question is on the tip of her tongue, but she knows she will never get a proper answer. not one she doesn’t already know, “you thought i wouldn’t support you in this, so you didn’t even take the chance.”

“admit it, you wouldn’t have. no one we know would’ve. and i do not blame you.” anders nearly chastises her, “i could not take that chance to drag you into this. it would be my burden to bear.”

“i am not a child, anders.”

“i know.”

“then you would’ve known that i would at least hear you out. that i would’ve listened. that you didn’t have to play this game of secrecy with me,” she will not beg for an answer if that isn’t what he intends to give her. she is not pathetic.

“you would’ve stopped me. this was something i had to do.”

“would i have? i supported you everywhere else. nearly got myself killed for you. was that not enough to solidify that i was yours, that i would always be with you no matter what?”

when she can not find anymore words, pointedly looking at him instead, he slips the twine that the key hung on from around his neck. worn, but obviously well taken care of. it’s not even scratched upon further inspection. he holds it out her, in a similar fashion that she had given it to him earlier this year. twinkling in the dying light of the fire, spinning gently in a circle, “tell me to go, reyna.”

she hates the way he says it. as if he has already accepted that she will kick him out properly this time. how her name doesn’t sound like sugar on one’s tongue, it instead sounds like the salty tears that had poured down her cheeks for days after the chantry incident. thinly veiled frustration, barely veiled sadness.

she could tell him to go now. there’s nothing keeping her from doing so. it would be significantly easier if she did, in fact. travelling lighter, and she didn’t have to watch for templars nearly as often because an apostate wouldn’t be with her. she could support herself. she was not helpless.

it’d be that easy. just a few words, and she’d be free to leave this cursed city.

then go, anders. i don’t want you here anymore. you’ve destroyed what we had in favor of forwarding your own political agenda. you used me! you used my trust to do all of this, and now you have the audacity to come back and give me my own key back like you actually care what i think of you? you used my love for you. you twisted and tore us apart to something unfathomable. you have no right to be here. this is not your home any longer.

a fire roaring. intoxicated with adrenaline, wandering hands. happy looks, the roll of one’s eyes at another’s antics. the feeling of being a pair, the emotions she could never replicate with another.

he used me!

the warmest look in amber eyes as their lips fit together, tasting of lyrium and metallic blood.

her hand is shaking just out of the corner of her eye, she can grasp it now. it’s warm as she takes it from his hand. carefully. slowly. the twine has nearly frayed in so many places, yet knotted together again and again with dexterous hands she could only credit to him.

she knows what she has to do. the fire inside blazes and she opens her mouth to speak, setting her face. this isn’t something she should just back down from.

yet...

the words don’t come. 

they fail her. 

instead of anything else, even managing a curse or two, she moves her other hand to take his, pressing the key firmly back into his palm, curling his fingers back over it. inhaling, she wonders if she’s making the right decision. is this worth it? should she even begin to take the chance? the chance she could never have another life, never rebuild what she once had?

is it worth it to try and rebuild the shattered pieces in front of her, the scars reopening and bleeding from when it had first broken?

she remembers a vase she and her siblings had broken as children -- her mother’s in fact. blue, glittering in the dying sunlight of the evening when it had broken.

chipped. but not beyond recognition. the bigger pieces were still intact. it was glued back together with the help of their father before their mother was any the wiser.

it will hurt to put the glass back together if she chooses to pick them back up.

exhaling, she finally looks up at him. thinly veiled shock, surprise greets her instead in his expression, “don’t.” is all she can say, lest she actually let her emotions get the better of her.

reyna knows the wish that she could be alone on the road was real, was tangible. but she can’t. not after losing her father, losing carver, losing bethany, losing her mother, slowly losing the people around her to her own mind. not now. not when she knows that she still cares about him. not when there is one person left in the world like hum.

“reyna, i don’t deserve this. you know that much better than i do.” he tries to give it back to her, but she only clutches his hand tighter.

“keep it.” she nearly orders before softening her tone, “please.”

he considers his words, “if..you wish.”

reyna is quiet again. then she is really doing this, a wave of sadness passing over her. she is leaving, with the one person that caused the need to. but the person that she still has fractured trust from, the person that was her first, and if she let’s this progress, her last.

“i will not try to explain it again. you know my reasoning, reyna. and i am truly sorry for the pain i have caused you,” he admits quietly, “i can say a million things, but you would still find faults. and i can never truly apologize for what happened.”

“you can’t,” she agrees, wrapping her cloak around her lithe figure tighter, “you’re right on that front.”

he’s not phased by her response, “i am not asking to be taken back. i know i have foolishly thrown away what we had.”

“again, you are correct,” she rubs the fabric in between her gloved fingers. she hesitates again, knowing what she says now will make or break whatever this is, “but. why are you here then? if you know?”

“i...was not going to ask to travel with you, but to say goodbye. i was unsure if you wanted to see me, or if you were even still here to be entirely honest, but i wished to try,” he pauses, “i will always care for you, reyna. even if it is no longer reciprocated.”

and that is it. it sounds terribly final, as if he is ready to leave right that very moment. he has not made another advance towards her, but his eyes crinkle into a sad smile. one that is all too reminiscent of the same received that fateful day she’d first met him.

a rush of anxiety takes her heart hostage before she speaks again, turning over her shoulder to walk towards the door. she can’t face him when she’s on the brink of a breakdown, “you always did assume so much, anders.” reyna muses.

she doesn’t watch his reaction, but she can hear him walking ever closer, the sound of his staff dragging along the ground doing nothing to hide his presence from her, “will i see you again?” he asks hurriedly.

another blink. another halt of her thought process.

she can’t do this. she was supposed to be strong. but she isn’t. he’s too much to her, he’s been too much to her. how much he gave her, material and emotionally. she’s not ready to rip that away.

it wouldn’t be the same.

everything is still much too raw. too painful to touch. but no one said she had to touch an open would right then, in that very moment. another time, when it was easier to treat. allowed time to heal.

“it would be a crime if you did not,” she puts a hand on the knob, cold through her gloves. it’s nearly entirely dark, now that the fire is gone and the moonlight is shining through the window to illuminate the room, glinting off the steel of hids staff, “tell me, anders.”

“anything.” he answers, careful, calculating. gauging her reaction.

“can--” she turns over her shoulder, tears building in her eyes as she awaits his response, “can you still give me a world like the one you described in the gallows?”

he’s rendered speechless for once. then, recognition flashes through his eyes, as if he is remembering exactly what she is talking about. then, a nod, “i can surely try, if you allow me the pleasure.”

reyna pulls her hood up over head. considering, overthinking at this point, before taking his hand with her free one. this would not be perfect, far from it. she still has anger boiling just underneath the surface. they will both be hunted, unless they should leave the free marches. she is signing away any chance at a normal life.

she squeezes his fingers in her’s tentatively, “then let us find it, yes?”

[acraftedmistake]

A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM Chp. 11

Heck YE chp 11!!

Hope you enjoy!

Petra stared at the distant Obsidian Town from her bedroom’s window. Well, it wasn’t a ‘window’, rather one of the many big holes in her cave that led to the outside world. And her bedroom wasn’t really a ‘room’, but a small area Petra had hollowed out herself. Many people would never consider a cave to be ‘homey’, much less a place to sleep in, but anyplace with a bed in it was good enough for Petra. You’d be surprised how a few chests, lanterns, and furnaces could make a cold environment comfortable.

Obsidian Town stood quietly in the middle of the plain field, it’s dark border and watchtowers stood out from the green grass and the blue sky which was soon to fade into orange, then in mere hours, to black, when the night would truly start.

She considered sleeping for a couple of hours, shuteye would do her some good. She’s been awake for nearly two days exploring caves for ores and whatever she’d find in abandoned mineshafts. But oddly enough, she wasn’t exhausted. Far from it. Perhaps it was the risk of getting caught and jailed when sneaking into caves that gave her a rush of energy, or maybe it was the satisfaction she’d recieve when finding priceless items that’d push her to search for more. Whichever reason kept her awake didn’t matter, as long as she got something in the end, she was fine with her ruined sleep schedule.

‘Not like I can afford to sleep today anyways.’ Petra told herself. She sat at the ledge of the hole and let her feet dangle as she looked over the green world below her.

‘Need to find some redstone and gold for… Whatever Aiden’s making.’ While she wasn’t certain what him and the others were going to use two of the hardest to find materials for, she could only assume they’d play a role in sending Jess and Olivia back home.

Petra had almost believed her sleep deprivation was finally catching up on her and spawned hallucinations of her past friends when she first saw them. Heck, she’s still processing seeing a live Olivia and a genuinely happy Jess for the first time in years.

