#i see that suspiciously blue sky...

[repmet]

Until he met this devastatingly handsome young peasant boy

[appocalipse]

MAKE IT EASY (part 2) : ̗̀➛ STEVE HARRINGTON

・❥・part 1・part 2・❥・3k words

Summary: steve asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a family dinner. the problem is: after all is said and done, he gives you the cold shoulder. have you done something wrong?

Steve has a problem.

No, scratch that. He created a problem for himself, actually, about a week ago. A big, confusing problem that he now has no idea how to solve, so naturally what he's doing is plan B, which is the next best thing: avoiding the problem until it somehow resolves itself.

You are Steve Harrington's problem.

You, with your disarming smile, your gratuitous kindness and your impossible-to-forget laugh. You had made his parents like you, for God's sake. If that's not proof enough that you have some kind of magic working behind your smile, Steve doesn't know what is.

Oh! And of course, there is that damn dress.

Steve lowers his head until his forehead rests on the counter and sighs. Ah, that dress. Steve probably shouldn't think about it, let alone what was beneath it, the warm skin he touched for just a few seconds…no. He shouldn't think about it if he wanted to keep his sanity intact. But apparently, he likes to torture himself.

Steve stays in this awkward position for all of five dramatic seconds until his spine hurts. He straightens up again, with another sigh.

"You should talk to her."

It's Robin (of course) giving her opinion (that no one asked, Steve thinks bitterly) as she walks past him with a stack of tapes in her hands.

"I should never talk to her again. In fact," he argues, speaking a little louder so Robin can hear him from the back of the store, "if you're really my friend, you should make sure that I don't talk to her for the rest of my life."

"Coward."

"Maybe I am."

Even from this distance, Steve is under the impression that he hears Robin sighing.

She walks so fast that he doesn't even register the sound of her footsteps until Robin is in front of him, on the other side of Family Video's front counter, looking at him the way a mother would look at a child throwing a tantrum.

"You are going to talk to her," says Robin, with the certainty of someone who says the sky is blue.

"No."

She smiles. Steve is certain he recognizes that smile. It's the one that scares him, the same that precedes the moment when Dustin or one of the other kids says something like "just trust me, I have an idea", and the idea usually involves a robbery, a murder or interdimensional travel. Sometimes, all three of them.

"Robin-"

She has her backpack on her back.

"End of my shift," Robin hums, suspiciously happy. She takes a step back which, Steve thinks, is quite prudent considering what she says next, "…which means, my dear Steve, that you are obligated to serve our customers. Any customer. Even if you don't want to speak to this specific customer, you'll have to-"

Steve leans over the counter — to do what exactly, he's not sure; strangle her, perhaps — but Robin, as always, is faster. She laughs, and before he can do anything other than practically beg her to stay, Robin is out the front door yelling I'm sorry! over her shoulder, even though Steve knows she's not sorry at all.

Less than ten minutes later, the bell above the door rings again, and Steve wouldn't even have to look to know it's you.

You enter the store and your steps are quick, hurried, a clear goal in your mind.

You stop in front of Steve, almost exactly where Robin had stood a few minutes ago, but the look in your eyes is completely different for more reasons than one.

Steve swallows hard. You had been here two other times this week, and both times Steve managed to somehow force Robin to distract you, acting as if he was too busy to see you. You had clearly decided to talk to her behind his back, because all this had definitely been an elaborate plan between the two of you so that Steve couldn't get away.

You get to the point, crossing your arms. "You are avoiding me."

You're not asking; you're telling him. You know. You noticed.

Well, of course you did. You're smart. Smarter than him for sure.

Steve can only hope you haven't found out about the reason why he's avoiding you these past few days. That would be hard to explain.

He clears his throat. It's like he's trying to breathe with a couple of birds inside his ribcage.

"I'm not avoiding you," he says, but he looks away so quickly he doubts you believe him. "I've just got a lot going on lately…" he trails off, racking his brain for an excuse that would make sense without revealing too much.

It isn't fair — you're the last person he wants to hurt, and yet it took some elaborate plan between you and Robin to get him to stand in front of you again.

Pathetic.

You don't seem impressed. In fact, you laugh before he's even finished speaking, but it's not your usual light, happy laugh; It's a low, wry chuckle that makes Steve feel instantly irritated, even though he knows he probably doesn't even have that right after everything.

He knows he hurt you. He knows. He never wanted that. But you…you have no idea how torturous that night, that dinner had been for him. So yes; he does get a little angry.

"You've got nothing new going on lately!" you retort, growing angry yourself. "You just- I don't know. Have I…done something wrong? Did I make your parents mad that night or something? Because all of a sudden-"

"No!" he snaps, the word coming out harsher than he intended, and definitely louder. His cheeks flush with anger, and then embarrassment, and suddenly Steve desperately wants to crawl into a hole somewhere.

He clears his throat.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong," he repeats, softer this time. "It's just…it's complicated."

"It's complicated?" you ask, and now you're all but yelling too. Great. "That's your excuse for flat out ignoring me for the past week?"

"I'm not ignoring you!" he protests, his voice a bit higher than usual.

The truth is: he has been avoiding you. Every time he sees you, he feels this strange pull towards you - a mix of attraction and annoyance that he can't quite figure out. And every time he talks to you, he worries that maybe he'll say too much, or worse yet, say nothing at all and you, with your annoyingly sharp mind, will read him like a book.

As if that wasn't enough, Steve thinks, tormented, you decide to walk around the counter to literally stand in front of him, nothing else between the two of you besides a couple of steps.

This proximity feels like a trap. Steve takes another step back and his hipbone hits the counter. Dear God.

"Yes, you are!" you argue, crossing your arms and taking a step forward almost without realizing it. "You asked me to pretend to be your girlfriend for one night so that your parents would leave you alone, and I did. I thought it was okay. But then you pretty much ran out of my house afterwards and refused all my attempts to talk to you ever since."

You sigh. You lift your chin and look up at him, and, alarmed, Steve notices that your eyes are a little red, as if you're holding yourself back from crying.

He's making you cry?

Shit. The last thing he wants in the world is to make you cry.

"Tell me what I did wrong," you say, and the sudden softness of your voice catches Steve off-guard. "You owe me at least that, don't you? If seeing me is such a problem for you, just..tell me what I did wrong and I'll leave you alone. I'll go…clearly that's what you want."

"No, that's not what I want," he says quickly, stepping closer to you before his mind can catch up on his intentions. "Look, I'm sorry. I just…I don't know how to handle this."

He runs a hand through his tousled hair, and you probably notice the desperation in his tone, because you just stand there, looking at him. Waiting, he realizes. You don't move.

Then you ask, sounding so innocently confused that Steve almost feels like screaming:

"How to handle…what?"

It's not possible, he thinks. There's no way you didn't notice. You would have to be blind, deaf and…well, maybe not even then. Steve had thought things had gotten pretty clear the week before, at your place, when you had asked him to unzip your damn dress and he had gotten so carried away he almost kissed you and…

Well.

"You," he answers immediately, looking you square in the eye with all the genuine honesty he still has the capacity for. "I don't know how to handle the fact that I…" Steve swallows.

"That you..?" you encourage, taking a tentative step closer.

"Do you really want to know?" he asks, not moving an inch.

"Yes."

Steve's heart skips a beat, a beat that could very well be his last. "Look-"

"Tell me."

"I think you already know."

"I don't."

"Oh, come on," Steve says, his voice cracking as he lets out a humourless chuckle. "You can't tell me you didn't notice the way I looked at you last week. I mean, Jesus, I asked you to pretend to be my girlfriend for dinner with my parents, and then I almost…"

He trails off.

And there it is; that funny feeling inside your chest, that warmth you can't even begin to explain.

"You almost what?"

He chuckles again. "Why do you think I left like that?"

"I honestly have no fucking idea, Steve."

"You asked me to unzip your dress."

"And?"

Steve looks at you like you'd just grown an extra limb.

"You can't be serious."

"Okay, fine, I'm sorry I asked you to do that, but I didn't mean to make you, uh…uncomfortable. You could have said no if-"

"That's not it." Steve cuts you off, frustrated because God help him, you don't get it. You still, somehow, don't get it. He doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

So what he does instead is turn around, placing his hands on the counter, his back turned to you so that he can think clearly for a moment without being distracted by the way you're looking at him.

But you…oh, you never let things go, do you?

"What is it then, Steve, huh?" you ask, shortening the distance between the two of you by half. You know the answer, or at least a part of you does. But the other part, the part that's stubborn and insecure and tired…wants to hear him say it. Needs to hear him say it. "What is it? Because it feels like you just want to hurt me. You asked me to pretend to be your girlfriend for one night, but it didn't feel like we were…"

Pretending. Is that what you were going to say?

You stop speaking abruptly, eyes wide as if the words had come out of your mouth on their own. Judging by how angry you sounded, Steve thinks that's exactly what happened.

"Then you just…decided to ignore me."

For one moment, the only thing between you two is the silence.

"I didn't do that to hurt you," his voice is a whisper.

"Then what the fuck were you trying to do, Steve?"

"Get over you!"

"I...what?"

It feels like you're taunting him at this point.

"What, not what you expected?" He says, voice tight as he turns around to face you again, a bitter laugh trapped inside his throat. "C'mon, are you that oblivious?" 

He's getting closer to you as he speaks now, voice growing more intense, more desperate; but you don't back away, he notices. You don't move, don't push him away. All you do is look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, waiting, searching for something in his expression. 

"I-I fucked up, okay? I told you it was just play pretend but the truth is…I didn't have to pretend one bit," he confesses, eyes finding yours, and immediately that anger — or whatever it was — dissipates, his tone softening as a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "I should have known that having you for one night, even if it was just pretend, would just make it that much worse. That's why I tried to avoid you. To get over you…and clearly that didn't work."

There's so much you want to say that you feel like you're choking on your own words. "I don't- you, I mean-"

"No, it's alright, just…" He looks down at the ground, then steps back again with a small, empty chuckle. "Go ahead and reject me. Make it easy for me."

"I-what? Reject you?" If a demogorgon suddenly showed up and swallowed your left leg whole, you're pretty sure you would have been less taken aback.

"I know it's not what you want to hear. It's not how I wanted things to go either. But I'm trying to be honest here," he says, taking another step back, feeling more and more exposed with every stupid word that comes out of his mouth. "I care about you. And I know that if I don't get over this, it's going to ruin everything. So, please, just-"

"Oh my God, you are so stupid!"

Your tone of voice changed completely. Steve lifts his head to look at you, and to his complete and utter confusion, you're laughing.

Laughing.

For a terrible moment, the thought that you're laughing at him crosses his mind, but then…

You hug him. You hug him so tightly, in fact, that Steve is pushed back a step or two, and suddenly he's pressed up against the counter once again.

“You didn’t kiss me,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, your cheek pressed against his chest. 

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your hair and feeling the soft cotton of your shirt under his fingers. He can feel the warmth of your body against his. It's almost painful, how good it feels to be this close to you. 

He wonders if he heard it wrong.

No — he certainly heard it wrong. He's hallucinating. Must be.

"Wait, I…what?"

You don't move an inch, but Steve feels as you take a deep breath against his shirt. He wishes he could see your face. 

"That night," you explain, finally looking up at him. You look more flustered than he's ever seen you. Closing one of your hands into a fist, you hit Steve's chest without any real force. "I thought you were going to kiss me, but then you just ran off without saying anything. How was I supposed to guess that you actually liked me, Steve Harrington?"

He almost chuckles. Steve feels like his heart is in his throat, he can't believe what he's hearing. You like him? You, the girl he's been crushing on for what feels like forever, actually like him? 

It's too much to process. He tries to form a response, but all that comes out is a strangled sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

So instead of trying to use any stupid words, he reaches out and cups your face in his hands, feeling the warmth of your skin against his. He leans down slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, and finally, finally, when you don't move away…he brushes his lips against yours. 

It's just a soft, tentative touch, but it's enough to make him forget about everything else. 

Steve pulls back then, waiting for you to pull away, to tell him no…but you don't. You close your eyes and lean into him, opening your mouth a little more against his, inviting him in. He takes the invitation, pressing his lips against yours again, more firmly this time, feeling your soft, warm tongue slide against his. He presses harder, deepening the kiss, feeling your hands curl into his shirt as he pulls you even closer.

You feel dizzy, light-headed, and utterly, perfectly lost in this moment. 

Your hands cling to his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles there as you, too, attempt to pull him closer, as close as possible…and then, the bell above the front door rings, announcing that someone just entered the store.

Fuck. 

Steve groans as you pull back immediately.

It's just a customer, an older man with a newspaper under his arm, looking around curiously. Steve knows it's not his fault, but he doesn't think he's ever hated anyone quite so strongly.

He looks down at you and it's a mistake; you look so beautiful with your cheeks flushed, lips swollen from the kiss, a soft, embarrassed smile on your mouth. Steve doesn't know what to say, he's not even sure he knows how to find his voice right now, so one of his hands finds its way up to cup your cheek again, fingers curling gently while the man walks around the store looking for God knows what.

Steve feels like he's on cloud nine. He wants nothing more than to lose himself in you again, and to hell with Family Video's customers. But you, on the other hand…

You grin. "You should probably-"

"Don't go anywhere," Steve tells you with a grin of his own. "I'll be right back."

Apparently, he wasn't aware that he wouldn't be able to get rid of you if he tried.

tags (i hope i haven't forgotten anyone, sorry!): @siriuslysmoking @sebastiansstanswhore @sorchateas @boomitsallie1 @vivzzi @mel119g @skrzydlak

my masterlist | buy me a coffee

[kroumhe]

Matchy Matchy

Megumi Fushiguro x Fem! reader

The sun was high in the sky as you and Megumi walked to the designated training spot, both of you feeling a mix of excitement and dread. Gojo had mentioned a "special surprise" for today's session, which could mean anything from an intense new exercise to something completely ridiculous.

As you approached, you spotted Gojo lounging under a tree, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. In his hands, he held two brightly colored t-shirts.

"Ah, there you two are!" Gojo called out, waving the shirts enthusiastically. "I've got something for you!"

Megumi narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What is it this time, Gojo-sensei?"

With a flourish, Gojo held up the t-shirts. One was bright pink with bold white letters reading, "I'm with the Sorcerer," accompanied by an arrow pointing to the right. The other, a matching blue, had "I'm with the Shikigami Master" and an arrow pointing left.

You burst out laughing, immediately understanding the joke. "Oh my god, these are perfect!"

Megumi, on the other hand, looked mortified. "You can't be serious."

Gojo's grin widened. "Oh, but I am. You two are wearing these today. It'll build camaraderie!"

Reluctantly, you put on the t-shirt, much to Gojo's delight. You caught Megumi's eye and stifled another laugh at his deadpan expression.

Gojo clapped his hands together. "Alright! Now let's see those synchronized movements! And remember to stay in formation—don't let those arrows lie!"

"With this treasure I summon—"

[raniayousef1999]

That night was suspiciously quiet, but it didn't fool me. I learned from the Gaza war that calm could be a precursor to a violent storm. In my small room, where the walls bore the effects of previous explosions, I sat carrying my brushes with a blank painting in front of me. I felt the need to express the pain, for every past day as if it were a complete eternity, for every moment of anxiety and fear.

I started drawing a long line representing the first days. The line was dark, heavy as if it carried the burden of death and the destruction that engulfed our lives. Every day I added it to the painting meant more pain, more memories engraved in the heart. With each extra line, there was a gradient in color, from dark black to tired gray, as if I saw the war exhausting us little by little. At every corner of the painting, a red dot is placed that represents a lost soul, a shattered dream, or a house demolished. My hand kept moving, as if unable to stop. Every new day that was added to the painting means another day of steadfastness, of the hope we try to preserve despite everything. Even the gray colors began to mix in blue, as if it were the sky that we no longer see from the abundance of smoke. And when I finished, I looked at the painting, and I saw it all those days. I saw the war, but it also carried with it strength, determination, and hope that did not die despite everything. The days, though cruel, were a deeper picture of our struggle for life. That painting was more than just the number of days that passed, it was a story about us, about Gaza, about everyone who lived those moments. And I knew then that this story would not be forgotten, just like the days we spent in this war

[lev1hei1chou]

Gojo and Love Languages

Words of Affirmation

You sat on the couch, eyes glued to your phone screen, scrolling through endless emails. Gojo walked in, his grin widening as he saw you. Without hesitation, he plopped down beside you, draping an arm around your shoulders and drawing you close.

"Hey, love," he said, leaning in to kiss your temple. "Have I told you today how amazing you are?"

You chuckled, putting your phone aside to give him your full attention. "Not yet, but I'm all ears."

"You're the smartest, kindest, and most beautiful person I know," he said, his voice soft yet sincere. "Every time I see you, I feel like the luckiest person in the world. You make every day better just by being you."

Your heart fluttered at his words, warmth spreading through your chest. "Thanks, Satoru. I needed that today."

He lifted your chin with his finger, his bright blue eyes locking with yours. "It's true. You're incredible, and I hope you never forget that."

You leaned into his touch, a smile playing on your lips. "With you reminding me, I don't think I ever will."

Acts of Service

You were struggling to carry a stack of books and papers to your study, the weight making it difficult to see where you were going. Gojo noticed immediately from across the room and rushed over, his steps quick and purposeful.

"Let me help with that," he said, taking the books from your hands effortlessly, his strength making the task look easy.

You sighed in relief, the strain lifting from your arms. "Thanks, Satoru. You always know when to help."

He winked, his smile playful. "Anything for you. Besides, I can't let my favorite person get hurt."

As he placed the books on your desk, you couldn't help but feel a wave of gratitude. "You're always there when I need you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He turned to face you, with a smirk on his face. "I know I'm quite amazing, but I'm glad I can make things a bit easier for you."

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him. "You're the best."

He hugged you tightly, his embrace warm and reassuring. "Mhm, so are you." he whispered into your hair.

Receiving Gifts

Gojo walked in with a mischievous grin, hiding something behind his back. His eyes sparkled with excitement, making you instantly curious.

"What are you up to?" you asked, eyeing him suspiciously as you put down your book.

"I got you a little something," he said, revealing a beautifully wrapped box, the paper glistening under the light.

You took the box, your curiosity piqued. "What's this for?"

"Just because I love you," he said, watching with anticipation as you carefully unwrapped the gift. Inside was a delicate necklace, the pendant shaped like a small star, intricately designed and sparkling.

"It's beautiful," you whispered, touched by the gesture. You looked up at him, your eyes glistening with emotion.

"Not as beautiful as you," he said, his voice filled with genuine affection. He stepped behind you, gently placing the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin.

You turned to face him, feeling the cool metal rest against your collarbone. "Thank you, Satoru. It's perfect."

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb caressing your cheek. "You deserve the world, and I'll do my best to give it to you."

Quality Time

You and Gojo lay on a blanket under the stars, the cool night air filled with the sound of crickets. He held your hand, his thumb gently tracing patterns on your skin as you both gazed up at the night sky.

"I love nights like this," you said, turning your head to look at him, your eyes reflecting the starlight.

"Me too," he agreed, his gaze soft and adoring. "It's just you and me, no distractions, no curses. Just the way I like it."

You nestled closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. "Thanks for always making time even in your hectic schedule. It means a lot."

He squeezed your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours. "There's nothing more important to me than our time together. No matter how busy things get, I'll always make time for you."

You sighed contentedly, resting your head on his shoulder. "You're really something, you know that?"

He chuckled, his breath tickling your hair. "I know, but only because you make me want to be the best version of myself."

You smiled, feeling completely at peace. "I love you, Satoru."

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering. "I love you too, more than you'll ever know."

Physical Touch

Gojo wrapped his arms around you from behind as you stood in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. His chin rested on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck.

"Missed me?," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You leaned back into his embrace, a smile spreading across your face. "I saw you an hour ago."

"An hour too long," he replied, his arms tightening around you, his presence a comforting weight.

You laughed softly, feeling his love in every touch. "Yes, I missed you, Satoru. It's nice having you close."

"Right?" He nuzzled into your neck, his lips brushing your skin. "Being near you makes everything better."

You turned your head slightly, catching his lips in a quick kiss. "You're such a sap."

He grinned against your skin, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. "Only for you. And I don't plan on stopping anytime soon."

You placed your hand over his, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "Good, because I wouldn't want you any other way."

He kissed your cheek again, his presence a comforting warmth that you knew you could always count on. "I'm never letting you go," he whispered, his voice full of love and promise.

"And I wouldn't want you to," you replied, your heart swelling with affection.

[arminsumi]

♡ 𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 | 𝟓

❝ ​... it's been a while since I last fell in love.❝

All chapters | AO3

Pairing : fem reader / Gojo Satoru / Geto Suguru

Synopsis : a kiss before your flight home.

Summer with you felt fuller and brighter than any other.

Waving sparklers in the humid night air. Sore feet after walking for hours. Mesmerized by the feeling of life whirling around you. Winning a squish mallow from a claw machine and watching Satoru and Suguru rock-paper-scissor fight over who got to keep it. Listening to Satoru and Suguru’s murmured conversations, and feeling giddy when you got the gist of something they said. Feeling your heart throb and ears perk up when they mentioned your name. Laughing embarrassedly into a pillow when you tried to speak Japanese and got everything wrong — Satoru's enamored smile.

It felt like you were in a rush to enjoy everything sometimes, because your return flight date loomed in the back of your mind. Suguru was nervous to show you Japan in a light that you'd never forget, and Satoru was just oblivious to all the sight-seeing and festivals because you were far more captivating.

On the train ride deeper into the city, Satoru sat thigh-against-thigh with you. The both of you were very consciously aware of contact, the press and the warmth. At your left, Suguru leaned close, the fabric of his t-shirt grazing your arm giving you butterflies.

Heads together, all three of you took turns in Satoru's diary; writing your names, scribbling, doodling, until the page was filled from corner to corner.

They talked about Nanami, who was going to meet you for the first time.

Suguru giggled at something Satoru said, so you asked what he was laughing at.

"Satoru's scared that Nanami is going to show off his English to you." he said.

“Oh?” you smiled.

("... and!") Satoru added dramatically, interrupting Suguru, ("He better not flirt with her.”)

Suguru went completely red in the face and laughed.

("Satoru, You're acting very boyfriend-like.")

("... oh, am I?")

("Yes.")

Satoru stopped talking, went redder than Suguru, and sat back in his seat like he was contemplating himself.

"What?" you asked, looking between them.

"Nothing." Suguru feathered, covering his face to hide his smile, "Nothing at all."

*****

Even you were taken aback by Nanami's English, because he spoke more elegantly than you did — so you can just imagine what expression Suguru had when he watched the two of you interact for the first time at the festival.

"Satoru's my senior at work, even if he doesn't act like it." he said. Satoru looked at him suspiciously as he spoke.

"Ohhh, I see." you nodded, "Then, you two met at work or...?"

"No, we went to high school together.” Nanami said.

You nodded again, "Ah."

"... he talks a lot about you." Nanami said, "Talks my ear off at the water cooler about this girl who lives on the other side of the world — with the biggest stars in his eyes. It's nice that you two could finally meet."

You smiled, "Yeah... this summer has been amazing."

"Have you ticked everything off your bucket list yet?" Nanami asked.

"Yes — though, I missed Tanabata." you said. “Maybe next year.”

The two of you kept talking. When you laughed at something Nanami said, Satoru threw a jealous look at him. Then he and Suguru talked under their breaths.

(“Are they flirting?”) Satoru asked suspiciously.

(“They are not.”)

(“It feels like they are.”)

(“… you really are acting like a boyfriend, Satoru…”)

*****

A blue night sky deepened as you three walked across the street crossing, closer to where residents were gathered and some dancing around a raised stage.

"I wish I could experience December here, too." you sighed dreamily.

"Why don't you?" Nanami asked.

"... the flights are too expensive." you replied.

"... what a shame. A romantic like Satoru would be over the moon to spend December with you." Nanami said. "Maybe next year, you two can go as a couple."

You acted shyer after realizing Nanami assumed you and Satoru were dating, and it was incredibly funny because Satoru misinterpreted your shyness to be a response to Nanami's flirting — so he interrupted the conversation right there.

Suguru stifled a laugh. He didn't say anything, just watched you three like it was a sitcom.

("Nanami, you look a bit taller. Did you grow?") Satoru teased, physically comparing heights with him — which he only ever did when they were kids.

"..." Nanami stared at him. ("Why are you like this?")

Suguru was trying so hard to contain his laughter.

While Nanami and Satoru went back and forth with each other, Suguru grabbed the chance to have his own moment with you.

He talked a bit louder over the singing and drumming, right into your ear, as you watched, captivatedly, at people performing bon odori around the stage.

All you remember was feeling like Suguru’s voice was in your chest, truthfully you can't remember what he was explaining to you about the festival.

Then he went quiet and stared at you softly.

A weird, familiar feeling took residency inside his chest, and he thought;

(Oh... It's been a while since I last fell in love.)

But even if you had paid attention to him in that moment, would you have noticed the tenderness in his eyes?

Suguru got startled out of his love-struck daze by Nanami, who was leaving early.

("Satoru finally got on your nerves, huh?")

("Yes… no, not actually. I've just got sore feet.")

Satoru teased playfully, ("You just want to go home and take a bubble bath and listen to jazz like the old man you are.")

("Satoru, you're annoying. That's absolutely what I'm going to do, though.")

Nanami said goodbye for the night.

The sky blackened and the crowd thickened with more people, so Satoru took your hand in his and kept you close.

After an hour, the three of you headed out of the festival and went in search of a quieter place. Suguru observed you and Satoru holding hands. He stared and stared, then forced himself to snap out of it.

Satoru was quietly thinking, then said dramatically;

(“He was totally flirting with her!”)

And to this Suguru burst out laughing so hard, like all the laughter he held back earlier came out. A man with a laugh like that was definitely popular with boys and girls in high school, you’re certain.

(“How do you know?”)

(“… it sounded like it!”)

(“I can’t believe you’re such a jealous guy.”) Suguru shook his head, bearing a big smile, (“You even got jealous at me for flirting with her.”)

Satoru shrugged guiltlessly. 「僕は僕！」

“What is going on?” you asked laughingly.

Suguru could hardly translate or speak as he had a laughing fit on the street.

*****

When you walked out of an alleyway into a busier street and saw the neon glow of lights of a 7-Eleven, and a cyclist going by, and inhaled the night air, and heard all the city noises, and felt all the city feelings, this feeling whirled around you.

"Life feels different here." you commented, looking around you.

"... oh really?" Suguru hummed sarcastically.

You nudged his arm. "Don't be sarcastic. You know what I mean, don't you?"

"Yeah, of course. That feeling... like a spark...?" he teased, just to see the look in your eyes.

He spoke to Satoru, and Satoru said something and Suguru chuckled and translated for you, " 'You'll miss that feeling when you leave for home.' "

"... I'll miss you two more."

Hearing sentence made his heart fluttery. When Suguru translated it, it just didn't feel the same as hearing it in your voice. It made him wonder just how much he was missing out on by not knowing your language. What feelings were being lost in translation?

*****

The three of you headed out further, getting a bit lost in the city for fun.

The hot night called for ice cream, so Satoru and Suguru rock-paper-scissor fought for who would go to buy some.

"... 最初ぐう... じゃん拳ぽん... あいこでしょ... あいこでしょ... !"

Satoru pulled a funny face after losing that made you and Suguru laugh. He went on his way to the convenience store, navigating through a detour, stopping to pet a cat on his way back, and meanwhile... you and Suguru were left alone together, with that spark clearly fizzing between your chests.

*****

At the park, the two of you lazed in the grass, side by side, while waiting for Satoru to return from the convenience store with ice creams.

Eyes directed up at the sky, propped on his elbows, hair messy after a long evening. Suguru momentarily closed his eyes in bliss at the soft breeze fanning by.

Next to you, Suguru stretched out his long legs and stared deeply at the moon. It was blazing. The longer he stared at it in silence the more this feeling struck him.

He took a sideways glance at you, and you were obliviously enjoying the cool night breeze.

(Does she have a clue about how I feel right now?) Suguru thought softly.

"月が綺麗ですね..." he murmured romantically.

"Hm? What does that mean...?"

He turned his head to look at you, totally smitten.

"... the moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

"Oh. Yeah, it is." you agreed. "I haven't seen a moon so bright in a while."

Suguru chuckled dreamily.

(She's a clueless angel.)

No thoughts passed through either of your heads as you leaned into each other.

His features were too fuzzy to make out in this lighting, but you saw a hint of a tender expression on his face.

He inhaled deeply and got so high on the sweet, humid night air that he leaned into a kiss without thinking his action through — but it's alright, he only grazed his still lips over yours. He only hovered. It was just a sweet, shared breath if anything. Just a ticklishly light touch of lips grazing lips.

No thoughts. Just that spark in the air and heartbeats thumping quickly in your fingertips.

Then immediate realization hit him. He pulled away and apologized like he was shocked at himself.

"I'm so sorry." Suguru stressed, "I didn't mean to — I —I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay, don't apologize." you replied softly, unable to say more.

(What does she mean, "Don't apologize"? What does she mean…?)

Suguru began to ramble, and you watched his lips move as he spoke each syllable. His lips felt tingly, wanting— desperately — for a kiss.

He wanted to kiss you, but he couldn't.

"It's just — I haven't — you know, it's been years since... um, anyways. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore." He became out of breath, talking too fast.

Suguru drew in a breath like he was going to say something more, but then stopped speaking altogether because Satoru returned — with a plastic bag of convenience store ice creams swishing at his side.

“Hey hey.” he greeted the two of you, and sat down on the grass.

Satoru didn't sit between you and Suguru, rather, he sat in front of both of you, stretching his legs out onto the soft grass like a cat.

「顔赤いよ・・・」 Satoru wiggled his brows at Suguru.

You watched Suguru as he patted his hands against his hot cheeks to cool them.

Satoru giggled naughtily.

You looked between them and watched them have a small exchange, never learning what they said to each other in that moment. But you could gather Suguru's embarrassment and Satoru's teasing and mild jealousy.

Suguru grumbled to himself on the way home.

(We could have shared a movie kiss...)

*****

You fell asleep before Satoru — almost as soon as your head hit the pillow. He looked down at you for a moment, his gaze catching onto your parted lips, his ears picking up on your soft breathing.

(I hope you're dreaming of me.) he thought hopefully.

He stared for a bit, daydreaming.

The longer he stared, the more his face reddened and his heartbeat quickened. Eventually he crawled into bed next to you, keeping a distance but wishing so badly that he could cuddle you.

He was thinking about how unfair it was to be himself; to have to contain himself when he was such a romantic and emotional man, and not just that; a man in need of touching, kissing, cuddling. He felt a need for all of that more that night than at any other point in his life.

Satoru timidly inched closer and lifted his face to plant a kiss on your cheek. Just a tiny kiss. His lips hovered over you cheek, then over your lips. But he held back.

He pulled away slowly and smiled shyly to himself.

That satisfied his heart enough, he could calm down and sleep.

But in the other room, Suguru moved around sleeplessly in his bed like a hopeless insomniac.

*****

Curled into his pillow, cheeks warm, fist to lip and knees hugged, Suguru was daydreaming of how that moment could have gone differently if he had just kissed you.

And his daydream played out like a film, one full of scripted kisses, shot from every angle, replayed over and over to satisfy his little heart — the poor thing was beating in panic at his growing feelings.

Yes, he knew he liked you, but not like that. Not until now. Now that feeling was nearly in full throttle.

*****

Suguru's daydream of kissing you went on until it got light outside.

He thought, thought, thought. But a daydream wasn't enough to satisfy his need to kiss you. With a suppressed sigh, he rolled onto his side, hugged his ribs, and blinked his stinging eyes at the room as it lit up a dawn blue.

The room became lighter and lighter.

He leaned up in bed, blinked, then reached for his phone and opened yours and his chat. And he scrolled up into the texts that gave him butterflies. He stared at the blinking cursor, then typed out;

I wanted to kiss you.

Then he stared at your profile picture, and promptly erased what he had typed.

Instead, he wrote it in his notes app, as if it was his most guilty secret.

Then he cuddled back into his fortress of pillows, begged his mind for a dream of you, and fell asleep at 7 AM, sleeping a weak 3 hours before waking up again.

*****

You and Suguru were awake earlier than Satoru, who was still softly sleeping. The roar of early morning traffic reached the 7th floor, and the sunrise teased its appearance through the buildings.

Suguru watered the balcony plants in his flip flops.

And he did it lazily, in his baggy pants, with unbrushed hair. It was quite a sight to see, so you stared. He could feel your eyes on him and his heartbeat quickened.

He watered each plant with a cup of water, complaining that he keeps forgetting to buy a watering can for his ‘lil guys’.

Names were assigned to each plant, written on paper on toothpicks.

“… you named a plant… Dave?” you questioned.

“… what? It’s funny.”

He watered ‘Dave’ and looked closer, nearly nosing into the plant.

"Oh my god... he’s wilting." he genuinely panicked. "I swear I'm doing everything I can to keep him alive, it's like he just wants to die… keep it together, Dave."

You laughed and hovered over the plants with him. Suguru was frowning at his other plants as they looked unhappier than usual.

"Suguru, you're such a plant dad." you said.

His frown lifted, he looked at you and then his sweet smile lines showed up on his cheeks.

"Thanks."

When he made eye contact, and that something sparked in the air between you two. It sparked bigger than it ever had before.

"You look tired..."

I can't believe she notices that. How sweet.

He shrugged in response.

"I was thinking about you..." he trailed off.

You widened your eyes and went silent.

"— your flight." he lied and you knew it.

"... yeah, it's gonna be a long flight home." you swallowed hard, looking so deeply into his eyes that you got dizzy.

"You know what's weird? Right now, in this moment, it feels like you'll never leave." he said softly.

The following silence heightened the tension between you and him. He felt the urge to kiss you again. He felt it bad. His self-restraint was slipping, he couldn't discipline himself.

