#i kept going to the cafeteria because i could fix my own plate and the lady who weighed your plate (you were charged based on that)

[fingertipsmp3]

I wish all food service workers who are weird about regulars always ordering the same specific thing and tease them for it a very “please don’t do that”

[sevlgi]

not-so-sweet secret

requested: yes

group: blackpink

pairing: jennie x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

contents: school!au, rich girl!jennie, secret relationship

warnings: none

synopsis: What you had with Jennie Kim used to be your sweet little secret. But recently, as Jennie starts publicly dating someone else, it doesn’t seem so sweet anymore.

a/n: yes you can! I love this prompt, thanks so much for requesting! also thank you all so much for 700 followers 😭 you guys have questionable taste but I love you all

word count: 2.6k

You always knew that what you had with Jennie Kim would have to stay a secret.

To be honest, you had no idea how she had even developed feelings for you. While she as the queen of the school, you were a nobody, just another wallflower who admired her. Somehow, she liked you enough to ask you out, and everything began from there.

At first, the idea of a clandestine relationship exhilarated you. The thought of sneaked kisses behind closed doors, of weekend dates in places no one would recognize you, managed to make your heart beat faster.

And that’s exactly how it was at first. You stayed late after school so that Jennie could drive you home in a car that smelled like her perfume, and you sneaked out at night for the first time to see the stars with her. She stared at you in your shared classes, and you slipped notes into each others’ lockers, each one of hers signed with a kiss printed in lipstick.

It was all you could have ever asked for, even if both of you pretended the other didn’t exist in the presence of other people. Sure, it wasn’t ideal that you couldn’t sit together at lunch and share food like other couples, or that Jennie could barely give you a passing glance in the hallways, but it was enough to know how she genuinely laughed, how she liked to hug the people she really loved.

You wanted to be with her publicly, but you also wanted to give Jennie time. You didn’t want to rush her into doing anything she wasn’t ready to do, even if it meant you had to suffer in silence because of it.

In private, she was the sweetest girlfriend you could have ever asked for. She visited your house almost every afternoon and brought you fresh-baked sweets, and she cooked dinner for both of you whenever your parents weren’t home. Jennie stayed over so often that you kept a special blanket and pillow for her right next to yours.

But in public, she was always a whole other person. Whenever you went on dates outside, even if the two of you were in a different town, Jennie hesitated to even stand to closely to you, to smile that cute gummy smile specially reserved for you.

Especially at school, Jennie hung out with her popular friends, those crazily beautiful and rich kids who never looked your way. When she was with them, she was no better, fake-laughing at insensitive jokes and burning money on designer clothes.

That was the price. To be the butt of those insensitive jokes, to be on the receiving end of falsely sweet smiles and to be unable to love Jennie as much as you wanted. But you were sure it would all be worth it in the long term, as long as you kept your sweet little secret tucked close to your heart.

“Hey, jagi,” you smiled, getting into the car and tossing your bag at your feet. “It’s so nice to see you.”

Jennie gave you her customary gummy smile, eyes turning into pretty crescent moons. “Hi, baby. You look really pretty today, you know? I wanted to tell you in math, but Eunchae kept talking about her new Mercedes.”

You blushed lightly, kissing her on the cheek as she started the car. “Really, another one? Didn’t she crash the last one while drunk?”

“High,” your girlfriend corrected. “Remember, there was that huge party at Jackson’s place? He got drugs somehow, and Eunhae got so high that she backed her car into a wall.”

Rolling your eyes lightly at the mention of the party, you reminded Jennie, “I wasn’t there, remember? Nobody in their right mind would invite me to a party. Pretty sure they don’t even know my name.”

“Well, they should. You’re the greatest,” Jennie cooed, giving you a big smile. “Although, you don’t like those parties anyway, right?”

“Nah,” you shrugged, looking out the window at all the passing houses. Unsurprisingly, Jennie lived in a different neighborhood than you, hers with a gate for every house and at least 4 expensive cars parked in every driveway. Despite that, she drove you to and from school every day. “Although, your daily recap of who started dating who is pretty funny.”

Jennie laughed lightly, and you could hear your heart beating faster just at the sound of her. You had been dating for so long, but just the tiniest action of hers still managed to make you flustered like crazy. “I know you don’t enjoy it that much, you just like to let me talk.”

“Maybe,” you joked, getting out of the car when it parked at the curb of your house. “Do you wanna come in? I bought the ice cream you like so much, milk flavor.”

She pouted at that, not getting out of the car, which was enough of an answer. “No, sorry, Junsoo made me promise to tutor him in math today. See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow,” you answered, waving as she pulled the car away. You did your best to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach, like a huge stone had been dropped there. It was hard not to get jealous when Jennie routinely hung out with people way better than you, but you always reminded yourself that your girlfriend loved you and would never cheat on you.

Right?

“Good morning,” Wheein greeted you, sliding into the seat right next to you. You smiled in greeting, still copying the notes down from the board. The girl had been your assigned Chemistry partner for a few months now, and you could maybe call her a friend. 

“Hi, Wheein.”

“You won’t believe what happened today,” the girl started saying. She was a bit gossipy at times, but she was still considerably kind to you, so you always let it slide. “Junsoo started dating Jennie!”

Your head snapped up, your hand slipping and drawing a huge mark over your notes. Wheein winced at the huge black arc on your paper, passing you an eraser. “What? Jennie? Like Jennie Kim?”

“Well, what other Jennies are in this school?” Wheein giggled, cocking her head at you. “Why?”

Jennie. Your girlfriend, Jennie, was dating Im Junsoo, quite possibly the biggest asshole in the entire school. You knew she would do a lot to hide your relationship, but you didn’t think she would go that far. “No reason,” you mumbled, starting to scrub at your paper.

That sweet secret that you kept close to your heart started to feel not so sweet anymore.

You didn’t want to believe what Wheein said, and that was the only reason you took the long way to lunch and headed by the cluster of benches where Junsoo held court during lunch. At first, you couldn’t see him or Jennie, a group of other popular kids creating a barrier between you and them.

But you heard her voice, that gorgeous voice that only called you ‘jagi’, flirting shamelessly with Junsoo. You wanted to leave, to pretend like you didn’t hear anything, but the crowd shifted just enough for you to see the happy couple, Jennie practically sitting on Junsoo’s stupid lap.

She was definitely flirting with him, practically giving him bedroom eyes in the middle of the cafeteria. Her friends cooed over them, only fueling the stupid smug expression on Junsoo’s stupid face.

Jennie caught a glance of you when she looked up, and you knew that all she could see was betrayal. And that was exactly what you felt as you turned on your heel and walked away.

You didn’t wait in the parking lot for Jennie that day. Instead, you hitched your bag up on your shoulder and walked home yourself, ignoring your phone when it started buzzing in your pocket halfway.

You didn’t pick up when she called you, and you didn’t read any of the texts she sent. Instead, you spent your time in the garage fixing up your old bike so you could start getting to school easier.

Maybe it was just a rumor, but you had a bad feeling, one that told you something had gone incredibly wrong. You ate dinner with your parents for once instead of going up to your room and video-calling Jennie.

It all felt wrong, but you weren’t ready to talk to her yet. Once you picked up on one of her calls, you knew the truth was going to come out, and you weren’t ready to hear it just yet.

You managed to avoid Jennie for a full 3 days. To be honest, it wasn’t that hard; you didn’t have many classes together, and there was no way she could get alone enough to approach you.

Saturday was the day you were dreading, because you knew Jennie would show up. That was the day she usually came over, because neither of your parents would be home and neither of hers would be watching her. She didn’t need to be let in, since you had given her a spare key, and she had her own car.

It was only a matter of time before she confronted you, and you were not looking forward to it.

Unsurprisingly, you heard the front door unlocking at exactly 9:33 in the morning on Saturday. Luckily, you were already awake, cooking breakfast in the kitchen a few steps away. “Let yourself in, why don’t you,” you called out sarcastically.

“Y/N?” Jennie answered, setting her keys down on the counter and closing the door behind her. “Have you been ignoring me?”

Blunt as always. You turned around with an eyebrow raised, taking in the sight of her. She looked unfairly good, glowing as always, as if she wasn’t worried at all about the fact that you hadn’t talked to her in days.

Under usual circumstances, you would have immediately rushed to her, kissing her and running your hands through her immaculately curled hair, but instead, you stood there, holding the plate of food. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask your boyfriend?”

It came out more spiteful than you had intended, but it did the trick; your girlfriend flinched, regret settling into the brown eyes you loved so much. “Y/N...”

“Jennie,” you deadpanned, staring right at her. “Go ahead, explain if you can.”

“It’s not real,” she implored, stepping closer to you. “I don’t like Junsoo, not at all! He’s just a friend, please, Y/N.”

“Then why did Wheein tell me the big, amazing news that he’s dating you this morning?” you demanded, not caring about the fact that you sounded like a crazy, jealous girlfriend. 

At the sound of your deskmate’s name, Jennie’s expression changed. Instead of the desperate scrunch of her eyebrows, a jealous twist of her lip brought spite to her eyes. “Wheein? I don’t like that you talk to her so often.”

“Don’t turn this around on me!” you exclaimed, your voice echoing off the walls of your kitchen. “Are you serious? Wheein’s my friend, not anything like your official boyfriend Junsoo. We’re talking about you right now!”

Jennie’s expression changed again, into a slightly pained one as her hands scrunched into the fabric of your shirt. “Y/N, you know I’m not ready to come out yet. I don’t know how people will react, much less my parents.”

“Yeah, I know, and I understand that! But dating someone else right in front of my face? What the hell, Jen?” you challenged her, anger furrowing your brow. 

She chewed on her lower lip and looked down at the floor. “I… I think it’s best if I leave right now. You’re obviously angry, and I get it. I don’t want to fight.”

“Okay, then leave,” you scowled, turning back to your food. You could feel a sour pang in your chest as you heard the door close softly behind your girlfriend, but you ignored it. You had a right to be angry when your girlfriend started publicly dating someone else, but was it worth it to hurt each other like that?

A week or so passed without you or Jennie speaking a single word to one another. That was one of the things that made the two of you not such a great match; both of you were incredibly stubborn, and neither of you would give up without a fight.

It hurt, of course, but you wanted her to approach you first. After all, it wasn’t your fault that she started dating someone else and ruined your relationship.

Stumbling in on Jennie kissing Junsoo in an empty classroom was the last straw.

“Excuse me, who are you?” the boy demanded, scrambling to stand in the empty classroom. Behind him, Jennie stared at you in horror, lipstick slightly smeared and her blouse just a little bit wrinkled.

You couldn’t help the horror on your face, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to expose Jennie. It was stupid, maybe, wanting to protect her after all the heartbreak she brought to you, but instead of saying anything, you mumbled a hurried “Sorry” and darted right out of the door.

You didn’t expect her to run after you, and you definitely weren’t expecting the hurried clack of heels behind you and the feeling of her warm hand clasped on your wrist. “Y/N, please wait.”

“What…?” you stared at your wrist and then at Jennie’s pleading eyes, begging you to stay. “Um, Jennie?”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I’m really, really sorry. I never should have acted like I was ashamed of you, I never was! You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Dumbly, you opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish. Whispers sounded around the two of you, dozens of eyes glued to the two of you as you stood in the middle of the hallway. All you manage to say is “I think we should talk about that” as you pulled Jennie out of the school.

Neither of you talked until you were far enough out of the campus that nobody you recognized was there. “What’s going on? Aren’t you happy with your popular, rich boyfriend?”

Jennie winced, shaking her head pleadingly. “Please, Y/N. I know I don’t deserve it, but I really love you. I want another chance, and I promise I’ll never keep you a secret again. I’ll come out to my parents, and I’ll announce our relationship--”

“I never wanted to force you to come out,” you sighed, stepping closer. You knew that what she did wasn’t right, but you didn’t exactly handle it well either. “I just didn’t want you to date someone just to cover us up. I felt like you were ashamed of me.”

“I promise I’m not. Please, I’ll treat you right this time,” Jennie promised, still holding on to your wrist.

Biting your lip, you looked at the ground. Obviously, you loved Jennie; she was the best person in the world to you, despite what she did, and you didn’t want to let her go. “One more chance,” you suggested, looking back up to her again. “We’re starting over, we’re not continuing our old relationship.”

Jennie nodded fervently, giving you the familiar gummy smile you were so familiar with. “Okay. I’ll take you on a date tomorrow, and I’ll treat you so well. I promise.”

“I’ll be waiting,” you laughed, wrapping your arms around her in a hug and inhaling the familiar sweet scent of her perfume once again.

You felt sweet. Not sweet in the way that your old relationship was, not the kind of sweet that still had a bitter aftertaste. No, you were on cloud nine, and you could stay there forever if you just had Jennie.

[rosemaidenvixen]

A Secret’s Worth

Chapter 17: Jim

Ao3

Content warning: Things get pretty intense in this chapter in a lot of ways. I can't be detailed without spoiling the events of the chapter, so I'll put more the general warnings in the tags. If you want more specific warnings you can click the link above and go to the Ao3 page where I’ve posted the spoiler filled warnings in the bottom notes. And if anyone feels like I didn’t tag/warn about something that I should have please let me know. This is your warning, here be dragons, proceed with caution.

There was a stain in the carpet, from coffee if he had to guess. A dark brown spot glaringly obvious against the beige. It looked just big enough for his hand to cover.

“Jim, are you listening?”

He jerked his eyes up from the floor towards the desk in front of him.

“Sorry what was that?”

Her lips turned downwards into a tiny frown “We were discussing your goals Jim,”

“Oh, right….” he drummed his fingers against his knees. 

A goal. Jim had still been trying to think of one when he zoned out looking at the carpet.

Couldn’t do any kind of job or college, those weren’t happening for him. She’d said their goals could be as long term or short term as they wanted, so maybe--

“My goal is to buy my own Vespa,” Jim said, giving himself a mental pat on the back as he did.

Owning his own Vespa. Nice, realistic, normal. A good, solid goal that no one should look twice at.

The frown melted away into a wide smile “That’s great, do you have anywhere you want to go in your Vespa?”

His face blanked, stomach dropping no less than two inches.

Stupid. 

People wanted cars and Vespas and stuff because they wanted to go places in them. Unlike Jim who was never going to leave his hometown.

“Ummm…..not sure, all the places I normally go I guess,” he forced his voice to stay even despite the squirming in his belly.

Her porcelain smile remained fixed in place “I think that sounds like an excellent goal, but how about you try to think of a more long term goal before the end of the school year?”

Jim nodded along, digging his fingers into his jeans to distract himself from the hot, fluttery feeling sweeping over his entire body.

Was she suspicious? Did she pick up on how he wasn’t actually planning on going anywhere? Was she going to call Dorrie the second he left her office?

“Ok, long term goal next time, I can do that,”

Beaming at him, she pulled a packet of papers off the top of the pile sitting on her desk “You don’t have to use the guide to pick a goal, but if you have trouble thinking of one these should give you some ideas, now do you mind sending in the next student on your way out?”

Jim forced himself to stand up slowly and not just bolt out the door “Ok, no problem,”

“Thanks, have a good spring break,”

He managed to smile and give a half hearted ‘You to’ as he accepted the papers and stepped out of the office. Heading down the hallway back to the main waiting room, the jittery feeling crawling through his muscles diminishing but not completely going away. 

It never did.

Glancing around the waiting room, he spotted the next person in line.

“Eli, you’re up,”

Eli fumbled with the magazine in his hands before popping up out of his seat “Oh, thanks Jim,” he grabbed the magazine along with a stack of others from the floor before rushing down the hall. Jim craned his head to try and read the cover before Eli vanished around the corner.

Keep So-Cal Weird.

Jim rolled his eyes as he exited the main office. At least his goals wouldn’t be as weird as Eli’s. Although quite frankly he’d rather live in a world where they didn’t make freshmen discuss their goals with the guidance counselors.

It wasn’t like Jim didn’t have enough on his plate already.

He had no idea if guidance counselors and social workers talked to each other on a regular basis, but he had to play it safe and act like they did.

Especially since he was like 99% sure that all the teachers knew. He knew that Strickler knew, and he was pretty sure that Strickler had told all the other teachers. So it was more like he was 99.999% sure they all knew, and the 0.001% was just him kidding himself.

So now he couldn’t even come up with some kind of goals to give the guidance counselor without his anxiety going through the roof.

Jim all but threw his bag into the locker and slammed it closed with much more force than was needed, unable to stop himself from getting worked up. 

This past month had been the absolute worst of his entire life. 

It had started when he’d walked in on Dorrie and Charles going through their house and it hadn’t really improved since. 

When he and his mom had gone over their game plan that night after the initial panic it hadn’t seemed all that bad. Be extra vigilant about making sure that no one saw anything weird and otherwise pretend that everything was normal. If they kept on top of it the investigation should fizzle out to nothing. 

Simple enough.

And the first week hadn’t been all that bad, tense but not bad. Week two had been nerve wracking but doable. Week three was when he really started having trouble sleeping, and it wasn’t like he got tons of sleep to begin with. That snowballed to him starting to forget late night meals and nod off during the day, having to work even harder at keeping up the act during school. 

Although if Jim was honest with himself he forgot most of those night time meals on purpose.

On top of that, week four was when he developed a stomach ache that wouldn’t go away, not to mention learned that his hair was falling out. Now it was the end of week five and Jim couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t stressed out, dead tired, and constantly felt like rats were chewing on his insides.

Grimacing, Jim pressed a hand to his stomach as he turned and headed to the cafeteria. Feeling sick and exhausted all the time sucked, but that was nothing compared to the everpresent, unrelenting, blood curdling dread.

The fear that he’d somehow let something slip. That right at this moment someone was coming to arrest his mom and take him away. All because of something Jim said or did.

Forget walking on eggshells, this was more like crawling through a minefield.

Every second that Jim was outside his house he had to be on guard; keeping himself under complete control at all times. Making sure that anyone watching, teachers, nurses, other classmates, wouldn’t see anything worth reporting. No outbursts no meltdowns no nothing.

As far as anyone else knew the Lakes were a normal, happy family. And Jim had to act like it.

But after five weeks he knew that was a hell of a lot easier said than done.

Jim couldn’t be sad or scared or angry any more, even about regular things. With so many people watching he couldn’t afford to let them get the wrong idea. So regardless of what he was actually feeling at any given time, he forced himself to stay calm, plastered on a happy face, and continued along like everything was fine.

But he wasn’t fine. Underneath his plastic smile Jim was coming apart at the seams.

He felt like a nerve with all the skin and muscle ripped away. Exposed to the cold air and completely vulnerable, ready to go off at the slightest touch.

Constantly keeping himself under control in front of all the teachers and every other adult in school was was bad enough, even without--

Jim stopped short as he stepped into the cafeteria, instantly spotting them sitting at a corner table. Five weeks ago the sight would have been somewhat soothing, now it was enough to make his heartbeat triple and intestines knot up.

Pulling in a shaky breath, Jim forced down the sudden bout of nerves. 

He was in the middle of school in the middle of the cafeteria surrounded by other people. Now was not the time to lose it. 

Five in. Hold for five. Five out.

Repeat

After a minute of deep breathing the full body shivers finally diminished to a much more manageable fluttering in his chest. Confident that he’d successfully gotten his emotions under control, Jim raised a foot and slowly resumed his approach.

Jim had been going back and forth about doing this for weeks, but this morning cinched it. 

He was doing this. Today. Right here right now. Even if the idea of doing it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. 

Because the worst part of the past month hadn’t been constantly being on guard or always being tired and nauseous. It was not knowing who’d he had to be on guard from.

A month ago, when he’d walked in on CPS in his house, Jim instantly knew one of his friends had blabbed.

While his immediate response had been to call Toby and demand answers, it didn’t take very long for Jim to shift gears to shoving the thought into the back of his mind and keeping it there. Couldn’t do anything to change it so there was no point to shoving his foot into that hornets nest. A with the way things had blown up when their problems with his mom first came out, forcing the issue might put him on the odds with all of them, and cost Jim the one part of his life that didn’t actively suck right now. The only thing to do was let it go.

So Jim let it go.

But as the weeks went by, despite how much he actively tried not to think about it, small doubts kept sprouting up in the back of his mind like weeds.

Did Mary really mean it when she asked how he was doing or was she fishing?

Was Toby trying to be helpful by offering to help carry groceries in or was he looking for a chance to spy inside the house?

His heart shot up into his throat, pounding as he closed in on the table.

And while Jim knew it had to be one of the four of them that called, he still had no idea who it was. That meant he didn’t know who it wasn’t either.

So as much as he tried, as much as he wanted to, Jim could never completely relax around any of his friends.

It was bad enough being on edge with every single adult in his life, but not knowing which one of his friends had stabbed him in the back, and worse not knowing if they were waiting to do it again…..

Jim stopped in his tracks, table just inches away. The four of them chatting away, his presence still unnoticed. Heartbeat hammering in his ears.

This was going to be ugly but Jim just couldn’t take not knowing any more. One way or another the truth was coming out today.

“I know one of you called the cops on my mom, so who was it?”

The four of them practically jumped in their seats before whirling around to face him. Claire was the first to find her tongue.

“What?” 

Her eyebrows were knitted together in confusion. An expression shared by all the others sitting around her.

Somehow that made the lump of coal sitting in his ribcage smolder hotter even as his heart was threatening to beat out of it.

One of them knew exactly what he was talking about. One of them was only pretending to be confused.  

“A month ago someone called CPS on my mom and I know it was one of you,” he made a show of narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms “So don’t try to deny it,”

They all turned and looked at each other, shifting uncomfortably in their seats. 

Jim stood his ground, mouth set into a firm line and prickling doubts shoved down into the bottoms of his feet. There it was, the accusation out in the open. Whoever it was might try to deny it, but Jim knew it had to be one of the four of them, and he wasn’t going to let them weasel their way out of--

“Jim….” Toby spoke slowly, briefly meeting his eyes before looking away “We….all did,”

His heart stopped.

For a moment Jim wasn’t sure how to respond, wondering if he’d actually heard Toby correctly, then the world slowly started to turn again and the words sank in.

“.....you what?”

“It’s true,” he snapped his gaze over to Darci, she flinched but didn’t look away “After we tried...talking to you, the three of us went to my dad and showed him the photos,” she glanced over to Toby at her side “It was only after that we learned Toby also talked to someone about--”

Jim whirled on Mary “I thought you said you deleted those?!”

“I-- uh-- umm…” she squirmed in her seat “I....made…...copies,”

Jim’s jaw fell open, unable to form words.

Out of all the possibilities, all the theories and ideas he’d had on who might have called, he’d never even dreamed that they’d all been in on it together.

His head was spinning, insides frozen and a roaring sound in his ears. Both hands rising up and fisiting through his hair, in a distant part of his mind he knew he shouldn’t be doing that since it was still falling out.

Just when he’d thought there couldn’t be anything else. That life couldn’t possibly throw anything worse at him--

Things became worse than he ever could have imagined.

He was faintly aware that the four of them were glancing around at each other from across the cafeteria table “Ok,” Claire laid both hands flat in front of her palms down “You have every right to be mad at us, but…”

Jim tuned her out, he couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to whatever Claire was saying when his world was going to pieces right now. 

He thought that when he figured out who had been the one to call CPS he could call them out for lying and get the rest of the group to back him up. That he’d figure out who he could actually feel safe with and finally be able to fix at least one part of his completely messed up life.

But it hadn’t been one of them, it had been all of them. They’d torn his life apart and kept it a secret. They lied to him. Every day. For over a month.

Heat shot through him, flooding through his whole body until it felt like every ounce of blood in his veins was boiling. 

It was his friends all along. All of them. They threw him and his mom under the bus and then they lied about it.

All the fear, all the worry. His inability to sleep or keep food down, the fact that his hair was falling out.

It was all because of them.

For the first time in weeks Jim wasn’t scared, he was pissed as hell.

“I can’t believe you guys!”

They all jerked back, eyes wide, shocked at the volume of his outburst.

“All of you knew about this,” Jim felt nails stabbing into his palms from the force he was clenching his hands “And you lied to me about it for over a month!? How could you!?”

He was spitefully glad to see them all flinch and look deeply ashamed at that.

“Look Jim,” Toby started to speak “I know you must be angry, but--”

He shriveled into silence under the glare Jim gave him.

How dare he. How dare he try and pretend like any of this was ok. The girls he could sort of see, but Toby was practically family. His mom had done more for Toby than anyone else would have in the same situation.

And Toby had still sold them out, with Claire, Darci, and Mary giving a helping hand.

Jim slowly turned to glare at each of them, the heat rushing over him blazing even hotter as he saw their pained faces and slumped shoulders.

Had they had secret meetings talking about this without him, had they laughed, snickering about being able to keep him fooled for so long.

Somehow a cold dribble of guilt managed to seep in past the white hot fire in his belly. 

Even as blindingly furious as he was, for both himself and his mom, deep down Jim knew that wasn’t true. The reason they made the call was because they felt they had no choice. 

They hadn’t done this as a joke, they were worried, they’d done this because they were scared for him. They’d done this because they wanted to help.

But despite knowing that, despite knowing that he was taking this too far and was going to regret everything he was saying as soon as he cooled off, Jim was too angry to care.

“I told you guys. My mom. Doesn’t. Hurt me.” he got louder and louder with every word, until he was practically shouting, the raging inferno inside him demanding to be set free “Don’t you get it? She could get arrested because of this, I could get taken away. Did you even think about that at all!?”

Toby shot up out of his seat with a bang, cutting off Jim’s tirade. Glancing up at him out of sheer reflex, he saw that Toby had the edge of the table in a whiteknuclekd grip, every muscle in his body taut and trembling, eyes sharp as knives.

“No Jim. You don’t get to do that.” his voice was cold and harder than steel, harder than anything he’d ever heard coming out of Toby’s mouth “You don’t get to drop bombs like your mom locking you in the basement and expect us to pretend like everything’s ok. And you don’t get to act like we’re the bad guys for trying to help you,”

Jim found himself taking an involuntary step back. He’d never heard Toby this angry. Ever.

Prying his hands free, Toby stomped around the table towards him, Jim pinned in place under his molten gaze “You don’t get to talk about lying when you were the one who’s been lying all along. When you’ve been lying to me for years!”

“Tobes I--”

One look from Toby shut him up.

“But now you want to play honesty hour? Fine, we’ll play honesty hour. How did you really get those scars on your ankle?”

The bottom fell out of Jim’s stomach, taking every remaining drop of anger with it.

“.........what?”

“Well?” Toby stopped two feet away, green eyes boring holes into him “Go on, tell me, where did those scars come from?”

Jim couldn’t do anything but gape at him. The rehearsed answer, they came from a fox bite, sat in the back of his throat withering.

He couldn’t know. It was impossible. Only two people in the world knew the truth. The act done in the dim of the early dawn in the middle of a remote forest.

Don’t worry sweetie, it's a sterile blade. A few quick cuts and a bandage on top should get you all the shots you need, no questions asked.

There was no way for Toby to know, but the look in his eyes told Jim that he did. 

“How-- how--” he struggled to get the words out “How do you--” 

Darci gingerly slid out of her seat to come stand next to Toby “Ok let’s all just take a deep breath and relax for a second,” she glanced over, her expression cool and professional, no longer holding any trace of guilt “Jim, I’m sorry we lied about what we did but I’m not sorry for doing it,”

“Darci’s right,” Mary stood and approached, Claire at her side “And we all agreed, what’s going on with your mom….that’s not ok, and we couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. I know your mom was probably really messed up when your dad walked out, but that doesn’t mean--”

The words hit him like a fist to the gut “How do you know about that!?”

Mary shut her mouth, cheeks pink.  

By now everyone in the cafeteria was turning and looking at them. And who could blame them with all the yelling. Jim knew that this was exactly the type of scene he needed to avoid, but all the emotions boiling up in his chest were too enormous and tangled and turbulent for him to make space to care about their audience.

Claire took half a step forward “Look Jim, I’m sorry we lied to you about reporting your mom, that was messed up and we shouldn’t have done it, but...” she inhaled, drawing herself up to full, regal height “But we wouldn’t have had to report her behind your back if you had just let us help you in the first place,”

“Yeah, you don’t get to talk to us about lying,” he spun back towards Mary. Hands on her hips, eyes narrowed into diamond hard points “If you had been honest with us from the beginning we wouldn’t have had to lie about anything,”

Toby stepped to the front of the group, arms folded in front of him “To more tricks or lies. We need the truth Jim. The whole truth, about everything. The scars, the basement, your curfew,” his expression was granite, voice flint “Right here, right now.”

Jim staggered back, furiously glancing at each of their faces. Claire and Darci were stern and unmoving as statues, while Toby and Mary were full on glaring daggers into him.

How was this possible? How did they know all this?

He couldn’t get enough air, chest tight as he shrunk under the weight of the four sets of eyes on him.

What else did they know? If they knew about the scars and his dad and the basement, what else did they know? And how close were they to learning….the rest?

The one tiny, microscopic flicker of hope Jim had was that he knew that they still didn’t know about….his real secret. 

If they did they sure as hell wouldn’t be quiet about it.

But how close were they to figuring it out? They’d figured so much out already, it was probably only a matter of time.

And if this was how they responded to everything else, how would they react to learning that Jim was really a--

Icy daggers twisted in his gut.

He couldn’t do this anymore.

He needed out now.

Jim turned and bolted, running out of the cafeteria as fast as his legs could carry him. Barely aware of his friends’ shouts from behind him. But he couldn’t outrun the panicked screaming in his skull.

They knew about his mom locking him up, they knew about how his dad left, they knew how he really got the scars on his ankle. Sooner or later they would figure out that Jim was the monster all along and when they did--

Throughout the years ideas of what would happen if people learned about his transformation had always flickered at the edge of his thoughts. Jim had done his best to force them out of his head and keep them from taking full shape, but now every horrible, twisted thought he’d had over the years surged to the front of his mind and refused to be buried.

If anyone learned his secret it was only a matter of time until the government found out, and when they did they wouldn’t just let him run free. Jim’s blue form was an unknown; wild, dangerous. At the very least they’d lock him in a cell and throw away the key. Or maybe they would send him off to some secret lab to get dissected and analyzed piece by piece.

His breath became choppy and ragged as he raced down the hall.

Or maybe Jim was too dangerous to leave alive at all, maybe they’d drag him away for a long drive into the desert that ended with a bullet to the back of his skull.

And his mom-- 

A jagged lump spouted in his throat.

Would they lock her up to? For keeping his secret as long as she did. But she hadn’t broken any laws, maybe they’d just leave her alone? But then would they even tell her what they did with him? Or would she be left sitting alone in their house not knowing what happened to him while Jim sat in a prison cell, or got chopped to pieces in a lab, or rotted in an unmarked grave.

He could barely see the lockers rushing by him as heat built up behind his eyes. He was trembling all over now, blood rushing in his ears and scream building in the back of his throat.

Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together.

Jim was going to break down, he knew that. But he couldn’t let it happen in the middle of school. Not now, not again. Had to get out, go home, get somewhere safe.

Right now his secret was still under wraps, and the only way for Jim to keep those horrific ideas from becoming reality was to keep it that way.

And that meant not having another public meltdown.

Ignoring the sound of the bell, signalling other kids to start streaming into the hall, Jim scrambled up to his locker and started fumbling with the lock.

Despite his badly trembling hands he managed to get the locker open and pull his bag free, but in his haste to grab it the bag started slipping from his grip. Jim just barely caught the side in time to keep it from falling, but in doing so accidentally pulled the bag open, causing everything inside to spill out.

Jim could only watch in horror as textbooks clunked to the ground, papers scattering all over the floor, pens and pencils rolling in every direction. Insides curdling as he stared at the mess.

Why now? Why today of all days? On top of everything else--

His eyes stung.

Why couldn’t he just get a break?

Trying and failing to force himself through his breathing exercises, Jim got down on his knees and struggled to gather the contents of his bag.

Somehow his efforts to gather the papers just spread them even more, the task made impossible by how badly he was shaking all over, breath coming in quick, quivering pants, teeth digging into his lip until he tasted copper, a storm roiling just beneath his skin.

He squeezed his eyes shut, grabbing a textbook and clenching his fingers around it so tight they hurt.

Get it together. Get it together. Get it together.

“Oh my god are you crying again?”

Jim froze, inside and out, eyes shooting open to stare down at two of his pencils and the textbook he’d just grabbed off the floor. Familiar snide, smarmy voice coming from behind him.

“Dude he totally is!” Seamus said with a laugh “This is too good,”

Jim couldn’t move, nerves paralyzed. Every drop of emotion he’d had to deal with today, shock, anger, fear, and guilt, surging through him.

“Awww what’s the matter baby?” Steve jeered “Do you want a bottle?”

Seamus and Logan’s laughter echoed in his ears. From the corner of his eye he saw the traffic around them slowing as other people stopped and stared. He couldn’t feel his fingers any more, curled into rigid claws around the edges of the book.

And just like that Jim was done.

He threw his textbook against the lockers as hard as he could, unleashing a thunderous boom into the hall.

“Fuck off Steve!”

Steve, along with Logan, Seamus, and everyone else milling around in the hallway behind him, froze “What did you just say Lake?”

“You heard me Steve,” Jim growled, stomping to his feet “Fuck. Off.”

Normally he would never lose his cool with Steve, the guy just wasn’t worth it, but after everything that had happened today, everything that had happened over the last month, he just couldn’t take it any more.

And Steve thought he was such a hot shot; popular, spot on the basketball team, grades good enough to keep it but not so good to be considered a nerd. But Jim knew a lot more than Steve thought he did.

Recovering from his surprise at Jim’s outburst, Steve gave him his best sneer “Alright Crybaby you got about ten seconds to get down on your knees and apologize before I break your--”

“Oh can it Steve, like you have any business calling me crybaby when you were the one bawling in the locker room about how your daddy couldn’t come watch your big game!” Jim practically spat the words.

The smug look on Steve’s face vanished, eyes going wide and the color leeching from his skin “Wha-- how-- how did--”

“Since you can’t seem to figure it out I’ll spell it out for you, your dad doesn’t give a shit about you or your basketball games! And if you really want to make him happy go play in traffic so he doesn’t have to pay child support!”