She took a long, deep breath. Sitting here wasn’t going to help her find gold or redstone, she needs to get to work. Yes, she told Aiden it would take a week to find the materials, but he sounded serious, and who knows? Maybe she’ll luck out and find them sooner than expected.

She got up and stretched her back.

‘Just gotta pack my pickaxe, actually remember to take some food along, and I should make extra torches--’ Her thoughts were interrupted by two slow, loud, familiar knocks.

They sounded close.

Petra already knew who it was, but cautiously turned her head until she saw the figure sitting on the chest at the end of her room from the corner of her eye.

His eyes were rolled to the back of his head, the whites shined from the rays of the Sun, claiming Petra’s attention.

He suddenly got off the chest and began approaching her, his fists tightening.

Petra zipped her head away, squeezed her eyes shut, and held her breath.

The steps came closer and closer, then abruptly stopped. All she could hear now was his breathing.

Petra forced her stiff body to face Jesse with an empty grin, “How are ya?”

“Had better days.” Jesse answered. He loosened his body and rolled his eyes back into place, he blinked a few times.

She nodded and made her way to the chest Jesse sat on, her pickaxe was in there. She heard Jesse following behind as she knelt onto the cool, stone floor and held the top of the chest open to prevent it from slamming down on her fingers.

Jesse leaned against the cave’s wall, “You have the best reaction.”

Petra pulled out her pickaxe and set it aside, “To your eyes?”

She continued digging through the chest.

“Yeah.” A tiny but sincere smile appeared.

“Well, I know how much it means to you.” Petra forced out a chuckle for him. She remembered the first time he greeted her with white eyes, he was oddly excited about doing so. He rambled about how it was a way to greet important people, and Petra was… Flattered. She thought the greeting was going to be a one time thing, but he’s been doing it ever since. She didn’t like it. She’d always get uncomfortable. Not like she’d ever tell Jesse.

“You don’t get all scared like everyone else. Or angry like Stella and Cassie...” Jesse said, recalling their expressions. Brenner had once told him he should only perform the action when appropriate, and Jesse understood that, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t do it whenever he encountered Aiden and the others just to spite them.

“Or Radar!” Jesse added on.

“He always starts shaking when I do it.” Jesse’s grin grew as he imagined how much more severe Radar’s reaction would’ve been had he given him the greeting earlier today.

“Radar’s always…” Jesse was about to begin, but what little optimism was in his tone dwindled.

“Oh no.” Petra raised her head, she recognized that tone. “What happened this time?”

Jesse slid his back against the wall. A scowl was growing.

“Tried to get Radar to talk.” Jesse hugged his knees and dug his face into his arms. “Didn’t work out.”

Petra’s hand dug aimlessly through the chest as she debated whether or not to let Jesse elaborate. Whatever he had bottled up was moments away from bursting, but she knew what would happen if he started another one of his rantings.

Jesse glanced at Petra then continued, “I thought Brenner wanted to know what Aiden was doing. Radar was the first person I saw, so I was thinking I could be quick and get something out of him.”

Petra could only bob her head. She didn’t want to add anything, afraid her words would fuel the small fire in Jesse. He had talked about Brenner and Radar from time to time; hearing Jesse go off about Radar would remind Petra of Cassie Rose’s complaints. Neither of them were fond of the man. She's spoken to Radar before but only heard stories of Brenner, and after all Petra’s heard, she never wanted to meet him.

She tuned back into Jesse’s rambling, “...And I guess someone heard me and told them.”

Jesse threw his arms into the air, “Then they got all upset and scolded--”

“They were mad cause you helped--?”

Jesse leapt over to the chest and slammed it shut without warning, giving Petra only seconds to pull her hand out. The skin of his fingers were torn and dirty.

“Exactly!” Jesse’s pupils shook as his grip on the chest tightened.

“It’s such a… Such a stupid thing to get mad over. I got in trouble, didn’t get anything, Brenner got upset, and I didn’t mean to--!” Jesse hit the side of his head multiple times then pulled at his hair.

Be sympathetic. Be quick.

“I’m sorry.” Petra put on her best pair of caring eyes.

Jesse glared at her and exhaled, “Don’t.”

He let go of his hair, “Don’t be. It’s okay”

He rolled off the chest and stretched his arms high into the air, “I’ll probably stop by their house tonight and listen in. At least I won’t have a quitter getting me in trouble.”

Jesse began walking to the exit--another large hole which led to the rest of the cave--but stopped.

“Unless…” He turned the upper half of his body around, “Has Aiden or the others visited you recently?”

“Nope.” Petra lied, “They’ve been real caught up on searching for you.”

Jesse raised his brows, “Alright. I’ll see later?”

Petra put on a fake grin, “Same time, same place.”

Another smirk appeared on Jesse’s face before he left. Petra remained in place as she listened to his footsteps grow fainter and fainter. In two days he’ll come back. In two days, he could be angry and vicious, silent and cold, or he could be fine. But she’ll never know until two days.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“It took you that long to get a clipboard?” Maya asked Aiden, who had finally returned downstairs with Jess.

Aiden breathed in and threw his eyebrows up, “I completely forgot about the clipboard.”

“Alright.” Maya sighed as she hoisted herself off the barstool, “I’ll get it.”

Aiden quickly apologized as Maya walked past them.

Aiden rubbed his eyes and debated whether or not to make another cup of coffee before he’d help the others plan on how to find the remaining items. He was still feeling groggy from having to wake up early, but his nose scrunched when thinking about actually drinking it. He hated the taste of coffee, but it was the only thing that kept him awake. He’d much rather inject the drink into him if he could.

“Aiden!” He heard Stella call. He saw her signaling both him and Jess to come into the living room where everyone else had gathered.

The two came over to see the iron and netherrack Petra gave them laying on the coffee table. Stella was standing beside the table, focusing on the items while Gill and Olivia were sitting on the couch.

“We still need to get the gold and redstone.” Stella said, tapping her chin.

“We forgot to ask about the flint too.” Cassie Rose added, sitting on the floor and observing what netherrack they had. The pieces were on the smaller side; they definitely couldn’t afford to waste them.

“Yes,” Stella agreed, “but flint’s easier to find. I’m worried about how soon we’ll find the other two. I don’t know if Olivia and Jesse--Jess could wait an entire week. We don’t want the wrong person seeing them.”

“If I may,” Olivia spoke, straightening her posture, “why don’t we mine the materials ourselves? Wouldn’t it be faster to have the seven of us mining rather than waiting a week for one person?”

“It would.” Stella gave her a worried smile, “But we don’t have a license to do so. Unless one of us has one?”

Her eyes scanned the room, everyone shook their heads or shrugged.

She breathed out and pushed the hair out of her eyes, “If we started mining all willy-nilly, we’d get fined--or arrested! Either way, the risks would be too high and would take much longer than a week.”

Stella saw how wide Olivia’s eyes were and gave her a quick ‘sorry’ before returning to the matter at hand.

Olivia wanted to ask why Stella was apologizing, but she was too taken aback by what she was just told. She quickly peeked behind her, relieved to see Jess--wide opened mouth and all-- equally baffled as she was. She wasn’t hearing things. Thank goodness.

“Do we even know how we’re gonna make th’flint ‘n steel?” Asked Gill.

Stella stopped her talking and paused to think. She opened her mouth again but nothing came out. She put her hands on her hips and stared intensely at the materials, waiting for something to click. Aiden took out the journal from his jacket’s pocket and handed it to his stumped friend, the page to the crafting recipe already opened.

What was supposed to help had managed to make the situation even more confusing. The words were nearly indecipherable. Whoever wrote this apparently never knew you could lift your pen while writing; if the colliding sentences didn’t make it impossible to read, then the ink blotches and odd stains made sure to change that. The owner of the journal wasn’t the best artist either, as a number of cluttered scribbles--which Stella could only assume were meant to represent certain items--needed arrows and labels to be placed beside them for clarification. Not like they did any good.

Cassie joined Stella’s side and scanned the pages, “You sure this is english?”

“Where’d you say you get this from again?” Stella asked, lowering the journal.

“Hadrian’s.” Aiden answered.

“That explains it.” Cassie said.

“Alright, new idea!” Stella raised her index finger into the air, ready to go off but quickly halted when she heard footsteps.

Maya popped out from the staircase and looked at the group, “What are we doing?”

“I believe some of us should find the remaining materials, while the rest of us figure out this mess.” Stella said, showing the selected pages to her friends.

Aiden folded his arms, “Not that I’m against the plan, but we need to know where to look.”

Gill stroked his beard for a moment, then his eyes lit up, “Whattabout th’shrine?”

He whipped his head over to Aiden, who didn’t appear as enthusiastic as him, and his smile weakened.