(A kiss is just a kiss, right?)

When you licked your lips, that’s when Suguru started to lean his face in. As his gaze flitted between your lips and your eyes, his heart panged.

He hesitated, you hesitated, he stuttered, you stuttered. He kissed you like a nervous mouse.

You were shocked even though you knew it was coming.

Even if the kiss lasted just a split second, that was long enough to catch a glimpse of heaven.

Suguru pulled back and looked at you unsurely.

"えーと" his lips twitched. "I — I'm — I — uh." he forgot how to speak completely, so stunned that his mother tongue and English tongue got tangled together.

You stared into his eyes and that's what got him, he went in for another kiss, this time harder – lips smacking together like you just needed each other. And as he exhaled against your face, you could feel all his passion.

His heart fluttered when you kissed him back with almost the same intensity. The heat and softness of someone else's lips was exactly what he needed at this time in his life, just to kiss someone who he really liked.

Gasping into the kiss, Suguru held onto your cheeks like you were his baby. When he ran out of breath, he pulled away and breathed a little heavier.

"I'm so sorry, I — " he said breathlessly.

" — no, it's o—o-okay." you stammered, feeling a bit out of it.

Both of you were digesting the moment when suddenly a bleary-eyed, sleepy Satoru came out onto the balcony, holding Mint against his chest. He was squinting and blinking at the morning sun.

Suguru immediately switched to nonchalance and acting as if nothing just happened. But his shoulders were stiff.

("Mint looks especially evil this morning.") his voice quivered a little.

("... you mean fluffy?") Satoru replied, petting Mint between her fuzzy ears.

("No, evil.") Suguru joked, ("She's a devil in dis—guise.") he choked on his words.

Satoru looked at him strangely and thought;

(Huh, Suguru doesn't usually choke on his words.)

Satoru stared at Suguru, looked at you, then looked back and forth between you and Suguru.

The air was thick.

"What?"

"What...?"

("What happened?") Satoru asked.

Satoru's sixth sense was insane. Like it was some scene in a comedy movie, he forwardly asked;

("Why do I feel like I interrupted something?") he said.

Suguru raised his brows and made a funny guilty face. You looked between them with wide eyes.

"I'm gonna go make some coffee..." you said, and scrambled to your feet like you were desperate to escape this awkward tension.

"... I'm gonna tell him." Suguru said.

"You're bluffing..."

"Nah, I'm an honest guy."

You groaned funnily, "Then I'm gonna go hide behind the coffee pot..."

Satoru looked confused. Once you headed inside, it was just him and Suguru there on the balcony.

The traffic was roaring louder by now. For a while it was the only sound between them, besides your distant clanking in the kitchen.

A long silence dragged out and then Suguru's words abruptly popped into existence.

"(YN)にキスした・・・"

"は?!"

Suguru made a guilty grimace and scratched the back of his head.

("What do you mean you kissed her? When was this?") Satoru's voice got higher.

("Uh, like right now.")

They went back and forth for a while. You heard them and had no idea what was being said.

("Thief.") Satoru said, calming down after a while.

("How am I a thief?") Suguru got defensive.

("You stole her kiss from me!") Satoru pouted childishly.

("... I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself.") Suguru lowered his head, ("Are you mad at me...?") he asked worriedly.

("... No, I'm not mad at you... well, a little bit.") Satoru mumbled, ("I'm more jealous than mad.")

(“So…”) Suguru looked at his best friend wearily. How could he not be furious? (“This is fine with you?”)

(“You can get away with it. If it were Nanami, I’d be throwing hands.”) he joked.

Suguru still felt like he was a puppy that did something wrong, but Satoru just didn’t seem to be taking it as seriously.

("... I've got a plan, okay.") Satoru said suddenly, ignoring Mint's silent begging for cuddles. ("I'm gonna kiss her at the airport, right before she leaves — ")

Suguru laughed, ("Are you procrastinating — ?")

Satoru cut him off and said 「やる よ！！！」 with such intensity and conviction that it made Suguru burst out laughing.

Hearing Suguru's laughter from the kitchen reassured you that everything went over fine.

*****

He stood in front of you.

(できる よ・・・) I can do it...

Satoru swallowed hard. Discretely wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. Nibbled his lip. Tried to act natural in the airport, looking to Suguru for inspiration on being nonchalant.

You were testing the clock by waiting until the very last minute to get onboard.

Just like you were procrastinating to board your flight, Satoru was procrastinating to kiss you. The three of you exchanged a look.

"Oh.” Suguru realized, “Go ahead. I’m not looking. I'm a plant." Suguru joked, covering his eyes.

He gave you and Satoru space, he thought it was fair. If he had his moment with you on the balcony, then Satoru deserved to have a moment with you. Now he understood how all-consuming the desire to kiss someone was.

(It has to be now, when else? I don't know when she'll be back for her next visit, I could be waiting a whole year. The universe knows how impatient I am. I've got to have her lips right now.) Satoru thought anxiously.

His body stuttered.

You were thinking to yourself, is this the wrong moment to kiss him? Is there ever a right moment anyways?

"Satoru." you said in a tone of goodbye, and outstretched your arms to him.

He leaned down into your embrace like the awkwardly tall man he was.

You clung to each other's bodies for a while. Such a clingy hug already spoke volumes. But still, Satoru just wanted to go that bit further — to spell his love on your lips.

He wanted you to board that plane knowing what his love tasted like, to sit in your seat with lips freshly tingling.

Yes, he knew nothing in life ever played out like in movies or daydreams, so he was hoping just once it would.

Last-minute doubt filled him and he felt his mood drop.

(… maybe I shouldn’t.)

Just as he pulled out of the hug, you reached up, cupped his cheeks with conviction, and gave him the biggest kiss that he'd ever received in his life right smack there on his lips.

"...?" His knees buckled, and redness grew on his cheeks very quickly.

He blanked so hard, but only for a second or two, because he dreamily tilted his head off to the side and deepened the kiss.

(yeah, 恋している。)

You pulled back. He stammered, stuttered, totally stumbled. He was all over the place now. He couldn't form a thought now.

Even if someone would have told him that he was on planet earth, he wouldn't have believed them, because your kiss definitely sent him to heaven.

"は、はずかしいな・・・embarrassed, I'm embarrassed." He chuckled nervously.

Suguru watched as you two broke down into giggles, then he came over to you two again.

"You know, that was very cute and all," he said, spooking the life out of Satoru who was just totally in his feelings. "But even the last-minute procrastinators have boarded the flight by now."

"Oh my god!" you panicked, "Um, yeah! Okay, okay I'm gonna go... I love you two. I'll come back soon, I promise. I promise."

Hugging goodbye for the last time hurt, and seeing you get teary-eyed made it hard for them not to cry too.

You went through the gates.

Satoru felt like you tore a piece of him and took it with you, and his whole body wanted to chase after you.

You waved and gave heart hands to them as much as you could until you disappeared out of sight.

Boarding the plane felt like a dream. After stowing away your bag in the overhead cabinet, you took your seat and stared blankly, lips feeling tingly and alive with Satoru’s lingering feelings on them.

*****

It was all over too quickly. Satoru licked his lips.

Idling to the window to watch your plane take off, both of them felt like they were on the verge of crying, Satoru a little more than Suguru.

(まだ いかないで。) Satoru frowned.

*****

At home, Satoru walked into his room and when he inhaled your lingering scent, god, he burst into tears so loudly that Mint got startled. Suguru came to comfortingly rub his back as he wept like a dog.

"悟、 泣かないで。"

He didn't cry as hard ever again as he did that day, and he never even told you.

*****

It's hard to imagine that summer could have ever ended, but it faded away like a sweet taste fading on his tongue.

Satoru woke up the morning without you, and it took him a few seconds to realize that — he felt his fingers over the pillow and slowly opened his eyes.

(ああ、もう会いたい。)

Puffy eyes, dry lips, he reached for his phone.

You hadn't replied yet — still on your flight home, high up in the air. Probably staring out the window. Hopefully thinking of him.

He checked your live flight status, and laid on the pillow as he watched it, forearm concealing his frown, and he just stayed like that for half an hour. Watching that tiny plane move on the screen, over so many countries.

He zoomed out, and felt stricken, as if he just realized how far you actually were from him. And you weren't even home yet, home was still hours away.

"Wake up, princess." Suguru knocked on Satoru's door, then barged in after Satoru let out an I’m awake noise. "I could sense your damp mood through the door." He said.

Satoru groaned, "She's still in the sky..."

Suguru dove into Satoru's unmade bed. "Don't frown so much, you'll get ugly frown wrinkles when you're old."

"Mhm."

They were watching your live flight for a few minutes in silence.

"Let’s look through photos."

So, they both laid there, looking through photos, mumbling amongst themselves about little things and missing you like they've never missed someone before.

Then Satoru let out a long breath, rolled onto his back, and hummed happily to himself.

"I kissed her. I actually kissed her.” He said, thinking of you.

"... oh really? That's crazy. Me too." Suguru teased sarcastically.

"Shut up, you."

Suguru just teased further, "The only way you'll get me to shut up is if you book her a flight back to Tokyo and let her use her lips to silence me."

"She'll kiss me before she kisses you next time she visits." Satoru said confidently.

"... bet?"

"Okay, bet!" Satoru flared up, "I bet all my savings, because I know she loves me more."

"Then say goodbye to your savings."

They go back and forth, getting competitive.

"... I'll kiss her harder." Suguru said.

"No, I'll kiss her harder." Satoru said.

"I'll kiss her dumb." Suguru said.

"I'll kiss her dumber!" Satoru said.

Mint fluffed her tail and stared at her noisy, bickering owners. Then she leaped off and went on her way to the washing machine.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

@miwanilla / @sukunasdirtylaugh / @coco-cat / @babydiamondblog / @mp3playerblog / @froufrousnowman / @lovesickramblingsofmine / @arminswifee / @instantmusico / @kaechannn / @sabo-has-my-heart / @yoonjinhusbands / @honey-i-will-come-back / @thirtykiwis / @satoruiloveu / @iamthedetective / @melaaaara / @xakilicious / @i-am-the-geek-overlord / @starrylibras / @beanluvsmilo / @kittytoru / @reese-is-right / @rains-mae / @c0pkiller / @baepsays / @hueanhdang / @fuck-imstillhere / @yourimaginaryfriiendd / @alwaysminhyuk / @andromidagalaxie / @vianna99 / @akumakitsune21 / @ducksdoughnuts / @itsnotmelo / @animechick555 / @hypernovaxx / @xkittiecatx / @ba-ks / @sleepy-waffle / @aphoenixnamed-angel / @polarbvnny / @satoryaa / @dedicatemyhearttoyou / @aiikuraa / @uno3 / @softnorth / @polarbvnny / @aphoenixnamed-angel / @boundedbyfate / @p1nkfluffysocks / @notahappyyoongi / @sullybrothersmate / @nissatamz / @bakugosbottombitch / @zhonglis-missing-wallet / @martothejay / @ringsofsaturnnnn / @givemeonereason / @rosariymchapter / @augustsosexy / @spicy-takimura / @li-m-ii / @strychnynegirl / @curvaliberate / @oyuki22 / @spicy-takimura / @li-m-ii / @euaphoria1 / @hexoolio / @notrlynicole / @maya-maya-56 / @elitesanjisimp

♡ 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

[pandorafairy]

Secret Cove (Part 4)

Neteyam x Metkayina (oldest daughter of Tonowari, the chief)

Neteyam is 18

Contains: Neteyam fluff, protectiveness, and angst

Warnings: mild violence and strong language

“You look tired, daughter,” my father says. The morning light streams in through our pod as he finishes his breakfast. I lightly touch my puffy under eyes. I’ve spent the past few nights in the sky on the back of Neteyam’s ikran, feeling the warmth of Neteyam’s body pushed against mine.

“I’ve been busy,” I mumble before taking a bite of my food. Tsireya sits beside me, I can feel her gaze on me. She’s suspicious, probably knows I’ve been sneaking out to see Neteyam, but she never says anything. My dad grunts and opens his mouth to say something. 

A horn blazes through the village. It’s a familiar sound, one that makes my heart leap. I jump to my feet, letting the happy sound circulate through my mind. My dad is already out of the pod and my sister looks at me with a wide smile. Dad sticks his head back in. “Come! The Tulkun have returned!”

Tsireya and I sprint out of the pod. The village is full of joyful voices as people begin diving into the water. The Tulkun burst out between the waves, their splashes gleaming. They flip and swim, hurrying happily towards our village. My spirit sister, Joala, is out there. I can’t help the grin that finds its way onto my face. 

I know I don’t deserve this happiness. I don’t deserve the Tulkun. My secrets suffocate me, Issak is a reminder of that. Of what I’ve done. But Joala told me to let it go. And she would be crushed if I didn’t see her. So I try to ignore the nagging in the back of my mind and enjoy this moment. 

Tsireya dives and swims off towards the commotion. I turn around, looking towards the Sully's pod. Neteyam. He has to meet Joala. I fight against the current of people, all going to greet the Tulkun. My feet bounce quickly along the paths until a familiar hand grips my shoulder. 

Neteyam’s eyes meet mine. “Come!” I exclaim, not even bothering to say hello. I dart towards the waves where my people are already welcoming the Tulkun. Neteyam follows me, his eyes bright with excitement. 

I don’t slow down as I reach the end of the path, diving right into the water. Voices, splashes, and chirps of the Tulkun vibrate through the ocean and warm my heart. It’s such a joyous sound. I call for an illu as Neteyam swims up beside me. 

An ilu swims up to me. I make tsaheylu before motioning for Neteyam to join me. He hurries onto the ilu and settles in behind me. His arm wraps around my waist with a small smile on his face. 

‘Ready?’ I motion with my hands. 

He nods before leaning forward and kissing my shoulder softly. Heat rushes to my face. I hope my blush isn’t obvious through the water. He’s so beautiful, the dark blue skin of his skin and the light blue of the ocean; it makes my heart swell. Joala will adore him. I tell my ilu to go forward.

We swim past other villagers, none of them pay any attention to us as we speed by. Everyone is too engaged with their own spirit sisters and brothers: sharing stories, laughing at jokes, showing new scars. There is so much love beneath the waves. It seeps through the water, into the reef, into the fish, and into all of my people. I look at Neteyam through the corner of my eye. His mouth is slightly open in awe as he observes each Tulkun we pass. 

I make a deep call from the back of my throat, telling Joala where I am. It’s silent for a moment and Neteyam’s fingers twitch with anticipation across my stomach. I call again. I sense her before I see her, the same way a child can sense their mother watching them in their sleep; I don’t need to see her to know she’s there. 

Her large body swims up from below us. I let go of the ilu and rush over to her, my heart pounding with excitement. She chirps happily as she sees me come closer. I place my hand against her strong body and lean my head against her, my face right next to her eyes. She sighs, the relaxation seems to go through her whole body. My heart contracts and releases, like it’s connecting with hers and now we are beating as one. 

‘I missed you,’ I sign with my hands. 

‘I missed you too,” Joala chitters. I place my other hand on her, feeling her breath. 

She begins to swim towards the surface. I grab hold of her fin before remembering Neteyam. I whip my head to where he floats, just a few feet away. He’s watching me with an expression I’ve never seen before. His golden eyes are wide open, the side of mouth points upward, and his ears are perked up. I motion for him to follow us. 

Joala breaks the surface, away from any other Tulkun. I keep my hands on her, soaking in our connection, and enjoying our reunion. Joala knows everything about me,  all my secrets; and loves me just the same. Neteyam appears on the surface and looks at us with a mixture of wonder and anxiousness.  

I stick my hand out to him. “Come closer.” Neteyam swims towards me, careful not to make too many waves. I slip off Joala’s fin and into the water, where she can see me as I start to sign.

‘There is someone I want you to meet.’ Joala chirps curiously. Neteyam joins me and places his hand on the small of my back. I don’t even think he realizes he’s done it, his eyes are glued on Joala. 

He dips his head before looking at Joala and signing with one hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

The warmth from his fingers spread through my back and into my body. His touch is like a current. I watch the side of his face as he observes my spirit sister with such grace. Joala chirps hello. She’s watching me, seeing right through me, as always. I smile sheepishly at her. 

‘This is Neteyam.’ I sign. ‘He is from the forest but is now one of us.’ Neteyam smiles at this.

 ‘He is special to you.’ Joala chirps. 

I look at Neteyam to find his eyes already facing me. ‘Yes. He is special. Good, brave, kind, and strong.’ 

A tenderness spreads through his gaze before he looks at Joala. ‘She is amazing. More than I knew someone could be.’ 

His fingers rub my back in small circles. Joala chitters approvingly. A small laugh escapes my lips, not because anything is funny but because I’m so happy. The kind of happiness that bubbles inside of you and streams right out. I keep laughing as I stroke Joala’s fin and Neteyam’s hand stays on me. There is so much love in the ocean and within my people and our Tulkun. But the love I feel right now, for Neteyam and Joala. I don’t even think my heart or mind can comprehend it. 

We begin to talk about the past season, our travels, and funny gossip. I tell Joala about my training and my family. She tells us about her migration. Neteyam talks about the forest and how he misses it. Joala wants to know about how we met and how we knew we wanted to be together. We stumble through our story,telling her how it’s just the beginning, and how we know that some people don’t approve but nothing will stop us. Neteyam relaxes around her and talks freely, I’ve never seen him so open around anyone other than me. We smile, laugh, and tears prick at my eyes.

I’m so absorbed in our interaction that I don’t notice someone watching until they turn to leave. A little ways away, someone rides off angrily on an ilu. The person’s black hair streams behind them in the water. An unsettlingly chill jolts through my veins as I recognize their hair and the set of their shoulders. It’s Issak. 

~~~

Drums pound loudly. People cheer boisterously. The whole village is gathered on the beach, surrounding a large fire. My father wears his celebration beads. He stands up on a rock and the crowd goes quiet. “Our Tulkun returned to us safely!” The crowd cries with excitement. “We give thanks to Eywa for our spirit brothers and sisters. And now… we feast! We dance! We celebrate!” 

Everyone yells with elation, myself included. Tsireya beside me claps her hands. Aonung, on the other side of me, stomps his feet and hoots. Some people begin to dance around the fire while others share meals and talk about their reunions. My father jumps down from his rock. “Adults.” His voice carries above the noise. “Follow me.” 

He runs into the water, the shoreline splashing around his legs until he dives in. Suddenly, tons of Na’vi are sprinting into the ocean, the night sky makes it impossible to see them as they disappear under the dark waves. They are going to the various underwater coves to party and celebrate. Since I’m eighteen, I can technically join them, but my parents ordered me to stay on the shore and watch after the children. Normally I would have protested but Neteyam’s parents happened to give him the same order. 

Neteyam sits next to the fire, wearing his celebration beads and wooden headband. Tuk stands behind him, playing with his braids. As if he senses me watching him, he looks up. I almost turn away, embarrassed at being caught staring, but he smiles genuinely and waves for me to come over. Tuk sees him waving at me and begins calling my name. 

Tsireya giggles. “Come on, sister.” She pokes my side playfully. “We wouldn’t want to keep your man waiting.” 

“Oh hush,” I reply and poke her back. 

Aonung’s head snaps up, his eyebrows furrowed together. “What man?” He takes a bite of his food. 

Tsireya rolls her eyes at our brother’s ignorance as I laugh and shake my head. I place my arm around Tsireya’s shoulders and pull her into my side, a sudden feeling of gratitude washing over me. She wraps her arm around me in return. We don’t need to say anything, Tsireya always has a way of knowing what I’m thinking. 

We make our way over to the Sully kids, Aonung following behind us. The beach is calmer now that the adults have left. Music still plays and conversation still flows, but it’s not as loud. A few kids dance happily in front of the fire while others play games in the surf. Tsireya sighs, taking in the sight.  

Lo’ak is arguing with Kiri but he stops the second we arrive. He straightens up and clears his throat. “Hi, Tsireya.” She smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Hello to you too,” Aonung says through a mouth full of food. All of us laugh at this, Tsireya tries to hide hers. Neteyam smacks Lo’ak on his back lovingly. 

Heat rushes into Lo’ak’s face. “Hi everyone.” 

“Much better,” Aonung smirks. Tsireya flicks him before walking over to Lo’ak. Neteyam smiles at me and pats a place next to him in the sand. I join him and feel the warmth of the fire as everyone disperses. Kiri and Aonung leave to find Rotxo, Lo’ak and Tsireya slip off, and even Tuk finds a few kids to play with. 

“The celebration is great.” Neteyam’s deep voice rumbles. He leans closer to me, filling my nose with his intoxicating scent. He drops his voice to a whisper, “and we already know what's happening down there.” He points to the ocean.

I laugh, thinking about our night in the cove. I look at him, his headband brings out the uniqueness of his golden eyes. He looks at my eyes, then my cheeks, then my nose, and my chin, before settling his gaze on my lips. “I wish we were down there now,” he whispers, his voice full of yearning. My stomach flutters. 

I’m leaning forward before I even realize what I’m doing. No one is watching us… One little kiss will be fine. His lips hover right in front of mine. He places his hand on my thigh, sending a chill right through my core. His tail flicks behind him as he leans in to close the space between us. 

Someone clears their throat behind us. We fly apart faster than I thought could be possible. If it’s my dad or Jake… My heart pounds as I scramble to my feet. 

“Well, well,” Issak slurs. I suck in a gulp of air. Neteyam slowly gets to his feet, observing Issak’s stance. “If it isn’t the village's newest couple!” He yells the last part, catching the attention of a group of children playing. Dread fills my body. 

“Issak,” I say, unsure of what to do. “Have you been drinking?”

“I was at the celebration. Looking for you.” He saunters towards me, wobbling slightly. Neteyam tenses as Issak stops right in front of me. The smell of alcohol pours right off of him. “But then I remembered, you like forest boys now.” 

“You should go,” Neteyam says flatly. 

Issak lets out a forced and mechanical laugh. He sets his blues eyes on Neteyam and smirks. “You think you like her?” He shakes his head. “You don’t even know her.”

“I know enough.” 

“Do you?” Issak questions, his murderous smirk growing. He looks at me with his calculating eyes. “Did you tell him?” 

Neteyam’s head turns towards me. My feet are frozen in place. I want to scream at Issak but no sound escapes my lips. 

Issak throws his head back. “Oh this is too good.” He looks at us again, his drunken face full of anger. “She’s not the good little girl you think she is. And she definitely isn’t the chief's perfect daughter.” He sighs arrogantly. “And when she gets bored of you, she’ll come running back to me.”

Neteyam shoves Issak with his large hands. Issak stumbles back, his feet slipping in the sand, and crashes right onto his back. The wind rushes out of his lungs as Neteyam jumps on top of him. My hands cover my mouth. This is not happening. 

Neteyam holds Issak down, his knees digging into Issak’s chest. “Let’s get a few things straight,” Neteyam growls. “She is perfect.” He twists his knee deeper into Issak’s chest. Issak groans in pain. “And she isn’t running anywhere. Especially not  to you.” 

I inhale sharply. The children stopped playing and a crowd is now gathering around them. I want to stop Neteyam and yell at him for fighting, but I also want to throw my arms around him. Issak struggles beneath Neteyam’s firm grip. He turns his head to the side and spits. He lowers his voice so only Neteyam and I can hear. “She’s the reason the sky people kill Tulkun.” 

My heart drops. I feel like a million tons have been dropped onto my shoulders. I can’t breathe. Panic spreads through me as Neteyam freezes. He slowly turns his head and looks at me, his eyes full of confusion. I want to melt through the sand and disappear. I shake my head, hoping it’s all a dream.

Issak grits his teeth together. “She’s a cold-hearted bitch.” 

Neteyam whips his head around. His shoulders tense and his eyes blazing. 

“And now she gets with forest people. Guess she’s a whore and a bitch.” 

Neteyam yanks his arm back and slams his fist into the side of Issak’s face. Blood flies out of Issak’s mouth as Neteyam hits him again. I can’t move. I can’t even think. Lo’ak bursts through the crowd, Tsireya following behind him. 

“Bro, stop!” He yells. “Dad’s coming!” 

Neteyam hesitates at Lo’ak’s voice. Issak takes the opportunity to grip Neteyam’s shoulders and throw him into the ground. I cringe as Neteyam’s body slams into the hard sand. Issak jumps on top of him and punches him. Neteyam tries to kick him but Issak holds his leg down. I can’t watch this. I start moving towards them, ready to jump on top of Issak and scratch his eyes out when Tsireya places her hand on my arm. 

“Don’t sister, you’ll only make it worse.” 

The crowd of children cheer and encourage the boys to fight. I can hear Issak muttering things to Neteyam. My heart clenches in my chest. Blood trickles from Neteyam’s forehead. I push Tsireya’s hand off of me, I can’t do nothing. 

“Enough!” My father’s voice booms over the crowd. All the children go silent. Issak rolls off Neteyam. The two of them sit beside each other panting as blood streams from their cuts. I close my eyes and try to calm myself. 

“This is a celebration,” My dad says angrily. “Not a fight.”

The crowd parts as my dad makes his way through followed by my mom, Jake, and Neytiri. Word must have spread that Issak and Neteyam were fighting. Tsireya looks worriedly from my dad, to Neteyam, and then to me. 

“Children, take the celebration further down the beach.” My dad says as he stares at me. I rarely feel scared of my father but right now, fear shots through me. A few disappointed grumbles come from the kids as they turn and leave. My siblings, the Sully kids, and I all stay on the beach. 

“Again?” Jake asks, anger covering his face. Instead of hanging his head low and letting his father be angry at him, Neteyam looks right into Jake’s eyes. 

“Yes, again.” 

Surprise flashes across Jake's face. Neytiri smiles softly behind him. 

My dad holds his hand out, telling everyone to be quiet. “What has happened, now?” 

Issak wipes the blood from his mouth and stares at my dad. “I was telling our forest friends about your daughter and then he just hit me.” 

“Liar!” I yell, finally finding my voice. My heart races in my chest as Neteyam’s eyes fall on me. His expression is unreadable. I have no idea what he is thinking. 

My dad puts his head in his hands and lets out a tired and irritated sigh. “Can someone just tell me what happened, please.” 

“Out with it Neteyam,” Jake says sternly. 

The boys sit in silence. My throat is growing tighter by the second. Last time this happened, we were told we couldn’t see each other anymore. I’m not even sure Neteyam will want to be with me after what Issak said.  

“I know what happened!” Tuk calls from behind Kiri. The adults turn and look at her with surprise. Kiri’s eyes widen in alarm as Tuk marches in front of everyone. She points at Issak. “That boy called her,” she points at me, “a hmm…” Tuk puts her hand under her chin and thinks. Her eyes brighten as she remembers. “A whore and a bitch!” She says proudly. 

Neytiri gasps and pulls Tuk to her side as my mother hisses angrily. Jake looks stunned. My dad opens his mouth before closing it again. Neteyam tenses up and looks at his parents. Issak says nothing. 

My dad breathes out slowly. “Issak,” he begins. “I know things have been hard for you. When your parents return from their hunt, I will be telling them about this. Now both of you, go.” 

My mom looks at my dad in disbelief, clearly thinking his punishment should’ve been worse. But my dad never was one for grudges. Issak stands and looks at me. All of our past sits right in front of me. The secrets and the Tulkun. His rebelliousness and my mistakes. Disgust fills me and I turn away from his face. 

Neteyam studies me, watching how I cringe away from Issak. I need to explain to him. I need to tell him everything. All the things I should’ve told him sooner. 

“I thought I said you two weren't allowed to see each other,” Jake states once Issak has left. My dad nods in agreement. 

“I’m eighteen,” I say. I need to prove to Neteyam, right now, that I will not let others come between us. Not Issak or our parents. “I can be with who I want. And I want to be with Neteyam.”

Everyone looks at me, I can feel the weight of their stares but my eyes remain on Neteyam. Our gazes stay locked as he swallows. 

Lo’ak inhales. “Damn.” 

“Wait,” Aonung whispers loudly. “They actually are a thing?” 

Tsireya elbows him in the side before shushing him. My father crosses his arms, his stare burns holes in me. I force my eyes away from Neteyam and meet my father’s eyes determinedly. 

“You’ve gotten in two fights,” Jake says as he takes a step towards Neteyam. “Both of them were over her.” 

Neteyam nods slowly as he balls his hands into fists before relaxing them. I can tell by the tension in his shoulders that his mind is moving quickly. He is contemplating and thinking over everything that’s happened. My hands begin to shake nervously. Neteyam sits back on his heels and looks up at everyone. “And I would do it again.” 

Jake opens his mouth to say more but Neytiri steps forward. She places a hand on her husband’s arm and looks to my father. “They are young but they are not children. Let them be.” 

Neytiri. My heart warms as she looks at me understandingly. To my surprise, my mother chimes in. “I agree.” 

Jake turns his head to whisper to Neytiri but she shakes her head firmly. I look at Neteyam but he won’t meet my eyes now. He stares at his hands and his tail twitches anxiously. 

“Okay, enough of this. You two can do what you want. Now please, can everyone return to the festival,” My father says. He hates conflict and loves nothing more than a quick solution. And this time, I’m grateful for it. 

The Sully kids and my siblings leave, heading further down the beach to where the other children are. Jake talks with my father, using his hands to express his point as my dad nods. My mother watches them, rolling her eyes. Neytiri peers at Neteyam and notices the harshness of his shoulders. She looks at me, seeing my tortured expression. 

“Neteyam,” she calls him and he looks up. “Go get cleaned up.” She turns to me. “Go with him.”  

~~~

The Sully’s pod is filled with warm light from a small fire that Neteyam started. There isn’t a single person in the village, they are all out celebrating and the silence is startling. Neteyam stares into the fire as I sit down beside him. 

Not knowing what to say, I reach out to touch him but he dodges away from me. Nerves race through my whole body. He shakes his head. “You lied to me. You said Issak was no one.” 

He looks at me, not with anger but with hurt. Blood seeps from a cut on his forehead, shoulder, and cheek. He breathes out slowly. “I need you to tell me the truth because I don’t understand.” 

Tears fall from my eyes before I can stop them. I never meant to hurt him. I was so selfish, so stupid…

“Is what he said true?” Neteyam whispers, his voice shaking. 

“Yes.” Neteyam inhales and disbelief fills his eyes. The fire flickers beside him, casting a warm hue across his aghast face.

“How? You couldn’t…” 

“I didn’t know what to do. I was scared. And I was naive and stupid. So, so stupid.” I can’t stop my tears now, I run my fingers under my eyes to stop them from falling down my face. Neteyam says nothing as he waits for me to say more. “It was about a year ago. Issak’s parents don’t care about him, they don’t care where he goes and he resents them for it. So one day he went somewhere he shouldn’t have. And I went with him.” 

I close my eyes. I’ve never told anyone this before. I’ve just sat with it and tried to forget. “We ran into an Avatar. Not one of yours but one that belongs to sky people who roam our waters.” 

Neteyam froze but I continue on. “He was nice to us but I knew we shouldn’t talk to him. I knew it was dangerous. But Issak liked him and I liked Issak so we went back. We met with that Avatar many times. I hated it but Issak insisted. The Avatar was like a father that he never had.” I take a deep breath. I don’t look at Neteyam, I’m too scared to see his expression. 

“They talked mostly. I just sat and waited for it to be over. One day, the Avatar brought people with him. They surrounded us, punched us, and held knives to our throats. They were looking for unobtainium. I didn’t know what that was but it must have been valuable.” 

Another tear escapes from my eye. I don’t bother to wipe it this time. I let it fall down my cheek. “They were yelling and I didn’t know what to do. They started to cut Issak’s throat. The knife was cutting into him. He was bleeding.”

“They were going to kill him,” I force the words out of my mouth, feeling the weight of them. “My mind went blank and suddenly I said Tulkun. I didn’t know if they were valuable, at least not in the way that sky people find value. But I knew the Tulkun were impossible to kill so I thought it would all be okay.” 

“They let Issak go. We never spoke of it again and stopped seeing each other. Months later, we heard that Tulkun in the south were murdered. Murdered by sky people. And I knew it was all my fault.” 

As the last words leave my lips, I can’t contain myself any longer. I cry. Tears flood from my flushed face as my shoulders shake. Sobs escape my lips as I bring my hand to my mouth. I never thought I’d say those things out loud. The shame of it still haunts me, everyday. And now Neteyam knows it. He knows my darkest secret. 

Suddenly, his arms are around me. The warmth of him spreads through me as it always does. He pulls me onto his lap, pressing me against his body. I don’t even process what this means, I just collapse into him. He rubs my back and whispers soothingly to me. 

We stay like this for a while as I let my walls come down. He waits patiently. Finally, I pull away and look at him. The blood on his face is now crusted over. He tilts his head to the side before reaching out and wiping the tears off my cheek. 

“Do you think I’m awful?” I whisper.

His eyes soften. He cups my cheek with his long fingers. “I think you’ve carried a big burden for far too long.” 

“Someone has to.” 

He rubs his fingers along my face. “Let me help you carry it.” 

My mouth opens slightly. I was so scared of how he would react, but here he is: understanding, loving, sweet, my Neteyam. I don’t deserve him. I don’t think anyone in this world does. I stare at his beautiful face in awe. “You are too kind for such a burden. It is mine. I made a mistake. And I fight everyday, to be perfect for my family and village, so that one day, maybe I can make it up for it.” 

Neteyam sighs as if what I just said pains him. He brings his other hand up to my face. Both his hands cup my head, just below my ears, and his fingers spread down my neck. He stares into my eyes. “I see you.” 

I gasp softly. No one has ever said that to me before, not the way Neteyam just did. He said it with seriousness, understanding, and love. A smile finds its way onto my face. Neteyam. His name, his face, his entire being; it’s all I can think about. How he also has fought to be perfect for his father, Toruk Makto. How he left his home for a place so different. He has been through so much and he remains kind. I lean my forehead against his so our eyes are mere inches from each other.  