A hush went through the crowded hall. Semus’s eyes were bugging out and Logan looked absolutely petrified; Steve himself was wearing the most hang-jawed expression Jim had ever seen.

More and more people were gathering around now, drawn by all the commotion. Jim knew it was bad to be drawing this kind of attention, especially after the stunt he just pulled on the cafeteria, but the dam inside him had burst and it felt so so good to finally let it all out.

Let someone else have the rug pulled out from under them. Let someone else feel exposed and vulnerable. Let someone else have their deepest darkest secrets thrown back in their face.

Let someone else be afraid for once. Someone who actually deserved it.

“Face it Steve you’re not special,” Jim’s voice practically dripped venom “You’re just some moron who thinks that if they dribble a basketball good enough they can get an even bigger moron to give two shits about them. It’d actually be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic,”

Even as he said the words, felt the thrill of finally being able to take Steve down a peg, a tiny trickle of guilt managed to creep in. For saying something so horrible, so wrong. That no one deserved to hear, not even Steve. But what little guilt he had was easily drowned out by the massive ocean of vindictive glee he felt now that Psycho Steve was getting to experience a tiny piece of what it was like to be Jim Lake.

The crowd around them was deathly quiet now, everyone stunned into silence by Jim’s words. Shocked that he actually went there. With one exception. 

Steve’s face had gone from ghost white to purple, the veins in his neck bulging, hands balled into fists as his sides “You’d better shut your mouth Lake,” his voice was soft but dangerous. Everyone, even Logan and Seamus, nervously edging away from him.

Unfortunately for him Jim just didn’t care anymore.

“Or what?”

He stepped forward, unable to resist poking the bear “You gonna punch me in the face or something? Well go on, do it! You’re only mad because I’m right!”

Another rush of spiteful satisfaction coursed through him when Jim saw the purple flush on Steve’s face darken even further at his words, so much that he didn’t even care that some of the onlookers had started to pull out their phones.

“Well what are you waiting for? Hit me, punch me, it’s not gonna make a difference. It’s not going to change the fact that you’re a loser who’s life has fucking peaked!” he jabbed a finger into Steve’s chest, getting right up into his face “That the only thing you have going for you is a spot on the basketball team. And after that all you have to look forward to is a dead end job at the gas station and at least two divorces!”

Steve was practically quivering with anger now, nostrils flaring, teeth clenched so hard he was surprised they hadn’t cracked, but Jim could still see the flash of genuine hurt in his eyes “I’m warning you Lake--”

“Because that’s all you’ll ever be, a loser! Maybe the real reason your dad left was because he finally figured out how much of a loser you really--”

The blow took him by surprise, more than it probably should have. A dazzling flash of pain in his temple that snapped his head back into the lockers with a deafening bang as more pain flared in the back of his skull. Hot stars danced in his vision, the world around him spinning,. 

Jim vaguely registered that he wasn’t on his feet anymore, felt the linoleum under his back, the cool metal behind his shoulders and neck. Dimly heard the panicked shouts coming up from around him, even though he couldn’t make out the words. 

Blinking past the throbbing pain in his skull, and the warm trickle of something in his eye, Jim’s sight cleared just long enough for him to see Steve’s face, twisted into a mask of primal rage, and another fist rapidly approaching.

[ceratonia-siliqua]

Peter’s Bad Day

It was a very bad day.

It started bad and got worse from there. He accidentally slept in, and woke to find Bucky had already gone to work, and Peter had missed kissing him goodbye and sneaking one of his signature Post-It notes into the man’s lunch. Just a few words he’d scribble down as Bucky would get ready to leave, something sappy but straight from the heart, usually accompanied by a corny drawing of a heart (or more often, several). He liked to tuck them into Bucky’s lunchbox between his sandwich and plum pudding for the man to find halfway through his break.

Having slept in, Peter was dangerously close to running late for his first class of the day. He didn’t have time to shower and could tell right away that he accidentally used way too much deodorant to compensate. The chemical smell made his eyes burn and left him coughing as he ran from the only bathroom in their shoebox apartment. He didn’t have time to run all the way to the subway, so he was forced to call for a cab to get to campus, which was always painfully expensive. Bucky made good money working for Mr. Stark, but still. Peter was frugal, it was one of the reasons their 1-bedroom place was so small.

The cab driver was unnerving and intense, an old, balding white man who made derogatory comments about the women they passed on the street and left Peter feeling uneasy and argumentative. He didn’t feel safe not tipping the man though, so he begrudgingly handed over all the cash in his wallet and got out. As thanks, the cab sped off, its back tires spinning in place in the muddy puddle beside the curb, drenching Peter in filthy water and street debris. He could swore he saw the man laughing in the rear-view mirror as he drove away.

School didn’t give him any breaks. He had somehow managed to leave his laptop (and all his homework) on the night table beside their bed, earning himself late marks on two huge assignments for two separate classes (his puppy dog eyes weren’t enough to save him, not today). He forgot to grab his lunch from the fridge, and after handing all his cash to the crabby cab driver, didn’t have any left to buy a new one at the cafeteria or campus Starbucks, leaving him hungry and irate. He could use the emergency credit card Bucky gave him, but he didn’t want to spend anymore unnecessary money on today.

He had trouble concentrating all day, and walked out of his last class feeling like the whole day had been a complete waste of time, mental energy and money. He was tired, dirty, hungry, frustrated and sad by the time he got home, and all he wanted to do was run himself a hot bath and have a good old fashioned cry, preferably while stuffing his face with a hot, heaping plate of mac and cheese.

But Bucky, his wonderful, incredible, sometimes overbearing other half, took one look at Peter as he came through the door and somehow just knew.

“Aww, sweetheart. Bad day?”

Peter was ashamed that that was all it took to make him burst into tears. Bucky was off the couch and there in an instant, hugging him tightly even though Peter could practically feel how bad he smelled. “Everything went wrong today,” he hiccupped out, like a baby. ���N-nothing went good, not a single thing. It just kept piling up. I’m—I’m so tired, Bucky.”

“Oh baby,” Bucky soothed, rubbing his back and kissing the top of his hair. “Let’s fix that, yeah? The day’s not over. It’s not too late.”

Peter sank into his boyfriend’s chest, nodding gratefully, then yelped in surprise when Bucky stooped down and lifted him bridal-style into his arms. “B-Bucky, don’t,” he weakly protested, his face flushing. “I smell like a back alley dumpster, you shouldn’t-”

Bucky bent forward and kissed his hair, as if to shut him up. “That’s why we’re getting you into the bath, doll.”

“But-”

His objections went unheard as he was lowered down onto the cold tile floor of their bathroom then gently stripped of his filthy clothes. Bucky ran the bath, cradling Peter in his arms again as the tub filled, peppering his face in gentle kisses (as gentle as they could be, with that thick beard brushing against his own hairless face, almost immediately scratching it), before lowering him once again, this time into the blissfully warm water.

“You don’t have to do this,” he mumbled, humbled and humiliated that Bucky felt the need to baby him to this extent. It was just a bad day, after all. “It’s okay, Bucky, I can bathe myself.”

“I know you can,” Bucky said. The warm wash cloth he’d soaped up crawled over Peter’s skin, washing the day’s grime away. “But you don’t have to today.”

His cheeks burned, but he knew this was just a way of Bucky saying he loved him. He let the man bathe him and wash his hair, perfectly content and relaxed as the warmth of the water seeped into his muscles. Bucky sat beside the tub as he soaked, delicately caressing Peter’s palms with his metal hand, ordering Thai takeout for dinner on his phone with the other.

Peter was dressed in a clean, baggy T-shirt (Bucky’s, since his were so much bigger and better for sleeping in) and a pair of his most comfortable boxer briefs (his own, because Bucky’s wouldn’t fit). Bucky had just finished towel-drying his hair when the doorbell rang, and kissed Peter softly on the forehead as he stood to collect their dinner.

They curled up on the couch to eat, and Bucky dimmed the lights, put on Peter’s favorite episode of The Mandalorian (season two episode 5, obviously) and cradled Peter almost entirely in his lap, feeding them both off of one massive plate. Again, Peter was initially mortified by their position, but it was so nice to be held, cuddled, and fed like he was the most precious thing in the world, and even after a full day of building machinery, Bucky somehow smelled so good. It didn’t take long until Peter found himself tucked beneath the man’s chin, curled up into a little ball, so relaxed that he’d completely forgotten it was a bad day at all.

“I love you, baby,” Bucky mumbled into his hair. They’d finished eating ages ago, and Bucky had replaced their massive plate of pad thai with a thick, cuddly throw blanket. Peter sighed happily and nuzzled Bucky’s warm throat.

“I love you too,” he said quietly, speaking softly like this moment of total bliss might break apart if he spoke too loud. “Thank you for cheering me up. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Never let you have a bad day if I can help it, sugar. You’re my everything. I just want you to be healthy, safe and okay.”

Peter’s eyes suddenly felt a little damp, even though he didn’t feel like crying at all. In fact, he was smiling, so grateful for the man holding him in his strong arms.

I’m going to marry him someday, he promised himself, and found himself smiling harder.

Tomorrow, the note he would slip into Bucky’s lunchbox was going to say just that.

[peachyteabuck]

study buddy, part v

series summary: after crushing on you since freshman orientation, Natasha finally gets the guts to ask you help you pass her postmodern lit midterm, to which you agree.

chapter summary: one restaurant date, two confessions, and three grades that will make or break natasha’s degree

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 4,881

trigger warnings: overstimulation, use of a safe word, teeth rotting fluff, strap on sex, ball gags, explicit conversations about whorephobia, orgasm control, angst if you squint

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

part one, part two, part three, part four

The warmth of the sun filtered through blinds is what woke you, wrapped tight in Natasha’s arms. The sex-stained blankets were as messy as can be, some of them hugged your intertwined bodies like a tightly wrapped burrito while others were nearly falling off the bed.

It was messy, beautifully and wonderfully so. If you felt the need to move (which, of course you didn’t because who in their right mind would try to disentangle themselves from such a lovely human person) you doubt you could’ve; Natasha held you with arms too strong and heart beat too soft. You wouldn’t dare disturb her if the house was on fire; then again, if the world was burning down around you – you’d rather die in her arms than reach for uncertain safety. It’s there that you fell back into sleep, tucked under her chin and running your fingers through her hair.

Eventually the growling of your stomachs woke the both of you up, each respective organ desperate for nourishment – and the two hard-boiled eggs, sour gummy worms, gluten-free bread, and half a container of mustard wasn’t gonna cut it. The waning sun was an ominous sign of how long you’d truly gone without food, and you soon didn’t feel all that bad about poking your poor g-

Poking poor Natasha awake.

You didn’t feel all that bad poking Natasha awake as your insides beg for sustenance and your head feels light and holy shit, if you didn’t eat right then you were going to start taking bites out of her – and, for the first time, not in a fun and/or sexy way.

“Hey,” you pressed your forefinger to her nose. “Nat.” You poked the end of each eyebrow, then at various locations of her forehead. “Natasha!” Still, she remained asleep, and buried herself further into the blankets as some unconscious act of survival. “Nat.” You poked her right cheek. “Naat.” You poked her left cheek. “Naaat.” You poked each cheek with each hand at its softest part, pushing until you felt her teeth.  “Nat wake uuup.”

She just grunted and pushed you away before she nuzzled back into the covers. “Go away. I want to die here. Let me become a body without organs.”

She paused.

“Or is it organs without bodies?”

You sighed but make no move to displace her. “One, Natasha, we have the midterm coming out soon. If you do not know the original work done by two far left authors from the sarcastic critique by another far left author, I’m breaking up with you. Two, that’s not what that means and you making a vague reference to some postmodern concept does not mean I am going to stop being annoying. Three, would you like to come get dinner with me?”

Natasha shot up, flame-red hair messy and shirt disheveled – it made her look like the top of of a thicket of trees during a forest fire. Along the side of her face, you could see indentations from where her skin was pressed to the pillowcase. “Food?”

You nodded, pushing the strands from her eyes. “Yes, darling, food.”

She wiped at her face and pushed the covers from her legs, eyes half-closed. “Food.”

You picked some of the crust from the corner of her eyes. She blinked indignantly at you but made no move to stop you. “Do you care where we go?”

Natasha shook her head left-to-right silently, then moved to wipe her face once more.

“Okay. There is a very good Chinese place that I want to show you. Is that okay with you?”

Natasha nodded and made a mmhmm noise.

“Cool.”

You kissed the tip of her nose before you got up and scrounged together a passable outfit that would cover the bruises that still littered your body and shield you from the cold. After a few moments, Natasha opened her eyes wide enough to see a few feet in front of her and did the same.

There was s a wonderful silence that filled the air, the comfortable kind. Like the day of that quiz, it’s a wonderful kind of cozy – soothing and sweet.

You could get used to this…

It was a short walk to the restaurant, one you were all-too familiar with due to your many, many nights there. It was the first place you ate at on campus (that wasn’t one of the mind-numbingly mediocre cafeterias) the day you moved in and it had become some pseudo-home, the place always warm and waitstaff always nice (and always willing to let you eat as much as you pay for and abuse their free WiFi).

The menu hadn’t changed much (by “much,” you mean they’ve fixed two of the five typos) since you first started going there, so you should have already known what you want. Still, you opened the folded, laminated paper and read each item with genuine interest, just as Natasha did.

You looked up at her once and awhile just to see her again. Every time you tried to keep her out of your line or sight for more than a few seconds you’d almost burst at the seams, like a sunburst than could only be quelled by looking at her.

“What year are you?” Natasha asked, which broke your unbelievably tender train of thought.

Your brain, which was still very fried, did not compute. “What?”

She reached over to point to the Chinese zodiac calendar on your menu with one of many of her fingers that was inside you last night. “What year are you?”

You mumbled something and shrugged, fake-intense-reading as your neurons attempted to rebuild your capacity for speech. Luckily, Natasha seemed determined to continue the conversation.

“I’m the year of the dog,” she said, nonchalant, as if you were not losing your goddamn mind on the other side of the table. Your brain was fried, your mouth was gaping like a fish out of water, and were your hands shaking? What the fuck were you supposed to say? How should you respond?

Think, you fool! Think!

“There’s a feminist critical theorist who fucks her dog,” you blurted.

Natasha just smiled – god her smile was so big and wide and beautiful - and laughed. “Part of me thinks you’re lying, but part of me worries you’re telling the truth.”

You laughed then, too, smiling big as she did. It set the tone for the rest of the night, mood light and happy as the tired, probably-high waitress took your order and then brought you the food a suspiciously-short amount of time later. It was good, very good.

“And my mom turns to me and she goes,” you wrinkled your noise in an effort to properly invoke your mother’s nasally tone. “This family does not get Fs or Ds or Cs. You better fix this or else.”

Natasha almost choked on her soft drink at your impression. “You were supposed to make an omelet for a foods and nutrition class, what did she want you to do!?”

You took another bite of orange chicken before you rolled your eyes and shrugged. “I have no idea what that woman wants from me now, let alone when I was fuckin’ fourteen.”

You were both laughing as you took food from each other’s plates and swapped small stories. Natasha told you about her own coding mishaps (apparently it was easy to hack into news websites and create fake stories involving certain celebrities and a certain large bird and many, if not too many, phallic objects), you told her about the time you stress-cried in the bathroom so much the janitor kept tissues in a secret compartment for you.

One hand from each of you remained occupied as you held hands on the side of the table farthest from the prying eyes of fellow college students (as if any of them were sober enough to notice, though. Along with being great to you, the restaurant’s very greasy menu meant it was a good spot to quench munchies or quell the pain of an especially bad hangover).

A phone – your phone, you realized – vibrated obnoxiously on the other side of the table. Previously forgotten, you broke from the moment to reengage with the (seemingly) hundreds of people who were attempting reach you via text. At first you thought it’s an email from a client – but then you realized it was a text from a classmate. Specifically, the girl who sat front and center in the lecture hall you and Natasha shared.

“Who’s that?” Natasha asked.

You furrowed your brows as you texted, swallowing the last bit of food. “Oh, Lindsay from our class. She wants to know what I got on the quiz.”

Natasha then realized she never bothered to figure out her grade, and it brought all her anxiety about graduating on time and also making sure you’d never leave her and oh my god what if she failed this fucking quiz?

A few moments of soul-crushing silence passed before you put your phone back down. Natasha watched you like a cat stalking a fake mouse on a string, or a drunk mom at a Christmas party eyeing a dessert table; the drive was genuine, but the goal? Ridiculous. Absolutely, totally ridiculous.

You didn’t press her like she expected, though, didn’t even stare at her with that evil eye Natasha’s sure you got from your mother on more than one occasion. You just went back to eating your food, and put your phone back out of reach.

You noticed her staring at you when you went to borrow (steal) another piece of food from her plate.

“What?”

Natasha furrowed her brow. “Don’t you…Don’t you want to know what I got on the quiz?”

You shook your head as you stole another few bites worth of food. “Not unless you want to tell me.” You shrugged as you swallowed. “I’m not gonna, like, push you if you don’t want to tell me. I’m not my mother.”

Natasha smiled at that and left the conversation there. She was unnaturally quiet for the new few minutes as she listened intently while you told more stories and commented on the food and thought out loud about school and the rest of your life and should you go shopping soon?

Throughout all of it, Natasha remained incommunicative – to the point you started to worry.

“Are you okay?” you asked and reached across the table to put your hand over hers. She smiled, softly, before she replied.

“I really care about you, you know,” she said, low and almost inaudible. You said nothing in return. “And I’m very bad at this. I’m so bad at this. I spent a lot of my childhood in rooms with therapists who said less than I did. I’m not good at,” she waved her hands as she tried to find the right words. “I’m not great at emotions. And expressing them and telling people about them and all that shit. Okay?”

You swallowed the last tastes of duck sauce that coated your back teeth. Despite the sweet substance being a liquid, it felt like a waterfall of boulders cascading inside your throat. “Nat, I-“

“This isn’t me saying I love you, but I want…” Natasha was on the verge of crying, just as you were. She averted your gaze as she continues, staring at the booth cushion directly behind you. “I want to commit to you in some way. I like you, I like the person I am when I’m around you. And I don’t want to lose you because I was too much of a pussy to make a move.”

You said nothing, did nothing. Despite her not looking at you, you stared at her very serious facial expression and watched every muscle twitch for some signs of lying. You saw none.

“I…,” Natasha met your eyes as you spoke. Your mouth was so dry you nearly coughed – but the idea of making any sound terrified you. “I…I need some air.”

You didn’t wait for a reply as you pushed yourself out of the booth and ran out the front entrance.

Natasha didn’t wait for the door to close behind you before she chased after you. She left both of your phones and wallet at the booth, not wanting you to get out of eyeshot but also terrified of the waitstaff thinking the both of you were dine-and-dashers (and terrible ones, at that).

She followed you outside, ache in her heart an excellent distraction from the nighttime chill that dug tiny knives into her pale skin. Still, as her breath was visible in a faint fog in front her, no pain was as unimaginable as the one as losing you.

“Babe, plea-“  began, voice small and nonthreatening as possible.

You interrupted her and avoided looking into her eyes and picked at a loose thread in the sweater you were wearing – Natasha’s sweater you were wearing.

You worried it was the last time you’d ever see her again, and yet you refused to look at her. You refuse dto look at her large eyes and the bags under them, at her nimble hands – thin and agile from years of typing; at her plush lips or beautiful hair or-

Wasn’t that the cruelest irony of all? Of the cognitive dissonant fear of missing something while desperately avoiding looking at it. Still, you chose to jump off the proverbial cliff with your eyes clenched shut and nails digging into the pads of your soft palms and blood rushing in your ears louder than anything you’d ever heard in your life.

“I’m a sex worker.”

Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed and she breathed heavily, like when your mom got mad at you for bringing home that C your freshman year. “There’s-“

“I’m a sex worker. I make my own porn. I sell my nudes. It’s my main,” you sighed. “It’s my only source of income. It’s how I make money. It is how I will continue to make money. It’s how I stay mostly-independent from my very judgmental mother. It’s how I plan on staying mostly-independent from my very judgmental mother and my very judgmental family and the very judgmental world. And if you think that’s morally wrong of whatever, or that I’m some sort of sub-human, or that I’m evil, or that I should stop…”

For the first time that night, you looked her straight in the eyes. No smiling, no laughing, no wishing to see her beautiful face. Power. Authority. Truth. You tried to channel the red you saw on all those feminist theory books you’d had to read for the class that brought you and Natasha together.

“If you don’t believe in the validity of my labor I cannot and will not date you,” you were snarling as you stomped toward her until your toes nearly touched. “I’m not going to let someone who can’t love what I do love me.”

As you stood there, teeth bared and hands balled into fists, stories of rage flashed like lightning in your brain. Narratives of horror from your media studies class, of actresses whose only chance to scream was in front of a camera. If you had sharper nails, sharper teeth, glowing eyes that would be some award-winning monologue where people clap and call it “mind-blowing” and give it “five out of five stars.” You’d be a prime example of how satisfying rage can be as a subversive practice.

But no. You were no antihero(ine), no supernatural being caught on tape. You were not on the silver screen, you were not being streamed on some overpriced platform, you were not the subject of dissertations on media studies or really good articles on feminism or whatever else academics were doing with their time in tenure. You had filed-down nails and wide eyes and soft skin and an uneasy stomach and shaking hands and breath that faintly showed in the air when you exhaled. You had tears that threatened to fall. You had fear.

Natasha’s eyes flitted nervously, her lip between her teeth. For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Natasha was the one to speak first. Her voice sounded as terrified as you felt – with words that were spat through a set jaw and teeth bared.

“Who hurt you?”

You took a half-step back, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? Natasha, what the fuck are y-“

“Who hurt you?” she whispered, words like knives and eyes just as dangerous. You stepped back, almost scared of her and what she could do to you.

You were pressed against the side of the building then – you could feel the brick and mortar itching at the skin of your back through your top. “Natasha what the hell are you talking about? I don’t kn-“

“Yes,” she stepped back, but grasped at your left hand as she did so. She was a ship tethering to a dock, floating out on the water but always willing to come back to port. “Yes, you do. You know exactly who, what, I’m talking about. What they did. Just tell me who they are, and I’ll ruin their lives.”

You looked for the joke, the punchline. You looked for a glint in her eye that said she was fucking with you and was waiting for you to laugh it off. When you were in seventh grade you got asked out as a joke and the football player made the exact same facial expression you now hunt for.

But you found nothing, no teasing or set up in a larger scheme to mock you. She was serious as you’d ever seen anyone be. “What in the fuck-“

“Tell me who they are. Tell me the name of every person who ever made you feel like shit and I’ll ruin their lives. I’ll steal their identity. I’ll make it so they can never get a job, or a car, or a house again. I’ll do it in a heartbeat,” Natasha let go of your hand and held your face in her food-warm palms. “I will destroy the very existence of every person who ever made you feel like this, because you deserve someone who will protect you from all that bullshit. And I want to be that person.”

The silence was painful, almost. But also comforting. Still, you broke it so speak. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Natasha smiled, and pecked your lips. “Good. Now come finish my food with me, it’s getting cold and our waitress is definitely judging us.”

You broke into a fit of laughter, nearly wheezing as she guided you back inside. The food was good, even though it had cooled considerably while you were both outside – greasy and thick with flavor and hot in your mouth along with your soul and Natasha held your hand on the table and fed you with her fork and you stole bits of her food while she was distracted. At one point, Lizzo played on the restaurant soundtrack and Natasha sung low with you, and you ordered more food to take home and it was hot, too hot in your hands as you carried the large brown paper bag soaked with grease to her apartment. Maybe you were going eat the food in the morning, maybe you were going eat it later tonight. It, truly, did not really matter.

There wasn’t much time between when you put the leftovers in the fridge and when Natasha pushed you onto your knees in her (and your) (it was now shared) bedroom. There also wasn’t much time between when your knees hit the ground and when Natasha grabbed the ball gag from its place in her toy drawer.

“I’m so happy you’re mine,” Natasha cooed as she adjusted the matte black straps. She kissed at your temples when it was secured, murmuring sweet words into the top of your hairline. If there was anyone else watching you, if there were some voyeur witnessing this profession of ownership, you doubt they could hear her. The entire world could be gazing at the two of you under a microscope and they would know nothing. Wasn’t it something wonderful, to share such, dare you say it, love that cannot, will not be observed by a single being outside your pairing? “Such a pretty little thing, a beautiful little toy for me.”

You didn’t dare move, worried even a flinch would disappoint her. Even as spit began to fall down your chin and between your breasts, as it pools in the gap between your legs, you successfully resist the urge to wipe it away. Natasha walks to the end of the bed, perching herself on the covers. The silence isn’t thick or uncomfortable, rather something closer to electric, something you can feel on the insides of your nose as you sniffled.  

Slowly, she raised her right hand and crooked her first finger. You understood immediately and you got on your hands and knees to crawl across the room to her. When you reached the end of the bed you waited, obediently, for her.

Like at the restaurant – you were nearly bursting out of your skin with excitement as you awaited instruction.  

“You’re so pretty, baby,” she cooed. “Now come up on the bed and let me wreck that pussy.”

You do as you’re told without hesitation, scrambling to get on the bed and onto your back. Natasha grabbed a bottle of lube out of seemingly nowhere and poured it over the same strap from the first time she fucked you.

You moaned deeply and reached for something, anything; you whined high in your throat as she pounded into you, the bed smacking against the stained wall with each thrust.

“You’re too pretty for your own good, you know,” her voice was breathless as she spoke. “Normally I would try to keep my toys intact, try to keep them in good condition, but I just can’t seem to help myself around you.”

With each word your back arched farther, your fingers tightened around the sheets.

“F-fuck,” you moaned around the thick plastic sphere in your mouth as you tried to push your back closer to Natasha’s chest.

She grabbed your hair and bit at the curve of your ear before she spoke in a low voice that sent another wave a slick down your inner thighs. “What do you belong to?” she hisses. “Who does this pussy,” she slapped your cunt and you cried out at the stinging pain. “belong to?”

You didn’t hesitate. “You Mommy, I belong to you!”

In that moment, you wondered whether Natasha’s neighbors could hear your screams. But in the one right after, you realized you really, truly, di not give a single flying fuck what they could hear.

“Fuck yes, you’re mine,” she growled as she pressed your face into the sheets, as she loomed over you like a god would punish some human exercising an unholy level of hubris. “Don’t you fucking forget it.”

You couldn’t speak because of the ball gag – didn’t even try to – yet Natasha seemed to know exactly what you wanted to say.

“You wanna cum, love?” she cooed, still fucking into you. “You wanna cum over Mommy’s cock?”

You nodded, the whines high in your throat resembed something close to a please yes please Mommy please I wanna cum I wanna cum I wanna cum.

Just like the lube, Natasha grabbed the hitachi out of thin air before she turned it on low and pressed it to your neglected clit. It was something, it was enough, but only just so. Your muscle tensed and you wailed out as you bucked your hips, as you tried to fuck yourself harder onto the toy. Natasha notices and slows her thrusts, laughing as you become more and more desperate.

“You’re so pathetic,” she hissed. “Such a pathetic little toy. You’ll do anything to cum, won’t you?”

You nodded; words garbled.

Natasha laughed again. “Of course you would, slut. You’d do anything for me, right? You’d do anything I told you to? You’re just a mindless little toy for me, just a dumb little thing with no thoughts besides how you can please me…”

You were drooling around your gag so much it covered your cheeks and pooled on each side.

You’re blissed out, eyes glazed over and body wonderfully lax. Natasha’s isn’t done with you yet, though, because of course she isn’t. You’re now officially her girlfriend, officially hers, and maybe it’s that satisfaction or excitement or whatever in her blood but it it’s letting her stop, not now, not when you look so ethereal with a halo of sweaty hair and the sheets looking like wings and your skin practically glowing.

Not just any angel, her angel – her perfect little blessed creature, sanctified even as she degrades you in such a sacrilegious way.

“I want you to cum when I count to ten,” Natasha murmured as she pushed the sweaty hairs that had escaped their confines from your eyes. “Alright, baby?”

You nodded and tried to chase the fleeting feeling of her fingers as they dusted over your feverish skin.

She turned the Hitachi up a setting, smiling as it met your clit and you cried out.

“One,” she mumbled, rubbing the head against you in small circles. It was something, but certainly not enough.

“Two.”

Natasha knew this. She knew you didn’t orgasm all that easily.

“Three.”

Regardless, she agonizingly slowly turned the toy up a setting. Just as you feared, it remained insufficient.

“Four.”

God, nearly halfway there and you were terrified what would happen if you couldn’t cum. Part of it was exhilarating, but part of it gnawed a small hole in your stomach that left you…empty, somehow.

“Five.”

She ticked it up one, two more settings. You sighed in relief and moved your hips with what little mobility she’d allowed you.

“Six.”

She increased the vibrations again and reveled in your squeals.

“Seven.”

You cried out and wanted to beg for mercy.

“Eight.”

You didn’t.

“Nine.”

You felt like you’d forgotten how to breathe, lungs shriveled up into nothingness. It was as if you could feel each of your cells as they begged for oxygen, as your blood desperately tried to each your heart and brain.

“Ten.”

You came with a deafening scream, your whole body shaking for what feels like forever.

When you came down, your girlfriend was next to the bed, holding what you could only is another section of rope. What she planned to do with it, you had zero idea.

“How ya doin’, baby?” She asks. Natasha could sense something was off, but worried about misreading the signs.

It’s obvious she was not incorrect, though, when you tapped at your thigh three times.

Immediately, Natasha drops the toys in her hands and rushes over – untying the gag and freeing your limbs.

“What’s wrong, baby?” She scanned your body – terrified of finding blood or something worse. “What do you need?”

You swallowed what little spit you could find, your voice hoarse as you spoke. “Red,” a pause as you attempted to swallow once more. “Water.”

It was  all Natasha needed before she was rushing off to the fridge to grab a chilled bottle of the stuff and one of those reusable straws she stole from your apartment.

When she returned to the room she pulled you into her lap, keeping you upright as she leaned against the wall.

Natasha watched every muscle, every twitch as you drank from the straw. Your body seemed unwilling to move itself, relying on Natasha to hold you upright enough so that you didn’t choke. The room was silent except for the sound of your noisy swallowing (and, soon, the slurping of last droplets of water). You were about to ask for more, but Natasha found an unopened plastic water bottle within reach and held that for you, too. It reminded you of the first time the two of you fucked, and suddenly the world didn’t feel so cold anymore.

“I’m done, Mommy,” you told her when half the water was gone. “I’m good.”

“You sure, babygirl?” her voice laced with deep, genuine concern. Her eyes reflected the same emotion.

You nodded, leaning into her and rubbing your knuckles where they laid against her thigh. “I’m sure, Mommy. Thank you.”

Natasha closed the bottle and tossed it into the half-open bedside table drawer before she wrapped you in her arms. “Of course, honeybee. I’m proud of you for using your safe word, thank you for trusting me.”

You mmmed and laid there for a moment, your breathing in rhythm with Natasha. You two sat there, comfortable in the silence. If there was anything else to say, you’d say it – but for the while you enjoyed the wordless space you and her existed in.

It took a long while, after your heart had slowed and your breathing had evened out, but you eventually fell asleep in Natasha’s arms. It was peaceful, deep – somehow impossibly more satisfying than any of the other times you’d fallen asleep, even the times you’d fallen asleep with her. There, secured from harm in her arms and wrapped in blankets, you felt secure. It was indescribable, it was wonderful, it was safe. And to you, in that moment, it was heaven.

[askrighthandrecollections]

Prologue: Revelations of the Heart

The drone of the airship engines was a familiar thing to the Right Hand Man as he lay awake in bed, his wide-brimmed top hat hanging off the bedpost. The lateness of the hour did nothing to ease the man into the land of dreams, indeed, he was still far too alert, his thoughts too noisy for sleep to claim him. For once, it wasn’t his years of training as a Toppat Enforcer that kept him awake.

He was plagued with worry.

It gnawed at him, strengthened by memories of things that had yet to come to pass. Of things that could still happen, death in multiple ways and on repeat. His own death never phased him, he knew he would die as he lived, protecting the clan until his last breath. It was the death of one man in particular that ate away at him. Numerous deaths he knew had happened, even after Right himself had met his end.

He knew and he hated it.

He heaved himself upright with a sigh, half expecting to see the gleam of metal in the corner of his eyes and reminding himself that he was hale, hearty, and whole. No cybernetics.

Yet.

Reaching out towards the wall, he fumbled for the light switch, and momentarily blinded himself as the overhead light blinked to life.

He groaned as he waited for his eyes to adjust. Clearing the spots from his vision, he got up and padded over to the small desk in the corner of the room.

His quarters were simple. A bed to sleep in, a wardrobe to store his clothes, a desk so he could work in peace, and a bookshelf he used to store the small amount of knickknacks and treasures he’d accumulated during his time in the clan.

Sliding into the rickety old desk chair, he grabbed the notebook sitting near the top corner of the desk and a pen from the “Big Banana” coffee mug he used as a pen holder. Opening the book to the most recent page, he checked over his notes.

I forgot how much of a bastard Terrence is. Just seeing his ugly mug makes me want to punch his lights out, but I can’t risk Reg not becoming the leader. It is tempting though.

Got “upgraded” again, that’s the fifth time I’ve gone through this.

Dunno if Henry’s an idiot or genius, half the time he kills himself and the other half he kills everyone else.

Really starting to hate those CCC blokes. Bit too trigger happy.

I do not get paid enough to deal with this crap. But I put up with it, for the Toppats, for Reg. Seriously, who just goes and steals an entire rocket?

One good thing about being in prison is that I get to sit back and watch the show, Reg and I even share a cell.

He added a new entry.

Having Henry be a competent leader would’ve been nice. Might’ve even respected him a bit, you know, if he hadn’t killed me, my boss, and the rest of the clan multiple times in a dozen different ways.

Right set the pen down, staring at the page. It seemed that this cycle of repetition was endless. Wake up with Terrence as Chief and the clan being run into the ground, die several years down the line, or live just long to see the clan off in safe hands.