“None of our shrine experiences have been good experiences…” Aiden mumbled, gripping his right arm.

Aiden was ready to ask for other suggestions, but Gill interrupted, his excitement rising again.

“Oh, no! I was thinkin’ bout the one we went to a couple’a years ago. The one in th’forest when we fought The Awakening the first time?”

Aiden relaxed, “Yeah, we could do that.”

“Should be safe enough.” Maya said, going through the chest in the living room, taking out her and her friends’ weapons for the journey. Just in case.

She pulled out her iron sword and held it firmly as she joined Aiden and Gill’s side, “Those guys ditched that place the second we took down their monster, I don’t think they went back to get any of their weapons. Or items. Or whatever cults keep.”

“There should probably be a ton of redstone left.” Cassie Rose added, walking over to the armchair and throwing herself onto it.

“Alright, Gill, Maya, and I are going to the shrine...” Aiden pointed at the redhead, “Rose, you wanna join us?”

Rose sunk deeper into the chair, “Nah, not this time. I think I’ll stay here and help Stella.” She said through a yawn.

“I’d like to go!” Jess piped up. This would be the perfect opportunity to properly explore another shrine without the constraints he had in the Shrine of Eyes. He was hoping Aiden and the others would be willing to answer the millions of questions his mind was bound to spawn while they’d be there.

Olivia found herself fascinated with the shrines as well, wondering what history of this universe it could contain. She pushed herself off the couch, “Same here--woah.”

A wave of dizziness came over her, she clutched onto the armrest and focused on the floorboards until everything stopped.

Stella cautiously approached her, “Are you alright? Hurt?”

Olivia kept her eyes on the ground, afraid looking elsewhere would cause the world to spin again, “I think I’m hungry?”

“Did you eat enough? What did you have for breakfast?” Stella asked as she hurried into the kitchen to grab the first piece of food she saw.

Did she even have breakfast? Or lunch? She would technically be having dinner at this time. All Olivia remembered was being too preoccupied with her book to eat.

“Words.” Olivia answered.

Stella frantically came back with a banana in her hand and quickly gave it to Olivia.

Olivia wished she could have thanked Stella, but she had torn the peel off and started devouring the fruit, unaware of how hungry she truly was.

“I think--just to be cautious--you’ll stay with Cassie and I. We don’t want you passing out. And you four!” She faced Jess, Aiden, Maya, and Gill again, “Be safe.”

Though she spoke to all four of them, her stern tone was targeted towards Aiden.

“I’ll make sure they don’t get themselves killed.” Maya said, handing Aiden and Gill their swords.

Aiden rolled his eyes and smirked, “We’ll be in and out. Won’t take too long.”

Before leaving, Jess wanted to check to make sure Olivia was--and is going to be--alright. After the right amount of reassurance, he waved goodbye as he followed Aiden’s group out the door, leaving the three girls to themselves.

Stella glanced at the pages of the journal then to Olivia and Cassie.

“I’m going to translate this mess the best I can, stay right here!” She ran upstairs, not giving the two a chance to respond.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“We go to the shrine, be prepared in case someone’s gonna attack us, I brought a pouch for the redstone--” Aiden was recapping aloud to himself.

He suddenly whipped his head to Maya, “It’s in the northwest forest, right?”

“Yup. Northwest.” She confirmed. Aiden spun back around and continued brainstorming how their search was going to play out.

The question seemed kinda pointless to Jess. Though Aiden was hardly paying attention to what direction they’ve been walking, he’s been leading the three to--what Jess was hoping--the right direction of the shrine with zero hesitation.

Jess wasn’t sure how much longer the walk to this shrine would be, they’ve already been walking for nearly 20 minutes. The sun was lowering and the world was growing darker ever so slowly, but Jess was somehow restless. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason; he could be excited for the shrine, or terrified of the active cult and Jesse, or absolutely amazed by this universe, there were too many possibilities and emotions merging together.

‘Well, whether I’m scared or not,’ Jesse glanced at Aiden, Gill, and Maya, ‘I have Olivia and people who can help me.’ Yes, he had a rocky start with this group, but things felt like they were beginning to smooth out. He didn’t know how long him and Olivia would be stuck here, could be a few more days, or it could be a few more months, but it’d do them good to befriend this universe’s Aiden, Gill, Maya, Stella, and Cassie Rose.

‘I wonder if Radar would be okay with seeing me again.’ Jess thought to himself, recalling what had happened in the morning.

Jess must’ve been facing Maya while he was spacing out, as the girl was staring back at him with a raised brow.

“You good?”

“Huh--yeah! I just--you looked off.” Jesse fibbed, feeling his face redden.

“Thanks.” Her brow fell to complete her unimpressed expression

“Oh, no! I didn’t mean it like that! It’s uh, you--your shirt!” Jess was only searching for an excuse, but to his surprise, there was something off about her shirt.

Maya blinked.

“Cause I don’t have the ‘E’ on it?” She traced the letter E on her blank shirt as she said this.

Jess blinked then nodded. Everything she had on yesterday she wore a fresh pair of today, but her shirt was plain red with a light, blue-gray neckline. Her yellow hair clip was also absent.

Maya was about to turn around, but Jess suddenly asked “So why’s mining illegal?”

Aiden, Maya, and Gill had been talking to each other during their walk, and Jess didn’t want to interrupt--as they seemed preoccupied with their plans--but he couldn’t stay silent forever. This was the time to finally have a conversation of his own.

Jesse saw Maya open her mouth, expecting her to answer, but instead Gill replied.

“It’s not illegal, just really really really regulated.”

Maya added on, “Town’s real serious about who’s mining. They don’t like having the wrong people getting materials. You can thank The Awakening for that.”

Jess tilted his head, “What could they have done to make a ‘mining license’ a real thing?”

He couldn’t get over needing a license for something he and his friends could do freely back at home.

“Man, it all happened… I dunno, decades ago? People were jus’ fightin’ over materials ‘n things got real ugly.” Gill stared into the sky.

“You got all these people looking for the same thing,” Jess heard Maya say, “usually in the same place, with the same goal. But it didn’t matter if they had the same goal, everyone wanted to be the first to get it. The second someone found gold or redstone, everyone’d jump and tear them limb from limb.”

“We don’t want anyone gettin’ stuff for The Awakening either.” said Gill.  

Jess didn’t stop to let this information settle in, instead, he immediately asked another question, “I know this happened years ago, but you wouldn’t happen to know what this goal was, do you?”

“The same goal The Awakening’s always had: Summon The Hero.” Maya answered sternly.

“They’re that determined?” Jess asked.

“That stubborn.” She growled.

Aiden spoke up, “Should only be a few minutes away now.”

Jess brought his attention to what stood before them: a forest of thin, birch trees with scrawny branches.

“Would you like t’hear more bout the minin’ or… somethin’.” Gill hid his face from Jess as if embarrassed by what he had said.

“Yeah,” Jess grinned, “I’d like that a lot.”

Gill quickly peeked over at Jess and saw his infectious, curious smile, which caused Gill to beam brightly as well.

He started rambling on about how people created homes in caves, to tales created and shared to scare others away from the best mining spots, to the structures people would make, then Gill would be reminded of another bit of trivia he had learned from Mevia and Hadrian, which would lead to another sidetracked story Gill would talk about. He was talking too fast for Jess to respond, but Jess didn’t mind. He enjoyed the enthusiastic explanations and Gill’s unwavering smile.

Their walking came to a slow as they reached a clearing in the middle of the woods. The clearing had a dry, dirt ground devoid of grass and flowers unlike the rest of the woods, and had six large, dark gray rocks--some as tall as Jess--arranged in a sloppy circle. Aiden commented on not remembering these being here and approached a boulder to his right, which was placed in between two other rocks. He called Gill over for help as he began pushing, Maya stood by in case the two needed an extra hand.

Jesse took the time he had to study his surroundings. This was the second forest he’s been to today, but unlike the one to Petra’s, this one seemed peaceful. Unnervingly so. While Petra’s was tangled and crowded, the trees here were spaced apart--as if repelled by one another--with branches who barely brushed against each other. Because of the gracious space between the trees, the forest was well lit. The sun’s light only emphasized how empty the forest was.

The other forest was loud, cluttered, and chaotic in the way nature should be, but here? There were no sounds. No chirping, no buzzing, not even a light breeze to rustle the leaves, only their footsteps and the grunting of Aiden and Gill.

It felt lifeless.

It felt wrong.

“Jess!” Aiden called out.

Jess saw Gill and Aiden had successfully pushed the rock far enough to reveal a man made, rectangular hole. Aiden motioned him to come over as he began walking into the hole. There was a staircase?

He rushed to the hole and peered into the cobweb filled stairway. How welcoming.