“I see you.” 

He grins. The smile takes over his whole face and sparks in his eyes. His ears perk up and he begins to laugh. I smile unsurely at him. “What?”

“I don’t think there is anything you could say or do that would make me stop loving you.” 

The breath rushes out of me. All I can see are his golden eyes, wide and honest. I don’t think, I just reach my hand out and pull him towards me. Our lips meet each other instantly. He kisses me softly, like he’s telling me that he loves me and understands me. I kiss him tenderly back, wanting him to know how precious he is to me. How much I adore him. 

I pull back and he studies me, his shoulders relaxed. I run a finger along his cheekbone. “I guess you’ll be stuck with me for a long time then.” 

He smirks before slipping his arms under me and pulling me close again. Our lips collide. He isn’t kissing me softly anymore. He presses his lips hard against mine like he’s trying to meld us into one being. I press myself against him, my lips moving quickly, desperately against his. He pulls back this time, panting slightly. 

“I better be.” 

I giggle and kiss him again. He sighs against my mouth as my fingers roam over his strong chest. His fingers grip my chin. His tongue brushes along the bottom of my lip, begging for entrance. I keep my mouth shut against his as I bring my hands up and tug his hair. He groans, causing me to smirk against his lips. He moves his hands from my face and slowly drags them down my neck. Goosebumps form along my skin as he continues trailing his hands down my body. 

Once again, his tongue runs along my lip. His hands trace my stomach before moving down to my legs. I open my mouth, allowing his tongue to explore. My hands run all over his body, from his hair to his arms and back, feeling his muscles move beneath his skin. I moan as his tongue glides against mine. He smiles against our kiss before pulling back. He begins kissing my neck as his hands roam up my thigh. He sucks on my skin with his lips causing me to sigh. Taking this as encouragement, he continues to suck and he squeezes my leg with his long fingers. 

Desire builds in me, heating my body. I grip the back of his head as he leaves a trail of kisses along my neck. I pull him back and kiss him roughly. Our lips collide again, this time in a desperate mess. Our tongues mix together and our hands fly across each other’s bodies. I straddle myself on top of him, our lips never breaking a part. I feel his hardness against me, causing me to moan into his mouth. 

I want him so badly it's a need. The yearning is carving into me. And by the way he twitches beneath me, and the way his fingers caress me, I know he feels the same. I dig my hand into his shoulder and he jumps back. 

“Ow!” 

I freeze. “Nete! Are you okay?”

“Yea.” He says, his voice thick. “Just a cut from earlier.” 

How could I have forgotten? The whole reason I came in here was to help with his injuries. As if reading my mind, Neteyam scoots forward and cups my face again. “It’s not a big deal, where were we?” He leans in to kiss me again. 

I place my hand on his chest, stopping him. “Let me at least get you cleaned up.” 

He groans and pulls back reluctantly. I smirk. “Good little forest boy.”

“I’m not little, ocean girl.” He leans back on his elbows and smiles arrogantly. “I think you know that.” 

My face heats as I think of straddling him. How he felt… His arrogant smile grows. “And did I hear you call me Nete?” 

I smack him. “Don’t start.”

He laughs which makes me laugh. “Turn around and let me patch you up.”

He listens and turns to face the fire. I use some of Neytiri’s cloth to pat his cuts. I clean each one, being as gentle as possible. Neteyam doesn’t hiss or complain. He just sits patiently. I clean three on his back, one on his arm, another on his cheek, before finishing with his forehead. I study his skin, the way his dark and light blue coloration mixes together. How parts of him glow in the darkness of the night. The way he looks in the firelight. I don’t think I’ll ever get over how beautiful he is. 

When I’m done, I put down Neytiri’s things and sit across from him. “You’re all good.” 

“Thanks to you.”

“It’s my fault you got in a fight in the first place.” 

He shrugs. “Probably won’t be my last.” 

I give him a pointed look. He smiles and takes my hand into his, rubbing it softly.

“Soon, when all this sky people stuff is over, I want to take you to the forest.” 

Neteyam has told me so much about the forest. The greenery, the smells, and the life. My heart swells at the fact that he wants to take me there. I squeeze his hand tightly. “I’d like to see it.” 

“There we could,” he begins, looking right into my eyes. “We could be mated properly before Eywa. If that’s something you would want.” 

I nod as my mouth breaks into a wide grin. Him and I in the trees, laying in the grass, being together. Really together. Blesses by Eywa. We could start a family, a life together. Neteyam, who knows my worst parts and wants me anyway. I could cry all over again. “Yes. I want that more than anything.”

“There are so many things we will do. We’ll see it all. Do it all. Start a family.” 

“Be more understanding parents than ours.” 

He laughs. “Yes. I want to experience everything in the world. And I want to experience it with you.” 

I can’t contain my joy; it seeps out of my heart and into the air around me. I can see our future lying before us, it’s so vibrant. “Then what are we waiting for?”

Thank you for all the support!!

Part 5 will be the final part but I am going to keep writing. Send me submissions or comment requests for other things you guys would like to read!!

As always, I love getting feedback so let me know what you think! Thanks :)

[beansprean]

Familiar interviews continue...

My Familiar’s Ghost part 82

Masterpost Masterpost 2

See the latest pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Upholstered chair on a mottled brown background. Sitting on it is a tall thin white man with short blond hair and a goatee, wearing a light blue leopard print suit over a white vee neck with white heeled boots and a chunky pinkie ring. He is lounging confidently, legs crossed, one hand poised up in the air as he says smugly, 'I graduated top of my class at New York Familiar College.'

2a. Reverse shot, waist up of Nandor and Guillermo sitting on the couch opposite. Nandor brightens and replies, 'Really? That is very impressive...' Guillermo glares at the applicant suspiciously, arms crossed and finger tapping rapidly. 2b. Reverse shot of the man on the chair as a stream of water sprays in from offscreen and hits him in the cheek. It burns and steams where it hits his skin and the man shrieks, rocking back and pulling his legs up from the floor in shock. His disguise immediately poofs away to reveal none other than... Simon The Devious! 2c. Reverse shot, full body, of Nandor sitting at one end of the couch, clipboard in his lap, as Simon rushes past and out the door, hissing and smoking. Guillermo has leapt up from his seat and is posed with feet shoulder width apart, holding a spray bottle in both hands like a pistol and pointing it at Simon's retreating back. He shouts after him, 'Get out of here, Simon! You're not welcome!' Nandor shrinks back against the couch to stay out of the line of fire.

3. Back on the chair, now featuring Sean, who is hoisting himself out of it by the armrests with a confused expression. He mutters, 'I was just, uh... lookin' for the bathroom...'

4. Reverse shot waist up of Nandor and Guillermo on the couch. Guillermo is slumped in fatigue, eyes closed, briefly removing his glasses as he groans, 'You live next door, Sean...' Nandor cups his hand around his mouth and turns toward the hall, calling out, 'Laszlo! Come collect your friend, please!'

5. Close up of Guillermo's clipboard, which has a few handwritten pages clamped onto it. The top page is divided in half by a line of ink, the left side labeled 'Applicant' and the right side labeled 'Recommended by'. Every line has been crossed out in red ink. The list of prospective familiars includes: Clara Tran, John Merkt (recommended by Nancy the Relentless), Farrah Baker, Sarah Colleton-Hampstead (recommended by Pamela), Kayvan Novak (recommended by Nancy the Relentless), Sky Velasquez, Marshall Vu (recommended by Elvis), Devon Simmons II (recommended by ???) scribbled out more than the others, Katie Blum (recommended by Greg Blum), and Muhammad S- before the panel cuts off. From offscreen, Nandor calls out, 'Thank you for your time; we will be in touch. Please do not get eaten on the way out. Next!'

6. Back to the chair, this time with Sam the cat sitting in it and letting out a polite mew. From off screen, Guillermo says, 'Well, that's disappointing to hear, Sam.'

7. Reverse shot, full body of Nandor and Guillermo on the couch as Sam walks toward the door, tail held high. Nandor is slumped toward the center of the couch, head propped up on his hand and clipboard abandoned at his side. Guillermo, clipboard in hand, waves after Sam with an awkward smile and says, 'Good luck at your new position! And let us know if anything changes?' Sam meows in reply. /End ID

[skzdarlings]

final part: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 19k words)

warning for this chapter: the usual story dynamics plus explicit violence, intense peril, threat and injury to reader, graphic depictions of death, explicit sexual content.

-

Your father will be here soon.  He kept his distance during the rescue operation but will reconvene with his team before the journey home. 

You and Felix wake long before his anticipated arrival, when dawn is only just peeking into the hotel room. 

You lay in bed, your head on his bare chest and his arms around you.  You discuss the potential confrontation ahead.  Last time you were taken, your father was less than sympathetic to your plight.  Even though this was more his fault than yours, you are certain you will take the blame.   He cannot take responsibility for a misstep.  If he is fallible, he is weak, and that puts his whole existence in jeopardy.  It must always be someone else’s fault.    

Therefore it is likely he will punish you.  Therefore it is likely he will ask Felix to do it. 

“Felix,” you say when he does not look at you.   He is staring out the window with a look of pure frustration. 

“I know,” he says.  “You want me to do it.  Last time I…” 

“Yes.” 

There is no need to discuss last time.  You both know he fumbled that exchange.  Felix is meant to be the personification of resolute strength and obedience, the perfect soldier.  His moment of weakness snared your father’s attention, as weakness always does.  Your quick response remedied the situation well enough, but you will not be so lucky next time.   The only thing worse than a moment of weakness is the persistence of it.  He cannot hesitate again. 

“If,” you say slowly, “we want to find a way out… then now, more than ever, we cannot give him any reasons to be suspicious of us.” 

“I know,” he says, but his jaw is still clenched and his gaze is faraway.  

“Felix.”  You touch his jaw, minding the darkening bruise, and turn his face to yours.  His expression softens when he meets your gaze.  “Thank you,” you say.  “I love you.  I trust you.  It will be okay.” 

He cups your cheek and lifts your face.  His looks at you like he is studying every small detail.  Even though he must know your face perfectly – seeing it when he wakes, before he goes to sleep, every day for so much of his life –  he looks at you like he is seeing you for the first time all over again. 

You laugh when he flicks your bottom lip, the little pout he has long since called his weakness. 

“You could convince the sky it wasn’t blue,” he says, and kisses you tenderly.  “I love you too, sweetheart.” 

Maybe it is the novelty of hearing that out loud, or maybe you will just be crazy about him forever, but you feel flustered.  You laugh and squirm, your skin hot.  It makes him laugh, the menace kissing down your throat just to make you wriggle more. 

“Don’t let my daddy catch you then,” you tease, breathlessly.  “He wouldn’t like that very much.”    

The returned chuckle makes you shiver.  You run your fingers through his hair but he grabs your wrist and pins it down.  Your breath catches when he sucks a bruising kiss on your throat.  He is usually so careful about leaving marks, but today he dips his head to the soft skin of your breast and bites a mean little mark into the tender skin, making you gasp and buck beneath his hold. 

“No, he wouldn’t, would he?” Felix says, his deep voice dropping even lower.  “What would everyone say, hmm?  Your daddy, your guards… all those rich boys at those fancy parties who think they have a chance with you…” 

“Everyone thinks I’m a frigid bitch,” you reply, joining his game, smiling knowingly.  “And I am, aren’t I?  Nothing but trouble.”

“Nothing but trouble,” he says with a grin.  He flicks the covers off, then his hands are on your hips and he flips you as smoothly.  You yelp when he drags you halfway down the bed, arranging you as he kneels behind you.  “You can’t fool me, sweetheart,” he says.  One hand curls around your throat and the other snakes down your backside.  “Frigid?  Mm. I don’t think so.  I actually think you are very, very soft… and warm…” 

His fingers slip inside you easily, wet from your previous lovemaking and wetter still from his voice.  Every little breath and tortured groan has you twitching and gasping. 

“Felix,” you say.   

It is the right thing to say.  You are clawing at the bedsheets moments later, hiccupping on each watery breath as he holds your hips and fucks you right down into the mattress.  You press against it like you could disappear there, fucked into freedom, never to return to this dire world again. 

You sink into the bed and float in your mind, sighing when he wraps his arms around you and covers you with his body.  He is hot and whole and so alive, and everything seems possible while you are joined together.  You have each other, completely and irrevocably.  That is all you need to survive. 

You finish not a moment too soon.  You are nestled in his arms, kissing and kissing and kissing, flushed and satisfied and content, when reality comes knocking.  Felix throws on some pants while you scurry into the bathroom and close the door. 

Felix steps into the hall.  Between the bathroom door and the hotel room door, you only hear muffled voices.  Then a few clicks, then another knock, then you jump.   You are wearing a blanket and it slips with your surprise.  You adjust it frantically, but Felix says, “It’s just me.”  

You crack open the door to Felix in a t-shirt and his combat pants.  You recognize the tired lines on his face, cracks in the mask he is struggling to don.  His reassuring smile is not convincing. 

“Here,” he says, handing you some clothes.  “Your father is here.  He wants to see you at breakfast.” 

“Of course he does,” you say, just for something to say, letting your frustration seep into your tone. 

The bathroom tiles are cold under your feet.  A sharp snap of sensation and a reminder of reality.  Felix makes the world feel small in comparison to him, but the world is still there, ever turning with its usual machinations and politics and powers.  You are still suspended helplessly in the centre of it all.  Though you pushed the darkest truths to the corner for a few hours, making love and comforting each other, all those hurts and agonies are still there.  You see it in his eyes, his glance flickering from here to there as he roams with his thoughts.   

Neither of you have ever had a normal life and you do not know what to do with one.  He has been making difficult choices since he was a child.  Neither of you truly knows if you are making the right one now. 

You do the best you can with a strong hug.  It is a lingering, affectionate embrace, fitting your bodies together until you feel grounded. 

Felix looks over your shoulder, catching his own reflection.   You look back as well, his cheek against yours, your eyes meeting in the mirror. 

“I couldn’t stand the sight of my own face,” he says, his voice low even though you are alone, like the words are fighting his tongue.  It is hard to admit.  He swallows hard but continues, “I hated the stupid kid looking back at me… I wanted to be someone better, someone who could actually do something right…” 

You look at him rather than his reflection.  When you touch a strand of blonde hair, he closes his eyes, as if he can feel the pad of your finger on a lock of hair, smarting more than his bruises. 

“Is that why… the hair?” you ask clumsily.  You do not know how to wade through ten years of emotion.  Felix has coloured his hair regularly since the day you met him.  The blonde suits him but it is clearly unnatural.  It has not been soft in a very long time, coarse from repeated dye jobs. 

The colour is just one more layer of his meticulous mask, crumbling in front of you as he nods and sighs.  An admittance.  He could not stand to look in the mirror and see that other version of himself, the boy he was, the boy who made all those mistakes.   You see him, the years of questioning his choices, the impossible tether around his throat.  There has never been a day he has not questioned his choices.  Working for one bad man or another.  Rescuing his friend or his lover.   Letting violence happen or letting the violence use him.

You kiss his cheek, then below his jaw, threading your fingers through his hair.  You scratch at his scalp, just a feathery light touch, one that makes him melt in your arms.   

“I love you,” you say.  You find it is an addicting word yet it never loses its potency.  Your heart still races when he touches his forehead to yours, when he strokes your sides and hums a gentle sound of pleasure.  “Things have changed a lot over the years.  But we’re still here.”  Still living your lives, even in broken bits, those stolen pieces you mentioned so long ago.  “We’ve changed.  We’ll change again.  Things will happen and we’ll figure it out.  But please don’t hate that boy anymore.  I care about him a lot.  I want him to be happy too.” 

His face scrunches with the threat of tears, but he controls himself.  He pushes the emotion into a laugh, though it is humourless.  Then he closes the space between you and kisses you, cups the back of your head and holds you there until you are both satisfied. 

“All right,” he says in a rough voice.  “Get dressed.  It’s going to be a long day.” 

“You’ll be there, though,” you say. 

“Always,” he says, a hint of amusement touching the corner of his lips.  “I’m your bodyguard, hmm?”

You laugh and kiss him again. 

“Right,” you say.  “Always.” 

-

Your father sits at a dining table in the penthouse suite.  Behind him, a window wall flaunts the city skyline.  Daylight casts a glow around him like some deified king lording over his petty kingdom.  Guards loiter in the room and the corridor, keeping their eyes sharp as hotel staff prepare the table. 

You sit across from him with the sunlight in your eyes, the usual position of discomfort and inferiority.  He does not look at you, nor does he greet you, his eyes on his phone until the table is set.  A staff member goes to serve him but he dismisses them. 

“All of you, go,” he says, not just to the staff but his team as well.  They filter out of the room one by one.  

The penthouse is a ostentatious space, all white linen and gilded frames, tall ceilings and bay windows, but as the room empties, it becomes frighteningly big.  Or maybe you just feel frighteningly small, his tactics working as they often do.  Your father knows how to push your buttons because they are the same as his.   He is scared.  It makes him angry.  He makes you scared.  It makes you angry. 

“Felix,” he says.  “Stay.”

Felix is all that tempers you.   He stands against the wall but you do not look at him, staring at your father until he finally looks your way.  Despite the light, you hold his stare, feeling a modicum of triumph when he looks away first. 

“Did they damage you?” he asks.  His phrasing almost makes you laugh.  Damaged.  As if outside forces were needed for that. 

“I’m fine,” you say.  “My bodyguard rescued me.  Your team was damaged, though.”  You throw the word right back at him.  You cross your leg and sit back, like you are as unbothered as him.    

You know that underneath his cold exterior, he is anything but casual.  He is letting his rage simmer as he builds to some awful retaliation.  He was conducting a mission, sending his best asset on a job, and it was interrupted by your kidnapping.  A kidnapping that nearly lost him more than his heir, but that same irreplaceable asset.  An asset that previously made a mistake in front of his eyes.  This is no longer a game, a squabble between a parent and child, but a real world crisis with dangerous consequences.    

You should not provoke him, and that is why you do.  Because provoking him is something you have always done and you need him to see you as that hapless child if you are going to beat him.  You do not want to arouse further suspicion in him, that you are sitting here thinking about your own schemes, that you know more about his assets and operations than he could ever suspect.

So you toss your rejoinder and he catches it, as he always does, with a cruel smirk. 

“There are more where they came from,” he says.    

Returning like cockroaches and squashed just the same.  If only a multi-generational empire could be toppled as easily.  But your father is more than a man across a table; he is ten men in the corridor and more on the ground, he is paid staff and investors and a whole society.  

Though you feign nonchalance, inside adrenaline pounds.  Sweat gathers, your heart races.  He is good at making you feel small, but at least it is predictable.  The scene unfolds  in your mind before it happens, the script playing before a single action is commanded.   You will be scolded.  You will be reprimanded.  You will be punished. 

“Felix, come here,” your father says.

You predicted he would involve Felix after what happened last time.  The only question is what manner of punishment he will force from his hand.  All you can do is trust Felix to play his role so you can play yours.  You made it clear the physical pain was meaningless, that you could take whatever he inflicted.  Just another inside joke between you.  You will laugh about it one day. 

You do not look away from your father.  Your eyes are locked in a challenging stare, daring the other to break.  You are scared, but you feel so much more than fear and rage.  With your love for Felix, with the hope in your heart, you are an ocean of feeling and you are not ashamed of it anymore.  You stare your father down and mutely convey that you are not broken, that he did not win, that he never will win. 

His answer is the flick of a kitchen knife.  It slides across the table and nearly tumbles right over the lip.  It teeters within arm’s reach of you.  It is tempting to look and consider its purpose with the trepidation you feel, but you do not.  You tell yourself he will only hurt you so much, that putting you in true peril would surely be counterproductive to his overall efforts.  Whatever plan he has for that knife will be a momentary pain you can recover from.

Then he says, “Felix.” 

Felix steps into your periphery, the black of his fatigues a shadow at your side. 

“Pick up that knife,” your father says.  “Put it through your hand.  Right through to the table.”

It is not the demand you were expecting, not by a long shot.  As your father stares you down, steady where you start to waver, you realize this test is not for Felix.  It is for you.   

“I trust,” your father hisses the word, “you know the spot that will inflict the least permanent damage.”

The last time your father made this demand, you and Felix were kids at the start of your messy life together.  Instinct propelled you to stop him.  Over the years, you have mastered schooling your reactions.  The girl who tackled Felix, the girl who sobbed while he was beaten, that girl learned to save her tears for later.  Your father’s version of you is a cold, headstrong, hateful fool.  She might stop Felix to combat her father, or she might let him suffer out of pure hatred. 

Both options feel wrong.  Regardless of what you choose, you feel like you are giving something away.  You feel like your father will see right past it.  He stares at you like he will find your secrets written on your face.    

You have seconds to decide and that is not enough time.  The moment passes you by.  Felix plants his hand and takes the knife.  Your father does not count him down.  He watches you, willing you to make a mistake, to show your weakness.  To prove him right. 

You flinch when the knife thuds into the table, the soft reverberation of the wood accompanied with a gross little squelch that sounds too loud in this too big room.  Your reaction is strongly stamped on your face, disgusted and upset.  You look away to stop the tears that stab behind your eyes. 

Everything that has happened, everything you have done, and you are right back here.  After everything, he still ended up with that knife in his hand. 

Your father rips it out.  Felix catches his breath but does not cry out.  You catch a glimpse of the bloody knife before your father tosses it on the floor, as if he is discarding something insignificant. 

You slowly meet his gaze.  He is still assessing you.  You cannot tell if you passed or failed his test.  By the scrutiny of his regard, it seems he does not know either.  All you can do is look at each other while Felix bleeds beside you.

“You may go,” your father says, cold as the ice that locks your limbs.  It takes you a moment to stir life back into them. 

“Felix,” your father says.  “You stay.  We have business to discuss.” 

You do not look at Felix.  You cannot bear to look at him.   On the escorted march back to your room, you are quiet, biting the inside of your cheek to stop any more unwanted reactions.  Only when you are alone in the room do you let it out, an aggravated cry as you rip a pillow off the bed and whip it blindly across the room. 

This was never going to be easy, but now it feels like the ongoing struggle between you and your father has led to an insurmountable deadlock.  He has you enclosed in his fist and he is threatening to crush you in it. 

You do not think he knows about the true nature of your relationship with Felix.  He might suspect anything, an affair the last of it.  Even a menial friendship would be a detrimental betrayal to him.  All he sees is a smudge of a weakness in what should be the strongest cog in his machine. 

He is testing you and tormenting you.  He is perched on his pedestal, waiting for you to throw yourself at his feet in eventual penitence.   

You will not.  Not this time.  Your father is expecting retaliation in the form of equal dramatics and you will not satisfy him.  You will sit quietly.  You will do what you have been doing, stealing pieces of your life in the silence and shadows.  He controls a realm of power, affluence, and violence.  You control yourself.  Love has saved you all this time.  It will be your means of escape for good. 

You sit in quiet repose until Felix returns.  Although you promised to remain calm, you cannot help but fuss over his injured hand.  It has already been stitched and bandaged but you peek beneath the binding, almost gagging at the sight.

“All right, enough,” Felix says.  He lifts your head and guides it onto his shoulder instead.  You are sitting on the small loveseat under the window.  You throw your arms around him and hold tight. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, a tear sliding from your cheek to his shoulder.  You sniffle. 

“Don’t be,” he says.  “I can take the pain.  It means nothing.  Sweetheart, he means nothing.”

“I know,” you say, but you sniffle one more time anyway.  Gathering yourself, you lift your head to look at him.  “What did my father want after I left?” 

“I don’t fully know,” Felix says, the tenderness in his expression giving way to uncertainty.  “He said he wants to continue the job,” Felix says.  “He and Miroh, they’re both chasing these long-term investments in some government building contracts… Miroh has been getting in the way of your father’s deals, so he’s been mostly standing guard.  Then he got intel that a significant asset of Miroh’s would be involved in securing an upcoming bid…  And he thought… he thought with the right team he could… acquire whatever this asset was…” 

“Chris,” you say, a breathless note.  “That’s why he brought you on, isn’t it?  He told you the acquisition was Chris.”

“If Chris was alive, if he was working for Miroh even after everything…”  Felix swallows.  He looks pained, like all these words are hard to say.  His voice is rough and the words scratch like sandpaper as he forces them out.  “Between me, your father’s back-up team, and the element of surprise… We had a chance of stopping Miroh’s subterfuge and getting… rescuing… Chris.  Finally.” 

But Chris might be dead.  Your father might have killed him.  Miroh has a vast artillery and the asset in question could be anyone or anything.  It makes more sense your father was using Felix to eliminate this obstruction.  That is what he always does.  He uses someone like a thing, strengths and weaknesses calculated, and works them into his scheme. 

You look at the bloody bandage, wrapped tight around that wounded hand, and you cannot bring yourself to vocalize these awful, pessimistic thoughts.  You say instead, “But why would he want to continue the job now?  You no longer have the element of surprise.”   

“No,” Felix says.  “We don’t.  That’s because the job is over and your father is lying.” 

“What?”

“Chris is dead.”  Felix says it for you, with a hard set to his jaw that you recognize as a shield against emotion.  He does not look at you because it exposes that vulnerable, human part of him, and right now he is fighting to maintain his composure.  Cool, collected, he plainly states, “There is no chance of this job succeeding anymore.  Miroh caught onto us.  He interrupted us.  Whatever we were after is not there anymore.  Your father is just pulling my leash to see if I fight back.”  He takes a deep breath before saying more.  “He wants an excuse to question my loyalty.” 

“He is provoking us,” you agree.  There is a second of silence, both of you in contemplation, then you say, “We can’t let him.” 

“If I refuse this job, he will just get worse,” Felix says.  “If we try to run right now, we won’t get far.  We need to do this right, we need to—”

“Take the job,” you say.  “You said yourself, the job is over.  My father is a bastard and an idiot but he would never risk sending his best team somewhere dangerous when he has nothing to gain from it.  Call his bluff.  Take the job.” 

“I can’t leave you again,” Felix says, eyes closing as he clenches his good fist.  “I won’t leave you alone with him again.  Not right now, not like this.  Sweetheart, if something happened—”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, wrapping your hand over his fist and gently uncurling his fingers.  You nudge your nose against his chin, coaxing him to turn his head.  He finally does, sighing as he looks down at you.  You smile.  “I’ll be safe in the house.”

“It’s more dangerous in there than out here,” he says. 

“You know he won’t do anything worse than he’s ever done before,” you say.  You look down when you touch the bandage on his hand.  “We can take the cuts and bruises a little longer.  Do the job, then come back to me.  And who knows…”  You kiss his cheek, a touch of comfort.  “Maybe you’ll find the truth about Chris.” 

“I know the truth,” he says, unmoved.  “He’s dead.” 

You do concede it is incredibly likely.  If anything stopped your father from killing Chris, it was not morality, rather the practicality of breaching Miroh’s defences.  But it sounds like Chris was trouble to Miroh, so it is possible there was no pushback.    

It still breaks your heart to see Felix like this.  The burden of this bargain has caused him strife for so long, but you can see how it motivated him too.  As the hope leaves him, a light dims, and even your affection cannot ignite it. 

“How do you know that?” you ask helplessly. 

“I just feel it,” Felix says.  “In my heart.  I guess.  I think, umm.  I think.  I think I’ve known for a long time.  Maybe from the last time I ever saw him.  But I needed to believe in it.  I think I needed to believe Chris could be saved because then maybe—”  He looks down at his injured hand.  His fingers twitch when he fails to close his fist.  “Then I would have done something good,” he says miserably.  “Maybe then I could be worth saving too.”    

“Felix. Baby.”  You touch his face, still minding the bruise that grows more vicious by the second.  It only adds to the ache in your chest as you look at him, beaten and battered for someone else’s sake.  He has been taking hits every day since he was fourteen years old.  Whether it was for you or his friend, he was willing to surrender his life if it meant even a possibility of saving someone else.  “Felix, you have more heart and humanity than anyone I have ever known,” you say.  “Everything you have ever done has been because of love, despite what they tried to make you otherwise.  How can you not see what I see?” 

He looks at you, really looks at you, the way he did this morning.  He traces the curve of your cheek and brushes the subtle pout of your lips. 

“You’ve always seen more than most people do,” he says.  “You give me something else to believe in, you know?”

“Stop flirting,” you tease gently.  “This is serious.”

He laughs, his smile soft but sincere.  You kiss him slowly, until you are breathing the same uneven breaths, your hearts no doubt beating in tandem.  

Then you pick yourselves up and prepare for what comes next.   

-

Your father claims they will be gone for a week but you know it is not true.  There is no real mission so they will return in a few days at the latest.  For your part, you can only wait.  

Even though you have a tenuous plan, it is still hard being separated from Felix.  You remind yourself that you could not protect him in the field anyway, but logic is meaningless to your heart.  You imagine a version of yourself that is possessed of so many skills, she could wipe out every obstacle without breaking a sweat. 

But you are you.  Your skills are more emotional than physical and right now that physicality is even worse than usual.  You are lethargic from a brutal couple days, weak from the drugging, sore all over, and you cannot sleep well in an empty bed. 

You wake repeatedly in the night, startled by a nightmare where you are being taken, where Felix is being beaten, where your father kills him and a dozen boys like him and all you can do is watch.  The nightmares drag you into consciousness where you are barely eased, the reality of the world not so different from your nighttime horrors. 

In the daylight, you maintain the healthiest disposition possible.  You keep your distance from the security team, sitting in your room or quietly on the couch.  You do not engage when they antagonize you.   They grow bored of your presence soon enough, especially when they cannot get a rise out of you, leaving them with nothing to report to your father.

You expect the hours to drone endlessly.

Then you have a visitor. 

You ignore the doorbell.  The security team does not seem surprised by the interruption so you disregard it.  Maybe it is just another member of the team. 

You ignore the bell and the bustle of guards.  You head to the kitchen to scrounge for some lunch instead.  You hum as you chop vegetables, not paying any mind to the footsteps behind you.  You expect it is a member of the security team, stalking you in the name of supervision.  You turn to address him, a saccharine sweet smile at your face and a drole quip on your tongue, but your heart stops at the figure standing across from you. 

“Hyunjin?”

You breathe more than whisper his name, like surprise has winded you. 

You stand there, knife in hand, jaw hanging open as you stare into the face of your old friend.  He is somehow even more handsome than you remember, long dark hair framing his face, eyes fierce and cheekbones sharp.  An expensive blazer hugs his trim form.  His boots resound with a softer thump than combat boots, so you should have realized it was someone else sooner.

You never would have guessed him.  You have not seen Hyunjin in years. 

“Hello, my girlfriend,” Hyunjin says with a smile, dazzling and beautiful and oh-so very fake. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask tentatively, so perplexed by his appearance in your house that you do not know where to begin.  You nearly pinch yourself to make sure you are not dreaming. 

“Your dad called my dad,” Hyunjin says, his voice very light and casual, like he is picking up a conversation you paused an hour ago and not years ago.  “He thought you needed company so you wouldn’t try running away off or something.  So here I am.  Ta-daaa.  Company.” 

Security shuffles past the kitchen.  Hyunjin pauses, listening to the scuttle of their booted feet.  When the din quiets, he smiles at you again.  It does not reach his eyes. 

“Hyunjin,” you whisper, laying the knife down.  “What on earth is happening?  Why are you here right now?”

Voices, laughter, the team in the other room.  You and Hyunjin look at the door.  His smile droops and he leans closer when he says, “Somewhere quieter please.” 

You are still in something of a daze when you lead Hyunjin downstairs to the gym.  A guard departs after giving the room a sweep, as if anyone or anything could have gotten down here with all the security.

Then it is just you and Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin crosses the room, taking in the space and equipment.  He whistles long and low while shaking his head.  It makes you laugh despite everything. 

“No, no, it’s nice,” Hyunjin teases.  “I never saw this room before.  But I always remembered your house was very small and understated.”

It’s a joke but you cannot force a laugh because his reminiscence sends you hurtling through your own memories.  He turns and you see a younger version of him, just for a moment, beaming and bright.  Hyunjin used to be the hopeful one, the person with a plan and ambition.  He believed there was more to life and he believed he could achieve it.  He was so certain that it sparked a flicker of hope in you.  Now your flame is an inferno but there is no light or fire behind his eyes.  He is so cold that it is hard to believe there was ever a flame. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, imploringly.  “What happened?” 

“A lot,” he says.  He puts his hands in his pockets like he feels at ease, but his eyes keep darting around the room, betraying his discomfort.   

Though your friendship was short, it was substantial.  You know him.  Right now he is labouring beneath the weight of his performance, his charming expressions crooked, like poorly fitted clothes.   He looks like an uncanny duplicate of the boy you once knew. 

You step closer to him.  He does not move, frozen in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets.   When he eventually looks at you, it is with a slow lift of the head.  You swear you can see a curtain drawing across his face as it happens.  This close, you realize just how pale and wan he looks.  He is grey at the edges, like he is fading away before your very eyes. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, instinctively reaching out.  He flinches away from your touch, then tries to smile like it didn’t happen.  You do not hide your distress. 

He finally drops the pleasant façade.  His hands fall out of his pockets and swing at his sides.  His countenance is even colder, his striking features sharper than ever as he levels you with a venomous stare. 

“Don’t pity me,” he says.  “I can’t stand it.  I made my choices and I’m living with the consequences.” 

“Consequences?” you ask.  “Did they catch you trying to—”

 “I never left,” he says.  “I never even tried.  I was close.  I had a whole plan.  A way to start over.  But then...”  He turns without any warning and walks to the mirror wall where he looks at himself.  His hand hovers in the air, fingers curling.  “I met someone,” he says.  “And he wasn’t who I thought he was.” 

When he does not elaborate, you step closer.  You reach out to touch his shoulder, a consolation on the tip of your tongue.  Before your touch even lands, he spins around and looks right at you. 