And it all revolved Henry.

The thought made his blood boil and he exhaled sharply as he pushed the indignation and fury aside in an effort to focus. Here he was, years, lifetimes of experiences under his belt but he couldn’t act on it. Not when he had a duty to the clan.

He’d sooner jump off the airship than leave Reginald by himself. Right steadfastly ignored the other feelings wrapped up in that thought, it wasn’t his place. Reginald was destined to become Chief, to lead the clan into a new golden age. It was his duty as an Enforcer to protect the high-ranking members of the clan, and he had been made Reginald’s Right Hand minutes after denouncing Terrence.

He ran a hand through his hair, idly wondering if he should grow it out this time or keep it cut short. Staring at his notes didn’t provide any further insight to his situation, nor magically offer a solution.

Be a hell of a lot simpler if I could talk to Reg about it. He thought and blinked.

What was stopping him? What was stopping him from doing anything? Even if Reg didn’t believe him, he’d certainly play along and humour Right. Even passing off the situation as a side affect of his Sands of Time was believable enough since Right had no idea what was causing this in the first place.

For all he knew, it could be his Spirit reacting to something, he wouldn’t know. Hadn’t used the thing in years because no one else had one and it would be dishonourable to use it otherwise.

He glanced up at the clock mounted on the wall by the door and grimaced at the early hour it displayed. It would be some time before anyone was awake, let alone an early bird like Reginald.

With another sigh, Right put his pen and book back where he found them and stood up to head back to bed.

The door to his quarters opened with a hiss and he turned around, wide-eyed as a bleary-eyed Reginald walked in, still in his sleepwear.

“Uh, somethin’ wrong Reg?” Right asked.

“I was about to ask you the same question,” Reginald replied, groggy. “It’s 3am, what are you still doing up?”

“Can’t sleep.” He replied honestly with a shrug.

Reginald peered at him for a moment.

“If something’s bothering you, you can always tell me.”

“I know Reg, not now though, go back to bed,” Right waved him off. “I’ll tell you in the morning over breakfast.”

“Hm… I’ll hold you to that.” Reginald looked at him sceptically before leaving the room to return to his own quarters.

Right stumbled back and sat on his bed, sagging as he rested his head in his hands.

What was he going to tell him? How was he going to tell him? He spared a glance over at the notebook.

“Screw it.” He muttered.

Reginald had unknowingly forced his hand and backed him into a corner. He almost preferred this, having the decision to share his concerns be out of his hands was like ripping off a band-aid, quick and to the point.

He spent the rest of the early hours of the morning both dreading and anticipating the conversation.

Right felt far more alert than he should be as he shambled into the airship kitchen several hours later. He’d chucked on his usual dress shirt, pants, and boots before heading out the door, dropping his hat on his head on the way out. He felt perfectly fine and like absolute garbage at the same time but that was more due to the lack of sleep if anything.

He saw Reginald in the middle of cooking some scrambled eggs on the oven grill.

“Mornin’” he grunted, attempting to walk past him to fix up his own food only for Reginald to hold out an arm to stop him.

Right raised a brow at him.

“You go take seat, I’m making breakfast for you today,” Reginald stated firmly, pointing the spatula he held at Right threateningly. “You look exhausted Right.”

Reginald was in one of those moods. The kind where he got into a snit over Right not taking of himself (like he could talk, Reginald’s workaholic tendencies frankly scared Right some days) and fussed over him until he was satisfied Right wasn’t going to keel over. Right preferred to do things himself, at least when it came to the little things, but he understood where Reginald was coming from.

He’d done the exact same thing for him after all.

He sighed and smiled slightly. “Alright, thanks Reg.”

He didn’t have to wait long, Reginald brought him a plate of scrambled eggs on toast and sat beside him at an empty table at the back of the cafeteria moments later.

“So, what had you up so late last night?” Reginald asked as he nursed a cup of coffee, picking at his own plate of toast. “Did you even get any sleep?”

“It’s complicated…” Right began. “And no, didn’t get a wink of sleep, not that it matters. I’ve worked under worse conditions.”

“How complicated? Is it something to do with the clan?”

Here goes. Right thought, mentally preparing himself for the worst. “It’s complicated ‘cause been I’ve been stuck reliving the past decade or so over an’ over. I’ve died an’ woke up back when Terrence was still chief with the memories of what happened as well as what happened after I croaked.”

Reginald was staring at him, expression unreadable yet Right could practically see the gears turning in his head. He took it as a good sign and pressed forward.

“You’ve died, the clan’s gone up in smoke, or we’ve had our stuff stolen and rarely do things ever go our way,” Right stated. “Seems like the universe likes taking the mick out of us. We’re usually brought down by one bloke.”

“I’m sorry? A single person destroys the Toppat Clan?” Reginald asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, guy by the name of Henry Stickmin…” Right growled, glaring at his breakfast. “Can’t tip Terrence off when I get sent back, but after that…. I’m your Right Hand Reg, that’s my job. Not this time travelling bullcrap…”

“I’m sick an’ tired of it.” Right admitted, sighing.

Reginald made a noise in sympathy. Silence fell between them as Right ate his breakfast and Reginald was staring into his morning coffee, thinking.

“You know…” Reginald said after a while and Right looked over at him, fork sticking out of his mouth. “why not make it your job?”

Right set his utensils down on his plate, looking curious. “How so?”

“If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t give a damn about remaining consistent, I’d do whatever it takes to change the future for the benefit of the clan.”

“Even if it meant you’d never become chief?” Right asked.

Reginald nodded sagely. “Even then, you know how important the clan is to me. And truth be told, I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for you, to bear the burden on not only your own demise but those of your allies as well. If it were me in your situation… I don’t believe I’d be nearly as calm…”

“You bein’ here helps with that,” Right said. “Knowing that you’re alive here an’ now, that it all wasn’t for nothin’… That keeps me going even in the worst of it.”

“In that case, we need to devise a way for you to inform me about this repeating life of yours every time you’re sent back,” Reginald decided. “It would certainly set my mind at ease knowing you won’t be dealing with this alone.”

“I have a book I keep notes in, more like a journal of sorts,” Right said. “Found it on my desk the first time I got sent back.”

“Anything else?”

“No, just the book. No idea where it came from.”

“Do you mind if I borrowed it?” Reginald asked.

Right shrugged as he shoved another mouthful of eggs and toast into his maw. “Go ‘head.”

The government attack on the airship happened like clockwork. Henry came crashing through the windshield in a big plastic ball. This time, they were prepared with the clan on alert and weapons at the ready. Reginald had cleared the bridge ahead of time and holed himself up in his quarters. Right refused to back down and had waited to see where Henry would appear. He smirked and stood tall.

“Why don’ you ditch your little hamster ball an’ face me yourself?” He drawled, weapon at the ready.

Across from him, Henry Stickmin pressed a button on the controller he held, and Right blinked as a large tube appeared on the front of the ball and dived out of the way of the green laser that fired from it.

He glanced over to see Henry was gone and sighed in exasperation.

“Bloody idiot…” he grumbled and grabbed the communicator clipped to his pants. “The Intruder’s been dealt with Reg. The bridge has sustained heavy damage though.”

Reginald replied moments later. “Round up a repair crew and I’ll see to getting the ship to one of our hangars.”

“Got it.” Right replied and left the bridge in search of Slice, knowing he would have the right people and resources ready to begin the repairs as soon as they landed.

It was as if his talk with Reginald had opened his eyes to the possibilities he now had. In the timelines that followed, Reginald had read his notes and the letter the chief had left for himself and worked with Right to use the information to the clan’s advantage. The schemes the man would concoct were a highlight of Right’s week.

Some things couldn’t be completely altered, as evident by Right’s cybernetic enhancements once more being the only thing that kept him alive after he’d tried to track Henry down and lost in the ensuing fight (again, he was really starting to hate the absurd amount of luck Stickmin had), and Reginald missing a hat.

Right remembered the events that followed all too well and upon hearing Reginald give the order to mobilise in preparation for an attack on The Wall, Right unplugged himself from the charging station installed by his bed and got up to retrieve a long, dark red coat from his wardrobe. It was something he’d started wearing whenever he got “upgraded”, the coat was from his old days before he’d even been assigned to the airship division, before he known as Right Hand Man.

He donned it now because his cybernetics were still new and fresh, still somewhat sensitive to the chill in the night air permeating the airship and his new internal heating systems hadn’t quite adjusted yet. The coat also came in handy as place to store all the little tools and gadgets he or Reginald often needed when out on the mission. He checked the pockets on the inside of the coat and felt a sliver of nervousness and a hint of confidence at the two small boxes tucked away within the confines of his coat.

If things were going to go the way he thought, he wanted something good to come of this. Even if that good was only temporary. He huffed as the left side of his vision was consumed by a blinking notification that he hadn’t finished charging and dismissed it with a roll of his eyes.

He could worry about that later, for now he had to stop Reginald from making a poor decision and dooming them all.

So Right headed towards the bridge.

The bridge was empty save for Reginald at the ship’s controls, everyone else having left to follow orders. Reginald turned around in the pilot’s seat as he heard him approach. “You should be resting Right. I can handle this little rescue operation.”

“I just need to know what you’re planning,” Right said, coming up to stand beside Reginald and resting a hand on the back of the chair. “You read the notes, I don’t want a repeat of that incident.”

“We can just take more precautions, with the information we have, taking out Henry won’t be an issue-”

Right was struck by a bolt of fear at the idea. It was rare that he was genuinely afraid, even rarer since his life had been put on repeat for several decades now, but there were some things that stuck with him. Things like the sight of Reginald pinned to the wall of the bridge, dead in the wreckage of his life’s work. Right had died that time somehow just knowing it was the end of the Toppats and embracing death with the knowledge he’d be sent back.

The knowledge of what happened after he perished had haunted him for days afterwards. It compounded on his bruised ego, the sensation that he was nothing more than a joke, a punching bag for the universe's twisted sense of humour, and he bought Reginald and the rest of the Toppats down with him.

Never again.

“Please Reg, don’t, don’t make me go through that again…” Right cut in. He kept his voice firm and looked away, pulling his hat down to hide his face further. “…I know you don’t like him, but I’m not havin’ that happen twice! ‘Specially since you know it’ll happen if you throw him overboard.”

He heard the squeak of leather as Reginald got up, the quiet sound of his shoes on the carpet as he walked around the chair to face the enforcer. A gloved hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder.

Right stared at the floor. It was cowardly of him yes, but it was better for to him hide when his mask of professionalism was so close to breaking. As good as his poker face was, Reginald would see through it.

Reginald would always be the chief to him, Right was his Enforcer, his Right Hand Man, and that was the be all, end all of it.

“Right,” Reginald said, the former leader’s concern making Right sigh in exasperation and embarrassment. “I assure you I won’t let anything like that happen.”

“Then don’ let your bitterness towards Henry influence your decisions.” Right grumbled. “If I can manage that, then so can you.”

Reginald stepped back. “Yes, I… I suppose I’ve been a bit single minded as of late haven’t I?”

Right sighed and finally looked up to see Reginald was worried, wringing his hands together, and seeing just how much of a toll this had on Right.

He sighed and removed his hat, holding it to his chest with one hand while the other reached into his coat to pull out one of the two boxes. “Look, I may not be the best at getting’ the point across, but I worry about you a lot Reg, I care about you. More than I rightly should given our respective jobs…” he hastily shoved the box into Reginald’s hands. “Ah to hell with it. Here, open it. You’ll see what I mean…”

Reginald quirked an eyebrow in curiosity as he opened the box. The former leader blinked in stunned silence at the light pink felt rose that lay inside.

“I know you like all those traditions the clan had throughout history, so I uh… made this for you… ‘cause I like you,” Right explained as Reginald gingerly picked up the fake rose and turned it over, revealing it was glued to a little gold pin. “It was tradition, back in the renaissance era or somethin’, to give someone in the clan a rose they could pin to their hat if you were interested in ‘em, romantically I mean. Pink ones were for confessin’ that you were interested.”

Right continued, looking off to the side, rambling. “S’lright if you don’t feel the same, don’t even know if you like blokes, it’s jus’ that when I heard the announcement that we were headin’ to The Wall, I knew I had to talk you down from chuckin’ Henry off the ship…” he rubbed the back of his neck as he put his hat back on. “An’ failin’ that, thought I might try my luck with… somethin’ else.”

“Right.” Reginald commanded and Right turned his head to look at him. Reginald’s featured softened into something gentle, and Right was taken aback when the taller man pulled him into a hug.

“You never have to worry about professionalism or where we stand in the clan. Do you hear me?” Reginald’s voice was thick with barely restrained emotion. “I adore you, you absolute fool…”

“Oh…” was all Right could say and timidly reached his arms around to hug Reginald back. This was new, and exhilarating, and terrifying all at once.

Eventually, Reginald pulled away and Right was left a quiet, elated mess of a man as Reginald cleared his throat to get his attention.

“Do you have one of these for yourself?” he quietly asked, holding up the rose and Right sheepishly pulled out the other box from his coat pocket.

“The one I gave you was the second attempt of makin’ one, kinda botched up the first one.” he admitted, opening the box to reveal a felt rose that had several crooked or off-centre petals.

Reginald cracked a smile, almost giggling as he swiped the crooked rose and pinned it to his hat.

“Oi!”

Reginald only laughed. “Hold still and let me pin the other one on you.”

Right huffed but let him pin the decent looking rose to the side of his hat. Reginald admired his handiwork with a satisfied grin.

“Hm yes, quite dashing if I do say so,” he said as he reached up to adjust his own pin with a fond smile. “…I never thought you were interested. I was certain I was giving off the right signals…”

“I’m a bit dense when it comes to this sort of stuff Reg.” the cyborg muttered and straightened up. “We can talk about this later, we got an idiot to rescue…”

“Ah yes, The Wall,” Reginald remembered and headed back to the airship controls. “I promise I won’t throw Henry overboard, go rest, please?”

Right cracked a warm smile, emotions practically bubbling to the surface. “Alright I’m goin’.”

Right Hand Man walked back to his room feeling lighter than he had in years, a giddy veil mixed with relief and belonging had settled around him and he welcomed it.

[beyondconfessor]

Principle Decisions [9/24]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: Entering a beautiful woman’s house, cold and wet, then having her clothes disappearing to where she wouldn’t be able to have access to them. Whatever was a woman to do?

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. This is pure fantasy, please suspend your disbelief. 

Sabrina did not come down for breakfast. It was raining, heavy outside and Zelda was willing to push her anger aside to ensure her niece was taken to the school safely, but while she was drinking her morning coffee over breakfast, she heard the noise of someone trying to quietly sneak their way down the stairs, before the door opened and shut.

When Zelda walked around, an aching sensation gnawing at her stomach, she peered out of the foyer’s windows and noticed that Harvey had picked up Sabrina.

She hardly trusted a teenager to drive safely on the roads. Still, despite her frustration that her niece was clearly trying to sneak her way around her, it was nonetheless sweet to see the boy come to the door the Spellman home with an umbrella, so Sabrina didn’t get wet from the short distance between the veranda and the car.

As it was, Zelda had a meeting with Prudence that morning and needed to leave early anyway, this way at least, she didn’t need to drop Sabrina off on the opposite end of the town on her way to work.

It was raining heavily, and she pulled up at the parking lot, she grabbed her own umbrella to make her way onto campus as the rain continued to wash down.

Sometimes, with the rain they were heaving like this, the main road would flood and block her from coming in. She was already considering cancelling classes for the day unless it let up, but would review how many people actually lived off-campus before making that decision.

Setting her computer up in her office, she removed her coat and sat her umbrella aside before sitting down just as Prudence turned up. “Professor Spellman,” she said with a tight surprise. “Have you read your emails this morning?”

Zelda fixed her damp hair, opening her laptop up as she settled in her chair. “Not yet, should I have?”

“It’s just that…um, the grades you put up are wrong.”

Zelda paused, “How so?”

“You gave Dorcas, Nick Scratch’s results and Agatha now has Nick’s, which works in her favour, I suppose. But…it’s like that across your entire class.”

Zelda’s stomach clenched as she saw a dozen emails from students, questioning their marks. Flicking into the system, she opened it up and reviewed. She wasn’t sure how that had occurred. She wasn’t even sure how many it affected but knew that it was going to be an absolute pain to undo.

Once a grade had been placed up in the system, it wasn’t something easy to undo. It was far easier to screw up the system and adversely affect a person’s weighted score than it was to undo it––the easiest way to fix it would be to manually work out what everyone’s weight score should be and then add in extra credit to move the weighted score up or down, but that would take hours of work.

Literal hours that she could not place onto Prudence’s plate.

Zelda combed her fingers through her hair, feeling a wave of dizziness rush over her. On top of this, she would have to go to Faustus and advise as to what had occurred, explaining the error and what she planned on doing to fix it.

Given that she was apart of the Liberal Arts, there were fewer scholarships that would be affected, but she wasn’t entirelywithout scholarship students. After all, Prudence was one herself.

“I see,” Zelda, wishing she could scream. She swallowed back the frustration and anger, feeling it turn into a lump in her throat. She needed to fix this fast.

“Professor?” Prudence asked softly. “Is there anything I can do?”

“This is my mess, Prudence. I will fix it.” She paused, drawing in a tight breath before noticing that the woman remained hovering in her office. “Do you mind if we reschedule this meeting, I need to fix this as fast as possible, before any of the scholarships are adversely affected.”

“Of course,” Prudence said. “Did you want me to take your first class this morning?”

Zelda looked to the time, and then out at her window to the heavy rain. “No, I think classes should be cancelled, given the weather. Are you okay to make it back to your dormitory?”

“I’ll probably go to the cafeteria,” Prudence responded. “But you have my number if you need me?”

Zelda nodded, gesturing loosely in agreement. The truth was, she didn’t know what was easier. A part of her wanted to double down on the mistake and affirm that it was correct––absurd as the idea was––and another part of her wanted to just up and quit, never to be seen again. The amount of work it would take felt overwhelming. She’d been stressed before, but this, after everything else, felt near impossible.

She began by putting her anxiety aside and sending out an email to Faustus to let him know what had occurred before any complaints were raised. Then she sent out a following email to the affected classes, letting them know she was aware of the error and would rectify it by the day’s end.

She cleared her schedule, pulled out her calculator and tried to remember basic maths before setting to work.

She didn’t eat, didn’t bother taking so much as a cigarette break. Instead, she had a pot of coffee made and set to work, moving from her desk only to attend the bathroom.

It seemed almost a saviour that the rain had occurred, allowing her a reason to cancel the classes and focus on the task at hand.

Once it was done, only then did she take the time to look at the clock and notice it was the end of her office hours, with nothing completed but a rectified mistake and half a dozen emails assuring the scholarship students that were any questions to rise, she would personally fix the issue herself.

Zelda packed her bag up, switched her heels for flats as a heaviness weighed on her shoulders before she made her way through the storm, back to her car, feeling as if the day was wasted. She sat in her car, sitting back in the leather seat as sheets of rain ran down her windscreen.

She wanted to cry or scream or do something, but she didn’t have the energy for any of it. Instead, she put her seatbelt on, turned on the engine, removed the hand brake before reversing out of the parking lot.

The rain narrowed her vision, and as she went to return home, she found herself notably blocked by flashing lights, warning her that she couldn’t take the main road.

Side road it was then—typical of today.

Zelda grew up by the forest. She knew forest roads better than most––though her time dating a ranger and firefighter (separately) certainly added to that knowledge––leaving her to use the mud slicken paths to find her way home.

But it was dark, and it was storming, and she was prideful, eventually finding her car inevitably bogged in a puddle deeper than she’d estimated.

She stepped out of the car, pulling out her umbrella to look at the wheels and knew there was no way in Hell she’d be able to get the wheel out herself. Especially in the rain, the mud was too thick; even now her shoes were sinking in the ground.

No, instead she was stuck having to climb back in her car, soaked from the rain and see if she had service (she did not, because of course the storm was interfering with that).

It left her with two options. Option one was to stay in the car and wait for the storm to recede, when she could go and get help. Option two was to go out and get help now.

It was likely safer to keep with option one, far more practical, but it’d been a shit day. If she was honest, a masochistic part of herself was hoping that something else would go wrong so she could truly scream out at the world and just let out all the frustration and anger she was feeling.

Pulling her coat firmer around herself, she took out her umbrella.

The flats she wore were only markedly more practical for the weather than her heels, but not by much. Zelda climbed out of her car, clicked the doors locked (though if she was going to get robbed, may as well being in the middle of fucking nowhere) and then made her way eastward through the forest on the fire trail, knowing that it would lead to one road or another, where she could try and signal down a driver.

The forest was wet, and the foliage was slippery. More than once, she slid, catching on a nearby tree to stop herself from falling into the mud. But with all the shrubbery, it didn’t seem to matter. Her stockings were soaked and mud-splattered (ruined forever, and she’d barely worn them, so that annoyed her too), her dress clung to her, completely soaked even with the protection of the coat.

It was all too much. She could feel the tears pricking in her eyes, a sob making its way up her throat.

She knew she should turn back. Go back to the car and wait for the storm to clear—however long that would take––but didn’t. Instead, her stubbornness kept her walking through the forest until she saw a flicker of light.

Gold and red, perhaps headlights, or a home. If it was a house, she might be able to request some neighbourly help and hope to God that they were home and would let her use their phone. Otherwise, she was uncertain as to what she was going to do.

The house was a cottage, alone on the old highway. But the lights were on at least.

Zelda made her way up the wooden step, happy for cover from the rain as her back spasmed with shivers, freezing as she knocked on the door.

There was a pause inside, and Zelda knew it was likely someone not expecting any company. And then the door opened, and Zelda found herself face to face with the last person she expected to live in a cottage.

“Lilith?”

“What are you doing here?” Lilith asked at the same time.

Zelda shivered from the cold, feeling the wash of warmth come through from the house with the smell of a wood fire going. “I got bogged. I didn’t know you lived here. I just need to use your…your…” she shivered again, teeth chattering and suddenly the door was being opened wider and Lilith was ushering her inside.

“Bogged?”

“The road was sh-shut due to the r-river o-over f-flowing,” Zelda said, allowing herself to be tugged towards the fire. There, she stripped off her jack, water still dripping off her in a puddle around her feet––embarrassing if it weren’t for how dreadfully cold she felt.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling it wetly stick to her face.

“Where did you get bogged?”

“F-forest road. I k-know the roads,” she said, kneeling before the fire.

“Not that well, it seems,” Lilith muttered as she took the jacket. Zelda didn’t see where it disappeared to, only that Lilith returned and began unzipping Zelda from her dress.

“I’m fine,” Zelda insisted. “I just n-need your telephone.”

“Well, the lines are down, and I don’t get service out here,” she admitted. “So you’ll have to wait, now stand up and let me undress you before I get cross.”

“Wouldn’t want that.”

“My crop is never too far away,” she warned.

Zelda turned and shot her a look, “I thought you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“You don’t listen, do you?” Lilith sighed, unzipping the black dress and helping Zelda to get out of it.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a clever girl, work it out,” the words were spoken sharply, and Zelda realised that the events still hurt the woman.

No, that wasn’t necessarily true. She was hurt by what Zelda had said.

Taking the dress, Lilith wrapped a towel over her and gave her a heavy look before she disappeared with the dress. Zelda huffed, turning back to the fire and feeling the shaking ease. Her muscles remained tight, a bone-chill holding onto her as she tried to inch closer and closer to the hearth to feel the warmth.

“I’ve run you a bath,” Lilith said, returning suddenly. “We can try the phone lines again after you warm up.”

“I don’t need a bath.”

“The fact that you’re still shaking tells me otherwise. Now it’s either this or I bend you over my knee and give you an enema to stop you from getting hypothermia,” Lilith said, her brows raised. “Is that what you want?”

Zelda rose to her feet, disgusted at the implication and allowing herself to be led down the hall, where she was shown to the bathroom. The bath was positively ancient-looking, and the water had been run halfway, deep enough for her to submerge herself into.

Zelda removed her slip and then with clumsy hands began to try and undress herself. Lilith worked faster, unclipping her garter belt and helping her to slide out of stockings before she undressed her.

It was terrible intimate, and twice Zelda slapped her hands away only for Lilith to arch a brow and step back, allowing her to fumble before she took over again.

Finally, Zelda was able to climb into the bath.

The heat scorched her body, but pushing past it, she submerged herself in the heat and felt it slip over her, watching as Lilith picked up her clothes and disappeared with a short, “Don’t get up to trouble.”

If Zelda was honest, this was traversing a fine line between fantasy-nightmare. Entering a beautiful woman’s house, cold and wet, then having her clothes disappearing to where she wouldn’t be able to have access to them. Whatever was a woman to do?

Sinking in the bath, she thought about the implications of it. Truthfully she doubted that Lilith had any bad intentions, no matter how snide her comments were. And yet a part of her couldn’t admit to hoping a little bit for wicked intentions.

She could hear the shuffling around, telling her that Lilith was up to something. Zelda felt the heart of the water soothe her aching muscles, the cold drifting from her bones at the very idea of what could occur. After all, she had stumbled across Lilith’s cottage, her sanctum, so to speak. Likely the woman wouldn’t be terribly pleased…

And yet, as lovely as the idea was, Zelda knew that realistically speaking what was likely to occur was Lilith having her clothes dried by the fire, as she tried the phone line again, unimpressed with the situation.

“Here,” Lilith said, entering the bathroom. “Your clothes were filthy––unfortunately your stockings were beyond saving, but I’ve put everything else in the wash so you’ll just have to wear this for the time being,” she said, setting down a nightgown with a dressing robe beside it and a new, fresh towel.

“Thank you,” Zelda said. “You don’t need––“

“To stop you from dying? Unfortunately, a duty of care is written into the law, and I could be charged with willful neglect,” she said. “Despite what you may wish.”

“I was hardly close to being pneumonic,” Zelda snapped. “It was a bit of rain, not a snowstorm.”

“You were half-drowned,” Lilith said, with an air of disregard, as if she couldn’t be bothered to argue. “Now out you get before you do drown.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Aren’t you?” Lilith said, her smile wicked. Though when Zelda stepped out of the bath, Lilith hands came out and patted her dry with the towel, brushing over her body in a way that Zelda felt the woman enjoyed doing too much if the wicked smile was anything to go by.

Then Lilith was stepping back, and Zelda was finally allowed to dress in the gown and dress, a warm flush dropping over her as Lilith hand her the towel to dry her hair.

The water was murky from the mud and dirt, and more than a few leaves floated in it as Lilith pulled the chain from the plug and set it aside to drain, leaving the bathroom in such a way that Zelda’s eyes followed her movement, familiar with the walk leading her up to her bedroom floor.

“Are you following?” Lilith sang down the hall, and Zelda hated how her heart skipped and an urgency to follow filled her.

Despite her frustration with her, the woman remained to hold a tight control, in a way that was utterly freeing at the best of times and entirely frustrating every other time.

Nonetheless, she followed down the hall, shutting the bathroom door behind her, its lights clicked off.

Lilith led her into the kitchen, where she’d already made a pot of tea, setting it down before her, not unlike their aftercare sessions. Zelda looked to the stove, where it was clear the woman had been halfway through cooking her tea when she’d interrupted her.

And on queue, her stomach gurgled. Zelda flushed, looking away, thankful for the tea.

“Sit down,” Lilith said, shooing her to the kitchen table. And then Zelda watched as she set out two dishes and opened the oven, pulling out a small casserole dish.

“I don’t need––“

“Don’t be impolite. I wasn’t joking about finding my crop, and if need be, I will pull out the wooden spoon if you continue to be rude,” she looked over her shoulder, giving a purposeful look. “Now sit there and wait for dinner to be served, like a good girl, and then we can check the phone lines.”

Zelda didn’t see why she couldn’t check them now, but she sat obediently at the table, her finger pushing at the fork with disinterest. She was embarrassed overall by the situation and further humiliated by the fact that she was just sitting here, waiting for this like it wasn’t her own fault for being here whilst Lilith treater her like a temperamental child.

It didn’t ease the urgency in her to apologise, and there was still a part of her that wanted to stomp off, back to the woods to find her car. She wouldn’t because that was stupid, but the feeling remained there.

Lilith took her plate and began serving the meal. “If I didn’t know how utterly stubborn you were, I would never believe such a story as you getting bogged on the fire trails. Most people would have turned back and waited until the storm passed,” Lilith said with a look.

“I’m not most people,” Zelda said, hating how the woman made her feel like a child under the scrutiny of a teacher. “The fire roads go directly to the Spellman house, and usually it’s fine. I’ve driven it through rain before.”

“But this time you were unlucky.”

“Yes, well, the hole was significant. I would argue it was man-made, but it could just as easily have been created by an animal, digging for something,” she said. “And then the rain just happened to be getting worse.”

“Yes, well, here you are. You’re lucky I live here. Not so long ago, no one lived here, and it was just an old, decrypted house.”

Zelda rose her eyebrows. “So you haven’t always lived in Greendale, then?”

“No. I moved about…oh, a year ago,” she said with a soft hum. There was a softness to her face. “But I was familiar with Greendale. I used to have a few regular clients from here and Riverdale that would pay me to come to visit them for a weekend.”

“Why?” Zelda asked.

Lilith looked at her, tilting her head, “and why not?” she asked.

Knowing she’d overstepped, Zelda felt like she should apologise, but as the woman’s expression stared at her as if waiting for her to argue, Zelda couldn’t hold back from her comment. “Why would someone need a whole weekend of sex and kink?”

“For many reasons that include the fact that it’s not just about sex and kink,” Lilith said, setting Zelda’s plate down before her as she took her own dish to her side of the table and sat down. “You should try it out for yourself and see.”

“Is that your sales pitch?”

“It is,” Lilith said, her eyes sparkling with humour. “Now, explain to me again what occurred. You were coming home from a day of work, saw that the main road was cut off and decided…to go through the fire roads, even though there was a storm?”

As if on cue, thunder roared outside with a flash of light.

“Yes,” Zelda agreed. There was little more to it than that.

“And…you had no idea I lived here?”

Ah, Zelda realised. “You think I drove through the forest road, and intentionally got bogged and decided to traverse through the storm to your cottage? That’s counting on a lot of things to occur at the right moment.”

“Your story is that you got bogged, for all I know, your car is parked a little way up the road.”

“For what purpose?” Zelda said. “Certainly you don’t think that I would be so insecure as to manufacture a moment.”

“I’m never certain about these things. Comes with the territory.”

Zelda quirked her head, studying the woman’s expression. If she had to make an educated guess about what the woman was inferring to, she’d say that there had been a time someone had come across her private residence under false pretences.

“I have better things to do with my life than chase after a woman,” Zelda advised shortly. Privately adding that she was not interested in anyone who had terminated their services because she had some moral compass to show off.

“And what does a woman like you do to occupy her time––outside of soliciting the services of a dominatrix?” Lilith enquired

Zelda smirked. “I work at the university, as you know.”

“Mm, there’s more to it than that.”

“Yes. I complete my own academic papers, but I’m behind on them at the moment.”

“What are your papers on?”

“Language. I had one on the context of language and how it shifts with religious texts, changing the meaning. But my most recent one is more-so about the development of language in cultures and how it shifts––mostly around youth culture, I suppose.” She sighed, thinking fondly upon all the academic books she’d lost when the technician had accidentally deleted all of her stuff due to a virus on her computer––though he said it was more common with university students and suggested raising it with the school.

“Sounds fascinating.”

“In a sense,” Zelda said. “Most people would advise it’s dry. And I suppose it is in their own ways. The students I have hope to become translators or work for the EU in some capacity. Few of them would ever think to follow an academic path, so what I find interesting, they very rarely agree.”

“What did you hope to be when you studied?”

Zelda hummed, realising what the woman was doing, and yet she couldn’t help herself from revealing the truths, “I had an aptitude for language and followed it for that sake alone. I wanted to travel, so I did, spending much of inheritance and earned money travelling the world and learning different dialects. Then I returned home and took up studying for a PhD.”

“Why, Greendale?”

“Because it’s home,” Zelda said, but that was a lie. “Because Sabrina couldn’t live in the city,” she admitted with more honestly. “She deserved a good school and being able to walk home without fear of something happening.”

Lilith nodded. “Understandable,” she said. “When I used to live in the city, I was mugged once. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what that felt like. Though looking back, I don’t think he even had a weapon, just the threat of one and that was enough.” She tilted her head, and her eyes narrowed as if she was scrutinising a thought.

“So why did you move to Greendale?”

“Change of scenery,” Lilith said, her smile tight as she set the fork down. Zelda nodded, dropping the question there. Whatever the reasoning, it was still raw and tight, enough that it fractured the woman’s mask.

They chatted politely over the rest of the meal, Lilith enquiring as to her work, and Zelda asking about the school. The topic remained not dissimilar to what you might have over a work conference with a stranger because it was polite to network rather than taking an absolute interest in what the person was saying.

And when dinner was finished, Zelda rose, taking their dishes to the sink, before beginning to wash up.

Lilith watched her with interest, making no polite comment that she didn’t need to. Although Zelda knew it was an expected social factor to wash dishes if the other person cooked, she couldn’t help but feel annoyed by the fact that Lilith didn’t argue.

It was like when the receipt was placed down for dinner, and the other person doesn’t make a move for it, knowing you’ll pay. It was polite to do the social dance.

“You can try the phone,” Lilith said. “It seems to be back up, but I would suspect that you’re likely to stay the night.”

“And why is that?” Zelda asked, aghast at the woman’s presumptuous way of speaking.

“Because the road remains washed out, and I highly doubt that you’re looking to get your sister bogged on the same fire road as you did.”

Zelda pressed her lips shut and looked away. It was a valid argument. Though she was sure someone she knew had an appropriate car, it was far too late now to ask for such a favour and…

…she wasn’t entirely displeased at the idea of staying the night. It would provide her with more opportunity to…

She stopped the thought there, reminding herself that Lilith had terminated those services, demanding she see a therapist first. Huffing, she stepped away from the sink, pulling out the plug and drying her hands before walking over the phone like that hung on the wall.