He waited for Gill and Maya to take a couple of steps down so there’d be enough space for him to follow behind. The instant his foot made contact with the first step, he swore the world became colder.

After moments of walking, they came to a stop. Jess peeked over Maya’s shoulder and saw Aiden swinging open an old, wooden door that led to an abyss. Both Aiden and Gill soon stepped through the doorway and disappeared into the darkness, Maya soon following. Jess stopped in his tracks and turned his head, taking one last glance at the surface before facing the entrance again. He brought his eyes up and felt them glue onto a cracked symbol embedded into the wall above. When he finally stepped into the shrine and had been swallowed by the shadows, he could still visualize the symbol as if it was still in front of him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Did you ever have any pets?” Olivia asked Cassie Rose. Olivia was sitting like a normal person would on a couch, while Cassie was crouching on the armchair, knees close to her chest and hands in her hoodie’s pocket.

“Nah.” Cassie answered, “Thought about getting one before, though. Why?”

“Well, back in my universe, you had a cat named Winslow and--”

“What!?” Cassie's sputtered response caused Olivia to jump, “Are you serious?!”

“Uh-huh,” Olivia nodded, caught off guard by her reaction, “you had well over five.”

“Aw man.” Cassie sunk into the armchair, “We always thought Stella was going to be the crazy cat lady. My day’s been ruined.”

“No, Stella had a llama.” Olivia said.

“My day is now better.”

Cassie didn't know what good knowing she was a cat-obsessed murderer and Stella being a llama-owning city-leader in an alternate universe would be, but it was fun to hear about. Maybe they’d be nice conversation starters, or something to say during arguments.

“Okay, good news!” The two heard Stella say as she hurried down the stairs.

“I was able to translate a couple of sentences!” She said, waving a piece of paper in the air with one hand, and holding the journal in the other.

She sat on the same couch as Olivia and lowered the paper, “The bad news is I’m still terribly confused.”

“Could I take a look?” Asked Olivia. Stella gave her the paper, Cassie hopped off her seat and joined Olivia’s side to see what her friend had managed to decipher.

It was no surprise to read they needed to create a flint and steel to get this recipe started, but besides that section, everything else read like a complex riddle they needed to solve to reach the next step. There was gibberish about needing a netherrack base, a redstone powder layered fire striker, and something about a gold coating. Olivia found herself wondering how they’d even begin to make this and if it even worked.

“A netherrack base?” Cassie repeated, as puzzled as the others.

“Is the flint and steel itself gonna be made of netherrack, or do we make the flint and steel and then cover it in netherrack?” She asked Stella.

“I really don’t know.” Stella gave her a defeated shrug, “But I don’t think we have enough netherrack for either. The pieces we have aren’t going to be enough.”

Olivia looked back at the table in front of them where the netherrack laid. She could easily hold them all in one hand with little hassle. If they wanted to file down the netherrack into the shape of a flint and steel’s base, they’d most likely shave off too much and be stuck with a more miniscule amount than what they started with.

“As much as I don’t like the place,” Olivia said, “why don’t we go to the Nether and get more? I’ve been there a number of times, and as long as we’re careful, we--”

“You’ve been to the Nether?!” The two exclaimed in unison. Cassie appeared thrilled while Stella was mortified.  

“Do you like it there? Isn’t it cool?!” Cassie asked, bouncing in place. Her eyes were sparkling.

“It certainly is red.” Olivia said.

“We can’t go there because…” Stella’s shoulders stiffen. She pressed her lips together and began cringing when fully considering the idea.

“I could go on about how dangerous it is there, not to mention illegal…”

As Stella continued her list, Olivia remembered Aiden briefly stating portals and traveling to other worlds was illegal yesterday. Her book also somewhat described the unstable portals people created years ago. However, that was the most she knew, as pages of information--useful information, no doubt--had been torn. Perhaps now would be a good time to ask for more facts.

“... We don’t have enough obsidian, fireproof potions are ridiculously expensive--”

Olivia was about to ask why portals were illegal, but she froze and stared at Stella for a moment.

“I’m sorry… You’re telling me it’s hard to find obsidian… In Obsidian Town?”

“I’m sorry, is there a beacon everywhere you step in Beacon Town?”  Cassie Rose’s eyebrows shot up.

Olivia let her mouth hang before mumbling a quick “No.”

“We use obsidian to make bases for our buildings. It’s the only thing strong enough to keep them in place when a quake strikes.” Stella explained.

Olivia shook her head and asked her original question, “Hold on, why would you make portals illegal?”

Stella tapped her foot as her anxiousness increased, they really needed to work on this recipe, “Do you want the long version or the short version?”

Olivia took note of the blonde’s fidgety behavior, “... Short, please.”

She would have to get the long version later.

Cassie promptly started talking, “Okay, creepy cult people have this dumb theory that The Hero’s been banished to another universe, right?”

“Alright?” She responded. Right off the bat Olivia was confused, but she was afraid saying anything else would be wasting more time.

“Right, so they start making a ton of portals, thinking they’ll find Mr. No-Eyes in the Nether. Welp, turns out, he wasn’t there, so they created different portals to different places. People started going missing, a lotta materials went blip, and then there were so many portals the world started freaking out. A few hundred years later and here we are.”

Cassie’s explanation answered half a question and created 50 more.

“Thank you, Cassie.” Stella gave a nervous, but genuine, smile.

She glanced at what items they had on the table and sighed, “We should’ve asked Petra if she had any flint and steels on her.”

“She only has the one for her nether portal, no way is she gonna give that up.” Cassie said.

“I wouldn’t mind if she gave us a dead one. It’d be nice to have a reference to work off of.”

Did they not know how to make flint and steels?

‘I guess with portals banned, people started making flint and steels less? Or they could’ve been outlawed since they activate the portals…’ Olivia pondered. Either way, she knew how to make a flint and steel, so might as well speak up.

“Actually, I…” Olivia stopped

The two girls waited for her to continue, but then Olivia realized: She knew how to make them, but she didn’t know how to explain it. Just like making redstone contraptions, her mind would go on autopilot and start creating without a second thought, it all came so naturally to her. Maybe if she had the necessary materials in front of her, she could easily show them how to craft the item. But she didn’t. She closed her mouth and stared blankly at the table.

“Uhm, nevermind.” She could feel her cheeks grow red.

“You know who probably has a bunch of dead flint and steels?” Cassie asked, whipping her head to Stella. “Hadrian and Mevia.”

[evanbuckley-heartofgold]

Day 2: Interrupted

@buddiefirstkissweek

Summary: A temporary replacement captain brings out Eddie’s protective side.

CW: swearing, implied use of the 'r' word

Read on ao3

Something Eddie noticed quickly about Buck is that he’s constantly making noise or fidgeting. Buck is always tapping his foot, humming to himself, talking endlessly, or drumming on the table. It’s not that Eddie finds it annoying, quite the opposite actually. He loves Buck’s little ticks and the rest of the team has been together long enough to have gotten used to them. It never even occurred to Eddie to find them annoying.

When Eddie asked him why he does it, Buck stuttered out, “It, uh, it helps with my ADHD. It helps me focus.”

Eddie smiled. He hadn’t known his best friend had ADHD, but now it’s starting to click together in his head and actually makes a lot of sense.  Eddie squeezed Buck’s shoulder, “I’m glad it helps.”

But clearly their replacement captain doesn’t think so.

Bobby is on vacation, a well deserved one, with Athena and the kids. That leaves the 118 with a temporary replacement from the 148 while it’s being reconstructed. His name is Captain Peter Jenkins and right away Eddie hates him.

They were sitting in the back of the truck, on their way back to the station after a car wreck. As usual, Buck was prattling on about the differences between the LAFD and NYFD (one of his latest interests). Eddie, genuinely interested, pipes in to ask a few questions here and there, but mostly he lets Buck ramble. He knows it helps him destress after calls. Hen and Chim are passively listening, but still paying attention. As much as they pretend to be annoyed with Buck’s rambling and info dumps, what he’s talking about is really interesting most of the time.

Eddie loves watching Buck talk about something he’s interested in. His face lights up and it seems like he can’t talk fast enough to keep up with the thoughts in his head, he uses his hands much more. And, despite his best efforts, Eddie can feel himself falling more and more in love with Buck.

“Buckley!” Jenkins snaps, turning around to glare at him. “Can you shut your mouth for two seconds?”

“Sorry, cap,” Buck tries to laugh it off, but his shoulders fill with tension as his leg starts bouncing up and down on the floor. Eddie frowns as Buck doesn’t say a word the rest of the way back.