“It turns out he was working for my father,” Hyunjin says.  He speaks in a plain tone, conveying facts without any unnecessary sentiment, but you can see the red in his eyes as he strains to hold back emotion.  “It was my fault for being so stupid.  With the way things were going, I should have seen it coming.  There is no such thing as selfless love.  Everyone serves themselves in the end and I was stupid to compromise my well-being for someone else.  I deserved the betrayal.” 

“That’s not true,” you say without hesitation.  He is talking about someone else but his words feel like a slap against your friendship too.   You grab his hand like you can squeeze sense back into him.  “I’m so sorry you were hurt,” you say.  “But you can’t honestly think—”

“Hurt.”  He chokes on the word and rips his hand back.  “It nearly killed me.  I wish it killed me.  I wish I was anywhere but here.  But I am stuck here because of my stupid feelings.  Everyone has a weakness waiting to be exploited and you can’t trust anyone not to take advantage of yours.”

It sounds so much like your father that you stumble back.  It resonates with a heavy slam against your ribs and the heart beating inside them.   That heart feels so wrung out these days, swollen with so much love one second then shrivelled with pain the next.  It throbs now.  You are hurt just witnessing his pain.  He has been betrayed and broken and he is unreachable in his grief.  You can only imagine what he has endured to end up back here, in this house, with you. 

You cannot blame him for guarding himself, but your combative side rears its stubborn head.

“There are good people,” you say.  “There are people that can be trusted.  You can trust me, after all.” 

“I don’t know that,” he says.  “We don’t know each other anymore.” 

“That is definitely not true,” you say.  You and Hyunjin clicked so well because your circumstances were so similar, your fears and pain the same.  “We know each other perfectly, Hyunjin,” you say. 

He looks away, blinking rapidly.  His shoulders hunch.  It looks so wrong for a man like him to curl in on himself in shame. 

“Fine,” he says.  “One person.  It doesn’t make a difference.”

“One person makes all the difference,” you say.  “Remember Minho?” 

That one really makes him flinch.  You are pretty sure a slap would hurt less. 

“And Felix,” he says, his voice softer now.  He scrunches his eyes shut like he can stop his pain with enough concentration.  He pushes through and says, “He works for your father, doesn’t he?  I remember him at that party.  He was with the security team.” 

“Yes,” you admit.  “He works for him.  In a way.” 

“And you still trust him?”  Hyunjin laughs.  He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.  “That’s just stupidity.”

“It is not.”

“He works for your father and takes his money and you still trust him not to betray you?  That’s stupid.” 

“It’s not.”  Frustration bubbles inside you.  You want to grab him and shake him around, like you can sift through and find the real Hyunjin underneath all this.  “I know I can trust him completely.”

“You can’t possibly know that for sure,” he says.  “He’ll betray you for the right price.  Everyone has a price.  You don’t think there’s something he’d trade you for?” 

That does sting, if only infinitesimally, as you recall Felix and his conflicting desires.  But you do not begrudge Felix for his life choices.  He was an impressionable boy, raised to follow orders with no thoughts of his own.  It made him wise in some ways and naïve in others.  He fell into a bad bargain with a scheming man and found himself trapped.  He was forced to make difficult decisions.  It was not about choosing you or Chris.  You would never make it about that.   

“Felix loves me,” you say.  “And I love him.   You’re right.  There are things he wants desperately.  But he doesn’t have to trade me for it.  He knows I would surrender myself willingly to see him happy.  Just like I know, no matter what else happens, he will always come back for me.  No matter where they hide me.  No matter where I hide myself.  No matter what men like my father do to him.  We choose each other.” 

“Everyone breaks,” Hyunjin says weakly.  “No one’s that strong.” 

“Not on their own, maybe,” you say.  “We’re not alone.” 

There was so much ice in his feigned arrogance that you are startled when Hyunjin starts crying.  He covers his face with his hands.  His shoulders shake and his breath hitches. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, your own voice breaking.  You rush up to him in a flustered hurry.  You touch his head and his shoulders, trying to peer at him through his fingers.  “Hyunjin, talk to me, please,” you beg.  “Something else is wrong, isn’t it?  Hyunjin, why are you here?  Where are your parents?  Why did my father call yours?”

“My parents are dead,” he barely manages to speak, gasping between his hiccupping cries.  “It’s just me.  They came for me and my father was difficult, he asked for too much, and they— and I—”

“They?” you say. 

It is then you see it.  You are clutching his shoulder and it tugs at his blazer.  A shirt button pops open and your eyes drop to the exposed bruises across his collarbone.  You blink in disbelief at the horrible mosaic beaten into his skin, angry welts of red and purple and yellow.  It seems to go all the way down his chest.  When you part the material of his shirt, something else catches your eye. 

You freeze.

“Oh,” you say.  “Hyunjin.” 

He is wired.  Someone is listening.  Your father is listening. 

You stop breathing for a moment.  The world gets quiet.  You look at Hyunjin.  An old friend showing up at your house out of nowhere, presented like an offering.  Jisung was not important enough for your father to remember, but Hyunjin is a different matter.  He is rich if not wealthy.  His parents were upwardly mobile, his father the kind of pathetic rich man who thought he was equal to a man like your father.  Willing to do awful things to his own son to keep him in his clutches, then selling him to the highest bidder if it meant advancement.  His only mistake was asking for too much when he was ultimately expendable.  There are always more where he came from. 

You want to be wrong.  Your father is a busy man.  He would not waste time finding Hyunjin and putting him through so much just for this, just to corner you into a confession.  But you know he did.  This is exactly what he would do.  He moves like a coward, killing civilians and poisoning innocent boys, then he makes a show of throwing it in your face. 

He always told you friendship was beneath you.  What a way to prove it. 

“I think you’ve fallen in with a bad crowd,” you say, forcing a laugh through the gathering tears. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, a tearful whisper.  He touches your arms like he wants to hug you, but holds himself back. 

“Me too,” you say.  You warned him a long time ago that befriending you was dangerous.  You wish you had been wrong. 

You pull him into a hug and he immediately envelopes you, his arms around your shoulders and yours around his waist.   He chokes out a sob and squeezes you so tight that your breath catches.  Then he just holds you there. 

You do not know if it is his cologne or his shampoo, but it smells so familiar.  It takes you back to that treehouse, looking over a glittering neighbourhood as the sun set and he dreamed about the dawn. 

“I still remember that rhyme, you know,” you say.  The address of that cabin, written in a rhyming lilt that you never forgot.  “If you ever have a chance again… promise me you’ll try…” 

He chokes out another sob. 

“How can you still care about what happens to me?” he asks.  “What about you?” 

“I’ll be fine,” you say.  It is spoken calmly, for all that it is a lie.  “Promise me?”

He just nods, then pulls you closer again. 

You cling to him for as long as you can.  It gives you the strength to stay upright despite your shaking legs, even when you hear footsteps coming down the stairs.  You brace yourself for the worst, halfway expecting the whole house to erupt in a violent explosion. 

It is just a guard.  He says, “Time to go, Hwang. Visit’s over.” 

You want to keep hugging.  You feel like you will fall through the floor if he lets you go.  He is just as reluctant, but withdraws when the guard steps into the room.   He does not look at you as he leaves, head down as he trails towards the stairs. 

“Goodbye, Hyunjin,” you say. 

It stops him for a moment.  He nods then continues.  There is nowhere else to go but back up those stairs. 

You are left standing by yourself in the middle of the room.  The mirror wall makes the space feel never-ending.  You look at your reflection.  You look so rough already, scarred from your kidnapping, tear-streaked from crying.  Your hands tremble uncontrollably.  You remember a younger version of yourself sitting in front of this mirror with Felix, for a moment feeling like a normal girl with her boy.  His touch brought you to life.  He made you feels things you thought you would never feel. 

It will be your own voice your father plays back to you, your own confession betraying you. 

You will not be sorry for it.  

You look at yourself and wipe your face.  You take a breath.  You walk to the stairs, one step after another.  There are guards upstairs but they pay you no mind.  They have clearly received no orders, not yet.  You could try to make a run for it, but you would not get far on your own. 

Instead, you go upstairs to your room.  You look around like it is the last time you will ever see it.  You know that is not true, logically.  Your father will not kill you, but there are fates just as devastating. 

You walk through the room.  It is plainly decorated with a mix of things owned by you and Felix.  For all that this house is not a home, you carved a shared space in this room.   You sit on the bed and study everything from discarded clothes to books to computer parts. 

Something compels you to open the drawer on his side of the bed, that same single drawer you allotted when he first moved in.  A ragged old beanie sits at the bottom of it, the first thing he ever owned.  You fold it over in your hand and squeeze it like a talisman, like it will infuse you with some magic to endure whatever storm is blowing your way. 

You cross the room and touch a few more things.  You find some university textbooks and your heart aches with the desire to return to those times.  You lived a fleeting few years like you were completely free, in love and happy and home. 

You will probably never see Seungmin or Jeongin again, but it brings you some peace to know they will live good lives.  You will never forget their willingness to intervene on your behalf despite the odds being so stacked against them.  Maybe they were not very good at it, smacking chairs and throwing drinks, but you will remember them fondly.  You wish you could say goodbye. 

With that thought, you pause.  Your gaze drifts to your computer. 

You cannot say goodbye to Seungmin or Jeongin, but you can say goodbye to someone else. 

You never wanted to risk contacting Jisung from home, just in case your father was found out.  But everything is ending today, one way or another.  There is nothing more you can lose.   You will take some comfort in a final word to an old friend before you are sealed in this gilded mausoleum.

You sit at your computer.  You log into the blank profile you made some time ago.  It is hard to tell if you are nervous because your stomach is so twisted in knots already, but you think there might be some happy anticipation.  You try to manage your expectations because there is a chance Jisung did not read the messages, seeing as they came from a blank account. 

You should have known better than to doubt him.  You log in to several new messages, laughing from the first line.

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!! IT’S YOU????? MY GIRL!!!!!!!

Okay sorry about that I am totally so cool I promise.  I’m just in shock.

I know you told me not to, but just so you know, I spent a year trying to reach you... 

Well, actually, I spent like four months crying my eyes out and being miserable and pathetic first..  On god, I eyed a jar of peanut butter with some serious thought for a minute there!!!  But then no, no way.  I had to keep going. 

I tried to find you.  Your bitch ass dad is famous because he’s an ugly rich loser so his properties are listed all over a million websites.  I found the one in town where you must live and I rode my bike there a bunch of times but uhhhhh yeah much to my eternal disappointment I am not James Bond and that security system was insane.  Don’t even get me started on when all the dudes in the army gear kept showing up.

On an unrelated note it’s way harder to buy explosives than you’d think. 

Just want you to know I did try to get in there.  You were never alone even if you felt like it. 

But it sounds like you’re not alone anyway HELLLL YEAHHHHH she is getting SOOOME.  All jokes aside I am crazy happy for you.  You deserve it for real.  He better be treating you right though or I WILL find a way through that gate and I WILL kick his ass.  Just say the word and I will be there in a heartbeat. 

He goes on for a while, the whole length of his message making you smile.  When you did not respond, he sent a few more, spaced further and further apart from each other.   The last message he sent was just a few days ago.

Hey I don’t know if you’re getting these.  I like to think so.  You don’t have to answer if you are.  I know you are in a dangerous spot.  Or maybe you’re not anymore and you got out.  In that case, I hope you never read these.  I hope you’re out there living your best life.  Maybe we’ll cross paths again but if not, I count myself lucky for knowing you at all.  I think we’re both slightly insane and everyone else I meet is way too normal haha. 

What I’m trying to say is I miss you like crazy.  I hope we can laugh together again someday.  Even if we never do, let’s say we will.   Keep smiling till I’m there.  Catch ya later crazy girl.

You smile.   Then emotion takes over, tears returning as you lay your hands on the keyboard to type a response. 

You have just hit send when there is a knock at your door, then it is opened without your permission.  You turn and look at the stoic guard who beckons you forward. 

“Your father is home,” he says.  “He wants a word.” 

You nod.  You spare one last look at you screen before logging out and shutting down.  You are certain it is the last message you will get to send.   A warmth fills your chest regardless.  You know it will reach Jisung.  His laughter and energy fills you with the strength you need to walk steadily out that door and down the hall.

-

Hi Jisungie. 

Thank you for your messages. I just read them all now. It wasn’t easy for me to check them before, but I did it today because it might be the last time I have an opportunity to do so.  My father found out about my love affair and seeing as it was with the one person he could not afford to lose, I have no doubt that a reckoning is on its way.  I thought he was bad before, but he has only gotten worse over the years.  I am sure this betrayal will put him over the edge.

I do not know what is going to happen.  I was scared until I read your messages.  They truly made me smile.  You have always made me a little braver.  I think I got less rebellious over the years because I got scared, but now… The worst has happened and I’m still here. 

I will figure it out.  But in case I never get the chance to talk to you again, I just wanted to say thank you one more time.  I miss you too, Jisungie.  I think about you so much.  I wish I could laugh with you again, the kind of laughter where nothing is all that funny but we can’t stop anyway.  Thank you for the times we did. 

I am happy to have lived my life because I knew you. I appreciate all the good times so much more because of the hard times.  You were a one-of-a-kind friend.  I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

Keep smiling for me.    

Goodbye. 

-

Your father is behind his desk. 

There is no one else in the room.  They close the door behind you.  You walk calmly up to the desk and take a seat in your usual spot.  You sit as straight as you can, perched on the edge of the seat.  You are still lower than him, but you feel bigger and stronger than you have ever felt in your life. 

Your father draws out the silence, perhaps waiting for you to break down.  You stare at each other.  When he opens his mouth to speak, you interrupt him.  You are uninterested in games and dramatic embellishments, which you know he will indulge.  You simply ask, “What did you do to Hyunjin?” 

“I would not worry about the Hwang boy if I was you,” your father says spitefully.  “You have bigger concerns—”

“And yet I am asking about him,” you snap.  “What are you doing with him?”

“What I do with everything when it is no longer useful to me,” he says.

It is the answer you were expecting but it still draws your rage like a magnet.  It punches out of you, your eyes wet with tears when you say, “You’re pathetic.”

“How many times must you suffer humiliation at my enemy’s hands before you understand that none of this is a game?”  His voice rises as he speaks.  “Do you want to be out on the streets?  Do you want to be brutalized?  Do you want—”

“I would rather die rotting in the sewers with Felix than spend even one more minute under your roof,” you say.

You wonder what surprises your father more: the vicious tone or your blatant confession.  It stuns him into silence.  You know you have disrupted his script.  There is little sense in taunting you with your words if you utter them plainly before he can try. 

“I see,” your father settles on saying.  He presses a button on his desk and the buzzer in the corridor resounds.  “Let’s put that to the test, shall we?”

The door opens and several guards usher inside.  You spare them a fleeting glance before your attention narrows to the figure between them. 

“Felix!”  You stand but cannot reach him.  He is surrounded by guards and they will not let you touch a hair on his head. 

He moves like he is completely boneless, evidently drugged with something to make him bleary and slow.  He thumps heavily onto his knees when they put him there.  His eyes are hazy as he looks around the office.   They pause on you, flicking up and down, then he smiles through the pain. 

The pain.  It is not just a drug.  He looks like he went a few rounds with a cement wall, his lip split and his jaw bruised.  His bandaged hand is soaked through with blood, the rest him as battered.  His injuries disappear beneath his shirt and pants but you know it is not a pretty sight.  You swallow down the bile in your throat before looking at your father. 

“He’s your best asset,” you say.  “You can’t lose him.” 

“Oh?  Can’t I?” your father asks.  “Can’t I?  Can’t I?  You think you know something?  You think you can tell me what to do?  You, when all you do is destroy what I make?  I give you everything and this—this is how you—”  His yelling sharpens to a shriek before he starts breaking things.  It pulls Felix further out of his haze, his eyes tracking the frantic movements as your father smashes a vase near your feet. 

You think about that tiny shard of glass from last time, the miniscule thing that started it all.   It makes you laugh even though nothing is funny.  Laughter is an emotional output just like crying, so it pours out of you with no regard for the actual gravity of the situation. 

It only worsens your father’s rage. 

“Does something here amuse you?” he asks, but you are laughing too hard to answer.  There is a vein throbbing in his forehead and you imagine it bursting.  You imagine all your problems solving themselves as he drops dead from his own rage.   The image is even funnier because you truly cannot imagine this man dying.  He is a monster.  If you stab him, you fear he will just mutate and come back worse. 

“You want to laugh?” he snaps.  He crosses the room to Felix.  “Laugh.” 

He holds out his hand and someone places a gun in his open palm.  This snaps you out of your delirious giggles, a winded whoosh spilling out of you.  

Your father does not execute action himself.  He always puts the gun in someone else’s hand.  The fact he is pointing it at Felix should tell you that his threat is not serious. 

But he has never been this furious, his anger a white hot cascade of fire.  Felix is just inches from the barrel of the gun.  Even an inexpert marksmen like your father could drive a bullet between his eyes. 

So the moment he grips the weapon, you shout, “Stop!” 

Your father looks at you with a cock of his head, satisfied with your reaction. 

Then he jumps back because Felix rushes to his feet, most of the fog dissipated.  Your father’s stupid men did not think for a moment that Felix would repeat a strategy.  Just days before he allowed himself to be captured so he could rescue you.  It seems he has done that again, feigning the depth of his condition.  He swings to his feet and kicks out. 

His injuries restrict his movement.  He is good at ignoring pain but his body overrides his consciousness.  He fights nonetheless, struggling with the guards while you watch. 

You look around for something that can help.  You snatch a paper weight off the desk  and prepare to throw. 

Your father is a step ahead of you.  Suddenly you are staring down the barrel of a gun, your father on the other end, fuming. 

“No—!”  Felix says before he is beaten down.  With his attention diverted, a guard kicks the back of his legs.  His knees buckle and he goes down with a groan. 

You look at him then flick your eyes back to your father.  You raise both hands and lift a challenging eyebrow. 

“You want to do this?” you ask.  “Really?  After everything?”

“After everything,” your father says.  “Exactly my words.  A house, an education, unending protection.  You want for nothing.  All I ask in return is obedience and you cannot even grant me that.  You have the audacity to betray me for this animal.”  He waves the gun around like the clumsy, ungainly thing he is.  It makes a few heads duck, including yourself.  You fear this man will kill someone without even trying.  It makes it hard to listen, which might be for the best, as he goes on a long tirade about privilege and position and loyalty. 

He starts merely angry but it turns downright diabolical. 

“And you.”  He turns to Felix.  “I dug you out of Miroh’s gutter!  I made you a bargain!  I gave your meaningless life purpose!  You are nothing without me.  How dare you think to take what is mine.  How dare you think you are anything more than a dog.  How long have you kept this secret?  How am I supposed to trust it is the last?  You are a liar.  For all I know you are lying about everything.  Is that it?  Are you a spy, feeding reports back to Miroh?  Is that why I can never succeed in my missions?  Have you been—” 

Felix bursts into laughter.  His face scrunches with delight, his cheeks dimpled. The low rumble of his laughing voice sounds real, honest amusement at the proclamation.  It fades to a sigh, then he looks up.

You have never seen such a dark glare shadow his features, made all the more horrifying thanks to his bloody injuries.  It makes your stomach drop even though it is not directed at you. 

“You fail at all your missions because you’re an incompetent idiot,” Felix says.  “You couldn’t even control two children. What makes you think you can control Miroh?”

“Have you forgotten our bargain?” your father yells, waving the gun towards Felix again.  “You lie and trick your way into my household and still expect—”

“Our bargain,” Felix spits the word and some blood sprays out.  He spits the rest on the floor and shakes his head.  “I know he’s dead.  You killed him a long time ago.”   

The room is quiet for a moment.  Your father is still holding the gun, though it dangles at his side.  He and Felix stare each other down.  Although Felix is kneeling, his sinister stare is far more terrifying than your father’s blank gaze.  But then that empty gaze turns cold and your father smiles, one of those sharp smiles that opens like a slash across his face. 

“Now how would you know that,” your father says, “if you are not a spy for Miroh?”

“One of Miroh’s men told us at the warehouse,” you interrupt.  It earns you nothing but a wrathful glare from your father.  He gestures to you and a guard puts a threatening hand on your shoulder. 

“You will speak when spoken to,” your father snaps.  He looks at Felix again.  “Oh.  Yes.  You.  Whoops.  I very nearly forgot, it was so long ago when I killed your friend.  Does that make you sad?  Poor little boy.  You should have remembered your place.  Your kind are born to die for men like me.”

“Men like you,” Felix says.  Mourning will have to wait so he laughs because he cannot cry.  “You’re pathetic.  Not a surprise, though, yeah?  Since your father took care of everything before I killed him—oh.  Whoops.”  He tilts his head and smiles, speaking with the same saccharine tone your father just used to mock him.  “It was so long ago.  I almost forgot I shot your daddy in the fucking head.  Does that make you sad?  Poor little boy.  You should have remembered your place and stayed behind your walls.  You’ll never be a man like him.” 

Your father has never looked so stricken.  You did not even know his face could contort such a way.   It makes him look very human for the few heartbeats that it lingers.  You can almost picture a younger version of your father, breaking under the fist of his father before him.  

Then he schools himself.  Once more, the untouchable monster stands before you.  The gun wobbles only a little when he raises it, taking aim at Felix. 

“Stop!” you shout.  You were just picturing the passing of generations, so maybe that explains why your panicked brain compels you to blurt, “You can’t kill him! I’m pregnant!” 

This time every head in the room swivels towards you.  Even the other guards do not hide their surprise.  Your father stares, jaw agape, and Felix looks just as bewildered.  You feel bad because you can see thought flickering behind his eyes, wondering if maybe you are telling the truth.  It makes his face change, pain flashing.  Panic seeps into his veins. 

“Excuse me?” your father says. 

You almost trip on the chair.  Your knees knock and your voice shakes when you say, “You heard me.” 

“I know what I heard.”  At least it succeeds in garnering your father’s attention.  He forgets about Felix entirely as he stalks towards you, gun clutched in his undoubtedly sweaty hand.  “My problem lies in understanding how this can be.”

“Well,” you say slowly.  “I can’t imagine you really want me to explain that—”

You father backhands you across the face.  You careen into his desk, barely catching yourself. 

“It could work in my favour yet,” your father says.  “Start fresh.  Fix where I went wrong with you.  Because you are an irredeemable and entirely lost cause.” 

This baby is not even real yet you panic at the thought.  It unspools an infinite and horrifying future, this house an eternal monstrosity birthing a new generation of tyrant and monster.  Hurting and contorting everyone in the family name for the sake of maintaining that vast estate.  

This has to stop. 

“Of course I am,” you say.  You take a long, steadying breath, then you push yourself upright.  You turn to your father and meet his gaze, aware of the gun but feigning complete nonchalance.  “I can’t believe it has taken you this long to realize it,” you say.  “You lost me a long, long time ago.  You want to control everything because you’re scared of losing anything.  But you’ve already lost what you were trying so hard to protect and you can never, ever get it back.  I will not continue what your father started.  I will not be what you have become.  I am not like you and I am proud of that.  I am proud that I love my friends, and Felix, despite how much you tried to stop me. But I am me and I am not scared.” 

You dive at him, a vicious tackle spurred by that hurricane of emotion inside you.  You tackle him so quickly that it takes the guards a second to react.  The gun clatters to the floor as it flies out of his hand.  He throws up his fists to protect his face when you swing down with all your might.  What you lack in physical strength you compensate with drive, slamming your fists down without care for where they land, again and again and again. 

Then someone grabs you by the collar and yanks.  It is one of the guards, pulling you to your feet.  Your father shrieks and hollers like a wounded dog, snarling and frothing like one too.  He gets to his feet and swings at you. 

Felix rises, struggling to reach you.   You stretch out your hand, your fingertips touching before you are yanked apart from each other.  You cry out, struggling in the guard’s death grip to no avail.  Felix is fighting the other guards but his injuries put him at a disadvantage. 

You are dragged away from the chaos.  Your father picks up the discarded gun on his way. 

“Take her outside!” he shouts at the guard, then turns to the mess in his office.  “Don’t waste your energy.  Shoot the boy.”

“No!” you scream, so guttural you hardly recognize the sound.  You cry as gunshots ring in the office, but you lose sight of the skirmish as you are dragged, kicking and screaming, down the stairs and out the front door. 

You curse at your father and the guard, bits of your shirt ripping when you fight to escape.  You are smacked and twisted, your shoulder popping so painfully that it makes you wail. 

“Stop it, stop it!”  You are fully sobbing, either from pain or panic.  It does no good as you are dragged into the night.  The grand driveway is lit like a stage awaiting players, lamps and towers beaming over the pavement.  The gate opens to the street beyond.  It is pitch black.  There are no other houses on this hillside, the estate sprawling across its expanse, so there are no streetlights.  A black car is parked on the curb.  It feels like a chariot to the underworld, black and swallowed by shadow.  You are as good as dead.  Felix might be truly dead. 

You struggle some more but you are in so much pain.  Your father is shouting directions at the guard and it splits his attention.  His grip loosens and you successfully break free. 

You do not hesitate.  You run into the street, straight through the pitch black.  If you run far enough, you will eventually reach a proper street leading into the city.  You do not even care which direction you go.  You just run, ignoring the screaming pain in your muscles as your feet hit the pavement.

A gunshot pierces the quiet night.  You stumble to a stop, throwing your hand up over your heart.  You touch your chest, expecting to find a bloody wound.  But there is nothing, not a single drop.   You were not shot. 

You spin around and watch the guard fall to the ground, a bullet in his head.  Your father turns too, holding his own gun at the approaching figure. 

Your knees almost buckle as relief washes over you, Felix storming down the driveway with a gun of his own raised at your father.  Felix is badly wounded, but even at his worst he is a far better shot than your father.  They both know it too, staring each other down as Felix gets closer and closer. 

“Stop where you are!” your father screams, his voice breaking. 

Felix ignores him, gun still raised.  Your father fires a shot that goes wide.  Felix does not even blink as it ricochets off a wall.  He walks calmly to the sidewalk where your father stands.  He does not smirk or gloat.  He just looks at the frightened man who terrorized the world to make himself feel better, and he lines up a shot. 

Felix pulls the trigger. 

Nothing happens. 

His brow furrows before his face twists with fury.  The gun has jammed or it’s out of bullets, but either way it is useless.  He lowers his arm, the gun dangling from his hand as he stares at your father.

Your father just laughs, a ridiculous and semi-hysterical laugh as he stumbles back but never lowers the gun.  Felix is much closer now.   Even your father could not miss this shot.   

Felix drops his gun and smiles weakly. 

“She’s funny, you know,” Felix says.  “And smarter than anyone I know.  She picks up on things everyone else misses.  It’s too bad you can’t see it.  But then, you’re not like her.” 

“Shut up,” your father snaps.  “You have exceeded your uses, boy.” 

You realize you are running.  Even before the conscious thought reaches your mind, your body spurs you into action.  Instinct commandeers control and you hand yourself over to it.   Felix looks up just as you emerge from the dark.  He sees your face for a split second, enough time for him to realize what you are doing and shout, “Stop!”

Your father’s finger is already on the trigger.  A shot rings out and this time it does hit you, sharp and searing as you dive in front of Felix. 

The gun hits the ground.  Your father looks at you with petrified eyes.  Felix catches you, supporting your weight as he sinks to his knees with you in his arms. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, touching your face, your neck, your chest.  “Sweetheart, look at me.  Stay with me.” 

The pain is excruciating, like nothing you have ever felt before.  You cannot even tell where it is coming from.  It feels like your neck and shoulder and heart all at once.  It radiates and burns.  The pain is so overwhelming that you do not notice the wet, tacky feeling of blood.  You see it before you feel it, all over Felix’s fingers as he finds the bullet wound in your shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” he says, barely more than a gasp.  His chest is rising and falling rapidly.  You scream in agony when he grabs your shoulder and squeezes it hard in his fist.  “I know, I know,” he says.  “It exited clean.  There’s nothing vital there.  You’ll be okay, sweetheart, I got you.  I just have to staunch the blood.  We just have to—”  His voice breaks on a sob and he looks up at your father, his hand covered in your blood and his rage as red on his face.  “We have to get her help.  Now.”  

Your father’s response is to pick up the gun.  He nearly drops it, his shaking hands clammy, but he gets an unsteady grip eventually.  He points it at Felix again.  

“Are you fucking serious?”  Felix shouts in aggravation.  “Your daughter is going to bleed to death if you don’t do something.  Put the fucking gun down!”

“Get away from her,” your father says.  “Get away from her and put your hands up.  I’ll get her help.” 

“No,” you say, shaking your head then crying when pain lances down your neck.  “No, Felix. Don’t.” 

Your father will not take another shot at Felix, not with you in his arms.  Your father might want to control you, but he does not want you dead.  You are the only thing that is protecting Felix now.  If he moves, he dies. 

“Don’t go,” you beg.  “Felix, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Felix says.  He looks up at your father, venom in his voice as he asks, “Are you really going to stand there and let your daughter die?” 

“Are you going sit there and let her die?” your father retorts.  “Get away from her and I will save her.” 

You feel Felix twitch. He presses his fingers a little harder, stopping a rush of blood.  It makes you weep and you plead, “Felix no.  Please.  I can’t watch that.  I’d rather it end like this.”

“Don’t say that.”  Felix looks down at you.  His bloody hand is shaking, tears spilling down his cheeks as he looks at you.  “Nothing’s ending.  You’re gonna be fine.” 

“It never ends,” your father babbles.  He almost drops the gun when he trips over the lip of the sidewalk, stumbling backwards into the street as he stares at you.  You stare back, wondering if it is your blurry vision or if he is really crying.  All you can see is him wiping his face, the gun trembling in his hand.  “It just keeps going,” he says.  “Only I can end it.” 

He is taking aim again.  You cannot tell if he is aiming for you or Felix, maybe some half-baked delirious plan in his twisted mind to put you out of your misery and take Felix with you. 

Felix does not have time to attack.  He can only curl his body around yours to protect you from the shot. 

Then a beam of light shatters the dark.  It flies up the street, illuminating your father.  He looks in that direction.  Everyone is drowning in their sobs and it is all so loud that it takes a second to hear it: the heavy, growling drone of a speeding car, hurtling ever closer.  The white of a high-beam headlight blinds your father with lightning hot intensity. 

It is the last thing he ever sees. 

Felix is as startled as you.  You both cry out in horrified shock.  He blocks your body to shield you from the sudden and unexpected gore.  Noiseless convulsions tremble through your whole body as you stare up at Felix, not understanding what just happened. 

You both look over as the car rapidly reverses, disappearing just as quickly as it came.  In its wake is your father, or what remains of him.   

Just like that, the whole world tilts on its axis.

You cannot comprehend what you are seeing.  This man was a towering, nightmarish monstrosity, bigger than life and death, holding the world in his fist.  Even he desperately believed in his own mythology.  It seems impossible that he could be that nightmare but also be this, a broken and very human body, muscle and gristle and protruding bone, half flattened to the tarmac.  A sudden and entirely undignified death, comically animal, and as lowly as everything he ever disparaged.   

You and Felix stare at him, at the mess of his ruined dead body on the dark street.  It is so, so quiet.  The house is so still.  The street is empty.  You can hear the soft buzz of the floodlights. 

You make a hurt noise.  Felix looks down with a perplexed shake of his head.  But he only has a moment to mind you, his mouth open with some unspoken thought, when you hear the car again. 

You both look over, your heart racing and your blood spilling over his hand.  He is wearing his most determined face, braced to face an adversary. 

You do not know who to anticipate.  It makes no sense for Miroh to be here.  He would not have known anything unusual was transpiring at this house tonight.  How could he know to send someone?  Yet it is the only thing that makes sense.  The only person who could have taken down someone like your father would be someone just like him. 

You are braced for the worst when the car comes to a stop.  The dead body looks more grotesque as the headlights flash over it. 

The driver does not turn off the engine.  You hear the patter of frantic footsteps before the silhouette is illuminated by the car lights.  Wide eyes meet yours and your heart stutters.  Your tears are halted by the face staring back at you. 

“Oh my god,” Jisung says.  “That was the bad guy, right?” 

Felix reacts first, a bark of laughter made in disbelief as he stares at your startled best friend. 

Han Jisung is both the same and different, with a flop of dark hair and big brown eyes, but years have passed, leaving him bulkier and more mature.  He pushes a pair of glasses up his nose, the wide frames only exaggerating his eyes, making it very easy to hold his gaze when he looks at you. 

“Jisung,” you say, and start crying all over again.  “Jisung.”  You cannot seem to find another word.  You just gasp his name between sobs.

Jisung practically flies towards you, landing on his knees. 

“Hey, stranger,” he says, carefully touching your cheek.  “You’ve looked better, I’m not gonna lie.” 

You laugh even though it hurts, reaching for him with a shaking hand.  He takes it despite it being sticky with blood, cupping it safely in his own. 

“You’re here,” you say.  “How? Why?” 

“Of course I’m here,” he replies in a soft voice.  “I got in my car as soon as I saw that goodbye message.”  He gently squeezes your hand.  “You didn’t think I’d let you get away twice, did you?”        

Your laugh is more of a sob, in too much pain to truly smile.  Felix asks Jisung to help, showing him where to apply pressure.  Jisung complies, holding you while Felix tugs off his shirt.  It leaves him in a tank top, all his scars and bruises on display.  You want to fuss over him too but he gives you no opportunity to linger, using his shirt as a makeshift tourniquet for your wound. 

“So your boyfriend is Felix,” Jisung says while he works.  “That’s great. I was rooting for you two crazy kids.  Felix had a pretty obvious crush on you in high school.  I didn’t say anything because you kinda seemed to hate his guts but I guess that’s not true anymore.  You had some bigger bastards to hate.  Speaking of, that was your dad I got right?  I mean, I didn’t even think, I just saw him waving that gun around and I hit the pedal.  Next thing I knew—ohhh shit, Felix, you’re really strong, what the fuck, man.  Have you been working out—” 

Felix scoops you into his arms and stands.  His usual unwavering strength falters just a little, his injuries protesting his action.  You tell him to put you down because it will do no good for you both to collapse.  Jisung stands and helps steady you.  They both lay a hand on your back, taking some of your weight as your feet touch the ground and you wobble. 