It was corded, which seemed all the more ridiculous as she lifted the receiver and heard the familiar sound of a dial tone. Clicking the numbers, she heard the phone ring before it was picked up.

“Spellman residence, this is Hilda.”

“Hilda, it’s Zelda,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know––“

“Oh Zelds, I was worried when I heard the road was flooded. I tried your office, but it rang out.”

“Yes, well, I’m safe, but I likely won’t be home until tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know that I was fine.”

“Wonderful news. Are you staying with the Blackwoods?”

Zelda paused, torn between lying to her sister for simplicities sake, or admitting the truth. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow, thank you, Hilda,” she said before hanging up the phone.

Lilith looked at her, brow’s raising but didn’t seem to argue either way. “Well,” Lilith said with a flutter of her eyes. “I suppose the question is…what did you want to do now?”

Zelda drew in a breath, feeling a low flutter in her belly. She knew what some part of her wanted, but there was no way she was going to admit that. Instead, she returned the question to Lilith, “And what are the options?”

“Hmm, I have some books, we could play a game. Otherwise, we could just adjourn to the living room.”

“And do what?”

Lilith smiled at her. There was demureness to it and were Zelda not so distrusting of the woman. She may have believed it to be genuine. Truthfully, the demure look only made her all the more suspicious. Nonetheless, Lilith led her to the fire and sat down on the lounge, reclining across in a way that had Zelda averting her gaze from her legs as she sat down in the armchair.

For the first time, she swept her eyes over the home. There was a strangeness to it in contrast to the other house. This house seemed smaller with the narrow rooms, though it was definitely twice as large given that it had more rooms. The furniture was old, and as Zelda’s eyes wandered over the mantle and strange collection of knick-knacks, she wondered how much of it belonged to Lilith.

Certainly, she wouldn’t have placed muted colours as a choice of the woman––especially with how modern and bright the other place had been.

“Is this your home?” she asked.

“As much as any other place I live in has been,” Lilith responded. “Why do you ask?”

“It doesn’t suit you.”

Lilith laughed. “No, I suppose it does not. I didn’t decorate it, but it suits me well enough,” she said with a tight smile.

“Did you decorate the other place?”

“Yes, and no,” she answered. “I chose the art and the bed, everything else just came with time.”

The answered puzzled Zelda. As she understood, Lilith had only been living in Greendale shortly. The wealth depicted in two homes cast a strong contract. Here, everything looked old, like it’d been owned for decades and whomever the owner was, had intentionally picked the pieces to match. In contrast, the other place had a more contemporary feel to it.

But Lilith’s answers were deliberately misleading, and Zelda knew that if she wanted to clarify, she would have done so already. Instead, she’d chosen to remain a mystery by design.

It left an awkward silence, one that provided Zelda with too much time to go over the other day, remembering Lilith’s words. Telling her that she wouldn’t engage in her alleged self-harm––and yet, she’d gone out of her way to flirt with her today, to the point that it left no mystery that should Zelda return it, the woman would happily engage in a service.

Right now, she was lying on the lounge in a way that was intended to look casual, but Zelda knew very well was posed, having done similar acts of seduction herself. While she appreciated it, it left her confused.

“What did you mean by earlier?” Zelda asked. “When you said that I don’t listen.”

“You don’t listen, what is there to interpret in that?”

“I listen quite well,” Zelda countered. “You’re just vague, which says more about you than it does me.”

“That may be true, but you don’t listen. You half listen and then extrapolate whatever answer you want from that––in this case, it seems to cast yourself as the victim.”

Zelda’s jaw clicked, a fit of furious anger rising inside of her. “And what in God’s name do you mean by that?”

Lilith smiled. “Why haven’t you booked another appointment with me?” Lilith asked.

Zelda blinked, taken aback by the comment, “You said I couldn’t.”

“I said no such thing. In fact, I offered to leave your last session as free given that we didn’t finish it, which was awfully kind on my end, despite how rudely you stormed off.”

“I was not rude, and you said that you wouldn’t complete the requested services anymore.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I said I wouldn’t engage in your self-harm; there’s a difference. We can still engage in BDSM. It just means that if I say it’s over, it’s over. You don’t get to push your limits without negotiating them with me first.”

Zelda’s chest tightened as she looked away. “I wasn’t trying to push my limits.”

“No, you were trying to punish yourself. I won’t engage in that, the only person who gets to punish you, is me. When you engage my services, you’re mine, do you understand?”

Zelda flushed, staring at the fire. The words your mine rolled through, echoing softly. She quite liked the way that sounded. “I don’t want to punish myself.”

Lilith sighed, sinking in the chair like she was terribly bored. “The therapist I gave you is good. I used her services myself.”

“And what did you need them for?” Zelda asked. “Were you punishing yourself?”

“Don’t do that,” Lilith said, looking her sharply in the eye. For a moment, all humoured had failed, and the woman was looking at her intently. “You’re better than that.”

Zelda shifted, biting back the seething comment. “And who made you the authority?”

“I did by being a dominatrix, and you placed yourself as the submissive.”

“I didn’t appreciate it.”

“No,” Lilith agreed and then she drew in a tight breath. “I will admit, I went about it the wrong way. When I went through…something similar, it was difficult to see that I needed help. You don’t need to see a therapist if you don’t want to, but I do ask that you consider it.”

“I have, and I’ve elected not to.”

Lilith nodded, her expression tight. “Then I won’t push again. But should you ever want a recommendation to a therapist, I will provide it to you.”

“Thank you.”

“And now just comes the matter of you storming off and being quite rude. Are you going to apologise for that, or should I find my cane?”

Zelda shivered and looked away to the fire again, not wanting the woman to see how intently she would enjoy such a thing. The idea of being bent over a surface and feeling the cane crack over her skin. It was enough to make her deeply aware of the lack of underwear underneath the gown.

“Unless that is something you want?” Lilith said, a low, soft laughing ringing from her lips as she sat up.

“No, I––” Zelda said, but her voice was swollen with arousal. All she could think about was Lilith’s hand running over the welts, telling her how good she was being.

Her face felt hot as she bit her lip.

Lilith was standing in front of her before Zelda was even aware of standing. And then, as Zelda looked up, into her eyes, she watched as Lilith bent before her, hands on either side of the armchair, so Zelda sat up straight and pressed back in the seat, watching as the woman’s eyes came to level with hers. “You don’t need to lie to me, if you want me to spank you, all you need to do is ask me nicely.”

Zelda swallowed, staring back, afraid that if she blinked, the woman would devour her.

She could smell her perfume––faded, but sweet coming from her skin as one hand lifted and seemed to curl under her chin, tilting it up. “Ask me nicely,” Lilith said. The words were softly spoken, but there was no mistaking the authority in the command.

“And what would ‘nicely’ look like?” she asked.

“You’re a clever girl, I’m sure you’ll work it out,” Lilith grinned, and it only fed into the situation as Zelda found herself growing bold.

If Lilith wanted to play, she could play. She’d had enough of being seduced––Lilith may have experience of ruling her authority over others, but Zelda had never had a complaint with her own techniques.

“Do I just say, ‘please, Principle Wardwell, won’t you bend me over your knee’?” she asked, grinning as she watched the woman’s smirked falter, her pupils dilating. Zelda leant closer and felt Lilith’s fingers slide down her throat. “Or should I just get on my knees and beg?”

Lilith’s eyes darkened, and she gave a wolfish grin. “I like the idea of you begging.”

“You’re going to need to try harder to get me to beg for you. I’m sure a clever girl like you can work it out.”

“Disrespectful,” Lilith said, her hand coming to slip around Zelda’s throat, holding it steady but not painfully. “You can try to wind me up all you want, but you still need to ask me nicely.”

Zelda drew in a deep breath, knowing she was already under the woman’s skin. “Please, Principal Wardwell,” she purred, and Lilith smirked at her, her fingers tightening as she leant forward and kissed her. Zelda’s eyes fluttered shut, her mouth soft and pliant as she felt the woman climb on top of her, one leg on either side, effectively pinning in her place as she used both hands to cup her face, kissing her softly, and then hard, her teeth coming out to catch against Zelda’s bottom lip before she sucked on it until Zelda moaned.

And then Lilith was kissing down her throat, and Zelda didn’t know how this was going to end up with her getting spanked, but she could feel the flickering warmth in her belly as lips kissed over her neck, each one soft and tender until the woman’s teeth sunk against her shoulder.

Zelda’s nails dug in the woman’s thighs as she rocked forward,

Lilith laughed as she pulled away, giving the spot a lick before she stared into Zelda’s eyes, flicking between them as if she was trying to read her thoughts.

“I’m going to punish you in a way that you’re not going to like,” she said. “It won’t be what you want.”

“And, pray tell, what do you think I want?”

“I think you want me to pull you over my knee and spank you until you’re absolutely soaked, and then you want me to fuck you while you squirm in my lap and listen to me tell you what a good girl you were for taking such a punishment.”

Zelda shifted at the words, feeling the flush brush over her. She swallowed the words, afraid that if she tried to deny it, she’d only make a fool out of herself.

“Don’t worry, I’m still going to spank you, but you were very disrespectful for me in my own home, and naughty girls get punished before they get treats,” she stepped away then and then Lilith was taking Zelda’s hand and tugging her out of the armchair, up the steps to the second floor and into Lilith’s bedroom.

Her real bedroom, that had a simple bed, with simple covers and a thick, fur throw strewn over it to keep the heat in.

Lilith shut the bedroom door behind her and then grinned at Zelda. “What’s your safe word?” she asked.

“Music box.”

Lilith smiled, her fingers running over the satin collar of the dressing gown Zelda wore as she pushed it off her shoulders. “I’m going to make you beg, Zelda Spellman. You came into my territory, in my home. You’re mine.”

“Am I, now?” Zelda asked, feeling her heart flutter.

Lilith’s smile only widened as her fingers played with the straps of the nightgown, pushing them off Zelda’s shoulders too, so the dress fell, catching over her hips before Zelda tugged them down, standing obediently before her.

Lilith leant forward and kissed her again, and Zelda pressed into her, her fingers settling on Lilith’s hips. She didn’t understand how the woman could threaten her and make her feel safe at the same time as if she was in complete control and giving it all up at the same time, but Zelda softened against her, mouth parting to slip her tongue over Lilith’s.

She was eager and nervous, uncertain about what was to follow.

And then Lilith was pulling away and tucking hair behind her ear before she whispered. “On the bed, in the centre for me, please.” And then she stepped back and watched her, teeth biting her bottom lip as she nodded for Zelda to get into position.

Zelda climbed onto the bed, sitting in the centre.

“Oh no, on all fours, facing the head of the bed.”

Zelda drew in a breath, her heart beating faster. It would leave her exposed. Very exposed. But Lilith just waited where she stood, eyebrows raised as she waited for her to either obey or disagree.

Those were her two options. She could do what was asked of her, or she could refuse, demand something she wanted.

She didn’t want anything else.

Zelda obeyed, rolling onto her hands and knees, back straight as she stared at the head of the bed.

“That’s my girl,” Lilith said, and then Zelda could hear her walking around the bedroom, liking admiring her position. “Scooch back a bit,” Lilith said. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Zelda bit her lip, manoeuvring herself backwards. There was no graceful way to do it, and she suspected that that had been Lilith’s plan, to humiliate her just a bit as she was crawling backwards on the bed.

“Stop.”

Zelda paused and then looked over her shoulder, feeling the heat rush across her face, down her body despite how the cool air felt against her naked body (especially to where her sex remained exposed).

“Eyes ahead. Good girl,” Lilith said, and Zelda felt her hand slip down, over her back, across her backside. “Now, stay right there, don’t move,” she said.

Zelda shivered as she felt the hand lift away, listening as Lilith walked around the room, opening up a drawer and pulling something that sounded reasonably heavy out from it. And then, Zelda felt Lilith touch over her ankle, a cuff wrapping around it but Zelda felt what was like a bar press over her other leg, and then Lilith was moving her other ankle, adjusting it, so her thighs were quite wide apart.

“A spreader?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” Lilith confirmed, buckling her other ankle into a cuff. “It leaves you so beautifully exposed before me.” And then when all was done and buckled, Lilith’s hands were dropping over her waist, sliding down her backside and thighs as she ran her nails bluntly over the skin.

Zelda shivered, but try as she might, the bar kept her legs spread and she was unable to press her thighs together.

She was just open. The woman could do and see as she pleased.

Zelda drew in a deep breath, calming her beating heart as Lilith hand’s continued to run over her, petting her softly. It was both patronising and yet calming at the same time, and Zelda wished that she could find it annoying.

“Now, I would say…five for each infraction, does that sound fair?”

“Yes.”

“Yes…?” Lilith prompted.

“Yes, Principle Wardwell.”

Lilith laughed before Zelda heard her draw in a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever tyre of hearing you say that.”

And then Zelda felt her hands running over her again, pressing across her lower back and drawing her nails down the muscles. “Five lashes for each infraction, I’ve counted your rudeness three times.”

“Three?”

“Mmhmm. Three times I threatened to spank you, so here you are. Fifteen lashes that we’ll do in lots of five.” And then she was quiet again, and Zelda was taking a deep breath, waiting for the first strike to hit.

It came sudden and firm against the left cheek, and Zelda squeaked, surprised by it but otherwise fine. The second was as firm on the other side. She bit back her sound, digging her hands in the fur throw and waited. Another strike came, low and managing to hit both of her upper thighs, stinging it enough that Zelda gasped.

Three strikes.

Was she meant to be counting them? She couldn’t remember.

Another strike came, and Zelda felt it rock over her. Her ass was warmed already by the strikes, a heat pulsating across it that paused as she felt the cane gently kiss against her. Holding her breath, she wondered briefly if that was meant to be number five.

And then she saw the shadow flicker, giving her enough time to brace as the strike hit her hard and true on her upper thigh, stinging across it.

She squeezed her eyes shut, taking in a deep breath as she breathed through the pain, feeling it pulsate over her.

“You did well,” Lilith advised, her fingers coolly pressing over the marks, running across the welted lines.

Zelda squirmed at the touch, feeling her own wetness grow slick––it was somehow all the more embarrassing to know how on show she was, how easily Lilith could see how wet she was getting it.

Zelda ducked her head, staring at the fur throw and drew in a tight breath. As humiliating as it felt, she still squirmed at the sensation, wanting to feel Lilith’s fingers continue to draw over, mixing plain with pleasure.

“Ready for the second lot?”

Zelda nodded, and then squeaked too late as she felt Lilith pinch a welt in warning, “Yes, Principle Wardwell.”

“Good, you’re learning.” Lilith stepped back and drew over her thighs. “Let’s see, shall we. I could be very, very cruel but I don’t think I will. I think I’ll be nice.”

Zelda whined.

“I know what you want, but this isn’t about that,” Lilith said, her hand running over her back, stroking across the curve of her skin. And then the next strike came, and Zelda’s eyes squeezed shut as it cracked over her ass, hitting the very edges of her vulva with deliberate intention. It stung enough that she felt tears prick into her eyes, but Zelda’s fingers curled into the throw, breathing out hard as she pressed against the spreader between her calves.

She couldn’t lie. It hurt, but it hurt good. Like she could feel the impact and the pain rolling over her, but also the endorphins flooding through her bloodstream.

“Would you look at that,” Lilith teased and then her fingers were sliding over the outer labia, and Zelda was whimpering at the light touch, feeling the woman spread her wider. “My, my, you do enjoy a good spanking, don’t you?”

“Yes, Principal Wardwell.”

“Mm, perhaps I should get creative, think of other ways to punish you for rude behaviour. Maybe make you––“ she was cut off as a ding sounded, far below in the home. “Excellent, the washing machine’s done. Do be a dear and stay where you are. I’ll be quite cross if I’ve seen you’ve moved.”

“Yes, Principal Wardwell.”

Zelda held her position, waiting, and then feel the faintest touch on her back, before she felt Lilith’s fingers comb through her hair, moving it in place. And then she was gone, feet padding out of the room.

Zelda could hear the stairs creak with the weight on them, before that too faded, leaving the house quiet.

There was the sound of a door opening, and then there was silence, and Zelda waited and waited and waited. Feeling seconds tick as the heat and sting on her skin turned cold and then faded to a dull ache. There was only quiet and her thoughts.

And all she could think about was that if anyone walked in except Lilith, she would be terribly on show. Every part of her naked and exposed for view. Realistically, she was safe. It was unlikely that someone else would make their way to the house, be invited inside and then make their way up the stairs to Lilith’s bedroom.

And yet, despite the knowledge of this, Zelda couldn’t help but feel the prick of anticipation. It wasn’t entirely impossible, just improbably. It could happen. Someone could come across the lone house and visit her.

A stair creaked, and Zelda felt the anticipation break across her skin. She was almost helpless.

What would happen if someone were to––

“Look at that,” Lilith said, and Zelda prided herself in the fact that she didn’t jump, despite her surprise. “You remained perfectly in position. Aren’t you just an obediently little woman?” Zelda could hear her steps down, listening as they stepped over her to behind her, taking the cane from the bed.

“Are my clothes––“

The cane struck low, on the side of her thigh and Zelda gasped, surprised by it. “Subordinates are quiet unless spoken to,” Lilith reminded her. “Now, where were we?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Zelda refrained from allowing a response to be pulled from her as she felt the woman walk around the bed, seeming to take her form in. “I think two more lashes should do it.”

Zelda’s brow pinched. She was certain that there was at least eight outstanding.

But Lilith’s fingers touched over the welts and Zelda hissed at the touch. Two spots were more painful than the others, and Zelda felt Lilith’s fingers glide over it, rubbing the nerves raw. It twisted painfully inside of her, and although there was certainly enjoyment to be found, for the most part, she felt the pain act like pins against her emotions, pricking her pain until she felt like she was going to cry.

“You’ve done well,” Lilith said. “I’m reducing them because your skin's a little more delicate than I anticipated. But I’m proud of you, so don’t think that’s it’s for any other reason.” And then the weight shifted, and Zelda felt her head bow. The strike came, hard and firm, pressing over one of the smaller welt and Zelda moaned, feeling it spark up her spine. Tears were pricking in her eyes now.

And she wasn’t sure if it was from the strike or the words I’m proud of you that were running through her head. It was absurd to get so worked up over the phrase. Absurd to feel them prick sharply into her, harder than any strike. Anything at all.

Proud of you.

God have mercy; she ached.

The last strike came, and like a crumbling damn, Zelda’s body bent over. She wasn’t going to cry; she was determined not to cry.

And yet Lilith’s fingers were fast, and the spreader was unbuckled and removed, and then the woman was on the bed, and Zelda was pulled into her lap. And Zelda hated it, hated how the woman’s fingers drew over her hair, how she hushed her and ran hands over her body and whispered how good she’d been.

Because it hurt, it hurt more than it should, and Zelda wanted it again. She wanted Lilith to whisper into her ear and press kisses to her shoulder, and tell her that she’d done really well, even if it wasn’t true. She wanted it so badly.

She closed her eyes and felt the combing stop, but Lilith’s hands remained on her, one settled on her head, the other curled around her body, pressing against her chest, steadying her.

And then when the pain was over, Zelda drew a breath and rose, feeling the embarrassment wash over her again, just as it had in their first session.

She licked her lips, trying to think of a dry comment to make or something to say to soften what had occurred but Lilith only looked into her eyes, and all the words died in her mouth.

“I’m going to insist this time that I put cream on it since you’ll be staying the night.”

Zelda made a noise of disagreement but shifted away, winching as she pressed against a welt. “Fine,” she agreed. “Only because I won’t have access to my own.”

Lilith gave her a look and then shifted off from the bed, going over to her dresser when she shuffled through the drawers, before pulling out a container of cream.

She returned to the bed, and tugged at a pillow, pulling it down next to Zelda, “Lie down, and I’ll place it on,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Zelda obeyed, rolling onto the stomach and resting her arms over the pillow, placing her head on it in a way she was comfortable.

And then she settled, feeling the fur of the throw press against her as the cream was unrolled and the woman’s fingers were dipping in it. “Do you do this for your clients, too?”

“I do,” Lilith answered. “Some, like you, are stubborn, which makes it harder to provide adequate care. But I usually find a way.”

Zelda hissed as the cream touched over a welt before she softened again. The woman’s touch was firm, rubbing it into the skin, and she felt her stomach twist at the intimacy of the situation. It came at no surprise to herself that sex and kink were easier than allowing someone to rub cream into the welts.

“None of them have broken,” Lilith said, as her fingers drew down her thighs, both hands rubbing over her left, the thumb firmly rubbing it in––and yet despite how intimate it was, it didn’t feel like foreplay. It felt like what it was, aftercare. As if Zelda was an invalid needing cream for bedsores. “They won’t scar, but they’ll sting for a few days.”

“Wonderful,” Zelda responded dryly.

“Oh, yes,” Lilith said. “One of my favourite things is knowing that even after you leave, you’re going to think of me,” she said, drawing the cream on the other side now. “When you get in your car, when you sit in your office when you’re at the dining table, you’re going to feel it press, and you’re going to think of me.”

“They won’t be happy thoughts.”

“They will be,” Lilith said. “You’re a masochist, Zelda. Try as much as you like. You do like this.”

She felt a bite rise in her. “And yet you said that it was self-harm.”

“Mm, there’s a difference,” Zelda felt Lilith's fingers draw away, and despite how much easier it was to relax when they weren’t there, she missed the touch, the feeling of her drawing over the skin. “What you wanted the other week was complete destruction. You were pushing yourself, refusing to stop. This was different.”

“I didn’t cry last time.”

“Crying isn’t always a sign of pushed limits,” Lilith said. “I think you know the difference between today and the other day and are trying to be deliberately obtuse, so you get what you want.”

Pushing up, Zelda felt a flare of frustration rise at the woman’s words. “Which is what?” she asked, her jaw clenching as she anticipated the woman’s indifference to her fight.

But Lilith only smirked at her. “you know what, Zelda. I’ll play with you on negotiated terms, but I’m not your partner. I can’t be the emotional support you need.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Zelda huffed, pushing up onto her hands and knees before she paused, wincing as she felt the pain sting over her. The welts hurt differently than before. This was a dull ache that throbbed, rather than the sharp sting.

But she pressed on, moving to push off the bed. Not that there was far she could go. She was stuck in the woman’s house until the storm ended––or, more realistically, until tomorrow. A part of her wanted to seduce the other woman, dominate her in a different way that she’d been until Lilith was left wet and wanton against her mouth, but she had a sneaking suspicion that sex was off the table for the moment.

Taking the nightgown from the floor, she placed it on, before pulling on the dressing gown and drew her hair over her shoulder.

Lilith remained sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her with mild interest as if she wasn’t sure what might occur next.

“What time is it?”

“Relatively early,” Lilith said, “though I have some administration work to do. Did you want a cup of tea?”

“Please,” Zelda agreed.

_________________

[a-fire-emblem-geek]

The Incredible Shrinking Unlucky Student Part 1

Monodora feels like the killing game just isn’t interesting enough. He whips up an interesting new motive, which involves a peculiar thing happening to a certain unlucky student.

The day had started out average enough.

Ayumu woke up, the morning announcement blaring in his ears.

“Good morning, everyone! Please meet in the cafeteria for a very important announcement!” Monodora spoke.

Ayumu grumbled, mustering what little energy he had to get out of bed. He didn’t sleep a wink last night. The thought of a killing game was far too scary for him to sleep like a baby. But no one here looked like that they could be a potential murderer, right?

Right?

He slipped into his outfit, briefly taking the time to attempt to get the one tuft in his hair to just stick down. When that attempt proved to be fruitless, Ayumu stepped outside, only to be greeted by Seishi.

“Ah, Mr. Fujimori, good morning!” Seishi greeted.

“Hey, Seishi! Are the others at the cafeteria?” Ayumu asked.

“Only a few people. Come on, we shouldn’t keep Mr. Monodora waiting,” Seishi responsed. The mystery novelist and the unlucky student walked down the hallway.

Once they got to the cafeteria, they saw that Misuzu, Kazuomi, Kasumi, Mitsunari, and Narumi were already there.

“Good morning, Seishi. Good morning, Ayumu,” Misuzu greeted.

“Hey,” Kasumi grumbled.

“I wonder what Monodora fucking wants...” Kazuomi growled, the karate practitioner resting his head in his hands boredly.

“Hungry? I’m about to start breakfast!” Narumi chirped.

“Why did Monodora wake us up so early?” whined Mitsunari as he spoke for his puppet, Uma.

“Uma, you always wake up at 11 am!” objected Mitsunari as he spoke for his other puppet, Shika.

“Hey, I need my beauty sleep, you know!” Uma yelled.

“Now, children, we shouldn’t fight!” Mitsunari himself repremanded sternly.

“Sorry, daddy...” both puppets chorused.

Soon enough, more people started piling in. First came Aruma, who looked rather... aroused.

“Sorry, everyone! I was having the most... hot dream ever...” Aruma spoke. “It involved-.”

“Enough of that shit!” Kazuomi growled. Nevertheless, the purple-haired animal trainer went to sit by Kazuomi.

Next came in Saiji with Nico and Maiko at his heels.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, everyone,” Saiji apologized with a polite dip of his head.

“You don’t have to apologize all the time, you know!” Maiko repremianded.

“So- Never mind,” Saiji stopped himself before he could be reprimanded again.

“I didn’t sleep. The thought of a killing game hung over my head like a hawk over a field of chickens...” Nico murmured. The poet, the undertaker, and the dancer sat together at their own separate spot at the table.

Marin and Kego came in a few seconds later.

“Good morning, everyone! Big sis hopes that you all had lovely dreams! Poka poka! （＾ω＾)” Marin beamed. Ayumu’s mood brightened upon seeing the cheerful weather forecaster.

“I was hoping that I could practice my sick beats before Monodora said that he needed to see us...” Kego mumbled.

Lastly, Mikoto came in the room with Akira not too far behind.

“Let’s see what Monodora wants now...” Mikoto grumbled. The mysterious girl sat next to the open chair near Ayumu.

“Eh, it’s probably for no good reason...” Akira concluded. The NEET took his own spot near Aruma.

Not too long after Akira sat down, Monodora popped out of literally nowhere.

“Goooooooood morning everyone!” The disembodied cat plushie head spoke. No one spoke. “Oh, come on! You youngsters are so rude!”

“You are literally keeping us here...” Akira pointed out. Monodora continued as if the dark blue-haired NEET hadn’t spoken at all.

“Anyway, I noticed that no one here was going to kill each other-!” Monodora started.

“That’s because we refuse to do that!” Seishi interrupted.

“Will you all STOP INTERRUPTING ME?!?” Monodora yelled. Once the room was completely silent, he continued. “I noticed that no one here was going to kill someone, sooo I concocted a little motive for that to happen!”

“We are not going to fall for it, Monodora!” Ayumu shouted.

“Ooooh, I think you will! Speaking of which, Ayumu... come here!” Monodora ordered. Seishi protectively wrapped his arms around Ayumu.

“He is not going to follow your orders!” The redheaded novelist yelled.

“If he doesn’t come up, I’m just gonna kill you all right now!” Monodora cackled. Ayumu gently pried himself out of Seishi’s grasp.

He got up, his legs shaking as if they were supported by jello instead of bones. Ayumu hesitantly stepped towards Monodora, his heart thundering in his ribcage like a boxer punching rapidly at a punching bag. Once he was close enough to Monodora, Ayumu found himself barely able to speak because his mouth was dryer than a desert. That was when a Monodora did something completely unexpected. He took out some kind of gun and shot it at Ayumu. The unlucky boy cringed as a tingling sensation encased his body and... nothing. Ayumu opened his eyes to see his body briefly encased in a yellow aura, which then disappeared after a bit.

“Well, that’s enough of that! Bye for now! Upupupupu!” Monodora promptly left.

A moment of silence filled the cafeteria. It was so quiet that you could easily hear a crumb drop. Finally, it was Kazuomi who broke the silence. “Hey, Ayumu? Do you... fucking feel okay?” the SHSL Karate Practitioner asked.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. I’m just... shaken up, that’s all...” Ayumu mumbled.

“Big sis hopes that nothing serious happens to Ayumu-kun... poka poka... (☍﹏⁰)” Marin muttered worriedly.

“Someone should just keep watch of Ayumu, just in case...” Mikoto suggested. “We don’t know what that beam did to him.”

“If anything at all, really,” Akira piped up. “It could just be a trick to make us think that something happened to Ayumu...”

“Guys, seriously, I feel fine!” Ayumu objected.

“I agree with Mikoto. Someone should watch Ayumu just in case...” Saiji pointed out.

“I’ll do it, Mr. Rokudou,” Seishi offered. “I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Fujimori.”

“N-not at all!” Ayumu stammered, his cheeks going as red as his eyes. Wait, why was he getting so flustered? Seishi was just a really good friend! Friends shouldn’t make other friends flustered. Ayumu shook off his romantic thoughts as he walked alongside Seishi.

The rest of the day continued as normal. Ayumu was always with at least one student: he was at first with Seishi, then with Saiji and Maiko, then with Marin and Kazuomi, and lastly with Mikoto. They never left him alone for a second. Once nighttime struck, Ayumu went back to his room, not feeling too different at all. He changed into his pajamas, got ready for bed, and crawled under the covers. For the first time since this killing game, Ayumu went into a deep sleep.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

The next day came surprisingly fast, but Ayumu found himself not wanting to leave his bed. The covers had a comforting grip on him, for they felt somewhat heavier than usual. The morning announcement broke him out of his tired stupor, and Ayumu climbed out of the covers.

Although it wasn’t obvious, Ayumu could tell that something was off. First of all, he found himself having to bend his legs a little less in order to get out of bed. Okay, nothing too strange. When he went to change clothes, he noticed that his clothes felt a bit... looser on his body. Maybe he lost weight? He hasn’t really been eating much since the killing game, no matter how delicious Narumi’s food was. But then as he could hear someone knock on the door, he noticed that the doorknob was a bit closer to his face last time.

Seishi was at the other side of the door, and he was immediately struck speechless the second he saw Ayumu.

“Uh... greetings... Mr. Fujimori...” Seishi sputtered out, still eying Ayumu up and down.

“Hey, Seishi...” Ayumu murmured awkwardly. The two boys left together.

As they walked towards the dining hall, Ayumu felt Seishi’s gaze heat up on him. Why was Seishi staring at him? Was it something on his face?

When Seishi and Ayumu got in, it became everyone who was staring at Ayumu. Some were scanning him up and down, others were whispering to the person next to them, and others gazed at him worriedly. He got his plate of breakfast from Narumi... noticing that the fork was slightly bigger.

As everyone ate, people kept glancing at Ayumu every now and then. That was when the unlucky boy snapped.

“Why is everyone staring at me?” He asked, nervousness in his voice.

“It’s nothing against you, Ayumu, it’s just that...” Saiji trailed off mid sentence.

“Something seems different about you,” Kego finished.

“Nothing really feels-.” Ayumu was cut off by a yellow aura encasing his body. A brief pulling sensation encased his muscles, and then the aura wiped away. Ayumu noticed that he could no longer touch his heels to the floor.

“W-what the fuck?!” Kazuomi stuttered.

“Is it just me, or did Ayumu get shorter?” Narumi asked, finishing her toast.

“No, Ms. Osone, we all saw it too,” Seishi replied.

“Did an evil spirit do this?!” Kasumi gasped.

“Calm down, everyone! Big sis is sure that it’s just a one time thi-! ⊙﹏⊙” poor Marin was cut off by the yellow aura encasing Ayumu’s body again, knocking him down a couple of inches.

Now everyone was freaking out.

“Is Ayumu just going to keep shrinking?!” Aruma yelled.

“D-definitely not! He has to stop eventually-!” Saiji stammered, rudely cut off by Monodora entering the room.

“Hate to tell ya this, prayer boy, but Ayumu isn’t gonna stop shrinking!” Monodora laughed.

“But if he keeps shrinking...” Akira mumbled, showing his own form of unease.

“Then he’s going to get too small for us to even see!” Misuzu finished.

“Correct!” Monodora cackled. “And he’s just gonna keep shrinking... and shrinking... and shrinking...!”

“Tell us what we could do to fucking fix this right now, you monochrome piece of shit!” Kazuomi yelled, seething with rage.

“Woah, woah, no need to get hasty!” Monodora laughed. The yellow aura encased Ayumu’s body yet again, which shrunk him down even more. “And the answer is simple, KILL SOMEONE! Bye for now! Upupupupu!” And with that laugh, Monodora disappeared.

“This is baaaaad!” Maiko yelled, looking at Ayumu.

“Oh, puh-lease, we are not going to give in to that c*cksucker’s motive!” Kasumi yelled.

“But... Ayumu...” Nico started. The yellow aura struck again, shrinking Ayumu down by a couple of more inches. Seishi looked lost in thought.

“Wait!” He spoke up. “There is a way! Mr. Monodora said that there is a chemistry room!”

“How’s that going to help Ayumu?!” Mikoto hissed.

“There are certain chemicals that Mr. Fujimori needs in order to stop the shrinking!” Seishi spoke.

“Then what are we fucking waiting for?! Let’s get them!” Kazuomi yelled.

“Wait, someone should stay with Ayumu! If no one watches him, we could step on him by accident!” Saiji pointed out, worry overtaking the voice of the typically cool and refined undertaker.

“I’ll do it,” Mikoto volunteered. “The rest of you, go!”

The other 13 students nodded, running off, leaving Mikoto alone with Ayumu.

————

Mikoto knelt down next to Ayumu, wincing as he shrunk further. Something in the back of the girl’s mind wouldn’t stop nagging her.

She failed.

She failed to protect Ayumu Fujimori, the Ultimate Unlucky Student.

Now he was going to shrink into nothingness if her classmates don’t hurry the fuck up.

“Uh... thanks for watching over me,” Ayumu spoke in an attempt to make conversation. Mikoto just nodded. Ayumu’s chest now lined up with the bench. “Mikoto? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Ayumu...” she mumbled, clutching her leg in worry.

“It’s not your fault, Mikoto, in case you were thinking that,” Ayumu spoke.