Eddie brushes it off as a one-time thing, maybe Jenkins just likes quiet after calls. But then they’re all sitting eating lunch and Buck, who finished his food quickly, is leaning back in his chair, drumming his finger against the edge of the table. Eddie has his arm around the back of Buck’s chair (just to make sure he doesn’t fall, no other reason) and is conversing with Chim about his plans with Maddie after work the next day.

The noise of Buck’s knuckles on the table isn’t particularly loud, especially with the others talking over it, but Eddie watches the captain’s face flick down to Buck’s hands over and over again before, “Buckley, can you sit still for once in your goddamn life?” Jenkins fixes Buck with an annoyed stare.

Buck softly apologizes and puts his hands on his lap, putting all four feet of the chair back on the floor. Eddie’s metaphorical feathers bristle protectively and he can see that Hen and Chim are feeling the same. How dare he talk to Buck like that? Without a word, Eddie slips his hand into Buck’s who looks at him gratefully. With their hands clasped under the table, Buck begins to gently squeeze Eddie’s hand in a rhythm only he can follow.

And if Eddie finds himself enjoying the feeling of Buck’s hand in his, no one has to know.

Jenkins has been there for two days and he’s already pissing the team off. For some reason, he has chosen Buck to reprimand at every turn. He constantly tells Buck to be quiet or to stop making noise and sit still. It seems to bother everyone except Buck.

“It’s fine,” Buck says when Hen asks him if he wants them to say something to Jenkins to get him to leave Buck alone. “He’s only here to the end of the week anyway. It’s not worth it.”

Eddie frowns in confusion, "Your comfort is absolutely worth it." Hen and Chim nod.

Buck shakes his head, "He's only here until Friday. Just leave it alone." As much as it pains them, they respect Buck’s wishes.

For one more day at least.

Buck is walking up the stairs towards the kitchen, snapping and clapping his hands in time with a song playing on repeat in his head. Occasionally he’ll mumble the words under his breath. This is one of Eddie’s favorite tics of his. He loves watching Buck bounce around, snapping and clapping, and he loves trying to figure out what song is playing in his best friend’s head.

Eddie watches Buck walk past where Jenkins is sitting at the table and as Buck snaps his fingers again, Jenkins’ hand darts out and grabs Buck’s hand. Jenkins looks up at Buck with intense eyes, and he stands, grip tight on Buck’s hand, “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but whatever this-” He gestures to Buck. “-is needs to stop.”

Eddie, followed by Hen and Chim, is at Buck’s side in an instant. Eddie feels a protective spark light up inside him as he steps between Buck and Jenkins. “There’s nothing wrong with him,” Eddie says forcefully

“Of course there is!” Jenkins’ face is red with anger as he steps closer to Eddie. “I can’t believe your captain lets him be here, he’s a fucking ret-”

Before Eddie knows what he’s doing, his fist slams into Jenkins’ face and he falls flat to the floor. Finally, his days of fighting are worth something.

“Eddie!” Hen gasps, her arms around Buck’s shoulders. “You could lose your job for doing that!”

Eddie shrugs, “Worth it.” He then directs his gaze to Buck who he finds staring at Jenkins with wide eyes. Eddie starts to say something, but before he can Buck pushes Hen’s arm off of him and runs.

The trio is too stunned to even move until the door to the roof slams behind Buck. Chim looks at Eddie, “You’re so fucked.”

Eddie rakes a hand through his hair, “I should probably call Bobby…”

Hen puts up a hand, “I can, you go talk to him.” Eddie thanks her and jogs up the stairs to the roof of the fire station.

He sees Buck sitting on the edge of the roof, his legs dangling over the side. He is silhouetted by the lights of the city and the vast black sky above them. Eddie sighs and shuts the door, making noise so Buck knows he’s there. When Buck doesn’t say anything, Eddie walks over and lowers himself to sit beside Buck, their sides brushing.

Buck doesn’t look at Eddie. “Why did you do that?” Buck asks quietly. “You didn’t have to protect me.”

“I’ve got your back, remember?” Eddie nudges his shoulder with a small smile. “Besides, there is no way in hell I was ever going to let him say those things about you, and you know Chim or Hen would have done it if I hadn’t.”

Buck laughs lightly, “Yeah, yeah I guess he would.” Buck looks down at his hands, taking a deep breath.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks, turning to face Buck more. “You don’t believe what he said, right? There’s nothing wrong with you, you-”

Buck cuts Eddie off by pressing his lips to Eddie’s, his hand on Eddie’s cheek. He’s frozen for a moment. Buck is kissing him?

Holy shit, Buck is kissing him. Just like that, Eddie pulls Buck closer, drawing him in by the waist. The kiss has none of the fireworks that Eddie imagined, but instead, it feels almost natural and soft. It’s better than Eddie could have ever imagined.

Buck pulls back, his hand still on Eddie’s cheek, looking him in the eyes. Eddie smiles lazily, “I have a huge crush on you.”  

Even in the darkness, Eddie can see blush flooding Buck’s cheeks and he grins and quickly kisses Eddie one more time. As Buck leans back he says, “Thank you for everything today. I’m always worried that my tics annoy people,” he sighs and turns away, “I guess it annoyed him.”

“He doesn’t matter,” Eddie sits up, holding Buck’s face between his hands. “Who cares what he thinks? You have so many people who care about you and love you for who you are. You never have to worry about annoying me, Buck,” Eddie tells him.

Buck smiles softly, “Thank you.” Eddie matches his expression and leans in for another kiss.

[firstofficers-log]

in the woods somewhere

newt scamander/werewolf! reader (gender neutral)

Being a werewolf in the 1920s isn't easy. You meet someone post-transformation who wants to help.

author’s notes: It’s been 2000 years since I’ve written anything new and for that I apologize 

I wrote this as a Self Insert so it’s technically a masc!reader but there’s no gendered pronouns so go nuts babey!!! 

----

He finds you in a forest.

You’d been coming here for a while. A safe place, away from people. You remember to come in the height of your fever, desperate not to hurt anyone. You’d realized, not soon after the transformations began, that you could hurt people. You didn’t want to. If you left, and there was no one around, you’d maybe hurt some wildlife -- a rabbit, a deer, but never a person.

You had a life. Family, friends. They loved you, they did, but they didn’t know you -- not for the last few years. They worried, yes, when they saw you getting ill so often, but no matter what they did, they couldn’t do much besides comfort you as the fever came like clockwork. Exactly like clockwork. You were surprised, in all this time, that no one had figured it out -- but, you supposed, people didn’t want to see what could hurt them. They’d rather stay blissfully unaware than see things as they were.

Your friends seemed a distant dream now, as you’re laying in the nook of a tree on the forest floor. Your clothes are in tatters, but you’re still wearing them, the fabric laying across your shaking form. Above you is a layer of green, the early morning sky barely visible through the trees. For a moment you watch the oranges and yellows of the sunrise, your shaking breath billowing in clouds in front of you.

The cold air is harsh on your skin, making you shiver, but you’re grateful. Feeling the cold means you’re still alive -- it means you’re human for the time being. Your form on the full moon runs so warm that it’s stifling, and you hardly feel the cold night air as your paws trample the soft earth in search of your next meal.

You shudder again, trying not to think of your escapades. This proves difficult, however, when you look at your hands: your nails are jagged, caked with dirt and blood. You stare at them for a moment, watching them shake -- in anger? Fear? Disgust? -- before curling your fingers into fists and shoving them under your arms, away from sight. You could feel your nails cutting into your already raw palms, but that didn’t matter. You had to feel something -- anything -- that proved you weren’t a monster.

“Hello,” you hear a soft voice from a few trees away. You jump -- you hadn’t heard anything, which was worrying, as the terrain was covered in leaves and twigs. You were so out of sorts that you’d forgotten to be aware of your surroundings. You’d left your wand at home, you always did when you knew you’d transform, but now you wished you hadn’t.

“Wh,” you croak, your voice broken, your vocal chords still settling into their change. You become distinctly aware of the tears that have been streaming down your face, leaving warm trails down your cheeks. You don’t know what to say. You’d never been confronted before, not like this, your hair a mess, your clothes destroyed, in the middle of the woods. You want to scream, to run, to make sure your one-person audience doesn’t hurt you or cry out, but instead what comes out is “ Please.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the voice says, and now that you’re able to pay attention, it sounds… soft. Masculine. Your eyes dart to the source; he’s half-way concealed himself behind a tree, his hands up, his eyes not quite meeting yours. His head is slightly bowed and it appears he’s trying to make himself seem smaller than he is, though with his tall frame it’s a little difficult.

You should be scared. Someone is watching you now, in your state, and while your friends and family might be blind to your condition, it would be kind of difficult to ignore all the signs when you’re like this. You should be worried for your life, trying to tell him it’s not what it seems, but instead you feel the overwhelming urge to trust this man.