“That’s my girl,” Jisung says.  “Oh man, that’s a lot of blood, ha ha ha – AHH.  No, it’s fine, we’re okay.  Careful—”

“Jisung,” Felix says, looking past you to meet his eye.  “Are you okay?”

A more than fair question considering how fast everything just happened.  Jisung stops rambling and takes a few deep breaths before he answers. 

“Okay, yeah,” he says.  “Totally fine.  For now.” 

“Okay,” Felix says.  “Because I need you to take her while I—”

Your ignore their conversation.  Your eyes are on your father.  You cannot even call it his body; it is a carcass.  His lower half is gored but his face is mostly whole.  You half-expect his mouth to open with a wailing shout.   You are so distracted with the thought, you misstep and your weak ankles give out.  You are spared a kiss with the pavement when Jisung catches you.  It is a haphazard embrace, throwing his arms around you to keep you upright. 

“Can you take care of her until I get back?”  Felix asks. 

“Uh-huh. Yes,” Jisung says.  He puts his growing bulk to use and lifts you into his arms, bridal style.  You cannot move your shoulder to lift your arms around him, but you rest your head in the curve of his neck as he carries you to his car. 

His car.  Hysterical giggles bubble inside you, quashed only by the physical ache of your body.  Han Jisung really raced back into your life and annihilated the worst of your demons by driving right at him.  

Years of nightmares and beatings and pain.  Years of your father lording his power over you and the world.  Years of believing he was terrifying and untouchable.  

Jisung always said it was that easy.  He was just a teenager, lookingat the impossible powers that surrounded his friend but believing whole-heartedly he could save her anyway.  You argued and pushed him away, but he knew better all along.  Jisung was not cowed by money and influence, not impressed or frightened by men like your father who ravaged the world and gloated about it.  Jisung had no power or influence of his own but that didn’t matter.  He saw his friend was in a bad situation and he wanted to save you.   So he did. 

He carefully rests you in the passenger seat.  In the time it takes him to circle to the driver’s side, you break down crying.  The pain exacerbates it, your body seeking release, but it is sentiment that pours out of your heart. 

Jisung gets in, looking very startled.  He adjusts his glasses. 

“Did it get worse?” he asks, reaching for you with a bloody hand.  You look at it, you look at him, very literally stained with blood on your behalf.  He is staying composed but you can see the jitters under his skin.  He just killed someone for you.  It might have been a panicked, spur of the moment decision, but the end result was the same.  Even though your father was not a good man, taking a life is a serious burden. 

And here he is, placing that weight aside so he can check on you. 

“Jisung,” you say.  You wish your hands were not so dirty because you want to touch his face or hold his hand.  You satisfy yourself with leaning towards him, touching your forehead to his cheek as you cry. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jisung says.  He shifts so your foreheads are touching, his clean hand cupping your cheek.  “I got you, okay?  It’s over now.  Felix is gonna take care of it and I’m gonna take care of you.  It’ll be okay.  Don’t be scared, all right?”

“I’m not,” you say.  “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You’re my friend,” Jisung says.  “You don’t have to do anything to deserve it, okay?  Look.  I know what will make you feel better.”  He reaches past you into the glove compartment.  You have no idea what he could possibly have in there that will make you feel better while bleeding out of a bullet wound in the passenger seat of his car, the same car he used to murder your abusive father. 

He fishes around then pulls out a bag of spicy peanuts, the same flavour you used to eat all the time in high school.  Even though he was allergic, he bought them whenever he found them, just because he knew you liked them. 

You take them slowly, staring at the familiar packaging.  You sniffle.    

“It was always going to be you, wasn’t it?” you say softly.  You could cry all over again.   “You really came back.”

Of course Jisung saved you.  You realize now your father could never be bested by Miroh or someone like him.  They would be locked in a perpetual stalemate, predicting each other’s every step, giving and taking and killing in a circle of violence with no end.  But Jisung is not like them. 

Whether the gesture was big or small, whether it was peanuts or a rescue, it was selfless, and someone like your father would never understand that.  He never saw it coming. 

“Well, yeah,” Jisung says.  “My promise was forever, remember?”

You can only nod, bumping your heads together.  Jisung wraps you in a hug then kisses your forehead before buckling in and taking the steering wheel. 

“All right,” he says.  “We can catch up after.  Let’s get away from this place.  It’s giving me the creeps.” 

-

It is strange looking at your house on a news report.  It makes you feel like you are watching someone else’s life. 

You are stitched and showered, sitting on the floor of a twin bed motel room.  You are still damp from the shower but each little trickle feels like blood, your jittery fingers constantly swiping at your skin. 

Jisung sits behind you on the bed, his legs bracketing you, double checking your stitches.  Felix said it was paramount to avoid a hospital or any other institution that would identify you.  He told Jisung to book a room at a motel on the highway and wait for him, that he would stitch you up himself when he arrived.  Jisung took the initiative, boasting some first aid training for his job at the grocery store. 

“Usually I’m putting bandages on a cut finger,” Jisung said, hands covered in blood as he fixed your wound, “but this is, uh, similar I guess.  Sort of.” 

Felix arrived while you were in the shower.  Now he is in there, cleaning himself and minding his own injuries while you and Jisung watch the evening news report.   The blinds are closed, rain pelting the canopy over the balcony, but you are tucked away from the storm, hidden from the world as it mourns you. 

“A devastating house fire is believed to have left no survivors on the premises,” the reporter says, backdropped with a video of an inferno ravaging your father’s house.  “Police are still investigating, but among the suspected dead is a prominent local businessman and his daughter.”  They show a portrait of your father and an old yearbook photo of you.   That girl looks nothing like the battered woman you are now.  You really do feel like you are watching someone’s else story end.

“Wow,” Jisung says, watching too.  “How does it feel to be dead?”

You rest your head against his knee, sighing as you stare at the television. 

“I’m not dead,” you say, staring at the photo of you.  That girl might be dead, but you are very alive. 

Felix accidentally swings the bathroom door too hard, the thud like a gunshot in your mind.  You jump a mile out of your skin, digging your nails into Jisung’s leg unthinkingly. 

“Ah ah ah ah—”  Jisung grabs your wrist to pry you off. 

“Sorry,” Felix says, truly apologetic.  He closes the door with a gentle click then approaches.  He sits beside Jisung on the bed, laying his hand on your head and looking you over.  “How are you?” Felix asks.   He pays no mind to the news report but that is likely because he is responsible for the story they are broadcasting.  You know Felix would tell you every detail if you asked, but you decide you do not want to know how he moved the bodies around.  It is enough to see the walls of that place burning. 

He packed a few things first.  A stuffed duffel bag sits on the other bed.  Perhaps it should feel daunting, that all you have left is a single bag of necessities, but it feels freeing.  You are not burdened by the weight of more.  Your hands might be shaking and you might be hurt in more ways than one, but you can exhale. 

You take Felix’s hands and kiss his scraped knuckles.

“I’m fine,” you say.  “What about you?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says.  He looks more tired than you have ever seen him, but he manages a laugh when you pout at him.  “Don’t do that,” he says, flicking your bottom lip.  “Just some bad bruises, yeah?  I’ll be fine.” 

You know he is not fine but you respect his desire for peace.  You can check his injuries later when he has settled. 

“Well then, what about you, Jisungie?” you ask.  You turn around to face him.  “How are you?”

“Uh, honestly…”  Jisung rakes his fingers through his hair then exhales on a shaky laugh.  “I’ll let you know when I know.  It’s all a bit—uh—”  

“Yeah,” you say, taking his hand.  “I know.” 

You suspect there will be no proper words for a while.  You cannot even think of recovery while your wounds throb.  There are still gunshots firing in your mind.  When you close your eyes, you see a body on the pavement.  You expect a knock at the door and a gun in your face, even though there is no reason for that.  Miroh is probably sitting back and laughing at the detonation of your father’s house.  Your father’s people and investors will scramble over the company tomorrow.  That world will turn without you.  You will not miss it.    

You struggle to sleep that night.  You lay on your back to mind your shoulder but that is not your only grievance.  Felix lays beside you where he belongs and Jisung is in the other bed, so you are not alone anymore, but your adrenaline will not dwindle.  Now that you have a moment of peace, it feels more chaotic than ever. 

When you start breathing harder, Felix wraps an arm around you. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers.  He does not ask what is wrong.  It is more than self-explanatory.  You do not need to speak. 

You want to roll over and bury your face in his neck, but you cannot move because of your shoulder.  You suffice to hold his arm tight, closing your eyes as his protective embrace surrounds you.  His heart beats against your body and you let it lull you into a gentle repose. 

You do not sleep for long.  There is morning light when you wake but it is a bleary, early grey light.  Everything smells a little damp from the rain.  This is a small motel, meant to serve as a momentary respite for passing travellers.  You cannot stay here. 

Felix wakes when you do.  After a few morning kisses, he rises to use the washroom.  Jisung is still fast asleep in his bed, his cheek squished and his hair a shaggy mess on the pillow.   You smile, looking at him.  There is a gap between the beds but he is close enough to touch if you stretch.  You content yourself with looking, thinking about how lucky you are to have him again.  It is a light and happy thought, but it darkens very swiftly when you recall what he did to save you.  It is going to weigh on him, whether all at once or in pieces. 

The weight of trauma will be a heavy burden, but you are alive to carry it.  There are others who are less lucky.  You think about Hyunjin and your heart strains, recalling his final miserable departure.  Your father implied he had Hyunjin killed.  If he was not bluffing to antagonize you, then Hyunjin did not stand a chance.    

You are sniffling with tears when Jisung blinks awake.  He mutters in groggy gibberish before reaching for his glasses.    His tired voice is tinged with concern when he asks, “What is it?  Do you need something?” 

“No,” you say, wiping your tears.  “I was just thinking I know where I want to go next.” 

It is hard to talk about Hyunjin so you opt for vagueness over specificity.  The boys do not question the subject of the cabin when you mention his name.  You do not tell them he might be dead.  You feel like if you speak it out loud, it will make it true. 

It will take a week to reach the cabin by car.  Jisung helps you loads the necessities into the back a truck that Felix procured, only questioning its seeming manifestation after the fact. 

“I stole it,” Felix answers. 

“You stole a car?” Jisung asks.  It is a good thing the motel parking lot is empty because he practically shouts it, like stealing a car is the most horrifying thing he has ever heard.  You remember how you had the same reaction the first time Felix stole a vehicle. 

It makes you laugh when Felix draws his lips into a thin line, shaking his head at Jisung.  He turns to you and says, “You two really are identical, you know?”  

“What does that mean?”  Jisung asks. 

“I said the same thing the last time he stole a car,” you say.

“Dude!”  Jisung whips around.  “You stole two cars?”

“You know I’ve killed people, right?” Felix says dryly. 

“Well yeah, I mean, who hasn’t,” Jisung says with a nervous giggle. 

You whack him on the arm and shake your head.   “That’s not funny,” you say. 

“It’s a little funny,” he whispers while you roll your eyes. 

Though you want to keep him at your side, it feels selfish to ask Jisung to come with you.  He has a life here and he has already done so much to help you.  But he surprises you by emphatically volunteering himself, saying he at least wants to help get you there. 

“I don’t think I could just walk back into my normal life tomorrow like nothing happened,” Jisung says, tucking you under one arm.  “I don’t know what’s gonna happen next.  Can’t control it.  But I know where I want to be right now.  I’ll figure out the rest after.” 

So you take to the road, your destination a small cabin far away from your old life.  You stop along the way, at first for food and other necessities, mostly stolen by Felix, but then for pleasure when you drive through towns with interesting landmarks.   On the clearer nights, you sleep in the bed of the truck. 

You still do not stop for a real discussion.  You indulge the mental break while you can, all three of you taking the time to literally stop and smell the flowers on the journey. 

Bandages still need changing.  Stitches need minding.  The night before your anticipated arrival, you are in another motel room.  You and Felix sit in the small kitchenette, playing cards at the tiny table, while Jisung showers and goes about his nightly routine. 

You throw down a couple cards.  You look at Felix while he studies his hand.  The swelling on his face has gone down which is good for numerous reasons.  He has been wearing a baseball cap everywhere, the brim pulled low, to stop people from staring. 

There is a hard set to his shoulders.  It has been like that for a few days.  Even in your father’s house, there were moments Felix would soften, namely when he was curled up in your shared bed and the world seemed far away.  Maybe he cannot relax because the world is so immediate now.  It is strange that potential happiness can cause as much anxiety as its opposite.  Perhaps it is because it is so unfamiliar.  Your body only knows how to brace itself. 

Felix was raised for that express purpose.  Road trips and gardens and motel rooms was not in his training.  High school corridors and uniforms once baffled him, the mundanity of everyday life more exhilarating and frightening than a battlefield. 

You want to smooth his brow and soften his shoulders.  He sits like he is holding a breath and you want to draw it out of him.  A part of your stirs with arousal at the consideration, thinking how you could do that.  You have always found your humanity in that intimate space.  But you are both much too injured to try anything heavier than a kiss right now. 

This time, you reach across the table and touch his cheek, with no intention but a soft caress.  He blinks up at you, the cards forgotten.  You do not know what to say.  You just touch him.

He cups his hand over yours, holding it to his cheek.  He looks at your shoulder and other bruises.  It will take you a long time to heal, but nothing is infected.  You do not know how his injuries are faring because he will not let anyone look at them.  He claims he is fine.  You know he is not. 

“I love you,” you say.  “I swear it gets stronger every day.  Is that crazy?  Not a day goes by where I am not grateful for you, just as you are.”

He closes his eyes and swallows.  He nods. 

“I love you too,” he says in a soft, low voice. 

When Jisung leaves to get some dinner, Felix proves you wrong about lovemaking.  You are too injured for anything vigorous, but he can still lay you down, can still stretch alongside you.  He slips his hand beneath your waistband and touches you with long, careful strokes.   You unravel in his arms, your sore spots aching but the pain worth the pleasure.  You wrap a hand around the back of his neck and tug him down for a kiss.  You kiss him until he sighs and rests his forehead to yours. 

“Can I please see?” you ask. 

He finally acquiesces.  His scars are not too bad, more plentiful than painful.  He hisses but exhales when you kiss your way across a couple worse marks. 

“We’ll find a way to feel better,” you say, grazing your fingertips along his skin.  You recall what Jisung said, about how you did not have to deserve love, you just had to accept it.  “You don’t need to prove yourself anymore, Felix,” you say.  You dance your fingers down his bare chest to his waistband, kissing his shoulder as he sucks in a breath.  “Just be with me.  Let me love you.” 

“Always,” he says, dropping his head back as you touch him.  He cups the nape of your neck, squeezing lightly as you flick your wrist and stroke. 

You reach the cabin the next day.  It is late afternoon when you find the right place, passing a few other cabins before you find a quaint but charming one in the midst of a meadow.   The cabin itself does not flaunt much excess, but the meadow is flooded with flowers, a carpet of colour in the late afternoon light that makes it look like a something out of a fairy tale. 

The only problem is the smoke in the chimney.  The cabin is clearly occupied. 

“Is this the right place?”  Felix asks.  He and Jisung were admiring the meadow while you stared at the cabin, heart palpitating when you realized it was not empty. 

“It is,” you say. 

“Maybe it’s Hyunjin,” Jisung says. 

“It’s not.”  You close your eyes.  Hyunjin did not say anything about selling the property when you brought it up.  But, then again, there was a lot happening in that final exchange.  You made him promise he would try to get away if he could, but it might have been an empty platitude.  He knew he was going to die.  He knew you would never find out anyway. 

The distractions of the past week flutter into nothingness as you reckon with the grim reality of the world your father left behind.  You hang your head, swallowing hard. 

Jisung and Felix stare at you, their faces falling when they realize what you mean. 

“How?” Jisung asks. 

“My father chased him down,” you say.  “He used him.  He discarded him.  It’s what he does.” 

“What he did,” Jisung reminds you.  “And maybe Hyunjin got away.  We did!  That stupid hot weasel was a bitch but he was resourceful as fuck.” 

“Jisuuung,” you say, smacking his arm.

“What? I’m not speaking ill of the dead because he’s not dead,” Jisung argues.  “And if he was, he wouldn’t want me to suddenly be all fake and nice to him.   I annoy him.  That’s how I show my love.”  He kisses two fingers and waves it at the sky, then flips his middle finger too.  You laugh in spite of yourself, shaking your head.

Felix steps behind you and takes your hand.  He kisses your cheek. A breeze blows through his hair, his hat in his other hand. The three of you stand in the meadow for a time, looking at the flowers as you contemplate what to do next. 

The front door of the cabin opens.  You all turn.   An apology sits on your tongue, sorry for trespassing on someone else’s property.  The sight of you is no doubt disconcerting. Despite showers and meticulous first aid, you all look very rough, three obviously tired and run down people, a little dusty from the road and streaked with dirt from your hike to the cabin. 

You look at the person as they stand on the front stoop.  Your brow furrows and the apology disintegrates on your tongue, a bemused question poised to take it’s place.

“Minho?” is all you manage. 

You have not seen your first teenage crush in many, many years.  He looks older but not too different overall.  He is still very striking, even in his homey flannel and jeans, standing on the cabin stoop and looking at you with equal confusion. 

“Do I know you?” he asks, which makes sense.  You might have had a crush on him, but so did half the school.  He was a popular guy.  He knew Hyunjin but he only met you briefly. 

You want to tell him that.  You want to say you are friends with Hyunjin but you find it hard to say his name, especially with Minho gazing at you so innocently.  Why is he at the cabin?  Was he still friends with Hyunjin?  He likely does not know he is dead. 

You are spared your turmoil when Felix tugs on your arm, a sharp bid for attention.  You look at him, bemused, and he nods his head forward.  You look past Minho to the open cabin door as another figure steps into view. 

All that twisted pain unspools in your chest.  You nearly start sobbing in relief.

“Hyunjin!”  You ignore the surprised look on Minho’s face and run right past him.

Hyunjin is standing in the doorway, looking wary until he recognizes you.  Then his face breaks into a smile and those long limbs jump the porch steps.  You trample a few flowers that have grown over the path, meeting in an embrace amidst sprigs of lavender and vibrant hyacinths.   It is a very messy embrace, you and Hyunjin both forgetting you are injured.  You crash together only to yelp, your shoulder smarting and his bruised chest just as tender.  You laugh at each other then hug gently.  When your cheek touches his chest, your eyes water. 

“Am I dead after all?” you ask thoughtlessly, the beauty of the terrain and the embrace of your friend momentarily making you think so.    

Hyunjin laughs and shakes his head.  “I thought you were,” he says.  “It was all over the news.  I thought for sure—”

“I thought for sure you—”  You overlap with him, both of you laughing again.  “How did you get away?” 

“Nothing special,” Hyunjin says.  “I was being watched but they were waiting for final orders from your father.  Then word got out that he was dead so they just left.  I don’t know if they went to investigate or just abandoned post.  I didn’t stick around to find out. I packed my things and disappeared the first chance I got.” 

“We made a few stops on the journey over,” you say.  “I’m not surprised you beat us.” 

“I really thought you were—”  Hyunjin shakes his head.  “And that it was my—”

“It wouldn’t have been your fault anyway,” you say. 

“That’s what I told him,” Minho interrupts, his tone quippy but his lips quirked up in a smile.  He wiggles his fingers in a wave when you look at him.  “So you’re the friend,” he says.  “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m the friend’s friend,” Jisung says, skipping into the scene and waving at Hyunjin.  “Hey, man.  Missed me?” 

He is being playful but Hyunjin pulls him into a hug, very obviously surprising Jisung who almost falls right over.  Poor Jisung’s face goes red as a rose.  You remember his video about having a crush on his high school rival and can’t help but giggle into your palms. 

Felix puts a hand on your shoulder, smiling cordially at Minho.  “Hi,” he says. 

“This is Felix, my—”  You look at each other.  You lips move as you look for the right word.  Bodyguard is not strictly true anymore.  Boyfriend and partner sound so very mundane, but you realize that is what you are now.  “Boyfriend,” you say, feeling hot with embarrassment for no good reason.  You suspect the little things will have you flustered for some time. 

“Boyfriend,” Felix repeats, looking quite delighted for a second.  You are certain only you see the flicker of sadness that follows.  He blinks, his gaze faraway, but he covers it with another smile quickly enough.  “Nice to meet you,” he says. 

“I guess I’ll have to make a bigger dinner,” Minho says, playfully dry like the idea is a hardship, but smiling a knowing smile at Hyunjin, clearly very happy for him.  “Come on then.  Get inside already.  You’re crushing the tulips.” 

The cabin is one floor with a loft.  The main bedroom, kitchen and facilities are downstairs, some extra makeshift bedding thrown together in the small sitting area by the fireplace.  The upstairs loft is a small second bedroom, sparsely furnished with a mattress and blankets and little else.  The ceilings are low but the space is blessedly private.  You think it is some of the finest accommodations you have ever stayed in.   

You throw yourself on the mattress, curling up with a pillow and blanket.  Felix smiles and leans down to kiss the top of your head.  When he pulls away, you take his hand, regarding him imploringly. 

“Just gonna take a shower,” he says.  “Wanna clean up, yeah.”

You nod.  Even though you can see he is struggling with something, you let him go.  If he is not in the mood to talk, you will wait.  A shower will help him feel better.

He takes his bag and climbs back down the ladder.  You mean to wait for his return, but you feel such calm at finally reaching your destination.  The laughing voices of your friends float up to the loft, putting you even more at ease.  You release a breath and lay your head on a pillow.  The next thing you know, you are blinking awake.  The sky is a purpling pink, the day drawing to a close.  You can smell something cooking downstairs.  Your friends are still yammering away.  Hyunjin’s relentless giggles at Jisung’s goofy jokes makes you smile. 

You climb down the ladder and wander into the main room.  Felix was not upstairs but he is not with the others either.  He must have finished his shower a long time ago now. 

“Where’s Felix?” you ask, an edge of panic in your voice. 

“He’s just outside,” Minho says from behind the kitchen counter.  “He said he just wanted some air.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling a little foolish for panicking without reason.  “Right. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” Minho says, winking to comfort you.  You smile but nonetheless wrap your cardigan tighter around you, feeling a little embarrassed. 

Felix has been glued to your side for ten years.  Your instinct now panics in his absence, but you realize his absence is a good thing.  He does not need to be beside you at all times.  He is free to wander if that is what he wants.  You are glad he stepped outside for some air, rather than sitting over you. 

You step onto the small porch and look across the meadow.  You can see a shape sitting among the flowers at the edge of the field, looking down the slope to the park valley below.  You cross the flowers, minding where you step.  The breeze parts your cardigan and you tug it closed.  It is a somewhat clumsy walk overall.  Your last few steps are a proper stumble over a rock.  You miss it completely, distracted with what you find. 

Felix sits with his back to you.  You thought he was wearing a hat, but now you can see it is his hair.  He dyed it a shock of pitch black and trimmed the edges.  It is a messy, jagged cut that you will certainly have to fix later.  You suspect he did not spend much time looking in the mirror. 

“What’s this?” you ask.  “Is this why you wanted to stop at that drug store?”

Felix looks up at you.  The dark hair somehow makes his freckles stand out more.  He looks different but still very handsome.  You think you might be falling in love all over again, a little flushed inside as you sit beside him on the grass. 

“Yeah,” he says.  He runs his fingers through his hair, glancing up at the dark locks from beneath his lashes.  He sighs.  “And I don’t know why.  I just…” 

You put your arm around him, drawing him close to rest his head on your good shoulder.  He falls against you, breathing out again.  His shoulders droop, losing some of the tension that has plagued him. 

“I don’t know what to do now,” he says.  “I know this is all good, but I feel like I’ve done something wrong.  Like I’m not supposed to be here.  And I keep thinking about Chris.  How I—”  He rubs his face, then chokes tears.  “What am I supposed to do with all this life, especially when I couldn’t give him back his?” 

He cries properly now and you let him.  There is no right thing to say, not that you can think of, so you just hold him until he has expended the worst of his pain through his tears.  He takes a few shaking breaths before he sits upright, wiping his face.  You rub a circle on his back. 

“And you,” he whispers.  “It’s like, I feel everything all at once.  You call me your boyfriend and I’m happy, then I see you hugging Hyunjin and I think—he knows how to be a person.  I don’t know how to be anything.”

“Felix, you know Hyunjin is gay, right?” you ask.  You guarded that secret before but seeing as Minho is here at the cabin, you suspect Hyunjin is not keeping it secret anymore. 

Felix stutters on a shaking breath, looking momentarily confused. 

“Huh?  He is?” he asks, then gets a little weepy again, saying, “That’s nice for him.”

“Oh, baby,” you say.  You kiss his cheek and snuggle close to him, resting your head on his shoulder.  “I don’t know what to say.  I’m a mess too.  I don’t know how to do any of this right.  But I’m pretty sure grieving your friend makes you more of a person, not less.”  You look at each other.  You touch his cheek and stroke a thumb over his freckles.  You think you have them mapped by memory, every last dot.  “You’re not alone,” you say.  “I want to be with you when things are bad, not just when they’re good.  And you and me, we’ve known a lot of bad.” 

He laughs, his breath dancing over your lips with your proximity.  You smile fondly. 

“I think it’s time we feel some good,” you say.  “We’ll figure out what that means eventually.  Together.” 

He draws you close and kisses you, a sweet kiss that deepens.  You cuddle when the breeze blows a little harder, the evening chill creeping into the sunset.  Still, you do not move, sharing heat between you and sitting among the flowers until the pink has left the sky and a blue evening blurs into the purple wash. 

Minho sticks his head out the door to call you in for dinner.  You stand first and offer your hand.  Felix takes it, then kisses you one more time.  You walk back to the cabin, hand in hand.

Warmth wraps around you like a fuzzy blanket when you step inside from the cold.  Hyunjin and Jisung are playfully arguing at the table, Minho standing over them and yammering some nonsense back.  You and Felix smile at each other before joining them all at the table.  After he has served the portions, Minho sits as well. 

There is a moment of silence, everyone looking around the table at everyone else.  They all looked flushed with warmth and life, Hyunjin smiling and Jisung beaming at you.  Felix puts his hand on your knee under the table, squeezing softly.  You look at him with another smile, then a laugh, a sound of disbelief that resonates with everyone.  You are here, impossibly but truly.  You have no idea what happens now.   

“I’ll break the ice,” Jisung says.  “Because I have a confession, while we’re all here, and Hyunjin has his hot boyfriend cooking us a meal.  Hyunjin, my man, I’m sorry for being the dick of all dicks when we were in high school.”  Jisung lays a hand on his heart and dramatically makes his confession.  Hyunjin’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline as your goofy friend continues, “Turns out having an arch nemesis is super gay.  And I was a stupid repressed bisexual who thought furiously staring at you for seven hours a day was a totally normal thing to do.  Sorry, man.  Congrats on the hot boyfriend, though.” 

“I’m not his boyfriend,” Minho says.  His elbow is on the table, chin in his hand.  He is grinning at Jisung. 

“Come again?” Jisung says. 

“Not his boyfriend,” Minho says, laughing.  “I’m his friend.  He was in trouble and asked for my help.  I’m a good friend so here I am, helping him get settled.  I’m actually married.”  He holds up his hand, proudly displaying a wedding band.  He giggles some more.  “He’s single, though.”  He gestures to Hyunjin. 

Jisung looks at Hyunjin who has gone very pink in the face.  He glances at Jisung and laughs, covering his mouth to try and contain it. 

“Oh.  Oh.  Oh.  Yeah.  Cool.”  Jisung scratches the back of his neck, then his brow, then his chin.  He taps the table and nods his head rapidly.  “Awesome,” he says.  “Well, I’m really glad we clarified that before I made a really ridiculous confession in front of everyone.  That would have been super embarrassing for me.”

You all laugh, genuinely as Jisung soaks it in with a silly little grin.  The sound of your collective delight fills the cabin before chatter begins again and you start eating. 

You glance around the table while taking a bite.  Your shoulder aches, and Felix’s bruises are still healing, and you will not be surprised if a nightmare jolts one of you out of sleep tonight.  But you will wake beside Felix, you will comfort each other, and you will fall back asleep.  You will wake up tomorrow and try it all again. 

You know the times ahead will not always be easy.   You are ready to make mistakes and try.

It is not a perfect ending, but it is a perfect beginning.   

[riediaries]

satoru knows every part of you. every things you like and hate. he's able to locate each and every mole you have on your body and how many it is. it's like knowing you have been a second nature to him. in order words, he knows your whole nature and that's how you fell in love with him.

he knows you don't like eating a watermelon with seeds on it. you don't want to spit it out after or let alone eat it.

satoru silently observes you as you payed all of your attention to the sliced watermelon on your hands. picking every black seeds you see in the fruit.

you were getting irritated and he sighs, picking a sliced watermelon on the table and removed all the seeds in mere seconds.

"here, eat this. i already removed all of the seeds." he hands you a sliced watermelon. the red juicy part was clean. no seeds. just like how you like it.

"ah.. thanks.." you murmur, accepting the fruit and that was first time you felt a fluttering emotion on your tummy as you stare at the watermelon he handed you.

"mhm.." he hums. "you don't like it with the seeds on it, right?" he asks and you nodded. he hums again, nodding his head in a subtle way.

no seeds on her sliced watermelon, got it.

you like the beach, especially the sunset. he remembers peeking on your phone one time and due to his curiosity, he opened your photo gallery and you have a folder named 'sunsets<3'.

it has a lot of your pictures in the beach, capturing the breathtaking sunset and there are also pictures with just the sun but he likes the pictures with you in it. you're prettier than the sunset, anyways.

"we should go here sometime. the four of us." he tells suguru as they walk on the sand barefooted.

they just finished their mission and their flight will be tomorrow morning so they're spending their time to relax.

satoru keeps his eye on the setting sun. pink and purples hues were seen on the sky.

picture.. yes. i should take a picture for her. he thoughts and brought out his phone to take a picture. he sends the picture to you.

annoying blue-eyed freak: sent a photo.

annoying blue-eyed freak: sunset's pretty here today. you might like it.

you take a look at the photo he sent and the photo's automatically saved on your folder 'picture he sends'.

sunset lover princess: thanks, love it.

he smiles over the three letter word you sent. yep, his day's now complete with just your reply.

unknowingly to him, suguru secretly took a photo of him and he captured the most breathtaking satoru gojo photo to exist.

it's a photo of him on his side, smiling on his phone and the background is the sunset.

cool bangs: sent a photo.

your phone dings. you thought it's another photo of sunset from satoru but no. it's satoru with the sunset but he's not looking at the camera.

you stare at it for good few minutes.

cool bangs: if you're just going to stare at it, you might as well save it. i might delete it.

that message from suguru alone had your fingers saving his photo and put it on another album. a secret album named 'photos i love'.

yes, definitely 'love'.

satoru also knows that you love movie nights with them. horror, romance, or action. name all the genres present. you once told him that it's not about the movie you're excited but being able to spend time with your friends.

being a jujutsu sorcerer at a young age costs your freedom as a child and to dream. you will never know when you will die or vanish from this world. that's why you're spending all of their freedom time with you and they're actually okay with it.

same feelings, as they said.

"ahh! suguru! tell me when the haunted dolls are gone!" satoru clings to suguru as he scream out of his lungs.

"no, you watch it satoru. be a big brave man." he teases the young boy more. "i heard she likes men who's brave and can watch horror movies with her." he whispers to his best friend.

satoru eyes his best friend with a look of suspicious. "are you... sure?"

"her biggest turn off is actually a scared cat like men." he hums, adding more false informations about your type. "meaning, a boy like you, satoru." he dramatically covered his forehead and his eyes to express his disappointment for his best friend.

suguru knows that even when his best friend is screaming like a lady, you'll still like him. even though he can't bear to watch a single horror movie, you'll still like him because he's satoru. the annoying blue-eyed freak that constantly running on your mind twenty-four seven.

the two best friends eyes the two of you. shoko and you, unimpressed on their nonstop bickering and satoru's screams and unbothered on the horror scene in front of you.

wow. just wow. what a scene.

ever since then, you always invite them to watch a newly released movie, mostly horrors but in rare cases, you want to watch romance.

"oh sweet. they're kissing like it's the end of the world." satoru commented as he pushes a mouthful of popcorn on his mouth.

shoko and suguru went out for a smoke since romance is not really their thing but they still agreed to watch just to see you happy. and they couldn't refuse when you were that cute begging them to watch it with them.

"because that's how they are desperate to be with each other." you reply. "i mean, you'll surely kiss a person like that when the world's trying to separate you. you will pour all of your emotions in that kiss to express your feelings." you further explains.

he raises an eyebrow at you. "i thought you're only interested in horror. why are you so knowledgeable about love?"

"books..?"

"yeah? and?"

"what do you mean by that?"

"have you ever kissed a person like that before?" his question caught you off guard and you turns to him.

"what? no! it's not like that! do i need to have an experience to explain those?" you defend yourself. you haven't been kissed yet!

"want me to give you an experience, then?"

you were caught you off guard and you didn't have time to react when he leans to you, kissing the side of your lips. too close to be called a kiss. too close to end your 'no first kiss' phase.

"i like you." he mutters as he looks at you straight in the eye. you're still close to each other and you can feel his breathe on your skin. "more than any of my favorite sweets." he adds, making you laugh.

"i like you, too. more than any favorite sunset i had captured and saw." you confess.

he smiles but his face immediately turns into a sour face. "even though i can barely watch a horror movie?" he asks cutely and you burst into laugh.

"w-who.." you can't stop yourself from laughing. "who said that?"

"suguru." he mentions his best friend. so, the dark haired male is the suspect on spreading false claims.