“It kind of is. I was supposed to protect you,” Mikoto hissed. That’s when she realized her error.

“Protect... me?” Ayumu echoed. He was knocked down a couple of more inches. Mikoto’s heart raced. He was now about the same height as Kego.

“I wasn’t planning on telling you this, but... my Ultimate talent is the Ultimate Bodyguard,” she spoke. Ayumu shrunk down more.

“A bodyguard?!” Ayumu echoed, still shrinking.

“Exactly. And as a bodyguard, I failed.” Mikoto grumbled. Ayumu placed a hand on Mikoto’s, which was now about the size of her entire palm.

“Hey, Seishi is gonna fix this! He and the others should be back anytime soon!” Ayumu reassured her. Mikoto gave a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile.

“I hope so,” she mumbled, staring off into the distance.

—————

Seishi straight up wasn’t having a good time right now.

Ayumu Fujimori, the boy he grew to care for, was now in severe danger. He didn’t know how small he was going to be when the other 13 students came back, or if he was even going to be visible to the naked eye.

Was this... all part of his plan?

‘No, don’t think about that!’ Seishi reprimanded himself, approaching the chemistry room.

“What chemicals do we need?!” Misuzu barked out, immediately rushing inside.

Seishi told them the chemicals that they needed.

“Hey, Seishi, how do you even know this?” Kego asked, currently rummaging through the supplement shelves.

It had been when they were kids. Zen thought it would be a good idea to shoot himself with a mysterious gun to scare his brother. However, Zen wasn’t counting on the gun being a rapid-shrinking gun. They had managed to stop the shrinking with those chemicals, but Zen now currently stood at an inch tall. Serves him right.

Seishi hoped that Ayumu would at least be bigger by the time the chemicals were obtained.

Saiji had gotten the first chemical, handing it to Seishi who responded with a ‘thank you’. Mitsunari had found the second, which Seishi immediately took given Mitsunari’s puppets being on his hands. Lastly, Kasumi had gotten the last chemical. Seishi immediately mixed them together, his heart racing in his chest.

The 13 Ultimates ran out of the classroom. Seishi’s stomach churned with nervousness. ‘Hopefully, we’re not too late...’

[hailing-stars]

new york’s santa 

for @ardenskyedarcy221b​ @frostysunflowers​ @seek-rest​ @blondsak​ I <3 you all, and are all some of the kindness people I know! hope your holiday season is wonderful and bright 

summary 

“Are you Santa?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You really think I have the time to be a glorified cosplayer?”

“I didn’t even think you knew what a cosplayer was…” said Peter, trailing off. He shook his head, refusing to let his mind wander from the topic. “Where do you keep the reindeer? Can I meet them?”  

OR

New York City has it's own Santa, and Peter discovers it's Tony Stark, because of course it is.

trope: holidays

read on ao3 or after the undercut 

New York City didn’t always have a Santa.

Peter remembered a time when he was too little to reach over the counters and steal cookies. That hadn’t stopped him, though, because even back before he was sticky, he had still liked to climb.

He worked hard, dragging the step stool in the bathroom, the one he stood on to brush his teeth and wash his hands, all the way into the kitchen, grinning the entire way. He pushed it in front of the counter, stepped up, and reached his hand out. The tips of his fingers brushed against the plate, before he was caught around the belly by his Uncle Ben’s arm, carried out of the kitchen and into the living room where he was tossed down on the couch.

He giggled as he landed on the cushions, near where his Aunt May sat reading a book.

“Be careful with him, Ben,” said May, as she turned a page of her book. Peter looked at her, upside-down, from his position on the couch.

“He’s tougher than you think,” said Ben. He plopped down on the couch between May and Peter.

“Yeah,” said Peter, jumping back up into a sitting position, his wild brown hair falling into his eyes as he did. He extended his arm out, like he’d seen his hero do many times on TV. “I’m tough, like Iron Man.”

“I think you’re much tougher than Iron Man,” said May. She shut her book and set it on the coffee table in front of them. “And much more sensible.”

“True,” said Ben, with a laugh, then his face grew more serious. “Which is why, me and your aunt both, think it’s time we told you the truth about Santa, Pete…”

That was the day Ben and May explained to him that Santa Claus was make-believe. He wasn’t real. There wasn’t a magical place called the North Pole, there weren’t any reindeer out flying around in the sky. They explained it was his job to keep the story alive for his friends and the other kids in class, who probably still believed.

Back then he hadn’t thought it was fair that he had to be the first to realize magic wasn’t real, but now, Peter understood. Ben and May, infinite in their love and their wisdom, hadn’t wanted Peter to think he’d done something wrong when he woke up and saw just a few presents under the trees, when his friends would come to school and talk about getting a whole store.

Families like the Parkers weren’t rich enough to believe in fairy tales.

He’d drifted off to sleep that Christmas Eve, after two kisses on his forehead, a little sad, but loved, and still excited for Christmas morning.

He’d been the first to wake, like always, and when he’d wondered out into the living room where the Christmas tree stood strong, his eyes went wide in shock. There were presents under the tree. A mountain of presents, piled high, covered in bright, shiny wrapping paper and topped with bows.

And there was a bike. The exact one he wrote to Santa about. It was red and gold and had never once had training wheels on it. It had a bow, too.

Peter’s mouth hung open, but it was approximately thirty seconds until he could get any words to come out.

“AUNT MAY! UNCLE BEN! YOU WERE WRONG ABOUT SANTA!”

They were rising up from under the covers just as Peter rounded the corner, bolted into their bedroom and leapt up between them on their bed. He scrambled to stand upright, then jumped up and down, completely forgetting the conversation May had with him just last week about jumping on the furniture.

“Come on! Come on! You have to come see,” said Peter. “Santa bought us lots of presents.”

May and Ben exchanged looks of concern.

“Peter, honey,” said May, taking his hand, while he kept jumping up and down. “We talked about this. Santa – “

“-Just come on.”

Peter tugged his hand free, jumped off the bed, and ran out of the bedroom, giving his aunt and uncle no choice but to follow him into the living room.

“See? He is real.” Peter motioned at all the presents under the tree.

“Ben,” said May. “Who…? Someone broke into our apartment…”

Ben wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were fixed on a shiny envelope that had been placed on the tree. Gently, he pulled the envelope off and opened it, taking out a stack of twenties and a small notecard.

“… it’s signed Santa,” said Ben. He handed over the envelope with the money and notecard to May.

“This is enough for three months’ rent,” said May, shuffling through the stack of cash.

“Whoever it was, I hope they break in again.”

May smiled through her tears and elbowed her husband.

“Can I open these now or what?” asked Peter. He dove in only after giving his uncle’s okay in the form of a nod.

Peter got a lot of stuff that Christmas. Clothes, which his aunt and uncle were happy about, and toys, which he was happy about. His favorites included a chemistry set, a stack of Star Wars movies on DVD, his new bike and Legos. He loved the present he got from his aunt and uncle the most, an Iron Man action figure that shot blue bullets out of his hand.

He sat on the floor and played with it while Ben and May watched the news. As it turned out, all of New York City had received visits from Santa. A few people, who were out and about in the dead of night, got pictures of a sleigh with reindeer flying around in the sky.

“I wonder who it is…” said Ben, munching on Christmas cookies. “I wonder who’s doing all this.”

At the time, it’d seemed obvious to Peter. Santa, of course. But as the years passed by, Peter got too old to believe in magic, and he joined Ben in his speculation about the man underneath the Santa Hat. Christmas after Christmas, they wondered, they guessed, until Ben wasn’t around to do any wondering or guessing, and Peter and May were left to somehow survive Christmas without him, to wonder and guess without him and with the rest of the city, instead.  

All of New York City wanted to know Santa’s name, and the students at Midtown High were no exception.

“I’m going to set a trap,” said Flash, with clear venom and disgust in his voice, heard clearly even from a few tables over in the school cafeteria. “I’m going video him and expose him on my Instagram, then maybe the police or Spider-Man can put him in prison where he belongs.”  

Peter looked away from the table where Flash sat with a frown. It seemed odd, and a bit extreme, even for Flash, to have a personal vendetta against someone who just wanted to shower money and presents on the city.

“What’s Flash got against Santa?” he asked.

Michelle snorted from behind her book. “Last year he got a lump of coal and a book called Kindness for Dummies.”

Peter and Ned laughed, but quickly moved on to talking about their excitement about the new Star Wars movie. He didn’t be bothered with obsessing about who Santa was or wasn’t. It lost its charm once Ben died, and besides that, there was something in Peter that felt like he knew him already.

*

Peter stepped out of the elevator and into the common room of Avenger’s Tower, shaking snowflakes out of his hair and holding two cups of hot chocolate, one of which that was snatched out of his hand by an unregretful Sam Wilson.

“Thanks, Pete,” he told him. “I don’t care what Bucky says about you, you’re the best.”

“That’s not for you,” said Peter, carefully prying Sam’s claws off the cup and reclaiming it. “It’s for Mr. Stark.”

Peter took a glance around the common room. It was filled with Avengers, buzzing with Christmas music and chatter, but Mr. Stark was nowhere to be found.

“Where is he?”

“Might as well let me have it,” said Sam. “You won’t be seeing much of Tony this time of year.”

“He’s right, Peter. Tony hates Christmas,” said Steve, from where he stood with Bucky, the both of them with cue sticks in hand.

“What?” He tried not to choke on the laugh stuck in his throat.

The idea was so childish, like something a villain in a storybook might say. Peter knew not everyone loved and celebrated Christmas, that the holidays were tough for many people, but hate it? Hate Christmas? Mr. Stark? The same Mr. Stark who insisted on blasting classic rock covers of old Christmas songs in the workshop since Black Friday?

Peter didn’t believe it. He couldn’t. It was illogical.

“It’s the same every year,” said Nat, who was lounging on the couch, her phone in hand. “Isolates himself. Won’t even help us with missions.”

Peter stood on his tippy toes, trying to look her in the eyes over the back of the couch. Something didn’t seem quite right, something didn’t add up, either that, or it… it lined up perfectly, actually. It clicked, right then, inside Peter’s brain, something that seemed so obvious it had to be true.

“You guys don’t think?”

“Don’t think what?”

“Tony’s Santa,” said Peter. Every Avenger in the common room stopped what they were doing and looked at him like he was stupid or delusional. “Come on, guys, billionaire, tech genius, pretends to be all grinchy so he can be alone and work on… well, Santa stuff.”

“Tony isn’t Santa, Peter,” Nat told him.

“You said it yourself,” said Sam, pointing his finger at him, then starting to walk away. “He’s more like the Grinch.”

“On a good day,” Bucky finished.

Peter gave them each a look, wondering if they were being intentionally dim, or if they knew the truth and were attempting to hide it from him. He shifted his head, pointing it towards the ceiling.

“Friday, tell Mr. Stark I’m here, please.”

Just a few seconds ticked by before Friday’s voice came back over the intercom, telling him to take the elevator up to the Stark Suite. He left the other Avengers happily, and without a word, leaving them to stew in their ignorance and lies.

*

The cries of Morgan Stark, mid-tantrum, assaulted Peter’s ears before the elevator stopped or opened its doors. He couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face, one he had to hid once the doors did open and he caught sight of Pepper carrying her back to her room, as she kicked, screamed, her tiny fists pumping into the air.

“What’s going on?” asked Peter, stepping into the kitchen and looking around. Mashed potatoes, peas and cut up chicken bits were all over the floor. Some of the mashed potatoes had made it into Mr. Stark’s hair.

“She wanted to have a food fight,” said Mr. Stark. “Pepper spoiled our fun.”

Peter laughed and pressed one of the hot chocolates into Mr. Stark’s chest, until he accepted it and took a hesitant sip. He watched him drink, with a question on his lips, burning to be asked out loud.

“This is actually good,” said Tony, examining the cup. He took another drink, and Peter couldn’t take it anymore.

“Are you Santa?”

Tony spit out the hot chocolate, only contributing to his messy kitchen. “Am I what?”

“You know, the guy who dresses up in a red suit and has the reindeer and flies around, handing out bikes?”

“Kid – that’s the most ridiculous – “

“That isn’t a no,” said Peter, a grin splitting his face. He knew it was the truth, it made too much sense not to be true.

Tony rolled his eyes. “You really think I have the time to be a glorified cosplayer?”

“I didn’t even think you knew what a cosplayer was…” said Peter, trailing off. He shook his head, refusing to let his mind wander from the topic. “Where do you keep the reindeer? Can I meet them?”  

Tony sat the cup of hot chocolate down on the table, then gave him a hard look. Eventually the façade of stone crumbled, though, and he was letting out a sigh and wadding up his face and slinking off towards the elevator.

He slammed his thumb against the call button and turned his head back to look at Peter. “You coming or what?”

Peter yelped out in excitement, almost dropped his hot chocolate on the already messy kitchen floor. Instead, he put it down on the kitchen table with so much excitement, so much force, it toppled over and began slowly leaking out. Peter ignored it. The reindeer were waiting.

*

The elevator took them both to the depths of Avenger’s Tower, so far down, Peter expected they could into the Earth’s core any second. When, finally, the elevator came to a slow stop, and the doors slid open, Friday announced they were at the North Pole.

“Whoa,” said Peter, stepping off the elevator, and onto a shiny, sliver floor.

Looking around, Peter took it all in. He was standing in a warehouse, although it felt a little weird to call it that, as it was well decorated and filled with bright colors. Snowflakes fall from up above. They disappeared before they came anywhere close to hitting the floor, reminding Peter of the Great Hall in Harry Potter, and a giant Christmas tree stood tall, with a blue star shining bright on top of it.

Shelves filled with expertly wrapped presents stretched on and on, further than Peter could see with his eyes, and bots wearing elf hats scurried around on wheels, carrying stacks of gifts to their correct locations. There were other bots, also wearing elf hats, with four arms that moved quickly, wrapping boxes of toys with the precision only Tony Stark’s tech could pull off.

“This is amazing,” said Peter.

“Yeah,” said Mr. Stark. “I know.”

Peter continued scanning the room for the one thing he wanted to see the most. “Where’s the reindeer?”

Mr. Stark led him off to a side room where nine reindeer, nine reindeer bots, were playing. The entire room was designed to look as if it were a stable, and off to the side, sat a shiny, red sleigh, ready and waiting for Christmas Eve night. Mr. Stark gave a whistle, and the deer stopped what they were doing, looked, then stampeded towards them with the excitement of a puppy greeting you after a long day away from home.  

Within seconds, Peter was surrounded by all nine reindeer, all nudging at him with their noses, wanting some pets, all ignoring Mr. Stark in favor of Peter, the new person.

“You all are traitors,” he told them.

Rudolph stomped his foot and barked angrily at him, before giving Peter’s hand another nuzzle.

“See why I didn’t introduce you sooner?” said Mr. Stark, who stood alone, without any reindeer attention. “You’re always stealing my thunder. Why do my bots always like you more than me?”

“I dunno, I’m not that one who made them that way,” said Peter, with a shrug, before he continued petting the mechanical reindeer. “I still don’t understand, Mr. Stark. It doesn’t make any sense. How do you fit all those presents on the sleigh? Do you make multiple trips? How do you even have time to deliver to the whole city in one night? OH, do you – did you invent time travel?”

Peter stopped, took a deep breath, realizing he was doing his rambling thing. He was spitting off too many questions, and too fast, and most of the time people found that annoying, but the smirk on Mr. Stark’s face told him his mentor wasn’t most people.

“Presents don’t ever even go on the sleigh, kid,” said Mr. Stark, addressing his first question, and his first question only.

“Then how…?”

“The Wizards do their, yellow portally thing.”

“Oh,” said Peter. “So this is like an Avenger’s thing?”

“Yep, they’re my elves.”

Peter laughed at their expense. They deserved it, those liars.

“You go flying around on the sleigh just for fun?” asked Peter. He wouldn’t blame Tony if that were the case. The reindeer alone made it worth it.

“Gotta make it look convincing, don’t I?”

Mr. Stark explained the rest to him, while he further made friends with the reindeer. That the rest was computerized, ran with algorithm that collected, stored, and organized information scanned from the letters children (and in NYC, sometimes teens and adults) wrote to Santa. It automatically put in an online order from small retailers around the country, to both help local businesses and to keep people from tracing a bulk order from a giant retailer back to the Tower.

“Some families need a personal touch,” said Mr. Stark, talking about how sometimes he manually input information in the system. Flash’s book about kindness and his lump of coal came to Peter’s mind.

“You have to let me help out,” said Peter. “Please.”

“Will I survive the whining if I say no?”

“I doubt it,” said Peter. “Plus, the reindeer will never forgive you.”

Rudolph, Blitzen, and Prancer barked their agreements, Comet licked Peter’s face and Mr. Stark rolled his eyes.

“Fine you can help,” said Mr. Stark. He wagged his finger at Peter, before quickly withdrawing when Vixen tried to bite it off. “I expect you’re going to take this secret more seriously than you do your secret identity, got it? It’s a mystery to me how the city doesn’t know you’re Spider-Man yet.”

It was Peter’s turn to roll his eyes. He didn’t understand why Mr. Stark had so little faith in him. “Of course, Mr. Stark, I won’t tell anyone.”

*

Peter told May.

He didn’t mean to tell her. The words just sort of slipped out of his mouth, without any permission from his brain, but to be completely honest, he wasn’t sure it was his fault, exactly. What else was he meant to do on Christmas Eve evening? When he and May sat down with their hot chocolate and continued the tradition Ben started, taking guesses at who the man under the hat was?

“It’s Mr. Stark,” he blurted out.

May laughed. “What?”

“Mr. Stark is Santa,” said Peter.

“Oh he is?” asked May. She laughed harder when she saw Peter’s face was serious. “Sorry, kiddo, I’m not falling for it.”

“But he –“ Peter started, then shook his head in frustration and pulled on May’s hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Twenty minutes later the two of them were stepping off the elevator and into the North Pole, and about two seconds after that Peter was shouted at by Mr. Stark.

“Parker, what the hell?” asked Mr. Stark, his voice annoyed, but hard to take seriously. Mr. Stark was wearing the beginnings of his Santa suit, bright red, silky pants and a white t-shirt under a red, silky jacket.

“Holy shit, it’s true,” said May.

Mr. Stark zeroed in Peter, trying his best to look intimidating as he could with a Santa hat hanging off his head. “I told you to keep it a secret.”

“Honestly Tony, if you wanted to keep it quiet you shouldn’t have told Peter,” said May. “We all know Peter is terrible at keeping secrets.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad.”

“I hate to tell you this, Pete,” said Pepper, as she joined the group, with Morgan hanging off her hip. Morgan stretched her arms out towards Peter, wanting her big brother as soon as she knew he was in the room. “But you’re awful at keeping secrets, and relax, Tony, May isn’t going to tell anyone.”

Mr. Stark and Pepper have no way of knowing the wave of grief that went through Peter, and probably, he guessed, his aunt, too. The only other person they wanted to tell wasn’t around anymore to hear it.

“Hey, Mo,” said Peter, taking her from Pepper. “Wanna show Aunt May the reindeer?”

“Yeah!” Morgan shouted. She had one volume. Loud. She pointed to the stable room. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

The three of them left Pepper and Mr. Stark, the latter of which was still mumbling under his breath grumpily. Peter supposed the other Avengers were right, in a way. The closer it got to Christmas, the more stressed Mr. Stark became, because he wanted everything to be perfect. He wanted the city to be filled with magic and wonder, even if it was only for a day.

Peter looked back at him before disappearing into the stables. He was rambling with Pepper about something else, a serious scowl on his face. That was Mr. Stark, a grumpy Santa, with a heart two sizes too big.

*

They were playing fetch with reindeer, taking turns throwing a bright red ball, while the reindeer took turns retrieving, when Mr. Stark strode into the stable room, looking a lot more like Santa Claus than he did Tony Stark. His suit was complete, his hat was on straight, he had a white beard and half-moon glasses and a dad belly.

He gave a special whistle, and the reindeer galloped into formation immediately, the red ball bounced on the floor where Dasher had dropped it. They stood, with Rudolph in the front, and waited for Mr. Stark to fastened them into their harnesses.

Mr. Stark threw a green jacket at Peter, who caught it with both ease and confusion.

“What’s this?”

“It’s your jacket,” said Mr. Stark. “I thought you wanted to come along.”

Peter never remembered asking Mr. Stark to ride along in the sleigh specially, but he wasn’t about to open his mouth and bring that up at the moment. He put on the jacket quickly, noticing that despite its lightweight, it was warm. Too warm. Hot and stuffy, and making Peter wish he was already up in the sky and out in the cold.

Next Santa Stark threw a green hat with elf ears attached to the sides at him. Peter made no effort to catch, and it fell to the ground by his feet.

“I can’t wear that.”

“Uh, you have to wear that,” said Mr. Stark. “Unless you want pictures of yourself all over the news tomorrow, and headlines asking why Peter Parker from Queens is helping Santa Claus.”

Peter grumbled under his breath, snatched the ugly hat off the floor, then grumpily put it on, disgusted to find it was also a mask.

“Awww,” said May. “You’re so adorable as an elf.”

Before he could stop her, she snapped a picture of him with her phone, and Mr. Stark starting mumbling again. That time about how bad secret keeping must be a Parker trait as well as taking photos in a Top-Secret Avengers Facility. He snapped his jaw shut when May gave him that look, that look she often gave Peter to stop him from doing something stupid.

“Be careful,” said May, giving him a hug.

“Of course, May, I’m always careful.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but let Peter out of her hug, anyway, allowing him to help Mr. Stark put the harnesses around the reindeer. After that, they both climbed into the sleigh, and Mr. Stark took the reins.

“You really do look like Santa, Mr. Stark,” Peter told him, looking at him through the slits in the elf mask, tilting his head, examining every inch of the fluffy white beard. “You’re even starting to get some wrinkles.”

“Say that again,” said Mr. Stark. “And I’m tossing you off this sleigh when we fly over the Hudson.”

Peter chuckled under his elf mask, and Mr. Stark lifted the reins and brought them down, fast. The reindeer barked, and slowly, parts of the wall in front of the sleigh folded in on itself, revealing a tunnel with tracks and lights that slanted upwards.

“Friday, play the soundtrack,” said Mr. Stark.

Back in Black pumped through the built-in speaker, Mr. Stark lifted the reins once more, and then they were off, rushing forwards at a speed that made Peter’s back hit the metal behind him, made him grip the edges of the seat and wish he’d thought to bring his web-shooters.

*

*

*

Peter woke up, for the second time that Christmas morning, without being sure he’d ever fallen asleep.

His dreams were hadn’t felt like dreams, more like memories, his brain trying to relive over and over again slicing through the New York skyline in what could only be considered a deathtrap. If Mr. Stark hadn’t been controlling it, Peter might have been scared for his life, then again, if Mr. Stark hadn’t been controlling it, they probably wouldn’t have been blasting through the sky at terrifying speeds.

Mr. Stark knew how to put on a show.

He weaved through builds, dipped down low enough to wave to people on rooftops, people with cameras, and people who braved the cold just to catch a glimpse of Santa’s sleigh.

They disappeared from the city sometimes.

“I have to make it at least look like I’m going into homes,” Mr. Stark had told him, before directing the reindeer to fly over the ocean, where the stars in the sky were reflected down in the waves.

It’d been a great night, a memorable night, and not one Peter would ever forget. His dreams wouldn’t let him.

Peter sighed, and shifted around under his covers, turning over and taking a peak at the small mountain of presents next to his bed. The first time he woke up that morning was to open them, before promptly returning to his bedroom in Mr. Stark’s penthouse and drifting back off into a half-sleep, a world where he was still in the sky, on the sleigh, with Mr. Stark’s laughter in his ear.

He sat up, forced his feet on the floor, grabbed the throw blanket at the end of the bed, and put it around his shoulders like a cape, before leaving his room to see what the others were doing.

The penthouse was quiet. Not even Morgan wailed or shouted, and when Peter stepped into the living room, he found out why. She was fast asleep on the couch, still holding the favorite toy she’d unwrapped earlier that morning, a stuffed Spider-Man doll. Mr. Stark sat in a rocking chair by the fireplace, reading a book, and wearing a red plaid sweater.

Sure, he wasn’t dressed up as Santa anymore, but after seeing him in the suit and the beard, Peter didn’t know if he’d ever be able to separate the two again.

“Morning, Mr. Stark,” said Peter. He sat down on the couch gently, careful not to wake Morgan.

“Afternoon, actually,” Mr. Stark informed him. He closed his book and looked at Peter. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” said Peter, then laughed. “I just – I still can’t believe you’re really Santa.”

“Believe it, kid.”

“But why?” asked Peter. “You’re already so busy, you have Morgan, and you’ve saved this city thousands of times as Iron Man. It’s just – you sacrifice so much time into this.”

“Everyone should get to believe in something, Pete,” said Mr. Stark. “Even if it’s only for a day.”

Peter nodded, slowly, beginning to understand that the best part of Christmas wasn’t Santa bringing him a bike, but it was sitting at the table with May and Ben, having wild conversations and conspiracy theories about who was behind it all. Ben had come close once. He’d claimed it had to be an organization. Just never suspected it was the Avengers.

“You know,” said Peter. “The first year we had Santa, you got me this red and gold bike. It was my first without training wheels, and I fell off so many times, I had so many bruises, but Ben never gave up teaching me how to ride it.”

“Ben was a good man,” said Mr. Stark, and Peter was about to ask how he knew, some wild hope raising up inside him that maybe they had meet one day, but he didn’t need to speak his question out loud. Mr. Stark just knew. “I know because he raised a good man.”

Peter sniffed. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“I remember that bike. I remember seeing it before it got portaled away.”  

Peter laughed, hard and intentional, to chase the tears away. “No you don’t.”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “I wish I did.”

“I bet May has some pictures.”

“I’m gonna have to see those, kid,” said Mr. Stark. He straightened out in the rocking chair and cleared his throat. Peter imagined he was trying to clear all the feelings away. “Hungry? I think May and Happy are making breakfast for lunch down in the common room.”

“Starving,” said Peter. “That sounds great.”

Mr. Stark collected Morgan off the couch, and they journeyed downstairs where the smell of pancakes and eggs and maple syrup hit Peter immediately. Most of the Avengers were milling around, Happy and May were laughing together in the kitchen, and Pepper was there to greet them off the elevator, taking Morgan from Mr. Stark so he could go get some food.

It was a grand breakfast for lunch, and Peter, at least he hoped, the start of a new tradition.

[togafukagiftexchange]

pinlc-candy here with my exchange gift for @alumort! i tried to incorporate your prompts as much as i could with this. hope you enjoy!

***

"You know," said Monobear in a tone one would use to address those at a funeral, “when I trapped you all in here, I did so with higher expectations."

None of the six students glaring at Monobear replied. Not Makoto. Not Kyouko. Not Byakuya, Touko, Aoi or the other guy. They all frowned, sat around the same table in the cafeteria with plates of breakfast at various states of completion in front of them. Cutlery no longer clinked, and the smell of hot food had since waned. Monobear held its paws behind its back and as it peered up, none of them offered any sympathy. No smiles, no tilts of the head, nothing of the sort.

In fact, they gave the opposite. At one end of the spectrum, Makoto regarded Monobear with a creased brow, lips tight, nostrils flared, face all contorted, while on the other, Kyouko barely had a wrinkle on her face, but her lilac eyes were as cold as the morgue refrigerator. As for everyone else, they hovered somewhere in between those extremes of expression, or lack thereof.

Despite the silence, Monobear flourished a paw in front of itself and carried on talking to them.

"I know this isn't an island in a tropical climate,” it said. It bowed its head forward and tapped its paws together. “If it was, there would be a supermarket, a beach lodge... heck, even a music venue with a snort-worthy name. But you have to make do with what you have. I would have loved a sarcastic protagonist with a dark forgotten past or a plucky pianist. I'd even restrain my grumbles if I got a naive young girl running around with a speakerphone, even if she was wearing a short skirt that kept flashing her - "

"Get to the point," said Byakuya bluntly.

Monobear gave an exaggerated start. It almost tipped over backwards, flailing its arms, but instead of overbalancing, it uprighted itself, placed its paws against its cheeks and squirmed.

"Wah!" it went. "So curt! Alright, alright. I'll tell you."

It stopped thrashing about and eyed the other six, who all waited uneasily for it to elaborate. 

"I've decided to set you some chores. You've been mooching off me long enough, and it's time you repaid me,” Monobear told them.

Aoi flinched her head back. "Repaid you?"

"But you're the one who locked us in here in the first place," Makoto pointed out.

Monobear slanted its head to one side and scratched its chin.

"Yeah, and I feed you everyday. And I give you clean water... yet I'm getting nothing back.” It shook its head. "Nope, you've gotta start earning your stay here. Starting next week, you’re gonna be doing chores. If you're not going to kill each other, you could at least help out around here. Unless you want to continue the killing game...?”

Aoi gave a little shriek. Yasuhiro winced, and Touko clutched her braids. The other three shifted. With a cackle, Monobear covered its mouth with its paws.

“I can throw a bone your way, if you want,” it offered. “I've got lots of them. Idol bones, gyaru bones, baseball player bones... and lots of different motives..."

Everyone turned to each other, exchanging glances in a silent conference. After several seconds of this, everyone fixed their eyes back on Monobear, and Makoto nodded.

"What do you want us to do?" he asked on behalf of his friends.

Monobear's red eye gleamed.

"Well, two of you have to do stock checks of the science labs and the infirmary, two of you need to treat me to a spa day, bath and massage included, and two of you need to train those chickens in the garden,” announced Monobear.

No one responded immediately. Then Kyouko lifted her hand. That simple motion drew the attention of everyone in the room.

She deadpanned, "I'm not giving him a bath."

"Me neither," Touko chimed in.

Byakuya pushed up his glasses in that supercilious manner of his. "I refuse as well."

Then, at the same time, Makoto, Aoi and Yasuhiro said, "Not me!"

They twitched and looked at each other. If the tension in the room had been any thicker, it could have been cut with a knife. Anyone peeping in would have thought one of them had murdered someone and the others were trying to figure out who did it.

“W-Well, two of you have to give that bear a bath,” said Touko.

Yashiro jabbed the air with his finger. "I want to train the chickens!”

Aoi pulled a face.

"I don't want to go to the science lab,” she said as she wrapped her arms around herself. “Or give him a bath...”

"I wouldn't mind carrying out the stock checks," said Byakuya. "I have no interest in livestock." 

Aoi turned to him and raised her eyebrows.

"But chickens are so cute and fluffy!" she said, then she shrugged. "Well, it’s your loss. I don't mind training them.Teaching them tricks sounds fun!"

Just the idea of it brought a cute smile to her face. Her bright aura was in stark contrast to the gloomy cloud hovering over Touko, who scowled at her across the table.

"Well, you and Hagakure can't both tend to the chickens. Three of us already said we're not washing Monobear,” said Touko. Aoi broke out of her daydream.

"So?" asked Aoi.

Touko rolled her eyes. "If us three already said we’re not giving him a bath, that means two of you have to wash him still. It’s common sense."

Aoi only managed to open her mouth before Monobear burst out laughing. Whatever she planned to say, if anything, never came out, and everyone turned to Monobear.

"Sorry, sorry!” apologised Monobear. It wiped a nonexistent tear from its red eye. “I got carried away. You're all acting like I'm giving you a choice when I've already decided who's doing what."

Before Monobear had even arrived in the cafeteria that morning, it had already known who would be doing what. Each choice came with its own reasoning, which Monobear didn’t feel inclined to share, not even with you, the reader. 

Aoi and Yasuhiro would have the honour of carrying out stock checks in various rooms in the school. Kyouko and Makoto would have the pleasure of treating Monobear to a spa day. Which, then, left a certain two individuals in the garden, with its beds of dirt, jungle-like greenery and patchy-planked chicken coop with wire fencing.

Those two individuals were Touko and Byakuya, of course.

That night, an hour before Monobear’s nighttime announcement was due to play, Touko paced her dorm room floor back and forth, back and forth, muttering, not once looking up at Kyouko and Aoi, who both perched on the end of Touko's bed. Kyouko sat with her shoulders pushed back and her arms folded over her chest, formal and stiff. Next to her, in contrast, Aoi slouched forward, elbows on her lap, cheeks propped up in her hands as she tried not to fall asleep.

Touko didn't usually allow visitors into her room, so one could deduce out how major a deal this was. She was going to be working with Byakuya. Together. With him. With. Him. Byakuya.

And Monobear could watch the whole thing play out through the surveillance cameras.

"... how many cheeses do we have in the kitchen?" asked Touko, as she battered her palm with her stubby-nailed finger.

She didn’t wait for anyone to reply. Didn’t give them the chance. Her pace didn’t falter. Back and forth, back and forth, she went.

"Byakuya-sama needs to be able to choose the cheese he wants.” Then Touko pursed her lips, wavering only in speech. “B-But is it not better to have a few cheeses that he likes, rather than have everything that’s available? Wouldn't that impress him more? Quality, not quantity, after all... It would be more thoughtful if I brought only cheeses he liked to our picnic..."

Aoi and Kyouko let Touko make a few more laps of the room.

“What about the chickens?” asked Aoi. Touko hesitated midstride.

“Huh? What do the chickens have to do with our date?” asked Touko blankly. Aoi straightened.

“You know... the chickens?” said Aoi in disbelief. She flicked her wrist. “The ones that Monobear told you to train?”

Touko picked at the corner of her lips. “Well, how hard c-can it be to train chickens?”

Written down, Touko’s response may have seemed confident, but in reality, she mumbled her words, not making eye contact as her gaze sank to the floor.

Oh, this was going to be hilarious.

Kyouko swept some hair behind her ear without a single crack of amusement on her face. “I hope your confidence is warranted, because I can’t imagine Togami-kun being pleased if you turned up seeming unprepared.”

For a few seconds, Touko didn’t move. Then she blinked once. Twice. Her slack features screwed up, warping in anger, and she came back to life - and flung herself toward the door so vigorously that she almost cast herself prostrate on the floor.

“G-Get out!” Touko hissed, gesticulating wildly. “I... I have to go to the library right now!”