“I want to help you,” the man says and slowly steps forward once he realizes you’re not going to lash out. You realize suddenly what he’s doing -- he’s trying to make himself seem like he isn’t a threat. Some part of you is incensed at this, because you’re not a predator, but another much stronger part of you finds it endearing.

“H… help? How?” You finally get out, and your teeth start to chatter. The cold starts to hit you now -- you’ve been out in the cold all night, and while you’ve mostly been in your animal state, your human form is not cut out for the harsh winter morning air.

The man pauses. It seems like he hadn’t thought he’d get this far. He ponders for a moment, his eyes flickering here and there, looking as though he was inspecting each leaf and pine needle on the ground below him. His eyes trail up to you, at last, and he seems to notice you’re shivering.

“You’re cold,” he says, and you bite back a retort. Yeah, you’re a genius. You hold it in, though, because you really don’t know what to do with yourself. You’re usually back in town before morning, darting home, careful to replace the frost where your footprints have been in your neighborhood, but at this time of day when the sun is almost out… anyone could see you.

The man in front of you is shedding his coat.

“No, please, it’s all right, I--” You stop yourself as he holds it out for you at arm’s length.

“It’s all right,” he says, “I’ve got another in my case.” For the first time, you notice a battered brown case a few feet away, near the tree he was behind when he first drew your attention to him.

He doesn’t move to hand it to you, leaving it at arm’s length, his other arm still up so you can see he’s unarmed and not trying to trick you. You’re grateful for this, you are, but you worry that you won’t be able to stand. It’s irrational, but you don’t want to seem weak in front of him. The cold really is starting to get the better of you, though, so you try your best to stand.

Your legs are shaky. You feel the tenderness of your muscles, sore from overuse and the harshness of the transformation. You don’t crumple, though, and you’re grateful for that. Your feet are bare, and you imagine you lost your shoes somewhere in the forest. You weren’t particularly attached to them, but you’d sure appreciate them now, as the frost crunches underneath your feet.

You grasp the jacket with a shaky hand, and he lets go as soon as you have a grip on it, lifting his hand once more and taking a step away. He��s taking every precaution to ensure you don’t think he’s dangerous, and it’s a little bit over the top, you think, but you’re grateful. You try to smile at him, feeling cracks on your lips, before you shrug the coat on.

It’s still warm. It very nearly touches the forest floor, though you’re sure on him it’s not quite as long. Its weight is comforting, its warmth spreading through your figure slowly.

“There’s some bread in the left inner pocket,” he says, his hands now lowering slowly, his fingers idly fiddling as he watches you. “It’s not much, but it’s -- it’s food.”

You open your eyes, grateful, and your hand runs along the lining of the jacket until you find the lip of a pocket. You slip your hand inside, expecting to be met with food, and instead you receive a small nip on one of your fingers.

“Ouch!” You say reflexively, quickly withdrawing your hand. No new blood, it seems, so it was just a warning.

“Oh!” the man exclaims. “Sorry. I meant the right.” He looks genuinely apologetic, and he murmurs something under his breath that sounds like “ Pickett.”  

You give him a hesitant smile and reach instead for the other pocket. There’s a small chunk of bread there, as he’d said, and it’s slightly stale, but he’s right -- it’s food. You’re caught up in eating for a moment before you realize -- people don’t just carry bread in their pockets. He must’ve known you were going to be out here. He seemed far too prepared for this to have been an accident.

“How did you--” you say through a mouthful before remembering your manners. You chew and swallow before continuing. “How did you know I’d be here?”

The man smiles awkwardly, looking again at spots around you, but not directly at you. “Um, you see-- well,” he starts, and again you find him endearing. “I-- I look after creatures, you see, and I’ve been noticing things.”

“Things?” You say, bristling. Creatures, he’d said. You had no reason to distrust this man, you knew, but the use of the word put you on edge.

“Yes,” he says, seemingly gaining confidence. “Things that don’t line up with the usual wildlife. You know, bigger paw prints. You can tell a lot just from prints. People just... don’t tend to look.”

There’s a lump in your throat now. What did he know? What was he going to do? Your… kind wasn’t generally well received by the rest of the community.

When he realizes you’re not going to respond, he continues. “Um-- Well, I’ve been seeing prints for a while now, and I was keeping tabs on them, you see, and… they’re not consistent. I mean, they’re only there once a month. It was sporadic. I didn’t understand at first, but then I realized.” He pauses for a moment, shifting from foot to foot as he tries to decide how to continue. “The moon,” he says finally. “The full moon.”

“What,” you start again, and your voice cracks. You clear your throat. “What… does that have to do with me?” It’s a hollow question, you know this, and your defeated delivery doesn’t really leave room for doubt. He knows what you are -- you know he knows what you are.

“You’re a werewolf,” he says bluntly. The word stings. You know what you are, how could you not know what you are, but you’d never heard anyone say it to you. The time has come, and you thought you’d have a little more fight in you. Someone’s discovered you! Your brain shouts. He knows what you are! Run! Do something! But instead you just stand, watching him, wearing his blue coat, the bitter cold stinging your face.

There’s a considerable silence between you. The only sounds are the birds chirping, squirrels foraging, the forest waking up. You’re shaking again, not because of the cold -- but because you’ve realized it’s likely your time is up. If he wanted to do something to you, though, why draw it out? Why act like he’s helping you?

“What are you going to do to me?” You manage, your voice small, your breath billowing out in front of you.

The man looks affronted. “Do?” He asks, finally looking directly at you, his eyebrows knitted together. His face is smattered with freckles. “What do you mean do? I told you, I want to help you.”

“You can’t,” you say, your voice cracking. You feel hot tears stream from your eyes again. “You can’t help me. You can’t want to help me. You know what I am.” Your legs give out now, and you’re kneeling on the ground, twigs poking your skin.

“Yes,” he says, “yes, I know what you are. And I know it’s not your fault.” He lowers himself to the ground, closer to you now, close enough that you know you could count his freckles if you tried.

“I want to help you,” he repeats, “in any way that I can. I want to understand. That’s all.”

You look up at him through teary eyes, and he looks at you directly. His eyes are a clear blue, and they’re beseeching you to say yes, to let him help, to trust him.

He seems to surprise himself when he wipes away some of your tears with his thumb. It comes away slightly dirty, and for the first time you imagine what a mess you must look. You flush as he pulls his hand away.

You look at him for a moment more, searching his eyes and face as he watches you. There’s something you see, something unplaceable, that makes you want to trust him. You nod minutely, and his face breaks out in a brilliant smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling as the tension leaves his shoulders. Oh, you think. He’s cute.

“I’m Newt,” he says softly, almost awkwardly as he realizes he hasn’t introduced himself. “Newt Scamander.”

You sniff and give him a watery smile in return, introducing yourself with a shaky laugh. He stands and offers you a hand. You know he can’t fix the transformations -- nothing can. They’re painful, and the fever is almost unbearable, but he makes you want to try. To believe that there is something that can be done.

You take his hand.

“Come on,” he says, helping you up. “I have a place where you can clean up.”

[padfootagain]

Undercover

Here I come with a fic for Poe!! It's been a while since I wrote for him. I'm answering a request made by @yana-versio (and it's her birthday today, so happy birthday!!!).

It's fluff, let's be honest ;)

I hope you like this!

Gif not mine

Word Count : 2411 

The thing is, Poe knows very well what you're doing. He knows that it's all part of your mission, in a way. He knows you're just doing this for the Resistance. He knows you don't actually enjoy that time spent with this douche. Or at the very least, he hopes so.

Because for what he can see for now, you are laughing and drinking some of the best alcohol in the galaxy with Adam. Adam…

Your first love, back on your homeplanet. Before you moved to Coruscant to get a siege in the Senate, and he chose to offer his services to private organisations. Until you discovered these organisations did not quite care about the impact their business had on the local populations. You broke up with him then, breaking both your hearts in the process and refusing to ever see him again.

That, however, was before some intel reaching the Resistance declared that Adam had valuable information regarding the First Order and its weaponry.

It is a capital information, it is the key to pierce a breach through their defences. It is the opportunity of a lifetime. The Resistance needs whatever information Adam has in his possession right now, and that's how you've found yourself in this busy ballroom, surrounded with senators and politicians and businessmen who all have teeth longer and sharper than the man standing next to them. Poe's dark eyes scan the room, but there is not a single face he thinks about trusting.

In this room filled with teal and garments and glittering gold and obvious wealth, the only thing he sees are traitorous faces. Enemies that would not hesitate to murder you if any of them were to find out the real reason behind your presence here tonight.

Poe has to struggle to focus on the crowd though. He has to. He's officially your pilot, but tonight, he's also your bodyguard. He needs to keep an eye on all the potential threats lurking about the room. But it's hard to focus on anything but you.