"I like someone who removes all of the seeds on my sliced watermelon." he smiles at that sentence.

"i like someone who will immediately thought of me whenever he sees sunset and sends me a picture of it." he smiles even more as he closes the gap between you slowly.

"yeah? and? you like someone who's very handsome, too, right?" he grins. "you like a certain someone whose contact name is 'annoying blue-eyed freak', right?"

it made you chuckle. how did he even know that one? you always made sure to lock your phone and keep the password to yourself only.

"i like someone who can't watch a horror movie with me and full of screams–"

he shuts you up by putting his lips onto yours and then pulls away.

your 'no first kiss' phase have officially signed off.

satoru clearly knows that you love movie nights, especially horror movies with him screaming but satoru knows that you love him even more than your collection of horror movies and the sunset you have ever captured and saw in your whole life.

[honkytonk-hangman]

Flight Risk

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: The sky beyond the baking tarmac is cloudless, and washed with deep reds and oranges, the way it always is by the time Jake lands when the monthly inter-squad training simulation has drawn to a close. Almost always.

Today, the sky had been a bright Carolina blue.

Today, Hangman had been shot down.

Warnings: cussing? jake being soppy. mentions of handsy dates, sexual referencessss

Notes: so this started as an AU for my fic Afterburn, and still technically is, however it can be read totally independently of that story as well.

Jake is perched in a casual lean against his plane, watching as the last jet in the pattern finally lands, continuing to wait patiently as the Super Hornet is guided to its designated area, just a few places down from his own. The sky beyond the baking tarmac is cloudless, and washed with deep reds and oranges, the way it always is by the time Jake lands when the monthly inter-squad training simulation has drawn to a close. Almost always.

Today, the sky had been a bright Carolina blue.

Today, Hangman had been shot down.

Jake takes a small amount of comfort in knowing that the pilot responsible for his simulated demise is also the pilot to win the day, despite that meaning his own squad losing out on the point. It wouldn’t happen again, however. He’d foolishly underestimated you, disregarded the gossip he’d overheard about Samurai squad’s newest member, choosing instead to judge for himself. Jake was a prideful son of a bitch at the best of times, and much worse at most others, but he wasn’t actually incapable of shutting the hell up and accepting his slice of humble pie.

At least, he’d accept it in his own special way, which is exactly why he waits long after the others have filtered off to the locker rooms. They’re already clocked off for the day by the time the ground crew have secured the last jet, and the pilot has climbed down. Jake shifts on his feet and gets a good look as you approach, purposefully giving you a suggestive up and down as you spot him and slow your walk.

“That was some flyin’,” he says, pushing off the side of his own jet and coming to stand before you. You blink at him, but raise an eyebrow as you manoeuvre your helmet to rest against your hip.

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?” you ask, eyes sparkling in amusement. Jake grabs at his chest, like you’ve shot him down again, and winces.

“Aw, c’mon, Kodiak” he starts, before fixing you with a piercing stare. “I don’t give out compliments that often, give it to me easy.”

“Only thing I’ll give you is my afterburner.”

Jake can’t help himself, he grins wide. He knows he should keep up the banter, you were clearly well equipped to spar with him, didn’t seem to take anything too personally so far, but all he can think as he stares at the first pilot to ever shoot him down, sweat slicking your flyaway hairs to your forehead, the sunsetting below the tarmac behind you, your cheeks a little ruddy from your time in the air, is that he’s going to marry you.

Luckily, Jake has the good sense to keep this to himself for now.

He steps forward slightly, and holds out his hand, watching as you eye it suspiciously for a moment.

“I’m Hangman,” he tells you as you relent and shake his hand.

“I know who you are, that's why I went for you first.” you reply with surprisingly little smugness in your voice, just plain truth. Jake lifts an eyebrow at you.

“Using me to raise your profile I see,” he teases. You don’t seem to notice that you’re still shaking his hand, and Jake feels slightly thankful, because he’s memorising the way it feels. You scoff at him.

“And what would you have done?” you challenge. Jake just looks your features over, and decides an evening ceremony will be perfect.

You realise then that you’re still shaking his hand, and you hurriedly pull away, moving to hold your helmet in both hands as if to stop yourself from reaching out again.

“I need to go do my post-flight checks,” you say quickly, sidestepping Jake and moving off toward the hanagar, and probably the showers. Jake turns and watches you go, his smile never faltering.

“Kodiak!” he calls out, waiting for you to stop and turn back to him before going on. “I enjoyed flying with you.” Jake tells you honestly, but musters his most serious expression so that you’ll know that too. He watches your brows furrow suspiciously for a moment, almost like you’re expecting him to laugh like it’s just a prank, but after a couple more seconds, your frown smooths into something more curious, before your face at last completely softens and you give him a small, but genuine smile.

“I enjoyed shooting you down,” you reply, your voice sincere, but your words catching him off guard and making Jake let out a surprised bark of laughter. 

Your smile widens just a little in the corners, like perhaps you had liked making him laugh, but soon enough you’re shifting your helmet in your hands again, and giving him a parting nod before once again you turn your back and walk away.

Jake stands still in place and watches as you shrink before at last disappearing entirely into the hangar. Once sure he’s alone, he places his hands on his hips and lets out a long, low whistle. He feels his heartbeat thump away rapidly in his chest, his adrenaline still spiking from just the thrill of speaking to you properly and in person for the first time, after being forced only to listen to your voice all afternoon on the radios.

It was a very nice voice, he thinks, both in person and on the radios, and it suits your very nice face very nicely. With a last whistle of approval, Jake begins making his own way inside, and even though he’d promised himself earlier that never again would he let you shoot him down, now he can’t help but think anything that brought you enjoyment was worth repeating.

Replaying your conversation over and over as he finally showers, changes, and heads home for the night, the first thing Jake does upon arriving in his apartment is reach for the pad and pen he keeps on the kitchen counter. He scribbles down the date, and writes out the highlights from your conversation as best as he remembers them. Peeling it off the pad, he folds it neatly, before placing it carefully inside the leather bound folder that held such items as his passport and birth certificate, before replacing it again in its hiding spot.

He wouldn’t need the contents of the note for a little while, he thinks, but when it came time to write the speech he’d give at your wedding, Jake wanted to know exactly where he could find it.

“Well, that was pathetic,” Javy nudges Jake in the ribs, and nods in your direction across the bar. Jake, who until now has been trying hard not to look your way, is finally given the perfect reason to do so, and swings his eyes over to you.

You’re sitting near the bar in your civvies, with a man who Jake can’t help but notice is not himself, and who is currently being awfully handsy for his liking. You don’t look completely comfortable either, but he also knows you have no trouble telling men to calm down when you aren’t feeling their advances. Neither reason adds up to exactly why Jake almost immediately chooses to abandon Javy by the pool table.

Part way across the bar, Jake realises that it’s not even a rescue attempt he’s trying for, clearly you were fine, no, this reaction from him is entirely new, spurred on by a good many things, but right now, by the abysmal looking date you were enduring. He slows his pace, and begins to move at a more natural gait, his lack of rush having no active affect on the crowds around him either way. Jake was both tall enough and wide enough that people tend to part for him as he walks regardless of asking.

He feels his chest puff out a little when you notice him coming before he even reaches you, and how even though he positions himself at the bar behind you, you seem to subconsciously turn a little to be able to look over at him anyway. Jake grins to himself when your ‘date’ seems to flounder at your seemingly captured attention, and quickly asks if you’d like another of the little cocktails you’d picked that night.  Jake can’t help but scoff internally. He’d asked you once why you drank beer with the squad, but only ordered fruit drinks when you had a date, to which you’d replied that you thought it appeared more feminine. Jake scoffs again, this time out loud.

“You’ll let this guy take you out, but not me? You don’t even like that, you’re not even drinking it!” he says quietly enough so that only you are able to hear the clipped annoyance in his words. You cock your head at him, and raise your straw to your lips either spitefully or indignantly.

“Still sour about that Jakey?” you tease. Despite the subject matter, and his frustration that these men you went out with seemingly had something Jake did not, he can’t help but feel pride pump through his veins upon seeing the way your face, especially your eyes, have lit up for the first time all night, something which he thinks should be a bare minimum when. If a man couldn’t engage you, then he just wasn’t good enough for you, was he?

Jake shrugs noncommittally in response to your question, both of you knowing full well the answer to that. Instead, he looks away from you briefly as the bartender approaches, but feels your gaze burning the side of his cheek.

“Two beers please,” he says, paying and waiting patiently for the drinks to be deposited on the bar before he looks back at you again. He nudges one in your direction, pretending as though he doesn’t care if you accept it or not, by taking a sip of his own. His faux-apathy is completely blown by the way he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, even as he drinks, waiting to see whether or not you’ll take the beer. You watch him with the barest amount of disapproval that you can muster, before almost shyly collecting up the chilled glass bottle in your hands.

“Are you forgetting something, perhaps? Oh, it’s super important, the name is on the tip of my tongue! What're they called again…?” you purse your lips and frown deeply, making an almost sincere show of recalling the information you’re after.

Jake waits as you seem to get it at last, snapping your finger and pointing it at him. “Fraternisation laws!” you exclaim overly enthusiastic for the topic at hand, contrasting with the way you stare flatly at him. Jake brushes your finger aside as he turns inward to face you fully, and cocks his head curiously down at you.

“You know I’ve already got my half of the paperwork filled out Teddy Bear, I’m just waitin’ on you.” Jake leans in toward you as he speaks, moving in near enough that one might call it risque, but he prefers intimate. For your part, you seem to be trying hard to suppress a smile, which you don’t succeed at, however you still shake your head at him anyway, and pull back, which makes Jake immediately step out of your space a little, returning to an appropriate distance for two officers.

“I bet you say that to all the pilots.” you say quietly, almost to yourself. The line is a worn cliche, he almost writes it off, except that your tone is entirely new, and entirely too put-out for your usual wave offs.

“Only the ones that keep shooting me down,” he replies after a beat watching you, not really certain how else he should reply to this development in your now storied routine of rejecting his interest, even though he knows that you like him very much. Fraternisation had been the last reason, though, nobody really took that seriously enough to not even bother navigating its murky depths of paperwork, but before that you’d listed not being hungry enough for dinner and having to video call with your model-building partner, neither serious excuses, right?

At this point Jake isn’t what one might say is desperate, but is what one might call unwilling to watch you sit through another completely inadequate date, with men who seemed to always be on the worst side of interested in you. That meant they fell somewhere firmly between sleazy and handsy, neither category of which was amongst Jake’s personal favourite reasons for liking you so much, which in no particular order included your excellence as an aviator, your sharp sense of humour, and your unbridled ambition.

Up until now, though, you’ve never once turned him away with something that sounded so much like it might be true. You’ve also never once stared up at him the way you are now, your expression significant, but unreadable to him.

Then, after thinking perhaps he had gotten somewhere real with you tonight, Jake feels a familiar twinge of disappointment as you turn back to your date, moving in closer to talk quietly with the man.

Jake looks down at his beer and lets out a sigh, ready to leave you to your fun, and return to his prior activity of pretending not to watch you from afar. When the man accompanying you noisily  steps back from the bar, the movement catches Jake’s eye, and he turns to see as the man looks briefly between you, before his eyes swing to Jake.

Jake hasn’t even caught on properly yet when your apparent former date turns on his heel and stalks darkly into the crowd, before at last disappearing entirely. Now free of your upsettingly poor choice of date, you swing your chair back around to face him, knees knocking into him with enough force to jolt Jake back to reality, where he discovers things to have played out almost exactly as he’d thought he’d been imagining them.

“Alright Seresin, you’ve got one shot at this,” you tell him, sounding like you don’t really mean it at all. Even so, Jake straightens and fixes you with his best self-assured smirk, but only because he knows you like it when he does.

“One shot is all I need,” he says proudly, before a few seconds pass and he finds himself blinking at the unintentional disclaimer he’s just given. “I mean, I’ll gladly take as many shots as you want, but–”

“Jesus, Jake! Anyone would think you haven't been laid in months!” you cut him off with a bark of laughter, your features in almost complete disbelief at such a thing. Jake pauses, hesitating with how he should respond, but eventually relaxes once more, and leans down on the bar again to fix you with his stare.

“Two months,” he informs you simply. You actually snort this time, which he finds utterly adorable, and you continue to chortle at his apparent joke, until you seem to realise he isn’t joining you. Your face falls then, and you blink at him in surprise, a flash of guilt mixing in with it, before you quickly attempt to play off your astonishment.

“Like, Seriously?” You ask, staring at him. Jake just nods, giving a short shrug, but doesn’t break your eye contact. After several more seconds pass, heavy with your bewilderment, you settle in your spot beside him one more, and let out a small huff. “Saving yourself for somebody special, then?” your eyebrows lift up as you ask, voice lilting with humour, but you don’t fully smile yet, like you’re afraid of still possibly offending him. Jake simply shrugs again, but rolls his eyes lightly. 

He’s well aware of his reputation before you, as is almost all on base who know him, or those who frequent the Navy bars scattered nearby. He thinks maybe he should have gone about distributing the updated information on him, however, because as far as Jake is concerned, he had been off the market for quite some time.

Unofficially, anyway.

“Oh, she’s very special, darlin’. Someone worth saving myself for. I think you’d like her a lot,” Jake does his best not to sound too goofy about it, but he swings almost too far the opposite way, and finds himself hoping to god that the purring quality to his voice as he speaks isn’t too much.

You stare at Jake for several seconds processing his line briefly, before at last scoffing and rolling your eyes as you turn slightly away from him to take a sip of your drink. Despite this reaction likely wounding a lesser man, Jake knows his words have resonated at least a little, because both your scoff or your eye roll half-hearted at best, both also completely undermined by the not-so-tiny smile you clearly can’t repress properly, even if you try to hide it by taking another sip.

“Answer me this, Seresin;” you start when a few minutes have passed, Jake having also taken to sipping his beer, choosing to let the subject settle between you for a bit. “I know about you, and I’m not like, slut-shaming you or anything, but how do I know all of this isn’t just the usual bullshit you parcel out? How do I know I’m not just another in a long line of others?” you ask, your voice surprisingly light for the frankness and seriousness of your words. Jake blinks at you, his brow furrowing this time, and notes the way your gaze flickers to the crease between his brows for half a second.

He places his beer down and blows out a puff of air. He doesn’t answer you right away, can’t really, because on some level he realises telling you that he’s been planning your lives together since the day you’d met won’t go down super well, but he also doesn’t want to misrepresent the level of his feelings toward you.

“Well, you don’t. I mean, you are,” he speaks carefully, already expecting the frown that appears on your face almost immediately, and quickly goes on. “But you’re the last in that line. I can promise you that.” Jake’s voice becomes involuntarily quieter as he finishes speaking, and he hates the uncertain sound the softness gives his words, but knows saying them again will only cheapen them.

You stare at one another for several heart-thumping seconds, and Jake wonders if the rest of the bar has all but disappeared for you too, or if you were still well aware of everything going on around you. For all Jake knew, the bar didn’t even exist right now. And then you move, your eyes bouncing up to blink at him slowly like a cat, before they drop to your feet in an embarrassed sort of way Jake can truthfully say he’d never have imagined of you.

“I asked Javy a few weeks ago if you were sick, or something,” you say, looking back up at him with a laugh in your voice now. “I saw you turn down, like, six different women that night, and I don’t know, I was genuinely concerned for your health.” You tell him, making a small smile pull at the corners of Jake’s lips that you’d been worried about him at all, had watched him long enough to see him turn others away.

“You know what he said? He just rolled his eyes at me and said that, no, actually, you weren’t fine at all, that you were in love with me, and if he’s honest, it wasn’t cute anymore, and had become totally insufferable,” You laugh properly this time as you relay the information, and Jake can’t help but chuckle too.

“And so you thought you’d let me stew for a few more weeks? Have I not been a good boy enough already?” Jake asks with an amused twinkle in his eyes. He knew he was getting to the end of his rope tonight, but in reality, it never mattered to him how many weeks or months you made him wait, any amount of time would have been worth it. You shrug and dip your eyes away from him to dance around the room.

“Not exactly. I mean, I didn’t totally believe Javy, but I figured there might’ve been some truth there. I mean what is this, like, the… fifth time in two months you’ve asked me out?” You question, half to yourself as you do some maths.

“Fifth times the charm,” Jake replies seriously, having no other memory anymore of how the quote is supposed to go and not entirely realising he’s said it wrong at all. You snicker at this glimpse at just how far gone he is, but he doesn’t mind.

“I’m sorry I didn’t give you a real chance before now,” you say quietly, before pulling a conciliatory expression. “But to be fair, if you were any other guy, I’d be totally right about you… I still could be,” you sound as though you’re trying to convince yourself, and trial off after biting your lower lip in a distracted sort of way. Jake nods, understanding your hesitation. You weren’t to know that he cared about you more than anyone he’d met before, more than anyone ever could, but he’s also aware that there was no point to talking the big talk when it came to things like this.

“Well now, excuse me Darlin’! I didn’t work so damned hard on my exceptionally slutty past for you to just sweep it all aside for me! It’s just plain disrespectful,” Jake blusters, playing up his accent as much as he can, but still only coming out sounding half indignant. You blink in surprise at his disapproval, and quickly try to hide the sound of your snort as it escapes through another laugh, clearly taken aback and not expecting this angle from him.

“So this is what's gonna happen instead; you’re gonna make me work just as hard for this, for you, and once you’ve made yourself an honest man outta me, then we can talk about being right or wrong,” Jake states matter-of-factly, like he isn’t simultaneously pleading you for more than this, and begging you to stand your ground at the same time.

Jake’s most frequent and recurring nightmare these past months had been the idea of getting you, then losing you. He isn’t lying about working hard to have his reputation, Jake didn’t do commitment, he didn’t do more than one night, and if he did, it was never because he wanted more. He knows relationships and intimacy are the furthest thing from his forte by choice, so if he was going to get the chance to be with you, he wanted to do it properly, to do it right.

Your laughter turns softer, pulling him from his reverie. He finds you watching him, considering his words as he’d trailed off somewhere in his head while waiting for your response. There's a small twinkle in your eyes that tells him you had no plans to take it easy on him ever, but as if you know he won’t be abated by that alone, you lean in toward him, resting your chin in your palm while blinking up at him coquettishly.

“Well, you’re already on the right track, with this whole ‘saving yourself’ business. I appreciate that, off the bat,” you say, and Jake is kind of relieved, because while it wasn’t necessarily something he had to do, you weren’t an item and had turned him down four times so feelings or no, Jake wouldn’t have been in the wrong if he’d slipped up once or twice, but he’s glad that you acknowledge your approval, at least because now he knows now and feels a gust of pride inflate his chest.

“To be clear, though, I would make you work for it regardless of your past. I know what I’m worth, what I bring to a relationship, and what I want out of one, and I know those things too well just to forget them. Not for anyone.”

Jake nods vehemently, once again in complete agreement.

“Good. That’s real good, sweetheart. I don’t,” he tells you honestly, now feeling a sense of distinctly unearned pride that you were already so intune and aware of your value. He knows that for most people, including himself, that those things are only learned once they’re older. 

Your face flashes with surprise, startled by his admission of what was probably at least some basic emotional intelligence. “I’ve never wanted to know it, it wasn’t important before…” Jake trails off, and feels a sense of hesitation and regret start to poison his tongue. Was that too much? Too callous? You were aware of his colourful sexual past, but plenty of people had those. Jake had been calculated in his endeavours, and he’s suddenly ashamed, and not sure if he wants you to know that.

For a few beats you look at one another, Jake trying his best not to break eye contact, somehow hoping it will tell you all you need to know about his intentions, but after a moment, it’s you who looks away, shifting back into your position resting both arms atop the bar, where you begin fiddling with your drinks coaster.

“You know, you don’t have to be quite that honest, you can try to like, impress me still,” you say after a couple more seconds pass, and Jake lets out a shaky, anxious breath when a sideways, wry smile accompanies your words.

“Rather you be impressed by the truth than anything else,” he responds, mimicking your lean, your arms pressed against one another now, and Jake could be mistaken, but he’s almost certain that you lean some of your weight into him.

“‘M just sayin’ you don’t have to, like, abase yourself just for me to think you’re dealing fair. I already know you’re not exactly a two rodeo pony, but if you’re trying to be, that’s all I ask.” you look up at him and catch his gaze. Jake thinks over what you’ve said, not fully being able to believe it, but he wonders now if this will be just as much about proving his worthiness to himself, just as much as it was to you.

As if  he has little screens in his eyes that relay his every thought like a teleprompter, your expression softens once again, and this time Jake is sure that you’re leaning into his side, your weight falling solidly, but comfortably onto him.

“C’mon Hangman, you’re the best, aren’t you?” you tease, even nudging him playfully. “Who says you aren’t the best at this too?” you go on to ask, raising your eyebrows challengingly. Jake feels both a thrill at the slight taunt to your voice, as well as a deep affection and reverence that you know exactly how to play him already.

He picks up what you’re putting down, and lifts his chin to look down at you, one eyebrow of his own lifting in an almost condescending manner.

“Certainly not you, that's for damn sure, sweetheart.” Jake damn-near gloats, chest puffing out and pride swelling up again substantially at the way you seem to enjoy this display.

“Well then, I can’t wait to find out!” You say, knocking into his side once more with your elbow. Jake’s smile flickers more genuine, and after a moment of brief thought, he uncrosses his arms on the bar and slings his arm casually around your shoulder. You move into him almost like you’ve been waiting for him to do this, like for the past few weeks you’ve been thinking about it and what you might do if he did.

You grin up at him and Jake smiles back, lowering his face down to yours so that when he speaks again, you’re the only one in the room who can hear him

“Just promise me one thing,” Jake asks, serious as ever now. Your features crease a little, but you nod.

“Sure, what is it?”

“Never stop shooting me down. It’s kinda sexy.”

You let out a shocked, joyful laugh, even as your eyes gain a mean little sheen to them, the contrast between your sweet chortle, and the evil look on your face only making his own grin widen. Jake makes a note to bring this up in his wedding speech.

[teshadraws]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 59]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

-

Tobias and Nia head to Kaleido Bay to find Dismas.

-

Toby dips his fingers into cold yellow paint, taking a moment to wiggle them around and savor the sensation. He smiles. It’s not often that they get paint from the market instead of their homemade stuff, but there was a sale when Mama dropped in at the market yesterday to drop off the mail. This yellow is brighter than the kind they make at home, and thicker too.

Carefully, Toby lifts his fingers and smears paint on the rough rock wall of the cave, right where the sunlight shining from the entrance stops in a hard line of light. He’s working small right now, trying to put the finishing touches on the picture he’s been working on for forever.

Or an hour. Same difference, really.

Chipper humming accompanies him as he works, from his left. Vivi’s piece is a lot more…what was the word Papa used? Abstract. A lot more abstract than his. She seems to be working totally on instinct, barely pausing to wipe off her hands before jamming them into a different color to slap onto the wall. He can hear her tiny claws catch against the gritty rock every once in a while.

Toby uses careful fingers to paint the next part of his picture, one of the most important parts: the fire. He starts at the base and winds his fingers up to make trails of flames. Then he does it again, to thicken the yellow and help it stand out.

He leans back, hands tacky with drying paint, and tilts his head to consider his work so far.

Four charizard fly across the cave wall, close together in a diamond formation, their wings spread wide. Some of them look a little…lumpy. But the orange paint Papa made by mixing red and yellow stands out bright and warm against the tan of the rock, and he still thinks it looks nice. He even got the right eye colors. Blue for him and Mama, and green for Vivi and Papa.

“That looks good,” their papa says from behind them, where he’s been chipping away at a new instrument for someone, alternating between using his tools and his own sharp claws.

Toby turns his head. “Really? We don’t look too…lumpy?”

Papa rumbles a quiet laugh. “I am kind of lumpy, so I think it looks great. Why are my eyes blue?”

Toby frowns, looking back at the picture. “That’s me!”

“You’re going to be even bigger than me and Mom?”

“Well yeah,” Toby says. He crouches to dip a claw into the red paint, then adds it to the center of the flames at the charizards’ tail tips. Perfect. “Mama says we have to eat all our berries and veggies to get big and strong and you don’t eat all of yours.”

Toby can feel his father’s dry look on his back. He refuses to turn around, biting back a smile.

“Yeah,” Vivi chimes in, eyes still locked onto her colorful, blobby mess. “Why do we have to eat our greens if you don’t?”

“Because I’m already big and strong,” Papa says, laughter in his voice.

“But did you eat your veggies when you were a charmander?”

“…Yes.”

“Are you lying?” Vivi asks, turning with a suspicious expression. Her hands and arms are caked in different colors of paint, some dry and some fresh. She’s not wearing her oversized red scarf, for once. Papa convinced her to take it off earlier so she wouldn’t get paint on it.

“…No.”

“You are!” She says with an accusatory point, delighted.

Toby laughs, then sing-songs, “Mama says it’s bad to lie, Papa!”

Nobody answers Toby. The cave is suddenly silent. Somehow, the space feels emptier than it should.

Confused, Tobias turns. Papa is…gone. And so is Vivi.

Panicked, Tobias turns around, but no one else is here. Instead, the cave is dark, heavy clouds and distant rain dimming the light of the sky.

He’s alone.

Tobias backs up and trips over one of the paint bowls, catching himself on the wall. He freezes when he sees the hand that caught him, covered in red. He…he didn’t get that much red on his hand, he knows he didn’t. He was careful. But it has to be paint. It can’t be anything else.

Where is his family? Vivi? Papa? Mama?

Why is he the only one left?

Tobias jerks awake, nearly falling right out of the shelf he’s sleeping in. He stops himself just in time, and stares at the hand that he caught himself with. Dry and its usual orange color.

It takes him a few moments to recognize where he is once he looks up, panting.

It’s a quiet, dim room. Fairly spacious. Gray dawn light is just starting to leak in through the closed curtains. A fire pit sits in the middle of the space, only a few embers still glowing from the fire last night. Most of the alcoves set into the opposite wall are dark and empty.

Right, he’s…at the inn. At the human settlement. In one of the sleeping alcoves.

Tobias glances to his side, used to Nia sleeping right next to him. But they’d taken separate, smaller shelves when they first arrived here. Junie is probably snuggled up next to her still fast asleep. The room is silent, so it doesn’t seem like he woke anyone else up, either.

Tobias takes a deep breath, heart still fluttering in his chest, and rubs at his eyes, damp with tears. Ugh.

Tobias slips out of the alcove, glancing over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door. Nia is indeed curled up beneath a blanket in her own shelf, pointed ears just barely visible as they poke out of her cocoon. Junie is likely close by. Clara the innkeeper and a togedemaru who came in late last night are also sound asleep in their own little recesses.

Relieved, Tobias goes outside and closes the door softly behind him. Then he moves to the wall surrounding the town, standing atop the step at its foot so he can see over the barrier and into the valley below. The town is quiet at such an early hour.

Tobias closes his eyes and takes another shuddering breath, bending to press his forehead against the stone. He hasn’t had a nightmare like that in…a while. They do tend to surface more when he’s thinking a lot about the outlaw trio, though, so it makes sense.

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it. He can still smell blood and rain.

Tobias hears the quiet flutter of the inn’s curtains behind him, then an equally quiet flutter of wings. He turns his head just enough to give Junie a tired glare.

The rookidee settles on the wall by his arm.

“Is Nia awake?” Tobias asks.

“Ha. No. She sleeps like a rock. I, uh…heard you.”

Tobias stays silent.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

Tobias grunts an affirmative, too tired to feel embarrassed. He looks out over the trees in the canyon instead. The sky is slowly lightening from black to gray, bringing definition back into the world.

“Do you want to, uh. Talk about it?”

Tobias snorts. “No. Do you?”

“Not really, but I thought I’d check.”

They both fall quiet again. The breeze carries voices their way from farther into the settlement. Tobias can faintly hear someone calling to the baker to put the next batch of rolls in the oven.

“Hey,” Junie finally says, hesitant. “Are you gonna be okay, today? Talking to that jerk in the jail cell?”

“Probably not,” Tobias admits. “But I don’t really have another option. I need answers, and he has them.”

“Fair. Just…good luck, then.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?”

“Nah. I think I’m gonna stay here until you guys get back.”

Tobias frowns, finally looking at the rookidee head-on. “Why?”

Junie shifts on her tiny feet. “Well…this seems like an important thing. To you. A, uh. Private thing. I didn’t think you’d actually want me there.”

Tobias is surprised she’s being so thoughtful. And for a moment he wants to agree. He remembers—vaguely—what he did at the crobat’s grave in the desert. He can’t imagine this will be much better.

But then he remembers what Junie said yesterday while talking about her parents, voice light with forced levity:

“They think I’m too annoying.”

“You can come,” Tobias grumbles, pillowing his chin on his arms again. “Just can’t promise it’ll be a fun trip.”

Junie doesn’t answer for a long moment. “Actually, I was thinking I’d stick around here anyways. You still don’t trust Will, right?”

Tobias frowns, looking at her from the corner of his eye. “…Right.”

“I could be your little spy on the inside. Hang around to make sure him and Rosalind don’t do anything suspicious while you’re gone.”

“You think Will’s suspicious?”

“Well…not as much as you do. But if Rosalind is so cautious, that’s kind of a red flag, isn’t it? And no one would suspect me of all people to be doing a little espionage. Might be good to see if I can notice anything weird going on.”

That’s…a surprisingly good idea. “Wish Nia thought the same.”

“Yeah. She’s not dumb, but she can be pretty dumb about this kind of stuff, huh?”

“Desperate is more like it,” Tobias mumbles. “She wants to go back to the human world so badly that it’s like she’s blind to anything that’ll get in the way of that.”

“We’ll just have to be her eyes, then.”

Tobias makes a vague sound of agreement. He admittedly likes the idea of having someone here to keep an eye on things while they’re gone, but…

“Just be careful. I don’t think Will would do anything obvious, but…”

“Aww, is the big bad lizard worried about me?”

Tobias fights the urge to shove her off the wall again, rolling his eyes. “Nia would be upset if you mysteriously disappeared.”

“Suuurrre,” Junie laughs. She nudges his arm with her whole body, and he barely feels it, light as she is. “I’ll be careful. I’m pretty good at acting oblivious and talking my way out of problems.”

“More like you are oblivious and don’t know when to shut up.”

“Eh, same difference.”

Tobias’ mouth twitches as he fights off a smile. “Well. Thanks, I guess. Don’t die.”

“Same to you, Toby.”

Junie stays strangely quiet after that. Slowly, the sun rises and light starts to paint the valley, color creeping over the land. After a while, more doors open and close. More voices greet each other as the settlement wakes and begins the day.

Tobias peeks again at Junie. The rookidee is a puddle of blue and black and yellow on the warming stone, eyes closed and feathers blowing softly in the breeze. For just the briefest of moments, he thinks of his dream, of little hands covered in paint and a grinning orange face, so much like his own, next to him instead. His heart clenches.

Tobias takes a deep breath and looks back out at the canyon. He needs to wake Nia soon. She got to sleep in yesterday, but he wants to make it to Kaleido Bay by a decent time today.

They’d geared up already the evening before, packing enough food, hydration berries, and water for the short trip south. Nia had clearly been reluctant to leave the little settlement behind before getting to explore it fully, staring longingly at the tailor’s shop in particular. Maybe they could stop by there on their way back through, before heading back to the Haven.

They’d also bumped into Fidel in the evening, and had let him know about their plans. The zoroark had seemed concerned, probably guessing that their journey south had something to do with Rosalind’s private chat, but he’d simply wished them safe travels, letting them know that there would be a place for them to rest when they returned.

Tobias turns, looking back at the inn. “We should get going. You sure you want to stay?”

“Yup! I’ll wake Nia if you wanna grab breakfast. It’s funny seeing her flail around in her blankets.”

Tobias huffs a laugh, agreeing and heading towards the little bakery a few buildings down. Their front door is propped open, the smell of fresh bread wafting out, so Tobias hesitates for only a moment before going inside.

Luckily, the simisear and chansey running the place don’t seem irritated to see someone so early. They’re actually apologetic for not having more to offer, only honeyed rolls and toasted nuts finished and ready for the day. Tobias quietly assures them that the food smells delicious before accepting three servings, each wrapped in cloth.

Tobias skirts past a scizor as he leaves, then heads back to the wall in front of the inn. He’s about to lean against it to eat when a flash of color he hadn’t noticed the day before catches his eye. It’s…a mural, painted onto the side of one of the buildings.

Tobias hesitates, glancing around at the mostly empty walkway before grabbing the food and moving to get a better look. He doesn’t leave the wall, but stops when he gets a better vantage point, food momentarily forgotten.

The mural is…interesting. It’s a happy scene, with a group of what Tobias presumes are humans gathered in front of a strange-looking building. A house, maybe, though it seems rather large. The humans look like the drawings he saw at the convention in Ghatha: tall, lanky creatures wearing lots of clothing, with fur atop their heads. The fur color is different depending on the human, as are their eyes and even their skin tone. Some are larger than others, and some are clearly older or younger. Tobias looks at them with fascination, scanning their smiling, laughing faces and body language.

What did Nia look like, as a human? None of these humans have blue fur, but it’s hard to think about her in any other color. Were her eyes still red? What did she like to wear?

“Finally got her up!” Junie’s voice says from behind him.

Tobias jumps, holding the food closer to himself as he turns.

Junie is flying circles around Nia. The riolu is rubbing her eyes as she walks, clearly still half-asleep. Their satchel is looped over her shoulder, though, prepped and ready to go for the day.

“‘Morning,” Nia mumbles. Wordlessly, she holds her red scarf out to Tobias.

Tobias sets their food down to follow the unspoken request, and ties the scarf around his partner’s upper arm. Nia waits patiently, sniffing the air, as Junie watches with a smug grin that Tobias doesn’t feel like investigating.

“Here,” Tobias says when he’s done, shoving one bundle of food into Nia’s arms. The other he sets on the wall, untying it with a tug of his claw so the sides fall open. Junie trills a happy noise and digs in immediately.