As the three trooped out of the room, Monobear made a mental note to force Kyouko to give it a back massage.

For the next few days, Touko set up camp in the library, reading any book even remotely related to training animals. She did very little else, assiduous in her research like this was a final exam. Fortunately, Monobear stocked the library with books on the topic shortly after giving out the task, at the time claiming to be good friends with The Supreme Overlord of Ice who was also apparently an animal breeder. Occasionally, Touko’s classmates took pity on her and brought her something to eat, and other times, Byakuya would demand she leave the library and not return until she showered.

By the time the first day of their chores rolled along, Touko had drained the library’s resources, and after breakfast, she marched to the garden with Byakuya striding ahead of her. She fixed her eyes on him as they journeyed up the building, admiring his slender frame and the curve of his behind, bathing in his radiance until they stepped out into the garden.

Maybe Touko should have wondered what Monobear had in mind when setting such an innocuous task. Maybe she would have wondered had she not been preoccupied with the thought of spending time at Byakuya’s side even if they were training a bunch of chickens.

The ceiling and walls, painted blue, gave the illusion they had finally emerged outside after weeks barricaded in the school, but in reality, they were as caged in the building as before. However, while the sky was indeed fake, the plants spread throughout the indoor garden were real. Tufts of grass and weeds grew from the soil, and harmonious colours freckled the flowerbeds. 

Largest of the plant life was a flower that towered above all else, its face rimmed with red petals. On one occasion, Monobear referred to it as a Monobear flower, claiming that handling it would infect the victim with a deadly, fast-acting poison. At its base grew speckled corpse lilies and unnaturally big venus fly traps. If one had a suicide wish and wanted to climb up the Monobear flower, they would have to wade through them first.

That is, if one could stomach such a stench. The surrounding flowers, as cute and fragrant as they were, couldn’t mask the odour of decaying flesh that one fell victim to if they ventured too close to the Monobear flower.

Neither Byakuya nor Touko wore their high school uniforms - that morning, they had woken up to find a box at the foot of their bed addressed to them. Inside wasn’t anything macabre like their parent’s skull, as funny as that would have been, but a baggy polyester one-piece outfit, right half white, left half pink. With long sleeves, pants legs, and an emblem on the chest that resembled Monobear’s head, they looked absolutely clownish.

No one said that specifically at breakfast, but their outfits invoked several smirks and snorts disguised as choking.

Monobear stretched out its arms in front of itself, positioning its paws in a way that created a rectangular frame, and within that frame stood Byakuya and Touko.

If its expression could change, its smile would have widened. Instead, the lighting on its face shifted.

“I’ve left some feed for you by the coop,” said Monobear. It motioned toward the aforementioned structure with one paw, where a cloth sack was slouched against it. They could hear the chickens clucking within the coop, even if they couldn’t see them from where they were.

Byakuya adjusted his glasses.

“What training are we supposed to give these chickens, exactly?” he asked.

“Oh, you know,” went Monobear vaguely.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked.”

Monobear placed its paws over its mouth.

“Come on, use your brain, Togami-kun! Coming on command, herding them... Make them jump through flaming hoops if you can.”

Byakuya’s eyes widened for a moment, then his eyebrows lowered as his features hardened with determination.

“For some reason, they don’t seem to like me,” Monobear remarked, sounding downcast. It kicked at the floor, but it couldn’t keep up its saddened facade and burst out laughing. “Upupu... I’ll leave you two to it!”

And with that, Monobear left. To them, it seemed to disappear around the corner before vanishing into thin air. Really, though, it entered a trapdoor, one of many around the school, each leading to a cubicle that could fit a Monobear unit inside. At the same time as it stowed itself away in there, another Monobear appeared in another area of the school, coming out of a similar trapdoor, ready for its spa day.

But that was somewhere else. Not here.

Right here was the garden, thrumming with the sounds of wildlife playing over the speakers. There were insects, alive and everything, but they didn’t create enough noise by themselves to fill the garden. Byakuya approached the coop and peered through the wire meshing. Five chickens greeted his vision, fluffy white things with red features on their head, scraping the ground with their hard orange feet. His nose wrinkled as he studied them, and he didn’t turn his head as Touko sidled up to him. With one hand, she loosely hooked her fingers through the gaps in the wire, while her other hand gripped the handle of a picnic basket.

A few days prior, when she had rummaged through the storage room, she hadn’t really expected to find a basket in there, but indeed there had been one, hidden behind cans of beans. What she didn’t know was that Monobear left it there for her. After all, with a joke, one had to set up the punchline in order for there to be a punchline.

Touko glanced at the sack by the coop. It was filled with brown slithers. She read about them during her research. Mealworms. Her eyes strayed. Wooden batons sat next to the sack, with brightly coloured ribbons attached to them. Beside those, she noticed, were similar cylinders, only they had nails protruding from them instead. 

She stiffened and forced herself to look at the sack again.

“That must be the feed,” she said.

Byakuya turned away from the coop to follow her gaze. Unlike Touko, he didn’t so much as quiver, strong and intense. He pushed up his glasses.

“We’re supposed to be training them, not feeding them,” he said, and he returned his attention to the chickens. 

Touko licked her lips and glanced at him. For a moment, she seemed to forget what she was about to say, relaxing her body, beginning to melt into a puddle. Even the side of his face was mesmerizing. The shape of his nose. How he carried his pout. Everything about him. It took great strength to pull herself back together. She couldn’t let him down.

“It can be used to train them too,” she explained while he watched the chickens do nothing of note. “The c-chickens will see the feed and come to you like an otaku when a new figure of their fantasy girlfriend comes out, and while the chickens are eating from you, you’re meant to make a certain noise or signal. Then they will start coming to you whenever they hear the noise, expecting food, and eventually they will approach you without you having to make any signal at all.”

As she spoke, the chickens continued idling in the coop, none-the-wiser. She glimpsed them briefly before training her eyes back onto Byakuya. At no point during her explanation did he look at her, examining the chickens with his lips pressed together in thought.

That didn’t deter her though. Touko stood taller. Gripped the wire a bit harder.

“U-Using different signals, you can make them do other tricks, like flying onto your arm or walking across tightrope-like surfaces,” she added, prompting Byakuya to give a minute nod and stroke his chin.

“Ah. Positive reinforcement,” he remarked. “And that will work for everything we need to train them to do?”

That sounded almost like he didn’t know the answer.

“Mostly,” said Touko, her face surprisingly serious. The handle of her picnic basket slipped down to her elbow as she rubbed her hands together. “W-With herding them, if you aren’t able to make the signal, you can herd them using your arms or things like the sticks by the coop. You simply position yourself behind the flock, clap your hands and if they start to wander from the herd, you block their path.”

She paused, then pressed the tips of her index fingers together. A smile blossomed, bringing colour to her face.

“Dogs are handy for herding, but we don’t have one, and I’m only going to be a d-dog for you, Byakuya-sama,” she added. 

Byakuya took a few seconds to process what she said.

He glowered. “Shut up.”

She jolted and slapped her hand over her mouth. His brow remained knitted as he looked over at the batons.

“Why do some of them have nails in them?” he asked.

Touko dropped her hand from her mouth, no longer grinning, and quietly said, “In case you want to use them instead of the other ones.”

Byakuya clicked his tongue, eyeing the spiked batons with scorn. She stooped her head. Hunched her shoulders. Shuddered as she inhaled.

“Pain... can certainly be a teaching tool,” she said in a low voice, and then she elevated her chin, like about to give an important speech. “W-With the right person - ”

“Stop,” he interrupted, showing his palm to her, and she did. He rested his hand on his hip and faced her. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand. Fukawa, you seem to know what to do. I will give you the honour of working under me.”

Her heart swooped. Almost stopped. Byakuya may as well have handed her the key leading out of this place. Or his underwear. She jerked her head back. 

“U-Under you?” Touko spluttered. He glared, and she twitched into a salute, beaming. “G-Gladly! Roger!”

“It’s Togami,” he said. Either he didn’t notice any innuendos or chose to ignore them. He pointed at her before dragging his finger toward the feed. “Now off to work with you!” 

His arms folded over his chest as he watched Touko spring into action. She put down her picnic basket, picked up the sack of mealworms and heaved it away from the coop. Once she had put some distance between herself and the coop, she reached a hand unflinchingly into the sack and lifted out a fistful of mealworms.

However, when she looked at Byakuya, she hesitated.

“Um... would you please open the hatch?” she asked, cringing as she spoke.

Byakuya cast her an annoyed look, but after a beat passed, he strode over to the hatch and unhooked the lock. Soon after he creaked the door ajar, one of the chickens poked its head out, while the others seemed content pottering about inside, plodding around in sudden movements like an animation with a low frame rate.

Touko squatted down, held her hand out, offering the mealworms, and let out a series of cheeps. The chicken in the entrance of the coop turned.

She shook her extended hand, and the chicken trotted toward her. Within seconds, the rest of the chickens emerged, and they followed the first one over to Touko. A smile tweaked her lips as she tipped the worms onto the floor in front of he. They began pecking at the ground. Byakuya craned his neck and couldn’t help from raising his eyebrows.

“Was that noise supposed to be the signal?” he asked.

“Mmhm,” she went with a bob of her head. She scooped up more mealworms and spilled them onto the ground so the chickens had more to eat.

He grimaced.

“I’m not keen on that,” he said. “It’s a ridiculous sound. I refuse to utter it.”

Touko looked up at him in shock.

“Y-You could never sound ridiculous!” she assured him.

Byakuya didn’t answer. Just narrowed his eyes. She lowered her gaze and clasped her hands together. While she was distracted by the chickens, Byakuya shuffled closer to them, keeping his body turned away from her. Soon he was standing only a few paces away from them, yet she still hadn’t noticed him move.

Seconds passed. A small pout tensed his features. He looked away pointedly and presented his hand to her.

“Give me some,” he said.

Touko snapped her head up. Her shoulders jumped, like she hadn’t noticed him draw closer, but once she got over the moment of surprise, she tilted the opening of the bag toward him. Wordlessly, Byakuya grabbed some mealworms and walked away stiffly, putting a bit of distance between them before he squatted down, holding out the mealworms.

The chickens ignored him, even when Touko pinched the opening of the sack shut. They nattered to themselves, taking in the spectrum of green surrounding them as they stepped about on the tessellating, brown pavement underfoot.

Byakuya sucked in air. His face darkened. Then, in monotone, he went, “Cheep, cheep, cheep.”

He shook his hand, and finally, one of the chickens acknowledged him. Him, the great and dignified Byakuya Togami, crouching down with some mealworms in his hand. The chicken strutted over with the others soon in tow. Once they had closed in on him, he dropped the mealworms by his feet. 

Most would have found it amusing. Touko placed a hand over her heart. She found it endearing.

“Y-You’re such an expert!” she said, swooning, and she shot up to stand, to better marvel at him. 

“I’m a fast learner,” he replied, unable to stop himself from grinning. 

He studied the chickens for a couple of seconds before meeting her gaze. The joy on her face absorbed his smile, and he was back to looking serious again.

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” he said, and he stood up. “Have you trained animals before?”

“Not chickens, or anything this size,” she said, wringing her hands together. “I tried training my stinkbug once... b-but she didn’t want to learn, so I stopped.”

“A stink bug?” he repeated, squinting at her. She didn’t correct him, so he must have heard her correctly. “You’re joking, aren’t you? Training a stink bug? They don’t have a brain. It will be that it couldn’t learn, not that it didn’t want to.”

Her face spasmed, like he slapped her. Even her cheeks reddened like he had.

“S-Stink bugs aren’t stupid!” she blurted. It came out louder than she intended. He blinked. Hiked up his eyebrows.

“What did you say?” he asked calmly, and she tensed, but she didn’t stumble back, double over into herself, fall to her knees or anything. Her feet remained firmly rooted to the ground.

Touko trembled and her face had flashed hot. She opened her mouth, like she was about to shout something, but she quickly buried down whatever noise was brewing in her and squared her shoulders, seething instead. 

Though he had seen her mad before, heard her grumble and grind her teeth, heard her cutting quips and death wishes, she never aimed this fire at him after he revealed Syo’s presence to everyone some time ago.

Byakuya stayed stony as his clear blue eyes surveyed her, sapphires embedded in a marble statue. When he raised his chin, his gaze glinted. A sliver of teeth showed as he parted his lips. Touko found her voice.

“T-Their brains don’t play as important a role as a human’s brain, but they’re still intelligent creatures,” she explained in a low, level tone, and her elbows tucked into her sides, hands kneading together below her chin. She didn’t quite meet his gaze, her eyes flickering between his mouth and the coop. “I f-found Kameko on my backpack when I came back one day from elementary school. Kameko followed me home, and up until I woke up here, she remained by my side. She understands me. She’s unlike any other...”

Well, either Kameko followed Touko home or someone put Kameko on Touko for a prank. One of the two. Byakuya’s lips curled, but not into a smile.

“Seeing as many insects can survive a few days without their head, I agree their brains aren’t that important,” he said. He nudged his glasses into place. “These are chickens, however. Not insects... but there is a case of a chicken surviving without most of its head for a year and a half. I believe it choked.”

Only she could see the disturbing image that he had conjured of Kameko. Touko shoved past it. Kameko was okay. Kameko had to be. Her lips twisted, with her brow crumpling too. She let go of her hands and seized her onesie’s trouser legs, taking two handfuls of fabric into her palms, and breathed.

Byakuya inclined his head to one side, regarding Touko with interest. “After we escape this place, I may have to see this stink bug for myself.”

When she made eye contact with him, her heart leapt. Her breath caught. The image of Kameko decapitated flooded out of her mind as his face took over.

Even though he wasn’t touching her, it was like his hands were skimming across her body. Touko could feel the air move around herself, causing her to shiver. This time, it wasn’t because he had insulted stink bugs. It wasn’t anger, frustration, offence or anything like that. She basked in his glow.

“Chickens are quite easy to train,” she said to him, beginning to perk up. Touko couldn’t stay mad at him. In fact, she appreciated his honesty. “I don’t think it will take too long to teach them to come on command.”

“And how do you know this if you’ve never trained them before?”

“I read some books in the library,” she said. “I spent hours researching. D-Didn’t you?”

There was no accusation in her tone, no hard glint in her pale eyes, just an innocent look and an innocent voice, yet he shifted with a defensive expression on his face.

“... I didn’t think I would have to,” he admitted. He slapped on bravado, placing his hands on his hips. “And it turns out I was right. After all, you are doing a fine job.”

Touko gasped, blushing, blinking a lot. “T-Thank you!”

“Yes, everything is going smoothly,” he mused, bringing up a hand to cup his chin. His eyes clouded with thought. “After they’ve learned to come on command, shall we get to training them to jump through a flaming hoop?”

She didn’t understand what he said for a second. Then she did.

“W-What?” she said, raising her arm in front of herself.

Byakuya continued cradling his chin thoughtfully.

“There must be something we can use as a hoop lying about. Perhaps there is one in the gymnasium?” he pondered aloud, all the while Touko was gawking at him. When his arm sprung forward to point a finger at her, she yelped in surprise, like he shot her. “Hey, Fukawa...! Fetch me a hoop. You have five minutes.”

Touko mumbled, “I don’t think Monobear was serious...”

“Get it for me!” he demanded a little louder. She straightened sharply.

“Right away!” she said, and she sped off with speed that her frail frame gave no indication of possessing.

Even if Monobear hadn’t meant for them to actually teach that, Touko couldn’t pass an opportunity to spend more time with Byakuya. As he said, the gymnasium had some hoops in its closet, and she returned with one within four minutes.

“Plastic,” he remarked, shuffling it around in both hands. His brow furrowed. “We won’t be able to set this alight. It will melt.”

“We can still use it for practice,” she pointed out. He looked at her and she elaborated, keeping her hands in front of herself. “We reward the chickens for interacting with the hoop, then we train them to go through it when they’re on ground level. If we do that while making a certain noise, we can train the chicken to go through the hoop whatever level the hoop is on... with or without snacks... and with or without the signal...”

The gears in Byakuya’s head spun. He nodded. 

“Yes,” said Byakuya slowly. “We can do that easily. Alright, let’s begin.”

Byakuya took one step before Touko darted in front of him.

“B-But we should have a break first!” She waved her hands and added quickly, “W-Why don’t we have the picnic I prepared?”

“Picnic?” he repeated. He turned his head and laid his eyes on the basket by the coop. “Ah, so that’s what is in that thing you brought.”

As opposed to what, she didn’t know.

“Have you never been on a picnic?” she asked him. Byakuya glared.

“Of course not,” he retorted. “Those only happen in novels. Have you ever been on one?”

Now that was an accusatory tone. Touko cringed.

“N-Not with another person,” she told him, fidgeting. She hurried over to the basket and scampered back with it. “But that’s alright! I m-made it specially for you.”

He eyed it warily. “I don’t want to eat anything you’ve touched. Your germs will be in it.”

“No, they won’t be!” she insisted, as romantic as she might have found that, and she set down the basket, straightening up quickly. “I washed my hands before, and I even took a shower. See?”

Touko thrust her hands at him, showing her palms a bit too close to his face for his liking. Byakuya receded an inch and hesitated, but rather than command her to distance herself, he pushed her arm down gently. Though he only touched one, both fell at the same time. Her fingers curled into her hands and she held her breath. 

His face filled her vision. Long lashes, pursed lips and all. Then he bent down, gradually. Leaned toward her. Touko nearly choked on her breath. She swallowed and tilted her head back, fluttering her lashes as she shut her eyes. 

The world faded away around them. All she could see was the pink aura radiating from her body that surrounded them, sparkling as it engulfed them in its cloud. Only they existed. Only they mattered.

This was really happening. Byakuya was getting closer. And closer.

He sniffed her loudly.

“So you have bathed,” he remarked. She opened her eyes.

Her vision came into focus and she found him right in front of her. When she opened her mouth, a strangled whine escaped. Byakuya moved back, but his face conveyed no surprise or signs of being startled at the weird noise. 

“I suppose we should replenish our energy,” he said, turning away.

Touko took a few moments to return to reality. The pink aura around them had dissipated, plonking them back in the garden where chickens clucked nearby and she caught a whiff of fertiliser mixed in with the floral blend. Not exactly romantic.

“Well, what did you make?” he said impatiently.

“Ah! Right! Sorry!” She flipped the basket lid open and extracted the blanket. Once she laid it out, she unpacked the rest of the picnic. 

Initially, Byakuya remained standing up, but when she had got most of it out, he knelt down on the edge of the basket, his eyes trained on something.

“Is that winnimere cheese?” he asked, pointing at a pie-shaped block of cheese. A ring of brown crust covered the cylinder’s curving side and an off-white surface rested on top, with grooves in it.

“Yes!” Touko said as she was about to take out a plastic tub containing a salad, consisting of different greens with shreds of red and orange. Her eyes sought his pair. “Do you like it?”

Byakuya picked up a knife. Every second that he didn’t answer dragged on. “It’s no Caciocavallo Podolico, but it will do.”

He cut a slice, revealing the yellower insides of the cheese to be creamier than let on. While he spread it over a cracker, one of the chickens approached their blanket, bobbing its head. Touko gritted her teeth.

“N-No, Byakuya Junior, this isn’t for you!” she hissed, shooing at it with both hands. It stopped where it was and looked around, like it didn’t know where the voice had come from.

Byakuya stared at Touko.

“Did you just say Byakuya Junior?” he asked. She turned her eyes to him and wiggled.

“Y-Yes... I named him myself,” she said, simpering. “Do you like it?”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“A chicken!” Byakuya scoffed. “How would you like it if I named one ‘Touko Junior’?”

“T-T-!” Touko melted. Not physically, obviously, but her body went rather limp.

Byakuya scowled and presented her with a napkin so she could wipe the drool beading on her lips, which after a short delay, when she didn’t respond, he fitted into her hand instead.

He clicked his tongue. “Look at you. You’re far too scrawny... Don’t you know how to eat? Or do I have to feed you myself?”

At that moment, her brain short-circuited, and after a spark of life pulsed on her face, she tried to speak only for garbled nonsense to come out. 

Ever since she had been young, even when she had been pressured by society to present and identify as a boy, she had imagined a scene like this. A picnic lunch with her true love. And now it was happening. Byakuya huffed, his features tinged with annoyance.

“I’m only doing this so we can get back to work sooner,” he said as he brought the cracker to her lips. “And... because you did do a good job with the chickens, so I suppose I owe you. But, tell anyone about this and I will...”

Byakuya trailed off. His lips drew together petulantly and he tried feeding her. Fortunately, though rendered incapable of speech, her mouth at least functioned enough to eat, even if she wheezed a bit and he sometimes had to massage her cheeks to help her chew. She didn’t take her eyes off him as she ate, much to his displeasure.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “You’re looking at me in a funny way.”

“S-Sorry!” she squeaked, and she obliged. She couldn’t see him anymore, but now as she felt the food push against her lips, she could imagine the food being something else. Like his lips...

“Actually, keep them open,” he said, for she had been betrayed by her face. “And don’t say anything. I want some peace and quiet for the time being.”

They ate the rest of the picnic in mostly silence. Neither talked. It could almost be called a date. An awkward one, but one all-the-same, and afterwards, Byakuya stood up and clapped his hands.

“It’s time to resume our training,” he said. When Touko didn’t reply, he flushed redder and said louder, “Today, Fukawa.”

The sound of her name brought her out of her trance and she rose, pressing a hand gently against her cheek.

“Y-Yes, Byakuya-sama,” she said with a happy sigh.

While the pair trained the chickens to jump through a non-burning hoop, Aoi and Yasuhiro fumbled with boxes of toxic chemicals, and elsewhere in the school, Makoto and Kyouko fanned Monobear as it lay motionless on a sunbed, with cucumbers over its eyes.

As they pampered Monobear, it did not stir, and this was because Monobear’s mind was somewhere else entirely. Literally.

Hidden in the school, in a small control room, was a cockpit like something out of a science fiction movie, full of monitors and buttons all flashing, and the blue-green tinted room came fitted with a throne. Normally, when Monobear was active, someone would be sitting there. That person would be pressing buttons. Cackling into a microphone. Tugging on levers. However, right now, no one occupied the room.

No one was stowed away in there, but someone did stand in the adjoining room - the data-processing room, where an entire wall housed monitors showing different pockets of the school. A lone figure was in the centre of the room, within its blinking, glowing walls.

One of the many monitors on the wall broadcasted the garden, where Touko and Byakuya coaxed chickens through a hoop. They were a curious couple. Very curious. During the killing game, Touko had latched onto Byakuya. Sure, the guy was intelligent and good-looking, if someone was into that sort of thing, but he also had a repugnant personality, though admittedly he had been easing up lately. It was a good thing that Mukuro Ikusaba had died because she had bet Byakuya would still be alive at this point.

Ah well, her winnings could go to her twin instead.

The figure watched Touko and Byakuya. After Byakuya revealed Touko’s secret to everyone, if someone thought Touko would go off him, that he would have become like one of the many people in her life who betrayed her, their assumption would have been understandable. It would be wrong, but it would be understandable. 

Instead, Touko’s feelings intensified.

Lots of reasons could be used to explain Touko’s feelings for Byakuya. Masochism, because he had a sharp tongue and little restraint and some people got off on that. Relief and gratitude, because now she didn’t have to hide that part of herself from everyone. Greed, because he was a rich, powerful, handsome man.

Of course, the figure knew better than that.

A small hum slipped out of the figure’s raspberry pink lips.

Ah, and it wasn’t just Touko’s feelings. Byakuya’s too.

Only someone who had known him for two years, or someone whose Super High School Level involved a prowess in analysing, would know the scope of it all. Or someone with both. On the surface, there were his cruel remarks, his snarls and leers at others, but those had lessened after the last trial humbled him. Made him question his outlook on life. 

Even before that point, anyone else could easily have missed how Byakuya always seemed to be assured of Touko’s safety before he claimed to desire her demise, or how he often let her be near him for a while before sending her away. When he wanted her gone, he most certainly made it known every time, like with everyone else, so that was interesting. Or when he accompanied her to the incinerator after she stood up to him when he wanted her to burn her birthday present for him, and even then, in the end, he had kept it.

Even if he hadn’t, the walk would have been a treat enough for her. A reward. A reward for standing up to him.

Then there were other things, things only people with access to the footage from the surveillance cameras would know, like their conversation when she revealed her alter, or when they met in secret after the second trial, or what happened the night before Byakuya and Syo turned up to breakfast together and he defensively told them they weren’t together.

After that, Touko started calling him ‘Byakuya-sama’.

On top of that, there were things that only the figure knew. Things not even Byakuya and Touko knew, despite it involving them. Things like interactions in the library that gradually grew longer. Lessons where he sat in front of her and she daydreamed, drilling holes into the back of his head. Things like the first time she revealed Syo’s existence, and Byakuya’s promise that lasted until some time after they became locked in the school, when he made the same promise again. Or like how he told her about the conglomerate, how she told him about what led her to write, or about books or their classmates or the world around them and more. Much more.

Then there were the small smiles. Lingering glances. Accidental hand brushes. Skipped heartbeats. And then a meeting in Touko’s dorm room, after the Togami Conglomerate fell, after they chose to barricade themselves in here, where they held hands and pressed close and breathed as one.

All forgotten. Wiped away.

Of all the people for Touko to choose, it was Byakuya, someone who before they lost their memories, she had chosen. And she had chosen him again. 

Along with Kyouko’s nosing around the school, perhaps it was time to move the game forward. 

For the next week, the figure continued with their observations. It was nice having Kyouko forced to stay put rather than have her flit in and out of out-of-bounds areas lacking cameras. It was funny seeing Yasuhiro and Aoi struggle and grow frustrated with the stock check. And it was interesting watching Touko and Byakuya train the chickens.

Interesting, but also useful.

Every night, the lights in the garden switched off to make it appear like it was night time. And so, one night, it was dark when the door to the coop opened. A quiet set of cheeps woke up one of the chickens. It poked its head out curiously.

A distance away, a figure in a mask cooed at it, holding out mealworms.

As the chicken approached, it didn’t see the knife the figure held behind their back.

[call-me-rei]