You're standing there, a handful of meters away from him, in a dark silk dress shining in the light of the crystal chandelier. The gold of the walls turns the glimmer into gold, contrasting with the dark fabric of your dress, like a night sky sparkling with golden suns. To him, you eclipse everybody else in the room, it would seem that he can only see you in this overcrowded ballroom.

He noticed that you're not touching the wine that Adam offered you a while back now, and a small smile forms on his lips before he can refrain it. You're such a clever woman…

It is a dangerous business you're in. Spying is a nasty and cruel microcosm. Always a look back over your shoulder. Never drinking a glass offered to you. Never trusting anyone, except for a handful of loyal friends, and you rely on them with your life on the line.

You throw a glance at Poe across the room. He's standing there, in an expensive suit that makes your heart trip and tumble in your chest. He's here. Staring at you. He gives you a little smile and a nod.

He's here. You're safe, he's looking after you. Nothing will happen to you, because he's here to stop it before it can happen.

He's here. He will always be here…

"I have to admit that I was surprised to find you here, and even more so to see you accepting talking with me."

You turn to Adam again.

"A lot of time has passed since we last saw each other, don't you think it is time to put it all behind us?"

"I think so, yes. I wish for it, at least."

You fake a genuine smile.

The music that has been quiet before, suddenly intensifies, calling for dancers to practice in the centre of the room.

You're not surprised when Adam offers you his open palm, and you accept the invitation with a smile that says 'with pleasure' when all you can think of is 'with disgust'.

He's changed since the last you've seen him. Money has turned him arrogant and futile. Too much silk and precious stones surrounded him for too long. He's forgotten where he comes from, he's forgotten the line between right and wrong.

You haven't.

He holds you a little too close to your taste as you start waltzing, but you don't dare pushing him away. You know that Poe is frankly staring at you now. You understand why. Seeing his girlfriend in someone else's arms, holding her so close, must be quite upsetting. You can only hope he can control his temper, for the sake of the mission. For the Resistance.

Girlfriend… is that really what you are to him? You've never labelled your relationship before. You happen to be attracted to him, and he is attracted to you, and that was it. You see each other whenever you are both at the hidden base on D'Qar but that is all.

It hasn't been 'all' for a while for you though. He's reckless and stubborn and messy, but he's got a heart of gold all the same. And you've grown to love this heart of his. And the messy part too, along with the stubbornness and the recklessness and all the tiny details that make him be Poe.

He's never spoken with you about the way he feels for you, though. And maybe you're wrong when you think that you've detected a clenched jaw as Adam pulls you closer. Maybe you're just imagining things, projecting your own desires into a fake reality. Because you wish he would react like this to another man holding you the way Adam does now.

You love him. You know it. You've known for a while. But could Poe ever love you too?

"I've missed you, Y/N," Adam whispers against your ear, and a loathing shudder runs up your spine at the sensation of his breath against your cheek, but you don't flinch. "I've thought of you so often. I've hoped for a second chance… It was all a misunderstanding back then, wasn't it?"

You let your hand slide down the length of his chest, and you recognize the way his breath catches in his throat. But you're not moving your hand like this to seduce him.

You're trying to feel through his vest in which pocket the memory card is hidden.

You're certain he has it on him. You just have to find it, and retrieve it, and run as fast as you can before getting caught.

You have no difficulty feeling the tiny bump against his chest. It's in the pocket of his shirt. You need that card, no matter what you must do to get it. Billions of lives might depend on it.

Over Adam's shoulder, you catch Poe's dark brown eyes. He has no difficulty guessing your next move. The apology in your eyes says it all. He's not sure he can bear to look at you while you do it though.

How could he look at you kiss another man and hope to control himself? He knows that if he sees your lips meet his, he will punch Adam so hard in the face…

So he looks away, setting his gaze upon the crowd around you instead.

This time, you have no doubt that you've seen his jaw and fists clench.

You struggle to refrain the wave of nausea that rises inside you as you press your lips to Adam's cheek.

You can't kiss him. You know you can't. Poe is in all your thoughts, in all your heart, in all your soul… you can't kiss anyone else, it feels too wrong, and you love him too much.

You drop your lips to Adam's jaw instead, feeling him tremble under your touch. You move your hand across his chest, under his vest, against his shirt, until you could reach his pocket, and he doesn't seem to notice anything when you retrieve the card.

He leans down to kiss your lips, but you gently push him back, a playful smile on your lips.

"That will be for the next time we see each other."

"When?"

You shrug, but your heart wants to answer 'never'.

"We've waited years, I'm sure you can wait a few more weeks."

"It's a promise?"

"A thought to live by."

"I'll take that then."

"I need to go. I must be away tomorrow morning, I'm sent by the Senate on a diplomatic mission elsewhere. I need to leave now."

"I'll see you soon, I hope."

"Goodnight, Adam."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

You walk away, your head high and posture tall and all the while, you move in a calm and peaceful pace. And as Poe looks at you making your way to the door, he can't help but admit that you're a very good actress.

He waits only for a few seconds before exiting the ballroom as well.

He finds you back in the corridor, and you don't speak as you almost run to the ship, slowing down your pace only to pass the guards before the hangar.

Your heart is beating so fast, adrenaline coursing through your veins. If you get caught now, both you and Poe are dead.

Meanwhile, Poe seems perfectly calm. He opens the door of the cargo ship for you, and welcomes BB-8 with a warm smile as you both take a seat in front of the controls.

"Going home, buddy," he tells his loyal droid. "Let's head off."

The ship under you shakes, trembles, shudders, and is almost immediately floating through thin air. A second later, and you're out of the hangar, the course set on the Resistance base.

"You have everything?" Poe asks you, his eyes set on the controls as he pushes the ship into hyperspace.

You show him the card, and he nods.

"Good job."

"I'm never doing that again."

He can see that you've gone quite pale, that you seem nervous all of a sudden.

He rests a reassuring hand upon yours.

"You've done great."

"I feel dirty."

"You're not. Spying is a nasty business, that's all."

You exchange a smile, and he leans into his seat, heaving a bored sigh.

"Two hours to wait till we're home."

A mischievous smile forms on your lips.

"I think I know how to keep us busy."

He frowns a little as you stand up, and offer him your open hand.

"I think I owe you a dance. Besides, you look way too sharp in that suit for me to resist, right now."

He lets out a laugh, and obliges. You stand together on the little space where there should be cargo. But you're the cargo that Poe brings back to the rebellion. So the space is empty, and in the dim lights of the ship and the stars passing by before the windows, he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, much closer than Adam did. You know what his movement means.

You're mine. And I'm yours. And no one can ever change that.

You've never been the possessive kind, but you have to admit that it feels good to read that message in Poe's dark brown eyes. The light of the stars, distorted by the speed of your ship, paints strange patterns as it reflects in the dark orbs. Oh, how you love his eyes…

"Beebee, play something good, yeah?" you call for the droid.

Only seconds pass before a soft tune envelops the two of you. Slowly, you start to sway. And time stops.

A dreamy smile forms on Poe's lips.

"You really drive me mad, you know that," he chuckles, and you answer with a shy smile.

"Got to keep you on your toes, or your ego might burst out."

"My ego? Really?"

"Best pilot in the galaxy and all that…"

He rolls his eyes, and presses a tender kiss against your temple.

"I won't be the one complaining if you choose to never see that piece of Bantha shit again," he whispers against your skin, and you can't help but smile.

"Jealous are we?"

"Maybe a bit… for my defence, you did kiss him."

But you shake your head, tightening your hold upon him, and resting your forehead on his shoulder.

"I didn't kiss him."

He freezes on the spot.

"You didn't?"

You shake your head again.

"Why not? It was risky, Y/N!"

"I didn't get caught, now, did I?"

"You could have been!"

"But I wasn't."

"Why didn't you do it?"

You shrug, feeling half-ashamed, half-shy.

"It felt so wrong. And you were standing there and… I couldn’t do it."

"I wouldn't have been mad at you."

"I know but I… I couldn't. I…"

You fall silent, words suspended in mid-air around the two of you.

"Why?" he insists, and you are a little mad against him for pushing the truth out of your mouth.

But you do speak the truth anyway.

"Because I love you."

Your hold on his vest tightens, and you wonder what is going to happen next?

Is he going to push you away? You doubt it, knowing him, he's probably going to play it cool, act as if you hadn't spoken at all, probably because he thinks it'll hurt you less, when in reality, it's worse.

You brace yourself for the impact. You wait for the joke, the teasing tone brushing your hopes and heart away.

But you're hit with words you didn't expect instead.

"Oh Y/N… I love you so much."