“Oh,” Nia says, perking up as she unravels her own meal, plopping down right on the stone to eat. “This smells delicious! Thank you, Tobias.”

Tobias grunts, joining her on the ground and taking a bite of his own food. The rolls are delicious, warm and soft with a thin layer of honey coating the top. The nuts are smoky, satisfyingly crunchy between his teeth. He makes short work of the meal, hungrier than he realized.

When he looks up again Nia is finishing up her own roll, but her head is tilted to the side, gaze focused on the mural.

“Which kind did you look like?” Tobias finds himself asking.

Nia blinks, focusing on him. “Hm?”

He gestures vaguely in the direction of the painting. “Those are humans, right? Which one did you look like?”

Junie titters above them, which means he said something stupid. Whatever. He ignores her.

Nia giggles, much gentler. “Well…all of them, I guess? But also none of them.”

Tobias scowls at that vague, cryptic answer.

Nia laughs again. “Really! We all look kind of similar, at least in general shape. There aren’t any differences as big as, say…a riolu and a rookidee. But we all look a little different from each other, too. In the human world, I have glasses, and long hair. Otherwise, I’m just kind of average, I guess?”

Tobias frowns, glancing between Nia and the mural. “What color fur did you have?”

Junie chokes on her food.

Nia smiles. “My hair? It’s brown. My eyes are too.”

Tobias has a tough time imagining that. He’s so used to looking at Nia and seeing blue and black fur and bright ruby red eyes. It’s hard to think about her as anything other than a riolu. He tries for a moment to imagine what she’d look like as a human, but can’t quite pull it together, even as he glances again at the mural for help.

Before Tobias can say anything else, a high voice interrupts. “You’re up early today!”

Tobias blinks, looking past Nia. A lillipup is bounding over to them. It takes a moment for Tobias to place the young voice.

“Asher!” Junie cries, peering over the wall, clearly delighted. “Hey, little dude!”

Asher morphs back into his zorua self, sticking his tongue out at Junie. “I’m not little! I’m bigger than you!”

“Everyone is bigger than me, kid. It’s not a high bar.”

Asher growls up at her, playful, before getting distracted and sniffing the air, much like Nia had minutes before. “Ooh, they made honey rolls?! Those are my favorite!”

“They’re really good,” Nia agrees.

“If they have honey, they’ll probably use it for dessert tonight too,” Asher muses, tail wagging. Then he blinks, looking over the three of them with new eyes. “Wait, are you leaving already?”

“Nia and I are heading south to Kaleido for a day,” Tobias says.

Nia opens her mouth, then pauses, blinking first at him and then at Junie in question.

“I’m gonna stay here until you guys get back,” Junie says, much more confident than when she’d suggested the idea to Tobias earlier. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on things around here while you’re gone.”

Nia frowns, clearly catching on to what Junie is implying. She looks at Tobias. He holds up his hands in return. “Don’t look at me. It wasn’t my idea.”

“As funny as it is to see you glare daggers at him, he’s right. I brought it up.”

Nia seems confused by that, but she doesn’t push, glancing at Asher’s curious gaze. “W-Well…all right. If you’re sure?”

“Yup! Just stay out of trouble since I won’t be there to bail you out, okay?”

“That’s our line,” Tobias snorts.

Junie kicks a nut at his head.

“If you’re gonna stay here, can we play?” Asher asks, bouncing in place.

“Sure, little man,” Junie says, grabbing her food’s empty cloth in a foot and fluttering over to drop it on Tobias’ head. He brushes it off with a glare. “I’ll even help you set up some sweet pranks if you want.”

Asher’s golden eyes shine. “Yes! I’m gonna go get breakfast, but then we’ve gotta plan, okay?”

The zorua takes off towards the bakery without waiting for an answer. They watch him go, amused.

Nia sits up, looking at Tobias. “Well, should we get going?”

The contentment in Tobias’ gut curdles as he remembers exactly where they’re going today. He takes a breath, then nods and stands. “Yeah.”

Nia gives him an encouraging smile, then turns to Junie, expression turning stern. “We’ll be back in a day or two. Do not give Will any trouble, okay?”

“Only if he gives me trouble first,” Junie says with a wink. She hops into the air, flapping to grab their food cloths like tiny flags. “You two be safe! Make sure you send a letter if you’re gonna be late.”

And with that, Junie is gone, following Asher towards the smell of delicious food.

Tobias leads the way out of the settlement right after. Slate the nidoking is on guard duty again at the front gate, and Tobias gives the scarred sentry a wide berth as they leave, picking their way down the rocky trail. He can feel the poison type’s eyes on the back of his neck until they’re out of sight.

The path is less treacherous when they can actually see where they’re setting their feet, but it still isn’t exactly smooth. Wiry roots snake in and out of the dirt, and rocks act like staggered steps, ready to trip them up. Scratchy, prickly plants edge into the path and grab at their ankles. The trail leads up and down and around, winding down the mesa like a great serpent. Overhead, the rising sun warms the world. There’s little shade to speak of, with the bulk of the trees sprouting away from the path.

It takes an hour for them to reach the bottom of the mesa, already breathing hard. They stop for a moment to eat some hydration berries and drink some water, then move on.

The journey is relatively quiet, both of them wanting to conserve their energy and likely thinking about the destination ahead. Tobias is, at least.

They take the same trail back through long grasses that they’d taken on the way into Will’s settlement, until they hit the wider, smoother dirt path of the main road.

It’s here that Nia speaks up.

“So…what’s the plan, when we get to Kaleido? Are we going straight to the prison?”

Tobias’ mouth twists. “I think so. We want to make sure we don’t miss visitation hours, and we can always check anything else out afterwards.”

Nia doesn’t answer for a long moment. The silence feels heavy.

“And do you…want me there? When you talk to him?”

Tobias stops and looks at Nia in surprise. “Yeah? Do you…not want to be there?”

Nia did have to physically hold him back last time they found out anything substantial about Team Zenith. And he can’t promise he’ll be any more composed during this meeting. He wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to witness that again.

Nia shakes her head, eyes wide. “N-No, I do! If you want me there. I just…didn’t know if you’d want to keep it private? I wanted to make sure.”

Tobias shakes his head. His face feels hot. The Tobias from a few months ago would be absolutely baffled by him willingly—gladly—sharing anything about his past. But this is Nia. The Tobias from a few months ago barely had a friend, let alone a best friend. “No, I’d…I’d like for you to be there.”

It’s easier to face something this terrifying with his partner at his side.

Nia smiles, something in her shoulders relaxing. Like she feels the same. He hopes she feels the same. He hopes he can calm her storms like she calms his.

Filled with renewed determination, the two of them continue down the path south, to Kaleido Bay.

To Dismas, and the answers he holds.

_____________________________________________________________

It’s mid-afternoon when they spot Kaleido Bay in the distance. They see the tops of the buildings first, white with rounded points like seashells, and it’s not long before they can see the city in its entirety. It’s a shimmering thing, sparkling white and silver with pops of bright color against the blue of the ocean.

“Whoa,” Nia says, stopping to take in the sight. “I thought Rosalind was joking. Is it really floating?”

Tobias squints, holding a hand over his eyes against the sun overhead. “Maybe?”

He hopes not—a city built on an island is bad enough as a fire type, but a floating one seems even worse.

Tobias grimaces, but moves forward again.

As they get closer to the city, they also approach the white sands of the beach itself. It’s a nice area even this late in the year. There are a few Pokemon walking along the shore or camped out for a picnic. A large group of younger ‘mon are chasing a ball down the beach, shouting to each other and making a game of it.

Despite the weight that has followed them since waking up this morning, Nia perks up, tail wagging slowly as she watches the scene. When they finally step off craggy rock and tough grass and onto soft, warm sand, the riolu takes a moment to wiggle her toes in it. Tobias waits for her to get her fill, silently following her lead. It’s a…strange sensation. But not awful.

The waves crash loudly this close to the sea, a constant and rhythmic shhSHHHshh…shhSHHHshh…shhSHHHshh. If they weren’t here for the reasons they are, it’d be soothing, Tobias thinks. He closes his eyes for a moment to let the cool, salty breeze wash over his skin and tries to let it soothe some of the tension in his gut.

Eventually, they get moving again. While there are ferry ‘mon carrying visitors to the city over the water, there’s also a single bridge leading there from the shore, for those poor enough to have to walk. Tobias heads for that.

As they get closer, Tobias sees that it’s a more complex design than he realized at first, white stone—concrete?—intertwined with some kind of shiny metal. Steel, maybe. Both substances are uncommon as building materials, at least in Tobias’ limited experience, but maybe it’s important for the infrastructure of this kind of place. As they take the steps up and start the walk across the long bridge, frothy white foam crashes into the bridge’s tall supports. Tobias is just glad that it feels stable underfoot.

The way to the city is long, farther out than Tobias would prefer, the blue-green hue of the ocean getting deeper beneath them as they go. The wind picks up, too.

They pass a surprising amount of Pokemon on the way, mostly locals and workers from the looks of them. Tobias spots a few raised brows and hushed conversations once they see him. Since the majority of Pokemon they pass are water types, Tobias guesses that they probably don’t see many fire types out here. He tries to ignore them, forcing himself to look straight ahead.

Posh tourists ride by in the water below, providing some distraction. They’re either sitting in boats or atop other Pokemon instead of walking on their own feet, with lapras, blastoise, wailmer, and dondozo ferrying them to and from the city. Nia quietly counts how many parasols she sees under her breath.

As they get closer to the island, it becomes clearer that the city is indeed floating. It’s not a natural island, a protrusion from the earth below, so much as…giant chunks of artificial land, linked close together somehow beneath the waves. The gaps between almost look like canals, with water types and canoes traversing them like little roads.

While the city is much too large for Tobias and Nia’s weight to make it bob, he does notice the slightest sway underfoot when they finally reach the end of the bridge. It unbalances him almost immediately, making him stumble like he just stepped onto the Aqua Jet again.

Nia offers him her arm, but he shakes his head, flushing. He’s already getting enough looks from curious passersby. He doesn’t need to be leaning on Nia like a crutch, too.

Tobias takes a minute to regain his bearings, then leads them into the city proper. Considering it’s apparently a hotspot for tourists, it’s unsurprisingly busy, with crowds of Pokemon chatting and laughing as they pass by. Most are holding wrapped cloth packages or paper bags, surely full of treasures from a bountiful shopping trip.

Nia is predictably looking this way and that as she tries to take everything in, nearly bumping into a few of the ‘mon they pass.

Tobias supposes he can understand why. The city is interesting, if nothing else, with its tall, rounded buildings of gleaming white and silver and seams of ocean water separating out different neighborhoods. The pieces shift in subtle ripples along the waves, the unusually large gaps between buildings—nothing like Ghatha and the human settlement’s close-crowded architecture—making them overlap in his vision in dizzying ways. It doesn’t help that most of the buildings also have their first floors hollowed out, open on three sides rather than enclosed with four walls. Those spaces seem to be dedicated to sitting areas, with water-resistant tables and chairs, or just as a place to store larger statues or toys.

The city is also surprisingly colorful. Shops and stalls have tented areas overhead for shade, and they tend to use bright colors and patterns in the fabric. Tropical, well-tended flowers grow everywhere in little plots of dirt, on building corners and under windows and bordering the canals. Some of the concrete buildings are inlaid with chunks of coral or painted with accents of color. Occasional mosaics pop up underfoot too, sprawling art pieces larger than a wailmer that depict flowers and water type Pokemon. And of course, the crowds of Pokemon wandering the streets only add to the vivid mix of colors.

Rosalind did mention that this place is known for its shops, but Tobias is still astonished by the sheer variety of merchants they pass. They’re all selling different things, from food to exploration items to non-necessities that call to the rich tourists around them. One stall is selling dried berry strips, while the one next to it is selling some kind of kelp, according to the sign below it. Apparently it’s grown right here in the city, underneath the ocean. A shop selling orbs and seeds “for protection in dungeons and natural disasters” is a tempting find, but Tobias knows better than to spend his cash when they don’t need to.

Useful shops like those are far outnumbered, though, by stalls that sell nothing but knickknacks and decorations, souvenirs from the city decorated with colorful shells and coral and gems. There are even one or two shops dedicated solely to fabric and clothing, some of which reminds Tobias of what he saw Pokemon wearing at the human settlement. Lots of jewelry shops, too, which is usually a rarity in Metreja.

There are cafés and bakeries and spas. A few ferry businesses. Artists selling their wares, ceramics and paintings and drawings.

It’s something else that captures Nia’s attention, though.

“Oh, Tobias! Look!”

It’s a little glass shop. Colorful wares cover the countertop: vases and dishware, platters and trinkets, statues and jewelry. Every piece is beautiful and well-crafted, delicate but sturdy. Patterns and gradients paint them in a rainbow of hues, some shiny and some frosted. Nia’s eyes skim over them, a wondrous expression on her face.

Just visible inside the open door of the build building, a monferno glassblower is sitting at a bench, hard at work. Across his lap, he turns a long, metal rod with a confident hand. At the end of it, a green bulb of glass is being spun. The fire type uses his free hand to pinch and pull at the probably-scalding glass, creating delicate curls and wisps. It takes a moment for Tobias to notice a smaller Pokemon, a blue panpour who’s the spitting image of the simipour running the counter out front, working too. She’s blowing at the other end of the metal pole—a pipe?—with her cheeks puffed. The two Pokemon look completely absorbed in their work, focused and totally at ease with the process, as if they’ve done it millions of times before.

Tobias wonders if this glass shop is the only one here in town. Glass is rare in his experience, but here it seems to be used more commonly. A few of the shops actually have large pieces of glass covering long windows to show off the wares inside, which Tobias hasn’t ever seen done before. There’s glass elsewhere, too, smaller panes on house windows and used in decorations like windchimes.

It’s interesting. If they weren’t here for a specific reason, if they didn’t have a world to save and outlaws to interrogate, Tobias wouldn’t mind learning more about the practice.

But the reminder of what they are here for pulls Tobias back to reality, and his chest tightens. He steps off to the side to watch as Nia picks up one of the glass statues, tracing a finger over its thin, pointed horns.

Right. They aren’t here to shop. They’re here for the pangoro held somewhere below the city. Dismas.

Tobias expected to feel ready for this, after so long. Instead, he isn’t really sure how to feel. He’s wanted answers for nearly a decade now. He’s been actively chasing Team Zenith for months. And yet now that some of his goals are within reach, everything doesn’t feel quite…real.

The anger Tobias holds for the outlaws is still there, of course. As always. It’s a quiet, seething sort of hatred, a low ember that only flares on occasion nowadays but that’s always, always lit.

But aside from that?

The vindictive part of him is actually a little disappointed. Upset that some other Seeker brought the pangoro in instead of him. But he doesn’t know how well he’d fare in a fight with one of his literal nightmares, so maybe that was for the best. He’d be useless if he panicked in the middle of a deadly brawl.

Even now, he’s anxious. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it. Both to just see one of the outlaws again, and to ask Dismas the question that’s been haunting him for eight years now.

Why did Team Zenith do what they did? Why kill his family? Why kill innocent children?

Why?

That single word makes him feel a tangle of emotions so thick he could never hope to unravel it. It feels a bit like nerves in his stomach. A bit like desperation choking his throat. He hates it. But he needs to know.

Every time Tobias tries to think back to that night, tries to think of anything that could explain why the arcanine and his crew suddenly turned on them, it’s like his mind can’t handle it and cuts the memory short. He’s gotten vague glimpses of the incident over the years, but most of them come at the cost of a panic attack that sends him spiraling before he can recall the night in its entirety. So since his own brain refuses to give him the answers he needs, he just has to ask someone else who was there. As much as he doesn’t want to.

“Would you happen to know how to get to the prison from here?”

Nia’s voice, directed at the simipour shopkeeper, yanks Tobias back to the present. He looks up.

The water type seems startled by the question, but then her eyes flick over their bag and the scarf tied around Nia’s arm. Hesitantly, she nods and points right, further into the city.

“If you follow this canal to the heart of the city and straight through to the other side, the entrance to the prison is near the edge of the island. Look for red coral out front.”

Nia thanks the shopkeeper, but the riolu’s smile fades as she turns to him. He can only imagine what expression he’s wearing.

“Are you ready? We can always wait until later tonight, or tomorrow, or…”

Tobias shakes his head and straightens up, ready to move. Nia seems to get the message. It’s now or never. Waiting will only delay the inevitable.

Tobias leads the way across the city, following the large canal the shopkeeper had pointed out. They have to cross a few of the city’s segmented islands to do so, and Tobias quickly decides that he hates the floating bridges that are used to cross the smaller canals. They wobble and sink underfoot and feel much more unstable than the city itself.

Kaleido Bay is beautiful, but it’s just too ingrained with the sea for Tobias to really feel comfortable. Nia clearly loves the place—as she does most places—pointing out something new and exciting to look at every few minutes. Whether that be a particularly elaborate tourist boat pulled through the canals, or a saltwater fountain in a little plaza where children scream and play, or a building that Nia says looks like a “church,” built with stunning glass windows that depict images of Pokemon in the ocean. Tobias doesn’t recognize them all, but he knows he spots Kyrogre, Lugia, and Manaphy.

As they near the edge of the city, where homes and less flashy businesses reside, they see more areas under repair, likely from the natural disasters that Rosalind had mentioned. Either this area got hit harder, being without a buffer against the open ocean, or it’s just the last to be fixed since it isn’t where the tourists go to spend their money.

The Pokemon on the streets here are more casual, too, and there are almost no ferry ‘mon swimming in the canals. No fancy accessories or shopping bags in sight. Likely locals rather than tourists. One or two give them curious looks, probably wondering if they’re lost, before spotting their scarves and looking away again to go about their business.

At one point, Nia nudges Tobias to catch his attention, nodding her head across the canal. He follows her gaze, finding a large group of Pokemon gathered around the wooden remains of a building that was nearly ripped off its foundations. The Pokemon in the group are talking quietly to one another, sharing sad smiles and hugs. A small seel is crying with his flippers covering his eyes, his sobs loud enough to echo across the water as a poliwhirl tries in vain to comfort him.

Tobias spots a pile of items—bright shells and coral, food and flowers and letters—stacked together neatly at the foot of the building. A lump rises in his throat.

“Is that..?” Nia murmurs.

“Funeral,” Tobias confirms, looking away.

“D-Do you think it was a natural disaster?”

“Probably,” Tobias answers. “I’d guess the newer buildings are made with the natural disasters in mind, but that one looked older.”

Nia glances back one more time at the decimated home, grief obvious in her slanted ears and limp tail. Tobias can imagine what she’s thinking about. That she’s feeling that desperation, that weight of the world, on her shoulders once more.

“We’ll fix it,” She murmurs. “Everything.”

Tobias nods but doesn’t offer his own reassurance. As cold as it sounds, he can’t focus on the rest of the world right now. Not when the pangoro they’re about to talk to is dominating every thought and every cell in his body.

They finally find the prison, a small building close to the edge of the city. The bulk of the exterior is white concrete and gleaming metal, but two pieces of tall red coral stand on either side of the door, framing it.

Tobias doesn’t realize he’s stopped in the doorway until Nia steps closer to his side, arms brushing. She’s watching him, and when he looks at her, she tilts her head. As if to ask if he’s sure about this.

He nods, ignoring the way his heart is pounding against his ribs. He takes a deep breath, then leads the way inside.

The interior is surprisingly small, with little more than a front desk and some shelves full of books and files. A large metal door dominates the back wall, so Tobias guesses that probably leads to the prison itself.

A smoochum is at the desk in front of them, sitting on what must be an unreasonably tall stool. She’s writing something on a document. When she finishes, she adds the sheet to a stack of paper to her right, which is already taller than she is. Then she grabs a paper from the stack to her left and starts writing again, only glancing up when the door clicks shut behind them.

“Can I help you?”

Tobias steps up to the desk, ignoring her impatient tone.

“We’re here to see prisoner D22.”

The smoochum lifts a brow, giving them an unimpressed once-over. “…Rank?”

Tobias considers lying, for a moment, before deciding that she’ll probably request to see their badges anyways if he aims too high. “D-Rank.”

“You must be at least B-rank for clearance to visit high-security prisoners,” the smoochum drones, going back to her papers.

“We have to see him,” Tobias says, slapping his hand onto the edge of the desk. He desperately wishes he was taller so he didn’t have to look up for this. “Let us talk to Jude. He works here, right?”

“Please,” Nia adds, pulling Tobias back with a hand on his arm. “It’s really important.”

The smoochum still seems unconvinced, but sighs. “Badges?”

Nia digs their badges out of their bag, handing them over the counter. The smoochum flips them over, giving them an idle examination before sliding them back.

“If Jude says you leave, then you leave. Got it?”

“Y-Yes,” Nia says.

“Tell him Rosie sent us,” Tobias adds.

The smoochum waves them off. She leans back to tug on a chain leading into the wall. The faint sound of a bell follows, then the click of a slat opening.

“Send Jude up. He has Seekers here looking to talk to a prisoner. They say ‘Rosie’ sent them.”

The slat clicks closed again. The smoochum doesn’t wait for an affirmative, wordlessly going back to her paperwork.

Tobias glances at Nia. The riolu shrugs, looking as uncertain as he feels.

After a few minutes of quiet, interrupted only by the scratch and flutter of the smoochum’s papers and Tobias’ restless pacing, the metal door on the back wall finally opens with a heavy grating sound. A large Pokemon, not much taller than them but long and wide, enters the room with slow steps. His blue-green plates look more like rock than skin, as do the craggy yellow points of his spiked shell. Beady eyes perch just above a jagged mouth, glancing at Tobias and Nia before turning to the smoochum.

He must be Jude.

“A turtle?” Nia whispers to Tobias.

“A drednaw,” Tobias whispers back, studying the water type’s surly expression.

Jude is saying something to the smoochum that makes her frown. She shakes her head. The drednaw makes another comment, too quiet to hear, and the smoochum hisses a response. The conversation gets more heated, until the smoochum finally just flaps a dismissive arm at him and returns to her work. Jude huffs, but finally walks over to them.

He leans in a little closer than is comfortable, voice hushed. “You said Rosie sent you?”

Tobias nods. “We’re Seekers. She said you can get us in to talk to a prisoner.”

The drednaw grinds his jaws with obvious irritation. “…Who do you want to see?”

“D22,” Tobias answers. “A pangoro named Dismas.”

“That’s just about the highest security prisoner we’ve got here. Why d’you want to see him?”

“Does it matter?”

“I can’t let just anyone in to see him.”

“B-But—!” Nia stutters.

“Rosalind said to remind you of Sahara City,” Tobias cuts in, silently praying this will work. “If that changes your mind.”

Tobias didn’t think it was possible for a Pokemon with such thick scales to visibly pale, but Jude does. He glances over his shoulder at the smoochum, as if afraid she’d heard. When she doesn’t pause in her writing, Jude breathes again, turning a glare onto Tobias. Tobias glares back.

After a tense moment, without looking away, Jude calls, “They’re clear. Get Miro and Toko to escort ‘em. They’re on duty right now.”

The smoochum actually looks up at that, visibly surprised. But after a moment she turns back to the bell and rings it again, passing along Jude’s request.

“Make sure you tell Rosie that I held up my end of the deal,” Jude rumbles, low. Then he lumbers past them, shouldering the door open to go outside.

Tobias is once again reminded that they should never, ever cross Rosalind. He exchanges an uncomfortable look with Nia.

Within a few short minutes, the metal door behind the front desk opens again, and a malamar and quagsire walk through. The malamar’s sharp yellow eyes skim over Nia and Tobias, move past them to empty air, then focus back on the smoochum at the front desk with a questioning look.

“That’s them,” the smoochum says, annoyed. “Got Jude’s approval and everything. Go on.”

While the quagsire seems unphased by this information, the malamar is clearly taken aback. Still, he doesn’t argue, instead stepping forwards to speak to them.

“We’re taking you to see D22, right?” The malamar checks. He’s expressive despite the rigid beak on his face. His tentacles make up for it, the ones on his head waving as if caught in an undercurrent and occasionally lifting like perked ears.

The quagsire stays silent, studying them with unblinking eyes. Despite her casual posture, Tobias gets the distinct feeling that she’s on-guard, and stronger than she looks.

“Y-Yes please,” Nia answers. “We, um. Need to talk to him.”

“We won’t be able to leave you alone with him,” the malamar warns. “Safety protocol. But we can give you half an hour of supervised visitation.”

Tobias isn’t thrilled about that—having two strangers in the room for such an emotionally vulnerable conversation. And only half an hour?

Still, he knows better than to argue. This could very well be Tobias’ only chance to get some answers about Team Zenith. About his family.

Tobias nods.

The malamar nods in return and gestures for them to follow him back through the doorway, stepping into the lead. The quagsire moves to trail behind Nia and Tobias, boxing them in.

Wordlessly, they’re lead past the front desk and out of the lobby.

Tobias is kind of surprised that they didn’t ask to check their bag. Maybe they trust Seekers not to bring in anything dangerous? Or maybe Jude or the overworked smoochum was supposed to check it. Whatever. Tobias isn’t going to bring it up. He feels better having their meager supply of items close by, anyways.

Instead, Tobias focuses on where they’re heading. The floor here is set at an angle, sloping downward, and the long hallway they’re in is dim as the door shuts behind them, the metal walls windowless. The only reason they can see at all is the light from Tobias’ tail flame, the yellow glow of the malamar’s spotted markings, and the soft green glow of…moss? Algae, maybe. It grows in impressive mounds out of little planters protruding from the walls every few feet. Like little balconies of light.

Below the algae, the hallways are also lined with well-maintained plants growing from water-filled basins in the floor. Tobias can’t tell what kind of plants they are in the darkness, the silhouette of them foreign, but the smell of saltwater is thick in the air under the lush greenery, so they’re probably ocean-based.

The hallway they’re traveling down goes on and on, curving slightly. A strange sensation builds in Tobias’ ears, and it takes him a moment to realize what it must be.

Pressure. They’re going under the waves. It’s getting colder, too.

A jolt of fear lances through Tobias’ gut, completely separate from his nerves regarding Dismas. He reaches over and fumbles Nia’s paw into his own, squeezing it. She glances at him, then tightens her own grip in return. He’s grateful she doesn’t say anything about it.

They walk for a few minutes longer, the quiet echo of their steps a soothing rhythm. The pressure gets stronger, Nia slowly cringing under its weight in her sensitive ears.

“Try equalizing,” the malamar says, breaking the silence. He glances back at Nia, then gestures with a tentacle at his face. “It helps with the pressure. Pinch your nose shut and swallow a few times. Or wiggle your jaw.”

Nia hesitantly follows the psychic type’s directions, trying first one technique and then the other. After alternating between the two once or twice, she perks up, tense shoulders dropping. “That helped a lot! Thank you.”

“No problem. It’s tough when you aren’t used to the pressure change.”

Tobias tries to subtly follow Nia’s lead, wiggling his own jaw and blowing air out of his nose. It does relieve some of the pressure that had built up in his ears and head.

“So are you two here on official Seeker business?” The malamar asks. Tobias can’t tell if he’s genuinely curious, if he’s just being friendly, or if he’s suspicious about why they want to talk to Dismas. Maybe all three.

Nia looks to Tobias for an answer, which is fair. Once again, he considers lying, but if they really won’t be allowed to talk to the pangoro alone, then they’re bound to find out why they’re here anyways.

“Personal matter,” Tobias settles on.

Thankfully, the malamar accepts that with nothing more than a nod. “In that case, I hope you get what you’re looking for from this conversation. Dismas is usually pretty straightforward.”

“That’s one word to describe him,” the quagsire says from behind them, voice soft. Both Tobias and Nia jump. “I would use the word cruel.”

“What was he arrested for?” Nia asks, hesitant.

The malamar glances back at them, lingering on whatever expression Tobias is wearing. He looks forward again. “Take your pick. Theft, destruction of property, murder. It’s the last one that shot him and his teammates to the top of every guild’s priority list.”

Murder. Tobias isn’t sure if the charge is even related to his own family. He’d managed to tell Maggie about the Pokemon who attacked his family, eventually, and he’s sure they put out some kind of warning around the mountains where he used to live, but he doubts that the years-late testimony of a traumatized child would be enough on its own for a solid murder charge. At least not without calling Tobias in to talk to an official guild member first.

Then again, Tobias supposes the crime would be pretty obvious when an entire family all but disappeared from their home. He doubts they ever found their bodies. He vaguely remembers Maggie murmuring questions to the medical ‘mon in the village, after some townspeople went to make sure there weren’t any other survivors. He remembers the way the doctor shook their head, how Maggie’s expression fell even further. Tobias doesn’t know if Team Zenith simply sealed off the cave to create a tomb, or burned everything until it was unrecognizable, or what. He doesn’t really want to know.

If there were bodies to bury, Maggie would’ve asked if he wanted to visit their graves before they left for Bethoc’s Haven. But she didn’t.

Tobias’ legs suddenly feel pathetically weak. Like they’ve been replaced with jelly. Some part of him, something small and young and scared, desperately wants to turn and run. Leave now before the truth is revealed. Before he has to face Dismas again.

He shoves that part of himself away, holding tighter to Nia’s paw.

“Well. Multiple charges of murder,” the malamar adds, quieter. “Merchants. A few Seekers. Suspected one-offs. He and his crew have built quite the reputation for themselves.”

Tobias feels nauseous. Somehow this has always felt so personal, Team Zenith’s crime against his family. But Tobias isn’t the only one they’ve hurt. Somewhere out there, there are others they’ve done the same to. Other families and friends and partners who are missing loved ones. Who are weighed down by a similar grief.

That familiar old rage surges through Tobias’ chest like magma. It makes it hard to breathe, makes it hard for him to think about anything aside from hurting Dismas like Dismas hurt him.

But Tobias can feel Nia’s fingers squeeze his, briefly. Can feel her gaze burning into the side of his head. So he closes his eyes, trusting her to lead them, and takes a deep breath. Another. Another. He won’t be allowed to fight a prisoner. He has to be civil, to a degree. He has to keep his head enough to speak, or this whole thing amounts to nothing.

He can’t waste this opportunity.

Tobias only opens his eyes when the darkness behind his eyelids shifts. Their footsteps sound different suddenly, less contained.

They’ve finally reached the end of the long ramp leading down. Ahead of them lies a metal hallway with multiple other hallways branching off of it. To different cells, maybe.

The floor is lit by the same green moss as the hallway they just left, but there’s an even fainter light coming from the walls as well, from tall, thin…windows? It takes Tobias a moment to register what he’s seeing through them.

The ocean is dark this far down, the water inky black, but more moss lights the environment surrounding the prison, growing atop silhouettes of rocky outcroppings. It creates a surreal effect, a gradient of soft green light and harsh black shapes.

Before he looks away, Tobias also catches a glimpse of brighter light streaking by outside. It comes from a lanturn, the lures dangling from the water type’s head glowing a warm yellow. A few seconds later, a vague shape carrying what looks like a moss-fueled lamp swims by as well, too quick to identify. Guards, maybe. Making sure the prisoners stay in or that any curious water types stay out?

Either way, Tobias can’t help wondering why the windows are here at all. He’s not very familiar with glass, but he didn’t think it would be strong enough to withstand the pressure of the ocean.

Just as he’s thinking that, the light catches oddly on one of the windows they pass. Ah, there it is—the unique shimmer of a move. Light screen, maybe, or reflect, reinforcing the glass panes. If he squints, he thinks he can even see the pale green hue of light clay acting as caulk, simultaneously sealing the windows in place and strengthening the effects of the protective moves.

He’s still not a fan.

“How do they get air down here?” Nia asks, distracting Tobias from his staredown with the windows. She’s quiet enough that Tobias isn’t sure if she’s asking him or just talking to herself.

“Vents,” the malamar answers. He motions up with a lift of his head tentacles. Tobias follows the gesture to see a slatted vent laid into the ceiling as they pass by. “Pipes lead up to the surface, and the greenery down here helps with oxygen generation.”

“And the windows?” Tobias can’t help asking. “Seems like a dangerous design choice for an underwater prison.”

“That’s by design,” the malamar says. “Don’t worry, they’re maintained daily. But they can be helpful, if we have an escape attempt. There’s a reason we don’t take water type prisoners here.”

Oh. So the windows are an emergency stop measure. If a prisoner tries to escape, they flood the room they’re in to slow them down?

Or maybe they just drown them.

Tobias shivers at the idea. Nia seems equally perturbed, falling silent again.

Tobias glances down the hallways they pass, expecting to hear jeering voices and see hulking shadows through jail bars. Instead, the cells seem to be individual rooms, each sealed shut by a heavy steel door with a crank in place to open it. A placard rests above each door with a letter-number combo etched into it.

Tobias watches with trepidation as the numbers rise as they walk, from D01 up to D05, then D10 to D15. Do they really need this many prison cells? Maybe they house more prisoners here than he realized.

Finally, they stop in front of a room. D22 is etched into the placard above the door.

Tobias feels lightheaded. He knows he’s holding onto Nia a little tighter than he should, but he can’t seem to relax his grip. The malamar says something, but it’s not until the quagsire steps in front of them that Tobias realizes they’ve been trying to give him a command.

“We’ve gotta step back for a sec,” Nia murmurs, tugging Tobias away from the door.

Tobias nods, barely hearing her as the quagsire puts their whole body into rolling the crank beside the door. With a low groan, the metal slowly lifts. The inside is a weakly lit green like the halls, but Tobias can’t see past the malamar’s twitching tentacles.

The malamar waits until the door is high enough, then slips inside with a quiet, authoritative, “Wait here.”

Tobias does so, heart roaring in his ears. When the door finishes opening and clicks into place, the quagsire steps into the malamar’s spot, guarding the doorway so they can’t enter.