Chapter 24

TW at the end (illusion of self-harm)

~~~~~

“Say anything that could make this all okay.”

---

“Why are you a dumbass?”

I was sitting in calculus, my first class of the day, when the aggressive question was asked. I looked up from my notebook to see Lynn leaning against my desk. She was staring down at me with an angry face. “Nice to see you too, Gunn.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why are you a dumbass?”

“Why would you keep asking the same question if you don’t want the same result?”

“Because I wanna know why you’re a dumbass. Why would you ruin it?”

I cocked my eyebrow in question. “Ruin what?”

“What you had with Vic. I thought you guys were going to be great. Why would you ruin it?”

“What do you know about it?” I wanted to gauge Lynn’s knowledge of the subject. Since she was talking to me about it, it was obvious she knew a bit.

“Well, I know it’s all over school.”

“What is?” I asked.

“Well,” Lynn started as she took a seat next to me, “I heard that a certain Fuentes brother is pissed at a certain new kid for something said new kid said to him yesterday.”

I frowned. “Why would Mike be mad at me?” I tried to joke. Lynn gave me a stare I had never seen before. It made me want to apologize for every wrong thing I’d ever done to avoid her rage.

“Cut the crap,” she seethed. “What did you do?”

I took a breath to regain my composure before I answered. “It’s all your fault,” I accused.

“My fault? How is what you said my fault?”

I sighed and put my pen down. I didn’t want to admit anything, but Lynn being Lynn knew what I was going to say before I said it.

“Is it because of Alex? I knew I shouldn’t have told you anything about him.”

I nodded sadly. “Yup.”

“Oh my gosh Kells, they’re rumors. We talked about this. Alex is straight.”

“Okay but we thought Vic was straight and that’s obviously not true so try to tell me that Alex is and that the rumors that they’re sleeping together are fake.”

Lynn sighed. “I can’t tell you that for sure, but I can tell you that you’re being a fucking idiot.”

I had stayed up all night calling myself an idiot for blowing up at Vic. He didn’t deserve it, and I knew that, but my insecurities got the better of me. I usually obsessed over things until they drove me crazy, and this was no different. I couldn’t get over that Vic could be leading me on, especially since I had real feelings for him. I didn’t want to admit to myself for a long time but after our date those feelings were confirmed. I wanted to be with Vic.

“I just don’t wanna get played,” I whispered.

“I get that but you’re going about this the wrong way. You’re basing your opinions on Vic on things you’ve heard from other people. You’ve only been going to school here for a month and a half and in that time, people have shaped your opinion of him before you were able to form one for yourself. That’s not how you should go about your life.”

“But you and the rest of our friends were the ones who told me those things about him.”

“Unfortunately, you have a point,” she said before she ran her hand through her brown hair. “I get that it makes me a hypocrite to say that, and I’m sorry if I put bad images of Vic in your head. But I mean it when I say that your opinions of him after we told you those things are all your own and you should form them on your own.”

She had a point. I let out a deep breath. “I know. I also know I fucked up. How do I go about forming my own opinions when everything I’ve heard is so horrible?”

“Well,” Lynn began, “how do you feel when you’re with him? Are you always scared and on edge?”

I thought back to my moments with Vic. Although they were few and far between, they had a special place in my memory.

I thought about our first encounter when he walked in late to our government class and threatened me. I thought about how later that same day he took my notebook, resulting in both of us getting detention. I thought back to going over to his house for the first time and working on our project only to rush out of there because I thought he’d figured out that I was gay.

Despite all those horrible memories, I remembered some good ones.

I remembered him coming over to my house and our game of truth or dare. I remembered having dinner with his family. I remembered the moment in the practice room when he told me he couldn’t read music, yet he was such a talented musician. I remembered our talks during lunch in his car and by the stream. I remembered our date and how I wished it didn’t end.

I remembered every time I looked into his eyes and hoped he felt the same feelings.

“Maybe I was at first,” I answered, “but now I feel...calm. And I guess I feel this sense of wanting. Longing maybe. Like I wanna be near him because he makes me feel things I haven’t ever felt before.”

“There you go.”

“Huh?” I questioned.

“Well, I don’t wanna say ‘I told you so,’ but you should know by now that you fucked up.” I hung my head.

Yeah, I know.

Lynn continued. “Word around school is that he’s pissed at someone because of what happened in class. The people in your music appreciation class know it’s you, but some other people are making other assumptions. Either way, the school knows that Vic wants nothing to do with the person.”

I put my head in my hands and sighed deeply. I didn’t want Vic to be done with me. I wanted answers; I wanted the truth.

I wanted Vic to reciprocate my feelings.

“What do I do, Gunn?” I groaned. I felt a hand rub my shoulder.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I don’t know what you said, and you have a closer relationship with him than I do so I can’t tell you what you should do to fix it.”

“Thanks for the help,” I mumbled.

Lynn chose to ignore that statement. “All I can tell you is to be honest with him and tell him how you feel and why you said what you said.”

I lifted my head from my hands in shock and confusion. “Are you crazy?” I asked. “I can’t admit that.”

“You have to! Look at what keeping your feelings to yourself got you. Do you really think it’s gonna be better if you continue?”

I groaned in frustration as I threw my head back and shut my eyes. I didn’t want to do any of this.

“I can tell by your response that you know I’m right.” I straightened up and stared at Lynn. She had a cocky smile and a smug know-it-all look plastered on her face.

“Shut up, Gunn.”

“You’re still confirming that I’m right so no, I will not.”

I did my best to shoot daggers at her with my eyes. I really hated her.

“You’re cute when you think you’re menacing,” she giggled. I rolled my eyes.

“Whatever,” I mumbled.

The bell rang signaling the start of the school day. Our teacher, who was sitting behind her desk while Lynn and I and other students were having our own conversations, got up and started the lesson.

I tried to focus on my teacher, but every so often my mind went to Vic. I wondered if he was thinking about me too. I wondered if he wanted to talk to me again. I wondered if he’d forgive me.

***

After two other classes – English and choir – it was time for lunch. I shut my locker after I had put all my books and backpack away and leaned my forehead against the cold metal door.

Lynn was the first one of my friends to talk to me about Vic, but I knew that everyone else knew some of what was going on. As much as I didn’t want to talk to everyone about it, I knew I’d have to. I was just so tired of being the center of attention because I talked to Vic more often than they did. It made me feel like an exhibit at the zoo.

I exhaled deeply then picked up my feet and trudged to the cafeteria, following the smell of fries. I may not have had much of an appetite, but I couldn’t resist fries. Tyler waved me over as I stepped in the table’s line of sight. I smiled at him as I pointed to the line, letting him know that I’d sit with them after I got some food.

Once I had my tray of food I walked to the table where my friends were sitting. Tori and Sav scooted over to give me some room to sit. As soon as I sat down all eyes were on me. I rolled my eyes inwardly and tried to focus on my plate of fries, but even though we were in the noisy cafeteria, my table was silent and waiting for me to give them my attention.

I sighed as I looked up. “Out with it,” I groaned.

“What?” Trent asked innocently.

“Well, I know that Lynn already knows so that means you guys must know too. Just ask whatever it is you wanna ask.”

They looked around at each other, probably deciding who would interrogate me first. Finally, Sav spoke up.

“What’d you say to him to get him so upset?”

“I accused him of playing me and leading me on.” I sighed. “Not my proudest moment.”

“Why would you do that?” asked Tyler.

“Because I heard a stupid rumor and overthought it.”

“What ru-” Tyler was cut off by the cafeteria getting decibels quieter as Vic and his friends walked into the room. Normally no one would care that they were walking in, but since there was word around the building that Vic was pissed, the student body wanted to see what he would do next.

My table, as well as the other kids at other tables, stopped what they were doing and looked at the four guys walking toward the lunch line. Jaime was going around smiling at people he made eye contact with, no doubt trying to ease the tension. Tony walked silently with his hands in his pockets. Mike walked next to his brother, occasionally looking down at him for some reason.

Then there was Vic.

Vic walked looking straight ahead. He ignored the whispers about him and kept his eyes focused on the entrance to the line. My eyes stayed focused on him as soon as he reached the front end of our table. I could hear my heart beating in my chest. I so badly wanted something to draw his eyes to mine, to connect us so he could see how upset and sorry I was. I wanted to make sure he was okay as well since I had never seen him look so distant from everything and everyone before.

I guess my wish came true because I saw Vic’s eyes flicker to mine as he walked past our table. It was quick; you would have missed it if you blinked, but I saw it. His eyes that held light and some humor whenever I looked into them were cold. Did I hurt him that much?

The cafeteria went back to its normal volume once Vic and his friends sat down at a table. I stared at the back of Vic’s head hoping that the feeling of my eyes boring into him would get him to turn around and acknowledge me in some way.

It didn’t. And I was too much of a punk to go over there and talk to him.

So my friends and I left the cafeteria. We walked past Vic’s table. I was hoping to get the feeling of his eyes on me, or of him wanting to get up and stop me. Neither of those came. I glanced behind me to pretend to talk to Kortney when I really wanted to check on Vic. His eyes were on Jaime and Mike who were sitting in front of him. He was engaged in conversation with a hint of a smile dancing on his lips.

He wasn’t worried about me. He didn’t care. He was mad and it was my fault. I ruined my chance with him and now he was done with me.

That thought repeated in my head during my last class of the day. It repeated while I drove home. It repeated while I sat in the attic at midnight and saw red lines across my wrist and a warm red liquid trailing down my arm, making me feel everything and nothing at all.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. Green deltas are for requested prompts.)

The schemer got schemed.

5K words. 5 fucking thousands words on some overly edgy Inazuma fic. I guess that's the power of self-indulgent writing lmao I'm sorry for how purple prose-y this reads. I don't know what it is about me this September that makes me want to write abstract stuff. And why was it so weird to write dialogue for this? I wasn't writing this awkwardly on purpose I s w e a r About the fic itself, it's mostly Orion-compliant, aside from a couple details and me deciding the match against France should have happened. The idea made more sense in my head before I started actually writing it, but oh well. I'm more impressed by how much I've written for this than anything else, tbh. I hope you still like it! I really want to write more Inazuma, so this was still a blast to write, even if the last part is... kind of weird? I didn't think I'd take this direction, but I didn't want it to end on a depressing note. Inazuma wouldn't, so why should I? This is already way too edgy for its own good, better balance things out. I also may have forgotten they're supposed to be fourteen or something, but it's easy to forgot with the alt continuity honestly. It may also be fairly OOC, but it depends on how you see the characters, I suppose. In all cases, I have a lot of fun writing these three in particular, so you can expect more of them to come one of these days.

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Two Birds in One Stone

Summary: For once, Nosaka didn't quite guess what was ahead of and coming for him. Now, if he had been the only one affected by his fight against Orion... Then it'd have been much better than that, most certainly so.

Fandom: Inazuma Eleven: Orion no Kokuin Relationships: Platonic Ichihoshi & Nosaka, Nishikage & Nosaka

Wordcount: 5.5K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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The biggest traps are the stealthiest, Nosaka learned against his will during the worldwide tournament.

 It’s a stupid lesson to learn this late, way too late, in fact. It’s like observing a bird dying in his hands and realizing this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t caused its death by accidentally crashing into it. Death he’s very nearly avoided causing recently, but even that detail doesn’t help relieve him. It was obvious, yet he didn’t take it as seriously as he should have, brushing it off as no bark and no bite…

He wishes he had gotten bitten instead, right as he stands in front of a door in a corridor, alone, half sunk in the darkness. His hands are bloodied, he doesn’t want to see them.

 The events keep repeating in a loop, tinted with bitter regret and a desperate wish to redo everything again. He’s not used to the awful taste of failure and near-defeat: even if they’ve won in the end, it wasn’t thanks to him, quite the opposite way around. If Ichihoshi hadn’t been there at the right time and properly equipped –and that thought sends chills down his spine— who knows would have happened to him and Japan’s team next.

It’s not like he can do anything about it now, since time is a treacherous one-way road, but it doesn’t prevent his mind from looping around the question over and over again. After all this time spent scheming, spent elaborating complex plans and betting on the near-impossible, he’s finding himself stuck in one place, contemplating failure and decisions he could and should have taken.

But it’s easy to just regret and mop around, licking one’s wounds like an injured animal: fixing one’s mess is much harder than people make it out to be.

 It started with the least subtle trap anyone from Orion could have laid before him: a message written in Cyrillic, all in Russian, as if trying to stir some primal fear he found himself missing. He wasn’t scared of Russia or their team, Perfect Spark was terrific as a team but they were no actual criminals. As such, he merely asked Ichihoshi to translate it for him, which the latter did with ease: as he had guessed, living and playing in Russia for a while had made Ichihoshi bilingual. He had to have talked with Froy Girikanan in one language anyway.

Ichihoshi didn’t seem very thrilled about the meaning of the piece of paper, eyebrows frowning and sweat pearling down his temples. The more he read, the worse his expression got, to a point where Nosaka was starting to wonder how bad these few words could have been. Cyrillic couldn’t have expressed in so few characters such violence that a former Orion agent would have been horrified about it.

 “N-Nosaka,” he asked him with a hesitating voice, “where does this come from?”

“It was slipped under my door,” he replied with the least worry in the world. “I suspect it to be no more than an ill-tasted joke. It’s too easy.”

“I guess, but… This sounds very serious. We know the Orion Foundation has enough funds and means to do this to us.”

“Do what? I’m afraid you haven’t told me about the meaning of this message yet, Ichihoshi.”

“R-right…” He seemed more than reluctant to read it. “It’s more or less telling you to stop investigating into Orion’s business if you don’t want everyone around you to suffer the consequences. It also states it won’t hesitate to employ great means to reach that goal and that you should better off surrender to them right now. And… well… The rest is tasteless, to say the least…”

“Tasteless?”

“I… I’m not sure if I want to read out all of this, it’s a gruesome list of what they’d do to us…”

“I see,” Nosaka didn’t, really, but there was no way Ichihoshi would be able to withstand translating that for him. “Thank you for this anyway. I’m still convinced this is but a bluff, so you shouldn’t worry over it.”

“Got it…”

 And he seemed to be right, for a couple days. The training sessions went perfectly smoothly, the match against France unfolded correctly (having to face not a single Orion player felt refreshing, for once). The team was growing and improving, welcoming Seishuu’s Mizukamiya in its ranks soon enough. More bickering amongst players, more discussions shared around a plate of dinner at the cafeteria, more scheming on his part against Orion. It was all fine, all so fine, and it’d obviously eventually resolve things in the long run.

He should have seen it coming, frankly, in retrospect. He should have sensed it was all too good, coming from the snake that was Orion, slithering in the dark with dagger-sharp fangs waiting for the opportunity to strike.

 The first real weird instance that happened was already fitting of Ichihoshi’s intimidated stance when reading a simple piece of paper. People sometimes missing dinner had never been much of a weird thing: they’d show up later and grab a plate of what would be left, once they’d have been finished with whatever they were doing. It wasn’t like there wasn’t a microwave oven to heat up food that’d have gone cold since then.

Still, he had mentally noted down who was always showing up for dinner at the same hour, nagged by the message despite his best judgement. Some were fairly obvious: Iwato, Asuto, Umihara, (in fact, most of Raimon’s members) they’d never fail showing up at the time dinner started. Technically, Nishikage and he were part of them, mostly due to the message having gone around (and it was obvious that he’d tell his right-hand about that, wasn’t it?). One of the few other people who’d have never failed showing up early was also Ichihoshi, ever since his identities merged together.

 As such, it was no less than odd for the latter not to show up when dinner was announced, on one day, soon before the match against Brazil. He was miffed about this fact, sure, but there was a possible rational explanation for it, so he didn’t insist against himself: if Ichihoshi was late, it may have been because he was researching information on the team they were going to go against soon and had forgotten to check the time it was, most likely too engulfed in searches to do so.

Yet, there was something off enough about this to make him almost bite his thumbnail. A few minutes to arrive late was all fine and not suspicious, but seeing everyone but someone who was always on-time show up, eat and leave was starting to make him worry. The message kept coming back to him, no matter how many times he forced himself to push it back into the depths of his mind, until it was almost unbearable and Nishikage himself made notice of how tense he had become throughout the evening.

 In the end, they were the last to leave the cafeteria, and he decided to go search for Ichihoshi. It was weird that this boy had still not shown up in the cafeteria.

 Their footsteps resonated in the corridors as he viciously searched for a familiar tuff of blue hair, for anything that’d give him an idea of where his aide had gone. His room was empty, no shared room had any trace of him in it and anyone he asked about their comrade’s whereabouts met him with confusion, worry or simply no information to give. No amounts of “Sorry, I’ve not seen him tonight yet, I’ll make sure to tell you if I see him” would give him an idea of where to head next, but at least, that was confirming this was indeed suspicious and not just his mind rendered unable to rationalize little things.

Seeing a trail of blood made his go cold, though. Before he realized it, he had started running in the corridors, forgetting everything around him, until the zigzagging lines stopped in a darker corner of the establishment and he was faced with what must have been matching the lines Ichihoshi hadn’t dared saying in out-loud Japanese.

Not that his unconscious body would have been able to do so either.

 Nosaka wasn’t that used to the sight of blood, this much he was discovering when coming across this disaster of a vision, a nauseating stench of iron immediately reaching his head and making it spin for a moment. In a sharp reflex, almost forgetting he wasn’t alone in this mess, he ordered Nishikage to call for help in a hurry and kneeled next to the body drenched in red, still liquid enough to taint his hands as he tried to make sure his comrade wasn’t dead, observing the surroundings as he searched for a pulse and exhaled a sight of relief when feeling one.

It was a sinister sighting he got forced to face. Sinking in the night’s darkness, barely lit by the emergency alarms, the faraway lights of nearby corridors and the stars and moon by the window, was Ichihoshi, hands covered in his own blood, a stainless exacto knife discarded nearby and a flare of murder to it all. This was gratuitous and needlessly violent, and his eye couldn’t help but spot in the darkness a paper with Cyrillic written on it.

It wasn’t a mere coincidence.

 By a miracle, they didn’t lose Ichihoshi that night, saved in extremis by a blood transfusion and a few stitches. He was clearly not in a playing condition from the incident, yet his recovery was announcing itself to be a quick one: he had actually not lost that much in the corridor. More scare than harm, he supposed.

That was a relief Nosaka didn’t dare make obvious to the outside of his mind.

 It was ashamed and shameful that he presented himself in front of a hospital door on the day after. He insisted on being alone, leaving Nishikage behind (who could wait for him or just do his own thing, he wouldn’t have minded either way), and entering the room with heavy footsteps and even heavier thoughts swirling in his mind. In his pocket, one of the reasons he was there. One of the reasons he was ashamed of being here too.

He had inspected every corner of the hospital corridors he had walked through to get there, just in case. He had also learnt some Cyrillic before coming, but that wasn’t to transcribe anything: it was only so he wouldn’t get a room number wrong. He couldn’t risk asking a receptionist, so better do that by himself and not risk anyone’s life in the process again. One endangered comrade was far than enough for a trickster resorting to cryptic messages. A trickster that made him feel unsafe enough for everyone around him and himself that he couldn’t even ensure himself of anyone’s safety anymore.

 Scheming against someone he knew the face and modus operandi of was easy. It had always been easier to point holes in a known person’s plans and means than some unknown mask smirking upon them with contempt. He couldn’t come up with an actual rebuttal with how little information: even the handwriting wouldn’t get them anywhere. The cleanliness of the knife found at the scene indicated this person had more than likely gotten rid of any DNA possible, hiding their track like a meticulous mind.

For the first time, Nosaka felt unable to do anything real against a situation he should have been able to do something in. It was a wit’s match, after all: there was no reason for him to be this paralyzed by difficulty when he had always been capable of winning his previous chess matches. Suddenly, he tasted powerlessness and it made him go restless. Not even kicking a ball was emptying his mind of the worry.

 When he eventually pushed the handle of the door and entered the room, he was surprisingly greeted by a smiling Ichihoshi, his skin barely paler than usual, waving at him slowly and gently. He didn’t quite know why he couldn’t find any resentment in his teammate’s eyes or demeanour but brushed that side for the moment being: there had to be an explanation and he could just wait for it. Patience was key in a situation where he wasn’t in control. For now, that was: after all, being patient and resisting the assault would provide him with an opportunity eventually, wouldn’t it?

He sat next to Ichihoshi, studying in rapid glances his condition from he could see. An intravenous injection in the left wrist, a bag of blood; another in the forearm, of something else, either painkillers or antibiotics, maybe nutriments. No way to tell for sure, so he skipped to the next element. Bandages on the chest, from what he could see: made sense. He couldn’t see any other limb, but neither arm bore anything that wasn’t clothing, so—

 “Ah,” Ichihoshi suddenly spoke up, “I got told it was just a deep scratch. I wasn’t stabbed or anything.”

Wait, had he just somehow read his thoughts?

“I see. I’m glad it wasn’t as grievous as we thought it was. Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine! Well, fine enough for someone who got attacked like that, but it’s not entirely unexpected, coming from Orion… Sorry for worrying you all like this. I’ll be fine soon, at least.”

“Will you be back for the next match?”

“I’m afraid not, but I’ll be there for the one against Italy, I promise.”

A smile. Too bad he’d have to crush it.

 “Say, Ichihoshi”, he asked, “I know this is of bad taste and comes with bad timing, but could you translate something for me?”

The smile disappeared as soon as it appeared.

“The word left next to me, right? That’s the last thing I remember before passing out.”

“Exactly.”

 As soon as he put it out of his pocket, left almost intact, Ichihoshi picked the paper in his hands and read through it, expression only slightly more relaxed than the first time around. His hands trembled, almost folding the paper under their press, until they untensed and their discussion resumed.

“This is but the beginning, for I’ll hit two birds with one stone. What’s odd is that it’s written in older Russian…”

“And the first wasn’t?”

“Not as far as I remember, at least… I wonder what they’re trying to mean with this. I don’t think it’s anything positive, though.”

“I doubt their intentions are any better than what’s happened to you anyway. It’s certain that you were the first ‘bird’, but who could be the second?”

“It has to be you, right, Nosaka?”

He paused for a minute to think about it. It only made sense for an Orion agent to get rid of their enemy’s commander, right? He had the flare of the Emperor of Tactics shining all around him in this tournament. He had to be the second target mentioned by the sombre message. There was no other way around, right?

“I suppose you’re right, Ichihoshi. Let’s be careful from then on.”

“Agreed.”

 The day Ichihoshi got discharged from the hospital was, coincidentally, the day Japan went against Brazil in the FFI. As he had expected, there was Orion meddling threaded through the entire faceoff: acupuncture tactics against Mizukamiya choosing to pretend like they’d be doing the same. It all ended with Japan’s victory, a freed Brazilian team, and an injured right hand. Nothing quite out of the ordinary, even if the messages kept popping in his head, and his eye always glanced back at Ichihoshi sitting on the bench, as if it made him feel safer about it all.

Which was a mistake, but on the pitch, he couldn’t have focused on that. There was a match to play and much bigger stakes hanging over the grass, other people to free from the enemy’s clutches, a tactic to pay attention to. At least, he still had his talent for acting to his service, as to seal the deal and sell the lie. The victory absolutely mattered, as it had always done since the beginning of the tournament.

 The blinding optimism of Inazuma Japan’s players almost intoxicated him into sharing their appeased mindset, almost made him forget about the poisonous fangs here to eat him alive in two vicious bites. Two birds, one stone. The vague wording of it still reminded him of nothing precise, but he still told Nishikage about it, brainstorming as they usually did, yet nothing came of it. Talk about running out of inspiration.

Both papers used were nothing but ordinary: white lined paper, standard printing paper that was then cut. Almost a bland modus operandi: it wasn’t original, but it was effective as not to be traced. Contacting the authorities came to his mind, but he quickly realized that’d end up putting all of them in danger in the long run. They never knew how brutal Orion could get on them. Oh, they had never known, in the end.

 The following days untensed his shoulders and brought back some of his sleep. The lack of anything serious happening combined with the training for the match against Italy had taken most of his awake thoughts, trying to piece together a strategy to adopt before it even started, helped by Ichihoshi and his analyses. It was nothing out of the ordinary for them, quite frankly, as this had become their routine, yet something still felt off. The, perhaps baseless, threats still swung over his head like Damocles’ sword.

That was his main mistake there: being unable to tell precisely where the sword was going to fall.

 A mistake he realized far too late, as it only came to his mind when discussing Italy’s team with Nishikage and Ichihoshi before the afternoon training session. It had been a casual conversation until the point where the latter wanted to check the paper again, thinking of something new for the investigation.

“What do you have in mind?” Nosaka asked as he put it out of his pocket and gave it away.

“I’m wondering who the second bird is again… We were sure it’d you, but nothing’s happened yet, and I wonder if it’s not because you’re always with someone else. I got attacked when I was alone.”

“That’s true. I suppose they’re only armed and prepared as to assault people when they can’t be spotted doing so.”

“Considering Orion’s influence and power,” Ichihoshi then pointed out a detail, pensive stance and eyes shining in a new light, “it’d be weird for them to be this careful. They could easily manipulate the situation to their advantage. I also still don’t understand why I wasn’t brought back to Orion either, if their motivation was to neutralize the people going against them. You’d think a traitor would have been a prime target to get rid of, but they left me to bleed out instead…”

“You’re rising a good point. I don’t think our enemy is actually siding with Orion. They seem more like opportunists profiting off from our conflict with the foundation.” He needed a third perspective on this, certain to have finally made a breakthrough in this blind investigation, so he turned to his usual aide. “What do you think of this, Nishi…”

 There was no one to meet his eyes.

“Nishikage was called by Sekiya.” Ichihoshi couldn’t hide the amusement in his reaction. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice him leaving!”

It was weird for him not to notice someone leaving his side, but it wasn’t like it wasn’t planned. He did remember something about a check-up. And it wasn’t like Nishikage couldn’t defend himself, so even if he was alone, he’d be…

“Wait, Ichihoshi.”

Something was wrong.

“You were attacked inside our centre, right?”

“I…” A struggle to remember. “I was. Why?”

Nosaka suddenly rose from his chair, almost punching the table they were sitting around while he was at it.

“His hand! How could have I forgotten about his hand?!”

He left in a hurry, forgetting to drag a half-confused Ichihoshi with him on a chase against time. That was what had sounded so wrong with this entire ordeal…!

 His thoughts were racing inside his head. He was a fool: the second bird had never been him. If they had wanted to get rid of the enemy, they’d have gotten to him first, wouldn’t have bothered leaving their former mole to die, as if giving him a chance to survive the attack. The cryptic Cyrillic had been a lie all along: someone wasn’t out for the team, he was out for him, and he had been a fool to believe otherwise. How in the hell had he taken so long to realize about what Ichihoshi had pointed out?

It was revenge by proxy. Someone was out for him and was using the worst means possible to reach their goals. A cold-blooded revenge whose devilish devise had to have made them be quiet about it, scared of the power of the Orion Foundation when it had never been implicated in the entire thing to begin with. That had been a lie and he had been too focused on something else to notice everything crashing down around him, just because the ceiling hadn’t started sweating dust above his head…!

 Yet, Nosaka’s blood almost ran cold when he saw, in a different corner of their living quarters, his closest ally being put a knifepoint by the person who had most likely already attempted killing Ichihoshi.

The crimson peeking through the bandages on his right hand was all he needed to get furious at the other man and himself alike.

 “No…” A strangled scream, stopped by the slash of a blade.

The unknown man barked some words in a language he didn’t understand, most likely Russian, while putting his available hand on his prey’s mouth. What was going on was absolutely cryptic, undecipherable to him: he lacked the linguistics to understand, he was finding out. Somehow, he had attracted the hatred of a man whom he didn’t even share a language with.

 Obviously, that meant there was no hope with talking with him: his words would never reach him, even on the most literary level of the saying. All there was to it now was trying to act against a situation where he was put at an obvious disadvantage. Not quite an easy feat to accomplish, would he say so himself, especially when trapped in such a catastrophe.

There was no air for a misplay on his part, so he analysed the situation. He was himself unarmed, couldn’t speak Russian, but was the object of the conspiracy. On the other side of a narrow corridor, a corner almost hidden away, Nishikage held at knifepoint and already bleeding and a man who didn’t speak a word of Japanese, armed with just this one knife he was using, face hidden by a mask. Calling for backup or leaving to get some would possibly result in Nishikage dying while he’d be gone or in front of his eyes. Yet, the lack of backup was an issue on both sides, so it was almost equal on that front. He only needed a hostage of his, a human shield to use, he supposed.

 “Nosaka!!”

The echo of Ichihoshi’s voice made him turn around in a bolt, panic settling in for a moment. If the man ever heard someone else coming their way…

“Don’t,” he almost said, before hearing a muffled yelp coming from his side. Turned around, saw his friend bleeding from the chest, and didn’t need anything else.

 Ichihoshi reached him in mere moments, breathless, a ball in his hands. Anxiety could be read all over his face, splattered on his eyes and brows, breath shaking. As soon as he came into the field of vision, the man started barking again, shooting his words like a machine gun, an aura of threat to them.

“A-ah…” Ichihoshi started mumbling, expression worsening.

“You understand what he’s saying, don’t you?” Nosaka asked, still in a hurry, putting all hopes on a comrade’s abilities.

“Y-yeah… It’s kinda hard to translate because he speaks so violently and so quickly, but he’s saying that you’ve ruined his life by interfering with Orion’s plans…” He gulped, hands trembling. “He’s also saying you’re next… We need to stop him as soon as possible!”

“Agreed,” he replied with his head turning back to the lone renegade. “Do you have a plan?”

“I…” Another gulp. “I don’t!”

He was getting impatient with all of this.

“Fine.”

 Noticing a little space between the blade and the throat it threatened to slash, Nosaka picked the ball from Ichihoshi’s arms and calculated an angle as quickly as possible. He had only a couple seconds, if not frames, to have it hit as perfectly as possible, lives being on the line more than previously. Yet, he lacked the time to think about it, so he kicked the ball and hoped for the shoot to do as hoped.

A smirk drew itself on his face when the knife was launched away from the vicious hand, flying in the air, as the hostage freed himself and the blade fell back to the floor, clinking against the tiles. Not leaving the time to the man to react properly, he rushed to the latter, putting his foot as firmly as possible over the guilty wrist. If his intent wasn’t to directly cause pain, there was still a desire in him to do so festering inside his chest.

“Ichihoshi, go get some help, please,” he ordered as calmly as possible, even if the flame was becoming a fire by the moment.

“C-coming!”

 Events after that passed by in a flash. Cries from his teammates, grunts from the assailant, panic, phone calls, sirens. The dopamine rush he had had when tackling the culprit had disappeared as soon as it had come, leaving him to just observe things from a distant point of view, trying to keep himself under control.

He walked mechanically out of the situation, rummaging through a sea of boggled thoughts. Coming after him was one thing: he expected it. Ichihoshi had been tasked with neutralizing him by Orion until fairly recently. However, coming after people close to him to get to him had nothing on that. While one could have argued Ichihoshi had always been a risk for being a former disciple of Orion, it couldn’t justify coming after Nishikage, who had merely been as much of an adversary of Orion as everyone else. Someone made personal what had always been a conflict of collectives and, to that, he may have wanted to punch a wall.

 The door opens right next to him, reminding him to break away from his thoughts. It’s only been a couple hours at most since this entire disaster unfolded, and even then, he’s trying to convince himself it’s been longer than that. Well, even the best of lies won’t work in this situation, so he shakes his head and faces his captain, with whom he’s just had a talk.

Truth be told, Endou had never been the type to hold a grudge against a teammate, even when they had almost committed a crime. It wasn’t that Nosaka had been surprised to be immediately forgiven right after he had finished explaining everything with rage still trembling inside his throat, as it was but the opposite way around: he was more so astonished by Endou not sharing his point of view on the situation. In fact, faced with the anger of a captain whom hadn’t been informed about the message or neither of Ichihoshi or his theories on the matter, he had almost run out of words, yet defended his position anyway.

 Endou’s opinions made sense, he has to admit. The smile and soft tap on his shoulder much less.

“He’s asked for you,” he tells him, a thumb pointing at the door frame. “You should speak to him yourself. See you later!”

On that, Endou takes his leave, leaving his secondary captain alone in the middle of a echoing corridor and a door that just has to have conveyed their conversation on the other side of the room.

 Left with no choice, Nosaka takes a deep breath and enters. There is a galaxy of somewhat similar events where he wasn’t scared by having to confront Nishikage. Not even the tumour intimidated him into being unsure of the outcome of the conversation. However, all previous certitudes are now lying on the floor, because this isn’t the same as before: the situation has changed, his responsibilities too. Mind racing to process through the memories, trying not to succumb to anxiety, he makes his way in.

The discussion about that tumour keeps nagging at him, but he quickly busts out what allows it to do so. Put into perspective, it only affected him: even if he had betrayed Nishikage’s trust by hiding that away from him like he had hid it away from the world until that point, it had never affected Nishikage himself. This, however, is a different situation: should have he guessed not to have been the second bird, this would have never happened. Injustice has always made his blood boil, from the day he was conscious enough to understand the concept, and knowing he’s partially responsible for it this time around makes him want to go back in time and defy the odds to do so.

Instead, he’s just faced with the fatality of facing his own misplays in this messed-up chess game.

 He doesn’t sit on the chair he can guess to still be warm. He only feels like staying up, so he doesn’t have to prevent his eyes from noticing every detail that bothers him. Still, he’s a diplomat of sorts, a representative of Japan to the rest of the world and the captain whenever Endou isn’t on the field. He should be able to talk to a teammate, especially one as close as this one.

“I’ll admit I don’t know what you expect from me,” he starts, unsure himself of what he’s supposed to do right now, scoffing at himself with an excuse for a laugh. “I don’t know what to say, or rather, how to say it.”

Silence on the other side of the line. He doesn’t look up to see what this translates into visually.

“I should have been more careful than that. I blindly assumed I’d be next and forgot they could get to you instead. You were only collateral damage in all this. For that, I’m deeply sorry. It shouldn’t have been this way.”

 He crosses his arms and tries not to sulk. It’d be a dumb thing to do on his part. He’s guilty as charged, doesn’t deserve to be the pitied one. Not that either of them would appreciate pity of all feelings. He believes what he’s feeling is sympathy and not dirty pity, perhaps closer to empathy, but in the end, it’s all words and nuances for nothing. Overthinking what to call something won’t fix the things he’s allowed breaking.

 “Nosaka.”

The calm tone in Nishikage’s voice almost makes him jump, eyes now on his teammate. To his surprise, he gets greeted by what he thinks is a smile.

“What is it?” He gathers himself in time for a reply.

“It’s fine.”

Short and straight to the point. As expected, coming from Nishikage. Still, the sentiment behind it is more perplexing.

“You… do mean it, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

 Nosaka feels a smile coming to his face, inexorable.

“Well then. You don’t mind having been attacked because you were my aide?”

“No.”

There’s just something so much more convincing to a dry, single word, than any long speech he could be given.

“Hearing you say this gives me relief. I’ll be more careful next time so that doesn’t happen again. This was already one time too many.”

“Don’t beat yourself over this, Nosaka. It’s fine. I understand.”

“…Thank you. In fact, thank you for always being there.”

“That’s nothing.”

 Silence rises up again and he goes to finally sit on the chair, whose gone cold. The air isn’t as heavy anymore, yet they don’t exchange words: they’re silent and content in being so, it seems, and he doesn’t have the words to break through it. There is nothing to be added anyway: they’ve made their cases, their points and, in the end, he gets to postpone guilting over all this sometime later, when he’ll have a clearer mind. When the heat of the moment will have passed, when the optimism of the team will intoxicate him again and he’ll have his wounds patched up by the sun.

He likes the calm between two storms much more than as he thought he would until now.

[lvkswrites-blog]

Suckerpunch

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: language.

Summary: Reader becomes Steve Rogers mentee.

Foreword: The setting would be pre-CW and I think it fits the scene because this is the time Tony Stark and Peter would meet. Basically, I want to create a Steve Rogers who also have a mentee of sort.

P.S Let me know if you guys like this.

(x)

Third person point of view

The day Y/N found out that she does not want to live a life like everyone else is the day she punched a guy in the cafeteria. The guy looks pretty pissed while laying on the floor. Who wouldn't right? He didn't thought that a girl, a lower year even, could send him to total humiliation. Kids of different years cheered on, hoisting emotions from the two hot heads. Y/N, was about to jump towards the guy and give him another strong punch but her jab was caught by the gym instructor.

"Detention, Y/F/N!"

Every kids who encircled them cram and push one another back to their lunch table. A furious Y/N stood still infront of the instructor and the kid. Deep inside she was muttering things she could've done to the guy, who apparently thought making fun of her friend was nice, if only she was fast enough.

She explained everything to the principal and it made her feel hopeless. The guy would still be abstained, he looked like the lesser evil in this one. Y/N had been to detention more than the kid so she knows that it'll be listed on her record.

A guy brought in a tv and she was again infront of a talking Captain America. That moment, in a detention chair, a not-very-brilliant-self-reflection dawned to her. She did not wasted any moment and grabbed her backpack. She swore that she'll never go back again in the "stupid hell of a place".