You pull away to look at him. You stare into his infinite dark eyes, but can read the truth in his gaze.

He means it.

He gives you an amused smile.

"Don't tell me that you didn't know."

"I had no clue," you genuinely admit, making you laugh.

"I thought I was obvious."

"You weren't."

"Well… now, you know."

"I love you, Poe."

"I love you, Y/N. Please, don't see that Adam ever again, for my sake. Or well, for his sake as well, next time I'll make sure to crush him with my X-Wing."

You can't help but laugh, before pressing your lips to his.

Outside, a war is on the way. The Galaxy itself and its stars can feel the uncertain tremor. But it doesn't matter for now. For now, you love him, and he loves you, and it's all that matters in this old galaxy.

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

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[baylishh]

Bruja- Taza Romero CH 1.

Voices fill the air. Cheers of celebration. Embers from the fire lick the sky as the witches dance around the flames. Light casts their shadows across the clearing toward the ring of trees surrounding them. Wolves and coyotes raise up their own calls, their baying mixing eerily with the whoops and hollers.

Harvest had come and the witches of the Iron Sisters were celebrating. Their bare bodies glowing with firelight and moonlight alike as they called to the sky. Native, Hellenistic, Germanic, Heathens, all had been called to usher in the dark months. Cold fills the atmosphere with a crisp bite causing goosebumps to raise along soft flesh and nipples to bud unabashedly.

Lydia Trumell, Heathen High Priestess of the Iron Sisters, raises her arms and her eyes to the moon. She begs for guidance. Her Viking ancestors are all too happy to give.

They send her visions of a handsome man on a golden stallion. His dark eyes piercing, but kind and inviting. He rides beside another man, an army at their back, a man leading the charge in front of them. Long dark hair whips around his weathered face. Lines of laughter and age crease his face, speak of the life he has led.

Strange feelings of recognition wash over her and she snaps back to her body. She falls to her knees with a scream. The fire goes out in a whoosh as her sisters fall as well. A grand climax in this harvest ritual.

The next morning Lydia makes it to her shop as the sun is just beginning to paint the sky. It’s a little shop. One way gallery windows set into black walls on either side of a purple door. It’s neighbor, the Reyes Butchery, is a beautiful contrast. Snow and coal in beautiful harmony.

Felipe Reyes pulls up as Lydia inserts her key into the lock. He gets out of his truck as the lock clicks open and walks up to her as she twists the knob. She picks up one of the crates beside the door, and he picks up the other.

“Good morning, Lydia,” he says, “How was harvest?”

The young witch smiles. Memories of Felipe comforting her after a customer made particularly rude comments about her beliefs flood back and her smile widens.

“It went well, Felipe. How was the game?”

It’s Felipe’s turn to smile.

“Well,” he clears his throat, “My team doesn’t know how to pitch for shit. Lost by 20 points.” He shakes his head in disappointment.

“If only they could have heard you telling them the right moves,” Lydia responds with a laugh.

Felipe agrees as he follows the girl into the shop. They set their respective crates down on the long bar and Lydia begins filling the jars lining the wall. Rose petals, mint, ginger, cinnamon, each dried and aromatic.

Lydia notices Felipe wanting to say something as she begins placing tea leaves in their respective jars. “What is it?” She asks.

Felipe clears his throat, “My youngest just got out. He’ll be by later. They’re wanting some steak for a party and they were wanting to try that seasoning you make. I mentioned it to my eldest and it sounds like everyone is interested in trying it.”

Lydia feels her cheeks heat up. Leave it to Felipe to hype her up.

From what she knows of the Reyes boys, they seem like polar opposites. The youngest was a think first, act second kind of man. It genuinely surprised Lydia to find out he was incarcerated. The eldest, Angel, was a cocky flirt. Less book smart, more street smart. Both of them apart of the local motorcycle club.

“Of course.” She says, “If you’ll bring it by I can start marinating it.”

The crates slide across the bar easily. They rest in front of Felipe as the young witch states, “The sooner the better.”

Felipe heads off, leaving Lydia to her morning routine.

Mornings at La Petite Mort are done to schedule. After arriving, Lydia puts up the day’s freight, and begins warming a pot of coffee and kettle of hot water for the early customers. She then does a quick clean of the shop. By then the coffee is done and the kettle whistling. Cups are labeled and filled, then sat aside with cakes for her regulars. When that’s done it’s 7 and La Petite Mort is open.

Lydia flips the sign just as her first regulars pull up. She meets them at the door.

“Here you are, Mrs. Lopez,” Lydia says this as she hands over a steaming cup of tea, a small crate of milk and juice, and a bag of fresh treats.

Mrs. Lopez smiles thankfully. The wrinkles on her face speak to her age. She‘s run the orphanage on the other side of town since the 60’s. A lot of the kids were born in the US, but their parents were deported. She took them in happily.

With her they have a better life with her than they had even with their parents. She tutors them, cooks for them, makes them clothes. All she asks is that they help her.

The kind old woman was Lydia’s first customer. She’s come in daily since the shop opened. When Lydia learned of Mrs. Lopez’s kindness she started putting together breakfast for all of the kids.

“How many times do I have to tell you, hija? Call me abuela!” Mrs. Lopez bumps Lydia with her hip. The younger laughs, walking over to the van. She loads the crate into the passenger seat and buckles it in.

Lydia apologizes to her elder. “Lo siento, abuela. Will dinner be the same time as every night?”

Abuela nods. “Sí. Planning on stopping by?” She holds out a wad of cash to Lydia.

Lydia declines.

“You never need to pay me, abuela. I do this out of the kindness of my heart. They’re just kids and you deserve a break from all the chaos.”

Abuela scoffs. She reaches forward sliding the cash into Lydia’s cleavage causing the younger to blush and laugh.

“S’not for you, hija. You only ask about dinner when you’re bringing something. Use this to pay for it.”

Lydia pulls the cash from her bosom. “You’re onto me.”

Abuela just shrugs and climbs up into her van. “Dinner never changes, hija. We look forward to seeing you.”

Lydia nods, waving as Mrs. Lopez backs out. She walks back into the shop seeing a couple college aged kids sitting at a table.

“Miriam, Javier, long time no see! How’s classes been?” Lydia asks, busying herself with making their drinks as they make their way to the counter.

“They’re going,” Javier states, taking the piping hot coffee from Lydia.

Miriam agrees. “I’ve been in economic Hell for 6 weeks now. I hate it. And honestly, it hates me, too. I’m exhausted!”

She pours 10 packets of Sweet n Low into her coffee before stirring it and pouring a liberal amount of hazelnut creamer in after.

Lydia continues talking to the college students, jumping when the bell above the door dings.

Felipe walks in, Angel beside him. They’re both carrying boxes. Lydia smiles ushering then behind the bar to the kitchen.

“Just sit them beside the stove,” she states. The men do as told, exiting the kitchen soon after.

“Felipe, before Angel fucks off with his super secret boyband, can I buy the same amount of steak? I’m gonna make some up for the orphanage.”

Felipe nods. “Of course. We’ll bring it over.”

Angel flips Lydia the bird and steps out after his father.

Lydia snorts, watching the two men leave. Ten minutes later they’re walking back in. A third man is with them. A very familiar older man.

Lydia feels the ground tilt beneath her. Her eyes roll back as visions rush forward. A handsome man with eyes the color of sun tea. Skin the color of cinnamon and hair like ravens feathers.

The visions are different this time. They all feature the man, but this time Lydia is apart of them too. Strangely domestic visions featuring a ranch surrounded by woods. A path well trodden by hooves. A baby girl in a sling across the man’s chest. They’re walking through stables, and he’s telling her about the breeds, their names, the plans for the new babies.

When Lydia returns she’s laying across the man’s lap. His long hair tickles her cheek as he leans over her. Brown eyes search blue as he checks her over.

“Hey,” he whispers, “gently, sunflower.”

Lydia’s nose scrunches at the nickname. “Sunflower?” She whispers back. “Have we met before?”

A deep chuckle causes her to gasp. “Something like that. We haven’t met in a couple lifetimes, but I knew we were due for another one soon.” The smile that follows his answer is soft, inviting.

Lydia has seen it a hundred times. It’s graced her mornings for centuries, lifetimes. Tears slide down her cheeks and she raises her hand, tracing the lines in his skin.

She didn’t even know his name, but her soul knew his on a glance.

The next time she hears his voice his a rumble against her ear, “Taza.”

Pulling back Lydia stares into his eyes. You read my mind, she thinks. He chuckles, crows feet veining out as he smiles.

“Something like that,” Taza says.

A tight fistful of his shirt and a tug later, she’s whispering against his ear, “Lydia.”

Taza nods.

“What the fuck just happened?” Angel asks, ruining the moment entirely.

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