Tobias can hear the rattle of chains and the muted tones of conversation from inside. Nothing discernible, but the deep rumble of a new voice stands out against the malamar’s higher tones.

Tobias’ stomach turns.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Nia whispers, just loud enough for him to hear.

Even then, even knowing there’s no possible way the pangoro could’ve heard, Tobias nods his head instead of answering, desperately wanting her to stop talking. He can’t be weak here. He can’t let the pangoro know that just the hint of his voice has Tobias on the edge of panic.

All too soon, the malamar calls out, “All right. We’re ready.”

The quagsire steps aside to usher them in.

Tobias steps inside. The interior looks just like the rest of the floor, lit faintly green by moss. Two windows, tall but slim, are all that offer a respite from the steely metallic walls and floor. There’s a flattened nest of dry, dark green moss in the corner of the room, large enough to easily fit Nia, Tobias, and all of Team Shellshock inside of it.

Tobias only has a moment to take all of that in before he focuses on the Pokemon sitting in the center of the room.

Tobias has always thought he must’ve exaggerated the pangoro’s size in his nightmares, but Dismas is just as big as he remembers. Even sitting cross-legged on the floor, the pangoro is easily three times their height, and just as wide. Coarse black and white fur does little to hide the muscles in his arms and legs, his limbs as thick as tree trunks. He looks like he could punch through the metal walls of his cell with no trouble if he really wanted to.

Which is probably what the heavy shackles on the pangoro’s wrists, ankles, and neck are there to prevent. Their chains, thicker than Tobias’ arm, lead down through gaps in the floor. They’ve been pulled taut, keeping the pangoro forcibly low to the ground.

Finally, Tobias looks at the pangoro’s face. Dismas looks…bored, almost. Tobias imagines he’d be sitting with his elbow resting on crossed knees and his chin planted in the palm of his paw if he had the range of motion to do so. His shadowed eyes are hardly visible.

Tobias swallows. He wishes Mom was here. Or Dad. Or Maggie. Even with Dismas tied down, Tobias still feels so small. He hates how vulnerable he feels as he steps forward, stopping a few feet away from the outlaw. Nia hovers at his side.

He feels like he’s nine years old again.

“You’re free to talk,” the malamar says. He moves past Tobias to stand guard at the door, Releasing the crank and closing the door with a flash of yellow psychic energy and a loud clang.

The quagsire waddles over to stand at the pangoro’s side, keeping a close eye on the criminal.

And then it’s quiet, and all that’s left to do is to find the truth.

[lovelybucky1]

Crane Motel

Kinktober Day 12- Somnophilia

warnings: DARK FIC, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT: AFAB!reader, Psycho AU, non-con, somnophilia, struggle fuck, groping, incel!jonathan, oral sex (f!receiving), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, 18+ Minors DNI

main masterlist

kinktober masterlist

The sky is pitch black and the heavy rain makes it difficult to see even ten feet in front of your car. You can't continue driving in these conditions, so you take the nearest exit in hopes of finding a place to spend the night or at least a place to pull over.

You drove about five minutes into the town off the highway until you came across a building. Crane Motel the neon sign read. Vacancies. It doesn’t have to be nice, it just has to be dry.

You pull into the lot, gravel crunching under your tires. It’s hard to see the parking spots, but no one else is here and you doubt they’ll come at this hour. You collect your items and make a dash for the porch of the office, locking your car with the remote once you’re away from the rain.

You open the door to the office and you’re met with the warm light from a lamp and an empty desk.

“Hello?” you say. No answer. “Hello?” Still no answer. You notice a bell on the desk so you try your luck and hit the bell. The metallic ring fills the office and from the closed door behind the desk, you hear a thump.

The door swings open and a young man in a light blue button down shirt that hangs off him and khakis appears.

“Hi,” he smiles. “Welcome to the Crane Motel.”

“Hello,” you smile politely. “I’d like a room please.”

“Of course,” he says, taking out the guest book and opening it to today’s date. As he flips through the pages you take note that most of them are blank, and the ones that are written on only have one or two names. “We don’t get many visitors up here,” he says with a small chuckle.

“Well, I’m only here for the night. The weather’s too bad out there to keep driving.”

The man nods in understanding. “I’m Jonathan, by the way,” he says, extending his hand to you.

You shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jonathan.”

“Likewise. I run this motel. My mother owns it, but she’s too sick to take care of things around here so I’m in charge of it.”

You nod along as you sign your name in the guest book. “Is it just the two of you?”

“Has been all my life. My dad died before I was born so it’s just been her and I.”

You find it a bit odd that he’s sharing so much of his life with a stranger, but you figure he doesn’t have anyone to talk to up here.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“Don’t be. Can’t lose what you’ve never had,” he says with a smile.

Jonathan tilts his head to look down at the guest book and reads off your name. “That’s pretty.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

“How are you gonna be paying?” he asks.

“Cash,” you say, taking out your wallet.

He furrows his brows. “Cash? You’re not on the run, are you?” You look up at him with a confused expression, but when his face splits into a smile you catch on that he’s joking. “I’m kidding. People usually use cash if they’re on the run or having an affair, but you’re here alone, right?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Alright, no reason to be suspicious of you then. That’ll be $30.”

“Only 30?”

“We’re not in demand enough to charge anymore that,” he chuckles. “Besides, you seem nice and you’re just looking for a place to stay.”

“Well, thank you, Jonathan.”

He takes your cash and counts it out, confirming you gave him the right amount. He then unlocks the cash drawer and puts the bills in their appropriate slots.

“Alright, I’m gonna put you in Cabin 1. It’s closest to the office in case you need anything tonight,” he says as he takes the key labeled 1 off of the hook screwed into the wall.

He hands you the key but before you could turn to leave, he catches your elbow.

“I was making dinner for my mother and I but I accidentally made too much. Would you like to join us?” he offers.

“Oh, thank you for the offer but I’m super exhausted from driving all this way. I’m just going to head to bed,” you say.

“Okay,” he says, letting you go of your arm. “You never said where you’re from.”

“Um, about a two hours south from here.”

Jonathan raises his eyebrows. “What are you doing all the way up here?”

You sigh quietly, growing tired of his questions. “I’m going on a trip with some friends.”

“Sounds fun,” he says.

You nod with a close lipped smile. “Well, have a good night.”

“You too,” he says.

You turn and exit the office, shutting the door behind you. You run to your car and grab your bags as quickly as you can to avoid getting soaked, then take cover again under the roof. You walk across the wooden porch to the door labeled 1 that is connected to the office. You unlock the door and walk into the room, taking in the surroundings.

The room is small but it has a bed and a bathroom, so it will suffice. You drop your bags at the end of the bed and open your suitcase, digging through it for pajamas and toiletries.

You change into your t-shirt and shorts, then disappear into the bathroom to wash up. Unbeknownst to you, the kind man you met at the desk is not what he seems.

He put you in the first cabin not so it would be easier to attend to your needs, but because behind a picture frame in the office is a hole that he can look through to see the bed.

Jonathan was infatuated with you the moment he laid eyes on you. He doesn't interact with many people other than his mother, especially not someone so beautiful and interesting as you. He knew he couldn't let this opportunity slip away. He had to have you before you left in the morning.

He waited for you to return from the bathroom and when he heard a thumb through the thin walls, he peered back through the hole. Seeing you undress was exhilarating. Your body is gorgeous, exactly what he likes. It's almost like the universe sent you to him for a reason.

As kind as you are, Jonathan knows you would never agree to a night with him if he were to ask. That's why he's going to wait until you're asleep to make a move.

Apparently you're less exhausted than you let on, because instead of going right to sleep like you said you would, you stay up for another hour watching TV.

Once you finally turned off the TV and lights, Jonathan waited fifteen minutes for you to fall asleep before sneaking into your room. He unlocks the door quietly and turns the handle before opening it so the knob doesn't click.

He's used to seeing in the dark, so he has no trouble making his way over to the bed. The faint light from the neon sign outside illuminates your face, making you look angelic.

Jonathan gently untucks the covers from your arm and pulls them down, revealing your body. He sighs in delight as he trails his fingertips gently down your arm, relishing in the feeling of your soft skin.

Luckily you're laying on your back so he has easy access to everything he wants to see. He pushes your shirt up over your breasts, revealing even more soft skin and peaked nipples that catch the light from the window. Jonathan brushes the pad of his thumb over them gently, curious as to what they feel like.

Getting braver, he palms your breasts and squeezes them. He's seen plenty of breasts before online, but he's never even been this close to a pair in real life. He is mesmerized by how the flesh jiggles.

He has been hard in his slacks sine you first came to the desk, but now that he is touching you, he is growing increasingly needy. He undoes the fly of his pants and lets his cock hang out from the zipper. Even having it out in your presence made him ache with pleasure.

Jonathan then turned his attention to your bottoms. He slips his fingers under the waist band and gently pushes them down as best he can. They get caught under your as, but he can pull them down enough to get a glimpse of your pussy.

His hands shake as he gently caresses your mound, surprised that you're even softer here. He lets his finger dip between your folds, feeling your wetness. Jonathan then pulls his hand back and holds it up to his face to take a deep breath of your scent. It's delicious, and he can't help but taste it off his finger.

He reaches under your shorts again, exploring your pussy and teasing your entrance while his other hand jerks his cock. He gets a bit too carried away, because his unpracticed hands must have poked you the wrong way and you stir.

Jonathan yanks his hand back and waits to see if you'll wake up. You remain asleep, but you roll onto your side, turning your back to him. He is a bit disappointed at first, but then he gets another idea. He pulls your shorts the rest of the way down and lets them bunch at your knees.

He gently spreads your ass cheeks to look at your holes. He has to stifle a groan when he sees the glistening of your pussy. Jonathan leans down to lick you from behind. At this angle, only the tip of his tongue makes contact with your folds, but it's enough to get a taste right from the source.

He moves his tongue back and forth as much as he can, imagining that he's doing this for your pleasure and not his own perverted desires. Between his legs, his cock his painfully hard and leaking onto the shitty carpet.

Feeling bold since he's done all of this to you and you haven't woken up yet, he decides to go a little further. He eases you onto your stomach and gently lifts your legs so he can slot himself between them. He slowly eases onto the mattress and spreads your folds so he can find your entrance.

He lines his cock up and begins to push in. It's a little difficult when the only experience he's ever had has been with his hand. He manages to get the tip in when he feels your body jolt. You make something of a whine and Jonathan's heart begins racing.

You try to adjust your position, still mostly asleep, but when you find yourself being restrained, you start to thrash. You kick your legs and claw at the sheets, all while yelling out.

"Get the fuck off me!" you cry, shaking your body like you're a mechanical bull trying to throw him off.

Jonathan doesn't want to stop. He's made it this far already. He presses down on your shoulder blades to keep you from squirming and your arms are pinned under your chest so you can't try to hit him.

You're still screaming, but now it's broken up by heavy sobs and pleas. You can scream as loud as you want but the only person around to hear you is the one making you scream.

Jonathan continues to push his cock into you, though he faces more resistance now that you're awake. You're so much tighter when you're scared, he notes.

"Don't hurt me, please. I-I have a family, please stop," you beg.

Jonathan frowns. "I'm not hurting you," he says.

How could he be hurting you? Sex feels good, and women love to have sex. That's what he's seen in all those videos. They love it so much they'll even beg for it.

Jonathan ruts into you and after a while, you lose the will to scream for help. All you can do is lay there and sob while he violates you. Jonathan, however, is enjoying himself very much. The tight, wet heat of your pussy around him is like nothing else he's ever experienced. It's addictive, and though he feels himself getting close, he doesn't want this to end.

Jonathan tries to stave off his orgasm but he's too worked up. He bucks his hips quickly, jackhammering you until he cums. He's fucking you like a fleshlight, using you as a place to stick his dick weather you're willing or not.

He buries himself deep inside you when he cums, emptying his overfilled balls into you. Jonathan is moaning and whimpering above you, completely overwhelmed by pleasure. He lays himself over your back and tucks his chin over your shoulder.

His face is far too close to yours and you scream again, hoping it will make him leave you alone. With a satisfied sigh, he pulls out and tucks himself back into his pants. He bends down to look at his cum leaking out of your pussy, just like he sees in all the videos he watches.

He grabs your covers and pulls them back up over you, tucking you in. You lay facing away from him, body shaking with silent sobs.

"I'll see you in the morning for breakfast," Jonathan says before exiting your room and heading back to the office.

Tonight he'll sleep on the sofa in the parlor in case you need anything. And he'll wake up extra early to watch you get dressed in the morning.

[wxxpingangxls]

Dirty Diana

+synposis; once again, your husband is too busy for your 16th annerversary, and to add to your dismay, your pipes have bursts. so now you have to call the local plumber to help fix your leaky pipes...

+content/warnings; black reader but no explicit description, age gap( Gojo is 26, reader is 47), whiny Gojo, needy reader, teasing, multiple rounds, creampie, reader is a MILF, Gojo's divorced, slight power play, reader is more on the dom side, Gojo is smitten over reader, oral - fem receiving-, cowgirl

+pairings; Firefighter!Gojo x MILF!black fem reader

being married to a business man who was constanlty at work was fun at first. with yearly strips to ski resorts and monthly weekends away to the smiling and tropical coast. but after your two children had gone away to college and your third and fourth were in the last years of highschool, you became lonely.

"i know i know, i promised but you have to understand that the meeting was pushed back and we still don't have the arrangements for the business trip. i promise i'll-" you cut off the phone before he could make another empty promise. you huffed, groaning as you faced the cold dinner you'd made for the two of you. it was the first meal you ever made for him when you guys first moved in together and unsurprisingly his favourite.

you walked back into the kitchen to pour yourself more of that special wine you saved for this day. you stared at the sink for a bit, letting your mind drift off, the empty night sky bringing tranquility to your mind. however, amoung hearing the sound of rushing water, you looked down to see water from the bottom of the sink rushing to your feet.

you quickly scurried to the far side of the room, silently cursing under your breath. Your house slippers were soaked. you grabbed your landline to phone your local plumber. much to your dismay, he was all booked out for tonight and you couldn't wait until the morning, however he mentioned something about phoning in the local fire station as most of the men were trained to deal with plumbing issues.

you placed your full wine glass down upon hearing the door bell ring. you checked yourself in the mirror hanging on the wall, running your hands through your hair and wiping the lip stik off the side of your cheek, making sure you were decent.

"uh…ms Y/N?" the tired man asks, his eyes hanging low as his peered at your appearance. to say you were an attractive woman was an understatement. your hair hung in loose curls that framed your face and your light blue nightgown accentuated your body shape. your baby blue silk robe seemed to flow and shift in elegance and grace. "this is she, are you gojo?"

"yeah... satoru gojo. i heard you've got a leaky pipe." he gestured towards the toolbox he carried with him. he shlyly followed your lead into the kitchen occasionally leering down watching your ass through the light fabric of the robe, his own shoes thumping to the beat of your own, matching house slippers clicking against the tiled floors.

"just what i thought, a loose pipe." he said grunting as he reached for his wrench. "you want sum' to drink, gojo?" you asked shoving the half empty wine bottle in his face. you were bored, alone and borderline drunk.

he chuckled before shaking his head. "drink on the job? nah, no thank you," he sat up before he looked down and huffed. "oh come on, it's terrible drinking alone," you whine, slightly slurring your words, trying to convince the sexy young man to say a little longer. his sunken blue eyes bore into yours suspiciously. "you're alone? i thought i saw to dinner plates on the dining table," a sour expression immediately replaced your hopeful one.

"oh right. it's my anniversary, but my husband got 'caught up' at work again," you huffed out annoyed.

"you're married?"

"why are you surprised?"

"m'not...just asking," he shurgged.

gojo thought for a while. ever since his divorce, he hadn't come home to a freshly made meal. however he was here strictly for business and he needed to remember that. "well, if your husband isn't here, why let the food go to waste?" he smiled cheekily at you. your eyes lit up. it had been months since you'd ate with someone else. he smiled to himself as he watched you grab the dinner plate and popped it in the microwave. "and about that wine, why don't you pour me a glass to go with it,"

"my eldest was an easy baby. look, she didn't even cry when we pierced her ears," you pointed to the old picture of your daughter as gojo reached over to see your child in her infant years.

"wish i could say the same. last time i saw my girl, she was always crying," he laughed light-heartedly before becoming silent as he saw your puzzled expression. "divorce. my wife got full custody," he shrugged, running his fingers through his hair white hair.

“you’re divorced? you’re pretty young…what age did you get married?” you asked inquiringly.

“i was 19, between me and you, i didn't know what i was thinking," he replied.

you didn't pry further. you moved over to his side, rubbing his shoulders as you bent over, silently reasaurring him. "i'll get more wine. here lemme take your plate," you whispered, taking the empty glass from his hand, your breath lingering around the back of his ear.

as you scrubbed the plate clean, you felt hot breath fan against your neck. "gojo, what are you doing?" you gasped as he wrapped his strong arms around your waist.

"don't act like your legs weren't rubbing agaisnt each other the minute we sat down," his lips moved up and down your neck sensually, moving in a rhythm that had you dripping through your laced panties as he groaned in response. "gojo, we shouldn't, its not right..." you protested, however you made no attempt to get away from his grasp, even as his grip tightened. "i'm a married woman,"

"married to a man who doesn't love you enough,"

"what do you know about my relationship?" you questioned hastly.

"well, for one, you never mentioned a husband yet your all dressed up waiting for company of some kind,"

"hmm, your smart for such a young person," you giggled, feeling caught out.

"you're so under appreciated in your own home. if i were your husband, you'd never feel alone again," he sighed in your ear before planting a kiss behind it. you whined as you subconsciously rubbed against his throbbing bulge. "goj-"

"call me satoru, please," he spun you around with one hand to face him.

his chiselled face moved closer to yours and for the first time you could smell his cologne. hints of sandalwood, spice and jasmine tickled your nose in the most sensual way. your eyes locked for a moment, before you looked away. it had been so long since you'd felt the touch of your husband let alone a man. the sexual tension increased with every second you guys took staring into each others eyes.

he soft lips brushed against yours as he looked you in your eyes, your foreheads touching. "if you don't want this, just say the words. say the words and i'll leave right now. this would be our little secret," he whispered. you searched his eyes, but all you saw was a sparkle. a certain sparkle he hadn't had in years. a certain sparkle you haven't seen in years.

his warm tongue swirled in your mouth as his hand cupped your aching cunt. his other hand was at the back of your head as the two of you sloppily made out. your hands cupped his face, caressing it in your soft hands. you groaned into the kiss as he pressed a finger against your clothes clit. "m'gonna make you feel s'good," he whined as he broke the kiss, moving down to your neck. you whined as he pulled his hand from your underwear. he took of his jacket revealing his broad shoulders and wide chest hidden beneath a white wife beater. his veins popping out with every movement he made. "come here," he whispered eagerly holding out his arms for you to jump in. he lifted you onto the counter, his tender lips somehow making their way back to yours again.

you watched eagerly as he lowered himself, face to face with your dripping hole. "look at you. she hasn't been fucked in weeks, has she?" he sniggered as he watched your face drop. he'd gone from a well mannered service provider to a man with a fucking filthy mouth. maybe you'll keep him around longer.

your thoughts were interrupted by a warm and wet tongue lapping against your clothed cunt. "gojo...!" you squealed instinctively reaching to grab on his hair and shut your legs around his head. he laughed at your reaction, the vibrations stimulating your cunt further. he simply just ripped your legs apart with his big strong arms. "keep still f'me," he demanded. you whined but nonetheless followed his instructions.

his mouth reattached itself to your sopping pussy as he continued lapping. he made sure to suck and nibble on your throbbing clit even through your lacey blue panties. you groaned as his fingers moved to play around and rub your slit. you huffed, your sensitive pussy twitching around an empty space. your legs started to twitch as he moved his fingers towards your clit, rubbing firm circles. "wow, you close already? so filthy..." he whispered condescendingly. "satoru...!" you pulled harder at his hair as his fingered moved faster.

your legs began shaking as it became too much too quickly. "what is it, baby? you gonna come for me, yeah?" he watches as you gasp and attempt to close your legs around his hand. but he was just too strong. you gasped as he moved his hand, leaving on the edge of your orgasm.

"what the hell?" you shot up from the counter. "be patient. i said i'd make you feel good, didn't i?" he raised a brow whilst unbuckling his cargo pants and dropping his drawls. they fell to the floor as his hot bulge made your pussy leak even more. "fuck..." he sighed, finally getting his dick free. curly white pubes dusted his pelvis. he pumped his cock a few times, smearing the pre-cum all over.

he pulled your panties off, slick sticking to your foiled panties. his thumb and index pulled your lips apart, watching as your stringing arousal stuck them together and your hole clench around the cool air. "how long since you been eaten out, babe?" he asks.

"what?" you sigh, too cock hungry to register his question. your whining gave him all he needed to know. he clicked his tongue before wrapping his lips around the sore bud. his large hands held your thighs open, as wide as they could go. you squealed as his tongue lapped against your cunt.

the only time he broke away was to spit on your filthy hole, watching as it dripped down to your clenching asshole. he was sloppy. and messy. and loud. he groaned in encouragement, making sure to make a mess out of your sopping cunt. "yes satoru! just like that... m'fuck! you're so good for me..."you cried out in ecstasy as he brought his mouth to your clit again, this time making sure to suck hard. he shook his head from side to side, eliciting a high pitched moan from your mouth. "satoru!" you moaned out loud at the stranger in your home from the sensitivity of it all.

"fuck...sator- m'so close" he groaned his response as your brows furrowed and your eyes glossed over in bliss. your hips buckled against his mouth despite him trying to hold you still. "stop squirming, pretty lady," he grumbled. "look at the way she's talking to me. she's just begging to cum," he squinted before bringing you right into his mouth again and holding you there. "come on baby," he spat on your cunt before diving in further. "wait- wait- sat-oru..." you wailed, attempting to push his head away.

your cunt wasn't used to the stimulation of being sloppily eaten. the sensitivity was getting to you fast. tears brimmed in the corners of your eyes as you began sniffing. his grip tightened on you as you squirmed harder. your legs shook and twitched around his head.

"gojo! slow down, please!" he smiled as he watched you writhe in his tight hold. your stomach tightened and your breathe hitched. your toes started curling as you arched your back and pulled his hair for dear life. your held your breath as you came all over his face. "yeah...that's it, just like that," he watched as your legs spasmed and your eyes rolled back and your tongue lolled mindlessly out of your mouth. "fuck..." you slurred slowly coming back to your senses. he pulled away and closely watched you come down from your high as he slowly rubbed on your sore clit.

"hah...that was s'good..." you breathed.

"i told you i'd make you feel good," he whispered as he took your hand in his and took your shaky figure into the living room. his large hand wrapped around your waist. he sat upright on the sofa beckoning you towards his lap. you sat in between his open legs. "ride me baby, show me how much you've missed having a dick inside of you," he leered at your figure towering over him. you discarded the silk robe and kneeled over his stiff cock.

"now, baby, you ever been ridden so good, you're holding back tears?" you stare into his eyes for a bit. he smirked before rubbing your back. he saw the determination in your eyes, his face dropping at the realisation. "no..." he finally huffed out.

"well you know what they say. there's a first time for everything," you took his hefty cock in your hands, pumping it a few times before sinking down.

you winced in unison, your tight walls squeezing on his throbbing dick. he was thick and girthy. hitting you in all the right places. he had you drooling already. he tapped you thigh, breaking you from your dicked hungry state. "wow, you really haven't been fucked in a while," he chuckled cheekly.

"you know, for someone who can't handle me, you really are mouthy. you know what happens to mouthy boys?" you snickered.

"what..?" he replied, his lips pursing in anxiety and trepidation.

"they get punished, for having a sharp mouth," as you were speaking, you could feel his hips slowing shifting, trying to gain some friction inside your warm walls. "uh-uh, i'm not done with you," you grabbed his face, squeezing his cheeks together.

"please...i'll-i'll be good, i'll shut up!" he pleaded.

his negotiations were pathetic to say the least. you hummed in acknowledgement, your own juices leaking down in eagerness.

you started grinding your hips, experimenting with different paces. his hand remained on your hips, before you started to bounce up and down. "thank you..." he sighed, watching your body move up and down, fucking yourself on his aching cock. "you like that, yeah?" you asked, steadying yourself by holding his shoulders. his hand moved down to your ass before landing a heavy handed smack. he rubbed on the sore skin, before squeezing it in his hands. "fuck yeah, i love it," he whined, his hips buckling.

you laughed breathlessly however your pace never faltered. his grip tightened as you began to gain in speed. your gummy walls gripped on his eager dick, clenching tightly. you gasped upon feeling his cock meet your hips. your wet cunt made it easy for kento to thrust up into you and he made sure you knew.

"hah...fuck satoru..." you cried looking down at him. his eyes were glossed over in a cloud of lust and hunger. "you feel so good, thank you!" his fingers moved towards your clit, rubbing firm circles on the bud. he noticed the shift in your pace as your legs started trembling slightly.

"keep going, come on," he huffed sexily moving the hair from his face, with his free hand. you winced as his pace quickened. "fuck, keep squeezing me like that," he whined, throwing his head back. "fuck Y/N..." his fingers continued to play with your clit while his other hand landed another sharp slap onto your ass.

your eyes rolled into your skull as his hips angled towards the spongey spot deep in your cunt. "fuck!" you whine. your legs buckle as he watches you fall. "oh you like that?" he chuckles lowly, visibly taken aback.

"yes yes yes! fuck satoru!" your eyes roll back as his pace quickens. he fucks himself into you hissing every time you clench down on him.

"gojo, m'close!" you gasped, your grip on his shoulders tightening. he watched from below as your face contorted into that of bliss as he kept hitting that same spot. "just like that," your cunt squelched with every thrust he had to give you. your tummy churned as his dick pummelled your gummy walls. your slick was running down your leg as you let out babbles and moans of pure nonsense. you legs began to spasm as you started drooling. "whose pussy is making you feel good?" you said through breaths.

"huh?" he whined too pussy whipped to comprehend anything. you grabbed his face in your hands so his eyes were on you and no one else, "whose. pussy. is. making. you. feel. this. good?" you said firmly in between breaths.

"yours Y/N, your pussy makes me feel so good." he wailed loud enough for neighbours to hear. "there's a good boy," his large arm wrapped around your waist, holding you still against his hips.

your babbles increased in pitch and your legs grew limp. "you close baby?" you asked raising a brow.

he nodded eagerly. "use you words f'me. tell me how bad you wanna cum,"

"uh huh, uh huh, want it so bad ms Y/N!"

your toes curled and uncurled as gojo kept his hips at the angle that had you coming undone. "yes fuck, there's a good boy...!" you babble out nodding your head, tears stinging in your eyes.

"fuck, you're too tight, loosen up f'me," he whined, his hips were stuttering as he tried to move but you were just too tight. you were too fucked out on his hefty cock to even acknowledge his comment. "Y/N, you need to relax.." his voice became higher in pitch as he continued to thrust into your tight hole.

his thrust became sloppy and inconsistant as his legs started to spasm. "m'gonna cum," he huffed, thick cock throbbing inside of you. "do it inside pretty boy!" you instructed.

"inside? you want it inside? what if you get pregnant?" he stammered.

"dammit gojo, just cum inside me!"

he nodded feverishly, sniffling as tears from over sensitivity started to sting in his eyes. his hips stuttered one last time before he came in your sore cunt.

his eyes rolled back as he huffed. his arm around your waist tightened as he began to pull out. your cunt oozed with a mixture of your slick, cum and his cum. "yeah, that's it...look at that. i'm just leaking,"your filthy mouth was back at work as the creampie ran down your leg.

he slid his tip between your folds smearing the mess everywhere. his thick cock left your aching hole gaping as he kissed your forehead. as you leaned in to kiss all over his face, the landline rung. "i'll go get the phone," you sighed that such a sensual moment was being ruined.

"hello?"

"hey honey, how would you feel about a trip to a resort in Bali for a week?" your husband suggested as an apology for missing your anniversary. you thought for a moment before facing the firefighter in your home. he lay on the sofa, smiling goofily to himself, with one hand placed behind his head.

"sure, why not."

"and again, i'm sorry i missed our anniversary, i won't happen again." he chuckled from the other side of the phone. you did start to feel guilty about sleeping with another man when you have a hard working husband, but then again, your own husband was out having his own escapades with various other women you weren't aware about. "i'm sure i won't," you replied slyly before hanging up the landline.

you walked over to the nasty fireman before sitting back in his lap.

"round 2?"

"i thought you'd never ask..."

[cera-writes]

Kurt from X-Men evolutions having a crush on rogue’s new friend she’s a new Transfer student from Roswell (hance a bit of a western accent little bit similar to rogues southern accent) and her mutant abilities have something to do with a western/cowgirl theme,

(reader doesn’t stay at the Institute because she is living with her aunt and uncle place, but likes to visit the Institute sometimes) but one time he gets so nervous, trying to confess his feelings for her, so he had to ask his sister (rogue) for help?

A/N: Cuteeeeee idea! Sorry this took a while to write! I've finally been getting caught up with requests! Pairing: Nightcrawler (X-Men: Evolution) x F!Reader Tags: fluff, confessions, mutual crushing

Lassoin' Hearts

The holographic sand swirled around Rogue's boots as she dodged a Sentinel's laser blast. You were their newest trainee (though not technically a student since you lived with your aunt and uncle a few miles out). You whipped your lasso, Sunstorm, crackling with bio-energy. Your drawl, a touch rougher than Rogue's Southern twang, echoed through the Danger Room, "Hold your fire, darlin'! We gotta flank 'em!"

"Watch your six, sugah," Rogue retorted, unleashing a closed fist punch that sent a Sentinel staggering. "These bots are more trouble than a herd of angry longhorns."

From the corner of your eye, you saw a blue blur materialize next to you, nearly tripping over his own tail. It was Kurt, his teleportations lately seeming to coincide suspiciously often with your training sessions.

"Uh, hey," he stammered, his voice laced with a nervousness that clashed with his usual stoicism. "There's something I…" He trailed off, the faint scent of brimstone clinging to him like a nervous sweat.

You raised an eyebrow, your lasso twirling expertly. "Spit it out, Kurt. Your entrances are about as subtle as a runaway stagecoach."

A frustrated puff of brimstone erupted from behind him, momentarily obscuring the holographic cacti. Rogue, ever the observer, smirked. Finally, with a deep breath that seemed to deflate his chest, Kurt blurted, "It's just… the way you handle yourself out here. You make the Danger Room look like a lazy afternoon. And that lasso work? It's… impressive."

A warmth bloomed across your cheeks. Here was Kurt Wagner, the teleporting demon with a reputation as intimidating as a dust storm, confessing a kind of… fondness for you? The situation felt surreal, like a tumbleweed rolling through a five-star restaurant.

"Kurt," you began, then glanced at Rogue who winked and said pointedly, "Sometimes the most direct path is the best one, even if it's not through a portal of brimstone."

With Rogue's playful nudge, you leaned closer, keeping your voice low. "Kurt, you don't need fancy teleportations or smoky entrances to impress me. Just maybe next time, try a less… dramatic approach."

Kurt's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise momentarily replacing the usual shadows around them. Then, a genuine smile, as rare and beautiful as a desert bloom after a monsoon, spread across his face. "So, maybe you'd like to see a real desert sometime? No training bots, just… stargazing under a sky full of stars, maybe?"

A slow smile curved your lips. "Now you're talking my language, Nightcrawler."

Forget awkward teleports and intimidating entrances. Maybe Kurt just needed to be himself, a charmingly enigmatic demon with a surprising amount of courage hidden beneath his blue fur. Perhaps, the key to navigating his feelings wasn't through flashy portals, but through the more straightforward path of honesty.

[sailing-through-hawkins]

raining, pouring, falling

✧ written for 'shower' ✧ word count: 399 ✧ rated: T ✧ cw: none ✧ tags: deity!steve, thunderstorms ✧ @steddiemicrofic (～￣▽￣)～✧

When the thunder starts to roll in, Eddie does his best not to panic.

He races down the trail, eyes shooting up to the dark clouds every other minute.

Just five minutes ago, it was clear, sunny skies. Now, he's running through a light drizzle and has to hope it stays light, or someone's gonna get suspicious.

Gasping at the sudden bite of a cool wind, Eddie decides fuck it and skids down the dirt and mud. The trail winds too long and he doesn't have enough patience for it. Hell, he doesn't think Steve has much patience left either, judging by how violently the sky is booming, lightning crackling across it like -

Not the time, Munson, head on the ground, the clouds have enough going on.

Finally, Eddie arrives at the lonely barn, gasping when he sees a man, dressed in blues and golds, standing outside, head tilted up towards the rain as it pours down.

"Steve!"

Slowly, his face drifts down and he opens his eyes just to look straight at Eddie, their glow dissipating as they soften.

"Eddie," Steve greets, his tongue still doing something to the name that had Eddie shivering from more than the cold. "You came back."

"'Course I did," Eddie breathes out. "What're you doing out here, Steve? Somethin' happen?"

Steve tilts his head, eyes fluttering shut as he smiles. "The green needs some rain today. 'S too dry."

Ignoring that Steve was drowning the entire town with a fucking thunderstorm, complete with lightning and the heaviest shower Hawkins has seen since the '60s - well, Eddie can't really ignore it.

"You're not supposed to be out here, Steve," Eddie says gently, gulping when Steve turns sharp, electric eyes on him. "You're still recovering, right?"

From making a giant crater outside the run-down barn that Uncle Wayne still owns, all those weeks ago.

Steve's eyes soften and he gives that gentle smile again. "'S okay, this doesn't take a lot. I'll lighten it up though, okay?"

Eddie sighs, and resolves to himself that he's gonna have to fake shock at the random storm the same level as everyone else, once he gets back.

"Come on," Steve giggles as he pulls Eddie towards the stables, where he's sure the pure black stallion that never strays far from Steve must be waiting. "Let's go for a ride."

Eddie shakes his head with a fond smile.