Y/N is a person of misfortunes. Her dad died in a mission in Benghazi and her mom died from drug overdose at a young age, taken in by a problematic foster parents, and has identity vs. role confusion. But she was certain that she have a feeling inside her that she can't ignore.

The bus ride is short but enough to drown her with thoughts. Y/N plugged in her headphones and hugged herself.

At an old and rusty steel door, She stood. Her hoodie covering her and her backpack hang off over one shoulder. She knocked and waited for reply, when no one answered. She tried to slide the steel door. It didn't budged. So she tried another way, she went to the alley and search for an entrance. She stopped at her tracks when she found it. Apparently, behind a stink garbage can. "Blehk, eew." With one push she successfully pushed it.

A pick lock is all it takes.

"Now that's more like it."

-----

Steve knows that the owner would be there at the gym he would always go to, but he did not know that there would be someone else aside from him.

Grunts after grunts. Breathy exhales. Beat of trainers hitting the floor. The room felt almost motivational to start his usual workout. He must be careful tho, he do not want attention.

"You are here early? How did you get in?", a voice startled Steve. Steve spun and saw the gym owner.

"I just got here and I- I thought you opened this?"

"I did not." The owner replied. They both shared a look and found a girl in a corner lost in trance while lifting.

Steve approached the girl in a manner that will not scare her. He was gentle even, slowly squeezing information out of the girl. However Y/N can really act well. She said that "I thought it's open, I mean, the lights are on and the door is open so." Steve bought that and talked again to the owner that if anything is missing it might be a break in, if it's not then he must not worry much. The owner trust Steve so he let it be.

A sly smile formed in Y/N lips.

Steve went on his usual routine and let the spirit and sweat fuel him. Like any other fitness junkie, once you start feeling your body fire up it's addicting. He did not realized that per punch he release to the bag, it gets harder. The bag broke from it's chain and it made a loud "thump" as it fell.

*clap clap*

"Captain America," Y/N said while stepping forward. "I thought I might see you here."

Is she a spy? She sound odd. Things came into Steve's head like a computer wiring data.

"You're like a kid on a math test when you think y'know."

"Well, who are you?"

"-I'm just a kid from Brooklyn," Y/N sticked her hand out for a handshake. Steve's eyes trailed the hand infront of him and she waited... She waited until Steve decided to shake her hand. "Steve."

That is when her life officially changed. Y/N and Steve would always meet in the gym and train. They both share this understanding, like telepathy, that shaping up does not just make you feel better but help your head think straight. Days after days of sharing details and small talks. Steve watched her in a distance. Steve learned that she had been struggling with parents, and she have a dream becoming a soldier, and she wants to push her limits.

Steve did not saw a girl trying to impress him. He saw fire in her eyes, powerful motivation, a desire to have a purpose. He saw himself in her. Suddenly, he was back again in 40's. Trying so hard, application after application. He remember... everything.

"Hey, kid. Place is about to close." Steve called, making her pause the treadmill. He gave her time to catch her breath before he dropped the question, "You don't mind chinese takeaways for dinner, don't you?".

Sharon Carter is an agent working for Nick Fury. Lately, she had been assigned to look over Steve Rogers. Steve know and met Sharon knowing she was a friendly neighbor.

Steve and Y/N passed by infront of Sharon's door just in time when she opened it from the inside. Steve acknowledged her with usual greeting. Y/N hung her head as low as possible. Sharon's gaze turned from Steve to Y/N.

Steve racked his brain for an excuse and the best lie he come up with was, "She's my dishwasher." Both Sharon and Y/N's expression is an evident i-knew-it face. They both know Steve is bad at lying. To keep Sharon's act viable, Sharon agreed and excused herself to do the laundry.

Sharon head to the stairs and the two head towards Steve's flat. "You are such a dick, Rogers." Sharon heard. "-language!" Steve warned.

Nick Fury was at his office that time when he received a call from agent Carter. "Agent Carter... What?... Did you manage to take a photo?... Okay I can work that out... Okay... She's a hostile, for now. I'll pay Steve a visit as soon as I can." Nick Fury ended the call with an odd feeling. He tried not to think much about it and truth to be told, he felt that Steve was just trying to catch up in times. After all chivalry is dead, Fury thought.

Nick did paid a visit to Steve's place. He made it really a not-so sneaky one. He was welcomed by a supersoldier pinning him up against the brick wall. "What are you doing here?" Steve whisper-yelled. Nick did not answered and directed his eyes towards the sleeping body in a matress.

Steve released him and said, "Let's not talk here."

"Really? Here?" Fury said in dismay. Steve shrugged. "I ran out of eggs." Fury stopped him by the arms and said, "I told you I'll keep an eye on you."

"-I noticed." Steve retorted and pulled his arm.

"For fuck's sake. If you want a dog, I'll get you one." Fury said and he's furrious. "Rogers. That's a fucking 16 year old, a girl even, and you think- You think you can have someone following you around and listening to your orders-"

"-You don't understand." Steve growled.

"Then make me. Explain it to me..."

"Okay fine. If she fail, she leave. If she pass, she'll stay."

Y/N woke up that day with the sound of clammoring plates amd smell of cooking. She felt a bit concious.

"You don't have to make me breakfast, old man." Steve chuckled at her remark. "Goodmorning, to you too." Both fell silent after that. Both are not used to sharing meals with a person in an intimate space. Y/N chuckled and ate her food in silence.

Steve then explained everything. About fury. About the test. Y/N was not shocked but Steve is. Y/N grabbed her backpack and pulled out her dad's dog tag. Apparently, the dog tag has a shield logo in it. It glistened as the sun light beemed on it.

"I've been low-key researching about S.H.I.E.L.D, I- kinda expected this to happen."

Time skip and a series of extreme running and combat training with Steve. Y/N is ready to face Nick Fury for a test. Although it did not started in a controlled environment, it happened in a laundromat.

Y/N and Sharon are both waiting for their laundry to finish. Y/N started small talks like how's life, what she do, where she came from. "So, you said you're a nurse?"

"Yes," Sharon replied with a smile. That day, Sharon is really in need of laundry service. She have to wash her uniform.

"Do you work during the days?" It's starting to bother Sharon. Personally, she likes her job but when interrogations happen it annoys her.

"Mostly. Life as a nurse is unpredictable, it can change any moment.", Y/N seemed pleased with her response.

Y/N laundry stopped and she started fixing it like any people would. She tried to supress the adrenaline. She breathed in and out in a disciplined manner. She knows that S.H.I.E.L.D trained its agents well that even breathing pattern could be a sign of distress.

She then headed for the door with her laundry, instead of stepping out. She flipped the 'open' sign and slowly locked the door.

"Y/N," Sharon called. "You dropped these." Sharon did not expected the attack. While she was distracted, Y/N grabbed the opportunity to lock Sharon between her arms. Sharon pushed their weights and Y/N hit her back on the laundry machine.

The two started making a mess machine after machine and no one is near from surrendering.

"Why. are you spying on. Steve." Y/N said between attacks. Sharon kept on dodging. She was told that Y/N is a hostile and no harm. Sharon was just dodging every attack Y/N did.

Sharon is lost in her own thoughts while dodging a furious Y/N. Sharon did not expected that Y/N could have much precision and powerful punches. Sharon did not fully understood Y/N mentioned something about Rogers and protection.

Steve and Sharon only shared glances and small talks in the duration of her mission. However, long before she met him she already heard stories from Peggy about a man he worked with. Needless to say, Sharon grew feelings for Steve. Something about Y/N overprotevtiveness aura made her snap. "It's my job, not yours." Sharon thought to her self repeatedly but she kept silent. She then became as assertive as Y/N.

The change of Sharon's body language made Y/N know it's beyond what she wanted to know. Her lunges and attacks felt personal.

"Finally," Y/N announced. They both stared at each others eyes before they started going for one another.

Y/N showed and applied what he learned from Steve, but Sharon showed that she is knowledgeable of MMA moves and aside from personal affairs it became a show-me-what-you-can-do.

Sharon is experienced in combats and her expertise in this really showed. Y/N's arm was about to be locked behind her arm but Y/N grew up catfighting in alleys and she is a nasty and outlaw contender.

Just in time before both girls kill each other, Nick Fury arrived.

-----

Steve and Y/N sat infront of each other silently. No one is trying to make a conversation. Both are tensed to what Fury will say.

From Y/N vision she could see a red haired woman walking towards them. Y/N's excitement tingled as she realized it's Natasha Romanoff. Media created an image that Natasha is a hot and skilled spy who once been in numerous deadly mission. She's Y/N idol. Now she sit there with a freshly bruised face with a stern don't-touch-me Steve Rogers.

Natasha introduced herself and she announced her presence was by Fury's order. Natasha casually joked about bruising Agent Carter's face for her.

Steve looked at Natasha and then at Y/N. He knew that moment that he made a right choice to take her in.

-----

Natasha stirred her coffee as Y/N teared her pack of coffee. "How'd you know that Agent Carter is spying on you?" Natasha asked.

"She keeps on glancing on Steve?" It sounded like a question.

"That's assumption."

"Actually, for a nurse, she looks pretty. I mean if she's being an undercover nurse she should-"

"Are you saying that nurses are ugly?" Natasha wheezed.

"No!" Y/N defended. "I mean, okay, whenever I saw her wearing scrubs I try to smell her. She doesn't smell like antiseptic or hospital scent that usually haunted me. I did not said it at first because you might think I'm a creep."

"Creep." Natasha joked.

[jincherie]

lagom || 04

➨ hoseok x reader

➨ familiar au, magic au, shifter au, witch au

➨ 1.9k

➨prompt; "I dare you!"

“You’re literally ridiculous.”

“Stop whining, and just do it! What are you, a chicken? A turkey?”

The following chicken noises—which were a far cry from the real sound but similar enough that you knew what they were meant to be— grated on your nerves like nothing else. The urge that rose within you to plant your fist in the middle of Hoseok’s smug, mocking face was not one unfamiliar to you. You were going to have to start charging it rent at this stage, it spent enough time lurking in your subconscious. Nonetheless, you remained strong and resisted the urge. Succumbing to the clucking of a child was the mark of a fool.

“I like you so much better when you’re a fox,” you muttered forlornly, using your fork to push a small cherry tomato across your plate.

“Hey!” Hoseok let out an indignant noise that reminded you, ironically, of a squawk. “That’s slander and I won’t have it in this house!”

“We’re in a cafeteria you absolute egg,” you said, unable to help rising to even the smallest bit of bait. “Also, don’t make me muffle you.”

Your words hinted at the latest spell you’d learnt, in a desperate bid to soundproof the walls of Hoseok’s room—you could only take so much screaming as he and his friends watched movies or played games— and at the mention the fox’s face paled slightly. Your first attempt at the spell had led to a misfire of sorts and Hoseok had spent the afternoon unable to utter a word. Heaven, for you personally, but he’d beg to differ.

“You wouldn’t…” he murmured, squinting at you as though to assess whether you were bluffing. You were, for now, but you were sure that if he kept blaring each sentence out like a foghorn for all the ears in the cafeteria to hear, that would be inclined to change. He seemed to come to the conclusion that you weren’t bluffing. He sat back, crossing his arms, and sent you a glare at the ‘stalemate’ he suddenly found himself in. An idiot, your familiar was an idiot. Stupid, dumb, absolutely endearing idiot fox. You wanted to ruffle his hair.

The male sniffed, turning his head to the side as his nose followed a particularly enticing scent. Hoseok let out a long, tortured groan.

“Someone is eating an apple turnover,” he nearly sobbed, head dropping onto the table. You focused on your attempts to spear the remaining tomato as he continued morosely, “And someone else has butter chicken…. My god, someone has lamb skewers—”

The sudden, sharp CLANK of your fork finally spearing through the tomato and hitting the ceramic plate beneath had Hoseok jumping nearly a foot in the air. He yelped, quick to glare at you and save face, and you grinned widely at him as you plopped the fruit into your mouth.

“Who’s the turkey now?” you mocked, grinning evilly when he glared and sputtered.

“Not me, because I’m not the one chickening out of an actual dare!” Hoseok jabbed a finger at you, voice dropping. “You…. are the turkey here. Do the dare.”

“No,” you refused instantly, stabbing your fork into a juicy piece of lettuce. “I’m not five years old, Hoseok, and I also have dignity.”

“Where?” the shifter snorted, and you almost flicked your fork at him. Thankfully, from the amount of times you’d brought Hoseok to your campus, the occupants seemed somewhat used to his volume level. “Also, it’s not that bad—it’s not even the worst dare I could have given you! You should be thankful I’m such a benevolent companion.”

“You are the biggest little shit I have ever met—” you cut yourself off, pointing a fork at him. “Hey! We were never playing truth or dare in the first place, why are you giving me dares?!”

“Because it’s boring here, obviously,” Hoseok slumped dramatically onto the table. “My favourite teacher of yours left, Taehyung isn’t even here, and you told me I couldn’t play with Jungkook—”

“Because him and Seokjin are studying and practicing something important for an exam,” you cut him off, turning back to your meal. “Which is exactly why we can’t go and bother them. I’m not doing the dare.”

Hoseok huffed, and silence drifted between you for a few moments. You relished the fact the only sound you could hear was your own chewing and the chatter of students around you, but a part of you wondered exactly why your familiar had fallen silent now of all times and how long it was going to last.

The answer was, apparently, not long at all.

It was soft at first, so soft it was almost imperceptible and you had to strain your ears to be sure you heard it. Then, it grew in volume, and you were slamming your fork down as Hoseok clucked loudly, arms at his sides in the form of chicken wings.

“That’s it!” you burst, reaching for the wand you required for finer enchantments. “I’m muffling you—”

“NO!” Hoseok cried, lurching across the table to grasp your wrist and halt your hand in its journey. “Look, Seokjin and Jungkook are over there getting food! You can do it now! I’ll shut up if you do the dare!”

Your head swung around as he pointed, despite the distant thought that you should keep your eyes on the cheeky fox, and to your surprise you found he wasn’t actually fibbing for once. Jungkook and Seokjin stood by the dessert section of the cafeteria, the young familiar bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands clutched together in excitement as he stared at the churro currently being wrapped and passed to him. Your momentary shift in attention was broken by what you quickly discerned to be soft chanting from Hoseok’s side of the table.

“—Do the dare, do the dare, do the dare—”

You swivelled back around to send him a borderline murderous look. There was no way you were doing it, and you were quick to tell him as much. The shadow of embarrassment that resulted from the mere thought of it had your cheeks flushing slightly.

“No!” you refuted once more, smacking your palm lightly on the table. “Stop attempting to bully me, it won’t work! Why do you want me to do this stupid dare so bad anyway?”

Hoseok cut his antagonistic chanting off to grin at you, dimples making an appearance. “Because I’m bored, and it will be funny! Just do it. You know you want to. I dare you!”

“I really don’t,” you denied, although a small niggling thought in the back of your mind brought your attention to the fact that if you didn’t do it, it was probably going to bother you. Your honour, your integrity… were they really at stake here if you refused to follow Hoseok’s childish urging?

“Don’t be a party pooper, oh witch o’ mine!” Hoseok leant forward, resting his chin on fingers he’d threaded together, his elbows on the table. He wagged his brows, the familiar glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Do it. Or do I have to…”

He’d trailed off, the act somewhat threatening, and you hated the fact that you knew him so well you were already expecting the following noises before they even began to leave his mouth.

“Buck…. Buck-bck…. Bck-bck-buck!”

You stood suddenly, nearly falling over the seat that was fixed to the ground, and were quick to step over it. Hoseok was too shocked to stop his clucking as you sent him a filthy look before turning on your heel and marching over to the desserts section where the poor victim of your dare still remained with his familiar.

You cursed the fact you were really carrying out this childish dare. Perhaps the clucking had gotten to you a bit more than you’d thought. You should have known better than to think you could resist it—you were just a fool, a fool in a woman’s size 9 boots that were clacking loudly as you marched across the cafeteria.

Devouring his churro as he was, for once Jungkook wasn’t the first to notice your approach; Seokjin sent you a surprised look before a grin tugged his lips. “Oh, y/n—well, well, well… Look who finally remembered the way back to campus.”

You offered him an annoyed look in response as you closed the remaining distance between you, and the male erupted into a bout of loud laughter that almost brought a smile on your own face. Jungkook shoved the rest of the dessert into his mouth and finally noticed you now that his distraction was gone. “Oh, hey y/n. What are you doing on campus?”

You spared a watered-down version of the look you’d give Seokjin for the younger shifter, and simply turned your attention back to the witch before you. A pair of eyes burned into your back and you knew your familiar was watching expectantly.

“I’m really sorry for what I’m about to do,” you winced, apologising in advance. “Hoseok dared me and he called me a turkey.”

Seokjin blinked, confusion clear in his gaze and furrowed brows, but you didn’t give him time to question it before you took another step forward and grasped his face. You just managed to catch the bewildered expression crossing his features before you turned his head and leaned forward to smack a big wet kiss on his cheek. It lasted about a split second before you were whipping your hands off of him like they’d been burned and were waving frantically, entire body cringing in on itself from sheer embarrassment. Your feet were helping you make a quick escape before you even had to tell them to, your next words called over your shoulder as you fled.

“Good seeing you two, bye!”

With that, you left the two males staring after you in bewilderment as you scuttled back across the cafeteria from whence you came.

Hoseok sat, features frozen in the expression they’d been in before you’d pressed a kiss to Seokjin’s cheek as he’d dared you to do in front of the whole cafeteria. He could hear some people whispering, but that wasn’t what had frozen the glee in its path across his features.

No, it was the sudden, foreign feeling that was pressing against the confines of his chest, insistent in its attempts to break free. He didn’t think he’d ever felt it before—it was heavy, icky, made his thoughts go jumbled and his shoulders hunch. He’d expected to be over the moon, cackling at the obvious show of embarrassment you’d make at being dared to do such a thing, but instead…. Instead he felt like this, and he didn’t know why. He struggled to school his expression as you made a beeline back for the table, entire face flushed and eyes glaring daggers into him. He had half a mind to be scared but couldn’t muster the attention to it.

He mightn’t know what that feeling was, or why he was feeling it, but he did know that for whatever reason, despite his initial thoughts, he didn’t like the image that had burnt itself into his mind. Your hands cupping Seokjin’s face, your lips brushing his cheek—no, he didn’t like it at all. It was this, that he was left puzzling over for the rest of the day.

mlist | lagom mlist || prev. | 05 ➨prompt; “I’m not drunk enough for this” 

[lord-explosion-baku]

Dancing’s Not a Crime (Unless You Do It Without Me) pt. 8

Pairings: Bakugou x fem!reader, Todoroki x fem!reader

You flirt and tease with a certain hotheaded classmate of yours without realizing how far it has escalated and someone gets a little jealous.

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff

A/N: I was kinda scared that I couldn’t continue the story but my good brain finally knocked on the imagination door and yelled for five hours so here we are! This is probably one of my longer stories but I reread it and it went by so fast??? How does that happen.

Part 7

“Oh my god,” Mina said examining your neck. It had been a few days since Bakugou had left a hickey on your neck but it still shown against your skin. You had to take extra precautions with it, making sure nobody could see it (even though you knew Aizawa already knew about it when he made a comment about having a nasty “bug” bite in the morning) so you covered your neck with concealer but you had sweat it off during your homeroom class. There was no hiding the mark from Mina. “It’s HUGE!” She gushed tracing a finger over the raised skin.

Your head was in your hands. “I know,” you mumbled into your palms.

“I was right. I was so right,” you could hear Mina’s smile in her voice, “you and Bakugou. You guys are so steamy together. A fiery couple.”

“Mina, keep your voice down,” you gave her a slight push. You were sitting at a table in the cafeteria, waiting for the rest of the Bakusquad to join you. Bakugou has given you “permission” to sit with them over the weekend. You told him you didn’t need his permission but you knew you probably wouldn’t sit with them if he hadn’t told you that you could. You thought back to that day and blushed. “We’re not a couple,” you said out loud.

“Because you’re a stubborn piece of shit,” Mina laughed. “And because you don’t wanna hurt Todoroki’s feelings. ‘Just friends,’ my ass.”

You frowned at the mention of Todoroki’s name. Sure, you didn’t want to hurt his feelings but you already did, you have been for awhile now without realizing it. Yes, you didn’t want to make him jealous but he already was, which he clearly displayed by punching Bakugou in the face. And of course, you really wanted to “just be friends” with Todoroki but you couldn’t deny the feeling you got in your stomach when he was so close to your face, when everything about him, his eyes fixed on you, his cool breath blowing against your ears, and his warm familiar voice embraced you through every letter he articulated. You shook your head.

You looked over to the table where Todoroki was sitting with Yaoyorozu. You knew he could feel your gaze on him, he always did, but he didn’t turn towards you. Instead, he continued a conversation with the raven haired beauty.

“What did he even say when he say the hickey, by the way?” Mina asked.

“He said he was going to kiss me,” you said, absentmindedly, poking at your food.

For once, Mina was speechless. Her yellow and black eyes widened at what you had said, her mouth hanging open.

“Wait-“ you started as Mina bounced up and down in her seat, “I mean, he said it differently. Like, I was leaving and he just- I don’t know! Stop looking at me like that!”

“Did you kiss him? OH MY GOD, DID YOU KISS TODOROKI!”

“Mina, shut the FUCK up!” Some other students were starting to look your way and your cheeks were burning from your blush. You whispered, “no! I didn’t kiss him. He said he wouldn’t kiss me while I was... thinking about Bakugou. Not while I had a hickey from him.”

“Ohhhh my god,” Mina drawled out, quieting down, still bouncing, “oh man, he must be livid, knowing that Bakugou stole your first kiss away from him!”

You considered that for a moment before saying, “Bakugou wasn’t my first kiss. Todoroki was**. I mean, I don’t know if it counts but if we are being technical...”

“What? Was it like a cute like ‘we’re innocent elementary schoolers that don’t know better, let’s kiss like our parents,’ childhood friends type of kiss? Because that doesn’t count.”

“No,” you said. You had doubted that either you or Todoroki had ever seen your parents kiss. “It was earlier this year.”

Mina’s jaw dropped for the second time today.

Before she could say anything more a tray was slapped on to the table across from Mina where Kaminari, Kirishima, and Sero we’re sliding in. Kaminari was saying something about the relationship between Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Sero looked obviously bored while Kirishima tried his best to look invested in the conversation.

“Who fucking cares?” An angry voice growled next to you as Bakugou slid into the table seat. Your body temperature rose rapidly and your heart started pounding against your chest. Why were you suddenly so nervous? His arm brushed against your shoulder and it sent your body a tingling sensation that you did not invite. You spent the entire weekend, not only fighting but also making out with this boy, and suddenly you were a nervous school girl? You thought about excusing yourself.

Kaminari ignored Bakugou, “I’m just saying! Even though F. Scott Fitzgerald dedicated all his novels to her, even though he loved her so damn much, Zelda deserved better than him. Zelda deserved the world.”

“I agree,” you choked in. “He didn’t support her craft even though, with her support for him, he became a world renowned author. He dismissed her passions and she was struggling with her mental illness he never got her the proper help when she needed it. He loved her, sure, but he probably would have preferred to have her as a pet than as another person with her own thoughts and aspirations.”

Kaminari grinned at you. “I’m glad I’m not the only one enjoying American lit!”

Bakugou huffed. “I enjoy it plenty, idiot!” He said opening a sealed container revealing something thick and chunky you couldn’t identify. It was a yellow substance enveloping a rice ball. “I just think it’s a waste of time, dwelling on a bunch of dead people,” he mumbled into his steaming plate.

You stared at his food trying to figure out what he was having. You looked down at your simple cafeteria lunch and back at him as he took a bite of his, whatever it was. He saw you eyeballing his food and held his chopsticks up to your lips. It smelled delicious. “Want a bite?” He asked.

You parted your lips and he plopped a bite sized portion into mouth. A warmth enveloped your tongue. At first you were taken back by how spicy it was but there were tangy and rich elements that paired with the heat perfectly. It was smooth and sensational. Bakugou watched you taste his food carefully. You swallowed.

“Wow,” was all you could say.

“It’s Thai pineapple curry,” he said offering you another bite that you gladly took. You blushed, realizing that Bakugou was feeding you in front of his friends who were politely trying not to stare at the two of you.

“Wooow,” You said again more dreamily, swallowing the second bite that was even better than the first. You were adjusting to the heat level of the curry. “Compliments to the chef!”

“I added a good level of coconut milk to the curry to balance out the spice. I like my food hot but the coconut milk definitely helps give it a richer element,” he said while he took a bite of his own.

“Wait, are you saying that you made this?!”

Kaminari snickered while Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Everyone is always so surprised that I cook.”

“Bakugou, this is incredible!” You beamed at him.

You could tell he was trying to hide his relief with a smug smile. “It’s not even my specialty. If you want, I could you cook you dinner sometime. Maybe this week?” He said offering you another bite that you gladly took.

Without thinking about it, you smiled and said, “that would be really nice.”

“So, it’s a date.”

You nearly choke.

~

“Go out with me,” Bakugou had pinned you pinned to ground in the middle of the grassy field. You had found Bakugou at a park after he had turned his location on. You had been frustrated and you wanted to fight.

“I thought I told you,” you struggled underneath his hands, “don’t give me anymore dirt on you! Ventum est ad partum*!” A gust of air shot from you causing Bakugou to fly back. He easily landed on his feet. You bounced back up.

“You used your quirk. That’s cheating!” He shouted as you ran at him kicking your feet in the air aiming for his face. He caught your leg and held it mid-strike. “And illegal,” he mocked.

You grabbed his arm that held your leg and tried swinging around him so you could knock him down but he let go of you at the last second causing you to fall flat on your back, knocking the wind out of you.

“Tough luck, princess. I hope you don’t rely on your quirk more than your body in combat. You never know when you might be handicapped.”

You groaned. As if you didn’t hear that enough from Aizawa.

Bakugou rolled onto the ground next to you. He was close enough that you could smell that familiar toffee scent. It was curious but nice. He traced a finger over your shoulder blade, sending chills down your body. “What’s one date gonna do?”

You whined, “I’m not done fighting.”

“That’s too bad. I am. I can head home now, unless you wanna answer me.”

You turned to him. He had a soft expression on. One that you hated. You were so used to the pissed off, power hungry, winner winner, Bakugou, that when he was... friendly, for lack of a better word, you didn’t know what to do with him. You didn’t know how to react. It was easier for you when he was your competition. It was easier for you when you didn’t want to kiss him.

“Well then,” you said, giving him a daring look, “you can head on home.”

He scoffed and rolled on top of you, again, straddling you. You leaned down towards you ear and whispered, “say it like you mean it.” He kept his lips by your ear. When you didn’t push him away, he started to kiss your neck, around the spot he had left a hickey the night before. You let out a moan, permitting him to continue.

~

Mina had her hand gripped on to the side of table, holding it as if she would fall over if she were to let go, Kirishima, widened eyes, stared straight up to the ceiling, his face almost as red as his hair, Sero, who had finished drinking his water, sat frozen with his empty bottle pressed again against his lips, and Kaminari stared at you and Bakugou, a stupid smile curling up on his face.

At that moment you felt like you could die.

You looked at Bakugou, who was casually eating his Thai food, unphased by what he said.

“Hhhh-ummm,” You stupidly managed to vocalize something. Bakugou took another bite of his curry, a subtle smile painted on his face. “Okay,” you finally said, grabbing your chopsticks to start digging into you lunch.

Bakugou picked up his plate and poured some of his curry on top of the rice the school had given you.

“What’s nice about curry is that it can make any plain meal turn into a good one,” was all he said. You mentally cursed at yourself for being so easily influenced by good food.

Everyone at the table continued as if things were normal.

~

Bakugou was waiting for you at the bottom of the steps of UA high with arms crossed and a cool expression in his face. Your heart skipped a beat upon seeing him. Why was he waiting for you?

“So,” he said as he started walking with you down the long path the lead up to the school, “what do you say Thursday night? I could pick you up from your place around 6:30/7:00 and we could walk to my place, where I’ll be cooking for you?”

“Um,” you stuttered out suddenly very nervous, “could we maybe do it Friday night? I know my dad and he doesn’t really like me doing too much on weekdays. He’s pretty serious when it comes to school and I can’t really lie to him about my work load.”

“Friday works too.” You continued to walk and the back of his hand brushed against yours a little more than a few times. God damn, this kid. You knew exactly what he was trying to do. “Would I be pushing it if I asked if I could walk you home right now?”

“Yes,” you fired back immediately, your heart pounding. You couldn’t risk him seeing Aizawa. You didn’t know if he would be staying later at school to grade, if he’d be out patrolling, or if he’d already be home, waiting for you. And you didn’t like Bakugou being so fucking nice.

He gave you a funny look but he didn’t question you. “Oookay.”

“There is something you should know,” you stopped walking and looked up at Bakugou. He nodded allowing you to continue. “My dad, he’s pretty cool with me being, uhh, independent of him but he’s... slightly old fashioned.”

“Alright,” he said waiting for you to continue. You bit your lip. “So... what? Home by ten and all that?”

“No, not like that,” you tapped your foot nervously. “He’ll want to... meet you.” He already knows you, Jesus, he’s going to get a kick out of this.

Bakugou laughed. “Yeah, that’s really fine.”

It’s really not. “Kay.”

“You know, you’re funny,” he said as you continued to walk.

“How so?”

“When you’re fighting, or rather, whenever you’re in action, you’re so confident and poised. You know what the fuck you’re doing and you don’t let anybody get in your way,” he said then he looked you up and down. You were pulling your fingers through your hair, nervously. “And when you’re in a casual setting you’re different. Not bad, different, I think it’s cute but you get nervous or timid. Unsure of yourself. Polite, almost.”

You’re one to talk, you thought. Around everybody else he was a hot headed monster, when the two of you fought against each other he was unforgivingly flirtatious, and when he was alone with you he was a goddamn gentleman. It was confusing.

“It’s like when you use your quirk, you become a different person.”

Goosebumps were raised on your skin. A different person. You dreaded that. Your quirk, did things to you that you didn’t have control over and, of course, Bakugou of all people had noticed that.

“Yeah,” You half laughed. “I’m really funny.”

~

** I plan on explaining the Todoroki kiss in “If He’s The Cold Then She’s The Disease” If I ever get it lmfaoooo

*Ventum est ad partum- To summon a wind

The next chapter is gonna dig a little bit into the reader’s and my OC’s past. Give a bit of face to her villainous bio parents. Fun stuff. My neck hurts from head banging to bohemian rhapsody.

Part 9

Tag list: @colagirl5 @izzy206-2001 @chanelxberlinstark @funfettiiicake @fangirl-on-bitches @colorbookshd d @doriichii @meggy126 @tortuga-sanchez @thatpandajournal @lilacbunni @fabulous-dani @quenixy @reliefofcomedic @sami-raye @geektastic84 @chickennuggetsarequestionable @yournewstalker @rubycubix @maizonolovemail @yandere-inamorata @ayeputita @brightbunny @animefreak774 @unprofessional-inhumanbeing @miitaart @thewinterserpent @ferntea @bemyhero-academia @allfortodoroki @graceyouwithmypresence @theugliestahegao

[bytheangell]

This is the Coda that Never Ends... Part 8

(Read on AO3) (Read from the start!) 

“Luke knows. How does Luke know? Do you think Alec told him?”  Jace is at the Institute heading into the cafeteria for a quick brunch with Isabelle and Simon. It isn’t so much that they planned the mid-morning meal to be a brunch specifically, just that they all freed up at such scattered times throughout the morning it’s the first chance any of them have to eat.

“I don’t know,” Izzy admits, biting down on her lower lip. “He’d tell me if he was.” There’s a doubt in her tone that neither of them acknowledge. “Right?” “Right.” Jace agrees, though he feels the same doubt. “But how else would Luke find out? And mom, too. You know she’s going to come by later and want to talk now.” He groans, thinking of the texts he got from her that morning and the lengthy explanation he’ll have to give to get out of this one.

“I dunno, maybe none of you managed to stay away like we agreed,” Simon suggests, the slightly bitter undertone of his words more than justified (as is the pang of guilt Jace feels over them). All this time Simon stayed away from his best friend because it’s what they all decided should be done, knowing memories he could’ve kept with her were taken as well, for her own safety. And now it’s looking like Jace may not be the only one who didn’t hold up his end of that agreement…

Jace feels rotten about it, of course he does, but there isn’t anything he can do to fix it now. Instead he looks down at the selection of food in front of him, eager for a topic change. It’s too late for a proper breakfast, but not quite late enough to catch the lunch rush, and what results is a tray with some breakfast leftovers and the start of the lunch options in a less-than-appetizing mix.

“You know if you asked them to make some of the lunch food early, they would. You are the Head of the Institute, what good is it if you aren’t going to get some perks?” Jace grumbles, eyeing the slightly hardening waffle on his plate next to some carrots and dip.

“Because with the trouble we’re potentially in here, I want to save all my good will and favors for something that matters, not for fresh french fries at 10 am,” Izzy returns, and Simon laughs at the comment before sobering up pretty fast (pretty fast for Simon, at least).

“You don’t really think this is going to be trouble, do you?” He asks, glancing between them. So much for the topic change, Jace thinks to himself.

“I don’t know, Simon. And I’d rather be safe than sorry and prepare for the worst.” Izzy says the heavy words with a sigh to match.

“...and what is the worst?” Simon prompts.

Izzy remains silent, as does Jace. He doesn’t know about his sister, but Jace has no idea what a worst case scenario would be here. Would it be Clary remembering and finding her way back? Would it be Clary remembering and deciding to stay away? Or trying to use her runes again, to communicate with the Angels? Is the worst case scenario the Clave finding out they knew and kept it from them, or the Clave not knowing and acting on their own before the few of them who already know have a chance to step in and stop them?

He’s starting to think that no matter how this plays out, each option has a potential for disaster, and while they wait on the sidelines for things to play out naturally all he can do is take his frustrations out on the unfortunate food selection in front of him, poking at a sausage link with his fork but not picking it up to eat.

Simon allows the silence to sit and drops the question. There’s still hope there, Jace can see it on his face. Hope that this is all going to be alright, that Clary will remember and they’ll get her back and everything will go back to the way it was before. Simon is the only one of them without a worst case scenario already in mind, and Jace wishes he could hold onto that sort of optimism. There was a flash of it back at the art gallery, a moment when Clary said his name in that alley where he thought maybe--

“There you are!” The words are quiet to the point that Jace doesn’t even realize he’s part of the ‘you’ being addressed until Underhill is sliding himself into an open seat across from him, next to Isabelle. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

Andrew’s words are rushed but quiet, and anyone who doesn’t know the particular reason he might be seeking out the three of them wouldn’t be able to see anything to worry about in his neutral expression. He does, however, glance around once just to make sure no one is close enough to listen before continuing.

“I think we may have a situation,” Andrew says. Jace puts his fork down, food forgotten. “I was going back through this morning’s footage and saw her walk into the old Jade Wolf restaurant.”

Jace, Simon, and Izzy exchange tense looks.

“It’s still under construction, the diner isn’t even open, what could she possibly being doing there?” Simon asks, more rhetorically than actually expecting an answer.

“How long did she stay?” Isabelle follows up, and this time they all turn to Andrew for the answer.

“She’s still there,” he informs them.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not upset about walking away from this enticing meal.” Already standing up from the table Jace pats his pockets to feel for his stele and the hilt of his seraph blade, just in case.

“Jace, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea--” Izzy starts, but falls silent at the shake of his head.  

“I’ll be more careful this time. Someone has to check up on her, though. I can glamour and stay out of site. You need to keep your distance from this in case it blows up in our faces.” This sort of thing is expected from him, but Izzy has a reputation to uphold now. She can’t be caught in the middle of this if things go south. “I’ll be fine. I wasn’t exactly trying to stay out of sight before when I thought the glamour was enough. I know better now.”

Izzy’s hesitant but they don’t have many options. If the wrong person shows up to that diner, a werewolf, or a vampire who might hold a grudge, or…

“Go. Zero contact, report directly back to me the moment you have an update.” Izzy must be thinking along the same lines as him, and he’s grateful for it.  

It doesn’t take him long to reach the restaurant, but when he does he immediately has to hide behind the side wall because Clary is exiting the front door. She looks upset, tucking hair behind her ear and turning her head back in sharp, on-edge movements as if she expects to be followed. He waits long enough for Clary to vanish from view and to make sure no one is about to come chasing out after her before going in the door she left through a few minutes prior.

“I thought I told you to--” The voice that greets him is a familiar one, though he isn’t used to hearing it so distraught. Normally Maia is the very picture of calm and collected, even in the face of danger. Perhaps more so in the face of danger.

He crosses his arms over his chest and doesn’t break eye contact. “Please, don’t stop on my account. I’d love to hear all about what you told Clary.”

Maia falls silent in front of him. He doesn’t yell or demand answers, but he doesn’t react with any sympathy either while he watches her falter. If she went behind all of their backs and was talking to Clary, befriending her again when they were supposed to stay away, then she doesn't deserve understanding. 

“I fucked up,” Maia says finally. “But when she just showed up out of the blue I couldn’t bring myself to kick her out.”

“Why was she even here?” He's ready to go off on her, a lecture on bringing Clary back into their world when she should know better, but he needs to hear her admit to it first. 

“I don’t know. She doesn’t know, not really. She just said she felt drawn here, or something. But you didn’t see her, Jace. She looked so lost. I couldn’t -- I had to let her stay.” Jace isn’t sure who Maia is trying to convince more - him or herself.

“So let me get this straight. As far as Clary knows she jus wandered into the under construction diner of a total stranger who let her hang out for an hour?”

“...well when you put it like that…” Maia shrugs.

“Shit, Maia. You can’t just--” Jace starts, but stops just as quickly. He doesn’t have much right to lecture, after all. And it isn’t like Maia went to find Clary. Maia didn’t invite her here.... She didn’t ask for this. She also isn’t telling him the whole store.

“She looked upset when she was leaving…” Jace prompts, giving Maia a chance to explain on her own before he turns this into more of an interrogation. He’s been down that route with maia before and he doesn’t want it to come to that.

“That’s because I kicked her out after she painted this-” Maia turns and heads toward one of the back rooms, not bothering to stop and wait to see if Jace will follow. He does, stopping abruptly in the doorway at the sight of the voyance rune on the wall.

Jace immediately pulls out his phone, snaps a picture, and sends it to Izzy and Alec and Simon, with the caption: ‘Our favorite artist left this at Maia’s. I don’t think waiting is an option’.

“She said she didn’t remember painting it and wanted to stay and help me cover it up, but I panicked and told her to leave.” The slight widening of Maia’s eyes and the faintest tremor of her bottom lip are the only tells of the fear she’s kept from her voice so far. It comes through when she finally works up the nerve to ask what she’s been thinking this entire time. “Jace, what’s happening with Clary?”

Jace wishes more than anything he had an answer to that question.